#and sometimes instead of metal on metal its more of a sort of

[digitalsymbiote]

What makes a Mech a Mech?

Now you might think it's the shape: Humanoid, bipedal, articulated limbs. And once upon a time that might have been the case. These days those machines are a lot more diverse though, come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; you got quadrupeds, winged mechs, hell sometimes ones that don't got any arms or legs at all.

No, what makes a Mech a Mech, is the Neural Link.

Mechs are unique in the way that their pilots get wired into them. They plug their brain into a machine and they become that machine.

Y'see that's why so many of the early models were so standardized, modeled after our own anatomy and musculature. Back when the tech was first being developed, the test pool was pretty limited. All military types, foot soldiers and the like. Those folks tend to have something of a limited imagination, creativity and individuality gets beaten out of 'em until they conform to the template of what the military wants 'em to be.

Which means they aren't all that great at imaginin' their body as anythin' other than what it is.

So all those early prototypes had to conform to that. If they wanted a pilot to have a decent enough Link Aptitude, they needed Mechs that the pilots could see themselves as. Folks were already used to havin' two arms and two legs, replacin' 'em with metal instead of flesh was a short enough leap that those folks could handle it.

But y'see then they started expandin' the applicant pool; researchers and developers moved outside the military in search of folks with higher Link Aptitude. And they found that humanity is a lot more diverse than that template the military beats into its soldiers. Turns out folks can be a lot more creative with their body map. Not everybody fits into that standardized definition of what humanity is.

They were lookin' in the completely wrong place with the military, turns out. Conformity is all well and good when you're trynna rush somethin' off the assembly line, but when you're trynna really push the limits of what's possible? Well you gotta get a bit more creative with it.

That's why you don't usually see the jugheads piloting mechs anymore. They ain't as good with all the fanciness companies are packin' into them these days. Now y'know who is good with all of that? Queer folks. Transgender folks especially. Turns out growin' up in the wrong body and learnin' to deal with that makes you real good at dissociatin' and messin' with your body map. Makes it a lot easier to trick your brain into thinkin' some weird part of this metal colossus is actually part of your body now.

Once they sorted that out, synchronicity rates skyrocketed. Led to a lot of other good things too. Y'see suddenly Queer and Trans folks were prime candidates for bein' pilots, corpos needed 'em. Which meant they had to make it safe enough for folks to be those things, or at least enough to admit it to the recruiters. Kinda funny thinkin' back, that that was what tipped the scales, but I suppose you can always trust corpos to do what corpos do.

But anyway, that's why so many Mechs are custom made to their pilots nowadays. That's why they craft the IMPs alongside the pilots through basic training. You gotta build a system that'll fit the pilot's body map, and ideally one that'll make the most of it.

If that pilot's more comfortable with a tail? Give that Mech a tail. Digitigrade legs? Quadrupedal? Fuck it, if it works for the pilot, throw that shit on there. Y'see ultimately, through the Neural Link, all you gotta be able to do is trick your brain into thinkin' that Mech is your body, and then it's off to the races.

And that moment, when your mind slips into that metal monstrosity and suddenly you feel more at home than you ever did in your own flesh and blood? That's what pilots live and die for. That's how you know the engineers did a good job.

And that's what makes a Mech a Mech.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Devils may love?: well loved weapons

I like to think the Yamato and rebellion have some form of consciousness tied to Dante and Vergil. This spiraled from that.

Links: masterlist

Through many years at DMC you’d handled various weapons

Guns

Swords

Canons

More swords and guns

also some unconventional like demon arms

Ect ect

But safe to say you’d handled a lot at your time here

It came with the job, literally since Dante mentioned in that dreaded job description that “supplies may need to be cleaned”

Though it didn’t mention of demon innards that needed to be cleaned off the “supplies” nor that “supplies” would be literal actual god damn swords

Something you would quickly come to learn after being hired

But you digress, handling weapons came with dmc

Thus you cleaned, sharpened and polished a lot of them

Typically you did them on weekends or Wednesday

It was actually something you’d come to enjoy after awhile

Comparatively speaking cleaning weapons was a whole lot different to cleaning the floors in a literal sense

But there was also something spiritually different about it as well that you’d come to learn and appreciate over time

And in some cases literally

Rebellion

The first of all swords you’d come to eventually wipe down and polish, to put it simply Rebellion is a bit weird

But you’d come to understand it’s because some part of it is oddly alive and tied to Dante

In the days before its subsequent awakening alongside Dante at the temen-ni-Gru tower there was an odd sense of energy stored in it

When you cleaned it back then you could feel an almost pulsating sensation as you wiped down its flat surface

It thrummed under your fingertips

Not in an intimidating way, but moreso like a beating heart

You actually tested it out once but it matched Dante’s heartbeat perfectly

They pulsated in sync under your hands

And matched in untapped power yet to bloom

Both speeding up under your gentle touch to his chest and it’s blade

In those early days you were a bit unnerved by the feeling

Admittedly it was a lot

But like with Dante you came to appreciate it

Rebellion even in its unawakened state offered an odd sense of company and protection

Sometimes depending on the mission Dante would leave you with it since he wanted a challenge

So he’d head off with only ebony and ivory leaving you with the sword

Typically he’d prop it up against the desk

But if he was feeling particularly cheeky or thought you were overworking yourself he’d put it on the table so you wouldn’t be able to work

You’d be remiss to say you couldn’t easily move the hunk of demonic metal

Nor would it seemingly let you since it seemed to weigh even more than it usually would in those moment

Could’ve even sworn the skeletal face seemed to smirk at you nearly blowing out your back attempting to lift it up and then giving up

Instead opting to sit down as it stayed propped up or laid on the desk

As you either relaxed or did work it gave you company

Watching diligently as its silver edge reflected the light and anything in the darkness

It’s a lot like Dante in the quiet moments when silence besides the jukebox permeated in the yet to be named shop

It’s not threatening, at least to you

And yet rebellion has some sort of edge of humour with it as Dante does

You swear it sometimes reflects light into your eyes to mess with you subtly

But before it’s awakening it doesn’t go beyond that

Afterwards is a bit different though

Rebellion changes as Dante does

When you wipe it down now instead of just about ripe energy about to burst it’s warm

It could be the dead of winter and the blade would be a pleasant warmth against your cold skin

It’s a warmth that’s never too hot yet is overwhelming in how it feels like a warm kiss pressed against your fingertips as you drag them on its edge

Rebellion feels more alive than before if that’s even possible

It still beats with Dante’s pulse yet now it reflects the warmth he has wholeheartedly

Instead of being cold it’s now ignited with his power

His blood awakening the sword or vice versa when he and the sword joined together in a violent display by Vergils hand

It’s red eyes glow a gentle hue when your around

Less an intimidating bright red like when in battle but more of a softened rouge

Like old rose petals or almost ripe strawberries

They follow you around the room when it’s hung up or left behind by Dante to guard the shop

Like an ever present guardian even if Dante’s in the other room

That’s not even mentioning how when you grab the hilt of the sword you swear you feel the phantom sensation of Dante’s hands gripping yours

You know it’s his by the distinct scars that line his palms you’d felt a thousand times before

The phantom sensation guides your hands as you swing its blade against potential foes or to ensure you don’t accidentally hurt yourself

Only going away as your hands let go and place it down

Yet even then it’s warm touch lingers like a silent goodbye

It’s red eyes shinning in a kind of pride at you

Through the years even when not in use rebellion grows to feel like an old friend

Each time you clean it of blood or polish it from the dust there’s a sort of companionship similar to Dante you feel towards the maybe not to inanimate object

It protects you

Watches

And it also listens as well

When alone for hours to days on end due to Dante being on a mission you sometimes talk with the sword

Maybe that would’ve made you crazy had you not realized it replied back and being crazy was already apart of the job description when being around Dante

Rebel doesn’t reply vocally but instead physically with how it’s eyes shifted and blinked

One blink meant yes, two meant a no

Thus you talked with Rebel back and forth with yes or no questions

You gauged a lot from the demon sword

It preferred a certain type of wax that you used to polish it compared to others and it seemed to enjoy when you’d talk about your day

It also liked when you played the same favourite songs of Dante’s and put on cheesy action flicks for it to watch as Dante would

It also liked beef jerky

Like a lot

You one day fed rebellion out a simple curiosity about if it could eat since it technically had a head and teeth

Something rebellion didn’t know of either

And since then rebel had taken a liking to beef jerky of all things

How it ate neither you nor the sword knew

You just both accepted it

It was funny when Dante found out though

Dante nearly had a brain aneurysm when he one day walked in on you feeding rebellion beef jerky of all things

The sword’s metallic skull chomping down on the beef as you a it stared at him like he walked in and interrupted something

It was that day he learned that not only did the sword have some level of consciousness past it being somewhat tied to his soul (thanks Sparda) this entire time but also explained the phantom feeling of hot breath on his neck sometimes (from the few times you cleaned a smudge and didn’t have cleaner on hand)

(And the phantom feeling of your finger dragging down his chest or god forbid your lips on his neck when you’d give the sword a small smooch as a thank you for protecting Dante)

That explained a lot from over the years

(Something Dante’s seemingly not over as rebellion keeps giving him knowing looks when he flirts and it goes completely over your head)

Yamato

You have a tricky history with the Yamato considering your initial encounter with Vergil wasn’t the most friendly

Having a real god damn ass katana used to threaten you wasn’t exactly fun

But such is life

Or such is your life at least

Before Vergil became…a little less apprehensive to your existence the sword was just plain intimidating

If Rebellion is warm and showy then Yamato is cold and sleek

The swords are opposites in every way like the brothers their tied to

Yamato reflects and cuts with precision

The sword leaks sophistication and radiates a certain loneliness to it

The first few times you see it the demonic katana looks almost like frosted glass

The way it reflects things is blurry even though it’s cleaned and obviously well loved and maintained by Vergil

Your like a monet painting in its showing of the world, as if your unimportant to have any detail to you besides general shape and form

But after you discuss poetry with Vergil the next few times you see Yamato feel…different

It reflects you a bit more clear now in the few moments you see it in use

Particularly when Vergil protects you from demons lurking in the dark

It only becomes more and more clear the more you talk with him

The more he seemed to tolerate you quite literally reflects back in how Yamato shows you

Under moonlight and rain Yamato reflects booth the moon and you in its blade with mirror-like clearness

It angles it to make the moon your halo behind your head

The full moons haze and glow making you seem almost angelic as the onslaught of raindrops created diamond-like shimmers ever few seconds

It’s the type of thing you’d see in a masterpiece painting of the renaissance

Hear about in poems

The type of thing artists would die to capture

And Yamato shows it all

It paints this beautiful picture of you and your not sure why

You don’t get much time to process it after that when Dante comes to fight Vergil and rescue you

Eventually when Vergil ends up in hell and the Yamato somehow ends up breaking within that 10 year time period between the tower and mallet island you somehow find a large shard of the sword

You wake up one morning and find it sat on your other pillow

Reflecting your opening eyes with a clarity that isn’t given to the rest of you

Your face is muddied and a blur no matter how much you clean that small shard

Yet your eyes remain crystal clear

It’s odd and unsettles you

But such is life when it comes to the Sparda brothers

Especially Vergil

Even Dante is puzzled by it all

But you continue on with that shard

That piece of Vergil

However small or unimportant to him you hold onto it

You hold onto Those memories as well even if you were nothing but a nuisance to him

And in that small shard you keep fading until nothing but your eyes remain clear

The rest is but smoke and mirrors

Unintelligible blobs of colour

And then mallet island happens

And you grasp that shard when returning home with Dante

Holding it tightly even if it would cut and bleed

And yet it doesn’t, the piece of the Yamato won’t cut your skin

It just lays in your palm soaked in tears as years pass and things continue on

You still hold onto it

Not realizing as years pass things begin to become more clear again

Still muddied but eventually becoming unclouded

And then it’s absorbed by Nero’s devil arm after being collected and put together mostly in tact by the order of the sword

The final piece being held by you

Finally putting it back together

That should have been that

Yet Weirdly enough even when it was absorbed by Nero’s demon arm due to whole next of kin stuff you swore it’s energy still attempted to find you

The blue part of his arm becoming brighter when we you were near

Small tendrils of light and energy reaching out

That’s Not to mention the few times you and Nero got into some demon trouble and before either of you knew it that arm was wrenching you away from danger before either of you could react

He says it’s probably his instincts and you nod, smiling at him but in the back of your head you pray that maybe somewhere out there it’s a sign Vergil was alive

If rebellion was seemingly tied spiritually to Dante then maybe the same was for Vergil and Yamato

And maybe the way the Yamato infused arm shot out to save you multiple times was a sign of…something

At the time you could only hope

But when Dante and Vergil came back from hell the user himself had confirmed that Yamato was also tied to him as rebellion was to Dante

Vergil is protective of his sword

Relatively rightly so after he one day told you of what exactly happened the night of Eva’s death

For years the Yamato was all Vergil had

And you can respect why he doesn’t let anyone touch…expect for some reason you

Yeah Nico is a bit salty that “Mr grouch over there” lets you hold and examine Yamato and not her

You’ve had to draw her diagrams and let her look over your shoulder as Vergil let you hold it

Yamato in your grasp feels as if you hold Vergils everything

When you grasp it you know it means a lot to him

If rebellion is Dante’s heart then Yamato is Vergils soul

It’s heavy in your hands

Yet Yamato at the same time is light as a feather

Almost as if elated to be held by you

It reflects you now with a clarity not seen in years but like atop the tower it almost idealizes you in the reflection

The way it reflects light and the background warping to accentuate you in it

It’s odd

But flattering

When you mention this to Vergil he stares at the sword and how it shows you

(Unbeknownst to you in its reflection your angled to appear much closer to Vergil)

He shakes his head but colour floods his cheeks

Tag list

@galaxylibella @dragon-lord-lysander @idleviewer @rosvaline @superbfuryfest @localeggdealer @mellophoned @justanotherweeb666 @her-majesty-horiko @treelogirl @angstylittleb1tch @coinduck @living-my-best-life5

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Clumsy and frantic

~ Harvey/GN!Reader

~ Romantic

~ 1.1k words

ib: @the-spookington

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“What were you THINKING, Y/N?? I- I told you not to go in there..! It- it’s dangerous and- and I can’t–” Harvey speaks frantically, practically stumbling over his words as he gently holds your face in his hands. His eyes were blown wide underneath his glasses as they rapidly dart across your face. Frowning as you lie in one of his hospital beds.

He wasn’t at all trying to be mean, he was just terrified for your safety. He was always hyper-conscious of other people’s health, but especially you. He was so overwhelmed with a mixture of anxiousness and exhaustion that his words left his mouth before he could grab ahold of them.

Truthfully, you were fine..at least, you felt so anyway. You had collapsed on your way back to your farm from Elliott’s shack on the beach, needing to deliver him something on Leah’s behalf. Only to be found by Linus shortly after and dragged down to the hospital before leaving again. 

It was a little past two am, a few hours after his usual bedtime at ten. Upon seeing you get dragged in, he had no time at all to get properly dressed before his anxiety hit him like a Joja train. His hair was disheveled from its usual combed down state, similar to it’s unkempt state after a rough shift at the end of a long day. Wearing a white shirt with a small front pocket, underneath a long, forest green, wool cardigan. The fibers of the thick fabric frayed and standing up every which way. His legs only covered by his green, pinstripe briefs, yet he had hardly noticed. He was too worried about you to care about his own shame.

“I’m fine, Harvey.. Really..” You try to say, only for Harvey to shake his head quickly. Muttering nervous plans to himself as he steps away from you, his cardigan swaying behind him. His sleep addled brain pushing into overdrive to make sure you’re one hundred-ten percent okay.

His hands scanning over his cabinets before his eyes ever properly read anything. Knowing his place of work like the back of your hand, not his. He pulls out a large variety of items of which you’re unsure on how most of them are supposed to be used.

“What hurts?” Harvey asks, but it comes out as more of a concerned demand. Setting his various equipment down on a metal cart next to your bed. You can’t help but feel at least a little guilty for making him so worried, but at the end of the day, you knew it was probably inevitable. You have a small bruise on your shin after tripping over a shovel earlier and a sore spot on your head from hitting the ground.

Instead of responding, you carefully sit up and take both of his hands in your own. Your thumbs gently caressing over his knuckles as you look into his worried brown eyes. “Deep breath..” you say quietly, taking a few deep breaths yourself as an example. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

The Adam’s apple in Harvey’s throat bobbing as he swallows thickly with a slow nod, following your breathing pattern to calm his rapidly beating heart. His hands slowly tighten around yours as he sighs heavily. A sad smile crossing over his lips before he leans down and places a small kiss onto your forehead. The coarse hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, though you pay it no mind.

“Thank you, honey. I- I’m sorry.. I just– you scare me sometimes..” Harvey murmurs, pulling away to look down at you with the same concern. It’s obvious he’s still looking for any sort of damage he could fix.

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You whisper, pulling his hands to your lips and kissing the back of both, right on the knuckle of his middle fingers. Your eyes still up on his own as you shift on your hospital bed again, slinging your feet over the edge to put your muddy boots down on the clean floor. “I promise- I’m fine. Just a small headache is all”

Harvey nods slowly in acknowledgement, feeling his cheeks turn a rosy pink at your gentle treatment. Leaning down again to place a peck onto your lips before he parts from you once more. Calmer this time, he pulls his cart back over to his cabinets, putting away all of his unnecessary equipment he grabbed in his freakout.

“I’ll have to make sure you didn’t sustain a concussion with your fall, but otherwise, I can provide you an ice pack for any soreness. Anything else feel wrong? Headache, nauseous, confused…” He trails off, just giving examples on things you could be feeling. Finishing up putting away his supplies, he glances back over towards you, tugging his cardigan closed.

You slowly shake your head with a light chuckle. “No- no.. nothing like that.” you deny honestly, interlacing your fingers with one another and setting your hands in your lap. Your eyes practically glued to the doctor.

He heads right back to the side of your bed with a mere penlight in hand. Putting the tips of his middle and index fingers underneath your chin, he lifts your head up to be able to see you entirely. He takes in your features appreciatively for a long moment before snapping himself back into his work.

“Just a small light..” Harvey murmurs in clarification, showing you the penlight before clicking it on. You keep your eyes straight into his own to allow him to check up on you. He slowly brings the light to the edges of your eyes, watching the way your already dilated pupils expand and contract without issue. 

While he doesn’t comment on it, he finds it incredibly adorable. The knowledge that oxytocin and dopamine are making your pupils expand when you see him makes his heart swell with affection. Clicking the penlight off and setting it into the front pocket of his plain, white shirt.

“You’re all good, honey. Do you want an ice pack?” Harvey asks gently, to which you shake your head, prompting more confusion from him. “Just another kiss from you.” you grin cheekily. Harvey feels his cheeks burn as he leans down and places another kiss onto your forehead.

“I feel better already.” you remark sarcastically, though there was a hint of truth in your words. Even without doing any sort of medical procedures, Harvey always manages to make you feel better, with the added trait of getting all giddy like a schoolgirl.

Harvey laughs softly as he carefully helps you up from your hospital bed, treating you as if you’re glass. “Then I suppose you’ll feel even better when we go upstairs.” he teases, knowing good and well he’s just going to bear hug you until the two of you fall asleep. He’d be crazy to send you home tonight.

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he's so real

(Thank you to Spooki for the idea !!! again !!)

[eyelambspider]

Spider. Eye. Lamb. || COD/Outlast Au

⤷ summary : you and him. together you'll be the ones to make it out of the trials... (drabbles/hcs)

┊pairing : könig, gaz, price x gn!reader ┊content warning : mentions of gore/death/blood, horror, pining(?) finding comfort in each other ┊a/n : ffffffuck! i love the outlast trials! (forgive me i like scary games) also: for god sakes, i'm doing chapters/scenarios for this

▹ König

Its nearly impossible for König to hide while in the Trials. He can't fit into the lockers quickly (or the barrels), so he opts to linger in the darker rooms with the burnt out bulbs.

so. he's usually wearing his night vision goggles or his eyes are adjusting to the dark. leading him to be more anxious and feeling exposed in brightly lit places.

Because of his size, König can break through the wooden boards blocking doorways with one kick if he needs to run.

Other reagents (people) in the sleep-room are afraid of him and tend to stay away. He looks too similar to the Prime Assets in the trials, with the cut up pillowcase over his head... and his height.

it doesn't help his mental health, not talking to much people in the sleep room... but the doctors seem to like him. If not only for his physical build.

sometimes, König comes to the metal door of your room and stands there, unsure how to really ask but- he likes laying with you on your bed. the two of you laying there in each others arms for nothing more than the comfort of being with another person who... knows how scary it is.

König likes to protect you in the Trials, intervening just as the grunts try to bring down their weapons on your prone form by shoving them off violently.

▹ Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz is the quietest and is hardly seen by those who roam the halls and rubble-filled streets of the trials.

he always has a lockpick on him, and often uses it to open up medical supplies for himself. always proving to be especially resourceful.

Uses bottles to throw and distract the enemies when he works.

Gaz is one of the braver subjects to be put into the trials, always taking risks and evading the prime assets and enemies by a hair.

Gaz's biggest fear in the trials is that he is too good at it. Trials become easier and easier, but it messes with his head to think that instead of getting this horror show over with as fast as possible-he's actually doing exactly what the doctors want him to do.

Is it just survival... or is Murkoff's twisted form of 'treatment' actually working?

Gaz likes talking to you.

Well, having your company. He doesn't open up about what he thinks and fears. Just sort of... sits with you and chats in the cafeteria during meal times.

And on the shuttles (from the sleep room to the Trials) Gaz likes to sit across from you, even with the TV in front of his face, and the bars on the side of his head (forcing him to watch)... he likes knowing you're right there. Likes reminding you to be angry instead of scared, "Fuck the doctors-remember that-fuck the doctors!"

You actually might be the reason he's still resisting the treatment. He tries to protect you from feeling as... as desperately terrified of becoming what the doctors want.

▹ John Price

Price hates to get paired with you in the Trials. Solely because he'd hate to see you hurt but... "its good to see a friendly face"

Price would do well in his trials, ranking a grade average 'B'.

It would be better, but he despises being apart of these sick games and 'messes up' on purpose.

(When you're afraid in the Trials) Price grabs your shoulders and forces you to look at him, keeping you grounded and giving you something to focus on other than the threat of dying. "Just get the key, alright? Its got a little black star on it. You get it and bring it back here... and we'll both get out of here. Won't let anything bad happen to ya," he assures.

In the sleep-room, Price always tells you to come and play a game of chess with him. "No buts." He knows it will distract the both of you for a while, and if you don't know how to play, he's got all the time to teach you.

(When you don't make it back to the exit) Price always waits for you, has to watch you enter the transport himself to make sure you're okay. And when you don't, he gets antsy, glancing at the red timer above the door that says you have only three minutes... "Fuck," he decides, turning his back on the exit and beginning to run back into the Trial to find you.

he likes taking care of you, gives him something else-something more important-to focus on outside of the trials.

if anyone was getting out of the trials, he'd hoped it'd be you

[misasimagines]

kiss it better / reader x Jiro (tokyo debunker)

included characters: Jiro! Yuri as a visitor.

rating: SFW but it gets a bit suggestive in the end. The part that's a little much, I've marked with (**) so you can stop if you're uninterested.

warnings: all about injuries both big and small, so plenty of talk of blood. also, there's a lot of kissing but not all are very chaste :)

You kicked your feet from your seat atop an empty examination table, the cold metal biting into your thighs, seemingly incapable of absorbing your body heat and neutralizing in temperature. You had a folder on your lap and you were reading through its contents, occasionally jotting down notes on a legal pad next to you.

Jiro was sitting on a real chair next to an overflowing filing cabinet, doing much of the same: organizing, reordering, shredding, and sometimes adding notes of his own. His jacket was hanging over the back of the chair, leaving him in just a disheveled and untucked button down and his tie, never knotted correctly and always hanging as if it were in two parts. His glasses slid down his nose every so often and he pushed them up without breaking concentration on his task. 

You, on the other hand, daydreamed and got distracted by just about anything. You’d been doing this for hours after Yuri announced he was going to (finally) get some sleep and take a shower and you were BORED! No amount of indiscreet comments and conspicuous gestures convinced him or Jiro that that break should be taken by Jiro as well. When you suggested it, he just looked at you and said he was fine. Which he wasn’t, he so rarely was, but he wasn’t at the level of total exhaustion where he’d listen to you just yet. 

Leaning back, pressing your palms into that cold metal, you gave your neck a little side to side stretch and checked on Jiro only to find him staring at his hand instead of the paperwork. “You good?” You called out.

“Papercut,” he responded, unaffected, simply holding his bloody finger away from the papers and returning to his sorting.

Setting aside your papers, you hopped off of the table and strode over to him, “Let me see,”

He held up his hand, his index finger split open and dripping thick, slow droplets of blood.

You grimaced. His injuries were always more severe than they should be with his weak immunity and seemingly non-existent healing abilities. “I'll take care of it,” you assured him, basically skipping across the room in your haste to grab up a mismatched first aid kit that had both basic supplies as well as a stock of experimental pills and forceps. You only needed the bandaids and a little cotton round.

When you returned to Jiro, he was still holding his hand up and away from the paperwork. The little stream of blood, thankfully, did not make it past the second joint of his long finger before it lessened. He would not be dying of blood loss from a paper cut. Not today at least.

You took his hand and gently turned it over, palm facing up, to clean him up and bandage his finger. “All better. Does it hurt?” You asked, still holding his hand carefully in your own. His hand was cold and laid limply in yours, filling you with the urge to hold it more tightly and try to warm him up. It was no simple task to fight that urge.

He regarded it silently and then responded, “I suppose it hurts a little.”

Frowning, you commiserated with him, “Papercuts are too small to hurt as much as they do.” You thought for a second, “But I can fix it!” You gave him a small smile before leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to the back of his knuckle. “Now it won't hurt!”

Jiro stared at his injury, then lifted his gaze to you with an unhurriedness that gave you far too much time to consider what you just did. You felt your cheeks grow hot when he finally locked eyes with you. You really just kissed a grown man's booboo to make it better.

Flustered, you practically shoved his hand away from you and straightened up, prepared to offer an apology for your weird behavior.

He wiggled his finger slightly as you floundered, “It doesn't hurt anymore. Thank you,” he said.

“Oh! Yeah. Well. Good!” You brushed off, turning away from him and grabbing up your things. “Anyway, I should get going! See you… whenever!” You hurried out, shoving the folder into your bag. 

On the way out, you could have sworn you heard him laughing quietly at you.

~~~~~~~

There was a steady stream of blood dripping down his face. His bangs clung to his skin, more red than dark purple, and his expression was more haunted and distant than usual. 

You hovered nearby, bouncing on the balls of your feet nervously as Yuri both fussed over and scolded him.

“Messy! You got hit far too many times fighting that anomaly,” Yuri snapped, but from the nearly imperceptible shake of his hands, you could tell he was more worried than angry.

Jiro apologized solemnly, “Sorry, Yuri.”

Yuri huffed in response and finished his careful bandaging of Jiro’s head. “It's no matter when you have Dr. Yuri Isami to save your life afterwards.” His usual bravado was lessened significantly, giving you the sick sense that Jiro was worse off than either of them would admit.

“Will he be okay?” You asked quietly, your own voice surprising you.

Yuri seemed to only realize you were there when you spoke, and looked at you with wide eyes. He cleared his throat and steadied himself, “Of course! He's been through worse and I'm not some hack doctor that can't treat a simple head injury.” He turned back around to look at Jiro and frowned dramatically, “You can't sit around covered in that much blood. It's a contamination hazard.”

Jiro nodded slowly, stood up, and you and Yuri both rushed forward as the color drained from his face. You propped him up between the two of you and guided him back into his seat. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes as he sat back down. “I'll get changed… in a few minutes…” he assured.

Yuri glared at him long enough to make you think he wouldn't say anything, but he finally broke his tense silence right before you were ready to interject, “Stay here, I know where your clothes are.” He turned on his heel and walked off, muttering about how he has to do everything and how he was disgraced to the duties of a mere nurse. 

You watched him until he left, then turned back to Jiro to inspect his state. His glasses were left on the desk next to him and there were blood stains streaked across his face and over his eye. His white shirt was spattered with blood, certain parts so saturated you knew there was no way they'd bleach out. He was paler than usual, his eyelids flickering in an attempt to stay open. 

“It hurts,” he spoke up, his voice betraying no sense of the proclaimed pain. He had enough energy to lift his head to look up at you.

Your heart ached, and you brushed a few strands of his hair out of his face. “I'm sure it does. I'm sorry you're in pain.”

Jiro lifted his hand and pointed his index finger up, “You fixed it last time.”

Last time…when you kissed his finger to make the papercut not hurt. You couldn't help but let out a breath of a laugh, “Jiro, I don't think a little kiss is going to fix your major head injury,” you confessed quietly.

“Probably not,” he agreed, “but I still want it.” 

Your heart thumped in your chest. Well, who were you to deny him a little kiss when he was so hurt and beat up? “Fine,” you acquiesced, standing in front of him and placing your hands on his cheeks. He kept looking up at you and only closed his eyes when you leaned over him and kissed him on his forehead. You lingered a millisecond longer than necessary and then pulled back.

He reached up and held your hand against his cheek, eyes still closed. “Thank you. You're good at that.”

You let him stay like that as long as he wanted, hoping that you had alleviated even a fraction of his pain.

~~~~~~~

(** below)

Sniffles echoed in the hallway as you shuffled towards the office in Mortkranken that you spent so much of your time in. You felt a bit childish, tears spilling out of your eyes and nose red from your relatively minor injury. You had been pushed over by some general admissions student and scraped your knees bloody on the pavement. They barely stopped to apologize, leaving you to escort yourself to find some bandages. It wasn't that serious, but it hurt and each step stretched your skin and made it impossible to ignore.

You pushed your way into the office and up to the desk in the back of the room. Riffling through the drawers, you found some bandages and disinfectant and set yourself leaning against the desk to dress your wounds.

The door to the underground lab opened and Jiro stepped inside. He stopped when he saw you and did a quick scan of your condition, “I'll handle it.” He didn't hesitate, walking over to you and setting down the tray of strangely colored vials he was carrying.

“It's fine, I can-” you started.

He took the roll of bandages from your hand, “Sit on the desk so I can fix it.”

You swallowed, a little overwhelmed by his command, and hoisted yourself up to sit on the desk.

Jiro crouched down in front of you and started dabbing an antibacterial wipe over your scrapes. 

You winced as he did so, the burn mingling with the constant throbbing of your torn skin.

His movements paused for a second in response to your reaction, and when he started again it was with a lighter touch. “Sorry,” he apologized.

“It's fine! Thank you for taking care of me.” You reassured.

He hummed in response and continued disinfecting your wounds, moving on to bandages only after applying a thin layer of ointment over them. When he was finished, the sting had passed and you felt secure enough to stretch your legs slightly. He set the supplies on the floor and looked up at you, “They're superficial wounds so they shouldn't take too long to heal.”

You smiled, “I'm sure they'll heal even faster thanks for your care.”

He let out a breath and looked back at your knees, straightening the bandage meticulously. “...does it hurt?” He asked.

You braced your hands on the desk, “Not as badly as they did, but a bit. Am I good to go, doc?” You joked.

Jiro’s hand had not left your leg, pressed lightly against your skin to hold you in place while he worked. He leaned forward and his eyes drifted up to meet yours, “Not yet.” He kissed the inside of your knee, right below the bandage.

Your brain probably exploded and you sucked in a gasp. 

“Should I do the other one, too?” He asked.

If you had been able to speak, you weren't even sure what you'd say. You felt yourself nodding dumbly but couldn't determine if you made the decision to do that yourself, or if your body has taken over in want for him.

His eyes narrowed slightly in amusement and he kissed your other leg. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. 

“Did it work?” He asked quietly, still on his knees before you.

You couldn't even so much as think about pain when you could still feel the ghost of his lips against your skin. When you tried to speak, you mostly squeaked and had to clear your throat. “Uh-huh,” you managed. 

His finger trailed down your calf, then back up, “I wonder if efficacy changes based on location.” He slowly parted your legs, “Can I test it?” 

You were accurately aware of your skirt, your boring underwear, your prickly and not freshly shaved legs, and the feel of his measured breaths against your thighs. Were you ready for something like this with him? How far did he intend to go and how far would you let him? Still, you'd be insane to say anything other than, “Okay.”

He didn't waste any time, kissing your inner thigh just above your knee and then glancing up for your reaction. When you only blushed harder in response, he kissed a few inches higher, having to lean in to reach. 

Your breath caught and it came out as a whimper. He didn't bother looking up this time, his hands now holding your thighs, his fingers pressed against you. He lifted your leg and hoisted it over his shoulder and kissed even further up, his hair brushing against the hem of your skirt.

He turned his head, “I'm neglecting this side.” He lifted your over leg up on his other shoulder, leaving his head sandwiched between your legs. Jiro kissed your skin again and you gripped the edge of the desk so hard you thought you'd leave marks in the wood.

He kept kissing, slowly making his way up, and you felt a quiet amusement in yourself as you noticed his grip on your thighs grew more intense. He was just as worked up as you were. You let go of the desk and pet his hair softly, your cheeks flushed as you looked down at him.

Jiro's eyes drifted up at your touch, watching you as he pressed another kiss to your thigh and your heart tightened with something more than lust. 

“Jiro, I-” you started, only to be interrupted by loud footsteps and the sound of Yuri's impending complaints from the other side of the door to the lab.

Jiro untangled himself from your legs, letting your feet dangle off the desk, and stood up just as Yuri walked in looking as irritated as ever.

As soon as Yuri's eyes reached you, he groaned, “Why is it always you?” He shook his head and looked at Jiro, “I hope you're done here because we have a patient downstairs who's having a fit. Do you expect me to restrain them and perform medical care all alone?” 

Jiro glanced at you, then back at Yuri, “Okay. I'll come down.” He stepped away from you and offered you a hand to help you down. 

Taking it, you slid off the desk and straightened up your clothes while Yuri glared at you with nearly tangible suspicion. 

He relinquished your hand, “I'll come by tonight to redress your injuries.” 

You waved him off, “It's fine! I can do it myself if you're busy.”

He had already started following after Yuri and stopped at your response. “I'm not done with my experiment, so you'll have to endure it a little longer. I'll see you tonight.” The door shut behind him.

You stood there, legs weak and covered in Jiro’s kisses. Had he just promised you more? You blacked out for a second in anticipation, and then rushed out the door to get home and put on cuter underwear.

[meanbossart]

Hellow

I was catching up with the latest chapters of ANE before reading The Spice™️ and I was reminded of how well you build and describe the environment surrounding your characters. Which prompts me to ask:

1 Do you have any drawings/sketches of landscapes and places from ANE that you can/would like to share?

2 Any advice for someone (me) that isn’t really good at putting their characters in places? I always end up with either a ‘too crowded’ or a ‘too barren’ of a setting.

Thank you for reading and hopefully answering my questions byee:3

Hello!!

Thank you! I have no idea what I'm doing so I'm glad I'm able to paint a good enough picture 😅

I do have two VERY simple sketches of the house of blood/the compound that I made to compare against my boyfriend's mental picture of it, basically to see how well I had been able to describe it since it's by far the most challenging area to put down into text.

(everything is very boxy and not exactly the ideal proportion, but again, this was a very simple sketch I made to "aid" the descriptions rather than for it to stand on its own at all) Here you see the "apple core" of the hive with the drow settlement and all the precarious platforms that interconnect and spring out of it. The cabins you see are sometimes two stories high so the area us actually quite big! Which is how Do'zynge is able to walk across the support-beams on the underside of said platforms even though he's rather large for a drider. The catwalk pictured can be moved up and down to connect people to different floors a little faster.

Here's a similar sketch based off of an specific scene, this one focuses more on the walkways built into the walls. I'm not sure why I huddled the doors together so much, they should definitely be more spaced out.

Also, while I used the same shorthand for everything, the spawn living spaces are all wood and stone - from the doors to the floor and railings. While the drow settlement (where Dalyria is too) is mostly metal and well structured tents.

For your second question, that's rough because I am also never quite satisfied with my descriptions 😂but I think that's a part of it; you need to make peace with the fact that you will NOT be able to paint a perfect picture, and think of the whole process as less of a job that you must do alone, but rather a collaboration between you and the reader's own creativity! You have to be willing to put some of the onus on them to imagine what it is you're trying to transcribe, instead feeling under the obligation of giving them exact descriptions for every little thing.

I try to use words that evoke a specific style and mood - say that the room is ornamental, warm, say that it's all golden and red and six sentences from now mention that the couch your character sat in is velvety. Reveal things as they come into relevance instead of interrupting the pace for two entire paragraphs to describe the room your characters just walked into - when appropriate, consider what they would even pay attention to at all and maybe limit yourself to it. Set a rough base for your environment at the start of a scene and then sprinkle descriptors in throughout the prose, and always consider if you truly NEED to get into the specifics of something or if the reader can be left to their own imaginative devices.

Also, unless necessary or some sort of plot device, I find that trying to establish where things are in a room (doors, furniture, stairs) in a map-like manner is a waste of time. Just say "behind him", "to her left", "right ahead", I don't think being overly specific benefits anybody - your reader picturing this set of stairs facing the west rather than the east is unlikely to be consequential to your narrative.

That being said, don't shy away from pointing "unnecessary" things out when they help set a mood, or help in characterization. Way early in ANE there's a scene where DU drow walks into the room where him, Astarion, and Shadowheart have been staying and are now about to leave, he takes note of the fact that one of them made the bed - he doesn't say who, besides that it wasn't himself, but I put that there to hopefully establish from early on that one character's priorities had started to change. In the compound, Dalyria is described as collecting useless things she found in the underground and displaying them around the office - this, on top of her new look, outfit, and company should paint a picture. Irennor's living situation should say all there is to know about him, and the way DU drow dismantles his belongings after only what is immediately valuable instead of considering the historical significance of anything says something about him, too. That's my favorite way of setting scenes, by finding out how to say something about the people in it.

[tiny-minecraft-rabbit]

For rancher prompts, maybe some rancher gt? Like, borrower Jimmy is cold and desperate and so decides to take a risk and go to Tango while he's alseep to try and warm up but it turns out Tango isn't actually asleep?

The power went out sometime during the storm. It was the middle of the cold season, and the power was out. His little nook in the wall was freezing, so much so he could see his breath. The insulation packed around him had only kept the space warm for a few hours and he's already gone through the two spare tea light candles he had—nothing more than blackened metal trays and the ashy remains of a wick.

He had to find some way to get properly warm, and he had to do it quickly.

He had hoped that just taking a walk around through the walls would help—getting his muscles working, blood flowing. He was shivering the entire time. It wasn't working.

At this rate he was going to die and, frankly, Jimmy was not really in the mood to die just yet.

It was time for some stupid decisions. He opened the door to Tango's room, turning off his flashlight and setting it aside as he looked over the moonlit room. Tango was in his bed, asleep, and Jimmy hastily looked for the heater that must have been there. Tango wouldn't have stayed in the house if he didn't have a means of getting warm. However, the room felt just as cold as his own and there was no warm orange light of a space heater. There was, sitting on the floor next Tango's bed, a battery generator.

He quickly crossed the room, pulling his sweater tighter around him, and climb on top of the generator. He had hoped it would be warm, but the plastic was only vaguely not cold because his own hands were freezing. Something was plugged into though and he followed the chord up to the bed, climbing it all the way up until he was standing on the mattress and just a few inches from Tango's massive bean body.

The chord slipped under the blanket. He went to do the stupidest thing ever and burrow under the blanket to find where it led and felt the heat of blanket. He blinked down at the fabric, running his hands over it and feeling heat coming from some sort of wiring that was tucked into the fabric. A heated blanket. Beans were blooming geniuses.

He climbed onto the blanket, laid his full body down on top of it, and sighed happily as he was finally soaked in heat. He told himself that he wouldn't fall asleep—falling asleep here would be just as much of a death sentence as sleeping in his freezing nook.

He was out within seconds.

------

Tango slowly let himself breath again, having been holding it as he watched the miniature guy climb into his bed and make himself super, ultra comfy in the warm space.

The heated blanket was barely doing its job, in Tango's humble opinion, as ears and nose were still very exposed on the fact that he had to breathe. Sure, his arms and legs and toesies were nice and toasty, but he really should have invested in a space heater. He just couldn't properly get to sleep with his face freezing off despite the rest of him being warm. If the whole power outage wasn't fixed by tomorrow afternoon, he'd be investing in a trip to Skizzy and Impulse's and demanding their spare bedroom instead of trying to tough it out here.

He guesses he'll also have to offer the mini guy the same trip to Imp and Skizz's, considering it was very clear he was just as cold as Tango was.

He also had a lot of questions for him– Like, a lot of questions. Little dude randomly appearing in his bedroom with the sheer intention of commandeering his heated blanket was not on his Power Outage Bingo card. He needed to know the How–What–Where–Why of this like immediately.

The miniature guy shifted, turning in his sleep so he was pressed against Tango's curled arm. Tango very carefully lifted his other arm out from under the blanket and set it on the other side of him, creating a nice cocoon of warmth.

Tango would ask all his questions in the morning. The little dude clearly needed some rest.

[targaryenfelikayt]

Gossamer. |Karl Heisenberg|

wc: 969 summary: sometimes, even in global neutrality, insoluble questions arise, one of which is preferred by a neighbor, while the other actively defends its position. tags/warnings: secret kink for smoking, getting close in a confined space, obvious (and not so obvious) hints about sex, attraction, unspoken feelings. note: I just watched some smoking men on TikTok and this is what came out of it.

The sounds of the ever-working factory carried far beyond its walls, occasionally frightening the villagers with its wild roars and the clanging and crashing of metal erupting from its depths. These noises often drowned out even the harsh winter blizzards, let alone the buzzing summer evenings.

Whenever it happened, people would jump out of their beds, grab whatever few weapons they had, curse the Lord to hell and back, and then retreat, bolting their homes tighter—as if that could really help. They were like the little pigs whose houses the wolf could blow down, whether they were made of straw, wood, or brick.

Empowered by the Cadou, it would have been easy for him to amuse himself by terrorizing the villagers. But his gnawing sorrow, devouring the remnants of his humanity, left only endless irritation in its place, sharp and consuming.

At first, he had been certain this girl was one of Miranda’s lackeys, sent because their "miracle family" gatherings weren’t enough, a traveling circus of freaks. But that everyday anger turned into surprise when he realized she had come from distant lands, stranded in the Romanian backwoods by tragic chance… and somehow ended up at his doorstep.

Muttering to himself, with no one trustworthy around, he sorted through the blueprints only he could fully understand—designs for future living weapons. And he decided: he wouldn’t turn her over to Miranda. Her goals were far simpler reviving her daughter by feeding biological material to the Megamycete. As if that had ever worked.

The November rains had washed away every possible road to his factory, meaning no visits from the other so-called lords and certainly no easy escape plans for the girl.

"Lord Heisenberg," her businesslike tone barely masked a trace of flirtation. "May I ask you a strange question? Though honestly, it doesn't seem so strange to me."

His golden eyes, hidden behind dark round glasses, reluctantly lifted from the piles of metal on the workbench. Once again, she was here, chatting while he worked.

"Dollface, didn’t I tell you not to bother me when I’m working?". A massive gear spun across the room, landing just inches from her shoulder, scattered with tiny freckles he had noticed before.

"You’re always working," she said, tossing a towel over her other shoulder and approaching the table to sit on it. "And I’m tired of freezing my ass off under that ‘shower’, if you can even call it that."

Heisenberg didn’t see the problem: instead of a proper shower cabin, there was a giant drain and a rusted old pipe spraying cold river water. Thanks to the nearby boiler room, the place didn’t turn into an ice rink in winter. Usually.

Comfort, to him, meant survival—nothing more. If it worked, it was good enough.

"First you barge in," he said, snapping his fingers, lighting a flame in his palm. The acrid smell of heavy cigars filled the room as he took a long drag, "and now you’re whining about cold water. Funny, doll, I don’t hear you asking about food or drinking water. Curious, isn’t it?"

From the very first meeting, he'd caught the way her eyes lingered on his little ritual: the Cuban cigar touching weathered lips, his fingers deftly striking a match, savoring the burn. The first puff was the sweetest, the last dragged him back to this grim earth where he kept building an army to buy his freedom.

"Maybe I’m just tired of freezing?" Why was there such tension between them today, when he always kept a teasing, distant neutrality? Preferred his work—or solitary strolls—over company.

"But there is water," he said with a smirk, inhaling deeply. Using his telekinesis, he dragged a chair over and sat down facing her, knees barely brushing hers.

For a fleeting moment, a thought flashed across his mind: one little move, and she’d end up in his lap, calling him Daddy and soaking in his every touch.

"It’s cold," she repeated firmly, giving away nothing.

Heisenberg licked his lips like a well-fed cat and continued casually, smoke curling lazily between them:

"I don't feel uncomfortable," he lied effortlessly. "I think the problem is you, sweetheart. You’re not satisfied with what I’ve generously — and let me stress that — generously given you. And now you want even more."

The absurdity of the conversation kept growing. She wasn’t even sure anymore if they were still talking about the water. She wanted to end this problem herself and regretted ever bringing it up.

Jumping off the table, she swung her leg to step past him when the table behind her scraped loudly against the floor, moved by his will.

"What the hell" she gasped. Heisenberg lowered his glasses, taking in the sight of her ending up exactly where he wanted: straddling his lap, cheeks flushed, whether from anger or proximity, he couldn’t tell.

"Knock off the tricks," she snapped.

He ran his eyes leisurely over her figure, clad in a loose, oversized jumpsuit, then slowly deliberately took one last drag from his cigar. He leaned in, pulled her lower lip down with a rough thumb, and exhaled the smoke into her mouth before claiming it in a filthy, hungry kiss. Like something straight out of a movie no child should ever watch.

"If you tell me to stop," he murmured against her lips, pulling back just enough to let her breathe, "I will."

Her eyes, clouded and wild, darted between him, the room, and the discarded butt of his cigar near the leg of the old chair. Meanwhile, Heisenberg took in her tousled hair, trembling lips, and dazed look regretting, just a little, that it hadn’t happened sooner.

"Karl," she breathed, and he thought he had never heard his name sound more sinful, "if you don’t keep going, I’m gonna kill you."

[calcitedraws]

Yandere!Ghost/Demon

You and your friends played a ritual game designed to let any entities play hide and seek at your house. Think like, the Midnight Man but for whatever ghosts are around. It lasts from midnight to 6 A.M.

And the game starts very quiet, mostly just you and your friends giggling as you walk around with your candles.

But the game gets weird when an entity starts acting up. Blowing out candles, slamming doors, whispering in people ears, even knocking stuff off of shelves. This entity is fucking antagonsitic to everyone.

But when it comes to you? The entity acts differently.

Brushing against you, gently steering you away from the group, placing icy hands on your back, shoulder and later your thighs, ass, and chest. It plays with your hair, and you swear you hear chuckling every now and again. The air smells heavily of a fireplace and metal.

Safe to say, everyone is scared. You end up splitting into groups of two as you explore.

You and your partner wander around, trying to keep the mood light as you try to keep away from whatever entity is playing the game.

But the entity just. Follows you.

Eventually it gets pissed off you're not alone, so it just. It bullies your partner in increasingly violent and angtonistic ways.

Everyone is just looking forward to 6 A.M. But the friend who introduced the game forgot to research how to properly close it, so when everyone leaves... The entity doesn't.

The entity lurks for a while, seeing what you're like casually. But the signs of its existence dont stop.

Cold spots in the house, doors opening on their own, electronics going off...

Eventually the entity decided that it's hiding time is over!

Shadows in the corners of your eyes, brushing against you, writing messages on notepads and in the condensation on your mirror after a shower.

"Hi <3" "Drink more water" "You're mine" and compliments specific to you

It isn't weirdness all day everyday. It's just sometimes when after a phone call with a friend with plans to get some coffee, you'll turn around to find all the chairs stacked on the kitchen table. You didn't hear anything strange while you made that call.

The entities energy waxes and waned throughout the day. Sometimes it only has the energy to make a cold pocket of air. Sometimes it can physically manifest. Usually it just smacks your ass whenever you bend down and write messages on post it notes scolding you to eat regular meals instead of chips. Hell, the chips might end up in the trash.

Anyway that's your life now! The little bastard can't be exorcized and bites anyone who enters your house!

(I think the entity which I haven't named is like, sort of a bossy and bratty but protective yandere. Don't openly communicate with it or it'll demand your attention. Do you understand my vision? Does this make sense??)

[evileyedoll]

Dark Dweller

Depth dwellers unite, and swan dive in the Dark, Metal Masked Machines designed to always hit their mark.

obviously all of the cool energy tatoos carved onto the robots are so that they can be lights amidst an infinite expanse of darkness, duh. they were Made this way.

About the piece - I'm still feeling inspired by anglerfish and other deep sea creatures, I spent more time than usual adjusting the texture on this one to give the dark blue a sinking feeling, but it being this dark also means the turquoise can stand out more which I like. I didn't get the detail as intricate as I would like, but its cool that this feels like more of a full body piece than I usually do, theres a bit more posture here.

One aspect of my setting I want to get better at depicting is there being "Celestial, Skybound" robots, and "Terrestrial, Groudbound" robots - they are sisters, at once the same, and yet parallel. Sometimes I like to think of variants, like what would the Celestial variant of this Terrestrial one look like or vice-versa, and that leads to some of the more exciting designs to try.

The Celestial ones live in and explore space - their part of the Singular Empire probably looks like thousands of space stations. The Terrestrial ones live on the ground so they have more complex structures and cities, but the "ground" also has unexplored frontiers, locales and wildernesses that require specialised equipment.

I like the idea that the robots can be natural astronauts of sorts, they're robots so maybe they don't need to breathe, but maybe they might still need tools to travel and move around or interact with their environment. Recently in the limited spare time from work I've been thinking about what their tools and equipment could look like, given that setting lets me have all kinds of different explorers.

This ones "wings" are probably meant to be one such kind of equipment - maybe it's like a jetpack - the idea is in the setting that the machining (lol) and craftspersonship of tools have gotten so refined that the cyborgs can get equipment that looks "like themselves" from a competent enough smith, even if they have really ornate or unusual patterns or shapes. Maybe amusingly when theyre using something generic second hand it very obviously doesn't look "like themselves".

In the past I've drawn others with similar backpacks that have gatling guns or other equipment instead, like the wings are a storage platform or something (while still maintaining the silhouette of being wings). I've somehow lost confidence in giving them complex looking equipment in the years since then, and should find a way to get it back.

[wyverewings]

WHEW I FINALLY GOT THIS DONE

I really wanted to get the lore on the dragons of Evros, because well one, I fucking love dragons, and two, the latest iteration of my dragon lore is very outdated.

Anyway! Lore stuff under the cut because it’s very long…

Anatomy

The dragons of Evros are not like the common depiction seen in modern tales, with four legs and additional wings. They’re more serpentine in shape with only two limbs. And they also lack the firebreathing of most modern dragons, too…

1: The dragon clade is defined by the atter sac found near their stomach. As it’s a soft organ, this makes figuring out the fossil history of dragons a painful headache. This organ is actually a modified gall bladder, and while it still aids in digestion, the fluid it produces has another use. When the dragon is threatened, it expels the fluid from its gall, and breathes it out as a corrosive gas that melts flesh. Oddly enough, the corrosion doesn’t affect plant matter much, but it does affect metal.

2: Dragons have a pair of fins at their head for display, communication, and processing sound. Their horns are in pairs of four, while usually short some dragons prefer to grow them longer.

3: A real trait of many reptile species is the parietal eye, a sort of simplistic third eye at the top of their head. In dragons, this eye is much more complicated, and able to see in the same way as their other two eyes.

4: At the end of a dragon’s body of their tail spade. Tbh I put this here to fill space

5: Like birds and bats, dragons have evolved flight with arms modified into wings. These wings are different from other vertebrate wings however, in that the arm itself is not changed from a regular leg, instead their wings are formed from a fishlike fin attached to the arms. The fins are surprisingly strong and resistant to damage, but by themselves they would just be able to glide. Owing to the magical nature of dragons, they can actually fly. They’re also helpful for swimming, and the claws are good at digging, making dragons true jacks of all trades. (fin wings are based off of Tyrantisterror’s dragons, Midgaheim influenced a lot when it comes to dragons tbh)

Life Cycle

1: As typical of squamates, dragon eggs are soft-shelled. Their delicate nature means they must be guarded at all times, usually by tag team. To break out of their eggs, the hatchlings have an egg tooth (though sometimes they poke their tail spade out first) which they never shed.

2: Baby dragons are hardly recognizable as such, looking more like odd looking snakes. They stay with their parents at all times when very young, but soon will gain the independence to be on their own.

3: Dragonets eventually grow a pair of front legs, though at first they’re small spikes. This is the signal for brumation to begin. The dragonet will dig a burrow for itself, then must eat as much as possible to prepare for their long sleep.

4: Growing a limb is a strenuous process, so going into slumber eases it. The dragon’s legs and wings will grow while buried, and once satisfactorily formed, the dragon’s internal clock will ring and wake them, now with wings ready to fly.

Culture

Like many other organisms touched by magic, dragons are sophonts able to think and communicate on complex levels.

1: The wyrms of Evros are split into three separate ecotypes depending on habitat. The sea dragons or leviathans are the largest of them, with the sea allowing more space to grow than the land. The swamp dragons or knuckers are the smallest, so it’s easier for them to sneak through their forests. The river dragons or wyverns are in the middle regarding size, but have the biggest wings and are the best fliers, a helpful trait in their mountain habitats.

2: An odd behavior of dragons is their tendency to collect objects for a hoard. These hoards are less a random assortment of junk and more complex art pieces. Rocks are arranged in one area while bones are arranged in another. Despite common claims, dragons don’t really prefer precious stones over any other group of curiosities, leaving many an avaricious dragonslayer or their quest giver disappointed. Sea dragons don’t have hoards in the typical sense, instead considering the barnacles and algae and other symbiotes growing upon their body as their hoard.

3: Sea dragons are nomads, same as most oceanic creatures (except when raising their children, which live on land until finishing metamorphosis), but their more terrestrial kin have shelters. River dragons live in mountain caves as close to a river as possible, ideally there when they arrive but sometimes they have to dig them out themselves to avoid fights over territory. There aren’t many caves around swamps, however, so swamp dragons have to build their own homes. With dead or dying trees and a bit of mud, these dens are surprisingly sturdy. While river dragons are more territorial, swamp dragon dens often include small groups of dragons that live in the same territory, albeit with their own chambers. (swamp dragon den concept taken from this post)

4: Like many other reptiles, dragons are semi-social. They don’t need social bonding, nor do they shun it. Between the ecotypes, swamp dragons tend to be the most sociable, as mentioned living in communal dens, while river dragons are the least, only allowing family, old friends, mates, and those unaware of the boundaries to enter their territories. Also like other reptiles, dragons are great parents, taking care of their children while they’re still vulnerable. They even care for dragonets that aren’t their own, even river dragons refuse to attack youngsters if they cross territorial boundaries. The young are left to fend for themselves once they’ve gone through metamorphosis, but by then they’ll most likely be ready to survive on their own. If a death does happen though, the dragon’s kin and companions will surround their body to mourn them, and each will devour part of their flesh so the deceased can stay with them, and the rest of the body is left to feed the scavengers and the plants.

5: The draconic gods are not avatars or lords of their respective domain, they are the domains personified. The trio of Ocean, Sky, and Earth form the Divine Cycle. Ocean bleeds evaporation to feed Sky, Sky bleeds rain to feed Earth, Earth bleeds rivers to feed Ocean. Life itself echoes this cycle, with the plants feeding the grazer, the grazer feeding the hunter, and the hunter feeding the plants. This religion has several variations, but the Divine Cycle is always a key component.

Chimeras

While this informational only focuses on the wyrms of Evros, they are not the only dragons of the world. In fact, there are several species of dragons beyond the seas of Evros, such as the luong of Tianxia. The discussion of these dragons is best for another time, or other people. Regardless, we still shall discuss other dragon species, specifically draconic chimeras.

Velue: A hybrid of wyrm and tarantula. They’re deadly to both prey and predator, with venom that has a similar effect as frostbite and stinging hairs upon their body. Most of the time monsters are killed for their body parts, so with organ harvesting being made difficult with their hairs stinging, there seems to be no reason for the velue to be slain. But with the kingdom’s propaganda against monsters, especially reptiles and arthropods, they are slaughtered anyway, their bodies left to rot.

Carcohl: A hybrid of wyrm and snail. They live around hydrothermal vents. Their scales are highly sought after due to their exceptional toughness, so they’re commonly targeted by knights. Strangely enough, they aren’t the only snail-dragon chimeras in the world, that nature being shared with the Shusshebora.

Hydra: A hybrid of wyrm and hydra, which gets laterally confusing when specifying that hydras are a type of cnidarian. The dragons can regrow their heads if cut off, using their toxic blood to keep an attacker from further pursuit. While mainly dwelling in the ocean, the most famous member of this species lived in the lake of Lerna.

Pyrausta: A hybrid of wyrm and pyrallis, a magical moth. Like the pyrallis, the pyrausta has resistance and power of fire. With this and its body plan of four legs plus a pair of wings, this makes these little moth dragons the closest equivalent to the typical modern dragon in Evros.

Dracosaur: A hybrid of wyrm and primitive bird. It seems the bird that the dracosaur owes part of its genome from has gone extinct. They’re based on the art of dragons with bird wings from medieval bestiaries. I don’t have much on them sorry :(

[it-happened-one-fic]

Special Delivery - Wriothesley

Author Notes: It has been a journey in learning how to spell this man's name. This fic honestly just sort of happened. I didn't have a song I listened to while I wrote it and didn't really exactly have an idea either, outside of the fact that I've always though guys should get flowers just like girls. After all, flowers are pretty. I leave it up to you to decide what sort of flower was gifted here though. As per usual, Reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-Neutral Reader/ Fluff/ Flirtation/ Teasing

Word Count: 1308

Just as it was with other nations, there were many, many different jobs and positions that one could hold in Fontaine.

But yours was very unique.

It wasn’t that you were anything nearly so grandiose as the receptionist to the revered Iudex or the widely-beloved Archon. And you also didn’t work for the Spina de Rosula or The Steambird.

No. You didn’t hold a position quite that illustrious. Instead, you were a delivery person.

You delivered ingredients, bandages, medicine, and, yes, even teas to the infamous Fortress of Meropide. After all, while such commodities were the norm of the Overworld, finding the same goods at the bottom of the sea was hardly possible. So you delivered them. Sometimes making two to three runs between the sunny upper side of Fontaine and the dark prison hidden in the depths.

 Your delivery runs were always waited for with bated breath by the people within the massive prison complex. Especially when the denizens of the depths knew you were going to be bringing special commodities, such as books for Sigewinne sent from Monsieur Neuvillette himself.

You strolled through the metal hallways with purpose as you went to make your final delivery for the day, and no one looked twice as you marched right up to the warden’s office and went in with barely even a pause.

Most inmates had no clue as to what you might be delivering to the duke who guarded these halls. You almost always had to make a stop at his office, though, and most preferred not to think too hard about what might be in the box you were carrying.

But, despite their fears, you held nothing quite so terrifying as what they might suspect. In fact, the box you held against your hip always held the exact same thing. Namely, tea.

To be fair, he usually requested an assortment of varying teas, but the regularity of his orders was somewhat concerning, and it might be worth mentioning to Sigewinne as to whether excessive consumption of tea could be detrimental to his health.

You walked up the steps silently as you entered the well-appointed office that you were now quite used to. Though you did have to wonder where the man in question hid his doubtlessly impressive tea stash since all the shelves of his bookcases were filled with books.

“There you are,” Wriothesley’s pale eyes immediately lifted from where he’d been looking at a stack of papers so that he was looking up to where you’d appeared at the top of the staircase as he stood from behind his desk. Almost like he’d been waiting for you. Or rather, more than likely, his beloved tea.

He walked around the desk with a slight smile as he met you halfway and accepted the box from your arm before immediately sitting it down so that he might peer inside at its contents. And you waited patiently as his gaze scanned container after container of fine tea and tea blends, nodding approvingly at certain intervals before he at last looked your way once more, “Perfect as always.”

There was a subtly teasing lilt to his voice that had you smiling before you shifted and revealed what you’d been hiding behind your back with that hand that had not been occupied by tea.

“Special delivery,” You announced cheerily as Wriothesley’s gaze darted between the potted plant in your hand and you. His expression shifting amusingly from curiosity to confusion.

After a brief moment of silence, he sighed, almost as if surrendering, “Y/n, you’re gonna have to help me here. I’m not the most well-versed in the language of flowers, but is this some form of hate mail from the House of Hearth or something?”

You rolled your eyes before handing the fully bloomed flower to him, “No, Sigewinne’s been telling me about how you’ve been staying holed up in your office, and you’ve mentioned that you rarely get to see flowers since you’re usually stuck down here in the fortress. I bought this for you to try and brighten the place up,” You gestured widely to the room as you finished, still smiling at the man who continued to stare at you.

“So you bought this for me?” He clarified with raised eyebrows, causing you to nod in amusement before you saw the glimmer that entered his eyes at your wordless response. A small, childish part of you whispered that you never should’ve entertained the thought of buying him a gift, but you ignored such thoughts.

Instead, you focused on the man in front of you as you braced for whatever it was he was going to say next.

“Well, something coming as a gift from you certainly is a ‘special delivery,’ but I must say, you’ve done what most can’t. You’ve surprised me, Y/n.” He paused, eyeing you closely, before pressing a hand to his chest with a grin slipping onto his face, “I never expected you to try and woo me.”

Somehow, you weren’t even surprised by his words as you leaned relaxedly against his desk and sat the gift down, causing the flower to bob lightly. “And what makes you think that this is me wooing you?”

He leaned forward, that grin still on his face as he spoke once more, “Isn’t that what gifts of flowers usually mean?”

Unperturbed by his teasing, you tilted your head, “Weren’t you the one who just implied that this plant was flower-coded hate mail to start with? And flowers are common get-well-soon gifts anyway; they don’t necessarily have anything to do with romance or wooing.”

“But I’m not sick,” He was quick to point out his apparently good health almost immediately. Straightening with an almost smug grin that had you shaking your head slightly.

You smiled at him innocently, though, automatically reminding him of Siegwinne’s concerns regarding his habit of holing himself up in his office, “But Sigewinne is worried.” 

He mimicked your motions, propping against the desk and half-caging you in with his body but still leaving your escape open, “Is this why you've been delivering such especially high-quality teas?”

You grinned slightly, despite yourself, at the man before you gestured lightly to the now abandoned box that sat on his desk next to him, “That’s the brand you always request, Lord Duke.”

His title slipped off your tongue easily, and you stared at each other silently. Wearing matching grins and similarly bright eyes as you each waited for the other one to make the next move.

After a moment, though, he shrugged and leaned back. Seemingly giving up even though that tell-tale glimmer still hadn’t left his eyes, “If you say so. I still find it suspicious, though.”

You held out his receipt for the delivery, watching as he took and signed it obediently before handing it back over. You accepted the slip of paper, having to actually tug it out of his hand as his gaze held yours with that persistently amused smile. But this was becoming a steadily more common set of interactions with you. A careful dance of teasing that he almost always slipped some form of flirtation into. 

You were still smiling as you finally managed to free the paper from his grasp without it tearing and without having to grasp it with both hands and yank it out of his hand, “Duly noted.”

He snorted slightly at your words but didn’t respond, and with that you were on your way. Not stopping until you were outside of his office and being greeted by Sigewinne.

“Did he like the flower?” The Melusine’s eyes were wide with giddy curiosity, and you paused. 

A smile flickered across your face as thought back to Wriotheseley’s amused grin, teasing tone, and glimmering eyes before you nodded, feeling oddly satisfied with yourself, “You know, I believe he did.”

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Ghosts - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Vi finds connections between past and future...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx's room, though. That's a different story.

Vi pushes the door inward. The hinges creak. Pale greenish matchsticks of light fall through the widening gap. They strike the mobiles of scrap-metal and colored glass hanging from the ceiling. Fractals of hypnotic blue and pink dance everywhere.

In the shifting ambiance, Vi makes out the room's dimensions. A vanity, a wardrobe, a chaise and a desk. The bed's an extravagant four-poster fit for a princess: all curlicued brasswork and flounced trimmings. The sort of bed Vi and Powder used to dream about as little girls, staring awestruck at old Piltie glossies scrounged from the junkyard.

Except there's a sad, abandoned quality to the fittings: pillows jammed against the headboard, sheets stirred into restless disarray, stuffed animals taking refuge under the mattress. 

It's as if the owner's been snatched from slumber in the middle of the night.

Or swallowed by her own nightmares.

Vi steps inside. Her bare feet sink into the plush rugs. Between her toes, there's a ticklish layer of dust. The room, colorfully cozy, is nonetheless steeped in neglect. Either Jinx hasn't spent much time here the last few days, or Silco's staff have orders not to intrude.

Both, Vi guesses.

Crossing inside, she can't help but stop to pick up the sheeny black leather jacket, dumped in a heap on the carpet, and straighten it. It's the same one her sister routinely sloughs off in her frenetic pacing through the Aerie's corridors. The weave of the silk lining is redolent of chemicals. The acrid whiff of gunpowder, the piercing bite of turpentine, the waxy fug of crayons—all overlaid by the musk of a wild night out.

Yet beneath the olio of adult grime, a sweet, soft note persists.

Eau de Urchin.

A pang of longing seizes Vi's heart. She lifts the jacket, burying her face in its folds. The scent that fills her nostrils is pure Powder. Redolent; unmistakable. For the briefest moment, the years fall away. Powder is in her arms, her heartbeat is music against Vi's ribs, and the world's a safe place.

It's a wish, and Vi holds on to it with every fiber of her being.

Then she sneezes, and the moment shivers away. 

Laying the jacket aside, she refocuses on the room. It's a Jinxian miscellany: cluttered, crammed, kaleidoscopic. But also nothing like Jinx at all.

In Vi's mind, she'd conjured a tiny replica of the Aerie. A hotbox of destruction, filled to the rafters with lethal gizmos. A mirror, in short, of Jinx's psyche: distorted and dangerous and dazzling.

Instead, she's fallen into a time-warp. The décor is a mishmash of hard-edged glamor and girlish whimsy: pastel plushies warring with bold posters of sultry-eyed cabaret stars; an antique dollhouse next to a pair of neon-pink go-go boots; a rosy little lampshade offset by a skull-themed lava lamp.

And the walls.

Good gods, the walls.

Every square inch is plastered with pictures. Many are Powderish crayon drawings, exuberantly signed with a monkey motif. Others are Jinxian marvels, surreally skewed. The subject-matter is a grab-bag: comic book heroines kicking ass and flaunting cleavage, cute little animals cannibalizing each other, fiendish caricatures of chem-barons reduced from bloodthirsty tyrants to fawning buffoons.

There is also a riot of photographs. The sort that'd give Caitlyn's forensics team a conniption. Plenty are polaroids Jinx obviously snapped as she'd stalked the streets, their backgrounds murky with the suggestion of flaming wrecks, smoking guns and dead men. Vi imagines she kept a record of her most prolific heists, back when she'd been Silco's top gun, and the Lanes had quaked in terror at the mere mention of her name.  Others, more innocuous, are a potluck of the crew—Ran, Lock, Dustin and sometimes a shadowed Sevika—in moments of hilarity, brutality, or simple, undistilled banality: target practicing with beer-bottles, ghoulishly lit with neon during poker games, posing like big game hunters with oversized trophies of squid at the harbor or sump-vole at the Deadlands.

In all, there's a dysfunctional joie-de-vivre. Not family, but the camaraderie born from different lives bound by a single cause.

Not, Vi senses, that Jinx cares.

Each photo, badly angled, imprecise, speaks of a childish ardency to be included in the fun, even as she's excluded from the frame. The crew's not her focal point; nor is the cause. Only a bone-deep dread of being left behind.

Then there's Silco.

Silco, Silco, Silco.

His presence dominates the walls. Even in the smallest scrap of artwork bears his imprint. A set of mismatched eyes coalescing from a cloud of stinging-red ink. Somber graphite slashes of a scarred profile in chiaroscuro. Impressionistic smears of an upturned collar, a pristine cravat, a long-fingered hand. In one, he's a long-legged sprawl on a throne of skulls. In another, an elegant silhouette by a window. In a third, a floating shadow at sea, the city rising up to engulf him like teeth.

A man, a monster. Sometimes both.

But always, always there.

In the photographs, his face is never in full focus. He's a blur of movement, half-turned away, or angled just out of reach. A trick of shadow, a distortion of light. In the rare instances Jinx captures his face, his expression seems caught in a series of fractured emotions: a grimace of annoyance, an unguarded frown, the tail end of a smile.

It's as if he's trying to escape from his own portrait. And Jinx, in turn, is trying to hold him in place. To capture a single, solitary truth, in a single, solitary moment.

It never works. Silco always slips away.

Except once.

It's a photostrip, like from a booth at the carnival. Four squares, two bodies. Jinx, plainly perched on Silco's knee, her arms passed around his neck. Her eyes are sparkly as lit fuses; her smile is ravenously wide. In her embrace, Silco is more subdued. He sits, not idly slouched but straightbacked, as if to keep their faces on a level. In the first square, he's plainly irritated to be there. His expression is walled-off, the shark-eye a chilled blank.  In the next, something in his temperature shifts, so infinitesimal that Vi wouldn't have caught it if not for the contrast between the frozen frames. A softening of the good eye, a thawing of the bad. By the third, his arm's encircling the slipping weight of Jinx's giggling body, as if to keep her from falling. By the fourth, their heads come closer, temple-to-temple, and he's smiling.

Smiling.

It's a gut-shock, that smile. Not the smile of a schemer biding his time, or a monster slinking through the dark. It's a smile of simple, unqualified human happiness, stolen from a man unwilling to be caught off-guard but unable to resist the thrill.

And it's not Silco's smile.

Not entirely. There's something about the curve of his lips, the way it softens the eerie luminosity of his shark-eye, and melts the scarred angles of his face, that's so familiar it hurts. Vi's seen that smile before. Seen it refracted through the lens of a whiskey glass in dreams, and split into a swarm of flaming facsimiles in nightmares.

It's Blut's smile.

And Jinx's, mirroring, is Powder's.

[sparkel-dog]

I only just now listened to that fan Mimic Jackie’s Box song, which everyone was memeing on for being bad. I had avoided it because “I haven’t read the book, spoilers”. I was RIGHT to avoid it because yes there is a spoiler in the song (I thought it would be fine since I got 2/3 of the games endings but no I still got spoiled. grrrr) but whatever

People are right it was funny song with… insane choices? for the line deliveries. But also it fucking reminded me of GROUNDBREAKING. a person who made a toooon of fnaf songs like 10 years ago, back when the series was brand spankin new. And everyone liked their songs (Hell i enjoyed a few of them as a kid) but like. Have you ever relistened to those songs once youre past the age of 12? because its the same exact fucking vibes as whatever the hell i just listened to, only the jackies box song had admittedly way more chaotic energy and also edgy swearing. But like. groundbreaking had lyrics that were annoyingly simplistic just describing the character very basically. “my name is bonnie, im the big purple bunny, i play guitar in a band, dont you forget who i am”. or otherwise making up random headcanons about the animatronics and slapping it into their songs (like. mangle having this weird verse about how they apparently dont feel the same way as foxy or the other animatronics, and not really knowing about the guy who made them hurt… which makes no sense because mangle has a child spirit in her too? Or the chica one needlessly putting two bad bitches against each other by having og chica sing about how shes better than toy chica when they’ve never really interacted, lol)

Not to just needlessly bully some fans for having less than stellar fanworks (really these people have thousands of subscribers and are fine though) it’s just interesting to talk about. Fnaf fan songs sometimes get a bad rap and i feel like its because fnaf is so POPULAR and it really sort of introduced a new wave of people making fansongs for games. Before that, there were minecraft parodies, but fnaf was really one of the first examples I can think of people making ORIGINAL songs for. It isnt a coincidence that a lot of the same people who made old minecraft song parodies kinda helped to popularize fnaf fansongs too (like tryhardninja or natewantstobattle). Of course living tombstone really popularized it, but after fnaf i feel like it became a lot more popular for people to make fan music about other games they loved too, especially similar indie dev horror games like bendy and the ink machine or stuff like that.

And because fnaf was so popular and a lot of people were first dipping their toes into the art of creating music, especially kids and teens… of COURSE a lot of fnaf fan songs arent masterpieces or are overly bland/mediocre lyric wise. It makes sense that a lot are just kinda trying to capture the fnaf vibe by describing a character or something instead of having lyrics that make you Think. And thats fine! this is art we’re talking about, it just needs to be created and exist and it doesnt have to be a masterpiece

….but also dont let that kid you into thinking that all fnaf fansongs are garbage or bland. there are soooo many artists who have fantastic fnaf songs, either lyric wise or because they do something interesting with the instrumentals. I wont mention living tombstone because theyre so popular everyone knows them… but My favorites were nathan sharp/natewantstobattle’s music (Made fnaf music for years and always had interesting lyrics, especially as he made more songs and started Connecting the lyrics of the songs together. My favorite by him was stay the course, which has a verse where they parallel lyrics from his first song mangled which is cool) ,Dagames has songs that are so badass legit metal that are fuckin earworms (moving up in the world is my favorite fnaf song of all time, even being one of my favorite overall songs of all time. Fantastic mashing of 8bit 80s retro funky vibes with cool rock. or check out close to home if you just want the coolest song hes made) and dhuesta is really addictive especially when it’s dhuesta’s music paired with dawko’s angellic singing voice lol. You would never believe me if i told you that “the dawko self insert oc songs where his indulgent self insert character gets possessed by glitchtrap are fucking BANGERS” but they are. same for any of their fazbear frights songs (Into the pit, out of stock and fetch are SO GOOD). I want to keep rambling about fnaf music i love but will call it there lmao.

anyways. i lovd fnaf and i love music and i love fans expressing themselves through music, whether its badly done or a masterpiece 👍

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Golden Mercy Ch 2 (Hyrule Warriors story)

Summary: When Ganondorf returns during Hyrule Warriors, he’s on a mission to make things right, though what that means is beyond everyone around him. Kidnapping the Hero of Hyrule and telling him he’s protecting him from the Queen is not what anyone expected, and nobody can quite figure out what his ultimate goal is. Link sure is confused, though, and… starting to realize there’s more to Ganondorf than just being a monster. Zelda, on the other hand, is quickly spiraling with panic and fear over losing her friend and Hero, as well as trying to protect her kingdom from such a threat that was so dangerous the previous Hero split his soul into pieces to prevent him from ever returning.

(AO3 link)

Previous // Next

Chapter 2 - The Oncoming Storm

The majority of the coronation celebration was outside, as the castle was still too damaged to house such a party. It did mean it was an easy place to hide from the crowds, though, giving Link a break.

The Hero of Hyrule was easily recognizable in his garb, gifted to him by General Impa during the war. It was strange to think how much had changed since then, how the war was now over, how the princess had just been crowned queen. Link was proud of Zelda, was happy that it was over, but sometimes wandering among the common folk and being gawked became too much, even though he had grown far more accustomed to it.

He hadn’t quite figured out how to handle everyone looking at him as a symbol of victory.

He was always looked to, wasn’t he? When the Triforce of Courage had first claimed him, Impa had known his destiny was far grander than he’d realized. He’d tried everything in his power to live up to that expectation, to the proud green and blue that he wore. And he supposed he had lived up to it, with a few hiccups. But… somehow, he’d hoped, when it was all over, that perhaps all eyes would not be on him anymore.

He certainly was naïve, he supposed. It wasn’t as if the attention wasn’t validating, of course. But still… he hardly knew wha to say to so many. He knew he’d have to step up, to figure out how to navigate this new battlefield of sorts. It wasn’t as if he would be stepping back anytime soon. Hyrule still needed help.

Link leaned against a cold stone wall, disappearing into the shadows cast by a pillar beside him. He didn’t stay hidden for long, though, when he heard the sound of chainmail and metal shoes, and he turned to see his queen.

Link knelt automatically, wishing Proxi were here to verbally acknowledge Zelda so he wouldn’t have to. He wasn’t entirely sure how to acknowledge her now, after all.

“Hello, Link,” Zelda greeted with warmth, motioning for him to rise. When he did so, she smiled at him. She looked… tired in the moonlight.

During the war, they’d held a camaraderie. It had helped that she’d hidden her identity initially as Sheik, making her just a fellow soldier instead of the Princess of Hyrule. After her secret had been revealed, it had created a bit of a tension between the pair, but the war had pushed them together so much it had seemed to finally lift.

Until the war’s end. Until Zelda had started to look at the capital once more, and had started to try and reel in her people as much as the enemy. As soon as her duties had expanded from war to ruling, it had reminded Link of who she was, and though they still were familiar and friendly to each other, it was… he didn’t know. There was something strange to it now, a new knowledge between the two that created awkwardness.

He missed just being friends.

“We have a long road ahead of us,” Zelda noted quietly, looking down. The cheers and festivities from outside seemed so far away. “So much has been lost.”

Her words made his heart ache. Link had seen more battlefields than he could count, and he’d lost so many soldiers. Hyrule had lost many of its people. The one good thing was that the majority of the war had been in open fields – though some attacks had been on settlements and villages, most hadn’t involved civilians. But Zelda wasn’t wrong – they had much to do, and Link was eager to help, even if he wasn’t sure how.

After all… he was a soldier. He’d spent most of his life preparing for battle, and he’d grown up forged in the flames of war. The war was over.

The war was over.

So what was his purpose now? What was he supposed to do?

He shook his head subtly. He’d trained to be a knight in a time of peace. War may have forged him into a man, but he still knew how he could contribute. It was just… far different now, after everything.

Zelda fiddled with something around her neck, showing him a necklace. He’d seen it once in a while, when Zelda had been in more casual attire between fights. It had a locket on it, with the Sheikah eye on the outside. He’d never seen what was inside it, though.

“My parents gave me this,” she said, staring at it with sad eyes.

Link felt compelled to say something, heart moved with grief. “I’m sorry.”

The queen bit her lip, squeezing the locket in her palm. Then she smiled at him, motioning for him to come closer. He did so obediently, and she gently placed the necklace around him. He stared at her, surprised and confused.

“You are the Hero of Hyrule,” she said, her smile remaining, but her tone became more formal. “I was right when I thought it was you. You have proven yourself time and again, Link. As the Hero of destiny, you are my Hero. I want you to have this and remember that.”

Link found himself entirely lost for words. This locket had been a gift from her parents – it seemed wrong for him to have it. But her words held a depth and meaning to them that made his heart skip a beat, it gave him the same shivers he’d always get when people spoke of his destiny to save the world.

Perhaps that was the chasm that had grown between them. They could no longer just be war buddies anymore, he supposed. She was a Queen, and he was the Hero.

He wasn’t just the Hero, though, as she said. He was hers. Lana had said it as well. Two souls, eternally bound together.

Bound together.

Link swallowed, uncomfortable all of a sudden. He wished he had time to actually consider what that meant. It was strange, really, how their primary enemy could be so obsessed with him over reasons he still couldn’t fully comprehend. Yes, he was an attractive man, he knew that, but the idea behind the Soul of the Hero… and his greater destiny…

He’d tried to talk to Lana about it once. She’d been as uncomfortable to address it as he was. They hadn’t gotten far before they’d been interrupted anyway. Now that the ceremony was over and Lana had departed, he doubted he’d ever get that chance again.

Zelda sighed, looking away, taking a step towards the window. “Over one thousand years ago, an ancestor of mine nearly destroyed Hyrule. He accused the Sheikah of becoming too powerful with their technological prowess, fearing their betrayal. He attacked the Gerudo, our allies, over a past war and the whiff of treachery. He nearly destroyed the people’s faith in the monarchy entirely.”

Link paused, blinking, wondering where this was going. Zelda continued, “All it took was one bad king to nearly ruin the kingdom. His wife tried to pick up the pieces as best she could. She named their daughter Zelda, a name that hadn’t been given to a royal since the days of the Sacred Diplomat and the Imprisoning War. It brought a sense of duty and hope to it. People thought that maybe danger was coming as well, with a bad king and a princess named Zelda… but nothing happened. The princess took the throne and was a good queen, and she helped try to patch up the mess her father had made.”

When she didn’t say anything else, Link walked up to her, prompting a response, and she smiled sadly, looking at her reflection. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? The difference one monarch can make. She helped rebuild the kingdom, just like her previous namesake. She became known as Zelda, the Healer. Her life was proof that the Imprisoning War’s seal had worked – a time where a ruler who bore such a name lived while Hyrule was in peril, and not once was there a threat from a demonic force.”

Her smile faded. “Yet I almost let a sorceress release him again. I am the first to bear the name since the Healer, and the kingdom has fallen into ruin under my care.”

Link’s eyes widened, and he took a small step forward. “Zelda—”

“I am a queen of bones, ash, and rubble,” Zelda said sharply, glaring at him, tears in her eyes. “I did this, Link.”

“You fought for your people, you defeated Cia,” Link argued. “You had faith in me when even I didn’t. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have the Master Sword, the kingdom would still be at war.”

Zelda’s sharp look softened, and she sighed. “Destiny was on our side, yes. As it always is. It was silly of me to ever doubt it at any point. The goddesses look out for their people. We will fulfill our divine duties together, Link.”

Well, at least she seemed to be feeling better. But what destiny awaited him now? Hers was obvious, but Link… would he simply remain a captain in the military?

Zelda turned to face him fully, reaching out to hold the locket as it hung around his neck. “You are my Hero. Fate has interwoven our lives together, time and again. Together, we will rebuild Hyrule. The last Hero joined with the queen, as the goddesses dictate. Cia knew it to be true, and when she defied it she failed. Even Lana knows it. How can we go wrong, then, with such ties between us?”

An unfamiliar feeling sank over him, like icy water pouring over his body. Zelda wasn’t supposed to be someone who made him feel this unsafe, feel like Cia was whispering in his ear while he stormed her castle filled with idols of himself.

Link swallowed. He wanted to argue a little, to clarify what he thought she was implying. There was no way the two of them could—she surely wasn’t suggesting they married, was she? They were friends, but that—such a commitment—

Was that what was expected of him, as the Hero of Hyrule?

Zelda nodded to herself, sighing. Then she smiled, seeming almost relieved. “With the dreams and everything… I’m glad it was you, Link. I’m glad it was someone I knew and trusted. You’re a good man.”

Link tried to smile in return, feeling somewhat ill at ease with her cryptic words but still somehow comforted by the warmth of her tone. “I’ll always be here for you, Zelda.”

His friend almost giggled, letting out a breathy laugh. “I’m glad destiny brought us together.”

Link felt his smile grow strained. Although he shared the same sentiment, the heaviness of the implications nearly crushed him. He wished desperately that Proxi were there as he lost his nerve. Zelda sighed, patting him on the shoulder.

“We should probably get back to the party,” she sighed. “I’m glad you wanted a break too. I thought I was the only one overwhelmed.”

Link did find he could speak to that. “I’m surprised. You… I mean, you grew up with this.”

Zelda glanced away, moonlight cascading through torn curtains, creating patterns on her face and hiding the rest of her in shadow. “I always had my parents before. It’s… different now. When I’m the only one. Besides… I… I chose to hone my skills as a warrior for a reason. I knew I would be in the spotlight eventually, but I… never enjoyed the thought of it.”

Link felt his heart clench, and he unconsciously fiddled with the locket that now sat in his scarf. “You’re not alone, Zelda.”

The queen remained motionless a moment, processing the words, before closing her eyes and smiling. “Yes. I’m not alone.”

She smiled at him once more, all the warmth of a merry hearth radiating from her and filling his heart. “Let’s go together, Link.”

As much as he didn’t want to rejoin the party and the scrutiny, he’d do so for his friend. As much as he was not keen on being gawked at, he felt safer with her. But a touch of unease still made his stomach churn, her words from earlier clenching in his heart and twisting it.

Destiny had tied them together. And he… was grateful for it too, truly. But… Link had… he’d always wanted to help. But perhaps… he didn’t know. He just…

Why did he feel like he didn’t have a choice in this? Why did Zelda act like she didn’t have a choice in this? She was relieved that Link was the Hero, as if… as if she’d been fearing her life would be interwoven with someone she wouldn’t like, as if she had no say in the matter over her own fate.

He didn’t know. He just… he didn’t know.

What did it truly mean, he wondered, to be the Hero of Hyrule? What lay ahead now that the war was over?

The war that had been fought because of him.

Because of him.

Link suddenly felt cold dread freeze his blood, and he stopped as Zelda continued ahead. Cia’s obsessions, her whispers, her desire still made his skin crawl. He felt like he didn’t even have control of his own body, his own being, and…

You are my Hero. Fate has interwoven our lives together.

Link stayed hidden in the shadows, hugging himself, suddenly cold and alone.

XXX

General Impa watched the festivities from afar. She wasn’t uncomfortable in the crowds, but she wanted to keep an eye on someone.

Queen Zelda reemerged from one of the castle entrances, looking far more content than when she’d entered, and the Sheikah woman sighed a little, relieved. She figured some time with Link would help cheer the girl.

Impa had watched Zelda grow up. She’d served the king and queen faithfully for ten years, and had been the princess’ guardian in that time, tasked with the highest honor a Sheikah could ask for. Zelda had always been a good and cheerful child, enjoying her time by playing music, having imaginary tea parties, and, eventually, training both her magic and combat abilities. It had been a strange turn of events to Impa when the young princess had asked her to teach her how to fight. When questioned on the matter, Zelda’s response had simply been, “I want to be brave.”

Impa could still hear the little ten-year-old’s voice as if it were yesterday, could still hear her rebuttal. “You don’t have to hold a sword to be brave.”

“You make me brave,” the little princess had replied, as if that explained everything.

The general watched the queen now, how she squared her shoulders as if marching onto the battlefield. Even now, she still held fear in her heart. Impa knew the teenager was insecure, knew that she’d fought hard to protect herself from her own anxieties, how the beginning of the war had nearly destroyed her, and she knew she would triumph over that fear now. Zelda had survived the war, the terrors and mistakes and victories and losses. If she could handle that, she could handle being queen. The people loved her, and she had Link and Impa to help her.

There would be hardships, Impa knew that. But with the conflict behind them, she knew that whatever the future brought, it would be easier in comparison. Zelda’s nightmares that had scared her throughout her childhood were over.

Far from the festivities, blades clashed amidst the desert sands. To the north the white sorceress sat alone in her destroyed home, head in her hands, body wracked with pain, heart wracked with guilt.

And, just like that, the cursed cycle forged anew as amber eyes glared into the ruins of the desert.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/29/2024

new boot goofin. also a great book for the cowboyblogger crew and TWO cat photos

listening

afterimage by JUSTICE and Rimon was on a spotify autogenerated dance playlist and it is So soothing to my brain. sometimes described as heavy metal disco, it itches the same brain scratch as daft punk's interstella 5555. comforting and familiar road trip music where the road trips are in spaceships with a sort of clunky engine thrumming away in the background. you know that extremely early ass o clock in the morning road trip feel where it's very pale and a little misty out and you're only sort of awake? i feel like this is a very different kind of road trip music animal than than late-night road trip music. it's pulling you out the door. it's for beginnings, not for very tired almost-ends.

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reading

thank you mackie. very reading heavy week. im tryign to redirect myself into library books instead of election doomscrolling and im trying to read more physical books bc i have a tremendous pile of shit i genuinely do want to read and almost none of it is on my phone. first we'll talk about Navigational Entanglements by Aliette de Bodard, from randomly perusing the library stacks. really really really fucking loved this one.

Award-winning author of The Red Scholar’s Wake Aliette de Bodard comes for your heart with a compelling tale of love, duty, and found-family in an exciting new space opera that brings xianxia-style martial arts to the stars. Jockeying navigator clans guide spaceships through the Hollows: an area of space populated by the mysterious but deadly creatures known as Tanglers. When a Tangler escapes the Hollows for the first time in living memory, each clan must send a representative to help capture it—but the mission may be doomed and the hearts of two clan juniors may be in danger too.

first off: this isn't fucking found family. this is a group of coworkers. tor dot com loves to slap found family on anything gay.

politics is about control and inter-group dynamic politics are also about control. and grappling for control in your life when you grow up in a Young Leadership program. i really liked this, one of the least annoying examples of someone getting overstimulated and needing to lie down in a dark quiet room and how hanging out with some people does not impair rest and hanging out with some people is extremely extremely draining. the love interest is what if lee van cleef was a young vietnamese woman in the far future who can navigate faster than light travel.

very snappy little 160-pg novella that does not overstay its welcome. packs a genuinely surprising amount of worldbuilding and character work into its pages: i have a lot of trouble with ensemble casts post-Covid and keeping everyone straight (especially in hard copy form where I can’t easily search a book) but everyone is a fully formed person here and i had no trouble keeping everyone straight in my head. i will be asking my siblings to acquire a physical copy for me for christmas. i love a fucked up political mystery with spacewalks and space monsters.

the lead, nhi, reminded me a lot of friends at the table's brnine, a self-sacrificing perfectionist fish. hope that's useful information to all three of you i have bullied into listening to fatt

The Shabti by Megaera C. Lorenz. this finally came off my holds, hat tip to i think someone else's tuesdaypost? cannot immediately locate it. holler if it was you.

Can you flimflam a ghost? It’s 1934. Former medium Dashiel Quicke travels the country debunking spiritualism and false mediums while struggling to stay ahead of his ex-business partner and lover who wants him back at any cost. During a demonstration at a college campus, Dashiel meets Hermann Goschalk, an Egyptologist who’s convinced that he has a genuine haunted artifact on his hands. Certain there is a rational explanation for whatever is going on with Hermann’s relics, Dashiel would rather skip town, but soon finds himself falling for Hermann. He agrees to take a look after all and learns that something is haunting Hermann’s office indeed. Faced with a real ghost Dashiel is terrified, but when the haunting takes a dangerous turn, he must use the tools of the shady trade he left behind to communicate with this otherworldly spirit before his past closes in.

this keeps getting reviewed as cozy horror, which i do not agree with bc i hate the term and believe it oxymoronic. it is a fairly straightforward romance with paranormal shit happening in the foreground. a period piece not particularly for the folx end of the fag/folx gay book spectrum-- they happen to be gay but there's a lot of other shit happening. not a spicy romance as the tiktok girlies say. it is a period book that sort of elides over the worst parts of the 30s? eg there is no on-page or overt racism or antisemitism that the characters have to Confront. one of the lead's neighbors is a black nurse trying to start a NAACP chapter, but she's so fully fleshed out and such an enjoyable character it doesn't feel like the book is looking for moral points from modern readers. i also liked the general slow-build of the book and their relationship — i have no complaints about the intensity or pace of their relationship.

the one ding i have is that it is perhaps a touch too enthusiastic about period slang. it's fine when the two leads are talking to each other, especially bc their word choice is a large way they show their personality, but when there are more than two people in a scene it can grate a little for me. i do think the dialogue is generally the strong suit here, and the author particularly excels at two-person back and forths, so it’s not a frequent complaint.

i liked the contrast of the scam medium with the academic egyptologist, since many egyptologists were also scams. the scenes with the spirit are genuinely eerie, which is a very good contrast with the fairly straightforward, often sparse narration.

grudging respect for keeping a joke simmering on the back burner for four hundred pages before deploying it. this was a well-paced read i have no major complaints about.

i have to spin this book around in my brain and get a physical copy and flip back and forth and lot and make notes to myself in a separate notebook before i talk about this one here i think. same brain itch as a canticle for leibowitz.

i also read a bunch of comics but this section is already long enough goodbye

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watching

the first episode of the currently airing penguin tv show! at my bestie's house bc she has an hbo max subscription from something, unfortunately it is an emotionally fraught very tense show and we're kind of full up on those so i will have to finish this on my own. at no point did i say to myself "whoa that's colin farrell". both the prosthetic and accent work are off the charts.

i do Not like a piece of media about the mob. i will stomach it for batman. it's really wild how the accents they've chosen for gotham and her suburbs make me so so so weirdly homesick. one of the locations is an early McMansion and my bestie and i said almost simultaneously "are we in fucking Cherry Hill???" a jersey noveau riche town infested with notable McMansions.

i am constantly chasing the high of s1 black sails where everyone is frantically scheming and falling all over them fucking selves. this gets pretty close! it's big budget prestige tv with the storytelling chops to match so far. one of my favorite comic runs is The Long Halloween, partially about the fortunes of the Maroni and Falcone crime families of Gotham. this is loosely following that, but deviates enough to surprise me, which i enjoy. there have been enough faithful adaptations of that comic run imo.

optimistic about the rest of the season! i have such low expectations for batman media that it's refreshing to get like a genuinely good pilot episode out of the franchise.

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playing

i have Got to find a new game to play that i already own. genshin is such a good podcast game but i need Something New. surely the 576047357649857689 games across five libraries will save me.

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making

so many things happened this week. cat neuter and constipation episode. helped take apart and put back together a children's' room. lot of running around.

crunchy! i almost left these docs at goodwill bc i don't have a super high opinion of the company or the quality of the boots. i have heard my ENTIRE life about how long-lasting they are and how people have had the same boots for years but i completely shredded a pair during eight months in 2019. like the soles were worn almost completely smooth to the point they were a slipping hazard, half the eyelets were broken, and the leather was genuinely disintegrating. that was one of the busiest and most active periods of my life (classes at other campuses both semesters, a summer in new hampshire, the beginning of the makerspace) but i did expect them to hold up a little better or a little longer. they only got to experience about a month and a half of salt at the beginning and were regularly cleaned. yes i did buy them straight from the company.

anyway. these extremely ugly docs industrials had almost all their tread and magically fit me. like the rest of me, my feet are large and wide and difficult to fit. they are by Far the ugliest shoes i have ever owned. however. they will be the boots i will wear for when i need to be okay about potentially destroying my footwear.

hit em with some saddle soap and polished the toes, i seem to be flat out of leather conditioner so i was only able to hit the heels and one tongue. the laces are in the warsh.

they're real leather and were twelve dollars and miraculously fit me. you know that quote about americans being temporarily embarrassed millionaires? i still, in many ways, think of myself as a temporarily embarrassed abled person. i am slowly giving up on the idea of another remote job, bc they seem to all be fake, and going harder on city and county jobs. while i would rather wear my beloved CAT steel toes with the nice padded cuffs any day of the week, maybe these will be good for tromping around somewhere inspecting something. would Love a weights and measures inspection job if their office would return my polite messages.

also ruby goes home tonight! goodbye ruby!