#and still I kind of over render the armor

[ididntthinkiwould]

It's Viktor's birthday, so it's a good day to hug your version of Viktor (If he wants to)

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Run

Synopsis: Running hand in hand with Ser Aemond as you try to escape a suitor. Warnings: None (yet), Familial Problems, Aemond and Princess Growing Closer, Fluff, Comfort PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: Is it too soon to say foreshadowing?

Aemond woke with the first light shining upon his closed eye. Aemond furrowed his brows, not fully aware of what he had done— he had slept! He had slept through his post the entire night. With such realizations, Aemond suddenly opened his eye, sitting up straight only to realize that the usual coldness his metal and leather armor presented turned warm. He looked down upon his frame and saw the fur blanket that was once on your bed. He looked further upon his current situation, one of your tattered plush animals in between his arms. “Good morning, Ser Aemond.” He heard you call; he looked up only to see you dressed in your embroidered robe, sitting on the carpeted floor, playing with your pet. 

Aemond blinked and quickly stood, springing back to his usual guarded disposition, making you laugh at how quickly he shed the peacefulness you observed whilst he slept. He looked quite serene with his eyes closed and his face not adorned by the harsh stoicism he usually presented. “Princess… why did you not wake me?” He questioned, clearing his throat as his voice still held the traces of sleep. “And why should I? I’m not that cruel,” You smiled, petting your feline as he purred at your touch. “Yet still— you sh—“ You sighed and shook your head at your knight, who still clutched your favorite plush animal in his arm. It was quite unnecessary for you to place it on his hold, but you could not resist! You could deny yourself the image of your strong, frightening knight holding your favored plush toy that you sought every time you were rendered afraid when you were a child. 

When Aemond realized you were still giggling, he looked down at his frame and saw the reason for the glee in your eyes. He sighed as he took hold of the plush animal you placed in his grasp and placed it on the chair. “You should have woken me, princess.” He sighed. “You needed rest.” You insisted, turning away from Ser Aemond for a moment to place a kiss on your pet’s head. Aemond was ready to argue once more, but you spoke first. “No sense to argue about such matters; what’s done is done. You had the respite you needed, and no danger came into the night.” Aemond bit his tongue, preferring to focus on the respite you bestowed upon him and the kind gesture you showed. 

When a knock upon your door sounded out in the room, Aemond unbarred it, thinking it was your handmaiden ready to dress you for the day, but the knight was met with the prince. “Good morrow, Ser Aemond. Is my sister awake?” He questioned, and the knight nodded, moving out of the way for the prince to enter. “Sister th— why are you on the floor! I told you not to sit there! It’s quite dirty; you’ll get congestion!” Your brother fretted, and Aemond was quick to go to your place and aid you in standing. “What is it, brother?” You sighed, taking a few moments before stealing away your hold from your knight’s arm. 

“Lord Dumont is asking to break your fast with him in the gardens.” You frowned, and your knight stilled. “I do not want to.” You said quickly, and Aemond felt an odd sense of relief wash over him. Your brother sighed, “Blatantly denying his request would be most impertinent— please, sister, you must humor the lord.” Your brother said as he watched disgust present itself on your face. “Then say that I cannot because… because I am injured!” You suddenly proposed, moving forward your injured arm as evidence, but in doing so, you were only overcome with pain, making you wince. Your knight was not certain what to do because he could not let his concern for you show when in the presence of your brother. “Oh sister, you cannot use your injury as reason— I saw you running around the garden just yesterday!” 

“I wasn’t running,” You muttered, glancing towards your knight, who gave you a knowing look, for you truly did run away from him yesterday. “That is beside the point— the point is, you must break your fast and spend the morning with Lord Dumont.” Your brother sighed, and you shook your head in defiance, and for once, Aemond agreed to your stubbornness. “Sister, you are of age now! We cannot ward off the eligible lords forever!” Your brother explained, not expecting to have this argument with you so early in the morning. “You could try,” You mumbled, looking upon the floor, your knight doing the same in order to hinder his smirk. 

“Enough! This is not up for discussion; you will spend the morning with lord Dumont. I am not asking you to marry him; just humor him because that is what any princess does.” You parted your mouth to speak, but your brother quickly scurried out of your chambers, and in exchange for him was your handmaid who readied you for the day whilst Ser Aemond exited your chambers and took his post outside your door. 

Ser Aemond stood behind you as you sat with lord Dumont in the gardens. The knight resisting to aid you in all that you need for the lord Dumont offered his services. “How long are you to stay in the capitol, my lord?” You drawled, trying to make conversation with the nobleman who you were in no mood to entertain. “As long as the crown will have me, my princess,” He smiled charmingly, inching towards you, and you could only force a small smile to come to your lips. For the better part of the morning, you had to force yourself to appear interested in the lord, who discussed philosophy with you. In other cases, you would find the topic interesting, but all the lord discussed with you was misinformation— the matters were muddled in his mind, and he did not articulate it well as he spoke. Aemond heard you let out a grieved sigh as you were driven to a frenzy due to the dullness of the lord. 

“Is anything the matter, princess?” Lord Dumont questioned as he heard the sigh leave your lips. You blinked for a moment, thinking of an answer. “Oh, no… I am just… thirsty. Would you be so kind as to fetch me a cup of wine?” You say, batting your lashes in order to convince him that it must be him to fetch you refreshment and leave your side instead of him ordering a squire. “But of course, anything for you, princess,” The lord smiled. You returned his smile and watched as he disappeared amongst the shrubbery of the gardens before quickly turning to your knight. “You must help me get out of this,” You said in desperation, already expecting him to disagree, for he was always stubborn and restrained himself to the laws of men. “Very well, princess,” he nodded, and words of further persuasion left your lips as you thought he had disagreed. “Oh— wait, did you agree?” You asked, and Aemond bit the insides of his cheek as he gave another nod. “Well then, come on!” You said and took hold of his hand as you rushed out of the gardens, readily escaping your suitor. 

“Princess— where are we going?” Aemond asked. He fretted that you would trip as you two passed the halls, trying not to let his sensibilities get clouded as you did not let go of his hand— letting him feel your soft touch against his roughed ones. “I do not know. Somewhere my brother could not find me and force me to spend another second with that lord. Did you hear what he was saying? He was insisting that Archmaester Atticus is the one responsible for the belief that there are two worlds—“ 

“Our world, the material world—which is the imperfect copy of the real world.” Ser Aemond finished your sentence as you two slowed down, far enough from the gardens and your brother’s wing. “Yes.” You nodded and finally let go of your knight’s hand. “And when I informed him that it was indeed not Archmaester Atticus but rather his teacher, Archmaester Philo— he laughed at me in ridicule!” You explained in disbelief that such treatment was bestowed upon you. “Me?! He was laughing at me in ridicule as if I were the one who was wrong! If this were my grandmother’s decade, the punishment for mocking a princess is hanging! Or at least a moon in the black cells,” Aemond breathed out a laugh, even though he tried to resist it. “He was quite insufferable, princess. Dull and… apparently dumb, as well.” Aemond commented lowly. “I know! And my brother wants me to consider him as a prospect for my hand! Imagine!” You exclaimed, with a disapproving shake of your head. “I can’t,” You knight commented. “Nor can I,” You agreed. 

“Princess?!” You hear the call of lord Dumont, making you take your knight’s hand once more and flee to another wing of the keep. “What is this place?” Ser Aemond questioned as he led you to a dusted and what appeared to be an abandoned hall. “It was my great grandparents’ wing— grandfather closed it after their death, wanting to preserve the memory of his parents.” You say as Ser Aemond helped you bar the great doors. “Did you know they died on the same day?” You say, and Aemond shook his head. “Was there a plague? Were they attacked?” He questioned, and you made a face at his rather grim assumptions. “No,” You say as you two thread further into the abandoned wing. “My great-grandmother died in her sleep, and my great-grandfather discovered her. He made it through the rest of the day, preparing her wake in the specificity that she had always wanted, and when night came… great-grandfather joined her in the afterlife.” You informed, your knight slowing down in his steps as he tried to comprehend your words. “He was in perfect health despite his advanced age… and they concluded that the reason for his death is because he found no point in living after his wife’s demise.” 

You paused by a portrait that was dusted and was holding the remnants of lapsed time, gazing upon your great-grandmother who sat on the throne and her husband in his rightful place, standing beside her. Aemond turned his eye towards you, who was looking with longing upon the portrait of your great-grandmother and her husband, who was once her sworn protector. “They were the last love match in our family,” You suddenly said, bringing Aemond out of his reverie. “What?” He asked, uncertain of what you said as he was too focused on gazing upon you. 

“They were the last love match,” You repeated. “They were the last rulers in our family who married for love rather than just duty— after that, as much as they tried, their children only married their spouses for the sake of the crown or gain. Even my mother and father… and I suppose me and my brother as well,” You sighed heavily. “As a child, I dreamed about breaking such dreary and hopeless traditions, but time and time again, I am reminded that such dreams are not meant for my station— we’re not meant to marry for love but rather for logic.” Aemond’s hold on the hilt of his sword tightened as he heard you utter such words. Never had he heard you so… serious and pessimistic. “That could still change, princess,” You turned to your knight, surprised at his uncharacteristic show of optimism. 

“I hope. But if it were up to the others— I would be married to the next wealthy lord who asked for my hand,” You say, an odd twisting in your stomach as you uttered the truth of your situation and a flutter in your heart at the dark look in your knight’s eye. “I could kill them— or perhaps maim them beyond repair,” Aemond said, serious, but you only laughed, taking your knight’s words as a jest. “Again, I’m not that cruel,” You laughed. “Let’s go; I know a passage here that leads to the library,” You say, taking hold of your knight’s hand out of habit as you two ran through the halls once more. 

“Such insolence! Do you truly not think about anyone else but yourself!?” You looked upon the floor as your mother came to your chambers later that day to scold you for the disrespect you showed towards lord Dumont. Aemond was standing by the door at his usual post, resisting to go by your side as you shrunk in your spot and as your mother poured out her rage. “By gods— how are you this selfish?! Do you not understand how important and heavy the influence of lord Dumont’s house presents to the kingdom?! And you had the gull to escape him as if he were the plague! You ingrate!” You bit harshly at the inside of your cheeks to prevent the sobs that wanted to escape, letting your tears hit the ground as you could not find it in yourself to defend the actions that you believed to be necessary.

Aemond could only watch as each pearl tear rolled from your eyes and dropped upon the floor. “I… I did not wish to offend him— but I did not think him to be a suitable suitor… did he not sire two children by his sister’s handmaiden? Children that he does not acknowledge nor care for. How could I marry such a man? I did not want to waste my time on a futile courtship.” Your mother scoffed. “Waste your time?” She asked in ridicule. “And how valuable is your time that you cannot even perform your simple duty? Would you rather spend your precious time painting another useless landscape? Or perhaps run wildly around the gardens? Tell me. Where must your time be spent?!” You bit your tongue as your fingers picked at themselves as a distraction from your tears. “You’re so self-centered! But I suppose that is the outcome when your father grants all you want and wish for. Letting you grow up spoiled and without regard for anyone else but yourself!” Aemond swallowed thickly as he could not disagree more with your mother’s words. He greatly wanted to defend you,  to tell your mother how truly selfless you are, how well loved you are by your subjects, and how everything she said was entirely far from the truth, but Aemond kept reminding himself of his place. 

“You wretched child!” Your mother screamed, raising her hand to slap you in the face. You flinched, ready to be met with a harsh slap, but your mother hindered herself midway, and your knight finally had enough, moving forward to get to you. The clank of his armor caught the attention of your cowering frame and your mother’s, whose hand was still cocked in the air. Aemond bit his tongue as he was met with the loathsome gaze of the queen. When he told you moons ago that no one could truly hate you even if they tried, he believed his words to be true. But to see the hate in your mother’s eyes, Aemond felt unfortunate as he had sold you a lie.

Aemond lowered his gaze, reluctantly returning to his post. “Just wait until your father hears about the way you had treated lord Dumont— I’m finally certain you wouldn’t be so endearing in his eyes now. There is only so long a time when he could indulge your ways, blaming your carelessness and crassness on youth. But you are of age now, daughter. He could no longer turn a blind eye to the unruly, self-involved, and indulgent girl you truly are.” You whimpered as your mother threaded close to you, spewing out the spiteful words so close to your face. 

The queen let out a breath, walking to your door as you continued to whimper, still forcing yourself not to let your sobs escape your lips. Before your mother exited your chambers, she paused by the door, “And no sweets for a moon!” She proclaimed before forcefully slamming shut the wooden door, leaving you, who finally let out a sob. Your mother seemed discontented at the hurtful words she spewed; she had to spite you and take one of the things you truly enjoyed and loved in the world: your precious sweets. 

Aemond moved to take hold of your tremoring frame, your tears never ceasing, but you backed away. “Could you… s—step outside for a moment,” You say, your voice tremoring as you turn away from your knight, not wanting him to see your cry once more— it was becoming a habit, and you did not want to get used to letting him see you in such a vulnerable state. Aemond shook his head even though you were not turned to him. “Please? I… I need a moment,” You insisted, your voice breaking further. Aemond sighed, moving to pry away your hands that covered your crying face. “I… I’m not leaving you, princess,” He muttered and pulled you into his arms, letting you cry into his chest, and he could only hope that his presence would be enough to comfort you. It was. 

[chantillyxlacey]

i've seen a lot of takes (i am using the word 'take' absolutely neutrally here; and i'm specifying neutrality bc i have started to see that word as having inherently negative connotations in this context and i have no idea if that's just a Me Problem but i figured specificity couldn't hurt)

okay, that got away from me, let me start again

i've seen a lot of takes about The Damsel that have to do with idealization being another kind of dehumanization and how she's Like She Is because you/TLQ are projecting a fantasy onto her and sanding away any traits that don't fit into that fantasy and rendering her into little more than a vessel for your/TLQ's wish fulfillment

and i don't necessarily think that's *wrong* either-- but i think that's also not the complete picture, and that only looking that that half of the image does kind of tend to paint TLQ in an unfairly bad light

because the thing is, in The Damsel's route, TLQ is ALSO being reduced to an archetype just as much as The Damsel herself is! The Princess becomes the quintessential fairytale fair-maiden-in-distress that exists only to be rescued by a knight-in-shining-armor; and TLQ-- if you allow them to be guided entirely by The Smitten-- becomes that quintessential fairytale knight-in-shining-armor that only exists to rescue the fair-maiden-in-distress

The Damsel says over and over, explicitly, that "I just want to make you happy!" and The Smitten in this route is equally preoccupied with making HER happy-- he even says it directly if you start deconstructing her. every other part of his identity has been subsumed to revolve entirely around her just as much as the reverse is true for her.

(speaking of the Deconstructed Damsel, i've also seen Smitten's reaction to that touted as him not caring about her agency-- but again, i always read that as him being unable to see any flaws in her rather than being pleased with the idea of her being biddable, specifically. if you halt the deconstruction his reaction is "she's ALWAYS been perfect" -- he'd think that no matter what she did or said, because his identity revolves around her the exact way that hers revolves around him/TLQ)

even the actions that lead to HEA fit into this, i think-- i read that moment as less The Smitten lashing out at her because she didn't live up to his fantasy-- it still happens even after she's said "i guess we can stay, if that's what you want"-- she's giving The Smitten what he wants, but he's still distressed because SHE'S not happy

i think it's more The Smitten feeling that HE hadn't lived up to HIS half of their shared fantasy. if she's not happy with the idea of "all we need is each other" then it must be because HE failed somehow. if she needs or wants more than him, it must be because HE is not enough.

if he was just better at playing his part, if he just offered her more, if he was just clearer about his devotion--

"if we just showed her the contents of our heart, she'd be happy"

that's not to say that what The Smitten does in HEA isn't incredibly toxic for both of them-- it definitely is, and it clearly makes both the Princess and TLQ miserable. "everything she doesn't know she wants" is a bad mindset to approach a relationship with, whether that mindset is reached through controlling selfishness or a desperation to appease (and i definitely think Smitten is motivated by the latter-- it's no coincidence that we arrive at HEA through a literal and fatal act of self mutilation)

he's definitely the antagonist of HEA, in that he is what TLQ and the Princess and the player need to overcome, but he's not a VILLAIN (which i think is most clearly illustrated in the moment where the Princess admits she's unhappy, that she's never been happy here, and his reaction is to GIVE UP instead of lash out harder)

i never got the sense that The Smitten was ever putting any blame on The Damsel-- he always considered *himself* to be the problem-- he puppeteers TLQ just as much as he does the Princess, even if we can't hear him while she can, and he asks TLQ/the player through her "isn't this enough? isn't this what you wanted?"

which in and of itself is an unhealthy way to approach a relationship-- blaming oneself for every bit of conflict or lapse in synchronicity is just as harmful as laying all the blame on the other person. there IS no blame-- sometimes people disagree or have conflicting needs or desires, and that's not anybody's "fault" because that's just how people and relationships WORK.

...can you believe i wrote out all of this when my original intention was to lay out an entirely different point about a read on The Damsel/HEA routes that wasn't about relationships at all?

OKAY!

THAT GOT AWAY FROM ME LET ME START AGAIN

so i don't think that looking at The Damsel/HEA through a lens of "what does this say about relationships and expectations and respecting other people's agency" is incorrect-- clearly i have a lot of thoughts about that lens!

but i wanted to offer another one that i haven't seen yet:

The Damsel/HEA route as a commentary on what makes a satisfying narrative

if you play out The Damsel route just single-mindedly taking actions to free her-- it's kinda dull, isn't it? like-- it's not without its charms! The Smitten is silly and entertaining and the Narrator's exaggerated pettiness is very funny! but ultimately, that's about it.

potential sources of conflict are brushed aside-- if you took the blade with you, you just drop it and it gets forgotten; the Damsel's hand slips right out of the manacle with no effort or harm; when the Narrator locks the basement door, every 'choice' you make just magically unlocks it right away. and then you're outside, what you wanted to do from the start. ...so what do we do now?

nothing, actually. the chapter ends, and there is no chapter 3. the game itself continues, but that ending feels about as substantial as the Narrator's "Good Ending" where you follow his instructions without question and accomplish his goal immediately.

if you DON'T take either of the actions that lead to one of Damsel's chapter 3's, there's very little variation in The Damsel's story-- pretty much all of it comes down to slight differences in dialogue. there's no "the princess kills you" outcome. the closest thing to an alternate end to The Damsel is if you deconstruct her-- and even then, it feels like less an "alternate route" and more like-- a cheeky acknowledgement of the lack of substance, because that isn't a bug, it's a feature!

but if you introduce conflict-- either in the more direct sense by slaying The Damsel or in the more interpersonal sense by highlighting a mis-match in her and TLQ's desires-- suddenly the story opens up! there are a bunch of new possibilities and a bunch of new outcomes, and all of them are more interesting than "you achieve your goal with trivial effort, hooray!"

Even if you wind up finishing HEA on a note that is superficially very similar to the easy end of The Damsel's route-- you leave hand in hand with her, the narrator conceding defeat, and the last image of her before TSM takes her is a warm, tender smile-- it FEELS so much more like a genuine happy ending-- even though the Princess' face is still streaked and stained from her tears. BECAUSE of that.

it's one of the most heartwarming moments in the game, and one that has made me misty eyed every time i've seen it, and it's BECAUSE of the conflict you had to go through to get there.

conflict is what drives a compelling narrative, is the takeaway. it precludes PERFECT endings, perhaps, but not happy endings-- it's what makes those imperfect happy endings feel substantial and earned.

even the dinner and the board game contribute to the idea-- the description of the food is some really lovely writing, to the point where i sat through and listened to it all again even though i knew nothing really happens during it-- but *nothing really happens during it*. it doesn't move the narrative forward-- you're just as hungry as you were when you started. it just stalls the story in place, and every time you go through it again it's less satisfying until it's outright unpleasant. the description of the meal also notably gets simpler each time, and less detailed-- there's only so much that you can say about it before you run out of things to describe.

the board game is similar-- the way that it's described the first time you play even sounds like the description of an exciting story! and then the board resets, and you do it all again just the same. and so on. the game/story stops being exciting and the wins or losses stop feeling like they mean anything-- because is conflict really conflict, is a challenge really a challenge, if you're always tracing the same path, always making moves where you already know the outcome? it becomes "a slog towards the end"

and this is how i tie the idea of "what Damsel/HEA has to say about relationships" and "what Damsel/HEA has to say about narratives" together:

ultimately, the statements can be summarized the same way "whether in a narrative or a relationship, 'perfection' is unattainable, but you wouldn't actually want it anyway"

conflict, substance, variety

in a relationship there will always be differences of opinion, differing goals etc-- variety between the members of the relationship, knowing and sharing this substantial and non-superficial information about one another, navigating the resultant conflict-- that's what allows the relationship to grow and deepen, and what allows the people in it to grow as individuals as well.

in a narrative, or in Narratives, as a whole, conflict is what makes things HAPPEN, substance makes them feel like what happens MATTERS, like something is being communicated, variety means that you're learning or considering something new-- and those are what make a narrative capable of impacting a person, of changing them, of being remembered

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 10 | chapter 11

Rhaella Targaryen. Wife of the Mad King Aerys II. Mother of Queen Daenerys across the Narrow Sea. The Dragons.

You had read about her in scrolls and books when you were still young. Rhaella was unhappily married to her brother Aerys II. They were both forced into marriage due to a prophecy that came from a witch, making her resent being a Targaryen. The prophecy said they would give birth to a 'prince that was promised'. Through time when the King went mad, Rhaella had been abused endlessly, imprisoned in her own chambers. For all you knew, she was glad Targaryens were finally removed from existence.

It would explain how your father had insisted you to study the ancient language High Valyrian throughout your life, how he trained you to fight, how he encaged you as your own protection as if you were someone other than his daughter.

You listened to Oberyn share more about what happened when your mother brought you to him. You were still three years old when you first rode the Dornish ship. That was why you could remember slivers of memory being in the Citadel, the streets in the Capital, platinum white hair entangled through your fingers and the vast sea with huge waves when you were young.

Three years later spending under your father's care, you remembered Elia being murdered, her children killed as well.

Now as you faced the Mountain standing on the other side of the pit, the one who was ordered to kill Elia, made you grit your teeth from fury.

It only stopped when the Lannisters and Tyrells walked past through your side to give you good luck for the fight. Tywin nodded back at you, remembering your brief conversation with him earlier that morning together with Oberyn — offering Yronwood castle to set Cersei free from any arrangement.

"You're a fool," Cersei muttered as she intentionally left herself behind others. The crowd had already gathered on the stands around the pit, cheering and booing at Tyrion or The Mountain. You only bowed your head. "Tell me, Y/n. Why does my brother deserve this?"

"He didn't kill your son, Cersei," you said. "And I know terrible things have happened to you to make your heart forever cold, but it doesn't mean there's no kindness left in this world and your brother deserves it too. You deserve it as well."

She swallowed nervously before she abruptly pulled you into a tight embrace, making others look away.

"I . . . I can't lose you too, Y/n," Cersei whispered into your chest, rendering you speechless. She may had heard how loud your heart was beating from your chest.

When she pulled away, her eyes were red, glistening with tears. Does she really care for you or is it for the crowd, knowing you two are engaged?

You felt her hand tugging against your hips, realizing she was placing a small dagger in your belt. You doubted the small weapon could help you defeat The Mountain, but the gesture made you want to kiss the woman.

You looked at Cersei and see her hard gaze, the clutch she had on your hand felt like she didn't want to let you go. Even her father Tywin has already called for her. And she still hesitated. "I . . . I lo—"

The sound of the horn signaling the event made her pull away. "You better come back to me alive."

Your eyes followed Cersei as she walked away, longing for the fight to be over and finally talk to her. Ask her if she meant it. That you weren't just imagining it. That she had almost said she loved you too.

Shaking your head, you headed towards Tyrion near the pit. You could see Oberyn and Ellaria looking all worried from a distance.

"You know, if you die, Cersei will kill me herself," Tyrion said, making you laugh nervously. "Although, I know you Vipers are fast, so I think it's an advantage," he then glanced at you from head to foot, "Wait, you're only wearing that? No armor? Have you lost your mind when you were flirting with Cersei?"

"Armors are heavy, they make your actions slow," you said back, smiling at him.

This made Tyrion lose his balance as he almost fainted. "I'm going to die," he declared in a low voice, talking to no one in particular.

Ignoring Tyrion's ongoing monologues, you moved forward unto the pit while one of the Dornishmen soldiers approached you to provide you with your weapon — a long spear with a sharp steel point as a spearhead. Your very own weapon.

Your eyes trailed to Gregor, The Mountain, and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with his massive sword placed in the ground in front of him, a six-foot-long blade. His enormous hands with gauntlets was probably the reason why Tyrion was terrified for you.

The Mountain was completely covered with steel armor, you would need to figure out his weakest points. Whereas your outfit consisted only of leather and flowing silks, a trademark of Dorne.

Your eyes then darted towards the stands as a round steel shield was placed on your other arm.

You could see Cersei's troubled face sitting beside her son Tommen, holding his hand to keep herself grounded. And as if she knew you were looking, her eyes met yours in a longing stare you two didn't dare to look away until you had to.

When another horn was blown as a signal to start the fight, you moved forward swiftly, while The Mountain advanced towards you, his feet almost shaking the ground as he moved.

"Do you remember Elia Martell,  Princess of Dorne?" you began, moving to the side as he attempted to attack you with his sword.

"Some dead woman," he grunted.

The answer only made you upset as you thrusted your long spear forward. However, Gregor had deflected the point with his shield, pushing it aside, and charging at you once again with his sword.

You spun away unscathed. You lunged forward your weapon, but The Mountain slashed at it, causing you to pull it back and thrust once more. Metal shrieked against metal as the spearhead skidded off the Mountain's chest, cutting through the latter's coat, leaving a long scratch on the skin underneath.

"You raped her," you went on, watching the man hiss in pain. "You murdered her. Then you killed her children."

Gregor grunted as he made a slow, heavy charge to strike at your head, but you saw it coming as you easily evaded the attack.

You kept on circling, jabbing and then swiftly withdrawing, which made it hard for the larger man to foresee your next move. The Mountain struggled to keep sight of you so you skillfully took this advantage, leveraging both the reach of your spear and your own speed.

"You raped her," you said. "You murdered her. You killed her children."

"Did you come here to talk or to fight?" The Mountain groaned, as you managed to hit him again.

"I came to hear you confess."

The battle continued like this for what felt like an eternity. You moved back and forth across the yard, circling each other in spirals. Gregor swung his sword at the air while your spear struck his arms, legs, and even twice at his forehead. Gregor's large wooden shield took numerous hits. Yours didn't fare well, making you let it fall to the ground.

"You raped her!" You deflected a brutal swing with your spear and quickly thrusted the spearpoint towards The Mountain's eyes, causing the massive man to flinch. "You murdered her!" The spear then flicked sideways and downward, scraping against the Mountain's breastplate. "You killed her children!" With its length—two feet longer than Gregor's sword—the spear kept him at an awkward distance.

He swung at the spear shaft whenever you lunged, attempting to sever the spearhead, but it was as ineffective as you were faster than him.

Gregor charged straight into the spear's point, which drove into his right breast and then scraped aside with a terrible, screeching sound of metal. Now that the Mountain was close enough to strike, his massive sword flashed to strike towards you.

The crowd gasped. But you managed to dodge the first blow and released his grip on the spear, however the Mountain was already so close.

His hand shot up and seized you behind the knee. You swung at his sword wildly, but it was of no use as the sword was quickly abandoned. Gregor's grip tightened and twisted around your leg, pulling you down onto him. You both tumbled unto the ground, the shattered spear swaying back and forth.

"Stop it! Stop the fight!" you heard Cersei's voice overpowering from the crowd. Or maybe you were only imagining it.

The Mountain encircled you with one massive arm, pressing you close to his chest as though embracing you tenderly. And you couldn't breathe.

Then he threw you unto the ground like a doll before he punched your face so hard, you thought you'd blacked out, your head turning to the side where you could see The Lannisters against the dust. Cersei was on her feet, screaming in agony as she was being held back by the Kingsguard.

Gregor's hand wrapped around your neck, making you look back at your attacker.

As his grip tightened, everything flashed before you. Rhaella Targaryen. Doran. Cersei.

Cersei. And then you remembered the dagger she placed earlier into your belt. Your hand knowingly pulled out the weapon and used whatever was left from your energy to slash the blade against the skin of Gregor's throat, his blood spewing into your face.

The Mountain's grip loosened and his body fell limply unto you, heavy weight pressing unto your body. The crowd went silent as they witnessed the bloody scene.

You managed to lift your hand to the side and raise a thumbs up to the crowd, making them erupt in cheers.

And it was all black after that.

[39nyx]

"Winter Soldier" Nico di Angelo AU concept

pretty freshly thought up, definitely still needs brewing.

also because i'm a couple MCU movies away from actually watching CA:TWS which will definitely help me flesh this out LMFAO. I've read The Winter Soldier: Cold Front at least, I'm not totally going off nothing

I've had a semi-similar AU brewing in my head for, like, a year before I started getting into Marvel and realized it lowkey matched MCU Stucky's dynamic, so I decided to fully embrace the coincidence and give Nico more trauma and a fucked-up arm :D

Background:

Nico actually ends up fading into shadows during the events of Blood of Olympus/excessive shadow-travel.

Since he hadn't died traditionally, he's essentially locked out of his father's realm of power, unable to have his soul return to the Underworld, instead being lost to the darkness.

That is, if not for Nyx* (or someone under her authority) who manages to collect the remnants of his being and reconstitute his physical form.

Except, there's not enough of him left to reform his entire body, so they have to sacrifice his arm, creating a new, magical one out of bones and shadow (details in image)

With the memories of his life lost to the shadows, he now serves as Nyx's own "Child of Darkness" (or something), his body/soul now bound to her.

*I do, unfortunately, kind of hate The Sun and the Star, but it had the perfect concept to draw on for this, what with Nyx being a big bad and wanting Nico to stay in the darkness and all that. So that's kind of what I'm drawing on for this :'D but the book itself isn't canon to this AU's timeline

Since Nico's body is now reformed from the shadows, he can shadow travel with no repercussions ! He gains a lot more control over shadows/darkness in general, as he's working under Nyx.

I'd also imagine, with his memories gone and Nyx making him believe he's fully her child (or something along those lines), he doesn't actually know he has most of his Hades-kid-specific powers (geokinesis, necromancy, and the like. He doesn't think too hard about why he's able to control the bones in his shadow arm. Or he does, and he just gets reset-) Of course, he still has the subconscious effects of his powers, but his emotions usually aren't dysregulated enough for him to actually experience them. (you know... until they are...~drama~)

As far as further plot goes, I'm personally a Jasico shipper, this was originally a Jasico AU for me, and Jason also makes the most sense, uh, assassination-mission wise (and Steve Rogers parallel-wise lol). With some canon-tweaking.

Why does Nyx even want Nico to kill the main big threat demigods? Idk yet exactly! We'll get there! In a perfect world I would be able to turn this into a novel-length fanfiction but god am I bad at actually going through with projects. There will definitely at least be more of this random concept brainstorming, though, especially when I finish more of the movies >:3

Alsooo regarding his design, it was mostly to brainstorm his arm. I probably could've thought of something creative outfit-wise. But it's the PJO universe, it's not like I can really have him decked out Winter Soldier style, pretty much all anyone wears is an orange/purple T-shirt n jeans. Maybe some armor. Which I theoretically should have given him. But there's the angle of him being able to dissolve into shadows before you can even get a hit in, thus rendering armor unnecessary... and also the idea of him blending in as a normal person until you do a double-take and see shadows creeping up his neck, slowly growing to cover his face before he attacks. Possibilities! Mostly I just like Nico in the usual oversized jacket + skinny jeans, but I gotta think on this whole thing a lot more still LOL

[niobiumao3]

Anyways, here are some random tidbits I swear I'm not actually writing this except maybe I am who knows anyways...

***

Later she would accept that she'd known it was him from the moment she saw him standing in the line up. Not because she could see his face--they were all helmeted and wearing identical, dusky black armor--but because she'd have known him anywhere by stance and posture alone. They'd not fought side by side in the war for over three years for her to forget him, any of them really but especially not him.

At the time she convinced herself it couldn't be him. They'd killed any clones whose chips hadn't activated. So it was just her imagination, a desperate attempt to find any excuse to cling to the hope he'd survived, as she had, probably for similar reasons: pure, stubborn refusal to let the Empire win.

But won they had. Memories of her life before the Inquisitorious were fragments, seemed more like dreams described by a different person. A wild young Jedi and her squadron of variant clones. It sounded like a children's story, in some ways was less painful to tell herself that's all it was. Otherwise--

"Your assigned operative will be CX-2."

The Grand Inquisitor's voice drew Fifth Sister back to the present. Though the armor the clones wore was all identical, not all of them were the same size. The one they'd stopped in front of was taller than average, shoulders broader. This was important somehow. (Another way she knew it was him.)

Fifth Sister looked the operative up and down. His hands were clasped behind his back like the others, and he stood perfectly still. This wasn't the stillness of rest: he was poised, ready, waiting. A knocked arrow.

"CX-2," she said, and the operative nodded an acknowledgement. She looked askance at the Grand Inquisitor. He and his own operative--CX-1, a shorter clone with a broad chest--were watching the two of them intently.

"How do I refer to him?"

"Operative should be sufficient," the Grand Inquisitor said. Fifth Sister made a face.

"Won't that be confusing if multiple of us are assigned to the same mission?"

The Grand Inquisitor shrugged. "You can use the designation in such cases."

She fought down a sigh, considered the operative in front of her. He gave the distinct impression he wasn't looking at her, which annoyed her for some unfathomable reason. Why should she care if he paid attention to her, as long as he followed orders?

The Grand Inquisitor held out a hand to his operative, who gave him a datarod. "Your first mission is to intercept a shipment of cargo bound for []." He offered her the datarod. Fifth Sister took it, eyes narrowed.

"Cargo," she echoed. The Grand Inquisitor arched an eyebrow at her.

She considered his expression. There was only one kind of 'cargo' with which the Inquisitorious concerned itself. "Force-users."

"Very good," he said. But he was still waiting. Which meant...

"Potentials."

The operative in front of her said, "Younglings."

It almost startled her to hear him speak. His voice was modulated, rendering it garbled and rough. And he'd just corrected her.

"Potentials are by necessity young," she said, voice sharp.

Either be didn't notice, or didn't care, because he said, "Not always. You were not."

Probably sensing the fury swirling into being within her, the Grand Inquisitor said, "Quite right, CX-2. However, that was only to found the Inquisitorious. From this point forward our potentials will be younglings."

The operative's head tilted for a moment, then he nodded. Fifth Sister took the time given by this interruption to reign in her anger. Killing her operative for the high crime of being precise wouldn't go over well with her superior.

The Grand Inquisitor continued, "You have three standard rotations. Report in if you require assistance or if the mission exceeds these parameters."

Fifth Sister nodded, jerked her head at the operative and strode towards the hangar deck. He was tall enough she had no hope of outpacing him without use of the Force, another minor irritation.

After a minute or so she realized he was careful to keep his distance behind her precise, even if she slowed down. He never allowed himself to be in front of her. In her way.

"It's going to be hard to address you if you're always behind me."

"I can hear you perfectly fine from this position."

"But you can't see my face. My expression."

"I am unclear on how that is useful."

"Depending on the situation I'm not always going to be able to say what I mean."

"I am more than intelligent enough to intuit such instances."

"*Really* . So this isn't just an excuse to get a good look?"

Confusion rippled around him in the Force. "At what?"

She sighed, shook her head. "Nevermind."

***

"It would be best if we--"

She tied off the bandage with a sharp yank, causing him to fall silence with a grunt. Between cleanup around the other gash, she said, "If you're about to suggest something *idiotic* like I should leave you here so I can return the [] and then come back for you? You can keep that shit to yourself."

Her voice was sharp and even, the way it was when she was well and truly angry. Yet unlike in those moments, when he sometimes thought he could feel the Force rising around her, aiming to strike down her enemy, there was something else hovering around her. Tenuous, wavering. Brittle.

"I was not going to recommend you return for me."

She made a frustrated sound, looked away. "You really think I should leave you hear for the sake of some--some fucking *missives*. We don't even know if they'll be useful."

"They are vital to the mission."

She started to say something, stopped. A sensation ripplied through him almost like fear. Almost. He didn't know what she'd been about to say, except some part of him *did* know, knew it was something they couldn't come back from. Best to not give voice to it, make it real.

She licked her lips. "I'm not likely to get out of here without you anyways."

"That is untrue." He took up his datapad, winced as the bandage on his side pulled. He took a moment to catch his breath, brought up the schematics. "There is a route here which will be possible for you to use. Together we would likely be seen or caught, but on your own it--"

"Not an option."

He held in a sigh. No one could move her when she dug in her heels like this, save the Grand Inquisitor, sometimes Fourth Sister. "If you are not back in one rotation they will depart without you. Those were the mission parameters."

"Then we find our way back on our own."

"My injuries are such that leaving this planet without the asistance of Imperial resources will be extremely difficult, if not simply--"

The medkit next to him rattled, the lantern jostled. He fell silent, waited and watched as she struggled her eyes shut, one hand formed into a fist so tight her nails would have drawn blood from her palm if not for her gloves.

The tremor abated. "I am not. Leaving you here. And that is *final*."

He sighed, considered his datapad again. In the corner of his eye he noted a hairline fracture in the lantern's shroud. "In that case."

[8o8o8o8o8]

It was probably a young lady's bedroom that he entered, Gabriel thought. Clothing trailed across the floor and the scent of abandonment clung to every surface. Still, shelter is shelter, and dust aside the room was intact, so he settle down for the night.

Armor discarded, he swept the dusty bedsheet onto the floor, disturbing the veritable mountain of stuffed animals in the corner. A blueish lump of cotton and soft fabric rolled off the bed; he bent to grab it.

It's a depiction of an ancient and extinct kind of fish, crude, or perhaps 'cute'. The rows and rows of teeth had been rendered as flat triangles of felt. The big, dark eyes were surprisingly accurate. It reminded him of how humans used to depict cherubs, loosely correct but less dangerous. Its perpetual frown is more endearing than unnerving.

He squeezed it to his chest. The plush shark is a nice armful. It felt...worn. No, well-loved.

"Charming little beast." It gazed dumbly at him with its cloth eyes. "I hope your owner won't mind me borrowing you for a night."

Laying down with the shark on his chest, its floppy fins draped over him like a hug. He hugged it back in turn, and went to sleep.

[wardencallings]

Little Harding drabble I wrote based on her romanced combat callout. It's a little suggestive but nothing too crazy. Male dwarf warrior Rook and brief Neve/Lucanis mention! Enjoy :)

The ogre charges, but Rook is ready for it. He launches himself upward, thrusting his shield in front of him to deflect the incoming blow. Using the momentum from the collision, he pushes himself upward and into the air, driving his axe into the ogre’s head on his way down. With a roar of pain, the ogre collapses to its knees. Rook removes the axe from the beast’s skull, its dark blood splattering onto his armor. The ogre groans once more, then dies.

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” a voice teases from behind him. Harding lowers her bow and smiles at Rook, her cheeks flushed from the fight. The way the sun illuminates her face, her braids slightly undone and messy, the sweat dripping down her temple and onto the embroidered collar of her shirt…Rook is briefly rendered immobile by the sight. His breath catches in his throat when he remembers that she’s his to admire, but he forces himself to recover as smoothly as he can. He isn't so foolish to evade an opportunity to flirt with such beauty, after all.

“Oh, is that why you like me?” Rook asks, leaping off of the ogre and landing gracefully in front of Harding as she returns her bow to her back.

“Well, there are other reasons,” Harding replies, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. Her blush intensifies until her freckles are almost entirely masked by the rosy color.

“Is that right?” Rook replies. “I wouldn't mind hearing a few of these 'other reasons.'”

As Rook approaches, sauntering slowly toward her, Harding giggles, backing up until her spine presses against the rocks of a nearby cliff. Rook stops just a few inches in front of her. He places a hand on the stony surface behind Harding, leaning in until their faces are almost touching.

“Uh,” Lucanis interjects, wiping the Darkspawn blood off his knife with a handkerchief. He looks at the taint and the couple with the same expression etched on his face: apprehension. “Is this really the time to-”

“Hmm, well I guess I love how attentive you are,” Harding answers, either not hearing or ignoring the Crow -- more likely the former. “You always listen to me, and you make me feel safe. You’re sweet and strong and so handsome. And however rough you are with the monsters we fight, you’re so gentle with me, at least when I want you to be.”

Rook traces a finger up the side of Harding’s neck, landing on her jaw. He tilts her head up so that she’s looking into his eyes. Goosebumps rise on the shorter dwarf’s skin, and her fingers interlock, twitching in anticipation. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself to prevent her lyrium from manifesting and soiling the moment.

“And you are smart and capable and beautiful. I could count all your freckles ten times over and still not tire of looking at you. I’ve never met someone so kind, so resilient, so…you,” Rook replies. There are a few more moments where the pair can't stop looking into each other’s eyes, and then Harding grabs the gold necklace hanging from Rook’s neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss.

“Hello?” Lucanis says, waving a hand. “Hi. Your ally Lucanis here. Remember me? Can we get going?”

Rook wraps his arms around Harding’s waist and fully mends the distance between their bodies. Their hips collide, and Rook's hands move up and down Harding's back, teasing the hem of her shirt with his index fingers each time he finds it. On one such instance, he traces the hem around to Harding's stomach.

Suddenly, Harding pulls back with a wince. 

“What is it?” Rook asks, unable to stifle the fear that wavers his voice.

“I had a close call when that ogre threw his boulder,” Harding admits. She tugs at the bottom of her shirt, right where Rook's fingers had been a moment before, and pulls it up to reveal a bruise across her ribs. 

“Lace,” Rook whispers. He hovers a hand over the wound. “That looks nasty.”

“It isn’t so bad,” she lies, but Rook doesn’t buy it. He can see the tears perched in her eyes, the way she grits her teeth, how she can't look into his eyes anymore.

“You’re a bad liar, love. Some of those ribs are definitely broken. We need to get you to Emmrich.”

“We’re on a mission, Rook,” she protests, and he frowns in response.

He knows if he tells Harding he’s worried about her ability to fight Darkspawn in this condition, she’ll become defensive. He doesn’t want to appear as if he’s underestimating her tenacity or her skill with a bow, but he knows putting his partner in more danger isn’t the correct solution. So, he tries for a different – yet still honest – approach.

“If we keep looking for the Darkspawn nest, I’ll be too worried about you to do any good with my blade. Besides, Davrin will want to be here for this fight. He’ll already be mad at me that we killed some without him.”

Harding chews at her lip, deep in thought. Her gaze bounces from her bruise to Rook. 

“Fine, but I’m going back out in the field as soon as I’m feeling better. Deal?”

“Deal,” Rook replies, relieved. 

“Alright, let’s go then,” she says, but before she can step away from Rook, he carefully scoops her into his arms and presses her against his chest. “Rook!” she shouts, punctuated with a giggle. She wraps her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly.

“You think I’m going to let you walk home like this? I’ll carry you the whole way home. After all, these muscles aren't just for show, Lace. Lucanis, scout ahead for danger,”

“Mierda,” Lucanis swears, shaking his head in exasperation but following the order. “Are Neve and I this bad?”

[punch-aholic]

I love your art style, I was wondering what your inspirations were/your process for getting your art style to where it is now

Oh my gosh what an amazing question!! Thank you so much, I really appreciate this :) I'd love to talk about my style and how I've kind of honed in my style over the years. This will be a bit of a long one so I'll put in a cut!

I've been drawing DC art for a long, long time. Since I was really young back when I was playing Lego Batman lol. Before I was doing digital art I was really focused on designing my own versions of characters. I sort of learned how to draw one thing at a time. I learned how to draw hair, then eyes, then noses etc.

I wasn't very good lol. I think these are from like 2016? I took a lot of inspiration from DC Comics actually! I always describe my style as almost-realistic though, because I actually grew up as a life-drawing artist. I can't stress enough how important it is to take the time to really study the human body if you want to draw people. I went to college for Life Drawing and Anatomy studies and it really helped me figure out posing, how certain parts of the body move and stuff like that

I use myself as a reference a lot too. You're your own model! It leads to some pretty funny pics too haha (I ended up changing the pose a bit, but you get the vibe)

These are older and my handwriting is unintelligible but you get the picture. Learning how to translate emotions and character into a pose is really helpful and then of course figuring out how to draw clothes is helpful too. Before I was doing Superheroes I did a lot of fantasy art which helped me kind of perfect armor, cloth and those textures.

When I moved to digital drawing it really helped me learn how to render, which was kind of the final piece of the puzzle. Shading is so fucking difficult and I'm not perfect at it by any means (these drawings are two or three years old now and they still have a lot of issues). I mean, to show you how much my style has changed, this is the same character in 2016, 2020 and 2023

SO yeah! I get a lot of inspiration from older Disney, I really liked She-Ra's art style, and mimicked that a lot when it came out, and now I've kind of grown it into something all my own to the point where I can do full character scenes with my own designs. Anatomy, color theory and character design are big passions of mine and I try to show that in every drawing I do on here.

Thank you for asking by the way, I hope this is what you were looking for! Sorry for rambling lol

[dokidokitsuna]

Slowly, I think I’m getting a handle on this…I tried studying the character art from my favorite dead MMORPG, Maple Story 2, and I think it helped me find a style for the shading and rendering that’s more dramatic but still sort of cartoony.

Plus, I’ve been doing a bit of script writing, which always helps me figure things out. ^^ So please enjoy the additional work I’ve done on these character concepts.

-Between these two, Magolor definitely needed the most work: you can tell because I basically drew a full character design sheet, which is something I almost never do because I don’t like repetition. XP But it doesn’t feel repetitive when I’m totally lost to begin with. ^^; I think I got a little too abstract that first time I drew him, so my focus here was to figure out the specific shape of his body and rebuild outward from there. In stark contrast to my usual Magolor designs, he’s very tall and muscular, with an imposing silhouette (especially with his cape on). Yes, he IS hiding something under all those purple bandages, but we won’t talk about it today. ;)

-I also like that his outfit gets darker the further inside you go, from the solid white cape and glittering chains, to the silver armor and gray scarves, to the skintight navy blue fit underneath. Symbolism??? Perhaps~

-Blade’s design was already pretty solid, so I just adjusted her cape a little, and then dove straight into the Rainbow Malady concept art. ^^ Phase 1 has her sprout a second eye and wings on one side of her face. Her head catches fire, as the power of the Rainbow Sword attempts to ‘burn away the darkness’. In this phase, Blade is already in a lot of pain, but remains fully conscious and can even speak, when she isn’t coughing up multicolored blood. She can recover from this on her own with a day of rest. Phase 2 is much more serious, forcing her organs outside of her body, and growing star-shaped welts over the rest of her skin. At this point, she can no longer recover without Magolor’s help-- essentially, he uses magic to shove all her organs back where they belong and stitch up the open wounds. It’s like setting a bone after it’s broken-- just as painful as the injury itself (if not more), but necessary for proper healing…which takes about a week.  Phase 3 is the last and worst, transforming her arms into elongated wings and her whole body into burning plasma, on top of all the issues from Phase 2. Thankfully, she can’t really remain conscious in this phase-- she’s usually delirious from fever, blood loss, and her brain literally burning away. ^^; Storywise, she needs about a month to recover from this, so she doesn’t use it too often…of course, as the 'player', you can put her through it as many times as you want. =T

-Fun fact, I guess: So the primary love language between these two characters is food. ^^ I was musing about what I could do with a protagonist arc centered around worsening illness (which is…surprisingly rare), and I thought, “so what do you do for sick people? You put them to bed, you manage their symptoms, you clean and comfort them…and most importantly, you feed them.” And then ^that little doodle basically came to me in a dream, and from there evolved the idea of Magolor showing kindness to Blade by cooking for her.

Most of the time, the little affection Magolor shows to Blade is…basically performative. Think of it like a hammy supervillain petting their cat-- it’s more of a character stim than anything else. ^^; The way Magolor talks to Blade (and especially the way he talks about her…) makes it clear that the hand-holding and headpats don’t mean much.

But on the other hand, giving Blade food and watching her cutely devour it, especially during the times when she’s bed-ridden and he doesn’t see her as often…I like to think that might genuinely endear her to him a little, enough to make it a sort of stand-out gesture. Like, if he strokes her forehead when she’s sick, that’s whatever; but when he spends 5 hours making a Maxim tomato consommé for her to eat, that’s him trying to say he cares. Maybe it’s just a tiny bit, maybe it’s just in that moment, but a small part of him truly wants her to be happy.

[dexterity8]

Worthmore

11 — Vicissitude

Hogwarts hummed with the quiet stillness of night, its grand halls now emptied of bustling students and lively chatter. Only the occasional flickering torch or the faint echoes of a shifting suit of armor broke the silence.

And then—the chime.

The great clock tolled its final note for the evening, a solemn, resonant sound that rolled through the stone corridors like a distant thunderclap. The weight of curfew settled over the castle, locking its students within the safety of their common rooms. But April was already wide awake, anticipation pressing against her ribs so intensely she thought it would suffocate her.

During dinner, Ominis had tried—one last time—to dissuade her. His voice was calm but insistent, laced with quiet concern. But she had merely smiled at him, unwavering, her decision long since made.

And now, it was time.

When the rest of her dorm mates had long since surrendered to sleep, she set her escape plan into motion. Every movement April made was deliberate, precise—the practiced art of a rule-breaker who was only just discovering she had it in her. She slid out from beneath her blankets, feet pressing soundlessly against the cool floor. Each breath was measured as she tiptoed past slumbering figures, past the lull of dreams and into the waking night.

The common room almost looked eerie this empty, bathed in the soft glow of the moon spilling from the windows as April reached the door. With one last glance over her shoulder—half-expecting to hear someone call her name—she stepped through, pulling it closed behind her with barely a whisper of sound.

Then, with a quick, deliberate flick of her wand—Disillusionment.

The magic washed over her, wrapping around her form like a second skin, a perfect cloak of deception. Her presence melted away into the castle's stone walls, rendering her nothing more than a ripple in the air. It was exhilarating, in a way—this kind of defiance. A thrill, a secret, a challenge.

Well, perhaps not much of a challenge. Because her escape was seamless.

Surprisingly so.

Navigating the castle's corridors proved easier than she had imagined. The prefects made their rounds, their wandlight casting long, vigilant beams through the halls, but April remained unseen, slipping past them with barely a breath of hesitation. Even Peeves, who'd been floating idly near a staircase, failed to notice her, his usual mischief wasted on the empty air where she stood.

By the time she slipped through the great oak entrance doors and into the crisp night air, the tension in her shoulders eased. She'd done it.

She was free.

And soon, so would Ollie be.

She flicked her wand again, and the magic concealing her melted away, leaving her visible once more beneath the vast, moonlit sky. The stars overhead were endless, scattered across the sky like celestial freckles. And the moon—full and luminous—watched her knowingly as she bolted to Professor Howin's cottage, her excitement simmering uncontrollably in her veins.

Ollie, who'd been curled in his pen since she'd left, perked up instantly when she ran over. The moment his wide, gleaming eyes locked onto hers, a chirp of recognition left his snout.

April grinned, slightly breathless. "Hey, little guy."

She unlatched the gate as quietly as possible, the metal hinge barely making a whisper. When the door cracked open, Ollie didn't hesitate—he trotted straight to her, nuzzling her leg with a joyful warble. His energy had shifted entirely, the melancholy that had weighed him down since that morning now shedding away.

April let out a soft laugh, kneeling to scratch beneath his chin. "I take it you know where we're going."

Ollie trilled.

"Come on, then."

She straightened, gesturing for him to follow. With each step away from the castle, her excitement grew, the thrill of it all bubbling beneath her skin. Above them, the full moon beamed like a watchful guardian, illuminating their path as they made their way toward the forest.

April had never felt more alive.

And when they reached the clearing—the very spot where she had found him all those years ago—she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

This was it.

She turned to Ollie, her voice unguarded and encouraging. "Go on, then."

For a moment, he hesitated. But then—

He danced.

It was instantaneous, as if he had merely been waiting for permission. His small, sturdy frame moved with a joy so pure, so uninhibited, it was infectious. He pranced and twirled, leaping in elegant, sweeping arcs, his luminous eyes reflecting the moon's glow. The silver light caught on his fur, making him look almost ethereal, like a creature spun from stardust.

April's heart ached at the sight.

Because he was happy. Truly, undeniably happy.

And so was she.

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, pure and unrestrained. Before she could think better of it, she joined him, her feet moving in reckless abandon.

She chased him, twirling through the moonlit grass, her breath coming in joyful gasps. Ollie spun and hopped around her, his delighted chirps filling the air, matching her laughter in perfect harmony. The wind rushed past them, cool against flushed skin, and for the first time in forever, she felt utterly, completely free.

Nothing else mattered.

Not her responsibilities. Not the rules she was breaking. Not the ominous warning that had loomed over her all day.

They spiraled, danced, weaved around each other, filling the silent night with joyous, unfiltered laughter.

April couldn't remember the last time she had laughed like this. Her lungs burned from running, but she didn't care. Her feet ached, but she hardly noticed. Every ounce of her was too lost in this euphoria, in the sheer joy of existing in this night, in this space, with the little creature who had somehow become her greatest companion.

Between breathless giggles, she rambled—more to herself than to anyone else. "This is perfect. Absolutely perfect." She twirled, arms outstretched, staring up at the endless sky. "See, Ollie? No tragedy, no misfortune. Just us. Just this."

Ollie trilled in agreement, prancing beside her.

April's smile softened.

"I love you, you know that?" she said between breaths. "Words really can't explain how much I care about you, Ollie."

Ollie chirped, his large, gleaming eyes blinking affectionately at her. He didn't understand the depth of her words, but he understood her.

She had spent so long aching for something she didn't even know she was missing. The comfort of companionship, the reassurance of presence. And looking at Ollie now, she realized—

Maybe she'd been seeing herself in him.

Abandoned, perhaps not by both parents but feeling the isolation in equal parts regardless. This must've been what her mother felt like, relishing in the joy her daughter brought her despite the absence that lingered.

But right now, she didn't want to think about that.

Because in that moment, they were everything to each other.

And nothing—nothing—could take this from—

SNAP!

The sharp crack of a branch shattered the fragile tranquility like a mirror breaking under force. April's heart leapt to her throat as she turned on instinct, eyes wide, breath caught. And then she saw them.

Three figures emerged from the black maw of the forest, their silhouettes cutting sharply against the moon's pale light.

Poachers.

She knew it instantly. The way they carried themselves—unhurried, assured, as if they'd already won. Their masks, beastly and intricately crafted, hiding faces she was certain she never wanted to see. The tallest of the three was a brute of a man, his disheveled clothing barely concealing the thick muscle beneath. His owl mask was the most unsettling of the three. Hollowed-out eyes stared at her, empty yet suffocating, as if they saw something inside her worth tearing apart.

A woman stood opposite of him, clad in layered purples, an elegant, flowing contrast to the rigidity in her posture. The sharp contours of her wolf mask caught the moonlight in glints of pale grey, her presence exuding something animalistic, primal.

And then there was the man in the center. The one who spoke first.

His attire was refined—too refined. A pristine yellow coat draped over his shoulders, polished boots sinking into the damp forest floor. His crow mask barely obscured the wild curls spilling a little past his shoulders, streaked with a single slash of white.

"You must be either very brave or very stupid to be out here alone," the man mused, tilting his head as if he were observing something peculiar. "A Ravenclaw, no less."

April swallowed hard, her pulse a rapid thrum in her throat. She wanted to run, to disappear, but Ollie stood behind her, completely oblivious to the imminent danger, and her body moved before she could think. She stepped in front of him protectively, shielding him with her own trembling form, her hands instinctively spreading out as if her small frame could ever be enough to keep him safe.

Damn it. Damn it all.

She had been so stupid. Ominis had tried to stop her. Nearly everyone had. And she hadn't listened. Now, standing here, with Ollie pressed against her back and these masked figures closing in, she knew she had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

But she stood her ground nonetheless, forcing herself to meet the faceless voids of their masks.

The man in the crow mask suddenly took a step forward, tapping his wand against the palm of his hand nonchalantly. "Tell me, little bird, do you make a habit of wandering into danger? Or are you just particularly fond of testing your luck?"

April's throat was dry, but before she could respond, the woman beside him let out a laugh—sharp, unkind, brimming with cruelty.

"Oh, she's shaking," the wolf-masked woman cooed mockingly. "Poor thing's scared out of her mind. What did you think was going to happen, sweetheart? Did you think you'd come prancing out here, all alone in the dead of night, and not run into something nasty?"

April clenched her fists, willing herself not to let their words cut deeper than they already had. This wasn't about her. This was about Ollie.

"What do you want?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper, fighting to sound braver than she felt.

The crow-masked man didn't hesitate. He raised a gloved hand and pointed, with all the indifference of someone requesting a cup of tea, at the mooncalf behind her. "That one. His fur will fetch quite a price."

April's blood turned to ice.

She shook her head before she even realized she was doing it, her body shifting to press Ollie further behind her. "No," she breathed, then louder, more forceful, "No. You're not taking him."

The man sighed, as if this was all dreadfully inconvenient. "See, we expected you to be difficult. Most sentimental types are. But we don't have time to play nice."

April knew what was coming before it happened.

She lunged, grabbing Ollie with trembling hands, ready to run, to fight, to do anything—but the owl-masked man was faster. A crushing grip seized her arms, yanking her back, trapping her. Ollie screamed—a gut-wrenching, ear-splitting sound—as the crow-masked man grabbed him by the scruff and yanked.

April lost it.

"No—NO! Let him go! Please!"

She thrashed violently, nails clawing against the owl-masked brute holding her, but he was a stone wall, immovable. Ollie shrieked and kicked, his small body writhing in the crow-masked man's grip, his panicked cries merging with April's own as she sobbed, pleaded, begged.

She didn't care how pathetic she sounded. She didn't care how weak she looked. She would get on her knees if she had to. Anything—anything to stop this.

"Please, please don't hurt him, please—"

Ollie kept crying, fighting against the grip that held him captive. April's sobs broke into breathless, hysterical gasps, her entire world spiraling into a frantic, unbearable nightmare.

The crow-masked man suddenly inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if absorbing the night air, and then—

Green light.

A flash.

A silence so thick it was suffocating.

April couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't think.

The moment stretched into eternity, her mind frozen in a space between before and after.

And then, the spell dissipated.

Ollie crumpled to the ground.

April's world shattered.

Her breath hitched, her body quaking with a terror she had never known, as she stared at the tiny, lifeless body on the ground.

His beady eyes, once so full of wonder and joy, were empty. Staring. Unseeing. Dead.

April screamed.

It wasn't a sound of anger, or even grief—it was something primal, something inhuman. A wail ripped from the depths of her chest, raw, broken, the sound of something being torn apart from the inside. It was agony made tangible, a guttural scream of sorrow so uncontrollable it rattled the very bones of the earth. She dropped to her knees, crawling forward with trembling hands, reaching for Ollie like as if she could just touch him, she could pull him back. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead.

But he was cold.

Gone.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

She was sobbing so violently that she could barely hear the laughter around her. The jeers.

"You really brought this on yourself, darling," the wolf-masked woman sneered. "Did you really think you could parade around with a creature like that and not face consequences? You're pathetic."

April sobbed, shaking her head violently. "No... no, please—“

She could barely register anything through the static in her head.

Nothing mattered.

Nothing—

Her body suddenly acted on pure, frenzied instinct. One arm wrenched free from the brute's grasp, and in her blind desperation, she lashed out. She struck something—someone—the woman, if the sharp intake of breath was anything to go by.

A terrible, terrible mistake.

The woman let out a low snarl. And then, without hesitation, a fist—gloved, bladed—collided with her face.

A sickening crack split through the air as metal tore through skin. The force of the impact sent her reeling backward, her body hitting the ground hard. A fresh wave of agony bloomed across her nose, wet and hot, mingling with the salt of her tears.

She could taste the blood in her mouth.

Could feel it trickling down her face, warm and sticky.

The world spun.

Somewhere above her, laughter rang out. Cruel. Unforgiving.

April Worthmore did not move.

She just lay there, bleeding into the earth, drowning in grief.

The wolf-masked woman's voice rang out again, grating and laced with venom. She shouted things April could barely understand, each syllable a knife twisting deeper into wounds both seen and unseen.

"Pathetic little girl," the woman sneered. "Crying over a dead rat like it was ever going to live forever. This is what happens when you act like a stupid, sentimental brat.”

April was too weak to even recoil when the woman crouched beside her. She didn't notice what was happening until she heard the sharp snap of wood.

The sound barely registered, but her gaze, clouded and unfocused, drifted down just in time to see her wand—her last, pathetic shred of defense—broken in two, the splintered halves tossed to the dirt like garbage. Just like Ollie.

A strangled sob caught in her throat, but she was too weak to even cry out. She wanted to, god, she wanted to, but her voice was gone. Stolen, just like everything else.

Then, the woman said something that made April's insides shrivel.

"Why don't we really teach this little vermin a lesson? I'd wager the torture curse could set her straight."

The suggestion alone sent a frigid dagger of terror through her chest. The other two poachers seemed to consider it for all of a second before deciding it was a grand idea. Why not? They had nothing better to do, and April was already nothing but a pitiful heap on the forest floor.

Her lips parted, desperate to plead, to beg, to do something—

But she didn't get the chance.

"Crucio!"

The first curse slammed into her like molten iron, searing through her veins and setting every nerve in her body alight. She screamed. God, she screamed, her voice shattering into raw, agonized sobs as her limbs jolted uncontrollably. The pain was unlike anything she'd ever known, a torture so absolute that she couldn't even think. It ripped through her, setting fire to every fiber of her being.

Then it stopped. Just long enough for her body to slump back into the dirt, twitching.

Then, another voice muttered the curse.

The second wave of pain crashed into her, even worse than the first. The world dissolved into blinding agony. April wasn't sure if she was still screaming anymore. It was too much, too unbearable.

And they didn't stop.

They all took turns, watching her writhe like some sick form of entertainment as the bright red beams hurled at her from every direction. She wasn't human to them. She was a lesson. A warning. This is what happened when you disobeyed.

Her fingers curled weakly in the dirt. Her own voice sounded so distant now, breaking apart into hoarse, helpless sobs. She didn't even have the strength to flinch anymore, her body so mangled by pain that it all just blurred together.

Maybe she really was going to die here.

And maybe... maybe that was okay.

Her mind drifted, somewhere between consciousness and oblivion, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw Ollie again, standing in the clearing. His beady, bulging eyes were bright with life again, filled with warmth and wonder, just like before.

She reached for him.

But then he was gone.

April’s chest caved in. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She didn't want to wake up again. Not without him. What was the point? She deserved this. This is what happens when you're selfish. When you get innocent creatures killed.

She deserved to die.

But then—

The curses stopped.

April barely noticed at first, her body still jerking involuntarily, muscles locked in agony. It took a moment for her brain to register the sudden silence, the absence of searing pain.

Why?

With the last ounce of strength she possessed, she forced her head to turn, her swollen eyes barely able to focus. The poachers were moving—no, they were leaving. Disappearing one by one into the night, vanishing like ghosts.

But they didn't leave alone.

Somewhere, through the haze of fading consciousness, she heard the unmistakable sound of something being dragged through the dirt. A heavy weight—small, limp. The realization dawned upon her, too distant to fully grasp, but it cut through her soul all the same.

They were taking Ollie.

Even now, even in death, they were stealing him from her.

A fresh sob choked in her throat, but she was too far gone to let it out.

She barely realized one of the poachers had lingered.

The man in the crow mask stood motionless, looking at her. No, not just looking—staring. And through the slits of his mask, she caught the faintest glimpse of something that made her stomach twist.

Green.

Two vivid green orbs. Piercing. Calculating.

Even through her haze, she swore there was something in them. Something familiar.

But before she could comprehend it, he was gone.

And she—

She let go.

The darkness took her under, cradling her in its merciful grasp.

And for the first time, she prayed it kept her.

[shewhowas39]

wip whenever

thank you so much @kalmiaphlox for the tag!

so the next chapter of Juniper & Starlight is going to be a bit late, because i'm finally working on the smutfic i promised. which also serves as my Fall in Faerun piece for @thekindredcollective's ongoing event!

so here's another snippet from that piece! which i hope to have up in the next day or two.

***

Astarion makes his way past them all, heading straight for the library. He’s eager for June to see his costume and inevitably swoon over him. He’ll tease and tantalize her until the end of the night, until she’s wild and desperate for him, and that will be his revenge for her betrayal. A nice, simple plan. 

He pushes open the large oak door and is greeted by a few familiar voices. 

“I’m real sorry she couldn’t make it,” says a woman with a twangy accent from somewhere deep within the chamber.

“As am I. But it sounds like she and her brother are having a nice evening back in Baldur’s Gate with our little girl.” A pair of large devil horns appear around the corner of a shelf. “But I should be getting back. Gale has been kind enough to allow me use of his Teleportation Circle so I can make a speedy return to my family.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you on this return trip, my boy,” warbles an old man’s voice. “Though I have enjoyed the festivities, I do have an engagement I must attend to in Baldur’s Gate that is of the utmost importance. I dare not say urgency for that implies a level of danger that I do not think exists in this situation, but importance nonetheless.”

“Of course you may, Elminster.” 

Wyll, in a very elaborate knight’s costume, with full, shining plate armor, comes into view. He pauses and smiles at Astarion, raising his sword in greeting. Beside him, the famed elderly wizard has cast an illusion on himself to appear as a walking hunk of cheese. It is both impressive magic and a disturbing image at the same time.

“Astarion!” Wyll says. “It’s good to see you. You look quite scholarly.” 

But Astarion isn’t listening to a word Wyll is saying. His mouth has gone dry and his eyes have gone wide, because just behind Wyll is the most beautiful woman Astarion has ever seen.

June is dressed in a flowing pink gown that coasts elegantly over her soft curves. The bodice of her dress cups and pushes up her breasts in the most enticing way. And a glittering silver crown with pink jewels sits atop her head full of dark blond curls. He’s seen her every day for the past three years, and somehow she still has the power to render him speechless. It would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so damn smug about being the one this gorgeous woman wants.

And, of course, beside June is Astarion’s current rival for her affection: the dog. Scratch has a spiraling white unicorn horn attached to the top of his head. The princess’s noble, magical steed.

Astarion does take some amount of solace in the fact that June’s blue eyes rove over him as well, and a flattering blush colors her cheeks as she does so. 

Wyll’s gaze darts between the two lovers, and after a moment he laughs before clapping the elderly wizard on the back. “Come on, Elminster. Let’s give the lovebirds some space to compare costumes.”

“Hm? Oh, quite right,” says the walking cheese.

***

no pressure tags for @kittenintheden @khywren @dungeonsdragonsandlawyers and @aevallare

[commanded-morals]

INTRO POST

What if a fragment of the command block still thrived, trying to complete the command it was written to do?

[ INFO ]

Story

This AU is tailored to the second female Jesse option (red hair clip/streak). She chooses to wear the Dragonsbane armor.

It mainly takes place in the first season through episodes 5-8, though may have some extra content for season 2.

Gabriel lost his memories in the first four episodes and Petra was saved but rendered sick.

There will probably be Jesstra mixed in or on the side :3

Blog

This will most likely be a chill blog where I post either writing/drawings concerning the AU and other mcsm stuff!! Things I post may not be related to the au 💥

Asks are ON, you may send stuff in which can vary from questions about the au, character asks, etc!!

[ SUMMARY(?) ]

Jesse earns a diamond-shaped command block on her forehead after breaking it. A last resort. Over time it clouds her memories, coding her to have more monster-like morals.

The command diamond infects Jesse with a special kind of wither sickness.

At first, it appears to be the same deadly illness Petra had had in the past. However, after an incident when falling off of Sky City, it suddenly has a change of gears. Instead of killing her, it strengthens her and fuels her desire for violence.

[ END OF POST ]

Hope you enjoy your visit on this blog!! :3

This intro post is subject to change, I may clean it up later 🔥🔥

Blog is owned by @recklesswolverine

[pyjamaart]

A looming presence... (A piece of fan art for Episode 11 of the Christmas Comeback Crisis)

Read more for an essay on all the memes and references ;)

So here it is. Finally. Only one month too late: This piece of CCC fan art I've worked on since the episode came out.

Sorry for the delay, but I just started at my new job this week and it's been a little stressful, so I didn't have much time to work on this. But now it's finally here!!! I gotta say, the hardest part by far was the background, lol. I didn't mean for it to escalate that much. At the end I was honestly running out of memes to draw.

I bet we can all agree that episode 11 of the Christmas Comeback Crisis was so worth the wait, right???? My god. Peak entertainment. I still can't believe I'm getting all this awesome lore and music for free, feels kinda criminal.

I'm so invested in this story, it's unreal. I can't wait to see how it will end. I can already tell it's gonna be pretty emotional. (And not to alarm anyone, but I have a slight feeling that the Voice is not gonna make it out of this story arc alive. I mean, after everything he's done, it's safe to say that he kinda deserves it. Of course I really don't want him to die, cause that would mean…….. Woodman would also have to die??? Otherwise the Voice will just keep coming back again and again because Woodman is keeping his memory alive…….. Oh man wait a moment….. I don't even want to think about that. Forget I said anything about this.)

Anyway, let's talk about this piece of art for a moment.

In the foreground, we have our brave protagonists. I really really like how Nozomi turned out, so I decided to make her my new icon from now on. Don't get me wrong, I love my old icon, but it's kinda zoomed out and you can't really make out any details when it's really small. So Nozomi it is. Meta Knights sword was shockingly difficult to draw, especially because I had to figure out how to draw it when he's holding it at an angle like that. Otherwise, drawing him was actually one of the easiest things about this whole thing. His design is really just two circles with some arms and armor. Figuring out how the circle tool in Gimp works has never felt this good. (Kinda crazy I can just draw him like this now, considering how obsessed with him I was when I was about 12-13 years old. Back then you had to download official renders of your favorite characters onto your computer, then print them out and hang them on your walls all around your room. Yeah I've always been like this.) Drawing Santa was really fun too, just his right hand was a little difficult. But that's just because I still can't draw hands in general. Maybe I should practice drawing hands more. (Naaaaaah I'm just kidding, I'll never do that.) Now that I'm looking at him again, he's also longingly staring at President Haltmann in the background. Doomed yaoi fr.

Speaking of the background, let's talk about that next. There's obviously the title-giving "looming presence" the Voice. I had his hands completely in the background at first, but I thought it looked cooler when they were hanging threateningly around Santa's shoulders. (You may ask yourself, 'man these hands look kinda alright for my usual hand drawing standards', and that is because I traced over pictures of my own hands. I love "cheating" at art.) I also gave him his stupid little bow tie and the colored buttons on his suit sleeves. Not only is that kinda my trademark for drawing him at this point, it's also supposed to show, that under all the threats and the evil villain persona, he's just kind of a loser. A real (male equivalent of a) girlfailure. That's why I made sure that half of the things shown in the background are there to make fun of him a little. I love the Voice dearly, but that's just what felt right.

And now let's get to the actual main course of this essay. I probably spent half the time working on this on the freaking background. I'm just gonna start in the top left corner and then go down each column and explain what each of these mean or what they reference. (Since there are some quite obscure ones in there.)

Let's start with the two ponies in the very top left. They're actually ponysonas of Nozomi Tojo (left) and Takane Shijou (right). Nozomi is an earth pony and has a tarot card as her cutie mark, specifically the ace of cups. Takane on the other hand is a unicorn and has some musical notes as her cutie mark, which you can't really see. I don't know enough about the Idolmaster to think of something more meaningful for her, sorry. ;)

Under that are Susie Haltmann and her father, President Haltmann. They were (after Woodman) the first characters I wanted to draw into the background. Susie has this black bar covering her face, since she was never really there to begin with. The whole story line with her father wanting to bring her back was actually so freaking sad. And when the Voice killed him in episode 11 and that image of Susie flashed on screen as the last thing he saw before he died….. Oof……… That's also why I drew that cursor looming next to her "window" about to click on the closing button. Haltmann himself is also the only character in the background to actually leave his little window, wanting to reach his daughter. He's also glaring at the Voice for causing him all of this grief and anger in the first place with his false promises.

Then there's…. ahem, "Hot robots in your area". With drawings of a random unnamed robot and Mettaton from Undertale. Which the Voice has apparently bookmarked. This is just a head canon, but I like to think he has a thing for robots, lol. ;)

Oh and on the left next to that on the very first column is Simpleflips' logo. Shoutouts to Simpleflips indeed.

Onto the next column. At the very top is Haruka Amami (also from the Idolmaster), who played a pretty huge role in the CCC, especially in the latest episode. That moment at the very end where she saved Grand Dad from certain death was just fantastic. Absolutely goated scene. She's kinda pressing her face against the window she's trapped in. I hope you can even see that from far away, haha.

Under that is one of the more obscure references. It's from a King for Another Day video, specifically one titled "The Hobart Hootenanny - SiIvaGunner: King for Another Day". It's a slideshow made of beautiful Hobart pictures. One that struck me personally the most was a little family picture of Hobart and the rapper Eminem, who was also a contestant in the KfAD tournament, looking lovingly over their son sitting in a cradle. Eminem is seen saying "Our son is beutiful". A truly touching photograph indeed. In that same slideshow is also another scene of Hobart together with the Voice, but we'll talk about that one later.

The next one is a reference to the CCC side story "I wanna thank me" and shows a pie chart with the election results that were discussed in that episode. Under the pie chart itself is a little box containing all the different parties and showing their respective percentages. On the left is a poster for the "Poké Poké Literature Party", showing Monika's head with the words "Just vote Monika" at the top of the poster. The words (and Misha.) are scribbled on the bottom, lest we forget that she's not running this party alone. This side story was first featured in the Christmas Comeback Crisis Watchalong in 2020, which was actually the first time I watched the CCC in its entirety. It all went downhill from there. ;)

Then there's the Voice's… thing? Object? Weird apparatus where no one really knows what it does or what its purpose is? Every time we see the Voice sitting in his office, this thing is sitting on his desk right next to him. There's been loads of jokes about its purpose. They've all been made before. I'm not going to repeat them. Only the Voice himself truly knows what this thing does. Probably. Could just be a decorative piece of art.

Then we have something veeeery self indulgent on the next column. It's Aquaman from Megaman 8 (With a not so subtle skull right next to him). You should all know by now that I'm the founding father of the Aquawood ship. And I also have the head canon that Woodman and the Voice are very divorced. Interpret into this whatever you want.

Next to Aquaman is the internets' favorite panel from the web comic Tails Gets Trolled. I fucking love that comic. If you haven't read it in its entirety, I highly recommend doing it. (Though be warned that it contains some pretty heavy topics, many many slurs and a plethora of gore.) Okay, maybe I don't recommend reading it. (Just read it with all of that in mind.)

Under that is a personal favorite joke of mine. It's supposed to be Spotify, with a playlist open that I created some time ago. I called it "Die Pizza Playlist" (Remember that die in German is just "the") which I always listen to when I'm baking my own pizza. Highlights include "Pizza" by Antilopen Gang, "Pizza Heroes" by Lemon Demon (You can actually see the album art for Spirit Phone on the left of the playlist.), "Pizza Pizza Pizza" from the Ratatouille musical and so on and so on. The first song in the playlist is obviously "We like pizza" by the Pizza kids, which is even playing in the image. On the side are two more music artists, at the bottom is the image for the Veggie Tales soundtrack, which also featured a song called "Pizza Angel". And over that is Mitski. I just feel like the Voice would listen to her music. Do not question me on this.

The audience laughs at the funny 7.

On the Voice's left shoulder sits a single green bean. It's flashing you a cheeky grin and a peace sign. While I didn't intend for this to happen, I accidentally referenced my own Woodman birthday gallery art from two years ago, where the bean also sits atop the Voice's shoulder. I know that next to "Yankin'", the bean is one of the most hated memes on SiIva, but I think he's just a silly little guy! :D

Let's head on over to the next column. Seems like the Voice has an incoming call from one of his guards, but he's ignoring it as he has more important things to do, like hovering intimidatingly over Santa Claus.

Next to that window on the right are the Voice's messages. I almost wrote "messanges". That would have been embarrassing, thank god I caught that in time. This is also (yet again) a little self indulgent, since the Voice apparently has the last message he sent Woodman pinned to the very top of his messenger app. His big triangular head is blocking most of it, but since I'm the artist, I can tell you exactly what it says: "Please call me back", which was sent on February 1st 2023, the day "The Disappearance of Woodman" was released. Yeah, I'm still very upset, how could you tell? :( Under that is a message to his trusty pizza guy asking for a pizza with extra cheese.

Next we have two of my favorite memes on the SiIvagunner channel (My absolute favorite being "Funny budots", since I never wrote that down anywhere.), one being Frisk Undertale becoming uncanny and the other one being the goat. I don't really know how to describe the goat, but apparently it was crafted by the same artist who made the stoned fox that's also very popular online?? I may just be stupid, but I didn't know about that until I looked up a reference for the goat. Since it often appears alongside Undertale and Deltarune, many have made the assumption that this is what Asriel would look like in real life. That's why Flowey is there next to it with an equal sign. Whoever drew up that calculation wasn't really sure of their work, which is why they drew a question mark right next to it. Between Frisk and the goat is a little Soul, also from Undertale/Deltarune.

Onto the next column, where I'm dropping very subtle hints that a specific character in this image might like pizza. Or might even be a little obsessed with it. On the left is a list with the contact details of three well known pizza chains, on the very top is Sonic the Hedgehog who just recently became a brand ambassador for Totino's and on the bottom right of this section is a flyer for some kind of pizza sale.

The next window contains my favorite joke of any rip on the entire SiIvaGunner Youtube Channel. "Peepoona 5. Let us shart the pants." Just typing this out is making me die of laughter yet again. (The rip in question is "Our Beginning - Persona 5".) But as you all know, I am very into toilet humor. That's why Aquaman is one of my favorite robot masters. And why I'm such a big fan of Youtube Poop. And why I watch Minion fart gun religiously. But enough of that, you get what I'm trying to say. I love funny poop jokes. That's why this is here.

Oh man. This next one is why I wanted to write this very detailed essay in the first place. A reference so obscure, even I can't find its origin anymore. And believe me, I tried. Thankfully, I took a screenshot of the original comment thread this was based on. A user called "The New Guy" commented on a SiIvaGunner rip, something along the lines about how much they enjoyed this specific rip. At the time, the comment had 920 likes, so I'm guessing it must have been a pretty popular video. (The comment should also be about 4 years old now?) Anyway, under that comment, someone asks them what their profile picture was from. They simply answered "wagon", since that was exactly what their profile picture showed. Someone on the SiIvaGunner team must have found this exchange so funny that they commented "wagon" as well. And that's the origin of this joke. If anyone knows which rip this is from pleeeeaaaase tell me. I need to know.

I don't think I need to explain who the next guy is. Just the love of my life. I specifically drew Woodman in his getup from the Nuclear Winter Festival, since that was the last time he appeared on the channel. He's looking kinda concerned in the general direction of the viewer, for obvious reasons. And right under him is his trademarked >:] emoji.

And last but certainly not least, the final column! Now I finally get to talk about this other scene from the Hobart Hootenanny. It shows Hobart and the Voice having a romantic stroll at a beautiful beach, while the sun is slowly setting in the background, making the water shimmer with its breathtaking colors. Okay, the last thing didn't really happen, since it's a shitty MS Paint drawing, but I like to imagine it did. Maybe I should draw a remake of this image one day. Now I'd like to quote the video in question: "A man and Hobart were walking together on the beach. He looked back and saw that in his times of sadness and need, there was only one set of footprints. He asked Hobart why he would leave him in his time of most need. Hobart simply turned to the man and said, VVVVVRRRRR SRRRRR RRRRGGGHHHH--" (Thank you SiIva Wiki for the transcription.) Now I don't think I need to explain why I drew Hobart in a bikini top and fishnets. The question answers itself.

The next image is actually quite easy to explain. It's mm5charge and smol Maki. In another universe, Chargeman and Maki might have been integral to the SiIvaGunner lore. This specific image is just stolen from my piece of fan art called "Megaman 5 Brainrot (featuring Acidman)", which I posted in 2022. I still head canon that Megaman and Love Live take place in the same universe. Just because I think it's funny. And because I want to see funny robot masters interact with the girlies from Love Live. How do I explain this? It's like…. balancing out the world? The robot masters are almost all male (with a few exceptions) and the characters shown in Love Live are all female. How would Thanos say? "Perfectly balanced, as all things should be." Don't question my cool head canons, okay?

After that we have a poster featuring the Jazz Cats! I really really love the little animations that showed their backstory when KfAD2 first came out. I don't know if it's okay for me to say this, but I also really really enjoy the song "But Not You" written (in universe) by Doge and Naxx. The text is veeeeeeery questionable, but man, does it sound good regardless… And shoutouts to wolfman1405 for the heavenly vocals.

On the right of that is a missing poster for Wade L.D.. Nothing much to explain here I guess.

Left of that is the Voices shopping list, which lists flour, oil, yeast… Wait a minute…. All of these are ingredients for pizza dough! Guys, I'm beginning to think that this guy might like pizza.

On the very bottom of this column is Mario 7 Grand Dad himself, who has his hostile gaze directed at the Voice. I would be pissed off too if someone kept me locked in a glass tube for 7 years.

The last little window just shows the Vineshroom with the words "fecal funny" written under it.

And with that, it is done. The entire background thoroughly explained. (I may have gone a little overboard this time.)

It's been a while since I posted new art, huh? In the meantime, a lot has happened. As I said before, I started a new job, got a tattoo of Woodman on my leg (best idea I've ever had btw) and I also started watching MLP, which explains the Love Live / Idolmaster ponysonas, lol.

And that's all I wanted to say. I hope that the next piece of art isn't that far off. Jenny out. (I think this might have been the longest essay I've ever written here. I'm so sorry. By which I mean, I'm not sorry at all. I'm not forcing anyone to read this.)

[quohotos]

I present to you, my Magnum Opus. The Underland Chronicles rendered in the style of an early 2000s flash based point and click adventure game (the MNOG)

I have spent so long on this. Inkscape doesn't log total project time the way Krita does, but it's the most time I've spent on any single piece of vector art. Even then there's still a million things I want to go in and change but... aaaaaa you have to cut it off somewhere. I have been copy pasting rats for hours, and don't even get me started on the shadows. The shadows look good, they are not physically accurate. I tried.

Here are some bonus features!

No text overlay. Clean if you want to print it or make it a desktop background.

Close up on Solovet and Ajax I've never actually drawn Solovet, or any underlanders really. I definitely am phoning it in by framing her from behind. When it came to designing what kind of armor they'd wear I took inspiration from both Greek and Roman designs. Ajax was originally much more saturated red until @paksenarrion-dorthansdotter corrected me. The books describe him as dried blood colored. (please don't look too close at the rats they don't hold up to scrutiny)

Close up on Ripred. He looks just a little bit small and fat in this one, but that's just because he's slouching. When he stands up it all stays in his hips and ass. I always draw Ripred like he appeared on my cover of Code of Claw. The scar on his face isn't really visible from this angle because it cuts left to right and he's looking left.

Lastly, here's Gregor and Ares. There is an official design for his armor as seen on the cover of my copy of Code of Claw. I redesigned it because I thought that version looked kinda pants, tbh. Little goofy and hard to take seriously.

The great thing about vector art is you can zoom in and obsess over tiny little details that end up only being like 4 pixels wide in the final export. Case in point, these rando flyers. Such minute detail that gets flattened out to a single pixel in some cases.

Sidenote: I always imagined the flyers as more microbat inspired, which is why I draw them with tails... but these ones end up looking very flying fox-like and have also some megabat proportions. This isn't really an intentional artistic choice, it's just a compromise I had to strike to make them look decent. I need to practice drawing microbats more.

Oh well. The author isn't that descriptive about their proportions so I guess it's up to interpretation.

Lastly, here's the original sketch that I traced over. A lot of features ultimately got cut, as well as the dimensions to the side being changed. Solovet originally was going to have a braid but then I remembered that line from the first book where Luxa explains that you have to cut your hair to go to war. Ripred also looked a lot more teddy bear like in the sketch, so I ended up not even tracing him. Bane was a redraw, and I actually did trace part of Ajax and then just frehanded the rest.

If anyone is reading this far and hasn't read the underland Chronicles, now is a great time to go to your local library and pick it up. These books slap and this tiny community would love to suffer our brainrot welcome you into our fold.

Fly You High

[glass-warehouse]

Loved Astor's armor design you shared earlier this week, especially the boot details and the helmet! The crashbars make it look like cat ears from the front and it's kind of cute. Was wondering if you'd maybe like to share more about him? What's his style, is he a throw punces first ask questions later kind of fighter or more of a tactician? What upgrades does he have?

Thank you very much! those boots gave me hell for days. and oh god, the crash bars… it wasn't until I was committed to the front design sketch that I realised they looked like ears, hahaha 😅

the inspiration was originally as a halo (telepathy halo always wins the prom queen, she just cannot lose). then it wasn't until rendering that I thought of them being crash bars, and now it's stuck.

but hey, at least it's functional? sometimes my subconscious surprises even me.

Despite how his armour looks like, well… armour, there's no heavy plating. He's all about agility and flexibility. Astor is no roughhouse fighter; he's a tactician allll the way.

his martial prowess is good enough for most fights, though if he can avoid a fight and still get what he wants, he will. because if he gets hurt or injured, then that's an immediate roadblock. he can't continue with his plans (there's a set timeline for these things), and he wouldn't be able to defend himself should the absolute worst happen. avoiding injury is just the best course of action (Revelations is gonna suck for him…).

still, there are people out there who won't listen until they've been beaten - which Astor will do, even if it feels like a chore or a necessary evil. and it'll be as quick as his caution will allow, no messing around here.

first, he obviously went for those jump jets: quick manoeuvrability is king and there's no dishonour in running away, it means you can come back better prepared next time.

and the telepathy boost: to Astor, there is almost no downside here. extra telepathic assistance, better control of the nanovores, and reduced mental strain. and while he's a known telepath, how many people are gonna start popping numbers before every fight? over time that's only going to work to Astor's advantage. and dampeners require a lot of power, so not super portable.

he plans, then he strikes. not that he's immune to spontaneity, but it does make him tense when he's blindsided.

(in another life, he might've made a good leader. or a good second in command.)

ultimately the biggest upheaval you can throw at him is death.

pointless civilian death, or killing for the sake of it, solves nothing. he will save people if he can. in his eyes, he's caused enough hurt in his past (farm-era), and he doesn't want any more. it'll be interesting in the upcoming instalments if Astor can be worn down enough to kill again.

I'm sure after all of this you'll find it funny to know that he's gone down the anarchist route (with a side of justice). I see Astor as less the embodiment of an angry rally who feel like they've been failed by the current order, and more like the organiser who set it up. checking laws and policies, informing others, making sure to keep it as safe as possible, et cetera...

again, thank you for the ask!! though my apologies if this seems spotty - I kept getting distracted by rl side quests 😂😂