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[fascinationstreetmp3]

PRIS GLITTERBELL ✰

the youngest daughter of three, pris' intended role in life was set in stone before she was even born. trained to pickpocket, obfuscate her intentions, and wield a dagger from a young age, at fourteen, she began working for her family as a smuggler. fifteen years later, after a series of betrayals, pris fled the underdark with nothing but the clothes on her back and the coins in her pockets-- only to be snatched up by an illithid ship the moment it seemed like true freedom was finally within her reach.

[azvibes]

Friends

A small child who was not a gnome was sitting on the dirt.

She was three years old, or maybe four. The gnomes who had found her didn’t have any idea how the ages of other species worked. It would be a few more years before anyone would come along who recognized the child as an earth genasi, anyway. Her adoptive warren just knew that she was larger than them, and grew a bit quicker, and that her skin was green and tough–and they knew that they loved her and that she was very special. That was all that mattered.

There was a dandelion in the child’s mouth, and she was chewing on the yellow petals with a thoughtful expression on her round face. One of her caretakers, a warren elder named Begonia, was gathering mushrooms from the side of a nurse log and placing them in a basket.

“Auntie?” said the child through a mouthful of flower.

“Yes, precious?”

“Is a mushroom like a flower?”

Begonia glanced over at the child. “Not really. They grow out of the ground sometimes, and we can eat some of them, like plants. But a plant only eats sunlight.” She walked over and handed the child, who was nearly as tall as she was by now, one of the mushrooms from the basket. “Mushrooms eat dead and rotting things. When something in the forest dies, the mushrooms help return it to the earth.”

The child’s eyes went very wide, and the dandelion fell out of her agape mouth.

Begonia laughed. “Isn’t that wonderful, precious?”

“I want to be a mushroom,” the child said earnestly.

“Do you, now?” Begonia patted the child’s cheek. “That’s a very lofty goal, you know. Mushrooms are some of the most important citizens in the forest.”

“I can do it.” She hmphed determinedly and brought the mushroom she was holding up to her face to sniff it. “They smell like the dirt. So do I.”

“Do you want to learn more about mushrooms, precious? Uncle Morrie could teach you more than I could,” Begonia said when the child began nodding very enthusiastically. “I mostly just know which ones that grow in Embrook Woods are edible. Not all of them are–that’s very important to remember, alright? Don’t go looking for mushrooms to eat without a grown-up helping you.”

“Why not?”

“Because some can make you very, very sick.”

The child burst into giggles.

“What’s so funny?” asked Begonia, bemused.

“Well, they don’t want to be eaten!”

Begonia had to chuckle. “I guess they don’t! I wouldn’t, either.”

The child stopped laughing. Very seriously, she said, “But the mushrooms will eat us. When we die.”

A sudden shiver ran down Begonia’s spine, all the way to the tip of her tail. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, that’s right. They help return us to the earth, like I said. But that won’t happen to any of our warren for a long time yet.”

“Unless we eat the wrong kind of mushroom. Then they’ll get us sooner,” said the child. She grinned. “I like that! They get hungry, and come find their food, just like we’re doing now.”

“That’s true,” said Begonia. She’d never thought about it quite like that before. She had a feeling most people would be off-put by the child’s reasoning and excitement about the topic, but Begonia wasn’t one to shy away from death. The only thing that she felt uneasy about was how natural the whole idea seemed to come to the child. It was like instinct more than curiosity. There was a kinship between the child and the mushroom she held. “Do you want to help me pick a few more for dinner? And then we can go back home, precious.”

The child nodded and shuffled over across the soil and moss. Her chubby, clumsy hands were careful and gentle as she plucked more of the small, light brown mushrooms from the nurse log. “You’re our dinner tonight,” she informed the mushrooms. “And then someday, we’ll be yours. That means we’re friends, I think. Yes, we’re friends.”

[monkesupreme]

ref

a satisfactory answer for Selina

[hinamie]

post-graduation trip airport looks

[hoshizoralone]

reflection

[cymk8]

her hair so CRISPY

(commission!)

[artist-rat]

lyds doodle!! it's not much but it's honest work 💪

[araneapeixes]

lesbian bed death - goth girls are easy

This art is now available as a print <3

[lucabyte]

some thoughts on Claude

alt title: diversity win! this Butch Nun is crafting bombs in an unventilated room in her convent while actively courting Mother Superior! Do Not Give Them Access To Unlimited Power No Matter How Nice They Are

+ bonus

[lazylittledragon]

modern au gale+cyra/dadkarios for soul healing <33

cyra should not have a phone her internet history would have her on a watchlist

[satsuha]

big brother pride

[gongyussy]

the energy i'm bringing to linkedin | MY LADY JANE (2024)

[floweroflaurelin]

Opal, Twice-Crowned Champion of Lolth 🕷️🕸️🕷️

—

(Billie Eilish’s “you should see me in a crown” playing in the distance)

[hinamie]

tiger lily

[tigerjpg]

warden mahariel ⚔️

[skyrigel]

Simon had him and you all convinced that it was just sex and nothing more.

“No attachment.” He always said, everytime — sometimes so hurried and forgotten that it's just mumbled against your mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat.

Sometimes with so much urgency that it's lost between your moans, no attachment, babe, no attachment. And you believed him because it was really just sex, wasn't it ? There were no pretty dates and no fancy dinner at ritz, maybe those poorly wrapped ones he pretended he had not ordered and takeouts he brought along...but oh please, no attachments!

But maybe sometimes about those walks in the city where he would not so subtly grasp your hand, and you would catch him stealing glances at you while a teenager fiddled with his guitar, rhyming she came, my world lit with narcotic, I am addict.

No attachment but Simon's standing outside your workspace when it's raining —“I thought you might need it.” holding up the umbrella but those two words were there again when you were knee deep in the passanger seat and he was eating you out... because it was casual, right ? No attachment.

And it really didn't burn and ached until you got sick, real sick — puking your guts out and coughing until your ribs gave up, surely he wasn't the best role model of no attachment when he was panting to death as he picked your unconscious frame from the floor, you still remember the faint whisper of his ‘please don't leave me, please, please don't —’ over and over.

And if he wanted for no attachment then he should be gone. Gone and not come back because it was just sex...

Simon shouldn't be mopping the floor, and stirring your soup and touching your forehead every five minutes.

No attachment then why he's loading your grocery and taking out trash and doing your laundry, why he's wiping your tears and telling you it's going to be alright.

Why he's not leaving like he always did because there were no attachment right, but he's right here, tucking you in bed and washing your hair and reading you book.

“Is it some eccentric joke ? Why this Zaid is always growling ?—also when you get alright... we're gonna try it out, lovie.”

You blushed, but it wasn't just what he was suggesting but that word, it felt good.

“S-say it again.” You whispered, shifting your head in pillow. Simon turned back a page he was reading from, your scrunchie on his wrist.

“Zaid growled—” You screwed your face,“—oh, we'll try it—”

“last word. Your last word.”

“Oh.” He said, “Lovie...you don't like it ?”

You shaked your head, sniffing very unsexy-ly

“Call me that...I love it.” Simon pushed up the book up his face, his neck was pulsing with his many veins and you knew the blush that would be blooming on his hard face. Cute.

“Again.” You tilted your head, to get a look at his flushed out face.

“Okay Lovie...sleep now.” He grumbled, flicking your bedside lamp off and bookmarking the book with one of your scrunchie he removed from his wrist.

“Huh...Good night baby.” You said, waiting to be corrected, waiting for those two words to come and upside down it all.

But they never came, like they never even existed, never had a meaning to them at all.

No attachment, lost forever in darkness.

“G'night lovie.” He said so sweetly, and when you closed your eyes this time, you only saw daylight.

Grim Reaper! Simon

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