#box deer crafts

[alleywayaquarium]

This is so cute I love it so much

[realfullnameunavailable]

Kisses hoodie, Valentine's Day special.

MLM, pure fluff, SFW, König x GN!Reader (male-leaning)

"What... is this?"

With a slightly confused but composed expression, he asked. Gazing down at the pastel purple box adorned with small flowers and a pink bow, he noted that you had handed it to him with a satisfied yet innocent grin. It appeared quite beautiful, perhaps even too beautiful, leaving him uncertain about what it hid inside. He looked at you, then back at the box, and finally back at you with a furrowed brow.

"A surprise," you said, grinning innocently, looking up at him with eyes filled with impatience and excitement.

He grumbled something under his breath, tugging at the bow's end and watching it fall to the floor. He gripped the box a bit tighter before hesitantly lifting the lid and placing it on the table.

With slightly widened eyes, his breath hitched as he saw the white hoodie with your initials drawn on it with... kisses? "What?" König thought, looking down speechless at the sweatshirt. König tried his hardest to keep his ears from turning red, but the realization that you had made this just for him - on this holiday, of all days - made it impossible.

König had never celebrated any holiday, especially Valentine's Day, as it had never meant anything to him. He found it another regular, miserable day to endure, silently suffering among the lovey-dovey couples. He found it disgusting and was deeply jealous of the love they showed each other, since he had always felt alone, ever since his teens. His severe social anxiety, compounded by childhood bullying, didn't help; he despised every love-related holiday as he had never truly felt loved.

Until today.

You waited patiently for him to pull the hoodie from the box, your hands hidden behind your back, rocking on your toes; the grin never left your face. You took joy in König's flushed ears, knowing that no one had ever given him something so thoughtful.

König, unable to answer otherwise, grumbled a low 'ridiculous' under his breath, pulling the hoodie out from the box and placing it next to its lid on the desk. Despite his grumpy attitude, he handled the fabric with surprising delicacy as if afraid to ruin your gift. He held it as if it was the most precious thing in the world crafted with your own hands, mind, and soul. Clearing his throat and refusing to face you, he paused before mumbling a low 'You didn't have to do this,' gently rubbing his thumb across the thick, comfy fabric of the sweatshirt, eyes almost watering from the overwhelming feeling washing over his heart. No one has ever gifted him something as meaningful as this, so personal yet made just for him.

"So?" you chimed in with a low chuckle, tired of waiting for him to put it on. He stood there like a deer caught in headlights, holding the hoodie awkwardly as if he'd never held one before. "Put it on," you urged, excitement clear in your voice, eager for him to stop standing like a mannequin and pull it on already. He sighed defensively, as if you were asking for too much, but with slightly shaking hands, pulled it over his head.

He froze.

The soft, rich fabric wrapped around him like a cocoon. Its warmth settled over his body in a way that felt almost foreign, like being covered with a blanket on a cold, winter evening - safe, secure. A feeling he hadn't known since his childhood.

He was overwhelmed, yet felt so loved it almost hurt. He inhaled deeply, trying to keep his composure and failing miserably; his ears and cheeks flushed with soft redness. Swallowing hard, he finally spoke. "Thank you..." his voice was low, almost uncertain, stealing glances at you but mostly looking down at the floor, shifting awkwardly. He was so embarrassed by his behavior - a grown man like him, with an important role in the army, shouldn't melt at such soft gestures.

But it was you.

And because it was you, he couldn't stop the butterflies bubbling in the depths of his stomach and the fluttering of his heart. Especially not when your love-filled eyes stayed on him, almost teasing him for how shy he had become.

He huffed at you, both annoyed and flustered - a rare sight, considering how hard he always tried to maintain his stoic demeanor around you, serious, composed, yet never unaware of your presence. Shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket in an attempt to ground himself, his fingers brushed against something flat, wrapped in paper. His brows furrowed as he pulled it out, only to freeze.

A bar of chocolate. His favorite.

He stared at it, caught off guard, his grip tightening slightly. Another surprise. Another gesture just for him.

You couldn't help but grin at him as his face flushed a deeper crimson and awkwardly shifted, tugging at his hoodie with his free hand while still holding the chocolate bar. God, this had never happened to him before. How was he supposed to react to something so strange? This shower of affection hit harder than a bullet to the gut.

He cleared his throat, rolling his eyes and shoving the chocolate bar back into his pocket. His brows furrowed as he looked down at you, hoping to regain his composure. "I don't eat sweets, don't you know that?" he complained, yet the way he held it like dear life told otherwise. You tilted your head, smiling mischievously at him. "You know?" you started, crossing your arms and looking up at him with a puffed chest and a satisfied expression. "I've never seen you act like this; so shy," you continued, teasing him cruelly, knowing he would deny it.

"I'm not shy; I just didn't expect this... all of this," he shot back at you defensively, tightening his grip on the chocolate bar in his pocket, trying to hide from your teasing. He wasn't sure if he was trying to hide from you or himself, and he almost seemed annoyed at your comment, yet the redness creeping up his neck and ears told a different story.

Your smile widened at his tone, leaning just a little closer with a hum. "Uh-huh... understandable," you said, having the urge to just grab his face and shower him with kisses at how cute he acted. God, it was so rare yet so satisfying to see.

For a moment, König stayed quiet. He didn't grumble, didn't try to argue or get defensive again. He just... stood there, processing everything that you had said and done.

"You didn't have to go through all this trouble. You could have bought a card from the gift shop," he said softly, more to himself than to you.

Your grin softened into a smile at his quiet words, sighing and dropping your hands down. "That's unacceptable," you said back. "You deserve it."

He inhaled deeply, exhaling through his mouth as he finally looked at you, properly looked at you. His steel-blue eyes held something unreadable, something that made your chest feel tight.

"You know I don't—" he paused, shaking his head slightly before correcting himself. "No one has ever done something like this for me." His voice was low, almost hesitant opening up to you about something so personal. "It's... nice," he added quietly, unsure what to say to such a gift.

You smiled at his small words. "They should have," you began, reaching to adjust the collar of the hoodie. "And now someone finally has."

König swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he clenched his jaw. Then, as if unable to stop himself, he gave a nod, his fingers still clinging to the chocolate bar in his pocket. "Danke..." he said, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

You chuckled, and he exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple with his free hand while gripping the chocolate bar in his pocket with the other. He looked like he was about to combust from sheer embarrassment.

"You love it, admit it," you teased, rocking on your heels.

"I tolerate it," he huffed, shoving his second hand in the pocket.

"Mhm, sure. Keep telling yourself that," he groaned, but instead of snapping back, he hesitated. "Thank you. It means... a lot."

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone, smiling back. "Anytime, König."

He cleared his throat. "Now stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" you said back.

"Like... this. Stop," he grumbled, his gaze drating to the side.

You smirked and stepped closer. "Happy Valentine's Day, König."

He let out a dramatic sigh, but this time, you caught the tiny ghost of a smile on his lips. Slowly, he pulled a hand from the pocket only to lift it just enough to hide the lower half of his face. "...Happy Valentine's Day."

[miss-conjayniality]

enhyungline as mariah carey songs 🦋🌟

genre: fluff. PURE FLUFF!

pairing: enhyungline x gn!reader

word count: 1766

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS DAAHHHLLIINGSSS!!! 🌟omfg i meant to post this over a week ago 😭 but I’ve been soooo fawking busy with life and I got sick but I’m all good now so here y’all go! as a huge engene AND lambily, I wanted to pay tribute to the queen of christmas by assigning different songs by her to our beloved enhyungline! 🩷 christmas may be almost over but mariah’s got a vast catalogue that’s classic, timeless, and sonically diverse. i’m a mimi stan all year round dahhlliinnggss 💅🏼 I’ve been meaning to do this for a while too🫣

also…can we fucking TALK about how enhypen dropped an EP called daydream, which also happens to share the same name as one of mimi’s BEST ALBUMS EVER!?!?? GOOD FUCKING GOD!!!! THEY DID THIS SHIT FOR ME ISTG!!!!

ALSO….i definitely didn’t cry or get delusional while writing this🤠🫣

P.S.: heeriah leerey IS in fact mariah’s adoptive son. I SAID WHAT I SAID! PERIODT.

HEESEUNG: MUSIC BOX.

“when i am lost, you shine a light for me and set me free. when i am low, you wash away my tears and take me through the loneliness and emptiness. through the darkest nights, somehow i survive through it all”

“your love is strong enough to lift me up. if i’m afraid, oh baby. you chase away my fears and take me to a brighter place.”

do you remember those music boxes you loved during your childhood years because they would open up to little angels dancing around in circles to melodious tunes? heeseung is exactly that - in human form. being around him evokes feelings of nostalgia and comfort because he reminds you of a simpler time when life felt magical and full of wonder. his presence is like the soft melody of a music box, enveloping you in warmth and tranquility, making you feel cherished in a way that feels timeless.

heeseung is a dreamy, delicate angel come to life. he has a calming energy that feels timeless and effortlessly comforting. the type of lover to cuddle with you underneath a weighted blanket after taking a warm soothing bath together. the type of lover to steep green tea for you, watch vintage disney films with you, and softly hum sweet melodies to you as he holds you close, making you feel cherished and at peace in his embrace.

heeseung’s love feels like a safe haven, a quiet sanctuary where time slows down, and the world outside fades away. his presence is a gentle reminder that even in life’s chaos, there’s always space for warmth, tenderness, and the beauty of simple, meaningful moments. with him, every shared glance and unspoken word feels intentional, like he’s crafting a world where love is soft, steady, and substantial. he has a way of making you feel as if you’re the only person that matters, wrapping you in a sense of security that feels both grounding and ethereal.

with heeseung, love feels like being carried through life’s storms with unwavering strength and care. when the weight of the world feels too heavy, his arms are always there to be wrapped around your shoulders. his quiet reassurance dissolves your fears like the clouds in the sky after a thunderstorm.

heeseung is an uplifting lover. when times get rough, he encourages you to overcome your fears and persevere through the madness. just his belief in you alone could move mountains. in his arms, you feel safe enough to dream again, his love lifting you from darkness and showing you the light of brighter, better days ahead.

your admiration for heeseung is never-ending. there is no one before him that could ever match his level. and there’s certainly no such thing as “after” once he appeared into your life. his warm, compassionate nature is rare in this cold, harsh and cruel world. you are his sunshine, and he is your sunshine protector. ever since you met him, he’s inspired your sense of adventure.

whether it’s buzz lightyear action figures, legos, or stuffed animal deers, heeseung serves as a powerful reminder to never neglect your inner child 🩷

JAY: VISION OF LOVE.

“treated me kind. sweet destiny. carried me through desperation. to the one that was waiting for me. it took so long. still i believed…somehow the one that i needed would find me eventually.”

“i had a vision of love. and it was all that you’ve given to me. i had a vision of love. and it was all that you turned out to be.”

you CANNOT tell me this man isn’t the personification of this song. jay HIMSELF is theee vision of love! PERIODT.

jay is the type of lover most people envision when it comes to experiencing true love. not just romantically. but on every level. eros. philia. storge. agape. in a world of fakers disguised as lovers, jay floats above the fray and proves that love is real. the lover whom you’d encounter by chance one day, only to realize he was the one your soul had been searching for all along. you had been trying to hard all these years to seek out love, yet eventually you found him…unintentionally.

jay’s embodies the type of love that’s even better than what you witness in novels and films. even in the mundane tasks such as filing taxes, doing the laundry, etc., he makes it enjoyable. and because of those enjoyable moments, he inspires you to conquer anything life throws at you. that’s how transformative his love is. he’s the reason why you’re so grateful for life, no matter how tough it gets.

jay doesn’t just love you in the extraordinary ways (i.e.: buying luxury gifts, or wooing you with lavish vacations). he loves you in the unassuming ways too - the kind of moments that go unnoticed. for example, if you’re nervous at a public gathering, he’ll recognize that feeling and hold your hand tight. sometimes, he’d look at you like you’re the only person in the room. or maybe he’ll give his jacket to you when you’re feeling cold. no matter what the situation is, his attentive love reminds you that you’re never alone. it’s the love that strengthens you, grounds you, and pushes you to believe in the beauty of life, no matter how unpredictable it may be.

sometimes you even wonder how on earth you managed to land such a generous, patient man like jay. the gratitude you hold in your heart for him is unmatched. it’s hard to even believe he’s real. but there he is. as real as can be. sometimes you cry because you’re afraid he wouldn’t love your imperfections - such as the way you manage your emotions under stress, or the moments when you doubt yourself.

but jay would assure you that no matter what, you are worth loving. and you are his vision of love too.

JAKE: YOURS.

“you brighten up the moon and stars at night. you keep me seeing rainbows in the sky. you bring new meaning to my life now. i believe in miracles. baby, i’m forever yours.”

“i keep thankin’ the lord above for blessing me with oh so much. ‘cause i know how it feels to be part of you boy. everyday my life’s so abundant with joy. and i honestly never thought love could be real until the angels guided you to me.”

jake is a living embodiment of the australian sunshine. because he HIMSELF is the australian sunshine! whenever he walks into any room, the whole place brightens up. his presence is the midas touch. he’s the rainbow to your rainy days. it’s the little things that make you fall for him even deeper. his hospitality towards other people, the way he treats animals and children, and his overall selfless nature.

jake’s love is bountiful. he knows how to make you feel cherished in ways you never thought possible. he remembers the subtle details - your favorite song, the way you order your coffee, the board games you enjoy, and the sparkle on your face whenever you see layla. he turns them into valuable moments of connection. with him, love isn’t just spoken in grand declarations, it’s the kind of love that speak louder than words ever could. ultimately, love is a verb. it is performed through daily actions.

with jake, the level of gratitude you possess has increased. he has a way of shifting your perspective, helping you notice and appreciate the little things that once went overlooked. you know…like the beauty of a sunrise, the tranquility of a quiet moment, or the comfort of simply being together. quality time is his love language. he is the living meaning of “quality time”. no matter how minuscule a moment may seem, he inspires you to see the beauty in those moments. his unwavering positivity and selflessness inspire you to find happiness in even the smallest of blessings.

jake’s positive attitude is contagious. it even influences you. he’s what it means to be a miracle. he’s a warm and nurturing lover to you. he’s the partner whom you’d be happy to share and embrace your life with.

in fact, he’s more than just your significant other. he’s your best friend and your partner-in-crime. he’s….yours.

SUNGHOON: I’LL BE LOVIN’ U LONG TIME

“there's no stopping you and me. i'll be loving you long time (as i can breathe). i'll be loving you long time (eternally).”

“don't care what no one has to say. they don't understand us like we do. i need you near me night and day. together, there ain't nothin' we can't do. scoop me up and we can go to that little spot where no one knows. spend a little time just us alone. you can caress my body and never let go.”

sunghoon is the kind of lover that just randomly appears in your life one day. he is someone who starts off as your friend first, and gradually becomes your lover. hoonie isn’t one to open up so easily. he’s guarded with whom he shares the fullness of his heart with because he’s someone who loves deeply. and he can’t bear the feeling of heartbreak. he craves a stable, healthy, wholesome relationship void of petty drama.

sunghoon is a loyal friend to you. he always supports your endeavors and is a shoulder to cry on during the rough times. he’s exactly everything a good friend should be - someone who listens without judgment. the type of friend who remembers subtle details like your comfort film or your favorite dish. he brings light to your life even during the darkest moments.

sunghoon eventually finds himself falling for you, his best friend. and it hurts him because he fears that you don’t love him back. when you noticed him behaving unusually and not interacting with him as much, he had no choice but to reluctantly confess his feelings for you. when he noticed the tears falling down your eyes and the smile that formed on your face, he was caught off guard from it.

finally, you admitted. someone who feels the same way about you the way you feel for them. the moment you gave him that initial hug, he too hugged you back. as your friendship evolves into courtship, you two are in it with each other for the long haul. that was the moment when both of you never looked back. you are each other’s allies and confidantes. you are each other’s lovers and friends.

you two love each other for life. your love for each other is unwavering and timeless. it’s the kind of love that feels both magnetic and enduring. sunghoon’s style of loving isn’t the kind that’s frequently communicated through histrionics commonly seen in films and literature. his loyalty for you is shown through his daily actions. ultimately, sunghoon knows that real love takes sincerity and discipline. he has a natural, effortless charm that that captivates you, not just in fleeting moments, but in ways that linger and stay with you long after.

he’s a reminder that true love is about consistency, depth, and a connection that withstands the tests of time.

[cakerybakery]

The hearts and love type of Valentine’s Day wasn’t common in hell, but the Princess went mad for it and so the hotel was looking like a hallmark store threw up over it.

Every single pillow, even the ones in Adam’s room had either a love or heart themed cover or been replaced by pillows that looked like hearts or lips or X’s and O’s. Adam didn’t know what warehouse Charlie shopped at, but she’d brought everything.

His fucking sheets were decorated with little hearts. The cover was red. No part of his room was unvalentined, even the stupid roof had decor hanging from it.

The worst part was, it happened as he slept.

Adam was in a foul mood because of it.

He stormed down to the kitchen, pulled a heart shaped mug out of the cupboard and groaned. He poured himself some coffee and did a double take as the liquid came out red.

Sniffing the liquid, Adam determined it was coffee, just dyed red somehow.

He drank it anyway.

Sitting down at the table, he was served a heart shaped plate, with a pair of fried eggs cooked in a heart mould on toast with an X’s and O’s pattern in the toasting. At least the meat had been spared. Not the pancakes, but he ate his bacon and tried not to grumble to loudly about the stupid holiday.

He groaned as Charlie made a sappy speech about how she was so proud of them and loved them all dearly. Just fucking stab him again.

It wasn’t like he was jealous. Just because Charlie and Vaggie were sitting together making gooie lovey eyes at each other, and Angel was practically in Husk’s lap as they not to subtly flirted, and even fucking Alastor seemed to be enjoying the day as Niffty gifted him real deer heart and he gave her a small box of chocolates with a small yellow rose, it didn’t mean he was jealous that he didn’t have anyone to celebrate with.

Lucifer interrupted his jealous thoughts as he burst in with a massive display of flowers.

“I have presents!” He cheerfully called out as he delivered bouquets to people around the table.

‘Great. Now it’ll be obvious I don’t have anyone at all.’ Adam groaned to himself.

Lucifer handed out yellow and mixed colour roses to everyone but Charlie and Vaggie who received a mixed bouquet of oranges, pinks, peaches, and green roses.

At last Lucifer came to him, his hands behind his back, and Adam flushed. “I don’t need flowers.”

“I know.” Lucifer smiled. “So I didn’t get you any.”

Adam’s heart sank. He didn’t need stupid flowers, but it hurt not to be included.

Lucifer pulled out a bouquet from behind his back. Each flower was wrapped in plastic, and it took Adam a moment to realize they weren’t real flowers but beef jerky shaped like roses.

“I know you don’t really like all this lovey dovey stuff and don’t really like flowers. So I got you some beef jerky roses from the butcher shop.”

Adam turned bright red and hid his face behind the roses. “Th— thank you. It’s perfect.”

Lucifer gave a friendly wink, “I hope you have a great day, Adam.”

He spent the day thinking about Lucifer and eat his roses.

It was honestly, the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given him. By the end of the day he’d come to realize he needed to give something in return to Lucifer.

Unfortunately, he was broke as fuck.

He tried writing a song but his tongue got all tied. He tried to just make him a card but he glued the paper to his hand and couldn’t think of anything to say.

By dinner he’d tried a few different crafts, but none seemed right. Afterwards he watched Lucifer in the lobby making a little duck toy and got an idea.

Adam went into the kitchen and got out one of the recipe books. He measured out the ingredients, mixed it all, baked it, and started decorating.

It didn’t look like much, the ducklings were a little fugly, and the hearts were dropping as the icing was melting a little. But he tried and it was all he could do. Lucifer would be retiring to his room soon.

Carefully, Adam carried the tray to the living room. He cleared his throat, his face burning, and when Lucifer looked up, Adam shoved the cupcakes into Lucifer’s face.

“It’s— happy Valentine’s Day.”

Lucifer blinked up at him, confused before smiling wide. Taking the tray and looking at the pathetic attempt at drawing ducks and hearts in icing, Lucifer laughed. Before Adam could feel like shit, Lucifer spoke up. “I love them! So cute!”

He set the tray down. “Thank you! This is great. I love sweets!” Lucifer took one and barely peeled off the wrapper before he shoved it whole into his mouth.

‘Fuck.’ Adam thought in surprise. ‘He can fit a lot into his mouth.’

That led to a different thought, and Adam flushed for a whole other reason.

Now he couldn’t help but think about that as Lucifer’s long tongue licked his lips of icing.

Lucifer patted the seat next to him. “They are delicious, Adam. Come sit with me and have some. Even I can’t eat this many at once.”

His pants were a bit tighter than normal, but Adam didn’t think it was noticeable, and he couldn’t look away from Lucifer anyway.

They sat in the lobby, eating the rather good cupcakes, Lucifer doing so obscenely, until the tray was empty.

Just when Adam thought he was free to go to his room, masturbate, and wonder what this meant for his sexuality, Lucifer placed a hand on his thigh, got up on his knees on the couch, leaned up against Adam’s body, causing Adam to start to hyperventilate, and brushed his thumb over Adam’s cheek.

Lucifer stuck the bit of icing in his mouth and moaned. His tongue was wrapped around the digit as he pulled it from his mouth. “Those were delicious, Adam.”

He smiled up at Adam, his eyes half closed and Adam couldn’t take it anymore.

Adam grabbed Lucifer by the lapels and pulled him into a kiss. The king squeaked in surprise, but made a little, “OH!” Noise as Adam moaned.

Letting Lucifer go, the man was flushed gold and giggly, “oh! Oh my!” Lucifer kept going. “That was, unexpected.” He gave another light headed giggle.

Hands found Adam’s shirt and Lucifer was in his lap, shoving Adam down into the cushions with a passionate kiss.

Adam found himself groping Lucifer’s ass as Lucifer seemed to want to devour him as lustfully as he’d ate the cupcakes.

There was a creak in the hall and Lucifer sat up holding his breath. “Let’s go to my room!”

He’s barely agreed when he was rolled off the couch and Adam found himself dropped onto Lucifer bed.

The portal barely closed and Adam’s clothing was being torn off him. Lucifer’s mouth was back on Adam’s even as Lucifer was struggling to strip himself.

This was going a lot faster than Adam had anticipated, and he was here for it.

They jerked each other off as they writhed together and made out. The need to touch each other too great to even think about anything else.

Cuddled together in the afterglow of sex, Adam couldn’t believe it had happened at all. This was the best Valentine’s Day he’d ever had.

Usually he was trolling single mixers looking for heaven-borns to fuck. This was way better.

Lucifer was practically purring on his chest and Adam got a feeling from the look in Lucifer’s eye that there would be a few more rounds to cum once they caught their breath.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Adam.” Lucifer’s husky voice made Adam shiver and cock perk up.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Lucifer.” Adam barely got out when he was attacked again.

He was going to be sore in the morning. But it would be worth it.

-

Like I said. The beef jerky rose I got was inspiring a story. Happy Valentine’s Day, guys! 💖💖💖

[snowandsage]

Yearning

I yearn for you.

I yearn for you with an intensity that mirrors a mosquito's insatiable thirst for blood on the first summer evening – a wild, desperate hunger that devours me whole. A hunger that leaves me frantic and consumed by an unquenchable desire.

I wake each morning to find you lingering in the shadows of my thoughts. Your spirit dances through my dreams, a haunting reminder of your presence; or rather lack thereof.

In my dreams, we share a quiet life together.

We reside in a small cottage tucked away amidst the trees, where deer roam through the thicket and vibrant butterflies dance joyously in the warm air.

We spend our days wandering barefoot throughout the creek, our laughter echoing as we collect shimmering river stones and splash each other playfully. As day fades to night, we dance hand in hand under the luminous moon, our hearts entwined in a timeless dance of love.

Your laughter echoes deep in my core, a haunting melody as vibrant and intoxicating as the first autumn day that I was graced with its presence. It weaves through my soul like a broken music box, endlessly trapped in a loop; a delicate sound infused with a hint of madness and raw feminine rage.

I think of you when I drive past a field of flowers. I envision you there, a gentle breeze playfully tousling your wild hair, the golden sun wrapping you in a warm embrace.

I imagine myself there too, running toward you with open arms, my heart pounding fiercely with the ache of finally finding my way home to you.

It strikes me now that I have yet to witness you amidst a field of vibrant flowers. This is not a mere memory; it is a vision, delicately woven from the threads of my imagination. It stirs a profound ache within me, a hope so vivid and alive, yet so painfully absent from the harshness of reality.

I have conjured a version of you – a version of us – a beautiful illusion that lives only in the depths of my soul. A version that is forever out of reach, destined to remain a fantasy.

I see now that I do not yearn for you after all.

I yearn for a version of you that exists solely in the realm of my mind. A vision crafted from longing and soul-wrenching desire.

[ros64]

Written in My Own Heart's Blood

Chapter 66

“None shall sleep.” It was a piece—a melody, as Brianna had called it—from an opera he knew; she had performed in a university production of it, dressed in Chinese clothing. Ian smiled, imagining his tall cousin, towering over so many men, gliding across a stage with silk garments swishing around her; he would have loved to see her. He had begun thinking of her the moment he opened the small deerskin pouch containing his face pigments. Bree was a painter, and a talented one at that. She ground her own pigments, had made him the red ochre, as well as the black and white from charcoal and dried clay. She had even crafted a deep green from crushed malachite and a bright yellow from the bile of a buffalo she’d killed with her mother. No one else had colors so vivid, and for a moment, he wished Turtle Eater and others from his Mohawk tribe were there to admire them.

The camp noises in the distance reminded him of the cicadas’ song by riverside trees: a buzz too loud to think, yet fading once you adjusted to it. None shall sleep… Women and children might sleep… but certainly not the whores. Not tonight. That thought brought a twitch he quickly dismissed. He thought of Rachel, and dismissed her, too, though reluctantly.

He opened the willow-bark box where he kept the deer fat and smeared it on his face, chest, and shoulders, slowly, focusing. Normally, during this ritual, he would call upon the spirits of the earth and then his saints, Michael and Brigid. But tonight, neither was present; Brianna lingered in his mind instead, though her image was beginning to fade. Most of all, he felt his father’s presence, which unsettled him. It didn’t seem respectful to dismiss his father. He stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes instead, trying to discern whether Papa had something to tell him.

“I hope you haven’t come to speak to me about my death, aye?” he said aloud. “Because I don’t intend to die—not before I’ve lain with Rachel, at least.”

“Well, a noble goal, to be sure.”

The dry voice belonged to Uncle Jamie. Ian’s eyes shot open. His uncle stood amid the branches of a willow drooping into the water, wearing nothing but his shirt.

“Out of uniform, eh, Uncle?” Ian said, though his heart jumped like a startled deer mouse. “General Washington won’t be pleased.”

Washington was meticulous about his men’s uniforms. Officers were to be properly dressed at all times; he said the Continentals would never be taken as a proper army if they appeared on the battlefield like a disordered mob with weapons.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Ian,” Jamie said, stepping out from the willow. The moon was nearly set; he looked like a specter, bare-legged with his shirt billowing. “But who were you talking to?”

“Oh. To Papa. He was… here, in my mind, aye? I mean, I think of him often, but it’s rare to feel him with me. So, I wondered if he’d come to tell me I’m going to die today.”

Jamie nodded; the idea didn’t seem to disturb him.

“I doubt it,” he said. “You’re painting your face with war colors, aye? You’re preparing.”

“Aye, I was about to. Want some, too?”

He said it half-jokingly, but Jamie took it as humor.

“I would, Ian. But I think General Washington would have me strung up by my thumbs and flogged if I showed up to the lines with my face painted like a Mohawk.”

Ian let out a small amused sound and dipped two fingers into the red ochre, smearing it across his chest.

“And what are you doing here in just a shirt?”

“I was washing,” Jamie replied, though his tone suggested there was more to the story. “And… speaking with my dead.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“My uncle Dougal and Murtagh, my godfather. They’re the two I’d most want beside me in battle.” He shifted slightly, uneasy. “If I can, I take a moment to be alone before a battle. To wash, you know… and to pray. And… to ask them to stand with me.”

Ian found this interesting; he hadn’t known either man, both having died at Culloden, though he’d heard many stories about them.

“Two fine warriors,” he said. “Did you ask my father to join you, too? Maybe that’s why he’s here.”

Jamie turned sharply to his nephew, surprised. Then he relaxed, shaking his head.

“I’ve never had to ask Ian Mòr,” he said quietly. “He was… always with me.” He made a brief gesture toward the darkness on his right.

Ian felt his eyes sting and a lump rise in his throat. But it was dark; it didn’t matter. He cleared his throat and handed Jamie one of his pigment dishes.

“Give me a hand, Uncle Jamie?”

“Oh? Aye, of course. How do you want the marks?”

“Red on the forehead… but I can do that myself. Black from the dots to the chin.” He traced a finger along the line of dotted tattoos curving beneath his cheekbones. “Black is for strength, aye? It says you’re a warrior. And yellow means you’re not afraid to die.”

“Oh, aye. Want the yellow today?”

“No.” His tone revealed a faint smile, and Jamie laughed.

Jamie spread some color with a brush made from a rabbit’s paw, then smoothed it evenly with his thumb. Ian closed his eyes, feeling a new strength surge under that touch.

“You usually do this yourself, Ian? Seems hard without a mirror.”

“Mostly. Or we do it in a group, and a brother from the tribe paints you. If it’s something significant—like a large raid or a war—it’s the medicine man who paints us while singing.”

“Tell me you don’t want me to sing, Ian,” Jamie muttered. “I mean, I could try, but…”

“I’ll manage without, thanks.”

Black for the lower face, red for the forehead, and a stripe of malachite green across the tattoo line from ear to ear, over the nose. Ian studied the pigment dishes and quickly spotted the white, which he pointed to.

“Maybe you could draw a small arrow for me, Uncle? On the forehead.” He traced a finger across his brow to show where.

“Aye.”

Jamie bent over the dishes, hand poised. “But didn’t you tell me once that white is for peace?”

“Aye; if you’re going to confer or negotiate, you use plenty of white. But it’s also for mourning: so, you’d probably use it for vengeance, too.”

At those words, Jamie raised his head and looked at him intently.

“The arrow’s not for revenge,” Ian explained. “It’s for Flying Arrow. The dead man whose place I took when I was adopted.”

He tried to keep his tone casual but felt Jamie tense and look down. Neither would ever forget the day of the separation, when Ian had gone to the Kahnyen’kehaka, and they had thought it was forever.

Now Jamie bent and placed a hand on Ian’s arm.

“That day, Uncle Jamie, you told me: ‘Cuimhnich.’ And I have. Remember.”

“I have, too, Ian,” Jamie said softly, drawing the arrow on his forehead like a priest making the sign of the cross on Ash Wednesday. “We all have. It’s right.”

Ian cautiously touched the green stripe to ensure it was dry enough.

“Aye, I think it’s fine. You know Bree made these pigments for me? I was thinking of her, but then I thought maybe I shouldn’t bring her into this.”

He felt Jamie’s breath on his skin as his uncle huffed and leaned against the willow.

“A man always brings his women into battle, Ian Òg. They’re the root of your strength.”

“Oh, aye?” It made sense, and Ian felt relieved. Yet… “I was thinking it might not be right to think of Rachel in a place like this. Considering she’s a Quaker.”

Jamie dipped his middle finger into deer fat, then into the white clay powder, and delicately painted a large, deep “V” near the crest of Ian’s right shoulder. Even in the dark, it stood out vividly.

“A white dove,” Jamie said, nodding. He seemed satisfied. “This will be Rachel, for you.”

He wiped his fingers on a rock, then stood and stretched his muscles. Ian saw him turn eastward. It was still night, but the air had changed in the brief time they’d sat together. Uncle Jamie’s tall figure stood out sharply against the sky, where before it had seemed part of the darkness.

“An hour, no more,” Jamie said. “Eat something first, aye?”

With that, he turned back to the stream, and to his interrupted prayers.

«Nessun dorma.» Era un brano – un’aria, così l’aveva chiamata Brianna – di un’opera che conosceva; vi aveva recitato in una rappresentazione universitaria, vestita in abiti cinesi. Ian sorrise, pensando a sua cugina, che superava in altezza tanti uomini, mentre si muoveva su un palcoscenico, facendo frusciare gli indumenti di seta intorno a lei; avrebbe tanto voluto vederla. Aveva cominciato a pensare a lei nell’istante in cui aveva aperto la piccola sacca di pelle di daino in cui teneva i colori per il viso. Era una pittrice, Bree, ed era molto brava. Macinava da sola i pigmenti, e gli aveva fatto l’ocra rossa, e anche il nero e il bianco con il carbone di legna e l’argilla essiccata; e gli aveva preparato anche un bel verde cupo con della malachite tritata, e un giallo brillante con la bile del bisonte che aveva ucciso con sua madre; nessun altro aveva dei colori così intensi, e per un attimo desiderò che Mangia Tartarughe e qualcun altro della sua tribù Mohawk fossero lì con lui per ammirarli. Il rumore dell’accampamento in lontananza gli ricordò il canto delle cicale tra gli alberi vicino a un fiume; un brusio troppo alto, che non ti lasciava pensare, che però svaniva non appena ti ci abituavi. Nessun dorma... Donne e bambini potevano dormire... ma di sicuro le sgualdrine no. Non quella notte. A quel pensiero avvertì uno spasmo, che però liquidò subito. Pensò a Rachel, e liquidò anche lei, anche se controvoglia. Aprì la cassetta di corteccia di salice, in cui teneva il grasso di daino, e si unse faccia, torace e spalle, lentamente, concentrandosi. Normalmente si sarebbe rivolto agli spiriti della terra, durante quell’operazione, e poi ai suoi santi, Michele e Brigida. Ma non stava vedendo né l’uno né l’altra; Brianna era ancora con lui, anche se la sua immagine cominciava a sbiadire, ma stava avvertendo soprattutto la presenza di suo padre, e questo fatto lo sconcertò. Non gli parve rispettoso liquidare il genitore. Smise di fare quello che stava facendo e chiuse gli occhi, invece: voleva capire se Papà avesse qualcosa da dirgli. «Spero tu non sia venuto per parlarmi della mia morte, aye?» disse ad alta voce. «Perché non intendo farlo, non prima di aver giaciuto con Rachel, almeno.» «Be’, un obiettivo nobile, non c’è che dire.» La voce asciutta apparteneva a Zio Jamie; Ian aprì gli occhi di scatto. Suo zio era in mezzo alle fronde di un salice lungo la riva, che scendevano in acqua, con indosso soltanto la camicia. «Senza uniforme, eh, Zio?» disse il giovane, anche se il cuore gli era balzato nel petto come un topo cervo. «Il Generale Washington non ne sarà felice.» Washington era molto pignolo riguardo al fatto che i suoi uomini avessero sempre l’uniforme in ordine. Gli ufficiali dovevano essere vestiti a dovere in ogni situazione; diceva che i Continentali non sarebbero mai stati considerati un vero esercito, se si fossero presentati sul campo di battaglia come una folla disordinata che aveva imbracciato le armi. «Mi dispiace interromperti, Ian», disse Zio Jamie, uscendo dal salice. La luna era quasi tramontata; sembrava uno spettro, con le gambe nude e la camicia fluttuante. «Ma con chi stavi parlando?» «Oh. Con Papà. Lui era... qui, nella mia mente, aye? Voglio dire, penso spesso a lui, ma non mi capita spesso di sentirlo con me. Così mi sono chiesto se fosse venuto a dirmi che morirò oggi.» Jamie annuì, apparentemente quell’idea non sembrò turbarlo. «Ne dubito», disse. «Ti stai dipingendo il viso con i colori di guerra, aye? Ti stai preparando.» «Aye, stavo per farlo. Ne vuoi anche tu?» Lo disse a metà tra il serio e il faceto, ma Jamie lo prese come uno scherzo. «Li metterei, Ian. Ma credo che il Generale Washington mi farebbe appendere per i pollici e fustigare, se dovessi presentarmi con i miei uomini schierati e il viso dipinto come un Mohawk.» Ian emise un piccolo verso divertito, e intinse due dita nel piatto con l’ocra rossa, che poi si strofinò sul petto. «E tu che cosa ci fai qui in camicia?» «Mi stavo lavando», rispose Jamie, ma il suo tono lasciò intendere che non stava dicendo tutta la verità.

«E... stavo parlando con i miei morti.» «Con qualcuno in particolare?» «Mio zio Dougal, e Murtagh, il mio padrino. Sono le due persone che più di tutte vorrei accanto, in battaglia.» Fece un piccolo movimento, inquieto. «Se posso, cerco di ricavarmi un momento in cui rimanere solo, prima di una battaglia. Per lavarmi, sai... e per pregare. E... per chiedere loro di starmi accanto.» Ian lo trovò interessante; non aveva conosciuto nessuno dei due; erano morti entrambi a Culloden, ma aveva sentito tante storie su entrambi. «Due bravi combattenti», disse. «L’hai chiesto anche a mio padre? Di venire con te, intendo. Forse è per questo che è qui.» Jamie si voltò di scatto verso il nipote, sorpreso. Poi si rilassò, e scosse la testa. «Non ho mai dovuto chiederlo a Ian Mòr», disse, sommessamente. «Lui era... sempre con me.» Fece un breve gesto verso l’oscurità, alla sua destra. Ian sentì bruciare gli occhi, un nodo in gola. Ma era buio; non aveva importanza. Si schiarì la gola e gli porse uno dei suoi piattini. «Mi dai una mano, Zio Jamie?» «Oh? Aye, certo. Come li vuoi i segni?» «Rosso sulla fronte... ma posso pensarci io. Nero dai puntini fino al mento.» Si passò un dito sulla linea di puntini tatuati che descriveva una curva sotto gli zigomi. «Il nero sta per la forza, aye? Dice che sei un guerriero. E il giallo significa che non hai paura di morire.» «Oh, aye. Vuoi il giallo, oggi?» «No.» Lasciò trasparire un sorriso, dal suo tono, e Jamie rise. Jamie gli spalmò un po’ di colore con il pennello ricavato da una zampa di coniglio, e poi lo stese uniformemente con il pollice. Ian chiuse gli occhi, e sotto quel tocco si sentì invaso da una nuova forza. «Di solito lo fai da solo, Ian? Sembra difficile, senza uno specchio.» «Quasi sempre. Oppure lo facciamo in gruppo, ed è un fratello della tribù a dipingerti. Se si tratta di una cosa importante – di una scorreria in massa, ad esempio, o di una guerra contro qualcuno – allora è l’uomo di medicina a dipingerci, mentre canta.» «Dimmi che non vuoi che mi metta a cantare, Ian», mormorò Zio Jamie. «Voglio dire, potrei provarci ma...» «Farò senza, grazie.» Nero per la parte inferiore del viso, rosso sulla fronte, e una striscia di verde malachite lungo la linea dei tatuaggi, da un orecchio all’altro, attraverso il naso. Ian guardò i piattini con i pigmenti; non ebbe problemi a individuare il bianco, che indicò. «Magari potresti disegnarmi una piccola freccia, Zio? Sulla fronte.» Si passò un dito da sinistra a destra, per mostrargli dove farla. «Aye.» La testa di Jamie era china sopra i piattini, la mano sospesa. «Ma una volta non mi hai detto che il bianco è per la pace?» «Aye; se devi andare a conferire o a trattare, usi bianco in abbondanza. Ma serve anche per i lutti: quindi, probabilmente lo useresti anche per vendicare qualcuno.» A quelle parole, Jamie alzò la testa e lo guardò fisso. «La freccia non è per vendetta», spiegò Ian. «È per Freccia Volante. L’uomo morto di cui presi il posto, quando fui adottato.» Si sforzò di usare un tono disinvolto, ma sentì lo zio farsi teso e abbassare lo sguardo. Nessuno dei due avrebbe mai dimenticato il giorno della separazione, quando lui era andato dai Kahnyen’kehaka, e avevano creduto che sarebbe stato per sempre. Adesso si chinò e gli mise una mano sul braccio. «Quel giorno, Zio Jamie, tu mi dicesti: ‘Cuimhnich’. E io l’ho fatto. Ricorda.» «L’ho fatto anch’io, Ian», disse Jamie, piano, disegnandogli la freccia sulla fronte, come un sacerdote che, il Mercoledì delle Ceneri, gli faceva il segno della croce. «L’abbiamo fatto tutti. Va bene così?» Ian toccò con cautela la striscia verde, per essere sicuro che fosse abbastanza asciutta. «Aye, penso di sì. Sai che è stata Brianna a prepararmi i colori? Stavo pensando a lei, ma poi ho pensato che forse non dovrei portarla con me, in questa situazione.» Sentì il respiro dello zio sulla sua pelle, quando questi sbuffò e si appoggiò al salice con la schiena. «Un uomo porta sempre le sue donne in battaglia, Ian Òg. Sono la radice della tua forza.» «Oh, aye?»

Era una cosa sensata, e per lui fu un sollievo. Eppure... «Stavo pensando che forse non sarebbe giusto pensare a Rachel in un posto del genere. Considerato che è quacchera.» Jamie intinse il dito medio nel grasso di cervo, e poi lo immerse delicatamente nella polvere d’argilla bianca, con cui disegnò una grossa e profonda «V» vicino alla cresta della spalla destra di Ian. Anche al buio appariva vivida. «Una colomba bianca», disse, annuendo. Sembrava compiaciuto. «Questa sarà Rachel, per te.» Si pulì le dita su una roccia, poi si alzò e allungò i muscoli. Ian lo vide voltarsi e guardare verso est. Era ancora notte, ma l’aria era cambiata nei pochi minuti in cui erano rimasti seduti. La sagoma alta di Zio Jamie si stagliava netta sullo sfondo del cielo, mentre poco prima era sembrata parte della notte. «Un’ora, non di più», disse Jamie. «Prima mangia qualcosa, aye?» Con ciò, si voltò e tornò al torrente, e alle sue preghiere interrotte.

[ink-flavored]

Urban Fantasy Animals

I couldn't resist adding a small zoo of magical animals to this WIP, most of which are specifically for the joy of having a little magical pet. Here I have outlined the favorites of mine that I'll be including in the various anthology stories! You can find this and more world-building details on my Neocities site! Unnamed Urban Fantasy Anthology Taglist (Check out my Google Form to get added): @foxys-fantasy-tales @auroblaze @thelaughingstag @auntdarth @damageinkorporated

Dragon

European and Eastern type, drakes, wyverns, wyrms, etc.

Can be as small as a ferret, or the size of a Great Dane

Are kept as pets regularly

Depending on the species, dragon behaviors can vary from "lazy cat" to "purebred working border collie", so it's very important to research the kind of dragon that's right for the home

Griffon

Originally a lion and an eagle, but can be any combination of cat and bird after years of selective breeding and the influence of magic in different regions

The larger species’ are big enough for an adult to ride comfortably, but there are also smaller breeds kept as pets

Unicorn

Can be any horse with a horn glued on it

Are particularly picky about who they allow to ride them

Basically just a magic horse, so it's used for transportation, sports, pets, animal therapy, etc.

Pegasus

Can be any horse with wings glued on it

Incredibly skittish, even compared to a standard horse

Basically just a horse with wings, so it's used for transportation, sports, pets, animal therapy, etc.

Hippocampus

The upper body of any horse with the lower body of various fish

Used in water rescues, sports, and short-distance water transportation and recreation (think of them like living motorboats or jet skis)

Mimic

Modern day mimics can copy standard mimic objects (chests, rocks, etc.), but also modern-day objects, like music boxes, safes, microwaves, etc.

Most of them are wild animals, but can be kept as exotic pets

As they grow, they mimic bigger and bigger things, with the treasure chest size being the biggest. Technically, they never stop growing, but as they age, growth and mimicry become a larger and larger burden. Nearly every mimic dies of old age before it can even begin to mimic something bigger than a chest.

Imagine a venus flytrap crossed with a hermit crab

Gargoyle

Carved from a special magic rock that comes alive when crafted

Behave like magic pigeons, flying down from buildings to beg for pebbles

Are also kept as pets. Some are even specially commissioned!

Basilisk

Created by a chicken hatching a reptile egg

Giant serpentine creature with chicken features, poison breath, leaves a trail of venom wherever it slithers, and is able to kill with a glance

Often confused with a cockatrice

Cockatrice

Created by a reptile hatching a chicken egg

A giant chicken with serpentine features, with similar powers to the basilisk, including being able to kill by glancing at its targets

Often confused with a basilisk

Phoenix

Classic phoenix, the bird that dies and comes back to life from its own ashes

Although it appears to be "coming back to life" it's actually how the phoenix reproduces in stressful situations—the new baby bird is a genetic clone, not the same animal

A well cared for phoenix should NOT be regularly bursting into flames

Jackalope

Bunny with antlers <3

Often kept as pets

Wolpertinger

“The most widespread description portrays the Wolpertinger as having the head of a rabbit, the body of a squirrel, the antlers of a deer, and the wings and occasionally the legs of a pheasant.” (thanks Wikipedia)

Often kept as pets, but are much more temperamental than a jackalope.

Will-o-the-Wisp

Little blips of magical essence where intense spells have left remnants

Familiar

Can be any animal or combo of animals

Soul-spirit created through magical willpower that calls the latent magic around you into a fully realized form, bonded to your soul and devoted to helping you

Looks like an animal (standard or magical)

Follows you around like a wisp—you can barely see it out of the corner of your eye, but it lights up and becomes more immediately visible when you’re in need of magical aid

Created by a magic user in an intense emotional state, most often completely by accident. You can attempt to call a familiar on purpose, but it’s not common

Can also be created from two or more people having an intense emotional/magical experience together/when their spells interact. The resulting familiar will be loyal to all parties involved

In the event a familiar has to help more than one bonded individual at once, it can fracture into less powerful mirrors of itself, and snap back together once aid is no longer required

When not in helper mode, the familiar will remain in a quantum state, everywhere and nowhere at once, until one of its soul-bound partners needs its assistance

[roalinda]

Entry for @prongsfoot-microfic

Yes, it is November and this for Sirius' Bday and the prompt is March's but we are going to pretend otherwise. 🙏

****

March 23: Tea

****

James pursed his lips. He stole a glance at his crystal watch and drummed his fingers on the table restlessly, putting yet another sugar cube in his tea distractedly, now nauseatingly sweet. It was a silent afternoon and the small cafè was not crowded, for which he was thankful. The last thing he needed was feeling awkward in front of a bunch of strangers as Sirius bolted, which he probably would. 

Cursing himself, he hid his face between his hands, strands of untidy black hair disastrously out of place. The more he thought about this plan, the less sense it made. What if Sirius found the whole deal weird? 

Unfortunately, it was too late to lament as a soft bell chime was heard and a handsome young man stepped in, catching everyone's attention like a walking magnet. He looked around and grinned upon finding James, waltzing straight to his table like some kind of graceful prince charming which should have been impossible considering the way he was dressed in leather and sin. He threw himself on the expensive love seat in front of James carelessly, his grin widening. 

"Hello, deer," he said, fascinating and surreal like always and James shuddered with anticipation, his anxiety slowly melting away by that pleasant baritone. 

"Hi, Si." 

"Am I right to assume you have asked me on a date?" Sirius' eyes were shining with mischief.

"Sorry love, but not today," James winked cheekily in response, smirking playfully. 

"Shame," Sirius teased.

"Indeed…" James replied softly.  "Then again, maybe it is a date. It's your birthday after all," he hummed. 

Sirius' eyes went wide and then softened. He had completely forgotten his own birthday but trust James to drag him out and remind him. 

"Oh, love…" he whispered affectionately and James smiled in amusement, knowing full well that his friend had forgotten his special day. 

"I have a present for you," James fiddled with a gift, decent in size and neatly wrapped with a ribbon. "I mean…you probably will find it strange…" he gulped and hid his sweaty palms under the table. 

"Don't be stupid, babe," smiled Sirius, distracted by opening the box like a giddy child, head spinning with joy. James always did things to him.

James gulped as Sirius opened the box. He could see the way mercury shone heavily in his friend's eyes and how colour drained from his handsome face. He prayed with all his heart that he hadn't messed up. 

"This…this is Mom and Dad's personal tea set..but you know it already…" James babbled with nervous laughter, biting his lips now and then. "Mom…Mom always told me that this will be their gift…from them to my future lover…to my choice…Sirius…you are my choice…you have been my choice for years…Mom and dad have passed away, so…" his voice faded slowly. 

Sirius blinked uncomprehendedly. He remembered summer days and winter nights in the Potter manor. He remembered tea and muffin times and warm laughter. He remembered the love in Effie's eyes and affection in Monty's words as they smiled at each other, sipping tea from their personal twin china cups, nothing but a masterpiece set, unique to the Potter family, a gift from soul mate to soul mate, crafted by strings of silent love and secret sorcery. 

He remembered asking Effie if the set was going to be James' one day. 'Not if he doesn't find true love. The set's magic will repel the holder unless the emotions are real.' And he had laughed bitterly, his chest painfully tight, because he knew he was not going to be loved like that by James. 

"James…" he whispered weakly. 

James remained silent, hazel doe eyes wide and terrified behind his glasses, trying to remain strong in case of rejection. 

"Do…do you understand what this means? You have just bestowed me with Potter bonding magic," Sirius murmured in awe.

"I did. Please have me, darling," whispered James breathlessly.

Sirius blinked at him, owlishly and sharp.

One beat.

Two beats.

Three beats. 

And then…

"Shall I romance you then, Mr.Potter?" 

[ahomeforwisters]

ava gift exchange 2023! 🎄🥳

it's here! happy holidays, lulw (@tdlad), hope you're having a good one! this isn't a piece of visual art since i don’t have the tools to create one, so you get a dr. seuss-inspired fic + a part of a fic i might finish later!

due to irl events, i had to rush these a bit, but i hope you enjoy it either way :) have a wonderful winter (or summer, depending on where you are) week, and happy (early) new year! *gives gingerbread cookie*

(prompt: i tried to combine elements from all three, but i focused on “the dark lord with red coat (that tdl in my posts)” specifically—your art is just gorgeous, btw!)

word count: ~1400 for the first one/the dr. suess-y one, ~1320 (and counting?) for the second one/the unfinished one

(and special thanks to @avagiftexchange for hosting this!)

Fic 1: How the Grinch Dark Lord Stole Christmas (or: dark's christmas cake romp)

Every stick in Stick City, near the end of the year, Every stick in Stick City brimmed with holiday cheer…

But! The Dark Lord, who’s not far from here, Who lived in the wintry woods quite near— The Dark Lord held Christmas even more dear!

~-~

The Dark Lord loved Christmas, this is no bluff, And you’d best believe it, he just can’t get enough! Was it because he enjoyed the sound of children laughing clear, Or did he simply have a particular liking for reindeer? Well I’ll tell you his secret, his reason for this: He really, really liked log cakes, they fill him with bliss.

“Christmas awaits, on the very next day, Christmas really is just a day away!”

But, From his perch in the woods, Watching the stars from where he stood, With hungry eyes and vibrant ardor, With the growing desire for Christmas he harbors, (and a craving for frosting he just can’t ignore), The Dark Lord knew: he needed more!

He needed more of all that Christmas had in store! And he will get more, he swore, He’ll claim even more of Christmas, ‘twas his right as a Lord!

But—how? Christmas is already drawing so near, Soon enough, Christmas will practically already be here! He needed more time, and he needed… a plan! A plan to put Christmas in the palm of his hand.

So The Dark Lord schemed, And he schemed, and he schemed, And he conjured a scheme, A terrible scheme!

“A-ha! I’ve got a brilliant idea!”

Dark cackled, a sound from deep in his throat, As he pulled from his closet his most dapper red coat. “They’ll never see me coming, even from the skies, “So long as I craft myself a most clever disguise!”

So he lined his coat with cotton, like Santa’s coat proper, Just as into the room, his friend Chosen entered— “Look, dearest Chosen, I’ve come up with a plan, “A plan to seize Christmas in the palm of my hand!”

Dear Chosen deadpanned, “Why are you talking like that,” And right after, he inquired, what about your silly Santa’s hat?

“No I didn’t—”

“Right here! I believe my night cap is sufficient,” Dark proclaimed, wearing the hat over his ears. “Now I only need a reindeer…”

But around this area, their part of the woods here, This much Dark knew: you wouldn’t find any deer! But was Dark deterred…? No! He said, “If I can’t find a deer, I’ll just make one instead!”

“...What do you think you’re doing with that big red nose.”

…And Dark ended up sticking the nose and antlers on his one last Virabot instead!

And so, with his little red cap on his hollow red head, And his feet firmly planted in his makeshift sled— He took with him a burlap sack, Which he then hoisted upon his back— He yelled, “Onward!” just before he took flight, Off to steal Christmas, he disappeared into the night!

~-~

Back on the ground, Chosen gazed down at the cardboard box—sorry, at the sled—Dark left behind. He stared at the confused Virabot, wearing an antler headband and sporting a red clown nose glued to its face, and sighed. “This is so stupid…”

~-~

A jaunty holiday tune played from an open Chrome window, But not a sound could be heard coming from inside their homes. He was here at last, and at the perfect time, too— They must all be in their beds, dreaming away without a clue! “Now to enact my plan…”

So he climbed down the chimney, one crafted from brick, It wasn’t too tight a fit, for he was literally a stick. Though he did get stuck once, or twice, maybe thrice— And he cursed his head, loudly, for it was massive in size. “Ow—seriously, who makes chimneys this small—”

“Second, is that you?”

Just as Dark managed to extricate himself, finally, Free from the clutches of that dastardly chimney— He came face-to-face with his first obstacle: Little Cindy-Blue Who, carrying fruits in a bowl.

“Wha… Little Cindy-Blue who?”

That’s right! Little Cindy-Blue Who, probably much older than two, Who… was actually awake at this time? But it’s two (a.m.)!

“Oh, no, we don’t actually sleep. Like at all. Except Second, sometimes, but he’s off doing his own thing right now. But uhh, anyways, hi, Dark Lord! What—what’s up? And why are you dressed like…”

And oh, there was a cautious glint in his eyes— He was nervous! But there was no need for such fright, Not if Dark wanted his plan to go without a hitch. So Dark would assure him, and explain his impromptu visit:

“You see, sweet youth—you see, the job of Santy, “Is to stock up your stockings, and fill them aplenty! “So that’s what I’m here for—but not you, my dear, “For this gift’s a surprise, so I can’t have you near.”

And the lie rolled cleanly off The Dark Lord’s tongue, For he was clever, and sure to fool the young. And surely enough, Cindy-Blue Who was nodding, Raring and ready to hurry back to bed a-plodding. You’re right, Santa Dark, he joyfully exclaimed, I’ll head right back to bed now! With a turn and a wave.

“What? But I didn’t say anythi—”

And so, with his burlap sack swinging, And with Cindy-Blue assuaged, standing there beaming— “Hey, don’t—get back here…!” The Dark Lord marched onward, his first obstacle cleared!

…only to find four more, all waiting at the door!

(…crap)

Ahem—what a surprise! The Dark Lord gasped, He can’t believe his eyes, ‘twas something he almost couldn’t grasp— What a sight, that they’d all come to greet him so, How happy they must be, to all rush out and greet him so!

“Hey uhh… what’s he saying?”

‘What’s he saying?’ They’re asking what game he’s playing! They ask why he’s here, and on what he was preying. But! faced with a barrier of four— Now five, as Cindy-Blue Who, panting, adds one more… They all block his path to the far kitchen door, But has this ever stopped The Dark Lord before? No!

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Cindy-Blue called when Dark showed no signs of slowing.

“Why’d you come here all of a sudden?” Said the yellow, placing a hand on his chin.

“The Cindy-blue-what now?” Slowly asked the red fellow.

“And what’s with the getup?” Queried Green, looking him from the toes up.

“Oh, Chosen told me he and Dark recently discovered these popular picture books. And ever since then, Dark’s been narrating everything he does in rhyme.”

“Ah, is that why he’s talking like that?” Yellow asked, eyeing his little Santa’s hat.

“That’s actually kind of impressive,” Remarked Green, who’s usually quite quick to forgive.

“Ooh, try rhyming something with orange!” Red said as Cindy-Blue stood next to Orange.

“Please stop calling me that, I don’t even know what it means,” Groaned Cindy-Blue Who, beside a laughing Green.

“Hey guys, Chosen texted me again just now—apparently Dark is here trying to ‘steal Christmas’ from us—which really just means he wants our log cakes.”

(goddammit Chosen you traitor)

“Wait, that’s it? That’s what that devious plan he was cackling about is?”

“I mean, Blue could always just make another cake. You could’ve just asked if you wanted one.”

“Yeah, and you’re… kind of really bad at sneaking? We could hear you narrating really loudly as soon as you got here.”

“And cursing out Orange’s chimney, too. Geez, that was vulgar…”

“Well,” with a flourish, the orange stick gestures, Towards the kitchen, where Dark had been hoping to plunder. “We’ve got some cake, if you want it. Next time just let us know you’re coming before you tear a portal through our wifi. And maybe keep your visits during the daytime, or at least don’t come crawling down my chimney past midnight…”

What was this? Could it be—no, it simply couldn’t be… But it was! “They’ll stand here and hand Christmas—to me?” For ‘twas the season of giving, of gifts freely given, Of gingerbread, batter, and cakes in the kitchen.

And there Dark stood and pondered, and pondered, and pondered, ‘Til a bright thought struck him! One that filled him with wonder: Could it be, then, that Christmas was not for the taking, But for shared cheer and laughs and all that in the making?

“Oh, for Adobe’s—just sit down and have some log cake.” And, well— ‘Twas simply an offer Dark cannot forsake.

- the end -

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fic 2: i don't actually have a name for it yet, but i think i'll call it thaw for now

Christmas. ‘Twas a time of joyous laughter and warm embraces, of fireside affections and wintry escapades. ‘Twas the season of giving, be it presents or sweets or even the simplest of smiles—‘twas a time when even the little things, when given to another, are made infinitely precious.

Christmas. ‘Twas an absolutely perplexing holiday, for a stick such as The Dark Lord—and ‘twas a completely pointless one, too, as far as Dark was concerned.

Yet, when a pair of glittery red envelopes arrived at the doorstep of his and Chosen’s cabin in the woods—and when he opened one of them up to find an invitation inside, filigreed in gold and writ upon with a blue gel pen (in rather shaky handwriting, he noticed)—he didn’t immediately turn it to ash. He regarded it for longer than he normally would’ve, longer than he should’ve, turning it this way and that under the light—‘You’re invited!’, it winked up at him. If he didn’t know better just how sappy the animator’s favorite and his friends can be, he would’ve thought this was some kind of taunt.

(“You’re invited!”? who in their right minds would want to invite The Dark Lord, the outernet’s worst cyber-criminal, to something as mundane—as warm alien pointless—as a holiday gathering?)

While he was still winning gots nose at the gaudy invitation, the only other stick around for miles appeared in his periphery—Chosen picked up an envelope, too, when he saw what Dark was studying at the doorway. Dark almost hadn’t noticed when his fr… when his roommate had snuck up behind him, his pronounced footfalls doing little to breach the chasm between them; it was all he could do to stop himself from launching a fireball at Chosen as soon as the latter reached past him (he hadn’t forgotten how well that’d gone for him the last time…) 

Clumsily, fumbling with it once or twice, Chosen peeled at the envelope. His invitation was inked in orange instead of blue, littered with tiny scribbled drawings, and written in much neater script, too. Dark couldn’t catch the rest; Chosen always stood with his feet angled toward him these days, so his invitation turned away from view. That, and he’d moved a few paces away from the doorway—and Dark wasn’t interested anyway, he wasn’t. Pointless, he told himself again, it was such a pointless gesture. It was something he didn’t need—The Dark Lord had better things to do, had more important things to do, than to entertain something as small and banal as a Christmas party—it was a pointless affair, that was all it was.

(and yet.)

And yet. Dark wouldn’t be able to say what possessed him to do it; if it was sheer curiosity, a part of him balking at his own degrading wonder—or if it was when Chosen’s fingers tightened their hold on his invitation, carving minute creases into the paper,

and when the other stick’s eyes crinkled, just barely, in tender longing silent laughter only Dark would recognize—when those eyes finally met his, carrying a question and a spark Dark hadn’t seen in so long—he couldn’t find it within him to say no.

(it was Chosen’s idea, he would say later—it was all his roommate’s fault, the first and last person to extend their hand to him, that he was crashing their little party. he hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t needed it—he didn’t need this, he didn’t.)

~-~

If he was being honest—Dark really didn’t have anything better to do than to attend the party.

Ever since he was blasted to kingdom come by the animator’s favorite, ever since a battered Chosen had found him at the foot of a volcano and hauled his near-corpse all the way back to their cabin—in the months since, he’d seldom left their secluded area in the woods to do anything more than take a short walk. His shoulder still smarted from the hole that’d been blown through it, his skin etched with throbbing green scars all over—he couldn’t travel far beyond the bounds of the woods without wilting, robbed of breath. Needless to say, his heydays of ash and destruction were far behind him.

(and even if all his progress hadn’t been deleted, rendered void when Chosen destroyed the rest of his virabots following the “incident”—these days, looking at the place where he’d once stood tapping away at his computer, believing himself the inheritor of a grander purpose than the one dealt to him by the animator—it left an sour taste in his mouth.)

In his current condition, even petty theft seemed beyond his capabilities. Which was going to be a problem, he realized, when he turned to the back of the invitation and saw the damning first rule of the party written in a bold green: “Come in a costume! No costume, NO ENTRY.”

Well, in the state he was in, he wasn’t going to be pulling any heists anytime soon, not even on cheap outfitters—and he doubted any store would simply let a notorious cyber-criminal waltz into their establishment, even just to look around. That left him with only two options: either go through his own closets, or brave Chosen’s minefield of a room to rifle through his. It wasn’t a hard decision to make. 

With practiced ease (and only slightly impeded by his still-healing injuries), Dark picked his way past piles of lightly-charred sweaters, discarded bandages, random knick knacks collecting dust over the years, a self-sustaining tornado of trash—all the way across his roommate’s bedroom to reach the far end where the closets were. While Dark considered his fashion sense to be impeccable, none of his clothes really screamed “festive.” It was all something along the lines of “looks like he could kill you” or “warning: would actually kill you.” Chosen’s taste in clothes, on the other hand, was more… eclectic. There was more variety; he’d probably have a better chance finding something acceptable to wear here than in his own wardrobe.

Dark threw open the leftmost closet, a mahogany behemoth with the price sticker still slapped on the left door, and oh, that was—what even was that? No, those pants were too long, and the pair beside them the wrong shade of green—and oh, that’s garish, why did he even think to nab this? What is this even supposed to be, a mop? Or some kind of shawl? That color is way too bright to ever belong on a shirt, that shirt is a visual safety hazard. And what—why aren’t these socks the same, where’s the other one in the pair? None of these socks are the same—is that a pair of googly eyes—

Dark shut the closet door. He should’ve expected this, really; he’d witnessed the affront to fashion that was Chosen’s wardrobe thousands of times before, whenever they had to disguise themselves to go into the city. The two other closets wouldn’t be much better, he knew, but just as he was turning to head back toward the door—had that box always been there?

Tucked away into the corner of the room was a small cardboard box, a little tattered and stained in several spots from years of disuse but otherwise appearing untouched by the surrounding mess. As an expert at navigating Chosen’s room, Dark knew for certain it hadn’t been there the last time he was here (just over three months ago. he’d been scrounging for one of the aprons he’d left in Chosen’s room; it feels like it’s been forever since then.)

It took only a short hop for Dark to reach it. The next second, he was kneeling down in front of it, carefully lifting the top flaps—and sure, maybe a part of him was prodding at him, telling him whatever was in there was probably stashed away in the corner for a reason, reminding him that things are different now, the space between you and him, it’s different now—but that hadn’t ever stopped Dark before

(aaand that's all i have for this second one for now. i'll probs post the rest on ao3 or something if i finish this, but i'll def let you know!)

----------------------------

but yeah, anywho, that's all—have a wonderful holiday season! :)

[linedol2]

Ariana Rainbow

Age: 9 (94 starikle years old)

Gender: Girl

Starikle: Deer

Personality: Ariana is described as honest, responsible, creative, caring, polite, confident, and kind. She is girly but also has a bit of a tomboyish nature, exuding a cheerful and charming disposition. She acts as a "big sister" figure to the group, especially to Star. Additionally, she shows her loyalty and protective nature toward those she cares about. Being creative, she is skilled at arts and crafts.

Birthday: 15th April

Likes: painting, arts and crafts, hanging out with her best friend Star

Dislikes: making fun of her friends (especially her best friend, Star Lightness),

Extra: Ariana is Star's best friend and the first person Star befriended. Their friendship began when Ariana was 4 years old and Star was 1 year old. Star's presence positively changed Ariana's personality, making her no longer shy. She views Star as a little sister. Ariana also has a boyfriend named Rezu the Moose. Her weapon is a large paintbrush, which she can wield to make her creations come to life. This unique ability adds a magical and imaginative element to her character. Her artistic nature allows her to think outside the box and bring her creations to life. A fun fact is that she officially became Star's adopted big sister.

[decaf-mother]

Platonic not romance maybe, can I have Normal! Alive! Jason (Slashers) who is already saved as his mom Pamela was also safe. They finally had normal life live away from evil people. But s/o is very overprotective to Jason since scared when people judge the way Jason looks as good friends.

"Just A Little Twine"

-

Jason Voorhees x GN|Y/N {Platonic}

Alive|Jason

-

Warnings: Creepy Guy, Bullying and Pure Fluff

-

You and Jason had always been such close friends, you were the only one there that never judged him. Pretty early on in your friendship you made it clear you would never be leaving his side, not for anything in the world.

-

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!"

You bellowed out towards the kids bullying Jason, you were pissed and your fists were clenched, however the other kids just laughed at you.

"You're seriously defending this freak?"

Then there was a loud crack- everyone including Jason was all wide eyed, you had punched that boy square in the jaw- hard.

It ended in an all out fist fight, Jason having to help get you out of there. You now had a black eye and a few other bruises, Pamela placing some frozen peas onto your face.

"Ow!"

"I know I know. Just sit still."

-

Now here you were sitting side by side with Jason, it was spring time and all the flowers were blooming, deer wandering around and munching on leaves not too far from the porch of the cabin.

-

It was no lie that you could be a bit over protective, whenever you and Jason went to town if someone even so much as LOOKED at him wrong they'd get a death glare. However, nobody ever dared to mess with you either. Jason is still a very big man and knows how to be intimidating when he needs to be.

"Hey there sweetheart."

Jason has gone to the bathroom while you two were in the grocery store, some creep getting the bright idea to bother you. You simply tried to ignore him and keep shopping.

"Excuse me. I was talking to you."

He sounded mad now- your skin beginning to crawl as you glanced around, there weren't many people in the store since it was late at night.

"Please, just leave me alone."

Just as he reached out to grab you by the wrist, Jason had returned from the bathroom and grabbed the guys arm so hard he yelped. The guy immediately apologized to both of you and Jason released him, watching as the coward scurried away.

"Thanks, Jason..."

-

You shifted slightly and looked up at Jason, you had a box of craft supplies set on your lap. You were just sitting and enjoying nature while making little crafts, slowly you pulled out a spool of twine.

"Jason?"

Your voice caught his attention and he looked at you, a soft expression on his face.

"You know- you're my best friend right?"

You received a nod in response, you were his best friend too. Smiling you unraveled the twine, cutting off a piece and tying it around his wrist and then one for yours, so you two matched.

"I know it's just a little twine but... I just want you to know how much you mean to me. We'll always be best friends and these friendship bracelets are a symbol of that."

Suddenly you saw tears welling up in Jason's eyes, before you can react you're wrapped up in a big ol' bear hug, his face nestled into your hair. Jason didn't typically speak, however this time he rasped out a couple of words.

"Together forever"

-

{I hope I did well, Anon! This was such a cute idea 💜}

-

{More Content}

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, Worthless, 11: These trinket are garbage plain and simple. They would be termed vendor trash or junk loot in video games. They aren’t touched by stray magic or mystery as with regular trinkets, aren’t made from valuable materials and aren’t particularly useful even if they aren’t damaged.

A cookie tin. Upon opening it, you discover that it’s full of sewing supplies.

A mildew ridden purse containing 15 copper pieces that have been battered, bent, chewed or otherwise mutilated.

A single, partially soiled piece of parchment with indiscreet scrawlings upon it.

A scrap of leather on which was penned a sonnet composed by a lacklustre poet.

A single note that says “I.O.U.” The handwriting is very sloppy.

A small wooden box that when first opened, is surprisingly full of spiders.

A wiry and crusty collection of what appears to be dried plant matter braided into many strands to simulate hair. It is perhaps the worst wig you’ve ever seen.

A tin ear with a hole through the middle. The back has three serrated pins, slightly wobbly, presumably meant to have connected it to a host's skull.

A perfectly rectangular orange.

A shortbow that was meant to ignite the arrows it fires. Unfortunately, the enchantment is so strong that it instantly disintegrates any arrow that is knocked and is completely unusable as a weapon.

—Click Here to be directed to the Hotlinks To All Tables post, which provides (As you might have guessed) convenient links to all of the loot and resource tables this blog has.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A cookie tin. Upon opening it, you discover that it’s full of sewing supplies.

A mildew ridden purse containing 15 copper pieces that have been battered, bent, chewed or otherwise mutilated.

A single, partially soiled piece of parchment with indiscreet scrawlings upon it.

A scrap of leather on which was penned a sonnet composed by a lacklustre poet.

A single note that says “I.O.U.” The handwriting is very sloppy.

A small wooden box that when first opened, is surprisingly full of spiders.

A wiry and crusty collection of what appears to be dried plant matter braided into many strands to simulate hair. It is perhaps the worst wig you’ve ever seen.

A tin ear with a hole through the middle. The back has three serrated pins, slightly wobbly, presumably meant to have connected it to a host's skull.

A perfectly rectangular orange.

A shortbow that was meant to ignite the arrows it fires. Unfortunately, the enchantment is so strong that it instantly disintegrates any arrow that is knocked and is completely unusable as a weapon.

A standard hinge and spring mousetrap with a desiccated mouse still caught inside.

A copper piece that has been bitten in half.

A fist size clump of hairy scalp wrapped in barbed wire dangling on a length of scarlet linen.

A waterskin half-filled with stale, brackish water.

A large side of spoiled meat wrapped in torn animal hide.

An opened stone bottle of strong, harsh alcohol.

A crudely fashioned hunting trap. It is made of gnarled wood and jagged iron hooks. It is too damaged to function properly but could be repaired and used to trap beasts, such as boar or deer.

A broken hazel wood staff scorched by flame.

A tiny boat crafted from a mouse's skull.

An aged cloth map detailed in a long dead language.

A cracked square mirror that reflects everything under a strange fuzzy layer. Creatures shown in the mirror seem to twitch or gain unnatural aspects.

A deer hide half way through the process of being tanned.

A set of damaged leather armor halfway through being mended.

A blanket made out of rat skins sewn together.

A wooden contraption that has drying plants pressed between two planks.

A half-eaten rat wrapped in a scrap of dirty, gore stained cloth.

A tightly strung lyre with residue on the strings that makes it look as if it has been used to cut cheese. The instrument is wildly out of tune. Along with the instrument the PC finds a brick of strong smelling cheese and a half eaten jar of olives.

A sprung mousetrap with no cheese and no mouse.

A bag of hard butterscotch candies, melted together by humidity and time.

A crusty used handkerchief. No monogram.

A few scraps of fine fabric, too small to make anything with.

A pair of eyeglasses, badly scratched.

A ticket stub to a play that was popular years and years ago but fell quickly out of fashion after the playwright was accused of plagiarism.

A ball of several feet of bundled up yarn, so badly knotted it might take hours to untangle the mess.

An earthenware jar containing a few common seashells.

A rock with eyes and a mouth painted on with the unskilled hand of a small child.

A small wooden box of stale tobacco leaf.

A rusty steel and smoked glass syringe.

A portrait of a plain, unremarkable woman. It looks old enough that the lady is likely long dead.

A small container labelled ‘Dr. Brown’s World Renown Elbow Grease’. It is nearly empty and smells foul.

A to-do list written in Infernal.

A dull letter opener, the handle has a griffon at the end with an illegible inscription, worn smooth with time.

A tankard with the handle broken off; the bottom also looks to be dented, as if dashed against something heavy.

A specimen jar of hardened gelatinous cube gel, so dry that it’s become powdery and useless.

A ratty leather wallet containing a thick wad of paper currency belonging to a now defunct nation, rendering them worthless.

A broken and rusted dagger with a brass hilt in the shape of an octopus.

A defaced stone bust of a fallen ruler.

A rude cartoon of the adventuring party, all of them mercilessly caricatured.

A small, crude, clay pot that looks like it was made by an apprentice potter on their very first day.

An old pair of wool socks that have multiple patches sewn into their frayed and fragile hems.

A common copper piece, both sides depicting a fat-jowled merchant. One face smiles cajolingly and the other sneers scornfully.

A heavy, black leather sack with a brown leather thong threaded through a series of small slits near its opening to serve as a drawstring. It contains a carefully wound ball of waxed twine, a three‐barb steel fishing hook with its points embedded in tiny cylinders of cork, and the remains of a broken lantern.

A matched pair of eyeball sized, square‐cut, dark green stones with bright red flecks. They appear opaque at first, but admit a faint glow through the edges when held to the light. Knowledgeable PC’s can identify the minerals as bloodstone.

A worn, weathered woollen belt pouch, originally dyed grey‐blue, holds bent copper coins in its roomy main compartment and a soiled handkerchief in each of two small exterior pockets. A belt, torn raggedly with the buckle‐end missing, is still threaded through the pouch's loops.

A clay jar filled with “Stinking Orc’s Foot” cheese.

An old and rusty axe head.

A child-sized short bow with a broken string.

The broken tip off a dwarf-crafted spear.

A terribly preserved sheep’s bladder which can be used as a container in an emergency.

A battered leather case containing a well-worn deck of cards, most of which are stained with wine.

A petrified cocoon of an unknown insect.

A single, partially soiled piece of parchment with indiscrete scrawlings upon it.

A glass jar large enough to hold a live chicken that instead contains only a greenish pickling solution and two dozen hard boiled eggs of indeterminate species.

A collection of leather scraps fashioned together into a vaguely humanoid doll.

A cloudy, dirty mirror that one can barely see their own reflection in it

A crudely stitched scarf made from ferret pelts.

A half-finished spell scroll stained with long-dried blood.

A mummified toad which, when squeezed, emits a large puff of foul-smelling black smoke from its mouth.

A cracked glass eye with some questionable stains on it.

A scrap of paper or parchment with an unintelligible note scribbled on it.

A dog sized carcass of an unknown beast that has been recently mutilated by something.

A roughly sewn doll of a cat with button eyes.

A fragment of slate with a fossilized fern.

A crude arrowhead fashioned from quartzite.

A set of colorful ceramic beads on a length of twine.

A petrified corpse of a minnow, hooked on a length of wire.

A small box, encrusted with dead barnacles and severely water damaged.

The scorched remains of a once-beautiful bouquet of flowers.

An old shortsword, long since dulled. A chalky black substance coats it, in place of rust.

A rusty cutlass with half the blade snapped off.

A piece of wood that sinks like a stone.

A twisted handle from a broken dagger. It has black stains.

A stringless lute with puncture marks.

A jar of mismatched cooking utensils. One has bloodstains.

A rusted iron torch bracelet.

A piece of sun-bleached driftwood.

An old and rusty axe head.

A small pouch full of burnt up expended spell components.

A set of four bone dice, so worn that one can barely make out the symbols.

A desiccated squirrel

A small cart of humble design, composed of old wood and rusted nails that struggle to hold the vessel together. The two wheels in the back are misshapen, and the mounting bars at the front are scuffed and worn from repeated use. A second look reveals numerous patches and fixes implemented by an experienced workman in the past.

An old half eaten book with a title on the spine that read “Biology of the common book worm and its dietar...” (The rest is missing).

A large mason jar of pickled monstrosity viscera.

A rusted pot filled with mummified deer hooves and pieces of antler.

A flour-sack dolly with yellow yarn hair. It’s missing one of its button eyes.

A thin wooden case, containing several broken pieces of charcoal, chalk, and a ruler.

A stained piece of parchment with a handwritten recipe for macarons.

A wide-toothed comb made of carved bone. One of the teeth is chipped.

A handmade plush elephant, made of mismatched scraps of blue fabrics. Its eyes are two black buttons, with stitched-on eyebrows set in a perpetually sad expression.

An old leather bridle harness and reins, cracked and worn but for the mirror-polished brass hardware, which always feels sun-hot to touch. The reins are creased and dyed brown with old blood in places, stained green with grass in others.

[atlantis-just-drowned]

Welcome on my blog !

I'm sharing my pfp with my IRL best friend @arsuns-ramblings :]

Other people I've corrupted so far I mean beloved IRL friends: @bi0u @the-lil-jester @navygdraws @yolasthing @nostelou @ly4k0s @ash--king @goartieldoodles @schrodingers-most-anoyingsubject

DNI if you:

- Are transphobic, queerphobic, racist, sexist, ableist or fatphobic.

- Are a TERF or a pedo.

- Do not stand with Palestine.

- Are trying to start shit on the Nevermore fandom/hate on RnF/think they deserve to be hated on for literally being humans.

- Use the R-slur???? (I can't believe I have to fucking say it??????)

- Are an "ED blog", or interact/reblog from such blogs.

My stance on any internet drama, ever, is that you're a petty teenager with too much screen time and you couldn't pay me to care.

Who am I ?

My name is Atlantis, and my pronouns are he/they! I'm 18, trans, gay as hell, and French™️. I write fanfics and headcanons, sing, craft things, and hyperfixate on new guys all the time.

I'm a chaotic gremlin, with undiagnosed autism and maybe potentially OSDD. We're not sure about that yet. I'm also on my first year of a psychology degree!

Here I make headcanons, theory posts and original posts with bad jokes because my sense of humour is broken. My blog is mostly random brain goop and ramblings.

Funny hahas to check

@lost-letters-from-atlantis is my side-blog for original writing!

My masterlist for headcanons and short stories!!

The infamous deer quiz (now with amazing art?!), I read all replies left on the last box, and if you left something in there I probably fell in love with you.

#whispers from atlantis : My orignial posts!

#howlings from the vortex : Queued posts!

#bestie's trinkets box : Posts I reblog for my best friend (obviously)!

#bird's wisdom : One of my amazing friends sends me cool poems that you can all check with this tag ! So she has a proper tag in recognition for the great literature she brings to us :]

Interactions status ?

Unless specified otherwise, my askbox is opened for headcanons/short stories requests! I do both SFW and NSFW but will decline any request that makes me too uncomfortable.

Otherwise, you can always put something nice or silly in there and I'll be happy!! If you want to send me a message but can't/are scared to, just send me an ask to tell me so and I'll answer you! :]

My DMs are opened for mutuals! My only problem is I always think all of my moots hate me and want to hunt me for sport, so please do send me a message or an ask otherwise I'll just look at you from afar with fear and admiration in my eyes.

Please keep in mind that it takes time and energy for me to answer!

You can find me in other places on the Internet :

Instagram

AO3 (for English works)

Wattpad (for French works)

BandLab

+ anywhere you see a blue haired emo teenager called Atlantis doing weird shit

Credits for dino-nuggets dividers

[cobwebliss]

A couple things I want to point out, as well.

"Her name had been Trixie. She owned a walk-in closet packed full of expensive designer black leather catsuits and was approaching thirty. The collar she had specially crafted to fit around Chester’s throat was made of white leather and inlaid with the word WORM in cotton-candy pink rhinestones."

"White had never looked good on him. Chester’s skin is so pale that light colors are often hit or miss on his person. Top that off with his shaggy blond hair, nearly down to the nape of his neck since they started college, and the band of the old collar had nearly blended in with his throat. Black, on the other hand, has always been a striking color on his best friend. Striking in the way a nice suit is. Classy.

When Chester opens the box and sees the collar sitting there on the white satin pillow, he just freezes up like a deer in the headlights. Beside him, Parker chews at his lip, waiting for some sort of reaction. It’s such a simple collar compared to his old one. No rhinestones to bite into his skin. A little thinner so that he can move his head with more ease. The embossing is elegant but discrete, not on display for the whole world to see, but hidden on the inside where only the two of them will ever be aware of its existence."

-Quotes from Claimed & Collared, October 10, 2021

-Ad for Life of Luxury Merch, on the video It Waits Until You Fall Asleep, April 8, 2022

"It’s exhilarating. The way the sound of breathing just cuts off, abruptly, like that. He feels movement in Chester’s throat, it feels like he’s trying to swallow but Parker’s fingers are in the way. Then something just sort of hits and Chester’s eyes relax, lids lowering until he looks like he’s stoned out of his mind. Parker doesn’t loosen his grip and Chester doesn’t do anything to stop him. The fingers on Parker’s bicep are holding firmly, indicating Chester is still conscious, still in complete control of his mind, but he doesn’t squeeze. Soon, his face begins to redden. His fingers twitch. Parker swallows, feeling a bead of sweat go down his face. Chester’s leg kicks below them once, twice. Not struggling, almost more of a reflex."

-Quotes from Claimed & Collared, October 10, 2021

-She Thought Her Little Brother Was Dead, January 7, 2022

Listen, I'm not saying that they've been reading my stories and getting ideas from them, but also, they should let me write the episodes.

[selamat-linting]

anyway another game update. because the last one isnt done

1. hardrock version

so, last few entries, i talked about getting silkworm and backpacks. turns out these things arent on my version of tfc. its on the hardrock version that requires you to boil your water, added a temperature system, and i think it also has tornados and piranhas? its much harder than the one i played. pro tip: if your installing the mod, dont just install tfc. i had a hard time with a lot of recipes because the tfc field guide on its own isnt very detailed. i got a lot better once i installed the essential beginner modpack that include map and coord help and JEI support to look up crafting recipes. even the harder version like hardrock was actually a modpack i believe.

tfc actually had a lot of version like tfc tng that only covers 1.18+ update, 1.20 current version, tfc plus, tfc hardcore, even the old original versions like 1.7.10 that came out ten years ago. the rule is, when in doubt, check field guide on github, install JEI mod, or ask their discord.

2. welding

anyway, back to the game. since my thatch bed is done and all i have to do is wait for the alpaca to be ready to shear again, i decided to make an anvil.

welding is an evil mechanic. the charcoal forge is evil too. i swear watching the copper ingot heats up is like watching water boil. but then if i look away and do something else the copper gets too hot and disappears. i lost quite a bit of ingots during the trial and error process. it is quite satisfying to see my first double ingots though. and crafting some bellows helped lot in making the forge heats up faster, and once you got it handled down, you slowly gets used to it and it becomes easy.

and then, you got your first copper anvil.

smithing is more fun and less tedious, because its a mini-game. but if there's one thing i want to automate, its that. more motivation for me to start making windmills. but then i realized the gear box needed to harness mechanical powers are made of brass, a metall alloy so i might have to do a lot of smithing manual anyway. fml

but seriously, smithing isnt as bad as welding things in a stone anvil. the waiting game isnt as horrible. i think, all the trouble i got just for my new copper boots and copper shields are worth it. im actually planning to do a helmet, but i dont have enough copper right now.

you know, i've been thinking of making a beginner's welding/smithing guide because there is a lot of ppl complaining abt it. i think once you got it handled its fun, but the documentation are hard to get through if youre very much a beginner gamer. i might not help ppl do a perfectly forged item (yet) but i can make crafting a copper anvil less of a pain in the ass.

3. farming / food

i might have made a mistake in moving after my base burned down. my place is cold. it has some very bright summers and spring, but its snowing more times in the year than it is sunny. its good for a steady supply of deer meat, but not good for farming.

but i still have quite a bit of a harvest. its so much that i need to make an extra food container and some of the crops rot because i just cant eat everything in time even when i mix everything up in soups and sandwiches. i can preserve and pickle things up more but i need vinegar and it requires sugar which grow from sugar canes and it doesnt grow in my area and maybe i also need to make jams so i have to make a jar but then that requires glassworking and turns out i need to craft a blowpipe and that requires. iron. and smithing on the anvil. astagfirullah.

back to farming, i can at least mitigate the short planting and growing season by using fertilizers to make things grow faster. which is where the crop rotation part came in. fertilizers have different ratio of phosphorus, potassium, and nitrogen, while plants require just one of said nutrients. if i keep planting the same type of seed in the same farm soil, the nutrients that affect its growth will slowly deplete along with the crop yield over time while the other nutrients that could be used to double the yield and make faster growing time are left unused in the soil. there is also the matter of some plants being more resistant to cold weather like cabbages and barleys. i might need to make a excel sheet arranging the most efficient crop rotation and the best way to get as much out of the short planting season of my base's cold climate.

(to be continued because this has gotten too long already!)

[dragonsarecats]

What do you think Christmas Claude got the Deer looking at his gifts?

!! Merry Christmas anon!!!

I've got all his character portraits pulled up and I think I gotta start with the obvious.

He got Raphael meat, XD.

Lysithea, I'm gonna assume belongs to the small lavendar bag tied with a ribbon--he definitely got her some gourmet chocolate or other type of sweet. He might have even experimented in the kitchen himself to try--you don't get a bonus for cooking with him and he's a disaster at dishes but he does promise to be good at home cooking. Plus, Claude to me seems like a really good gift giver? Both practical and sentimental. He definitely hunted whatever meat he gave Raph.

The purple striped box with a red rose shaped bow physically cannot go to anyone other than Lorenz. This one stumps me a bit, but I think Claude would probably get Lorenz tea--likely foreign, probably Alymyran--that they would likely end up drinking together. Considering how smashed up the box gets in his "damaged" portrait, we better hope he didn't get china to match XD.

Hilda definitely got the pink box with three flowers on the ribbon at the bottom of his special. She's similarly hard like Lorenz to come up with, because Claude wouldn't be satisfied getting her jewellery (when she could make her own) or anything similar, so I think he might get her raw materials to work with? Hilda's crafts are the one thing she seems really, genuinely passionate about--sure she's good with her axe and has enough charisma banked she can get whatever she wants from whoever she wants, but that means little when you're trying to get someone a gift. I think similarly to Lorenz, and likely the rest of the deer, this gift has some Almyran flare as an extension of Claude's love and trust in them. So whether it be resin sealed flowers, interesting beads, or expensive threads, Hilda's gift is definitely pertaining to her one, true hobby.

I like the idea of the smashed glass bobble in the damaged portrait belonging to Marianne. I think she deserves something delicate and pretty. You know those glass balls with little statues of animals or mini terrariums/landscapes inside? Definitely one of those. A little slice of the beautiful world she can hold in her hands.

There's an orange and yellow box in the standard portrait's bag I think belongs to Leonie. She's also definitely a really good gift giver--practical and sentimental--but in a weird way that makes giving gifts to her hard. I think he might give her an embroidered Almyran quiver--simple, practical, with gorgeous designs on it. Something she'd appreciate and use everyday.

Then there's Ignatz! Pigments is a little too obvious for Claude I think, even if he is giving Raphael meat. I like to think the large red and green striped present is for Ignartz, a book filled with Alymyra depictions of Sothis, since he seems to be a real admirer of art and painting and not just a creator, you know?

Last, but not least, is Byleth! There's no way the box he's holding out in the standard portrait isn't for them, what with the blue ribbon and the golden deer hanging from it. Claude's an information hoarder above all, so he'd probably have scrounged up any records of Jeralt and Sitri from their time at the Monastery he could find and compiled them into a nice and neat collection for the professor. Touching, but a little too in depth if you know what I mean. Rascal, lol <3