#but a servicable chunk :3

[tendebill]

guess who spontaneously started learning the good omens opening theme on piano today at 2 am instead of sleeping :)

[mossy-paws]

my summer vacation is gonna be WILDDDDD this year oh my god. First I have 2 week and a half long vacations with my dad because my brother is getting married. THEN. I’m going on a cruise with my mom and THEN at the end of summer I’m getting knee surgery because apparently I have like 3 different somewhat serious conditions going on all at once IN 1 SINGLE KNEE what the HELL MAN 😭😭😭

anyways yeah art is probably gonna be slowing down a LOT over summer and I don’t think I’ll be able to participate in artfight this year. Maybe a little but if I do then I’m gonna be focusing on close friends only really LMFAO

[phant0m-l0rd]

Lee Soo-hyuk in Local Hero (2016)

[wander-wren]

me: i don’t wanna be a cog in the capitalist machine!! my job doesn’t care about me and i literally don’t get paid enough to care about it!!

the part of me relentlessly scrutinized for being the family fuckup: but,,,,when i do good job customers like me,,,,when i do extra managers think i’m the best,,,,

[bowithoutadaemon]

Just sat down to do the thing I've been putting off, call the place about a thing.

They do not have a phone number. They have a form were you can tell them your phone number and the 4 hour chunk of time you want them to call you back. .... I hate this.

Guess I am picking the 3 hour chunk I'll be most likely to be awake all days next week and have a shitty, anxious, exhausting week next week until they call me on a random day at a near random time.

And today instead I'll buy groceries and meal prep over the weekend. Or I know I'll not eat until the phone call happened. Because my ability to prepare and remember to eat meals while extremely anxious is non existent...

[kyojurokoibito]

"LET ME PAY YOU!"

Pairing(s): kyojuro rengoku x reader

Synopsis: how kyojuro met his civilian wife

Genre: fluff

Warning(s): n/a

Kao's Notes: just something to put out there while i work on requests in the meantime :) enjoy! <3

"EXCUSE ME, MISS!"

"OH MY G—!" *BANG* "OW!"

you hit the top of your head on the bottom shelf of your stall as a loud voice rang through the night. you ran a popular food stall in the small, lovely town you call home. people loved coming by your food stall for the service, the food, and for a chance to talk with a beautiful lady. each day, you decided to try a new recipe, and everyone was eager to see what you'd be serving every day.

"forgive me," the loud voice called again. "it was not my intention to startle you!"

"i-it's alright." rubbing the crown of your head with a slight pout, you rose to look at the owner of said voice. "i–um–wasn't expecting many people to come by this late, so you caught me by surprise."

taking in the man's appearance, you quickly gathered he was a demon slayer. the distinct design of his haori, the nichirin blade at his hip, and the obvious uniform was a dead giveaway.

you smiled, "would you like something to eat while you're here? i'm making gyu kushi(beef skewers) on top of rice, along with some mochi tonight. you'd be the final person i'm serving!"

the man's smile nearly blinded you, "yes! i would appreciate that very much!"

"great!" his smile was so contagious. you couldn't help but to deliver one as well. "how many orders would you like?"

"that depends," he stated loudly, excitedly slamming his hands on the counter and smiling at you. "how many are you willing to make?!" that's...the first time you've received that response.

"o-oh...uh..." you looked beneath your stall again. "well, i could make the rest of my inventory for you..." you lifted your head to look at him with a nervous laugh. "although, it's a considerably large amount of food, sir."

he laughed, "if you are willing to make it, i am willing to eat it! and no need to call me, sir! i am rengoku kyojuro!" you couldn't stop yourself from laughing along.

"then i'll be happy to make it for you, rengoku-san!"

kyojuro watched you gather the ingredients and quickly get to work on prepping his food. it was clear this was like second nature to you. you worked so diligently and moved with unwavering certainty.

"so," you began as you continued cooking but kept your gaze on kyojuro. this caused the hashira to look at you. "what brings you by this late?"

"a mission," he stated proudly, his smile never leaving. "it is completed, but i always stop by to check on towns nearby!"

"well, that's nice of you," you stated before finishing his first plate of food and handing it to him. "here, have a taste before i make the rest."

he loudly thanked you before placing the beef skewer between his teeth, pulling one of the chunks of meat off with his teeth.

"TASTY!" another bite. "TASTY!" a bite of rice. "TASTY!" a bite of mochi. "TASTY!"

you clapped your hands in delight, overjoyed that the hashira found your food so tasteful.

"so, everything tastes okay? would you still like to have the rest, rengoku-san?" you asked, although you're sure you already knew the answer.

"yes! i would love the rest!" he began fishing around in his pocket. "how much would it be?!"

"oh no," you quickly shook your head and quickly began preparing the rest of the food with a content smile. "i never charge the slayers that pass through. it's the least i can do for you all."

"please!" he slammed a pouch of coins onto the counter, causing you to shriek at the loud noise. he leaned forward, eyes boring into you with conviction. "ALLOW ME TO PAY YOU!"

"i-it's no trouble, really!" you jumped back from the close proximity. he only leaned in closer.

"THIS AMOUNT OF FOOD WOULD SURELY MAKE A GREAT PROFIT FOR YOU!! LET ME PAY!!!"

"b-but, the sales i've made today are more than enough already!!!"

"TAKE MY MONEY!"

"i don't need to!!!"

you two continued back and forth like this as you finished cooking the remainder of his food, packaging them nicely in cute boxes, which only fueled his desire to pay you. as you had given him the last box, he beckoned you to him.

"if you will not let me pay," he placed his free hand on his hip. "then allow me to escort you home!"

placing a hand on your chin, you paused to mull it over. it was pretty late, and you did live on the other side of the town. even if it was small, it would grant enough time for a demon to stake its claim on you.

"alright," you finalized with a greatful nod. "sounds fair!"

on the way, you both engaged in a quiet, lovely conversation. topics ranging from your cooking, his work as a slayer(at least the parts he could tell you), or your childhood, the atmosphere around you was peaceful. now, the current subject of the conversation was family.

"yes, you're right," you respond with a smile as rengoku concluded a story about his little brother. "it can be difficult to care for little siblings. especially if the parent is...more or less present." you cringed at your lack of better term, but kyojuro didn't mind at all. "my parents, unfortunately, fell victim to a demon, so i understand."

"very much so, and i am sorry to hear that! my condolences to you!" he responded with a solemn nod before asking his next question. "i take it you have a sibling then?"

"mhm," you nodded with delight as you drew nearer to your house. "i am the eldest of seven."

"SEVEN?!" he immediately fished the pouch of coins back out before shoving it in your direction. "SUCH A LARGE FAMILY! NOW YOU REALLY MUST TAKE MY PAYMENT!!!"

"i told you already," you pushed it back toward him in defiance. "i don't need it!" he tossed the pouch towards you, leaving you no choice but to catch it. "hey! take it back!" you tried to hand the coin pouch back to him.

"my apologies," he exclaimed after using his other hand to hold the food as well, even though he didn't need to. his smile never faltered as he blatantly ignored your attempts to return his money. "but my hands are full! i can not hold anything else!"

"but you were carrying it one-handed this whole time! you can just–"

"my hands are full!"

"but–"

"i can not carRY ANYMORE!"

"ren–"

"IT IS A PERFECTLY LEGITIMATE REASON AS TO WHY YOU MUST KEEP IT!"

you gave up.

kyojuro–1

y/n–0

upon reaching your house, you turned face kyojuro and gave him a polite bow.

"thank you for walking me back, rengoku-san," you stood straight. "you really didn't have to...nor did you have to pay me."

"it was no trouble at all," he smiled down at you. "and please, call me kyojuro."

you opened the door, and entered the doorway to your home chorus of "NII-SAN" called out to you. fondly shaking your head at your siblings(who were supposed to be in bed by now), you turned back to the hashira and returned his smile.

"alright, well," you placed a gentle hand on one of your little brother's heads, who'd been tugging on your shirt to get your attention, and replied in a hushed voice. "goodnight, kyojuro. have a lovely evening, and please travel safely."

he visibly brightened once he heard his name fall from your lips, and a gentle smile was bestowed upon you.

"goodnight to you as well, and thank you."

as you closed the door, kyojuro happily went on his way but stopped. he couldn't believe he forgot such an important piece of information.

oh well, he'll simply have to find his way back to you because he never got your name.

[seoulmatez]

— 𝒻𝓇𝓊𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓇 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2.3k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ a lil bit of flirty teasing ﾉ pet names ( darlin' ) ﾉ interactions with kids ﾉ reader is navigating Big and Confusing feelings :3

previous part ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ next part

“one more stop and we should be good to go,” boothill informs you, closing the door behind him after joining you in the front of the truck. his presence makes the vehicle feel twice as hot and you find yourself scooting closer to the window to widen the gap between the two of you. the task proves to be a bit difficult in the two-seat cab.

maybe you can chalk it up to the fact that you’ve gotten used to the convenience of grocery delivery services, but you’re really starting to feel like boothill is going out of his way to make this the longest, most convoluted shopping trip simply because you’re here with him. if you knew you’d be spending such a large chunk of your day with the farmhand, you wouldn’t have so easily agreed to accompany him on the errands.

it was another request, or suggestion, rather, from your grandpa. you’ve been cooped up in the house since you arrived for your getaway and the man thought it might be a good idea for you to go into town, reacquaint yourself with the locals. you couldn’t argue—your trip is currently indefinite and you’re sure you’ll end up driving yourself crazy if you refuse to go out and are only left with the company of boothill.

he may still be in your presence now, but having others around to buffer your interactions has made all the difference. the farmhand is a lot more tolerable when it’s not just the two of you—less teasing, easier to talk to. you’d even go as far as calling him… charming. though, you’ll take that with you to the grave.

and, being trapped in a car with him is a different story. you silently hope that your next destination is in the same direction as home because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take being confined in such a cramped space with him. other than his unrelenting pestering, you’re angry at yourself for stealing glances at him—the way he steers with one hand and lets the other hang out the window and how the toothpick he’s chewing looks all too natural between his lips.

you focus your eyes ahead, scolding yourself for so shamelessly enjoying the sight of him. you should be glad he doesn’t catch you looking; you’d never hear the end of it. without turning to face him, you ask, “what’s the last stop?”

“produce stand,” he speaks around the wooden stick in his mouth, slowing to a stop at the red.

you frown, confused. “we were just at the market, why didn’t we just pick some up there?”

“and betray miss alma?” the name rings a bell, you recognize it from when you would spend summers with your grandpa. he must still do business with her if boothill is familiar, and loyal, at that. “absolutely not. better quality here, anyway.”

you don’t argue because you have a feeling that he’s right. and you wouldn’t mind catching up with alma. she was always so nice when you were a kid, excitedly asking you about your time here and offering you free carrots to feed the horses back home. you’re surprised to hear she’s still running the stall after all these years.

it only takes a few more minutes to make it to the roadside stand. there are a couple of cars already parked when boothill pulls off and you can see the owners of them picking out their desired fruits and vegetables. you don’t waste any time getting out of the truck when boothill turns it off, the gravel of the makeshift parking lot crunching beneath your boots as you make your way over to the little table that houses the register.

alma is seated behind it, head lifting up from the book in her hand at the sound of car doors closing. she readies to greet another customer but her eyes light up in pleasant delight when they land on you. “look who it is!”

her voice, though slightly changed by age, is familiar and brings an immediate smile to your face. you all but run to meet her at the table she comes to stand behind. the woman holds her arms out for a hug and you reach over the table to wrap your arms around her. it’s comforting in the same way hugging your grandpa is, like nothing can go wrong while you’re safe in their hold.

“your grandpa told me you were in town,” she tells you, pulling away and slowly taking a seat in her chair. “i was wondering if you’d stop by.”

you don’t want to tell her that you’re mostly here because of boothill. “how have you been, miss alma?”

“good, good.” she beams and gestures toward the multiple cartons and crates of colorful produce. “we’re still going strong.”

you smile at that. you don’t find many places like this in the city and the small businesses that you do come upon back home don’t foster this type of community. it’s nice to see that her livelihood is still thriving. alma gazes at her work proudly before her eyes zone in on something—or someone—else. “you here with boothill?”

“oh, yeah. he works at the farm,” you tell her, though, you’re sure she already knew as much. she’s seen much more of him in the past few years than she has of you. not that you didn’t believe him, but he really is a regular.

“nice young man, isn’t he?” alma asks, looking back at you. you’re not sure if you’d go that far but you nod in agreement regardless. he’s likely the perfect gentleman to the older ladies within town. she continues, “hardworking and handsome, too.”

“yeah,” you mindlessly admit. the hardworking part is undeniable, you’ve seen that much yourself. he’s always up on time and takes his responsibilities seriously, never half-asses his tasks and is consistently willing to take on more work if it’s necessary. you only concede on the handsome bit because boothill isn’t around to hear you say so. you hope alma isn’t a gossip.

“are you seeing him, dear?” she inquires.

“seeing him? like dating?” you ask for clarification. alma only raises her eyebrows. she does mean it like that. the question makes the tips of your ears grow hot, makes your heart feel like it’s beating against your ribcage infinitely faster. you quickly wave your hands in dismissal, smiling nervously at the woman’s assumption. “oh, no. no, no.”

alma laughs at your denial but something hidden in the sound makes it seem as though she can see right through you. she doesn’t push the matter and while you’re grateful to leave the discussion at that, you can’t help but wonder what gave her that impression, if it’s simply an old lady’s wishful thinking or if you aren’t as good at suppressing those confusing feelings as you thought you were.

“boothill!” the call of his name gives you a start. you almost think alma is calling him over but when you reassess the voice—how little and high-pitched it is—you calm down. your eyes search the small crowd for the man and you find him quickly, though he isn’t alone. there’s a little girl at his feet, one who’s hugging his legs tightly and looking up at him with stars in her eyes. 

you don’t have time to wonder about who she is before alma explains. “that’s my granddaughter. sweet little thing. you should go meet her, she’ll love you.”

“sure.” you offer the woman a short wave before making your way over to boothill and the girl. you can pick up on tidbits of their conversation as you approach—boothill asking how much she’s missed him and the girl telling him “this much!” while opening her arms as wide as she can. he laughs and takes the opportunity to bend down and pick her up, situating her on his hip. he even takes the hat off his head to place it on hers. it’s big on her, covers her eyes and requires her to push it back so she can see.

the whole exchange is cute, not something you’d expect from boothill. there’s a lot that you don’t know about him, you think as you watch.

the girl must feel you looking because her head turns in your direction which causes boothill’s to follow. you smile at her and wave and when you’re finally close enough, you greet her. “hi there.”

“hello.” she isn’t as excited as she was when she realized boothill was here but she’s still kind, returning your wave with one of her own. your conversation ends before it truly begins as she turns back to boothill. there’s curiosity swimming in her eyes and she doesn’t attempt to lower her voice when she asks him, “is she your girlfriend?”

your mouth falls open in surprise at the girl’s bold question. boothill laughs heartily, whether at your reaction or the question itself, you’re not sure. you don’t know if you trust him enough to answer honestly but before you can tell her no, the man is already speaking. “nah.”

relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. he meets your eye with his next words. “she’s real pretty though, ain’t she?”

he’s doing it again, putting you in a tough spot, one that urges you to run away rather than face the situation head-on. but this time, he knows that you know running away here would only cause a scene. you aren’t jumping at the chance to embarrass yourself in public so, even though you’re tempted to put as much space between you and boothill as possible, you plant your feet to the ground and stay put.

the girl in his arms looks at you again before eagerly nodding. “very pretty!”

“thank you, sweetheart,” you tell her with a soft smile. you try to keep it in place when you turn to address boothill. “are we ready to go?”

“almost,” he answers, crouching down to return the girl to the ground. the girl doesn’t look thrilled at their time being cut short but boothill, still at her level, playfully pinches her nose in hopes of cheering her up. “look, i gotta finish shopping but we can talk some more another day. maybe ask your mom if you can come ride the horses soon.”

“okay!” she places the hat back on his head, gives him a goodbye hug, and waves once more at you before skipping over to her grandma—presumably to share her enthusiasm at the prospect of visiting the farm.

she reminds you of yourself around that age.

“so,” boothill starts, rising to his full height with a half-full wicker basket in hand, “you only capable of accepting compliments when they’re not from me?”

there’s a grin stretched across his lips like he’s waiting for a thank you of his own. perhaps it’s a little rude, a bit pretentious even, but you can’t find it in you to utter the two simple words. maybe it’s strange and maybe it only makes sense to you, but not acknowledging the words is almost as if they never traveled through the air in the first place. pretending like the words don’t exist is easier on you—your turbulent mind and your unsteady heart.

you change the subject. “what else do we need?”

“you are ice cold, darlin’.” despite the statement, boothill doesn’t seem to be bothered by your indifference. he wouldn’t take it to heart if you were truly uninterested but the man is more perceptive than you give him credit for. he doesn’t miss how you can never seem to meet his eye following his heartfelt words, how you chew on your lip while you formulate an unrelated reply, and he certainly hasn’t forgotten about that stunt you pulled in the barn.

there’s something going on in that pretty head of yours and he’s determined to find out just what it is.

you pick out a few peaches and plums for yourself and a bunch of carrots for the horses while boothill grabs the rest of the household necessities. the basket is full by the time the two of you are finished. you plan on paying for your share but boothill insists that you wait in the truck, so, after bidding goodbye to alma and her granddaughter, you make the short walk back to the car. 

a couple of minutes pass before you hear the man putting the produce away with the rest of the items in the bed of the truck. a second later his door opens and he joins you, though, he isn’t empty-handed. there’s a bouquet of flowers in his hand that he holds out to you. “for you.”

you eye them cautiously, not daring to reach out and accept them.

“don’t worry, they’re from miss alma,” he tells you, lightly shaking the colored cosmos in front of you in a gesture for you to take them. “put ‘em in your room or something, they’ll look nice.”

with his urging, you take the bouquet. pinks and purples with pops of white make up the arrangement and, much to your chagrin, boothill is right—you can think of the perfect spot in your window for the blossoms.

as he starts the car and begins to back out into the road, boothill steals a quick look at you. there’s a smile pulling at your lips, soft and natural. it’s a rare sight, but one he could get used to.

he supposes that if he wants to see it for a while longer, he shouldn’t tell you that they aren’t actually from miss alma, rather, a mere suggestion from the nice lady to get him in your good graces.

thanks for giving this a read! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[mortalityplays]

Forgive me if I'm mistaking you for another person, but I remember you speaking at multiple points on the unsustainability of free social media services (I think especially in response to the cohost collapse?), and I'm curious on what your thoughts on bluesky are so far. I'm not an expert on the subject, but from what I've read previously it seemed like they were on track to be financially sustainable, but I don't know if the recent floods of users has thrown those projections off. Sorry if I'm mixing you up with someone else on my timeline, in that case just ignore me.

bluesky will almost certainly follow the same trajectory of monetisation => bloat => enshittification => decline as every other major platform built on venture capital and user hoarding. it's a terrible model that only works in the short term as a mirage for attracting funding and making founders look good for a year or two before they sell.

you can see the same effect in the decline of all the subscription box services that came into vogue just before covid: they feel great to use for as long as the initial injection of venture funding lasts, because the purpose of that funding at that stage is to attract users and impress the next round of funders with how pleasant/intuitive/efficient/ethical/good value the service is. that's the stage where they're handing out freebies and bowling over influencers, and every ingredient in the box is fresh and high quality and locally sourced. wow what a good deal, what a great system!!! why hasn't anyone done this before? the answer is because it's unsustainable by design. they rack up good reviews, sign on a billion new users, attract new funding from a bunch of much more credulous investors, and then gut all of the expensive parts. portions get smaller, ingredients get worse, packaging gets flimsier, prices go up, freebies turn into "5% off your first 9 boxes when you invite 3 friends", and customer service vanishes.

with social media (and platforms like discord) the logic is the same, it's just a little less glaringly obvious to the end user because they're not coming home to leaking packages of rancid chicken on the doorstep. bluesky has an advantage over tiny operations like cohost because it was founded by a billionaire making a point for the sake of his own image. it got a really significant chunk of startup funding, and the owner had existing connections and rep in the space to attract more. That's why it has survived the goldrush period, why it still feels good to use, and why users who have been burned so many times before are finally accepting it as a stable, reliable option. It's still in its venture capital honeymoon phase where the only thing worth spending money on is making the service attractive to users.

What I expect we will see next, with another mass influx of users from twitter and new funding from a rogue's gallery of tech venture sickos led by Blockchain Capital is a strong ramp up into monetising that userbase. They've already been pretty forthright about how they plan to do this, and I think it's a solid roadmap of how Bluesky will bloat and decay over the next few years:

this is a huge lol. don't worry, we're not going to hyperfinancialize the social experience through NFTs. the thing even crypto freaks started feigning amnesia about a year ago. real "our health conscious sodas are 100% arsenic free" messaging here. They know perfectly well that rubes users are suspicious of their typical 5 dimensional tech finance chess games and are patting our hands about last week's bogeymen so nobody worries too hard about whatever 'decentralised developer ecosystem' just happens to be helmed by a bunch of crypto guys. this definitely means something good and based and not a google-like single sign on user data harvesting operation.

This is the same shit that's currently rotting the floorboards of discord. Bluntly, there is no way to run a platform on this scale without gating functionality behind paid services. Discord has been squeezing free-tier file uploads and call quality etc. down steadily and cranking up subscription costs over the last year or two, throwing in chaff like animated avatar frames to try and justify the user cost. They're also doing the same misdirection thing again here, pointing to Thing We All Hate to deflect from thing we might not like very much when they do it. Booo elon booo we all hate elon!!! wait how do we feel about subscription models again,

watch out for this to kill porn on bsky like it has killed porn on every other social platform 👍 boooo we hate elon boooo stupid idiot and his 'everything app' booooo wait why do you need my tax information, what's that about mastercard,

Look, we are all aware social media is a money pit. Let's not forget dorsey was looking to sell twitter in the first place, long before elon's very public plunge into total online derangement. Subscription services are not going to plug the hole, so we are gradually going to see more and more spaghetti thrown at the wall while early funders shuffle cards and do their pyramid scheme bit bringing in stupider and stupider investments. this is the window in which bluesky will be temporarily worth using for us, for the idiot public, the poorly rendered crowd jpegs in the background of their venture capital MOBA. it's in their interests to slow and pad the decline as much as possible, because that is how they get maximally paid.

Given the scale of the money involved, and dorsey's weird ego investment, I think bluesky will probably manage a controlled drift for a good few years before it gets really bloated and painful. and by then we will all be so used to the *checks notes* decentralised developer ecosystem that we'll just be posting through it, watching another generation of columnists call another collapsing platform 'their beloved hellsite' and passing around that meme about not getting out of our chairs no sir until idk we all get on a fediverse neurolink alternative to stick it to the elongated muskrat and our brains pop peacefully in our sleep. which I guess is the closest thing to viability any social media platform can achieve.

anyway diogenes the cynic is also on bluesky

[feyascorner]

3 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You hate him, you think. You want to hate him, at the very least.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he asks, his expression indecipherable. “I didn’t realize the great savior of the city could be afraid of a mere vampire spawn.”

“You did try to strangle me last time we spoke."

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard, large chunks of italicized texts are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. redemption arc is coming i swear :) this is a whopping 4.7k i got kinda carried away but oh well,, Thank you so much for your comments on these they make my day and i appreciate each one<3

Dance upon the stars tonight

Smile and pain will fade away

“And what might our dear bard be working so passionately on?”

You look up from your notebook, ceasing the messy scribbling of lyrics into its tattered pages. Astarion perches himself beside you, the flames of the campfire flickering in the reflection of his eyes as you stop humming and raise a cautious brow. A vampire spawn. You’d never seen one in person–-only had you heard of them in your childhood tales of the spawn that would sweep away naughty children if they didn’t finish their vegetables. Up close, you can almost see his fangs protruding from the grin he's constantly wearing.

You wonder if it’s a genuine one.

“That bard at the grove today,” you recall. “Alfira? I’m trying to finish the lyrics and write them out for her.”

“Is that so? Surely you’re receiving some sort of payment for these gracious services?”

You train your eyes back onto the pages, shaking your head. “I’m doing this for fun. Her song is beautiful. It just needs—” you squint. “--adjustment.”

He laughs, and you can see the fangs clearly now. They’re sharper than you expected them to be. “I believe that’s a drastic understatement, my dear. My heart felt for those poor squirrels. I’m quite willing to bet that they have an aversion to bards now.”

“And you’re suddenly a musician yourself?”

“It doesn’t take a musician to recognize poor singing, darling Tav,” he returns. “And considering I’ve spent the past few days listening to your music, I’m sure you’ll understand why I considered it such an abomination.”

You narrow your eyes. “I thought you didn’t like me–or my music.”

“You? I'm still deciding,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes. “But I must say that I’m growing rather fond of that lyre of yours. Have you had it for long?”

You give him a sidelong glance before answering slowly. “I’ve had it for ages. Practically when I just started.”

“Explains itself then, I suppose.”

“And you?” you watch as he leans back on his palms. “Do you have any other talents to offer to our companions, or is it just your teeth?”

“Now, don’t be so cruel, dear,” he smiles wider. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re rather fond of them as well. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring all the time.”

“I’m on guard,” you clarify.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You’re not sure if you can sleep with one eye open, much less both of them closed. You’re not sure if you trust him at all, either, but as he stares up at the starry sky, simply listening to the crackling of the campfire, you decide you’d rather save yourself the energy for what awaits tomorrow.

“Why did you do that earlier?” you find yourself asking, and he replies by glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Do what?”

“Save Wyll from that goblin arrow,” you mumble. “I thought you didn't care about any of us.”

“And what gives you that impression?”

You deadpan, staring at him with lidded eyes and he laughs out loud. It sounds more genuine than anything else he’s offered so far. It's nice.

“It’s a simple transaction, dear. One where I receive protection in turn for the occasional aid I can give with my own blade.”

You squint at him, but you see no signs of deception. So instead, you simply nod and resume scribbling into your notebook, softly humming to yourself alongside the lyrics. And when you halt, stuck on a particular lyric that you can’t seem to remember, you hear him shift, standing himself back up to retreat to his tent.

“Something about faith and care comes next if my memory serves,” is all he says before striding away. While you watch him in confusion, you click your tongue and try to focus again. And when you look down at your page, you remember the rest of the words.

Somehow, you feel the corners of your lips lift.

“As much as I’d love for this to be a charming, long-awaited reunion, one of the parties imposes a danger to the other.”

You wince at the sarcasm dripping from Gale’s voice. Duke Ravengard’s expression remains solemn, unmoving like a stone, while your companion pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “We can’t harbor a vampire spawn in our home. We’re supposed to be finding them, not keeping them!”

You hate the irony of the statement because the camp you’d spent so many months in with an uninvited guest in your head, had also been your home. One where you spent your nights in a vampire spawn’s tent. It’s not so different, you keep telling yourself. But you’re painfully aware that the Duke only knows a sugar-coated version of the falling out between you and said vampire. He doesn’t know how his son had to tear Astarion away from you and how your voice had been sore for weeks afterward.

“As much as I have my own opinions with allying with a vampire spawn,” the Duke stares at Astarion warningly. “Wyll did say this spawn saved his life while your party ventured together. For that, I'm willing to see reason if he’s cooperative, rather than restrain him with the Fists.”

You never thought much of it until now. With how many life threatening experiences you and your companions had come across, it felt natural to save one another. At first, it had been out of necessity—fear that one person would turn into an illithid. Yet, with time, you'd all grown fond of each other, one way or another.

You think back to when Astarion had saved Wyll and wonder if that part of him is still in there. Maybe it was never there at all. Maybe it had been another one of his manipulation tactics that you're so prone to falling for.

Gods, you're hopeless.

The wizard standing beside you sighs irritably. “But that was before he tried to squeeze the life out of-”

“How long do we need to keep him?”

Gale balks at your words. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

“Just until we’re able to locate the rest of the spawns spread throughout the city, which you kindly decided not to mention in our last conversation.”

You shoot Gale a glare, silently questioning if he’d been the one to confess the existence of the spawns underground, but he’s too busy scanning over Astarion, who’s mindlessly fidgeting with his knife. The said spawn seems to feel your gaze, because he glances at you, then grins.

The bastard is smiling.

“The man you killed this morning is a spawn himself, yes?” the Duke clarifies. “There have been numerous reports the past few days about strange figures with fangs throughout the city—I’d known they’d existed, but to the numbers that are being reported…”

“You couldn’t have possibly believed myself to be the only spawn around?” Astarion laughs bitterly. “I do not wish to go hungry, Duke, but I don’t need nearly as many bodies that’s been showing up—assuming that I did drink from anyone, of course.”

Ravengard ignores him, speaking as if he’s not there. “I could still have him detained if that is what you wish. We can continue as we have and search for the spawn without his help.”

You know it’s a fruitless effort if last night has told you anything.

“You don’t even have evidence that I drank from a single person in this entire bloody city!” Astarion spits back, rolling his neck in exasperation.

“No,” you purse your lips, finally looking up. “I’ll be responsible for him.”

Gale clears his throat alarmingly. “Now, dear leader, let’s have a private conversation before we make any hasty decisions, yes? Surely, we don’t have to decide right this moment.”

And while you open your mouth to respond that no, you won’t have Astarion rot away in some gross cell, the Duke nods. “Very well.”

Gale pushes you to the corner of the room, with his face clearly paling in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking. You want someone who nearly strangled you to death sleeping in the room next to yours?”

“Ravengard wants us to find out where the other spawn are hiding, and the only lead we have is sitting right there,” you defend yourself. “Throwing Astarion into a dirty cell won’t do anything to convince him to help us.”

“The Duke doesn’t know what he did to you!”

“He doesn’t need to. Astarion’s made it very clear he’s not going to spill any information if the Duke is the one asking, and we need a lead. I nearly died last night, Gale. I want to avoid that if I can.”

His eyes soften just a bit, but it’s enough. With a loud sigh, he scrunches his nose. “And you’re sure you’re not doing this for more personal reasons?”

At this, you pause. Your eyes waver, and the look Gale gives you is almost soul-crushing if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you’ve already hit rock bottom. You know this is not a good idea. You know that being so close to him again after so many months is not a good idea, especially when you’ve just finally begun your journey to forget him.

You curse the gods above for your luck.

The silence prompts Gale to speak. “I’ll tell the Duke we can’t involve ourselves in this.”

“Gale,” your voice almost cracks. “Please.”

He doesn’t want to agree, you can tell. Any sane person wouldn’t invite a bloodthirsty vampire spawn who’s willing to use his own hands to kill his so-called lover into their home. You want to think that you’re void of bias, but you know it’s a pathetic attempt to reassure yourself. Still, the expression on your face must be quite the sight because Gale takes one look, glances at Astarion, then slumps his shoulders. You’ve won.

You hadn’t even realized the door had been swung open, where your other companions had been standing, taking one look at Astarion then to you. While Gale wallows in his own defeat, you turn to the others, eyes glimmering with a kind of hope that they haven’t seen in months.

“Your judgment’s gotten us this far,” Shadowheart sighs. “We’d be fools not to trust it now.”

Lae’zel clicks her tongue. “My blade is ready to slit his throat if need be. Just command me, and I shall.”

“We aren’t going to try to kill him," you retort.

“It’s only right to return the favor."

Dinner is awkward. You’re finally getting to try Gale’s stew, but it’s hard to focus on the taste when all you can feel is the searing stare of the person sitting across from you. He only has a goblet of crimson liquid in the same shade as his eyes in front of him, and it remains untouched as he takes in the rest of the house.

“So,” Gale offers. “What have you been up to?”

It’s not much, but it’s better than sitting in complete silence.

“Wandering the streets at night, mostly. Oh, and murdering half the city, apparently,” Astarion lets out his usual high-pitched laugh at the end, and your fingers tighten around your spoon. Shadowheart glares at him through her lashes, and you think she may lunge at him any second. You want to think you wouldn't stop her.

You feel for her, really. Being the group’s cleric comes with its advantages but also with the unspoken burden of watching your companions in pain. She’d been the one to ensure Astarion hadn’t left long-lasting damage to your throat. She’d been the one to soothe your headaches and cast a sleeping spell on you in hopes it’ll allow you to rest longer than just a few hours. She’d also seen you nearly bleed out multiple times, one of which occurred mere hours ago.

The sudden scrape of Lae’zel’s chair being pushed back catches your attention. She stands, lifting her bowl with her. “The air here is suffocating. Sort out your differences before I sort them out for you.”

The rest of you collectively nod. She doesn’t say anything else before leaving the room.

“The room at the end of the hallway upstairs is yours,” Shadowheart says finally. “Don’t bother me if you need anything else.”

She stands up as well, leaving her bowl in the sink before pacing up the stairs to her own quarters.

Somehow, the atmosphere is even worse now. You don’t dare lift your eyes from your stew, and you honestly hope it explodes before you have to sit here and drink all of it in this silence. Gale, thankfully, does not leave. Instead, he sets down his utensil.

“I suggest we have a set of rules in place–for the sake of everyone occupying this home,” he clears his throat. You shoot him a questioning look, which he dusts off.

“Fine,” Astarion leans back in his chair, now swirling the goblet of blood in his hand. “What do you have in mind?”

“No drinking. From anyone here.”

You blink a few times, then hear Astarion hum in acknowledgment. “Shame. Though your blood was vile anyway.”

“And don’t cause any trouble. One of us will go with you when you need to drink, so you can hunt for whatever animal you prefer these days. Otherwise, unless we say so, you’ll remain here.”

“Why, this sounds almost identical to a prison. Looking for a job as a warden, Gale? A midlife crisis, perhaps. Does wizard life not suit you anymore?”

“It suits me plenty, thanks,” Gale snorts. “We’ll be out during the day to rebuild the city, so you’ll have to entertain yourself in your own room. Don’t touch anything—especially my stuff.”

Astarion grins. “That almost sounds like an invitation.”

The wizard then turns to you. “And you? Do you have any other rules you’d like to add?”

You finally lift your head from the stew, looking back and forth between the two before shaking your head while pushing your chair back. For someone who’d imagined aimlessly for months about seeing your former lover again, you can’t seem to look him in the eye for fear of what you might feel. “I’m going out.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.”

Wordlessly, you pace toward the door, refusing to look back to suppress the urge to sprint back into his arms. You don’t know what you were thinking just a few hours ago, but this was not going to end well. If you couldn’t manage a simple dinner sitting across from him, what could you manage?

You’re in such a rush that you forget to bring anything besides your wallet.

By the time you’re on your way back to the house hours later, you have a backpack shoved full of fabrics with nails and a hammer to go along with it. As you pass by the taverns, you hear music playing from inside, alongside a few cheers and what you can only assume to be a crash of chairs as people applaud. 

You can’t help but peer through the window as you walk past, where a bard merrily plays on his drum, lightening the mood of the entire tavern—even the bartender smiles along as he plays tunes you’ve heard a million times before. And while your hands itch for a lyre—to feel the string snap against your fingertips—you know no good will come of it. You’ll only sit before the instrument, your hands unable to find the emotions to exert in the form of notes. 

As you stare at the bard, you remind yourself you’ve long given up on that kind of life.

So instead, you continue your way to the Highberry’s home. When you knock on the door, a very weary Cora Highberry greets you with bags under her eyes, but a calm smile still stretching on her lips nonetheless. She steps out of the way, inviting you in, and you do so.

“You didn’t have to, dear,” she says as she takes a bag of the city’s finest fruits from your hands. “The neighbors have been oh so gracious to us. They’re helping the children so much, I couldn’t possibly ask for more.”

“I was just passing by, that’s all,” you offer. “I wanted to check on you since I left a bit abruptly last time.”

“Oh, dear, you know how to make a woman feel special. It’s been terrible, really. I haven’t gone so long with my husband in ages…” she laughs, wiping at her swollen eyes. “But we were an old couple anyways…I had some time to prepare my emotions. I just didn’t think he’d go like that.”

You nod as she hands you a mug of hot tea. “But never mind that. I’ve spent the past two weeks talking about nothing but myself, so I’m quite tired. What about you, dear?”

“Me?”

“You look like death themselves,” she frowns. “I’ve lived for quite long…I recognize that heartbroken face anywhere. Has something happened?”

The way she’s staring at you—it’s different than pity. You can’t quite identify it, but she smiles again. It’s not the kind of smile most people give you—not one of anticpation, not one of gratefulness, but just a regular, old smile. And it makes your shoulders untense just the slightest before they tense again. You take a swig of the tea, nearly burning your throat in the process as you set the mug down, splitting a pathetic smile. “No, I’m okay. Just--tired.”

Very, very tired. Not physically, no, but tired of the indecisiveness that is your heart.

Her face falls softly. “How troubling it must be to have the weight of the city on your shoulders."

Before you can answer, there’s a loud thud upstairs. She notices your alarm and shakes her head. “Ah, must be Berry. She’s one of the younger children, and she’s been taking my husband’s death quite hard. Please excuse me, dear. I need to go put her back to sleep.”

And with that, you’re left alone on the first floor of the building again. You contemplate staying to say your farewells but the cries from upstairs convince you otherwise. Taking one last swig from the mug, you gather your things and leave.

When you get back home, it’s well into the night, an hour or two after midnight, you’d think. None of the lights are on, so the first thing you do is light a candle when you step through the door, dropping your backpack onto the dining room table. Dunking all your materials out, you take the hammer and start your work.

There’s something soothing about the darkness outside, with the way nothing seems to exist besides you and your own thoughts in a city that overflows with a sense of community. You try not to think about the man most likely reading in his room just a floor above you and focus on hanging the fabrics in front of all of the windows. The cloths are mismatched in color, and your hammer work is nothing more than sufficient, but it’ll do for now. At least until you can get actual curtains installed.

You worry that some of the fabrics aren’t thick enough to absorb all the sunlight, so you layer another fabric on top of it until you’re sure that even your candlelight cannot be seen from outside. Why you’re going so far for him, you do not know. You prefer to assure yourself that you need him to help stop the spawn from devouring the entire city, but even in your own thoughts, it sounds like a lie.

You wonder if he cares nearly as much as you do. He probably doesn’t.

You hate him, you think for the millionth time today. You want to, at the very least.

You flinch when a splinter in the wooden wall splits your skin open, forming a drop of blood on your index finger. Curse the heavens above, nothing was going right today. You quickly reach for a towel but nearly jump when you hear his voice from the stairs. 

“You really need to stop with that habit of yours.”

You spin around, and he’s already at the foot of the stairs, reaching to grab a towel from the kitchen. But you’re faster, snatching it away and pressing it over your hand while he raises both his own, imitating a surrender of getting any closer. You can’t look at him in the eye—you don’t want to either. “What habit?”

“You’re speaking to me now?” he raises a brow, and you turn away again after shooting him a glare. “I’d thought you’d avoid me forever—scurrying off like a squirrel whenever I step into the room.”

You should avoid him forever. But the words don’t reach your tongue, and you choose to ignore him.

He doesn’t budge. “I meant bleeding around me.”

“What?”

“Every time I see you, you always seem to be bleeding.”

You frown at him. “Maybe you just prefer being around me when I’m bleeding.”

“You might be right." You think maybe he’s done with this painfully awkward conversation until you see him staring at the windows covered with random pieces of fabric, and suddenly, you feel embarrassment creep up your skin. You realize how bizarre your actions must appear in someone else’s eyes, staying up to the break of dawn so that he’ll be able to traverse someplace outside the confines of his own room…

It might make him think you care, and the worst part is that a part of you does.

“I hope you don’t expect me to thank you, darling.”

The nickname feels like a stab to your heart, haunting, even, but you do your best to brush it off.

“For what?” you manage to force out through clenched teeth.

“The cell they would’ve thrown me into is nothing different from trapping me in that room, I’m afraid,” he laughs bitterly, and you want to crawl into a hole from how cold his voice sounds. Distant. Like how he’d sounded the day you found him next to his nautiloid pod. “But I suppose I should be grateful for having a bed instead of having to spend my days rotting away on the dirty floor?”

You bite your bottom lip, brows furrowing. “I don't expect anything from you.”

But you do. Not quite an expectation, but a lingering wish that maybe you can heal. It's pathetic, even in your own eyes and surely everyone else's, but you can't be bothered to care.

It pisses you off a bit. How he seems perfectly unfazed while you continue to drown in your own feelings.

“Are you just here to taunt me, or is there a reason for this conversation?” you snap. This is not quite how you wanted your reunion to go.

He raises a brow. “Taunt you? I'm only answering questions you're afraid to ask.”

“I don't need to know anything about you,” you grit through your teeth. “You left my mind the second you abandoned us.”

What a poor, wishful lie.

“Ha!” It doesn't really sound like a laugh—more a scoff of disbelief. It's like he knows what you're thinking, and for a split second, it feels like there's a tadpole in your head again. “Of course you think I'm the villain of your precious heroic tale! Honestly darling, the irony just writes itself.”

You fight the urge to scowl, but you're not sure if you're successful. You find yourself gripping onto the towel harder, teeth clenched as your chest tightens just hearing his words. You truly hate that he seems to care less than you—it’s like he's not even taking you seriously.

And that damned nickname.

It feels like talking to the Astarion you first met—one who’s only intentions were to use you—but this time, you don't think it’s a mask. He doesn't want anything more from you. Only your own suffering from taking the power that would have made him untouchable.

“So tell me, dear, do you wish for me to grovel at your feet?”

Your eyes widen, and the term of endearment that once made your cheeks flush only makes you feel sick. “What?”

“Do you expect me to drop to my knees, begging for your forgiveness?” he says again, eerily composed while you struggle to come up with words. “Perhaps I would have if we were still staying in that camp. Put on a show, even."

You frown, setting your hammer down on the counter. “I’ve never made you grovel. I’ve never made you do anything.”

“Maybe not directly, no, you’re too kind of a soul to do so,” there’s venom lacing the words that feel nothing short of a lie. Somehow, he’s still smiling. “Instead, you made me beg for your help. You accepted—made it feel like I had a choice. Then tore it away just the same, in the cruelest way possible. Impressive, really. I didn't expect such dramatic sins from you.”

The way he looks at you, words dripping with sarcasm, makes you want to melt into the floor, ceasing to exist as a whole. But alas, you continue standing like a deer in headlights, unsure of how to respond. You look down to see the towel stained with your blood and inhale deeply, watching the dark sky lighten with daybreak through the window. “The sun’s rising.”

His smile drops, something foreign flickering in his eyes. He suddenly steps toward you, and as soon as he gets within two feet, you find yourself stepping backward, your fingers tightening around the hammer. You have no idea if you'd even be able to use it, but it's better than digging your nails into your palms.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he asks, his expression indecipherable. “I didn’t realize the great savior of the city could be afraid of a mere vampire spawn.”

You don't want to think he'd truly kill you. Not really, but your mind flashes back to the look in his eyes when he had his hands wrapped around your lifeline, and you grip the hammer tighter, heartbeat pounding impossibly fast.

“You did try to strangle me last time we spoke,” you mutter.

His lip twitches, and he steps back bitterly. You feel like you can breathe again.“Ah, yes, that.”

You swear your stomach drops to your feet at the mere suggestion he’d forgotten what haunts your nightmares every night, forcing you to lurch from your rest in a cold sweat, hands shaking, and having nobody to turn to for comfort. He couldn't be that cruel…could he? You want to scream at him, punch him, kick him, tell him he’s not being fair. You want to defend yourself, say that all you’ve ever wanted was for him to be safe, but even that feels like too much when he’s giving you so little.

“Very well, I’ll indulge you,” he grins again. You realize your time is running out, the sun beginning to peer out from the horizon. “Why did you assume responsibility for me? I can’t imagine why you’d want such a terrible foe in your life living right next door of your own sanctuary.”

For the city, you tell yourself. For Cora's husband and the poor victims drained off their life, all alone in the darkest corners of Baldur's Gate. “...I didn’t do it for you.”

He searches your face for something, his eyes narrowing. He's waiting for you to continue, but there's no more fuel in the tank, and now you just want to sleep for a very long time. You assume he comes up empty when the corners of his lips fall, and he turns to climb up the stairs. Sunlight hits your back as your eyes trail him in his steps, and it does nothing to warm how cold it feels in the room.

“That much I’m aware,” he stops his steps for a brief moment. You barely catch it, but it's there. “Terribly aware.”

And when he finally leaves, you bury your face into your hands.

"I'm nervous."

"What for?"

"What if the ascension goes wrong? Are you sure we should really be doing this, Astarion?"

He brushes your hair out of your face, cupping both your cheeks in his hands. "We'll be okay, my love. I will still be here, and so will you. I'll just finally have enough power to protect what I care about."

He sees the hesitance in your eyes and leans his forehead against yours. You melt into his touch, placing your hands atop his.

"So please, stand beside me for this," he pleads.

And despite the way your intuition screams at you otherwise, despite the way your very being begs you to pull away, you nod, sealing your fate.

"I'll be right here."

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[aquaquadrant]

grbbrgrr. scurries toward you. I offer thee pathbubs fluff, fresh from my mind fortress.

Patho. falling asleep with dbubs’s clock to his ear.

gives you a cupcake skitters away

(offering received, considered, and accepted. however, i have substituted your fluff for angst. i hope this is satisfactory.)

~*~

"watch this!" dbubs shouts, before leaping off the cliff into the water below.

<player>dat -7063fdce-39ac-4a12-d836-a990c45b2bb0

patho leans back just enough to avoid being splashed. the water in this jungle lagoon is clear and blue, brighter than most bodies of water he comes across. tall, thick trees surround them on all sides, creating a natural barrier from the mobs of the jungle. it’s a beautiful place, and one of his favorites to visit when he’s here.

155 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 17/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 28 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -12,683.952 / 39.11563 / 253,589.263 block: -12,683 39 253,589 chunk: -791 15 7,849 facing: south (towards positive z)(1.5/5) client light: 6 (0 sky, 6 block) biome: error:crimson jungle local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 16/247 + 0/8

dbubs surfaces with a gasp, his wet bangs plastered to his forehead. “did you see that?” he crows. “that was- i must’ve done a- a complete 360 spin about five- no, ten times! world record, first try!”

“oh, yeah,” patho agrees with a smile he doesn’t feel. “yeah, that was very impressive.”

they’re almost out of time.

patho has known this since he woke to find a little weeping vine attempting to burrow into his arm, right at the seam where flesh meets metal. this is an event that only happens when he’s overstayed his welcome, and the jungle can no longer tolerate his presence without trying to claim him. that vine was easily removed, putting off the inevitable for a few more days. but he can’t ignore the sudden restlessness that overtakes him now, a buzzing in his very core that fills his mind with static and his limbs- organic and mechanical alike- with the powerful urge to move.

it’s hard to explain, his need to wander. it’s like every moment he’s not traveling, he can almost feel the infinite borders of hels expanding, spreading into new horizons, and the thought of staying put is unbearable. it doesn’t matter if he actually goes beyond the loaded chunks or not- a feat that’d take years, to be sure. just getting on the move again is enough to quiet the itch.

(it didn’t use to be this way. it didn’t start until after he built his communicator into his new arm, fusing himself with it- but he’ll never admit this, never confront the possibility that it might’ve been a mistake. it’s easier just to leave.)

besides, he still enjoys the various business he gets up to with the other denizens of hels. his services as a redstoner and a data analyst are in high demand, and he has a reputation to uphold. he can’t throw all that away to stay here. that just wouldn’t make sense. it wouldn’t be logical.

patho reaches for the clock at his hip. it was the first gift dbubs gave him. early into patho’s first stay, dbubs decided he needed a clock of his own, so he’d always know when it was time for them to sleep. based on its position, nightfall is only a couple hours away.

“well, c’mon!” dbubs pesters him, his haughty voice echoing off the smooth walls of the cliffside. “what’re you- what, are ya scared of a lil water? huh? just- you just try and beat my record, you- i bet you can’t!”

“alright, alright,” patho chuckles, shrugging his jacket off. “you asked for it…”

won’t be long, now.

~*~

that night, patho leaves his eye on.

dbubs, curled beside him, notices this immediately, and deep down, he knows what it means. it took a while- how long, he isn’t sure- for patho to grow comfortable enough to turn his cybernetic eye off while they slept. but ever since then, he does it every night… up until the last night. every last night, like clockwork.

already, dbubs can feel the familiar weight of sleep trying to take him. caught in the jungle’s day-night cycle, he has little choice in the matter; he sleeps every night without fail. but he fights it anyway, biting back a yawn.

“tomorrow,” dbubs starts quietly, “uh, do you wanna- i- i had this idea for a new build, a perfect build, of course, and i’m gonna need a- a super smelter, for- uh, for all the terracotta-“

“dbubs.” that solitary red eye gazes out from the dark. “you know i’m not made for staying.”

dbubs shies away from the words like an insect from sudden light. “and- and so i was thinking,” he continues, as if patho hadn’t spoken, “we could do a uh, you know, maybe a bamboo farm? for the- for the fuel? i- my perfect redstone prowess could make this easy- easily, of course, but um… i uh- euugh, you- you know they always say, sure enough, that two brains- uh, two geniuses, genii, are better’n one.”

“yeah?” patho breathes a soft, empty laugh. “is that what they say?”

“and- well, yes! yes, of course!” darkness creeps in from the edges of dbubs’s vision; he clings tighter to patho. “and… and uh… n’you can learn all ‘bout my new… new dbubs redstone clock… pat- patented design, a‘course…”

“of course.” patho’s lips brush across his forehead. “better get some rest, then.”

dbubs struggles to keep his eyes open, but it’s as if his lashes are lined with iron. he presses his face in the crook of patho’s neck, breathing him in, that redstone-and-gunpowder scent; bitter and metallic.

“don’t,” he murmurs, consciousness escaping him quickly. “please…?”

“night, dbubs.”

the jungle sleeps.

~*~

far from the jungle, patho lays down in a shallow cave carved from netherrack.

168 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 15/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 27 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -11, 987.629 / 30.91778 / 252,896.204 block: -11,987 30 252,896 chunk: -780 15 7,835 facing: east (towards positive x)(1.5/5) client light: 2 (0 sky, 2 block) biome: error:nether waste local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 5/247 + 0/8

he’s put enough distance between himself and the jungle that he’s confident he can sleep for a few hours before setting off again. the surrounding biome is one he’s well familiar with; barren and empty. with a wall put up to shelter him from mobs, he’s finally safe enough to turn his eye off.

that won’t be the case anymore, once he gets closer to the more populated chunks. the risk of being caught with one eye nonfunctional is too high. it’s just something he has to deal with.

(of course, he could’ve built a cybernetic replacement that simply functioned like the eye he lost, but he thought himself clever and built in a data processor to provide him with valuable information, giving him an advantage over anyone else in his field. so this is the price he pays for it.)

he reaches for his clock. there’s only a couple hours left before the sun will rise, unseen beyond the bedrock ceiling, and dbubs will wake to an empty bed.

but for now, patho tucks the clock to his ear and closes his eyes, letting the steadfast ticking finally lull him to sleep.

~*~

[hillbillyoracle]

I get that this is not the most popular opinion but I will never feel bad about using an ad blocker.

Not because I don't want creators to get paid - I try to support them in other ways - but because of accessibility.

I'm sober. And I'm very deliberate about that choice of words. It's not "I don't drink" for a reason. I spent a good chunk of my twenties binge drinking and would like to not do that ever again.

I don't personally think I (or anyone) should have to white knuckle my way through 3 alcohol commercials to be able to watch a tutorial to help me replace part of a floor. Ad blockers are a key part of how I avoided triggers for the first year especially.

In most places I use the internet, there is no way for me to specifically block ads with drugs and alcohol - let alone across multiple devices in the household.

"Just pay for premium" - look I'm better off than a lot of folks but I am not "pay for premium across all my services to block ads" well off. And I don't want to pay websites that hold accessibility hostage.

That we just expect people in recovery to be subject to ads trying to prey on them in order to access like these modern libraries of content and knowledge is...wild.

[shoot-me-with-a-crayon]

teehee :3

update! get booped 400+ times IDIOT >:3c

I NEED TO BOOP MORE

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Apple Seed 3: Ew....

Vaggie: (holding Charlie's hair and rubbing her back) How are you doing, hun?

Charlie: (panting) I'm good! I'm- HRK!!! (throws herself back into the toilet bowl and pukes)

Vaggie: (sad smile) Sit tight, babe. I'll be right back with some cool water and crackers for when you're done.

Charlie: (head still in the toilet, holds a thumbs up. Once the sound of footsteps fade, she flops against the wall in a seated position with a groan) No one told me this would be so gross...

*Sniff!* *Sniff* *Sniff!*

Charlie: What's that smell? (Sniffs the air like a dog and starts drooling) It smells so good~ (Follows the scent through the hotel to Alastor's room) Oh, no....

*Sniff!* *Sniff!* *Sniff!* *Droooooool*

Charlie: (whines and gently knocks on the door)

Alastor: Come in!

Charlie: (Opens the door and goes green at the sight of a dead, semi-rotted deer on Alastor's table) Oh, noooooooohohohohooo.......

Alastor: (stops cutting a chunk) Charlie, dear, what a surprise! How might I be of service? Is there a chance it could wait until I finish my lunch?

Charlie: (horrified by the dead animal and how the sight makes her stomach rumble, falls to her knees in dismay) NOooooOOoOoOooo!!!!

Alastor: (sighs) Very well. What is so important that it requires my immediate attention?

Charlie: THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M UPSET ABOUT!!!!

Alastor: Oh..... *DING!!!* Oh! Silly me. Would you like a piece?

Charlie: (watches in horrified starvation as a blob of rotted blood drips from the buck's mouth and plops onto the hardwood floor) Don't do it, Charlie. Don't do it, Charlie. Don't do it, Charlie. Don't do it, Charlie.

Vaggie: (walking the hotel halls with a glass of water and bag of saltines in hand) Charlie? Babe? Where did you go? (Sees Alastor's door open and bristles) MOTHER FUCKER!!!! (kicks the door in with her spear drawn) ALASTOR!!! What do you think you're.... do-.....-ing.....

Charlie: (sitting on a chair in the corner and chowing down on a whole hindquarter of the deer, shaking her head as she shreds the flesh with her teeth and growling like a puppy)

Vaggie: Hooooooo-oh (covers her mouth as a sour taste spreads across her tongue and her face pales)

Alastor: (slightly taken aback by how Charlie ripped the deer leg clean off) ...........I do believe we found something she can stomach.

Charlie: (wailing as she swallows a whole chunk and goes in for another bite) Don't Look At Meeeeeeeee!!!!!

Bonus:

Charlie: (brushing her teeth furiously, causing toothpaste foam to spill all over her lips and chin) Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew!

Vaggie: (Stomach gurgling sickly as she stands in the doorway with dental floss and mouthwash in her hands) I'm just... happy we found something you can- *burp* (covers her mouth and swallows down bile) -can stomach...

Charlie: WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE THAT!!!! (spits and takes the floss from Vaggie before running it through her teeth like a chainsaw belt)

Vaggie: Babe, it's okay. (Watches as Charlie throws away bloodied floss and hands her the mouthwash) Rinse. Last step before I feel comfortable kissing you again.

Charlie: (drinks a cap of mouthwash before swishing another cap around I her mouth, trying to talk while gargling and getting liquid everywhere) No one told me pregnancy was going to be this gross!!!!

[70sscifiart]

The Last-Minute Sci-Fi Gift Guide

There's only one thing worse than procrastinating on getting gifts for your loved ones, and that's procrastinating on putting together a guide to help out everyone else with all those gifts. It's Dec 12, so you can decide for yourself which I'm doing.

Art book: Worlds Beyond Time, $32

If you follow this blog, you might have heard of this one. I published Worlds Beyond Time: Sci-Fi Art of the 1970s this year after five years of work on it, and I think it's really good! 400+ images, 100+ artists, with lots of fun art history and jokes.

Also, it's just $20 right now if you order through my publisher and use the code SKIPTHELINE! Cheapest it's ever been!

Card game: Coup, $14

In this "social deduction" card game, you play as a government official in a future dystopia who needs to backstab their way into power. Everyone starts out with just two cards in this bluffing game, so the tide can turn pretty quick when players start assassinating each other's cards. The fast pace makes it a good gift for someone who loves spies but thinks they don't like card games.

Game to play over Zoom: Bad Spaceships, $3

If a bluffing game stresses you out, try Bad Spaceships: It's a collaborative world-building game in which you roll dice to see what area of your spaceship connects to another, forcing you to spitball exactly why this is the case. As the game puts it, you might fix the hull by playing Tetris, or charge your weapons in the swimming pool. You're basically getting weird prompts to tell a story that can evolve over the course of the game.

It's such an indie game that it comes as PDFs you download from itch.io, but you can play it just as well over Zoom, if you're looking for an excuse to catch up with your old digital nomad college friend.

Movies/TV: Streaming service gift card

Gift cards are all well and good, but you can personalize them by recommending a few of your favorite shows as well. I suggest:

Hulu: Cowboy Bebop

Apple TV+: Severance

Criterion Channel: Ravenous, Paprika, Strange Days

Paramount+: Yellowjackets

Amazon Prime: The Devil's Hour

But to be honest, this entry is just an excuse to talk about the new Max show Scavenger’s Reign. Inspired by the work of French artist Moebius and with a clear debt to famed 70s animated film Fantastic Planet, this stylish sci-fi show features a bunch of humans trying to survive on a beautiful but hostile alien world. Perfect for lovers of fictional nature.

Vintage sci-fi

This Etsy shop has some good stuff, like the 1971 Frank Kelly Freas NASA poster above, a bit of history that I even mentioned on page 167 of my art book.

Penguin science fiction postcards, $28

These postcards have a ton of very cool sci-fi covers I've blogged in the past – great value if you want a lot of art for a low cost.

Meteorite pendant necklace, $34

I think we all know what kind of rock your loved ones need around their neck: A chunk of meteorite straight out of the 1576 Argentinan meteorite fall.

Book recs

For astronauts: Packing for Mars by Mary Roach, The New Guys: The Historic Class of Astronauts That Broke Barriers and Changed the Face of Space Travel by Meredith Bagby

For comedians: Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, Even Greater Mistakes: Short Stories by Charlie Jane Anders 

For sleuths: Six Wakes by Mur Lafferty, Drunk on All Your Strange New Words by Eddie Robson

For crafters: Knits of Tomorrow: Toys and Accessories for your Retro-Future Needs

For the resistance fighters: The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley, An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

For slasher movie fans: Clown in a Cornfield by Adam Cesare

Syd Mead "Biomorph Vehicle" button down shirt, $49

T-shirts aren't classy enough for the world's coolest visual futurist, Syd Mead. I haven't actually bought this incredibly odd shirt, but I really need to.

Art prints (and more) from 70s sci-fi artists

Artist shops can be surprisingly hard to track down on the internet, but here's a short list of ones I've come across. All of these artists are featured in my book (except one), so you can read up on them before you commit to a print.

Michael Whelan 

John Harris

Syd Mead

Don Maitz

David B Mattingly

Peter Andrew Jones - Jones was one of just a few artists who declined to be included in my art book, but he has a distinct, colorful style that I would have loved to have featured!

Finally, here's one extra bonus, just for everyone who made it to the end of this article: The UK-based educational charity Centre for Computing History sells three big officially licensed John Harris posters featuring these three artworks, famous for their use as covers for Sinclair programming manuals.

It's a great deal that I've never seen mentioned anywhere, and Harris' work has a timeless quality that makes it great for an unassuming wall decoration. If you're outside the UK, the shipping costs will be a pain, but there's no better deal for a classic sci-fi poster.

[novasolstarr]

NOVAAA DROP YOU'RE PRESSURE OCS!! AND MY LIFE.... IS YOURS!!!

A little tip for the way you draw Sebastian

(I deeply apologize if I've sent an ask already.. I have the memory of Dory so I can't remember if I even sent one or not.)

FINALLY GOT THEM ALL DRAWN AND SKETCHED UP

OC LORE UP AHEAD

Content warnings before you continue! The upcoming information may contain topics that are sensitive to users, including;

Medical mentions

Vague Child death

It is now 23:00 and I’m so tired and have school and blegh. So enjoy this silly little jabbering of OC lore and my apologies for the typos that are bound to be incoming

ALSO Feel free to ask any questions about these characters, I’m more than happy to answer them :3

The Nurse, Z-156

Also known previously as Andrew Laticdinae

Andrew before being subjected to the procedures from Urbanshade at the Hadal Blacksite was a nurse at the [REDACTED] hospital located within [REDACTED] [REDACTED]. During his round about runs a patient under his care, an elderly individual, known as [REDACTED], had passed after receiving a lethal dose of heart medication which sent the elder into cardiac arrest. The nurse responsible for the death was quick to pin the blame onto Andrew, and in his confusion, poor wording, and inability to afford a good lawyer, Andrew was charged with murder and sent to the [REDACTED] Prison.

It was here that he was eventually picked up by Urbanshade along with a select few other individuals.

Andrew during this time was put into a project which revolves around making agile, quick, deadly, and effective agents. He was one of the latest of these procedures, having been subjected to the mix of Nurse Shark and Sea Krait. The Sea Krait DNA provided Andrew with a scuted underbelly, a vicious venom [complemented with fangs], and a large paddle like tail that allowed him to comfortably, quickly and effectively navigate through the waters, able to Bob and weave between narrow spaces. The Nurse Shark mix also provided him with a primarily cartilage skeleton and a bite that’s near impossible to pry off due to the suction like bite. Should an individual be able to pull Z-156 off, if the venom doesn’t make quick work of them the large chunk of flesh that is pulled off along with Z-156 will certainly leave them in a world of hurt.

Andrew ended up as one of the more successful tests, however the animalistic appearance side effect was unwanted and needed to be worked out. After further study Andrew had been dropped, leaving him to ponder what his fate may become. In a desperate moment, Andrew pleaded to Urbanshade Personnel to allow him to opportunity to work as an on-sight-in-water medic, noting he had exponential experience before ended up in his current position.

It took days of back and forth [with help from his Docile nature] to finally get the Personnel to agree, granting him very very limited freedoms compared to the average experiment.

Though he was far from treated like an employee. Whenever he was to be out on his job, he was fitted with a muzzle to prevent any potential envenomation of divers, he could only eat within his room, was monitored around any medications and was heavily restricted on what he had access to as to prevent any potential attacks.

Despite it, Andrew preferred this over being cooped up in a room to rot or potentially worse, almost overworking himself some days out of fear. Even now a passing Expendable may find this friendly face sitting within the Blacksite, ready to offer up his services in exchange for Data. [This Data is given to Sebastian]

Mechanic Info

For 90 pieces of Data players can have their health restored from anywhere between 20-50 health. Do note though that this comes with a 25% risk of failure, in which the player will have 10%-20% of their health removed [this will not exceed 10 health however].

Players can also flash The Nurse a limitless amount of times on their first time meeting him, however continuing to do so with each meeting will result in him becoming short with the player. By the 7th - 8th meeting and flashing him twice, he will lash out and bite the player dealing a base of 10 damage. Though this in itself is fine, players will then receive 2 tickets of damage for up to 30 seconds. Players that were at 100 health will be knocked down to 30. This can be stopped with a medkit though or eating wall dweller flesh.

Nova Starr, Expendable

Just a self insert for me and Non-canon to my universe :3

False Alarm, Z-326

Also know previously as Nouvel Nebula

Nouvel lived a relatively bland life before Urbanshade, married to their husband Clayton Nebula [OC Owned by @cyanide-cafe], and working various odd jobs they could find. They were relatively lax and had little concern, so when they ended up thrown in prison alongside their husband after suspected of being an acquaintance in his murders and defiling via cannibalism, they were thrown for a heavy loop.

Even during these harder times the two were inseparable and this became further apparent once picked up by Urbanshade and delivered to the Hadal Blacksite.

Here, the two were put under similar genetic splicing with small differences in DNA for the purpose of testing fertility between spliced genetics. Despite the difference in spliced DNA, Urbanshade was capable of producing 3 living offspring using their gametes in a controlled environment via test tubes, only one of which however was able to escape their termination date and still roams the facility unbeknownst to their supposed parents.

It wasn’t until their time in the Blacksite that Nouvel learned of the crimes that landed their husband here and, subsequently, themself, being absolutely horrified by the revelation and distancing themselves as much as they feesibly could from him during this period. The relationship became stiff and strained in this time, made further worse with the eventual separation of the two for their experimenting. Despite their disdain towards him at the time, he was the only comfort they had in this hellscape, falling deep into a mental spiral which further fueled their eventual sporadic behavior.

The extreme mental strain in this time from the constant experimentation, manhandling from personnel, separation and even occasional threats should they continue to lash out and attack, left them flitty about their behaviors towards Expendables. They seem to show more submissive behaviors when groups of 3 or more are around, being passive unless provoked, but the will quickly become incredibly hostile with groups of 2 or fewer.

Mechanic Info

False alarm is a small and agile monster, preferring to hide within dark rooms whilst waiting on unsuspecting Expendables to pass by. Though they are passive if groups exceed more than 2 players, flashing them will result in a hasty hit and run, where they damage the aggressor for 15 damage and then run off to a separate room.

If there are 3 or more in a party there’s a rare chance that False Alarm will even provide a small bit of information about item whereabouts for Expendables lingering in a room too long. This could be vague hints about flashlights, medkits, high priced data, or otherwise.

If there are 2 or fewer Expendables around, False Alarm becomes hyper aggressive, doing multiple hit and runs for 5 damage per hit, targeting the player with the least amount of health. Flashing them successfully 3 times will get them to back off entirely, ending the encounter for the rest of the run.

Be wary when False Alarm is around, for their companion Real Alarm is not far behind..

Theo Nebula, 326-327-5

Theo Nebula is the last of 5 offspring that had come as a result of the project behind Z-326 and Z-327. Theo ended up the most human and most viable of the 5, with the first 2 offspring having never successfully survived after being removed from incubation and the more recent 2 having been long terminated before Theo, as they had no use and were more hassle than they were worth, being far more monsterous in appearance than Theo. Despite being the most human, they still showed several physical changes and even risked a shorter life span due to their rapid growth [Looking almost 13 or so despite being 4 at most]. The project itself at least proved it was possible for mutations that had occurred on individuals could be passed down, and with more proper tweaking may even be able to be further selective about what can and can’t be passed down.

After Theo had been researched to their fullest extent and there wasn’t much use for them anymore, they were set to be terminated just as their previous two siblings. Luckily for young Theo, a familiar face sent the Blacksite into mayhem after releasing the monsters, allowing Theo to escape their fate of being terminated.

From time to time they can be spotted rummaging around rooms or heard crawling in the vents in their search for food and fueling their curiosity of the Blacksite. They’re cautiously curious yet incredibly skittish and will quickly run off whenever approached by expendables. It’s recommended to search where they were last rummaging through as this may provide Expendables with extra data or information

[librarycards]

do you have any tips for making reading more accessible for people with attention / focus issues and low energy? i feel like whenever i try to read, i'm missing huge chunks of information or otherwise not reading as closely as i would like due to having adhd, and it discourages me from reading entirely.

ty for the question! I've addressed this in some ways here and here, but i'm also listing some quick bullet points for both pleasure / leisure reading and for more intentional reading (it's important to have both in your life!)

intentional reading: citation managers, esp. Zotero, are your friend. Read slowly and annotate. annotation forces your brain to get out of skim-mode and really think about what you need to remember from a given passage! it's best to do this when you're not on a deadline, because you can take all of the time you need.

intentional reading: for many people, print is the only way they can read intentionally, as digital is too distracting. try printing readings or using only paper books, and get physical with them - colored highlighters and pens, post it notes, etc. physical engagement helps a lot! write in your books!

intentional reading and leisure reading: if you're worried about not retaining information, try doing a quick mental summary after every x number of pages, or every chapter, etc. like, okay, if your friend asked "what happened in chapter 3" what would you say? I do this all the time, especially when i'm reading more intricately plotted scifi/fantasy with lots of unfamiliar words/names, as i get confused. if it's a very popular book with existing summaries, you can also read a chapter summary after finishing a chapter and make connections/go back to places you didn't understand. this is the best use of sparknotes and similar services, imo.

for leisure reading: you're reading for fun, so make your environment as comfy as possible. do you have a drink or snack with you? do you have your annotation materials close? make reading as convenient as possible so that you don't have to interrupt your time.

if you're busy or work with your hands, try an audiobook! you can speed it up or slow it down, depending on your brain's processing speed. [i listen to mine on 2x speed (narrator accent permitting) bc i'm a maniac.]. for a lot of people, stimming while reading helps them stay focused, so if you stim by knitting/doing something with both hands, audio might be for you.

for leisure and intentional reading, especially if the book is very difficult, you can try listening to an audiobook while reading a physical copy! if you're in college and have accommodations, you might be able to get audio copies of otherwise unavailable books through disability services.

lastly, for leisure reading: don't be afraid to start basic. there's kind of a novella boom happening right now, and a lot of books below 200 pages getting the recognition they deserve (if people want, i can make a recs post for short books?). if you can read ten pages a day, you can finish a 200 page book in less than 3 weeks, which is a lot more encouraging than picking up a 600 page tome. if you want to start smaller, try 5 pages! some people assume that they need to read a ton immediately, but what matters is that you're enjoying it and getting something from it. Quality >>>>> quantity.

Let me know if this is helpful/if you have any other questions! Good luck and happy reading :)