#but its weird that it happened at least thrice

[angelamontoo]

Yknow people talk about how weird it is that Peter Lorre parodies have become synonymous with igor/fritz and Renfield, but people never talk much about how it was a thing for a while to have Peter Lorre parodies as patriarchs of weird, spooky families with taller, girlboss wives for some reason(not that I'm complaining, I like that trend of Peter parody more tbh)

Sure, People know that Gomez is partially inspired by Peter Lorre, but there's also the Gruesomes from The Flintstones and the Evil Scientist family

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

pro-tip: when trying to work with a very goth friend your age and two very intimdated kids a few years younger do not use Mental Filter. say random thought. suggest wacky sentence. make the silly reference. cite a very old play and laugh about your own nerdiness. the kids may not start talking just bc of that but they'll laugh along and that does make things a little better

[nomaishuttle]

this has happened for multiple things as of late but the main one was during field day 4th grade i was sitting under a tree reading a book. and got hit square in the face with a soccer ball. and i was like mad bc like ow but they were like sorry *giggling* and i was like Rude to laugh at someone in pain but it was just an accident.... and then it happened again. two more times. and they laughed louder each time nd each time i was like I wish theyd be more careful... but it is just an accident after all...

being autistic is so crazy btw bc youll be an adult and randomly recall an event from your childhood at a totally random moment and just have a sudden realization of Oh i was being bullied.

[teabutmakeitazure]

Closing Shift - 2

>Yan! Demon! Childe x Fem! Reader

Warnings: a little blood, stalking, non consensual touching, dubious consent towards the end, suggestive

Word count: 3.5k

Part 1

ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The sound of your alarm blaring at full volume wakes you up. As usual, you snooze it at least thrice before you get out of bed. The cold air of your dorm room greets you along with the realisation that you forgot to turn on the heater last night. You must’ve been very tired.

One look at the date had your brain start listing off things you needed to get done. Even when brushing your teeth, you made a grocery list in mind and reminded yourself to do some laundry. Classes start on Tuesday instead of Monday so you have tomorrow and the day after to prepare.

You just hope you don’t let this perfectly good Saturday go to waste. After all, you do have a tendency to lounge around on weekends. Setting the frying pan on the stove, you grab an egg without forgetting to put some bread in the toaster. It’s when you’re cracking the egg that you feel a pair of arms slither around you.

With a frantic glance, you look around the kitchen but no one’s there. It’s only you. Well, it must've been your imagination. No biggie.

When breakfast is made, you sit down at your study table with your phone in one hand, browsing for something to watch while you eat. That’s when you get a notification from Ajax, the poor guy thanking you for the time yesterday and asking when you’re next free. You don’t open the message though, preferring to read it from the notifications bar.

It seems a little weird to read someone’s messages right after they send them.

-

“Grocery, done. Laundry, not done. Pre-class course prep, done. Internship application, done. What am I missing?”

You wrack your brain as you pace around in your room. Something’s missing. Something you forgot to do…

“Aha! Cleaning! Gosh, I can’t believe I forgot about cleaning.”

Well, seeing that it’s already nighttime, you think you’d rather do it tomorrow. You’re already tired as is, and it’s also midnight. Maybe hitting the hay is the better call.

As soon as you’re changed, you’re under the warm blanket, heater turned off because the colder the room, the more enticing the warm bed. This time, you don’t turn off the lights. Despite being well aware that what happened was your brain playing tricks on you, you’re still scared. So, the light stays on tonight.

-

When you wake up, you see nothing. Maybe it's because the light is now turned off and the curtains are drawn or maybe it's because a hand covers both your eyes. You can't be sure which it is, for every muscle in your body refuses to listen to you.

You're not panicking. You swear you aren't. Despite the loss of sight, you know you're in your room. The bedsheet feels the same under your palm and the warmth inside the blanket is yours. So whose warmth is covering your eyes?

It's okay.

Breathe.

It's just a nightmare.

You're safe.

Something presses up behind you, warm and inviting, and the only thing stopping you from screaming is the loss of control in your body. Just to confirm your fears, you try to open your eyes. Your eyelids do respond, but your heart sinks when you feel your lashes flutter against something.

"Go back to sleep, [Name]," a voice whispers.

Your mind doesn't listen to it, instead trying its best to scream and thrash just to lay hopelessly as your body remains frozen.

Lips brush your ear as the voice whispers again, a warm hand now resting on your bare stomach. "Sleep. We have lots to do."

You feel the owner of the voice smile against your cheek as your eyelids slowly close, mind falling into a peaceful slumber.

-

The only thing your alarm gets in return for waking you up is a colourful string of words. Just a few minutes after getting up, you turn off the light you left open last night and rub your eyes as you make your way to the bathroom to start your day.

In a few hours, you’re done cleaning your dorm and successfully check everything off the list. Now all you have to do is mentally prepare yourself for another night out with Ajax. He’s been bugging you to go to some family owned coffeehouse downtown, saying that their ‘marshmallow game’ is ‘like no other’. It takes some lounging around and a few long phone calls to friends to bring in the evening.

A little pep talk later, you’re out the door with the cherished oversized coat and a scarf. You don’t know why, you honestly don’t know, but you’re also wearing lip gloss. No, you refuse to admit that you've snooped to the level of wanting to impress a man. It’s just that the weather is dry and lip gloss ensures less use of chapstick. Yes, that’s what it is.

After you get off the train, you make your way to the meeting spot you both decided. Your breath leaves your mouth in puffs, the temperature of the winter night making you thank yourself for indoor heating. When Ajax’s ginger hair comes into sight, you remind yourself of only staying in public with him lest something… indecent occur. You’re aware of your ‘inclination’ to him, and you’d rather not put yourself to the test.

Being somewhere alone with him would be excruciating considering how attractive you find him, so strictly staying in public it is no matter how nerve wracking sitting across him on a table might be.

With a smile that’s all teeth, he greets you, and you find yourself a little taken by surprise with how his canines seemed a little prominent for a moment. You brush off the feeling as simple nervousness and smile back as you allow him to lead the way.

The smell of caffeine and chocolate fills the shop, even helping you relax a little when the two of you sit down across each other. Soon, the relaxed atmosphere turns into a perplexed one when Ajax snatches the menu from your hands with a cheeky grin on his face.

“I’ll order for you! Don’t worry about the price. I’ll take care of it.”

You gasp, “We agreed on me paying for myself!”

“Well,” he drawls, “I don’t believe that’s very gentlemanly for me to do. End of argument. Now, do you like hot fudge or roasted marshmallows?”

“That’s not fair!”

“Or maybe you’d be fine with both?”

The complete ignorance of your exclamations makes you grumble. Ajax, meanwhile, has the most smug look known to mankind on his face right now.

“...I’ll take the hot fudge,” you concede.

The ginger bastard completely ignores you, ordering the cup that has both hot fudge and roasted marshmallows. When he turns back to you after giving the order, he’s met with a scowl.

“Uh-”

“You’re insufferable, you know.”

Ajax visibly gulps at your displeased tone. “And why’s that?”

“First off, are you really going to ignore the blessing that is hot chocolate and get simple coffee again?”

“It does help me sleep… and not make me gain weight.”

You massage your temples upon hearing the same reason for the umpteenth time. “And secondly, how dare you, Ajax, spend your money like this?”

He turns pale at the question. “Oh no. How do you know about the vacuum?”

“What?”

“You’re scolding me about the vacuum right? The one I bought yesterday?”

You blink owlishly at him, the confusion explicitly written on your face. “No? I’m talking about the drink. That’s going to be expensive!”

He merely laughs at that, carefree and boyish as he looks at you with a smile. “Not at all. Spending some extra dollars isn’t going to hurt. It never will, not if it’s for you.”

The sentiment makes you flush. Ajax really does know how to use his words. He can be so sweet sometimes, and those lips… no! Begone thought! No thirsting over his lips! Perfectly moisturised lips shouldn't be this darn attractive!

"So… how's preparation for the new semester going, [Name]?"

-

You can't believe you did that.

You absolutely cannot believe yourself.

Ajax, as an act of whatever it was, had grabbed your hand before parting ways at the station and kissed your knuckles to which all you said was, "Thanks."

Thanks.

Oh God, you're hopeless. Bless the man for laughing it off, but you're sure he found it awkward too. You scream into your pillow in frustration, the unwanted memory repeating in your head. That was so unbearably ungrateful of you.

After punching the air and pillow a few times, you fall back onto your bed with a thump, closing your eyes despite the light as you will yourself to sleep.

-

While changing clothes, you paused when you saw your reflection in the mirror. There's a bruise right where your chest starts but more on the left side. It looks like you hurt yourself? The bruise is a bit red but it doesn't sting. Maybe you scratched yourself in your sleep. No biggie.

A ring from your phone alerts you, a call from Ajax that you don't pick up because you're tangled up in your shirt, face half through. You make a mental note to call him back later. However, the mental note rests in the back of your mind when you head out to meet your friends with your phone left on vibrate.

-

The first thing you do when you get back is regret not taking the oversized coat. It was cold and you stayed out for a bit longer than you anticipated, getting back two hours after sundown. The hoodie you wore only did so much to block out the cold temperature outside on campus.

Kicking off your shoes, you turn on the light as you slump into your chair, bag laying forgotten on the floor. At least you had an early dinner today. You don't have to worry about eating now, but maybe some kind of warm drink would help. Yes, you have tea at home.

Getting up in one smooth motion, you make your way to the kitchen. Since you don't own a kettle, you boil some water in a little pot and carefully pour it out. When you drop a tea bag into the cup, you feel a warm breath of air brush your ear and immediately turn back, eyes quickly scanning the room behind you.

Nothing. Just a window that's a little open.

Breathe, [Name]. There's nothing there.

With shaking hands, you sit down on your desk with the cup, watching as the colour slowly darkens in the water. The peach tea smells amazing, and you try your best to think over your upcoming courses and classes while you drink. Soon, the cup is empty and you get up to wash it but two arms wrap around your torso from behind the backrest.

You try to scream, but your mouth doesn't even open.

"I don't appreciate you ignoring me, you know."

A voice very familiar to you whispers in your ear.

"Not answering my calls or texts and going out without your special coat… are you trying to get me jealous? If you are, it's working."

You try to thrash around to fight his grip but you can't move. This time when he talks, his lips brush your earlobe and you shiver at the contact.

"I can smell them on you. It's disgusting."

He turns the chair around, and you're met with Ajax wearing his usual maroon dress shirt and black pants, jacket lying forgotten on the floor behind him as he kneels down. His eyes refuse to even acknowledge the light falling onto them, the two endless oceans staring into you.

"Do you not have an ounce of shame for ignoring me for so long? Come on, speak."

You feel in control of your voice again and take the opportunity. "H-how did you get in?"

"Answer the question, my dear. Why were you ignoring me?"

"I wasn't ignoring you-"

"Then how do you explain going out with those simpleton mortals and coming here smelling like them as well? And you didn't even wear the damn coat!"

You don't answer, the overwhelming feeling of fear flowing in your blood as your body shivers involuntarily under his lifeless gaze.

"My sweet, sweet [Name]." His warm hands grab your face, the feeling burning your skin. "My mate, my love. You didn't answer my call or texts. What am I supposed to do if you're going to ignore me? I can't have you get sick."

"H-how did you come in?"

He tilts his head slightly, a smile quickly stretching on his lips. "Why, because of your presence of course."

The smile unnerves you more than the paralysis does. You can't move. You can't even shiver without shuddering.

"Are you scared?"

The low tone of his voice makes you shudder again, eyes watering at the loss of control.

"Y-yes."

Ajax buries his face into your neck, his nose brushing the skin. "Good. Mm, I should get rid of this smell. It's revolting."

You brace yourself for the worst, but the most that comes is a lick on your neck.

"Why… are you here?"

His lips brush your skin when he speaks. "I could ask you the same. I asked you to meet me today, but you didn't even see my message."

"I'm sorry-"

"Ah ah ah. No crying." He pulls away and brushes away the few tears that managed to escape your eyes. "You only cry when I pleasure you. You're my mate. Maybe I should keep you in our realm to make you start acting like it."

A sharp nail accidentally cuts the flesh of your cheek and any blood that manages to ooze out is promptly licked up by him.

"Do you remember Friday," he mumbled against your cheek. "Anything at all?"

"We… we went to a coffee shop."

"And?"

"A-and that's it. We went there and you ordered coffee while I ordered hot chocolate. And then… I went home."

He smiles. "Did you?"

The question makes you nervously gulp.

"Seems like your memory really did get tampered," he states.

“What do you mean…?”

“Are you sure you went home?”

The sharp canines that peak out when he speaks, bring a sense of deja vu. From the way your eyes widen, Ajax senses that you’re realising something.

“And,” he continues, “do you remember the name Tartaglia?”

Despite the situation, you wrack your brain for any memory of the name. The feeling of familiarity does make you suspicious, but how would your memory get tampered with? How do you even know that Ajax didn’t break in?

Upon getting no answer from you, he chuckles. “I know, I know. I made you forget. Don’t worry though. I’ll give you a reminder.”

A sharp, claw-like nail presses down on your tongue when he pries open your mouth. You almost gag at the action, but he quickly stops the reaction midway when he kisses you, his tongue sucking any blood that bleeds from yours.

You must’ve regained control in your body because you’re pushing him away as hard as you can, but he doesn’t budge. It takes a few minutes for your arms to go limp due to the lack of oxygen and only a moment for you to start gasping in air when he finally frees you.

“Oh and your gag reflex is very good, I must say. You sadly don’t remember anything, so you’ll have to take my word for it. Unless… you’re willing to see it for yourself again?”

“Please, don’t hurt me.”

He sighs, bored and spent, and simply picks you up. Not a single word is uttered as he gently places you on the bed, climbing up beside you soon after. You merely watch with curious yet fearful eyes as he brings a lock of your hair to his lips. When his eyes flicker over to you briefly, you move your gaze to the ceiling above, the red irises making you more apprehensive.

“I’m not going to hurt you, you know. Not if you behave.”

Your reply comes in the form of a question. “Why? What’s going on…?”

With a slight movement of your head, you’re now facing him as your hair sprawls out on the pillow. You remind yourself to de-escalate the situation and keep it that way. If you can stay safe, answers will come.

“Why?” He smirks. “Are you curious about me? Ah, maybe doing everything a second time will make things more fun.” He sits up straight, eyeing your form. Blood red eyes remain fixed on the swell of your chest, but quickly re-establish eye contact when he starts speaking.

“My name is Tartaglia, and as you may have guessed like you did last time, I am not human. Though it makes me a little sad that you never questioned the odd stuff despite being so wary of me at first, I can’t deny that your innocence is more than just a little attractive to me.”

He brushes away a few strands of hair from your face and continues. “I’m pretty grateful that you’re behaving right now. It gives the death of all those other men a little worth.”

Like last time, your eyes widen, but he shushes you before you could speak.

“Yes yes. I know you’re horrified over me being the one behind that, but competition has to be eliminated. Anyway, before cussing me out in your mind at least say sorry because I can hear your thoughts!”

You freeze.

“A blood bond is more than just life binding.”

You raise yourself on one elbow, numerous questions going through your head but Ajax - or Tartaglia - pushes you to lay back down.

“A blood bond has been made between us. I completed it when I cut your tongue and drank the blood. Isn’t that convenient?”

“It’s not-”

“No,” he shushes you again. “Let me talk.” Clearing his throat, he speaks again. “With this, I can hear everything you say to yourself in your mind. Other than that, if one of us dies, the other dies too, and if you stay away from me for long, you start to get sick. Very sick.”

“Bullshit. You’re lying.”

“Am I? Then how do I know you wanted to kiss me yesterday at the coffee shop? Or how did I get in? How did we suddenly get to my room?”

What? No, he’s right. You’re not in your room anymore. You sit up to look around in confusion, but he pushes you back to lie down where the moonlight falls on the bed.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat. “I don’t see why this is a problem. You like me, don’t you? So much that you told yourself not to be alone with me.”

His hand grabs your thigh and gives it a little squeeze. “I want to mark more than just your chest.”

Your eyes go as wide as saucers.

“Spending the night with you while you sleep isn’t enough,” he confesses. Now lying next to you, he nuzzles his face into your neck, completely ignoring how you’re pushing him away. “You love me, right? You’ve even had dirty thoughts about me.”

You shiver when the hand on your thigh travels upwards.

“Show your devotion to me, my mate. The night is young. Let me taste you till the sun comes up.”

This time, you don’t fight back when his hand goes under your shirt as he kisses you.

-

The first thing you feel when you wake up is cold. You’re so unbearably cold that you immediately melt inside the blanket once it covers you. In your sleepy haze, you end up cuddling the warm body next to you, not questioning why you’re not alone.

The first thing you see when you wake up again later is the severe lack of clothes on you. Only one shirt covers you - no undergarments, no nothing - and your thighs have several marks on them. You have to try your best to ignore the ones that clearly look like bite marks. Only a few buttons in the middle of the maroon shirt are done, exposing everything else on the top and bottom.

Despite the heating in the unfamiliar room, your hands are cold. Soon, when you’ve gathered the strength to leave the bed, a voice in your head, one from last night, echoes.

‘Oh you sound so heavenly when you scream.’

The door suddenly swings open and in the blink of an eye, you’re being gently pushed back onto the bed by a familiar ginger. Sunlight filters through the curtains and falls onto you when your back hits the mattress, outlining every curve through the fabric of his shirt.

“Come on, you can’t get up before I have my taste.”

[vexwerewolf]

Hello, it is I once again, here with a weird meme build. How would you go about building a hacker Swallowtail at LL6? Standard or Ranger, it doesn't matter which

As it happens, Hacktail isn't a meme build at all - due to the Swallowtail's expansive 20 Sensors and innate +1 tech attack, it's an extremely viable Support pick.

-- SSC Swallowtail @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] SSC Swallowtail 2, SSC Dusk Wing 1, HORUS Goblin 1, HORUS Minotaur 2 [ CORE BONUSES ] The Lesson of the Held Image, Full Subjectivity Sync [ TALENTS ] Hacker 3, Spotter 2, Skirmisher 2, Field Analyst 1, Nuclear Cavalier 1 [ STATS ] HULL:2 AGI:2 SYS:2 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:15 ARMOR:0 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:6 REPAIR:6 TECH ATK:+3 LIMITED:+1 SPD:7 EVA:14 EDEF:12 SENSE:20 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] FLEX MOUNT: Assault Rifle AUX/AUX MOUNT: Nexus (Light) / Nexus (Light) [ SYSTEMS ] H0R_OS System Upgrade I, Neurospike, Metafold Carver, Personalizations, Lotus Projector, Manipulators

I call this one Hacking The Omninet.

Firstly, let's discuss the basics. This build is fragile, as all systems-first Swallowtail builds are going to be. This mech needs heavy co-ordination with your team to focus down threats. Employ cover rigorously, stay behind the lines and make liberal use of the Invisibility from Integrated Cloak. Low survivability is the price you pay for being able to turn an enemy comp inside out.

Your armament is not going to be used very much, and so is very simple - an Assault Rifle for Reliable damage, and dual Light Nexi for enemies with high Evasion. Oracle LMG-Is consume 1 SP a pop and we're not going to sacrifice system space for guns we might never fire.

We have Personalizations on there for a tiny bit of extra HP, and Manipulators for one simple reason: sacrificial system. We don't want to lose our hacking systems, and so if we take Structure damage and lose a system, we dump the robo-hands.

With all that out of the way, let's get to the meat and potatoes of this build: the hacking tools.

We start with H0R_OS System Upgrade I, possibly the best control tool in the game, definitely the best hacking tool in the game. Puppet System lets you reposition enemies in a straight line equal to their Speed any number of times, and unlike every other form of involuntary movement in the game, it triggers reactions, meaning you can open enemies up to Overwatch attacks from your allies. Meanwhile, Eject Power Cores inflicts Jammed, shutting down an enemy's weapons and tech attacks. It isn't repeatable on the same enemy, but this often doesn't matter - shutting down a heavy hitter's weapons for a single turn often buys enough time for your team to kill them outright.

Moving on to Neurospike, a much slept-on Invade system from the Dusk Wing. We're mostly in this for Shrike Code, which is a very powerful control tool in Lancer's mid-to-late game. At Tiers 2 and 3, a lot of enemy NPC classes get multiattacks, allowing them to use their weapon twice or even thrice every time they attack with it (including during Overwatch). But Shrike Code applies 2 heat per attack, not per action, meaning that a multiattacker who attacks twice will accrue 4 heat in addition to the (at least) 2 heat you put on them with Invade, which can put them close to or at their heat cap. Neurospike also provides the more situational but still useful Mirage, which allows you to make a member of your team (including you) Invisible to a member of the enemy team.

The third and final Invade suite, Metafold Carver, is the weirdest and most difficult to use correctly, but once you master it, it becomes one of the most effective support tools in the game. The biggest trick here is that the primary targets for both of its options are not your enemies - they're your allies. Your allies can choose to accept an Invade from you without taking heat and without it counting as an attack. Once you understand this, your third eye will open and the absurd power of Metafold Carver will be unlocked.

Ophidian Trek allows you to teleport your target a minimum of 2 and a maximum of seven spaces directly towards you. This is impossibly useful for yanking your allies out of melee combat or dangerous terrain, or summoning help if you're getting flanked. You generally don't want to use this on enemies who are already close to you, but pulling hostile backliners towards your team's melee specialist is exceptionally cool and funny.

Fold Space completely removes its target from the battlefield until they start their next turn. The problem with using this on enemies is that they can decide when their turn starts, and if they have an activation remaining, it will often be "immediately after your turn ends," wasting this power - although if they've already taken their turn, you can use it to ruin enemies that rely on reactions to be useful, such as the Sentinel or Archer.

The primary utility of Fold Space, however, is that it's without a doubt the most powerful ally-focused Invade in the game. This ability can quite literally be a lifesaver. Ally went too hard on their reactor and became Exposed? Fold Space. Ally took a bad structure roll and became Stunned? Fold Space. Ally being swarmed by melee NPCs? Fold Space. Ally messing up the shot of your team's artillery? Fold Space. Ally talking too much? Fold Space. You make them completely invulnerable at the "cost" of removing them from the battlefield, which they only even care about if they're a reaction-focused build, and they decide how long they want to stay on vacation, because they can return to the battlefield at any time by starting their turn.

In terms of other support abilities, we have a beautiful SSC/HORUS combo: at the start of an ally's turn, you can Lock On to an enemy as a reaction with Lesson of the Held Image and use your Prophetic Scanners frame trait to inflict Shredded as well. This lets you strip all damage reduction off an enemy just before your ally winds up to hit them, with no chance to react or clear it.

You also have Lotus Projector to help your allies deal with Invisible enemies - standard Swallowtail stuff.

As for talents, we have Hacker to give you even more Invade options (mostly Hack./Slash for shutting down enemy tech attackers) and help with heatgunning (Nuclear Cavalier 1 is in there too, just for kicks), Spotter to provide aim assist and hand out free Lock Ons and Field Analyst to help avoid "missed it by that much" situations.

As previously stated, this is a heavily team-focused build. You are a Support/Controller to the maximum here. Expect to go entire fights without doing a single point of damage. Coordinate heavily with your team to focus targets down and ensure that you stay safe while lighting targets up for them.

[slavhew]

Hello!

If you're not too busy, would you mind listing some of the things you think count as death flags for Mr. Spender?

There's the obvious fact that he's the "old" mentor to group of young protagonists, but what else do you think would count?

OHH BOY ok so I'd think I'm a crackpot for this but since we're talking about Zack "Foreshadowing" Morrison. I have some thoughts

No harm in leading with the (chronologically) first thing that jumped out at me:

This one IMMEDIATELY made me antsy whenever I came back to it after my initial read, and considering Zack has referred to it on twitter in the past as one of their favorite jokes it's definitely not been forgotten about.

Second, the sheer amounts of near-misses, jokey or not, of Spender narrowly avoiding specifically lightning

Again, not much, but it's weird that it happened thrice, latter two of which had real gravitas rather than an one-off joke.

And third, Spender himself. He's repeatedly shown himself to be kind of a self sacrificing idiot, as well as prideful to a fault. Granted, it's both him and Mina trying to take on all the responsibility of saving Mayview and its inhabitants from their fate.. But Spender is exactly that right measure of doesn't-value-himself-enough (chest footprint aftercare or lack thereof), having an obscene amount of power (enables his loner act + pride) and poor judgement that has the capacity to put him at great risk. And it has!

Spender has not only shown low enough self-esteem to view himself as the de-facto scapegoat for the safety of the town, but also prideful enough to make very bad calls that end up in people, often himself, hurt (COUGH FORGE INCIDENT COUGH)

This is all conjecture, but it's definitely enough to make me worried about him :') Even if all this doesn't mean he'll necessarily die he's definitely getting (even more) seriously injured at some point. I love the guy but he's so far doing a horrible job of convincing me he wants to live bad enough to circumvent at least that

[crystalxwitch]

7| Pond - W. Maximoff

Summary: A hike to the hidden pond gives you the opportunity to grow closer to Wanda.

Masterlist

"I told you that it is real." You make your way through the maze of trees and bushes, getting a glimpse of shining water. "And you thought I wouldn't find it."

Wanda isn't that far behind you, breathing heavily because the last few minutes were steeper than usual. "Well, you weren't that sure of it at first. Besides, you misled us thrice this morning until we found the right track." 

"At least I found it in the end or we wouldn't be at this beautiful place." You point to the pond that is hidden in the middle of the forest. "Natasha told me about it a few years ago when she discovered it with her girlfriend"

"You shouldn't have said that." Wanda slaps you on the shoulder. "I don't think I can go into the pond where Nat probably fucked the girl."

"You don't know that." You argue, trying to keep a serious face that cracks in a matter of seconds. "Okay.. yeah, that actually does sound like something Nat would do. But you need to see the good side of it. It happened years ago."

"That doesn't help."

"Okay, just try to forget everything I said during the last minute. That shouldn't be so difficult for you." You wave off her comment, placing your backpack on the ground. "We're here to take a short dip in the pond and not waste our time arguing about which positions they were doing in here." 

"Oh, please stop talking." Wanda presses her hands against her ears, having the sudden urge to throw you into the pond. "Just get inside the water."

"Nothing more than that!" 

Her eyes drop to the skin on your stomach as you take off your clothes. Oh, god. Hidden under the sweater you truly have abs. Heat rises to her face and other places. When did she become a teenager again? She is a grown woman for fucked sake. 

Wanda immediately turns around, inspecting the trees to avoid looking at you. Don't act so pathetic it's embarrassing, Wanda. Hearing the cracking of tree branches under her feet, you steal a glance at her. Your hands freeze for a moment, too preoccupied with watching her as she touches the leaves.

"Are those maples?" Wanda asks, keeping her gaze locked on the plant. "I didn't know that they could grow in these conditions."

You part your lips. Besides having not much trust in your own education, you are one hundred percent sure that this tree is named Norway maple. Hence it comes as no surprise that it grows here. Additionally, you are sure - without praising the redhead too much - that she is the brightest out of the two of you.  

"Norway's nature is so breathtaking, isn't it?"

Okay. That's weird. She's acting weird, isn't she? You wait for her to turn back around but she remains in the position, facing the tree and looking at it with the most unrealistic interest you have ever seen. Nodding to yourself, you get into the pond. She's crazy. Nothing you didn't already know about her.

Another minute passes by, and the redhead continues to stare into nature. You lean your head back against the stone wall, watching her with curious eyes. Playing with the water between your fingers, you can't keep silent any longer. 

"Are you going to stand there all day?" You ask, seeing her body visibly react to your voice. "Or are you afraid of water?"

What's wrong with her today? She slowly turns her head around to face you. Your red bra shimmered through the water's surface, teasing her with its existence. The ends of your hair are already wet, grazing over the surface. 

"I'm not afraid of it." Wanda replies, not meeting your gaze entirely as she looks behind your shoulder. "It's just that I'm more content with myself being dry than being wet."

"Oh, come on. You can snuggle up in front of the fireplace the moment we get home." You argue, patting the water as if you are on a couch. "Join me, it's not that cold."

Wanda crosses her arms in front of her chest, inspecting the pond. The water looks clear, with no visible fish swimming in it. Meeting your eyes again, she exhales quietly and nods. You make a small victory sound, throwing your arm in the air and creating bigger waves. 

"Don't be so enthusiastic about it." 

Her fingertips dip under her waistband, wanting to prove to herself that she could get inside the pond with you in it. Even though it is rather small. Wanda swallows harshly. Your eyes leave a burning imprint on her skin, her entire body itching. She can't do it with you looking at her like that. Her heart begins to race again.

"Turn around." She instructs, stopping her movements. 

You hum, giving her a bright grin. Her voice is somehow softer than usual, mirroring her shy expression. Maybe something did change over the last couple of days. 

"Okay." 

You turn around, feeling like a teenager again as it reminds you of the horrible times in the school locker room. Swimming lessons.. Do you even need to say more? 

Wanda strips down to her underwear, hugging her body as a chilly breeze brushes through the trees. This time of the year, Norway isn't exactly a tropical paradise but the winterly temperatures aren't here yet. 

"Fuck." She shrieks, her lips already quivering. "It's so fucking cold. Why is it so cold?"

You laugh. "That's the meaning of an ice bath." 

"But it's not winter yet. Shouldn't there be a bit of warmth left? I'm not a snow queen." 

God, she's going to freeze her fucking tits off. Wanda groans, quickly lowering herself down until the water reaches her shoulders. The added cool wind isn't helping her feel better at all. She throws daggers into your direction with her eyes, knowing that you aren't the cause of the temperature but you still mislead her by saying that it's not that cold. You lied to her.

"Yeah, right. I remember now, you're Rapunzel. I guess that means that I'm Elsa." You chuckle, laughing a bit too loud at your own joke.

Wanda rolls her eyes. "More like the frozen giant or the trolls." 

You look at her with raised eyebrows, surprised at her small fireback. She presses her lips together, the silence creeping over her back like a cold hand. Was this wrong of her to say? 

You on the other hand are just too shocked at her words. One night she is this flustered, cute redhead. And on the other day, she is back to the old little with her witty comments.

"Just wait a few minutes, it will get more bearable." You explain as the water doesn't feel as cold as before to you. "Your body is going to get used to it."

Wanda quietly suffers through the next few minutes. She gets cold very easily and prefers a few extra layers of clothing during the colder months over everything. That means being in a pond in the middle of autumn is exactly her definition of having a great time. 

"And? Are you feeling better?" You ask, truly caring for her well-being. 

You scan her face for anything unusual. Bluish lips. Continuing shudders. No, everything seems to be all right with her. She still has her arms crossed in front of her chest, trying to give her body as much warmth as possible. Your small finger subconsciously twitches. 

"You wouldn't be standing there if I weren't." She bites out, watching your face lights up at the comment. "For once, you were telling the truth."

"Told you so." Your heart grows warm at the sight of her, her emerald eyes mirroring the first behind her. "Also, I didn't lie to you beforehand. The water actually didn't feel that cold to me, it was quite alright."

"Sure."

She doesn't believe you. Wanting to lighten up the mood, you try to think about something that might cheer her up a bit. A hard task for someone who always seems to run around the world with a sour face. But not that much later an idea occurs to you.

You dive into the water, disappearing under the surface. Wanda presses herself against the back of the pond, trying to make out your shadow. But that means looking at your half-naked body. That's not a risk she can take, already feeling the reactions moving like snakes through her blood and down her body. Wanda doesn't know what to do. 

"Boo!" 

You emerge right in front of her, your eyes still closed as you wipe the water droplets off your face. Wanda shrieks, not expecting that you would come this close to her. She could see the water droplets hanging on your long lashes, glittering in the sunlight. 

Wanda feels her heart racing, watching the water run down your face. "Don't do that." 

"What exactly?" You chuckle, giving her a teasing glance as the redhead stares at you with an unreadable expression. "Diving?"

"Coming so close to me." She pushes you a few inches back, bringing an appropriate distance between you two again. 

Her fingers shake as she touches your naked shoulder. Noticing her pupils dilate, you watch her closely. Your stomach does a small flip as the redhead can't keep up eye contact with the same intensity.  

You bite down on your tongue, appreciating the sight of her pink-colored cheeks and irregular breathing. "Did it scare you?"

"Kind of. You are sometimes a bit.. intimidating." She admits, not thinking clearly as she sees your hardened nipples pressing against the material of your bra. "And distracting."

"A distraction?" You act offended, letting out a little laugh. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you mess up my mind. As if it's not enough for you to ruin my vacation, you need to.. I don't even know what you want from me!"

"What I want from you? Wanda, I think you're the one messing up the roles right now."

"You are the one coming close to me."

"I thought you liked my touch." You tilt your head to the side, sinking your teeth in your lower lip. "You didn't mind it last night. Actually, I think you were the one who placed my hand on your waist."

There it is. Shame rolls over her body like a hurricane, knocking her down as her wall crumbles. 

"I- I'm sorry." Wanda closes her eyes as her breathing picks up. "That was wrong of me to do. I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable or if I-"

"It didn't." You stop her rambling, licking over your dry lips. 

Her eyes widen until you are scared that they could fall out of her face at any given moment. "I did not?" 

"No. Not at all. More like the opposite to be brutally honest." You remember her warmth against your body. Her deep breaths lured you to sleep like a lullaby. "You're too comfortable to not want around, princess."

Her heart misses a beat. "Don't call me that."

You smile even wider, knowing that she actually doesn't hate the pet name but more the reaction that causes it. "Princess?"

"Yeah."

"What else do you want me to call you?" You tease her further, slowly inching closer but having a close eye on her reactions. 

She shakes her head ever so barely. This could be your chance to figure out once and for all if this is just a silly game for her or if she actually wants you. You leave a tiny distance between your bodies, so small that only a piece of paper could fit between you. Wanda doesn't say anything, looking at you with eyes that are full of surprise and something else. 

Remembering the first day you met her, you hide your devilish grin. Wanda's breathing pattern is totally fucked by now but you aren't feeling much different. Just because you don't show it doesn't mean you don't have the same feelings rushing through your blood. You could drown in her eyes and happily get lost in them forever.

You tilt her chin upwards as she makes intentions to avoid staring at you. "Miss?"

Wanda tenses under your touch. Her eyes flutter shut as your fingers brush along her jawline. She has such perfect skin. A few freckles are painting the bridge of her nose that you didn't notice before. You are sure that she's the most beautiful woman you have ever laid eyes on. A few days ago you weren't able to answer that question but looking at her right now with the sun illuminating her face in an orange glow gives you all the answers that you need. 

You lean in until your lips barely brush over her ear. "Miss Maximoff."

She nearly whimpers as your hot breath fans over her ear. "Y/n.."

Something touches your thigh making the corners of your lips twitch. It slowly skims over the inside of your thigh, traveling upwards. You lean back to look at her face, grinning from ear to ear. Innocent, sweet Wanda. 

"Are you touching my thigh right now?" You husk out, surprised by her forward actions but not disapproving of them. 

The fog inside her brain clears up a bit. "What?" 

You look down at her lips, wanting to taste the essence of her beauty that called out to you. "Don't lie." 

She shakes her head, confused eyes staring into yours. "I'm not."

The moment is gone. Your eyebrows shoot up, the touch on your thigh feeling a lot smoother than before. With a panicked scream, you jump away from her and out of the pond. Out of the corner of her eye, she barely sees the silver fish swimming fleeing the spot. 

Wanda can't keep her laughs at bay, watching you shake your legs and run around the area in circles. Her bubbly laugh echoes through the forest, her eyes getting teary as her heart races in the same rhythm as yours. The only difference is that they are caused by two totally different reasons.

[romancomicsblog]

How Blue Beetle is the Hero James Gunn's DCU Needs

It is no secret the DC Universe has had its fair share of setbacks when it has come to live action films.

From trying to start a universe with Green Lantern, to Man of Steel starting the inconsistent DCEU, it has been hard to watch so many heroes wasted by studio interference, failed universe building, and let's just say, unorthodoxed takes on famous characters (I'm looking at you Joker and Lex).

Now we have an opportunity for a fresh start.

Director James Gunn has a new lineup of films consisting of big swings and fan favorite characters, hoping to build up the DCU we know and love.

In this new marriage between Warner Bros and Gunn, he has inherited 4 children from the previous marriage. The previous box office bomb Shazam! Fury of the Gods, the current box office bomb The Flash, the sequel to one of the biggest DCEU movies Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, and Blue Beetle, the attempt at a new hero for the DCEU franchise who is somewhat left up in the air between DCEU and DCU.

While some have already chalked this up as another potential bomb, of the 4 movies, this has been my most anticipated.

Unlike the others, Blue Beetle I believe is in a prime slot as the right character, right time, not only to the general public, but to the DCU. Here's why:

1. The Flexibility of Blue Beetle

Unlike the characters Shazam, Flash, and Aquaman, Blue Beetle is not directly attached the DCEU.

Besides a mention of Batman, and the gear of (the probably late) Ted Kord, Blue Beetle doesn't have many connections to a wider DC Universe. He can exist in either, if they wish to continue one or both.

2. The World Building Potential

Blue Beetle opens up another part of the DC Universe in multiple different ways EARLY.

As the Scarab is a part of The Reach, this opens up a whole other side of DCU we have never seen, and potentially sets up an invasion storyline.

The Reach also have a deal with The Guardians of the Universe of Oa, setting him up for a potential Green Lantern crossover nicely.

But unlike many other heroes, Jaime Reyes isn't just a member of the Justice League...

He's a TEEN TITAN!

Jaime opens the door to young heroes existing already! The Teen Titans are a fan favorite, but he is also a member of Young Justice, who are equally as fun.

This is currently an untapped market for both DC and Marvel (though I'm sure the Young Avengers are coming). Jaime can act as a door between both, offering a perspective as the youngest member of the Justice League, and the senior member of the Titans.

3. Legacy Characters are IN

A particular kind at least.

If I had a nickel for every legacy character who is (vaguely) attached to a hero they admire, who take on that hero's name, with a similar but different set of powers, who then makes their old costume better, and who happen to be a person of color, I'd have three nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it has happened thrice.

The most famous of course is Miles Morales AKA Spider-Man, who has headed two incredible movies and a pretty sweet video game, along with several appearances in animation.

The second is fan favorite Kamala Khan AKA Ms. Marvel, who had a pretty solid show and also headed up a video game. While these are not as good as Mile's, they are both in the zeitgeist, and with her big film debut coming up in The Marvels, Iman Vellani has a bright future ahead of herself in and out of the MCU.

And finally, we have Blue Beetle! While he is a legacy character by name, he becomes Blue Beetle AFTER Ted Kord dies in comics, similar to Miles and Peter Parker. He carries the weight and legacy of a hero he never knew, and tries to do it his own way.

That is something audiences are loving right now, and Blue Beetle can tell a similar story.

and finally...

4. Xolo Maridueña is Perfect

You think I'm overselling him, but I'm not.

If you don't know his name yet, you will soon. As the star of Cobra Kai, Xolo plays Miguel, a kid from nowhere trying to live up to the legacy of man he deems great. If that isn't Jaime, I don't know what is.

Xolo plays every role he has with heart, charm, and has comedic timing to beat. As one of its leads, Xolo helped take Cobra Kai from a YouTube Red Series to one of Netflix's BIGGEST Shows.

And at only 22, he is young enough to play a late teen, and to be in this role for years to come.

In Marvel talk, we can very much be looking at DC's Tom Holland, and Blue Beetle could be Spider-Man Homecoming.

The bottomline is, I am beyond stoked for Blue Beetle, and as a Latinx fan, I know I'm gonna be there day 1, rooting for its success.

I hope to look back on this 10 years later, as the Justice League unite with Jaime up there with em, three movies under Xolo's belt, a fan favorite, with more to come.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to support me you can follow me on socials here!

[shmowder]

Aaaaaa we get a snippet! How did I get so lucky? 😍 I was thinking they would be like the BG3 ones, simply a list of three kinks for each character, so that made my day and I'm wide-eyed with anticipation for the others when they're ready <3

Listen, I never thought I'd be into the toxic masculinity or daddy kink before... but for Yulia, I could be convinced. Without a whole lot of difficulty. Because I have the willpower and conviction of a lamb. Or something. And because of your writing! I will never get tired of praising your writing and its ability to make me feel things. I understand the Minthara comparison now. Bonus points for using the phrase "clutch their pearls" which makes me smile every time I see it :D

-

I've finally begun Patho Classic! So my first impressions are 1) Your impulse to stand around and look at the cows is very relatable 2) WHAT is this voice acting. Artemy has a British accent? "Don't you go all bossy on me, clever clogs." ???????? I know I'll get over it but it's really funny to me at the moment and I'm a little scared to hear what everyone else sounds like.

Thanks again for all the tips you wrote out earlier. I looked them over again and I have the maps printed out and ready to go. I'm only in the very beginning, just spoke to Notkin, Bad Grief, and the Olgimskys but it is just me or are there a lot fewer trash cans and dumpsters to loot than in P2? Maybe I'm just not looking in the right places.

-

I know you said you wish you could get requests out faster, so here's some reassurance that you're doing wonderfully. You can only do what you can with the energy that you have. I was glad to see that you're not pushing yourself too hard by coming back here, and that writing helps. Wishing you the best ❤️

🐿️ anon

Kfhowjd the fun of P1 is discovering all the secrets stumble upon the obnoxious useful details the devs left your way and just gasp because oh god they really did that and you never noticed until now?? this could've saved you so much money/time!!

So I'll resist my urge to spoil you on every shortcut and secret mechanic that will make your life a little easier.

Trust me, it's so much fun to figure out on your own. You'll feel so smart and proud of yourself afterwards no matter how late it happens, because I sure did.

Honestly, the infamouse "pathologic long boring walks" don't even register with me anymore.

This is just the norm now, like I'm weirded out by other games where things are so close by?? What do you mean I don't have to go across the town at least thrice to finish one quest with mediocre rewards? Let me enjoy the scenery in peace while occasionally parkouring to evade the sentient plague clouds hurdling towards me!

I also used the time to curse the last person who spoke to me in the quest for treating me like their courier pigeon. Oh, the colourful names I've called each and every single leader in this town, the titles I've bestowed upon Alexander Cuckburov for being a gaint tree branch wedged into my urethra.

Also, oh man, do people love giving Daniil pistols, got two out of Alexander and one out of Andrey for FREE. didn't even have to scam the men like in the haruspex route, I just asked, and they handed them to me– you should never underestimate the powers of a well-dressed twink huh.

I hope you enjoy the game! and yeah the voice acting and accent choices are hilarious, I think it's more of a localisation creative choice? Because Artemy speaks in a British accent but uses Australian lingo and "mate" a lot. While Daniil speaks in an american accent but uses British lingo and phrases so much, he says "bloody" an unbelievable amount.

You'll witness Artemy use the word yapping in canon lore, that's fun.

So many things are hilarious, so much more cursing and abrasive language. Andrey tells you all about how last night orgy was disgusting, a couple npcs call Aglaya a bitch, Bad Grief uses cunt a couple times. There are so many funny instances that put P2 "oh sorry for my bad language" scene to shame.

Casual misogyny also, from your humble protagonists and other characters. If you think Yulia was mild mannered in P2 then just wait until you get to the scene where she literally talks shit about ALL the other women in the town to Daniil mere minutes after meeting him.

Daniil doesn't quote latin as much in P1, which is funny. It means it was an active choice to make him more obnoxious in P2.

One last thing, get into the habit of leaving stuff, especially herbs, in your lair drawer because the Haruspex has massive inventory management problems.

-

ochwixjwjdnd Thank you for your praise <333 it means a lot. I like how different characters like Minthara and Yulia could still have a kink in common yet approach it in different ways?

Minthara is more possessive with it, emphasis on the toxic part. The "masculinity" is basically drow femininity in her culture, which is why it comes so naturally to her. It's women who are expected to be dominated and in control.

Yulia, meanwhile, is someone who lives in a society where women are expected to be docile and submissive. A time period when wearing pants was seen as an outrageous act, borderline heresy. Even Aglaya, the most powerful woman, if not the person–in the whole town, still abides to the dress code, a modest long dress.

The town, especially the Kains, might have encouraged a "progressive no rules" style of living but that just translated to "dress slutier and still abide to gender roles" rather than deviate from social norms.

In P1 that is only made more important by the fact she is the ONLY woman character who wears pants in the entire town if not the entire game. P1 clearly being set in an older time period since in P2 you get more technology and progressive views as more and more women are seen wearing pants.

Not to mention her extremely short hair, she didn't have a bun in P1, only a pixie cut. P1 Yulia was a setting stone, unapologetically being herself in a town that burned women for being "demons" Her identity as butch as a whole wasn't noted in the Wikipedia for nothing. It was a different time. What seems normal and average to us now would've been seen as outrageous and drastic to that time period.

So a kink like that definitely hits a special spot in her brain where she is just done with society expectations. If people are horrified of her for what she is, then she might as well play on it and get some pleasure?

If they keep calling her a man for her clothes then why not go the whole way? She'll bed women and men alike and have them address her as sir, as daddy, as a husband.

Yulia is a gentlewoman still. She might not sit with her legs spreading like Andrey, but she'd love to have a pretty thing like you over her lap just as much as any man would.

And it adds a cheeky meaning to her idle dialogue phrase "A woman's nerves can only take so much" As she remains unaffected and collected in the face of great catastrophe.

Minthara would be want you to still refer to her with "Ma'am" and feminine terms while calling her strap a cock.

Yulia would rather you call her your daddy, use more masculine terms, albeit on the elegant side. She's never sleezy. She'd act like the perfect Victorian era husband, hold you by the waist, open the door for you, and have you underneath her in bed.

But she is no Daniil. She is still a fatalist at heart. Her home tends to be a mess. She tends to overthink and get lost in her own mind. She's an avid smoker and prefers to observe rather than take risks.

Things that are deemed "masculine" traits are just normal human traits in reality, anyone could develop them and Yulia refuses to be forced into a mould for femininity.

A world where the human experience is labeled as masculine and femininity is a constant performance, Yulia won't trim her edges and won't cover her blemished. She is a woman despite it all no matter what anyone says, she proudly owns her identity as she makes a joke out of these imaginary gender rules by playing around with masculine terms.

If you want a modern equivalent, think of modern butch lesbians who use He/Him pronouns and take testosterone. How other people feel like they have the right to police them or get outraged at them for... being themselves? Stupid people yes but they sadly make the majority.

That's how severe it is for her to wear pants and sport a manly short haircut as a noble aristocrat woman in the P1 time period.

-

If I wanted to explore the "toxic" part of the "toxic masculinity," then I see her using weapnised incompetence to get out of doing things she doesn't want whilst mansplaining things to you.

Deliberately using convoluted phrases and big words to make you pause and have to mull over her every sentence to make you feel smaller and less intelligent, so you'll just give up and agree with her.

See? Let your husband do the thinking. It's her job, after all. You just look pretty and go wash the dishes while she enjoys her drink.

She doesn't argue, that's the thing, she wins argument before the start by immediately conceading. She makes you feel like you're the one being emotional and overly sensitive, like you're the hysterical dramatic one that's yelling as she remains calm and civil.

It makes you feel bad even if you were in the right, Yulia knows that and it's why she does it, why she apologises immediately one sentence into the argument so you never get the chance to actually vent your frustration.

So she can claim you're simply too hormonal for your own good, that you need a strong logical masculine figure to keep you in check from your own emotions, and that happened to be her.

Basically, recycling that era's misogyny to use against you.

-

I'm too ambitious for my own good when it comes to projects. I have the perfect vision and I want to make it come true, its like I can clearly picture how I want each piece of writing to be, all the scenes to plan and all the characters to include.

Afterwards, it's actually time to act and work, and I exhaust all my energy while barely reaching 10% completion on my perfect vision, my magnum opus so far away.

This cycle repeats each time. I've learned to cut my losses and lower my requirements and standards a lot for what should be published or not. To set realistic expectations to what I could achieve.

Because in theory, I could make this vision into a reality, I have the skills and passion. But in practice? I don't have the energy, time or motivation since I know no matter how much I pour into it, only me and like 15 people total who care about patho x reader will ever ever see my post, only 7 will like it and only one or two will comment.

I looked over my bg3 fetish post and thought "pfft, I bet I can make this even better and bigger!" And I did.... for like 4 characters total before I burned out because damn.

It's so easy to talk about one character, study them and dissect them under a microscope, I could spin endless tales about Yulia or any single character from one prompt.

But. It's harder talking about multiple, especially when it's bordering double-digit territory. I have to switch prospective, get into different characters' mindsets, and keep track of their history and traits. It's headache inducing

It's like the difference between baking one big cake and baking many cupcakes, each with different flavours and difference recipes.

By the end you do get the same amount of cake technically but by god is the second one so much more exhausting.

That birthday post sucked the life out of me. I had to "educated guess" my way into what each character could possibly bring time after time after time and the result while satisfying and rich in essence, still remained a very condescended read, a short drabble.

A lot of times I cut Rubin last minute from healers requests because I gave my all spoons to Artemy and Daniil's part and now I have a headache and the idea of having to put myself into any new character's shoes makes me feel like throwing up.

Like a CPU capping the more tabs and programs you have open, Please god have mercy.

What makes this whole process more insulting is the fact there is no high after the pain to tank on yk? I know I'm throwing my writing to the ocean the second I post it, it will sink immediately to the seafloor and be lost forever.

60% of my notes rn are about the two memes I posted... two days ago while 25% is about memes I posted months ago, 10% is about my character study and 5% is about my x character writing.

SO I CAN'T EVEN GET ADDICTED. I can't even fuel my creative process with the dopamine of clicks and numbers going up! WAKE UP SQUIRREL ANON IT'S JUST ME AND YOU AND LIKE 2 OTHER NAMED ANONS PLUS 5 OTHER LURKERS IN HERE.

It's a labour of love. Each piece chips a piece of my soul with it. Yes, even the Oyun CBT snippet, which will get posted eventually.

I get nothing from this. I just genuinely really want it to exist so badly. It sucks to make, and it sucks to post, and it sucks to watch flop! But it's... god, for a moment in time, it's beautiful when I reread it after weeks and get hit directly in the heart by my own creation.

And sometimes, it's cathartic to make. Exhausting in a good way? Like the exhaustion after a good swim, the soreness after a party, the relief after finally throwing up as all the built-up despair from the dreadfull anticipation fizzles out.

And I still make mistakes and it's not perfect but it's mine. I'm still learning! I still discover new words to add to my vocabulary and then microdose into my works. New Idoms and descriptive phrases, I pause and think after every sentence to try and see if I could've phrases it better, If there are more fitting adjectives.

Yet typos still pass me by and at times I'm 90% certain I've posted literal gibberish and there is no way this collection of vaguely connected sentences actually tell a story.

But I still post it all the same because I've spent effort on it dammit. Burned or not you'll eat the damn cake! Plus after going to sleep and actually having a decent meal, I'm pleasantly surprised that I haven't shat the writing bed yet by posting gibberish and these words are actually coherent my god.

It's so easy to give into intuition after a while, to fall into a slump and sink deeper into your comfort zone of art. Creativity is a skill you train and with time you can put your brain on auto pilot while making art.

But that is a slippery slope my friend, getting too comfortable floating on the soothing ocean waves is as dangerous as flying directly into the sun. Next thing you know you're stuck in a tar pit at the deep oceanfloor after closing your eyes for a minute.

And the unkown becomes frightening again, and your ego is brittle and fragile, and you took your readers for granted and now you must humble yourself otherwise life and time will do it for you.

I fear the second to last part the most, taking my readers for granted. Taking every like, comment and anon for granted. I make it a point to thank each person who has ever commented on any of my fics on AO3, likewise I still thank people for their kind words and time on here no matter how redundant I sound.

You learn to not forget, to appreciate everything because nothing is ever mundane. We're real people, real humans interacting and sparing moments of our lives for each other. It's so easy to look at a "Great work!" comment notification on a screen and forget a whole person is behind it on the other end. To forgo the forest for the trees.

Which I'm thankful for your presence here, I'm thankful for the time you take to write down these asks, and I'm grateful for your sweet words because I rarely remember to offer them to myself.

I hope you enjoy p1! please do tell me about all the funny moments or interesting things you encounter. For me I'm on day 3 of the Bachelor playthrough and I'm realising how much of an easier life Daniil has in comparison to Artemy.

[the-roadtrip-system]

if i had a nickel for every time a fandom got obsessed with a specific song by glass animals i would have a minimum of three nickels

which isnt a lot but its weird that its happened at least thrice, right?

[aashi-heartfilia]

Maybe ochako will still get a cover?

With all the breaks and drawn out developments in bnha recently, I don't think what horikoshi said about the story ending so soon is true anymore, or at least not in such a small number to the finish and definitely not by the end of the year or around there.

So who really knows how many more volumes there's going to be or what part ochako will play in them?

As big of a part she's played in the story, especially here in recent arcs, it seems like there's still a good chance

Honestly, I have lost hope and I'm pissed at the author.

THIS IS SO UNFAIR.

What's more annoying is that it's not even bad contextually, because Ochako vs Toga (the main battle) doesn't happen in vol 38 and we also see Toga getting this crisis moment where she thinks "Why couldn't I truly become Jin?" in vol 38 only, where she wrecked havoc in the battlefield. But then, it was about Ochako too, who noticed her tears and we got this beautiful double spread...

It was about Ochako noticing Toga's tears and reaching out to her. And If Horikoshi knew, he was gonna cram the entire Todoroki Drama, TogaChako battle and AMvsAFO in vol 39 only then why didn't he pre-planned to get everything in order?

Since DabiShouto already got a cover, he could have just made that colour page as the cover for Vol 38 and then give us an AMvsAFO cover for Vol 39. This way, we would have all Duo VS covers, with DkSg, DbSh, TgCk and AMAFO. But nope! He decided to please all fans instead of giving justice to its main FL, he decided to give Toga an entire cover and then cram all other three in the next one which sucks!

If it was an entire page dedicated to TodoDrama or AM, I wouldn't have many complaints because at least it was dedicated to a single motive but by trying to please all his fans, he made a blunder, and it turned out to be a weird mixture of 3 characters who never had a proper one-on-one interaction in the entire manga.

AND I must say, I hate this cover with all my might because I could NEVER get over the fact that Ochako was robbed, not once, not twice but thrice!

And to answer your question, no. With how Hori is wrapping up all the plotlines, it is highly unlikely that the manga will drag any further. In fact, we would be lucky if we even get a proper aftermath after this war.

Since BkDk are his favorites, he would dedicate his entire time in making them the star of the show (as if they aren't already are) and it's highly unlikely that Ochako will ever get any spotlight again in the manga.

Plus, there were just so many big moments where she could have gotten some spotlight but then, it's just another shallow case of favouritism by the authors.

I'm sooo angry, I might as well write my own Manga at this point.

[nitewrighter]

dva for the niche questions? if you havent already, of course. thank you, and i love these so much!

a song that reminds me of them: "Death Thrice Drawn" by The Scary Jokes

what they smell like: She is a celebrity so it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that she does NOT have gamer stank. I mean she could, sometimes, but in public she actually smells pretty nice. Kind of like a strawberry-rose-hibiscus tea from a bougie boba shop.

an otp: Bunnyribbit and D.Vamon. but I also really like the idea of her with an Omnic partner. She said Bob was cute!! She has good taste!!

a notp: Eh none in particular.

favorite platonic/familial relationships: I had a lot of fun writing her hanging out with Zen in my fics! I also really like Dae-hyun.

a headcanon that is popular in the fandom but that i disagree with: I've already talked about how the 'soldier 76 adopts her' headcanon was kind of weird and I'm glad it's fallen out of prominence, so I'm just gonna say it just feels kind of grabbing-at-straws-ish how she immediately gets shipped pretty much entirely based on age. It's like, "Oh look, a character who's roughly within a five year window of her age *plonk*" It happened with Brig and now it's happening with Kiriko. At least Brig had the 'mechanic' factor so they have something to talk about and bond over, but Kiriko makes it glaringly clear that it's really more about age than any really strong points of characterization. It just feels kind of cheap on both characters' behalves and it's the kind of shipping that makes me go, "Hey yeah people have a point when they say Overwatch fans only care about shipping."

the position they sleep in: Starfish sleeper, snorer, sprawled across several oversized plushies from fans, runs surprisingly warm despite how small she is, has big oversized tacky geeky t-shirts that were given away at e-sports events as pajamas.

a crossover au i’d love to see them in: God I'd love to see the Cruiser skin expanded into its own Rockabilly AU, it's just a fun --or--OR the cruiser skin is her skin for dangerous night racing on Route 66!!!

my favorite outfit they’ve ever worn: I really like Cruiser. I really like it when they play with decades/genres in skins, and also I love all the unique voice lines for it.

[pre1ude]

Muse speech patterns. by Memesomething.

do they use contractions and shortenings ("can't" but also "gonna"): More likely to say 'cannot' and 'going to' than shorten. Especially when emphasizing.

do they use multiple contractions (shouldn't've): Not a chance. 'Should not have'.

do they talk Around a point or do they talk To the point: If he isn't being short and blunt then he's stalling or being insincere. One of his tells. Not very obvious unless you know him well. Occasionally he'll talk in circles to ease himself into getting to a difficult point. Of the 'that is to say' variety. Most of the time, though, he's the type to acknowledge the obvious without preamble and address elephants. Politely, of course.

what is the 'feel' of the way they speak? does it feel ancient? does it feel refined? does it feel comfortable, gentle, warm? does it feel safe? (does it feel crass, dangerous, on the edge of danger?): In public: Classy, polite, a little stiff. Very clear and enunciated, understandable. Habitually uses a limited part of his vocabulary, lots of emphasis words/phrases like certainly, definitely, of course. 'Good-natured host' voice and manner of speech. In private around trusted company: Naturally refined without much effort. More casual yet richer, doesn't mince or think of which words to use.

how urgently do they speak, is it rapid? do they take their time to figure out what they want to say before they say it?: Sprawling pauses. He thinks before he speaks especially when his opinion is asked. Even when upset, stressed or mad his speech defaults to cracking pauses rather than rapidfire. Only gains verbal momentum when talking about his passions. Every other time? Even pace.

do they say things by mistake, do words sometimes come out of their mouth that shouldn't come out of their mouth?: No, more likely to stop talking altogether than blurt something out. The only slips happen with his power where he may put too much emphasis on words, to the point of supernaturally imbuing them.

do they include pronouns when they're not strictly necessary ('I'm going to to the shops do you want anything' vs 'Going to the shops, want anything?'): Yep. Habit. He just speaks that way.

do they have the jargon for a particular topic and if so do they use the jargon around the person they're talking to: Proper classical music terminology or death. He doesn't care, he'll explain thrice what a cantata is before he waters down his speech even a little.

colloquialisms? slang?: No. Has to be manually taught. Dude, pop culture slang?? Forget about it.

do they rely on the relatedness principle ("Is the news on?" / "It's six o'clock." and they rely on people assuming the answer is related to the question) or do they prefer to explicitly spell things out ("Is the news on?" / "Not yet, but it will be in another half an hour."): Explicit. Clear and understandable. Wouldn't like to repeat himself.

what are the words or turns of phrase they often use to change the subject or bring up something new ("Tell you what though-", "Although...", "On the other hand,", "Anyway-"): Just goes for it if there's a pause. Tends to let a topic run its course rather than interrupt, though, if conversation is actively continuing in that direction. Otherwise? 'Now-', 'Well,-', 'I wanted to mention-' and all such manner of pause-provoking words, for the sake of natural diversion. A little apologetic about it too.

do they mimic their speaking partner's linguistic traits at least a little i.e. if their partner says "fuck" are they more likely to say "fuck" themselves? or would they stick with whatever word they naturally use?: Swearing's not the best example because sometimes he'll go the length of correcting them for it. He does adapt up to a point. Can adjust his vocabulary around specific company, but uses his own speech patterns. He doesn't care if it's weird, it's how he speaks and it's the intended way besides.

does your muse swear?: Never in public, it's improper. Precedes rude terms with 'pardon but' in private.

does your muse use the words 'i promise' to make promises or do they just say something ("I love you.") or use another version of the words ("You have my word."): More severe. You have my word or I swear. Clear vows only.

do they say 'please' and 'thank you' to strangers? do they say it to their friends? loved ones? how do they say 'please' and how do they say 'thank you'?: Golden words: Please, thank you and I'm sorry. He uses them habitually, even when he probably shouldn't. Casual to friends, other more severe varieties like My apologies, My thanks, Forgive me/my-, Pardon, I beg-, etcetera to strangers or his mother.

how do they go about disagreeing with someone?: If it's a matter of subjective disagreement then kindly at first, rather roundabout. 'I wouldn't say-', 'I don't think-', 'I rather-', all personal and loose phrasing. If it's objective? A blunt but polite no. Depends on if the person can be disagreed with. Oftentimes he won't even bother if it's clear there's no leeway for a conversation, just an argument. Might just sigh and leave.

Tagged by: Just found it.

Tagging: Just Do It.

[0rionz-belt]

well this is interesting. for once, i had thought that a place near me closed a while ago but its apparently still open. wild

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

There’s a little green something in the cracks of the road. Grian stares at it, and then he looks at Scar, who is humming cheerfully while he rummages in his bag, and then Grian looks back to the little plant.

Grian looks at Scar again. He takes a step closer to the plant. Scar, blissfully, does not notice.

Something fungal bubbles at the back of Grian’s throat.

He crouches, inconspicuous, next to the plant. He knows it isn’t grass, that it’s probably a weed, but he doesn’t know anything more. He doesn’t care to know anything more, really, and it won’t matter in a moment anyway. He reaches and-

A dull pain pings bright on his arm. He startles upright, wings flaring out, and Scar shoots him several more times with the Nerf gun. The little foam darts bounce harmlessly off of Grian’s chest.

“Bad Grian!” Scar scolds him cheerfully. “No plant killing! Bad!”

“But it’s a small one!” Grian protests immediately, startled and indignant at the embarrassment of being caught. Another foam dart hits him.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Ow- Scar, come on, it’s itsy bitsy,” Grian tries, wheedling now. “It won’t hurt anything.”

“Well, you know that’s not true. It’ll hurt the plant,” Scar answers reasonably. He waves his toy gun threateningly at Grian. “You know the deal, G. No pestulating in the Hoe-ly Spaces.” He uses his dramatic voice to say Hoe-ly Spaces. He always uses the dramatic voice to say Hoe-ly Spaces. Grian wants to punt Hoe-ly Spaces and all associated dramatisms into the sun.

“That’s not a word, Scar,” Grian says petulantly. He ruffles his wings and sits on the larger half of a broken concrete barrier. The vines that had been wrapped around the barrier writhe away from the spores that fall from his wings, so Grian vindictively shakes his wings more. This, at least, Scar does not scold him for.

“What? Sure it is.” Scar has gone back to rifling through his bag again. He keeps pulling out strangely shaped bottles of bright colours with baffling smells. Grian would be more alarmed, but he knows Scar has a weird thing with taking labels off of bottles. How the man ever remembers what goes where, though, he has no idea.

(He has some idea. Scar’s tongue is too many different colours, always, and he’s been almost poisoned thrice. By Grian’s count, the man should be dead.)

“Pestulate is not a word,” Grian says, doubling down.

“Then what is it?” Scar asks innocently. He pulls out a jug of blood and lugs it into the centre of the clearing.

“A nonsense.” Grian shakes his wings again. There’s now a full circle of empty asphalt and concrete around him, free of plant matter. His spores won’t root without living tissue, but he feels a little vindicated by every twitch of the green things moving away from him. “Are you done yet?”

“Grian, Grian, Grian, you can’t rush a good blood ritual” Scar exclaims. “Do you know what happened to the last guy to rush a blood ritual?”

“He di-”

“He died!” Scar presses a hand against his heart. ���The plants swooped up and ate him! I found his bones, Grian! His bones!”

“We could just leave,” Grian suggests. “This is- what, the fifth blood ritual? We’re fine without them, Scar. I bet the Kingmaker doesn’t even notice.”

“Oh, pish-posh.” Scar holds out the jug and pours the blood straight down over the smallest unbloomed flower in the clearing. The jug makes awful noises as the blood chugs and glugs out of it, because Scar doesn’t care for any silly thing like fluid dynamics. The jug convulses like its gasping for air and it makes sounds that Grian thinks Scar would make if he were ever simultaneously choked and drowned. The red blood splashes across the green, seeps through the cracks in the asphalt, and gets all over Scar’s shoes. Grian draws his own feet up in distaste, but he’s far enough that no blood touches him. “You know that’s not his name.”

“He doesn’t get a name,” Grian says. “I’m mad at him.”

“Careful, Grian!” Scar says cheerfully. “That almost sounds like rebellion.”

Grian scoffs, loud, but he doesn’t say anything. Scar continues with his stupid blood ritual. Which is to say that Scar goes back to his bag, grabs a canteen, and returns to the plant. Without ceremony, Scar upends that jug over the plant too.

“Scar!” Grian squawks, scrabbling to his feet. “Scar, that’s all our water! Scar!”

“Oops!” Scar says cheerful.

“You only used a few drops for the other rituals!” Grian wails. “We just got that!”

“Oops!” Scar says again. He has no remorse. Grian snatches the nerf gun from where Scar had left it on the ground and shoots him with it. “Ow!”

“You’re the worst,” Grian says.

“Love you, too, G,” Scar says. He shakes the canteen to get the last few drops of water out. Grian watches them fall with despair. The water washes away the blood, dilutes it across the asphalt and towards the ring of vines and green things that surround them. Scar gives the little twice-baptised bloom a loving pat, and it opens in his palm. The petals are a different colour in each Hoe-ly Space, and the same holds true for here. These petals are unnaturally white, unsettlingly perfect, and-

“Is there another flower in there?” Grian demands.

Scar doesn’t lift his gaze. “Yeah,” he says. He touches a scarred hand gently to the second bloom, which shivers at the contact but doesn’t open. “Huh.”

“...Huh?” Grian echoes. “Scar?”

“It’s okay, G,” Scar says too fast. “Let’s just go shopping, yeah? All done here.” He steps back from the plant. He sees the look Grian is giving him and tries to give a bright smile in return. “Seriously, Grian, it’s fine.”

Grian has always had a knack for knowing when Scar is lying.

“...If you say so.” Grian watches Scar pack up his bag, holster the nerf gun, and throw the plant a two-fingered salute. He’s too quick. They haven’t been here for even twenty minutes, maybe, and normally Scar stretches the ritual to last an hour. Grian guesses that he’s not surprised that the blood-jug and the water are the only necessary components. The steps for the other rituals had been sporadically changed each time. “Ready to go?”

“Can we get ice cream on the way?” Scar asks, even though he knows that all the ice cream in the world has already melted.

“Sure,” Grian says, even though he knows that the corpses of the ice cream shop workers are ripe in their rot.

Scar steps up onto the concrete barrier, almost loses his balance then helps Grian up and almost sends them both toppling over. Grian doesn’t comment on it. Scar keeps casting glances to the weird plants, but stops when Grian opens his arms. Scar grabs onto him, tightly, and Grian holds tight in return. Grain’s wings start to flap (Scar sneezes at the spraying spores) and they step off the concrete barrier together. Soon, they’re in the air.

(Scar has cracked a Superman joke at least once every time Grian has flown him somewhere. This time he’s nothing but silent, and he keeps trying to peek back at the plant-filled bridge they’d left behind. Grian flies a little faster.)

—---

Scar lets Grian kill whatever he wants, most days. He doesn’t like mushrooms, or fungus, or mycelia-filled goo, but he doesn’t complain too much. It’s a good deal for both of them, Grian figures. Scar helps Grian with his whole ending-an-apocalypse-by-causing-a-different-apocalypse deal, and he’s good company in a world full of decomposing things that used to be people, and he lets Grian know when he’s getting too close to the rebellion line. The plants destroy anything that oppose them, and the last thing Grian wants is to openly oppose them.

Mushrooms are better. They’re kinder. Almost plant, almost animal, and there’s so much for them to eat. Much better than the violence of true plants.

Honestly? Grian shouldn’t even be alive. It’s pure luck that he found the mycelia before the plants could burrow into him, it’s luck that it Chose him, and it’s luck that it wants the world to end again.

(Sometimes, late at night, he wonders if he’d be happier if he’d been the first harbinger of end-times rather than the second. But, then again, mushrooms are components of decay. Scavengers rather than hunters- it makes sense, maybe, that the fungal spread occurs after the flora’s feast.)

Grian thinks he’s almost done. He used to be human, but now mushrooms sprout around him when he sleeps, and spores spread on the wind from his wings. He leaves large fields of fungus in his wake. Soon enough, he’ll have to actively hunt for the green and force it to recede. Soon enough, the old apocalypse will be ended, and the new ending can truly begin. That’s why Grian doesn’t mind carting Scar around to the last green places so much- Scar gets a free travelling companion, and Grian gets lead right to the green sources that Scar doesn’t want him to hurt. Grian doesn’t hurt them because then Scar will stop showing him where they are, and Grian is smart enough to bide his time. One day, maybe, Scar will die, and Grian will be free to kill as many green spaces as he wants.

(Grian shouldn’t have to kill him. The plants should have killed him. The fungus should have rotted him. Grian sometimes wonders what it means that he’s still alive. He licks poison and blood and shiny things that should give him tetanus, but he’s still alive.)

(Grian thinks about leaving, sometimes, but he never does. He’s always been too curious for his own good.)

“What’s that for?” Grian asks.

Scar freezes like a statue, weedkiller clutched tight in his hands. Slowly, as if Grian is a predator with poor eyesight, he hides it behind his back. Grian tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle his laughter.

“Scar. You know I can see you, don’t you?”

Scar deflates, shoulders slumping forwards as he pulls the weedkiller out again. “Okay, okay, you caught me, G,” he says. “I’m just… looking for a drink.”

“That’s weedkiller.”

“So?”

“...Okay, you’re not even trying now,” Grian says. “What’s with the weedkiller, Scar?”

Scar shuffles his feet and bites his lip, then huffs out a breath. “Are we alone?”

Grian, still smiling, raises his brows and looks around the store. Most of the shelves have been raided, several of them knocked over, and the only people in the vicinity haven’t been people in a long time.

“The plants, G,” Scar says impatiently.

“Oh, no, those are gone,” Grian says. “The mycelium works fast, you know that.”

“Right,” Scar says, and he goes quiet.

Grian eyes him, then gestures to a currently-indoor outdoor furniture set that doesn’t even have any blood on it. “Do you want to sit down?” he offers.

Scar makes a beeline for the furniture set, weedkiller still clutched tight in his grasp. Grian has barely figured out how to sit without crushing his wings when Scar blurts out, “The King’s called a meeting.”

Grian almost falls out of his seat. “What?”

“Yeah,” Scar says. “And I have to go, or, you know.” He jerks his head towards the nearest corpse. There are vines wrapped around its neck. “I was hoping you could give me a ride?”

Grian gapes at him. He feels his mental gears spinning frantically, completely tractionless. “Okay- wait.” He runs his hand through his hair and ignores the mushrooms that brush against his hand. “The King called a meeting- why? He hasn’t done that before- do you think he knows you’re working with me? This is probably a trap, Scar. You know this is probably a trap.”

Scar looks at the weedkiller on his lap. “Yeah.”

Grian stares. “Oh.”

Scar grimace-smiles. “I figured- you’ve been a good friend, Grian. I have… loyalty, to the crown, but I won’t let them kill you.”

“Oh.”

Scar shrugs a little self-consciously. “It’s the least I can do, you know?”

Grian doesn’t want to say it. He likes Scar, though, and he would feel guilty if he didn’t point out, “What’s stopping me from killing them, then? You know what my goals are.”

“Rebellion, Grian,” Scar says automatically. Grian winces and raises his hands in apology, and Scar continues. “I figured- well, maybe you won’t if I ask you really nicely?”

“That can’t be it.”

Scar shrugs. “You haven’t touched the spaces,” he explains. “And all I did there is ask you nicely.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Grian fumbles for a second. “That’s- it’s- like- chopping off a head will kill a body?” he tries. “Like- the spaces are the hands, and the King is the head, so that’s- yeah.”

“Are you going to chop his head off?”

Grian is quiet.

“Please, Grian, don’t kill him,” Scar says. He holds the weedkiller carefully, and his fingers keep nervously tapping at its sides. “Neither of them. None of them. Just- keep being your mushroomy, birdy self, okay? You don’t even have to talk to them if you don’t want to.”

Grian is silent.

“Please?”

Grian caves. Mournfully, he thinks of the Hoe-ly Spaces, and he thinks of the quiet rule he has to kill those whenever Scar dies. It feels wrong to delegate something like killing the King to that same rule, but- Scar is right. Beheading the King sounds like it comes too close to rebelling, anyway. “Okay.”

Scar lets out a breath, then gives Grian a winning smile. “Okay!” he says. “Okay, perfect! Hey, I think I saw some chocolate earlier, maybe it won’t be expired.”

“It’s definitely expired,” Grian says, but he stands and offers Scar a hand to help him up.

Scar takes the hand and pulls himself up to his feet. “It’s always good to have hope, G,” he says brightly, and they continue to ravage the store.

—---

The place Scar takes him to isn’t green at all. It’s white and red and brown, like old and new blood on white petals. Well, Grian shouldn’t be thinking in similes here- there is literally old and new blood staining old petals almost everywhere he looks.

The border of the Tree’s territory is made of wood, or whatever it is that roots are made of. They drip red onto the white flowers that make up the groundcover. It had been relatively easy to get past the border- it opened up when Scar approached, peacefully allowing him through. The roots shuddered furiously when Grian approached, but they didn’t kill him when he tucked his wings in and pretended to be demure, so he thinks that means he’s basically Scar’s unwelcomely welcomed plus one. He’s not sure if court people even get to have plus ones, but he’s not skewered by evil plant matter so he thinks that he gets to count as a plus one.

He’s maybe a little nervous.

The interior of the Tree’s territory doesn’t make him feel any more at ease, either. This, too, is a place that is blindingly white. The Tree itself sits in the very centre, painfully pale and looming. The King’s Spire sits to its right, a building of previously-white colours that has now been overgrown with green. Moss and vines, Grian thinks, but he can’t distinguish anything else. Beneath the Tree are several small figures that cause something fungal to gurgle in his throat when he looks at them too hard. Grian stays close to Scar and tries to turn his eyes to the ground.

It’s hard not to acknowledge the Tree, though. They approach it together, slowly engulfed by the leaf cover overhead and hidden from the sun. It’s almost dark. Grian feels very small. The last time he’d felt so small was when his human self had accepted the blessings of the mycelium. He’d been welcome, then, but there is no welcome for him here.

Scar, of course, seems unaffected.

“You’re late.” Grian chances a glance upwards to see a woman with dead eyes and red flowers sprouting from her hair. The fungal thing tries to crawl out of his mouth. He swallows hard and ducks his head. He’s suddenly questioning the might of Scar’s weedkiller against all of this. He understands a little, maybe, the might that would have been needed to bring the first apocalypse.

“I’m right on time,” Scar disagrees. “You’re just early.”

“Everyone else has gone.” The woman sounds unimpressed. “And who do you have with you? You know he wants these audiences to be one-on-one.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Scar dismisses. “Sym- synergy. We’re really synergetic. I couldn’t have gotten here at all without Grian.”

“Your funeral.”

“Ha,” Scar says. “As if.”

Grian is startled enough by this statement to look up at Scar, but Scar grabs him by the arm and ushers him towards the trunk of the Tree. “Hey, wait- what do you mean?” Grian hisses. It occurs to him for the first time that this could be a trap for him.

“Not now, G,” Scar mumbles to him. “Ask me later.”

Grian, ruffled, unruffles a little bit at that. After all, there wouldn’t be a “later” if Scar was going to kill him now, right? Grian is beginning to realize that Scar is wrapped up tighter in whatever- whatever this is a lot more than Grian had first assumed, and he does not like it. Not one bit. He hates this, actually, and he hates it more when Scar knocks on the trunk and the wood creaks as it twists and bends out of their way.

A voice from within calls, “Welcome, Goodtimes, to my most private of areas.” And Grian hates that most of all.

They enter the Tree. The Tree creaks and groans and it closes behind them. Trapping them inside. And Grian hates this so much.

He finds even more to hate as they delve deeper into the almost-room that’s waiting for them. The King sits on a throne in the centre, drooping like a wilted flower. He’s dead. Grian can tell that immediately- he wants to spread his wings and spread the spores, but Scar asked him not to, and-

Wait. What?

Grian looks again. The King continues to be dead. The crown sits golden on his head, shining and perfect. The King is undecayed, unblemished, but his eyes are flat, and he isn’t breathing, and Grian can almost hear the creaking as he scowls.

“What have you brought me?”

“Presents,” Scar promises. “Just as you’ve asked. They’re for you, too, Bdubs.”

Grian again begins to wonder if this is a trap. Before he can continue that train of thought, however, there’s more creaking as the Tree shudders around them. The walls shiver, and lichen sloughs downwards until there’s just a human-shaped lump of green left against the wall. The human lump turns around and looks right at Grian with its impossibly large eyes.

Grian almost bares his teeth. He knows that look. This is competition.

(Competiton for what? There’s so much to fight over, probably, if he really thinks hard about it.)

“Why is the bed made of dirt?” Grian asks.

Scar balks, the King pauses, and the lichen-man stares.

“I mean, not to ruffle any feathers,” Grian rushes, valiantly not ruffling any of his. “I guess I was just expecting…”

“What?” The dead King asks.

“More?” Grian says. “Pillows? Blankets? Uh. More gold, I guess, but I know people don’t really carry that around these days. Didn’t.”

“The crown is gold,” the lichen man says.

“Aye, but tis a tiny crown,” the King concedes.

“And the bed is made of dirt,” Grian says.

“It’s a plant apocalypse,” the lichen-man -Bdubs- says. “Of course the bed is made of dirt. It’s not like he actually needs any sleep.”

“I like to nap,” the dead King protests. “Royal naps are very important, Bdubs.”

“Of course, your highness, of course,” Bdubs says quickly. “But the dirt is fine, right?”

“I mean,” the King says. “A dirt nap is mighty thematic, all considering, but… You there, Goodtimes! Have you brought your king a pillow?”

“Uh- no, no.” Scar laughs a little, startled. “No, I didn’t.”

“Shame,” the King says. The Tree rumbles. “Then you have failed me. Goodbye, Goodtimes. You served me well.”

“Whuh-” Grian starts.

“Woahwoahwoa-” Scar babbles.

“WAIT!” Bdubs shouts.

The Tree stops rumbling.

“Yes?” the King asks.

Bdubs looks at the King, then he looks at Scar, then he looks to Grian, then he looks back to the King. “Scar - Goodtimes has displeased you mightily, my liege,” he hazards. The dead King nods wisely. “Right-right- but he has displayed his loyalty quite mightily, too! The blood sacrifices are always pleasing, aren’t they?”

“You would have me grant mercy?” The King sounds displeased. Grian shuffles. He wonders if it’s even possible to kill a dead guy. He wonders if his mushrooms can kill. He hasn’t had much practice spreading them on purpose, but maybe if he can get them in the eyes?

“No, no, no, no mercy,” Bdubs amends hastily. “Just- inconvenience.” He leans in and whispers loudly. “My lord, he has a friend with him. The oncoming rot? I’m just saying- two birds with one stone here.”

“Oh?” The King looks closer at Grian. Grian lifts his wings a little in a threat display. The King nods slowly. “I see, I see… Goodtimes, I offer you a choice.”

“I don’t want to make a choice,” Scar says, more weakly than Grian has ever heard him.

“Nonetheless you have it!” the King booms. “Goodtimes- you may spare your own life, or the life of the oncoming rot. You have-”

“To give you your gifts first,” Scar says loudly.

The King pauses. “You interrupt me?”

“For presents,” Scar says quickly. He pulls of his bag and rifles through it quickly. Bdubs shuffles over and Scar hands over several unlabelled bottles. Salvation. Hope rises within Grian until, alarmingly, he realizes that none of the jugs are the weedkiller.

“Scar,” Grian says quietly.

“It’s okay, G,” Scar replies quickly.

Bdubs opens each jug and sniffs it in turn, then brings them to the King and pours them at the base of the throne. With each bottle the King’s body twitches, making noises like an ancient rocking chair, and- it takes Grian a moment to notice, but each bottle emptied at his feet brings life back to the King’s features. He grins, wide and sharp-toothed, and Grian wonders if he’s lost his chance to escape.

“Now, the choice,” the King begins.

“No,” Grian says, and he lets loose.

He’s on the ground three seconds later.

Lichen fills his mouth, vines around his wrist and wings, bark already growing quickly over his legs to trap him in place. Bdubs wipes a stray mushroom off of his sleeve in disgust, and Scar stares with wide, despairing eyes.

Do something! Grian tries to yell back with his own eyes. Scar doesn’t do anything except let out a breath, and then start to smile.

Scar says, “Phew! That took you forever, Bdubs.”

“Huh?” Bdubs says.

“I started thinking you weren’t going to stop him at all,” Scar remarks, and Grian’s heart drops into his stomach.

“OH,” Bdubs says loudly. His eyes sparkle. “Oh, so this- oh, phew! You got me worried there, Scar! Really worried! ‘Why is he hanging out with the oncoming rot,’ I said.”

“I said that,” the King argues.

“Of course, of course,” Bdubs says quickly. “Anyway, I said ‘wow, I wonder why Scar is hanging out with the oncoming rot!’ But you just needed a bit of help with this one, didn’t you?”

Scar smiles widely. He rummages through his bag again. “Right on, Bdubs,” he says. “Can’t kill a fungus surrounded by fungus, right? It’ll just grow right back!” The two of them chortle together and Scar brings another jug out of his backpack.

In fragile hope, Grian’s heart begins to beat again because he recognizes that jug. It’s the weedkiller. Label torn off. Scar opens it, takes a sip, and doesn’t flinch.

Grian feels several emotions all at once.

Scar hands the weedkiller over to Bdubs just as the King says, “What are you waiting for, Goodtimes?”

“You still have my bow, King,” Scar says.

“I thought we gave that back…?” The King looks questioningly to Bdubs.

“You took it away again after Scar failed to provide appropriate subservience, my lord.”

“Oh, well have it back, then, Goodtimes.” The King waves his hand and more of the tree creaks and moans. A real and true bow and quiver are revealed when the floor pulls back. Grian wriggles frantically, fear spiking again. Scar still hasn’t wavered. Grian is starting to doubt the contents of the weedkiller jug. He tries to flap his wings but the bark has grown over the edges. He tries to let the fungus out but his throat is clogged by lichen. The wood around him dies and tries to rot but it’s just grown over and living again in less than a second.

Scar strides over, playing with the quiver. He kneels next to Grian, then pulls out an arrow. Grian stares up at him, making his eyes as wide and pleading as he can. Scar doesn’t look at him. “Long live the King,” Scar says, raising his arrow. Bdubs raises the jug to him, but doesn’t drink.

Consternation flashes over Scar’s face, and Grian feels another rush of emotion he doesn’t know how to parse. Then Scar’s expression hardens and he brings the arrow down.

It hurts. Grian yells against the lichen in his mouth. There isn’t any blood- Grian isn’t human anymore. Of course there isn’t blood. There is an arrow in him and there isn’t any blood and Scar raises his fist with a cheer, and the King raises both arms with a cheer, and Bdubs drinks the weedkiller.

The Tree shudders.

The King collapses like a puppet with its strings cut.

Bdubs shrieks. The weedkiller drops. It sprays over the floor. The Tree screams. Grian thinks he’s also screaming. Scar isn’t screaming. Scar is frozen, false smile plastered across his face, and Grian realizes with dizzying clarity that he has no fucking clue when Scar is or isn’t lying. That’s a weird thing to realize in the worst moment of Grian’s after-apocalypse life and it’s so silly he just starts to laugh. He stops laughing when a branch spears through Scar’s chest.

“Traitor!” Bdubs yells. Three more branches strike Scar through. He gasps at each one, but he doesn’t struggle. He doesn’t try to get away. He doesn’t stop smiling. He doesn’t start bleeding. “The King trusted you!”

“The King is dead, Bdubs,” Scar says. “And your apocalypse has been ending. The oncoming rot hasn’t been oncoming for a long time- it’s been here-” he gestures wildly to Grian, who has yet another flurry of unregistered emotions “-the whole time, and you’ve let it!”

“The plants-”

“Kill those who oppose,” Scar says. “But your court has been opposing you since the moment you raised them. You failed your own apocalypse.”

Grian feels dizzy. He isn’t bleeding, but he is dying.

Why isn’t Scar bleeding?

“...What are you?” Bdubs asks. He’s breathing heavily. Grian’s vision is swimming, but he thinks Bdubs has sunk down to the floor. “Why-“ another branch spears Scar through “- aren’t-” another “-you-” another “-dead?”

“I’unno,” Scar says. “It never sticks.” The Tree rumbles overhead. Grain can feel it through the floor. “How about you? Are you dead yet, Bdubs?”

There’s silence. “Bdubs?”

The Tree stops rumbling.

“I don’t think poision is supposed to work like that,” Scar says. Or he says something like it. Grian isn’t sure. He’s really tired.

There’s something warm pressed against his face. “I didn’t lie to you,” Scar says quietly. Grian makes a little noise. “I didn’t. I said I wouldn’t let them kill you. I didn’t say anything about me. Doesn’t that mean something, G?” Grian doesn’t answer. “Yeah, yeah…”

Grian breathes out, slow, through his nose.

“You’d hate it the other way around,” Scar promises quietly. “But you did it, Grian. Bdubs wouldn’t have drank that without you. That was you, alright? You did it, you won. New apocalypse, new you. That’s the way it goes. The King died, and now it’s you, and- and it won’t be like this. It’ll be better. I don’t like mushrooms, but I’ll learn to like them when they’re you, okay?”

Grian can’t reply.

“I’ll see you soon, Grian,” Scar mumbles, and he sounds so far away.

And Grian goes to sleep.

And Mother Spore wakes up.

---

written for the @pinchhitsfromthevoid event and for the @ghastspidergwen person! this got. wildly out of hand basically the second i started to write it. unfortunately i suffer from "cannot write a normal apocalypse au" disease but eyyy that just means its a two-apocalypse package deal, which was really fun to write. hopefully it's just as fun to read!

(also on ao3)

[prongsiess]

To elaborate further on my multilingual!harry raised by Jegulus, it seems very unrealistic to me if they didn’t send Harry to muggle primary school. So, as Harry reached school age, Lily and Mary take these 2 daft, pureblood dads to the school near their house to help them sign up their godson for his Year 1 (Harry didn’t attend nursery or reception since Naanee and Graipee babysat him for that period of his life). And so, after navigating a horrific amount of muggle paperwork made thrice as hard to fill out by the fact that Harry is a wizard and none of his documents quite match the muggle counterparts (and the fact that he has 2 dads and we’re still just in the 80s so the secretary gives them a hard time. Well, until Lily snaps at her for shaming her best friends and threatens to report her to the school board), Harry is finally enrolled in muggle schooling. And so, on his first day of Year 1, he’s escorted to school by his teary-eyed papa, his sobbing dad, all of his uncles and aunts, Naanee, Graipee and Granny Minnie ("I don’t care that it’s Septembre first Albus, my grandson is more important"). He gives them all the biggest hugs and waddles away to his first day of lessons. At the end of the school day, James comes to pick up Harry and was surprised by the fact that Harry’s teacher requested to talk to him. Getting ready to deal with all types of discrimination (because he is very aware that Harry has 2 dads, 2 sets of queer aunts, 2 sets of queer uncles, not to mention his other queer aunts in uncles in hetero-passing relationships, and a lesbian grandma that Harry adores and talks about 24/7 on top of the fact that Harry is very flagrantly desi and that his mum packed Harry’s lunch that morning with all types of Harry’s favourite indian goodies), James deflates more and more the closer he gets to the classroom. Though, to his surprise, he finds the teacher petting Harry’s head as his son tries to teach some of the other children what his welsh story book is about (because obviously he asked uncle moony to pack his favourite book so he can show his new friends). Gesturing to her desk, the middle aged woman urges James to sit down and informs him that his son is very well-mannered, but his new friends have trouble keeping up with his frequent language changes and how impressive it is that he speaks so many languages so fluently. So for the next 15 minutes or so, she asks about what languages Harry speaks and how he learned them, expressing how impressive his vocabulary seems to be in all of them. To which James proudly gloats about his kid genius and the wonderful people who thought him all he knows. As the weeks went on, Harry, who spoke a very tangled mix of all 5 languages before attending school, starts to jump around languages less. By winter break, Reg and James are slightly worried Harry’s started to loose touch with his multilingualism, or at least that’s until Harry asks his dads if he could have a friend over, to which James and Regulus promptly say yes to, but them ultimately panic because "this is a very wizard-esque house, how are we going to host a muggle child here for the afternoon". And so, about a week later as Harry little friend Lilibeth walks into their muggled-home, they hear her speak hindi to Harry, which garners a weird look from her parents. "She’s picked up this language at school and we can’t quite figure out what it is”, the mom says sounding puzzled. Its a that moment that Regulus and James realize what’s been happening at school and their fear for Harry multilingualism magically melts away. "Oh yeah, Harry speaks English, Hindi and French at home and also knows Welsh and Scottish Gaelic", James says, "your daughter just told our son that she had a very happy Christmas and wants to see what toys he’s gotten”. The woman seems shocked but very impressed as to how her daughter picked up a new language so quickly. And as the years go on, and Harry invites more friends to the house, James and Regulus never fail to hear them speaking to each other in Hindi, French, Welsh or Scottish Gaelic.