#but this is just me day dreaming of what a more sustainable food

[solarpunknow]

March 13th, 20__

It was a hard, but good day today. Wren and I both have wednesdays off from our job, so we went out to Peigi's place to work on getting the garden there reading for the growing season. It was unseasonably warm for March, but then the last three years in a row have been the warmest globally on record. So, really, while I'm glad the sun has come back (less than a week until the equinox!), I'm worried about the heat waves and wildfire smoke that will certainly hit us this summer. Ugh, not looking forward to that. Just, hopefully no actual wildfires here.

Anyway, it costs a whole two hours worth of wages to drive out there, so we try to spend the whole day when we go- and yes, we've designed the garden around that. We packed a lunch (sandwiches with my sourdough and some black bean tempeh we've been working on), and a plan to fill the day.

See, we haven't been out there since the end of fall, and the crocuses out there have just now started to bloom. (Ours bloomed the last week of January, but we're pretty close to the water and they're halfway up- well I was going to say mountain, but with Mt. Tahoma right there that seems silly. Halfway up a tall hill? They're at roughly 2000 ft of elevation, and we're barely at 300. Still high enough we don't have to worry about the rising sea level though!) So today we went around and took down the temporary deer fence from the last two years (yes, that really should have been taken down last fall, but, well, life happened. What matters is we're getting back on track now... Right?), weeded two 4ft by 70ft rows, refenced one of them, and sowed fava beans as a cover crop/deer lure in the other. We also talked about putting in a real, sturdy deer fence- I think we can afford it this year, and Peigi and xyr parent, Nancy said they could pitch in.

Did I mention that we're getting to garden/farm/forage Peigi and Nancy's land in return for sharing the harvest? It's a pretty sweet deal, and the only reason why Wren and I kept our place in town.

So, anyway, out at Peigi's, we grow the plants that appreciate cooler temperatures (because that urban heat island effect is real! our place is toasty, and I don't appreciated it), plus the plants that are riskier to grow on urban soils, namely root crops and low growing leafy greens. That leaves the fruiting crops and heat lovers for our place (tomatoes, green beans, eggplants, corn, squash, etc, etc. And amaranth. Because amaranth is awesome). Well, and the raspberries and such, because up until now our place has been better protected from the deer. Small yappy dogs are good for that!

Anyway, it's still a bit early to start things out there, as they're still getting hard frosts and a little snow, but I sowed some fava beans, and while the deer have munched on the garlic, it's still there. I'm hoping that with generous enough fertigation that garlic will size up and make a decent harvest. Yeah, yeah, the deer ate them last winter and you'd think I would learn- what, the deer fence? Why didn't that keep them out? Uhhhhh, well, it's not a great deer fence. It wasn't actually a deer fence, or it wasn't originally meant to be for deer, it was originally an electrofence for sheep. And sheep are less nimble than deer.

And since no one wants to hunt the deer any more because of the chronic wasting disease and the cougar and other predator populations haven't rebound yet, there's too many deer, and this is the hungry time of year. So they're a bit desperate, and willing to eat things they normally wouldn't bother. Like garlic. I'm frustrated, but I can't blame them. And I certainly don't want to eat them myself. Ugh. Thus, getting a better deer fence, and in the meantime planting the favas as a distraction. Hopefully it works.

Where was I? Took down the fence, weeded the garlic/other things bed, sowed fava beans, covered them with fall leaves from like 6 months ago, put the fence back up around the garlic bed, checked under the mulch on the other beds (which, the soil looks so much better than it did three years ago! It actually looks like soil now! Deep mulching and cover cropping and patience for the win!). Wren was displeased by all the native black berry, but come on! Having that as a weed instead of the (invasive) cutleaf blackberry? I'll take it! I'll take it home, that is! I'm going to set up a really simple trellis and see if I can grow it semi-domestically so that it's easier to pick the berries. As tasty as they are, the vines are just unpleasant to walk through.

We also went through the wooded area and took out more invasive blackberries and did a light thinning of the native berries there. We really haven't touched that area, so it's super thick and very hard to work through, and it's mostly salmon berry. We'd like more thimbleberry, salal, and huckleberry, so yes, we did remove some salmon berry to make room for the others. I feel a little guilty about it, but it is the most abundant. I put them in the back of the truck and will post to the local groups to see if any one wants some. Not quite the right time of year for transplanting, but they're still dormant, so as long as they're mulched well and watered this year they should do fine. Also worked on expanding the trail, and checked on the nettle patch but they're still doing nothing. Too cold yet.

Now I'm back at our place, and it's time to do a little resting and relaxing before the next work day.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 6

Enjoy Chapter 6! Ch8 will be a look into what has been happening in Ghotam and Ch9 will probably follow the first episode of Invincible.

We're slowly approaching the main timeline age, so if ya'll want a specific character to make an appearance or would like to see a specific plot line this is your time to speak now or forever remain silent /j

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 6 >>next

He is crazy- he can’t just- He-!

You couldn’t even know where to begin telling what happened. One moment you were relaxing, enjoying the sun, living the dream- and then this old, 6 feet and 2 inches of pure muscle, alien-man thing just up and kidnaps you. Omni-Man kidnapped you with a simple “Hello, kid. Let’s go home.” You were more shocked than angry, to be honest, the man was just spewing nonsense as he flew you across the states.

Now, Nolan wouldn’t call it kidnapping- why, he’d never! He was just- cleaning up the streets, helping a homeless kid, even though he knew where she lived- it was adopting without all the other steps!

He was meticulous in his watching, not stalking, but watching, observing. When Cecil first called him, bringing to his attention a mysterious flying person coming and going from NYC, he was ready for a villain, an alien preparing to overtake NYC, anything but a tween kid shakily flying, almost hitting buildings and nearly being taken down by other flying heroes.

He knew she was no threat; he told Cecil as much- but he kept coming back. Something kept making him come back, just to look, to make sure she didn’t hurt herself or others- he kept telling himself. He knew deep inside why he came back every day for a year, it was the same reason why he married Debbie, it was the same reason why he couldn’t bring himself to hate his son.

Sure, she was living well, but the food she ate, if she remembered to, wasn’t sustainable, she needed home-cooked food, she needed socializing and training, she needed- she needed a family and stability. Nolan took the initiative to pack her bags and everything in her little apartment and move her into his and Debbie’s house, in the room next to Mark’s. And then, he took her.

You didn’t put up much of a fight if one at all, but really what could you say or do when Omi-Man has deemed you his and his wife’s kid, the man spoke of her highly, his son too, but still- He kidnapped you, you wouldn’t just stay- “And Debbie is making this roast beef with baked potatoes-“…

Some would call you weak, others would say you can be easily bought, but this was the greatest roast beef you had tasted in a long while. “This is amazing food, Mrs. Grayson.” You could play along for a while. The woman just smiled and thanked you, insisting on you calling her Debbie. The offer of ice cream made you sure you could play along for a long while.

She wasn’t initially happy with Nolan coming with a random kid under his arm, but one look at your disheveled appearance and wide eyes made her rethink everything. A daughter wouldn’t hurt, two kids would make the house happier, and you reminded her of those scuffed up little kittens, she didn’t have it in her to let you go without a meal at least.

Over dinner, you answered every question they threw at you, from your name to Mark asking if you like comics, but when they asked your age, you just shrugged. “Around 13-14? Can’t quite remember, I haven’t celebrated my birthday ever, mom just told me how old I was and then-“ Your body went rigid.

You were telling too much, getting too comfortable- but, maybe this was your chance at a true family. Can’t back down now, you could always just leave if you really wanted. The two adults understood as soon as you tensed up, Debbie immediately acting as her hand soothingly rubbed at your shoulder and back while they let you decide whether to continue or change the subject. “She died when I was five.”

She smiled at you softly, apologizing for prying and giving their condolences, something not even Alfred did. All Nolan saw was an opportunity to grab you and never let go, to give you what the father that clearly wasn’t in the picture never gave.

Mark just grabbed your wrist, a sad frown on his face. “I can share my parent with you. I know I’d be sad if mom or dad were gone. We can be siblings!” His bright smile was contagious, making you smile just as bright before your hopeful eyes met Debbie’s. She was sold a while back, as soon as you called her pretty while calling Nolan a bum and asking how she had the misfortune of marrying a brute, making the man grumble as he sat you on the couch, your hopeful glance just set it in stone.

Despite having a room all to yourself, you wanted to push. They were different to the Waynes, that was clear. They were warmer, talked to you, and it all felt so much better. So, you wanted to test the water by asking Mark if he’d be willing to share his bedroom with you tonight, not wanting to be alone. Not when you had the opportunity to soak in any attention they give you.

The boy was excited to have a sleepover in his room, eager to show you all the comics and toys he had- and neither Debbie nor Nolan could say no. Not to two pairs of puppy eyes. The adults were sure this weakness to saying no wouldn’t last… Hopefully.

Spending the night with Mark was amazing, it was everything you thought Dick and the other would give you. He showed you all his comics, letting you read all of them, and as the night settled and the stars were high in the sky you taught him about them. In the end, you both fell asleep in the pillow fort you made, comic books lying open around you. Your plans of escape quickly went out the window, this family thing with them felt like it was worth trying. You liked NYC, but maybe Chicago is where you belonged. And if the adults heard you two giggle and fuss around all night, they didn’t say anything.

By next week you were a Grayson, thanks to Cecil’s string-pulling. Looks like Nolan knew exactly what to say to make the man agree.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple

my greatest fear is misspelling a name and tagging someone who has never seen this 🫠

[idontknowreallywhy]

Fathers Day 4 - The Other Father

(Parts 1-3)

This one has been brewing a fairly long time. The 3 short sections I posted a while ago form a perfectly good trilogy and we could happily leave it there…but I did sneak in a hint that a certain somebody overheard at least part of the conversation between Scott and his siblings.

And I’m determined to force Jeff to confront his many failings as a parent and make a start on sorting things out with his sons, especially the eldest. Haven’t quite got there yet (of course it would be terribly out of character for me to actually finish the story 🙄) but they are moving in the right direction at least.

It feels a little rougher than I’d like but I haven’t managed to post a whole chapter of anything for over a month and perhaps am a little wobbly on that score but… here goes…

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Jeff hovered uncertainly outside the door to his eldest son’s bedroom, pretending to be minutely interested in the glued crack running down the doorframe through the locking mechanism and out the other side. There was probably a story behind that, an attentive father should probably ask about it… he started to raise a hand to knock but lost his nerve and continued to hover.

Well, truth be told, he wasn’t so much hovering as leaning very heavily on his cane like the frail old man he always swore he’d never be. Certainly not at his age. But he was uncertain (whilst leaning in a solid and definite way) about whether to do the thing he had been so very certain was a good idea an hour ago but about which, NOW… now he was here… at the door… at Scott’s door… he was suddenly deeply unsure.

Jeff didn’t really do unsure and uncertain. That had never been his style. He’d always been blessed with a great deal of confidence in the plans that came to him and that confidence was justified by the fact he usually pulled them off.

Nor was he the kind of man who stood in corridors staring at inanimate objects while engaging in a rambling inner monologue.

And yet, here he was…

It was amazing what eight years of solitary confinement on a rock could change.

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One hour earlier…

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He eased himself down on to the lounger and closed his eyes, trying to fix in his mind the new version of that sound he’d dreamed of for so long - the laughter of his children. All of them. Together. Happy. Safe. The glowing memory of it had sustained him for years. The fear that he might have somehow extinguished it for good had kept him awake in the dark for far more hours than the mundane concerns about food, oxygen supplies…

Survival.

The voices were deeper now than the ones he’d remembered. Not quite so familiar. But still so beloved. They were still his babies. Lucy’s babies. They’d just grown. A lot. In innumerable ways.

Slowly, so as not to overbalance when gravity tugged at him, he leaned over and felt around underneath the seat to retrieve what he’d initially assumed was a piece of litter but now knew with a prescient certainty was going to be incredibly important.

“It was always you…”

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Or sneak around like a teenager. He was supposed to be in bed but he’d found himself desperate to breathe oxygen rich but un-climate-controlled air for a few moments. As the lingering agoraphobia of the depths of infinite space warred with the claustrophobia born of the small liveable portion of the Zero-X that had been his entire world, Jeff had found his heart rate increasing and knew he wouldn’t sleep without proving to himself once more what the sea breeze felt like on his face.

And he’d snuck down the back stairs because they’d hear his balcony door open and come to check.

Then he’d have to explain.

If he explained, they’d just worry.

And today of all days, when the void between what he knew he was and what he desperately wanted to be to them all had loomed and sucked at him so hungrily… Well. How could he ever be their Daddy again if they had to be looking after him all the time? It was all backwards.

It had been so long since he’d been a Daddy. Far longer than the time he’d been stranded. He had been a good parent, once upon a time. Lucy had said so and he’d always trusted her judgment. To Scott and Virgil anyway. With John he’d done his best too, albeit the boy could rarely be persuaded to leave his mother’s side, but they’d had a decent relationship.

And there had been a time he was Daddy to five. Little Gordon chattering away at his knee while baby Alan’s bright blue eyes peered up at him from the impossibly tiny bundle in his arms. Lucy’s chin on his shoulder, her cheek brushing against his own… he’d known his place in the world, they were blessed with the privilege of raising these little ones together.

And then she was gone. And somehow everything good about Jeff went with her. Including Daddy.

He’d as good as orphaned them back then, eight whole years before it became official.

Eight more years to regret it after that.

Miraculously he now had his much longed-for chance to make it right. But for all the thinking and regretting and self analysis of those castaway years, he still wasn’t entirely sure where to start. He knew what he had to mend, he knew when and why it had all broken, but not how to fix it, if it was even fixable at all.

And now in light of what he’d heard, he realised that whatever “fixed” was, it might look rather different from what he’d spent all those years imagining.

And if he had been more honest with himself… he’d always known that. He let the card fall open in his lap.

“Still true.”

It was. It was absolutely true. Gordon and Alan were Scott’s kids, in all the ways that mattered. They knew it. Jeff knew it. And for all his desire to compensate for the time they had lost, he knew with absolute clarity he did not want to replace their eldest brother’s place in their lives. He had no right to.

He had no desire to. Not now.

He needed to make sure Scott knew that. His knees creaked as he shot decisively to his feet and he staggered slightly before snatching up the cane propped against the back of the lounger and making his purposeful… alright, shuffling way towards his old office.

He needed to find a pen.

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And so here he was by the doorway, the card tucked into the pocket of his bathrobe, trying to think of an opening line. Some appropriate words to broach the subject.

Jeff Tracy was pretty good with words.

He used to be king of the press conference, inspirational teacher of young astronauts. A dreamer of big dreams that could recruit almost anyone to his cause given time. He was used to being in command. When he spoke, people listened.

Yes, Jeff Tracy could make words work for him. With strangers, anyway.

With family it was different.

Especially with one in particular.

Oh, he and Scott had talked a lot. When he was home from space tiny-Scott had been his shadow, trailing him around with his excited, bouncy hop-skip drinking in all his father’s adventure stories. In fairness some of those maybe became just a little exaggerated by the lure of the warm feeling the admiration in those sparkling blue eyes created.

As time had passed the skip-hop evolved into a leggy teenage stride, precisely matched to Jeff’s own. There was less bounce in it, but the sparkle was still there. The constant reminder to Jeff Tracy that he was admired far more than he really deserved to be.

But then it had all gone wrong.

Part of the problem with Scott was he looked like Lucy. He didn’t resemble her much at all, physically - Jeff’s firstborn was pretty much a clone of himself, everyone said as much. No. It was that he looked the way she had. When he was really looking. Something about the intensity of his gaze… the colour of Scott’s eyes may have been from Jeff but the power of them was all her. It was like facing down a strangely warming X-ray.

Yes, the issue Jeff had was that Lucy looked at him out of his eldest son’s eyes and it made him confused and lonely... and so very uncertain about everything that was important.

About whether he could do any of this alone.

About whether he had got a single thing right since she’d gone.

It had made him defensive and short with his son. And when he snapped at Scott, when the same uncertainty, the same confused loneliness was reflected back at him… that chased her away and replaced her image with only himself and he couldn’t bear it.

So he stopped looking.

And so as Scott took on her role, as his son parented far better than the father had the capacity to manage, Jeff backed away and allowed him to do it. He’d let his teenage son be father to his children while he hid away inside himself and focussed on the things that Jeff had been able to do long before he ever met her - he inspired strangers, he dreamed, he commanded.

And Scott had grown up way too fast. And Jeff couldn’t fix it.

There were some short conversations that came close to the one they really needed to have in the aftermath of the Bereznik situation, when Jeff had feared he’d lost his eldest boy for good. But the important words had got stuck in his throat and he’d had to settle for an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Scott had seemed to feel safer with Virgil present anyway and his second son was incredibly protective of his big brother… of course that hadn’t been conducive to bringing up more difficult topics. Although Jeff knew he could have engineered the circumstances if he’d had the nerve. By the time Scott had recovered and they’d both thrown themselves into the Big Project, the moment seemed to have passed.

So they talked Tracy household admin, school admin. Most of all, they talked about the Project, Scott almost as excited as he was about that. His son admired and encouraged and gently challenged him in exactly the way his mother would have. It worked.

It was comfortable. And Jeff had been too much of a coward to make it uncomfortable.

He’d been home nearly two months and he’d nearly missed his chance again.

Not this time.

He raised his hand once more and let his knuckles fall against the door.

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“Scott?”

“Yes, EOS?” His reply was muffled somewhat by a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Your father has been stood outside your door for seven point five minutes.”

Some of the toothpaste migrated to his pyjama shirt. “What?! He should be in bed!”

“And yet he is currently located in the corridor. Just thought you’d like to know.”

“Is he ok?”

“His heart rate is a little elevated but his other vitals seem as healthy as they have proved in recent weeks.”

“I… ok, alright. Thanks for telling me.”

“Of course.”

Scott scrubbed pointlessly at the mark on his shirt and headed out of his en-suite towards the hallway door, where he paused and compulsively tidied his hair.

He reached for the door handle then jumped out of his skin as a loud knock sounded inches from his face.

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TBC when Jeff can work out how to start the conversation ;)

[nethhiri]

Epilogue

Staring at his hand, you regarded the captain warily. He was holding something out to you and becoming impatient that you hadn't taken it yet. 

"COME ON AND TAKE IT." 

You flinched and snatched the thing from his hands, doing it quickly, out of fear he might grab you. 

"STOP BEING SO FUCKIN SCARED ALL THE TIME. I SAID I WAS FUCKIN SORRY." Kid growled in an annoyed way and took a calming breath. "I made ya this. It's a peace offering, okay?" 

You turned it over in your hand. It was a mask, made to go on the lower half of your face, in the likeness of some kind of toothy monster. 

"WELL?"

"What is it supposed to be?" 

Kid tugged at his hair and turned around for a second, like it was physically paining him to act nice. He turned back around and spoke through gritted teeth, "It's to make you look badass."

"Why?"

"BECAUSE YER A KID PIRATE NOW AND I CAN'T HAVE MY REPUTATION RUINED BY SOME WIMPY LOOKING WOMAN." Kid let out an exasperated breath. "Killer said ya don't like yer scars. This will cover them."

"Thanks."

Kid turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. "Listen... I know it's gonna take time for ya to trust me. But I swear I'll not harm ya. I didn't mean any of it, was just tryna scare ya." Kid spoke more softly, "I needed my partner back."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but left you alone. 

It definitely worked. He scared you then, and still scared you now. You weren't even sure if you could trust his kind actions. Were they even his own? Killer had been trying to convince you that he wasn't a bad guy. Claiming that it was actually Kid who found you. He could have just left you but he didn't. You weren't sure if you believed that. Most of the burns you sustained were on your face. You remembered being buried by burning rubble, yet the rest of your skin was spared. When you covered your mouth with your sleeve, you had to have passed out. Everything after that was a hypoxic dream. The burns were only on your face because it was only your sleeve that had caught fire from the falling embers. Kid really had been there, though he was rescuing you, not entombing you. 

You fiddled with the mask in your hands. It was not what you would have chosen for yourself, too intimidating and aggressive. It was thoughtful though, if Kid had actually taken it upon himself to craft it for you. In the days since you had woken up, you had spent most of that time recovering in the med bay. Your burns had required a lot of attention and bandage changes. Killer would come see you sometimes, without speaking. He would sit in the room with you, with his head in his hands. It was weird referring to him as Killer when you only knew him as Kamazo.

When you had gotten well enough to leave the infirmary, you were put in the women's quarters. You were able to recognize the girl that had given you food before. She helped you again, finding you an open bunk and some clothes you could wear. You had been there a few weeks. No one, save for the commanders, knew about your situation. Though, when your condition became apparent, and Killer hung around you like a protective shadow, there were whispers. Retrospectively, you should have known. There had been so much going on and you were so overwhelmed, you hadn't even thought about the possibility. You never thought of yourself, only him. 

You gave Killer space. Only talking to him when he sought you out. Your conversations were surface level. You kept your head down, worried that your face would trigger Kamazo deep within him and Kid would finally kill you. Killer had reassured you that the captain's threats weren't real, though you weren't so sure. The scars had disguised your appearance enough that it seemed safe to look at him, even if you hadn't worked up the courage to try. 

You put on the mask that Kid made you and went about your assigned tasks. They knew you didn't know very much, and you weren't a fighter by any means. Your job was to clean the cabins. You would keep the women's and men's quarters spotless. You also had the responsibility of cleaning the commanders' private cabins. You did Wire and Kid's cabins first, so you could clean them as fast as possible and get out before one of them returned. They still scared you and you didn't want to be alone with them. Heat had initially intimidated you. He was one of the first people to show you kindness, however, so you didn't mind his presence much. Sometimes you would come across silly pictures of Kid that you were pretty sure Heat left on purpose for you to find. You thought he was trying to help Kid seem like less of a monster to you. Killer's cabin was always last. Of all the differences between Kamazo and Killer, they had the same smell. You took your time there so you could be surrounded by that comfort. Sometimes you would cry for a few minutes when you were there, with the memories that were stirred up. 

The door creaked open, causing you to jump.

"I was just finishing up," you said apologetically.

"Don't worry. I'm just grabbing something." Killer paused after looking at your new accessory. "You know, that doesn't suit you at all."

"I thought you asked Kid to make it."

Killer seemed surprised. "No.... I wouldn't have asked for.... whatever that is."

You bit your lip to keep in a giggle. "Sorry. I didn't mean to laugh."

Killer sat on his bed. "It's okay to laugh at the captain once in a while. He does some funny things."

You smiled and turned away to finish up. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

You paused. "You don't owe me an apology."

Killer laughed uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "I, um, feel responsible."

"You shouldn't." 

"What if... I wanted to be?" Killer laughed again. The tic always became more apparent when he was stressed. When you didn't reply right away, he filled the silence. "I know you don't like me but I want to help, if you'll let me. I wasn't in my right mind and I don't know what he- I did to you. I don't know if it was your choice or- I just feel-." Killer took a breath. "Can I help?"

"Who said I didn't like you?" 

"No one, but you... won't even look at me. You hate me, don't you? For things he did. You have to."

You couldn't bring yourself to face him. "I don't hate you. I don't look at you because I'm afraid that he'll take over your mind if I do. I don't want to take you away from your family again."

"Oh."

You turned to him. "Maybe it didn't start out like two people normally do. I loved him, though. And I wouldn't change any of it."

"Do you think-" Killer stopped his thought. 

"What is it?"

"Do you think you could give me that chance, too?" He couldn't keep his laughter in. "Maybe we could have a not normal start. At least let me try."

"You don't have to do that just because I'm... you know."

"That's part of it, I'll admit that. I would at least like the chance to be considered a friend." Killer acted slightly shy, which you found charming in such a big guy. "I always wanted to have a family. A real family, with a kid. Didn't mean for it to happen like this, though."

"I... can't promise you a family." You chose your words carefully, trying not to give him false hope. You were in love with Kamazo, not Killer. You would like for it to be a possibility that love could extend to him, but you couldn't force it. "But... I won't take away your chance to be a dad."

"STOP FUCKING TURNING MY SHIP INTO A DAYCARE. WOULD IT KILL YA TO PULL OUT?!" 

"It might. I'm too afraid to try." 

Kid smacked the back of his first mate's helmet. "I SWEAR TO FUCK THIS ONE BETTER BE NAMED AFTER ME."

"If it's another girl, we'll have to try again."

"NO!"

"We can't name a girl Kid Jr." 

"NO MORE." 

You leaned into Killer, whose hand was resting on your small bump. A little girl with long, dark hair ran around on stubby toddler legs in front of you. She was not the blond little boy Killer had imagined, but she was perfect all the same. Her foot caught on something, tripping her. She didn't cry though. The little girl pushed herself up with the grumpiest look on her face.

"FUCK!" She yelled. Then she continued running around.

"She spends too much time around you, Kid." You mused.

"It's Captain to you, and I can't help that I'm her favorite uncle." He had a smirk on his face. 

You looked up at Killer, who bonked the top of your head with his helmet affectionately. It took time, and it wasn't without its rocky moments, but you had gradually come out of your shell with the help of Killer. He had been a natural at being a dad, even before the birth of your first child. He took really good care of you, making sure you were fed, and massaging the swelling in your ankles in the later months. At first, you suspected it was all to make him feel less guilty, to make up for some mistake he made. Killer proved you wrong. Maybe Killer had done it out of guilt in the beginning, but it was clear he genuinely enjoyed doing these things for you. He was excited to be a father. Killer had even asked Heat to sew some of his old shirts together to make a baby blanket. Seeing him like this was what ultimately made you fall in love with him. It was a different love than what you had with Kamazo. This love you chose for yourself.

Tag List: @nocturnalrorobin @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @fendifendi @eustasscapitankid @iggy5055 @hannahbarberra162 @mapachito

Wahhh this was so fun to write and I'm sad it's over! This is the first multi-chapter fic I've finished so far and I really love how it turned out. Thanks for reading, everyone!!

[melanieph321]

Do you have any Josko Gvardiol fanfic coming soon

Of course!

10 DAYS OF REQUESTS

(DAY 5)

Joško Gvardiol - Not Romantic

+18

Summary - Reader wants Joško to be more romantic. Unfortunately, he listens to her.

Enjoy 💞

He wasn't the date night kind. Nor the surprise you with flowers kind. Joško was simply the hug you from behind kind while whispering filthy promises in your ear. But would it really kill him to be a tad more romantic?

"Yes." He answered.

"It would?"

The two of you were just about to go to bed after yet another hectic day, making the timing of your question utterly bizarre to Joško.

"Y/N, what does it even mean to be romantic? Am I not romantic?"

"No Joško, you are not. Slapping me in the ass in the grocery store a mids the dry goods, does not count for romance. I want flowers and perhaps a more gentle approach to our love and affection for one another. Is that too much to ask for?"

Joško seemed puzzled, his bushy eyebrows low on his forhead. "So you want me to be gentle....in bed?"

"Ugh!" You sighed, roughly uncovering the duvet, tucking yourself into bed.

"Oh, come on baby. Don't be like that." Joško went on to dim the lights in your room before joining you in bed. He reached for you under the covers, however you refused him by shifting to lay on your side.

"If romance is too much of an ask and effort for you, I don't really see the point with us being together."

Joško stiffened with your words, the silence that followed a bit nerve-wracking. However, you stood your ground and fell asleep convinced that this was the necessary change that would sustain your relationship.

The next morning you woke up in bed alone. Joško had left for an early training session, however, his early endearments still tickled your ear. "I'm sorry that I'm not enough for you. But don't worry, I'll show you."

It broke your heart that your argument last night resulted in Joško feeling like he wasn't enough for you. That was never your case in point. You were just demanding a bit more sensual awareness from your boyfriend. What else could you have said that would've made him understand?

"Babe, I'm home."

"Joško?"

A whole day had gone by since you last saw your boyfriend, and being off from work definitely didn't mend your anxious mind. You spent the day cleaning your apartment while waiting for him to come home. Seeing Joško standing in the door, flowers in one hand and takeout in the other, instantly melted your heart.

"Oh, baby. Are those for me?" You approached him where he stood, accepting the flowers that were handed to you.

"You told me to be more romantic, didn't you?" He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. However, a deep growl escaped his mouth as the kiss naturally deepend.

It took Joško everything not to escalate the situation by stripping you of your clothes right then and there.

"Dinner." He drunkenly rumbled, dragging his nose along the skin of your collarbone. "It might get cold."

"Right, dinner." You were slurring on your words, perhaps as infatuated by your boyfriend, who set his pride aside to give you what you wanted.

It turned you on.

Extremely.

"So, how was your day?" You asked, happy to sit across from him, the man of your dreams, sharing takeout dinner from that Croatian restaurant that you both loved.

"It was good baby. How was yours?"

"Good, just good."

"Great." Joško chuckled, returning to the plate on his food.

It dawned on you as silence fell, that your heart was beating fast and your palms were turning clammy with sweat. A fever, first came to your mind. However, as Joško got up to clear your plates, you sat back and watched how his muscles worked when he gloved up to scrub the dishes. His biceps swelled with every movement, slowly fueling your not so romantic thoughts.

"Baby?"

Strucked by how horny you were, you shook your head in hopes of calming your filthy mind that told you to fall down onto your knees and please your man. "Yes, honey?"

"I'm gonna take a quick shower. Do you wanna watch a movie when I return?"

"Erm, sure. Yes. A movie sounds great."

"Great. Pick whatever movie you want." He winked, disappearing into the bathroom.

You fanned yourself at the thought of him naked in a shower. Without you. "God, Y/N. Get yourself together." You were acting like a timid school girl. After the arguments of last night, here you were ready to beg Joško to run you over like a locomotive.

No.

You had to remain resolute. If Joško could make tonight about romance, so could you.

While your boyfriend kept busy in the bathroom you took it upon yourself to light some candles, pop some popcorn and set up the living room for a cozy movie night.

Just as you returned from the kitchen, Joško stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, rubbing his wet hair with a towel.

"Good, you're ready." You said, setting down the bowl of popcorn.

"I am." He smiled. "Are you?"

"Me?" You followed his gaze set on your body, realizing that Joško was referring to your not so cozy clothes. "Oh, right. I'll be right back."

By the time you returned to the living room, wearing a sweater and shorts, Joško lay on the couch, legs spread and the remote weighing in his hand.

"Are you ready for a movie night?" You smiled.

Joško's arm slumped at the sight of you, his eyes wondering freely to your braless chest and your low cut shorts. By now he should have commented on how hot you looked, or how he wanted you to sit on is lap. Face, if he was feeling kinky. However, Joško said nothing, innocently beaming at you with those dark eyes. "Ready." He smiled, inviting you to join him on the couch. You did so, snuggling up to his warm body where you eventually fell asleep as Batman fought the Joker on TV.

You woke up towards the end of the movie, however, Joško's grainy voice whispering in your ear. "I hope you liked the flowers."

"Mmm. I did baby. I really did." You hymnd. "Remind me to put them in water before we go to bed."

"No need." He said, his hand slowly traveling up and down your back. "I already did it for you."

Your eyes peered open, meeting your boyfriend's loving eyes. His gentle gaze that had no desire to fuck you sensless on this very couch.

God, what have you done to your man.

"Joško?" You raised your head from his shoulder.

"Yes, baby?"

You were lost for words. He was perfect. The man of your dreams. A curly haired beast. He was perfect just the way he was, romantic or not. "I love you." You squealed.

Joško's gaze softened, his eyes searching your face. "I love you too."

"Please, fuck me." You sighed. "Hard, not gentle."

He grinned. "As you wish baby. As you..."

He didn't get to finish that sentence. You were all over his ass before he could open his mouth and utter another word.

You got flipped to lay on your back, Joško's hands roaming freely under your sweater. Your chest arched into his open palms. A loud moan escaping your mouth as Joško went to nibble your ear with a nip of his tounge, the smell of him uncovering your desire for his body, his cock, that should be deep in your mouth by now.

"Calm down baby." He chuckled roughly. "Don't you want me to take my time with you? To be gentle?"

"Fuck, no."

Joško's laughter drummed in your ear. He then lowered himself so that his head was set between your legs.

Your body stirred below him, eager for his hands to get rid of your shorts. Joško did so with the most taunting of smiles, licking his lips once he discovered that you weren't anything underneath, making this so called romance easy for him.

"Fuck Y/N, you taste amazing."

"I do?"

You watched him dip his head back between your legs, tasting you in a way that contracted every muscle in your belly. Your head fell back with the way his tounge circle your clit, playfully yet eager.

"Mmm. So fucking delicious." He groaned, his hands squeezing your ass, raising your hips towards his gaping mouth.

"God, Joško."

It was unbearable.

He was unbearable.

Unbearably romantic in his own way.

As Joško continued to drain you of your senses of the world, you came to the conclusion that romance was indeed an important part of a healthy and sustainable relationship. Your relationship, however, was fine just the way it was, with your boyfriend knowing just the right way to please you.

DON'T MISS - 10 DAYS OF REQUESTS

(DAY 1)

(DAY 2)

(DAY 3)

(DAY 4)

[hardlysticks]

The Sea Breeze Carries Unknown Secrets

Chapter 1

You can’t remember much of last night, you remember waking up and seeing two creatures in the ocean. Clearly it was a dream, being back in this town brought back the ideas of the creatures that your grandfather had warned you about.

Besides that weird dream and the splashes near the rocks, everything had been fairly normal. You spend your days venturing into town and reliving parts of your childhood summers that you could remember; that cute little cafe that always served tasty treats, or maybe the little antique shop where your grandfather had bought you a little model sailboat. It was all surprisingly still here.

It brought you a sense of comfort to see that everything was still the same, which meant that those you had met when you were younger still remembered you.

“Oh darling! It’s been so long since we last saw you!”

An older woman broke you from your thoughts as she brought her hands up to pinch at the apple of your cheeks.

You couldn’t help but smile at the affection and her words, you remember the older woman, she was one who would feed you stories of the sea while always leaving a seat open for you and your grandfather open at her restaurant.

“I know I know, college and my career really kept me away from visiting. But I’ve moved into papa’s old home” you mentioned to her.

You weren’t that young kid who would run around town and listen to whatever story you could get your hands on, you were now in your mid thirties and had stepped your foot into the world of publishing and writing books.

“That’s wonderful! We really have missed seeing you around. Now if you ever need a little something to eat then you know where to find me” she gave you a quick pat on the cheek before she had wandered off back to her restaurant.

As the older woman wandered off you pulled your phone out of your pocket to look at the list you made for yourself, even if you finished unpacking you still had stuff left to do. Such as grocery shopping.

With your phone in hand you made your way to the small market that the town called a grocery store, staring down at your grocery list you meandered down the aisles grabbing the food that would sustain you in your new houses.

The fruit and vegetables always seemed to be more ripe and colorful in the coastal town, you don’t remember seeing such a juicy mango in the city. Staring at the display of vegetables in front of you, it distracts you from the feeling of being watched. Coal brown eyes that followed every little bit of your movement, but staying out of your sight.

Your mind played it off as someone not recognizing you in a town of close knit people, with a shake of your head you moved to wander down the bakery aisle instead.

With your gaze focused on your grocery list you managed to walk into a wall, though when you glanced up from the list you noticed that it was in fact not a wall…. And instead a wall of muscle.

“Oh!- oh I’m so sorry! I really should have focused on where I’m going-“ you stuttered out as you started at the behemoth of a man.

The man, now that you got a better look, was around 6’2 and built like a brick house. A black surgical mask covered the lower half of his face, if you squinted just slightly you could see a display of light freckles that dusted his face, and then there was the dark brown eyes but you could have sworn under the fluorescent light it turned to an amber like color.

“It’s fine” a gruff voice interrupted you from your thoughts, the thick Manchester accent definitely matched this giant of a man. The man held a basket filled with summer vegetables and what seemed like tea boxes.

“Right um… still I should pay better attention” you added, before offering your name towards him. The man raised an eyebrow; staring down at your form before letting out another grunt.

“M’names simon” he replied, a tinge of hesitancy lining his voice, all while his eyes held a sort of amusement. With a smile you gave him a nod and glanced down at your almost full basket, you had gotten what you came here for.

“Well… it’s nice to meet you Simon. But I must be off now. I hope to see you around” you offered him with a smile before heading off to the cashier. The line went by fast and you were able to pay for all the necessities you needed for the next few days.

The walk home was nice, the cool sea breeze cools you down from the summer sun all while letting your hair wisp against your face. It was far better than the smog filled air you had learned to live with in the city.

Town wasn’t all too far from your seaside cottage, a long gravel road welcomed you back to your cottage. Carefully balancing your bags of groceries in your arms you tried to reach back towards your pocket to retrieve your key to open your door. As you stopped at your porch you noticed something blocking your way.

Fish… dead fish

As you took a closer look at the fish you noticed it was a small arrangement of cod and grouper… how the hell did they make their way to your porch from the seaside? With a groan you stepped around them and brought your groceries inside, trying to plan on how to deal with the fish.

Eventually the only thing that came to mind was… throwing the dead fish back in the sea. Your lip curled up in slight disgust as you picked up the dead fish and tossed them back into the sea, mumbling to yourself about how gross that was.

A pair of sapphire eyes watched from past the rocks on the coastline, squinting with confusion as they watched you toss the fish away.

Authors note!- y’all I’m so sorry school kicked my ass with exams but I should now be regularly posting each weekend! And also next chapter reader will do some interacting with someone special 👀

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Horla

CR 8

Chaotic Evil Small Aberration

Bestiary 6, pg. 158

Let me preempt this: No jokes about what the Horla physically resembles. I know. You know. We all know. Try and be mature!

Anyway, the Horla here are hostile, invasive parasites from the Ethereal Plane which feed directly on hopeful thoughts and pleasant dreams from their victims. They have no innate way to slip between the planes, so they often have to sneak through the rare portals or thin boundaries, piggyback on with creatures that CAN travel (with or without the creature's knowledge), or somehow secure a pact with another being to get themselves summoned into the world.

Once they've emerged into the world, Horla are quick to seek out minds that surge with brightness and creativity, sniffing out their victims with an at-will Detect Thoughts. If you're wondering how a beach-ball-sized mass of teeth and flesh goes unnoticed in the world, it's because they're shrouded by a constant Greater Invisibility, an extremely powerful tool for offense, defense, and infiltration; invisibility that never breaks, ever, and reactivates automatically a round later if it's ever shut off by an outside force. If a Horla is ever forced into combat, its invisibility turns its trio of pathetic 1d4+2 tentacle slaps into a far more formidable 2d6+1d4+2 damage each because of Sneak Attack, letting it quickly dispatch hosts that no longer amuse it or snuff out any creatures that threaten to take their food source away.

Unfortunately, Horla aren't in the business of killing quickly, or killing at all if they can avoid it. They're sustained by shattering hope and quashing dreams, and as such a victim playing host to a Horla only ever dies if they're lucky; the creature even has a 1/day Status spell to keep an eye on them and rush to their aid if they're ever in mortal danger. Otherwise, they're content to hover nearby and make their host's life miserable, expertly crafting its host's every day to maximize their despair like a living case of depression. To this end, they can curse a sleeping victim with Ennui once per day, afflicting the target with a -2 penalty to ability checks, saving throws, and skill checks for 24 hours, a penalty that doubles to -4 for concentration checks and any saves against fear. While bad enough on its own, a Horla can magnify this with its 3/day Crushing Despair to afflict not only its host, but everyone around them with a further -2 to all d20 rolls and damage rolls.

Even if they succeed against the Ennui, the Horla isn't done with them. It can use Suggestion at-will, a powerful tool for assuring victims never stray from the paths it sets out for them while also steering away anyone that could possibly help them (or take them away from the Horla for one reason or another), and if you're wondering how a creature that only speaks Aklo can use Suggestion and other language-dependent spells without needing Tongues, that's because it has pseudo-Tongues: Horla have 100ft of telepathy at all times, but any creature that responds to their telepathic communications--no matter how brief the interaction--opens their mind for the creature to Absorb Language, the thing instantly learning how to speak, read, and write every language they know for 24 hours. This brain parasitism does not in any way harm the "victim" to begin with, but it DOES mean that they no longer have a layer of defense against the Horla's mind-bending magic.

Usually content to alter its host's behavior to suit its whims, things get so much worse when a Horla starts getting creative about using its Suggestion and 1/day Charm Monster to affect other people around them, turning friends into enemies or worse, ambivalent bystanders as the host breaks down from the stress of their lives slipping out of their fingers. They may begin to think that the voice they hear truly is some part of their own mind, especially when it begins to tell them to get some form of revenge on everyone who just isn't helping them.

The most dangerous spell in a Horla's list is its 1/day Dominate Person, a spell it will employ when its victims prove too resilient or who immediately note that something external is deeply wrong and try to seek help. Such victims find their bodies the playthings of the deeply misanthropic invader as it forces them to sabotage their own lives and relationships without their input. Never destroy, but sabotage, carefully wording its commands to prevent them from bucking off its control entirely and maximizing potential catastrophic domino effects. Given that it's already prompted to ensorcel victims in their sleep, a Horla can Dominate a sleeping victim and allow them to live their lives as normal right up until it senses an opportunity to ruin them, letting it save its spells for other people to prevent them from doing anything to save or stop its victim as they perform some terrible act.

Even worse, the Horla have Command Somnambulist, an ability that lets them issue commands to Dominated victims even while they're asleep, forcing them to sleepwalk to fulfill the orders. Any creature commanded in this way has up to 4 hours of their memories of being controlled erased when they awaken fully, an insidious ability that allows the Horla to mask the Domination if it wishes to let their playthings continue to think they're fully in control of their actions... and allows them to plead tearfully and truthfully to authorities that they have no idea what happened last night, that they couldn't have possibly done this terrible crime, that something isn't right.

I want to close this off by saying that Horla are easily unmasked and dispatched once they're caught, but that would be a lie. Greater Invisibility is an incredibly powerful spell on its own, let alone when it's permanent, and if the Horla believes it risks being spotted, it will likely elect to stay far away from its victim. It has Status to keep track of them every day, and the Dominate can reach them no matter where they are, so it can jump in whenever it's "needed" while hiding far out of the prying eyes of anyone that could possibly see it. Forcing one into combat is a task unto itself, and keeping it in combat even moreso as they can fly at 30ft/round, issue pestering Suggestions, Charm the weakest-willed party member, or knock someone out of initiative order with a 1/day Deep Slumber.

Stripping away its invisibility with Glitterdust or similar is the most important step to beating it, because without any way to track or accurately attack an invisible target that can freely attack and spellcast back, the battle is over without some supreme luck... especially since the Horla has full immunity to Fire and fear effects, preventing the most common AoO effects at low levels from damaging or affecting it at all. It also has DR 5/Magic and slashing, which goes a long way to protect it from mundane weapons that actually manage to hit it. Much like actual depression, it's hard to finally overcome and often requires outside intervention from friends, loved ones, and hired help (adventurers)... and even when you do, the damage it's dealt to your reputation and life may still take a while to recover from. But hey, at least in this case, it can be beat to death with a sword!

You can read more about them here.

[yoru-exe]

summer and forever _INUI SEISHU

summer in your humble japanese apartment with seishu usually consists of the whirring sound of the fan, the thin curtain swaying gently with the breeze, and the opened wooden sliding door of the veranda where seishu would sit and smoke the afternoon away, trying to distract himself from the heat. him being a gentleman enough to put out his cigar when you approach him is something you appreciate wordlessly.

this afternoon, you'd leaned against him as you knitted an ornament to make your home a touch more personalised. there was a comfortable silence as he stared down at you before he dropped a question that made you pause your little spare time activity and track of thought, "do you want to move out of here?".

you stared at him with big curious eyes, hoping for an explanation. and explain he did, albeit rather nervous with how he ran his fingers through his short hair down his nape, "i saw the way you looked at your friend's house when we dropped her at her home last time. i just wonder if you'd like living in a place like that too".

when you stayed silence, he added, "i don't make a lot, but i think we can work it out if you prefer it". he quickly ran a little math on how much his bike might worth if he sells it. maybe he should consider borrowing his parents some money? hesitation coursed though his system as he thought more about it. he's sure it's not a sustainable plan for a long run, but he sincerely wanted you to be happy living with him.

resting your knitting project on your laps, you shifted your body slightly so that you could face him better, "what about you? would you like to?".

he blinked, "i don't mind it. i only care about living with you".

you smiled softly and looked across your small living space, where mismatch-coloured pillows laid messily on your shared bed, entangled with the thin blanket but you sure don't need it with how warm seishu's body is; the low table where you would eat your meal together every night and play board games sometimes; the little kitchen where you'd prepare food for the two of you while he tried to help but ended up clinging to you silently from behind when he realised he's just getting in your way (you actually didn't think so), and this very sliding door where you'd stare at the stars with him past midnight when the sky is clear enough.

"i'd like to stay here for as long as i can. we've made so much memory here together and i'm not ready to let them go yet", you spoke with a low voice, as if speaking too loud will distort the memory itself. "even if one day, we're to lose all this, at least, i'd like for you to stay with me", you looked at him with a soft gaze, "because my home is you, seishu. so don't leave me, okay?".

you felt his arms circling around your waist, gently yet firmly, pulling you closer against him as he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

"i would never, not even in a dream".

you hummed away happily as you continued with your knitting, while seishu basked in your presence before he slowly drifted to a sweet dream where for this summer and more, you continue to be his and he yours.

[neodymiumcuilz]

HELP THE NABULSI FAMILY IN 🍉

Hello everyone, this post is for @maramgaza12 who has reached out to me asking for help. Please visit her account, share her campaign, posts, and story. Please use your account to amplify her voice. Your support and attention is still needed, and genuinely means the world. If you are able to donate I urge you to please do so. The people of Gaza are still suffering greatly, even after the ceasefire. They are left amidst the rubble, displaced in tents, cold and unprotected from the weather. The cost of living is high, there is no money for education, food, water, medicine, clothes or shelter. They need our help to sustain better lives, and secure a better future. Help achieve a better living environment for people in Gaza here;

ONLY 6% OF DONATION GOAL REACHED, LAST DONATION WAS 8 HOURS AGO.

"I am Maram_al_Nabulsi, I currently live in the completely destroyed city of Gaza, specifically Khan Younis. Since the war on Gaza began on 10/7/2023, my family - my father Muhammad, my mother Hiba and my siblings Nour, Maram, Mahmoud - have been living in constant fear, crying and suffering because of shrapnel, shells and bullets. We have no food, no electricity, no cooking gas, no schools, no homes, no cleaning supplies, no clothes. Our house was completely destroyed. My school was bombed, and my sister Nour's university was turned into rubble, which deprived us all of education. The war forced us to live in displacement centers, which are just tents that are not suitable for living, especially in winter. Every day we live death, terror and panic a thousand times because of the continuous bombing of my city. The war has killed more than 50 of my relatives and neighbors. At the beginning of the war, we took refuge in my aunt's house, but it was also turned into rubble. Imagine: We have escaped imminent death more than 20 times, and have been displaced between shelters more than 13 times"

There are names, people, human beings deserving of rights, not numbers or statistics.

"Nour, 19 years old, was at the beginning of her university life and was studying engineering. Her dreams and future were shattered because of the war and its horrors.

Maram, 18 years old, is a high school student who was deprived of her final year of studies and her dream of studying human medicine after high school. Her hopes and dreams fading with each new day.

Mahmoud, only 13 years old, lost his studies in the ninth grade and his ambitions of becoming a professional football player. Now he spends his days struggling to carry water to earn just a $2 salary to provide some income for our family."

Please help, please spare what you can, even 5 dollars will have a significant impact, don't think for a second that your donation is worthless, it isn't!! Your donations are much more valuable than you think. Support @maramgaza12 please show your humanity.

[hoboblaidd]

yes we’ve all heard you talking about solas fighting dirty, knife and orb. How did he get back into shape after the big ol nap, did he have to recharge his magic a certain way, did he find relearning anything difficult?

cue the Rocky montage but with a very, very old man. It's the most terrifyingly 'human' he's ever felt - stuck in a body that was too heavy, unable to really call on the Fade except in dreams, and able to rely on little more than his wits.

Physique immediately post Big Sleep: Whatever ~magic~ keeps their muscles from completely atrophying and their bodies from being one giant ulcer while they sleep for thousands of years aside, when Solas finally woke up he was weak as hell. Surviving on only ‘tea’ and then sustenance from the Fade would of course remove muscle mass. This is a magical process, but his design in DAI vs. DATV gives us fun room to play in. He wouldn’t have died from malnutrition or had serious muscle atrophy ala prolonged coma, but ~3000 years of sleep took a physical toll. This would have a permanent effect on his health if he weren’t an immortal firstborn elf. It took him that whole year before Inquisition just to reach the 'twunk' status.

Muscle: He was asleep for ~3000 years and even an immortal can't just hop back up with the same muscle mass. Muscles atrophy with disuse, and despite the magic that sustains someone in uthenera, there's gonna be a recovery period to get back to where he was in the rebellion. Regaining muscle was both helped and hurt by the modern world. He was incredibly physically active, just because to get anywhere, he had to do a shit ton of walking, and to bring anything, he had to carry it. That helped a lot with endurance. To use magic (see more below), he needed a foci like a staff. He used that for upper body training, and while it was awkward, it helped. So he was constantly moving, lifting, and carrying things which helped to build muscle, albeit a leaner muscle.

His muscle mass in Inquisition is definitely lean muscle. He did some sparring when they're at Skyhold. Not with daggers, because his skill with that would give him away to Iron Bull, but definitely using staffs almost like a bo staff instead of just magic. Most of his exercise is still cardio, but at least we get some strength-adjacent in there, too. Nothing disciplined, because discipline + Solas doesn't jive for me lol.

Nutrition: The downside is that the nutrition situation sucked. He didn't have money until he found where to steal some (knowing him, he probably had a small cache squirreled away somewhere, but it was ancient currency). He had to eat what he could find, pilfer, or have gifted by nice people. Most of that cheaper and easier to obtain food would be more grains and vegetables than hearty protein. And even when he started to accumulate some coin, he was limited where he could go to eat because he's an elf. So it's tavern stew, bread, and potatoes. The calories were helpful, but it's not a well-rounded diet suited for bulking up after a prolonged period of incapacitation.

He really starts to fill out in Skyhold. Good, quality food is in abundance, and Solas sleeps near the kitchens. He also isn't shy about 'reappropriating' food as long as no servants would be blamed. They do eat trail food when they're on the road, which is most of the time, and his muscle is still mostly lean bc outside of battle, their primary exercise is walking. So he doesn't reach datv levels of physique during dai. But by the defeat of Corypheus, he’s added a few notches to his belt.

Magic: The magic was the absolute worst part. Nothing worked like it should, and he had to relearn everything. Magic used to be like breathing for him. With the Veil in place, it was like gasping for breath under water. He used the orb as a foci in the past for bigger things, but here, he needed a staff just to cast the most basic magic. And none of his spells worked the same way - he had to draw from the Veil instead of the Fade directly. He had to be more deliberate with everything. There was none of the elegance of magic we see him use in Veilguard. It felt like he was physically pulling something across the Veil to manifest in the physical world.

It's like how the kids today have 'new math' from those of us who learned it in the stone age. The fundamentals are the same, but the method for getting there was completely different.

the twunk to hunk pipeline

[river-in-the-woods]

i have a similar situation - i'm struggling to make my own correspondences, and i'm trying to draw from my pagan practices as well as my ancestral asian practice. i'm having a bit of difficulty with systematically going through a small dictionary, but maybe this can provide some ideas (and of course, if you have any critiques, i'm totally open to that as well!)

I usually just pick up any reference book and choose whatever I like the sound of and can get my hands on. I have a copy of The Encyclopedia of Natural Magic by J.M. Greer which I use a lot because it has minimal tangential waffle and is neatly laid out. I like Llewellyn's Charms, Spells and Formulas for the same reason.

For culturally relevant things, I like chinasage which has a symbol index of various flora and fauna. I'm not aware of similar resources for other parts of East Asia, apologies.

While I do think that different materials are endowed with particular virtues, I also think this is another area of magic where people get a little obsessed with categorisation.

It's not like Pokemon where lavender has +10 sleep magic points and chamomile has +12, or roses are exclusively for love and attraction and black pepper is only for cursing and banishing, and so on... It's a little more like cooking where there are many possibilities of creating a satisfying meal and yet it still depends on the individual tastes of who's partaking in it.

Cypress, yew and asphodel are strongly associated with the underworld; mugwort and wormwood are associated with night-time and dreams, but these plants will still die without the light of day. Sunflowers and oranges are very solar, but they still have roots that reach into the earth to anchor them. Chilli peppers are incredibly fiery, but they still die without water. Yarrow is for youth, love and beauty, except when you're allergic to it.

Every herb is a herb for protection, and wealth, and attraction, and fertility, and banishing – and so on, because every plant has its own strategy to survive, thrive and proliferate.

(And that's just plants, not even touching on the properties of minerals, animals, elements, colours and so on.)

They do have their specialisations, yes, and I wouldn't use mint to call on the element of fire, nor would I use coffee beans in a sleep spell... What I'm trying to say is: they're all multi-faceted, so set aside the reference books now and then, and just observe and make connections intuitively.

Reference books might tell you that basil or cinnamon or citrus (or whatever) have wealth-drawing properties.

But grass, plain old common grass, completely dominates the greenery of the earth. Crops like rice, wheat, barley and corn are staple foods that support the world's population. And dandelions, with their solar and ouranic qualities and how quickly they proliferate across an open field, are oft overlooked.

These never get listed in books, yet their literal and symbolic powers are undeniable.

Put these – grass seeds, rice grains and dandelion seeds – into a wealth working with a simple prayer. "Bless me with as much wealth as there are blades of grass on this earth, as there are grains of rice that sustain humanity, as there are dandelion seeds that fill the air in spring."

Correspondences are only part of what makes magic work. There's also your own ability and experience, the spirits you call and the relationship you have with them... I strongly favour the relationship part because reference books become less and less important, when you can just ask and the spirits will tell you what to use. Or even better when you don't have to do a spell at all, because you have spirits to take care of it in exchange for some cake.

It took me a long time to open myself up to receiving that kind of inspiration, but... honestly, don't overthink it. You know a lot of correspondences already because you interact with the world every day.

Good luck 🌿

[autistic-duck]

It really sucks when you realize that a survivor's mentality is not a sustainable model for working full-time.

I can't go into every day thinking, “Oh, if the bathroom is occupied during lunch then I'll just wait to pee when I get home” because that is survival. I'm just surviving until I can get to a safe time and place. I am literally holding in pee for eight hours straight, feeling more and more pain because I can't figure out a better time to go to the bathroom.

I can't keep doing that.

Every day, it becomes, “If you can just sit still for a couple more hours, you'll get to move a little bit.”

Or, “if you can just hold in the tears until you can sneak into an empty room, you'll be able to make it through the day without anyone knowing you're upset.”

(Click “keep reading” to hear a more detailed explanation)

I started work this week, and I had completely forgotten just how awful it is to try and exist in a way that doesn't seem off-putting (or scary) to other people.

I had to do two eight-hour blocks of time alone away from home, which I hadn't done since high school, and I'm already realizing that my old methods no longer work.

I legitimately can't mask the entire day anymore. I can feel my joints groaning under the stress. My cells are feverish with the desire to stim. My mind is slowly melting under the fluorescent lights. The voices, the droning voices of professionals, buzz in my head and make no sense. I take notes, but the words look like no language I've ever spoken.

I can't keep pretending to understand what's going on.

But I'm also new to telling people that I'm disabled. The only people who know are immediate family and friends and the psychology clinic that diagnosed me. I want to be proud and confident, to just ask for and demand help, but I can't imagine anyone actually believing me. Nobody helps me when I ask for something because they decide it isn't important.

My sensory issues aren't “bad enough.” My social struggles are just “excuses to be rude.” My stimming is “attention seeking.”

Why did I choose education as the field to go into? I'm not cut out for this new “customer service” teacher mentality. I have to have good interactions with everyone all the time? Just so parents want to send their kids to our schools? How is that even possible? I have a hard time smiling at people who are nice to me, so how do you expect me to smile when someone is yelling at me for failing their student because they didn't turn in their work?

The education system is broken, and I'm just one disabled person who is just now realizing that their disability might actually stop them from keeping their dream job.

How do you advocate for yourself when you grew up thinking that self-advocacy was selfish and evil?

I literally just realized that I can't eat food or respond to greetings if I'm stressed. Showering used to make me feel relaxed before bed, and now it's the only thing preventing me from crying right before sleeping.

I want to learn Spanish, write in my journal, cook healthy meals, exercise in the morning, drink plenty of water, sleep comfortably at night, and spend time with friends who don't make me feel guilty for existing. I want to be able to go to the bathroom whenever I need to. Why does that feel impossible now?

If anyone has experience with advocating for a disability, especially high-functioning and heavily masked autism, I'd really like advice. Who do I talk to? What do I ask for? How do I explain my struggles and keep a job?

[flashypunches]

evbo on the pro layer: wow my mind is really making me think of how my flesh would feel in-between that master's teeth. this is totally not going to influence my relationship with that master at all.

His home layer is not empty within Evbo’s dreams. This is the only thing which lets his delirious, half-asleep mind separate reality from fantasy. It is cramped, congested, infested within his wandering mind. 

A figment of his imagination is all it is, with how the concept of the issue of overpopulation being one that the Noob layer would have to worry about is a laughable one at best. At least back when he had been a Noob. If that ever had been within the realm of possibility, even in the slightest, then he thinks that not once would he have gone to bed hungry. 

His home never held a lock. It was a thing of mercy, was what he thought of it before, that removal of a moment on should he or should he not leave himself up for grabs tonight. If he should tempt his fate or leave his hunger alone, let it twist and coil within himself for just another day. 

Now he knows better. It is just a matter of deciding for them all now. It is truly just a matter of how much control the higher layers can have over them all, how many Noobs a door can doom to be a stomach’s filling.

His subconscious forces conversations to become audible, to become heard and known. There are edges of whispering and murmuring conversations that his ears can just barely pick up on. The pitter patter of leather soles against grass is what strays through the quiet moments between conversation. 

He can hear the barking orders of a Pro and the subsequent hush that follows the demands’ steps. 

Evbo assumes these dreams to be a consequence. 

After all, he has abandoned his home, his old and worn leather shoes. What right does he have to stand in iron and be allowed to eat good, cooked, filling food, when his neighbors and any other Noob had to stumble in leather and nourish themselves on just rawness and whatever else they could scavenge or steal away from the view of iron.

He thinks that the Master who’d gifted him that totem would have been an excellent eater. They would have been confident, proud, assured in the things which they could prove. He doubts that they could ever have to worry about the possibility of biting off more than they could chew.

But they would not be gentle. Evbo cannot imagine them as being anything but cruel and needy. They would be instead just ripping and tearing through his flesh. Would they even bother to check his pulse’s stillness before they started their assault? 

In the comfort of his mind’s privacy, it is not the case. No. Instead, they would just lay into him, using the teeth that must be behind that mask of theirs to claw and drag through the soft meat of his in order to swallow it down and sustain themselves on. It’d be karma maybe.

Sweating bullets, blinking back wetness laced in his eyes, the sounds of muttering and tearing still in his ears, Evbo thinks that he needs to throw up. So he does, at whatever obscene hour it is, retches his guts into that empty chest beside his mattress, coughing back the burning at his throat. 

His mouth is dry, bitter, coated in nausea and bile. He wipes past the spit, hugs his knees closer to his chest whilst he leans against his bed. Evbo risks a glance to his covered window. He watches the house right next to his, watches his neighbor click his light on and have it shine through the crevices of his own blinds, casting a glow which makes him need to squint for just a moment. 

Evbo hopes sorely, despairingly, that his misery didn’t wake his neighbor up.

[aheathen-conceivably]

By the time the sun had fully risen, Josephine and Zelda were in Violette’s new room helping her to unpack all of her toys and dresses. The room was already outfitted with a small bed, dresser, and a dollhouse that was just like the one Violette had in New Orleans.

Violette was enchanted by it all, but most of all by the ornate Victorian dollhouse. She scurried about the room looking for her favorite dolls to unpack, her olive eyes shining as she tucked each one into the outfitted rooms rather than notice the peeling wallpaper or her aunt’s intermittent bouts of distraction.

Her own trepidations about the move had long been allayed by her mother and aunt’s reassurances that this was a land of magic. The Land of Enchantment, they had told her, the place where all her dreams could come true. How much of their hope and optimism was feigned for her sake as well as their own on that day, she was still too young to decipher.

Outside the window, Antoine was sitting with Gio on a truck that he had bought when he first moved out that way, smoking and watching the occasional Ford pass by the road that ran in front of their farmhouse. 

“So when you said find work, I should have known, I should have asked…stupid. Stupid and hopeful.”

Gio beat a pack of cigarettes between his hands, holding it out to Antoine as he spoke, “Not stupid, old sport. If I’m being honest, I should have spent the extra cents to tell you more, but part of me feared if you knew the whole truth none of you would come. Especially Jo. Just, don’t tell her about any of this, alright? It’s not like I’m trying to trick her or anything, I just know what it’s about to be like in New Orleans. A city full of dock workers with no goods? No jobs to be found and no food to grow? I’m only trying to make sure we’re safe, me and her and all of you. But I fear she won’t see it that way.”

For a moment Antoine’s anger rose for his sister, dragged out here away from her home not only by Giorgio, but by him too. He had seen her hesitation when he had first contacted Gio, but had told himself that they had few other options. Now, knowing that they had to sustain a lie just to keep her here was almost enough to make him turn around and pack his bags.

Then he thought of the way she had reacted when she had seen Giorgio yesterday, and how her own pride trumped even his own. He knew that Gio was right, that there was nothing left for them in New Orleans. But most of all he knew that Josephine would never have accepted his help willingly, and she would see his actions as a way to control her; then she would run, no matter how much she loved him.

But more than anything, Antoine remembered the last time he had left her alone and the means she had resorted to to survive. How could he protect her if she ran, if they had nowhere left to go? He looked toward the house where she was now playing with Violette, together with her family. Happy. Safe.

He quelled the protective anger growing in his chest and looked back at Giorgio, “But what about money, Gio? What about food?”

Gio took a long drag and a sharp intake of breath, “I tried for years old sport, years. I can get it to grow but it always dies before it fruits. I’ve been trading for goods and taking odd jobs, but they’re harder to find every damn day. We need to grow at least enough to eat. Enough to ensure that if the work dries up the land will give us something.”

He stared at his lit cigarette for a while before he threw it onto the ground, the dry sand immediately engulfing the remaining embers, “And if I’m being honest, I’ve got reason to believe the time’s comin’ soon. There’s migrants passing through here, Antoine, makin’ me think it’s about to get a whole lot worse. Okies, they call them. This whole business, it’s turned into a shitstorm. The farm prices tanked only months after I got here and now the land is worth less than I paid for it and the farmhouse combined. I managed to see it coming and take out a loan on it before it got too bad though, enough cash to get us through a few years. But we’ve got to move fast, make sure we’re secured before things really go south.”

Must find work, he had written. Antoine threw his lit cigarette on the ground next to Giorgio’s; now it all made sense. He had brought his family on board a sinking ship.

Previous / Next

[asexxxualauthor]

You know what’s an argument I haven’t heard yet?

So…Predathos.

The One Who Sleeps. The One Who Dreams. The Great Predator. The Hunter of the Gods.

…hunters don’t hunt for no reason. Some hunt for sport, but most hunt for food, for sustenance, for a need to feed. The fact that it’s been referred to as the great predator certainly lends credence to this fact…which means that for all its ancient, strange, and eldritch nature…Predathos is a living organism. Because only living organisms need to eat.

Now, Predathos has also been asleep for a long time. We don’t know exactly how long, but considering the fact that the records that mention it are some of the oldest in Vasselheim, I’m willing to put it in the ballpark of older than 10,000 years—especially given Matt’s notable affinity for Blood Moons and dark sorcerers who are bound to them.

Now, tell me, anyone here gotten real hungry? Like, absolutely famished—maybe you got so locked into your work or a hyperfixation that you forget what food is for a large portion of your day. Or, more bleakly, you’re low on funds and have to value other expenses over your own health. I know that I’ve experienced the first a few times, and the second only rarely, but it’s never fun.

In those times of intense hunger, you’re never really acting rationally, are you? You never go for the most nutritious meal, the most sustaining food—it always ends up being something quick, fatty, and junkish in nature. It’s not supposed to sustain you, it’s just to fill the hole your body feels in your gut, and you’re acting on base instinct to fill that hole as quickly and easily as possible.

So, once again, Predathos. A giant, angry eldritch horror that has to consume gods in order to sustain itself. And it has been going without that food for a long, long time. Once it has finally been freed from its prison, will it go for its preferred prey right away? The powerful, dangerous gods, who are still protected by a magic laticework so powerful it couldn’t break through on its own?

No. It’ll go for the junk food. The stuff that’s quick, easy, not as sustaining but just as filling.

And whoever is at ground zero of its release will be the first to go.

[ssunspotted]

Bits of wood covered in intricate carvings of birds and vines and writing are laid down alongside vegetation that's been twisted and shaped into intricate weavings of dead limbs, fallen branches, even dried out leaves gathered over the course of a year - all once a piece of them, the pieces of them that have died away in their gardens around the temple. The residents at Bayt have taken the dead plant matter and created works of art with it. Windchimes, paint pigment, sculpture, pencils, brushes, frames to stretch canvas across, tools that have seen love and use and have served purpose after purpose. Today, the residents gather everything they've made from the foliage and flora their goddess' consort has provided them and a few, those with the most affinity for the Shams Albustanyu, arrange it all in tight concentric circles at the center of the temple grounds until the collection of them forms an intricate mass of wood and art and vines. The pile - the pyre - is then covered in paper flowers, made over the course of weeks and months by their followers, with prayers for growth, for guidance, for acceptance of change written into the creases of colorful petals and leaves.

Belle gifts Tolya a dress for their death day, woven through and dripping with thread-thin gold chains, the fabric itself illusory in the way it seems to shift from translucent to opaque. The dress is designed to hang off of more thin chains so that it leaves their neck and shoulders bare, all the better to display the rest of their jewelry, their tattoos, their spots, and the branches that arc out of their shoulders and back. It's all designed to flow, to drape, to adorn, a display of importance and celebration of who they are. Belle and their followers all wear black as well, hand-embroidered with shimmering gold thread that reflects the sunset as they gather around the pyre.

"My Garden," Belle says, the speech already more public than she's used to with everyone at Bayt gathered, watching them both with lanterns and candles as the sky is painted in pinks and purples and oranges. She shines on her own, her hands holding both of theirs and her face turned up toward them with a smile next to the display of wood and flowers and prayer. "My beautiful partner, my life. There aren't words that could ever amount to the impact that you've had, that you continue to have, on every life you touch. On me. You are as essential as the air we breathe, as the food that sustains us, as the cycle that carries life into death into decay back into life. The you that you've grown into is a marvel and I'm so...so glad that we get to celebrate you. You deserve all of this and more. Ki murangen, Tolya."

When she pulls them into a kiss the followers give a whoop and a cheer and begin to set the flames of their candles, their lanterns, their cigarettes and joints, against the paper flowers. The pyre of art made from and for and with them becomes a raging bonfire around which just a fraction of the people who love Tolya celebrate their death and their continued existence.

Through the bright hours, Tolya's day is spent with Vellsick and his family who had seen them through their last months when they had broken down, retreated from the world, and been watched over as time burned holes through them. How strange it is to look back now at the bed they'd struggled to move from, in a room they'd forgotten and remembered and forgotten, hated and loved and balked at. There's a grim amusement in it. What a surreal dream to have lost not only their voice and so much of their ability to move, but themself like that, and still to be here, not wound back in time, not healthy, but.. not that. So many years spent slipping towards a fixed point, but now all they can feel about the sick animal they were is a sort of.. fondness. Today they and their Fiancee's family laughed together, reminisced, told stories back and forth. With a bright curiosity, they filled gaps that their memory simply doesn't hold. They'd draped themself over his smaller body in the tired, sleepless morning, bickered lovingly over who should or would make breakfast- They'd gone out, enjoyed the company of the village and its followers so ready to pepper them in assorted gestures, so sweet.. They don't yet look like the rest of Vell's Liches, but they've changed so MUCH, and this.. This can only be celebrated. By the time Belle's surprise for them is prepared and they move from the village to Bayt, it's already been a gorgeous day, and they're well into tipsy on drinks their Vellsick had shared. Each gesture of kindness compounds. Every kind word sits heavier, and while they seldom breathe at all, there's a sense of breathlessness that they CANNOT shake. Adorned in Belle's beautiful gift for the occasion, body and branches shimmering in reflected light and bioluminescence, they call on a lifetime of training for public speeches to keep their composure through this absolute spectacle. The scaffolding within them twists tight to keep their inebriated carcass together, staving off its urge to collapse and sob. Overwhelm grows as they force themself to stand tall, to speak, to smile, to force this body's eyes to take in EVERY gift in this huge pile of creation. Every offering, their own recycled body turned back to something new.. Isn't this beautiful? Pride. Gratitude. Pride. What is one meant to do with all of this? They want it, they want it, they WANT it, how do they hold ON to it? So much that they've built so slowly seems crystalized in place, all together. There's an itch in the fact that they aren't the one speaking to the crowd, but once Belle begins, their attention is so rapt that they don't blink, only moving at all to go through the automated, preset gestures that are meant to make them seem alive. Shifting of their weight, of their smile and expressions, all thoughtless masking, reacting to the eyes on them. Internally, their focus hones so intensely that her words seem to burn. She finishes, and they start as if they're about to take over the speech and turn their appreciation back on her, to give their own half of what ought to be something reciprocal, how, how can they not? This is SO MUCH. She kisses them first. And something in them is knocked loose.

For a brief moment, clutching her with claws digging in as they kiss is enough. But it isn't. It isn't. In one motion she's scooped up into their arms, closer, closer, and the very moment their face is hidden against her from the crowd they break, wooden posture shifting, hunching as if they can pull her luminous body into theirs, and they sob.

There will be no words needed for her to feel everything that this means to them.