#damn I've been drawing horses lately

[artharakka]

Sneak peeks of some horses I've been posting on Patreon 🐴

[dragon-ascent]

Hello, how are you ? Since you have open request I’d like to ask something : How do you think our favorite dragon Zhongli will react to his wife being accused of lying because they have corrected an historian on a false fact about Morax ?

Since English isn’t my first language I’m afraid this is not clear, I’m sorry.

Ooh, I like it, here's what I've come up with <3

-----

The tension is palpable and certainly not what you were hoping to land yourself in when you accepted Zhongli's request to be his plus-one aboard the Pearl Galley.

"Forgive me, Mr. Changying, but that's where I'll have to correct you," you tell the stocky man before you. The food and drinks on the table are long-untouched. "Rex Lapis didn't take on such a grand ten-headed and eight-armed form to exterminate those sea creatures. In fact, he personally went door to door to trap them in little Geo contraptions, even having a bit of trouble with the.... particularly wrigglier ones."

Changying's eyes practically roll into the back of his head. "Do you truly believe that rubbish just because that is what's commonly peddled? That the Geo archon, who could raise the mountains and calm the tides without breaking a sweat, found the task of getting rid of tiny sea creatures tedious and challenging?"

Sighing, you say, "Even the gods are subject to being less-than-perfect in their methods. And besides, the damn things were inside people's houses - brute strength would not have been handy at all. Rex Lapis needed to be careful and meticulous so that none of his people were harmed. Hence the Geo cages."

Despite how neatly you'd presented your counterpoint, Changying merely scoffs as he adjusts his glasses. He jabs a finger at you accusingly. "You're lying, just like everyone else," he growls, "and you clearly have no respect for our late archon! Do you even like him?"

Your breath nearly hitches in your throat as you gaze up at him in shock. "Ex...excuse me?"

The man pulls no punches as he continues his rant against you. "How can you so blindly believe what the masses think? Maybe if you were a real Rex Lapis follower like me, you would learn some critical thinking skills and draw more accurate conclusions!"

"I'm afraid I am on the side of my partner here, Mr. Changying," cuts in Zhongli, placing an arm on your shoulder. Relief floods your veins as you let out the breath you'd been holding. "They are correct in explaining that Rex Lapis had to go the simplistic route when dealing with Liyue's sea creature infestation."

Changying's eyes grow wide. "Forgive me, Mr. Zhongli," he murmurs, and you're not ignorant to the way his tone mellows out and becomes more respectful as he continues to speak. "I didn't know you were also in agreement of that story. But let me explain why he likely-"

"It is alright for you to have your own interpretations of events, especially for a being with an expansive history that is always being debated over," says Zhongli calmly, poised as always, "but when these interpretations are unrealistic and you still try to present them as fact...while belittling other people, no less...the line must be drawn somewhere, yes?"

Changying blanches, stammering, "Er, but don't you think Rex Lapis would appreciate deviating thought processes more, especially when..."

Zhongli's eyes narrow ever so slightly, his visage still calm as a pond. "Perhaps so, but what he would not appreciate is his people trying to one-up others in an attempt to prove they are his most loyal followers." Your husband glances at you. "I know my partner well, and they love Rex Lapis dearly. Not only do you accuse them of lying, you also undermine the love they hold for the deity."

His hand brushes against yours and he interlaces his fingers with you, giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze. You smile softly.

Changying scrambles for words, useless excuses and explanations that hardly justify him being on his high horse.

Zhongli, unamused, fires his parting shot. "Far be it for an ordinary man like myself to tell you what to do, but here is some advice: gather reliable citations for your claims, provide succinct evidence, and be respectful of those with opposing views, and perhaps then Rex Lapis would consider you a favorite of his."

With that, Zhongli escorts you away from the scene, knowing full well you will always be his favorite by far - the approving smile he gives you conveys that perfectly.

[dapper-lil-arts]

Few mlp fanfic questions.

Are there any stories you read that influenced you to start writing your own?

Are there any characters you find it difficult to write?

I think everyone has their own opinion on what the best story the fandom has produced is. What do you think it is?

Does it feel strange to have come into the horse fic writing game so late? Especially with so many big authors already so popular.

Drawing on that previous question. How have the other writers in the fandom been towards you? Have you found the community welcoming?

1 - Not fanfiction, no, I was more influenced on media as a whole! And originally I started writing fanfic before I started actually reading it.

2 - Not in an actual writing sense, but fluttershy and rainbow dash dont rly mesh with my kind of stories usually. I usually write large stories with emotional resonance and lots of drama and action and romance, and characters like Fluttershy and Rainbow are harder to motivate for narratives like these, considering how chill and laid back they tend to me. I find it easier to push the others into drastic situations. 3 - I can't say yet, i've only read a few, and although I've enjoyed plenty, I've never had one to truly engross me and make me think "oh yeah, this is the peak. It cant get better than this" yet. Maybe its bc I write what I want and dont see as many stories like mine out there? Again, large adventures with lots of personal drama and romance all interconected with the same themes and narratives coupled with incredible payoffs. I've seen good dramas and good action and good romance, but rarely all in the same fic! (I have seen some incredible comedy fics tho.)

4 - Not really! I am really glad bronies arent around anymore, i did not want to deal with them, tbh. I will say though, now that the fandom is more chill and lowkey and mostly inhabited by gay people, there's no chance that I'll ever get one of my fics to have like. big audio dramas and comics made for them, no matter how good they are or appreciated they are.

It is definitely a shame when I see an incredibly popular fic and its like. Trashy, not even that interesting and bland, and I think damn. Were i in the fandom back then, could I dethrone this? The answer is no because I will never be famous lmao.

5 - Any writers I've met have been incredibly kind and supporting and fun! it's been a delight to meen peeps working on similar projects like mine and having the chance to discuss our crazy ideas, hehh. It is definitely a bit sadly a not very broad space, since for the people that are fans of this show, not many write or even read. Then you see people going "I never watched equestria girls bc it was teenage stuff" over you know, the children stuff, and I just scratch my head lmao. The writing part of the fandom is definitely a very small one compared to the rest, but there's good stuff in there.

It is def a bit disheartening at times, writing is smth that you put a LOT of effort to make coherent and fun, and sometimes peeps barely read it. it is what it is! i've got close friends that dont read my writing bc they cant focus enough to read or find time, it happens.

[joltai-showa]

okay it's way too late to continue working on chapter 6 of FQTP and I can't really pull an all-nighter cuz I got medical check-up in the morning for my unexpected job (my ao3 writer notes are gonna be fucking insane), so i'm gonna be rambling about the random stuff that i've been doing today

i finally started doing the natlan archon quest and GOD THE PRIMAL FEAR THAT I FELT IN MY SOUL when Ajaw spoke for the first time

for context i play genshin with japanese voiceover and with the new region we got a number of new characters (welcome to gacha world) and two of them are Kinich and Ajaw who are always attached at the hip but also argue a lot. and whoever is responsible for casting decisions in the japanese department really loves doing silly funny little things, thus Kinich is voiced by Sugiyama Noriaki, while Ajaw is voiced by Takeuchi Junko.

Yes, we've got Sasunaru in Genshin Impact.

This is not even the funniest thing that japanese dub did here. Half of major characters in Fontaine arc were literally voiced by people from the Attack on Titan's cast. Ono Daisuke (and his most famous role is arguably Jotaro from JJBA) voices Wriothesley there. Only in japanese dub Wrio does the "ora-ora" thing. It's insane and surreal and I love every second of it.

anyway, back to the original point, Ajaw appears and he sounds excatly like Naruto. my soul started to leave me when i was confronted with the idea that Kinich is seconds away and can sound just like Sasuke. thank god Sugiyama did the less bitchy and more calm pitch, otherwise i would have been bouncing off the walls screeching like a vulture.

also there was an absolutely hilarious explanation on what a piligrimage in natlan is. close enough, welcome back chunin exam.

at least after the piligrimage your god will resurrect you if you actually die fighting in the war. after a chunin exam the leader of the village will give a pocket knife and, if you are really lucky, a pat on the back. oh, the enemy village is dropping an damn entire cave on your head? gotta pray that your moldy ancestor and his army of undead cacti is somewhere nearby, grandpa hiruzen is too busy smoking that pipe🚬😎🚬😎🚬😎🚬😎

after that i read the latest chapter of csm and HOOO BOYYYY WHAT THE HELL FUJIMOTO

that shit was absolutely insane.

first of all, i am crying from the fact that fuji is capable of writing incredibly complex and realistic female characters, but can not draw them for his life. like lmao what even is that.

anyway, this is the least interesting thing that happened during this chapter, BECAUSE HOLY MOTHER OF LORE BOMBSHELLS WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

YORU HAS BEEN A MOTHER THIS ENTIRE TIME? MOREOVER A MOTHER OF TWO? THE FANDOM'S BEEN CALLING MAKIMA MOMMY FOR YEARS AND NOW WE LEARN THAT THE REAL MOMMY HAS BEEN YORU?

ALSO HER CHILDREN? GUN DEVIL??? THE SAME ONE FROM PART 1???? THE SAME ONE THAT TOOK OVER AKI BEFORE BEING KILLED BY DENJI????? HOLY FUCK DID MAKIMA REALLY SPEND AN ENTIRE PART MAKING UP BEEF WITH HER NEPHEW?????

(also on unrelated note it's always such a jumpscare/reason to lol whenever there's a sudden reminder that soviet union is still a thing at the end of the 90s in csm lore. thanks pochita)

anyway yoru ate and left no crumbs holy fuck. happy motherhood reveal day i guess, being a terrible mother figure likely runs in the family.

but also it's so funny how the devil family tree is getting to the point where we really should be doing the infographics like JoJo fandom has. for now we certainly know about the Horse(wo)men of Apocalypse aka Conquest (Makima then Nayuya then ehhhh good luck Denji), Famine (Kiga), Death and War (Yoru) and War's got babies in Gun and Tank devils. hopefully in a few years the entire plot devolves into a gigantic family drama i will die from crying of laughter.

(also fuji is so fucking real for making the four of the most powerful devils to be all women. my man.)

but the implications of this chapter are fucking insane, cause are Gun and Tank the only Yoru's kids? Did the Weapon Hybrids use to be her children? Is it possible for Chainsaw devil to be born of her as well? Nuclear Weapons devil is supposed to be inside Pochita and Yoru refers to them as her comrades??? Anway holy shit just what a chapter.

(but also Makima's monologue about getting rid of death, famine and war sounds very reasonable rn cause wtf those insane bitches that happen to be her sisters are birthing into this world)

i am also so insanely hyped for Death Devil, because she is bound to be absolutely fucking insane, like horror beyond human comprehension. also i feel like she has to not only be one of the Horse(wo)men, but a Primal Fear as well like Darkness and Aging (I believe that's what the most recent one was supposed to be)? the entire devil classification system is so confusing lmao

(also i remembered my shock at chapter 167. like. i wrote the finale for LTFG about a month before it was released and then i read it and was like. do i and fujimoto go to the same astral plane where the voices are whispering to us that we must do a handjob in a seedy alley scene? lmao)

[mbrainspaz]

Still processing the fact that before this job I never had one where I haven't been harassed or abused in some way. I'm still not sure I believe it can last.

It's been over a decade since I started working. My very first job in college I had a coworker who would cuss me out every day at 7am because he didn't want to be there, which wasn't worth the minimum wage pay. At my first office job the boss joked I should dance on a table and coworkers debated how easy it would be to assault me. In 2021 I had a coworker who would show up and follow me around on his time off just to criticize me and call me an idiot. When I tried reporting him the boss defended him and did nothing. So many people treated me like I was stupid and incompetent to the point that they almost had me believing it. Even once I stood up for myself I had to work through 2 years of useless corporate Karens talking down to me like I was a teenage peasant instead of an expert running their whole business from the dirt up. Another coworker made a hobby out of yelling at me every chance he got and trying to stop me from doing my job because he didn't believe it was 'women's work.' Everyone knew he was bullying me and just expected me to cope. Nobody (except one part time high schooler) ever used the right damn pronouns for me. My parting Christmas bonus was the corporate boss making up false accusations in an attempt to get me fired because she effed up the budget.

Now I walk in to work 5 minutes late. There's no time clock. People smile and greet me in the hallway. The department boss gives me a cheery 'good morning!' I settle into my cubicle with the fluorescents turned off and my top end mac they got me with my coffee. An hour later my boss stops by for a chat and we exchange notes on the tasks for the day. He's always the picture of professionalism. He asks me how my horse is doing. I ask him if the latest freak storm destroyed his house. He says it missed. Nice. I spend the next 8 hours doing the 4 hours worth of work I've been given and then drawing or writing my novel. Eventually my cubicle neighbor shows up and we exchange a friendly greeting. Sometimes the gen z girls from social media swing by and ask me if I want to go get coffee. Everybody still gets my pronouns wrong but they correct themselves on the next pass, even my boss's boss who gives me slightly bad vibes. The director stops by to say hi and pet whichever dog I brought into the office with me because that's allowed here. Just before 5 someone taps my shoulder and says there's leftover cake in the break room. The pay isn't making me rich but it's enough for now. I'm not any more or less competent, skilled, manly, valuable, or intelligent now than I was at any other job I've ever had, from the sandwich shop to the last horse stable. If anything I'm applying fewer of my skills than I've ever had to use to get by. Suddenly people see me when I walk past. They want to know my name. They treat me with respect. I did nothing different to 'deserve' this. At most I crossed paths with the right contact at the right time thanks to a funny bumble profile that I designed to ward off christian men.

[shirosfics]

My thoughts on the BSD S5 finale (what I did not like, and what I liked, and how real-life issues might have influenced BSD)

⚠️ spoiler alert!

Late to the party because I was busy (and still am, so I've only seen the main spoilers for the last episode). Now, I have loads of mixed feelings.

Spoilers below!

*Takes a deep breath* Now.

The finale violates so many rules of story-writing and characterisation:

First, characterisation: Fyodor, our genius Fyodor, could not simply be defeated by a pair of contacts and fake fangs that even a normal person can tell apart). That is not the same person who had tricked Ace, nor is that the same person who was able to speak with Dazai in code. If Asagiri had made the contact-lenses-and-fake-fangs decision, he had truly done Fyodor dirty. There is an alternative take on this specific plot that I agree with, more on that below in Fyodor's section.

Second, storyline progress: as of Dazai's death in Chapter 109 (and S5E10), we're at the climax of the DOA storyline. There is a rule in story writing that it must always be followed by a "falling action" phase, and it is severely lacking in the finale, and as a result everything feels rushed.

Number 2 leads to loose ends. Lots of them. Sigma is a glaring one. Crime and Punishment another. Nikolai's motives too.

Oh, and that poison Dazai and Fyodor injected. Given that there's no explanation given, the poison violates the rule of Chekov's gun. Asagiri put so much focus on the poison when it was first introduced, and it was just hand waved away? Asagiri, what are you doing? Please give me an explanation soon, this is unlike you.

ALSO, Sigma's death. Really? Asagiri? Bones? Another rule of storytelling is to never write in a character and hype them up only to kill them, unless there is a damn good reason why. And I will be waiting for the damn good reason why. Or for you to write Sigma back to life. That's all I will say about Sigma for now. Give me my precious cinnamon roll!

My first thought when I saw the spoilers was pure anger, because the rushed finale = shoddy writing and is seriously not up to Asagiri's usual standards. I hope this was (at least) partially Bones' own creative adaptation of Asagiri's storyline. I have no qualms about Bones and Asagiri making Dazai turn the tables. After all, BSD still falls into the shounen category, so it doesn't really take a genius to figure out Dazai is going to live and the Yokohama tripartite was going to win (even if I panicked a lot when I saw Chapter 109). However, again, what I do have a lot of qualms with is the abrupt ending, and the way Fyodor's characterisation and the details were handled.

The only believable thing in the S5 finale was Fukuchi's change of heart and motive, and that's only because BSD is still a genre-savvy shounen series.

The main problem is how quickly Bones has written the rest of the DOA arc out, squeezing them into a span of one episode. To make an apt comparison, the storyline exploded like Fyodor's helicopter :-/ There was simply too much buildup (two seasons worth! And around 50 chapters worth of storyline development in the manga!) for it to end this way. It's like that horse-drawing meme (if you don't know what it is, look it up), and it leaves a really bad taste as a viewer. I was expecting a grander scheme or method of reveal, only to be disappointed.

It's unfair to blame Bones and Asagiri entirely, however. There are a few things that might have caused this, but it's highly possible that real-life factors have influenced the way the anime and the storyline were handled.

Harukawa-sensei is not at her best right now, which means progress for the manga is slow, and the anime had only been advertised until Season 5. Which means unless Bones ties everything up quickly, we’ll be left with an incomplete finale.

The intellectual rights for BSD are held by Kadokawa, and the manga for BSD is selling well. They are also getting a lot of money from the anime (from Bones as well since Bones has to pay them royalty fees), but less so compared to their other IP that have been turned into anime (Oshi no Ko is very popular right now, and is top 1 anime IP revenue for Kadokawa according to their most recent report). The BSD anime, however, has struggled with dwindling sales* in comparison to the manga and Bones' other series. One of these said series is an undated, upcoming project (I will refrain from naming it because fandoms are sensitive sometimes) which I think will be announced soon. From an investor and profit standpoint, it's better for the company to finish BSD quickly and focus their efforts on that, especially since updates for the manga has stalled and Bones has done nothing but focus on BSD this year. This means they are feeding Kadokawa money at a loss.

*I wasn't able to find an official investor report for Bones Inc., because unlike Kadokawa, they are not a listed company. If anyone has the official data, please let me know.

On Fyodor:

Right now, I think it's highly likely that Fyodor and Dazai's last scene is Asagiri-canon instead of Bones' own creation. While Bones has deviated from manga/LN canon occasionally, the changes they make are usually not big. This is no longer an era where animes have their own storyline adaptations. However, due to the limitations of an one-cour run, Bones might have changed the details on how Dazai and Fyodor got there. Otherwise, I can't understand why Asagiri would do both Fyodor (and by extension Dazai) dirty like this, this easily. Even his blunder with NLH in the Fifteen Light Novel was more forgivable compared to this. (Yes, I am in severe denial over Asagiri being able to do this to one of the smartest characters in the series. He had hyped up Fyodor's intelligence and observational skills too much for him to fall for this specific trap.)

This does not necessarily mean that Fyodor is completely dead and gone from the storyline. We now know that he's not the final villain (a development that leaves me feeling conflicted because Fyodor is a great villain), which means that there is a high likelihood he will return as an ally given, ah, Fitzgerald's development and the typical shounen manga storyline progression. Or, if he is truly dead, he will continue to influence the storyline in some manner. I based this guess on his lines under the night sky. It's only a wild guess.

Another possibility that's worth mentioning: It has been theorised (and hinted) that C&P is an ability that creates a doppelgänger of Fyodor in a way. There's a chance that it was the ability that died. Maybe. There's also a guess going around that Dazai knows it's not the real Fyodor but the doppelgänger that died, but as of the finale, we don't know for sure. I personally am unsure about this one, because Asagiri has indicated that NLH also works when Dazai touches abilities (see his battle with the Number-ability user in the Azure King/Apostle case, as well as Soukoku's battle with Rimbaud), and Dazai actually held Fyodor's hand after his helicopter crashed. If that Fyodor was an Ability, he would've dissipated the moment Dazai made contact…unless the bandage and cloth act as a barrier (which also does not make sense because Dazai had stopped Steinbeck's ability through his clothes…unless Asagiri had forgotten about that…which he has before.)

Or…C&P allows for body-switching, and Fyodor’s mind/soul switched out before his death? Idek I’m just throwing out guesses at this point. I’m still confused as to what C&P actually does.

This last one, which is my favourite, is that Fyodor fell for the trick on purpose (which, alright, I guess he's choosing the greater good over himself) and chose not to expose Dazai and Chuuya for whatever reason. Perhaps because of the other person he had mentioned. So he's basically acting to the bitter end and paying with his life. If this is true, fine, it absolves Asagiri of his guilt of making Fyodor fall for such a simple trick.

I'm a Fyodor fan, but even I gotta admit he's as resilient as a cockroach (ahem) Dazai, so there's a chance he's really not dead. (This might be my wishful thinking, aha.)

Now, onto things I actually like about the S5 finale:

Soukoku. Enough said. Nice to see you two going about your business as usual. Imagine how much effort Chuuya had to put into not laughing when he shot Dazai.

Aya and Bram's relationship. It's been heavily implied that Aya is the reincarnation of someone important to Bram (manga), more specifically, his daughter (anime). You don't get a lot of relationships like this in anime, and I am stoked (geddit?) to see their relationship development from here. Not from a shipping point of view, but from a familial and platonic (and a knight-and-lady) point of view. Aya is a character filled with possibilities, and Bram seems like a fun character. They have so much potential together. Asagiri, don't ruin it.

Dazai's characterisation: Dazai and Chuuya's little act, and Dazai's influence on Sigma. He could have had Chuuya kill Fyodor immediately, but held off, possibly because he wanted to turn Sigma to be sympathetic and emotionally-attached to the thought of joining the ADA. Now, Dazai is on the side of good, but we know it is within his character to be manipulative enough to do this. Had Dazai made Chuuya kill Fyodor immediately, that emotional connection would have never been established. This is very much in-line with Dazai's method of doing things, and with his characterisation. If that farce actually worked, this is actually a great way to demonstrate how Dazai's darkness can be used for the side of good.

On Fyodor and Dazai: After one movie and three seasons, Fyodor finally acknowledged Dazai! He went from underestimating him to enjoying his battle with Dazai, to finally acknowledging him upon his defeat. Nice.

There's more coming based on Fukuchi and Fyodor's lines, and Akutagawa and Atsushi's last scene, which is great, because I need to know more. There's so much left unexplained and/or unexplored: the Transcendents, Christie, Crime and Punishment and Fyodor, and the Book, just to name a few.

(Also, I quite like Aku's new design :P)

I don't know when we'll be able to see the anime again, but as long as Kadokawa doesn't drop BSD, and Harukawa-sensei takes her time to recover carefully, I'm sure, one day, we'll get an anime adaptation of the upcoming seasons.

Still, I'm desperately hoping that the manga storyline will offer us a more complete explanation.

[stesierra]

Today's book is a little bit older (last rewritten in 2018) BUT I STILL LOVE IT AND I WILL REWRITE IT SOMEDAY. Anyway. Welcome to a world where menopause comes with some serious consequences.

As always, tell me if you want to be added to the taglist for my writing.

Mud-Child

CHAPTER ONE

Monday, September 6th

Simun stank of cheap soap and cheaper beer. It almost hid his nervous sweat. Almost. But Rebeka had known Simun back when he'd been a handsome one, and she'd smelled his cowardice before.

"Have you gone mad?" she said.

"Mayor says it's got to get done," Simun said.

"Not the mayor's business, is it?"

"You've made it everyone's business, waiting this long. Look, don't fuss. I brought a couple bottles. Should make it tolerable."

Her voice rose. "Tolerable?"

"Well, I damn sure ain't here for a good time. Do up your skirts, and we'll get it over with."

Get it over with? Without thought, Rebeka cleared the meter between them. She wasn't sure which of them her slap surprised more, but Simun yelped and stumbled back, staring at her with wounded eyes. But she was too old now to be charmed, and it was too late for him to profess innocence. Not when he'd just spoken like she were a farmer's mare, and he the local stud.

And Simun was the last man she'd let tell her she had to get pregnant for the good of the town.

His voice was a dog-like whine. "That offer, I meant it. I wasn't trying to have a laugh, Beka."

"Don't call me that," she snapped. Her hand stung where it had met his face. The red mark of her slap still bloomed across his fat cheek, and she resisted the urge to give him a matching one on the other side.

"Look, we drew straws. All six of us. It was fair, I promise. I wouldn't let an unfair drawing go on, not in my store—"

Six, all the adult men left in town after the last recruiters had come through. They were rejects, too old or fat to hold a spear. Unfit parents one and all. If they'd been horses and she the farmer, she'd have had them gelded. "I don't care what stupid wager brought you here. Leave. Now."

"Just calm down, Beka. Don't you want a free drink?" He stretched his yellow nails towards her breasts. He probably thought himself clever for cornering her when she was alone, up digging clay in the hills around her house.

All it meant was no one could step in to keep her from beating his ass.

She slid out of reach and snatched her shovel from the mound where it stood, blade half-buried. She was a potter, and the shovel was a sharp-edged old friend. Maybe she'd take care of that gelding issue herself.

The shopkeeper jumped back when she slashed the head of the shovel between them. "Beka! The town'll take care of you. Don't be so difficult!"

Her hands clenched on the varnished wood handle. "I've never needed to be taken care of, Simun Blidder, and I won't start now. Get lost, or your wife will hear of this when she picks up that dinner set."

"Aria knows. She doesn't care."

"What?"

"She told me to put myself in. It's a service to the community. Not cheating."

"It's not happening, is what it is. Back off."

"I can't. I lost. Now just—"

"You drew the short straw?"

He blew his stinking, fruity breath in her face. "Well, no one was going to volunteer. Not with you sharp-tongued and rat-faced—"

She thumped the handle of the shovel against the earth, holding it like her spear against the world. She could slap Simun, but the rest of the town was out of reach. "I wouldn't talk if I were you. A squash that rotted in the garden all winter looks a hundred times handsomer than your head."

"Sharp-tongued, like I said. And dressed in rags." He sniffed and rubbed his face. "I wouldn't have had to get half so drunk before this if it were anybody else."

It wasn't rags. It was an old work dress, because you got dirty doing pottery, as Simun would know if he'd ever done a day of real work in his life. It didn't make sense to flit around in ruffles, not when you had seven stone of clay to haul home and a new order for mugs.

Simun grabbed her shoulder while her face was lowered to her skirts. "Come here—"

"Hands off!" Rebecca slammed the flat of the shovel between them, heedless of what parts of Simun were in the way.

"My arm!"

"Try again, and I'll do the other one."

"You crazy woman, don't you know it's for the best?"

"What I know is I'm not some chore to be raffled off!" She bared her teeth at him. Sweat beaded beneath her kerchief. "I said no, Simun. What are you going to do? I'm taller then you. Stronger. I don't sit on my blubber all day counting bags of flour."

He spun away, flashing the back of his mended waistcoat, and scrambled down the hill. "Fine, you dry old bitch! It isn't like anyone else will offer!"

She shouted after him, "Good! I'm counting on it!"

#

Back in her studio, Rebeka wedged clay, pretending to pummel Simun's face instead of soft earth. The wedging table sent up clouds of choking dust with every slam. It coated her lungs like chalk. That was the only reason she was breathing hard. It was.

Her brown and white cat watched from a worktable on the other side of the room, lying white side down. The cat's tail tapped at the edge of a drying plate.

Rebeka glared. "Cat. You get off there before you ruin something."

The tip of its tail drew across the plate's rim, and Rebeka abandoned her wedging. The cat darted to safety on the floor when she grabbed for it.

"Mischief maker. Happiest in trouble, aren't you, you bag of fur? Well, you aren't even a contender this afternoon. I had to deal with Simun."

She checked the plate and smoothed a scratch off its tacky rim. It should've been dry by now. All the plates should have. Damn this cool humidity. And damn the heat that built in her stomach and sent sweat streaming down her brow. It was just her rage at Simun that made her flash hot and cold. Or maybe a fever. It couldn't be anything else.

Cool week or not, it was too hot inside the studio. Rebeka stepped out and pulled off her kerchief, freeing her pale brown hair. The breeze stirred it, and the brook that ran past the house chirped a happy greeting at her.

The sight of her little home, built fifteen years ago with her own hands, eased her outrage.

Dry old bitch. Old, maybe, but she had more worth and self-sufficiency in her littlest finger than was in Simun Blidder's whole family. More worth than her damn brother had ever admitted. More than Susa had ever imagined.

Thoughts of Susa ruined the pep-talk. Rebecca propped the door open and stomped back inside.

The cat jumped on Rebeka's shoulders as she entered. The faint smell of damp fur and mud wafted to her nose. She patted it as it settled itself, its soft paws hanging off her neck. "Simun's a mad drunk. He offered to get me pregnant. Can you believe that? The nerve of the man."

She stalked towards the wedging table set against the brick wall. Passed the pit in the floor where she kept her clay. Her shoes thumped as she walked over the old barn door covering it.

She was tired; she almost thought something thumped back.

Rebeka told the cat, "It's just an excuse of his to embarrass me. He hasn't changed a bit in thirty years."

She slapped wet clay and left a hand print like a wound.

"It was almost like being fifteen again, with the boys teasing at me, except Claricia wasn't here to help me pour ink in anybody's washtub."

The cat purred in her ear.

"Claricia would've clobbered him." Claricia would've never been in this position. Claricia would've been a mother by now. Should've been.

It didn't matter. Claricia was dead.

"He doesn't want to help me," Rebeka said to the cat. "Not a bit. He might've learned to talk pretty to sell goods at five times their price, but I know him. He's the same old Simun."

She leaned down and started to knead clay.

"Besides, I don't believe those grandmothers' tales about old maids birthing magic. They're just stories. I don't believe in them at all."

The cat slipped off her shoulders and out the door without comment. Rebeka went to work making the innkeeper's cups.

#

With four more cups to go, she ran out of wedged clay. The sun had dipped low in the sky and winked at her through the open door. Rebeka's stomach rumbled. She should go in and get a bit of cheese and bread.

The cheese wheel was growing mold that tasted like feet. The bread was just a heel of rye, and stale besides. She was nearly done with the whole order of cups. She could have dinner, what little she had of it, later.

Sweat trickled down her brow, and she wiped her face. The clay dried as though it were a cool evening, but she felt overheated. Just a touch of fever, she told herself again.

A touch of fever that had gone on four months.

Rebeka lit a lamp. Her newly thrown cups lined the edge of the table, casting long shadows across the wall behind them. The clay she had left out on the wedging table was leathery and dry, too tough for throwing.

She muttered a curse and turned towards the clay pit, tossing the dry clay in one of her slop buckets as she passed. It spattered dirty water across the brick floor.

She reached the pit and leaned down to grab the handle of the door and yank up.

The door lifted half an inch, squelched and stopped.

Rebeka frowned. She tugged again, then set her heels and heaved backwards with all her weight thrown in.

The door didn't move.

She shoved at it, and wriggled and pried. Sweat ran down her neck. A cool evening? It was broiling.

The door ripped from her hands. Tore her nails, studded her palms with splinters. It shot towards the roof, and Rebeka's feet skidded in a puddle. Her back slammed into the floor. Her head bounced off brick. Somewhere nearby, the door clattered to the ground.

For a moment, she lay still and squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. She was old enough that a bad fall might mean more than just a day or two in bed. But nothing seemed broken and—

Hair rose at the back of her neck. Something was in the room with her. Something wrong.

She'd done nothing to make a door move like that.

Rebeka eased her eyes open a little at a time. The ceiling overhead didn't have a door embedded in it, but it seemed darker than it had minutes before. Something was blocking the window. Or someone.

Before her paranoia could whisper any more mad notions, she shoved herself to her seat and swung towards the window. There would be a logical explanation for this, just like always.

She stared into clay. It towered above her, gleaming wetly. Her hand prints still marked it, given when she'd kneaded dry earth with water and jammed the result into the pit in her floor.

She'd buried it under wood, but door was gone now, and her hand prints were fading. The clay rolled towards her, the last of it snapping free of the pit like a viper's tail.

"Gods!" Rebeka scrambled to her feet, snatching up her broom as she passed it. "Oh, gods!"

The top of the mound shifted, turning on a nonexistent neck to follow her flight. Rebeka swore it was looking at her without eyes.

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. It was just grandmother's tales. If she'd lost her spark, her child-making-magic, she would've felt something. Would've felt this moment of terrible birth.

Arms peeled from the central mass, as Rebeka might sculpt a doll. A real neck stretched out. A head rounded its end.

Rebeka stifled a shriek. The tales weren't supposed to be real. Damn Simun for being right about anything.

The clay oozed towards her, half her height now. It stretched high as her elbow when it grew legs. It turned a featureless face towards her.

Rebeka whacked it over the head with her broom. "Get back in the pit! I didn't dig all that up only for you to waste it! Get out of my clay!"

The whisk stuck to its brow as though she'd dipped it in pine sap. She yanked back for another blow.

"Get out, you damned spark!"

The handle snapped. Rebecca staggered back with half a broom.

The monster stopped. A fingerless hand plucked the shattered broomstick out of its head. The broom left a bristling halo of straw behind.

The other hand, a formless pad, stretched towards Rebeka.

Rebeka impaled the monster on the broken end of the broom and ran. She bruised a hip on her work table, and one of her cups toppled and splattered against the ground, deforming to a squashed bird's nest. She charged out of the house, tripped over the cat and grabbed it up. Ran with it between the hills, towards the weed-choked road.

Rebeka had muscle, but she wasn't twenty anymore. She faltered at the edge of the dirt track, a red iron burning beneath her breastbone. "Got to go for help," she gasped to the cat, "Got to tell the town—" She stopped.

Tell them what? That she couldn't stop what she made? That Simun was right?

The cat wriggled from her arms and bolted home. Rebeka stared after it. Her jaw set. Damn it, she was not going to let Simun be right.

Rebeka got the ax from the shed. The last of the setting sunlight glinted off the honed blade. On second thought, she grabbed the shovel, too. Ax in her right hand, shovel over her shoulder, she stalked towards the house.

The studio door hung open, but she circled to the other side of the building and peered through the windows, like some peeping tom in the bushes. Lurking in her own bushes. What had the world come to?

The monster crouched near the work table. It had no definition, only vague shape, like a child swathed in wrinkled gray. The broom lay beside the pit, pieces fitted together and covered over in clay. Rebeka blinked. The monster did nothing more.

She circled back to the door and entered with her ax at the ready, the shovel clutched tight. The monster straightened. It had sparse hips and broad shoulders, which prickled the hair on the back of Rebeka's neck. So did she.

The cup that had fallen from the table sat on the ground before it. The monster had merged the split cup back together, crimping the seam like a pie crust. Now it picked it up and tried squishing the corners back into a round. The cup simply squished flat in the other direction.

Rebeka stared at it and lowered the ax. This wasn't like the old stories.

It made one more awkward attempt to right the cup, then held the vessel out to her, still crouched low to the floor.

This wasn't at all like the old stories.

She made no move to take the cup, but those shapeless hands stayed steady and patient.

"What are you?" she asked it. "That doesn't seem like a proper monster thing to do." Still, instinct and curiosity moved her, replacing fear. She shifted the ax to the hand already holding the shovel and took the cup.

A crack spread across its shapeless head, straight at first. Then it twisted upward. It was grotesque. It was appalling. It was trying to smile.

"Hold still," she told it and laid ax and shovel aside.

Its blobby head wobbled, but it sat there.

Carefully, gently, she gave it a face.

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@hyba

@da-na-hae

@macabremoons

[b0nelessdoodles]

Art Summary 2023

shoutout to the one month were i drew fanart and then everything else was just dnd content again lmao (also shoutout to me being late to posting this haaaaa)

2023 wasn't the best year for me personally. between money problems and job searching, health issues, mental health issues, unintentional discomfort at my new job, and the overall issues of the world it just hasn't been great and I felt it heavily in my creativity. I never really had any creative highs this year outside of artfight (and even then i felt like i didn't do well) which only fed into some of the issues I was having.

But looking back I am really happy with most of what I made! Sure I didn't draw much but hey I think I popped off when I did!

So here is to 2024! Already off to a good start in the art department and even if I slow down at least I've had fun so far!

(i was gonna put me gushing about things in tags but its a lot so i'm doing a read more this post is already so damn long lmao i'm sorry)

okay i'm here to gush about two pieces at a time and their contents cause then make me happy to look at so lets get started on that with march and september 'cause hey! look at the relationship development of my little goblin guy!

march was when kk (tic's best friend and now boyfriend) first appeared to the rest of the party outside of just tic talking about him. literally the entire party could see that kk was in love with tic and was just like "oh buddy sorry about that" 'cause tic was a dumbass and romance was just never something he thought about until meeting the party. then we flash forward to september where the two confessed to each other after what really felt like the end of tic's story arc. at least it felt that way to me 'cause he reached his goal of killing groll and becoming the king of goblins but i know he still has shit to do I'M LOOKING AT YOU TRAVELLER AND RIP! but yeah that was the whole reason he left and it was done. he did it! but it almost cost him kk and the two ended up having a really important talk about it. kk chewed tic out and spilled his guts and i still think about it a lot holy shit it was so good omfg but it was in that moment that it clicked for tic. that if he had actually lost kk he had no idea what he would do, that he felt like his whole life would fall apart without him. and just man it was good wholesome content. congrats to the goblins for being the first canon relationship! (even tho they were not the first confession that one goes to rhami!)

now that that block of the text is out of the way we get to more depressing ones, those being january and october with my guy, dr. cecil wilfree.

its just.... man. what do i even say about him. january was probably the last moment before his life went into a full downward spiral, eventually leading into his demise. that piece isn't even anything major but rather something like a reminder going "hey, remember when wilfree had two normal eyes? good times!" and just man (-insert that image of a horse standing on the beach-) compare that to where he's at in october and knowing what happened in those 10 months? january he still had trust and hope, he believed that he was going to get back home and help river out with his plague, maybe even get aster home if she'd let them, maybe find a way to cure himself and help casey. but by the end there was no hope and he found out that he had been used, was nothing more than a tool for someone who he trusted, despite knowing that he really shouldn't have. river was dead and it was his fault (at least in his mind it was), he had failed to protect aster and traumatized both her and willow, and he could do nothing to save an entire population from being wiped off the face of the map. and he caved under the guilt. he gave up. its sad to see him alive and pissy in january and then look at december and see a shell of the same man, no more thoughts in that head as his mind got disconnected from his body and self.

and then for extra sads we've got december which was his birth month, so i drew something from a time before the campaign. back when he was alive and well, no soul curse and unknowing of the horrors yet to come, and receiving a gift from someone whose life he could soon destroy due to his own hubris.

anyway! pay no mind to may! i didn't draw a damn thing that whole month!

[haiihellooo]

I know I talk too much, but I had to get this out, because, like I said, I have nothing better to do. Okay, so, first of all I CAN'T TAKE THIS SHIT ANYMORE!! I don't know why so many things piss me off, like, to the point where I'll be like "I won't think about this tonight" and it keeps me up all night. Idk if this is some childish shit or I'm genuinely gonna burst a blood vessel. Some stupid fucker says something online and I HAVE to respond. Misunderstandings piss me off so much, and with that, I will name shit that's been pissing me off lately. 1. The comic Lydia situation- I LOVE comic Lydia to death, and I'm sure the two people who, yearly, accidentally click on my posts know that too, but these DUMBASS bitches don't know that. Every FUCKING time I see a post about comic Lydia, it's some braindead idiot saying the same thing we've seen a million times. YES, SHE LICKED CARL'S EYE! WE FUCKING GET IT! "I can't believe Lydia would do that 🥺" If it's so traumatizing, DON'T.READ.THE.COMICS! Another thing is how Lydia was 16 and Carl was 13. I've already established that I ONLY ship TV!Carl X Comic!Lydia/TV!+Comic!Carl (whatever fucking fusion I created) X Comic!Lydia, but people be saying shit like "OMG, LYDIA'S SUCH A CREEPY CREEPER FOR THAT 😭😭!" Bffr, bitch, this girl has been to hell and back, AND was taught so much bullshit. 1. That childhood didn't exist, 2. That people could do WHATEVER the hell they want to her, and 3. That she was an animal. What the fuck do you expect? Lollipops and daisies? Open your eyes, brotha. For some reason, people are saying that Lydia SA'd Carl and trauma dumped on him about her situation at camp. Really? That's what we're going with? Dude, she was TAUGHT to DO these THINGS! Holy CRAPPPPAPAPAP!! 2. The SHOW Lydia situation- This girl makes me want to peel the skin off of my nonexistent balls. People will sympathize for TV Lydia SO much! "She didn't deserve what she went through!!" Be so fr. TV Lydia didn't even scratch the surface of what comic Lydia went through. Sure, she was in a shitty situation too, but girl got TWO boyfriends AND two father figures. Comic Lydia got slapped in the fucking face by her mom, and, in the end, didn't even get to be with Carl. Wtf is this? And people say: "Well, she got bullied." I'm not sure being bullied is worse than being r-worded and nearly killed to spite your mother. I see all these FUCKING "TV Lydia >>> Comic Lydia" shit. What did this girl do? They make her seem like a monster for doing WHAT SHE WAS TAUGHT! If someone tells you "Hey, y'know red means go and green means stop" from the time you're 10, I bet you'd get hit by a fucking 18 wheeler. Another thing, that bitch was ANNOYING! Jesus Christ, I don't wanna sound one-sided but HOLY CRAP! Nothing against Cassady, but "WAAA, MY MAMA HATES ME!" Girl, stop. The Chandler Riggs situation- Stfu about this horse shit. It never happened. Kys. Free my man Chandler 💪 Empty fanbase- I can't do it. I can't fucking do it. I have to keep recycling the same comic Lydia images over and over and OVER AGAIN! There's hardly ANY fanart of her, hardly ANY edits, and the ONLY time I see anything with her "Me reacting to Lydia licking Carl's eye 🤓" These pussy baby bitches, bro. I'm literally alone here. Whenever I try to defend my point online, some overweight person behind a computer SHITS on my FUCKING point, leaving me looking like a damn idiot. All because I'm saying you shouldn't label a kid as a creep because she's scared. But NOOOOOOOOOO, one person says something and the fucking hivemind begins. I'm here with my SCRAPS of comic Lydia content. My SHITASS DRAWINGS, all because people, for some reason, want this girl dead. And with that, I will stfu. Idgaf. Suck my ass. Show Lydia sucks ass, (not) respectfully. I will defend comic Lydia 'til this earth blows. My girl deserves better. If comic Lydia has one fan, it's me. If she has zero fans, I'm dead. And, yes, I will keep being dramatic and rant about dumb shit I read online.

[dunmercatadventures]

Entry 17: Loredas, 30th Last Seed, 4E201

Another eventful day, and one that has set a few paths in front of me.

We spent the evening at the Bannered Mare, and this morning Khajiit found a lost journal from some other adventurer. It said he had been hired by some Altmer collector whose family had been cursed to always need to add to their collection, and sent to Whiterun to track down a thief who had been caught after stealing the Ring of Khajiit for him. Conveniently enough, the fool's journal pointed me to the Dragonsreach dungeon, so I was able to investigate after speaking with Farengar. The spellbook this one noticed yesterday turned out to not be all that interesting, but she did find an Elemental Flare spell. It's a strain on my magica reserves, but I soon found it quite powerful! Lucien purchased a tome for conjuring a spectral wolf, and he's treating it like a damn puppy.

The dungeons were easy to sneak into, and this one found a grate that led to a tunnel mentioned in that journal. I will forever curse my lack of my mother's Night Eye, one of the worse aspects of my mixed blood, but luckily there was a torch handy, so I was able to find my way to where the thief stashed their ring, and a note about the locations of a few other magic rings that are sure to fetch a nice deal at the museum. The only problem, that N'wah stole the wrong ring! I've seen drawings and replicas of this artifact, and it's definitely not this Nordic gold band with an emerald. At least I was able to pawn it off to the general store for a good price, and I've still got some leads.

Before I left the palace though, that Breton man by the Jarl's side gave me a notice for a promising job: ride to the Traitor's Post and rescue a kidnapped merchant from some bandits. It was a long way, near Windhelm, but I took it anyway. This one had finally made enough to purchase a horse, so despite the rain, we set out at noon. After a few encounters with wolves and a pair of savage beasts Faendel called Sabrecats, we made it to the Post. It was full if bandits, and for reasons I have yet to discern, the swits were under seige by the Camonna Tong. The current guess is they had a contract out on the leader, or were there to save the merchant. Regardless, we managed to take them all down thanks to the chaos, but we were too late for the merchant. Poor bastard was nude and strapped to a chair by the hearth. We've holed up here for the evening; the rotting walls don't do too much to keep out the cold, but khajiit would rather camp here than go into the city and deal with the locals. I'm considering "borrowing" some armor from one of the Tong, it's not like many here would recognize it, let alone call me out for impersonation.

[openly-journaling]

Wrath: Friday January 20th 2023

Was in the middle of working on a mini animation and our last nib broke and we move in a little over a week now provided the weather is good. Kind of late to order more so now we won't be able to draw for two weeks unless we desperately pull out our old tablet and learn to redraw on that thing.

I'm sobbing dying inside because we finally got off block and got our creativity back after nearly an entire year it feels like. Like we really got back into it.

I never really realized how much of a coping mechanism art was until we fell out of after healing from a lot of our trauma and now are dividing back into it since we're we're staying in the town that legitimately gave us all our worst traumas. And then of course the creativity came back.

Does make me wonder if we ever get comfortable enough if we'll ever even somewhat give drawing up. I say somewhat because we do want to try architecture but at the same time I have a feeling there a couple people down south that may very well resurface a lot of trauma for us. Which, while we don't exactly want and definitely try to avoid, it's good for our art.

So maybe our trauma isn't all bad.

But I've also come to this realization that a lot of artists really hate their art and their art style. Which is odd to us because we've been in that same boat but not to such severity. If we make a mistake we hate specifically that mistake but let it be to learn from it in the future. I think the early gentle parenting growing up that our dad gave us before foster care shattered us helped shape our confidence early on. So we don't struggle quite as much. We rarely compare our art to others and when we do it's more of an obsession over their art that we try to even semi copy that art style or implement it into our own.

Perhaps the worst hate we put on our art is when something just isn't working perspective wise or the lineart isn't working. I suppose we have worked to be perfect but perfect to us. Which was almost always good enough.

The way the whole class would stand over our shoulder in amazement and watch us draw gave us a confidence too. It made us feel good and adored. Considering we didn't get a ton of attention growing up.

It became less and less impressive to people as we got older but there are still some people that absolutely go wild for our art. We've finally found a comfortable community that loves it! The furry community has been very kind to our art.

I think our problem for so long was trying to draw furry art in front of people that decided dogs having head hair must mean that's a horse despite the different nose and sharp teeth. That was annoying. Completely different face shapes. We drew animals in front of people that preferred human art.

Which, while we still enjoy doing sometimes, we are still heavily learning and even come to learn more how much happier furry art brings us. So.. we'll stick with what we love most, what we're good at whether people like it or don't. And eventually we'll find our crowd.

I'm just glad we don't have a huge lack of confidence in our skill of art. We can look back at the oldest shit and wonder how people thought that was good. And it makes us realize that we have come a very very long way. We're proud of ourselves. Really.

Next we're going to attempt to work on more perspectives. Like this piece I'm so damn proud of. Our first drawing where we're really trying a different perspective.

No actually, that's the second one. Now that I think of it, this is our first. Unfortunately so many people want to call it inappropriate though and it never hit off. Like I'm sorry that people legit have asses? I'm sorry for drawing it right? She fell that's the whole point of this piece was just to get a literal difference in perspective. It's not like I'm exposing her or giving you a full on ass shot in the face. My god. And that was before a signature change as you can see

Anyway. We've come a very long way since then and I'm just happy with all of it. Satisfied that we can do so well.

I guess I do sometimes wish our art style wasn't so set as it is because there are definitely artists that have art styles we're jealous of. But to be fair, if we all had the same style... I think art would get pretty boring. So.. I'm glad I have a recognized art style of my own.

It does change depending on the headmate but not always. I'm not arguing with that. Hell most of our headmates can't draw at all! I'm glad to be one that can.

[xarrixii]

On the eighth day of Writemas a writing prompt game hosted by agirlandherquill

The sacred silence was ruptured with a thundering, a drumming, the sounds of war had arrived, and the end had come.

Casimir was dead.

Leon's fist slammed into the war table, letter crumpling in her hand.

No, she thought with heavy breaths and fingers tumbling through hair she hadn't yet pulled back today. He can't be dead. He's not. He said he would come back, that rat⸺

"Young Lady Harkon," the messenger tried.

"This isn't some joke, is it?" Leon huffed. "How'd he go?"

A maid softened behind her, "M'lady, did you need something to drink?"

Leon ignored the offer and stared down the messenger, throwing the crumpled note across the table back at him. He flinched, making effort not to stare back. "I asked a question."

"We couldn't treat him in time, Lady Leon." The messenger's hands fiddled behind his back. "His fellow soldiers attempted to apply alchemical aid, but Casimir succumbed to his injuries before it took effect."

Her fingers scratched into the wooden table.

Damn it, she called. Hells fucking damn it.

"I need Dúrcapall drawn," Leon said without thinking. "There's an alchemist I must speak to."

"Dúrcapall is no longer in the stables, M'lady. The magician, Gray, stole him most recently." The maid shifted uncomfortably.

Leon laughed aloud, hearty and pained.

"Draw me one of the damned horses!" she snapped. Then muttered a quiet apology and ordered the messenger out of the room.

Casimir did not have permission to die. Leon had been relying on the assumption of him inheriting the Harkon Dukedom rather than her, even though Lord Harkon himself had insisted they were both in a race for it. But because of the greed and emotional grudges between two alchemists, he was dead.

That was not reversible. He was gone.

How many other knights will have to die before this is quelled? Leon experimentally, if nothing else just to move her hands, moved pieces around on the war table's laid-out map. She'd been assessing the southern border crisis' respawning when the messenger had barged in, barely awake and without a scrap of food inside her yet.

Her hands trembled and lingered on each piece as she moved them about.

How much more blood must be left permanently shed before this magician sucks it up hops off his arse?

"Lady Leon," the stable manager poked their head into the war room. "Your horse has been prepared. Do you need anything else?"

"Besides enough mana to rewind time itself, I'll have to decline." Leon shifts a ribbon out from her pocket and ties up her hair, handing the crumpled letter to the manager. "Inform Lord Harkon of this' contents and that I've departed from the manor to address what he refuses to. If he asks what that refers to, tell him I'm finding my damned horse."

"Yes, My Lady," he bows and holds the door open for Leon to exit.

She forced herself not to think of Casimir as she fled from the estate.

related to story #1 on my pinned post

prompt: The sacred silence was ruptured with a thundering, a drumming, the sounds of war had arrived, and the end had come. join me (and several others) this writemas! write when you can and know we're writing together.

**no ping because late again lmao

link to prompt post | link to writemas invite

[marblesarelost]

Continuation of "Performance."

A quick wash to get the oil sheen off her skin, back in her leathers and her hair braided up and pinned properly, she waited for Joss to come get her. Above her, she could hear the Pillow Guild members moaning and coaxing their lovers; they were always in high demand after her show, and that was probably the only reason they didn't gang up on her and demand a cut of her pay. Wouldn't surprise her if Nana Uli didn't come pay her a visit sometime after a show anyway, though.

Joss came to the doorway, jerked his head, and she rose to follow him to the back room where he stored extra kegs and kept the books at a desk that she was still surprised woodworms hadn't eaten right through. He turned up the lamp, and it was then that she saw he wasn't carrying one urn of coin, but two. Coin fell then on the old wood, copper and silver coins from all over; so long as the weight was good, she didn't care what king or queen's face was on the money.

"Siddown," Joss invited, and she did so, watching as his fat fingers slid all the money to one side, then divided it deftly into coppers and silvers. And he began to count, the coppers first, always the coppers first, one for him, and one for her. "Word's got out," he said as he slid the coins about. "Word's got out that you're here twice a moon, and you're good. You're damn good."

"I thank you for the compliment," she replied, keeping her voice low and pleasant.

"Wouldja consider goin' onc't a ten-day, instead o' twice a moon?" He asked, still pleasant. "Three shows or so instead. Wouldn't be that much more."

"I wouldn't be a rarity then," she pointed out. "And I've only the one routine." Oh, she had more. She had more than this sly little man could imagine, her sisters and her mother had often danced this way amongst their own, but that was long ago and far away, in the campfire light, the timbre and the lurek as accompaniment.

"Could talk wi' some t'others," Joss offered. "Bet some'd be right happy to help you out, your nights bring in more custom than most."

"I have to think about it," she said instead of turning him down flat, and that was true; it was late, and she would already be half dead at the forge come morning light. "Give me till next show to give you yes or no."

"Aye, I can do that," Joss agreed with a gap toothed grin, beer heavy on his breath. She didn't flinch or stiffen, and he never leaned in close, only kept his hands moving on the money. "There. Eighty-four copper for you, eighty-five for me, call it fair?"

"I do," she agreed; it was his place, and that had been the bargain. If it couldn't be fair split, then he got the extra because of that. Of course, he also got the extra custom from all the beer and ale and wine he'd sold while folks waited for her show, but she didn't point that out. Now the silver, and there was more tonight than there had ever been before. He kept his tongue while he counted it out.

"Thirty-six for you. Thirty-six for me. Fair?"

"Fair," she agreed, and held out her purse for him to fill. Before she could draw it closed and back to her waist, though, he caught her wrist, faster than she'd expected.

"Think on it, quer'in," he used the Xerx word for cousin. "We could both make more money, and you know you're safe here, and your secret is safe here. Saxri needs the lung-ease more and more as fall and winter come, I know." His voice softened a bit. "There will come a day when even the strongest lung-ease potion won't help him anymore. And what will you do then?"

"The same as I would want done for me," she murmured. "A quick death. I won't let him drown in it."

"No. And for that, you'll need a Horseperson. Or..." he leaned in very close now, his voice dropping to a whisper. "There's someone I've heard of," he said. "Someone who ain't Horse, but she sees the Rider clear and true. I don't know that she could clear the way for him, but I don't know she cain't."

"And what would she charge?" She asked.

"I don't know. But it can't be more than one of the damn Horse would, that's certain sure. I can put word out, if you want."

"Not...not yet," she replied, her voice, her whole body shaking. "Not yet. I think we'll get through the winter --" she hated herself as she heard herself gulp air, stammer, "I think we'll get through the winter one more time."

"I hope so," Joss said, patting her hand. "I do, I hope so, Saxri's a good fella. Still got the daggers he made for me, they ain't never notched."

"They never will, so long as you take care of them," she agreed, nodding to hide her tears for the second it took to force them back. "I'll see you Elmsday after next."

"I ain't pushin' you," Joss said, nodding. "I won't push you, quer'in. But it might be somethin' to think on."

"I will. I promise I will," she agreed, and let him lead her to the back door.

[riku-izanami]

Hey all, with the permission of @the-wayward-arc, I bring you Elena meeting......nora

Jaune: I honestly can't believe I have a cousin......from your side of the family not less. How come you never told me about them

Elena: I've been out of contact with holy terra for what seems to be eons now. When I was present most of my sisters did not care for such thing after Hera's betrayal & father's entombment.

Jaune: well.... I guess that makes sense....

Elena: *her expression turned to concern*....

Jaune: Mom? Is something wrong

Elena: just...a thought really..... it's.....*in thought "what if my sister's children fall to chaos"*

*THUMP THUMP THUMP*

Elena: what....is that noise.

Jaune:...oh boy.....not again

*THUMP THUMP THUMP*

Random student: OH MY $#@&@+¥¢ OUM RUN!

Elena: *looking at jaune* you know what it is

Jaune: *deadpanning* it's more of a who.........and sort of a what...

Elena: *eyes widen,& draws her sword* a daemon! Well, no foul daemon has ever survived a....

Jaune: I think she's worst than a daemon...OH @$#@ MOM INCOMING!

*Elena turned just in time to face the full force of a pink blur*

Elena: OOOOFF

???: HIYA AUNTY!!

Elena: *slowly coming her dazed state*....aunty? Who

Jaune: DAMN IT NORA! DON'T BODY SLAM MY MOTHER EVER AGAIN!

*Elena set her sights on the now named Nora. Her eyes widen at the mere sight of her toothy grin*

Nora: sorry jaune-jaune. I just wanted to let aunty Elena

Jaune: well there are better ways to greet someone you know, *turns to Elena* are you ok mom...

Elena: *stunned completely* impossible......

Jaune: ummm.....mom....

Nora: uh oh...*speeds off behind jaune* did I accidentally break her?

*the students watched Elena pick herself up, approach Nora, & inspected her like she had done emerald*

Jaune: uh mom....*realization slowly sets in*..... don't tell me...Nora is...

Nora: YUP *points her thumb at herself, giving a toothy grin, showing her fangs* I'm an official member of you family. We're cousins!

Jaune: *barely even registering this info*...if your....if she......then

Elena: I can't believe it......the offspring of Lena Russ...the wolf queen of fenris

(this is Nora's mom)

*After the ball drop of nora being a child of a primarch*

Nora: *on her 3rd stack of pancakes* and that's how Jeff, my best bird thingy friend, showed me the portal to remnant. then I got stuck here

Jaune:.....*visably speachless*

Elena: your scared chaos daemons, survived alone in the wilderness, and possess a bottomless appetite.....you truly are lena's daughter

Nora: yup, *pulls back her lips showing her fangs* and the teeth to prove it

Jaune:hey Nora.....

Nora: yes jaune-jaune?

Jaune: how did you survive in the wilderness alone

*Elena raises an eyebrow at her son's question*

Nora: I wasn't alone...I had renny.

Jaune:..true..but Ren still had his parents, you didn't meet him till you we're around five

Elena: true, even Lena found comfort with a pack of wolves to keep her alive

Nora: wait....momma was raised by wolves..... that's...So....COOL! Did have eat raw meat?! Oh was she forced walk on all fours. Is it too late for me to be raised by sloths? I like sloths. And pancakes, speaking of which...I need more pancakes

Elena: *sighing & shaking her head* just like Lena

Jaune: *snapping Nora back to him* Nora! Focus.....

Nora: right....right......what were we talking about

Elena: how you and this Ren survived in the wilderness

Nora: well....*scratching her head*....I had my auntie kanna

Elena: Who?

in the forest surrounding kuroyuri, an infant could be heard crying. This infant is Nora, only 2 years old and she was trick into going through a portal to a strange new land with no way home. With no familiarity of her surroundings & her calls for her mother unheard left Nora unbearably distressed, which did not seem good at the moment for one creature had heard her cries. A nuckaleeve, a bizarre and dangerous Grimm with a humanoid torso attached to a horse that terrorized this part of the forest, approached the tiny girl, eyes fixed on her with mouths watering. A human like this was no threat at all and provides a fairly easy to meal. In addition to it being alone made it all the more easier. With a mighty screech, the nuckaleeve charged towards Nora ready to make quick work of it's snack.

Nora turned her tiny head towards the strange noise that fill ed the air moments ago. But instead was met with complete silence as if someone killed all animals. Nor did Her tiny eyes see the disintegrating carcase of the nuckaleeve in the shadows. Her cries started again only to be quickly silenced by a dark, feminine and rather scratchy voice

???: hush now child of Lena , there is no reason to cry

Nora: *hiccuping she turns to look at the stranger who mentioned her mother's name*

The stranger was female, dressed in dark armour with strange claws on both her arms. Nora was quite fearful of her saviors appearance & voice. So much so she began to back away slowly.

???: It's alright little one *kneeling down spreading her arms in a welcoming manner* I am no threat to you

Nora was apprehensive until it was apparent the stranger ment no harm. Crawling into her arms, Nora gave a happy giggle her way of show affection.

The strange woman smiled at her companion, & proceeded to walk to an unknown location

Kassandra curze: your auntie kanna will keep you safe

(first actually prompt I've actually done. Once again, this is a loose interpretation of @the-wayward-arc parental primarchs au. I've decided to take some creative liberties such as; I decided to live ren's parents & kuroyuri alive and well. Also have nora cared for by a gender swapped Konrad curze. Why because I like her design, and thinks she might actually be a some what good parental figure as atonement for her actions way back when. Hope yall like It, please follow @the-wayward-arc for more RWBY x Warhammer content

[12timetraveler]

Like You Hate Me, But You Love Me

400 Follower contest winner

@ttuesday won the 400 follower contest, and requested a Morbell piece.

I've never written for Morbell, it's not really my cup of tea, but I enjoyed taking on this challenge and it was interesting writing for them. This is so different from the normal sweet soft steamy sex that I usually write. But I did enjoy writing it. It was fun to mix things up. Don't know that I'm gonna become a regular Morbell writer though. XD

Ttuseday I hope this is what you were looking for!

~~~~

Pairing: Morbell, Arthur Morgan/Micah Bell

Rating: Explicit

CW: hate sex. Yeah that's... That's about it.

WC: 1217

~~~~

The sounds that left Micah’s lips were beyond sinful, heavy pants and low moans fit to make the baudiest working girl blush. Arthur Morgan had that effect on him. Always had.

"Ya like that, dontcha," Arthur growled in Micah's ear, broad chest pressed against Micah's back as he pinned the man to the bed. "Don't you dare deny it," Arthur chuckled, thrusting sharply into Micah, his large cock brushing against the man's prostate and drawing another sinful, pitiful sound from his lips. "Not like you could, with all those sweet noises you're making."

"Arthur," Micah groaned, squirming away on reflex, overstimulated and hurting but in the very best way. "Shit," he whimpered as Arthur's big hands came down to rest on Micah's shoulders and pin him in place.

"None of that," Arthur growled, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "You been pestering me about this for weeks. Every time we're alone you been begging for my cock. Nearly got us caught by the others. Camp ain't big enough for you to just be talking about this so often. But damn near every day since our last night out, you've been weaseling up against me, sweet talking me." Arthur chuckled at the way Micah keened under him. "Nah, you want this. I know you do."

"Yes," Micah gasped. "Arthur. Yes. I-" he was cut short as Arthur gripped his shoulder and began pounding into him.

"Don't stop on my account," Arthur growled. "What were you saying?"

"I-I-I love your c-cock!" Micah cried out, fingers fisting in the blankets. Arthur rumbled in pleasure and slowed his thrusts down, still slamming into Micah's ruined hole hard with each thrust, but taking it slower, prolonging both their pleasure and giving Micah a bit of a breather.

"When-when is it my turn?" Micah panted.

"Your turn?"

"Do I ever get to fuck you?"

"Not with the way you've been acting lately," Arthur laughed. "Little brat that you are. Bad boys don't get to fuck me," Arthur nipped at Micah's neck, making the man groan and keen underneath him.

"That ain't fair," Micah whined. "I'm always a bad boy."

"Then you ain't gonna get to take me any time soon." Arthur huffed, shifting his position on the bed so he could hit that angle just right inside of Micah.

Micah wailed as Arthur began pounding into him once more, hitting his prostate directly.

"A-arthur I'm gonna-"

"Don't you dare," Arthur warned, reaching between Micah's hips and the bed below him. His large, rough hand wrapped around the base of Micah's cock and gave him a squeeze, keeping his orgasm at bay while he continued his relentless thrusting. "not until I say you can."

Micah whined and whimpered underneath him, wanting - NEEDING - to cum, but not wanting to disobey Arthur.

It was crazy how different he was under Morgan's attentions. Back at camp if Arthur told him to do something, he'd do the opposite. But here, in this busted, abandoned cabin with just the two of them, he was powerless to do anything less.

Except his cock had other ideas. No matter how much he strained, thought of horse dung and anything else he could do to stave off his orgasm, it was sucked out of him.

Micah sighed and moaned and whimpered as his cock twitched against his stomach, still pressed between him and the bed. Arthur began stroking him slowly, dragging out his pleasure even more.

Then it was too much, his cock oversensitive. He squirmed against Arthur, trying to get out, get away. But Arthur gripped him tighter, pinning him down with his massive body. His hips continued to jerk against Micahs ass, still fucking him hard.

"Nuh-uh. I said you didn't get to cum yet." Arthur growled.

"'M sorry. I couldn't help it," Micah whined. "You feel so good. I couldn't stop it. Arthur please..."

Arthur shushed him, surprisingly gentle, cock still slamming into him.

"I know," Arthur whispered "But you want to make it up to me, dontcha?"

Micah nodded desperately, hips jerking and squirming on reflex as Arthur stroked him back to hardness.

"That's it," Arthur purred. "Now you are not allowed to cum again until you feel me empty my load inside of you, got it?"

"Y-yes Arthur," Micah mewled.

"Good." Arthur said, nipping Micah's neck one more time before he lifted himself slightly and returned to his punishing pace.

Micah clung to the blankets for dear life, unable to do anything but hold on and enjoy the ride. Arthur's hand continued stroking Micah's cock all the while, even as he was thrusting faster and faster, harder and harder.

"Micah," Arthur warned as his thrusts became more and more erratic.

"Give it to me," Micah groaned, his stomach burning as his second orgasm was building.

Arthur let out the most beautiful sound as he came, hips thrusting wildly for a moment before he buried himself deep inside of Micah.

Arthur's hand continued to stroke Micah's dripping cock, the tension in Micah's stomach building and building until--

~~~~~~~~~

Micah woke from his dozing with a start, hand flicking down to his gun on reflex. But it was just him in this cold, snowy cabin up Mount Hagan.

Morgan had been dead for years. Micah had killed him with his own bare hands, or just about had. Micah had left before he took his final breaths.

But these dreams still haunted him. Arthur had never touched him like that, never fucked him like that. The man had only ever looked at Micah with disgust. And a bit of jealousy, so Micah always thought. But never lust.

He’d had these dreams even when the man was still alive. Ever since he’d joined the gang, all those years ago, before it all went wild. Since the moment he’d laid eyes on Arthur, he wanted nothing more than to have the man pin him down and fuck him into the grass.

“Shame he went soft,” Micah mumbled, trying to shrug it off, trying to save face to… himself really. No one else was in the room, or privy to the thoughts he’d always had. He tried to play it off like it was nothing, convince himself it was just his depraved mind playing with him. But that pit would always form in his stomach every time he thought of Arthur Morgan.

Micah groaned as he shifted in his cot. He was hard as a rock for a dead man who never gave him the time of day. He chewed his lip, trying to decide if he would take care of himself, or step outside and let the cold bring his cock under control.

His pride preferred the latter option, but for some reason today he couldn't shake the feeling of Arthur inside of him, the sound of his panting in his ear.

Micah unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his cock, which stayed rock solid despite the cold. He gave himself a few lazy strokes then glanced around the cabin, assuring himself he was alone and no one would witness what he was doing next.

With his other hand, Micah reached around and pressed a finger in his right hole. He hissed slightly at the abrupt entry, but quickly the burning turned to pleasure as he continued stroking himself.

*Arthur," he sighed.

[bvlgae]

"I hate you!"

He's acting his age and he knows it. At least he has that much of an excuse. His eyes sting. Tears are welling up, threatening to spill over, to draw glistening streaks over his cheeks. Sephiroth balls up his fists instead, wills the tears not to fall because that's the last gods damned thing he needs. And what he needs right now is to hang onto his anger.

Somehow, he thought he'd be used to it by now. Nothing but a muzzled pet, a prized science fair project, or a show horse paraded around for a crooning audience. Not a person. Not someone to anybody.

All those life lessons, the wrinkles at the corner of Ravus's eyes when he narrated over a new story and Sephiroth laughed along with it, cuddling by firelight on cold nights, discarded candy wrappers, and counting shooting stars. That wasn't for him.

Why can't he just be? Why can't people just let him exist for who he is? To see him and not something or someone else?

The signs were there. He had chosen to ignore them for so long. Whenever Ravus looked at him out of the corner of his eye or when the other man ruffled his hair...He wasn't seeing Sephiroth, but Lunafreya.

Pinpointing the exact moment he figured out what was happening seems impossible. Hearing Ravus stumble over Lunafreya's name, openly confusing memory for reality...that hurt too much to describe.

Sephiroth tries to leave, to turn away and fight his way through the shrubbery clawing at his legs because he knows he can't stop the tears now. They run hot, like little flames burning all the way down until they drip off the end of his chin.

"You miss her so bad-- you should go find her then! What the hell are you doing with me?! Just leave me alone. I don't need you. I don't need anybody."

It was a mistake, he knows. But his attempt at explaining his error is cut short, by three words that manage to wound him deeper than any sword or stray bullet.

The boy doesn't mean it. He couldn't.

...did he?

"Wait, you're only going to hurt yourself-" he tries to keep his tone steady, not raising volume or casting an edge to it, nothing that can be further misconstrued.

As much as it hurts, Sephiroth's emotions were more important to him. He wanted- No, needed to set this right.

"I misspoke. You've seen me get confused before- Disassociate from the present. That's all it was."

Perhaps a weak excuse, but there was truth to it.

Of course he missed her. How couldn't he? How could he ever disrespect or think ill of Lunafreya after what he did.

"She's... dead, Seph. And I've known, for a long time, that she's never coming back. No one could ever replace the void left in my heart that she once occupied. The same way that no one could ever replace you."

How could he describe it in words that didn't sound paltry in comparison to what he felt? If he couldn't retain his pride, he could at least retain what little humanity he had left. Maybe it was too late for even that.

"All I had to ground me for years was revenge. They tell you sometimes it's better to just forget- How could I forget? How could I forgive? To me, forgiveness was something that could only be given by those who still had something to begin with. You know that when it gets tough like that, it's going to turn ugly. I thought that I didn't care how low I sunk, how far gone I'd be, but it's different now. Everything's different. I hated it at first, but fuck it- I've been working for a long time and I haven't done much with the earnings. You want to leave? You want to disappear, we can do that. You wanted to go to Costa del Sol? Hell, we'll do that too- Buy a bed with feathers stuffed into it and everything, no keeping our backs to the wall, no sleeping with one eye open anymore. Just those fruity drinks with stupid, tiny umbrellas and miles of nothing but ocean."

They'd done enough killing, it was time to start living.