#disenchantment prompts

[incorrectquotesideas-deactivated]

Person A: Person B, I always thought your non-stop negativity was a coping mechanism. But now…

Person A: I see you were right from the beginning.

[mandareeboo]

Drabble prompts! Send me any fandom I normally write!

[notmorbid]

i am homeless if this is not my home.

dialogue prompts from i am homeless if this is not my home by lorrie moore.

i suffer stage fright everywhere but the stage.

i am braced at every turn for disenchantment.

i sort of remember you.

i am here for you and with you.

what is there to be bitter about?

people don't think i know who they are.

reminiscence is an earache.

i am personally unreconciled to just about everything.

i have about two weeks of sobbing i haven't gotten around to yet.

i am so burned out.

do you remember that day?

all 'good' usually means is that someone got lucky.

i don't believe in 'good' anything.

there was no one heroic in my entire ancestral line, i'm pretty sure.

it's easier to speak when you don't have to look at people.

i didn't think you'd live this long.

i never really closed out the tab on ___.

i'm ostensibly more myself, or building up that way.

all that wanting's going to wear you out.

you? feel sorry for me?

i'm so sorry this is happening to you.

every marriage has a sinister little wobble in it.

i thought you might win. i really did.

jesus. i thought you were here to cheer me up.

the real story is never the official one.

if it adds up too neatly, it probably isn't correct.

be careful. you'll hear from HR.

democracy is a fine idea, but we've never actually had it.

did you bring any weed?

i miss you already.

i can't just come home.

i still have some things i want to tell you.

failure is a form of vacation.

i've never been good at connecting dots.

photos are a weird form of time travel.

why were you working so late?

may i kiss you?

you may want to sit down.

we were never on the same page at the same time.

are you trying to hug me?

i don't know how to block people.

i guess i'm like a bad penny. always turning up.

i guess death is kind of a spectrum.

did you think i had forgotten you?

changes of heart are my superpower.

aren't you happy to see me?

are you going to make me do a ted talk about my devious inner world?

it's hard to forgive what you've turned me into.

didn't you try to forget me?

your vitals are not so vital.

i did nothing but want you.

this mirror is gaslighting me.

you never really know where anybody is.

is this a dream? where am i?

i think this is a crime in several states.

it's not the prayer, it's the things you do to move the prayer along that give the prayer a fighting chance.

faith is not about argument.

i want my death to be helpful, even if it turns out it's not. i want to try to be helpful.

did you really die?

are you joking? sometimes i can tell, but not always.

we were each other to each other. not everyone can say that.

i'm sorry that i failed you.

is there something you'd like to share with the class?

you're going to carry me?

i'm a lot of things i didn't tell you.

life is a tough room.

where would we be without music?

i think i should be wearing sunglasses.

hang on. i'm going to sweep you off your feet.

sorry if i resemble a swamp person.

it's not haunted or anything.

i don't keep the shotgun loaded.

if anything seems not to work, just kick it, smack it, or unplug it then plug it back in.

now would be the time to cry.

i have an extra shirt you can wear.

here with you. this is my home.

the dead prefer the company of the living.

do we have a safe word?

you have a lot of weird knowledge.

i know this is too soon, but i do believe i love you.

don't you love farce?

my bad. i thought that you'd want what i want.

i want you in the world, where you belong.

i'm just a bump in your road.

i will miss your rogue and random energy.

tell people i was fun.

listen to me. everything is going to be okay.

you're just going to leave me here?

i realize it's over, but i can't let go.

[evilartist37]

Trying to think of how exactly I want to do the next prompt for Blorbovember. I’m doing a drawing of Tiabeanie from Disenchantment. Wondering if I should do her in my style or in the show’s style. 🤔 What the heck, I’ll let you guys decide.

This is the reference picture I’ll be using.

[fbenvs3000f24]

Unit 10 Blog Post

Describe your personal ethic as you develop as a nature interpreter. What beliefs do you bring? What responsibilities do you have? What approaches are most suitable for you as an individual?

Throughout my life, and now throughout this course, my love for nature has grown and evolved quite a bit leading to the interpreter I am today. I feel that each week through the assigned textbook and supplemental readings, along with the blog prompts and getting to read others’ posts, I have been able to learn a lot about my personal ethic as an interpreter. 

Me out in Lake Erie enjoying nature!

For me, I believe that the interpretation of nature through a variety of goggles is the best way to go about it. In fact, I believe that you cannot only interpret nature under one lens, you need a mixture of outlooks to truly understand and appreciate the natural world. As a science major, it is easy for me to believe that science is one of the most crucial ways we can interpret nature because it brings along an understanding of what exactly we are seeing around us. Understanding why plants are green or why chipmunks may be burying their food helps to provide a deeper understanding and appreciation of our environment. As mentioned in one of week five’s supplemental readings, complicated issues such as the loss of biodiversity gain a lot of support when community members are taught about, and engaged in, the science behind it (Wals et al., 2014). By interpreting nature through a scientific lens we are better able to make sure people are informed about what is really going on around them and hopefully inspire them to take action when the natural world around them is at risk. 

Sea stars I collected for experiments in a marine research course!

Even though I believe that science is necessary when interpreting nature, I do not think it would provide someone with everything they needed to love nature for all that it is. While science provides an understanding of what is going on, it sometimes lacks emotion. I believe that a major part of nature is the emotions that it provides to the interpreter and one of the main ways to feel those emotions is through forging a more personal connection through the arts. Whether that be through painting, drawing, crafts, music, or any other form of art, it is what truly connects us to nature. Taking something as simple as a lone tree in a field and interpreting it in a way that is personal to you, making something physical out of what you are seeing, is the most pure form of interpretation in my mind. Boeckel et al (2015)., mention that there is a disenchantment of the world occurring along with a loss of direct nature experiences. I feel that by taking what we see in nature and making something out of it we are effectively reconnecting with it because we have to take the time to be immersed in it to generate ideas on what to make. 

Park near my house where I like to go and paint what I see!

Without artistic interpretations of nature we lack connection, but without scientific interpretations we lack understanding. This is why I believe we cannot simply pick one method of interpretation and run with it.

As an interpreter I believe that I have many responsibilities. First of all it is my responsibility to ensure that everyone feels included. This involves unpacking invisible knapsacks as learned in week three. Making sure that each and every participant has the same tools available to them, either literal or metaphorical, to truly understand and appreciate what is around them is key. If someone felt like they were at a disadvantage due to a lack of education, experience, or anything else then they would not be properly able to enjoy nature as they may be feeling othered. It is a responsibility of mine to be extra observant and make sure that this does not happen. Another responsibility I carry is making sure that everyone is being respectful with the natural world, myself included. Whether it's leading a hike or a camping trip or anything else outdoors there is a possibility for people to treat nature unkindly. Maybe it's by throwing their food wrappers on the ground or unnecessarily killing bugs around them for being “creepy”. When we are in and around nature it is our responsibility to treat it with care so that future generations can have the same experiences as us. As an interpreter I feel a sense of leadership and responsibility that includes keeping our forests, beaches, and other environments clean. Another responsibility of mine is to appeal to each and every learning style. In the course content we discussed tactile, auditory, and visual, but the textbook goes on to provide many others. Things like logical-mathematical, inter- and intrapersonal and many more were mentioned (Beck et al., 2018). I feel it is my duty to truly understand what each one involves and what strengths/weaknesses someone with that learning style may face when it comes to interpretation. A final responsibility I feel I have as an interpreter relates to what I wrote about above. I feel it is my duty to ensure that all aspects of interpretation are being included when out in nature. Providing the science behind why something is the way it is then going into artistic interpretations of it to make sure that everyone gets the whole picture is key. In the future I will strive to interpret in a way that incorporates it all to give participants the best shot at finding something they can connect to in nature. 

As an individual I feel I am best suited to do all that I have mentioned in this blog. I am a science student which helps me with scientific interpretations, but I also have a love for being creative which would help me with the artistic part. I definitely feel as though these weekly blog posts have helped me better understand who I am as an interpreter and what works best for me. I have learned quite a bit about myself during this course and I cannot wait to use all that I have learned in the future to be the best interpreter I can!

I cannot wait to read everyone else’s blogs this week and I hope everyone has a great rest of their semester!

References

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018). Interpreting cultural and natural heritage: For A Better World. SAGAMORE Publishing, Sagamore Venture. 

van Boeckel, J. (2015). At the heart of art and earth: an exploration of practices in arts-based environmental education. Environmental Education Research, 21(5), 801–802. https://doi.org/10.1080/13504622.2014.959474 

Wals, A. E.J., Brody, M., Dillon, J., Stevenson, R. B. (2014). Convergence Between Science and Environmental Education. Science 344,583-584. 10.1126/science.1250515

[valshirathelight]

WISHING ON STARS

Location: Bro idk, somewhere in/by Iskaldrik, but it's back in time Characters: Val'shira Melithar, Atish'len Mentions: Thora, Deimos, Freydis, Njal, Diarmad, Adrian, Deja Prompt: The Road DnD Prompt: "Overhead, as night falls, so do the stars. Streaking constellations across the night sky, writing new stories and rewriting old. Now is the time to reflect as the air seems to hold its breath. Each falling star leaves a faint shimmer in its wake, the world taking pause as the fey and oreads gather at the mountaintop. EVERYONE what is a fleeting wish that crosses your character's heart? Does a memory come as you watch these stars fall?" Synopsis: Val reflects on the things she's learned before, ever since leaving Avalon, and her growth. She also names her baby owlbear.

The more she strayed from the safety and comfort of Avalon, the more she realized she had loved nothing more than a fantasy for centuries. Taravell had been more a mystery to her than anything, a story that had heroes and vanquished villains and beautiful, far off places - most of which she hadn’t seen with her own eyes. Those places she had seen were from the eyes of a tourist, and nothing more. It was a fantasy concocted by the eyes of someone who concluded something was good and left it at that. 600 years, and she had been a child to only just recognize it was far more. It was very complicated. Not just Taravell, but the world outside Avalon in it’s entirety, even the history of the elves. She turned to her back, dark amber eyes now following the path of a trailing star.

Up until recently, Val’shira led a relatively normal life for a High Elve of Avalon. Though loss and grief had found her years ago, it wasn’t until the Fall of Iskaldrik that the odds of everything else in her life seemed stacked up against her. Nothing went her way. And, if it did, she would… gain something vile along the way. Something she saw as bad. A sense of disenchantment in her worldview first, now an odd scar on her ear. She knew enough not to only be grateful for the new magic the scar brought; all things came at a price… She had felt the approval of The Dark One, of all things.

Maybe she was afraid of trusting people, maybe she was disenchanted by Taravell, but it didn’t change the fact that she still found things to fall in love with. Mingling with the darkness and corruption was light and love, tucked into the laughter of comrades and swaying on the branches of trees they passed under. She had found beauty in the strength of creatures like Vuldaks and Genasi, the same as in uncorrupted wolves and druids. She had known the world wasn’t meant to be so black and white, at least in theory. She had concluded that with logic and age and wisdom, but she hadn’t truly learned it. Too safe, too coddled in the peace of Avalon. It was easy enough to come to a logical assumption based on books and stories but…

It was quite another thing to learn it, far more clearly, from experience.

She had been letting bitterness get the better of her, as it always had, when things didn’t go her way. If something wasn’t what she expected, she resented it. If something went wrong, even if she expected it, she still resented it. Because things weren’t supposed to go wrong for someone like her; she had worked too hard to prove she was worth something. Val’shira grimaced. She knew she was a bitter soul and it had done her nothing but harm in all her years. The true juxtaposition of light and dark, it was clearer than ever in everything that she encountered. No matter how she suffered (and she had certainly suffered upon entering yet another portal) the elve could still lie upon the grass now and gaze up at the stars and feel peace and joy for a moment. She could feel the presense of people she had distrusted, and even disliked, and still feel safe and trusting enough to sleep at their sides. She could feel the fear that the approval of a dark God and a scar gave her… but also the pride and excitement of new magic.

Another star danced across the sky. She watched it flicker away into the darkness, the abyss swallowing it up. The owlbear cub nestled a little closer to the space between her shoulder and chest. Val’shira lay there in a bevy of calm, smiling, nearly persuaded to giggle as she tipped her head down enough to press a kiss to the top of the creature’s feathery head. There was still much to do, much to figure out before she could say that they were truly safe, and she didn’t know how long it would take. But if Val could feel worry at the anticipation of time and turmoil that awaited her and her companions, she could also feel gratefulness that she was not alone to endure it. And, wherever she went, she would have this beautiful little child with her too. At the very least, she would not be seperated from the owlbear.

Her eyes turned back to the sky as another star greeted her, its brief, glowing ‘hello’ before it sunk back into the deep, dark blue of night. Val watched another follow it. She took a deep breath, her heart aching with longing as she thought: 'Help me.' She heard the mutterings of Deimos and his constellations nearby, the shuffling of Adrian as he tossed in sleep or wakefulness. She could sense the presense of Thora and Deja as a true comfort. She thought of Diarmad’s small smile, and Freydis’ fierce battle stance. She even considered Njal’s snapping retorts that - sometimes - had become amusing to hear. It was inevitable to feel a sense of kinship to these people she had lived and suffered alongside for weeks. Val’shira thought of Juneau, suddenly, and those others from The Box. Of the Pride Demon. Back then, she had come to the conclusion that it was very wrong to trust strangers. She had nearly been possessed, and even learned that The Tower witches weren’t as heroic as stories made them out to be. But time showed her that trust continued to be the one thing that saved her, trust and cooperation, once she put away her inclination to be bitter and resentful about everything. Gods, the world was a mess of contradiction. And that was… okay. She had to be okay with it. The bad wasn’t just all bad, the good wasn’t all good. Like how Njal was a Witcher, but he wasn’t a heartless beast, and maybe neither had been the Witcher who killed her sister. (She would still kill the latter, though.) She could be bitter… but she also had to remember that wasn’t all that she was. And not let it be all she was.

'Help me not forget this peace,’ she thought, watching the star finally flicker away. Back home in her time she was struggling, running between so many goals and so many desires and not taking a moment to breath. Val'shira couldn’t control everything. The light bringer couldn’t make everything dark into something light. She wanted to be more accepting, accepting of the bad as much as she was of the good. Acceptance was what brought her peace, not the constant restlessness built off negative emotions (grief, resentment, guilt) that she carried like a burden. She didn’t think the stars would answer, she didn’t expect them to either. It was just a passing desire, faint and silent as the trail of light cast across the dark sky. She turned over, her face against the steady breathing of the owlbear. She nuzzled her nose gently against the tiny feathers.

This little child of peace. Atish'len.

Atish'len. wasn't a terrible name for an owlbear. She whispered it with a tiny smile. Then, finally, Val'shira closed her eyes to rest.

[artificial-absinthe]

14, 15, 19, 27, 28, 30 for the fic writer ask game :3

Greetings, Jay, it's always fancy to read of you.

14 where do you get your inspiration?

Well... from... my brain? He, I don't think I take inspiration from anywhere. On occasion, some song inspire a fragment or scene, but mostly the ideas just occur to me spontaneously. I'm not one to be making the so called... popular "tropes" or stablished AU's, I just write whatever comes to mind. Sometimes I got into events with prompts to inspire in.

15 favorite weather for writing.

Cold. Cold is my favorite weather for anything. From slightly cold to very cold. Heath makes me angry and sleepy.

19 the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

I will be disappointing, but to be very honest, I don't think I've ever done research for any of my fics. I mostly write using settings and topics I'm already familiar with. I hadn't yet needed do research for anything.

27 your favorite part of the writing process.

When it actually flows☠️... Perhaps the editing part when the elements are already there, so to say, the base scenes and events, and so I can embellish them and add those phrases, additional musings, dialogues or analogies that came drifting in like dandelion thistledown blown by muses and numens.

28 your least favorite part of the writing process.

When I get stuck or run out of motivation/ideas for following scenes. I actually was having a conversation via a post on this topic just yesterday. That hateful moment when I lose interest in a writing, or when I can't cross the bridge from here to there –that scene that should follow somewhere ahead, or even the ending. Attempts at getting there end up being so stiff and stupid, and one drops the quill in boredom or disenchantment. That's the worst part.

30 share a fic you’re especially proud of:

Maybe my favorite one, the one I polished and measured the most is Returning Gears. Even though is a short one-shot, I dedicated months to its writing. I wanted it to be bleak, evocative and poetic, and, even if I have to say it myself, I think I achieved it. I knew it would mostly remain in the shadows though, and so it did.

Thanks for asking 🦇

This game

[oxygenbefore1775]

For reijeanweek day 5, I'd like to offer something for the prompt soulmates - something that can be barely classified as headcanons, just a very rough draft of something that might have taken place if aot world had soulmates.

My go-to soulmate subtrope for this outline is the soulmate's name appearing on the hand.

While Reiner and Jean do have each other's names written on their hands, therefore making them soulmates, but the problem is that Marley and Paradis are using different alphabets so they are unable to read each other's names since it looks like gibberish to them.

That is, until Reiner is sent to the Paradis and as a preparation for the invasion, he is taught Paradisian alphabet and can finally read the name. The revelation throws Reiner through a loop — since he realizes that his true love is actually one of the "Island Devils" that he is supposed to hate — but ultimately sows the future seeds of his disenchantment with the Marleyan propaganda.

Two years must pass after the Fall of Shiganshina before Reiner could finally meet Jean who, admittedly, doesn't make a great first impression but due to soulmate magic Reiner is head over heels for him nonetheless. Revealing the soulmate's name written is not very common (especially amongst the teenage boys who seem to be allergic to being vulnerable) and the fact that Reiner's name is not written in Paradisian alphabet would definitely raise some suspicions for Jean so Reiner decides not to reveal their soulmate bond to him, instead opting for pining for him by spending time during trainings and missions together.

Meanwhile, Jean has zero knowledge of the existence of the other alphabets so he is doomed to forever assume that the supposed name of his soulmate is nothing but gibberish. Ultimately Jean concludes that the one true love for him doesn't exists and becomes disenchanted with the concept of soulmates. That is, until Jean meets Reiner in the Cadet Corps. Unaware that one of his closest companions is, in fact, his soulmate, Jean begins to develop feelings for someone he believes is not destined for him. This leads him to contemplate the concept of serendipity, pondering the idea that he is free to love anyone of his choosing, rather than someone preordained by fate.

That belief is quick to change, though, once Reiner reveals his true allegiance and subsequently betrays Jean's feelings for him. After two battles against the Warriors — first within the interior of Wall Maria and second in Shiganshina — Jean finds himself completely heartbroken. In an attempt to cope, he comforts himself with the notion that love is ultimately not for him. Over the four years that follow, as Jean attempts to forget his feelings for Reiner and channel his sense of betrayal into hatred, he is utterly failing in both (in actuality it's just the soulmate bond the two of them have established over the year doing its magic).

Until the time comes for the Survey Corps to venture out onto the Continent where much later they start preparing for a raid on Liberio. Seeing as Jean was chosen to be one of the Paradis spies, he has to blend in with the Marleyan society which, of course, includes him learning the alphabet. And only then, seven years after their first encounter and living in ignorance, Jean realizes that Reiner was his soulmate all along. Many thoughts race through Jean's head at the onset of this revelation. Some of them are relief that he is in fact entitled to love in his life. Some of them are justified frustration with Reiner that never told him about this despite presumably finding out about that years in ahead. Yet, the most persistent thought lingering in his mind is the anticipation of their impending encounter in Liberio — an encounter that won't resemble the reunion of lovers in the slightest.

(But Jean will find him and make it work, at least one of them has to be decisive, after finally getting their chance to experience love again)

And that's essentially where it concludes, since I find myself at a loss for a fitting ending to this narrative. Consider this my collection of musings. It will await the insight of someone wiser who may craft a more logical ending for all of this.

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Hue and cry

Written once again for @flashfictionfridayofficial using the prompt #FFF258 Milky Way Dreams, this is Wakamiya’s POV during Yukiya’s visit to Atsufusa, Episode 11. Dedicated to @ynxnyx (this is not quite what you think it is, but yes…)

—

Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master

Characters: Wakamiya/Nazukihiko, Yukiya, Rokon, mention of Lord Natsuka and Atsufusa, Fujinami

Word count: 577

—

“I’LL leave him in your hands.”

The moment Rokon dragged Yukiya away from him to see his brother’s former retainer Atsufusa, Wakamiya felt the weight of being powerless over his own personal attendant. The fury and disenchantment written on Yukiya’s face bogged him down. True, he relied on his power of manipulation, but such was the downside of cultivating it throughout the years of being hunted down and living in the shadow of death sentence during his younger years. It shaped him to be pragmatic and wary. This time his tongue was tied after listening to Yukiya’s indignation, but his eyes were wide open because the boy was right.

“I refused to be taken advantage of because of my Northern House blood! Didn’t you feel betrayed by Lord Natsuka when he did not give you his full intention? You get handed all the dirty jobs, and people hate you for it!”

Yukiya raised his voice, could feel the blood screaming from his veins. But Rokon would not have any of his tantrum, Lord Natsuka’s escort asked Wakamiya if he could lessen it by doing his own way.

As the footsteps of the two receded and Yukiya’s loud protestations became decreasingly inaudible, the Crown Prince turned to the dark cyan sky, darker than it always had been tonight. It must be the storm that raged hours ago. The wind was blowing so hard giving off no signs of settling. He knew this feeling of uncertainty. His life was a summation of all the sacrifices that he made as it entailed being a true golden raven.

He could see the Heavenly River, a group of stars and planets, from where he was standing. But the angry sliver of clouds tampered the view.

Once as a child, after the death of his mother, his uncle Akira, the present head of the Western House, took him away from the main palace to preserve his life. His sister Fujinami ran up to him on the day they said their goodbye. The girl handed him a paper drawn in watercolours. She was only four.

A messy illustration of two stick figures of two little princesses, their arms trying to reach each other, surrounded in beige and white gold colours standing for the Milky Way. His sister’s rendition of the Tanabata became two star-crossed friends longing to see each other all year round but could not. The magpies looked like black dots. Fascinated with the gift, he thanked her. It would take years until they could see each other again.

Wakamiya shook his head, could not comprehend the meaning of a memory that clogged his mind now.

Seconds later, akin to flash of lightning that struck him without a warning, he gradually understood the meaning of it all.

His mind circulated back to Yukiya. How he fervently wished this meeting with Atsufusa would change Yukiya’s shattered opinion of him. He clearly grew fond of the boy, no, that was wrong, it was inevitable that he became his aide, his adviser, once he ascended the throne. Yukiya’s bloodline was only a silver lining, an addition to strengthen his hold to the title. Years from now he could envision a world where he and Yukiya would fight to protect the inhabitants of Yamauchi for they had the same goal.

The wind blew hard again, the treetops were shaking. As for the moon it shone extraordinarily brighter tonight. The wind fluttered his long hair and chiton. Wakamiya sighed and waited.

~ fin ~

[timeclipsed]

— ;; Snowfall premature to its conventional end-of-the-year debut has the streets coated in a pearly blanket of frost, amply bundled denizens scurrying to-and-fro all around.

Catenating after the Doctor, miscellaneous bits of scrap tucked underarms, Tails is no different. Muffs, gloves, a scarf and a puffy coat protecting him from the gelid onslaught, he pauses as they pass the obtuse front window of one of the many shops lining the road. Gazing into its displayed setup of festive décor, awe consumes his features as he tilts his head, craning it to peer at Robotnik, whose bootprints leave a rhythmic impression on their path back to the shop the further he gets.

❝Feels like winter took forever to get here this year,❞ he comments, ocean eyes searing into the back of the skull in such a way that prompts the other to pause as well, finally turning back, ❝when we disappeared a few months ago, I thought the year would go by just like that. But… wow.❞

— ;; Quirking a brow, Robotnik stares at Tails from behind those dense ocular spectacles, as if attempting to discern the actual tone behind his words. Momentarily processing, before deciding with certainty that Tails is not, in fact, being sarcastic for once, he gives a rather desiccant reply.

❝You do realize it’s been more than “a few months”, don’t you boy?❞ 

— ;; Hustle and bustle, brumal static in the air, incoherent chatter from all around fully stands still, just like that. Torpidly, his heart suddenly ringing in his ears, Tails turns his head to meet Robotnik’s confused expression, his own twisting into something of mortified disenchantment.

❝…What?❞ Faintly, the singular leading query spills from Tails’ lips, in disbelief of what’s been stated. Lowering wide eyes to their feet, subconsciously observing the frigid fractals that land all around, making the snow its only home. ❝You… you’re lying. I don't believe you. ...How long… has it been?❞

Contemplating for a second, and with the click of a tongue, Robotnik answers, ❝I’d wager it’s been somewhere around fifteen or sixteen months. Did you honestly think time wouldn’t continue to pass from where—❞

❝My birthday,❞ interjecting before he can finish his mordacious remark, Tails’ head whips back up to stare desperately, ❝did my birthday pass?❞

❝I figured you'd have noticed on your own, but it came and went.❞

— ;; Resisting the sudden urge to disgorge, to stain the sleek sheet of ivory into a versicolor canvas of bodily suppuration, the congery of stray mechanical pieces cascades from his tenacious grasp instead, spilling all around their feet.

❝How—❞ cadence oscillating, forcing back the voluminous lump plaguing his throat, ragged breaths leaving puffs of cold air in front of him, he dares to ask. ❝—H-How old am I?❞

❝Fifteen,❞ Robotnik answers with lukewarm certainty as he hunches to collect the discarded parts. ❝You’d be fifteen at the moment.❞

— ;; Quailing to the ground right then, clammy knees pressing into the cold, Tails barely even registers lissome hands webbing ‘round his form effortlessly, gathering everything in calculated silence. That’s it; that’s all he’d needed to hear for any sense of stability he’d had to come toppling down, thousands of miniscule fragments spilling out like hail that rubs against his bare arms, leaving him with freezer burnt welts—

—Leaving his entire world dark, ensnared in a Cimmerian cloister whose clutches stretch with emptiness as far as the eye can see in any direction.

❝You ne- you never told me—❞

❝It’s not my job to make sure you’re keeping your head on straight, boy. Get up.❞

— ;; Breathless, as if he’d just been gutted, all he can do is shake his head, collapsing sideways into the snow. Legs curling to meet his chest, arms folding around them and holding tight as if they, too, would disappear were he to release them. After a moment, he hears Robotnik scoff.

❝Do you want to lie here and freeze to death? You’re acting ridiculous.❞

— ;; Readying a snarky response, any form of quip to get the Doctor off his back, his mouth grows agape, but no sound comes. Neither in the way of movement; he feels locked up, glued to the ground in this manner. Silence, having befallen the pair, grows thick with every passing moment, until the point at which it’s shattered by Robotnik’s swivel of the heel, restarting the earlier trek towards the workshop.

❝When you’re feeling up to acting your age and rejoining society, I’ll be back at work. Lest you decide you want to perish from hypothermia, at which case I would advise you to expect an unmarked grave and an empty funeral.❞

— ;; But Tails doesn’t hear, curling those namesakes around his body in some feeble attempt to self-assuage. Tears, tepid in comparison to the weather, drizzle down his face, melting small holes into the snow beneath as they roll off his cheeks lopsidedly.

He realizes in that moment that he will never know home again.

[incorrectquotesideas-deactivated]

Person A: Nobody talks to me like that! Except my daughter. And my wife. And now you.

[daughterearth]

I'm growing up and it's debilitating and very humbling to me to see - that most adults are not right about things / sure of the next step/ making the right decision. Most of them.

Instead of feeding the initial disenchantment and almost rage about absolute control and self righteousness that most adults had on me when I was growing up-

it's prompting me to take a deep look at myself - my learnt shame and obtusely wild fantasies of happiness and yet my innate joy. It's making me understand what self created hubris and disregulation and the wild wisdom of our bodies.

The uncertainty and the unexpected corner of magic that still exists in roundabout yet direct ways if approached with sincerity. There is some mysticism and poetry in the order of the world.

May I please learn to love deeply and live deeply and know that everyone's doing it for the first time as well.

[thetragicallynerdy]

Hi, I'm here from the tealoranges tag! Fic title meme: Are You Going to Scarborough Fair?

Alright alright, I finally had the brains to think about this and write something! (For those who haven't heard of it, this meme is that you send me a fic title, and I sketch out the fic I think would match it. I am not accepting further prompts for this meme at this time.)

I know that this one would go really nicely as a like, farmers market au, but hear me out: post-war au and farmer’s market au. Because the canticle aspect of Simon & Garfunkle’s version of Scarborough Fair always, always makes me think about war (because, y’know, it’s about war). But, because it’s Jim and Olu, and I really wouldn’t ever write an actual war type fic, lets go with “Canon time - Jim, returning from their holy mission, and Oluwande, who sells his wares at the market.”

When I started typing this I was going to say it was more vibes than plot (the Vibes being an exhausted Jim who’s killed a whole lot of men and then returned home to find that they’re still not at peace, and then they meet Oluwande) but now there’s like 1000+ words of plot so here u go:

Jim never made it to Nassau as their first stop in their mission. They don’t meet Oluwande, and they instead spend ten-fifteen years tracking down every last member of the Siete Gallos. Alfeo de la Vaca is not their first. He’s closer to their last, which is the main reason that they keep at it so long – a) there is no one to encourage them to stop, and b) they haven’t killed the one that matters yet.

Somewhere along the way, they have exactly one run in with Blackbeard and Stede, who we can presume are still doing their romance off to the side. They see a handsome Black man with a teal earring on the crew who catches their eye – but then they forget about him.

Oluwande, meanwhile, got out of Spanish Jackie’s for other reasons, about the same time as he would’ve in canon. He finds Stede, and has a rather successful career in piracy before he finally settles down and buys a home. He learns how to make jewelry, and sells it. Tiny trinkets, that sort of thing, to keep his hands busy. For some reason, he really liked St. Augustine the last time they were there. He settles down.

Jim finally finishes their hit list. They return to St. Augustine, scarred and hardened and hoping to find some semblance of peace, because all they feel is a hollowness in their chest and a bone-deep weariness. They come home to a home that’s still empty and ruined, overgrown after decades of neglect.

Whether or not Nana is still alive is up to you. If she is, her exuberance over Jim being done their mission grates against the disenchantment they’re feeling. If she’s not, there’s a point of grief over ‘she was the one I was doing this for, and she’s not even here to see it.’

Either way – Jim is not doing great. They try and fix up the farm, but mainly fix up the house enough to live in, and wallow. The Beautiful Life they were promised afterwards hasn’t happened, and everything feels like dust. Very ‘returning from war and finding yourself at odds with the world’ type vibes.

But then they wander into the market one morning when they’re coming in to, I dunno, buy food, and they happen across a tiny stall, run by a beautiful man with a teal earring. He sells jewelry, and it feels so frivolous, so unnecessary, but they can’t help but stop and look at it. Jewelery isn’t even their thing, but they can’t help but reach out and touch the intricate little earrings.

Oluwande recognizes them. And, in true Oluwande fashion, blurts out “holy shit, I know you.” This is not immediately a concern. Most people in town know them, by rumour at the very least, of the Jimenez child who lived. It’s a small place. However, then he says “we met on uh – The Gentleman Pirate’s ship, you killed that guy –“ and Jim gets very defensive very fast. And maybe runs away a little, wondering if they need to just pack up and go because they don’t really want people recognizing them for all the blood they’ve spilled.

(And then they remember the handsome man with the teal earring, and kick themself a little for not being able to place him immediately. He's still just as handsome, all these years later.)

Later that day Oluwande shows up at their door, with an apology on his lips and a small earring in his hand. “Didn’t mean to scare you off,” he says sheepishly. “I just got excited. Not many people here that know what I used to do.”

Jim reluctantly lets him in, and offers him a drink. They talk. Or, Oluwande talks, and Jim listens.

It’s not love at first meeting. But so many people in town avoid talking to Jim, and he doesn’t seem to care about the blood they’ve spilled. Hell, he was a pirate. He’s spilled just as much. So a tentative friendship is born.

They start seeking him out. Wandering to the market just to talk and pretend to browse his wares. They keep the earring he gave them, but their ears aren’t pierced, so they don’t do anything with it. They start bringing small food treats that they pick up at the market, so they have an excuse to sit and share it. Oluwande brightens every time they show up. He starts having tea or something else to drink ready every time, to share with the food.

Jim keeps trying to fix up the farm. But every time they do it just feels pointless, and makes them sad. They don’t really need a job for the money, but they’re starting to get restless, like they need something to do.

They take up whittling instead. It’s hard, and they cut themself more than they have since they first learned how to handle knives. Their first clumsy attempt at a bird gets given to Oluwande. So does their second, their third. A few more become toys, given to the family down the road. It takes time, but they get good.

“You should let me sell these,” Oluwande muses, running fingers over an intricate crocodile. “They’re really good.”

Jim shrugs. “I don’t really need the money.”

He raises an eyebrow and nods at his jewelry. “Neither do I. Why do you think they’re so cheap?”

Jim lets Oluwande sell their carvings. It’s a good partnership.

Eventually they kiss him. Of course they do. He’s handsome and sweet and the only person who makes them feel like a person again, and not the assassin they’ve become. The only person who teases them about their hat and their long coat and tells them they’re not as scary as they think they are.

And it’s good. It’s so good, this little romance. Easy, in a way very few things in their life have been.

A few weeks, maybe months after they add romance to the mix, Jim admits, late one evening, how much they hate living at the farm. How they still think about leaving, all the time.

“Could move in with me,” Oluwande whispers, voice just audible from where Jim is plastered to his back. “I’ve got the space.”

Jim leaves the next morning and tells him they need to think about it, promising they’re not running away, that they just need time to think. They go, and sit on their farm, and then disappear into the woods like they did as a child. When they come back two days later, it still feels just as empty and barren and broken as it did when they first set foot back in St. Augustine, just as lost as it did when they were a child. The healing they were hoping for is happening, but it’s not happening on this farm.

So they pack up all of their things (there aren’t many), and walk to the village. The sun is just setting, and there’s a candle already burning in Oluwande’s window. There’s no hesitation before they knock.

Oluwande opens the door, and sees them, and their bag. He smiles and holds the door open wider.

“Welcome home.”

That’s it! Look I will never actually write this, so if anyone ever wants to write the thing, have at! (Just give me credit for the idea, and please for the love of god send it to me so I can read it XD)

Anyway thanks for the prompt anon, this was fun!! Sorry it took me a while XD

[evilartist37]

Blorbovember Prompt 2: Newest

Newest Blorbo is absolutely Tiabeanie from Disenchantment. She’s a courageous, hot mess of a character and I love that for her.

(Drew her in my style, as was the popular vote.)

[solardick]

In the tarot sequence. One may wish to switch the moon card for the wheel card.

Formerly the 18th and 10th cards in the deck. The moon is found after the hermit and before strength. The lunacy kept under wraps. The swith that Waite never made but instead prompted attention to strenght and justice.-And more subcovertly, the lovers.- Which spells out righteousness.

Down below to the wheel after the star card, as is waiting on a dream. Or a wish. Binding oneself to that ground. The fallowing Sun breifs the dream of the star.

And Y fallowing as the final judgement. If it starts with a Yes. Or ends in a likeness to disenchantment.

And all we did was change the place of two cards. Add in the ones Waite suggested and it speaks for itself.

Tower to Temperance as overlapping T’s suggest, is a slow dissolution on the sode of destruction. Or an authority figure judicial or private to mend. If temperance doesn’t secretly harbour a sword.

The American justice proudly wields a sword. The Canadian justice keeps the sword protected and to heart. The russian justice weilds a sheild. And thus a shield maiden. Which speaks of justice to protect over justice to persecue. Sadly i can ot say much of the canadian justice. Other than an ember in defiance to american oppression. Pride is lost. But there is still strength in me. The seed to be born in our own right is cared for and not forgotten.

It’s not an image even most canadians in these parts recognize.

Though speculative. Of picture only unattached from any modoes.

[tarnishedxknight]

This is purely hypothetical, of course, but could a Rozarrian or half-Rozarrian be able to serve as a Judge Magister or would that raise hell in Archadia? Whether it be from the other Judge Magisters, the Solidors, or the Senate? -for Gabranth or Drace or both

Drace: *chuckles* "I can scarcely see how that would come about. It would take years to qualify and train them to be worthy of the rank and what then? Who could trust a Rozarrian among Archadian ranks? What would be their purpose, their... agenda? Handing over a large chunk of power to a Rozarrian during wartime, power over a portion of the Empire and her military... the very idea seems absurd to me. There could be no goal in mind for the Rozarrian other than to further fracture us or to claim power for their own Empire, for the purpose of tilting the scales of war in their favor. Nay, House Solidor would be fools to name a Rozarrian to our rank, and not a one of us would trust one even if they were."

Gabranth: *folds his arms and remains silent*

Drace: *looks to him* "Well...? What say you?"

Gabranth: "Perhaps a pureblooded Rozarrian patriot thinking himself bold enough to attempt to infiltrate us would fail before he even began..."

Drace: *waits and then prompts him to continue* "...but?"

Gabranth: "But a half-blooded Rozarrian?"

Drace: "Is there a difference?"

Gabranth: "If all it is, is blood?"

Drace: "Blood without loyalty, is that what you imply?"

Gabranth: "What if the other half were Archadian, and that was where his loyalties lay?"

Drace: "Then he would not be Rozarrian, he would be Archadian, as you have always said of yourself, for example."

Gabranth: "Not once the other Judge Magisters were through with him. Am I not forever known as a half breed among our ranks?"

Drace: "Perhaps, but the other half of your blood is not our most formidable enemy."

Gabranth: "I am certain Landis would bear Archadia no deep love... if it still existed."

Drace: *sighs at him* "There is a world of difference between Landis and Rozarria."

Gabranth: "I think it is possible. Certainly for a half-Rozarrian but also for a pureblood if they were disenchanted enough. A defector, perhaps. One with valuable knowledge who wishes to help us defeat his homeland. It would be an attractive ally to House Solidor."

Drace: *scoffs* "Unlikely, that."

Gabranth: "But not impossible."

Drace: "And how, pray tell, would we ever trust him? How would we ever know his story of disenchantment and defection were real and true?

Gabranth: *smiles* "I have my ways."

Drace: *smiles and shakes her head* "He would not be accepted within our rank with open arms, that is certain."

Gabranth: "He would if I accept him."

Drace: "And would you?"

Gabranth: "If he earned it of me."

Drace: "Let us leave this conversation with the following status, then: thank the gods it is purely hypothetical."

Gabranth: "Yes. I have enough to deal with as it is."