#earth master shovel

[tohmon]

Sketchdump of all the drawings I never finished (and few I finished, but like the sketches better.)

[fauvester]

daniel webster, who should have been the lord of wind, instead the ghost king of the netherwaters

+ gradient mapped with spooky green

[memory-lane-and-back-again]

I do agree that fenx xin is really abrassive when speaking to mu qing and needs to apologise for saying things that hurt (however I do think he hasn’t actually figured out he’s said anything wrong yet) however I disagree that this has anything to do with jealousy.

A big part of feng xin’s postition is devotion above all else. He, unlike mu qing, prioritises ‘typical’ displays of loyalty over ‘atypical’ shows of it and does not comprehend the way mu qing thinks or acts.

Classic comparison is between mu qing prioritising choosing his mother over xie lian whilst feng xin chose loyalty to his prince over his lover and child. Xie lian ‘gets’ it (he doesn’t really but he ‘can’t force mu qing to stay’) but feng xin fundementally sees it as a betrayal.

This difference in perspective between feng xin and mu qing happens a lot but particularly when mu qing questions xie lian on anything; feng xin absolutely does not get why mu qing does this instead of blindly obeys.

I personally think this reflects back on a bigger look at class surrounding mu qing’s arc (and in tgcf) rather than jealousy because it’s not only feng xin that does this, it’s just feng xin that speaks out.

Xie lian and mu qing admittedly do not understand each other. Mu qing sees himself as a good deed ticked of a list whilst xie lian, born to want for nothing and raised with the security to foster an insanely altruistic to the point of self destructive ethos, cannot comprehend the ‘loops’ mu qing has had to jump through to even consider it a possibility. Being in a position where he wants for nothing (in his youth) has never had to play underhand, manipulate or use other people so literally cannot comprehend it.

The social gap between the two is only really rescued when mu qing dares to speak plainly to xie lian in book 8 after he is rescued. It’s really interesting how mu qing and hua cheng sometimes foil each other from their impoverished backgrounds to their talent with a sabre that is identified by xie lian.

Mu qing, sceptic at heart, interprets every action xie lian takes as double edge. An insecurity xie lian never really disperses fully because he doesn’t see it, experience it, understand it until his first banishment. By which point the stain to his reputation he experiences is so sudden and sharp that mu qing’s action to not stand by him feel like a direct betrayal and, ironically, he also misinterprets mu qing’s actions as a direct slight against him. [I am thinking specifically of that cultivation valley scene]

Whereas Hua Cheng trusts xie lian’s every action implicitly and unwaveringly. Unlike mu qing, who views xie lian’s kindness as tokenistic, hua cheng experiences how xie lian stands by his ethos even against striking adversity and interprets xie lian’s intentions far more accurately. Which in some ways is possibly easier for him because xie lian gains nothing except a bad omen from having honghong-er around.

Xie lian’s misinterpreation of mu qing’s behaviour relates back to feng xin’s treatment in a few ways. Feng xin was likely brought up with similar comfort to xie lian and, likewise, does not get how mu qing may have a steeply different world view and Anything feng xin percieves as a slight against xie lian he is going to criticise. Which fundamentally makes these two clash; unlike xie lian who is more open to dialogue once he’s figured out they aren’t on the same page, feng xin is far quicker to jump to conclusions.

We see mu qing criticised far more times than feng xin is, but the one time feng xin is: for defending a child and hurting qi rong, he responds to breaking his own arm as recompense for his infraction. And he dubs it ‘fair.’ Notably qi rong does not have to be beaten to near death for doing the same to a child; mu qing opposes class differences like these whereas feng xin upholds them and xie lian doesn’t see the problem with them.

Another example is mu qing picking cherries. He is allowed to in theory but in practice is labelled as stealing them for him mother. Xie lian, instead of saying what he thinks, which is that mu qing is allowed to pick the fruit, uses his authority as prince and says mu qing is picked them for him because he think it makes mu qing’s life easier. In this case, xie lian’s support overlooks the bigger issue of classism that he doesn’t see mu qing struggling with.

To highlight further the differences in class that Feng xin and Xie lian have compared to Mu Qing; only mu qing is able to effectively handle money during the first banishment. And Feng Xin is no happier once mu qing leaves during xie lian’s first banishment. I do wonder if there is a subtle element of classism showing however in how they only begin busking once mu qing leave even though it was his idea (this hypocrisy of the upper class appearing more dignified than the working class whilst on show vs being just as, in this case, desperate for money as anyone else).

Another clue to how feng xin and mu qing differ is their interpretation of xie lian robbing. Mu qing sees it as dismissable whereas feng xin almost needs an explanation for why, because he does not see it as a viable solution to desperation. This is when I would timeline xie lian to begin to become aware of how ludicrously difficult his ethos is to follow for the common person. Again, he percieves mu qing openly acknowledging his robbing attempt as a slight against him (in a very mu qing fashin tbh) whilst mu qing doesn’t really grasp the whole integrity of it at the time.

I do think mu qing has a lot of internalised classism too that blooms as insecurity. The above moment parallels when mu qing gets flustered about his supposed theft of the golden foil (? Forgotten word). (Notably feng xin is far quicker to lose faith in mu qing for an infraction than he is xie lian.) Mu qing assumes he is going to be accused of theft because he is from a poor background and the poor always steal. Even when he really isn’t this insecurity permeates how he views himself to be viewed; he can never leave his background behind him and stand confidently as an equal with xie lian or feng xin even when they are all gods. He always views himself as lesser and a victim of their classism, even when he is the one actually projecting it onto himself.

His entire persona as a god exudes haughtiness and agonising superiority, from the tidiness and prettiness and prioritising of his own image, mu qing is desperate to be perceived as equal because he is overcompensating for feeling inferior.

But as feng xin notes, the sarcasm is a plaster being used to cover up a missing arm. If you want to be friends just say so, stop with the sarcasm. Feng xin is painfully idealistic in the sense that he genuinely just does not notice certain issues like with Jian Lan, it occurs to her that he cannot buy her out but he doesn’t even see bit trying as an option. Likewise, he doesn’t ever stop to think or try to empathise with mu qing’s perspective. But I personally interpreted the banter in book 8 as feng xin just kind of jabbing at mu qing like an equal, not recognising that what he is saying is actually riling mu qing up (he doesn’t even notice xie lian politely trying to tell him to shut up) because in his mind, he’s just making a point and there is nothing to be sensitive about.

In a way, Feng xin’s blindness to social differences crossed with mu qing’s hyperawareness of his perceived inferiority boils over into these two clashing badly because they constantly misinterpret each other’s intentions. I don’t think feng xin is intentionally being cruel but it kind of emphasises the idea that ignoring a person’s background and experiences is not the same as treating them equally. Xie lian gets this by the end but Feng xin does not. (Or if he does i have not read it yet)

tgcf fandom can we please start holding feng xin accountable for being an ass to mu qing for 800 years. like. he started most fights and was constantly on servant mu qing's ass who was just trying to survive but people always skip over it

[physics-of-one-piece]

I Take Care of You Now

Doflamingo x Reader

Summary: After a night of a heavy snow storm and rainfall on the North Blue Sea, Doflamingo gets woken up by the scraping of a snow shovel on deck.

A/N: A little short one-shot that I’ll implement into the main Red Suit Doffy Fic Merlot & Primroses but it can stand as a stand alone, too, so I decided to send it here. As I said in a post, Doflamingo’s core values he was raised with are something he sticks to. Also... I'm going to hell. I'm going to hell I'm going to hell I'm going to heeeeeeell...

but at least the Heavenly Demon is there 😊🤭🫡

P.S. I wanted to post this at 8pm it's 4pm, the Save Draft went into Post but it's complete so.... Enjoy? 🤣🤣 (I hate you, tumblr) (cry laughs)

Word Count: 3k

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Female!Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Doflamingo POV, North Blue Era Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Fluff, Humor, Cuddling For Warmth, Mentions of Fratricide, Nightmares, Longing, Doflamingo is in Love, Protective Doflamingo, Post Minion Island, Girldad Doflamingo, Dadmingo, Soft Doflamingo (kind of), Donquixote Family, One Shot Fic

Doflamingo is back in the snow again. The white thick layer of it crunches under his boots as he walks. There is snow falling, wild and strong, chilly wind pushing at his face.

There is someone lying on the snow. He knows who it is. The blackened feathers give him away; Doflamingo’s clumsy little brother.

At last, Doflamingo reached him. Rosinante’s lipstick-painted mouth is moving. No sound is coming out of Rosinante’s lips. Doflamingo squats down beside his brother. Maybe if he’s closer, he’ll hear the words his younger brother is saying.

Rosinante’s mouth keeps moving, shaping the words over and over again. He keeps looking at Doflamingo, but no sound is coming out.

What is he saying?

I love you?

I hate you?

I’m sorry?

Don’t touch my wife?

I’ll kill you?

Which is it?

Doflamingo should’ve learned to read lips.

Doflamingo wakes with a gasp, sitting up in his sleeping bag. His face is wet, covered in sweat, and he barely registers a yelp from Baby 5 who’d slept atop his stomach and hugged him for additional warmth during the storm falling off him and on his lap covered by the sleeping bag’s duvet.

Doflamingo realizes he’s without his sunglasses because the world isn’t tinted red. The sudden assault of colors and sunlight illuminating through the portholes makes him blink. Continuing to pant, he reaches for the white-framed sunglasses and mounts them atop the bridge of his nose.

He pants for a little longer, then swallows down. His throat feels dry. He needs to get some wine.

“Young Master?” Baby 5’s careful, hesitating voice reaches his ear. “Are you okay?”

Doflamingo puts on a smile, if not for his sake, then for Baby 5’s. He hates seeing her distraught or hurt. A child should never worry about an adult. It's the greatest disgrace.

“Just a bad dream.” he replied, huffing. “Could you get me a merlot from the wine cabinet?”

“We aren’t allowed to open the wine cabinet.” Baby 5 said, frowning.

“I’m giving you permission,” said Doflamingo. He needs wine, right now. “So go get the merlot for me.”

“Y/N-san said you shouldn’t drink that much...” Baby 5 murmured, continuing to look at him worriedly.

“Who’s the captain here, me or my sister-in-law?” he asked, chuckling. It’s rich of you to scold him on his alcohol abuse when your own husband had been a nicotine-inhaling addict. Rosinante went through one entire pack of cigarettes in a day. How on earth you wanted to kiss his brother or even marry him, Doflamingo would never know.

“You are, Young Master!”

“I don’t know…” mused Doflamingo, making a show of doubt. “Maybe I should let my sister-in-law lead…”

“She doesn’t know how to sail! Or how to be a pirate!” said Baby 5 panically.

“Is that so? I guess I’m staying as captain, then…” He gave a dramatic sigh, fighting not to burst out laughing on the spot. “Too bad, I was looking forward to retirement…”

“You’re not even old!” Baby 5 yelled.

Doflamingo laughed.

“Young Master?”

“What is it?” asked Doflamingo.

“Do you think (Y/N)-san hates living with us?” asked Baby 5.

Doflamingo blinked. Now, he knew you would rather throw yourself in the sea than say anything negative to the kids or be hateful toward them. It was one of your weaknesses he used in his favor to endear you to living with him, after all. What made Baby 5 think that, was what he wanted to know.

"Did she ever say that?” Doflamingo asked.

“No,” said Baby 5, shaking her head. “But... she gets sad a lot... and she seems to like being alone rather than with the rest of the officers.” She cast her gaze away, looking truly sad. “It reminds me of Corazón. He didn’t like hanging around any of us, either...”

Doflamingo was rather impressed. Baby 5 started truly being aware of her environment and how people act around each other. Her observation skills were getting very good for someone as young as her — even Buffalo, who was six years older than her, wasn’t this aware of people.

Doflamingo found his chest swell with pride.

“Don’t worry. Unlike with Corazón, I’m keeping a close eye on her. You forgot she’s a civilian. Civilians are terrified of pirates on instinct. All her life, she’s heard terrible stories about pirates, so of course she won’t feel safe with the officers, or Pica, Trebol, Diamante or me right away. We’re big, we fight, we kill, we rob, we torture, and we have Devil Fruit powers. Civilians run from that, because they’re powerless.”

“I forgot about that,” said Baby 5. “That she’s a civilian.”

Doflamingo laughed. “How so?”

“Because... She’s really fierce!” insisted Baby 5.

Doflamingo chuckled. “She was a marine’s wife. Of course she’s fierce. Just because she’s powerless doesn’t mean she’ll let herself be stepped on. It’s what I like about her.”

Yes. Doflamingo liked that about you very much. It turned him on. Very much. Doflamingo licked his lips.

“Why does she seem sad with me and Dellinger, too?” asked Baby 5, pouting.

“You’re orphans. You had nowhere to go, and became pirates. She pities you, because she thinks it’s unfair toward you. She’s sad because she knows that’s how cruel the world can be.”

“She pities us,” said Doflamingo, shrugging. “It’s not coming from a bad place like others do. Her pity is genuine. She doesn’t mean anything ill with it.”

“I don’t want her to pity us.” said Baby 5. “I want her to -”

“To what?” asked Doflamingo, tilting his head down to the girl, intrigued.

“To love us.” said Baby 5.

“Fufufu! She does love us. She’s just too stubborn to admit it. After all,” Doflamingo smiled. “No civilian is supposed to love pirates. That’d be treason.”

“Really?” Baby 5 asked, eyes full of hope. “She loves us?”

“Really. So don’t worry, okay?” said Doflamingo.

“Okay,” said Baby 5, her smile blooming back onto her face.

“Good girl,” he said, patting her head. “Now, go get me my merlot. And get yourself some bottled water, too.”

“Yes, sir!” chirped Baby 5.

While Baby 5 headed to the kitchen and the wine cabinet, Doflamingo cracked his neck, then got out of his pink sleeping bag. The sleeping bag beside him — where you slept last night — was empty.

He frowned. What was taking you so long in the bathroom? Maybe it was that time of the month for you. He knew there were supplies in the women’s bathroom, so he wasn’t too worried about that.

He’d give you a few more minutes before he went looking for you.

His long legs cracked as he stretched them out, same with his arms.

Baby 5 came back, carrying his bottle of wine and bottled water for herself. Doflamingo took it, undid the clasp, and chugged it down in droves, basking in the liquid pouring down his throat and into his stomach, warming up his body.

“Did you see my sister-in-law?” Doflamingo asked when he was done, bottle half empty now.

“I don’t know,” replied Baby 5 sleepily, rubbing at the crust in her eyes, giving a little yawn. “Maybe the bathroom?”

“Go wake the cook to make us breakfast and hot chocolate,” he said to Baby 5.

“Yes, sir. Um, Young Master...”

“What?”

“I think there’s someone on deck,” whispered Baby 5.

There was scraping on the deck outside. Doflamingo’s Observation Haki didn’t pick up any threat from the person. It could be a fishman or someone stranded on the island.

“It could be a Klabautermann,” said Doflamingo, chuckling. Now wouldn’t that be interesting.

“Klabautermann?” repeated Baby 5.

“It’s a legend.” Doflamingo explained. “If a ship is very loved by the crew, it develops its own spirit in the shape of a fairy.”

“Fairy?!” asked Baby 5 in excitement.

Doflamingo chuckled in confirmation, tracing his gaze over the officers and top officers strewn on the floor of the galley, counting everyone else who was present. You were the only one missing.

“A human-shaped fairy wearing a white sailor’s coat and a pair of shoes.” he explained. “It carries a small wooden hammer, because it fixes up a damaged ship. Ours isn’t damaged, though.”

At least, Doflamingo hoped it wasn’t.

“Oh,” said Baby 5. “I thought it would be a pink flamingo wearing Young Master’s sunglasses, just like the figurehead.”

Doflamingo laughed. “It could be! That’d be fun!”

“What if it’s a ghost?” she asked with slight fright; she’d heard too many ghost stories from Law and Buffalo.

Doflamingo gave Baby 5 one of his grins, the malicious ones which he knows comfort her. To Baby 5, violence equals protection.

“You think a ghost can beat me?” he asked her. “They’re free to try, fufufufufu!”

After some more coaxing and assuring her everything would be fine, Baby 5 left for the kitchen again to wake the ship cook.

Doflamingo grabbed his feather coat where it lay spread on the couch, stepping over a sleeping Gladius and Diamante.

Now, why were they all huddled up in the galley with sleeping bags?

The simple answer was bad weather.

They’d been in a heavy snow storm last night. It was Dellinger’s first heavy snow storm. He cried and ran around in a panic the entire time. He had to be grabbed three times from launching himself overboard and into the sea. Dellinger connected the sea with safety, because it was always safe for him to go into the sea; he always fled there if he was about to get scolded — it was becoming a real problem and at this point, Doflamingo was going to listen to Trebol’s advice and tie the toddler with a rope. If Dellinger went in the sea under those stormy waves yesterday, forget about pulling him out, they wouldn’t be able to find him.

For the past three years, they rarely went this far up north on their voyages, and although most of the adults of the crew were used to responding to and traveling through overbearing hail and rain, the kids were not. They were too prone to making mistakes in the novelty of navigating the waves bigger than Sea Kings despite knowing how to navigate.

The kids had been absolutely terrified.

The storm proved impossible to navigate. Doflamingo put his family and its safety above everything, he wasn’t going to risk them all because he wanted to get to the next island on time. He decided it was best to hunker down near a mountain pass to the closest island than continue to navigate through the storm.

After setting anchor on the nearby, snow-covered coast of the island, everyone had huddled down in the galley beside the largest fire stove to keep warm, bringing in sleeping bags.

Now, after putting on his black overcoat to deal with the cold outside, Doflamingo quickly opened the doors, left the cabin, and closed them just as quickly. He made his way up the stairs and to the cabin on the quarter deck, then exited out into the open winter air.

There was a person on the deck, pushing the snow down the deck and overboard into the sea.

Doflamingo nearly had a heart attack.

After a moment, he realized it wasn’t the ship’s spiritual manifestation.

It wasn’t a Klabautermann. It was you.

Doflamingo called your name. You leapt six feet high at the sound of his voice, which made him laugh. You deserved the fright; you gave him a fright first.

You turned your face up to him. Doflamingo smiled down at you.

“Hey,” you said shakily, like you weren’t out in the cold and shoveling snow from the deck. “Good morning.”

“What are you doing?” demanded Doflamingo.

You look at him like he’s asking a strange question. “I’m shoveling the deck.”

…

What?

“Why?” asked Doflamingo.

“Cause there’s snow on it.” you said.

For a moment, Doflamingo was so confused his brain stopped working.

Because there’s… snow?

Why on… why on earth would you be the one shoveling the snow?!

Doflamingo deployed his strings, leaving the wooden, ice-laden balcony of the quarter deck, reaching you with a single leap. He stood on his strings beside you, because he wasn’t going to walk on the solidified ice undoubtedly hiding under the layer of snow.

“You don’t do that.” said Doflamingo firmly, his thoughts racing thousand miles per hour, the cogs in his mind rushing with what could only be described as Celestial Dragon confusion. “I take care of you.”

“I’ve been doing this my whole life.” you say, shrugging.

Rosi, I’ll bring you back to life and put thirty bullets in you this time. thought Doflamingo, clenching his teeth, his jaw hurting from how hard he did it.

Doflamingo took the shovel from you easily.

“Hey!” you shouted. "I need that!"

“You don’t anymore.” said Doflamingo, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at you with the sternness of a captain. He stepped down from his string onto the deck to stand in front of you — as he suspected, there was ice under the snow. “I take care of you now.”

“Doffy -” you started, but he would have none of it.

“You’re not allowed.” said Doflamingo, because what else is he supposed to say, how else is he supposed to let you know you are too precious to do grunt work? You are not to do any grunt work, ever, for as long as Doflamingo lived and breathed. His parents would roll in their graves if they ever heard he let you do any labor, and Doflamingo experienced a full-body cringe at the mere idea of allowing you to exhaust yourself. Unforgivable. Impermissible. Therefore, not allowed.

By his words, clearly you thought he thought you incapable because you are a woman, completely misunderstanding him as you said indignantly, “I am allowed -”

“You’re too cute to be out here in the cold, querida.” said Doflamingo.

Those words momentarily rendered you mute, and you stared up at him in shock, which made you even more adorable.

“I’m doing whatever I wanna do!” you protest, and it reminds Doflamingo of a bunny stomping its little foot on the ground.

“You get inside,” says Doflamingo, ignoring your words. You could think whatever you wanted, Doflamingo would rather put a sea prism bullet in his own leg than let you freeze outside and let you shovel the deck; he had Buffalo, Machvise and the others for that. Doflamingo wasn’t raised to allow you to do such things; he was raised to coddle you, provide for you, protect you, spoil you, and by his title as saint, he will. “I’ll get you some hot chocolate.”

The ship swayed under a wave, giving a small lurch.

The two of you slid on the solidified ice the deck had become overnight. It was only Doflamingo’s instincts and long arm that helped him grab onto you and pull you to his legs, keeping you from falling. You were completely unaffected, most likely used to such fumbling with Corazón — you didn’t even squawk in alarm, just took it like it was a common thing, to slide on the ice and risk falling and hurting yourself.

That was it. You weren’t listening to him. You were going to get a cold, and with your average civilian balance, break your skull. Time to change tactics.

“You made me do this,” said Doflamingo, sneering down at you.

“Do wha — AAAAH!”

Doflamingo reached down, wrapped his arm around your body, and lifted you up. Once he lifts you above his waist, and continues lifting you higher, that’s when you give an almighty, terrified shriek which startles the seagulls above the crow’s nest.

Doflamingo laughed, and put you stomach flat over his right shoulder, like he would a bag of gold, but you are a much more precious treasure he has than any gold.

There. Much easier. He should’ve done this from the start. Maybe he should carry you like this all the time. He smiled at the idea. Yes. That’s what he’ll do. You wouldn’t try to wiggle out of his grasp if he carried you this high; you’re too scared of hurting yourself by the huge height drop between his shoulder and the ground.

He straightened up, deployed his strings, and stepped onto them, walking on them rather than risk it with the ice.

“Doffy.” Your voice was shaky, terrified and breathless. Doflamingo failed to stifle his laugh. How adorable. “Doffy, put me down.”

You clutched at his spiked up, thick fluffs of hair. He sighed contently at the feeling, his chuckle rumbling through his chest as he grinned.

“Doffy! Put me down!”

“You’re not allowed!” he said firmly, but calmly all the same. He wasn’t angry, just concerned.

“Because I’m a woman?” you asked.

“No,” said Doflamingo simply. “Because I take care of you now.”

“I take care of myself!” you say indignantly as you’re being carried away on Doflamingo’s shoulder and back toward the warmth of the ship’s below deck with warm heating, comforting sweat and frosted, fogged glass.

He really needs to make sure with Diamante and Machvise the Numancia didn’t take any damage.

Doflamingo hears a giggle in his ear. He recognizes the sound, from a far-away memory long gone. He whips his head over his shoulder, and freezes solid.

“Don’t worry, Doffy.” said the little boy with blond bangs covering his eyes. He was sitting atop one of the posts of the sail, his arms tucked into the sleeves of a little purple feather coat over his light blue raincoat. He’s swinging his little feet back and forth where they dangle in the air from the sail. Something strange wells in Doflamingo’s eyes. His throat clogs up; he can’t speak.

The little boy sent him a big smile resembling the sun. “I’m okay.”

Doflamingo was hallucinating. He was definitely hallucinating. He needed to catch up on his sleep if he was seeing his eight-year-old baby brother and hearing his voice in his ear.

He headed inside, ducking as he went.

Baby 5 was tucked in his pink sleeping bag, back to sleep. The duvet wasn’t pulled all the way over her, so Doflamingo used his free right arm and lifted his finger, sending out a string to the duvet, lifting it up to cover Baby 5’s shoulders. Doflamingo hoped she at least woke up the cooks and that they started on breakfast and hot chocolate for the family. Doflamingo manoeuvred around the sleeping bodies of his family, stepping over their sleeping bodies easily.

In the end, you settled down after he put you on the couch in the galley. He noticed your chattering teeth, trembling body and red nose. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, took off his feather coat and draped the massive weight of it over your shoulders. The pink feathers completely enveloped you, tickling your cheeks as you looked up at him in surprise, the warmth the feathers suffused you in chasing away your trembles.

Doflamingo didn’t linger on the way you looked up at him, bundled in his feather coat and drowning in his scent, because he was sure he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from leaning down and kissing your lips to chase away the cold frost from them, too.

Instead, he slipped your arms into the thick, warm fluff of pink feathered sleeves, pulling the lapels over each other to keep you warm.

The sleeves were too long for you, and the end of the coat touched the ground of the cabin.

He went to get you both some hot chocolate and brought it to you to sip on in warm cups. The blissed smile you smiled and the relaxed sigh you released after your first sip of the hot beverage put him in a better mood.

He settled himself beside you on the couch with his pink mug filled with his hot chocolate. His thigh touched yours. This time, you didn’t inch away from him as you usually did when he sat down beside you during meals or in inns.

Doflamingo would much rather have your lips to keep him warm, but he’d settle for hot chocolate. For now.

He took a careful sip, and his body relaxed. He closed his eyes, basking in the bliss, his forehead smooth, free of any stress.

Feathers settled around his left shoulder, and his left sleeve fell over his arm.

When he turned to look down on you, a teasing comment on his tongue and a grin on his lips, you were looking up at him, and your eyes rendered his thoughts into a disarray.

“So you aren’t cold,” you said, lifting your arm high and stretching it all the way to adjust the left side of his coat atop his shoulder, which consequently meant you got closer to him, until your left shoulder leaned against his chest; if you leaned a bit further, you’d be nestled under his right arm.

“How do you walk with this?” you ask him, fussing over the coat. “It’s heavy.”

“It’s only nine kilograms.” he said. It was a comforting weight on his back; he was used to having it draped over his shoulders.

You deadpan at him, then, after a moment, say, “No wonder your neck’s starting to crane.”

“Drink your hot chocolate,” he said.

You snickered. “Yes, captain.”

You hugged the right part of his feather coat to yourself, draping it over you, covering your legs and entire body in the pink feathers. Doflamingo wondered if you liked the lingering scent of his cologne on the coat.

“It’s warm,” you whispered, closing your eyes, peaceful.

Doflamingo slipped his left arm into the sleeve of his feather coat, draping the front of it the same way you did. The two of you were swathed together in his pink coat.

You were right. With you nestled against him and swathed in his coat, it was warm.

Doflamingo didn’t feel cold at all.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @daydreamer-in-training

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

TGCF couples at the beach

Because i want to go to the beach so bad rn

HuaLian:

Hua Cheng isnt too fond of the sun or the water but gege said he'd like to go so they're going.

Everything is fancy and luxurious, only the best for gege.

A large beach bed with a canopy, drinks and snacks served at all times, the whole nine yards.

He wears those fancy sunscreen lotions with foreign names cause he may be dead but he also burns easily and turns into a big baby about it.

Xie Lian insists they dont need to do all that and can just chill in the sand with a towel, which Hua Cheng finds preposterous.

They have a big ass umbrella over the canopy bed too cause the sun is a deadly laser.

So much affection - cuddling, kissing, being all sweet and lovey, feeding each other watermelon and gathering seashells

Theyre sickeningly sweet

Hua Cheng is able to keep his hands to himself for about 5 seconds max

If there are any noisy kids or families around, Hua Cheng sends Yin Yu to scare them off

(They take Yin Yu with for this express purpise but hey free all inclusive vacation, a win is a win)

Xie Lian never burns ever and refuses to wear sunscreen. Hua Cheng pouts about it because 1) dont want gege to get a sunburn and 2) cant teasingly rub lotion over him smh

Hua Cheng builds one of those fancy sand statues of Xie Lian and he thinks its the most romantic thing ever

It is

So many kisses in the water and swimming together all lovey

Hua Cheng is never seen not drinking a margarita

"You do not need to keep your swim trunks that low, San Lang." "Gege, tan lines are terrible."

BeefLeaf

SQX cant get He Xuan out of the water once they arrive to the beach. Nope. That is his habitat now. He belongs to the fishes.

SQX rents out beach chairs by the bar because how can one tan without a drink in hand?

Skimpy swimsuits because SQX also abides by the tan lines are the devil mentality

Manages to get He Xuan out of the water with the promise of ice cream

Talking shit about everyone around while eating ice cream and drinking martinis

So many seashells. He Xuan gives them to SQX as an offering aw

"XuanXuan you cant drown people that say indecent things about me!" "Who says" "the law??"

He Xuan brings SQX little fish he catches if they look colorful or pretty

"XuanXuan, put some tanning oil on my back!" And He Xuan spends like 10 mins trying to find the correct bottle because SQX brought like 50 and the tanning oil SQX wants looks like literally every other bottle there

So many selfies

He Xuan digs tunnels in the sand whenever he isnt in the water. SQX has to talk him into not using the Earth Master shovel

Theyre checking out hot people together

He Xuan puts on sunglasses to pretend he isnt staring at SQX

"XuanXuan you cant throw jellyfish at children!!"

SQX flirts their way into free drinks and He Xuan broods about it but also he is deeply in debt so he can't turn down free shit lmao

FengQing

Arguing, so much arguing, but hey thats their love language

"Thats a shit spot for a towel" "okay find a better one then" "here!" "Thats like a foot away whats the difference??"

Feng Xin refuses to put on sunscreen cause he thinks its not manly

"You cant beat the fucking sun, Feng Xin!"

Mu Qing refuses to get his hair wet. Feng Xin makes it a point to dunk him in the water at least once

Feng Xin falls asleep in the sun like an old man and Mu Qing draws dicks on him with sunscreen lmfao

They argue about who goes to get drinks and snacks and just end up going together

Feng Xin insists to exclusively drink beer until he tries one of Mu Qing's deadly cocktail combinations and hes hooked. He insists they add a little umbrella to his drink now so he and Mu Qing match

Sand castles competition turned chasing into the waves turned underwater kisses

Mu Qing judges everyone and Feng Xin cant help adding in to the commentary because its surprisingly entertaining

Beach sports! Theyre so competitive too so its extra fun and they make bets over everything

[muzsmocsing]

Xie Lian seeing some guy with the earth master shovel: Where the FUCK is my bestie Qingxuan?? You can't fool me, Black Water! Ain't NO person alive THIS mid you trick ass BITCH. WHERE IS HE. WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM??!?!??!

Yin Yu: ...Sir this is a McDonald's.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Traps

"Darling~!" A rich voice greeted me, as I stepped through the final doors leading to an opulent office. "You're looking better! Are you finally adjusting to the anti-poisons? I know they made you feel quite sick."

THAT was an understatement. Try worst cramps and fever of my life, with a dose of puking for days. They put me on IVs. Buuuut? I wasn't gonna say THAT. Not a chance in hell. We, team Earth that is, were supposed to be here for DIPLOMACY. So? Fucking LIE~☆

Yep! "Bit" sick. Just a touch. Hardly noticed, really. Took a nap.

Veneni laughed, rising from the elegant sprawl she'd been resting on one of her "not called couches but totally are" things. To be honest, her voice reminds me of those old "radio stars" from the clips at the museums. All smooth yet husky, curling around you, like they're going to invite you somewhere dark to learn a naughty little secret if you're very VERY good.

Kind of voice you could listen too for HOURS, reading the most boring shit imaginable, and it be the best time you'd had in years.

I am... SO gay, for Veneni.

Like? You DO NOT UNDERSTAND. She SASHAYS. Not walks. Not strolls. Sashays! Like life is a catwalk and she is the alpha bitch here to show these other models how it's DONE. But also? Like she doesn't even NOTICE! It's just... effortless. How she moves. All delicate hand motions and rolling hips and curves.

That I Can Not Touch because she is SUUUUPER poisonous.

Which is? Frankly? Homophobic and a crime against me, specifically. Yeah, her whole species is like that. And it's why all of us are suffering through the Anti-poison adjusters. But STILL! I can't even "accidentally" brush her hand? No potential kissing of hot hot hot alien gf? Illegal. Blocked. Everyone here is a bastard and I want to complain.

.....not, mind you, that I have the metaphorical lady balls to actually CONFESS anything.

But you know... maybe.... maybe if I pine hard enough?

Good ol' stand awkwardly nearby and mentally project "NOTICE ME SEMPAI!" At her? I put on my nice outfit! Makes the girls look-! Wait, does her species even give a shit about boobs? FUCK. Okay, see this? THIS is why I was a flight assist. Just inventory and handing stuff to people who knew what they were doing.

MASTER of the fine arts of "I Can Understand The Instruction Manuel, In Case Of Emergency"!

Pretty good at coffee, too. Not to brag.

But, like? Jokes aside? Things had been... Bad.

Everything had gone to shit. Then somehow found a shovel in the manure pile and started digging. Started OUT okay! Really, it had! Travel was unexpectedly a bit rough. Some sort of space storm that went RIGHT over my head, but we dodged every major catastrophe. Got here in one piece.

There was a fancy meeting party. Whiiiich? In hindsight? Terrible idea. WAY too many people with hella poisonous skin, standing WAY too close. Only reason we didn't IMMEDIATELY lose the head diplomate? Was the regulation "new planet, unknown pathogens" full body biosuit. He? Got a HUG. Like... right out the ship.

Oof. That would have been IT, for him. Unfortunately, he didn't make it past that much longer. Someone's pet bit him. And? Yep. Completely fucking venomous. Lethally so. A tragedy, right? Outlier, surely?

Ha!

No. No this planet was trying to fucking kill us. It was a toxin coated hellpit and had so far? Murdered just over half the diplomatic crew. Those that were still alive? Over half of THEM were in emergency care. With just over a forth of the OTHER survivors being the only ones who could safely care for them.

Rest of us were either in isolation or sick as FUCK.

Isolation for those who needed to get rescued, because the Anti-poison adjusters would fucking kill them. Or sick as hell, for those few who remain that finally, FINALLY had found a way to Not DIE.

ALL WHILE PEACE TALKS WERE TRYING TO HAPPEN.

It was a shit show~☆

I? Went from basically a nobody? To "congrats! By merit of NOT being dead or dying, you're the head diplomat by proxy!" Which? Fucking WHAT? You could physically SEE the stress radiating off the poor guys back home, as they tried to speed run me through "how to not Accidentally A War 101".

I was pretty sure his cup, did in fact, NOT contain coffee. But I wasn't telling.

Instead, I got the honor of carrying the video call. Literally. Since our tech was incompatible. I got to carry the whole set up. Portable battery included. So the ACTUAL Really, Actually, Trained In Diplomacy, Diplomat could call in. And then I could look pretty and nod seriously at the appropriate times.

Mmmmhmmm. Yes. I agree. I both understand what is being said, AND support Earth's position on these matters! I have definitely studied the materials. Am supposed to be here. We have DEFINITELY suffered no catastrophic loses, pay no attention to the chaos behind the curtains! Diploooomacyyyyy....

God, she is pretty.

Watching her smile, her sensors gently shift around her like flowing water, the way her hand delicately gestured as she spoke? I... I wanted to build her, like, a cabin or something. Bring her breakfast in bed. Maybe adopt an alien dog together. And like? I don't even KNOW how to build shit. But, fuck it. I'd learn.

Cause I mean... you KNOW you got it bad, when you look at Toxic Super Hell the planet, look at pretty lady, look BACK at the planet that in no uncertain terms ACTIVELY thirsts for your blood... and go?

"So when do I move? Feeling REAL patriotic for my new home! Wooo, New Home!"

Yes I have a problem. Shut up, I'm aware.

A quite click signaled the end of their talks. Finally done for the day. I definitely, in now way shape or form, perk up like an excited puppy hearing the word "walkies". Because that? THAT would suggest I had WAY more dignity. I am a thirsty, thirsty bitch, okay? SO PRETTY. Nice laugh! Calls me Darling!! I have a LIST!!!

"Mmmm, what an unpleasant man that was. Did something happen to Mr. Ho?" She asked, stretching in the slow rolling way of hers. It looked boneless and decadent. REALLY distracting. "I hope nothing Serious~. We were nearly on the cusp of getting you home! I do hope he gets well soon. But, ah~, where ARE my manner today, Darling? You must be starving!"

Veneni sweeps forward to tuck my arm in hers, pulling me against her side. Even through my biosuit and her modest dress... I... I can FEEL her body heat. How soft and warm she feels pressed close against me. She smells tingly and spiced, kinda like citrus and mulled cider. NOT! That I'm smelling her! WHICH I'M NOT!! Because that would be so, SO creepy! It's just-!? You know-?! AaaaaaAAA???

She guides me to our little table. Probably set up for guests in general. But... you know... kinda like to THINK of it? As ours?

I REALLY need to stop while I am ahead. Good fucking gods. Ignore me.

Mmm, yes, distraction cake! Let's talk about THAT instead! Wonder what she-? I then choked on my drink. Because... because after bringing out the usual traditional deserts of she was teaching me about? And dishes I could try? Veneni... c.. casually as you please rests her chin, propped up on one hand, then reaches out with the other... to place it on my hand, which rests on the table between us.

Hear that? That's my soul screaming at a pitch only dolphins can make.

OH MY GOD.

I'd like to say? I don't immediately embarrass myself? But that's a lie. I make a wheeze reminiscent of something dying horribly. Against all odds. She is NOT immediately disgusted and done with me. Dear lord, my parents may actually have a chance at seeing me married! Holy FUCK.

Wait. No. Slow your roll.

SMILE first. We GOT this! Seduce her!

I open my mouth... and stupid fell out. FUCK.

"Calm yourself, Darling!" She laughs, the bemused fondness lighting up her face. "You hardly need to impress ME! Believe me. I knew you were mine the second I saw you. Nothing could possibly change that~"

Her cute fangs catch the light, deadly sharp. Her's is a predatory species. I wonder if they like social touch? Cause I REALLY want to cuddle. Hold hands. Touch. Ooooother stuff~ But! Mostly the Hold Cute Alien GF! Assuming that's where this is headed. Please GOD let that be where this is headed!

"I was thinking... and I don't want to be too forward, of course," oh god please do "and I hope I'm not interpreting things incorrectly!" You are not. Take me you magnificent, purple, high femme queen amongst the masses. "But... I would VERY much like to... get to know you, Darling. On a more... personal level...?"

I kept my lips pressed desperately together to keep from literally shouting the word "Yes" in her face. Be cool. BE COOL! We are both cool and Very Normal About This! Scream in incoherent joy later!

Y..Yeah! Sounds great!

This is the best day of my-!

An explosion shook the biodome. While the whole planet WAS toxic as fuck? There were levels to it's toxicity. Some places too much for even native life forms to handle. And, of course, no place that non-natives could safely survive. Thus the capital's biodome. Highly filtered air, earth, and resources. Built for diplomacy and several critical care hospitals.

Now under attack. Another bomb exploded. Cracks in the dome.

I could only stare in mute horror at the pillar of smoke. Because... Because that was the isolation area. Our evac's. Someone just blew up... Then my brain seemed to comeback online all at once, as adrenaline flooded my system. I looked between the still unpacked call system and Veneni.

A piece of tech or a high ranking, probably high interest target. My maybe hopefully girlfriend. Not really much of a choice.

Fucking LEAVE IT.

We had to go. I pulled Veneni up, told her as much. She looked so startled.

"Of... Of course, Darling. Yes. You're right. I AM probably a target, aren't I?" The thought didn't seem to have occurred to her. God, I felt like a monster having to bring such ugliness to her attention. Scaring her like this. But ignorance wouldn't keep either of us safe.

"I...I think there was a safe room?" She faltered, arms crossing almost artfully, looking so uncertain I couldn't help but want to comfort her. "But, Darling, I'll admit.. I'm.. I think I'm rather scared. Will you protect me? Stay with me? ...please?"

I couldn't help it. She looked so scared. So delicately small. I stepped forward, arms going around her. Pulling her close like I could shield her from the world. I wouldn't let anything happen to her. I promised myself. Felt her arms, a few of her sensors, desperately curl around me.

I didn't see the smile, pressed against my front. That quickly vanished as she pulled back. Nor did I notice the calm technician, hidden in the shadows of a side hall, who nodded at Veneni as I herded her to "safety". Would think nothing of how, tragically, my rooms were hit in the follow up blasts. How very lucky, that Veneni has rooms to spare. But oh~ she would not want to over step!

I don't notice a lot of things. But hey, things are great! I got a girlfriend! Or, as she likes to joke,

She Got Me.

[angelfic]

imagine learning that tim is just. constantly running on coffee bc of his lack of sleep so you make him chai instead of coffee one day and he just switches to that bc its healthier and also it reminds him of u so!! motivation (+ u have to teach him how to make it cuz … ik that boy still says chai tea theres no way he knows how to already (damian shakes his head every time he hears it))

just went crazy thinking about this. I’m never going to be normal about tim ever again.

He’s just baffled at the fact you’re not measuring anything and just eyeballing stuff. Not only does it turn out the same every time, but he’s tried measuring everything according to a recipe he found online, and somehow yours tastes better. Every single time.

He eventually gives up trying to meticulously measure out each part of it and tries to watch you do it. It’s extremely hard for him to try and imitate your methods, especially with the lack of measurements involved.

“Okay, add a couple pods of cardamom, and- A COUPLE PODS, NOT THE WHOLE JAR, TIM.”

He stands there looking guilty as hell as his hands are clutching the empty jar. He’s also slightly scared because you just channelled your inner aunty, but that’s beside the point. How else is he supposed to learn???

Anyway, because he’s going crazy without a recipe to follow properly, he also gets distracted easily and tries eating a cardamom pod.

“What the fuck did I just put in my mouth?”

He’s gagging and running to get a spoon to shovel some sugar in his mouth and he’s super confused because chai tastes good, so why on God’s green earth does the cardamom taste like it’s from the deepest, darkest, most evil part of hell imaginable. Core desi child experience, you explain to him.

Once he starts drinking chai, coffee starts tasting like shit and he develops a serious addiction and he eventually masters the skill of making proper, authentic chai, because, duh, he’s Tim (And he secretly asked Damian to help him learn. Damian was not as forgiving as you). Yours still tastes better, though.

[jungle-angel]

Master Of The Earth (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Out of all the Daggers, Bob has the biggest green thumb of all

Tagging: @floydsmuse @callmemana @attapullman @bradshawsbaby @withahappyrefrain

It was one of those spring days where you knew summer would be right around the corner, bright and sunny, the birds singing and the fresh early morning air making its way into the house. You had been sitting out on the front steps, enjoying your morning coffee and relieved that your lesson plans for your class's sixth grade year were finally done and that all you would have to worry about were the Greek Games and the spring fair at the school you taught at.

You heard the faint playing of music coming from somewhere around the corner, just having finished a phone call with Bob's grandfather and wondering if your mind was playing tricks on you.

You wandered around the back to the backyard where the garden was already beginning to bloom, noticing that the greenhouse door was cracked open just a little to let in the fresh air. A cheeky grin played with your lips when you heard the bluetooth speaker playing "Shambala" by Three Dog Night and your eyes laying upon Bob who was dancing shirtless as he shoveled some of the bagged soil into the clay pots on the long wooden table.

"BOB!!"

"Jeebus FUCK!!!" he blurted out, jumping a little.

"Have you been in here all morning?" you asked him.

"Since five in the AM," he chuckled, drawing you in for a tight hug.

Oooh he was warm, so warm and a little sticky from the greenhouse humidity, smelling of fresh dirt and wet leaves. You kissed the curve of his neck and the tops of his pecs before he gladly and eagerly returned the kisses you had been giving.

"Oh, I've gotta show you these," he said excitedly.

He gently guided you to the bench where a whole pile of seed packets were waiting to be opened. "Oh my God," you chuckled. "Did you raid the entire Home Depot garden section?"

Bob had opened his mouth to say something. "I......ya know......it's funny you should ask that....."

"Robert Joseph......"

"(Y/n) I swear half of it was my dad's idea, I'm not lying."

You laughed and rolled your eyes. Bob, his dad Joe Floyd and Joe's father, Lowell, were the only three people on the face of the earth who would have willingly raided a Home Depot garden section and not given a single fuck hereafter. "Alright Professor Floyd," you said. "Continue with the lecture."

"Ah ok," Bob said. "Now we have here an assortment of plants that will be first put into clay pots and then gradually into bigger ones until they are ready to root in the ground. Now if you would like to flip through the pile of seed packets, you may feel free to do so."

You laughed and gladly flipped through the pile of packets, amazed at what Bob had been able to get. Calendula, oregano, cayenne pepper, chamomile, poppies, lavender, rosemary, mint, marigolds, valerian and a whole host of other herbs and flora that you swore weren't even native to where you lived.

"Ooh, yarrow," you said.

"That was always Meemaw's favorite," Bob explained. "I've also got tulsi, catnip and mugwort too."

"What else did you plant?" you asked him.

"Maybe a peach tree," Bob said, blushing a little. "For my sweet, juicy little peach of course."

You giggled, the heat filling you from head to toe.

"I've also got a few bushes too," Bob continued. "Blackberry, elderberry, raspberry.......maybe a camellia bush. Black cohosh will help with mom's hot flashes and keep the pests away. Nasturtium will grow hardy but they need wood dowels to climb up. I'd like to see about some mullein and nettle but I'm not sure where we'd put it. Hawk said he would come by later and give me some white sage seeds that he extracted from his daughter's garden too."

You could have listen to him babble on for hours about the plants and the experiments he was trying. You made a mental note to introduce him to Mr. Jenkins, the high school science teacher who was teaching his ninth graders some of the principals and techniques involved in holistic farming, as the two of them would have a day long conversation.

You and Bob set to planting the seeds, scooping the dirt and putting it into the pots along with the seeds and properly burying them just enough so they could push through to the surface when the time came. You watered and fertilized as you saw fit, taking pictures of new sprouts or buds and adding them into Bob's journal full of his drawings, writings and observations. You both had lost track of the time until you realized it was already noon and time for lunch. But thankfully, the day wasn't over yet and you could do as much more planting as the day would allow.

[hualianisms]

Revised TGCF Novel: Hualian as Yin Yu's sect leaders in YY's dream

I talked before in a previous post about the changes to YY's arc/the quanyin flashback in the revised novel, but didn't have space to elaborate about the context regarding YY's dream. so I decided to make a proper post explaining the full context behind it!

these are the sequence of events in the revised novel that lead to the quanyin flashback sequence (ch 134-139 in the revised):

YY was digging with the earth master shovel in the Mount Tonglu tunnels to make tunnels for XL, HC and the other gods to travel in (the same tonglu tunnel scenes from the original novel).

then, YY's shovel accidentally hit a mountain monster/demon (it's implied that it's bc of XL's bad luck - bc YY had asked XL where to dig next and followed the direction XL told him)

the mountain monster tries to swallow YY's consciousness whole. HC said that to wake up from being swallowed by the mountain monster, you have to recall your most painful/worst memories, or the memories that cause you strong enough emotions of pain/anger/torment that it will keep your consciousness awake. otherwise, your soul will be consumed entirely by the mountain monster.

HC cast the butterfly dream spell on YY to make YY fall asleep and start dreaming. HC said YY will now naturally recall his most painful/difficult memories. with the butterfly spell, Hualian can now enter YY's dream.

YY is dreaming about his memories starting from finding QYZ outside their sect as a 10 year-old child, up to YY's banishment (this is the quanyin flashback sequence from the original novel. it is largely the same as in the original, except with a couple of new scenes/moments)

(context: when HC casts the butterfly dream spell, the person dreaming has to subconsciously fit Hualian into the existing characters/setting in their dream, so that Hualian can be a part of their dream world. YY's mind subconsciously imagined XL as his Shibo and HC as his Shizun. they are co-sect leaders, with the Shibo ranking highest in the sect. the Shibo is oldest; he is the Shizun's shixiong.)

XL turns up in YY's dream as YY's Sect Leader Shibo. there is a scene of him interacting with the disciples when the disciples find QYZ outside the doors of their sect.

We see YY coming up to XL to ask: "Sect Leader Shibo, this kid is pretty good (at fighting). Is it possible to consider taking him into our sect?" XL: "About this, it seems like we should consult Sect Leader... Shixiong?" YY (gets visibly nervous): "But, you know that, with Sect Leader Shizun's temperament, it could be extremely difficult to get him to agree. However, Sect Leader Shizun is willing to listen you about everything..." XL agrees to ask the Shizun. YY: "If it's you asking, Sect Leader Shizun will definitely not object!"

XL then goes to see the Sect Leader Shizun who is indeed HC, dressed in white and looking very elegant (fanart of Shizun HC here). XL tells HC with a smile, "Sect Leader Shidi, your disciples are all so scared of you." HC smiles and replies "Gege, you've actually already guessed that it's me."

then we see the scenes of YY's memories of everything that went wrong regarding QYZ, ending with his banishment, and the memory sequence ends with YY waking up with an anguished scream so strong that it breaks him free of the mountain monster

[tohmon]

[litoriaperoni]

prev reblog reminded me of a post i read a while back where someone misinterpreted "yin yu is a 7 [out of 10, appearance-wise]" as "yin yu looks to be about 7 years old" and

crack version of tgcf where everything is the same except yin yu is child shaped (maybe some weird unintended cursed shackle side effect idk). he's still hua cheng's capable and faithful servant! just, babie.

xie lian cornered in ghost city only for the respected and feared waning moon officer to arrive! the crowd parts and xl's faced with this 4 foot tall pipsqueak.

he follows him to paradise manor and sees the cursed shackle and has to not only contend with the fact that a banished god is working for hc, but also, this is a child who used to be a god??

(i wonder if xl's adoption instincts would kick in. he's like "san lang your subordinate is so cute!") (that is, after he's like "really san lang? child labour?") (i don't know what hc's answer to that would be but xl would be fine with it.)

that one scene in the textile house where hc's disguised as lang ying. i think it would be funny for yin yu and hc to be on eye level with each other when yin yu gives hc a Look before he tells xl that "chengzhu is very busy".

(yin yu helping hc emotionally deal with his kiddification caused by mount tonglu opening. he knows what it's like.)

the gang are stuck in mount tonglu when suddenly a child wielding the earth master shovel comes in and saves them all. xl still mistakes this bland looking child for black water. it's still a perfectly logical disguise, of course! who's going to remember some random kid? of course it must be black water in disguise, yes.

actually would any of the gods recognise child!yin yu? would quan yizhen recognise him? i'd like to imagine that qyz still manages to put two and two together. this child has all of shixiong's habits for some reason... very suspicious...

jun wu would definitely have "restoration to your original form" as one of the things he tries to tempt yin yu with. not sure how the whole of 212 would go down but i do like imagining this little 7 year old, overflowing with qyz's spiritual power, doing his best to stand up to the heavenly emperor.

[myriadebleue]

Le Maître de la Terre = l'homme à la pelle.

Earth Master = the shovel guy.

-

Meme créé dans le cadre de l'event @tgcffrenchsummer

OG pic/meme:

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kitchensink callithump linkdump

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

With just days to go before my summer vacation, I find myself once again with a backlog of links that I didn't squeeze into the blog, and no hope of clearing them before I disappear into a hammock for two weeks, so it's time for my 21st linkdump – here's the other 20:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

I'm going to start off this week's 'dump with a little bragging, because it's my newsletter, after all. First up: a book! Yes, I write a lot of books, but what I'm talking about here is a physical book, a limited edition of ten, that I commissioned from three brilliant craftspeople.

Back in March 2023, I launched a Kickstarter to pre-sell the audiobook of Red Team Blues, the first novel in my new Martin Hench series, about a forensic accountant who specializes in unwinding tech bros' finance frauds:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

One of the rewards for that campaign was a very special hardcover: a handmade, leather-bound edition of Red Team Blues, typeset by the typography legend John D. Berry:

https://johndberry.com/

Bound by the legendary book-artist John DeMerritt:

https://www.demerrittstudios.com/

And printed by the master printer JaVae Berry:

https://www.jgraphicssf.com/

But this wasn't a merely beautiful, well made book – it had a gimmick. You see, I had already completed the first draft of The Bezzle, the second Hench novel, by the time I launched the Kickstarter for Red Team Blues. I had John Berry lay out a tiny edition of that early draft as a quarter-sized book, and then John DeMerritt hand-bound it in card.

The reason that edition of The Bezzle had to be so small was that it was designed to slip into a hollow cavity in the hardcover, a cavity that John Berry had designed the type around, so that both books could be read and enjoyed.

I offered three of these for sale through the Kickstarter, and the three backers were very patient as the team went back and forth on the book, getting everything perfect. Last month, I took delivery of the books: three for my backers, one each for John DeMerritt and John Berry's personal archives, one for me, and a few more that I'm going to surprise some very special people with this Christmas.

Look, I had high hopes for this book. I dote on beautiful books, my house is busting with them, and I used to work at a new/used science fiction store where we had a small but heartstoppingly great rare book selection. But these books are fucking astounding. Every time I handle mine, my heart races. These are beautiful things, and I just want to show them to everyone:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/albums/72177720318331731/

As it happens, the next thing I'm going to do (after I finish this newsletter) is turn in the copyedited manuscript for the third Hench novel, Picks and Shovels, which comes out in Feb 2025 (luckily, I had enough time to review the edits myself, then turn it over to my mom, who has proofed every book I've written and always catches typos that everyone else misses, including some real howlers – thanks Mom!):

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865908/picksandshovels

Of course, the majority of people who enjoy my books do not end up with one of these beautiful hardcovers – indeed, many of you consume my work exclusively as electronic media: ebooks and (of course) audiobooks. I love audiobooks and the audio editions of my books are very good, with narrators like Amber Benson, Wil Wheaton, and Neil Gaiman.

But here's the thing: Audible refuses to carry my books, because they are DRM-free (which means that they aren't locked to Audible's approved players – you can play my audiobooks with any audiobook player). Audible has a no-exceptions, iron-clad rule that every book they sell must be permanently locked into their platform, which means that Audible customers can't ditch their Audible software without losing their libraries – all the books they purchased:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

Being excluded from Audible takes a huge bite out of my income – after all, they're a monopolist with a 90% market share. That's why I'm so grateful for indie audiobook stores that carry my books on equitable terms that Audible denies – stores like Libro.fm, Downpour and even Google Books.

This week, I discovered a new, amazing indie audiobook store called Storyfair, where the books are DRM-free and the authors get a 75% royalty on every sale:

https://storyfair.net/helpstoryfairgrow/

Storyfair is a labor of love created by a married couple who were sickened and furious by the way that Audible screws authors and listeners and decided to do something about it. Naturally, I uploaded my whole catalog to the site so they could sell it:

https://storyfair.net/search-for-audiobooks/?keyword=cory+doctorow&filter=any

These books are DRM-free, which means that no matter who you buy them from, you can play them in the same player as your other DRM-free audiobooks. You know how you can read all your books under the same lamp, sitting in the same chair, and then put them in the same bookcase when you're done with them? It's weird – outrageous even! – that tech companies think that buying a book from them means that they should have the legal right to force you to read or listen to it using their technology exclusively.

If you let your Storyfair audiobooks touch your Libro.fm audiobooks, they won't get cooties! Audible is like a toddler that won't let their broccoli touch their peas – only that toddler is also a rapacious monopolist that keeps 75% of every sale.

The fight for fair audiobooks is one of those places where the different parts of my professional life cross over: activism, digital media, art, writing the web, and breaking down complex technical subjects for a mass audience. I've just signed up to a six-year project to combine all those facets in a structured way, in collaboration with Cornell University.

Cornell just named me as their latest AD White Professor-at-Large. This is a six-year appointment that involves a series of week-long visits to Ithaca to lecture, run seminars, meet with colleagues, collaborate on research, and do community performances:

https://adwhiteprofessors.cornell.edu/

We've tentatively scheduled my first visit for early September 2025, to coincide with the Ithaca Book Festival, and we've got big plans, roping in multiple departments at Cornell, the local alternative school and local colleges, doing talks at the fair as well as at the university, and (we hope!) squeezing in a stop in NYC on the way home for a day at Cornell Tech. I'm so excited (and honored) to be working with Cornell (and getting a chance to visit Moosewood Restaurant, whose cookbooks taught me how to cook!). Watch this space.

Authorship has always been a political act, but never moreso than today, with waves of book-bans sweeping the country. One of the heroes of those bans is Maggie Tokuda-Hall, who made headlines when she publicly excoriated Scholastic for demanding that she remove references to racism from her kids' books in order to make them more palatable to reactionaries:

https://www.npr.org/2023/04/15/1169848627/scholastic-childrens-book-racism

Tokuda-Hall has stepped up the fight, co-founding Authors Against Book Bans, an org that provides training and support for author/activists so they can fight back against book bans at library board and city council meetings:

https://www.authorsagainstbookbans.com/

Authors Against Book bans is looking for members! I signed up last week, within seconds of having Tokuda-Hall give me the pitch when we ran into each other in Oakland at the Locus Awards. Are you an author? Sign up too! They're especially interested in branching out beyond YA and kids' authors (though they want those kinds of writers, too!).

Book bans affect us all. Even if you personally are never stymied when you visit your library and discover the book that you want to read has been removed by a swivel-eyed loon with terminal groomer-panic. The bans sweeping our country mean that our neighbors and loved ones are being denied literature by these cranks. There are people in your life who are losing out on the possibility of a life-changing literary adventure (which is why the far right hates these books – they want to be sure no one encounters the ideas between their covers).

The realization that you have to live in a society with people who are harmed by injustice, even if you personally escape that justice? It's the whole basis for solidarity.

Americans are living through a multigenerational project of stamping out solidarity and insisting that we only ever view ourselves as individuals, with no stake in the plights of our neighbors. That's how the US got the most expensive, least effective health care system in the world. And even if you are in the vanishingly tiny minority of Americans who are happy with their health care, you live amongst people who are being killed by the system around you.

The health system is a perfect example of how monopolization drives more monopolization, and how that comes to harm the public and workers. Health consolidation began with pharma mergers, that led to pharma companies gouging hospitals. Hospitals, in turn, engaged in a nonstop orgy of mergers, which created regional monopolies that could resist the pricing power of monopoly pharma – and screw insurers. That kicked off consolidation in insurance, which is why most Americans have a "choice" of between one and three private insurers – and why health workers' monopoly employers have eroded their wages and working conditions.

A new study in American Economic Review: Insights puts some quantitative spine in this tale, tracking the relationship between hospital mergers and skyrocketed health-care prices:

https://harris.uchicago.edu/news-events/news/consolidation-hospital-sector-leading-higher-health-care-costs-study-finds?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template

The researchers investigated 1,164 acute-care hospital mergers, finding that while the FTC only challenged 1% of these, they could – and should – have challenged 20% of them, based on the agency's own criteria for merger scrutiny. The researchers blame the rising costs of hospital care directly on these mergers, and point out that Congress has historically starved the FTC of the budget it needed to investigate these mergers. The annual additional costs to the American people from these mergers exceed the entire annual budget of the FTC.

It's not just hospitals: the entire investor class is hell-bent on spending their way to monopoly. Nowhere is that more true than in AI, where hundreds of billions are being poured into bids to attain permanent dominance through scale. Writing for their excellent AI Snake Oil newsletter, Arvind Narayanan and Sayash Kapoor inject some realism into the AI scale hype:

https://www.aisnakeoil.com/p/ai-scaling-myths

Narayanan and Kapoor challenge the idea that throwing more data at large language models will make the better: "With LLMs, we may have a couple of orders of magnitude of scaling left, or we may already be done." They are skeptical that this can be fixed with synthetic data (whose use is limited to "fixing specific gaps and making domain-specific improvements"). They also point out that if returns from data slow, then returns from adding more compute or making bigger models might also be throttled.

They reserve their most skeptical take for "AGI" – the idea that LLMs are going to achieve consciousness. This is a fundamentally unserious idea, one that they unpack in detail in their forthcoming book:

https://press.princeton.edu/books/hardcover/9780691249131/ai-snake-oil

One thing I'm hoping for from the book is some analysis of the material usefulness of AI hype – what purpose does the hype serve? I mean, obviously, hype is useful if you're looking to suck up investor capital, or flip an investment to a greater fool. But there's a specific character to AI hype: namely, the claim that AI will displace labor, which is really a claim that a bet on AI is a bet on the increasing wealth of capital at labor's expense.

In other words, AI is a bet on oligarchy. In America, that's a pretty safe bet, and the odds just got even better, thanks to a string of brutal Supreme Court decisions that legalized bribery, banned most regulatory enforcement, and made being alive and unhoused into a crime (Poor Laws 2.0):

https://prospect.org/justice/2024-06-29-whos-gonna-check-supreme-court-chevron-separation-powers/

But amidst all those gimmes to the rich and powerful, there was one notable exception: the SCOTUS ruling on the Purdue Pharma bankruptcy. Purdue was the family business of the Sacklers, a multigenerational dope-peddling dynasty that went from super-rich to stratospherically rich by kickstarting the opioid epidemic with their blockbuster drug Oxycontin.

The Sacklers sold mountains of Oxy the old fashioned way: by lying. The lied about its efficacy and they lied about its safety, and they helped kill hundreds of thousands of Americans. Eventually, this caught up with them, and Purdue lost a bunch of court cases and was forced into bankruptcy.

That's where things get gnarly: the Sacklers took the already-sleazy world of elite bankruptcy to a whole new level, with a set of breathtakingly sleazy maneuvers that ensured that their case would be heard by the one judge in America who would let them off the hook:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

That judge was Robert Drain and the Sacklers were the blow-off to a long and shameful career in public "service." The Sacklers incorporated a subsidiary in White Plains, NY (in Drain's turf) precisely 181 days before filing for bankruptcy, then claimed that this empty small-town office had been the company HQ for more than six months. Then they hid machine-readable metadata in their filing that tricked the court's database into assigning the case to Drain:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#shoppers-choice

The reason the Sacklers were so horny for Drain? He was a notoriously generous source of "nonconsensual third-party releases." These would allow the Sacklers to permanently end every lawsuit against them without having to declare bankruptcy. Instead, they could take their (ruined, hollow) company through bankruptcy, throw a small fraction of their personal fortunes into the pot, representing fractional pennies on the dollar of what they owed to their victims, and walk away with tens of billions and eternal protection from any future suits.

In other words, they could stiff their creditors and keep the loot. Which is exactly what Robert Drain gave them – before retiring from the bench to get a two-orders-of-magnitude pay raise at a white-shoe firm that specializes in representing corporate mass-murderers like the Sacklers.

That's where it would have ended, but for a surprising ruling from the Supreme Court, which threw out the nonconsensual third-party release deal and put the Sacklers back on the hook to pay the victims of their many, many crimes.

As ever, the best source of analysis and explanation for elite bankruptcy shenanigans is Adam Levitin of the Credit Slips blog:

https://www.creditslips.org/creditslips/2024/06/purdue-pharma-decision-a-big-win-for-mass-tort-victims.html

Levitin has a prediction for what's going to happen next. He rejects the predictions of Sackler apologists, who say that this is going to add years or decades to the already too-long wait for compensation that the Sacklers' victims have endured. Instead, Levitin says that the Sacklers will almost certainly transfer billions more from their personal fortunes to the settlement pot and beg for consensual releases from their victims. In other words, they'll go from dictating terms to asking for them.

So the settlement will stand, but it will be larger, and victims who don't want to take it won't have to – they'll be able to sue. In other words, this ruling "does not prevent deals in bankruptcy. It just changes the terms of what those deals."

This has implications for other mass-murderers and corporate criminals, like Johnson and Johnson (who tricked women into dusting their vulvas with asbestos):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

And the Boy Scouts of America, who let pedophiles abuse children for decades:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/05/third-party-nonconsensual-releases/#au-recherche-du-pedos-perdue

Both J&J and BSA carved out nonconsensual third-party releases in the mold of the Sacklers' deal, and both briefed the Supreme Court, warning that if the Sacklers were forced to pay what they owed, J&J and BSA's victims would also be entitled to far larger sums. Go ahead and threaten us with a good time, why doncha?

The Sackler decision is a real bright spot at a dark time for corporate impunity. It's always nice to see big corporate bullies getting a bit of a comeuppance. Another one of those comeuppances was just delivered thanks to a classic fatfinger error.

A Microsoft engineer accidentally released the sourcecode to Playready, the company's flagship DRM product:

https://borncity.com/win/2024/06/26/microsoft-employee-accidentally-publishes-playready-code/

Microsoft's DRM doesn't do anything to protect the interests of creative workers or even the companies that employ them. As a Microsoft rep admitted on stage at a presentation in 2006, the purpose of Microsoft DRM is to prevent small startups from entering the market, ensuring that Microsoft and its "rivals" can safely divide up the world without worrying about disruptive competitors:

https://memex.craphound.com/2006/01/30/msft-our-drm-licensing-is-there-to-eliminate-hobbyists-and-little-guys/

I was there that day and reported on the remarks, prompting both Microsoft and its rep to furiously deny that they'd ever said this, despite multiple witnesses who heard it. This was just a couple years after I gave a viral talk at Microsoft about why the company shouldn't use DRM:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/18/greetings-fellow-pirates/#arrrrrrrrrr

By 2006, it was clear that the company was all in on DRM, and today, DRM is the centerpiece of Microsoft's anticompetitive strategy, and Playready is the centerpiece of Microsoft's DRM. The source-code leak is doubtless going to give rise to lots of grey-market tools for stripping DRM from all kinds of media:

https://security-explorations.com/microsoft-playready.html

You love to see it! Now I'm doubly looking forward to this summer's security conferences, including Defcon, where, for the first time, I'll be emceeing the charity poker tournament to benefit EFF:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/06/betting-your-digital-rights-eff-benefit-poker-tournament-def-con-32

This should be very fun – and funny – especially given how little I know about poker (I have been specifically selected on that basis, for the comedy value). Every player gets a custom EFF poker-deck, and the winner gets a treasure chest filled by EFF board member Tarah Wheeler, including "emeralds, black pearls, amethysts, diamonds, and more."

I like to close these linkdumps with something fun and uplifting, and I'd planned to end things with the poker-tournament, but then my pal Raph Koster announced that his game studio Playable Worlds had dropped its first announcement of Stars Reach, an open-world MMO like no other:

https://www.raphkoster.com/2024/06/28/announcing-stars-reach/

Raph is a legend in MMO design circles, whose credits include Ultima Online and Star Wars Galaxies. He wrote the definitive text on how games work, A Theory of Fun, that's does for games what Understanding Comics did for comics:

https://www.theoryoffun.com/

Stars Reach is stupidly ambitious. It consists of truly open worlds, modeled to an absurd degree of fidelity:

We know the temperature, the humidity, the materials, for every cubic meter of every planet. Our water actually flows downhill and puddles. It freezes overnight or during the winter. It evaporates and turns to steam when heated up. And not just our water — everything does this. Catch a tree on fire with a stray blaster bolt. Melt your way through a glacier to find a hidden alien laboratory embedded in the ice. Stomp too hard on a rock bridge, and watch out, it might collapse under your feet. Dam up a river to irrigate your farm. Or float in space above an asteroid, and mine crystals from its depths.

The game is fundamentally a climate story, whose lore has humanity seeded around the galaxy by a powerful alien race called the Old Ones, only to have humans bust through the planetary limits of every world they were given. Now the Old Ones are giving humans another chance to try smarter ways of sustaining ourselves on new worlds, with the aid of powerful robots call "Servitors."

Because this is a Raph Koster game, it's got a bunch of extremely satisfying play dynamics:

A classless skill tree advancement system, where peaceful play matters just as much as combat

An intricate player-driven economy where players can craft their way to fame and fortune

An accessible yet deep combat system, where you can choose whether to play using action aiming or more forgiving homing shots or lock-on targeting

In-world player housing that lets you build and customize your home and form towns… and enough room for everyone to have a house

A single shardless galaxy, with both space and ground gameplay… in fact, you can build that house on an asteroid, if you want

The ability for a group to govern a planet, and define its laws, whether you want a peaceful home or a PvP free for all

Stars Reach is not playable yet, but the company's looking for gamers to give them feedback and steer the development:

https://starsreach.com/

OK, that wraps up the week's links. I'm gonna get one more edition out on Monday, god willin' and the crick don't rise, and then I'll be off for a couple weeks. Enjoy your summer!

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/29/pasticcio/#professor-at-large

Image: James St John https://flickr.com/photos/47445767@N05/40894047123

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[aviationgeek71]

Forgotten Places

Cradled between weathered stones, her delicate fonds dance in the gentle breeze, creating a harmonious blend of beauty and history. Together they tell a story of life's resilience now embraced by the quiet romance of forgotten places...

This fern-like plant found a home among old stones that mark the beginning of the Ohio-Erie Canal. On July 4, 1825, Governor DeWitt Clinton of New York, a Master Mason, ceremoniously turned the first shovel of earth at this very spot—inaugurating the construction of Ohio’s first major canal.

Heath, Ohio. August, 2024.

@aviationgeek71

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 47: Unrepentant Vagabonds

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: 18+, mdni. See AO3 for other chapter-specific warnings.

a/n: The gang runs into an old friend, meets the Mad Mage, acquires a new pet, and plays a game of poker. This chapter was me trying my hand at some more campy/fun interactions. ALSO I got sidetracked and started a Gale fic, because the pipeline is real. You can read it here.

———————————————————————

The Undermountain is just as unsettling as Celeste remembers. 

Halaster’s lair, according to Gale, was nestled far within a network of hidden passageways and tunnels. To Celeste’s dismay, they entered through the alley of the Yawning Portal again, Astarion reaching for her hand tentatively as they descended through the hatch. Thankfully, they took a left before continuing down the same path Astarion had brought her down weeks ago, and soon were deep enough underground that Celeste was confident Vanrakdoom was too far to be of concern anymore.

For most of the trek, Celeste kept her eyes to the gray granite floor, taking extra care when they’d descend the railless staircases, Astarion’s palm on the small of her back to reassure her. The lower they went, the colder the atmosphere became, and the familiar scent of damp earth filled her nostrils. Throughout their journey, their companions stayed silent, aware that one misplaced step or a too-loud word could result in certain death. 

Finally, Gale presses a hand to a wall in a dark corridor and disappears through, the rest of them following through the illusion apprehensively. Illuminated by a series of acid green torches, the hall glows faintly as Gale approaches a bolted shut door, and raps his knuckles against the wood three times. 

“Master Blackcloak is not accepting solicitors!” A small voice snarls as the door cracks open. A quasit stands in the frame, looking up, assessing.��

“Hello, Shovel.” Gale’s arms are folded as he looks down at the creature. 

“Is that really you, Meaty? You fleshbags all look the same to Shovel!” 

“Shovel?” Celeste whispers to Astarion, raising an eyebrow. 

“A quasit.” Astarion answers in a low voice. “Demons trapped in service to whoever summons them. This one’s called Shovel.” 

“Yes, but why Shovel?”

“She came with the name. Felt wrong to change it.” He responds with a shrug. 

The demon continues on in a shrill tone. “And you brought Fangy!” She springs forward, wrapping her claws around Astarion’s calf.

“Oh, for the love of-get off!”

“Seems quite taken with you.” Celeste observes. 

“Astarion let her eat his camp portions.” Karlach reveals, “he’s more softhearted than he lets on.” 

“Let’s not get carried away, my fiery friend. After all, stale bread was wasted on me,” Astarion says as he struggles with Shovel, who appears to be having fun biting at his leg, hanging from his pant leg as he shakes his ankle wildly.

“He made a mess, lying on his cot and tossing food about like he was feeding the pigeons.” Minthara says disapprovingly.

“Can you all shut up?” Astarion snaps, finally dislodging the quasit. 

“Gale, why does Halaster have Shovel?” Shadowheart asks. 

“Well, we…arranged a trade. Halaster is a collector of creatures, Shovel needed a home, and I…” he pauses, bringing a fist to his mouth as he clears his throat, “was in need of night orchids.”

“Cuuuuttteee.” Karlach elbows Gale in the ribs as his cheeks begin to turn pink.

Shovel guides them through the door, scurrying down the hall.

“Come, Meaty, master Halaster is eager to see you.”

They follow the quasit inside and Celeste’s gaze drifts to the walls, lined with displays of various oddities, skeletons, and jars of mysterious substances. 

“A little unnerving…you don’t think he’ll add us to the display?” Astarion murmurs, taking in the surroundings. “Gale, how did you get tied up with an archmage of such an ominous reputation?” 

“Believe it or not, Elminster introduced us.” 

“Elminster?” Astarion asks, surprised. “I would have thought the wizard too much of a do-gooder to associate with someone in the Undermountain.”

“Only proves how little you know about Elminster, then.” Gale says as they reach a vast, circular room, filled with mechanical contraptions, piles of books, and large aquariums of strange-looking fish. At the far end, a man with long white hair and a frumpy wizard’s hat bends over a terrarium, dropping in a beetle for a fat, purple toad waiting with an open mouth at the bottom. When he notices them, he leaps forward, rushing toward Gale and engaging him in a vigorous handshake. The mage’s wrinkled face contorts into a pleasant expression, his gray eyes gleaming.

“Mystra’s Chosen returns!” He exclaims. “Your tressym has made herself quite at home here, once again, in your absence.”

“I appreciate the favor, Halaster, but we’ve discussed this. I’m not Mystra’s Chosen anymore.” 

“Right, well. You’re still my chosen insurance policy.” Halaster waves dismissively.

Shadowheart’s head jerks up. “What is he talking about, Gale?” 

“In the case of Halaster’s untimely death, the magic of the Undermountain would destabilize. That alone should deter anyone from challenging him, but just in case…Mystra’s Chosen has the power and knowledge to set the…security system back into place.”

“But you’re not her chosen.” 

“Tell that to him.” Gale points a thumb at the mad mage. 

“What makes you so confident the wizard wouldn’t kill you and take the Undermountain for himself?” Minthara asks Halaster curiously. 

Halaster’s attention settles on Gale with a chilling expression. 

“He won’t.”

The two exchange a warning look, silently communicating thousands of words, and Celeste looks away uncomfortably.

“Sounds like a nasty contingency plan…for both of you.” Wyll says. 

“Who have you brought for me, boy?” Halaster asks, tiring of the conversation as he peeks around Gale, gaze lingering on Celeste and Astarion. 

“These are my friends. We need your help to gain access to Vanrakdoom so we can permanently put an end to Shar’s operations here.” 

“I would like nothing more than to evict the Lady of Sorrows’ followers from my dwelling.” Halaster strides over, hands clasped behind his back as he circles the group like a carrion bird. “Did you know Shar enthralled me and tried to convince me to steal Mystra’s silver fire a century ago? Things got very messy. Had to go to the Hells to rescue Elminster to make up for the ordeal.” He says to Gale. 

“I’m well aware of your history, Halistar-”

“I’m not.” Nocturne cuts him off. “You rescued Elminster from Avernus?”

The more Celeste came to know the tiefling, the more she admired her thirst for lore, collecting stories like one would collect precious gems.  

“I tried, but Alassra Silverhand beat me to it, bastard. Still, Mystra forgave me and cured me.”

“Cured you? Of what?” 

“Of my insanity, of course.” 

“Right...” Wyll says under his breath, pulling Nocturne closer with a subtle touch on her belt. 

The Mad Mage pauses in front of Celeste and Astarion, his eyes narrowing. 

“You two reek of the heavens.” He lifts a wrinkled hand to lift up Celeste’s chin, and she stiffens, trying to remain composed as his gnarled fingernails come dangerously close to grazing her skin. He releases his hold on her and turns to Astarion. “And a fresh blood oath. Intriguing.”

“He can smell magic?” Celeste hears Karlach whisper to Gale behind her. 

“Our lives are bound.” Celeste explains before more intrusive questions might be asked, “In order to free me from an oath my father made to Shar before my birth.” 

“Broke Fangy, she did!” Shovel squeals, pointing an accusatory claw in Celeste’s direction. “Used to stink of blood and sweet undeath, now just rotting fleshbag like the rest!” 

“A free vampire spawn?” Halaster muses, somehow gleaming the information from the quasit’s lamenting. Perhaps in their madness, he and Shovel had formed their own language. “And cured, at that. Rare, indeed.”

“More or less.” Astarion mutters, avoiding eye contact.

“How?”

“I’m Selûne’s granddaughter, in a sense, I’m Moonborn. It was the moonmaiden’s promise, in exchange for freeing me from Shar’s claim.” 

“I doubt he needed much convincing to be bound to such an alluring anomaly of magic...” He muses, before addressing Gale. “I’d love to add them to my collection.” 

“Excuse me, we’re not cattle to be bought and sold!” Astarion snarls. 

“He’s right, Halaster. I brought them as a courtesy, so you might witness the way the weave has affected them, but I believe you’ve misunderstood my intentions…”

“Fine, fine.” The archmage grumbles, “Though the last of her kind and the first vampire spawn to walk in the sun in millennia, you’ll have to excuse my enthusiasm.”

“As long as my head doesn’t end up stuffed on your wall of horrors.” Astarion says in disgust. 

“Come,” Halaster ushers them into an adjoining room, “I have maps.”

On a spacious table, a replica of the Undermountain is on display, hidden tunnels and passageways carved into its surface. Dependent on the angle of viewing, fragments disappear to reveal more detail. Beside lies a hand-drawn map, notes scrawled in the margins. Underneath the table, Tara naps in a wicker basket, her wings wrapped around a small, black mass of fur naps, its back rising and falling with its breath. The creature’s three tails hang over the side of the basket, appearing almost like tentacles.

“Is that a…displacer beast?” Wyll inquires with some disbelief. 

“What? Oh, yes.” Halaster says, disinterested. “An orphaned cub. I traded a Wish spell to a Warlock for it. Seems to have taken to the tressym quite nicely, but despises me.”

“Her mothering nature does usually get the best of her…” Gale muses. Tara yawns and stretches before blinking at him expectantly, and he stoops and scratches behind her ears. 

As if summoned, the kitten - roughly the same size as Tara herself - jumps out of its bed and sniffs at the air before weaving between Celeste’s ankles. 

“Seems to prefer the company of women.” Halaster grumbles. 

“Nasty kitty.” Shovel growls with displeasure. The displacer beast turns on her, tackling her to the ground and chewing on her leg.

“Master!” the quasit shrieks in dismay, before Halaster plucks the small creature off by the scruff and shoves it towards Celeste. 

“Take it.” The archmage says, “They’re expensive to feed.”

“I-” Celeste is interrupted by the creature being forced into her open arms. She squeaks in surprise, adjusting her grip as the cub squirms. 

“A fine gift.” Minthara says, “A formidable ally, given the right training.”

“Absolutely not!” Astarion cries, taking a step back when it swats at his curls from Celeste’s arms. 

“Astarion, it’s just a baby.” Karlach says, suppressing a smile as he struggles to keep himself out of its reach.

“That will grow into a full sized, uncontrollable beast!” He seethes, ducking as the cub gives his hair a pull. “A bloody abomination is what it is.”

“Oh come now, it’s the size of your head. What’s it going to do, nibble your ankles to death?” Wyll mocks him, assessing the small creature. 

“I will not be hunted in my own home.” 

“Well, it’s my home, so I suppose that settles it.” Gale announces, giving Shadowheart a wink. She beams in response and holds out her hands towards Celeste, requesting a turn with the cub. 

“Fine. Can we be done with the godsdamned petting zoo? I thought we came here for information.” Astarion mutters, eyeing the animal with a scowl.

“Yes, quite right. Down to business.” Gale agrees, joining Halaster at the table. He leans over the map as the archmage traces a route with his finger. 

“If you take this passageway, you’ll gain covert entry to Vanrakdoom. I’ve installed several traps planted along the passage, but you should have no trouble…”

———————————————————————

After their meeting with Halaster, he granted them a quick portal back to Gale’s Tower. Although the amenities of the attic paled - and paled was hardly a strong enough word - compared to the lavish offerings of the House of the Moon. When Celeste dropped her bag on the bed, she somehow felt at home.

With a frown, Astarion walks over to the boarded windows, splintering planks of wood as he pries them backwards. The nails that held them in place separate from the frame, with sharp cracks, leaving behind tattered and peeled wallpaper in their wake. He discards the wreckage in the corner and continues his demolition, lip jutting out in determination. The moon filters through what could only classify as a gaping, square hole in the wall, and Astarion smiles at his work. 

Celeste pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“We’re going to get all sorts of pests in here.” 

———————————————————————

Upon discovering Astarion missing following a much-needed nap, Celeste makes her way downstairs to find him sitting at the kitchen table with their companions, engaged in an unfamiliar game of cards. Tara and the displacer cub are tucked away beneath the table, dozing atop Gale’s feet as he appraises Astarion with a disgruntled expression.

“Darling, come, join us. You can watch me decimate our friends at Azoun’s Hold ‘Em.” 

Astarion fans his cards in one hand and holds out the other to invite her into his lap. She takes a seat, crossing her legs, and he secures her to him with an arm wrapped around her middle, showing her his draw. 

She examines the game laid out before her. “I’ve never played.”

“Funny, Astarion said the same thing when we started an hour ago, and somehow he’s won every hand.” Gale says irritably, not looking up from his cards. 

“You were a fool to believe a vampire who spent nearly two centuries haunting the taverns of Baldur’s Gate would not know how to gamble.” Minthara’s glare shifts towards Astarion as she speaks. 

“Ah, ah! Former vampire.” Astarion drawls, sipping at his wine and returning his attention to Celeste. “Lucky for you, it’s a simple game.” He hands his cards over to her so she can see what he’s holding, then drops the arm at her waist a bit lower to rest his hand on her hip. “All you have to know is that I’m going to win.” 

Wyll snorts, drawing a card from the top of the deck and laying it face up on the table. “Alright, show ‘em.” 

“Watch this.” Astarion purrs in Celeste’s ear, before tossing three nines out. He grins as Gale drags a palm across his face and slams his head against the table, slapping down a pair of twos and a seven. 

“Bullshit!“ Karlach roars, rising from her chair. “That’s your third time with pocket triples.” 

“Easy, Karlach.” Shadowheart says with an amused smirk, leaning behind Gale with her arms encircling his neck as she observes the game. “You’ll get him next round.” 

“Dishonest wretch.” Wyll mumbles. 

“Is it so hard to believe I’m just lucky?” Astarion asks with feigned offense, gold scraping against the surface of the table as he rakes in his winnings. “Honestly, you all take this so seriously. It’s like you hate fun.” 

“Easy to say when you’re winning.” Karlach grumbles. “Sleep with one eye open tonight.” 

“Oh darling, I don’t sleep at all.” Astarion chuckles. Under the table, he parts the slit of Celeste’s dress and slips a card into the waistband of her underwear, snagging its corners on the lace. The edges scrape against her skin and his fingertips trace circles on her thigh, a quiet request for her discretion before he draws his next hand. 

“I never agreed to helping you cheat,” Celeste hisses in his ear. 

“But you agreed to be bound to me for a lifetime. Surely you considered the consequences.” He counters in a hushed tone, nipping at her earlobe. “Be a good girl and I’ll split the pot with you, hmm?”

She scowls as he deftly exchanges a ten from his hand with the queen at her hip to complete his royal straight.

“Oi, lovebirds! No private conversations. Let’s keep things moving.” Karlach gripes, pulling a cigar from her pocket and trimming it. “Someone get me a light, please. I can’t do these myself anymore.” She says, holding it out. Before Gale can utter a spell, Celeste reaches forward, ignoring Astarion’s grunt of surprise as she shifts in his lap, and takes it from the tiefling. As she flicks her wrist, it ignites with a pop, and a cherry burns at the end. A trail of smoke drifts trails behind as she hands it back.

“Impressive.” Karlach examines it before puffing at it satisfactorily. “New trick?” 

“What else have you learned?” Gale interjects, leaning forward, eager to abandon the game in favor of discussion.

“I haven’t done a lot of experimenting.”

“Fascinating, nonetheless. I would surmise that after the ritual, your abilities may rival Aylin’s. If you were limited to enhanced skill with a blade and illusionary magic before, the expanse into even the simplest of evocation magic could indicate much further reaching-”

“Can’t this all wait?” Astarion whines.

“Jealous, all that power used to bring you back from the dead burned out before you could perform a few spells, too?” Shadowheart sneers. 

Astarion scowls, and his grip on Celeste’s waist tightens. 

“On second thought, perhaps I’ll collect my winnings and turn in for the night.” He says, snatching his bag of gold and hoisting Celeste over his shoulder. “After all, we have a day full of Sharran slaying ahead of us tomorrow. Best get some rest where we can.”

“What in the hells!” Celeste pounds at his back with her fist as she hangs upside down, the card in her waistband slipping loose and fluttering to the floor. Karlach stands, chair flying back against the stove, and points.

“I knew it!” She calls out, “You owe me fifty coppers, fucker!”

Astarion smirks and continues up the stairs.———————————————————————

a/n: I just finished my honor mode run and earned my golden dice and somehow, Shovel did not die during my playthrough? Our little quasit friend had so few lines (presumably because their health was so low, it probably isn't intended for them to withstand so much of the game?) that I found myself making up headcannon about her.

August was a long month, and I think we could all use a little levity (particularly since the next chapter may or may not be heavy. Don't say I didn't warn you.)