#forgive any typos HAHA

[psalacanthea]

The Courting of Ghilan'nain

well this was meant to be a little fanfic friday dribble-drabble, but just kidding it's actually 3.8k. So I guess I should actually put it on AO3. Hang on. Ok, I put it on AO3. Here's the link.

Andruil x Ghilan'nain, Andruil & Solas, Ghilan'nain & Solas, 3.8k T

Impossibly tall and twisted trees denoted Andruil’s camp deep in the forest.

As Solas wandered the wood, a spirit-home of wild fade currents, tendrils of magic and air brought him whispers from the gathering.  They said the Mother of Halla, great benefactress of the mortals, had not deigned to greet the Huntress; there was silence from her den deep within the trees.  This wood was the home of monsters, strange creations that appeared from the dark depths, some helpful, some vicious.  Many had destroyed by the Huntress’ arrows, but some, like the proud halla, thrived among the people.

The halla did not bow her head; not even to the gods themselves.

An insult.

Even the Huntress’ lenient temper would be roused by Elgar'nan's order.  When Mythal had heard she’d demanded the Mother of Halla be captured, Mythal had bid him come and see what was afoot.  For as her husband loathed them, Mythal loved the halla, who were happy to serve her when they scorned Elgar’nan.

Perhaps a petty reason for him to leave her side, but Solas was curious, too.

What punishment had Andruil devised for the mortal who crafted beasts that defied the gods?

The grand camp, a temporary home crafted by an eager fade-sculptor among Andruil’s court, did not infringe upon the wood.  A gentle shimmer in the air kept wildlife away, each root-woven archway blending into the world around them.  But beyond that border, it was far from ordinary.

Without was autumn, but within was early spring.  The air was crisp and breathtaking, sky bright with stars and a rippling aurora stolen from a place where night and cold still reigned.  Solas gazed up at as he passed the outer court dotted with small shops and dwellings, each with their own unique design.  It was a beautiful and impressive feat, to walk a portal from autumn to spring thaw.  Wilderness to civilization.

Andruil preferred not to upset the game, her preferences visible among the ephemeral fade-sculpted fancies.  This camp had been built around what was, not replacing it.  Even the snowdrops were raised from the crude soil beyond their season rather than created, lured by beckoning magic.  Solas walked the streets of the ever-changing and ever-moving city of Andruil, listening to the chime of breaking ice and the soft sounds of conversations muffled by the harmony of the Fade.

A light snow drifted down, dusting the carved ice path leading to a central camp surrounded by twisting cherry blossom trees. They shed insubstantial petals that melted at a touch, an ever-drifting veil that led into a tunnel of constantly melting and freezing wisteria wrought of ice, their droplets falling onto tuned stones that made a charmingly random melody.  Trickles of ice-freed springs laid a soft ripple of sound underneath, rivulets of melt dripping from every surface as he passed from the tunnel to face the final ascent.

Most, if not all of Andruil’s court were within.

Solas made himself a wandering shadow, avoiding eyes and notice.�� He was welcome to travel where he would, but often found it best to avoid notice unless he was required– though the habit did rouse suspicion.  Mythal had asked him to witness this moment.  It was more convenient to do so without rousing attention.  He would intervene in case of disaster, of course.

Andruil could be…impulsive.

Her followers held too much sway with her.

The path led to a hunters’ rest of filigree ice walls and woven birch pillars, a massive central fire blazing low with flames of silver and violet.  The lights matched the aurora overhead, lighting the whole space with hues of purple, green, and blue.  It was those dressed in scarlet and orange who suffered most of the choice in lighting, Solas noted.  The natural stone stair had been given more gravitas with ice-wrought railings, the moss that sprang from every crack coated in perpetually-melting frost, the delicate carpet still autumnally green and brown despite the artificial winter.

Solas wondered idly if changing the seasons out of order would do some damage to the wood, unprepared for such cold.

The moment he entered the temple-like camp, open to the sky, his eyes were drawn to not to the vista above, but to she who required all this posturing.  The Mother of Halla had been captured, herded into the presence of Andruil at last…whether she desired it or not.  Andruil did not take ‘no’ for an answer.

Alone, Ghilan’nain stood shunned by the gathering of immortal and spirit, lingering in the shadow of a twisted sapling column wreathed in sculpted vines.

Yet once the eye found her, it could not leave her.

Eyes like strawflowers stared across the room, compellingly alien, too large for her elongated face.  They were set oddly far apart, alert and wary, pupils a horizontal bar.  And that was far from where her idiosyncrasies ended.  Her face was nothing but flaws, her nose too long with a flattened bridge, her mouth too wide and too pale.  Her ears were nearly clownish, turned outward proudly.  Unforgivably flawed.  Yet she was harmonious, wholly herself by design; this curious sculptress of beasts clearly considered herself a canvas as well.  And so she drew the eye as to art, to be judged on some higher plane than mere attractiveness.

The Mother of Halla was unbound, and unwatched by the guards, ostensibly here of her own will.  But Solas knew the lie.  He could feel her frustration and distraction, her disdain for the feast, her unease with the celebratory crowd that gazed at her like she was yet another of Andruil’s bizarre trophies.

This is what he had been sent to observe.

In a sea of spring color she was wilted and faded, draped in the hues of skeletal fallen leaves.  But it suited her, the odd fragility and simplicity of her dress, the richer palette.  The truth of the world outside.  And if she was barely dressed for the occasion, well, she was a mortal and it was appropriate for her to avoid outshining her betters.

She showed no signs of discomfort with her unfashionable iconoclasm.

Mockery flitted around the room behind hands, venomous butterflies flitting from each gossiping bubble to whisper their disdain for her.  Jealousy, all of it.  The entire city of Arlathan knew of the Huntress’ obsession with the sculptress of beasts, her hunger for her attention.  To be favored by the gods was to be feared and hated.

A truth Solas was all too aware of.

Andruil’s pride was simple and fierce.  She wore it like a child, with expectation of praise and glory for her accomplishment.  And, like a child, her pride was easily wounded– she lashed out thoughtlessly when it was threatened.

He was curious to see if the Mother of Halla would survive her long-awaited first encounter with the Huntress.

When Andruil arrived, it was with laughter and shouting.

The Huntress was celebrated upon her arrival, not like Elgar’nan, whose court was silent and fawning, or Mythal’s, which was peaceful and full of gratitude.  No, Andruil’s court was a place of drinking and song, of story and boasting.  The line between fashion and armor blurred, with the goddess herself arriving in a silver breastplate and a violet sash like a peacock’s tail that spread behind her as she walked.  Her armored leggings were spattered in mud and blood, half-bared chest sporting a jagged wound that still seeped blood.

She wore the injury as proudly as her exposed scars, the armor designed specifically to show them.  One from each of her great battles in the war.  Her people knew the story of each scar, or at least her version of them, and treated the tales as their sacred scriptures.

It seemed Andruil wanted to make a show of her arrival tonight.

In the center of the magic-hewn stone dias that stood at the top of the lodge, her altar and her throne, Andruil paused.  Her boisterous, equally-wounded hunters stalled far back from her.  The noise died.  There was still a smile on her lips, arch and arrogant.  It pulled slightly from the deep scar at the corner of her mouth that arched up to her cheek– won at the final battle of the great war, the conflict that had granted her eventual godhood.

“Generally when a goddess camps within your borders, oh Mother of Halla, one does not need to be invited to pay her respects!”

Andruil’s voice rang out, drawing every eye in the place back to the strangely-sculpted mortal.  She clutched the pillar with one hand now, but she did not flinch when addressed, lifting her chin and averting her eyes.  Step by step, she approached the dias, figures moving out of her way at her approach.  The fire roared as she passed it, briefly washing her in strange, sharp shadows that made her all the more fragile.

At the bottom of the stairs, she bowed deeply to Andruil, until her knees touched the floor.

Ghilan’nain said nothing.

The silence pleased Andruil, her smile widening, shoulders rolled back.  “Bring the trophy!” she bellowed, giving no more words to the still-kneeling mortal.

Solas curiously observed the prisoner, who did not at all behave like one.  In fact, he would say she was remarkably composed, and remarkably brave.  He would admire it, were it not counter to her continued survival.  Still, there was much to be learned even in fleeting moments of those whose audacity spelled their doom.

Beauty even in melting snow.

Andruil returned, holding proudly in her hands the severed head of a halla.  It wasn’t the beast itself that surprised Solas, but the sheer size of the head cradled between Andruil’s gauntlets, its intricately carved antlers eclipsing her face.  A marvellous beast, larger than any he’d seen before.  Its blood-spattered fur was golden, dead eyes rolled up towards the rippling sky.

“Rejoice, Mother of Halla!  I have defeated the greatest of your beasts, and won our ferocious competition at last!”  No cheers broke after Andruil’s bold pronouncement, the entire court respecting the gravity of the moment.

A sob broke the breathless silence.

A gasp of shock and horror flickered around the room, shadows lengthening, air chilling.

Ghilan’nain wept.

And not with overwhelmed honor at the skill and glory of the Huntress, but in pain, her face falling into her hands, graceful body crumpling to the floor in a puddle of gossamer skirts.  Heartbroken, voice borne on the ringing silence, she sobbed, tears spilling from between her fingers and dampening her skirts.  Solas’ eyes were drawn to her, as many were, but the focus was not on the weeping mortal, but the triumphant goddess.

No; Andruil was triumphant no longer.

Her pride had been shattered by the mournful response, and she stared in shock and dismay.  Her hand fell, the proudly-displayed beast’s head falling with a thump.  There was no blood left to spill, but its mouth hung open grotesquely as it rolled down a stair, beautifully curved horns clinking against the crystalline stone.

“Why do you cry?”  Andruil asked, words blunt and fierce as ever.  But they were open, straightforward, puzzlement and pain clear.  “I have bested you at last.”  Her expression cleared, fierce eyes softening.  “Are you overcome with the honor?”

“I did not make her for you to hunt!”

The accusation rang out, so full of suffering that the spirits thrummed with the vibrations her agony rippled through the air.  The light changed, candles burning fiercely golden, banishing the violet shadows.  In the gilded light the weeping mortal glared at the goddess, her agony pure, her heart open to them all like a flower.

The room was silent, watching the challenged goddess in fear and anticipation.

Armor gleaming in the fierce firelight, Andruil took a single step down from her dias.  “Do you not challenge me, mortal?  I have hunted your great beasts of land, sea, and sky.  Why do you weep now?”

“Challenge you?”  The question was full of too much pain for offense, great tears spilling again as Ghilan’nain’s chin rose.  Her lashes trembled, gleaming.  “They were imperfect.  Flawed.  But her–”  Her voice cracked, bleeding.

The Mother of Halla reached out a dappled hand, long fingers stretching as she crawled up the shallow stairs, tears still spilling from her autumnal eyes, gown spread across the crystal like the shivering wings of a wounded moth.  She grasped the severed head of the gilded beast, hands cradling its gilded muzzle, dragging it down into the embrace of her arms.  Chest heaving with the force of her tears, she pressed her forehead to the halla��s.

“She was perfect.  Perfect!”  The last word rang like an accusation, an arrow to Andruil’s heart.  Ghilan’nain’s head lifted, her eyes wounded and hazy from her unceasing woe.  Her question, her anger was posed to the room, as if each soul who witnessed bore the burden of the desecration.  “How could you?”

The heartbroken anguish echoed.

Her sorrow was too profound and too beautiful.  Elvhen who had mocked her were now weeping for her, faces turned away in shame.  Still, more watched in fear, anticipating the displeasure of the Huntress.  

But Solas knew better.

Andruil’s eyes behind the mask of her face were full of pain and shock, a child whose clumsy fingers had crushed the butterfly she admired.

“Tell me– were they not tokens of your worship?  Challenges to my skill and might?”

Ghilan’nain laughed, the sound bubbling over miserably.  “No.  No.”  She wilted, curling in on herself like a child afraid of a blow.  The severed head was shielded from the room in her arms, as if denying them any further spectation of the beast’s demise.  When her chin jerked up and her eyes met the goddess’, full of outrage and pain, there were murmurs of shock, whispers of magic-shielded conversations.

Such defiance…

Solas tucked a hand beneath his chin, watching the scene with detached fascination.

Truly, this Ghilan’nain did not fear death.

“I have made nothing for you.”

“You say that now because I have bested you,” Andruil scoffed.  She stared down her nose, looking more bemused by the defiance than angry.  There were not many who would raise their voice to the general without a blade in hand to challenge her.  Tears were new.  “If you wished the great Golden Halla not to die, you should not have sent me so many challenges.  Can you not see that it is your failure, weeping mortal?  It was inevitable she would die– it is only a beast and you are no god.”

Andruil’s benevolence was tentative, one hand beginning to rise, but stalling before her reaching fingers could extend fully.  Curiously, the Huntress was taking far more care with Ghilan’nain than even he would expect.  She seemed utterly at a loss beneath the bravado.

When her gaze scanned the room, Solas knew his attempts to stay a mere observer would not succeed.

A voice echoed in his mind, rising and falling with Adruil’s always-wandering attention when her regard found him.  “If you must spy and pry for Mythal, at least serve your purpose.”

The viciousness of her voice in his mind did not concern Solas, though Mythal had told him time and time again that she could not protect him if he went too far.  He did not challenge Andruil, so there was no reason for her to attack him.  Her plea, while high-handed and rude, was genuine.

Andruil truly had thought the mortal was courting her attention.

And worse, she had been charmed by it.

There was a simple solution if all she wished was to please the mortal in return.  “Swear to protect all of the halla that remain.  Elgar’nan finds their arrogance displeasing, but if you demand their enshrinement, he will agree.  You are owed the boon.”

“Lower my head?”  Across the room her eyes blazed, piercing the shadows he watched from.

Solas was exposed, and eyes that previously cast past him were now fixed upon him as he stood in the shadow of a colonnade, hands tucked behind his back.  They spoke in silence, but their conversation left currents in the air that eyes tracked.  He could see the smattering of attention at his appearance.  “You have proven your skill and it does not move her.  Prove your benevolence now.”

As soon as he offered an answer she would accept, Solas was ignored.

With his purpose served in her eyes, Andruil no longer paid him any heed.  Finally she broke her stern silence, and the air began to move again, chests rising as the Elvhen were freed from the grip of her furious confusion.  The Goddess of the Hunt gazed across the room, and then down to the mournful mortal at her feet.

They had spoken in few moments, but it seemed Ghilan’nain had no intention of a response.  Her face was flat and expressionless now, tear-streaked and cold.  Even that was beautiful, the way her skirts floated down around her as she rose, the bravery of her strange reddened eyes, her lifted chin.

She was as brave in her calm as she had been in her tempest.

“Your beast was a worthy challenge.  A warrior of great grace and strength,” Andruil said with more confidence with no further argument posed.  “She will celebrated in story and song!”

There was a cheer from the court of the Huntress.  It was an honor they understood, and more than a mortal should hope for.  Solas was not surprised in the least when what followed was in fact the opposite of what Andruil intended.  

Without a word, Ghilan’nain turned away.

Immediately five hundred hands went for weapons; there was no way she would escape without the Huntress’ grace, no matter how brave he was.  But Andruil lifted a hand and waved them off imperiously.  The court stood down.  No one would question the goddess’ whims, for she was a dauntless god, and her skill in the hunt was not to be questioned.

The Huntress allowed Ghilan’nain to flee, wounded, Solas knew she would be hunted down before long.

Her reasoning simply defied Andruil’s divine confidence.

Chatter turned to feasting and laughter, making light sport of the obviously confused mortal too overwhelmed by the presence of a god.  No, it was not the tale of the night.  Instead the story of hunting the Great Golden Halla spread, making certain to highlight that the beast had been sent as a challenge to the goddess of the hunt.  Andruil’s boasting confidence could turn any wild tale into myth.

Even when they had seen the truth with their own eyes.

She, sadly, did not allow him to linger and enjoy the company of her ranks.  Once the wounded halla was gone, and the feasting had begun, she found his mind again.

“Have you seen enough, whimpering beast?”

“Mythal wishes for your success.  Shall I depart?”

“Stop.”  He watched her gilded profile in the distance, her eyes fixed upon the butchery of the rest of the beast.  It seemed she had no intention of sparing this kill from the feast.  Vulgar.  Her voice in his head was sharp, short, belying the frustration she had hidden from her people.  “No riddles, servant of Mythal.  If you are so wise, tell me what I must do.  For Elgar’nan has demanded I stop the flood of beasts that come from this wood.”

Ah.  The full scope of this ceremony was now clear to Solas.  He should report to Mythal with haste, once he had sufficiently soothed the Huntress.  As had crossed his mind before, the halla offended Elgar’nan.  But now the people depended upon the halla, revered and loved them, and seeing them forced into service would enrage them and tarnish Elgar’nan’s reputation.  So, he sought to destroy their creator, fearing the independence of beast and creator both.

He could not, and would not abide their refusal to serve, not when they flocked to Sylaise and bowed to Mythal.

A fascinating puzzle that was not for Solas to solve.

“You could kill her,” he suggested, curious to hear her reaction.

“Easily.”  In the distance, Andruil shot him a distant sidelong glance, like a dagger of emerald.  “If I wished to, I would have, you useless slave.”

The insult, like every single one before it, was ignored.  “You misinterpreted her.”

“Do you call me a fool?” She instantly retaliated, as he had presumed. “I did not misinterpret her.  She was overcome.  Why would she create such vast and terrible creatures, if not to gain the notice of the Huntress?  I thought you were wise.”

Pleased with the success of his manipulation, Solas smiled faintly to himself, turning away for an archway of skeletal branches covered in pale green buds..  Very well, he would make no further attempts to enlighten her with the truth of the situation.  If she preferred ignorance, so be it.  “Then if she is merely overwhelmed by the honor paid, as you claim, if you deigned to arrive at her home yourself she will throw herself at your feet.”

“Of course she would.”  But, much to his surprise, Andruil did not seem eager to claim the bait he laid.  “But…she seems a delicate creature.  And it seems the loss of the beast has touched her deeply.  If I appear too suddenly she may offend in her grief.”

Another truth revealed itself.

What other emotion but desire could evoke so much understanding?

“You, Voice of Council.”  It still wasn’t his name, but it was not ‘slave’.  “Go speak with her, and set her mind at ease so she is prepared for my arrival.  At the third dawn.”

“As you command,” he replied, bowing his head across the great hunter’s lodge to Andruil.  There was no point in saying no.  With a moment to report, he was all but certain Mythal would suggest he do as Andruil ordered, and so to resist would be pointless.

As he departed Andruil gave him one brief look of acknowledgement across the cold temple, then turned away to her hunters once more.  No doubt whatever tale was told of this night would be only from her perspective, and not the truth.  After all, the truth was…unflattering.

A mortal’s tears had bested the will of a god.

As he hunted for the Mother’s den, the wolf wore a smile.

Mythal would be pleased.

[lunchtimebedamned1997]

Why Do I Feel Uncomfortable, Media Literacy, & The Crime of Opinions

(This is something I've had half-finished in my documents for a couple months now that I decided to try and finish up tonight. Just some thoughts that have been percolating)

...

Recently, I’ve been beginning to pre-film some reactions, that are perhaps more akin to commentary or media analysis videos, of the new live-action Avatar: The Last Airbender. Coming at it as a nostalgic fan of the original animated series, long-time lover of media (television in particular has always been a love of mine), and as someone with a background in many creative areas – From writing (personal screenwriting, WIP novels, fanfic + more), as well as art (digital, traditional, multimedia, ceramics, prop making, etc.), sewing, SFX makeup, practical effects whore (enthusiast), and too much more to list.

But though I’ve only watched and filmed two episodes at the time of writing this, I’ve noticed something; I continually apologize for not loving it. And/or apologize if I am possibly, maybe, by chance, coming off too harshly or negatively.

But why?

The point of a reaction video, of any opinion piece, is just that: opinion.

So why is there this nagging notion of feeling like I should not be ‘negative’?

Or more acutely:

Why do I feel uncomfortable with expressing discontent with a creative work?

To be clear before I go into things, this bit of writing will not be a review of the series as I have not yet finished it (nor has it yet been so egregious that I feel called to DNF it), and cannot thusly have a fully-formed concept of my overall thoughts just yet. Rather, this will be about the question posed above; an examination of myself, the current state of online reactions towards expressed discontent, and an overall rambling, hypothesizing bit of writing on the topics at hand.

…

Firstly, and most obviously, I think some of the feeling stems from the clear signs of hard work put into this particular series. While the overall outcome (thus far) may have failings, it is not the fault of the many talented artisans and creatives employed, and I do not want it to come across as though I am discounting the very good work those folks have done.

Secondly, I feel as though it worthy to mention the dreaded society-as-a-whole aspect of my discomfort. Growing up as a neurodivergent child in the very early 2000s, being ‘ungrateful’ or showing discontent was not often a ticket into being deemed as ‘good’. It was far more often the kind of behavior that landed you on the road to being labeled as ‘difficult’.

With so much of how things ‘worked’ for others being an absolute mystery to me, it’s really no wonder that I, along with many others (especially those who are also neurodivergent and/or AFAB), learned that we should limit our ‘negative’ expressions. That if we do express them, we must be perfectly eloquent, calm, and poised in order to be taken seriously and receive any semblance of the benefit of the doubt.

While a calm, well-thought portrayal of one’s feelings may be generally accepted as good conduct and, obviously, usually the best way to keep the neutral attention of those listening to you, it is of course the expectation, particularly for those raised and socialized as girls/women that are expected, even in distressing circumstances or obviously valid emotional turmoil, to act quietly and calmly in order to be listened to. So the difference of course lies, like with all things, in the context of any given situation.

This quite obviously is touching on the subject of misogyny overall, but as that is both widely discussed and I assume, generally understood by those who’d click on this post, I do not feel the need to delve into that particular wormy can – other than pointing out the intersection of being unaware and unable to control who exactly will view what you post online – especially an algorithm-based site where one may not even have to be looking for your particular posts.

Thirdly, and the one I feel most interested to discuss here, is the general attitude online – where of course, I intend to eventually post what I have been pre-filming.

I stumbled across a video on YouTube titled “booktok, brainrot, and why it’s okay to be a hater” by alisha not alihsha and it really kickstarted some thoughts I’ve been having for a while, but before we breakdown some of my thoughts here, I also want to mention @/ briana.glynn on TikTok (also @/ briaiswriting on Insta, Threads, and Storygraph).

While I cannot find the first post I saw by them, I remember fondly the way it made me feel – relief. A weight off my shoulders. To read from the page of someone who states their perceptions and opinions as they are: a byproduct of human existence. All well-written and concise – from a point of effort and not obligation (re: the above tangent on societal expectations). The feeling it invoked in me was the starting point of this blogpost in some sense.

Some may feel as though this is a silly topic; but I could not personally disagree more. Media and the arts as a whole have always been humanity’s main though line to self-expression. Art itself can help us understand the world around us, ourselves, and the people who may surround us. Whether by what society may call more ‘innocent’ means, or as an act of rebellion and revolution. The whole of human experience can be witnessed if one had enough time to view all we have made.

Which is precisely why the growing trend of attacking those with opposing opinions is so glaringly concerning. There would be little point in trying to psychoanalyze the root or overall cause of these behaviors within this blogpost, but I know for me, upon self-reflection after my pre-filmed episodes, it is fear.

Fear of being attacked.

Fear of being different.

The internet has allowed people to find those who share similar ideals, ideas, and ways of life (for better or worse), and with that, I think we’re seeing the natural rise to cling onto that initial sense of belonging. From the hyper-specific aesthetics and ‘core’’s, to the echo that might just be ringing in all out ears:

“Why can’t you just let people enjoy things?!”

Tiffany Ferg, along with many others like Mina Le have discussed the topic in their own video essays on the concept of ‘the rising lack of media literacy’.

It would be surprising if anyone with their head up the internet’s ass didn’t know what I meant when I mention ‘the bean soup of it all’.

So where am I going with this, and what do I think it all means?

               In short: I think we’ve created a reactionary, bad-faith, negative feedback loop of assumptions, instead of taking time to think and process what exactly we – meaning internet users as a whole – are consuming, and what is being said.

               To be more elaborative:

The looming presence of cancellation, and the very human fear of being disliked.

I know at this point, most of us are tired of hearing about ‘cancel culture’ (myself included), as well as increasingly aware of it’s overall ineffectiveness as a tool for education and growth. But that weight of being shunned or shamed by online (and sometimes IRL) society can create fear even for those who would never fall into the ‘cancelation’ parameters. To be human is to make mistakes. To learn. It is through our failings and our experiences that we broaden our perspectives and grow throughout our lives – but with something like cancel culture, the threat of being denied growth looms overhead.

And the folly of being human, is that we are bound to royally fuck up at least once in our lives – probably more than once. Perhaps enough times we become unable to keep count. But being uneducated is not a crime; it is the lack of willingness to learn when the opportunity is available, after a gap in one’s knowledge is presented to them by the appropriate parties, that can be the true tell of things.

This is not, of course, to say that it is not sometimes justified to remove the public support of someone voicing harmful opinions out into the world, particularly when they have a wide influence. But rather - well, let me borrow one of my father’s favorite phrases:

“It is not what you do, but the intensity at which you do it.”

Which is really the hard pill of it all, isn’t it? Its not that the show or removal of support is wrong, its that the intensity at which it is often preformed (particularly towards the objectively less severe offences) that ends up removing the opportunity for growth and (genuine) lessons learned in the future of that individual’s life, and creates a vacuum of fear in which we all begin to operate from – some weird sort of digital fight-or-flight.

And one might consider that if any particular individual is educated enough, and eloquent enough, they need not worry. And while to a certain extent that is definitely true, we are unable to know everything. To lack controversial opinions or ‘hot-takes’ is to limit ourselves to a stagnant loop of whatever that culture was when opinions started to be viewed moreso as attacks.

But again – context is important. One (such as me, rn) might say that: Understanding nuance, and that to be human is to contradict oneself, is one of the cornerstones of healthy communication.

If someone is sharing an opinion that is harmful, objectively false/uneducated, and/or targets a marginalized group who are literally only asking to be allowed to live their lives in peace (one may think of JK Rowling and her ‘manifesto’ of sorts as a prime example here), then that is a valid point to condemn one’s actions!

However, someone expressing their personal dislike of a piece of media, is not necessarily an attack on your tastes or you enjoying that thing. Even if the reasons they proport as to why they dislike it are objectively ‘bad’ (in the sense of lacking some fundamental understanding of the media they are consuming) in the end, it does not matter. They are allowed to feel as they will, and if they are a person who has a fundamental misunderstanding of the work, we cannot force them to want to learn. We cannot spam-comment the will to understand into them.

And sometimes, quite often, it is not so much a lack of understanding for the material, but a different set of life experiences that cause someone to process and view things differently than you. And that is not something that you can take away from someone, or ‘teach’ them to view differently.

If they would like to have an open dialogue, and invite you to share your perception with them – well, to a media nerd like me, that just sounds like good fandom fun! But to react to someone’s perception by stating your perception as fact, is a great way to “Um, actually” your way into Honorary Mansplainer, and grade-A dick, because by doing that, you paint their experience with something as ‘wrong’ or ‘bad’ simply for being different than yours!

Other people’s view points may hurt to hear as you come across them, they may even make you question how you feel about a particular piece of media, or events you’ve experienced IRL, and that can be very uncomfortable in certain circumstances! But it is not, in these cases, a personal attack. Though, I can certainly understand that it may feel like one.

A good example of this would be the character Spike from the television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer. (skip this brief section (jump to the *) if you would like to avoid spoilers or mentions of SA) If I say “the bathroom scene” Buffy fans all around will cringe at the mention of it. And within minutes there will be a group of people who turn off the chat, another who discuss it calmly, and a third who quickly devolve into throwing terrible accusations at each other.

The long and short of it is, after an abusive situationship fraught with contradicting yes’s and no’s, abysmal lack of communication, and a lot of rough, depression-and-trauma-fueled sex, there comes a point where we have… The Bathroom Scene. The scene where Spike doesn’t understand that Buffy actually means “No” this time. So, during a couple of manic, painful-to-watch minutes, he pulls at her clothes, doesn’t (or refuses to hear) that her “No”’s are genuine, and Buffy responds by using her super strength to kick him off and across the bathroom. At which point Spike reaches a moment of clarity, free from his manic sort of attitude he was in, and freaks the fuck out realizing what he almost did to her – because he didn’t intend, well, that. To rape her was never his intention. She tells him to leave, and this time he does.

He spends the next couple episodes, absolutely losing his mind over what he almost did. Having to reevaluate what kind of a person he really is, and how he reached this point. And he ends up leaving, going across the world to complete deadly trials to win back his soul so that he will never be the sort of man who would come close to anything like that again. Because – oh yeah, during this whole above sections he’s a soulless demon (vampire).

So. How does this relate? Even if you’re not in the fandom, I bet you can guess.

There are some people who find Spike to be forever irredeemable, that his character is retroactively and in future, forever ruined. They cannot forgive him, and never will. There are some that will only forgive him because he (post-S6) has a soul. Some that will forgive him because Buffy (the injured party) does (I personally fall into this camp, if you were curious). And those whose opinions are unaffected by that plot point entirely, often stating that ‘it’s fiction, and therefore characters simply have to be interesting to watch in order for them to like said character’. The thing is, NONE of these opinions are wrong. They are opinions. Not stated facts. While these might be able to tell someone a bit what someone may be like as a person, or how their brain works, it cannot tell you whether that person themselves is ‘good’ or ‘bad’. That’s just not how that works.

*However, someone saying something rude about the people who like certain books/authors (one may think of Coleen Hoover and BookTok) is where things may become more murky, and the importance of analysis becomes even more vital.

At this point, the conversation has moved away from the realm of a perception on a fictional person, and gone towards a judgement of a group of people. Not inherently evil, in the case of this Colleen Hoover example, but not always pleasant either.

The truth is, it’s a hard fact of life that not everyone is going to like you or agree with you.

That is part of what makes life and our world so interesting. There is something and someone for everyone. If someone attacks you personally, or tells you to your face (or your comment section, or DMs) that they think you’re terrible because you like XYZ (Twilight, Colleen Hoover, etc), that’s obviously ridiculous and cruel, seemingly just for the sake of it. You’re not hurting anyone by liking those things, and you are allowed to enjoy things!

The difference is, when someone points out issues with a piece of media, say for example, grammatical errors, toxic behaviors, being marketed confusingly (cutesy innocent-looking cartoon covers children are oft drawn to on smut books, for example – I think the most common I’ve seen of the book cover issue is called Ice Breaker?), etc. that is their opinion, whether you like it or not, they are simply sharing what they think. They are not actually trying to stop you from enjoying things.

There seems to be this common perception nowadays that to criticize is to say: ‘Thing bad. Thing irredeemable. Thing so horrendous that if you like thing, you are a terrible person with terrible taste by proxy and you should feel shame.’

Because of the space so many people are operating from, because so much of the algorithm’s job is making sure you’re hearing people who you agree with day in and day out, we get a warped sense of what is ‘right’ or ‘true’. It’s why people can be so easily radicalized online to either end of the political spectrum. And those, particularly on the far right, use fear of the ‘other’ to keep people in line and create a warped sense of solidarity among members of that party.

And odd microcosm of that is occurring online right before us. Everything too different scares us. We see so many horrors on our screens everyday that of course we react to even ‘harmless’ other-ness (like opinions on media) with fear and harsh bad-faith reactions. We are exposed to a world of two groups: “The people who are like me, and the people who are wrong” obviously, this is a more extreme phrasing, but all of this plays into what we see online.

If you question something, then you must be part of the ‘other’ trying to hurt the cause. If you criticize something, then you ‘clearly don’t like it as much as real stans’. If you voice an unpopular opinion or hot-take that isn’t witty enough, and is just honest and phrased how the average person speaks, then you’re just a killjoy who’s trying to have fun by making everyone else feel bad about what they like.

It's like how people would get in actual screaming matches over the internet because one person liked pineapple on pizza, or did their milk & cereal in the ‘wrong order’.

We are weird, little, feral, goblin-y animals! We are supposed to be weird! And different! It is all okay as long as your opinion is not actually hurting someone! (looking at you, JKR). We are not meant to be ‘normal’! We are not robots! We do not have a set program that makes us do the same and think the same! Aggie Cromwell in Halloween Town said “Being normal is vastly overrated!” and she’s right! Normal doesn’t exist! Commonalities do! Structure does! Innovation does not happen without growth! Growth does not happen without change! And change does not happen when you’re trying so hard to be someone else’s idea of ‘good’!!!

IT IS OKAY IF SOMEONE ELSE’S OPINION IS DIFFERENT THAN YOURS!

EVEN IF IT MAKES YOU SAD OR HURTS YOUR FEELINGS THAT PEOPLE CAN’T LOVE ‘XYZ’ LIKE YOU DO!!!

YOU ARE STILL ALLOWED TO LIKE THE ‘BAD’ BOOK/MOVIE/GAME!!!

2. The perceptions of society, and how assumptions sting.

During my first year of university classes, I decided to take a film studies course. As the stereotype goes, I was the only AFAB person in the class, but I liked my professor and valued his opinions; and I’ve never been one to shy away from my passions. So little 16/17-year-old-me got ready for a whole term talking about movies (I went to Uni early). We watched a few of the first films ever made. Some of the classics like Casablanca. We did a whole section on Groundhogs Day. And through it all, I raised my hand, I talked, and I was listened to. Eventually, even the oldest guys in the class started looking more attentive when I talked. I thought I was being heard, and I thought my opinions were valued like the other people in the class.

So one day, after a lecture that made it relevant to bring up, I went to my professor and recommended him Buffy the Vampire Slayer, as it carried a lot of the themes he was particularly interested by, and paved the way for a lot of what we see today in modern TV. He kind of laughed and rolled his eyes, and I was taken aback. I told him that “Oh, yeah. I know it has a silly title, but they actually teach university courses on the series! The first season is a bit heavy on cheesiness, but by the middle of the second season it really becomes something unforgettable.” And he kind of shrugged me off. But he was older, and he’d just gotten finished teaching a long class, so I decided to let it go for the day. I’d already recommended it to my friend in the class (we’ll call him Steve), and he said he’d been enjoying it, so my hyperfixation was satisfied.

But, I’m me, so a few days later I emailed my professor about it (he’d been taken recommendations from other students, btw) I carefully wrote out a few, concise points, and even included Why You Should Watch Buffy from Passion of the Nerd on YouTube (10/10 recommend Ian’s channel btw!). I never received an email back. Which was not typical of this professor.

So a few days later, I went up to him after class and asked if he got my email, and he laughed at me, and said that he was, basically, trying to be nice before, but he was never going to watch something made for ‘teenage girls’.

               It might sound dramatic, but from someone I respected, it felt like a slap in the face.

And so I told Steve about what our Professor said, looking for comfort from a friend, expecting him to tell me that that was harsh, and rude. Instead, Steve laughed at me, and said

“Wait, you actually like it? I thought you just wanted me to watch it because the main girl looks like you.” (Nevermind that I still cannot understand why a character looking like me would be grounds for recommendation???? Perhaps if I was a raging narcissist? I really don’t know –) but he’d told me he’d been watching it, so I pressed further.

“You – but you said you liked it. So why would you think that? Why would you think that was the reason even if you didn’t like it?”

My face felt hot as I spoke to him, and I was flooded with a sense of humiliated shock. I’d honestly never experienced something like this before, I’d only seen it in movies. The sheer level of disrespect and dismissal because of my age and gender was almost comical.

I don’t remember exactly what Steve said after that. Just that it boiled down to that he liked me – as more than a friend. Which really meant he was attracted to me physically, since he clearly didn’t know much about me after almost six months of being ‘friends’.

I felt humiliated as the realization came crashing down that everyone in that class was humoring me. That to them I was just a ‘silly teenage girl’ with ‘silly teenage girl interests’ and that they would never see me differently. Even if my insights were interesting. Even if sometimes I said what the other students were thinking before they could articulate it. None of that mattered to them.

I didn’t respect any of them beyond the basic ‘you’re-a-living-person-too’ level after that.

But I kept going to class to get the grade. I kept going and talking and sharing what I thought even if none of them cared. I would not be anyone other than myself just because they couldn’t see what I had to offer. (I'm still very proud of my younger self for that :3)

I say all this to illustrate the point here:

Sometimes people will be cruel to you from a place of ignorance, social conditioning, or any number of things that have nothing to do with your personally.

Even if people try to discount you, that doesn’t mean that you’re doing something wrong. Not if they don’t have anything but insults to say.

You don’t need someone else to validate you or see your worth for you to be right.

The things you think, and your existence as a whole are enough. Just by virtue of you existing in this moment. Just by you staying true to yourself and not treating others poorly.

That you are allowed to change your mind about things, about people.

And,

You cannot change the minds of people who are unwilling to listen. Who are unwilling to learn.

By understanding the difference between ignorance and volume, between criticism and bullying, and between stated-as-a-fact and stated-as-an-opinion, we can learn so much, from so many brilliant people.

And it’s hard when other people are not in that headspace. And the fear and pre-experience exhaustion of having to deal with people who either want to be in, or are stuck in a knee-jerk reactionary space, well, it can cause you to do things like apologizing in your ATLA live action reaction videos for having ‘negative’ opinions.

Yes, that was a self-directed face-palm. Thank you.

But it is hard. It’s hard to navigate the world, IRL and online. And its easy to get stuck in the other extreme with this topic as well (not just reserved for politics) where you can fall into the ego-trap of starting to think you’re better than someone because you’re educated (to whatever degree, from whatever source) and they’re just ‘not even trying *pitying scoff*’.

Beware the pitfalls, my friends.

We’re all surprised that quicksand wasn’t more of an issue in our day-to-day adult life, but it turns out the real quicksand is the fucking ping pong tournament between self-flagellations and an ego trip, trying not to let yourself get more than waist deep in either pit, back and forth. If you’re lucky, you can stay in that solid, middle ground between the two, but for most of us, that’s hard. It’s work. It’s check-ins.

And you can never be perfect. (sorry, it’s true ☹)

None of this is internet-bashing either. There is so much good to be found online. But the internet is a reflection of people, which means some of it is lovely, some of it is cruel, and some of it is somewhere in between.

I have SO MUCH more I could say on this, especially in regards to the attacks against Hazbin Hotel fans (as well as the in-fandom ‘Valentino of it all’ discourse), Arcane and the Sexuality Policing that goes on, etc. But I think that’s best served for another piece of writing since that will be even more heavily colored by my own perceptions and opinions.

Regardless, I’d like to sum up my thoughts by saying that I think we all need to become more comfortable with hating things without that morphing into attacking, and with working on becoming more comfortable with seeing other people express hatred for things that we love when it’s not an attack. I’m no fucking saint, I get so wounded – deeply, personally, viscerally – when I see people hate the shows or characters that I love. When I feel like things or themes are being misrepresented or misinterpreted. It makes me want to stand up on a soap box and give 30,000 Ted Talks on why Thing Is Actually So Good, Please See It Like I Do.

But the block/’not interested’ buttons are a godsend. If someone is upsetting you or you just get ~ookie vibes~, BLOCK THEM! For no reason even! Protect your peace, but try to allow yourself to absorb alternative opinions when you have the spoons! We all have to be in the real world, so if you want your internet time to be 100% watching people build sandcastles on the beach with ocean wave ASMR, then curate that, Pookies! Ignore everything else! The internet is an endless sandbox we all get to play in, find the part of it you like, and go visit others if you feel so inclined, just don’t kick over their stuff because their shovel is a color you don’t like XD

Even with all of that, there’s probably three times as much that I forgot to say, but this is good enough for now, I might add more later, and I might write about the aforementioned Hazbin and Arcane stuff I’ve seen around, but I’m sleepy so that’s very much a maybe later thing haha

TLDR: Be nice to each other! Please! We’re all little freaks, find your niche and thrive my loves XD

[c-130jsuperhercules]

so this is just nothing but misinformation, but when I said as much on the post, they blocked me, so I'm gonna make my own post I guess.

I'm not trying to go to bat for panera, mislabeling and not appropriately labeling a potentially harmful product is a high sin, especially in the food industry. I'm just saying all this because I'm a busybody, and people saying blatantly wrong stuff like this is annoying. However,

400mg of caffeine is not anywhere close to a lethal amount of caffeine. From the text Caffeine Toxicity, on PubMed: "Lethal doses of caffeine have been reported at blood concentrations of 80 to 100 micrograms/ml, which can be reached with ingestion of approximately 10 grams or greater." That's ten thousand milligrams. It would take drinking 25 of these 30oz lemonades, 750ozs in all, to be universally lethal. Furthermore, there are a decent number of energy drinks, like Reign or Bang, that have more like 300mg of caffeine per 16oz can. However,

The distinction between these energy drinks and the lemonade seems to be labeling. Of the two energy drinks I mentioned, both have a label on the can warning minors, pregnant people, those with a caffeine sensitivity, etc. against drinking it, while Panera, at least not at the time, didn't have an as such appropriate warning for the lemonade, despite having a similar(while less) concentration of caffeine.

A girl with a severe shellfish allergy goes into a restaurant and orders the soup of the day, the name of which is written on a whiteboard as "Not Your Dad's Toothpaste". The soup is made with vegetable stock, bananas, lamb, lambcress, and shrimp puree. However, none of this information is available on the board, and the waiter taking her order doesn't describe it either. The girl eats it, has an allergic reaction to the shrimp inside, and passes away. Later on, a man with a more mild shellfish allergy comes in, and orders the same, still unaware of the shrimp inside, but eats three bowls of it, and also passes away. Neither of these people died due to an inherent poisonous quality of the soup, but from ingesting something harmful for them, because they didn't know what was inside the soup. Later on still, people find out about the incident, and begin to joke about going to the restaurant and ordering the soup that kills you. This current situation is the same. Panera should have given more information about the lemonade, and warned people for whom it would be dangerous against drinking it. But also, can everyone shut up for a second about the "lemonade that kills you".

ANYWAY. rant over but I just hope I got my point across.

[somethingclevermahogony]

WIP Tour Tag!

Finally getting to this! Thank y'all for the tags @paeliae-occasionally, @illarian-rambling, @willtheweaver, and @topazadine!

For the sake of simplicity I'll be showing you around a single city, the Grand City by the Lake, Labisa.

(There is a 99.9999 chance that I missed at least one typo, please be forgiving haha)

Stop 1: The Serpent Road

You find yourself walking down a worn and dusty road, one which stretches far behind you, curling serpent-like through the forested hills, as well as farms and villages, eventually vanishing into the looming Red Cedar Mountains. At first glance you may believe it to be little more than a wide dirt path, but as you look closer you can see the faint outlines of cobblestones, laid in times long forgotten, their surfaces sanded down by centuries of feet, hooves, and wagon wheels. Other travellers surround you, many dressed in strange clothing, some are Kishite some come from far more distant lands. They have come to partake in the Festival of Humbalibal, Goddess of the Mountains. Performers draped in the skins of leopards and boars, dancers bedecked with bells and ribbons, and poets bearing harps and drums ply their trade. Over the excited chatter, they sing of great heroes and tragedies, of beautiful Hiru and sorrowful Lat. Through the people, on either side of you are steles, dozens of them, some as small as a child, others as large as a house, pillars of stone their surfaces carved and chiselled with decrees of kings and queens, living and dead. Gods and beasts glare down at you as you pass beneath their stony gaze. Woe the Thief, Woe the Murderer, Woe the Traitor they seem to whisper. Or perhaps the whispers come from the lips of the heads, their eyes plucked by birds, cheeks sunken, skewered upon the poles of pine wood which line the roadside, their crimes scrawled in black coal upon their foreheads. To your left glittering under the mid-day sun is Lake Shebali, its massive expanse seems to swallow the horizon. White-feathered shorebirds stalk black sand beaches and weave amongst reeds. Ships bob lazily at the docks, grandest among them is the royal barge, a floating palace, its two masts extend high into the air like two massive trees. Beyond the docks you can see the fishing village, humble buildings of mud and timber, racks where fish dry, and leather cures. Children run between the houses whooping and crying, waving sticks and dolls of hair and cloth above their heads. Neither you, nor your fellow travellers have the time to ponder as to their games.

Stop 2: The Outer Walls of Labisa: The Black Walls of Tamel and the Serpent Gate

This rural scene does not hold your attention for long, for now you have reached the walls of Labisa. They tower above you, their stony surface rising 70 ft, and almost as thick, each one of the tens of thousands of blocks is the size of a horse. The lowest stones are made from black basalt, dragged from the looming mountains. Above these are yellow limestone, the surface of the stones each lovingly carved with scenes of animals, forests, battles, gods, and spirits, most so worn by the ravages of time that are all but incomprehensible. One could spend a lifetime inspecting all the images. The upper most layer and the towers placed at regular intervals are made from snowy marble. Long ago these walls had been built by the demigods Tamel, Sadaric, and Mikrab alongside thousands of workers and artisans. These walls had been made to withstand all enemies from armies to dragons. No tree or shrub grows against the imposing stone, nature kept at bay by fire and bronze. Before you, rearing high above, are two gargantuan stone serpents, one is crooked, its snarling face cracked. Any of the excitable travellers will tell you that the story goes that it was Narul that cast down the serpent while fleeing from the city with the fugitive princess Ninma. How any one person could do this, you do not know. But now is not the time chat, you are approaching the gates. Doors of thick cedar, 30 ft tall, freshly painted, as blue as the sky, bolts, and rivets of bronze glimmering in the sun. Guards stand on either side, inspecting the wagons and carts as they pass through. They wear armor of bronze, scaled like dragonskin. Their tall helms are bedecked with red feathers. In their hands are gripped spears, shields of bronze and oak hang from their backs. They stand stern and proud, these are not the men of Hutbari, untrained and inattentive, these men serve Akard, King of Kings. As you reach the gates they look you over. After a thorough but quick glance, they beckon you inside.

Stop 3: The Grand Square and The Tomb of Tamel

You enter a grand square, larger than most villages. Tents and makeshift ovens have been placed around the square to feed the hungry people. Honey cakes, stretched flatbreads, snails, sausages, olives, wine, beer, fried fish, fruits, nuts, fried dough, cups of stewed beans, dozens of different choices, each with a hungry crowd jostling for the next spot in line. The smell of fried foods hangs heavy in the air. Surrounding the square are buildings, many are beer halls from which sounds of laughter and twangs of harps emanate. Still others are brothels, men and women hang from windows cooing and calling to passers-by.

Musicians blow on flutes and pound at drums, while men dressed in naught by ram's skin, their faces and bodies painted, dance their arms raised above their heads, their eyes rolling in their heads as if in a trance. Sages awe children and terrify adults with streams of fire and crackling electricity which arcs from their fingertips. Exotic animals pace in cages under the curious eyes of Kishite children. If you look closely among the crowd, you may notice hillfolk, short and broad, their thick fur and long arms easily distinguishing them from their human neighbors, or perhaps you might see the amethyst hair of an Ikopeshi, or rarer yet the great winged form of a kiriki, their feline bodies draped with beads of amber and bone.

Laborers are hard at work, constructing a massive stage at the center of the square, here is where priests from the Temple of Humbalibal will perform odes and songs in honor of the goddess. But it was what lies beyond that catches your attention. At first you assume you must be hallucinating, for it seems that somehow a mountain has sprung up here in the middle of a city, complete with lush forests and trilling birds. As you draw near, you can see marble steps among the greenery leading up to the summit, three hundred feet above you.

This is the Tomb of Tamel, built to house the bones of the founder of the city. What appears now as a massive mountain, is in actuality a tiered structure, composed of thousands of stones, concealing a burial chamber within. As is the tradition of the Kishites, the tomb has been covered by soil and planted with a lush garden, fed by manmade rivers, the water drawn up from underground sources. Entire orchards of fruit trees inhabit each rounded tier. Tamel alone has been given the honor of being buried in the city, the tombs of his successors dot a nearby mesa. While magnificent in their own right, none can match the grandeur of this tomb. Kishites pour bowls of crimson wine at the tomb's base, libations in dedication to the spirits said to guard the dead king's bones. A man approaches you, offering you a bowl for a small fee. However, as the crowd grows you are quickly forced to continue on with your exploration of the city.

Stop 4: The Temple of Humbalibal

The city is marked by three hills, aside from Tamel's Tomb. The first of these, which stands opposite to the square, is the Temple District. As you walk up with stone steps, statues of many armed gods and animalistic spirits dance on either side of you, freshly painted with vibrant shades of red, green, yellow, and blue. Dozens of temples flank the steps, some little more than huts, others grand structures of stone and wood. The smell of burning incense combines with the aroma of sacrificial fires and of the city below. The greatest temple lies before you, dedicated to the patron of the city, Humbalibal. The red doors are swung open to allow all entrance. Priests and priestesses, devotees of the Mountain Goddess, go about their work, some tending to the statues, others kneel, their heads bowed in reverence, hands raised with palms flat in silent prayer to the watching divinities. Their white robes swish as they walk, their horned headdresses click and rattle as they walk, adorned with pins in the shape of poppies. Also, among them are many of the city’s sages. They are recognizable by the ivory circlets rested upon their brows, traditionally sourced from the dwindling Kishite elephants of the southern cedar forests, though increasingly, the city’s ivory supply is reliant on the elephants of Namut.

The great statue of Humbalibal, sits within the eastern alcove. As with the other various statues and reliefs that fill the great altar room, Humbalibal is painted with garish colors, her skin the color of ice, her nude form draped in iridescent dragon skin. The muscles and veins in her four powerful arms have been carved with loving detail, as have been the curling ram horns which sprout from her jet hair. Her silvery eyes, creased with the cold fury of the avalanche, look down at the mortals milling around her feet. Opposite her in another alcove sits a simple wooden throne, it is from here that the king of the city listens to the concerns of his people. Between the throne and Humbalibal, sits the grand altar where sacrifices to the goddess are made. The flame there has burnt, uninterrupted since the days of Tamel. At that moment another one of the temple doors is opened and six cattle, five geese, four sheep, three pigs, two gazelles, and a lioness are guided into the temple, flanked by priestesses wielding knives of cruel obsidian. Rather than sticking around to see the sacrifices, you decide to travel on to the next part of the city.

Stop 5: The Markets

You descend one of the other staircases, winding back down into the city proper. You can see ships approaching on Lake Shebali, carrying yet more visitors to the already crowded city. To the north, hugging the Black Wall, you can see the so-called Lower City, named for its elevation rather than its position on the map. It is marked by many small, cramped hovels of mudbrick and straw, interconnected through various doors and halls to form a sort of hive. There is no such thing as a private home in the Lower City. A man could walk from one end of the district to the other without ever stepping onto the street. Peasants lie on their roofs, chatting, trading, and playing games of dice. There are fewer travellers there, for it is there the city's poorest live. There are no statues, the beer halls are puny, and the shops ill-supplied. Yet cramped and humbled as the lower city may be, you have heard stories of how it once looked under the reign of the previous king, Hutbari, crumbling and filthy. Under the reign of King Akard, no longer do children pick through piles of rubbish, no longer do disease and fleas run rampant, nowhere else in the city are the praises to Akard sang so loudly.

In front of you, to the south, can see the palatial hill, rearing high above the city, the Blue Walls, those that separate the hill and the palatial olive grove from the rest of the city. You decide to head in that direction to see the Palace for yourself, but first you must pass through the Market Districts. Called the 26 Streets, these form the economic and production backbone of the city. The streets are as follows: The Potter's Street, The Perfumer's Street, The Weaver's Street, The Butcher's Street, The Slaver's Street, The Bronzesmith's Street, The Coppersmith’s Street, The Carver's Street, the Brewer's Street, The Vintner's Street, The Jeweller's Street, The Plantbrew's Street, The Scribe's Street, the Ropemaker's Street, The Tanner's Street, The Spicer's Street, The Painter's Street, The Dyer's Street, The Stonemason's Street, The Fishmonger's Street, The Carpenter's Street, The Basket weaver’s Street, The Papermaker's Street, The Musicians’ Street, The Farmer’s Street, and the Candlemaker’s Street. Your path through towards the castle will take you through the first three: Potter's, Perfumer's, and Weaver's. You start with the Weaver's Street.

As with the Square, the market streets are bustling, crowds of people, mostly visitors, rush to gawk at and purchase bits and pieces of Labisian clothing. Garments of silk, linen, and wool of every color are waved by enthusiastic shop owners and hawkers seated in front of the flat-topped brick and wood buildings that function as store, workshop, and home. The shops are colourfully painted with blues, reds, and greens, in the hopes that their bright tones will draw in curious patrons. The pungent smell of dye lays over the distract like a blanket and the squeals and clicks of the looms and wheels fight to be heard over the many chattering voices.

You may have heard of the state of these streets thirteen years ago, when Hutbari and before him, his predecessors reigned. Then mounds of various kinds of filth had formed stinking barriers along the road. Human muck had clogged the streets, bodies of livestock, broken pottery, and every other imaginable pollutant rendering the market district and the surrounding city a stinking cesspit of disease. There were and are tunnels beneath the city, meant to carry waste out of the city. But these had been neglected for years, with monarch after monarch failing to delegate the duties of their upkeep. Upon taking the throne Akard and his new court had undergone a disgusting and arduous quest to see that the tunnels were returned to their former functionality, and the grime removed from the city. This was later derisively called, The Shit War. Methane gas, collapsed tunnels, and dark things living below the city made the endeavour a nightmare, one which claimed the lives of many guards and even a nobleman or two. And yet after 3 long years of constant work, the city was cleaner than it had been in the last 90 years.

This is not to say that the city is in anyway perfect. As you pass into the Perfumer's district The smell of dye is quickly overwhelmed by a headache-inducing melange of fragrances. Jugs and bottles of dozens of sizes, from the size of a child’s palm to the height of a grown man, line the street, images have been painted on their surface to advertise their contents. Perfume is of immense importance throughout the lands of the Green Sea, but especially in Kishetal. No person leaves their home without first scenting themselves, slaves are typically the only exception. Indeed, among some peoples like the Makurians and the Korithians, the Kishite people were thought of as feminine for their love of perfume, adornment, and their extravagant bathing practices, even the presence of public toilets was at times considered to be unduly opulent. As you look at the various decorated perfume bottles, a thought occurs to you. You recognize visitors from Korithia, Shabala, Makur, Ikopesh, Knosh, and beyond, but there is a group that is missing. Despite being one of the largest and most wealthy kingdoms you see no one from Apuna. Perhaps it’s not surprising, after all Labisa is currently war with Apuna.

At least that is what you think at first, until you look closer. There are Apunians here, slaves. They follow behind Kishite masters or else can be seen cleaning the streets and do other kinds of menial labor. Many are missing eyes, a hand, a thumb, or other parts. Kishite Palaces have a long and proud tradition of mutilation when it comes to their prisoners of war. You quickly avert your attention, but it lands on something else, the figure of a woman, sat in an alley, her knees tucked beneath her chin, her eyes hooded. At first you assume she is a beggar, though thus far they have been a rarity in this city, until you see the pustules. Her face and arms are covered in hundreds of angry red swellings, her teeth are chattering, her eyes vacant. Disease is an inescapable reality of living in a city, particularly one as massive as this. There are no hospitals or hospices, and in favor of the festival most of the temples have temporarily banished those being cared for there. And so, the ill gather here in the Perfume District, where the sweet smells may in some way cover the smell of pestilence.

In recent years Pyrian Fever become an increasingly dire problem throughout the domain of Akard. Though Kishites may not know what bacteria or viruses are, they have managed to identify where this particular outbreak originated from. As is often the case, war is a flashpoint for plague. Some of the same prisoner's war and slaves, you had previously noticed, brought the deadly disease with them. Now every slave is inspected for any signs of disease, but it is too late, they sickness is already here. You notice the plantbrews, medicine women, marching up and down the street, tending to the sick who huddle in alleys and under doorways. Some of the treatments seem to be working, certainly the disease seems less virulent than it has been in the past. Even still, you take note of the warnings scrawled on wooden boards. " Enun Nadolul Na Lumiga" "Do not touch the sick." You quickly decide to move on from the perfume district.

Soon enough the smell of rose and cinnamon declines, replaced by the earthy scent of clay and the sharp tang of kiln smoke. Potters line the streets, hawking their wares, hands stained with the rich red brown of freshly fired earth ang glaze. From tiny, ornate perfume bottles to massive pithoi, many of which you recognize from the previous district. The pots, jugs, and jars are adorned with intricate designs, some depicting scenes of daily life, others abstract patterns that seemed to dance around the curves of the vessels, still others are unglazed, fiery orange or ashy grey. A group of Korithians, immediately recognizable by their short colourful kilts and their long-braided hair, are gathered around one such shop, gawking at the erotic imagery that adorns those particular bowls and plates. You stop to look for yourself, though you quickly find that the going price is far too high for your tastes.

As you leave the Market Districts and approach the Palatial Hill, you enter the area where many of the richer families dwell, minor nobility, and wealthy merchants. Here too are the grand estates were visiting dignitaries stay. Buildings of stone and cedar wood, one, two or even three stories tall. Their surfaces painted and carved with stylized frescos of nature and festivity, curling palms, and leaping gazelles alongside bell-adorned dancers.

Kishite nobles, lounging in front of their homes, sipping wine, and eating dates and olives can be seen dressed in expensive clothing, their hair bedecked with many beads, ribbons, and rings, their necks and wrists choked with chains, collars, and baubles. Their robes are made from silk and soft linen, purple, red, and saffron yellow, their hair and beards are slicked with scented perfumes. Some wear capes and cloaks of lion and leopard fur.

The Kiriki Gates now stand before you.

Stop 6: The Palatial Hill

The Blue Wall separates the Palatial Hill from the rest of the city, while considerably smaller than the Black Wall, at only 32ft in height, it is no less magnificent. The wall itself is made from limestone. Unlike the carved surface of the Black Wall, the stones of the Blue Wall have been sanded and smoothed until it almost seems to sparkle in the afternoon sun. Even the cracks and gaps between the stones have been filled in to create a uniform surface. It is named for the upper most layer of stones, each one painted with a mixture of cobalt and copper to produce a vibrant blue. The only break is the Kiriki Gate, named for the two massive guardians which stand at either side, stone statues of Kiriki, each larger than an elephant. Kiriki are bull-horned and winged lions with the human-like faces. They are culture is secretive, their language indecipherable to most humans, yet they are seen on occasion, you had even seen earlier at this very festival.

While the statues are immobile, the same cannot be said of the guards, eight of the, standing on either side of the open cedar doors. They carry spears and axes, and massive shields in the shape of hourglasses. As you approach one of the guard's holds out his hand. You place a small tablet, no larger than a postage stamp in his palm. Carved on its surface in miniscule writing is a number of Kishite glyphs. This tablet acts as your permission to enter the palatial grounds. After a minute he nods and steps back. He does not return the tablet, this particular privilege is only being afforded, once.

You walk through the gates, head respectfully bowed. It is as if you had just been transported miles away to the countryside. An olive grove stands around you, gnarled trunks twisting and turning. Many of these trees have been here for hundreds of years since the time of Tamel and his children. Currently the workers and caretakers are lounging by ponds and pools, a handful are pruning and attending to the trees, but overall, with the harvest still being months away, the Palatial Olive Grove is tranquil. A few of the laborers wave as you pass by. Stags, gazelle, pheasants, and other peaceful creatures roam through the rows of trees, their presence meant to simulate a rural farm or hillside orchard. A gazelle approaches you, hoping for handouts, upon finding none it goes back to nibbling at the grass.

You spot a small stone shrine tucked among one particularly thick grouping of olive trees, you are not sure which god it is meant to honor, for there are no markings on the alter. Before the shrine is a ring of stones placed on the ground. You immediately recognize this structure as one of those in which Kishite dead are placed, allowing their flesh to be reclaimed by nature before their bones are buried or placed in tombs. However, this particular ring has never held a corpse, rather this ring is used as part of the naming ceremony performed on Noble Kishite children upon reaching the age of 4. The child is made to sleep here, and upon awakening, they symbolically rise up from their "old life".

Beyond the olive grove you enter an area filled with fig, pomegranate, regalu, and quince trees. You even spot a peach tree, still a rarity this far west. Myrtle and laurel trees also make an appearance, their trunks seemingly wrapped in grape vines. The fragrance of these trees mingles with the dry scent of earth and old wood. A few more workers, dressed in simple linen wraps, tend to the trees, and prune the vines, their movements slow and deliberate.

You spot a number of terraces built into the hill side; great blocks of limestone topped with soil. Here is where the king's plantbrews grow their stock, exotic berries, tubers, and flowers.

The ground is crisscrossed by stone pathways, like the one that you are walking on, however it seems that most of the laborers choose to ignore these, instead walking over grass and roots.

The White Wall waits before you.

Stop 7: The Palace

The last and smallest of Labisa's three great walls, at only 24ft is The White Wall, which separates the palatial complex from the rest of the hill. In similar fashion to the Black Wall, the White Wall is made from massive blocks of stone rather than many smaller bricks like the Blue Wall, the lintel above the king's gate is the single heaviest stone in all three of the walls, at nearly 20 tons. The White Wall is the only one with stones that were not quarried in Kishetal, rather its stones were sourced from the original homeland of Tamel and his followers, Shabala. Each massive stone was transported by ship, barge, and finally by rope and manpower over hundreds of miles to the top of the hill, thus while the wall itself may be the smallest, its construction was arguably the most expensive. At first glance you might be confused as to why it is called the White Wall, the stone used is a pale grey, distinctly not white. The name comes from a thin layer of marble tiles that once covered the entirety of the wall, placed there by Tamel the Second, the last monarch of his namesake's line and the last king of a united Kishite kingdom. The tiles cut from the ruins of Arkodian temples, their capture viewed as the symbolic end of the war that had ravaged both Kishetal and Arkodai for decades, the single most destructive war in the recorded history of the Green Sea.

The tiles were stuck to the walls, with the plans for the white marble to be painted not only with images of the valiant heroes of Kishetal, but also those of Arkodai, their faces meant to stand guard over the palace as a memorial of the terrible war. After the last of the tiles had been placed but before the first of the paint could be applied, Tamel the Second was assassinated by his own son, Kerim. United Kishetal died with Tamel. Kerim cancelled the plans to paint the walls.

After Kerim was himself, killed by his younger brother, Farut, the tiles were taken ripped down and instead used to decorate the tomb of Tamel the Second. If one were to venture to the mesa where the royal tombs sit, the tomb of Tamel the Second would be easily identifiable by the snowy white Arkodian marble which still peaks from under the greenery.

The King's Gate is surprisingly plain, there are no great guardians looking over you as you pass under the massive lintel. The eyes of the guards burn into you as you pass, though they do not stop you.

The main palace along with the other palatial buildings function as a miniature city of sorts. The royal residence, a temple, storage buildings, a smithy, a pottery workshop, several workshops reserved for the palace weavers, two different sets of kitchens (and several massive outdoor ovens), the slave quarters, the bathhouse, and the stables are all contained within the White Wall, forming a large palatial citadel dotted with oleander, chestnut, and beech trees. The nobility and their guests who visit palace bathed in the grand bathhouse which stands directly beside the palace, constructed from polished granite, built atop an ancient spring, its interior is decorated with exotic plants and birds, carvings of dancing gods and heroes adorn the walls, and steam curls constantly from its high-set windows. Three similar though decidedly less extravagant baths can be found in the lower city, open to the people of Labisa. The palatial slaves make do with a large pond which lay at the edge of the courtyard.

The palace stands like a fortress atop the rugged hill, its thick stone walls towering above, as imposing as the demigod Tamel the First, who both ordered and assisted in its construction. Built from massive limestone blocks and mudbrick, it seems to have risen from the earth itself, sturdy and timeless. At six stories tall, it is the highest structure in all Labisa, save for the Tomb of Tamel. The outer walls are fortified with battlements and defensive towers, making the palace not just a seat of power but a stronghold overseeing the sprawling city below. Black soot still scars the walls, a grim reminder of Barunaki's brutal raid during Akard’s coup, when soldiers snuck in, murdered Hutbari’s children, and accidentally set the ancient structure ablaze. Only heroic effort saved the palace from complete destruction.

As you pass through the massive stone gate, you enter beneath an arch adorned with reliefs of lions, leopards, and horned men. Inside, the vast central courtyard opens before you, its stone floors smooth from centuries of footsteps. This space, often the site of ceremonies and rituals, is now empty—the king is far to the south. Yet, the palace is far from abandoned; at least two hundred nobles, along with their servants and slaves, occupy its thousand rooms, overseeing its care and performing sacred rites.

The halls are vast and labyrinthine, easy to get lost in. The lofty ceilings are supported by cedar beams and painted columns, every surface intricately adorned. Walls, pillars, ceilings, and even floors are decorated with colorful cloth, carvings, and frescoes. The murals depict royal processions, epic battles, dragons, divine figures, and tales from the Age of Glass and Metal, drawn from "Ti Jali Chasma," the Great History. You pause to admire a fantastical depiction of an ancient city, its twisting, impossibly shaped buildings a testament to the imagination of the artisans. Peeking into some rooms, you find many to be storage spaces, filled with pithoi and vessels holding oil and grain. One door nearly costs you your head, as the Chief of Wine glares at you with a spear in hand, clearly protective of his charge. Hastily, you move on, climbing stone stairs worn smooth from use, the center dipped from countless feet. Banquet halls line the next level, each filled with ornately carved furniture inlaid with pearl and ivory. Large hearths and massive braziers warm the rooms, the scent of smoke and wood blending with resin, stale perfumes, and the earthy smell of stone. Light filters through narrow windows, casting sharp contrasts of shadow and brightness across the floors. As you ascend further, you pass thick wooden doors fitted with bronze, marking private chambers—most are closed, and you wisely choose not to linger. The throne room is at the heart of the palace, both intimate and imposing. A raised platform holds a richly adorned stone throne, carved from black rock streaked with gold. Frescoes and tapestries line the walls, depicting heroic figures battling savage beasts. High above, barely visible, are the words of long-dead kings carved into the ceiling, some written in dialects so ancient only a handful of scholars can decipher them. At the back of the room are doors leading to upper floors, reserved for the royal family and palace sages. As you approach, a guard blocks your path, his stern expression and sharp spear making it clear that your tour ends here. As you leave the palace, the painted eyes follow you. Descending the palatial hill along with stern guard, you are guided back towards the bustling city. Somehow in your brief time away, the streets have become even more hectic, alive with color and activity. With the festival’s opening drawing near, you ponder your options for the time being. You could choose to explore the vibrant market districts, engage with the locals, or simply enjoy the lively atmosphere, the city offers a myriad of experiences. Perhaps if you can find a good beerhall or city corner, you may just be able to hear one of the many tales of Princess Ninma and the giant Narul. Regardless, the festival promises to be a grand affair, the likes of which no other city in the region can match.

I hope that you enjoyed your tour!

Tagging @kaylinalexanderbooks, @melpomene-grey, @mk-writes-stuff, @elizaellwrites, @unrepentantcheeseaddict

Also gonna go ahead and leave this one open

@patternwelded-quill, @persnickety-peahen

@elsie-writes, @the-ellia-west, @the-octic-scribe, @the-golden-comet

@finickyfelix, @theprissythumbelina, @autism-purgatory, @diabolical-blue , @tildeathiwillwrite

@katenewmanwrites, @leahnardo-da-veggie

@drchenquill, @marlowethelibrarian, @phoenixradiant, @pluttskutt

@dyrewrites, @roach-pizza, @rivenantiqnerd, @pluppsauthor

@flaneurarbiter, @dezerex, @axl-ul, @surroundedbypearls

@treesandwords, @skyderman

[a-rainbow-girl-detective]

A Trio of Bat-Bags

If you followed me for my writing, you may have noticed a distinct lack of progress lately, despite a public promise to attempt more consistency with updates. There are a few reasons for that—work is exhausting, school is exhausting, my mental health is constantly in a general state of unhealthiness—but recently, there has also been another reason: I’ve been crafting! I have a pretty awesome sewing project I’ll be showing off soon for Cassandra Cain week, but in the meantime, I wanted to share three bat-themed bags I’ve finished.

All of these bags were made using free patterns, all of which also provided detailed photo tutorials of the bag-making process. If you’re a beginner sewist and need a little more hand-holding than you get with a traditional pattern (which I certainly appreciate!), then these are all excellent options. I had a lot of fun making them, and while there’s one I certainly won’t be making again any time soon, I have no reservations about recommending any of the patterns. So, with that being said…let’s take a look!

Project 1: The Mini Bat-Pack | From So Sew Easy

Link: https://so-sew-easy.com/small-backpack-pattern-for-smaller-budgets

My bag: This mini backpack was a birthday present for my Batman-loving older sister! The lining is made of the same fabric I used to make her dog a bandanna a few months back, so she and her pup can match. Originally, I was going to make the outer layer of this bag out of some black vinyl I got from the discount bin at Joann’s, but ultimately, I decided to use some black canvas I had instead. I’m glad I did, because I made way more mistakes than the vinyl would have tolerated! The canvas was much more forgiving of my constant seam-ripping. I made the inner lining and bias tape binding out of quilting cotton, and used 1” webbing for the straps. I chose not to add the small inner pocket, but I did add the optional extra lining pocket. Overall, it turned out really well!  

The pattern: This pattern has an advantage over the other two patterns I’ve mentioned here—in addition to the extremely-detailed picture tutorial, it also has a video tutorial! Being able to see how each step was performed was incredibly helpful. The only pattern modification I made was to the applied pocket on the outside of the bag; as written, it’s unlined, which I don’t really care for. It wasn’t hard to add a lining (although I had to use bright yellow fabric, since I’d run out of the Batman print, haha), but it is a bit of an extra challenge if you’re a beginner, so keep that in mind. There is one minor typo in the pattern—when you cut out the gusset piece, the pattern says to cut out only one, but you’ll need to cut two.

Would I make this pattern again? Dear Lord in heaven, absolutely not. Don’t get me wrong—the pattern is great, the instructions are clear, the finished product is lovely…but this was so fiddly, and not in a way I found enjoyable. Sewing on the front pocket was a very slow and precise task that I simply did not have the patience for. This project also reminded me how much I hate bias tape binding—hate making it, hate pinning it, hate sewing it. Absolutely no fault of the pattern or the bag itself; this just isn’t the kind of project I find fun.

The size: Rather than record the bag’s dimensions, which I think are available on the pattern page anyway, I chose to report on the more important statistics for each bag: how many comic books does it hold? Since this is a mini backpack, it didn’t quite fit a standard-sized comic book, and even my YA-sized comics (which measure about 6 x 9 inches) would have been a very tight fit…but it does fit several kid-sized comics (like Marvel Adventure or DC Comics for Everyone, which measure about 5.5 x 8 inches), which I consider a win!

Does Duke Thomas approve of this bag? Why, yes. Yes, he does.

Project 2: The Fanny* Bat-Bag | From Mindy Makes

Link: https://mindymakes.com/fanny-pack-sewing-pattern

*Yes, I know what “fanny” means outside the US, and yes, I am twelve years old at heart and find this amusing. No, I am not going to call it a “bum bag.” It’s a fanny pack. Interpret as you will.

My bag: This is the third fanny pack I’ve made using this pattern! This one was for my little brother, who is also a big Bat-fan. Having used up all my black canvas on the previous bag, I used black quilting cotton with iron-on interfacing for the outer layer of this bag, with an unlined Batman quilting cotton for the lining. I really like how it turned out, but I do wish I’d used sturdier interfacing. As you might be able to see from the pictures, the bag is kind of floppy, without much structure—it still functions perfectly well as a bag, but I think it’d look a little better if the outer fabric were a little thicker.

The pattern: No video tutorial in this pattern, but honestly, it doesn’t need it—the photo instructions are more than enough! Every step is documented in perfect detail, with additional diagrams and guidelines overlaid on top of the photos when necessary for extra clarity. I can’t say enough good things about this pattern; it’s truly professional-quality. One thing to note: finishing the lining requires hand sewing. I love hand sewing, personally, but if you don't (or if you have mobility issues that make it difficult/painful), this might not be the pattern for you.

Would I make this pattern again? Heck yeah! Like I said above, this was my third go at this pattern (the previous iterations include a Captain America pack for my older sister and a Ninja Turtles pack for one of my younger sisters), and it won’t be my last. I was actually going to make a Haikyuu-themed pack for my other younger sister for Christmas, but the pattern on the fabric I ordered was a little larger than I was expecting, and I didn’t think it would look quite right, so I used it to make her a skirt instead. (It’s a cool skirt. It has pockets!) Anyways, yes. I will definitely make this again!

The size: Sadly, as a fanny pack, this bag is most suited to holding a phone and wallet, and not much else. It’s too small for comics…but it does fit the novelization of The Death of Superman, in which Bruce spends the entirety of Clark’s funeral skulking about on the outskirts of the ceremony, telling crooks who want to take advantage of the distraction that they should be ashamed of themselves, so, that counts for something, right?

Does Duke Thomas approve of this bag? For sure!

Project 3: The OG Bat-Bag | From Fort Worth Fabric Studio

Link: https://fortworthfabricstudio.blogspot.com/2017/04/posy-pocket-tote-tutorial.html

My bag: Even though I’ve listed it last here, this was actually the first of these bags that I made! These initial pictures are from when it was brand-new; now, around a year later, it’s slightly dingier, but otherwise no worse for the wear, having survived being carted to and from work hundreds of times, filled to the brim with everything from books to food to art supplies, and tossed in the washing machine and dryer whenever it started to smell! I used quilting cotton for all parts, along with some very thick sew-in interfacing for the body. I also added a layer of flannel to the inside of the straps to make them extra padded. The stitching is quite wonky in places (straightness has never been my forte, in any area of life), but it’s held up beautifully. This is the best bag I own. I love it so much.

The pattern: No patterns to print and cut out here—this bag is made entirely from rectangles, and the stitching is all straight lines! The tutorial is extremely clear and in-depth. The hardest part of the pattern is the welted pockets, but the instructions explain everything you need to do. Just take it slow, and you’ll be cranking these out in no time!

Would I make this pattern again? I have literally lost count of how many times I’ve made this pattern. It’s my go-to for any gifting situation. I’ve made one for two of my sisters. I’ve made one for my grandmother. I’ve made one for an aunt who I see maybe once a year, just because I could. I will make dozens more of this bag. It's a great bag.

The size: *slaps side of bag* You can fit SO many comics in this bad boy. Seriously…

It holds kids’ comics.

It holds YA comics.

It holds full-sized trade comics.

It holds them all at the same time.

But even that is severely underselling just how much space this bag has. To better illustrate, let me introduce you to the largest book I own. It’s Marvel Squirrel Girl Omnibus, and it is an absolute unit. I’m pretty sure it could kill a man if used as a projectile weapon. You can see it here among all my other, normal-sized comic book trades (plus a Duke for scale).

Not only does Marvel’s Squirrel Girl Omnibus fit…

…it fits with room to spare!

Seriously. Best bag ever.

Does Duke Thomas approve of this bag? He gets to high-five a bat while sitting in the pocket, of course he approves!

I hope you've enjoyed my summary of the making of three bat-bags. Tune in next week, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel, for my Cassandra Cain sewing project, aka the second-best thing I've ever made! (First-best being the above bat-bag, because seriously. Nothing will ever top that.)

[mochamoth]

Some silly hcs for my silly little rarepair from a random AOSTH episode!! (Scratch x Henrietta hcs!)

(.. I wanted to write a fic but didn't know what to write about exactly plot wise 🥲 anyways this is probably gonna be cringey so you have been warned! And long! Probably long!!)

So these would all take place after they met up again. Scratch wouldn't be with Robotnik probably by this point and is probably recovering from y'know, actual abuse.

The two sorta meet up and Scratch apologizes for the whole amnesia thing (finally giving him a chance to explain) and Henrietta forgives him. So it goes from there (can ya tell idk what to make the story exactly, aa 😭).

Also I do hc Scratch as a trans lesbian. So um y ea. I use he/she for him usually.

Anyways, the two preen eachother like.. Well birds!

Scratch attempts to help Henrietta out on her farm, but he kinda sucks at a lot of the tasks. He's good with the chickens, though.

Also obviously motorcycle/bike rides! I like to think Henrietta has multiple, cuz I find the fact she's both a motorcyclist and a farm girl charming. She likes to speed through random fields near the farm for funsies.

The two probably move out on their own. Not far from Henrietta's parents (obviously) but like, to their own cottage (haha cottagecore).

Scratch is very awkward when it comes to showing affection. Henrietta will be all OVER her, and she won't know what to do because she's simply not used to it. Scratch does try though! She gives random kisses here and there and occasionally cuddles up with Henrietta first. It's not that Scratch doesn't like affection, she adores it. Scratch just doesn't know what to do cuz she's used to abuse and isolation. (Ofc except Grounder, yay siblings!)

The two do eachothers makeup because cute!

Self indulgent as HELL but both are autistic.

And share special interests.

And will rant about them to eachother for hours and hours.

Scratch and Henrietta both wake up at sunrise. As much as Scratch finds it funny to annoy poor Grounder by crowing at the night owl (or uh.. Mole) to wake up, it's a nice change of pace to live with a fellow morning bird. He still crows though!

Scratch will fight anyone who tries to harm Henrietta. Henrietta insists unless one of them is in immediate danger that the fighting isn't necessary, but Scratch sometimes forgets about that.

Pet namess I mean this is already canon. Henrietta has her cute little pet names for Scratch like dear, darling, sweetie, and ect. Scratch isn't very good at coming up with pet names, but she started to mimic her's which Henrietta finds cute.

They share a nest bed. Because I find Scratch's nest bed in the show downright amazing and incredible.

Henrietta gains comfort weight and is chubby, CRY ABOUT IT!!

Henrietta kinda helps Scratch learn about the world from a non-villain perspective. Scratch is still a little "evil" ofc, I'm bias I adore silly little evil guys (team Skull my beloveds). But not legit taking over the world, endangering lives, and abusive evil! Anyways, Henrietta kinda helps Scratch acclimate into a more peaceful life.

Scratch is secretly a bit insecure about how she looks, but Henrietta helps him love herself a little more.

Henrietta helps put Scratch together if he ever breaks. She's no robotics engineer, but she does know how to fix vehicles. So she has a bit of knowledge plus guides and studies on robots.

I'll probably come up with more later, but that's all for now! Sorry if there's any bad grammar or typos, I am so so tired cuz been busy on remodeling my entire room 😭!

[starstruck-flames]

Comfort - Mirio

A/N: Please… please forgive any shitty writing/typos! I still have a cold… recovering from a tattoo. My god it never ends!

You know, it takes a lot to feel ready to love again. I just want you to know I’m really proud of you.

Content includes!! Shower fluff, shower smut, implied trauma/PTSD, Mirio is a big ol softie but also he’s loving what he seeees, overall this is just a soft loving post but as always tell me if I miss something!, fingering, soft sex implied after

Song for your mood?

He could hear the shower as soon as he walked through your apartment door. Chances are you poorly timed it for his arrival, that’s okay! He smiles, striding over to the bathroom door. He can hear music playing but…

A knock.

“Mirio?!” He hears you call out, clearly you definitely didn’t realise what time it is… he can’t help but chuckle in response.

“Sure is! Mind if I come in? Or do you want privacy today?”

“…Come on in!”

He can’t help but smile softly, of course he wants you to know when those boundaries are set but it does always make it more fun when he can appreciate the natural state of your body. He gets himself all hyped up just thinking about it as he runs back out to the hallway, knowing EXACTLY which wall leads into your shower. He grins, letting his head phase through slowly.

Though, what he didn’t expect was for you to be totally ready for that, giving him a wet kiss on the forehead.

And my…

The view is impeccable.

“Haha… hey sunshine!” He calls out, glancing around. “I’m gonna come through, back up a little for me?”

You take a step back as Mirio phases through, his clothes obviously already off as he lets out a soft sigh at the hot water against both of you.

“I needed this…”

He looks a little surprised as he feels you press up against him, not in a… sexual way but it’s clear you needed some love right now. Mirio chuckles, pressing a soft kiss against your wet hair.

“And this. Is everything ok?”

“Rough day.” Is muttered out, your face smushed up against his chest. “…Memories is all.”

His smile flattens a little as he hears this, pulling you in more for a tight embrace. Mirio’s hand messing with your hair as he thinks on what he should say…

“You’ve come to trust me a lot more, haven’t you honey?” He asks softly, feeling you nod against his chest. “And I think… I really do think that’s incredible. I can’t imagine how it even feels but I can only imagine how incredible you are to be strong enough to keep going.”

You feel his chest let out a long huff, struggling to speak. He knows you don’t need words but he really wants you to know just how he feels. It’s incredible to watch from his perspective, and maybe it’s a little biased but Mirio truly, truly loves you for your strength. Even if he’s physically stronger, ehe.

He takes a step back, making you look at him as he smiles. “I really couldn’t be luckier to have met you, and to have your trust. I hope you know that.”

Planting a soft kiss on your wet skin again, he chuckles, noticing your wandering eyes. Maybe you hadn’t intended to look… there, but he knows sometimes you get embarrassed by these softer moments.

“Hey, hey, eyes up here sunshine.” He chuckles, leaning in ever so slightly. “Unless you…” He trails off, wondering if this is badly timed. “Hey, if I’m ever being a pig, tell me, okay?”

“You’re not.” Is all you can respond, fingers… ever so lightly trailing his abdomen. “I’m really glad you found the patience to love me.”

He smiles brightly again, his hair completely flattened by the water at this point as his hands wrap around your butt. He’s careful, pressing you up against the shower wall.

“Honey… I would have waited years for you if you needed it.” He chuckles. “Of course… I am glad to be here. Right now. With you.”

There’s a long pause.

“…Can I-“

“Yes.”

He smiles softly, pulling you into a gentle kiss. His fingers are careful, feeling around your hole before a single digit slips in. The small gasp and whine as he presses in is enough to already start making him go crazy but today… today he’s going to make sure you feel nothing but loved. His movements are slow, precise as he feels your body respond oh so positively to him. And his body aches for you.

“Now… one more question.”

“Mm?”

“Do you want to keep going here or…?”

[come-away-with-me87]

Love & Angst Chapter 6

Chapter 5 here

Warning: Forgive me on this one if there are typos or whatevs. I had a big 'ol glass of wine after a looong work week while writing this chapter, hehe. We're still in the fluffy stage of this budding romance, but I promise there will be some angst in later chapters. As always, thank you for reading and sharing my love of Aizawa!

******

About an hour after you got home, you picked up your phone where you left it on the kitchen counter. You had a huge smile on your face as you read the missed text from Shouta. You texted him back as soon as you read it, "so did I, Shouta. I look forward to seeing you again too :)" After sending that text, you called Naomi. Without hesitation, without any greetings, she practically yelled when she picked up the phone, "WELL! HOW DID IT GO?!" You laughed, and proceeded to tell her about it, ending it with saying how you had a very nice evening with him.

You couldn't miss this opportunity to ask Naomi about her and Present Mic while you had her on the phone. "HAHA, 'ol scruffy tired eyes said that?! It was just a little harmless flirting, nothing to write home about!" You let it go at that, but did decide to dig a little deeper next time you worked together. You two talked on the phone for a little while longer, eventually hanging up with your usual, "love you!" After hanging up with Naomi, you went on to call Shoto with the intention of asking him how the gala went. He didn't pick up, so you just left him a voicemail asking him to call you whenever he had some free time. Surely he was hanging out with his friends in the dorm at the school, and would rather be doing that than talking to his aunt on the phone. You then went to your bedroom, set your alarm on your phone for the next, and fell into a peaceful sleep, dreaming about a "scruffy, tired eyed, ebony-colored hair" man.

The next few days were pretty uneventful. You weren't scheduled for any shifts at the restaurant, so you just had your job at the city hall. The only thing that concerned you was...you hadn't heard from Shouta since your date. Over the course of those few days, you talked with Naomi some more, and even Shoto called you back to talk about how the gala went and how school was going. But not a peep from Shouta. You truly were not sure what the protocol was when it came to texting. He didn't respond to your text on Sunday evening after your date, but there was really no reason to; it was a reply to what he said first. Should you have texted him again at some point, or should he have texted you? You tried your best to not overthink it; you knew he was busy being a teacher during the day, and an underground hero at night.

Nevertheless, you thought about him...a lot. Even though your encounters with him have been relatively brief, thus far, he all but consumed your thoughts. No person, especially a man, has ever had this kind of effect on you; not even any of the men you previously dated. You couldn't stop thinking about his beautiful dark hair and dark eyes; his scruffy facial hair, and his mysterious aura. He intrigued you like no one else ever had in your lifetime. Oh boy.

It was Friday afternoon, you just got off from your shift at city hall, and you were just sitting on your couch decompressing from the day and week. As if he was reading your obsessive mind from before, you suddenly received a text from him: "Hi Y/N. I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to reach out you, but I've been thinking of you. Hizashi and some of the others are dragging me out tonight to the bar. It really would be nice to see you again. Would you like to join us?" You read the text and felt your heart pounding in your chest. While you would much prefer to spend some time with just the two of you, you were still excited at his proposition. You took a minute to think about it, and instead of responding to him right away, you instantly texted Naomi: "let's go out tonight." If you were going to do this, you wanted there to someone you also knew. You knew she was off from the bar that night, and quickly replied back, "sure?" She knew you were more of a homebody, so you could understand her hesitancy.

You went on to explain about Shouta texted you asking you to join him and his friends at the bar, and she had a much better understanding of the situation, and told you she'd be happy to accompany you. You were forever in her debt, she was such an amazing friend. You finally texted Shouta back, "I'd love to. Would you guys mind if I brought Naomi with?" He replied back saying that wouldn't be a problem at all, and everyone agreed upon 8pm as the meeting time.

You started getting ready for the night, and went to your closet to decide what to wear. Since you were going to a bar as opposed to a cat cafe, you decided to switch things up a bit for that night. You decided to keep your hair down again, using your curling iron to add a few waves. You opted for a nice black dress that went right to your knees, but still accentuated your curves. You still didn't want to go overboard with your makeup, so once again, you just opted for a bit of mascara. This time, though, you also decided to wear a tinted lip gloss. Finally, you picked out a pair of red kitten heels to wear with your dress. You looked in the mirror and decided you looked acceptable. No one was harder on you than you, so that was the best compliment you would ever be able to give yourself.

Around 7:30pm, you left your house to go pick up Naomi. Since she was gracious enough to come with you tonight, the least you could do was drive so she could drink and have some fun. When you pulled up, she was standing outside waiting for you. Once she got in your car, she eyed you up and down and exclaimed, "you look HOT, mama!" You blushed at the compliment, and quietly thanked her; besides the fact that you could barely compliment yourself, taking compliments from others was even worse. She looked amazing, too. She was wearing a tight mini-dress with stiletto heels, and her makeup and hair looked beautiful. She was a complete knockout, and you wished you had her self-confidence. You two took the car ride to gab about the drama at the restaurant, when you suddenly arrived to the bar right a little after 8:00pm.

You and Naomi found a spot in the busy parking lot and walked inside. It took about two minutes, but after looking around the busy bar to find your group, you finally spotted Hizashi's mohawk sticking out from one of the booths. You guys walked over the booth and said hello to everyone, which included the same group that was at the restaurant last weekend; Shouta, Hizashi, Toshinori, and Nemuri. You all exchanged your hellos, and you and Naomi each took a seat at either side at the end of the booth; you were next to Toshinori, and she was next to Nemuri. Right next to Toshinori sat Shouta, and next to Nemuri sat Hizashi. "Hey, Y/N," exclaimed Toshinori, "do you mind if we actually switch seats? I don't plan on staying late since I can't drink, so I'd like to be able to easily slip out once I'm ready to leave." You could've kissed him on the cheek right then and there; you knew what he said was true, but there was also an underlying meaning; he wanted you to sit next to Shouta. Sly dog.

You two switched seats, and suddenly, you found yourself sitting next to Shouta. He was dressed very similarly to the way he was at the cat cafe last weekend, and he looked delectable. He gave you a small smile as you and Toshinori switched seats and whispered in your ear, "you look incredible." It was such an small statement, but it made you blush very hard and made your whole body feel like jello; you were very grateful you were sitting down. You shyly whispered back to him, "thank you, so do you." Before you felt even more like jello, the server then suddenly came over and to get the drink orders of the newcomers. You ordered a white wine, and Naomi ordered some sort of girly, fruity drink. It was weird for both of you to be on this side of things, since you two were used to being the ones serving others. It was a nice feeling.

The conversation flowed very easily between the six of you for the next hour or so, involving a lot of laughing and talking about the antics of the students at the U.A.. Toshinori took his leave around 9:15pm; you gave him a big hug and whispered a thank you into his ear as he was getting up. He just smiled knowingly at you, and took the opportunity to say his goodbyes to everyone. The drinks kept flowing at this point, and the others, mainly Naomi, Hizashi and Nemuri, took the opportunity to go get down on the dance floor, leaving you and Shouta at the booth alone. He grinned, "I guess you could tell who the extroverts are versus the introverts at this table." You audibly laughed at his statement; he had no idea.

You and Shouta sat in a comfortable silence while watching the others dance. As expected, Naomi and Hizashi seemed to be really hitting it off, often found dancing with each other. Nemuri seemed to be off in her own little world; you could tell the alcohol was taking its effect on the three of them, while you were still nursing your first and only glass of wine. Shouta was still on his first drink, as well; a whiskey on the rocks. He suddenly stated, "do you want to go outside and get some fresh air? It's getting a little stuffy in here." You readily agreed, and as you got up, you two let the others know you were going to step outside for a bit. They couldn't care less; they were off in their own worlds dancing.

You two stepped outside into the chilly evening air; it felt so nice. As if he was reading your mind, he exclaimed "this is much better." You smiled up at him and replied, "agreed." Instead of talking, you two instead found yourselves just staring into each other's eyes. And you didn't feel uncomfortable in the slightest. All of a sudden, you felt his warm hand caressing your cheek, and instinctively, you leaned into it. As you two were still looking into each other's eyes, he leaned down and captured your mouth in a kiss. It was just a simple kiss, but you felt like you were on top of the word. You lifted up your arms and wrapped them around his shoulders, and kissed him back, to which he responded by placing his arms around your waist.

******

To be continued!

[splickedylit]

(falling asleep as i write this so please forgive any typos or disjointedness, haha) just kind of apropo of nothing except that i've been thinking about them recently, your fics manage to poke the exact spot in my brain that makes me feel compelled to collect any info on it i can. like i read your work primarily for the way you write intimacy & relationships, but every time i finish something you've written i'm just, like, slightly devastated that we only get this short foray into one of your worlds & i can't stay up all night absorbing its entire fictional history, yk? lmao. i'm just like consistently thrilled by all the time, effort, & care you put into crafting such intriguing places & i so appreciate you sharing them with us. i hope you have a good week :)

!!!! This is so sweet of you! QoQ And a vibe that I'm really familiar with, with authors that I really enjoy and admire, so I'm incredibly flattered somebody feels this way about my work as well. I hope to keep making things that people enjoy for many years to come! :D

[chodzacaparodia]

kazufuyu (tr), tsukikage(hq) and reinagi(bl)

Thank you for the ships to the ask game ♡

Kazufuyu - Ship It

What made you ship it? I have no idea what started it. Probably from these beautiful fanarts I came across on Pinterest (at that time I didn't know what was happening in the manga, so I didn't understand why this ship existed, but I quickly fell in love with it). Man, Kazutora and Chifuyu look so good together! And when I started reading fics (which are on a completely different level), I couldn't imagine not shipping these two. Kazufuyu is one of my favorite Chifuyu ships

What are your favorite things about the ship? Second changes!!! That Chifuyu of all people helped Kazutora start over. Together they learn to forgive and be forgiven. I love how they heal each other together. The bond formed in this way is unique.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? Ahh I don't know. Maybe that I think Chifuyu doesn't see Kazutore as a replacement for Baji? Yes, Kazutora reminds him about Baji, but not of Baji (e.g. because of the long hair, like when Takemichi mistook them). Chifuyu sees Kazutora as Kazutora. I have the impression that he is often only shown as a substitute, but maybe that's just my impression. But I'm not sure if it's an unpopular opinion haha

Tsukikage - Don't Ship it

Why don't you ship it? I just can't ship Tsukki with anyone other than Yamaguchi. Tsukkiyama is just too strong for me.

What would have made you like it? Seriously, it's all Yamaguchi's fault! If he wasn't Tsukki's childhood friend and they didn't have such a close relationship, I wouldn't have a problem shipping Tsukki and Kageyama.

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it? Of course! I have a weakness for this kind of dynamic between characters. I just love their bickering. The way they get on each other's nerves is brilliant. These two really make me laugh.

Reinagi (?) - Ship it

When I saw this, I first thought it was a typo and was supposed to be Reonagi (I swear, I see these two everywhere), but then I remembered Reiji Hiiragi from the new chapter of Episode Nagi, so I assume it's about his ship with Nagi

What made you ship it? I like different Nagi ships, so whatever, I can ship it! You know, when one character randomly shows up at another person's place and says "You must be <name and surname>" and then, after a really odd conversation, confesses that he will crush that person, these shipping senses are somehow triggered hahaha

What are your favorite things about the ship?

What I mentioned earlier - guy appears randomly, shows interest and threatens about crushing another guy. Additionally, he invites him on a date... I mean challenges him to a match using tarot cards. It was... creative.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? This ship even exist and there are ANY opinion about it? Hahaha

But if it's really a typo and it was supposed to be Reonagi, then also Ship It, it's my top ship in Blue Lock. It was the appearance of these two in the anime that got me fully invested in Blue Lock. In my eyes, this ship is practically canon - I love their bond and the fact that they constantly break my heart. As for unpopular opinions, idk. I can't think of anything now. I'm honestly not sure what is considered an unpopular opinion about this ship :')

Thank you again and have a nice day! ♡

[tsukko]

okay so i'll just put it under the cut HAHA (did not think u would see my tags so was gonna ramble on my main but nvm, i'll put it here AJSJSJJS) also its almost 2am so pls forgive me for not remembering terminology and facts and also any typos // manga spoilers utc!

him being the oldest is cool when you examine the other characters as well. like, yes, we see how HE interacts with them, but i think its quite fun and interesting to see how shinomiya and ichikawa react to him etc (beyond the fun/ny nagging and bragging and teasing etc)

whenever he compliments shinomiya, she gets all like. flustered and she tries to play it off and its like yeah shes the strongest so its weird that the weakest person has suchan impact on her, but (especially if u read the manga) u can kinda see this like. oh she really is just a child and shes getting praised hy an adult and thats kind of.. all she wanted? like. if im remembering correctly, she just wants her dad to really acknowledge her. and she also kinda feels like she needs to live ul to her mum as well. and then of course you have the normal glee from getting complimented but like. if kafka was a protagonist her age and weaker than her, this... wouldnt have been the same at all?

and with ichikawa!! in the recent chapters when he gets his lil personalised kaiju weapon and he says like. he wants to stand as an equal to kafka? i dont think he meant it in a power way - he doesnt want to be as powerful as no.8, he wants to be able to protect the others with the same confidence that kafka has. he wants to be able to be acknowledged as more than just a kid. which like yeah okay hes still a kid but he feels it more because kafka is older??? idk i cant explain it but i had serious Reactions to the panels where we get ichikawas inner dialogue and now i can identify why.

im not making much sense but my point is like. yeah its cool that we have an older protagonist who shows its not too late to chase ur dreams, and yeah that creates an interesting dynamic from his pov, but it also really changes what other aspects of the other characters are shown/highlighted. shinomiya receving compliments from the others is not the same as her receiving compliments from kafka. kafka wanting to be on the same level as mina is not the same as ichikawa wanting to be on the same level as kafka.

also, the jokes hoshina makes about kafka syealing his job? idk it wouldnt hit the same if hoshina said that to ichikawa or shinomiya hmmm

ALSO also, re: kafka feeling like a teen/typical shonen protag. its a shonen anime/manga, ofc he'll act like that 😭 if he had shinomiya's dads personality, this probably wouldnt be a shonen. but this is kind of a slightly different debate so 🫡 point is, the shonen-fication of a 32y/o protagonist serves to appeal to the target audience* (teenage boys!!) but does not disregard his age and dynamics that would realistically exist between someone his age and someone younger.

*which is not to say that adults cant enjoy shonen, or yhat shonen protags need to be teenage boys.

Seeing a lot of takes about how Kafka Hibino feels “like a teenager”/“like every other Shonen MC” but as someone rapidly approaching his age range, his portrayal feels really solid to me.

He is quick to point out what those around him are doing right. Despite trying to prove he belongs, he doesn’t let his ambition or pride interfere in his perception of his teammates. It’s a specific form of security and sincerity that only comes with life experience.

And the result is that the other members of the cast trust him.

They may rag him from time to time, but they see him as someone to admire, even though they’re vastly superior in terms of traditional Kaiju hunting. IMO, that’s not a dynamic you can create using characters in the same age range.

[passmethemolly]

dteam + friends as old navy employees

 Bad is the manager. a very tired one, but he keeps everyone in check

bad: guys please make sure we’re asking for cards today- we’re behind and-

dream: its georges fault

george: it’s not! i ask and everyone says no-

dream: thats because you aren’t asking them right 

george: how the hell do you ask for a credit card right???

bad is long gone by that point. he’s quietly sitting in the office watching george and dream bicker

he has a photo of his dog on his desk and will smuggle her into the workplace sometimes 

will deal with the difficult customers but will feel bad for being mean even though its his job

sapnap is on the floor bc he can perfect fold things

hates every second of it and always hides in the fitting room or goes up to cash wrap to bother george

purposefully messes up piles of clothes so dream has to refold it

scares tommy whenever he hides in said fitting room

overall, super chill and will go where ever he needs to but folds like a sloth

once caught someone stealing but he didn’t say anything

george is always up at the registers and he absolutely hates it

he will never ever ask people to open up a credit card unless bad is there or unless dream gets put up there with him and they compete against each other

as soon as a customer has an issue with something, george calls bad up to the register to deal with it and he walks away

george will ignore customers and let wilbur take them instead

he steals the candy all the time

dream is tossed around all over the place

doesnt do anything, yet still manages to meet his credit card goal which annoys the fuck out of george and sapnap

he hits george with hangers 

george will always hit him back

the kids are fighting again ft. hangers 

he attracts the weird customers which makes for good stories

he once fell off a ladder and george saw that and he will never let dream live that down

a BOPIS beast- not a single order goes unnoticed by him

sapnap likes to fold the kids clothes since theyre easy and bad never checks kids

dream is a huge wingman to sapnap through the walkies 

dream: sapnap, tell that girl that the boyfriend jeans are 100% off at your place.

sapnap: dude i have a girlfriend 

dream: okay, say it for me then

sapnap: dream im not saying that-

george: will you please shut up i can’t hear anything but you two idiots

alternatively- also the biggest instigator

dream: george, i dare you to not talk to the next customer

george: what? no, i have to it’s literally my job to talk to them-

dream: do it, trust me

george: im not gonna ignore them as i check them out

dream: if you dont, im telling bad that you dont ask to open credit cards and you didn’t count the money from last night and youve been stealing the kitkats

long story short, they got a complaint and george was tasked with cleaning the bathrooms that night as punishment

tommy is in fitting room and he loves it 

he was put there since he was “too aggressive” to be on sales floor

but hes the only person at the store that can open more credit cards than dream due to his aggression 

he gets to go on his phone and drink coke whenever

once locked sapnap in the fitting room for three hours 

whenever he has to return the ‘go back’ clothes, he sprints through the store. he literally runs the clothes. 

once fought a customer that told him he was wrong about a price. 

tommy: HOW IS IT WRONG I SCANNED IT WITH THE FUCKING IPOD AND IT CAME UP THAT PRICE HOW IS IT WRONG

tubbo is holding him back while bad is apologizing to the customer and offering them 70% their entire purchase

wilbur is on register with george and they gossip about the customers 

wilbur is the best dressed there 

everyone swoons for him, which racks up sales since everyone wants to be checked out by the cute cashier

him and george are lowkey the power duo on register 

he cares very much about sizing and taking proper care of the clothes

he drives tommy and tubbo to work

dream and george go get lunch together on their break

dream will occasionally bring george mcdonalds if he feels like it

george, in return, won’t do anything special <3

jk- george just helps dream fold the floor after closing instead of hiding behind the cash wrap counter

george will always bring dream a starbucks cookie on fridays

one time, bad wouldn’t let george wear one of his supreme shirts and he had to wear dreams hoodie to cover it up

techno is a ghost at this old navy. hes never scheduled to work but when he comes it- everything is perfectly folded and they have a spike in customer satisfaction- but people rarely see him do these things

small rivalry between dream and techno obviously 

they will always make a competition out of everything

always a closing time employee- he never opens the store. 

dream is obsessed with how he perfect folds and will stalk him around the store when he does work

techno just wants to work tbh  

tubbo is in fitting room with tommy 

hes more…passive… with the customers 

will always wish everyone a nice day even if they leave the room a mess

will take the time to clean each room while tommy sprints in and out with his arms full of clothes

does whatever tommy wants to do

except when it comes down to who is cleaning the bathrooms at closing time- then its a battle

(just rock paper scissors) 

tubbo and dream sometimes trade places, but tubbo always goes back to the fitting room since he has no idea how the sales floor works 

dream ROCKS old navy clothes 

he abuses the fuck out of his employee discount 

sometimes he’ll get george to give him a bigger discount 

george always wears stuff with brands even though its against dress code (he will not give up his hypebeast shirts) 

bad will let it slide most of the time but not all the time yk?

sapnap shoves his phone into clothes and plays games 

on the quiet days- everyone is on sales floor except tommy. tommy is forbidden from being on sales floor.  

tommy watches from afar as his friends slap each other with hangers and talk shit about the public

his time will come. he will get out of the fitting room

at closing time, dream and george hide in a blind spot and talk for the rest of their shift

sapnap: can you guys please stop flirting and go fold in mens? bad says if we fold everything we can leave early-

dream throws a bundle of socks at sapnap 

george wants to be on sales floor so bad, he complains about register everyday

dream wants to be on register since sales floor is boring to him

bad wont let them switch 

tommy, tubbo, and wilbur always start fights with george, dream, and sapnap

a ‘war’ broke out one night when they were closing

bad made them stay an extra two hours to refold the entire store since they trashed it

george once parkoured over a jean table

sapnap is always friendly to the customers and will ask them how theyre doing as soon as he sees them

scares the shit out the customers at the same time. he’s a ninja

tommy got out of the fitting room once and hid in a rack of dresses so bad couldn’t find him

bad just wants people to open up credit cards

sapnap would bring his girlfriend in a lot and now bad is considering hiring her since shes here so often

on their breaks, they will all sit in a circle and watch the cameras and make fun of people

they have a groupchat called “the navy soilders” and they literally just send the same video of dream falling off the ladder that george pulled from the cameras

[somethingclevermahogony]

Hello! I am very intrigued by your WIP and I'd love to request an infodump about the characters or anything else you'd like to talk about! (Literally feel free to give me an essay to read if you want)

You asked for it.

I'm sure I missed a typo or two, please forgive me haha

A Beginners Guide to the Monsters (Sort of) of the Green Sea and a quick introduction to the beings and entities of Kobani

Pictured above: A map of Kobani, The Green Sea is located to the east of the Kronatic Ocean, near the center of the map

What is a monster?

(For the purposes of this text we will be using the terms and classifications used by the Kishite culture.)

The term monster is a rather problematic one. The initial confusion arises from the fact that within the Kishite language there is no singular word which acts as an equivalent to the English word “monster” and which can thus encompass all species and beings which might be considered monstrous by those with an english-speaking vernacular. 

A more useful alternative may be “magifauna”, this being any animal or non-sapient humanoid species which is magical in nature or in origin, a catalog consisting of thousands of species and individuals. The Kishite term for this is Babazubalat (pl. -un) (Ba(a)b- Magic, Zubala (t) - Animal). This is further divided into  Unlazubalat (pl. -un) (Unlaka(a)b- Wild/Ambient Magic, Zubala (t) - Animal) and Nalazubala(a)t (Nah - Not/No/Negative), dependant on the origination of that species. Within the broad umbrella term of Unlazubalat there are further classifications which are dependent on a number of factors, however before addressing the question of these more specific classifications it is necessary to address what does not fall under the classification of magifauna. (Going forward the term monster will be used interchangeably with the term magifauna.)

Continues below the cut, drawings and such!

What isn’t a “monster”?

Broadly a species or individual can be determined to be not magifauna or a “monster” if it is

Not magical in nature or origin

A Sapient Humanoid

Mundane Species

When determining what is and isn’t a monster, the easiest place to start is with non-magical animal species. This includes species familiar to Non-Kobanian audiences such as cattle, cats, lions, eagles, fish, etc, as well as non-magical species unique to Kobani including the widely-domesticated Horned-Rabbit (Actually more closely related to the hare rather than any rabbit species) and the Giant Mink (more ecologically and physiologically similar to pine martens rather than the semi-aquatic mink). 

These species are not innately magic and are not the direct result of magic influenced mutation and/or selection. Sometimes these species when exposed to magic may either change into or produce offspring which can then be classified as magifauna, this will be addressed further below.

Pictured above: The Giant Mink

Pictured above: The Domesticated Horned Rabbit

The Awakened People’s

The Awakened People is a term used to refer to the five (possibly six) sapient races which stem from a singular primitive species which developed and evolved naturally in the world of Kobani. These primitive beings were exposed to powerful magic by the gods and, in addition, were given mortal souls that could not only continue the process of reincarnation through the mortal worlds as all living things do, but could now permit for the soul to ascend out of the mortal worlds, with soul or 'het', being reincarnated a number of times before coming to inhabit the world of the gods. It is not entirely clear why the gods created the awakened races, though it is believed that mortals in time come to serve the gods with the collective experience of several lifetimes. 

Pictured above: A man of the Usmir forestfolk culture (left), a hillfolk woman of the Uteshite culture (center), the spiritblood Mikrab (right)

(Any of the groups below which are exposed to and drastically changed by magic while retaining sapience are referred to as forestfolk.)

Humans (Fieldfolk): The most populous of the awakened, incapable of using magic themselves but capable of communication with spirits, and thus practicing sagecraft. Humans are also unique in their ability to produce offspring with spirits which are known as Spiritbloods, or more inaccurately Demigods (explained further below). Those humans which can communicate with spirits naturally and use/channel spirit magic are known as sages and seers.

Giants: Massive humanoid beings, like humans, they are incapable of using magic themselves; however, much like a Spiritblood, their physical form is supported by magic, allowing for their bodies to reach massive sizes without the biological or physical limits and drawbacks which should affect them. Giants typically move in a quadrupedal fashion, similar to gorilla species, though they are capable of walking on just their legs and have fully dexterous fingers (despite misunderstandings and rumors spread by human explorers confused by the giant’s custom of wearing seal-hide mittens.) Their bodies are covered in a thin, seal-like, layer of water resistant fur as well as a layer of insulating fat, which when combined with vast lung capacities and the ability to shut their nostrils, allows for giants to be submerged in the polar waters of their homeland for up to 30 minutes at a time. Giants can dive as deep as 900 ft before feeling adverse effects, and are highly reliant on sea-life as the main facet of their diet. After the Calamity, giants are rare, limited to six tribes in the northern polar region, and much reduced in size compared to their massive ancestors, though they are still far larger than the typical human. Giants are never born as sages, and are typically unable to commune with spirits except via the use of magical potions and herbs. Giants write in their own secretive language, carving it into the bones of whales, seals, and reindeer. These bones tell the stories of Giant Bloodlines, some extending back thousands of years. 

Pictured above: a male giant

The Hillfolk: Fur-covered beings often naturally capable of very minor magic (true magic, not sagecraft, a competent sage is typically capable of far greater magical feats, though with the drawback of physiological and psychological wear and tear).They are genetically and phenotypically most similar to the now extinct Stonefolk, and this can be seen in their typically short and broad physique. They are differentiated by their covering of fur which can vary in color and texture in a similar nature to human head hair and by their sixth digit found on each hand. It is not unusual for Hillfolk living in human settlements to shave their bodies in an attempt to fit in. Across Hillfolk cultures a love of perfume and of combs is almost universal. The largest Hillfolk culture inhabiting the land now called Kishetal, are the Uteshites.

The Stonefolk: About human-sized but broader with larger eyes and powerful arms, well suited to their preferred underground environment. The stonefolk were the only group that regularly interbred with humans, and indeed they were eventually bred out of existence before the Calamity. All modern humans of Kobani have some stonefolk ancestry, as a result the humans of the post-calamity era are typically shorter and broader than their ancient counterparts.

The Forest Tenders: Slender and tall green-skinned beings, reaching an average of 8 feet in height. Long arms and cat-like eyes are additional ways to identify Forest tenders. The Forest Tenders, as their name suggests, prefer the forest and often dedicate themselves to its care. Like Hillfolk, Forest Tenders are capable of true magic, though to a much greater extent. With the exception of Spiritbloods, Forest Tenders are the longest lived of any mortal race, regularly reaching ages of 500. Despite their magical nature and longevity the Forest Tenders are far and away the least numerous of the four surviving Awakened Races, with less than 40 living at the time of Narul. This comes down to 3 primary factors. 1. Forest Tender gestation typically lasts 34 months and each pregnancy will only produce a singular offspring, never multiples. 2. Forest Tenders feel no innate sexual drive, rather reproduction typically only occurs as the result of ritualistic practices. 3. Prior to the Calamity Forest Tenders fell victim to widespread persecution and extermination by the human majority. Most humans assume that Forest Tender’s are extinct. In legends they are often depicted as child-like typically as a result of their lack of interest in both sexual matters and material wealth.

Pictured above: A female forest tender

Kiriki: See Section Below

Other Sapient Humanoids

Forestfolk: These are mortal and physical individuals or groups of the Awakened Races that have been reshaped and changed by wild magic, while still maintaining a notable level of sapience. Most forestfolk populations descend from humans, though all Awakened Races save for the Forest Tenders, have descendant groups. Forestfolk may exhibit supernatural or magical aspects but this is relatively rare, and typically mutations and inherited traits are purely physical. In essence, the soul is unchanged, despite what may be claimed by certain people. Though their bodies and at times their behaviors are different, the forestfolk are privy to the Awakened Cycle of Reincarnation. There are hundreds of distinct cultures and peoples who fall under the category of forestfolk spread across the globe. The forestfolk should not be thought of in any way as a monolithic entity. Non-Sapient and non-humanoid species which have gained sapience and a humanoid form via exposure to wild magic are not included under the categorization of forestfolk.

Spiritbloods: A spiritblood, sometimes called a demigod (though they are not related to the actual deities)  is the progeny of a human or human-descended forestfolk and a spirit. Only certain spirits are capable of producing a child with a human. They are almost always born from a human mother, as most spirits detest the physical limits which come from carrying a physically static being. Spiritbloods are innately magical, their stature and strength at least partially possible because of physiologically contained magical energy. It is thus technically possible for Spiritbloods to shed some amount of wild magic. They are typically not able to wield magic and change their form in the same sense as a spirit, as their physical body forbids it, nor are they capable of using sagecraft. Magic rather manifests in the body itself, shaping and warping it beyond the confines of normal humans. Spiritbloods are prone to having an unusually large stature and display incredible physical strength and resilience. 

The Kosheki: The classification of Kosheki is a problematic one, as this particular group of twisted former humans show no evidence of abstract thought, though this may ultimately come down to their hive-mind-like relationship with their creator, the Deep Sun. Originally descending from a group of pre-Calamity humans, the Kosheki are the result of thousands of years worth of twisting and manipulation within their subterranean environment. The Deep Sun is mentally linked and present in the minds of every Kosheki, and as such is capable of limiting or suppressing entirely certain emotions and intellectual functions. It is not clear how sapient the Kosheki would be without the influence of the Deep Sun. Though their mutation is similar in nature to that of forestfolk, Kosheki are not classified as such, their change being the result of intentional manipulation by the demon rather than exposure to wild magic.

The Clay Woman of Kulayu: The Clay Woman of the small island nation of Kulayu are even harder to classify, though they are certainly not monsters. Rather it is the subject of debate whether or not they should be considered mortal beings at all. The Clay Women are in actuality a spiritual superorganism, a collection of micro-spirits inhabiting the various clay facets of the Clay Woman body, similar in some ways to the Man-O-War. In this interconnected state these spirits are capable of producing a singular sapient consciousness. These spirits are seemingly incapable of producing this effect without the structure of the clay. For unknown reasons this only works with the clay of that particular island. While the superorganism does not eat, the body will gradually fall victim to wear and tear, and my crack and break. As such regular repairs are necessary. Sometimes the destruction or wear is too severe, and the body is destroyed, the clay pounded down into a powder and mixed back into other clay. This allows for the re-integration of clay into new women. As micro-spirits are re-introduced into new clay bodies, they bring with them bits of past emotions and memories. This reliance on the island clay has served to both limit the spread and population of the Clay women, and to create a culture that is deeply protective of their homeland. 

The Clay women originate from Arkodic travelers shortly before the end of the Arkodian Empire. These travelers were likely priestesses from the western isles, and they brought with them Arkodic arts, particularly those surrounding the containment of magic and spirits. Using these arts, these women created a servant class of clay women, made in their images and dressed in their clothing. In time, the Arkodic women died away, leaving their creations behind, to carry on in their place. It is for this reason that the clay women still speak to each other (though their clay mouths do not move) in a dialect of Arkodian now extinct in the rest of the world.

Pictured above: A male kosheki (left), A clay woman (right)

Spirits and other Spectral Entities

Spirits are innately magical beings of a dynamic nature. Their forms are changing, typically in reaction to their mood or their environment. All spirits can use magic to some degree, in essence, using their own magical essence, or fistara, to shape and interact with the world around them. The magic a spirit is able to produce and use in one sitting is largely dependent on the power of the spirit, and thus, like physical strength, it must be rested and replenished. Magic cannot go against the laws of physics and of nature, and there are some magical actions only available to the most powerful of spirits. 

Great Spirits/Mountain lords are those spirits considered to be exceptionally powerful by humans. In some cases, they may be worshiped as minor deities. Aside from power and intelligence and their ability to produce viable offspring with humans via sexual reproduction, Great Spirits/Mountain lords are identical to other spirits, vulnerable to the same weaknesses and conditions. It was several of these Great Spirits, which sheltered and cared for humanity in their mountain domain’s for the centuries after the Calamity. 

 A demon is a great spirit that acts in a way that can be seen as particularly hostile to humans or else other spirits. Demons hide in their lairs, still fearful of what few magical weapons remain, and from there they manipulate and play with humans. Demon is not a species or race, but a title. Demons are particularly cruel, hostile, and powerful spirits. There are many hostile and territorial spirits but a demon is different, a demon wants mortals to enter their territory, like a spider waiting to catch a fly.

Pictured above: Varied Spirits

Monster: Yes or No?

Previously mentioned above, the Kiriki are the subject of great debate. Kiriki are a sapient race of beings, capable not only of advanced abstract thought, speech, and artistic expression, but are also capable of producing sages, with one in six of their race being capable of practicing some level of sagecraft. Their lifespans can be similar to Forest Tenders and their gestation periods are only slightly shorter (23 months) though they do express sexual interest. Additionally they have humanoid features. For some this would be enough to immediately classify Kiriki as not magifauna. However Kiriki are not solely humanoid in their bodily form, only their heads and hands are. Roughly equivalent in size to a large rhinoceros, the average Kiriki is defined by a human-like head; adults grow two keratinous horns which grow throughout the life of the individual, requiring shaving. Their bodies are feline-like, powerful and strong. The wings at their sides are not capable of sustained flight, rather they are used for gliding, similar to some species of flying squirrel, or else for body language and communication.

 Those in favor of a monstrous designation point to the less than human traits of the Kiriki as proof of their choice to classify Kiriki as a kind of magifauna. Some have even tried to use the lack of clothing in most Kiriki culture’s as further justification for this.

There is no definitive origin to the Kiriki, they seem to predate the Calamity and are thus not the product of Calamity-based wild-magic. Some have hypothesized that Kiriki may in fact be a sixth member of the Awakened, though this is a fringe opinion. It is not entirely clear whether or not Kiriki reincarnate in a similar manner to humans and other sapient mortals. Others have suggested that Kiriki were the result of some sort of  wild-magic mutation before the Calamity, though this has yet to be proven.

Kiriki in the Eastern Green Sea live either in small communities or else roam their own vast territories with only a partners and/or their children. On very rare occasions they may be found in human settlements. Their preferred habitat is mountainous, often inhabiting cliff-sides where their gliding ability proves most valuable. They are primarily carnivorous, feeding on mountain goats, sheep, and other wild fauna, including certain magifauna. They have mastered some level of agriculture, with certain communities growing fruit orchards, with fruits acting as luxury goods within Kiriki culture, eaten at special occasions. Most Kiriki are either monogamous or form groups of three or four, the construction of such unions varies.  For those who choose the more solitary option, they will meet with their neighboring kin, typically twice a year, in time with the solstices. Kiriki are capable of learning and speaking in most human and hillfolk languages, though they prefer to speak in their own deep and growling languages. 

Picuted above: a kiriki

Bikazubalat : Creatures born from Calamity

These creatures/species are the direct result of wild-magic originating from the Calamity or else from some other source of wild-magic. Not all Bikazubalat represent species, as at times individuals may be affected by wild magic. Although not covered in detail here one of the most common forms of wild-magic mutation is magical gigantism/dwarfism, in which when exposed to magic in utero certain species may grow to unusually large or unusually small sizes.

Jalistekiru (Great Gull)

Pictured above: a Jalistekiru

The Jalistekiru sometimes called Potion-birds, native to the cliffs and rocky isles of northern Green Sea, is a strange beast. Originating from an unknown gull species, exposed to magic in the post-Calamity period, these four-legged horse-sized seabirds are the terror of merchants sailing the seas near western Makora. Flocks of up to sixty nest together and will act in a hostile manner towards anything, including ships that draw too near. Pairs mate for life, producing approximately 4 eggs over the course of a typical 25 year lifespan. Korithian experts estimate that approximately 8 such flocks currently exist in the Green Sea. Aside from territorial attacks, jalistekiru have been known to attack sea-side villages and cities. Aside from their size and their unpleasant tendency of swallowing their prey whole, prey which can at times include livestock and small people including children, they have a strange magical adaptation. 

Jalistekiru have a specialized organ in the throat which produces a thick oil which can then be violently expelled from the mouth at distances of up to 40 ft. The beast consumes magical plants and animals, thus transferring the effects of their magical diet into this oil. Depending on the diet of the jalistekiru in question, the exact effect of this ‘potion’ can differ. Jalistekiru in certain locations have been reported to be able to spit fire, others cause potent hallucinations. In rare cases jalistekiru may inadvertently create beneficial compounds, including ones capable of healing certain diseases, or even imparting temporary sage-like abilities.

For this reason brave (or perhaps foolish) plantbrews and scholars travel to nesting sights, dressed in expensive protective suits in hopes of collecting the oil for use in potions. It is a highly dangerous endeavor, and one which only the most skilled survive.

Jalistekiru are preyed upon by aquatic magifauna including tiamawa, gabrisu, and bisku, as well as by certain human populations. Though the flesh supposedly tastes fishy and unpleasant, it can at times provide certain benefits, including a temporary resistance to the effects of wild-magic. For this reason the meat of jalistekiru is often sold to those traveling to dangerous regions, or as a temporary cure to the effects of certain magic-based inflictions.

Hashudiku (Bone Man)

Pictured above: a male hashudiku

These strange hairless and unsettling creatures are the descendants of an unknown group of humanoids twisted by wild-magic, either humans or some have suggested giants. For this reason it is initially tempting to classify this species as forestfolk, however the species is non-sapient, the intellectual capabilities no greater than that of a common jackal. 

These nocturnal wanderers are named for their favorite food, corpses. Though despite what their name suggests these creatures prefer the freshly dead, leaving the bones rather than eating them. 

Upon finding a corpse, these creatures will emit a vile smelling fluid from glands located near the anus. This fluid serves to scare off all other scavengers. 

This particular feeding system is particularly problematic for the Kishite people. Kishite burials are open, exposing the dead to nature, encouraging its eventual degradation at the hands of scavengers, as this is believed to replenish the health of the natural world and to appease spirits. However, by disrupting the natural cycle of scavenging and decomposition, the hashudiku threatens this concept of giving the body back. As a result it is typical for Kishites to hold vigils around the bodies of the dead, watching for hashudiku until the first scavengers, usually birds, arrive.

Hashudiku only attack living humans on occasion and given the chance to prefer corpses, however predation on living populations is not entirely unheard of. At approximately 6ft at the shoulder and armed with powerful hands and hyena-like teeth, bone men have little problem subduing lone humans. In places where carrion is scarce they may make off with livestock or travelers. They have been known to stalk armies, dragging away the dead and wounded in the aftermath of battles. A small population stalks the dark sewage tunnels beneath Labisa, where they live off the waste, and occasionally on unfortunate workers who happen to wander into their path. Efforts to exterminate this species from the lands around major cities has largely proven ineffective. The haunting and screaming cries of the creatures can be heard echoing through the forests of much of the Green Sea when the sky is clear and the moon is high. It is estimated that approximately 5,000 live in Kishetal alone.

Hashudiku mating is a violent affair, females are approximately 20% larger than their male counterparts, and in 68% of cases will kill and subsequently cannibalize their male counterpart after copulation is complete. The hashudiku gives birth to up to four young, though they only have two teats, as a result it is typical for the weakest two young to be abandoned.

One Kishite scholar once attempted to educate an abandoned pup, hoping to rekindle the light of sapience in the species. Well successful in teaching the creature some commands, the scholar was ultimately killed and consumed after missing a feeding session. 

While magical in origin, the species has no innate magic qualities.

Hashudiku serve as prey to lions, bears, hyenas, flesh-eating deer, certain draconic species, and kiriki on rare occasions. 

Rarakalu (Yap Dog)

Pictured above: a rarakalu

These strange arboreal creatures grow little bigger than the size of a housecat. Despite the translation of their name, Yap Dog, this funny creature actually descends from the striped hyena. This species is capable of perfectly replicating any sound that it hears, regardless of volume or origin, this includes being able to recreate multiple sounds at once. Yap dogs have been known to mimic the sounds of marching armies, roaring dragons, avalanches, and even bards (both vocals and instruments). While this particular ability is magical in nature the exact nature of this magic has not yet been fully identified. 

They most often use these sounds to scare off predators. It is not unusual for travelers through Kishetal, particularly in regions where conflict is common, to stumble on trees that seem to scream like dying men when approached, though these are in actuality Yap Dogs. 

Yap Dogs live in small family groups, no bigger than 5 individuals. They feed on birds, small mammals, insects, and some fruits. Yap Dogs are accomplished climbers and jumpers, their prehensile tails allowing them to jump and swing from tree to tree, and they rarely if ever descend from their arboreal homes. 

Some have tried to keep the species as pets, though without proper enrichment the species does poorly in captivity. Some have successfully used the species for covert purposes, using the creatures as a sort of living tape recorder. 

According to legend the Tamelian King, Haman, while wandering in the forest was led to his death after hearing the voice of his dead son deeper in the forest, in actuality a Yap Dog that had heard the young prince during a hunting trip. The king, blinded by grief and excitement, unwittingly ran into the Aratshin river and was carried away by the current to his death.

The species serves as prey to many creatures. It is estimated that 9,000 currently reside in Kishetal.

Olisakarala (Flesh-eating deer)

 Pictured above: a female flesh-eating deer

The Flesh-Eating Deer are a monstrous species originally native to Kishetal that have since spread to surrounding regions. Sometimes called the Deer of Lat, this name stems from the semi-historical folk-hero, Lat, who it is said first encountered the creatures near the future site of the Kishite city of Bur. They descend from roe deer exposed to the magical blood of the deer-like monster called Jalluka, killed by Lat.

The deer are quite easy to separate from their plant-eating cousins. They have comparatively bulky bodies and are far larger on average then most other deer. Their eyes are front facing. 

The teeth of this species are specifically adapted for the consumption of both meat and bone. The dental structure is best compared to that of a spotted hyena. The largest individuals rival moose in size and may reach weights of half a ton.

 Males typically present with long bushy tails. Does and Bucks alike possess antlers, used in some courtship rituals. Unlike other species, antlers are not used in mating rituals. Rather male deer compete by creating caches of food (these meat stores may be composed of hundreds of prey items in some instances). As a result male deer are particularly aggressive during the breeding season and will often actively hunt down humans. 

Deer typically in small packs of between 3 and 8 individuals typically led by a dominant pair. Anywhere between 500-1000 currently inhabit the forests and hills of Kishetal. Their behavior is somewhat similar to that of gray wolves.

Unlike other deer, Deer of Lat do not shed their antlers, and antlers will continuously grow over the course of their life unless broken or worn, in similar fashion to the teeth of a rodent. It is not unusual to see deer with small prey items skewered upon the antlers, with the antlers used as a sort of transportation method.

 Deer are highly aggressive and will almost certainly prey on humans if given the chance. The Deer are immune to all diseases. Additionally it would seem the deer possess supernatural quietness, as despite their massive size, deer are capable of sneaking up on prey practically silently. The deer’s hide is supernaturally resistant against extreme cold. Despite the dangerous nature of the deer, the antlers are prized for use in weapons and jewelry. The hide with its magical properties is often used in the creation of cold-weather and mountain clothing.

Deer are only preyed upon by draconic species and the occasional kiriki. Humans have eaten the species before, but only for ceremonial purposes.

Aratku (Crocodile Men)

Pictured above: a young aratku

This amphibious species is originally native to Pyritia, particularly the Putla River of Nashawey. It is not entirely clear how the species found its way to Kishetal. Small populations can be found in parts of southern Kishetal alongside limited crocodile populations. At first glance the species appears to be reptilian, with large scale-like plates running down the back and paddle-like tail. However this species actually descended from magically mutated baboons. The scaly structures on the aratku’s body in actuality are keratinous, made of the same material as fingernails though far thicker. Their jaws are powerful, allowing for a varied diet of shellfish, nuts, tubers, and the bones and scraps leftover from crocodile kills. Despite its somewhat alarming appearance the species is relatively small, only about four feet on average from the nose to the tip of the tail. Behaviorally and ecologically the species is similar to otters, though they prefer to live in small communities of 6 to 20 individuals, dependent on local crocodile populations. Intellectually they typically seem to be on the level of a five-year old human.

Sometimes called crocodile herders, these strange creatures have evolved to live alongside crocodiles forming a symbiotic relationship in which the aratku through trickery and their powerful psychic manipulations lure prey towards the water for the crocodiles to feed on, while in turn the crocodiles guard aratku infants and the crude mud dens in which the aratku live.

Aratku are one of the only mortal beings able to initiate telepathy in the style seen by spirits communicating with seers. This allows for the aratku to enter the minds of potential predators or potential prey, including some humans. From there the aratku can, if not detected by the victim, produce visual and auditory hallucinations based on the memories of the individual, and can thus use these to either scare away or draw their target towards them. 

Aratku are well-defended by their hard plates and by their crocodile companions, however they do occasionally fall victim to a number of large carnivores, including humans. In Apuna, aratku are viewed as a rare delicacy, their meat served during certain festivals. Around 43,000 live in the Putla River, approximately 52 live on the southern coast of Kishetal.

Nabikazubalat: Ancient Beings

Creatures which fall into the category of Nabikazubalat are those which are naturally magic, or else whose mutation pre-dates the Calamity. These are considerably rarer than their Bikazubalat cousins, at a ratio of about 1:8 for all magifauna species and individuals. 

Inyara (Dragon) 

Among the most prominent “families' ' within this group are dragons or"Inyara ". Inyara is a loose term used to refer to any large land or air-based reptilian creature of a magical nature that is not the result of wild-magic. Sapience varies among species. Among the inyara are also the Jalinyara, the Great Dragons. These represent specific individuals, unique specimens rather than species. The exact origins of these Great Dragons may differ, some may pre-date the Calamity, thus being some of the longest lived mortal beings on the planet, others may be the result of spirits breeding with magifauna, the resultant creature being the animalistic equivalent of the spiritblood. Below we will explore some of the specific examples of Inyara, starting with two species and then two Jalinyara.

Zinyara (Serpent dragon)

Pictured above: an adult zinyara

These serpentine creatures skirt the line between sea-dragons and true dragons, preferring a largely aquatic lifestyle. These creatures, while among the most common of the dragon species, are also among the smallest, only reaching a length of about 30 feet on average. These creatures inhabit deep rivers such as the Aratshin in Kishetal. This is a non-sapient species, and its origins are pre-Calamity. 

Zinyarum spend much of their life sleeping, waking up only to eat and breed. Approximately 89% of this species’s 600 year lifespan will be spent in a deep hibernation like sleep, typically in caves or buried under silt and mud. While in this state these dragons do not need to breathe and may remain asleep for periods of almost 100 years. Upon waking however these dragons are voracious predators, and will gorge themselves, often consuming close to their own bodyweight before returning to their slumber. This species will feed on anything that it can fit in its mouth, a fact which becomes alarming when one considers that this particular species has been known to swallow wild cattle whole. Prey is incapacitated via a venomous bite or else via blows from their powerful paddle-like tail. The scales of these creatures have been compared to bronze, their toughness acting as protection against all but the most determined hunters and warriors. 

This particular species breeds in the ocean, upon reaching maturity around the age of 600, males and females will migrate from the rivers and into the ocean where they will locate underwater vents and volcanoes. There they breed. The female of the species will ultimately die, the body sinking to the bottom, her body acting as a makeshift nest for the 1-4 eggs contained within her. Upon initially hatching the young are born with external gills, similar to certain fully aquatic salamander species. In the later stage of this fully-aquatic stage it is easy to confuse the undulating and gilled creatures for sea-serpents, and as with their older forms, these larvae can be voracious hunters, well known for attacking fishermen.

Over the course of twenty years the larvae will grow and develop, moving up through oceanic levels as it ages, eventually losing its gills and migrating to freshwater. It is not entirely what drives this migration.

Larvae and adults in the open ocean are a favorite food of gabrisa and occasionally tiamawa. The flesh is poisonous to humans, creating flu-like symptoms and ultimately respiratory failure. As with most toxins however, spiritbloods are not affected. The spiritblood Lat reported that the creature tasted similar to duck, though considerably more fishy.

An estimated 270 of these live around the Green Sea, with 7 existing in Kishetal.

 Bushinyara (Bird dragon)

Pictured above: A male bushinyara

These beaked dragons can be found nesting on the highest peaks of the Green Sea including the Red Cedar Mountains. Intellectually they seem to be on the level of some corvids, capable of some tool use and abstract yet, bordering on though not quite achieving true sapience. They are the largest landlocked species in Kishetal. Including the whip-like tails these beasts can reach lengths of up to 80 ft. Despite this these creatures are surprisingly agile and light, this is primarily due to hollow bones and a system of air sac organs around the internal organs filled with a helium like gas. This not only serves to keep the creature light, but cushions the organs in the likely chance that the creature falls while in pursuit of prey. A bushinyara is capable of expelling this gas from the mouth and lighting it using a flint-like organ in the mouth. The resulting blast is often quite destructive, and it is typically not used for hunting. Rather this comes into play during territorial conflicts. During the mating season when dragons travel to strange peaks in search of suitable pairings, conflicts often erupt. The crack of the curling horns, the roars and screeches, and the crashing booms of gas explosions, echo through mountain valleys, often triggering avalanches. 

Bushinyara typically live solitary lives, their territories often encompassing entire mountains. Young are reared by the male of the species which also incubates the eggs. 

Bushinyara have a varied diet including humans, ibex, deer, and other creatures. However their favorite meal is another alpine species, the kiriki. As a result of this particularly dietary preference the two species are locked in an almost constant struggle. Kiriki warriors have been known to successfully kill and eat Bushinyara, though to do so is considered a heroic accomplishment indeed. 

1 in every 28 Bushinyara are born with functional wings. The exact reason for this is unclear.

14 specimens are currently living in the Red Cedar Mountains, with a total of 77 existing around the Green Sea as a whole.

Jalinyarum (Great Dragons)

As explained previously the Jalinyarum (sg. Jalinyarat) do not represent a singular species but rather extraordinary and unique individuals. These two examples, Yud and Djikit, are quite different in origin, physical makeup, and intellect.

Yud is a pre-Calamity being, his origins known only to himself, though it is possible that he is a physical manifestation of magic or a spirit. He is fully sapient and fluent in 17 distinct languages. Yud is technically two beings, its first head going by the name Yu and the second going by the name of Ud. At the time of Narul Yud inhabited the ruins of the pre-Calamity city located in the Namutian Desert. Aside from his massive size and intellect, Yud is capable of producing powerful bursts of electricity from its mouth(s). 

Yud is omnivorous, feeding on a mixture of plant matter and desert fauna. Despite its massive size, due to Yud’s largely sedentary nature, its diet is relatively limited. 

Pictured above: Yud with the hero, Narul

Djikit is a post-Calamity being, born from the union of a mountain spirit and a bushinyara. It is believed that Djikit first appeared approximately 1500 years before the time of Narul, its creation orchestrated by the Shabalan King Naloch, as a weapon against his half-brother, Tamel. While Djikit was ultimately successful in driving Tamel and his followers from Shabala, the dragon then turned her focus on Shabala as a whole, terrorizing the cities and killing hundreds. 

This has resulted in a massive and agile being, unmatched in her ferocity. Unlike Yud, Djikit is not sapient, and in fact seems to be less intelligent than her bushinyara ancestors. Djikit gorges itself indiscriminately, known to consume entire villages. Her fiery breath can exceed temperatures of 2000F, melting armor and weapons. Like the zinyara, Djikit hibernates for exceedingly long periods of time, up to 2000 years. Djikit is currently resting beneath the Jankipar Glacier north of Sinria.

Pictured above: Djikit

Lamalagru (Scorpion Badger)

Pictured above: a lamalgaru

These subterranean creatures are among the most valuable in the Green Sea. Possibly the creation of pre-Calamity researchers, these creatures are comparable in size to the common badger, however they may weigh up to 300lbs. This is because of their famed shells, made from various metals and stones. Scorpion Badgers have a supernatural ability to track down ores and stones, and its supernaturally powerful jaws and teeth allow it to consume these things, alongside its more usual diet of insects and rodents. Scorpion Badger teeth are one of the only materials in their world capable of carving through Arkodian Bronze. These inorganic materials are then integrated into the shell plating, accounting for its incredible weight. 

Due to this the Scorpion Badger is incredibly slow, aside from its shell it makes up for this seeming advantage in two ways. The first way is fairly straight-forward, Scorpion Badgers are almost entirely subterranean, and may never surface. The second way is more devious, at the tip of the tail is a large venomous barb, capable of delivering an incredibly deadly toxin. The tail is covered in small movement sensing organs which act dependently of the central nervous system. As a result if approached from the back, such as in a tunnel, the tail will strike of its own accord, often without the badger realizing that it happens.

There is no cure for the toxin and death typically occurs within 4-10 minutes. Though not fatal, the toxin is one of the few which can produce adverse effects in spiritbloods.

Despite the dangers of the creature, they are still widely sought after, with all parts of the body being incredibly valuable. Shells, teeth, and the venom may each sell for the price of entire villages. As a result this particular creature is highly endangered, though because of its environment it is hard to make exact calculations as to their numbers. Scholars estimate 5 individuals currently exist in Kishetal.

Tiamawa (Sea Serpent) 

Pictured above: a Tiamawa

The most common of the so-called sea dragons, these large marine reptiles hunt in packs of 3-4, feeding on large marine animals as well as unfortunate ships. Tiamawa are similar in shape to earth, plesiosaurs, though with a ridge of spines growing down the back which act as a defense against predation. An adult male Tiamawa will typically reach lengths of 90 feet from the tip of the nose to the tail. Tiamawum give birth to live young and are incredibly protective of their young. Like many bird species, they feed their young via regurgitation. Their favored hunting grounds are the eastern Green Sea, though they have been found as far north as the Polar Region. Individuals may live up to 80 years however a lifespan of 50-60 is more typical.

Much like dolphins Tiamawa move through the water using echolocation. This ability allows them to communicate, locate prey, and navigate the often murky or shadowy depths of their oceanic habitats. Despite being aquatic animals the Tiamawa has a surprisingly low lung capacity, only able to submerge itself for 5 to 10 minutes before needing to resurface. As a result the Tiamawa is primarily the upper layers of the ocean. It is fairly typical for individuals to swim with their heads above the water. This has proven quite useful for ship lookouts searching for signs of danger.

Tiamawum are both feared and revered by sailors and coastal inhabitants. While their presence often indicates a healthy marine ecosystem, their predilection for hunting ships makes them a significant threat to maritime activities, and their voracious appetite may at times threaten whale and porpoise populations. Encounters with Tiamawum are often the subject of harrowing tales among seafarers, and indeed the Tiamawa is amongst the most feared creatures on the open ocean.

Tiamawum are not entirely safe from predation and make up a central part of the diet of larger sea-creatures such as gabrisum. Humans and Bisku have both been known to occasionally kill serpents, typically using a mixture of harpoons and sagecraft.. Their hides are used to make waterproof clothing, or else may be hung as trophies. The meat is oily and unpleasant to taste, best left only for times of emergency. 

Bisku (Water Man)

Pictured above: Two Bisku (Biskum) one is partially shifted.

The bisku is a species of sapient and highly magical pinnipeds. In their unaltered effect they appear similar to the non-magical splotchback seal. This has led some scholars to incorrectly assume that they are the result of post-Calamity mutations on this particular species of seal. However the bisku appear in the records of giants, some of which date to before the Calamity, and indeed the Bisku themselves describe their origin as far far in the past, before the Age of Glass and Metal. The easiest way to distinguish a bisku from a true seal, aside from asking it, is to look at the eyes. Bisku eyes present with pronounced whites, and are more similar to human eyes than of pinnipeds. The spoken Bisku language, of which there are 6 regional variations, is composed of grunts, barks, whistles, and clicks sounding almost unrecognizable as a language to those that do not speak it. However they are capable of learning and speaking in human tongues as well, though they rarely do so.

Bisku live in small matriarchal communities called shribaks, usually composed of 7 to 15 families. The largest of these exist near the isles of Dirsia and Ikenii, though 2 shribaks do exist in the isles north of Kishetal, near the city-state of Kirbal. One record indicates a village was made on the back of a gabrisa (see the following section.) Most have two homes, one built above the water on small islands and rocky shores, the other in the water. Bisku farm a number of aquatic and terrestrial plants which act to supplement their diet of fish, marine mammals, and shellfish.

Bisku have been known to domesticate certain species of porpoise as well as sea turtles.

Bisku are capable of metamorphosing, changing certain aspects of their body via the application of magic. This is accomplished by the consumption of magical algaes and bivalves which are farmed in secretive underwater locations. As a rule it seems, a bisku cannot change their parts into something with more mass than it already has, only something of the same mass or less. 

One of the most common changes seen is the alteration of the limbs and the creation of opposable thumbs or even entire arms. Bisku can often be heard using their arms to play harps and drums while resting on the rocky outcroppings of the northern Green Sea. 

The most skilled bisku are capable of full body transformations, including the adoption of human forms. Though visibly striking, these changes are not perfect. A bisku can change into a fish, however they will not produce functional gills and will still need to breathe air or a bisku that changes into a human will retain the rough and scratchy voice of its natural form. The longer a form is kept, the harder it becomes to change or undo. If a transformation is one in which a bisku loses mass, upon reverting back to its bisku form it will typically appear emaciated, and will need to regain that weight. Bisku legends abound with horror stories of bisku turning into something too small, such as a sardine or other small animal, and thus not being able to change back.

Bisku typically avoid interacting with humans and other terrestrial races as many superstitions surround them. Bisku are thought to bring bad luck to sailors and often fall victim to attacks or may become tangled in nets and lines. Additionally bisku skins have long been considered a luxury in certain parts of the Green Sea.

Despite this there have been instances of bisku in human form entering into relationships with humans. These relationships have produced young, these young are typically impossible to differentiate from humans, though it has been found that the rate of these children being born as sages (capable of sagecraft) is approximately 80% higher than in normal human births.

An estimated 12,000 live around the world.

Gabrisa (Whale Friend)

Pictured above: an adult Gabrisa with a pod of fin whales.

The gabrisa is the largest of the Sea-Dragons and the largest overall species on Kobani, in terms of both length and weight, though not the largest organism, as it is beaten out by certain Great Dragons. This massive serpent may reach lengths of approximately 700 ft and weigh upwards of 2,000 tons. Gabrisa are exceedingly rare, with only 207 existing across the globe. Gabrisa gestation is the longest of any organism on Kobani, at nearly 50 years, the lifespan of a gabrisa is approximately 300 years, a female is only capable of producing two young over the course of its life. Like the tiamawa, the gabrisa gives birth to live young, however unlike the tiamawa, the gabrisa does not not raise its young, rather it will leave its young in the care of a pod of whales, most often fin or sperm whales, though occasionally with other species. As the gabrisa grows in the company and cares for the whales it becomes the defender, fending off and eating anything which may threaten the pod.

Often the gabrisa acts as guardian of calves while the others feed. The gabrisa will mourn at the loss of those within its pod, and is deeply protective of them. Gabrisa will stay with a pod and its descendants until its death. Its horns and teeth are used in defense of its pod and in battles by mothers over a pod to raise their young. A gabrisa diet includes sea-plants, krill, fish, sharks, and other sea-serpents. Gabrisa are typically slow moving creatures, expending little energy. They communicate in song, able to mimic and understand the calls of their host species. In addition, bioluminescent patches along its body create colorful light shows, both to warn potential predators and to communicate to other gabrisa when the time to mate comes. Due to their relatively small numbers, many gabrisa will never mate or meet another of their species.

Gabrisum are seen as symbols of good luck, as their presence scares away smaller and more dangerous species of serpent. Often they act as living reefs, attracting thousands of species which take shelter amidst its 10 flippers and under its many scales. This makes gabrisum great boons for fishermen who may purposefully cast their nets in the vicinity of these giants. Gabrisum are non-hostile towards humans, and will show some curiosity towards ships and humans in the water, however they will also attack vessels that they perceive to be a threat to their pod. One legend tells of an entire Arkodian fleet being sunk by a vengeful gabrisa after accidentally killing a whale calf.

Gabrisum are highly intelligent, there is some debate as to whether or not they should be considered as a sapient species, they are comparable intellectually to certain dolphins and toothed-whales.

Conclusion

Pictured above: a map of the Green Sea

This is just a small introduction to some of the magical beings of the Green Sea, there are hundreds more inhabiting every biome, ranging in size from the great Gabrisa to microscopic organisms. I hope that you enjoyed this and I welcome any questions that you have!

@patternwelded-quill, @skyderman , @flaneurarbiter , @jclibanwrites

@rhokisb, @blackblooms , @lord-nichron , @kosmic-kore , @axl-ul ,

@wylanzahn , @dyrewrites , @foragedbonesblog , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @mk-writes-stuff ,

@roach-pizza , @illarian-rambling , @elsie-writes , @willtheweaver

[1-800-blurambles]

okay I can try helping, I took it 2 years ago ish and got a 5 miraculously so I’ll try giving some tips though I honestly can’t say I remember much

Disclaimer I don’t know what the exam format is for this year so I’m just going off the normal one

Keep track of time, I usually calculate amt of time I can spend on each question (multiple choice and free response section) and the classic move on if you don’t get something bc it might be a time crunch for you

I assume it’s probably open note if ur doing it from home? Have all your material ready, periodic table, the like, I forget what it’s called that formula sheet with the ions of elements, also handy to have list of strong/weak acids and bases, know all the trends in the periodic table (size, affinity, electronegativity, etc...), maybe Lewis dot diagram names

A lot of topics to cover...I don’t remember all of them but like make sure you know the problems that u usually get tested on (molarity stuff, titrations, acids and bases (know your ICE table things or however you learned how to do those), oxidation reduction stuff (LEO and that other acronym I’m forgetting but u can search it up), electro-smth I distinctly remember having to do that problem on the exam but don’t remember what it’s called, where u have metal bars in separate solutions and the ions and stuff transfer, that was a FRQ I believe

Cannot stress this enough do practice exams!!! Lots of them are available and they are very very helpful and you can time yourself - when you get used to it it’s so much easier to do on the actual test

Graphing calculator if you have one just so it’s easier to keep a record of calculations and u can do other stuff if needed to check stuff sometimes

Get enough sleep it’s a long exam (idk how long it is this year though)

If at home test your technology and stuff make sure it works and all that, if handwriting make sure it’s legible

Good luck!!! Please feel free to add stuff bc I’m a bit rusty so I don’t remember that much

Hey did you by chance take ap chem or have any tips for the chem exam (double period zoom is kicking my ass, I have paid attention to almost nothing) (also I hope you blocked bee movie anon)

i did not im sorry.

but if anyone has anything for anon throw it in the notes

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 6,597 hahahahahahaaaaaahhhhhh man... Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Requested by: Anonymous! Hope you like! Warnings: TAKE THESE SERIOUSLY. THIS ONE SHOT CONTAINS SOME HEAVY SHIT. violence, sexual violence, attempted rape, language, frightening scenarios, blood and injury Summary: Y/N is assigned to work alongside the surgeon Pete in Alexandria, but something about the guy isn't sitting right. A/N: UHHHHHHHHHH I CAN'T WRITE SHORT THINGS AND THIS GOT PRETTY INTENSE but I promise there is also good stuff in here... Soft, sweet Daryl AND Protective!Daryl. I literally wrote this entire thing today and it definitely needs to be edited again but I really wanted to get it posted for ya'll tonight, so please forgive any typos/mistakes! I'll be re-reading tomorrow haha

Your name: submit What is this?

You finally sat up in bed after lying awake for some time and swung your legs over the edge. Your feet brushed the cold floor of the basement room and you pulled the comforter back over your legs. Behind you, you heard the soft stirring of fabric and soon felt Daryl’s rough hand and fingertips lightly trailing down your back.

He sighed and moved closer to you, half-awake. You smiled as you looked at him over your shoulder. You loved everything about this sight; his tousled hair, the peaceful expression on his face, the sight of his bare chest under the sheet. His blue eyes finally opened.

“Ya alright? What is it?” There was even more gravel in his voice than usual, remnants of sleep.

“Just couldn’t sleep anymore,” you said softly.

His brow furrowed a little, carving a small vertical line between his eyebrows. “Nervous about today?”

You nodded.

His fingers traced over your bare skin again. “C’mere,” he said softly.

You laid back down beside him and he folded you into his broad chest, his arm curling around you. He held you tightly and you could hear the steady beating of his heart and the quiet rushing sound of air moving in and out of his lungs.

“S’gonna be good,” he murmured.

“It just feels like a lifetime since I practiced in any normal setting,” you mused. “It’s been desperate triage, like a medic in war, pretty much since the turn. What if I’ve forgotten how to just… be a doctor?”

“Ya kiddin’ me? Ya doctor me all the time.” You could hear the smile in his voice and it eased your anxiety some. “Even when I don’t want ya to,” he added with a laugh.

You leaned up on an elbow and looked down at him, cocking a half-smile as he met your eyes. “You need doctoring all the time, Daryl,” you said. You clasped his face gently and he watched as your eyelashes fluttered closed. He met your lips softly and his fingertips tickled down your spine. You could feel the callouses on your bare skin. It was a sensation you liked, it grounded you. “I better get up,” you said. “I think I’ll take a walk before I have to go in and the last thing I need is to be late and make a bad first impression on the surgeon.”

Daryl wanted to ask you to stay in bed with him, but he knew you needed the morning amble to soothe your nerves, so he begrudgingly relinquished his hold around you and watched as you slipped out of the covers and began pulling on some clothes. He mourned the shape of you disappearing beneath the fabric. “What’s that guy’s name again?” he drawled.

“Pete, I think,” you said, sinking down onto the edge of the bed again to lace up your boots.

“Right. Pete,” he repeated. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“What are you up to today?” you asked him, standing and turning back to look at him in the bed, wavy hair ruffled against the pillow.

“Mmm. Dunno. Probably go up and work on the bike,” he drawled.

“Okay. Well, if you’re bored you can come visit me at the clinic later,” you said. You sighed, wishing you were still in bed asleep beside him. “I better go. I’ll see you later today, alright?” You turned away to head upstairs but Daryl stopped you.

“Hey.” You turned back with a question on your brow. “Ya ain’t got nothin’ to worry ‘bout. Yer gonna be great.” You smiled at him and rushed back to steal another kiss, this one more heated and leaving both of you wanting.

“Bye,” you said softly through a smile. You climbed the stairs and blushed when you realized Rick was already up and in the kitchen with Judith. You and Daryl had been together for a while now, but you didn’t exactly advertise it. It felt precious still, and neither of you had any interest in letting others into that intimacy.

Rick’s eyes met yours as you came into the kitchen. “Morning,” he said. “I didn’t see anything,” he joked, referring to you coming up from Daryl’s space. He looked back down at the small bowl of oatmeal he was trying to convince Judith to eat.

“Shut up,” you murmured, your cheeks still flushed with heat. Rick definitely knew the two of you were together, and you suspected a few of the others did too, but you still felt a little shy about the whole thing. Rick laughed lightly at your response.

“First day,” he said.

“Yep,” you sighed, leaning on your forearms on the kitchen island. “Feels a little surreal to be heading to an actual… job.”

Rick nodded. “Yeah. This whole place feels a little surreal. But Deanna knows what she’s talking about. Having one doctor these days is huge, let alone two. Everyone will be grateful.”

You gave him a small smile and straightened up. “Well, I’m off. Gonna take a walk before I head in. Try and get my head clear.”

“Good luck,” Rick said with a nod. “We’ll all want to hear all about it later.”

You gave him one final smile and headed out into the cool morning air. There was fog hanging heavy just past the walls, concealing what was beyond and the grass was soaked with dew. You jogged down the steps and headed to the wall, turning and following it around the settlement. A few Alexandrians were beginning to stir, sitting on porches quietly or talking with their neighbors at the corner of their lots. Their eyes followed you as you passed. A few murmured greetings. Your group was still new. You were an unknown entity, and you couldn’t blame them for their distrust, not when you didn’t trust any of them either. Just because this place appeared to be perhaps one of the last-standing remnants of civilized society didn’t mean it was completely free from flaws. People were flawed. That had always been true, and if anything, it was even truer now.

You rounded the other side of the settlement and based on how the sun was burning off the moisture in the air, it was time to head to the makeshift clinic and begin. You were anxious to hear about the day to day from the surgeon, and excited to talk to another medical professional. It felt like a long time since you’d lost Hershel back at the prison… The two of you had been a team, and you missed him dearly. Not only because you could discuss the finer points of wound care, but because he’d been another mind to commiserate with and bounce ideas off. It was a burden to have medical knowledge in these times. People treated you as if you were made of glass, because your survival meant theirs was more likely.

Daryl was protective of you, but he didn’t act as though you were just some needed resource. He didn’t treat you like a piece of museum art. He knew you were strong and although he tried to make sure you didn’t need to, he knew you could fight. The two of you had been in enough scrapes together over the years, not to mention the trials your group had borne.

You climbed the stairs to the clinic and pushed inside. A man turned from a counter across the room and called out to you. “What can I do for you?” he asked, hurriedly setting down some supplies he was restocking and coming over. “Not feeling well?”

You let out a light laugh. “Actually, I’m the doctor starting with you today. Deanna said she’d talked to you…”

“Oh. Oh! Right! Of course you are!” he said. He glanced up and down at you and you tried to ignore it, telling yourself he was just sizing you up. The wedding ring glinting on his finger would make him so blatantly checking you out extra inappropriate. “I’m Pete,” he said, extending a hand.

You grasped it firmly and gave it a good shake. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said, nodding. His eyes lingered on your face. “Well, come on in and get familiar.” He led you farther back into the clinic and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, what was your specialty back in the day?” he asked.

“Pediatrics,” you replied, glancing around at the townhouse-turned-hospital clinic. It was strange seeing granite countertops next to rolling gurneys and other medical equipment that probably had once belonged in a museum, but these days were in regular use.

“Well, we can’t all be surgeons,” he said, flashing you a toothy smile. “I was thoracic surgery, mainly cardiovascular.”

You wanted to roll your eyes. Great. He’s an arrogant ass. Fucking terrific… “Well, we’re all everything now, aren’t we? No more specialization,” you replied a little coldly.

He didn’t seem to catch your tone and laughed again. “Seems so! Well, it will be nice to have another doctor around to help out. I’m expecting a quiet day, but then again you never know what will come through those doors.”

“I was wondering what your day-to-day is like. Do you do a lot of routine visits, check-ups and things? Or if this more of a ‘come in when something is wrong’ situation?”

“Mainly the latter. For some of the older folks we’ll do check-ups just to make sure we aren’t caught off guard, but most people don’t come in unless something is wrong. They’ve had an injury or come down ill, that type of thing. I am expecting a patient today with a bad heart for a check-up, but other than that the schedule is wide open, assuming nothing goes sideways.”

“Of course.”

He gave you a long look before he held a finger up. “You know, the supply shelves could use restocking. We keep most of the supplies in boxes and bring them out as needed. Here,” he said, waving you to follow him. He led you over to a closet packed with cardboard boxes. “Go ahead and dig around in here and then restock things on the shelves over there.” He pointed to a small alcove that had shelves lining the walls. You could see they were filled with spare linens, packs of gauze, bandages, boxes of sterile needles, pretty much anything you could need.

“Sure.” You didn’t mind helping out with stocking. It wasn’t something you would have done in the old world since you were out of med school, but as you had said everyone was a jack-of-all-trades now and more than anything you wanted to make yourself useful. What you didn’t expect was that while you were hauling boxes and organizing supplies, Pete had sat himself down right across from the alcove with a mug of something and seemed to be doing nothing more than watching you. The hair on the back of your neck prickled and you glanced over your shoulder. He did have some medical text out in front of him, but he seemed to be doing very little reading and you couldn’t actually remember him turning a page... You could feel his eyes on you as you worked and became especially conscious of how you moved your body to bend down and lift the supplies.

You tried your hardest to dismiss it, but you were just finishing resupplying the gauze pads when you sensed someone close behind you. You spun around and Pete was almost right on top of you. “Oh—” You backed up and hit the shelves, the cold metal biting through your shirt. There was some look on his face that was deeply unnerving but the next moment it was gone and replaced with another smile. He leaned toward you, one hand landing on the shelf above your head. You were effectively boxed in by his body and the configuration of the small room. You gulped at the tightness in your throat, your heart pounding. You stared up at him wide-eyed.

“Thanks. For doing that,” he said softly. “It looks so much more organized in here.” His eyes weren’t leaving you.

Your body was telling you to run, so you took the opportunity to duck his arm and escape into the main room of the clinic. You hugged your arms over yourself and turned around in time to watch him walking back out of the supply room casually. Your heart was still racing and you jumped as the clinic door banged open and an elderly man walked in. You tried to regain control of your breathing as Pete greeted the man with a wide smile.

“Mr. Johnson, and how are we doing today?” Pete asked, striding forward. “I want you to meet our new doctor.” He gestured to you and you snapped yourself back into work mode, trying hard to suppress the urge you still had just to get the fuck out of this guy’s orbit.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson,” you said, giving him a smile. “I hear you’re in for a check-up on the ticker today?”

The rest of the appointment was routine, except that Pete seemed to think you were going to be around simply to act as some kind of glorified assistant as opposed to a fully-functional, independent physician. When the patient had left and you were again alone with the surgeon, your anxiety started to ratchet up again and you decided it was time to bail for the day. Maybe this whole thing was simply nerves and after a good night’s sleep, you’d find Pete much less… irksome?

“Well, I think that’s as good an introduction as any for today,” you said suddenly, apparently catching him somewhat off-guard. “Be sure to send someone for me if anything comes up.” It was only mid-afternoon and during the apocalypse a lot can go wrong in the span of a few hours.

Pete looked disappointed. “Why don’t you stay? We can have a welcome drink together! I keep a bottle of Scotch in the bottom desk drawer,” he said with a laugh. “No sense pretending it isn’t the apocalypse. We can bend a few rules if we want.”

“That’s okay. I should check in with my group and see how everyone is getting on without me… I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, backing toward the door already.

“Are you sure? If you don’t like Scotch, we can—”

“I’m sure! Have a good rest of your day!” You called that over your shoulder as you rushed out the door. Your anxiety was so high that you ran most of the way home, and by the time you reached the front porch you were sweaty and out of breath. You bent over, hands on your knees and attempted to draw in deep breaths and regain control of your bounding pulse. Michonne must have heard you run up the steps because she stepped out through the front door and took in your expression.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?” she asked. “Why are you all out of breath?”

You waved her off, straightening up and fixing a smile on your lips. “Oh, too much standing around, you know? Just needed a pick-me-up. Umm—have you seen Daryl?” Seeing the handsome archer was the only thing you could think about.

Michonne didn’t look particularly convinced but she nodded. “He’s up at Aaron and Eric’s place working on his bike. Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” you said dismissively. “I’m a doctor, remember? I should know if I’m alright or not. Thanks,” you breathed, turning to jog back down the stairs and heading straight for Aaron’s house.

“You’re also stubborn!” she called after you as you bounded back down the stairs, but you only tossed another wave at her over your shoulder.

The sound of metallic tinkering reached you as you approached the end of the driveway. The garage door was thrown wide open and Daryl was hunched over some part on the workbench. You grinned as you took in his broad shoulders, the wings on the back of his vest, and the fit of his jeans. The weirdness of the day was all but forgotten. You strode up next to him and leaned back against the workbench. “Hi,” you grinned up at him.

His lips immediately quirked into a small smile and he abandoned the tools in his hands to step back and drink in the sight of you. His fingers fiddled aimlessly, yearning to feel the angles of your hips. “Hey. Yer done early,” he said.

You shrugged. “Yeah. First day only, you know?”

Daryl sensed something in your tone and his brow furrowed, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read your expression. “How was it?” he drawled.

You gulped, trying to decide what to say, not wanting him to worry. Besides, you knew if you told him you thought Pete was eyeing you that he’d probably march down to the clinic immediately and give the guy a telling off, and that certainly wouldn’t improve your working relationship… “It was fine. I think Pete just needs to adjust to the fact that there’s another doctor around now. He mostly treated me like an assistant today…”

Daryl’s expression darkened. “Tha’s bullshit.”

You shrugged and sighed. “He’s arrogant. I’m planning to have a talk with him about it tomorrow. That isn’t going to fly.” You tried to laugh lightly, but Daryl’s eyes were still searching your face.

“Tha’s it?” he prompted.

You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded. “Yeah. Hey, I’m gonna go home and lay down for a while,” you said, gently touching his arm. “Was too anxious to sleep well last night. I’ll see you there in a bit?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, nudging his nose up in a nod. “Hey. Ya sure yer alright? Ya seem a little—I dunno…” he trailed off.

Ugh, he always knows when something was up. “Really, I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll see you later.” And with that you turned and headed back to the house.

Daryl decided to wrap up not too long after you left. He couldn’t shake the sense that there was something about your first day you hadn’t mentioned and it wasn’t sitting right. Still, he trusted that if you wanted to talk about it, you would, so he didn’t ask again. It was obvious at dinner you weren’t really in the sharing mood when everyone was enthused about you starting as the new doctor and peppering you with questions. You smiled and thanked them, but didn’t offer up much extra info. Daryl finally spat out what you’d told him. “Apparently this Pete guy is an ass,” he drawled during a lull at the dinner table.

“Really? How so?” Maggie asked, looking worried.

You shot Daryl a look and he simply peered back at you. “He’s just—a bit arrogant. Not the first surgeon I’ve run across who seems to think he’s God,” you said.

Carol rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about some of these people,” she said in an undertone.

“Look, this is a big adjustment for everybody. For them, and for us,” Rick said. “We’re all gonna need a little time to settle in and get used to this.”

You chewed your bottom lip and felt another brief wave of anxiety. Under the table out of sight, Daryl’s hand settled on your knee and gave it a light squeeze and you felt instant relief. You turned and gave him a small smile. Things would be okay. Tomorrow was a new day, and you made up your mind to stand up for yourself to this asshole surgeon...

You strode into the clinic and found Pete seated at the desk in the corner, apparently going over some inventory list, and you stopped across the desk from him. “Morning,” you said.

His eyes started at your feet and dragged up your body to land on your face. “Good morning,” he returned. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be back. You left so abruptly yesterday,” he said, standing and moving around the desk toward you.

You crossed your arms subconsciously, like armor against his stare. “Yeah, listen, about that… I’m here to be a doctor. I’m not here to be your assistant, which is what I felt like yesterday. I’m fine with stocking or doing inventory or cleaning instruments as long as we’re sharing the tasks evenly.”

Pete was silent for a long moment and seemed to be considering you. He finally cracked a smile. “Of course. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way. It was your first day, and I just thought we’d ease you into things,” he said.

It wasn’t the response you had expected. “Oh,” you said, a little struck.

He let out a wry laugh. “Don’t sound so surprised, Y/N! We’re a team. That’s how I’d like for us to be anyway.” He paused briefly. “You’re obviously a strong, beautiful, intelligent woman and quite frankly I’m thrilled to have you here to help the community.”

You eyed him a little warily, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling again a little, but you nodded and murmured an awkward thanks.

He clapped his hands together and straightened up. “How’s this? To make up for yesterday, you take the lead today and I’ll run interference for you. You can have me fetch meds or linens or whatever you’d like. We’re expecting two patients today, and one is in your area of expertise anyway. What do you say?”

You sighed and nodded. “Alright. But—I just want us to be partners. That’s all… I don’t need you to fetch linens,” you said with a wry laugh.

Pete nodded. “Partners. Partners sounds good.”

The rest of your second day was smooth and you actually felt fulfilled. Your first patient’s pneumonia was clearing up on its own and the second turned out to be a kid with a run of the mill rash. You watched happily as his mother thanked you and the two of them headed out the clinic door and you sighed contentedly for once. It felt good to do something routine. You knew you’d have triage days but for once the only thing you had to worry about was a kid with a dermatitis. Pete came to stand beside you and watch them leave and you felt his eyes on you again. When you looked over, he simply gave you a small smile. Maybe this was going to work out after all.

That night, you were all gathered around the dinner table when there was a loud knocking on the door. Glenn got up to answer it and was followed in by one of the Alexandrians who was looking a little frantic.

“Y/N, Pete asked me to get you and have you come to the clinic. He said someone fell off a ladder while doing repairs on the wall and he needs your help.” The room immediately fell silent and you felt everyone’s eyes on you.

You rose quickly, your chair scraping harshly on the floor. “Of course. I’m coming now.” You started toward the front door immediately and you heard quick boot steps behind you. Glancing back you saw Daryl trailing just behind you.

He looked worried. “Hey. Ya want me to come with ya? S’late and all…”

“No. No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s nothing too serious. We can handle it. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” You gently grabbed his arm and gave him a reassuring glance before stepping outside into the darkness. You thanked the woman who had come to collect you and she turned off to head back to her own house. The sun wasn’t quite set yet but the shadows between the houses were growing long and deep. You jogged to the clinic, unsure of exactly how serious the injuries might be and eager to do something useful. It seemed rather dimly lit inside as you climbed the steps. You were expecting the interior to be a blaze with light and potentially other activity, friends or family waiting nearby. But it was quiet as you pushed through the door and you wondered if Pete had already taken the patient into one of the smaller rooms that served as private exam rooms.

“Hello?” you called as you entered.

Pete’s voice called from deeper inside the clinic. “In here!”

You headed for the sound, which was indeed coming from one of the private exam rooms. You knocked on the door and he told you to come in. You entered and shut the door behind you, glancing around for the injured person, but you saw only Pete inside. “What’s going on? Who’s hurt?” you asked urgently. “How bad is it?”

Pete turned around from his place at the far wall and fixed his eyes on you for a moment. “X-rays are here. He’s in the other room. Come see,” he said, nudging his head in the direction of the counter behind him.

You strode over and almost immediately realized something was extremely wrong. The plastic sheets on the counter were blank x-ray sheets. There was no image as you lifted them up to the overhead light. And Pete wasn’t beside you anymore. He’d moved around the room and was now standing in front of the door. His eyes were already on you when you next glanced at him.

You felt like the air went out of your lungs as you gave him a questioning look. “What’s going on?” you asked, trying to keep the shake out of your voice.

“Well, I had to get you here somehow. You didn’t accept my drink offer earlier. And I thought maybe you were a little put-off by my behavior your first day. Or maybe by my wedding ring…”

Fuck. This was going nowhere good. “You’re right about both,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “What are you doing? What is this?” You were cornered and you knew that he’d done all this strategically, to get you alone with no one else around.

He smiled at you vaguely. “I like you, Y/N. And when I see something that I like, I go after it.”

“Something?” you repeated, unable to keep a scoff from slipping out.

Pete took a step closer to you. “See that? That’s part of why I like you. You’re intelligent, strong, and beautiful. I thought it the moment I first saw you. But you need a man to put you in your place.” He advanced on you a couple more steps and your heart started racing. You backed up as much as you could and your back hit the counter behind you. “And I think I’m the right man to do that.”

“You’re married,” you spat out. “You have a wife. And kids.” Your chest was heaving a little with anxious breaths that were bordering on panic. “I’m sure you don’t mean this. Let’s just forget this ever happened and—”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that. Once I see something I want, I have to have it. And I want you, Y/N.”

“Well, I don’t want you! This is—I’m leaving,” you tried to get to the door but he blocked your path and it was then that you smelled the alcohol on him. “You’re drunk,” you said, the realization spilling out.

“Last time I checked it wasn’t a crime to have a few drinks.”

You backed away from him again as he moved closer, still squarely blocking the route to the door. “Just stay away from me. This is—Look, I’ve got someone already and you’re fucking married. What the hell are you doing?! I don’t want this!”

Your words seemed to have no effect on him and he continued moving closer and closer, steadily, like a lion approaching its prey. You gathered your courage and made a dash to get around him, but he grabbed hold of you forcefully and slammed your back into the counter hard enough that all the air left you in a gasp. He had hold of both of your wrists painfully tight and there was nothing in his eyes. They were dark.

You struggled against him, but he was bigger than you and his position where he had you pinned made it easy to control you. “Let go of me!” You tried to get a knee up to his groin, or to push him away but he slammed you back into the counter again, releasing one of your wrists to grab a fistful of your hair and pull you cruelly down so your back arched painfully backwards over the edge. You couldn’t even cry out and the next thing you felt was his other hand closing around your throat.

“I told you,” he growled into your ear. You could feel the heat of his breath on your skin and you felt sick. “Once I see something I want, I have to have it. So, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

You gripped his wrist, attempting to pry it from your neck and tried to suck air in despite the force he was applying. “Fuck. You.” You managed it in a rough whisper and his response was to turn your head roughly using his fistful of your hair. You stifled a pained cry and your mind was working desperately as you tried to find some goddamn way out of this. Your eyes landed on an instrument tray on the counter and you relinquished your grip on Pete’s wrist and began to reach for it, stretching your arm and fingers as far as you could, desperately.

You felt his face burying into the crook of your neck and his hot breath on your skin. Next you felt his lips… his teeth… but you shut your eyes and reached and—there cold steel of a metal instrument.

You gripped it tightly and felt a sharp blade prick your palm. A scalpel.

Without thinking, you clutched the handle and stabbed the tool into Pete’s upper arm as hard and deep as you could. Air rushed back into your lungs as his grip on your throat disappeared. You fell to the floor as he staggered away from you, looking down at the instrument protruding from his arm. You crawled and then scrambled to the door, throwing it open and letting out a scream as you ran through the clinic. Please, God, let someone hear me!

You heard the rush of footsteps behind you and toppled over anything you could behind you as you ran for the front door. At one point you felt Pete’s fingertips grip the back of your shirt, but you tugged away and they slipped off. You pushed out into the dark night, not even aware that there were terrified tears streaming down your face. You glanced back over your shoulder as you ran down the steps, your lungs on fire, and when you tore down the sidewalk you collided with something solid. Then someone was gripping your upper arms and you let out a wild yell. But the voice was familiar, and then the feel of the hands on your skin.

Daryl. It was Daryl.

You let out a sob and fell into him, clutching to him desperately. His arms wrapped around you tightly, rubbing over your back, pressing into your shoulder blades. “Y/N! Y/N, look at me!” He pulled you slightly back and saw the fear in your wide eyes and the red marks on your neck and wrists. He pressed you into him again and now your shoulders were shaking with sobs. “I gotcha. I gotcha…” He glared up at the clinic just ahead, fuming, his body temperature rising as you shook in his arms. He had no doubt about what had happened.

“How’d you—why’re you—” You couldn’t get the questions out as you clung to him.

“S’alright. M’here. I just—I had a bad feelin’. I came to check on ya.”

You buried your face against his chest. “Thank you… thank you…”

Perhaps drawn by Daryl’s obvious concern after you left dinner and his hasty departure, or maybe by the noise and commotion, Maggie and Glenn suddenly were there beside you too.

“Y/N—” Daryl pulled you back gently and clasped your chin, lifting it so you’d look up at him. “I’ll be right back. I’ll be right back, okay? Stay with Glenn an’ Maggie.”

Your hands smoothed down and landed on his sides, clinging lightly to the fabric of his shirt, your eyes still wide and glistening with fearful tears. “What’re you going to do?”

His jaw clenched and you saw the fiery rage in his eyes. “Jus’ stay here with Glenn an’ Maggie. I’ll come right back, alrigh’?”

“Come here,” Maggie said, draping an arm around your shoulders as Daryl pulled away. He was striding straight up the walk to the clinic and up the steps, his hands clenched into fists.

You gulped and your stomach twisted as you watched his broad frame stop in front of the door and push it open. Maggie hugged you tighter and looked at Glenn.

“Glenn,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “He’s gonna kill him.”

Daryl pushed into the clinic and let the door slam into the wall. The room in front of him was dim and in complete disarray. Tables were upended and medical supplies littered the floor. He could almost see the chaotic chase that had taken place there.

That’s when he spotted fat drops of crimson on the tile. Fresh, brilliant red blood.

His right hand clenched and unclenched and he moved silently deeper into the clinic, following the blood trail. A light was on at the end of a small hallway and he headed straight for it, anger burning him up from the inside, rolling at a boil. He stepped into the doorway silently and peered inside.

Pete was standing at the counter, a bottle of liquor beside him, attempting to patch up a nasty looking wound in his upper arm.

“What happened to yer arm?” Daryl growled, his stare narrowed and intense.

Pete’s head snapped around and he took in the figure in the doorway. “I—” He didn’t have anything. He didn’t have an excuse. And in that moment, he knew he’d fucked up royally. Worse possibly than he ever had. He’d gone too far.

Daryl was on him instantly, seizing him by the front of his shirt and throwing him down onto the hard floor, raining blow after blow into his face and body. All he saw was red and black… The next thing he really remembered was Glenn and Rick pulling him off Pete’s writhing form on the floor and hauling him back out of the clinic. His hands were shaking, his knuckles bloody.

You watched, still trembling with Maggie’s arm around you, as Rick and Glenn hauled Daryl out onto the porch and finally released him. You knew Rick was trying to talk him down but you couldn’t hear his words. Daryl paced back and forth like a caged animal on the porch, focused purely on getting back to Pete to finish beating him into the fucking ground. You shrugged Maggie’s arm off and wandered forward on legs that felt like they may give out at any second. You climbed the steps and as Daryl paced back and forth again, you reached out and just gently grabbed his arm.

He spun and then froze instantly. You looked up at him with wide eyes, still glistening with tears, and he instantly forgot about Pete. His chest was still heaving as he wrapped you up into him again, not caring that there was a small crowd now gathering. His fingers smoothed your hair and pressed you tightly to him. He felt your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and grip it like a lifeline.

“I gotcha,” he murmured again, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “S’go home.” He couldn’t feel the pain in his hands anymore. He couldn’t see the others standing around. He could only feel how you were still trembling against him and wanted desperately to stop it.

He ushered you through the gawking people and ignored Michonne and Carol as they tried to question him. When you reached the house and your feet seemed to stall out, he simply scooped you up, his heart aching as you draped an arm around his neck and buried your face against him. He set you on the edge of his bed and clicked on the light, kneeling down in front of you so he could study you for previously unseen injuries. His fingertips were so light as they trailed over your skin, his eyes taking in the marks on your neck and wrists and arms, bringing another tsunami of rage. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and hung his head, wrestling again with his anger. But it was quickly tempered by the way you held onto any part of him you could and wouldn’t let go and he softened at once. Still kneeling in front of you, he smoothed his hands up and down your arms. “What can I do?” he drawled quietly, and the sound of his voice, so desperate and filled with anxious concern, almost broke you down again.

“Just—come up here and hold me,” you managed.

Daryl was beside you instantly, folding you in against him, lying back until the two of you hit the pillows. He held you tighter than he ever had, his mind swirling. After some time, when you seemed to have calmed some and rested quietly against him, you finally spoke. “I should have told you,” you said. “He made me uncomfortable since the first day… but I didn’t want you to worry. And I thought—I didn’t think he’d—”

“It dun matter,” Daryl said gently. You could hear his voice resonating in his deep chest. “Yer safe now. And that prick ain’t ever touchin’ ya again. He ain’t hurtin’ anybody again.” He smoothed your hair. “Yer safe. I gotcha.”

You settled against him more heavily. “Daryl, you’re always my safe haven. You have to know that.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead and breathed in your familiar smell. “Yer mine too.” And you were. You were his safe place to be himself, to be vulnerable, to be loved and to love, and the least he could do was wrap you up in his arms and tell you everything was going to be okay.

And the thing was, you believed him.

[emersonfreepress]

Chapter 2 is complete! (Mar. 25, 2022)

Well, as complete as it's gonna get for now. More info on the Choice of Games thread here and you can play the demo here!

Now that this is finally ready, the next thing on my plate are some disgustingly overdue short stories 😷 The Chapter 3 update isn't a priority until those are completed and submitted. The forum post features some more info about what's next and the ask box here on the blog is open.

Enjoy about 4.5k words of new stuff (allegedly)! Let me know thoughts! and please forgive any typos haha