#gothies figure collection

[killyourrdarlingss]

Tailgate is finally here 🥺💕

Tiny Cyclonus gets tiny tailgate now 💕

[homunculus-argument]

I have a strong respect for people who know exactly what they're about, and don't hesitate to do and be exactly what they want to be and be doing, and I think it's such a fun and awesome thing when someone has a whole theme to their outfits and clothing. Always wanted to do that, but never really been in a time and a place where I could figure out what I want and how to do that. Until recently, so I've had a whole Full Late-Onset Goth Phase at 30.

I have now reached the point in developing my own style where I'm done aimlessly hoarding all possible danglies and trinkets like a magpie and I can start curating for a more distinct theme, but I could not come up with a motif that would be varied enough and which I'd love enough to turn into My Whole Thing. Until now.

Looking at the trinkets, accessories and clothing I've collected, constructed and modified, I noticed that almost all my dangly pendants are stars. Not being into astrology, I started thinking of what other direction I could start building towards. Western? Watch your back, Sheriff Faggot is in town? Nah, not my style. Then it hit me.

Moths! Very gothy, but a rare enough motif in gothy things to be distinct, take time and effort to curate, and overlaps with both what I have - stars, therefore nocturnal elements - and a chaotic critter element I love but was yet to find: My favourite cryptid of all time is unquestionably mothman.

Time to make an one-time Etsy bulk order of tiny dangly moth pendants to sew and link into all my future outfit projects, and start painting, embroidering and sewing moth decorations into all my clothes.

[archangeldyke-all]

hi angel !! i hope ur doing well.

what do you think sevika would be like with a witchy partner? like a partner whose always slipping crystals into her pockets or using makeup to draw protection sigils on her arm (me lol)

🌕

adorable

disclaimer! i know a bit about witchcraft, being a lesbian and all, but i'm not super familiar with rituals, or cultural practices, so this is all kinda just guessing.

men and minors dni

the thing is... she tries so hard to be a skeptic.

she scoffs every morning when you gently tuck a black crystal into her side satchel, promising it'll protect her.

she rolls her eyes when you talk about astrology or the phases of the moon... like the planets have powers.

and any time she walks in on your burying a candle or some herbs, she just shakes her head and chuckles, then kisses your head and goes about her day.

but... and she fucking hates the fact that it's true... your little potions and spells and whatever else you do... it seems to work.

she asked you one night after she got home, as she was cooking dinner and you were unpacking her satchel for her, why you don't just leave the 'little rock' in overnight, so you don't have to pack it for her every day.

you giggled and explained to her that half the protection is the way you bless it, the symbols you trace into it every morning.

"what kinda symbols?"

"well, i made a special one for you. for when you go to work. that you'll come home safe to me."

and you kinda take her breath away with that answer.

and, worst of all, it seems like it works. each day since you've moved in and started the little morning ritual, she's come home safe and sound, excited to see you.

(she convinces herself it's just the placebo effect, until she comes to terms with the truth when you're too sick one morning to pack her little satchel for her, she forgets the crystal, and gets the shit beat outta her. twice in one day.)

sometimes you anoint her forehead or pulse points with little oils: petals and herbs and other little goodies in the jars. she'll ask what it's for and you'll shrug.

"this one's for peace of mind. you look all far away." you said one night, when you caught on the couch watching tv in the middle of the night.

she was snoring on top of you within minutes.

"this one's for communication." you said on the morning before she asked silco for a raise.

which she ended up getting.

"this one's... well... you'll see." you said mischeviously, before pressing a kiss to her cheek and winking at her.

when she had your ankles by her ears, her strap balls deep inside of you, you giggled and bit her earlobe. "it was an arousal-- ah! arousal oil."

"figures." sevika grunts.

anyways... you know that despite the teasing sevika respects it. she's always bringing you 'cool rocks' for your crystal collection-- you don't have the heart to tell her most of them are just pebbles, so you just add 'em to the shelf. she'll pick up anything and everything that looks a little mystical for you: from cool black matches, to candles whose flames burn different colors, to real crystals, and bones or taxidermied critters.

(she kind of loves the witchy-gothy vibe of it all, loves that there's always candles burning, and incense by the windows-- little jars of goodies and ingredients everywhere. she thinks it's cool. she'll never admit it to you, though.)

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

[galaxycunt]

You Turned Me Inside Out Part 2

Tagging @gothy-froggy as you requested a part 2!

Hope you all enjoy it!

3k ish fluff and angst hehehe

Buggy wasn’t a person who left his soul bare. A romantic deep down, if only in his dreams. Meeting you seemed like fate, he always fell in love too easily. You didn’t mind his nose, looking at him like he was the most beautiful man in the world. Like a spotlight following him around that bar of yours.

Buggy always left a piece of his heart with anyone he shared a bed with. He pushed his luck with you a second time, then a third, until he was counting the days until he could see you again. Each time expecting you to laugh in his face with another man balls deep inside you.

But you didn’t, you were waiting for him too.

He remembered the day vividly, he was staying the night, he found your little drawer of things about him. He lit up, thinking you were a fan. He always wanted a fan like that, and you insisted you weren’t.

“I’ve heard this joke before,” he said.

”It’s not a joke, I really care about you,” you said.

Buggy the clown, in love? Someone else in love with him? Biggest joke of the century. You kissed those thoughts away, the raging sea of his mind settled into calm waters.

Of course he married you, he had to. He could live with a lot, but not that kind of regret if he didn’t.

So why did he leave?

He had a million reasons and none at all. Buggy knew a man like him wasn’t meant to have something good for long. You’d figure him out, the fraud that he was. He wasn’t that powerful or clever or cunning, he wasn’t some warlord or even someone with that high of a bounty.

Buggy missed you both, you and your daughter. He had to leave, sometimes the sea just calls out and a man needs to answer. Beside, he always figured you’d run off on him anyway. He wasn’t made for love, as much as he wanted to be.

You sent papers to file for divorce, and yet he couldn’t let you go. He had sent letters until a marine ship chased him around, hoping you’d forgive him. Something inside his brain told him to drop it entirely, that he was doing you a favor by letting you go. He loved before you, and would again. You would do the same.

Buggy still read the letter you sent letting him know you were pregnant.

It’s yours, Bug. If you’re even reading this, I’m keeping it. I’ll always think of you, I’ll always love you.

God, that was all the salvation he needed. His heart was cursed, going back and forth on his decisions. What if you’re lying, what if you were wrong? Even worse, what if the baby looked like him?

So he ignored you, it was so much easier before he married you. Easier to just jerk off to a fond memory on a lonely night. Now his heart yearned to return, to grow old with you.

How did the great Captain Buggy become so undone?

He had to see you, had to see his daughter. Maybe he wasn’t a bad man after all, if he was able to make a whole ass human with an angel like you.

”Crew! We’re making a pit stop. Head east!”

He couldn’t sleep the entire four day trip, spending the long nights on the deck watching the dark waves. He wished he could’ve sailed with you, his heart breaking every time he left you on that dock.

Was a woman ever worth giving up his dream? Even if it was the same tired dream every other chucklefuck with a boat had?

What was wrong with him?

He had a beautiful woman locked down with a baby, that was the dream wasn’t it? Too bad she was trapped with a man like him. He was a sailor his entire life, a man with a large bounty. What good could he do for his family?

He was too nervous to go to you himself, mind running with scenarios:

You, in the arms of some handsome sailor.

You, in the arms of some handsome marine waiting to collect his head.

You, broken and alone. Baby scared to look at him, broken hearts scattered in the wind.

It was all too much, Cabaji had to do it.

He found out about the baby too late, though he understood why. He left you alone after you broke his heart, refusing to join his crew. Lonely nights spent holding a pillow with your scent fading as the nights grew. You sent him a lock of hair, he sewn it onto his jacket. It was all he had, until he discovered the gift he left you.

He wished he could’ve stayed the whole pregnancy, a selfish wish for a second child to do it all again with. Marcie was cursed with his face, and you let him name her. A name from a song he heard after meeting you the first time.

He had to leave, you both were doing fine without him. The marines could storm the place any moment, shooting her daddy in front of her. A scene he wouldn’t want to wish on anyone.

Yet again finding himself lucky, staying with you for weeks. That selfish feeling popping up, he wanted to do it over again. The right time, the right way.

You don’t see each other for nearly three years.

He made a stupid mistake, landing him in jail. He could feel the heartbreak in your letters, Marcela looks older each photo he receives.

This is why he left quietly the first time, he was going to break your heart no matter what. You offer to put up the bar as collateral to get him out, he wouldn’t let you.

He breaks out, appearing at your door in the middle of the night.

“Buggy, how much heat am I gonna be in?”

”I won’t let them get us.”

He kisses you to convince the both of you, worried you’d turn him away. But you don’t.

Marcela doesn’t really know him, calling him mommy. Buggy’s afraid she calls someone else daddy. As much as you say different, it still gets in his head. How could a woman like you even stand a guy like him? You get your reason every time he cares for your daughter, every time he says something thoughtful to you.

”Buggy?” you say one morning, “what’s going to happen to us now?”

“Nothings gonna happen to us.”

His feet are stomping around the living room, Marcela giggling as she holds on tight to his boots. You feel a bit of unease, he can sense it. You admitted to him once that when he separates his body it feels like there’s an entirely different person in the room. Buggy was the one drinking coffee at the table, Marcela’s dad was the one playing with her.

”You ever think about having another one?”

”It was hard doing it the first time.”

He frowns, “I’d stay from the beginning if I knew. I’d do the same now.”

You sigh, shaking your head.

”What?”

”Nothing.”

”What?”

”Nothing!”

He doesn’t like that, and you know he’s going to keep asking about it.

”It’s just, well. Do you ever feel like you’re not meant to be loved fully? That this is just…something that happens to you? Something that passes.”

Buggy slams the table, his heart shattering. What was the longest stretch you’d been together? A month? Three? Less than a year, that’s for sure.

He loved you for years, the total time together must be half that. But what can he do? As time passes, fewer ways for him to stay present themselves.

”Baby, I love you.”

You don’t answer, crying instead. He trembles holding the tears in, fists glued to his thighs.

Why did you have to love him at all? He’d be happy to keep you as a memory, imagining you much happier than you are now. He’ll love you until the day he dies, and he’s a hard man to kill.

”Baby,” he repeats desperately, “ I love you.”

”I love you too, god damn it,” you hiccup.

It’s fragile, but it’s what he needs.

He’s laying low, allowing you to keep him for six months, the longest stint yet. Then it happens, you’re feeling ill and he takes you to a doctor. You’re pregnant again, and Buggy can’t keep that smile off his face.

He takes off for a week for a raid, his ship being kept around by Alvida. He keeps the arrangement as is, he’s a family man now.

Every night he holds your belly, straining to hear the heartbeat he knows is there. He doesn’t think he could love you anymore than he does now. You still don’t believe him when he promises he’s staying.

He gets that, it doesn’t hurt any less.

There’s an accusation hanging between you two, that he’s playing favorites with the kids now. It’s not true, but he wonders if maybe he is. Buggy worries about it, stuffing Marcie’s small room with toys. He grew up playing second fiddle, he didn’t want her to feel that way even once. She’s probably too young to, but he worries anyway.

In his nightmares, the baby arrives with red hair. He tells you nervously, like a joke, and you don’t laugh, just frown.

“I don’t want to be the reason her life sucks,” he says quietly.

You kiss him, “her daddy’s the hero of her world. You know she thinks that.”

It’s true, Marcela jumps on the bed each morning, begging Buggy to use his powers to do the silliest things. He thinks of himself of a shitty father, you make sure he knows the truth. It matters to him more than you could ever know.

Late at night you pace around, the kicking keeping you up.

”Hey sweetheart,” you hear behind you.

”Did I wake you?”

He shakes his head, “can I get you anything?”

”I need a drink.”

”Follow me then, I live to serve.”

He loves making you laugh. Leading you to sit on the bar counter, his hands shake a drink together above his head as he beams at you.

”Come here often?”

”Oh, sorry sir. I’m married.”

”No kidding, me too.”

”My husband’s a pirate. Maybe you heard of him? Captain Buggy.”

”Eh, sounds like chump. Can he do this?”

”Oh yeah, he’s so talented with his hands.”

He cocks an eyebrow, “lemme show you true showmanship, baby.”

God, does he love your laugh.

“What’s these fruity drinks doing in a dive like this anyway?”

”Hey! I like them, and It’s not a dive, it’s just stinky.”

You smile as you hit him, and pouts.

”Kiss it better.”

You do.

He leaves you for a moment, playing a song softly. You sway to the music, the melody hauntingly beautiful. He rests his chin on your shoulder, kissing your earlobe lightly.

“Are you planning to leave?”

You say it so quietly he barely hears it. He doesn’t respond, pulling you tighter. It’s been on his mind a lot, he only knows one way to make money. The circus isn’t that great, he can’t seem to make people want to come. He could rob a bank or two, only sail for a day or two at a time.

If he wasn’t such a fuck up, he’d do things right. Buy an island for you and the kids, haul all that treasure in, build a fucking mansion. He was an idiot, owing money to the people he owed, getting fucking arrested, eating the fucking fruit and letting that treasure go, telling that fucking asshole-

“-Buggy,” you shake him out of his thoughts.

”Hey, baby.”

”I know you gotta do what you gotta do, but just wait, yeah?”

This didn’t sound like you, “I’m not going anywhere.”

”Bug-“

”-I mean it. Okay? Don’t talk about this anymore.”

”Fine, sorry.”

He frowns, kissing your face, “I’m sorry.”

He counts the days until the due date, wondering what to do with his oldest. His only memories are of the Oro, his fingers calloused from decades of work at a tender young age. Is that the life you really want for her? Is that the life he even wanted?

He teaches her knots, watches you teaching her to swim from the shore. Something that punches his gut more than he expected.

Maybe he should leave, let you marry a man who could swim.

The baby arrives, a little boy. You name him after your father, Buggy jokes that he hopes the baby likes him more than his namesake. He looks more like his mama.

Funny how genetics work like that, he again feels sorry for Marcela. She asks why his nose is different, and Buggy flinches.

”Just how it is, kiddo.”

Things are hard again, Buggy itches for the sea.

You sense it, and he hates himself so much for it. Buggy the Clown is too infamous, no other way to work. The upstairs apartment is too crowded, the patrons downstairs too loud.

He dreams of that island, that mansion. He loves how you love him, so understanding, never asking much. It’s unfair, being so good.

So what good can a pirate do you now? He doesn’t know, and he itches more. The days blur together, and he thinks thoughts he didn’t before.

It’s not like he doesn’t love you, yet he feels he’s meant for more than this. But then again, he sees your smile, he sees the kids. Buggy is getting older, so much of his life path was set on one thing, and only that thing.

What does he do now?

He sends a letter to Alvida, asking to be picked up. The kids are young, you won’t sell the bar. This is a journey he needs to do alone.

You cry at the news.

”Baby,” he kneels down to face you, “this is good for us. I have to. My lovely little North Star, I need to take care of you.”

”Promise me something, Buggy.”

He’s ready to promise you the world.

”Don’t go after the One Piece.”

”What?”

”We’ll never see each other if you do. I can’t love you anymore if you go.”

The fragile life you made together shatters, “why the fuck would you say that?”

”You need to come back to us.”

”Who said I wasn’t?”

”You just did. With that look.”

He shakes, “listen to me. I-I promise. I’m not meant for that anyway, the world can’t love me.”

”We love you, god fucking damn it!”

He grabs your hands, “I know that! Okay! I know that! I’m not fucking running off! I’m staying in the East.”

You search his face, looking for something he can’t figure out. Your lips collide, teeth clacking. He wishes loving you could be so simple, that he could be that man.

You spend the next few days dancing around each other, Buggy hates it. He sends flowers to be delivered every day, cooks for you, learns how to bartend. He hate it, does it anyway. You don’t convince him to change his mind.

He pulls you close every night like he always does, Buggy hopes to prove his love is true. The truth was, he was afraid to see you all get hurt. He’s even more afraid to let his kids see how bad of a man he really is.

Marcela thinks the world of him, telling kids he’s a pirate. That both her parents are. She doesn’t know what it means, not in a town that never gets raided. He doesn’t ever want her to find out.

You’re fidgety, it’s not like you. Buggy wishes he could just say the one thing to make it better, unsure if he can or even what it was.

“I never wanted the One Piece, freedom was enough,” you say suddenly at dinner.

”How come?”

You shrug, “not everyone is made for the spotlight.”

He narrows his eyes, “what’re you trying to say?”

You both glance at the kids, watching what you say.

”I’m saying, I shifted priorities.”

He slams a fork down, “I wanted this-this is my fucking life, don’t you get it?”

Buggy thinks about Loguetown.

”I just want…my life to mean something.”

Buggy looks at your face, he looks at his children. It was a stupid thing to say, he knows it.

”I just want you proud, not just some stupid fucking clown that knocked you up.”

You wipe tears away, “I am proud of you. I really am.”

You go to bed in silence, Buggy breaks first, crying into your chest. You forgive him, and you make love that night. It’s almost like how it used to be, back when you were both learning how to love each other. Buggy still looks at like he’s falling in love for the first time.

He sets sail, coming back the quickest he ever had before. Marcela loves the treasure, you love the jewelry. Buggy keeps this pace going, keeping his word to his family. He does this until the baby’s 1st birthday, you think he changed.

Grander treasure stays on his mind, as much as he tries not to. He decides to come clean, only traveling to the North Blue this time. He promises.

“I have to think about it,” you say.

”Think about what? Are…are you coming with?”

You frown, “no. I’m thinking if I should let you.”

Buggy nods in understanding. He waits 12 days, and you watch him from the docks. Marcela cries, and so does he.

He shouts a promise that gets carried with the wind.

[tubbypeddle]

Hiii! I'm wanting a matchup for parts 5,6 and 7! One character from each! My name is Chamomile- I'm 21 from the U.S. Southern Appalachia actually, and you can hear it in my accent which I very much get picked on for when I go anywhere else. I come from the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the woods in rural farmland, kind of a local cryptid because I collect bones! :) I live on a farm with sheep and horses. But I love to travel, I love adventuring in cities and going urbexing, and cool techy or goth clothes that most here in the country don't seem to like or understand. I am mostly made fun of in my area for liking the things I do or acting a certain way, but in all honesty, I don't take it very seriously. The way I dress would be dependent on the day, but a mix between dark academia, cottagecore on some days, and alternative or gothy looking things. I love either earthy tones or pastel pinks depending on how I feel that day. Visually I am smol. But stout and strong. Built for wrestling bear.

Another thing people here don't take seriously is education. I have a passion for academia! I study astrophysics in my free time and graduated high school 4 years early. I look up to scientists like Eddington. Currently, I'm in University studying Religion and Theology! I'm hoping to apply directly for PhD in Biblical/Religious sciences and Archelogy. I'm a big nerd and like to study rocks and cool bones, ancient humans, and finding the next cool dinosaur, figuring out how they died exactly and how everything fits in history books. It drives me bonkers when I see inaccurate interpretations of extinct animals (erm... actually! jurassic park is WRONg!) and It makes me sound like a pretentious nerd but I SWEAR. I just think they're neat Obviously, I'm religious, borderline Catholic but not officially. I once applied to be a nun! I was turned away for chronic illness, otherwise I would not be on tumblr right now My favorite things are: Frogs, reptiles and amphibians, moss, the rain. God I love the rain. It's the one thing that calms me down and makes me so happy. When I'm upset I play rain sounds and classical music, and make tea. I love sushi and any protein imaginable. I would much rather be outside in the woods than anywhere else in the world. I love nature so much, and I'm also adept at recognizing plants that are edible and are useful to make medicine from. In the same way I'm super good at identifying snakes and bugs. I love the water and creeks and fishes! !! Music wise I love nuwave, goth, metal and French Impressionist classical music. Personality wise? I am an enigma. Schroedingers cat. STRANGE AF. I seem very bubbly and extroverted and loud!!!! and stupid!!! and talk to much!!! Truth is I enjoy being alone most the time, just outside with the world. I have hiked miles into the woods just so I could truly be alone and not hear anything but the birds and the wind. Where I can breathe. I have SEEN some SHIT and have. SO much trauma that I just joke about mostly!! I am very optimistic. I can be very childish, and I love things that make me feel like I'm a kid again, but I LOVE intelligent conversation about history or physics or whatever I feel like discussing. Most people do not have the patience or interest to hear me talk, so I write 14 page research essays on whatever, mostly about science, the genetic makeup of the world or religious studies. Answers to the universe type shit. Have fun!!!!

AWWWH hello Mx. chamomile 🫂

You are so nice, WHATTTT???? and so damn cool wtf. like who the hell just casually studies astrophysics bc they want to??? you're so cool and i'm so excited to do this for you!!!

(author's notes: creds to gif owners bc of course, I didn't make them <3)

So, you find yourself traveling again, and you find yourself visiting Italy!

And would you look at that! There's a multitude of men who find themselves tripping over themselves trying to get you to themselves!

And who is our lucky candidate.....

Risotto

As beautiful and charming as he finds you, that's not what attracts him to you.

He's attracted to your intelligence, your brain. You are so incredibly smart, it's beautiful. He loves that in a partner. He can hold mature conversations with you, and you'll engage in those kinds of conversations with him on your own.

It's refreshing.

He loves his team, but it's no secret that they're not the most mature. Maybe Prosciutto is, but he has a habit of insulting everything. So maybe he's not the most fun to talk to.

Your conversation topics are never boring. He could listen to you talk for hours about anything. Religion and theology? Yes, please. Frogs and other animals? He's so down. He loves learning from you.

Perhaps your jokes about your trauma catch him off guard at first, he can't deny that they're funny. Honestly, he's pretty much the same. Deadpan humor about why he ended up as a hitman in the first place are his favorite go to jokes that he makes. Anything is worth it to see you smile.

He's not used to people wanting to do things for him, so when you run around doing little tasks for him to help him feel better. Let's just say, he feels weird about it. He's flattered, don't get him wrong, but he still feels awkward accepting it. He feels like he doesn't deserve it. Like he doesn't deserve you sometimes.

A simple hug from you clears that from his mind though.

His love language to you is words of affirmation, though. He's not one for words very often, so he makes sure to tell the people he loves that he appreciates them. He didn't tell his cousin often enough when she was alive, so he makes it a point to tell you so that you know how much he loves you.

He finds your accent so cute, too. He can only speak some English, but he knows enough to hold an entire conversation. When your accent becomes prominent, he finds it hard to understand you sometimes, but at that point he doesn't mind because it's just so silly to him.

When it starts to rain, as it rarely does in such a sunny country like Italy, he knows that's when he needs to steal you away so he can have a cozy little home date with you. A movie, some snacks, and the rain sounding outside? That sounds like perfection to him. Maybe, if he's feeling up for it, he'll let you take him outside so you two can catch frogs.

And your style! Any of your styles are beautiful to him, but he's particularly drawn to your more gothic choices. It matches his own rather punk metal style, and he likes matching with you, even if he'd never admit it out loud.

Also, maybeeee he has a bit of a...size kink. Anyway! He likes that you're quite a bit smaller than he is, though that's not a difficult feat. He enjoys feeling like a protector, since it comes with his role as Capo of his team. But even so, even if he feels like a protector for you, he appreciates that you're also strong enough to take care of yourself for the rare moments that he doesn't find himself at your side. It eases his mind a bit.

Honorary mentions! Melone He's another one who's attracted to the brain, even if he's also attracted to your looks. But he won't steal you from his capo, he's too scared of Risotto to try that. Leone Abbacchio He's never been one for cute things, but after he'd met you by chance, it had changed his entire perspective. You were cute and smart. It was just some things he thought were exclusive.

How lucky Risotto is, to find himself with you. He's really got himself a catch.

And then there's a jump in time! And a jump in space! And now you're in Green Dolphin, Florida!

It's so humid here, isn't it? It's a good thing that

Foo Fighters

is here to cool you down!

F.F. is absolutely floored by your knowledge of everything! They think you know everything, and so they absolutely go to you for any questions they might have about humanity.

When you tell them about history's depiction of humans, F.F. is blown away. Like what!? Humans used to do that?! And they just left so many things behind for more humans to find! It was so fascinating.

And also, F.F. just loves hearing you talk. Your accent is fun! And you have so many things to say! It's a constant conversation between the two of you. F.F. loves learning, and you love talking about your interests. It's a perfect arrangement.

They're also one for a lot of physical touch, too! But it's probably not what you're thinking of. Sure, they love grabbing your arm and hugging you, but they also have no sense of personal space. F.F. just has no idea what it is.

So they also lean really close to your face just to say something at normal volume. It's endearing, at least. Well, at least they give the best hugs. (Other than Hermes, but that's Hermes for you)

The favorite love language to you is gift giving! They love giving you anything that reminded them of you throughout the day. Stuff like rocks shaped like a heart, or a beer can tab that was the color of your eyes maybe. Unconventional little things that F.F. gives to you so you know that they think of you at every moment.

There's just something about F.F. that brings out that childish side of you more often. They're just such a comforting presence, even with all of their questions and curiosity.

They definitely go frog-watching with you. And hiking with you. F.F. loves being active with you. Instead of relaxing activities, F.F. prefers things like hiking, or going swimming, or going out and doing something. They just can't sit still for the life of them.

They think your taste in music is so interesting. They didn't listen to a lot of music, so their own music taste was developed solely by you. So now the two you can go just jam to music together.

F.F. doesn't really notice style all that much, but they definitely compliment you a lot more when you're wearing your cottagecore outfits. They don't even realize it themselves, but they think you're so much cuter in them, not that they don't like your other styles either.

Honorary mentions! Hermes Costello she thinks you're so hot. Like so damn hot. If F.F. hadn't gotten to you first, she would have wined and dined you like she believes you deserve (which you do, let's be honest) Weather Report He's very quiet, so it's not likely you ever would've noticed his attraction to you if you don't know him very well. Alas, his hesitance to confess to you got you stolen by another lucky soul.

You two have such a beautiful relationship. You really match each other's freak for real.

But now you're back in America. Home sweet home. And there's a bunch of racers who want you.

Sucks for them, though, because

Hot Pants

is the one who got you

(I couldn't find a better one so shh)

Immediately, your interest in religious studies is what draws Hot pants to you. Admittedly, when she first meets you, she hopes to redeem herself in the eyes of God with you.

It's when she begins spending more time with you that she starts to understand that her feelings are changing. You have become something more to her.

She admires how dedicated you are to learning more about everything you can. How easily you just exist.

You are everything human. You are everything that is beautiful within the world, and it took so long for her to find you.

She lets you ride Gets Up to help you feel better if you're not feeling too good. You've shared with her your love for horses before, and she doesn't mind letting you ride her beloved horse if it'll make you feel better.

She loves holding your hands. There's something so grounding about it, it keeps her tethered to the present when she's feeling maybe not too present normally.

Hot Pants is usually pretty quiet, so she loves listening to you ramble about anything and everything you want to. It's a bit different from F.F. though, because she won't offer anything else to say, only acknowledgements that she's learning. She'd prefer hearing you talk over a real conversation. If she doesn't have anything to add, she won't say anything, usually.

When you joke about your trauma, she feels a bit uncomfortable. Not because she finds your joke unfunny or anything like that, she really just hates that someone as sweet as you ever had to go through something like that. She is happy that you at least feel comfortable with yourself enough to joke about it now, though.

Honorable mentions! Diego Brando He thinks the same of you that Hot Pants does, you're the beauty in the world that he never got to see when his mother was still alive. He knows you would've helped her in a heart beat. Unfortunately, he's a little too short-tempered. Gyro Zeppeli He thinks you're so fun! You would've had so much fun with him! It's just a shame he's a little too...much, sometimes. He's a lot. He really is. (love him tho)

I hope you liked it! I had so much fun with this one! Many characters I got the pleasure of studying into a little bit more!

[momolady]

Monster Valentines: Part Two

Valentines are over, but if you want one of these for yourself I can do you one later this week! Visit this post to see how.

Hi momo! I'd love a build a monster valentines date! I've loved your stories for ages and I really hope things get better for you soon ❤️ Not picky about a monster type, but I do love vampires orcs and aliens! Male pref but I do love your girls! I'm genderqueer, slightly chubby, gothy/grungy and love creepy/morbid things, but also I loove cute things! I'm very shy and am a selective mute, but I'm very witty and sweet once I'm comfortable enough to talk (I use TTS in the meantime when I have to say something.) I have a calm and go with the flow disposition despite my anxiety and I just like spending time with my people. I also write, read, draw, and cook as some of my hobbies! 

Bellcadir

Alien- Delfian 

7ft tall

This tall and imposing figure is from the Delfy system, known for its colorful solar system and connected planets. Upon first glance, he is colorless, but he shows colors like a mood ring, and glows at night. He is almost see through like a jellyfish, though his flesh and limbs are very hard, there is a softness to his chest and belly, which he keeps protected by special clothing. As stated before, delfians are tall, but they are also slim and willowy, possessing long limbs that have a twisted, vein like appearance, forming into digits that can spread into individual tentacles, or form three strong fingers. 

As a Delfian, his kind are known for their calming, soothing presence and telekinetic abilities. Bellcadir came to earth has part of a student exchange system while in school, but ended up feeling a connection to the planet and decided to stay. 

He works in various therapy fields,mostly physical therapy, including massage, yoga, and rehab. He bounces around, enjoying all that work, but unable to feel he can settle with just one. He has a deep desire to help everyone.

Bellcadir enjoys baked goods, finding they are close to what is served back in his home system. Anything that has fresh fruit in it is his favorite. He enjoys peace and quiet, but he loves being in multiple online servers and making friends online. He enjoys texting with people as sometimes human voices can be grating to his sensitive ears. He’s very active in several online communities, especially some baking groups, a few writers’ groups, and one for Star dew Valley, which he will admit he’s not great at but loves. 

Hi! I would like a blind date for my oc Sable a hyper femme anthro unicorn. 5'10 with a fat hourglass figure, hot pink hair, blue eyes, and decoden manicured nails. She can be kind of annoying because she's a little empty headed but she's enthusiastic when the vibe is right. She goes by feeling and body language more than intellect. Her hobbies are collecting soft pastel sweaters, drinking hot drinks in cute oversized mugs, reading fanfiction, flirting and watching Hallmark movies. She likes carnivals and fairs, hyper pop and EDM, and supernatural romance novels. Sable likes to tease but it's never mean, so she prefers to be around confident people who can take a good-natured joke. All food is good food to Sable and she will steal a bite from your meal. She remembers off-hand facts about her friend so she can plan random celebrations or make up reasons to give gifts. 

Ari was extremely nervous. Luckily, his friends had set up this group date situation, but still, the girl he really liked was going to be coming. He fidgeted around, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Calm down, Ari, don’t look so freaked out. You’ll freak her out.” The dragonborn went into the bathroom to double check himself. He’d talent he extra time to polish his horns and dark blue scales to make himself look good. He stepped bac, took a good breath and smiled at himself. Supposedly that worked to trick your brain. But Ari still felt the same amount of nervous.

Sable was so cute and pretty. And while some of his friends would say she was shallow or flighty, Ari felt that wasn’t fair to say. He had heard some of her other friends talk very sweetly about her. Besides, he liked listening to her talk, even if it was something silly. She always looked so well put together, and she always smelled amazing.

“Ari are you ready?”

“Yeah, coming out.” Ari snapped out of his thoughts and he turned to leave the bathroom. He opened the door, and heard more voices than from when he went in. As he came around the hallway something bright pink ran into him full force.

“Oops!” A sweet voice gasped.

Ari gripped the wall to keep them both from toppling over. The pink object braced as well, pushing off of Ari’s chest. She looked up at him and Ari tensed, his throat even tightened, and he held his breath.

Sable smiled up at him, her hair was so beautifully done in soft waves, her lashes were large and fanned out, her nails were super cute and done pink with pearls, bows, and glitter little jewels.

“Excuse me,” she giggled. She patted Ari’s chest. “Didn’t mean to tackle you like that. Didn’t break anything did I?”

Ari shook his head, slowly taking a breath and standing up right. “I don’t think do. You can try again if you want.”

Sable’s eyes sparkled and she giggled. “You’re silly!” She beamed up at Ari and his heart melted. Her perfume smelled sweet, like soft roses and strawberries.

“It’s always the cute girls who are much stronger than they look,” Ari said offhandedly, but realized what he did say.

Sable’s smile brightened up. “Oh, so your wise to us, are you?” She leaned in close to him again to whisper. “I’ll have to keep my eye on you tonight, just so you don’t give away any of my secrets.”

“I wouldn’t-” Ari said breathlessly.

Sable winked. “I gotta make sure. You don’t mind right?”

Ari swallowed. “I suppose. As long as you promise not to hurt me.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not into that, per se.”

I'm a 25 infp male attracted to men 5'10. Love to talk and learn about other people. (Like to gossip but not in the slandering spreading rumors kind of way) Very imaginative, very sarcastic, very analytical, a bit of an ends justify the means type personality

Friendly and sociable but reserved, I don't like opening up to people ,massive trust issues. I always try to have a neutral viewpoint on things and consider both sides to come to the best conclusion. I love to write, cook, watch movies and spend time with loved ones.

I love night time (night drives, night walks, etc) I really like a guy that can make me laugh, who is kind, romantic, but with a bit of a wicked sense of humor to match my own. I really like to be taken care of and to take care of my partner.

Benedict (goes by Benny)

29 years old

6’2

Benny is a local hair stylist and beautician who works in a salon down the block. He makes a big deal out of giving customers their dream hair style, and he’s very popular with older women and high school students. He gives the best hugs, since his arms are so big and his belly is slightly soft.  He’s very particular with his own hygiene regimen, so his skin is always so soft and he smells amazing. He says it’s important for work, but he’s always done it. Because of his clientele he hears lots of stories and gossip, which makes him the epicenter of chat within the salon as well as his beloved cafe across the street.

Benny is a great storyteller too. He knows how to gather a crowd and pull them in, happy to talk to anybody. But really, Benny is easily embarrassed, but hides it well. He much prefers his days off where he gets to stay home in just pajama pants and fuzzy slippers. His feet get cold easily, and anything that makes them warm pleases him. He loves coffee and tea, and has surprisingly fancy equipment for it in his place. He loves showing it off to people, making them complicated drink just to make them smile.

While he was in school for becoming a beautician and stylist, he worked in his family’s mortuary. His uncle had a dark sense of humor that rubbed off on him, but it’s a taste he rarely gets to sling around in the salon. But occasionally when he’s relaxed enough with someone he lets it fly.

Benny’s ability to be easily embarrassed has left him worried about dating. But he dreams of having a partner he can spoil and take care of, someone he can cuddle and spend his quiet days together without much worry of having to keep up the chat or performance he does at the salon. He wants to figur eout their favorite drink and make it for them when they look down or happy. 

[greengreyblue42]

The following contains descriptions of medical things, including things that are wildly inaccurate, and also swearing. And Death, obviously.

There was a horde of med students walking down the hall. They were being led by someone I knew well—a professor at the nearby university. I scanned their Patron Pins. It was a sea of stars, representing the god of healing. Scattered in the midst were a handful of fists for the god of hospitality, and one or two of the books for the god of knowledge. Nothing surprising. The professor—bearing the lectern pin for the god of charisma—smiled at me as she passed. The med students also gave me a smile, until one of them placed my patron pin. The skull didn’t represent a very common god, so many people forgot that He was a deity at all. At least until it was time for a funeral. I straightened my lab coat and kept walking, doing my best to ignore the expressions on the faces of the once friendly students. The fearful ones were fine; it was the hatred that I didn’t like seeing.

I rounded the corner and headed for my next patient. Thankfully I wasn’t in the ER today, just non-intensive observation. But this next patient was said to be a doozy of a man. No one was quite sure what was wrong with him, and it was my job to finally pin it down. I knocked on the door, waited a moment, then opened it.

‘Man’ might have been a bit strong of a term. He was wearing a Patron Pin (triangle, god of chaos), so he had to be older than 20, but his face was still soft and young. His hair was dyed red and in spikes, and he was wearing a gothy choker. I suspected that 1) it was a continuing fight with the nurses to be allowed to wear it, and 2) the rest of his outfit would match if he hadn’t been forced into a hospital gown.

“Hey, man,” the kid said. “Are you here to let me out?”

“Nope,” I responded, taking his chart and looking it over, holding it carefully between the kid and my pin. “I’m told there’s something wrong with you, and it’s my job to figure it out.”

Like I planned, the kid laughed. “There’s lots of stuff wrong with me, but you can’t fix any of it.”

“We’ll see,” I hummed. The kid’s boyfriend had checked him in and said he was complaining about blinding headaches before tripping and falling, where he had fainted for long enough for the ambulance to collect him. “I hear there’s something wrong with your head.”

“That’s what I’ve been told!” the kid exclaimed. I looked up. He looked proud at the accusation. I smiled inwardly, but made sure to keep my doctor face on.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” The chart noted that he refused to explain his symptoms. I set the chart back where it belonged. It had served it’s purpose.

The kid’s eyes went wide. I was confused for a moment before I realized that the chart had had another purpose. Fuck.

“Damn, dude!” the kid breathed. “Your patron is Livian?! The god of Death?! And you’re a doctor! That’s way metal, dude!”

“...Metal?” I asked cautiously.

“Yeah! I’m supposed to be rebellious, for god, and I don’t think I could ever match the sheer power of ignoring your god’s wishes.”

Aha. Well, it was better than I was expecting. I chose not to explain the Agreement, nor tell him about the kid down the hall who had actually broken her patron agreement. Instead, I smiled at him.

“What’s the point of life if you’re not living on the edge?”

“Exactly!” the kid shouted.

Later, the nurses asked me how I got him to consent to an MRI. I knew some of them thought I was threatening him.

--

I looked at the MRI results and realized why my god had sent the kid to me. Brain tumor, slowly pushing on the boy’s skull. Inoperable. The kid was going to die. I took a deep breath, then prayed to my god under my breath. Then I went to talk to the kid again.

“I’m going to die???” The kid wasn’t so gung-ho now. He looked scared, pale against his red spikes.

“I can’t say it isn’t a possibility.” I shifted my papers on my lap for something to do. No matter how many times I had this conversation, it never got easier. “But there is an experimental procedure. If you want—”

“I don’t want to die! I’ll sign whatever, just do it!”

I nodded in understanding. “Okay. I’m going to give you a packet of information. A lawyer and a doctor will come in in about an hour to help you read it and understand exactly what it says, then, if you still consent, you can sign it and I’ll get you set up.”

“I don’t need a lawyer to help me read!”

“It’s for informed consent stuff; I’m not allowed to operate without a lawyer signing off on you understanding it, since I’m the one who’s running the experiment. The hospital covers it; don’t worry.” The kid, still ashen-faced, nodded.

Two days later, I operated on the inoperable tumor. The procedure went off without a hitch. The kid was going to be fine. I left the clean room and took off my gear, piece by piece. Then I left the operating suite. There was a woman sitting outside. Seeing me, she burst into tears.

“Ma’am—” I started, but suddenly she was standing and in my face.

“What are you doing with my boy, you fucking necromancer?” she shouted, drawing eyes from around the hall.

“Ma’am, I’m the doctor who operated on your son—”

“Don’t lie to me! I see your pin! You fucking Death follower! My son is dead and you don’t have the empathy to tell me the truth!”

“No, the surgery was a success—”

“I bet it was with a gravedigger as the lead surgeon! You killed him! You killed my son!”

I didn’t have a response to that. With how many times it was said to me, you’d think I would by now, but I had nothing. Instead, I let my departmental supervisor, who had just come out of the operating room, take over the situation and fled the scene.

Six weeks later, when the kid was discharged, I passed by the doors as he was leaving. He gave me the widest grin I had seen from him yet. His boyfriend and mother, who were standing as far away from each other as possible, gave me the stink eye. I chose not to stop to talk.

--

I didn’t have the energy for both my research and my job. I needed the research, since it was my passion, and also what my god wanted me to do, and I needed my job because. You know. Eating. So yes, I did dabble in necromancy. But not the armies of zombies or the mind control thralls or whatever fear is the New Big Scapegoat. Just… just energy siphoning. And not from just anybody. Just the lost causes. And I don’t use that term lightly. That kid was a lost cause to most of the hospital. No, a lost cause is someone very specific. Sometimes—more often than you would think—my god would take a person to the afterlife, but their body wouldn’t die. Well, it would have died if we would have let it. But it was hooked up to machines to keep the heart beating and the lungs breathing and all of that, and there were relatives involved that didn’t want the machines turned off if there was even the remotest possibility of a miracle. And, since everyone had a Patron, and medicine was advancing each and every day, there was always a possibility of a miracle. But not even my god knew how to reattach a deceased person to their body, so if he had taken them, then there was never, ever, going to be a miracle. He would tell me which people were in that state, and I would borrow from their energy—at least what little of it was left, much like how when you pour soup out of a can there’s still liquid on the sides. It wasn’t very filling, but it got me through. First it was the brain surgery methodology, then reversing certain types of cancers, then some autoimmune diseases. I would throw myself into my research, trying my hardest to keep my patients alive. I averaged a major procedure breakthrough every two years, and less than an hour of sleep a month. And yet—

“I’m sorry, sir, I think you must be lost!”

I turned to see a young nurse, clearly fresh out of school. She smiled at me, bright and hopeful. I glanced at my outfit, cringing when I realized I hadn’t been home to change in eight days.

“Sorry?” I asked, not understanding.

“This is the patients’ wing of the hospital,” she said in a voice that was clearly meant to be helpful, but enlightened me to the situation about as much as a sleep mask in the catacombs of an old cathedral. “The mortuary is on the other side of the building.”

Oh.

And yet I was still trapped in the perceptions of my patron.

I had two options here. Option one was to spend the next hour trying to convince her that I was the single most decorated doctor in the history of mankind. Option two was the one I always picked.

“Oh, my bad. Thanks for letting me know.”

I ignored her cheery wave as I continued down the hall towards the staff room where I left my car keys eight days ago. I needed a shower something awful.

--

I don’t know why I agreed to be on a professional panel at the local university. I had work to do; I was so close to a breakthrough in helping with ALS. Even if I wasn’t working on that, there were patients at the hospital who needed my help. I closed my eyes, reminded myself that my colleagues were competent, and also that the next generation of doctors could use my guidance, and refocused on the discussion.

There, a hand in the sea of barely-legal faces. He thought there were even one or two without Patron Pins in the mix, but that wasn’t his business. The facilitator passed a mic back to the student.

“Do your Patrons help you with your patients?”

I winced, but no one seemed to share my distress. No, the woman on the other end of the table (a renowned geneticist, one whom I had worked with previously to help restabilize some highly painful and fatal genetic mutations) even grinned with pride.

“My Patron,” she began with a slightly bragging lilt to her tone, “is the god of Logic.” Aha, that’s why she was so happy. Logic was an uncommon god in the medical profession, due to her preference towards fields with less random variables. “She can highlight the patterns in genetic code for me, showing me the problems that these poor people face.” That trick had been quite handy, although my colleague had certain… issues with identifying which highlights were because of her god and which were because of her coffee spilling for the fortieth time. I also noticed that she failed to mention that her god made it difficult to identify which people were abnormal and wanted help, and which ones were abnormal and just fine with the situation, since all deviations from the pattern were technically illogical. But I guess the question was about helping, not hindering.

The next person down the line was also smiling. I didn’t know him, but based on his dress he was an experimental pharmacists. “My Patron—the god of Medicine—can tell me the names, uses, compositions, and side effects of every drug ever invented by mankind. With just a thought and his help, I can prescribe to anyone the best medication, with no error.”

I rolled my eyes.

The next few people were much the same; their gods helped them do their doctoring very, very well. And then it was my turn.

“My Patron is Livian, god of Death,” I announced, and I felt more than heard the room go quiet. I didn’t know where to go from there. Livian didn’t help me with my research, or my diagnoses. The energy assistance was super nice, but not something that these students (or my colleagues for that matter) would be comfortable hearing. The fact that I barely aged was nice about 70 years ago, but I was still mistaken for a grad student on occasion, and had gotten significantly more annoying. But I had to come up with something quickly, or it was about to get mighty awkward.

“He does favors for me when I save patients. Last week, I removed a tumor from a lung of a life-long smoker and he rearranged traffic so I could get home in half the time.”

There were mutterings at that. How could the god of Death rearrange traffic? Had I killed someone in a car accident by saving a man in surgery? The answer was much more mundane than that. My god was feared by all the other gods, and never asked for favors. So he was able to ask the traffic god to clear stuff up for me, and the traffic god complied immediately.

“Why does the god of DEATH want you to SAVE patients?”

I winced, and so did the facilitator. Once again, there were two options for how to respond. Option one, I go into detail about my exact relationship with Livian and why he liked me.

Whenever I got this question, I went with option two.

“The gods move in mysterious ways,” I answered. The facilitator, looking more panicked than ever, quickly grabbed the mic and asked for new, different questions. I debated fleeing the room in the sudden quiet.

--

I had practiced medicine for two hundred and fifty seven years, five months, ten days, three hours, and twenty six minutes (counted from receiving my first job offer) when it finally happened. Nobody had died of disease in about a hundred years. Nobody had died of an accident in decades. And now, nobody had to die of old age.

It was a simple thing, really. It didn’t quite reverse aging, but instead slowed it to a near crawl. It was a single procedure to implant into a single cell, which deleted the code for aging in all of its repetitions, thereby ending the process. It wouldn’t halt death completely—nothing ever would, really—but the number of people who would die a year across the whole globe would be in the single digits, if that. And since the gods of War had faded away due to lack of worship, and the gods of Natural Disasters were calmed by the technology of mankind, and the gods of Illness had been killed, and by my hand, there was nothing left to take a life.

I was done.

I held the confirmation papers in my hand, reading them over and over again. The procedure had worked in every person it had been done on. It had been done on everyone who consented to it over the age of thirty. There were a bunch of people who said no, of course, and there always would be, but the vast, vast majority had taken it.

I. Was. Done.

I felt someone staring over my shoulder and turned to see who it was. It was an old, old man, with bones pressing against tight skin covered in fields of thin wrinkles. Livian, god of Death, my Patron. I smiled.

“I’ve done it,” I whispered (my god did not like loud noises). He smiled.

“You’ve done it.”

We stared at the report for another few minutes.

“You know what this means, right?” I asked, looking up at him again.

In that moment I was reminded of my Patron ritual, done hundreds of years ago. They’re always a private thing, just for the twenty-year-old in question. A few candles, a few hours of praying, listing your accomplishments for the gods to hear and judge. Then the god who will watch over you summons a Patron Pin for you, and you wear it until you die. At least, that’s what I was told. I knelt in my circle and Livian appeared almost immediately.

“But I want to be a doctor!” I had shouted, stunned at the direction this was taking. I had wanted a God of Medicine.

“And a doctor you shall be, my son,” Livian had responded. “For you see, I have but one wish…”

Now, holding that paper in my hands, I met my Patron’s eyes and saw a fire there that I had never seen before.

“Now, my son,” said Livian, “Now I get to rest.”

“We get to rest,” I echoed, smiling.

And my Patron took me into the deep night, closing the door behind the both of us.

“So, your patron is the God of Death?” Yeah. “So, are you a necromancer? A great Warrior?” …Nah, I’m a Doctor.

[dragonmasterhiccup]

She was a little taken aback by her eagerness of lock picking, but she decided to play along, nodding her head. “Yeah, sure, if you want- Why exactly is lock picking your favorite thing to do?” She was genuinely curious, mainly because it was…obscure to say the least.

Danny also rolled her eyes as well. Why bring in Camicazi to talk to her if she can’t talk about the stuff she wants to? Ugh, Hiccup was once again being overly annoying.

She raised an eyebrow as Camicazi spoke. A sword collection? Okay, that did sound pretty cool. She re-situated herself so that she was now facing her, a smile making its way onto her face. “You just have a sword collection? Hey, I’m all for it- just, how did that even start?” She wasn’t surprised that Camicazi had her eyes on a Monstrous Nightmare, she seemed like the kind of person, not in a bad way, she was just very brash, and bold. “Yeah, she’s a Nadder, her name’s Twilight! She’s blue with purple and pink on her back and wings, she’s super pretty, and she likes to sit with me when I draw.”

Gothi nodded before going over to the other room, leaving the three of them alone.

“Thank you! Like yeah, okay, dragons are cool n’ all, but what else is there? And your cousin? She literally could’ve picked anyone, and she chose Hiccup? At that point, Snotlout would’ve been a better option, but that’s just my opinion,” she said before shrugging.

Danny started giggling with Camicazi, clearly getting a kick out of his reaction. “What? She’s right!”

Camicazi crossed her arms, putting on an air of confidence. "I like knowing that no lock can keep me contained!" She grinned, shrugging slightly. "I just couldn't pick a favorite! I've made a few with Gobber, too. Maybe you can come by, take a look at them?"

Camicazi bounced with excitement, hearing about Twilight. "Oh! Can I meet her? She sounds awesome!! And you like to draw? I've tried it, but I just draw stick figures!" She laughed. "So, what got you into drawing? Have you drawn Twilight yet?"

Hiccup crossed his arms. "Snotlout? You really think he's a better option for Astrid?"

Camicazi shook her head, barely containing her laughter. "Nah, Snotlout's the worst. I think Fishlegs would be better suited for my cousin. What do you think, Danny?" She had a mischievous look on her face, also loving to egg Hiccup on.

Hiccup was starting to think introducing these two was not his best idea. He shook his head. "You may have your opinions, but what's important is that Astrid made her choice, and is quite happy with it, thank you very much. If you want to question her choice in yours truly, why don't you ask her yourselves?"

That got Camicazi to stop laughing. Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. "Okay, okay. We'll stop teasing you...when you're around!" And then she laughed some more.

Hiccup just shook it off. "Alright, alright, I'll take what I can get."

[chthonicgodling]

please bear with me as i attempt EXTREME CATCHUP

The Leuke collection! all of these were drawn this July as “concept art” for the crazy comic that explains Leuke’s backstory - PLEASE GO LOOK AT THAT COMIC IT’S OVER HERE !!! and it goes into a lot of detail!!! also i worked hard on it so i want people to look at it. THE POINT IS pre-comic these were very exploratory so i could conceptualize THAT, there some blurbs about each pic down below;

 & again to reiterate, hilariously, that Leuke though obviously an Elysium’verse character she is not a REALLL CHARACTER in the sense that she’s never actually even appeared in the Elysium’verse!! she is just a mystery figure from Maci’s past! i’ve been adamant that she does NOT need to appear there but. the more i draw her......... who knows honestly..... she just lives vicariously thru my own art now, far far away from Maci&Friends

so, notes under the cut;;

the first ever drawing/cryptic concept art to figure out a design/s, oooo why were there two wwhhoaoaa (read that comic)

:( stupid joke bc i was getting mad lol

MYSTERY SCAR???? there was def another way i could have drawn to reveal that im just gay sorry

also gay. help forget Leuke being a terror to her, they could never have lasted together because their color schemes cLASH SOO BAD

flashback interlude! Lil’Leuk, and Seph being an enabler of all things gothy

and a lifetime of being nitpicked by Demeter

which does eventually make you immune to her actually take THAT

, mystery snippets while i had been workshopping stuff about that comic! i mean at this point if you’ve read it then these are a lot less mystery.

^

the personality pic. if you’ve seen comic at this point then i hope this is even funnier. yikes!

Leuke & co. are all mine, so are the mystery Lampades; Giselle in that cameo belongs to @waywardfangir1, Hecate is <3 all of ours<3

[ransprang]

Hi there c: I'm so happy to see your Arcane match ups are open again, so I figured I would try one! You're so cool for doing this <3

I'm 25, a bisexual woman with slight male preference. Also classic INFP and a virgo. I'm very passionate, but also a anxious overthinker in nearly all aspects of life. I'm adventurous in my head (as in daydreaming all the time) but I actually prefer my life being safe. Escapism is a big thing for me. Despite being an introvert who prefers one-on-one time with people, I'm very talkative and love hanging with my friends and family, they're very important to me. Being the center of attention makes me highly uncomfortable. I can be a tireless, perfectionist worker when it comes to things I'm passionate about and I've always been a big nerd (hate to admit it but I used to be kind of a know-it-all when I was younger). I'm a good listener and very much wear my heart on my sleeve.

My hobbies revolve around all kinds of art. I've been drawing, painting, building, sculpting, sewing etc. ever since I was a little kid and I'm currently learning to become a costume and stage designer. I'm a cosplayer too. Another hobby of mine is collecting things. I love nature, animals and forests are a happy place of mine.

My type, personality-wise: Humble, patient and gentle people who don't snap easily. People who make me feel safe. Someone who doesn't judge me. Intelligence, talent, skill and passion are very attractive to me (I'm kinda 'sapiosexual' when it comes to that haha). I'm drawn to complex, tragic characters who've been through a lot and who I could talk about deep, personal things with. I used to be an outsider as a child who didn't have any friends, so I need someone who doesn't get annoyed of reassuring me that I'm important to them. I like soft men and strong women

Look-wise: dark hair, pretty faces and hands, slender people

Things I can't stand: ignorance, indifference, arrogance, inattentive people who don't listen, loud people, self-centeredness, unreliability, pushy people, boredom

My love languages are physical touch and quality time

Appearance: average height, athletic, long, dark blonde hair with a rest of grown out turquoise, mostly non revealing, nu-gothy clothes (many long coats, cardigans, long sleeves), grey eyes, pale, moles

I hope this didn't get too long, thank you for taking your time and reading all this <3

heyloo thanks for the request!! you sound hella dope. admin sar is a fellow dark souls fan so she tried extra hard with this one c: hope you like your match up!!

your arcane match up is.........SILCO!!

- Since you’re good at cosplay you could dress him up as sailor moon. If not, you could just help him put some full coverage foundation on his eye with your makeup skills

-  If you took Silco to a forest with you he would cry out of both eyes. Having grown up in Zaun he would be amazed by the beauty of nature

- Silco’s backstory is pretty complex and tragic and like you, he is drawn to tragic people as well like Jinx! So you’d probably have to adopt her too when you get with Silco

- Since he is quite untrusting of others he'd really like that you wear your heart on your sleeve.

- you don't like being the centre of attention? don't worry! Silco can draw all that attention away from you with that (lovely) scar of his

- Silco seems to be physically up your alley since he's a slender boi, be careful not to break him. He has nice hands too and that face is very unique <3

- You, Jinx and Silco would make a beautiful goth family. You guys would insist on coordinating outfits every time you go out!

your souls,

admins sar & san

[fbfh]

light up the dark [VI] - leo x reader

genre: mid adventure domestic fluff overture, romance, smutty lemony bit towards the end

word count: 3k

pairing: Leo x gothy!child of eros!fem reader

requested: very much so, yes

warnings: magic manipulation powers, feelings are hard and weird and scary, some innuendos, the phrase hot gusher out of context, the word dirty talk, trying to "proposition [someone] in front of two for one cookie crisp", brief credit card theft, jason thinks ketchup is spicy and gets clowned on for it, one use of the word lube in reference to mechanical lubricant, shirtless leo remember that one piece of shirtless leo viria art?????? remember the caption?????, your facade is beginning to crack, deadpan joke about being dead in space, making out, whole lotta sexual tension, brief mention of a boner, teeny tiny bit of grinding, getting interrupted, c*lypso

summary: after an extensive shopping trip, you, Leo, and Jason settle into your airbnb and wait for the others to arrive. Jason takes a nap, and Leo helps you dye your hair. You return the favor by helping him make dinner which leads to two things; a well timed boner, and a poorly timed visitor.

listen to: power and control - marina, 100 bad days - ajr, all I ask - adele

a/n: let's play spot the zack and cody reference within the first paragraph

also surprise the series isn't dead!! a shock to all but mostly me!!

as with all smexy smutty nsfw content, all characters are aged up to 18+

Standing in front of a wall of hair dye taller than you are should have been exciting. It would have been, except for the fact that all the colors were various shades of honey mist auburn. You really don’t want to have to make a separate trip to a beauty store for hair dye. Your eyes land on a firetruck red box, and gratefully, you realize you won’t have to.

“Perfect,” you muse, throwing it into your cart, along with the other stuff on the list you’d divided between you. You grab a few other things from the beauty section while you’re there; some makeup, eyeliner, a glass nail file, and a tiny pair of oil slick cuticle scissors.

Nearby is a guy a little older than you in a varsity hoodie and sweatpants squinting at a two in one shampoo label.

Perfect, you think, beginning to approach. You work your magic - literally - and within a few minutes you have his credit card. It takes way less time than it used to. You also didn’t have to smile and flirt nearly as much as you used to. You’re relieved that you don’t have to fake enthusiasm around rich douchebags the way you used to, and a new inky drop of fear begins to stain the corners of your mind. You can’t even bear to admit it to yourself, but you’re kind of scared. Before you can begin to question if you know what love is and if you’re capable of experiencing it without the influence of your divine heritage, you shove it all away. Not the place, not the time. You speed up a little, passing an endcap of candy, and knock a box into your cart.

On the other side of the store, Jason checks off items from their half of the list as Leo tosses items in the cart, talking along the way. Of course, you came up in conversation rather quickly.

“She’s… a real piece of work.” Jason says, treading lightly.

“You said it, man,” Leo agrees, sliding a pack of coke onto the bottom of the cart. Jason thinks for a moment before continuing.

“She seems to,” he tries to figure out how to phrase their dynamic, “not hate you as much as everyone else.” Leo laughs at the accuracy of the statement. He can tell Jason has something else to say, so he’s quiet while putting paper plates and napkins into the cart.

“Hey, Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“Just… don’t let her hurt you, okay?”

He stops for a second. He’s so lucky to have a friend like Jason, one that will genuinely look out for him, but sometimes people caring for him still catches him off guard. Really off guard. With no idea how to begin to verbalize that complicated mess, he takes a split second to collect himself.

“Thanks, man.”

His smile is sincere.

Don’t let her hurt you. Can he just do that? Not let someone hurt him? Especially someone like you. He’s only had a few long term crushes before, all just out of reach and only getting further away. Only one had amounted to something - not that he could call what he had with Calypso ‘something’. She certainly wouldn’t. He looks around, trying to shake off the sting. He starts to get that unsettled, itchy feeling when he focuses on stuff like that for too long.

‘At least I got some good stories out of it,’ he thinks, messing with the back of his hair and fixing his hoodie strings.

“Here.”

He turns around, coming face to face with you, holding out a box very close to him.

“Hot gusher.” You say softly. What? His cheeks heat up, pulse speeding up suddenly. He glances at Jason, who’s at the other end of the aisle asking an employee something. Are you implying something? Are you trying to proposition him in front of two for one cookie crisp? He’s unable to look away from your gaze, intense and striking. You couldn’t possibly mean what he thinks you mean. Your fingers brush and he’s struggling to find an elegant way to say ‘hey, maybe the grocery store isn’t an ideal place for dirty talk’.

“W- uh, sorry, what?” he says, laughing in an equally hushed tone, needing to make sure you meant what he thought you did. You glance down, then back up.

“They’re spicy gushers. I thought you’d like them.” the feeling is gone in a split second, the same time it took to arrive, and is replaced with relief. He looks down at the box, realizing he’d taken it from you at some point. He laughs at the ridiculousness of his previous panic.

“Thanks,” he says, a reflective smile on his face.

You realize how comforted you are to see him smile, really smile, when you catch yourself having to keep a neutral face. One of the first times your resting bitch face has been intentional. Before you can say you’re welcome, Jason comes back over. You hand him the card.

“Pin number’s 0401.”

They both stare at you, skimming the label of a granola bar, completely unperturbed.

“How…”

“Credit card theft.”

The logical part of Leo’s brain starts to speak up, telling him to raise his guard, that his stomach should be twisting. If you can just take someone’s credit card without a hint of remorse, who knows what the hell kind of damage you could do to him if he got closer to you? And he really wants to get closer to you.

“Oh,” you pull a small pop top tube out of your cart and hand it to Leo, “this is for you too. You know, since you don’t like coffee,” you trail off as he reads the label. Caffeine and electrolyte drink tablets, red berry rampage flavor. He looks up at you, feeling warm and… something else, something ineffable, at the gesture.

You stare at each other, eyes locked, surprised at the strangely intimate feeling stirring in both of you.

“What are those?” Jason asks, snapping you out of whatever that was.

“Spicy gushers,” Leo says, smiling again, “I didn’t even know they made those.”

“Hot mango,” Jason reads from the side of the box, “that actually sounds pretty good.”

“No way dude, you can’t handle spicy food.” He starts to protest, and Leo continues, “You think ketchup is spicy!” He looks shocked.

“Okay, that was one time! It was a weird brand and there was way too much pepper in it!”

You bite back a giggle at their bickering, taking note of how much better Leo seems to be doing and finding surprising comfort in their banter.

It doesn’t take long to get to the airbnb and get set up. You all dump your bags in your rooms, bring in the groceries, and shove everything into the cabinets in a reasonably organized manner.

Jason heads upstairs to unpack and call Piper, announcing a few minutes later that they should be here in less than two hours.

“Perfect,” you pull out your hair dye from the last bag. It’s not exactly the manic panic wildfire red you’d initially wanted, but it’s definitely better than nothing. You stare at the box for a second, then up at Leo who’s trying to get one more bag of chips to fit in with the others.

“Hey,” you say, just loud enough to get his attention, “do you… can you get the back of my head?” He looks at you, questioning, and you hold up the box dye. He smiles, once again noting your softened edges around him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and minutes later you’re in the bathroom, adorned in a big tee shirt covered in all your previous hair colors. He’s staring at your shirt, eyes dancing over the swirls and splatters of color. It reminds him of a painting he’d seen once, unable to remember the name.

You shake the bottle, skimming the instructions again, then start speaking to him, eyes still on the box.

“Take a section of hair, about this much,” you demonstrate, holding out a section of hair, “rub in the dye like this…”

You hand him the second bottle of red dye, and he starts on the back. His fingertips start separating out a section of your hair, and you still, a shiver running up your spine. He hesitates for a moment, then continues, and you hope he hadn’t noticed. His breath fans your ear, and you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. Your lungs are shallow suddenly, squeezed tight like a bouquet clutched in a shaking hand. You find it almost impossible to focus on dying the front half of your hair.

You don’t want it to stop, you realize. His fingertips dancing along your hair, the glimpses of his incredibly focused face in the bathroom mirror, the way he’ll gently turn your head to make sure he didn’t miss a spot.

“Shit,” he leans back, hunching forward. You look behind you, eyes landing immediately on the spot of red dye on his shirt.

“Shit,” you echo. He looks back at you, waiting to see how he’ll react.

“Oh, it’s all good - no worries. I already have a ton of motor oil and lube - lubricant… machine grade, petroleum based engine lubricant-” he laughs, “stains on this shirt anyway. Don’t sweat it.”

You almost laugh. A giggle bubbles up from your chest and stomach, but catches in your throat. Before it can come out, he slips off his dye stained gloves, and tugs off his dye stained shirt from the back. It seems to happen in slow motion. In a mere moment, your eyes engraving every detail, every line and curve and freckle to memory.

There’s really no delicate way to put it; he’s fucking jacked. Deceptively so. You’re frozen in place, cheeks flushed. You suddenly wonder what it would be like to be wrapped up in his arms, held so close to him.

You snap yourself out of the thought, all of that occurring in just a few seconds. He leans past you, setting the dye stained shirt carefully on the counter, glancing at you intensely.

“Are you checking me out?”

You make yourself roll your eyes and turn away, replying, “I’m sure you’d love that.”

Angled away from him, you momentarily reprimand yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and mouthing oh my god. You turn back to him, not recalling the last time you had to deliberately keep up your aloof front around someone like this.

“So, are we finishing my hair or just gonna leave it like this?” you ask rhetorically, motioning to your half done hair.

He watches you do this, confirming his suspicion that you’re really not as cold as you let on. A smile blooms on his face, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as… cute as that.

“Yeah,” he replies, slipping his gloves back on. The things you do around him seem to mean more now. He notices the way your eyes flutter closed for a moment when he plays with your hair, working in the dye, or the way you still for a split second when he gets a little too close to the side of your face, checking that he didn’t miss a spot.

He doesn’t want this to end either. But eventually, your hair is fully saturated with dye, the timer on your phone counting down slowly. There’s still some dye left. He sits on the closed toilet.

“Your turn. Do me.”

“What?” you laugh.

“Yeah, a little streak - up here.” He leans forward, sectioning off a part of his hair.

“Seriously?” you ask.

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to match…” he muses. Your eyes get this dreamy look for the briefest second, then you’re turning back to shake the bottle some more.

“I guess… I mean there’s too much dye to throw out, we might as well do something with it.”

It’s his turn, now, to feel the warmth from your body, your hands running through his hair. His eyes want to close, and bask in the feeling, but he refuses to miss out on the view of you so soft, so close to him. It doesn’t last nearly long enough for either of you, and much too soon you’re pulling away and throwing away the gloves and empty bottles.

By the time you finish cleaning up and throw out the garbage, it’s time to rinse your hair. Hanging your head over the tub, you let the water flow over your head until Leo tells you it’s running clear. He does the same, and you point out too late that he only had to rinse the dyed part, not his whole head.

You both laugh as you wrap a towel around your hair, teaching him how to do the same.

“Sweet, I’ve always wondered how to do the spa snail towel thing.”

“The spa snail towel thing?” You try in vain to fight another laugh.

“Yeah, you know… cause it looks like a snail, and they do it at spas…”

“Oh… my gods…” you laugh, exiting the bathroom and heading down the hall, “I”m going to get changed.” you call.

“Am I wrong?” he asks after you, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. He heads to his room to do the same.

A few minutes later, you’re carefully pulling on your top, when he calls through your door.

“Hey, I’m gonna be in the kitchen, come down when you’re ready.”

“...Okay,” you agree.

You check your outfit in the mirror. You can still feel his fingers brushing your neck. Your head tilts at the memory. Snapshots of him pulling off his shirt in slow motion flash in your memory.

You realize how much of an affect the last hour has had on you. Your stomach drops.

You can’t possibly be falling in love. No way. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

You’re not the falling in love type. At most, you’d hook up with someone a couple times on the rare occasion you thought they were hot, too.

Oh, you decide, that must be what’s happening. I just think he’s hot. I mean, duh. Of course he’s hot. Did you see him in there?

That’s all you have to do; hook up with him once, maybe twice, then you’ll get over it. It’ll make his ex jealous, and they’ll get back together. It will go just like it always has. Then you can move on to whatever the next crisis is.

You take a breath, resolving to follow the plan, exit your room. You throw yours and Leo’s old clothes and towels in the hamper, and head down stairs. He greets you, and pulls you into the kitchen.

“I have something to ask you.” Your brow furrows.

“...Okay.”

He takes your hand in his, the other behind his back.

“Will you…” he looks at you, gaze piercing, “...be my sous-chef.” he finishes, holding out an apron, matching his.

You study him, a hopeful, surprisingly confident look on his face. His hair is still damp. You’re sure yours is, too. You wait a beat, before replying slowly.

“Yes. But I’m not wearing that.”

“That’s fair,” he says, setting the apron on the counter, “I will have to dock your pay for being out of uniform, though.” You let out a puff of air from your nose, biting back a laugh. He pulls out a skillet, bowl, and oil, and begins preheating the pan. You watch him pull out more ingredients, and begin to set things up.

“Right now we’re waiting on that,” he says nodding at the stove. You nod, inspecting a bottle of seasoning he’d pulled out, and settle into a comfortable silence.

He thinks back to the last time you had time like this - playing twenty questions at your apartment. A pit forms in his stomach as he remembers the conversation veering to Calypso, as it always seemed to. He shoves it away. Not this time. He steadies his nerves. “So, you want to play twenty questions?”

You agree, coming closer to him.

“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

Your eyes flick over to the clock. You have a solid hour, hour and a half before the others are supposed to get here. You stare at him, brushing hair out of his face.

“I’d be dead in the endless void of deep space.”

He cracks a smile at how on brand that response was. Your fingertips trail down to his neck, rethen shoulder. The smile doesn’t leave his face, not completely. Your heart beats loudly in anticipation.

“My turn. Do you want to make out?”

His head snaps up, eyes locked with yours, trying to tell if you’re serious or if this is another example of your distinct sense of humor. But he can tell it’s not - there’s something a little too close to the surface in your eyes.

“Yeah. Yes, totally-”

You grab his collar, pulling him in for a kiss, and leaning back against the empty counter.

His lips are soft and warm, moving gracefully with yours. You barely register that the first kiss ends before you dive back in. You angle your head, deepening the kiss. He plants one hand on the counter, the other making its way to the small of your back. You flick your tongue past his lips, and his grip on your waist tightens. You clutch his collar tighter, other hand moving through his hair, still damp at the ends.

You can tell he’s enjoying what you do by the way his mouth quirks up ever so slightly at the corners, and by the way he starts to harden beneath you. You roll your hips into his, and he falters, sighing, breath fanning your lips. Not quite a moan, but you’re getting there.

The front door opens before you can.

Leo pulls away reluctantly, very reluctantly, and turns off the stove.

“That was fast,” he says, panting slightly and still very flushed. They’re not supposed to be here for a while, still.

A tall girl enters the kitchen, dark strawberry blonde hair pulled over her shoulder. She looks between you and Leo with a sour expression on her face.

“Calypso,” Leo says.

"...Hi."

[killyourrdarlingss]

Tall jet plane wife

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

At Face Value

Summary: Post-RttE. Hiccup whump. As he grows older, Hiccup's insecurities with his physical body seem to take a bit of a backseat. They never completely disappear, but in time they are mere whispers that only occasionally bother him with their awful words. But his appearance, whether the features of his face are attractive or not, is one of the few things that never quite come to mind. Until one incident puts a stain on what many have called is a face carved by divinity.

Rating: Teen and up

Words: 1 238

Author’s Notes: This has been collecting dust on my list of finished fic for a year now.

Hiccup has always struck me as someone who wouldn't care much about his face. His insecurities have always seemed to be about how he isn't built like everyone else in his village. But even so, your face is important. So I figured Hiccup wouldn't be okay with having a big ol' scar on his either.

Thus this fic was born!

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

---------------------------------------------------------------

It's quiet as Hiccup sits on his spot at the table. He holds a mug in his hands that he's been staring at as it remains untouched. He's tired and should really be heading to bed now. The sun has set a while ago and he's taken some painkilling herbs given to him by Gothi, which are making him a little bit drowsy.

Toothless is present, too, as they rarely leave each other's side. The dragon would've chased him upstairs himself if he wasn't napping near the fire burning in the fire pit. The flames the only thing making any kind of sound in their living space. Well, that and the dragon's soft snoring.

His dad isn't here yet. He must either be running late or is being held up by something or someone. And with how late it is, Hiccup figures his friends must be home already. Astrid might already be asleep, as a matter of fact.

This leaves him plenty of time and quiet to think.

A couple of days ago, he's gotten hurt during some stupid experiment of his. He got the bright idea to create small canisters that can hold a certain amount of pressurized Zippleback gas or an amount of Nightmare saliva. If he could pull them off right, it would've done wonders for his Inferno. Whenever its fire would inevitably die down, he could refill it and ignite it again.

But alas, one of his prototypes has failed, again, and with painful consequences as a result.

He was testing one with Zippleback gas and something had caused it to go off. He doesn't know what sparked it, everything about that particular memory is quite vague to him now. He just knows that his face, hands, and shoulder took most of it. He's lost three of his fingers. One on his left, two on his right.

He screamed. A lot. The little that he does remember is that Gobber had come running when he heard him and that Toothless had been sent into a panicked frenzy, wanting to help and having no clue on what to do.

He had curled up against the workbench he was working on, bleeding profusely and blinded by both the pain and the smoke and heat affecting his eyes.

His father reached the forge just seconds later, having already been in the general area when he heard his son screaming bloody murder.

But in the end, it really isn't all that bad all things considered. Gothi has taken expert care of his injuries, has told him that he's fortunate he still has his hands and face at all after an explosion from such close proximity.

In the past few days since his accident, Astrid, Fishlegs, and his father have been taking care of his wounds.

Some shrapnel has cut into his shoulder. The wounds aren't deep, though they are probably going to leave some scarring. Hiccup counts himself lucky that it means he won't lose any functionality in that part of his body.

As for his facial injury...

Hiccup supposes it isn't too bad. It had become clear that same day that there was nothing wrong with his eyes. A good thing. And then there is the wound his face did sustain. It starts on the side of his head and goes all the way down to his jaw. It's a jagged line that breaks off into two branches near the bottom of his face, the much shorter one nearly cutting into his upper lip.

It's an especially painful injure. It pales in comparison to the phantom limb and chronic pains he frequently suffers from in his stump, but it's certainly up there. Hiccup already knew the face is one of the more sensitive parts of the human body, he knows the same counts for dragons. But he never knew how much a facial injury could actually hurt until it happened to him.

It made him feel some sympathy for Dagur. The former Berserker Chief now turned Consort-prince has his own scars on his face, which are uglier and look like they were once far more painful than his.

And unlike him, Hiccup is surrounded by a whole team of loved ones willing to help him heal and keep his injuries from getting infected. Snotlout and the Thorston twins haven't needed to do it yet, but Hiccup knows they will volunteer if they need to.

Honestly, Hiccup feels bad for just feeling bad about his own hurt. Dagur has suffered far worse than he did and the main reasons for being so down now are rather shallow.

It's a first for him and he should much more upset that another one of his inventions turned out to be a grand mistake. He will always admit to his flaws, but he never considered himself shallow before. But apparently, that is a side to himself that he hasn't discovered until his accident.

He hates this blemish on his face. He didn't used to worry about his looks or how attractive he is to other people. Whenever he did worry about his appearance, it was more about the scrawny nature of his built. But he worries about his looks now.

People often comment on how much they like his face. It never fails to catch him off guard or even make him feel embarrassed. They tell him or even Stoick that the Gods were in a very good mood the day they decided to give humanity Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. Sometimes, he catches his own friends staring, too.

He has seen his reflection before and he never thought he saw anything special, but after the accident, he worries.

Astrid has reassured him that it isn't as bad as he's making it out to be last time she helped change his bandages. She even stated how sure she is that it's going to him look badass, rougher.

Not that he cared much before, but hearing her say that still helped him feel at least a little bit better about his situation.

The other Riders try to make him believe he looks better now. That this future scar will give him more credit as a Viking and Dragon Rider, but Hiccup can see them cringe whenever they see it.

At least the swelling is going down. And the wound didn't go through his eyes, which could've cost him his sight on that side if it did. He should be grateful for all of this!

And yet...

It has taken him so long to feel any kind of confidence with his own body. It's taken him years for those berating voices in his head to finally become nothing but inaudible background noise. Now that his face is sure to scar, by his own fault no less, those voices are quickly growing louder again.

After years of suppressing them, they are there, they are as loud as ever, and they are given something else to yell at him about.

Hiccup lets out a deep sigh. He would've hung his head if it didn't make his wound pound so much.

Gently laying a hand on the bandaged part of his face, he supposes he needs to start from scratch and spent another four years building his confidence from the ground up again. Until the next time he inevitably gets himself hurt by his own stupid fault and he'll have to start all over once more.

[miraculousfanworks]

How To Analyze a Character

Have you ever been reading a fic and found the character is not recognizable that causes you to say “I don’t know who that is in that Marinette suit but that’s not Marinette.”

Or when you’re writing there’s that one character you need and you just can’t get inside their head to save your life. 

This essay is going to delve into how to analyze characters and how they work in stories. It will help you both articulate why you do or don’t like a particular character or their interpretation, and help you in your own writing of that character.

Characters, as well as other elements of a narrative, can be broken down into collections of  recognizable elements often called “tropes.” (For the comprehensive taxonomy see tvtropes.org.) These commonly recurring literary and rhetorical devices, motifs or clichés can be combined in unique ways. They exist as recognizable and namable concepts because the same patterns are used over and over again in the creation of stories. We can use named tropes to describe what we are seeing in one story and relate it to other instances of the same phenomenon. 

The advantage of recognizing the tropes that describe a character means that we can import into our understanding of them all of the other instances of that trope we have come across, and then compare and contrast these characters. 

For example, both Chloé and Adrien exhibit the “Well Done, Daughter/Son!” Girl/Guy trope, desperately seeking the approval of a distant and withholding parent. (Faramir in the Lord of The Rings and Shinji Ikari in Neon Genesis Evangelion are also prime examples.) Knowing that they are both participants in this kind of relationship we can see how it plays out differently. 

Gabriel seems like a deliberate ass, but occasionally manifests approval as when he played the duet with Adrien before sending him off to  the Kitty Section concert in Capitan Hardrock.  Audrey is entirely un-reflexive in her horribleness, dismissive rather than demanding and only ever recognizes Chloé’s worst feature as admirable. Kagami is also a “well done daughter!” girl and it informs how she relates to Adrein, Chloé, Marinette and Ladybug, providing both for character connection and thematic contrast.

On the production side, tropes can be used deliberately to construct a character to achieve a particular purpose. Adrien was created using the standard tropes of the fairy tale princesses beauty, musical talent, kindness to all creatures (even Chloe), kept looked up by an unloving parental figure. By creating a stereotypical Disney princess but swapping the gender it causes us to think harder about the assumptions we make about Princesses.

Symbols work the same way. We use symbolic images and language in media because it allows us to reference all the other ways and places that symbol is used. It becomes a shorthand for much bigger units of meaning. Pure originality would be completely unintelligible.

For example, Marinette displays two flower motifs on a regular basis. One is the cherry blossom spray across her shirt. Commonly this is associated with both love and passion, as well as purity and transitory beauty. In China, the last three are more closely associated with the Plum blossoms that decorate her purse, chair, and diary. Along with the additional significance of  perseverance and hope, we can see that her dreams for the future, however heard she works for them, may not turn out as she plans. 

The cherry blossom, in China, is a symbol of passion, strength, and feminine power and sexuality. As Marinette has this symbol peeking out from behind her jaket on the left side of her shirt, it represents how her civilian persona hasn’t fully come into the power she displays as Ladybug. Adrien’s kwami was chosen to be a Black Cat specifically to call up all our associations with them and bad luck as a counterpoint to Ladybug and her Lucky Charm.

Pikachu, I Choose You!: Artistic Decisions

You would think this wouldn’t need to be said but remember, remember, remember: these fictional characters are not real people. Why does that matter? Because everything you see on the screen or on the page is the result of a choice made by the writer or artist. 

Images and dialogue may be selected deliberately, thoughtfully, thematically, instinctually, carelessly, haphazardly, or stupidly, but they are there because the authors and illustrators and creators selected them to be there. 

Remember that the characters only exist to serve the story and everything about them ideally should serve to move the story toward its conclusion.

This is especially pertinent in an animated–and especially a computer animated–show because everything has to be made specifically for the show and they are expensive to make(MLB costs ~$460,000 an episode). That’s why you get only one outfit for most of the characters, except when absolutely necessary.

Saving their production budget for other things is  why Theo Barbot has all of the odd jobs in Paris, there seems to be only one cop, Sabrina’s dad, and Alec and Nadja are the only people on TV. If you take a look in Bubbler, the first episode aired in the US, you can see that the school, the bakery, the hotel, and the Agreste Manor are all within one block of each other.

CallMeDale posted this to the Miraculous Fanworks Discord. Source unknown. Image originally from Bubbler.

What this production cost means for analyzing a character (or anything else) is that everything we see in a visual medium is important. Everything about a character has been picked for some reason. How they look, how they move–even how they stand says something about who they are as a person, who they are in their relationships, and who they are as an element of the story.

I did a fairly comprehensive essay on Chloé as a character so I want to walk through some of the things I looked at in order to write it.  

Character at First Sight: 

First impressions are vital. Because Marinette is picked to be our eyes as the OP starts (“In the daytime I’m Marinette,”) we know she is supposed to be our heroine and point of view.  Everything that happens after that is to be judged in relation to her. The first time we see Chloé in the show is a whole 5 seconds into the opening, when she and Sabrina walk past a face-planted Marinette. Immediately afterwards, Chloé runs back in to glomp Adrien and push Marinette out of the way. 

From these few brief seconds we know that she is both rich and domineering, Sabrina is walking just behind her with a huge designer purse and bookbag, obviously in a subservient role. Chloé laughs at Marinette, which establishes her as an antagonist to the Heroine. Chloé pushing Marinette out of fram when she comes back shows that she exists in part to block our Heroine from Adrien, our Hero, whose expression shows he really doesn’t appreciate the attention.  

Not even three seconds of screen time and we already know who Chloé is in relation to three people: Marinette, Adrien, and Sabrina.

How much time a character gets in the beginning of a story also sets up how much brainspace  we allocate them and our expectation of their importance. This is one reason I prefer Bubbler as the “first episode’’ (US viewing order) over Stormy Weather (South Korean/International Viewing order). Stormy Weather spends the first few minutes on Aurore, Mirielle, and Alex before getting to  Mari, Tikki, Manon, Alya, and Adrien. Bubbler in the same first minute sets up Marinette, her parents, Adrien, Alya, Chloé, and Nino and all their relationships.

By choosing your descriptions carefully you can get the reader to think of other things without directly mentioning them. Ladybug’s costume, mode of travel and name all callback to Spiderman (she even does the upside down hang in Dark Cupid), and even though the iconic phrase “with great power comes great responsibility,” is never stated its influence is felt in the persistent characterization of Ladybug as ‘all business’ in fic, even though she is more playful in canon. Master Fu is modeled after classic inscrutable mentor Mr. Miyagi from the original Karate Kid movies, it gives him an air of perhaps more wisdom and knowledge than he actually possesses.

Come on Let’s Vogue: How the Look of a Character Informs Us

Now let’s look at what we get from the elements selected for Chloe’s character design. Slender, pale, almost-white blonde hair, sunglasses on the top of her head, lots of blue eyeshadow, yellow jacket over a black and white striped shirt, white capris and black and white flats. All of this says she is the top of the social heap at her school. Combined with her glomping and trying to kiss Adrien and we can guess she is–or at least wants to be seen as–romantically “experienced”. Yellow is a happy color, it’s what makes a printed picture look bright. Often, though not always, it is associated with success and general goodness (i.e. a heart of gold) so she is initially portrayed as a person who doesn’t have any cares. White jeans and shoes point to both her status as someone who doesn’t have to work and a certain level of naivete. 

But she also has this very gothy studded belt around her hips. It is very obviously not holding up her pants. This hints at the darker emotions and experiences at her core. The black and white stripes of her undershirt hint at the way she is held prisoner by her past. 

Because we have been set up to see Chloé as the spoiled,rich bitch with everything she could want, when the facade cracks and we see just how awful her mother is it hits all the harder for us. Chloé’s invulnerable image is destroyed.

“What’s in a Name?”: Tagging as Character creation

Names are also a good starting place for getting into a character. 

Bourgeois comes layered with the connotations of wealth, but not too much, and shallow conformity. Chloé is derived from the Greek Khlóe, or ‘young green shoot’ (of a plant), which can also be interpreted as meaning 'blooming.’ Khlóe is an epithet, or nickname, for Demeter in her aspect of the Lady of Summer. We know the writers know and are thinking of these meanings because of these lines in Sandboy.

Nightmare Adrien: Marinette, for your birthday, I’m going to buy you flowers—

…

Nightmare Adrien: —hortensias, roses and Chloés. (Marinette shrieks)

Not only does her name sound like that of a Homecoming Queen/Cheerleader/trust fund baby, but it also indicates she is immature but with potential to become something more.

Queen Bee is also laden with meaning as it is a term used to describe girls in their teens who are at the top of their social pecking order (see Queen Bees & WannaBes). It perfectly describes bothe how Chloé acts but also how she perceives herself.

The Things You Do to Me: Character Action

Characters in a story are what they do and more importantly why they do what they do. If Marinette becomes Ladybug for the first time because someone needs saving (first Ivan, then Alya), and Adrien becomes Chat Noir in order to escape the gilded cage that is his house, Chloé dons the Bee miraculous in a desperate (and unsuccessful) bid to catch her mother’s attention. 

Attention seeking is part of every subsequent time that her hero persona appears in the story. Consider the implications of the fact that the signal on her roof is a Bee signal, not a Ladybug signal. The gestursal tic she has of always examining her nails, often with the other arm folded over her chest, is a visual shorthand for both her self-absorption and that her unpleasant personality is a defence mechanism. 

Dialogue clues are also important, especially things that come up more than once. Chloé’s persistent lack of remembrance of the Concierge’s name (Jean-whatever) shows her to be dismissive of the people she believes to be “beneath her” which becomes horribly ironic when we find out her mother doesn’t seem to remember her name. That Marinette is always  Dunain-Cheng, emphasizing her parents status as tradesman and that Marinette is not pure French operates as a persistent put down.

Chloé is a Hero with an F in Good, primed by the writers for the Face–Heel Turn which happens in Miracle Queen. They telegraph this event by the choice to echo her “once a monster always a monster,” line from Stoneheart, in the S3 midseason Stormy Weather 2. There she mocks Aurore with “once a villain always a villain.” Highly ironic given the number of times Chloé has been akumatized and prompted it in others. Her bad heroing serves to show that actions and motives are not always aligned and to highlight the selflessness of the other heroes. 

A great example of showing character through dialogue is Nino’s conversation with Gabriel in Bubbler. Nino was given a very distinctive, persistent, and casual speech pattern (“dude” in English), It’s so distinctive that Alya immediately recognizes that he is Carapace. The fact that he makes an effort to suppress it when he is trying to persuade Gabriel to let Adrien have a birthday party shows how much he cares about giving Adrien this gift. It’s part of what establishes him in our minds as such a great friend for Adrien (King of Bros!). Giving characters individualized vocabularies and speech patterns is one of the best ways to help distinguish them in both your, and the reader’s mind.

All Together Now!

As you read and experience more stories, you will recognize more and more common elements across the characters, places, events and ideas that make up the stories you read. As you recognize these building blocks, and how they can be combined and manipulated, they will help you understand better why certain characters do what they do in the story. You can then deliberately select them as you create your own stories to highlight desired themes, set up conflicts or call cultural resonances to your readers’ minds.  Remember what you write is a conversation between you, your reader, and the world around you. The more of the world you can bring into your writing the deeper it will impact your readers.

[maedarakat]

Drabble: Risks

It was weird, how nobody was paying attention to what was going on.

Dagur had always admired his brother, how he always put the lives of his group and their dragons above the result of their missions. It was a trait he had exploited in the past many times.

Except now it was becoming apparent that Hiccup was very good at protecting everyone in his group from outside enemies ... but not necessarily inward ones.

And damn, could those inward ones be downright cruel. Dagur knew from experience that sometimes the awful brain-voices pointing out all his flaws, insufficiencies, and failures would just not shut up. Not even for a second.

Something was seriously up with one of Hiccup’s riders, and Hiccup either knew about it and was doing nothing, or he didn’t know about it at all. Dagur preferred to believe it was the latter.

They had all been flying south - the riders, himself, and Heather - summoned by stories of a subjugated colony of timberjacks. Once again some chucklefuck dragon hunters were keeping eggs and hatchlings from parents to ensure their obedience.

On the way they’d destroyed at least twelve dragon hunter ships (Snothat had kept score of how many they’d all done but Hiccup had forbidden him to keep individual scores because: “It’s not a competition!”)

Silly Hiccup. Of course it was.

So naturally, Snothat had kept individual scores anyway, just ... secretly.

It was all fun and games - literally - until one of the fleets they encountered sent a bola net at Barf and Belch, dragging both twins and dragon violently down to the deck. Dagur and Heather dove immediately, their dragons trying to grab the net and slow their rapid descent so they wouldn’t be crushed.

It was still with a sickening boat-shaking thud that they landed. The Zippleback lay still, tangled and dazed with pain, and Ruff slumped out of her saddle onto the deck, groaning and clutching her arm to her chest. Heather roared, jumping off Windshear with axe brandished, threatening the approaching hunters.

Dagur jumped off Sleuther quickly, ready to help Girlnut’s other half, but Tuff wasn’t anywhere near their dragon or his sister.

For a heart stopping second Dagur feared he had somehow missed Tuff falling into the water during their crash landing, but a fearsome roar of anger quickly grabbed his attention.

Tuff was on his feet in front of Barf and Belch - at the most vulnerable point of the group. Blood was running down one side of his face, grey eyes wild, breathing heavy, mace at the ready. He was obviously worse injured than Ruffnut, and that was based only on what Dagur could see , yet there he was - laying about him with the mace like his pain did not matter.

More specifically, like his life did not matter.

Oh boy ... yep, Dagur had definitely been there before.

There was nothing to do but let out a fearsome roar of his own and fight his way to Tuffnut’s side, grabbing the blond twin just as he crumpled from a savage blow to his ribs by a morning-star - really, like he needed another injury. Holding Tuff tight against his side, he attempted to shove the boy behind him, taking point himself in front of the fallen Zippleback.

Windshear sliced through the nets easily, nudging the stunned two headed dragon back to their feet and Heather grabbed Ruff, hauling both of them up into the saddle.

As Toothless and Stormfly offered cover fire, both girls and dragons managed to fly up to safety. Sleuther flung aside dragon hunters, fighting to get between them and the encroaching hunters.

The second his dragon got close enough, Dagur wasted no time, pulling himself and the semi-conscious Thorston twin up after him. By the grace of Odin, all of them made their escape and were now well out of range before another net cannon could be aimed and loaded.

Hiccup ordered them immediately into a defensive formation, which Sleuther picked up on without needing guided - aware that Dagur’s immediate concern was with the injured boy in his arms.

Tuff seemed aware of his surroundings, though shaking hard and his breathing was raspy. Gods, Dagur hoped he didn’t have a pierced lung or something. He considered himself fairly decent at the healing arts, but not that good.

“Boynut, can you hear me?” Dagur asked, opening Tuff’s vest and undoing his belt to relieve pressure on his ribs. He rolled up the green tunic and felt along his side. Two broken ribs with some lovely bruising puncture wounds from the morning-star, a dislocated shoulder, plus a deep gash on his forehead.

Tuffnut hitched, trying to push away Dagur’s touch. “Loki, you must be a healer because your hands are freezing cold!”

Dagur frowned thoughtfully at the redirection, but the others let out a collective sigh of relief.

“How’s Ruffnut?” he heard Hiccup ask Heather.

“She’s fine. Just a broken arm and a mild concussion - I’ll keep her awake,” Heather called back. Fishlegs and Snotlout immediately pulled out of formation to go fuss over her while Hiccup and Astrid flew closer to Barf and Belch, checking over the dragon’s injuries as well.

Nobody came over to see if Boynut was alright. Probably because he’d just cracked a joke like he was unaware of pain even as a concept.

Did he do that often? Dagur felt like he probably did that often.

Tuff had relaxed as soon as he’d heard his sister‘s injuries weren’t life-threatening and was trying not to make an agonized expression, but at every turbulent bump Sleuther’s wings absorbed, his facade of carefully controlled blankness cracked and he grimaced sharply.

“I know it hurts,” Dagur soothed him tenderly, pressing a clean wad of cloth over Tuff’s gash, trying to stop the bleeding. Tuff jerked, looking up at him in shock and automatically covering with a grin.

“Nah, I’m fine. Loki looks out for his own. Hey, do you Berserkers know how set broken arms in a way that doesn’t hurt? I mean, Ruff cried like a baby the last time Gothi did it, so hopefully you have more of a gentle touch.”

Redirection, yet again. What even ...

“Heather does, and she’ll be the one caring for your sister. What I’m worried about is your shoulder. And ribs. And whether you’re gonna need stitches for that enormous cut on your head.”

Dagur poured a little water onto a piece of linen and started cleaning the blood off Tuff’s face. He squirmed, complaining, but let him. “You don’t have to. Belch licks my face about four times a day, after meals and before bedtime. He’ll get all that off by lunch.”

“Pretty sure both your dragons and your sister would kill me if I let you go untreated until lunch. Hold still. At least it’s not my thumb and spit.”

“Um. Ew ...”

“Yeah, exactly. I’d rather not subject you to that.” Dagur rinsed the blood off and packed some honey and flax salve into the shallow groove, which had finally begun to clot. “So ... about that fight. You normally just jump right in full Berserker style when the chips are down?”

If he avoided putting a negative connotation to it, maybe Tuff would open up?

It worked; Tuff fairly glowed at the comparison. “Yeah, I was doing good until that one guy - ugh. He came up on my blind side. At least it gave you guys time to get Ruff and our dragons out though, right?”

Dagur’s chest hurt at Tuff’s clear ache for approval in those words. Oh man, Boynut was really not okay. Not by a long shot.

“Boynut, why do you think -“

A voice interrupted him mid-sentence. “Tuffnut, what were you thinking?!”

Hiccup was flying next to them now, frowning.

“That was incredibly dangerous, you shouldn’t have flown so close to the starboard - they always have cannons on that side! Didn’t you pay any attention during the lesson about hunter ship defenses?” There was a little concern in his tone, but it was dwarfed by exasperation.

Dagur felt his heart sink. This was not helpful, and Hiccup didn’t even notice what was going on with his friend. How could he not notice? A lecture about general safety - not even his, but everyone else’s - was the last thing Tuff needed right now.

Tuff looked at Hiccup with a calm expression, betraying nothing.

“Nope, I was actually far more interested in what Smidvarg was doing with that grasshopper. Turns out he was not, in fact, trying to make a friend.”

Redirecting again . Hiccup predictably started lecturing him on why listening to him during training was important, and Tuff’s laid back answers were designed to make him frustrated enough to drop the whole thing and fly off.

It didn’t seem to be working this time, and now Fishlegs was flying over, frowning, and clearly ready to back Hiccup up.

It was all kind of amazing to watch in terms of density alone, but Dagur had more than enough at that point.

He glowered down at the glinting surface of the sparkling sea and saw an out.

“Oh hey, look - flying fish! Sleuther’s favorite snack that he absolutely cannot control himself around,” Dagur stated, purposefully loud enough for his dragon to hear. His Triplestryke opened wide eyes, made a noise of intrigue, and dived down away from Hiccup and the group to investigate.

“Sorry, be right back!” he called cheerfully, leaving the others behind as they descended below the current. There was grumbling from up above - Fishlegs and Hiccup were now sharing their grievances about the issue. Granted, Tuff was a good actor, but still ...

Dagur continued his ministrations, wiping away the excess blood from Tuff’s injured side where spikes had slammed into his skin.

Boynut had relaxed in his arms, clearly relieved, though looking at him searchingly. “Thanks?” he offered cautiously. He sounded like he was trying to figure out if Dagur had done that for him.

He glanced at Tuff and, not knowing whether he should resume the talk they’d been trying to have just yet, gave him a confirming wink. The boy’s face reddened immediately and he turned his head away, directing his attention to the flying fish before Sleuther snapped up the entire school.

Dagur almost felt bad for letting his dragon snack on them so voraciously. They were pretty, silver and incandescent, almost matching Tuff’s eyes when the sun hit their scales.

The Berserker shook his head to clear it and pressed salve into the cuts, spreading it liberally across his bruises.

“You should save that stuff. Someone else might get injured later,” Tuff said quietly. “Snotlout usually.”

Gods, this guy ... maybe he had to be straightforward about this after all, before someone else came to oh-so-usefully scold him.

“You’re injured now, and I’ve got more than enough. Boynut ... “ Here it was, time to be blunt. “Why don’t you think you’re worth anything?”

The question came like an unexpected blow and Tuff flinched in his arms, eyes immediately closing. Dagur braced himself. The boy might redirect with anything right now, even anger. Gods knew, if anyone had dared to ask a younger version of Dagur this question, they probably wouldn’t have survived.

He’d had to ask it though - he’d had to let Tuff see that his pain was visible to someone .

Tuff didn’t lash out, but he was shaking. He tried to curl away and hide behind his hair so Dagur couldn’t see the tears spilling over.

It didn’t matter. He knew they were there.

Surprisingly, after a long tortured moment, Tuff answered the question, voice low.

“Because I’m not worth anything. I mean ... can you think of anything I’m good for? I’m just the spare. The whole family thinks I’m the spare. Look at our dragon. One body, with an extra head. Not that I really think Belch is a spare, he’s totally awesome, but  ... you know what I mean, right?”

Dagur listened, and bit his lip, thinking for a moment about what to say.

“I always kinda thought of you as the heart and soul of the group, Tuff. I mean, when I first joined you guys, everyone was so suspicious of me - granted, with very good reason. But you were just like ‘oh, Dagur’s a good guy now? Awesome! I’ll give the guy a chance!’ And then you both sat with me. You talked to me as easily as if I was an old friend, showed me some cool dragon moves with your chicken, gave me a fresh egg. Never once did you judge me, or try to get back at me - not even when my own sister thought I was sent as Viggo’s spy.

“You made me feel human. Forgiven. Like I really could be part of the group if I kept up improving my behavior. And you show that same compassion to others too - even wild and dangerous dragons. The kindness you have inside of you is inspiring.”

Tuffnut was staring up at him, eyes wide and shocked. Dagur fidgeted, looking ahead of him, wondering if he’d said too much.

“Most people ... would have said I tell funny jokes.,” Tuff said hoarsely. “That I’m good for cheering people up. Or at least distracting them from all their problems by being irritating.”

“Well, you are funny.  There’s certainly that. Though i don’t think it’s more  important than the compassion and insight and empathy you show. Honestly, that’s something everyone in the Archipelago - in the world - struggles with. We need you around to be our best example.”

When he looked back at Tuff, the blond was staring at him, eyes wide and full of  tears.

Oh no, he’d said something wrong, hadn’t he? Tuff reached up shakily to wipe at his eyes.

“But ... but ... I still mess everything up, don’t I? I don’t do what I’m supposed to do. Always holding my sister back, always d-driving everyone crazy, blowing stuff up -“

“So what? Nobody in this entire group is perfect. Certainly not me. I used to grab guys by the seat of their pants and toss them overboard for mildly irritating me. I personally caused the death of my sister’s entire village, ensured my dad would die alone on Vanaheim,  and lost at least half of our tribe’s Armada chasing you guys around the globe because of a grudge. Oh and I’ve killed a lot of dragons. Still and always will hate all of those things about myself. I would never do them again, but I did once do all that, and I can never undo it. Do I deserve to die?”

“Of course you don’t,” Tuff answered automatically, still wiping his face. “Everyone makes mistakes, even awful ones - what matters is you took responsibility and - and you’re trying , every day, to still make up for it. It’s not easy to be good, especially if you think you’re a monster.”

... uh, wow. Dagur was not expecting that. He shook his head to clear it. “Okay. So why can’t you apply that same logic to yourself?”

Tuff looked at him helplessly. “I ... I don’t know. It’s ... I feel like I’m just not good enough all the time. Nobody ever seems happy with me, I’m not happy with me, s-so I must be doing something wrong. Right?”

Dagur thought for a moment, readjusting Tuff so he could lay more comfortably against his chest.

“You wanna know a secret, Boynut?”

He turned those pretty grey eyes up at him and carefully nodded. It was rare to see the normally distracted and wise-cracking twin appear so focused, but then Tuff and Ruff always seemed to give Dagur their full attention whenever he visited the Edge.

“I haven’t told this to anyone before - not even Hiccup - but after I escaped Viggo’s attempt to kill me, I wound up lost at sea. All alone, in a tiny little boat, with very little food and water. Days came and went. I went hungry, thirsty, sunburnt, sick.  Every day I had the same question - why was I still alive? I was a villain. A monster. Surely Odin Allfather didn’t mean for me to actually make it in the end, because I hadn’t done anything right - since day one, I was always the problem kid.

“So this had to be it, I thought. Odin was surely going to kill me with the next storm or send a shark or Scauldron to pick me off ... but that never happened. I wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the sea remained calm, I was able to catch fish, and there was rainwater to drink.

“I started to think about it, until realizing - finally - that Odin doesn’t just kill people for making horrible mistakes. Or even if they think they’re worthless.  At my core - all I ever wanted was my father’s approval. My sister to be safe. I had to learn how to change a few things to get there, but I got there.

“And now I have my sister beside me, along with some pretty great friends.” Dagur smiled winningly at Tuff, making it clear he counted Boynut in that category.

Tuff jolted in his arms again, not expecting that - so entranced with Dagur’s story. He stammered for a moment, blushing.

“You consider me a friend? Not just an acquaintance you have to put up with because they hang around the others?”

Dagur regarded him softly and wrapped his arms around Tuff. It was a firm hug, though careful of his injuries. “Yes. You’re one of my friends. And I don’t have very many, so that makes you very important to me, okay?”

Tuff’s eyes were again welling up. “You ... actually like me?”

That question hurt more than it had a right to. “Yes, I like you very much. I want you to stay right here on Midgard for as long as possible. I’d be devastated if anything happened to you.”

Boynut was staring at him like he’d never seen Dagur before in his life, face still flushed and tear tracks cutting through the grime and blood of battle. For half a second, Dagur wondered if he’d said too much, but then Tuff curled into his embrace, putting his arms around the Berserker’s neck and burying his face in his shoulder.

He was trembling hard, hitching, and Dagur hugged him tightly, rubbing Tuff’s back.     He wanted very suddenly to yell at the others - Tuff was their friend too and he didn’t even know and he seriously thought he was worth less than shark chum and what the hell were they doing about it? Had any of them noticed?

“S-Sorry - I - I - nobody’s ever - I n-never thought -“ Tuff trailed off, hiccoughing.

“That you were good enough as is?” Dagur hazarded a guess. The despondent wail that followed was his answer and Dagur hugged him back tighter, murmuring soothingly.

It took a short while before Tuff calmed down, but he still clung to Dagur like a frightened kitten, pulling back to wipe at his face with a free hand.

Dagur didn’t discourage him, still cradling him close with an arm around the curve of his body. They were still flying below the air current the rest of the group was on, skimming across the surface of the water.

Absently he reached up, toying with a braid of Tuff’s hair. “It’s still a long way to where we’re going. Why don’t you get some rest, huh? It’s okay if you sleep - pretty sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Tuff looked up at him in shock, face going pink. He smiled at him, leaning his head tiredly on Dagur’s shoulder. “That sounds good. You’re very warm.”

Dagur thought he was going to say more, but after a long minute, Tuff’s head grew a little heavier and he began to gently snore. He was exhausted and injured, and it was hours still before they would reach land. Dagur decided to let him be, expression soft as he watched Boynut sleep.

[harold-smith-in-training]

Introducing: Epipremnum Aureum

Despite pothos these being the Ubiquitous Easy-Care Houseplant, I had never realized they existed until recently. Everything to me was just “a philodendron,” which isn’t exactly wrong (since they’re all in the araceae family), but isn’t exactly right either.

Killing time between our 2018 Literary Crawl talk and our book signing time, my friend and I walked around Mid-Town and stopped into the gothy plant and taxidermy store there. To commemorate the experience (my first paid talk on my work and making comics! At a University-sponsored event!), I bought this 6″ neon pothos and walked back to it. It kept me company at the signing desk.

The earliest photo I have right now is from 5/5/2019, so I’d been growing it for about eight months. It’s just beginning to vine out!

I brought back some cuttings from my sister’s ancient behemoth of a neon pothos (which she bought when I bought my first acalypha hispida, in 2016ish?2017ish?) and was propagating them for a while until my neglect lead to them being destroyed by cats. But this November when my family finally invited me back home, my mom gave me some cuttings from one of her many golden pothos vines.

Here’s a photo from 3/8/2020. I had likely taken this to show her that I’d finally planted the cuttings she’d given me (bottom right). Notice I potted it directly into one of those water-tight metal MC flour bins... but more on that in a bit.  I also had just made the macrame hanger for the neon pothos, but it’s still hanging from the curtain rod, too close to the wall.

Here’s that same area. I’m wrapping the neon pothos vines around that syngonium podophyllum to help turn it so the back of the plant can get some sun. They usually dangle down in the ZZ Raven, which is Dramatic.

Back to that golden pothos. Sending mom photos of its growth has been a nice way to connect throughout the Covid-19 Quarantine.

3/18/2020, getting a very golden new leaf:

Growing so big! Still in the watertight metal pot, but instead of watering a tiny amount whenever I remembered, I learned to water thoroughly and drain out the excess afterward.

I ended up with a 6″ terracotta pot and planted the golden pothos cuttings in sometime in May. Here’s what they look like today on 6/14/2020:

Around March 2020, because of the building uncertainty around Covid-19, I made a bunch of cuttings from the neon pothos vines and let them root out in water in my west-facing kitchen windowsill to propagate, figuring that would be a fun thing to watch while I’m at home.

All but one of the cuttings rooted, and I put them in the old 4″ grow pot I got my white anthurium in. It’s currently hanging in a double macrame hanger I just made, beneath my ric rac cactus, in the east-facing window in my bedroom:

I put the final unrooted cutting in the back today, 6/14/2020, cause why not:

One of the leaves here has some darker green variegation on it (or is that the normal color coming BACK in?), which will be fun to watch grow. There’s a leaf on the main plant with white variegation.

I’m excited for these pothos to keep growing, and growing, and growing. The neon foliage is a perfect counterpart to my collection of gothy dark plants. I treasure the memories attached to both my neon and golden pothos plants.

I heard pothos cuttings secrete whatever growth hormones help plants root, so I recently took another cutting from the neon to put in a special propagation that needs all the help it can get...