#i had a lot of fun writing it :D

[elvyn]

doodles some of my favs from One Piece because after two years I'm finally almost up to date with this anime😭

[d8tl55c]

oh boy !! ! ! ! !!! ! thANK y0u all for the kind words on my last art posts. you all get it and i was/still am so happy about it

as promised, here's some close-ups of the comic for image quality's sake, and other screenshots i rescued from the community whiteboard (and something else)

first up another sketch of mystery gender-ambiguous being. (please send me more name ideas for them if you got one- i like to hear em! (reminder it's the side character that appeared for <10 seconds in AvM Ep. 30))

a few fav scenes

emotional support cwab

they weren't meant for this purpose exactly, but i do have countless "fluffy sticks" loose in my notes and homework sheets from the school years.

papery critter.

even when i wasn't confident in fur or feathers, they helped me practice posing and create some satisfying gradients/flowing poses. (im a sucker for good tail poses) (oh yay! i found a good pic...)

and finally, little sneak peak for you for reading so far ;3

i realized that whiteboardfox is pretty great for my working needs. simple and to the point and all. feels nice with the mouse and the tablet.

so i started hashing out a big project idea just to see if it holds up and

[

several hours later ...

]

oh

oh man

it's a little bigger than i expected

<next>

[sysig]

Simon Petrikov is a service top and you can fight me about it (Patreon)

[kanene-yaaay]

He started it!

Kanene's notes: I think my brain is no longer able to grasp what a 'quick, small fic' is kjhgfdfghjjhgvjhgf somebody this was supposed to be just a small drabble but the cuteness broke me. Somebody save me from the Dogday brain rot please somebody save me...

But anyway! Can't say when I will be able to post again, college just started and so my days are going to be very full :') Still! Hope you all like this!

Warnings: Plenty of raspberries, nibbles and teasy nicknames. Around 3,500 words. Ticklish!Dogday and Ler!Reader. Other than that, nothing, this is pure tooth-rooting fluff. Rip da boi. Also! Once again, I'm obsessed w Felix's writing style where the dialogues and narration are mingled together so all the hugs and thank you's to her :D

[~*~]

Dogday had started it.

Of course it was him. Just like a ray of sunshine, your own personal star, shining and chasing the dark shadows away, he did and now there was no other way this could’ve played out. 

“A-angel, please!” His voice glitched, getting lower at the end of his plea, however immediately growing higher again as giggles began filling the space, crackling and buzzing in both despair and delight. “Think about what you’re about to do!”

You hummed and smiled at his squeal, fond and sweet and absolutely devilishly as you remembered how this entire game began.

Every single corner of this factory was dangerous. Even so, there were hostile places where any kind of sound, whisper or even a poorly suppressed gasp could attract the worst kind of attention and immediately break in pieces the fragile peace that warily followed you and Dogday in your path. At the time, you both had been walking through one of these areas for far too long, bathed by complete silence, careful to keep your steps silent and with an alerted kind of tension clinging to your form with each passing second. 

That was when, for some reason, Dogday decided that enough was enough. It was his moment to shine.

Where even did the idea come from? Has he been bored?  

“You just seemed so stressed!” His tail was wagging so much you could feel the wind it created hitting your legs. An involuntary coo left your mouth at the playful, a tad proud glint in his eyes, which only made his smile bigger and loopier. He tried to tug his hands away to hide his face. Needless to say, it was an unsuccessful attempt. “No, no, no! Don’t!”

Anyway, it had been confusing at first. When the giant sentient toy turned in your direction, making fingerguns with his paws and pretending to be firing at something, you immediately spun around in a quick and swift movement, grabpack and firing hand ready to attack pointing in the same direction as him, eyes searching for the danger he was gesturing. 

… Stopping to think, he did almost laugh at you that moment, didn’t he? You bet that if you both didn’t have to conceal any and every sound his crackles would’ve rang free and joyfully across the whole factory. 

You took an exaggerated deep breath and blew slowly in a faux disappointment, feeling his muscles under you tense and shake with barely concealed titters, a tiny protesting half whine and half plea flying around, his torso squirming.

(Away or closer to the sensations? Both of you knew the answer very well.)

Tsk. You hummed again, only to hear that adorable squeal once more. It took everything to not let him go and dig, to listen those high pitched squeals over and over again and see how many of them you could collect, letting them dance in harmony with his glitching laughter and rumbling chuckles until happiness and joy were the only thing filling his mind and actions, until his smile were wide enough to light up the dark pathway ahead and each tiny, almost imperceptive wiggle, scribble or twitch of your fingers was followed by the lovely, lovely melody of his tickly delight, prompting more and more expectant titters and pleas without you even having to lay a single finger on him.

But the game couldn’t be over so soon. And it was quite fun to see how much giggles you could get even though you weren’t actually doing anything.

(Yet.)

So you pushed down the adoring smile that tried (again) to take over your features and let it morph into a sad expression, slowly shaking your head in a fake disappointment.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Such a good friend and he almost laughed at you like that… After everything you both have been through, after all the fights and the talks, the hugs and the vents… You see how that is.

“P-please! Angel, just, please!”

No. Nuh-uh. You went back to your previous position, shoving your face in that soft fur. Don’t start with the sugarily sweet nicknames. You were brooding. Moping. Sad. Devastated. Betrayed. In absolute and total pain. There was no angel available right now, please return later.

His only answer was a series of even more glitched squeaks and titters growing stronger and giddier at any second with your silliness, especially when his body involuntarily jumped, already in alert for any attack and still not doing anything to scramble away. 

That could be your fault, but in your humble opinion, it wasn’t very clear. Okay, maybe he couldn’t just bring himself to stop and stand still when you kept using every opportunity to nuzzle and mumble on his belly non stop, easily following his torso and quivering stomach around as he wiggled and squirmed in the same place, trying with all his might to not lose himself already with all the ticklish shocks that bolted across his entire midriff with such a simple action. Words (and teases) continue to fall like waves from your lips.

Maybe he just had been bitten by an awful ticklybug! Who would know?

“There is no tick-” Dogday gasped and snickered when you blew air against his fur again, freezing for a second in preparation for a raspberry that didn’t come. Realizing that, he let his head fall on the floor and trashed even more. He tugged his arms again, playfully growling when you kept your hold firm on them and wiggling even more as he turned to stare back at you, a funny kind of energy and antecipation racing each other in his nerves. “There is no ticklebug! It’s you!!”

Oh well. 

A pity.

Anyway. Back to the story. That had been how everything began. He later explained his idea for the game, when you were able to exchange words again. From that moment, in total random occasions, one of you would make a gesture in the other’s direction and they would have to quickly react to it. In the most silly and unexpected way, preferentially, as long as you didn’t make any sound while at that.

See, Dogday? No sound.

He yapped in protest, letting out a single surprised, an offended yelp at the accusation. “We don’t need to be quiet here. You’re just teasing me!” Dogday’s hands fell to his sides, no longer trying to pry you away, shoulders shaking with every giggle and eyes watching your every action with joy and expectation. 

You keep going.

The playful exchange became a habit between you two at this point, even filling the moments you didn’t exactly need to be quiet. It was a nice way to interact when there were no more words, memories or promises to be exchanged. That is why Dogday didn’t even bat an eye at you when you called his attention by innocently offering both of your hands in his direction, tail lightly wagging as he immediately placed his own paws on yours, a fun, tiny grin appearing on his previously serious and protective expression when you intertwined your fingers.

Which quickly morphed to a wide stare when you locked your grip and jumped on him, bringing both of you to the ground.

So, yeah, Dogday was the one who started it. And now he was trying to shoot his shot again, pulling out the saddest, sweetest puppy eyes in your direction. 

“Angeel, please. Mercy!”

Awww.

(That was a bit adorable, you couldn’t lie. It kind of melted your heart. Just a tiny, little bit.)

(Ok. A lot.)

But that was the thing, Dogday, you were being merciful already. Because if your hands were free, you would give him the entire special attack. You would just claw and knead on that cute, truly adorable tummy, taking some precious time to give your attention to his sides and all the scribbles and scratches to his ribs, being sure to go and tickle aaaall of his favorite, ticklish spots over and over and over again, for as long as he wanted. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? And, of course, during this your hands would be very, very busy, so he would have to keep his arms nice and snug out of the way. But he could do this for you, right? Even if he was laughing and squirming and crackling his heart out, not even pretending to not love every single moment of this game, or that he wanted it to be over any moment soon. 

“Eek! Wait, wait!” 

You grinned. See? That was what not being merciful would be. But, stopping to think, those are not bad ideas at all. He really couldn’t stop getting any more adorable, could he?

“Sweetheart!” He squeaked and shook his head, partially in a way to disperse all the restless energy taking over his body and partially in a hopeless attempt to make his big ears cover his flaming face.

Oh. 

(It was quite endearing, actually, how he didn’t exactly blush. His smile would get wobblier and the light in his eyes fuzzy and lightly trembling all while he couldn’t decided if he tried to hide his face or kept staring at you with a gaze so full of complete trust, an excited desperation conquering all his features… Honestly it was just as crystal clear as if his face got completely taken over by a strong shade of red, truly.)

Your entire demeanor softened. That nickname was a new one.

(You wouldn’t mind listening to it being giggled out like this again in the future.)

You decided to return the favor.

Yes, gigglebug?

For a piece of time, Dogday froze with wide eyes and a slight ‘bzzz’ sound escaped from his voicebox. Then his squirming grew anew, no longer being able to look at your soft gaze and trying to press his dazzling, gigantic smile on his shoulders, now with his entire body bouncing with barely suppressed snickers.

His tail hit the floor with an endless and quick pace of ‘thump thumpthumpthump’. The confusion in your expression immediately gave place to a wicked smirk.

Hm.

Gigglebug?

He jolted with a yelp.

Silly giggly gigglebug?

Dogday snorts and tries to pry his hands away from yours with a bit more energy than before. Still, his efforts were still half heartedly at best. In turn you just hold them a bit tighter, thumbs lightly rubbing the back of his paws as your tipped your head to the side, - not unlike he himself watched you from time to time - chasing his gaze and maybe or maybe not giving his belly a tiny - so quick and small that it was over in less a blink - nibble until he turned back to watch you with wide fuzzy eyes.

Nope. No hiding that beautiful smile, huh?

His ears perked a little bit and his wide eyes captured yours for a moment, then jumped to your kind hands, your amused, playful glare, his defenseless belly, his captured paws, your suspecting eyes and, eventually, your eyes again.

Then, without breaking contant, he shut his mouth, firmly pressing his lips in a tight line as he lowered his head to his shoulder, successfully hiding, indeed, that beautiful smile.

Ah.

You see how that is.

Dogdayy ~

He let out a muffled giggle, only pressing his face even more on his shoulder, turning away from you.

Well, since he was insisting so much…

You discreetly adjusted your position, took a deep breath and immediately attacked his lower belly.

His entire torso spasmed, almost throwing you out of him with the sudden move, a loud peal of laughter instantly filling the air as the horrible, awfully ticklish vibrations fuelled his trashing, the raspberry spreading across every single of his nerves, leaving each and every one of them tingling and buzzing.

Another deep breath. Another long, long raspberry and a crackling squeal was ripped from his voicebox, more and more following suit as you chased every sensitive path of fur non stop, not losing a single opportunity to shake your head to increase the sensations, giggling a bit at how that never failed to glitch his words and bring more squeaks to the lovely melody of his laughter.

You spared a couple of tiny raspberries for his sides, literally feeling how they made him arch his back. That only gave you even more access to plenty of sensitive, ticklish spots that you were more than happy to latch on and tickle as if the future safety of the entire world depended on sending him to a total madness and increasing your collection of “cute-sounds-that-Dogday-does”.

You experimentally began nibbling that spot that connected his back and side, right below his belt, if you were not mistaken this would…

Snorts took over the giant toy and in a blink his back immediately clued back on the floor, torso trying and failing in curling into a defensive ball. The new round of raspberries vibrated across his side and teased his entire ribcage, tickling each bone and nerve. 

Dogday tried to muffle his reactions on his shoulder, but with each nibble, each raspberry, tease and nuzzle he felt his mind getting more and more overpowered by the realization that it tickled. It tickled so, so, so much and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not when his face seemed to be set aflame and his entire body kept getting closer and closer from giving up completely from his squirms and wiggles to let himself succumb to the joyful, insane, funny and fun sensation. Not when his angel kept looking at him with so much amusement and fondness that only succeeded to make him feel even more ticklish and the fact that his giggles weren’t the only ones filling the room made him feel extra silly and made his heart melt with delight. When he was able to just laugh and squeal his heart out, carefree and loud and happy.

How could anyone blame him, then, when he saw with the corner of his eyes you lift your head and so he decided to push his luck more, continuing to hide his big, gigantic, loopy smile.

Ohoho.

So, your dear gigglebug was trying to keep all those sweet reactions away from you, even after you worked so hard for every single one of them? Now, that really wasn’t fair, was it?

You gave him a break, no longer tickling him. Still, having your voice so close made his torso instinctively try to wiggle away, which in itself seemed to only re-alight all the reminiscent tingling on his skin, making the tickly sensation it go back to buzz and dance on his nerves, increasing the phantom tickles, each passing second and taunting word making them feel worse than before. All of this only kept Dogday stuck into an infinite sea of unstoppable, hysterical titters and snickers.

Do you think this is fair at all, gigglebug? 

He shook his head and stopped, then nodded and then shook it again, giving you a glimpse of shiny eyes for a second before it disappeared once more on his fur.

Well, you think this isn’t fair at all. But that is fine. You both can stay here all day long if needed, as long it takes until you get to see that beautiful blushy face and dazzling smile. Yep. That sounds like a good, no, perfect idea! He would love this, right? To keep giggling and laughing and squealing here while being tickled silly forever and ever? 

“Sweheheart!”

Oh! You wonder who said that! It sounded like your dear friend Dogday, but it couldn’t be him, right? No, not really. He was too busy hiding away from his best friend, as it seems.

Aw, that was a pity, truly. He was such a kind, awesome presence in your life. With a personality able to brighten everyone’s life and a trustful companion that was incredibly kind and strong. Always ready to help without a second thought or a blink of an eye, to give a hand, a comforting hug or a remark that would bring you straight to reality. 

Besides, he was kind of cute, too. Like a sweet, excited puppy. He had this loud, booming laughter that, when you got him laughing for long enough, started to descend into a series of crackles that never failed to make him snort and bounce around in joy until his voice box began to glitch in the most endearing and funny way. 

“No more teasing! No more!” Dogday’s titters grew to hysterical high pitched giggles and he scrunched up his neck, trying to best to curl up and disappear as more and more heat spread across his face. His tail would make a hole into the factory’s ground at this rate.

See? It was the most adorably adorable thing, honestly. 

Actually…

You adjusted yourself again and his bubbly giggles developed to chuckles, paws tugging from your grip once again. He knew very well what that tune of yours meant.

You kind of missed listening to his laughter…

And so, with a swift move you freed your hands, fastly shoving them on Dogday’s armpits before he could even react. 

Without wasting a single second, you digged.

A shriek took over every other sound in the place. And then other as you pushed your face right in the middle of his tummy, nibbling and pressing raspberries on it without mercy all while your fingers scratched, scribbled and drummed on his pits with no abandon, nimble fingers dancing on the spot for a few minutes before jumping to other one, to prevent him to get used to the sensation.

Dogday just fell limply on the floor, his shoulders, torso and belly shook with the force of his laughter, and his arms kept jumping from hiding his face to cluing on his sides in a futile attempt to stop the wiggling from worming their way, once more, to his ribs or neck. Each snort, squeal, yelp, snicker, crackle and every other sound swirled freely in the air, especially when a raspberry found a new sensitive spot that even he didn’t know about - since when his collarbone was so ticklish? - and focused all their attention there until all his cute and fun reactions slowed to a string of bubbly, hysterical giggles and his friend went on the look for another sweet tickle spot.

His neck, ribs, armpits, stomach, even his own ears had not been safe from the playful attack. A few pieces of time passed until it slowed to an incredible, horrible kind of soft tickling that led to a series of tittering sniggers to spill from his lips and to a beginning of tears to gather in the corner of his eyes.

At this point, his paws came and gently rested on your hands, engulfing them completely, glimmering eyes finding yours as the light scribbling instinctively squirm lazily from one side to other.

You stopped, entire form melting, the playful smirk plastered on your features losing the sharpness of its corners as a proud fondness took over. You freed one hand to caress the fur of his head, chuckling with drops of amusement and care when he closed his eyes and all his muscles relaxed completely at that, his tail now going back and forth in a tired but content wag. He nuzzled your hand. 

There is it. My beautiful smile.

He groaned, pulling his ears until they covered his face. “Angel… You’re ruthless.”

Hey, it’s not teasing if it’s true!

Another groan. He muttered something under his breath but didn’t shy away from your touch.

The silence fell like a soft blanket on you, bringing to that dark, horrible place a feeling of safety and care that used to be just a pointless, futile dream, before.

(This was nice. Safe.)

Suddenly, two paws flew like a blur of movement in your direction and you felt your entire world tumble and turn upside down. 

You blinked and as your eyes focused, only to find a giant sentient toy who resembled a dog and slowly became your trustful companionship on the last days (hours?) in this factory. Someone you knew that would be right by your side and fight for your safety almost as much as you fought for his.

Although, by the way his mischievous gaze found yours and big arms embraced you in a firm, but still gentle, hug, you must admit you weren’t feeling that safe anymore.

…Dogday?

“No. You’re in friend hug jail. Paying for your friend crimes. You can’t get out.”

You snorted. Glad that you had the sense to start that playful game in the safe area you and Dogday had been clearing and taking care for some time since the ‘You Got To Be a Human and Rest’ episode.

Getting comfortable, you let out a relaxed sigh, snuggling closer, letting your hand softly run on his back in a soft, nice rhythm, not taking too long to feel him melting under the caring touch. 

Well, you may be in jail, but your consciousness was clear.

Dogday had started it.

[morayofsunshine]

SCP-3R461

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3R461 is under recon throughout cyberspace by a Foundation-trained algorithm. One C-class is instructed to manually search for SCP-3R461 each year, on April 1st. All appearances of SCP-3R461, and its instances, mentions, or references therein and throughout, are to be terminated from any servers on which they appear. Any civilians or untrained personnel who have viewed instances of SCP-3R461 are to be delivered a standard amnestic.

Description: SCP-3R461 is a YouTube channel first created on April 1st, 2015, under the name "DanAndPhilCRAFTS." This channel, when it appears, currently hosts four videos (as of April 1st, 2024). When the channel, or any of its videos (SCP-3R461-A, -B, -C, and -D, relative to original upload date) are terminated according to Foundation protocol, they appear again the next year on April 1st. Individuals who view an instance of SCP-3R461 without proper antimemetic training will experience the following progression of symptoms:

Uncontrollable excitability when exposed to the activity depicted in the corresponding instance.

Repetition of a memetic phrase that corresponds to the instance viewed. This phrase, when heard or read by other individuals, will cause these individuals in turn to begin this progression of symptoms.

Identification as a "craftie" and obsession with finding and viewing any instance of SCP-3R461 again.

Departure from current life and peers. Individuals who have departed in this way have often been later found wandering through nearby wooded areas in proximity to reports of arson or animal sacrifice.

Individuals have been observed to make a full recovery after having been delivered the amnestics noted above.

SCP-3R461 first appeared simultaneously with instance SCP-3R461-A.

Addendum: 04/01/2016: SCP-3R461 has appeared on its source server again, with its second instance SCP-3R461-B.

Addendum: 04/01/2017: SCP-3R461 has made another appearance, with its third instance SCP-3R461-C. Contents of this instance imply that it will be the final new instance of SCP-3R461.

Addendum: 04/01/2018: SCP-3R461 has made an appearance, but has only included three instances, with no new ones having been uploaded. It has been conjectured that SCP-3R461 will continue to make appearances after its termination on April 1st of each year, with or without a new instance. This page will now only be updated with a break in this pattern or a newly uploaded instance.

Addendum: 04/01/2024: SCP-3R461 has made an appearance with a fourth instance, SCP-3R461-D. This instance begins with a notice from the United Kingdom Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ) warning of events unknown to the Foundation or the GCHQ of this dimension, which indicates that SCP-3R461 and its instances are likely extradimensional entities. Individuals viewing this instance now repeat five memetic phrases, as well as a memetic title, sourced from all four instances. They have also been observed to seek out demonic entities shortly before reaching Symptom 4.

[LEVEL-3 ACCESS AND PROOF OF ANTI-MEMETIC TRAINING REQUIRED]

Document #3R461-A: Archival footage of SCP-3R461-A.

Document #3R461-B: Archival footage of SCP-3R461-B.

Document #3R461-C: Archival footage of SCP-3R461-C.

Document #3R461-D: Archival footage of SCP-3R461-D.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Still wild to me that the Avatar team saw a guy write a love story between a stick and a monkey and were like "This is the guy who we need to write Rangshi and Yangvik" and then he ended up making two of the best couples in all of the Avatar-verse TT0TT

[setacin]

Asphodel

A k!pyro send-off, and an alternate ending to his s3ep4. What if instead of being able to rest, he was forced to reckon with his actions? warning for major character death (2025 words)

“No more,” Pyro swung his glaive to fend off Rae and Clown.

“It’s all led to this,” he backed away from them, inching ever closer to the pillar, and farther away from anything that could get between him and his goal. 

“Why did you have to make things be this way? Why did you have to ruin it all?”

“This is the only way that things can truly end.”

As he ran towards the floating gem holding up the nether and tackled it to the ground, the whole nether began to shake. 

The whispers surrounding him grew louder. The voices overlapped with one another, muttering about the end of the nether, about the souls that were sure to result from their actions, about how Pyro was doing exactly what he was meant to be doing. 

He had always lived life with his head held high, his pride as a Wastewalker driving him forward. But something had changed, hadn’t it? He had felt the gentle caress of death as he lay on the ground in that cave. He knew what it felt like to want to die. He had faced his honorable defeat as a warrior and yet something had prevented him from moving on. 

Pyro’s hands began to shake, though he was unsure if it was due to the ground, the withers, or simply the gratification of the perfect execution of his plan. Those that he had used to consider his allies, his enemies, his friends, all reduced to nothing more than ants beneath him, scurrying towards the sweet taste of survival. He would crush them all. Finally taking his revenge on Clown for humiliating him not so long ago. He would take everything from him, even if it meant that he lost himself in the process. 

He hadn’t known that the actions he had so thoughtlessly performed at only 15 would have set him on this path. That killing that wither and taking its head for a trophy would impact him even now. That even with all that he had done in the last few years, his fate was already sealed.

Even if he could go back and warn his younger self of the consequences of slaying that wither, would it have changed the course of history? Or would he have charged in just the same, believing that he was above the warning of the withered specter that he had yet to become. 

He took a step forward.

“At last, this realm’s misery will finally end.” 

Pieces of the ceiling fell down, crashing into the lava below. The walls began to crumble, clouds of dust and debris rising over the blackstone floor. The pillar had been toppled- the nether roof no longer had any supports. The nether would be crushed by the ceiling, and now there was no one left to stop it. The sense of something looming behind him grew stronger than ever before.

One of his glaives fell to the floor, the sharp sound of metal hitting the floor drowned out by the low rumble of falling stone. 

“No more wars, no more suffering, no more death.”

He could just barely see a flash of black and bright blue out of the corner of his eye. The faint rattling of bones joined the chorus of whispers, all chattering in anticipation of the nether’s imminent destruction. 

How could the other Wastewalkers not see the grand plans laid so easily at their feet, the obvious solution for the problems that had been plaguing the nether since the dawn of civilization? 

“Every living soul finally released.”

He barely noticed his other glaive joining the first on the floor, staring up instead at the last moments of the temple. The glow from the wither’s eyes was almost blinding, the voices now deafening as they reveled in the power flooding towards them from those that had already been killed by the collapsing roof. 

“Finally, we’re free.”

Even as his world crashed down around him, it felt like a weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. No longer would he need to lead those around him- he had played his part and he had played it well. No longer would Clown be able to rule the nether and exploit its citizens. No longer would he have to look into his allies’ eyes and see reflected in them all the ways that he had failed. 

“I’m… free.”

He took a final gasping breath as he was crushed under the weight of the world. A fitting fate for any legend, to be immortalized in stone. 

His eyes closed, and all was silent. 

—

It was just like last time. He felt the strength leave his body, an almost painful coldness setting in to all of his limbs. There was no more fighting anymore. However, unlike last time there were no voices, no tether to the material world to drag him back from the brink. The wither was gone. The pressure of the roof no longer weighed on him, the netherian smell of metal, fire, and smoke faded away along with his warmth. 

His consciousness drifted. Was this all that awaited wastewalkers after death? A dark, cold nothingness? 

Maybe he was no longer a Wastewalker to the world. He had forsaken their creed, their oath, their bond as Wastewalkers. And for what? A twisted sense of revenge? The desire to single-handedly make any sort of impact on the world? 

Some legacy this would be, not the savior of the nether but its executioner. 

For the first time since he had been saved from the brink of death, his mind was empty of the wither’s murmuring voice in his ears. He had gotten so used to its suggestions, to the information that it provided him during his 6 months in the void that he had almost forgotten what this felt like. With his mind fully to himself for once, he began to regret. 

Had it really been worth it, the cleansing of Clown’s influence at the cost of the innocent people of the nether? He had fed the voices that cried for revenge, only for the wither to be crushed just the same as everyone else. The rest of the Wastewalkers had died for their sense of justice, but Pyro couldn’t say the same about himself. 

And what of those that he had left behind? Of Rae, who he had watched over for years; of Kae, who was just now learning how to heal; of Ash, who had only just discovered himself? He thought he might have seen them get out alive at least. Hopefully his death will hurt less than how they saw him twist and warp under the wither’s influence in life. Hopefully Sushi and Nirox could find it in themselves to forgive him for pulling them back from beyond the grave. 

There was something grating at the edge of his consciousness though, a faint sound of rustling, like wind through a wheat field. Distracting him from his reflection, the sound drew him in, quickly joined by a sweet floral smell that he couldn’t quite place. 

It seemed to be getting closer, louder, and-

—

Pyro opened his eyes. 

All that met him was a world in various shades of dull grey, the sky a shifting haze devoid of color. As he lay on the ground, the feeling returned to his limbs, though the piercing cold never left. He moved one of his fingers ever so slowly, working his way through the rest of his body until managed to sit up. 

 His hand shook as he lifted two fingers to his neck to check his pulse. Nothing. He let out a sigh. 

Slowly rising to his feet, Pyro took inventory of his surroundings. A field of white flowers stretched as far as the eye could see, a faint breeze blowing a few of the petals around. His whole body ached. 

The stalks of the white flowers varied in height, with most reaching to around his shoulders, with others coming up only to his knees, or stretching up a few inches above the top of his head. 

The sharp grey stones that seemed to make up the ground crunched underfoot as Pyro stepped towards the closest plant, one of the smaller ones. As he knelt down, he held his breath, hand stretching out to touch the flower, fingers lightly making contact.

“Mom, I’m scared,” a faint voice whispered through the breeze. “I don’t want to die.”

Pyro stumbled backwards, the rocks on the ground digging into his hands as he looked around for the source of the voice. Fear washed over him, an emotion not entirely his own. Who was this person?

He reached out to one of the other nearby plants with trembling hands. 

“We could have had a life together,” the flower cried to him, like a confession. 

Something clenched in Pyro’s chest as the feeling of longing threatened to overwhelm him. He choked out a sob as he looked at the vast expanse of white flowers that stretched out in every direction. 

He sat there for a few minutes, losing himself in the memories that were being shared with him. His hand laid gently upon one of the flowers, as this person’s last moments flashed out before him. A sound like rolling thunder interrupting their work, a massive boulder crashing through one of the walls of their commune, the sound of screams as more stone began to fall. Their lover rushing towards them only to fall victim to the crumbling of the nether. They still had their whole life ahead of them, until they didn’t. 

These were the souls of the people killed when the nether roof fell. 

His breathing ragged, and face streaked with tears, Pyro gritted his teeth together and picked himself back up off the ground. 

He made his way, one foot after the other, into the fields, running his hands along the flower stalks on either side of him. 

“This way! It’s safer over here!” They told him.

“I’ll protect you, don’t worry,” came the voice of a father. 

“Our home…” another cried.

Their dying moments, their final wishes, their final words. All spoken to him without the knowledge that he was the one that had put them here. He had caused this. It was up to him to remember them all; he was Atlas, and this was his new burden to bear. 

The fields seemed to stretch on forever, Pyro attempting to snap himself back to attention every time the cries started to blend into each other, becoming a tapestry of sound, an elegy to what could have been. 

“Watch out!” came a desperate voice. 

“Mom, Dad, I’m sorry,” a young soldier mumbled under their breath, an unwilling soldier in Clown’s army.

“Katie! Katie, where are you!” called a mother. 

A wave of exhaustion set over Pyro as he heard story after story, soaked in their grief, their anger, their despair. All while the sickly sweet scent of the flowers floated through the air. He needed to keep going though, to push through and atone to these people for his actions. Despite how the wither had managed to cloud his judgement, it was still his hands to blame. 

He paused for a second, and looked behind him. The path that he had traveled was indistinguishable from any other direction. He was dwarfed by the sheer scale of the fields of flowers before him. Funny, how a man who had spent his last moments regarding himself as greater than those around him was reduced to nothing more than the ant that he had envisioned the others to be. 

He would keep walking, keep listening. As long as it took to get through the field, he would do it. 

The white flowers rustled in the breeze, as if acknowledging that vow. Breathing in, he finally placed that sweet smell that pervaded the air around him. 

Asphodel. That’s what the flowers were. Maybe one day he would be allowed to join them, too, to finally be able to rest. He was a Wastewalker, he was Pyroscythe. And for once, he needed to bring honor to that name. 

[vargaslovinghours]

The unusual but no less hard-hitting 10½! (1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9)

So as it turns out, I did so many Blank Slate/Have you lost your mind? doodles that I ComPletely broke the last sketchdump lol, so it gets it’s own! Who could’ve figured that making basically a full comic of Chapters 2 and 3 would’ve made just a few too many sketches lol

Because of that, I’d strongly recommend reading what I've posted of Have you lost your mind? so far before this! Spoilers and author’s notes/behind the scenes warnings and all that haha

Concept sketch for Scriabin - I always love having visual signifiers to denote timeline/AU/etc. differences so you can tell at a glance where you are :) His silhouette gets to be correct! The details, well, sorry we forgot those ♪

And concepts for Edgar! I've drawn him in different glasses before so it was a bit of an excuse, using these new/old glasses to do so again haha

But in the end I went for a reference! Remember when I drew Edgar's glasses tiny?

And I mean, if he hadn't worn them in a while, maybe they're just a bit small on him! Lol

Poor memory-less Edgar's musings, it's not just sad to be forgotten, it's sad to forget :(

Early concept of Scriabin freaking out by himself in the bedroom. I'm glad I got to keep it :D

Always gotta draw 'em reacting to something just out of frame

Poor Scriabin, he wants to be close despite knowing Edgar doesn't remember him. He has to face this whole Being Human thing completely alone! Edgar just doesn't understand!

He doesn't know how good he's got it haha, if I was really mean I'd have let him keep his glasses instead. There's a bunch of fun themes either way, but stealing from Edgar while hiding in his own hair is as good as any hehe <3

Blank-faced Edgar, I ended up with a lot of these, unsurprisingly. Doesn't help that he's cute haha

As usual, starting from the middle - it's just easier to get ideas flowing around a core! Also that note pointing at Edgar of "Put Todd to bed" was all the everything of the prep work I did for writing that little section, but the rest Absolutely Needed storyboarding lol

He might come to resent you if you manhandle so much right after meeting for the "first" time

Scriabin actually touches him in the original draft, but after I thought about it, it'd probably take a bit to cross the touch barrier comfortably again! Scriabin's still weird about Edgar but Edgar is wary, it's an interesting dynamic

I won't show off every panel, but panels like these where I think they turned out especially cute Have to be included haha <3 I dunno what it is but Scriabin pouting always turns out adorable ♥

Floof harder! Edgar's innocent expressions ahh <3

Starting to lay the groundwork, but still a bit nervously! It is quite fun how they skirt each other, not quite sure what the other knows - how many lies can Scriabin get away with before he gets caught!

Scriabin using some informed guesswork in conjunction with what he definitely knows, he is rather intelligent :) You can also see Edgar's unfocused eyes well in this one, I tried to draw them fuzzy behind those glasses hehe

These are all lined up like this on the page :D Really happy with his hand expressions here, and his face haha

This was one of my favourite lines - he keeps making excuses for Nny! Edgar no! - I fully admit that it's also partially influenced by how cute Edgar turned out haha, the poor thing - but he's so wonderfully fluffy!

I love this line as well, Scriabin utterly convinced that all his hard work must have gotten through to Edgar somewhere in there, he said it often enough, he must have listened to him at least once-!

And then Edgar completely cuts him off and redirects him haha, they’re both hopeless <3

So mad at himself and Edgar, comedy = pain + time, but this is still fresh! Give yourself some time!

That last line in particular is so insidious because he did that, Scriabin was the one who put him in that situation, and now he’s trying to turn it back around on him! He's the worst ♪

Guilty Edgar <3 Still pressing on (changing the subject so he doesn't have to linger on the feeling hehe), he does have his own questions

These kinds of exchanges were especially fun to look back on from their individual perspectives since I only drew it once, starting with Edgar. How honest can Scriabin really be? He can't explain everything and not be kicked out for being a potential danger to Todd or Edgar! He's gotta play his cards Just So

Edgar is also quite intelligent! Catching Scriabin out in a lie, even when he's trying so hard to skirt the truth!

Scriabin so mad about being called out, gotta rub it in just a little bit that he's Totally Right lol, what a brat <3

Scriabin is legally and morally and emotionally and spiritually obligated to mess with Edgar sexually in literally every iteration of his existence, it is a core tenant of his being and also he really really wants to (lol) ♪ Drawing Edgar all blushed up is just a bonus, who does this stranger think he is! What has he forgotten! He's not some easy man! Haha, if you only (still) knew, Edgar

Whatever he was going to say would just hurt Scriabin's feelings, better to just cut him off before another reminder gets laid out

Probably my least favourite dialogue that I had to change was making "?" into something that flowed better in just-text, it's not the same! Lots of little notes about word choice actually haha. Love them reaching for each other even like this <3

Edgar has all these feelings to contend with! My favourite shot is easily the last one, Scriabin's relaxed mouth while Edgar's heart is beating out of his veins right into his ear ♥

Pls o////ò;

Existence is exhausting

Even without knowing him, he's just a cautious guy :) And he wants to be gentle with him! He doesn't realize what he's doing, what his actions would mean to Scriabin if he could see them, and he does them all the same 💕

Pretty lad <3

Technically backtracking, to Ch. 3! POV shifts are fun lol

Zarla mentioned Scriabin curling up into a ball in the blankets and I thought it was a cute visual haha ♪ Haven't had a use for it yet but never say never hehe

I wanted to go for some high perspective shots to drive home the uncanny feeling of being really truly alone for the first time ever. That, and he's dramatic anyhow haha

His posing was very important to me! Since Edgar knocks on the door while he's still leaned against it, the contact points would Feel a specific way

Scriabin got a lot of「bracket notes」for his section, usually as digs lol, where does Scriabin get off saying that Edgar has no tact haha

More blank-faced Edgar! These were actually drawn separately - could be chalked up to how each of them remember the event! Edgar sees himself as more put-together and Scriabin as more foolish haha ♪

That horrible sinking feeling

I pick on him a lot but this really would be incredibly scary and sad! He's alone, expelled, and the only person who Knows him now doesn't even recognize him! This was probably the one scene I wanted to be just a bit longer, really feel the weight, hmm

But he's also quite resilient haha, he has to be <3 He has enough tenacity, thank goodness haha

One of those examples of panels basically repeating lol, I can only fit so much text per pose! Plus it's fun to see the little body language differences :)

Another bracket note lol, Scriabin has to be the best at everything!

And another, have I mentioned that Kaggie is my favourite of the two? ✨ I'd still like to give both K and D a more sizeable reference sometime! Scriabin continues to be the cutest when he pouts, agh <3

Touchy touchy touch ♥

I do love the phrase "feeling himself" right after the last panel lol - it can be both literal and metaphorical! And that's what you get for not cleaning up after yourself! I swear that lightswitch panel confused me so many times on reviewing notes lol

He's not even careful pfft. Then again if he was, he wouldn't have a mess to grumble about in the first place!

A familiar face while Scriabin's already feeling small on his lonesome, ~it's symbolic~

Ough, it hurts to think that Edgar might actually be able to watch Zeitgeist, not knowing the deeper implications. The thought of him inviting Scriabin to see it! 💔

The most important question, and he hasn't come to a conclusion yet :) I wonder what his answer will be once he stops hiding from it!

Hhhh this has been a really fun AU to write for, I'm glad that I finally put it to words since it had been rolling around in my head since early 2021 - there are so many fun and insidious things to explore! Especially on Scriabin's side, though I still think it's the most fun to be stuck behind Edgar's eyes, an aware audience knowing what Scriabin is up to while Edgar doesn't hehe ♪ Hopefully I'll have some time to return to it after a bit! :D

[wunjotheork]

Cat Got In

Characters: Marcus & Dagmar - Words: ~1100

Third floor. Turn the key. Push the door. Stop mid-step when ears pick some noises. Someone’s inside, puking.

Oh, come on...

It’s her. The chiphead. And wasted? Fuck me. Can’t help but sigh. Tired already. Motivation’s gripping the doormat. Wanna turn around and leave. Clubs are still open. Plenty of choice. Could grab a drink. Pills. Someone.

Wait, no, supposed to lay low.

Fuck it. Step in. Slam door. Lights stay off, don’t need them. Drop the tool bag on the floor, loud. Will clean the blood later. Jacket on the coat rack. Swaps shoes for slippers. Night's fucked, better get comfy.

More vomiting? At least it’s from the bathroom.

Go to roll up shirt’s sleeves. Pause. Take it off altogether. Fold and leave it on a chair in the kitchenette. Finally notice the open window. Girl can’t use a door, heh? At least she didn't smash it this time. Get closer. Take a look. No, fuck her, lock’s busted, gonna need to change it.

Now I’m pissed.

Storm to the bathroom. Reeks of alcohol and bile in here. Flick the lights on to make an entrance. Kinda dumb. Get blinded and groan. But not as much as the mess on the ground.

— The hell you doing here?

Ass on the floor, head on the toilet bowl, the elf is heaving. Can’t see her face, hidden by long platinum hair. The only answer she gives is a raised middle finger. Weighting between throwing her out the door or the window when she starts retching again.

Rush to get her on her knees. Make sure whatever is getting out doesn’t land on the floor. Tiles are a bitch to clean. Pull her soiled hair out of the way. Hands get dirty. Don’t care, they've seen worse tonight already. Can’t let go of the elf or else she falls. No more strength? Wonder how she climbed up here. But girl does look like shit. Her plastic skin's all scratched and busted.

— Drank too much?

Looks obvious, but need to be sure.

— Y-yeah...

— Why?

Pause. Then a weak laugh.

— To forget your ugly ass.

Eh. Classic cunt. Would smile, but something's different. She sounds… She sounds sad?

Crouch next to her. Don’t let go. Force her optics to meet eyes. Finally see her face. Plastic’s busted there too. Even got some blood. Hers. Sight makes the brain go numb. Feel chest filling up with anger. Wait, no. Not anger. Concern?

Shit. Getting soft with her. But hey, can’t hurt to be nicer, right?

— What happened, babe?

Girl presses her lips. Doesn’t want to talk about it. Shame in her eyes. Tries to look away. But hold on her chin is firm. She blinks like mad. Big fat tears still roll down her cheeks. A sob brings out the snot.

Damn.

Hurts to see that. Pull her closer. Sobs get louder. Big arms tight around her thin frame. Girl's crying on what’s closest to a friendly shoulder. Gripping an ork’s t-shirt like her life depends on it. And her claws fucking hurts ! Shouldn’t have given her the idea. But her chrome’s a fucking piece of art. Wanted her to be more perfect.

— Shh. Shh, it’s alright, I’m… here.

Feels strange to say that. Clumsy. Not good with people. Only good at offing them.

— Did… someone hurt you?

— Huh? No?

Gently push her away, hands firm on her shoulder. She lets go to swipe her nose. 

— What then? You look like shit.

— I got drunk, okay? Then I tried to leave but I... I fell down the stairs.

— The stairs? At the club?

A nod. Then more sobbing. Pull her close again. Not before eyes do a roll tho. Can’t fucking believe it. Know exactly which stairs she's talking about. The ones at Sue's, for the private bar. Clubbers got their back to it. But runners… Shit, whole city’s shadows must've seen her. Girl’s rep is in shambles! Not that it was that good anyway. And without one, nobody’s gonna work with her.

Nobody but me.

— I’m never gonna get rid of you, am I?

Get shoved away. Have to let go. Drunk idiot falls on her ass. Optics scream bloody murder. Girl's done crying.

— Fuck you, Marcus!

— Yeah, yeah, fuck you too, Gaby.

Stare at each other, long. Her anger fades. She looks away. Good. Don’t feel like arguing.

— I fucked up. Should have come with you.

Grab a towel and hand it to her.

— Yup.

Asked her. Insisted. Would have made the job easier. Would have kept her reputation intact. Didn’t even mind sharing the money. But the miss decided to go drink instead. Unsupervised.

Fucking dumbass.

Knees protest when getting up. Back pops when standing straight. Will need to lie down soon. Fucking exhausted. Rinse hands. Grab a goblet on the sink, fill it with tap water. Hand it to her. Remember first question.

— So, why were you drinking?

— Because I’m fucking sad and lonely, that's why.

She looks away. Topic’s over. Watch her drink. Still, think her words over. Want to help. But don’t know how. What do people do when sad? What do I do? Blurt out first thing that comes to mind.

— Want me to fuck your brain out?

She chokes. Water lands on tiles. And coughs.

Yeah, shut up Marcus.

— I said lonely, not horny.

Fair. Not in the mood for that anyway. Not my type of girl too. Take the goblet back when she’s done. Flush the toilets. Help her get on her feet. Why she so fucking tall? Have to look up now. She leans in. Forehead against forehead. Plastic’s cold. Her breath stinks. Skinny arms go around broad shoulders. Puts all her weight on me. Bitch. Still, let her. Don’t care being so close. Kinda like it. Notice all the wrinkles on her dress. Hands already pulling at the red fabric to smooth it out. Hear her laugh. She sounds tired.

— Wanna go on the couch?

She nods. Let go of the dress and grab her around the waist. Lift. Her feet barely leave the ground. Fucking giant. Can’t help but smile a little. She's heavier. Girl is putting on some more weight. Good. Can still remember how bony she used to be.

Leave the bathroom. Drop her on the couch. Grab her dress and pull it off her. Thing fucking stinks. Princess complaining about the low temperature. Shouldn't have broken the window. Go to the drawer. Throw her an old ass t-shirt three times too big. Will have to do. Have to help her get her boots off. Feeling like a damn babysitter. Except the baby's probably older than me. But when all is done? Finally lay down. Have to push her a bit. Whole body relaxes. Eyes close immediately. Feel her move to cover us with the old plaid. Nuzzling against me like I’m some kind of pillow.

— Thank you, Marcus.

Her voice’s a whisper. Did she really say that? Can only grunt in return. More tired than expected. Dozing off already. Last thing I feel is a kiss on the cheek.

[hwestalas]

GUESS WHAT GUESS WHAT GUESS WHAT

Guess what happened today?

My favorite couple in the Tolkien legendarium met for the first time!

They're the only couple I can think of, real or fictional, who met through a complaint about accommodations, and I love that so much.

Side note: How do I know this was March 20, 3019, even though it wasn't listed in the Timeline in Appendix B?

Well, according to the second paragraph of LOTR Book Six, chapter V "The Steward and the King," they met "When the captains were but two days gone," and according to the aforementioned timeline, the captains (leading "The Host of the West") left on March 18. This would mean that Eowyn probably demanded to see the Steward two days later, March 20.

Unless, of course, the captains had been gone two full days (March 19-20), plus the latter part of the 18th and the beginning of the 21st, putting their first meeting on March 21.

There is one other piece of evidence for placing this date: the Fall of Sauron, March 25 (see timeline). Eowyn and Faramir watch this, according to "The Steward and the King," on "the fifth day [...] since the Lady Eowyn went first to Faramir." Now the question is, does "the fifth day since" mean "the fifth day after" March 20 or "the fifth day including" March 21? I.e., supposing it was March 20, would the first day since then be March 20 (does not add up with the timeline) or March 21?

In the end, I decided that "the fifth day after" and "two days overall" made more sense than "the fifth day including" and "two full days plus some," bringing me to the conclusion that this wonderful event occurred on March 20, so I should post about it today. :)

Hurrah for hope, joy, "pity that is the gift of a kindly heart," and good friendship whether or not it turns into romance!!

[displacedbias]

[pre-gala]

Ted couldn't help but envy his twin sometimes. He was pretty lucky in ways Felix never even seemed to notice. Lucky in other ways? No, that would be an outright lie. But in his sense of fashion, his taste for higher class clothing, and etiquette, and language, and... all that other stuff Ted personally found boring-- were all things Fe absolutely thrived in. Ted only barely managed to learn it just because he was going to inherit their father's company, and even then, he'd hated every second. Felix on the other hand, had no reason to learn it better than Ted ever could, but he did. He had a real talent for it. And it was probably another case of doing it in the hopes he'd earn their dad's favour for once, but Ted could tell Felix did actually enjoy that stuff too.

The kindergala again... Ted shifted himself on the couch he was sitting on. --Well, 'sitting' was the wrong word. He never liked sitting still for too long with the restless energy he had, and now he was hanging upside down, back draping over the cushions, legs up on the backrest. 

It was a shame that Penny couldn't come this time. Something about being busy with the numerous afterschool stuff she'd begun taking up, and Ted understood. After all, he had MMA, music lessons, and business classes, but that was enough to juggle with the gala going on too. Besides, he could probably plan some other date with Penny, just the two of them. That'd be nice. But he was really hoping he could go on a double date, now that Felix was finally ready to ask someone out this time. No matter; he was gonna wingman the heck outta him and Ozzy, and hopefully they'd have as great of a time as Penny and himself had. ...The last thing he wanted was to see his twin sad. Yeah, no, Ted had already decided this gala was gonna be fun no matter what!!!

But still, Ted didn't entirely want to come alone either. It was a masquerade party this time around, wasn't it? ...It was kind of a no brainer as to which one of his friends would enjoy that the most.

Calling up Alice to invite her turned into a nice conversation, which turned into Ted immediately setting off to go to her house. She was such a creative person, always bursting with ideas he'd never even thought of. All he did was complain about the dress code, how much he hated wearing stiff, fancy tuxes and suits. He had plenty of those in his closet, thanks to the typical Huxley dinner parties and company balls that Ted was forced to attend as the son that Mr. Huxley had put all his hopes on since the moment of his birth. Eugh. But he really liked Alice's ideas-- much preferred them, really-- And she mentioned having some clothing in her possession that might work.

"Why not wear something else?" Alice had suggested during the phone call, "If you don't enjoy wearing formal clothing, then don't. It is a masquerade, yes? Masks are an important part of the attire, indeed, but that's just one component of it. Costumes are another big part of it. Actual costumes, not just suits and ties; although there is a lot of that in the modern day."

Ted blinked. That was news to him. "Like, Halloween costumes?"

"...Hm, well, somewhat?" Ted could hear Alice's voice teetering on how to answer that, "Sure, I suppose. Like Halloween costumes, but with a level of decorum."

"So no dressing in Spongebob foam suits?"

"I suppose you could. I don't see why anyone would stop you, but traditionally, no." Alice rejected solemnly, not even a hint of getting out of character, refined and composed, "Regrettably, Spongebob was not invented long 'til the eve of the 20th century. But I am sure aristocrats would have loved to have Spongebob costumes as their main mode of dress for masquerades, had that materialized in their time." Ted stifled a laugh as he listened to Alice continue on, "No, no, I have a proposal which should find you leagues better."

"Oh?" Ted asked, moving to sit right-side up on top of the couch's back, trying to see if he could fit in between the space between the couch and the wall (He could not). "I'm all ears!"

He could practically hear the way Alice's eyes sparkled when she got really into her fantasy, fae court, riddling, bone god roleplay kinds of scenarios she'd get super into. Especially when other people played along. "I beseech that you should don yourself a rogue of yore. One who is stealthy, perceptive, and skilled. Agile, cunning, and quick-witted-- Such a role is what would contend best to the likes of you, Theodore Huxley."

Even after knowing Alice since kindergarten four years ago, he still sometimes struggled to understand her fancy-speak. This however, actually wasn't too bad this time. "A rogue? I know what that is! Those are, like, the thief guys in D&D, right?" Ted thought about it some more, nodding to himself, "I bet they dress pretty comfy, 'cause they gotta move around a lot, too. Yeah! That sounds perfect for me! ...Uh, so, how do they dress anyway? Are they fancy enough for the gala?"

"I can exert my magic, if you wish it, to add some ‘fancy’ elements necessary. Depart for my dwelling, and you shall be bestowed garments fit for Robin Hood himself. Certainly, I have something in here to spare. Some old costuming from plays, and whatnot." Alice paused for a second, "...And you've already set off, haven't you? The wind whispers so."

Oh. She could hear the wind through his cellphone. "Right, sorry. It is pretty windy today, huh...? That's distracting. Tell you what, we can just talk more when I get to your place! See you then!"

"Then I await your presence. Godspeed." Alice hung up. And Ted was already on his way, glad he finally didn't have to wear some stupid stuffy Huxley outfit to a fancy party for once.

[ohitslen]

WOW WHAT. I UPDATED 🎉Ch. 6 of The neighbor from 311 is up!🎉

[circusfable]

What. What possessed you to write the deaddove fic,,,,, it was so good and weird and aughh??? eww???? but INTERESTING and explored grief in such strange ways AND THE DESCRIPTIONS WERE JUST DISGUSTING ENOUGH to not be too much but also to communicate that WW was dead dead

Honestly though what was your inspiration???

I can’t think of a specific inspiration for this one off the top of my head although I’m sure there’s something that’s subconsciously influencing me such as conversations with friends about fucked up story ideas and the like. That being said the way I describe a lot of the gore in my fics is directly influenced by how it’s written in the podcast The Magnus Archives since my trigun tma au is what got me started down this path of gross dead dove.

I’ve had the idea of Vash carrying around Wolfwood’s corpse bouncing around in my head for a while now. There’s something about having a typically very sane and realistic character absolutely lose it in their grief that gets to me. Like Vash has felt grief before, with Rem, the people from the great fall, and anyone else he feels like he’s failed along the way, but none of them have been Wolfwood. None of the people who he’s lost have ever known and understood him in the way Wolfwood did. So what if when he dies instead of Vash mourning but ultimately moving forward and leaving Wolfwood behind in a grave he dug with his own hands, he doesn’t and takes him with him convinced that he can still be saved.

Then because it is me and I discovered my love of writing the grossest fics imaginable I had to add the element of necrophilia because why let Vash just want to save him. If he’s alive they should still be having sex, right?

Since the fic is told from Vash’s pov I needed to balance the descriptions between still disgusting and steeped in denial so they couldn’t be too gross otherwise it would’ve seemed like Vash was too aware of the reality of the situation. If this had been told from an outsider’s perspective it would’ve been much much grosser but that also would’ve taken away from the point of the story with Vash’s grief.

Also thank you so much for reading my fic!! I’m really glad you liked it enough to want to know more!!

[kyleknight]

(disclaimer: @jamalambbamm and @woseary made some INCREDIBLE art for this fic which is beautiful and impressive and embedded in the story on ao3; what you see above is a 5 minute edit I made using a photo I took at COTA)

More Powerful Than Fear Itself Is The Will To Win by smoothlikebutter

Written as part of the Summer 2023 @mcytblraufest

Summary: After a devastating crash ends Etho’s racing career with the McLaren Formula One team, he’s forced to take significant time off to recover. While his fans are eager to see him again soon, what they don’t know is that Etho’s crash was worse than reported; he had to re-learn how to walk and talk before he could even think about racing again. But the desire to get back in a racing car is a strong motivation, so Etho pushes himself to his limits… However, his team couldn’t wait forever. His replacement is talented and the endless competition of motorsports is ruthless. Now Etho has to prove to his old team— and to the whole world— that they were too quick to forget about him. And what better place than the 24 Hours of Le Mans? ConCorp is eager to snap up a big name like Etho. They’re entering under the Garage 56 innovative category this year, and their CEOs aren’t interested in much more than publicity so the pressure is low. But they’ve also signed Joel, a ruthless pro endurance racer who isn’t about to settle for anything less than the top step of the podium and a champagne shower at the end of the race. And honestly? That’s exactly the kind of teammate that Etho needs.

[inonibird]

“Just a little spice. Well. A little of this stuff goes a long way.”

—

Chapter 8 of Part Four - Collector of the Sahuldeem series is up!

[ddovebooks]

I had someone ask some worldbuilding questions about the Dresht in my new Alien Clutch series and I had so much fun writing out my behind-the-scenes ideas for this I'm going to include it here. Light spoilers for Alien Clutch below the cut!

How do the Dresht view the yshain? Are their misinterpretations of Lee deliberate or innocent?

So the Dresht have to have a third party for incubation/procreation, but they are peaceful people who wouldn't want to think of themselves as enslavers. The solution their people long long ago came up with was basically mental gynastics and propaganda. Over their history, their government and reading materials have framed yshains as we would an abandoned, hungry puppy. They believe Yshain suffer out in the universe having to fend for themselves, working hard for meager food and poor living conditions. They're often stressed, and can have their lives shortened by any number of dangers.

They see it then as an absolute net good to 'rescue' a yshain from a life of hardship and give them a pampered pet position. The information missives Ronet/Eral receive do explain that yshains will fight or oppose their new position because they're not used to being treated kindly. That yshains don't understand that they need gags and mitts and plugs to feel good (but we will teach them!). Dresht scientists have 'done the research' and all yshain eventually settle peaceful and happy into their new lives, so don't be discouraged by their rebellion!

So every time Eral and Ronet are having those silent conversations over Lee's head, they're remembering their readings and that they must stay the course so Lee can settle into his life happily. They constantly interpret his fussing as his past trauma that they will now fix.

Do Dresht actually fall in love with their yshain?

Dresht do genuinely cherish all yshain as almost sacred, and it's expected that when a mate pair takes in a yshain it's a life bond, and they will love him sincerely.

But the Dresht do definitely... think of yshain as lower cognitive beings. It's very similar to the way humans treat pets, gentle scolding because 'well they don't know better!'. Ultimately they will always have more power than the yshain, but they do love him! As much as one can in a total power imbalance.