#i love withers XD

[blackjackkent]

OK. Some of the slightly less consequential Act 2 ending conversations now. Rakha has a lot fewer people in the Moonrise lobby than Hector did since pretty much all the tieflings are dead and Halsin has not shown up. (I'm assuming Halsin is missing for the same reason that he doesn't get his own tent in camp anymore, because the game didn't account for the possibility of him and Minthara both being around at once.)

The biggest remaining convo is probably Aylin and Isobel, but the one most immediately drawing Rakha's attention is Withers, who is being unusually vocal, plus she's surprised he's even here.

Rakha still doesn't really like Withers - he's mysterious, which pisses her off, and also takes no damage when she gets violent with him, which pisses the beast off. He did win back a few points with her by bringing her back from the dead after the Lathandrian monastery exploded, though.

So she gives him a sort of noncommittal grunt and waits to see what he has to say.

"Thy hunger denied. Selune's faithful yet shines. The balance shifts."

Rakha's head snaps up and suddenly she is playing much closer attention. Thy hunger.

Withers has shown little or no interest in the internal struggles that have plagued Rakha in the time they've traveled together. He keeps to himself; she never sees him unless they're camping, but he is always just... there, taking up space in a quiet corner, unable to be dislodged but not interacting with anyone unless he is spoken to first.

He has never said anything to her about her murderous tendencies. He only acknowledged Alfira once, in refusing to bring her back, and he seemed utterly unphased by the terrible night just recently where she practically turned into a howling animal. He has seemed utterly disconnected from all of it - until now.

"Thou hast seen with thine own eyes, and felt in thine Urges - the Dead Three unite. There are depths to this alliance yet unplumbed. Consider, mortal - do illithids possess souls?"

Rakha blinks, then scowls.

She wants to know what he meant by that first part. Her Urges connect in some way to the Dead Three, these gods that stand behind the Absolutist cult. It is not simply her nature, but something directly connected to her presence at Moonrise in the memories she's lost.

But of course he does not explain or elaborate, but instead mocks her with a question she cannot answer.

"Forget that," she says curtly. "What are you doing here, Withers?"

"Where matters of balance are concerned, I am eternally called," he says placidly, unbothered as always by her irritation. "I shall ask yet again. Do illithids possess souls?"

She breathes out sharply through her nose, briefly debating the viability of delivering her dagger straight between his eyes. It wouldn't have any impact on him, but it might make her feel minutely better.

But she sets her jaw and resists the urge yet again. He is being very insistent about this, and she must admit to a flash of curiosity through her exhaustion. "I don't know," she says after a long pause. "Don't all living things?" Such is her extremely limited knowledge, at least. Metaphysical questions haven't been a common camp topic of conversation.

"No," Withers says flatly. "Nor canst thou count mind flayers among them. Yet the Three amass an illithid army, void of apostolic souls that could imbue them with power." His eyes narrow to slits, focusing on Rakha with more attention than she has yet seen from him. "A flock without souls. Yet to what end, O tempted one? This is the question thou must come to answer. Until that time - be availed of my services."

(A/N: I'm wracking my brains and I can't remember if Hector was ever actually provided an answer to this question. :O Was this a plot thread that got dropped or did I miss something? I don't think we ever really learned a ton about the Three's motivations for fucking the world up. Maybe this is something we learn more about in Durge land.)

Rakha stares at him, baffled. It takes her a moment to parse through what he's saying. Gods, then, are powered by the souls of those who follow them. These gods, however, are converting people to mind flayers - and making them soulless.

Why?

And why do *I* need to answer? There was something unsettlingly specific in the way he said that.

"You know of these Urges," she says hoarsely. "What can you tell me?"

Withers looks back at her, steady and unreadable. "Nothing thou dost not already know."

A lie, she's almost certain of it, and her scowl deepens. She wishes she could take him by the throat and squeeze and shake until the answers he hoards fall out of him... but it would get her nowhere and only anger the beast in her head.

"You seem to know a lot about the Dead Three," she says instead, between her teeth.

"Yes," he answers. "Bane, Lord of Darkness. Bhaal, Lord of Murder. Myrkul, Lord of Bones. Once judged, ascended, then vanquished - as one, and as three."

Again his eyes narrow. Again that sudden, uncharacteristic intensity as he speaks words that make no sense at all. "The alliance is reforged, mortal. The planes thus quake, and the gods shudder."

[sourtomatola]

Not but a fool, but can a fool be trusted?

intro comic | Prev | Next

Master post

[stardestroyer81]

Five Nights at Freddy's 2 saw its ninth anniversary just a couple of days ago, and to celebrate, I wanted to attempt a redesign of perhaps my favorite animatronic from the game (And one of my favorite animatronics overall)— Toy Chica! 💛✨🍕

[theimpossiblescheme]

I think I've finally settled on an answer to my long-standing question of "Is it better for Cyrano to simply let Valvert off with a warning at first or to kill him the first chance he gets after the Ballade Duel"? And my answer is "It depends on how good a swordsman Valvert is."

If Valvert actually puts up a good fight against Cyrano, then it makes sense to me that Cyrano isn't going to keep him around long enough to keep being a threat. And in a weird way, it feels more fitting as a conclusion to a fair fight between equals who've both gotten to show the extent of their talents. That's why the 1950 movie's version of the duel is probably my favorite--it feels like Ferrer's Cyrano is actively putting in the effort to keep Cavens' Valvert at a distance. He's not just coasting through the fight, like he would with a less skilled opponent, so the kill at the end feels more earned. But I feel like you don't see that outcome as much in various productions...

If Valvert poses no actual threat to Cyrano, then he's not going to waste his time taking the duel seriously at all. He's purely in it to teach this little pissant a lesson about messing with him, and ultimately Valvert isn't worth the effort of killing. In those cases, it also hits harder when Valvert decides to fight dirty and strike while Cyrano's back is turned--he knows he stands no chance in a fair fight, so he's not going to fight fair. And if Valvert isn't, then neither is Cyrano. I used to think that this staging was mostly to make Cyrano look more sympathetic, but upon reflection I think it shows off his more ruthless side just as well. It not only demonstrates that Cyrano could've easily ended the initial duel almost instantly, but it also shows that he's not afraid of returning the cruelty others show him.

I feel like either way, it still conveys the idea of "Cyrano is not to be fucked with, so watch what you say around him or you're next."

[diofasolia]

Aftermare Week 2023 Day 5: Fall

Aftermare Week by @bluepallilworld

Original Nightmare by jokublog

Original Geno by loverofpiggies

Original Askoltale Nightmare & Geno by @bluepallilworld

I made sort of a "fall version" of Blue's Askoltale Nightmare and Geno, cuz they're originally dressed in flower-made clothing

It's kinda a thought like: the flowers/leaves will begin to wither in autumn, what will both Nightmare and Geno look like when they're in the season of fall?

So the results are in here

Askoltale! Nightmare & Geno (Fall Version??)

[vitanithepure]

Durge storyline got me thinking about Withers, and Sal and Ariel's very different reactions to him, which has me curious -- what was Vitani's reaction to Withers?

Is that a lich? Will they die here? Absolute terror. Vitani knows next to nothing about undead except for the fact they are evil and usually are not up for a conversation first thing out of their tomb. I don't remember who was with them finding Withers but I'm sure they had to stop Vitani from freaking out and hurling some fire cantrips at him😂

So imagine their surprise when he did, in fact, want to... just talk. Vitani got insulted for their assumption they are in any position to judge who deserves to live or die (very valid of Withers) and at that point, when finding him at camp, it was mostly annoyance at the grumpy skeleton refusing to explain anything while obviosuly having some kind of...spooky things going on.

Vitani did appreciate him helping out Arabella though. (and I'm here headcanoning Vitani knowing a Durge [or two, lol, that is some multiverse kind of headcanon, and their names might be Ariel and Ciaran, by complete coincidence too 😌] who owes Withers their life, so that is a big game-changer for Vitani)

After their adventure is over I imagine someone going "Hey, but you do know it was actually an avatar of Jergal, right?" and Vitani just dismissively waving their hand "Whaaat? Nah, that was just my good pal Withers! Pretty decent guy for a skeleton, too." Clueless little thing😂

[jessamine-rose]

Aahh what a lovely brainrot!! I hope you don’t mind me adding some of my own ideas :’3

Aside from taking your Vision and weapons, Capitano forbids you from continuing your training regimen. And don’t even think about secret workouts that can be done without equipment, because Capitano will find out.

Eventually, your muscles will weaken from physical inactivity, to the point that you can no longer fight like you used to. But that’s okay!! Your new body is more suited to this life of frills and luxury <3

cw: yandere, lock you up

Capitano, the one who always believed in your independence and strength and respected you. After witnessing your suffering in the wars of the Gods, falling like a withered flower to the flowing blood, he locked you away in the manor. Your weapons and vision are confiscated, and your clothes are only fluffy, elegant and cute...

[demonic0angel]

Worthwhile (click for clarity)

I think a lot of people are already aware, but I LOVE it when I make Jazz tall, long, and creepy. Something about the thought of her being like a model, beautiful and tall, but when people look at her for too long and go, ‘wait a minute, is a real person supposed to look like that…?’ is really delightful to me XD

I actually made this a while ago, but I could never find an opportunity to post it…

Image description:

Panel 1 has an image of Jason and Jazz standing together. However, instead of looking normal, Jazz is faceless, scribbled over with black and looks very elongated and unnatural. She leans over a brightly smiling Jason like a monster. Jason has his arm on around her waist, while a clawed, withered hand rests on his shoulder, presumably Jazz’s.

Damian narrates: My brother recently got a girlfriend.

Panel 2 has an image of Damian’s terrified face. He looks extremely unsettled and frightened. He continues narrating throughout the entire comic.

D: I think she’s the most terrifying thing I’ve seen.

Panel 3 has him standing in the background as a little chibi, shocked as Stephanie and Tim approach Jazz without any hesitation, seemingly accepting her “horrifying” visage. Jazz’s face cannot be seen, only her long red hair.

D: Though no one else seems to notice but me.

Panel 4 has an image of Damian flinching backwards as Jazz’s clawed hand reaches for him. He looks terrified of her. Jazz’s body cannot be seen, only the hand.

D: But even if she’s horrifying

Panel 5 has Damian ducking downwards, closing his eyes, as Jazz’s hand finally reaches him, patting his head. Her hand is surprisingly not scary-looking, but instead, human.

Panel 6 has Damian looking shocked and confused, reaching up to touch his head as a little chibi in the background as Jazz slides out of view, nothing being seen but her red hair, as she leaves.

D: *continuing the narration from panel 3* She has never hurt any of us.

Panel 7 has an image of Jazz’s back again, her skin still being scribbled over and with only her long red hair being shown. She looms over Jason, who’s beaming up at her, supposedly completely oblivious to her terrifying looks.

D: So if you chose someone like her, ahki…

Panel 8 has Jason and Jazz together again, noses touching as they smile at each other, completely wrapped up in one another. There is finally a glimpse of Jazz’s face and she looks normal, smiling happily as Jason beams at her. She is also of a more normal height, although still taller than Jason.

D: Then surely, there is something worthwhile about her….?

[the-cat-ara]

my friend the amalgamate

extras:

I had this going around in my head a while ago, I had to get it out somehow so I drew it, I love the withered Starlo design from the game but it's a pain to draw it XD

[michanvalentine]

Since I talked about my favorite sad Astarion lines, today I’m indulging in some of the funniest ones instead! There are obviously so many—he’s always a delight, at least by my standards. I adore him because, among other things, he’s truly an embarrassing little gremlin. I swear, I don’t know how anyone finds him annoying when teasing him is the most entertaining thing in the world! xD

"Next time? No, no, no." This entire scene has become iconic. It’s simply amazing—what he says, how he says it. I could watch it on a loop with a dumb grin plastered on my face the whole time. He’s absolutely losing it, completely unhinged, and I love him for it. I don’t care about the disapproval, I don’t care that he got splattered under Lathander’s monastery, and I don’t even care about the gold I had to pay Withers for his resurrection. I’d do it a thousand times over, just to have him scream in my face again! xD For the record, the first time I played, I had no idea what was going on and grabbed the weapon without thinking. Then, in full panic mode, I smashed the whole contraption, not even realizing I could escape. The second time, I did things properly and solved the puzzle. But the third time? I went there with the sole purpose of making Astarion lose his mind. It was premeditated. I left him there while I happily ran away, fully knowing what would happen to him. Forgive me, little Star, you know I love you. <3

"Can we kill them? Please, pretty please?" This one caught me off guard, but I absolutely adore it. Neil is, as always, brilliant. It kills me because everything about his body language—on top of the tone of his voice—screams how badly he wants to do it. After all, he’s a vampire, a predator, and as such, he has certain instincts. He crouches slightly, leans forward, and just the thought of it practically makes him pant. A real, proper vampire, who’s almost about to come in his pants at the mere idea of spilling blood. <3 But there’s also a bittersweet note here. The line makes me laugh so much, especially because, among other things, he’s asking for permission to do something horrible in such a cute and playful way. But that’s just it—Astarion is asking for permission from Tav/Durge, subtly emphasizing the dependent relationship that binds them, especially in the beginning. It’s almost like he’s addressing his new master.

"It's not you, it's me. I have standards." I die every time I hear this line, every time I see that smug, punchable face of his when he says it. It’s never actually happened in any of my playthroughs, but it always makes me laugh out loud—complete with a head shake at how utterly… insufferable he is. Seriously, how can you not love him? And let’s be real—his actual standards? The average Astarion-approved partner is a drunken whoremonger at a brothel, probably a full-blown degenerate. I love how he tries to act all refined, as if he’s some discerning, high-class individual who only picks the best. Yeah, sure, babe. Anyway, Tav/Durge must have really pissed him off to get a response like that. But still, I can’t help but laugh—and, weirdly enough, find it kind of endearing. Because even though he’s got the most slappable face in that moment, he's also hiding his vulnerability, and that’s exactly what makes it so good. Astarion is a walking contradiction, and that’s what makes him such a brilliantly layered character—one who constantly makes you feel a whirlwind of emotions, often conflicting ones.

"Gods above, look at you..." No, I’m done. I’m dying. You transform into a horrifying monster with unsettling fangs and four clawed arms, you get horrified stares, concern, and even a full-on scolding from the entire camp—and then there’s him. He just lifts his gaze, completely unfazed, and says this in an almost admiring, even flirtatious tone. The contrast in reactions absolutely kills me. Sure, Astarion is a vampire, a monster in his own right, but there’s a big difference between a smelly Slayer and a pale, well-dressed, ridiculously handsome elf. There's also the possibility that, after everything he’s been through with Cazador, nothing truly horrifies him anymore. But what I love—besides how hilarious this moment is—is that, out of all the companions, he probably has the fewest lines where he actually judges Tav/Durge. At most, he might call them naive if they act like a hero or see the world as a just place. But beyond that? He doesn’t criticize. He accepts almost everything.

"You have a type, don’t you? Elven prostitutes." This line completely caught me off guard—I had to actually stop and think about it to fully get it. And even then, I kept questioning whether he was really saying what I thought he was saying. And yes. Yes, he absolutely is! I lost it. At first, I didn't even connect the dots that he was talking about himself, so obviously, if I’d been visiting brothels and then ended up with him, I had a type! xD I know, I know—the subtext is actually kind of sad. But that's exactly what makes the line so brilliant! Once again, it’s layered with meaning. There's a bit of resentment, his low opinion of himself, his harsh realism, and of course, his ever-present sarcasm. And yet, it’s still funny. Honestly, I’ve never encountered a character before Astarion who can express so much and evoke so much in just a single line. <3

"I'm actually a princess of House Nightstar." This one kills me every time. Especially the way Neil spits out the name of the tarrasque, Jhonatan. The moment I hear "Jhonatan," I completely lose it. This is, of course, pure sarcasm—his go-to defense mechanism to keep people at arm’s length and wriggle out of uncomfortable situations. Tav/Durge is telling him not to hide things anymore, and we all know Astarion hates talking about himself, especially when it comes to painful or difficult topics like his scars or the deal with Mephistopheles. And naturally, this is how he responds. I just can’t! He’s such an idiot! I love him. And for the record... Jhonatan is one of us! A fantastic husband, I’m sure of it! Someone should absolutely write an Astarion x Jhonatan fanfic. xD

I'll stop here for now. I have a million more favorites I could add, but honestly, pretty much everything Astarion says deserves a discussion of its own! Maybe, when I just can't help myself anymore, I'll make another post about his other fantastic lines. xD

[alchemicaladarna]

[Very long post ahead XD]

You know what, I'm not done talking about tr!ros dying to tr!bad because the themes here, accidental or not, and the implications of those themes, hit so hard. its more like a stab in the heart, to be honest.

Because one of the reasons why tr!bad agreed to kill tr!ros (this is paraphrasing what he said ooc) was because he knew tr!ros thought she had no other options left but to die. He saw that she was suffering so much that she genuinely thought dying would be the better outcome for everyone else. Tr!bad did try to prevent her death, believe it or not. Tr!ros asked him to kill her the day before, so he made a deal to delay the death then told tr!aimsey after. He tried to warn whoever he could that this was happening in the hopes that tr!aimsey or maybe tr!foolish- just anyone, really- can change tr!ros' mind. That maybe, when tr!bad wakes up the next day, tr!ros will call off the deal and forget the whole thing happened. Death is inevitable, but in this instance, even tr!bad, the personification of death, tried to prevent it because even he was hoping for a different outcome. He cared about her enough to not want to kill her. But in the end, it had to be done.

Do you know why this makes me insane? Ros has been broken and has been suffering for so long, even before the Null, and if you look close enough, you can see the times where she just longed for death. And then finally, upon witnessing all the people she cared about suffer endlessly, some of them losing lives because of her, she decided that she must die because it'll be better for everybody else. It's not true, but it was so ingrained in her mind, I don't think there was any amount of convincing or help that could have prevented her from knocking on death's door.

It's like what Bad said: it was either that he kills her in front of all her loved ones, or she goes off and dies alone. Withering away, at a place nobody could find her corpse.

!Bad knows a lot about dying alone, ironically enough. He knows a lot about the kind of death that prolongs suffering. To have your body rot from the inside out; to have your flesh melt off your bones for months on end, no matter how much your loved ones try to heal you. To be alone when your body finally withers away, not because nobody wanted to help you, but because you didn't want help, and it would've been too late to save you. So you die a slow and painful death. In a lavender field. In the middle of nowhere. Calling out your loved ones' names with your final breath, a hint of regret flashing through your mind before it all fades and then you're gone.

You can see why tr!bad claims it to be a kindness, a mercy, that he took tr!ros' life in front of those she loved and cared for. Even though they couldn't prevent her death, at least they were able to spend a little more time with her, and at least they were able to grieve and give her a proper grave. It was the closest thing to comfort that death can provide.

And here's the thing about death: we always ask why it happened, why did it have to take our loved one, what did they do to deserve this, what could you have changed to prevent this? In the end, you can't really blame death itself because it's a force of nature. But it's a bit different this time. This time, death has a face. Death has a name. Death has a physical, mortal manifestation, and eventually it can be hunted down and killed. They stop asking why tr!ros decided to die, and start asking why tr!bad killed ros.

Tr!bad told tr!Zam to ask ros. While that sounds a lot like a threat, I think he also meant it in a "ask ros what her reasons were. Ask her why she came to death's door. Ask her why she suffered and maybe you could begin to understand why she died."

Even though it was tr!ros' own decision to seek death, it's only natural that everyone blames tr!bad because he pulled the trigger, no matter what tr!ros' reasons were. Before they can accept that tr!ros is gone, I think a lot of people might want to exact revenge upon tr!bad. Sadly, that's how grief works- especially since the death felt more like a homicide than a self-orchestrated murder.

It's tragic because people did try to help tr!ros. They loved and cared about her. She was the kingdom's beloved architect- a friend and a part of their family. Even those outside of the kingdom and tr!aimsey cared about her. And it's not that they didn't try to prevent her death either. Another tragic aspect about this is that tr!foolish tried to take her through the server to help her see that there was still so much to live for. There was still so much Life could offer, but she already made a deal with Death, and unfortunately, it was the inevitable outcome for tr!ros, beloved as she was.

[blackjackkent]

I'm going through Withers' dialogue with a PC who romanced Karlach at the epilogue party after she dies (for Reasons), and I'm not going to make use of this in the thing I'm writing but I NEED EVERYONE TO KNOW that this dialogue exists:

PC: "I'm being strong. It's what she would have wanted."

Withers: Truly? Most of the time it was she who was strong for thee. Didst thou not employ her ever to carry all of thine loot?

PC: Are you making a joke?

Withers: It is said that mortals require levity, that it is the antidote to any of the darkest hours. And who knew that better than she?

Alternatively:

PC: It was scary how many goblin clubs she could carry.

Withers: With thee, she couldst do anything.

😭😭😭😭

[haveihitanerve]

The Book Game: Slugs and Chinese-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE?!?!?!

(I am working on Toby’s Pocket commentary I swear) I saw this one yesterday and its too fucking funny and also shorter so here you all are :) hope you enjoy

Tom: did anyone come to a comedy show- Audience member: *my time has come* Tom: *wait I wasn’t done with my epic monologue, its really funny I swear :(*worried that it would be boring as hell- Sam: *laughing maniacally* AJ: jesus

Aj: *opens book, stares, shock, turns to audience*

I love how the second the audience starts laughing at AJ’s shock, Tom immediately knows its because of him and cuts off to look at him. They’re so fucking cute

Luke going to inspect the book, finding nothing amiss in the title, and then exploding when he sees the writing inside- I’m having flashbacks to Lonely Planet When Europe

Luke so delighted he has to cross the stage and almost falls into Tom 🫠😭

Tom having to inspect the book too because ok now Luke has been laughing for too long and he’s curious lol

“Yeah tom you bigot!” Sam needed an excuse to join the chaos and of course, insulting tom is the way to go XD

Tom’s resigned sigh and drop of the book as AJ and Luke lose it. They delight each other so much its absolutely wonderful to see

“So lukes gonna introduce this game now-” Tom wants to be a part of the chaos XD

“Make sure its not racist okay?” Tom had to shift the attention to someone else lmaoo

I just adore how they did not, in fact, think to return the book and get one they understand because, for the bit, they know this book is best, and that they specifically made AJ keep it, because he is the chaos king and would do best by it XD

“A little knowledge…” Luke: *waiting expectantly for him to finish the sentence, then finishes it for him because the sentence in the book is not that* i love them so much omg

“OH! BAD TEMPERED THOUGHT!” LMFAOOO WHAT???

“Ooh… ohhh malice!” Sam i adore you XD

Here comes aj XD

“What does that say?” YESS AJ!!! SNEAKY CLEVER BOI!!! YES!!!

“YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE??!??!” BETRAYED AJ HELPPPP- his life is flashing before his eyes dude is panicking

Audience member: *frantic* my dad does! AJ: *quickly scoots further* oh!

Aj having to break for a second and just lay still as a dying slug because what even is his life XD

“Play hateful, this.” His face helpppp-

Also love how that actually worked really well in the scene???

Tom: *introducing himself into the scene, literally* Sam: *reciprocating* AJ: [desperately] does anybody else speak chinese?!?!

“It goes with high heels.” AJ needing to fold his head into his arms to laugh, Tom pausing the scene because he heard that and what, Luke laughing at AJ’s pain, and Sam trying to keep them focused XD

AJ’s little leg kicks im crying

“MAKE NO MISTAKES!!!” Tom sounds genuinely distressed lmaoo

“OOOOHHHH!” *frantically trying to find a good line comeback*

“Variation in your tactics!” Confirmed that all that matters while speaking is proper tone because that sounds withering coming from Tom, but is actually a very mild sentence lol

Aj standing and Tom genuinely surprised while Luke and Sam fake surprise XD

“THAts not FAir!” Tom’s hands shooting up in surrender and his little grin at AJ that makes AJ smile back 🫠😭

Sam: “Troublemaker!” it is true 🤷‍♂️ AJ: *flipping open his book, forgetting he doesn't speak chinese* chapter four. Brilliant words, truly eloquent aj🤧

Aj and Sam doing “and scene” in unison, every time they do it it kills me for no reason

AND SCENE

Ahhhhh that was fucking glorious. Loved every single second of it, and this means that when I finally get to go to one of their shows, I’m bringing a German book, it has been decided lol. 

Anyway hope you guys found as much enjoyment in AJ’s distress and the other guy’s mutual delight as I did, and I shall return as quickly as possible with Toby’s Secret Pocket and Jingle Boys commentary :) 

BYEBYE!!!

@snek-of-eden @dawn-speckled

[hurthermore]

Hello I hope you're doing well!

I have a little question about the chapter (I've lost the number sorry) where Alastor and reader go for a picnic. How would Alastor have reacted if the reader had made him a ring with a flower?

A ring like that, that she'd made right in front of him, for him, as if it were a "wedding ring"

Feel free to ignore! I love your work :D

Oh my god this is so cute and I kind of wish I wrote this into the chapter now… damn.

He would take it as a marriage proposal if I’m being honest XD He would be so happy and he would cherish it even after it had withered away and died.

It would melt his heart and he would probably be so love-drunk he’d have to hide his flustered face from you whilst he wished he could kiss you and hold you close.

Also, sign the marriage certificate here -

[doormatty3]

Surface-Dweller Traditions: New Years (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You] Life with Orm is always a mix of discovery and contrast—his Atlantean heritage often colliding with your everyday human traditions. From decorating trees and trying festive foods to marvelling at fireworks or enduring bustling crowds, Orm’s reserved demeanour softens as he experiences the joy and warmth of human traditions with you. OR: A series of unrelated one-shots and mini-fics about the many types of festivities Orm and you share.

Wordcount: 3803

A/N: Happy New Year, guys. In this one Orm is confronted with another important tradition-New Years Eve XD

The stars shimmered brilliantly, their light scattered across the vast midnight-blue expanse of the sky, each one like a finely cut gem set into an endless velvet tapestry.

A silvery layer of snow blanketed the beach behind your seaside cottage, glittering softly in the moonlight. The waves rolled lazily against the shore. Their edges tinged with ice, the rhythmic sound a soothing undercurrent to the quiet night. 

The tree you and Orm had decorated together stood like a centrepiece, its branches adorned with twinkling lights and glittering ornaments that reflected the glow of the roaring fire in the hearth. The colourful lights spilled softly through the frosted window panes, their hues blending with the moonlight and casting gentle patterns on the snow outside.

Inside, the atmosphere was alive with laughter and warmth. Plates of food filled every available surface, a feast for the senses with dishes representing both your world and Orm’s. 

Golden-brown roasted vegetables glistened beside soft, buttery rolls, their rich aroma mingling with the briny scent of delicately seared fish. Seaweed-wrapped morsels, intricate and artfully arranged, brought a touch of Orm’s world to the table, their emerald hues a striking contrast against the warm, earthy tones of the other offerings.

Orm stood near the table, and he wore a simple knit sweater, the soft, charcoal-grey fabric hugging his broad shoulders and hinting at his strength. Faded jeans completed the look as they hung low on his hips.

His face, usually clean-shaven and sharp, was softened by a few days' worth of stubble, giving him a rugged, approachable charm. The firelight played across his features, accentuating the familiar intensity in his blue-grey eyes but tempering it with warmth. 

His blond hair, slightly mussed as though he'd run a hand through it one too many times, fell naturally into place, making him look effortlessly handsome as if he’d just walked out of the ocean, its salt-kissed waves still clinging to him.

The soft strands, a mix of silvery platinum and sunny gold, framed his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal in the warm glow.

He looked like someone who had finally found a moment to breathe.

Every now and then, his gaze would meet yours, and in those moments, warmth would fill you from within as you felt the pure love he radiated.

Arthur, Orm’s half-brother, lounged comfortably at the dining table, a casual ease about him as he nursed a drink in one hand. His signature smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, his sharp eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched his brother. 

“Well, well,” Arthur drawled, lifting his glass in a mock toast toward his older brother. “Who would’ve thought the great Ocean Master himself would be so... domestic?” His grin widened, clearly revelling in the rare chance to tease Orm in such an ordinary setting.

Orm, standing a few feet away, stiffened slightly at the jab but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he cast Arthur a withering glare, his sharp features settling into an expression of icy composure. 

Without missing a beat, he returned to help you arrange plates on the table, his movements precise and unbothered. 

“I fail to see how assisting my partner equates to domesticity,” he replied, his voice cool and measured, though the faintest edge of irritation crept into his tone.

Arthur’s grin stretched wider, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the shift in the conversation. “Partner?” he repeated, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You chuckled, stepping in with a lighthearted tone before the teasing could escalate any further. With a playful smile, you raised an eyebrow at Arthur. “Arthur, do you really want to challenge the man who decides if you get food tonight?”

Arthur’s smirk faltered just slightly, and he lifted his glass in a mock gesture of surrender. “Fair point,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll behave.” 

Orm turned to you, his lips curving into a soft, almost imperceptible smile as his deep blue eyes locked with yours. There was a quiet warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that seemed reserved just for you. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, quiet enough that only you could catch the words.

You met his gaze, a gentle smile playing on your lips as you brushed a hand lightly against his arm, your touch warm and reassuring. 

“Always,” you simply replied—and you meant it.

The hours passed in a haze of good food and lively conversation, the three of you slipping into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural. Arthur, ever the storyteller, regaled you with tales of his adventures, his voice rich with humour and exaggeration. 

Even Orm, sitting beside you with his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, couldn’t suppress a few wry comments about his brother’s flair for the dramatic.

His presence was comforting, his strong, broad frame leaning slightly toward you as he spoke, his blond hair catching the light of the candles that flickered on the table. His hand rested just above your shoulder, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your clothing, and the steady warmth of him was a reassurance you didn’t know you needed until you felt it.

When he smiled, it was subtle, a slow curve of his lips that hinted at quiet amusement or fondness rather than the wide, effortless grins that Arthur often wore. 

It was a smile that reached his eyes—those deep blue-grey eyes that softened with affection, holding a depth that only you knew intimately. 

A smile that made his whole face warm, as though it was something reserved just for you , and in those rare moments, the sharpness that often defined him seemed to melt away, revealing a softer, more human side of him. 

He didn’t need to say anything; the way he smiled spoke volumes—gentle, knowing, and undeniably magnetic, conveying how much he enjoyed being here with you.

As the clock neared midnight, you suggested stepping outside to watch the fireworks. Arthur immediately perked up, his grin widening at the thought of the spectacle, but Orm looked slightly sceptical. He raised an eyebrow, his piercing eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of the idea.

“Fireworks?” he repeated, the unfamiliar word rolling awkwardly off his tongue, his deep voice tinged with confusion. It was clear the concept didn’t quite fit into his world, where beauty was more often found in the stillness of the sea or the power of the waves.

You smiled softly, understanding his hesitation, and reached for his hand. The warmth of his strong fingers intertwined with yours, grounding him as you gently reassured him. “They’re beautiful ,” you promised, your voice calm and encouraging. "You’ll see."

Orm’s gaze softened, the faintest glimmer of curiosity replacing the uncertainty in his eyes. Though he didn’t fully understand what fireworks were, something in your tone seemed to ease his reservations. With a quiet nod, he allowed himself to be led outside, his broad frame casting a shadow as he stepped outside with you.

The night air was crisp and biting against your cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the cottage behind you. Arthur leaned casually against the railing, his posture relaxed, scanning the dark sky with easy confidence as if the night held no surprises for him.

His eyes were alight with the anticipation of the spectacle, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he made idle chatter.

Orm, however, stood close to you, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the dim light. His hand remained firmly clasped in yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the chill of the evening. 

Despite his relaxed stance, the tension in his broad shoulders was subtle but unmistakable. His eyes, usually sharp with focus, were narrowed in quiet wariness as he scanned the horizon; the same alertness that had served him well in countless battles now turned toward an unfamiliar form of potential danger. 

It was as if he couldn’t fully relax, his instincts still primed for a threat that didn’t seem to exist here. His eyes, reflecting the faint glow of the porch light, tracked every shadow and movement in the night, his wariness ingrained after years of living on the edge.

“It’s just a celebration,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet tension. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, your fingers laced firmly with his, hoping to ease the unease that lingered in his posture.

Orm glanced down at you briefly, the guarded look in his blue eyes softening ever so slightly. He nodded once, the motion small but enough to show he trusted your words, even if the concept was still foreign to him. 

Yet, even as he acknowledged your reassurance, his gaze returned to the dark expanse of sky, his features still taut with quiet vigilance. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the subtle strength of his hand in yours were the only signs that he was beginning to settle, grounding himself in your presence.

When the first firework shot upward, its trail carving a glowing arc of orange against the inky black sky, Orm stiffened beside you. 

His body, usually so composed, became rigid, the muscles in his arms tense as if preparing for battle. The sudden explosion that followed was loud and jarring, a thunderous boom that shattered the stillness of the night. The sky erupted into a cascade of golden sparks, their dazzling light reflecting off the snow-dusted ground and rippling waves, painting the scene in fleeting, brilliant hues.

Arthur let out a low whistle, leaning back against the railing with a murmured comment about the spectacle, but his words barely registered. Your attention was fixed on Orm. 

His hand, still clasped in yours, tightened with almost crushing force, his knuckles pale against the knit of his sweater. His gaze was locked on the sky, unblinking and intense, his lips pressed into a thin line as the bursts of light and sound continued.

You could see the flicker of something unfamiliar in his eyes—shock, confusion, perhaps even a trace of unease. For a man who had faced countless battles and commanded armies, this simple display of light and sound seemed to unsettle him in a way you hadn’t expected. It was as if the raw power of the fireworks reminded him of something far more dangerous and unpredictable.

“Orm?” you whispered, your voice barely cutting through the sharp crack of another firework streaking into the sky. This one arced high above, its shimmering blue trail splitting the darkness before erupting into a magnificent burst. The explosion sent cascading tendrils of electric blue, and silver sparks raining down, illuminating the snow, the waves, and Orm’s tense features in a ghostly glow.

He flinched violently as the firework burst with a deafening crack that echoed across the beach, his head snapping toward the sound as though he expected an attack. The brilliance of the explosion reflected in his wide eyes, which darted across the sky, scanning for unseen threats amidst the bursts of light. His breathing quickened, each sharp inhale causing his chest to rise and fall unevenly, the muscles of his broad shoulders coiled with tension.

Another firework soared upward, its fiery tail spiralling as it climbed before detonating into a dazzling explosion of gold and crimson. The burst lit the horizon with a flickering radiance, but to Orm, it seemed less a celebration and more a chaotic display of unpredictable power. His grip on your hand tightened to the point of discomfort, as though anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him steady.

“It’s an attack,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tight and edged with barely suppressed panic. His piercing blue-grey eyes were wide unfocused, as though he were seeing something far beyond the fireworks in the sky. His words were low but urgent, filled with the certainty of a man who had faced countless battles. “They’re coming ,” he said again, the tension in his tone a stark contrast to the festive display above.

You recognised the signs immediately—the way his free hand had curled into a white-knuckled fist at his side, the subtle tremor in his frame, and the way his chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths.

Orm wasn’t here anymore; his mind had pulled him back into the depths of his past, to battles fought in the shadowy expanse of the ocean, to the chaos and unrelenting violence he had endured as both warrior and king. The brilliant bursts of light and sound weren’t a celebration to him—they were explosions, signals of an impending assault, echoes of a life defined by conflict.

“ Orm ,” you said firmly, stepping directly into his line of sight. Your voice cut through the tension like a blade, steady and grounding. “Look at me.”

You placed your free hand gently against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. His gaze wavered for a moment, his eyes darting toward you as though unsure whether to focus on the present or remain trapped in the haunting echoes of his past.

He didn’t respond, his entire body jerking as another firework shot upward, splitting the sky with a deafening boom that sent waves of colour cascading into the night. His expression twisted with raw, unfiltered fear, a vulnerability so unlike him that it took your breath away. His sharp features, usually so composed, were tense with the weight of memories that seemed to drown him.

“Orm,” you repeated, your voice louder now, firm but filled with concern. You tugged on his hand, your grip steady and grounding. “Come inside. You’re safe , but we need to go inside.”

For a moment, it felt as though he didn’t hear you, his mind too clouded by the chaos of the past—the flash of explosions, the roar of battles fought beneath the waves. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, his gaze darting wildly between the horizon and the fireworks that painted the sky with bursts of light and sound.

Then, slowly, your voice seemed to cut through the haze. His eyes flicked down to meet yours, wide and glassy, as if seeing you for the first time since stepping outside. Recognition began to surface in their depths, the storm in his mind momentarily stilling as he focused on you. His grip on your hand slackened slightly, the strength of your presence pulling him back from the brink.

“Please,” you said softly, your voice steady yet imbued with a quiet urgency. Your hand squeezed his gently, grounding him in the present. “Come with me.” The gentleness in your tone was insistent, a lifeline pulling him away from the chaos in his mind.

Orm hesitated, his broad chest still rising and falling in uneven bursts. His gaze flickered between the door and you, uncertainty etched into his features, but he didn’t let go of your hand. You stayed steady, your calm presence anchoring him, refusing to let him slip back into the storm of his memories.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and you began to lead him toward the warmth and safety of the house. His steps were hesitant at first, his body tense and his shoulders hunched as though bracing for an attack that would never come. But he followed you, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

Once inside, you closed the door firmly behind you, the sound of the latch sealing away the cacophony of the outside world. The fireworks continued, their muffled booms now softened by the walls of your home, distant and far less threatening. The warm glow of the living room embraced you both, the hum of safety wrapping around him like a comforting cocoon.

You guided him to the couch, your touch firm but gentle as you eased him down onto the soft cushions. His movements were stiff, almost mechanical, as though his body hadn’t yet caught up with the safety of the moment. 

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands trembling as they gripped them tightly. His head hung low, his silver-blond hair falling forward to partially obscure his face, while his uneven breaths filled the quiet space around you. He was fighting—fighting to claw his way back from the memories that held him captive.

“Orm,” you said gently, lowering yourself to your knees in front of him so you could meet his gaze. Your voice was soft but steady, the calm anchor you knew he needed right now. “You’re safe. You’re here with me. No one is attacking.”

His shoulders trembled faintly at your words, the tension in his powerful frame still visible, but he didn’t respond. You reached out, placing a hand over his, which was gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles had gone white, and you were sure that he’d bruise himself with the sheer strength he used to hold on to it. The warmth of your touch seemed to break through the barrier of his fear, drawing his attention.

He glanced up at you then, his eyes still shadowed with the echoes of panic. But there was something else there, too—something searching, desperate for the reassurance your voice and presence were offering. You held his gaze firmly, your touch and words steady, silently willing him to let go of the battle raging inside.

His breath hitched sharply, his chest rising and falling as though he were trying to steady himself, but failing. His head shook almost imperceptibly, as if he were trying to physically dispel the memories clawing at his mind. “The sounds...” he murmured, his voice low and strained, laced with raw vulnerability. “They’re the same . The explosions, the echoes—it’s too much.”

His words trailed off, but the haunted look in his eyes spoke volumes, a silent cry for solace amidst the storm. You didn’t hesitate, gently threading your fingers through his trembling ones. His fingers were ice-cold, his knuckles still rigid from the intensity of his grip, but you held them firmly, grounding him with your touch.

“It’s not the same,” you said softly but with unwavering conviction, your voice cutting through the haze enveloping him. “Look at me, Orm. You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me.”

Your words hung in the air, a lifeline tethering him to the present. Slowly, his head lifted, and his eyes, still clouded with fear, met yours. The storm in them began to waver, the familiar warmth of your presence pulling him back from the abyss. You gave his hands a reassuring squeeze, leaning in slightly so that your steady gaze was all he could focus on.

“You’re safe,” you whispered. “I promise.”

In his eyes, you saw the shadows of a lifetime’s worth of pain—raw and unhidden. It was the kind of pain that burrowed deep, etched into his very being by years of war, betrayal, and loss. The guarded walls he always kept so carefully in place had crumbled, leaving him exposed in a way few had ever seen. His lips parted, and for a moment, you weren’t sure he would speak, but then he did, his voice low and unsteady.

“I hate this,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper, but the weight of them was immense. His hands trembled slightly in yours. “I hate feeling like this.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his tone, at the man before you who had endured so much yet still felt trapped by his own mind. You squeezed his hands gently, your thumbs brushing over his knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “I know,” you said softly, your voice steady and full of understanding. “I know how hard this is for you. But you’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Your words seemed to pull him back, the storm in his eyes flickering as he focused on you. His breathing, still uneven, began to slow as your presence cut through the fog of fear gripping him. Bit by bit, you watched as the tension in his broad shoulders eased, his body no longer braced for an invisible attack. He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes briefly as if to steady himself. When he opened them again, there was a clarity there, faint but growing, as he leaned forward.

Orm rested his forehead against yours, the gesture both grounding and intimate. His silver-blond hair, slightly dishevelled, fell forward, brushing lightly against your skin. He exhaled deeply, his voice low and filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Your hands stayed clasped around his, unwavering. “You don’t have to thank me,” you replied, your tone tender but firm. “I love you, Orm. And I’ll always be here for you.”

Outside, the fireworks began to fade, their brilliant colours dimming until only faint bursts of light painted the horizon. The final echoes of explosions gave way to the gentle hum of the night, the world returning to its quiet, peaceful rhythm. 

Inside, the glow of the Christmas tree bathed the room in a soft golden light, its gentle flicker casting dancing shadows across the walls. The warmth of the room wrapped around the two of you, creating a sanctuary against the chaos of the world outside.

Orm let out a long, shuddering breath, his hands remaining tightly clasped around yours, though the tremble had eased. His eyes, still shadowed but calmer now, searched yours as if trying to hold onto the reassurance you offered. “You’re my anchor,” he said softly, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

You leaned closer, your voice steady as you replied, “And you’re mine.”

The words hung between you, a quiet promise that needed no elaboration. Orm closed his eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips—a sign that he was beginning to let go of the fear that had gripped him. He still held your hands as though afraid to lose the grounding they provided, but his grip softened, his trust in you evident in the way he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly.

For what felt like hours but was only moments, the two of you remained there, wrapped in each other’s presence. The world outside faded, the sounds of the last firework disappearing into the silence of the new year. The steady warmth of the room, the flicker of the tree lights, and the quiet rhythm of his breathing created a cocoon of peace. At that moment, everything else seemed to fall away—no past, no fears, only the love and solace you offered each other as the new year began.

[artist-in-training-wheels]

Updated designs as of: 8/20/24

Remember when I said I was knee-deep into SAMS/LAES? Welp, I still am- so here's my (mental) designs of all the core characters (Not scaled for height)! Some notes/extra thoughts under the cut :D Added their pallets to make coloring easier!

Main 4:

Work:

I swapped Sun and Moon waist thingy; I just think they would do that since they're close. Their arm ribbons were also changed to purple to match!

Moon has a cape instead of a ruffle like Sun because... idk, I think he'd like it!

Earth and Lunar also have matching cuffs; theirs is pale/light cobalt blue.

Gave Earth's dress more Princess vibes; why? Idk, just felt like she would like it!

Sun's joints can be seen since he hasn't died and been "placed" in a new/updated body!

Casual:

Moon and Earth (kinda) have casual outfits, so I thought I'd make something for Sun and Lunar.

Sun HAS his matching friendship bracelet with Dazzle- I finally decided to draw it ^^

Sun's shirt says, "Here comes the Sun" I feel it would mostly be a gag gift, but he likes it!

I almost gave him a sweater (cause he gives me sweater vibes, tbh), but then I saw his Q&A video and went, "damn, never mind, I guess".

Lunar's hoodie was also a gag gift (cause its color scheme is similar to Gemini)- but he likes it too much, plus it's soft :D

Made Earth's sweater a bit darker, mainly cause she has a lot of light colors already (the pink comes from the sprinkle sweater!)

I also feel like the boys would take off their bells when they're not working.

It was asked how and... idk they made an interdimensional portal- I'm sure they found a way to take off the bells lmao

The other 4:

I hate how I did Ruin's rays and hat. But nothing was working for me, so... oh well...

I gave Jack the two tips for his hat because I think he'd like those- same with the arm sleeves!

Also- yes he has a friendship bracelet with Dazzle- he keeps it protected under his arm sleeve, it's identical to Sun's!

I really like how Solar came out. Specifically his boots and shirt design!

He gives me knee boot vibes, so I gave him shoes with a sun and a moon on the back (they lace up just didn't feel like adding those details)

I Like how Eclipse came out- Miiiight redesign him... depending on how the Eclipse and Puppet Show goes, but for now, I'm content :)

I never mentioned it, but I do imagine that Eclipse has a second set of arms. I would think Solar did, too, but those were taken away during his revival because of the "Eclipse sees other Eclipses as inferior" stuff!

The Evil 4:

I made Dark Sun look like Regular Sun... cause that's kinda his whole thing! But if I were to give him a different outfit- it would be Eclipse's!

Few changes to Nexus (I can't take him or his model serious tbh, I kept laughing XD), decided to give his hat a Wither shard at the tip because power (and possible corruption) go BRRRRR (Side Note: Made an AU on it :D)

I'm not sure how visible it is, but on his right cheek, you can see a virus of some kind—I really like that, so I put it on him because I really like the idea of him slowly being corrupted due to his insanity!

He has a darker shade of boots similar to Solar because... well, Solar :)

World President Earth (or WP Earth) has a lovely wine-red dress with her flag as a cape (the same flag seen in the thumbnail)!

The flag is held together by a smiley pin because why not =)

Evil Lunar (while tempting to go with Current Lunar design) has the design of the previous version because, well... that's the form he gained the power in (from my understanding)

The tip of his hat is a dying Star because that feels appropriate, in my opinion.

I MIGHT do Foxy, FC, Monty, and Puppet, but I'm not too sure, tbh, since my mental image isn't too far off from their models. Anyways, time to return to my little gremlin hole and watch the series :)