#i might just start making little embroidery pieces again

[bam-stroker]

Some embroidery inspired by the ever fabulous @venomous-qwille's Ghost in the Machine ✨

The lines that inspired it:

Along the edges of the mend trail a procession of tiny animals, picked out in colored thread. Glimmering navy magpies dip between the slender necks of wild horses in burnt orange; an otter slinks low beneath the legs of a silver wolf; yellow cats and red foxes and a tiny trail of purple rabbits that dance along the tear, paw in paw.

the glimmering fishes with their scales picked out in cyan and eggshell blue, a forest green tortoise tucked behind the hooves of a baby pink deer. You run your fingers over the stitching—and like braille you read the faintest memories of the thread there—beloved and stored in delicate little spools, two by two. - Qwille, GITM

[spamton-deactivated19970420]

i made a little hand-sewn beast based on everydayspamton's drawing & took it with me on a family roadtrip

if you'd like to make your own, i've included the [[FREE]] pattern & some rough steps below the cut, as well as an Educational Video

EDUCATIONAL VIDEO. THIS IS NATURAL SPAMFISH BEHAVIOR & IT IS NOT SCARED OR IN PAIN.

BEAST CRAFTING INSTRUCTIONS:

disclaimer: i'm an amateur & i've never tried making a pattern before, nor have i ever tried writing directions

materials you'll need:

sewing needle & pins

black thread & white thread

fabric in these colors - black, white, red, yellow, & pink

stuffing

(optional) a squeaker

notes:

for the thread, i suggest something thicker, like whats used for embroidery - i used two different thicknesses on mine, & i think the thicker one; (the black thread); stands out a lot nicer

for the fabric, i used craft felt. its nice because its cheap & malleable, but if you want something that can actually be washed & played with without disintegrating on you, don't use felt. different fabrics will have different results, though, & may not give you a clean-looking edge & lines

you can also just go nuts & use whatever colors of thread/fabric you want, make pattern alterations, whatever

if you make one, feel free to @ me, send an ask or DM me with it, i'd love to see!

^^^ here's the pattern!

now the actual steps?:

1.) download & print out the pattern - it should(?) fit normally across a regular sheet of printer paper. i don't have exact measurements, i eyeballed this whole thing & then lost the original pattern - (there's only a copy that i scanned & edited left on my computer. woops.)

2.) cut the pieces out. pin the patterns to the fabric color the instructions call for, & cut out the number you need for each

^^^ here's what you should end up with!

now the sewing! for this whole thing i used doubled-up thread & a 'running stitch', then went over it a secondary time with another running stitch to fill in the gaps. you could also try using a 'back stitch' (which i don't know how to do), but that might be tougher. the goal here is to give it an Outlined look, like a drawing

3.) with white thread, sew the pink & yellow eyes onto the glasses - pink is Left, yellow is Right. reference the image above if you're not sure!

4.) sew all the fins pieces together - on the black fin, use white thread; & on the white fins, use black thread. reference the pattern for the detailing. i made my own front fins 'wrong', but you don't really have worry too much about being exact

5.) overlap the Head pieces onto the Body pieces - making sure you have a Left and Right side! pin the heads to the bodies, & compare their lengths by holding them together to make sure you've got it right. sew the heads to the bodies using black thread. detail the head with black thread, & detail the body with white thread

6.) now that you've got the two sides of the body completed, you can hold them together to try to get even placement for the red cheeks. pin each cheek to each side, then sew them on with white thread

7.) using black thread, sew the pink glasses onto the Left side of the body, and the yellow glasses onto the Right side. they'll be slightly overlapping the cheeks

8.) with white thread, sew the front fins on to each side. NOTE: i put mine on wrong, & didn't realize until i was finished. for the 'right' placement on these (closer to the original drawing), reference the pattern, & not the images

you now have all your parts ready for assembly! for me, this is the hardest part. you'll need a bunch of pins - use the guidelines on the pattern and/or reference the below image to get the right placements

9.) pin in the back fin & the nose. leave some space on the bottom for stuffing when you start, & using black thread, sew together the nose & the fin unto the body - the fin should be sandwiched Between the two body halves

10.) pin in the tail fin. continue sewing down the back with the black thread, & sew the tail fin in - once again, it should be Between the two body halves

11.) pin in the back fin between the halves. continue with the black thread, sew along the tail & sew the back fin in - Stopping once its secured. you should have some good space still open on the belly

12.) time for stuffing. using something thin, but not sharp - like a chopstick or the back of a crochet hook - & push stuffing into the nose & tail portions. stuff the head about halfway. now, if you have a squeaker, put it into the widest part of the head, & stuff a little around it

13.) still using the black thread, sew the belly up a little more so its easier to keep the stuffing in, & then fill up the rest of the body. once fully stuffed, sew the remaining hole together

14.) congrats! you now have a spamfish. if you opted for a squeaker, squeak it thoroughly

don't worry if it's not exact, some individual variation is fun & makes your creature unique! mine has upside-down front fins with upside-down detail lines

here's the thing with some friends i had made a little bit before him. have fun with your beast!

i am not liable for any damage it causes to you or your property

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Little Wyll/Karlach/Astarion things

Astarion introducing people all, "This is my girlfriend, Karlach. This is her boyfriend, Wyll." gives him a little narrow eyed look, but Wyll is just like...buddy, my star, you were literally sleeping on my chest last night wtf are you on today.

UGH AND THEN the sun, moon, and stars embroidery. IMAGINE OK. Imagine that being for these three. Karlach and Wyll are the light of his day, and he is their light in the darkness of night. He makes a matching one for Wyll while the three are in Avernus together, but time feels less pressing as it did before. It feels like they suddenly have ALL the time in the world, despite Wyll and Karlach still being mortals. The end to their finite time is just not suddenly there on the horizon, waiting to cruelly separate them when they've had so little time together.

Karlach giving Ulder a piece of her mind and having Astarion drag her off bc he can tell Wyll does NOT want this confrontation happening. She's overheated, he can't even touch her bare skin without getting singed, and Wyll just is like. so struck by the fact that she cares so much about him that she refuses to let Ulder act like he didn't abandon his son. It wouldn't be anything bad, but it would be scathing, and end with how happy she is that Ulder and Wyll have been reunited bc Wyll's a REALLY great guy and if you abandon him like that again you'll be talking to me (and she pauses when she feels Astarion poke her to give her a look, and she can just read it) AND fangs

Astarion just crosses his arms and tries to look menacing...which, to his credit, the red eyes and teeth are creepy af, but mostly he just looks bitchy and like he might eat Ulder.

wyll practicing his dancing and inviting them both one night to dance around the campfire. Astarion sits off to the side, content to watch them. Karlach likes to dance, but not in the way Wyll does, so it's awkward at first, then after a few times where her big feet stomp on his toes, he decides to follow her lead instead. He's never danced like that before, but enjoyed every second of it. Before the evening ends, Astarion allows him one single dance just so he can show Karlach what he had been practicing. None of them talk about Astarion dancing with Wyll again. It's a treasured memory, but the two know that's a barred teasing topic (they bust his balls a lot and he just. begrudgingly accepts it, but some topics they KNOW to avoid)

wyll feeling suffocated by mizora one night and just. he's calm as hell, but Astarion notices him sulking first (I hc our resident vamp as the most perceptive at the camp bc of all i think he was doing for Caz). He tries to talk to wyll, but astarion isn't good at not bristling and it's one of those times where wyll just. he's being scathing. he's meeting astarion at astarion's petty level, and astarion is downright impressed.

he's like ????? like he's not even mad. he's just all "who knew the famed blade of frontiers had this nasty side" and he's smirking and it isn't a sexual comment at all but it accidentally does. and him being impressed rather than bristling is what leads to Astarion being the one to be like "ok now that we've had our dick measuring contest, just tell me wtf is going on"

Every time Mizora shows up, Astarion starts running his mouth like an attack chihuahua. Insults, barks, bared teeth, he does NOT like her. Karlach joins him, they play off each other a lot, actually. Like Karlach IS the attack dog, which makes Astarion feel a little more ballsy when he's mouthing off bc he knows any fight he cause WILL be ended with his beautiful gf knocking their ass out.

Wyll spends that night just. completely distraught. he can't even be with karlach and astarion, he asks for time alone to deal with his thoughts, and they respect it. Astarion keeps an eye from a distance, but he and Karlach allow him the space until he's ready for them, then they both move in to comfort him.

Karlach is great at hugs. She holds him and it's so comforting that Wyll finds himself believing it when Astarion is PROMISING that they'll figure it out. Astarion isn't soft in this moment, he certainly isn't kind while comforting Wyll, but he's genuine. Wyll knows Astarion means it when he promises that him and Karlach will be at Wyll's side to help him fight his battles, because like it or not, his battles are theirs to fight as well.

They'd go after Cazador first after Astarion is nearly (or successfully is) kidnapped. Karlach is PISSED, she's raging, ready to burn down the entire palace just to smoke Caz out. Wyll, equally angry, but actually comes up with a really, really good idea. Like he sits everyone down, goes through the battle plan, and Astarion is just so silent the entire time bc he cannot believe these two would rally so hard around him.

This is the point where every time someone is the least bit mean to Wyll, it is ON SIGHT for Astarion. Before, he'd butt in if someone crossed a line he felt shouldn't be crossed, or if it was Ulder or Mizora, but now it's ANYONE. Only he gets to insult his beloved Wyllyam.

Karlach on the docks, saying her goodbyes, holding her heart, her eyes welling with tears as she sees Wyll and Astarion look at her with just. the amount of grief in their eyes. She can't take it. it's the first chip in her resolve that allows them to swoop in and convince her to keep going.

Wyll moves first. Tells her she doesn't have to be alone, she'll have him AND astarion to watch her back. this isn't a convo any of them have had. astarion and wyll both know she'd rather die than go to avernus, but wyll KNOWS Astarion would go there in a heartbeat, and vise versa. they just know each other very very well at this point

So, Wyll is talking to her, Astarion is hiding under his cloak AND Wyll's bc the sun is threatening to burn him alive, but he can't leave Karlach alone. His own skin is cracking with the threat of turning to ash. Wyll holds onto Karlachs' hands, stares into her scared eyes, and she can SEE that he means the promise he makes to her. He will NOT let her be alone in Avernus, if she chooses to return.

Astarion, despite trying to hide from his own imminent death, gives his points. they're quick, not as nicely said as when he has a one on one with her bc he's also trying not to die, but he's more worried about her than he is himself.

Karlach, assured that the two men who vowed to love her to her dying breath, agrees to go to Avernus with them. They have one hell of a bloody time together. It's one of the best chapters in their life stories, after they get Karlach's heart fixed and they're all able to leave Avernus.

All three of them finally free of the bonds of servitude, they're able to explore the world. They're free to go where they wish, free to love who they wish, and free to finally choose their own paths and futures, though their choices will always involve being together.

[morgana-ren]

Do you have any mundane hc about Astarion? Like fave colour, what kind of books he likes, is he a morning person or does he like to lie in, favorite actual snack? Fave animal to snack on?

Obviously this after the trauma has started healing and he's learning about himself again!

Astarion is quieter and softer once he is free.

I feel like Astarion is actually a lot more gentle than he lets on. After years and years and years of faking and pretending and peacocking professionally, when he gets the opportunity to slow down, he might find he likes it. Being less snarky than he usually is sometimes. Being quiet when he could speak. Being more sincere and less defensive. Not all the time, mind you. That's still his personality. He is still absolutely Astarion. But maybe, sometimes, he just smiles softly, nods, and is content to sit in comfortable silence with the person he loves and the friends he has. He is content to just listen and watch and enjoy company.

He doesn't have to fill silence like he did before. He doesn't have to charm or seduce or manipulate. He doesn't have to be funny, or cutesy, or anything. He can just be him. And sometimes, maybe he just feels like existing and being quiet and taking in the environment. Maybe he just feels like listening. He wasn't allowed to before. He was always performing and bowing and playing a role. But now he can, and I feel like he'll sometimes exercise that. He still loves being the life of the party, but sometimes, on quiet nights, he enjoys just being.

Astarion picks up a creative pursuit for fun rather than necessity now that he can.

He has a lot of time to fill now. He can buy new clothes rather than just endlessly mending. But maybe he likes his embroidery. Maybe he continues on because he's good at it. Maybe he likes how impressed Tav gets at the deftness of his fingers and the heights of his skill. Now that he doesn't have to go out every night, he's got to find some new way to fill the time, so maybe he adds beautiful embroidery to their clothes for a flashy flourish and sews little love letters into the inside of Tav's clothing in gaudy golden threat and giggles like a naughty child when they finally see it days and days later.

He says he doesn't like reading, but he clearly likes poetry. Maybe he gives reading another shot because he can now. Maybe he feels like he has a lot to catch up on. Maybe he likes it and maybe he doesn't. Maybe he starts collecting poetry books and hoarding them like a dragon. Maybe he decides to try his hand at poetry as an outlet and is surprisingly talented at it-- or maybe he is stunningly bad but Tav still adores everything he writes because it's a piece of his heart.

He still gets up in the early mornings

He misses the sun. He misses it desperately. In the Underdark, there is no sun, and the time of day really doesn't matter, but out of sheer habit, he still gets up early and ready to go. A leftover from their days adventuring. He gets up with the sun for a very long time, even though he cannot see it.

It causes problems sometimes because his schedule is totally opposite to the other spawn. He is getting up when they are going to sleep initially. But after a while, the spawn that become very fond of him end up switching out and ending up awake when he is. He likes to pretend he can still walk the surface world any time he likes.

He still prefers human blood-- but morally... within reason

He fed on rats and bugs for so long that he will not go back. The blood is fetid and he has high standards now that he will absolutely make sure are met. He's not such a sweetheart that he's about to starve himself out to spare someone a vampiric encounter.

However, he will source it ethically when he can to spare himself the nagging. Feeding on slavers in the Underdark. Wayward drow causing a ruckus. Criminals operating underground. He tries a little bit to not kill innocents, mostly because he doesn't want Wyll coming after him and he doesn't want to upset his friends (he doesn't really care, but he knows they do.)

If he has Tav, he will feed on them and makes a point to learn a spell or buy an item that allows him to heal the bloodless bit. It's the least he can do. He will then joke that it means that he can feed twice tonight, right? Right?

They have to find a way to source an enormous amount of blood as ethically as they can (all the spawns roaming the Underdark now and they cannot have people catching wind and raiding in a fit) but truthfully, he still prefers it fresh. He still enjoys the hunt. It's still a part of him. He will 'spare' his victims when he can, but sometimes they have to die. You know how it is.

He reads smut books and develops kinks inadvertently

Just ridiculous books. Ones so raunchy and tacky it's almost funny. It starts as a joke initially because he gets his hands on one from a shipment they stole from a smuggling operation and reads it just to nitpick and make fun of it. He makes a very loud show of laughing and rolling his eyes and reading it out loud in a ridiculous voice.

But eventually, he finds it's a good way to reengage with sexuality in a safe, totally controlled way. He can read ridiculous smut books about vampires or suave, debonair playboys and laugh at them but also relate to them in the silliest way. Sometimes it's just bad writing and just for pure entertainment value, but other times, he finds it's not a bad way to examine his own feelings and view things in a way that is totally under his control with only his mind and body involved. It allows him to unpack things quietly and privately.

It's basically a completely safe way to engage with everything again after it's all said and done. He is trying to do his healing and this is just a playful, light way to do it. His life experiences will come to shape who he is, and he is finally discovering his own sexuality and needs. Maybe he develops some kinks and desires he didn't know he ever had through a book he's reading and sits there for a moment, face flushed with wine, eyes slightly wide and lips pursed. You know, the face you make when you figure things out. "Ah. Well. If I didn't know better, I'd say I enjoyed that."

He sings quietly

He only really does it when he is alone, and it's never really belting it out operatic singing, but more quiet and gentle singing. If you're lucky enough to hear him, you'd have to assume he's actually pretty good and seems to have good vocal control and an excellent voice, but it's hard to tell because he'll stop once you enter the room. He only does it when he is alone alone.

It's almost like he doesn't even realize he's doing it. They are songs from ages ago that you wouldn't even recognize if you were born in this era. Small, lost lullabies. Songs in Elvish he seems to just recall straight from memory though he couldn't tell you how. It's always low and soft and something so gentle it's hard to believe he's capable of it. He rarely speaks Elvish even when with other elves, but it's utterly flawless when he sings. Whether or not it is because he just remembers the song explicitly or because he actually remembers Elvish quite well is anyone's guess.

He likes painting

He wants to express himself. Sometimes with that kind of trauma, it's very hard to express yourself. You have to find ways to show the way you see the world around you. Things that go beyond words.

He picks it up out of sheer boredom. He finds he likes it. It's not an all consuming passion quite yet, but he likes artistic pursuits and he thinks this one is quite nice.

He paints the sun peaking over the streets of Baldur's Gate. The ocean at dawn in all its magnificent glory. The forests he remembers walking through during their adventures. A smoldering campfire beneath an orange sky. The wizard performers in the courtyard. Lots of colors sometimes, like he is reliving his life in the sun the only way he can. Occasionally draws a cheeky little building on fire like the firework shop they set ablaze. Sometimes they're funny, like Karlach dressed in a strongman jumpsuit while flexing and holding Wyll and Gale on her muscles. His sense of humor translates into his paintings.

Red and black when he is doing something deeper for himself. Memories he doesn't like to talk about. Experimenting as a sort of therapy. Sometimes they're more metaphorical and only make sense to him. Sometimes it's just chaotic, violent splashes and it ends up everywhere. Sometimes you can tell he got frustrated or didn't like what he felt because it will be half finished and then set away in frustration with the lines running so deep that it almost tore the canvas.

He isn't doing it for prestige but he will joke about the 'famous vampire painter' and how his paintings go for thousands of gold at auctions and line all the finest hallways in the finest houses. He'll laugh that he has an eternity to get good at painting, and he could become the best. You know, if he wanted to, of course. If he didn't get famous, it's because 'he didn't want to' and all of that.

When someone really means something, he will paint for them because expressing his love is still sort of difficult. Occasionally the old group will get a package that is more or less a rude and absurd painting he decided would be absolutely hilarious to send. That or poetry because that's much more intimate, but that is pretty much reserved for his lover-- and mostly only when he's drunk and cheeky.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The Lich-Queen, pt1

I stared down at my would-be fiancé, a smirk playing on my lips. "So, this is all the little butterfly has in him? How pitiful," I murmured, dragging my sword against his chest, tearing the fine silk of his shirt.

His eyes were bloodshot, rims red with tears. He trembled like a newborn calf, ripe for the eating. “Iraela,” he hissed. “You bitch. Someday, somewhere, someone will kill you.”

“Duke Tamaris,” I said, savouring the taste of his name. It was sour and hateful, like the bile that burst forth when I sunk my teeth into liver. “I was a bitch when I undid the embroidery in  Ramaeria's court dress. I think we've gone quite a bit further than that, don't you? I think I might even warrant being called a monster, or perhaps an eldritch horror. Do you mind redoing that scene again? I'll start: So, this is all the little butterfly has in him?”

When he did not respond, I snickered. “In any case, by the time I get my just deserts, you will be long dead. I will have consumed Ceredell, and all of its people. Everything and everyone you love will be lost to the eternal sleep.”

He met my gaze defiantly, biting his lip to keep from crying. I could smell the blood in his beating chest, and it excited me. “Of course,” I continued, dropping to my knees and straddling his chest, “I might let you live, if you swear fealty to me. I could always use a human manservant.” Idly, I traced his cheek with a claw.

Tamaris' weaselly face twisted into a grimace. “You piece of shit,” he snarled, jerking his head away from me. “I would rather die than bow to a necromancer like you.” He hawked up a bit of spit and tried to aim it at me. It missed entirely.

“I think you have misunderstood my meaning entirely,” I purred, running my claws down his throat, where his lifeblood pulsed. “You will be mine, whether you live or not. The only choice you have, and the last choice you will ever make, is if you wish to live under me, or undie under me.”

Understanding flashed through his eyes, and with it, despair. “You- So that's why…” He trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

I grinned at him, leaning forward, until our noses touched. “That's right, my lordling. Silly little Ram decided she'd rather throw herself and her husband into the void than watch her darling sister charm the world into submission,” I purred.

Tamaris managed a scoff. “You? Charm? A hairy octopus could be more charming,” he said. 

“I'm plenty charming,” I told him, affecting affront, “Why, if I carved someone's eyes out, they'd still smile at the sight of me! Besides, you were willing to marry me, you know. That took quite a bit of charming.”

He shook his head violently, as though waving the memories away. “You want me to serve as your… What? Slave? Bodyguard? Personal plaything? What do you want, Iraela?” Tamaris' face resumed its pout. 

He was rather cute like that, I thought idly. In another time, another world, perhaps I would have actually asked for his hand, rather than taking it straight off his wrist. “All three, perhaps,” I replied. “Or maybe not the bodyguard bit. You would make a terrible warrior, you know. Far too skinny and weak.”

“Give me a moment to think about it,” Tamaris said, a transparent ploy to bide for time. The man I loved would never bow to me, I thought wistfully. 

Ah, what did it matter? I had already won. I could indulge his fancies a tad. “Sure,” I murmured, sliding off his chest. “I give you until sundown, my dearest duke. Then you will be mine.”

I left him there, tied down and guarded by my revenants, and walked out to the window.

It was a dark and stormy night. 

Actually, that was wrong. A night that majestic deserved more than an old cliché. 

Dark clouds gathered across the sky like a pillow smothering a little child, rain like the gods' tears pelting the torn-up streets. It was pain. It was power.

It was a night to reign by.

I surveyed my new territory. Revenants and ghouls were busying up the courtyard, preparing it for my coronation. It was something out of a gothic teen's wet dream, all muted reds and blues, bruises on a lover's thigh.

A ghoul hobbled up to me, carrying a letter. “Lich-Queen,” he sqwaked, “The Spirit Empress responded. She wishes to come here, directly, and witness your coronation.”

My face lit up. “Well, tell her she's more than welcome to! The more, the merrier! And do make sure to procure some fresh meat for her, then. The rotting stuff just won't do for such prestigious company,” I told him. “Run off, Death-in-me, and be quick about it.”

Death-in-me made a vague approximation of a salute, and leaped off the roof to do my bidding. I watched him go, and began my slow glide to the main gate.

I had stolen some noblewoman's court dress, a stiff-necked thing with a high, webbed collar. It was resplendent with black pearls and purple embroidery. I had made sure to compliment her corpse on her wonderful taste after reanimating her.

My coronation would be a thing of legend. Already, the whole of Ceredell had fallen to me. My silly elder sister, prophetic oracle that she was, had thought to halt my rise to the throne by splintering Ceredell, fracturing the kingdom into little city-states, but it had done nothing but speed my progress up.

I paused at the stairs, wondering if she had known I would be the one to betray her. Had she known the whole time, whilst she held me to her bosom, smiled that gentle smile? Had she known that even her last-ditch attempt to save the country would fail so spectacularly? A grim thought struck me. Had her suicide been nothing but a smokescreen, to hide her true plan for stopping my reign?

I would not put it past her. Ram was smart, for all that she looked dreamy and lost in another world. I had not thought she would be the sort to falter on her final shot. There had to be something up her sleeve. 

I shook my head to clear the thoughts, and strode down the stairs. My Void-touched sister's ghost would not be allowed to haunt my coronation. It was going to be perfect, everything I had dreamed of as a lost girl running through the woods, as the young woman overshadowed by her soothsaying sister, as the budding necromancer who finally had the means to greatness.

[taybatwo2]

Spelldon and Friends

My first post focused on Spelldon and breaking down his outfit pieces. This one will focus on him and some other Monster High dolls….including a vampire….more under the cut because I took a lot of photos!!

From Valentine’s Diary: July 2nd

“While attempting to hide in the shadows, I bumped into a student I didn't recognize. He said his name was Spelldon Cauldronello. He had only been at MH a couple of weeks as he had been traveling with his older sister. Meeting him totally made me space out and forget to send a text that was supposed to help Clawd. He asked if I went to MH, and I said I was just visiting, but I would love to go to MH if I can. He said he'd keep me up on the groanings on around school if I wanted, so I gave him my number.”

I kept seeing fanart of Spelldon dropping a book and Valentine and Spelldon reaching for it at the same time that I thought it had happened in the diaries too, and decided to quickly pose them like that. Valentine is completely and instantly love struck with Spelldon. Spelldon is lightly curious at this dapper looking southern-drawling vampire.

It didn’t take them long to start trying to hold hands. It was a bit tricky, but they managed. They have started to flirt incessantly.

They seemed to like dancing (Valentine has had many dances over the centuries with “young fillies” he had tried to steal love from, but this felt so much different. Spelldon hasn’t danced many slow dances, but meeting Valentine has made him want to start learning).

Still working on hand holding….

Valentine is pretty stealthy (like most vampires), and has surprised Spelldon quite a few times when sneaking in for a surprise kiss on the cheek. Spelldon lightheartedly threatens to give Valentine a potion that make his footsteps as loud as a giant’s.

Spelldon might have used an invisibility potion to finally manage to sneak up on Valentine and surprise him with a kiss on a cheek. Valentine tells Spelldon he doesn’t need to try and surprise him, he would gladly take a kiss from him anytime.

“Who is this?!” Spelldon looks up and Valentine thinks he remembers hearing that voice from the radio…..

Casta has entered the chat.

Casta is still getting used to her younger brother dating an emotion-feeding vampire (especially someone who was as notorious as Valentine -she might be a famous singer, but she knows a fiend who knows a fiend who knows a vampire who has had a run-in with Valentine). But she’s proud to see her little brother thriving at Monster High She trusts Spelldon, and is happy to see Spelldon’s boyfriend tagging along and helping Spelldon gather and shop for potion supplies, and enjoy being a teenager (instead of always being on the road).

Valentine is still a bit nervous around Casta and all of her star-power (she may have threatened to turn him into a piglet if he hurts her brother. Spelldon said she was kidding and it’s a family joke).

I had forgotten that I had added some detail to my SDCC Valentine to try and make him closer to his film appearance. I had cut his hair (although he need to be dipped in some LA’s Totally Awesome as his hair is very gluey), add some paint to his earrings, glasses (and make them sunglasses with a paint wash) and shoes (I made the buckle into broken hearts and made the broken heart jacket buttons). I also added some extra gold and green embroidery to his lapel and cuff and some extra ribbon around his collar too.

Spelldon and his big sister Casta Fierce. I didn’t realize how much darker green she is until I got her out of storage (I had also painted her nails and boots too when I first got her). She also needs to be de-glued in some LA’s Totally Awesome. They look so good together, eeeeee!!!

Spelldon and his sister again (sans jacket). Oof! He might have been distracted by his boyfriend off camera.

Spelldon and Casta practicing their witchcraft while she is in town. They are not the best at fortune telling, but their mama would be proud they’re keeping up with their studies. Casta is the best at reciting magical incantations, while Spelldon is happy to be adding the ingredients. “The whole bottle should do it….I’m pretty sure.”

“This one has an invisible gas inside. And this one is a part of a rare ‘glow worm’ from a cave Valentine’s family had visited in Transylvania.” I was going to have the glow in the dark potion also hang from his belt, but it was too much weight and kept falling off.

“You’ve grown quite the collection of ingredients Spelly.”

“Thank you. I miss being on the road with you, …but it’s nice living in one place for a while. I’ve been able to safely practice my magic at Monster High. You’re right, they have a great magic course here. I’ve made new friends….and…someone who is more than a friend….”

Casta and Spelldon promise to keep Fate-timing each other at least once a week.

My G3 Deuce (don’t mind his glasses being off, all the other dolls have been told not to look at him, and visa versa, for this quick photo shoot, and the photographer was only stoned for an hour afterwards) and Spelldon (who used the same body and sculpt). Spelldon thinks Deuce looks kinda familiar, while Valentine is appalled at the thought that Spelldon might resemble Deuce.

(G3 Deuce’s hair repaint - I missed the gradient G1 Deuce had and G3 Deuce has a much more detail on his snakes in the show…..I don’t care for the paler plastic green his doll comes with).

And finally, a group photo of Spelldon and my other Monster High customs. Welcome to the family Spelldon!

[py-dreamer]

And here's the finished piece y'all!

(here's the WIP for comparison \'/\'/)

I will say, I do hope this was worth the wait and there are noticable improvements!

Honestly pretty proud of this piece!

(Also sorry I couldn't post this earlier, I had to complete some work before finishing this ^u^')

and see! I did promise Bai He the spotlight and y'all received!

I will admit, I MIGHT have gotten a bit carried away with the embelishments and embroidery but COME ON.

I know practically speaking, there wouldn't be this much embroidery and pattern on her outfit for someone living in the wild and well... a monkey BUT STILL

I just wanted her to match with Mac and achieve that gypsy look is all! I already went full force with him so why not give a little pizazz to his daughter?

(BTW, ALL members of the shadowalkers fam will eventually get their own tulle shawl/wrap thingy. You'll just have to wait for me to design Wukong & Mk)

Headcanon that Mac & Bai He made parts of their clothes together and while Mac was busy doing his own thing, Bai He befriended a cat but it got it's paws in the paint and walked all over her shawl. Then Mac comes back to the mess and Bai He decides to keep it like that. XD

Also Bai He was learning sewing and stuff (cause she rips her own clothes so often she needs to learn how to patch it up) and did the embellishments by herself and was so proud of it afterwards. (Like if Mac can get clouds on his robe in canon, then Bai He can have flowers and butterflies on her dress)

Actually y'know what? No this isn't headcanon. This is canon to the au now.

I was originally going to place the embellishments at the hem of the dress almost like a trim, but that looked too uniform so then I remembered Mirabel's dress and took inspo from that.

Additionally, I kind of retconned the purple dress in Mac's piece. I knew pink was kind of Bai He's signature but I just didn't know how well that pastel/barbie pink would fit into the foresty background but hey! We got there eventually.

You might also notice that her wristbands are present this time!

Maybe as she got older, Macaque started teaching her how to make more stuff (he is an artist after all; made his own plays, drawings, a video game) he helped her make her wristbands.

At first they were just going to have her name engraved into it but then I remembered Macaque's lantern and how it used the character for light in it's design and I thought that was super cool so I kinda stole it for my design heh...

Mei was actually a bit last minute cause Merlin wasn't in the original shot but I wanted to give Mei some screentime too since she is rather underrated. And it was a fun challenge to shade her feathers

Not much to say bout' MK, he's just good ol Mk in this one.

I will admit the hair was a little tricky here cause again: shading dark hair is a pain in the &ss but the yellow sunlight made it a bit easier

Surprisingly the hardest part of this was the background

Turns out colour picking directly from screenshots won't ALWAYS work (^~^')

hope u had fun listening to my lil au!

reblogs > likes

[miracles-and-butterflies]

For @maleficent09, based on the prompt: “even thouth casita is rebuild the magic is back she (Mirabel) worry that as some point things might go back to we’re they were and she jumps any time some one simply rises there voice and look around panicking that the house will start to crack agian.”

Again, told through Mirabel’s eyes.

This is the first of two parts because I felt it was getting too long.

~~~~~~

Never, Ever Different

Mirabel did very little in terms of Casita’s reconstruction. It shouldn’t have been that surprising to anyone: she’s fifteen, still trying to keep her grades flawless and frankly knows very little about construction.

Her only addition to the house had been a tapestry of their family. When the question came of replacing their family tree picture in the dining room, Mirabel insisted that she could help with that. She knows many people dislike the mundane tasks like this, they dislike how it takes up time. For Mirabel though it was a nice thing to do, not just to help her family, but also to feel a small sense of control and worth. 

It was something that made her feel content, glad to see the family whole and happy, comforted by the little details that only she seemed to observe, satisfied with no loose threads, all her embroidery gave her a small hint of peace. That was really her main role, the family’s seamstress, which she accepted wholeheartedly - it was better than nothing, and she always loved sewing.

The minor pieces of gratitude were a lifeline to her, after ten years of nothing. It made her day to know she’d done something they appreciated.

She’d quietly slipped inside during the final days of putting the last few pieces together through the back, and was pleased to find the dining room empty. Carefully, putting a nail into the centre of the wall and hammering in further in - the last part took longer than it should because of her weak arms.

But, eventually, the tapestry was hanging steady.

That had been two months ago.

The miracle had returned, they were reunited with their gifts and using them as they pleased, all of their images were in front door. Together, smiling. It was nice, everyone had agreed. Mirabel had settled back into her old routine of chores around the house with Pa and Tío Félix.

Well, settled, in this case is somewhat relative, considering that her behaviour is far from settled.

She’s always been skittish, but now she’s full on jumpy. Always on high alert for something.

Noise is the main trigger. Too much, too loud. It’s not necessarily small spaces, but something about the walls closing in her sets her off. She hates the hugs that confine her or being huddled inside Antonio’s forts, but she knows she must smile and get on with it.

She’s not sat in Casita remains, she’ll tell herself. And then cough to clear dust all the same.

The house was quiet.

Not that she would have preferred it to be noisy. That would hurt her, and she didn’t want to think about how it would hurt Dolores.

Everyone was asleep, or at least pretending to be. That was what Mirabel was doing.

She was tired, completely exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep until the sun rose. Truth be told, she hadn’t slept right since they moved. She never remembers going to sleep, her body just eventually passes out from exhaustion.

But the thoughts in her head never went to sleep. They would be there when she woke up, when she was in school, when she was sewing, and, such as right now, when she went to bed.

Thoughts about Abuela. And Mama and Pa. And Tía Pepa and Tío Félix and Tío Bruno and Isabela and Luisa and Dolores and Camilo and Antonio.

Thoughts about all the horrible ways this second chance could crumble to nothing. Of all the little mistakes she was bound to make and all the different ways it would drive people away.

What if she messes up?

What if she gets in the way?

What if they continue to forget her?

What if the miracle fades?

What if the house cracks?

What if the house collapses?

What if they leave her for dead?

Within a second, Mirabel is out of bed. Her feet pacing along the cold wood, arms wrapping around her sides.

She tries to stop herself from spiralling any further. Digging her fingernails harsh into the fabric around her hips, she desperately tried to ground herself.

This was getting ridiculous. She hadn’t even been anywhere near the cracks this time. Usually, this happened when she was in the dining room or the bottom of the stairs or staring up at where the candle use to be.

She carefully opens the nursery door and peers into the darkness.

Still and quiet and peaceful.

Just to be sure, she’ll have a quick walk.

~~~~~~

She’d found nothing.

Mirabel checked again, as soon as she woke up the next morning. She smiled with satisfaction, sighed in relief and went about her day.

Two, maybe three, boys not much older than Antonio had started questioning her on the way home from school. They were curious about how Julieta’s healing food worked and were going to ask Camilo, but he had told them to wait for the girl in the teal skirt.

Because still nobody knew her name.

One of the boys pulled her aside to sit with them. She complied.

“Come on! Tell us, tell us about the magic!”

“How does it work?”

“Is it just an excuse to eat cocadas?”

She’ll admit, they weren’t the best listeners, glancing constantly at each other and giggling. But they seemed to be interested in the conversation. Bouncing with questions and theories. While she was answering, something sliced open her palm.

The boy grinned at her, still holding her hand and a red stained shard of glass in the other. They all laughed. Asking if she would go get herself healed and could demonstrate it to them.

It hurt. It burned. And their laughter was ringing in her ears.

The cut looked like the one from Casita’s tile.

This time was painful. Deep. And bleeding more. It wasn’t a mere accidental scratch. This had been purposeful. God, had Camilo stitched her up intentionally? Did he know they were going to do this?

“Hello? Why aren’t you getting healed?”

“Do you not feel hungry?”

“She looks like she’s about to cry.”

“Pft! I wouldn’t cry about that, I’m a big boy.”

She gently pulled her hand away and got up. “I’m sorry… I have to go.”

They watched, booing in disappointment, as she quickly put distance between them. Where did they even find broken glass?

Dinner is impossible.

She can’t hold anything without raising suspicion. There’s already a few red droplets on her skirt, thankfully it just blends in seamlessly with the colourful embroidery. But she starts getting concerned glances from the adults because she’s not eating and eventually, she has no choice but to suck up the pain and get on with it.

Once she’s finished, she goes to take her plate to the kitchen.

She can’t help but smile. She’s proud and bewildered at herself. She got through dinner and she’s going to go wash the bloody evidence before anyone knows anything. Maybe she’ll even go to bed early tonight.

She tucked her chair in with new found determination.

And then she heard a crack directly behind her and she dropped her plate. It shattered over her foot, shards scratching and lodged in the skin, but Mirabel doesn’t even react to it.

She couldn’t. She’s more focused on the crack.

Mirabel tries to work out where it came from. Amber eyes scanning every tile, wall and the ceiling. There’s nothing. But she heard it! There has to be! She can’t help but link it back to the disastrous proposal dinner…

“Mirabel, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Mi amor?”

“Mirabel?”

“She looks pale.”

“Sobrina?”

“Mirabel, mija, are you okay?”

“Hellooo?”

“What’s up with her?”

Over ten voices babble at once, it’s too much and Mirabel is slipping. She mentally scrabbles and grips and tries to keep herself conscious but she’s falling, falling, being dropped over the edge of Casita—

“Mirabel!”

She gasped and stumbled backwards, bumping into someone, she jerks out of the grasp of her father trying to steady her. Blurry faces are staring at her, confused and horrified; it really is the dinner proposal all over again.

She blinks once, twice. The back wall is still blurry. Where are her glasses? She was just wearing them, wasn’t she? Naturally, she’s confused and she looks around as though she didn’t know where she was.

“Are you alright, sobrina?” Pepa asked, her voice thick with worry. As if the rumbling clouds weren’t enough of a giveaway. 

“You kinda zoned out there for a minute.” Agustín explained.

“Sorry. I’m fine.”

Julieta and Félix exchange skeptical looks, but didn’t do anything when the second youngest assured them all that she was fine.

“Are you sure?” Julieta gently touches her daughter’s shoulder, “You can go up to bed if you’re not well. Someone else can handle the cleaning.”

“No, really, I’m fine.”

Sure, her ankle hurt a little, but that was just dropping a plate over it. Not from her weird and sudden daze.

Night falls and she was back in the same place she was last night.

Her mother had given her some arepas earlier, but Mirabel passed those straight to Camilo when no one was looking.

There’s nothing she can do about it. The cuts keeps opening and the memories do too. She wasn’t getting it or her ankle healed, that would make the memories real. She wasn’t doing this again. Casita wasn’t breaking.

She was curled up in bed, reading a book she doesn’t know the title of - having picked it randomly from her shelf. Holding it awkwardly in her left, unharmed hand. Hoping for sleep.

~~~~~~

The next day is a blur. But it’s not much better.

Her tapestry hangs tattered in the dining room, separating her from the rest of the family. She found it like that in the morning, when setting the table. A knife left on the counter, still caught in loose threads. She would have fixed it during the day, but everything she touches breaks. And it’s not like anyone else noticed.

She hasn’t cried so much since before Casita fell. She wept hard, her palm burned.

Mirabel was lost.

She wanted to go home.

She whimpered softly, feeling tears, but she stamped them back down. She would not lose herself. She couldn’t. That’s why Casita broke last time. Besides, she’s always been in denial of her feelings - always telling people she’s fine.

There was a crash of thunder; actual, genuine thunder. Not Tía Pepa.

Mirabel jumped out of bed, slamming her body up against the wall and staring with wide eyes as at the closed shutters as the heavy downpour of rain suddenly came down against the building.

It was dark and grey, just like this, when the house collapsed.

In spite of how clearly she remembers the fall, she can’t remember if the weather was as stormy. There had been a few drops of rain, the last of Pepa’s powers. But Mirabel doesn’t know if there was anything else.

She can easily imagine a storm.

Lightning slashing over the mountains as thunder rolled through her eardrums. Cracks appearing everywhere, jagged and fang-shaped.

She’s pulled from her thoughts by loud voices. Her family. They were arguing about something downstairs.

Abuela’s voices rises above the rest.

She tries to block her grandmother out with her hands. It’s useless. She can hear so clearly.

Thunder rattled the structure.

Not again.

She’s out the door before she knows what she’s doing, going for the candle.

Mirabel stumbled away from the nursery, managing to keep a steady balance and pace, even with her rising anxiety. Her eyes look up, staring at the empty darkness of where the candle once sat.

They don’t have the candle anymore.

Because she killed it.

Where’s the miracle coming from now then?

It was all her fault.

The doorknob?

She never deserved it.

Turning on her heel, she heads down stairs, put go breath. Several confused and concerned voices call her name from the kitchen, but she doesn’t hear them.

Mirabel’s fingers, stiff and pale, wrapped around the brass handle. Nothing. It’s not locked, she can see that, but it doesn’t open either.

She yanked at the doorknob. Didn’t budge. Was the door always so stiff? She pulled again in panic. Nothing. When the third jiggle of the doorknob did nothing, Mirabel finally unwrapped her hand from the metal.

However, to her surprise, the house tiles lifted to push her back, gently sending her to the floor, in the centre of the courtyard.

In her grave.

Or her almost grave.

She stumbled to her feet and planned to charge at the door, hoping that would open it, but a pair of arms secured themselves around her waist and pulled her off the floor. The grip was tight, crushing even, like being underneath the remains. She screamed.

“Shh, it’s okay, Mirabel, you’re okay. You’re going to be just fine,” a distant voice says. “Take it easy, Miraboo. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

That was a lie. Mirabel could never be ‘fine’ again. She was broken beyond repair. Neither was everything okay, the house was mere minutes away from collapsing.

“Mirabel, can you hear us?” Asked another voice. “You’re safe, you’re in Casita.”

“You’re safe, mija, nobody’s going to harm you. It’s just us.”

Her voice chipped away to nothingness, leaving her unable to do anything but whimper. Thrashing wasn’t doing much either, her body was tired and sore, so Mirabel relaxed in the hold. The rampage of her mind seemed to holt.

Everything about this was wrong.

Whether Agustín’s grip had become lax or he had intentionally let her go as she was calmer, Mirabel’s feet tapped against the cool tiles. Agustín’s arms had barely left for a second before she was instinctively bolting for the front door.

Once again, the doorknob refused to budge. Even as she put all of her weight on it.

An arm wraps around her again, she shrieks and whirls around, back slamming against the wood.

It still doesn’t move.

Her mind was back to going a million miles per hour, amber eyes trying to locate another solution - though most of her vision was blurry. She settled on the patio door.

Scampering to the right and screaming as if she was being murdered when someone tried to grab at her again. She continued crying out as the handle unscrewed itself before she could lay a finger on it.

The thing clanged on the floor.

Now she wasn’t only crying in panic that she wouldn’t get out, but this only proved that the building was starting to break.

It was only a matter of time.

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 26 - In Irons

This one is…a little boring, in my opinion, but hey, it’s the third to the last piece I’m writing for this event and I’m just thankful I haven’t completely burned out, only slowed down! Also if you like exhaustion this may not be boring to you at all lol

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @a-series-of-whumpy-events , @ladydani101 , @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight , @annablogsposts

Masterlist

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.” | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

Contains: lady whump, forced labor, brief and not completely serious sui ideation

.

.

It’s been almost two days since Adelaide last slept. Captain Payne had her on night watch last night, for the second time this week. All the men on board take turns staying up, and it never seems to faze them. She sees them running about the ship the next day as always, shimmying up masts and across ropes like they’re well rested. 

Maybe that makes her pathetic, or dramatic. But as much as she hates the way they look down their noses at her weakness, she is weaker than they are. Before being brought onto this ship, her days were filled with embroidery and supervising the household staff and receiving callers and occasionally going out for a horse ride. 

Now, she spends her time on her hands and knees, scrubbing the deck until her knees are bruised and her back aches. She pulls ropes with muscles that are barely starting to develop and stay constantly sore, and with hands that used to be delicate and pale but are now reddened and covered in blisters. She shoves heavy crates around to make room for more of the Captain’s loot. 

And when she’s done with all of that, if she’s lucky, she’s sent to the galley to chop and stir and tend the coals. Otherwise, it’s back to even more scrubbing.

She can keep up with all of the work most days. But she’s absolutely exhausted at night, collapsing into her hammock and falling asleep almost instantly. That means that, to her, having to stay up all night for watch duty is one of the worst things she can be assigned. It sets her back on all of her tasks the next day, which just causes the Captain to pile even more on her. Her weary, sluggish work a couple of days ago is what prompted him to assign her to night watch again after just one night of sleep, she’s sure of it. 

There are just a few more hours left now until she can sleep, though. He won’t make her stay up two nights in a row. She thinks she might just throw herself off the side of the ship if he did. He’s already had her scrubbing for most of the day, a sure sign of his displeasure with her, so hopefully that will be enough to appease him until tomorrow.

Adelaide puts all of her focus into the rope that she’s coiling. It’s heavy with sea water, and her arms protest each time she lifts it. The salt bites into the blisters that had burst open earlier in the day. But she has to get finished. She can’t be slow, doesn’t need to give the Captain any more excuses to punish her. 

“You look awful.”

Turning her head wearily toward Marshall, she scowls. “That’s no way to speak to a lady.”

The corners of his mouth twitch a little as if he might actually smile. “Sorry. You do look exhausted, though.”

“I am,” she sighs, returning her attention to her work. “But it’s not much longer until I can turn in. I’ll be fine.”

He watches her in silence for a moment. “You know, it’s impressive, what you’re doing here.”

“Coiling rope?”

“No, working on this ship. I know it’s far from what you’re accustomed to, but you’ve jumped in and done what needs to be done. I’ve seen gentlemen of your class fail miserably and eventually get tossed overboard. I don’t believe any of us ever expected you to fare so much better.”

She doesn’t know what to do with that compliment. Succeeding at working on a pirate ship, at surviving a tyrant of a captain, is not something she ever wanted to accomplish, not something she feels proud of. But she appreciates it, nonetheless. Most probably haven’t even noticed how hard she’s working, and certainly don’t care.

“Thank you. I’m only trying to survive.”

“I know you are. But the fact that you have is what’s impressive.” He clears his throat. “When you’re done there, Captain wants you in the galley.”

Adelaide just nods, finishing the last of the rope. Cooking is the easiest task she has, despite how hot it can get. “I’ll go there now.”

She takes two unsteady steps, feet heavy like her boots are filled with lead, and feels the need to reach out for the railing to support herself. Unfortunately, she doesn’t quite reach far enough. Her balance is thrown off, and she stumbles, dizzy and lacking the strength to right herself. 

Just before she falls gracelessly onto the deck, though, Marshall catches her by her arm. “Whoa. Do you need me to walk with you to the galley?”

Frowning, she shakes her head adamantly and pulls her arm away politely but firmly. “No, thank you. I don’t need the Captain seeing me as weaker than he already does. I’m only tired. I told you, I’ll be fine.”

Marshall takes a step back and nods. “Very well. Take care of yourself, Miss Gray.”

[littleladymab]

FebruarOC - Kaedmon

oh my god fam we did it we made it to the end of the month!!! And so to close it off, I'm going to talk about my Jedi OC Kaedmon because I've already talked about Uriah and ended kiss week with a drabble for them, so why not also end FebruarOC with Kaedmon. 

She was created on the tail end of listening to AMCA pod talking about their trip to the Halcyon (the immersive SW experience at disney world) and they were talking about the value of LARP vs something where it is a designed as family vacation and the varying degrees of interest in becoming a character. 

So then I looked up SW LARPs in my area and good news there is one up in the PNW so, look out Washington, I'm lookin right at you. 

When I drew her back for OC-tober (back when she was the newest character and now I have at least three new ones smh) I didn't have a name for her, but then I decided to use an old name that I've had for... not LARP characters exactly, but I was toying with the idea for using it when I was in the SCA and then again as a steampunk character thing for an RP that never took off (I ended up changing the general conceit, and that's what became Mutiny) but I still did a costume for. So I decided to give it to the Jedi OC i started making for LARP purposes! Just to continue the tradition. 

I decided to make her from Naboo MOSTLY because at LegendsCon in September I bought a Naboo Royal Sabacc deck from Hyperspace Props (you should DEFINITELY check out what they offer their stuff is GREAT), and so like, let's go Naboo, right? I was also thinking a lot of embroidery on things (specifically in a Slavic cultural concept), and I have a pair of pirate-esque costume pants with little eyelets on the side that I wanted to do embroidery around the eyelets and went "oh, naboo designs would be cool!". 

And tadaa, the general concept of her was born!

Now, you might go "Mab, I thought you hate the Jedi order, why are you making a Jedi OC?" and well, you're right I do hate the Jedi Order but Jedi/force users outside of the order are some of my favorite characters. Rebels is my all time favorite show and also I love Cal Kestis, so like. You take the honor and concepts and remove the way that the order is depicted and implemented and there you go, that's better. It's the same reason I like Paladins, because there's a degree of guilt with the freedom that's fun to explore, you know? And I would love to see more Jedi in a post order-66 setting in which they get to explore what using their powers means for them, now that they're not in a war they shouldn't have been generals/commanders in, but you get the added benefit of needing to not be public about it. (Unless you're Cal Kestis.) 

Another thing I really wanted when doing the original costume design was just to allow a Jedi or just a character in general in SW have a visible disability/need an accessibility device. Sure you have plo koon who needs a breathing apparatus because his species can't function on most worlds, but what about someone who needs a respirator to help breathe even on their home planet? SW is NOTORIOUS about villainizing disabilities (shoutouts to everyone who headcanons Ezra's funny little armor thing as a mobility device you're the real ones) (give Cere back her cane from the concept art YOU COWARDS!!!) and I wanted the excuse to use a respirator mask for a costume piece partly for covid safety and partly because it would be bad-ass. My breathing issues are minor, all things considered (though really I should get an inhaler), but they're still issues. To Kaedmon, I give you my asthma, but make it worse!

For her, she was 17 when the clone wars ended, and was up for consideration for getting knighted. Except that the clone squadron she was with locked her in somewhere and pumped in like, particulates or a toxin or something and while she was able to cut her way out, she couldn't get immediate medical attention and it ended up causing permanent damage to her lungs, so she needs a breathing apparatus to help her get enough oxygen. And she can exist without it depending on how strenuous the task, but it makes functioning far easier. 

I haven't figured out how she knows she's from naboo because of normal jedi things, but she goes back there after order-66 (she is able to sneak on planet during padme's funeral because there's so many people coming), and she spends a few years living with her cousin. But then she leaves to join the Rebellion! 

She becomes a Fulcrum agent of a sorts, and has a crew that she works with on the regular to do jobs. Vleewa is her best friend and "handler" for a lack of a better word. Kaite is making a medic OC, and so they're probably going to be on the crew too just for shenanigans. 

She prefers to keep her Jedi abilities on the DL, and it's really not until much later into the war that she begins to use them with more frequency -- characters like Cal and Cere have their exploits reach her pretty early on, and it's all likelihood that she would have met Kanan and Ezra on Yavin, and she knew Ahsoka from the get-go as Fulcrum. And so seeing them make these big moves and sacrifices really makes her think about her place in all of it, and boy that guilt eats her up inside! So she makes more and more of a show of it despite how much she doesn't like her memories of being in the order and the clone wars. Sure, she lost a lot, but she has an obligation to help people!

Anyway if you have a TCW/rebellion-era SW OC, I'd love to meet them and maybe we can have shenanigans together 8) I'm also looking forward to creating a larp outfit and maybe getting the chance to participate one year! 

The drabble will be on a separate post and will go up in full here! :) Thanks again everyone for putting up with 29 days of me talking about characters!!!! 

[gaviicreates]

Journeys in Amigurumi (Bingo Roll 1)

Spoiler: This was a challenge!

For my first roll of the bingo card, I got "make an amigurumi" - and as someone who is most comfortable with flat 2D projects with little sewing, I knew this one would really be taking me out of my comfort zone. I'm not happy when I have to sew, and I am incredibly not happy when I have to attempt embroidery.

I may not do a full blog post for each bingo roll, but as this is so completely new to me and a large part of this bingo is the journey, here we go!

For full disclosure, I've made ONE amigurumi project before this, and I haven't picked up the technique once since. So before we dive in - have a quick picture of where I started 12 years ago.

I had to dig some really old photo archives for this one.

This lil' guy was made to be a warbler for my fandom at the time. I am sure he was based off a pattern, but it's unlikely I'll be able to find it now. I also don't think I know where this lil birb is anymore; he's gotten lost in the shuffle of moving a few times since.

Step 1: Research

Research - Before even choosing a pattern to begin this challenge, I wanted to first understand more about amigurumi, so I took to Youtube, which is my usual place to learn all things.

For my intro to amigurumi, I started with a few channels:

LePetitSaint Crochet, especially this Amigurumi fundamentals playlist; olliehollycrochet, especially this beginner tutorial video; For inspiration, I've also found Skein Spider

There are quite a few amigurumi channels out there - these are just a few that I enjoyed across my youtube dashboard.

The next step of research was finding a pattern, and I feel as though this is the part of the rabbit hole I am going to ADORE continuing to explore.

Step 2: Practice

Before I started "the" project, I wanted to first get a sense of the tension and play around with a project. Just something small. In effort to avoid buying more materials, I took to stash busting some of my scrap cotton. For the test piece, I found the pattern Octobuddy by the blog, Sweet Softies.

As someone with already pretty tight tension, working with a smaller hook took some getting used to, but I liked the way this pattern was written - he's an adorable little Octopus, but it also helped me get used to the shaping and stuffing process. I used household cotton balls since poly-fil isn't the type of thing I just have on hand. I did end up buying some for the final project.

This was a good exercise for me, as I started to feel comfortable with the actual crochet and using a tighter gauge. As I was sewing the eyes, I ended up pulling the cotton up or not being able to push the needle through. He was a bit overstuffed, or maybe I tried to assemble out of order, or maybe it's just my lack of sewing experience striking again.

Beyond that, the hardest part was in fact the the embroidery of the eyes, and his are quite... something. I was not originally going for the wink, but as the two sides became less uniform, I decided to lean into it. They still turned out pretty shoddy, and I can NOT stand doing this. I told myself never again, but for another spoiler... I did it again.

My Octobuddy might still be a bit overstuffed, but he's super squishy and relaxing to squeeze, just like a stress ball, the perfect size for my palm. So he's been hanging with me at my work desk.

Step 3: Do the thing

I won't say I was ready for the next thing, per se, but I also wasn't getting anywhere just looking at the cool things that could be made with this technique. So why not jump right in?

For my actual pattern selection, I chose "Hubble" by Projectarian, available on ravelry. I love me an aquatic creature, and it called to me that not only was this pattern free, it also came with a beginner friendly pdf, quick reference, and an entire selection of written tips for the new-to-amigurumi crafter.

Squid time!

Again, I wanted to use up scraps, so my first challenge with this pattern was adjusting it for the yarn weight I had on hand to use. As a result, the eyes were made with a way too tight tension. The pattern called for some crochet for the sleeping pupil lines, but there was no way I was going to get my hook in there. For the second time, I took up a sewing needle and attempted embroidery. This time turned out a bit better than the Octopus. I adore how soft he looks with the brown cotton yarn I decided to use when I couldn't find black.

At some point in attaching the legs and tentacles, I did lose track of where I was - but that was on me since I got lazy with the stitch markers. It was so close to the end, I was able to wing it to decrease the final row and stitch up the center. Before then, I added a bit more poly-fil.

I chose not to add pom-poms at the end of the legs for the same reason as I didn't add tassels to the blanket I made. Being a mom of three dogs makes you super aware of the types of things the furbabies will get into. You should've seen their faces when I brought home the poly-fil.

But I'm ranting away and you haven't even seen him yet!!

Step 4: Finished Object!

Body: Hobbii Rainbow Cotton 8/4 - Rosewood, 3.5mm Eyes: Hobbii Rainbow Glitter Gold 8/4 - Natural White, Hobbii Rainbow Cotton 8/4 - Light Brown, 2.00mm Legs and Tentacles: Hobbii Rainbow Cotton 8/4 - Rosewood, 3.25mm Pattern: Hubble the Squid by Projectarian I call him Hubblet since I made him so small. Sleeeepy squid baby.

Make an Amigurumi✔️

[cogaytes]

day three of @tiertice-week-2023 :D

Title: always (be by my side)

Prompt: “memory”

Wordcount: 1418

Summary:

The next few months reveal exactly how much has slipped through the cracks, so to speak. How deep they go. He starts spending entire conversations focused entirely on controlling his expression, on not betraying all that he's forgotten. Whether the detailing on Cyrah's wedding dress was lace or embroidery. The sound of her laugh. The bedtime stories he would read to Wylie every night before tucking him in. Hundreds of memories with his best friend—their Foxfire days, joining the Black Swan together, late nights on the roof talking about anything and everything. Hiding the self-loathing from his face when he realizes he doesn't know the name of Tiergan's favorite Beatles song is one of his lowest points of the whole ordeal.

One day it all finally becomes too much.

---

or, prentice struggles with the effects of the mind break. written for day three of tiertice week 2023, inspired by the prompt "memory"!

Warnings: memory loss

read on ao3 or under the cut!

It's the little things that are the hardest for Prentice.

His mind is whole, again, yes. His body is healthy. He's been reunited with his loved ones. Minus Cyrah. He has a family again.

But there are still pieces missing.

Tiergan had told him what to expect, of course. As the Black Swan's resident telepathy expert, he'd been the one assigned to conduct research on broken minds and potential methods of healing. He'd urged Prentice from the very first day to consider that pieces of his mind might be too shattered to be fully healed by the time the Moonlark was ready. And Prentice had ignored him. He'd thought he was better, stronger than this; he'd been convinced that there was no way the cost would be as great as Tiergan anticipated. Worrying was Tiergan's strong suit; it was only natural that his friend would overemphasize the risks in a last ditch effort to get Prentice to find another Keeper. And he was a Keeper, wasn't he? His entire purpose was to hold memories. How could he lose them when he’d already been healed?

But, like always, Tiergan had been right.

The first moment Prentice realizes how much he's missing is one of his first nights back with Wylie. They're sitting at Tiergan's kitchen table at Solreef, sneaking leftover mallowmelt from the cupboards. On pure instinct, Prentice swipes a bit of whipped cream from the top of Wylie's and boops him on the nose with it. And Wylie's face freezes. They sit there for a moment, neither daring to say a word. 

Finally Prentice breaks the silence. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No." Wylie's voice is tentative, hesitant and hopeful in a way he hasn't heard it sound before. He hasn't heard his son's voice in a very long time, though, has he? "It's just—you used to do that when I was little, too."

Though he fights it, confusion manages to bleed into his expression for just a moment, and he can see Wylie's face fall. 

"You don't remember it, do you?" His son doesn't sound accusatory, only matter-of-fact, and somehow that makes it worse. But there's real despair in his voice—a hint of pleading. As if he's begging Prentice to find the scene familiar. "Do you remember any of our mallowmelt nights? We used to sneak into the pantry every Friday night when Mom was asleep. It was our little secret, you said. We'd eat outside on a blanket and watch the stars on nice evenings. I used to fall asleep snuggled up next to you; you'd carry me inside and tuck me in."

Prentice wracks his brain, searches desperately for any faint trace of recognition, but comes up empty-handed. He can picture the scene so clearly—a tiny Wylie, giggling, maybe on the plaid blanket Cyrah loved, with whipped cream on his nose and framed by a background of stars. But for some reason, he can't call to mind anything that resembles a memory. "I don't— I can't— I'm sorry, Wy," he says at last, trying to keep his voice steady. Pulling Wylie into a hug, he lets his son's head rest on his shoulder, and begs the sharp pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach to go away.

The next few months reveal exactly how much has slipped through the cracks, so to speak. How deep they go. He starts spending entire conversations focused entirely on controlling his expression, on not betraying all that he's forgotten. Whether the detailing on Cyrah's wedding dress was lace or embroidery. The sound of her laugh. The bedtime stories he would read to Wylie every night before tucking him in. Hundreds of memories with his best friend—their Foxfire days, joining the Black Swan together, late nights on the roof talking about anything and everything. Hiding the self-loathing from his face when he realizes he doesn't know the name of Tiergan's favorite Beatles song is one of his lowest points of the whole ordeal.

One day it all finally becomes too much.

There's something he should be remembering, he just knows it. He scours his brain, wincing at the jagged edges of his own mind, but he can't for the life of him identify it. This feeling—this longing—there has to be context. Why can't he fucking find it in the maze of his own thoughts?

He comes to the sudden realization that he can't breathe. Something hot and wet is flowing down his face—oh. He's crying. And over something so small and so stupid, too. It's pathetic, really.

His heart sinks through his stomach, past his knees, and lands somewhere around his toes when he hears his name from the doorway: "Prentice?"

And of course, it's Tiergan. Tiergan, crossing the room in three quick steps, wearing that tunic he has no right to look so nice in. Tiergan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him close, allowing him to bury his face in the tunic. And Prentice wails for everything he doesn't know how to explain. He wants to stay here, in this safety forever. But eventually his sobs slow to a halt, and Tiergan gives him that look again. The one he's been receiving ever since he woke up; the one he doesn't know how to interpret. It's soft and sad, with eyes that linger on his face and a probing stare that makes him feel the urge to turn away or blush…and there's that confusing feeling again.

"Want to talk about it?" Tiergan says softly.

"I— I don't know how to—"

"Hey, it's okay." He feels his friend begin to rub slow, gentle circles on his back. "You don't have to say anything."

And, ironically enough, it's that which gives Prentice the strength to finally his voice. "Tiergan…what were we to each other? Before…"

The circles stop. "We were best friends." And that's Tiergan's carefully neutral voice, the one he uses on his spying missions when he's extracting information from a target. The one he uses when he's hiding something. "Why do you ask?"

A wave of frustration floods through Prentice's body, paired with a foreign sense of embarrassment. Why can't Tiergan just say it?  He stumbles over his words, mumbling, "I keep— I've forgotten so much and—" 

The weight of hands on his shoulders. Deep blue eyes staring into his own. "Breathe, Prentice," comes the soothing voice, and Prentice clings to it to ground himself.

Finally, it all comes spilling out. The thing that sent him into tears in the first place. "I keep wanting to hold your hand, and I don't know why!"

For once, Tiergan is speechless. "...Oh."

"Tiergan, what were we?" Prentice demands, harsher than he meant to. He reaches an apologetic hand to thumb the back of Tiergan's instinctively, before thinking better of it.

"I— I don't know."

"How can you—" Prentice tries to keep his voice from rising, but the words still come out as a bit of a shout.

"We were still working things out." A pause. "I had confessed…feelings…for you a few weeks before it all happened. You told me that you reciprocated them, but that you wanted to take things slow. We never got the chance to define things before…"

"Tiergan…why didn't you tell me?"

"I guess…I didn't want to pressure you into anything if you'd forgotten. It would have felt like manipulating you into something I wanted but you had no way of knowing if you felt too. And…something inside told me that if you'd forgotten it, then it must not have meant that much to you originally."

"Tiergan. You know it doesn't work like that."

"I know. I'm sorry. I-"

And then Prentice kisses him.

He hadn't been planning on it. He doesn't even know where the instinct came from. But Tiergan's eyes were filling with tears, and his lips looked so soft, and suddenly Prentice was leaning forward. 

Tiergan tastes like cinnamon and apple cider, and Prentice's hands find his face to cup his cheek like second nature, and he can feel Tiergan twine his own fingers through Prentice's hair, and it all just feels so right. When they break apart, blushing, he asks, “Have we done that before?"

Tiergan stares at his lips in wonder, as if he can't believe they were just on his own. "No. No, we have not."

"Oh. Well, maybe we should do it again sometime."

Something that looks suspiciously like hope lights up Tiergan's eyes. "Really?"

Prentice smiles and reaches for his hand, finally. The feeling he gets at linking their fingers together—it's better even than what he'd imagined. "Yeah."

"I'd like that," Tiergan says softly.

And maybe Prentice had forgotten what he had with the wonderful man in front of him, but it'll be okay. Tiergan will always be happy to remind him.

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

hi this is rslashknits!! I misread your tags and now see you partially frogged already. sorry about suggesting that again!!

you mentioned a knitting cafe--imo this is what knitting community is for. if you know a trusted expert knitter who you don't mind handing your sweater to I might ask them if they think they can partial frog and fix and demonstrate for you. if your yarn is messed up from your attempted fix I think you can tie in some fresh yarn to replace your old ladders (with knots hidden inside?) but that's a lil scary haha, so I'd defer to an expert on it.

I say this because when I know I messed up and it isn't too many rows down I bring the piece to my mom, lol. and I always learn a lot like that!

if you like my little "I totally did that on purpose fix" where you cover it up and then copy the design across the sweater--if you have a computer program that can do it, I would try and edit the photo first to plan the placement and frequency of the lines and make sure I like it. especially cuz you definitely didn't plan something like that when you started and it's gonna be different visually from your original plan of that sweater. it will also help you decide if you hate the look right off the bat so you don't waste time.

honestly if it were me though I might just wear the mistake out n proud.

again good luck!!

ah no worries! I tend to put a lot of information in my tags but I know not everyone actually reads those, especially if the post gets shared around.

For a full explanation of what happened yesterday, just for context and because, idk, I want to share? :

so my first skein finally ran out and I was trying to join the second one, and I thought I'd knit both the old and the new strand together for a bit to like, strengthen it or something idk. But I accidentally used the wrong strand for a bit, so I dropped that one, picked up the other one, and went along, just to then notice that obviously there's a bit of a floater happening. Then I noticed the float getting looser, so I started pulling it to try and figure out where it was loosening from, but that snapped the yarn. Then I lowkey panicked because I was worried about it not being secure enough and my project falling apart on me so I tried to frog the two rows I'd knit with the new skein and very slowly and carefully put the needle back on, but while doing that I dropped some stitches and created some new ones and also put a lot of it back on the needle the wrong way. And also the next row also partially frogged but I just kind of. Added it to the current row. Then I knit the next row, which was a hassle because I put so much back on wrong. By the end of the row I did figure out how to fix that but, well. That was by the end of the row. And then of course also there were the massive tension issues and gaps where I dropped stitches and I cried.

(in my defence, my brain is already always kinda like this but it's been way worse the past month, I'm definitely not fully "here" and I was already waiting for a big mistake to happen, things were going too smoothly)

Someone else (@pixelhilma) suggested to kind of pull at the stitches to create new tension and then tying the resulting yarn loop into a knot which I might also try? Knitting cafe isn't until friday unfortunately, though I might drop by the yarn store where it's held to ask for advice.

I think tbh I'm more worried about having made a super weird mistake that will cause my project to fall apart at some point. like aesthetically it sucks but I can just wear a blazer over it or hide it with some embroidery like you suggested in your post, but idk if I accidentally made it unstable.

You're so lucky you can just ask your mom! I'm highkey jealous lmao.

[siriannatan]

Jinn & Other Troubles chapter 3

Why did I decide to put both updates in separate posts?

Today we're hanging out with a Scott. :}

And I'm officially out of old chapters to modify...

AO3

Did Scott like working for the Copper King from time to time? Yes. He paid well. Didn't bother him much outside it and recently asked him less often to join his organisation. And once again, paid very well. But no amount of gold was worth the situation Scott was in now.

But maybe we should start with how it started. fWhip, Copper King's right-hand man, pet mage and bartender of his bar, somehow found Scott when he was picking up his brand new daggers from the Big Eyes Emporium - enchantments might not be cheap but sure are worth the price if they make his life easier. Copper King needed a very specific noble dead and his signet ring brought to the Vigil - the bar. Sounds easy? Scott thought so too back then. Sneak into a villa outside the town. Stab some nasty noble. Sneak out. Get back to town. Big profit. Nothing that sounds like trouble.

Getting into the mansion was a piece of cake but it was also the first sign something was going on. There were no guards anywhere. Or gardeners. Or anyone. No noises of an event of any sort either and those tend to carry pretty far. Same inside. Not a living soul until Scott reached the formal sitting room - the main and the biggest one. When the smell of blood and other nastier in his opinion fluids hit him it was too late. A cold hand with nails too long for a human was wrapped around his neck, lifting him off the ground and pressing into a wall. The ruined and blood-soaked wallpaper sticking unpleasantly to his jacket. But he had no time to think about his clothes. Not with Scott's curved daggers clattering to the ground, his hands grabbing at the arm. Miss-matched eyes frantically looked at who or what he was up against. Went wide as he met the curious blue eyes of a jinn.

Aren't those supposed to be extinct or fat from civilized society? And why must he be damn hot? These were the last thoughts that crossed his mind before the jinn spoke.

"You don't look like you belong here," he hummed - Scott was certain it was he based on his open vest exposing very nice to look at if he wasn't being choked chest. "What is a pretty little elf like you doing here?" he asked as shadowy tendrils pulled and pinned Scott's arms to the wall. The same happened to his legs. But the hand around his throat loosened enough to let him speak comfortably. Why was a whole damn jinn here? What did this dang lord get involved with? Did it really have to be today? Why could the jinn not just leave once he was done killing everyone?

"Working..." Scott said. He knew little about jinn but it seemed like a bad idea to lie. "Someone wanted his signet ring," he pointed his chin at where his target's mangled body lay not quite on the pile. The upper half of it at least... The signet was still on his finger. "Badly enough to hire me to get it for them, and maybe kill him in the process..."

Scott froze as the jinn backed away from him. The same tendril that pinned him to the wall picked up his daggers, moving them away from the blood, and Scott, as the jinn walked to the corpse and pried the ring off. "Why would they need this? It's not magical or anything," he wondered inspecting the thing.

"Don't know, it's not my job to ask questions," Scott answered as well as he could. Maybe if he managed to satiate the jinn's curiosity he'd be allowed to leave with his guts in him and not on the walls. If he did he'd really need a new jacket...

The jinn wore a sleeveless dark green robe with golden embroidery around the neckline and sleeve edges and a maroon sash wrapped around his waist, with golden tassels at the ends. There was not a speck of dirt on his clothes or his heavy-looking leather boots. His dark brown hair curled elegantly with a curl hanging down between two, pointy and sharp-looking, maroon and green horns on his forehead, just under his hairline. With three more on both sides of his head, behind his pointy but shorter than Scott's ears. A single golden earring with a shining red gem hanging off of his right ear. Golden necklaces wrapped around his neck and bracelets decorated his wrists with solid bands and chains and ropes. Rings embedded with colourful gems shining around his fingers and a golden band around his left upper arm, matching his earring red gem. Thin, dragon or lizard-like, tail swishing from under the robes, with spikes on both sides.

"And this ring is all you came here for?" the jinn asked, once again interested in Scott.

"I mean... the guy's dead so there isn't much more for me to do here," the elf shrugged as much as the binding allowed.

The jinn hummed toying with the ring. "Would you happen to know what year it is?"

"Umm, 357 after the Collapse," Scott said hoping the jinn knew what the Collapse was...

"Three hundred years," the jinn hummed as Scott held his breath. "Not bad for a nap," he nodded. "You know what, I like you... eh..."

"Scott," he had no idea if saying his true name was dangerous or not but it sounded better than the jinn finding out he lied to him. And if it was good that a jinn, a creature even the strongest and oldest mages had trouble controlling, liked him. "Scott Smajor."

"Scott," the jinn tested the name. "I like it," he smiled and Scott let the air in his lungs leave, slowly. "You can call me Mythical Sausage, or just Sausage, at least that's how you'd say it in this language. Why don't you talk in elven?"

"I never learned, grew up with humans," Scott explained struggling slightly with his bindings. It wasn't at all comfortable to be pinned to a wall like he was.

"I see," the jinn hummed and put the signet in Scott's breast pocket and patted it. "I think I'll stay with you for some time, it sounds interesting," he decided and snapped his fingers. "Do you happen to know a Pixl Riffs? Or just Pix?" the jinn asked letting Scott clatter to the ground and walked to the corpse.

Scott watched him pry the ring off the corpse's finger. "Not, but the guy who wants this ring knows a lot of people, he might?" Scott offered. He felt in no way bad dropping this guy on Copper King's head. Who knew, jinn-man might just not kill him if he at least attempts to help him... Okay, maybe he felt a bit bad about Copper King's new boy-toy elf but his own life always came first.

"Okay," the jinn hummed staring at the ring as Scott grabbed and sheathed his daggers. He really didn't feel like losing them. "So, I give you the ring, and you bring me to your friend?"

"Employer, but yes, I can bring you to him, I need to get the signet to him anyway," Scott nodded. He was just glad he didn't have to propose it to the jinn.

Scott yelped as the shadows holding him all vanished at once. Bracing for a quick meeting with the floor which never happened. Sausage caught him and steadied him. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to drop you like that," he hummed patting Scott's shoulder. The unpleasant wetness on his back vanished. "Much better," the jinn nodded as Scott picked up his daggers and sheathed them. Lucky for him they did not land in a blood puddle that covered most of the floor.

"Umm, you might need a human disguise..." Scott hummed. Carefully weighing his words. "I mean if they look weird at my ears... I don't think the general population will like the horns and stuff, not that I d,o they're cool. I mean to say... they suit you but..." Scott rambled as the jinn's eyebrows went up and up. It just occurred to him that Sausage was... well overhead taller than him. "It'd be better if half the town doesn't try to instantly kill us while others flee in terror..."

Sausage hummed, presumably thinking about what Scott said. Or how to best kill him for insolence and speaking out of turn.

"Or lock you in a bottle," Scott added before he could bite himself.

"No, that wouldn't be good," Sausage agreed and soon the horns and tail and claws were gone. His skin went from ashy grey to tan brown, and together with his robes made him look like some merchant from the Eastern Empires. After just one blink his eyes were normal, with white sclera and pupils there. Still as bluer than the Western sea near which Scott grew up. "How is it?" Sausage asked doing a spin as he noticed Scott was staring at him.

"Looks good," Scott nodded, patted the pocket with the ring and sighed. He only needed to get this to Pix's bar, the Vigil, and he was going to be great. Aside from Sausage likely insisting to stay with him longer... "We should go before someone comes here and notices something's wrong," he decided, and if they wanted to be home before sundown.

"Lead the way," Sausage grinned extending an arm towards the door. And Scott did. Luckily they weren't that far from Stratos.

The manor wasn't that terribly far from Stratos but it would still take some time. Scott calculated that they'd have enough time to go to the Vigil and once he left the jinn there he could go and have a good meal at Glitter Grove and be home way before the curfew. He just really hoped he didn't get stuck with the jinn longer than necessary, no matter how good he looked.

Sausage wasn't too terrible a companion. He asked a few things about the city. Humming in that weird thoughtful way when Scott explained that Stratos was technically ruled by the god of the sky, thunder and war, Joel but in practice by the church since the god rarely left his plying palace in the sky. After that, the jinn was content to just follow Scott and look around them with curiosity. Especially when they passed something more interesting than another field. Which wasn't often and was mostly big rocks and small trees. Or a total of three different orchards, from one of which Scott stole them a couple of apples.

By the time they reached the city, the sun has almost set.

"Let's hurry, we have about two hours before everything closes and I hate cooking," Scott huffed pulling his hood up. "I'd rather avoid children pointing at my ears," he grimaced and led Sausage through dark alleyways towards the Vigil, the establishment didn't serve any food, probably for the better.

"How can I help you?" a red-headed, black-skinned tiefling grumbled at them from behind the bar. There was no one else inside and the bartender was lazily wiping some cups.

"I came with a gift for the Copper King," Scott said the secret password and the tiefling's attitude changed.

"Made a friend Scott?" fWhip, the tiefling, grinned, instantly relaxing, and jumping over the bar to close the deal Scott had with his boss.

"He's looking for someone, and you guys know a lot of people," Scott shrugged pulling out the signet.

They had no chance to talk any further. A man Scot guessed was the Copper King by a blonde elf tightly grabbing to his arm. came downstairs. Glaring at no one else but Sausage who, in turn, looked to be mildly pleased and surprised. "You two with me," he growled, pointing at Scott and Sausage. "fWhip, be a dear and bring me something strong to drink," he tossed a bit more kindly at the tiefling and went upstairs, leaving the door open. He pretty much carried the elf

Scott was somewhat worried it was bout the mess Sausage left in the noble's manor. The pile of bodies was a rather ghastly sight.

When they got upstairs, Sausage was smiling smugly like they were in no trouble the whole time while Scott felt like he was about to die.

The Copper King was already in his chair, behind his heavy desk with Jimmy in his lap. Playing with the elves' hair. The corners of his lips lifted when fWhip came in through a hidden door with an expensive bottle of whiskey. No glasses. Pix would say if he wanted them. He didn't leave making Scott feel like he was in even more trouble, instead standing to Pix's right. Playing with the copper bracelet on his left wrist... Scott knew from working alongside him couple of times that it was more than just a sign of who he was working for. It was his damn magic focus, what he used to cast many spells he knew thanks to the Copper King liking to invest in his favourites. Gold for Jimmy and magic books for fWhip.

"So, dear brother," the Copper King finally spoke after a big sip of his alcohol. "Care to explain where in the seven hells were you?"

Scott was shocked. Did he say 'brother'? "Here and there," Sausage shrugged grinning. "I see you're doing well for yourself." Scott felt more than a little lost but kept his mouth shut.

"You disappear for years along with your damned library and now randomly walk to my bar with Scott, no offence, of all people?" Pix growled causing Jimmy to wriggle in his lap. "Does he even know...?"

"He does, does your boy toys know?" Sausage asked back. "Pixl?"

Instead of answering Pixl dropped his disguise... The family resemblance was really there, Scott noticed. In their matching horns, Pix's were brown and dark blue though, and the too-blue eyes. But while Sausage liked to wear gold on himself, Pix preferred to weigh Jimmy down with it.

"So where in the seven hells were you Sausage?" Pix sighed, relaxing a bit. Scott guessed he tried hard to be calm to not freak Jimmy out more than necessary. "I spend three hundred years looking for your dumb ass all over the three continents."

"Having a lovely nap," Sausage hummed, dropping his disguise. His tail instantly wrapped around Scott's ankle and the elf couldn't rid himself of the image of it wrapping around his shin to toss him against Pix's wall of bookshelves. "Scott found me shortly after I woke up, might have killed a whole mansion's worth of humans."

"Ehm the church weirdos will think he was playing with demons or something like that," Pix shrugged. "Did you get the ring at least? Or did my oaf of a brother destroy it?" he finally turned to Scott.

"Yeah, no, got it right here," Scott passed him the signet through fWhip. He was glad the tiefling got it from him and he didn't have to get out of the chair he was pretty much frozen in. He just learned more about the Copper King than he ever wanted to.

"Great," Pix sighed in a 'my day isn't completely ruined' way. "Up," he patted Jimmy's thighs and went to grab Scott's reward money. "What will you do now brother? You can stay here if..."

"Nooo. I'll stick with Scott, he's more interesting," Sausage hummed and Scott's hope of making him Pix's issue got crushed. He really didn't want Sausage anywhere close to him anymore but he was not about to say it. Not with two jinns and a powerful mage loyal to one of them in the room.

"If you say so," Pix shrugged and dropped a big bag of money in front of Scott. "What we agreed on and a little bonus for dealing with my brother," he grinned. "You can go if you want, it's getting late," he added as Jimmy yawned.

"The less I have to see you the better," Sausage nodded, disguising himself again and following Scott out. The elf left with a polite bow as soon as Pix said they can go, not even waiting for him to be done.

As they left they still heard Pix telling Jimmy to remind him of something. Not that Scott cared. All he wanted was some food, a warm bath and a nap. Did elven meditation count? And there was the issue where he'd store Sausage. His house wasn't meant for two. Well, more like it was meant for two if they were very close...

"Eating out?" Sausage asked as Scot lead them to Glimmer Grove. His probably my favourite spot to get food. Katherine was never weird about his ears. After a quick chat and introducing Sausage as 'a friend of a friend,' they squished into a corner booth and waited for their food. Scott's fruit porridge, bread and jam and beer, and bread and meat, just meat, for Sausage. "I hate cooking," Scott sighed in relief once he pulled his hood off.

Unlike the Vigil, the Grove was packed with smiling and cheerful patrons. Relaxing after a hard day of work before everything closed in about an hour. Only a few other patrons stared at Scott and Sausage but still more than usual, the damned jinn was just too tall to hide in the booth, unlike Scott, even when he pretended to be a human.

Scott was not in the mood to talk after the whole thing at the Vigil so he shot down any of Sausage's attempts at conversations. Once they were done Scott led them to his house. A cosy, little place in the middle of three tiers of Stratos. Far enough from the top to avoid religious fanatics. But close enough to be nice and comfy and fairly priced.

"We're here," he announced after a short silent walk, stopping by a quite well taken care of red brick apartment complex. There were a total of four apartments in the building and Scot's was at the very top. At least there was running warm water. Thank you magic, and the Sky God for not being against it. "We're at the very top," he added pulling the jinn in and up the many stairs.

After some fumbling with the keys, Scott let jinn in first and double-checked the lock after them. Just in case.

Scott's home was... small but that wasn't a problem, not usually. On the left of the door was his dining table. Small with just two chairs. On the right was a small kitchen he never used. Deeper in there was a corner bookshelf. It was slightly dusty but if anyone asked Scott would blame it on being busy. Then, on the right again, was his bed. Separated from the kitchen with a wall but still not in a separate room. Other than the toilet the whole place was one room. Then, in the last corner was a solid brass bathtub and a side table of bathing supplies and foldable privacy screens he was about to use for the first time since he moved in.

"Nice place," Sausage hummed inspecting the kitchen and dining area.

"It's a place to stay and keep my stuff," Scott shrugged, dropping his bag on the table, followed by his daggers and the elaborate leather sheath contraption. "You can bathe first if you want," he offered, hanging his cloak by the door.

"You go first," Sausage waved him off settling in the chair by the bookshelf. His disguise was gone. Blue eyes traced Scott's every move as he hung his jacket over a dining chair. "I'll be fine," he grinned showing his teeth. A bit more than there probably should be. All razor-sharp and perfectly white. "What are those for?" he asked as Scott started to set the screens.

"Privacy," the elf tossed over his shoulder. He was starting to feel a bit more confident around the jinn.

"A shame," the jinn sighed but his grin was still there.

"Just get yourself a book or something," Scott huffed. Ignoring the shiver that one word send down his spine. Or were it Sausage staring at him with far too much intensity?

As he undressed Scott listened to what his 'guest' might be up to, worried he'd try something Scott wasn't quite in the mood for. He couldn't hear anything wrong so he relaxed slightly and undressed as the bath filled with warm water. Letting out a low whine as he got in. He really should have loaned a horse even if that manor was decently close to town. Or he just could just blame it on a freaking jinn pinning him to a wall.

"You've got a book in elven here," Sausage announced as Scott relaxed, trying not to think about him.

"Ah, that thing. Can you read it?" Scott hummed lazily washing all the tiredness of the day off. "fWhip passed it to me as a birthday gift from his boss. I have no idea how he found out when it is. And he should know I don't know any elven so I suppose it might have been an attempt at a joke."

"Sounds like Pix," Sausage chuckled. "It's stories for children," he added after some noise of flipped pages. "There's one about an owl eating someone's face," he found it important to say.

"As expected from elves," Scott sighed sinking a bit deeper. If Sausage could shut up it would be so nice.

"I have a feeling you don't like elves," Sausage hummed, dropping the book somewhere.

"All proper elves I met were holier-than-thou jerks, I mean elves who grew up with other elves, as I said, I pretty much grew up a human, in an orphanage in a port city not too far from here, and my hair colour's not helping, reminds them of sky elves," he said, wondering why he was telling this random jinn he knew less than a day his whole life story.

"What are they up to? Winged... sky elves I mean."

"Dead or enslaved by forest elves. Or hiding as far as they can. Shortly before I was born forest elves rebelled and collapsed their flying cities," it felt somewhat nice to tell someone all of that. Even if it was spoiling his bath.

After quickly rinsing the soap out of his hair he left the tub, ignoring Sausage's chatter, and just then remembered he didn't grab any clothes. Ugh. He could just wrap a towel and... As Scott made his plan a certain jinn sneaked up to the screens, worried about the sudden silence from him.

"What are these?" Scott nearly jumped as Sausage touched one of two big scar's on his back. Quickly wrapping a towel around his hips.

"Nothing," Scott groaned as Sausage traced along the edges of the scars. His other hand joined in. He was shockingly gentle when compared with their meeting. "They've been there since I can remember," Scott huffed his legs shaking. When did he last... a while and it was nothing like... Nothing gentle and... He almost moaned as a pair of cold lips left a soft kiss between his shoulder blades.

"They look terrible," Sausage hummed guiding Scott to the edge of the slowly emptying tub.

"As I said they've been there my whole life," Scott huffed trying and failing to move away. "I can..."

"Shh, just relax," Sausage hummed grabbing a fresh towel. "I won't pry," he assured gently drying Scott's hair. Pulling him closer until he was leaning against the jinn's chest.

"You'll get wet..." Scott protested and struggled but got nowhere. Too tired, he told himself. nothing to do with his isolationist tendencies and trust issues making him super touch starved. "Sausage?" he squeaked as his hands moved from Scott's back forward. Teasing and tickling slightly as Sausage pulled the elf into a loose hug.

"Tell me about my brother. It's been a while since I saw him last... He changed a lot," Sausage sighed, continuing to gently dry Scott off. "And he'll never tell me much even if I do get some quality family time with him."

"I'm afraid I know very little," Scott sighed enjoying jinn's warmth. "The Copper King is a mysterious boss behind most of the crime this side of the continent," Scott started.

"Copper King? That's little Pix for you, making up a scary name for himself," Sausage giggled tossing the towel away and started to lead a very much naked Scott towards the bed.

"Mhm, I worked for him a few times as an independent contractor of sorts," Scott shrugged, letting himself be moved about. He did bite back a whine when Sausage went to look for a nightshirt for him. "A few weeks Jimmy showed up..." Scott continued talking as Sausage gently washed him off. "I don't know much but I can guess there was something sad by the state of his ears..."

"His ears?" the jinn asked.

"He's an elf like me but it would seem someone 'trimmed' his ears... He was like this when I first saw him, listening as fWhip explained the contract, I assumed he was just hired to take some of fWhip's duties, but then I saw that fancy necklace and figured out he's probably a bit more important and better to be not messed with," he finished with a shrug. "Not much more to say. He kept me busy since I moved here and hopefully will keep giving me work for many more years."

Sausage hummed but said nothing. Scott assumed he was lost in his memories and simply waited, leaning back into him.

"Thank you for indulging my curiosity," he finally hummed and got them into the bed. Keeping Scott in a tight warm hug through the whole night.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Hi

Was wondering if you had any arts and crafts updates to share?

Loved seeing the updates on your last embroidery project

💕

Hey hey hey!!!

I’m always happy to see you in my inbox, especially when you ask me things like this!!

So I haven’t really had much chance to much embroidery recently - I e been redecorating my house and it’s eaten all my time (I’m so happy with how it’s all looking, but I can’t wait to have my evenings back to work on fun things 😂)

This is go far I’ve got with my Maddie and buck pinky promise piece since my last update

So still a long long way to go with it but I’m pretty happy with how it’s turning out so far!! I might have to wait for spring before I start back up with it as it’s better to work on in natural light!!

But I have been working on a couple of other things as well, this is a needle felt Eddie that I’m making - he has a wire armature so he can be made to hold different positions once he’s complete (he’s for my desk at work - I have plans for a mini felt version of all the 911 fam😎😎😎)

Again as you can see - early stages of the process - i can only do it for a short time before I start stabbing myself with the needle, but it’s good to do while watching things (I’ve been using hiatus to rewatch bones)!!

And I was feeling inspired and got my painting mojo back so this is a painting I’ve just started of Buck - I’ve only done his uniform do far, but I love painting fabric and I’m pretty happy with how it’s turning out!

Hopefully you’ve enjoyed my little arts and crafts update! I’ll try to be a bit more regular with crafty updates

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Lich-Queen

I've been posting individual bits of this story for the past 2 months or so, but here is the full thing! Tw for gore and torture :) word count: 6.4k

I stared down at my would-be fiancé, a smirk playing on my lips. "So, this is all the little butterfly has in him? How pitiful," I murmured, dragging my sword against his chest, tearing the fine silk of his shirt.

His eyes were bloodshot, rims red with tears. He trembled like a newborn calf, ripe for the eating. “Iraela,” he hissed. “You bitch. Someday, somewhere, someone will kill you.”

“Duke Tamaris,” I said, savouring the taste of his name. It was sour and hateful, like the bile that burst forth when I sunk my teeth into liver. “I was a bitch when I undid the embroidery in  Ramaeria's court dress. I think we've gone quite a bit further than that, don't you? I think I might even warrant being called a monster, or perhaps an eldritch horror. Do you mind redoing that scene again? I'll start: So, this is all the little butterfly has in him?”

When he did not respond, I snickered. “In any case, by the time I get my just deserts, you will be long dead. I will have consumed Ceredell, and all of its people. Everything and everyone you love will be lost to the eternal sleep.”

He met my gaze defiantly, biting his lip to keep from crying. I could smell the blood in his beating chest, and it excited me. “Of course,” I continued, dropping to my knees and straddling his chest, “I might let you live, if you swear fealty to me. I could always use a human manservant.” Idly, I traced his cheek with a claw.

Tamaris' weaselly face twisted into a grimace. “You piece of shit,” he snarled, jerking his head away from me. “I would rather die than bow to a necromancer like you.” He hawked up a bit of spit and tried to aim it at me. It missed entirely.

“I think you have misunderstood my meaning entirely,” I purred, running my claws down his throat, where his lifeblood pulsed. “You will be mine, whether you live or not. The only choice you have, and the last choice you will ever make, is if you wish to live under me, or undie under me.”

Understanding flashed through his eyes, and with it, despair. “You- So that's why…” He trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

I grinned at him, leaning forward, until our noses touched. “That's right, my lordling. Silly little Ram decided she'd rather throw herself and her husband into the void than watch her darling sister charm the world into submission,” I purred.

Tamaris managed a scoff. “You? Charm? A hairy octopus could be more charming,” he said. 

“I'm plenty charming,” I told him, affecting affront, “Why, if I carved someone's eyes out, they'd still smile at the sight of me! Besides, you were willing to marry me, you know. That took quite a bit of charming.”

He shook his head violently, as though waving the memories away. “You want me to serve as your… What? Slave? Bodyguard? Personal plaything? What do you want, Iraela?” Tamaris' face resumed its pout. 

He was rather cute like that, I thought idly. In another time, another world, perhaps I would have actually asked for his hand, rather than taking it straight off his wrist. “All three, perhaps,” I replied. “Or maybe not the bodyguard bit. You would make a terrible warrior, you know. Far too skinny and weak.”

“Give me a moment to think about it,” Tamaris said, a transparent ploy to bide for time. The man I loved would never bow to me, I thought wistfully. 

Ah, what did it matter? I had already won. I could indulge his fancies a tad. “Sure,” I murmured, sliding off his chest. “I give you until sundown, my dearest duke. Then you will be mine.”

I left him there, tied down and guarded by my revenants, and walked out to the window.

It was a dark and stormy night. 

Actually, that was wrong. A night that majestic deserved more than an old cliché. 

Dark clouds gathered across the sky like a pillow smothering a little child, rain like the gods' tears pelting the torn-up streets. It was pain. It was power.

It was a night to reign by.

I surveyed my new territory. Revenants and ghouls were busying up the courtyard, preparing it for my coronation. It was something out of a gothic teen's wet dream, all muted reds and blues, bruises on a lover's thigh.

A ghoul hobbled up to me, carrying a letter. “Lich-Queen,” he sqwaked, “The Spirit Empress responded. She wishes to come here, directly, and witness your coronation.”

My face lit up. “Well, tell her she's more than welcome to! The more, the merrier! And do make sure to procure some fresh meat for her, then. The rotting stuff just won't do for such prestigious company,” I told him. “Run off, Death-in-me, and be quick about it.”

Death-in-me made a vague approximation of a salute, and leaped off the roof to do my bidding. I watched him go, and began my slow glide to the main gate.

I had stolen some noblewoman's court dress, a stiff-necked thing with a high, webbed collar. It was resplendent with black pearls and purple embroidery. I had made sure to compliment her corpse on her wonderful taste after reanimating her.

My coronation would be a thing of legend. Already, the whole of Ceredell had fallen to me. My silly elder sister, prophetic oracle that she was, had thought to halt my rise to the throne by splintering Ceredell, fracturing the kingdom into little city-states, but it had done nothing but speed my progress up.

I paused at the stairs, wondering if she had known I would be the one to betray her. Had she known the whole time, whilst she held me to her bosom, smiled that gentle smile? Had she known that even her last-ditch attempt to save the country would fail so spectacularly? A grim thought struck me. Had her suicide been nothing but a smokescreen, to hide her true plan for stopping my reign?

I would not put it past her. Ram was smart, for all that she looked dreamy and lost in another world. I had not thought she would be the sort to falter on her final shot. There had to be something up her sleeve. 

I shook my head to clear the thoughts, and strode down the stairs. My Void-touched sister's ghost would not be allowed to haunt my coronation. It was going to be perfect, everything I had dreamed of as a lost girl running through the woods, as the young woman overshadowed by her soothsaying sister, as the budding necromancer who finally had the means to greatness.

At the ground floor, the guests were already thronging. Vampire nobles sipped goblets of blood, chatting idly with the few fae that deigned to grace my crowning with their presence. Shapeshifters mingled with the Chosen emissaries of the gods. Even a small contingent of elves lurked mistrustfully in a corner, though there was not a human in sight.

I approached the elves, casting a slight glamour to obscure my fiendish appearance. It would not do to frighten them off, after all. “Hello, distinguished guests,” I said in Syvniqian, their native tongue. I had brushed up on my linguistics during those long, lonely nights whilst my sister flirted in court, and it finally paid off.

The lead elf, resplendent in a museli veil and robe-dress, long braid trailing the floor, said, “We appreciate the invitation, Lich-Queen. It is a rare honour to witness the rising of a new star. We are Saivere, Vice-Councilman of Sylvandor.”

My smile must have slipped when I heard that they only bothered to send the Vice-Councilman, for Saivere quickly added, “We mean no offense, Lich-Queen. Head-Councilwoman Naibara is currently with child, and she cannot undertake the journey to these lands.”

I forced a smile back onto my face. This was not the Ceredellian court, I reminded myself sternly. These people did not shun me for being low-born, for having not-quite-human features or a far more beautiful sister. When they said they meant no offense, they did not lie.

Nodding, I exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the delegation, before extricating myself. I could not show favouritism as a host, naturally. 

Oh, by Astril, I was a host at a court party! It gave me a thrill, and I wanted to giggle like a little girl, which was a most undignified look on a powerful Lich-Queen. 

I had to quickly cover it when a shapeshifter approached me. The shifter wore the body of an angel, wings the colour of salmon, hair twisted into a bun, and seemed vaguely masculine. He smiled and bobbed his head in a small bow. “Our leader politely requests your attention. She would like to speak to you regarding some international matters,” he said.

I nodded. “Thank you,” I told the shifter, turning to follow him through the hall. “Might you tell me what I may call you?”

Names were a touchy business, I had found, especially amongst inhumans. Elves, by and large, tolerated the use of their name by an equal or superior, but shifters and spirits were extremely prickly about the matter, often insisting on going by titles and nicknames instead. 

The shifter paused and titled his head to a side. “Ya know, I haven't quite thought about it,” he said, a hint of an accent creeping into his voice. “I was thinking Hashbrown, perhaps. Or Chocolate-cookie. Or maybe Cake. I do love human foodstuffs.”

I barely hid my wince. It was hard to tell a shifter's age, what with the whole shapeshifting, but this one? Yeah, he was a kid. And nobody, not even a kid, deserved to be saddled with a name like Cookie. At the same time… It was hilarious.

Amusement won over kindness, and I said, “Why, I am certain a powerful shifter warrior named Cake would shake fear into the hearts of any human who heard it,” I said wryly. “By the time you are fully grown, the mere mention of chocolate will frighten children into silence.”

“Ya really think so?!” He beamed at me. “My sis’ always tol' me I'd be a fool to call myself that. I'm so glad she was just teasin' me. Oh, thank you so much!” He briefly moved to embrace me, then remembered who I was and backed off, hand kept by his sides, though his wings were all aflutter.

The sudden breach of decorum should have irritated me, but it didn't. It made me feel slightly bad about messing with this overly-earnest kid. “I advise something like Brown, or Cho, however. Just to keep things subtle,” I suggested, trying to minimise the damage I was doing to this kid's credibility.

The shifter considered my words. Then a smile lit up his face. I meant that quite literally. In fact, he rather glowed, attracting curious glances. “Hash,” he announced. “You can call me Hash.”

“Sure, Hash,” I replied, smiling slightly. “Please, lead the way.”

He marched off towards the back of the hall, and I followed, appreciating how my guests moved aside to let me pass. I had always been the one doing the moving, in the past. They bowed and scuttled, my ghouls mingling amongst them, holding trays of hor d'oeuvres. Idly, I plucked one and put it in my mouth, savouring the explosion of salty roe.

The shifters were lounging in a corner, their leader a tall woman with the claws of a Lich and the greying skin of a ghoul. She rose when I approached, her mouth spreading into a sepulchral grin. “It is an honour to witness your coronation, Lich-Queen. Such an honour, that I have taken a Lich-form to honour your people,” she explained. “I hope I have done it justice.”

Looking at the gems encrusted on her high cheekbones and those eyes like shards of diamond, I could only say, “You have.” 

She was beautiful, with her long limbs and elegant toga. Suddenly, I felt like an awkward girl-child, struggling to stitch cloth whilst my sister was given lessons by the High Magician. Useless. Ugly. Unwanted. 

I shook my head and dropped my human guise. “I appreciate the effort,” I said, taking control of my tongue. “Now, what was the matter you wished to speak with me about?”

The shifter spread her hands and smiled. “This is the first gathering of inhumans in millennia. I hoped to ask you to call a meeting of us immortals. I have a… Proposal, of sorts. One that might be impolite to be mentioned in the presence of our elven siblings.”

I nodded, and tapped the sides of my face in the shifter gesture of agreement. “Certainly. If I may know what the matter is first, of course.” It would not do for them to surprise me before my new allies.

The shifter reciprocated my movements, and said, “We would like to suggest an alliance of all the immortals — to band together and reclai-”

The doors slammed open. I startled, missing the rest of the shifter's words. “Welcome Her Majesty, the Third Spirit Empress! The great Sucsu'anane No-clan has arrived,” Blood-toil, my doorman, announced, halting all conversation within the room.

Empress Sucsu'anane stood in to the fore, and… Well, I hated to say it, but she looked like a little girl playing at Queen. Her crown barely reached Blood-toil's elbow, and he was not a tall ghoul. Her eyes were wide and doll-like, their effect only exacerbated by her oversized dress, which spilled onto the floor. “Hello, sisters,” she said with an atrocious accent, pronouncing her ‘r’s like ‘e’s. “It is I.”

I stepped forward, sketching a quick curtsey. She returned the gesture with inhuman grace and grabbed my forearms. We shook each other's arms, and I said, in her language, “Welcome, Empress. It is an utmost honour.” 

That statement alone exhausted most of my Cescereli vocabulary, but she seemed delighted by it nonetheless. “You have made an effort to learn my people's tongue,” she exclaimed. “I am impressed.”

From a spirit, and from their God-Empress, that was high praise indeed. I tried not to melt with delight. “Please, have some refreshments,” I said, switching back to trade-tongue. Compelling a revenant to bring some shrimp over, I left her to coo over the food with her entourage, a crew of heavily scarred spirit women, who, while small, looked like they could have taken down a dragon without breaking a sweat.

I turned back to the shifters, but they had disappeared into the crowd. The number of people had been growing steadily, I realised. It was a minor effort not to crumble and flee, for fear that someone would stop and mock me, so out of place in this hall of grace was I. 

As I scanned the milling inhumans for them, a man approached me. He could have easily blended into any group, with his generic dark hair and classical suit, save for his eyes. They were a mismatched yellow and purple, giving him a startling appearance. The Chosen of a god, perhaps. I plastered a welcoming grin onto my face, and he returned it with a genuine smile, unnerving eyes brimming with friendliness. 

“I represent Lord Ako,” he told me, before I had to hazard a guess as to his identity. “I wished to warn you of something. Do not take up the shifters' offer. It may be alluring, to bring carnage to those who wronged you, but it will be your downfall.”

Lord Ako was the God of Chaos and Evil, as far as I could recall. Ceredell had been no friend to his followers, and I had extended an invitation to him on the basis that he was an enemy of my enemy. From my limited knowledge of his theology, he had no reason to warn me off from causing carnage. He was a god of evil, after all. By all reasoning, he should have been pro-murder-all-humans.

I told his envoy so, and the man pursed his lips. His purple eye blinked, like a wink, before the golden one followed. “Not all gods were born as such, little Iraela,” he said, a hint of sadness in his honey-voice. “And for all that I- I mean, Ako is the God of Evil, he has no wish to see innocents be hurt.”

“No offence, sir, but that is rather contradictory, is it not? Evil is meant to cause destruction and harm,” I said, gently as I could. “I mean, that's rather like Death going off and healing people.”

The envoy's left pupil contracted. “It is exactly like that,” he said, shaking his head quietly. “You are more accurate than you realise, young Queen. And perhaps you have the smarts to survive after all.” He began walking away, then stopped. “I will tell you this, Lich-Queen: You will live long enough to understand this moment. When you do, do not blame yourself. None of us will hold it against you.” He gave me a sad smile, and slipped away.

What in every accursed being's name? I shook my head. “Whatever, man,” I murmured. “It's not like I've lived my whole life with a cryptic soothsayer of a sister.” Was it too much to ask for a break from all the prophecies and holier-than-thou crap? Evidently not.

The worm of doubt gnawed at my core again. Ramaeria just wouldn't leave me be. She was dead, I knew she was. But that man spoke just like her. He was not her, of course. That would be paranoid of me, to presume that the strange Chosen was out to get me on behalf of my dead sister. 

But that line about Death… Were the Gods conspiring against me? Of course they were. I should have seen it all along.

No, that was ridiculous! I was nobody, to garner such attention. Yet here was the Spirit Empress, and most of the Elven Council, and perhaps half of the Shapeshifter triarchy. I was someone. And not just that: I was Queen.

I just had to prove it.

With perhaps more force than necessary, I grabbed one of my ghouls. “Find the ‘shifter Matriarch and tell her to meet me in my throne room. We have business to discuss,” I told him. 

Stalking off to my rooms, a plan began formulating in my head, bubbling like the chef's gumbo that all us lesser beings gulped down, whilst the nobles feasted. I was going to make sure I never suffered that again. 

My heels hit the floor in a harsh staccato, clicking against the stone floor. I slammed open the door, heart festering with rage. I was going to be Queen, and they would all recognise me for what I was. 

Starting with my love. “Iraela,” he murmured through cracked lips, when he saw me. His chest was littered with bruises, and his cut lip dribbled blood. He had tried and failed to escape, as I expected. I shook my head disappointedly.

“I thought you smarter than that, Tamaris,” I whispered in his ear, kneeling next to me. “You should have known I am smart enough to stop whatever you do. You cannot escape me, any more than my sister could outrun her fate.” But she had. I had meant to break her, and she had the gall to deny me the pleasure. 

Tamaris let out a choking laugh. “I thought you smarter than that too, Iraela. You should have known I had to try nonetheless. I cannot let you do this. I will not let you do this.”

My wrath reached boiling point, and I slapped him. Claws raked his cheek, blood bursting forth in little red streams. He took the blow with a hiss, then met my eyes. “Even if you control my body, you will never have my soul.” He laughed bitterly. “The most farcical aspect of this is that I would have given you my heart on a plate, had you asked. We could have been great together.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “In another world, we would have been great. But this is the one we live in, and I will rule. It is a shame that you have chosen the stand against me, but it will hardly impede my coronation.” An idea occurred to me, and I added, “It might even aid it.”

Snapping my fingers, I called a revenant into the room. This needed to be a surprise, which meant my ghouls, precious though they were, were not the men for the task. Tamaris cringed as the shambling corpse of his brother-in-law grabbed his shoulder, and his sister tied a halter around his neck. “Ira, please,” he hissed, glimmers of fear sprouting beneath his facade like the shimmering of fish scales in a murky pond. “Don't. It's not too late. We- we can undo th-”

A revenant clasped their hand over his mouth, and I watched Tamaris be dragged out of my room. Quietly, I fussed with my hair, tightening the braids and puffing up the curls. There was really nobody to impress, anymore. My new allies cared not for my court manners, my pallid skin and my claws. Finally I belonged. In a fit of pique, I undid my hair, letting it fall loose around my waist, and gave a triumphant grin to the monster in the mirror. 

When I strode into the throne room, the shifter I had spoken to earlier was there, along with her entourage. “Say, is someone missing? I do recall there being more of you before,” I said, by way of conversation.

A brief look of confusion passed over the lead shifter's features, before she let out a polite laugh. “Ah, you must be thinking of the whelp. The one who ran my messages, yes? You know how children are, it is probably off playing with the horses,” she said, her smile conspiratorial.

“Of course. Now, explain exactly what this alliance of yours entails,” I said. 

The shifter shrugged elegantly, her dress rippling as she did so. “The humans have begun infesting this world, as you may well know. They are driving out our people. It is all fine and good for the elves and their pretty little Syvniko, but us shifters have been forced to retreat into the Barrowlands. Do you know how humiliating it is to be forced to give in to mayflies?” The shifter flicked her hair and mimed spitting on the floor. “It must stop. The vampires have reported being driven out of the desert by mining camps; the forest spirits are huddling in smaller and smaller villages; I have even heard reports of sirens being bombarded by fishing trawlers!”

I listened to her tirade grimly. This was what I had walked into, when I rose to power. This was the fate I was bound to prevent. “I understand,” I told her. “They must be stopped. The question is: How?”

The shifter leaned forward, baring her teeth. “We kill them all. Every last one of the bastards. And the ones that we don't get rid of, we keep as workers. They're mayflies, after all. When we whittle them down, we can use the rest for drudge work.”

Slavery and genocide. On a scale our world had never seen before. For a moment, I was reminded of Ako's warning. Perhaps this was wrong. Perhaps I was taking this too far. I could be content with my castle, could I not? I could look after my people and turn a blind eye to the rest of the lands, riddled with humans as they were.

The shifter saw my expression, and pushed forward. “Listen. You may think it safe to leave them be, to let the Kil-aci mountains separate your people from the living. That is false. Already, the Luxatian provinces have begun gathering troops. They call the Crusaders. On a crusade against what? Against your people, against your nation, against you. We must stop them.”

My blood turned cold. Of course the humans were coming for us. Had they not spent their entire lives killing the ghouls? Had Blood-toil and Death-in-me not brought tales of watching their families be hunted like animals? Yes, they had to be stopped. “I… You are right. If it is between them or us, then I would choose my people a thousand times over. Whence my coronation is complete, we shall spread the word.”

The shifter relaxed. “Good, good. I knew you could be counted on, Lich-Queen. It will be an honour to work with you,” she said, kissing my hand. Then, as one, her people left. 

Alone in the throne room, I felt weariness seep into my bones. My love loved me no more. My sister haunted my path. The gods themselves conspired against me. What was a young queen to do but take her frustrations out on her surroundings?

The former Kings’ portraits littered the halls. I had not had the time to have them removed, so they judged me from their place on the walls. Such beautiful pieces they were, strokes of gossamer paint and sprinklings of magic that made them feel alive. They glared at me with bushy eyebrows and dark eyes. 

I stood beneath the greatest of them, that of my predecessor. My sister's love. He had been a lumbering man, yet sharp of wit. He had not the kindness to spare for his love's supposedly magicless little sister. Monster, the portrait's facade named me. Evil.

“You are correct. I am a monster,” I told the painting, all the paintings in that room. “I am a monster you made, with your little room at the top of the stairs, your giggling behind the fluttering of fans, your silent nights with the faint music of galas I was not invited to. I am a monster, and I am taking what I deserve. When you're a corpse dancing to my strings, I want you to remember that you had a chance to be nice to me. This, all this, is what you deserve." I stretched my claws, and scored them down the paintings. 

Soft canvas ripped beneath my fingers, a poor substitute for flesh. With all the pent up rage of twenty long years, I tore painting after painting down. “I hate you all,” I snarled. “Every. Last. One. Of. You.” Kings and Queens alike fell under my fingers. Busts were slapped off their pedestals, and crushed beneath my feet. Tapestries were ripped clean off the wall. At some point, I began screaming, a wordless sound of pure rage. 

I picked up a table. It displayed priceless porcelain from Losaras, seashells from the Selfie Archipelago, and all other sorts of fragile curios. One leg came off in the cracking of bones. The other soon followed. It went crashing down, chiming dissonantly with the terror of broken glass. Using the table leg, I beat the remnant shards to dust, and stood in the centre of the whirlwind.

My throat ached with the aftermath of my fury, claws sore from scratching and smashing. But my heart was lighter for it. I called a few revenants to me, and changed out of my torn skirts. “I think,” I said to nobody in particular, “It is time for my coronation.”

The pieces had all come together. The dice were falling, the spell taking hold. My coronation would fix this. Whence I became Queen, everything would be better.

It would be just like my childhood dreams.

This time, my entry into the hall was triumphant, complete with fanfare. The highest nobles of Ceredell hauled the doors open like common slaves, and they pressed their once vibrant lips to trumpets. Hundreds of men and women turned at the sight of me, and a wave of clapping descended upon me. I flicked a manic curtsey, then gestured at the table before me, laid out as if for a buffet.

“Let me honour you all with a gift,” I announced. “Come, watch the death of the last nobleman of fallen Ceredell!”

A revenant wheeled Tamaris out. He was splayed on a board, arms spread apart. His face was white with agony, legs twisted. I tsked at him, inspecting his bonds. “Looks like your wings have crumpled, my butterfly,” I whispered. “I wish it could have been different.”

Tamaris met my eyes, and my half-dead heart crumpled to see the love in his gaze. “It is not too late, Ire,” he said. “Do not do this. Do not succumb.” His fingers twitched in my direction, an open hand offering forgiveness.

“It is you people who should apologise,” I hissed, slapping that hand. “I am taking my blood-right.” Turning to the audience, I said, “Let us begin our last course!”

Tamaris froze, finally understanding. I took the knife from Death-in-me, placing it along his chest. “I love you,” I said, loud enough for all to hear me. “And I will make you love me too.”

Then I began carving him alive. I started with the skin, peeling it from his ribs like lifting the skin off a potato. Tamaris howled in agony, his voice touching the heavens. My orchestra matched him, starting up an accompaniment of strings and bass.

Blood blossomed like a rose, painting my gloves crimson as I lovingly opened up his flesh for the world to see. His wings formed, dripping red as my butterfly of torment emerged from his chrysalis.

With my magic, I kept him alive beyond the bounds of humanity. As I hacked out his ribs, pulling the first hunk of meat and placing it on a plate, I was struck by the beauty of his face. Even weeping, eyes bulging, nails ripped off from clawing at wood, there was a noble gallance to him. I smiled, and tenderly tore out another rib.

His wails did not stumble, did not falter, even as the delicious scent of grilled Tamaris emanated from below my stage. I unravelled his intestines, the grey ropes spilling out, as the first of my new allies feasted on my love. His offal was affectionately wrapped around my arms, draped about me like a stole. Extracting his lungs, I regretfully turned his insides over to the grill for my guests.

His kidneys were next, laid out beside a leaky liver. With delicate care, I had left his heart framed in the hollow cave of his torso, like a singular rose in a vase. It pulsated and pumped, alien and oh-so-familiar.

Viscera dripped onto the floor with wet splotches, and I could not help but giggle. The power I held in my hands, to feast upon my own beloved's flesh, to create this masterpiece of butchery… It was, for lack of a better word, aortic.

I stuck my claws into his chest cavity and ripped out his heart, leaving him dependent on my necromancy to live. He was mine, once and for all. I raised my fist triumphantly, still-beating heart in my hands. The mass below me fell silent, the music fading, even Tamaris' ululations reduced to noiseless croaks.

“Know that I am Queen,” I announced to them, to my new allies. “I rule!” Words deserted me in my ecstasy, and I released a scream. It bounced off the walls and dug into my chest, no trace of the human I had once been within it.

My people let out a full-chested cheer, like the eruption of a volcano. A thousand voices held testament to my crown. I turned to Tamaris. His eyes begged me to stop this madness. 

Spoilsport.

I kissed him passionately, lips touching his, coaxing his tongue out. The rusty taste of his mouth made my dead heart race, a virgin on her wedding night. I closed my eyes, pulling him closer with an assertive arm. For one moment, we could be on the wedding altar.

But that moment ended. I closed my jaws on his tongue, sharp teeth severing it, and ripped it out. Blood gushed in the air as I gulped the slippery flesh down. “Ahh,” I sighed tenderly. Sensually, I ran my claws around the orbitals of his eyes, tracing his eyelid, probing at his eyeball. It popped out with breathtaking ease, and I devoured the gooey feast.

Placing his heart to my lips, I kissed it lovingly. My tongue delved into the gaping arteries, devouring it. Tangy flavour exploded on my tongue, and I basked in its divinity. 

Was there any act more intimate than cannibalism? I could not think of anything. Those haunted sockets of his, mouth hanging slack, gory and broken beyond repair, held a bond deeper than any ring or vow. 

This was true love. 

I threw my head and laughed. Snapping my fingers, I severed my magic and his bonds at once. My love fell like a ragdoll, discarded and worthless. The ghouls would fix up all the remnants and serve it to my guests.

As I began walking away, the last dregs of my humanity compelled me to stop. I turned back, grabbed the hollow of his throat lightly, and whispered, “Have your eternal peace, my love. ‘Tis the least you deserve.” 

My steps down the stairs left a trail of blood behind them. I stopped at the base of the stairs, meeting the eyes of my new allies. There was approval in Empress Sucsu'anane's nod, delight in the shifter delegation, and… Horror? Fear? Amongst the elves.

Saivere, the same elf who had been ever so pleasant towards me, stepped forth. “What in Solaria's name have you done? That…” He shook his head violently. “That was wrong. Do you not understand the meaning of the word?”

Empress Sucsu'anane laughed at him. “Young Nari-ilra, do not be rude. All reigns end and begin with bloodshed, even yours. Why should she try to hide it under a veneer of civility? Honesty is a valuable trait,” she told him.

Saivere squared himself resolutely. “This is inhumane,” he insisted. “We just watched an innocent man be tortured to death. I will not stand by and watch this travesty, and if you had any sense, you would not either.”

Like a kindergarten descending into chaos, the people before me divided into two camps. Overlapping voices argued with each other, clamouring and demanding to be listened to. All for little old me! It was absolutely delightful.

When I had grown bored of the fuss, I raised my knife and tapped it on the metal railing. The resulting clang resounded through the hall, silencing the crowd as it went. 

“Now,” I said, into the void of suits. “If you are done bickering like little children, I have a thing or two I'd like to say.” 

Crossing my hands behind my back as straightening up to my full height, I continued, “It has been brought to my attention that we are having a certain… overcrowding issue. We, as immortals and long-lived species, are running out of living space, living space that we deserve. Now, who has been taking that space?”

I paused, and the shifters piped up. “The humans,” they cried, joined in belatedly by the spirits and my ghouls.

“Exactly,” I replied, nodding. “The mortal mayflies. Irritating, multiplying, and absolutely everywhere! Even the spirit-tongue recognises them as Kina-ilra, the everywhere people. Bad enough that they pop up all over the place, but that they are driving us out of our lands? That they are moving into our cities and taking up jobs that belong to our people and coming up with new technologies? That they have forgotten their place?”

Saivere's face fell. “Have you forgotten your past? You were a human once too,” he cried.

“Don't hold it against me,” I quipped, grinning at him. Yes, the flow of the crowd was turning against him. I could feel its heartbeat, the crashing waves of murmurs. “I'm trying to put those days behind me.”

Saivere opened his mouth to rebut me, and I hushed him again. The creases of anger and worry on his forehead gave me another idea. I took a mocking bow towards him. “You know, ladies, gentlemen, and eternal abominations, we all have one thing in common. Can anybody tell me what it is?”

From the crowd, someone piped up. “We're all inhuman?”

“Do you hear that? That's human centric language right there.” The rhetoric of Queendom was coming to me. “We need to stop that. Tell me, what unites us?  We're all Ilre, Kitzche, immortals! That's what defines us, not that we aren't forsaken mayflies.”

“But the elves aren't immortal,” another member of the elven delegation shouted. There was a distinct aura of gotcha from him. Oh, we were going to see who had gotten who soon enough. “We just happen to have long lifespans.”

I stepped forward, and the elves stepped back. “Exactly. Tell me, who taught the humans machinery? Who helped them with agriculture, encouraged democracy within their borders? Which non-immortal species is currently infringing on the Cescere spirit's lands?”

A dangerous hush descended upon them. I smiled even wider, grateful for my new face, for I could literally smile ear to ear now. “Tell me… Who is just as much to blame as any human?”

The answer came in a ripple, as much magic as any spell. The elves. The nari-ilra. The mortals. All of them. Every last one. Not a good one amongst them. Fingers sharpened to claws, weapons drawn. 

The elves never stood a chance.

I watched Saivere be shredded before my very eyes, letting his gore mingle with Tamaris'. I grasped his severed head and lifted it up. By the gods, if my sister could see me now. She would weep with horror and fear, to see what I had become. I revelled in the thought that I had become the very monster she so desperately sought to stop. That in the end, she was the powerless oracle, and I the great necromancer. That all her prophecies were not enough to prevent the fate I had so craved.

“Look at this,” I commanded. My people obeyed.

“This is a sign of our new regime,” I announced. My people listened.

“We will kill every human, and then we will rule atop their corpses!”

And my people cheered for me, their Lich-Queen.

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