#i will still have to ruin my quality of life in order to have any quality of life at all. i just want life to magically have room for me

[sublux]

what an absolutely exhausting couple of years i’ve had. i hope 2025 has something good in it for me

[darktrashsoulbear]

Cold Nights, Cosy Hearts

Modern Aemond Targaryen x girlfriend!reader

Based on this request made by Hannah @gwaynesprincess

Summary: After an unexpected interruption to their cosy night in, Aemond and reader try to find a way to somehow salvage the night and spend some quality time together.

House of the Dragon Masterlist

Taglist

Warnings: Smut, minors do not interact

Word Count: 3350

Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics

Any likes, comments and reblogs are always always appreciated :)

The sound of his ringtone interrupted Aemond’s reading of Arnold J. Tonybee’s ‘A Study of History’. With a grin he looked down at his phone hoping it was his angel. The grin soon soured as he declined the call, eyes rolling to the back of his skull - Aegon. Averting his attention back to his book he continued, the serene silence making for the perfect autumn, late afternoon atmosphere to catch up on his reading as he waits for his angel to come home.

Aemond learnt from a young age that his elder brother had a penchant for ruining perfect moments, he was a fool to think this time was an exception. He hastened to the front of the flat not wanting the neighbours to believe there was an attempted break in occurring at the sheer volume of the banging at the door. Swinging open the door sporting a glare that could freeze the sun, Aemond grasped the arm of the nuisance and dragged him inside before quickly slamming it shut again.

Said nuisance, unphased by his anger, jumped onto the sofa in order to lay down - ignorant to his shoes rubbing all over the fabric. Momentarily unsure of how to react to the scene before him, Aemond stilled before snapping back to reality and ripping Aegon’s legs off of the sofa, almost throwing him to the floor. 

“Oi, what was that for!”

“Get out Aegon!” Aemond snapped not bothering to dignify his question with a response

“Must I remind you that it was YOU who just yanked me through the door, weirdo!” Aegon fired back, his amusement clear

“Why are you here?” The younger demanded

“I had no other choice with you dodging my calls!” Aegon continued, “what if it was urgent?”

“Is it?” he questioned, defeatedly leaning against the wall adjacent to the sofa

The hesitation that followed told Aemond all he needed to know as he, once again, began ushering his brother out, telling him he’s busy. Stubbornly Aegon refused clinging onto the backrest of the sofa as though his life depended and at this point, it very well could have. As the brother’s struggled they found themselves on the floor, forgetting the actual task at hand and just exchanging brotherly blows trying to get the advantage.

The scene you walked in on was one you wouldn’t forget. On the carpet before you was Aemond half kneeling on the floor with Aegon wrapped around the one not touching the floor, like a koala - seemingly in a struggle as you watched one of Aemond’s hands go from trying to pry him off to his hair and yank. At this you couldn’t contain your laughter anymore as, body curling in as the sound of your cackles rang out. 

This caused Aemond to lose focus, letting go of Aegon’s strands, as his head snapped back towards you. Just as he opened his mouth and went to say something, Aegon used his distraction to his advantage and rose up, arms still wrapped around Aemond’s leg using it to shove him onto his back and triumphantly sat on both his legs, pinning them down and casually waving at her. 

“If you boys are busy then I can text Helaena, see if she wants to meet up or something,” you suggested, half genuinely wanting to give them space and half desperately not wanting to be forced to babysit the two brothers.

“That would be grea…” Aegon began but was cut off by Aemond yet again burying a hand in his hair in order to free himself.

“No!” he interjected, “we promised we’d spend the evening with each other, I’ve got the movies rented and menus ready to order a takeaway. Just give me a sec to get rid of him and we can start baby.”

Aegon finally freeing himself again began “I may have a thing for hair pulling but certainly not with you little brother, with your girlfriend on the other hand…” he trailed off, shooting you a wink, “and now there’s no way you’re getting rid of me, movies and a takeaway? Count me in!” he moved back over to sit in the middle of the sofa tapping the spots on either side of him with his hands.

Aemond chose to ignore him entirely and walked over to his angel, grasping your hands and telling you to go “relax, get into something comfortable and decide what we should watch first” while he dealt with the 5”9’ problem in the flat. However, before you could even take a step in the direction of their bedroom, you were interrupted by a loud declaration from the man on the sofa.

“I do agree you should get changed doll, but into something to go out in. The three of us are going to go meet some people at the pub, maybe go out after”

Judging by the vein protruding from the side of her boyfriend’s neck, you knew now was the time to step in. Nodding to Aegon, you grasped Aemond’s hand, interlocked your fingers and led him to their bedroom, ensuring the door was locked behind them. You guided him to take a seat on the bed as she stood before him, bringing his head against her stomach, running one hand through his hair and the other massaging circles between his shoulder blades.

After a few minutes of silence, Aemond mumbled something about how Aegon must have a compulsion of ruining everything. His angel only softly chuckled as you continued soothing him.

“Would it be so bad if we indulged him and just went along?” You began before he moved his head away and looked up as if you’d sprouted another head, taking a seat next to him you quickly added on, “Let’s say we do go, what would really happen? We have a drink or two with him, then he gets distracted by a pretty girl and leaves us alone, we have a couple of drinks and chat, then we come back here and watch movies and get a takeaway like we planned.”

After a moment of thought, the corner of Aemond’s lips quirked up and he put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in to press a few kisses on the top of her head. “A fine plan, my angel, a fine plan indeed.”

Preening at the praise you added “and besides we could use this as an excuse to get out of future plans we want no part of, ‘what do you mean we never go out with you Aegon? Do you not remember last time when we cancelled our date night just to join you, only for you to ditch us for a girl?’ We’d have a solid argument baby.”

At this Aemond let out a genuine laugh, pulling you up to her feet before wrapping his arms around your waist. He pressed a kiss to your lips, trailing his hands further down, copping a feel before letting her go to allow the two of them to get ready for the night.

One would think that after acquiescing to his wishes, Aegon would become more manageable. That would incorrect, instead he was bounding down the street as free as a child half his age. Aemond and his angel trailed behind him, huddling closer together for warmth. His left and your right were in the pockets of your own coats while the others were intertwined and shoved into Aemond’s other pocket.

Reaching the too lively pub, Aemond tugged you inside, eyes frantically scanning the place for an available seat. Aegon, of course, made a beeline for the bar and was frantically waving back at them to join him. Smirking, his angel pulled him over towards him and he reluctantly trailed behind. 

“See guys, isn’t this so fun? Seriously Aem I don’t know how you managed to bag a girl like her, what with the giant stick permanently lodged up your -” Aegon was cut off by you sliding close to the rogue.

“Don’t look now Aegon but that girl over there, on the other side of the bar, she’s staring at you. Like really really into it,” and Aegon of course immediately whipped around, eyes zeroing in on the girl whose eyes were flicking over with mild interest - but he didn’t need to know that.

“Well then, my lady, weirdo, I’d best not deprive her of the best night of her life for much longer! I’ll catch you guys in a second, just stay close.” Aegon instructed, walking backwards towards the girl in the hot pink dress.

With that the couple were left alone and Aemond’s relief was evident. As Aemond got the attention of one of the bar staff, you turned to find somewhere a lot more discreet to sit. Spotting somewhere in the back you grabbed the drinks as he paid and the two of you made your way over to a small table near the back.

Taking a seat on the small stools you set the drinks down and Aemond turned to you giving you a small smile and retaking your hand, palm up, tracing the lines on it. Abruptly looking up a final time his eyes darted back over the where Aegon was, relieved to see he was still by the markedly more interested looking girl.

Turning back to your eyes he felt an overwhelming sense of adoration flow through him, reaching out he tucked a rogue strand of your hair behind your ear as you bit your lip looking up at him with a gaze that made him dearly regret ever entertaining the idea of leaving their bedroom.

Just as he cupped your face with one hand, the other tugging your chin up and closer, and began leaning in, he heard a dull thud on the opposite side of their table top. Looking across you saw a man at least in his early 40s, wearing a worn suit slump into the stool opposite you - eagerly grabbing and downing half his pint of Guinness.

Slowly he lifted his gaze to the two of you and looked at you as though you were the inconveniences. Which apparently was the final straw for Aemond as he gave him the deepest scowl you’d ever seen. This caused one of the most amusing exchanges of words you’d ever seen your boyfriend involved in…

“Don’t know why you’re giving me that look boy, you don't own the table you know,” the man began.

“Look mate, I meant no harm, me and my girl were just wanting-” Aemond began feeling less than civil.

“Oh boy you couldn’t harm a fly even if you did mean it,” the man scoffed, flicking his hand dismissively.

You could see the way Aemond’s hand tightened into a fist and his jaw clenched. Knowing you had to do something to de-escalate the situation you opened your mouth to address him.

“Don’t you even think about putting your two-pence missy, this is between me and the lad,” the balding man interjected.

At this your eyes widened, eyebrows slightly lifted momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of the man that came and sat at your table. Aemond angled his head towards you, his gaze sending a clear message ‘just say the word and I’ll deal with it’. But before he was given the chance your pint of Stella Artois somehow made its way all over the man’s front.

At his shocked gasp, you and Aemond looked at each other and the message was clear. Run. Darting out of the pub, hand in hand, Aemond leading the way. The seven o’clock evening chill in the night was biting compared to the heat in the pub and caused you to shiver as you realised you left your coat inside near the bar.

Realising this Aemond offered to go back and fetch it but not wanting to risk getting barred from the pub, you shook your head reassuring him that you’d be fine for the walk home. Turning to begin the walk, another shiver coursed through you as you attempted to huddle further into your knitted dress, thankful you had the forethought to wear plain black leggings instead of tights.

Observing, Aemond tugged on your wrist causing you to swivel back as he draped his own coat around your shoulder, helping you slide you arms in. You tried to refuse, insisting he kept it for himself, but vehemently denied you stating that Targaryen’s have warmer blood - thanks to their royal lineage from centuries ago, blood of the dragon apparently.

Finally acquiescing, you gave him a peck on the lips grasping his left hand to shove into the coat pocket until he yet again stopped you. Looking up at him confused, he moved you so that you were now standing on his right - away from the pavement. He then allowed his right hand to find home in the coat’s  pocket, the other sliding into the pocket of his jeans.

Seeing your eyes roll at his actions, he simply gave you a smirk “you always claim that chivalry is dead in modern society angel, I’m simply proving otherwise”.

Turning the corner, relief filled you as you spotted your flat building meaning you’d soon be out of the cold. As much as Aemond liked to pretend he was unaffected you could tell the cold was getting to him. Still clasping his hand in the coat pocket you leaned against his side providing as much as you could without bruising his ego. As he looked down at you, you could see the shift in gaze, darkening at you wearing his clothes.

He abruptly stopped and walked you back until your back hit the brick wall behind you, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, the other sliding down to the small of your back pushing you against him. As he leaned his forehead against your own, your hands trailed up - one hand resting against his chest, the other coming up to curl around the back of his neck. Your legs slightly opened allowing his thigh to slot in between your own.

Just as he leans down to finally lock your lips in what was sure to be a passion infused breathtaking kiss, a shocked gasp interrupted him. An incredibly deep and agitated groan escaped Aemond, was having a brief uninterrupted moment with the love of his life really so much to ask for?

Slowly pulling away from each other, detangling your limbs you looked over at where the sound came from. It was Billy, the little boy from a few doors that had an affinity for sneaking out while his parents were distracted. Walking over you crouched down before him, “Hey Billy, are you alone sweetheart?”

He hesitated before slightly nodding his head “…yeah”.

“Are your mum and dad upstairs?”, prompting another small nod of his head.

“Well then I guess Aemond and I should take you back up to them, right Aemond?” You said over your shoulder.

Aemond, in return gave a deadpan look - to which you responded with your own - but eventually nodded wrapping an arm around you, pulling you inside as Billy’s little hand grasped your own.

Walking over towards the lifts Aemond went inside and pressed the up button. That’s when you noticed the out of service sign and couldn’t help but chuckle at how the universe seemed to be plotting against him tonight. 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself he ushered you and Billy up the stairs before following after, which proved to take a lot longer than initially thought due to Billy’s much smaller legs climbing up to the fourth floor. Finally arriving you quickly stepped across the hallway walking past your door to the flat three doors down and rang the doorbell.

It was safe to say Billy’s mother had quite the shock when she pulled it open to be met with her son, the friendly neighbour and her sometimes friendly boyfriend standing before her. Recovering quickly she immediately began chastising Billy for wandering off again and profusely thanking the two of you for returning him safely. Reassuring her that it was no trouble at all, you allowed Aemond to drag you away back up the hallway and into your own flat.

Closing the door behind him, he turned to you the same predatory glint in his eye returning as he eyed you up and down, drinking you in.

As you pushed  Aemond up against the door to your bedroom, he removed his coat from around you, throwing it to the floor all while kissing each other as though your lives depended on it. Parting from him you turned the doorknob behind him, pulling him behind you with a finger curled around one of the belt loops on his trousers.

Moving him to sit on the bed, you pulled his sweater off along with the top he was wearing underneath. You then guided him to stand and instructed him to take off his trousers and pants as you removed your own dress and leggings. As he returned to full height, stark naked he gazed into your eyes, waiting. 

Parting your legs before you, you slightly tilted your head down and that’s all the prompting he needed as he gracefully fell to his knees before you. Hooking your left leg over his shoulder, he began kissing up your leg - starting at your calf- licking and sucking as he went.

When he finally reached the apex of your thighs your body fell back against the mattress as he licked as though it was his final meal, nose rubbing against your clit, tongue dipping inside your core. Moans and whimpers escaped your lips as you pleaded - unsure of what for but he seemed to understand as he drove you closer and closer to your release.

Finally with his whisper of “let go for me, my love” you tipped over the edge, thighs shaking and back arched, fisting the sheets.

Climbing up the bed, Aemond’s hand stoked your hair bringing you down from your high. Flipping over onto your stomach, you brought your hand down to wrap around him before sitting up to straddle his thighs, pushing him back to lean against the headboard. Reaching back to unclip your bra, you threw it in the direction he’d discarded your panties.

Re-taking his length in your hand, you guided him to meet your entrance, sinking down you both let out pleasured groans. As he reached up towards your breasts, you took both hands in yours and pinned them by his sides - intertwining your fingers as you moved up and down. Leaning over to kiss him again, you allowed him to move from your lips, down your neck and chest until they wrapped around one of your nipples - alternating between the two between chants of your name.

Switching so your hips were now rotating in circles and grinding against him to make him brush against your g-spot. Releasing his hands you allowed him to touch you all over. Moving your hand to circle his throat you felt his heart beating erratically as the other hand moved to brace yourself against his hard chest as you leaned forward which allowed him to piston his hips up, chasing both of your releases.

When he felt you squeezing him tighter than before he moved a hand down to your clit, driving you to your release as he chased his own. Staring into each other's eyes you fell apart together while you collapsed against his chest. Arms wrapping around you, he rolled you to your side, pressing a kiss to your lips as he left to grab a rag to clean the both of you up.

Returning, he pulled you against his chest as you both felt the built up exhaustion from your day overcoming you. Before allowing sleep to whisk you away, you once again made eye contact, gazes expressing nothing but the pure depth of love you hold for each other. Regardless of how the day didn’t go to plan, in the end you had each other and that’s all that mattered.

[patchiko]

Arkham Knight Relationship HCS !! <3

( light nsfw, mostly SFW tho!! )

literally my wife ( i made this pic idc abt creds i just wanna talk abt it)

SFW !! <3

dying on this hill when i say basically any red hood would be soo yummy with a civilian or just someone who is extremely balanced.

im a red hood needs more fucking normalcy in his life TRUTHER.

relationship starts off slow, romantic and platonic, you need to be patient with him long enough for him to get over his mental dilemmas to feel ANY-TYPE of way towards you.

more then like 6 months lets be real yall

his way of bonding is quality time. ill die on this hill, especially at the start of the relationship. Nothing huge maybe just spending a couple extra minutes around you before leaving.

next is probably gift giving, esp with early relations, probably just gonna order you food or put fifty bucks on your countertop. you dont even notice until you realize you find a fifty around the last place he was standing. expect deliveries from R.H whenever he feels bad for something.

doesn't like being around for too long, feels like he's messing up something. ruining your day by keeping you up late (he was there for fifteen minutes), ruining your mood, (there was an awkward silence for like 30 seconds.)

not a overly conscious thought process though, he feels physically he isn’t supposed to be there. for whatever subconscious thing he picked up on, a awkward silence, or hes been there 15 minutes too long or something

well sometimes he'll mentally beat himself up.

he spirals a lot, needs someone to pull him out of that.

i think when he needs to be grounded, its not just comfort its making him feel alive in the present moment. he's never gonna truly forget about his traumas but maybe for just an hour or two; running around an arcade, walking around the city. just making him feel normal, yeah you BAGGED his ass quick.

he needs someone patient, really patient, someone whos very attentive and empathetic. (but not a complete push- over def needs someone to set him in line still)

i think if you move to quickly, he'll get super snappy and ghosting you,, ong put ur hands on him too early and he's left hooking you.

yeah you're waking up and the first thing your hearing is "Its been 12 years..."

second thing you hear is "you've been in a coma for.. 12 years."

third thing you're hearing is, " we think a bus hit you...”

obviously not touchy, even when he is settling down. hes just not sure how to .. or where to .. or why he wants too.

please his mental gymnastics get so crazy, just sit down with him and put on some silly ass movie so he stops

when he’s settled he cant pry himself off you though.

a lot of his expressions can definitely be told by his body language, naturally hes tense but theres certain habits he has when he's maybe thinking too much, or fustrated/irritated.

but he does all of the same for you, comfort, love, as much as he can he tries

Very attentive, has a mental list of 'shit you do when somethings wrong' or 'shit you like.'

doesn't consciously make any of these mental list, he just knows.

"didnt they say they liked this?" He pauses "shit ill just leave it at their window."

so he's like canonically smart as shit.

you have too much work from your boss or professor? hand it over its done in less then two hours.

literally buys you groceries and pays your bills (fucking lover boy.)

arkham knight finally figuring out how to ask for a hug (hes been dead silent for 5 minutes) (link) <— insta reel

HES A CHEM/HISTORY NERD FOR SURE

NSFW !! <3

probably- A FUCKING VIRGIN !! HES A NERD !! GETS AWKARD AS SHIT. WITH RAGING COMMITMENT AND TRUST ISSUES !! (will still die4you tho)

AGAIN, not in a "my soft squishe potato always been scared of sex" way but in a ‘oh my god hes so unsocialized’ way.

yall ever see a big ass dog just..standing.. literally him (hes dissociating)

genuinely dont believe that when he was arkham/training to be, he was sexually or romantically involved with anyone. the last thing that was on his mind was actually pursuing a sexual or romantic relationship.

along with his trauma, he just wasn’t comfortable with any of that.

ghosted so many people..

couldn’t flirt for more then five minutes, just stopped feeling it or got uncomfortable .

I AM ANTI ARKHAM KNIGHT BEING A SEX GOD

not that he’s horribly awkward, but he’s noticeably a bit more quiet for first times.

ofc this man has watched porn n’ shit but hes smart enough to know thats not what its really like.

he’ll still figure it, what makes you tic, what you love, what makes you most comfortable.

kinda shitty at dirty talk, just makes him buffer.

he gets better at it tho, too damn good

gets so snarky and confident about it too uuhgrr

late relationships hes smirking and chatting your ears off cause you know hes gettin you turnt.

he has a love-hate relationship with his scars. 95% they remind him of his past, but 5% hes alright with them because they’ve shown what hes been through.

deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down, he knows hes fine as fuck. TRUST YALL.

again, super observant and attentive. really pays attention to what you enjoy.

I genuinely don’t believe hes into super hardcore/painful kinks or anything.

Sex for him is definitely a way of showing his trust and intimacy with someone!! Let him show you how much he loves you and how much he wants to make you feel good! Do the same to him !!

mmm tell him how good hes doing and hes a absolute mess!!

praise him! PRAISE HIM *im yelling from the hospital bed im strapped down on*

wouldn’t let you ride for awhile, but once he’s comfortable with it ,, he’s actually obsessed.

cant see him bottoming , just wouldn’t be comfortable with it

my brain is getting messy so im stopping here! feedback and comments would be cool if you wanna drop some!

[mamuzzy]

What is considered child mistreatment in Mandalorian culture (legends)?

I was inspired by this post but I didn't want to ruin a mood with my AcKcHuYaLlY vibes so I made a separate post about it.

While I agree with a sentiment of Cuy'val Dar should have rioted seeing children being mistreated, given they are a very heavily family and child centered culture, I've just recently read a few quotes from Republic Commando which made me wonder...

what is considered child mistreatment in their culture?

Because training children to be soldiers are not one. It is a perfectly normal thing to do for them.

What you will read here about: -- Potential reasons why the Cuy'val Dar didn't refuse the job -- Relationship of a Mando parent and their child: How Munin Skirata adopted Kal and with it giving him a predetermined path of life -- Little detour to the topic of how modernday parents don't include children in the household chores -- Pav-Ti and Ahsoka -- Walon Vau and Dred Priest's approach -- Kal Skirata's approach of training -- Little about Mandos and Jedi -- Sorry (not really), people. I still love Kal. -- I won't tag this as anti/pro/critical fandom fuckery. Only a Sith deaIs in absolutes.

Rest is under the cut.

Why would Cuy'val Dar accept such assignment in the first place?

So why didn't they say no? 1. Loyalty and Respect for Jango Fett 2. In need of money 3. Needed a place to hide 4. It could be HONOUR: If a mando bounty hunter accepts a job, they won't back down from it. That's why they are the best. A mandalorian either completes the job or they die in the process (see: Hard Contact). 5. Child soldiers are nothing out of place.

But the latter is debatable, depending on which bounty hunter you ask. Kal was horrified when he was presented with the facts. Scene from Triple Zero, where Kal realizes what Jango is expecting of him:

Jango Fett indeed didn't tell them the whole truth. I'm pretty sure there would have been people who would have accept it anyway. But I'm also sure most of them were conned this way.

We even know Kal's reason of accepting the job.

He didn't have any outside ties anymore that required his physical presence, so at this point he could just accept a decade long assignment.

And when he met the Nulls, he gave himself a purpose out of this nightmare. Raising these children as Mandalorians.

But where this is come from? From Kal's own buir.

Another quote about how Munin adopted Kal.

Awfully practical people. But also, compassionate. Kal is guided by the same compassion as his buir.

Overprotected children of our modern age

Family centric and child centric views are really distorted today which is about overprotecting kids from literally everything. Even from basic household chores: a parent who is too tired and impatient for their child constantly making mistakes during learning a task, so they simply take it out from the child's hand and doing it instead, because teaching them comes with much more mess to clean up, therefor more work for the parent. Children won't learn that helping out around the house can be a quality time with the parent, because most parents don't consider being together with their children a quality time. This later leads to those awful fights between a teenager who never helps around the house on their own only when asked/ordered. Children are glorified exotic pets, one task from a bucket list or worst, investments. But part of the family? Less likely. Not unconditionally.

PAV-TI AND AHSOKA

If you think about Ahsoka's backstory in the Tales of the Jedi, her mother also brought her on the hunt and made her look when she skinned the animal. Teaching her that death is a part of life and even when they take resources from the nature, they should do it with respect. Pav-Ti was already teaching her to be a part of their small community.

I think Mando culture is the same: they involve their children in their profession from early age. Probably teaching your children how to kill for money is not exactly ethical by our earthling standards. Regardless, they do it together. Little mando'ade won't go to school, they spend their time with the family and learning skills they will need if they choose the same profession and lifestyle as their parents.

PRACTICES OF VARIOUS MEMBERS OF THE CUY'VAL DAR

So that's why I think that even if the members of the Cuy'Val Dar had seconds thoughts, training child soldiers are nothing out of ordinary. I can't speak for the remaining non-mando trainers what was in their mind.

But when Dred Priest and Isabeth Beau started their own little figthing rings in the guise of "preserving the old ways", it was really considered fucky even among the other mando trainers Death Watch couple-goals: torture children together <3. Dred Priest despised the clone cadets and they actually died under his care and this is one of the reason why Mij Gilamar killed Priest later in the books.

Walon Vau wasn't introduced to mando values until he ran away from home as an adult, but his abusive upbringing shaped his worldview on how he trained the cadets. Strict codes and harsh punishments. He had his regrets of it later.

From O66, Walon Vau to Kal Skirata

Love has many shapes. Vau wanted them to survive because he loved them. But loving them and treating them good/bad is not the same.

We know about Kal that he taught by experience. He never gave an assignment to his cadets before he first showed them how to do it.

And then we have these notorious parts of him regarding the clones which can be interpreted so many ways but often used as the evidence as child abuse:

And this one also:

(sometimes I throw my brain outtaaa windoooOOooOooOow what people call abusive these days...)

What is my stance about this particular passage? I think he didn't abuse the clones. He wanted them to survive too. He wanted to make it easier for them which was really hard considering the circumstances. He wanted to be a father to the clones like Munin was to him.

We saw the differences between Omega Squad and Delta Squad. The Delta first left Walon Vau behind because they were ordered to do so. Delta left Sev behind because they were ordered to do so. As far as we know, no one deserted from the Empire from Vau's commandos. They remained loyal to the Republic/Empire. Darman could have been with his son and with Clan Skirata but he choose to remain with Niner in the Empire. He remained loyal not the empire, not even Kal Skirata but his brother. Just like Kal thaught them.

What makes them different from the jedi and at the same time so similiar?

The Jedi seek out force sensitive children to teach them how to control this power within them and make sure, they won't use it for personal gain. And later, when they grow up, they will do the same.

Mandos take pity over war orphans (usually that's the case), take them into their clan of soldiers and they teach them a profession and one day, they can do the same.

Both faction are doing it, guided by the same principle: COMPASSION.

Jedi are practicing compassion toward every living, while Mando compassion is just much more personal on the individual level.

Dialogue from Imperial Commando between Arligan Zey and Kal Skirata. I think this baby stealing prejudice comes from that force sensitive children are separated from their parents and all this goes against the family centric view of the mandalorians where family is above all and the children are only safe with their families.

In conclusion...

My personal take after this little research that Mando trainers didn't abuse children, not in their own mandalorian standards. I say this because of Dred Priest who was condemned for actually hurting his cadets, forcing them to fight against each other, and lots of them actually died.

After the failed experiences with the Nulls, the kaminoans and trainers didn't expose the clones to live rounds and bombs until so much later, that's why the commandos and Alpha-class ARCs feel much more balanced in their phyche.

I think Walon Vau abused his cadets but he justified it with love.

Kal made them to do horrible exercises and said a lot of shitty things to the clones (though I think it's kind of like when you call your cat a whore out of affection) but overall he tried to make their suffering bearable.

[galaxygirl-katie27]

Vector Redesign

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Notes under the cut!

-Okay so first of all, I had to finally figure out his nationality, so that it would make sense with the story. Which led me to my headcanon of Vector being Turkish-Persian mixed, with his father being Turkish and his mother being Persian. But ultimately he would be the prince, later king, of Persia. I‘d like to make a full post about this topic specifically later, but in short: His father was the second Turkish prince, so in order to be king himself, he married into the persian royal family, who had no male heir, so he could have his own kingdom. So that later, Vector could jut walk through Türkiye with his army to attack Nasch in Greece, because of his blood-relation to their royal family without any problems.

-To the design. I gave him a ponytail, just to try it out, but I just liked it so much, that I had to stick with it.

-He has big eye bags from Insomnia, because of many nightmares almost every night. He has major PTSD from his past, that sill haunts him.

-He has a tooth gap (where he actually lost a tooth) and many scars and bandaids, because this boy is just always hurt (most of it because of the Ray-Way). I once read a headcanon, that all of Ray`s clumsiness wasn’t even acted, Vector is just like that. He still bumps into all kinds of furniture post-series.

-Also he ruined all his pants at one point because of his clumsiness and because the others (Nasch) don’t want to buy him new ones, he just patched them up himself, and yes he did poke himself with the needle multiple times.

-FRECKLES. No elaboration needed.

-Big father issues. Also no elaboration needed.

-This boy never ties his shoes, which also doesn’t help his clumsiness. Also he wears mismatched shoes, but they match enough for him and he just doesn’t think anyone notices. Everyone notices.

-He is one of the people with the most Trauma. If you ask him how he‘s doing he‘d say: „I take antidepressants.“ And he does! He got them perscribed, after an… incident. I wont go into detail, but I think you can guess what happened. And while most of the barians still don’t exactly like him, they don’t want him to die. He also refuses to go to proper therapy. Yuma is his therapy.

-He also has ADHD, which I think he always had, even in his past life. He got it diagnosed post series, when Yuma talked to him about his ADHD (another headcanon of mine) and Vector just heavily related to many things Yuma said and so he proposed that maybe he should get a diagnose. Which tuned out positive.

-Also he‘s a cat owner. I read so many fics, where he just adopts a cat. It’s mostly to spite Rio, when he came across a little kitten box on the side of the road one day. But he got so attached to it, it‘s his family now. It’s a little white female kitten, who is also deaf and her name is Pestilence, Pesty for short. He is also so good at hiding her. The barians only found out about her like 6 months after Vector got her. There was a massive discussion, but in the end Vector got to keep her. She is now his emotional support cat.

-He also reads a bit, but it only consists of the most cliche, sappy, stereotypical romance stories you can find, to make fun of them.

-His past life redesign is like the biggest redesign up until now, since I researched ancient Persian an Turkish royal robes, because even when he‘s the prince/king of Persia, I think his father would still bring some of his Turkish background into the family.

-And since I made him older again (and tanner, because he was more in the sun in Persia than in Japan) I gave him a little goatee

-Also his robes are red to resemble his father, and how he is slowly turning into him (plus the goatee), but he still has blue in his clothes to resemble and respect his mother. I refuse to believe that he stopped loving her after her death. I think he always continued to love her deep inside and actually still misses her post series. He just doesn’t show it.

[after-hours-art]

30.01

Pairing: Chuck Bass x f!reader

Genre: comfort

Warnings: self-esteem issues, need for academic validation, not the finest of my works

[Author's note: I had a horrible day, so... I wrote this.]

You always were little Miss Perfect'. You always got As throughout school years. You got into Columbia, majoring in your favourite language. All the pieces of life puzzles started falling into places - beloved major, academic performance, perfect boyfriend. Right, Chuck indeed put a lot of work into himself, dedicating his time to working on Empire and your relationship. Everything was perfect. That is, until midterms.

//

You get back back to the penthouse after your classed. You don't say a word, throwing your jacket off and kicking off your boots. You walk over to Chuck, who, seeing you in such state after exam, puts away his whiskey glass. You plopp on his lap, curling up like a little kid and start crying. His arms instantly wrap around you. He doesn't have to ask to know the reason for your tears. His little Miss Perfect. His grip around you tightens, his lips hovering above top of your head, giving you few supportive kisses.

- Hey...? Wanna talk about it? - he asks gently, gently tracing patterns on your back in soothing motion. You shake your head, sniffing against his collarbones. He sighs, knowing that his Paul Stuart suit is probably now dirty with a mix of your mucus and ruined makeup. Yet, he doesn't complain. He just holds you for as long as you need. He knows you overthink a lot, that you have that urge to prove yourself academically. To him, it's stupid since he already sees you as perfect. But it's just the way you are. His little overthinker, Miss Perfect grades, his little future translator. He kisses your temple, gently squeezing your waist to coax out some words.

- Y/N... - he says quietly, his lips brushing against your hair. - I won't help you if you won't talk to me. I need to know what's wrong to help.

His voice sounds soft, yet with the usual hint of darkness, like a sweet dark honey.

- I got a question wrong... - you finally mutter. - I didn't know what 'natural language' is, and instead of answering that it uses 'arbitrary signs,' I said that it used 'indexes'. I'm so stupid. I...

- You're not stupid. - Chuck says sternly, cutting your words. Any time he does it, it feels to him like scolding a little kid. Even when the scolding is used in order to build some of your self-esteem, which is so deeply rooted in your grades and academic performance. Almost as if you forgot about other amazing qualities that you have.

- And getting one question wrong isn't the end of the world, Y/N.

- It is! You don't understand! - you snap a little, pulling away from his chest. His hands still supporting your hips, so you won't fall off his lap. His heart clinches slightly as he sees small trails of ruined foundation that your tears carved on your cheeks.

- You can't be serious. - he says.

- I am! You don't understand! I can't fail! I can't fail! I can't disappoint my professor! I can't disappoint my family, myself... you. You fucking pay for this college, I don't want to waste your money on me, not when I'm not even able to pass damn linguistics exam!

-Y/N... your tuition is the last of my concerns. My main concern is my girlfriend throwing a tantrum over the possibility of scoring 95% instead of 100%. - his voice is a bit more stern. His left hand lets go of your side and gently touches your cheek.

- You're not a failure. It's one question. One. It doesn't define you. I could've asked the most ridiculous thing about the language and you'd know the answer...

- You don't understand! I got questions wrong! I won't have perfect GPA, I..

- I don't care about your GPA. - his voice is still calm, but his patience is wearing off slowly. - However, I do care about having my girlfriend in her right mind. I care about my girlfriend not living off one meal a day because stress keeps you from eating. I care about my girlfriend getting nine hours of sleep instead of crying yourself to sleep as getting less sleep than I do. I care about you. - he says, his gaze locked on your teary eyes. - Your grades are secondary. Grades don't tell how smart you are. So what if the questions on the test were ones that you didn't know. There's always a second try, right? Your friends...

- Classmates... - you correct him. He rolls his eyes and sighs.

-... your classmates are probably laughing at their bad scores, that's what college students do.

- You don't understand. They don't understand... - you mumble.

- Y/N. - he cups your cheeks and makes you look at him. - You're right, I don't understand. I'm a businessman, not a college student, nor I ever really cared for the little letters next to names of the subjects. So yeah, I don't have grounds to understand your need for academic validation. - he sighs, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. - But I love you. And in case that's what your little heart is after, I'm proud of you. I really am. You ace every single test in English and your target language. One tiny linguistics exam that you can retake won't change the fact that I'm so damn proud of my girlfriend for getting in Columbia and majoring in something she'll love to work with. - he says, finishing the sentence with a gentle kiss. Your face twists into a grimace as you start crying again, this time merely from those five words 'I'm proud of you'.

- Shh... you're okay. It's okay. - he murmur, pulling you back into his embrace, his fingers gently caressing your back of your head. - I got you, love. I got you. And I'm damn proud of you. - he whispers, his warm breath hitting delicate skin on your ear. After a couple of moments, your breathing slowly settles. You rest your chin on his shoulder, still yearning to be close to him, your safe space. Seeing you slowly calm down, Chuck gently pushes you up, just so he can see your face.

- There she is... my amazing, smart, skilled, funny, sexy girlfriend... - he hums, gently cupping your cheeks, hoping to make you smile. Corners of your lips do lift slightly as the last adjective he used, but that would be it for smiles today. He carefully wipes any remaining tears from your cheeks, kissing you once he's done.

- How about I get you to bed? Or draw you a nice bath? - before you even open your mouth, he answers himself. - Bath. I bought those essential oils you like. Ones that you religiously used for whole month before SAT's. - he says, placing his hands under your thighs, slowly starting to get up. You wrap your arms around his neck, so you won't fall. He picks you up, taking a moment to glace at you.

- I'm proud of you. I really, really am. - he says softly before carrying you to the bathroom.

- So, which essential oil does my love want today? - he asks before closing the bathroom door.

[sheepwithspecs]

Freedom of Choice

|| FFXIV || Rated G || XIVRarepairWeek2024 ||

Ao3 Link

He was an idealist, she was a realist; can I make it any more obvious?

Day 1: Fated Arenvald x Fordola

“I wish you’d turn out that light.”

Arenvald turned his attention from the creased parchment in his hands, peering through his bangs at his sullen bedmate. Fordola had her face buried in one of his spare pillows, both arms burrowed beneath it as though she planned to smother herself in the soft featherdown. “Some of us are trying to sleep,” she added, her trademark scowl evident in every muffled word. At that moment, the midnight bell chimed low and strong from the chronometer.  

“Sorry, sorry.” Smiling patiently, he refolded the parchment and tossed it onto the bedside table. “It’s only that Alphinaud’s letters are always so interesting,” he explained, adjusting his legs with painstaking care before shoving a pillow beneath them. Pillows and cushions had come to be indispensable in the months since his accident, being one of the easiest ways to prevent pressure sores. He was on his way to becoming something of a connoisseur, gathering castoffs from all over Ala Mhigo in order to gauge the quality of the fabric, the firmness, the moldability, even the strength of the stitching. Fordola made no mention of his growing stash, though perhaps that was because she seemed to prefer using him as a pillow instead.

“He’s going to the New World soon,” Arenvald settled the bedclothes over his legs with a heartfelt sigh. “Tural, he said. I’m almost jealous… I wish I could go.”

“Then go,” Fordola grunted, peering at him from beneath her elbow. “Put that linkshell of yours to use and tell him you’re coming along for the ride.”  

“I could go, I suppose,” he mused, lacing his fingers on his stomach. “It’s not as though I’m bound by any real authority, not like when I was a Scion. And it’d be nice to travel again; exploring the star, meeting new people, delving into ancient ruins or scaling mountains in search of adventure…. But I’m better off staying here. There’s still plenty to do for Ala Mhigo, not to mention the former Skulls and their families. The Silver Griffins need me now more than ever.”  

“Glad that’s settled. Turn out the light.”

“Besides….” Arenvald grinned. “I’d much rather wait until a certain someone can come along, too.”

“It might take a long time, if you’re banking on me.” She gave up the pretense of sleep, rolling onto her side to face him. “Who knows when they’ll see fit to set me free, if they care to at all. Time means nothing to a gaoler.”

“If you ask me, you’re one of the few things in my life worth waiting for.”

“Hmph.”

Arenvald couldn’t bring himself to voice the full truth: the thought of being so far away from her, even for a day, was almost too much to bear. The Resistance soldiers already joked that they were nigh inseparable, with Fordola serving as a volunteer for the Silver Griffins as well as his unofficial bodyguard in the field.

There were, of course, those who found their relationship less than palatable, snide whispers and sidelong glances. The bastard and the butcher. There were those who insisted that Fordola must have seduced him, perhaps employing some Garlean technological trick that kept him in her thrall. Others were more simple in their hatred, calling her a whore and him a whoreson in the same breath. They weathered the insults in stride, her raging fire the fuel for his diplomatic tongue.

At their core, they were the same—children of Ala Mhigo. His half-Garlean blood had left him no better off than her efforts to earn their favor. In Garlean eyes, they were savages; to Gyr Abanians, they were traitors. If his lot in life was easier, it was only due to the fact that he’d arrived on the winning team, so to speak. It was strange to think that in another life he might have been a Skull, or she a Scion.

“Do you think—” he began, the thought sparking an idea, “that if things had happened differently—if our lives had been different, I mean—would we have still ended up like this?”

“What are you going on about now?” she huffed. “I thought we were talking about the New World.”

“I know, but listen. Remember that time after your father died, when you had a chance to run away from Ala Mhigo and start a new life with the refugees? What if you had? Or what if I had never left the city, and instead I’d joined up with the Skulls when I was older, or… or anything else, really. Do you think we’d have still found one another, even if things were different?”

Fordola stared at him without a word, lips parted in utter disbelief. After a moment she fell back to the pillow with a groan, rubbing her eyes with the heels of both palms.  

“Probably not?! What the hells kind of question is that?!”

“You don’t think we’re meant to be?”

“No! No one’s meant to be!” she snapped, gracing him with her best snarl. Her brows were furrowed deep enough to nearly meet over her nose, lips twisted almost comically in her annoyance. “There’s no such thing as soulmates or what have you; it’s all a heap of rubbish! That’s the sort of tripe spouted off by poets with no more common sense than a dodo two days from the axe.”

“But what about fate? Destiny? You don’t believe in that?”

“Tch! Of course not!” Fordola sat up, looming over him with a stern glare. “Fate’s nothing but a bloody myth. People do things because they want to, not because the stars are aligned. Rhalger himself could tell me otherwise and I still wouldn’t believe a single word. I’m here because I choose to be here, and no other reason. The only one in charge of my destiny is me. Now turn off this godsdamned light and stop asking silly questions!”

She lunged across the bed before he could move, arms straining to reach as she forcefully clicked the lantern shut, dousing the flame within and throwing the room into darkness. He blinked the spots from his eyes, waiting until she rolled back to her side of the bed before venturing to speak.

“Do you know what I think?”

“For fuck’s sake— No, I don’t know, and I don’t care to. Go to sleep!”

“I think that in every world, all the parts of you and all the parts of me… we always find one another, no matter what.”  

“Well, Ithink your friends are a bunch of liars. I’ll believe in other worlds when I see them for myself, and not a day before.”

“I think we knew each other before, when there was only one world. I think even in the Final Days we were together. I think—”

“Arenvald!” He fell silent, heart beating strong with conviction. Now that the thought had taken root in the forefront of his mind, it was nearly impossible to ignore. Maybe this was part of the Echo, the memory of what once-was. Maybe Fordola didn’t feel the same way because the Resonant was not built with such capabilities in mind. Or maybe she was right, and he was just being ridiculous. But even so—

He was startled from his thoughts by cool fingers on his chin, turning his head with a gentle touch that belied his partner’s strength. She placed a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth, the barest flutter of lips, before resting her cheek on his chest.

“If it makes you feel better to think that way, go ahead and believe it,” she sighed, the breath tickling his sternum. “But don’t get upset when I call you a fool.”

“I think—” He wormed his arm beneath her, pulling until she was flush to his side. Even in this way, they seemed to fit together so well…. “I think that’s just my way of saying that I’d choose you in every lifetime, too.”

“Hmph. That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what you meant, though, isn’t it?” Arenvald smirked. He could practically feel the full force of her blush, hot as an iron against his bare skin. “Isn’t it? Fordola?”

“… Shut up and go to sleep.”   

[twopoppies]

https://www.tumblr.com/twopoppies/761162738207801344/hi-gina-im-writing-this-to-you-as-a-somewhat

i was never a swiftie or a proper t*ylor fan, but i used to really admire her and was in fact a fan of her work. it never came close to how deeply i hold my love and admiration for harry, but still, i was something of a casual fan. not anymore, though. i don’t admire her as an artist, neither as a person. she’s totally sold her soul to the industry she’s in. she’s so deep into fame, streaming, breaking records, that she’s lost track of artistic reasoning. first of all, when a singer releases 18283930282 albums, each one having 172920201 versions, 1829202929 remixes, one after another without rest, i think it’s fair to question the intention behind it. and, to me, it doesn’t look like the intention is to make art, it feels like it’s about greed. about power, fame. and, in my opinion, this behavior has ruined her songs. like the quality is genuinely bad. i liked her up until evermore. by the time she released midnights, i was tired. after her last album, i’m shocked by how bad it is (haven’t listened, but i saw some lyrics. they were so so bad) and she clearly writes the most obvious kind of “lore” regarding her love life in order to make her fans guess who it’s about etc. that’s selling your soul.

not even gonna get very deep into why i no longer think she is a nice person. just know that at her concert here in brazil, a fan died and she did nothing. didn’t help the family (she did offer them a meet&greet, how kind 🤠), didn’t donate any money so they could move the body out of the state. the fans raised it. not long after that, she donated i don’t know how many thousands of dollars to a girl who was in the middle of a shooting at the superbowl. like, if she wanted to make that donation, that’s absolutely fine. it’s clear, however, that latin american fans get very different treatment, even when they die at her concert.

i’m not saying she is responsible for the death. she is, however, responsible for how she chose to deal with it.

I honestly have nothing to add.

[awaitinganorphanera]

Who was going to tell me that in order to produce a fic I actually have to write it >:((((( ??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE WORDS DONT JUST APPEAR IN THIN AIR IF I STARE AT THE BLINKING CURSOR LONG ENOUGH WITH MY BRAIN FILLED WITH SO MUCH IDEAS RAHHHH !!!!

Anyway, I just wanted to share a small tidbit of a Hanahaki au CobyMeppo fic/draft/idea/prompt/shitty compilation of words that barely make sense that I've been working on since FEBRUARY but never fucking finished and am currently still struggling to even continue as embarrassing as that sounds because idk whether its cohesive or good enough to even share on Ao3 Its just the idea of Helmeppo developing and struggling through Hanahaki disease would be so neat imo due to how most CobyMeppo shippers head cannon Helmeppo's feelings being unrequited at first (or not at all) and how he just adores Koby so fucking much that he becomes so ruined. I cant. Apologies if the structured and the way it's told is messy and incoherent, I've added the lil space in the indent thingy to depict a different part of the fic since im not very good at transitioning. I haven't written anything in so long and I wanted to pump so much bits that I didn't even weave anything properly so, HERE IT IS: (a lot of it IS corny and a bit cheesy so be forewarned akjsjasjsa)

Koby always liked flowers. Surely then, Helmeppo thought, Koby would like him too. Helmeppo, who dwelled within his prickly walls, each barbed with Rose thorns. Helmeppo, with his muddled virtues, swelling and desiccated like stains from Poppy sap. Helmeppo, with a chest riddled with budding blossoms, all watered by his desolate, weeping heart. Could such qualities appeal to the man he grew to love? Perhaps, Helmeppo thought, and perhaps too, he should have known better.  Known when his feelings had begun to develop into something more than simple tolerance, more than respect, more than adoration and even more than intense attachment to the pink-haired boy. At least then, he would have prepared for the worst. Or at least… That's what he assumed when the worst began. It was a blur, how it started. Helmeppo was always self-aware, extremely conscious of his feelings. He knew of jealousy, anger, longing, all traits that contributed and resulted from his desperate and gnawing want to appease his father. His father, of course. His own blood and bones, the same person who probably caused the beginning of all– this. Was it really a surprise? Helmeppo couldn't think of any fucked up thing in his life that hadn't ultimately been caused by Morgan. He grew to learn how to read the room, read the faces, read the tones, he grew to know his father's thoughts without actually knowing anything about his father's feelings. Did he even feel? Feel for his son? No. Of course not. The only thing Morgan could feel for him was apathy.  Sometimes, Helmeppo wished his father hate him instead, wished that he was worth hitting. At least then, he would have experienced treatment that came with passion and effort, treatment that resulted from feeling, treatment that made him feel at the barest, like he meant something.  The lack of care and lack of anything that Morgan bothered to show to his son was barely even the surface of reasons why Helmeppo is even suffering through this. The cause that made Helmeppos brain chemistry rewire and for his damn neuromodulators to rearrange. To see something as small as a single act of genuine care be perceived as a trick, a lie, a dream that he’d so desperately want to fall into and relive despite the possible consequences. He should have recognized how unhealthy and apparently not normal these thoughts were, should have known that his emotions are unstable and too much, should have seen how horrific he grew to be. But even then, Helmeppo thought, would that have done anything to prevent the illness he'd eventually succumb to?

Of all the horrors in Helmeppo’s life, he would have thought that seeds growing inside his lungs would have been the most and hopefully (though doubtedly, considering his luck in life) last traumatic event that would truly, bring him to ruin. But of course, the world, just like how Helmeppo always found himself to be, would never have enough, and just like the breaths he was left to breathe, would leave him dwindling in the years to come. It started as a blur, again, just like any day in the ship he found himself settled in. A gift. He thought, better than what life offered him when he woke up back in shells town. Or at least that's what he’s been telling himself.  Morgan was cruel, sure, but at least he was familiar. He was easier to navigate, easier to chart and read and hide from.  He couldn’t do this here, when things still felt new. He knew of Garp and his capabilities, but he didn’t know the limits of his patience, he had no clue what and how many things would warrant the usage of his fist. He knew of the shady business of the Navy and the World Government, knew of its structure and how it works; the tutors paid by his father made sure of that much, but he never got to live through it.

SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE ME TIPS ON HOW TO TRANSITION PARTS IN WRITING, I SUCK ASS AND AM OPEN TO CRITIQUES AHJSJAS

[abhainnwhump]

IMYM: The Christmas Special

(You can think AlphataleFanatic on Wattpad for this existing, they requested it. Funny story about this. I published this at an unholy hour that no one needs to know about, and the next day was my sister's Christmas party. I still had to go of course, so despite my 3 hours of sleep, I got ready and went. Couple hours, present opening, dinner, and everyone fawning over my other sister's baby later, I fall asleep on the chair at her house . . . for 3 hours. I missed a massive ping pong match between my brothers and the bundt cake that everyone else ate. I hope the story is good because I'm still upset about that cake.)

Masterlist

For the first four hundred and ninety years of his life, Nightmare never celebrated the holidays. He didn’t even celebrate even before his corruption. The villagers never wanted him around; they claimed it would ‘ruin their joy’. The most he did was have a quiet celebration to spend time with his brother. Dream would ‘borrow’ from the bakery and bring him his favorite muffins. It was pleasant. Now, Nightmare despised the whimsy and positivity the entire multiverse seemed to emit. His backup plan to avoid the mind-numbing joy was to kidnap someone beforehand. He didn’t even have to torture them. Simply taking them away from their friends and family was enough to make them miserable.

But after Killer came into the castle, he hid a mini tree when December came around. Nightmare destroyed it when he found out. Then Horror came along, then Dust, and he became more lax. He told himself it was because the effort wasn’t worth it, but yet . . .

Nightmare flicked a wreath on his door with his finger as he walked down the hall. Currently, he tolerated the holidays, focused on the positives as his brother would. It was one day when he didn’t have to send them on any missions and could spend quality time with them. He kept walking until he reached the grand staircase. A blizzard blew outside, covering the castle in a layer of soft white. Nightmare allowed it to snow. He looked down at the large pine tree in between the stairs. Ten feet tall and in the process of being decorated, this holiday would be special. It was his first Christmas with his new wife and as the ruler of the Doodlesphere.

Killer, Dust, and Ribbon decorated the tree brought in by Horror. It lay on a purple rug to keep from getting pine needles on the floor. Nightmare ordered that any ornaments needed to match the castle color scheme. Purples, teals, blacks, and silvers, and they succeeded. Ribbon focused on decorating the lower parts of the tree. Killer teleported himself up to hang ornaments, ladders be damned. He fell down after each one, making Ribbon flinch. Dust resorted to grabbing Killer in his telekinesis so he didn’t do something stupid.

“Dust! Let me go!” Killer struggled and frowned at him. “Christmas is in two days and I’m trying to get this done!”

“Screw the holidays, you almost kicked me in the face.” Dust snapped. He flicked his hand downward and Killer crashed against the stone floor. A mocking smile threatened to break out of his stoic expression. “Stay there.”

Nightmare shook his head. He wrapped a tendril on Ribbon’s waist and lifted her up to hang a shiny purple bulb on a branch. Then he flipped her around to look him in the eye. “How do you feel today, my sweet little doll?”

“Good! I like decorating the tree. Horror told me I could bake cookies and make hot chocolate with him!” Ribbon poked the bulb, watching it sparkle in the light. “I wanted to bring Blue some cookies, but he . . . can’t really eat them. He said I can still help.”

“I know Blue can’ eat. But I can take you to him in a few days if that makes you feel better. He won’t be upset with you. He’s not allowed in the castle as long as Cross is here, they’d hurt each other.” Nightmare touched Ribbon’s cute little cheek, giving it a little pinch.

Nightmare caught the disappointment cross Ribbon’s face, but she nodded. That was one of Nightmare’s favorite parts of their relationship, they never argued because she obeyed every word he said. “Kay-kay.”

“If it makes you feel better, I bought you a special dress to wear over the holidays. You’ll look adorable. It’s soft around the edges and a pretty red velvet. It’s part of-”

“Hey, boss!” Killer shouted from the bottom of the stairs. Nightmare looked down and gently lowered Ribbon to the floor, away from the other two.

“Yes?”

“What are we- Dust, knock it off- going to do for the holidays?” Killer swatted Dust away as he tried to knock him out of the sky again. He added another ornament to the tree, a gray glittering star.

Nightmare thought about it. He didn’t have any plans, which was unlike him. All he had planned was to lie on the sofa in front of the fire and survey the misery of the multiverse. He’d have Ribbon snuggled up beside him of course, after his . . . other plan, not related to the MTT. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Isn’t the tree enough?”

If Killer had eye lights, he would’ve rolled them. “No. The whole point of Christmas is to have fun and spend time with loved ones, or whatever. It shouldn’t be the same as every other day of the year. You have no excuse this year. You got control over everything and we can do whatever we want. There’s gotta be something.”

Nightmare sighed, deciding not to bother with correcting Killer. He tapped his pointer finger against his cheekbone and looked down at Ribbon. She bounced with excitement, interested in the idea of doing something fun too. He couldn’t say no to that look.

“Fine, I have an idea. If you give me until tomorrow to do simple research on Christmas, I’ll set up a ‘bonding game’. There’s an old bell in the chapel I went to as a child. It’s engraved around the edges with apples and the sun, for Dream. I want you to successfully take it and bring it back to me.” He watched for a reaction from the two members of the MTT. “Will that please you?”

“Seems easy enough.” Dust muttered to himself.

Ribbon nodded. She had to pull her string again. “Yes, yes! That sounds like a lot of fun!”

“Then I’ll get to work. Finish decorating the tree. If any of you hurt yourselves,” Nightmare turned around, “that will not be my problem. You’re the ones who wanted a holiday event.”

=================================================================

Christmas Eve morning arrived fast. Killer was the first one to wake. He rubbed his eye sockets as his soul flickered between a heart and a target, as it tended to do since he arrived. Cross held onto him, snuggling against him.

“Come on, Crossy. Time to get up!” Killer poked the side of his cheek. He got a kick out of messing with him, watching him squeeze his eye sockets and grumble until he gave in. Killer kissed his forehead to try and encourage him to wake up.

Cross let out a loud exhale. “Why are you up so early?”

“It’s Christmas, and that means we get to cause trouble.” Killer snickered and rubbed his left horn. “I know you don’t give a shit about the joy and love parts, but boss said we get to do something fun. You’re coming with me.”

“Right . . .” He still didn’t seem interested. Killer got out of bed and changed into his usual jacket and sweatpants. He would’ve put on his shorts, but . . . that didn’t seem to be a good idea in this weather. He added one more thing to his outfit, a red hat totally not from a mythical figure. And he totally didn’t get one for Cross too to fit over his horns.

Cross finally woke up after a while, and it took a little longer to convince him to wear the hat. Killer walked with him to the main hall. The tree caught the light from the lit chandelier. For once, the black hall was covered with sliver and hints of blue and red. And it wasn’t from him, Horror, or Dust forgetting to clean themselves after a kill. Cross’s chain wristbands and necklace matched the lights.

Dust looked over a piece of paper tacked to the wooden banister. Horror stood next to him, holding a bottle of liquid negativity. Killer peered over Dust’s shoulder. Dust pulled the paper away before he could read Nightmare’s fancy cursive. “What’s going on?”

“Boss left a note.” Dust read aloud, “‘I’ve taken Ribbon with me to the dungeon. I will be there all mornin’, so I will see you tonight. Use half of the bottle to travel to Dreamtale and the other half to get back. Have fun and don’t get yourselves killed. Merry Christmas. Yours truly, Nightmare.”

“What are they doing in the dungeon?” Cross asked. “Did Ribbon finally tick him off? He did it to me a long time ago.”

Dust shook his head. “No, and don’t say that around him unless you want to lose your jaw permanently.”

“Then what . . . they doing?” Horror asked. Cross scowled at Dust.

Dust stuffed the note in his pocket. “Boss wanted me to make somethin’ for him. It’s between him and I. Come on.” Dust gestured at the bottle in Horror’s hand.

Horror tore the cork off with his teeth and spit the cap aside. The liquid spilled onto the floor. The magic cracked open as Killer has seen two hundred times before, maybe more or less. But still, he couldn’t help but grin.

Killer, Horror, Dust, and Cross fell through the portal. Killer got up first, followed by Cross. Snow blew down from the dark clouds in the sky. A layer of fog covered everything but the old town. The buildings were covered in white ice, ruined. The Christmas lights covering the sides made up for the broken old buildings. Purpleish-black . . . things wandered around and groaned in the streets. The temperature had to be at least five degrees below zero.

Cross scanned the area. His eye lights kept locking on the infected monsters. He noticed Killer’s faint shivers and took his jacket off to wrap him in it. The murderer didn’t expect it and smirked at Cross. “Thanks a lot.”

“There.” Horror pointed at a large church in the middle of the town. Killer looked up at it. The building was so old that the brown bricks crumbled into gray, or maybe that was just from their distance. On the top of the tower, there lay a bell taller than Horror. It had to be around nine feet tall. Killer couldn’t make out any more details.

“Let’s get this over with,” Cross said. He prepared his weapons and ran down the hill.

=================================================================

Nightmare lightened the awareness of those corrupted by his parasite. It would be a pleasant surprise for them, like finding out a cupcake has a sweet filling. Speaking of sweets, Ribbon watched them through the portal, enchanted. The two of them sat on Nightmare’s bed, Ribbon sat on her knees while he rested on his tendrils. “As much as I hate to say it, the village is pretty in the snow, is it not?

“It is!” Ribbon held their infant soul in her hands. She looked down at it and gently pet the top. “I can’t wait until she’s born and she can go on big adventures with them. I think she’ll be good at them!”

“She’ll be a great fighter and a better ruler.” Nightmare’s tendril wrapped around the soul. He could almost sense her emotions, but she was still too young. He glanced back at Ribbon. “You’re thinking about something, what is it?”

The doll opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. It took a moment before she spoke. “Can I go with them? Please?” Ribbon blinked up at him, hands clasped together in a plea.

Nightmare shook his head. “If you could, I would, but you’re too sensitive. You’ll freeze and get soaking wet, and the monsters will scare you. You can watch if you would like, but that’s the most I will allow. I don’t want my poor little doll to freeze and get sick, or worse.” He kissed her forehead.

Ribbon made a small sad sound, which Nightmare only found adorable. She watched the portal. The MTT and Cross dashed into the town. The first infected monster appeared next to Horror. Their festive sweater was melted against their body. Horror swung his ax to take the head clean off, splattering the building with black sludge. Ribbon flinched and scurried to Nightmare’s side. “No, I don’t want to watch. You’re right, they’ll scare me. Please shut it off!”

Rubbing her shoulder with one hand, Nightmare closed the portal. “Of course. Now, do you remember- no, of course you don’t. I’m wasting my words.” Nightmare hummed, knowing that Ribbon wouldn’t remember anything unless he said so. He always did it when she was too dazed and in pain to worry about the camera. Before that, it was when Ink wasn’t paying attention. “I collected pictures over the course of your doll training and I want to take another one. Your first Christmas with me is important, is it not?”

“I guess so.” Ribbon fiddled with her heart charm. Her anxiety was still high. Perhaps Nightmare sheltered the doll a bit too much lately if a simple beheading scared her. “Where do you want me to go for it?”

Nightmare stood up out of the bed and stretched. “Follow me. I’ve been working on this for the last month.”

“Okay.” Ribbon let Nightmare lead him. The clacks of their shoes echoed throughout the hall. Nightmare walked down the stairs of the dungeon. He felt Ribbon’s spike of anxiety as he did.

“You’re not in trouble, hush now. It’s only in the dungeon because it’s the size we needed.”

“We?” Ribbon whispered. “Who’s . . . we?”

“Dust.” Ribbon’s smile tensed at his name. Nightmare assumed that even if Ribbon couldn’t remember the exact events of Dust’s surgeries and torture, she remembered the pain. “You’ll be fine, you haven’t done anything to deserve punishment.

Stopping in front of one of the rooms, one of the few that wasn’t a cell, Nightmare opened the lock. He typically kept this room as one of his many storage places, this was meant for weaponry and materials. The crates containing these items were pushed aside in favor of something new.

The square contraption was as long as a coffee table and twice as tall. It was made of pure gold and each side was engraved with snowflakes and pine trees. Nightmare walked over and flicked a lever on the side of it. A shudder vibrated the floor as the contraption opened to reveal a small winter scene. Cotton pretended to be snow. Fake evergreens lined the bottom. Nightmare walked to the right side and crouched down. He opened a compartment and checked inside. A small tube filled with white liquid glowed against the mechanics. As planned.

An outfit lay on a table. A red velvety dress lined with white fluff and matched with separated sleeves. It matched with a red hooded cape, mittens, and fuzzy boots. Ribbon set her hands on the edge of the stone. She pointed at it as she looked up at Nightmare. “Yes, that’s your new dress. I’ll turn around and you can get dressed.”

=================================================================

Killer snuck around the buildings, ducking and dodging in case any of the zombies saw him. His hand rubbed over the light bulbs lining his Christmas light whip. He snatched it off one of the buildings with Cross’ help.

Dust walked as if it was a normal day in the city. He held one of his gloved hands out to catch snowflakes. He studied the shapes, then shook them off. Without looking up, he fired a Gaster Blaster at a shambling infected monster.

“This is stupid,” Dust said. He was silent for so long that Horror shot a glance at him.

“Why does nobody in this castle have any holiday cheer?” Killer scoffed. “Am I the only one excited about any of this?”

“We work for . . . Nightmare. Negativity. Don’t have . . . much joy.” Horror kicked some of the snow on the ground, knocking a drift over.

“Ugh, you’re right.” Killer tilted his skull. A grumble sounded from near a building. He summoned a knife and tossed it without looking. The tip of the blade sliced right through a human’s head.

“Your boytoy doesn’t have much holiday spirit either.” Dust muttered. He analyzed the chapel, which was still a ways away, but it was Dust. He turned his head and murmured to someone, probably listening to his dead brother again.

“He’s hot, he gets a pass. You . . . you have nothing. You’re a lost cause. I can’t help you.” Killer clicked his tongue and pretended to wipe away his dramatic tears.

Dust didn’t find it as funny. “I swear I’m goin’ to grab your skull and-”

“Where . . . Cross?” Horror interrupted. He searched the area. Killer hadn’t even noticed Cross disappeared.

“Somewhere. He’ll show up.” For a brief moment, he worried. Would he leave like . . . Nah, Cross was wrapped around his finger, he wouldn’t snap out of his control. Nightmare’s control, technically.

Dust paused. He tilted his head like a wolf listening for prey. He looked up at a large ball of ice wobbling on the edge of a building. Two corrupted humans pushed it. Dust stepped back, but he underestimated the size as it fell. It was almost three times as large as him. Horror acted first and guarded Dust with his body and a Gaster Blaster. Killer jumped back as Horror fired the Gaster Blaster and destroyed it. The blast exploded the ice into a layer of snow. that blinded the air. Footsteps ran away from the site, Dust from what he guessed. He wouldn’t be able to hear Dust’s voice from here. “Killer! There . . . corrupted here! We’ll . . . catch up!’

“You sure, big guy? Screw it, alright. I’ll be at the bell!” Killer yelled back.

The last MTT member ran ahead and made it to the middle of the town. Snow blew down harder, the red and green lights glowed brighter, but it wasn’t as bad as the ice bomb. The wind whistled. He brushed some of the flecks out of his eye sockets and held Cross’s jacket around him. “Horror! Dust! Come on, why is this taking you so . . . guys?” He turned around, but he couldn’t see anyone past the thick layers of snow.

A wire garrote with pinecones wrapped around Killer’s ankle and pulled him to the ground. Killer grunted as the bone tore and bled on the snow. He blew some of the flurries away and got a look at the perpetrator. This infected was more aware than the others. It didn’t have the same dead, energy-less eyes as the rest of them.

“WHAT’S HAPPENING?” The monster asked. It was a Papyrus, Killer figured that out through the skull shape and the tone of voice. The lower half of his mouth melted.

“You’re trying to kill me, what did you think you were doing?” Killer stood up and spit snow out of his face. “Are you that stupid?”

“NO, I-” The Papyrus looked at his deformed hands. “I WAS SPENDING TIME WITH MY BROTHER IN OUR SHELTER. THE HUMAN WAS THERE TOO. WE WERE TRYING TO CELEBRATE THE HOLIDAYS WHILE WE WERE STUCK UNDERGROUND. THEN THIS BLACK GOOPY VERSION OF MY BROTHER APPEARED AND COVERED US WITH THE SAME BLACK LIQUID AS OUTSIDE!”

“Uh-huh.” Killer nodded, pretending to listen. His gaze focused on that black lumps growing on the skeleton- or what once was a skeleton’s back. Now, should he chop him from the back first, or go for the classic route of decapitation . . .

“IT HURTS!” The Papyrus cried again. His body was so melted that Killer couldn��t even tell what AU he was from. Liquid negativity, not unlike his own, leaked out of his eye sockets and mouth. His battle body fused with his bones, melting around the edges.

“That’s not really my problem,” Killer said. He flipped his knife out. Nothing seemed to die recently, he had the feeling Nightmare knew why and for some reason wasn’t saying. But it was worth a shot, especially since Horror and Dust had run off somewhere.

The sight of the knife triggered something in the Papyrus. A loud crack echoed from his spine. The weapon melted onto his hand, bone mixing with iron and wood. The bumps on his back broke open like blisters. Tendrils lashed out like Nightmare’s, something Killer had seen plenty of times before. But never like this. Dust screamed from somewhere in the distance. Killer thought he would’ve been behind him, but it sounded more like it came from the east. He almost ran to him, but he was busy.

The corrupted Papyrus lunged at Killer. He wasn’t phased and simply teleported away. The Papyrus attempted to bite down on his wrist and Killer stepped back. He tossed his knife around like a juggler’s balls to mock the Papyrus, using the distraction to fire bone attacks. His battle body shattered by the bones. Killer laughed at his misery as his enemy collapsed. He got up again, but before he could fight, something happened.

Cross jumped down from a building and stabbed the Papyrus through the torso. Killer jumped back out of shock. Cross slashed upward, slicing its body right down the middle through the head. He panted. “Killer, are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just didn’t expect you to jump out of nowhere and steal my kill.” Killer picked a chunk of malice off his jacket and tossed it into the snow. He held onto Cross’ cheek with other hand. “You looked real good while doing it though.”

“Oh, did I now?” Cross let out a quiet chuckle. Killer was the only one to get these genuine smiles from him, he deserved them more than Dream ever did. Killer

“I get enough of this durin’ the day with boss and Ribbon. Knock it off!” Dust snapped. He and Horror finally made it back. Blood, dust, snow, and mailce covered both their bodies. “Cross, where were you?”

“I was busy.” Cross chuckled darkly, a flicker of teal crossed his eye lights. He looked up at the rooves. Killer squinted. A faint orange blob floated above one of the roofs. All of homes were made of wood and stone and half of them were already destroyed. The flames spread and consumed everything in its path. Killer’s empty eye sockets lit up at the sight of sweet, sweet, arson. “You inspired me, Killz.”

Killer laughed as a corrupted scream echoed in the wind,. “Aw, I’m flattered. You know me so well.”

“Isn’t . . . Boss is going to kick your ass for that.” Dust told Cross. "

“Like he cares about this old town anymore. And if he is mad, I’ll blame you and say it was all your idea.” Cross leaned down toward him, exchanged a glare, then he stood up and walked off. Killer followed and wrapped his arms around his. He kissed his metal jaw and they laughed together.

The four made it to the church, finally. Killer pulled on the door handle. The cold weather made it feel like a block of ice biting at his finger. Somehow, even though he didn’t have skin. Despite his effort, the door didn’t budge. He tried again, this time kicking his feet against it. “Horror, get over here. You’ve got better upper body strength.”

Horror sighed and pulled at the door. The snow shook off the frame. Horror gave up after a few pulls and grabbed his ax. One slash and two missing door handles later, the door creaked open. Dust cupped his hands against his face and blew hot air to them.

The Murder Time Trio plus Cross walked inside. The building hadn’t been entered in . . . however old Nightmare was, that was how long. Dust coated everything. It wasn’t even covered up with Christmas lights like the rest of the town.

“So, how would we get into that bell tower?” Killer asked. He looked around until a door in the back corner of the room caught his eye light. “Let’s try that.”

Dust made it to the door first and pushed the door. It broke off the hinge instantly. Dust stepped over the door. Inside was a winding, cramped, stone staircase that they began to climb. It was the only spot of the chapel that felt too warm. Killer wasn’t claustrophobic, but it did give him ideas for claustrophobia-themed torture devices for Nightmare. They claimed up, and up, and up, and up . . . it didn’t feel like it was going to stop.

The top five steps all coated with snow. Dust took a deep breath of the cold air. Killer made it up after Horror. He peered over the edge. They were up so high that the now burning town looked like a tiny toy village. The roof of the building was flat so whoever was tending to the bell could reach it. And that bell . . . woah. The design was a lot easier to see up here. The thing might’ve been silver, but it looked rusted. As Nightmare stated, gold apples, suns, and stars lined the bottom and streaks reached to the top. He was no bell quality master, but it looked great. Why would Nightmare want a bell that represented his brother anyways?

“And . . . there.” Cross approached the bell, needing to go slow so he didn’t slip or get blown away by the wind. Killer teleported to the device and touched it. It was somehow dusty. The wind stopped whistling.

“. . . danger.” Horror observed as he listened to the wind. The sky darkened as Cross’ hand touched the bell and a black substance crawled on the sides of the roof. The four members backed up against the bell. A dozen corrupted monsters and humans of all species grew out of the black substance. Some were fused together, a Frisk’s head and arm hung off a Sans’ body. Given how pristine their bodies mostly looked and the festive outfits, they were all recently infected. A mix of cries, groans, and screams came from the monsters.

“Aw, not more of these. Oh well.” Killer summoned a wave of knives and threw them all at the monsters. They flew off the roof and screamed to their deaths. The black substance on the roof shifted and they returned as if nothing happened. “Damn it!”

“Shit . . . I have an idea.” Dust focused on Horror, then at the weak old stone below the bell. “We have to cut the rope and use the last of Nightmare’s magic bottle to get back.” He paused as everyone waited for him to finish his thought, his voice sounded like he would. “Don’t stand there, one of you morons do it!”

“Fine! I will. Guard me!” Cross wrapped one arm around the entire bell and used his other hand to hold his sword and saw the rope. The bell shook from the pressure.

“Come on, come on, come on!” Cross shouted at them as his dagger sliced against the rope. The banging of their fists and boots caused the bell to ring. Killer fired bone after bone at the corrupted. Horror kicked them down.

The rope on the bell finally tore. The bell fell and shattered the old stones of the church. Horror dumped the bottle of liquid negativity on the ground. The portal opened last minute and barely wide enough to fit the bell. They fell from Dreamtale and into Nightmare’s castle.

=================================================================

“Step up here, my angel.” Nightmare gestured to the music box. Ribbon put on the dress and hood. Nightmare adjusted the cape over her shoulders, booping her nasal bone with a tendril. Ribbon smiled and cautiously stepped onto the platform. The doll was careful not to step on any of the decorations and remained on that fake sidewalk.

“Nighty, it’s cold down here.” Teeth chattering, Ribbon tried to hold the cape and dress closer.

“My apologies. I didn’t expect it to be this cold down here. It won’t be for long.” Nightmare tied Ribbon’s wrist to the top contraption. Once it was secure, Ribbon tried pulling on it. Nightmare shushed her and slid one of the red mittens on. The other three bands clicked on easily.

Nightmare snapped the final gold restraint around Ribbon’s neck and locked it in place. Ribbon whined. Nightmare loosened it, ensuring the pull string could still be accessed. He almost made Ribbon perform live, but decided not to. He’d allow Ribbon to sing in public again one day. He sometimes enjoyed to show off his trophy, but not tonight.

“There. Now wait.” Nightmare stepped off the music box. Ribbon stopped fidgeting and held perfectly still. Nightmare stood back with the camera. He adjusted the lens and light and made sure the angle was perfect.

The machine shuddered and Ribbon’s hand jerked up in the air. Dust’s mechanical skills impressed Nightmare, even if he was aware of them already. A gentle melody sounded like chimes from inside the inside. His foot leaned forward until he was in ballerina position. Ribbon gasped and a syringe injected him in the back of the neck. Ribbon’s pink eyes glowed and they glazed over. Her posture straightened and she followed along with the way the chains puppeted her. Her skirt and cape flowed around her. Despite the smile and compliance, Ribbon’s eyes began to droop.

“No, no, keep your eyes open,” Nightmare cooed, snapping a picture. The ballet dance repeated as Ribbon twirled and the pedastal moved around the surface of the box. “Sing for me.”

Ribbon took a deep breath and gently began to sing. Nightmare recognized the melodies as one of the songs he taught her, one from the eighteenth hundreds. It matched well with the music playing out of the device. He took several photographs whenever he believed he had a good photo. Unlike his previous photos, where he would have one photo and he would be done, he had several chances. It was more of a professional shoot and less . . . well, morally dubious.

Nightmare took the photos out of the camera and decided on one of Ribbon mid-twirl. He’d paste it in the notebook tonight. He could’ve kept Ribbon there forever, all he needed to do was make a bigger space inside. A perfectly preserved little statue, one only he was allowed to look at. Here, she would be safe from the cold, dangerous outside, once he fixed the heating. He supposed he could repurpose this entire dungeon now that he had no more enemies to worry about.

Ribbon finished her song. “Was- was that good?”

“I couldn’t imagine it to be any more perfect.” Nightmare clapped slowly, but it still made Ribbon smile. Her head lulled forward and she groaned. The poison made her sleepy and ache as a side effect and Nightmare assumed it took effect. “In fact . . . you did so perfect, I think we’re done. I’ll help you.”

Nightmare unchained Ribbon and she fell into his arms. Nightmare picked her up and made sure the machine was shut off before leaving. Ribbon’s face scrunched as if she had a stomach ache. It took great effort to try and pull her string. “Why . . . do I feel like this . . . ?”

“It’s that chemical that made you dance as well as you did. Relax, it will wear off. You trust Dust and I, don’t you?” Nightmare pushed her hood down. Her outfit was cuter when she was helpless like this.

“I- I do . . . always,” Ribbon mumbled and fell asleep. Nightmare shook his head and decided to teleport to Ribbon’s bedroom instead of walk. He tucked Ribbon into the pink pastel bed, making sure she would be comfortable when she woke up. He slipped one of her stuffed animals between her arms. Sprinkles he believed was the bunny’s name. Ribbon’s talks about her stuffed animal ‘friends’ failed to interest him, but he remembered the names.

“Sleep well. You’ll have a busy morning.” Nightmare was about to stand to his full height when a loud crash made his tendrils sharpen. Ribbon shuffled in her sleep and Nightmare set his hand on her head to use his magic. The doll settled and Nightmare teleported out of the room again.

He resummoned himself on the top of the grand staircase and gazed downward. A wave of dust spread from the bottom. Horror, Dust, Killer, and Cross coughed, covered in dust and blood. Killer and Dust sat on the bell Nightmare recognized from his childhood. He’s seen it since then of course, but never smashed into his flooring like this. He pinched his nasal bridge as he walked down the steps.

“Boss!” Horror wheezed and doubled over. “We . . . got it.”

As his magic repaired the floor, Nightmare looked the bell over. He stepped toward it, gently caressing the side with his tendril. He already had the perfect place for it. “I suppose you did do the job. It’s in as perfect condition as it can be after five hundred years. Now, were any of you hurt?”

“Dust and Killer.” Cross pointed at the shorter skeleton and wandered off. Killer ran after him and wrapped his arms around his single left one. He dragged him back.

“Pfft, my ankle? It’s nothing but a scratch.” Killer waved it off. Nightmare glanced down at his ankle. It wasn’t infected. He would sense it if it was.

Nightmare turned to Dust. He held his hand out and flicked his finger. Dust mumbled under his breath and set his hand in his. The king pulled him closer and caught sight of the scratch immediately.

“I see.” Nightmare set his hand on Dust’s upper arm. His fingertips sucked in the malice, cleaning out the wound. The magic formed into what appeared to be a centipede with sharp teeth. Nightmare crushed it in his fist, splattering black liquid . “I’m not having my medic die from my own infection. How did you get infected?”

“Well, some dumbass over there decided to cut the bell’s rope, we fell through the ceiling, then we were attacked. Those things attacked us before we fell, but it doesn’t matter. " Dust watched Nightmare seal up his scratch.

“. . . perhaps it’s better if I don’t know.” Nightmare lifted his fingers from Dust’s wounds. “Be more careful from now on. You’ll need to get used to seeing these monsters.”

“I know,” Dust grumbled. “I would’ve been fine if it was any other time.”

“I was talking to all of you.” Nightmare looked around at the four of them. “Especially the one who can’t defend herself like the rest of you.”

“And I thought you said you didn’t care if we were hurt?” Killer nudged Nightmare’s shoulder. “Liar.”

“Well . . . perhaps I was extraggating a little bit.” Nightmare admitted. He brushed the spot Killer touched, not surprised as the wet snow stain it left behind. It wasn’t one of his good suits, only black jacket and teal scarf, so he didn’t mind. If it wasn’t, Killer would be the first punished for messing up twice.

If he even had it in him to punish his team anymore.

==============================================================================

Morning rose once more with Nightmare’s new bell ringing and waking everyone up. The sound sent a wave of nostalgia he forgot about. He was awake for a large portion of the night hanging the bell and preparing everyone’s presents. They lay under the tree. Nightmare teleported the sofa from the living room near the grand staircase for the occasion. He and Ribbon were awake first. Despite her getting more sleep, she still seemed drowsy

Horror brought in a tray of hot chocolates. Each member of the team had their own mug and drink type. Nightmare sipped his nearly black mug. Bitter, barely a pinch of sugar among the cocoa power, just as he liked it. Meanwhile, Ribbon’s was light brown with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. The mug was of two teddy bears holding a heart. Nightmare decided to let Ribbon have one sweet treat, she earned it after being so good. He worried about the sugar. Nightmare nuzzled against Ribbon’s neck after she finished a sip.

“Night-!” Ribbon fully woke up and pretended to try and move.

“Mm?” Nightmare moved back. He stared at his hand. “I wonder how our special three are doing on this holiday. Would anyone else like to see?”

“Sure . . . ?” Horror said.

“Ooh, count me in!” Killer leaped onto the couch on the opposite side of Nightmare.

Nightmare opened a portal and flipped through different images. The first was from Epictale. Epic built a mechanical Christmas tree covered in bright lights and an electric star. The corrupted skeleton napped against a worn-out lounge chair. Nightmare flicked his hand. Blue crushed a festive postcard under his metal boot. The writing was long destroyed by the soaked snow and dirt. One final change of the screen revealed Dream flanked by two guards inside a townhome. He held a jingle bell in his hand, which he crushed in his palm with ease. A family of four huddled up against the side of their living room, the parents protecting their kids.

“Celebration for any holiday is illegal. I’ve made this clear. Guards, search the house and burn any more of this filthy positivity.” Dream ordered, the cold voice one the Omega Timeline was used to.

“We’re sorry, your- your greatness.” The human who Nightmare assumed was the father said. “We swear, there’s nothing else-”

Dream turned around and dropped a kick to his jaw, knocking the human to the ground. “You misunderstood me. I make the decisions here, not you, not anyone else here! Now stay down, or your

Nightmare hummed, pleased, and sipped his mug. He wondered how much of Dream was still conscious. He wondered if he hated himself for what he did here. Core Frisk’s location was still unknown, but he assumed they were somewhat positive.

Cross growled. Killer grabbed the lock around his neck, making him cough as the chain pulled. “Shh, they’re not here, babe. And you got it better than any of those idiots.”

“I- I know, but they shouldn’t be happy at all.” Cross leaned back against the sofa and crossed his arms.

“They’re not, especially not in Dream’s AU. My, my . . .” Nightmare reassured. He closed the portals and leaned back. Ribbon lay her head on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. He kissed her forehead. “Shall we open the presents as a pallet cleanser?”

“I like that idea.” Ribbon said. Nightmare gestured go ahead with his tendril.

Nightmare watched as they opened the presents he bought for all them. Killer received a VHS set of his favorite anime. Horror received seeds to grow a rare medical plant. Dust had a massive 3D jigsaw puzzle of a palace. And Ribbon opened a luxury pair of white high heels. The squeal and several thank yous from her nearly melted him on the spot. The rest of the gratitude he appreciated too. He didn’t bother with Cross.

“This one’s for you, boss.” Killer handed Nightmare a box with a blue bow and dark purple wrapping paper. “We all worked together on it. You’re hard to buy for since you got everything already.”

“Ha, well, thank you.” Nightmare’s interested piqued as he took the package. Ribbon looked up from her heels with similar interest. Nightmare tore the paper and foil bow off the gift. Inside was a large notebook with a pen. The top was filled with some type of water or oil. Star-shaped glitter shifted when he tilted. The book had the word Memories printed on the front cover.

“A memory scrapbook? Are you suggesting I have a bad memory?” Nightmare sounded offended, though he was more amused. He was caught up in this ‘holiday cheer’ everyone else was having. It was different between every other day of the year, and every past year since he hired the three of them. “I do not. I remember the first gunshot of a war in seventeen seventy-five, nearly three hundred years ago.”

“It’s supposed to be a sentimental thing.” Cross put the word in air quotes. “Dust and Horror thought it was a genuinely good idea, Killer thought it would be funny, I didn’t care.”

“You had that notebook for In- Ribbon, I thought you could use it for the same reason.” Dust wondered aloud. “Wait, who shot and what war?”

“Ah, that makes sense. And I swore to never say.” Smirking, Nightmare flipped through the book. It was empty, but he could tell where the pictures were supposed to go. Ribbon pawed at her pull string. “Yes, sweetie?”

“Maybe we can put photos of the baby in it?” Ribbon leaned down to look underneath the back cover.

“We could . . .” Nightmare lingered on the front page. Killer, Horror, Dust, and Cross all signed their names on it. He smiled like an idiot. “Thank you, all of you. I will be using this in the future.”

“Oh no, darling! I forgot to get you a gift! I’m so, so sorry!” Ribbon’s aura quickly turned to guilt. “I was too distracted with taking care of the soul. I wanted to make you something, maybe gloves. You- you always feel cold.”

Nightmare kept his smile. “It’s okay, but I wouldn’t deny a pair of gloves. I would like anything made by you. You being here and bringing me an heir is enough. I love you.” He leaned down and kissed Ribbon on her mouth.

Nightmare looked at his notebook, then outside the large window. The MTT and Cross talked with each other, but he didn’t listen. Snow still fell down, but he was warm, unlike most of the multiverse. Without a doubt, despite how sappy he felt, it was the best Christmas in his lifetime.

[metvmorqhoses]

Nononono waitttt what do you mean about Good Omens season 2?? Why didn't you like it?

I personally thought it was better than season 1 - better paced. There wasn't a single boring moment. And sure, the plot maybe had fewer stakes, but seeing as this was a bridge season between season 1 (the of Good Omens book) and hopefully season 3 (the book that never came out, “668” or something like that), I thought it was good. Warm & fuzzy.

I need to know your opinion now

As abashed as I am to have to respond to such enthusiasm with, well... the very opposite of enthusiasm, please at least know that I consider the truth the best thing I have to offer in general and in regard to that unfortunate (yet somehow still-untouchable?) mess the second season of Good Omens has proven itself to be in particular, so accept it as some sort of well-intended even if perhaps unwanted gift.

This is probably the most unpopular opinion one can have on Tumblr right now, so I'll go straight to the point: Gaiman managed to ruin Good Omens (perhaps he isn't able to write it by himself, perhaps he got carried away with fan service, who knows), once one of the most delightful, witty, engaging, profound books/shows existent, changing its register and raison d'être in order to turn it into, per great popular request, the same lame simple plotless cheesy cookie-cutter gay romance without rime and reason apparently every single piece of media is deforming itself into lately.

The dramatic loss of... artistic quality this show suffered is appalling and even more appalling is the fact I seem to be one of the very few on this green earth to have even noticed? Did I perhaps read too much in the show before? I don't think so, it was indeed a masterpiece. I saw many die-hard fans of the series beyond puzzled at this last season too, straining themselves to try and make sense of it with wild theories, justifying them with the simple fact that Neil Gaiman is a genius and surely this hot mess must mean something, right? I wasn't aware the world was mostly populated by hysterically besotted people hailing Neil Gaiman's alleged greatness from dawn til dusk without contextualized merit, and the discovery didn't particularly excite me, to be quite honest. I think a healthy amount of fairness in the critique of any artist should always be the norm, but I digress.

I'll try to keep it as brief and matter-of-factly as possible, especially since some time has passed and the fumes of my rage aren't as scorching or as precise as they used to be lol

In a word, this season was subpar. Not only did it lack that original witty, ineffable meaningfulness, that intrinsic and very human sense of wonder and protectiveness towards life and its profound sense the original show brimmed with, but even from the most basic literary point of view, it literally lacked a plot worthy of this name, a story, characters that felt complex and real instead of caricatures who tried and reenact themselves, and in general what should have been, quite simply, good writing.

More than Good Omens' long-awaited season 2, this felt more like a high-budget filler fanfiction created by someone who didn't know what they were doing with story and characters most of the time, but who sure as hell wanted to please the audience to disastrous lengths.

The very first thing that irked me beyond belief, and it literally started from minute one, was the immediate, more or less subtle, change in acting from both Michael and David. Michael stressed it way more, with, in my opinion, quite tragic results, thing that from the start immediately allowed me to guess where they were going with their (already established as extremely complex) relationship, entirely turning the vibe from sophisticated allegory of Divine Comedy kind of love (love for your enemy, love for your friend, love in all its form and in its entirety) to banal romantic comedy-level gay drama, downgrading what Crowley and Aziraphale shared (the subtle abysses of it!) into the most boring and obvious of soap operas, obviously forcing them to act out of character in order to compensate (was any flash-back meaningful to their character or the story? Was there a writing reason behind any of them beyond writing for the sake of filling screen-time?).

Some relationships deserve to be left alone, alone in their subtlety and ambiguousness or you'll inevitably ruin them. Not everyone must kiss on screen, no matter how much the audience screams and throws up for it. This little woke drama completely ruined and eclipsed everything else those two characters were for each other, turning them from cosmic and devastatingly loyal best friends to petty and dumb lovers that need two plot devices (the messy pointless and quite frankly offensive representation-wise lesbians from across the street they literally met five minutes prior) to tell them they actually have feeling for each other and should share them. After literal millennia of this relationship, relationship that has its own inner workings and reasons, we needed the plot-lesbians to subvert the order of things and spur Crowley into action, obviously obtaining disastrous and lame results? Are we witnessing the interaction of immortal beings or five-year-olds? The only way I can genuinely make sense of this dumbness is considering those two female "characters" (that feel anything but real people) no more than that, characters, golems, put there by Metatron via the power of the Book of Life (again, so many Chekhov's guns with no use whatsoever in this season) in order to separate Az and Crowley using the only thing that could succeed in doing it - an ill placed declaration of love.

But even this doesn't match the true être of what Good Omens originally was nor comes full circle with the ineffable mystery season 1 ended with. It genuinely feels like Gaiman changed the whole rhyme and reason of the story, vibes, meaning, register, just to meet the modern needs of a category that is sadly phagocytizes everything else in both life and fiction. And I find it a true pity - and a bore.

And even leaving aside this personal boredom of mine at a non-existent plot that consisted in 1) a big mystery that promised cosmic repercussions (season 1 ended with the after-nonapocalyptic world that was slightly changed just because two enemies had loved each other and life too much not to oppose god's plan - fact that was probably god's plan all along), mystery that was actually no mystery at all (two random, from the original story's perspective, previous minor characters in literally ten supernatural minutes fell in love and run away together) and that meant virtually nothing in the grand scheme of things, but serving as a plot device so that the other two minor new characters could intrude into the protagonists' relationship so they could finally have the excuse to jump literary genre and kiss & queer tragedy the story away 2) an endless series of symbols, facts, episodes and characters that constantly seemed to hint at something but that in reality resulted in nothing story-wise (also, the change of heart in God's personality, first the witty and almighty trickster for the greater good, now the divine bully??), even leaving all this aside, I'm mostly disappointed the quality of the writing plummeted so inesorabily one of my comfort show turned into the symbol of an artistic era I'm utterly distraught to have to witness - the era of crowd-pleasers and un-imagination.

As for this being a filler season, writing in such an unresolved way (basic and predictable plot, colourless characters, cliché romance, hours of happenings that don't mean a thing in the current story) is unacceptable and a failure, even if you are a famous writer. You cannot waste hours of the audience's time going nowhere shielded by the sole future promise of sense. Writing doesn't work that way, and I'm sincerely appalled to see people noticing it and deciding to excuse it with a "surely next season everything will look genius!". It doesn't work this way. The faults were too many, they can't possibly be all resolved next season. This product wasn't great, even if your faves kissed and your little fanfictions came true.

The sad thing is, Good Omens used to be a work of art, not the next consumeristic piece of fiction to satisfy woke needs.

[haveyouheardthispodcast]

What are your personal favorite podcasts?

Mod Nic here, I just got access to the askbox (Thank you Mods Kat and Axe!) and I'll be getting to the asks and submissions in chronological order except I wanted to answer this first.

My top three podcasts I can't rank because they all feel incomparable. They are Welcome to Night Vale, Wolf 359, and Friends at the Table.

Welcome to Night Vale: A classic. I've listened to this at least four times. Of course, 20 new episodes come out a year (plus bonus episodes on Patreon and liveshows on Bandcamp) so I haven't listened to every episode four times, because on each listen it gets longer and longer. I found it summer of 2013 when I was on an international road trip and could only check Tumblr on my iPod Touch when the hostel/motel/airport/ferryport had WiFi. Everyone was talking about it so I used the Apple podcast app (before it was subsumed by iTunes (before it was later rejected by iTunes)) for the first time. I remember coming back to the US and being at my grandparents and excited for a good WiFi connection and a lack of time pressure so that I could reblog Night Vale art like everyone else. My comfort podcast. Despite many people comparing any fiction podcast to Welcome to Night Vale, the first one to feel similar on an emotional level to me is Hello From The Hallowoods. It has the same sense of yes, the world is filled with horrors, but life is beautiful nonetheless. A narrator's gentle voice will tell me the happenings of many people who may or may not know each other but still make up a broader community.

Wolf 359: This is not the first non-Night Vale podcast I listened to, but it was the one that unlocked podcasts for me. The first one that I could track easily and was always eager for the next episode. The first one that was dangerous for my sleep and my homework the way that books are dangerous — once I start I can't put it down. I started it early fall of 2016 at the beginning of my junior year of college. I remember walking around parks playing Pokémon Go and coloring a page of an adult coloring book. I believe I caught up at Memoria, which was amazing timing. Opposite of a comfort podcast. I think I've listened to seasons 1–3 twice, but since the show finished I can't listen to more than an episode without getting devastated by emotions. Second media property I've ever had a fic idea for that I really want to write.... just as soon as I can manage a relisten. Not really comparable except for that it also has a protagonist that is a diagetic narrator closely backed by an ensemble cast and a show-long plot (instead of a season-long plot), but Hi Nay is probably the fastest I've ever gone from hearing a podcast for the first time to backing it on Patreon (but it was more a replacement for The Magnus Archives in my listening schedule, turns out I need to be exercising to listen to horror).

Friends at the Table: An actual play podcast that ruined me for actual play podcasts. Started listening in 2017 after I needed to temporarily withdraw from school due to my health collapsing causing me to fail classes. I had been listening to The Adventure Zone, but I actually started it because so many amazing Wolf 359 fan artists and fic writers were making art and fic for F@tT and I just had to know what that was about. I caught up just in time to start with Spring in Hieron. Due to my personal audio issues, I often have no idea what's going on in the sci-fi seasons, but that hasn't stopped me from crying because of it anyways. I can give personalized recommended starting points if I know someone, but in general I'm a big advocate for starting with the very first episode. My favorite season is probably still Autumn in Hieron, despite the audio quality. The moment when an interpretation of a roll from a player caused the pirates to become undead pirates was probably the moment when I got excited about wanting to play tabletop roleplaying games myself. Since I found it I've bounced off of every single actual play podcast I've tried listening to, until a few months ago when I started the Ruin's Gate season of The Unexplored Places. Ruin's Gate has the distinction of being the first time I've been able to track what the rolls of a Forged in the Dark game mean from a narrative perspective instead of just a mechanics perspective.

—Mod Nic

[awkadoodledoo]

As a homecook of many years, I've experimented and did amateur research into the science of cooking and baking. Cooking/baking is full of chemical reactions that happen due to the order of ingredients and temperature of each step.

I feel like a mad scientist or a witch, but the important part is that I'm cackling wildly when a reaction goes as I expect, or even if it goes wrong!

A KEY component to this process that I had overlooked, I would even make a case that this is largely overlooked. It is under-advertised! It isn't hard to find, but you have to know what you're looking for.

Material of your cookware.

Why have I dedicated a lengthy post to this? It is because at my age of 29, I have found that not all non-stick is equal. My parents bought me a nice cookware set when I moved in with my then boyfriend (now husband🥰). It was Analon, so a brand that people recognize, known for quality, and marketed towards homecooks. It was a hard anodized nonstick set. Did I at 23 know what that meant? Absolutely not. Did I at 29 know what that meant? I KNOW NOW. If you do know, then you probably see where this is going.

If you're reading this and thinking "duh?? you deserve this??" then good for you! My post does not apply and I hope you educate the people in your life because after hours of forums on the internet, I feel sadly safe in the knowledge that I wasn't alone. So in case you're like me, let's go over what hard anodized is, what it does for your cooking, and how I fucked up.

"Anodizing is an electrochemical process that forms a layer of non-conductive anodic oxide on the surface of a non-ferrous (doesn't contain iron) metal especially aluminum. This process makes aluminum more durable, decorative, and corrosion resistant, informing its use for various finished parts across different manufacturing industries." -Wayken Manufacturing

What does this mean for cooking? From what my Google research tells me, this gives the aluminum a ceramic like finish to create the nonstick and nonscratch effect. Some will even go further and add a nonstick coating to the inside of the pan for extra durability (like mine did...) However, it also helps with the evenness of temperature and so that you're not using overly high heat when a bit of patience on medium heat will ensure less burned food and non-damaged cookware as you'll have more control over the temperature you're using. There's more to it and benefits as a cook, but I'm not a cooking blog and there are lots to read from if you're more interested.

Onto the point of this post: how I fucked up. Because I didn't know ANY of this, I followed rules for other nonstick that I've used. Which...were dishwasher safe. I'm horribly depressed. I need things to be an easy clean or I won't cook. I'll either starve or eat McDonald's dollar menu. As much as I love cooking/baking, finding joy in my hobbies is so hard on a good day. The thought of cleaning? Often enough to have me not bothering, but that's also a different post time. Because I'd say I could be a mental illness blog.

I digress.

To Analon's lasting credit, they held up in the dishwasher after years of abuse so so so well. Until the recent wash. When I finally noticed something was wrong. Now the nonstick coating on the inside? Perfectly 100% fine. The anodized coating on the outside? Is now a gray powder that comes off when touched. That I am HIGHLY allergic to, it seems. My poor hand still is recovering from the reaction. The burn was almost immediate and didn't spread beyond my fingers thank goodness. But apparently, the anodized coating is delicate. It does not like alkaline. What is mostly alkaline? Dishwashing detergents.

Parts of the aluminum and deep scratches are visible. I've ruined my set. "Not dishwasher safe" is on the website, down at the very very bottom. It was probably on the box, too. But I saw nonstick and that's what I was used to and knew so that's what I went with.

So now I warn you readers that have stuck with me this long, don't just trust keywords. Actively look up what your cookware is made out of. Understand the terms that you took for granted. Obsess over proper care and use of your sets. There are so many different materials to choose from and each brand has its own words and patents, it seems. This has been an expensive lesson in reading asterisks and fine prints and that cookware is not always an open the box and go deal.

Dishwashing also voids my warranty. Cooking at high heats would also void the warranty because the anodized coating is not built for high heats.

So yeah, recommend me some cookware sets😪

[stromuprisahat]

Alina and the Darkling’s interactions, pt. 15

Siege and Storm- Chapter 3, continuation

More arguing, more denying for the sake of disagreement, more of degrading the “villain”...

“He can’t wait to get away from you.”

I’d beg to differ. Pretty sure he’s trying really hard not to kill you, Alina.

...the bright edge of the blade pressed to Mal’s throat. The man holding him wore a familiar sneer. Ivan. *** “Drink.” I open my eyes. Ivan’s scowling face comes into focus. “You do it,” he grumbles to someone. *** It was hard climbing with my hands in irons, and Ivan quickly lost patience. He hooked my wrists to haul me up the last few feet. *** Before I could begin to sort through them, Ivan appeared and began yanking me back across the main deck. “Slow down,” I protested, but he just gave another jerk on my sleeve. *** “Move,” Ivan ordered. I struggled to my knees. He nudged me with the toe of his boot... *** “She’s the Darkling’s prisoner,” said Ivan, “and a traitor.” *** “Bring her,” he called to Ivan. “Mal—” I began as Ivan grasped my arm. Mal lifted his bound hands, reaching for me. His fingers grazed mine briefly, then Ivan was hauling me back toward the hatch.

Ivan’s never been fond of Alina, he’s clearly far from excited about their quest to find her. He’s more likely to be afraid for the Darkling, than of him.

The Darkling doesn’t miss a chance for a little dig at one of Alina’s less desirable qualities. He’s also avoiding direct answer once again. Alina doesn’t mind, she’s happy to supply it herself.

Free from illusions? Free from dependency? Free from small mindedness? Free from what?

The Darkling plays tutor. Alina’s interested in possible harm, not education. Knowing future events, I can say it could’ve help her call his bluff at the end of Ruin and Rising.

The Darkling’s a beacon to volcra, but they don’t try to eat him? I’d be sceptical. We could explain their “attraction” with magic, but if we view them as carnivorous creatures, why would they scratch his face, but not take a chunk off?

They [volcra] were his creations, just like the thing that had buried its teeth in my shoulder.

Nichevo’ya are different “animals”. Volcra are mutated once-humans, nichevo’ya creatures torn from the Darkling’s own being.

Calling on merzost was painful, like a breath torn from his lungs, a moment of terror as his life was ripped away to form another. Creation. Abomination. But he was used to it by now.

...

“It’s not an experience I’d care to repeat. I’ve had my fill of the volcra’s mercy. And yours.”

Good thing Alina doesn’t consider the Darkling capable of human emotions, so she doesn’t have to think about how he had to feel, losing everything just a step before achieving his lives-long goal. How desperate he had to be to resort to merzost, standing in the result of his last failed attempt to control it.

Gods, how I wish he were done with Alina.

I love the contradiction between practicality about use of Alina’s powers and sort of belief Morozova’s amplifiers are akin to family heirloom, therefore she- his counterpart- should have them. Aleksander already is an amplifier himself, so who else should claim his grandfather’s creations? As (m)any beliefs it muddles his judgement when it comes to Alina’s future.

When one accusation doesn’t stick, try scholar pose... and then emotional manipulation.

We should read this as guilt over him blinding Baghra, but I’d suggest different interpretation:

The Darkling is centuries-old immortal, but the only person he’s had through all those years is his abusive mother. He understands she’s not supportive, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t long for her approval or affection. It’s irrational, but she’s the only person he belives won’t die on him and she’s still his MOTHER. He wants to be loved by her no matter how much she acts like anything but capable of that.

Perhaps he’d seen her betrayal sooner.

Alina reading willingly?! I don’t remember her doing anything for her own enjoyment. It’s either assignments or what her clique drags her to do.

Peasant propaganda? I’d love to read more about the Darkling’s experience in this particular field. 

This isn’t even Alina trying to persuade herself, she just says the opposite of what the Darkling does. Like a child trying to trump another in an argument. 

Equality should never be about lowering yourself to whichever level’s necessary.

Naturally, Alina isn’t willing to admit the Big Bad Darkling could feel anything, fortunately, the reader doesn’t have to be so biased. Is it only me, or does this sound like Aleksander’s speaking from experience? Like he has specific people on mind? We never learn much about his life, but even in books there are crumbs, painting life full of loss and tragedy.

His first soldiers were dead now. Lovers, allies, countless kings and queens. Only he continued on. Eternity took practice, and he’d had plenty of it. 

Alina never likes to hear unpleasant facts, especially criticism of her. What she loves is blaming others. Two chapters earlier, she hoped to never see Ravka again. Chapter later, she painted herself the saviour. Now, the Darkling’s the real villain once again.

Alina kept complaining about the exact same thing even before she was discovered to be Grisha.

I glanced at Mal. There had been a time when I could have told him anything.

...

“You know she’ll [Zoya] be staying at camp,” he said with a leer.

“I hear the Grisha tent’s as big as a cathedral,” added Dubrov.

“Lots of nice shadowy nooks,” said Mikhael, and actually waggled his brows.

Mal whooped. Without sparing me another glance, the three of them strode off, shouting and shoving one another.

...

Mal laughed. I hesitated by the door. This was the hardest part of being around him—other than the way he made my heart do clumsy acrobatics. I hated hiding how much the stupid things he did hurt me, but I hated the idea of him finding out even more. I thought about just turning around and going back inside. Instead, I swallowed my jealousy and sat down beside him.

...

When we’d first started our military service a year ago, Mal had visited me almost every night. But he hadn’t come by in months.

...

We’d spent more than ten years of our lives in Keramzin, but usually I got the impression that Mal wanted to forget everything about the place, maybe even me.

...

I wanted to believe that Mal and I would always be friends, but I had to face the fact that we were on different paths. Lying in the dark, waiting for sleep, I wondered if those paths would just keep taking us further and further apart, and if a day might come when we would be strangers to each other once again.

... that’s just the first chapter of the first book, but that’s okay, because Alina’s willing to ignore it as long as Malyen’s happy. See: Their time in Cofton.

Such a beautiful quote.

(So easily destroyed with few retcons...)

Yeah, it's probably how scared he is of the Darkling. Doesn't wanna come in unless he's ordered to...

I know Alina doesn’t think, but why would Ivan come when she calls? I’m sure he was overjoyed to hear her yell his name.

... aaaand back to dehumanizing the Darkling in attempt to make him less right.

I’d guess not clinging to someone, who hates your otherness might help to deal with that feeling, but that’s just me.

All previous parts.

[theworldvsyoshiko]

Game setups I experimented with today:

#1: Post-apocalyptic nomad

Used mods to absolutely slather the map in ruins, with a lot of them from Real Ruins so they've got loot, but with the decay/prior looting settings also turned way up.

Cranked the pollution way up and the population density way down.

Planting crops is forbidden by the scenario.

Nomad ideoligion that gets upset if they maintain a colony for more than a season or so.

Also has the scrapper ideoligion from Vanilla Ideology Expanded, so they're great at salvage and don't mind hand-me-down clothes.

Wander from abandoned settlement to abandoned settlement, hunting animals and scavenging the useful stuff, then moving on.

This is a fun setup, but I'd need to find some way to complicate it, because it's a very... slice-of-life kind of playstyle by default. Since difficulty scales off of colony wealth, if you don't build a colony, the difficulty curve is pretty flat. If you move from map to map stripping them of valuables, even if that's just mining a bit of exposed gold/jade/silver and grabbing a few items, that adds up pretty fast. Unless you completely ignore traders, I think you'd be able to get a pretty decent endgame kinda loadout within a year or so. (Not like you're spending the money on much else, after all.) And you'd still be fighting naked guys with rusty axes, because of the wealth thing.

Ironically though, this has the exact opposite problem with wealth too: Real Ruins is happy to dump an entire endgame colony in your lap sometimes. The first map I got with this experiment immediately triggered the archonexus quest, because my faction was suddenly worth $400k all at once. This turned out to be because, for some fucking reason, there was a pile of like 900 persona cores just laying on the ground next to a heap of megascreen televisions. Real Ruins is a fascinating peek into other players' minds sometimes.

As far as larger goals go, the options would be like:

Try to, idk, circumnavigate the planet or something.

Try to wipe out all the pirates, or the empire, or somebody else who probably has it coming.

Get to the journey offer ship on foot, while collecting enough gear/friends on the way to actually defend it while it starts up.

#2 Monastery of the hedonic calculus monks

Disable the mech and insectoid factions.

Turn the storyteller's hostile death-on-downed chance way down.

Hospital, Hospitality, spaceport, and hot springs mods.

Ideoligion that forbids all non-defensive violence against people or animals, discourages meat-eating and leather clothes, requires the colony to maintain lots of healthcare facilities, and strongly requires charity.

The same ideoligion also promotes partying, social drugs, polyamory, and everyone wearing whatever they hell they want to wear (or don't want to wear.)

Must maintain a resort hotel and a hospital, both fully open to the public, in order to properly maximize pleasure.

All raiders must be taken alive if possible, given quality healthcare, and released.

Mod to allow diplomacy with pirate factions, so it's entirely possible to befriend them after patching up enough of their members who tried to kill you.

No war animals because that's barbaric.

This one's pretty fun, and I think it would actually make a surprisingly challenging run. A hospital + hotel is a lot of colony wealth that wouldn't be going toward anything useful. I think I'd probably have to turn the raid difficulty down a bit, unless I wanted the colony to have like 15 members, most of whom are good in a fight.

The main problem I have with it is the question of how to handle recruitment. Who would I be allowed to recruit? Having strong restrictions has proven to be a lot of fun, and clearly not just anybody has what it takes to be a vegetarian party monk. Maybe only allow people who have good medical or social skills and don't have any unpleasant traits or come from a horrible ideoligion. If I wanted to make it harder/more interesting, I could have (a/the) starting character be a mechanitor whose mechs handle the defense and most of the day-to-day work, with all of the other colonists dedicated to medicine and hospitality.

One side option could be allowing lots of people to join, but having strict guidelines and banishing anybody who breaches them. Or at least drop pod'ing them to a friendly settlement.

(Optionally I could also drop the 'party' part and just make them very nice pacifist monks, but I think it's important for every faction to be a little bit of a train wreck.)