#is it pretty bordering tacky or tacky bordering pretty

[crickcabanaa]

:3

lot credit: warmsol <3

[ckret2]

Bill hates it when people mention Euclydia. Everyone thinks it's because he doesn't want to hear his home's real name; it's actually the opposite.

Here, have some fic. The naming of Euclydia (among other things), the birth of the Nightmare Realm, and the Axolotl planting the seeds of a trillion-year-long plan to keep Bill from the death penalty.

This is the 🎉FINAL PART🎉 of a 9-part plot about the Axolotl in the aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. If you wanna read the others (or look at the art), here's one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight.

####

With the immediate crisis averted and the triangle, for the moment, not attempting to invade and/or demolish the multiverse, most of the god militia pulled back. A group remained stationed near the unstable border between dimensions to watch the triangle; but the less powerful gods could trickle back in to get back to their own work, first and foremost the construction workers doing emergency repairs to reformat and stabilize the neighboring dimensions.

The Axolotl—who, he suspected, would have been arrested himself for interfering if they weren't still focused on the triangle—wove through the crowd until he found the Time Giant; and then swam angrily up to her and demanded, "You used me as a distraction?"

She turned a stone-hard look on him. "That was the agreement."

"No! The agreement was that I'd try to talk him down! We'd only resort to distracting him if I couldn't get through to him!"

"Ya didn't get through to him." The Time Giant nodded at the Axolotl's burned side. "Look at you. Your leg's off."

He looked down at his missing foreleg. He'd been so distracted by the near end of the multiverse, he'd barely noticed the pain. "It's just a flesh wound," he insisted. "I'm an axolotl, it'll grow back!"

She shook her head.

"I would have gotten through to him! You saw me talk him down after an entire army threatened him!" the Axolotl said. "What if I had succeeded, and when we left my tank he found out you already wrote him off?! You never gave me a chance—"

"We did give you a chance," she said testily, "and I saw that you weren't gonna succeed." She hooked a thumb over her belt and tapped a finger on her time tape; the stylized symbol of the Time Giants glowed on the side, an unsubtle reminder that she knew what was coming far better than he did. "So I did my damn job."

So she'd sent him in already knowing that he would fail. The Axolotl was speechless for a second. "But—you couldn't know—I got so close, if I'd had just one more try to talk to him..."

"If I'd let you, I'm sure you woulda kept trying until the end of time," she said. "You seem like a good guy, Ax—but you can't save everyone." She pushed past him to get to work. "There's first aid near where Dimension 2 Gamma was. Get those burns looked at."

"They're fine."

She was wrong. He could save everyone. Because he wouldn't stop until he did.

####

"You're replacing it?" the triangle asked petulantly.

"I'm not talking to you," VENDOR said, turned away from the triangle. "You had your chance at diplomacy and you blew it." The crablike cop was holding up a clipboard with some paperwork for VENDOR to review, and didn't look pleased to have been temporarily reduced to a secretary.

"I'm just asking a question!"

"We're not speaking."

At the top of his lungs—which was, it turned out, very loud and very shrill—the triangle said in the direction of the reporters, "Oh wow, that's a crazy thing to say about Lady Morgenstern! And talk about obscene! She'd be furious if she could hear that—!"

"Shhhhh!" VENDOR rounded angrily on the triangle. "You don't even know who she is!"

"I know her name and I'm not afraid to use it," the triangle said. "You're really replacing my dimension?"

"If I can be left alone long enough to finish signing the authorization paperwork," VENDOR muttered. "The construction crew's already out here and waiting, so if you don't mind..."

"It just seems pretty tacky, replacing a universe just like that." The triangle spoke like dimension he was talking about was just a pawn to be used in a trivial argument about etiquette, rather than everyone and everything he'd ever known. "No memorial or anything? Yeesh."

"So hold a memorial for it," VENDOR said. "We don't have any choice, we have to repair all the fallen walls to keep reality stable. If you'd let us into your hovel to sweep up what's left of your old dimension, it could have at least been incorporated into the new one."

The triangle half reached for his hat, stopped himself, and curled his hand into a fist and thrust it down at his side. "Over my dead body," he said. "Which I'm pretty sure got incinerated! So that means never!"

"You're pretty sure?" VENDOR asked archly.

"It... I had more important stuff to take care of, okay? I'm a busy guy!"

"I'm sure," VENDOR said. "Well, it's too late for any cleanup operations anyway. Enjoy rotting away in your landfill."

"Wow, that's how you talk to a refugee from the biggest disaster ever?" The triangle laughed. "Hey, bet the muckrakers over there would love to hear how sympathetic you are to the—what'd you say I am—the 'last surviving soul from my dimension'—?"

"Let's find somewhere quieter to work," VENDOR said to the cop.

He looked relieved "You got it."

As VENDOR and THEIR impromptu secretary moved away from Dimension Zero, the triangle shouted after THEM, "Hey! How do I vote for Municipalitron!"

Volcanoes on several of VENDOR's planets erupted. THEY whipped around to face the triangle. "You don't! You aren't in my district!"

"Well, whose district am I in? This Morgenstern creep you keep bringing up?" the triangle asked. "How's voting work, do you toss a ballot across the border and I toss it back—?"

"You're not in anyone's district! If you were, you'd have been arrested already!"

The triangle stared in dumb shock. "Wait, so I don't get to vote for which of you idiots I have to deal with?" He hollered at VENDOR's retreating back, "That's fascism!"

Fuming, VENDOR passed the Axolotl muttering under THEIR breath about showing the triangle fascism; then stopped, abruptly turned to face him, and snapped, "You."

"You," the Axolotl agreed.

"You're an optimistic fool."

Yes, well, he knew that already. He'd been voted Most Adorably Idealistic in his law school yearbook for a reason. "I don't think I like you, either."

"No one does." THEIR camera whirred irritably as they looked the Axolotl up and down. "What are you doing here, anyway? I assumed you'd been sent to figure out who's liable for this whole mess—but no, you only handle afterlife cases, don't you? Who sent you?"

The Axolotl was silent.

Furiously, VENDOR said, "Are you serious?! We could have avoided half this mess if it weren't for you!"

"If it weren't for me, he'd have knocked down the multiverse before anyone realized he's setting the fires," the Axolotl snapped. "And if you had figured that much out, you'd have gotten your cops killed before anyone realized he's a god."

"The professionals here to handle the situation could have figured it out faster if you weren't derailing their investigations," VENDOR snarled. "And arguing about jurisdiction! We could have arrested that that little troublemaker the moment we figured out just what he's done—"

"Right after you arrested that kid with the spray can who didn't have anything to do with this?"

THEY growled in frustration. "Forget it! I hope you're happy with your genocidal pal over there—you seem about as concerned with public safety as he is." THEY stormed off, the cop with THEIR paperwork chasing after THEM.

The Axolotl watched VENDOR go; then turned to look ruefully toward Dimension Zero.

When the triangle caught his gaze, he formed a heart with his fingers over his top point and called out, gleefully singsong, "Genocide paaals!"

It wasn't exactly the reaction he'd hoped for.

####

The Axolotl was attempting to distract himself from scratching his itchy leg while it regrew by eavesdropping on the triangle. It seemed like the triangle was entertaining himself by darting around the border of Dimension Zero to start arguments with anybody he happened to recognize (except the Axolotl, whom he seemed to be trying to ignore outside of throwing a few odd quips at him.) At the moment, the triangle and the Time Giant were hollering at each other about her decision to reinforce the second dimensions by making them splinter into multiple timelines.

"So you're really willing to sacrifice zillions of lives by letting me incinerate all their parallel timelines?" The triangle laughed in disbelief. "And everyone here thinks I'm the killer! That's not a good look for you, buddy!"

She glanced up from a table full of paperwork to give him a totally neutral look. "You're the one who's willing to incinerate them. You could not do that."

"When I do it, it's justified."

The Axolotl was distracted from the argument as the storm cloud with the apoc agents gloomily blew past him. It was talking into a walkie-talkie as it went: "Yeah, I know he's a nut. But he's a nut that can't throw fireballs outside the border of his dimension, and I've got to finish this report before we can get outta here." He sighed at whatever the walkie-talkie said in response, and said, "Yeah. We'll rendezvous after I have his testimony." It let its tornado suck the walkie-talkie back in and drifted to the Time Giant. "Mind if I steal your conversation partner for a minute? ATTF business."

She grabbed a binder to try to shield her papers from the worst of the storm's rain. "Please. Take him."

"Thanks." It floated closer to Dimension Zero and raised its voice to bark, "Hey! Magister Mentium!"

The triangle looked over mistrustfully. "What?" As he'd talked to the Time Giant, he'd been playing with the fabric of reality, creating a circle out of raw... stuff. The Axolotl couldn't tell what the stuff was, but it looked like it was some sort of animal tissue, except far too uncannily homogeneous to be natural, disturbing in its uniformity. Like a slice of baloney. When he saw who'd called out to him, he rolled his eye and turned his attention to extruding the circle into a baloney cylinder. "Heeey, Officer Fun Police! Here to rain on my parade again?"

"Rain jokes aren't as funny as you think they are," it said. "No, this is Apocalyptic Threat Task Force business."

The triangle's eye narrowed. "What business? Are you gonna complain about my renovations again?"

"No. If you're not about to knock reality down, I don't care what you do anymore," the cloud said. "It's not my business to punish anybody for previous apocalypses, I just want to prevent future ones. Answer a few questions for our incident report and I'll be out of your life." There was an implicit and you'll be out of mine in its tone.

"All right," the triangle said dubiously. "Fffine. Then we're on the same side. I'm not fond of apocalypses either."

It paused like it wanted to argue with that claim, but said, "Good enough for me." It pulled out the soggy notepad it had been using all day, flipped through it, couldn't find a free page, and with a sigh pulled out a tape recorder instead. "You're from Dimension 2 Delta, right?"

"If you say so," the triangle said, lifting his hands in a shrug. "You guys are the ones who named my dimension."

"Uh-huh." Under its breath, the cloud muttered, "Not exactly a name, but... If you're from 2Δ, that makes you the only direct witness to how your universe was destroyed."

The triangle paused. "Mm."

"Can you explain what happened, exactly?" When the triangle didn't respond, the cloud added, "I'm not gonna arrest you for it. If we want to have a chance of stopping something like this from happening in the future, we need to know what happened here."

"Uhhh, yyyeah. Suuure," the triangle said.  It wasn't clear exactly how Dimension Zero rearranged, but the view of the eternal dance party simply vanished. There was no sign of the millions of shapes. The music had fallen near silent, just a constant distant low thumping noise, like your heartbeat in your ears; quiet enough that it couldn't drown out the whispery hiss leaking out of Dimension Zero. "It's not like I have anything to hide." Whatever he was about to say, it seemed like he wanted to hide it from his party prisoners, at least.

A bolt of lightning shot through the storm's recorder, turning it on. "You said you were an active participant in the end of the world, right?"

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" He eyed the recorder suspiciously. "What is this, some trick to try to get a confession out of me?"

"Again, I'm not a cop. And you already confessed in front of a thousand reporters," the storm said. "If you were involved, you've got a different perspective than some guy ten superclusters away who only witnessed it, that's the only reason it matters."

"Oh," the triangle said. "Then���yeah, I was there for the whole thing. Start to finish."

"Great," the storm said gruffly. "Then could you explain in your own words what happened when the universe ended and, to the best of your knowledge, what caused it."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. The cause," the triangle said. "It... it was a—monster."

"I thought you said you—"

"It was a monster," the triangle said, more confidently now.

The cloud hesitated. "All right," it said. "Tell me what happened."

The triangle took a deep breath. "Okay. So. It uh—started with the third dimension."

"The monster came from the third dimension?"

"No, we were going to the third dimension. But we needed—"

The hissing background static exploded into a roar.

The void filled with the staticky screams of countless dead voices, pleading for mercy, pleading for it to stop. Death rattles, howls of agony, wails of terror. Most of the crowd of gods outside Dimension Zero fell silent, turning to stare at the disembodied hysterical shrieks.

One voice, strained with pain, rose above the cacophony, crackling, "Emergency services! We need medical assistance! Ambulances, or—please—I don't know what happened—it's like everyone's internal organs spontaneously ruptured, there's—there's hundreds of people here! Some of them are missing parts of their body, they just—disappeared! I'm hurt too, I don't know what it is—I can feel it inside me—"

A second voice replied, "We can't send assistance. Everyone's bleeding, the whole city's dying! We can't help you!"

Whatever the triangle said was lost beneath the roar. He didn't even seem to notice it. His eye was filled with static. The word "blood" was just barely audible. The word "mandibles."

Another voice, trying to sound professional, trying to sound authoritative, but trembling with fear, "This is an emergency announcement! This announcement will not repeat! The fire can transmit over radio waves and sound waves! Turn off all radios and TVs! Turn off all radios and TVs and destroy any wireless phones and pagers! Do NOT listen to the screams! Again, the fire is transmitting over radio waves, this message will not repeat, destroy your radio and warn your neighbors!"

The Axolotl saw images flash in the triangle's eye, too fast for him to mentally process one before another ten had gone by: a plane like infinitely thin glass with tiny delicate shapes painted on its surface shattering in a rolling wave; a bleeding body reduced to shards and then the shards reduced to chips and then chips reduced to dust; fire spitting and crackling into every crack split in existence; a light shaped like a triangle. (Was that the light that had blinded the Oracle's seer?)

Another voice gasping, "It's doing something to the gravity, I-I don't understand—we don't even have the equipment to read... it's like gravity's turned in a direction that doesn't exist! Does anyone know how to stop it?! Our universe is tearing ap—" and the words were cut off with a scream; and the scream was cut off with a sudden silence that was swallowed whole by the other voices.

The triangle had peeled open, shining golden panels stretching out like petals, his mandibles unhinged and curling around his eye in a ring of teeth, like a blooming carnivorous flower, sun-soaked and mesmerizing. God, he was so bright. He shot light in every direction like an explosion that never ended. Like a star trapped in the moment of supernova.

Another voice, shaking with rage, "Did you hear that, you monster?! I told you we weren't ready yet! Why didn't you listen?! I can see the destruction from here—the sky's on fire, everything is burning. How could this happen?! YOU killed them all—" and the rage cracked, revealing the fear and grief just barely hidden underneath, "Remember us. If you're the only one left, you have to remember us. Please—"

The static snapped off; the triangle's body snapped back into place; his eye snapped back into focus; "—and then they appointed me their god," he said cheerfully, "and here we are!"

And with only a couple more dying cries of pain and pleas for help, the voices fell back to their constant background whisper.

The storm cloud had started sleeting.

The Axolotl had stopped breathing. Just the sound of the carnage was enough to make him sick.

But the triangle sounded perfectly at ease—more than he had before he'd answered the cloud's question. "So is that all you needed?" He'd resumed playing with the cylinder of meat he'd been constructing—extruding it further, and then, dissatisfied with the results, collapsing it back into a circle.

His hands were trembling as he messed with the cylinder. There was a tightness around his eye.

"What..." The storm cloud let out a low rumble of thunder, ahem, "what... did you say about blood? I didn't catch it."

The triangle blinked blankly at the storm. "I didn't say anything about blood."

It paused.  "All right, then—what about the other voices? Who were they?"

"What voices?"

The storm stared at the triangle, baffled sunbeam fixed on him; then swung the sunbeam over to the Axolotl. "You heard—?"

So his eavesdropping had been noticed. He nodded. Oh, he heard, all right.

The triangle glanced between them. "I think you guys are hearing voices," he said. "The only one talking here is me."

He said it like he meant it. The Axolotl was sure he did. Had he not heard the voices?

"Never mind, forget it," the cloud said uneasily. "You said someone... Who appointed you their god?"

"Uhhh..." the triangle tilted to the side as he tried to think. "Pretty much all my people? Yeah. It was everyone!"

"Your people? From your universe?"

"Yup!"

"They didn't appoint you their god," the cloud said. "They're all dead."

The triangle scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about. They're all in here with me!"

"You mean the mortals from the other universes?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the triangle repeated, a little slower, warningly. "They're all from my universe."

For a moment, the cloud just stared at him, at a loss. It glanced again toward the Axolotl. The Axolotl had nothing to offer it.

"Is that everything?" The triangle tried to keep his voice peppy, but there was an edge of exhaustion that hadn't been there earlier. (Yeah, him and everyone else here.)

"I guess that wraps up that part of the questionnaire," the cloud muttered uneasily, trying to recover its professional tone. "Just a couple more questions. I need your name. For the report."

Dimension Zero's hissing background static rose again: "The murderer... The name of the murderer... is—"

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!" The triangle turned and chucked the cylinder he'd been working on into the Dream Realm. He grumbled under his breath, created another circle, and started stretching it out again.

The triangle could hear the voices. Then why hadn't he been able to hear them earlier? Unless he had been able to hear them—and he just... couldn't remember that he'd heard them?

Even if the Axolotl hadn't known about the incomparable trauma the triangle had survived/caused, it would be pretty obvious by now that something was going terribly wrong inside his head. Contradictory stories about his own reality, memories he refused to remember, facts he simply set aside as not relevant. Was he refusing to face them, or was he unable?

From their conversation in the Axolotl's tank, he thought the triangle understood more than he was willing to admit. But the Axolotl might be the only one who knew that.

And that was beginning to give the Axolotl an idea.

"Just—put me down as the Magister Mentium, okay?" the triangle told the cloud. "Everyone'll know who you're talking about."

"If you say so," said the cloud. "What was your universe's name?"

"Its name?" The triangle glanced up from his new cylinder and gave the cloud a perplexed look. "You asked already. You said it's Dimension 2 Delta."

"That's its serial number. Every dimension's assigned one at its Big Bang. But it's standard to let a dimension's own residents choose its name. It makes it more personal." The cloud sounded as though it had memorized this explanation. The Axolotl wondered how many times it had had to take statements from a destroyed dimension's grieving survivors. He hoped it usually got to give this spiel to witnesses of a narrowly averted apocalypse. "Typically the first explorers to leave their dimension get to name it; but the only person ever known to leave 2Δ is... you."

"Oh," he said. "Right."

"So, what did your people name your universe?"

He stared at the storm like it was stupid. "We called it... the universe?"

"Everyone calls their universe The Universe," the cloud said. "Followed by The World, The Dimension, Reality, and Home. They're all taken, come up with something else."

"Seriously? You're making me name my whole universe and now you're telling me how to name it?"

"They're not my rules," the cloud said. "If you don't have a native name, we usually name a dimension after the first known explorer to leave it. Was that you?"

The triangle was quiet for an uncomfortably long moment. His gaze twitched away; and for a moment the Axolotl thought he saw another image flash in his eye: a triangle floating in space, eerily serene, dead. His voice was small when he said, "No."

Surprised lightning quietly flashed in the storm's cloud. "Oh. Do you know the name of the first?"

"Of course I do. He's my..." He stopped himself. He said, too evenly, "His name is Euclid."

Obviously, the triangle wasn't speaking a language that can be spoken with human mouths or written with human symbols. "Euclid" is a stand-in word for an unpronounceable name; trying to say the name without the right anatomy—without even the right laws of physics and sound waves—would only mangle it.

But the rest of the multiverse didn't have the right physics or anatomy either. "Euclid," the cloud repeated, mangling it. The triangle winced. "Fine. How's Euclydia sound?"

"It sounds stupid," the triangle said.

"Well, it's your dimension. Do you have a better suggestion?"

"I..." The triangle floundered helplessly. "That... Okay hold on, I've had a very long..." He floundered again as he tried to figure exactly what kind of time span he'd been having a long one of.

"If you want me to come back later..." said the cloud, who very obviously did not want to have to come back later.

"I don't knowww, gimme a second," the triangle whined. "I've never thought about a universe having a name! It's—it's fine. Euclydia's fine."

"If you're sure—?"

"Of course I'm sure," the triangle snapped. "Euclydia. Yeah. Great. Fine."

"All right." The cloud zapped its tape recorder, turning it off. "Thanks for your time."

As it started to hover off, the triangle said, "Hold on! I answered your questions, you owe me some."

The eye of the storm reluctantly swung back toward the triangle. "What?"

He held up the shape he'd been extruding. "What do you call this... 3D circle thing?"

The sunbeam swept over it. "A cylinder?"

The triangle pointed toward VENDOR, who was out at the edge of the crowd answering the questions of some reporters who'd caught THEM attempting to slink away from the scene. "And what are the 3D circle things Coin Slot over there is hauling around?"

It glanced at VENDOR's stock of planets. "Spheres."

The triangle shook his cylinder. "Well, what am I doing wrong, then!"

"I don't know, math's not my thing," the cloud said. "Try rotating it."

The triangle waited until the cloud had moved on; then created another circle, extruded it again, but curled the extrusion around into a circle. He ended up with a shape like a donut. He said, quietly, "Oo-oo-ooh." He sounded impressed.

The Axolotl swam up alongside the storm cloud as it left. "So. Find out what you wanted to know?"

The cloud laughed ruefully.

That was what he thought. "Are the interviews you've been taking classified?"

"No, our reports are open to the public. Anyone can request copies. The database is a nightmare to navigate, though."

"Let me know who to contact for the records on this incident. Especially the witness testimonies."

"I take it you're also planning to go through that noise we just heard with a fine-tooth comb?"

"That's hardly the start of it."

If the Axolotl had been convinced of anything during all his conversations with the triangle today, it was that the triangle could barely begin to grasp just what it was he'd done to his dimension and all the dimensions around it—and he did a very poor job of communicating what he did grasp.

And if the Axolotl could prove that—if he could build a convincing argument that the triangle hadn't understood what he'd done, psychologically couldn't understand, that even now he only had the fuzziest comprehension of what he was involved in...

Someday, that triangle's sins would catch up to him. Someday, he would be in the hands of the gods of death and justice, and they would have to decide what fate his actions had earned. And when that day came, it would be the Axolotl's job to ensure that the triangle didn't end up damned or erased from existence.

As it was now, that triangle didn't stand a chance in the multiverse of being found innocent. But there was more than one way to avoid a "guilty" verdict.

By the time the triangle stood before a judge, the Axolotl would make sure that the right laws were in place for him to do what he wanted to do.

####

Where there had been swarms of firefighters earlier, now the scene swarmed with construction workers, working on the emergency genesis of over half a dozen replacement universes—carefully, so that the big bangs didn't do any further damage to an already unstable situation; but quickly. Already every destroyed one-dimensional universe had been replaced. Several half-burned dimensions had been supplanted with oddly-shaped undersized universes that met at the older universes' burned edges; jagged 1D dimensions sealed the gaps between these dimensions like a line of solder between two panes of stained glass.

By now, the flat planes and edges surrounded the zeroth dimension like the sleek shifting surfaces of an infinity-sided die; all except for one last missing wall in the middle of the damage.

Dimension 2 Delta. "Euclydia."

The construction workers were already setting up the scaffolding and equipment to set off another big bang.

As the Axolotl looked at the copious warning signs around the construction site—"DANGER! COSMIC EXPLOSIVES" "GENESIS IN PROGRESS"—the specialized equipment, the veritable army of workers, the mountain of papers the Time Giant had been reviewing earlier to ensure that everything was up to code and nothing would go wrong... he couldn't help but think of the triangle holding the seed of a big bang in his bare glowing hand, threatening to set it off right there. The Axolotl had known it was foolish, but seeing all the workers' preparations put just how reckless it was into perspective. Like a toddler holding a stick of TNT over a campfire.

He spotted the Time Giant among the workers, flickering back and forth across the scene as she tried to literally be multiple places at the same time. When she settled down for a moment over a worktable to double check a pile of blueprints and forms and calculations and even more paperwork, she caught sight of the Axolotl passing by, and tipped her chin up at him in greeting.

He paused, then nodded back to her. No hard feelings. He was just following his principles; and she was just doing her job. They'd each found their own way to help hold up the multiverse.

"Hey," she called out, and gestured for him to come over. As he did, she said, "Your leg's healing nicely."

He glanced down at it. His new toes were stubby, but at least they were back. "I don't like being uneven." He'd take a few more days on his tail. "I'll probably pay for it tomorrow, though." When he finally got home, he'd have to see if he could cancel his morning appointments.

"Reckon we'll all be feeling this tomorrow." She tilted her head toward Dimension Zero. "I've got a message for the god of DIY over there. I think you're the only one he likes—you mind carrying it over?"

####

It wasn't hard to find the triangle; he was leaning against the membrane around the zeroth dimension, moodily staring out at the third. He seemed to be gazing past all the gods, unfazed by their hubbub. The Axolotl tried to see what he was looking at, and didn't spot anything of note. As far as he could tell, the triangle might as well just be stargazing.

Along with the police tape and the ATTF barrier and the long-forgotten cordons to hold off the reporters, there was now an additional grid of orange cones set up blocking anyone from getting too close to the destroyed wall and the construction site. The Axolotl glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before he slipped past the cones and swam up to the triangle.

When he approached, the triangle was muttering under his breath: "Stupid, now it sounds like an STD. I should've named it something cooler. Like... Triangletopia. Or the Party Plane. Or Margaritaville—I bet no one's ever used that one before..."

"Magister," the Axolotl said.

The triangle's eye snapped to him. "Hey, look at that! The pompous psycho is back! If you're even thinking about sticking me back in your 'office'—"

The Axolotl held up his forelegs appeasingly. "I'm not." He wasn't even crossing the threshold into the triangle's turf. "This is the last time I'll speak to you today."

"Finally, some good news," the triangle grumbled. "What do you w—ha! Ah-haha! I caught myself, that one didn't count."

The Axolotl decided not to count it. "The Time Giant wanted you to know they're about to set off the big bang where Dimension 2 Delta used to be. You probably don't want to be too close to the wall when it goes up."

The triangle's expression darkened; but he just said, "All right. Fine. Have fun. Not my problem! Just keep the construction noises down."

That was all he'd been sent to tell the triangle; but he added, "If you ever want to leave your dream realm, this is your last chance."

The triangle groaned. "This again? Listen, frills, I already told you I'm not interested! And you don't have the right to drag me out, this is my sovereign god territory—"

"I'm not threatening to," the Axolotl said gently. "I just—wanted to make sure you know. If you change your mind later, you physically won't be able to leave."

That gave the triangle pause. "I... don't see why not."

"For something to pass from one dimension to another, it needs a large enough hole to pass through," the Axolotl said. "For a person carrying the mass and energy of an entire universe to cross from one dimension to another... they need a hole the size of a universe. The missing wall where 2Δ was is the size your universe used to be. And now... it's the only exit big enough for you to pass through. Do you understand?"

The triangle stared at him silently. There was that hard, heavy look in his eye. It was awful to see. He did understand.

"If you don't come now..."

"We came up with a way to fit my entire universe into this one," the triangle said. "If I ever want to leave, we'll invent a way to get it back out."

"Your universe didn't fit in without incinerating it."

The triangle tapped the side of his hat with a finger; somewhere inside it was the speck that used to be his universe—the seed of a big bang. "It's travel-sized now. The next time will be easier."

For the first time since seeing the awful ruin of Dimension 2 Delta, the Axolotl forced himself to turn his fearful gaze chronologically forward. He squinted toward the hazy, far-flung future; and then he gave the triangle, in the present, a sorrowful look. "No, it won't," he said. "But I'll do what I can for you."

The triangle stared sullenly at him, unmoved by the offer. "I don't see what you're getting out of helping me. Everyone else is dying to send me to ghost jail or however things work around here."

"Isn't it enough to help you just because you exist and that makes you worth it?"

"If you ever, ever say something like that again, I'll kill you. I will find a way."

He wasn't particularly surprised. But that was truly what the Axolotl believed—and believed strongly enough to guide everything else he did. 

The things this triangle had done were too ghastly for even an ancient, experienced god to fully wrap his head around. Without exaggeration, he might have done the worst thing anyone anywhere in the multiverse had ever done.

But.

But if the Axolotl could prove that he, the worst person ever, was worth giving a second chance—that he could change, that he could show remorse for what he'd done, that he could be a force for good in the multiverse... then he would have proven that everyone, no matter what, was worth it.

The Axolotl had been voted Most Adorably Idealistic, but he'd never been called soft. His ideals were harder than diamond and sharper than obsidian. He hadn't decided to protect the triangle in spite of the impact that might have on the multiverse; he was protecting him because of the impact it could have. 

The Axolotl was a god of justice, of monsters, of second chances, and through his actions he could shape what justice meant throughout the multiverse as if he were sculpting clay; and he thought a small, sharp little equilateral triangle would make a perfect sculpting tool.

"In truth, I just don't believe in punishment. Not even for you." The Axolotl lay a forefoot on Dimension Zero's bubble. "But I don't see why you trust me." Because it was clear the triangle did. He'd trusted the Axolotl to judge the character of the other gods. He'd kept looking toward him like he was trying to gauge his own situation based on the Axolotl's reaction to it. He'd admitted the truth about the remains of his universe and his plans for it. It seemed like the Axolotl was the only one the triangle trusted in all this mess.

The triangle thought that over; then said, "You seem like a grade-A sucker."

He laughed. "I'll try to live up to your opinion of me." He had a guess what kind of people this triangle thought were suckers. The charitable; the caring. The people who didn't think that seeing the worth in everyone was a kind of illness.

"You should know, I intend to legally register my tank as a purgatory. I'll probably submit my application before the end of the week. If you claim it as your afterlife, you'll be transferred to my tank for holding while awaiting trial to decide your final afterlife."

"Ugh, now it all makes sense: you're starting a cult! I don't wanna join your cult, frills—I've got my own."

"But you do want to go straight to your lawyer's office if you're about to go on trial for your sins," the Axolotl said pointedly. "I don't intend to house anyone in my tank permanently. It will just be a transfer place for clients preparing for trial or figuring out where they want to go next—another afterlife, reincarnation... You're already technically dead; you can request at any time to come to my tank, and you'll be there."

"Sounds great for your other clients! But I'm not planning to go on trial and I don't want to be in an afterlife," the triangle said testily. "I'm pretty sure we've been over this!"

"I know you don't. I wish you didn't have to face it. But when you have no choice," the Axolotl said. "When you need it. When your time comes to burn like your people—" (the triangle flinched) "—call me. I'll offer you a second chance at any time."

"Low blow," the triangle muttered. "Don't put yourself out on my account. I'll be fine by myself."

"I'm sure." The Axolotl suspected he'd be putting himself out on the triangle's account for a long time. "What's your name? Your real name."

The background hiss of cosmic noise roared louder. The echoes of billions of erased ghosts said, "THE NAME OF THE MURDERER IS—"

With a flinch, the triangle cranked the distant dance music louder so it spilled cacophonously out of Dimension Zero again. It was too late, though. The Axolotl had heard the triangle's real name.

He pretended he hadn't. He waited.

The triangle didn't answer for a long moment. "You probably wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

"Maybe not." He'd seen how the triangle had winced hearing the cloud try to pronounce the name of some other shape. "I still want to know who you are."

He wrestled with his words; then finally gave up and asked his question. "What... is this place? We're not in the third dimension. When I—freed my dimension, I expected to go up; but we went... down. I didn't know there was a down." He confessed his ignorance in a near whisper, almost drowned out by his own music.

"You're in Dimension Zero." But that wasn't right. Dimension Zero was—should be—a point, and it's impossible to be "in" a point. A point simply is. "You are Dimension Zero."

The triangle said, "Then call me King Zero."

The Axolotl considered that. "Yes," he said. "I think that is your name."

Someone shouted, "Clear the way!" One worker at the construction site was looking directly at the Axolotl. "That means you! Unless you wanna be boiled frog legs!"

"I'm not a frog," the Axolotl muttered; but, he turned one last time to newly-crowned King Zero, said, "Call me," then hastily swam to the safe side of the orange cone barricade.

"Five, four, three..."

The Axolotl watched the triangle—and the triangle watched him—until the detonation. The big bang went off in a flash of light bright enough it would have incinerated anyone in the vicinity had it not been contained to a flat plane.

When the Axolotl looked away from the light, the afterimage of a triangle was burned into the center of his vision.

Dimension Zero was sealed off from the rest of reality—locking its king in for the next trillion years.

####

When the triangle said his name was "King Zero," of course, he wasn't speaking English. English wouldn't exist for a long time. The name King Zero is simply a convenient translation.

The English word "zero" comes from the French zéro. Zéro comes from Italian zefiro. Zefiro comes from Medieval Latin zephirum. And zephirum comes from the Arabic صِفْر—ṣifr.

####

Centuries ago, in the dream of a naive, trusting human, the human asked in Arabic, "What should I call you?" And King Zero responded, "Call me Ṣifr."

And years later, a dreaming human asked in Medieval Latin, "What should I call you, o muse of mathematics?" And of the two Latin words descended from his current Arabic nickname, Ṣifr responded with the one he thought was closer: "Call me Cifra."

A dreaming human asked in Old French, "What's your name?" And he replied, "My name's Cyffre."

Speaking Middle English, he told a dreaming human, "My name's Siphre."

And in Modern English, he told Edward Bishop Bishop, "The name's Cipher. But you can call me Bill."

In a year's time, and two years before his death from sleep deprivation, Edward would write Flatworld, a book about a 2D shape and his Muse journeying up to the highest dimensions; and also all the way down, below the spaces and planes and lines, to the self-absorbed King Zero, buried in the point-sized zeroth dimension, who thought a whole universe was contained inside him.

####

(It's FINISHED. 🎉🎉🎉

Hi y'all, if you just joined us for this Axolotl plot arc, usually this is a post-canon human Bill fic. I took a break from the main plot for one week to post a one-chapter flashback and then it was nine chapters. This bitch is 50k words. It's a novel unto itself.

Anyway if you only showed up for this story about the Ax, it only exists in service of a much longer story; so if you enjoyed this check out the rest of the fic. This is technically chapter 69 (lol). (If human Bill isn't usually your thing, I've been told that this is The Human Bill Fic For People Who Don't Like Human Bills because Bill is clearly very much a triangle unhappily trapped in a human body, rather than just chill with being human—so you might wanna give it a shot.)

And for the regulars who are already reading the whole fic: OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY FINISHED, WE'RE FREE, WE CAN RETURN TO THE PRESENT. Listen I love the Ax and his bizarre but unbending morality, but guys. Guys. I miss Mabel so much.

Pre-warning that I may end up needing to skip a chapter or two before the end of the year, because work's piling a LOTTA extra work on me this month and I might just flat out not have time to edit & do art. I'm up at 3 a.m. editing & queueing this post and I was up til 3 a.m. another night doing the art because I HAVE NOT HAD TIME this week to do it any earlier. I did this because I love y'all.

No that's a lie, I did this because I want to FINISH this DANG ARC. That's my birthday gift to me.

Anyway lemme know what y'all think!! 💕)

[skylarsblue]

★RDR2 Incorrect Quotes★

(If you see duplicates from my COD version of these? Shh, no you didn't) ★Border made by @fairytopea★

Ms.Grimshaw What are you doing, you oaf? Young!Arthur, staring at Y/N: They’re pretty. Ms.Grimshaw …and you’re ugly, now get back to work.

- (Pre-joining the gang) Abigail, trying to get paid: What’s your favorite color, John? John: Blue. No, green. Abigail: Awesome! I love learning about you. John: I fucked up, it’s yellow.

- Arthur, cutting a huge knot out of John’s hair: I fucked up, we gotta go bald. *head locks him still* Young!John, flailing violently: WAAAAAHHHH-

Seán: Psst, Lenny, ay mate, wake up! Lenny: Huh- Wh-what? What is it? Seán: I heard something outside the tent. Lenny: What? Seán: Like a woman crying in the distance, but I couldn’t hear her footsteps. Lenny: Okay?? What do you want me to do? Seán: Come look with me! Lenny: Hell no! Seán: Why not? Lenny: I got too much melanin and too much sense for that white people shit. You wanna let demons get you, be my guest, leave me out of it.

- (John HAD to have SOMETHING that captivated her, for humor’s sake? We’ll say he had jokes)

Abigail: You have to find my darling husband, I’m so worried about him. Arthur: Seriously, what do you see in that guy? Abigail: He makes me laugh.

- Micha: I've got the urge to say something. Arthur: And what's that? Micha: The N-Word- Arthur: WHOA-

- Bill: But seriously, is it your whole emo thing that she’s into or what? John: …yeah, long flowing straight hair, very emo.

- Karen: This- Hmm. Tilly: Be nice. Karen: I’m findin’ it. Mary-Beth: …it takes you that long to find- Karen: It does, it does.

- (O’Driscoll troubles) Kieran: Arthur we’re going to get murdered. We’re going to get murdered by a man who can’t tie a fucking bow tie. Arthur: At least he won’t torture us, can’t tie a rope either.

- John: Ugh, you know they’re gonna make us do one of those tacky family happiness photos that comes in the restaurants shitty frame. Tilly: Why are you so fucking negative all the time? John: Wh- uh- I just- Arthur: *slowly sucks tea through straw*

- Seán: Someone just said; “You’re a criminal!” Seán: *handkerchief on, gun in one hand, bag of money in the other* Seán: Well I’ll tell ya what, Sherlock Holmes. You are unbelievable.

- The Gang: Arthur is dying and Micha is a rat! Dutch, dancing with money: *insert that audio that goes “I don’t give a fuck cause I’m a ✨millionaire✨, I do what I want, middle finger in the air!”*

- John, drunk: You think the wind is ever tryna tell us something and we don’t know how to hear it anymore? Charles, loading up a drunk Arthur into a wagon: I just want you to stop saying odd shit.

- Abigail: If we lose, I’m gonna cut the judge. John: Wh- you brought your switchblade?? Abigail: Mhm. John: But they patted us down on the way in, where did you hide i- ohhhhhhh.

- Arthur: …you ever wish you could just, turn into a bird and fly away from everything? Charles: I think we need to get you to a therapist for depression. John: I’d wanna be a wolf. Charles: And we should get you psych evaluation for Autism.

- Sheriff: You seem like a reasonable and good natured person. Arthur: *looks around* And you look like you need glasses.

- Abigail: What would your father say?! Jack: Uhhh “I’ll fix it!” And then make it worse until luck comes around and makes it work, and then act like that was the plan the whole time? Abigail: …that’s my bad, I should’ve used a different phrase to express my disappointment.

- (I dunno why but John being super mean to some people is so fucking funny to me. I don't hate Bill, but bullying him is fun)

Bill: You enjoyin’ the wife everyone else paid to have? John: You mean the woman I never had to pay for? The woman who liked me so much, she didn’t ask for any money to sleep with me? In fact; she liked me so much, she married me? The woman who makes me a warm dinner and kisses me everyday? Mother of my child? John: I am enjoyin’ yeah. What about you, Bill? Bill: John: You enjoyin’ your lonely life, you unlovable sorry sack of shit? You enjoyin’ having to pay for someone to pretend they like you? Cause they never actually do. They hate you actually, like me. I hate you. Eat shit and die, Bill.

- Arthur: …him? Really? Mary-Beth Don’t be mean! Arthur: He looks like a rescue dog, Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth: I know, I like that! Arthur: ….you like that?? Mary-Beth: His pathetic wet eyes and general wimpy stature have captivated me. Arthur: *sigh* Whatever makes you happy.

- Bill: At the end of the day, Arthur. I am a MAN. Arthur: A MAN WHO’S GAY. You like fellers GETTHATTHROUGHYOURHEAD!

- Dutch: I have a plan. Hosea: You haven’t planned shit. Dutch: I’ve planned it.

- Hosea: Arthur! What on earth are you doing?! Young!Arthur: Getting rid of this demon. Young!John: *screeching and trying to get out of Arthur’s grip* Hosea: And why do you plan to get rid of him? Arthur: Because, Hosea! He woke me up by leaning over me and whispering, “I know what death feels like, it’s cold. Have you felt death?” Arthur: HE’S CLEARLY EVIL, HOSEA Hosea: That’s just how children are, Arthur. Dutch: He’s right son, put the boy down. Dutch, leaning and whispering to Hosea: But maybe we should buy a Bible just in case. Hosea: And a cross.

- (Modern au and suicide joke)

John: It’s not a phase! It’s a lifestyle, you just wouldn’t get it! Arthur: You think I didn’t go through the “I can’t tell if I want to kill myself or everyone around me” phase? Come on. John: What? I don’t wanna kill myself at all. Arthur: … John: … John: Should I- should we go talk to Hose- Arthur: We should forget this conversation happened. Take this Nirvana CD and keep your mouth shut.

- Abigail: …John. John: Yes, my angel? Abigail: You forgot something. John: No I didn’t! I took the list with me, checked it three times, even crossed things off when I put it in the cart! See, look. Apples, frozen hamhocks, cranberry juice- Abigail: John. You took Jack with you. John: Abigail: John: Abigail: John: SHIT I LEFT HIM BY THE PASTA SECTION Abigail: STOP STANDING THERE AND GO GET HIM!

- Jack: Pa, how did you get mom to marry you? John: Well son, I- John: John: I have no idea. Jack: Should I ask mom? John: I’ll be honest, I don’t think she knows the answer either.

- Charles: You did good back there. Arthur: Oh? Heh, nah, you did all the fancy stuff. I just helped. Charles: Don’t undersell yourself, Arthur. I wouldn’t be complimenting you for no reason. Arthur: Oh yeah? And here I thought you were just trying to fluff up my ego. Charles: Wouldn’t hurt to do when you work so hard, no? Arthur: Now you’re just being’ sweet- John: Can y’all wait til we’re done before you start your spiritual dick sucking? Arthur: Can you repent to the lord fast enough to save your soul in the time it’ll take me to throw you into the damn ocean, Marston?!

- Arthur: Do you even have a brain? John: Do you even have someone that loves you? Arthur: John: John: I heard it that time, I’m sorry. Arthur: This is what Abigail hears sometimes, just so you know. John: I heard it that time, I got it. I- I’ll just- Arthur: Whiskey, full bottle. The nice kind. John: Apology alcohol, got it.

-

NPC: My husband’s parents are so crazy. In-laws always are, huh? Abigail: Well, uh-

*John being an orphan* *John’s adoptive dads being criminals, one particularly off his rocker*

Abigail: ….aha, yeah;;

- Abigail: John Marston, you useless, foolish, stupid man! Bill: To hell with John! Abigail, suddenly with a very large gun: NO ONE INSULTS MY HUSBAND.

- Arthur, holding up a proper painting he actually put time and effort into: Could a depressed person make this? Charles: The painting: *a wolf in the rain laying it’s head over the body of a deer shot with an arrow* Charles: I’m, in fact, more convinced you have depression now. Arthur: …yeah this wasn’t the best evidence for my argument, huh? Charles: No. Not at all.

- John: What are you talking about? That’s completely normal, it’s like having opinions. just cause it doesn’t happen to you doesn’t mean- Tilly: No, John! No. It’s not normal to have that reaction to the sound of hearing metal on metal. John: No look, uh- Arthur! Arthur come here! Arthur: What now? John: What happens when you hear metal on metal? Like, a can bein’ rubbed with a knife. Arthur: Ugh, I hate that sound. It makes my damn skin crawl, like I got beetles underneath. Makes me wanna skin myself to get’em out. John: Right! See, Tilly? It’s not just me! Tilly: ????

Charles: …and you never got them evaluated? Hosea: In hindsight, an autistic diagnosis probably would’ve made more things make sense. But, what can ya do.

- Arthur after a dog didn’t positively react to him: Maybe this is my final straw. Charles: No. Arthur: It might be. Charles: It’s one dog. There are twenty that you stopped to pet along the way here, plenty more for you to pet after this. Arthur: You don’t understand, this is devastatin��. Charles: Arthur, please- Arthur: Utterly devastatin’, Charles.

- Arthur, tipsy: Just cause you’re gorgeous don’t mean I’ma do whatever you say. Charles: Drink the water, Arthur. Arthur: *grabs the glass* Yes, sir.

- (Got a Y/N one, also, modern Au)

Arthur: That’s the Aberdeen farm. Y/N: …what’s wrong with it? Arthur: What’cha mean? Y/N: The vibes, they’re off. Arthur: …the…vibes? Y/N: The energy, Mister Morgan. The vibe of the place. They’re off, they’re weird, wack even. I sense insidious and wretched wavelengths wafting from the aura of that property. Arthur: I see…well, to answer your question, it’s cause they are weird. And I ain’t even confirmed why cause I don’t really wanna know. Y/N: I see you can also sense the vibes are rank. Arthur: …sure, whatever that means.

- Micha: Well I think- Y/N: Well I’m certain no one fucking asked, Micha! Not a single damn person asked what the hell you thought, ever! In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t think. I’m pretty sure your skull fills with all the bullshit in your organs, and it just spills out your mouth! Micha: Micha: I- Y/N: Shut up, Micha!

- Arthur, after Albert explains some super dangerous plan in order to get wild animals near him to photograph: You’re stupid, I like that in a man.

- Y/N: Bye Arthur, bye Karen, bye Hosea, bye Arthur. Sadie: You said ‘bye Arthur’ twice. Y/N: I like Arthur.

- NPC: Lovebirds, eh? Sadie: Arthur: Sadie: I’d rather eat a poison ivy plant with Holly Berries for dressing. *looks at Arthur* No offense. Arthur: No no, none taken. All things considered, I’d rather dive into a pit of tar and then drag myself face first through a plain of rotten chitlins. Sadie: Completely fair!

- Bill: I need you to realize you ain’t in charge here. Y/N: I need you to realize I don’t give a shit.

- Arthur: Hey Charles, uh, I got an Uhm…a spiritual question. Charles: Any particular reason you chose to ask me? Arthur: Uh well- I didn’t mean for it to be like that- I just- Charles: *sigh* What is it? Arthur: Do you know what it means when an elk stands up on its back legs? Charles: That means- Charles: WE SHOULD LEAVE, we need to leave, that’s what that means!

- Jack: …why are your boobs so big? Charles: They’re not boobs. Jack: Do you have to wear a brasier? Charles: *sigh* Arthur: He asked me the same thing a couple weeks ago, don’t think to hard bout it.

-

(Story spoilers!!) Y/N: I'm sorry, let me get this straight. Y/N: You picked up that man when he was a destitute child, grieving and starving. Taught him almost everything he knows. Y/N: Then, you did that with, what? Three others? In similar circumstances? Y/N: Created a sense of family and community, a strong bond between so many misfortuned people. With your trustworthy long term friend by your side. Y/N: And then. Y/N: One RAT. WHO IS OPENLY ANTAGONISTIC AND REEKS OF SUSPICION AS MUCH AS HE DOES HORSE SHIT, SOMEHOW CONVINCES YOU TO GO OFF YOUR ROCKER AND HARM YOUR GANG?! Y/N: Explain! Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: He praised me- Y/N: YOUR PRAISE KINK GOT YOU TO AIM A GUN AT YOUR SONS????

- Arthur: Naaah they’re an angel. Lenny: They punched Bill in the face. Seán: They told Strauss he was a waste of human material, in his own language, which they’re not fluent in. Mary-Beth: They framed Micha for a crime and got him put in prison again. Arthur: Like I said, an angel!

- John: Woman. (Translation: Darling.) Abigail: Moron. (Translation: Lovebug.)

Arthur: You tellin’ me they’re being affectionate right now? Jack: Can’t’cha read subtext, Uncle Arthur? Arthur: ???

-

(Insert Alcohol is truth serum reference)

Drunk Bill: Not to be gay, but you’re gorgeous bro. Kieran, afraid: You don’t have to be gay to appreciate a man’s beauty. Absolutely shit-faced Bill: Nah, like I’d fuck you, bro. Kieran, terrified: Okay, never mind!

- (How I imagine their first couple years together went)

Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: How do you feel about me? Hosea, naked & beside him: ….we’re sharin’ a bedroll, Dutch. Dutch: Yes, but what are we, Hosea? Hosea: ….we’re both naked, alone, in a tent, Dutch. Dutch: That doesn’t answer my question. Hosea:

- (This one's sad, not funny, sorry-) John: You’re such a hypocrite, why is it that anything I do that you’ve done before that you get so bent outta shape?! Arthur: Because I’ve done it before you, John. John: So why do you think it’s fair to tell me not to?! Most people are proud when their younger brother ends up like’em. You don’t want anyone like you, is that it? Arthur: John: John: …oh. Arthur: Now that you got my point, will you take my god damn advice without a big fuss…please.

- John: She drives me insane! She somehow managed to make me the angriest I’ve ever been almost daily. NPC: Then leave her. John: The fu- no. What? She’s the wind beneath my wings, my darling wife, my beautiful angel. How the hell could you even think to suggest such a thing? NPC: But- John: Get outta my sight, you fuckin’ disgrace.

[sashiavi]

I know Sam isn't that mean, but a germophobic kitty hybrid farmer getting absolutely bullied by a Golden retriever hybrid Sam and Chocolate Lab hybrid Alex.

A kitty hybrid farmer who doesn't shake hands with anyone and always puts on hand sanitizer after visiting Pierre's. The kind of person to wear vinyl gloves when browsing the library, not for the sake of the books themselves, but rather for her own peace of mind.

One who can always be seen grooming her tail to be a perfectly kempt white, never a blot of dirt to be found despite her occupation

One who always hangs out with the "Cleaner" hybrids, like Chinchilla Abigail or rabbit Maru, but never once considers engaging with the two dogs, considering their lack of spatial awareness and hygiene in her humble opinion. Although I can't help but think that they might not appreciate her cleanliness as much as she does...

(smut ensues)

Omggg.. Something about those messy and clumsy puppies </3

warnings for sweat, body odor, threesomes and hybrids - 0.5k words

Both boys helping out on the farm for their strength and eagerness, chopping down trees, tilling the rich soil, dirty and muddy, sweat dripping down their bodies, staining the fabric of their shirts. Alex wipes his forehead with his arm, biceps raising to reveal the stain of sweat on his underarm, shirt riding up enough to reveal the brush of a happy trail disappearing into the waist of his pants, accentuated by the muscle of his abdomen.

Sam was in a similar predicament, skin tacky, laying his arm hairs flat to his forearms, sticky and uncomfortable, his brushy blonde tail tucked and wagging tentatively to reflect his mood. Both men pant, huffed as if they were dogs- Ears twitching to avoid the wrath of the sun, tails trying to cool off their bodies, a shirt discarded and thrown over Alex's shoulder.

Dirty and grubby mutts.

Messy and sloppy- Especially when they slobber all over your cunt, fighting each other with their tongues just to get a taste of your sweetness. So pretty and pristine, put together and seemingly untouchable! That's why it's all the more special to ruin your pussy with their tongues.

They whimper and growl, vibrations buzzing at your clit, lips suckling before the pop off and a tongue is fucking past the ring of your creamy hole, all while another sweaty mutt latches on to your sensitive kitty cunt.

You want to squirm- scold them for being so dirty in your home, want to tug painfully at their ears and have them yelp away. But Yoba, you can't stop the purrs that trill up your throat, mewly calls bordering on a meow as a set of pointed canines sink into the mound of your cunt, tongue thrashing abuse on your clit.

Their deep musky scents overwhelm your senses, two male hybrids falling victim to the pheromones twinging in the air.

You shouldn't be surprised when one of them mounts on your kitty cunt, Alex's fat and veiny puppy cock kissing against your hole, his thick knot already daring to show itself with his eagerness. You card your fingers through Sam's messy hair, cool and damp with sweat and Yoba knows what else. Your mind screams to let go, scrub away the stain on your fingers but you can't! Not when the pudgy tip of Alex's cock plugs up your pussy, making them kiss. Your hand tightens, threading through Sam's hair with a squeeze, the poor puppy whimpers, nose nuzzling into your tummy, lips kissing against the bulge of Alex's cock daring to bud below your belly button.

Plap, plap, plap goes Alex's hips against yours, throat letting out excited whimpery howls while he takes to your cunt. Sam's ears twitch against your tightening hand as his tongue laps at the sticky wet mess between you, sweet cream and sweat, hot musk of pre and spit dribbled from Alex and himself, making himself useful and cleaning up the gooey mess they were causing.

Rare pair that I need to think about more </3 tysm for sharing your yummy thoughts~

[punk-in-docs]

‼️ LUST AT FIRST BITE‼️

The Lost Boys AU, feat; Vamp!Frances x Human!Birdie

3.9k words

Summary: He’s tucked away where he usually is. Playing at the lie of life, watching on from the shadows, up on the roof of the tacky gift shop, puffing on a cigarette. A lone evil fiery eye cutting in the dark. Eyes scraping over every pretty person in this crowd, and seeing who, oh who, will be his dinner.

Eenie. Meenie. Miney. You-

(The awesome blood drip banner is not mine! I found on @riottsrph ‘s page. Thank you!)

Santa Carla, 1987

The boardwalk was always packed with people. Heaving in summer. Air full of noise and screams from the denizens on the giant dipper. The snaking notched backbone that arches, governs, over this place. Gulls shriek. Flickering glare of neon and flashing bulbs filling your sight everywhere. Greedy eyes don’t know where to rest first.

People flock to this place in their hundreds. This colourful edifice that exudes joy and junk food fuelled adrenaline. Teenage euphoria, arcade games and fast thrills, right next to walls plastered with flapping scales of forever-mounting missing posters. Twitching in the sea air as people sagged with worry, gather and weep and pin up even more. Hollow smiles, dead black and white eyes, all unseeing, plead from flyers.

Too many flyers.

You had to bob and weave to get anywhere in this dense bubbling crowd.

His hand is firmly tucked in yours. Smell of sugary popcorn and hot dogs is ripe, carried with sea foam on hot summer air. Gusting over your heads as you move along.

You met Nick in the pizzeria just off the boardwalk. You’d gone for a night out with friends. You both bonded damn near instantly over pineapple on pizza. Avid fans, addicts even. You ate pizza. He flirted. You flirted back.

He comped your meal when you went to pay. “On the house babe.” With a grin that should be snapped in vogue. Stunning,

Way too stunning, even in his company issue yellow and red polo tee with the pizzeria name embroidered on the breast.

He asked you to wait by the Wave Jammer for him after his shift finished. You did. The girls send you off freshly glossed and hair fluffed, sniggering.

He walked you to your bus stop when the boardwalk lights began to dim. Clicking off one by one. Sodium streetlights the only things leaving their dozy glow. The sound of the sea lashing sand in the distance. He gave you a sweet mind melting kiss. Backed by the harmony of waves and denizens screams. Passed you a glossy pizza flyer with his number scrawled right on it in thick marker.

He’d called. He’d swung by and taken you out. Your second date had been in a cheap mom and pop trattoria uptown. Candlelight, cheap Chianti, and happy conversation which quickly ended with you screwing each others brains out, up against the brick wall in the filthy back alley with your panties dangling off your ankle.

And now here you were- on your fourth date. Quickly becoming drunk on touch. You wandered the arcade dodging sugar buzzed kids, cheeks sticky with cotton candy, and abrasive punks with neon spiked hair. You were chatting easy, and flirting over arcade games.

Tasting sea salt and red slushy off his tongue. You tugged each other along and pulled too and fro like the inky tide wrapped up in the night just beyond the border of sand and the fierce orange lick of oil can bonfires on the beach. Life was fit to burst with fun. You were young and had lovesick heart eyes for each other.

He kept on ushering you close and kissing you again. Hand across your waist. Balmy hot. Even through your dress. It’s a strappy dress, bright purple like amethyst or lilac petals. You let your hair loose. Kinky and big in the humid sea air. Lou Gramm is playing clunky rock music over the speakers.

Nick is just next level gorgeous. You have to admit. Literally panty dropping. Lips rose pink. Caramel skin. Long lashes which kiss his cheeks like he’s Bambi. Smile like a damn Calvin Klein model. And the dark sweep of coiffed curls to match. One cross earring glimmers against the backdrop of his hair.

You keep sneaking your hand in the back pocket of his trousers. Disgustingly crushing on this man. The way he loops his arm to your waist though, says he returns very that sentiment.

He looks totally casual here next to you in bleach blue jeans, sneakers, and a blood wine shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Arm slung around your waist as you lean at the balustrade looking down onto the beach opposite a tacky tourist gift shop selling keychains and chalk painted rocks. Snow globes swirl with chunky glitter from glass shelves in the window.

His arm suddenly squeezes you in closer when a gaggle of dirt bikes shriek their way up the board walk toward you, pedestrians scattered like ripples on waves to avoid being mowed flat. Four bikes. You can hear seedy rock blasting from a boom box that one of them has strapped to their bikes. WASP, you think. All shriek and shred.

They weave and race through the thinning crowds. Whooping and hollering like a pack of feral hyenas. Tongues out. Grinning sneers at people like Jack O’Lanterns. One with a backcombed blonde mullet that’s stiff with product, and made you think of a lions mane, makes a crazed face at you both. Tongue pointing out his mouth as he leers at you both especially. Tight white pants on and a swallow tail pointed coat like a dam circus ringleader flying behind him. He’s looking you up a down with a flick of his eyes. Hungrily.

As soon as they came, all noise, filth and fury, they go. Racing fast off into the night in a stinking cloud of engine exhaust and harrowing, whooping cackles.

“Jerks.” You scoff derisively. Glaring after the deafening bikes. Had Nick not pulled you in they’d have knocked you flat. He nuzzled your jawbone. Kisses you there too.

“It’s alright baby. I got you.” He smiles. You put your hand on his. Thankful. You kiss him again. His hand comes up and cups the back of your head.

It’s then you first feel it.

Something stings on your skin. Sudden and sharp. Mean. Like a bite, or a pinch. A little drop of sulphuric acid. Right at the nape of your neck. Feeling of your hair standing up on end. Skin turns to poison pinpricks.

Someone’s eyes were on you.

You pull back, Nick’s hand slips back on your neck, you’re glancing around trying to see through the thronging clouds, to catch whoever was looking at you. Your hair whips around your face from the sea air. The breeze that wraps your skin.

It brings the smell of you right on across to him. Past the stench of hot dogs, salty sandy air, and sea froth. Sweat and cheap perfume, plus the scent of some recently used pink bar soap caught in the crease of your elbow.

Drifting across. Calling to him the same way that throb of your carotid does. A full lively artery housed under sweat stroked skin. He bets you taste simply delicious. Syrupy like hot honey. He’s salivating already.

He’s tucked away where he usually is. Playing at the lie of life, watching on from the shadows, up on the roof of the tacky gift shop, puffing on a cigarette. A lone evil fiery eye cutting in the dark. Eyes scraping over every pretty person in this crowd, and seeing who, oh who, will be his dinner.

Eenie. Meenie. Miney. You-

He’s up there. Keeping shadows company. Wind carving around him on the roof. Wrapped up in a big bomber leather jacket, the words ���GO TO HELL’ scrawled across his back in white letters, emblazoned with rhinestones. An assortment of buckles and zips hanging off him, where he perched like a bat - a bat fresh off the brooding Bauhaus nightclub scene. Not even the Santa Carla heat could penetrate his skin and warm his old, dead bones.

Bones, under lean muscles and skin glittering in so much jewellery. Studs and chains hang off his shoulders. and biker boots. Many chains, necklaces, one strand of pearls and a rosary, dripping with crosses linked across his neck - darkly ironic nature of that made him smile. A gothic dipped punk bearing holy crosses. Eyes lined in kohl. Scratchy tattoos on his arms. Fingers layered in goth rings. Daggers in hearts. Crosses and bejewelled skulls. Billy Idol eat your fucking heart out.

Don’t tempt him actually. He’s too hungry. He’d swallow a heart tonight in one clean bite.

Hair slicked back on his head, coming to a kinked curl where it brushes his collar. Eyes dipped into cinnamon brown. But in all these neons they seemed to drop acidly into nasty black. Wide and dark like a cats. Something that definitely prowls and lopes around with grave grace. Danger simmers to a boil constantly around him and every gang on this boardwalk has learned the hard way not to mess. He’s made ugly reminders when those moron gangs get too big for their knock off DM boots.

He will serve grisly reminders of why he’s the top of the food chain here - with great feral pleasure. He’s been here since before the boardwalk itself even existed. Way back when it was a victorian bathhouse for fucks sake.

He takes a deep pull. Plucks the fiery cig from his smirking mouth. Fingernails blunt and chipped painted black underneath his fingerless leather gloves. Teeth too white and sharp as he smiles. Marlboro smoke curling around carnivore teeth.

He flicks the cigarette away. Sparks spray across the roof where it lands. Done with it. He’s found his next source of satisfaction. His hunger is awake and roaming. Baying for a feed.

He watches your date take your hand. Twirl you in his arms so your hair and your pretty skirts fly. He leads you towards the cotton candy stand. You can hear the old timey jangle of fun fair music. He likes the thought of pure spun sugar - blue as cornflowers - being ready for him on the bed of your tongue.

A smirk writ across his lips as he steps, then drops fully into the shadows behind the building. His sturdy boots crunch on fast food trash as he lands. Greasy puddles capturing neon signs make up this back alley. Now his blood is pumping hot. He licks his lips.

You’re on the carousel when you feel it come back again. Stronger. Nearer. You feel a gaze burn the back of your head like someone’s stubbing out a cigarette on you.

So sudden it makes you pull back from his kiss - like you’d been suddenly jabbed with a huge hypodermic needle. Felt the chilling flush of cold poison slide into your blood.

Cause baby, that’s him all over.

Every inch caustic, acidic poison.

The worst of the very worst, of hell’s lowest dredgings.

A flush of unease grabs you. Gasping, you twist from where you’re sat on the horse. Holding the twisted pole. Bracelet sliding down your arm. That sensation- it scared you.

Music whirls in your ears. Sea air laced with the scent of kettle corn pulses around you with the red and yellow lights. You peer around to try and see in-between the poles and crowds.

You can’t see anything noticeable. No one stands out. They’re all blurs and distortion whizzing by you to a chirpy carnival tune. You watch for eyes to meet yours as you dip and bob on the horse, and none come.

“Babe?” Nick asks you. His dark brows creasing in the middle from your sudden flinching away.

Hand comes warm and comforting on your arm. Trying to bring you back. You turn. But your stomach is squirming with unease. You mask it with a smile. Sweet as the huge cotton candy he just bought you.

“It’s nothing...” You chirp. A Lie. Your hand back on his again. Letting his comforting smile buoy you. You settle your attention back to him. Not to the graze on your skin that’s coiling your spine like a fucking venom spitting serpent.

“Why don’t I go and get us something to drink huh? Maybe a lemonade?” He suggests. Swinging around the horse and lifting the back of your hand to his mouth to kiss it. The other is rubbing the back of your neck. Soothing way your clammy panic.

It makes you smile. His doting on you. Made you feel like you hung the stars. With your head spinning and your nerves nudged into the wrong side of uneasy, you could use some sugar and a welcome distraction.

“That would be great, actually...” You smile. It feels hollow even to your mind. Your head is spinning like a top on this carousel and you want something sweet to wash everything sour thats nipping at your mind, away.

He kisses you sweetly on the lips. Taste of sea salt and cherry slushie again. Savouring him before he goes. Ralph Lauren cologne. His soft curls through your fingers before he steps away. And then with a flash of that stunning smile, he hops off the carousel, and within a minute he’s gone. Swallowed into the heaving crowds.

So you bob and dip on the carousel horse all on your own. Watching the room fly by in a twirl of chilli red and golden yellow.

You’re not without company for very long.

Distracted, you scan the entrance to the carousel for Nick on what must be your final whirl around.

So distracted are you, head turned, back to him. It allows him to sneak in.

Your spine once again turns to scraping prodding needles when a drift of something comes over your shoulder. Something insidious slides to your conscious; something acrid yet smooth you take notice of. You liken it to whiskey. Smooth yet rough all at once. You hate whiskey.

Smoky cigarettes bittered with engine exhaust. A sweet tinge of cotton candy. Copper metal, warm pennies. The heavy presence of someone lingering behind you. The brush of a clammy leather jacket. The sound of a leather glove squeezing and twisting on the pole of the horse opposite you.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing riding all on her own?” Comes a dulcet purr from beside you.

You look at the source of this voice; seeing nothing but a trouble wrapped punk suddenly stood next to you. As if materialised from the same acrid engine smoke that clings to his leathers.

Brown eyes deep enough to dive in. In this light, they are black as a cats. A smirk on his face that makes you shiver. Lips so plump and beautiful it made you think of kisses - plump lips slick with too much spit and wet tongues. He had lips that looked like paradise - the likes you’ve seen only in seedy pornos. However. Trouble virtually hummed through him like a live wire. Get too close risk getting your fingers singed, girl. Burnt ozone.

“Looking like a lost little baby bird. All alone out your nest.” He comments as you frown at him.

“I’m not on my own. I’m with someone.”You tell him. Steely ire woven to your words like chain mail. Back off creep.

“Lucky someone.” He shoots back. All panther smooth. Packed with flirt. Eyes roaming down to your legs and back up again. He can smell that pretty boys cologne and sweat he’d rubbed all over you. The stink of some prissy designer cologne. That won’t do at all.

“Can’t convince you to ditch them can I? Baby.” He smirks. Prowling around you.

“I got a bike. We could take a little drive up the beach a ways down west. Past the bluff. I know a cosy little spot. Get a campfire going.” He charms.

You feel the imperative need to keep your eyes on him. Untrusting.

He moves with such liquid fluidity not even the whirl of the carousel affects his gait. Walks with a cocksure pace like he owns the place. He’s done this before. Doubtless.

“No thanks.” You reply archly. You know trouble when it comes loping up to your side in eyeliner and jangling jewellery. Plain as the nose on your face.

Of course it doesn’t put him off one bit. It makes him dig his teeth in deeper. With glee. The challenge was the tastiest part of the chase.

He chuckles. “Only, I’m awful curious. Never seen you round here before. Now, I’d sure as shit remember a pretty face like yours.”

“I’m not a tourist. I live here.” You reply snippily. You live but two miles from here. With your dying houseplant for company and dead end job. Your only relative being your old blind great aunt, Rositsa.

“And I don’t remember wanting an annoying prick to come crashing my date, trying his luck and barking up the wrong tree entirely.” You snap back. A pretty little nasty smile on your lips. Sweet like cherries and cream.

“Breaking my heart over here, sugar.” He smiles. Undeterred.

You doubt he had one to break.

He was all smarm and swagger. Definitely sans heart.Probably had tried it on with any easy party girl who got drunk and made moony love eyes in his direction. He seems like he has some void inside. Something he tried to fill with stranger sex and drugs and trouble. And blood.

And it’s something he’ll never be able to satiate. Not with all the infinite time he’s literally got viced in his leather gloved hands.

So he daggers his way through these crowds. Chows down cheap boardwalk takeout from the golden dragon right out the cartoon. Sneaks into rides without paying. Pick pockets sunburnt tourists. Snorts lines of angel dust off filthy bathroom counters. Throws molly down his neck every night and washes it down with tequila shots. Endlessly abrasive to all authority and flirting with anything bearing a pulse. Dynamite pace predator life. Undisputed King of this neon arcade kingdom.

“Maybe I could bark up the right tree.” He seeks.

“My date will be back soon.” You say. In the hopes it shakes him off. Makes him get a clue.

“He seems to be taking his sweet ass time. Doesn’t he…. Maybe he got lost.” He decides. Voice all sing song and light.

Swaying in closer like you aren’t giving him ‘fuck off’ vibes. Eyeing daggers. How he so likes sharp things. Lust that feels like it could prick skin it’s so sharp. Theres smoke and something mysteriously copper on his breath.

“Maybe there’s a line.” You concede. Boredly done with this conversation. The carousel has to be coming to a stop soon. You want to get off this ride. It’s not fun anymore.

“Maybe he’s gotten distracted by something leggy and pretty…” He remarks with a raise of his brows. “No shortage of skirt round here.” He grins.

It feels like swallowing a boulder to admit to that. Nick was a flirt, sure. You guys weren’t exclusive. But that nasty shred of doubt made a home in your stomach. Birthed anxiety in your veins.

“Listen jerk, go play around with someone else, alright.” You snap. Eyes narrowed You pull your purse strap on your shoulder. You slip off your horse and come to stand. Ready to get off. Rides no fun anymore.

“Names Frances.” He supplies. “And uh, I’m good baby bird. Don’t have anywhere else I gotta be.”

“Lucky me.” You bite out. Tone all sharp poison.

Oh, he wanted to take you home right now and turn your goddamn bed into a crime scene - or the aftermath of a porno shoot. Maybe both if he’s feeling generous.

“Now, If you wouldn’t mind y’know….fucking off…” You make a move to pass him. You’re gonna go find Nick.

He doesn’t budge an inch.

You stand firm. Chest to chest. His arms make brackets against the poles. Closing you in. He tilts his head. The kink in his hair brushes against his collar. A ruinous little curl comes loping over his forehead.

“Come find me if you want a real date. Little bird. I’ll make good and sure that you won’t be able to walk afterwards.” He smirks.

Before reaching one half leather clad finger over to brush a curl of hair back over your bare shoulder. His touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. Serpent slither down your spine that claws at your heels. Flushed arsenic in your blood.

“I’ll make it hard for you to walk right now if you don’t get out my way.” You threaten.

He seemed mildly turned on by the idea. “Promise or a threat?” He checks.

“Move.” Comes bitten out your mouth. All low and venomous. He likes the shape of your lips when you’re angry. Lush. Angry. He likes your lipstick too. Love to taste that.

“I hang out by the arcade. Join me when you doubtlessly get bored of that sad sack boy.” He smiles as if it’s certain. As if he already has your agreement on the subject. Loitering in the nearest arcade shadow near you, ready.

“I’ll be waiting, Birdie.” He whispers filthily into your ear. Too close for comfort.

A zip of danger as you feel hot cigarette breath ghost over the tip of your ear. His chest front brushing yours. Zips and buckles and necklaces. Cold. Makes heart race like hypoxia. You feel drunk and stunned. Scary drunk. And stunned in a nasty stinging way - like you’ve been electrified and can’t move.

You actually feel your heart internally jolt when he puts his mouth to your cheek. Presses a kiss to your cheekbone that you feel sink into your bones like acid.

You jolt. The ride slows to a stop.

You blink back into reckoning, peering around. In amongst the bubbling crowds of teens getting off. Parting around your prone form like water around a rock as you lean on the horse for mercy. You can’t see him. He’s gone. In a snap of leather and seemingly, the blink of an eye. A puff of smoke. Like those old magicians in black and white movies - masking exit in a cloud of silvery sulphur.

You get off the ride and fight your way through the throngs to come out to the boardwalk. The endless ocean before you. Black as spades as the waves lash the shore. Music follows you as you walk along to the food stands.

You kept scanning the crowds. Hoping one face would resemble his. That he’d be walking back to you with that million dollar white smile, and a couple cups of lemonade in his hands. You keep searching.

Nothing.

You get to the food stalls. Spend a lot of time weaving around people, darting tourists and sugar high kids, and hoping to catch sight of him.

Your once buoyant heart begins to sink low in your chest. Clunking down each and every one of your ribs like a bowling ball. Crushing your lungs.

You hang around by the stands, leaning against the railing, feeling the balmy wind and sea air whip your hair around. You keep scanning. Hoping this nasty little voice in your head was wrong. That he’s just lost in the crowds, and he’ll catch up to you eventually.

It’s when the crowds begin to thin out, that the last remainders of your hope does too. Strangled to a silent suffocating death.

You check your watch. They’d be closing the boardwalk gates soon. The neon lights would dim. The only sound left soon will be the papery rattle of those missing flyers where they are pinned.

You walk briskly for your bus stop in heels that are starting to pinch. Your heart the same state as your feet - ragged and sore. You brush away tears with the back of your hand as they fall. You tell yourself it’s the salt in the sea air you can taste. That’s all.

You’d let hope make a home. More fool you.

Eyes, black as a cats, watch your back all the way from the building roof where he hides. Half cloaked in shadow. Lighting up again. Wiping drips of blood from the corner of his mouth.

He smeared his mouth on his leather jacket sleeve before putting the cigarette between his teeth. Chuckling as he pulled smoke in with crimson smeared teeth. Blood rush - singing with bliss and euphoria.

His poor lost baby bird. All on her own.

❤️ Tagging the JQ babes; lmk if you want removing or adding pls ❤️

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhoresposts2 @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @sugarcoated-lame @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift t

[technovillain]

wait somebody commented abt Sasha on my stained glass jello post and now I'm thinking about it. It really borders the line between Tiffany lamp kitsch and appealing minimalist design. But my god the idea of a jello mold is too kitschy I think he would find it very tacky. I think Milla would love those and he would maybe secretly enjoy them.

Also had me thinking about their cooking abilities. I think that Milla can cook pretty well but it isn't really something she enjoys. Sasha on the other hand? I think he's like impossibly bad at cooking. Like how did you manage to burn this. But he doesn't panic when he's cooking, or feel guilty when his food is shit, and isn't delusioned that it's actually good. He just nonchalantly ruins the food and goes "Oh well." I don't think he has an expansive palate anyways. He's eating a lot of the same things on repeat for sure. Like Sasha Nein is likely an egg salad sandwich man I fear.

[bucketspammer4life]

great tiger hc dump because why shouldnt i

tip of the day: you probably shouldnt eat sheet metal or sushi you brought from a supermarket

Didn't see his dad much but still loved him nonetheless, he couldn't really speak to him much since he worked a lot overseas, savoured any chance he got to talk to him.

Got into magic because of an old cartoon he really enjoyed watching, he absolutely loved it and watched it everyday, rewatches it when he's sad sometimes,has the theme song living rent free in his brain.

Got his boxing name through a nickname his mom used to call him, used to think it was really cringy and tacky but loved it later down the line.

Really acrobatic thanks to him doing gymnastics as a kid, he had dreams of working in a circus to do tricks.

Absolute cat person, used to have a kitten when he was younger, adored and would treat it like its his own baby.

Loves singing & dancing, not as much as Disco Kid but still enjoys it, you could probably catch him humming a tone or just dancing in place multiple times a day, unfortunately has the voice of a dog with a throat infection so its not really pleasant for anyone else around him when he sings.

Started out as a singer/songwriter before getting into boxing, a lot of his fans were absolutely bamboozled when he announced he was going to start boxing.

Originally started making clones of himself when he got lonely but really didn't have anyone else to reach out to, his first attempts were shabby and bordering on nightmare fuel, but as he practiced more and more they became more life-like,this caused him to neglect relationships he had and only talk to himself for a while.

Doesn't really drink too much coffee, he finds it makes him too jittery, doesn't handle caffeine too well.

Would love to adopt a pet tiger but can't because its very much illegal.

Pretty squeamish about bugs, can't stand to look at close up pictures of any.

[kuruk]

donr make fun of me I know and I'm sorry but I'm struggling to decide whether I want my pre-atla world to be more based off around like the 16 kingdoms period or if I should go with the tang dynasty instead which I guess migjt be easier like I really want to focus on chang'an but the capital changes are kind of annoying like it eas barely even the capital of western jin too many changes eurgh and I'm going to be honest I still get confused like bad and it will take me a long time to read and plan enough to make it work.

either way I'm also going to focus on northern nomadic groups and other northern cultures it's just a matter of which ones depending on the time period. but I'm keeping my options open with the time periods because I'm sort of thinking about putting in a cold palace type of situation for the concubine the mc would be the maid of but it's also a little unnecessary and dramatic and tacky and I first considered it because I wanted the earth king (thinking of changing that title depending on other factors but im not sure) to not really pay attention to his one waterbender child or the mother so that I could reasonably make the switch and have my mc live princessly in place of the child, who was actually a son but not declared so officially by the mother's decision due to it just being politically not very safe otherwise and it's bad enough that it's quite cliche like it's sucks I know.

but I'm still not sure how to make that plausible enough other than to have the waterbending child be isolated because of illness or a lack of favor severe enough for that kind of thing to work like um I don't know.. like what are the systems that I have to work with here I don't know it's all scrambled in my brain and it's kind of a stretch so. but like it also isn't real. I do think I could do something similar to what the emperor in the rise of phoenixes did when he sent one of the princes to like the border when he was 10 years old but I'm not sure if doing that to a daughter would fit the same like quite harsh... but well I don't know. making an atla palace drama thing is already pretty silly I suppose it's going to suck regardless but still.. anyuway so like 300-500ad or closer to tang dynasty ^_^?

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Okay, this is weird. Here's a 1975 cape in Hampden, Massachusetts. It's a reasonable $299K, and looks nice, right? It has 2bds, 2ba. I love architectural salvage, and the owners spent some big bucks on it, but their decor just misses the mark and the real estate description is calling it a remodeling project.

The first thing we notice is that they bought old church salvage- there're parts of a choir loft and the organ pipes. But, why oh why, did they paint it gray?

It looks like they also purchased the façade of a beautiful antique fireplace and simply attached it to their modern brick one. Facepalm.

Above the kitchen is a loft with the choir railing from an old church. What the hell did they DO to this house? They took down walls and reconfigured it, but it doesn't make sense.

They constructed a dining area. This tacky structure is in front of a gorgeous fireplace. I hate this house.

The kitchen's big, but so dated. I would have to take this dining thing out.

Here in the bath, they sprung for nice wainscoting and a beautiful sink.

Wait. Is that wallpaper in the shower? It's already buckling on the wall on the left.

The bedrooms are large, but the floor is worn in this one. Probably have to strip the wallpaper, too.

Huge room. Must be the main bd. They put up some crown molding, hate the paint color, and a skimpy little out-of-proportion wallpaper border.

In the laundry room they have some church stained glass. It's a little snug in here.

Oh, it's the attic, b/c it's a cape house. So, they opened the wall and ceiling to make the loft and there's an organ there. Did they leave that? Looks like a sound system in the wall, too.

They list as 2bds, but this looks like a 3rd bd. Wallpaper is peeling in here, too.

Is the 2nd bath's toilet missing the lid, b/c that color is discontinued.

DIY planters on the patio.

The yard's pretty big, though. I can't believe what they did to this house.

[fabien-euskadi]

This is one of my favourite houses in the entire town of Castelo de Vide. And no, the tower and the battlements are not medieval, since this is a XIX Century building. This example of revival architecture is right in the border between tacky and elegant, but, in the end, all I can sau is that this is a vert pretty house - a very pretty house on a very pretty square of a very pretty town.

[sweetandsavageautistic]

I'm back, bitches. /aff /platonic

It's still April. Still gonna drag shitty graphic design and hopefully balance it out with some good shit.

To quote @rebmasel on TikTok: "Ka-chow."

Up first, there's an autism parent among us:

Why.....why the dabbing? Especially with the puzzle pieces?

Speaking of, the puzzle pieces.

Autism Awareness.

The butterflies would be cool if there weren't puzzle pieces

They switch up the fonts so much.

The message is cheesy and just stating the obvious.

Final Score: 1.5 out of 10. That shirt is sus.

Next up is this eyesore:

If you're gonna be a martyr parent, at least make it so that people can actually read your message without getting a headache.

Puzzle pieces on the bear. Astrid Rosenberg disapproves.

Oh, and the puzzle pieces in general.

Final Score: 0 out of 10. Get this shit out of my sight.

I'm sorry in advance for possibly ruining your childhood by showing this:

How fucking dare they bring Donald Duck into this.

Puzzle pieces.

The goddamn ribbon.

The light bulb looks like something a kid would draw, so it's bordering on infantilization.

Autism Awareness.

Let's NOT Light It Up Blue.

Final Score: 0.25 out of 10. The 0.25 is out of pity for Donald Duck being placed in this atrocity.

And it just gets worse:

The font looks like someone painted it with a tacky paint brush.

No puzzle pieces at least.

Why is there a hyphen between "no" and "one"?

Rainbow AUTISM isn't the worst choice, but still....ew.

Final Score: 3 out of 10. They poured chemicals in the autism to turn it gay. /j

Up next is this:

"Different ability"; yeah, I have the ability to not know shit about how to socialize.

I thought trash was bad for turtles; why is it covered in autism puzzle pieces then?

At least the rainbow design is chill.

Final Score: 3 out of 10. The three points are for the colors.

Another abomination:

What is it with dabbing being associated with autism?

Puzzle piece alert!

The colors of the word autism are okay; could be slightly darker.

Again, personal preference, but no thanks to person-first language.

Final Score: 2 out of 10. Once again the points are for the colors.

Let's end part 3 on a high note as usual:

The raccoon/badger is looks pretty dope in his cowboy hat and bandana.

Ableists have just yee'd their last haw.

They can't handle my 'tism.

Final Score: 10 out of 10. The 'tism is at an all-time high.

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 48

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

SUMMARY: Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 48, Kettles and fruitcake

The playful September breeze lifted the yellow leaves off the street. Made them whirl. Dance, across from Effie’s window.

One of them, dry and withered, landed in the middle of the pond.

“Haymitch’s pond” as she’d come to call it, ever since that fateful night when he made his wish. His two wishes.

The leaf made rings on the surface. A ship fit for a beetle. Or maybe a family of fleas, sailing for the promised land.

The mid-morning sun filled every corner of the living room. Basking in its light, Effie set a plate of finger sandwiches on the coffee table. Found herself humming along with the radio.

It was a relatively new station. A group of ladies and gems who played music, mainly nursery rhymes, certain hours of the day.

They weren’t the first in that field, but they were the first to play more than just Capitol songs, approved by President Snow.

It’d been quite the project. A two years-long enterprise – supervised by someone other than Plutarch for a change – where they’d set out to collect folksongs and melodies from all around the nation.

Out in the districts of course, but also by digging in Capitol archives and through the mouths of the aging generation who still remembered the songs of old.

They had broadcasted throughout Panem for a couple of months now. For anyone who owned a radio and a curious mind.

Could’ve turned out tacky, only it didn’t. Caused something of a controversy, sure. A few Capitol stuck ups who wanted the show shut down, both before and after it first aired.

But those negative voices were soon drowned out, as the station grew increasingly popular. Here of course, and in District 4 and – out of all places – District 13.

No surprise there really. Not to Effie. Finnick’s district had always been a home for singing. And the latter: just starved for entertainment and fun after all those years in isolation.

If I replace Haymitch’s demolished radio,she thought, he might enjoy listening as well. Anything is possible. He’s such a music lover at heart. Could easily find these melodies on the piano. Play the twins something live.

Hands on her hips, Effie eyed the table critically – set with her finest bone china.

Plump, elegant coffee cups. Matching plates with gilded rims. All decorated with the same hand-painted flowers as the pot out in the kitchen, waiting to be filled.

“My family heirloom”, she could’ve told Haymitch. A wedding gift that once belonged to her grandparents.

Over the course of the years, the pretty coffee set had survived two rebellions, four toddlers (back to back) and one drunken Abernathy.

“What do you think?” Effie asked. “Will this do?”

Harnessed up, safely secured in their doorways, Amy and Ian bounced in response. Like the world’s tiniest skydivers. Dressed for play. Their toes just touching the floor.

Jolly jumpers, Annabel called them. It was a birthday gift from her and June.

What better way to dance with the beat, while you were still figuring out the art of standing?

“We should’ve gotten some fresh flowers”, Effie thought out loud. “Pity.”

She hummed along with the music. Adjusted one of the spoons. The linen napkins.

“Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true”, she sang. “Here is the place where I love you.” She kissed Amy. “And you”, she smiled and kissed Ian. “Yes”, she nodded to herself. “I am not in the least tone deaf. Your father doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

The boy grasped for the flowing skirt of her dress. A creation layered with autumn leaves in shades of orange, yellow and red. Not real ones but real enough. She hardly ever indulged in such fancy fashion anymore – fancy and toddlers didn’t go well in hand – but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself.

Low rumbles of a car engine broke her thoughts. Effie looked up. Just in time to see the cab roll up to her curb. The sky turned the side windows into mirrors and no sooner had the driver slowed to a stop before the doors opened.

One, two three.

The sight, their tell-tale chatter, high heels against gravel, curved Effie’s lips.

Moments later, the front door gave a merry tinkle.

“Who can that be?” Effie smiled the twins’s way.

“We’re here!” Venia thrilled, out in the hallway – seconds before they all burst into the living room. A carnival of big smiles and colors.

Orange, green and aqua taking the lead.

“Look who it is!” Flavius spread his arms out, like a circus director. “Your favorite uncle!”

The twins bounced like mad in their jolly jumpers. Like popcorn in a saucepan. Kicking their arms and legs, they both let out ecstatic little squeak-breaths at the sight of the three.

“Aaw! You’ve missed us terribly, haven’t you? Sweet darlings!” Venia bounded straight for Amy. The sunlight glinted off her gold tattoos when she smiled. “Hi, precious! Are you training for your bungee jump certificate, today?”

“How was breakfast?” Flavius smiled, over by the boy’s side. “What did you eat, young master Ian? Anything good?”

“Oh, look at you! You match the flowers, dear!” Octavia kissed Effie on the cheeks, holding a bouquet of bountiful blooms. “This is for you”, she beamed. “It was Venia’s idea. To take the route through Heaven’s Square. Flavius loves tiger lilies you see, and I simply adore sunflowers. We couldn’t decide on one, so we got you both!”

“Why, thank you.” Effie gave the bouquet a tentative sniff. “They’re gorgeous.”

Octavia nodded eagerly.

“We are such thoughtful friends, aren’t we?” she said, half overcome with emotion. “Oh, what would you do without us?”

Effie smiled. She gestured toward the coffee table.

“Please, help yourself while I get some water for these.”

“I’m glad we didn’t miss the concert”, Flavius beamed. He’d taken a seat on the rug, across from the boy while Ian bounced, bounced, bounced with the music. More or less in-sync. “Oh”, the man giggled next, pointing a well-manicured finger in the air. “I remember this one! An all-time favorite! We played it by my crib day and night!”

He cleared his throat behind a fist, opened his mouth and sang – in a fair and surprisingly beautiful voice:

“The people on the bus go up and down. Up and down. Up and down. The people on the bus go up and down. Throough the Capitoool!”

It was hilarious how fast the prep team had warmed up to the twins.

During that surprise first visit post-elevator, Octavia brought lidded mugs of hot chocolate and her two friends along.

And, kid you not, it took less than an hour. Not only did they melt like popsicles in August. They seemed to have forgotten they ever even had a negative opinion to begin with. Not about “borderless lovers” and certainly not “half breeds”.

The twins won them over in no time at all.

Cinna would have been proud. Katniss and Peeta too.

Since then, the three Capitolians checked in every other day or so. Brought food and iced tea, laughter and stories from town.

A welcome distraction. Their presence, their bright and sunny positivity couldn’t help but rub off. Lift her spirit for the first time in … she didn’t even know when.

Everything just fell into place. No need to sit down and talk things through. And frankly: it was a relief.

To just leave the past in the past. Look ahead.

“Are those Peeta’s work?” gasped Octavia, brown eyes on the table. The three-tier cookie stand. “I recognize the frosting!”

“It is.” Effie set the vase of flowers in the center of the cloth. “He mailed a crate full, the day before yesterday. Have one.”

Octavia smiled and plucked a sugar cookie, frosted with a bright green four-leaf clover. She had herself a small bite. Groaned.

“It’s divine! Venia, you have to try this!”

“How is our precious painter?” the older woman asked, once nibbling on a cookie of her own. “And Katniss too, the sweet dear. Is she still designing women’s fashion? We’ve been dying to visit, but life’s been so hectic. Something always comes up. Like just the other day!”

“Yes”, Octavia said. Voice low, almost conspiratory. “We finally told her. Not, not Katniss of course. Gloria. We put a foot down and kept it down. Didn’t we, Flavius?”

“Oh yes”, the man said, still on the floor, nodding his orange corkscrew curls.

“We explained how much we love you and Amy and Ian”, Venia said. “And Haymitch too of course. In his … best moments. We simply laid down the law and told her if she didn’t have anything nice to say, she shouldn't speak at all. Or else, she cannot get her nails done at our salon.”

“She was livid”, Octavia whispered. “She pushed over a mannequin. And then she said … tell her what she said!”

Venia mimicked her voice:

“‘I don’t need you, do I? Go to hell, for all I care! You’re crap at your job anyway!’”

”Ha!” Flavius laughed, as if the very thought was too ridiculous to ever be taken to heart. “Honestly, I feel sorry for her. Don’t you? I mean, think about it! Her nails will look absolutely dreadful from now on.”

“Why don’t we all take a seat?” Effie gestured toward the table. “The coffee will be ready any minute now.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Flavius got to his feet, a real spring in his step. “You know, Effie, we were thinking. Since there is something of a breath of fall in the air today. How about, we celebrate? By brewing ourselves a pot of nice, hot tea.”

Effie’s heart sank.

And not just to her stomach. Down down down it went. All the way down to the very soles of her feet.

It must have shown, for Octavia quickly reassured her:

“Not that we don’t appreciate your coffee making skills. We simply adore it!”

“Absolutely”, said Venia. “Especially your con panna. It’s to die for!”

“I don’t really drink tea anymore”, said Effie, heat rising to her cheeks by their curious gazes. “It’s just not for me.”

“But why?” asked Octavia. “You had it during the Games. Plenty of times.”

“It’s complicated”, Effie said, hoping they’d leave it at that. “I had a bad experience with tea a while back. Lost my taste for it.”

“Oh!” said Flavius, hand against his heart. “I know exactly what you mean, love! I once indulged myself at a Pick & Cheese. A fine restaurant, they said. Trustworthy. What a joke!” He drew a heavy sigh, eyes on the ceiling. “I wound up”, he said, “with the worst food poisoning of my entire life! Shooting out both ends, if you know what I mean? God, I thought I was DYING! For years to come I couldn’t even look at a slice of gouda without feeling queasy.”

He patted Effie’s shoulder. Hand heavy with sympathy.

“You just have to tell yourself the same thing I did last year, that one time I fell off a carousel horse. ‘Flavius’, I said. ‘Now is the time for courage. Don’t let fear creep into your heart. If you do, you won’t ever try anything daring ever again. Dust yourself off and get right back in the saddle. Don’t worry. It will all be OK in the end.’”

“It’s not quite that simple”, Effie said. “Besides, I don’t even have any tea.”

“That’s alright!” Octavia beamed. She darted for her bag, bringing with her a fancy box of organic, flavored green tea. “We bought it downtown”, she said. “Just to be safe. Some people’s teas are simply awful! Even the best of people. But this, this is what Cinna and Portia always drank. Remember? Very tasty and it boosts the immune system.”

“Let’s get the kettle on!” sing-songed Flavius and Venia in chorus and before Effie knew it, the three of them bounded into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later they all returned. Carrying her plump china pot, heavy with something other than coffee for the first time in ages.

“Now don’t you worry, love”, Flavius interjected her weak protests. “We will cure this unfortunate mental block of yours in a heartbeat!”

They ushered her toward the couch. Planted her on the middle seat with Flavius and Venia on her left. Octavia on the right.

“Don’t be scared”, the latter smiled. “We are here for you.”

“No need for thanks either.” Venia patted her hand. “Just relax and let us provide with some much-needed tea therapy.”

“You know, this is something we could have charged you for”, said Flavius lightly, armed with the tea pot. “But of course - since it’s you – it’s on the house.” A steady stream, the color of fall itself, poured into her cup when he tilted the pot.

“How about a nip of milk?” Venia lifted the cream pitcher. “For extra flavor.”

“And one of sweet Peeta’s sweet creations to nibble on in between”, said Octavia and placed a pink-frosted cookie on her plate. She lifted the cup off the table. “There you go”, she said sweetly. “Nice and hot.”

Effie had no choice but to accept.

Holding it by the ear, she stirred with the silver spoon. Buying herself more time. The scent swirled into her nostrils. This tea – Cinna and Portia’s tea – smelled nothing like her last time, but the lump still grew in her throat.

Her eyes flitted to the twins, bouncing in their jolly jumpers. As if making sure they hadn’t disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Octavia saw her look.

“Yes, there’s Amy and there’s Ian.” Despite the aching in Effie’s chest, the softness of the woman’s voice coaxed a smile out of her. Octavia gave the children a flickering wave of her fingers. “Hello little dears! Look at your mama. So brave.”

Effie focused back on the tea. Drew a deep breath. Let the air out slowly. She lifted the cup to her mouth. Misty heat warmed her upper lip as she took the tiniest of sips.

As the beverage touched her tongue, flavor spreading across her taste buds, Mrs Q – relentless, tight-lipped, eyes hard as the gemstones in her hollow cheeks – flashed before her mind.

“You should never have let him into your bed.”

A choked sound came over Effie’s lips and, unable to stop them, tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh, honey!” Venia gasped.

“Don’t cry!” said Octavia and in an instant, they hugged her from all sides. Three sets of arms, cocooning her in their embrace.

“It’s OK.” Flavius gingerly removed the cup from her hands. Set it on the table. “It’s only tea. Just tea. It won’t hurt you.” Patting her hair ever so softly, he said: “Don’t you worry, darling. We’ll bring you a different flavor every single visit and the more you drink it, the easier it’ll become.”

“Absolutely”, Venia said.

“We will help you. We promise”, said Octavia, cheek against her cheek. “That’s what friends do. How about, we braid your hair now? Would you like that, sweetie? Let’s braid your hair.”

“Mama.”

The sudden sound turned every head. Effie’s. The prep’s. Four pair of eyes glued to the same spot.

Amy waved her little arms about.

“Mama!” she repeated. Firmer now.

“Oh my God”, whispered Octavia.

“Did she just …?” Venia stared, arms still around Effie.

“Was that her first word?” Flavius asked under his breath.

“Yes”, Effie said, just as stunned. “I mean, they’ve strung together different vowels and consonants. Tried them out, for some time now, but … this is the first real word.”

“Oh, my God!!”

The prep team jumped from the couch, as one. Octavia heading for Amy. Venia and Flavius for Ian.

“That was so beautiful!” Octavia had already broken into sobs. “Can I hold her? Oh, please, can I?”

“Go ahead”, said Effie.

Ever so gently, the girl lifted Amy out of her sling. Tears rolled down her emerald-green cheeks as she cradles her close.

“Oh, precious, I’m so proud of you”, she sobbed, rocking her. “Goodness, that’s the most amazing thing I’ve seen since Venia’s last birthday!”

“Can you say ‘Flavius’, young master Ian? ‘Flaavius’!”

“Come, angel.” Venia smiled and lifted the boy out. Propped him against one hip, so naturally you’d think she’d done nothing else all her life. “Let’s get you to mama.”

The two women resumed their seats around Effie. And Amy, she immediately climbed onto her mother’s lap, like: “enough’s enough”.

Octavia just couldn’t stop smiling. Caressing the girl’s silky hair with the back of her fingers she said,

“We must take them to the Aquarium soon. Celebrate! Jellyfish are such magical creatures. Do you think the twins will find them magical?”

Riing!

Effie nearly jumped at the unexpected sound.

“Oh, allow me”, said Flavius, the only one still on his feet. And before Effie could stop him, he snatched the cordless telephone.

“Hello!” he thrilled. “Trinket residence!”

“Oh, um”, Effie said. You’d think she sat on an ant hill, by the way she moved. “Please Venia, can you scooch over?”

“Haymitch Abernathy! As I live and breathe!” Flavius exclaimed. “My, my, do I have news!”

“Flavius, hold on.” Effie struggled past Venia, and Ian sitting on her lap. All whilst Amy kept a firm hold on her mama’s body, dress, hair. “Please, the call’s for me. I’ll take that …”

“Your daughter”, the man nearly bounced on his feet, deaf to her words, “just said her first word! She said ‘mama’! Loud and clear! Oh, it was so incredible! Extraordinary! I could’ve kicked myself I didn’t bring a camera!”

“Flavius, let me talk to him.”

“Well, old man”, Flavius went on, “it was so good hearing from you again but as you probably guessed, we’re a little bit busy at the moment. Octavia and Venia and Effie and I – and the little ones of course! – are just about to have ourselves a green tea o’clock. Don’t mind if we call you back? OK, then. Take care. Bye!”

And before Effie could stop him, he ended the call.

xXx

*ring ring*

…

Hello? Haymitch? Are you there?

My stars. Good ol’ Effs Trinket. To what do I owe the pleasure?

I’m sorry. I wanted to get back to you sooner. But we had something of a full house before and then I needed to get the twins down for their nap. Took longer than expected.

You didn’t have to call at all.

No, of course I do! I wanted to. I’m so glad you rang us up. Flavius just beat me to it. Sorry about that. He gets a little over-excited sometimes. You know how he is.

*scoffs*

So … how is everything in District 12? Are you still living at Sae’s?

What’s it to you?

Um, nothing … I guess. It was just a question.

Well, use your imagination. How do you think it’s been?

Fair enough.

Sorry I missed the party. From what I hear, it was quite the talk of the town.

Oh, no. Not a party. Far from it. And we only had tea.

Yeah, well. Must be marvelous to have such all-weather friends. You’re one lucky girl, aren’t you?

… what?

I mean, who am I to judge? If you wanna hang out with the people who threw you under the bus a minute ago, that’s on you. I mean, fuck, knock yourself out. But as the father, one would think I deserve to at least be consulted about what kind of people you expose our children to.

Expose?

You heard me. I may be a drunk but I’m not that drunk. Did you honestly think I’d let you get away with it? That I’d sit here quietly? I know all about your fucked up city’s fucked up ideas! Plastic surgery. Neurotoxins. Puking your guts on purpose! And now those … those … “friends” of yours are gonna pollute my children’s young minds with all that Capitol horseshit? Over my dead body!

They don’t! Not at all! What kind of a mother do you think I am?

Well, you welcomed them back with open arms, didn’t you? I bet they never even apologized for the way they treated you. They ganged up with Gloria for fuck’s sake! Remember? I certainly do. I mean, hell Effs! Where’s your self-respect?

It’s different now.

How? What changed? How do you know it isn’t just some ploy to get an inside scoop? Gossip material for later. Extra, extra, hear all about it!

Stop it! They wouldn’t! They’d never! They’ve been nothing but good to me …

For a precious few weeks …

… and the twins! I chose to forgive. To let bygones be bygones and trust my own heart in this matter. And that should be enough for you too! If you ever knew me at all …

*snorts* Well, don’t come weeping on my doorstep when they discard you. And trust me, sweetheart. They will.

Oh, don’t you worry! And don’t call me sweetheart! I can take care of myself, thank you very much! *inhales a shaky breath* You’re mad about earlier. And I get that but … you don’t have to be mean. I know the prep team far better than you do and you … you wouldn’t even be saying those things, had you seen them today. They adore the twins.

Yeah, they love ‘em. Same way Octavia loves her pet rats. Amy and Ian are little more than dolls to them. The moment something else piques their interest, they’ll toss them aside without a second thought.

Who are you?! You sound just like Gloria!

I d…

Yes, you do! You’re being vicious and prejudiced when you don’t even have a clue! Nothing improper goes on under my roof and I cannot believe you think I’d even allow it! The only thing the prep team’s done is bring happiness back into this house. They make me laugh. Make me feel … hopeful. They even promised to help with my tea anxiety.

Your … what?

I … I mean. They make things better, OK. Easier. Whenever I need help with the children or just need a few minutes for myself to breathe or take a shower, they’re always there. They help me, Haymitch!

Yah, unlike me.

I didn’t say …

Cause last time I checked, princess, you already have a support system. Right here! You didn’t have to break the family up.

I didn’t!

You fucking did, Effs! I didn’t up and leave! Not once! Not even when you dropped your twin pregnancy on me like a fucking nuclear bomb. I always remained loyal to you. To our family. No matter what! You’re the one who saw fit to pack your bags. Who decided to put a whole fucking country between us!

Because you left me no choice! What else could I do?

Like … not leave! Get a place nearby.

Right. And when you come stumbling through the door at night, wasted out of your mind, what then?

Fuck you! I offered to go! Offered my whole goddamn house on a silver platter! I would’ve been fine stayin’ at your fancy-ass place. If it meant that you and the …

No, you wouldn’t! You wouldn’t be fine at all! I wanted to come home! More than anything! But you in the Capitol? Alone with your ghosts and no one checking up on you. You’d drink yourself to death for sure!

I don’t need a fucking babysitter!

Since when?! I can’t be in charge of everything, Haymitch! The twins already claim me day and night. I can’t be in charge of everything all the time! It’s too much!

Well, if things are so taxing for you, then come the fuck home! Your village isn’t the prep team, you hear! It’s Sae. It’s Hazelle. Katniss. Peeta. Fine, I’m just some big and scary monster, so to hell with me, right? But those people, they love you! They care for you deeply and every single one of them is a far better influence than your trio of …

Don’t you dare say it!

Well, they’re nutty as a fruitcake, on that we can all agree!

Better nutty than callous! Callous and unkind! At least they are here! Part of their lives. There’s nothing wrong with that! All they do is read stories to them, sing a song every once in a while, put on puppet shows …

Yeah? ‘bout what? The history of the Hunger Games?

Go to hell, Haymitch! I haven’t heard from you in a month. More than a month! Don’t you think I wanted to tell you about the prep team? Or anything concerning the twins, for that matter? But how can I, when you never pick up the phone? When you refuse to return my calls. It’s been weeks and weeks of worrying and caring for the children without you and now, here you are, after all this time, intoxicated …

Oh, that is so you! Effie Trinket in a nutshell! Yeah, maybe I did have a snifter or two, just to take the edge off things. Of course you’ll hold it over my head forever! Never mind I missed my daughter’s first word. Never mind you took my own flesh and blood away from me! Little Ms. Perfect Mama of the Year … Go, then. Go on! Have a ball with your nutty little friends. You already ruined everything else and if you’re too dense to realize they’re not good for you, then …

You ever stopped to think that maybe you’re the one who’s not good for me?!

So file for sole custody then! Be done with it!! *SLAM!*

*toot toot*

[duckyfruitbat]

The Glitch That's a Cryptid

Picture it, the year is 2008, and you just bought a copy of Saints Row 2 for your Xbox 360. You're playing the zombie map and somehow you manage to glitch yourself out of bounds. Curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to explore it a bit, and why not? As a fellow glitch connoisseur it is always a treat to see how much a game can handle. As you're exploring seeing the sights beyond the map, you see a flash in the corner of the screen. It's a shadowy figure, was that from a zombie, an npc, or was it your own shadow? Suddenly the game freezes and you have to restart the console. A shame that the glitch exploration had to end, but it also looks like the game has very little wiggle room here. You boot up the game and something goes wrong, you can't get beyond the file select. The game has been officially bricked. If it's digital, you can redownload it and just be more cautious, if it's physical, you now have a tacky coaster.

This shadow is called the freezer, and it became an urban legend of sorts, but was quickly confirmed to be real. This glitch is also pretty creepy, it often looks like the shadow is actually pursuing the player, actively trying to destroy the game. It sounds like a creepy pasta, I expect to see this next to Ben Drowned and Sonic.exe.

This glitch is actually really well documented, so much so that we know that it is pretty common on the Xbox release. Why? Well we're not too sure, one theory is that the hardware issues of the 360 contributed to it, but the source of the glitch is unknown. Something about going beyond the border makes the game destroy itself. This could just be a case of spaghetti code being spaghetti code.

It is already rare for a glitch to spawn an entire character, but to create an abyssal horror is something else. On top of that, this is a glitch that can destroy the game. I cannot overstate how wrong something has to go for this to happen, and this is tied to something as simple as going beyond the level boundaries, one of the most common and simple types of glitches. Be careful with this one I guess.

[lichdolly]

Guilds of Ravnica Coords 8/10: Rakdos

For Rakdos, I wanted something bordering almost on costume-like to reflect on the intrinsic hedonism of the Rakdos Cult. The carnival theme and motifs just made the most sense here; it’s purposely gaudy and tacky.

Coord rundown: •JSK = BABY, the Stars Shine Bright Sorcerer’s Horoscope JSK | •Blouse = Alice and the Pirates Diamonds Frill Blouse | •Shoes = Roly Lily Angel and Devil Shoes | •Headwear = Alice and the Pirates Harlequin Diamond Bonnet | •Socks = Alice and the Pirates Diamonds OTKs (2011) | •Wristwear = Angelic Pretty Horror Cross Cuffs | •Scepter = Cheshire Cat (item name unknown)

[faintvibes]

Historical Hetalia Day Five: 1800 - 1945

Day 5: 1800 - 1945 // Shadows @historical-hetalia-week

When making this piece, I'd been having Thoughts about the potential relationship dynamics between Nyo!Prussia and Germany. Then I happened to stumble upon a glorious mess of a German dress, and this happened. My only regret is making Germany so damn young when (judging by canon, vaguely) he's prooooobably an adult at this point.

More of an explanation is under the cut!

Let's start with Prussia, since the idea for this piece only began to be truly conceptualised upon finding that goddamn dress. Here it is, by the way:

It's from the book "Ein Hauch von Eleganz: 200 Jahre Mode in Bremen" (A Breath of Elegance: 200 Years of Fashion in Bremen)- which appears to have been created on behalf of the Bremen Museum of Art and Cultural History (you'll have to forgive me if that's incorrect- my German is still a work in progress!)

The moment I laid eyes on this, I knew for a fact Prussia would wear this. The dress is tacky, bewildering, and absolutely delightful.

It's dated to 1885, so take that as a loose setting (beyond just '1800s') for this piece. However, the dress is likely the only sure piece of proof you'll find of this. For one, Prussia's hair (nevermind that it hasn't been styled) does not fit the fashionable cut of the time. Women tended to cut their hair short at the front, and then curl those bangs. However, I have a headcanon relating to N!Prussia's hair/general sense of identity (a very long story, that I'd rather save for its own post... maybe... someday... than shove in here!) that makes me think she'd not be so inclined as to cut it. While here, in the privacy of her residence, she doesn't bother to even style here hair- though this is likely a different case in public.

As for what she's doing? Probably preaching about her awesomeness!

At the time of making this, I'd just recently discovered a 3 part series focusing on Prussia's life (uploaded to Youtube by rano) originally from Bilibili (here's part one). I'd adored a fair few of the outfits throughout the series, but two of little Germany's stood out to me:

I'd asked my parents to vote on which one they liked better, and they picked the one you now see! Fun fact: in the video's rendition of the outfit, all those little specks on the vest are tiny patterns. Prussia's dress was enough for me y'all, no way was I gonna be able to draw those on too (｀Д´)

The background is inspired by this image of a room in Sanssouci Palace, built by Frederick the Great of Prussia:

I didn't want to overload the piece with red, so I changed up that colour- but the patterns below the bench Prussia and Germany are sat on are based on the patterns bordering the bottom of the walls.

And yeah! From here I'm pretty sure the explanations are going to be shorter than the first few days :) But thanks for reading, if you've made it this far! That's pretty cool of you

[sanguiresse]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑    𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒    .  

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟏    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄    .

NAME: right now? vladimir savatier. EYE COLOUR: a dark red. it glows. once upon a time, they were a pretty blue. HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: you will hear this a lot, but it changes. usually a thin wispy white, reaching the middle of his back. he often ties it up with a red ribbon. if he feels in the mood, he’ll darken the shade to black. HEIGHT: varies. he tends to be somewhere between 5′11-6′1. his monster form height is around eight feet tall. CLOTHING STYLE: extravagant in the public eye, with lots of jewelry. borders on tacky and frivolous. when in the comfort of his own home, he tends to be more comfortable, but still quite regal. lots of red and black, as you’d imagine. in all cases, he is fully covered, with only his face and hands visible (though he will also cover up with gloves from time to time). BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: his eyes. i think he has a lovely smile, too.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟐    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄    .

FEARS: deep water. specifically, drowning. he gets notably uneasy around the ocean.   GUILTY PLEASURE: m…murder….?  BIGGEST PET PEEVE: loud noises. loud people. AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: just to continue teaching his students and living out the years. should an enemy catch his ire or an ally gain his loyalty, then he might add them to his agenda, but for a noxian, vladimir has little ambition.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟑    :    𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒    .

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: ‘where am i? who am i? what is happening?’ vladimir rarely sleeps, and when he does, the waking tends to be very disorienting.   WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: his memory. he’s always checking in on himself to make sure he knows his name, where he is, what he’s doing, who his friends are, who his enemies are, etc. in that sense, he’s also thinking about his body: how far the corruption is going, whether or not it will be visible the next time he sees someone, etc. WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: as i said, vladimir doesn’t sleep often, but in the rare occasion where he indulges in a nap, he’ll probably be worrying a bit about what happens when he slips under. but if he’s indulging in a nap, then chances are that he’s plenty exhausted— in which case, he’ll think about that. WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: his intelligence.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟒    :    𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒    𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑    ?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES: single. TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: loved. BEAUTY OR BRAINS: brains.   DOGS OR CATS: cats, but he doesn’t really like animals all that much.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟓    :    𝐃𝐎    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘    …

LIE:yep. tries to avoid it when he can (he prefers lying by omission), but he’s an aristocrat. of course he lies. BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: yes…..? maybe. depends. BELIEVE IN LOVE: yes :( WANT SOMEONE: ………… yes… though it’s something that he would not realize about himself until it’s in front of him. but he certainly craves stability and someone he can hold onto.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟔    :    𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘    𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑    …

BEEN ON STAGE: does it count if he was a prisoner of war under the darkin who was made to execute other prisoners for that darkin’s amusement DONE DRUGS: yes, but they really don’t do much, if anything, for him. it’s more notable in modern verse where he had some, um, wild times during his medical school days. CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: yes. especially in his younger days, he adapted quite well to the people around him. it’s how he got into politics!

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟕    :    𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒    .

FAVOURITE COLOUR: i will give you one guess. FAVOURITE ANIMAL: butterflies. FAVOURITE BOOK: he can’t choose one, but he likes historical nonfiction. he thinks it’s a blast.  FAVOURITE GAME: chess. it’s the only game he really plays… unless you count noxian court politics?

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟖    :    𝐀𝐆𝐄    .

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: he was born before the invention of the modern calendar, so he really can’t tell. in modern verse, February 26. HOW OLD WILL THEY BE: well after you hit the 2000 mark, you kind of stop counting. plus, do you count the years where you weren’t actually in control of your mind? do feral years count? what about years spent asleep? it’s tricky.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑    𝟎𝟎𝟗    :    𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄    .

I LOVE: long nights and good conversation. I FEEL: restless. I HIDE : behind a smile. I MISS: the old days. I WISH: for something new.