#or the purple ones with giant white patches

[ainawgsd]

Petunia appreciation post

[naffeclipse]

Petal

Botanist!Reader x Naga!Eclipse

Commission Info

This little fic was such a delight to write and I'm so happy @bluemoon1331 commissioned me for some good ol' Blackwater Lure (naga) Eclipse. Toss in a botanist reader to pair with this handsome snake and you have quite the pairing and a little smooching in the jungle!

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

You swat a buzzing insect swirling around your ear before huffing. The humidity is thick like rain but not a drop falls from the blue-white sky in the middle of a bright, brilliant day. The green canopy overhead provides mottled shade. Despite this, a thin sheen of sweat glistens on your forehead. Swiping underneath the stiff brim of your boonie hat, you draw in another sweltering lungful before pressing down on the camera button to finish capturing a picture of a brilliant cluster of heliconia flowers. The picture is basic, but you only need one for reference in your study.

Common and brightly colored, the bracts of the flower form a beak-like shape which are often called lobster claws. You prefer the name heliconia. It’s far more fitting for the stunning, tropical blossom. 

The deep green stem stands tall and sprouts the flowers high, allowing you to stay standing on your feet as you sweep your camera aside and reach for your notebook. The pages are rimmed with your observations and small, simple sketches of each flora you have studied throughout your stay here in the jungle. Michael and Vanessa seem to appreciate your craft though don’t pursue the same interests. Their place here on the fridges of the wild, feral jungle is a fleeing mystery, but you hope they’re enjoying the beautiful, lush ecosystem as much as you are.

You lift your head at the sound of a steady hum whizzing through the air. A tiny creature floats, its wings blurring with the speed of its flight, and dips low to sip at the nectar of the heliconia. A smile spreads softly over your lips. 

Hummingbirds are drawn to the sweet taste of this flowering plant. The small fowl’s feathers shine with an iridescent blue and green. Another flit by. This one pauses just long enough for you to spy its ruby throat. You lower your book for just a moment. Sometimes you get lost in your botany—unable to see the flowers for the petals—but now and then a creature who loves the plants as you do gives a gentle reminder to admire the brilliant red and deep green colors for a moment. 

Another hummingbird with a wonderfully rare purple sheen and gray body buzzes over to a nest. You jot down a gentle note of what the flower attracts as well as its pollinators. The ink needs a moment to try and stick to the thick paper. Your book is about to overflow, with a few pages left spared but not for too long. There are still giant lily pads you wish to observe upon the water and passion flowers high up in the canopy that you must find a way to climb up to. 

You lower your notebook and pause for a moment. It’s strange. You’ve been here for the better half of the morning and haven’t had any interruptions. This is the most research you’ve done in a good while. 

Taking the blessing for what it is, you bow your head and scribble more, noting the bright color and how it thrives upon the jungle soil. There is nothing richer on earth but this Amazonian floor. The most abundant resources of natural, green goods are right before you and you get to observe each flora up close.

You lift your head again. The heliconia is abundant and red, a few tipped in yellow and a rare, stray stem has a tinge of blue to their edges. Beautiful. You step closer, wondering what genetics carried this special trait into this patch of bright reds. Was it cross-pollinated or did a seed get laid here from another stretch of open, flowering land?

The silence settles over you after a moment. Sweeping over the heliconia, you realize the hummingbirds scattered, silent, and swift, leaving you in a heavy quiet. Even distant birds calling and chirping have calmed. The unnatural hush of an otherwise thriving jungle touches you with a warning. 

Your heart stops in your chest.

Your poor notebook drops from your hands, pages, and pen falling. Pointing your feet away from the patch of heliconia, you fail to take a single step before a soft hiss cuts through the air. You cry out as a strike of a lithe, long arms seizes you from behind and a powerful tail sweeps around your legs. A sharp gasp rips from your throat. In a moment of your world spinning, you’re pulled forcibly into a constricting embrace. 

It takes mere seconds. A tail of green scales, dotted with black, quickly twists you into its coils before a soft hum echoes. You fight the urge to squirm as the thick, corded muscle climbs up your legs, locking them together before winding around your waist. Orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, serpentine form cages you within his grasp. Your arms are, unfortunately, caught in the naga’s constriction. You tug on them experimentally but only receive an answering squeeze in return, your ribs tested for a mere moment. A breath slips away from you.

“Happy day, petal.”

You lift your eyes from your trapped body to face the one enforcing your precarious position. Eclipse. The naga hovers over you, balancing on his tail while keeping you in place. The length of his body is utterly incredible. Ropes of thick, powerful muscle spread across the jungle floor and neatly spiral around you, all while leaving enough to support his humanoid torso. 

You try to shift, to find a little more breathing room, but the naga decides to recline you back instead, setting you into an unsettling position where he can creep up his coils to admire you up close. His fangs flash in a ravenous grin. His venom glistens on the razor-sharp tips before he swipes them away with his dark, slender tongue.

“H-hi, Eclipse,” you answer in a rattle. Yet, a smile manages to work its way onto your lips. “Did you have to startle me?”

“I thought you would know it’s me saying hello. Who else would catch you like this?” he rumbles low and deep and the sound vibrates through your own body. You clench your teeth just to keep them from chattering.

He tilts his head as if he finds you adorable—or appetizing. The frills decorating him are as bright as any jungle flower, orange-yellow, and almost hypnotic in the gradient hues. Slitted pupils observe you in the way you might have just been studying the heliconia, interest keen and desirous.

A nervous sound leaves you, somewhere between amusement and fear. “You can say hello without catching me next time,” you offer. “It would be less… frightening.”

His coils shift around you slowly as if tempted by the thought of squeezing until your lungs can’t expand anymore. You glance briefly down to see what his tail may do next.

“Are you frightened right now, petal?” A clawed hand hooks your chin. Eclipse lifts your face to hold your gaze. You swallow back a few mouthfuls of apprehension. A pulse in your arm presses back against the thick serpentine body. You hope he can’t feel it.

You know he does.

“No,” you answer, then truthfully, “not anymore.”

He hums thoughtfully. The sound echoes with a hissing undertone and gradually softens. His eyes survey you with slitted pupils, one a midnight blue, the other deep emerald, even darker than his scales.

“I agree. I’ve held many prey in my coils but you don’t struggle like them. They bite and claw and cry out,” he answers, drawing it out with a slithering sound that spills heat into your core. “But you; you resist little. You’re as soft as fruit in my palms. You’re deliciously small.”

He lifts out his other hand and slowly tilts your hat up and up until it falls away, stumbling down his coils to lie flat by your notebook and pen. The very breath within you catches as he turns his hand and runs the back of his crooked finger down your cheek, admiring you closely. You lean away on instinct but the snare of his scales gives you little room to escape. Softly, he reaches up and strokes your head. His claws comb down your hair. His tongue flicks out so close to your nose, you wonder if he intends to lick you.

“Although there is one aspect you carry with the rest of my prey,” he simpers. He leans close enough that his fangs glisten in the mottled sunlight. “You look good enough to eat.”

The tempo of your heart rate becomes a beating drum within you. 

“What do you eat?” you ask breathlessly, as if you could stall his hunger.

“Oh, whatever trots my way,” he slips a claw over the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver, much to his delight. His coils cinch around you tighter in what you suspect is a desire to feel every shuddering muscle within you. Your cheeks burn.

“Like?” you prod, trying to regain control of your racing pulse but failing miserably. 

He flashes a sinister smile and a drop of venom slips into his saliva before he licks it away.

“Monkeys are fine for a meal. Jaguars are a delicacy that I’ll indulge in when I have the chance. If I’m in the mood to work up my appetite, I’ll hunt black caiman. Otherwise, I’ll dine on a giant otter.” He watches you closer as you comprehend the strength of his ability to target other predators. Truly, nothing can stop him if he so desires. 

You’ve learned much about Eclipse in the short time you’ve encountered him—or rather, he’s stalked and caught you. He is the apex predator of this ecosystem. He glides between the trees and turns into mottled shadows under the dense canopy and possesses a head as brilliant as any blossom. You do not know the animal kingdom as well as your flora, but you know he is the king within this jungle.

And he favors you, somehow. Though he has played with you like a cat with a mouse, he has never delivered a venomous bite with his wicked fangs or squeezed you until you couldn’t breathe anymore. You don’t know what to name this obsession he holds for you but it’s enough to spare your life. It’s enough to convince you that he cares for you. 

A nice theory you’ve come to consider is that you are in the safest place in the jungle right now, protected by the apex predator’s serpentine body. It’s enough to make your heart soften whenever he wraps you tight in his tail. After the initial shock has worn away, of course.

“I imagine they, ahem, taste fine,” you say, though your tongue is a bit dry.

“Such meals hold a very excellent taste, but I prefer a new flavor as of late,” a low rumble moves through him. 

You swallow roughly. His eyes catch the motion, dropping down to your throat where it bobs before his grin seems to sharpen. His fangs lie on full display.

He tilts your head back slightly, allowing sunlight to brighten your face. “Now I want to know more about what you’ve been up to, petal. What are you studying today?”

“Heliconia,” you answer. He captures you in his intense gaze. You nearly wish you could look away just to concentrate on forming words on your tongue. “The, ah, scientific name is heliconia latispatha, but it’s sometimes called lobsterclaw.”

“Say that again,” he commands.

You almost spit out ‘lobsterclaw’ but catch your mistake before you can simmer in embarrassment. In a steady voice, you repeat, “Heliconia latispatha.”

His eyes close briefly, sealing away the jewel-dark colors of his gaze. For a moment, you study him, fascinated by how he tilts his head as if turning an ear towards you.

“Beautiful,” he hisses softly. His eyes open, slitted pupils thinning in the brightness of the day before he nods. “Tell me more.”

You sputter once before continuing into details about their relationship with hummingbirds. Eclipse lets you spill into a monologue. His attention never lapses as you so often find in those who ask about your botany studies only to realize you are giving them an accurate answer, not a simple and inadequate one-note description. You can almost forget that you can’t move your limbs while falling into a ramble of your studies.

While you speak, his coils keep you cool. His smooth, sleek scales effortlessly ease your sweating while slowly shifting around you, occasionally squeezing as if grasping your hand to remind you that he is here, listening. His tongue flickers out once while he traces your jawline and even your lips when you tell of hoping to locate giant lily pads.

“I will take you to see them,” he says after you pause. Your eyes widen. He grins as his claws slip along your temple, trailing your hairline. 

“Really?” you breathe. You’ve been searching for them for so long—even Michael and Vanessa reported that they have stumbled upon many yet in their travels around the jungle.

“Of course.” Eclipse’s simper deepens while he lets his hand fall to cup your cheek. “Anything is yours. You must only say the word, my favorite flower.”

Your lips part but no sound falls out of your mouth. Eclipse’s eyes drink you in as you wriggle in the slightest, unable to contain your eagerness despite how tightly you are held. His tail moves in answer. Scales shift you towards him as Eclipse leans over you, closing the distance.

“Eclipse.” Your mouth finally moves. His name fills it. He stirs, his thin eyelids fluttering briefly as ripples of muscle fall down his tail.

“Say that again,” he commands.

Your throat bobs before you shift your shoulders. His hands fall to the neckline of your shirt, tugging on it slightly to expose your collarbone.

“Eclipse.” Your cheeks heat with a red as bright as the heliconia. 

“Petal,” he hisses gently, “You’re so sweet and precious. Like nectar. I want to taste you.”

Oh.

You want to say something, that you are not nectar but a very simple, boring human, but you aren’t sure if that’s the right thing to say in the face of a predator who lies inches away from your mouth. He draws his hand under your shirt and palms your shoulder, covering your shoulder blade. He tilts your head up. A soft gasp escapes you when he squeezes you softly, and then as if stealing your air, he captures your mouth. He pushes gently, tasting your lips and grazing them with his slick fangs. Quiet sounds escape you, your hands clenching and your knees rubbing together, unable to take his face in your hands and hold him in return. It’s almost maddening. Almost.

A low hiss breaks the kiss as he draws back. His gaze, despite his serpentine aspects, is soft and glowy. You spin slowly after the contact like you were on your feet one moment and lifted off them the next.

“Perhaps we might find a lily as pink as your cheeks,” he murmurs, much to your embarrassment. His smile is devilish but his tongue slowly traces your cheekbone, and you close your eyes.

You hope so, silently, for such a flower.

[s1llydr3amscape]

LET ME OUT

Looks like someone failed the captcha test to many times!

Anyways I always wanted to doodle this specific pose from Toyless' animation why because I can :]

Extras under the cut :

This was the specific screenshot I based the pose off I love hands grabbing head!!! :

The original video ^ (I'll be real with yall I was shocked the original song was poppy playtime because my only experience with it was that all my baby cousins loved that franchise. And they would show me vids off it at family gatherings because I was the babysitter. One of em even debated me abt fnaf like chill out bro you weren't even born when it came out!!!!!)

Glitchtrap rambling time woohoo let's go!!!!

-I redrew em again because I think I'm almost 100% happy with its design!!!! Like I don't wanna change their face so much because the way his face is shaped is my fave!!! Like they have the same style of muzzle as sonic characters!!!!!! I just made it rounder cuz its their early days before this au lore

-I just wanna achieve the unnaturalness with their design. Like they don't belong here. They want to get out. LET HIM OUT. type vibe basically like that's why it has like those kind off teeth instead off the rabbit ones. They get those later in the au.

-I fucking love Glitchtrap so much you don't understand they're so peak!!!!!! I jokingly hate him because I despise what it did to Vanny.

-I was a fan since day 1 bro is just so unique like woah a non animatronic for a change?!?!? STRAIGHT UP A FURSUIT!??!?! Color me impressed!!! I love zooming on it its model and seeing everyy little detail!!! Like omg bro is crying and drooling on the suit!!!!! There's also a patch of uneven stitching pattern on the top of their head compared to their mostly symmetrical design!!!

-I was so fixated on em like my level of obsession for him was bad bad!!!! Like yeah it was still there when Vanny came around during the curse of Dreadbear DLC but you don't understand it surpassed all my Foxy art!!! The first fnaf character I fixated on!?!?? Like what and yall can ask my IRLS bro had lots n lots of art!!!!! I have so much trad art of glitchy it's embarassing!!! Atleast I improved tbh!!

-I just really really loved the fan animations were bro got to time travel to the older fnaf animations and fuck em up!!!! Causing them all to glitch out like hello PEAK!?!?!?! No im not biased to rabbit characters with whiskers shhhhh... SHHH...

-Because I know all those animations already and it's like omg omg OMG Glitchtrap kinda expanded my music taste imma be fr... Fnaf autism is so bad I omfg I only listened to fnaf songs and the only time I listened to other franchises songs is because someone animated fnaf over it... like yeah I was an animation meme kid but even then I only remember the lyrics and titles to songs if I saw fnaf on them (cringe!!!!) So yeah thank u Glitchtrap <33333

-I think Malhare is the cooler name but the Glitchtrap name is cool too because when the names end in trap like this it makes me think they're like warrior cats adjacent. So in this one they just fluctuate between either Malhare or Glitchtrap

-Also another reason he's my super fave is because my brain predicted it's gloop form!!!!

-Like no joke literally the same character I dreamt about during the early days before Princess Quest.

-Except mine was a shadow like the shadow animatronics. More wispy than gloopy. I think the reason I dreamt it was because Shadow Toy Chica and fan made shadow animatronics were getting popular!! But legit same character and colors!!!!!!!

-Just a big dark mass with purple eyes surrounding it like literally the same character my brain came up with and I'm just wow <3333 minus the fact my design had really big giant swirly white eyebrows

-However my Shadow Glitchtrap was kinda more wack to say the least. Like heheheh cuz Glitchtraps a fursuit there's no denying that I changed the dream design a bit. In my old Glitchtrap designs they'd have a zipper and so what would happen was they'd unzip and flip their insides into outsides to reveal the Shadow Glitchtrap thing which was hiding inside them.

-Like those plushies that you can unzip to reveal a different plushie design basically!!!!

-TBH I prefer Glooptrap because yeah!!!!! Amalgamation of hate let's go!!!!!! I think with how gloopy he is its just fun to draw I love the fact that the weird Glitchtrap blockers look like that it fits too much with my own preestablished AU lore.

-I feel like Glitchtrap turns into Glooptrap from like the seams of their suit. Like you see that each part the suit got stitched just turn black as black liquid pours out like ohhh that shit haunted!!!! Bursting outta the seams like oh this guy has no one inside they're all just black sludge!!!!

-In this AU specifically (The one with my millions of Vanny designs) is actually a spoof fnaf AU where everyone lives!!! Like I have 3 AUs technically one of them being the fnaf cast in my oc world where they become my ocs basically called Rabbit City. My other one which is my more serious canon adjacent fnaf AU where no silly stuff or shipping happens, and it's just more overall following my own formed understanding of the canonicity and the series of events with me trying to keep the animatronics more game accurate (I dont think ive posted any of that here due to me feeling like my style limits the nit and grit I wanna go with it). And this one I mainly post on here where everything is just silly and bends to my command and everyone lives because I love everyone <333333 Literally playing with my toys type AU where I do what I want which is why a million vanny designs are in this AU specifically. I usually tag it as this 🦭🩷🐇🐰🐇🐰🐇🐰🐯 because the original name of this au is self indulgent and I'm embarrassed but it's too iconic to change it.

-Glitchtrap in this AU is just much more goofy and silly infecting people like a zombie virus and possessing them for his own gain. Weird eldritch horror that came out of a fnaf fangame. Anything goes in this AU so if I wanna make Glitchtrap a mind controlling zombie warlock wizard so be it!!!! Sorry I love zombies soo much you will have to take this trope out of my cold dead hands!!!!! I love rot!!!

-That's why it's wrinkly because they too me are like a rotten banana (Even though his associated smell to me is lemongrass). Imagine squeezing a banana still with it's skin on. That's how I imagine bro turns into glooptrap if they didn't open the zipper in time. Also because I love the design trope of rotting and withering sue me. I love when the flesh sags across the body. Wrinkles are great bro theyre so real!!!!! Also because back then people kept drawing him as skinny as a twig??? Even though they have fat??? So I made them fatter mostly because like I love the gloop part of it hiding inside <3333

-They're more green pink and purple because imma be real my fave color combo ever <33333

-I wanna do an xray piece with them soon to show their insides but I'm still uncertain if I have the art prowess to concoct it exactly like how I envision it yet. Like I need to squash and scretch them more. They need to look more decrepit and horrible!!!!! something like the unknown from dbd!!!!

-They can't actually emote properly stuck in a permanent smile

-Glithctrap and Vanny’s dynamic is like Lord Hater and Commander Peepers in this one. There's more character adjacent to the dynamic between them concocted in my head but I wanna draw a comic abt it :]

-Like yeah one second they're besties and the next they're at each other's throats ready to strangle eachother. Vanny reluctantly trying to help him at first like how she was first called.

-Oh also in this specific AU Glitchtrap isn't connected to William in the slightest more just it's own thing!!!!

-He's like an AI that wants to be human. It believes it is human. They've mimicked people too much that they don't know what they are anymore. Or what it wants anymore. What do they want.

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 7: Pain is what makes us /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Nesta have a nice bonding day. Elain is forced to face her feelings.

Word Count: 1,8K

Warnings: None for this part.

Notes: This fic is becoming my favorite...

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

“It will definitely scar.” Madja warned as she removed the stitches from her wound two days later.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” The words slipped from her tongue with a darker meaning than she intended. Nesta watches as three faint lines remained and a more protuberant one stood in the end of her ribs, that might’ve been painful as fuck. 

“Do you feel any pain?” She pressed her warm fingers against the sore patch of skin.

“Nope, i’m good as new.” The female smiled at her, a comforting smile that she received just a couple times in life, making her heart swell.

“Then you’re good to go, please be careful next time.” She warned with a stern look. Y/N jumped from her seat, pulling her shirt down and nodding her head.

“Thank you Lady Madja.” She giggled.

“Oh sweety, just Madja, it's fine.”  Nesta laughed too, thanking the healer again before dragging Y/N out of her office and towards the busy city streets.

“We need to find you a dress for the Hewn City trip.” Nesta had their arms intertwined as she walked around towards her favourite boutique. 

“What is Hewn City and why does everybody just talk about it?” It was true that since the announcement all they talked about was the upcoming trip, Nesta had promised to tell her the details but in between her training with the Valkyries and Y/N spending all of her time down the library with Lucien, they barely had time to talk about it. 

“It’s the Court of Nightmares.” Nesta eyed the female. “They are kinda independent but they still answer to Rhysand, we go there sometimes to ensure everything is working as it should.” 

“Sounds like a lovely place.” Nesta snorted.

“You’ll see.” She dragged her through a door to a small building, dresses were displayed in front of the glass windows. 

A bell rang when they crossed the threshold, a lovely lady was behind a counter, hands pressing a purple fabric down the surface, while she marked with a piece of white chalk the parts where she had to cut with the giant scissor laying beside her hand.

“Nesta, welcome back darling.” Her brown eyes lit up as she turned her head spotting the female that had just entered.

“Nice to see you again, Imelda.” She smiled at the lady. 

“What can I help you with today?” She crossed the counter, her eyes scanning Y/N’s silent form behind Nesta.

“I need a dress for my friend. Court of Nightmare dresses.” She winked. 

“Over here, darlings.” The elderly lady turned her back leading the way to a section of the building that had various dresses in different dark shades.

“She makes the dresses for the inner circle, especially the ones we use there.” Nesta whispered as they followed Imelda. 

“What kind of dress do you have in mind?” She asked Y/N and honestly? She had no idea what to answer, she had never worn a dress in her long existence, only her riding outfits and pants, they were easier to fight and run in case she needed to. No extra fabric to allow someone to grab at her and slow her down. 

“I have no idea, but I trust you.” The female’s eyes lit even more with excitement. 

“You can undress and wait behind that curtain, please.” The store was warm, Y/N found herself bare in front of a mirror, her eyes scanning the new scar on her side, then roaming over her frame and catching every single one of them, like she always did whenever she had to face herself. 

The first dress was simple, just a floor length black dress with a halter top. Nesta scrunched her face at the sight, she looked good in it but it wasn't the one yet. That’s how she found herself opening that curtain to reveal dress after dress, just to be shoved back inside and try a new one. 

“This is going to be the one.” Imelda warned, before her hand placed the dress on a chair by her side. 

She slid the soft shimmery black fabric over her head, looking at herself in the mirror after she finished adjusting it. It was floor length like the previous ones, but it had two slits that reached the top of her legs, exposing so much skin, but she liked that. The upper half hugged her breasts perfectly, with a deep cleavage and just a strip of fabric holding the two parts together, the sides of her waist and a bit of her belly exposed. She turned around, swallowing hard past the lump on her throat at the exposed back and the scars marring her skin there. 

“We want to see.” Nesta urged her outside, she took a deep breath, pushing the curtain aside and stepping outside. Nesta started to cheer, claiming that this was the perfect dress for her and telling Imelda to pack it cuz they were getting it. “You look breathtaking.” She complimented and Y/N blushed.

She looked at herself for a couple of minutes, how the dress complimented her figure, her full breasts spilling from the fabric and making her look beautiful. She faced a ginning Nesta outside the curtain, gently taking the dress out of her hands and giving it to Imelda.

“I have no money to pay for that.” She suddenly remembered and Nesta brushed her off.

“It’s going to the inner circle tab. Don’t worry about it.” The female smiled again. “Ready to walk some more? I need to go to this bookstore.” Y/N lit up.

“I could read something that doesn’t include very long rants about old gods being dicks.” Nesta nodded.

“I have the perfect books for you.”

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆ 

Another cosy and comfortable store, the smell of books lingered in the air and made her want to stay there forever. Not many people were inside, some gave Nesta a nasty glare and she noticed how she shuddered at them, curving her body to appear small.

“Why do they look at you that way?” Y/N asked when they were alone shuffling through books.

“Some think I'm a witch, that I'm evil. People call me Lady death.” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“You say witch like it’s a bad thing.” Nesta turned to her ready to apologise. “I’m not offended, it’s just that they can think what they want of you, only you have the power to make their assumptions true. Let them think you’re a witch, we’re pretty cool anyway.” 

“You’re right.” Nesta almost melted with the sympathy she found on her blue eyes. She didn’t know about her past, and it was a nice feeling knowing that someone had sympathy for her just being herself. “I should take you to Windhaven. They almost shat themselves at the mere thought of me being a witch, imagine if they saw you?” 

“Terrorise males for no other reason than to have fun?” Nesta nodded in agreement. “Count me in then.” The two females laughed.

They had spent the whole day shopping. Nesta brought her new books, new shoes and jewellery to go with her dress, a nice pair of sapphire earrings and an arm cuff with a matching stone. Nesta was easy to talk to, warm and welcoming. At first she seemed cold and distant, but once she opened up she was a great person and Y/N was glad to be meeting her.

She had told her about her life, confiding in her with her story and that was something Y/N would treasure forever, that trust that she knew someone like Nesta didn’t give easily, but decided to give it to her. And that only made her more respectable, she was someone with flaws that everyday tried to do better than she did yesterday, she still failed sometimes but she didn’t let that stop her from getting up and trying one more time.

Y/N knew how it felt to see your world crumbling down and not being able to stop it, being stuck in the shambles of what you once were, not knowing how to find a way out, not being able to breath and just suffocating in the never ending pain. She had more in common with Nesta than she would've imagined and that brought the two closer. 

And when they got back to the House of Wind, flying Meraxes together towards the residence, she knew she had made a friend for life, whether she got back to Erilea or not, the bond she shared with Nesta was engraved in her heart forever, to never be broken. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆ 

Azriel curled his arms around her waist, and his touch never felt heavier against her skin, wrong. Y/N’s words have been stuck in Elain’s head for two whole days, replaying themselves like a torturing symphony, driving her insane.

She hated to admit, especially cuz no one had ever called her out on this before, but deep down her gut, she knew the female was right. It wasn’t fair to Lucien to keep doing it, getting mad at every being that approached him, not allowing him to live. She was a coward that couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go. At least not yet.

She wanted to have a choice, choose differently from what people expected of her, her whole life was wasted in fulfilling other people’s expectations of what they thought she was. Choosing Azriel was her act of rebellion against the box everyone caged her in her whole life.

But now that she had experienced what choosing was like, she understood that she chose wrongly, Azriel would always have a place in her heart for helping her adjust to a new world, helping her out of her shell and teaching her how to live again, but her heart belonged to another, claimed and yarned for another touch, another gaze, another love.

She loved Azriel, but no longer how a woman loved a man, the love she had for him turned into a love a friend had for another. Whenever she thought of him the feeling of gratitude was bigger than anything else, but when she thought about Lucien, love was the only thing she could distinguish in between so many feelings towards him. 

She didn’t want to hurt Azriel, not as he already had been hurt before, but was the right choice to keep pushing forwards just to make it more painful at the end? Wouldn’t it be better if they stopped here before she caused an unnecessary heartbreak in the male that didn’t deserve it? Azriel had a heart of gold and she would hate herself if she broke it. 

She blinked, watching the ceiling in the dark. Shadows moved around it, his shadows that never dared to touch her, not like they did with the witch. Maybe they also knew that this wasn’t right and were just trying to protect their master. Elain took a deep breath forcing herself to go back to sleep so she wouldn’t be so tired on the next day. 

For their sake and his, she would fix everything soon. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @fieldofdaisiies @blackgirlmagicforever @a-frog-with-a-laptop @going-through-shit @asweetblueberry2

@roses-r-red54330 @mis-lil-red @sheblogs @hibye02 @impossibelle

@glitterypirateduck @zeroangelo13 @sekiro1310 @nelapeach14 @annamariereads16

@just-here-reading @celestialend @donttellthecats @scatteredstardustt @snoopyspace

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@lees-chaotic-brain @thisblogisaboutabook @esposadomd @stained-glass-eyes0708 @brujitafantomatico

[foxounderscorecube]

[Image ID: digital artwork of an adventuring party. They stand on a grassy plain with a forest in the background; an owlbear peeks out through the trees. From left to right, the party consists of an elderly-looking white wizard with a wooden staff and purple-blue robes and wizard hat; a skinny, deathly pale human warlock with garish, oversized clothes and a head slightly too big for his body who holds a glass staff under his arm and proffers a red potion; a seated half-orc with plaited hair who draws in a notebook and a large brown spider with a flower crown sits partially in their lap; and a heavily muscled Goliath woman with bright green eyes, a frog statue tucked between her huge breasts, and extremely skimpy armour who leans on a silver sword and frowns sceptically at the potion held towards her by the warlock. Just behind the wizard and warlock is a patch of scorched ground, still smoking. End ID.]

I've been procrastinating this drawing for SO long, oh my god!!

This is one of the DnD parties I'm part of! We have Alzaar, a wizard cursed with old age for reasons yet to be uncovered by the party; Carlos, @jermagaunt's character, a charlatan warlock (well, sorlock now) with the catchphrase "It'th magic!" who makes shady potions that DO usually work but usually have some fun after-effects; Okanar, my half-orc ranger who loves animals (and who has, in fact, befriended the owlbear in the background; he is named Solomon) and would die before their beautiful giant wolf spider, Princess, ever faced pain or hardship; and the barbarian Virmaris, the obligatory thirst trap who tends to chat up the barmaids wherever the party is lodging. I started this after we finished The Lost Mine, and now we're nearing the end of Curse of Strahd, and given that we had a short-ish campaign between them AND it's taken us an absurd amount of time to do CoS.... yeah, suffice to say this drawing was waaaaay overdue being finished!

This drawing has been Glazed. UnGlazed versions of my art are available to my Ko-Fi supporters!

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

My Garden Flowers Part 9

All photos mine.

In order of appearance:

241. Wild Yam (Dioscorea villosa) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

242. Nodding Wakerobin (Trillium flexipes) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

243. Moss campion (Silene acaulis) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

244. Great White Trillium (Trillium grandiflora) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

245. Yellow Wood-Sorrel (Oxalis stricta) Small yellow flowers. You often find them growing as weeds, but they're native at least to the northern USA bordering southern Ontario. The leaves, flowers, and fruits are a very lovely snack, with a tart refreshing flavour.

246. Horseweed (Erigeron canadensis) A fairly common garden weed, but native so she can stay where she pops up from time to time. Not pictured as I haven't got pictures.

247. Stiff Goldenrod (Oligoneuron rigida) Not pictured as I haven't got pictures yet.

248. Fourflower Loosestrife (Lysimachia quadriflora) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

249. Smallflower Forgetmenot (Myosotis laxa) At least I think. Her flowers are certainly much smaller than the European pink and blue species I see around. Not sure what else she'd be.

250. Bearberry (Arctostaphylos uva-ursi) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

251. Tall Meadow-Rue (Thalictrum pubescens) Yet more lacy white flowers! I imagine if you preferred white you could have a full native garden of such.

252. Northern Bog Violet (Viola nephrophylla) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

253. Wool Grass (Scirpus cyperinus) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

254. Prairie Milkweed (Asclepias sullivantii) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

255. Square-Stemmed Monkeyflower (Mimulus ringens) More leggy than her yellow cousin, but still very attractive flowers that look a lot like snapdragons. She needs things moist.

256. Pawpaw (Asimina triloba) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

257. Meadow Sundrops (Oenothera pilosella) Not quite as intensely yellow as her cousins, Oenothera biennis and Oenothera fruticosa, but still very bright.

258. Wood Lily (Lilium philadelphicum) We don't have a ton of red or orange flowers native here as compared to yellow, white, or pink/purple flowers, so each one is a treat.

259. Virginia Waterleaf (Hydrophyllum virginianum) Yet more lacy white flowers! Not complaining, though, I think they're lovely in the garden. You find these growing in shaded woods.

260. Woodland Strawberry (Fragaria vesca) Unlike her cousin in the front, this one produces lots of berries...but they're white! That's not usual for the species but not unheard of. It's kind of fun to pick little white strawberries each year from that patch.

261. Pickerelweed (Pontederia cordata) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

262. Bog Rosemary (Andromeda polifolia) This is a cultivar. I will have the wild type one day.

263. Strict Blue-Eyed Grass (Sisyrinchium montanum) Her cousin in the front prefers things dry, but this one, like many members of her family (irises), prefers things moist. It was actually easier to get her to take than the dry one, though, which I had three failed attempts at before the one I planted last year.

264. Downy Yellow Violet (Viola pubescens) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

265. Purplestem Angelica (Angelica atropurpurea) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

266. Wrinkleleaf Goldenrod (Solidago rugosa) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

267. Purple Giant Hyssop (Agastache scrophulariifolia) Not pictured as I haven't got pictures yet.

268. Buffaloberry (Shepherdia canadensis) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

269. Silverberry (Elaeagnus commutata) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

270. White Lettuce (Nabalus albus) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

[astranite]

What would your oc’s carry in their bags/have on them in everyday life?

This is changed a bit from the original school bags to while adventuring/going through Plot, as this fits with being general enough to work with my mediaeval-ish fantasy setting and story, while still in the spirit of it. Heres the original: https://www.tumblr.com/rainydaywhump/751678125911490560/thanks-for-the-tag-tagging-if-you-havent-already

Thanks for the tag @rainydaywhump! I've put this in its own post since it got long and this was from a while ago.

I have recently become incredibly unhinged about my ocs, or as I like to call them limited edition little guys (gender neutral) from my brain, that I’ve never mentioned anywhere before. So here! @silverstarfics behold.

Edvin

A bound notebook journal for their notes on magic research, ideas and all their stray thoughts. It’s practically falling apart these days, with loose extra pages shoved in everywhere and a cover made from a scrap piece of leather the only thing holding it together and protecting it. Edvin’s writing in it is getting progressively tinier and more difficult to decipher (their handwriting started off as bad enough as is) because they are worried about running out of space. They use charcoal pencils to write with as a bottle of ink would be too likely to get smashed in their pack.

Their cloak. Though they are near constantly wearing it, so mostly its technically not in their bag: 

Edvin has this cloak that they take with them everywhere and wear near constantly. its deep blue-purple of a night sky with stars on it. it started off as very obviously a mages cloak, a sign of authority and with a bit of mystique that strengthens that impression, clean and bright as it was fairly new and only worn by Edvin inside libraries, castles and the magic university district of the city. it was just a pretty normal, everyday thing for Edvin as a mage, but over time and adventures and hardship it becomes more and more of a comfort item. 

It’s confidence, when Edvin wears it to look more imposing and properly mage like and because the familiarity of it helps them stand up tall as they pretend they still know what they are doing. its comfort when they are ever so far from home and from the life they used to have and the person they were that they cant ever return to. As all gets further and further away the cloak is still with them.

Over the years, it becomes more and more worn, the fabric fading, holes and tears patched and sewn together and stains that wont come out such as from when Edvin bled all over it. they've put it together again, needle and thread in hand and clinging to it, because its the only thing holding Edvin together too.

At one point they took all the still conspicuous silver white stars off of the outside and resewed them on the inside, back into constellations, because it was too obvious and dangerous and a plain drab blueish cloak is easier to hide, but they couldn't bring themself to give them up.

It’s safety and it keeps off the cold when they are sickest from magic overuse, ever so lonely and feeling awful, lying curled up until they are hidden by it. with the hood pulled up, no one can see whether edvin is shivering or trembling from tears.

They do their best to keep high calorie and easy to eat food on them because using magic burns through energy like nothing else and it’s hard to eat when they are exhausted and have no appetite. It’s often something sweet if they can get it, carefully wrapped up like its precious, plus salty stuff because they need that and it keeps well.

Edvin keeps fairly light on with armour and weaponry as their magic is their most used defence but they have some. 

When they were a mage and a scholar before everything happened, they were definitely the person to carry around half of the giant library’s books in a bag that was straining at the seams. They had piles of research notes and ready access to paper and ink and never had to worry about it. Edvin had their cloak, but it was a largely unremarkable every day object to them. They loved the stars but they didn't really think about it much. It was near new with only a few tiny ink stains.

Val

Sewing and repairs kit, versatile enough to be applied to the tack for the horses, armour and weapons, clothing or what ever else is falling apart on the road this time. He made the extra leather cover for Edvin’s notebook for them.

Heavier duty armour and weapons as they still have it from when they were in training to become a knight and were allowed to keep it even when due to injuries that didn’t pan out. Val fights best from horseback so that is kept in mind. Despite being generally brash, loud and angry at the world, he takes patient, careful care of his gear because he knows how important it is to fighting well and surviving.

The rest of what he carries is mostly soldiers kit as that’s where he ended up for years as that was really the only place he could put his skills to use, fighting for whatever cause he was ordered to no matter that what he cares about most is defending and helping those who cannot fight themselves. He also has most of the gear needed to take care of the horses.

Matilda

She would definitely be the type to go out with whatever is in her pockets and nothing else if she could get away with it. She totally would wear her keys on a carabiner in a modern au.

Her weapons and armour are important to her as they are what allow her to fight, to walk into battle and be a powerful force in her own right. But she regularly gets frustrated by the upkeep needed to keep things in good condition and to prevent problems becoming serious before its unavoidable. While Edvin mentors her in magic, Val is most often the one who sits down at the end of the day with her to get across that you can’t run and fight without stopping all the time because the slower parts have just as much bearing on the battle as being right in the thick of it.

She doesn’t want to be weighed down by objects of her past, so doesn’t tend to hang onto things. She tells herself she doesn't need that comfort and only who she is now matters. When she left to join the fight, she left anything she didn’t strictly need in the moment behind to try to cut anything that tied her to that ordinary life and forge a path ahead as her own person.

Otherwise, all of them have packs, camping gear and general stuff needed out on campaign.

*Addendum because of course I have more to say. They all have some medical/first aid supplies, though Val has the most kit prepared, for people and the horses both. Matilda's healing magic skills are rough and ready but she might pull you back together through sheer stubbornness. Edvin's are far better technique-wise but that doesn't help if they are needing it because they've burnt out their energy reserves from magic.

All of them tend to pick up and carry around things to fidget with, from beaded bracelets made for it, a smooth stone found on the road or a small item to toss from hand to hand. Yes there is definite neurodivergency!

Tagging @idontknowreallywhy and @squiddokiddo as I know you have ocs plus anyone else who wants to talk about their limited edition little guys, I'd love to hear about them!

[anonymouspuzzler]

big giant freaking post because i simply think the OLD SEMI-REFORMED CRIME MEN should KISS EACH OTHER

(alt text/image IDs under cut!)

[Image 1 ID: A black and white drawing of Raz and Oleander. Raz, gesturing to the side with one thumb, says, "Your co-conspirator is GNC as heck". Oleander, grimacing and refusing to make eye contact, standing with one fist on his hip, replies, "you're insane".]

[Image 2 ID: A black and white drawing of Oleander and Loboto speaking to a nondescript, silhouetted person in the foreground. Oleander is wearing a low-cut, short-sleeved button-up, dogtags on a necklace, and sunglasses on top of his head, standing with one hand on his hips; Loboto is crouched behind him, wearing a dress over a loose sweater, one hand resting over Oleander's shoulder, with one of Oleander's hands on his knee. Oleander, grinning smugly, says, "Hey, me and my co-conspirator saw you from across the bar and we hate your vibes"; Loboto, grinning manically, ads, "We're gonna take your brain out and see how far it bounces when we throw it".]

[Image 3 ID: A colored illustration of Loboto and Oleander sitting on the floor, Oleander in Loboto's lap. Loboto is wearing knee-length dark brown boots and a bulky green sweater with slim multicolored stripes, over which is a purple dress with a pattern of seaweed and fish along the hem. Oleander is in his usual outfit, minus the helmet. He is looking down at a stack of papers in one hand, reaching up behind him gesturing for a paper which Loboto has taken and lifted up to his face, the other arm around Oleander.]

[Image 4 ID: Oleander, sitting on an implied ledge, wearing a camo-print tank top, blue jeans and knee-length brown boots. Loboto is sitting on the ground to his right, wearing an off-white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and purple overalls unbuttoned on one side, with a hole in the left knee. He has his arms loosely around Oleander and is giving him a gentle kiss on the lips, to which Oleander is looking back with a surprised blush.]

[Image 5 ID: A colored illustration of Loboto and Oleander. Loboto is leaning back in a dark teal-green wooden chair with his elbow leaning on a round, light-green wooden table. He is wearing a baggy navy blue "All Paul Cruise" t-shirt with an orange neckline, which hangs slightly off his left shoulder and exposes a bit of his stomach, as well as light-green pajama pants patterned with orange and purple fish, and mismatched purple slippers, one plain with an orange patch and the other blue-and-pink striped. He is holding his unbuckled prosthetic limply in his left hand and looking over at Oleander with a raised eyebrow and chastising expression. Oleander is standing by the other side of the table in a white tank top, light-and-dark blue striped boxers, beige socks and bunny slippers. He has a light coat of stubble and looks sleepy and very mildly annoyed. He is holding a coffee cup with the Psychonauts logo in one hand and using the other to hold a pointer finger to his temple, creating an orange telekinetic hand to pour a pitcher of coffee into his mug.]

[Image 6 ID: A greyscale illustration of Loboto and Oleander asleep in bed. Oleander is on the left, lying on his back, wearing a tank top and striped boxers, with one leg propped up on Loboto's side. Loboto is to the right lying on his side, chest facing the mattress, wearing a quilted eye mask, a baggy shirt, and pajama pants patterned with fish. Loboto's prosthetic is off and he is reaching over Oleander to hold his right hand; his legs are also dangling off the edge of the mattress. One of Loboto's boots is on the floor to the right of the bed, while Oleander's bunny slippers are on the left partially under the bed. There are also nightstands to each side of the bed. On Oleander's side is his helmet, an alarm clock, and a three-ring notebook in a compartment underneath; on Oleander's side is his prosthetic, a plush fish, a wind-up chattering teeth toy, and a "TRUE DENTAL TALES" magazine in a compartment underneath.]

[Image 7 ID: A greyscale illustration of Oleander and Loboto. Oleander is sitting on the edge of a mattress, shirtless and wearing striped boxers, rubbing his head with one hand and looking back over his shoulder at Loboto, who is lying in bed behind him. Loboto is missing his shower cap, with his hair in sloppy patches, and looking sleepily at Oleander. His prosthetic is around one side of Oleander while his natural hand is sitting on Oleander's thigh.]

[Image 8 ID: A black-and-white illustration of Oleander and Loboto from the bust up. Loboto, sitting on the right and wearing a bulky ribbed sweater, twists his head around to give a surprised Oleander a kiss on the lips.]

[Image 9 ID: A black-and-white illustration of Loboto, grinning, scooping up Oleander in his arms, who flails slightly with his arms to the side like a kitten being picked up by a child. His helmet is getting knocked askew and he looks flustered, blushing and sweating.]

[Image 10 ID: A color illustration of Loboto holding Oleander in his arms, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Oleander is flailing in his hold but grinning widely at the affection.]

[Image 11 ID: A color illustration of Loboto and Oleander arguing over a map. Loboto is wearing a "TEETH MACHINE" t-shirt with lime green shoulders and collar that cuts off just above his belly button, rolled-up cargo shorts cinched tightly at the waist with a belt, green ribbed socks and greenish-black sandals; he is bent over at the waist with his prosthetic hand on his hip and his other hand pointing at something on the map. Oleander is standing next to him wearing a pink open aloha shirt with a floral pattern, a low-cut Whispering Rock tank, frayed denim shorts, dark socks, white tennis shoes and a magenta baseball cap. He is holding the map in his left hand and gesticulating wildly with the other, shouting as he looks down at the map. In the background are Raz and Lilli, holding hands; Raz is eating a cotton candy while Lilli is smiling and pointing at something offscreen.]

[Image 12 ID: A sketch of a grinning Loboto standing in a corner, pinned by Oleander, who is having to hold himself up with both hands and feet on the walls in a split to keep himself at eye-level.]

[Image 13 ID: Loboto imagining Oleander in his bright-blue mermaid tail, topless and wearing his gloves, one hand holding a microphone and the other making a V-sign. He is grinning widely and singing into the microphone, with hearts and musical notes in the background behind him. Below the imagine-spot is Loboto, grinning wobbly and blushing, one hand scratching his cheek. In the background are two of the fishmen from Rhombus of Ruin, both staring at Loboto in confusion.]

[Image 14 ID: A sketch of Oleander posing on a rock wearing his mermaid tail; Loboto is in the foreground, wearing a beret on top of his shower cap and sticking his tongue out in concentration as he sketches him with his prosthetic hand. The drawing is comically bad.]

[Image 15 ID: Multiple rough sketches of Loboto and Oleander. To the left is a little sketch of Oleander, left, and Loboto, right, holding hands; Loboto is smiling vacantly while Oleander is slightly flustered and pretending not to be, standing with one hand on his hip. In the middle is Oleander and Loboto sitting on the floor in a heap together, Loboto facing sideways and folded over with his arms around Oleander, legs on either side of him, and his head resting sideways on top of Oleander's head. Oleander has one hand on Loboto's knee and the other around his shoulders, resting on his neck. Loboto is topless, wearing jeans and his boots, and has a lovestruck grin; Oleander is in his usual pants and boots and a t-shirt, grinning somewhat smugly up at Loboto. To the right is a little sketch of Loboto holding up Oleander up in his arms, facing him; Loboto is grinning while Oleander, limbs limp, looks slightly embarrassed. On top is a sketch of Oleander sitting on a couch holding a bottle, with Loboto on the floor next to him; Loboto is in a baggy t-shirt and boxers, without his shower cap, and has turned around to cradle a flustered Oleander's head and kiss him on the lips.]

[Image 16 ID: A sketch of Oleander, sitting in Loboto's lap wearing a t-shirt and jeans, leaning against Loboto's knees and looking exasperated. Loboto is wearing a tank top and jeans and has a delighted grin, repeatedly slapping Oleander's bald head with his left hand.]

[Image 17-18 IDs: A two-panel comic split into two images. In the first, Loboto is sitting in a wooden chair at a round table holding a screwdriver in his left hand, wearing a baggy t-shirt and frayed sweatpants, looking back over at his shoulder at Oleander in the foreground. Oleander is standing at the kitchen sink, wearing an open button-up shirt over a tank top, as well as dishwashing gloves, and has his right hand in a fist while his left shoves something into the water. A screencapped caption from a Tumblr post reads "my boyfriend is washing the dishes and I just heard him say "who do you work for? who's your contact???" while repeatedly pushing a glass under water". The second panel cuts so Loboto is in the foreground, looking confused and raising his prosthetic hand to his chin, while in the background Oleander (visibly on a stepstool to reach the sink) holds up a glass with telekinesis and brandishes a knife at it, shouting. A second screencapped caption reads "at least he's having fun???"]

[Image 19 ID: A two-panel comic. In the first, Oleander is sitting on a stool at a table, looking down at blueprints he is caressing with his right hand, holding a martini glass in his left, looking contemplative. He says, "*sigh* What an amazing couple we would've been..." In the second panel, Loboto has suddenly appeared and hugs him from behind, grinning and saying "still cooould beeee [heart symbol]"; Oleander, flustered and grimacing, shouts back, "I COULD NOT BE MORE OBVIOUSLY TALKING TO THE MECH".]

[Image 20 ID: A colored two-panel comic. In the first, Oleander is in front of a red curtain, with Sheegor seen from behind in the background. He is wide-mouth shouting to Loboto offsceen, "You bozo! Have you no dignity?" In the second panel, Loboto has entered from stage left, grinning with mouth agape, responding, "Of course not! How long have we worked together?!" Oleander glares back with his mouth tight in a grimace, looking like he's barely holding back his rage.]

[Image 21-22 IDs: A two-panel black-and-white comic. In the first, Oleander is standing in front of an Otto-bon hatch surrounded by planters, with his hands on his hips and a serious expression, saying, "This summer I lost my (extremely platonic) co-conspirator". In the second, the camera cuts in slightly closer as Oleander clenches a fist, eyes closed and shedding a single tear, saying, "Sometimes I can still hear his voice..." In the background, Loboto emerges from the Otto-bon hatch, shouting, "QUIT TELLING PEOPLE I'M DEAD".]

[Image 23 ID: A color illustration of Loboto and Oleander sitting on a wine-purple couch with a golden-yellow throw blanket over the back, watching a rabbit-ear television, with a red rug with gold trim below them. There is also an orange cushion on the floor and two drink cans to the right. Loboto is sitting on the left side, one leg slung over the arm of the sofa on which his prosthetic arm is resting, leaning on the other arm, with a bowl of popcorn nestled in the crook of that arm. He is wearing a baggy green sweater that only reaches midway down his torso, a white button-up under that with the collar popped, and purple pajama pants patterned with teeth, as well as a teal-green sock on only his left foot (with the other visible discarded off the side of the sofa). Oleander is on the other side of the sofa, leaning against the arm on his left side and taking a fistful of popcorn with his right hand. He is wearing a zip-up orange-and-light-yellow sweater, long green pants, purple socks and reddish-brown slippers. A text balloon coming from the TV reads "I wanna be... a dentist!!" Loboto, grinning and pointing with his prosthetic hand, says, "This weird clown has it right." Oleander, lifting an eyebrow, responds, "That's an elf", to which Loboto replies, "No, no. Elves is the tall guys with the shooty bits".]

[bookishcatcafe]

Lavender Dreams (Stolitz Fic) Pt. 1

              As he eyed down every page, sipping in every new word like some glorious nectar, the scenes projected in his mind’s eye as if he was there as some omnipotent observer. Stolas continued to read his book, another romance, this time of a medieval prince in search of his own true love. The minutes of his lunch break felt like hours as he journeyed off in search of the dragon’s cave which stored his adoring Prince Raphael, captured by the beast.

              Sitting there on the slab was Raphael himself, tied by his hands and calves to the rock, gazing back with such a helpless stare. He trekked forward and saw the beast herself! She opens her mouth and suddenly began to speak.

              “You foul thing, you dare enter my domain? I should extinguish you from where you stand! Yet..” she crawled around and sniffed at him before continuing,

              “Seems like someone brought me appetizers. So then, where is it? Where is th—”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BE—

              The alarm on his phone went off, waking him from his daze as he suddenly fumbled around to turn it off. In a sudden rush, he stood up from the bench and dusted his shirt, wiping the small patch of drool from below his lips. Stolas scurried back to the café, walking in the back, leaning forward below the door frame until his head practically touched the floor. On the rack on the wall, he grabbed his lengthy black apron. It was adorned in countless buttons as well as a nametag which he had prettied up with his boss’s permission with some sparkling flare.

              On his apron were some buttons of galaxies, a small mug that read ‘That’s a Hoot’ in purple glittering letters, succulents, other extraordinary plants, an owl, a pride flag, as well as a frog holding a Men-Loving-Men flag beside it. He tied the back of his apron, leaning again as he left to the front-of-house.

💖💖💖

              The smell of cardamon and chocolate drifted through the air as he went past the side of the bar, passing a small purple imp with plugged earlobes. She was steaming cardamon into oat milk, all the while Stolas stirred the freshly extracted espresso into a pool of chocolate at the bottom of a ceramic mug. He was handed the metallic pitcher, for which he lovingly poured its contents into the coffee. As it filled up, his hand moving in pleasant smooth gesture, like one’s feet do when dancing with a partner, and in a final left-to-right motion he swirled on top of the crema a wonderful rose.

              He gave a gentle cough to clear his throat as he spoke up, his head almost hitting the dangling light,

              “Cardamon oat milk latte for David!” and then set the mug on the edge of the bar. A minute passed. Two minutes. In every other moment he called out the drink and its name. Finally, after five minutes a beefy red succubus went over, grabbed the drink, and left with a stern glare at the Goetia. Stolas sighed, giving a quiet thankful-farewell. He hooted under his breath and went to the sink to wash the pitcher.

              A slender, yet shorter imp stood in front of the register. Then again, every imp seemed shorter to Stolas, who was taller than everyone in the café.  Seeing that his co-workers were in the back, mostly chatting during this rather slow midsummer’s day, he sauntered over, humming to himself as he set up the register.

              “Oh-hoo-hoo-hellooo.”, He began in his utterly British exterior, “And what are we getting today?” he asked, now taking a look at the customer. He was a red imp, with white scarring on the side of his face, like a paint blotch. The imp, holding a hand on his hip, the other over his curled horns, grins and looks up at the menu, before turning his body to the side to get a better view away from the giant that was Stolas.

              “H-Hi. I-uh..” he grumbled ‘I cant fucking see’ to himself, causing Stolas to move to the side to help him see better, before the imp turned to that same side, momentarily causing a instance of confusion between the two before the owl just walked out of the way still giving the customer his full attention. The imp continued, “Would like a coffee.”

              Stolas motioned to the three metal cannisters which held gallons of freshly brewed coffee.

              “Drip coffee, Sir?”

              “Just coffee.”

              “Ah. Well we have so many options, I suppose drip coffee is right then.” The imp tapped his foot and looks at the urns.

              “Just coffee. Just black coffee. Nothing else.” His eyes slowly went down from the urns to the barista’s apron, eyeing at every pin, until stopping at the pride related ones. His heart skipped a beat.

              “Coffee. Well we have dark roast or medium roast—”

              “I don’t know what any of that means.”

              “Well—” he looked around with a quick swipe of his eyes, seeing no one else in line, he continued to speak, “Medium roast has more caffeine than dark, its roasted less than dark roast thus giving it a lighter color, and yet both can have amazing flavor albeit dark has more of a bolder more outward flavor than medium, which tends to be a tad more acidic than dark—though it depends.”

              All the while he was rambling on about the intricacies of coffee types, the imp was staring at his barista, noticing the way his beak audibly clapped as they opened and closed, or how his arms unconsciously swayed around like he was guiding a moving plane, or to how his feathers swayed ever-so-gently in every movement of his feminine face. Yet despite his feminine tone, to his flamboyant movements, and the gentle angle of his hips pushed to the side as he talked—this was in fact still a man, not an imp, but what seemed to be a Goetian. Yet why was he working in a café owned, staffed, and for imps? His eyes dilated as he heard a faint hum in the background become louder, his ears now adjusting.

              “Sir? Did you decide? Most people usually get dark roast here.”

              “Dark roast then.” He said with a gentle gulp, breathing out through his nostrils, his tail curled down below and grabbed one of his own ankles, so as to keep himself from fainting let alone any rash reactions. The owl tapped at the buttons before asking,

              “And a name?”

              “A what?”

              “A name, Sir. To call out.”

              “It isn’t even fuckin busy. Why do you need a name?” He exclaimed, his tail tightening against his leg.

              “I—Uh.” He stumbled, the feathers on his throat ruffled in a slow wave upward toward his chin, he chirps and replies in a short stutter. “To—c-ca-call out, Sir.”

              “Blitzo.”

              “B..litzooo…” he mimics in a slow manner, sounding it out so as to type it correctly into the register.

              “Four dollars, Blitzo.”

              “You don’t have to say the o.”

              “What? But you said—”

              “The ‘O’ is silent.” Blitz explained with a sudden look of distain on his face. He crossed his arms and his tail now flicked down like a frustrated cat with their owner. Stolas nods, pressing a button to open the register. Stolas looks up from the register as he feels his stutter begin once more. He closes the upper set of eyes, while the lower look at Blitz, his feathers ruffled down as he began to speak.

“O. No O. Yes, Sir. I mean Blitzo. Blitz.” He said gripping a quiet fist beneath the counter to push his fumbling frustration into hiding.  Blitz gave him the money and he closed the register shut, before pouring the imp a small cup of coffee.

“Here you go, Sir.” He said handing him a small paper cup now freshly warm with joe. Blitz took it and sniffed it, before taking a sip, sipping longer soon after. Stolas watched as the imp wiped his lips, giving a gentle smile, before he turned away and started heading to the door.

“Thanks, Bitch.” He exclaimed as the door shut behind him. Stolas sighed and stood back up behind the counter, now shutting both pairs of eyes, and thought back to what had happened in his book.

Bitch. Is that what he was now? Just an imp’s bitch?

💖💖💖

The next few days he continued to see Blitz-without-an-o. In every new day with him, the imp continued to be snarky or rude, but soon enough the owl noticed he would be awe-struck and silent. He didn’t seem scared, he just seemed frozen, as if unable to find the words. He too was confused, though his snarkiness became less of an attack on himself as a person or as a worker but more just as a way that Blitz seemed to act. Honestly, Stolas started to find that snarky attitude rather endearing.

With each new day, the bird would try and have a bit more of a conversation, but the imp would either cut him short by just leaving without saying anything or just not answer. Yet he kept eyeing him, why exactly he hadn’t found out yet. He could feel his staring, it wasn’t something he caught him doing.

Four weeks later, near the end of his shift, he saw Blitz come in with a small red mug with white dots on it. It was hand-painted. He placed it on the counter and smirks.

“Coffee. The usual. Whatever you have ready.” Stolas eyes the cup and smiles, picking it up to further examine it.

“This is rather cute, Blitz.” He turns around to start filling it with coffee. Blitz felt a sudden sharpness in his chest. Warmth rose from his cheeks to his chest down to his jean covered crotch. Fuck. Cute? Why is it cute?  When Stolas turned back around, Blitz took the mug and turned away, so as to hide his now bulging confusion.

“This isn’t fucking cute, bird. Fuckin queer owl thing.” He said as he started to walk out the doors. Queer. That word struck him like a sharpened sword. His usual attitude now left a sour taste, stinging beneath his eyes as he slammed the register closed and hid behind the bar as tears ran down his face in silent breath.

����💖💖

The moment after the door shut felt like a millennium. His heart’s pumping filled the empty air with a thumping white noise. It rang his ears ever since he saw that stupid owl. He stood there every day for the past few weeks ordering the same drink, again and again, before he went off to work. Yet he didn’t know if it was the brew or the atmosphere, but the calmness that seeing Him gave him was something else. He just felt like something was right between them.

So why did I have to fuck it up?

Blitz shut the front door of the café, his blood boiled up, and he downed the rest of his drink so as to cool his raging heart. That owl had it coming, making compliments, it isn’t cute. He isn’t cute. Nothing he makes is cute. Its badass, sure. Its fucking amazing, yeah. This. Was. Not. Cute.

Cute. When he said that, he felt such a swirl of anger around him, so why did that get him hard? Surely just the blood rushing around in his fury, yeah, that was it. That was it. Blitz felt a disturbing urge to look back at the mess he caused, like some proud painter. He knew it was horrible when he heard the sudden rush of footsteps mixed between choked-up sobs and dismaying hoots. Yet, he looked.

There he was, despite being bent over, hand on the wall trying to catch his breath, the bird stood still over the bar. Why did I say that?  He looked at the man, who merely served him drinks with barely idle chatter, and could only think of the pins on his apron and the tears running down his matted face.

💖💖💖

Laying in this bed felt like a comfort that one ached stayed eternal, like the laying in the yolk of an egg or the cool breeze of first Autumn’s Day. Finally, after some time he got out of his velvet shell, soon soaking the membrane away, and dried his feathers after some preening. Outside, the leaves had changed a gentle orange, with some already fallen to the dirt below.

He stood there in the kitchen, holding a glass of water, as he made note of his surroundings. It was not like his palace like before. He had everything he needed in a small area. Once one was to enter the apartment, on the left was his kitchen quaint and with anything he needed to prepare his meals. On the right was a closet and in front of it a small row of various shoes or slippers. Forward, past the kitchen was a small living room with a bookshelf surrounding the purple couch that was there. The TV was a small box and around the entire apartment were various plants; succulents, vines, hanging plants, as well as the assorted candle in each room or on every nook when appropriate. An empty doorway led to a bedroom, with a king-sized bed, with rich red velvet blankets, candles, flowers, books, and closet as well. The only windows were the small rectangle on the most east wall of the bedroom as well as the sliding door for the balcony. On the balcony, Stolas grew a small garden of herbs, spices, vegetables, and some fruits. Albeit small, he made due with his allotted space with precise planning and placement.

On the countertop, beside his various coffee makers in his coffee and tea nook, was a small stack of cookbooks and beside those a notebook. He turned through it and read the page: tiramisu. He thought a moment, his magic would be such a helpful thing to him during moments like this, and yet his own wit and slender fingers would have to make do. Why he felt compelled to live to his namesake he knew not. Yet, despite this lingering worry that stayed behind the starry recesses of his mind, he knew he couldn’t dally around just thinking of the possibilities of ‘what could be’s’ or ‘what should have beens’. As he read through the ingredients, he decided it be best to go out and make do of his day-off. The fall day awaited him, where he could think freely away from the worries that besought him.

He sauntered down the sidewalk. Stolas carried with him a brown knitted backpack and wore a lavender sweater, with a blue scarf, matching purple beret, and dark purple pleats. He adjusted his black circle glasses that laid atop both sets of eyes. He carried with him a torn piece of note-paper, on it was his ingredient list. As he stopped by the market, he mentally checked off what he got and what he needed to get.

Seeing these people, these sinners, some hellborn possibly, all for the most part acting so cordial to one another just brought an umph to his chest and made him hoot and chirp. He hummed to himself as he greeted passerby’s. Those he recognized having lived here for over four months now he gave the comfort of hugs, handshakes, or more extended pleasantries. Stolas opened the door to a rather divine coffee roaster that was only a few streets further than his place of work. To him, some places were little pieces of Heaven, small divots in this home everyone else called Hell.

---

This is unfinished. This is merely what I have thus far and feel ready to publish.

Stay Tuned for more to come. 💖💖

[celestiall0tus]

Into the Fire - Chapter 6 - Across the Universes

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            Cicada stood in the center of the platform in Betterfly’s base. She glanced around at her friends and allies as they grouped around her. She took a breath before she addressed them.

            “Alright, before we charge in, here’s the plan. Louve, you will lead a small team to search for Hera and join the main team to take on the Supreme.”

            “You got it, girl!” Louve cheered.

            “Thank you. Tigre Rose and Senketsu, you join Louve in searching for Hera.”

            Tigre Rose and Senketsu nodded and joined Louve Grise.

            “Now for the last part. The reinforcements.”

            Bunella raised her hand. “Do you think we could, I dunno, get a different version of each of us? I’d like to see another version of me, if that’s ok.”

            The others murmured and buzzed in agreement.

            Cicada considered. “I suppose one for each of us then? Uh, who wants to be first?”

            Bunella moved, but Chevalier beat her over to Cicada. Cicada nodded and used Arsenal to acquire the power of portal creation. She opened a portal that allowed an Alix dressed in torn shark-themed clothes and roller blades to step out. This Alix flashed them a big, sharp-toothed grin.

            “What’s up, hoes? Megalodon at your service,” Megalodon introduced.

            Chevalier’s eyes lit up. “So cool!”

            “Of course, I am. I’m bad to the fucking bone, bitch. Say, nice blades you got there. Care to race?”

            “Yes! Let’s go!”

            “Chevalier, we don’t-!” Cicada started.

            Chevalier and Megalodon took off and headed out of the base. Cicada sighed and motioned for another person. Bunella hopped towards Cicada as she opened another portal. A moment passed before a pale-skinned Rose stepped through dressed in a fur shawl, corset, leggings, and open-toed, high-heeled boots. Her eyes darted around as she cowered before them.

            Bunella reached out a hand. “It’s ok. We won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”

            The Rose stared at Bunella, then hissed, scaring Bunella. She cackled before she lunged for Bunella.

            “Know me as Dread, little bunny. Run in fear. It makes this so much more fun.”

            Bunella yelped and retreated to White Mouse’s side where Dread joined her. Cicada watched Dread torment Bunella as Ladybug joined her.

            “But there’s already us,” Cicada said.

            “I know, but I would like to see others of us. Wouldn’t you?”

            Cicada slowly nodded and opened another portal. It flickered and grew to twice its size as a giant Marinette with golden skin, an extra set of arms, bee wings, and a massive bee-themed gown stepped out. Ladybug and Cicada gasped and jumped back.

            “Who are you?” Cicada asked.

            “Call me Bumblebee. It’s what my little hero name is. I suppose it works for this form, for now. Pleasure to see more mes.”

            Bumblebee moved and sat behind Cicada as she scooped up Cicada and Ladybug.

            “Uh, what are you doing?” Ladybug asked.

            “That’s not your concern little bees.”

            “Right, uh, who’s next?” Cicada asked.

            White Mouse stepped out along with Senketsu. Cicada opened a pair of portals. An older Juleka stepped out of the first with teal dyed tips instead of purple, teal eyes, and wore a dress decorated with rotted, decaying bones. A Kagami stepped out of the other portal with rosy pink skin with patches of dragon scales, long flowing ombre pink, red, and cream hair, draconic eyes, and wore a sloppily tied red robe with black bindings around her chest, gloves, short shorts, and boots.

            White Mouse squealed. “Oh. My. God! Look at me! Look at you.”

            The Snake Juleka smiled. “Look at you, little mouse. You are adorable.”

            “What’s your name?”

            “What? Don’t tell me you don’t know our name.”

            “No. Like, hero name.”

            “Hero name? Why would I need that?”

            “Don’t you care about your identity?”

            Snake Juleka raised a brow, then laughed. “Your universes are strange. That or mine is. Whichever, right? Well, if you need a name, call me Naga. Why? You’ll see soon.”

            White Mouse and Naga joined the others. Naga locked eyes with Viperion and hissed at him. He smiled and waved, but Naga kicked him away. Cicada flinched and looked at the Kagamis. Senketsu and Dragon Kagami circled each other, then nodded.

            “Senketsu.”

            “Delyphne.”

            The pair grunted and moved to stand with Louve Grise. Tigre Rose trotted out while Viperion joined after recovering from Naga’s attack. Tigre Rose glared at Viperion while Cicada opened new portals. A Ladybug Adrien stopped out of the first in a biker-themed hero suit.

            “Mister Bug?” Cicada and Tigre Rose asked.

            “Close. I’m Lord Bug! Has a nice ring, no? And it matches with my Lady Noire,” Lord Bug gushed.

            Cicada and Tigre Rose’s jaws dropped. Bumblebee squealed, dropped Ladybug and Cicada, and scooped up Lord Bug.

            “You are adorable! And devotion rolls off you in waves!”

            Lord Bug’s eyes widened. “Can I get a picture of you? I want to show my Lady. She’ll absolutely love your dress cause I know I do.”

            “Oh, what a charmer. Just like my Adrien. Honestly, Luka could learn a thing or two from the two of you.”

            “Excuse me?” Viperion, Cicada, and Tigre Rose asked.

            Lord Bug chuckled. “Right? Our Luka is learning. He’s been so stuck in his little shell, until me. Now that he’s also with my Lady, he’s really opening up more. Though Kagami isn’t helping matters much. She’s very, uh, what’s a good word?”

            “Aggressive? Assertive? Stuck in her ways and refusing to give them up, but also fighting against them?” Bumblebee asked.

            “Yeah, those! Though she’s not like that with our Lady or me, just Luka. I don’t understand it, but she’s, uh, trying,” Lord Bug remarked.

            “Excuse me?” Senketsu, Viperion, Cicada, and Tigre Rose asked.

            Louve Grise approached Bumblebee. “Hey, hi. Could I maybe get some details from both of you about this polycule you each have with your versions of Marinette, Adrien, and Kagami?”

            Bumblebee opened her mouth, then shut it when an older Luka stepped out from the remaining portal. He towered over them but didn’t rival Bumblebee in height. Bumblebee, Lord Bug, and Cicada all gawked and stared at this Luka’s long black hair with dyed lime green tips, large, toned muscles, and glittering, golden eyes. He wore a brown corset decorated with twin black snakes, a black cape lined with a fur trim that hung off his shoulders, black gloves, pants, twin brown belts with a golden cat buckle, and knee-high adventurer boots.

            “Hail, adventurers! I’m Luka Couffaine, Scion of the Snake and Black Cat. Allow me to extend my gratitude for inviting me to this party.”

            Viperion gawked at Scion Luka, Bumblebee and Cicada blushed as they stared, and Lord Bug took his phone out of his yo-yo and took a picture of Scion Luka. Bumblebee snapped out of it and looked at Lord Bug’s phone.

            “Send those to me. I want to show my Luka too.”

            “Can I? I mean, we are from different universes?” Lord Bug remarked.

            “Crap, you’re right. Dammit! I want those pictures.”

            “Well, maybe Tikki has a solution.”

            Bumblebee panicked. “No! No, no, no. There’s no need to include Creation in this. It’ll be fine.”

            “But-,” Lord Bug started.

            “I’m sure I can come up with a solution, but it’ll have to be later,” Cicada said.

            “Good. I want to stay in contact with a few of you, especially this precious little bug,” Bumblebee said as she nuzzled Lord Bug.

            “Right. So, uh, me, do you have a unique name to call you by? It’d be a little strange to call you Luka,” Viperion remarked.

            “Let’s see, my Juleka, bless her little frustrating heart, often refers to me as either pestilence or plague. I know she’s insulting me, but it means I’m doing my job right.”

            “So, how about Plague?”

            Plague grinned and clapped Viperion on the back, sending him into the floor. “Wonderful idea, little me!”

            Viperion groaned and gave a thumbs up. Plague snorted, threw Viperion over his shoulder and stood near White Mouse and Naga. White Mouse smiled sweetly while Naga hissed and flipped off Plague. Plague bristled and growled at Naga. Everyone eyed then and backed away. White Mouse grabbed Viperion and moved away.

            “Oh great. Another Juleka with an attitude problem.”

            “Oh, wonderful, another Luka with his head so far up his own ass he can’t see past himself and his growing collection of whores to sate his endless desire just like our worthless, whoreson, wash up hazbin of a father. Why don’t you crawl back through that portal of yours back to your little harems and leave this to the real heroes?”

            Plague snarled. “How dare you? I am no mere tasteless whore seeking their next night of empty pleasure. I am a warrior, a protector, and a guardian. You will show the proper respect to someone that keeps you safe from yourself and your fruitless pursuits.”

            “You are nothing, along with every other version of Luka out there. You are worth nothing more than the dirt under my boot you loud, pompous, egotistical, arrogant, blowhard of a meathead version of my whore brother!”

            Plague raged and lunged at Naga. Naga transformed into a Naga and dodged Plague’s attack. Cicada panicked and opened a pair of portals. Out stepped a pale-skinned Mylene with empty, soulless eyes, dark hair with strands of burgundy held back by a laurel crown, and wore a Grecian burgundy and black ombre dress. An older Alya stepped through the other as Rena Rouge, but dressed in baggy pants legs and sleeves, with a form-fitting romper, stockings, and gloves with the skin exposed on her thighs, sides of her torso, and under her arms.

            “Please, help if you can!” Cicada begged.

            “Oh, did you need help with them? Why didn’t you say so?” Bumblebee asked.

            “What’s going-?” Rena started.

            Bumblebee turned to Naga and Plague. “Cease your fighting now.”

            The command resonated in Naga and Plague as they stopped fighting. Bumblebee smiled and scooped up Plague, holding him with Lord Bug. She and Lord Bug shared a look and smile, then looked at Plague. Rena smirked as she looked at Bumblebee.

            “You’re a Marinette, aren’t you?” Rena asked.

            “How’d you know?”

            “I’ve seen that face before whenever I ask mine about her Luka. Her and Longg often have that look when talking about the rock star, or about Marinette and the rock star.”

            “Oh, c’mon! Is there any universe where Marinette isn’t with Luka?” Tigre Rose yelled.

            “Yes,” Delpyhne said.

            “Really? Is she with me?”

            “No. Me. You ended up with a fuckboy.”

            Naga laughed. “A fuckboy, eh? Is it another Luka?

            “Listen here you, we aren’t-!” Plague started.

            “Yes,” Delphyne said.

            “Ha! Looks like he is in every universe, meathead! What about you two newbies?” Naga asked Rena and Bat Mylene.

            “Nah, not in mine. He’s a flirt, sure, but his eyes and heart are with his bewitching knight in golden armor,” Rena said.

            “The one I know isn’t a whore, but he is a bitch,” Bat Mylene whispered.

            “Hey! He is not! And what are you doing here anyway, Dread Queen?” Lord Bug demanded.

            “I came to help. You all have been running circles trying to find me. I’ve no fear you’ll find your stolen miraculouses. Besides, I’ll happily help in the liberation of the oppressed.”

            “Then give back the miraculous you stole so we can stop my father!”

            “Don’t worry, I’ll be coming for his miraculous soon enough. Once I find him, I’ll finish what you guys started.”

            Dread Queen flipped off Lord Bug and stood with Drakon. Drakon gave a nervous smile and wave, but Dread Queen ignored her.

            “Let’s finish this up and get going before more fights break out,” Faerie said.

            “Yes, please. Let’s just get one for Faerie and me, and-,” Betterfly started.

            “We aren’t pulling any others of you with us, Betterfly. Cicada, pull forth an Emilie and me, then let’s get going.”

            Cicada nodded and opened two more portals. An Emilie stepped out of the first with golden skin, sharp black nails, multicolored fairy wings, and a pair of sashes that loosely covered her breasts and vulva.

            Everyone blushed and looked away. Tigre Rose, Lord Bug, and Paw Noir shielded their eyes and turned away. Delphyne stepped forward and bowed her head.

            “Echidna, welcome to the fight.”

            “Thank you, Delphyne. Before I help, I want-.”

            Delphyne turned and pointed to Tigre Rose, Paw Noir, and Lord Bug. “Them.”

            Echidna nodded and flew over to Paw Noir. He cautiously turned and immediately met her eyes. Her eyes misted over as she broke down in happy sobs.

            “Look at you. So healthy, so happy. Oh, my baby boy.”

            Paw Noir’s eyes lit up as Echidna kissed his cheeks and forehead, then hugged him, before she flew up to Lord Bug. She reached out to him as a Nathalie stepped out of the portal covered in Akumas with lilac skin, dark purple fairy wings, and wore deep purple stockings, gloves, boots, and leotard accented with magenta lines with a sheer ballgown skirt.

            Everyone panicked at the sight of the Akumas save for Naga, Echidna, Delphyne, and Plague. Lord Bug and Ladybug stood ready to fight. Bumblebee held out a hand as the dark Butterfly Nathalie raised her cane.

            “Obey and fall on your knees,” Bumblebee commanded.

            Dark Butterfly Nathalie grunted as she tried to resist but fell to her knees.

            “Speak your name.”

            “Papillon.”

            “Speak your purpose.”

            “To have a little fun and relax before I welcome my Ladybug… and punish her for making me wait so long.”

            Faerie gawked at Papillon in horror. Betterfly reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. She mouthed “I’m sorry,” to him.

            Bumblebee huffed. A golden thread extended from her and ensnared Papillon. “You are devoted to me now. You will carry out my will and order without question or fail. You will aid us in liberating this realm. You will not harm any of my allies. You will only be allowed to harm those I deem my enemy. Speak that you understand my orders.”

            “I… do.”

            Bumblebee relaxed and nodded to Cicada.

            “Thank you. Alright, the plan is simple. Tigre Rose, Lord Bug, Senketsu, Delphyne, Louve Grise, and Rena will find Hera. Everyone else, we’ll be going after the Supreme. Let’s show him what it means to mess with power he could never understand or hope to control.”

            Everyone muttered in agreement. Bunella used her powers to call back Chevalier and Megalodon, who returned within moments of the message. Cicada took a breath and opened a final portal.

            “Let’s fuck them up!”

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[markerofthemidnight]

Chonny Jash Design Details And Other Headcanons (Until I’m Comfortable Enough Sharing My Designs)

So funny story: I’m only now thinking about the fact that I’ve never shown you guys my HMS designs. I’ve turned them into bugs- twice- and incomprehensible abominations, but I’ve not shown you my normal designs for how they look.

So until I feel confident enough to show you all the designs, here’s some visualisation!

Also, today marks the first anniversary for me coming up with these designs (although I’ve polished them since)! So… yeah!

Heart

Basic Design

My Heart design is honestly pretty simple

Mainly because the first “lore-heavy” CCCC video I watched (and continued to watch for like a day) was The Mind Electric, and Heart was the one we saw the most of

He’s got all the things people think of when they think “Heart design”: the blindfold, the white sweater, the wings with purple tips, etc

However, the sweater is covered in noticeable purple patches that tend to get brighter in certain places

This is because, when he’s injured in battle and it gets torn, the sweater starts repairing itself, but the scarred places always come back in a light shade of purple

The brighter the colour, the more times it’s been scarred

Speaking of which, there are long, thin purple marks running down his cheeks, starting where his eyes would be

Are they scars? Are they tear marks? Who knows?

Oh, and underneath his blindfold, his face is heavily covered in purple scars

And as for the eyes themselves… they’re just not there. Just giant black holes in his face

He also has tail feathers. and his neck works off of owl logic

His wings change depending on his emotions: they shimmer and start glowing when he’s happy, lose their colours when he’s sad, and when he’s angry they light on FIRE (PURPLE fire) and become big enough for him to actually fly

Extra Details + Headcanons

Stims by flapping his wings!!!

Is actually a whole lot more capable than the others seem to act like he is… but honestly, I didn’t need to tell you that

For example, him being blind means he needs to focus more on hearing to get around: memorising audial cues in his friends’ voices and such

With this in mind, it’s possible he’s actually the most perceptive of the three

Also: despite how much he cares about being treated fairly by the other two, he loves self-depreciating humour

In fact, the only reason why Mind and Soul are so comfortable making blind jokes around him is because he’s the one who does it the most

Also likes warmth. His room has little sources of light- and therefore also heat- so he needs all the warmth he can get

Mind

Basic Design

Mind is an android. I feel like I have to get this out of the way first

He wears a skinsuit which conceals this mostly, but it’s removed around his hands and upper head, revealing the mechanical features beneath

He wears a wig since his actual fake hair was torn off by Heart in a particularly nasty fight, as well as most of his forehead area

(the wig was actually a very recent addition on my half: without it I felt like he stood out too much, him having a wig fit the lore I have for him, and also if I showed you guys a design of him without hair you’d probably just call him a boiled egg)

He wears a suit, and generally his dress sense has a pretty “sophisticated yet casual” vibe

He has four-fingered claws and an electric watch permanently fused to his right wrist

Well, he calls it a watch, but really it’s more like a phone

It has a whole variety of functions, though it’s mostly used for note-taking, and also contains his charge plug

Extra Details + Headcanons

HOO BOY DO I HAVE A LOT OF THOSE FOR THIS MAN.

First of all, I feel like I need to go more into the charging thing: Heart and Soul can sleep, although they don’t necessarily need to, but he charges instead

He can go for a whole week without needing to recharge, and low battery only starts to affect him at 5%

He acts tired for a little while whilst basically forcing himself to go as long as possible without charging, only deciding to go back and recharge at 1%

Whilst doing so, he basically acts surprisingly nice and polite and almost kinda drunk for a few minutes before passing out, only waking up when he hits EXACTLY 100%

He’s well aware of how “submissive” he is when he’s charging, so that’s why he avoids it like the plague

Anyways, he is- as we all know- an absolute jackass, but he’s immediately impressed by you if you can tell him things even he doesn’t know

The man hoards trivia like a dragon. The more practical uses the information has, the more valuable it is to him

This means he’s a very good hacker, because what information would a robot find more valuable than coding?

He also likes gaming in what little spare time he allows himself to have, but he does NOT let Heart and Soul find out

He inwardly panics at the presence of all genuine emotion, especially big overpowering ones

And now for my favourite headcanon about Mind: he doesn’t let it show, but he is incredibly self-conscious about being a robot

He’s pretty much incapable of interacting with strangers, since he only exists in Soul’s head, but if he was, he would go to all lengths necessary to conceal his face and hands

The reasoning behind this? Well, when he and Heart were first born, they had no identities besides Soul’s and had to figure out who they were for themselves

In other words: it took Mind weeks of existing in the Headspace to even figure out that he was a robot.

He had his suspicions that something was wrong the second he mysteriously passed out whilst charging his “watch” and woke up just as it hit 100%, but he didn’t really figure it out until a particularly bad fight with Heart revealed one of his eyes was actually mechanical

As for the not needing to eat or sleep, or the four fingers, or the fact that he couldn’t take off his watch no matter how hard he tried? He just blamed that on the Headspace being weird. It’s surprising how many leaps in logic the brain is willing to take in order to ignore the truth.

It’s been long enough since then that he’s been able to mostly fight off the existential dread, but he’s still uncomfortable with it

After all, he used to be human. He knows that- he has memories of being human, even if those memories are rightfully Soul/Whole’s.

He knows he’s not a robot, yet his body tells a different story. Wouldn’t you feel the same about that?

Soul

Basic Design

For the most part, his design’s pretty simple

Hypnotic, pure red eyes with white pupils (as seen on the right side of my Abstracted Soul design)

He wears a light brown cloak complete with a hood that, when pulled over his face, obscures his whole face except for his eyes

He also has fangs, pointy ears and a snake tongue >:3

His fingers become red and start glowing near the tips: he also has claws

he has chicken slippers. this is the most important piece of information.

If he was REALLY being serious on that particular day though he’d probably change to something more threatening…

imagine like armour or something? Idk I need to polish that part of the design out more

OH AND ALSO. The trident has a sheath: his head. It literally phases into his hair when he’s not using it and you can see its tips poking out like a little crown.

Extra Details + Headcanons

He’s the only one who (usually) takes control of the real body, only coming to the Headspace while asleep: hence why Heart and Mind are able to fight so often

Actually doesn’t like Monster as much as people think.

He only drinks it so much because he needs a good source of caffeine and he doesn’t like coffee

After all, this man has absolutely NO internal clock, especially inside the headspace

There are certain moments where he’ll just… pass out, for no reason… so most of the time Heart and Mind can tell when he’s asleep because like:

*CRASH. CLATTER. BANG.*

”Oh, Soul’s asleep again.”

However: he does like chickens. He has no Darrel in my version but he’s still a big fan of birds, flightless ones specifically

He thinks flightless birds are the coolest things ever: because honestly, who doesn’t?

Favourite song from CCCC, assuming he’s aware of it in this universe or whatever, is Mucka Blucka because it combines his two favourite things: music and chickens

(though he likes the OG Mucka Blucka better, because that’s just the same song except he doesn’t also have to deal with Heart and Mind)

His power stems from all the raw magic inside the Headspace. With the Trident, he can harness this magic (although he can’t do EVERYTHING)

He likes to refer to himself as a warlock, because that really suits his style

He’s pretty bad at hiding how love-hate his relationship with those two is. It’s like 15% love and 85% hate, though.

As I discussed in an earlier post, his problem- at core- is the fact that he’s so obsessed with trying to bring back the past that he doesn’t realise the problems he’s causing

HE is actually the reason why the three can’t stay Whole: and he’s so focused on his goals that this possibility hasn’t even crossed his mind

(or the other’s minds, for that matter. Which says a lot about Heart’s confidence, and Mind’s resentment towards his emotional half).

At the end of the day, I fully believe that the story will only be resolved once he finally figures out that, after all the heartbreak they’ve been through trying to become Whole… maybe it’d be easier for all of them to just stay split.

And that’s all!

[dorkwalf]

Subnautica sonic au part 7

Amy's POV

Warnings; injury

I smile as I swim threw the waters. The PDA speaks up, ''"Attention: Detecting increased local radiation levels. Trend is consistent ongoing degradation of the Aurora's dark matter drive core due to damage sustained during collision. Continuing to monitor."

I glance around its probably best to go north away from the aroura then. I need to avoid the radiation zones. I spotted some kelp near by the stalkers that knuckles were ranting about was guarding the entrance. I swam past it keeping an eye on the stalkers just in case they came at me.

I sigh in relief grabbing some peepers and Blatter fish as I swam up for air. My quills getting in my face as I brake surface. I look around mumbling before diving under the water again. I swim back to the bottom pausing at the entrance of a giant coral tube. I swam in wishing I had taken the flashlight instead of the scanner. As I go deeper, I adjust my White breathing mask. My heart beats fast as I spot a cave in the side of the Tube. I Swim out and up grabbing air before going back in it and into the cave system. I swim for a moment the glow of the acid mushrooms soothing me. That is until I heard something move. I pause in the cave looking around in the darkness. My heart beating in my ears.

I look around frantically. Then. I felt it brush against my back with its spines. I start to panic and swim toward the entrance. I hear a gurgled scream come closer and closer until.... BOOM!! I scream as I'm caught in the crossfire of the blast, and I'm slammed against the wall. I sit down disoriented. Until I Heard the same horrid sound again but closer. My eyes widen and I panic scrabbling up to the exit again Only for another explosion to push me against the wall again. I scream as I feel a burn form on my leg. I tear up and quickly try and climb no longer attempting to swim. I Was running out of air and fast.

I wanted to sob as I heard the thing open again wherever these things were coming from wasn't stopping. I crawl desperately sobbing in relief when I see sun light. Only to crack when I hear that horrid scream. I swim fast not looking back. Not caring.

As soon as I was out of the tube, I hear the explosion. I lived. I was out. I sob as I break the surface. Hot tear stream down my face as I sit on a small tube close enough to keep my head above the surface as I rest. The sky grows darker and darker, and I don't want to move.

It felt like hours before I hear a familiar voice, "Amy?" Deep but smooth.

I glance up and was greeted by purple hues. "Knuckles? OOh chaos it's you." My voice breaks and I reach towards my Big brother and cling to him tightly. I cry into his neck exhausted.

"What happened Ams?" I feel him check me over stopping at the burners on my leg. I only remember getting one, when did I get the rest? I look up and knuckles eyes were dark. He looked ready to kill someone. He hugged me tightly and I clung to him.

"i-...I don't know....It was in the caves" my voice wavers. "I Couldn't see it. But there were a bunch. And-and-and" I sob when the word wouldn't come out how I wanted them too.

"....We'll talk about this later lets gets back to the pod." I nod and feel him gentle move me to his back as he starts to swim. I cling tightly to his neck and close my eyes trusting him.

It took a while, but we finally got back to the pod. I look around as knuckles lets go of me when I see we were in a safe zone again. I swollow nervously when I didn't see lulu or sonic. The rope floating in the waves untied.

"Wait....where's Lulu and Sonic?"

"Lulus still probably checking out the caves and Sonics got inside to help sort the supplies with tails." I felt dreed at knuckles words.

"We need to get Lulu out the cave now. Those. Those things are still in there. What if Shes gotten hurt!" I watch as knuckles looks at me as if deciding on what to do.

"Go in the pod and get tails to patch you up. I'll go get Lulu." I nod nervously watching as Knuckles swims off I hesitantly swim back into the pod climbing threw the hatch. I felt relief as I'm greeted with sonic and tails smile. I smile weakly back and pull my body through. I watch sonics smile fall and he rushes over puling me into his lap.

"Amy! what happened to you!" Sonic hugs me tightly as tails look me over mumbling.

I lower my ears and look down "I don't know. I was in a cave. It sounded like something opened and then a horrid scream blasted out before an explosion happened." Sonic purrs soft as tails bandages me listen intently to what I have to say. "I-I couldn't get out. I barely got to the entrance of the cave before my oxygen went out. I was glad knuckles found me."

"Knuckles? where is he then?" Tails looks up nervously his blue eye full of fear.

I look away frowning, "He went to check on Lulu."

Sonics head snapped up, "Does he know Lulu moved?"

I look at him nervously, "What do you mean? She said she was going to stick around the Pod and explore nearby caves."

Sonic's pupils dilate slightly worry clear on his face, "Well after tail and knuckles returned, we all came back here to the pod. When you didn't return knuckles went after you and Lulu said she saw a cool cave she wanted to explore a little after he left."

I felt my heart stop. "Oh chaos"

"Then we just have to hope they find each other." Tails speaks up and I wipe my head around to him.

"What!! they could be hurt!!"

"SO? If we all go then none of us could make it back!"

I pause the reality truly setting in. I start to curl into a ball praying our friends make it back safely.

[lore-gore]

For @notsosmallbean I have a cringe Ride The Cyclone x Nerdy Prudes Must Die Fic, set in the timeline where Karnak failed, featuring Jane being The Lords in Black blorbo, transgirl Ricky, a bit of perfectdolls, and Constance getting the revenge she deserves. Enjoy and happy holidays!

The choir gathered around the book.

Constance began. "We invoke the names... "

The choir followed. "Pokotho. Bliklotep."

They paused as whispers answered back.

"Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim."

They continued. "T'noy Karaxis."

The book began to glow and change colors.

"Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim..."

"Nibblenephim."

"Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath, Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath."

"Wiggog Wiggog Y'wrath."

"Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath, Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath. Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath, Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath. Pokotho, Bliklotep, T'noy Karaxis, Nibblenephim. Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath, Wiggog, Wiggog Y'wrath."

Savannah spoke up. "Did it work?"

Suddenly a voice boomed out. "Hello friendy-wends."

Giggles surrounded them as several figures appeared. They began to sing.

"Out of the depths of Hell and back,

Us spawn of the black and white,

Cover our souls with robes of black,

And take up the arms of night,

Nibbly wants his sacrifice,

And Wiggly wants his wrath,

We dance around the pentagram,

And take all our kingdoms back"

"Babble the spell that gets it done,

Babble it on command,

Won't stop until all the blood is drawn,

The Lords in Black demand,"

"You summon us once,

You summon us twice,

You gamble it all on the roll of a dice"

"La-la-la-la la

La-la-la-la"

"The devil has won,

It can't be undone,

The book has all but closed on your life"

"The Lords in Black, ah!

The Lords in Black, ah!"

"Ah, Jane Doe, we finally meet." Said the green one. He had green hair and green eyes and wore a green cardigan with some black dots here and there and a big W on the left side and some white stripes on the left sleeve over a shiny green suit with a striped beige tie, chartreuse converses, and a gold plastic crown with fake jewels.

"She looks even cuter in person!" Said the purple one. He had long curled orange and yellow hair and wore a purple hoodie with a pink furry patch on the stomach over shiny purple leggings, shiny purple platform lace-up boots, purple tinted sunglasses with bedazzled lavender frames, and purple lipstick.

"I just want to eat her up!" Said the pink one. He had long curled hot pink hair in pigtails and wore a hot pink skirt with suspenders over a light pink shirt, light pink furry sleeve warmers, hot pink fingerless gloves, sparkly pink knee high socks with white stripes on the top, pink platform boots with pink hearts on the buckles, a light pink bedazzled visor that shadowed his eyes, and hot pink lipstick. He held a giant pink lollipop.

"Can we keep her?!? Can we?!?" Said the yellow one. He had wild yellow hair with orange goggles on top and wore an orange shirt, a yellow jacket with yellow fur around the collar, yellow cargo pants, and yellow boots with orange laces. He held a strange box.

"She's quite... Entertaining." Said the blue one. He had blue goo dripping down his face and wore a blue beret, an aqua shirt, a sparkly indigo jacket with blue fur on the collar and cuffs, blue pants, and blue shoes. He held a dirty and cracked white mask with big eyes and a mouth set in a permanent 'o'.

Ocean put her arm protectively in front of Jane.

"Are you- The Lords in Black?" Asked Constance.

They began to chant again.

"Out of the depths of hell and back,

We've traveled very far,

Cover our souls in robes of black,

The Lords in Black we are"

The green one, who seemed to be "Wiggly", spoke again. "Don't be so formal Connie. We're all pally-wals here. I mean look at us. We even hold court in your own tongue and form! Go Uranium!"

The rest of the Lords laughed at this.

"Our true forms would melt your minds." The blue one added.

"Don't frighten them, Pokey, you nasty boy!" Wiggly responded.

"We need the carnie brought to us. We heard- You could help us."

"The Lords in Black will help you yes,

You stupid silly girl,

Why help you with the Carnieman,

When we could help the world"

"Hmm we could. We could lure him here. But why?" Said Wiggly.

"We want... To kill him." Said Constance. She clenched her fist, rage bubbling.

"I want to see that!" Said the purple one.

"We'll give you whatever you want!" Said Constance.

"Whatever we want?" Said Wiggly.

"Whatever we want we want,

Whatever we want we get,

Whatever you want you want you want,

Forever in our debt"

"So. What do you want from us?"

"Nothing you aren't already giving us, Constance." Said Wiggly, smiling.

"What does that mean-" Said Constance, but by then they were already exiting.

"The Lords in Black,

The Lords in Black call us"

"Out of the depths of Hell and back,

Us spawn of the black and white,

Cover our souls with robes of black,

And take up the arms of night,

You summon us once,

You summon us twice,

You gamble it all on the roll of a dice!"

"La-la-la-la la,

La-la-la-la"

"The devil has won,

It can't be undone,

The book has all but closed on your life"

"The Lords in Black, ah!

The Lords in Black, ah!"

They laughed, disappearing, leaving them alone once again in the abandoned fair.

@rtc-secret-santa-event

[obsessivevoidkitten]

*cracks knuckles* I literally did crack my knuckles right before I started to type this. I can literally ramble about my garden and gardening in general, you have just opened up a giant post. The thing I am most excited about this year is strawberries, very excited they are a new addition this year and I pre-ordered some red and some white ones. They spread via runners so within a year or so I will have a nice huge patch of them. Strawberries are both the cheapest and easiest berry to grow, though not technically a berry. Another new addition is peanuts! I wanted something with a long storage capability as well as something high in protein, while also not being too difficult to grow, peanuts fit the bill. I am also going to try sweet potatoes in a larger quantity this year, last year I just had one to plant that had been donated by the food pantry and I just could not produce much with it and it was also crowded with normal potatoes. I am still growing potatoes this year, I saved some potatoes from my fall harvest and they are going to be good to plant towards the later half of March. I am excited to replant my purple viking variety but I also got my hands on the all mighty kennebec. Perfect ratio of starch to make a good soup potato or a good fryer, also high yields!! I also plant to grow carrots, cosmic purple and lunar white. Radishes are going to make a return but I am adding a yellow variety instead of just de 18 jours radish. Everyone who knows me knows I will be attempting corn again, we had such a good result last year and it gave us a lot of food, I would like to triple production to donate excess to the senior center. I am growing moonshine, glass gem, and of course the ever amazing and personally endorsed damaun ks super sweet corn. I had so much success with tomatoes that I am branching into new varieties. Yellow, purple, orange, everything but red really. Going to go with some micro dwarf varieties like orange hat and patio choice yellow, the regular sized plant cherries I will be growing include yellow pear and bosque blue bumblebee, regular size slicers will be sart roloise, and kentucky beefsteak. Last year I grew many many many extra tomatoes and donated them by the bucketful to the senior center, family, and neighbors. And I was only growing a couple varieties last year. Pumpkins will be planted again, moranga, Rouge Vif D' Etampes, and of course the flat white boer pumpkin. I grew a crap ton of the white boers last year and they were a wonderful food source and the extras I gifted to people for decorations. I would like to try burdock root if possible. I have plans to grow a bibb lettuce mix, little gem lettuce, and merlot. For cabbage I am just trying one variety, a faster growing one good for early in the year so I can start gardening sooner, red acre cabbage. I failed with beets last year but now armed with more experience I hope to tackle the mammoth red mangel beet, it can literally grow to sizes larger than a toddler. If I can grow these I will be able to feed many many people beyond just me and the elderly lady I care for. Seriously though, google them, they are H U G E. I also want to grow some much smaller albino beets. For squash, other than pumpkins, I am growing yellow crookneck, candy roaster, honeynut, lemon squash, and golden zucchini. Hopefully I can fend off SQUASH VINE BORER. I would have had a lot more success with squash last year had it not been for SQUASH VINE BORER. In my gardening, I have many powerful enemies. The squash bugs that resemble stink bugs, and have the same stink power, the swarming Japanese Beetle, cucumber beetles, tomato.... horn... worms... the ceaseless devourer, but only one is my arch-nemesis and that one is SQUASH. VINE. BORER. And, my absolute favorite veggie, the sturdy and vigorous veggie that never lets me down, the cucumber. Varieties this year include poona kheera, dragon's egg, and pick-a-bushel. With this wonderful variety I shall grow many pounds of cucumbers, especially the high yielding pick-a-bushel. I hope to donate many of these. Now, for flowers, we don't have too many, but we do have a few. They are essential in attracting and supporting local pollinator populations but also in feeding birds. I am growing a few different types of sunflowers, the birds and pollinators go nuts for them. Chocolate cherry, russian mammoth, short stuff, and double sunking. If you are a novice gardener I cannot recommend sunflowers enough they can take some serious neglect and bad weather, droughts, storms, heat. They are so great, the senior center took some cut blooms for decoration and I still had enough for the birds and enough to save many seeds. I am also growing marigolds again and nasturtiums, which are also edible. I also was gifted some celosia seeds to try. For green beans I am growing two bush varieties, cantare and jade II green beans, they have excellent rust resistance which was a big issue for me last year. For onions I am only really going to try one variety and that is borettana, it grows fast and somewhat small, good for a beginner. Sadly I cannot actually grow any root vegetables in my clay soil, so all the potatoes/tubers/peanuts/carrots/radishes/beets cannot actually be cultivated here. The clay soil is hard and compacted and I dont have compost and soil to soften it up. I wanted to grow them in tubs, and I have a friend helping me get some to grow in, but I still have to raise over 100 dollars to get enough soil and mulch to fill them all. I also still have to get the cabbage, onion, some of the corn, some of the sunflower, and some of the tomato seeds. I do have two tubs filled so I can at least plant several potatoes. I am going to grow as much as possible and exhaust myself in the garden because I have a lot of people that get food from me and I cannot let them down. Anyway I hope that answers your question, may have over answered, lol. I hope you have a nice day too.

[not-a-space-alien]

hello!! I've just started reading Watch Your Step, and i love it so far T o T !! Do you have character sheets/commissions/descriptions of what each character looks like? I'd love to draw them ^^ !!

Hey that's so sweet! I'm glad you're enjoying it!!

So, you are allowed to picture the characters differently if you think that's fun, but all the visuals that exist of all the characters should be linked in the story masterpost! But I'll recap the main details here to make it easier to reference!

Thistle

By @echollama and @bottlesandbuttons

Height: 5.56 inches

Thistle probably has the greatest "open to interpretation" factor in his look. The only details that are specified in the actual text of the story is that he's bug-like enough to freak out people who are creeped out by bugs, and that he has long black hair. (That and the details of his wing being torn, as well as thing like him emoting with his ears, which implies they're probably longer than a humans'.) I personally would love to see some different takes on what that could look like, but this has been his most consistent character design.

Marcy

by @freshpoof03

Height: 5' 3"

Marcy's only canon descriptors are that she's implied to be fat at certain points, and this contrast Thistle notes with Teddy in 1.10:

Out of all three of the giants, Teddy was the one he was the least familiar with, and the least comfortable.  She was the opposite of Marcy in a lot of ways.  Marcy was thick, Teddy was thin.  They had different skin and hair colors.  Marcy had long hair, Teddy had short.  Marcy liked looking at bugs, and Teddy hated it.  Marcy loved to touch him, handle him, examine him–loved it too much, an unsettling amount. 

She also looks "alt" enough that people assume she's a lesbian in 2.3.

Teddy and Colin

They don't have art yet, but these are their picrews!

Heights: 5' 6" (Teddy) and 6'2" (Colin)

Teddy is implied to black at a few different points in the story and is contrasted with Marcy as I said earlier. Colin is specified to be white and very plain-looking in 2.3

With the power of crowd-sourcing, they even managed to find slurs to hurl at Colin, a cisgender white man who even on his most rebellious days never managed to look more countercultural than the average saltine cracker.  If the fire hose of boiling malice hadn’t been so scary, it might almost be impressive.

Colin also spends a lot of time outside, so I imagine he has perpetual tan lines.

Jewel

By @echollama

Not much to say here honestly. Clownfish mermaid.

Length including tail when stretched out: 6 inches

Violet and Petunia

By @dearheartwitcher

Heights: 3.5 inches (Violet) and 2 inches (Petunia)

Violet (left) and Petunia (right) are specified to be "mousey," fuzzier than a human, and have tails. Also open to interpretation, but Petunia is specified to have colorful clothes made out of candy wrappers and black fur.

Severa

by @echollama

Her right arm is torn off in the shredder till just past the elbow in 2.10. The grey hair and ribbon, and being green, are all that's specified in the text.

Length including tail when stretched out: ~30 inches

Moon

by @echollama

Moon probably has the most detailed description out of anyone

But no.  He was clearly male–although possibly this was a case of using magic to change appearance without being able to change larger features of sex, such as body size, which Thistle had heard of but never seen firsthand.  But this new person’s wings were too different to be a pixie–they weren’t translucent like Thistle’s but solid and powdery like a moth’s wings, green and purple appendages stretching out behind him.  He had long, shiny black hair, braided elegantly, and his clothes were fine, no cobbled together rags like Violet and Petunia had had…finer even than Thistle’s own clothes.  And he was….fuzzy.  The ends of very soft-looking fur poked out from the top of his shirt and the ends of his sleeves. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground in a patch of rapidly waning moonlight, sheltered under the leaves of a sapling, eyes closed.  As Thistle’s footsteps grew loud enough to alert this stranger to the pixie’s presence, his eyes snapped open.  They were red–and reflective, indicating he had better night vision than a pixie.

The cane is for balance because he has foot drop in his left foot.

Height: 8 inches

Sierra

Only has a picrew, but not really any description details given.

Height: 5' 4"

Lalitha and Jaden

Also only have picrews, and no real descriptions given, but Lalitha Mishra is a Hindi name.

And lest we forget...

Mochi

Image taken from google

[owlespresso]

pollen, chapter 6 tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality, mind-fuckery, non-consensual kissing a/n: it's about 8.5k words. thank you all for your patience. read 1-5 HERE.

The thickets of the Eastern Shroud are labyrinthine. Tangles of bramble and clusters of thistle seem to dog your every move as you stumble through the brush. Whatever path you had been following is lost to you now. You’re not sure how long or how far you have wandered.

The thick canopy makes it nearly impossible to tell whether it is day or not. You have to squint to catch a few thin, silvery beams of moonlight, and they don’t even reach the forest floor. Instead, the ground is illuminated by large bulbous flowers and mushrooms which sport an unearthly glow. Some of them even seem to breathe, exhaling clouds of spores which you’re careful to keep your distance from.

The noises of the forest are suddenly cut through by a round of loud, whooping cheers. You rush towards the sound, past bundles of giant flowers, under and over stray branches and thick vines. Your heart thrums in your ears as you break through the treeline, stepping foot into a wide open clearing.

What first draws your attention is the long table, nearly large enough to touch both sides. It's draped in white, pearlescent cloth. Plentiful platters stacked sumptuously with scrumptious seeming snacks line the surface from end to end. Puffy pastries are unceremoniously snatched by Sylphs and Moogles. It’s a massive gathering of them, more than you have ever seen at once. Yet, most seem to pay you no mind, even as you gawp openly. They’re more interested in each other, their chatter already rising to a dull roar. They pour tea into mismatched cups and down olive-colored bottles of swill, lost to their own revelry.

You can’t entirely recall your reason for being here, but you are almost certain it has nothing to do with this mysterious trouvaille. 

Just as you turn to exit, however, a soft voice calls out from close by.

“Wait!” A Sylph of pinkish hue floats frantically towards you, looking awfully haggard. The disheartened slump of their posture makes them look like a puppet on limp strings. “Don’t go! This one cannot remember the last time we entertained a human guest!” They plead. “This one’s name is Lixio—delighted to make your acquaintance!

You frown. “My apologies, but I have business elsewhere.”

“And it can’t wait? Even for a few moments?” Lixio pleads. You hesitate. “Only a few seconds, even! Mixia and Xixia will not believe this one if this one tells them a human attended the party! Stay long enough for others to witness your presence, at least!”

Mixia and Xixia are this sylph’s friends, you hazard a guess. As desperately as you would like to get back on track and accomplish whatever you had come here to do, fostering amicable relations with the sylphs is crucial to keeping them peaceful. Gridania is already beset by the Ixal and the constant, looming threat of Garlemald’s invasion. You frown.

“I won’t be a very entertaining guest,” you inform them.

“It is the host’s humble duty to entertain,” Lixio chirps. “And you have already captured this one’s most vested interest!”

“You’re putting me on.” You accuse them flatly. They give a mock-gasp, pressing their hands to their cheeks in faux-astonishment.

“This one would never lie about something so important! You would have been shown the door without so much as a toodaloo if you were not so interesting!” they scold, turning around and beckoning you. “Come, come! This one spies an open seat just for you!”

For a reason beyond you, you stumble in tow, through the dark purple grasses and glowing patches of fungi. Lixio leads you to the tail end of the table, where another sylph is facing down two moogles, body shaking with rage as she shrieks.

“Such indolence! This one should banish you to the bogs! A hundred years of the mossy ones sneezing upon you!” they seethe.

“Our deepest apologies!” the moogle clad in a black, pointed hat shouts back above the noise. Several of his fellows at the table’s other end clink their bottles together. “We will replace it at the earliest convenience!”

“Meaningless! The party is happening now!” the sylph cried back in dismay. The moogles offered no response, another coming to tug the both of them into the dense crowd. Staring at where they had once been, you can’t help but take note of the way the black edges seem fuzzy and writhing in ways most mysterious. 

Towering pitcher plants of violet hue spit sparkling pollen clouds into the air above the side of the clearing where you’re seated. You’re not familiar with the species, but you know enough to not trust any of the region’s mysterious flora. You should move, but a steaming cup of tea is unceremoniously shoved in front of you. 

“Made from the best milkroot in all the Shroud!” Lixio crows with no small amount of pride. You swallow, observing the deep rosen liquid with no small amount of skepticism. Pink petals float on the liquid's surface.

“I appreciate it, but I’m not thirsty.” The corners of your lips twitch into what you hope is an appeasing smile. Is not being thirsty a good enough excuse to turn down a drink from your self-declared host? Should you have said you’re allergic? Lixio doesn’t seem to appreciate your refusal, little face scrunching up.

“It is most impolite to refuse your host’s hospitality,” Lixio fumes. Your lips press into a thin, straight line at the shrill pitch of their voice. With each moment, your tolerance rapidly dwindles. The cute charm of the sylph wares off with their newfound brattiness. It is one thing to be patronized by primals and Garlean commanding officers. It is entirely another to have this brussel sprout of a creature attempting to scold you. Why did you humor them at all? The voices around you grate your sensitive ears more with every passing moment, nose growing expeditiously agitating when combined with the bright luminescent colors which crowd every corner of your vision.

“I apologize,” you reply tersely. “But I am not comfortable—”

“Not comfortable!? What else must be done to please you?” Lixio inquires. They lean forward, into your space. One of their little arms knocks into the teacup they dropped before you. Several drops of the rosen liquid splatter onto the tablecloth. 

A shriek splits the air.

“You have ruined this one’s precious dining cloth!” the sylph who was tussling with the moogles mere moments ago turns their attention to your gracious host. They descend upon your gracious host, seizing and pushing Lixio by the shoulders. If not for their innate ability to float, they would have toppled out of their chair and onto the ground. “Ungrateful! Ungrateful, all of you are!”

“Fixia!” Lixio cries. “This one is sorry! This one will clean it—make it look all new and shiny! This one swears!”

“No! This one has had it with lies!” Fixia snaps, curling their tiny, leaflike fingers into the stained cloth. “No more! No! More!” With a strength belied by their slight frame, they pull at the cloth’s edge—and the entire table is upended. Porcelain flies into the air and shatters, drinkware clanging into sterling silver forks and spoons. Pale pastry cream slaps onto dry earth and dark dark grass, tea of scalding temperatures soaking the earth and splashing onto several, unfortunate bystanders.

They shriek and howl, the crowd thrown into immediate disarray. The fae folk dash and fly in all different directions. You slip away in the height of the panic, grateful to be seated so close to the thick treeline. The sounds of the chaos are soon in the far distance. The bright lights halo your silhouette in a smattering of kaleidoscopic color, fading in intensity the further you stray, diving back into the wood with less certainty than you had before the disastrous party. You hadn’t known Sylphs and moogles to mingle so freely. Perhaps they’ve been driven to cooperate by recent threats to the Shroud?

A matter to contemplate later, you decide. You can’t stray from your goal—which happens to be remembering what’s driven you out here in the first place.

In the distance, a river rumbles underneath a curved, wooden bridge. Vines of ivy and purplish leaves intertwine over the suspiciously thin railings. This is the deepest you’ve ever delved into the Eastern Shroud, often put off exploring by the hostile, tempered Sylphs which inhabit the wilds in great abundance. Whatever brought you here was deemed worth the trouble, but your memory remains out of your grasp. Perhaps Meteor would—

You freeze. Hardwood gives way to soft, loamy grass.

Meteor. Ardbert. Where are your teammates? How could you have forgotten them? Revulsion and white hot alarm begin to churn your stomach as you comb through the possibilities, but your thoughts come slow as molasses. Think—think, god dammit! You tap your fist into your temple as if trying to knock your head clear of whatever clogs it. It doesn’t work, of course, leaving you with a sore spot and the paralyzing dread of knowing something is amiss.

You stumble forward, rib cage throbbing dully as one urgent breath shudders out of the next. The air feels thick, like you can’t get enough of it at once—and soon you’re grasping in the dark, struggling to keep yourself upright.

It’s not a horrible place to collapse, you think through the haze. Maybe resting for a while will do you some good, maybe you’re too tired to think. 

You don’t realize you’re sliding down until your knees knock into the dirt. Surely, that too is fine. Surely, no bandit or other neerdowell would venture this deep into the Sylphlands, too terrified of fae magic and ferocious flora. From here, though, it's not too terrible. What you can see from underneath lowering eyelids is all beautiful in a strange, otherworldly manner. Dark purples coalesce with bright, pink petals and white shroom caps which glow soft in the peaceful dark. Yes, there will be plenty of light when you wake.

Someone calls your name. You huff and burrow yourself between the roots of the tree, bark scratching the thick fibre of your robes. You hardly mind the cold, damp bark on your cheek. Just a few minutes. Just a few—

Another shout, closer this time. 

Mere a few winks of peace—

A broad pair of hands seizes your shoulders and shakes, nearly throttling you against the trunk. When your eyes snap open, it's Ardbert’s concerned countenance which greets you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, leaning close. You can count his every eyelash. Relief crashes over you, nearly hard enough to render you breathless. Ardbert. You blink several times, just to make doubly sure that this is no cruel illusion borne of Sylph magic. But you reopen your eyes and he is still crouched in front of you, familiar face wound deep with concern.

“I’m up, I’m up—” you stagger to your feet, if only to avoid another jostling. His gloved hand wraps around your forearm, carrying an alarming majority of your weight. Too often, you forget just how strong your teammates are, just how easily they could snap bone if so prompted. “Are you alright? Where have you been, this whole time?” you gather your wits enough to ask. The adrenaline shakes away the worst of your weariness. 

Ardbert releases you with a haggard sigh, dragging his hand down his face.

“I should be asking you all that,” he begins, exasperated. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you had you actually fallen asleep?”

“No, do you?” you rub a hand down your face, bleary eyes peering over your fingers as a beat of silence passes. And then another. And then—

“Well, no—but knowing the beasts which skulk around here, it would have been nothing good!” Ardbert blusters. “Now, come on. We have to find my brother.”

“You haven’t seen him?” you inquire. You have to jog a few paces to reach his side before he mellows into a slower stride, exhaling a long suffering sigh. You’ve known him long enough to peer beneath the hardened veneer he wears in the face of all challenges. He’s playing tough, but he’s just as lost as you are. The purple under his eyes is more pronounced than usual. He hasn’t been getting enough sleep. After all of this is over and solved, you’ll procure a tea or tonic to help. And maybe something for his flushed complexion.

His cheeks are a ruddy red, a thin sheen of sweat gracing his visible skin. You could have dismissed it as exertion, likely from roaming wild and reckless around the whispering wood, but the blush has only deepened since you began walking. Petal pink lips part around semi labored breaths.

“No. I haven’t,” Ardbert admits.

“Do you know how long ago you were separated? Did you come in together? I can’t remember a thing.” you confess. You’d not admit it aloud, but having another at your side—having someone to confide in and question is a reassurance you didn’t know you would miss. He’s firm and warm at your side, not as tall as some but still made steep by his warrior’s armor. 

He doesn’t answer. You glance over at him a second time. Still flushed. Feverish. Perhaps he’s allergic to some of the local flora? All manner of suspicious plant and flower populates the darkened boughs of the Twelveswood—each bearing their own fruits and pollen. Gods only know what those spores will do to a person.

“Ardbert? Are you alright?” you press gently.

“I’m fine. I just want to get out of this hellhole,” Ardbert insists brusquely, frown deepening. “Worry about yourself, for once.”

“I’m not the one who’s red as a tomato right now,” you huff, but otherwise keep careful to curb your sass. Quarreling will serve you no purpose in a place so hostile, you remind yourself. 

“It’s as humid as Ifrit’s arse out here,” Ardbert replies in kind, face twisted into a scowl. “And you were about to pass out before I found you—that’s worth more concern than a little bit of heat.” He argues, and you feel a near nauseating wave of deja vu was over you. It’s the beginning of a familiar dance, the steps of which only you two know. You don’t have the energy for it, right now. 

“If you say so. But if you start feeling off—”

Ardbert makes a rough, irritated sound. “You always do this,” he says, exasperated and angry, voice gravelly with the intensity of the emotion. 

“Do what?”

“You always get after both of us for not licking our wounds enough—but you never take proper care of yourself!” It’s an abrupt frustration that comes out of nowhere, like a flame jolting to life on a match. It reaches beyond the routine arguments you’re so used to. It weaves into the surrounding aether, not unlike the potent rage he involves on the battlefield. Pain cracks through the passion, the bottom of his lip beginning to wobble. He stops and turns on you abruptly. 

“What!? Where is this coming from!?” You stumble backwards, nearly tripping over your own coattails in the process. “You can nag me all you want, but let’s just focus on getting out here for now!”

He scoffs. “Really? Going to lecture me on focus when I just found you curled up in the dirt?”

“Oh, come off it! I was exhausted! I’ve been through a lot today, Ardbert, I don’t need you adding onto it—”

“Why not? You seem to have no problem adding everyone else’s rubbish onto your plate!” he snaps. 

Your eyes go wide as his shadow envelops you. “How do you think that makes us feel!?” Sticks and deadened grass crunches underneath his heavy leather boots as he approaches. “We watch you wring the near life out of yourself! Constantly! You forget to eat! You refuse to sleep!” He looms close. You don’t even realize you’re backing up until you bump into a gnarled trunk.

“Useless! It makes us feel useless!” he nearly snarls, fist pummeling into the trunk.  You flinch, withering backwards. The wood splinters beneath his gauntlet, pieces spat out onto your cloak. “We can’t ever help you because you keep letting your goddamn pride get in the way!”

“I’ve never asked for your help!” you splutter, fists clenching at your sides. Animal fear and righteous anger wrestle for dominance in your churning gut. 

“And that’s the entire problem! Your head is so far up your arse that you can’t even see when you need help!” he continues, voice pitching into a desperate shout. His chest is an iron wall, heaving with each labored breath. A wall in front of you, his arms bars. He’s right, you realize, and that’s the most irritating part of it. 

You can’t muster up an adequate reply, too busy searching for an opening. This has gone too far, beyond your typical quarreling. He’s not even a film away, face close enough to note each fine indent of his scowl. The warmth of his body seeps through his armor, even though it really shouldn’t—defying all reason to your muddled senses. The cloying heat that makes it harder to think, harder to wriggle away.

Broad palms cup your jaw. His fingers spread across your cheeks as he forces you to look up—up into glowing, pink eyes. Something in you shatters, then, utterly jarred by the unnatural neon you’re faced with. Only now do you clock how wrong all of him is, how the actors of this play aren’t quite fitting their roles. You open your mouth—to say what you do not know, but the words never quite come. They die on your tongue, because—

He’s kissing you. With warm, soft lips, pressing in and drinking deep of you. A hot tongue pushes into your gasping mouth, chases your own even as you writhe and push at his chest. Faintly, you’re aware of your hand around his wrist. You claw and scramble for purchase on his leathers, attempting to pry away from him. 

The difference in strength is too great, and the air is growing too thin. You’re making noise, little whimpers and whines which he swallows, steals them alongside each dwindling breath. Your consciousness begins to fade, black crackling at the edges—and it’s that which jolts you back into shocking awareness.

You cannot fall here. This is not your Ardbert.

Blind panic surges through your veins, levin crackling underneath your skin. The atmosphere trembles, the very fabric of the cosmos beckoned to your aid. A silvery sphere of raw aether sparks into existence behind him. The nearby foliage pulses, and is drawn into it alongside your companion’s devious duplicate. The fake is torn from you with an enraged animal sound.

You turn on foot and dash madly into the woods before the spell fully triggers, blowing everything it's drawn within to smithereens. You fumble over jutting roots and fallen branches, pulling lungfuls of precious air into your howling lungs. The world flies by in shadows of green and purple and brown, fluorescent mushrooms and flowers puffing clouds of suspicious spores. Only when you are alone do you at last come to a pause—bending over to gasp for much needed air. Your sweaty palm presses up against bark, wincing at the coarse bark against your slicked skin.

The situation is more severe and incomprehensible than it initially appeared. Something in the wood plays cruel tricks on you, to wear the faces of your companions. You’ll never forgive who is responsible, whether it be the Sylphs, the Moogles or any other manner of frivolous forest creature. You’ll slay them yourself, you decide.

With that vow made, you regain your breath and stomp back into the thickets, heading towards the gaping mouth of another treeline. Halfway, you pause, a sudden thought striking you.

If Ardbert had been a doppelganger, were either of your partners ever truly here in the first place?

The panic cooled into listless paranoia as you continued to roam. Desperately, you comb through every corner of your mind for some clue, some context as to why you arrived here in the first place. Your probing turns up frighteningly little. You can recall disembarking an airship and meeting with an official at the Adders Nest. The air was tinged with ripe lilac and honeysuckle until you took the ferry east, over murky waters and through verdant masses of algae. The skiff’s bow cut through the tranquil lake like a knife through warm butter.

That’s all you’re able to discern. The finer details pull away when you reach for them. Something, or someone, has purposefully obfuscated your memories. And all you can do is lumber exhaustedly through their crafted labyrinth, out of options and tools and sapped of every after casting impulsively and without a focus.

A flicker of familiar scarlet teases at the edge of your vision. You snap your head towards it, fears temporarily forgotten. Your gaze darts around in the dark, only to find more of what surrounds you. Deadened trunks and berry purple leaves.

Your shoulders slump, more exasperated with your own eyes for playing tricks on you than affected by the vision itself. A Warrior of Light can’t quake and crumble at the slightest of provocations. You’ve dealt with worse than this, fought stranger foes and outwitted politicians and enemy generals and gods alike. If you can’t surmount this—

A bell-like laugh echoes up and down the wood, a sound you never thought you would hear again.

“Come now, hero! Are you really going to let me run off a third time?” 

Familiar agitation sweeps through you at his mocking lilt. It feels nostalgic, in a way, but you know better than to chase a dismembered voice off in the distance. No matter how achingly familiar. You turn away, and you keep on walking—

“Really? You would ignore me after all we had together?” his voice is in your head, now, flat and disappointed. You whirl around, trembling fist clenched, but your dulled reflexes are but a moment too late. You’ev shoved backwards, and where you swore there had existed solid should is instead a slope covered in sticks which snag and leaves which crunch loud underneath your tumbling body. A pained shout wrenches from your chapped lips, flank landing hard on the dirt. 

You scrape your hands on bark and stone as you pull yourself to your feet. A mere film away is a tangle of bristling brambles. Count your blessings where you can find them, you suppose. Your hands raise to brush the clumped soil off your person. They never get that far.

The dark, still edge of a familiar blade tucks underneath your chin. You can’t remember seeing or hearing anyone approach, but you have often noticed that Meteor moves quieter and more discreetly than anyone in armor has any right to. But he’s keenly aware of that, too. He always makes noise on purpose, just to let you know he’s coming. To not scare you.

But not this time. His eyes are wide and wild, hair knocked into tangles, dirt and blood smudged across his face. The crimson is slick with its freshness. He’s a terrifying vision, hunched above you like a wolf looms over a wounded lamb.

“Meteor,” you rasp, quietest you have ever been, “It’s me—” you find the stones to continue after a long moment, spent in sheer disbelief that he would raise his weapon at you. His face twitches, but the eerie stillness there remains. There’s something anguished in his eyes.

“I’ve heard that, before,” he says ruefully, breathing heavily. “You won’t fool me. Not again.”

“You—what are you talking about—” you stammer. Realization crashes into you a moment later, fast and brutal as a Coerthan gale. “How many of me have you seen?” you can’t help but ask, swallowing against the pinprick of his blade.

He licks a bead of sweat from his lips. Mindlessly, you track the movement.

“Two, now. Ran them both through,” he admits, equal part confession and threat. There’s no wobble in his voice, though. No regret. Sympathy juts through the haze of your fear.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “That you had to—”

“No. Don’t even start.” he mutters, shifts closer.

“I’m real, Meteor. I can prove that I’m real,” you fumble backwards, pulse rumbling in your ears. Your back meets the unyielding stone of a nearby ledgeface, trapped between it and his unforgiving steel. “Ask me something only I would know!”

Meteor’s jaw ticks. “The second one said the same—and they were right,” he swallows. “—when they answered.”

“Then—Then I can just leave!” you exclaim, unable to keep the panic from your voice. You can’t even begin to fathom the implications of what he’s disclosed to you, not while the edge of his blade inches forward, kissing the column of your throat. “I won’t show my face again. I swear it!”

The space between his thick brows scrunches, for the first time breaching his glazed, wild expression. The sword wobbles against your skin, threatening to break it, before he heaves a great sigh and lowers it. You slump against the craggy wall, erupting into a series of sputtering, shaky breaths. You must make a pitiful picture, but the relief is so palpable that you can’t bring yourself to much care.

He remains there, looming and still as a statue, deadly weapon still clutched in his hand.

“I’ll—I’ll just be doing, then,” you assure him once you’ve regained your breath. It kills you to leave him here, distressed and alone, but you can’t solve this conundrum if you’re dead. You’ll have to come back for him, and in the meantime hope he isn’t visited by any other spectors wearing your face.

Though, maybe you should worry more for yourself. The phantom feeling of Ardbert’s hands sticks cold to your skin, a poignant reminder of the danger that lurks.

“There’s an Ardbert imposter running around,” you inform him, wincing as you pull yourself to your feet. A piercing ache throbs in your left side. No doubt it’ll be a nasty bruise, later. “I know you don’t believe me I’m real. I just thought you should—”

His hand cups the underside of your jaw, the cool metal of his gauntlets firm against your overheated skin. The clawed tips prick your cheeks. You blink stupidly, numbly as he seizes you, lifts your head to meet his imposing, keen gaze. He’s analyzing you, you think, searching for something you cannot quite name. Your pulse thrums against his forearm, in your throat, skin brushing against the metal with each throb of blood through the vein.

“Meteor—” you rasp, frozen in place by the weight of his attention alone. A beast brays somewhere in the far distance. The forest squirms and shivers despite a lack of wind.

His eyes shut. He exhales, trembling. He’s testing your measure, yet to what parameters you do not know. You can only linger in the space between the seconds, awaiting his judgment. 

He opens his eyes. “You’re real,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes across your lower lip, careful to mind his claw. His eyes flutter shut, brown lashes tucking against pale cheeks. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you reply automatically, rising to your feet. You know full well that he would never raise arms against you unless under significant duress, unless out of his mind. 

“It isn’t,” Meteor replies coolly, raking a hand through his hair. “But now isn’t the time.”

You don’t reply nor do you give into the sweet relief his presence brings. He looks like he’s struggling with what else to say, lips pulled into a straight line.

“So, let’s pool our information,” you speak up, just to spare him the agony of his own thoughts. There’ll be plenty of time to wallow in his guilt later. You don’t need any more platitudes or pleas for forgiveness—the moment has passed and neither of you should live in it.

Meteor heaves a sigh, “After we arrived in the Shroud, a fog settled over the entire area. I could hardly see my own hands—”

“Forgive me, but why did we come to the Shroud in the first place? I…” you chew on the inside of your cheek, warmth rising to your cheeks. The idea of you forgetting the specifics of a mission is completely out of character, and horribly humiliating. The question gets stuck in your throat, stubborn pride warring with your own rampant need for context, for information. “I can’t seem to remember.”

“We…” Meteor pauses, blinking. His gaze crawls from you, eyes glazing as he stares across the empty clearing. “Came to gather milkroot.”

“...Milkroot?” your eyes narrow. This is a poor time for jokes—the notion that the Scions would send you here to do chores is laughable, but Meteor nods. Dead serious as he’s ever been.

“Over the past moon, it’s grown out of proportion. It’s making the tempered Sylphs come out from deeper in the wood.”

“Alright. So you happen to know where this particularly intrusive patch of milkroot is?” You’re still not sure if you believe him. And if you do happen to believe him, you’re still miffed at being deployed for pest control, of all things. You’ve felled three primals and beasts of equal strength. You are above getting on your knees in the dirt to clean up some random mess.

“I do,” Meteor nods. “But the thicket… It's hard to navigate. I’ve already been lost twice.”

“I can only imagine,” you mumble, sympathetic. “Well, given it's our only lead, we can head there first. Does that sound alright?”

And Meteor nods, by far the most well-behaved tank you have ever met, both in and outside of battle.

He does, taking you through winding pathways, skirting along the very edges of the darkened deepwood. In the distance, you spy purple sylphs and tall plants with wide, spikes maws. Their broad stems rise and fall as if breathing. Clouds of poison expel into the air with each breath. 

“Meteor—” you say, and then swallow. The ambient aether pulses around you—and suddenly you are in that far off distance, surrounded by them on all sides. The air is sickly sweet and sparkling ripples of bright purple glisten through the gloom in undulating waves. You stagger, boots scuffing on the dark dirt. Everything seems to breathe now. Thick trunks and brambled branches, expanding and shrinking. Your gaze lifts to the canopy.

Meteor says your name. A firm hand clasps your wrist, firm and grounding. Your lungs feel tight, throat constricted. Dazed and unfocused as you are, you manage to find his gaze among the swimming dark. Have his eyes always been so bright?

But it’s not enough. You feel yourself crumple, not all at once. one part of the body after the other. Mere moments feel stretched into minutes, your world condensing to stuttered snapshots. Meteor, distraught. An oversized log up top the slope. A lone sylph, faced away from you. Strands of green and stiff purple grass, which tickles your cheek.

And then, the eerie black.

There is no time between when you shut your eyes and reopen them. A fraction of a moment at most. Your eyelids pry open and you are back on your feet, mid-step. 

“Drowsing on the job again, are we?” G’raha Tia says. Your brain stutters, struggling to piece together his presence. It’s beyond jarring. It’s like seeing your smallclothes laid out on the Rising Stones’s Bar. A piece of you, something so close and intimate, dragged out and misplaced for all to see. 

He looks different then the last time you saw him. Both of his eyes are blue. His hair is longer, fastened into a thick but wild braid. A greatbow slung across his back is emblazoned with golden accents and striking blue gemstones. One half of his shirt is blue, the other black. The neckline hangs low, the fabric bunched by a red and black sash wound around his waist. Sheathed daggers and miscellaneous pouches hang off two belts slung underneath it. Another is fastened around his thigh. Some of the gold bangles tied round his arm gloves and thigh high boots sport beads in the shape of the sun and stars. A bard, you think.

“I…” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. What had he asked of you, again? You blink, attempting to clear away the lingering haze. 

“You know how that old saying goes—sleep late and you lose the worm and all that,” he says, eyes glimmering. Playful. “And if I’m not mistaken, this will be the third such occasion in which you’ve missed the goal.”

“The third?” your lips peel into a frown, familiar agitation sparking within you. “What are you counting as the first two?”

“If it truly mattered to you, you would have remembered by now,” his smile turns wry, blue eyes so bright and bitter. Your jaw locks, awareness washing over you like grains broken from an hourglass, sands of time settling heavy and suffocating atop your chest. The anger, the pain, the loss—it tastes coppery. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” you protest.

His gaze softens. “You don’t believe that.”

“How would you know? You’re the one who left without so much as a word! You couldn’t even be bothered to leave a note behind, G’raha!” The anger erupts from you all at once, typical restraint worn by the day’s events—the day’s events, you realize. 

This isn’t real. G’raha Tia is long gone. This is another cruel illusion conjured specifically to waste your time and demoralize you. You need to leave.

“Why would I write a note to someone who clearly couldn’t stand me? From the moment we met, you made it painfully clear that you wanted no part of me. You only tolerated my presence, as though I were a coworker’s child getting underfoot. You despised me, but you despised the fact that you needed me even more.” Every word drives into you like a rusty prong of steel, wounds just begun to close reopened and stung, skin split and stitches burst. All at once, you feel speechless and small, no better than a child.

“And you never bothered to examine why I behaved in the manner that I did! Did you not once consider that I only wanted to impress the vaunted Warriors of Light!? To prove that I was worthy to stand at your side!?”

“Stop,” you gasp, and it feels like getting sick, the back of your throat for some reason rubbed raw—like you’ve been running a marathon or screaming out your bedraggled soul. 

“Perhaps, if I felt I could confide in you, I would have told you. Perhaps you could have convinced me to stay.” G’raha continues, voice soft again. The anger and agony is gone, now. Only the stillness of a soul lost or given up, looking out across the short tale of his life in pensive reflection.

 “Perhaps I could have gone on to be an adventurer, too.” His voice is nearly smothered by the sound of wildlife, groans and chirps and howls and clicks erupting around you. The shadows reach out like spindly fingers. Every hair on your body stands on end. Your instincts scream for you to rush forward and shield him from the malignant presence which haunts this horrible, wild place.

Not this time, though. Not for this delusion. Your jaw clenches as the bleak, empty dark encloses on him like a flower’s petals. You stand there, and comfort yourself with the knowledge that this is too a phantasm, a vision spun for the sole sake of your distress.

You blink, and the murky depths disappear. Meteor is standing in front of you, eyes bright and face hard with concern.

“I’m alright,” the words are out of your mouth before you can even think. Automatic, at this point. “We can keep going.”

“I can carry you, if you’re tired.” he informs you. His barely flat delivery makes you wonder whether he’s offering or simply telling you a fun fact. 

“You don’t have to. I’m fine,” you sound weaker than you would like, reedier. “And we should both be concerned about the doppelgangers running around. They’re likely Sylph illusions, but simple magicks cannot explain how they knew such intimate details about us.” And about your relationships. The illusory Ardbert’s words had been weighed by honest, clear agony. 

“Perhaps the culprit is no mere Sylph,” he suggests.

“Who would it be, then?” you scoff, kicking a large brand off the path, which has started to thin. Up ahead lay another dark bridge, the river churning below. The area leading up to it is no larger than three films across, and populated by several tangles of bramble. It’s little wonder that the tempered Sylphs of the deepwood don’t make their own fortresses. Nature is more than willing to supply it for them.

Meteor provides you with an informative shrug, leaving you to stew with the possibilities. Frankly, you cannot name a single person who would be privy to the innermost workings of your troublesome trio. Most enemies don’t get close enough for a chance at conversation, and most allies are kept at a strict arm’s length. By you, at least.

You shut your eyes for a moment as your mounting headache returns full force, but a moment is all it takes for you to stub your toe on a stray root. You curse, voice echoing up and down the misty boughs.

Meteor looks at you pointedly, head tilting. You glare.

“No.” you say. 

He takes a step closer. Into your personal space. It takes all of your healer’s patience not to unleash a volley of crass curses directly into his face.

“No, I’m fine,” you firmly insist. “I don’t need any coddling.”

Meteor looks remarkably unimpressed. “What’s your plan, then? Please, enlighten me.” he says, completely flat. “Wander aimlessly through the woods until you twist your ankle on another vine?”

Your face crinkles like you’ve just eaten a serving of Archon Loaf. Since when has he been… so sassy? So prone to backtalk?

No—it makes sense. Being forced to slay even an illusion wearing his face and speaking in his voice would shake you, likely leave you rattled for weeks. So of course he’s on edge, snappier than usual. You take in another deep breath, count to three, and exhale, willing your tempestuous temper away.

“I won’t lie. I am… unsure of the specifics of our situation. However, I have a few theories,” you lean up against the closest tree trunk and roll your head back, shutting your tired eyes. G’raha Tia comes to you in flashes, blue eyes deep and haunted. You settle for staring at the dark canopy instead. 

“We could be inside a sealed space which repeats itself, where elements of terrain are randomly placed to give the illusion that we are genuinely traversing the forest. Such a complex spell requires a skilled caster and a bevy of aether at their disposal. The Sylphs are, for the most part, natural born casters and obtaining the crystals required could be as simple as leading a few unlucky merchants astray from the trodden path.” you finished with a grimace. “A likelier theory is that we’ve been trapped in some kind of dream.

“All three of us together?” Meteor inquires, placid mien betraying no skepticism. It’s a relief that your hypothesis hasn’t been met with immediate disbelief. Some of the tension melts from your body as you open your mouth. 

Before you can speak, someone calls to you from across the clearing.

Meteor shifts into a defensive stance, clean steel of his greatsword aimed at the approaching, darkly dressed figure. It takes you a moment to see it, to genuinely sew the embellished black plate, the eyes deep and wide and hauntingly blue. The tips of his ruffled hair kisses the space where his stubble begins.

No, oh gods, no—the forest fades into black nothingness, silent but it must be laughing. Laughing, because you were foolish enough to not anticipate this. The air struggles to stay in your lungs. Your ears pound, your chest thuds with white hot panic, rolling up your spine and forking into the base of your skull. You can’t handle this, right now. You stare numbly at the approaching form of a second Meteor.

You should have expected this. If the mastermind was able to so seamlessly replicate Ardbert, then it is only reasonable to expect the same of Meteor.

“Stay behind me,” Meteor says, quiet yet uncompromising. As if you plan to step in front of the hulking slab of metal he calls a sword. “Leave us alone. We know you’re an imposter.”

His doppelganger, rather than responding to him directly, looks at you instead, concern writ plain across his furrowed brow. Meteor stands taller to block his view of you, black pauldon sheltering you from that pained, beseeching stare.

“You’re as bold as I expected a Sylph-borne simulacrum to be,” the doppelganger begins. He calls your name, then. 

“Bold accusations from a shade with no proof.” Meteor rebuffs. “I’ll not warn you a second time. Leave, or your Sylph masters will receive what remains of you in hand baskets.”

Traveling together begets familiarity. Yet, you would never claim to know Meteor’s every facet. Yet, you cannot suppress the wave of wrongness that sweeps through you. It’s a sudden chill. In all the times he has stood firm between you and the enemy, he has never been so verbose. No, he cuts down the enemy before they can even spit a word. The sprout of dread burgeons within you, renders you near breathless as you stare at his back, desperate to get a closer look at his eyes.

The other Meteor calls your name a second time.

“I lack the time to bother with paltry words. You know that.” he says, desperate to be known, to be believed. And it’s true. It’s completely true. An idiosyncrasy that only he would be aware of. You step back, instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Your boots scuff the dark dirt, and the Meteor who you’ve been accompanying whirls around. He looks like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, staring at you in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you believe him,” he says. His eyes are wild and wide with horror.

“I—I—” It’s much more difficult to defend your position when he’s looking at you like that. It’s a look he only fixes you with on the rare occasions that you get a scrape or cut in battle. Scrutinizing and perhaps annoyed, but feral with concern. Like he’d reach his hands inside of you to fix any misaligned inners. Like he’d sink his teeth into the throat of those responsible. All gnashing fangs and frayed bangs, blood and soot and dirt smudged on his cheeks.

You take another step back. Where there was once a blank dirt road, there is—something, something which slithers around your ankle and pulls, sending you tumbling to the earth. You wince at the initial impact, earlier injuries sent spasming.

A few fulms away, you can see him start in your direction, outline of a curse on his lips. He’s lowered his greatsword by a hair, head craned to snatch a brief look at you. But that’s all it takes.

Sabled steel slices clean through his middle. Blood gushes onto the ground. His armor dents where it’s been cut through, gnarled metal groaning as he crashes to the floor—spasming. Bile rises in the back of your throat as you watch his lips open around strained wheezes. Here, in the dim dark, you are forced to confront your worst fear. The life bleeds out of him, the wound too gaping for your feeble aether to mend. You try, anyway, crawling over dirt and twigs to reach him. A clammy palm presses against the cold, cold curve of his chestplate.

The aether sparks feebly at your fingertips. The skin stings and burns but you push through—it is a mere fraction of the rest of the pain you have been put through today, after all. Beaten and bruised, you try and pour everything which remains into his shuddering body. His torso twitches like a fish brought to land. Fervent even now, in the throes of death. 

His eyes glaze. He stops moving. He’s looking at you, still. 

You choke back a scream.

The body explodes into a sparkling cloud of purple aether, before vanishing altogether. Another imposter, this entire time. Twice now, you have been so thoroughly fooled. You cannot claim to be close friends of either brother, but you know them. You know Ardbert leaves extra tips for bar keepers and inn maids and checks the doors and windows twice each before retiring to bed. You know Meteor only ever haggles in Ul’dah, and that he runs errands for the folk of every settlement and city which you visit. You know when Ardbert is close to lashing out because his jaw locks and he gets this little line on his chin. You know when something is troubling Meteor because he fidgets, most often with his gauntlet straps.

All of that, and still you readily believed their imposters, even made excuses for them! Your hands curl into fists, strands of grass crushed between them. Your eyes stay wide open, the imposter’s last few moments ingrained in your mind’s eye. You will see it every time you blink.

It was a fake, sure, but it still wore his face. It looked at you with his eyes and called out to you in his voice.

Much like the voice that calls to you know. Meteor is wearing a grimace as he makes his way over to you, no doubt disconcerted at having to bring his own doppelganger to the sword.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lips pulled into a disgusted frown. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.” He doesn’t bother asking if you’re alright, because you’re not and you know that much is obvious. You have faith that you look as much of a wreck as you feel. 

You swallow, and do not take his hand, because even this too feels wrong. If you were an ilm less wise, you would reason that paranoia from today’s ordeals has set in. But you now know that nothing in this horrible, labyrinthine place adheres to reason or empathy.

A nearby cluster of tall, bulbous flowers glows bright yellow. The light catches on his armor, his sword and his eyes—which gleam that horrible, acidic violet.

“Stay away from me!” you push yourself to your feet and scramble backwards. “I know what you are, now! Stop hiding behind someone else’s face, you spineless wretch!”

It inhales deeply. Patiently.

“You’re afraid, and it’s affecting how you see things,” he coaxes, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “There’s no need to be afraid. If you would just let me—” His eyes flash a hot pink. He goes silent, arms dropping back to his sides. His expression loses his desperate candor, glazed and empty. You don’t stick around to wonder why. A searing ache burns at your walk-weary legs, exhausted muscles crying out for sweet reprieve. You heave yourself to your feet regardless, ignoring the stubborn pain. The myriad cuts and bruises you’ve amassed since this all began sting and throb. 

You still don’t know what “this” is. You’re still at square one, without a clue or a hope to get you by. All that matters now is getting as far from this newfound imposter as possible. You rush across the clearing, gritting your teeth through the agony.

The imposter says something, then. You’re too distracted to hear, but you can clearly make out the sound of his boots thudding as he gives chase. Animal fear sets your body aflame, bolts of levin dancing up and down your spine. Every heaving gasp burns the back of your dry throat, eyes watering against  a sudden gust of wind. You cannot die here.If you were in better shape, if you hadn’t been run so ragged, perhaps you’d be able to claw your way out of this. But he bridges the distance between you with pathetic ease.

“This a terrible shame to lose someone so skilled,” he says. He shoves an elbow into your mid-back, harsh plate slamming into your spine. “You could have served on His Majesty’s court.”

You crash to the ground for what feels like the thirtieth time today, shuddering and clawing at the dirt, feet kicking out as you attempt to delay the inevitable. Oh god, you realize belatedly, deliriously, that this is where you die. In the dark and alone, covered in sweat and grime, last moments spent wriggling in filth like a pig. This is how they will find you—if anyone even does, rumpled and beaten and bloody—no partners to lend you aid or shield you. No one to fret over your wounds or nag you to rest. 

Ardbert  was right. Black spots swim at the edges of your vision. Behind you, the whoosh of a blade winds through the air.  May it be swift, you pray, and shut your eyes.

The blow never reaches you. 

The sound of a thousand windows shattering nearly blows out your eardrums. The noise is almost a physical force, erupting from the space only a few fulms ahead of you. Tendrils of blinding daylight reach in as the darkened skies seem to fall to pieces, starlit canopy cracking and crumbling to the earth in crystalline shards.

A blur of brown streaks past your left side, but the enraged roar it makes is familiar enough to make your eyes water with tears unshed. Steel screams against steel. In that instant, you drop. All fight leaves your body, head thunking into the soil. You turn your face to the side to avoid a mouthful of dirt. 

You cannot see the full scope of the fight, because a pair of arms circle around your prone body. You’re lifted fast enough to make your head spin, nausea churning in your gut. All you can do is swallow down the acid bile, lest you stain Meteor’s dark plate and leathers. 

Instead you let loose a dry, rasping sob. The nightmare is over. You have nothing else to fear. All of the mysteries you have agonized over will be explained in due time. 

You fall to pieces. Above you, Meteor’s lips are moving, but you can’t make out a word over the shattering and screaming and thrumming of your traitorous heart. He looks down at you, and you would feel guilty at the abject horror and concern written plain across his face if you were not so, so relieved. You cry, and cry, and cry, not even caring when the points and hard flats of his armor jostle your wounds because he is here and he is real. He is so achingly, endlessly and utterly real.

It is relief, not fear, which blurs your vision and runs down your cheeks. Relief deeper than you ever thought you could feel. So deep that you submerge into it, sinking into the merciful empty of a well-deserved sleep.