#otherwise known as my passion project

[munchkin1156]

The Midnight Alleyway Indroduction

“What’s that?”

WELL I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED!! TMA (not related to the Magnus archives, sorry) is my most recent, incredibly confusing, au that I have started writing (cough sort of cough)

It’s a Hermitcraft 8 + Life Series inspired fic, which takes place in a world where magic is nothing more than a myth, and people have moved on to more modern and more interesting things like… I dunno, video games?

But despite popular belief, magic still exists, inside locations hidden behind illusions or puzzles. The Midnight Alleyway is one of these places, buzzing with hybrid refugees and other strange beings. Safe from humans, safe from destruction.

Nearly safe from destruction. After all, people are going missing, magic is glitching out, and the moon shouldn’t be this close.

Something was going wrong.

. . .

Characters who appear in the first chapter:

Scar is a human, a painter and an illustrator, who on one fateful day at the market, finds a small blue flower and decides to keep it, only to be pickpocketed by someone right after a catch up with Bdubs, but luckily, he is able to follow them. …wait, why do they have feathers?

Bdubs is a human, a painter, and a florist, who’s one of Scar’s closest friends. He runs a flower shop near the centre of the city, and people claim he has some sort of magic with plants, though he humbly denies anything of the sort.

Grian works at the Magical Menagerie in the Mightnight Alleyway. He’s a cursed hybrid, having small tattered black wings and no memory of his past. Both of his siblings are also cursed. His best friend Mumbo is missing, and the world is literally falling apart. He’s been tasked to find a glowing blue flower somewhere in the human city, which is one of the keys to unlocking something important, and since it was in the possession of Scar, he pickpockets him. ((Grian has also been named after the Architect))

Jimmy is Grian’s younger brother. He helps out Tango at the forgery, but because of his curse, he can’t do much. His curse makes things constantly worse for him, causing him to end up in deadly situations. Everything is literally out to get him. He has no memory of his past. He accidentally lets Scar into the Midnight Alleyway because he thought he was an injured hybrid trapped outside. Grian gets really angry with him for this.

Other characters that appear who I’m not allowed to give spoiler info about include:

Pearl (Death), Gem (Lightkeeper), Tango (blacksmith), BigB (guardian) AND MANY MORE!!! LIKE EVERYONE!!! ALSO SOME EMPIRES MAYBE!!! BUT AGAIN, SPOILERS!

. . .

Anyone interested? Because if you want to know more I’d love to keep talking

….should I tag my taglist? ….nahhhhhh they wouldn’t care about this

[genericpuff]

Hello! I'm someone with autism (and I'm suspecting ADHD too) who's planning multiple projects. Do you have any advice when it comes to overthinking a lot about decisions on a project? Be it the first step, planning, questioning if you're moving too fast, etc?

ouuuu I think the biggest thing I struggle with personally is just like... the overbearing weight of expectation that isn't necessarily even there. Like, expectation to do everything right all the time, to never make mistakes, to never fall through on promises, to never break any 'rules' (real or imaginary) and most of all, for everything I do to matter in some big, recognizable, memorable way - but the steps to that goal aren't defined, I just know what the goal looks like, with no clear path as to how to get there, and so it often results in me aiming at my own "best guess" and then beating myself up for not hitting the target LOL which is completely unfair to myself and my own work!

What I try to regularly remind myself of is that I am one person, who is only capable of what one person should reasonably be able to accomplish on their own, no matter how much my auDHD tries to convince me otherwise that I "should" be able to handle more than what's reasonable. And in that same sense, there isn't any more pressure on me to put out something perfect than there would be on any other person. I am not Atlas carrying the fate of the greatest work known to mankind on my shoulders - I'm a chronically online dweeb making stuff that's interesting to themselves and sharing it in the hopes that even just one other person will like it too. That isn't a diss on myself, that's me embracing what I am so that I can keep doing it better and more confidently each time.

Though I don't know if this exactly applies to you, I'm gonna say it just in case: I know when it comes to balancing multiple projects, it can be hard not to go "oh well I SHOULD be working on xyz!" but at the end of the day, you're not a failure for preferring to work on something else or needing space from projects that used to thrill you and have now become monotonous. In fact, it turns out that's how it is for most neurotypical people too! I know they make a lot of shit look easy, but even they have shit they loathe doing - they just don't have to deal with the unique hurdles of being neurodivergent.

Always remember to set boundaries with yourself and your work. Remember, just because you're really excited to work on something, doesn't mean you have to work on it all the time. I've learned to appreciate those moments when I'm stuck doing my day job and I'm excited to get home and work on my passion project, because it means I can actually look forward to it and it'll feel all the more rewarding when I finally get to do it! Pushing yourself too hard to fulfill that excitement all at once right off the bat often just means you're gonna spend it all way too quick, and that won't feel good because then you'll be left wondering where all the love went.

Set little goals for yourself. Stuff that's manageable and achievable within a reasonable amount of time. I know we tend to dive into thinking huge right off the bat, because that's what's exciting to us, but when it comes time to actually do the work, those smaller goals can keep us moving forward far better than the big, far off, ambiguous goal hiding somewhere off in the horizon. While it's good to plan ahead, not setting smaller milestones for yourself can burn you out faster because it's really hard to work towards an "end goal" that might be too far away for us to even conceptualize. The small goals allow us to reward ourselves along the way, and they do ultimately still build up to the bigger picture in the end, even if it feels like we're "not doing much". It can be anything like "get to this chapter that I can finish in the next few weeks" or "fully write out this scene that's been living in my head rent-free".

As for the overthinking... yeah, I wish I had some magic solution to that, but it's really just about learning what you enjoy doing vs. what you don't, so that you can have confidence in knowing when your creative decisions suit the project you're working on. This is something that gets better with practice and experience, but I feel like it's better tackled by reminding yourself that any project, no matter the outcome of how popular it gets or whether or not it "takes off", is an opportunity to learn and grow. Treat every project as a learning experience and you'll hopefully find the process itself more enjoyable, which will subsequently buff up your confidence. It's all a process of honing in on what works for you, what you excel at, and what you enjoy doing; while learning what doesn't work for you, what you could improve at, and what you don't enjoy doing.

Finding a writing buddy or someone who's willing to read your work and give you feedback is super helpful for this, too, because sometimes it takes another perspective to help us navigate the fog of indecision and find a solution.

And again, remember - you are one person, and you are under no obligation for any of your projects to be some perfect, infallible holy grail. You will write stuff that you will inevitably look back on with disgust and cringe. You will create projects that you will eventually outgrow or move on from. That does not invalidate the time and effort you put into those projects - it's proof of experience and growth. Embrace the growing pains, find peace in the process in whatever way you can.

It's not a question of right or wrong - it's asking yourself what feels true to you and your voice, and finding out along the way.

[littlejuicebox]

LittleJuicebox Masterlist

Click here for my AO3 account. (Converting is a WiP).

If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please DM me and I can send you the google doc link. I have decided to keep tag lists for each individual series so you only get tagged in the ones you want.

My personal favorites are denoted by a +.

GN reader is denoted by a * otherwise assume Fem reader/OC.

Titles colored red are smut or other mature themes, 18+ only.

AstarionxWren Series:

This is a canon-adjacent passion project which focuses on Astarion and Wren, a ranger half-elf with her own backstory. She is based off my first Tav. Do you like angsty slow burns where two broken people find one another and learn to love again? Then this one is for you.

Chapter 1 / Chasing birds to get high (PG) + Chapter 2 / Between comfort and chaos (PG) Chapter 3 / Sunshine and midnight rain (PG13) + Chapter 4 / Protect the flames (M/Gore) Chapter 5 / Blue and silver bonded (PG13) Chapter 6 / Remember how it feels to have a heartbeat (PG13) Chapter 7 / Give peace a chance (M/Smut) + Chapter 8 / Dancing in a burning room (M/Gore) Chapter 9 / Lavender haze (PG-PG13?) Chapter 10 / I want to hold your hand (PG13)

Midnight Chimes Series:

Your parents own a tavern in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion was somewhat of a regular when you worked at the bar in your younger years. You don’t exactly trust him. Now you’re an apothecary owner based in Waterdeep, and when the two of you crash on the beach, you aren’t exactly thrilled to see him there, too. But things aren’t always what they seem.

1 / The Prologue +

2 / Three years

3 / Luck +

4/ Ringleader

Midwinter Carol Series:

Eirianwen and Astarion were in love before the Ascension ritual changed his behavior toward her. She refused to become a spawn, and they went their separate ways. The story starts when they run into one another fifteen years later; Eirianwen returned to the city to deliver some news to the pale elf. Meanwhile, the Ascendant had a night time visitor that convinced him to change his ways, and he believes his ex-lover might be the key. Will he be able to change after fifteen years of living life as a debauched degenerate?

1 / The Prologue +

2 / The Barrier

3 / The Carriage

4 / The Auction +

5/ The Repeat

6/ The Affliction

7/ The Interrogation

8/ The Scheme

9/ The Snake

AstarionxReader One Shots and Mini-Stories:

Mini-Stories are grouped together in order and denoted by a “Part X” in sequential order after the title. These are in general "timeline" order and follow my (admittedly self-indulgent) headcanon for Spawn Astarion x Tav but can definitely be read as OneShots. All stories are AstarionxReader, some allusions to reader having spellcaster ability but otherwise no real description apart from being female in about 3/4 of the fics.

Act 1-2:

The little things.

Before someone steals your queen

Act 3:

Drunken nights*+

The nail salon

You'll stay still, won't you, little love? +

Post-BG3:

Mermaid whiskey+

Baking Cookies*

Astarion talks in his sleep Part 1*+

My Sun, My Moon Part 2+

Glowing in the Underdark+

Reflections on one year of marriage

Highharvestide Part 1

Highharvestide Part 2

Handmade+

Dadstarion:

The wish spell worked.+

Daddy?

Little bump.

Labor and joy

Skin to skin.

Milk.+

Little lockpick.

Beach babies.+

A growing brood.

Puppy love.

Stuck.

Pre-BG3 / Random / Ascended Astarion OneShots

Midnight chimes / The Original One Shot

Pre-BG3. You’ve known Astarion for years… or at least, you’ve known of him. You think he’s a rake, but one night he changes your mind. The series "Midnight Chimes" started based off this "prologue."

A Midwinter Carol / The Original One Shot

“A Christmas Carol” but Ascended Astarion is Scrooge. He sees you after your break up 15 years ago, and then has an unexpected nighttime visitor showing him past, present, and future. Will he be convinced to change his ways? The series "Midwinter Carol" started based off this "prologue."

Naughty or Nice?

You’re Ascended Astarion’s little toy in the middle of a party. TLDR; he’s tease and a BDSM dom.

Dancing on my own

[new-dinosaurs]

Happy New Year, everyone! It has been a very enjoyable four years running this blog, and I'm deeply grateful to all of you for reading and supporting it. In terms of recorded follower count, this has probably been the most popular long-term passion project I've ever done. However, New Dinosaur Alert will be taking an indefinite hiatus from here on out.

Having kept track of developments in dinosaur paleontology for over a decade, I had a pretty good sense of what I was getting into when I started this blog, which is probably why I was able to keep it going for as long as I did. To an extent though, I think it was inevitable that I'd have to bring this to a close at some point.

Long story short, 2025 is poised to be a turning point in my professional and academic journey, and I predict that it will soon become increasingly less sustainable for me to spend my diminishing free time on a project that requires me to post in a timely manner on an often unpredictable schedule.

Thanks again to everyone who read, followed, liked, reblogged, described new dinosaurs, and otherwise helped make this blog a success! For other websites that provide up-to-date coverage of new discoveries in dinosaur paleontology, I recommend the Wikipedia articles on paleontology by year, as well as the Dinosaur Mailing Group (the new incarnation of what was formerly called the Dinosaur Mailing List).

If you're interested in following what I'm up to, my main Tumblr blog is @albertonykus, which contains both fandom and science content. I also post about dinosaurs and occasionally other things on Bluesky and (for now) the site formerly known as Twitter. Take care, and I hope to see you around!

[blissfullyecho]

How to Build a High-Value Personal Brand for 2025

Join my 3-hour live workshop on Zoom, where we will create a tailored luxe glow-up plan personalized for you for 2025. Seats are limited and are first come, first served. Click here for more info.

A high-value personal brand speaks for itself and doesn’t need constant validation. To craft this kind of brand, you need intention, strategy, and most importantly, confidence.

Start by defining your unique value proposition. To build a standout personal brand, it’s crucial to understand what makes you different. Think about what you offer that others can’t. Your brand should be rooted in authenticity—clarifying what you’re known for, whether it’s expertise, passions, or core values. This isn’t about being everything to everyone; it’s about being clear on what you bring to the table.

A consistent visual identity is key to elevating your brand. Your aesthetic must align with the image you want to project, whether through social media, a website, or content. Everything should reflect a polished, professional image that exudes sophistication and exclusivity. A consistent color palette, style, and tone in your visuals will reinforce your brand’s message, ensuring it feels cohesive and high-end.

Your online presence is your first impression, so it needs to be impeccable. High-value women don’t indulge in oversharing or negativity. They create and post content thoughtfully, aligning it with their values and showcasing their lifestyle, expertise, and mission. Each post or interaction should reflect your tone—confident, poised, and purposeful. Engage with others in a way that shows you value their attention but also maintain an air of exclusivity.

Your voice must be unmistakable. The most powerful personal brands have a signature style of communication. Whether you’re writing, speaking, or engaging in casual conversation, your tone should radiate authority and confidence. People should know exactly what to expect from you and be drawn to your unique way of expressing yourself. Whether it’s your writing style, speech patterns, or even how you present yourself in person, everything should reflect the strength of your personal brand.

Networking is an essential part of building a high-value personal brand. Cultivate relationships with people who align with your vision and can help elevate you to the next level. Don’t waste time networking for the sake of it—focus on building meaningful, mutually beneficial connections. Surround yourself with individuals who respect and support your growth, and who can open doors that might otherwise remain closed.

Staying true to your core values is non-negotiable. Your personal brand should be grounded in principles that guide every decision you make. Whether it’s integrity, self-respect, or authenticity, your values should remain unwavering. A high-value brand is built on consistency and trust, which means never compromising your standards to chase approval or popularity.

Make sure you’re seen and heard in the right places. Position yourself where your ideal peers are. Don’t try to fit into spaces that don’t resonate with your new brand or that dilute your value. You need to ensure your presence is visible in circles that align with your mission and values.

Finally, invest in yourself. Your personal brand is a reflection of your commitment to growth. Continuously improving your skills, upgrading your wardrobe, or even seeking coaching will all contribute to your personal brand’s evolution. The most powerful personal brands are built by women who are always leveling up and never stagnating. When you invest in yourself, your brand reflects that growth and continues to attract more opportunities.

A high-value personal brand isn’t about pretending to be someone you’re not. It’s about embodying who you truly are and aligning every part of your presence with that authentic essence. When you consistently show up as your best self and project your worth unapologetically, opportunities will flow your way.

Join my 3-hour live workshop on Zoom, where we will create a tailored luxe glow-up plan personalized for you for 2025. Seats are limited and are first come, first served. Click here for more info.

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 6 (teaser)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

here it is, folks. the long-awaited perspective from Jake. this will give us a few hints as to where his head has been since this story began. it's only a glimpse of what's to come, but i hope you enjoy. ♡

*recollection of sexual encounters, jealousy, hurt feelings, brief mention of disordered eating

“I assumed she’d be like every other girl I’d known, but the moment I held her for the first time, I realized just how profoundly wrong I was. From the first touch, the first taste..."

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Jake’s point of view;

I waited far too long. 

I had every intention of telling her—the plan was already in place. 

All I needed was to wait for the perfect moment to ask her to come with me. I knew she wouldn’t say yes right away, so I had to take the time to craft the right words, to convey the way her very essence softened my hardened heart. 

Goddammit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of what has transpired with her over the last few months was meant to happen. 

But fate would have it otherwise. And I knew mine was sealed when she chose the seat next to mine on the first day of class. I thought I’d never have to see her bewitching face again after I so callously bumped into her in the hallway. But when that very same, beautiful stranger walked in late through the doors of Movack’s lecture hall, I knew I had to take every measure possible to fend off any infatuations that I felt could arise. 

But, as though it were predestined, we were paired on a project she was just as passionate about — if not more — than I was. 

I suppose I thought the film would be the best way to keep my distance from her while also keeping true to our commitments to the project. I surmised the addition of my family would keep us from having to be alone, having any real conversations to get to know one another. 

I didn’t want to get to know her. Not because of her, because of me. I gathered immediately that she was far too wonderful for the likes of me, far too easy to fall for. Her beauty and complexity, the most exquisite and intrusive storm to my hardened heart. 

She truly was too good for me…still is; utter perfection encompassed in the ethos of her femininity. 

That fact was all but confirmed on that first day of class. When she checked my ego over a question I should’ve known the answer to, I knew I was utterly fucked. Intelligent, full of the wit necessary to challenge me. I was a fucking dick to her from the outset. But I had to keep my own feelings in balance. 

Jesus — who the fuck am I kidding? 

I didn’t ask her to help with the film to keep her away — I wanted her to play opposite me. I wanted her to play my fucking wife. I wanted the chance to act on the feelings that were already amassed, without the risk of her thinking they were anything more than for the sake of the film.

But Josh fucked it all up for me. The script wasn’t what we agreed on, no matter how much he’s fought me on that fact. His idea to shift the focus on infidelity, specifically her infidelity with fucking Lancelot was unadulterated bullshit. And when I had to watch her share so many scenes with Sam, scenes that should’ve been with me, the fire it ignited under my crawling skin told me that my attempts at keeping my composure about her were failing. Miserably failing. 

Stacy was my escape. She had wanted me for years, and I knew she would be the perfect distraction from my growing feelings for Y/n — and from the agony of watching my brother touch her in ways I could only dream of.

But, fate wouldn’t hear of it. It didn’t fucking work. Stacy doesn’t hold a candle to Y/n; she’s nothing more than a flicker next to Y/n’s radiance. Wasting my energy with someone as dull-witted and mindless as Stacy only made me yearn for Y/n all the more. 

Y/n’s mystique, her grace, the very aura she strides with…she’s the most captivating woman I’ve ever set my eyes upon. It took only a few weeks to memorize every minute detail of her face. Her sweet nose that crinkles when she laughs, her glittering eyes that hold the weight of a thousand beautiful lifetimes, her eyelashes that are as dark and full as a ravens wings, her crooked smile, succulent lips…she’s more elegant than any painting the most adept artist could ever render. As though her outward beauty wasn’t enough to lure me in, her endearing accent, the one that instantly told me she was miles away from her birthplace, charmed me even further. 

I hadn’t found a single reason to stay here, a reason that made London feel like a poor decision until she infiltrated my existence, when her earthy, vanilla aroma inundated me with lust and desire. 

And though she tried to hide it, I could tell she was looking at me with the very same eyes I saw her through. 

The only thing I could do at that point was push her away, and keep pushing her until she despised her every thought of me. I couldn’t risk what I was afraid it could turn into. 

It felt like knives tore through the inside of my throat when I said some of the most revolting words I could think of to her in class. I felt like the biggest piece of shit when her incredible eyes became glassed over with tears, when her round, rose lips downturned at what I had said…and I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single word of it. She didn’t deserve to hear such horrid things. 

I fucking hurt her. And that was what my thoughtless self wanted. 

I wanted it so I wouldn’t get attached, so she wouldn’t get attached. I’ve needed to get out of this fucking city — this goddamn country — since nearly every person I’ve ever loved died in the places I’ve called home. Other than my brothers, there’s been nothing to keep me here after my time at the U of M is up. And I swore there’d be no way in fucking hell I’d let some girl change that. 

But what my imprudent ass couldn’t accept was that Y/n has never been just some girl. I’ve always known it, and I’ve been utterly terrified by it since I let myself watch her — observe her. All it took was one class period for the horror to sink in that she is different from any other woman I’ve ever beheld. She even surmounts every woman in fucking literature. 

She’s magic.

And she’s broken me. She’s torn down every wall I’ve built since the death of my parents, then proceeded to destroy the ones that came up after I lost my grandparents. No one that isn’t my own twin brother has been able to see me the way she does. 

I mean, Christ, I played guitar for her. Only her. I practically gave her my vulnerability, placed it in the palm of her open hand and closed her delicate fingers over it. I’ve shown her parts of myself, piece by tiny fucking piece, that a mere handful of people have borne witness to. 

I assumed she’d be like every other girl I’d known, but the moment I held her for the first time, I realized just how profoundly wrong I was. From the first touch, the first taste, the first time I fucked her... 

I can’t explain what she does to me, or how she does it. But she brings forth an animalistic side of myself, engulfed with pure desire for everything that she is. 

I knew she was beautiful from the moment I laid my eyes on her, but when I discovered what she was hiding beneath her oversized attire, I felt longing anew. It was a cruel irony for Josh to make my room her dressing quarters. If I knew my brother at all — which I do, better than anyone — the little shit did that on purpose. 

He knew of the risks. I knew them — what might happen if I were to open my bedroom door. And it did happen — the day she was trying on her costumes, and though I knew what I’d possibly be walking in on… I wasn’t the least bit prepared for the sight my eyes would behold. 

As if Josh hadn’t fucked me over enough with the entire ordeal, Malachi added to my misery by choosing costumes for her that only served to enhance her allure that already held me captive. 

That black lace number she was in when I opened my door left my knees weak — my face, numb. I could see every outline of her form, every beautiful part of herself that she’d hidden in my short time of knowing her. The buds of her perfectly shaped breasts were peeking through the embroidered netting, the curve of her exquisite ass was just visible beyond the exaggerated slit of the gown. And her skin, glowing in the dim light, freckled and pristine. 

I stood completely still — in awe of her. I wanted to fall to her feet at that very moment, and I suppose I would’ve if it wasn’t for Natalia. I knew it was wrong to stare at her, but no living mortal would’ve been able to avert their eyes from such an ethereal vision. 

How fitting that she wore that very gown when I at last got to feel her, glide my tongue over every goddamn inch of her sweet skin, mark her so my brother knew who she really wanted…

I’ll surely never forget the way she melted under my touch that night, the way her skin became littered with goosebumps in the wake of my fingers. And when I discovered her little secret, the sexy scarlet colored ink beneath her breast, it left me stunned at first. Yet somehow, it didn't entirely surprise me. It suits her enchantment, her mystery. And it’s enormously tantalizing. 

I simply became intoxicated by her. I needed more, and my futile attempts at withholding my true desires, of delving headfirst into something I knew I’d never be capable of coming back from, would inevitably fail. 

Fuck. She made it so difficult. And it didn’t help when I realized how badly she needed it as well. How could I continue to deny her any further when I myself could no longer resist what we both wanted? 

I chose to tread slowly, to take the time to learn her body and the ways in which she longs to be pleasured. I knew she was losing patience with me, but I had to wait until the perfect occasion. 

I nearly gave in the night she wrapped her gorgeous, velvet mouth around my cock as I drove. I discovered the limitless desires she had been harboring, giving me all she had, keeping her promise of taking care of herself to the thought of me. 

The birthday party felt like the opportune time to at last allow ourselves a true taste of one another, but when I discovered her little lie about the tattoo, my adoration for her burst out of my body like ten foot waves slamming against the oceanside. 

I was angry. But more than that, more than anything, I just wanted her. And I didn’t want to give her a single reason more that she should find herself choosing the affections of Sam over me. 

Fucking her for the first time… nothing in the world could come remotely close to the feeling. And when she’d told me she wished I’d do it — wished I’d fuck her — my heart had catapulted to a place it had never ventured before. Knowing she wanted it so badly… there had been no stopping that shit.

The feeling of her body… No other woman could ever compare — will ever compare. No matter where I venture in the world, there will never be another like her. She's the everlasting dream. My dream. 

Every curve of her body — each time her gorgeous cunt would clench around my dick, her falling apart so gloriously at my touch… I found myself transcending space and time as I knew it.

That night was the one of the most glorious experiences I’ve yet to share with another living being, second only to last night. 

And when I had her in the library…

Jesus Christ. I just need her. In every way that I possibly can. 

And I hate how much I fucking need her. This is a new realm for me. I’ve always been my own unit, seeking the company of others only when it felt necessary. I’ve never known someone who could turn my lonely world upside down and inside out in the ways she has. 

But it wasn’t until Natalia confirmed my fears that Y/n hadn’t been taking proper care of herself that I truly realized the possible breadth of my care for her. Something wholly new to me.

I felt the longing threads of my heart rip to tattered shreds. How could a woman of her magnitudinous beauty be so blind to it? How could she ever doubt the effect she has on unsuspecting souls by simply gracing a room with her charm? It shattered me inexplicably when I learned of the way she views herself. And that—that  was when I truly realized the depths of my affections for her. 

God, the depths… deeper than the vast expanse of the ocean. 

I then sought out ways in which to help her, and the one thing I was certain would bring her peace was having her lend me a hand in preparing a home cooked meal. I had to suppress the rising flood of tears when I watched her eat it, seeming to have no more doubts in her mind as she did so. I saw the very same thing at The Whitney; Not a single burden behind her eyes as she nurtured her beautiful body. 

God. She’s evoked feelings from me that I never thought could be mine to feel.

But I just can’t stay here. I can’t bear it any longer, and she has to understand that. It’s what she did herself when she chose to move here, to say a final farewell to the town that bore her own pain. 

It isn’t her damn job to have to carry my pain, though. By every measure, I’m a failure. In the truest sense of the word. 

I fell for her when I swore to myself I wouldn’t allow for it. I’ve hurt her repeatedly with my pure bullshit. The worthless tries at denying my heart.

And I’ve hurt her yet again by dragging my feet, letting her find out in the most careless of ways by leaving the evidence in her fucking book. And in turn, I’ve hurt my own goddamn self. 

God knows how hard I tried to talk to her this morning, but she had already decided to hell with me. I can’t reproach her for it. I just wish she’d listen to me, I need her to hear me. There’s no reason she wouldn’t be accepted to Oxford. Fuck — her mind, so wondrous and brilliant. I want her there with me. I’ve suddenly found myself unable to take this trek across the sea without her. But I fear my time to present that to her is nearly up. 

And it’s all my fault. Every bit of it. 

But this morning…she chose to twist the metaphoric dagger in my already bleeding chest.

She went to Sam. Immediately chose him, as though no second thought was needed. As soon as I’d betrayed her trust, she’d gone to Sam. She could’ve at least asked Josh to take her home, though her and I both knew that Sam was the more obvious choice. The choice she knew would hurt me just as much as I had hurt her. 

But what she doesn’t know is how much I’m already fucking hurting. By my own hand, no less. I never intended for this, and yet, here I am, feeling things I’ve yet to allow myself to feel over a woman, a woman that walked into my life only months ago. 

And now, thanks to me, she’s held in the arms of my younger brother, shedding her tears into his chest right outside of my bedroom window. 

Is she wearing his fucking slippers? Jesus Christ. 

I could wring his goddamn neck for this. It’s not his fucking place. His bed wasn’t where she laid last night. His body wasn’t the one taking care of hers. 

Though, I suppose I can’t fault him — I wouldn’t be able to gather the strength to turn her away, either. Not ever again, if the truth should be told. 

I just…I’ve wanted so much more with her than this. So much more. But I must now accept the chance that I’ve fucked it all up. Perhaps I fucked it up from the very start; The fact that she ever wanted anything to do with me after the way I treated her is a remarkable wonder. 

My nerves are engulfed in flames as I have to witness her getting into Sam’s car now. Him, shutting the door behind her, racing around to the driver's side so she’s not alone for too long, wiping the last of her tears with the cuff of her sleeve. 

Tears that I fucking caused.

I’ve been through immense pain in my life, the kind of pain that feels like shards of glass slicing at my skin at the reminder. But this kind of pain, watching him drive her away because she couldn’t bear the thought of me doing it, it’s brand new to me.

I’m crossing over into untouched realms of misery, of torment. 

I can’t let things with her end in this way. I won’t stand for it. As much as I wasn’t prepared for this to begin with her in the way it did, I’m not equipped to accept it ending like this. 

I cannot leave for London knowing I was never given the chance to properly fight for her.  

But if she won’t listen to me, I fear the choice will no longer be mine to make.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: do we think he'll be able to talk her into going with him? or, do we think she'll to stay for other reasons? & what do we think will happen with Sam? 🫣

the rest of the chapter will be yours very soon. 🤍

as always, i owe a massive thank you to @jakeyt for being my favorite editor, second set of eyes, & the best advice/idea giver. love you so so so much.

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelborne @devilat-thedoor @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @ninas-tearsofrain @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraig @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul27

[bundoesnotcompete]

I tried my best to not make anyone OOC. See end for notes. Not very lore accurate when it comes to powers. I did my best to keep everything accurate alright? Scar x reader but like before offical romance??

The Calamitous Growth. The Great Immortal. As an Overseer of the Fractsidus you have many names, all of them given to you by others. Since you are unable to speak and write in any known language, others of the organization have given you nicknames. You couldn't speak to begin with, your throat having heavy scarring and vocal chords struggling to make more then animalistic sounds.

The others of the Fractsidus assumed you to be an amnesiac, and while you knew otherwise, you didn't correct them. Couldn't correct them. Your own body often felt familiar yet foreign. A side effect of combining with a tacet discord, you assumed. It changed your body in ways you didn't understand and from what you did understand, you often connected back to nature. Whatever you combined with caused nature to overgrow in large amounts and quickly. That included your own body. You could regenerate limbs and other parts with enough time.

Your inhumane features caused you to be shunned by any you came by. They assumed you a monster and attacked you. Often, this left with your enemy dead and blooming shrubs from their bodies. A part of you screamed in disgust and horror, but the other floated in waters of disinterest and boredom. Civilian and soldier alike often met an unwanted fate when they attacked. Others wanted to use and abuse you and your power. You continued to wander from where you woke.

It wasn't until you had met members of the Fractsidus that you had been accepted. They were eager to show you the world and how to be your truest self, in turn, you showed them the tacet discord you harbored. You were only the beginning of what humanity could become if the True Lament were to be triggered.

Scar had been one of the first people you had met that accepted you. His dramatics and passion and had been off putting at first, but you learned that he was rather calm despite that. Well, he was calm but still a maniac. He was an odd one, but you had come to enjoy his presence. While you two usually traveled together, you had recently seperated to work on two different projects.

Last you had heard, he had attempted to get the individual known as Rover to join the Fractsidus. You hadn't been concerned until you learned that he had also been thrown in jail by the Madam Magistrate herself.

Ugh what did that drama queen do this time? You had thought to yourself when you heard the news.

You were quick to pack up camp and head towards Jinzhou. You couldn't leave your best friend to rot in there. So you were going to break him out of jail like any good friend would. You knew he would do the same for you.

It was how you ended up in Jinzhou city slums. You covered your less human parts and strolled right into the city.

You see, the so called slums were actually a coverup for the prison in which they kept the more dangerous criminals. By saying that the area was dangerous due to the poor, the city could get away with placing more guard rotations and lookouts. The people felt safer so they did not complain about the choaking presence of city watch. While this area wasn't great, it did not call for the large amount of guards. It was a still nice neighborhood.

Luckily for you, you did have some idea where the entrance was located, so you knew where to go. You spent several days planning and scouting the area now before going ahead with your plan.

You modified Jasmine plants in order to make their aurora more appealing. So much so that many could not resist dozing off to sleep. While it was a temporary effect, it did prevent you from murdering some poor soul doing their job and making it look like they fell asleep on the job. Can't sound the alarms if your boss just thinks your asleep.

You meandered to the door of the prison in the allayway you were in. It was just getting dark outside and the shadows helped cover even more of your inhuman looks. The guards were quick to perk up at your approach. You forced the modified Jasmine to sprout quietly.

“Halt!“ One of the guards spoke as your approached. The Jasmine grew faster and more instensely. “Under the order of Madam Magistrate no one is allowed into this section of the city!“ He continued. His partner collapsed on the ground after leaning on his spear. The man speaking wasn't far behind as his eyes rolled back and he drifted to sleep. You gave a gentle nudge of your foot to his face to make sure he was asleep. No response.

You took his keys and continued onward, stepping over his body as you did so. You made it through the prison with ease as the Jasmine didn't struggle so much to grow through the first floor. However, now that you were heading deeper things became more difficult. While there weren't many guards, they were very well trained. You weren't at full power here due to the thick walls so it did get tricky fighting some of the guards.

The man you were holding in the vines coming from your body finally stopped struggling and you dropped him. You let out a sigh and continued down one of the halls. Scar should be nearby. You looked in cell after cell until you finally found him. Chained up and sedated in one of the beds. You say sedated because a nice kick didn't even wake your friend. Hmm, this did cause a slight problem in the plans.

Alarms screeched to life in the prison and any hesitation was scrapped. Scar was getting the potato treatment and he was just going to have to deal with it if he woke up. You summoned vines to help lift Scar onto your shoulder and hold him there. The chains on his wrist and feet easily snapped under heavy pressure.

You ran down the halls as fast as you could back to the entrance. This wasn't going to plan and you didn't know any other way out of the prison other than the main entrance. Who was even awake or alive to call for help?? Scar remained blissfully unaware of the mayhem happening around him as you ran. You tossed people aside with your vines as you fled down the hallways.

You felt Scar shift on your shoulder as you approached the door to the prison. It seems he was waking up. You skidded to a stop as thick ice sprouted in front of you. You dodged the sword slash that was coming toward you. You propelled yourself back so you could see just who was attacking you.

Three women. A woman with white clothing and hair that you knew as the Madam Magistrate. One with darker clothing and dark hair. The other white haired and with dark clothes and hat.

“I had a feeling someone would come for him.“ The Madam Magistrate spoke, her tone neutral. She gazed towards Scar who was waking. “We have kept a close eye on him. I didn't expect for The immortal to show.“ More people swarmed from behind you. Ah, so it was a trap. That explained the emptiness of the place.

“This would be your chance to surrender.“ The woman in dark clothing and dark hair spoke. Frost was beginning to crawl it way to you. The hatted, white haired one was preparing to fight. You shifted in preparation to transform. This wasn't how you wanted to do this. You felt Scar laugh on your shoulder before you heard it.

“Stop being nice.“ You heard him slur behind you and hit your back. He wasn't fully awake yet, it seemed. He wasn't hiting as hard as he normally would have. Just what did they give him?

You weren't about to receive a beating, you didn't have it in you today. You were strong, but you did not have the confidence to fight three trained resonators, what seemed to be a platoon of forces, and keep Scar on your back while escaping the city. You just wanted out. Out. You dropped Scar. So this was how it was going to be.

You allowed yourself the shift into the tacet discord with painful ease. This form retained some of your features, like your hair and eyes, but it did not keep much else. As you grew, so did the nature on your body. When you finally stopped growing, you were far larger then anyone in the room. Scar's laughter was the only sound in the room.

The next moments were instantaneous. Ice and frost flew towards you and you were quick to grab Scar with your mouth. Your tail slammed and swiped into the soldiers behind you and you used your hands to destroy the ice. You flung yourself at the door, destroying it and taking the fight into the city. A broadblade cut into your hind leg and you flung yourself over building. Most buildings that you stepped on gave way easily as you ran. The wall of the city was close.

Flinging yourself over the wall, you fled deep into the mountainious countryside. Your enemies did not follow you out. Once you were in a place you deemed semi safe, you gently plucked Scar out of your open mouth and set him down into the grass. You transformed back into your human form, exhausted. Blood poured down one of your legs.

“What a rescue!“ Scar cackled as he shakily stood up. You sat onto a nearby log and grabbed a rag out of your bag and placed it on your wound. You held pressure until you felt it slowly try to stitch itself up. You body always struggled to heal itself when it was in this state. You just had to give it time and put pressure on it and it would do its job.

You watched as he wobbled to you and sat beside you. You felt his arm on your shoulder and him pull you closer.

“Thank you for the rescue. I do appreciate it. It's a pity we couldn't stay and wreck the place.“ You grunted as he let go of you and stood up. That wasn't a pleasant feeling on your healing leg. “We should do this more often.“ You watched as he walked a few steps away from you before turning back, his balance returned.

“I've found the wildcard that we've been searching for. Rover is her name. The one who could tip the scales towards us.“ You watched as excitement grew on his face. “I've extended the offer out for her to join us. After seeing someone come for me today, she should see that we care for each other in the Fractsidus.“ You listened as he talked. The wound on your leg was healed by the time he was finished rambling and pacing.

Phrolova was going to be annoyed that you rescued Scar without informing her first. You knew the two had been traveling together at the time of Scar's arrest. She probably already had plans in place when you broke your friend out of jail. Oops. Guess she will have to be annoyed at you. Wouldn't be the first time.

You held your hand to your face and yawned. When was the last time you slept?

“You could convince her to join! You're literate enough to write to her now.“ Scar put his hands on your shoulders and shook them slightly. You gave a look of doubt. His smile on his face told you he was about to manipulate you into doing it anyway. You knew to be wary of that smile. You just wrecked a part of Jinzhou, what made him think she'd talk to you?

“Don't give me that look. We both know you could do it.“

“If you two lover birds are done. We have things to discuss.“ Soft steps came from your side and Scar rolled his eyes and let go of you. Phrolova came into your view and she looked annoyed. “If you were going to go out of your way to get him, you could have told me. No matter, we have other things to plan and talk about.“

———

Jinhsi stared at the large amounts of paperwork in front of her. The damage done by you was immense. She hadn't prepared, hadn't known you would show up. She didn't even know you were apart of the Fractsidus. This was an alarming sign. A Calamitous discord like you running around with a hostile faction was bad.

She'd known you'd disguise yourself as human, but to go so far? Along with powers that have not been wielded by any known discord or resonators painted an already bad picture of you worse. Only two overseers of the Fractsidus were supposed to be here. If you were apart of the Fractsidus like she now suspected, then you had to be an overseer. She needed to inform the other cities.

Jinhsi sighed and took a blank pieces of paper out. She would write the letters and then send them. Then she would get to her paperwork. Her thoughts were heavy as she wrote. Scar's laughter taunted her for the rest of the week.

-----

Notes: I love Scar but writing him is hard... also i totally didn't think about the fact that nature isn't an attribute you could resonate with. I was thinking about Genshin and then suddenly remembered but it was too late so i just went with it. I had fun writing this but it's definitely not my best. Forgive me for any OOC and errors with lore. Not proof read.

[froggyfernycabbage]

Wildest Dreamings

Chapter 4: Skimming the Surface

Fiyero arrives late to history class and finds himself seated next to the green girl.

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

READ ON AO3

The afternoon session of Dr. Dillamond’s history class had just commenced, the students settled along the aisles of the lecture hall, reluctantly ready to harp on the past.

As per usual, Galinda was nestled between her lackeys, Pfannee and Shen Shen, in the back row, while Elphaba sat independently in the front, a permanent empty seat beside her.

The professor was waxing poetic about the assasification of the Archduke Winkifred when the sound of doors banging open brought the lecture to a standstill, everyone turning their heads to see who had caused the disruption.

Fiyero stood in the doorway, looking frazzled, though no less handsome. True to form, he’d gotten lost on campus after his spree in the library, his new blonde friend having distracted him from comprehending that map sufficiently. Her “guided tour” had been more like a flirtatious stroll, and she also hadn’t known any of the actual building names. 

Thus, Fiyero had found himself wandering aimlessly after they parted ways, a crumpled up class schedule his only lifeline. Not that he was desperate to go sit in a lecture hall, but he didn’t need that excitable Head Shiztress writing to his parents to expose his immediate truancy. 

He’d bolted into Briscoe Hall, hoping the class hadn’t started yet, but the silent head turns that greeted him indicated otherwise. Their stares triggered the memory of a traumatic tardiness from his past, but then he remembered himself. He didn’t have to shrink in shame just because he was late on his first day. He didn’t care about punctuality, because that’s how untroubled free-spirits like him went through life. 

Dr. Dillamond, however, was concerned with the new student’s tardiness. “This class begins promptly at the 2nd hour, young man. You’re late.”

A small bit of humility overrode his dedication to indifference.  “My apologies, professor, is this Ozian History I?” 

“Yes, now find yourself a seat so we can continue our lesson.” 

Fiyero quickly scanned the room and was disappointed to find that there were no vacancies in the back row. Galinda, panicking, shoved Pfannee to the floor to free up a space for him. Before she could wave him over, Fiyero’s eyes found a single empty seat down front next to a bespectacled green girl.

Smirking, he made his way to the aisle and motioned towards the bench, “Is this seat taken, miss?” Not waiting for an answer, he slid into place next to Elphaba. 

“I was starting to believe I imagined you,” Fiyero whispered teasingly, “like some wood sprite sent to torment me in the dead of night.” She was tormenting him in the light of day by ignoring him. It was especially cold of her after he’d greeted her with his warmest wave earlier. 

“Don’t you know that it’s rude to talk during a lecture?” she whispered back at him harshly. Her acknowledgement was delicious, despite its bitterness.

“My apologies, Miss Studious.” Elphaba sighed with contempt. 

The lecture resumed, but Fiyero could barely concentrate with the sage shrew so visibly tense beside him. As the other students took notes furiously, he realized he lacked the essential tool of a writing pen. His satchel was merely for show as he’d forgotten to pack any actual study materials. 

He dared not risk his life by asking his neighbor to borrow one, so he sat back and listened, a little invested in the harrowing tale of the rogue chicken student and his potato gun. Dr. Dillamond was a passionate orator, and Fiyero was admittedly impressed by his vigor.

When that day’s lesson concluded, Dillamond dismissed the rest of the class but waved a hoof at Fiyero and Elphaba to beckon them over to his desk.

“Miss Elphaba, I wanted to speak with you about your midterm project. As you recall, it was intended to be a partnered assignment, but we had an odd number of students at the time. So, you offered to work independently.” 

Elphaba did not like where this was going. “Yes, Dr. Dillamond, I remember.”

“Well, seeing as we have,” the goat glanced at Fiyero skeptically, “a new addition to our class, I’d like for you and Mister… uh…” 

“Tigelaar, sir.”

“Ah, yes. I’d like for you and Mister Tigelaar to work together on the project.” 

Elphaba suddenly wished his horse had trampled her. 

“But Dr. Dillamond, we agreed that I could work on my own— I’ve already started!” 

“Well, I’m sure you’d be able to help Mister Tigelaar catch up. I look forward to seeing what the two of you accomplish together.” The goat nodded and trotted off with the departing students.

Betrayed by her favorite professor, Elphaba crossed her arms and seethed, glancing up at her undesired partner. He met her glare with an obnoxious grin.

“We haven’t really met properly, have we?” he asked the green girl, extending his hand. “ Fiyero Tigelaar, recovering trampler.” 

Her arms still locked in anger, she ignored his attempt at a handshake. “Elphaba Thropp, impending casualty.”

Elphaba. How fitting for someone so peculiar and striking.

He had half a mind to invite her down to the Ozdust that evening as a gesture of goodwill, but his ego couldn’t take another rejection from her. 

Before he could work up the courage, Galinda pulled him away, eyeing Elphaba as if to scold her for being so unwelcoming. As they made their way out onto the courtyard together, Fiyero’s curiosity got the better of him. 

“So, what’s the deal with that Elphaba girl? Do you know her?” 

Galinda whipped her head towards him in minute horror. “Well, she’s actually my um… roommate.” She whispered that last word as if confessing a sin. 

“Your roommate? How did that come to be?” Fiyero was suddenly desperate to know the lore of their connection. 

Galinda sighed like a true martyr. 

“Well, you see, she wasn’t originally enrolled here at Shiz. Only her sister, that tragically beautiful girl I asked Boq to invite out, was supposed to stay. But Elphaba caused a big commotion on the quad, sent things flying all around—”

“Wait, flying ?” Maybe she really is a wood sprite, thought Fiyero.

“YES! She gave us all quite the scare, I was nearly flattened by a bench!” Galinda placed her hand on her heart in exasperation. “Anyway, Madame Morrible took credit, Oz bless her, to spare the poor girl from more embarrassment. However, she saw potential in her and now Elphaba is in her sorcery seminar, which I think is really unfair because she didn’t even have to write an entrance essay!” 

“Sounds like she made quite the impression. But how did that lead to the two of you becoming roomies?” 

“Oh, that part. Morrible asked for a volunteer to share their room, and being the gracious person I am, I offered her a place in my private suite.”

“How good of you,” Fiyero remarked.

“I know. You think she’d be more appreciative, but no, she’s quite the prickly presence.” 

Fiyero sensed there might be more to their cohabitation than Galinda was letting on, but he decided not to push it. 

“So, I'll be picking you up around eight?” he asked as they approached the dormitory entrance.

Galinda perked up at the mention of their scandalocious plans. She winked at him, tossing her hair for good measure. “Sounds perfect!”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

ok tbh…fellow readers don’t kill me but i feel like konig is still using readr for sex…or like actually doesnt love her yk…like anyone can fill that role and she is cause there’s no other woman around 😭 IDK i can’t put my finger on it

Ok, this is a tricky one and I'm glad you asked! Because... (and I also hope my readers won't kill me for this) like I said in my answer to this ask, I profiled König as a sociopath. And I can and I will put my finger on it 🫠

The following are my thoughts on the subject & antisocial pd (otherwise known as sociopathy). I hope you read about this m. disorder if it interests you, pls do not take my words as gospel! I also wish to remind that this is fiction and I'm practically ready to bend the laws of physics if I have to, to force even the most disputable, unstable and corrupt of characters give and receive love because that's just my cup of tea. 🩷

First of all, sociopaths are typically viewed to be incapable of love and empathy. They use manipulation to get what they want. Being in a relationship with a sociopath is described to feel incredible and passionate one moment, and confusing and scary the next. If you know what's good for you, you wouldn't even want to be special to a sociopath.

Sociopaths themselves often claim they do love those selected few they respect, just not in ways "normal" people regard as love. And this, I think, is where it gets interesting.

The definition of love as unconditional, sacrificial and selfless care for another person is not a sociopath's definition of love. They might care about a tiny amount of handpicked people, to some extent. For a sp, love is when they refrain from harming those few they care for. That's pretty cold, right?

Still, sociopaths are not devoid of emotion even if the most common emotion they feel is rage. They are not narcissists even if they are manipulative, emotionally cold, and act entitled at times. There seems to be dispute over whether sociopaths feel empathy or not (psychos don't, they simply can't because of an impaired mirror neuron system). Their defense mechanisms consist of manipulation, extreme detachment and extreme impulsivity; it's been their only way to survive in a disorganized, unloving and unstable environment.

König is someone who has been neglected and abused, who has never been shown what love even means. Everything has been conditional. He's lived in constant fear and anxiety; he has never had a loving or a stable father, his mother practically denied the abuse he had to suffer by not intervening, he has never had any friends (like he says himself in ch. 1), has only ever received attention through fear and disgust. The only dream he had in this life, the only possible redemption arc, so to say, went to shit.

It's not anyone's job to fix this kid, sure. But when, from where, or from who would he have learned to love?

When reader comes along, she shows kindness to him, forgives his trespassings over and over again, and chooses to trust in him even when afraid. If we only talk in terms of sociopaths/manipulators and their victims, then yes, this is a horrible setting, because it is the perfect setting for abuse.

And it's true: there is no one else around. All the yearning and thirst and starvation is immediately projected onto the first and only person who finally shows him some kindness, even after all his drastic shortcomings. So she isn't "special". But in a way, she's more than special: she's world shiftingly, groundbreakingly special 😐

What we know is this: König asks if he is harassing her and if she wants him to stop. He vows multiple times he would never hurt her. He assaults someone who, in his mind, mistreats her (and who reminds him of a person who mistreated him and his mother when he was a kid), leaves reader eventually alone when she shows signs of not forgiving him/wanting him in her life anymore.

These are all toxic breadcrumbs, and this whole setting is unhealthy and problematic. A sane and cynical person would say that this is manipulative and abusive. A sensitive, overly compassionate person might say this is a sociopath's only way to love.

Reader may not have been special when she first came into König's life. He saw her as a plaything first, but can you blame a touch-starved man for trying to get some intimacy? König doesn't trust anyone, doesn't know how to give or get comfort other than through sex, so of course he would opt for sex first. (Also, let's be real: who would suffer this kind of man if he wasn't so hot? No one, for goodness sakes)

The connection that blooms afterwards, I imagined and wrote as real, no matter what or who he is (because I'm a naive romantic at heart 🥰). He's not a green flag man by any means, but he's trying his best (which will never be enough). Had I wrote him a psychopath, the story would have been way more darker, and even the minimum amount of empathy and true love that is, at times, present in this fic, would not have been there at all.

König also sacrifices himself for reader at the end of the last chapter. A through-and-through sociopath would not perhaps deem it in their best interest to go that far, even if the "gains" were abundant (reader's deepening attachment and eternal gratitude). This is why this particular scene is important, because it poses the question: is he really a sociopath? Why would he do this? Because at this point, reader is indeed very goddamn special :D

I'd also like to entertain the question: how special is König to reader? I mean, don't we all just want to take these broken men like Ghost and König home and "cure" their sadness by giving them some— ahem, *gunshots*, this was a little off topic, but you get the idea. Savior complex is real, too!

If König is ever diagnosed with APD, reader would probably educate herself and find that sociopaths cannot love, and they cannot change because there is no cure: the damage is already done. These people will only use and abuse those who don't get out of the relationship. She would also find that there are sociopaths who are still in touch with their families, who have kids and partners and who have learned to "behave" for the sake of their loved ones. Either because they actually care or because it serves their interests (of being loved? Don't we all want to be loved?).

Again, this is fiction. I don't wish to justify this character's actions nor condone this kind of abusive behavior (should go without saying but perhaps it's best to state it at least sometimes to be clear ❤️). Nor do I want to condemn the reader for having feelings and empathy for this big, abused wreck. And the reason why I can't give you a clear answer on this is because there is none :')

If you people have thoughts on this, something you wish to share, I would love to hear and chat and just…*pls* this is such an interesting topic! Don't be shy 🩷🤗

(Also pls don't kill me)

[adraarts]

...Warning. The following information is classified... Subject SS04: Simela Simeonidis Age: 28 Gender: Female (She/Her) Nun of the Eye of Michael & Gung Ho Gun The Dragon "...Subject was scouted from the orphanage in December for Sister Mirofora's Melee Weapons Project. The fourth subject and only successor to survive and achieve outstanding results from The Spear's training regimens, programs and testing..." ...Error. Board clearance required to read further information. Access denied...

Character Information Spotify Playlist O.C Tag Please click on the images for full view and the ALT text for a little bit more information! Further artists notes beneath the cut!

PLEASE NOTE: - That the head scarf that my O.C is wearing on her head is known as an 'epimandylion', otherwise known as the 'apostolnik'. A lot of her imagery is drawn upon Christian Eastern Orthodoxy (Particularly the Greek Branch). E.g. Her gun lance, Ascalon, named after the spear that Saint George used to slay the dragon. - While the only thing separating Simela's appearances between her Trigun: Maximum/Trigun: 1998 and Trigun: Stampede looks is the Eye of Michael symbol on her nun's habit for Trigun: Stampede, the difference is mainly in the personality. In Trigun: Maximum/Trigun: 1998 she is a lot more reserved with her true emotions, thoughts and feelings, she is a lot more cold. In Trigun: Stampede, she is very open with her thoughts, feelings and emotions, and actively goes out of her way to be assertive and stand up for herself. Not to say that her Trigun: Maximum/Trigun: 1998 self doesn't, it's just that the Trigun: Stampede version is more extroverted and a little bit more brash.

But boy.

What a passion project this was.

I feel like I don't have the words to accurately describe how much this O.C has healed me.

This whole thing was almost a years worth of progress, and one of the many contributions involved in my journey of falling in love with art again and wanting to draw more after many years of not drawing and/or being inconsistent and unhappy with my art. Making Simela after a particularly rough December 2022, and discovering Trigun in 2023, was what I needed. I needed to make an O.C that was equal parts me and the things that I loved; The NieR series, One Piece, Pontic-Greek culture, Greek culture, Dragoons from the Final Fantasy series, strong female characters, the list goes on. There was a time in my life where I was made to feel ashamed for putting cultural and ethnic aspects of myself into my O.C's; what representation was for me out there, as a person of Greek background, in anime? None. This is where my Trigun O.C came in and turned my goddamn life on my head! Thick brows? Check. Dark, thick hair? Check. Hip dips? Fuck yeah!

Making and further developing this O.C (Along with being in the Trigun space in general) has made me discover parts of myself that I otherwise would have never known of/discovered. Fuck, Trigun made me write again freely without any restrictions or rules, it made me make art again.

Thank you Trigun, and the people I have met in the fandom ;v;/

[hanaotaku95]

Meet Rosalind Cipher-Pines, though she often goes by Rosie!

After Fiddleford abandons the portal project, Bill needed an incentive to keep Ford on board, and thus baby traps him. Using a piece of Ford’s hair and his own essence, Bill makes a baby, randomizing her traits but making sure she was born with 6 fingers like Ford.

Rosie has always been fascinated with space, stars, the universe, something that caught Bill’s attention very early on. While initially not thinking much of his creation, as she is physically almost all human, he keeps an eye on her after discovering her passion for it. Otherwise, Ford is essentially her sole parent and does the best he can for her.

Things change when she is four years old and the relationship between Ford and Bill crumbles. Rosie is sucked into the portal with her father and spends the majority of her life among the multiverse.

While mainly human, Rosie has more Euclidean in her than even Bill realizes. Her Euclidean form is a diamond, which ties into the nickname both Bill and Ford call her “Little Star”.

My AU is going to be called “Pine Needles in a Haystack” and it will incorporate a few well known Gravity Falls AUs into it. Her human form was made using Picrew while I personally drew her Euclidean form.

[fatuismooches]

hello, victim of my sudden blues because i started listening to sad music. i just wanna talk about some intricacies of reader's and dottore's relationship bc i haven't been feeling well 🫠🫠 dont mind this too much i think it sounds kinda dumb n it's kinda like just word vomit.. anyways, hurt/comfort, reader suffering from uhhh issues?? insecure?? idk how to word it

when he was young, zandik had to learn.

he already learns a lot. he has knowledge far beyond the average human mind at such a young age. but he still had to learn. learn things what he initially thought utterly useless and not of his concern.

he had to learn how to be human.

how could this be? zandik is human (he plans to not be one, though, in the far future).

even as a child, he wasn't treated much like a human. depending on your iteration, zandik may or may not have parents who love him. still, it doesn't save him from the outside world. how his neighbors looked at him in scorn, how they talk about him behind his back, whispering and murmuring until his ears nearly bleeds. how the other kids pick on him, give him bruises for no good reason. ignoring his cries for them to stop, ignoring his frustration and confusion. why do they call him a monster when he simply thirsts for knowledge? isn't sumeru known as the nation of wisdom? why must he be the village's object of hatred when he was merely a child. other children beat him up and call him a 'monster' when he hasn't done anything wrong.

even though he was young.

he was vulnerable, impressionable. undeniably human.

he was treated to be otherwise but the people that surrounds him. and he has accepted it as he grows older.

after all, a child mimics what they see. a child, born human, learned to be a monster.

but there you were, teaching him, reminding him, that he was, in fact, human.

you've barged into his life (uninvited) and made an irremovable impression. you've claimed a spot into the void of his existence that fills him whole, and once you're gone, it was like he was incomplete. like a barnacle that stuck onto his skin and refuses to let go until he dies.

he learned, through you, that he is allowed to feel; to cry in the arms of someone who cares, to laugh at something he finds funny, to smile despite his sharp teeth, to look at something in pure awe though his eyes were crimson red—to study, to be passionate, to disregard those who wishes nothing but suffering to him, to sleep without a worry, to care, to love.

to feel like he's a monster, yet still be embraced, to be kissed, to be loved.

to feel human, to be human.

but he hasn't learned enough.

it hasn't been more clear when you suddenly broke into tears right in front of him whilst you were doing a group project at the akademiya.

he watches as tears spill from your eyes, head hung low as you frantically wipe them off. you sob harder when you see the papers you've worked so hard on be soaked. you expected zandik to yell at you for ruining your project, for stalling progress, for crying.

but it unsettles you more when he says nothing.

he was thinking, that's for sure. but you don't know what. he doesn't appear to be angry, nor happy either. but he's thinking, and you want to cry harder because of it.

you start to apologize. laugh at yourself because—gosh, you're crying in the middle of a project. so ridiculous, you're wasting his time and—

zandik was lost.

you didn't cry as much as far as he could remember. sure, when you were kids, you cried. it's normal, you were a child. as you grew older, you cried less. complained less as well. you stopped talking about complications you have between your parents, or your siblings, or your other relatives. you stopped mentioning how your own friends began to deviate from you ever since you started hanging out with him. you grew silent when you hear them murmur about you whenever you stood next to him.

he thought you were fine. you never talked to him about it. you always did cater to his needs a lot more than yours; he hasn't heard you talk something that you feel negatively for years. it was like a flip has been switched inside his head. why do you not talk to him? not complain? not cry like you used to?

zandik knows that humans can never achieve perfection. each and every individual has flaws. he himself has flaws (that he has yet to remove), and even so, you loved him. with his imperfections and madness.

you were too perfect. to his eyes at least. ever smiling, reminding him of his needs, helping him with his research, indulging him with whatever he wants.

and so he asks, as tears stains your cheeks.

and you spill, because you were bursting with emotion. with sadness, guilt, frustration, and fear. bursting with imperfection. you confess you stopped seeking for his help to not inconvenience him. to not hold him back. he was busy, and you didn't want to be a burden.

zandik mind blanks.

well, all throughout his life, he has never once thought you were a burden. even if you tried to pose yourself as this perfect, flawless, assistant. he, as a scholar, make mistakes. it is how he learns, to improve, to grow. so why can't you? why can't you screw up? appear weak and vulnerable before his eyes? he knows you trusts him, but why do you hold yourself back?

maybe because he has never noticed—or tried to. he mostly focuses on himself and his research, and while you were a part of his life, he has regrettably paid little mind to your needs. you did everything for him, and he has yet to learn to do the same.

you've comforted him, but zandik doesn't know how to comfort you. it was maddening for him, really. to grow restless as you cry, wanting to do something yet not knowing. how does he comfort you? this is the first time you've cried in front of him after all those years. does he wipe your tears away? does he give you words of encouragement? does he do this? does he do that?

he doesn't know. he hates that he doesn't know. he hates that he never tried to know.

guilt—such a bitter taste in his tongue.

he has never felt any guilt to the people he has tortured with his tainted hands. he has never felt guilt when he burned his village—a distant memory—down to the ground.

it was a sickening feeling.

he never wants to feel it again.

he abhors it.

he feels disgusting.

wretched.

human.

of course, it was only you who can make him feel human. only you who can make him feel these horrible sensations in his heart, sinking down to his bones. love, happiness, joy, fear, anger, sadness, guilt—he loathes it. it makes him feel weak.

but he accepts. only for you, only to you.

he is willing to learn, he wants to learn.

he wants to know how to lighten the weight that burdens your shoulders. he wants to know how to make you smile brightly like you always had. he wants to know what makes you feel sad, to let you cry into his arms, to tell him every thing that bothers you.

he wants to understand.

teach him to understand.

so zandik may not know what will cheer you up this moment.

but he tries. and if he fails, he will try again.

he stands up from the floor, your hands in his, and he leads you outside your shared flat. to a clearing, with water streaming from a river, with flora blooming everywhere. the grass damp, the winds howling.

it was a chilly night.

the stars twinkled up in the skies, forming constellations that you could recognize with ease.

zandik sits you on the grass next to him, and he wraps his arms around you.

you could hear crickets chirping into the night, the lights around the city dimming as the people go to sleep. silent chatter from the people who pass by, and the sounds of leaves dancing into the breeze.

his hands rubbing your back, his chin on top of your head. it was how you hug him usually, when you cuddle. your face buried into his chest, breathing in sync.

it was calm.

soothing.

warm, especially in his arms.

and you sob harder than you ever had in your entire life.

it was like a dam had broken, and now the tears now fall endlessly. you cling onto zandik as you cry. he listens to you babble about everything that ails you, how you feel, and your insecurities. you cry and cry, and he listens, wiping your tears with his thumbs, his face soft. pained.

understandably so, he wasn't used to... whatever this was.

he was so unsure, but he tries.

you aren't much comforted, too many things burden you.

your negative thoughts won't disappear just because he finally decided to pay more attention to you. buried beneath your fears and insecurities lies anger. you hate that you are more understanding toward him. you really can't blame yourself for favoring him over the years.

but you could always read him so easily. you can tell.

he wants to learn. learn more about you, learn how to be better. to be true to himself, to be a lover, to be your forever partner—to be human.

to you, and only for you.

zandik will try, and learn, if only for you.

zandik learns from his mistakes, he will be sure to never let you succumb to your own sufferings like this ever again.

it will probably take years for zandik to say the words he wants to say.

but he clings to you so tightly, his hands gripping hard onto your clothes, his adam's apple trembling and his eyes twinkled with the stars above—im sorry.

and he pulls you impossibly closer, pressing a kiss on your temple, and listening to every word you say. his heart thumping in his chest, his hands caressing your skin—i love you.

and you know it. of course you do. because it's only to you that zandik will ever be like this. vulnerable, weak,

so

utterly

unbearably

and painfully

human.

you teach with your love,

and his heart will learn.

the stars that witness every passing moment bears testament of your love.

and when you look up high in the sky, with dottore holding your hand, peering from the balcony of the white expanse of snezhnaya, while he rambles on and on about his recent experiment to you, it reminds you of that night. hundreds of years ago.

"dottore," you call his name, breaking him from his trance, looking at you with utmost attention. you smile at him, scooting closer as you bury yourself deep into his harbinger coat (that he handed to you due to the cold). "my zandik," you coo,

and he grins, his hands now lay on your waist as he tilts his head curiously. "yes, my dear?" your heart soars at the pet name, your giddiness evident to him.

"oh, nothing," you sigh, hands reaching up to his face and slowly taking off the mask that covers his beautiful, scarred face. "just remembered that night."

you bring it up often whenever you get nostalgic. and every time, you laugh at the face he makes—a big frown, his brows furrowed.

"i'm just glad i broke down that day," you admit, playing with his soft, cyan hair and kissing the long stand that was curled around your finger. "gods know what would happen if i didn't. i wouldn't have complete power over you like i do now."

his scowls at that, straightening his back to tower over you, an attempt to appear threatening. "complete power? over me?" he scoffs, "preposterous."

"if so, then you can sleep in your office tonight." you hum, standing on your tippy-toes to level with him. "you wouldn't mind that, right? you're the oh so powerful il dottore, after all!"

"... don't make me..." he suddenly sulks, his face finding your shoulder as he wraps his arms around you. you laugh, shaking your head and rolling your eyes.

"i was kidding." you huff, carding your fingers through his hair. "i wouldn't want to miss a night without you."

"good to know." he sighs, pleased, "i love you, my dear."

you smile once more, admiring the starts that have watched over you from the day you were born, and a hundred years later.

forever bearing witness of your love for a monster named il dottore, and your lover, a human, named zandik.

"yeah," you close your eyes, "love you too."

oh yeah do you mind me sending a few more when i get a thought in my mind? i don't wanna swarm your inbox, so it's okay! i just wanna distract myself with dottore 💥💥anyways thanks for listening to my thing, i like talking about stuff like these :3 i think i got carried away tho heehoo

oh mY GOSH.... I THINK THIS IS THE LONGEST ASK I'VE EVER GOTTEN BUT I AM NOT COMPLAINING WHATSOEVER. I LOVE THIS SM, IT IS NOT DUMB AT ALL ;(( <333 I'm sorry you haven't been feeling well, I hope you take it easy if possible okay? And of course I don't mind you sending more asks, whether it's just regular chatting or writing I'm happy to receive them :) I'm happy to listen to your things hehe 🫶 But. Forgive me this is already SO good already my additions may be short and not very good,, 😭

OH STOP... the idea of child Zandik having to "teach" himself how to become human is heartwrenching. It's not something one would ever think to do, much less a child... the saddest part is that he was born a human, a curious, innocent one initially, though viewed as completely different - a monster - and that is what he shall become if everyone wished it on him so dearly. But oh, of course you had to come in and mess him up. Mess up his heart. His mind. His body. His thoughts. Feelings. Emotions. Even a bit of cognition. You were not part of the plan. The acceptance of being treated by others like less than dirt, the acceptance of being unloved and hated, the acceptance of refusing any kind of remote kindness or affection. You changed everything. You changed him. You taught him. But... he doesn't think you've ever prepared him for a situation like this.

Crying in front of Zandik out of nowhere, will probably be a horrible decision on your part. You have no idea how he'll react, what will happen, if anything will go down, how you'll possibly recover from the embarrassment or explain yourself. But the harder you try to push the thought out of your mind, the more your hand gets wobbly, your body heats up and trembles, your throat closes, and soon enough your vision is blurry, and fresh hot tears are pattering onto the desk. You know Zandik has noticed from the way his pen no longer scraped against the paper, but you do not dare look at him, for you are not sure if you could face him. But not a peep comes from your lover, making your heart pound almost painfully at the silence beside your sobs that you were desperately trying to control. How mortifying, you thought. Embarrassing. You don't know what you were even doing, how stupid you were being. You play it off with laughter because of course you do, what else were you to do? Actually explain? No, of course not.

Zandik, on the other hand, had no clue what was even going on. He does remember a few instances of your tears. Because you fell and scraped your knee, because someone yelled at you, kid things. But this was completely different. These were real, serious tears. And so the scholar thinks. You were always indulging him and his rants, his disdain for other people and how they irritated him so. But it is now he realizes he hasn't heard you say anything remotely similar in a very long time. What makes you upset? Angry? The answer was, that he doesn't know, for you have never confided in him in a long time. You are the only person he should know everything about, and yet he doesn't. It leaves an uncomfortable feeling in him. He wonders if you've been feeling a similar yet different kind of uncomfortableness for a while now without his knowledge.

Zandik must know. And that mere inquiry is all you need for words to start tumbling out your mouth, some probably incoherent but you just needed to get them out. Were they nice? No, not at all, and he doesn't understand. How could you feel all these things when you are you? The one person he acknowledges and loves for all of their worth? How could he not notice all these things bottling up in you too? And it's now that Zandik has come to understand, he is not the... best lover. When you agreed to be in a romantic relationship, you knew he would not be a typical or traditional man. He would not court you, not be romantic or sappy, would not waste time with things of that nature. Though... listening to you has nothing to do with that. Zandik wants you to be able to air all your grievances to him. Will he lend a listening ear? Yes. Will he be able to comfort you, however, that is a different story.

Zandik does not wish for anything anymore - he believes if he wants something, he will work to seize it with his very hands - but at this moment he wishes he knew the concept of comforting. This concept, by itself, would be useless to him normally, but you... you deserve it. And yet he can't give it to you, like you've given it to him many times. He despises it. The foreign feeling of guilt is one he has grown to hate the most. Though despite how much it annoys him, he will endure it. For you. Solely for you. Because you are worth that. You are worth him doing many things he wouldn't normally do. Things that make him grumble and complain but he'll end up doing anyway. Things that result in you smiling and laughing and trying to throw your arms around him. And so from that instance, he resolves himself to this journey. He will understand, whether it takes a few years or a decade or even perhaps centuries. He will be sure to understand.

When Zandik takes you by the hand you're unsure but go along with it anyway, the other still pathetically trying to wipe the tears from your face. He takes you outside for some reason and though your vision was blurred the scenery still looked as lovely as ever, the view you loved so dearly after waking up and your first view being of Zandik's face, and then the scene outside the window. Though you don't worry about that, you're still confused by Zandik's actions. But then he pulls you to the grass with him and just embraces you, and you can't help but stiffen for a moment because... you really weren't expecting this. But your lover continues his movements anyway. You feel so comforted, and that kind of environment is all you need to let your deepest and darkest troubles, concerns, worries, insecurities, whatever you need to say, out. The idea of Zandik doing this for you was still lodged at the very back of your mind, and you knew that Zandik himself was probably not sure of what the hell he was doing, but neither of you cared at this moment. Both of you were trying, trying hard, for each other. Nothing will ever get better immediately. Everything takes time, lots of time, even. But effort matters as well. It's still not enough, but if he tries, if he learns, maybe everything will be okay. For now, you'll be satisfied with his unspoken words and actions, for this is all he can muster now too. No one will ever understand, they don't need to understand the two of you anyway - not when the stars are shining down so brightly, illuminating the love you two have for each other.

When you look at Dottore, sometimes you can't help but reminisce to the older times. When you two were just simple scholars with big dreams. And now, many of those dreams have been fulfilled, and Dottore has become a changed man, but you can't help but think. Especially that night. It holds a special place in your heart.

You can't help but want to be as close as possible to him. You'll take every single piece of his attention if you could, and won't say no. You might end up stealing this coat of his forever though, surely he has enough that he won't notice if one is missing.

Whenever you bring up that night, Dottore already knows what you're going to say and do. You'll always pepper his scarred face with kisses, play with his hair, and then tease him about oh how immensely powerful you were over him, never missing a beat. You never seem to let it go, no matter how many times he corrects you in your thinking. And then you'll always playfully banter back, and then he uncharacteristically gives in at this rare moment of tenderness, and then you always forgive him, as both of you already know how this goes. Yet, it never seems to grow old.

You think... the sky of Teyvat may be fake, but, the significance and beautifulness of it to you will always remain important and real in your heart and memories.

[hezzabeth]

Next story part of Saying Farewell to Armageddon

A forest had engulfed Baker Street. A romantic, sunlit forest with twisting trees covered in puffy, bright yellow blossoms bursting from upturned cobblestones. Dotted among them were smaller, dark trees heavy with bunches of magenta berries. Two of the feral children had already attacked the berries, their lips a deep purple.

Dityaa stopped helping Revati with the popcorn cart and started skipping towards the children. Revati sneezed loudly as the pollen hit her nose. She hated to admit it, but it was all rather pretty.

A few feet away, Brigadeiro was working outside the greenhouse along with the school students and Dusk. Mrs. Gupta was glaring at them with firm disapproval. “Does that fool have any idea how much water plants use?” She grumbled to Revati, who was pushing the cart towards everyone.

“I told you, Mrs. Gupta, these are all drought-resistant native Australian plants,” Brigadeiro replied as he stooped over an upturned cobblestone, spraying the mud below. There was a faint rustling sound, and a bush burst from the earth. The bush had peculiar finger-like mint-green leaves. Seconds later, it was covered in hot pink fleshy fruit.

“They look like your hair,” Revati remarked, faintly startled by the entire thing. “Here, try one,” Brigadeiro replied, picking a piece of fruit and handing it to Revati.

“I was only gone for less than an hour,” Revati pointed out.

“I know, if I had more time, I would have been able to turn that old fountain into a herb garden,” Brigadeiro said with a small shrug.

A fresh, salty-sweet flavor hit Revati’s tongue, and she swallowed loudly, staring at the fruit with astonishment. “It’s so unusual,” she said after a second of shocked silence.

“Enchylaena tomentosa, otherwise known as Ruby Saltbush; they used to grow wild all over the deserts of Australia,” Brigadeiro said as Revati devoured the rest of the berry.

“Australia? Is that one of the smaller Saturn moons?” Revati asked, and Brigadeiro chuckled.

“No, it’s an ancient old Earth country,” Brigadeiro said. As far as Revati knew, nobody had stepped foot on old Earth in almost a thousand years.

“Don’t laugh at me, you thought a dog was a shoe!” Revati snapped back, tossing the rest of the fruit onto the earth. The bush rustled, and a branch grabbed the bright pink berry, shoving it into the dirt.

“Is it supposed to do that?” Revati asked, faintly horrified.

“Oh yes, it’s just reabsorbing its nutrients! All plants are modified to be self-sustaining,” Brigadeiro said cheerfully, and he reached into his jumpsuit pocket once again. This time he pulled out a tiny, slim plastic box. He held it up to his eye, and it made a clicking sound.

“What’s that?” Revati asked suspiciously.

“Oh this is just my seed vault! I did my master's thesis project on native Australian plants,” he said as he showed Revati the inside of his vault. The inside of the box was filled with tiny balls of clear goo, each with a speck inside.

“Why are you doing this? These seeds would be worth a fortune on the black market,” Revati asked, and Brigadeiro shrugged.

Here's the corrected version of your text:

"The least I can do after you saved my life is to build a self-sustaining garden for your community," he said, plucking one of the gel balls out before closing the ball with a snap. "Besides, it’s fun! Gardening has always been my passion," he added as he walked to the old fountain.

Juniper and Aurora were busy filling the fountain with volcanic Martian dirt. "You agreed to help him on this project? I thought you hated him," Revati whispered to Aurora.

"Shhh! I don’t hate him! I just don’t want you getting into a mess! I’m willing to like anyone who makes us more food," Aurora hissed.

"Miss Juniper! Will you say our prayer before the planting?" Bridgadeiro asked, and Juniper rolled her eyes.

"Fine, O Goup, Divine Goddess of Fertility and Wellness. Bringer of cosmic balance and nurturer of all that grows. We seek Your bountiful grace and nurturing embrace. To foster life’s richness wherever it flows.

In Your lush gardens, where seeds turn to flowers, Grant us the strength to cultivate with care, To nurture each bud and blossom with love, And rejoice in the abundance we share.

May Your fertile essence inspire our lands, With a symphony of life, vibrant and bright, Guiding our steps in the dance of creation, Under Your watchful, life-giving light. Amen." Juniper finished.

"Amen! That was lovely! You could be a high priestess," Bridgadeiro smiled.

"No thanks," Juniper replied as Bridgadeiro pushed the gel ball into the soil. Bridgadeiro then pulled out the bottle of serum, which was now half empty. "Two pumps," Bridgadeiro smiled, pumping the soil. A vine-like plant with sharp leaves sprang out of the fountain, seconds later covered in heavy greenish-yellow vegetables. "Bush banana, very high in protein, but it tastes best cooked," Bridgadeiro smiled, gesturing to the plant.

Bridgadeiro reached for his seed vault again, and Revati grabbed his hand. "No, you've given us more than enough! Stop wasting your serum," she said firmly.

"What the hell is that doing here?" Nanni's voice suddenly screamed. Nanni was standing next to the popcorn cart, pointing at the broken android.

"We found it in the maze, right after I sucked a bunch of black sand out of Queen Victoria’s bosom," remarked Dityaa. Dityaa was sitting on the ground, fashioning a flower crown out of several yellow flower-covered twigs.

"Actually, I found it first. She warned me that something called 'the spider' is coming," Revati explained. Nanni was trembling, shaking her head from side to side.

"You need to burn that thing! The only good thing that came from it was your sister!" Nanni said, and Dityaa glanced up, looking faintly confused.

"I came from that? Didn’t I grow in Anna’s body like Sissy?" Dityaa asked curiously, and Nanni pursed her lips together.

"No, you grew in that maternity droid… lots of babies did before the war," Nanni said evasively.

"I did! Then we should save it, we should dress it up and put it on display," Dityaa smiled. Dityaa slowly got up and then tenderly placed the flower crown on the android's head. "Your mother can't see this! Go make a fire right now," hissed Nanni, ripping the crown off.

"It's made out of solid metal! I can't make a fire hot enough to burn it," Revati pointed out.

"You have no idea! This thing killed over a dozen people! It destroyed ripped their hands off!" Nanni grimaced, kicking it.

"Really? It seemed more interested in saving us," Revati said dubiously.

"It's an empty shell, you can't trust emptiness! It could be filled with anything," Nanny said firmly, and Aurora cleared her throat slightly.

"Mistress?" She asked.

"Hmm," Revati replied.

"We could take the android to the blacksmith forge; they would be able to melt metal," Aurora said with a small shrug.

"The blacksmith forge, the one in the medieval faire? I'm not in the mood to have rancid urine thrown all over me," Revati shuddered.

"They use it to brush their teeth," Dityaa said helpfully.

"I know a back way of getting in, I use it when I visit my girlfriend," Aurora admitted, blushing bright red.

"Girlfriend?" Revati cried with surprise.

"Yes, she's the daughter of the guy who plays the castle's beekeeper," Aurora admitted with a small shy smile.

"Is that where our honey comes from?" Revati asked, and Aurora nodded meekly.

"Well, you are a lady full of surprises!" Revati said, and Aurora looked pleased.

"I always meet her at noon; we have plenty of time to get the android there," Aurora said. Revati glanced up at the sky. "It’s hard to tell what time it is; the trees are blocking the sun," Revati grimaced with annoyance. "It's 10:32 AM circus Martian time," Bridgadeiro said helpfully, flipping over his wrist. A glowing clock had been tattooed onto his skin. Revati flinched, and Bridgadeiro smiled reassuringly.

"Don’t worry! It’s just a standard tattoo clock; it doesn’t think for itself," Bridgadeiro said reassuringly, and Revati sighed with relief.

"Can I come too? I’m dying to see the inside of Medieval faire!" Dityaa remarked.

"Only if you go clean yourself up; you’re starting to smell like a blocked drain," Revati firmly replied.

"I smell like vanilla and fresh flowers!" Dityaa shrieked back before storming off in the direction of their home.

"Medieval Faire. Before the tornado, Revati only ever visited Medieval Faire once a week. Revati would slip her hand into her father's, and together they would head down to trade carrots. Father had at one point asked if they wanted any tomatoes, and Lady Morganna shrieked it was "new world poison." Out of all the actors, the residents of Medieval Faire were the most authentic.

[ammo-knights-official]

hello hello hello! as one might already know, slosher-class weapons are notoriously easy to makeshift since all you really need is an object with an open cavity and a way to feed ink to the hole so it can pool up, and as such they're often used as an introduction to recreational weapon building and modification. i've been working on one built from a microwave oven, although instead of the explosher/sloshing machine hybrid i was envisioning when i started the project, i just ended up making it closer to a standard slosher since using the turntable mechanism always made the ink glob arc to the side regardless of which way it was oriented. i suppose that just goes to show you need the whole drum to be spinning in order to get an accurate shot like the one from a sloshing machine anyway do you guys have any favorite custom-built sloshers out of ones you've seen brought to the shops? - punkbooyahbomber2227

That's a good question; I've seen so many fun ones out there that it's hard to pick just one example, but here's one I've been thinking about lately: a pair of "Dualie Sloshers" made from trendy insulating tumblers! I doubt it was a very effective weapon design as its ink output was limited and it didn't have any special workarounds for it, but I appreciate the creativity and would love to see new and improved iterations of the design! It could be the next big thing.

Of course, the custom slosher design that I hold dearest to my heart would have to be my very own: the Bloblobber! The custom weapon experimentation scene was still underground at the time, but they were no less inventive with what materials they used. I was thinking about those homemade Slosher designs while I was taking a nice long bubble bath, and then inspiration hit me like bubbly blob bombs bouncing off a wall: what if an entire bathtub could be used as a weapon?

I worked tirelessly to bring such a wild concept into reality. It'd be absurd to expect the average Inkling teen to be able to carry a full-sized tub in a Turf War, so I cut the size down to that of a regular Slosher, and then to make it stand out amongst the basic buckets in circulation, I took a page out of the Sloshing Machine's book and went to work giving it unique ammunition, and I ultimately came up with the Sheldon-patented blob-lobbing technology the Bloblobber is known for!

Of course, my next step would be to get my new design approved by the rest of the Turf War Association so I could manufacture and sell it, bringing the joy of lobbing blobs to everybody, but when I presented it to the committee, they were absolutely discombobulated. A bathtub-shaped bucket that could lob bouncing blobs? It was just about the most bonkers thing they had ever heard! It took me and an entire mob of blob-lobbing enthusiasts over a year's worth of blob lobbying to convince them to pass the blob law and make the Bloblobber's blob bombs lawful, but as soon as they did, I put the Bloblobber on our shelves and the rest was history!

That's why I have a soft spot for all the custom weapon projects out there, and I encourage all aspiring inventors to look into the mechanics of different weapons, Slosher or otherwise, to see what makes them tick and put their own twists on them. In fact, I host a weapon engineering camp every summer for all ages to learn and experiment with designing new weapons! Fun fact: that camp was where I met Shelly and Donny; they were so talented and passionate that I let them help out in the Inkopolis stores. I always love to see someone who shares my love for the craft, so these asks really make my day!

[saintsenara]

2 bellatrix Lestrange

4 Sirius black

thank you for the ask, anon!

[character ask game here]

2. a canon or headcanon hill you will die on about them:

i have two headcanon answers for my best girl, bellatrix:

that her marriage to rodolphus is unhappy

a lot of bellatrix fans - or certainly the ones i follow on tumblr - have the headcanon that her marriage to rodolphus is a strong one, and either reject the idea of bellamort, or think that bellamort takes place with rodolphus’ consent.

i disagree. i much prefer to view bellatrix as someone whose breathless devotion to voldemort isn’t just caused by the deranged sexual energy she projects in the books [which helena bonham carter really took and ran with in the films…], but by the fact that voldemort - tragically - is the first man in her life who actually treats her as a real person.

while i don’t think her marriage to rodolphus was forced [i think it was arranged - and i think the idea that pureblood families practise arranged marriage is implied by canon - but arranged and forced marriages are not synonymous, nor are arranged and loveless ones], i do think that it was a decision she made when she was quite young because she thought she should, and that, if she’d had the chance to actually think properly about it, she wouldn’t have accepted rodolphus’ proposal.

i see them, then, as having very little in common - rodolphus being dour and insubstantial is my preferred way of writing him, while bella is passionate and vibrant - and as living, almost the second the rings are exchanged, entirely separate lives.

i also see bellatrix feeling incredibly constrained by the gendered expectations of her social class - expectations which rodolphus, following the example of his parents [and bella’s own], has for her - and hating being, essentially, trapped in the lestranges’ house, having to play hostess and behave herself like a good pureblood woman. like narcissa.

voldemort - someone who can very much understand the desire to escape the shackles of your father and your class background - is the only man she ever meets who lets her escape this.

but, more than that:

that voldemort genuinely loves her, in his own little way

if you asked him, of course, he’d say otherwise, but i think it’s justifiable in canon that voldemort doesn’t just like having bella around because she strokes his ego.

he clearly misses her while he’s stuck in a tree in albania; he is the happiest he’s been in over a decade the night she’s released from azkaban; he refuses to lose her to azkaban again in the duel at the ministry, even though it means blowing a year-long cover; he allows her to speak frankly to him when they’re in private [she tells him to his face that he’s wrong about snape - for most people, that’s the last thing you ever say to lord voldemort, for bella, all she gets is the silent treatment for a few days]; he is willing to put up with her doing all she can to be physically close to him, even though that alludes to the relationship between them and makes him look like he has a weakness; he is - if you’re a delphini truther [i am! sue me!] - willing to allow her to be seen to be pregnant with his baby, something which makes clear he’s just a man underneath it all; and - of course - he absolutely loses it when she dies.

in contrast to a fanon tendency to turn him into an emotionless automaton, voldemort is someone who clearly has a great desire to be seen and known. his monologues are usually him revealing his secrets, his desire for notoriety is obviously caused by having been such an attention-starved child, his life is hollowed out by the profound grief of his orphanhood. i cannot see any scenario in which bellatrix’s affection for him isn’t something he clings onto like a life-raft. and, despite the series’ belief that the main value of love is as sacrifice, this - pleasure, comfort, solace, understanding - is love too.

4. your favourite line of theirs:

sirius’ best line is obviously this god-tier read of wormtail from prisoner of azkaban:

"there’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them."

[goatbi]

Things that are canon in Atlas's world (otherwise known as my main/perfection save for Stardew Valley) Under the cut since this is gonna be a long one

if y'all wanna ask about anything, i am MORE than down to answer questions about this save, it plagues my mind

Abigail is the Wizard's daughter. Right before Caroline and Pierre's wedding, Caroline realized that she didn't want this, but had no way out. She went out to the forest a lot, to try and get her mind on right for her wedding, wishing that Pierre was the man from their early relationship, and wishing that he hadn't just proposed to her to make her happy. She ended up in the comfort of the wizard, where they had a brief, but passionate affair on both sides, which broke the Wizard's marriage, but not Caroline's, as Pierre never found out. Their marriage happened quick enough that Abigail was easy to pass off as Pierre's, and Caroline honestly wasn't even sure herself, until Abigail dyed her hair for the first time, and it stayed that way, never fading.

Sometime in Summer, Year 3, Caroline gets the courage to scrape together enough funds (with Atlas's help (he's been so kind, so lovely, loved her tea room and respected what it meant to her, he was so easy to become a friend to)) to divorce Pierre. She told Abigail about her ideas of who may actually be her father, and Abigail was the one to march up to the tower herself and demand answers. Rasmodius was more than willing to do a magical equivalent of a paternity test, and help Abigail explore what it meant to be of magical blood. Pierre was upset, but let her go-She wasn't happy, and he had know that for quite awhile now. He didn't think he was either, but that was something he didn't want to face. Caroline lived on the farm, for only a season, before she moved into the tower out in the forest. The First of Winter in Year 4, they were wed.

Harvey and Atlas marry Spring 28th of Year 2. It's a very quick romance, but everyone had seen that they were in love with each other nearly from day one, Atlas tumbling out of the mines with more wounds each time, and Harvey having this look in his eyes as he sews up his stupid husband every single time without fail. "Where would I be without you?" Atlas would ask, grinning, and Harvey would sigh "Dead probably."

Elliott, ever the romantic, goes all out in trying to win Sebastian's heart, something bolstered by Atlas. Sebastian wavers on it for a long, long time, but... Elliott is sweet, and kind, and oh so pretty. In Year 3, they finally make it official, after nearly a year of waffling, in which Elliott was oh so patient with his brooding boy, and Sebastian opens up so much more, smiling more, coming out of his shell, and, when the time comes, Fall of Year 4, Robin builds them a proper home on the beach, in place of Elliott's broken down old cabin, as a marriage gift. Sebastian tries to say it's too much, that they can make do until they can pay her, but Atlas behind her providing supplies in hard wood and stone, Robin brushes right past, only asking preferences.

Marnie gets sick of Lewis's back and forth bullshit, and cuts it off completely sometime in Year 4, a few weeks after the Sebastien Elliott wedding. It is something that starts a rather disgusting slide of bullshit from Lewis, who slides from rather respected Mayor down too the worst in Pelican Town history. Atlas discovers his little... secret project golden statue, and displays it in the middle of town, standing guard over night with it so Lewis can't simply take it and hide it again. He's exhausted, but it's worth it at the horror of people's faces when they see what exactly Lewis has been doing with their tax money. Lewis doesn't leave his house that night, and everyone is locked out. Or rather, they should be, but Atlas is sporting the Key to the Town by then, and finds Lewis hiding, hoping for this whole thing to blow over. It doesn't, and Lewis lives in shame, too old to want to move away from the town he's loved, but shunned for the fact that he brought most of the destruction of the community down on itself, with how horrible everything had been with him running the show. Pierre ends up with the job, and takes to it like a duck to water. By this point, he's learned well that shady business doesn't work for long, and, considering what happened to Lewis, he's not going down that route again.

Marlon, after the whole fiasco, ends up finally gathering the courage to ask Marnie to dance in Year 5's Flower Dance. She's blushing, and radiant, and it's exactly as clumsy and puppy love as Marlon had thought it was going to be. They take it slow, more than content to simply be as they are, working their separate jobs, happy to just be them. It's a far simpler romance than Marnie had with Lewis, but it makes her far happier than the shunned ex-mayor ever had before.