#physics on tumblr strike once again

[no-time-for-your-stupid]

^Source: Washington Post

Does anyone remember that one crack post about the guy who ran for president, accidentally got elected and then tried to get impeached by like making Doritos illegal?

Yeah…

[killerpancakeburger]

Another Headache

SUMMARY: You get another one of your chronic headaches, and the meds don't don't work. Soap's by your side though.

PAIRING: Soap x F!Reader (Soap calls Reader "pretty girl" once, that's the only mark of gender)

TAGS: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, suggestive at the end, Soft!Soap, Established relationship, Civilian!Reader, Reader works as Price's assistant.

WARNINGS: The suggestiveness at the end, mention of chronic pain.

WORDS COUNT: 1.8k

A/N: Lots of Soaps I like in there... pouting Soap, drawing Soap, needy Soap, Human calculator Soap (because of that one post that I KNOW I REBLOGGED BUT CANT FIND!! CURSE U TUMBLR!)

“1245.87… minus 56.43… divided by 98.62….” you mumble out loud to yourself, painstakingly inputting each digit into your calculator.

“12.06,” pipes up Soap without missing a beat, not looking up from his sketchbook where he's drawing.

You look up from the device and throw him a mildly annoyed glare, assuming he concocted a random number to confuse you. It's the first explanation that comes to your mind, the most logical one, even though it would be out of character for Johnny to make your work harder, even as a joke. 

“Very funny.”

Then you press the result touch and your eyes widen as the machine provides the exact same answer.

“How in the hell…?”

You look at your boyfriend again, irritation gone out the window, replaced by amazement and a dash of admiration.

“Do you have a calculator for brain or something?”

“S'basic stuffs for sniping and demolition works.” 

The explanation is way too abrupt for anyone who knows how much Johnny enjoys his job, rambling, and rambling about his job. You raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Can you develop?”

An amused smirk stretches his lips as he still persists in not looking at you.

“Bonnie, ye need tae focus oan yer work, or ye'll git us in trouble.”

You groan in protest. Being lectured about trouble by Soap “Troublemaker” Mactavish out of all people, you couldn’t make it up. That doesn't make him less right unfortunately. 

Your supervisor, John Price, only allowed his Sergeant to hang out in your office during his free time on the express condition that it would not impact your tasks. You initially couldn’t imagine that blue-eyed menace sitting still for hours only for your sake; to do your own thing in your own side of the room in silence, without any physical contact, nor any other sign of acknowledgement? That was Ghost's idea of a good time, but Soap's idea of torture.

However, it turned out you underestimated his willpower, and his determination to take advantage of every moment that could be shared with you. The intimate knowledge that he was holding back this whole time, and that the minute the clock would strike the end of your workday, he would be all over you like usual, warmed your heart and sent pleasing tingles everywhere in your body.

Sympathetic to your plight, Johnny adds with indulgence and cheekiness in his tone: 

“Ah ken how much ye like mah voice, but we'll make up fur lost time after.”

You roll your eyes at the suggestive taunt, still recognizing the comment for what it is - a consolation to compensate for his refusal to extend earlier. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from retorting about how distracting he's actually being even when drawing in silence, his biceps bulging with his posture, and the mix of concentration and serenity on his face strangely captivating. 

The expression he wears when sketching is one you're particularly fond of. It reveals a different kind of intensity than the one he usually displays, when eager for battle or indignant in front of injustice. It is one not many are privy to, since he tends to favor the solitude of his bedroom to scribble, making this scene all the more special and giving it an intimate tone that's enough to make your heart race.

A loving smile on your face, you throw yourself into your work.

You can feel it coming from miles away.

That accursed headache. Pushing behind your forehead, between your eyebrows and sneaking behind your temples.

Its reasons could very well be everything or nothing; the mix of cold weather and your own tiredness, the acute light from the winter sun blinding your eyes in the absence of sunglasses, the long hours spent in front of a screen.

It is light yet harsh all at once. Muffled pain always felt worse than a sharp one. Yet you know from experience it is only going to hurt more from here on.

Gritting your teeth in a grimace of discomfort, you press your hand against your forehead. The coolness of your fingers provides a respite, albeit a short-term one.

Is there even any painkillers left in your bag? You can’t remember the state of your stock-

A familiar box is suddenly moved in your line of sight. Your usual brand of aspirin.

You look up to see Soap staring at you expectingly. You take the medecine with a grateful smile.

“You really are full of surprises today!”

He pouts as he hands you your water bottle.

“Wi’ how often ye git those bloody things, a'd have tae be a bloody eejit for nae knowing how tae deal with ‘em.”

He sounds like your chronic migraines offended him, personally, and it's both adorable and hilarious.

“That's still very sweet,” you insist after swallowing the treatment.

He brings a lock of hair behind your ear before tenderly kissing your forehead.

“That's me, “Sweet Soap” Mactavish.”

That drags a giggle out of you.

An hour later, as the meds miserably failed, you’re not laughing at all anymore.

At least your work is done for the day, granting you the luxury to suffer on the rec room's couch. Laying on your back, head on the armrest, you’re pressing the heels of your hands into your closed eyelids while groaning in agony. Any bright light or screen increases the pain, so keeping your eyes closed is the only protection conceivable.

Seated right by you, your legs laying over his lap, Soap squeezes your tigh in support, itching to bring you relief but unsure how.

“What can I do?”

You remove your hands from your face to peek at him. If the ache behind your temples wasn’t occupying all space in your thoughts, you would have fussed over his chagrined expression that wasn’t without reminding you of a worried puppy. He was torn between concern for you and frustration of not being able to do anything. Johnny absolutely hated not being capable of remedying a problem. It made you want to cover his face in kisses, not only to placate his frustration, but also because you were filled with cute aggression.

“Well, I have this theory that if someone hit me really hard in the head with a baseball bat, it would help…”

“How the bloody ‘ell would it help!?”

“The pain from the blow would replace the headache.”

“How does replacing pain with pain helps…?”

“I prefer the acute pain of a strike than the dull one of a headache. It's way more bearable.”

“M not hitting you with a baseball bat,” he exclaimed, clearly convinced that the pain had made you go insane.

“I'll just ask Simon instead.”

At this point, you’re insisting more to rile him up rather than out of seriousness.

“Nae yer not,” he retorts vehemently, voice bordering on a growl.

You're about to laugh when he suddenly gets up, still taking care to not send your legs flying off the sofa. Worried that you managed to actually piss him off, you half pick yourself up, raising on your forearms, but he exits the room before you can catch his expression, ordering you to not go anywhere. Not like you were planning to anyway.

You flop back on the couch, closing your eyes and massaging your temples. A moment later, deliciously cold fingers rest on your forehead. You hum in appreciation.

“Better?”

“I love you,” you declare boldly.

The husky laughter Soap emits in response is almost as soothing as his touch.

You suddenly open your eyes as a realization dawns on you.

“Johnny, why are your hands fucking freezing?”

“Put ‘em under cold water,” he retorts casually, like it was evident.

You sigh, closing your eyelids, endeared by his behavior but also a bit fed up.

“You're crazy.”

He chuckles again.

“Crazy in love maybe.”

You don't need to look at him to know the smug smirk he's displaying with that comment.

“Wipe that goofy smile off your face, Mactavish.”

“Make me.”

You playfully slap whatever part of his body is nearby, then sigh once more.

“It's only a temporary solution, though. Unless you intend to spend all night turning your hands into ice cubes.”

“Ah could try-”

“Johnny, no.”

“Johnny, yes.”

“Don't be silly.”

“Will have tae be, unless ye've got a better option.”

“Laying in the dark with a wet cloth could help… or at least it's supposed to.”

This is how you ended up in Soap's bedroom with the lights off, both of you laying on his bed, you nuzzled on his torso with his arm around your waist, a washcloth soaked with freezing water on your forehead.

“Is it working?” he asks, barely a few minutes after settling down.

You cannot contain a smile at the impatience in his voice.

“More or less. But what sucks the most with this method is.. “

“Aye?”

“I'm so freaking bored. Cannot read, cannot use my phone, cannot fall asleep either. And with no distraction, I cannot focus on anything but the pain.”

“Ah could distract ye... If ye wanted.” he immediately suggests.

“What are you thinking of, pretty boy? Surely nothing… inappropriate.’

Despite your playful words, your fingers start idly running down his chest, and the shiver that travels his skin in response doesn't leave you indifferent. You hear him suck in a breath, and he grasps your wandering hand only to press it flat against his pectoral, even raising his breast to deepen the contact. Meanwhile the hand holding you tightens its grip on your flesh before traveling lower to grab your ass. 

“Now that yer mentioning it, ah read online that it could help wi’ headaches…”

“That what could help, Johnny?”

“An orgasm, bonnie,” he rasps.

You let out an amused sigh at the bold statement, trying to hide how much effect the rasp of his voice has on you.

“Hear me oot-” he pleads, apparently worried that you’re taking him for a perverted loser obsessed with his own pleasure over your comfort. “A'm not bullshitting ye-”

“I know, baby,” you appease him. “I know about the orgasm being a thing.”

“Ye know?... wait, ye knew this whole time? Why didn’t ye say anythin’?”

“Let's just say I'm skeptical of that method.”

“Did ye already try it?”

“Nope. But I'll believe it when I see it.”

“Then let me make ye a believer, pretty girl. Please? Pretty please? Will make ye feel so, so good, promise. Lemme take away yer pain, hen.”

He punctuates his begging by burning kisses, on your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck. His fingers sneak under your shirt, tickling your waist. The neediness in his voice and his touch makes you whine his name helplessly.

“Johnny…”

He echoes your whimper with a moan of your name.

“Alright, alright,” you capitulate. “For the sake of experimentation.”

[clove-pinks]

I was doing my usual Sunday night search for miwackulous tyes when I found this charming c. 1850 daguerreotype (Met collection).

I am quite sure this has been shared on tumblr more than once—and the pose was even referenced for a James Clark Ross/Francis Crozier piece, if I recall correctly—but it can't hurt to share it again! These men are arranged in such an intimate manner, well beyond the usual physical contact that was the norm in 19th century male portraiture, even the Met has to speculate:

This portrait shows two young men in a tender embrace, their thighs entwined, sharing a suggestive moment before the camera. Are they lovers? Perhaps, but more likely this photograph is an example of the natural and unselfconscious intimacy and physical contact that men enjoyed in a pre-Freudian era.

Lovers or, as they say, very good friends? It's interesting that they felt comfortable enough to strike this pose in a photography studio! (As others have pointed out, quite a few 19th century men who were definitely queer avoided cosy portraits like this one... too revealing, perhaps). Either way, their neckwear is impressive.

[the-kr8tor]

Sink or Swim

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Total Word Count: 16k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, CW food mentions, CW suggestive, TW blood, CW injury, CW miscarriage mention, TW violence.

A/N: I've divided this chapter into two because of how long it is and tumblr wouldn't let me draft the post without the app crashing. So sorry for the inconvenience. I'll put the link at the end and on top.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 13 >>> CHAPTER 13 II

Hobie's throat feels like he swallowed glass. Yet, he screams until his lungs give out, until his body gives out. Fist pounding into steel, skin splitting, blood staining the metal, he continues to call for you. His ears could only hear your frantic yells, his name falling out of your lips, vomited out desperately, asking for him, calling for him to get you out.

He kicks and thrashes at the metal bars, his mind imagines the worst— nails ripped from your fingers, bones breaking, skin scraped and slashed. He doesn't need to imagine how it could feel for he had lived through it all, survived through sheer will alone. But he promised, he promised to you and in that hollow grave that it will never be filled with your body; that your own blood wouldn't spill in between his fingers.

Yet, like the knife that he is, like the one who breaks skin and bleeds everything he touches— he hurt you, shot you where you stood, when he should've protected you, shielded you from the bullet. But how could he do it when the bullet is from him? When he used the same weapon that has ended dozens of lives to protect his crew, to harm you; the only person he deems worthy of telling all his secrets, you, who is worth more than every single treasure in the world.

Maybe he should've listened to you and stayed on the island.

Hobie calls for you once again, in hopes that you hear him too, in hopes that his voice is enough to bring you hope. The lighthouse that guides you home. But he knows, he knows all you could hear are muffled sounds and the creaking from the rocking ship.

Your voice wavers, like you've been forcefully silenced. So he does the screaming for you. It's loud, tone furious, ready to scratch at anyone who gets closer.

“Hobie—” Gwen tries to get his attention as the door opens, revealing the two guards staying in the doorway, keeping their distance.

Guns are strapped to them, knives glinting in the lamp light, armed to the teeth. Hobie knows it's all for him.

“Shut the fuck up.” One frustratingly said, teeth clenched, hands kneading at his temples.

“Keep screaming and you won't get supper.” The bigger one utters, the large scar on his cheek tightens as Hobie taunts them with a grim smile. The smile he reserves to strike fear.

They stiffen in the doorway, shoulders straight, hands reaching for their weapons.

“Do it then.” Hobie says, voice guttural, hands gripping the bars. “End the screaming.” His sheer tone alone sends everyone's hair to stand upright.

No one in the crew dares to stop Hobie. He doesn't know if they're afraid just like the men in front of him or if they're biding their time to scratch and bite too.

“Come closer and end it.” He doesn't yell, and that terrifies the men in the doorway. “And you'll find out exactly what I did to Admiral Kinney all those years ago.” He can still taste the admiral's ichor on his tongue.

The hulking men share a look, sweat dripping off their brows. And with that, they shut the door behind them, returning to their post with their tails tucked between their legs.

“Cowards.”

If it wasn't a grim situation, James would've laughed.

Hobie hears Gwen sigh behind him, the liquid in her hand sloshes as she practically shoves it in his face.

“At least drink some water. For your throat.”

“No, ‘m not drinking that slop.”

Gwen has had enough, she takes him by the collar, eyes bravely glaring at her captain. “If you want to leave this ship and save her, then drink the slop, eat the fucking bread and keep your goddamn energy for when we get the window to escape. Screaming won't help, captain. It's not helping anyone.” Her jaw is set, eyebrows knitted together.

The rest of the crew stand on the side, ready to get between them if it gets physical. He'll never hurt Gwen, never even thought of it. But he can't stand the thought of his family standing against him rather than next to him. So he fixes it, you'd like it that way.

Hobie gingerly takes the cup, chugging it down in one gulp.

“Good, now eat some bread and sit down.”

“Y/N—” he starts.

“She'll be alright, she's a fighter ain't she?” He nods, “you know her better than us, so tell us, cap'n, that she will survive this.”

He roams his red eyes at his sparse crew. For a brief second he sees the ones he lost behind them. For the first time, he's glad he doesn't see you with them.

Returning his attention towards Gwen, he utters the words with the confidence of a captain.

“She'll survive this.”

—

Sitting down in the corner, he rests his poor throat, the dry bread didn't help much. It was shitty to say the least, times like this, he misses Finn. He'd beat him if he ever knew that he let the famous bloodsail pirates into the hands of a former admiral and you into the hands of someone you fear the most.

Hobie shuts his eyes for a second, he swears it's only for a second but when he wakes up with a start and the door opening with a creak, the moon is already shining outside the large boat.

When he sees you appear by the doorway, he thinks he's still dreaming.

“Ten,” He hears you say between gritted teeth. All he could focus on is you, checking for signs of an injury, he starts from your head—nothing, arms, also nothing, save for a few scratches. Then he settles on your bandaged leg, and he remembers what he did, what he did to you. Guilt and grief overtakes his body, he tries his best to hide into the background, into the wooden walls, to become part of the ship, to hide his shame. Because he hurt you, and he'll never forgive himself for what he did.

Hobie watches from his corner, defeated when you tell him subtly that you're alright. And when you called for him, called his name softly like summer wind breezing by, warm and reminding him of home— he couldn't help but oblige.

Who is he to deny the sky?

When you held him in your hands, he felt anew. Apologies spill from his mouth, eyes forlorn at the red spot on your bandages.

What is the tides without his moon?

He feels lighter when you forgive him. But his past action still haunts him, he knows it'll join the long line of nightmares that plague him at night.

“That's my girl.” He says truthfully and proudly, he feels your heartbeat hasten through your pulse.

You tell him your choice, your decision to give up your freedom for him and the crew. He feels like he was back on the revenge, facing Mathias, refusing to let you go as you offer yourself for their freedom.

His heart beats harder as you ask him to read your mother's letter. He's unsure why you would let someone like him read something as heavy as the letter. It's reserved for someone whose hands wouldn't stain the paper with crimson.

“Because I trust you.” You say, and everything aligns in his mind. Like Poseidon shaking him inside out, like the tides itself is splitting him open.

Hobie reads it with trembling hands and broken skin. Like he thought, it turns the paper pink like ink blots dirtying the pristine paper.

He dictates it, heart shattering at every tear you let out. Wiping your cheeks dry, he's careful not to let his split skin touch your softer ones.

“It's real, innit?” He asks like the earth isn't eating him whole.

“It's real.” You answer and the world caves in around him.

Hobie teases to feel the resemblance of normalcy, “little tomato?” He asks.

And you answer with a “I don't want them, just you.” Like you didn't just mend his shattering heart with one sentence. And you break it right after with a “We'll meet again, in this life or the next.”

He's terrified once again. He shakes his head as the door creaks open. “No, Y/N—”

As you kiss his wounded knuckles gently, you ask him something he can't possibly do.

“Don't follow me, please.”

Reaching for you, he should've read the last line in the letter to you. ‘Don't trust anyone’ it said, whatever it was, it's not your burden to carry, so he'll do it for you.

Hobie apologizes in his head for keeping it away from you and for what he's about to do.

—

With the dinner bell ringing, and heavy footsteps retreating, the crew takes their chance. The key opens the door smoothly. They sneak around the ship, only leaving shadows and footfalls that's barely audible.

Climbing up the steps towards freedom, Hobie spots a door at the end of a hallway. Like two hearts beating as one, he knows it's you behind it.

Miles takes his arm before he could come to you. “Don't.” He whispers to his captain. “Don't waste her sacrifice.”

“She didn't sacrifice herself.” Hobie shakes his head, scoffing quietly. “I can't leave her behind, Miles. I can't.”

“I know,” he pulls him away from the hallway. “she asked you to not follow, so don't follow.”

“If this was Gwen—”

“If this was Gwen we'd be doing the exact same thing. She wouldn't ask us to follow and we'll leave because she asked us to.” Miles spares a heavy glance towards your locked door. “I know it hurts, but we'd be in the gallows by morning if we don't leave now. We'll have another chance at saving her.”

“You don't know that.”

“I don't, but it's better to not know instead of being dead. At least we'd have a chance.” Miles tugs him further away. “Do you think it's better for her to think that she caused our deaths just because you took the chance?” His voice is determined.

“Don't hurt her like that, Hobie. It'll ruin her.”

With one last look towards your door, Hobie nods, following the others to the deck then to safety. As the dinghy drops down into the sea, and into the dark night, he hears Miguel curse his name.

He asks for your forgiveness silently.

—

Hobie and the crew finally make it to the docks without being seen by anyone. It was pure luck that no one saw or even heard them, he thanked the early morning and the still dark sky for lending them a hand.

“We need to wait for her.” He says, stretching his stiff hands from rowing the boat.

The sparse pirate crew hides in the shadows, hidden behind the dark alleyway. They lean on the grimy walls, hands cradling their fatigued heads, huffing and groaning at the aches and pains they had from their daring escape. They can still hear Miguel cursing Hobie's name, his voice ringing in their ears.

“Hobie,” Gwen calls for him. “Leave her be.”

“What the fuck?” Hobie turns sharply. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means we leave her alone.” Pavitr says forlornly, eyes downcast at the dirty pavement.

“We promised her—”

“That was when we didn't know it was her actual family. Back when we all thought Miguel was a threat to her.” Yuri pipes up, hands braced on her knees. Fatigued and clearly needing rest. “I love her, Hobie, I really do. We all love her, but she's with family now. Let her be.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Miles scoffs, “We're talking about the same person right?” He stands next to Hobie, arms crossed on his chest.

“C’mon, Miles,” Gwen says tiredly. “We all heard their conversation, it's real, she's noble—”

“And what of it?” Hobie snaps back. “You were too.”

“I was.” She scowls. “But she has a home to go to, a family that's waiting for her. We need to let her be until for whatever reason she decides to stay or leave with us.” Inhaling sharply, she rubs harshly at her eyes. “Let's make a compromise then. We're all clearly feeling conflicted. I don't want to fully let her go, we all agree right?”

Everyone nods, tension running high, glares thrown about the small group. Gwen continues, “Then we stay close to her, we watch her like when we used to observe potential crew members. But this time we make sure she is actually safe and not thrown to the wolves.” Her idea reminds Hobie why he chose her as his first mate.

“I'll keep first watch,” Hobie quickly says, "we switch after I say so.”

“And when will that be, Hobie?” Yuri clasps her hand on Hobie's shoulder, comforting the man. “You haven't slept a wink, add the fact that you were stranded on a bloody island for a month, you're not in the right state for this.”

“I'll be once I see that she's safe.” His voice cracks, “I didn't keep an eye on MJ and look what happened. I-I don't want that to happen again. Please let me do it. You can follow me all you want just let me keep watch—”

“It's Y/N,” James whisper yells, he peeks around the alley, watching you slowly walk down the ship.

They all clammer to see you ignore Miguel's helping hand. Pride swells in their chest, they remember now why they can't exactly leave you behind— you're family.

As if fate is pulling the strings, you crane your neck to look in their direction. The crew ducks away, but Hobie stays, staring at you, waiting for your signal, anything to indicate that you want to run away with them.

He sees your subtle shake of your head, and with that, he hides with his crew.

“Did she say something?” Pav asks, concerned for you.

“No, nothin’” He holds his heart in his hand. “She said nothin'”

—

Hobie follows you quietly throughout the day. Hiding from Miguel's watchful eyes and your sad eyes. The crew left to rest in an inn, Miles offered to come with him, Hobie's glad he did for he found an unhitched horse in a street corner. But it could only seat one so Miles, the angel that he is, let Hobie go on without him.

“I'll take care of them.” He promises before he lets his captain go.

They all know your house, they've raided their ships before. Crates upon crates full of luxury, with the same design on your necklace stamped on the wooden sides. Hobie knows them quite well, the favourite of the king, always giving them special treatment. Yet the queen holds them at an arm's length away, but she never left her eyes away from their business. He guessed sacking random ships has its perks, gossip is one of them.

Hobie silently trots his horse, eyes never leaving the carriage you just left. The cemetery sends his nerves alight, with the crows cawing in the background, he strains his ear to listen in. He's hiding behind the chapel, the irony doesn't escape him.

The truth is revealed to you, and unbeknownst to you, he has learned about it too. His head is in his hands as he listens to how broken your voice is, tone splitting at the seams. Then his heart stops when you tell your mother that you want to stay, that you want to find the person responsible for their deaths, that the same flames burning inside him now have spread to you.

Hobie doesn't want you to go down the same path he walked on, to let the embers singe your skin, to let the fire burn you from the inside out like it had with him. You helped him through his, helped him control it. Now it's his turn to do so for you.

He cares for you, loves you for all your soft touches and gentle tone. But he's prepared to love you through your jagged edges, through all the anger that's inside you. He'd love both sides of you, because it's you, and no one else.

His foot accidentally steps on a twig as he sees you leave. Hobie almost ran towards you when you looked at the source of the sound. This time he ducks away, knowing that there's eyes on you, eyes that are prepared to take you away the moment they see him. So he waits, until there's no more eyes on you.

The next time he saw you again was when you stepped out of the carriage and into the golden doors of the palace. He's terrified for what's to come, whether or not Miguel has brought you on a silver platter for the wolves to devour.

With his guns accompanying him, he readies outside the walls of the palace until you leave, until he sees you again climbing inside the carriage.

He can finally breathe again, he doesn't have to kill this time. Not yet anyway.

Hobie tries his best to stay hidden, he bribes and lies to get inside Hazelside. Then he waits, and bides his time just to talk to you.

—

“Hazelside estate,” Miguel says when the large manor looms over the horizon. “Your family has owned it for two hundred years. Passed down to every first born child of the family.”

Acres and acres of land stretch across the vast space. Primed apple trees and oaks line the road, men and women in work clothes walk near the carriage, not even craning their necks to take a peek inside. It seems this was a daily occurrence for them.

“Two hundred years.” You repeat, contemplating how many generations owned it. “So it's mine once the papers are signed? Where would my…uncle and aunt go then?” Your mind goes through a hundred scenarios where you stay and where you decide to leave it all again.

“They have their own house. Granted it's not as big as Hazelside but it's enough for them. Knowing his majesty, he'd take his sweet time from releasing the papers.”

“How well do you know the king and queen?” You ask, eyes scanning your family's land.

Stone houses are standing miles away from the main estate, employees of the house you think. Chimneys billow out smoke whilst the sun is just about to rise. You imagine them having breakfast with their families, sleep still clinging in their lashes, hot tea wrapped in their cool hands. Opening the window, the smell of fresh apples wafts over you. Home, you think. It smells like home. Or it just reminds you of the apple tarts Jessica made for you when you were younger.

“You alright?” Miguel asks, watching you frown.

“I'm fine, just tired.” You lied, in truth, you miss them all.

“You had a hectic day, I don't blame you. You'll get to rest soon, I promise.”

How could you even think of sleeping alone? After being near him? After saying goodbye?

“You didn't answer my question.” You shift your attention from the trees to the man before you. “How well do you know them?”

“I barely know the queen, but the king? Yes, short answer? He's a moron, a buffoon wearing a crown.”

Lyla snickers next to you, head plopped on the carriage wall, seemingly asleep.

You smile, “You have a monkey for a king.”

“Once you're the Hazelside duchess, he'll be your king too.”

“Christ.” You chuckle nervously.

“Don't worry, I'll help you get accustomed to polite society.” Miguel reassures you and you still have no idea if you'll stay long enough to bear the title.

“Polite society.” You say with a scoff, “What I just saw wasn't very polite.”

“Just remember, everything here is political. Everyone here is climbing the ladder, kissing the royal asses. Some are doing it for their families, some are doing it for their personal gain.”

“Which one do you think I am?”

“Neither.” The carriage stops, horses neighing, hooves stomping on the gravel. “You're not like them, Y/N, that's why you'll end up walking all over them.”

The footman opens the door, Miguel gives you a look before coming down the small steps. He reaches towards you, helping you down. You hesitate. You still don't take his hand even with your bad leg.

The wind blows cold, goosebumps appearing on your skin, face worried at the sheer size of the manor. The glinting silvered birds catch the early morning's sun's rays. Beady eyes seemingly blinking when a cloud passes by.

Vines cling to the ancient walls, small purple flowers run along the plant and along the large windows. Strong columns line the façade, laurels carved on the marble, oak doors displaying the house sigil— your necklace bearing a similarity to it. Flower beds cradling violets lay by the foot of the building, blooming and fragrant. The smell hiding your trepidation from the dozen or so people watching you with unreadable eyes.

The staff greets you with a stiff nod, they stand on the stairs leading towards the manor. Their uniforms are perfect, perfectly ironed and clean; perfect white gloves on their hands.

A couple of them help your drunk uncle off their own carriage. He groans, head swirling, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Fancy clothes sweaty and moist, neckerchief lopsided and dirtied by ale. In contrast to his wife, who looks tired with the heavy eye bags under her eyes, she still looks like a proper noble compared to Frederick.

“Freddy—” She groans, kicking her husband's leg, “get up!”

“Darling…” he slurs, “there's two of you—oh wait…now there's three!” His guffaw fills the quiet morning.

Victoria gives up, leaving the man to the care of her staff. She walks off, huffing and puffing. She gives you a glance, “what are you waiting for? Get inside.”

Her eyes flick to Miguel who stands behind you, she immediately clamps down her bitterness. “Welcome to Hazelside, niece.” With a stomp of her heeled foot, she heads inside, no doubt seething.

“Catty.” Lyla says next to you, elbowing your side. “C’mon, your grace, before the sun gets in their eyes and sends them into a murderous frenzy.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. Something flickers in your peripheral vision, when you move your head to look, whatever it was, it's already gone behind the thick bushes.

“Y/N?” Miguel beckons you over. “It's cold out, come inside before you get sick.”

“Coming,” you call back, eyes darting around the thicket.

—

Miguel shows you around to your room in the west wing. Various historical paintings decorate the walls, wooden simple frames around them, showing the true beauty of the art without all the extravagant gold laurels around it.

Sculpted busts of your ancestors wait at every corner, marble eyes staring blankly at what's in front of them. Large windows line the walls, just outside the glass lies an expansive field of apple trees, bulbs of reds and greens adorning the branches of the mighty orchard. You stand in awe at the sight, workers start flocking the trees, picking and plucking at the ripest of fruits. The sun shines directly at the field, apples aglow with its light like red and green stars.

You lag behind Miguel as you gawp at the scenery, hand tucked inside the pocket of your gown, mindlessly rolling the pearl. Wishing the crew could see it too, wishing that he could see it and harvest the fruits with you.

Miguel calls for you, hand reaching but he retracts it back to his side. “Apples are new around here.” You genuinely smile at him, so he continues. “It used to just be hazelnuts, which still grow plenty in the estate.”

“Why the change then?”

“They didn't change, your family merely adapted. Your grandmother was the one who started planting the apple trees. Whenever she had a—” Miguel falters, you can practically see his brain turning.

“Had a what? I'm a big girl, Miguel, I can handle whatever it is.” You encourage him with a nod.

“A miscarriage,” he says lowly, “At the end of her life she planted seven trees. There was only one seed she didn't plant and that was when your mother was born.”

Your heart aches at the story even though the people in it are practically strangers to you. “Apple of her eye.” You murmur.

Miguel chuckles, turning to watch the vast orchard that spans acres upon acres of land. “It’s an understatement. She was spoiled, your mother. But she had a heart, most of her gifts almost always ‘gets lost’ somewhere.” He smiles fondly. “Strangely enough, it always ends up with someone who would benefit from it more.”

“Which one ended up getting lost in your backyard?” You smile at his rare grin.

“A lot, pocket watches, jeweled eggs, there was a kitten once. Only because her mother didn't like it.” He sighs, hazel eyes shining under the sunlight.

“You loved her.”

“I did,” he stares at you with kinder eyes. “She was my best friend, and so was your father. They both were.”

“What did you mean back at the carriage when you told me that they did the same to you?”

He swallows thickly, staring back at the outside of the opulent manor. “My daughter, Gabriella.” he says after a moment, “She was only a few years older than you. Your parents were her godparents, this was before they eloped and had you.” You can feel the strain in his voice. “She got sick…they poured everything into giving her the best doctors the country has to offer. They were at her side while I was drowning my sorrows in the navy. When they weren't by her side, they were with me. But in the end everything was all in vain.”

“I'm sorry,” you say genuinely, “I'm sorry, Miguel.”

He gives you a tight smile and a pat on your shoulder. “Even after all that they were still by my side, even when I pushed them away.” Sniffing, he subtly wipes his eye. “I didn't cross the sea and traveled thousands of miles to find you because I want us to be even. Or to pay the debt, I just wanted to find the last thing they left in hopes that I also find them in you.” His chest heaves. “I couldn't even say goodbye to them.”

There's tears in your eyes as he chokes on his own words. “I lost my friends but you lost your family before you could even meet them. And for that, I'm sorry, Y/N.” His hand shakes. “They didn't deserve what happened to them.”

“Tell me what happened to them.” You stand toe to toe with him, determined to get answers.

“Pirates, I told you they were pirates.”

You shake your head. “Do you really believe that, O’Hara? Or are you still trying to convince yourself otherwise?”

His jaw clenches, “It was pirates, Y/N.”

“Tell that to the former navy medic I call mother.”

He whispers, “the last time I looked further into their deaths I lost my Job, stripped of all my titles. I almost lost my house because of it.”

“Then tell me what you found.” You challenge him back. “Tell me who ordered it so I can live in this house in peace.”

“I don't have definitive proof—”

“Who?”

“Edward.” He says through gritted teeth. “He wanted to marry your mother, even going as far to ask for her hand. But when she refused him for your father—” he heaves. “I think he has probable cause to order the attack.”

“You were answering the man who might've killed my parents and wanted me dead?”

“How do you think that makes me feel, hm? I had my full trust in the navy, trusting the report they gave, trusted them with my whole life, even dedicating my life to them. And the moment I get a whiff of a planned murder on the only family I've ever had they bar me from the only life I've ever known. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I'm sorry you went through that but you could've done something.”

“He is king!” Miguel's voice booms around the hallway. He shifts his voice, pinching his knitted brows. “His word is law, I couldn't have done anything, even if I had proof.”

“You should've started with that instead of telling me lies, then I would've come to you without a fight.”

“There would've still been a fight.” He states matter of factly. “Hobie was ready to fight the moment I stepped below deck.”

“Could you blame him though? We both know not every single pirate crew is as nice as them, he didn't attack because you claimed it was pirates. Or that he was offended, he knows that he has done unsavoury things too. So what did you say that made him lunge at you?”

Miguel shakes his head, refusing to say anything. “It's best that you don't remember it.”

“Fine, be like that, just know that there will always be a wall between us.” Your heels clack loudly against the oak floors as you leave him behind.

—

The room they gave you was surprisingly comfortable, unlike the apartments in the palace that you explored. It's ten times bigger than the inn you were in, complete with your own bathroom and sitting room. It's all wooden walls covered in beautiful tapestries of various scenes from history— the thick cloth helps keep the heat inside. All the windows are wide open to let the cool air in and the moonlight. So you could hear the rustling of the trees outside, so you could smell the crisp apples. It helps, you think as you sit in front of the large stone fireplace with birds engraved in every corner of the stone.

You're already sick of the bloody birds.

You wrap the fur blanket closer to your body, still in your gown, refusing to wear anything else they've provided for you. You've heard of poisoned dresses before, it's far-fetched but you can't risk it now that you're in a more unfamiliar territory where your own family holds a grudge against you just for existing.

Especially now that you're alone in a large room filled with strange things. And with only his dagger to keep you safe.

Anyone would kill to be in your shoes right now, to be pampered and placed in a household that can provide for all your needs. If it weren't for the hunger in you, you would've left all of the gold in this house just to get back to them. Instead, the fire has you in its hold too.

Miguel's information only fueled the glowing embers in you, you're determined to find who killed them. But you're still restrained in this large manor, and until you can get your answers, you say their names to satiate the hunger.

“Edward and Mathias.” You say through shuddered breath, feeling if you could just say it louder, the sky would strike them down where they stood.

The pearl in your hands is warm, the shiny surface reflecting your scowl.

The flames mesmerize you as it dances in the kindling. Orange and reds illuminate your face, it's the only light in the whole room. You exhale and a puff of clouds escape your cool lips.

It's getting colder, and you're missing him.

Just when you're about to stand up to close the windows, a pebble lands near you. It thuds on the wooden floors, the sound gets your attention.

“What the hell?” You say confused. Standing back up, another flies through the open windows and into your room. “Who the fuck?” Speed walking towards the window, you almost get hit by a pebble if you didn't dodge it in time. “Hey!”

Fifteen feet below your window, you see two people dressed in their night clothes, bundled up in fur coats. They look up at you with wide eyes, like they got caught with their hands inside the cookie jar.

“Cousin!” One exclaims, a wide apologetic smile on his lips, showing you his perfect teeth. “Sorry about that! Can you come down?”

“Who in the world are you?” You ask, confused, you lean down to take a better look, hands gripping the sill for support.

“We're your cousins! I guess?” The girl next to him says, eyes shining in the moonlight, hand holding another pebble. “We waited to see you during supper and around the house but you were apparently hiding!”

“Alright, why do I need to come down then?”

“Because we want to properly introduce ourselves! Without screaming at you from below that is.” The girl shrugs, smiling prettily at you. “Please, cousin?”

“...fine.” you grumble, the dagger is still hidden underneath your skirt in case they're planning something nefarious.

They beam up at you, the girl daintily claps her hands. “Brilliant! We'll be waiting at the entrance.”

As you trudge down the unfamiliar sprawling halls, trying your hardest to not get lost in the maze-like structure. You accidentally encounter another painting of your mother.

Her name is etched on a golden plaque just below the portrait. This one was different from the one in the palace, she was stiff there, lips tightly closed into a line, eyes cold and empty. The one in front of you is warm, a soft smile on her lips, eyes shining and alive. Her dress is in lilac, golden stars adorning the bodice. She still wore the same necklace you're currently wearing, it rests perfectly on her neck. In her hand is a closed locket, you wonder whose portrait lies inside.

“Hi, mum.” You whisper into the cold hallway. “Where's dad's portrait?” You ask like she would open her mouth and answer back. With a sigh, you head downstairs.

Walking the ancient floors, the moon shines down at you, the light peeking in from the gaps of the heavy curtains. Silently, you meet with your cousins in the foyer. Carefully coming down the curved staircase, hand gripping the bannister, the boy who is about the same age as Miles meets you halfway. He reaches towards you, giving you a hand.

“I heard about your leg, I thought you'd appreciate some help.”

“You're Frederick's children?” You say, questioning whether or not you should take his hand.

“We are,” he says with a sigh. “Come on, cousin, or you might miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“The birds.” The girl waiting in the foyer excitedly says. “They're migrating.”

“Oh, I don't see why that would be so interesting.” You say as the boy flexes his fingers, beckoning you down.

“You’ll see why. Take my hand please, you look like our grandmother going down the steps.”

“Fine,” with an exhale, you take his hand. You hold his hand, a feather light touch that he barely feels, giving yourself enough time to react if he decides to do something.

“I'm Jonathan, or just John.” He says as he gently leads you down the steps. His stride is slow, waiting for your own feet to keep up. “And this is my sister—”

“Collette!” She suddenly clasps your hands when you reach the last step. “Sorry–” her tone is sweet and genuine, quickly removing her hands from yours. “I got too excited! I'm Collette, my brother and I are twins.”

“Unfortunately…” John says under his breath.

Collette jabs her elbow by his side, earning a groan from him. You see the similarities on their faces now that you're closer to them. From the slope of their noses to the curls of their hair, they look very much alike. Except for their eyes, Collette has emerald eyes that shimmer from the oil lamp she carries. While her brother has brilliant blue eyes that remind you of the sea when the sun shines above it.

You get reminded of him again.

“Who's older?” You ask teasingly, pushing the previous thought away.

“I am!” They both speak at the same time. John looks at her sister with disappointment, while Collette scrunches her nose.

“I'm five minutes older than you, Jojo.” She says with a tone you could only describe as annoyed.

“Father told me I'm the one who's five minutes older. Not you!”

“Sure,” she nods sarcastically, the lamp in her hand sways. “Because father was in the room when we were born.” Her head swivels to look at you, and you almost jump at how fast she moved. “He wasn't in the room.”

“Ah, I think I got it—”

“Like you could bloody remember.” John says with a scoff.

Before the argument could go on, you stop them with your hands on each of their shoulders.

“I need to sleep, so whatever you want to show me, just fucking show me.”

Collette stares at you with a gasp, eyes wide like you just said the darndest thing. Meanwhile, John has the biggest grin you've ever seen.

“Wow, cousin.” He says, amused. “I heard you used to run with pirates but I didn't know you got their vocabulary too. Hazelside would be more interesting now that you're here.”

“Gosh,” Collette exhales, clutching her pearls (literally) “I didn't know that word could be uttered by a woman.”

“You should try it sometimes. It's very freeing.” You chuckle at their reaction whilst you make your way outside. “Before we freeze to death, cousins?”

“The oldest should lead the way.” John takes the opportunity to rag on his still bewildered sister.

She groans audibly. “You're not the one with the lamp.”

You smile, there's a warm familiar feeling in your chest.

—

Leaves crunch under your bare foot, you've got blisters from the uncomfortable heels Miguel gave you. You'd take walking on bare feet rather than wear that torture device ever again. The only plus side of the fancy shoe is that it makes you feel powerful with every click of the heels. Walking along a path, tall apple trees carve a way for you and the twins.

“I like your dress.” Collette says right next to you, you sense her wariness by how she keeps her distance. “The color is beautiful, it's our house color.”

“Thank you, but I've been told that red suits me better.”

“Oh, I think they're right actually.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah, I'm slowly getting used to this one though.” You lift up your skirt a bit for emphasis.

“Is it true that you were shot?” John asks in front of you, looking over his shoulder. “We heard from the footmen that you were shot by a pirate when O’Hara rescued you.”

“I was, but that's not the whole story. Miguel didn't rescue me.”

“Really?” Collette's brows are raised in question and surprise. You nod at her question. “Huh, I told you we shouldn't listen to gossip.” She slaps her brother on his bicep, he winces, glaring at her. “It's bad to begin with.”

“That's the thing about gossip, Co, it's not always the truth.” He spits out.

“I knew that, pssh.” She crosses her arms on her chest, annoyed and embarrassed.

“Why are we out here again? If you're planning to ambush me—” Colette gasps loudly, like you've shot her.

“Ambush you? Do we look like we know how to fight?” She stops you from going further down the path just as you see a dark river at the end of it.

John knits his brows with a pout. “We're here to give you a warm welcome, cousin. We heard mother and father didn't even give you a tour, so I guess it falls on us to show you around.”

“At night though?” You gesture around the silence of the grounds, save for a few crickets chirping and the flowing of the lake, you're practically alone in the dark.

“Guess we're just living to our house motto, ‘carpe noctem—’”

“‘Seize the night’” Collette finishes her brother's sentence. “The ancestor who established our house was a gambler.” She shrugs.

“That's our house motto?”

“Nope!” Collette answers you. “It was our house motto.” She gestures to herself and her brother. “Before the crown granted us Hazelside, after—” John elbows her. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright, what's the actual motto?”

“‘alis volat propriis—’”

“‘She flies with her own wings.’” You translate, the siblings look at you with awe. “There's latin in medicine.”

“You know medicine?!” Collette shrieks, the sound echoing through the dark.

“Brilliant.” John murmurs.

“Oh you must tell us more!” Collette loops her arm around yours, walking side by side. “How and where did you learn it?”

“I—”

“Don't pester her, Co.” John clicks his tongue, “have you cut anyone's arm off?”

“How grim!” She exclaims.

As they lead you towards the sparkling lake, you three chat through the night by the banks of the hazelside lake. They ask about the world outside the capital, they ask about the sea and the pirates you were with. You don't tell them about all the blood and violence, deciding that you shouldn't mar their innocent hearts with stories of death. It's not yours to tell, and you don't want to traumatize the only people who don't look at you with contempt.

“So you're not mad at me or even at least a bit annoyed for showing up and taking the estate from your parents?” You ask whilst the sun slowly rises, bathing the lake in bright blue. The hazelnuts in your mouth is a welcome one since you haven't eaten a single bite since you got to the capital.

“Not really.” John munches on his own pile of hazelnuts. He lounges near the water, hand cradling his head, chewing quietly. “We were surprised at first because there have been a handful of girls who claimed to be you. Who were obviously not you.” You raise an eyebrow at his statement. “But when they told us it was Miguel who found you, we were sure it was really you.”

“Wait— there were people who claimed to be me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Collette hums, sitting close to you, hanging on to every word you utter. “They weren't very convincing.”

“The story of Miguel trying to find you was pretty famous around here. I mean, the guy abandoned his post to find a missing duchess who may or may not be alive. That was a big story back then, so a lot of women threw their daughters and young relatives at the manor's gates to get a chance.” John informs you.

“We were quite young back then, but the fakes dwindled away through the years.” Collette finishes his statement.

“‘Quite young’ she says,” he scoffs, “we were barely out of the womb, Collette.” His sister sticks out her tongue at John.

“Huh, that's probably why I haven't heard of it either, I was still young.” You wonder.

“The sun's almost out!” Collette points at the clear sky. “Get ready, cousin, because you're about to see the most gorgeous thing.”

“The birds here migrate at this time of year,” John helps you both up to your feet. You surprisingly take his hand. “like clockwork. Collette and I used to watch it with our parents before they got all…well, too much. Now it's some sort of tradition for us.”

“Look look! The trees are rustling!” She points, jumping up and down.

“Any minute now.” John smiles at his sister as she half hugs him.

The three of you wait for a sign of the birds, a minute passes, then two, then five. Yet, not even a feather flies overhead. The early morning sun shines brighter with every minute that passes. And with every minute, the twins grew agitated.

“Why aren't they coming out?” Collette asks sadly.

“I'm sure they're just getting ready for the journey.” John reassures his sister with a pat on her shoulder. “My calculations are correct, why aren't they here yet?” He questions no one.

Their slumped shoulders and frowns get to you. An idea pops in your head, and you think it's all Hobie's fault.

“Maybe they're still sleeping.” They look at you simultaneously, “I mean it's really cold out, they probably wanted to stay in bed— or nest to sleep more. I know I would want to.”

“Oh,” Collette gives you a small smile at your attempt to make them feel better. “That's probably it. Thank you, cousin.”

You grin mischievously at them, “what if we wake them all up?”

John makes a face. “How?”

You inhale, putting your hands around your mouth, you scream, “wake the fuck up!” The sound echoed throughout the field and across the lake.

Your cousins let out a loud guffaw, you giggle at their reaction. John joins in, copying your actions.

“Wake up you wankers!” He yells, exhilaration filling his chest. “I've always wanted to say that.” Chuckling, he laughs louder at the face his sister is making.

“Johnathan!” His sister gasps next to him.

“What? Try it out! Come on then! No one's out here to tell us off.” John shakes her shoulder, giving you a wide grin.

“Join us in the dark side, Collette.” You sing song, “the birds need a wake up call.”

“You won't tell mother and father?” She asks the both of you. Wiggling, she’s excited.

Crossing your heart, you promise. “I won't, I'm not a tattletale.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, Co.”

“Alright.” She exhales deeply before letting loud the loudest scream you've ever heard. “Wake up, cocksuckers!” It's so loud that you swear your eardrums are blown out. Smiling, she turns towards your surprised forms.

Now it's you and John's turn to gasp.

“Cocksucker?!” You exclaim, bewildered.

“Where'd you learn that, Co?!” John pokes his sister.

“I heard it when Mrs. Williams stubbed her toe during lessons.” She said shyly.

“Good on you, sis.” He pats her back. “Good on you.”

Collette looks at you expectantly. “Good show, Co.” You wink at her and she giggles happily.

Facing towards the thick trees across the lake, the birds still don't fly overhead. There's nothing but the wind rustling the branches.

“They didn't wake up though.” She says forlornly.

“What if we do it at the same time?” Your words have them smiling again.

“Yes!” They say simultaneously.

“Ready?” They both nod, taking in air before screaming their hearts out.

“Cocksuckers!” The three of you let out simultaneously. The canopy rustles and out comes a hundred or so birds from the thicket.

You all jump up and down, arms up in greeting the birds. Their feathers shine in the sun, light filtering through their wings. Iridescent blues and whites glowing, reflecting in your eyes. Wings flapping loudly, beaks held up high as they greet the sky with open wings.

Amidst the beauty of it all, you wish that he was there to witness it.

A tear slides down your cheek. You wipe it quickly before the twins notice. Head staring up at the sky, amidst all the beauty and light, there's a darkness swirling inside you. Amidst all the life around you, you feel the opposite. And you miss him. The worst part is, you see this place becoming your home.

>>> CHAPTER 13 II

[hello-eeveev]

Okay okay I’ve seen some takes regarding Orym on twitter (specifically about his relationship to Laudna) that I feel the need to refute but I have a lot of thoughts and also I don’t want to get into fights so hi tumblr! rant below the cut 😊

(tl;dr I think the bell’s hells are doing the best they can in a series of complicated situations, but people are expecting a kind of inter-party conflict to come from it that doesn’t line up with the text and I don’t get it, so I guess I must become Orym’s #1 defender, feat. a defense of the c3e63 decision, Ludinus Da’leth hate, and big big feelings about Keyleth and Vax)

Take: Orym is uncomfortable with Laudna’s weirdness/creepiness, as evidenced by him always bringing it up and trying to hide and obscure her undead presence.

My opinion: Laudna loves the fact that she’s creepy. She revels in it. Orym/Liam pointing it out in narration is part flavor text, part acknowledging an important aspect of Laudna. It’s like how he always makes sure everyone knows that Orym is Small. Not to mention, Marisha brings it up in her narration as much as Liam does.

During Laudna’s resurrection ritual, Orym says, “I don’t know what Bell’s Hells will be without your darkness, Laudna. Or your light.” He values both sides of her!

Regarding Orym’s disguises for Laudna (i.e. dressing her in white in bassuras, adding flowers to her hair to give her more color in hearthdell), again I don’t think this is a sign of Orym’s discomfort with her. Remember, Orym is a bodyguard. His job is to protect others, protect the group. Yes, several members of Bell’s Hells will draw eyes, but notably, Laudna—being undead-ish, with the Unsettling Presence feature and a canonically scary physical appearance—might strike fear into others. And fear makes people more willing to resort to violence than, say, being surprised by the presence of a robot or a faun. It’s not about making her palatable, it’s about keeping all of them safe. It’s bodyguard behavior.

Also, Orym only does this when they are actively avoiding drawing attention to themselves, and as far as I know, Laudna has only had a problem with it once.

Take: Laudna looked to Ashton and Orym for what to do during the scuffle with Bor’Dor, and Orym encouraged her to let Delilah back in, all because he’s hell-bent on revenge and thinks he can use Delilah’s power to get it. He actively disregarded Laudna’s well-being to further his own goals.

My opinion: No, she wasn’t looking to them for what to do. Marisha said it herself: Laudna was barely present. She couldn’t even hear Deni$e suggest keeping Bor’Dor alive; what makes you think she’s going to see a singular nod from Orym 15 feet away? She had already done Hunger of the Shadow, was already cloaked in the “purple-ish glowing hue that hasn’t been seen in a while,” and Matt had mentioned the heartbeat long before Liam ever said anything. Laudna had already let Delilah back in before Orym nodded and before she killed Bor’Dor. It was a horrible situation all around, but Orym did not convince Laudna to let Delilah back in for his own purposes. It is not his fault that Laudna embraced Delilah’s power or that Bor’Dor died. Laudna made her choice, as heartbreaking and conflicting as it may be, so let her live with it.

And for the record, I think they were justified in killing Bor’Dor. He attacked them with a pretty powerful spell (he did Vitriolic Sphere at its baseline 4th level, which is the second highest level spell he had) and nearly killed Prism in the process. Yes, Bor’Dor did a bit of waffling back and forth between “I’m gonna kill you!” and “just let me die,” but him being a pathetic mess is nothing new. He still tried to kill them all. If they let him live, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t try it again.

I don’t know how to impress this upon people who haven’t already gotten it from just watching the show, but the Ruby Vanguard is a bad group. Ludinus Da’leth is a bad person. He may have convinced some members that his goals are noble, but they aren’t. He is misleading people for his own gain, because guess what? The concept of free will exists even with the existence of the gods! People are allowed to worship them or not, and the gods aren’t smiting people down for refusing to worship them (otherwise Keyleth would be long dead, y’all. she said out loud to the champion of the raven queen that they should use her power while it benefitted them and then find a loophole to get Vax out of her service. and she is so valid for that. 15/10 would do the same).

We had a PC, a dozen or so NPCs, and an entire arc last campaign—and then a whole 4-part series!—that dealt with wizard hubris and its unfortunate consequences. Ludinus was one of those NPCs! What makes you think that Mr. “let’s steal a holy artifact and instigate a war” “should try friends sometime” “Essek looks forward to never seeing his face again” “Trent Ikithon can keep abusing children it’s not my problem” Da’leth suddenly has people’s best interests in mind?

He and the Ruby Vanguard need to be stopped, and Orym, being a person whose driving motivation is “to protect,” is willing to do what needs to be done, even when it sucks.

Take: ooohoohoo Orym’s alignment might be shifting! We need Dorian to get him back on track!

My opinion: No? To both these statements? Firstly, Orym’s alignment isn’t shifting, at least I don’t think so. I’m not an expert on D&D alignments (I think they should be more descriptive than prescriptive/ultimately they matter less than character choices, arcs, and narratives), but I would guess that fighting to maintain the balance of nature and to stop those that would harm others for their own gain is still pretty in line with neutral good? I could maybe see an argument for that being more lawful good, but it didn’t seem like those people were talking about a shift along the horizontal axis.

Secondly, I think Dorian would do the exact same thing Orym is doing. Was that not the whole draw of the Spider Queen’s crown during ExU Prime? Power to protect and save his friends? So I don’t think Dorian would see anything wrong with how Orym is acting, much less take him to task over it.

Take: Look! Orym told Keyleth about Imogen’s mom and said “I don’t care” when Imogen complained! Bad! Mean! Selfish!

My opinion: idk that felt more like Liam being a brat to Laura than anything else.

Like, yes Liam/Orym had his own goals in that convo which were unexpected and uncomfortable, but I don’t think he was wrong to point that out. The moment Keyleth swore to take down Liliana, you could feel everyone in Bell’s Hells get really tense, and I am certain that Keyleth, who has 20 wisdom and ~30 years of experience leading her people and politicking, clocked that instantly. And Orym would have clocked that immediately, and in an effort to make sure that their group had the confidence of a very powerful druid and world leader, decided that full transparency was the way to go.

And I don’t know, this is largely speculation, but Keyleth having that information might mean that she will make sure Imogen doesn’t have to be the one to take down Liliana? Or it might make her more sympathetic and willing to show some mercy to her?

Leaning more fully into speculation bc this relies mostly on inference and assumption: while I do think that Keyleth deserves to know what’s going on with Vax, withholding that information at this juncture might have been another tactical decision from Orym. We don’t know how Keyleth has mourned over the last 30 years, but we know that she’s been angry and we know that losing Vax was and is devastating. I feel like finding out that the love of your life (“forever and ever and ever and always” “I’ll never get over you”) is suffering extreme torment such that the followers of his god are in a period of mourning, basically implying that you’ve lost him all over again, that potentially the one reassurance that you would see him again has been ripped from you, etc., etc. would cause anyone to break down on a good day. Add on the fact that Keyleth is gravely, gravely injured, and you’re basically asking for her to be completely out of commission, because 1) holy moly talk about new trauma, old trauma, grief, longing, guilt, etc. bro I’m an emotional wreck just thinking about Vax and I’m not the one living through it, and 2) that would be a lot of stress on her already extremely stressed body, the consequences of which could be very bad.

It’s a tough decision to make, and while I’m not sure I 100% agree with Orym’s, I think it’s a defensible position.

Anyway thanks for reading this far, I hope you enjoyed my analysis. Again, I don’t want to fight or get into arguments, but I’m down for some brief discussions! Emphasis on brief because I can fall into a rabbit hole very easily, which means this will be the only thing I can think of and I have other things I want to do, shadowgast to write, fearnechetney to draw, and this post already took several hours over two days to write after weeks of mental build up.

[thatpikmin]

Artfight is over

With Artfight over I’m posting all of the drawings I did for my first year starting with my first drawing

I decided to start with a silly bunny since

1. I love bunnies

2. I thought it would be nice to start in a familiar place, FNAF

It was a simple start but it was very fun and relaxing!

—

Second drawing is for @patchworkfox01

When I discovered that 2 of my friends were on the opposite team, I knew I had to draw them, but I don’t want it to be simple so I added a cute background. They have a very cute oc

—

Third drawing is for @sages-shack

I had a toon cat oc (which I didn’t finish their ref in time for Artfight 😔) so I went with the next interest in my live, rubberhose cartoons, and came across this guy!!

Originally I was going to add a shadow of my oc, Maxwell, being the one opening the door but I didn’t have the energy, I already struggled enough with the floor perspective and shadow

BUT THEY ARE SUCH A CUTE I LOVE THEM!!!

—

Next is

https://instagram.com/gin.needs.to.draw.more/

I wanted to draw some humans so I went through dangaronpa ocs and saw this sweetie, originally I wanted to add a more detailed background and more chibi drawings of little Oliver but quickly got bored of drawing them and had no ideas for background, I’m super proud of the moth charm and braid, tho I struggled a lot with the bangs

-

A double whammy for

https://cartoonytoonycharacters.tumblr.com/

My thirst for cartoon characters was not over, I was originally going make one then the other in different art pieces but I realized that they were made by the same artist so I combined them both to a bigger piece. I wanted to try something new with the tree textures in the background but not sure if they worked, I struggled a lot with perspective for them but I think it looks nice! just don’t look at the bricks too hard

—

My first ever revenge drawing with @beansmakinbooks also known as @boyswhowawa

And was curious if I could also attack another user, @witchyeevee

I’ve been yearning to draw some of their pokemon designs from a RP server with foxes so to be attacked and having a change to do a revenge I knew I had to do them. While looking through the description I noticed that if ever drawn to be drawing with Temilly (the pokemon next to jolteon) I had to not do shading due to so many details (it was a matter of time before the month was gonna end)

—

My last piece being for @kolawy

I don’t know how many times I drew their characters, so seeing their rivulet being up for attacks I had to strike. This attack was planned since the beginning of the month and never got to it till 2 or 1 week before it ended but it’s always worth it

—

Artfight is over, with 2 drawings not being completed before the month ended. I hope to finish the ref sheets for the remaining 3 ocs for next year which might be posted here on tumblr once I reach 100 followers

It was very fun drawing others ocs and has been years since I’ve last done this and was wonderful drawing others ocs. I hope to get to do this again next year.

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Pygmalion (VI)

Pairings: Rook/ (Pygmalion) MC // Idia/MC (Platonic)

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

Notes: Ey sorry this took so long lol. Been a bit busy lately, scrambling to get my life together and all that‒ grad apps are the most stressful thing to exist in this goddamn universe besides job applications. Also been a bit busy writing Lasting Spring which you can read here:

Tumblr link

AO3 Link

It’s a Vil fic, with a reader based on the Orpheus myth, with a childhood friends to lovers dynamic‒ lots of pining and yearning (as usual lmao)

Enjoy~

CW: none

AO3 Link Here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 / Part 6 (Here)

Masterlist.

——————————————————

Rook feels it when you leave.

Not just with the magic he cast on his jacket before he took off to fetch the headmage‒ but he feels a part of him being hooked, threaded, and ripped from his heart into somewhere so distant not even a glimmer of a fragment can be seen. Though he knows the distance of your physical presence with the enchantment that coursed through his blood‒ he feels that your essence, your soul had cindered to dust, hollowing his body, his heart in its absence. "Knowing and feeling are two different things." You were right.

That heartbeat that had hammered and raced from your touch rang empty in his flesh, a cavernous elegy that ate away at his bones. The floor under him slowed, wavered, opening its jaws to swallow him whole‒ the earth as if witness to the rising desire inside of him‒ for the world to swallow the parts of himself which you could not lovingly devour before your departure. The picture of clarity crumbles into a speck of dust, that fruit tree looming with its festering makings once more. Things were so bright‒ why did you leave?

"Pardon?"

He finds himself asking to clarify the pointed look from both Shroud brothers and Dire Crowley, failing to absorb any of the words before it. The usual lucidity of his sight was softened, blurred and muddled from your absence, the vacant ballad of his heartbeat spinning him under its lashing strikes.

Crowley folds his arms. ”Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Before Rook can respond or nod his head despondently, the headmage opens his mouth again. “No matter, the infirmary and other facilities are at your disposal‒ I have more pressing matters to address since this seems like yet another S.T.Y.X related incident.” The man gives a weary sigh, before pointing a cane towards his students. “Do not do anything rash. I expect you to keep yourselves busy, unlike the circumstances last time this occurred, understood?” His students nod their heads. “Alright. Stay. Put.”

The remaining three watch Crowley’s back as he disappears down the winding Ignihyde halls, back to the otherside of the mirror. Idia narrows his eyes at Rook, for what, he does not know, spun from the thickness mulling at his temples.

“Whatever, can you pay attention? Basically the love of your life was just kidnapped in front of us. Did (Name) tell you anything before they left? Anything that will help Ortho triangulate a location?”

With no restraint, he grasps Idia’s shoulders with his hands, tingling with the rising feeling in his chest. Joy? Hope? Whatever it was, he would trail it like a starving dog if it meant leading to you. "Roi de Ta Chambre‒ my friend, my chevalier‒ you are willing to do this? To save Maître d’Ivoire?”

The older Shroud brother plucks Rook's hands off his shoulders, grimacing at the feverish look in his eyes. "I mean yeah. They're my friend too or whatever." He mumbles.

The younger Shroud speaks up. "What my brother means to say is of course we're going to retrieve them! But we need a more precise way to locate them before we jump into anything.”

As soon as Idia plucks the huntsman's grip off his shoulders, they snap back with full force, clambering around the Shroud brothers.

"Sacré bleu‒ I must be blessed by the great seven‒ merci, merci, my friends!" Though he sings those words in a heightened octave, drenched in a melodramatic tune‒ the tears that seep from his eyes are quite real. Idia lets out a “oof” while stiffly standing against his grasp, while Ortho pats Rook’s shoulder with a sympathetic expression.

“Okay…that’s enough of that.” Idia somehow worms out of his tight embrace, keeping an arms length from him. “Also, are you listening? You haven’t even answered my question. My best guess would be Island of Woe but Ortho and I just checked the databases‒ Krios has been erased from all of our security systems so it would be nearly impossible to enter S.T.Y.X or Jupiter Enterprises without triggering any of the security protocols in place, I can personally see to that since I revised the code to most of the security systems at S.T.Y.X.”

“You are aware of my unique magic, yes?” The brothers nod their heads. “Bien‒ then grab your brooms. I will lead the way.”

——————————————————

The lashes of your eyes stuck together with the blur of tears when you opened them, a sudden jostle of the carriage jolting you awake. Your body is tightly wound in a cold embrace, the familiar scent of bleach and decay stinging your nose. The breath in your throat shakes when you confirm it is Krios that has his hands twisted around you like dense, choking vines, enveloping you in a fragrance of winter and decay. The flesh in his throat is grayed, brown as he speaks.

“We’re here.” The way he thumbs your cheek makes you retch silently, but you don’t pull away‒ the weight of your weary bones submerging you in a languid prostration. You think he puts you under some enchantment‒ your body never felt this heavy and spent since your youth at the atelier, running around day and night under your master’s rigorous apprenticeship. Since you were human, you guess. When you exit the carriage, the wind is merciless against your lassitude, cold and lashing against your tear slurred face. You hear it roaring, wailing‒ but this earthly force is not nearly enough to strain the lament from your flesh. Alone on this jagged, rocky island, shaven of any life floating atop of the deathless, whipping waves‒ the world would have to conceive some cosmic holocaust to wring a drop of anguish from your petrified heart. The ceaseless stir of the ocean chills you to the bone, so you barely feel Krios pull your body into a small, underground opening, the firelight in cast on his staff bringing no warmth to your cold metal frame.

"This isn't the S.T.Y.X lab."

"Any more profound observations, little lamb?"

"You're no longer under S.T.Y.X?"

"Ohoho‒ no child. They don't appreciate all of the world I've‒ we’ve‒ done for them‒ the progress we could make. Why did you think I took a leave of absence? " His fingers singed as he curled them around your bare neck, inserting a key into a heavy iron door with his other hand. “Think‒ our dream of climbing to the ranks of gods is not a far journey.” He opens the door, revealing a pristine, white lab with various equipment laid out on the metal table at the center, above it, a large glass window embedded in the ceiling that trickles bitter, blue light onto Krios’ body.

“Our dream?” You dive further into the darkness, away from that silver sharp gleam. “I never wanted any of this. It was never a dream‒ it was a remedy, a medicine, a solution. But never a dream. You’re wrong, you have always been‒ I wish I could have seen that, but you knew I couldn’t.” That night you met him was clear now‒ having turned it over and over in your head as your memories were pulled by the threads of Rook’s heart, revealing a striking monument of your lost humanity. “I don’t care if you tear and rip me apart like the jaws of Kronos‒ I’ve felt pain, I’ve felt loss, I’ve been eaten away by death." The heat returns to your tongue, smoldering red in the flesh of your throat, your lungs, your chest behind your clenched teeth‒ the blood runs wild in your veins. “Death to you, to it all. If that means the same for me‒ I do not care. I will die as the centuries built inside me‒ the people, the earth, the happiness, the loss‒ I will die human. Not as some phantom as you are, Krios."

A hand snaps like a serpent at your neck, bringing your throat close to his sharp teeth. You harden your face. “You should be grateful then, little lamb. You will end as you please soon‒ a human, an animal, a husk‒ it is no matter to me. Your empty vessel will serve as trial for my rightful ascent to godhood."

"Do as you please, doctor. You will bleed your body of its remaining life and will never be filled with anything resembling godhood. The only thing you will be left with is your vanity and the remaining scraps of your idiotic dream." There's an image that descends upon you‒ a reliquary of adoration in the form of images curated from Rook's hands. His camera, petrifying a moment of his love for your hands. You take a fragment of the light kindled by his ghostly touch, bringing vigor to your gaze. Krios scoffs with his usual conceit, but the feeble waiver in his eyes against yours feeds your flame with triumph.

"You were nothing before I found you, you understand? I made you. You owe your body, your everything to me‒ and I will take you apart piece by piece to retrieve what is rightfully mine. Then, you'll see the mark of a god.” He spat. But there is no saliva that forms on his tongue, no blood which vexes his throat pink. There is no sign of life you see within his body, despite the two of you being made of the same ingredients. When he flexes his arm to pull you off the ground from your feet, knocking you to the wall‒ you find that there is no sweat, no creak of his machinery‒ just a soundless sweeping movement. Perhaps some would compare the mystic workings of his synthetic muscles to a god, but you knew it was void of any spirit, any frailty to be considered something as man made as divinity.

There is a familiar rasp in your joints as you begin to stand, dark fluid writhing from your body as it meshes your body back together again. Unable to solidify your body into one piece, you crawl over to Krios who has turned to prepare his tools, who shoots you an repulsed stare, kicking your hands away at his feet.

“Pathetic. Though perhaps it was partially my lapse of judgment, allowing you to keep rotting flesh in that perfect body I made you. No matter. I will fix such miscalculations soon, dear lamb.”

There's a sharp smile that streaks across his face, a glimmering metal that is gripped in his stilled hands. Your memories piece together that it is the Kopis knife from all those centuries ago, still as keen and fluid as a crescent moon, untouched by time. He’s been waiting for a moment like this, there is little surprise in that realization, just a growing resentment which hardens your grasp around his solid ankle, resisting his arm heaving you towards the metal table above you. He finally tears your hand from his ankle with a frustrated growl, hurling your body carelessly onto the table, clashing with the metal tools laid out on the table in haste to begin the process.

As you struggle to quicken your healing process, Krios reaches for his worn staff, waving it to bind you down with a burst of magic. With slow, taunting movements, he reaches for the knife once more, checking the sharpness of the blade in the blue glint of the oceanic glow. He steadies it above your heart, which nearly brushes against your skin as your chest rises and falls. Your ears fill with the serene rhythm of your heart, your vision crystalline to the knife that will gouge your open, bleeding you of your life. Muscles, tightened by struggle, now relax.

“Remember your old name, child. You have fallen far from the Jupiter name, so now I shall reap you of everything you were once worth with these divine hands.”

You do. You remember your family name, your mother's soft face and touch, the worn hands of your master; your sick, dying friend; Idia and Ortho Shroud‒ many faces that come rushing to you like outstretched hands. But nothing quite in those memories clutch and weave against you like the face of Rook, filling you with all of the earth's warmth. You never thought death would be like this, having felt it in the weary palms of your hands in fleeting heartbeats, fading warmth. It was, rather, brimming with what you felt was deathless heat and love like the blazing sun, sprouting your chest to the celestial skies where it consumed itself. Memories, touch, love. Him, him, him. Images of him plunged to your heart, sharper than that knife Krios held that threatened to carve your flesh. Perhaps if there was a god, it was this. In these last moments, you would devote every sense, every thought, all your worship and humanity to it. You were sure your heart would gush with florid blood, ablaze in all of its wild heat if you were to be slain now. It brings you peace in that moment, you lay your palms up towards the heavens, relaxing your body to the somber seaborne light. You remember your name, touched and alive by his voice. His laughter, his tenderness, his hunger, his fire, his adoration‒ your only thought is that you wished you could have loved him again, and again, and again until it felt like you had carved yourself tight against his shape.

Krios raises the knife, swinging down with surgical precision down to the center of your heart.

Red, red, red. May its animal vivacity color your body whole again in this one last, final death.

You hear glass shattering, and it's like the first rainfall you remember as a child, the fragments of sharp glass glimmering like plunging stars dying into the entropy of the cosmos. Time has never been kind enough to slow for you, but in this second it does, offering you a chance when Krios raises his neck towards the sound, forgetting for a moment, to tether you to the table. You know to raise your hand to the stars, reaching high to catch the hand which reaches for you. Instantly it molds against his touch‒ you would know this hand, this warmth, this shape better than any marble you've chiseled in the four hundred centuries you've continued to create. Rook.

He pulls you up on his broom, against his back.

"You're late." There is no certainty in this statement, but you say it with conviction. The speed of which he hauls your bodies upwards towards the entrance he made makes you immediately latch onto his waist for support, digging your head into his back to bask in his warm fragrance once more.

"I'm here now, mon coeur. You know I would dive deep to the corners of the earth, to the fires of hell for you."

Your pressed bodies echo each other's heartbeat into your bodies, saturating your flesh and thought with each other's life. It feels as if your hearts touch, thundering against one another, pacing its speed with the other. The darkened sky beginning to stain with the rising sun is the only thing to bring you into the present moment, coloring your vision the color of blood and flesh. It's a grotesque color, but you revel in the prickling feeling it brings you.

You feel him lower you closer to the ground, where you see Idia conversing with white-suited figures, which you presume were Jupiter Enterprise officials from their uniforms. Maybe this is when it finally ends. Your body is tired, so you gladly take Rook’s hand when he dismounts from the broom. He lets you stay far from Idia for a bit, giving you a moment to gather yourself before you're thrown into an interrogation. Your hands are still intertwined, you don't want to let go. But you have to, in order to clamp your arms around his neck, squeezing your eyes to feel every curve of his body.

"How did you find me?"

He squeezes back, your hearts now face to face with each other, how it was meant to be.

He chuckles. "I only had to follow my heart, of course."

You mirror his joy with a puff from your nose. "Sap. I bet it has something to do with your magic."

"Ah! Deduced already. Secrets are never safe from you."

There is a moment of silence, allowing the two of you to sink in each others touch. Two souls, just simply, being. Moments ago, you had accepted your fate, clinging your remaining fragments of humanity and love to his memory‒ but now here he was‒ you didn't quite know how to shape your hands against his form, to bring him closest as you possibly could to engrave the expanse of your fondness‒ carve your hands so they could better love him. But you did know to squeeze harder, pull yourself closest as flesh allowed to pour the rhythm and heat of your life into his. You mull this sweet peace in your throat, warming it with the terrific fitter of your heart‒ the sensation of the mild sun tingles on your tongue, and you yield to its words like an ardent acolyte. Memories, touch, love. Him, him, him. If there was a god, it was this image, this body sculpt against his.

"Roi de Ta Chambre is likely discussing the steps to discharging that doctor once and for all. He seemed adamant on settling that on our journey here." He wraps his arms around your waist. "What will you do now, Maître d’Ivoire?"

"I suppose thank you, Rook."

He blinks, a boyish smile blooms on his face. You feel it in the heat of his cheeks, growing high against your face with his joy. "No need, mon ami. I simply could not stand being away from you, that is all."

"No. Not just for this." You separated your head from his shoulder, grazing your bare hand onto his cheek, brushing a cold thumb against it. "Thank you. For everything." His cheek is smooth as marble, warmed with your touch as you press your tingling lips against it. It's hot‒ almost burning against your flesh, but you savor its heat with a smile that widens softly against his skin. That smile makes his own widen when you pull back, your image against the blazing sun solidifying that picture of clarity inside him once more.

His hand laces around yours. You'd carve your shape against his as long as time allowed, fitting together as one, sculpt from each other's adoration. It feels like an eternal kiss, breath pouring the rhythm of life into one another. You savor the carnal taste from through his touch, your heart growing vibrant in its warmth. The two of you step forward, hand and hand.

——————————————————

Notes:

Reliquaries most often refer to a container for holy relics or even parts of holy people/saints, etc, and are worshiped as an integral part of a church/cathredral. I wanted to use the imagery of divine sanctuary and devotion so I thought that would be the perfect way to describe it

Ugh I dislike writing plot driven parts like I have to actually decide what happens next?? So much work

Mon coeur means "My heart" 🥺🥺

Sorry it seems like an abrupt ending??? But I feel like Jupiter Enterprises has enough power to imprison Krios of put him on trial for abusing his position as researcher and doctor even with S.T.Y.X's position, since it's a violation of ethical code than anything??? Like his license would definitely be taken away and Jupiter Enterprises will probably investigate into S.T.Y.X's activities, eventually leading them to the evidence of MC's experimentation. Idia and Ortho obviously help with the investigation, probably silenced before by their parents on the matter

Gonna start working on the Azul x Siren fanfic next~ so stay tuned for that

[practically-an-x-man]

6, 22, 23, 30, 35, 48 for the fanfic asks?

Thank you!!

Fanfiction Writing Asks

6. What’s the last line you wrote?

From what should be the last chapter of A Love Once New, once I actually get it written up:

“Eh. I was fourteen. Heard it had alcohol in it.” he said, “Doesn’t get you drunk, though, just gets you sick as all hell. Without the healing factor I’da probably gone to the hospital.”

(he's talking about vanilla extract lol)

22. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process?  How do you come up with titles?

If it's a oneshot, it's usually after I've finished writing it. For a longfic, I'll usually write the first 3 chapters before I start posting it, and I come up with the title just before posting it. I'm not great with titles (though I'm trying to get better) so I don't really have a system - unless I'm going with song titles, which I do with a couple of my fics - and I just try to come up with whatever I can to get it posted lol

23. Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?

The middle is usually the easiest, once I get rolling into the plot and can actually start writing the scenes I want to write. The ending is the hardest, partially because there's always more scenes I could write and it's hard to know when to end it, and partially because I struggle to pace out an ending without it either dragging on or feeling choppy.

30. How much do you edit your fics?  Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?

I usually edit as I write - I start each writing session by rereading what I've already written and making tweaks. Then I give it one final scan as I'm getting it uploaded to AO3/tumblr (mostly bc I have to manually input my italics and things into AO3).

35. What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?

Aw man, I love them all for different reasons!! I think Desert Song has some of the most unique character interactions, and I think Quinn is one of my most dynamic OCs. Taking Flight and WWFA? have some of my best stylistic writing, especially with the descriptions of magic. Heartstrings also has really fun emotional descriptions and character interactions, and some of my favorite dialogue. Smoke and Mirrors is about recovery and finding home, and I still adore its friends-to-lovers arc. Bolts and Blasters is a really fun slowburn and has strong themes of expectation vs. choice. Catch and Release deals with grief, and has some of the best fight scenes I've ever written. Eris' fics are fun because of their dynamic with Rick, and Nikoletta's I love because of the themes of physical and emotional healing.

That probably just sounds like I'm bragging on myself, and maybe I am a little, but I really do set out for something different in each of my fics and I think I strike on different strengths with every single one. I really can't choose!

48. Who is your favorite character to write for?  Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?

Agh man, this one is also impossible to choose between!! One of my favorite things in writing is character analysis and exploring different dynamics, so I love these characters all for different reasons too! I could ramble on again like I did in the last question, because I really do have something to love about every character I write for...

But for the sake of making a choice, I'll say this: Quinn is the most fun OC to write since she's such a total wild card, and Warren/Angel will always be my number one canon character to write for because he has such an interesting story and a lot of emotional depth to explore. Abner Krill has also become a recent favorite, since he's also got a lot of emotional trauma and depth to explore.

[sailxrmxrs]

took a little break from writing to recharge the brain but expect some fun christmas content now that december is upon us. before the fesitivities begin, however, let's give alexei a little moment to shine bc i haven't actually written a solo fic for him yet. today we change that. now everyone's beloved science boy is for SURE the type to overwork himself and not realise until he gets sick so who else should take care of him other than mc <3 also bc a sleepy alexei is adorable. enjoy the alexei softness gamers! also maybe opening requests again for some inspo hehe. fantasy rory coming to a tumblr near u too soon <3

Being roommates with Alexei meant a lot of late nights after work, sharing food you'd ordered in because neither of you had the energy to cook. A pleasant routine had settled and you couldn't really fathom a time before this close friendship with Alexei. However, something that set you both apart was the ability to relax. Where you valued your time at home away from work, letting your brain rest and indulge in comforts and hobbies, Alexei did not. Even when the two of you would watch a new show together, or go out for food, Alexei was always thinking about work. If he could, he'd stay in the lab working long into the night, only stopping when you physically dragged him away from his current projects. His late nights combined with his early morning starts meant it was inevitable he'd get sick. Despite his determination to prove otherwise, Alexei was only human. And that meant his repeated late nights would soon catch up on him and render him useless to his own immune system.

It only took a few more days for Alexei's inevitable fate to strike. You were cleaning up the kitchen from your breakfast, the tv providing background noise, when you heard Alexei's door open. Dark circles ringed his eyes as he slowly trudged out of his room, a blanket wrapped around him and his cheeks flushed feverishly.

"Uh oh. Someone's sick," you observed, taking a bite of toast as you watched him collapse on the sofa. "Told you to rest more."

Alexei answered with a groan, his energy levels too low to offer any sort of intelligent response. He burrowed deeper into the cushions, tugging the blanket around his shoulders for extra warmth. Despite it being a result of his own blindsided eagerness to work, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Alexei was usually a bright little ray of sunshine in the mornings so to see him look so defeated made your heart sink. Luckily for Alexei, today was a day off for you. Initially, you'd planned to spend it running a couple necessary errands before hibernating away in cosy clothes in your room but some adjustments could be made for Alexei.

"Instead of moping over there, you should get yourself back into bed. Can you manage any food right now or do you just want to sleep it off?"

Alexei contemplated his options for a moment before he begrudgingly pulled himself up off the sofa. "Sleep. Food later."

"Got it. Still, you should drink some fluids first. I'll grab you some water and a spare blanket from my room." By the time you'd gotten Alexei a glass of water and retrieved the blanket in question, he was already fast asleep. His body was so exhausted that he'd collapsed before even getting himself fully into bed. You left the glass on his bedside table, pulling the covers and blankets over him so that he would stay nice and warm as his body caught up on all the sleep it had missed. You pulled the curtains taut and quietly closed the door as you left. Judging from the gentle snores coming from Alexei, he wouldn't be waking up anytime before noon which meant you had a couple hours to run out for some ingredients to make him the perfect comfort meal. It wasn't often that you got to cook for Alexei so you weren't intending on letting this opportunity slip you by. Especially because you knew that in a few hours once Alexei was fully rested, he'd be aching to get up and go about his day like normal despite the strain on his body. Getting him to relax might just be the hardest task you've ever set to accomplish.

Once you'd returned home and got to work on Alexei's food, the real work begun. As you'd suspected, the moment Alexei woke up he made the executive decision to get out of bed again and join you in the kitchen, claiming to be all better now. Of course, this wasn't true in the slighest but there was little you could do for the moment so you let him sit and watch you finish preparing the ingredients.

"As soon as this is all in the pot simmering away I'm putting you back into bed, you know that, right?"

"I already slept I'm fine. Besides I have a report to finish for Monday," Alexei complained as he reluctantly drank sips of water while you glared directly at him.

"Were my ears deceiving me or are you seriously talking about work when you are sick. From overworking and not sleeping. Alexei Demidov I swear you are going to be the death of me." You halted your actions, a half-chopped carrot under your hands momentarily abandoned while you scolded Alexei.

"I'm not sick or overworked. I was just a little tired. Which I'm not anymore."

"Sure. Is that why when I checked your temperature earlier you had a fever? Because you are in perfect health? And don't even get me started on the overworking. I've never met someone more willing to work overtime."

Alexei puffed his cheeks in defeat, knowing that as a scientist himself he couldn't refute the evidence of his high temperature. "Enjoying your job is hardly a crime."

"True, but you can always have too much of a good thing. Perhaps this is the ideal experiment into why rest and relaxation is vital to one's physical wellbeing."

"Perhaps." Alexei sipped at his water, watching as you went about the kitchen clearing up the utensils you no longer needed now that everything was cooking. He quietly observed, only responding with little nods and short answers to your questions about the food. Having food prepared specially for him was a new feeling for Alexei, and it was one he rather enjoyed. He liked the closeness of seeing the process but found the gesture of you going to such lengths to look after him even more comforting. Even if he didn't believe he needed such treatment, he would have been lying if he said he hated it. To be doted on like this was incredibly rare so maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let you continue treating him like this? After all, he did have a slight fever—even if he didn't feel ill himself.

By the time his food had finished cooking, you were already ushering Alexei to either get back into his bed with the pillows propped up or onto the sofa where you'd drag his duvet and blankets. He opted for the sofa as he clutched the warm bowl in his hands and took a first bite. His eyes closed in satisfaction, the heat spreading through every inch of his body.

"You better not get any ideas of working even more because you won't be getting this sort of treatment next time," you commented, tossing the bundle of blankets beside Alexei so as not to spill any of his food. "Special treatment only for people who deserve it."

Alexei took another bite before answering. "You really think I'd do that?"

"Hm, maybe not on purpose, but yes. Anything for some more of my cooking," you teased, falling back onto the other end of the sofa, tucking your feet under one of the blankets.

"Never knew you could cook this good. I might need a lesson or two from you."

You'd gotten yourself a bowl of food to enjoy with Alexei, knowing the comfort meal was exactly what you needed after a long week of work. "Don't get excited, this is one of very few recipes I've mastered. Mostly because I made it all the time as a student when it got cold."

"Still, I appreciate it. Thank you." Alexei smiled, his cheeks still flushed with fever, but looking a lot more rejuvenated than they had been earlier in the morning. After he finished eating, Alexei got himself comfortable under the covers again, swearing he wasn't about to fall asleep. He was just getting cosy. Until you looked over ten minutes later and saw that same sleep-induced calmness cover his features. His lips were curled in the slightest of smiles and his hair tumbled over his eyes. A bemused grin covered your features as you rose from your seat to check up on him. His temperature had almost returned to normal but there was no need to disturb him now. So instead, you brushed the hair from his forehead, leaving a soft kiss in your wake before leaving him to sleep the rest of his fever away. But before you could go, a hand reached for your arm and weakly tugged. Alexei was still mostly asleep, the last remnants of his consciousness encouraging you to join him. What kind of person would you be to refuse such a sweet request? So you managed to balance yourself beside him, the blankets sufficently covering you both before sleep called out and lulled you into its grasp.

[usaonetwothree]

I posted 1,309 times in 2022

88 posts created (7%)

1,221 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dailyteamcap

@shrinkthisviolet

@marveladdicts

@weirdostarkid

@lulamadison

I tagged 1,300 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#cobra kai - 199 posts

#text - 153 posts

#johnny lawrence - 108 posts

#chris evans - 85 posts

#steve rogers - 81 posts

#stranger things - 71 posts

#daniel larusso - 58 posts

#bucky barnes - 56 posts

#mcu - 39 posts

#steve harrington - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#but from someone who has been there arguing (politely) with tournament officials about poor reffing or inequality within the facility

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I'm on a Supergirl kick again and it's 'be mad at the writers for giving Winn these fantastic, dramatic episodes and then almost no support from his friends during them' hours.

24 notes - Posted July 21, 2022

#4

I need Cisco, Winn and Ned to all meet, because they’d be the best of friends.

30 notes - Posted January 29, 2022

#3

Jeremy Jordan's She Used to be Mine could bring me out of a Vecna trance.

39 notes - Posted July 22, 2022

#2

Since we're getting yet another Fantastic 4 movie, I am once again begging Marvel to bring back Chris Evans, with absolutely no explanation of how or why Johnny could be Steve Rogers' twin.

40 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Can we talk about Aisha in Season 4 for a second? Because that scene was executed perfectly.

Youth sports are about more than just the actual exercise (though that's a great benefit). They teach valuable life lessons like teamwork and dedication and striving for something greater than you, that are applicable long after the season is over.

Case in point: Aisha, who is about the only person this season who saw the Cobra Kai creed as something more than literal. Strike first doesn't have to mean physical contact. It can just mean being proactive. Strike hard is being determined. No mercy is fighting for what you want and never giving up. When Aisha applied those principles to her bullying situation, she avoided conflict and made a friend.

Which is why it was so hard to watch the writers insist on the dojo's principles being hard, fast laws for the rest of the season.

They had the real meaning right there with Aisha, and then missed the rest by a mile.

46 notes - Posted January 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[freshlybakedspiderbread]

was tagged by @rn0na-lizard to do a thing, I appreciate it...!

rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better!

favourite colour: When I was little and for a long time since, I had decided my favourite colour was red, but now I could never say any one colour takes precedence for me over anything else. Every one conveys a sort of different mood or association that I might be feeling more or less at any given time...

But for just what it comes to what I wear, I feel like I’ve been wanting to lean more towards colours that are ‘both subdued and striking’ so like a dark blue or dark green 🤔🌈 There’s this overly expensive green blouse I’ve been eyeing for a long time...

currently reading: I... haven’t read an actual ‘novel’ novel in any language in so many years. I’m so uneducated! 💀 If there’s anything I should be reading right now, its the road rules manual to prepare for my next driving test next month. (I will probably just try to wing it anyway though)

last song: last night on a whim i ended up listening to most of perfect cherry blossom’s soundtrack. doll judgement ~ the girl who played with people’s shapes still rules by the way!!

something that’s not touhou or a touhou doujin song though... one was In Sympathy by Depeche Mode? I dunno anything about this band but this song was reblogged on someone’s tumblr, i gave it one listen and decided to add to my list of things i’ll just listen to regularly to pass time on spotify (I have a lot of these kinds of songs)🎵

last movie: its been a long while too so i’m not sure... When it comes to watcing things in the theater, I think it might have been spiderverse, which i liked but i think i never want to actually physically go to the theater again.

since then i also through other secret means 🤫 watched the last spider-man movie on my computer with my mother.

last series: As in the last tv show? I think it was the bocchi the rock anime, which i liked and have been listening to the songs on spotify too...

Oh, but since finishing that show, i (also on a whim) been rewatching season 1 of elementary (skimming the parts that don’t interest me). That’s one of the shows I watched once a long while ago and will just periodically go back to like its comfort food or something.

sweet, savoury or spicy: um, i thought ‘savoury’ just means a nice ‘full’ taste that envelopes your mouth, so it can coincide fine with either sweet or spicy? either way my answer depends I guess... If I’m having lunch or dinner, i’d probably prefer spicy over sweet. If i’m just snacking during whatever time, i’d prefer sweet.

tea or coffee: tea! I’ve tried a few different flavours and haven’t found a strong preference for any one type of tea yet, but they’ve all been nice. In contrast, I’ve had coffee i think just once in my life and didn’t care for it at all 😑☕

currently working on: improving myself, an eternal project... Every now and then I think to myself that once i accomplsh some arbitrary thing, that’ll be the first step that allows me to change my whole self around. Never quite works out that way!!

for a less abstract answer, I’ve writing touhou fanfiction as usual. Currently working on what I had hoped would be a really quick and simple thing where i just write out backstory ideas i had for Byakuren and Shou that I’d get done in just a few days < I thought this back in the middle of december and haven’t touched it in weeks. Maybe tomorrow... (< I’ve thought ‘maybe tomorrow’ for many days in a row now)

tagging: 

uahgh. I’ve always felt odd about tagging people in these kind of things, because wouldnt it be awkward if i did that but they don’t really wanna... I’ll say that if anyone does this because they see my post here, then i’d be happy if you tagged me so i could see o_0!

[fregata-magnificens]

10 questions for 10 writers

Thanks for the tag, @arokel! Thanks to today's Windows outage, I actually have time to think about this, lol

(Heads up: I don't actually know enough other writers to tag them, but I'm thrilled that you thought of me!)

1. Is writing a hobby or a way of life?

A hobby. One that sucks me in for a few weeks or months at a time before I lose interest, only for me to catch the bug again a few months (or years) down the road. Hence this tag dead-ending at me.

2. A journal full of notes or a clean completed manuscript?

A secret third thing: a messy brain-dump into several google docs.

3. Who or what inspired your writing?

What inspires me to write? The drive to create. It's one of the easiest, quickest ways for me to get something out of my head and into reality.

Or is it what inspired the way I write? I don't know if I could choose one writer or work. When I really think about it, it's actually (im)probably some of the "classic" stuff I read in high school? I'd say that Ray Bradbury's short stories are one of the things I most look up to as far as writing goes, and I'd like to think I've been influenced by them.

4. Which is worse: Someone you ‘idolize’ reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

I can't sing but I think if someone I really looked up to (and who I didn't trust with my life) got that kind of deep look into my psyche, I would just poof out of existence.

5. Has writing from someone else’s POV changed your perspective?

I wouldn't say that writing from different perspectives has changed my own, at least not directly. But writing "as" different characters is definitely a way for me to explore different aspects of myself.

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

AO3. The lack of social media functionality is perfect for a fandom recluse like me. Oh, and the ability to orphan works and delete your profile forever is comforting.

7. AO3 word count? And are you satisfied with it?

Only 20,616. The fact that the words are countable (rather than living somewhere in my head) is plenty satisfying.

8. What movie/book gripped you irrevocably?

By now you've probably gotten the sense that I tend to get obsessed with one thing at a time, so I won't go with my gut, which says "whatever the last thing I really liked was".

But, and this might be an unfortunate answer, but the Harry Potter books. I have so many fond memories of just dropping everything I was doing to devour them, and of the feeling I got whenever I'd put the book down that I just returned from an adventure. I loved that the books grew almost exactly in time with me. I have no attachment to the stories themselves, especially now, but I can't deny that the experience of reading them changed me. It's incredible that stories can have that kind of effect on people.

9. What’s the highest compliment you could ever be given, and have you been given it?

Any compliment I get about my writing is The Highest Compliment I Could Ever be Given, at least at the time. Adjectives like "unique" or "distinctive," when earnestly offered, are some of my favorites.

10. What defines your writing style?

Posting once every three years, lol. But really, looking back at what I've written, it's a little... sparse. I tend to spend a lot of words on the physical environment and what's happening, rather than what's going on in someone's head. It's a balance I'd like to try to strike a little better, but it's very "me".

Oh, and being a stickler about punctuation and formatting. Commas and semicolons and em-dashes all have a specific job to do, dammit!

[grandhotelabyss]

Thank you! (Here’s my essay on Light in August, by the way.) Absalom, Absalom! is one of those books that demands to be read twice before it can be read once—and I only read it once. My praise will fall short of originality: the sheer sublimity of both the rhetoric and the vision, a single story that is an allegory for all America, a near approach to Faulkner’s wish to have written Moby-Dick. And I love the fin de siècle decadence of it, a mature work that reminds us jejune Faulkner was a dandy strolling with black clothes and a cane, the townfolk mocking him as “the Count.” Along those lines, though I never wrote at length about Absalom, I did post a long passage with brief commentary here on Tumblr nine (!) years ago, back when I read the novel for the first time, and I repost it here. First the quotation and then the almost decade-old comment:

It must have resembled a garden scene by the Irish poet, Wilde: the late afternoon, the dark cedars with the level sun in them, even the light exactly right and the graves, the three pieces of marble (your grandfather had advanced Judith the money to buy the third stone with against the price of the store) looking as though they had been cleaned and polished and arranged by scene shifters who with the passing of twilight would return and strike them and carry them, hollow fragile and without weight, back to the warehouse until they should be needed again; the pageant, the scene, the act, entering upon the stage—the magnolia-faced woman a little plumper now, a woman created of by and for darkness whom the artist Beardsley might have dressed, in a soft flowing gown designed not to infer bereavement or widowhood but to dress some interlude of slumbrous and fatal insatiation, of passionate and and inexorable hunger of the flesh, walking beneath a lace parasol and followed by a bright gigantic negress carrying a silk cushion and leading by the hand the little boy whom Beardsley might not only have dressed but drawn—a thin delicate child with a smooth ivory sexless face who, after his mother handed the negress the parasol and took the cushion and knelt beside the grave and arranged her skirts and wept, never released the negress’ apron but stood blinking quietly who, having been born and lived all his life in a kind of silken prison lighted by perpetual shaded candles, breathing for air the milklike and absolutely physical lambence which his mother’s days and hours emanated, had seen little enough of sunlight before, let alone out-of-doors, trees and grass and earth…

(Placed here, since I can’t find it quoted in full elsewhere on the Internet, for evidence of my pet thesis, indeed my doctoral thesis, that Wilde invented the modernist novel, though to be fair I suppose the allusions here—to Wilde’s great Symbolist drama Salomé with the dirty and anachronistic Beardsley illustrations—are meant to reflect not Faulkner’s mature sensibility but the Decadent [and perhaps somewhat outré for Mississippi in 1909] tastes of this scene’s narrator, Mr. Compson.  But note too the resort to the “apolitical” Wilde to describe a scene of implied sexual/racial crossing and [for the reader] confusion [the woman in the Beardsley dress is Charles Bon’s “octoroon mistress” and the boy is her and Bon’s son, raised in a New Orleans brothel but doomed to abject himself in the postbellum South’s racial system and to bear an “idiot” son who will ironically be Sutpen’s final heir], as if Aestheticism is the artistic movement that best captures one of the novel’s central theses–that, as another narrator, Rosa Coldfield puts it, “But let flesh touch with flesh, and watch the fall of all the eggshell shibboleth of caste and color too”—and thus logically leads on to its concluding prophecy of a multiracial empire in the western hemisphere where “I who regard you will also have sprung from the loins of African kings,” per the enthusiastic albeit in the context ironic Canadian Shreve on the novel’s penultimate page.  To close on a dry pedantic note, though, I must fault Faulkner for committing one of my pet peeves among common undergraduate writing errors in this otherwise glorious passage: like a kid in freshman comp., our great American novelist confuses imply with infer!)  

[1bringthesun]

okay i do NOT know how tumblr works so i’m making this new post bcuz someone commented about the Mori comment i made last post so basically i’ll go over a crash course on why i don’t think he’s a pedo!

1) he calls Elise his wife

yup, he says this in an omake of bsd. however, the word he uses in this context is 妻 (tsuma), which is used to mean wife NOW, but meant something more along the lines of “lifelong partner” in the past. he’s being a screwy bastard and trying to toy with Fukuzawa by using a word that means either “wife” or “partner,” but basically he’s trying to see how far he can take it. calling a kid your wife is strange, sure, but calling a kid your partner could really mean anything.

2) he sees Elise naked

tbh i’m not really sure why this one proves anything. he’s trying to put clothes ON her, not take them off. he doesn’t look aroused or anything. actually, he looks… no thoughts brain empty. there’s not a single thought in that head of his at this moment, much less any sexual comments about Elise’s body.

3) Elise is based off of Yosano, Mori was obsessed with Yosano

once again, there’s nothing inherently sexual here. he abused Yosano (not with the intention to hurt her, but with the idea that her mental and physical well-being were a worthy sacrifice for the hundreds of thousands of other lives on the line), he didn’t prey on her? he canonically feels remorseful over Dazai’s lack of will to live, so it’s not too much of a stretch to say he has regrets about Yosano as well. in that case, Elise would represent the petulant and innocent attitude Yosano could have developed instead of her hardened views of the world. i think he sees Elise as a daughter, and i think he regrets not being able to treat Yosano as one either

4) “i prefer those 12 and under”

i’m foggy on the details, but he says something to that effect in a conversation with Kouyou. The context is that she’s calling him a capable boss, to which he replies, “i prefer my subordinates to be younger” (or something…). once again, this isn’t something that strikes me as inherently pedophilic. he likes young subordinates because they are weak and impressionable, and that sort of docile attitude just so happens to fit in well with his pastime of mansplain manipulate malewifing the yokohama underground. anyway, it’s nothing sexual. his organization literally human traffics, and he’s never once stepped in to do strange things to the children on their way to be sold. he couldn’t care less about them, he just wants smart yet dependent and naive underlings. also anyone who read this scene as them flirting is very ill-read in my opinion. they are not flirting. stick your shipping agenda back into fanon interpretation of characters. Mori and Kouyou are girlbossing the entirety of the port mafia together, but they’re not girbossing each other.

5) his character sheet

his character sheet does indeed have “young girls” in the likes category, but let me amend this- the words used are 幼女, aka “maiden.” you might say, “tai, japanese doesn’t differentiate singulars and plurals,” to which i reply, “have we seen him even interacting with woman out of his job?” the answer is no. he basically speaks to Elise and Kouyou, and there’s his female companionship. he’s married to his job, guys. he doesn’t have the time to frolic around with young women. but anyway, it doesn’t say “young girls,” it says “maiden(s)” so just take the plurality in the translation with a grain of salt. it could be referring to one single girl (Elise cough cough) (his daughter cough cough). also please ignore how astoundingly high res this image is.

6) Mori and fukuzawa’s argument

who’s surprised at this point when i say that this was also a mistranslation? not me! Mori says something to the effect of, “are you still fawning over stray cats?” to which Fukuzawa replies “and are you fawning over that girl still?” it was translated, for some inconceivable reason, as “only as much as you fawn over young girls” (or something) which i just don’t understand. yenpress, look me in the eye, this is not you. anyway zenki soukoku beloved.

7) letter to nathaniel

Mori plans on killing nathaniel and margret in the guild arc, right? so he has absolutely zero reason to lie when he sends them a letter saying “i want your ship and also you guys’ lives. thanks uwu” right ????? in the official translation in that letter, he calls Elise his child. idk how much more specific you can get there, chief. Elise is Mori’s daughter, your honor.

is this all i have to say? absolutely not. i could talk my head off about why Mori isn’t a pedo for ages, and i can connect it to “vita sexualis,” “the dancing girl,” Asagiri’s own opinion on Ougai’s legacy as an author and general, the irl Mori and Yosano’s relationship in comparison to the bsd version, and also the opinions of the fans in different languaged-fanbases. unfortunately, it’s way too early for my brain to function, and i now depart to feel the warm embrace of my very own Yoshiko chan. goodbye, tumblr, and i hope you agree with what i’ve said in this long-winded message~~

[coffeily]

Dnb reincarnation AU.

(but it's Makima and Senki Chainsaw man vibe)

Notes : just want to say if i disappear and don't post anything in a long time, just pretend i die and disappear (like i lost my tumblr account).

Conteks :

Bro, I was just thinking au where is Dream and Techno rencarnation AU. Like Techno's slogan that 'Technoblade never dies'; Techno is an immortal being while Dream is just an ordinary mortal.

Techno always saw Dream die continuously in his reincarnation. Techno saw Dream reincarnated into a village girl, a witch, a criminal, a humanoid creature, etc. even though Techno is not a furry, but if Dream is one of them, Techno has no problem marrying back and becoming a furry with Dream. ( lmao, Dream being a dog and Techno still wanna marrying the dog/ they even date at first )

He always finds every way so that he can be with Dream again and again once Dream is reincarnated again. Techno always faces Dream's personality, which is different but strangely, always with a different physical condition and the same name repeating itself (but different last name). It seems that God wants to play with Techno's feelings and life through this fate.

Techno always sees his dearest lover die over and over again for different reasons. Techno is always looking for ways to prevent Dream from dying. However, the attempt always failed.

Techno always believes that Dream will only love him, but it's different from before. This one dream has a lover with a baby demon that he actually raised from childhood out of pity; Sapnap. Techno has a hard time winning Dream's heart, but in vain. This one dream is really married and has children with Sapnap. Take the L ,Techno. Techno feels hurt and torn by reality. The person he loves is now with someone else. Techno can only surrender to Dream's decision; as long as Dream is happy he is happy too. F

In the next life, Techno let Dream have a partner other than himself. Techno feels selfish because he always has Dream only for him and doesn't let him choose anything else. So, Techno, who realized he couldn't stand to see Dream with the others, chose to sleep very long and hoped he would never wake up again.

In Dream's next reincarnation, Techno still sleeps. In the next reincarnation as well, that same one and so on. Techno is fast asleep in an endless dream, a dream where he is on his lover's lap while his lover caresses his head gently and lovingly while humming a beautiful song from his lover's angelic voice. However, the dream finally ended with Techno waking up from his long slumber.

But, strangely he felt very small and knew his body turned into the body of a child. ( hell yeah!!! 💅 )

Techno is back on a journey to find out what has changed in Dream's current reincarnation. He only saw Dream with an adult body with strong white horns, long hair that was braided up and next to his ears there was a pendant that acted as a ribbon to support his braids from unraveling and falling out of place. His ears were surprisingly different from human ears and the most striking thing was that Dream had black wings that ran under his back. Dream wears a white shirt with a pendant with a black tie. Dream wears a dark brown corset and black pants. His bangs covered one eye and the other one revealing the green of the other which gleamed in the hot morning sun; at one point the dream's eyes would turn dark green which was like herh eyes were black. Techno is fascinated and settles in that place under the guise of not having a home (it's true that he doesn't have a home, dream 2.0).

Techno grew back to see Dream's look that took care of him. Well, this is a new side of Dream's affection for Techno. However, Techno had to leave the village for quite a long time. He couldn't just sit there, Techno wanted to try something new. So techno goes to gladiators and gets 'title the blood god' and again. "Technoblade never die" is back again. It's not just a myth anymore but a legend that comes to life again after being buried for a long time with a boring history. Dream and Techno meet again when Techno does MCC and has a duel. He couldn't believe he would duel again with Dream. The Techno has now grown much taller than its original height.

Notes : Techno be like :

Techno before: Im not a furry.

/Background Dream who becomes a dog is chasing butterflies at the luxurious dining table that Techno prepared for a date.

Techno after : *cover his face with his hands. Im a Furry.

[ken5112]

Hi, I'm a 67 year old redhead "bloke" from Australia, and I'm just here to enjoy Tumblr, and Redheads in particular, nothing more. I don't want or need anything from anybody. No relationships, no hookups and no Mistresses. I rarely reply to messages, because of the amount of people trying to con and rip me off. So don't expect a reply from me, I won't take the chance.

It's been awhile, so I replied to someone who messaged me. I don't know what I was thinking, it didn't take long before the ask for money happened. Oh. I'm bored, can you send money so I can get some gas. For Fuck sake. It's petrol, as in petroleum!!! 🤬🤬🤬 She of course is blocked, as will anybody else, who tries too scam me. I think I'll go back to just NOT answering any messages. I should know better. 🤦

I have just found out what Friends With Benefits, means. They offer the Smuck sex, even though their never going to give it up. And when he says Thank You but No thanks, they tell Him that their mother's sick and even though she's probably years younger than him, they want him to send money. FUCK OFF.🤬🤬🤬

Something NEW.

People following me so they can advertise their con artist web sites.

No post's and no likes, just a link to go visit their exclusive site.

If I won't go to these sites, why do you think I will let you use my blog, to drum up business. ALL WILL BE BLOCKED. I now seem to be the target for, female mega stars (10). But apparently their strike, has made them poor. They want gift cards and such. A 67-year-old Aussie, with just enough for me to get by on. Even though it's fun, to see how long it takes them to get to the scam. It's still rather sad that, they think nobody thinks their scamming. Well to you "ladies" or maybe even "men" get a fucking life. 🤬🤬🤬

Can anyone, anyone at all, please tell me the attraction, of paying to have a wank, in front of your computer? I am fucked as to why people do this. I will not, so don't ask me to go to your site and pay you so I can belittle myself. So "ladies" please stop. If you message me in the hope of trying to get me in a relationship. DON'T. I'm TRULY NOT INTERESTED. So DON'T get all HUFFY, when I say I don't want any sort of relationship. I'm sick to death of it. Find someone else PLEASE. And I'm NOT interested in paying for ANYTHING. Why don't female read this. Once again, I don't want or need any sort of Relationship, physical or otherwise. Please NO messages. offering me a good time. (whatever that means) I'm too old and faraway anyhow. STOP.