#potion hacks

[jimkinnz]

homunculus facts¡

recent genetic studies of homunculus mitochondria indicates that they may not be the result of endosymbiosis• i don,t know what to do about this' but here it is•

felt hands are great for taking things out of the oven• i helped master make some taquitos yesterday¡

while biden is the most famous for it' most of the previous presidents and presidential candidates have in fact sealed dogs under the earth to obtain their power•

life hack¡ try replacing the bull semen in your potion with avocado oil to make the resulting homunculi crispier and better with cheese¡

i eat gnomes i eat gnomes i will kill and eat every gnome i will kill and eat every gnome i eat gnomes i eat gnomes i hate them I hate gnomes i hate them I hate gnomes•

tbt my days as a skull;

[victorluvsalice]

Welcome -- to the Laggiest Fall Sunday the trio has thus experienced! Yes, unfortunately this particular playsession was marked by my game lagging and being a bit of a little shit when it came to letting me do the things I wanted to do. But I powered on through, and the trio had a pretty decent Sunday in their newly-upgraded house and their not-so-newly-upgraded store –

-->Picked up where I left off after all the building and redecorating last time, which saw Alice making grape nectar in the new basement area; Smiler making mechanisms in the barn; and Victor chilling out in the séance room on the second floor. Having spotted some spooky hands and symbols down on the first floor that were upsetting the pets, I had Victor pop down there to deal with them (though I learned in the process he apparently can’t Transportalate directly into the first floor hallway – he has to go in through the study! Though maybe that’s just because all the spooky stuff and dogs and cats were in the way), then had him move the laundry out of the washing machine and into the dryer, fill the new pet feeders in the kitchen, and comfort a scared Kelly with pets and offers of friendship. :) He then got himself a nice breakfast of leftover pumpkin spice waffles while Alice finished up her grape nectar (poor quality, sadly) and plopped herself down for a nice wolf nap –

And Smiler, having finished off the last mechanism they needed, started work on a Servo! :D We’re finally gonna get the robot, yay! I am very much looking forward to it – I’ve never had a Servo in one of my families before. And since I hope to get a Servo to serve as Wheatley in my potential future Tiny Town challenge save, dealing with the Chill Valicer Save Servo will be good practice for figuring out how they work. :)

-->Anyway – with Smiler occupied building up their new robotic family member, and Alice occupied with getting her zzzs, it was up to Victor to keep me occupied, and vice-versa. :p Having spotted a specter in the study while he was getting his breakfast, I had him go and give the ghostly blob a Potion of the Nimble Mind once he was done, which was received well and got him a nice little ectocake for later. :D Hey, anything other than wraith wax! He then calmed down Shadow, who apparently had been spooked by the specter’s appearance, grabbed the now-dry clothes out of the dryer –

And then, because I’d seen her poking around it before, took Shadow out to run the newly-rejiggered obstacle course! :D Yes, you finally get a look at it – on the world’s cloudiest morning, of course. It’s a really good thing the various elements of the course glow, huh? Anyway, actually getting both Victor and Shadow to the course took a couple of tries, mostly because doggo went out the wrong door first, but they got there in the end –

And had a PERFECT RUN. :D Shadow even did the obstacles in exactly the order I’d intended – poles, short hoop, curved tube, new medium hoop, ramp, platform! I mean, she went up the ramp the wrong way (going away from the platform instead of toward it), but that’s probably my fault for placing it the wrong way around or something. XD Still, Victor and I were VERY pleased with this result. Shadow was more interested in chasing her tail and then going and chewing one of her balls. XD

[feralcleric]

"you don't cast spells with scrolls, the scroll is doing the casting you're just activating it" brother what in the hell are you talking about

[radiantrebis]

#Witch lifehack 1

Drink your own love potion and love yourself.

[newreleaf]

If I ever have kids I'm gonna give them cough syrup In these

[kurooh]

❤︎ LOVE POTIONS ! — MY HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. VALENTINE’S DAY 2025 — aphrodisiacs are both a curse and a blessing. / midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, todoroki shoto, kirishima eijirou, kaminari denki, & takami keigo.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, aphrodisiacs / sex pollen, dirty talk, edging, brattiness, overstimulation, squirting, threesome, sickness but it’s sexy, breeding kink, unprotected sex.

xoxo, juno. everyone pretend it’s v-day 💘

MIDORIYA IZUKU.

⟡ getting hit by a villain’s quirk right before valentine’s day was not something you’d planned to do. somehow, the effects of the quirk end up being an early gift and also a curse.

fat tears race down izuku’s face, his hands grasping weakly at the sheets with each dizzying bounce of your ass onto his thighs. an hour has passed, spent in different positions around the house with less than five minute breaks in between—but no matter how many times you cum, the glowy pink ring around your irises doesn’t go away.

“too much, ‘s too much,” he slurs, words running into each other and becoming jumbled nonsense. “baby, i can’t, not anymore—shit! ‘m empty now, and it h-hurts so bad.”

“hurts?” you parrot disbelievingly, too deep under the spell to feel the burn in your thighs. “‘zuku, know what hurts?”

“no, i know,” he sobs, balls squeezing painfully as the familiar pressure returns to his cock. it’s familiar, but it’s not the same; there’s no cum involved, he’s been drained too dry to give you anything. “l-last time, please. i need a minute to, ngh, relax.”

it hurts. izuku’s cock is practically purple with overstimulation, but he’s too entranced to pull you off himself. when you’d arrived home, tugging at his belt and babbling about what had happened, izuku took a moment to consider if he had any notes on something like this.

villains with these types of quirks have always been rare, and it’s just his luck that one popped up before valentine’s day.

the couch groans from the combination of movement and weight on it, yawning with wear. izuku has never underestimated your strength or sex drive, but this . . you’re bouncy, and he’s wondering if the villain’s quirk enhanced your stamina too.

in a startling display of affection, you grab at his jaw and kiss away his tears, cooing sweet, sensual nothings into his ear. your voice is smooth when you tell him how good he’s doing, how sexy he looks when he’s whining so sweetly. just when he’s thinking it can’t get any better, you hit him where he’s weakest with a sultry murmur of want you to put a baby in me, izuku.

flustered, he can’t help but let out a squeal when you nip at his neck, kissing over previous bites and smatterings of freckles.

“do what you want with me,” he surrenders, verdant green eyes meeting your own. “hah, if that’s what you want, jus’ use me. fuck me, baby.”

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ you have the misfortune of tracking a villain with japan’s number one hero, the all too explosive dynamight. everything completely unravels during the confrontation, when katsuki’s rushing forward to deliver the final blow. the dastardly villain releases a thick, noxious smoke that fills the air with a sickening sweetness — despite all the coughing and hacking, he manages to subdue the villain until the police arrive, but you never make it back to the agency to regroup.

ridiculous, is all you can think as you’re being folded in half in the back of a company car that’s sneakily wedged in an alleyway. katsuki’s not-so-gentle teeth nip at the tender skin of your thighs, and he doesn’t think twice about the marks that are sure to show up by tomorrow.

“d-deeper, katsuki,” you writhe against the seats, too handsy for his liking. “please, it’s not deep eno—”

“shut it,” he grunts, scowling down at you. his usual expression doesn’t quite have the same effect it usually does, since it’s been mellowed out by the villain’s aphrodisiac like quirk. “don’t you dare tell me how to fuck, got it?”

a bratty huff escapes you, and you make a show of rolling your eyes at him, seemingly unimpressed. “i wouldn’t have to if you’d just do it right. oh, but who am i to judge the number one?”

a vein bulges from his forehead as he listens, crimson eyes seething silently while you continue to lay it on thick. “i guess dynamight can fuck however he wants, even if it’s subpar—”

in an instant, katsuki’s hand is on your throat and applying just enough pressure to force out a gasp from you. that teasing and talking back worked—now he’s really about to come undone, show you just how strong the number one pro can really be.

“can’t take that back now, can you? if you think you can insult me and order me around, oh,” katsuki grinds his teeth, pressing your knees into your chest without taking a moment to appreciate the pretty moan that leaves you. “fuck, you’ve got another thing coming. shut your mouth.”

“make me.”

he can’t seem to recall a time where he’s ever been this turned on—that aphrodisiac quirk’s got nothing on the way you talk to him, challenge him in a way that nobody has before.

katsuki draws his hips back, slow and deliberate in each movement. you were right, he wasn’t giving you his all; but now, he will, and he won’t stop until you eat your words. deeper? harder? faster? if that’s what you’re asking for, he’ll give it to you.

you watch breathlessly, mesmerized by the frustrated scrunch of his face, all because he can’t stop replaying your words in his head. a harsh slap to your clit snaps you out of your daze the moment it lands, stinging terribly.

“let’s work up to that, alright? you’re going to—”

“what if i don’t, katsuki?” you tip your chin up at him, looking down your nose at him. “then what?”

another slap, this time with a little more strength behind it. he disregards everything you just said, getting ready to give you an explosive orgasm you’ll have to work hard for.

“that’s what. now, let’s try that again—you’ll be good and count each slap, unless you want me to spank this slutty pussy raw,” satisfied by the responding clench of your cunt, he arches a brow and smirks. “your choice, brat.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ with a new, unstable virus spreading rapidly through japan, scientists are racing to develop a cure. it seems to act like the standard flu, but it affects quirk users differently—shoto ends up with an unusual kind of fever.

“ah, ‘m cumming, sho,” cum squirts from your pussy like a waterfall, and everything’s so overwhelming that you unintentionally push his cock out. “good, ‘s so fucking good.”

sweat coats his face, clinging to the rough scar on shoto’s left side. panting, he sucks in a breath, grasping around for his swollen cock.

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks once his tip slides through your sticky folds and makes your back jolt off the bed, “it’s just—shit, it’s not enough.”

“a-again? i, hah, don’t know if that’s a good—”

shoto shakes his head, shivering as a thin layer of frost appears on his right cheek; it sparkles brilliantly before melting into droplets of water that drip from his jaw. “i’m still burning up,” it’s completely out of bounds, but the low rasp of his sickly voice scratches an itch in your brain. “see, lovey? can’t even use my quirk to fix it.”

a sigh escapes you, and you spread your trembly thighs one more time. “i might be too tired to drive you to the hospital after this,” you warn.

“i know, but baby,” gratefully, shoto pushes forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. his warm hand settles on your lower belly to add some pressure, gearing you up for another explosive orgasm. “i don’t wanna be like this when we go to the hospital.”

he flushes darkly with embarrassment, and the mental image of a tortured shoto rutting into a hospital bed as waves of the fever’s severe effects overwhelm him is enough to make you soften.

once he starts to thrust, developing a rhythm that would put your own fingers to shame, his mouth drops open and he’s babbling incoherently. “ . . always so fucking hot around you, baby. i-it’s not my fault you’re so—haa, shit—so perfect, making me burn up whenever you’re not looking.”

and because being this deep inside you is as close as he can get to heaven, shoto sees no reason to hold back on the honest praise. he’s always been a little shy to express himself during sex, mouth drying up whenever he tries to say something rather dirty, but not now. since his brain is being fried by the heat at the moment, he won’t feel any embarrassment.

“sho, right there,” a breath is punched out of your lungs, and your nails scratch at his shoulders each time his tip kisses your sweet spot. “oh god, ‘m gonna make a mess again!”

his cock twitches and he moans your name, only egging you on. “can’t wait to taste it, darling.”

you fall off the edge, his words serving as the final push. euphoria curls through you, cresting like a wave until the sensitivity becomes too much, bringing you back to earth. abs clenching, shoto pulls out to cover your stomach in white.

in an instant, shoto’s temperature drops. quietly, he shivers against you, huffing into your neck.

“i want to stay like this before we leave.”

“you’ve got ice forming rapidly on your back, sho.”

“it’ll melt if i’m cuddling with you . . could you also rub my back? maybe i just need to sleep it off.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU.

⟡ eijirou listened to you specifically tell him NOT to eat the wrapped cookies you had in the fridge and when you left, he did exactly that.

“babe, baby, you feel so good,” cum races down his fingers in creamy rivulets, puddling at the base of his cock. caught up in his fantasy, eijirou flicks his wrist faster, hoping with all his heart to imitate the hot squeeze of your cunt. “s-so pretty when you take me, always so fuckin’ beautiful.”

his voice cracks just as the door opens, and your purse falls to the floor. your boyfriend is spread out on the bed, flushed feverishly and gasping out your name like he’s delirious—it would be the perfect scene to come home to if you didn’t spot two torn cookie wrappers near him.

“eijirou,” you speak his name lowly, catching his eyes and raising a brow. he’s not sure if he should feel awkward or turned on because of your scolding tone, so he just swallows dryly and looks toward you with hooded eyes. “already forgot the speech i gave you? why’d you eat the cookies?”

shame creeps up his neck and makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. grasping for a response, eijirou decides to question you right back. “why’d you have sex cookies in the fridge?”

“they were a surprise for valentine’s!”

oh.

now he really feels dumb for spoiling your plans. perhaps if he hadn’t been so hungry, so greedy, he wouldn’t be embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

but the feeling doesn’t last long—your tough face drops into something more sultry: doe eyes and an upturned quirk of your lips that’s sure to finish him.

the mattress sinks under your weight, and you scoot beside him with a self satisfied smile. it’s small and quiet, but a voice in the back of his head tells him maybe you wanted this to happen; you certainly don’t look too upset about it.

“no way, baby,” a hiss escapes him when you slap his cum-stained hand away from his cock, instead choosing to replace them with your own. “am i dreaming? mrs. red riot, are you—”

his narration throws you off, and you choke just kissing his tip. you know eijirou’s surprised and eternally grateful, but damn. “mr. red riot, you’d be quiet if you wanted me to.”

“sorry,” he says earnestly, tensing up to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf when you finally take him in your mouth. “i’ve just—” he inhales sharply as you slowly, torturously take him inch by inch. “i’ve been waiting s-so long for you to come home, babe.”

you swallow, throat squeezing tight around his cock, and eijirou’s clean hand flies to the back of your head, hovering precariously. “i’m crazy about you, all day every day, and the cookies made it worse. ‘m sorry for spoiling the surprise, i didn’t mean to—haa, w-what’re you doing to me? oh, you’re gonna make me—”

it doesn’t take long for obscene slurps and occasional gags to fill the room as you suck eijirou’s cock, spoiling him with each languid bob of your head. it’s too much, and the tension grows thicker in his gut, setting his insides ablaze with anticipation.

he’s hurtling toward his high, jerking his hips up and shamelessly preparing to fill up your throat this quickly—but then, you push yourself off of him. a shudder ripples through his body, and he throws you a pained, wide eyed look.

“why’d you..? baby?”

you motion for him to lay on his back, and he can see the gears in your head turning behind a wicked smile. “might as well draw it out, hm?”

“you’re gonna milk me?”

he’s so cute . .

you want to see him crying.

you hum, “only until you’re begging for me to stop.”

KAMINARI DENKI, ft. SERO HANTA

⟡ an undercover sting at a mysterious village with your work partners doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. the village, out in the far country, has been reported as the one place with the highest levels of quirk activity in japan. little did you know about the fact that this place is home to infectious pollen that makes its way into people via the air, or about its temporary effects on people . .

“what the fuck,” you moan, vision blurry between their faces and intermittent flashes of light. “there’s no way it’s from a plant, it can’t be—”

hanta’s tongue darts out to lick the salt away from his upper lip, and he points a finger toward a passage in the encyclopedia. “the symptoms are, ngh, the same.”

one of your hands works denki’s cock while the other shakily flips through an encyclopedia of germs and the like; hanta’s buried to the hilt inside of you, tan cheeks flushed with exertion.

“can’t you just read after?” denki unhelpfully suggests, blinking back a few tears while sparks of electricity fly off from his blond hair. “let’s just fix—yeah, baby, jus’ like that—fix the problem now and figure it out later.”

“shut it, denks,” hanta rolls his eyes, rocking his hips into you. despite the fact that the three of you are totally naked and in the middle of some kind of threesome, you’re researching what apparently caused this surge of uncontrollable arousal.

things began not long after you arrived in the village, where everything had looked unsuspecting and normal. surely there was a villain lurking around somewhere . . ? why else would there be so much unusual activity, enough to alert the authorities?

“look, they f-found something similar in america,” hanta’s voice wavers uncharacteristically, his own high racing through him with such intensity he doubles over.

“forget about the book,” denki’s begging while pressing dazed kisses to your tits, one hand tossing the book aside and slipping between your trembling thighs. “c’mon, babe. show us what you look like when you cum.”

perhaps this is something to be selfish about — when will an opportunity to fuck your hot coworkers come around again? hanta’s everything you’ve been daydreaming about, with a muscular physique sharp enough to have been cut from stone. denki’s just as attractive, though his features are softer, the result of his constant snacking while on the job or in the agency.

hanta nods in assent, already trailing over the edge. “want you to gush all over me, baby.”

thrashing under denki’s fingers, it momentarily occurs to you that maybe they’re a little too experienced. neither of them were concerned with a threesome when it was suggested, and there’s no mistakes in their almost synchronized movements.

just watching your eyes flutter and roll back is enough to make denki cum with a moan of your name as his cock sprays white. hanta’s pupils probably dilate a hundred times their size at the erotic sight, and his hips begin to stutter as heat races up his spine.

denki, shaking profusely, musters his voice and maintains his hurried pace. “g-good girl, go on ‘n let it out.”

since stepping foot into the village and inhaling that damn pollen, the pro hero’s been getting realistic flashes of thoughts he’s kept locked away for some time. you, on your knees, looking up at him like you’re ready to do more than just please. you, with your pretty eyes full of tears as you lose your mind beneath him.

an orgasm stronger than the lustful effects of any aphrodisiac tears through you, and your cunt bears down so hard it forces out hanta’s own high as well. with all his might, he tries to resist the surge of weakness that hits him and fails—he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely and burying his face in your neck.

loosely, your jaw hangs open and breathy gasps leave your mouth. denki’s sparking with electricity beside you and simultaneously struggling to get it under control. a single yellow spark flies off his body and mildly electrocutes hanta, snapping him back to reality. he jerks against you, sounding exhausted.

“uh. so, um, what’re we supposed to report when we get back?”

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ bless his heart. for valentine’s, he decides to be a silk heart-shaped box of japan’s most expensive chocolate for you. he’d been so focused on finding your favorite flavors along with new ones that he didn’t even realize that he’d purchased sex chocolate.

“it hurts, dovey. it’s s-so painful.”

since sharing the box of chocolates with you, keigo’s been reduced to a pathetic mess who can’t seem to stop shaking when you just barely touch him. vermilion feathers puff up and out at his back, his messy wings conveying the way he’s crumbling inside.

you’re just as hot, skin crawling with a lustful itch only keigo can scratch for you. the frenetic beating of his wings whips up cold gusts of wind stronger than any ceiling fan, and not a single goosebump rises on your skin.

“right there, kei,” you moan, tears gathering in your eyes as he continuously hits your sweet spot. “oh my god, don’t stop.”

as if he’d ever plan to.

he hiccups, face flushed and hair tousled like he’s just returned from some mission out in the wild. softly, with the barest note of urgency, keigo whines out your name and a request.

“dovey, c’mon,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, shattered with unmistakable pleasure. “just tell me what you want, and i’ll, ah, i’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

keigo’s entire body thrums with the need, the purpose, to please you, and his own pleasure hinges on you and your praise. sure enough, you cry out to him, words saccharine and addicting.

“make me cum, kei,” and he doesn’t need any further instruction, not when he knows your body this well. smooth fingers slip between your thighs and work your clit, causing your back to arch when he applies just enough pressure to send electricity through your nerves.

you’re wrapping around keigo’s waist, drawing him in and breaking down his self control easily.

“want me to fill up this pussy, baby? i can do it again and again—” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts that amplify the clap of skin against skin almost as much as a quirk could, “while you take it like you were made to.”

quaking beneath him, you nod frantically, as if those are the words you’ve been waiting to hear. while he was so vividly illustrating the scene, his wings unconsciously began to wrap around your bodies, a sign of how much he wants it too.

you gasp, eyes squeezing shut with the last image being keigo’s face, twisted in ecstasy and scrunched with concentration. “gonna—‘m gonna cum, kei!”

“with me, dovey, please,” sweat pours down the sides of his face as the heated bliss tightens in his gut, applying an unbearable pressure to his cock. “let me feel you cum around me, ughhh.”

sloppily, keigo presses open mouthed kisses to your lips, and a delighted moan escapes him when you kiss back. your lips are soft against his, and your tongue carries the sweet taste of valentine’s chocolates, the expensive ones he’d come home with earlier.

with his orgasm creeping up on him and dulling his surroundings, a brief thought occurs to him about those chocolates. the sales lady had raised a brow when he filled up the customizable box with many pink chocolates that had been sitting in a case separate from the rest.. no, that can’t be right. surely this is the common valentine’s day effect on couples—it can’t be from the chocolate, can it?

[prokopetz]

On the one hand, it's true that the way Dungeons & Dragons defines terms like "sorcerer" and "warlock" and "wizard" is really only relevant to Dungeons & Dragons and its associated media – indeed, how these terms are used isn't even consistent between editions of D&D! – and trying to apply them in other contexts is rarely productive.

On the other hand, it's not true that these sorts of fine-grained taxonomies of types of magic are strictly a D&D-ism and never occur elsewhere. That folks make this argument is typically a symptom of being unfamiliar with Dungeons & Dragons' source material. D&D's main inspirations are American literary sword and sorcery fantasy spanning roughly the 1930s through the early 1980s, and fine-grained taxonomies of magic users absolutely do appear in these sources; they just aren't anything like as consistent as the folks who try to cram everything into the sorcerer/warlock/wizard model would prefer.

For example, in Lyndon Hardy's "Five Magics" series, the five types of magical practitioners are:

Alchemists: Drawing forth the hidden virtues of common materials to craft magic potions; limited by the fact that the outcomes of their formulas are partially random.

Magicians: Crafting enchanted items through complex manufacturing procedures; limited by the fact that each step in the procedure must be performed perfectly with no margin for error.

Sorcerers: Speaking verbal formulas to basically hack other people's minds, permitting illusion-craft and mind control; limited by the fact that the exercise of their art eventually kills them.

Thaumaturges: Shaping matter by manipulating miniature models; limited by the need to draw on outside sources like fires or flywheels to make up the resulting kinetic energy deficit.

Wizards: Summoning and binding demons from other dimensions; limited by the fact that the binding ritual exposes them to mental domination by the summoned demon if their will is weak.

"Warlock", meanwhile, isn't a type of practitioner, but does appear as pejorative term for a wizard who's lost a contest of wills with one of their own summoned demons.

Conversely, Lawrence Watt-Evans' "Legends of Ethshar" series includes such types of magic-users as:

Sorcerers: Channelling power through metal talismans to produce fixed effects; in the time of the novels, talisman-craft is largely a lost art, and most sorcerers use found or inherited talismans.

Theurges: Summoning gods; the setting's gods have no interest in human worship, but are bound not to interfere in the mortal world unless summoned, and are thus amenable to cutting deals.

Warlocks: Wielding X-Men style psychokinesis by virtue of their attunement to the telepathic whispers emanating from the wreckage of a crashed alien starship. (They're the edgy ones!)

Witches: Producing improvisational effects mostly related to healing, telepathy, precognition, and minor telekinesis by drawing on their own internal energy.

Wizards: Drawing down the infinite power of Chaos and shaping it with complex rituals. Basically D&D wizards, albeit with a much greater propensity for exploding.

You'll note that both taxonomies include something called a "sorcerer", something called a "warlock", and something called a "wizard", but what those terms mean in their respective contexts agrees neither with the Dungeons & Dragons definitions, nor with each other.

(Admittedly, these examples are from the 1980s, and are thus not free of D&D's influence; I picked them because they both happened to use all three of the terms in question in ways that are at odds with how D&D uses them. You can find similar taxonomies of magic use in earlier works, but I would have had to use many more examples to offer multiple competing definitions of each of "sorcerer", "warlock" and "wizard", and this post is already long enough!)

So basically what I'm saying is giving people a hard time about using these terms "wrong" – particularly if your objection is that they're not using them in a way that's congruent with however D&D's flavour of the week uses them – makes you a dick, but simply having this sort of taxonomy has a rich history within the genre. Wizard phylogeny is a time-honoured tradition!

[cryptotheism]

The "potion-crafter" archetype of alchemist used in fantasy is often, like, an independent chemist that works off commission or sales to create fireball elixirs or exorcism salves. Is there a grain of truth, there? Did alchemists in any period you studied make a living by synthesizing magical items (like panaceas or DIY-chrysopoeia-kits or somesuch) and selling them on to any willing customer, or was that not really in their domain?

Ha! You know sometimes it can be a bit annoying answering asks like this, because most fantasy media isn t terribly interested in authentically representing history, BUT THIS TIME I can give y'all a specific and direct answer!

The archetype of the potion-crafter you're talking about almost definitely has its roots in an actual pre-paracelcian european medical profession; the Apothecary.

There were three types of doctors in the 1500s. There were diagnosticians, the people who went to school to learn about anatomy, and were allowed to call themselves "doctor." There were surgeons, the low-skilled workers who were in charge of hacking off limbs and draining bedpans. And there were apothecaries, basically the medieval equivalent of a pharmacist.

If you were a wealthy merchant, and you went to a doctor for your runny nose, he would look you over, and give you a prescription that you were supposed to take down to your local apothecary, so you could buy a potion from them.

But these prescriptions weren't exactly strict. A doctor might prescribe you an exact list of ingredients with the amounts, or he might just prescribe you "a healing ungent of cooling and drying herbs." So the apothecaries occasionally had some wiggle room based on supplies and expertise.

The important thing to remember, is that apothecaries were NOT considered magicians or alchemists.

That is, until Paracelsus came along.

See, good ol' Paracelsus was a radical innovator. He was one of the first physicians in history to be all three types of doctor at once. He was a diagnostician, a surgeon, and an apothecary. He argued that all doctors should have knowledge of their entire profession, and that no doctor was above suturing their patients wounds, and mixing their patients medicines.

He was also, crucially, an alchemist and a magician.

Alchemy was the cutting edge of technology for the time, a practice regarded with equal parts awe and suspicion, but it was more the realm of glassblowers and metallurgists than doctors or botanists. Paracelsus disagreed. He argued that if it's part of God's creation, it should be used to heal the human body.

This extended to magic. Paracelsus figured that you had to factor in things like "the movement of the planets and their influence on the earth." And he was known for prescribing patients things like "astral talismans to be worn about the neck." A practice that, even for his time, was often seen as backwards and superstitious. (Although given how harmful medieval medicine was, the astral talismans might have been your best option sometimes.)

Paracelsus was a radical. People fucking hated him, especially when he was alive. But his ideas were extremely influential, and exploded in popularity after his death in 1541. I can confidently say that the fantasy archetype of the Potion Brewer is based on Paracelcian physicians, the doctor/alchemist/apothecary/magicians who followed his theories.

Here I'll link my Patreon if y'all wanna support my research! I have a whole section on Paracelsus.

[fuckwhoeverpickedallthefunnyurls]

Super effective life hack

If you ever feel sad or are just bored, consider changing your phone language to Dutch. I completely recommend it.

[millicent-bystandr]

SimWardrobe's Candy Crafting Station with Parsimonious Chocolate Boxes

I saw a reblog of @pixeldolly's recolored chocolate boxes for SimWardrobe's candy crafting station and I had a sudden urge to take it even further. I also just hit 200 followers so this can be my followers' gift, too!

The candy crafting station allows your sims or their employees to make five different types of chocolates and pack them in boxes for resale at an owned business. Each flavor has a different effect when a sim consumes them. You'll find it under Appliances/Misc for $5,000.

I changed the objects crafted at the station from the boxes of chocolate based on the pizza object, to the boxes from Parsimonious' For the Love of Chocolate set.

I also added hobby enthusiasm to the machine and the chocolates and added special bonuses for the sim that eats them.

The five types of chocolates are: Milk Chocolate: satisfies hunger, no special effect Dark Chocolate: increases fun and hunger Mint Chocolate: increases comfort and hunger Ginger Chocolate: increases energy and hunger Extra Dark Chocolate: increases hunger and adds love potion effect (eating disabled for children and toddlers)

I'm really excited that I got this to work and I think it's really fun, so I hope that you all will like it as much as I do. :)

Download: Simblr.cc | SFS

More notes and stuff below the cut:

Notes on the candy crafting station:

I did not change the GUID of the Sim Wardrobe station, so you can't have both in your downloads folder at the same time.

Sims gain cooking skill when making candy. (You must have the comm-skilling hack from MATY to gain skills on community lots.)

On an owned business lot, candy will go into the business owner's inventory.

New: Sims gain cuisine hobby enthusiasm when making candy.

New: Candy output changed to chocolate boxes from Parsimonious. (see below)

New: Changed icons on the machine from fruit to ones that match the "ingredients" of the different chocolates. Icons were created by FreePik at flaticon.com. They're crunchy up close, but I decided I could live with them. The originals were pretty crunchy too.

Notes on the chocolate boxes:

The chocolate objects were created by Kate at parsimonious.com. Polycount: 904

Sims will use the snacking animations when eating the chocolates. There is no half-empty or empty state. Sims will throw the box away when finished. If a sim lays the object down after picking it up, it will be turned on its side. Eating can be resumed if it is not empty.

Placing objects on displays using moveobjects on may cause the item to disappear after restocking. Turning off the cheat before placement or placing the chocolates in the Decra-Chill display seems to fix this issue.

These objects have new GUIDs, and can be used along with the original and its recolors.

Eating these chocolates will decrease fitness rather quickly, same as snacking on chips/cookies.

NEW: Sims gain cuisine hobby enthusiasm while eating.

NEW: Sims no longer burp while eating the chocolates.

NEW: Updated the price and catalogue descriptions for all and changed the box texture for the Extra Dark Chocolates. Prices are set as follows: Milk Chocolate $20; Dark, Mint, Ginger Chocolates $30; Extra Dark Chocolate $40

NEW: Chocolate boxes must be crafted and do not appear in the catalog. If you want to be able to buy them from the catalog, just give the objects a buy category using SimPE or whoward's Object Relocator. If you do that, you can use these objects with or without the crafting station in your downloads folder.

Credits and thanks: SimWardrobe/Paladin's Palace for the original candy crafting station Parsimonious for the chocolates @pixeldolly for the inspiration @crispsandkerosene for the tutorial on adding hobby enthusiasm to custom objects

[uhhlifeig]

Down - March 15 - word count: 240 - @wolfstarmicrofic - happy ides!!

Sirius loved Remus.

Really, he did. 

It was just that Remus happened to be the most stubborn person to ever walk the Earth.

“Remus, go lie down,” Sirius sighed as his boyfriend coughed into his elbow for the fifth time in three minutes.

“Padfoot, I told you. I’m not sick,” Remus replied distractedly, staring right back at his textbook. “I need to study.”

“Moony, you’re about to start hacking up blood. Take a rest.”

“No, Sirius, I need to study.” Remus frowned at the pages of his book. “I’m going to fail Potions.”

“You’ll always have time to study, Moons,” Sirius said.

Remus shook his head quickly before stopping and putting his face in his hands. “Slughorn will be pissed if I explode another cauldron.”

Maybe it was time to change tactics.

“Well, I could be in bed with you,” Sirius smirked. “And we don’t have to sleep, do we?”

Remus looked up at him with the most deadpan look Sirius had ever seen on his face. “Are you… trying to seduce me to sleep?”

“Is it working?” Sirius asked hopefully.

“No.”

“Well, fuck. There goes Plan B. Uhh, well, come to bed? We have chocolate,” Sirius said, messing with his rings.

“...fine,” Remus sighed, groaning as he stood up from his armchair. “I still have to study, though.”

“No you don’t, Moonlight. You have the highest marks in our year,” Sirius soothed, leading Remus away. “Now up to bed.”

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

how do i get my character out of the corner i wrote myself in without a dues ex machina😭

How to Not Write Yourself Into a Corner (and How to Write Yourself Out of a Corner if You’re Already In One)

One of a writer’s WORST fears is writing themself into a corner.

It’s easy to write your characters into death-defying situations…but it’s not as easy to write the actual “defying death” part.

Some writers, in their desperation to get their characters out of a bind, employ the use of a Deus Ex Machina, as mentioned by anon:

Deus Ex Machina: (Translates to "god from the machine") A plot device where a seemingly unsolvable situation is fixed by an out-of-the-blue occurrence. The term “deus ex machina” is a reference to Greek plays, when actors playing a god would literally be lowered into the scene via a machine to magically solve any situation.

Unfortunately, this plot device is often ridiculed by readers, cited as a hack-job solution for a writer out of ideas.

How do we avoid this situation, then? Here are some tips and tricks on how to not write yourself into a corner, and how to write yourself out of a corner if you’re already in one!

Note that these tips may not work for everyone, so make sure to use your own intuition as a writer— you know your story best.

1. NIP IT IN THE BUD— OUTLINES ARE KEY!

I’m sorry to all of you pantsers out there, but the key to prevent writing yourself into a corner is to already have an idea of how each scene is going to turn out; don't make a problem without making a solution! If you keep on top of your outline, you should have no worries about writing your characters into a situation they can't get out of it.

It may be easiest to jot down ideas about a couple of scenarios and then select the one that works best, especially when it comes to dire climax scenes that have a lot of moving parts. 

Check out my posts below for more in-depth advice about outlining!

How to Outline

Plotting for Pansters and Pantsing for Plotters

This advice, although essential, does require a ton of foresight and time to plan…and if you’ve sought out this post, it may mean that it’s too late for preventative measures. The subsequent tips in this post are going to be for people who are already in the thick of it and need a way to save all of their writing progress. 

2. FORESHADOWING IS YOUR FRIEND (AKA “CHEKHOV’S GUN YOUR WAY OUT OF THAT SHIT”)

Foreshadowing: A narrative device wherein a writer gives an advance hint of what is to come later in the story. It helps maintain believability while subverting expectations and making plot twists.

Chekhov’s Gun: A narrative device wherein a seemingly insignificant element or object in the story becomes useful later on. Sometimes used synonymously with foreshadowing, but usually refers to a specific object.

Examples of Foreshadowing/Chekhov’s guns in media:

The 1981 Quarter (Or Extra Life Quarter) in Ready Player One

“Don’t Cross the Streams” in Ghostbusters (1984)

Winchester Rifle Hanging over the Bar in Shaun of the Dead (2004)

The Rita Hayworth Poster in The Shawshank Redemption (1994)

The Water Bottle in Bullet Train (2022)

In my opinion, a Chekhov’s Gun is the more refined twin of the deus ex machina; although it may seem like it comes out of nowhere, observant readers or those who go back into the story will realize that this event was set up from the beginning.

Foreshadowing is the key to turning a deus ex machina into a Chekhov’s Gun. It’s spreading breadcrumbs to maintain believability even when unbelievable things happen.

My advice: plant a line here and there referring to the object/element that will get you out of the corner.

These lines can be about a healing potion that a character carries around to save them when they’re at the brink of death, the fact that the city they’re fighting in often suffers from sinkholes, or that a character has a seemingly useless skill. 

However, haphazardly inserting foreshadowing into your story may come across as heavy-handed; make sure it aligns with the narrative beats. Particularly big Chekhov’s Guns, especially ones that ���save the day," may require multiple foreshadowing elements.

It can take a lot of work to incorporate the foreshadowing smoothly, so make sure it actually saves you time in comparison to rewriting the whole scenario/plot point.

3. TAKE A BREAK

Sometimes, the solution to your problem may not come to mind because you’re too immersed into the writing process and not thinking of the bigger picture. Or maybe it might just be good old-fashioned writer’s block. Take a step back, reassess, and return with the scene properly re-evaluated. Maybe start a new book or TV show to get some inspiration, or check out one of my posts below!

How to Overcome Writer’s Block

How to Get Inspired to Write and Regain Creativity

4. ASK FOR HELP

Sometimes, it might be best to have another set of eyes on your story! A situation that may seem unsolvable to you may have an obvious solution to a writing buddy.

5. KNOW THAT SOMETIMES RE-WRITING IS NECESSARY

I know this sounds horrible. It’s something that I wouldn’t wish upon any writer.

Sometimes, however, no amount of foreshadowing can get your characters out of the debacle they’ve put themselves in. Either that, or the work that it would take to insert the foreshadowing would be more than it’d take to rewrite the scene or the plot point.

My suggestion would be to search for the last place that you didn't feel lost, and then cut out everything after that.

(NEVER DELETE MAJOR CHUNKS OF YOUR WRITING! ALWAYS CUT IT AND SAVE IT IN A SCRAP DOC—IT COULD COME IN HANDY LATER!)

Then, take the time to outline the scenario and figure out the solution to your problem beforehand. It will suck, but trust me, it'll be worth it in the end.

HOPE THIS HELPED, AND HAPPY WRITING!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Witch /// Part 1

Rhiana is your dear friend who lives just out of town in a cozy cottage in the forest. You met while shopping. You two talk about the different spices she suggests to flavor meat and veggies. It leads you to a fast but close friendship with Rhiana, close enough that it becomes a usual event to visit her monthly while you’re in the area. Whether it’s shopping, karaoke, or just coffee date hangouts there is one thing that comes up a lot.

“Rhiana you’re so pretty.”

“Aw (Y/n) thank you!”

“Seriously though you’re like a painting. I still can’t believe you don’t model.”

“Honestly (Y/n) you’re such a charmer!”

Your dear friend Rhiana doesn’t do anything for a nightly routine or facials or specific remedies to look how she does. Seeing her when you do it seems like the scale of her looks ranges from glowing to immaculate. It certainly makes getting free stuff with her much easier. She just will credit one thing to her looks and even then she doesn’t talk about it much.

“Maybe it’s what I eat…I have been eating more meat, lately.”

But your dear friend Rhiana doesn’t explain anymore, usually going on a tangent about how she can season her meat. She’ll refuse to tell you just how stringent her beauty is on her carnivorous diet. Because on top of being a good friend to you, she is a Witch. Specifically, the kind that maintains her health and youth by devouring the souls and bodies of human beings. She usually prefers eating children but since she’s met you she’s decided to reign it in.

“What if me and (Y/n) had a baby? Hehe, I can’t believe it’s making me blush so much.”

“Aaaaahh please let me go home!!! I promise not to tell!”

“Hmmmm maybe we’ll have 3…or 5 or 10. They won’t be allowed to leave if we have that many right?”

Rhiana the Witch has been doing this for hundreds of years and she’s had her fair share of lovers and harems. But she’s never found out about someone so early in advance. When she was much younger much dumber of 113  she’d seen a vision featuring you, of course at the time she didn’t know. Nor was she aware just how much seeing the future you had awakened something in her. Now she’s well in her 600s and she realizes how all of her flings in the past have features of yours or they speak like you. Or how her familiars mirror different aspects of your personality and as she delves into her past she realizes how all her life she’s been building up to be with you.

“(Y/n) is my….special person….their mine. All Mine!”

Now on top of feeding her voracious appetite, she’s trying to gain your affections so that she has your consent to make you immortal like she. If you might think it’s because she respects boundaries, then you’d be wrong. The potion she’s perfected over centuries only works if you give your express consent, with as little pressure as possible. So she’s refrained from drugging you on her many outings with you…for now. 

If I wanted to I could sprinkle a light aphrodisiac dust into the food they just keep shoveling into their mouth.

“But then I–HACK—*cough cough*”

“Hon, maybe don’t talk while you’re eating.”

“Right! So as I was saying–”

But Elements do I adore just watching them eat so happily.

She feels like a hapless teen all over again as her stomach flips and turns the more time she spends with you. No longer can she get a wink of her enchanted eyes and some choice sugar-coated words to get you exactly where she wants you. She has to try with you and she’s never wanted to do so more than with you. She’s even begun to tailor her meals with the ones that seem to bother you most. It’s risky but the satisfaction of a full tummy while she reads your letter about the creepy vendor finally stopping their emails makes her happy. 

“That is convenient.”

“I know. It’s not right to celebrate anyone going missing—”

“But it doesn’t take away from the harm they’ve done. Don’t feel bad hon it’s probably just an extended trip somewhere to the underworld.”

She thinks about how she’ll hide her rejuvenating diet when she finally gets you closer to her. You might not notice when she uses magic but you're not an idiot; you’d figure it out eventually. Not to mention the added trouble of her familiar’s growing interest and past suitors budding their noses in her business with you. She’s got a lot of work on her hands—and not a lot of time.

“Hey (Y/n) why don’t I come visit you every once in a while? Two days a month just isn’t enough time to make you fall in hopeless love with me+. What do say to me spending a night or two at yours?”

She's giving the former mc going for the side character reader Debating about a part 2 🖤🖤🖤🖤

I did it! Part 2: Here 🖤🖤🖤

[22ayla21]

When Discipline Meets Chaos

The arrival of a new teacher at Night Raven College brought a lot of chaos among the students who already adored their new teacher, but Divus was not particularly happy about it.

Rumors of a new teacher at Night Raven College spread like wildfire. Not that Divus Crewel cared about gossip, but when even his class, known for respecting (or at least fearing) him, was talking excitedly about some “cool and fun” teacher, he couldn’t ignore it.

She had appeared unexpectedly, bursting into the teaching staff as easily as she had entered a classroom, bringing with her an atmosphere of freedom and ease. Crewel immediately realized: she was the type of teacher he couldn’t stand.

In her classes, no one sat at attention, afraid to breathe once more. The students laughed, felt comfortable, but, most outrageously, they actually studied.

- So, hacks, are you ready for the test?

- Yes...

- But to be honest?

- Not quite...

- Another thing.

Divus literally felt his authority cracking at the seams. His methods were iron discipline, strict control and unquestioning respect. And here - the complete opposite.

One day, walking down the corridor, Crewel heard a conversation and immediately tensed up.

- Are you finishing your Potions assignment right in class? - the new teacher's voice was light, but there was a subtle condemnation in it.

- And if Professor Crewel finds out? - his friend asked him warily.

- He won't find out.

- I see, we'll write it down as suicide.

Anger flared up instantly.

- Amazing, - Divus' cold voice cut through the air. - Now the students are discussing how to hide their laziness from me?

The students immediately fell silent, but his colleague only raised an eyebrow, not even trying to look embarrassed.

- Just a statement of fact, Professor Crewel, - she replied with an innocent smile. Her tone, her manner, her look - all of it irritated him. But what irritated him even more was that he liked it.

From that moment on, a silent rivalry began between them.

Crewel could not pass by if he heard his class discussing her "unconventional methods."

- Yesterday she made us argue about magical theories! - one of the students said admiringly. - And, you know, I actually remembered the material!

- Professor, why are our lessons so... strict? - one of his students once dared to ask.

- Because discipline is the basis of success, - he snapped, but irritation was already boiling inside.

Every conversation with the new teacher was a fight.

- Students learn because they are interested, not because they are intimidated, - she once said, folding her arms across her chest.

- They learn because they know the value of discipline, - he retorted.

- Really? Don't you think that fear and respect are different things?

- Don't you think that excessive freedom leads to negligence?

- No, I don’t think students are machines that have to work on someone’s orders.

It was at moments like these that he realized that she was the only person in this college who didn’t bow to his authority.

And it angered him. And he liked it.

And then everything changed one evening when, out of habit, he lingered in his office and heard a familiar voice behind the door.

She was talking to one of the students, and there was no trace of severity in her voice, only softness and lightness, but at the same time unshakable confidence.

- You think you can’t cope? Nonsense. Everyone learns at their own pace. If knowledge came easily, it wouldn’t be so valuable.

Silence.

- I didn’t learn everything at once either. Once…

Divus didn’t hear the rest. He just stood in the darkness of the corridor, realizing that his irritation had never been real irritation.

It was affection. He had fallen in love. But he'll never admit it.

Unless one day, when she challenges him again, he smiles a little softer than usual. And that will be the start of something new.

[gliphyartfan]

Scenario where we stray a little to close and die in battle. Everyone is grieving, only for Time to grab all his boys and play the Ocarina of Time, bringing them back in time to like that morning well before the battle. Everyone is gushing and relived out of their mind all while we’re super confused and panicking because “why does everyone look like they went through HELL?! You all looked fine a second ago why are half of you injured?!?!”

I tried to make this a hint funny but quite frankly, those boys wouldn’t make even the slightest effort to smile after such a tragedy.

Anywho~ let’s begin!

——-

The battle had been dragging on too long.

They were too close to camp, too close to where (y/n) was supposed to be safe. The usual chaos of fighting monsters had turned into something coordinated, attacks coming in waves, blocking off paths, forcing them to keep moving rather than pushing back.

Something wasn’t right.

Then they heard it.

A scream.

(Y/n)’s scream.

Wild and Legend ran.

They didn’t hesitate, didn’t call out to the others, didn’t stop to think. Their feet moved before their minds could catch up, hearts slamming against their ribs like they were already too late.

(Y/n) should be safe. They should be fine. That scream shouldn’t have happened.

Please be safe.

Please be okay.

Please—

A monstrous roar cut through the air, deep and furious, shaking the ground beneath them.

The camp was in sight.

It was wrecked.

Torn fabric from their tents flapped uselessly in the wind, supplies were scattered and broken, blood smeared the dirt like something had been dragged—

And standing in the middle of it all was a Lynel.

(How. HOW did they not notice such a beast?! to think it got so CLOSE to camp!!)

Huge. Breathing heavy. Sword dripping red.

Wild and Legend didn’t need to search for (y/n).

They were there.

Collapsed. Motionless.

Blood pooling beneath them.

Their hair was covering most of their face, but from here—Wild could still see their eyes.

Wide. Unmoving.

No.

No.

No, no, no, NO—

Wild’s body reacted before his mind did, a sound ripping from his throat, something raw and enraged and desperate. He charged, drawing his weapons as he moved, his body running on instinct, on muscle memory, on rage.

Lynels. He knew how to kill them. He knew their movements, their patterns, their weaknesses.

And he was going to tear this one apart.

Legend barely noticed.

He was already on his knees beside (y/n), hands shaking as he scrambled for whatever potions he had left, pouring them onto their wounds, pressing down with trembling fingers.

Too much blood.

Too deep.

Too still.

“(Y/n)?” His voice cracked. “Hey, hey, come on. Stay with me.” His hands pressed harder, his magic flickering between his fingers as he tried, tried, tried to heal them. “You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine. You have to be fine.”

No response.

Their chest wasn’t moving.

He wasn’t losing them.

He wasn’t.

“Please, please, don’t do this.” he whispered, his fingers gripping too tight, as if he could physically keep them here.

As if he could stop them from slipping away.

Wild was still fighting, hacking, killing. The Lynel barely had time to react before he was tearing it apart, his strikes vocious, his movements fueled by something beyond anger.

But Legend didn’t look up.

His entire world had narrowed down to (y/n).

And those unseeing eyes.

——-

——

The battlefield behind them was eerily quiet, the last of the monsters taken care of. But there was no relief. No victory. Just a sick feeling crawling up their spines, twisting their stomachs.

They quickly followed the path Wild and Legend had taken, weapons still drawn, bodies tense. They felt something was wrong before they even saw it.

Then they reached the camp.

And the world stopped.

Wild was still hunched over his blade, tbe Lynel collapsing from the final stroke through it’s head, Wild’s breath ragged, blood, his or its, no one knew, dripping from his blade.

His eyes were wild, teeth bared, the rage that had driven him still bubbling beneath the surface. But he wasn’t moving.

Legend was crouched beside (y/n, arms clutching them close, his expression twisted with desperation.

And then there was (y/n).

Still. Too still.

The blood around them was so much.

No one spoke. The air was thick with a suffocating silence, as if even breathing too loud would make this, this awful, sickening nightmare, more real.

Hyrule was the first to move.

A single step. Then another.

Then he was running.

He dropped to his knees beside them, his hands already glowing with the familiar light of his Life Spell, fingers trembling as he pressed his hands to their skin.

The magic flared.

Then sputtered.

Didn’t take.

His breath hitched.

“No-” His voice cracked as he pushed more, pleading with the magic, with them. ‘Nonononono…”

The others started moving, drawn in like gravity itself was pulling them toward the only one that mattered to them. Slowly, cautiously, terrified.

One by one, they gathered around, forming a tight circle, as if their presence alone could keep you here.

No one said anything at first. There was nothing to say.

Twilight hovered close, hands clenching and unclenching, like he was barely holding himself together. Sky was shaking, his entire body rigid, fists curled so tight they were white. Warriors swallowed thickly, his usual composure gone, replaced with something raw and unreadable.

Wind’s lips were pressed together, his expression tight, angry in the way one locke in denial and grief often is. Four’s fingers twitched at his sid, his eyes locked onto (y/n)’s like looking away would make this worse.

Time was silent, his face unreadable but his hands shaking at his sides.

Someone, maybe Sky, let out a quiet, broken sound.

Then Warriors knelt beside (y/n), one hand gripping their shoulder, his voice hoarse. “Hey. Hey, come on.”

Like he was expecting them to just open their eyes and tell everyone this was all some cruel joke.

Like they’d wake up if he just held on tight enough.

Legend had stopped speaking altogether, his shoulders shaking as he bit down on his lip so hard it nearly bled.

Hyrule’s magic flared again, fighting to work, his breathing harsh.

“Please…” he whispered.

The others stayed so still, the air around them too fragile, as if any wrong move would send it all shattering into something worse.

They couldn’t lose them.

They…they simply couldn’t.

—-

—-

Time stood frozen, staring down at their still body. The world around him felt distant, the sounds muffled, like he was underwater, like he was drowning.

His breath came fast, shallow, the rush of blood roaring in his ears, drowning out everything else. His heart slammed against his ribs, a relentless pounding that rattled through his chest.

It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in so long.

Like he was a child again.

Like he was powerless.

He had spent his entire life fighting against fate, defying it, clawing his way through trials no one should have to endure.

He had walked through time itself, lived two lifetimes, shouldered the burden of Hyrule’s expectations. He had worn a mask that turned him into something beyond mortal, something that should have made him strong enough to protect what mattered.

And then that Sorcerersss had dragged him and many others into that war, he had fought alongside other legends, both old and new, had witnessed firsthand what it meant to lead, to command, to win.

He had survived all of it.

And yet here he was, standing over their body, feeling helpless.

His hands clenched at his sides, trembling.

No.

No, this wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

They were supposed to be safe.

He had watched over them, he had promised.

His vision blurred, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

It wasn’t supposed to be them.

He should have been faster.

Should have been stronger.

Should have-

He took a step forward, his foot landing in the pool of blood. Their blood.

His stomach twisted violently, bile rising in his throat.

He couldn’t do this again.

Not another person. Not them.

The others had gathered around now, their grief tangible, suffocating. Hyrule was desperately pushing his magic into them, his hands glowing too bright, his breaths too fast.

Time felt himself sway slightly, like the weight of it all was pressing down on him, crushing him.

A quiet voice, from somewhere deep inside, from the child he had buried long ago, whispered, Not again. Not again. Not again.

And yet—

They weren’t moving.

The world felt too small, like it was closing in, like his ribs were collapsing in on themselves.

He could hear Sky muttering something under his breath, Warriors pressing down harder on their shoulder, like he could just shake them back awake.

Wild was still kneeling beside the Lynel’s corpse, his body hunched over, his entire frame shaking with something between rage and despair.

And Legend was curled over them, his head bowed, his shoulders trembling.

Time forced himself to breathe, forcing back the panic, the nausea.

He couldn’t afford to break down.

Not now.

Not here.

Because if he let himself slip, if he let himself grieve, it would be admitting that they were already gone.

Time barely noticed when his hands started to shake.

His breathing was uneven, shallow, like he couldn’t get enough air. His heart hammered in his chest, erratic and painful. His mind was slipping, too many thoughts at once, too many emotions clashing and screaming inside him.

His fingers curled, nails digging into his palms, his hands trembling so violently that he could barely control them. He needed to do something, needed to act, needed to fix this-

His hand brushed against something within one of his pouches.

Smooth. Familiar.

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched, hesitant, before reaching in and slowly pulling it free.

He held it with both hands, staring down at it like it was something foreign, something he didn’t recognize. But he did. Of course, he did. (Was this disassociation?)

This was his.

This was a power he desperately needed.

His vision blurred, he wasn’t sure if it was from grief, from desperation, from the pressure crushing down on him. But his mind… his mind was erratic, scattered, racing in a dozen different directions.

To undo.

To change.

His breath came faster, harsher.

What if he could undo this?

His grip tightened on the ocarina, knuckles going white, his entire body trembling.

He could fix this.

He could make it right.

He could bring them back.

His heartbeat pounded so loud it drowned out everything else.

He lifted the ocarina to his lips, fingers poised, ready to play.

Only for a hand to grab his arm and yank it away.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Twilight’s voice was raw, edged with something frantic and desperate. His grip on Time’s arm was bruising, fingers digging in as though physically stopping him would undo the sheer horror of the moment.

Time barely turned his head, the motion sluggish, his mind still caught in a haze of grief and erratic thoughts.

Twilight’s chest heaved, his breath ragged, eyes wild. “You-You can’t just-” He choked, his voice catching like the words physically fought him to leave his throat.

Warriors was there too, stepping in, his face tense, unreadablex but there was a sharpness in his gaze as he stared down at the instrument in Time’s hands.

Twilight’s grip on Time tightened. “You don’t—You don’t get to play that song! You don’t get to—” He cut himself off, his breath hitching as he visibly struggled to get his words under control. “That song—it means—”

He stopped again, shaking his head furiously, his grip still locked on Time like he was terrified of letting go.

Time exhaled, slow, measured. “This is the only way..”

His voice was steady, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the leader of the Chain speaking, it was something worn. Something dangerously close to the child he had long since buried.

But Twilight barely heard him.

“You don’t get to just—You don’t get to—!”

His hands curled into fists, his breathing was shallow, his body was locked so tight he looked like he was on the verge of breaking into pieces.

He couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t say the word.

Because if he said it, it would be real.

And he didn’t want it to be real.

Twilight was unraveling. He felt himself unraveling, his body too tight, too tense, like if he let go for even a second, he’d completely fall apart. His breath was coming in short, panicked bursts, his throat tight with something raw and unbearable. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, gripping Time’s tunic like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

“You—” Twilight’s voice cracked, his words slipping out, desperate and broken. “You can’t just—You don’t get to do this, Time!”

Time remained still. His expression unreadable. His hands, tight around the ocarina, steady in a way Twilight’s weren’t.

“Twilight.”

It was calm. Too calm. Like he was trying to soothe a cornered animal.

It only made Twilight’s breathing worse.

“No! Don’t—don’t say my name like that! Like you—like you know something I don’t! Like you’ve already decided—” His chest was heaving, his grip tightening before loosening again, his body betraying him, caught between fight and collapse. “You think you can just play that song and..and—” His voice broke, “They’re NOT gone, Time, you can’t just act like their soul needs peace! T…They’re just—” He shook his head, “they aren’t gone, they..they need help! ..w-we need to find a healer! A fairy! S-someone who can…can...”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Time exhaled and looked properly at Twilight.

And Twilight froze.

His whole body locked up, something primal inside of him screaming run but keeping him rooted in place at the same time.

He’d seen that gaze before. Seen it on him, when the moon was full and seemingly burning and the weight of something much older, much more terrifying, resting against his shoulders. White. Cold. Empty.

Not human.

Twilight’s breath hitched. His grip on Time’s arm vanished, hands falling away, shaking as he stumbled a step back.

Time’s voice didn’t waver.

“I will fix this.”

The words settled over them like a death sentence.

Final. Unwavering.

Twilight couldn’t move. He felt paralyzed, his whole body fighting between panic and something almost instinctual, something telling him that this wasn’t his mentor, this wasn’t the man he knew.

The air was thick with something they couldn’t name.

Then—

“How can you fix THIS?”

Legend.

His voice was sharp but quiet, words slow, careful, as if afraid of the answer.

His bloodied hands were still on (y/n), fingers curled, knuckles white. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, his face pale, his body unmoving.

And he was staring at Time.

So were the others now. Minus Wild who remained on his knees where he was.

Time’s grip on the ocarina never wavered.

He was looking ahead, staring at something they couldn’t see.

Then—

“What are you about to do?” Legend asked.

“..The Song of Time.”

The words left Warrior’s lips before he could even think to stop them.

And then everyone was looking at him now, including Wild.

every single one of them turned to Time in a split second.

Because they knew what that meant.

Time’s fingers tightened around the ocarina.

“You—” Warriors took a step forward, “You were going to play the Song of Time?”

Time said nothing. He just looked at him.

And that was enough.

Hyrule’s breath hitched. “Wait—wait, could he—”

“Twilight jerked like he’d been hit, his mind finally catching up to the weight of what was happening.

“You—” his voice cracked, “You were going to undo this? You weren’t…?”

Time finally blinked. The weight in his gaze lessened just enough for Twilight to suck in a sharp, shuddering breath.

But Time still didn’t waver.

“I will fix this.” He said it again.

Warriors’ breath was uneven, his mind racing, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to rip that damn ocarina from Time’s grasp.

But he didn’t.

Because deep down, some part of him wanted to believe.

He swallowed hard. “Will it work?”

Time’s fingers curled tighter around the ocarina. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he exhaled slow. “It will.”

And that was it.

That was all he said.

That shouldn’t have been enough.

But the way he said it, steady, certain, absolute,’like the sky was blue, like fire was hot, like the sun would rise tomorrow-

It made the air heavy.

It made belief an inevitability.

Sky’s breath hitched. “But—”

“How do you know?!” Wind cut in, shaking, desperate.. “How do you know it’ll be far enough?!”

“What if it only sends us back before the battle?” Wild snapped, voice raw. “We’d be dragging the beasts right to them! What if it doesn’t change anything? What if we just—” He broke off, his whole body trembling, his fingers digging into his arms like he was holding himself together with sheer force of will.

Time’s gaze flicked to him.

Then to Wind.

Then to Warriors.

To Twilight.

To everyone.

“It will.”

Like this wasn’t a question.

Like it was already decided.

Legend exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “And if you’re wrong?”

Time didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t.

Because the idea that he could be was never an option.

Not when it came to (y/n).

Never when it came to that one person.

“Time-“ Twilight’s voice cracked, his whole body tensed, barely keeping himself from shaking apart. “Do you even know how far it’ll—”

“I do.”

Twilight flinched.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t forceful.

But it was final.

It was a fact.

Like the way he breathed. Like the way he fought.

Like the way he had always been the Hero of Time.

This would work.

Because it had to.

“Now gather close, or you will be left behind.”

Time didn’t wait for another argument.

Didn’t give them another second to question him, to hesitate.

He just pressed the ocarina to his lips and played.

The first note rang out, trembling through the air, and the world shifted.

The melody poured from him like second nature, each note pulling at something unseen, unraveling the fabric of reality, tugging at the very threads of time itself.

The air around him hummed, thick with power, and he barely noticed when the others moved closer. Whether it was instinct or trust or sheer desperation, he didn’t know. Didn’t care.

All that mattered was the song.

All that mattered was fixing this.

The ground beneath him vanished. The sky unraveled like ink spilling across parchment. He was falling, weightless, the notes still lingering in the air as time itself bent.

And he knew this feeling.

Had lived this feeling.

He was used to it, the way time peeled away like layers of an old tapestry, the way the past reached up to swallow him whole.

But the others-

Some of them gasped, sharp and breathless, the weight of the shift hitting them like a punch to the gut. Some gritted their teeth, held onto each other, held onto him.

But Time didn’t focus on them.

Didn’t let himself get distracted.

Because there was only the song.

Only the pull of time wrenching them backward, dragging them through the currents of the past, demanding they return to where they were supposed to be.

He felt the moment it worked.

The moment the world clicked back into place.

And when his boots hit solid ground againc when the weight of his body settled into the morning light, into the world that had not yet seen blood,

He exhaled.

And opened his eyes.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, golden and warm, birds chirping in the distance like nothing had changed—like everything hadn’t changed.

The smell of cooking drifted through the air, something light and familiar, the scent of simmering stew bubbling away in the pot that Wild—the past Wild—had left unattended just moments ago.

The camp was… whole.

No shattered remains of their tents, no bloodstains in the dirt, no lingering stench of burnt wood and monster corpses.

No… (y/n) lying broken on the ground.

Time let out a slow breath, calm and steady, as if this was exactly what he’d expected. And it was.

He knew it would work.

The others, though…

They were stiff, wary, shifting in place like the ground might give out beneath them at any second.

Legend was rubbing at his face, as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion that still clung to him. Wild was staring at the bubbling stew like it was some kind of hallucination.

Twilight stood a little ways off, staring at his hands, clenching and unclenching them like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Warriors was the first to speak. His voice was hoarse, his throat raw from all the shouting and grief of before, of a future that no longer existed.

“…We actually did it…” he muttered, like he barely believed it.

Wind swallowed hard. He looked down at his boots, scuffed and dirty from the battle that technically hadn’t happened yet. “We’re still—” He hesitated, gesturing at himself. At all of them. “Like this.”

Blood. Dirt. Scrapes and bruises from a fight that hadn’t even started. Evidence of what they’d just lived through, proof that it had been real.

That (y/n) had been-

Time exhaled slowly.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice was even, firm. Grounding. “We’re here.”

He didn’t need to say why.

Didn’t need to remind them of what they needed to do next.

Because their heads all turned, almost in unison, toward the only tent still closed up for the morning.

The one where (y/n) was still asleep.

Still safe.

Still alive.

For a long, long moment, no one moved.

They just stood there, frozen in place, staring at the closed tent.

The urge to rush forward was almost unbearable, like a rope yanking at their chests, but no one made the first move.

It was too much.

The blood was still fresh in their memories. The sight of (y/n) lying there, unmoving, unbreathing—

They couldn’t go through that again.

So they stood there, tense and waiting, barely breathing.

And then—

Soft murmurs. A sleepy sigh. Rustling blankets.

The sounds hit them, sharp and painful in a way they couldn’t describe, their hearts all slamming against their ribs as the tent flaps finally shifted—

And (y/n) crawled out, rubbing their eyes, hair a mess, voice groggy as they blinked up at the group.

“…Mornin’,” they mumbled, completely oblivious to the way everyone stared.

No blood. No pain. No lifeless eyes staring up at them.

Just… sleepy, alive (y/n), squinting at them like they were the weird ones.

They yawned. “You guys okay?”

No one answered.

Because no one could breathe.

It was Hyrule who moved first.

Slow, cautious, like he was afraid to startle them. His hands trembled as he reached out, fingers barely ghosting over (y/n)’s arms, their shoulders, their face—checking for wounds that weren’t there anymore.

It was like his body was working faster than his mind, the overwhelming need to confirm pushing him forward before he could even think about it.

And then, as if his movement snapped a thread holding everyone back, the others surged forward.

They were on (y/n) in seconds, surrounding them, crowding close, hands reaching and grasping, pulling them into checks and touches that were both frantic and careful.

(Y/n) barely had time to react before they were trapped in a wall of bodies, everyone brushing over their arms, their back, their face—looking for injuries that didn’t exist.

“What— guys, what the hell—?” (Y/n) yelped, blinking fast as they suddenly registered how dirty everyone was.

Blood. Scrapes. Dirt smeared over their clothes and skin, like they’d been through something.

Like they’d just come back from a war.

(Y/n)’s breath hitched, their drowsiness vanishing.

“What happened to you guys?” Their voice was cautious now, eyes darting between the wild, desperate looks on their faces.

No one answered right away.

They were too busy touching them, reassuring themselves, trying to make sure this wasn’t some cruel trick—

That (y/n) was here. Alive. Whole.

Time, standing back from the chaos, finally let out a breath.

It worked.

——

——

It took a while for things to settle down.

At first, (y/n) was just confused,rightfully so. One minute they were crawling out of the tent, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, and the next, they were practically being smothered by the Chain.

And not in the usual overprotective way.

This was different.

It was desperate.

It took a lot of reassurance,(y/n) reluctantly eating breakfast while Wild kept glancing up like they’d disappear if he looked away, Warriors and Legend hovering nearby, and Twilight sticking close as if physically shielding them from something,before the group finally got moving.

Time made the call.

They weren’t staying here.

(Y/n) didn’t get why,nothing seemed wrong, their camp was fine, their usual routine untouched,but there was no arguing with him. He wasn’t going to change his mind.

So they packed up and left.

They moved far,not stopping until the area around them was completely unfamiliar, setting up camp in a much safer place, where there were no signs of monster dens, no ruins where enemies could be lurking, nothing.

And still, the paranoia remained.

No one relaxed.

Even after the fire was lit, even after dinner was done, even after everyone was settled in for the night, there was an edge to the air. Like the whole group was waiting for something.

(Y/n) had questions. So many questions.

But the longer they stared at the exhausted, shaken faces around them, the more they decided they didn’t want the answers just yet.

Eventually, one by one, the others turned in for the night. Even if they wouldn’t truly rest, they at least tried to pretend to.

(Y/n) was in their tent, laying down, half-expecting Twilight or Wild to come and insist on sharing their bedroll like they sometimes did when they got particularly clingy—

But instead, it was Time.

They blinked as the tent flap shifted, his tall form stepping inside. He moved slow, deliberate, like he was testing the space between them.

(Y/n) sat up, eyebrows raising.

“Uh… hey?” They greeted cautiously. “Something wrong?”

Time didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at them.

Really looked at them.

Like he was memorizing them all over again.

(Y/n) shifted under the weight of it, that unsettled feeling creeping back into their gut.

“… Time?”

Time sat down next to them without a word.

Not across from them, not a small distance away—right next to them, close enough that (y/n) could feel the slight shift in the bedroll beneath them.

He was silent.

Not just the usual quiet, the comfortable, thoughtful kind of silence Time carried.

This was heavy.

Thick.

Suffocating.

(Y/n) shifted awkwardly, the unease crawling up their spine. The others had been acting strange all day, but Time’s presence right now felt even worse. Like the weight of a storm about to break, something pressing down on them, making their stomach churn.

They hesitated.

Then, quietly, “Time… what’s going on?”

Still, he didn’t speak.

Didn’t even move.

Just sat there, shoulders stiff, hands clasped loosely together.

(Y/n) swallowed, forcing a nervous chuckle.

“Okay, you’re really starting to freak me out, old man. Did something happen?”

Finally, Time exhaled, slow and steady.

“…Something happened.”

(Y/n) perked up a little. “Yeah?”

Time nodded.

“I fixed it.”

(Y/n) blinked.

“…What?”

Another pause.

(Y/n) narrowed their eyes, the hairs on the back of their neck standing on end.

“Fixed what? What—”

“Don’t.”

The firm edge in Time’s voice startled them into silence.

It wasn’t a command.

It wasn’t an order.

It was a plea.

Time turned his head slightly, his jaw clenched, his good eye dark in the dim light of the tent.

“If you keep asking me…” he said, voice low, slow, measured, “I will tell you.”

(Y/n) stared.

He swallowed, his hands tightening into fists against his knees.

“And I don’t want to tell you…” He admitted, not wanting to te them how they all failed in protecting them. How their blood pooled beneath their cold body.. “So please… don’t ask me.”

(Y/n) felt their pulse in their throat.

Something was wrong.

The others had been acting strange, paranoid. Wild had barely let them breathe all morning. The whole group had been on edge, even after they had moved camp.

And now Time was sitting beside them, heavy and tired and quietly begging them not to dig any further.

(Y/n) licked their lips, their voice small.

“…Was it that bad?”

Time inhaled sharply.

His fingers twitched.

His mind flickered back-

The torn camp.

The blood.

(Y/n), limp and still, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing.

Time closed his eye.

“…Yes.”

(Y/n) barely had time to process the answer before they found themselves moving.

Their body acted before their mind, before they even realized what they were doing, reaching out, wrapping their arms around Time, holding onto him firmly, as if trying to ground them both.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Time sat stiffly beneath their hold, unresponsive.

Then his shoulders shook.

A breath hitched.

A sharp inhale, one that he tried to keep quiet, but (y/n) felt it against their shoulder, the way his body trembled, the weight of his grief pushing against them, too much to fully contain but held back just enough.

(Y/n) held him tighter.

They didn’t understand what happened.

They didn’t know what Time had done.

But whatever it was…

It had hurt him. Hurt them all. badly.

(Y/n) pulled back slightly, hands still resting on Time’s shoulders as they looked up at him.

His head was bowed, breath uneven, his expression twisted with something too heavy to name. The dim light of the tent only made it worse, casting shadows over the worn lines of his face.

Without thinking, (y/n) reached up, cupping his face gently and tilting it so he’d look at them.

Time’s good eye met theirs, surprise flickering through the grief.

(Y/n) gave him a determined look before brushing their thumb over his cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

“I won’t ask again.” they murmured.

Time exhaled shakily, the tension in his shoulders softening ever so slightly.

(Y/n) let their expression ease, giving him a tired little smile.

“But,” they continued, tilting their head, “I at least hope you and the others got revenge before you fixed it.”

A weak chuckle left Time, his voice rough.

“I think…Wild handled that part.”

(Y/n) huffed a laugh.

“Figures.” They let their hands fall from his face, nodding in satisfaction. “That’s all I need to know.”

Silence settled between them, but it was more relaxed now. The weight in the air wasn’t as suffocating, no longer pressing down so hard it was unbearable.

(Y/n) shifted, glancing towards the tent entrance, then back to Time.

“…I kinda don’t wanna sleep alone tonight.”

Time turned to look at them fully, his eye scanning their face.

(Y/n) rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly.

“Would you… stay?”

Time blinked.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

A small smile grew on his lips, the kind that carried warmth despite the exhaustion in his gaze.

(Y/n) returned it, letting out a breath of relief.

“…Good.”

Without another word, they shifted to make room, patting the spot beside them.

Time followed, moving to lay down beside them, a bit nervously but eagerly.

And as (y/n) settled next to him, still for a moment before arms wrapped around Time, he tensed before slowly wrapping his own arms around them.

Eventually, Time let out a deep sigh, his whole body relaxing as he feels their heart beat (alive, strong, such a wonderful rhythm) feeling their presence close, steady and real.

It was exactly what he needed. (He had a feeling the others will also get their own nights with their darling soon enough. (y/n) was just like that to be so considerate.)

It took no time at all for him to sleep.

[3liza]

please i need women to understand that adding baking soda to vinegar is not a "cleaning hack". you just made weird water. women love posting on amazon reviews for actual cleaning products that it works better than their usual vinegar and baking soda potion. please. we are not beating the "bad at math and science" allegations like this