#these drawings are like nine years old now damn

[corefrisk]

So ummm, someone drew core frisk in a maid dress, which confused me because I think that core frisk is non binary right?

And I went into the comments and was like "core frisk is non binary how would they do that"

Now, that's not the important part, someone replied with a theory that due to core frisk being scattered across the multiverse and ther body just being them focusing their presence somewhere they could theoretically make their body look however they want

Is this true?

They can't change their body however they want. The reason they wear maid dress is because people can put on dresses even if they're not girls. Fun fact, that one maid image was supposed to be paired with another drawing of Core dressed as a butler but I guess someone removed that one at some point

[dragonskulls]

ok but what if instead of being a bobots they were a kitty cats 🤯

ok so um. yeah. basically tfp warrior cats au of an au (im changing events too here fuck canon; as well as some characterizations). i'll designing the other characters too and maybe give bits of the story im giving it. giggles. Also i haven't read warriors in years i only got to half of the second arc lmao

but anyways this is still on early construction but what i have is that there was this massive as shit colony of cats living in a huge ass territory and idk there was something like the inequality in canon (i haven't read the Aligned books so im making this up on the fly) and yadda yadda war happens tons of cats leave even more die and the territories get ravaged, probably there was a wildfire that was the final nail on the coffin for the old territories (cybertron). The main story would take place in a run down abandoned city where resources are very scarce (which would be earth, also humans sorta disappear here lol) where the brightsparks (autobots) are hiding from the shatterclaws (decepticons) while looking for ways to restore the old territories as well as a stronger connection with Goldenspark (primus) and instead of tech maybe its like,,, starclan magic or something lmao. the humans are mini rats here and are in danger from the shatterclaws just like, killing them or something idk (also also the humans here are NOT up to scale they'd be a bit smaller compared to the drawings here). so some quick stuff:

-shriekingsky is starscream (i wouldve kept the original name but it wouldve ended up being Starstar) who's the traitorous deputy of the shatteredclaws

-shatteredstar is megatron. no one likes him. he made a pact with the devil (unicron for whom i have yet to come up with a name) in an attempt to use the dead souls in the dark forest as pawns for his faction or something and also to get the nine lives (but evil and fucked up)

-crimsonstrike is knockout. medic of the shatteredclaws and while being on their side isn't particularly loyal to shatteredstar. he and shriekingsky were the equivalent of highschool mean girls as apprentices bc i thought that would be funny

-brokenstone is breakdown. originally part of the brightsparks, but something something happened that made him not really trust them anymore, that plus probably crimsonstrike accidentally helping him out caused him to switch sides

-owlglare is ratchet. goofy ass eyebrows. really REALLY wants to restore the old territories, which causes some slight conflict with the others who also want to protect the city (bc of the mice as well as other rogue cats i dont know yet)

-sparkstar is optimus. god damn i struggled so bad with his design. you know him.

-bumblepaw is bumblebee i couldnt bring myself to change his name. he's a baby sparkstar found in the trash. like in canon he wants to get his warrior name back home so hes keeping the apprentice one for now

-the rats the humans. most of the population dont know about the cats and if they did they'd probably panic a whole lot. these had me looking up rat color morphs

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Harringroveson Bones and All

For @now-showing-at-the-hawk-events Day 7 (and technically 9) Romance Movie/Horror Movie, Bones and All (2022)

Billy Hargrove always knew he was different from most people. His father never let him forget it. There was something *wrong* with him. Something he couldn't control. Billy was nine when he realized why his father looked at him like he was a monster.

It was a boy on his little league team. Joey Sandavol. They were walking home together when the other boy fell on the sidewalk and scraped his knee. Billy could smell the blood before he saw it. He watched the boy wince as he brought his leg up to his chest with a pained groan. That's when he felt it. An overwhelming hunger. Billy couldn't stop himself, his body lunging at the other boy as he buried his teeth in Joey's leg. He screamed, but Billy didn't care as he ripped into flesh and pulled. Blood was everywhere as things began to blur.

When he came to again, Billy was home. He sat on the couch in the living room as he heard his parents arguing in the kitchen. Looking down, Billy saw he was still covered in blood.

"-Neil, please, it's not his fault. He didn't know better!"

"Know better? Damn it, Cheryl, he almost killed that kid!" The sound of a fist hitting the wall made Billy instinctively jump. "God fucking damnit, if I'd known what you were, I would've never married you."

The fight devolved into screaming as Billy retreated into the bathroom and locked himself in, crying as he tried to wash the blood away. He was confused more than anything, but his mother disappeared into the night before he could ask any questions. He tried asking Neil questions about that day but stopped after the man backhanded him, telling him never to mention it again. For seven years, Billy was a normal boy again despite the constant hunger he felt. Then he met Duncan Wilson.

Duncan was funny. He always found a way to make Billy laugh, even on the bad days. When he asked to come over for a "study session," Billy was more than happy to agree. His father left with Susan for night which meant they had the house to themselves. Duncan made it easy to forget about his shitty dad and his shitty new wife as they kissed each other on Billy's mattress. The blonde's eyes were closed as the boy on top of him pressed closer to him when it hit him. The smell. God, the smell. A hunger stirred in Billy, and he felt it. The same feeling from years ago overwhelmed him as the kissing stopped when Billy bit into the other boy's lip.

Duncan screamed. The bite was hard enough to draw blood, only inciting the hunger more as things began to blur together. He remembered all of the blood. His teeth were tearing into flesh as the hunger was satiated for the first time in years. The bliss was overwhelming until he was snapped out of the trance by a new voice screaming at him. Billy's eyes focused again to see the bloody mess of viscera left on the floor. Looking up, he saw Max standing in the doorway. She was the one screaming. He'd completely forgotten about her.

It was a struggle, but Billy managed to stop himself from attacking his stepsister. Instead, he jumped out a window and began to run. Away from his family. His home. Himself.

That was almost a year ago, and Billy was still running. State to state, town to town, he ran away from everything. At eighteen years old, Billy had no goals except for making sure that his father couldn't find him. Billy knew if Neil Hargrove found him again, he would kill him. For his part, Billy thought he was doing a pretty good job of running, considering he was now in the middle of Bumfuck, Indiana. It was a small dive bar called "The Hideout." He was dressed in black skinny jeans and a loose fitting tank top. Easy bait for some creep to start hitting on him. The guy would ask to go to his car. And like that, Billy would get a meal and a ride to wherever the hell came next.

"Hey." A voice called out as they took a seat next to Billy at the bar top. "You're new here." The blonde turned, ready to up the charm when it hit him. The stranger didn't smell like everyone else. Billy blinked as he looked the man over. He seemed to be around the same age as the teen. The man's long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, showing off a band t-shirt that read Corroded Coffin. "The name's Eddie." He stuck a hand out. Billy was hesitant to take it.

"You're....like me." Was all that could come out.

"Sure am." Eddie grinned as he put the hand down. "Let me guess, you've never met anyone else like you."

"...ugh, yeah." Billy watched as an excited look crossed Eddie's face.

"That's fine. Just means you have a lot to learn." Eddie turned his barstool around to point at the dance floor. Specifically, another boy. He was dancing with an older balding man who looked almost completely wasted. "That's Steve. We come here to hunt every couple of weeks. Easy prey. We bring them back to his place for easy cleanup. Saves us having to move around all the time. Maybe you'd be interested." Eddie said as he leaned closer to Billy. "You look tired. We can help make things a lot easier for you, stranger." Billy made a face, thinking for a moment before speaking

"Billy."

"Hm?"

"My name's Billy."

"Well, Billy, how'd you like a free dinner?" Eddie asked as Billy's stomach growled, almost on cue. That...sounded nice...

[thewingedbaron]

Owlcatober Day Eleven: Medals

So glad to be back to writing. Its been a WEEK folks! Hope you can forgive me for missing a few days, things have been real weird the last couple days. This fully self-indulgent scene between Allix and Arueshalae should help :)

Seriously, thanks for reading these. Interacting with everyone has been so so fun this month ;-;

Medals and Recognitions (1,446 words)

Fandom: Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous

Ship: Arueshalae/KC (Allix)

Warnings: Very Cute.

Read here under the cut, or over on Ao3

The doublet itched. Allix turned himself this way and that, studying every inch of his costume in the full length mirror. That’s what it felt like, a costume. He was dressed to the nines in a custom tailored suit, dark satin green with forest brown accents. It fit him like a glove, everything in its proper place except for the gods damned doublet. 

With a sigh, he removed it, buttoning up his shirt to fill some of the gap. He was left with a neckline just short of plunging that exposed the tops of his collarbones. Not a bad look, by any means, but a touch less formal than the tailor had originally intended. He could deal with that. 

As he studied the suit, his eyes could not help but travel to the man behind it, tail swishing anxiously as he looked himself over. Just short of three years ago, he’d been a bounty hunter, down on his luck, drifting through the world wound in search of more dangerous targets for heavier sacks of gold. Almost three years ago, he’d awoken in a square in Kenebres, bleeding from the chest with a dragon leaned over him. In those three years, he’d lead armies against the forces of the abyss, tread through the worst horrors a mortal could imagine. He had almost been an angel, though Heaven would have likely rejected his… contrary nature had he followed through. Instead, he’d given up his power, become a mere mortal again, and then lead one of the most daring military campaigns in Golarion’s history that had ended in the death of two demon lords and the closing of the World Wound, which had plagued the mortal realms for more than a century. And yet… 

When Allix looked in the mirror, he saw the same roughshod mercenary desperate to scrape up some coin before he starved. His eyes had crows feet at their edges. His thick beard was beginning to show a little more gray than he was comfortable with. Scars, new and old littered his body like the words of a fairytale, each telling the story of a different battle, a different danger. His horns were chipped in places from uncountable close calls, but they were still his horns. Without the adrenaline of combat, he found that his hands shook slightly, but they were still his hands. His eyes looked older, wiser, more tired from the great trials he had undertaken in the last three years, but they were still the same blood red color, flecked with bronze. Despite it all, he was still… him. 

Soft arms wrapped around his shoulders, as softer lips pressed a kiss into his hair, gently drawing him from his musings. 

“You’re thinking too hard.” Arueshalae murmured with a soft smile. “I can see it in your eyes.” 

She was dressed in a deep blue dress that complimented her eyes and hair. Gold highlights and jewelry adorned her wrists and neck. Her hair had grown longer over the intervening months. With no reason to fear her own beauty any longer, Arueshalae delighted in trying different styles and fashions recommended to her by their friends. This was one of her, and Allix’s favorites. 

“Only good things.” Allix replied, leaning into her embrace. “We’ve all changed so much from when this all began.” 

“We have.” She said. None had changed more than the once succubus, now redeemed follower of Desna. Allix felt a swell of pride in his chest as he met his soon to be wife’s eyes in the mirror. She, amongst all others, had climbed the steepest cliffs and faced the greatest dangers. To give up his powers was one thing, but the throw off the yolk of the Abyss, itself. To  find compassion, forgiveness, and love in a place that taught only blood and hate? He could think of no greater challenge. 

“Ready to go?” She asked, drawing him from his thoughts once more. The former Knight Commander suppressed a cringe. 

“Not at all.” Even after leading the crusades, fighting gods and monsters alike, he still did not feel comfortable in crowds. Especially ones gathered in his honor. “Are you?” 

“Absolutely not.” Arueshalae laughed. “All those eyes focused on us? Do mortal ceremonies always have to be this large?” 

“Only ones orchestrated by a Queen that wants the world to know exactly who saved their collective ass, I suppose.” Allix returned her smirk. “Think of it, Kings and Queens, nobles from across the world, all gathered to pay us respects.” 

“I think I’d rather just go back to the cabin.” 

“Me too, love.” 

Arueshalae stuck out her tongue at him in the mirror, scrunching her nose in distaste. “At least we won’t be alone up there.” 

“Very true. Did they finally talk Lann into a suit?” 

“I believe they tried, right up until he threatened to turn the next person to come into his room with a coat into a pin cushion. I believe they have settled on a nice robe for him in the Crusade’s colors.” 

“I don’t suppose he took the title either?” 

“Of course not, but the Queen agreed to sponsor his first three ships in his trading fleet. I think he values those more than any empty title.” 

“Good.” Allix smiled. 

“Darling.” 

“Love?” 

“You’re delaying as much as you can. But we do need to leave this room.” Arueshalae smiled, pressing another kiss between his horns. “Come now, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go home.” 

“You have such a way with words.” Allix grinned, turning to kiss his love proper. “Hand me Finnean and we’ll get on our way.” 

She passed him a beautiful sword, the vessel that once contained the lost soul of a Pathfinder named Finnean. Allix’s preferred weapon was the heaviest crossbow he could find, but he had carried the blade through the remainder of the crusade in the memory of their friend, now released to explore the afterlife. It was a beautiful blade, and a comforting weight on his hip as he took Arueshalae’s arm and the pair stepped out into the hall to await the Queen’s escorts. Her guard arrived a short time later, the majority of their party in tow. 

Greybor had remained in the Abyss. The dwarven assassin had little interest in the Queen’s recognition, and had his hands full running his new business. He had, however, sent them a lovely letter. Also missing from the gathering was Regill, who, despite his exile from the Hellknights in the later days of the campaign, believed he needed no recognition for his efforts, and had politely declined the ceremony. The rest, however, eagerly accepted. 

Embraces and words were exchanged as they joined company, walking together down the wide steps toward the Queen’s own courtroom. From there, the party would proceed to the front steps of the palace where they would receive their honors and recognition, alongside many other officers, warriors, and heroes of the crusades. Allix had spent weeks pouring over the long list of martyrs, heroes, and soldiers that had served, hand picking dozens to receive their medals alongside him, and hundreds more that would be awarded honorifics in their own time. Every soldier who had served in the final taking of Iz and the closing of the World Wound would receive their recognition, as well as a large enough pension to keep them fat and happy for the rest of their lives. 

In the courtroom, they were joined by two more familiar faces, Irabeth and Anevia. The Knight Commander’s most trusted advisors easily fell into step with the rest, chatting and hugging their way to the great doors of the palace. There, they stopped for one final time, listening to the distant remarks of Queen Galfrey as she addressed a mixed crowd of hundreds of crusaders, emissaries from a hundred nations, and a dozen Kings and Queens from the various kingdoms and empires that had contributed to the fight. 

When it was finally time for the Knight Commander’s party to be recognized, the little group was quickly organized by the guard and set to wait just by the doors. Two by two they would be called up to the dais to stand with the Queen, until all had joined. At the front of the line, Allix exchanged a glance with Arueshalae. 

“Nervous?” He asked. 

Arueshalae looked him up and down, then back at the line of their friends, closer than family, behind them, and shrugged. 

“How could I be?” She asked. 

Allix grinned and planted a kiss on her lips as the grand doors were thrown open. Together they faced the world, fingers and tails intertwined.

[scarlet97531]

⭕️❗️CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT HOW A BOOK SERIES FOR NINE YEAR OLDS LITERALLY STARTS WITH GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DOES NOT GET BETTER??????

((General warning for graphic depictions of violence, lots of caps lock, and some swearing sprinkled in for fun for the rest of this post, also I don’t hate WoF, I love WoF, but I also think it’s batshit insane and needs to be addressed (in a pretty unserious way)))

The fucking prologue.

HELLO??? AM I CRAZY FOR THINKING THIS IS A BIT MUCH FOR THE PROLOGUE OF A CHILDREN’S BOOK???

This shot was the gateway drug for us istg. This fucking book series got is so hooked on fictional violence man 😭

We were drawing detailed dragon gore as fanart, looking at detailed gore that other people had drawn as fanart?

Seriously am I crazy????? This is the second main character killing her father to prove a point?????????

This is what we get for an explanation for where the first main character came from? His backstory is literally that his mom sold him for some cows??????????????????? WTF

Also just mudwing society in general is. It seems. Pretty weird. Like really weird.

“As the [human] shrieked again, she bent down and bit off its head.

“Blech,” she said, spitting it out again immediately. The head bounced across the grass as the body slowly toppled over, blood pouring out of it’s neck.”

UM?? OKAY!!

“She scored her talons along his wing, ripping open the scars”

“She shook Dune lightly, as if she were shaking the fluff off a dead pigeon. He clawed at her talons, his eyes bulging. “I mean, what use is a crippled dragon who cannot fly? I’m surprised you haven’t killed yourself already, SandWing. But I can take care of that for you.”

DAMN????

“No!” Sunny screamed, leaping at them.

But it was too late. With a chilling crack, Queen Scarlet snapped Dune’s neck and dropped his body on the stone floor.

“Dune!” Sunny howled. She squirmed past Scarlet and crouched beside him, shaking him with her front talons. His mangled wing flopped, his scales scraped against the rocks. His black eyes were empty. “Dune, wake up!””

HOLY SHIT???? WHY WAS THIS NECESSARY FOR A CHILDRENS BOOK

WHAT THE FUCK

AND THIS IS JUST SOME OF THE FIRST BOOK, DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON LEGENDS OF DARKSTALKER MAN THAT SHIT WAS CRAZY

THIS IS BEING SOLD FOR NINE YEAR OLDS

THIS COULD VERY WELL BE A CHILD’S FIRST INTRODUCTION TO DEATH

WHAT WAS TUI THINKING???????????

LIKE ACTUALLY WHAT????

Honestly it is so unsurprising we turned out the way we did when this is what we were reading as a kid 😭

Literally our primary caretaker is named after Scarlet. The same scarlet in those quotes earlier. Like this shit is so in our brain and has been since we were twelve.

This shit. Is. Crazy.

And then every time I try to point out flaws In the writing or the plot ppl tell me “oh it’s not that deep it’s just a children’s book it’s not a big deal” LIKE. FUCKING. HELL IT IS.

ABSOLUTELY NOT. NO FUCKING WAY.

I am completely convinced that if we had never read these books our gorey pseudo memories would not be HALF as detailed and disturbingly accurate as they are now. Like seriously we did so well in anatomy classes because of this. Maybe that’s mostly the autism but i we never would have been so interested in anatomy if we weren’t trying to figure out how to draw anatomically accurate dragon disembowelment because of these damn books 😭

Anyways all this said I still fucking love wings of fire and I’m thinking of bringing back that thing where I draw cute cartoony dragons dying horribly :3

If anyone has horror stories about growing up reading wings of fire I want to hear them

WAIT ONE LAST THING- I forgot to mention the icewing massacre, attempted genocide, and general dragon racism….. hmmmm a topic for another time perhaps

[hackerqueen]

Another Love

Chapter 1 Heartburn

warnings: this fanfiction will tackle heavy topics such as mental health and violence. there will be sex scenes.

– Fuck!

This word was often repeated every morning in my apartment. I was not an early bird, quite the opposite. I definitely preferred to fall asleep late in the evening, often in the middle of the night, to sleep until noon. Unfortunately, I was no longer a teenager, but a twenty-three-year-old woman who had to go to work every morning to pay the rent and bills. Life was often a bitch, wasn't it?

More curses spilled out of my mouth as my windshield wipers sped faster than Dan making up another shitty joke. Or a meme. His memes sucked, though I never told him that.

Duskwood was usually cloudy and rainy at this time of year. This is the second time I am convinced of this, because I moved here exactly two years ago. At times like this, I ask myself why? I could live peacefully in sunny California, sipping drinks on my balcony. But sometimes life writes its own scripts without asking you.

The pouring rain made my commute a bit more difficult, but I finally made it to the office where I was supposed to stay for another eight or nine hours. My boss threw papers at my desk, which didn't bode well. Halfway through work, I looked at my co-workers. Since I was a child, I liked to observe, analyze and draw conclusions about human behavior. So it was also now. However, the current view made me drowsy boredom. A group of people locked in a glass building, caring only if their shitty paperwork will pay the rent and pay off the mortgage. Will it allow them to go out to dinner at a restaurant at the beginning of the month, or maybe they'll get lucky and they can afford four days away at the end of the year? Corpsrats whose minds were completely closed to the world around them. I was a hypocrite judging them. Because I was absolutely the same. I also chased after money, abandoning my dreams and passions.

Deep, philosophical considerations were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Seeing the name on the screen, I smiled slightly, despite my obvious tiredness. I picked up right away.

– Hello, hello. - greeted a nice, almost singing voice, which finally regained this lovely note – I'm picking you up from work today.

– But..

– Without any buts. We'll be choosing decorations today, you can't be absent! Nobody I know has better taste than you. Besides, you know what Thomas is like. He'll agree with me about everything, even if I pick the worst shit.

I burst out laughing. There was no contact with Hannah for several weeks. She needed hours of therapy, shed tears, and shutting herself off from the world to recover. To understand what happened. Has she come to terms with it? Was there any reconciliation at all in this situation? No one in the group seemed to agree with it. Damn, how were they supposed to accept that their longtime friend, the man who always made them laugh, did something like that? They couldn't even talk to him. Only Jessy had this honor, but I don't know if it didn't affect her even worse. I was just a shadow. A hiding shadow that listened to their conversation.

– Okay, you convinced me. Be there at 4pm – I told her shortly and said goodbye. Maybe this day won't be so bad after all.

* * *

– Thomas, don't interfere. – I grumbled under my breath as I flicked through the catalog with bouquets

I heard his loud protests to which Hannah reacted immediately.

– Babe, you know I love you, but I'll be carrying the bouquet, not you. Unless you want too?

The man got angry and left us alone. I suppressed the urge to comment on her rather dubious choice of husband and rolled my eyes, but a mischievous smirk must have affected my face hearing my biting thoughts.

Did that sperm really win?

I stopped quickly when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

– I can see you're not getting along, but just a little more. It will be better after marriage. Thomas is just stressed out. – she assured me and I nodded – You know, two years ago it all ended. This anniversary has such an effect on him.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. How... how come it's been two years since this nightmare ended?

– Have you forgotten? – she asked, seeing the pale expression on my face

– N-No. – I coughed at my broken tone of voice. – It's just that... it's a bit weird? That, time flies so fast and we live like two years ago?

– Can we do otherwise? I think we'd be best off living for them. – she said, then smiled sadly and squeezed my hand – Have you been at his grave?

I sighed, slowly shooking my head.

– Me neither. I'm not ready for that yet. –she confessed honestly and my heart clenched. Today was the day I had to face my past.

Getting into the car, I typed into the GPS the cemetery, which was located on the outskirts of Duskwood. Half an hour later, I was there. I gripped the steering wheel, letting out shaky breaths. I had no idea how long I sat there, but I finally moved and took out the rose I had bought on the way out of the back of the car. It was intensely red, reflecting my feelings at that moment. My mind was unconscious, my feet led me all the way to the grave. No wonder, my body knew the way by heart. I looked up at the name carved on it.

Jake Donfort

I swallowed. One candle was lit, illuminating this late evening. So Lilly must have been here already. I crouched down and carefully placed the flower on his grave. It may have been two years, but some things haven't changed. My heart still burned as I remembered the black-haired hacker who once meant so much to me. Now my heart squeezed even tighter as I realized something else.

The memory of him was fading, a little at a time and I could feel myself forgetting.

Time passed inexorably, and my upside down life returned to normal. Two years ago, I couldn't imagine my life without him. We had a promise, right? He promised we'd meet. He promised he wouldn't let us be separated. However, his promise was burned with him in the mine fire because he never came back. Even though he said he would.

[cevansbrat0007]

As the GP kiddos get older, what are their favorite things to do with Daddy Andy? Or their favorite things to do with Momma? Just like one on one bonding things.

Great question!

Bianca "BiBi" Barber - She's a big soccer fan, just like her Mama and they often can be found practicing in the backyard together. BiBi is very good and currently plays for a club team that travels around the region. On the field, Andy and Reader's normally sweet daughter is a force to be reckoned with. She may be small, but she's scrappy. And she's got one hell of a mouth on her - all things she learned from Mama Barber. That kid can talk some serious trash when she's in the mood. While it makes her mother proud, Andy is constantly stunned by just how viscous teenage girls can be...including his Bianca Boo!

BiBi's favorite thing to do with Andy is take her father shopping. She's always trying to update his wardrobe. Now, she knows that her Dad lacks the necessary patience required to survive at the mall, but for her...he really tries. And when they're through, she likes to treat him to frozen yogurt. Well, she tries...only for Andy to slip the money back into her bag.

The last time she took him out for frozen yogurt, a grown man tried to hit on her while Andy was off using the bathroom. Sixteen-year-old BiBi dealt with the creeper just fine, but her father damn near had a heart attack. The older she gets, the more she understands just what her Mama means whenever she calls Andrew dramatic.

___

Katrina "KitCat" Barber - She and her Mama can often be found curled up in Reader's special reading nook. KitCat has her own space set up just for her, and when they can those two get lost in the magic of books for hours. So much so that it's not uncommon for Andy to come looking for them, something they all playfully refer to as a Barber Family Wellness Check.

This kid also has a budding passion for golf, of all things. Andy has been giving her lessons since she's been old enough to swing a club. And over time it's definitely morphed in a father/daughter bonding type experience. She's fairly talented, better than quite a few of the boys - which they hate.

I'll have to tell you all about the time one of those asshole boys tried to look up her skirt. He thought it was real fucking funny until KitCat's nine-iron almost collided with his thick skull. And then when Andy heard what happened...yeah, that shit wasn't pretty. Especially after the asshole kid's uncle tried to place the blame on Katrina. Something about her flirting in order to give herself an advantage.

She honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her Daddy so mad. But they eventually finished the game before going out for double bacon cheeseburgers with extra bacon and cheese fries.

___

Aurora "RoRo" Barber - She and Andy have this thing where they sometimes wake up early on Saturdays and head down to his office. But first, they always stop by this little diner for a quick breakfast of cinnamon apple french toast and a mug of hot chocolate. And since they both know that Mama Barber would have a lot to say about their excessive sugar consumption, they tend to leave that part out.

And as the artist of the family, she's constantly traveling with her purple sketchbook. RoRo is also naturally curious and as well as easily distracted. Which sometimes gives Andy palpitations because she's constantly wandering off in order to get a better look at something that she wants to draw. He loses her sometimes...which typically results in panic.

RoRo also loves helping her mother in the garden. She thinks it's hilarious that her mother adores plants, but is somehow also terrified of bugs. And, although it's not her strong suit, she's not adverse to helping her Mama in the kitchen. It doesn't come naturally to her, but the other day she made a blueberry lemon cheesecake from scratch which turned out to be pretty darn tasty!

___

A.J. "Junior" Barber - He loves cooking with his Mama. They have a great time in the kitchen - and he's actually getting rather good. Baking is more his thing, but the kid has a lot of potential. Unlike his father who was born with the ability to burn water. He also enjoys horror movies, and those viewing parties usually consist of him, Mama Barber, and BiBi.

Now, when it comes to spending time with Andy, Junior loves himself some football. They have a great time going to games together when they can. I'll have to tell you guys about the first NFL game they went to when he was a little kid. It was a hoot! And when they're not trying to watch the game, you can find him tinkering in the backyard with his father breaking fixing things in the shed. They're both a couple of handsome, well-meaning menaces.

___

Finally, no matter how old they get, no Barber ever says no to family movie night. That's a must in their household. Fingers crossed that that never changes. Hope that answers your questions!

[tendo-64]

sometimes i forget how old mother 3 is. like, i know in my head "2006" but i don't really comprehend that until i stumble across fanart from like 2008 and am like "damn this was made when i was five years old". lucas being in smash doesn't have that effect on me because he almost feels like an entirely different being, it's just fanart that does.

it's kinda surreal to me that i am drawing the same character that someone did sixteen years ago. especially if i see similar concepts--thinking that someone thought "oh this would make a great drawing idea for the twins" except instead of it being yesterday it was in the year 2012 whilst i in the same instance was playing mario kart 7 past my bed time at nine years old, didn't even know how to draw yet beyond poorly scribbling yoshi in ms paint on occasion, and lucas to me was "the weird kid from smash bros" that i never gave a second thought and would not give a second thought for another seven years. more surreal when i think about how that artist has become the nine year old me in that they probably moved on years ago and now mother 3 to them is "a game they liked a long time ago"

and yea that can apply to just about anything, but i guess it's the mother series' niche nature that makes it different to me. it's such a small, cozy fandom that I forget that maybe years and years ago it was different at some point. another part being i didn't know anything about mother 3 before 2019 and actively avoided spoilers until i finished it in late 2022, so my brain thinks it's this recent thing because i'd never known anything about it for so long, when in reality i just lived under a rock

idk tho maybe i'm not making any sense

[alvfr]

The Ex from Hell - Part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

I'm jumping between projects like crazy right now, but as long as I'm writing at all, I can't complain. I don't expect much feedback, but would still love some if you take the time to read it :)

WIP: The Ex from Hell Excerpt rating: T Word count: 1.5k

The Manor looked the same as it had done the last three hundred years since the family brought it over the Atlantic. Granny had told the story often and showed me the old diagrams from when they disassembled it. It had been a tremendous operation. They took it down piece by piece and meticulously labeled and sorted every single board and nail to ensure they could rebuild it exactly as it was. And that was how it remained today. Only painted once, as far as I knew, after one of the city fires licked up the sides and blackened the white walls. 

The taxi, easily identifiable as one of the town cars, pulled up to the elaborate gates, and I got out of the car just as the nondescript driver tried to open the door for me. The driver said nothing, but I caught the vibe of annoyance, which only intensified when I slammed the door shut behind me. As tempting as it was to accidentally bump my hip into the pristine paint job or, even worse, offer the driver a tip, I managed to refrain. Mostly because I had other things to worry about. 

The gates to the Manor stood wide open, as inviting as a Venus Fly Trap, and a steady stream of black-clad people trickled in on the white paved walkway. Too many people for it to be normal, and my neck prickled as I trailed along to the main entrance. It was not until I reached the double set of doors and caught a glimpse of the inside that I realized what was going on.

This was a damned wake.

The front drawing room held no less than three caskets, each one drowning under a mountain of flowers and cards. Surrounded by a variety of people, all dressed to the nines in deep, rich black, drinking from long-stemmed glasses and gossiping as if their lives depended on it. Which it often did.

Distracted by the caskets, I entered the Manor and failed to appreciate that it had been almost ten years since I last stepped foot in these halls. A step was all I managed before a hard claw of a hand gripped my arm and yanked me to the side, sending me into a darkened hallway that used to be part of the servant’s entrance.

“What,” Kathy hissed less than an inch from my face, “in the name of all goddesses are you wearing?”

“Clothes.” I tore my arm loose and straightened my sweatshirt from where it had ridden up. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code, but I might have if you’d have told me there was a damned wake going on!”

“Like you would have come if you knew.” Kathy sneered and looked over my shoulder to ensure our conversation had not caught anyone’s attention. “And there is always a dress code, as you are well aware. You must change at once before any of the Aunties see you. Surely, you must have something appropriate.” Her flickering eyes returned to me and traveled the entire length of my body twice as if they could not come to terms with reality on the first go. “Where are your belongings?”

“Stashed them at a fr—” I bit my teeth together and tried again. “Stashed them with someone I know. I’m not staying, Kath. You said you needed my help, fine, I’m willing to listen. Doesn’t mean I’m moving back in.”

“Then where will you stay, hm? Battered women’s shelter, maybe?”

While she probably hoped I would flinch at her brazen question, a heavy rush of blood flew to my face. Heating up my cheeks in the prolonged shame that still accompanied the memory of that night when everything had gone wrong. When I had betrayed my then-husband so violently. “No.”

Kathy gave the impression of waiting for me to elaborate but did a little impatient eye-roll when I did not. “Fine. You will have to borrow something of mine. You’re fortunate that oversized garments are still in vogue.”

The hair on the back of my neck raised with every step I trailed after Kathy down the familiar hallways. A primal part of me that screamed of danger, like the walls would close in behind me and trap me in there forever. My fingers twitched, aching for the comforting motion of lighting a cigarette, and I stuffed my hand into my jean pocket for the little stupid key tag and clutched it so hard the plastic dug into the soft parts of my palm. It always started with craving just a cigarette.

For some reason, I had expected Kathy to lead me to the room we had shared as teenagers, but she veered into another corridor and opened the door to one of the suites. Like an extension of Kathy herself, the room was decorated in muted extravagance and smelled faintly of incense. She wasted no time and stalked into the walk-in closet that might as well have been a portal into a midnight realm — every single object in there, from belt to shoe to garment, was black. Which was no surprise, but I had never appreciated how stupid it looked before.

“Here.”

She thrust some hangers at me and waved me behind a privacy screen to get changed. Even with the oversized fit, I barely got the black pants over my hips, and my squishy belly spilled slightly over the stretchy waistband. Not for the first time in these last months, I grabbed the excess flesh on my stomach and jiggled it, fascinated by how it moved separately while also being a part of me. The same went for my breasts, fuller than ever before and potentially spilling over my fingers when I cupped them like I had been longing for ever since hitting puberty. I had been many things in my life, but soft had never been one of them. The matching sweater hung looser on my frame and covered up both my belly and hips, which, for some reason, made the insides of my chest itch a bit.

The second I stepped out from the screen, Kathy handed me a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses, claiming we did not have time to do anything about my hair or face other than hide them. Which was fine by me, to be honest — the mortifying ordeal of being perceived and all. 

“This will have to do,” Kathy said after viewing the full outcome of her work. Her small mouth pursed in contempt. “I suppose. Come now.”

She took a different route on the way back to the front hall, leading me down the grand hallway with the portraits of the ones who came before us glaring down from every angle. Subtlety was not Kathy’s forte, but I still pulled the brim of my hat down to avoid looking at the long line of disappointed women from centuries past. 

“Who are they?” I asked, referring to the caskets when we emerged unscathed and weaved between the crowd of guests attending the wake. Some of the other guests gave me a curious glance, but it had been too long for anyone to recognize me now. Unlike Kathy, I did not look remotely the same as when I lived here. “Why are the caskets closed?”

“Cousins,” Kathy said easily, barely returning the respectful nods people sent her. “All recently graduated. And the caskets are closed mostly because of the flies.”

My eyebrows raised above my sunglasses, hiding in the hat instead. “The flies? Aren’t they embalmed?”

“Extensively so.” Her words came perfectly clipped from her doll-like mouth, and she gestured towards the closest casket. “Alas, to no avail.”

At first, I didn’t understand what she wanted me to do. A photograph stood on the long side of the casket, depicting a striking young woman with strawberry-blond hair and almost non-existent eyebrows. Familiar in a strange way and as I leaned in to read the name engraved on the plaque, half covered by dangling leaves from all the bouquets, I heard the buzzing. Granny had kept bees out by her summer house, and I had helped her tend to them when I visited. My favorite thing was to put my ear to the deceivingly dormant hive and listen to the insane activity inside. 

This was much like that. While the casket lay dead and still on the pedestal, the insides were alive with what had to be thousands of flies. If not more. So many that the wood vibrated against my palm, and the prickle in my neck came back with a vengeance. Lost in the buzzing and overwhelming smell of all the flowers, I dragged my hand along the first casket to the next one and the next one. All three filled to the brim with the droning of flies. I looked up to Kathy to ask her what the hell had happened to these girls but found a pair of vultures staring at me instead. 

The twins.

[bubblegum-blackwood]

🤲what do YOU get out of writing?

Ah good question. I feel like that's a complicated one that's not so straightforward to answer.

TL;DR - idk I like it :] and I like people

I've been writing fiction since I was nine years old. My teacher had us do some creative writing in class, and I fell head over fucking heels for the concept! It's crazy to see how much I've grown since then 😂 but I kid you not, I've known I wanted to write for a living since I was nine years old. I did it once and was like yeah . . . I like this. Funnily enough, I started out writing fanfiction, although at the time I hadn't heard of that word or that concept. My sibling and I had a game we called "Kid Wars" - essentially, we RPed being Star Wars OCs. My character was a female clone of Jango Fett (how did I come up with that as a small child and then The Bad Batch happened????????? will never get over that) who secretly joined the Jedi Order and fell in love with Obi-Wan 😂😂😂 ah, children. This origin story is never not funny to me. Anyway, over the years since then, it's slowly evolved into something nearly indistinguishable from Star Wars (I've mostly just kept something that vaguely looks like the Force and some OC names and arcs, but the worldbuilding is entirely original, and I had so much fun with it!)

But I digress.

It's ironic to me because even though my writing days largely started with terrible self-insert fanfiction I since then only wrote original works and even railed almost as vehemently against fanfiction as Anne Rice herself! 😂 But I spent some time on Tumblr and I caved and read Burden of my Days by @hekateinhell and have never been the same since. And now I have 36 fics and counting!

What originally drew me to writing as a kid is just the whole idea of making shit up. I've been making up silly lil stories in my head to keep my insomniac ass busy at night since I was in kindergarten, and when I realised I could write them down? When I realised I could get paid money for that shit??? Hell yeah! I can make a career out of doing something I genuinely love doing, and I'm so grateful that it's even an option for me because I have no clue what I would have told people I wanted to be when I grew up otherwise. As I've gotten older, I've understood more about what exactly I enjoy about writing (which allows me to take inspiration from the books and shows I like without copy-pasting every minute detail that I don't actually need) - it's people. I like people, I like knowing what makes them tick, I like watching them fuck up and I like watching them interact with others. It's part of what draws me to psychology and sociology, too. I just genuinely enjoy stories. I could eat a well-done character arc for breakfast, honestly. And that's what gets me about the writing. My books don't need big grand plots, the conflicts largely are not centered around big bads with large armies, it's all about people and the relationships they have with others within the narrative. (Don't get me wrong, though, I have fantastical elements - vampires and ghosts, especially, are quite abundant in my stories).

Plus, there's something about the actual process of writing that just gets me in a good mood. Sometimes the executive dysfunction or general life fatigue makes it hard for me to get myself to pick up the pencil, but when I feel motivated, DAMN, the juices be flowing! Sometimes I get in the zone and I just know what happens next and the words just come to me and it feels good, honestly good. I can agonize over it for hours sometimes, but crafting artful sentences to paint a picture with words is such a powerful feeling. I just can't imagine how my life would have turned out had I not discovered how fun it is to write.

And with fanfiction? To me, it's all about connection. To look deeper at the text, to identify what you like about events or characters or pairings and make it your own, to really know the book you love so much. But not only that, then also you get to connect with other fans! You get to get excited together, be proud together, maybe even make friends through it! You get to talk to people!!! And I think the value of that can never be understated enough.

Anyway. I've rambled plently now 😂 thanks for the ask!

[motownfiction]

final rites

Steph remembers when her mother went through a phase where all she did was plan her funeral.

It was really weird. Susie wasn’t sick. She wasn’t sad. In fact, she was probably the cheeriest mother in the entire metro Detroit area, and Steph wasn’t just seeing her through rose-colored mother glasses. It was true. Still is. But every morning, for about two months when Steph was in the eighth grade, Susie would have something new to say about her funeral.

I don’t want it to be silent, she said on a Wednesday. I always hate it when people tell me to shut up at a funeral.

If the Whitney is still around when I die, have my reception there, she said on a Thursday. I’ve never been there, but I think I would have liked to go. Perfect for a funeral, you know, Steph?

Please play that Donovan song at my funeral, she said on a Friday. You know the one. ‘Yellow is the color of my true love’s hair.’ I like it. I don’t think anyone else would choose it. Or expect it.

Steph remembers laughing at her mother’s suggestions. She wasn’t even fourteen years old yet. Losing her mother seemed like a distant impossibility. Still does. She never thought about funerals much more after that. It didn’t seem like there was any reason.

Now, at thirty-five, she has more of a reason than ever. And after Sam’s funeral, Steph starts to think more and more about her own final rites.

The first two months after Sam’s death are unbearable, both for Steph and for Susie. Steph stays at her mother’s house damn near every night like a scared baby. She wishes she was a scared baby. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to think so much about death and dying, dying and death. No matter which order she uses to think about the words, her chest burns. Maybe that’s a good thing. If it’s trying to kill her, then that means she’s still alive.

I think it should be invitation-only, Steph tells her mother on a Wednesday. If weddings can invite people, then so can funerals. Remember that.

It would be great to have my luncheon at Mario’s, she tells her mother on a Thursday. I think it would be great for everyone to have a thirty-nine-dollar chicken parmesan in my memory.

You should play “Tuesday Afternoon” at my funeral, she tells her mother on a Friday. I always really liked that song.

And on that Friday, Susie shakes her head and laughs, just like Steph did when she was a kid.

“Stephanie!” she says. “Why are you telling me all of this? You’re thirty-five, and I’m your mother. I’m not going to be around to plan your funeral. You’ll be meeting me in heaven, or the great wherever.”

“In a perfect world,” Steph says. “But we don’t live in a perfect world. If we did, Sam would be alive, and Maggie would be saying the same thing to him right now. Instead, she had to plan his funeral. She had to sit through it. He was thirty-five, too. Same as me. So, if I want to plan my funeral now, I think I kind of have the right.”

Susie sighs. She draws closer to Steph and puts her arm around her. Steph settles into the hug right away. She wishes it wasn’t so damn easy to forgive her mother, but she sees through to her heart. It’s softer than anything Steph has ever known.

“I’m sorry, Steph, honey,” Susie says. “I’m sorry for it all.”

Steph nods once, hoping that’s enough to convey all that she means to say.

“I know,” she says, blinking back the tears she’s so sick of crying. “Thanks, Mom.”

(part of @nosebleedclub september challenge -- day xiv!)

[all-soul-crossover-comic]

IT IS TIME. FOR THE CRINGE FEST.

This is back when instead of "bitch" I said "bish" and didn't have a damn clue. To begin, here is snufkin with a gummy snake. He was going to have a pet gummy snake named regina.

He looked so menacing and white

I would not trust him with my finances. Beyond the "keep reading" thing, there is actual pages. It's been two years. It is time to reflect on my dark past.

The original run was only three pages. I gave up after not many people paid attention to it. Probably because it was trash. But still.

RIP Blueberry Muffin...

Also, a nine year old says the word damn. I was 12 when I made this lol.

Oh so I just skipped to when they already settled in? Oh. Ok. I remember making a version that had snufkin saying "Jerk" instead of "Douche" because the amino I was posting it in had a rule against cursing.

The worst page. Never want to look at it again. I was hoping to to make it an ask thing, but like...I was three pages in and nobody was paying attention-

The original ask prompt pages are all lost to time. Or probably somewhere on my main blog idk I don't wanna go through all that shit, it's like diving into the Mariana trench. I'm too lazy. I just know I deleted the ask prompt pages in shame from certain sites.

Even now, with a little more support than before, I don't get asks. Wish I could go back and tell myself not to rush it out. To make it actually worthy of attention from others. But yk, can't change the past.

Time for more miscellaneous stuff. Slightly creepy stuff.

This was back when ages weren't established, but no matter what it's creepy.

Like how else are people supposed to take this lmfao

Also it says she's married because of the guy that married a miku hologram (and apparently divorced it????)

Anyway that stuff quickly left.

This is 80% snufkin. I loved snufkin. Still do. Don't draw him this much anymore tho-

The image with blood coming from his mouth (he bit his tongue) is what i consider a sort of in-between from the transition from sfc to All Soul. He's gaining some of the personality he has now. Blood is becoming a theme.

I also have some colored traditional drawings from around this time. I'll share them when I find them, and same with the digital pieces.

I didn't really think of winx club when I started it. I only really got into winx after the absolute garbage fire that was fate. Still hate it. Trying to be better than it. Probably gonna end up like it anyway, everything I write is like a soap opera.

Anyway, prepare for the sprinkling of cringe in the coming weeks as I find old all Soul related artwork. Maybe I could even show off my 2016 artwork.

[crownshattered]

|| Made a new dnd/bg3 oc!! (Tentative fc, currently on the hunt for a younger fc that works...) Anyways, this is Vee~ She's a half-elf rogue, and she's 11 years old. In bg3, she has no connection to the mind flayers, but you can get her to join your team anyway (kinda like Halsin). ANYWAYS, info below~ (I'll probably add her, but if i do, it'll be after I add Karlach XDD)

(tw for family death and prostitution)

BACKSTORY:

Valyri (Vee) is originally from Westgate, and with its high crime rate, it's no surprise that the girl became a rogue. She lived with her mom, both of them struggling to get by. Her mother was a courtesan (and Valyri's dad was a customer) and did all she could to provide for herself and her daughter. Despite the circumstances that led to Valyri's birth, her mother loved her and wanted the best for her despite their shitty situation.

For a while (once she was around 5-6), Valyri would steal from her mother's customers while they were with her. Her mother knew about this and discouraged it, but Valyri was never caught. She really had a gift, one that could help her in a city like this. So while her mom lightly tried to persuade her to stop, Valyri kept stealing from customers.

However, her mom soon got sick. They barely had enough money to live even while she was working, so they of course didn't have enough to pay for medicine. So, Valyri started to steal more. She would rob people in the streets with her pick-pocketing and lock-picking skills. She was excellent at what she did, so much so that she never once got caught. Maybe that made her a bit cocky.

When she was nine, her mother’s illness had nearly taken her. But Valyri wasn’t ready to give up. In one last act of desperation (and even hubris) she planned to steal the ring of one of the most influential families in Westgate. However…she was caught in the act. A tiny street urchin with enough skills to attempt—and almost succeed—at stealing from someone so influential… They liked that.

They tried to “recruit” her, but Valyri basically told them to go fuck themselves. So…they cut off her tongue and basically forced her to work for them. She had no choice but to agree, but she was allowed to go back to her mom to say her goodbyes. What they didn’t know is that Valyri did steal the ring during that whole interaction. She rushed back to her mom to try and get her treated, but her mom told her that it wasn’t worth it. She was going to die anyway. She made Valyri swear to use the money to get out of Westgate and eventually live a lavish life. So… She did.

She now goes by V / Vee (it’s easier to introduce herself that way) and is traveling Faerûn to find another town where she can steal and get rich.

BASIC INFO:

Half-elf rogue, 11 years old, mute. Vee has crazy high dexterity and intelligence, but her other stats are kinda shit XDD She's excellent at sneak attacks, but you mainly want her in the party to lockpick and steal, as well as the occasional sneak attack. (she is built on my astarion gameplay.....)

Vee doesn't talk. She doesn't even make a sound. She doesn't really care that her tongue got cut off, since she just uses that as an excuse to be dead silent. She's fluent in common and elven sign language, as well as of course Thieves' cant. Her specialty is being completely silent, never leaving a trace. However, she's pretty damn good at conveying what she needs to say, even with just looks. She goes by "V / Vee" because when she introduces herself, she draws a big "V" in the air. It's much easier than trying to explain Valyri.

Vee is very intelligent for a child her age. She's super street smart and really mature. Vee acts like an adult almost all the time, and a really witty/snarky one at that. She can definitely hold her own when surrounded by people three times her age. You could say she's an "old soul", but really she just had to grow up very quick.

Although she acts like an adult almost all the time, she has a few very child-like things. For instance, she's more prone to being terrified of monstrous enemies. She has very low constitution. And although she acts like she's independent and fine on her own, she really could use someone to snuggle with to help her sleep.

More tba.??

[goldenorder]

@sylvctica — birthday ask!!

Another year coming to an end, another one coming to rise up; and so on the last day of it, it would be his birthday once more. Well, self-proclaimed birthday, anyway. It's quite fitting, now that they sit to think about it properly. Another year of living coming to an end, and another new year of wonders to follow. Fingers tightened on their gift, a wooden container with nine teas, carefully captured in small, airtight containers. Oolong, white, black, green, yellow, puer—all carefully raised, cultivated, oxidized and prepared by Sylvie themselves. The other two were far simpler in their tastes: jasmine silver needles, and a simple blend of cardamom and rose buds ( as per Sylvie's words, quite popular within Sumeru with black tea ). They waited patiently to find the consultant, perking up a little upon seeing him and eagerly walking towards him with long strides; if they were to find his hands empty, the box would be placed gently within his palms—before taking his face within their hands and pressing a full on kiss to him. Other people be damned. Regardless, it was a short, chaste, but loving kiss, quick to pull back and move their hands to settle upon his shoulders. "Happy birthday, my asan. I ... hope you like your present this year, I worked quite a bit on it." Green eyes glanced to the side for a moment as they spoke, but were quick to look back on him. Hands moved to lace behind their own back, looking at him with unspoken anticipation. "There are small cookies, too, to go along with it."

As the curtains are readying to draw this year to a close, he walks towards a new tomorrow. Although he can not guess on what new year shall bring, he quite prefers it that way, with no clear objective in mind other than to enjoy life as it comes. The past few years have already brought him many joyous occasions, including the rekindling of an old friendship. To this day, he is grateful to have been given the chance to mend his bond with Sylvie that–unexpectedly–blossomed into something more.

With the fellow god occupying his thoughts, he finds it difficult to withhold a smile, his lips only widening upon seeing them—as if his very thoughts manifested them in front of him. No words needed to be exchanged as he approached them in eager steps, followed by a taste of spring from their lips. The kiss only lasted for a few short seconds, but at that moment, nothing else around him mattered.

Sighing softly into them (a quiet plea for a second longer), he does not miss the intricate box that was placed into his hands, his fingers glossing over the smooth, wooden surface which smelled of fresh pines. While there was no attempt by Sylvie to hide what they had planned for him, that didn’t make him any less delighted to receive tea prepared by their own hands. If anything, he has been looking forward to it—very much so. Tea is a pastime he heavily indulges in, he was of course intrigued to taste the fruit of their labor.

That said, he would have been more than content if they just opted to buy some tea leaves…but he also can not deny the sense of pride he has in knowing they’ve cultivated their own sense of appreciation for tea not only in his interest, but out of their own as well. The gesture almost meant more than the gift itself, making his heart flutter to its very core.

“Thank you, Sylvie.” He breathlessly chuckles, his gaze fixed on them with nothing short of love. “I have no doubt that I will make great use of your tea…and what greater way to enjoy it than to share it with an old friend?” After all, tea can not be enjoyed as dried leaves; though the flavors and herbs are certainly appreciated in their own way.

“Preparations have already been arranged at Mt.Tianheng if you would care for a pleasant stroll.” It was not anything extravagant. Just a simple set up with a table for two, much more quaint and humble compared to previous celebrations. But in truth, he welcomed it.

Because at the end of the day, all he asks for is to have them by his side.

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Cyrus Roth Species: Spellcaster Occupation: Necromancer for Hire Age: 40 Years Old Played By: Amber Face Claim: Joseph Morgan

"Death changes everything, unless you're a friend."

TW: Suicide, sibling death, torture

As a child, he could not wait to become a member of his family’s coven. He had tried spells, but mostly they were muddled repetitions of things they had heard their mother and father say. The kind that made the house servants cry their ugly fat tears over in pain. But they didn’t work. One day his father handed him a book. It was so heavy that he could barely open the front cover. There were drawings and strange rituals. Dark magic weren’t pentagrams and inverted crosses, that’s human stupidity. The only cockerel you’ll ever need to see is cooked and on your plate. It’s power. Cyrus felt a little secret thrill at the word, and turned the page as reverently as if it would collapse into dust with rough handling. Later that night, he’d walked into his twin sister’s room and tried to describe the things he’d seen. He told her gruesome horror stories, edited by his own limited memory and a young boy’s penchant for blood and guts. He would be later disappointed in his fervent imaginings about Victor’s life, but for now he was able to twist things the way he wished. 

His magic came to him a week after Celeste. Cyrus was nearly frantic by that time, sick with the fear that maybe he would never get it. It was stupid really, now that he thinks back on it, because Celeste also walked and talked first. He was just a late bloomer. She’d already performed a spell, and he was simply left behind, stewing in his own misfortune. He used to walk up and down the hallways, muttering every single spell he knew just praying that one would work. Mostly they were curses, since they were the only things he thought worth memorizing, which was probably most of his problem. Cyrus was always trying to perform spells beyond his ability, because learning theories and simple rituals was just boring compared to real magic. He had been called quick tempered and impulsive, maybe he was. He doesn’t have any patience, not with other people, not with his magical ability. And when he was bored, which happened often, he needed to find other ways to occupy himself. 

Being around other witches was lackluster. None of them could have told you which was the right way to summon a spirit even if you drew them a diagram. Magic meant about as much to them as it would to a dog. They couldn’t even begin to comprehend it. An idiot child can be taught to mouth the words, but they couldn’t ever understand the meaning. And trying to teach it would be like making a circus out of something hallowed. Their collection of dark spells grew with time, as did their familiarity with the curses, though for the most part they resisted the temptation to try them on anything human (which did not include the family’s servants, obviously.) They were curious and enthralled by their newfound powers, the same as children who like to levitate the dinner plates rather than simply lift them. It was in his early 20′s when he first heard about Necromancy. It hadn’t been a common topic of discussion in his home. There was something secretive about it, and though the hush was awed, his parents always acted as if the walls had sprouted ears whenever the topic was raised. It made him even more interested and it was not long before he had become obsessed with the idea of it. Playing God. Raising the dead. And then it happened. It was like a sign sent straight from God or - the devil himself. If he’d ever had a spiritual bone in his body he might’ve believed that. In the end, it was his ambition, his pride, which damned him. He had felt so secure in his secrecy, certain the mask he wore had the whole world fooled. But some people saw him for what he was, and were eager to get rid of him. 

The Rite Of Nines is one serious venture. There have only been a handful of witches in history who were able to complete and bathe in the power it provided. Elżbieta Wójcik was a personal hero and as a young boy he would read book after book about her and her story. How she completed the rites on her own and terrorized Europe throughout her nine lives, bringing it to its knees. The first sacrifice was easy. She cried up to the point where he slit her throat from ear to ear. He remembers that her blood looked black in the moonlight. And so there was no going back. Her death inspired another one and another one, and the more they sacrificed the closer they got to their goal. The power he felt once the ritual was completed was indescribable. Sadly, they were caught by their own coven and placed on trial. A luxury they received only because of who their father was. Every member of their coven had a horror story or two, and they were eager to render the appropriate punishment upon them. He was separated from Celeste and placed in a chamber for four days to be tortured. Then he was found guilty of performing sacrificial magic and sentenced to death. Little did they know that he would come back - and he did. 

Each time they came back, it felt like he was destroying his soul but he never cared for it. His sister however, couldn’t handle it. Sinking into a deep depression and finally making Cyrus promise her that he would not attempt to bring her back once her last life had run out. He didn't anticipate that she would take her own life but he kept his promise to her. Now, he is back for the ninth time, his last life - unless he does something about it. The first life without Celeste. However, he is not alone. He feels as though he brought something back with him this time, some kind of horror.

Character Facts:

Personality: Intelligent, perceptive, ambitious, ruthless, impatient, cunning, passionate, selfish, proud, vengeful

Cyrus comes from a long line of witches known for their use of dark magic. His father was the leader of a coven and he was meant to be the one to follow in his footsteps. However, he and his twin sister had other plans and were shun from the coven after they started to perform necromancy.

Cyrus has never been a good person, quite the contrary. He doesn’t see people as people but as tools, things he can use in order to get what he wants. Their lives have never been important. 

Had a twin sister named Celeste who committed suicide several years ago. 

He has no need for romantic or sexual connections of this nature and frankly it takes a lot for him to find someone interesting enough to even want to put any sort of effort. Not to say that he won’t feel attracted to people but he doesn’t see them as equals. He considers himself as greysexual/aromantic

Cyrus has lived many lives, always managing to come back to life thanks to his powers of necromancy. Each time he leaves something behind, a part of his soul. But he has never brought something back - until now that is.

[whoviancumberbunny]

What You Own ~ An Astarion Fluff Once Shot

Takes Place after this written by @demigoddessqueens

What You Own ~ An Astarion Fluff Once Shot

Started: Wednesday, September 27, 2023

Astarion owned by the Creators of Baldur’s Gate 3

Author’s note:  I only have basic knowledge of this character based on watching clips.

What You Own ~ An Astarion Fluff Once Shot Started: Wednesday, September 27, 2023 Astarion owned by the Creators of Baldur’s Gate 3 Author’s note:  I only have basic knowledge of this character based on watching clips. As he fed He had become aware that someone had been following them afterwards as they stood up, she looked at him and gave him hug. The figure that was hiding in the shdows stepped forward and Astarion immediately felt Annie tense up as a man with greying auburn hair and dead eyes looked them up and down “Of course my brother’s daughter would become a fang banger.” Annie glared at him, “how long have you been following me you asshole?”  she paused and gathered her thoughts "He may be a vampire but he never tried to kill me for merely existing." Annie says as she glares at Gabriel Collins her uncle and the man who mindlessly slaughtered all the people in their family. the man who caused the jagged scars on her neck they were faded....but still visible.

Astarion noticed Gabriel drawing a dagger, it was obvious his intentions were to finish what he had started ten years before. Astarion placed him between Annie and Gabriel as the man fueled by rage and greed lunged at Annie. Before Astarion could raise his hand to defend he felt a burning of course it would hardly harm him since he had been walking the world like a ghost. But he would know that this dagger was laced with poison. After nearly an hour of fighting this old man, Astarion was about to kill him and he looked at Annie “Gods Be Damned.” He muttered under his breath “You Mister Collins donlt deserve this. Because you never showed it to the people you should have held dear. I am showing you mercy.”  He leaned in so Annie wouldnlt hear his next words “But if I we cross paths when Anastasia isn’t there to witness you will be the newest denizen of the nine hells.”  After Gabriel limped away Astarion collapses to his knees. Annie knelt next to him “Thank you, Astarion. You didn’t need to protect me.” “I needed you to trust me. You can trust me.” He said as he caressed her cheek a a few days later they arrive in small down the most noticeable thing is a gothic mansion. “this whole town wreaks of death and despair.”

Annie looked at him “Now you know why I evade the questions when you ask about my past.” She looked at him “go into the woods and feed on few wolves I want you to help me bury my family. I doubt Gabriel did anything.” That night in Collins mausoleum “Put Galen in my vault I don’t intend to be buried here.” Astarion looked around the mausoleum “Daphne Rose Harridge Collins.  Josette DuPres Collins.” He looked at her “You were using the maiden names of women in your family as way to keep him from finding you.”

Annie looked at him “My 16th birthday was the day before he slaughtered them. You asked me about the silver bell I wear around my neck. It is a family Heirloom from my mother’s family. She gave it to me the day before she was killed.” In the previous ten years she had never allowed herself to mourn them. She had been blaming herself for soemthign that wasn’t truly her fault. He hesitated and placed his hand on her shoulder “Annie, this was never your fault. Something was broken inside Gabriel Collins.” Astarion wrapped his arms around her and let her cry into his chest.  She had been carrying this around for almost 11 years. As they left the mausoleum they swore they could hear Piano music. The sign that her family was finally at Peace Annie could move on. As they traveled back to Baldur’s Gate, Astarion looked at her “Gottverdammt.” He muttered  “If you don’t want to be lovers. We can be friends. I do love you, Annie.” [Note: gottverdammt is the German translation of god damn it.] Annie looked at him and gave him another hug “I have never had friends no one trusted the Collins family.” He gently took her hand in both of his. His touch was still warm from feeding on three wolves  “Thank you, Astarion.”  The way she said his name always sounded like music. Everyone else always sounded disappointed or frustrated when they said his name. “You are the first person to show me any sort of kindness without asking for anythign in return.” He said before they entered town after traveling for two days. This was the start of something new for them both. No telling where the path would lead but they would do it together. Wednesday, September 27, 2023