#to anyone wondering they gain their color when older

[child--ish]

yk, having an aquatic phase and being in the TWST fandom is very useful because ✨️Octavinelle✨️

Like did you know moray eels have a phase when they're just hatched when they are transparent?

It's called the larva stage!

and they look like this↓

Fascinating, right?

I mean imagine the twins like this!

[bats-and-the-birds]

I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

[phantomskeep]

The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 1

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 1 -  9 Out 10 Doctors Prescribe Child Rearing for Emotionally Constipated Families

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter Two Was he still wearing traffic light colors? No. Was Bruce going senile as he got older? Yes, and he was gathering evidence of it every day.

Dick wondered once again why they were having so many issues between them as he swung to the next rooftop, landing almost gracefully amongst the leftover rain on the asphalt. Stumbling on his feet was embarrassing nonetheless and he grumbled to himself as he kicked a pebble across the roof, watching as it hit an old AC unit with a hollow clang. Honestly, he came to Gotham to help Bruce out of the goodness of his heart while Tim is out of town and how does the man respond? By treating him like he's still a little Robin meant to dutifully take orders without question!

“Fucking old man, treating me like I'm a kid,” Dick muttered under his breath, not caring who heard him nearby, he was alone on the roof anyway.

“This ‘fucking old man’ can still hear you,” Batman’s deadpan voice came over the line. Dick froze on the spot, shoulders tightening as he heard the quiet undertones of anger. Oops, comms were still on and open to the shared channel… “Either mute your comms or keep those thoughts to yourself, Nightwing.”

Dick pondered for a minute, putting his hand on his chin like he was really thinking on the idea before he responded. “Nope, I'll pass,” he told Batman cheekily, smirking to himself. He was an adult now. While Bruce may have taken him in and taught him all he knew at Dick's lowest point, it doesn't mean the man gets to treat him like a child anytime he comes by home Gotham.

He was his own grown man. Nightwing had his own city to protect now–he was even a well-established member of the hero community in his own right! He didn’t need some emo flying furry telling him what to do anymore. Covering his eyes from the light drizzle that had picked up again, he observed the area below him, staying alert for any sort of disturbance that may pop up and ignoring Bruce’s displeased grunts. It wouldn’t be good if Dick were to miss a crime after their little “spat” earlier, as Aflred would call it. A screaming match was a more accurate description if you asked anyone else, and he was not willing to let it open him up to more criticism from the “World’s Greatest Detective” later on when they were back in the Cave.

Stiffly, the black and blue clad vigilante stalked to the edge of the darkened rooftop, trying his best to not clench his fists like some angsty teenager. What was he even hoping to gain, coming back here? The man stood, pondering as he gazed down at the busy streets of his childhood home. A pat on the head, like the good little dog he was acting like? Bruce calls, so he comes running? Dick scoffed at himself, turning his head sharply. He aimed his grapple, firing it at the corner of a nearby building. With the grace born from years of practice, Nightwing danced between towering structures as he continued his Batman-approved patrol route.

“Nightwing, behave yourself over comms or you will go back to the Cave for the night.” Dick grit his teeth, jaw clenched tight as Bruce tried to basically ground him. He shook his head, preparing to land on the next rooftop, but stopping just shy to grab onto a gargoyle sitting on the edge of a lower office building. Leaning against the cold surface, Dick felt the sharp points of the creature’s horns digging into his back help to ground him in the moment. 

“Batman, you do not have a say over my actions or whether I am benched anymore,” Dick told him, evenly spacing out his breaths as he tried to keep the rage at bay. He felt like there was a ball of heat in his chest he was desperately trying to cool as he methodically rubbed his gloved fingers over the stone ridges of the statue's ugly face. 

“Nightwing–” Bruce started to grunt, so Dick turned off his comms as a response and took in a deep breath of the familiar, smoggy Gotham air. This city may not have been where he was born, and he may not live here anymore, but the man found peace flying through her night sky. This would always be his home. As ugly and villain-infested as it may be… This shithole was his shithole.

Ever since Jason passed, Dick knew things needed to change so he could preserve this feeling and keep this dysfunctional family intact. Tim helped a lot in the beginning, when Dick was too bitter to do more than practically tell a thirteen-year-old to handle a drunkard on his own. But, he's trying to make up for it now by helping on patrol and making them all participate in family dinners twice a month. It wasn't much, and he could admit it wasn't really working since he'd noticed Tim wearing sound proof headphones more often than not when Dick and Bruce were together. It broke his heart that another little brother of his felt like he needed to prepare himself for an inevitable screaming match from his family members. 

Dick was trying, he really was. But Bruce just made everything so hard. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of multiple trash cans falling over each other nearby. His face twisted in confusion, eyebrows scrunching together as his head whipped around to find the source of the noise. Body becoming a tightly coiled spring of focused intent, he silently crept closer to where he heard the cacophony. The noise became apparent in the way of a metal lid rolling out of the alley below and into the street like a quarter, spinning and spinning for a moment before falling flat. Dick cautiously peered over the edge of the roof, eyebrow raised at what he could imagine he'd find. A goon passed out drunk? A working girl kicking the nuts of a deadbeat harassing her? An internet famous Gotham-patented radioactive raccoon?

What he certainly did not expect was an unruly mop of black hair peeking out above the trash cans, only visible against the dark of night in contrast to the silver metal they clung to with tiny baby hands. He watched in disbelief as this child (so tiny and cute, he had to admit) stumbled to their feet, swaying as little as they reached for the contents of the trash. Dick felt sick just looking at the spill, but he felt worse knowing the child was doing this out of desperation. Tapping on his lenses, they zoomed in on the kid and he saw how small they were and how scrawny they looked. Alfred would faint at the sight of how skinny this child was and Dick would be right there with the old butler.

Making a quick decision, Dick hastily hopped onto a pipe that clung to the building he stood on and quietly slid down it like a fireman's pole. He didn't want to scare the small child who, at closer inspection now that he was on the ground, looked similarly disgusted at their options before them. The kid was still swaying, the movement picking up in speed before they plopped onto the asphalt, groaning. 

Dick rushed forward, panicking, but his sudden burst of speed startled the child. The tiny twig of a human scrambled back, a weakened wheeze of panic bursting from their lungs as they held out a small hand to ward off the vigilante.

“Hey, hey now,” Dick soothed as he crouched down to make himself seem smaller. “It’s okay, you’re okay…I’m not gonna hurt you.” The practiced “soothe the victim” voice was easy to fall into as domino-covered eyes worryingly took in the shaking child. He wanted to reassure this kid as much as possible, but he knew that he couldn't promise them anything. Making a promise to a child was important, he learned young that if you couldn't keep that promise the child would see it as a loss of trust.

“S-stay back!” The kid’s squeaky voice tugged at Dick’s heartstrings with how much terror it held. “Yo-you can’t t-take me!”

Dick slowly lowered himself to fully sit down on the filthy, trash-covered alley. He grimaced at the smell (was that sludge on his glove?) and he crossed his legs, letting his arms hang disarmingly on his knees. Keeping his body language loose and unassuming, Dick smiled goofily at the other. “My name’s Nightwing, I’m one of the heroes here in Gotham tonight. You’re safe now, no one’s going to take you while I'm here.”

Icy blue eyes peered out from behind a dirt-stained hand, reminding Dick of a different time, a different alley-found kid who was taken too soon. By Batman's stinky cowl would he let another one be lost to the horrors of this city as well. When the kid spoke, their voice was full of doubt. “How can I trust you? For all I know you could be some weirdo looking to kidnap me!”

A surprised laugh burst from Dick before he could contain himself, causing the filthy child to flinch away with a startled squeak. He sobered up quickly at that reaction however, leaning away from the kid to give the illusion Dick was no longer directly in their space, but still close enough to keep an eye on them. He's met children like this before, wary of adults or the world around them in general, only relying on themselves at an age where they can't do enough to keep their heads above water. Blinking rapidly at the thought to hold back his tears, Dick remembered when Jason first came to the manor. Even as distant as he was with his brother at the time, he saw how the pre-teen acted out of self preservation even months into Alfred's mother-henning.

This kid had the same fear written in the lines on his young face, as well as the same steel of determination in his eyes. Dick respected it, but he still was worried about this child who looked like they hadn't eaten a proper meal or slept in a bed in months. 

“I might be a weirdo to some people for sure,” Dick agreed casually. The kid blinked in surprise and he grinned a little in triumph, quickly smothering it with a serious expression. Exaggerating his actions, Dick twisted his head this way and that around the alley as though checking for anyone listening in, before he leaned a little bit forward with his hand blocking his mouth. The child shuffled forward a few inches, alternating between staring him down and checking the alley themselves with wide eyes. Dick resisted the urge to laugh again, focusing on trying to ease the kid into believing that he was safe.

“Between you and me? My friends think I'm a super big weirdo for putting peach jam in my pb & j's,” he told the kid, nodding his head sagely. All he got was a deadpan look in response, all of the sudden interest he got was lost from the kid before him.

“So you're not just a weirdo, but also super lame with no taste buds?” 

Wow, okay, so Dick was a little offended… or maybe he was impressed? The kid gave him a look that was reminiscent of Alfred or Jason when he tried to argue he could help in the kitchen. The “are you seriously this stupid to defend yourself like that” look. 

Yeah, maybe a little more offended than anything. Didn't mean the kid wasn't cute while doing it. 

Quick thinking made Dick grab at his uniform with striped fingers, gripping the fabric around his heart. “Ouch!” He wailed dramatically, flopping his legs forward as he used his toned core muscles to lean backwards, careful to not let more of the filthy alley touch him. “Ah! Truly a strong opponent, I cannot win!”

Quiet giggles echoed around the alley, causing Dick to grin in triumph. He titled his head to the side a bit to better see the small child. Their face was scrunched up in mirth, both hands covering their mouth in an attempt to better muffle the joyful sounds trying to escape. Encouraged by this, Dick resolved to continue to give the best performance of his life.

“I will simply never recover,” Dick moaned, making his body twitch dramatically. “This is how I die…the great Nightwing, struck down in a battle of wits by a toddler!” He gasped, reaching one hand up to the sky as he gave his big finale. “I can…see the light! It’s calling me…must…go…” He murmured quietly before giving a final spasm with an extremely convincing “blegh”, letting his arm drop to his chest and sticking his tongue out of his mouth.

As the giggles continued, they got closer. Peaking an eye open just a bit, Dick could see the kid toddling closer to the felled hero. “You’re silly,” they said, poking at Dick’s cheek hesitantly. “That’s not what death looks like.”

Dick could feel his heart shatter. This kid, no more than, what? Maybe four or five years old? This poor, tiny child was trying to correct Dick on what dying looked like. It made Bludhaven’s protector want to just scoop them up and wrap them up in a giant, fluffy blanket and protect them from the world.

“It’s a good thing I’m not actually dead then, huh?” Dick said with a grin, trying so hard to not let what he was feeling filter through. Bright smile for the tiny concerning child, bright smile.

The child cocked their head to the side like a curious puppy. “Well, duh,” the little thing scoffed, relaxing a bit at the horizontal hero. “I'd know it if you were actually dead.”

*****************

He really needed to get some meat on this kid’s bones, like immediately. Dick felt like he was carrying a small bag of potatoes while he grappled through the streets of downtown Gotham towards Wayne Enterprises to meet B for their patrol check in. Maybe if he showed the kid to Alfred, he could just keep him safe at the manor and he wouldn't worry about the tiny thing in his arms being so tiny anymore.

“Where are we going?” A squeaky voice shouted in his left ear. Was there a ringing bell nearby? 

Dick smirked, glancing quickly at the child before shooting his gun at the side of Wayne Enterprises, clicking the side button and rocketing them up the side of the skyscraper. He heard a soft gasp over the rush of wind before his world was filled with small, uncontrollable giggles and Dick tightened his hold.

“We gotta meet up with someone, little one!” He cheerfully shouted back as the duo landed at the top of the tower. With his feet squarely against solid concrete, Dick set the child down to face away from the large drop off the side of the building. He was worried the kid would either get scared, or want to try jumping off and he wasn't sure which was worse right now. A quick glance around told Dick that Bruce was still doing his own patrol. “Just stay away from the edge, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the little sass monster said as they shakily walked towards the center of the helipad. “I’m not dumb.”

“Uh huh,” Dick sassed back as he hovered over the kid. “You wanna tell me your name yet?”

Cold eyes narrowed as the child looked up at Dick. “No, you’re still a weirdo.”

Yikes, Dick thought. Whoever this kid's parents were deserved an award for raising such a menace to society. “Okay, okay,” he said airly. “I’ll figure it out one day, just you watch.”

“Oh, so now you’re a stalker, too?” The kid said as they flopped onto the concrete flooring. “Maybe I should’ve run away. Stranger danger and all that nonsense.” They flapped an itty-bitty hand dismissively.

“I thought we established that I wasn’t a stranger already?” Dick wasn’t pouting. He was an adult, and adults don’t pout at children winning in a battle of sass.

“No, we just established that you don’t know what it looks like when people die. Do you even pay attention to anything?”

Dick rolled his eyes, sauntering over to nudge his foot against the kid's thigh. “I paid enough attention to notice that you're good at avoiding questions. Why is that?”

“Nunya,” they told him. Dick felt the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. No, he would not act like Bruce.

“Nope, I'm not playing that one,” Dick told the kid, who pouted that they couldn't finish the joke. “Come on, I can't keep calling you ‘kid’ or ‘that tiny child lighter than a grape’ now can I?”

They squinted at Dick, crossing their arms awkwardly since they seemed to refuse moving from their starfish position on the ground. “Rude. You talk to every kid you meet like that?”

Dick smirked, “Just the ones who think they’re tall enough to talk back? Where do you reach on me again?” Dick mimed checking the kid's height against himself and stopped with it below his knees. Was it petty to make fun of the small child’s height? Yes, but he didn’t care. “Oh right, sorry but you're not tall enough to verbally attack this adult.”

“Whatever,” they muttered, turning away from Dick. But he noticed the kid kept him within their peripheral vision, just enough of an angle to pretend they couldn't see Dick even if his every movement was being tracked by blue eyes. It was just like how Jason acted, back when he was first introduced to life in the manor. Luckily, that meant that Dick had more than enough experience with snotty scared children to make sure this one kept feeling safe around him.

“So,” Dick said after a few moments of silence. “Like I said earlier, we’re gonna be meeting up with someone. But what I didn't mention was that it's Batman.”

“What kind of name is that?” The kid said, their spunk seemingly reviving itself in the few minutes where they didn’t speak. “Who wakes up one morning and decides to name their kid things like Nightwing and Batman?”

Dick spluttered. “It’s a superhero name, kid. It’s meant to not be normal.”

“You should’ve been named Jeff. Now Jeff is a good name.”

Dick paused, scrunched his nose a little in confusion before responding. “So, do you want me to call you Jeff since you like it so much?”

The kid scoffed, not fully paying attention and obviously still insulting him mentally. “Pffsh, no, call me Danny because my name isn't Jeff, stupid.”

Dick smiled like the cat who ate the canary. “Well, well, Danny is such a nice name,” he told Danny. Dick was enjoying the expression on his face when he realized that he messed up, the horror seeping into his features and a devastated tilt to his lips as he turned to Dick. “Thank you for telling me, now is Danny short for anything?”

Danny pouted and it was so cute Dick wanted to coo and squish his little cheeks. “No, just Danny, you weirdo.”

“No last name?” Dick prodded, poking at Danny’s thigh.

“You’re subtle.”

“And you’re going to answer!” Dick cheerfully said, walking around to stand at the front of the black-haired boy.

“You can’t make me do anything,” Danny glared up at Dick, arms still crossed. “You’re not my dad.”

Dick wasn't sure why that comment stung unlike the others, but he moved past it. He scoffed obnoxiously and mimicked Danny's pose, jutting his hip out in a move of pure sass. “Well I may not be but–”

“Nightwing.”

Dick froze with whatever bullshit he'd pull out of his ass dying on his lips. He saw Danny raise a questioning eyebrow at the scene, clearly interested in the drama, but Dick didn't focus on it. Instead, like always, he responded to Batman's voice. It didn't matter he wasn't Robin anymore and someone else held the title, it didn't matter he was all grown up and had his own name now. When Batman called, a Robin always whistled back, standing at attention like the “good little soldiers” they were. 

Sighing, he turned around and put his hands behind his back, feet spread apart as he nodded at Batman. Because this wasn't his father figure, the man who raised him despite the emotional intelligence of an ant. This was Batman, who didn't take disappointment or inadequacy from his sidekicks. No matter what happens, we'll always be little soldiers reporting for duty, won't we?

“Batman, no unusual activity for the night. There were the two robberies I reported on patrol, as well as stopping a street girl from being taken into an alley and shot. Oracle has the recordings from my suit already uploaded for review.” Simple, to the point, just the way Bruce liked it. All done.

“Hrn.” 

What? What did he forget?

“Hey! Why do you go around with your underwear outside your pants like that?” Danny interrupted.

Oh…right, he forgot about Danny for a minute there.

The silence across the rooftop was louder than any words shouted into the night sky could be. Dick tensed as he shifted, covering more of Danny from Batman's view as he watched the man's cowl wrinkle up. Internally he winced, wishing he had honestly thought this out better but at the time, he had only been focused on gaining Danny's trust. Once he had it, something in him wouldn't let the kid go and, frankly, he didn't want to. But in hindsight, this was definitely not one of his best ideas. He snorted lightly, thinking Jason would have made fun of him for being an idiot right now–like the time he tried to catch a runaway ice cream cart and slipped into a pile of cold sugar that spilled on the ground instead.

“Why do you have a civilian child here, Nightwing?” Batman practically growled, causing Dick to frown and tense his shoulders in a defensive response. He knew the man had been having problems since Jason's death. Tim had been trying his best to help Bruce out of a dark place, but sometimes he seemed to fall back into those old, angrier patterns on them. It was not appreciated, but he knew it took time to work through grief. It was small mercies the man wasn't sending people to the hospital or himself into an early grave on the daily anymore.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, during my patrol I noticed a disturbance in an alley and–”

“He met me! So, why are you looking at Nightwing like he's a bad guy, Batman? Aren't you two friends?” Danny popped up at his side all of a sudden. Dick startled, quickly shooting a glance at where the boy had been five feet away and he wondered at how he didn't hear so much as a squeak until Danny spoke. “You shouldn't be mean to your friends,” he nodded sagely at his own words and Dick held in a snort of amusement. “That's what she always used to tell me.”

Dick paused. Danny hadn't mentioned anyone he knew before now. Ignoring Batman's glowering, he tilted his head down to catch Danny's eyes. But the kid was gazing past them both, the bright blue dulling in the throes of some kind of possible memory. Telegraphing his movements slowly, Dick lightly touched the tips of his fingers to Danny's shoulder and whispered his name. “Danny? You okay in there, bud?”

It took a moment for the kid to shake his head like an old, wet dog, blinking slowly and gazing back at Dick. He nodded, glancing down at his tiny hands as though they held all of the answers to the universe’ most difficult questions. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

“You spaced out there a little bit,” Dick carefully told him. He watched Danny’s eyebrow’s furrow and mentally debated pushing. He was curious if the child would open up to him a little despite the hulking bat furry standing behind him like a living shadow. Cautiously, he held his hand a little more firmly on Danny’s shoulder and asked him what he was wondering. “Danny, who is this ‘she’ you mentioned?”

“Uhh…” Danny stalled, titling his head and giving an awkward smile that was barely more than a tick of the lips and didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know?”

“Alright, kiddo.” Dick murmured, a bit disheartened hearing the response, but doing his best to not show it. He gave a sharp nod and turned his head to look at his mentor. “But, yeah, B he’s right. Shouldn’t you be nicer to me?”

“You’re endangering a child, Nightwing.” Batman growled, disapproval practically flowing off the man. It took years upon years for Dick to understand the different levels of Bruce’s inflections and what they meant, like learning a whole new language. But now? It was clear as day to him looking at the man. The big, bad bat was pissed and disappointed at his oldest protege’s actions. Dick tried to not let it hurt him (and show on his face) as much as it did.

But he also felt a flare of anger swell up in his chest. Indignant, Dick stepped forward, close enough to block Danny completely from Batman's sight and get in the Dark Knight’s face. “You want to talk about endangering children, B? You would know all about that, wouldn't you? Picking us up off the streets like party favors.” 

Dick shook his head, a scoff falling from his lips as his hands vibrated with the anger now burning his veins at the hypocrisy of the moment. A quick tug to his leg made him stumble though, and he almost fell when Danny barged past him. A cry on the tip of his tongue, Dick watched as the little tyke stomped over to Batman and crossed his tiny arms. 

“Hey! He may be a total weirdo, but Nightwing is really nice and he's been taking good care of me!” Danny pointed a finger at Batman and Dick realized with dawning horror and amusement that this child was lecturing B, for him. He felt his heart beat as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “So you stop bullying him right now!”

“Kid,” B started gruffly, reaching a hand to grab him, probably. But Danny smacked his gloved hand away and took a shaky step back. He stumbled over his feet closer to where a stunned Dick stood, gaping at the scene before him. 

“NO! I DON'T WANT YOU TO TOUCH ME, I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY! HE'S NOT NICE!” Danny shouted at the top of his lungs, shaking arms firmly clung to either side of him. His body faced Batman, but his head was turned to a spot just over the man's shoulder. The kid started swaying side to side again, and Dick knew that tears were welling in Danny’s eyes even if he couldn’t see the boy’s face.

Dick scrambled forward, recognizing the signs from earlier. The vigilante caught the child in his arms and pulled out his grapple gun. “We will discuss this more later, at the Cave. But right now Danny is upset, so I'm going to take him to Agent A. For the rest of the night, you're on your own.”

He whispered comforting nonsense to the shaking, brooding child in his arms as he walked away and didn't look back. Not even when Danny heavily propped his chin on Dick's shoulder to keep an eye on Batman as they left. “What was all that about Danny? Who were you yelling at?”

Dick was sure Danny wasn’t talking to Bruce at that time, his head had been tilted too far to the left and he spoke as though he were talking about Bruce to someone else. But no one had been there. It made him a little concerned he might have something in his system and resolved to have Alfred examine him after they got some real food into Danny. 

Danny cut him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, not bothering to move his head’s position and smirked maliciously. If he didn't think everything about this kid was adorable, he'd probably be unnerved at the expression, paired with little baby fangs poking past his lips he hadn’t noticed earlier. Danny replied to him, but in a loud enough voice so that it would carry across the roof to where they left Bruce, no doubt standing guard as he watched them leave.

“I was talking to the ghosts that follow him, duh.”

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

Finally! My DoL PCs and their LIs

My friends asked me if I wanted to join the School AU with their OCs and I thought for the longest time before bringing Lya to the party. Then I kinda just felt like it and drew the whole gang :D They came out beautifully so more information and separated images undercut!

The First one is of course Lya the Blossom

Main PC

Harpy transforms, Mate for Life.

Wears all white if she can.

Very light in weight, makes her defiant attempts usually ineffective.

Went through a lot to make things easier for her loved ones.

Skilled in segg but doesn't really enjoy it anymore at this point if it's not with her loved one. What she seeks in segg with her lover is intimacy and the feeling of security.

Secretly a meanie. Gets jealous easily and envious of almost anyone, but doesn't show it or act on it often.

Despises the Temple to her core but believes Jordan is a genuinely good person. Wanted to fuck him just because.

Protective toward her lover and the children at the Orphanage.

Very insecure about her financial state. She tried to make money anytime she could.

CONSENT YOU MOTHERFU-

Can't cook. Literally. Keep her away from the kitchen.

Male Robin the Lover~ (Sorry I love this title)

The one and only.

Maybe he's trying his best, maybe he's hiding from something so terrible, who knows.

Love the purple color.

Easily scared and would cry out loud if Lya was there to reassure him and demand a lot of hugs, head pats, and kisses afterward.

Clingy as hell, but luckily he's cute just enough to let it pass.

Hell lots of freckles, everywhere all over his body even though he mostly stays at home or in the shades. Sensitive skin then.

Squishy belly.

Occasionally cross-dress when going on a date with Lya but keeps it as a hobby only.

Love to do makeup for Lya and skin care together.

Grow in height a LOT since the game started and wondering why Lya still stays the same, not that he complains about her growth of boobs and ass.

Lyah the Emancipated

The second PC, made with a lot of feast boots, almost all of the Vrel coins Lya earned.

Wears all black if he can.

Demonic Harpy Chimera Transforms.

Waiting for Robin's preg contents.

2m14. Larger body type, 6/6 physic, S athletic, Vengeful Sadist. Basically all offensive.

Fucking huge manboobs produce fucking lots of milk

Almost always wears a buttplug

The only one taller than him is Jordan.

"Blood moon? Fuck Ivory Wraith I'm out."

Still works at Strip Club, mostly because he loves wearing bunny suits and he wants to look out for Darryl.

Chef. Let him cook.

Housekeeping skill F-. Drops and crashes everything every time trying to clean or deco his room.

Doesn't know how to smile but will unconsciously do so when he's near Robin.

Doesn't understand why he's still sometimes mistaken as female.

Fem Robin the Lover~

So cute and squishy.

People unconsciously smile when she smiles.

"Too precious must protect."

Her weight is top secret.

Knows it all too well that Lyah intentionally feeds her more sweet treats and creamy drinks every day during every school break but can't resist the temptation of sweets.

Accepts gaining weight during the leisurely times, but has to lose it a bit before school starts again so she can fit into the school's uniforms.

Pretty proud that her lover is a chef at the biggest Cafe in town.

Slightly less freckle than male Robin. Just slightly.

Wardrobe full of checkered pattern clothes.

Of course she can cook well.

Perfect housewife material.

Timid when using strap-on but usually gets absorbed in the moment too much she forgor to pull the buttplug out before diving her strap in.

Lyah is not complaining though so it's all good.

Last but not least Kariya the Alter Ego!

"Well somebody has to go to prison and asylum and... hmmm"

Devil transforms

Full name Sesshouin Kariya. Kariya means "Midnight' Swallow"

Not a new save file but one of Lya's older saves. Hence the Alter Ego title.

Was born cuz I was bored and wanted to go to places Lya and Lyah can't go because they're worried about their lover being left alone.

They don't set a love interest because of that, so they can't get attached and can freely roam everywhere.

Enjoy segg as it is, purely seeking more pleasure day by day.

Drooling Masochist. Prefer group.

Get bored easily but are also quick to forget, so after a while that very same thing may pique their interest again.

Zones out a lot. Absent-minded. Sometimes clueless to things that are not segg-related.

"Ahhhh Nii-chan, nee-chan, help me it's 23:55 already and I forgor to cum inside somebody today waaaaaaaa-!!"

Intentionally dress more feminine because they love showing off.

The color palette is reversed from Lya's.

" I wonder if it's blood moon soon..."

[maddascanbe-blog]

Ladies and Gentlemen. I give you Little Vesperia. She's a powerful punch in a petite package! I posted her design in sketches ages ago but I was SO jazzed to finally do it digital. And I finally could do Teen Zoé and Vesperia.

Buckle up folks this is a long one.

I won't go into too much detail on Teen Zoé's fit, since I already talked about it in here. But Vesperia is where things get more interesting.

Little Vesperia obviously takes more inspiration from Queen Bee since in my rewrite Zoé idolizes Chloé so much. Zoé's father couldn't really be bothered to care about Zoé, she's been at every boarding school and summer camp he could afford while still keeping most of the money Audrey sends him. She rarely sees him, and when they are stuck together he wants her out of sight and out of mind.

Then Zoé is uprooted entirely when Audrey's infidelity is exposed. To save face she gets brought to Paris, to play at being one big happy family. She may be young, but she's wise enough to know this is just another person using her for their gain. She did face bullying at her schools, and a whole lot of nothing done about it from the teachers.

She also does not speak french. Which means that a good 70% of people have no idea how to communicate with her. And Audrey was no help. Zoé vas given so little information she didn't even KNOW she had an older sister when the was taken to France. Chloé was a complete blindside to her.

And she especially doesn't expect this intimidating teenager to kneel down to her level, and in perfect english explain that it's okay to be scared and she'll make sure Zoé won't be stuck wondering what's gonna happen next.

They spend the rest of the day learning where everyone is, and what certain things are called in french so that Zoé has a better way to communicate. They also sit down and order decorations for Zoé's room.

Zoé fully anticipated André to ignore her, but he is kind like he is in cannon. Just very busy so can only get in small conversations with her. Still, he's shown her more care than her own father had in the 9 years she's been alive. Since he'll ask her about her day, anything she may need, how school has been, etc. He also manages to get a free day to show her all the cool things in the hotel that most people don't know are there. He tries to have dinner with Chloé and Zoé as often as possible and they eat lunch together at the hotel at least once a week.

Now to Teen Zoé. I'll probably write this down in a separate post but my Idea for her is because of the limits I put on the rabbit miraculous Bunnix is no longer able to fight Timetagger, but she IS able to bring someone from that point in time to help instead. And since bringing anyone that could be recognized could potentially cause a paradox, the best solution is to bring in someone who they haven't met yet.

Design wise I like Vesperia's cannon design but it does look more like a wasp than a bee. I based her top on these biker jackets that had segments on the sides and just made the segments alternate black and yellow. I originally planned to keep the black top and yellow bottoms, but it just didn't look the way I wanted it too. I think making the jacket yellow makes it look much more like a bee. Also black mask because I like how those look better.

I think Little Vesperia looks good too, different enough from Queen Bee while still looking like she took inspiration, my favorite part was making it look like she had striped socks. While Teen Zoé looks like a logical progression while also dipping into badass as opposed to cute. Also her pupils turn gold to further differentiate her from Queen Bee.

(Bonus- Verpseria with colors closer to her originals)

[pinkorchidsinspring]

“It’s like they don’t actually listen to her or her songs” ……. Bitches be trippin

Here is some lyrics from HER songs off the top of my head btw…

SHADE NEVER MADE ANYBODY LESS GAY

Sit quiet by my side in the shade. And not the kind that’s thrown, i mean the kind under where a tree has grown ( no one asked for this clarification btw and as in her publicist tree Paine covers up-shades any rumors of being gay?)

Your finger on my hairpin trigger

too in love to think straight

Your braids like a pattern. Love you to the moon and to Saturn.

Everybody’s watching her but she’s looking at you

The lips I used to call home, so scarlet

it’s new the shape of your body

Wear you like a necklace

No one knows how much I miss you

bet i can still melt your world argumentative, antithetical, dream girl

then you won’t have to cry, or hide in the closet

you can want who you want, boys & boys and girls & girls!

why are you mad? when you could be GLAAD?” (it’s literally spelled GLAAD in the lyrics on spotify I can’t make this up)

we're a crooked love, in a straight line down

save your dirtiest joke for me and at every table, I save you a seat… I’m sorry, but she wants a man sitting on her? 😐🙄

I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you

big reputation, ooh you and me would be a big conversation

All we are is skin and bone, trained to get along Always going with the flow, but you're friction

The rest of the world was in black & white (straight, see straight pride flag), but we were in screaming color (queer, LGBTQ+ pride flag)

What’s it like to brag about raking in dollars and getting bitches and models?

Like a rainbow with all of the colors you’ll never find another like me!

It’s okay we’re the best of friends……aaanyway

I want to transport you to somewhere the culture’s clever, confess my truth In swooping, sloping, cursive letters

don’t you worry your pretty little mind

I got a boyfriend, he’s older than us. I haven’t seen him in a couple of months. (Bearding much?)

Your lover in the foyer doesn’t even know you.

Bad bad boy shiny toy with a price you know that I bought it

don’t step on OUR gowns

If you never touched me, I would've Gone along with the righteous If I never blushed, then they could've Never whispered about this And if you never saved me from boredom I could've gone on as I was But, Lord, you made me feel important And then you tried to erase us

What would you do if they never found us out

You showed me colours you know I can’t see with anyone else

Seems like there’s always someone who disapproves, they’ll judge it like they know about me and you

The entirety of lavender haze

🫥 come at us swifties.

Why in the world would they agree to the stunt… I wonder when they gain absolutely nothing from the attention put on people whose names are attached to a WORLD renowned superstar…….. 🤑🤑🤑

[mamashenanigans]

Soooo

I haven’t really seen anyone talk about this before, so here I go again…

What do yall think All for One was thinking when he awoke from being revived by Garaki after his fateful battle with All Might?

When he gained consciousness, he would have realized he no longer had eyes or a nose; choking from the tracheotomy tube, feeling the immeasurable pain regardless of how much medication his doctor was feeding him.

After awaking from death, would he have called out to Yoichi? The only person that matters to him in any shape or form? Garaki immensely confused at the yelling of “first gift”?

Here’s what was supposed to be a drabble, but ended up being 1400 words. Enjoy.

———

Darkness.

Pitch black, all encompassing.

One minute there was nothing and now…

Still nothing, but he was aware.

Aware of how stifling it was. Specks of memories brought back flickering images of alleyways and the hunts at dusk. He was never alone then.

He was alone now.

Was he walking? He wasn’t sure. Too hard to know if he was moving or stagnant in this void.

Then he heard it.

First, barely audible, almost like a hum. But the sound increased steadily until he realized exactly where he had heard such a melody before.

Yoichi.

It was his giggles from so long ago. A short blip in time during their youth when his little brother could still find magic and awe all around their bleak existence. Sometimes it was a colorful butterfly that had fluttered into their alleyway, finding the pile of various flowers his small twin would pick when they dared to venture closer to the woods outside the dilapidated city.

He never had time to stop and enjoy the scenery as his brother did. His eyes were always in motion, checking for danger around every corner, wondering if one of the mean men in uniforms would come for them because they were different.

Yoichi knew this too, but it didn’t seem to bother him as much as it did his brother. He would happily present his scavenged flowers to his older twin and ask which one he liked. None ever caught his eye. There weren’t many flowers in his favorite color: green.

Like Yoichi’s eyes.

”Yoichi?” He whispered into the dark.

No acknowledgement. Only continued giggles.

“Yoichi! Where are you?! Why aren’t you answering me? I demand you answer me now!” He yelled now. Somehow, there was an echo. It bounced around, joining the mirthful laughter.

There.

Almost imperceptible and far from where he was standing, if he even was at all, there was a green flicker dancing in the distance.

He suddenly felt the hard, dank pavement under his bare feet as he ran. He outstretched his hand towards the light. The only light. The only thing in this terrible place.

Always the only thing in any terrible place.

”Yoichi!”

He almost faltered at the sound of his voice. Immature and frightened. That’s when he noticed his hand, no longer large and calloused, but the size of a small child’s.

As he got closer, the light coalesced into the shape of his precious gift. His Yoichi. He was small (he’s always been small compared to him) and it became clearer as he gained ground that Yoichi was young too. The age when he would bring a bouquet to his brother, those large, green eyes looking up at him without fear or disgust.

“Yoichi! Come here!” He was screaming now. If it wasn’t for the oppressive blackness around him, he would have scoffed at his pitch, but Yoichi was the only light here.

Soon, he was almost on top of his brother, able to make out that Yoichi was facing away, his back turned towards him, but the sweet sound of his innocent laughter continued.

“Look at me! I demand you look at me! Turn around! LOOK AT ME!”

He was almost there. He would grab Yoichi and turn him if he had to! His little brother was his!

(God, how he missed him.)

Then it happened. His little brother’s head moved to look behind him, his hair swishing with the motion, just barely blocking his eyes—

“Yoichi!”

Pain.

Unbelievable pain.

A cacophony of beeps and alarms sounded all around him. Hard plastic dug into the skin around his mouth. He went to open his eyes, but there was nothing, not even the feel of his eyelids trying to make the motion. Then he tried to breathe through his nose, but no air flowed into his nostrils.

The sound of his choking joined the unceasing onslaught of what he realized was medical machinery. There was something jutting into his neck, he could feel that much, and his body was trying to adjust to whatever was providing him oxygen.

Pin pricks on his arms indicated IV lines, but he didn’t care. He attempted to lift his hands to check what had changed with his head, but found that his wrists were tied to metal.

As embarrassing as it was for a man like him, the Symbol of Fear, he felt his own terror start to overtake him. A knee jerk reaction from the primitive part of his brain desperate to escape.

“My lord! Please, calm down. It is I, Dr. Garaki! I need you to calm down!”

Garaki. His personal doctor and most loyal of his subordinates.

He tried to answer, but choked once more, his voice caught in a confusion brought on by whatever was anchored to his neck. A tracheotomy. That had to be it.

“Don’t over exert yourself, All for One! You have…have been brought back. I brought you back! Settle down and you will find it easier to talk. I apologize for the straps, my lord, but they were necessary for when you awoke, as I’m sure you can understand. Here. I’ll remove them now that you’re awake.”

The great All for One, reduced to a fidgeting mess. In pain and unable to even open his eyes.

“Wha…what is…going on?” He barely got out.

“Your fight with All Might, sir. You did give him quite the blow, but he…hit your head with one of his signature ‘smashes’. You…died. But it was I that brought you back to the living! I used every last resource, my knowledge, and the technology I’ve produced to rebuild your head! As you’ve stated, the Demon Lord is forever and I made that a reality!”

Perhaps his doctor was expecting a heartfelt thank you. Maybe even more questions. Did he still have eyes? A nose? How bad was it really?

Instead, he…

”Yoichi?”

”Um, sir?”

”Where…where is…”

He lifted his hand, stretching his arm out in front of him, reaching…

”Yoichi. He was…there.”

”I, uh, sir? A first gift? I’m sorry. I don’t understand…” Garaki’s confusion was palpable and he knew his own words were irrational. There was no way…his mind. Lord, the headache he was now acutely aware of. Memories danced around him, voices and smells, he couldn’t think straight!

”Bring me his hand. My bedroom. Nightstand. Next to…”

”Hand? Sir?” Garaki had to know what he was talking about. There definitely were a few instances when the doctor had walked into his office, the hand held dearly near his lord’s face as he traced the creases and felt the fingerprints with his finger. Sometimes, he would open his little brother’s hand enough that he could place it on his face, pretending that Yoichi was actually there, touching him.

Loving him.

Like he did when they were little. When his twin still looked at him with that sparkle in his eyes. That sparkle had dimmed then finally extinguished after he killed The Glowing Baby.

“Wait. Yes, I recall you mentioning something about a hand years ago! It was after All Might found your base in Kanto. You were quite irate. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so angry before.”

The base. Running. His beloved coat. Lost. In its pocket…

“Yoichi,” he whispered now. He dropped his arm back down to the bed and his thoughts finally connected like a thousand piece puzzle finally done.

All Might.

His plan.

The vessel scheme had been put in motion 15 years ago when he had located Nana’s discarded son. A plan he had been concocting at least a decade before Tenko Shimura’s birth, but the choice in who would be his new body cemented after All Might caused him to lose the only physical thing that remained of his twin.

The hand had been an anchor. A tangible piece of Yoichi that reminded him why he continued his obsession with One for All. When he held it with reverence, he could clearly see his little brother’s face in his mind’s eye. He always worried about forgetting it.

Once he had lost that hand, his memories started to deteriorate. The most important visage started to blur, like someone had smeared the freshly brushed paint of a priceless portrait.

If Yoichi had turned towards him, in that dark place, would…

Would he have seen his face?

Or would it have been only his eyes? Those green eyes.

Or…would he have disappeared? That light that illuminated the darkness, his first gift. Snuffed out. Destroyed.

Just like the hand.

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

If you want another request, how about something with Four? I feel like he is an undertapped Link in the LU x reader fic verse. I also think he fits in well with a bunch of different story types. He has the skills to live a peaceful life at home with a partner, he has the Colors, he also can be small (or a Minish depending on whether you believe his is small or transforms into a Minish), & shadow…. I am not picky whatsoever , but if you are willing, could you do some Four x reader?

Order up!

*ahem* I AM MOST DEFINITELY WILLING. GIVEGIVEGIVEGIVE- I agree with you. This man needs more love. Formatting a little differently this time, let me know what y’all think!

(thanks again to @litrllyvoid for proofreadin’)

Hope you enjoy~

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Long he had lived a simple life. Even with the dramatic disruptions of the world, he could tell it wasn’t a life cut out for him. That grandeur had called to him, and when he responded, there was only judgement in turn. Since he was little, Link had found peace with the small world within his village. Running through uneven grassy hills and causing havoc, hand in hand with you. His arms and legs bruised, but with a full heart and genuine grin. Though, the older he gets, and the more the edges of his memory begin to fray, he wonders if that were truly the case. Perhaps it wasn’t that he was content with the world he was born into. It is on cold mornings such as this where the question burdened him most. Was it life that made him happy, or was it just you?

He burned the thought away, tugging at the fragile nerves that caressed his heart. He shrugged on some clothes with little regard for what he adorned himself with. It wasn’t as if there was anyone to impress— especially when he’d be working for the most of the day.

Each stair step creaked and groaned. His grandfather sat at the table, already eating breakfast. He plucked an apple on his way to sit, its waxy skin once a luxury that would’ve been shared. He no longer needed a knife to split the core in half. The juice tasted less sweet when there wasn’t sweet laughter accompanying it.

“Yikes, bad apple?” His grandfather laughed huskily in reaction to his dismay, crows feet and smile lines etched into his face. How was it that he could find happiness here where Link could not?

“Rough morning.”

“Ah. I see. Please… take a break if you need to” The old man clasped his hands, bony elbows rested on the table. It wasn’t hard to spot the concern in the deepset wrinkles of his grandfather’s face. Link found the strength to nod and move on for the moment.

The dull ache of his arms never faded as he worked. It was to be expected, forging something from an abstract nothing was not a task even the gods found simplistic. Monotonous, sure. There was a rhythm in each strike against the metal, a pattern to be found within the firings.

There was a finality like death in the quench of the blade.

The weight of his work and a life brought to an abrupt end.

And like a body, he decorated the corpse with wood, wrapping it in delicate cloth— a casket of its own.

Creation was not a task meant for mortals, he thinks. Though people often try to make it so, the hollow pain in his joints and sear of his muscles make it apparent. It strains him, though it is what fuels him. There is a sense of grief whenever he hands over a blade he slaved over— a mourning so powerful that no amount of rupees wish away.

It was in such a similar manner that he loved you. With such a sense of fullness and unconditionality, he did not stop to think of a world for which you were not in it. It is foolish of him to long for his childhood just because it was spent hand in hand with you. But he’d give anything to have colors be so bright again and for his smile to be so wide and genuine. It didn’t matter how bruised he’d be, so long as he gained those bruises running down riverbeds with you.

Now, he dressed up the body of those memories. Decorating you in his mind's eye with blue thistles, sprigs of rosemary, wild poppies and violets. Each aspect of him paying homage to their love of you. Of who he can only hope you continued to be.

The blade he held cracked when it was dipped into the water, split in twain. He looked at the jagged edge where the hilt was severed.

He could not find it within himself to remeld the pieces.

It would not be the same again.

He needed to move on.

He was close enough when adventuring with his brethren. There was enough fighting and adrenaline to keep his mind off his wounds. He let himself attach —maybe not in such a similar fashion as he did you— but in a way equally fulfilling.

What a fool he was.

How could he not notice the darkness creeping its way in? The abyss called for his return, sentencing him back to a cage he built. And so, he returned. Back to a life wherein he could reap no joy but couldn’t muster the strength to leave.

He wished he had his brothers. Time to help him forge a plan of escape from the mundane. Twilight to offer assistance in the smaller tasks— so he could manage life just a little bit easier. Sky to boss him into taking a break, even if it were just stretching. Legend to banter with as he worked, taking the weight off of the task. Wild to make use of the end product, to give the life of the blade meaning. Even just the careful eyes of Wind studying what he did. He missed how individual he felt, yet still holding his place among the set. He’d always have a home there, even if he was fundamentally different from his brethren.

He wished he still had a home with you.

You still had a home with him.

If only you’d return to him…

But life is not such a simple endeavour, and he doubts your parents would be content with you marrying some blacksmith, even if he held the title of hero. That was if you weren’t already forced to marry. That was if you still loved him.

He hopes whatever life you’ve been condemned to is happy.

Because if he is not there to protect you from the worst that fate has to offer, he can at least hope that there’s someone there who can.

Even though it isn’t him.

[readmyheartt]

Heart 1 - Belphegor 0.

belphie doesn't like love, he can't love. he's far too sleepy for it. he could swear that his heart doesn't waver around you, it doesn't bend his own logic just to be with you. no, it's just... uhm... begging to sleep. yeah... yeah... yeah....

♡. ) belphegor x reader (gender doesn't really matter)

‎‎‎‎belphegor is the youngest amongst his 7 brothers. constantly spoiled and adored, (though... not when he angers lucifer with one of his pranks... he doesn't get away with those).

for, what seems like, eons - he believed that was all the love he needed. he didn't need more, and definitely couldn't afford to lose more. he kept his heart closed, out of business, retired.

sure, he's had friends here and there - he's had dreams where he romanticizes what that special someone would look like. but no. it never goes further than that.

a blank, faceless, almost blurry figure, barely a person - barely an identity. that's as close to a lover he'll get.

it feels... almost fairytale like. he swore, he swore that he's never yearned for love and attention like the fifth born. he swore he'd never give anyone the sight of his loving and caring eyes just like how the fourth born would look like when he wanted to calm his anger with a stray cat.

he swore, he swore that his heart was definitely locked. that the key had ceased to exist. but yet... you never found that key. you made it.

love is impossible, no, he thought it was impossible for him. he's lost so much, he's guarded so much, he's been through so much and yet- and yet, you are an anomaly in his life.

just.. why do you cling onto him? why do you yearn for his attention? his approval? his validation?

just what is your game? he wonders. just what exactly do you want? he can't offer strength, he's the lowest amongst his brothers when it comes to power. and he's definitely not high in status, not when the future king of devildom is the ace amongst your card deck of relationships.

even when you saved him, you saved him from his own brother - what... what did you even gain?

he swore, he could've sworn that he'd never open his heart to someone - especially not to someone this stupid. but yet... you've shown him a shade of rose he never thought he could see.

contemplating for what seemed like the billionth time today, a mere sigh leaves his lips. he never found himself to think this much. but here he is. thinking about why his heart bends backwards, troubling him so much just to love you?- ... what? belphegor sits up straight, his rational side trying their hardest to cool down the burning passionate side of him - a side he thought had died so long ago.

"just... what did i... what did i mean?..." he mutters, so low and deeply - not even the wind had heard it. but then an annoying sound was heard, he heard it - that stupid.. stupid sound in movies, described oh so adoringly in books.

that damn bump.

he curses under his breath, his heart is starting to jump - excited that it no longer needs to bend so backwards, jumping through the hoops of denial to justify the existence of his feelings.

"stop.. just.. stop.." he clenches his chest, wanting nothing but that heart to stop jumping so much. it's almost as if the dream of becoming an older brother had come true, except - it was his heart acting like the younger brother instead.

his cheeks, painted in the colors of the rose you had gifted to his heart. he curses under his breath, he started a war that he'd lose. just, calm down - stop thinking and just maybe sooth yourself to sleep. yeah, that'll work, that always works-

"ow."

belphegor reached for the back side of his head, "just what was that?" he looks down to see a sadly crumbled up paper ball. confused and curious, he looks up to see -

drat. you are definitely NOT the person he wants to see right now in his time of crisis. but.. even as a demon, was he cruel enough to reject your pathetic and definitely not adorable attempt at sneakily getting his attention? silly human. the teacher will get us in trouble.

and plus, he'll let it go just this once since your even making the effort to look at him so worriedly - like you're actually concerned. pfft. laughable.

the crinkly sound of the paper being slowly opened, revealing the hidden details inside. just what message lurks beneath the strings of ink?

"are you okay?"

belphegor tries to stifle a laughter. for some reason, even as the sleepiest and laziest of his brothers - even he was aware of your caring self. the you who never stops to look back at the people, err, demons.

this was so like you, and it was so like belphegor to shrug it off. his feelings, that is. the words he wants to say, the letters his fingers wouldn't let inked.

his heart says "i'm okay, thanks for always worrying." instead, he writes "what does it matter to you?" ah. that feels a bit too mean. he scribbles it away, he doesn't like how you trouble him but he isn't one to scare you away. sometimes.

"why do you care?" ah- his mind got ahead of him. he meant to write something else. he scribbles it again. "bye." ?, that's a bit weird. not to mention a little off topic. he'll scrap it away. "yeah im fine. i was just thinking of yoᨒ" nope. definitely not that.

ugh, it's a bit embarrassing how into this he's getting. thinking of the words he wants to say, the words he's always stuck on. even imagining your reactions to what he'd theoretically say.

oh- but dont mistake it. he doesn't mean anything. nope, not even a single one of them. just... think of this as a simulation. yeah, just a game of pretend.

eventually, the paper has no room for himself to write - let alone for you to continue. instead, he tears a paper from his notebook. fully knowing that lucifer would sigh in disappointment. oh well, it's not like he doesn't enjoy that sight of his elder brother.

in the small paper, he's contemplating. what is his response to... uh... whatever you wrote before. he's thinking, even more than usual. from a distance, even his teacher is a bit unnerved from how passionate he looks about their class. huh, i guess the avatar of sloth likes learning about caterpillars.

agh, but this is starting to get ridiculous!? there's so much but so little in his head, what does he mean to say?! just pick one, just say something, just-

belphegor, with a blank almost lifeless expression, writes his very awaited reply.

" -_- "

.... it's the best he can come up with. he sighs at his pathetic state. ah whatever, he'll sleep it all away later so he shouldn't mind it all too much.

he looks up to notice that - everyone is gone? huh? where did everyone go? he could've sworn that people were just chattering about and the teacher going off about the lesson. and yet... it's just him.

but no, that's only a mistruth. once he looks back, he sees you. dutifully awaiting for him, even when you didn't need to. everyone has gone off and yet.. hah. it's laughable, so laughable how patient and dumb you are. so... laughable how cute you are for him.. ah- he misspoke, definitely.

he hands you the paper, almost embarrassed how shameless and rude he's being about your concern - oh. right. that's why he's even writing a reply to you.

he mentally face palms, gosh he's so stupid. it's all because of his feelings that he got carried away and totally forgot about why he's even thinking so much about his words. stupid, stupid, stupid-

he perks up, his head jolts up and he's unknowingly fighting back a smile. a smile that threatens him to reply to the sound of your laughter. the melodic sound of your happiness. hah.. how ironic, he's been calling you laughable this entire time and yet... in truth, he's been the pathetic one here.

"s-sorry... haha, it's great to see you looking better again. i was worried about you earlier" you finally ceased your laughter, and look at him adoringly - like you always have.

agh. he swore he won against his heart, he swore that he won the battle. and yet... his heart won the war.

heart 1 - belphegor 0.

[blazenfire223]

Good Omens Love Letter- by @/elnorawhittaker

Day 15. A positive impact the fandom/series has had on me

(I don't list just one pft-)

This show and fandom has done wonders for me but for sure the most noticeable ones are the impacts it's had on my art style, my personality, and my perspective on getting older.

My art style grew exponentially during the first few years of drawing for GO. It pushed me to get better at anatomy, coloring, and style. It pushed me to learn how to draw noses and come up with cool poses. It pushed me to draw new things! Seeing people draw these characters made me want to draw them how I saw them. When I first started drawing them, I actually took the time to LEARN how I wanted to draw them. I made character sheets for the Husbands! I have never done that with pretty much any other character before! It made me the artist I am today.

While it made me a better artist, it has also made me a better person. I wouldn't consider myself a bad person, even before GO, but I wasn't the most social. I feel Good Omens was one of the things that really helped push me out of my comfort zone socially. I interacted with people online, I took part in a few collabs, I attended virtual Ineffable Con once (I was quiet in chat but I still played art games with people), I gained a friend, I finally gained the confidence to wear more than just a sweatshirt, I comment on people's posts more often now, the list goes on. I find myself more willing to put myself out there. While I still would consider myself an introvert and socially awkward at times, my passion for things has grown so much over the past few years and while past fandoms had slowly started to peel away at the socially anxious mess I was, I feel Good Omens really helped to push me further in the right direction. I have also learned so much from this fandom and it's pushed me to learn more!

This fandom also showed me that life can get better; that being older doesn't mean my life has to be boring and miserable. There are so many older queers in this fandom and finding out they have a full time job, are married/in a relationship, and have kids while STILL being one of the active and passionate people in the fandom, will always be mindbogling to me. In real life, no one in my family is like that. Everyone is angry, depressed, and tired. So so tired. So seeing people my parents age, happy and passionate about life and this show, makes me hopeful about my own life. For once, the idea of turning 18 and becoming an adult, isn't deadful anyone. I'm excited to get older because one day I will be like the older people in this fandom. I will go to conventions, buy things for myself, hang out with other fandom friends, have a full time job, have wrinkles and laugh lines and evidence that my beautiful body has LIVED on this Earth, and I will STILL be as eccentric and happy as I can possibly be! I will live a life that is mine and I will do it while still being passionate about the things and people I love.

[liaragaming]

Rook Development Prompts

@pavus - Rook Development Prompts

Name: Alannah Aldwir

Age: 36

Race: Elf

Background: Dalish

Class / Spec: Rogue / Veil Jumper

Gender: Female.

Sexuality: Gonna have to add another pansexual to the group!

Parentage: Also Dalish. She hasn't spoken to them in a while.

Siblings: An older brother (name pending). She prefers not to think/talk about him.

Early Childhood: Alannah took an interest in magic in at a very early age. She spent a lot of time with the Keeper and the Storyteller, listening with rapt attention to tales and learning all she could about the ancient ways. She remembers her childhood as a happy time when her imagination and sense of wonder and exploration was encouraged.

Adolescence: Despite her appreciation for magic, Alannah never developed the skill. The Keeper gently guided her toward other areas where she might serve the clan. Despite efforts to the contrary, Alannah gained the sense that her interest in magic and her desire to study and recover ancient artifacts was unappreciated - it was a job for the mages, but not for her. She felt her clan shunned her true interests, and over the years she began to feel isolated and unwelcome among her own people.

First Love: I'll have to think on this more. I think she's had crushes but never any actual "loves." Her feeling of isolation within her clan made it difficult to connect with anyone.

However... depending on how long she's been with the Veil Jumpers... she and Bellara may have had a short-lived fling.

First Hate: Her brother. They were close in her childhood. But the more unhappy she became in the clan, the more her brother mocked her and told her to suck it up. And though her parents tried to be understanding toward her, they never really got her and they never tried to stop her brother's words. She's pretty unhappy with all of them, but she'll forgive her brother for turning on her so viciously.

Favorites: Exploring. New places. New experiences. Magical trinkets. Flowers.

Injuries / Scars: She'll have a scar somewhere... probably the cheek. And I think she's broken a bone in her explorations, falling out of a tree when she was little or something.

Distinguishing Features: valaslin... possibly mythal? Also wears a broach from her clan. Though she never fit in, she can't forget where she came from nor how much she wished they'd accepted her.

Voice Type: American (Erika Ishii), normal pitch.

Vices: She tends to cover her hurt and anger up with sarcastic remarks. Any disagreement with her ideas feels like a disagreement of herself, but she's working on taking things as a personal attack.

Virtues: She values people and personal connections more than any material item.

Homeland: I'm thinking Navara. Her clan told her leaving for Tevinter was crazy and have her end up dead or worse, in slavery. But she didn't care. When she heard of the Veil Jumpers and that they accepted everyone and anyone, she left her clan for the home of finally being accepted.

Height / Build: 5ft short king/queen/monarch like Eirka

Hair / eye color: Hair - light red, pulled back in a braid. Eye color - one blue, one green.

Personality: Adventurous, fun-loving, curious, empathetic, sarcastic

Aspirations: She just wants to live life to the fullest.

Fears: Being alone. Having no one who understands her.

Hobbies: Whittling, knife throwing, reading.

Views on Magic: Wants to study everything about it.

Views on Elves: She wants to learn the secrets and traditions of the ancients, but she doesn't believe the past is the pinnacle of life. She doesn't view the city elves as lesser.

Views on the Veilguard: I think she get along fairly well with everyone. Has a flirty post-relationship with Bellara. Neve is the big sister she never had. Will be romancing Lucanis or Emmrich.

Views on Solas: She believes what everyone told her, at first - that's the Dread Wolf, hellbent on destroying the world. She finds him arrogant and insufferable, and is sarcastic with every chance she gets. But I imagine that will soften over time as she gets to know and understand him more.

[imnobodyuknow]

I wasn't sure what to expect after posting a bunch of AI-powered fictional conversations, but...eh, I just shared them for the fun of it. 😏 That was the last of them (unless anyone wants to see more), so you can now rest easy.

Unfortunately, I still don't have a new drawing to show for it. I've made some progress on it, but it looks like I'll need another month or so to get it all the way done. Terribly sorry. 😔

I do, however, have a new digital drawing to share. Two, actually! 😁 For whatever reason, I've become obsessed with robots and AI lately -- perhaps because of some divine plan, or perhaps because of Character.ai, Murder Drones, Sonic Frontiers, NieR: Automata, Emmy the Robot, etc., etc. -- so I decided to create a couple of robotic OCs of my own.

Say hello to the beach-loving robo-girl San-D and her friend and fellow robo-girl, Emil-E!

They're from a different universe than the two colorful warriors I created a while back, in case you're wondering. I'll get on with their story eventually. 😏

So, just who are these two adorable automata? There's only so much I can share about them at the moment (partly because I'm still coming up with details about them), but here's some basic info. To begin with, they were built and programmed by an obsessed but good-hearted scientist named Dr. Zortho, which is where the 'Z' logo on their foreheads came from (Emil-E's logo is hidden behind her bangs, but you can also see it on each of her shoes). These two aren't the only ones of their kind, but the story I've planned for them focuses mostly on their adventures and misadventures, both on their own and together.

San-D (nicknamed "the curious one"), the latest of Dr. Zortho's creations, is the peppy and friendly type (think Amy Rose), often trying to provide encouragement to others when she can. She has a love for nature -- especially the beach -- and is particularly fascinated by sand and stars. But most importantly, she has a strong curiosity for learning new things -- so strong, in fact, that she develops a habit of gaining new information in ways unauthorized by Dr. Zortho while he isn’t watching her. 😊

Emil-E (nicknamed "the sassy one"), a much older robot than San-D, has a sassy, laidback attitude (think Uzi Doorman). While she's not as curious about learning things as San-D, she has a habit of looking for ways to make things more interesting...which usually leads to her getting in trouble and/or getting damaged. 😏 (That's the reason why one of her eyes has been replaced by one of a different color and why one of the sun symbols on her shoulders is scratched up.) She also likes to show off her superhuman abilities every now and then (ex. quick math, quick puzzle-solving, quick book-reading, etc.), mostly just for the fun of it. But most importantly, she becomes close friends with San-D very quickly despite their differing tastes and personalities. I suppose you could call it "robo-chemistry." 😊

...Actually, please don't. That was dumb. 😅

However, there's one difference between the two of them that ends up causing some tension in their friendship -- San-D's trust in and respect for Dr. Zortho (or "The Doc" as his robots call him) grow stronger over time, similar to a healthy father-daughter relationship. Emil-E, on the other hand, doesn't see "camera-to-eye" with The Doc on a number of things, and she occasionally resents his overprotectiveness of her, resulting in a much more strained and distant relationship between them, similar to an unhealthy father-daughter relationship. Which of his two robo-daughters has the more accurate picture of him, you might be wondering? Is he as trustworthy and smart as San-D believes him to be, or could Emil-E's doubts about him be credible ones? Only time will tell. 😉

A few more details about these two: Like every robot built by Dr. Zortho, the logos on their foreheads indicate what emotions they're currently feeling (which may or may not have been inspired by a certain young attorney's robotic companion), the panels on their shoulders flip upside-down to become solar panels which they can use to recharge (hence the sun symbols), and they have their own unique preferences in clothing and hairstyle. San-D prefers wearing a simple dress with a shell design, gloves, sandals, and a conch shell in her hair, while Emil-E prefers a casual outfit, sleek shoes with a circuit board design, and a tiny blue comb in her hair. Speaking of which, her hairstyle was made after that of Murder Drones's Doll:

You may also have noticed the 'E' designs on her bangs, small comb, and face. She's...a bit of an E-gotist, you might say. 🥁

So, what was Dr. Zortho's purpose in creating his own "family" of robo-girls? And for that matter, did he make any robo-guys along with them at some point? Both of those must remain mysteries for now, but you can rest assured that he's not your average maniacal bot-building scientist -- rather, he's the type who sees his robots as his children and lovingly cares for their wellbeing and safety. Something tells me that could be a nice change of pace in the sci-fi genre. 😉

Anyway, I hope very soon to have more to share about all the OCs I've created so far, including these two. ...Oh, and that Celeste x Spy x Family drawing, too, of course. 😄 Just thought I'd show off a couple of digital drawings of my brainchildren in the meantime. Hope you enjoy them!

[totally-lit-road-trips]

Chapter 22: Farm & Orchard

Welcome back to my Totally Lit Road Trip blog, where the lit stands for literary!

Today’s adventures took us all around Concord, MA, as we learned about Henry David Thoreau and Louisa May Alcott, as well their relationships with each other and other authors in the area. I think it says a lot about the authors that despite age and gender differences, they inspired each other’s writing and played a role in each other’s lives.

Jess and I started our morning at Thoreau Farm, where we were treated to a private tour, because we were the only ones there. Our tour guide, Barbara, is an amazing historian who told us the saga of the Thoreau family’s life on this farm. Even though Henry David Thoreau only lived there for eight months after he was born, the farm played a large role in his writing due to the stories his mother told him about the place. His grandmother, Mary Jones, was living in the house with her husband, and when he died, the “widow’s third” rule went into effect, meaning that even though she couldn’t own the house, she could legally continue living in 1/3 of it. Mary “swapped” homes with her daughter Cynthia (Thoreau’s mother), since she was younger and would have an easier time farming the land to make a profit. This is how Thoreau came to be born on a farm not technically owned by anyone in his family.

In 1995, when the last living owner of the house passed away, developers wanted to purchase the land and build condos. This prompted a group of historians and literature lovers to create a trust and raise the nearly $1M needed to purchase the land and restore the house. Rather than restoring it to its original form, as a lot of historical societies do with old houses, the trust wanted to refurbish in a way that would honor Thoreau’s memory and lifestyle. Given that he was a huge proponent of finding harmony in nature, the house was refurbished using recycled material and environmentally friendly paint, and uses solar panels to provide most of its electricity. 

One interesting tidbit about the house is that its original foundation was about 300 yards away from where it lies now, and no one really knows why it was moved. It certainly would have been easier to just build a new house on the place where it is now, and historians have not discovered a reason for its move.

Inside the house you can see most of the original floorboards and walls, which were repainted to match the original colors in the house, although they left a few spots un-painted for comparison. 

On our tour, Barbara told us about Thoreau and his siblings. He and his brother John both (unsuccessfully) proposed to the same woman. A few weeks later, John cut himself shaving and ultimately died of lockjaw. Thoreau was so distraught over the death of this brother that he wound up developing what we now know were psychosomatic symptoms which mirrored John’s so strongly that his family was convinced Thoreau must have cut himself as well. He eventually recovered, and went on to write A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, about a boat trip he took with John before his passing.

Thoreau’s younger sister Sophia (pronounced So-Fye-Uh) was an accomplished artist, and drew the cover art used for Walden, the book for which Thoreau is probably most well-known. Additionally, the family were abolitionists, and his older sister, Helen, founded the first woman’s abolitionist group.

Thoreau Farm is also still a fully functional farm, and volunteers from a non-profit organization called Gaining Ground farm the land and donate all the produce to local food pantries and meal programs. We took a few minutes to stroll around their crops, and it was really impressive. 

My favorite new plant discovery came in the form of Egyptian Walking Onions, which were growing in one of the small garden plots near the house. When I said I wondered how they tasted, Barbara gave us permission to pick a few, if we would try them and let her know what they tasted like. Can confirm they tasted like red onions, just in miniature form! The Egyptian Walking Onions are an heirloom plant, meaning the seeds were from Thoreau’s time period.

(The little purple buds in the phot above are actually the Egyptian Walking Onions! They’re very small, but very tasty!)

After a quick and delicious lunch at Nashoba Brook Bakery, we headed over to Orchard House, the family home of Louisa May Alcott. 

As you approach the house, the first thing that stands out is the lovely little garden out front, which is planted with the same plants and flowers that each of the four March sisters plants in her own little garden plot in Little Women. The plots are labeled accordingly with the sisters’ names - Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. 

The first part of the tour takes place in the Concord School of Philosophy building, which Alcott’s father built in 1879. He was a Transcendentalist, who believed in education reformation. He believed in things like recess and field trips, and opposed corporal punishment, which was widely used at the time. 

In the Concord School of Philosophy, you’ll find benches that were created for the schoolhouse scenes in the 2019 Little Woman film, and donated to Orchard House after filming. You can sit on them as you view a short documentary about Orchard House, narrated by a very compelling “Louisa May Alcott”, played by Jan Turnquist. You can watch the documentary here, if you are a member of Thirteen PBS.

After viewing the documentary, it was time to tour the house. Unfortunately, photography is not allowed, so if you want to see the residence in all its glory and fine detail, you’ve got to come visit for yourself. 

We learned that the family bought Orchard House when Louisa was 25 years old. Prior to that, the family had lived in 29 houses over a span of 30 years, which sounds exhausting. After purchasing the house, which was only a few rooms, Alcott’s father had a nearby tenant house rolled in using logs, and attached it to the main house, making the whole residence much more spacious for his family. Louisa and her sisters helped with painting and setting up the house, although her sister Beth died before the family officially moved in. Beth’s melodium (a reed organ that resembles a small keyboard) and her portrait reside in one of the sitting rooms. 

Due to the success of Alcott’s writing, she was able to furnish the family home with a lot of nice things, many of which are still present in the house today. She was also able to finance her youngest sister May’s art lessons in Europe, which were necessary because in America, art was not seen as a viable career for a woman. May had a small studio room in Orchard House where she gave art lessons, and one of her students, Daniel Chester French, eventually went on to design the Lincoln Memorial.

May spent many years in Europe learning art from the masters, eventually marrying and having a daughter, whom she named after her sister Louisa. Unfortunately, May passed a way shortly after giving birth, and then Lulu was sent back to America to be raised by Louisa for about nine years. Lulu eventually moved to Switzerland, where she lived until her death in 1975 at the age of 95.

May’s artwork lives on, however, as it can be found in every room in the house. From sketches to paintings to ink drawings all over the windowsills and walls, May’s art gives visitors glimpses into the lives of the Alcotts and the art styles of the time period. Due to a current art exhibit with the Concord Library, more of May’s art was on display than usual, including a silk dress which she hand painted. In addition, the wedding dress of the eldest sister, Anna, was also on special display in Louisa’s bedroom. The silvery gray silk was certainly unlike any modern wedding dress you’d see today, but it had a very sophisticated look nonetheless.

Some other items of note in the house were Louisa’s boots and writing desk. The boots are kept in a costume trunk from when the sisters and their friends would put on plays. The very same boots are mentioned in Little Women as belonging to Jo, who wears them to play Roderigo, the same role Louisa wore the boots for in real life. Louisa’s writing desk, though small in size, was large in what it represented - her family’s faith in her writing ability. During her lifetime, it was unfitting for a woman to have her own writing desk, as writing wasn’t seen as an appropriate career for them, similar to art. Louisa’s father build the desk for her, showing how strongly he believed in her.

Something I already knew before visiting Orchard House, but that I still think is interesting and important to mention is that when Alcott was writing Little Women, she fully intended for Jo, the character modeled after herself, to remain a “spinster,” just as Alcott was. However, her publisher absolutely forbid that, so as a “compromise,” Alcott created a sort of unexpected character for Jo to marry, rather than the fan favorite pick, Laurie.

One thing I didn’t know before our tour was how involved the Concord authors were in each other’s lives. Nathanial Hawthorne lived next door to the Alcotts, and Thoreau and Emerson were contemporaries of Louisa’s father, Amos Bronson. They even joined the family for Anna’s wedding.

After our tour of Orchard House, Jess and I explored downtown Concord a bit, and visited a few antique stores, a chocolate shop, and a cheese shop. Then we went back to our hotel to unwind for a bit before heading to Copper House Tavern for dinner. We both had fancy burgers that were quite scrumptious, and very satisfying. Now we’re back at the hotel resting up for tomorrow. We’ve got a lot planned, and it looks like rain all day, but luckily most of our adventuring will take place in doors.

Tune in tomorrow for some more literary adventures in Concord!

<3 Theresa

[riiseandfall]

kit young . genderfluid . he / they ➶ I RECOGNISE THAT FACE ! that’s OSMANTHUS , the TWENTY - EIGHT year old AVOX from DISTRICT ELEVEN . they’ve been in the capitol around NINE YEARS , long enough to gain a reputation for being so CLEVER & IMPATIENT . they’re so lucky getting to live in the tribute center for the duration of the games! ( character IS part of the uprising )

Basic Information

Full Name: Osmanthus Nicknames: Oz nobody calls them Osmanthus ugh Age: 28 District: Eleven Gender: Genderfluid Pronouns: He / they Orientation: Bisexual Profession: Harvester, Avox

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Kit Young Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Brown Height: 6'1" Piercings: Pierced earlobes & upper lobes Scars: A scar on the right side of his lower stomach

Relationships

Father: Taurus (deceased) Mother: Evangeline Siblings: Rue (older sister - deceased) , four younger siblings (ages: 27, 25, 24, & 23) Significant Other: N/A

Extra

MBTI: ENFP-T (The Campaigner) Temperament: Sanguine Moral Alignment: Chaotic Good Primary Vice: Pride Primary Virtue: Kindness Element: Air

BIO-[TW: MENTION OF DEATH AND TORTURE]

It's daunting, life in Eleven. As soon as the sun is up, those who are old enough are out working -- when it is the busiest season, they don't come home until long after the sun has set.

You're the second oldest in your family, bright-eyed and curious. Those long days never seem to get to you, full of all a child's wonder. It didn't matter that you were working, you were with family -- and Rue always helped keep things fun.

You run after her, always chasing, wanting to climb the tallest trees right there with her -- she helps teach you how, teaches you about the flowers that grow outside the fields (your favorite are blue stars). Teaches you about her 'special friends', how to signal and sing for them -- you find joy in the way they echo it right back to you. A secret way of passing messages, of signaling the end of the day.

Of alerting each other to peacekeepers at night when you both sneak out to the fields, smuggling as much extra crops as you can. There are too many mouths to feed back home and what the capitol provides isn't enough.

Maybe that's where your rebellious nature started.

Or maybe it is when your sister's name is chosen -- when she walks up to that stage and you want nothing more than to follow after her (always chasing), to beg anyone to take her place. But no one does. The district is quiet and your mother holds you back while your father stares at the stage with a steely expression -- (you've never seen him look like that before).

You never did want to watch the games -- but this year, your eyes never leave the screen. The capitol adores Rue, how could they not? You hope it will be enough, hope beyond hope that it can get her back home, back to where the two of you can sit among the high branches of a tree and listen to the mockingjays.

But it isn't enough. How could it be? That hope is dashed and shattered with the single throw of a spear. Your father has that look on his face again, your mother screams, the siblings who are old enough sob but you -- you feel an emotion in your chest you never felt before. Something that burns (it isn't fair, it isn't fair, it isn't FAIR), it feels like those words choke you as you hold them back.

You're far too young for the rage that flows through you.

The girl from District Twelve is there. The girl on fire. Does she know how much that song eases the pain in your heart? Does she know how much Rue would have loved the flowers she chose? Does she know how hand after hand raises in the crowd to mirror that gesture back to her? How it sparks and ignites something in those among the crowd.

Your father is the first to charge forward. His hand ripped from yours as your mother pulls you back, she tells you to help her get your siblings home.

Your father never comes home.

Things don't get better in Eleven when the dust settles. People rally when and where they can, your mother tries to shield you from it, guides your head away from those painted symbols, but you see them. It is like they're branded in your eyes.

A year passes and your mother is fussing over your outfit, you complain as all children do. But she says it's an important day. The Victory Tour. There are tears in her eyes already but she holds it together for you. And you hold it together for your siblings.

The projected image of Rue makes it difficult as you and your family takes your designated spots, your hand grips your mother's tightly. She's strong. You have to be strong too.

It is bizarre, to see them both in real life. They look taller than you would have thought. And even while Peeta offers a kindness of his own -- winnings for both families, Katniss just looks at your family as if she had seen a ghost.

There were some who said that what she did in the arena was a play -- a way to garner sympathy. But no one among your family. And when she steps forward to speak, to talk about your sister, you aren't strong enough to keep from crying. You know how she feels -- you see Rue in every mockingjay and every single blue star.

That symbol is raised, three fingers pressed to lips and held up. A spark.

You recognize the old man, have seen him in the fields. You're panicked when he's pulled forward, when the crowd turns violent the way it did a year ago, people rushing forward against peacekeepers who pushed back. Your mother holds your siblings tight and the victors are led away as a a gunshot rings in your ears and the old man slumps to the ground. There are two more shots, fired carelessly to get the crowd to more back -- so loud and resounding that you don't even notice that blooming pain in your side until it becomes unbearable. You heard your mother scream as you fall to the ground, feels tears that land on your cheeks before your fall unconscious.

You are only allowed a couple of weeks to heal before you are thrown back to work.

Of course those promised winnings were shut down, but even that one month that your family did receive went far. As the years pass, things continue to get worse in Eleven. Peacekeepers began to watch everyone more closely.

It just meant those who rebelled got sneakier -- more clever. You whistle new songs to the mockingjays now to avoid detection. You climb the highest trees and keep watch for those below. And when the sun sets and you whisper a song to those mockingjays (lay down your head and close your eyes--), you wonder if Rue would be proud of you.

When you're older, you spread the word -- you recruit, you listen and report back to District Thirteen.

They never catch you. You were quick on your feet and quiet, a shadow like your sister before you. But not everyone in Eleven wishes to rebel, all it took was one person -- one whisper in the right ear, a traitor -- to bring it all crashing down.

You escape the peacekeepers that descend on a once secret meeting, others aren't so lucky. But you know you can't stay. They know what you are now -- and you can't put your family at risk. Your mother is teary-eyed but strong, she provides you with a few extra supplies. She hugs you for as long as she can. You kiss your sibling's temples. A goodbye that doesn't last long enough before you slip away into the night, past the district's borders.

You don't make it far.

You run, but you aren't fast enough. You fight, but you aren't strong enough. And now? You're a rebel and a deserter.

You don't know how long they had you for -- how many days and nights were spent being questioned and subjected to pain after pain when your answers didn't satisfy -- and they rarely did.

They wanted names. You gave them nothing. They wanted to know locations, what the songs meant and you kept quiet. You would give them nothing.

It is quiet for a time, no more questions. You wonder if they are trying to lull you into a false sense of security when they send a doctor in to speak with you. To explain. They call you a dangerous insurgent -- as if you had ever wielded a weapon other than the truth -- other than your voice. But they would take that from you in the end.

Part of you wishes they had just killed you.

By the time the Capitol is done, you're close to broken -- shattered into so many pieces you fear that you will never put yourself back together. The assign you to the people of the Capitol -- a silent servant. An Avox.

But you have nothing but time. Time to gather those broken pieces and attempt to make them fit back together -- you're stubborn, clinging to blue stars and whistled songs to find your way back. It takes years, but you do it. District Eleven has taught you nothing if not diligence.

This year is different. You are pulled from the manor you were stationed at, placed into the Tribute Center -- assigned to the penthouse apartment for those from District Twelve.

This year is different. The rebels are no longer standing idly by. They are angry, the victors are angry, and you are angry.

A spark turned into an inferno.

[vixlenxe]

I believe Ivy's dancing troupe would have been something like this:

Ivy(of course)

2 Miqo'tes, 1 female & 1 male(Keepers of the Moon)

1 Male Viera(Rava)

1 Female Au Ra(Raen)

5 other members of undisclosed race & gender(as of now)

They were called The Ten Feathers, obviously referring too the amount of people in the troupe. Originally founded by the female Au Ra & the two Miqo'tes. Others would join the ranks slowly over time, which would later include Ivy, & the Viera would join at the same time Ivy would.

The Au Ra found was a Thvanairian Raen known Sajayah Darmih, who came to Eorzea seeking opportunity, she was both the true founder & the leader of The Ten Feathers. She was a tanned woman of bright pink hair & striking glowing orange eyes. A master of Thvanairian dances, she thought she could use her exotic talents to hopefully gain herself a decent amount of wealth, however when striking it out alone with foreign dances failed her, she began to learn other methods of dances, as well as recruiting other would-be dancers & bards of varying skill & beauty to increase business. 'Beauty is better in pairs, & unstoppable in a group' was Sajayah's saying, a saying which Ivy keeps close to her even today. She was also the one who inspired Ivy to dye her hair pink, as the bright color was seen as exotic for a hair color. Sajayah age was also not known to anyone in the troupe, as everytime one would ask, she would scold & reprimand them not to ask a lady her age.

Funo Mhosko, Yamuh'ai Mhosko & Zhoie Mkosko are the last members of the Mhosko Tribe, a gathering of 3 Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te Familys. Funo Mhosko was the oldest of 6 full-blood siblings & 24 half-siblings, Yamuh'ai(also called just Yamuh) was one of only 3 sons born in the tribe & the younger full brother of Funo, as such the full blooded sibling share the same light purple hair & yellow eyes, as well as the same forehead marking. Zhoie was one of the younger daughters & half sister to both Funo & Yamuh, while sharing many of the same features, including their forehead marking, Zhoie had longer blonde hair & deeper yellow eyes. During the Seventh Umbral Calamity, the Mkosko Tribe was nearly completely wiped out by Bahamut when he flew over Gardenia, safe for Funo, Yamuh & Zhoie. Their home & family destroyed, they turned to wondering Eorzea looking for work & a new home. When Funo was 27, Yamuh 19, & Zhoie 11(all before the beginning of ARR), they came across Sajayah, who found the older two Keepers very beautiful & offered to create a dancing troupe with them as a means of making gil so they may support their younger sibling. The fiery Funo disliked the idea, as did the more prideful Yamuh, but their desire to provide for the gentle & shy Zhoie won over & they ended up creating The Ten Feathers with Sajayah. Funo & Yamuh both learned a few methods of dance from Sajayah & preformed together, however Yamuh'ai had a strong pull towards playing music, such as the bongo & the flute, so more often served as one of the troupe's bards. Zhoie was never considered a member of the troupe & was not made to learn any skills needed for the troupe, but she still traveled with them wherever they went. It was the relationship between the Mhoskos that made Ivy realize how fleeing from home might have impacted her sister Tiffanie, & want to return home one day to med their relationship.

Jean Brasfort's original name was Bjel Rehw-gilda, before he left his tribe in the Golmore Jungle to seek a better life. Bjel was a rare male Viera that was taller then most of his fellow female tribesfolk. With deep red hair that brighten at the tips, bright lime green eyes that shined in the sun & dark skin with the lightest dusting of freckles on his face. For being an unusually tall male, in a race where normally females are taller, he was typically mocked by his female tribesfolk for his odd feature, & was mocked even more so when he showed skills in wielding an axe, rather then the traditional archery or lancework of the Viera. It was some years after the Seventh Umbral Calamity, & several years of thought, that Bjel decided to leave his tribe, & in doing so making him unable to ever return to it. As is traditional of these acts, Bjel was forced to forfeit his birth name & make himself a new one. For a long while, he was but a nameless Viera, with naught to him name but his axe, until he ran into Ivy, who at the time was commissioning help from adventurers in her latest line of work. Ivy was still 19, but a few months into her run away period from Ishgard, & he was 30. Ivy, of course, pester the viera about life as an adventurer, during which talks she learned he did not have a name. It was Ivy who helped him choose a new one, thus Jean Brasfort was born, 'Jean' being a very Ishgardian inspired name, & 'Brasfort' meaning 'strong arm' for his ability with an axe. Jean spent most of his following years with Ivy, including joining The Ten Feathers when she did, & though he had no dancing skills, he served as good muscle to keep rotary customers in-line, & his rare male vieran beauty attracted the female eye. He also learned to play the lute & the fiddle, so sometimes also served as one of the troupes many bards. He also suck around for a while after The Ten Feathers disbanded, showing Ivy the ropes of an Adventurer's lifestyle, & appearing when Ivy is in need of aid.

[agnesconaty]

Here's my September 2024 column for The Laurel Independent newspaper:

The Laurel Inner Space

Staying curious: Lifelong learning in Laurel and beyond

By AGNES PASCO CONATY

Curiosity — that drive to learn an unfamiliar word, experiment with crafting, try food you haven’t tasted before, or even just walk around a different block — can take us on rewarding learning adventures throughout our lives. As Albert Einstein famously said, “The mind that opens to a new idea never returns to its original size.”

And sometimes curiosity prompts us to pick up something we’d put down years before. For me, it was rocks. I’d studied geology as an undergraduate and returned to it many years later when I started teaching environmental science. Suddenly, I was all but glued to my magnifying glass as I marveled at the colors, textures and details, even in rocks that looked ordinary at first glance. And I started wondering about so much: How does petrified wood become a rock? Why are tiny shells embedded in sedimentary rocks? One question led to another, and another. My curiosity about rocks now knows no bounds.

So many of us lead busy lives; we may think we could never find time to dabble with a new hobby, let alone dive head first into learning a new language. But grabbing even a moment here or there can add up to big rewards over time. I have a friend who decided to teach herself one new knot each month for a year — and she stuck with it, mastering not just 12, but more than two dozen new knots that year. Now, more than a decade later and still following her curiosity, she’s gained not only skill a whole lot of knots, but the confidence that can come with taking on a challenge.

We have abundant resources for exploring and expanding our curiosity, right at our fingertips, and many of them are geared to older adults. Montgomery College’s Lifelong Learning Institute, based at the college’s Rockville campus, (tinyurl.com/2efvsam8) offers a treasure chest of courses, from professional development to personal enrichment. Interested in presidential history? Want to learn how to raise orchids? Eager to get a handle on your personal finances? The institute may have just what you’re looking for. 

Prince George’s Community College, in Largo, also offers programs for seniors (tinyurl.com/2s4c8usy). And right here at home, the Laurel-Beltsville Senior Activity Center, which is run by Prince George’s County Department of Parks and Recreation, offers classes for adults 60 years or older ranging from belly dancing and Zumba to ceramics, drawing and more. (For a full calendar of fall classes at the center, go to tinyurl.com/37sejjtu.)

Our Laurel Branch Library, part of the county’s Memorial Library System (tinyurl.com/yc5nkd5a), offers  a rich selection of free, online courses to anyone who has a library card. (I recently started a course on practical geology to satisfy my fascination with rocks.) The library is constantly expanding not only its physical collection of books, but its virtual offerings as well.  And with that same library card, you can create an account with Kanopy (kanopy.com/en), a free streaming service that collaborates with libraries and universities throughout the country to bring thousands of films right to your home. You, too, can immerse yourself in the world of documentaries — or even become that movie trivia buff you’ve always wanted to be.

I also enthusiastically recommend exploring the internet to whet (and even satisfy!) your appetite for new adventures in learning. Project Gutenberg (gutenberg.org) has tens of thousands of free e-books, including most of the great books of the Western world and digital copies of hard-to-find editions, that you can read online or download. Coursera (coursera.org) is an online consortium of more than 300 colleges and universities offering career training and degree programs (at cost) and a huge selection of free courses. And so many colleges and universities independently offer online learning, too; all it takes is an easy search to start opening those doors.

As a child, I was so curious about the world around me, and I loved learning. I still do. And I’ve always encouraged my son (and my students!) to keep learning, too. Being open to possibilities — staying curious — is a lifelong journey worth taking.