#tw ; blood mentions

[thebestieyoureinlovewith]

It's about the vulnerability of posting your own creations on the Internet and hoping someone will see you. Sometimes, it feels like I put all the good parts of me into my writing, so this is intentionally pulling up some ugly imagery. The ugly parts of me deserve to be seen, too.

[nozoroomie]

my ps4 controller has shat the bed. While I don't really play any games on my ps4 anymore, it's still great for watching movies.

But finding a new controller or even a refurbished controller for this thing has been so difficult. I try not to shop on Amazon unless I have to (c'mon, we all know why) but even the small gaming shops in my city don't really have anything.

Maybe it's just cheaper for me to buy a bluray and dvd player??

Anyway, more fun life updates under the cut!

We'll start with my health. It's been a while since I've posted about it. In that post I made in April, I made a joke about "probably have to wait until 200 days of bleeding until I actually see a specialist."

It literally did take that long. I was bleeding from late January (around the 19th-22nd area,I'd have to go check my calendar but im typing this in bed and lazy.) until August 9th. There were two very brief breaks of nothing in April and June, but the grand total of days I bled and bled heavily was roughly 180 days. Crazy right? and I met MANY people with uterus' in this time who have had it worse.

I got to go to a specialist on August 6th and then when they tried to do an examination, they couldn't. There's a number of reasons why what happened happened but to put a long story short- my hormones are insane and likely not distributed evenly around my junk, so insertion causes immense pain and they just couldn't do a thing without putting me under anesthesia. Which they did! on August 9th I had a procedure to give me a biopsy, a polypectomy, and then there was one other thing they did -I believe it may have been called a DNC but honestly, they told me everything that happened while I was still under the affects of anesthetic so I have no idea the exact term or how the process goes- but since August 9th, I haven't had heavy bleeding. There's been some minute bleeding that all my recovery paperwork says its normal, but god. The menstrual cramps. The polyps forming and bursting. It's been painful.

The exact diagnosis of my biopsy and examination happens next Wednesday, and there's a few ways it could go over all, but the thing is I KNOW they're going to push the IUD or some other form of Birth control on me because that's what they did the first time I met and had a consultation with them. and with the way my uterus is and the horror stories I've heard about the pain of them and how they're -at most- 5 years of period relief... I'm saying nope. If I have to do birth control temporarily, I'm going towards the arm implant if it's going to be as effective as an IUD. If not? I'm going down the partial hysterectomy route and I'll try to get referred to an OBGYN that will respect that. But things I also had to do for my health while I was just slowly bleeding out and becoming more anemic by the day:

two iron infusions. On the second one they had to send me to the hospital to get an IV put in and then I had to travel across the city to the clinic I got my iron infusions don't at. Most stressful 2 days I've had to be quite honest. They poked me with different needles 11 times until someone finally got the iv in properly.

One of my ribs shifted just slightly out of place and I had to go to a chiropractor. Now I take stretching way more seriously. Folks. if you're not active, still make sure you stretch and you're hydrated. It's fucked.

Chronic fatigue and uterus cramping. if I wasn't at work or doing necessary chores (litter box, walking the dog, showering, laundry, etc.) I was laying down and doing my best not to take too any pain killers.

24/7 bloating. full disclosure- I 'm Fat. before all of this, I was comfortably between 175 to 185 pounds (and I didn't mind! I was born fat, I've grown up fat, it's not something I've ever cared about.) Carry most of it in my stomach and chest. At 5"1 ish, it makes me look pretty chunky. Imagine blowing up around 20 pounds more. at my worst, I was around 215 pounds. My body HURT. I felt like I was a bubble that could pop. I bought work shorts that fit me perfectly at around 185 pounds and the bloating got so bad, the button for the shorts just popped off while I was at work. It was so embarrassing.

Anddd that's the mega long health update.Right now I'm still recovering from my procedure. I have about a week and a half until I get have a bubble bath again and I do see the OBGYN on Sept 4th to find out just what my options are. Some other misc things to tie the post up into a more positive update:

Blue's reactivity is getting better! We haven't met many new dogs but he's getting so much better at ignoring every dog we pass. We do still have to cross the street, but he's more inclined to look to me than to stare down the other dog so that's always great.

Menma turned 12 and she's still on that vet prescribed diet. It's great for her kidneys but bad for hairballs. We're working on trying to get her interested in some hairball relief stuff but the old lady is picky with her food and sometimes she'll touch it, most days she'll turn her nose to it. And work is. Work. But you know how that all is. Capitalism is a shitty thing and I hope we see something better sooner rather than later.

That's about it! Thanks for reading if you got this far. It's storming and I gotta get Blue out to at least try to pee but knowing him, he's gunna protest so we'll see how it works out.

[jadzio]

Artificer inspired boba

Popular in metropolis and parts of sky islands. Made with boiled plates of centiwings (usually infant) and blood of a yellow lizard, though artificer likes to substitute it with scavenger blood.

[we-are-all-of-legend-now]

Fictober Day 28: I May Not Get Another Chance To Say This

Prompt number: Prompt #28

Fandom: American Dragon Jake Long

Pairings/Characters: Jake/Rose; Dragon Council

Rating: T

Warnings: blood mentions; character death(s)

You can read under the cut or click here to read it on fanfiction

Rose stared at herself in the mirror, dreamily swishing the skirt on her wedding dress. Rose couldn’t leep the smile from her face, even if this wasn’t happening in the way that she and Jake had always imagined because it was happening at al.

                They had tried for years – so many years that Rose had thought she wouldn’t survive it – to do things the right way. They had hunted for magical ways to free her but everything they found depended on having the right magical artifacts in the right place at the right time with the right ritual and it wasn’t the easiest thing. The next closest one was five years away and Jake and Rose were still counting on it so that they could come home.

                They wouldn’t have run, likely, if their last ditch effort had worked out. They had gone before the Dragon Council and laid out their case and why Rose should be offered magical immunity for the deeds she had done in the service of the American Dragon. What the Dragon Council had heard was that Jake had let a Huntsclan member in on dragon secrets. He was a traitor and she knew too much and they were both liabilities.

                Rose touched the fingers of her long white opera gloves that she had gotten to hide her Huntsmark. She wanted to be just Rose when she married Jake. It was all she had ever wanted: to be just Rose.

                They had barely scaped the Isle with their lives. The Dragon Council had been aiming to kill both of them and they knew it. They had made one quick stop to Lao Shi’s to grab the emergency bag and hear the ‘I Told You So’ from Lao Shi, until they were gone, fleeing across the Canadian border to hide in the middle of a city and figure out what to do next.

                For the first time since they had met, Jake and Rose were completely alone.

                They checked into a hotel room under fake names and they had stood at the foot of the king sized bed and Rose knew that they were thinking the same things: there would be time, later, to talk. Now elven years of loving each other, they were alone together.

                It was heaven to be in Jake’s arms and not be counting the seconds until their alter egos pulled them away. They were just Jake and Rose and they had all night and, then, in the morning, they woke up in each other’s arms. Rose had just stared at his sleepy face and thought she could just stay here forever. The thought wasn’t completely without guilt, because they had both left behind people they loved, but it was still true. Rose would give up anything for Jake.

                Jake kissed her good morning and Rose felt her heart flutter. She could have this every day.

                “Let’s get married today,” Jake whispered.

                “What?”

                “Right now, even.” Jake pulled Rose against his bare chest. “I’m serious. I want to be your husband maybe if we’re married, you’ll be protected. I’m a world dragon.”

                “It’s not the way we wanted it.”

                No sappy and romantic proposal, no ability to find the bio she had dreamt to be apart of this day, not even the chance to celebrate with the found family she loved. And yet to marry Jake and be his wife now was intoxicating. Everything else was just details. They could even do it all again in five years when they went back to Fu and wished away the Huntsclan and then everything could be as it should be.

                “I know.” Jake kissed the back of her neck and Rose felt the apology in his lips. Nothing ever went the way that they wanted it. “I just want to be yours and I want you to be mine. We can do that. We have the whole world and, after all this time, why wait?”

                So, they had gone to the thrift store and then another and another until he had a bag packed with all of the things that he thought would make a good wedding outfit and so did she. They hadn’t shown each other and now Rose was standing in a courthouse bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, because here was, finally, as Jake’s bride.

                Rose decided that she was a pretty bride and she hoped that Jake thought so too. Jake had better, because he had called her stunning in the heat of battle, with her blood on his cheeks and her blood embedded in his claws. Now that she was here, as an ordinary woman, Rose hoped that Jake thought that she was the most captivating thing that he had ever seen. She had curled her own hair, slightly, and had put on a little blush and a little mascara and the pink lip gloss shade that Jake always complimented. And, Rose loved the dress that she had found in one of the vintage shops, as much as if she had intentionally gone looking for it. It probably would have fit in as a 1950s prom dress with its tea length, fluffy skirt, and the slightly off the shoulder sleeves. Rose wished that she had thought to look at jewellery – pearls probably would have completed the look – but she had been so intent on finding gloves that it had never occurred to her.

                They had found rings, even though she had closed her eyes as Jake picked out one that he thought she would like and vice versa. When it was time, Rose emerged from the bathroom. Jake was standing there waiting for her and she burst into a pleased giggle. He was wearing a full ensemble, with a jacket that had coattails and a top hat. He could have emerged from the 1800s. It was so unexpected but so beautiful that Rose just reached for him.

                “You’re gorgeous,” Jake said, taking her hand and then spinning her around so that he could get a full view of her. “Breathtaking. Everything about you.”

                Jake pulled her in and kissed her desperately.

                “My fiancée,” he sighed, as he had all day today, because they had so little time to be that to each other.

                “My fiancé,” she said, straightening the hat on his head. “You look so incredible.”

                Jake grinned smugly, a familiar expression. “I know.”

                Their names were called and they headed inside, where their judge and two court appointed witnesses were standing the sides. And even though it was incredibly unromantic, Rose didn’t care about it all when she turned to face Jake. The ceremony was dry and quick because there were probably several couples still waiting. Rose didn’t care because she and Jake had spent years making their vows and promises to each other. From stolen glances in school hallways, to the blush of a first kiss, to being sixteen and Jake said ‘soulmate’ for the first time. In their fantasies they had built a hundred dream houses and had dreamt a hundred children. They were always looking toward the people they wanted to be together and now, here, they were being given the gift of always having each other.

                “You can now exchange rings, if you have any.”

                Rose held her breath. Jake produced a Victorian looking wedding ring, sparkling as if he had been polishing it all day, and Rose felt slightly bad that all she had to offer him was a plain gold band. But, she noticed, with delight, they had managed to pick the same shade of gold.

                “You are now legally married. You may exchange a kiss, if you would like.”

                Jake seized Rose into his arms and she was breathless with the need to remember everything about this. They were on the run and they would have to move on and she was never going to see their wedding venue again but all of the details got lost in the way that his lips made her feel.

                “Jake, I love you.”

                “I love you too.”

                It was wedded bliss as they left the courthouse hand in hand, only to be confronted by a brown dragon in the streets. Rose recognized him from the Dragon Council and Jake seized her arm, tearing her toward another street. But, this was not their city and they were lost between the Dragon Council bodies and what should have been, could have been, almost was, and then they were still in their wedding clothes when they were surrounded. Everything in Rose wanted to fight. Jake was shielding her behind his back and he was shouting at the Dragon Council. “You’re making a mistake! This love is real! She could be such a good ally! Go away!”

                They weren’t given an inch and Jake turned to Rose.

                “We could fight.”

                “They’ll hate us more.”

                “We might still die here.”

                “Yeah. I’m sorry. I thought we’d have a different life. I thought we could be the people we wanted.”

                “In case I don’t get another chance to say this.”

                “I may not get another chance to say this.”

                All at the same time. And they knew what they were trying to say but it wasn’t enough. Eleven years should not boil down to an alley way, trying to figure out how to live. Eleven years should be life and laughter and children and breathing and being in a wedding down and having a proper wedding. Instead, the blue dragon from the Dragon Council seized Jake from the neck of the wedding suit that Rose had loved so much and had a claw out, above his ear and Rose went cold all over.

                “He’s the American Dragon,” she cried. “He hasn’t fought you! He just wants you to understand!”

                She was being converged on. She had no weapons and she didn’t want to fight. She had never wanted to fight. She was just forced to fight. This wasn’t the world that she had ever wanted. Rose fell to her knees, crawling toward the closest dragon.

                “Please,” she begged. “Please, it’s not what you wanted or what you think. Please.”

                Rose looked over her shoulder and Jake was staring back at her. She could feel what he was thinking. She knew that he didn’t want to be the one left but Rose would be damned if she let him die because of her existence.

                “Please what?” a rumbling dragon voice, but she wasn’t sure what it came from.

                “I made him do it!” she shrieked. “I made him do all of it! I was sent by an agent of the Huntsman!”

                “ROSE!”

                Rose didn’t cry at the sound of Jake’s voice. “Get rid of the Huntsclan! He will keep doing all of this!”

                “ROSE!”

                There was a fight and a struggle happening and Rose closed her eyes to it all.

                “Stop,” she said softly, “please, if you kill me, he’ll be fine. He is the American Dragon and I was made to be tailored for him. If you kill me, he’ll be yours again.”

                Rose dared peek over her shoulder. Jake had lost his top hat. He was full of pain and tears and he knew exactly what she was doing for him because they knew each other. They should have a hundred more years to be together but they didn’t have it. Rose was going to die as his wife and she was going to save his life. If she couldn’t have everything she ever wanted, it was the least she could ask for.

                “We’ll see,” said the brown dragon in her ear.

                Then, before Rose could blink, she was dead.

[luminarai]

hey, hi, I was just on the former bird app and came across this info from a brand new study and now I cannot stop screaming internally??? what the actual fuckkkk

theres' an article from the guardian here and here is the actual study:

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Continuation to This Post :]

------

It was always so strange to hear adults argue.

Grown up fights never seemed quite the same as the trivial spats her and Dipper sometimes had. They were similar in some aspects, yes; Adults and children weren't as different as people liked to think. Mabel had seen adults verbally lash at one another with vicious words just as low hanging and petty as the ones she'd sometimes see kids the same age as her use. Adults arguing was essentially just a louder, angrier version of children fights.

And yet, there was somehow... more to it. Grown up arguments always seemed to weigh so much heavier in the air, and for so much longer than she'd ever thought possible.

Sometimes, the weight would leave quick and early, practically gone by the next morning. However, occasionally, the weight would stay; and grow heavier, and heavier over the years. Until it came to a point when the weight was nothing but a choking, stifling presence that seemed to fill every room in the house and buzz deafeningly in your ears like an unpleasant static that made your head pound.

Then, one day, the pressure would burst with a loud yell, a slam, and a bang, and start building up all over again. It was a cycle Mabel was much familiar with.

Her Grunkle Ford's "Mystery Shack" didn't have that air.

The shack's air smelled like burnt out candles and cheap discount Halloween fake blood, with a hint of real blood underneath the stinging scent of old wood and aged parchment. It wasn't necessarily a very nice air, certainly not in any way the fresh, crisp, clean air of the streets of Piedmont, but it smelled more like home than she'd ever felt back in California. It just smelled like... Grunkle Ford.

She liked her Grunkle Ford. He was super weird; with an even weirder Uncle as his roommate. He checked her and Dipper's arms and legs every morning "just in case someone broke in at night to steal a sample of their bloods"; he despised overly sweet foods (baffling, truly); and he had exactly 27 locks installed on the front and back door respectively that he could unlock all in under a minute with his really fast extra fingers. He reminded her a little of Dipper on some occasions, no matter how much the latter liked to deny the similarities (although, bar the demonic obssession).

However, last night, the air suddenly grew heavy.

Grunkle Ford had a fight.

Mabel hadn't heard it, and she hadn't seen it, but she knew there had been one. She was an expert recognizing the signs; she could always tell.

When she had awoken that late morning, the stuffy summer air had taken an even more sour note than usual, and had become a touch heavier than it should have been. Either that meant Grunkle Ford had just recently finished up a ritual, or a particularly rowdy argument had taken place; and Mabel knew that Grunkle Ford only performed his rituals between 2 to 4 AM, when he thought the twins were well asleep.

It was strange, to feel that same heavy air push down upon her temples and pound that same painful rhythm of a mounting headache as it used to do so often back when Mabel was in California. It had already happened a few times at the shack, but this one felt... heavier, than usual. She didn't think she would have to encounter the discomforting weight again this summer, away from her parents. Yet here she was. Aching.

She knew Gunkle Ford and Uncle Bill fought and bantered. With Bill being a permanent resident trapped within her Grunkle's mind, she couldn't imagine how they wouldn't. She didn't think even she could keep her cool if she had Uncle Bill as her brain roommate 24/7.

In any case, their interactions in front of the twins were mostly a mixture of exasperated resignation, or irritated tolerance, mostly from Grunkle Ford. Their occasional volleying exchanges of vitriol doused insults and words were short lived, and brief most of the time, especially when in front of the kids. They were nothing like the long, loud ones that could go on for hours back at her house in Piedmont.

Even so, there were some times when Mabel would see Grunkle Ford late in the evening, red faced and tight fisted, stomping down to the basement and disappearing into his lab there with a deafening slam of the rickety wooden door. She recognized that slam. He didn't want the twins to hear the argument.

Even if they could hear anything, what little they could glean always seemed to be only side of the argument, with Grunkle Ford yelling curses at Uncle Bill inside his head. She always did wonder what happened inside Grunkle Ford's head. Although, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. She couldn't imagine the state of the mind of someone who sometimes forgot to eat or sleep for almost a full week until someone reminded him.

The entire day passed with that same, tense air choking the atmosphere. Dipper had dragged Mabel and himself to some adventure in the forest, but it seemed to her that he was just trying to find excuses to stay out of the shack for the time being. Even he seemed to feel the unnerving heaviness of the air.

That night, underneath her sheets, Mabel pulled out the worn and well used wooden art mannequins Dipper and Grunkle Ford seemed to keen on using to summon Bill rather than their own shadows. With her trusty golden glitter pen (that she knew Uncle Bill loved despite what he claimed), she gently drew a closed eye upon the blank wooden face of the little model.

The eye opened, and she spoke:

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hi! I wanted to say I absolutely adore your art and headcannons! I wanted to ask if you would be interested in making a headcannon for our lovely harbingers where there is someone trying to sabotage their relationship with the reader like for example the person is saying that the reader is cheating or is saying mean things about the harbingers and that they have ,,proof" it is if course a lie. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to tho!

(Absolutely genius idea! Sorry to keep you waiting! I’m a slow writer…)

✦ When others try to sabotage your relationship with them

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

(tw: general mentions of violence and blood. sfw) 

Being intimate with a powerful Fatui Harbinger provides the illusory dream of having riches, power, and status. Some watch you with hushed murmurs as you accompany your beloved with linked arms, looking all elegant beside him. Perhaps some people cannot comprehend how such a ruthless Fatuus can even court someone like you. Others simply cannot comprehend that status and money is not a key factor in your relationship.

✧ To crossfire with Pierro is to go against every single Fatui Harbinger. The Director is known far and wide as a man of cold words and power beyond the seven nations. All valuable intel and actions are reported to him first and foremost, as even the top Harbingers bow before him. You, on the other hand, were not meant to bow before him. The Jester shall never let you lower your head, because it is he who shall stoop to worship you. 

However recently, a certain rumor reached his ears. His spies related to him info that certain Fatui soldiers, some lowly commoners at the bottom of the ranks, are spreading uncouth jabs about you and Pierro. Intel states that these fools think you infiltrated the Fatui and The Director’s inner circle by some intimate provocation and seduction; that you’re in it for the money and status.

Pierro’s gloved hands gripped the papers. Nevertheless, his expression is placid as always. 

Thus, the culprit now sat in Pierro’s office, trembling as the room oozed with murderous silence. The Jester never raised his voice, nor did he question the man who “joked” about you. The fellow kept spitting apologies, begging for mercy. He knew it was futile to lie or waste the Director's patience.

And the Jester? It took everything in his power not to get his gloved hands bloodied. To hear someone accuse you - his most cherished, as a shallow harlot? Consequences shall be faced. Calming his boiling turmoil, Pierro continued to conduct himself professionally:

He made sure the man and his entire generation met their oblivion. 

With the recruitment of his best spies, he ascertained that the culprit’s disappearance was not felt by a single soul, his entire family gone, and all traces of spread rumors eradicated. Above all, it was orchestrated so that you would remain unaware that anyone dared to tarnish your reputation.

You carried on with your life, blissfully unaware and undisturbed. Even now, you came in knocking on his office, asking: “Long day at work, honey? I can bring you some tea or coffee if you want.”

The Jester's smile returned, throwing away some crumbled documents into the trash can - “A tea break would be excellent, my divine.”

If it’s blood that needs to be spilled to protect you and his private affairs, then Pierro won’t think twice. 

✧ For Il Capitano, the way of the blade speaks more for its wielder than words. If you wish to prove your stance, you better be prepared to face the First Fatui Harbinger, as his might will test you in a relentless duel of strength. So what do you think happened when Capitano overheard someone calling you “weak”? That his beloved does not deserve an ounce of his attention, because you are a meek being compared to the Harbinger? 

His hand instantly found its place on the hilt of his claymore. He left no room for negotiation or doubt. He marched straight towards the culprit, unsheathed his weapon, and pointed the sharp point of his blade straight at the person.

“If you are so confident to spit such insolence about them, then you must be equally confident with your strength. Let your blade speak.”

The poor fool tried to defend himself with excuses. But his mocking meant nothing to the Captain’s weapon. Before you know it, there is an ongoing duel initiated by Il Capitano. The witnesses know that whoever is on the receiving end of his wrath has no chance of surviving. Not when a single swing of his weapon causes craters on the ground.

The man was about to collapse, accepting his violent demise. But just as Capitano was about to unleash his final lesson, your voice rang out amongst the crowd.

“Hey! Cease this commotion at once!” - you stepped up, your expression stern as you stood in front of your beloved. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the Captain’s already stoic body language shifted. His claymore was sheathed back to its place.

“My beloved, you shouldn’t have seen this…”

“And yet I did. It would’ve reached my ears anyway. What did I say about temperamental duels, Capitano? Morons are not worth it.” 

“He called you weak. I cannot allow it.”

For a minute, Capitano kept his head hung low in reverence. You stood with your arms on your hips, scolding him. Was it not for your intervention, that person who vocally mocked you would’ve been lying dead now. Instead, you spared the offender, and the man was allowed to flee in humiliation. 

The conflict was eradicated, and Capitano's imposing demeanor showed he didn't regret his actions. Considering how even Capitano bowed to your words, the accuser realized - you are not weak. Because if there was one person who made the First Harbinger go motionless then it was you. 

✧ Today was a good day for Il Dottore, but you weren't sure why. He was a tad clingy, his steps laced with a sense of giddiness. Giving you extra squeezes while hugging, smothering you with longer kisses on the cheek. Even as you sat idly in his lab, you watched him as he worked on some paperwork with a grin.

Thus you questioned him, lazily strolling around his lab and observing the countless tools or vials. But he waved off his excitement, tapping his pencil over some papers - “Nothing of major importance, but I did have something interesting happen recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue.

“An idiot made a pathetic attempt at spreading rumors about us.” - You stopped in your tracks, going still as you held some miscellaneous container with what seemed to be tissue samples. The Harbinger continued: “Some fool spoke behind your back; stating that anyone who is close with a heretical scholar is bound to be equally insane. They thought that if their words didn't reach you, then it's of no consequence.”

Your expression fell somber with each word Dottore spoke. He said it with such profound avidity, that his voice demonstrated threatening intent behind them. So he continued. “But you know me, dear. Nothing goes past me. Vile nicknames are nothing new to me. My work is not for the faint of heart, and those pesky cretins enjoy concealing their fear with profane titles. And they can call me whatever they want. However, I won't allow them to call you names. Not because of my work.”

You averted your gaze sadly onto the samples of veins and organs in vials. You pretended to inspect them, but your sorrow was more prominent. You suspected Dottore already did something, hence his unusual giddiness today. Thus, you inquired in a soft whisper - “So… what did you do?”

“I handled it, naturally.”

“...You did? What happened? To the person who said such things, I mean.”

“What happened? Dear, you're holding them in your hands right now.” - Il Dottore beamed, pointing at the vials of organs you held. 

✧ Today, Scaramouche was eerily silent. You were accompanying him during one of his work expeditions, aiding him with certain formalities regarding his Fatui subordinates. The 6th had soldiers working under him, and although he did not care for their training, he did not tolerate any incompetent weaklings.

Therefore, you decided to lend a hand. You helped conduct a training program for his underlings, making sure all standards were met. It’s not the first time you did so, since The Puppeteer often placed you as the second in command whenever he was absent. And the Fatui soldiers did not conceal their thrill - it’s like you were their favorite substitute teacher who was more cheerful and forgiving than their superior.

Either way, Scaramouche saw that the mission was going smoothly. But soon, lightning would strike. A certain Fatuus, an agent in training, was getting too charmful with you. It was during the usual training assigned by you, and this person was focusing more on his conversation with you than his training:

Telling you how you are a remarkably skilled person. How it’s a marvel to see someone so delightful as you working alongside the Balladeer. How you shouldn’t waste your time with someone as aggravating as Lord Harbinger Scaramouche. He’s even leaning closer towards you.

You smiled uncomfortably, your attempts at polite disagreement did not work with this agent. Yet now you felt the static in the air, and that’s when you realized - Your beloved heard all of it.

On this usual, unassuming morning, Scaramouche walked silently and struck a man with lightning. All eyes turned towards the commotion as you stood behind the Harbinger. His fists were clenched, sparks of electro crackling from them.

He may have been silent the whole day, but don’t mistake his silence for impassivity.

“Next time, know your place,” - he seethed, standing over the person who endeavored to sweet talk you. He permitted his subordinates too much leeway, now they dare charm you with empty flirts. Scaramouche would’ve stomped that man’s head if he wanted, but he wouldn’t create such a grotesque scene in your presence. Instead, he turned away, held your hand, and pulled you away.

He gave you a day off, his mind already conjuring plans to deal with his underlings later. At least he scoffed out an apology. Not for what he did; he does not lament that. Just a small ‘sorry’ for giving you a quick fright. The lightning strike was very loud, after all. 

✧ Pantalone often gets invited to luxurious meetings or extravagant galas. Any party that is attended by the richest man in Teyvat is a guarantee to make high-society elites turn heads. However, considering your prolonged relationship with your darling Pantalone, you know he secretly despises these social gatherings. Therefore, he takes you with him. Dressed in your finest, Pantalone proudly shows you off to the pompous aristocrats.

People would watch enviously, thinking to themselves: The Regrator’s sweetheart, spoiled by his riches. Your attire is as glorious as his expensive suit. His arm is tenderly linked with yours, always offering you his hand like a true gentleman whenever you two walk. Even as he conversed with various business partners, he always had to make sure his hand was around your waist or your hand.

This dotting behavior made certain ladies of Snezhnaya jealous. They could see you were not a noble-born, nor were you used to the attention during such gatherings. You just timidly accompanied him, and Pantalone kept rambling about you and your benign achievements. Childish, really. You’re probably someone who just ran after and clung to the Harbinger until he relented to keep you. Therefore, a group of ladies initiated the conversation: 

“It’s a pleasure to meet a man such as yourself, Lord Harbinger.” and “Why, a man of your status is probably seeking some interesting company. Oh? You are with someone? My, my, I did not notice them.” or “Surely you desire connections worthy of your status, sir.”

Pantalone had mastered the art of courteous smiling, yet even his act was about to crack. He noticed the way these ladies tried to stand too close to him, pretend you were not in the picture, or even passively mock you. Their insolence stenches, and noticing your silent discomfort caused his heart to sting. But he had a plan.

“Why yes, you are right,” - Pantalone smiled with his charming looks “I do value my time, and it’s important to not waste it on shallow conversationalists. Oh, but it’s such a shame that the people in front of us are just that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Pantalone turned to you, his arms encircling your waist while speaking such backhanded comments with triumphant smiles. The ladies’ smiles fell instantly, and you tried everything to avert your gaze. “Um, Pantalone? Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t bore ourselves with such lowly individuals? Hmm, I agree. There isn’t much to do here anyway, only the greedy will seek something in this superficial gathering. Oh well, let’s go so I can take you to dance, dear.” - Pantalone concluded in his usual enamoring tone “Ladies, if you would excuse yourself.”

In this world, the 9th of the Fatui Harbinger doesn’t excuse himself - others do. Therefore, he took you away, scoffing and checking up on you with hushed whispers. Pantalone was offended. Why do they assume it was you who desperately sought out the rich Harbinger? Little do they know it was Pantalone who used to run and seek your attention just to be yours. Honestly, they’re discrediting his neediness for you. 

✧ Should anyone meddle with Tartaglia’s personal life, they are picking up a brawl. Someone dares to flirt with you? His fists are ready. Someone said something unwelcoming about you? Anything in the vicinity can be used as a weapon. Someone endangers his relationship? Their life is now in danger.

Of course, you’re the one who consistently yanked him out of these fights. Usually, it’s nothing serious, as when you scold your boyfriend for such reckless behavior it ends with his heartfelt words and apologetic chuckles. He finds solace in embracing you from behind, gently enfolding his arms around your shoulders, reassuring himself that all is well.

However, Tartagia is still a Harbinger. Away from home, he’d personally search for intel on the culprit who dares to offend your relationship. Names, records, locations, anything to keep tabs on those who think they can drag his family into bloodshedding matters. Tracking is of no issue, after all, when he was still a young rookie, training as a Fatui agent was just the first step.

Once he determines the offender, he’ll pay a discreet visit to them. And this time, without you dragging him away from fights, there is no place for mercy or jests.

At night, Childe returned home, cheerful as the sight of you getting ready for bed welcomes him. Yet in the dim lights, you’d gasp and approach him with concern, catching traces of smeared blood on his face or hands.

Ajax would just smile; he didn’t need to explain. Instead, he would quietly approach you from behind and envelop his arms around your shoulders in quiet stillness.

[hankandmonty]

“Remember when we died?” Is such a raw line. Happy D20 eve

I forgot I had a rain version thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

[somerandomdudelmao]

Part 1!

..of an episode that reveals that if something looks like a space horror and sounds like a space horror, maybe it is a space horror.

Who would've guessed?~

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Masterpost

[smiisevenwhyplus]

the fact that these are minutes apart is KILLING me

[shepscapades]

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3] [Pt 4] [Pt 5] [Pt 6] [Pt 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Doc and Xisuma despairingly endure the fallout of Etho’s violent boot up at the dawn of a new season—but only barely.

[This fic concludes the Destruction short comic series, which follows the chaos and panic that erupts after Doc and Xisuma try to get Etho back online at the start of Hermitcraft Season 9 after a very rough Season 8 finale leaves him glitched and broken. The comic is set to Joywave's Destruction, but this fic is inspired loosely by Overwerk and Jordan Macdonald’s Feedback and Bassea’s fever dreams / by your side.]

[amelia-yap]

internal screeching

[bamsara]

Befuddled sparring match. No weapons and no curses, but claws, teeth and horns don't count tho

[ra3kiv]

few recent commissions i made!!

[2kiran]

something about logan howlett patching your shoulder up, his calloused hands surprisingly gentle as they stitch your wound close. he’s looming over you, eyes fixated entirely on your form. in a haze of pain, your hand reaches out to curl around his hip and roughly squeeze with a low groan, unintentionally tugging him closer to your seated position.

“you okay, bub?”

“yeah...”

there’s something about it that makes his cock throb; how your reflex is grabbing onto him, how your voice is hoarse, and fucking hell, the smell and sight of you bleeding like that... he’s never letting anyone else fix you up. and oh, he wants you to squeeze something else.

[mythtakens]

favorite Buck and Christopher scenes (requested by anon)