#while the rest is just several unique colors

[deeroffal]

Playing with clay for the first time and of course it's a turtle

[yandere-sins]

Cupcake

Okay I will admit I've been soft-yandere yearning for a while now, but it's my birthday and I deserved them!! There’s nothing better than some self-indulgent fanfiction (;

Fandom: Call of Duty Characters: Yandere!Ghost x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Mentions of Punishments/Kidnapping, Forced Relationship, Emotional Distress

You didn't react to the sound of boots on concrete floor or the lock of the door clicking, hinges squeaking as someone entered the room.

Giving him attention was pointless.

You knew too little about him to get under his skin with words alone. Every bicker seemed to bounce off his broad chest with so much strength, it hit you right back in your face. You could never keep your arguments from sounding like childish complaints, and he chuckled at anything as direct as "I hate you!"

Instead, this man—"Ghost" you reckoned he called himself—seemed to bask in every minute of your putrid hatred. You could always assume the wisp of a smile beneath his mask, his eyes searching for yours no matter how much you glared at him. He possessed no inhibitions whatsoever, pushing, pulling, throwing you wherever he wanted, when he wanted, and not always gently mind you.

Yet, he pulled off his gloves before touching you, wiping the tears from your eyes and cheeks while he told you to stop crying now. That everything was okay and you shouldn't ruin your pretty face. He squeezed into the bed with you—the mattress too small for him alone, a coffin for both of you—shielding your body with his from the door so neither friend nor foe would see you first if they came inside.

Ghost made sure to top off your food with the ingredients you liked from his own plate when you were visibly upset. And on the nights when you were unconsolable, he pulled you on top of his chest despite the struggles, resting your head above his heart while he played with your hair or held your hand, intertwining your fingers.

It was hard to say what was going on in that man's head. His eyes spoke of wonders you couldn't see, but his punishments were so severe, so unforgiving as if you had personally harmed him in another life. You could be glad that you could still count ten fingers on your hands and ten toes on your feet, seeing how his mood shifted unpredictably at any moment you two were together.

So, it was best not to acknowledge him.

Even when everything inside you screamed profanities at this bastard, you tempered yourself with deep breaths. A deep inhale through the nose, and a long exhale through the mouth. Deep in, long out. Deep in, and a long breath out...

Zing.

The unique sound of a zippo reached your ear despite your meditation having been able to fade out his presence behind you. This sound was unexpected, new. Ghost and new impressions combined as well as fire and gasoline, so this was scary. You didn't know if he picked up a smoking habit or would burn you just from the sound alone.

You couldn't help the rather violent reaction to the fear that snapped your muscles tight. Jumping into action, you threw the blanket you had wrapped around yourself away, sliding into the farthest corner away from him. Your eyes widened as you took in the view in front of you, time coming to a brief halt as you mustered the absolute unit of a man in front of you holding a... cupcake.

Blue wrapping, yellow icing, and a flickering candle on top.

Ghost snapped the zippo shut after he had waited out your reaction, his shoulders relaxing after he concluded you wouldn't do something stupid. You had just been surprised. He let the silver square sink into his right pocket while the small flame illuminated his mask in a warm yet even more spooky way than it always was.

"Happy Birthday," he said, tearing you out of your state of shock. Your gaze jumped from the mismatched-colored cupcake to his eyes that rested on you, full of that disgusting, heart-wrenching adoration he harbored for you. Things were calm, too calm. Ghost was too relaxed, only holding the cupcake and not a weapon or anything remotely dangerous in his other hand. You couldn't trust the peace. Couldn't rely on his words or the actions you were seeing.

"Wait, what?" it suddenly hit you, your eyes widening. "Is it... Is it really my birthday?"

Prying your eyes off your captor, you looked to your right, to the small table across from the bed where Ghost had hung up a calendar for you. He'd been crossing off days diligently for you since you couldn't be bothered to keep up with the task on some days, Ghost knowing that time seemed to pass you by in weird intervals without a window in your room. And he was right. Damn.

Taking another step toward you, you didn't cower away, letting your guard down as you breathed out heavily. That meant you had vanished from the face of the earth for months now. No one would come looking for you anymore; the hope of your survival and return would have been smashed. What a depressing thought on your birthday, your family and friends surely heartbroken about your absence, just like you were.

The bed creaked as Ghost sat down, his weight shifting the mattress in a way that made you aware of his closeness. You collected your legs, keeping them away from him to not give him any chance of quickly grabbing you. But when Ghost held out his hand, it was filled by the cupcake stretched towards you, and he handed it over without another word.

Your eyes flicked back and forth between his and the pastry, but hesitantly, you picked it up, feeling the squishiness of it, a sweet smell drafting into your nose. The warmth of the ficker licked at your skin as you held the cupcake in front of you. So small yet so thoughtful. You thought a whole lot about this psycho, but to think he'd remember your birthday when not even you did? You couldn't even remember when you told him the date, much less expected him to prepare something for you.

Not like there was anyone else who'd care about it now.

Immediately, tears shot into your eyes as you realized you were truly alone. No one would come to save you, and nothing would change unless you could win against your captor. Even when he was with you, you were still alone. And even when you blew out the candle, wishing for these things to change, you knew the wish was wasted.

Sniffling, you bit into the cupcake, frosting getting stuck on your nose and lips, but you didn't care. Sugary sweet and buttery, the taste of homemade cupcakes like your mother would have made them coated your tongue and teeth, remaining there even when you swallowed, bitterness clogging your throat while the delicious treat produced enough serotonin to jump in joy.

You managed to devour half of it before the tears and stuffy nose caught up with you. Even your free hand couldn't wipe away all these emotions overrunning you. Fear, pain, hopelessness. The feeling of being stuck here and so, so alone. It needed two more hands, big, calloused, and warm, to gently hold your face between them, wiping relentlessly while hushing you softly.

"It's alright, darling," Ghost murmured, his voice invading your brain that couldn't detect all these phantom pains you were feeling but soothed them regardless. "I'm here. Everything will be okay, sweetheart."

It certainly wasn't what you wanted to hear, but it did the trick, keeping you from the panic attack that slowly built inside you. Wiping your nose with your sleeve, you took another bite, sniffling and with tears falling relentlessly still. But Ghost's hands never disappeared. Instead, his thumb began to wander, brushing off crumbs as you devoured the rest of your treat, leaving nothing of this kind gesture for him as you were unwilling to share what little happiness you had been given.

Crumpling up the paper around the blown-out candle, you threw the trash away, finally having both hands free to wipe your own face and get a grip on yourself, your vulnerable side having come out shamefully. But even when you pushed away his hands, Ghost's presence right next to you didn't vanish, his body now much closer than before.

"Happy Birthday," he said again, gripping your shoulders. You huffed lightly, feeling exhausted after your cry, but before you could react, the sudden feeling of lips against yours threw you off.

You hadn't even noticed him pulling up his mask to reveal his mouth, lips more greedy and desperate than ever finding yours. Teeth and tongue played and nibbled, not so gently asking for entrance, and you... gave up. You had no strength to resist. Play a game you were bound to lose anyway, Ghost always cheating. And immediately, feeling your surrender, his hands slid back to your face, cupping your cheeks so he could deepen the kiss.

It didn't help. Didn't soothe the aches in your heart and didn't make the tears stop, but the intrusion of his tongue and the sweet taste now coating it distracted your thoughts. Ghost seemed to try to tell you that no, you weren't alone. You'd never be. He'd always be with you like he swore up and down. He'd protect you, take care of you, and love you.

Kidnapping, locking you away, and forcing you to do what he wanted didn't exactly scream protection, care, and love to you. But an annoying, nagging voice started to speak up in the back of your mind. He wasn't wrong. As long as you had to endure this horrific living arrangement, he'd be with you. He didn't leave you alone, didn't forget your birthday. You doubted even that he spent a single moment of downtime without the thought of you on his mind, considering how obsessed he was.

It would never be enough to satisfy you, though.

There was no way he could ever mean enough to you to make you love him. You'd never forgive him, never submit to him fully, body and soul. But at least on that day, the day that grieved you so—a joyous occasion turned bittersweet by your suffering—you weren't alone. He was there with you. He cared. Did he care enough?

"You're not going to sing for me?" you asked him, half-joking, half-challenging.

Ghost mustered you for a long moment, then you heard him huff, amused. He shook his head before pulling you towards him. You allowed it, no strength left to struggle. "Only because it's your birthday," he reminded you, and you caught the corners of your mouth turning upwards before you reminded yourself not to be amused by his banter.

His heartbeat was calm and gentle, nothing like the things you knew he could do to you. Ghost turned you both over until he could climb into bed with you, laying you down on your side, facing him and not spooning you like usual. It was a tight squeeze, but with his arms around you, face nuzzled into his chest, it was warm and comforting. Safe—for now.

Happy Birthday to you.

Happy Birthday to you.

You almost didn't want to believe him when he began to sing, keeping his voice low. Ghost never wanted to rourse the suspicion of anyone else that possibly lived next door to you. His gruff voice didn't really fit the upbeat song, even with his accent tingling on every word. This time, you couldn't help but grin at the absurdity of the situation, but you listened, regardless, while being held in his arms as if you were meant to be there.

Happy Birthday dear darling.

Wearily, you closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat mixing with his voice. The man you hated the most was holding you and singing to you as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if it was meant to be this way all along, almost making you forget the pain and suffering he had caused you in the past. But when he held you like a rare treasure, fulfilled your wishes, and went out of his way to care for you, you almost believed his version of love to be true. You almost started to believe the many times he said he was doing all of this for one reason only: "I love you."

Maybe he did.

Happy Birthday to you.

[omgthatdress]

the major takeaway from last night is that Karl Lagerfeld was more of a personality than a designer and that Yves Saint Laurent was the clear winner of that rivalry.

For those who aren’t familiar, Karl Lagerfeld and Yves Saint Laurent were both fashion wunderkinds who emerged in the late 1950s, both appointed heads of major brands at the same time, and had very intense rivalry. Yves Saint Laurent took over Dior after the passing of Christian Dior, helped cement the brand as a major player in fashion, and then after a disastrous stint being drafted into the French army, built his own fashion brand that went down in history with its unique and diverse and always evolving looks.

Karl was always kind of behind Yves. He designed for a lot of major fashion brands, and managed to establish himself at the top of the game at Chloé, but he didn’t get his full on legendary status until he took over Chanel in 1983. This history of the Chanel brand was already pretty frought, with Coco Chanel modernizing and defining the fashion of the 1920s and 30s, but being forced to shut down during World War 2, during which she collaborated with the Nazis. Behind the Bastards did a pretty great two episodes on her. When the brand returned in the 60s, fashion had changed tremendously. Dior, Givenchy, Balenciaga, and Balmain had all taken over mid-century fashion, and now that aesthetic was being taken over by mod, the miniskirt, and the likes of Mary Quant, Pierre Cardin, and Paco Rabanne. So when Chanel came back it was largely seen as a stuffy old lady brand, which it remained until Karl took it over.

Now, this is where Karl actually did something really impressive that you honestly can’t take away from him: he took a fashion house in severe decline, one that had been in its flop era for literal decades, and he made it hip again, while still managing to stay true to the ethos that Coco Chanel had laid out.

Chanel is clean, minimalistic, and classy. It is easy to wear, effortless, and always extremely glamorous, which is what made it so iconic in the 20s and 30s. Given that the 50s and 60s were all about making a fucking effort, the thing that the brand managed to keep doing well was its suits. You know what kind of suits I’m talking about. Tweed jackets and midi skirts, neat tailoring, delicate pastel colors, pearls and camellias and chains. It’s not so much that it was edgy and exciting but it was expensive and it was *Chanel* and people wore it for the status symbol alone. That is what Karl took advantage of and managed to re-invent.

That sort of aesthetic fit perfectly into the you-can-never-be-too-rich-or-too-skinny 80s, when wearing status symbol clothing was everything.

Then, in the 90s, he managed to keep things exciting by following exactly what was on-trend at the time and incorporating elements of street wear and hip-hop.

However, after that, he kind of lost his edge and just rested on “it’s Chanel” rather than actually pushing the fashion envelope. By the time he died in 2019, he was a fucking dinosaur and fashion had long since moved past him. The thing that he was ultimately most well known for was his own very distinctive look and flamboyant personality.

Before I ever started studying fashion, I knew who Karl was because I’d seen him so many times, and I’d seen parodies of him so many times. I knew *him* but I didn’t really know his work. And I think having an incredibly boring Met Gala dedicated to him reveals that: his actual artistic legacy is skinnier than the models he used to berate. Karl Lagerfeld built his brand on his diva personality, and that sort of personality and outlook just isn’t hip anymore. Fashion is always about moving forward, and Lagerfeld’s beliefs should remain fossilized in the past.

[itaipava]

— christmas with f1 boys.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

snow fight: he would take you to make angels in the snow but, when you least expected it, you would be attacked by a snowball and when you looked at him, he would act confused as if nothing had happened, so you take advantage of this moment and play more snow on him, which causes a snow fight. you lose track of time because you’re too busy throwing snow at each other while trying to hide: you laugh so much and have fun like children. after a while, he comes to you: he hugs you and kisses you several times, which makes you laugh even more because his lips are cold. later you go home to watch christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

building a snowman: he would be very excited to build a snowman with you and he wouldn’t even try to hide it because honestly he probably waited all year for it to snow so he could build one with you. he would try to make it look like one of his friends but it wouldn’t work anyway. the snowman is a little jagged and deformed, but you two worked so hard on it, you love it anyway. he would let you add the finishing touches like; the scarf, the nose, and any hat you could find in the dorm that would fit your crazy snowman. his name would be from your shipp and he would take so many pictures to always remember this special and funny moment.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

making cookies together: he promises to help you, but he spends all the time with his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watches you do all the work by yourself. but after you complain, he helps you cut the cookie dough in the shape of stars and christmas trees, complaining about how cliché it is but still enjoying spending time with you: this moment is so precious and genuine to him, spending this day with you it’s truly a blessing. and when the cookie is done, he smiles and brags about being an amazing cook

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

ice skating; he would pick you up on a date, not telling you where you were going; so you would be very surprised when he pulls into the parking lot of an outdoor ice skating rink. it would be all decorated for the holiday with christmas lights everywhere and it’s so beautiful you can’t stop smiling and admiring the place around you. you’d probably need to wear those things kids use and hold so they don’t fall on the ice and he’d quickly grab it for you, trying to hide the smile on his face. he just circles around you while you barely move and try not to fall. when you start to get a little more used to it, he grabs your hands and holds you to keep you steady, looking sweetly at you. asking strangers to take a picture of you two for him to send to his family as a keepsake. then he’d buy you hot chocolate later and walk around town with you until it’s time to go home <3

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

going to shop together: walking through the crowded mall hand in hand as christmas music plays softly on the intercoms. after buying some presents for your friends (with you having to help him because he has no idea what to buy) you decide to split up to buy presents for each other; at the end of the day he takes you to dinner in a beautiful and comforting place. he lightly pats your hand on the table as you wait for your food to arrive, enjoying the snow falling outside.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

decorating the christmas tree: he would have all the trinkets and decorations ready when you get there and he would smile a little embarrassed at how excited he is; he would take it so seriously; it would be so cute and precious. he probably has a color scheme for all the embellishments and decorations, so everything matches and that makes you even more enchanted. he helps you to place all the ornaments that are too high on the tree for you to reach; smiling without you noticing because he doesn’t want this moment so unique and pure to end ever. he also loves taking photos of you distracted while you decorate the tree or when you pet roscoe who watches the two of you with curiosity. he also likes to take several photos of the three of you together, to save this precious and genuine moment and to post everywhere — and brag about having a beautiful family.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

making a gingerbread house: he’s the one who came up with the idea and honestly he’s really good at it! he is very focused and silent as he puts the frosting on the walls of the house, but he also gets even more intense and focused as he glues the walls together, whispering something like “no sudden moves, babe.” as if it were the most important thing of all. but of course, he would still have fun with it and mess with you a bit; he probably smears frosting on your cheek or nose and kisses you with the excuse to ‘clean up’ but you two would also discuss how to decorate the outside of the house; he wants to use chewing gum as a doorknob and you want to make one with glace; it takes hours to finish, but once done it looks amazing; it’s a mix of both of your design ideas and you both love it <3

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 3

Masterlist here, Moodboard here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 8,054

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope. Slow-slow-slow burn. Series Inspiration link: The Storyteller Episode 8

Song Suggestions: The Green Light - Je Suis Parte

(Image Source: Here)

Your sleep that night was restless; your body awakening much before the first dawn of sunlight cracked through the dark of the night to awaken the many unique birds within the lands of Kuraigana. Their voices were yet to cry out and alert the castle and surrounding keep of the morn, yet you continue to lay sleepless amongst your plush bedsheets.

Huffing out a breath of frustration, you shook your head and rose from your reclined position against your pillows and thrust the duvet from your body. One foot falling over the mattress first, followed by the other, you slid your feet into your sleep shoes tucked beneath your large bed and hoisted yourself to your feet. Reaching over to your armchair, your fingers found your lengthy silk negligée and wrapped it around your body and tied it firmly around your front. The lengthy pale sleeves draped around your wrists, you found your hairbrush and began angrily detangling your sleep-deprived hair from their matts.

Why did he look at you like that? Why was he so intimately holding you? Why did your breath hitch as your eyes met? His eyes, the amber hue bearing such intensity and longing- was that what it was? Surely you were mistaken. Those were the thoughts keeping you from a blissful slumber, clawing like a beast at the walls of their cage, the thoughts rendered you paralyzed and incapable of rest.

You angrily thrust your hairbrush down within your firm grip, a loud clack of the metal base echoing against your vanity benchtop. You clenched your eyes firmly shut, pursing your lips and biting back a frustrated scream.

It had been years since any action was outside the realms of your control, this one being the first to draw a physical outburst to occur since you were a teenager. You sucked in a deep breath while closing your eyes, rotating your neck to rid it of its sleep-deprived, rigor-mortis akin stiffness. Reopening your eyes, your pupils narrowed in as you focussed on your puffed eye-bags below your irises.

“You came here to do a job. You are a governess,” you reassured yourself, affirming yourself sternly in the mirror, “You are strong. You are safe. It is just a job.” Your looped affirmations continued as you attempted to repress memories from arising, but to no avail. You knit your brows together, shaking your head to rid the memories from coming to light before your eyes before the sun was yet to create the dawn. 

“You are in control here,” you again spoke aloud, rising from your seated position against your vanity. You claimed a small unlit lantern hanging limply from the door, unhooking it from the wall and drawing out a small box of matches to ignite the flame atop the wick. Shaking the flame away from the matchstick, you discarded the small piece of twig into the basket below your desk and fled from the room causing you sleeplessness. 

The halls became ignited by the small flame in your lantern, illuminating the portraiture littering the gloomy halls. Several generations of the lord you unwittingly bound yourself to with the Sapsorrow ring lay staring vacantly at you as your slippers peppered the ground with your featherfall footsteps. 

You were unsure as to where your feet were carrying you until you found yourself amongst the large wooden shelves in the large library. Each book was meticulously cataloged and alphabetised, the colors on the leatherbound spines ranging from the deepest of emeralds to dark magenta with golden twine. As each of the spines of the books drew you in by their pigments and binds, your left hand unconsciously flew to the shelves and danced among the pages. Tracing upon the many spines as you wandered aimlessly amongst the shelves, your fingers met with a vacant space in the nook; your fingertips falling through the space housing a book that no longer resides within its crease. 

Looking at the space for any semblance of literature navigation, you noticed you were in the section marked “S”, somewhere tucked between knowledge of Sangiovese vines and winemaking, and Sailing the uncharted waters of the grand line. 

“Sapsorrow,” you spoke aloud in a small whisper, gasping as your fingers collected the moved dust, “that was what he said,” you pressed your sleep-deprived memory for a semblance of thought: “Ten rings of the Sapsorrow queen, all riddled with charm, none can break from its challenger’s gleam, or cause the commissioner harm.”

“What does that mean?” you gasped once more, drawing up your fingertips to look at the dust collected, rolling the powder and webs within your hand, “there’s ten of them. What is a Sapsorrow? Ten of them?” you looked down onto the moss-coloured stone sitting innocently atop its golden circlet of destiny, “Like ten fingers?” 

Turning again to the bookshelf and looking at the vacant space against the shelves, you huffed out another breath of exasperation and grumbled; “It would have been useful to have a book on the matter. Perhaps that is what my betrothed-,” you rolled your eyes at the taste of the title over your palate, "-is doing with the book. If there even is one.”

You growled beneath your breath, another attempt at ridding yourself of the memories of the night prior. It was dancing behind your closed eyes slower than it occurred in reality. Each small brush of his fingertips over your body as he took your measurements, the small rasp in his voice as he spoke to you, his humility in joining his forehead against your own, and the way he held you against himself. You were going mad, reading into something that was truly not there. 

Shaking your head and breathing in deeply, you attempted to calm yourself down and reached for the nearest book at the end of the row. Your brows furrowed as you looked at the title, a small curious smile prickling at the corners of your cheeks. 

“Waltzing: A Pirate’s Guide to Entangling with the Upper Classes,” you spoke, your eyes lightening as your smile deepened. You examined the books cover for any other information, finding no further explanation, “there’s no author? Curiouser and curiouser.” 

You took the book to the corner of the room, sitting atop a plush crimson armchair and placing your lantern on the side table to illuminate the corner of the room. You huddled against the suede arm of the chair, bringing the pages closer to the light as you turned the first chapter: “Swords and Steps.” Your face became more bright as diagrams of pirate gentleman holding his sword upright and extended, followed by the placement of an ornately dressed woman spinning within his arms; the imagery of the evening’s prior events falling away from you the further you dove into the pages. 

The lantern’s wick began to flicker, the candle warning you it was in its final moments as the hours in the library began to fall away from you. You were barely aware of the dawn beginning to filter through the curtains, the first light a warm pink dusting the marble floor with its presence. The only sense able to bring you from your hypnosis within the pages was the scent of the extinguished wick as the stale smoke danced over the benchtop. 

Shaking your head, you attempted to again return to the present as you closed the pages of the book together and rose to your feet; hastily sauntering over to the aisles to return it to its rightful position within the shelves. You didn’t even know where to begin navigating the halls, unsure how you managed to draw yourself from your wing into the library to begin with. The patter of your heart began thumping heavily against your ribcage, anxiety raising at the thought of being caught within your bed clothes by a member of staff, or worse: Zoro and Perona. 

As the light of the sun began awakening the walls you wandered earlier, a strange mud-covered silhouette of a person holding a bouquet of flowers at eye level remained in the sunlight cascading over the front marble steps. They were picking at the thorns, clipping the stems and arranging the florals and vines in a fashionable style with pliers and ribbons of twine wrapping around the amassment of petals. 

The figure almost didn’t look human; bipedal humanoid, surely, but not human. The amount of dirt, muck, fur and feathers eclipsing their body under their cluster made them look beastly. You heard a deep rumbly hum, the creature before you appearing to be singing softly to themselves a tune you could not recognise. This was the only clue that allowed you to presume their gender, the smoothness of their deep voice almost serenading you with its comfort. Rolling slightly on your heels to rid yourself of your nerves, you cautiously approached the figure while holding your arms laced over your chest to shield his view from your sleep-clothes. 

“Excuse me, sir?” you called to them, their body’s stiffening in response and raising the flowers up further to cover their face, “No need for alarm, I am the Governess here.” He seemed to remain statuesque, rigid in his stance and not making a sound. You grew more curious, stepping forward again to get a better look at the arrangement, noticing it was similar to the ones placed atop your table and decorating your room. 

“I know who you are, my lady,” he spoke slowly. His cadence seemed familiar to you, albeit his face was hidden, “You should not be up at this hour. Is there something troubling you?” You were taken aback by his direct approach, but it was a welcome surprise. 

“I was unable to sleep, sir. My thoughts are my own, although I have been having trouble ruling over them of late,” you replied honestly. He nodded behind the flowers, your eyes trailing over him and studying his attire. He was clad in hessian pants, his boots trekking mud into the cobblestone galley. His torso was clad in a pale linen with mud, sticks and leaves masking the pigment of his skin from your eyes with how heavily caked he was beneath the thick sludge. 

“If I may be so bold as to ask for your help,” you asked him, stepping further into his proximity. The scent falling off him in waves was the earthiness of the mud mixed with the petals clutched over his face. As you drew in closer, you noticed he was wearing a broad straw hat, his face shielded by the wide brim, while his nose and lips were covered by a piece of woven cloth. He held his sight fixed to his hands, electing not to make eye contact with you. 

“You may ask anything of me, my lady,” he responded, his eyes remaining holding to the floor beneath him. You allowed a soft smile to rise against your lips, a small sigh electing to release itself from your chest at his candor. 

“I am unaware of my surroundings. I have been here a fortnight now, this being the first night I have opted to explore the grounds rather than remaining sleepless in my bedchambers,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “I have no idea where my wing is from here, and I assume you are a member of staff here.”

“I am something of the like, my lady,” he admitted to you, nodding while actively listening to your words as they fled from your lips, “I admit I was on my way to your chambers presently.” Your eyes widened, looking at the bouquet clutched firmly within his hands then back to his face.

“So, I’ve finally caught the culprit,” you laughed at him, “just as you have caught me in naught but my nightdress. Those are meant for me, are they not?” His rigidity did not halt, nor the tingle in his fingertips dancing amongst the vines. 

“You’re the one who brings the ever changing arrangements to my bedchambers, am I correct in my assumption?” you asked him while fixing your gaze on the white puffs of roses clutched within his muddy fingertips. 

“That you are, my lady,” he again admitted, bowing in a low stoop as a performer would to receive their applause. You smiled warmly, reaching for his forearm and lacing your right arm within his. 

“Chaperone me,sir. Please lead me to return to my wing,” you asked him with a small laugh, uncaring for the dirt falling from his sleeve onto your own. 

“I will make a mess of the halls, my lady. I should not be above the cellars while dressed like this,” he spoke in a warning tone, “I don’t enjoy cleaning up the boot prints I trek in at this hour.”

“Tush,” you dismissed his warning, tugging at his forearm, “I cannot wait for you to strip yourself of your tarnished clothes, bathe and escort me to my wing. I am in my nightdress, sir,” His eyes widened at your comment, his eyes almost holding a honey color displayed from its angle to you. 

“I would not desire tarnishing your own clothes with my mess, my lady,” he sighed as you both witnessed some mud falling from his shirt onto your sheer chemise. You smiled at his halt while bringing your other hand to fall atop his dirt-caked forearm. “Please, sir. I cannot have the lord of the house seeing me like this. Nor our shared wards.”

“Is not the lord of your house your betrothed?” he asked you, his brows furrowing as he spoke his warning.

“That he is, sir,” you nodded your confirmation while laughing once more, “all the more reason for the both of us to scurry on to my wing so we can both be rid of this predicament.” He hummed in response, shaking his head slightly with a small chuckle. You sighed in relief as he began to shepherd you towards your room, your body physically relaxing aside his as he guided you through the halls. You made idle conversation, the morning rising alongside the chirps of local birds warning you the day has been broken and to be thrust into your day. 

“How long have you been working the land here in Kuraigana? Your arrangements speak wonders to your skill, sir,” you praised him, watching as his smile began to upturn in the creases of his eyes. His nose and lips remained hidden beneath a woven cloth, his eyes being the only human part you could gauge the emotions of.

“I have been working with agriculture since I first laid eyes on the keep. There’s something about the soil here that is particularly riveting. The grapes thrive here,” he expressed with such unbridled passion, you could feel his joy at working the soil of the gloomy land, “they grow large, their skin dense and firm. Perfect for a variety of vines and vintages.”

“A viticulturist also? My, you have an array of talents. What do you grow here?” you ushered him to continue expressing his passion, your interest in the land growing by the interaction with the creature guiding you to your wing.

“I do enjoy watching the vines grow, yes. I also have had a hand in crafting the varieties into wine,” he admitted, nodding beneath his wide, straw hat. 

“A wild ferment, perhaps? A malolactic for chardonnay and sangiovese?” you asked him, prodding him and probing with your pointed questions. He chuckled at your comments, shaking his head at your comments.

“You are well versed in the art of conversation, my lady,” he commented accusingly, with a small whisper of humor beneath his words, “you need not humor me with your polite words.”

“Sir,” you furrowed your brows at the creature, halting your steps, “if I was not interested in your craft, I would not be asking so many questions,” your confession rendered him almost speechless. You chuckled at his surprise, once again allowing your feet to fall in pace towards your chambers.

“To further spur how truly interested I am in what you have to say, I would simply hum and nod to showcase my active listening while not asking questions,” you continued, your warm smile continuing to power your words, “my favorite phrase to use in that particular situation is: ‘that certainly sounds interesting’.”

He chuckled at your comment as he continued leading you to your chambers, the door within your sight as he unlaced his arm from within yours and opened your front door for you.

“A gentleman amongst the staff of Kuraigana?” you praised him with your words, prompting him to hand his head with a small huffed chuckle at your words. 

“I aim to be, my lady,” he uttered, walking within your bedchambers and beginning to remove the prior arrangement of flowers atop your desk and replace it with another arrangement. Unbothered by his presence in your chamber, you began tending to yourself by finding an appropriate uniform for the day and hooking it over your changing screen beside your bed. You continued to hear his footfalls against the room adjacent to yours, yourself feeling secure behind the screen enough to begin changing into your uniform to begin your day.

You threw off your chamise, followed by your night dress, slippers and socks before weaving yourself into your chosen attire for the day. A simple long dress, practical in nature with a cinched waist and a modest neckline: exactly how a governess should be seen by members of the household staff, not scantily clad in your bed attire. 

“I am heading out, my lady,” the strange chaperone informed you, prompting you to hasten your pace of lacing your boots. 

“Wait, sir. Allow me to thank you for escorting me back to my wing,” you called to him, hastily making your way towards the table setting in front of you. The flowers were breathtaking, this one filled with difficult to collect flowers with sweet scents and crystal-like dew drops. You carefully selected one from the bunch, a simple bushel of baby’s breath clutched between your fingertips as you carefully pried it from its place amongst the bouquet. 

“This one is for you, sir. Thank you for aiding me in my time of need,” you presented the small bushel of flowers to him; his muddy hand coming out to collect it within his discolored fingertips. 

“Thank you for your kindness, my lady,” he nodded in a small bow, your fingers brushing together slightly at his withdrawal. 

“What may I call you, sir? Surely you have a name, and I would like to know I have a friend here in Kuraigana while I work,” you asked him, your trail of intellect deducing the flurry of thoughts, “or would you prefer to be known simply as ‘Farm-hand’?” 

“Farm-hand,” he repeated back to you, his voice almost laughing, “Farm-hand is fine to me, my lady.”

“If you are to go by this name, please bestow one of a similar likeness to me, Farm-Hand,” you laughed at his candor, as you reached for the metal hairbrush you were using earlier and began hastily smoothing over your tangled locks.

“If I am to be Farm-Hand,” he thought hard, a small hum exiting from his chest, “you ought to be ‘Lost-Lady’. Considering it is too much of a mouthful to address you as ‘woman clad in naught but her nightdress’.”

You laughed again at his comment, before guiding his muddied form outside of your bedchambers. 

“Until tomorrow's flowers, Farm-Hand,” you stooped in your low courtesy and offered him your left hand. He accepted it, bringing down his forehead to brush against the back of your hand atop your knuckles.

“Until the morrow, Lost-Lady,” he raised his forehead from his bowed position and watched as you turned back into your chambers to continue readying yourself for the day, the door shutting with a small click behind you. 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mihawk was frozen, his dirtied hands rolling over the small white flowers within his fingertips. He hooked his hand against his mask, drawing back the material to taste the air once more without the filter of material or mud. His beard was no longer scratching behind the mask, the flavor of the air feeling all the more sweet. As he twirled the flowers within his fingers, he sighed at the innocent object dancing in his hand. 

His left hand shook, feeling the warm tingles of the memories of your flesh joining briefly with his as he clutched yours within his fingers. The ghost of radiant heat against his forehead remained alongside the memory of such a warmth you presented to him, a presumed low-ranking member of his staff. 

He looked down at his attire, the mud covering his body causing him to physically hiss out a verbal reprimand at himself.

“So stupid to lose footing beneath the vines,” he chastised his appearance, “especially to collect the insignificant little baby’s breath-.” His words halted as he drew up the pale flowers you had gifted him in return once more, a soft smile rising to his lips. 

“What have I ever done in this life to deserve such sweetness?” he whispered to himself, a sighed laugh falling from his lips as he shook his head. 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Sitting with the young pink haired debutante in the courtyard, you noticed her eyes were glazed; her far off expression alerting you to her being not overly present for this afternoon’s private lesson. 

“Perona, dear?” you called to her, placing your cup back on the saucer. She hummed in response, slowly blinking her eyes but remaining away with the ghosts that haunt her. You sighed deeply, rising to your feet and moving behind your chair. You slowly wedged the chair beneath the circular dining table and walked over to crouch in front of her. 

“Perona,” you softly spoke, reaching to claim her hands laced within her lap beneath your palm. She squeaked, looking down into your eyes and uttered a hasty, “yes, my lady?” 

“There you are, you’re back,” you smiled at her, prompting a blush to rise and litter her pale cheeks with its hue. You smoothed your thumb over her knuckles to reassure her she wasn’t keeping you waiting. 

“I’m sorry my lady, they-,” she began, rapidly blinking as she attempted to articulate her thoughts to place them within the air verbally, “-they have been saying some unusual things to me. It’s been a bit tricky to ignore them.” You quirked your head to the side, not completely processing what she was admitting to you. 

“Oh?” You prodded her, rising to your feet and tugging lightly on her hand to usher her to her feet, “and what do they have to say today? Only good things, I hope.” Her teeth drew outwards in a straight line, cringing out a small apprehensive wince of a smile. 

“Not exactly,” she admitted while rising to her feet in front of you. Her smile only drew more apprehension from you, curiosity now being eclipsed by concern at her words. You nodded to her to continue relaying her thoughts to you, her nodding while adding; “they say he’s found a way. Something about the moon being first, I think. Help? He’s getting help- no-... asking for help? They’re not making much sense.”

You knit your brows further in the center of your forehead, her words not drawing any conclusion to your already troubled mind from sleeplessness earlier. 

“A beast? No... A Crocodile has the moon?” she nodded with her eyes shut tightly, focusing on the voices as they presented themselves to her. She continued shaking her head, the many voices falling over her mind and corrupting her thoughts with their nonsensical visions. 

“Perona,” you called to her, her aura beginning to turn a different hue to indicate her beginning to be overwhelmed by other worldly voices. You took both of her hands in yours and gave them a firm squeeze, “Perona, sweetheart.” She opened her eyes, glossy and a different hue than her usual vibrancy.

“The moon,” she uttered, “the moon has commenced.”

“Perona!” your voice held an elevated firmness to your tone, immediately snapping her from her daze and coming back to the world she views as reality. 

“I’m sorry, Governess,” she uttered quickly, bowing her head to you and beginning to tremble a little, “they’ve just been enthusiastic lately. They are very interested in that.” She nodded to your left hand, your ring shining its smoked, green gemstone within the sunlight. 

“They say,” she teeters off her voice, shaking her head as the voices begin to eclipse her form and shroud her mind with their nonsensical visions. She allowed herself to snap out of it, taken aback by their final informational relay, “there’s a party? Oh! And there’s a dress for you.”

The blood in your face physically leapt from your head and paled. He’d done it. He’d made the first dress, the doom of your wedding day approaching with more haste than you would have desired. You were to be a bride, donned in dresses of the finest make and forced down the aisle with the knife of destiny thrust against your back to usher you onwards-.

“-Not one of those, my lady,” Perona broke you from your thoughts, her eyes wide and serious as they met with your widened gaze. She gently squeezed your hands within her own, reassuring you with her kind expression, “they say the party is to announce your engagement, and Mihawk has had a dress made especially for you to wear to it.”

“O-Oh,” you stuttered, the color once again returning to your cheeks. Perona giggled at your apprehension, lacing her arms within your own and beginning to draw you closer to the sage-colored hedge-ends to look over the impressive grounds of Kuraigana. 

“You want to go and see it? They say he has it ready for you, if you like,” she shrugged, her enthusiasm sparking at the corners of her cheeks as she physically began to shake with anticipation. You allowed a softness to fall over your body, your young debutante beginning to break down your walls and squeeze herself into the realms of personal friendship. 

“I think I will wait until he sends for me,” you smiled at her, “for now, we need to continue with your lessons.”

“Why, my lady?” she whined, a small semblance of childish anger falling from her pouted lips, “I don’t want a husband, I don’t want to be a lady.”

“Do you desire to wear beautiful gowns, dance with handsome men and woo them with your radiant beauty?” you sighed, your eyes rolling with a soft smirk arising against your lips. She immediately snapped out of her childish tantrum.

“Yes, my lady,” she softly spoke while nodding, her pink-hair bouncing with the gentle bob of her head. 

“Then lessons in being a lady are to continue until I’m satisfied you are able to showcase my reputation alongside your own,” you chastised her with your smirk rising into a pleasant smile. 

“Yes, my lady,” Perona sighed, beginning to lead you throughout the beautifully maintained hedge-ends. The map of the maze lay unpolished, dust and dirt falling over the sign and making the object unable to be read.

“I shall talk to the Farm-Hand about that tomorrow,” you spoke under your breath. Perona looked to the side, conversing with an astral projection beside her, “We have a farm-hand? I thought that was-... oh…”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“WHAAAAAAAA-?” the den-den-mushi split the lord of Kuraigana’s eardrum with the verbal cry form the other end of the transmission. 

“Silence your incessant screaming, Clown,” Mihawk growled into the receiver. 

“You called Me, Hawk-Eyes,” the voice called on the other end, Mihawk’s migraine beginning to worsen its throb against his temples. He should never have done this, requested aid like this. From them. 

“That I did, Clown,” he admitted in a defeated sigh, bringing his index and middle fingers up to rotate around his temple. 

“Stop calling me ‘Clown’. I have a name,” the voice spat back at the gloomy warlord as he sat neatly dressed against his desk, “and if you’re calling in a favor, I require to have my full title spoken to me.” Mihawk sighed again, his defeated eyes closing as his humility began to overcome his body. 

“Captain Buggy D Clown,” Mihawk uttered darkly into the microphone at the end of the den-den-mushi, “I need you to make something for me. I know you can do it, I’ve seen something similar at your big-top. It needs to be starlight. A gown for a bride as radiant as the stars that litter the night sky. A dress so spectacularly clustered with diamonds of glittery stars, people would be amazed that something so beautiful could be found within the realms of mortality.”

A brief pause occurred, static from the other end of the receiver before the clown once again spoke up.

“Mihawk, baby,” the voice taunted him, “you had me at ‘I need you’.”

At that, the other end of the receiver clicked to indicate the end of the conversation, the clown striking a bargain with the darkened lord of Kuraigana, who’s very core was wrecked with absolute hopelessness. 

“Two calls down,” he sighed, rotating his neck to rid it of the tension arising within it, “the drunken red-head is next.”

Lord Dracule Mihawk understood this undertaking was seemingly impossible, the three gowns he was to present to his governess- …no, his betrothed, was no easy feat. He did not initially intend on asking for aid, but his resources and contacts were depleted with such haste, there was no way he would be able to commence such an undertaking on his own. 

The Crocodile managed to sense there was a difference in his usually stoic and disinterested demeanor, which prompted Mihawk to relay his troubles onto the larger gentleman. A cigar clenched within his pearled teeth, his eyes held amusement rather than their usual boredom at Mihawk’s predicament. 

“I have some material you may enjoy, former warlord,” he spoke with such confidence, his eyes almost twinkling with delight at the notion he had something to hold over the golden-eyed swordsman, “a shipment delivered balls of silk and satins to my keep. Pale as the coldest chill of the first drops of winter,” his taunts continued as he blew a puff of cigar smoke into Mihawk’s face, “it almost looked as radiant as the moon.”

“Almost,” Mihawk spat, his eyes narrowed and anger growing more tangible, “almost will not do. It needs to be exact, precise, executed to the highest quality for my bride-.”

“-Your Bride? Mihawk,” Sir Crocodile’s sinister grin split his reptilian face upwards, “You never took me as the type to marry. Concubines? Of course. They have their uses. But Bride?” He removed his cigar from his teeth and pressed the butt-end with his thumb into the ashtray, “A Bride to the lord of Kuraigana. She must be some woman.”

“Indeed, that she is,” he admitted, his anger only remaining within its elevation at the taunts from the larger man. Sir Crocodile hummed, stooping lower to Mihawk’s stature, and smiled further upwards to crinkle his cheeks.

“I will have it made for you, Hawk-Eyes,” he hissed into his face, his shadow from his larger stature doing nothing to intimidate the confident swordsman, “and I expect a favor in return for it. Send her measurements to me, and I will have a hundred hands stitching it for you.”

“Mihawk, you gloomy old prick, that you? What are you calling me for at this hour?” the lazy voice of the overly confident red-headed captain asked at the other end of the receiver. Mihawk sighed, his anxiety at requesting the final object from his oldest rival getting the better of him the longer he remained in silence. 

“Mihawk, if you don’t speak soon, I’m going to hang up the call and go back to my drinking-” Shank’s voice was halted by Mihawk uttering a single word.

“Lingerie.” Silence. Naught a word was spoken for several seconds; the anxiety elevating higher in Mihawk’s chest the longer the silence remained stagnant. An uproar of laughter was thrust into the receiver, several members of the red-hair pirates thrusting their jovial laughter into the air at a single word. As the laughter stifled back, Shanks spoke up once more.

“Lingerie, Mihawk? You want some lingerie? Is it for you, or is it for you?” the red-head captain jested, taunting the dark-haired warlord with his words. Mihawk shook his head, notably too far deep now to pull away from his request now. 

“Red-Haired Shanks,” Mihawk began, the verbal shushing from the redhead on the other end to hush his crew to silence as he heard the request of the former warlord. 

“Yes, old Hawkie? Go on, relay your request for intimate items onto me. See what I can do with your raunchy thoughts, you sick bastard-.” Shanks’ words were halted as he heard the tone of voice depicted by the usually stoic gentleman.

“Sapsorrow, Shanks,” Mihawk gasped in desperation. The audible sound of the thud of footsteps and the voices of the crew fell away from the speaker, indicating the redhead was actively moving away from the campground.

“You still have that thing? Mihawk, you should’ve cast the cursed thing into the seas. Mine was at least swallowed by the sea-beast while I protected the boy,” Shanks hushed an elevated whisper into the receiver. 

“I know,” Mihawk uttered, his brows knitting further into his face as he cursed himself of such stupidity. After another moment of silence, Shanks spoke again.

“And your betrothed requested Lingerie to be a condition of her intention to wed. My, Hawk-Eyes, you’ve at least got a good one,” he chuckled into the receiver, “go on, lay it on me. What conditions needs to be met with this one?”

“Gold,” Mihawk confessed into the mouthpiece of the receiver, “Gold as heated and radiant as the sun, beams of dawn and cracks of dusk. Admittedly, I am unsure where to begin with this request.” More silence followed on the other end of the receiver, Mihawk feeling the anxiety once again claw at his throat with anticipation.

“Do you have her-... I’m assuming it’s a her, yes?” Shanks asked, his voice giddy and boyish; elevated with a twinkle of mischief and excitement.

“Yes,” Mihawk hummed his gruff confession into the receiver.

“Hah!” Shanks laughed triumphantly, “Wonderful. Do you have her measurements?” Mihawk relayed his governess’ measurements to the one-armed Captain, hearing the thump of sandals footsteps falling against the sandy shores of Shank’s island’s shores, crunching beneath his heels.

“Beckmann,” Shanks called his voice away from the receiver, “Beckmann, you’re not going to believe this-... Mihawk, give me a moment, would you? Beckmann!” Mihawk’s expression was not amused, his eyes narrowing beneath his lengthy dark eyelashes. 

“Beckmann, bring me my anvil, pliers and soldering pick! All the gold we’ve got on us and then some-... Mihawk,” Shanks laughed into the receiver, his voice brimming with absolute glee, “Oh, Mihawk. You’ve made my day.”

“I’m glad one of us is getting a semblance of joy from this request,” Mihawk sarcastically spat into the receiver.

“Oh, lighten up. You’ll be getting some joy out of this once I’m done with it, Hawkie,” Shanks laughed again into the mouthpiece, several clangs and elevated voices being spoken into the mouthpiece.

“All the gold on us, Captain? That seems a bit rich comin’ from him. Isn’t he a lord or somethin’?” Beckmann’s raspy voice held a distant quietness away from the mouthpiece. 

“Yeah, but I’m gonna make something out of it, Becks. Lingerie for the sword-wielding lord’s future misses. Gotta get out the good stuff for this one-... Hawk-Eyes, are you still there?” Shanks called back into the receiver, Mihawk feeling his anxiety beginning to calm at the notion that Shanks was willing to participate in the task. 

“I’m here, one-arm,” Mihawk lazily drawled into the microphone, exasperation relayed on every syllable. Shanks chuckled at his title, disregarding it with glee. 

“I’m gonna make your future misses something you will both never forget,” He laughed into the transponder, his boyish charm prompting the swordsman to almost crack a small and apprehensive smile.

As the call of the den-den-mushi went quiet, Mihawk sighed and lulled his head back on his arched backrest. He felt relieved to have the weight of his predicament shared with his allies, but also apprehensive at the requests they would omit from him in return. And the teasing. He loathed being on the receiving end of taunts and jabs from the three of them, particularly the idiot clown.

He propped his neck back upright and glanced his amber eyes over to the desktop, honing in on the small bushel of baby’s breath you had offered him earlier. He reached his fingertips forward, his index finger and thumb grasping the twig holding the cluster of white flowers.

“Lost-Lady,” he smiled at the innocent balls of petals clinging against the sprigs. He chuckled at your earlier interaction, how open you were with him about your feelings of late. He was already thinking of another arrangement to create to decorate your halls with his flowers and vines: sweet jasmine, honeysuckle, bluebells and daisies were amongst his choices for your following tabletop. Much less of a risk of becoming covered head to toe in mud again.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“M’Lady, Hawk’s lookin’ for ya,” Zoro huffed a small grunt, extending his left forearm to you as you and Perona entered the galley. You shook your head at Zoro, your eyes glaring at him to wordlessly reprimand his pronunciation of your title. He furrowed his brows at first, before his eyes widened in clarity as it dawned on him. He shook his head slowly, rolling his eyes within his skull and bowing sloppily and lowly to you.

“Forgive me, my lady,” His voice, absolutely dripping with the sticky molasses of sarcasm, “I extend my most sincere apologies, my lady. Would my lady prefer me to kneel on the ground to receive a verbal reprimand, or dost my lady prefer me bent over her lap? Perhaps at such an insult to my lady, I should be drawn and quartered. A cat and nine tails whipping their iron slashes into my chest for insulting you in such a way, my lady-.” 

“-That’s quite enough, Zoro,” you reprimanded him, unlacing your hand from within Perona’s arched elbow. Your brow descended into the middle of your face, your chin extended into the air as you circled him, “and here I thought you were making waves as a gentleman, but you are remaining evermore a petulant brat.”

“I aim to please, my lady,” the corner of his lip curled upwards into a small smirk. Perona refused to react to the situation for fear attention from her governess would be drawn to her rather than the display offered by Zoro. 

“You are doing a poor job it today, Trainee,” you snarled at him, causing his smirk to widen as his eyes narrowed at your challenge. 

“Bein’ a gentleman?” Zoro scoffed at you, his lip darting out to dampen his bottom lip as he tested you further.

“Pleasing me,” you quipped back, your challenging eyes and candor immediately bringing a warm blush up the swordsman’s neck and teasing the lobes of his ears. He remained speechless, Perona allowing a silent giggle to threaten to pour over her lips. As the silence began to build with tense air, you clicked your neck and approached the young swordsman.You were now within a foot of the tall gentleman in training, continuing to warn him with your expression.

The three of you were so caught up in this moment of challenge, you remained blissfully ignorant yet again to the silent approach of the lord of the house watching from the shadows. He was on the edge of his hypothetical seat as he witnessed Zoro challenge you, but now watching on with amusement at how you were effortlessly managing him. 

“Try again,” you ordered him. There was not a sound that dared break your challenge of the green-haired swordsman within the galley. He sighed deeply, bowing his head formally to you and closing his eyes. 

“My lady,” he uttered slowly and cautiously, “the lord of Kuraigana has requested your presence in the parlor. Perona and I are to escort you to meet with the formal dressmakers for a fitting.” He almost made it through the sentence before allowing his distaste for the whole situation known. 

“We’re all to have a fitting?” Perona squeaked in joy, “We all get a pretty outfit for it?”

“Yeah,” Zoro huffed, his brows falling against the arch of his nose to indicate his displeasure, “we’re all meant to get one.for it. He’s invited everyone already. They’ll be here by the weekend.” You allowed a shocked breath to escape your chest, not understanding such haste in such a ceremony. 

You inhaled deeply through your nose, closing your eyes in deep thought before speaking again. 

“Zoro,” you began, calming your body and attempting to regain control of your uncontrollable circumstances, “escort Perona to the parlor for her fitting. I will be going to my chambers for a small moment,” you cringed a small smile, attempting to stifle the anxiety by gritting through the pain, “unless the lord of the house is here to escort me himself, I will need a moment or two to myself-.”

At that small apprehension, Mihawk made his entrance to where the three of you had met within the galley. Perona withheld her small smile behind her palms, her upturned eyes doing nothing to satisfy her amusement and joy at the swordsman approaching them. Zoro followed Perona’s eyes to lord Mihawk, which in turn alerted you to his presence approaching behind you. You felt the waves of his confident aura falling from him before you turned to meet his gaze. He cleared his throat briefly, honing his gaze on the green-haired swordsman and addressing him.

“You heard your Governess,” he commanded him, turning to Perona and nodding to her, “Off you go to the parlor. Ensure the spatchcock is properly feathered, Perona.”

“Yes, my lord,” she chuckled, taking Zoro’s arm and immediately springing in her steps towards the parlor without a word from Zoro regarding his new bird-related nickname. You remained stationary and rigid in the galley, your chin extended outwards and tongue pressed to the roof of your mouth. Eyes narrowed, you felt him circle your body like a hawk looking over their next catch. 

“I have come to inform you,” he began, remaining behind your back and away from your sight, “I have announced our intentions to wed. There is to be a ball this weekend, held here at the keep,” he paused his words, the tap of his feet indicating his approach in front of you. You closed your eyes, feeling waves of anxiety again rising over your body and filling your head with the thoughts that swirled well into the night. You remained with your eyes tightly closed, clenching your jaw behind your closed lips.

“Betrothed?” He addressed you, halting his prowling in front of you. He extended his hands above your own, hovering over where you had them hanging together in front of you but refusing to bring them down to touch yours. You opened your eyes, your brows furrowing as you looked down at his hand slowly descending and hovering above your own before snapping your gaze back against his amber-colored eyes. 

“Yes, Betrothed?” You asked him, eyes dancing between his irises and searching within them for an indication as to how he was feeling. He sighed, finally bringing his hands down to collect yours and smooth his thumbs over your knuckles softly. You were again taken aback by his softness, unsure as to which place this was coming from. 

“Is there someone I could invite for you to make this transition easier for you?” he whispered in a low rumbly tone, “it is quite the conundrum: coming here to complete a job, only to find yourself bound to your employer in matrimony. What can I do? You may ask anything of me, my lady-... Betrothed.”

Your heart began to race your mind with how frantic and sudden this expression of care for you had been brought on. You took your time to study his face, looking from his brows to his cheekbones, bearded jaw down to his smooth lips beneath his manicured mustache. You drew your gaze back up to his amber-hued orbs and danced your gaze between them.

“I have no one, Betrothed,” you admitted with a small nod, placing one of your palms atop his hand, “you knew this of me from back when I first tutored that arrogant blond boy in shells-town with his iron-jawed father. We discussed this at the gala.” Mihawk arched his brow upwards, deep in thought. 

“Remind me, Betrothed, the mention has fled from me presently,” he asked, bringing his other hand to rest atop the one you just placed atop his. You inhaled deeply, exhaling out your tension at the memory.

“No father, no mother,” you smiled at him, “no sisters, nor brothers. Although, you may be interested in my dowry,” scoffing at the comment, Mihawk rolled his eyes and nodded his chin for you to continue on. “My mother died birthing me, my father died of illness on the road as he ventured over the estate.”

“No friends, nor extended relations?” He inquired, drawing up your hand to lace within his elbow, leading you on towards the parlor at a leisurely pace. 

“None that are alive, nor that you would not already know, I’m sure,” you commented with a polite nod, “you did attend many of the functions I presented my students at.” He hummed in response to your comment, continuing to fall in step with you through the hallways onwards. 

“No former lover to come knocking on my door, betrothed?” Mihawk’s curiosity pulled at the corner of his lip with his brow arched upwards. You halted your step with him, pulling him to a halt and shooting him a warning look. As his eyes met with yours, he understood the tangible emotion clawing at your chest.

“If you are asking what I think you are asking, sir,” you snarled at him, your lip curling upwards at his question, “I am a lady.” His eyes widened at your comment, searching your face for any further emotion to depict your unspoken confession.

“I did not mean to pry into your personal-,” he was halted by your words as you spoke over him, your eyes softening and a small smile rising to your lips at his attempt to flee from an uncomfortable situation he created for himself.

“This title we have been using to address each other,” you commented, again keeping in step with the tall swordsman at your side, “I am no longer comfortable with our mutual use of the phrase. Shall we dream up something else more appropriate together?” 

Mihawk’s breath caught in his throat, hoping you did not catch such a quiver of anticipation falling from him. Why did you have such a hold over him? Why was the way you were speaking to him affecting him like this? Your voice, that sweetness you held in your cadence. It was intoxicating.

“I am sure we will think of something,” he held tight his jaw and remained outwardly stoic. Internally; he was delighting in your willingness to allow him to think of you. You gently squeezed his forearm in support, walking in comfortable silence towards the parlor together. 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Zoro’s arms were horizontally outstretched, perpendicular to the floor as the tailors began to pin and prod the material he was trying on. Perona beamed at her reflection, her eyes reflecting her joy at the trim and frill of her fine gown. Zoro smirked, closing his eyes and addressing his peer. 

“Mihawk’s infatuation is starting to spill out, isn’t it. He’s not even hiding it anymore,” He chuckled, Perona immediately laughing at the comment before retorting her own comments on the matter.

“Speak for yourself, Moss,” Perona continued to giggle, “your little crush isn’t as hidden as you think it is, either.”

Tag List: @sordidmusings@writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired

[juqtier]

₊˚╰ 𖣠 MERCY ✧.* SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: During one of the most detrimental and devastating outbreaks this world has ever seen, the BAU had spent countless hours trying to bring in the man responsible, dead or alive. When they seek help from a minacious mercenary, and personal feelings somehow get involved, the situation quickly becomes much more complicated and difficult than anticipated.

GENERAL WARNING: ANGSTY and horror (somewhat), weapons, violence, descriptions of viruses and diseases, death, kissing of course, zombie like creatures, apocalypse, outbreak, descriptions of mutations

CHAPTER WARNING: descriptions of violence and viruses, reader is kinda an asshole. THIS CHAPTER MAY SEEM BORING BUT PLS the story will get interesting as it progresses! just gotta explain the basic concept!

A/N: the first chapter, yay! this is clearly inspired by resident evil (my fav game series). i thought it’d be interesting and unique to combine my two fav hyperfixations. i made the virus names and effects, and im clearly not a scientist so if they are scientifically inaccurate ignore it or im gonna cry. also, I wrote this with early spencer in mind (3-5) but if you imagine him from a different season lmk! ALSO sorry if any of the writing is bad, my english is terrible!

ACCOMPANYING SONG : SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT, NIRVANA

. . .

CHAPTER 1

January 15th, 2009

- 985 days since the outbreak

You had been caught. You had finally been caught.

Of course, you were well aware of the risks that came with being a mercenary, being caught was one of them. Yet, this didn’t diminish the anger you felt, sitting in a dingy, dark interrogation room, cuffed to a table.

It felt as if days passed by. Your eyelids felt heavy, you couldn’t manage to find a comfortable position to rest in. A metal folding chair would quickly prove to be a poor place to even attempt to relax in. Sitting in silence for so long, your ears could perfectly hear the buzzing of the flickering bulb above you, and it drove you crazy.

Just before you could drive yourself insane, focusing on each bothersome aspect of the interrogation room once more, the door opened.

Two men, two entirely different vibes.

One was an older, tall, stoic man wearing a suit practically devoid of color.

And while the man that stood beside him wasn’t wearing the most colorful outfit, his blue shirt and purple tie were a stark contrast to the other man’s outfit.

His long, wavy brown hair stood out as well. A part of you wanted to just stare at him, he was so pretty. But the other part of you, the majority of you, wanted to knock both officers unconscious and attempt to run away.

“I’m Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, this is Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” The older man explained as both of them took a seat across from you.

The words practically went unnoticed by you, your mind had been more focused on the discomfort caused by the tight cuffs around your wrists. Your eyes met Hotchner's, and he could tell exactly what you were feeling.

Angry.

“Wanna take these cuffs off?” You request.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that until you cooperate with us and give us the information we need.”

“What information?”

Your eyes naturally rolled, gradually growing more annoyed by the second. Even with how frustrated you were, you weren’t going to cooperate easily. You were a mercenary, and the FBI was well aware you had only ever been motivated by payment.

It sounded selfish to everyone else. It was selfish, but to you, it was the only way to survive.

Hotch extracts papers and files from a manila folder, spreading them out onto the table in front of you. Your eyes watched his hands as he displayed each paper for you.

“For the past seven months, me and my team have been observing your every move.” Hotch’s eyes are glued to you. “Several times in these past months, you’ve been employed by Luca Ansaldo.”

The name has been drilled into your ears by this point.

Luca Ansaldo, a wealthy, ‘brillitant’ virologist and CEO of the virology company SynX. And, unbeknownst to you, the creator of the Lazarus Virus.

Ansaldo had employed you many times before, and with the pay being more than generous for a seemingly easy job, you didn’t think twice about accepting his offer.

But now, just hearing his name was enough to enrage you. Yet, you remain calm, returning Hotch’s eye contact. You barely even noticed Reid beside him, merely observing the interaction between you and Hotch.

“He paid me well for a simple job, is that what you wanted to hear?” You mutter.

You knew that wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but you also couldn’t tell what they wanted.

The past officers that had come in, aggressively interrogating you, never made it clear what exactly they wanted from you. All you could really understand was that they wanted his whereabouts, and you couldn’t tell them that. You didn’t even know.

“What jobs did he pay you for?” Hotch inquires.

“Easy jobs. I’ve done that plenty of times before for others, why does it matter now?”

Hotchner adjusts in his seat, probably finding it just as uncomfortable as you were in that moment.

“It’s important because we’re not currently after the other individuals you’ve worked for, we’re after Ansaldo.” He explains, sliding a document toward you.

Your eyes quickly scan the words on the paper, taking in all of its details.

“Under SynX, Ansaldo has managed to manufacture one of the deadliest viruses known to man, the Lazarus virus. You can see the results of his work walking in the streets.”

“Lazarus Virus?” You question. “Like, from the Bible?”

You clearly knew about the outbreak, every human did. You just had never been able to put a name to the virus responsible.

Reid took this question as an opportunity to share every bit of knowledge he had about the virus.

“Yes, actually. The name derives from Lazarus of Bethany, mentioned in the Gospel of John. The story claims Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, only four days after his death.” He hadn’t even noticed your eyes locked on him as he rambled. “We believe the virus attacks the brain stem, destroying the brain's basic functions. However, while mental capabilities deteriorate, physical capabilities are enhanced, explaining why they’re rather strong and violent. Those infected by the virus are called ‘Revenants’.”

You couldn’t help but be impressed at his ability to speak for so long without even losing his breath. He had spit out each word with urgency, as if he had been waiting to share this information with you.

“You seem to know a lot about the virus, why am I here?”

“We don’t know enough.” Hotch replies. “Without a sample of the virus, we won’t be able to produce an effective antidote. Ansaldo is currently the only man we know of that has any samples, and you know more about him than any of us. You may be our only chance at finding him before it’s too late.”

He leans forward, an even more intense stare accompanying his statement.

For a moment, for a brief moment, you allow yourself to absorb his words. It was as if a switch flipped in your brain, allowing yourself to prioritize others before yourself.

And again, this sounded so incredibly selfish. You could recognize that, of course. But you couldn’t blame yourself. And quite frankly, neither could Hotch or Reid.

The outbreak was and is devastating. Major cities were overrun and filled with chaos, with millions dead or missing. Trusting people wasn’t as common as it was years ago. Especially for you. You had been alone, fighting to survive, for years. It was all to protect yourself. You had the right to protect yourself, right?

“How much?” Hotch’s words bring your attention back to him, back to the situation you were in.

You weren’t sure if you misheard or misunderstood him, and it seemed as if Reid shared that same thought. His eyes widened as he snapped his head towards Hotch, questioning him with his eyes. Hotch, however, doesn’t even seem to notice Reid’s shock.

“What?” You stutter just a bit, clearly confused.

“How much do we need to pay you for your cooperation?” He repeats.

“You want to pay me to work for you?” You reply, skeptical about the offer.

Reid visibly shared the same sentiment. It was as if he couldn’t close his mouth. You didn't expect this, and neither did he.

“You are the closest connection we have to Ansaldo.” Hotch ignores the shocked faces of you and Reid, “If we have to pay you for your cooperation, then we are willing to do that.”

His expression shows that he’s serious. You consider the offer a bit longer before spitting out the first number you can think of.

“Two hundred thousand.”

You wait for any change in his expression, you wait for him to simply refuse. But he never does.

“We can arrange that.” He gives you a small nod before rising from his chair, Reid following. “I will assign an agent to keep an eye on you. You will be kept under supervision at all times as you work alongside my team. If you even attempt to betray our agreement, I promise you will not see a single dollar.”

“Wait.” You blurt out before they can even make their way to the door. “Can I choose what agent gets to follow me around?”

The way you word it makes it sound like a privilege, like it was an honor to have to watch over you. In reality, it most likely wasn’t.

The FBI considered you a dangerous, difficult mercenary. Asking you for help was a last resort, one they tried to avoid. But as they watched the virus spread across the country, unable to stop it, they knew they had no other choice.

“Do you have an agent in mind?” Hotch raises an eyebrow, confused by your question.

You nod in response, your eyes landing on Reid.

You couldn’t explain why, but his quiet, shy demeanor drew you to him. He wasn’t standoffish like the other officers and agents, he was actually quite the opposite of you.

Reid furrows his eyebrows. Neither he nor Hotch had expected the request; their looks expressed that. Hotch looks over at Reid, as if he were contemplating whether he could handle such a job. It was a silent conversation between the two; you were just an observer in that moment.

“Reid will watch over you as you work the case with us.” Hotch proclaims.

“Hotch, are you sure?” Reid whispers, just loud enough for you to hear him. He sounds nervous as he speaks, causing you to smirk.

“If she causes any problems for you, I will assign a different agent for the job.” Hotch responds, going for the door. His hand lands on the door knob, twisting it and pulling the door open with Reid behind him.

“Can you take these cuffs off me?”

Hotch and Reid turn their attention towards you once again before Reid digs in his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. Hotch watches as Reid walks over to you.

Your gaze remained fixed on Reid as he fumbled with the keys. You observed his shakey hands, finding all of it almost humorous.

When he finally managed to remove the cuffs, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in.

You stand up from your seat, rubbing your wrists where the cuffs had previously been.

“Thank you so much.” You say with a teasing, playful tone.

His eyes never meet yours as he steps back, allowing you to stretch, glad to be free from the metal chair you were held down to.

“The team is gathering to discuss our next steps in the case. You’ll be joining us, since you’re working alongside us now.”

He explains the situation quickly as he leads you out of the room, still avoiding any eye contact.

“Exciting.” A smirk was still plastered on your face as you walked behind Reid.

While Reid was more nervous about the situation, and you clearly found it amusing, there was one thing the two of you had in common at the moment.

You had no idea what you were getting into.

. . .

pt. 2

a.n. : again sorry if the writing is bad, but i’m excited for this series to play out! it’s a concept i haven’t seen done before so i wanted to make something cool with it! i believe even if you aren’t a fan of resident evil, criminal minds x mercenary is still kinda cool. also, if you want to be on tag list im more than happy to add you!

[house-of-the-sun-project]

[ HoS ] ANCIENT EGYPTIAN AMULETS

The Isis knot is just as iconic as it is mysterious. It is unclear what this knot is meant to represent exactly: some Egyptologists argue it may have been a very ancient form of menstrual pad, while others believe it had religious or decorative purposes."

The Djed Pillar, representing Osiris' spine, is a powerful amulet used by both the living and the dead. Often made from various materials, it is also depicted in Egyptian art with a pair of hands and a feathered crown topped by the sun, symbolizing Osiris and divine resurrection.

The Ancient Egyptians believed the core of our intelligence and mind was the heart, rather than the brain. They couldn’t determine this latter's purpose, so during the mummification process, they discarded it, pulling it out through the nose with a hook, leaving only the essential vital organs to be preserved for the afterlife. In fact, the heart was regarded as both the source of emotions and feelings, and the seat of one's entire being—no wonder it was shaped like a vase!

Even those unfamiliar with Ancient Egyptian art recognize this iconic symbol. Over time, the Ankh, or 'Key of Life,' became synonymous with Egypt itself and its ancient religion. Some Egyptologists suggest that its shape may have been inspired by a knotted cloth, though its use was primarily decorative.

In some murals, strings of Ankh symbols were used to represent water, as it was the ultimate symbol of life for the Egyptians—everything originated from it, making the Ankh a fitting metaphor.

In other depictions, gods are shown 'spoon-feeding' pharaohs and the dead with an Ankh in their hands, symbolizing the soul being revived by the divine as it begins its journey to the afterlife."

One of the most common artifacts found by archaeologists during excavations, the Scarab is an iconic amulet that served many purposes for both the living and the dead.

In life, it was used as a seal, a protective amulet, or simply as jewelry, often worn as a ring or necklace, typically linked to a golden wire. In death, it was frequently placed around the neck and functioned as a protective charm for the heart, earning the name 'heart scarab.'

The scarab was the sacred animal of the god Khepri and symbolized the sun.

For the Ancient Egyptians, the soul was divided into several parts—nine in total, including the physical body. It was crucial that each of these parts made it to the afterlife, allowing the dead to be reborn in the Duat, the Egyptian underworld. The Ba, which represents our unique personality, was often placed on the mummy's chest so it could rest near the heart, another key component of the soul.

In Ancient Egypt, the papyrus stem was a common decorative element. Temple columns were often shaped to resemble this iconic plant. Its frequent appearance in Egyptian art was partly due to its significant color: green, the color of resurrection, sacred to the god Osiris. By placing a papyrus-shaped amulet around a mummy’s neck, the Egyptians believed it would ensure eternal youth for the soul in the afterlife.

The Eye of Horus, modeled after the left eye of the falcon god of kingship, is one of the most iconic symbols of Ancient Egypt. Found in numerous tombs, it was continuously produced from the late Old Kingdom through to the Roman period. It served both as an amulet to ward off evil and as a decoration on boats and mummies. Representing the moon and the righteous nature of the god, it is also closely connected to other benevolent deities, such as Osiris, Thoth, and Ma'at. Tied to the story of Horus's restored eye, it became a symbol of health and healing.

Used exclusively in funerary contexts, this peculiar amulet depicts the index and middle fingers of a right hand, which were believed to 'heal' the incision made by embalmers to remove the mummy’s organs during the mummification process.

[rubykgrant]

Idea for a Magnus Archives AU (that I don't have time to write all the way out, but it still intrigues me~)

At some point after Martin's father left, but when he was still very young, somebody offered to bring Mrs Blackwood some furniture. Used, but still in good condition. She refused, insulted by the idea that she needed "pity" or "charity", despite the fact that her health is already making things difficult... one day, while her son is at school, she hears a knock at the door. It takes her a while to get there. When she finally opens it, whoever knocked is gone, but they have left behind a table.

She assumes it was the same person as before, and is now irritated that they have "dumped" their old junk on her doorstep. A neighbor sees and offers to at least bring it inside. She decides it may as well be put to use, so she lets the neighbor move it in. Alone in the house, she looks the table over. It certainly isn't new, but isn't too beat-up or broken. It has a VERY unique pattern... almost like an optical illusion...

When Martin gets home from school, he's surprised to see that his mother is in the kitchen, getting ready to cook dinner; she hasn't done that in a year! He offers to help, or just make himself a sandwich and canned soup if she wants to rest, but she assures him that she's feeling MUCH better. This continues for several months, the doctors are amazed by what seems to be a miracle recovery! All the neighbors and old friends agree, she's also had a change in attitude lately, but it all seems for the better. Her son is especially happy... his mother seems so much more "gentle" than she used to be, and she doesn't even make him drink oolong tea with her anymore. She's decided that Earl Grey is better.

Nobody notices that her hair is a different length, a different color. Nobody notices the shape of her eyes and jawline has changed. Nobody notices that she's taller. Not any friends, neighbors, doctors, or family. Even all the photographs in the house have changed. A different woman is holding a tiny, newborn baby. A different woman is sitting next to a small Christmas tree, helping a child open a present. Nobody notices... except for one person.

When Mr Blackwood heard from an old friend that the wife he left had recovered, he suddenly had second thoughts. He really had thought she would die, and he must have had some sort of break-down. He couldn't handle it, so he ran away... but he's thinking clearly again. It has nothing to do with the fact that he also heard his wife recently got a new job, a very well-paying one with the kind of health plan that a spouse could share. It has nothing to do with the fact that he isn't feeling well himself lately, and he's noticed that he has nobody to take care of HIM. It has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn't been able to find work, and he also can't find a place to live. He just wants to go back because he misses his wife and son. That's all.

When Mr Blackwood returned, he brought flowers. To apologize. He knocked on the door, and heard a muffled voice call- "Come in!". He picked a time of day when he knew Martin would be at school, so he and his wife could reunite with some privacy. He expected his wife to be upset. He expected his wife to be angry, maybe cry, or try to throw something at him. He expected it would take time for his wife to let him explain, then forgive him. He expected HIS WIFE. The woman in this home was not his wife... she said she was, she smiled, used his name like she knew him, but she WASN'T. Her voice, face, EVERYTHING was different! This was wrong, why was this strange woman here?

He ran away, even though she called for him to stay. He tried to speak with their friends, her family... everybody acted like he was crazy. They acted like the woman claiming to be his wife was right. After months and months of trying to talk some sense into people, he finally remembers Martin; surely a child would know their own mother? Mr Blackwood has been watching the house, and he sees little Martin kiss the woman good-bye, then leave for school. As if everything was normal. He can't stand it anymore! He bursts through the door, shouting at the woman to tell the truth, but the noise alerts the neighbors, who call for help, and he leaves...

He stays away for more than a year, but he never went far. He kept watching. He tried to figure out WHY somebody would pretend to be his wife, and HOW she could fool everybody. It never makes any sense. He comes back again, in the middle of winter. Martin is sleeping over at a friend's house. Mr Blackwood has been sleeping in an old treehouse, long abandoned by the kids who built it. He can't stand the idea of that strange woman sleeping in the bed that SHOULD be his (that would have been his, if he hadn't left). He uses his key to open the back door. She hasn't changed the locks. He goes in, ready to be rough if necessary; he will get the truth if it kills him.

Around 2 in the morning, Mrs Blackwood calls for help. Her husband, the one who left her, the one who came back and threatened her, just tried to attack her! She fought back, and he ran off again. No trace of him is ever found. When Martin comes home, they have a discussion, and decide it isn't safe to life here anymore. So they move, not too far, Martin can still visit people he knew growing up. The new house is much nicer, in a safe neighborhood.

They take just about everything with them, except for a few large pieces of furniture they sell. Mrs Blackwood wants to keep the table with the unique pattern, though. She's grown rather fond of it. The movers she hired are... odd, but they get everything to the new home very quickly. When his mother speaks with the two of them beside their truck, Martin watches from a window, and he has the strangest feeling that... his mother might just step up into it, and ride away with them. Then she'll be gone, and he'll be alone. He can't explain why, but he almost expects it to happen.

She doesn't leave. She comes back inside, smiling, and hugs her child. Why wouldn't she? As the years go by, Martin wonders about his father; why the man left, why he came back, why he seemed so confused about who his own wife was. Martin also wonders what his father looked like, as none of the pictures they saved show his face. Mrs Blackwood tells her son- "I suppose there's a resemblance, but when I look at you, I just see YOU, not him. I love you too much to see your father in your features".

Martin grows up happy and safe with his mother. He's able to finish school, and eventually starts working at a bakery. Later, when he moves out to get his own place, he finds a job at a restaurant-confectionery in London. His mother didn't want him living so far away, but he really wants to sort of "get out in the world", have some experience on his own. Someday, he'd like to have his own tea shop and cafe. He works from the middle of the day to late shifts at the cafe, and he gets to know some of the regulars very well. One woman, Sasha, comes in often to get food and drinks for her coworkers. Martin likes chatting with her, and eventually meets Tim when they come to have lunch together. He considers them to be friends.

One day, they call and tell Martin they want to order the most extravagant cake possible for their boss; it is his birthday, and they are going to be obnoxious about it, but also trick him so he doesn't know they've planned something. Martin offers to bring it over himself, so they can pretend to not be up to anything. This is how he enters the Magnus Institute. This is how he meets Jonathan Sims. This is how he starts learning about the strange things they research here. This is how he sees a picture of a table with a very curious pattern. This is how he asks if he can listen to the statement about that table...

[halfratsalready]

The "What if the Traveler is Jack's Dad?" Dilemma & The Power of Character Design in Just Dance’s Storytelling

Originally I had an entire post of all of my thoughts on the worry that the Night Swan event will confirm that Jack's father is the Traveler, but this part made up well over half of it, so I made it a post of its own. I might post the rest separately at some point (I don't even know if I actually think that Ubisoft will make it canon, but I did this anyway).

I went a little crazy on this one, but stick with me here. I am well aware that people don't have to look anything like their parents, but in the world of things like video games (and especially in a game that has to rely entirely on visuals in the absence of dialogue), it's not a bad idea to make related characters visually similar enough for the audience to put their relation together, and the Just Dance team has done an excellent job of this with Wanderlust, so I thought I'd do some analysis on it in relation to the "Jack is the Traveler's son" theory we're all so worried about. This is a very long post - you have been warned.

Disclaimer of sorts: I'm not a costume designer. I'm not a character designer. I'm a musical theater composer, though, who has worked closely with artists on costume design, and I like to think that I have a pretty decent handle on the basics of visual storytelling through character design, which is what this entire post is based off of.

(This post also contains a small spoiler for Sweet Dreams, though it seems that it won’t be a beta for much longer…)

One of the cool things about Wanderlust's appearance is the way that the designers managed to give him his own unique look while also paying homage to both of his parents. It's important to note here that both Si'ha Nova and the Traveler were already well established characters by the time of Wanderlust's first appearance in JD23, so it was important to give him those visual similarities to make his connection to them more apparent.

The most obvious visual similarity between Si'ha and Wanderlust is their blue skin, which makes it pretty clear upon first glance that they're related. A non-genetic but still obvious visual similarity between the two is the use of triangle motifs. Si'ha has one on her head and more on her earrings, for example, while Wanderlust has them on his crown, one on his glove, and one on his belt. I think that it's also worth noting that the golden accents on Wanderlust's sleeves are vaguely reminiscent of the ones on Si'ha's purple glove. They both also have purple, gold, and pink in their overall designs.

Wanderlust has fewer “genetic” visual similarities with his father than he does with his mother, but they're still there. The only "genetic" similarity that they really have is the blue hair (granted, Wanderlust's is only a streak of blue, but it's still there, and his eyebrows are blue, as well). They have a ton of other visual similarities in their designs, though. Just like Si'ha, the Traveler has several triangle motifs throughout his appearance. The one he wears on a chain around his neck is very similar to the one on Wanderlust's glove and belt. They both have their own unique triangle symbols, but they're quite similar. Also notable is Wanderlust's half-cape, which is dark with gold accents, much like the Traveler's cloak. Once again, those gold lines on the Traveler's cloak are similar to the ones on Wander's sleeve. Additionally, Wanderlust seems to have the same eye color as both of his parents.

Even when he's been transformed by Night Swan's spell, Night Wanderlust (or, as I like to call him, Swanderlust) has several visual similarities to both of his parents that he doesn't have in his "normal" form. Though not the same shape or color, he has a shape over one of his eyes like the Traveler does, and those shapes on the black part of his shirt are, to me, very reminiscent of the circles on Si'ha's blue glove. And that little triangle on his crown is remarkably similar to the one on Si'ha's head, black surrounded by gold (I also think the blue of the feathers on his cape are similar in color to the Traveler’s shirt).

I know that Sweet Dreams is a beta (though it might not be for much longer) and that it's very possible that if they do release it, they might change this shot, but for now, I want to use it. When I first saw this shot of Night Swan at the end of Sweet Dreams, I was really thrown off because something felt very wrong with it, and I realized that it's her eyes. They are such a bright green here. It felt like such an intentional choice, and it made me think of the fact that all of Jack's avatars (though you can see it most clearly in his legendary avatar) have green eyes. Does he have green eyes in the actual game? No. But I thought it was an interesting enough detail to include here. Personally, my headcanon is that Night Swan had green eyes before she became Night Swan, at which point they turned yellow, meaning that her eyes are naturally green and that she passed that trait on to her son.

Though they're rather lacking in "genetic" similarities, though, Night Swan and Jack have plenty of those visual similarities that Wanderlust has with his parents (I also think it's worth mentioning that, save for that one teaser in Season 1: Astral, Night Swan and Jack were introduced in the same game, meaning that the need to make Jack as visually similar to her isn't necessarily as important, because Night Swan isn't an established character like Si'ha and the Traveler were prior to Wanderlust's appearance). The pink feathers are an obvious visual similarity between the two. They also both wear gold earrings and have a golden chain (Night Swan on her coat and Jack hanging from his pocket), and Night Swan's golden claws are represented by the golden glove on Jack's hand.

I also want to throw out there that Wanderlust is the son of two "good" characters, and his visual similarities to them indicate that he has that same "goodness." Jack, on the other hand, is the son of a villain, and making him stand out from his mother visually is a good way to represent from the start that he's supposed to be a sympathetic character who isn't anything like his mother. Because it's a dancing game, we don't get any sort of dialogue from him that could indicate that he's not a villain, so we're left to rely on his expressions (which Mickael did a fucking phenomenal job on) and his overall design. Making him stand out from his mother visually is a good way to show us from the start that he's not inherently on his mother's side.

Assuming the Traveler is Jack's father, there is essentially no similarity between the two save for the inclusion of some gold accents. I would say they have the same eye color, but I feel like Jack's dark eyes are overridden by the green eyes in all three of his avatars. Granted, it makes sense for Jack's appearance to be influenced by his mother considering she's the one who raised him, but I think that, from a storytelling perspective, it would have been a smart move to include some semblance of a visual similarity between Jack and the Traveler if they had really intended from the start for the Traveler to be Jack's father. If they did intend on this being a plot point from the start, they intentionally kept it a secret by not including a single visual clue, which is, to me as a storyteller, a sort of annoying thing that makes it seem like they’re more focused on pulling the rug out from under the audience than they are on making sure that the plot twists make sense. But hey, that’s just me.

If you actually, read all of that, I love you and you are the best and thank you for actually taking the time to read my ridiculous rambles. I hope it was at least mildly interesting and made some decent points.

[venerablemonk27]

I've done a lot of birding the past couple months and not a lot of posting, so I'm going back to our Tucson, AZ trip from April. I hadn't been to the Western US since picking up birding or wildlife photography, so I knew I was going to pick up a ton of lifers. One of our target species for the trip was also my fifth Owl species ever: the Burrowing Owl.

[ID: A Burrowing Owl stands on a mound of dirt. They are facing left and looking toward the camera. The sun is low in the sky off to the right, which illuminates the right side of the Owl's face and their back, while casting the rest in shadow. They have striking yellow eyes and a furrowed brow that gives them the appearance of a permanent scowl. Their oval-shaped head transitions naturally into a slender cylindrical body covered in mottled tan and white feathers. About half the bird's height is body and folded wings, with two naked grey legs planted on the ground. End ID]

This was the morning we had picked for me to do some solo birding, so I drove out to a spot west of Tucson where eBird indicated that Burrowing Owls were likely to appear. It was just after sunrise when I found the road cutting between farm fields where the Owls were reported. I drove slowly down the side of the road in my rented Dodge Charger, stopping occasionally to inspect a suspicious clump of dirt with my binoculars. I had not seen any sign of the Owls when a Land Rover pulled up behind me. A group of three folks in their 60s with binoculars piled out of car, clearly more birders here to do exactly what I was doing.

[ID: A Burrowing Owl stands on a mound of dirt, facing the camera. The sun is still low in the sky, but now the bird's face and chest are more brightly lit, showing the transition in feather colors from tan to mottled tan to white as they progress downward from collar to belly.]

They introduced themselves as coming from the UK, and had been visiting Arizona for several weeks in search of all the unique birds the state could offer. The driver was particularly puzzled about the location of the Owls, saying he was "absolutely foxed" that this place with no real habitat could host Burrowing Owls. I showed him the recent sightings on eBird and explained that it was possible the birds just hadn't emerged from their burrows yet.

After another 15 minutes of searching the fields, I offered to lead them to an alternate site nearby. We got in our cars and slowly drove back the way we had come. Just as we were approaching the end of the road, I spotted a small tan creature standing right on the edge of the irrigation ditch along the near side of the field. A Burrowing Owl! I swung the Charger around and flagged down my companions, who had also spotted the Owl.

[ID: A pair of Burrowing Owls stand on a mound of dirt. The one in the foreground looks decidedly sleepier and plumper than the one in the background (seen in previous images). Both Owls are similar in coloration, but the one in the foreground has an aluminum leg band for identifying them. End ID]

We got out to take a look and grab some photos from long distance, then slowly crept forward with my Charger as a rolling blind. There turned out to be four Owls spread out along the irrigation ditch, likely close to their burrows which were out of sight. They were surprisingly unbothered by the cars rolling up to them, probably because they see trucks and farm vehicles driving past all day every day. Once we were directly across the irrigation ditch from the closest pair, I climbed into the passenger seat to take some better photosm. Mostly the Owls just stood on their tiny hill and looked around. Though I did witness one of the pair above fly down to pounce on a grasshopper, then return to feed it to their partner.

[ID: A pair of Burrowing Owls stand on a mound of dirt. This photo was taken midday, with the sun directly overhead. At least one of these individuals is different from those above, as they have two leg bands instead of one. It's also apparent in the photo that the Owls are standing at the edge of a farm field from the row of green plants out of focus in the background. End ID]

I had such a great view of the Burrowing Owls that I had to bring my family back to see them on our last day in Tucson. Because we were heading out of town in the middle of the day, I was confident we'd find them right away and avoid testing the patience of my kid. It turns out I didn't have to worry. Not only were the Owls right where I left them, but the kid had fallen asleep on the drive, so we had to wake him up to see them! And seeing as I already had the camera within easy reach, I had to take a few more photos.

[ID: A Burrowing Owl stands on a mound of dirt. This one is looking alert in the midday sun, standing and scanning the area around the edge of the farm field. End ID]

On a trip full of exciting views, long hikes, and thousands of photos, it was nice to finish the trip quietly sitting in the car just a few yards away from such a compelling bird. And it always feels good to track down a lifer and share that experience with others!

[dseval]

New AU? 🤔🤔

(This drawing took several years of my life, i think. Had fun but I wasn't a pro artist, sorry color theorists)

I made a joke UTMV AU based on Blue Archive, as a joke, said joke took too many effort now to just be called a joke. Decided to post it on Tumblr because I guess I need Social Media sometimes. The AU is based off Blue Archive (heavily) and To Aru Kagaku no Railgun (loosely). Interested in this long idea dump?

Under the cut.

(logo made with the Blue Archive Logo Generator, this is also a joke name)

ArchiveVerse, or I would personally abbreviate it as ArchV or ArcV for the remaining of this post, is a UTMV AU, where all the characters are our favourite skeleton: Sans but from multiple AUs. It is heavily based off Blue Archive, borrowing a lot of concepts— and loosely from To Aru Kagaku No Railgun.

Side note, i do not actually watch To Aru, nor do I play Blue Archive anymore. So several stuff are definitely made up.

This is literally my second post ever on Tumblr.

The joke concept image that started it all...

I'm sorry for the terrible artwork sksksks

Do note ahead that this AU is made in-and-out of art block, so some information and designs are inconsistent throughout the post. Everything is also written in Comic Sans MS, as a joke.

The Academy City

Do not take this AU seriously, it's just a slice of life thing. (Unless)

The academy city is occupied with students, nobody is an adult. However there are complete facilities in the city, like malls, restaurants, etc. Some students work in these facilities, but most of the time they are ran by robots/artificial intelligence.

In the heart of the city, rests the Omega Tower, which, hypothetically, kept the city running. It is occupied by the General Student Council. The Academy City itself is shrouded in mystery.

There are four academies in the city, each with their own districts:

(Thanks to an irl friend for helping me design and clean up the logos ♡)

Each student belongs to their own unique academy, though students can be promoted and enrolled from OPS to either Ordenance or Paradigm if they possess the qualities of excellence. Students who have already been in Juvenile Containment aren't allowed enrollment in Ordenance or Paradigm.

Here are several more fun facts about the academies:

Juvie students are still allowed to go out of their district, though this depends. If the student has a light sentence and hasn't committed any heavy crimes, they're allowed to go pretty much everywhere (unless they're banned in certain locations). Any student can go in and out freely if they have a pass.

There are no teachers, the students learn from text books and videos, though they still attend class.

Even if students come from different academies, they're still allowed to visit and make friends with students from other academies.

The Omega Public School district is the largest district among all academies, and each and every student has their own house, as opposed to the other academies' dormitory system.

Only the Paradigm Academy has a standard uniform. Ordenance students have a dress code, OPS is free to wear whatever. While Juvie students must still wear the uniform of the academy they are once associated with.

Students/Characters

A list of basically every student I have somewhat designed for this AU. Each student has their own unique halo, and their own unique powers, which I have put in the sheets. It also includes a short backstory.

However, they're, uh, pretty shabby. This is the most I have designed for a joke (what the hell). Some are well-made, though i faltered around the end. So please zoom in to see text more clearly.

Friendly note that Nightmare's bones isn't covered in goop in this AU, see the very very first Illustration on top of this post to see what I mean. They also have wings. Nightmare's wings are broken and a bit ugly here and there, while Dream's wings are white and pristine. Can they fly? Take a guess.

Guys I love Reaper but I suck at drawing him Im sorry

Halo designs are not final. Also, rest assured, these three are not the only members of the GSC.

Each student has their own special power. So far, I... Literally have nothing to say about these powers, except a few things:

They can manifest from emotions. For example, when Horror is flustered, smoke can come out of the crack of his skull. Or when Dust is nervous, he gets 'cold feet,' A.K.A the ground under his feet turns to ice. Cross also has lightning fizzle out of his fingers when he's nervous or surprised.

They can channel their powers to a weapon, though it's not necessary.

Welp, that was fun. I have fun making this AU (even if it's unlikely anyone will see it). Thanks, guys, have a nice day.

Credits (please tell me if I missed anyone, or misspelled anything):

Undertale by Toby Fox

Nightmare and Dream Sans by Jokublog

Dust Sans by Ask-Dusttale blog

Killer Sans by Rahafwabas

Horror Sans by SourAppleStudios

Cross Sans by Jakei

Epic Sans by Yugogeer012

Color Sans by superyoumna

Delta Sans by AnimatedZorox

Ink Sans by Comyet/Mye bi

Error Sans and Geno by CrayonQueen/LoverofPiggies

Reaper Sans by Renrink

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Uniquely recognizable

a post on making fantasy people species that stand out but still feel enough like their mainstream counterparts that your audience won't get confused.

Like me, a lot of you want to use the standard fantasy people in your projects. gnomes, orcs, elves, goblins, dwarves, etc. But you don't want to use the same old typical designs you see in every fantasy roleplay game, movie, show, book, video game, whatever. Those designs have become iconic and ingrained in the common understanding of what those fantasy people are supposed to look like.

But it gets tedious, doesn't it? Sometimes it feels like the only difference between elves in different media is the size of their ears. Sometimes it feels like every fantasy people group is designed to be as close to human as possible and then their fantasy traits are just an afterthought. You're tired of it! You want to do something new!

But where is the line between a unique looking elf and a personally unique fantasy people that need their own name? How far can you alter the standard orc before it stops being an orc? And what are gnomes, anyway?

in this post, I'll be showing off a few of my own fantasy folks and talking about the balance between a recognizable design and a unique design. Including one of my own folks that began as something typical and gradually became something else, until I had to come up with a new name to avoid confusion.

first up: Goblins! what are goblins? if you asked a handful of random people, what traits would they consider the most typical of a goblin?

small, usually green, big ears, lanky limbs? frequently a large nose, sharp teeth, and yellow eyes? those are all common traits for goblins in media across the genre. here are a few sketches of easily recognizable goblins: (including one of my favorites, the goblin design of @pocketss)

(image description: three sketches of goblins. The only one directly labeled is the pocketss goblin, which is very small, has a round head and thin pointy nose, and large leaf shaped ears. it is wearing a little coat. the other two goblins are more typical of fantasy roleplay and video games, having large noses, crooked ears, and short bodies with long arms. one of them is wearing a mechanic outfit with overalls and goggles. the other is wearing a hooded rogue outfit. end description.)

these are all different from each other, but they're similar enough that you could glance at any of them and say "oh that looks like a goblin!" You've probably even seen similar goblin art from other tumblr artists, or your favorite fantasy media.

so now let's look at how I draw goblins:

(image description: a frog-like goblin standing in a cheeky pose, leaning on an invisible surface of some kind. They're nude, but have no external sexual traits. Their belly is a pale yellow while the rest of their body is light green with darker green stripes. They have a round face, yellow frog-like eyes, a small nose, long whiskers, and big bat-like ears. next to them on either side are lists of traits that are common for goblins in fantasy media, contrasted against the more unique traits of this goblin design. end description)

this is one of my fantasy people that I consider the most recognizable. They've got a lot of standard goblin traits! green skin, yellow eyes, sharp teeth, big ears, lanky limbs, and they're rather small. On the other hand, they also have several traits that make them stand out from the common depictions of goblins.

They're amphibious, they have whiskers and a frog-like vocal sac in their throat. their skin comes in different colored patterns like real life frogs. and they're also hermaphrodites in the scientific sense. my goblins don't have set biological sexes from birth. they change between laying eggs and producing sperm based on various environmental factors.

But I think it would be hard for anyone to take a glance at this design and not recognize it as a type of goblin. it strikes a pretty good ideal between the typical and the unique, in my personal and somewhat biased opinion.

Moving on from this, let's look at my depiction of gnomes. They're kind of on thin ice with that title, I don't think they're as easily recognizable. But at the same time, I'm not sure I can come up with an alternate and more fitting title. Gnomes are weird. I see them depicted in only a limited handful of ways in mainstream fantasy, and far more varied ways from independent artists. Gnomes come from a mythology where their name could have referred to several small fae things, or been easily exchanged with other small fae things and similar creatures. The most common depiction of them is probably the garden gnome, which has little in common with how gnomes are depicted as a playable race in roleplay games. but here are three ways I usually see them depicted:

(image description: three sketches of gnomes. the first gnome is labeled "dwarf lite" and resembles a short humanoid with a sturdy body, pointy ears, and a short thick beard. they are wearing a pointed cap and a durable work outfit with gloves and boots. the second gnome is labeled "mousey" and resembles a small humanoid with a hairy face, larger semi round ears, and a long skinny tail. they also appear to have small claws on their fingers and toes. they're wearing a collared shirt, vest, and simple pants. the third gnome is labeled "elf hobbit" and resembles a short humanoid with pointy ears and long hair, wearing a cloaked adventure outfit. end description.)

common gnomish traits include a larger nose, pointy ears, some form of facial hair, and a short torso with somewhat longer arms. The most common versions in mainstream media are the "dwarf lite" and "elf hobbit" versions, like no one can quite decide if gnomes should primarily be tinkerers or spell casters, and which role they're depicted with determines whether their design is more dwarf-like or elf-like. But the mousey with a tail gnomes are more common from independent artists. It reminds me of some illustrations of the Borrowers, and I do wonder if the artists had them in mind.

here's my gnome design:

(image description: a gnomish woman sitting casually and looking upwards with a smile. she has a pig-like snout and ears, as well as four-digit hooved hands and feet, and a stiff short tail. she is wearing a wrapped head scarf over her hair, an off-the-shoulder shirt, and long pants with a climbing belt. on either side of her, there are trait lists comparing the expected gnomish traits with my own different gnomish traits. end description.)

My gnomes do match the concept of being small, agile, magic using folks with a prominent nose. But mine are also not as small as typical depictions of gnomes, and I've gone the porcine route to connect them with my orcs rather than leaning into the typical dwarf lite or elf hobbit depictions. I would not expect every new viewer to see this design and say "oh, obviously that's a gnome." because the pig-like traits are very atypical for depictions of gnomes. But at the same time, they have enough in common, and gnomes are varied enough in other media, that it doesn't take too long to adjust the audience view so they accept this as a gnome. at least I hope it doesn't lol.

and finally let's look at a fantasy people design where I got too into my unique ideas and had to rename them because they just lost the most recognizable traits of the original thing.

I will admit that in middle school I was a Twilight fan and I thought the vampires in that series had a lot in common with elves, so I decided I also wanted elf vampires. Cringe, I know. But the elf-vampires kinda got away from that origin as I built up my world and characters, and I just couldn't keep calling them vampires! I had to think of a new title. But I also didn't want to work too hard at that new title, so I just took some letters out of "strigoi" and I'm going to say it shares in-story linguistic origins with the word "drow", so both of these groups were named after an old elvish term for "those who live below/ in the dirt/ at the roots". Stroi and Drow almost sound kinda similar. Close enough to claim linguistic drift, at least! So they are vampires no more, and I am quite happy with how they fit into my worldbuilding.

for comparison, here are a few typical vampire designs:

(image description: three bust portrait sketches of different vampires. First is an undead human, looking like a common human man wearing a coat, but his eyes are red and he looks very tired. second is a nosferatu, who is bald with crooked pointy ears, a sunken face, and big sharp teeth and clawed fingers. he's wearing a dark robe. third is the fantasy dracula, looking more similar to an elf with sharp teeth and red eyes, but his features are more angular and he has more facial hair than the typical elf design. he is wearing a fancy cloak. end description.)

and here's the elf-cousin stroi that just stopped being a vampire a very long time ago:

(image description: an elf-like man with curly red hair and a long tail. He is standing on his toes. His outfit consists of a simple pair of pants, a shirt with a broad neckline, and a slouchy square cardigan. on either side of him, there is a list of common vampire traits and a list of stroi traits. end description.)

vampires are typically some form of supernatural immortal being, usually undead, often having fangs and venom and special weaknesses. They usually have magical powers like shapeshifting and entrancement. They pretty much always survive on a diet of blood and nothing else and they're generally nocturnal.

when I created the stroi as vampires at the start, I designed them as blood drinking elves who came from a cursed bloodline, all descended from some revived dead warriors. In concept, this is a pretty cool idea! but as I got more and more into speculative evolution and fleshed out my world and characters and all my story ideas, I ended up changing a lot of details for these folks and eventually they just no longer resembled vampires! I don't think a single person would look at this design and think "that's a vampire". no, they're more likely thinking "that's a funny looking elf", and they're right.

my stroi are living creatures in a perfectly normal way, though they have long lifespans. Unlike the elves, they live on the ground and are primarily carnivorous, so they do have sharper teeth and they do consume blood as a result of consuming raw or less cooked meat. They are not strictly nocturnal or diurnal, taking their own shifts to be awake at different times of day, taking oddly timed naps as all carnivores do. They can use magic, like anyone in my setting, but they have no powers unique to them, and certainly no special weaknesses. They don't even have venom, unless you count normal mouth bacteria. So you see, they just don't share enough traits with vampires to justify the title. People see the word "vampire", and it gives them some very particular expectations that my stroi simply cannot fulfill. Their lore has changed too much.

and sometimes this is necessary for the creative process. coming up with a new title for your fantasy people when you realize they no longer fit their origin can be very difficult! but it's so much worse to keep clinging to that origin and trying desperately to maintain the traits that people expect to see even though it doesn't work for your project anymore. I couldn't even stick with my idea that the stroi could still be vampiric if they were brood parasites for the elves. it's another cool idea, but it doesn't fit what I'm writing at all.

Learning to let go of your old ideas and move forward with the new ones is an important skill. Maybe you really really wanted to have elves in your story, but you leaned so hard into some new traits, got invested in all of that, and months or years down the road you look back and realize your elves aren't so elf like anymore! you wanted them to be wolf-like, but you got so excited for your wolf-elves that you ended up with something else entirely. it happens! and it's okay to let go of the elves and move forward with your awesome wolf people. maybe you just have to go do some research on wolf people in mythology now and figure out if there are any other non-werewolf creatures you can take the name of and use as further inspiration to flesh out your wolf people. or maybe you'll have to come up with a whole new title from scratch.

the most important thing to remember is that you should be enjoying your creative process! whatever that ends up looking like.

[bishopony]

Ohhh buddy I have THOUGHTS (This is so long, I'm so sorry)

1. I actually like Twilight better as a unicorn, she should never have became an Alicorn. (And that's coming from someone who first started watching around S5)

2. However, if Twilight becomes an Alicorn then all the Mane 6 should have been Alicorns. Rainbow, Fluttershy, Pinkie, Applejack, and Rarity did just as much as Twilight! Where are their wings/horns?

(That would have been awesome for the rest of the series!)

3. You are 100% right the tree castle is horrible. It's so barren and empty and so clearly made to sell toys. The library was nice and cozy and fit Twilight perfectly.

4. I absolutely hate redeemed Starlight Glimmer. Words cannot describe how much I despise this mare. You mean to tell me Twilight would throw a child into hell but let Starlight I-broke-space-time Glimmer go?? Absolutely not.

(Sunset Shimmer is a thousand times better and everything Starlight wishes she could be)

5. I actually like that Cozy Glow doesn’t have a backstory. Sometimes villains are just evil to be evil.

That being said, they should have at least tried to reform Cozy Glow. At the bare minimum put her somewhere other than (I can't stress this enough) PONY HELL!! She's like 12 Twilight holy shit-

6. Not enough people read the G4 comics. In fact, you should stop reading this ask and go read the comics instead. Most of them are online for free. I recommend The Return of Queen Chrysalis (1-4), Reflections (17-20), and Siege of the Crystal Empire (31-34).

7. MLP G5 isn't actually that bad, but it took too long to get off the ground. By the time it went from mediocre to good, most people didn't care. (Also Hasbro got greedy and G5 paid the price, but that's a rant for another day)

Also G5 should have been it's own thing, with no ties to G4.

8. Celestia and Luna should not have retired. Celestia I can understand, but Luna? Poor Luna just got back to Earth (or whatever the planet's called), no way is she retiring like 5 years in.

9. The CMC all having the same cutie mark was dumb. (And felt like a cop-out. Let my girls be unique!) Also the cutie mark designs themselves are just the ugliest things ever. Did no one teach that designer color theory??

10. King Sombra is best villain. However they should have picked literally anyone else to voice him in Season 9. Or even have the VA do a different voice! It's not even a bad voice, it's just not King Sombra's voice.

11. The Apples and the Pies are not related. Let me ship Marble Pie and Big Mac in peace. Let people ship Applejack and Pinkie Pie in peace.

12. Sugar Belle and Big Mac are a terrible couple. Maybe they were fine off-screen, but all we see is miscommunication. The only way that marriage is ending is in divorce.

13. I actually like that EQG used pony skin tones instead of human ones. That being said, there was way too much whitewashing—just use the pony's actual coat colors. I promise you can give Luna dark blue skin and it'll be fine. (How the fuck did Habro make the character with literally white skin even whiter?? HOW?? WHY???)

14. And finally (holds up megaphone): Just because Applejack and Rainbow Dash were seen together in the end, that doesn’t automatically mean they’re a couple!!!! —Sincerely, someone who thinks AJ and Rainbow are too similar to be a couple.

Ooooo ok cool I also have some thoughts LMAO. long post so read under the cut

I also like Twilight as a unicorn more than an alicorn but I do think it was right for her to become one since it was the climax of her character arc. The problem is that the show was meant to end after she became an alicorn and it went on for several more season :,) I think she was an alicorn for far too long

Not really sure I agree with this since it was only Twilight's destiny to become an alicorn. While it would've been cool to see them as alicorns and the whole mane 6 put forth equal effort to saving equestria, it just wasn't meant to be lol.

i saw someone's AU where the castle looked more like the student 6's tree of harmony and I like that a lot more, THAT'S how you design a crystal tree house ^^'

I like Starlight Glimmer and her unconventional approaches to problem solving, but man she did get off way easy for nearly destroying the world. I mean, idk, community service or something? Also why is Cozy Glow, a child, in pony hell? Why was she trapped in stone? How did the writers think that was an appropriate punishment but other characters like Starlight and Discord get redemptions? ToT

agreeing, no extra notes lol

I have a few of them! I've read the Nightmare Rarity and mirrorverse ones, I really love the comics

Agree with this one as well. G5's issues all come from Hasbro wanting to make even more money off of G4 and not allowing G5 to be its own thing like it should have. Hasbro, a toy company, should have made way more collectible G5 merch instead of the same cheap brushables of the same 4 characters over and over. I also saw someone on twitter make a good point that the G5 show should've aired on disney+ instead of netflix since that's what most families have nowadays. truly, G5 is just a victim of corporate greed

Yeah I always felt bad for Luna for that lol. If Celestia wants to retire good for her, but at least Luna should've have stuck around and helped Twilight. Can't image Ruler of Equestria is something you just get used to immediately, esp as one person instead of two like before

Totally agree, no extra notes

He's not my favorite villain, but he is fun, and they could've gotten a better VA for him lol. Or at least changed the direction for his voice? The VA is skilled and sounds good but the voice was a little too smooth IMO.

Yeah it was never actually confirmed so it's not canon. I wouldn't worry about shipping them cause the show writers clearly don't care lol

It's kind of forced imo. They're two random characters and I think they just wanted to use Sugar Belle again. I don't remember that episode well but ig discord was stopping them from seeing each other? idk they should've just gone straight to each other. just not anything I'm invested in

Agreed, they should've had their actual pony colors if they're not gonna have realistic skin. It was weird that rarity became pure white and luna was lightened so heavily. and why is celestia pink. if they were trying to avoid racially coding the characters they certainly failed that cause it just implies that they're all white

I think some of the writers said it was canon? Or at least implied since hasbro wouldn't let them confirm it outright. I don't like appledash either way, and can just pretend it isn't real lol.

[screamingseeker]

DARK WATERS

merformer megatron x marine biologist!reader

If you knew what was waiting for you when you went into the water that day, you would've stayed in and start packing to go home.

But there were only a few weeks left of your summer research trip left and the Troian Isles were home to the one of the most unique ecosystems in the world. It would be a crime not to spend as much time in the water as possible.

So, armed with your trusty underwater camera, you hopped into the old speedboat tied to the dock and sped away from shore.

You slowed down just before you were out of swimming distance from the docks. You had learned the hard way to keep close to land.

You tossed the anchor overboard and while it made it's way to the ocean floor, you suited up in your fullbody swimsuit and oxygen tank, complete with goggles. You sat on the edge of the boat and let yourself fall backwards, quickly descending with the extra weight of the tank.

You reached the ocean floor. The coral reefs glittered in the sun and colorful fish swam around you in every direction, but you paid special attention to a small octopus that moved towards you on the ocean floor.

It was curious, but kept it's distance and you didn't try to get closer to it. You took several photos and lost your in your favorite place in the world.

You didn't even notice how much time had passed until the water became darker around you and you looked up to see a purple sky.

There were no sharks anywhere near the Troian Isles, but as a rule of thumb, it wasn't a good idea to be in the water at night. So you put your camera's strap around your neck and swam up towards the surface.

By the time you pulled yourself back onto your boat, the sun was dipping below the horizon and you took a moment to just admire the view. Purple and orange hues painted the sky, slowly being overtaken by a deep blue.

You really were lucky to have gotten the chance to spend your summer here.

You grabbed the steering wheel and turned the boat towards the docks, speeding away as the sun set behind you.

The boat reached the dock just as night fell. You securely tied the boat to the dock and were just about to get off when you noticed something in the water.

Below the dock, something gray and shiny shape was thrashing around.

It must be a dolphin, you realized in horror.

You immediately shrugged off the oxygen tank and dove into the water before it even hit the floor. Swimming blind, you followed the warped sound of the dolphin moving until you felt sleek skin beneath your outstretched hand. You also felt the netting holding it down.

You reached for the knife strapped to your hip and the dolphin thrashed harder, which made it that much harder to make sure you didn't hurt it as you cut away at the net.

You could barely see in the dark, but you felt the net give way and you gave it some space so it could swm away.

But it stayed where it was.

You realized much too late it was too large to be a dolphin.

It looked at you and red eyes glowed in the dark water.

You gasped and water filled your mouth and nose, immediately making you scream in your mind. You needed air. Kicking your legs, you fought your way to the surface and away from the creature, but you were already lightheaded and black spots were filling your vision.

You were going to die with water in your lungs and no one knowing where you were.

Claws suddenly hooked into your arms and you screamed as you sped upwards, exploding out of the water and landing hard on the dock.

Sea water burned as it rushed out of you, nearly making you throw up from gagging so much. You just laid there, grateful for every breath and once you had the strength, you lifted your head to look back at the ocean.

Unblinking red eyes stared up at you, the rest of the creature's face hidden in the water.

You stared at each other for several moments, your heart pounding in your ears.

It spoke.

"I am in your debt." It said in a low, rumbling voice.

Before you could get a word out, it's head dipped below the water, disappearing into the dark. Like it had never even been there.

You should've just stayed home.

[riftfic]

17. Epilogue

The end is here.

Thank you, everyone, for staying with me till now. I've made two additional illustrations buried in the text below. :)

Happy Anniversary, Undertale. 💙

< Load | RESET

An incandescent future unfolded over the course of that year. Though far too familiar events repeated with frustrating familiarity, they arrived in new packages: some in bright and colorful wrapping, some in grossly damaged bags. Even if confusing and often jarring, most monsters expressed gratitude to have familiar yet unfamiliar lives awaiting. The additional security and a world more accepting allowed them to press on with more comfort than expected. 

Not all were as fortunate. Several returned to lives in pieces. Lost relationships. Humans that knew them, loved them, and had aged beyond them. Photographs of small children they might never conceive. Tombstones engraved with names of the living . . . sometimes their own. 

At first, Asgore and Toriel tried to shield you from the responsibility. This level of accountability, they said, should not rest on a child’s small shoulders. No one needed to know about your hand in the broken clock. 

You didn’t see it that way. Not knowing why their lives had been stolen, left wondering if their relationships could be undone again, only festered the wound. So you explained to them what had happened and why, and swore that it would not and could not happen again. Amazing, how forgiving monsters could be—not that they all were. 

For three months, HEART continued its search for monsters left behind. The moment Sans had recovered, he had jumped at the chance to join Papyrus and Undyne among their ranks. His unique teleportation magic served them well once he had a feel for those snaking, unfamiliar shafts and pathways. Places once difficult to reach suddenly became accessible. Dozens of monsters and their families owed him thanks, especially those trapped deep in the Ruins. 

None of them were Wingdings.

With this and all else he had set in motion to free them, monsterkind quickly came to love and respect Sans in a way he had never truly experienced. Sure, he had been a recognizable face in the local comic scene, the friendly smile at Grillby’s every other night, the playful hotdog peddler in Hotland, sentry and judge for the royal family, but never . . . this. If the swath of gifts and well wishes in his hospital room hadn’t been enough proof, Asgor went far enough as publicly honoring him. He hadn’t knighted him, thankfully—a fact Sans could not celebrate more—but he did proclaim something more touching than that. 

He named a star.

As a human, the first mention of this honor had underwhelmed you. Humans named stars all the time for science, for romance, for shits and giggles. What you hadn’t understood was that, to monsters, this meant far more than looking up and picking a distant flicker. 

Their people had evolved from stardust. While humans had a touch of this magic in them, monsters churned with this fire as their lifeblood. The celestial bodies, their very beginnings, were esteemed with enough reverence to be gods. 

Their banishment to the Underground had been especially cruel for this fact, and after such a long separation from the sky, marking their reunion with a new light was more than fitting. After all, when someone’s name was thought with enough intent in so many hearts, a star wasn’t only named; it was born. 

It was bright and it was beautiful. When viewed through his telescope, it nestled in a pocket of blue and gold fringed in red, much like the Ring Nebula, only light years from a star they had once named after you. 

“i don’t get it,” he admitted to you after the fact. “all i did was make up for somethin’ i did wrong. my motivations weren’t exactly heroic either.”

“Not all knights wear armor, Sir Sans the Star.”

“heh . . . and just what’re you gettin’ at, fair frisk the fart?”

You laughed. “It doesn’t matter why you did it,” you said. “You still did it. You brought back the dead, Sans. You deserve to be thanked for that, don’t you?”

You knew Asriel hadn’t been the one he wanted to resurrect. Even after the members of HEART had disbanded, he delved into the dark in search of Wingdings until his phalanges bled and his magic ran dry. All of you had begged him to relent, Asgore more than anyone. Not until every inch of the Underground’s remains had been scoured did he finally lose hope.

At least now, his brother’s name did not wither from memory like a dream in the morning light. For the first time, he could mourn him freely. He could share memories with those who knew him, find understanding in kindred spirits, and heal.

As one year on the surface came to a close, he finally found the courage to destroy the machine.

The spring sun crisped dewdrops from dandelions as you and Sans strode across his overgrown lawn. The skeleton brothers’ house, a cozy little two story chalet, stood half embedded in the steep hillside behind you. Its stilted, elevated porch overlooked miles of green forest and a babbling river inlet at the knoll’s foot, just as he had remembered. A long road wound atop the hill’s peak, passing from driveway to driveway to outline a comfortably spaced neighborhood. In the distance, Mount Ebott reached among smaller peaks for white clouds in a gold and pink sky. 

Under your arms, you each carried a folded mesh lawn chair. Matte black aviator sunglasses masked Sans’ eyes, though a cyan glow smoked behind the left lens. A pair of bright purple shields blocked your own. Following behind in a cloud of blue magic, the rusty, tattered block of a machine he called a “temporal flux manipulator” hovered helplessly a meter off the ground.

A safe distance from the coyote bushes dotting the property line, Sans shook out his chair and tossed it down beside a patch of naked buckwheat. You followed suit and plopped into your seat.

“countdown?” Sans requested.

Before you could start, he had flung the machine unceremoniously upward, nearly thirty feet into the air. At its very peak, he voided his magic. It plummeted into a satisfying cacophonous crash of metal and glass, as if a double decker had smashed into a brick wall.

“Three,” you said.

Two Gaster Blasters materialized over his shoulders.

“Two.”

Their unhinged jaws pooled white-hot energy in their gullets.

“One.”

Those wild-eyed dragon skulls unleashed two furious jets of dangerous magic. The light reflected in your sunglasses. Screams of raging power overwhelmed the once peaceful ambiance of nature. You both watched impassively, but perhaps just a little smugly, as what had once been a marvel of science was pummeled down into a flaming mess. 

The blasters dissipated, appeased. Both natural and magical fire burned high like a bonfire in front of you. You popped open a bag of marshmallows. Sans, meanwhile, emptied an old yellow envelope into the flames, then shrugged and tossed in the sleeve as well. Blueprint after blueprint shriveled away to embers, never to be crafted again.

“erase that, ya fat gameboy,” he muttered. 

Just as he reclined in his chair, a sputter of laughter spooked him out of it again.

“That was five years of our lives and 20 million G in government funding you just blew up.”

Sans whipped around, eye sockets wide and empty. You followed his gaze. The uncooked marshmallow you had been too impatient to wait for fell from your lips.

A lanky skeleton stood somewhat removed behind your chairs, clinging to a small paper bag and his own wrist. An orange laminate wristband hung above his bony palm, rugged from wear, and another rested alongside it in white. The sleeves of his loose, plum colored button-up had been pushed up to his elbows; the buttons down his torso had been fastened incorrectly, off by one. Something like apprehension and hesitation lit the small lights of his eyes, so similar to Sans’ and yet worlds apart. 

Sans’ hand shook audibly as he peeled the sunglasses from his face.

Wingdings looked exactly the same as he had nearly a century ago—no longer melted, his body whole—even if those awful cracks still split his skull. They had been mended, only scars now behind a thin but large pair of lopsided circular glasses. Though he had seemed joyful a moment ago, his smile slowly slipped away. 

At his heels, a small white dog panted happily. Far behind, at a bend in the road, a black Lincoln idled in park. Asgore stood leaning on the car door, watching from afar.

“I guess,” Wingdings eased past the silence, “it worked. Kind of. In a roundabout way. Basically, I was right; you were wrong. Congrats to me.” A small smile split his face again and his shoulders twitched upward. “Hooray,” he lilted weakly.

Sans had been creeping cautiously nearer, trembling, tracing that silhouette with the star of his left eye. Only inches apart, he touched the wristbands. The white one listed his name, his species, a mental hospital, and an admittance date—almost nine months ago. The orange band simply stated, “SUPERVISION REQUIRED.” 

Sans’ face was wet before he realized why. Every thought and feeling had been swept away until now.

“did you really come all the way from the void,” he hardly breathed, “just to rub it in my face?”

Wingdings stared down at him a long moment before his eyelights circled up into a cinched brow. He shrugged again. “Yes?”

Sans bubbled with laughter then, and Dings bubbled back. Next thing you knew, they were piled in each other's bones on the ground, happy, relieved, home. The Annoying Dog danced joyful doggy circles around them with a wildly flapping tail. 

From his vantage point, Asgore smiled with relief and found the resolve to approach.

“Oh, hey,” Wingdings said brightly when he noticed you nearing. “One sec.” 

He opened the paper bag and rustled around inside. The sound of pill bottles jostling like rain sticks only distracted you a moment before he surfaced something both considerate and serendipitous. Chocolate. Your favorite. A big, thick bar of the good stuff, the kind that melted in the mouth and made for soft and perfect s’mores. Your mouth salivated as you took the brick into your hands. The two of you were going to get along fine.

“One square at a time,” Asgore instructed you firmly.

You nodded.

“nine months?” Sans lamented playfully, tugging at the band around his brother’s wrist. “i coulda given birth by now. what happened? where were you? why . . .” Joy siphoned out of him. “why didn’t i know?”

At this, the anxious guilt Wingdings had forgotten sprang to life again.

“I’ll explain.” Asgore’s broad shoulders blocked the sun like a monument. His large though gentle voice stilled them all. 

“Your majesty, I can . . .” 

“I am no longer ‘your majesty,’” the great boss monster interrupted Wingdings with a smile. “I am your friend.” 

Dings relented, then, even if he fidgeted with the tags wrapped around his ulna and radius. Sans took his hand hostage.

Shortly before Sans had joined HEART, a small team had discovered Wingdings deep in the remnants of Waterfall. They had nearly given up their search when an annoying white dog barked after them ceaselessly. It led them to a dark alcove behind watery curtains, where Wingdings lay huddled in a corner, confused and nearly starved. 

“I was all bone,” Wingdings interjected shyly, but no one smiled. 

When he received the call that yet another skeleton had been unearthed, Asgore had raced to meet them almost as fast as he had run to meet you—but what he found was not the reunion he had hoped for. His smart, clever friend had been whittled down to a frightened creature with an ever fracturing hold on reality. With the breaking of the barrier, more than his grip on the rift had slipped loose. His mind had lost its bearings into a whirlwind of relentless psychosis. Excluding his early years in the void, Wingdings could not remember enduring an episode darker than this. 

Though warned of Wingdings’ catatonia and incoherency, the king of the underground immediately requested to visit him. He was glad he did. Something about seeing Asgore snapped Wingdings out of his stupor and into a brief moment of clarity, long enough to ask for help . . . and beg for the news not to escape, not even to Sans. 

“I didn’t want to be seen like that, marbles all over the floor,” Dings said. “And if I couldn’t be helped, well . . . I thought it would be better to stay forgotten.”

‘i didn’t forget you.” Sans’ grip on his brother’s hand tightened. “i mourned you. i thought you were dead.” 

‘I’m sorry.”

“I should have told you, Sans,” said Asgore. “Right away. I was torn . . . and the longer I put it off, the harder it became.”

Sans took measure of his heartache and decided it wasn’t worthwhile to blame them, not now. He had learned to forgive Asriel; he could absolve his brother and Asgore of this one misstep. He let the warmth of that metal bonfire and the sight of Wingdings’ tired face smooth over his soul.

“you don’t gotta apologize,” he sighed. “it sounds . . . scary.”

Windings nodded meagerly, but did not elaborate.

Asgore had placed him in a special care ward under the brightest human and monster minds he could assemble. Thankfully, humans had already researched three years ahead on this front. With their combined understanding of monster and human anatomy, they found a combination of physical and magical treatment that worked enough to stabilize him. The rest relied on therapy. 

“I’ll have sessions twice a week,” said Dings. “Asgore already agreed to take me, so if you have reservations . . .”

“reserva—the hell are you talking about?” Sans said. He had gripped his little brother by the shoulders, then, harsh at first but quickly gentle. Tears beaded in his eyes. “you think a little hot water’s gonna scare me off? you’ll be lucky if you get me off your heels!”

“It’s not over,” Windings said shakily. “I’m not cured. Something like this doesn’t just go away. It . . . sleeps.”

Sans deflated, then softly clutched him to his chest. Dings lowered his eyes, melting touch-starved into arms he had once lost hope in feeling. 

“i know,” Sans answered calmly. “and when it wakes up you don’t gotta face it solo. you’re not alone in the dark anymore. you’re home.”

Sans inhaled deeply, mercifully, as if he hadn’t truly breathed since the day he lost him. Saying the words aloud had released something inside him like puncturing a balloon. Everything felt pure and new: the weight of his brother in his arms; the scent of him intermingled with the neighbor’s freshly-cut grass; the warmth of his breath amid the late summer sunlight bleaching his skull; the glow of his eyes against the bonfire flickering strange their shadows. Nothing would let him forget this, not even the stars that began to glimmer out of hiding. 

“you’re home,” he said again, and this time his voice rattled with joy.

Wingdings held him very tightly then, desperately, and with it Sans knew he shared the sentiment. He smiled truly, deeply, never more whole, and hid it for himself in folds of wine purple cloth. 

“you made it.”

The End

Hear me now, hope you're listening It's been centuries, least what it seems to me I've been on this road, my eyes glistenin' Our past don't matter, I'm much stronger And fly much farther, soar overseas Finally, see, I'll keep on climbing Ridin' the lightning and I am sure

At times, I really didn't show What was wrong with me, wrong with me I told myself I cannot grow Without lovin' me, lovin' me But this is just the hell that lives inside Tell me now, where to? Please be my guide

I've been goin', goin' in circles Reoccurring dreams, talkin' in my sleep Then I'm floatin' up to the surface I can finally breathe, I could do anything And I don't know why it's all right And it's not at the same time Then I look up at a blue sky And I know

At times, I really didn't show What was wrong with me, wrong with me I tell myself I cannot grow Without lovin' me, lovin' me This is just the hell that lives inside Tell me now, where to? Please be my guide

"Lovin' Me" - Kid Cudi feat. Phoebe Bridgers

That's it. That's the end. :')

This has been an amazing journey. Thank you, thank you so much for reading through to the end.

I've been considering starting a new fic, a part two so to speak, that follows Wingdings as he reconnects with family and friends and learns to navigate his new life. Plus healing, as well as his mental health and trauma from the void. Maybe romance??? idk. A wholesome slice-of-life thing, much lighter in tone. I have scenes in my head already.

Thank you again. I have a surprise in store, so please don't unsubscribe just yet. ;)

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[violetlunette]

My version of a female Trey or "Trinity" as I like to call her. I made her to go in the AU with a femSilver.

I went with Trey to “bend” as we rarely see Trey as a female. Which is a shame as the few I do see are so cute.

I’m aware that Riddle or Carter would be the obvious choice but I felt a gender change wouldn’t be as fun.

With Riddle he would just be the sad tsundere girl. Maybe there could be extra drama where his mom would try to make the girl version of him and exact replica of her, but that’s backstory stuff. The rest of the tale would be the same.

With Carter, he has a small arc that because he’s a boy he’s shy about liking girly things, such as the color pink. There’s also a bit of an underline that being the only boy among several sisters made him feel lonely, which is partly why his unique magic is to make clones of himself. Gender-bending him takes away two parts of his character and doesn’t add to the story. Also a fem Carter would just be the stereotypical insta-girl.

Trey being a girl not only alters the story slightly but also introduces drama and growth for her arc as it would strengthen elements that are there while adding new ones.

With a female Trey as Riddle’s mom—afraid that Riddle would fall for her—would fight harder to keep them apart. This would create internal conflict for Riddle whether he likes Trey romantically or not.

While he cares for Trey, his mother forbade him from getting close to them, thus being close is defying the rules. Thus, he would try to keep things professional despite wanting otherwise.

For Trey this is adds to why she was reluctant to stand up to Riddle. Their friendship is on thin ice as it was and any conflict could wreck it for good.

Trey is very insecure about herself as she internalized Mrs. Rosehearts’ comments about her as a child. Thus she doesn’t even try to dress up fancy, aside from the hat. I’ll leave it open whether she likes Riddle romantically or not. Her need to care for every is accentuated by being the eldest daughter and second mother in her household.