#whoever they are now is someone wholly different.

[sezja]

Mallius's childhood friend has gotten very strange since leaving Garlemald.

(They're trying to cheer him up. It's definitely not working. Shut up.)

[yandere-yearnings]

what r ur thoughts on sun getting jealous and crazy but darling matches his freak and might just be worse… erm…. i have no excuse i just need to ruin this man he makes me VISCERALLY ANGRY. but in. like. a Pleasant way. the people (me) are dying to know 🎤🎤🎤

genie you're out here asking all the right questions😌💕 there are a few possibilities for how things may turn out and it all depends on the situation at hand so i wrote out two little bits hehe also, sun is staring bc he heard the word ruin and it put an image in his head,, i think you need to take him away🤧 to the people (you) i present sun w/ a jealous darling:

...in general

Honestly, Sun believes jealousy is a healthy feeling to have in a relationship. He's a bit delusional, and really, he flies off the rocker way too easily for someone who supposedly has a lax stance on the matter, but he thinks it can only be proof that you love each other. You don't like the way other people are putting their hands on him? That means you accept that he's yours! So, if you just happen to be a jealous person like that, he doesn't mind; in fact, he endorses it and will set-up situations just to watch the way you seethe.

Now, matching his freak — potentially being even worse than him — is an entirely different thing. Tell him you'll pluck off his fingernails just because they grazed someone else's hand and it has him squeezing his thighs together like it'll stop you noticing how hot the comment made him. Sun loves feeling like you possess him, and he's ready to give himself over to you wholly if that's what you want.

...when he is jealous

On the odd occasion that Sun loses his cool and lets his reoccurring jealousy drive him off the edge, he isn't really able to comprehend anything other than his desire to paint the walls with someone else's blood. You could be equally as mad, you could be tearing at his clothes with your hands at his throat, you could be screaming into his ears until the drums burst — but Sun isn't there so it doesn't change anything. Whoever or whatever it is that's taking your attention away from him will be his only priority in that moment, and if he can't deal with it imminently, he'll be thinking of how to until he can.

If you can overpower him, there's opportunity to calm him down. No amount of words will reach him when he's in a mood, regardless of their severity, but if you can hold him back for a while, he'll eventually be able to come to his senses. Although, that doesn't mean he's any less angry. You best keep your promises and do everything you said you would to him, Sun is waiting for you to teach him a lesson so he knows you still care.

[vacayisland]

HIII i saw that you were taking request so im just asking if you could make a John dory x reader insert fanfic?

John dory meeting his spouce on the mission with Branch and Poppy when they find Bruce and hits it off with them while their is working at Bruces little diner?

@!; It's always a "vacay" with you. John Dory (JD) / Reader

"Summary"! John Dory didn't expect meeting the love of his life on a mission to save his brother; yet here he was, finding himself oh so fascinated with you that Spruce, Branch, and Poppy are having to physically pull him away from Vacay Island! "Tags"! Fluff! A lil awkward. Also, not proof read. I need to research JD a little more before writing another fanfiction about him, yet I tried my best with his personality!

@!; The last thing that John Dory expected from this mission was to find someone who completed him wholly, fully, and completely. The last thing he expected, when arriving to Vacay Island was to fall in love, head over heels for another Troll. The last thing he expected to come from this mission was to find someone who finally understood; understood him and his ways and how he is. Who made him want to be better while helping make him better; and in turn he helps them be a better version of themself. And it felt like some sort of weird destiny. They were only going to the island to find Spruce; a mission with one end goal, one way to go. Yet, when following Spruce (now Bruce) into his co-owned resort, singing had caught his attention right away...

Branch and Poppy kept following after Spruce, who hadn't turned around yet and kept trying to wave the two off while claiming his band days were over and to keep it all hushed-hushed. Though JD had stopped half way through the walk, hearing a tune flutter through the speakers of the indoor seating area. His interest had been captured, it was held captive with ever flutter of the sweet notes that wafted through the air. Though he slowly started to back up to follow his younger brother to get Spruce, he kept his eye out for the person who held such a lovely voice. "This is my wife, Brandy!" JD had swung himself on top of the bar top just as Bruce was introducing his wife. He was about to wave them off, though took a quick double turn when he actually saw who Bruce's wide was. Then grew even more confused when Bruce was bombarded with 10... 11... maybe 12 kids?! "How do you?-" JD pointed towards Brandy and Bruce, managing to interject between all the kids and chaos; Asking the one question that him, Poppy, and Branch were thinking - maybe less Poppy, and more him and Branch. Yet still, how would such a relationship even work? Nevertheless work so well where they had so many children- wait no, JD scrunched his nose as the thoughts that came to mind. He subtly leaned away from the two, glancing between Branch and Poppy and Bruce and Brandy. He turned them out for a moment, glancing back at the open sitting area as everyone chatted and spoke, laughed and cackled, just having a good time. And that's when he saw a flash of color, different from the other warmer-tones. JD didn't notice the way his breath caught in his throat the moment you swung by, landing on the counter top with a skidded stop. Despite wearing roller blades, the wheels didn't bother you. "Brandy! You got the food for Skid and Mary?" "Oh hey! Guys, that's (Y/N), a worker of mine." Bruce cut in as Brandy nodded, ringing a bell before a basket of fries and burgers were pushed out from the kitchen. She would take them, slide them across the counter to you, and you would, as though these plates weren't triple your size, hooked your hair around the holes of the basket. "Thanks, gotta run! Oh- hey Bruce." A wave, bright smile, and you were off; having stopped in for a brief moment but completely capturing JD's attention once again. He couldn't help but watch as you skated off, dragging the plates behind you while dodging whoever and whatever came your way. "So they was singing." JD blurted, not exactly meaning to. Though he captured his brothers and Poppy's attention. Bruce simply crossed his arms, "Oh, (Y/N)? Yeah! They always sing while they work, sometimes they even take a break to entertain everyone with a musical number." Though JD didn't catch it, Branch give him a skeptical look; being quicker to catch onto the way JD looked on you and the slightly softer tone he had.

@!; JD wasn't sure what attracted him to you yet, but he found himself looking for you every second of their stay trying to convenience Bruce to come help save Floyd. Even during the 'Brozone's back' performance, he looked for your face in the crowd; trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of you and your rolling skating antics. When they were done, while Poppy and Bruce's family were cheering them on, his eyes were stuck on the crowd. His nose scrunched as he tried to keep old thoughts out of his head, wondering why you weren't here praising him for his singing or anything like that. No, he cannot think like that. He's growing, he's outgrown that mindset- "Earth to JD!" JD snapped out of his thoughts at Poppy frantically waving her hand in front of his face. A hard blink and he turned over to the staring company. Brandy had a knowing look, in which JD squinted at trying to decipher. Poppy playfully punched JD's arm, "Oh, good to have you back!" A big grin paired her child like antics, in which JD only laughed and brushed off. "What are you talking about, I've been here since the beginning. After all, I'm the one who found Floyd's lett-" Yet he wasn't able to finish before Branch cut in. "Yeah, half here. Ever since we stepped foot here you've been," And Branch waited no time drawing a circle at the side of his temple, pairing it with a whistle; effectively calling JD insane, or mainly out of it. Poppy playfully slapped Branch's arm away from his head, saying something about how that was rude to do. Branch smiled a little, but tried to keep a straight face, as he gestured over to JD with a 'come on' type of look. Poppy glanced over to JD for a moment then back at Branch, a silent agreement that she would try to make unobvious. Bruce simply chuckled at their antics. "What? What's funny?" JD pointed at Bruce, narrowing his eyes a little as his more laid-back brother. "Oh nothing.." And there was a hint in Bruce's voice that made it sound like there was more. Yet he didn't say anything, arms crossed, as he gave JD a knowing look. An oddly, really knowing look. It threw JD off. He wasn't that readable anymore, he wasn't how he was when the band was together and his brothers shouldn't know how he is! He didn't like that look. So he glanced away from Bruce. Yet there was a feeling in his gut that JD knew that Bruce had some sort of hint of what was distracting him.

@!; The mission had been delayed a day. Bruce needed to stay back for a day longer to help Brandy with the kids and figure out all the logistics of leaving so suddenly. JD had gone off on his own, letting Branch and Poppy do their own thing, as he went to go walk on the beach. There wasn't much else to do than to walk on the beach and take in the scene. He didn't exactly want to get into the water, despite how impressing it might be to you- And there his mind goes again! JD cursed himself and cursed his thoughts and cursed you!- Then he paused, with a scrunch of his nose. He couldn't curse you no matter how much he was irritated you infiltrated his thoughts. He hasn't even spoken to you! How would he know you would even like him? That he would even like you! "A little help!!" JD's attention snapped behind him as he heard the shout from an all too familiar voice. Yet he didn't have time to react, seeing a troll barreling towards him with their arms extended and a panic-stricken look. JD jumped out of the way, landing in the sand and purposefully with more force than needed to dig himself in. You whizzed by him and he quickly shot his hair our towards you, wrapping it around your waist and trying to hold onto the friction from the sand to slow you down. Yet, maybe he should have dug himself in deeper. He knew this as soon as his left foot lost footing and he shot forward, dragging across the sand and towards you. He tried grabbing onto something, yet you both only crashed into each other; And while that helped to stop you, it also caused you both to barrel and roll into the shore of the ocean, effectively drenching you both in salty water. JD groaned, laying in the mushy sand floor, feeling the waves crash up against him and recede slowly back once they came. He felt groggy, a little disorientated, yet he didn't have much time to reflect on that feeling when someone began to shake him. "Oh my god! Please don't be dead- please!" And with a few slaps to his cheek, JD shoved a hand into the face of whoever was trying to bother him at this moment. There was a silence for a moment, maybe out of shock, before JD heard the person beside him let out a deep sigh. It was a sigh like the weight of the world had been lifted off the person's shoulders, releasing them some sort of trouble or entanglement with liability. JD opened one eye when the ocean drew back again, keeping his eyes half-lidded, as he tried to see who was with him in the ocean. He swore he nearly died the minute that he saw you, soaking head to toe and looking down at him with the most worrisome look. He jolted up to a sit, not realizing his hand was still cupping your mouth until a moment later; When he drew it back, glancing down at it and back up at you, then cautiously placing it beside him. "Are you okay?" And despite how awkward this situation could be, you didn't make it that way. And JD slightly hoped it was because you saw the look on his face; The silent apology he couldn't bare himself to say. He's been working on himself, but he's not that level of worked on yet. Especially since he knew he owed a few people some big apologies.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." JD mumbled after a minute. He took in a deep breath before placing his hands on his knees and standing up, letting out the breath in a long sigh as he did so. "Oh- um! That's good." Your smile was anxious, a little weary, as you still sat in the mushy sand in the fire range of the waves. JD offered you his hand. You took it, allowing him to help you onto your feet. And that awkward silence along with a prolonged holding of hands. JD wasn't sure why, but he noticed the way your hand fit perfectly into his like all your hands were made to do was hold each other. He kind of didn't want to let go, but did so for the sake of comfortability. It would be awkward to hold hands with a strange, right? And no matter how many fangirls they had felt with in Brozone, JD would never know that answer. He guessed yes, by the way your eyes shifted to the left in an uncomfortable fashion. Yet he saw the way your eyes flicked back to his the moment he let go. He noticed the way your hand dropped to your side limp-like, and the small smile that crept to your face. There was some sort of glint in your eyes that drew JD in again. Though he couldn't exactly tell what that sparkle was for; he just hoped you were going the same way his brain was. "Hey," A pause, you were chewing over your words. "Would you like to talk over a basket of nachos?" "Were you reading my mind?" JD cocked up his eyebrow, giving you a snicker as he saw the cheeky look that rose on your face. "Maybe I am, you'll never know! But I have an employ discount I still have to use and this seems like the perfect occasion to take my break." And you grinned a grin that made JD feel like you were looking right through him; That you knew all his flaws and strengths all at once and yet still loved him for every single one of them. And maybe he was insane to think so. And maybe JD should get to know you better before he jumps to conclusions. But, shit, you had him hooked in a way no Troll has had him before.

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

[toastily]

simple little ficlet of the matter/antimatter doing crazy multiversal magic and making wade see his possible future afterlife instead of the one seen in DP2 ✨

He was dying again.

For the final time, he thinks. He knew what being ripped apart cell by cell felt like. He felt it constantly; his body dying and reviving itself thousands of times over every second.

This was different. He’d felt everything. His body crumbling apart for the final time, burning him alive and turning into nothing as the matter and anti-matter mixed inside his body. He felt every atom screaming, his body trying desperately to heal itself as he was dragged from his body and into the ether.

Then it was all over in an instant, and he was falling. That feeling so familiar to him now. Tumbling through the darkness and feeling it enveloping him, slowly stripping him of the pain that came with being alive. Tearing the cancer, the constant agonizing pain, from his body and letting him finally relax.

God, he’d missed this. He’d missed dying.

He dropped into his afterlife after what felt like hours of falling through the dark, expecting the familiar view of what was once his apartment with Vanessa, but that’s not what he saw.

It was his and Al’s apartment. But it was different, somehow. Clothes that weren’t his strewn across his shitty futon, furniture was moved, a new chair was added to the already mismatched living room. The walls were a different color. There were new framed pictures on the walls, but they all looked greyed out and blurry.

“What the shit?” He mumbled under his breath, spinning in a slow circle as he took in what he was starting to assume wasn’t actually his afterlife. He felt on edge. He was supposed to know what to expect here, it wasn’t supposed to be a fucking surprise.

That comforting feeling of home was dragging on the edges of his subconscious like desperate claws, telling him to relax, accept his final resting place, but he couldn’t let himself give in. There was something wrong.

He spotted a dirty, old ash tray with a cigar that was slowly leaking smoke propped in it sitting on the kitchen counter. He zoned in on it. Neither he or Al ever touched cigars.

Then he saw it. A ghost is truly the best way he could describe it. An unfinished shape that was clearly supposed to be a person. It blurred his vision, made his eyes water when he looked directly at it.

He could catch the vague idea of what it was supposed to be. A man, tall and broad, leaning against the counter and looking out the window above the sink. The feeling that bore a hole deep into his chest as he looked at whoever this man is was the exact same one he’d felt last time he was here while Ness was still dead.

Love, deep and unending. And he didn’t even know why.

He reached up and rubbed his eyes, trying his hardest to focus them on the ghost but no matter what he could only catch the very edges of him. Someone that looked so deeply familiar but wholly foreign.

The visual of this thing made his entire body ache with confusion and anxiety. He felt like he was going to vomit as his eyes refused to focus directly on it.

He took a hesitant step forward, but before he could make it very far he hit the familiar wall of his immortality. “Fuck, come on! I thought I was finally fucking done!” He yelled, slamming his fist against the invisible wall that held him from what was waiting for him. Who was waiting for him.

The shape moved, Wade could somehow tell it was turning to look at him.

“Wade?” The fuzzy sound of a voice, low and gruff, echoed through the room. It sounded like it was rooms away, but he knew it came from the ghost.

It hit him, then. He knew exactly who it was. “Peanut?” He asked, voice uncertain as he squinted at the shape. “Logan, what the fuck-”

He was ripped back hard, torn back from whatever fucked up version of his home that was supposed to be. He was dragged through the darkness again, much faster this time, landing directly back into his barely-alive body with a hard gasp.

[saint-vagrant]

for the love of god stop with these Rational Thinkers' paragraph + italicised "VOTE!" posts. is anyone moved by this? i've seen "vote for whoever you like, but just vote" VOTE FOR WHOEVER BUT JUST DO IT? BRO! that's somehow more pathetic than demanding that you back biden or else you're too young and too old and too stupid and too academic and ultimately a traitor if you came to a different conclusion and act, to your best ability, in accordance with your ethics.

like yeah you'll do whatever and so will i, i guess. but it's psychically painful to see this totally coincidental influx specifically since october 2023. people calling leftists (well specifically anti-imperialists &/ communists) "russian/chinese/3rd party agents" who are "lying to you to stop you from voting." it's been worded as "your friends are lying to you." that is so cool. it's like 2016 in here. yday i saw "voting isn't about which leader will sign off on your glorious revolution" which is such a snide misunderstanding of... most things, i think? it's giving "proudly launching headfirst down stairwell." more than half the time i check out OP, they're openly a zionist, or end up there by default in the sense of being a bland milquetoast etiquette-obsessed "let people enjoy things" centrist who's so mistrusting of information or pattern recognition that if you possess either you're corrupted by "ideology."

why would it be necessary to lie? what purpose for a big convoluted conspiracy? for whom IS this simplistic, condescending, dispassionate shit anyway??? surely not for the people whose families are burning alive, thanks to the american government who robs and brutalises its own people in order to fund further massacres. because how could you look that person in the face and tell them "no, you don't know fuckall about how things run around here. now is the time for political decorum" ?? there must be such a sense of comfort in the idea that those people are "over there." like i think it's pretty unfortunate that a lot of these posts begin by citing some ~dramatic~ ~babybrained~ "take" committed by disgruntled "western" posters (who are spies) but when i heard the source, or when i go find it, it's by a palestinian or muslim person or just someone from whom it like, kind of makes sense why they feel the way they do! but then it's characterised in such a vague wussy ass way! huh??!!! like it seems very convenient to ignore WHO is organising/mobilising/criticising, WHO is protesting and abstaining, so that these posts come off more sound and reasonable than the leftist sleeper agents who appeal to emotion over sense. and i'm not even telling you not to vote! i'm wondering why it's so impossible to conceive of a reality where a marginalised person or group concludes that the health and safety of their community will be sought and achieved through other means. you really can't imagine that? that's dumb to you?

so i guess i, too, don't care what the hell you do with your precious little life, but it is So Fucked to talk down to people about genocide like it's a petty, inconvenient wedge issue we have to sidestep for the greater good. fwiw voting isn't wholly irrelevant to me, And Also, i understand being against a system means, for many, abstaining from its approved tools and pouring efforts into direct action. this is not a new approach! greater good is sought and achieved mainly and actively on the ground— not from above. moreover, there is no good greater than opposing and ending genocide for fuck's sake! jesus!

[dazedantics]

Need some Rollo right now. Bit risqué but I need that "Rollo is not such a good guy" quality to it, ya know?

Everyone gives a different look when longing for someone.

A soft smile, unconsciously spreading. Eyes focused with a dreamy stare on the object of their affection. The light slouch of the shoulders as they enter their most relaxed state.

So content with even just admiring.

There's even the other end of the spectrum. No hopelessly loving gazes sent one's way, and those that do slip through the facade are quickly caught and hidden behind a hand.

Cheeks burn bright with embarrassment and worry as they hope no one saw it. Eyes burning with a soft rage or annoyance as they blame their feelings on whoever they've set their sights on.

The angry glare fading away into that lovelorn glow that pulls a smile out of even the most emotionless of character.

Rollo scoffs at the lecherous fiends whom show even trace amounts of interest in another.

He can't wrap his head around why they'd waste so much time worrying and pining when there was nothing to it in the end.

Especially with such high uncertainty of affections being remotely returned.

He knew he'd certainly never waste his time on such a menial thing.

No sir, he'd keep his head on straight should such a person were to divert his attention.

He certainly never caught himself smiling unconsciously when he laid eye on you.

Or troubled to tear his wandering eyes from you to his work and tasks in front of him.

He never found himself sighing wistfully when mention of your name fluttered by his ear.

Or saw you constantly in the things he viewed and objects he owned.

And certainly hadn't fallen asleep in front of the fireplace, seeing you dancing in the embers like an enchanting goddess meant to tempt the very fire of his soul.

Or woken up in a panicked sweat, hat askew and needing to cover himself from anyone wanting to come in to speak to him.

No, he had never looked down at himself in a fury, hands fumbling to make himself decent, blaming you for tormenting his thoughts day and night like a parasite longing to drain him of his sensibilities.

He never found himself biting his lip in anticipation behind his handkerchief when he'd see you everyday after that.

He never took the chance to seek glances your way or schedule things so he'd have more time in your presence.

He certainly had never gone towards you under the cover of the night planning to take his ruminating into reality.

And had never stopped himself before entering your room, too entranced by your shadow melting through the lightly curtained window to watch as you draped yourself for the evening.

No, the heat never rose to his cheeks from his loins as he stared bewitched by you.

No.

Not him.

He was better than that.

When he entered your room without warning, locking the door behind him, he was able to confront his undone doings.

He admitted it to you.

All of his thoughts and gazes, his actions and dreams, everything since laying eye on you.

As he ecased you to the bed, that giddy smile was unshakable. His doting was abundantly clear to the both of you now.

As he confessed it all, caressing your forgiving skin, wandering over your forbidden sweetness, sizing himself up for the act that all who look upon another, so desperately, wish for.

Now he understood.

Why all those fools waste such precious time on those feeble moments of admiring.

It was a wholly enchanting sight that would not be satisfied until given heed to, like watching a candle burn down to the wick, breathing in all the intoxicating scent that attracted on in the first place.

It was a desire to indulge in and be selfishly savored.

And savor he shall.

That delightful expression on your face would be one not long forgotten.

He smiled, making himself even more entwined with you as you pushed at him.

He burring himself against your hair instead, reveling in that oh so addictive scent that could only accompany one so captivating.

You may be upset now. You may hate him for his sudden decisiveness.

But, eventually, you'd forgive him.

You returned his affections after all, didn't you?

You had to, he wouldn't have set his sights on you in the first place if you didn't, right?

Yes, those were cries of joy he heard fall like honey from your lips just now.

Just relax and enjoy the fruits of his labor, Y/N dear.

For there is plenty more to come.

[noxturnals-void]

My Dearest Shadow

Jason Voorhees x GN! Reader

Pt. 2

(It might lean fem at times but I’m going to try my best to keep it neutral for everyone!)

Read Pt 1 here

Tw: stalking, paranoia, jason shenanigans

(I’m forcing you to enjoy tea and baking, and there’s nothing you can do about it ✨💖)

1,018 words below the cut

Previously in Chapter 1:

Your eagerness got the better of you, and you turned around despite the loud thumping in your chest. There was nothing at first as you searched through the closest trees. A figure quickly moved to the side at the edge of your vision- a very large figure. You gulped, scanning the tree line and focusing on a thick tree trunk hiding the person well. Whoever they were, they were most definitely right there, and to your knowledge, this was the closest encounter you'd had with them while awake.

You tried to think of something to say, pondering if you should have said anything at all in this tense moment.

What were you supposed to do…?

—

He was there. He had been here since you'd arrived near the camp. He didn't know how long it had been since the last few teenagers had come around, and he had slaughtered them all. But now you were here... you'd been here longer than he expected.

Once he realized how close you were to the campgrounds, he was inclined to kill you, just like all the others.

It took quite a few days of convincing from his mother to spare you, telling him you were different. You were not a threat. From then on, he only watched from afar, through your windows and from the tree line, as you fixed up the cottage you apparently owned. He didn't recognize it, not that he spent much time surveying areas past the campgrounds.

You became somewhat of an obsession. His days were mostly spent between your house, watching you go about your day, and patrolling the campgrounds. He made it an unconscious habit to ensure you woke up, ate something, and were safe as you worked around the small cabin.

He had held himself back several times. You were clumsy and nearly always found a way to hurt yourself from your extraneous activities, but he could never risk revealing himself to you. You’d injured yourself more than once, and it took everything in him not to rush to your side. But he restrained himself. As difficult as it was.

By the end of the first year you had been here, he was way beyond obsessed with you. He paid attention to everything you did in the utmost detail. How you liked tea over coffee, how you enjoyed baking- and how he enjoyed the smell it gave the air around your home. How you laughed at seemingly invisible things you saw, how your eyes wandered toward the lake every so often, how you stared off and sighed as you finished a thought. Your habit of pacing as you mumbled to yourself. Your music tastes from what he could hear you play beyond your cabin walls. He didn’t care about the music, just your angelic voice that sang or hummed along.

He took in everything you did and wasn't wholly oblivious—he knew that you knew he was there. Though he never risked you seeing him, the last thing he wanted was to scare you away—he wanted you to stay. He wanted you to be here and live close to where he defended. In his mind, your property was now part of his. Your land was an extension of his land that he so carefully protected.

He would keep you safe; he would be your silent protector, your shadow. But if you'd seen him, you would have run in a heartbeat like all the others.

He understood he was intimidating- large and bulky, towering over everyone he'd ever come across, strong enough to scare anyone- you'd be frightened at just his body in front of you. He figured the mask would throw you off, and he could never expect someone else- especially someone so attractive as you- to accept him the way he was. Perhaps it would’ve been different if he looked “normal”. Maybe then he would’ve had just a chance.

He had made the mistake of making noise this time. His approach was closer than usual, standing just past the first few trees lining the side of your home.

You had been deep in thought, mumbling as you dug out a garden bed and planted a small sprinkle of unidentifiable seeds in each hole your small hand scooped out. You looked like an angel sitting there on the ground, hair messily out of the way and your clothing caked in mulch and soil.

How you cared so carefully for each hole you dug and how gingerly you maneuvered the plants that had already taken sprout in small plastic containers had him reeling for you- much more than smitten at this point. How gentle you were. How soft and caring you were to the flora. How you seemed to whisper to the tiny sprouts as if they could hear you. It made him even more head-over-heels.

The snap of a twig under his thick boot was all it took, a step closer to lean beyond the tree to ogle you more intently as you stood from the ground and stretched out like some divine being before him. You noticeably froze at the sound but didn't whip around as he expected- and prepared for already leaning away to escape your gleaming eyes that would no doubt hold fear at his presence being known.

Instead, you remained calm, finishing stretching out before turning cautiously. Your pause threw him off, and he had to move quickly to hide behind the tree. He stood stiff as a board, tuning into your silence and hoping he'd been fast enough that you hadn't seen much of him. A worry you had caught sight of his form bloomed in his chest, a worry that melted into insecure anxiety.

He couldn’t move now. He couldn’t turn and walk away, not that he had any desire to. He didn’t want you seeing any more of him than you already had. He was stuck behind this tree. Stuck and too nervous to think of what to do next.

What was he supposed to do…?

Tags:

@imhungry675

[themildmahariel]

A Retelling of Chaucer's Retelling of Ceyx and Alcyone

Decided to try my hand at something a little different and rewrote the beginning of Chaucer's "The Book of the Duchess" Hansry style. I tried to keep the rhyming scheme intact, but it will be a lil ragged due to the modernized English and changed names/titles/gender (Ceyx = Henry, Alcyone = Hans). Enjoy!

I have great wonder, by this light How that I live, for neither day nor night I cannot sleep well nearly at all, I have so many an idle thought Purely from lack of sleep That, by my trouthe, I do not care Of nothing, how it comes or goes, Nor is anything pleasing or displeasing to me. Everything is equally desirable to me, Joy or sorrow, whichever it may be, For I have feeling in nothing, But I am like a dazed thing Always about to fall down, For sorrowful imagination Is always wholly in my mind.

And you know well, it is against nature For one to live in this manner, For nature would not permit Any earthly creature To endure for a long time Without sleep and be in sorrow; And I cannot, neither night nor morning, Sleep, and thus melancholy And dread I have of death; Lack of sleep and dullness Hath slain my spirit of liveliness, That I have lost all enjoyment of life. Such fantasies are in my head So that I know not what is best to do.

But men might ask me, why so I may not sleep, and what is the matter with me? But nevertheless, whoever asks this Gains nothing from his questions truly. I myself cannot tell why In truth, but truly as I guess, I hold it to be a sickness That I have suffered this eight year, And yet my cure is never the near; For there is no physician but one, That may heal me, but that is done. Let us skip over this part until later; That which will never be must be left behind; We best keep to our first matter.

So when I saw I might not sleep Just like the other night, Upon my bed I sat upright And bade someone to fetch me a book, A romance, and he took it to me To read and drive the night away, For I thought it better to read Than to play either chess or tables. And in this book were written fables That scholars had, in old time, And other poets, put in rhyme To read and to preserve in mind A time when men loved the law of kinde. This book spoke only of such things, Of queens’ lives and of kings And many other things small. Amongst all this I found a tale That I thought to be a wonderful thing.

This was the tale: There was a knight That was named Henry, and had a lover, The best that could exist in life, And this lover was named Hans. So it befell thereafter soon This knight would travel across the sea. To tell shortly, when that he Was in the sea thus in this way, Such a tempest began to rise That broke their mast and made it fall And cleft the ship and drowned them all, So that it was never found, as it tells, Neither board, nor man nor nothing else. Just so the knight Henry lost his life.

Now to speak of Hans his lover: This lord that was left at home Was worried that the knight had not come Home, for it was a long time. Anon, his heart began to grieve, Because it seemed to him It was not like him to be away for so long, He so longed for the knight That truly it was a piteous thing To tell of his deeply sorrowful life That he had, this noble lord, For Henry, alas, he loved best of all Anon he sent messengers east and west To seek him, but they found naught.

“Alas!” Said he, “that I was wrought! And is my knight, my love, dead? Certainly, I will never again eat bread, I make a vow to my god here, Unless I may hear something regarding my knight here!” Such sorrow this lord took That truly I made this book I had such pity and such compassion To read his sorrow, that, by my trouthe, I fared worse all the morrow After, to think of his sorrow.

So when this lord could hear no word That no man could find his knight, He often swooned and said, “Alas!” For sorrow made him almost crazy, Nor could he find a solution but one, Down on his knees he sat anon, And wept, what a pity it was to hear.

“A mercy, sweet lady dear!” Said he to Juno, his goddess; “Help me out of this distress, And give me grace my knight to see Soon, or to know where he be, Or how he fairs, or in what way, And I shall make you a sacrifice, And wholly yours become I shall With good will, body, heart, and all; And if you wish to do only this, lady sweet, Send me grace to sleep and meet In my sleep some certain dream, Through which I may know simply Whether my knight be alive or dead.” With that word he hung down his head, And fainted as cold as stone. His men lifted him up anon And brought him to bed all naked; And he, exhausted from weeping and sleeplessness Was weary, and thus the dead sleep Took him before he knew, Caused by Juno, that heard his prayer That made him sleep so quickly.

For as he prayed, just as it was done In deed; for Juno right anon Called thus her messenger To do her errand, and he came near. When he had come, she bade him thus: “Go quickly,” said Juno, “to Morpheus, Thou knowest him well, the god of sleep; Now understand me well, and take keep. Say this on my behalf, that he Go quickly into the Great Sea, And instruct him that, on all thing, He take up Henry’s body the knight That lies full pale and not at all ruddy. Bade him creep into the body, Cause it to go to Hans The lord, there, lies alone, And show him shortly, it is beyond denial, How it was drowned the other day; And make the body speak just so Just as it used to do During the time it was alive. Go now fast, and hurry along quickly!”

This messenger took his leave and went Upon his way and never stopped Til he came to the dark valley That stands between two rocks, Where never yet grew corn nor grass, Neither tree, nor nothing that ought was, Beast, nor man, nor naught else, Save there were a few wells Came running from the cliffs down, That made a deadly sleeping sound, And ran down right by a cave That was under a rocky grave Amid the valley wonder deep. There these gods lay and sleep, Morpheus, and Eclympasteyre, That was the god of sleep’s heir, Who slept and did no other work.

This cave was also as dark As hell pit overall about; They had good leisure to snore To envy who might sleep best; Some hung their chin upon their breast And slept upright, their head slumped forward And some lay naked in their bed And slept while the days last.

This messenger came flying fast And cried, “O how, awake anon!” It was for nought; they heard him none. “Awake!” Said he, “who is lying there?” And blew his horn right in their ear And cried, “Awaketh!” Incredibly loudly. This god of sleep, with his one eye Cast up and asked, “who calls there?” “It is I,” said the messenger; “Juno bade thou should go”— And told him what he should do As I have told you heretofore— It is no need to rehearse it more— And went his way after he had spoken.

Anon this god of sleep startled up Out of his sleep and began to go, And did as he had bade him do: Took up the drowned body straightaway And carried it forth to Hans, His lover the lord, where he lay, At exactly three hours before day, And stood right at his bed’s feet, And called him, right as he was titled, By name, and said, “my sweet lord, Awake! Give up your sorrowful life, For in your sorrow there lies no remedy, For certain, sweet, I am but dead. Ye shall never again see me alive But good sweet heart, take care that you Bury my body, for at such and such time Ye may find it next to the sea; And farewell, sweet, my world’s bliss! I pray God your sorrow lessens; Too little while our bliss lasted!”

With that Hans cast his eyes up, And saw naught. “Alas!” Said he for sorrow, And died within three days. But what he said more in that swoon I may not tell you as now; It were too long to dwell; My first matter I will you tell Wherefore I have told this thing Of Hans and Henry.

This was fun! I might do another if the mood strikes me. Also, this ending was super depressing but in Ovid's Metamorphoses, the two are turned kingfishers. Maybe I'll try my hand at his version someday.

Big shout out to Dream Visions and Other Poems edited by Kathryn L. Lynch for help with the modern translation of this work.

[proxissima]

Tenya Iida vs Stain

POV Iida:

It won't go like it did in Hosu, Hero Killer. I haven't earned the right to carry on the name Ingenium yet, but I'm different now. Things have changed since the last time we fought. I'll hit you with everything I've learned since then!

I'll admit there's some truth to your words. I was definitely giving precedence to my grudges then. I was only able to see myself, my own pain. But, I'll say it once again to be clear- whatever you'd like me to believe, you're to blame!

Ingenium is the name of a hero who ran at max speed to whoever was in trouble. This is what I was aiming for, what I wanted to be! To be worthy of that name! I can't make that mistake again, I'll defeat you as a hero!

_

POV Stain:

It seems you're fired up to make amends. But it's useless. You can't change who you are that easily. You'll never be anything more than a fake. *Sigh* I will purge you!

That's fast! I can see you've also been working on your body. It looks like you've at least improved upon a quirk that should only amount to be something wholly predictable. Regardless, your attempts are futile.

Someone who has dedicated themselves to revenge can never be a hero. Therefore, the moment you went after me seeking revenge for your brother, you became nothing more than a faker, only out to satisfy your own selfish desires.

Credit to RageVG on Reddit for extracting the files from the game.

[General Overview]

[cactusringed]

hiya can i ask u for bdubs character arc thoughts. i feel like this season has been a major turning point for him in a lot of ways, going from dead weight to killing the dragon and i love him very dearly for it.

I am honestly so, so excited to see more of bdubs this season and really want him to win if only because it would wrap a bow on a beautiful, beautiful character arc we're seeing unfolding.

Something about bdubs is that he doesn't, actually, believe in himself. He doesn't. All of his grand talk of him being the best at x or y is all, well, talk. He's very alike to Joel in that regard, though they both express is in slightly different ways; he's self conscious. He feels small. Inadequate. He feels like he has to prop himself up on a pedestal because no one else will. And he's so... Not used to it, that when he does receive outward praise, he either doesn't believe it, thinks it's a joke, or gets wildly uncomfortable.

There's almost this fear of disappointment in him. Disappointing etho or whoever else he's allied with, whoever else he looks up to, or who might look up to him. He very quickly pushes himself to the sidelines for the sake of someone he believes to be worth more. He knows he has worth, but that worth can only be used to push those he loves forward. Never himself. Never.

He wants to be the best he can be, for others.

It's to the point he's convinced himself he's less than, that he's weak, that he's not brave. He might laugh it off when he's called a dead weight, but before anyone even said it he wholly believed it.

Not anymore, though. Bit by bit, it's breaking. He's not being allowed to put himself on the sidelines. He's not being allowed to run and cry to Etho anymore. Etho may regret it, but him refusing to help bdubs with the dragon - it started something. Or perhaps just hastened something that was already happening.

I genuinely believe it to be such a huge stepping stone for bdubs' character arc this series. The side character who killed the dragon. The kingmaker become king. With a past winner rooting for him - not outwardly protecting him, but instead offering her strength - and one of the most fiercely loyal and passionate ally one can get.

Perhaps one could think of him hiding from the wither as a step back. But I think it's a step forward. Learning to choose his battles. Learning the difference between bravery and foolishness. Taking a page from Etho's book, instead of holding him as an unattainable role model.

Learning that there is value in him living. That he should live, not just because he's scared to die, but because he will be genuinely, horribly missed.

Learning there is value in himself to the point he allows himself to feel rage over losing a life for nothing, losing a life because of someone else's cruelty.

I really, really, really look forward to seeing more of that. Of brave bdubs, who was always brave, but might finally be able to see in himself what he sees in others. And make the rest of them see it, too. No more will he be mocked. No more "etho can't protect you now". He's Bdubs. Brave, strong, and loved Bdubs.

[wekasuwi]

Maybe calling a trans man a woman AINT the way to go.

Even if you personally read it differently, choose a character without such a complicated gender identity if you’re not about to cover it properly. You come off transphobic.

I watched a show called Blue Eyed Samurai, I’m sure you did too. Mizu’s character, is one troubled by revenge and the need to survive in a culture where women are inherently oppressed.

Now, I see where you might have read Mizu to be a trans man. There is imagery that relates to the struggle of being a trans person, the binding of breasts, the sort of ambiguity about their identity, and many other factors. But my perception is based entirely on the context clues given by the writers during Mizu’s screentime. From a young age, Mizu’s “mother” tries to hide their identity by cutting their hair, “You must be a boy. Always a boy.” Because it is for the sake of hiding their shameful heritage and protecting their livelihood. Another example of this ambiguity and where it sways to their identity being a woman, is their life with Mikio, where being wholly a woman for a period of time, led to a betrayal and a reminder as to why it was so important to hide themselves under the guise of a man. So the context clues here are not concrete, they all point in different directions.

Perceiving a character differently than what you perceive it isn’t transphobic. There’s a lot of opinions on the internet about this and I think , whoever you are, that you should consider other people’s opinions, not just your own. There are plenty of reads of Mizu’s character that you should probably take a look at. There are people that read canonically cis characters as transgender and that’s perfectly okay, that’s their head canon and it’s great. In cases, people will often do queer readings of their favorite shows/books/movies and the one that serves as a fine example of this is the queer reading of ‘The Great Gatsby’.

I do not need to justify myself not being a transphobe for the sake of some disagreement with no base of accusation. I suggest that before you do something as offensive and harmful as accusing someone of being transphobic, you read on the subject of what being a transphobe is really about. If Mizu were to outright say that they are more comfortable with masculine pronouns and canonically indicate a transition, then that would be canon. But alas, that doesn’t happen and it does remain ambiguous. And whereas Mizu were to outright state that they are a transgender man, what kind of person would I be to deny or shame that?

I’m a part of the LGBTQIA+ community that loves all people, in any identity that they may choose. That is inherent of my character and not influenced by my take on a show.

[darling-archeron]

Behold, my final submission for @officialfeysandweek2023! Day 7: Free Day

Feyre Archeron is stuck. She looks after her family home, she waits on her stepmother and stepsisters, and she dreams of a world where things could be different. Even if ever since her father's death, things have been unimaginably bleak. Across the Kingdom, Crown Prince Rhysand lives a completely different life, longing to escape his royal duties.

A Feysand Ever After AU

Rated G, 2.3k words

Rhysand was fuming.

Tonight’s meeting with the King and Queen had gone far worse than usual. They were insistent upon an arranged marriage, and his father refused to see reason.

It was utterly ridiculous. After all, his father had entered an arranged marriage, and both of his parents were miserable. More than anything, he felt betrayed by his mother. She had been slightly more lenient than the king, but still firm.

She had never wanted to marry his father, she would have been the first to admit that she was unhappy in her marriage.

And yet, she insisted he “seriously start looking for someone to spend the rest of his life with,” or he would be stuck with whoever his father picked.

For not the first time, Rhys envied his younger sister. Stella would never have to deal with the burden of ruling, and he would never force her into an arranged marriage if he had any say in the matter.

Storming through the empty halls, Rhys reached his room at last and was met with stern glances from two of his least favorite guards.

So, his parents thought he meant to escape, did they?

Well, they were fools if they ever thought he would escape using the front door – especially after he had already done so once.

It would seem there was only one thing to do. Rhys eyed his bed, piled with sheets despite the blistering heat.

There were certainly enough to form a rope.

By the time his parents had burst into his room, he had scaled down the wall, snuck to the stables, and secured his favorite horse.

From there, he was flying down the road, cutting through the woods and leaving the roads. He couldn’t hear the thunder of the guards behind him, not yet.

For now, it was only him and the night air. He could pretend to be no one for a while.

-

Feyre groaned softly as she cracked open bleary eyes. The crow of the rooster had awoken her, but she was hardly ready to get up.

Silently, she debated the merits of staying in bed for a few more minutes. This time of day, nobody would be looking for her, and she could stay asleep. But there would be hell to pay if she slept too long and her stepmother found her still in bed.

Well – bed wasn’t exactly the best word for it. Rather than climb the rickety attic stairs to her drafty room, she had fallen asleep on a blanket near the hearth the night before. It hadn’t been comfortable, but it had been warm. She had made the most of the fire’s dying light by doing a few rough sketches on scraps of parchment.

And now, she was paying the price for it, judging by the ache in her back. Stifling another groan, she thrust her upper body up, blinking the dreams away from her bleary eyes.

The fire had died throughout the night – even the embers had cooled. Her sketches still remained, safely out of the way of the flames that had burned hours before. She reached for the one on top of her little stack – a simple landscape of the ridge past the house, to the north. It was the favorite spot of Alis, another servant at the estate.

Or at least, she had been.

Three days prior, Feyre’s wretched stepmother had sold Alis off to pay her debts.

Actually ­sold her. It made Feyre’s blood boil, to think of loving, hardworking Alis alone, somewhere wholly unfamiliar, treated like a piece of property. Her family - completely unable to reach her.

Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do. Nothing any of them could do. She had pled with the debt collectors to take her instead, but according to her stepmother, Feyre still had value here. 

As far as Feyre could see, the only value was unpaid labor. The other servants received a wage, no matter how meager. As part of the family, Feyre’s work was just “helping out around the house,” and thus not worthy of pay.

So, she had been wholly unable to help Alis. Unable to do anything but remember her friend by sketching out her favorite spot.

She couldn’t help but think it looked rather pathetic in the morning light. Her artistic skills were hardly anything to write home about.

Still, she gathered the scraps carefully, tucking them away into a space between two bricks where she could retrieve them later and stow them away in her room. She wasn’t worried about her family finding them – they never bothered to come down to the kitchen – but they could easily be swept up in the chaos of the day. Her drawings might not have been much, but they were one of the few things that were hers, all the same.

Feyre rose to her feet and dusted off her skirts, dirty with soot and grime. Her cheek itched as well – a sure sign that there was a giant smudge of soot staining it. Good thing the only ones to see her this morning would be the goats and chickens. If she hurried with her chores, she could clean up a bit before serving breakfast to her stepmother, and hopefully avoid a verbal beating.

At the very least, it was a beautiful morning. The late summer sun’s heat was already showing its strength, though it was just past sunrise.

Shoving on her worn boots, Feyre grimaced as she laced them up. They were too small to be laced tight, but if she left them loose, she’d be as likely to trip. Nesta had gotten another new pair of slippers the week prior, but Feyre’s contributions hadn’t been deemed important enough to warrant a new pair of boots.

She took a deep breath and vowed to let it go. She had been nursing the injustice for the last week, and complaining about it wouldn’t change things.

She knew without thinking about it what needed to be done this morning. Taking care of the animals always came first, and then a trip to their small orchard. The apples were starting to ripen, and if she picked some this morning, the cook could have something made for tea this afternoon. 

Still a bit drowsy, she trudged over to the chicken coop, the door creaking as she unlatched it.

A few of the hens greeted her with gentle clucks, and Feyre murmured back to them as she checked for eggs. Their chickens were some of the best layers around – she always made sure nothing had happened to the prized birds in the night. Otherwise, the whole family would be missing the income at the next market day.

Just as she was walking back to the house, she heard the thundering of hooves in the distance. A sizable group, by the sound of it – and approaching quickly.

She turned back to the road, eggs gathered in her basket, just in time to see a dozen men speeding by on horseback. Each was a blur of black and navy – the colors of the crown. They didn’t pause, though she thought a few might have spared her a glance as they thundered on.

Interesting. Who were the Royal Guard on the hunt for?

The men were gone as quickly as they came, sparing no time to pause and ask her questions. She knew she didn’t look to be of much importance – and it was no matter. If there was news, her stepmother and stepsisters would know of it by noon, and the house would be filled with their chatter.

No sense in wasting daylight, Feyre decided, still holding the basket of eggs. She made her way back to the house, deposited the eggs in the kitchen, and set out to the orchard. It was only a few minutes away from the house, and the apples were so plentiful that she didn’t even need a ladder to fill her basket.

She was making her way back to the house again when she heard a sharp whinny – followed by rapid hoofbeats.

It was coming from the stable.

Feyre knew with absolute certainty that nobody in her family would be riding a horse, much less this early. That meant one thing – a horse thief. They lived in the countryside, they would be an easy target for bandits.

And she would be damned if she let them get away with one of her father’s prized horses.

Nearly spilling her basket of apples, she sharply turned around, rounding the corner of the house in time to see a cloaked figure astride a horse with a shining coat as black as night.

Bryaxis – her father’s favorite stallion.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Feyre muttered to herself, hardly thinking before she sprung into action.

She sprinted towards the thief as fast as her skirts would allow, ripe apple in hand instantly.

“Stop! Thief!” she shouted. “Halt right there!”

Bryaxis slowed at the sound of her voice, bucking against his strange rider.

“My horse threw its shoe!” the masked figure protested – with a man’s deep voice. “What would you have me do?”

The audacity – because his horse threw a shoe, it was her problem? What kind of entitled prick was she dealing with?

Closer now, she could see his finely made navy cloak in greater detail, but the thief was turned away from her, hiding his face. If she had to guess, she would have said he was a younger man.

Young or old, there was no way in hell he was getting away with this, and she skidded to a halt in the grass, regained her footing, and threw the apple. Half her basket spilled in the attempt.

It missed by a hair, flying past his shoulder.

“Fix your own horse! Or ask for help!” she shouted right back, “instead of stealing from good people!”

She scooped up another fallen apple from the ground, her aim steadier this time. It hit the man square in the forehead, sending him flying off Bryaxis. A rush of satisfaction rushed through her – that ought to show him that she wasn’t to be trifled with.

He hit the ground with a thud, thrashing against the pompous velvet cloak he had gotten twisted up in. Feyre darted forward and snatched the horse’s reigns, whispering calming nothings to the spooked animal. Bryaxis was her father’s best stallion, but he was also the most reactive.

“Leave us be!” shouted Feyre again for good measure. She gripped another apple, ready to throw it if the man came towards her. It was starting to sink in that she had been rash – there was no telling if he was armed or not. If he was willing to steal a horse, who knew what else he was willing to do to a woman alone? Other than the apples, which would only get her so far in close combat, she was unarmed.

The thief stumbled to his feet – and Feyre debated the merits of hitting him squarely with another apple, but she didn’t have time to act on it.

His hood fell away, and Feyre found herself gazing into a face everyone in the kingdom knew. Before her stood Prince Rhysand.

Shit. 

She released the reigns and dropped to the ground before he could utter a word. Her knees screamed in pain as sharp stones pressed into them, but she dropped her forehead to the ground, face burning.

“Your Highness, please, forgive me. I didn’t see you,” she begged. 

She was dead. Well and truly dead. The ruling family of Velaris wasn’t known for their mercy, and she had assaulted the Crown Prince. If she was even more unlucky, they would take it out on her entire family.

Oh, Gods.

She didn’t dare look up, but she thought she heard him – snort? “Well, your aim would suggest otherwise,” he remarked. 

Fear gripped her heart, and she knew she ought to spout a thousand more apologies, but –

“Your face was hidden,” she rushed. “I wouldn’t have given chase if I knew it was you, your highness. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“So a horse thief is excused if he is royal?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Feyre said, tongue burning with the lie. “I cannot presume to know your motivations.”

He was silent, and she dared glance up a hair. The Prince was swinging himself back into Bryaxis’s saddle.

Of course, he still intended on taking the horse. He was still an entitled prick – just a royal one.

“Rise,” Prince Rhysand said.

She picked herself up, dusting the gravel off her skirt.

“Is that true?” he asked. “You wouldn’t have given chase if you knew it was me?”

“I wish you no ill will, Your Highness.”

“Well then. For your silence.”

She dared meet his eyes, but she couldn’t read what she saw in his guarded expression. She looked away again, hating herself for it as she heard the rustle of fabric and the jangle of coins, and then round pieces of gold were spilling on the ground before her.

More gold than plenty of people saw in a year – more than she had seen in a long time.

Before she could do anything other than stare in shock, Prince Rhysand snapped the reigns and was gone, taking her father’s horse with him.

Feyre dropped to her knees again and began counting the gold.

-

AN: Thank you for reading! I'm not completely sure where this is going yet, but it was a lot of fun to write.

Feysand week has been a blast to take part in this year. I've had so much fun creating, and now I have so much content from other talented creators to catch up on!

taglist:

@thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher  @ghostlyrose2  @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @highladysith @areyoudreamingof

[historia-vitae-magistras]

alfred straight up murdering his brother on accident just because he walked too quietly into the room is so fucking funny but how terrifying is alfred to regular humans? If he goes to casually throw some ridicously heavy thing he's working on over to the intern or whoever theyre not gonna get back up on their feet to chew him out for it lol. also... getting shot and squished by bisons still hurts like all hell right? does matthew start to get wary around him or is he just too used to it to be all that bothered?

Lmao right? I very much enjoy using these characters, especially fleshy loony-tune-style horror shows because good fucking god, it's funny. But its also very fun? Alfred javelining people into the water must be so fun. Alfred casually picks up Matt when he's on the sofa because he dropped his keys behind it. He will randomly rip up troublesome trees in someone's fields in the middle of the night. This is not a wholly negative, angsty or even humourous trait.

So for humans... not very as an adult. I think. Generally, Alfred puts his people at ease. He's handsome, funny, intelligent and friendly. Man has that kind of crooked smile and easy charm. The charisma, luck and social skills of the gambler and the grifters and drifters of the old Westerns if not the old West. When he was little and had less control because he'd get excited, I could see him getting himself in trouble and accidentally committing some violence. As an adult, I think he's much more careful around humans, and the only time he tends to bust out the super strength is to prevent accidentally killing humans. Picking up a car in front of someone getting aggressive will contain that person's aggression goddamn fast.

As for if things hurt, yes. Superheroes and Gods are boring for me to write about. I like making these fuckers creepy and overpowered sometimes, but I'm most invested in their humanity. So time to do the math. The average bison is about 816 to 1,088 kg, and the most recent record for a deadlift was 487 kg. So on the lower end of that, 816 divided by 487 is about 1.67; redeploy that as a percentage that's about 160% the strength of what's currently possible. I personally think this is why this dork is always snacking, so it has some effect on his metabolism and his physiology. He's not going to starve to death as fast as he should with that metabolism because there's that nation fuckery there, but my boy is peckish. So now that I've laid that nonsense out, I generally make him about 160% more resilient than the strongest human (yeah, my browser history is fucked, what about it?), but not in all ways because biologically, that would fuck up his brain something fierce cerebellum be whack big and I like my nerdy NASA boy. But I try to keep that 160 in mind, so it might sometimes be consistent? Maybe? But yeah, he's durable and walks away from a lot of things that most people wouldn't, but he can be shot, dropped, smashed, hit, etc. And his pain tolerance is limited because, again, that removes too much vulnerability and why are we invested in this nerd? Lord knows it's not patriotism on my end. Strong, but not indestructible.

Now with the biology and the physical aspect of my stupid brain's explanation of this yankee doodle dumbass (affectionate) articulated, onto the emotional and interpersonal consequences. This is a bit meta, but Alfred's perception of himself and his loved ones can reflect this fandom and canon. I don't know if canon makes them twins, but many people do despite some intrinsic differences in history, progress, culture and values. It's a valid take because who wants to lord over other people or think about being the superpower and the empire? And passport privilege, cultural dominance, and political hegemony are things that only come into play when we're online or in some sort of international situation. The world revolves around the US, but Alfred's 'first amongst equals' with the laurels of power is not his default setting. At home, he just wants to be another person. Abroad, he has to function on a different set of rules, and leadership, and that arrogance only comes out at certain points. He wants to be human, he wants to be loved, he wants to be normal. And it hurts his fucking feelings to be reminded he isn't, that it is lonely at the top, that no matter how similar, the Trudeau quote applies.

Matt's used to him, and Alfred's reasonably careful, but the gulf between them, Alfred's ability to just steamroll him if he wanted to (even if Matt would give him a hell of a fight) does leave its marks. Matt tries as hard not to show it as much as Alfred tries not to crush him. He's overjoyed about something and goes in for a hug, and there go a couple of subluxing ribs as he kind of affectionately slaps Alfred's shoulder like "indoor muscles! Indoor muscles, bud!" And its mainly because Alfred doesn't like thinking about being a weirdo, and Matt doesn't want to remind him. They want to be as equal as possible, but physics is a thing.

[the-sycophant]

18: Your OC is challenged to contest of strength or skill by someone of surpassing arrogance.

Confidence. Arrogance.

Where was it, exactly? The line that separated the pair. Was it drawn playfully with a single finger, something pulled through warm sand? Mayhaps it was made with little kisses down the midsection, like following a path of hair. Maybe instead a scalpel, precise and held with a firmness that made you trust it too wholly as it made an exact cut where it needed to. But who held the hand? Whose ideals made it so?

Whoever did it, by whichever hand, always seemed to know just where to put her.

Arrogant.

She was a prettily painted picture book with how easy it was to know what she was thinking. A lip curl of disdain, hooking up over one too sharp tooth as the tip of a tongue slathered across the inside of her mouth as if she tasted something horrid. The tilt of her chin, lifting so high up that one might think there wouldn’t be anyone tall enough she couldn’t look down her nose upon. Her laugh. Her grin. They all said the same thing.

She was better than you. Would always be better than you. It didn’t matter what you did. How you did it.

It made different people react in so many deliciously different ways.

Could they blame her, really? For riling them up? It was only in her nature, though sometimes she felt like it was some addiction she was dipping into, poking at people the way she did. To get them to feel something. It often seemed to not matter much to how they did, just that they did. The quick and painful burn was a temptation to sink her teeth into, a bit of a snack compared to the long, torturous simmer of her favoured companions. It was far too difficult to ignore, that opportunity. To make people feel like they had something to prove - she knew the sort that had little discipline. The sort that lashed out and had nothing to back it up. She could see how their toes teetered the edge, too. On that fine line.

She only wanted to shake it, just a little. Make their tightrope wobble to see what side they would fall on.

Confidence.

Or arrogance.

The floor was a disgusting shade of burnt coffee, the awful squelching sound her boots made as she stepped to the side caused the length of her spine quake unpleasantly. Crawled all the way up from the base to the nape of her neck, making her itch. She scratched it, fingers going scritch scritch scritch into her hair before sliding back under her nose. She held her sleeve there for a moment, though breathing through the fine fabric did nothing for the smell of the place. It was alarming that such a place even existed, and she felt dizzy as soon as the door had opened. There was no doubt in her mind that half the people inside hadn't showered in some time, whilst the others were sloppily treating the dingy drinkhole as if it were some raucus house party with the expectation there would be some loyal housemaid to clean up after them.

Then again she doubted they were aware of that experience. More likely they were just assholes.

And hole in the wall was generous. It was more a shallow grave than anything, the ambient aether full of violence and regret. People came here to die, she just wasn’t sure where. On the floor right where she was standing? Just one sucker punch away from cracking a skull on the corner of a table? A pistol or blade might have been it even if she couldn’t see any weapons on the establishment's wonderfully dressed guests, she knew they were there. Hidden against the flesh, up a sleeve.

Not her own sleeves, of course. Powdery blue and practically see through, she hid nothing of worth up there. Nor under her pretty dress, decorated with pearlescent buttons and beaded strings of silver. Weaponry was not something she tended to tote around besides, even in the worst of places. That’s what the hired hands were for. One of which was now lying on said disgusting floor by her feet, their beer spilled up and across their chest and dribbling down with the blood on their brow to make the floor have all the more…character.

“Oh.” And her mouth made a perfect little circle to match the perfect little sound. Oh. Not surprised in the slightest, but more of a curiosity. An amusement. An amusement that curled her lips up in a very particular way, the crease of her brow only stoking the miasma that hung around her.

Arrogance.

“Oh,” she said again, tongue tutting as her head shook somewhat from side to side, “well aren’t you a big man.” She could feel it, then. The spark of arrogance in him echoing her own, flaring up. She wasn’t talking to him like he was a big man, was she? Even if he was the largest in the room.

At least his head was.

“He was only asking a question!” Indignant, shrill. She nudged a boot tip into the ribs of her hire. They grunted. She sighed. Fluffed out her braids.

“You?”

Delicious, that derision. She could feel the sting of it on her tongue, could feel the heat of it. It took all her efforts to not tremble beneath its weight, instead a hand coming up to tuck a curl behind her ear. Her exhale was long and slow, fluttering of lashes erratic and quick. “Why not me?”

Yes, why not her?

The Seawolf, whatever position he had found himself in, had a very good night of boasting. He had obtained some…position or other - whatever it was exactly was not what she was particularly interested in. For the man’s employer, however…well she just couldn’t help take the bait. It must have been the way the Roegadyn moved, shifted. It was subtle, the way his eyes rolled around the room as if being knocked around by something. Something that felt both exceedingly distant and familiar to her. A treat for the senses.

Paranoia.

F̴̳̊e̵̗̱͉̿ͅả̴̗̹̹̄̉̌̔r̶̩̮̋͠.

Plenty of people boasted in taverns, wove stories and falsehoods to fill an emptiness in their hearts with a something. But not many had a falter in their grin like he did, had sweat gathering at his brow, cheeks turning a bruised purple shade as he flushed from holding his breath. He was waiting for something. A familiar face? For someone to stick him with a knife? There was truth to what he was saying, to whom he was working for. It tickled her interest in the worst of ways. Something told her that the thread in the needlestack she had been looking for was right here. Here in this hole in the wall away from everyone else he knew so he could be like her.

Be arrogant.

He explained as much. Told her that he already took care of her companion easily enough - why would he bother? She was a lover, not a fighter, and he was a...well a newly hired no one to a very important someone. She could work with that.

“Very well,” she sniffed. “How about this instead,” she took a step forward, over her complaining companion, towards the table. Placed gloved hands on it. Leaned forward. She saw his attention dip. “I get one hit on you, just the one, and you introduce me to him.” Her smile was wide and full, eager. Too eager. "I must defend my companion's honour, besides! From trash like you, it would be easy."

“And if you don’t?”

She shrugged, quiet as she made a show of rattling her brain for the what if, as if it hadn’t crossed her mind until then. She felt her companion grab her ankle. Gently. Their thumb moved over her bones as they remained on the ground. She would have to reward them later for that.

She sniffed again. “I’ll do whatever she wouldn’t.” She being a very spicy Hrothgar woman who had the most beautifully wild mane of hair. Fangs of gold. A regular with how comfortable she slouched in a chair that seemed to be moulded to her, playing cards in the corner. Or dice. Marlowe wasn't sure. What she was sure of was that the request was stupid and bold, something that made her laugh at him. Something that made Marlowe laugh at him. With her eyes, at first. Happy little crescents that shone with glee and rose the corners of her mouth like the ocean tide. Then she did laugh, stifled only a second too late as the Seawolf stood quickly, abruptly. Shook the table, shook her skeleton even if her companion anchored her. He leaned over the table, too. She could smell his breath. Some hint of floral on him. An illicit substance.

Her fingers flexed on the table top, teeth clickity click clicking with the excitement of impending violence, of the blooming garden of emotions she was about to rip from the roots.

"That's it? Agre--"

slap!

__________________

Prompt || [ List of Hypothetical OC Situations ]

TY || @dearestcherry

[ruiningsalads]

I'm trying something different. I have started a multi-chapter slow burn Cullen/Amell story, where Amell was never recruited to the Grey Wardens.

the first chapter is below. the rest will be added on AO3, but not sure if I'll post them on tumblr yet.

And so we burned

Chapter 1: Harmony in all things

Rated T for mentions of past abuse. 1,240 words.

As with most respectable libraries, the apprentices’ library in Kinloch Hold maintained a quiet atmosphere, though it was enforced by the ever-watchful templars stationed regularly along the walls. Oppressive, some murmured when their guardians were out of earshot. The eldest apprentices — barely adults, but few in their twenties — were the bravest with their whispers, many having lived within the Tower for most of their lives. But the youngest among them — children just learning to write in large, sloppy scrawls — regarded them with wide-eyed fear. Solona Amell did not join in the discontented whispers. Her attention was wholly on the task before her, carefully copying notes on the lesser known qualities and uses of healing herbs. She liked the quiet of the library and the unity it forged amongst her peers. Regardless of age, rank, field of study, and whoever they were before the Circle, they were all there for the common purpose of learning. Across the table from where she sat, a quill paused mid-sentence, ink threatening to blot the parchment beneath. Glancing up, she saw Jowan’s eyes fixed on something off to the side. His lips twisted into a sneer as he hissed, “There’s a new templar, a young one.” His voice was low and intended for her ears alone. “Probably some farmer’s son looking to live out his power fantasies over us wicked mages.” It wasn’t an unfair assumption. They had seen it before: the bright-eyed young templar from some far-off farmland who seemed earnest around Greagoir, but then backhanded the first apprentice who took too long to obey a command. Those were the worst type, the templars who seemed kind but turned cruel as soon as no one was watching. The ones who were cruel openly, at least they were honest. After over a decade in the Tower, Solona no longer felt excitement when someone new arrived. When she was younger, she saw it as an opportunity to learn of the outside world and hear new stories; but it only took one bad experience with a templar to sour that curiosity. Now, a new templar meant that there was an unknown in her life she would have to puzzle out. She finished her page of notes and gently flapped the parchment in the air to dry the ink as she let her gaze wander the library. Her eyes skimmed over her fellow apprentices, most of whom had taken notice of the new arrival. Some appeared utterly unconcerned, returning their attention to their studies after a cursory glance. Like Jowan, some sneered and whispered under their breath to their companions.  When her gaze finally found the new templar, she wasn’t prepared for the strange, swooping sensation in her belly. He was tall and muscular, yet gangling — as though he hadn’t quite grown into his adult body yet. From this distance, she couldn’t make out much detail beyond the tight curls of his blonde hair and his short beard, but something about him drew her in like a moth to flame. He was talking quietly to another templar, one of the seniors, when he glanced over and locked eyes with her. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they gazed at each other across the quiet library. Solona felt heat rising in her cheeks and was helpless to stop it as her heart stuttered into overtime within her chest. Something, some power, anchored her eyes to his, and she was completely unable to look away. Until Jowan waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello? Solona? Where did you go?” The spell broke, and she shook her head to clear it. “I… I don’t know what came over me.” Her companion snorted. “I’d say you have a crush on our new templar friend.” He shook his head and flipped through the pages of the massive book laid out before him. “Trust me, that never ends well.” Her response nearly came out as a shout, but at the last moment, she lowered her voice to a hiss. “I do not have a crush on a templar!”

His answering smirk was infuriatingly smug. “I suppose you’re blushing for no reason, then?”

"Perhaps I’m blushing because my friend is being an ass,” she retorted bitterly. She tried to ignore his soft chuckle as she returned her attention to her work, but try as she might, her eyes would not focus on the words she had written so neatly not long ago. All of her attention was aimed in the direction of the new templar, whose name she didn’t yet know. When she was sure Jowan was distracted with his own work, she chanced another glance. He was gone.

Unexpected disappointment twisted in her gut. Solona returned her attention to her notes, suppressing a sigh. Was Jowan snickering?

“Doesn’t have a crush, she says,” he muttered to himself as he idly turned a page. “Yet she looks like a kicked puppy when he leaves.”

He let out a satisfying yelp when she kicked him under the table.

Eventually, she was able to wrestle her mind back under control and devoted the next several hours to studying. Jowan left early, citing a sudden need to visit the chantry before limping away, favoring his bruised shin. Gradually, the other mages filtered out, either done with their work or too tired to continue for the day. But Solona pressed on, determined to record the herbal knowledge in her brain. A loud clatter startled her out of concentration some time later. The candles had all burned down much lower than she expected, and everyone else was gone. Everyone, save the lone templar who hurriedly righted the chair he tripped over.

“Sorry,” he stammered nervously. “I’m not quite used to all this armor yet.”

It was the new templar, she realized with a start. “Oh, that’s alright. I must have lost track of time.” Ignoring the butterflies swarming her stomach, she gathered her stack of books and quickly re-shelved them. When she returned to her spot, she was surprised to find him stacking her notes neatly for her. “You don’t have to do that.” “It’s the least I could do after disturbing you, Mistress…?”

“Amell. Solona Amell.” Together, they packed up her study supplies in record time. When they were done, she peered up at him curiously. He hadn’t tried anything untoward, despite there being no one around to see. “May I know your name, ser?”

Up close, she could see the dusting of freckles across his cheeks and nose. His warm, brown eyes gazed down at her with an intensity that stole her breath away. And when he blushed, it spread all the way from his neck to the tips of his ears.

"Cullen.” And then, after a moment, “Rutherford.”

“Ser Cullen. Thank you for helping me gather my things.” She felt her own blush blooming across her face. “Would you… Would you mind walking me back to the apprentices’ dormitory?”

He gave her a tiny, bashful bow. “Of course. Though… You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t know my way around yet.”

She couldn’t help but smile up at him. “That’s alright. I can show you.” With her satchel of notes securely in her arms, she led him out into the hall.

Jowan cracked an eye open as she settled into bed in their shared dormitory. “How was your date with the new templar?”

Her only response was to blow a raspberry. He chuckled.

[wickcdlove]

kamon 'love' hunt ( คามอน เลิฟ ฮันต์ ) | 02’ | lesbian | woman | she/her | thai dessert bar employee

becky armstrong, lesbian, woman, she/her. ♡ now entering the apartment building is kamon “love” hunt, a twenty-two year old who is currently a thai dessert bar employee. netizens have said they seem naive but others have said they’re romantic ! gossip aside, we’re sure they’re bound to be a fan favorite !

born + raised in england, her mother and grandmother taught her thai. she lived in thailand for most of her schooling years, so she’s fluent but her pronunciation is a bit off every now and again. korean is her least proficient language – she’s good conversationally but there’s a lot she still doesn’t understand. her accent is weird and no-one can tell where she’s from.

background

kamon’s parents were childhood best friends. her mother had moved to england at a young age, and her family became very close with her fathers family. they went to school together, kamon’s father helped kamon’s mother with english, and defended her from anyone who might be cruel to her because of her differences. kamon’s paternal grandfather helped her maternal grandfather get work, her maternal grandmother taught her maternal grandfather how to cook thai food. as they grew older, their families had pushed them together and out of obligation, they eventually married each other. it was evident there was no real romantic love or attraction between them, but they did love each other, their own families, each others families, so they stuck it out. they’re still together to this day, all because of the familiarity and care they have for one another – but their relationship is more akin to best friends than husband and wife who were ever at all in love or attracted to one another. despite the lack of traditional romance between her parents, they both loved kamon fiercely. she was given the nickname "love" before they had even decided on her name (her mother and her family wanted to name her traditionally), symbolizing that she was their greatest joy and to hopefully manifest that their daughter would find true love - something they never had the chance to experience. raised in a loving, supportive household, love’s parents gave her a lot of freedom growing up, which made her grow into an independent and confident girl. they accepted her wholly when she came out as gay, trusting that whoever she chose to love forever would be deserving of it. growing up, her grandmother and mother taught her thai, and they often visited thailand to stay connected with their extended family. when love was ten, the family moved to thailand for her schooling, where she became proficient in the language, though her accent is still a little bit off. after finishing school, the family moved to korea for her fathers business, where her father also helped her mother open a thai dessert bar. she assists in running it, handling customer service while her father manages the business side. her mother barely speaks korean and relies on her a lot. love joined seoulmates to find romance, just as her parents hoped for her. she’s searching for a deep, meaningful connection, someone who will consume her with love in the way she’s always wanted. she’s also hoping to help her mother’s dessert bar gain some attention, as business has been slowing down. love knows how important the bar is to her mother and wants to do anything she can to help keep it afloat.

personality:

love is selfless, always striving to better herself and the lives of those around her. she’s a natural people-pleaser, eager to help and make others happy. though she advocates for herself and others, she’s not aggressive about it - she’s calm and composed, never pushing too hard. she’s far too forgiving and tends to give people way too many second chances, often to her detriment. a hopeless romantic, love is obsessed with gl romance novels, shows, and yuri manga/manhwa. she wishes she had the skills to create similar love stories but instead is a passionate admirer. she is very optimistic, sometimes to an unhealthy degree. she avoids dealing with negative emotions, preferring to push them aside rather than confront them. this makes her seem carefree, but it’s also a coping mechanism to avoid any deeper pain. she tries to remain positive and upbeat in almost every situation, determined not to let bad feelings weigh her down.

relationships

love has never been in a long-term relationship, though she had deep feelings for a girl while living in thailand. unfortunately, the other girl wasn’t ready to explore those feelings, and things ended before they could begin. it broke love’s heart, but her optimistic outlook kept her going, convincing herself there’s someone out there for her. (there’s plenty of fish in the sea, after all.) since then, she’s had a few short-term relationships - one in thailand and two in korea. none of them lasted more than a few months, and they fizzled out due to a lack of compatibility. love wasn’t too heartbroken by it, but she continues searching for something deeper and more meaningful. she’s extremely affectionate in relationships, big on public displays of affection and physical touch. love loves peppering her partner with kisses and being openly silly and joyful with them. she tends to be clingy, wanting to be around her partner constantly, but she can manage on her own when necessary, begrudgingly. in relationships, she’s a true switch. love's primary goal is to make her partner happy, however that plays out. she enjoys a dynamic where they can switch things up. either way she loves really soft dom/sub dynamics lmfao

wanted connections

romantic;

someone who has feelings for love, but she’s either oblivious or sees them purely as a friend. this could lead to tension, especially if love is focusing her romantic energy on someone else, unknowingly hurting the person who is crushing on her.

love is optimistic and a hopeless romantic, but this person is more jaded or even closed off emotionally. despite their differences, they form a bond, and love’s affectionate nature could begin to break down their emotional walls??

idk

platonic;

regular at the thai dessert bar ? ; a regular customer at the thai dessert bar. they could have a flirty dynamic, where love is her usual affectionate self, or it could be entirely platonic.

love advice !! ; love has always been a hopeless romantic, and while she’s never been in a long-term relationship, she’s filled with knowledge from her endless consumption of gl romance novels, shows, and yuri manga/manhwa. this character seeks out love for relationship advice, or perhaps she offers it up ?? whether her advice helps or backfires idk