#just barely smaller than Paranoid

[bubblybloob]

Been a while since I made another design for the voices, hasn’t it?

Oppy! He’s a very unassuming little creature, aside from those shifty, glowing eyes with their strangely shaped pupils.

He wasn’t really intended to look so… mouse like, but I think giving him Witch’s tail and itty bitty little hands did him in for it. He’s similar to my old design for TLQ with his wings, except this time instead of wearing them like a cloak, he just sort of buries them into his feathers.

Don’t ask me why he’s got a feather mullet, it just fit for some reason.

[thehealthyfearofeverything]

The Kitchen Sink

SYNOPSIS; “ You were on the roof out in the open with Nightwing, Richard Grayson, Nightwing. The first Robin, the original Boy Wonder.”

Or you have a late night talk with Nightwing.

Chapter Four || Up The Down Trench.

Warnings: Depression, implied Suicide, the reader makes a joke and references to her Suicide from the first chapter, a character assume the reader is trying to commit Suicide, she not it’ a misunderstanding.

You may have had a few oversights in your rush not to be placed in Gotham's foster system. In your defense, you were panicked, just lost Mama and two of your three best friends were in the hospital, and that whole thing in the library. So smaller details were bound to fall to the wayside.

Said details seemed to create the woman in front of you, who was currently staring you down from across a cluttered desk. The woman was brunette, middle aged and visibly exhausted. When she had came in, at 9 fucking a.m You had been dragged into the tiny room that was her office.

Literally dragged in.

This woman had tugged you after her by the collar of your shirt as if you were a disobedient kitten. Pulling you from the bare cafeteria, where you noticed that there were probably ten other children, all scrawny with paranoid hollow eyes. Not that you can judge, you knew that you weren’t doing any better. Though you had to look away when you noticed that you weren’t even the youngest of the bunch.

Ms. Shari— Sharon? Cheryl? Cheyenne? Shannon? You weren’t exactly listening when she introduced herself and she didn’t have a name tag for you to check— was this no-nonsense social worker what partnered with the Youth Shelter. Her job she had explained when you toned back in was to determine the severity of your case, to create your file, help you get assigned to your own social worker, and track down any living relatives.

Much to Ms. Cheryl exhaustion, you weren't making a single aspect of her job easy. She tapped her pen against the paper sitting before her, a rhythmic tapping that created the only sound in the small space. If you were to look at the paper in front of her, you’d see written in neat handwriting the only information you had willingly offered your name and age. 

“ Uh, Ms…. Can you help me identify a body?” You asked. The women suddenly looked alert, as if what you said was unreasonable. 

“What do you mean?” She asked. You shrugged and slumped down in your seat. Deciding to stare down at your hand, picking at the frayed skin away from your nails.

“ My Mama died yesterday, she’s probably at some morgue, but I know if she’s left unclaimed she’ll just be incinerated.” You muttered.

The social worker leans a little over her desk, you felt her eyes bore into you. “Is that how you got your injuries?” She asked almost soothingly.

Again you shrugged. “You know that failure of a field trip that happened yesterday? The one the Joker crashed? Yeah… I was there.” it had gone silent after that then in a small voice Ms. Cheyenne said;

“I’m sorry no child should have to go through that.”

She sounded genuine, but all you could do was humed in response.

“I’ll see what i can do, about your mother i mean, but to do that i’ll need you to cooperate with me.”

“I’ll be cooperative as long as I'm not placed in a foster family.” That sounded harsher than you meant it to be, but the social worker didn’t seem offended about it. Instead she looked like she understood where you were coming from. Some foster parents and social workers were a part of child trafficking rings, Most foster homes were just abusive, and although there were a few foster homes that were good, like genuinely good—that had the kids well being in mind. But the good homes were few and far in between and you rather be safe than sorry. 

The women merely nodded.

After reaching some kind of unspoken understanding with Ms. Cheryl, you were much more cooperative. Willingly telling her your previous address, your mother’s name, your name, middle name, last name, birthday, even social security number.

You were in the office for a little over thirty minutes.

“And that’s time.” Ms. Cheryl said, checking her watch and then heaving a deep sigh. You got up quietly, simply nodding your head in her direction.

“You’re a smart girl ya know.” She said, You cast a look over your shoulder. She was slumped in her chair, and her eyes were closed. She looked tired.

 “I’d figured that I would get better help in a place with the Wayne name attached to it.” You knew what she was talking about. A lot of children distrusted the foster system– with good reason– even when the Wayne name was attached to it. Gothamites were prideful and stubborn people, they hold little trust in the systems in place.

The women hummed in response. “ I’ll get back to you about your mother.”

With that you left the office.

You were in the room the youth shelter provided, there were two beds, two dressers, and no closet. One bed was bare, just fitted with a simple gray sheet. The bed May assigned you had a cream cover and matching pillows.

It was a rare sunny day, which was unexpected considering how much it rained yesterday. You planned on going out today, just wander around and not get caught by the truancy police, then later on try calling your friends to tell them you’re safe. You didn’t have to worry about school, the social worker said so. Apparently the schools that were invited to the publicity stunt gone wrong have the next few weeks off.

The other kids still had to go to school, a local public school. So you were by yourself for the time being.

Your fingers traced the patches on Tobey’s jacket, the one under your finger was a cluster of goombas from the Mario games, on the right sleeves was a line of the ghost from Pacman. There were more, mostly on the front and sleeves since Red Robin’s logo was on the back and Toby would never cover it.

You didn’t even like the Gotham vigilantes— well not any more. Maybe it was because you're in the DC universe, In Gotham and not just a passive reader who can just close the comic book and disengage anytime you want. This was your life now, you were stuck in Gotham and if you played your cards right and remained a wallflower maybe one day you can make enough money to leave this cursed city. 

You’d talked about it a few times. The first time it came up was at the third sleepover you had with Tobey. 

You were five, lazing on the rug in the living room of Tobey’s apartment. You watched the ceiling fan blades spin. The sunlight – a rarity–from the balcony would dance with each turn, and the boy was laying next to you. The soft buzz of music drifting from the kitchen and the smell of breakfast had your stomach growling.

 “ What do you think Metropolis is like?” Tobey asked, propping himself up on his elbows. You hummed and inclined your head to look at the fat faced boy. You haven’t read much Superman focused comics, mostly following the super sons or Tim drake’s young justice. You mainly hand interest on anything Bat Fam focused.

“Bright, and safe and sunny, imagine meeting Superman.” You said. Tobey smiled.

“Would you want to live there?” Tobey asked and you rolled onto your stomach. 

“Duh, who wouldn’t?”

The second time was at the first sleepover with Jamie and Nettie. With them simple musing about living in Metropolis tuned into owning a cafe-library hybrid— where the first floor was the cafe and the second was a library.

“ The library would be like a loft!” Jamie said, a smile already splitting his chubby face. “With a huge window so that we can look down into the cafe!”

Nettie nodded. “ And we’ll have spiral stairs to get to the library, and an escalator!” she added.

“Elevator.” you had corrected her. Nettie had stuck her tongue out at you.

“Tobey and Birdie can run the library part and me and Jamie can run the cafe!”

Jamie nodded long and Tobey because he was deemed the better artist was drawing out the future plans.

“ Why do I have to manage the library?” you asked. Nettie puffed out her chest, a smug expression painted on her face as she patted her chest.

“My Ma is teachin’ me how to bake and she’s the best at it so our cafe will have the world's bestest sweets.” she said.

Everything was so simple then, it was fun to just sit at a coffee table and imagine that cafe-library. Bickering about the menu or talking about what books to add to the library, though you guys never could agree on a name.

You saw the tear soak into the sleeve on the jacket and you blinked in surprise. 

Oh, you were crying.

You wiped at your eyes, you couldn’t cry now there was still too much to do. You couldn’t cry until Mama’s body was properly dealt with, you couldn’t cry until you knew that Jamie, Nettie and Tobey were okay. You couldn’t cry, not now at least.

You had to give Tobey back his jacket, you had to buy Nettie a new glasses chain and you had Jamie still alive, he had the worst injury out of the three.

So no you couldn’t cry, because if you cried now you wouldn’t stop. 

You’re an adult, you remind yourself, you’re 25 years old, just because you spent the last four years in a child’s body doesn't mean that you're actually a child. But physically— physically you're nine years old and everyone treated you like a nine year old girl… sometimes it’s easy to forget that you're an adult when everyone treats you as a child. 

Miss May had told you to stay in the shelter until school was out so that you wouldn’t get caught by the truancy officers, she had also told you that the shelter had an open door policy– that there wasn’t a mandatory curfew but she would prefer it if you came back before 9.

That was reasonable, although you were in a better part of Gotham doesn't mean that you were safe. There was no part of this city that could be called safe. You roamed the streets of the university district, it was clean, nice and smelled of something other than blood and alcohol. On every street was some kind of bakery, clothing store, chain restaurant and fast food joint that wouldn’t dare open in the Narrows.

You wandered into a few, buying a couple of new patches for Tobey’s jacket, found a cute glasses chain with little cats hanging off of it for Nettie, and a simple black stuffed rabbit for Jamie. He was always fond of cute things, and rabbits and bunnies according to him were the cutest animals to ever exist. 

Two days passed, the social worker woman had managed to locate Mama’s body and set up an appointment so you can claim it. You haven't called your friends yet — it's nerve -wracking to do so, but you promised yourself that after you claimed Mama’s body and properly put her to rest that you’ll call them.

You dreamed of your apartment, the one you had with Mama, the one you lived in when you were that 22 year old college student and the one you lived in with mom and later grandpa. It was a strange fusion between the three, a cat tree in the corner, a fish tank blocking the balcony door the old couch mama would lay on after work.

The carpet changed between brown, tan, and gray. The apartment was quiet, it was disconcerting quiet. And you were home alone, you knew it, but it was quiet. Even quiet places were filled with little white noises. The buzz from the kitchen, the thrum from the fish tank, the footsteps from the apartment above, the honking of car horns, the bits of loud conversation that would drift up to the windows.

 Your apartment was filled with little white noises, outside of the apartment was overflowing with little white noises that would seep and mix with the white noise inside the apartment. 

But this quiet was quiet. No noise whatsoever, just you and your thoughts and all of your little observations. You could feel the goose bumps form on your arms.

Bile rose in your throat, and you shot upright, throwing back the chair as you rushed to get to the bathroom. 

You barely made it in time to empty your stomach in the toilet. You coughed, spitting the last of the foul, burning liquid from your mouth, and wiped the back of your hand over your lips. You stayed there for a full minute, hunched over the bowl and waiting for your stomach to settle, before standing and flushing. You slowly stepped up to the sink and raked your fingers through your hair, breathing deeply.

Huh, what brought that on?

Usually there were signs of nausea before throwing up, lightheaded, a twisting of the gut, difficulties to breath. 

But this was so sudden, with no build up, and no way to prevent it. 

Fucking gross. Leaning over the sink and staring at the mirror intensely. A solemn-looking reflection gazing back at you. 

That’s not what you're supposed to look like, you’re supposed to have the face of a nine year old girl who has yet to fully grow into her features.

You looked like a mess. You looked like you were 22 again.

You looked so tired, your eyes were sunken in and dull and lifeless as if someone plucked the eyes off a corpse and put them into your skull. And wow Birdie was prettier than you.

You left the bathroom. At the end of the hall was a figure, it was small and vaguely person shaped. Narrowing your eyes you took a few cautious steps forwards.

“ Hello?” you called like every dumb horror movie character. Your hand brushed along the wall until you found the light switch, you flicked it up.

Oh, there was Birdie. She was standing at the end of the hall, her head was bowed and she was wearing that penguin printed nightgown, the same nightgown when you woke up in her body. 

“Thief.” She muttered. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“What?” 

“THIEF!” The girl snarled as she snapped her head up, her eyes burning with hate.

You startle awake, unnerved by your dream. The images and words fade away within seconds of waking, the way all dreams do, and you're left puzzled and ill at ease. you rub your eyes, as you sit up — the covers pooling around your waist.

It was raining earlier, but the rain has stopped now and the sky is cloudy and dim. You can only stay in one place for so long. You left the youth shelter– you wrapped Tobey’s jacket tighter around yourself, and held tight to your chest was the stuffed rabbit you’re going to give to Jamie.

Ever since being it you had gotten attached to the thing, maybe it was the color but it reminds you of Jamie. It’s late--you doesn’t know how late--and the city is lit up below you. You’re not standing on the tallest building in the district; it’s only about twenty floors tall. And it gives you a good view of this part of the city.

You’re on the roof of an abandoned industrial building, something a street kid showed you a few days ago. You stroll along the edge of the building, hands tucked into the pockets of Tobey’s jacket, leaning over the edge to look over the city. You can see and hear over two dozen red and blue lights and sirens lining the city streets, each moving in different directions. A distant spotlight shines against the clouds with the image of the bat signal. 

You can hear the distant crack of gunfire nearby. It seems to come from every direction. The whole city was a constant war zone. It reminds you of the Narrows. In the Narrows at least the crime didn’t stop once the sun rose, people would be mugged in broad daylight and that would be the average Tuesday.

A building erupts into flames in the distance. More sirens begin, and you can see helicopters fly towards the fire. You focus on that area of town. What villain is attacking? Was it the scarecrow? The penguin? A group of nameless goons? A drug cartel? The longer you look, the more you lean over the ledge, as if that would help you see who’s responsible for the fire.

“ Hey, can you step away from the ledge?” A voice said from behind you, it's calm and gentle as if trying to sooth a feral animal. You jumped in place, as you whirls around to find yourself staring up at a masked man in a black suit with blue, stylized wings spread across the chest. You tensed.

Aw fuck it’s Nightwing.

“ When did— where did you come from?” You asked. You were two for two when it came to meeting batfam members. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence and three times is a pattern. You hope this isn’t a pattern because then you somehow ended up in their orbit.

“The building to the right.” Nightwing says carefully as he walks over to you. He stands an arm’s reach from you and offers his hand.

“I’m Nightwing.”

“I know.” you said, eyeing the outstretched hand. There was no way you were going to touch him, that would make things too real. When you spoke to Babs( can you call her that?) you had the reception desk separating the two of you. But here you had no such luxury. You were on the roof out in the open with Nightwing, Richard Grayson, Nightwing. The first Robin, the original Boy Wonder. 

Still it would be rude not to take his hand, and both Mom and Mama raised you with manors. So you reached out to grasp Nightwing’s outstretched hand. The man pulls you from the edge of the building and spins you around so that he stands on the ledge and you stand where he was– near the center of the roof.

“What the fuck?” You gasped. What the hell just happened?

“There! All better!” Nightwing holds your hand a little too long. You frowned and pulled your hand from his.

“Are you Alright? Actually, scratch that, that’s not the best question, if you were fine you would be on a roof at three in the mourning.”

You wiped you hand on Tobey’s jacket, did he think you were going to kill yourself? Your frown deepened. If you were going to kill yourself(again) than you would’t jump(again) you’d try something different.

“ I wasn’t going to jump.” You said, hugging Jamie’s rabbit to your chest, your fingers idly playing the one of its felt ears. “ I had enough of jumping from high places…I couldn’t sleep so I came up here to clear my mind, then I got distracted by the fire.”

Nightwing frowns at you. “ Many people come up to tall buildings to think. Do you want to talk about it, at least for a little while?”

Nightwing frowns again, as he brings a hand up and presses it against his ear. A comm? Maybe, most likely. His focus, however, remains on you.

“ Mister Nightwing sir, I'm fine, truly. No need to worry about me, I do all my best thinking on bridges anyways.” you said. You didn't want to keep him away from his superhero work, and you didn’t want him near longer than necessary.

“ I was about to leave soon anyway, I don’t want Miss May to worry about me.”

The vigilante sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced at the fire then trunks back to you. “ Let me take you home at least.”

“ I’m staying at the Martha Wayne Youth Center.”

“ Why’s that? If you don’t mind me asking.” He pulled out a grappling hook, spinning it in his hand before tightening his grip on the handle. He held it out to show you.

“What are you a cop?” You deadpanned. He smiles.

“ That’s not far, I can drop you of and make it in time” He points the grappling hook at a higher building. 

“ You’ll have to hold on tight though.” Nightwing opened his other arm, inviting you to hang on. you glanced at the shot, then up at the ledge Nightwing was aiming at.

“Just, don’t drop me, I've never done this before.” You said, awkwardly shuffling over to throw your arms around the vigilante. Nightwing wrapped his arm tight around your waist, making sure he had a good hold.

“I’m a natural at-”

“Dropping children?” You cut in.

“Ha! No. Carrying them. Even if you did fall, I would catch you.” Nightwing chuckled, as he fired his grappling hook.

“I don’t want to fall again.” You glanced downward, while they were reeled across rooftops. You missed the concerned look and frown from the hero holding you in his arms.

“You never told me your name.” You looked up at the man. You understood why he was being so clingy, any normal person would. He thought you, a (physically) nine year old, was about to take your own life. 

“You can call me Birdie.”

“ It’s nice to meet you Birdie.”

That night, before you fall asleep, you pray it’s not a pattern.

Tag List:

@jsprien213 @vxsire @sick2mystmch @not-aya @seemeee3 @wendee-go @mileskisser @cynniee @djpuppy-kittens @pix-stuff @godoreo22

A/n: ask box and tag list is open!

reader: something's not right here. *narrows eyes* am I the main character? God I hope not.

PART 3—Interlude—HERE

[mediumgayitalian]

Do you possibly have any ideas where your mortal(?¿) doc!Will and injured Nico and Reyna fic is gonna go? It was amazing and such an interesting concept for an AU that drifts from cannon so yeah, really curious where it goes

(or if you have any ideas/updates plans for any other fics, I will take that too)

I know the summer and July are busy for you and you don't have much time for your amazing writing, but I will be here waiting patiently for more (and I am sure many others will too)

I DO ACTUALLY I HAVE A (barren.) OUTLINE!! i originally intended for this to be much smaller lol. but anyway here is the plan:

reyna and nico on a quest injured as all fuck. literally going to die if they don’t get help. have to go to a mortal hospital.

and their doctor is YOUNG and HOT and a DEAD RINGER FOR APOLLO

he can see thru the mist and recognises them as ‘warriors’ and treats them with the remedies he’s made himself and the nectar he has secretly in hand

he heals them up well but there’s only so far apothecary healing can stretch. and like they have NOTHING. they are in this tiny ass texas town and even still it’s big enough for a hospital but barely. there is no demigod safe house nearby, nico can’t shadow travel, reyna can’t lend strength, they’re out of money and shit out of luck and if they sleep on the streets there’s a very real chance they could die from exposure.

so will takes them home. they don’t like it — he’s been helpful but they’re paranoid — also what the hell is up with this guy who doesn’t know what a demigod is but can heal better than some legacies at new rome — also it would be bad to bring monsters to them — but again they’re shit out of luck. so they go.

and shock of their life will takes them to this tiny tiny tinier ass town, opens his apartment, and its WITCHY.

sage burning. plants everywhere. second will crosses the doorway he puts on a flower crown of lilac and hyacinth, takes off his shoes. salts the doorway once they cross over it.

keeps odd things away, he explains for their benefit. spirits. visions. the like. he adds that he knows he sounds crazy but he’s perfectly normal when he’s not hallucinating vampire women with fire hair at his door, and the salt keeps those hallucinations away.

and reyna and nico are like oh god oh fuck this man is straight up a demigod.

and he’s??? 28???

he’s a resident still technically but they’re so understaffed that he’s just been practicing since the day he arrived at that hospital. he knows his shit. plus he graduated high school YOUNG and pre med early too like he’s something of a prodigy. who lives in a 200 person town outside of austin called sheffield.

and he’s a DEMIGOD.

a POWERFUL ONE.

who’s been COMPLETELY UNNOTICED — although apparently monster-plagued — for years.

like what the fuck.

now the only thing worse than an ignorant demigod away from camp is a knowing demigod away from camp so they don’t tell him. but that means they have to heal normally. still faster — they’re demigods and will’s treatment, even without hymns & practiced healing powers, is unmatched, but instead of their injuries taking six months to heal it’s taking closer to a month.

they don’t have drachmas they can’t have phones they have no way to contact camp and nico is in genuine danger if he shadow travels so they are well and truly stranded.

but too stubborn to be bedbound.

so they hang out with will a lot.

nico falls hard and fast. part of this is because will is his soulmate but part of this is that will has a two bedroom apartment, and reyna’s injury means she can’t safely share a bed — will kicks — nico thrashes — so will and nico share bc will is not letting an injured nico sleep on the floor, not in a million years, and will also doesn’t want to sleep on the floor. so they share. and they’re seeing each other day in and day out you know. and reyna’s concussion is bad so she has to sleep a lot and nico is bored and lonely.

but yeah they fall in love.

and around the third week mark their good luck gives out. all the sigils in the world can’t keep will’s apartment safe from three powerful demigod, one being a child of the big three, and there is an attack. nico and reyna try to protect will and they do but nico gets INJURED. bad. and will crashes out.

he kills every cell in those monsters bodies. and as a sun blazes over his head, he cradles a dying nico to his chest, in the centre of the destruction, and sings the songs he hears in his dreams. the songs his mother sang to him as a child.

it’s a near thing. but nico doesn’t die.

they kiss blah blah . they try to take will back to camp (camp jupiter first and nico is like hey?? no way?? you guys have like eighty legacies?? we’ve had no one since michael died?? and also he’s hot and i called dibs?? and will is bright red bc no one has ever argued over him before not like this) but will is like guys…im finishing my residency.

and nico is like WHAT and reyna is like WHAT and he’s like look i have two years left. okay. i am getting my fucking certifications. i’m a doctor. i am not skimping out on year ten of twelve because im a fucking. demigod. or whatever.

so they can’t convince him to leave and so they have to separate and nico is MISERABLE. like inconsolable. it hurts so bad.

the entire trip back to new rome is silent.

forgot to add there’s a very teary goodbye where will is like. you’ll come back for me right. in two years. and nico swears it on the styx that he will but will has no frame of reference for what that means. cries and cries because he knows he’s never going to see nico again. and nico was the first person to ever make him feel like he wasn’t crazy. like he was SOMETHING.

and then epilogue is that nico comes back to years later and they fuck off to camp half blood where will revolutionalizes demigod healing forever the end

as you can see ive already adjusted some stuff and im sure ill adjust more and its very messy. lol. but!! more 2 come!!

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I know you're more of a Killer person but I wanted to share some thoughts on Horror since I've been going back abit for his comic and lore I've never played the game though.

I feel like Horror has one main fanon interpretation and that he's a big guy who's soft for his other teammates, makes excellent food always eating something or constantly thinking of just food who gardens and cooks constantly. Also, he wields a giant axe but can't use magic anymore and really only cares for his Papyrus. Oh and he's a cannibal who eats humans disregarding the fact that humans ans monsters are different species. Oh also problems saying sentences or a single word so barely talks and he has problems with his memory where he doesn't properly make new memories.

Horror is so much more then that first of all that guy isn't soft, I'm unsure if he can even cook, doesn't seem like someone who would garden but more likely hunt or just go to a store. He's rude, mean, and a sadist. He won't directly hurt you when Papyrus is close by and as long as he is entertained doesn't have much of an urge to hurt you either. He's super paranoid and distrusting believing anyone can simply betray him even those closest. He's not even big its mentioned that he is still small and is only seen tall by the human child. He's probably the most judgemental of the group and manges to have the worst trust issues out of all of them. You already know he hasn't eaten in what 7 years, he's willing to give up food to others if he thinks they need it more even if it would be harder on him and Papyrus he has a huge sense of community with Snowdin in which people respect him but are also afraid of him. He seems to isolate himself from the rest of them not exactly physically but its obvious he keeps his distance emotionally and most of the physically away from them despite being the glue that holds them together. He was only shown once with an axe and it wasn't comically huge it says he prefers a heavy thigh bone and it's been shown he still has access to his magic and can use it even during present time. He wouldn't even physically touch Aliza he made a whole paragraph to stop him from eating anything alive. Also he yaps a lot he's almost constantly talking throughout the comic don't know about the game but I've seen a bit and it doesn't seem like his chattiness is lessened. Also despite what many think he has retrograde amnesia not antegrade amnesia. Meaning his memories of before the injury are blured or gone its mentioned that many of the things in Frisk run is forgotten he doesn't have any problems making new memories or any speech impediment.

Sorry for the rant but you're probably my favorite person to just share my thoughts with

~Musical Anon

You don’t have to apologize for ranting in my inbox. I may be the Killer and Color guy, but I enjoy when people rant to me about other characters and aus too. It’s nice to hear from everyone.

The idea that the yapper in the Murder Time Trio all along was actually Horror instead of Killer is so silly though.

And given that he is only seen as tall from the human child’s POV, and Killer was drawn as smaller than his Chara even though he doesn’t have a confirmed canon height, does this potentially mean that Killer could be smaller than Horror if only by a few inches?

[sillygoofyqueer]

AU where Wen Ruohan and Wei Wuxian are related through Cangse Sanren - not like, he's actually his dad or anything, but like uncle or grandfather or something - and I know this has been done before but bear with me, because it's literally not what you think, trust. Anyway, Wei Wuxian is related to Wen Ruohan. His parents die, and Jiang Fengmian does not find Wei Wuxian. This is because Wei Wuxian's parents were killed by cultivators and he dodges away from anyone with a sword at their side. Wei Wuxian grows up on the streets, paranoid and scared, until he's fifteen and alone, meagre spiritual energy and barely any attention paid to those around him. That's when he's snatched up by a man in red, one who drags him onto a sword and dumps him by the mountain that nobody else seems to like, and there a rather strange red robed man stands, seemingly holding court at the edge of the Burial Mounds. A group of similarly robed people stand nearby, and then another, smaller group of people robed in gold. They must be cultivators, but Wei Wuxian has no time to think about such a thing when the red robed man speaks, something about a 'sacrifice' to the Burial Mounds or whatever, spoken to a rather nervous looking man looking far too tacky in all of the gold he wears. Obviously, Wei Wuxian begins to struggle yet again. He doesn't want to hear the rest, and then doesn't have to because there's a dagger in his chest and he's being dragged past the informal barrier and dumped into the hell that it the Burial Mounds. What little spiritual energy he may have formed by repeating his mother and father's techniques, the ones they drilled into his head gently and patiently before they were unceremoniously killed, is being dragged to the most certainly fatal wound and trying uselessly to heal the wound with the dagger in the way. He lays in the dry, dusty mud and waits to die, blood hydrating the earth and giving more back to the place that never gave him anything. There's many voices in his ears, screaming shouting sobbing, but then there's one that is quiet, breaking past all the others, soothing and gentle. It speaks in a whisper, telling him that he can close his eyes and relax, that he won't die as long as he lets them in, lets them help. It says that someone cheated, that they didn't read the rules and now they have broken one. This is what will allow Wei Wuxian to live, but he himself is broken. Weak. It can help, they can help, he just needs to let them in and they will make him better than he ever was before, with the power that they can give him and the knowledge they can share he would be able to take any sort of revenge. He deserves so much more than what he have been given, and he is the perfect host. Flexible soul yet unflinching in his morals. Naturally intelligent. Just let them in. They can make him better. And so he does. It will take a while, but he will be able to seek revenge. (There is a warning in the texts that Wen Ruohan used to gain more power, one that made it clear that the related person had to be dead when they were dropped into the Burial Mounds, otherwise it could all backfire on the sacrificer.) ((Let me know if you want to hear more about this, it's just something I've been thinking about. I've got a vague, mini playlist in my mind about it and everything))

[pretty-red-garnet]

The Alexandrian

Daryl Dixon x fem! Reader • Alexandria • Fluff

     Daryl looks around the gated community. It's strange, the houses— mansions, really— that lined the streets looked right out of a catalog or one of those home renovation shows. It was clean and if he couldn't still hear the quiet groaning from some stray walkers, he'd think he was transported back in time.

     Rick was cautiously looking at their guide, Aaron, and the leader Deanna. She wanted to interview them. Daryl almost turned and left right there, but then he saw Carl holding Lil' Asskicker, and his feet were planted where he stood.

     After they were all interviewed and had given up their weapons, they were given two houses to use. Daryl scoffed at the sight. No way would he get used to this. No way.

     As his group began to filter in the house, he gave one last glance around. There was a house not far that was smaller than the rest. It was nice, but looked out of place in the community. He didn't give it too much thought before heading inside.

     Everyone was smiling, still nervous and careful, but the hot running water had lifted some spirits. Daryl didn't care much. He instead headed back out to sit on the porch. Everyone was staying in the larger house, so he would take watch. The whole place gave him an uneasy feeling. He felt like the people were giving him odd looks. He didn't belong, and everyone knew it.

     It was late at night when Daryl was still outside. The house was too stuffy, he couldn't sleep. Not here. He was fiddling with his crossbow, absentmindedly cleaning it with a rag. It was more to keep his hands busy than anything, he could barely see in the dim glow of the porch light.

     He heard a door slam and his eyes shot up. It was from that little house not far. A woman was standing on the porch. She was a little ways away, but Daryl could just barely see that she looked tense. Her head was down so he couldn't see her face, but her hand was rubbing at her temple. When she sat down on the front step, her leg bounced anxiously.

     He bit his lip in worry. What did she have to be so anxious about? Maybe this place wasn't safe, maybe they were hiding something. Daryl vaguely knew that the thoughts were slightly paranoid, but he was on edge and hasn't slept in days.

     As if she felt eyes on her, her eyes flitted up to find his. Daryl shot his eyes away and instead began to fiddle with his bow again. He hears a door close again and when he chanced a glance back at the woman, she was gone.

Daryl looked at the house. It was large and filled to the brim with both people from Alexandria and his family. He bit his lip in thought. His family seemed adamant in trying to fit in, to try and make it work, but he wasn't so sure. He couldn't fit in here, he wouldn't.

Daryl wasn't a stranger to the sideways looks he got from the people here. The looks of disgust when he brought home animals on a string ready to be cleaned. Or when he was caked in blood and dirt from being outside the walls.

This party Deanna had thrown was something that was supposed to stay in the old world. Not when there are dead people walking around. He saw Rick holding Judith and chatting away with some of the locals through the window. He shoved his hands in his pockets and finally turned away. He couldn't do it.

"Hey!" Daryl looks towards the sound and saw Aaron standing at his front steps.

"Thought you were goin' to that party over there," Daryl says, gesturing loosely in the direction of Deanna's house.

"Oh no, I was never going. Especially with Eric's leg being how it is." Daryl looks at him with furrowed brows.

"Why the hell you tell me to go then?" Daryl says, his tone a little sharp.

"I said to try. You did," Aaron explains with a friendly smile. "Why don't you come in and have dinner with us? We're having spaghetti."

Aaron waves at something behind him and Daryl turns to look. It's that woman he saw the other night. She waves back but looks slightly confused at Daryl's presence. Now that he's closer, he can take in how pretty she is. She looks a little shy, but her eyes sparkle even in the dim lighting. Daryl looks away and back at Aaron, thinking for just a second before taking his invitation.

"So, who is that girl?" Daryl asks during dinner. He couldn't help it. He hasn't seen much of her around the community. He'd be lying is he said he wasn't the least bit interested.

"Oh, that's Y/N," Aaron says. "We brought her in a few weeks ago. She's still... adjusting." Daryl hums in response.

"Just haven't seen her around s'all." Daryl shrugs and slurps another mouthful of spaghetti. Aaron wasn't lying when he said it was good.

"She isn't very social," Eric says. "She's nice enough though. She just keeps to herself."

"We just try to give her space. She contributes to the community a lot, especially with her garden," Aaron finishes. "If you ever need some fresh produce, she's your girl."

It's the next day and Daryl is crouched by some bike parts. Aaron had offered him a position to go out scouting if he can put a bike together with parts he had. Getting out of these confining walls sounded great, so here he was, in Aaron's garage putting a bike together.

He heard footsteps and looked up, seeing Y/N standing outside by the open garage. She gave Daryl a peculiar look, glancing at him in the garage and at the front door. Finally, she walks over to him a little awkwardly.

"Hey, is uhh, Aaron or Eric home?" She asks, quietly. She's holding a little basket with what seems to be some tomatoes.

"Nah, they're at the infirmary." A worried look colored her face so Daryl rushed to explain. "Just checkin' up on Eric's ankle s'all. They're fine."

"Oh, ok, good," she says. Her voice is quiet still, soft spoken. "I just wanted to drop this off." She holds up the basket.

"You could leave it here, I'll make sure to give it to 'em." She nods and lays the basket down near the front of the garage. She gives him a little smile and Daryl's heart thumps. God, she's really pretty.

"Thanks." And with that, she's gone.

Daryl doesn't see her much after that quick interaction. Sometimes, when he can't sleep and he's outside, he sees her sit on her steps like she's lost in thought. Other times, she leaves before the suns come up, going beyond the walls with a gun on one hip and a buck knife on the other. Even bringing back some fresh meat once in a while. Daryl would be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't curious about her.

She's quiet and reserved. Sometimes he'll spot an Alexandrian going to her house to ask for a fresh tomato or berries. Unlike other residents, shes doesn't chat up a storm. She does what needs to be done and that's it.

Daryl will sit out on the porch some nights and wonder who she is. Aaron said he just found you a few weeks ago, but no other explanation. Where was she before? Had she had a group, or was she alone all this time? The woman could definitely handle herself if she came and went as often as she did.

"Hey, pookie," Carol's voice distracts Daryl from his smoke break. He'd been at Aaron's house nearly all day, and was finally done now that the sun was setting. He hums. "Could you go to Y/N's and grab some green beans? I didn't get enough earlier for my casserole."

Daryl looks at her and scoffs. Carol had slipped into the housewife role since coming to Alexandria, and it makes Daryl annoyed to no end. Mostly because she does it so well, baking cookies and playing Betty Crocker in flowy blouses. Makes him sick.

He hums and nods once, stamping out his cigarette and making his way to your house. He was nervous, he doesn't know you and just rocking up and asking for something felt off. He knows everyone does it, but still.

He knocks once he gets the nerve and wait. After a while and no answer, he feels awkward. Maybe she isn't even here. He's just about to turn and leave before the door opens.

"Hey, Carol just needs some more—" He stops short when he finally looks at the girl. The door is only open a crack, and her face is slightly concealed by shadow, but he can still see faint red marks around her eyes. Her fingers on the door are jittery and she shifts her weight from side to side. "You alright?"

"What did you need?" She doesn't answer his question. Her voice is rough, like she's been crying a while. Gone is the silky softness Daryl had heard the other day. It send a foreign feeling to his chest.

"Just... some green beans but—"

"Ok, give me a second." She turns and leaves, leaving the door open just a little. Daryl feels unbelievably awkward. The poor girl was just crying and now she has to fetch a stranger fucking green beans. She comes back a moment later with a basket of beans.

"Is that enough?" She asks, her face still tear stained but slightly redder, like she had scrubbed at it.

"Yeah, yeah... thanks," Daryl said. He grabbed the basket slowly. "You sure you're alright? I could go get Aaron or somethin'..." Daryl thinks they're close, he's seen her talk a little with him before.

"No, no. He doesn't..." she stops talking and looks anywhere but to Daryl. He waits patiently for her to continue. "I shouldn't bother him."

"You two are friends ain't ya? Sure he won't mind."

"I would," she says quietly, her voice still teary sounding, and she sniffles now and then. "Is that all?"

Daryl nods, still looking a little worried at her. But it isn't his business, so he doesn't stop her when she closes the door. He walks away from her house after casting one last look.

Daryl brings Carol the green beans and she looks at him a little thoughtfully. She tilts her head at him.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She asks, kindly. He shrugs and gives a noncommittal hum.

"She was cryin'..." he finally admits. He felt bad for saying it, he definitely wouldn't want anyone to walk in on him having a moment and tell, but it's Carol. He couldn't not tell her.

"Who?" Carol asks.

"Y/N. Wouldn't say what was wrong though." He shrugs, but still looks a little lost in thought.

"Huh," Carol says. "Maybe you should check on her later then." Daryl furrows his brows at her and gives her a look. "What?"

"I don't know her."

"Well, it'd be good for you to talk to new people. And from what I've seen, she doesn't seem to have many friends either. It'd be nice of you." Daryl thinks for a second before giving Carol another sideways look.

"You sayin' I don't have friends? The hell are you then?" Carol scoffs and laughs at him at the same time. Tilting her head at him.

"We're family. It would be good for you to talk to others. Branch out." She lays a hand on the man's shoulder.

Daryl couldn't stop thinking of the crying girl and what Carol said. He ended up not going to see her again, but he did sit up on his porch casting looks at her house that night. He couldn't get her teary eyes out of his head. That pure sadness in her face. It gave him a pressure in his chest he wasn't fond of.

Eventually he hears Y/N's door snap closes like it always does, and she plants herself down on the steps. She had a mug of something cradled in her hands. It must be hot because Daryl can see steam wafting from it.

He bites his thumb in thought. Maybe he should go over, just make sure she was alright. Like Carol said, you didn't have many friends from what Daryl could tell. She spend most time tending to her garden or outside the walls. The closest he's seen her with anyone was Aaron, and from her reaction earlier, she probably hadn't gone to talk to him.

Finally, Daryl follows the pull in his chest and walks over to her. She spots him right away, and those pretty sparkly eyes of hers nearly make him stop halfway. She looks confused and wary.

"Hey," Daryl starts. She nods, one sharp jut down of her chin. She's still giving him that look, like she's waiting for him to pounce or something. "Just wanted to make sure you're alright... seemed pretty upset earlier."

"I'm ok," she says. She looks down like she's embarrassed. "Sorry you had to see that."

"Nothin' to be sorry 'bout." She gives him a little half smile and it sends a flutter to his stomach. "Well, I best be goin'... just wanted to make sure you were alright."

Daryl backtracks. Maybe she just didn't want to be bothered. He shoves his hands in his pants pockets and turns around only halfway before her voice stop him.

"You could stay," she says. Daryl is surprised, and from her expression when he turns around, so is she. "Unless you don't want to... it is pretty late." She rushes out, tapping anxiously at her mug.

"Nah, I'll stay for a bit." Daryl, despite wanted to turn tail and run, stays. His interest in the mysterious woman outweighs his disbelief that a girl so pretty would want anything to do with him.

He takes a seat next to her on the stoop. They both sit in a awkward silence for a minute. Both just looking out towards the sky.

"You want some tea?" Y/N asks lowly, finally breaking the silence.

"You don't have to—"

"I don't mind." Y/N stands up quickly and goes to fetch the tea. She might just be shyer than Daryl, she seemed to want to run away more than he did. But if Daryl was honest, he found it pretty cute, even endearing.

She comes back a few short minutes later with a second steaming mug. She gives it to him with that same small, kind smile. Daryl could feel his neck flush. He accepts with a mumbled thanks.

"So uh," Daryl starts. "How long you've been here? In Alexandria." She takes a sip of tea and makes a so-so gesture with her hand.

"Maybe a month? Little more. Hard to keep track of time now..." She taps her mug still, must be a nervous tick. Daryl hums and nods an agreement. "I was the last person Aaron and Eric brought in before you guys. Feels nice not to be the newbie anymore." She has a little teasing smile on her face, but her head is still down low and her hair partially covers her face.

"Yeah, I'm not likin' being the newbie much," Daryl says with a scoff.

"Everyone looks at you funny... like they don't trust you, because they know of the things you must've done to survive on your own..." Y/N says. She looks down, lost in her head. Almost like she realizes she's been talking, she glances at Daryl and blushes.

"That why you were cryin' before? Cause of the things you've done?" Daryl regrets having spoken, because she looks close to tears again. Good going Daryl, Jesus Christ. He screws his eyes shut for just a quick second, chastising himself in his head. "Sorry, you don—"

"Yes," she says quickly, finally looking up to meet Daryl's gave. For the first time, he can really see just how beautiful and intense her eyes are. He can see every little speck of color. He feels his cheeks burn under her gaze.

"And the things you've done, are they why you sit outside every night? Don't sleep?" She asks him, not breaking eye contact. He nods, slowly, and Daryl sees something he was positive he'd never see in an Alexandrian's eyes.

Understanding.

Those nightly chats continue nearly every night. Even while they were planning how to get the walkers out of the quarry, no matter what time either of them had gotten up that morning. Even after the wolves terrorize the community, and a huge herd surround the tall walls, they still talk almost every night.

Even Daryl's family knew. Carol and Rick teased him about his nightly outings relentlessly. Especially when you'd go over to drop off their produce, it seemed they knew the quiet woman mostly did it to see Daryl.

Daryl and Y/N didn't see much of each other during the day unless it was dropping off produce. Daryl was always out, hunting, going on runs. Y/N mostly helped around inside, tending to her little garden and now helping Maggie with the large one she was planning in the center of the community.

But on rare occasions like today, Daryl and Y/N were both able to get away and head outside the walls. They were both excellent hunters, so Daryl escaped from the walls with her as often as possible. Which was never enough now that he couldn't get out to look for new people, as Rick had ordered.

"Oh, Daryl!" She called out. Daryl was slightly ahead, but turned back to her at her call.

"What?" She pointed excitedly at a little shrub. Daryl looked curiously from her to the bush. "What about it?"

"It's a huckleberry bush. I can dig it up and plant it back home." Home. It sounded strange to Daryl. The last place he considered home he'd lost in a fiery blaze, but he supposed that is what Alexandria is. Home.

Y/N sank to her knees and dug at the dirt a little before giving a satisfied look towards Daryl.

"It's really small, and not in season yet, but the roots look good. Won't be too long before the berries start popping up." Daryl kneeled next to her and helped her to dig it up. She smiled excitedly at him, and Daryl shyly smiled back. Her smile still made his heart jump, even after seeing it so many times. Y/N isn't so shy with him anymore, even if she's still reserved when it comes to other people.

After fighting with the shrub, they eventually yank it out. Daryl smiled to himself seeing the girl so pleased.

"We should get back soon. I should plant it soon as possible, wouldn't want the roots to dry up," Y/N explains. Daryl nods and suddenly becomes nervous.

"Yeah uh... could I show you somethin' first?" He asks. He's biting his thumb now, and Y/N gives him a skeptical look.

"Yeah, what?" She asks.

"Surprise." She looks at him crooked but nods. "Come on."

Daryl leads her back to his bike. She puts the bush carefully in the saddle bag and they both hop on. The first time they rode together, Daryl had been so nervous he'd almost crashed. Now, riding alone made him miss the warm contact.

It's embarrassing how much he had gotten attached to Y/N. Most days he couldn't wait for night fall so he could finally head to her porch and drink that funky tasting tea, just because it made her happy. If Daryl was honest, he'd do just about anything to make her happy and smiling.

Daryl was never in love before. Of course he's loved people, certainly loved his brother and his family, but he's been never in love. But if Daryl could guess, he's pretty sure it felt like this.

A sharp flick to his ear sent him back to present. He cast a look behind him to the culprit, who was grinning. He forced a dramatic frown at her, but that smile and giggle made his lungs just about stop working.

"Don't go so fast! My bush is rocking around in there," she yelled over the rumble of the bike, patting the saddlebag to emphasize her point.

"Yeah, yeah, you and your damn plants!" He teased, eliciting another giggle and a poke to his side. "Thought we had to be fast to get home so you could plant it?"

"Won't be anything to plant if it's all torn apart by the time we get there!"

Finally, Daryl pulled the bike to a stop. Y/N looked around before looking back at him. She tilted her head and smirked.

"More woods, consider me impressed, Daryl." He shoves her arm lightly and his face flushes.

"Stop."

Daryl leads her further into the woods before suddenly stepping in front of her. She looks confused and he can't help but think her furrowed brows and scrunched nose is adorable.

"Close your eyes." She gives him a scrutinizing look but obliges with a dramatic sigh.

"Better be good, Daryl."

He leads her carefully through the forest. One hand on her arm and another on the small of her back, he leads her slowly over large rocks and overturned logs with care. Daryl gets more nervous the closer they get to their destination. Maybe it was a stupid idea, or she wouldn't like it. Maybe he'd dragged her out here and she wants to go home.

"Alright," Daryl says finally. "Open your eyes."

Y/N opens her eyes slowly, blinking a little at the sudden brightness after having her eyes closed so long. After a second, he smiles brightly, eye flitting around.

It was a clearing in the woods, shaded by surrounding trees and covered in flowers. Large bushes of different colored flowers bordered the clearing, with small patches of wild flowers covering the ground in the center. He'd found it on a solo hunt not long ago, and planned to take her since.

Y/N was surprisingly quiet. Ever since they'd starting talking, she'd opened up to him completely. She hasn't been this quiet since that first time they met, and it made Daryl unbearably anxious.

"So..?" Daryl asks, biting his thumb and looking between the woman and his shoes. He digs his boot in the dirt, scuffing the ground, anxiously awaiting her reply.

"It's..." she starts. Finally, after an agonizing few seconds, she looks at him. She walks up to him and gently takes his thumb from his mouth. He feels heat course through his face but he holds her gaze steadily, and lets her pull away his hand. "It's beautiful."

She turns from him and wanders deeper into the clearing. Daryl follows, almost in a daze. She's never looked so beautiful, smiling and almost giddy with joy, stroking different flowers as she walks past. Daryl is sure his heart is going to give out.

Finally, she lays down right in the center. She laughs and reaches a hand towards Daryl. He steps forward apprehensively, but after catching another look at her jovial face, he hurries to lay next to her.

They lay shoulder to shoulder for a while. Just basking in the light that's filtering through the trees. Y/N absentmindedly plays with a flower between her fingers with her eyes closed.

"I love it," she says lowly, cracking her eyes open to look at Daryl beside her. He smiles.

"Ain't nothin'..." She whacks his hand laying beside her halfheartedly.

"It's not." She leaves her hand right next to his, the contact sending electric shocks up his entire arm. Tentatively, Y/N begins to fold her fingers in his. Daryl looks over to find that she's still looking at him deeply, with that intense gaze Daryl is sure he'll never get used to. He intertwines their fingers, both still staring at each other with flushed cheeks and soft smiles.

     Daryl is sure who started what, but soon enough, their lips are touching. It's like a magnetic force, and Daryl can't resist. He touches her cheek softly, and he can feel her smile against him.

     Daryl can't get enough, he doesn't ever want to. They push up against each other until they're completely melted together, touching from head to toe. She languidly pushes her fingers through his hair, smiling harder against his lips when he makes a pleased hum.

     After some time, Y/N pulls away. She gives him a brilliant smile that makes him push one more kiss to her lips before he is ready to stop. She curls into his chest when he lays down again fully, and he gently runs his calloused fingers through her soft hair. She lefts out a comforted sigh.

“I don’t…” Daryl starts then pauses, breaking the silence. Y/N looks up from his chest, her fingers curled up in his shirt under his vest. “I don’t know… how to do this.”

“That’s ok,” she says with that soft, kind smile. She brushes hair away from his face and her closes his eyes for a second, relishing in the feeling. “We’ll figure it out together.”

They lay next to one another for a long while, even after the sun begins to set. Sharing caring and soft caresses and touches. Sometimes giving the other little shy smiles. It’s getting dark now, but the two still don’t want to part.

“Guess we should get home…” Daryl says reluctantly, his voice low and even grittier sounding than normal.

“Yeah, we should,” she replies, sinking further in his arms. Daryl smiles to himself and plants a shy kiss to her head. She lets out another content hum.

When they finally remove themselves from each other, they give each other shy smiles and glances. Y/N floats around the area one last time, picking a bundle of flowers before following Daryl to his bike.

Daryl watches her, how careful she is to the plants and how she walks around almost majestically. He thinks about how it was just a couple months ago she found her way into his life. She had called Alexandria home, and Daryl agreed, but now, just watching her meander through the clearing, he thinks that maybe home isn’t a place but a person.

When she gets to his bike, she opens up the little saddlebag to place her bundle of multicolored flowers. She suddenly frowns and looks over at Daryl.

“What?” He asks, nervously taking in her expression. She shakes her head and looks down, concern fretting her pretty features. Did she regret what just happened? Was she just now processing and she realized she didn’t want Daryl this way? She looks back up to meet Daryl’s eyes, still with that frown. Daryl wrings his hands.

“My damn bush is dead.”

[tumblingxelian]

He Does not "Fit the Setting Better" than the MCs

There's a fundamentally idiotic claim that the "Only reason" Ironwood was a villain is because he's the only one who acts like he lives in a death world & in a gritter, more "Realistic" series he'd be a hero. To anyone with even a grasp of world building this is patently absurd.

Ironwood does not grasp the world of Remnant better than others, frankly he grasps how it works far less than almost anyone! Negative emotions lure Grimm and yet he perpetually does things that piss off, alienate, scare, or depress large quantities of people.

He's hilariously ill-equipped for the setting that he's in not because its a hope-punk setting, but because he ignores anything that doesn't align with his personal biases. He keeps trying to rely on his army, which even with a bloated runaway budget, is not actually that effective at fighting the Grimm.

Not for tonal reasons, but because Grimm are really fucking strong.

As in, his mechanical soldiers and regular troops can barely kill the lowest tier Grimm when they have them outnumbered & the Grimm pretty much always have the numerical advantage. We see stuff like missiles launched at an approaching horde just get shrugged off thanks to their incredible durability and once the Grimm are inside the city most of Atlas's battleships are useless.

His overarching plan before his total decline into fascism involved sending his already ill-equipped army to three other nations to "restore order" after he causes mass panic by announcing "Hey guys, turns out the horrible death monsters that infest our world have a millennia old boss whose magic and like, super smart, but don't worry we got you!".

Then expecting that not not end in disaster when most other countries don't like or trust Atlas that much. Especially after he bailed on Mistral in Volume 4/5 the moment he suspected there might be an attack, leaving them to wither on the vine, and thus showing how fickle his supposed loyalty to his allies really is.

Oh, he also needs to be reminded scouts exist for a reason, as his default response to a perceived or potential threat is to send his army stomping into the region blindly and just assuming they can muscle their way to victory. & keep in mind, the wilds he wanted to send said army to is where Grimm are and they outnumber his army vastly.

So their numbers would not avail them as they sometimes did in smaller arenas, where said army was backed up by actual Huntsmen and Huntresses, & can thus be useful by playing support. Rather than getting shredded by things way too big, fast and durable for them to easily kill in notable number before being overwhelmed.

Ironwood's not behaving appropriately for the world he lives in, nor is he a man in the wrong genre. He's a man obsessed with military bravado who got drunk on his nations propagandized idea of itself as a place held to a higher standard that helps out the lesser kingdoms and utterly vital to the world. When its usually just blundering around guns blazing and causing problems.

He's not a "General Ripper" type stuck in a sparkly, twee, the power of love setting. He's a self proclaimed four star general who never fought in war, let alone led an army through a war. Who holds an an fannish affection for technology he consistently fails to understand given his shitty grasp of tings like cyber-security.

If he was in a "Grittier" setting, Ironwood would still be a fuck up.

Because Ironwood's issues things like his ego, hypocrisy and a genuine lack of certain skills, with a penchant for paranoid, overly sensitive, over the top reactions that are extremely easy to provoke. Flaws that would not serve him well in any setting, genre or world!

[eluxurex]

Just realized I haven't done a vore post in a while. So... here goes...

Claustrophobic(Pt 1)

Imagine being a claustrophobic prey. You're not exactly the kind of prey that would outrightly try to get eaten, but it's not like you don't want to get eaten. You just have some modesty, so-called self respect and would rather not trust every pred you see.

Due to this fear, you purposefully avoided vore, paranoid that you'll not be ready for it break in someone's vulnerable. You wouldn't like that at all. You didn't like to show weakness, not even in the slightest.

Moving on, you had a friend. A friend enemy to be specific. They were a predator, and they respected your boundaries. Or at least, they didn't have the time to actually invade your personal space. You weren't really close.

Some time later, you had a gathering with friends, your friend enemy apart of it. As usual, you had your usual squabbles with them, opposing them however you can. Then all of sudden this happened.

"I swear to God, if you don't shut up I'm going to have you for dinner." They growled.

"Try it!" You shrieked. You were confident that they were just bluffing and making empty threats-nothing to be afraid about.

"Come closer then, brave guy." He hissed.

You took a step back.

You couldn't believe your freaking ears. You weren't sure how to even react. You were confident before, only because you had believed that he was bluffing. The thing was, he wasn't.

"Well?" He said, looking at you impatiently from where he sat. " What's the hold up? Don't tell me you're scared."

You don't even reply. Very soon, you hear you other friends saying stuff, some trying to comfort you with words, others just hungry for drama, all urging you to go to him. You weren't getting out of this situation.

Slowly, you came in front if your old "friend". There really much of a distance to cover, so even delaying your steps didn't do much. He looked down at you, smirking. He was gonna have so much fun with you. You could tell.

He barely wasted anytime to gulp you down. You were smaller than him, but not that small. He easily pinned you down, another one of his twisted ways to show just how much he was in control. You struggled a bit, but it wasn't as if you believed you could escape him. Even in this situation, you would rather seem feisty, than to appear like you've given up.

The experience was just how you imagine. His powerful throat muscles squeezed your body tightly, making you feel a bit a dizzy. It didn't hurt, but it seemed like it *should*.

You didn't even realize that he had been completely consumed until, you felt a strong hand squeeze you even tighter than the stomach itself. Then you had a satisfied sigh, from your captor.

Everywhere seemed so tight, it made you feel sick. You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the pressure and the panic you felt. You had to stay strong. You couldn't afford to look weak in front of *him*.

(I wonder if I should continue this) Edit: Gave it a title so you'll will know Pt 2's name at least

[collar-shocked]

Could you ramble more about Lawrence, please?

HEEHEEHEE, I have very little time before going to work but I can throw in a few deets for you, Nonny.......

Lawrence is extremely paranoid and has almost 10 locks on his door because of it. He enjoys the nighttime a lot more than the daytime because in his opinion, the monsters are better.

His love for plants stems from the fact that they need his attention to thrive and can not talk, judge, argue, or fight back. Something to rely on him entirely to survive. Something to make his role in life important, as if he was not there to tend to them, they would die. He doesn't feel like a burden or like a bad person with plants as he does with people or animals because plants have no outward reaction to his pinches and pin-pricks. He's good at plants. He understands plants. It's his one area of expertise and one of the only things that makes him feel validated. He understands their language and can identify when there's a problem and what they need, like when the leaves go dry or the stems become droopy. Makes him feel kinda like a doctor!

His favorite kinds of plants are foliage, as if that wasn't obvious. Flowers are nice, but there's just something about bare green. And also mushrooms, he seems to like those, too.

This one isn't canon but after digging through some pages, I've made up my own HC about what his toxic-tea could really be. Poppy Seed Tea! I won't go into how to make it because I don't want anyone getting addicted to opiates, but know in higher dosages it is very unhealthy and right up his alley.

Lawrence became the Lich simply by finding the bog and lying down in it, deciding to mentally go to and stay in The River. He laid there for 20 years before checking back in with reality and seeing how his body had withered- not just withered, but changed. Meaning, Lawrence is still the same damn guy from BTD2, and all the poetic bullshit the Lich speaks in TPOF is just Law being spooky scary silly. I love him to bits. (ALTHOUGH it could be argued he just.... became more artistic during his time in The Veil. It HAD been 20 years, after all.)

Speaking of TPOF, Derek is actually made up of unused/scrapped Lawrence parts! (Can not remember if this has been confirmed or not......)

Since he's dead, every second he spends in The River allows his body to rot. He goes there quite often, so he stinks of death- still in the sickly sweet stage.

I like to think that while Law DOES have music he enjoys, he likes putting on ambience a lot more. He seems like a 'Tabletop RPG background noise' enjoyer.

Personal HC that he keeps his hair longer because he likes to watch it grow. It's a nice, slow process- just like changes in his plants.

He works overnight in a warehouse from 11 PM to 7 AM. (If I'm remembering right...) He's a storage worker, so he's ALWAYS lifting big heavy creates- but we know job titles come with smaller responsibilities, so it's likely he's also labeling, organizing, and cleaning things, too. Basically, Lawrence probably has really strong hips and knees. Do with that what you will.

THERE'S SOME LOVINS FOR LAWLAW FOR NONNY. THANK U!!!

[drchenquill]

Character profile tag!

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet , @sableglass , @finickyfelix and @paeliae-occasionally ! I'm sorry it took me so long, I just couldn't decide who to take for this game. I'll just go with my baby boy Leon.

Name: Leon Martens

Nickname: "Waschlappen" by his late grandma. (It's German and it means sissy, wimp and so on.) It's an insult, but she used it as nickname, often refering to him like that while talking to other people, making it sound like a cute "family inside joke".

Kind of being: Human

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Appearance: fluffy honey-blonde hair with dark drown eyes. Very pale, almost sickly looking skin. He mostly wears cardigans to feel comfortable. His calloused hands look frail like everything on him to be honest. He is rather thin and weak looking. He is a frail man.

Occupation: Art teacher

Family members: None (all deceased. It wasn't a big family)

Pets: None

Best friends: he would say none, but Kiki has taken that spot very fast.

Describe his/her room: So, a bit of context. He moved into a shabby apartment but mid story was forced to move again into a not-as-shabby apartment. I'll describe his old room because his current room isn't his, it's Kilians.

Quoting him: "My bedroom has a large window that looks out onto the street. Normally I would draw the curtains, which didn't happen this time. That's why I can see the first shy rays of sunlight creeping into the day. The apartment I'm currently renting consists of five rooms. The bedroom with a double bed that takes up far too much space, thanks in part to the wardrobe that will collapse on me with just a small earthquake and free me, a bathroom that barely has room for a bathtub, a living room furnished with a beige couch that I doubt was the original color, a small TV that I'm afraid to turn on and, last but not least, the small kitchen where I recently tried to make a coffee with shaky hands and the flame of the stove almost burned my face."

Way of speaking: Polite, tries to never raise his voice.

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude): He avoids eye contact and often walks with his head down. When he's stressed, his right hand tends to cramp, so you may see him subtly massaging it. He also tends to have twitching hands when he feels the need to draw something to calm down. He is developing a hunchback by always walking with a hunched posture to subconsciously make himself smaller.

Items in his/her back pocket/ purse: A small pocketsized sketchbook with a tiny pencil (he draws to calm himself down.) And his phone and wallet.

Hobbies: Drawing.

Favorite sports: None.

Abilities/Talents/Powers: Drawing

Relationships (how he/she is with other people): He tries not to interact with other people, but when he does, he tends to not hold eye contact for too long. He is rather submissive, not wanting to anger anyone.

Fears: Being looked at, making mistakes, angering other people, people thinking he is insane.

Fault: He is very paranoid and does not trust at all. He always thinks the worst and often doesn't give the other person a chance to explain. He can be very petty.

Good points: He is very gentle with children. He loves children because he feels safe around them.

What he/she wants more than anything else: To be left alone and to get rid of the crushing guilt he feels after surviving the car accident that killed his parents.

~~~

Tagging with no pressure @theink-stainedfolk , @inseasofgreen , @katenewmanwrites , @kaeru483 , @happypup-kitcat24 and open tag~

[i-didnt-do-1t]

I have lots of thoughts about Oscar and claustrophobia so here is a second interpretation of todays whumptober prompt

cw suicidal ideation

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oscar would bet money that solitary got smaller every time he was sent down there. Logically he knew it didn't, brick and stone didn't just move, but it was hard to be logical when it was like this, when it was dark outside and the only light was coming through the barred window in the high corner of the room and his ribs hurt from tensing with how cold it was.

Sometimes he thought he'd die down here. The weather or the fact that sometimes, most of the the time, he couldn't breathe quite right, could feel his heart in his chest and pinpricks under his skin, so aware of every sensation and the lack of space. He got restless when it was quiet. He got restless and paranoid and considered smashing his head against the wall to just end it and let Snyder find his body-

"Delancey."

Oscar spun at the voice through the door, it was embarrassing how quickly he darted to it.

"Mr Snyder. Fuck. M' I done-“

"I can hear you from my office you know, it's the floor above."

It was one of those moments again, where his heart was beating out of his rib cage, up his throat, and his hands were shaking where they were pressed up against the thick wooden door. he was begging for splinters. Something to make the floating feeling stop, something that made him think about anything other than being at home and in his room for days on end and calling for ma and da and hearing nothing from no one and being so sure he was going to die-

"breathe, Oscar."

"Fuck you," He spat. He didn't mean to, no one spoke to Snyder like that, you weren't meant to speak to Snyder like that, but he couldn't think straight down here, losing his goddamn mind with every minute that ticked past, like he was turning into his fuckin' ma-

"Oscar." It was sharp.

"Let me out. Fuckin'. Please Snyder, christ. I can't breathe down here."

He could barely see either, feel his hands, the numb tingling that had spread from his fingers and up his arms, his whole body felt like a stack of cards-

The slot for the food he hadn't been given was pushed open.

Fuck he was hungry. Too out of it to process it.

"What- what're you-"

It felt like the ground was moving under him. All cold stone and brick. If he passed out maybe he'd hit his head hard enough he'd die

"Don't get your hopes up, Oscar. I told you you weren't eating and I meant it. Give me your hand."

"I ain't wanna touch your fuckin' hand-"

"Give me your hand or I can add another day to your stint down here."

Oscar tried to hold out. He really did. But he relented. Reached his shaking, calluased hand and let Snyder grab it.

If the semi-dried blood on Oscar's knuckles from punching the stone wall bothered Snyder any, he didn't show it. Oscar thought he must've been used to the blood on his hands.

Snyder's hand was a little bigger than Oscar's and warm to the touch, soft. Nails cut and manicured, he had a firm hold, painful, almost as he squeezed Oscar's hand.

"Can you feel me? I'm right here, Oscar."

The air came out of Oscar's mouth in quick puffs of cold air. At least he wasn’t being ignored. At least it wasn’t like calling for ma and da.

"Yeah. Yeah I know,"

"How does my hand feel."

"What-“

"Answer the question Oscar."

He hesitated, trying to focus on the feeling of palm pressed to palm.

“Skins real soft," he said. "Like you ain't ever done a days work in your life."

Snyder huffed a laugh. Oscar wasn't laughing, still trying to persuade himself the walls weren’t closing in.

"Good. good. Now can you take a deep breath."

"Fuck you."

Snyder squeezed his hand so tight it hurt.

"Take a deep breath."

Oscar tried, but it felt like he couldn't get enough air into the bottom of his lungs, like they wouldn't expand wide enough. Like his ribs were seizing up with the cold air with every attempt of an inhale.

Snyder's grip didn't loosen up any. when he spoke again, his voice was low. filled with a barely restrained anger Oscar recognised.

"I can hear you pacing from my office and it's slowly driving me insane, so I need you to calm the fuck down, do you understand me."

Oscar tried to yank his hand back. Snyder didn't relent.

"You're not getting out. So do you understand me."

Oscar voice still wavered when he answered, he thought about how his pacing couldn't bother Snyder if he was dead.

"Yes sir." It was low, gravely with cold, "I understand."

[risingxsparks]

@quantumlogician || closed starter

War never changes.

Loyalties change, motivations change. But the bloodshed remains the same. Senseless murders in the name of whatever ideology each side is pushing this time around— not that Goldbug minds.

On the contrary, he thrives in it. So much so that getting thrown out of his universe and into this one has barely changed anything for him. Optronix might not exist here– at least not as the mech that terrorized Goldbug's every waking moment and ruined his recharge more than once, but there are others: the Megatron of this universe and some of his followers. Straxus especially reminds Goldbug a lot of his old leader. Perhaps that is why he gravitated towards the warlord's territory upon crash-landing on this universe that felt like a bad joke, like someone had turned everything upside down and inside out and forgot to do the same with Goldbug.

Goldbug, a deception. Who'd have thought?

The autobot sigil that once stood proudly upon his chest plate had long since been sanded off. Now, it was a mere faded mark where a sigil should be– with no deception sigil to replace it, not yet. Lord Straxus, believing him to be just an autobot that had decided to switch sides, had decided that Goldbug had to earn the right to be recognized as a decepticon and that meant proving himself in whatever situation the warlord threw him at.

Like many other deceptions, Goldbug followed the trail of chaos left throughout the galaxy by Lord Megatron and the autobot leader, Optimus Prime. Just like in his universe, their rivalry seemed endless. Their inability to put an end to each other's sparks predictable.

What Goldbug couldn't have possibly predicted was to come across a face that was truly, unequivocally, familiar.

He remembered the fake Cliffjumper. The one that had dropped into the fight not long after the original Cliffjumper died– he'd managed to fool almost everyone, using the fact that only Sideswipe had seen their Cliffjumper die in the decepticon ambush, and that nobody believed Sideswipe due to how unstable and paranoid he was, as the perfect cover for his deception.

But he wouldn't escape this time.

Cliffjumper must have realized this the moment their optics met, because he attacked first.

A yellow optic glared daggers at the autobot as Goldbug's visor shattered upon impact. They crashed to the ground with the force of Cliffjumper's tackle. Goldbug's smaller frame allowed for him to tuck his legs as close to his chest as he could, and slam his peds up onto Cliffjumper's middle, sending him crashing to the ground while the displaced once-autobot-now-decepticon scrambled to his feet and got a hold of a red wing-door that'd broken off of Cliffjumper's back.

Goldbug stood over the autobot and didn't hesitate. He slammed the door down onto Cliffjumper's neck. The first couple blows merely dented the metal, the third and fourth had energon staining the red kibble. After the fifth blow, the voice box got messed up and desperate pleas for Goldbug to stop turned into scratchy-sounding gibberish. Then, quiet. Sweet, sweet silence.

And yet, Goldbug didn't stop.

His arms came up over his helm, then slammed down with far more force than was needed given the weakening servos that barely held onto his frame. Over and over, until the head and the body were no longer connected, until energon got soaked by the organic ground and he got to watch the blue fade from those wide optics.

Oh, how he'd longed to do that.

His helm turned to the sky, as blue as the optics he'd just watched the life fade out of, and his own closed as he exvented deeply, the now dented kibble dropping from his energon-soaked servos, which shook with the leftover electricity that coursed through his neural network.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Goldbug felt at peace. Under the battle mask, his mouth began to form a smile.

And then he heard a sound.

His frame tensed, right arm shifting into his blaster as the left one became a blade, all relaxation abandoning the yellow optic that now glared at the mech that felt entitled to intrude in a moment that was supposed to be Goldbug's.

A seeker. A decepticon. Goldbug had to remind himself that the sigil now signaled an ally and not a target.

[trixter-god]

The bat and the wolverine

(!!!working draft!!!)

Parings: Original character x Logan Howlett, Original character x Bruce Wayne, Logan Howlett x Bruce Wayne, Original Character x Logan Howlett x Bruce Wayne (eventually)

Summary: Starr (Trix) Baker-Foley better know as The Trixter was like many mutants living within the safety of Charles Xavier’s school for the gifted. A job that kept her busy and job that drove her crazy. Funny how trying to teach an art class for gifted teenagers was harder than trying to save the world. So sometimes she needed an escape. Somewhere only she knew about and only she could get too. A whole different universe.

warnings/tags. 18+ (eventually), fluff, angst, smut (maybe), canon typical violence, cursing/profanity, romance, open relationships, two boyfriends, jealousy, pining, slow burn, lovers to strangers, enemies to unliking friends to lovers, (More will be added)

Chapters (tbd)

Words (so far) 691

An: currently flying by the seat of my pants here. Sorry for any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors. (no beta we die like Jason Todd) This is just a small dabble into the story I want to tell and I’m looking for any and all feedback/interest to make me actually sit down and give this the time and attention it deserves.

About Trix’s x-gene/powers:

Has the powers of reality manipulation. She can change her surroundings, people, things, etc. to whatever she wants. (Think the scarlet witch, unoriginal I know) Powers works better with smaller areas and only a handful of people at a time. She could change a room but not the whole mansion

Also has the powers of dimensional teleportation but she can only teleport herself and nothing else.

Her powers don’t work well out of her “original universe” but she is still able to use them in small doses.

Selfish, she was being selfish. That’s what Jean had said to her when Starr tried to see her own boyfriend. Boyfriend was a strong word. It made a lump form in her throat. She punched a bit harder against her target. A small hum of praise was thrown in her direction which only made her mind slip again. Thinking back to a familiar hum in her ears.

Logan left. Disappeared for months. No. A year. It shouldn’t affect her like it did. Starr barely dodged the sharp skillful right hook thrown in her direction. Logan was known for slipping out at night. Leaving for a good couple of weeks but he’d come back. He always came back. Like a stray, crawling back into her bed. The sad part was she’d let him. Even now.

A foot connected with the back of her knee as she lost her balance falling against the rubber mat with a growl. She doesn’t get up like she normally would just laid there in her own frustration.

“You're not focused.” A calm voice broke through the storm that was her mind for a moment, bringing her back to the present.

Bruce.

Calm, gentle, calculated, paranoid, mind numbing. She could keep going but instead Starr flipped over against that black mat staring up at the high cave ceiling catching her breath.

Bruce let out a hum again. This time it was one of questions as he looked her over. Questions he’d never actually ask, probably knowing the answers already. Starr could feel that sharp icy gaze against her skin, it made a shiver run through her. She shrugged it off by tearing off the protective wrapping from her knuckles, throwing it forgetfully across the floor.

“I’m done.” She mumbled, rubbing the sweat from her forehead. Bruce didn’t respond. His always light footsteps stopped next to her making his imposing figure stand in her field of vision. He was analyzing, it made her scrunched up her nose.

“Stop that.”

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice level.

Fucking ass

“You know what I mean.”

He did. Always seemed he was the only one. Well besides Logan. Her fists balled up unconsciously, a moment Bruce noted.

His well sculpted yet abused body sunk down sitting crisscrossed at her side.

Those trademarked Wayne blues still made her skin crawl until her own eyes locked with his. Like the Atlantic meeting the Pacific.

A light touch of his knuckles brushing against her side in a way that was asking for a window. Starr let out a deep sigh closing her eyes thinking that would clear her elegant like memory. It never did.

“I’m being… emotional again.” She had to take a pause to find the right words. Those knuckles turned into fingertips pressing small circles into her sore side. Bruce nodded, not needing any actual explanation from her.

Starr’s eyes finally opened again after a long tense silence. Her head tilted is just enough to finally look at that unforgettably sharp jawline. Sweat stuck to his body in a thin sparkling sheet. He mindlessly pushed her dark hair from his face. It was longer than he’d like it, something she would probably have to fix once he remembers who lives behind the mask. She didn’t want to admit how badly she wanted to just reach up and give it a tug. Maybe distract herself from that man who didn’t even want to put a label on what they were with the one who’s patiently waiting for her to do the same. Starr swallowed that back down instead letting her hand trace over one of deeper scars across his leg.

“I can have Duke cover your route.” Bruce’s voice broke the well crafted silence. The soothing motions on her side stopped making her want to press against him.

“No, I’m fine.”

He nodded with some hesitation. It was a losing game to argue with her as stubborn as she was.

“Shower?” He suggested instead.

It was Starr’s turn to nod.

“Together?” Her voice raised up teasing, which was met with the smallest twitch in the corner of the dark knight's mouth.

“Together.” He agreed.

[dinoace2]

Fangs Bared

Lord Ancunin's most faithful spawn, his Dark Consort, has had enough.

Approx. 800 words, Feat. Ascended!Astarion and his unnamed spawn, who is referred to with she/her pronouns. Aaaaangst >:3

Cw for toxic/abusive relationship, knife, blood

Act 3 astarion spoilers!

~~~~~~~~~~

"How does someone become a vampire, exactly?"

It's simple, just find a vampire that will drink your blood and turn you into a vampire spawn; their obedient puppet. In theory, the next step is to drink their blood. Once you've done that, youre free and a true vampire.

"In theory?"

People think the biggest threat to a vampire is a cleric with a stake. It's not. The biggest threat to a vampire is another vampire. They're scheming, paranoid, power-hungry beasts. So why would any vampire give up control over a spawn to create a competitor? Trust me, it doesn't happen.

That conversation...from so long ago. When she first learned of Astarion's....secret, that's what she asked. That's what she learned.

Those words have echoed in her mind every day since.

~~~~~

Vellioth's first lesson is to dominate. Allow none to be your equal.

Astarion took that lesson to his still heart, that's for sure. From the moment he ascended, he made damn sure everyone around him knew who was the strongest. Who was the best. He turned her into his spawn the first night, and gathered an army in the years that followed.

She stood at his side, above the rest of the spawn...but still beneath him.

Always beneath him.

As time went on, there came to be thousands of them. Countless spawn, all seen as mere dust under the heel of the Ascendant...

Except for her.

She stood by his side from the start, and supported him through every trial. She never wavered, never strayed, and never stepped out of line. His dark consort. His perfect spawn.

Vellioth's second lesson is that power comes from solitude. To share with others is to be weak, and to be weak is to fail....and die.

Of course he said that she was his most trusted companion, his dark consort, his lover, who would join him as he took on not just Faerûn, but the world.

But words do not equate to actions.

In all the time they spent together, despite countless promises that one day he would allow her to join him, to one day truly stand at his side as an equal, a fellow Ascendant, nothing ever came of it. Weeks, months, years, decades? She was always right beneath him. Beneath his status, around his finger, and under his boot.

If he wasn't to share with her....then...did any of his promises have any weight behind them?

Vellioth's third lesson is to act not in haste. A near immortal has time to plan, time to act only when others will pay the price of action.

This lesson, she listened to. This lesson, she studied. And this lesson had taken long enough. She was ready.

~~~~~

After a long night attending to his undead empire, Lord Ancunin retired to his room, where his beloved consort waited with a smile. "Good morning, beloved. Ready to...unwind~?"

Astarion smirked. "Of course, my pet~"

Wait.

The moment is soon.

Just...

Wait.

the world around them remained still, silent as the lovers lay cradled in one another's embrace. She held him in her arms, the one time he'd ever allow himself to feel...smaller than another. It was...peaceful.

Astarion's body went rigid as he felt cold steel against his throat.

He let out a strained chuckle. "My dear...is this your idea of a joke?" He moved his arm to push the knife away, but she pulled it tighter, and he winced.

"Do not think me a fool, Ancunin," she whispered, her tone cold and calculated. "You might be stronger than most...but you are not yet a god. Move, and your blood shall decorate our bedsheets."

Astarion's smile began to slip. "What...are you doing?" He hissed through clenched teeth.

"Giving you a choice." She frowned. "Youre not the man I knew. The Astarion I fell in love with would spit in the face of the man you are now."

He scoffed. "And just what do you mean by tha-!" He coughed, gasping as the blade bit into his skin, drawing forth a necklace of divine scarlet beads.

"Look at yourself," she whispered. "A man of authority, empty promises, and sadistic power. Don't you see it? You've become Cazador. You've turned into the very monster you once despised....the same man you feared."

Astarion scowled. "You dare utter that name before me-!" She tightened the blade once more.

"Do not interrupt me, Ascendant!" She hissed. "You forget who holds the blade here. You don't have the authority right now." When he finally remained silent, she continued. "He called you nothing more than a frightened little boy. I didn't quite believe him then, but now I understand. You are the same cornered beast he was. Nestled at the top, so insecure, so...afraid of the idea that someone could be stronger than you, that you do not allow yourself the luxury of life. Of love. Do you not see it? Do you not understand that you are just like him?"

Astarion's cold, frozen form began to shake, but from fear, anger, or sorrow, she wasn't sure.

"I do not know whether the person you were was a facade or if this is...but regardless I'll be humoring it no longer. Clearly the man I loved is long gone."

He chuckled. "You really intend to leave me? What will you do without me? I am everything to you. You will be nothing if you leave my side."

She frowned. "I know. You...youre my whole life...whether I like it or not. I've been with you for so long...I dont even know if our old friends are still alive...or if they'd still remember me. I've begun to forget the person I was before becoming your spawn...i...I don't remember what color my eyes were. I've almost forgotten the face I once saw in the mirror. I don't know who I am anymore." She sighed. "But I intend to find out again."

Astarion raised an eyebrow. "And how is that?"

She tilted the knife, as if to emphasize her next words. "I told you. You have a choice. Option one: you hold still, do not move, and I drink your blood. I become a true vampire, and I leave, never to cross paths again. Option two: you refuse, and i cut your throat, because you're too scared of the idea of having an equal that you'd sooner die then let one of your spawn ascend to your level. Either way, I am free of your control, and I will never engage in such cruelty and violence again, as inflictor nor recipient. The choice is yours, pet." She spat the nickname with such venom...she had heard it far too many times by now.

Astarion scowled. "As if you could ever amount to anything without me-!" She pulled the knife against his neck, tight enough that his breath was cut off, and viscous blood slid from his wound.

"Make your choice, Ancunin!"

~~~~~

Thanks for reading! :]

Part twos: (I'll link em when I write em lol)

OPTION TWO

OPTION ONE

[payton-bagel]

Watching the Phobos Saga in Chronological Order - Journal #2

(How I am keeping track) https://docs.google.com/document/d/1N7KDQnxCV54bbQGC2AFNJQF7-9JU9sposapCi1EeKuY/edit?usp=drivesdk

1898-1899: Ten Candles Vol. 9: The Heart

(Spoilers ahead) With a multi-billion year time jump forward from the Precambrian Era to the 1890s, we find ourselves in the Pacific Northwest coal mining town of Stone Valley. One year after a ship crash-landed and killed most of the men in town, the coal company pulls their support, leaving the town disorganized, paranoid, and furious.

I remember once on Twitter seeing someone (forgot who) compliment the way Zac portrays women as NPCs, which I was reminded of while watching this volume. I think this is because he tends to stay away from the "squeaky-voiced-damsel-in-distress", while also avoiding the common over correction of the "tough/cold but also sexy badass", which is often just as regressive as the former. The women he plays work well due to their depth and variety that go beyond caricature, actually reflecting the fact that they (us) are real people with our own depth and variety. Mothers, secretaries, CEOs, little girls, Goddesses, waitresses, brothel owners, soldiers, teenagers, clones, doctors; the life and familiarity of these women make them feel like people I could have met at some time or another.

On the other side of things, this volume contains plenty of sexism and bigotry, from the overarching topic of literal witch burning, to smaller, passing moments, such as when Fredrick, a German man, was singled out for potentially being a Catholic. I am of the mind that bigotry should be allowed to exist in media (including TTRPGs). This all depends, of course, on the genre and purpose of the story, and the boundaries of all involved. Bigotry, when tackled with maturity, can lead to more interesting stories, relatable characters, realistic settings, and deeper themes. The feminist ideas present in Volume 9 could not have been accomplished without a few torches and pitchforks.

Here are a few mini "character studies" of some of the women in this volume:

Ashley: Being the owner of the town brothel, she could have easily been portrayed as a one-dimensional object of seduction. Instead what we receive is a dignified, no-bullshit barkeep, whose main concern is that the town's demographic shift might put her out of business. Upon her introduction, there is not even a passing mention of her physical appearance. Nor are her seven "ladies of the night" even present, as we discover later that they have been caught in a supernatural hypnotic trance, and are instead digging a hole into the side of a mountain with nothing but their own bruised, bare hands (which is pretty metal).

May Jenkins: As a future Council member, May quickly takes a leadership position by riling the town against those she accuses of being influenced by the Devil. She acts as a "scab", betraying Clarity when she confides in her, and reinforcing the existing power structure of the town which disproportionately favors the men, despite women now making up 80% of the population. May's deference to the male leaders of the town, and her betrayal of other female characters shows that societal change is not as simple as demographic change, but requires solidarity and a shift in mentality. May is most likely a direct ancestor of Meredith, Mearl, and Mallory Jenkins.

Sarah Winchester: Through a brilliant chat donation, Sarah works undercover as the "nurse" of her husband (the town "doctor"), despite the fact that she passed medical school, and he is a fraud. Given the recent changes in town, she becomes fed up with their arrangement and wastes no breath telling him that the safety of the town is more important than his ego, and literally kicks him to the curb. We see not just her badass-ery, but her compassion and integrity. She wishes to come clean, not just to take credit, but to not break her doctor's oath. Not only is she more knowledgeable than her husband, but she is ultimately the bigger person. This makes her brutal fate all the more tragic and unjust.

Clarity Anah: Fitting neatly into the "naive young girl" archetype, Clarity's concerns are often pushed aside by the other characters, and (seemingly intentionally) by the narrative itself. Clarity is the only PC who is actually a woman. However, like all things in the Saga, this simple dynamic is not as it seems. Watching Volume 9, it is easy to forget that the innocent 16-year-old Clarity eventually matures into the Gorgon, powerful both by sheer energy and by social rank. Ironically, the character who is the most shunned and dismissed ends up the most infamous years later, while nearly every other character in this volume has fallen into obscurity.

[dragonmasterhiccup]

From Gojira

The feeling of the sea against his scales was like the embrace of his mother. The water was family. It was in his blood, his bones, his heart. He could feel the call of every creature and the pulse of their life through the currents.

The great king swam slowly, leisurely. He was not hunting, nor was he alerted to a challenger in his territory. It was a tad unusual for him to wander like this, when a long nap in the deepest depths was what he mostly spent his free time doing. But today was different. It was something in the salt that danced on the tip of his tongue.

He needed to swim.

The king saw the ones that were like him and yet not like him- at least the ones that dwelled in the seas with him. Dragons, to the world on the surface.

They were not of his kind, no. His kind had gone extinct long ago. But these dragons of the ocean were a part of him. Something he would protect.

The Titan surfaced slowly, flushing stray water from his nostrils. He pulled himself up to stand on his massive legs to wade in, what to him, was the shallows. He had been to this island before, but it had been very, very long ago. He had been smaller, younger, less experienced than he was now.

And it seemed that in his sleep, the little ones had built a den here. Their nests were all over the island. The king cocked his head, rumbling softly and curiously.

Things had quieted down for Berk as of late.

The cleanup from Dragons attack had long been completed, and Berk was expanding with the onslaught of their new dragon residents. Hiccup was still struggling to come into his new role as Chief, but things were going smoothly this far.

At least it was, until he heard shouts of alarm.

"It's Drago! He's returned with an even bigger dragon!"

"No, it's the father of Bewilderbeasts, seeking revenge!"

Hiccup pressed his fingers to his temples, sighing in frustration. The people of Berk were too paranoid for their own good. He was about to reprimand them, until he too saw the incredible large mass that now stood in the water off the island.

"What the Thor...?"

Blinking away his shock, he hopped on Toothless' back. "Everyone, just stay calm. I'll go see what's going on. But be ready, just in case."

"Astrid, gather the other riders. Stay on Berk, until I give a signal." She nodded, hopping on Stormfly and flying away.

He and Toothless flew towards the giant.

Okay, he thought to himself. Maybe they're just curious, they probably aren't going to attack...

Stopping to hover in the giants vision, Hiccup cleared his throat. "H-hey there, big guy..."

Toothless narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth. This was his island, and he was going to make sure this newcomer didn't try anything rash.