#❝...the world is full of unsolved mysteries... ❞ ┋ ask

[poswiecenia]

@dawnbrst - no big deal , just a sleepy husband snoozing on his wife's shoulder in bird form . // lumi 🥰 \ unprompted ask

( 🌙 )     THERE'S NO WAY in teyvat that the traveler would push away diluc at a time like this. or ever , honestly. he was ever so warm and the desire to slip off into a nap herself thanks to how warm the phoenix 'pon her shoulder was. her hand raises to gently give her sweetheart a few scritches under his chin 'fore returning to her book that she was focused on in the rare downtime she got.

[afreakingdork]

Crush Too Much - Part 13

RotTMNT Donatello x GN!Reader

Warnings: Longing, Angst, Fluff, Embarrassment, Overbearing Siblings, Aged-up Turtles

Synopsis:  So you met a customer three times at work and that made a pretty big impression on you? That’s nothing to necessarily get worked up over, but when you’re all prepared to ask for his number the next time you see him and his brother gets involved instead, you might be in for something more than you bargained for.

FIRST 💜 PREVIOUS

Heartbreak.

It was strange how an ailment he’d been suffering from for well over a month felt so new with a proper diagnosis. Donatello had grown tired of the constant recontextualizing and recategorization of his memories he had been forced to do as of late. The past week had softened the initial blow and he was left with a single clear frame of reference: he was done with preconceived notions. He patted himself on the back for being having had the wherewithal to admit it. Fiasco after fiasco caused by his failure to make judgments on subjects that were far out of his depth had humbled him. That, though, didn’t mean there wasn’t time for research.

Heart·break

/ˈhärtˌbrāk/

variable noun

Heartbreak is very great sadness and emotional suffering, especially after the end of a love affair or close relationship.

Though there was no trace, Donatello had casually lamented the state of his browsing history. The tricky thing about these types of subjects is there is a true testable physiological response, but there is also a myriad of baseless think pieces. Sifting through them was arduous at best and comical at worst. Outside of the digital world, his brothers had retained some shreds of his dignity. He’d found that they’d placed no bets on his realization timeline and they were mostly just glad to have him present. He wasn’t sure if he would have suffered an indignity if they had tried teased him about his denseness. He felt no humiliation. He akined it to ridiculing a child for not knowing how to read if they had never been taught. He simply had nothing to compare it to. He did, however, feel immense guilt over acting out on half-baked assumptions. He prided himself on being a better scientist than that. In that regard, he’d let himself down.

Which was why, he decided, he was no longer going to make anymore guesses. Unfortunately, that ruling also meant he was stuck with different unsolved question: what was the source of his heartbreak? It was undeniably you, but in what way? The online consciences agreed that heartbreak was felt on a spectrum and he could subscribe to that logic. Where his feelings for you landed on that spectrum was a mystery. He’d warped them through a lens of dismissive science to such a degree, he wasn’t sure what was real anymore. It was yet another reason why he fatigued of pouring over the memories. He needed fresh, untainted data if he were to start the study anew. Though he’d come a long way in acknowledging his ignorance, he knew for a fact that reaching out first would be extremely stupid after everything he had done.

Frowning, Donatello stared down a long stretching rack of garments. Several rows over, he spied Mikey stretching out a blazer and squinting over it.

“Explain to me again what we’re looking for?”

There was a loud metallic clank as Mikey forcefully shoved a hanger back into its spot. “Aw, come on, Donnie! Haven’t I explained it a million times already?”

“Yes, it must be me who is failing to understand.” Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Donatello settled on drooping his lids.

Instead of going around, Mikey simply threaded himself through several racks of clothes until he reached his brother. “I need a fabric for the torso that screams ‘shaaazaa!’ Then maybe a thick retro material that kinda had a ‘ba-boo-roo’ thing going for it and, finally, I need something with that oomph factor!”

Each descriptor had been paired with a matching full body gesture. Mikey’s consistency had impressed Donatello, but that didn’t mean they made any more sense to him. “Riiiiight...”

“Glad we cleared that up.” Mikey punctuated the statement with a confirming wink before a pair of pants caught his eye.

“Does ‘ba-boo-roo’ have a English language color name?” Donatello scrunched his nose up from having to use the descriptor.

“It’s more of a pattern.” Mikey hummed, testing the elasticity of the stitching.

“Exasperated sigh.” Donatello mumbled to himself as he stared at the same rack he’d been standing at their entire duration in the store.

Mikey looked past the bottoms and to his brother. Lowering the garment, he made a move as if to grab something from in front of him, but shifted direction at the last moment to elbow Donnie's plastron instead. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You’re helping.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not, having you here helps.”

Donatello turned to give his younger brother the full extent of his doubtful gaze.

“You are!” Mikey threw his arms up, pants trailing the move. “You got up early to come shopping with me right when these stores open.” Looking around them, only a few older women of poor eye sight were milling around. “I probably should have showed you my sketches so you had more of an idea what we’re looking for, but regardless; it’s emotional support!”

“My strong suit.” He could no longer withhold the eye roll.

“Suit…” Mikey rubbed his chin with the fabric. “Great idea! See, you are helping!”

“Michael, we really need to work on your elaboration.” Donatello raised his hand with the point but Mikey hung to pants hanger on the appendage instead.

“You go find three pin-striped suit jackets or…” Mikey squinted and looked to the upper right. “Any pattern that isn’t just blah in preferably a sack silhouette.” Bringing his gaze back, his eyes shimmered with the idea. “Let’s put 15 minutes on the clock, what’dya say?”

“I’d say that’s probably the most in depth instruction you’ve given me all day.” Donatello responded dryly, hanging the pants back up on a rack.

“Great, then let’s go!” The younger brother then disappeared by diving headfirst into a clothing stand.

Shaking his head at the action, Donatello set a timer on his cuff. He then looked up at the large signs that marked each section. Following them with an upturned gaze, he located suits. To accommodate the various lengths and paired items, this section's racks were twice the height of their companions. Turning down the row, he was met with an ocean of blacks and navys. Sighing audibly at the lack of selection, Donatello headed down the line and let an outstretched finger follow along the garments.

As if sifting files, he came to a halt when his digit caught a subtle brocade that barely stood out due to its similarly dark threading. Pulling the item out and lifting it up to eye level, Donatello activated his goggles. A detailed manifest popped up with notes about the cut. With the piece held high in his right hand, he both brought up his left to compare acquisition to time and deactivated his goggles. One suit in under 5 minutes wasn’t a great start, but he could only work with what the store provided. Prepared to continue to search, he lowered the hanger and like a curtain dropping, you were revealed on the other side.

His heart stuttered in his chest.

He stared openly, wondering if he should run. He watched as you compared the sleeve lengths of two jackets, seemingly not noticing his presence. Torn between choices, Donatello felt stuck. He watched your lip purse, unsure, before finally something seemed to spark in your eyes. He leaned his head back incrementally as you turned to him in slow motion.

“Oh, sorry! Am I in your wa-?” Your words dropped off as you let go to the jackets you were examining. “Donnie.”

It felt like his brain was lagging with a spotty internet connection. The page finally began to load. As the information filed in, his first thought was another summation of the chances. Dismissing the possibility of having run into you randomly in New York City on three separate occasions, Donatello swiveled and stretched his neck out to see over the rack. If his younger brother was the mastermind, he wasn’t watching his scheme unfold which was unlike him. Blinking, he realized he’d ignored you in favor of an errant thought. Donatello turned back to find you still waiting, though no longer colored with surprise. “Y/N.”

“Looking for some new clothes?” You gestured to the jacket in hand.

He watched as each little sign of your discomforting body language seemed to note itself as if his goggles were still active. He couldn’t process the information as he was still stuck on the part about how you ended up running into each other. “Absolutely not, the thought of wearing something that someone else wore even if it’s washed?” His lip curled up with distaste. “I’ll stick to regular stores.”

You stifled a snorted chuckle. “You know people try those clothes on too?”

“Trying on is quite different than schlepping off some garms to a thrift store.” He folded his arms and the suit jacket swung with the motion.

“Hm, maybe.” There was an airy quality to your voice that sounded pleasant to his ears.

“Most second hand shops don’t even wash the clothes! I’m just hoping they were deloused.” Noting the fact caused him to scoot away from the rack.

The laughter couldn’t be held back any longer. As you giggled, Donatello could swear the sound resonated with some unknown harmony. “So what are you here for then?”

“Mikey enlisted me into some project.” Though he had moved his feet, he was painfully aware that he couldn’t seem to keep himself from facing you.

“Mikey did?” You turned your head to glance around. “Is he here?”

“It’s a long story. Presumably, he’s around.” Part of him wanted to accuse you of being in league with his younger brother, but a secondary thought reminded him that he wasn’t going to make those kinds of guesses anymore. Plus, since his gaze was trained on you, he had yet to notice a mimed action. “What about you?”

“Oh.” You seemed to remember something. “I’m, uh, ‘filling out my office wardrobe.’”

He watched as your face shifted from sheepish to quoting and then finally to a bright proud smile. Reaching up, Donatello tucked a hand underneath his hoodie to touch his goggles. They were still clicked into their stationary position on top of his head. If that was the case, why did everything around you look so colorful? “Your internship…?” He trailed off trying to recall the sparse notes he’d gotten before you both parted.

Your gaze dipped as you shimmied side to side. When you returned it, you had a sly smile. “’Full time job’ would be a better way to describe it.”

Donatello also wondered why your eyes seemed to be magnified. “They hired you on.” The information was still lagging. “Wait, they hired you on!?”

“Yep!” You chirped.

He finally pinged the harmony as being similar to a birdsong. “Congratulations are in order then!” He clapped around the hanger in his hands. “It is well deserved though I do hope that the employment comes with a moderately higher salary to afford you more than….” He looked around the store to emphasize his point. “This.”

“It does.” You turned away and ran a hand down one of the suit jackets you had been examining earlier. “Starting out is tough though and, unlike you, I think a nice hot wash will clean these up just fine.”

“Unless they are dry clean only.” Donatello tried to clear his throat stealthily in an attempt to stifle the small dip he felt in his stomach from your movement.

“Those are ‘suggestion’ labels, right?” There was a wry tone to your voice that Donatello pegged as goading.

“I see your comedy remains unchanged.” As soon as the sentence left his mouth, his eyes widened. Something about giving voice to the separation felt like an instant taboo. Looking back to you fearfully, he found your shoulders raised slightly in a move which he read as apprehension.

“Is… this really a coincidence?” Your eyes were cast down.

Though the question pricked like a nettle, it was absolutely valid. “Do you remember how suspicious I was when you found me at the food truck park?”

He watched your gaze raise with recognition. “’A little over 9 million?’”

“I swear to you that as far as I know, this is naturally the third time this has happened.”

“That can’t be…” You shook your head slightly in confusion.

“I agree, for locations that we rarely frequent, the probability of it happening is not incalculable, but the numbers are hard for even me to comprehend.” He nodded, his eyes shutting as his mind unconsciously started to do the math.

“I guess it’s not a coincidence then.” There was a tone to your voice that Donatello didn’t recognize so he brought his lids up to find you smiling to yourself. “It must be fate.”

It was only spoken softly to yourself, but something about the sentence seemed to ring loudly in his mind. “I don’t believe in that. I create my own destiny.”

You snickered. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“And what does that mean?” He leaned forward suspiciously.

“Not a thing!” You clucked and used your other gathered garments to create a barrier between the two of you.

Donatello looked down at them, wondering why he hadn’t registered them earlier. Cataloging them in conjunction with the suit jacket you were browsing, he frowned. “You’re not getting that are you?”

“What?” You shifted, looking at your items.

“Give me a quick rundown of your position.” He nodded thoughtfully as you explained and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stand for this. The pieces you selected are both under and over dressed and it doesn’t seem like you’re even taking utility into account!”

“Now wai-”

He heard you begin, but the bandwidth was already being diverted elsewhere. Though Donatello himself hadn’t moved far from the original rack, he had been watching Mikey sift through pieces in rapid succession. From those earlier leavings, a few stood out. “Come with me!” He turned and started walking, trying to plot out the shortest course to said clothes without having to resort to Mikey-type short-cut method. “Here!” He grabbed a top and spun around, remembering something else. “And this.”

“Donnie, are you serious?” Your voice sounded a bit distant and when he looked up he found you a whole rack away.

“Yes, just look!” He held up the top he selected and he watched as your expression shifted from confounded to thinly veiled stubbornness with an undercurrent of intrigue. “Shall I continue?”

“Is that my size?” You looked close to stomping your foot.

Something about that made his chest feel tighter than it should in his hoodie.

“What do you take me for?” He threw his hands up, raising the other item he selected into view.

“Glossing over the fact that you know that, I want you to make a note that I’m not super ok with this!”

“I’m sensing a but…?” He drew out the word, just knowing that his prowess was about to be acknowledged.

“But…” You hesitated before slumping with defeat. “I do want to see what you pick.” The statement came out of the corner of your mouth.

Donnie would have jumped for joy had he not seen another piece out of the corner of his eye. “Allow me to curate the wardrobe of your dreams!” His feet began to move and his goggles dropped down to start a running tally. At one point his cuff had an alert, but from beneath the hangers that had moved onto his forearms for the extra real estate, it was silenced. Once he had grabbed what he deemed a suitable amount of clothing, he made one last glance over his shoulder to make sure you were still in tow. He wanted to verbally acknowledge how well you had kept up, but something held his tongue. Instead he steered both of you to the shoddily constructed changing rooms.

“Alright!” He waited until you got the message to take a readied position in front of him before rifling through the garments. “Here’s outfit one, but keep the pants on because they’re going to be a staple piece you can then pair with the next top.” He thrust the clothes into your unprepared arms and used the confusion to snatch away your previous selections.

You rolled your eyes and pulled back the curtain to the changing room. “Yes, sir, Mr. Fashionista!”

“We shall see how that tone fairs once you’ve seen my work!” He snapped back, preparing the next few choices.

After an appropriate amount of rustling, the curtain drew back and you stepped out. “How…?”

“Hm…” He leaned forward, his goggles noting information about cut and shape as you shifted side to side to get a look from all angles.

“Seriously, when did you take my measurements? These shouldn’t fit so well!” There were dueling notes of astonishment and annoyance in your voice.

“Details.” Donatello waved the question off. “There’s creasing along the back.” He watched as you tried to catch a glimpse and ended up spinning in a circle like a dog trying to catch its tail. He tried not to divide his attention from the task at hand, but a fond smile pulled at his lips.

“I don’t think it's a problem.” You stuck your hands out and waved them.

“How do you feel about getting the pieces tailored?”

“Maybe down the road, but not if I can help it right now.” You stopped shuffling around and came to a neutral stance.

“I see.” He added the entry to his data points and passed you the next items. “Swap the top, keep the bottoms.”

You gave him a mock salute with the clothes in hand, causing them to obscure your face as you headed back into the changing room. Donatello shook his head, the smile growing ever wider. It’s not that he hadn’t realized he’d missed the banter; he’d ruminated on it in slivers of time, but being faced with it actively enforced the point. As you emerged from the curtain again, the repartee resumed. It was as if you had never been apart. After passing off the next selection, the moments where you changed felt like a weight. It was within the fragments of silence that the existence of your separation made itself known. It held the enormity of all his failings and the apologies he wasn’t even sure he could truly recompense. In equal exchange, he watched as your apprehension melted away as his grew. After several more costume changes, he’d twisted inward and focused more on cycling through the digital closet inventory for maximum effectiveness.

“These fit right style wise…” Your voice drifted in, signaling you’d emerged once more. “…but the waist needs….” He looked past his display and watched your nose wrinkle with thought. “Like a belt?”

Lifting his goggles, he squinted as he returned to normal view. “It looks like there might have been a matching piece of fabric that should loop here.” He pointed to a small tailored slit in the side of slacks.   

“Someone probably lost it. I’m gonna go run and get a belt. Watch my stuff?” You tossed the question over your shoulder as you already started to walk away.

He nodded and returned to his catalog. He vaguely heard you return and disappear into the changing room as he put the final touches on his curation. Nodding to himself, he took a deep breath and shifted his goggles to rub his eyes. “With this you should be able to make 21 separate outfits! Did the belt work out?”

“Oh sure, but I think something else got lost in the shuffle?”

“Pardon?” He watched as you emerged from the curtain in full strut. His jaw laxed as he gazed upon the most garish combination he’d ever seen. You were donning a pair of what looked like shiny latex purple leggings that disappeared into slinky neon green leg warmers on one end and the hem of what could either be classified as a sequined mini dress or top depending on the height of the wearer on the other. On top of that, you’d slipped on an 80's blazer that had shoulder pads so high it was skimming the territory of your ears. He watched as you struck a vogue pose causing the oversized leopard print glasses that were taking up most of your face to jostle.

“I was also thinking hat, but I’m not sure if that would be too much?” From behind your back a large church crown appeared with several flowers and a fake bird sticking out of it. You brought it up over your head, but didn’t quite place it as you waited for his judgment.

Several seconds ticked by and your plastered on smile hadn’t faltered. Donatello bent forward slightly before a loud laugh tore from him. “When did you even-?” He wheezed.

“So, that’s a yes to the hat?” You put it on and made another pose eliciting more laughter from him.

Stumbling forward with amusement, he reached out for an anchor point. He found it in the pad on your shoulder and as soon as contact was made, it felt as if there was a sudden breach of contract. He didn’t feel you flinch underhand, but your gaze snapped to his with metered surprise. The sudden feedback painfully reminded him of the paradigm shift that had yet to be addressed in any way. Still high off the endorphins from the outburst, he retracted his hand carefully and brought it to his chest while clearing his throat.

“It’s…” You started, he popped one eye open from where they had closed to recompose himself. “…ok. I’m glad I was able to make you laugh. You were really getting lost in your head there for a moment.”

Giving you his full attention, he cursed himself for being so obvious. “I don’t know where we stand.”

“To be honest…” You hesitated, a vexed smile on your lips. You glanced up and removed the hat, lowering it in front if you. “I don’t either.” A small awkward laugh bubbled up in your throat. “But, what I do know is…” You trailed off again and looked straight into his eyes.

It was as if the fake flowers from the hat were sprouting all around you.

“I missed your snooty attitude.” Any contention on your lips switched to playful as you leaned forward and placed the hat on his head.

His lids dropped with feigned annoyance as you giggled at his appearance. It was a thinly held veneer because internally he was overjoyed that you had at least offered to crack the door to friendship back open. He reached up, feeling heat uncharacteristically pooling in his cheeks, and pulled the large brim down to mask whatever was passing over his face. “I missed you as well.”  

He didn’t have time to analyze the sound you made because another voice emerged.

“I finally found you!”

“Angelo.” Donatello murmured, the memory of his original mission rushing back to him.

“Hey, Mikey.” You shyly responded.

Donatello removed the hat to clear his view.

“Y-Y/N?” Mikey jolted with surprise before taking in your appearance. “Ok, whatever this is is wild, but I am here for it! Are you gonna get those glasses?”

Studying his brother closely, Donatello tried to pick up any traces of nefarious intent. He watched as you waved your hand turning down Mikey’s question before taking off the glasses to pass into his excited hands. If his younger sibling had set any of this up, he was operating on a level of lie that Donatello had never seen. Today really had been an absurd coincidence.

“For the record, your disappearance is forgiven and I’m all for trying new things, but that hat…” Mikey twirled his attention around, bringing a L-shaped hand of thought to his chin.

“Maybe if it were in black and we switched out the sparrow for a motherboard?” Donatello offered wryly as he placed the hat on his brother’s head.

“Crossing styles! Perfection!” Mikey clapped his hands jostling a handful of hangers he was toting.

“I did find one piece.” Donatello remembered the brocade jacket and removed it from the collection of your clothing.

“Woah, look at that design!” There were stars in Mikey’s eyes as he grabbed the piece.

You gave Donatello a small signaling wave and bobbed your head toward the dressing room. He nodded with understanding and you left to change. Gathering up the rest of your clothes, Donatello turned to find Mikey had thrown the suit jacket in with the rest of his picks. “It looks like you faired pretty well without me at least.”

“Can we hit one more store though? I’m looking for a showpiece kind of jacket.” Mikey's gaze was distant as he imagined the garment.

“Sure, but it’s going to start getting busier.”

“This time I know exactly what I’m looking for! Speaking of…” Mikey’s head lead the way as he curved his body closer to the dressing room curtain and raised his voice. “So the two of you are…?”

“Unlabeled.”

“Undiscussed.”

You threw back the curtain in your original clothes and split a smile of agreement with Donatello.

“I see…” Mikey trailed off, his voice thick with understanding.

This time you and Donatello shared a look of skepticism.  

“That means you can come to my fashion show!” Mikey bounced as Donatello handed off your clothing.

“Fashion show?” You wondered trying to heave the sudden load.

“I’ll take half.” Donatello corrected himself, separating the lot of hangers into equal parts before shooting a raised brow to his brother. “Practice elaboration, Mikey."

“Oh.” This time a real and more nervous look of comprehension passed over the younger sibling's face. “I was gonna tell the whole fam about it only after I was sure I was gonna get the pieces done in time…”

“Wait, you’re going to make your own clothes?” You lit up.

“Yeah! I’m usually not super into the concept because I’m more about letting your inner best shine, but I met this artist in my woodworking class that reframed the whole thing for me so I’m treating it like a canvas!”

“That sounds great! When is it?” You stepped forward and the group naturally begin to head towards checkout.

“Two weeks from now. Saturday night, I think…” Mikey tried to shift his clothes to one hand and fish out his phone with the other. One top started to fall from the hanger and he scrambled to fix it. “Actually, D will text you the details!”

Donatello lolled his head back before sweeping his gaze to you regretfully. “Is that alright? Don’t let him steamroll you.”

“It should be fine. I think it sounds fun.” You nodded, but he caught the slight note of reservation in your gaze.

“Now I’ll be forced to make the deadline!” Mikey spun around and in doing so took the first place in line at the cashier.

“You still weren’t sure?!” Donatello scolded.

Mikey stuck his tongue out in response and you giggled at the interaction with that same sweet melodic twitter.

NEXT

[ashisgreedy]

Richard Jackdaw: A Timeline of Events

This is a full detailed breakdown of the lore of Richard Jackdaw in Hogwarts Legacy. By Me

・Richard is a student at Hogwarts and works as an assistant in Mr. Olivander's wand shop in Hogsmeade.

・Richard is trying to court Appolonia Black.

・He sets up a date with her in the Forbidden Forest. He leaves a letter on the bridge asking her on a picnic. It mentions he knows how much she loves a good mystery. (This letter went unanswered and the loot at the romantic spot is an ‘Adventurers Scarf’. This letter is found on the bridge after you get a map, starting the quest "Ghost of our love", showing you where its located. It's believed Appolonia didn't want to follow it or couldn't find it.)

・Anne shows interest in Richard. (not sure when exactly) Appolonia finds out and is not happy about it.

・Richard finds the map Peeve's, the poltergeist, left in his wake of destruction in the library. (Possibly in the restricted section, but he does mention it was "outside" the library in one of his voice records.)

・Richard showed Appolonia the map he found/pinched from Peeves but she rolled her eyes despite him knowing she loves mysteries. She was quoted by Richard saying “What would I want with yellowed old pages torn from a book?”

・Richard realizes Appolonia’s heart has grown cold towards him.

・He decides he will find whatever treasure the map leads to in hopes that will surely intrigue Appolonia.

・Richard sets up a riddle to a puzzle for Anne to solve, inviting her to come with him to the Forbidden Forest and follow the map. He promises her adventure and this excites her.

・Richard steals a family heirloom wand he believes to be powerful from Mr. Olivander's shop, runs off, never to return.

・Anne mentions to someone that Richard invited her to follow the map he found. It was either to Appolonia herself or someone else that ended up telling Appolonia.

・Appolonia is jealous that Richard invited Anne even after she rejected his initial invitation.

・Anne never solves the riddle, thus never solving the puzzle, and doesn’t get to read the letter Richard leaves for her telling her where to meet him in the Forbidden Forrest. Anne was described as "not bright enough" to solve the riddle. (The letter has romantic undertones and states that he is excited to spend his future with her.) 

・When Anne never shows, Richard goes into the cave alone, thinking he was being rejected and not even considering she couldn’t solve the riddle. 

・He forgoes all the treasure chests along the way in order to find the big/interesting treasure he believes to be in the cave at the end of the map. 

・During his time in the cave, he discovers the wand he stole from the Olivanders is just a normal wand and doesn't have any more significant power than his own. 

・As he nears the end of the map, Jackdaw is beheaded by the Pensive Protector's sword, the wand he stole breaking to the point of disrepair.

・Richard is confused after his death and does not have memory of what just happened or where he was. He remembers a ‘refreshing breeze’ and feeling ‘light headed’ and that was the end for him. 

・His headless ghost appears briefly in Hogsmeade, confused and unsure of exactly how he died, losing his body in his confusion. 

・He is seen by several people and news spreads of Richard Jackdaw’s demise. 

・His heart is broken, and he takes off and travels the world for the next 50+ years to try and ease the heartache. 

・When Richard doesn’t return and the tale of his headless ghost being seen in Hogsmeade reaches Appolonia, she decides to take the opportunity and lie, saying Anne told her she would take Richard into a cave and kill him. This is referenced by 3 parties saying she did this due to being jealous of Anne. 

・Because of Appolonia’s family power, the fact that Anne is muggleborn, and that the only clue was the unsolved riddle, her word is believed and Anne is sentenced to Azkaban despite them never finding Richard's body or having any proof. 

・Anne spends the next 50+ years in Azkaban for a murder she never committed. 

・The Auror, Helen Thistlewood, is unable to solve the case and it grows cold. 

・The Auror eventually retires, still dead-set on getting, what she believes to be, an innocent woman out of Azkaban.

・During this time, Anne is able to solve the first riddle Richard gave her before his death. However, she is stuck in Azkaban and unable to follow through to find the next clue.

・According to the Black Family’s house elf, Scrope: In her old age, Appolonia was delirious. She mistook Belladonna for Elderberries and passed away.

・MC is sent to find the pages since they are part of the book that opens the Map chamber, beginning our Ancient magic trials. 

・We are given the answer to the riddle from Anne in the Hufflepuff questline and we solve the puzzle in Upper Hogs Field. 

・MC is the first to find Jackdaw's remains but does not recover them. 

・At some point, Richard joins The Headless Hunt and goes through a serries of 'paces' to be intiated in as their newest member.

・Richard does not know the story of how Appolonia lied and sent Anne to Azkaban. He thinks Anne is out living her best life.

・In the Hufflepuff playthrough, he learns the truth and says he will speak with the Auror that was working on Anne's case to help absolve her. Over time, his memories come back as to how he died. Even most recently when he takes us through the Forbidden Forest and guides us to the cave.

・He is not shocked Appolonia would do such a thing to Anne and mentions that the whole of the Black family is full of vindictive people.

・Unfortunately, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor's playthroughs do not delve into Anne’s side and Richard is left in the dark about Anne, leaving her in Azkaban for the foreseeable future. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

If you would like to watch this quest line, I have created two videos below that show the entire quest line from all four houses. The 1st video is the long version and is very detailed. The 2nd video is a short supercut version and has information about Jackdaw and his lore only.

Long Detailed Version - Every House - Jackdaw Quest Line

Short Version - Every House - Jackdaw Quest Line

Feel free to correct any information given. I appreciate any feedback and would love to delve more into theories with you!

[spacenutspod]

We have gained so much powerful knowledge in the past few hundred years. But there’s still so much that we don’t know. There are limits to our current knowledge of the universe. In astronomy, we have recently discovered that 95% of the matter and energy contents of the universe, dubbed dark matter and dark energy, are of a form completely unknown to modern science. That means that everything we have ever studied and learned in our exploration of atoms, chemicals, and forces, every star we see in the night sky and every galaxy we observe in the distant cosmos, makes up less than 5% of the entire universe. We have pushed our understanding of the history of the universe into the earliest moments of the big bang, with a firm grasp of the physics underlaying the first few minutes of the existence of the cosmos. But beyond that is murky haze, a tangled mess of unsolved mathematics and over-complicated physics. We do not understand the origins of our universe, or even if that question makes sense – if our knowledge of time and space even apply at such extreme scales. Related to the questions of the beginning of the cosmos are the mysteries that abound in high-energy physics. We do not know how to merge our knowledge of gravity, as expressed through general relativity, with our understanding of quantum physics, which governs the other forces of nature. We do not know how gravity operates at extremely small scales, preventing us from understanding the big bang itself and the true nature of black holes. Despite cracking the code of DNA and the role that genetics plays in the evolutionary process, we do not understand how life first arose on the Earth, and whether we are truly alone in the cosmos. We do not know how sexual reproduction arose, or where viruses originated from, or the full extent of life on Earth. We do not understand the full variety of molecular interactions that power our own biochemistry, or how the components of our cells came to find themselves working together. We do not know if superconductors, which allow for the transmission of electricity with no resistance, is possible at room temperature. We do not know the full tectonic history of the Earth, or even if duplicates of the Earth’s climate system exist on other worlds orbiting alien stars. We do not even understand the origins – or even nature – of our own conscious thoughts, the source of our thirst for knowledge and our capacity to access it. We do not even know how we are able to ask these questions. The post The Knowledge We Don’t Yet Have appeared first on Universe Today.

[slothquisitor]

What Moves in the Dark: Chapter Five

A post-campaign Baldur's Gate 3 eldritch horror AU.

Chapter Summary: In which I gently remind you that this is a horror AU, and I'm genuinely unsure how to tag everything in this chapter. Uh, shit gets wild. TW: body horror and blood.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

___________________________________________________________

Liv and Astarion wander the Wide until the Bailiff closes it down and with practiced efficiency, the stalls pack up and the people disperse. No one else’s blood catches Astarion’s attention though, and coupled with the lack of strangeness in Moira’s blood, Liv feels a bit like she’s failed. 

She suspects that’s why Astarion is still here. They’re slowly meandering back towards the shop, and she’s wondering if she should suggest that they start popping into some more taverns, but her heart’s not really in it. She asked for his help, and he’s given it. She doesn’t want to waste his time chasing down leads she doesn’t have. 

Liv’s not even sure why this whole mystery means so much to her. She wanted to help Astarion because it meant finding a way out of Baldur’s Gate, and here she is ignoring all sense of self-preservation grasping at straws and trying to solve the unsolvable. It’s not her job to find these answers, and it would be so much easier to look away and pretend that nothing is wrong. It would be the Vires way, after all. 

And perhaps that’s why she can’t quite leave this alone. Solving this is the antithesis of everything her family is, everything she grew up being told. Just once, she wants to add something good to this world instead of benefitting from all of the ways it is unfair. 

“You’re quite sure that there’s nothing odd about that woman’s blood?” Astarion asks, pulling her from the spiral of her thoughts. 

“We can look at it more closely at the shop, but yeah, nothing odd.”

“It absolutely smelled the same,” he insists. 

“Oh, I believe you. That’s what’s so odd though. If her blood is the same as Alfran’s and Iona’s, why isn’t it behaving the same?”

He looks relieved, but she’s not sure why. “You’re the scholar.”

“Not this kind of scholar,” she sighs. 

“What kind of scholar are you then?” 

The question feels a little close to the things she’d rather not talk about, but he’s shared plenty about himself, perhaps it’s fair she answers. “Evocation. I studied evocation magic for a very, very long time. Medicine and healing…it’s relatively new to me.”

“You might have mentioned that when you promised to help me,” Astarion says with a hint of judgment.

“And what? You expected to find a specialist in vampiric curses in a random alchemy shop in the Lower City?” she prods back. 

“I had hoped,” he says with resignation. 

“I promise that the second we solve this, I’ll turn my full attention to your condition. If you still want me to after you’ve seen how easy it’s been for me to solve anything about this blood disease.” She worries that all she’ll be able to give him are dead ends and empty promises. 

“Would it help if I told you that I’m strangely comforted by your commitment to a lost cause? That means that maybe you’ll actually solve mine, you know, eventually.”

The words are kinder than she expects from him. “Well, I’m still sorry it’s a lower priority.” And she is even though she sort of implied she wasn’t when she demanded his help. 

“Darling, there’s very weird blood shit happening in Baldur’s Gate. Trust me when I say I am very used to traveling around with the do-gooding types who will solve everyone else’s problems first. I will….attempt to be patient.”

“Like you were with Moira tonight?”

He rolls his eyes. “I got you what you wanted, didn’t I? And just as you preferred, there was no knocking out and dragging people into random alleyways to steal their blood.”

“I appreciate your self-restraint-”

She’s cut off by the sound of someone calling her name from up the street. Beside her, Astarion tenses, and she’s pretty sure he’s reached for a dagger she didn’t know he had on him. Flashbacks of the night before come unbidden, and she’s already reaching for her magic before she realizes that she knows the voice. 

“Liv! Thank the gods!” One of Iona’s sons is running towards them, breathless and haggard.

“Daniel? What’s wrong?”

Daniel pauses, sucking down several deep breaths before explaining. “It’s Nathan. He…well, I’m not sure what’s wrong. It’s like his limbs aren’t his own? I was headed to the shop, I’m glad I caught you.”

 “Where is he?” 

“Back at home. Henry’s with him, can you come now? Please? We need your help.” There’s panic in his eyes and a pleading tone she can’t abide. 

“Of course, right behind you.” There’s no hesitation from her, but Astarion looks a little unsure of what he should be doing. 

“One of Iona’s sons,” she explains. “Might be connected.”

His eyebrows raise, and he nods. “Well then, no time to waste.”

They follow Daniel through the labyrinthine streets of the Lower City at a pace that’s just below an all-out sprint. That’s how she knows it’s bad, that there’s some sort of real emergency. If Liv ever thought of the Lower City, she would have pictured streets like this one. Cramped buildings, faded paint, and a general sense of neglect in the air. She surprises herself by preferring it to the sterile opulence of the Upper City. She recognizes Iona’s street, and the house on the corner, still marked for mourning with the black cloth in the window. She slows as they approach, she has a stitch in her side and is breathing hard while Astarion seems deplorably unfazed. And then she remembers he doesn’t have to breathe and she hates him a little bit. 

But every thought eddies out of her head when she sees Henry and Nathan and the small group of people surrounding them. Nathan lies sprawled on the ground, face scrunched in pain. Henry stands off to the side hands outstretched, looking utterly helpless. He looks as if he wants to touch his brother, but isn’t sure how. It’s only when she gets close enough to see Nathan that she realizes his limbs are tested unnaturally, arms and legs extended at wrong angles.  

With a shudder, part of his arm attempts to inch up the street, but it’s like his limbs don’t know how to move like parts of him are trying to move without any thought of bone or muscle. There’s a horrifying crunch, and Nathan cries out as his forearm drags along the cobblestones, as if it could drag the rest of his body with it. 

“How did it start?” Liv asks, stepping forward and reaching for every healing potion in her pack. “How long has he been like this?”

“He was fine, and then he just collapsed half an hour ago, and then I ran to get you.”

As she kneels down, Nathan’s body seems to change direction. His legs lunge for her, but not like they should. Instead, the top of his thigh and a calf move towards her in a fit of movement that completely ignores the rest of Nathan’s body. His answering scream is horrifying, and so are the bruises that line his limbs, like his blood is attempting to leak out of his pores.

She glances up at Astarion, asking a question she’s almost sure she already knows the answer to. He only nods from several feet away, grimacing at the harrowing scene. 

“Can you help him?” Henry asks, tears pooling in his eyes. 

She does her best to look Nathan over without emotion, punching down the horror and the worry. She needs a clear head; she needs to figure out what to do. First things first, solve the most obvious issue. He’s in pain, the shock will kill him if she doesn’t do something about that. She opens her bag and reaches around for a paralytic. 

“We need to knock him out and then reset his limbs before he can be healed,” Liv says to Henry and Daniel. 

“I don’t know that knocking him out will help,” Henry says, voice barely louder than a whisper. “He passed out about twenty minutes ago, and his limbs still kept trying to move.”

She considers that for a moment, and another spasm rocks Nathan’s body. His legs keep moving toward her like he’s some puppet on strings, but the person working the puppet has no idea what a human body should move like at all. There’s a sickening sort of crunch as his limbs sputter towards her. What is happening here? She needs time to figure this out, to work it out. 

And then it dawns on her. His body had changed direction when she knelt down because of the blood in her bag. His blood is moving in his body, that’s why his limbs aren’t working. If all the blood in one’s body attempted to move without using muscles or tendons or bones…then it would probably look a lot like this. Fuck. A paralytic won’t help because it’s not his body and the blood doesn’t need him alive in order to move, she’s seen that. The best she can do is buy him time, buy herself some breathing and thinking room. 

She does the only thing she can think to do in the moment: she pulls out a small jar of graveyard dirt she’s been carrying since she saw Kharis use this spell on Iona. He had bought them a precious hour that hadn’t been enough but had given them time. She forms the symbols with her fingers and utters the words, feeling the cool breeze of death moving through her to Nathan. 

He goes so very still.

“What have you done?” Daniel says, terror lacing his voice. 

But Nathan is no longer screaming and his body is no longer moving. And it is a relief. “I put his body in stasis. We need to get him off the street.”

“Can you help him?” Henry asks. 

“I hope so,” Liv replies. And she prays to whatever gods might be listening that her idea works because it’s the only one she has.

***

The horrifying scene that Astarion found himself spectator to is somewhat undercut by Liv’s relative calmness, and the way everyone simply does what she asks. After placing Nathan in some sort of magical stasis, his brothers had obediently brought him inside, placed him in a bed, and then left Liv to do her work. For his part, Astarion has been hovering on the edge of the room, waiting for instructions or dismissal or for the horror of watching a man’s limbs move so unnaturally to wear off. 

It reminds him of ceremorphosis. The breaking and cracking of bones as they elongated and shifted. He finds it hard to look at Nathan, at his limbs bent…wrong. So instead he looks at Liv who is rummaging around her bag pulling out countless vials, including one full of blood. Probably Moira’s.

Liv is pale as she stands over the man, and holds Moira’s blood near his body, twisting the vial in her hands. It’s hard to tell at this distance, but he’s pretty sure he sees a tendril pressed up against the glass, trying to get at Nathan’s body.

“Well fuck,” she whispers.

“So much for Moira’s blood not being strange,” Astarion agrees. “You’ve got a plan, I presume. You’re far too calm to not have a plan.”

Liv looks at him, and her deep green eyes are full of fear and apologies. “I have exactly one idea and if it doesn’t work…” Her voice wobbles a bit as it drops off.

Shit. He’s the one freaking out, so she’s not allowed to also freak out. “Talk me through it.”

Her voice is steadier when she speaks next and he’s grateful. “I’d like to see if we can pull blood out of him, whatever is in his blood is what is causing this. I don’t know how to separate it, but when Iona was in this state, and when Alfran was dead, their blood came out of them on their own. Maybe if we pull enough of his blood out of him, we can stop whatever it's doing.”

“You think his blood is doing this?” The question comes out pitched an octave too high. 

“Look at the bruising on his skin.” 

Astarion does and immediately regrets it. He’s seen plenty of bodies in various states of ruin. He’s even been the harbinger of that sort of chaos on a body, but that was all good, simple, gore. Whatever’s happening to poor Nathan is absolutely grotesque. But she is right, parts of his limbs are covered with deep mottled bruises, as if the blood is trying to escape his pores. 

“So what, we drain him of blood? He’ll die. Trust me on that.” Though as he says it the thought of draining Nathan makes him gag. 

“Well, that’s what the stasis is for, and then restoration draught. Followed up by a health potion.”

“And you think it will work?”

Liv shakes her head. “I have no fucking idea, but I’ve got to try.”

He doesn’t understand her or this cause she’s taken up. The set of her jaw and the certainty of her words remind him so much of Tavren that he can barely breathe around the strange weight of it on his chest. Liv is good in the same way Tavren was good: committed to a cause, kind to a fault, likely to infuriate and awe him in equal measure. He pushes past his fear. He’s in this now. 

“Tell me what you need me to do, and please tell me it’s not draining him dry myself.”

There’s a gratitude in her eyes she doesn’t voice. “Just help me with the vials? Neither one of us is touching anything, okay?”

He nods and moves closer. Liv is quite pale, but she’s moving with confidence anyway. She leans over Nathan and slices down his forearm where the bruising is deepest. 

Astarion isn’t prepared for what happens next. 

He’s stabbed enough people to know what happens to wounds like the one Liv has given Nathan. But the blood doesn’t spurt or pool as it should, instead it grows. He’s seen the blood branch within the vials, tiny tendrils pressed against the glass, but this is different. The blood branches out of Nathan’s arm like a plant blooming all at once. The stench in the room is almost unbearable, but there’s something about it he hadn’t picked up before, some sense of otherness. He’s frozen there against the beside Liv, filled with fear. Something is very, very wrong. 

The branching blood is all too happy to be manipulated and moved into another vessel. Liv is careful not to touch it, but she works meticulously, filling several vials. It is Liv’s calmness that pulls him back from the brink, that gets him moving, putting lids on vials and handing her fresh ones. They work until as she slices into the man’s skin the blood no longer branches, no longer reaches toward them. 

“Okay, I think that’s all of it. How does his blood smell?” Liv asks. 

He stopped breathing several minutes ago so that he could function. He sniffs the air tentatively. “Still bad. Maybe less so?”

“Before I can heal him, we’ll need to set his bones right.”

Ugh. No part of him wants to do that. “Must we?”

Liv looks almost as thrilled about the idea as he is. “I can’t set all his bones on my own.”

Damn it all. “Do you think this worked?

Liv shakes her head. “I think this is a stop-gap, not a cure.”

“Was this happening to anyone else?” 

“No. But we pulled more blood out of him than anyone else. Let’s start with his arms.”

Setting Natha’s bones is slow, terrible work. His limbs feel like sandbags, and Astarion isn’t sure that what’s happened to him is something magic can fix. But then, limbs righted, Liv drops the stasis spell and pours two potions down Nathan’s throat in quick succession. The first for blood loss, the second for healing, and he’s shocked at the way the bruises recede, the way the swelling subsides. The horror is erased, as if it was never there in the first place. 

It’s the same sort of disconnect as being revived, he thinks. The wounds were there, they were real, death had visited the body, but magic wiped them away. If Nathan is lucky, this half-hour of pain will fade away to nothingness. Perhaps his body won’t even remember the horror of what happened. He won’t even bear scars. 

Liv watches Nathan for several moments, staring at every minute shift of his body. She presses two fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse point. 

“Nathan?” 

The man stirs a bit, and he can see the way Liv’s shoulders cave in relief before she punches the emotion down. Unflappable as always. “Nathan, how are you feeling?”

Nathan winces a bit. “Awful. Like I was run over by a carriage.” 

“Do you remember what happened?”

Nathan looks down at his body, whole and unbroken. “I had the worst dream…I was…I think I was dying.”

“How did it start?” Liv prompts. 

Nathan rubs absently at his chest, right above his heart. “I had weird pains all day, and then I was coming home from the docks and my legs just…broke…right under me.”

“When did these pains start? Were you doing any sort of work that you don’t usually do today?” 

“Just an odd job for Huido that I pick up sometimes.”

“Huido?”

“Smuggler for the Guild. Sometimes I help move things for him…the extra pay is nice.”

Ah. Another Guild connection. He knows that Liv’s caught it too by the way she glances at him. “Alright, Nathan. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep for a while, okay?”

The man nods and drinks the draught Liv brings to his lips. And then he sleeps. “He’s working for the Guild too.”

“Yeah, I caught that. Sounds like we’ve got a new lead,” Liv says. “I don’t think I cured him. Just bought some time, I hope. Help me gather all of this up…then we can talk with his brothers and go.”

They gather vials in silence, and Liv prestidigitates the blood and mess from the bed. He’s careful as he places the vials in the bag, worried that they might break, but as he does each one disappears and he realizes she’s got a bag of holding. Well, at least that explains how nothing in her bag broke despite their sprint here.

“What are you going to tell his brothers?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t like to lie, but I don’t see a way around it. We can’t tell them the truth.”

“No,” he agrees. “He was hexed.”

She shakes her head. “No hex would behave…oh.” 

“Not everyone knows as much about magic as you do.”

“Alright.” 

The brothers swallow down the explanation easily. Especially when they see their brother is whole and alive. They aren’t suspicious, simply grateful. They try to pay her, but of course, she doesn’t allow it. Offering gentle words and instructions and requests to contact her if anything changes, she gets them out of the house quickly. It is only then that the exhaustion is clear in every line of her face. 

“I need a drink. How about you?”

Gods, he’d love a little oblivion after all that. “Please.”

They walk back to the shop in a silence that isn’t uncomfortable. The things they’ve seen, the work they’ve just done hangs like a weight between them. He can feel the way it connects them, and they don’t have to talk about it. In fact, he’d rather prefer if they didn’t. The streets are quiet and empty as they wander back to the shop, but Astarion feels watched all the same. While she unlocks the shop door he looks around and studies the shadows, but he sees nothing so he follows her inside.

“You keep booze in the shop, how scandalous.”

Liv rolls her eyes and walks over to the stairs. “No, I keep booze in my apartment.”

“I didn’t realize you lived here,” Astarion says with genuine surprise. He realizes that there is an awful lot he doesn’t know about Liv. The realization bothers him for some reason. He’s suddenly not sure if she’s simply not telling him things or if she just doesn’t tell anyone anything. He wishes he knew which it was. 

“It’s one of the reasons why I took this job. Came with free housing,” Liv explains as they climb the staircase. She pauses at the threshold and looks at him over her shoulder. “Come on in.”

“Where were you living before?” he asks, following her inside and pretending not to be grateful for her specific invitation, for remembering at all. The apartment itself is small and simple. It’s a single room, though she’s put up a screen between her bed and the rest of the space in a failing effort at creating a partition. The kitchen area is small too, with just two cupboards and a little stove and counter that runs the length of the wall. All of the furniture looks rather secondhand, and mismatched. It doesn’t feel like it’s hers though there’s an art piece here or a knickknack there that would betray otherwise. The only part of the space that screams Liv is the bookshelf in the corner, groaning under the weight of various tomes.

“With my family. We didn’t part on good terms, so I needed a place to stay. Kharis was kind enough to offer up his old place since he lives in the Upper City with his husband now.”

“You have a lot of books,” he says, wandering over to the bookshelf. He drags a finger along the spines. “I expected more medical texts or spell theory books. These are mostly novels and stories.”

She’s in the area that passes for her kitchen fishing a bottle out of a cupboard and two mismatched cups. “Yes, well, I do like to enjoy what I read every now and again. I think we’ve been going about this wrong.”

He joins her at the table and allows her to pour him two fingers of what looks like Mermaid Whiskey. It was what she’d ordered the other night. Expensive taste for someone who rarely seems to drink. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I don’t think this is a disease. I think it’s spreading somehow, but it’s not a disease.”

He throws back his whiskey wishing he didn’t have to ask the question he’s about to ask. “Then what is it?”

“I think it’s a thing…we’re just finding parts of it scattered in the blood of certain people. It’s trying to bring those parts back together.”

“You think that the blood tendrils are…what? Trying to get back to whatever it is they came from?”

“We already know they’re attracted to each other. Where was Nathan’s blood trying to go before we showed up…crossed the signals? What was making his blood move when no one else’s had done that? If this was a disease, then it would be affecting people more similarly. We both saw Moira, she was fine. Alfran and Iona had similar symptoms, but that wasn’t the same either…”

He hates that she’s making any sense whatsoever. He pours himself more whiskey. “Fine. So if it is a thing…what do we do about it?”

“I don’t know. But…I have some books.” She’s already on her feet, pulling books off her bookshelves. “And there’s the Guild connection. That’s got to be something.”

“It just so happens that I know where the Guildhall is, and I’m fairly positive that Nine-Fingers won’t kill me on sight, so I can go speak with her,” Astarion replies. 

“You know her? She helped in the battle, didn’t she? I read that.” Then she smiles. “I shouldn’t be surprised you’re familiar with the Guildhall. Should we go now?”

He laughs. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, darling, but I’m not about to walk you into the Guildhall.”

“And why not?” 

“Because they’re rather secretive, and I have enough enemies as is. If I bring a stranger in, no matter how well-intentioned, they’re more likely to kill you than ask questions. I’m not even positive that she’ll see me. It was Tavren and Jaheira who had the influence there, not me. Besides, I’m hoping I have something more for them to go off of beyond ‘we think there’s a terrifying creature controlling people’s blood on the loose’.”

“Then we best get researching.” She brings over several heavy tomes, none of which look very promising, but it’s as good a place to start as any. 

He grimaces. “How wonderful.” But he’s scarcely been as afraid as he was earlier tonight, watching that blood bloom out of Nathan. And so he settles in for an evening of reading and research, hoping beyond all hope for answers.

[dairy-farmer]

Your brutim is so on point! All the delicacy I enjoy from these two.. their similar ways of thinking, sturbon yet empathetic nature, sort of naive vision due to resorceful upbrinigng, hubris of rich boys who get used to the world bend as their wish. They are detectives with keen eyes but almost blind to Their own feelings. Tim being such an loyal, obedient sidekick with noble heart AND acts like caretaker of his own mentor too? 😂 I love them being each other's mommy-daddy even without realizing what they are doing. Thats why I love your Roman Charity work so much! It's so believable! Tim would definitley force himself to lactate to save Bruce, his batman from starving. And if bruce acts like sturbon nine-year-old again by refusing profer diet and nap schedule? He would bribe him with omegan milk while faking scolding stone face lol. But on bruce's part... when tim having his life outside of robin duty, bruce is so pathetic, secretly throwing tantrums like 10. I just LOVE how bruce crashed tims date multiple times 😂 Your thread about this pathetic bruce who misses his own sex therapy with little timmy who valunteered without hasistation IS SO GOOD. I read it over and over, its short, but has so much potential!! Do you have any wip or plot for similar idea? I would love to hear about it... 👀

(PS. English is not my first language, so anything misconveyed or lost in translation is on me)

thank you so much!!! i'm so happy you enjoy my characterizations of them both!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ it really means so much!!!!

the thread you mentioned here in your submission is definitely one of my favorites!!! (and sorry about the confusion!! i know that the ask button on my tumblr might be a little difficult to spot especially since it can be confused by the submission box right next to it!!) i hope you don't mind but i combined your ask with another one that also expressed interest in tim's 'catch and release' program au!!!

i don't have a full length fic in the works but i do have some thoughts!!!

i love the dynamic of one where bruce is this emotionally needy and dependent person who DOES feel better when he's around tim and especially when he's fucking tim!

tim, on the other hand, willingly spreads his legs for bruce because he can see it helps him. it makes bruce less violent and less angry, allowing bruce to fuck his pussy and cum deep inside him is something that genuinely works so he keeps doing it!!

the only catch is...tim's not all that into bruce. tim is attracted to boys his age, who share his interests. he's at that age where he's fascinated with boys in leather jackets, who ride skateboards, who have tattoos, who smoke, who have piercings. tim likes stoners, bad boys- all the kinds of boys TV tries to scare you away from.

he also likes boys like his friends. one's that like scifi movies, and wizards and warlocks, boys he meets in chatrooms that like talking about detective novels and unsolved mysteries.

tim likes and is attracted to those boys. he fucks bruce because it's his job and it helps. he's robin for the exact same reason.

bruce has crows feet and wrinkles. he spends all day in uncomfortable suits and he fucks tim just a little too hard. enough that his cervix throbs in protest afterward. but tim never says anything because he's supposed to let bruce fuck him the way he likes.

so when bruce starts getting better (less violent and homicidal, starts coming home less injured) tim absolutely delegates less time to bruce!!

before, tim used to fuck bruce at minimum once a day. it usually ended up more like three or four. but now that bruce's condition and mental state have improved - tim only fucks him three or four times a week.

tim starts accepting dates with boys again. he messages boys he finds attractive online and sends photos of himself to them. photos of his pretty little tits, pictures of his soft, pink cunt.

sexting.

that's what bruce calls it when he catches tim reclined on his bed and taking a photo of himself in his underwear. it's not even the worst photo tim's ever sent but bruce makes him delete them as well as delete all the boys in his contacts he was sending them to.

tim whines about it, kicking up a fuss about it. but a week later he messages them all again.

bruce is harsh sometimes, telling tim that no he can't go out on a date because they have patrol. no, he can't spend the night at the house of a boy he met online! absolutely not!

tim doesn't understand why bruce acts like this.

he tells tim he's just being an adult but tim's parents had never acted like this. they hadn't cared if one of tim's friends spent the night in his room or if he spent the night in theirs. when tim had asked to get on birth control they hadn't even hesitated to drive him to a doctor.

either way. tim finds away to go out any way because sometimes bruce is softer.

sometimes he's quiet as he asks tim to stay in tonight or to join him in bed, please. but bruce fucks tim really hard when he gives in and tim doesn't want to be all, sore, messy, and sweaty for his date so he promises bruce each time - when i come back, alright?

we can have sex when i come back i promise.

but then...well...tim forgets sometimes.

his tits are sore from getting sucked on and his pussy is filled to the brim with hot cum courtesy of a boy that works at the pretzel stand in the mall that tim's had a huge crush on for a long time.

most of the time bruce is already asleep anyway so tim just breathes a sigh of relief and rolls into bed, sticking his fingers into his wet, used cunt and humming with satisfaction at the thickness inside him.

tim does remember sometimes though. when bruce pesters him too much. on patrol. in the batmobile. in the cave. in the manor.

tim gives in sometimes just to get him to stop asking.

he moans just like how bruce likes, clenches down on the cock inside him and feels as bruce groans against his cheek, rutting hard and fast into his little cunt.

but it's like giving a dog a treat. as soon as tim gives bruce just a little taste he comes back begging for more.

sometimes tim lets him play with his body for awhile.

tim will be lying on the couch reading a magazine and bruce will come in and lift up tim's skirt to expose his underwear. he'll push tim's legs onto his shoulders and lick him through his underwear for a while before pushing the fabric aside and fucking his tongue into tim's twitching insides.

it doesn't feel bad per se....

tim does like when bruce's tongue traces his sensitive clit until it's throbbing. but it's hard to ignore that it's bruce between his legs. bruce's hands are hard and calloused. tim likes the feeling of softer hands. bruce eats him out with military precision, intent on making tim feel good. tim likes it sloppier. boys hardly know what to do with pussies so tim likes sitting on their faces or pressing their heads between his legs and teaching them how to do it just the way he likes. wrapping his fingers into their hair and directing them while tim rolled his pussy against their faces.

eventually, tim would get just too grossed out at bruce's old man slobber getting on his kitty and push him away.

he'd be met by a hurt and disappointed look and tim would assure him that it was good but it just wasn't working for tim.

in the showers after patrol bruce would try his luck again. rubbing his hard cock against tim's back, pressing his thick fingers inside and scissoring tim's cunt as bruce ground closer in anticipation. tim feels a bit of pity and lets bruce rut against his wet folds, trying to convince himself to get into it but it just...doesn't work. so tim pushes him away citing tiredness.

but bruce is persistent (or desperate). even when they're sparring bruce will tug tim close and hump him like he's the family dog going to town on a stuffed animal. tim lets him, just the stuffed animal does. tim lets bruce cup his pussy and squeeze his butt. bruce lays open-mouthed kisses on tim's braless tits separated by a very thin shirt. but tim still can't get aroused for it so he pushes him away, promising bruce they'll fuck at night but right now they're training.

it's not that tim leads bruce by the nose ALL the time. sometimes bruce does keep his promise. (he needs to keep bruce's temperament in check after all)

sometimes tim even surprises bruce.

when bruce picks him up from school tim will thank him with a blow job. gently suckling the head and then bobbing up and down until bruce pushes his head all the way down to the root, groaning as he cums in tim's mouth.

tim licks him clean and bruce is content the rest of the day.

after a particularly hard day, tim will climb on bruce's lap and ride him until the stress of the day melts away and he can sleep.

time DOES like bruce. he cares for him a lot too.

he just...doesn't like fucking bruce.

it feels good! it always feels good! bruce knows how to make him cum really good! but tim's only doing this until bruce is well enough.

so maybe tim gets...a little distracted. bruce had started fucking him harder and deeper after he caught tim texting a boy under the pillows while bruce was inside him (which tim apologized for!).

tim does get into it sometimes. he likes sex so it's not a hard mindset to settle into. the hard part is liking sex with bruce.

so tim goes on his dates, hooksup and fucks until his pussy is throbbing with aches. he notices bruce is acting just a bit more violent, a little more hostile in the intervals of time where tim is putting him off more.

so tim starts putting out more.

laying on his back, getting on his front, riding bruce, sucking his cock.

he reinforces it with praise, telling bruce he's doing a good job.

and it...doesn't work perfectly.

so tim dedicates more of his time to bruce, hugging and kissing him. he stops going out on dates because he needs to fuck bruce steady again. he can't text boys back because bruce wants tim to suck his cock for hours.

it's a hassle not being able to see the boys he likes but bruce takes priority. between him and them, bruce wins out every time.

and about a week into their marathon fucking it bruce seems to realize that when tim is lying on his chest and tracing shaps into his skin with a finger while they're both naked on the couch. a movie is playing on the screen and bruce is idly stroking tim's sweaty back while his cock is buried deep into tim's cunt.

they've both already cum but bruce is keeping his cock inside to keep the mess of cum plugged inside.

tim's not looking at bruce's face. he doesn't see this...dawning expression of realization. doesn't see how bruce's brows furrow in thought. and he certainly doesn't see the pensive expression of bruce thinking, considering, and planning.

maybe if tim had seen it he would've been more protective of his birth control and not kept it in bruce's bedside drawer.

because the thing is that tim is someone who takes responsibility for his mistakes. if he messes up then it's on him to fix it.

only that bruce doesn't want him to.

tim is in high school and pregnant with the baby of a man twice his age. tim took the test nearly six times to confirm before informing bruce.

he needed someone to drive him to a clinic afterall.

but then...bruce gets this look on his face. this gentle surprise was followed by the slow creep of a smile. not the condescending type of smile tim has come to know.

that night is the first-night bruce returns to the cave without a single injury.

and that's....that's not a small thing. because tim has been working with bruce for almost a year, he still hasn't been given the go-ahead to become robin. he's still in training and he can't be out there to watch bruce's back so more often than not bruce returns injured.

until the night tim told him he was pregnant.

tim listened through coms, he watched through the camera of bruce's cowl and...something in his chest stuttered.

because that was batman. not the angry hurting one that had been lashing out at himself and everyone- that was batman.

and tim...tim's always been a smart kid. he can see things and instantly understand what's happening so when he sees bruce's performance dramatically increase after the news its...

tim knows the score. he understands better than most people what the tenuous peace and justice that batman brings to justice means.

and tim was prepared to make every sacrifice to make sure batman remained that hope and symbol the city needed.

he was going to be robin to help bruce, but if this does as well....

tim doesn't mind plans shifting or changing. it's about batman. it's always been about batman and if this is what does it, if this is what works then...

he'll do it.

tim will do it.

[nobvttoneyes]

Coraline Jones

27

Movie Theatre Attendant

Status: Gifted Human (Dimension Jumping)

Tattoos: a dragon fly on the inside of their pinky on their right hand, a small moon and stars tattoo on their left wrist, they have a tattoo of a moon dripping into a sun on the back of their right shoulder blade (because they often feel like they are stuck between a dark and a light place), and they want to add a lot more!

Coraline's biggest pet peeve is when someone mispronounces their name. They'll be nice and give them a chance if they are reading their name from a paper or something; but if someone mispronounces it even after they have said it out loud Coraline will not hesitate to correct them. They honestly can not understand why almost everyone seems to get it wrong. At times they believe it's because people just like to see them get annoyed.

They love their alone time. Here's the thing, Coraline is very good at keep themselves entertained. Their imagination runs wild almost daily and they don't much to contain it. They love making adventures out of getting lost in the woods or around town, and they don't see the point in adding someone else in just so they can ruin the moment. While there are not very many people who Coraline is okay with interrupt their peace, there are a few handful they don't mind. Even if they don't always admit it, if at all, Wybie is someone who can always interrupt their alone time. In fact they actually missed Wybie if they went more than a day without comin around. Wybie is also the ONLY one who can ever get away with calling Coraline 'Jonesy'.

There isn't very many things that can instantly put a smile on Coraline's face and light up their features, but a mango milkshake is definitely one of the. They love mango milkshakes! It's almost like their guilty little pleasure and they get very bummed out whenever their local cafes stop selling them due to the season changes. Even though they have taught themselves how to make a decent mango milkshake they don't really have the motivation to keep at it often, so they don't often get to indulge.

They love a good mystery. If you asked their opinion on their detective skills they would call themselves Coraline Holmes. They love solving mysteries in any form they come in; ranging from novels, movies, unsolved cases they have heard about, and random little mysteries that happen in their real life from time to time. There has only ever been one mystery they have wanted to leave unsolved, forgotten, and it was that of the other world they had discovered. Although it seems that now they will have to stop at nothing to tackle the root cause of what's happening in Evermore....even if it means maybe re-visiting the other world.

They are full of creativity. It comes to no surprise to anyone whom knows them that they are huge into DIY projects. They love creating things for their friends for birthdays, holidays, or just because and they are almost always working on a little something for someone. Maybe it's a friendship bracelet, a cool pair earrings, those spiral wire rings, a dream catcher, pretty much any little gizmo you can think of. The actually pride themselves in the decor around their place because they created half of it.

They have a black cat that they have unofficially adopted and called 'Whiskers'. Even though the two of them did not start off on the best of foots they have grown a bond with one another that is pretty unbreakable. Coraline often leaves their bedroom window open for Whiskers to come and go as he pleases. One thing they could go without is the little dead animals Whiskers brings back but they also appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

Even in the face of danger Coraline will stand tall and fearless. They could be secretly shitting their pants, but they will never back down from anything that's trying to intimidate that. However that does not entirely apply to haunted houses or scary movies. They do tend to get a good freight from time to time from a decent movie or a haunted house they underestimated.

They love dragonflys. They have a lot of little accerseries that revolve around dragonflys and often can be spotted with at least one thing. Most of the time it's their little dragonfly hair clip

Their hair color is a midnight blue that they constantly keep redyeing so it stays blue..

[alltimefail-sims]

Just found out abt the elaborate lore of Princess Cordelia and it might be my fav sims lore since Bella Goth and Olive Spector and it all spawn from an in game item 😭

Okay so full disclosure I didn't even know who Princess Cordelia was until I received this ask. I'd never given much thought when her name came up honestly, and as a lover or lore I feel like I really fumbled there! But I am deep down the rabbit hole now and kind of obsessed with her story!!

From what I know just from my preliminary diving, I would agree that it's for sure some of the best lore since (my beloved) Bella Goth and Olive Spector. We usually only get decent lore with occults in my opinion, but I think they should keep up with this kind of storytelling and world building for all sim households. For me that's what made the Sims 2 so great - I loved the messy relationships, connections, and unsolved mysteries.

[explosionshark]

Book Asks! 1, 7, 10, 19!

book you’ve reread the most times?

answered :)

(bonus answer: the series i've read in full the most number of times is probably john scalzi's old man's war. though that was only like 2.5 times - i'm not really a big re-reader)

7. is there a series/book that got you into reading?

it's hard to really credit one specific thing, because i've pretty much always been into reading and writing. goosebumps and then later stephen king got me into horror. i credit NK Jemisin's broken earth trilogy as getting me back into fantasy, after being sick of it for years.

10. do you have a guilty fav?

GOD okay - matt wesolowski's six stories series. i listen to them at work, mostly. they're not "good" in the classical sense. there's a formula they follow that's kind of maddening, but i find them SO consumable and entertaining.

the premise is that there's this podcast series that investigates bizarre unsolved cases. it always follows this arc - there's this Terrible Mystery (usually related to a murder or disappearance) that has strange, supernatural overtones. The host (Scott King) begins to investigate - in each "episode" he interviews one person who has some kind of perspective on the case, to paint a picture of what happened. The chapters are interspersed with supplementary material - therapy tapes of the accused murderer, a tv interview of the mysteriously dead rock star, transcripts of a dead girl's youtube videos, etc. inevitably it all escalates to some ridiculous, off-the-wall, insanely improbably conclusion.

i mean, i'm not joking. it's truly ridiculous stuff. in one book the host discovers that the kidnapped kid he was investigating was - GET THIS - HIMSELF!!!!!!!!

god they're such fucking stupid books but i love them, i can't get enough, i'll keep reading them as long as wesolowski keeps writing them

19. most disliked popular books?

f/f romance enjoyers widely liked delilah green doesn't care but i couldn't fucking stand that book. i had to DNF like 1/3 of the way in. i was really distracted by some of the (i think truly well intentioned tbf) attempts to be inclusive and progressive that just felt totally unnatural and at times outright frustrating. the last straw for me was when one of the characters (a white woman, with a young white daughter) internally lamented about the fact that her sister's fiance wanted to have kids. boys. white boys born into a white boy world, or some bullshit. it was just like - eugh, yuck, it felt so tone deaf to me, so self flagellating and disingenuous. idk if i'm trying to just read a dumb romance novel i really don't feel like i should have to engage with a white writer's weird anxiety about their complicity in racism. i couldn't deal lmao

book asks

[dreaming-storyteller]

This world is full of both, mysteries and wonders. And of course, sometimes, those two get mixed up, arising inhuman wonders surrounded by a myriad of unanswered questions. Such is the case of the world ends bridge.

In the far west coast of the peninsula we inhabit, near the village of those who live underwater, an old bridge emerges and crawls over the sea into the horizon.

It is quite modest and unremarkable, really. So much it could even be mistaken as a simple dock built out of stone instead of wood and placed over the water. However, no boat nor ship has ever been moored in it. Also, it gives the feeling it may end up at some point, in another piece of land far away. Therefore, it is very much considered a bridge instead of a dock.

Well then, it's just a regular bridge. "Where is the promised mystery?" you may be asking yourself. Let's see... For instance, there is no record of the creation of this unsettling bridge. It has always been there and nobody knows who built it in the first time. But this is just the begining, for this bridge is sorrounded by enigmas.

The bridge, simply, doesn't meet its end. It goes and goes away and away from the coast. Always showing the same shape. As it was a replica of the first section repeated infinitely over the sea. And here comes another unsolved question. How does the bridge uphold itself over the extremely deep sea? We all know that, as we get into the ocean, the seabed goes deeper and deeper. How did they manage to build the pillars so big as to reach the seabed then? And how does it remain uneroded after being exposed against the harshness of the sea gales?

As you can see, the construction of this strange bridge is surrounded by mystery. However, there are still more, even greater enigma here. The bridge, as modest and minimalist as it is, has street lamps at both sides every 2 meters. They are completely black and with a small candle inside. Every night someone kindles them all and, at dawn, blows out. No one has ever seen this nightperson, but it sure does its work.

Many people have tried to walk to the other side and after hours, days or even weeks have given up and returned. Strangely without starving... Many have stayed up watching over the bridge to catch whoever lights up the lamps, but they always get distracted or blinded by some strange mist.

One way or another, the bridge at the end of the world's mysteries remain unanswered. I will not speculate nor offer my hypothesis. It will be more enriching to let the reader create their own answers. After all, Reality is built upon beautiful dreams, unheard stories and blatant lies.

[frnwhcom]

FRNWH: Beyond the Map - Unraveling Mysteries, Myths, and the Unknown

In the vast expanse of human knowledge and discovery, there lie stories untold, mysteries unsolved, and lands uncharted. These are the tales that compel us to look beyond the familiar, to seek answers in the shadows, and to explore the depths of our world's most enigmatic corners. Welcome to FRNWH, where the spirit of adventure transcends physical boundaries, inviting you into a realm of endless curiosity and wonder. The Call of the Unexplored Our journey begins with the allure of travel and history, an invitation to walk in the footsteps of the ancients, to witness the marvels of civilizations long past, and to discover the secrets that time has carefully guarded. FRNWH is your compass to hidden cities, forgotten temples, and landscapes that tell stories of human triumph and tragedy. Unsolved and True Crime But our exploration does not end with the relics of history. FRNWH delves into the darker, more mysterious facets of the human experience—unsolved and true crime. Each story is a puzzle, a challenge to the mind, asking you to piece together clues from the shadows of the past and present. These are tales of intrigue, desperation, and the relentless quest for justice, where the truth is often stranger than fiction. Monsters and Mythology Amidst the real and the tangible, there exist tales as old as time itself—monsters and mythology. These stories bridge the gap between reality and the supernatural, between what we know and what we dare to imagine. From the depths of the ocean to the hidden corners of our forests, FRNWH brings to life the creatures and legends that have shaped cultures around the world. Here, dragons soar, spirits whisper, and ancient gods walk among us. The Unknown Awaits FRNWH is not just a website; it's a gateway to the unknown, a beacon for those with a restlessness for new and distant lands, both literal and metaphorical. It is for the brave, the curious, and the unyielding seekers of truth. With each article, story, and exploration, we invite you to leave behind the ordinary, to challenge your perceptions, and to join us in a quest that spans the globe and beyond. Embrace the Horizon As you navigate through the myriad of mysteries, myths, and historical wonders on FRNWH, remember that the journey is as significant as the destination. Each story, each discovery, is a step towards understanding the complexity and richness of our world and ourselves. DALL·E An image capturing the essence of exploration and mystery featuring a silhouette of a person standing at the edge of an ancient map looking towards So, we invite you to journey with us—beyond the map. Unravel the mysteries, explore the myths, and dive into the unknown. The world is vast, and its stories are waiting. Welcome to FRNWH, where adventure and mystery meet. Read the full article

[poswiecenia]

@paimontm - " luuumiiineee ... i'm so bored . there's nothing to do ... can't we go visit someone or do something . i'd even go on and do commissions if it mean't not having to just sit here pleeeeease . " one annoying little sister here to annoy her big sister . \ unprompted ask

( 🌙 ) HER BROWS KNIT as she layed down on the grass of windrise , genuinely exhausted from the events that dainslief had dragged her through again. so much new information had been placed in her hands , leaving her to have little time to parse it. she was tired and she'd wanted at least a day or two to herself but . . it seemed like her little sister was denying her that.

SHE DOESN'T MOVE , at least not yet. ❛ YOU DON'T LIKE kaeya so he's out of the question : is there anyone in mondstadt you won't throw something at if we go and visit them ? ❜ a golden eye opens to offer a glance to her hovering friend as a brow raises.

[rockislandadultreads]

Goodreads Choice Awards 2022: Nonfiction Opening Round Nominees

Pick up one of these nonfiction nominees for the 2022 Goodreads Choice Awards! 

Unmasked by Paul Holes

Crime-solving for me is more complex than the challenge of the hunt, or the process of piecing together a scientific puzzle. The thought of good people suffering drives me, for better or worse, to the point of obsession.

People always ask how I am able to detach from the horrors of my work. Part of it is an innate capacity to compartmentalize; the rest is experience and exposure, and I’ve had plenty of both. But I had always taken pride in the fact that I can keep my feelings locked up to get the job done. It’s only been recently that it feels like all that suppressed darkness is beginning to seep out.

When I look back at my long career, there is a lot I am proud of. I have caught some of the most notorious killers of the twenty-first century and brought justice and closure for their victims and families. I want to tell you about a lifetime solving these cold cases, from Laci Peterson to Jaycee Dugard to the Pittsburg homicides to, yes, my twenty-year-long hunt for the Golden State Killer.

But a deeper question eats at me as I ask myself, at what cost? I have sacrificed relationships, joy - even fatherhood - because the pursuit of evil always came first. Did I make the right choice? It’s something I grapple with every day. Yet as I stand in the spot where a young girl took her last breath, as I look into the eyes of her family, I know that, for me, there has never been a choice. “I don’t know if I can solve your case,” I whisper. “But I promise I will do my best.”

It is a promise I know I can keep.

An Immense World by Ed Yong

The Earth teems with sights and textures, sounds and vibrations, smells and tastes, electric and magnetic fields. But every animal is enclosed within its own unique sensory bubble, perceiving but a tiny sliver of an immense world. This book welcomes us into a previously unfathomable dimension - the world as it is truly perceived by other animals.

We encounter beetles that are drawn to fires, turtles that can track the Earth's magnetic fields, fish that fill rivers with electrical messages, and humans that wield sonar like bats. We discover that a crocodile's scaly face is as sensitive as a lover's fingertips, that the eyes of a giant squid evolved to see sparkling whales, that plants thrum with the inaudible songs of courting bugs, and that even simple scallops have complex vision. We learn what bees see in flowers, what songbirds hear in their tunes, and what dogs smell on the street. We listen to stories of pivotal discoveries in the field, while looking ahead at the many mysteries which lie unsolved.

In An Immense World, author and acclaimed science journalist Ed Yong coaxes us beyond the confines of our own senses, allowing us to perceive the skeins of scent, waves of electromagnetism, and pulses of pressure that surround us. Because in order to understand our world we don't need to travel to other places; we need to see through other eyes.

South to America by Imani Perry

We all think we know the South. Even those who have never lived there can rattle off a list of signifiers: the Civil War, Gone with the Wind, the Ku Klux Klan, plantations, football, Jim Crow, slavery. But the idiosyncrasies, dispositions, and habits of the region are stranger and more complex than much of the country tends to acknowledge. In South to America, Imani Perry shows that the meaning of American is inextricably linked with the South, and that our understanding of its history and culture is the key to understanding the nation as a whole.

This is the story of a Black woman and native Alabaman returning to the region she has always called home and considering it with fresh eyes. Her journey is full of detours, deep dives, and surprising encounters with places and people. She renders Southerners from all walks of life with sensitivity and honesty, sharing her thoughts about a troubling history and the ritual humiliations and joys that characterize so much of Southern life.

Weaving together stories of immigrant communities, contemporary artists, exploitative opportunists, enslaved peoples, unsung heroes, her own ancestors, and her lived experiences, Imani Perry crafts a tapestry unlike any other. With uncommon insight and breathtaking clarity, South to America offers an assertion that if we want to build a more humane future for the United States, we must center our concern below the Mason-Dixon Line.

The Trayvon Generation by Elizabeth Alexander

In the midst of civil unrest in the summer of 2020 and following the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery, Elizabeth Alexander - one of the great literary voices of our time - turned a mother's eye to her sons’ and students’ generation and wrote a celebrated and moving reflection on the challenges facing young Black America. Originally published in the New Yorker, the essay incisively and lovingly observed the experiences, attitudes, and cultural expressions of what she referred to as the Trayvon Generation, who even as children could not be shielded from the brutality that has affected the lives of so many Black people.

The Trayvon Generation expands the viral essay that spoke so resonantly to the persistence of race as an ongoing issue at the center of the American experience. Alexander looks both to our past and our future with profound insight, brilliant analysis, and mighty heart, interweaving her voice with groundbreaking works of art by some of our most extraordinary artists. At this crucial time in American history when we reckon with who we are as a nation and how we move forward, Alexander's lyrical prose gives us perspective informed by historical understanding, her lifelong devotion to education, and an intimate grasp of the visioning power of art.

This breathtaking book is essential reading and an expression of both the tragedies and hopes for the young people of this era that is sure to be embraced by those who are leading the movement for change and anyone rising to meet the moment.

Bittersweet by Susan Cain

With Quiet, Susan Cain urged our society to cultivate space for the undervalued, indispensable introverts among us, thereby revealing an untapped power hidden in plain sight. Now she employs the same mix of research, storytelling, and memoir to explore why we experience sorrow and longing, and the surprising lessons these states of mind teach us about creativity, compassion, leadership, spirituality, mortality, and love.

Bittersweetness is a tendency to states of longing, poignancy, and sorrow; an acute awareness of passing time; and a curiously piercing joy when beholding beauty. It recognizes that light and dark, birth and death - bitter and sweet - are forever paired. A song in a minor key, an elegiac poem, or even a touching television commercial all can bring us to this sublime, even holy, state of mind - and, ultimately, to greater kinship with our fellow humans.

But bittersweetness is not, as we tend to think, just a momentary feeling or event. It’s also a way of being, a storied heritage. Our artistic and spiritual traditions - amplified by recent scientific and management research - teach us its power.

Cain shows how a bittersweet state of mind is the quiet force that helps us transcend our personal and collective pain. If we don’t acknowledge our own sorrows and longings, she says, we can end up inflicting them on others via abuse, domination, or neglect. But if we realize that all humans know - or will know - loss and suffering, we can turn toward each other. And we can learn to transform our own pain into creativity, transcendence, and connection.

[fatedwithmbc]

Embarrassments from this Weekend:

1. After trying every form of protein possibly on the market, I discovered it can make you very gassy. Not a problem if you’re not being social. Very BIG problem when you have an overnight at your romantic interests’ house. Thanks, Cancer, you slut.

2. I made a cake for my brother’s belated birthday dinner. The very first thing I stated was, “it’s flat”. The very first thing my brother said was, “it’s missing some height”.

3. Emotional posts on my social media accounts were abundant this weekend. Today marks 2 years since my Dad’s passing. I’m in full “grief” mode. It also makes me think about my own passing. I just keep thinking, I’m also Stage IV, I can’t have much time left… who knows.

4. Admitting to myself how much I missed, and actually crave physical touch from someone who cares about me. I mean hugs, spooning, holding hands; you know, PG-13, innocent PDA. It’s made me realize, you need to hug whoever you love. You need physical touch to feel loved; whether it’s a hug platonically, or a family member, or even romantically.

5. Confessing to “E” that he couldn’t buy a new Michigan hat because I already had — for him. Which in turn left me feeling as if I have put the cart before the horse. Is it too soon for gifts? I mean, his birthday is in 2 weeks and I am fully prepared, despite our lack of “status”. I care for him and this is how I’d behave for anyone I care for - and cutting the shit: I’m excited about where “we” could be headed.

Amazing Things from this Weekend:

1. Time with “E”. Seeing him in person definitely solidified things for me. We’re oddly comfortable around each other. We can be quiet without it being awkward. There’s banter. Which I love the most. His demeanor is serious, yet caring - hard and soft; a complete paradox that I somehow understand. We cuddled watching Unsolved Mysteries with “R” taking up the middle between us. We went to bed— and had deeply open conversations, like kids at a sleepover refusing to go to bed. Sleep finally came, and I could have stayed in the most intentional yet gentle embrace in his arms forever. I slept well, and without the aid of medicines for the first time in ages. He let me sleep later as he took care of “R”. I made his bed and readied to leave- but not before discussing plans to see each other soon. True gentleman that he is, he walked me out to my car, gave me the best hug in the world and said “Text me when you’re home”. That important line that means someone cares for you. I hope this continues to trend positively. We’ve not stopped talking since I left.

2. Celebrating my Brother; his happiness is my happiness. Knowing he loved his gifts, enjoyed the cake I made for him and is opening up with me again is more than I could ever ask for. I’ve missed him. We won’t ever be the same, but we’re healing and adapting. We’re making our family important.

3. Seeing my Nephew — including the best greeting: his smiling face and excited voice beaming “Asheley!” Our silly games, our hugs and our good-byes. All of it, with him, is special and precious to me.

4. Learning the Buttercream Frosting recipe from Mom-Mom

5. Selecting the flowers for Dad’s bouquet, ensuring the depth and meaning I am always looking for was accomplished. Red Roses - Love; White Roses - Loyalty; Amaranth - Admiration & Friendship.

6. A Georgia mug was added to my “You Are Here” collection from Starbucks; courtesy of my SIL and Brother.

7. Pep-talks from my amazing Bestie (also identifiable as “E”) really helped calm my nerves on Friday. And she is feeling better after having COVID. She’s in the top 3 of my biggest supporters/carers. I’m so glad I have a solid friendship to rely on and that makes me feel entirely supported.

8. I won $59 on random lottery winnings which coincided with Dad’s birth year on the day of his death date. It was a weird universe, coincidence thing. And I love those types of “signs”.

Random Ramblings:

MBC has totally stolen my appetite and desire for food. I’m dying from these daily protein in-take targets. “E” cares about my protein in-take. He asks about my goal and progress each day. Plant protein is very “dry”. “Whey” protein tastes awful. I have one item I bought that I have left to try. The bottom line is that I don’t know how I can force myself to eat. It’s so damn hard. Especially because once you haven’t eaten for awhile, not eating food seems natural.

I started feeling neuropathy, (thanks again, Cancer), for the first time since taking the Kisqali. It’s in my hand. Totally can’t feel the objects in my hand when I hold them (only periodically). It feels like pins and needles or like it’s “sleeping”.

I discovered a storefront that does Tarot Readings in a town nearby. I’m going this week since I’m on a forced LOA. Forced LOA definitely frees up ones’ calendar. I am super interested in how the reading will progress and what it will ultimately reveal. I also reached out to some relatives about a possible trip to NY state during my LOA.

I’m exhausted, but still not sleeping without the aid of pills.

I have a few appointments this week. Nothing major. No shots, no labs, no surgery.

I’m successfully avoiding the bathroom scale. But admittedly, I’ll weigh myself tomorrow.

The End.

Notifications: @kcco265

Font Key:

1. Headers

2. Cancer or MBC; My Nemisis

3. Author Tidbits/Wisdom

[magical-xirl-4]

What id give if Lumine could have voice line conversations with the other characters like she does with Paimon

I really like Lumine’s voice

I love her voice too, it’s so satisfying, calming and it makes me smile heaps. I can’t help but imitate it when she speaks to other characters because I want to hear her say certain lines

[wcvensouls-archive]

*  CROSSOVERS, GENSHIN IMPACT VERSE  ;

          –  SHINOMIYA NATSUKI . age, 24. vision, pyro / electro. weapon, sword. nation, inazuma. although he had always been a happy and bright kid living in a long forgotten rural area, things drastically took a different turn when he was still a young boy. the betrayal of a close friend brought a second personality to life, one that would name itself satsuki and do anything to protect his other half. however, along with the birth of this split personality, an electro vision appeared, despite the fact that natsuki already had a pyro one of his own. when the decree to hunt down all visions fell upon their land, being caught with two and no proper explanation for that fact certanily raised quite a lot of questions, forcing satsuki to take over their shared body and embark on the first boat out of inazuma that he could find, hoping the lands on the other side of the sea would be more kind.

         –  ITTOKI OTOYA . age, 24. vision, dendro. weapon, bow. nation, inazuma. never having met his father and losing his mother when he was still a baby, he was pretty much raised in an orphanage by the outskirts of inazuma. however, despite not having a proper family, otoya couldn’t exactly complain about his life  –  and he never would dare to. the ladies there did their best to take care of him and he always did his best to help them and care for those who were younger than him. however, as he approached the age of majority, he knew that his days there were numbered. despite not wanting to leave, he had no choice but to pack his bags and try to make a life for himself, doing odd jobs here and there to keep himself fed and clothed while teaching himself to play different instruments and to sing. in hopes to mayhaps find a path for himself with music, he seems to have managed to leave inazuma just in time before it was closed off, having no means to return now and no choice but to carry on and follow his dream.