#Herb Nanas

[oooohno]

Nana I’m not sure if you’ve answered this before but I’m so curious when I was reading your adorable Haganezuka drabble and you said

This one, however, does not stretch uncomfortably between you two like it used to at the beginning of your marriage when meals were taken without a single uttered word.

I’m so curious to know what happened to make this uncomfy silence change! Like who started saying the first words? Or was it through actions or feeling more comfortable around each other? I’d love to know!💕

You are so sweet for asking, thank you so much 🥺💗

The uncomfy silence is already stage two of hotarana becoming closer (I love a snail pace slow burn sue me!!!). At first he tried to avoid his arranged wife at all costs but due to forced proximity/ domesticity his feelings and interest change first. So he will start to seek out more shared time together but does not know yet how to engage in conversation without talking about his work. In terms of who says something first, that would probably be me…there’s only so much charged silence I can take 😭 and then obviously once you get him to talk he will not shut up hahaha

[steviewashere]

Better Together

Rating: General CW: None for this one! Tags: Post-Canon, Fluff, Comfort No Hurt, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Baking, Steve Harrington Likes to Bake, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Sharing Food, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Soft Steve Harrington, Soft Eddie Munson

For @steddie-week | July 7th Prompt: Free Space | WC: 870

Hehe, I want to say that I chose the word "heart" as my inspiration, but I saw a recipe for heart shaped thumbprint cookies on Pinterest and this is what came to mind <3

Title from "Better Together" by Jack Johnson

🍪—————🍪 Steve makes thumbprint cookies for every holiday he can think to. Halloween gets some with black currant jam, Independence Day gets blueberry, Christmas has cranberry, orange marmalade for Thanksgiving. So on and so forth. He learned to bake because of his nana, may she rest, and he wants to continue to share her love with the world.

So, he expands from holidays. He makes them for first days of school. When a neighbor of his breaks their leg. Bakes them for a little girl around the block, tells her she can sell them with her lemonade—he even buys a little paper cup; it’s not the greatest lemonade, too much water, but he still smacks his lips and says it’s the best cup in the world. He bakes them for Robin when she can’t sleep from nightmares; for the party when it comes to D&D campaigns; for himself when it’s the middle of the night and he misses what home used to be like—loud and full and warm.

And he makes them, too, when he starts dating Eddie sometime after Vecna. Eddie’s had some cookies; been there in the kitchen, the dining room, outside even. Been there to see if they’re “poisoned.” Shown up, without notice, holding a jar of homemade raspberry jelly from his kitchen, claiming it to be his mama’s recipe.

Over time, he realizes he wants to share this recipe of his with Eddie, too. Though, Eddie’s kind of a mess in the kitchen—he’s not a terrible cook, not at all, but he’s very…all over the place. Sometimes dishes will sit for too long in the sink, or he won’t set a timer within the first two minutes, or he’ll accidentally chop too much of an herb. He gets distracted and it’s honestly endearing, but Steve doesn’t trust him to bake, not completely.

While he’s making cookies for them for Valentine’s Day, the idea smacks him right in the face. He’s got the dough all rolled into balls, placed on sprayed parchment paper, oven preheated. Ready to go.

He wipes his hands on a nearby dish rag. Calls from the kitchen, “Eddie?” And he’s there beside Steve within the blink of an eye; his eyes darting between the tray of cookies and Steve himself, probably two seconds away from attempting to eat raw cookie dough—again. “Wanna help me with something?” Steve asks finally.

“Uh, sure, Stevie. You need me to grab an ingredient from the pantry? Make sure no flies get on the dough?”

Steve shakes his head. Knows that if he leaves him alone with the tray, the cookies won’t even have the chance to be baked. So, he looks on and smiles at Eddie fondly for: being so thoughtful and also because there’s a stray strand of hair curling from his hairline. His hair is up and out of his face, there are indents around his eyes from wearing his magnifying goggles, little splotches of mini-figure paint on his fingers. It’s sweet. Domestic, if he stops to think about it.

He leans into that. Swipes away that strand of hair. Scoops up Eddie’s hands. The warmth and weight welcoming in his own palms.

“Wash up with me and then help me thumbprint the cookies?”

Instead of words, Eddie drifts over to the sink. They wash their hands one after the other. Eddie scrubs furiously at his skin, making sure that every last little flake of paint swirls down the drain, and then he sidles up to Steve. Looks cowed at the still raw dough.

“M’kay,” Steve murmurs, “so for Valentine’s Day, I do things a little different.” He grabs Eddie’s left hand, from where it’s resting limp on the countertop, and hovers it over the baking sheet. Then, he takes his right hand and does the same, just underneath Eddie’s. Presses that thumb into the top of one cookie. “You see how my thumbprint is sort of sideways?”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums. “Yeah, I see that.” Steve quickly glances up, another surge of fondness working through him. Eddie’s face is one of pure concentration: eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted, tongue poking from between his lips. 

Steve makes himself look back at the cookies before he does something stupid like propose.

He carefully lowers Eddie’s hand until he can press his thumb on the other side of the cookie. When he draws the hand away, he comments, “There. Now, our thumbs are making a heart on the cookie.” Tilts the baking pan a little so that it’s angled towards Eddie. “See? I do that to all of my Valentine’s Day cookies. Except, now I have somebody to do it with.”

Eddie looks up to him. Eyes crinkled in the corners and a soft, adoring smile on his face. “You do your half and then I’ll chase after?”

He smiles back, teeth and all. “I’d love that, Eds. Then, when we’re done, you can pick the jam we use.”

At the end of the day, Steve made two dozen thumbprint cookies. Each of them filled with Eddie’s homemade raspberry jam. Most importantly, though, each of them are—

“Shaped with our love,” Eddie points out.

And that sounds like the sweetest treat of them all.

🍪—————🍪

[quillsandblades]

I am very sorry but I just realised that Hange's birthday is coming up and I HAD to know...

How would she spend it? Does she value her birthday or is it just another exciting day for her? And what does Levi do for her birthday? Does he gift her anything?

I know it's very late and it's already been days since Hange's birthday but I just got time to post this T_T

Thanks for this @sunflowersunite!! 🥰

Here's my little levihan headcanon for how Hange's birthday would've gone in the Scouts

So levi notices in his early years in the scouts that how Hange always remembers his birthday, and Erwin's and all her close friends and comrades and she takes out time to wish each of them and even gets gifts if she can. But when it comes to her birthday, he never sees anyone doing anything other than wishing her.

It confuses him at first how four-eyes goes around making his and Erwin's, mike's and Nana's and even her squad's days special. A small gift here, an invitation of drinks there, it's simple but she does it.

So why the fuck does no one ever do anything for her?

He asks Erwin, who doesn't give a convincing answer, then her squad who simply tells him she doesn't like to celebrate it.

And that just confuses him even more cuz Hange is anything but not festive. Turns out her squad never got a direct answer from her. She was knee deep in research when they barged in and wished her and suggested they go visit the town or something

And she just waved a hand dismissively and said, "Yes very nice, now move along I'm busy." And they never went anywhere that day, and after that her squad assumed she didn't prefer to celebrate so they would just wish her and that was it.

The thing is she doesn't always remember her special day, it slips her mind - there's a lot to do already and somehow it's just too much of a hassle, there's better stuff to do than celebrating. Or sometimes she even forgets about it.

That is until levi comes along.

September approaches and four-eyes wouldn't stop whining about wanting to eat something sweet, and at first Levi can't stand it. But then it turns out to be the perfect thing to gift her.

He makes chocolates himself for her and informs her squad and his that they're celebrating whether she likes it or not. Since she never gave him a choice at his birthday either, this is payback (or so he tells them).

The night before her birthday he knocks her out and makes sure she's bathed and clean. And in the morning he strides into her lab with his trademark brooding face and slaps the box of chocolates on her face (yes I'm aware he originally makes it for her on valentine's day, but this seems like a nice idea too).

And he states in a bored voice, "Happy birthday dumbass."

And then their squads burst in and wish her and hug her and there's also Erwin and Mike and Nanaba and they've got little gifts for her like books or herbs or some lab equipment

And Erwin orders her that they'd be heading over for drinks in the evening so she better get everything done before then

They go as promised and Hange can't stop smiling and grinning the whole time. And she looks knowingly at Levi and thanks him for doing all this. And he pretends the blush on his cheeks is from the beer.

They don't have such grand celebrations every year, there's no time to catch a break or things aren't going so well since it's the survey corps and things go to shit most of the time, but Levi always gives her something or the other on her birthdays. Erwin does too most of the time.

From Levi, it could be a bunch of weird flowers she'd wanted to study, or some strange trinket he thought she could pull apart and do something with, or sometimes even a book. The best gift he gave her was a couple of titans for her research and she'd screamed in delight for fifteen minutes straight.

She named them Chikatilo and Albert of course

[jungle-angel]

Daddy's Little Helper (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Ever since opening your own store, Amy's been yours and Rhett's biggest helper

Rhett stood waiting on the sidewalk outside the little farm store he had opened up with you several years before, the porch freshly swept, the rocking chairs rocking a little in the chilly October air as he waited for the bus from Amy's school to pull next to the sidewalk and let her off.

Sure enough, the little yellow bus from the Amelia County Steiner School pulled up and opened its doors to let Amy off, the five year old jumping off the last step and into Rhett's arms, happy and excited to be spending the rest of the afternoon with him at the store.

"Mommy have the babies yet?" she chirped.

"Nope, not till December, Doodlebug," he told her, holding her hand as they walked up the wooden porch steps.

He opened the front door, the little bell above the threshold ringing as they walked in, enveloped by all the smells of fall.

"What'd ya'll do at school today, Doodlebug?" he asked, prepping her after school snack.

"We made soup and bread for lunch," Amy answered. "And then we got to go outside and play in the woods."

"You gonna carve pumpkins soon?"

"Yeah!"

Rhett couldn't help but smile at her little giggles. Hearing them always seemed to brighten his day, even if they were already brighter than the sun itself.

The two of them spent hours in the store, prepping all the baked goods for the weekend and setting up the shelves full of cloth, beeswax, dyed wool, little hand tools and kits to put small craft items together. Unfortunately, Rhett had to keep Amy from sticking her fingers into the melted chocolate that was meant for some of the homemade Halloween candy.

"Alright Doodlebug, last one then we've gotta go home," Rhett told her as he lifted her up off her feet.

Amy carefully placed the little wicker basket of yarn on the top shelf, carefully sliding it into its spot before Rhett set her down. Once the lights were shut off and the doors locked for the night, Rhett loaded Amy into the truck and headed for home.

No sooner had he pulled into the turn-around in the driveway and gotten Amy out of her carseat, than Diesel came charging right for her, his big mug stretched into his dopey dog grin that rottweilers were known for.

Rhett gave him as many scritches as he possibly could before he shooed them both into the house. Hannah came waddling in from the living room as soon as he had kicked off his shoes, her little self scooped right up off the floor before Rhett littered her cheeks with kisses.

"Where's Nana honey?" he asked.

"Nana's in the kitchen!!!" Cecelia answered loudly.

All Rhett had to do was follow the scent of dinner cooking in the crockpot, some sort of beef dish that had been soaked in herbs, spices and red wine before being stuck right on a bed of veggies. Cecelia was busy cutting up the green beans for the sides, but was still happy to have the rest of the family in for dinner.

"How goes Grumpy?" she asked.

"Better than ever Ma," he answered. "It's Friday night, we can all relax and not worry about having to do anything tomorrow."

"Yeah well, your father and I are gonna have to open the store tomorrow since you're taking Amy and Hannah to the pumpkin patch," she told him.

"How's (y/n)?" he asked.

"Tired," Cecelia answered. "She's upstairs resting but I think the boys have a case of restless leg syndrome."

Rhett laughed a little before heading up the stairs to your shared bedroom. You were sat upright in bed, trying to plan your new main lesson block for the next four weeks with your fifth graders and to get the two little boys in your belly to stop kicking for two minutes.

"Ya'll doin ok Darlin?" Rhett asked, scooting in next to you.

"Well," you half chuckled. "I had to run home earlier than normal for a new pair of pants but I think I'm doing ok."

Rhett kissed your cheek and you kissed him right back on the lips. "Amy was a big helper this afternoon."

You hummed happily, melting right into your husband the same way the cats always did. "Maybe we can have her help once I'm on bedrest," you half laughed.

"I'm sure she won't mind," Rhett told you.

The two of you stayed like that for as long as you could, until Royal and Cecelia both called everyone in for dinner. Rhett helped you down the stairs, but despite the trouble, you were both only too happy to be surrounded by your family, the very people who loved you both the most.

[pastelpengwin]

So I haven't finished the ship drawings yet (still working on the CheesePie one) because I've found myself with a cold, so I decided to finish this in the meantime.  I honestly love their canon designs, I just wanted to give them a bit more variation in body type and to add more horse inspired coats.  

Princess Twilight Sparkle

Partner: Flam

Children: Summer Solstice

Parents: Twilight Velvet (Mother), Night Light (Father)

Siblings: Shining Armor (Older brother), Spike (Younger Brother – Adopted)

Other Relatives: Princess Cadence (Sister in Law), Flurry Heart (Niece), Flim (Brother in Law), Stained Glass (Niece), Optical Illusion (Niece), Kalypso Flutura (Niece) ------------------------------------------

Rarity

Partner/s: None

Children: None

Parents: Cookie Crumbles (Mother), Hondo Flanks (Father)

Siblings: Sweetie Belle (Younger sister)

Other Relatives: Angora Yarn, Cinnabar (Grandparents/ Hondo) Star Anise, Red Velvet (Grandparents/ Cookie)

------------------------------------------

Fluttershy

Partner/s: Discord

Children: Kalypso Flutera (Flim), Platypus (Discord)

Parents: Posey Shy (Mother), Cirrus Shy (Father)

Siblings: Zephyr Breeze (Younger brother)

Other Relatives: Gentle Breeze, April Showers (Grandparents/ Posey), Heat Burst, Wind Chimes (Grandparents/ Cirrus)

------------------------------------------

 Pinkie Pie

Partner/s: Cheese Sandwich

Children: Lil Cheese, Lemon Meringue Pie, Strawberry Pie

Parents: Cloudy Quartz (Mother), Igneous Rock Pie (Father)

Siblings: Maud Pie (Oldest sister), Marble Pie, Limestone Pie (Triplets)

Other Relatives: Granny Pie, Feldspar Granite Pie (Grandparents/ Igneous), Nana Pinkie (Grandmother), Applejack, Big Mac, Apple Bloom (Cousins)

------------------------------------------

Rainbow Dash

Partner/s: Applejack

Children: Lightning Storm

Parents: Windy Whistles (Mother), Bow Hot Hoof (Father)

Siblings: No other siblings

Other Relatives: Flash Flood, April Showers (Grandparents/ Windy), Cold Front, Midnight Blue (Grandparents/ Bow)

------------------------------------------

Applejack

Partner/s: Rainbow Dash

Children: Lightning Storm

Parents: Buttercup (Mother), Bright Mac (Father)

Siblings: Big Mac (Older brother), Apple Bloom (Younger sister)

Other Relatives: Ashmead (Great Uncle), Early Bird (Great Aunt),Flim, Flam (Cousins), Winesap (Great Uncle), Bright Bramley (Nephew), Granny Smith (Grandmother), Bitter Herb (Grandfather), Pokey Oaks (Great-Grandfather), Sew n Sow (Great-Grandmother), Grand Pear (Grandfather)

[sunshinies]

⋆✩ Nahida inspired names/pronouns/titles ! 𖦹

art is official! rq by @brazils-garden

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

🌱 names: acacia , aisling , breezy , briar , chloris , cloverly , elara , elodie , euphemia , fable , fern , fiora , fleurie , flora , gracie , gwendolyn , hana , hattie , haven , hope , ivy , jade , kelly , lottie , maisie , meadow , mimi , minnie , mossie , nadia , naida , nana , nerida , nia , pandora , petal , petunia , pippa , pixie , poppy , posie , rhiannon , sage , sadie , saffron , sorrel , sprout , sunny , tamsin , thalia , verena , verity , viridian , yara

🌿 pronouns: sprout/sprouts/sproutself , dendro/dendros/dendroself , wise/wises/wiseself , god/gods/godself , joy/joys/joyself , herb/herbs/herbself , leaf/leaf/leafself , sun/suns/sunself , sage/sages/sageself , viri/viris/viriself , vivi/vivis/vividself , smile/smiles/smileself , fern/fern/fernself

any other variation pronouns of these may be used , of course !

🪴 titles: the goddess of verdant wisdom , the lesser lord of sumeru , she who was borne of irminsul , she who lies in the cradle of dreams , she who meditates on love , the goddess of insightful dreams , she who embodies nature's love , her verdant vision, her innocent insight , she who guides with grace

prns and gendered terms may be replaced.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

[the-government-man]

If we're taking mcd out of the context of a roleplay meant to be viewed by like 10-15 year olds, I think there should be some tobacco in that world. Snus, snuff, pipes, chewing, the whole shebang.

Like Garroth or Laurance with loose snus under their lip whislt patrolling, Zoey ending a day with a pipe of tobacco and herbs or Zane being prominent for spitting in the most revered spots of villages he doesn't like.

Kiki Lucinda and Nana smoke weed together too.

[factoryofbettertomorrow]

LBP headcanons because I’m feeling silly rn

- Captain Puds real name is Tom (Short for Thompson)

- Newtons middle name is ‘Plum’ referring to the ‘Plum Pudding’ model of the atom!!

- Avalons favourite science was Biology, Herbert’s Fav was Chemistry, Clive liked Physics and robotics the most!!

- Clive genuinely cares alot about the sackbots and has given them all names.

- Avalon has his own brand of conditioner.

- Popit academy is a private school, but Herb, Clive and Avalon all got in on a scholarship.

- Nana, Captain and Marlon all went to school around the same time.

- Herbert and Avalon are one or two years older than Clive but Avalon took a gap year before going to the popit academy to start up Avalonia.

- Avalon had a scene phase and pretends to have hated it.

- Larry didn’t invent the wheel, he just helped revolutionise it further — a lot like how Avalon didn’t invent science, he just learned how to mix biology and robotics as well as making other massive steps for science.

- Herb, Clive and Avalon were all in a band together. It didn’t last long but it was fun. Clive played guitar, Herb was either on bass or drums and Avalon sung. They tried to get Newton to fill in for whatever instrument Herbert wasn’t playing, but they couldn’t convince him.

- Larry had a band called ‘Principa Metalmatica’ (Metallica parody on one of the stickers). He was basically James Hetfield but newspaper in his younger days, and quit to persue science and teaching.

- Avalon was head boy, 100% attendance.

- Newton would always sleep in and he wouldn’t always wake up for class in time.

- There was a uniform for popit academy!! it was a white collared shirt, a tie with the school colours, either a jumper or a cardigan and the school blazer with black trousers. You would get badges depending on clubs and such, Avalon had wayyy too many badges on his blazer.

- I’ll draw some locker designs and how I think the gang would decorate their lockers.

That’s all for now folks!! May post some more soon :)

[drarry-is-totally-cannon]

Drarry & The Goblet of Fire: 4th Year Rewrite

Chapter 8 ~ The Quidditch World Cup

Harry arrives with the water, having only sloshed a bit onto his jeans, which he counts as a win. Outside the deceptively small tent, Mr. Weasly struggles with a pack of matches. At least twenty of the small sticks lie discarded and broken at his feet, still, he shows no signs of frustration, merely curiosity.

Taking pity, Harry heads over to him, setting his pail carefully down.

"Would you like me to show you, Mr Weasley?"

Ron's father nods enthusiastically, "Oh, yes. I'm no Molly, but I'd like to have something passable on the table before we head over to the arena."

Harry chuckles. Arthur Weasley talks about his wife as if he fell in love with her yesterday. Harry can't even remember Aunt Petunia saying anything about Uncle Vernon at all.

Harry doesn't bother asking him to just use the perfectly good fireplace inside the tent. He already heard him scolding Fred and George for trying to open the windows. "We must appear as muggle-like as possible." He reminded them, despite the blatant magic that fills the air around them.

"Well, it takes a bit of practice, but what you've got to do is . . ."

-

A quick learner, Mr. Weasley gets the fire started in only three more tries. Harry carefully stores the matches in his pocket, safe from Mr. Weasley's innocent destruction.

"Where should I put this?" he asks, gesturing to the pail.

"Oh, right, Ginny told me you were fetching water. You were gone a while you didn't get lost did you?"

"Oh, no. I was with Dean and Seamus."

"Good, yes, I saw Mr. Finnigan earlier. Poor man, he said he was used to all this, but these things are a bit much for anyone. He seemed alright though. He may be a muggle, but he's still Irish. Ah, right, just leave the water here, Molly packed ingredients for soup. 'Said there's no way I can mess that up. Ron and Hermione have gone to get souvenirs, you probably find them at one of the stands."

"Thanks." Harry nods and runs off again, not missing Percy telling some poor little girl and her nana off for shooting fireworks. Something about the statute of secrecy.

"All this noise? How can anyone work? Of course, Mr. Crouch is having no trouble, I must strive to be like him. I cannot be late with this report!"

-

It's easy to spot the cart of Bulgaria merchandise even through the mass of tents. The whole thing sparkles red.

"Hey!" Harry greets his friends, causing Hermione to jump. 

"Harry! Where have you been? We haven't seen you since we got here." She frets over his glasses, still askew from ducking and dodging sparklers. 

"And what are you wearing?" Ron asks, aghast. he'd been eyeing the Bulgaria scarves.

"Oh, never mind that we were looking for you." Hermione continues to fret, sounding an awful lot like Mrs. Weasley, while Ron glares at Harry's gaudy Irish pride-wear. Truth be told, he'd forgotten he still had it on.

"I was just getting water for the soup." It's part of the truth. "Seamus gave me this, I didn't exactly want to say no. The Irish are scary when they're excited."

This distracts them. "Soup?" Ron's face pales slightly, "You mean, dad's cooking?"

"Yeah, is that bad or something? He said he wasn't that good but . . .?"

"Be afraid Harry, be very afraid."

-

The soup went mostly untouched, which was probably a good thing seeing as it was an odd green-ish colour despite containing only carrots, beef and potatoes and some herbs, nothing that should've resulted in that colour. In Harry's opinion, it even slightly resembled the polyjuice that he, Hermione and Ron had brewed only a year and a half ago. He thinks Hermione saw it too because she exchanged a glance with Ron as he passed her the salad.

Only Fred was brave enough to try it after a dare from his twin and younger sister. He's looking a little green now, but he braves the steep arena steps without complaint.

Behind them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione munch on the snacks Harry and Hermione bought from the souvenir cart, hiding them behind their backs when Mr Weasley looks back to ensure they're still following.

As they reach the next landing a new group of wizards join them. With their neat black clothing and nearly white hair, there is no mistaking them.

"Bloody Malfoy," Ron grumbles through a mouthful of Crowley's Crackle N' Pop Crisps.

The elder Malfoys don't seem to hear Narcissa and Lucius chatting superficially with Mr. Weasley, but the youngest turns around, sneering.

"Yes, Weasley."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Rons says, words still slightly muffled.

Draco just laughs, a high and sharp sound, and turns around without a word. If Harry hadn't been watching him so closely he would've missed the wink and slightest nod of his head towards a lower platform.

The group starts walking again, and both Ron and Hermione look expectantly at Harry, usually, he would've said something to Darco by now, some insult or another, but after hearing Mr. Malfoy in the woods, the words don't come easily. Certainly, they're there, he knows in his head exactly what to say. 'Yeah, sod off, you slimy git!' but it seems so unnecessary a response to what was barely an insult.

Still, it would seem weird if he, a boy known for standing up for his friends, did nothing so he mutters "Arse." just loud enough for Draco to hear but not his parents.

A moment later, as they reach the Minister's box, Harry hears the quietest whisper, "Like my arse, do you, Potter?" The continuation of their joke from earlier makes Harry nearly choke on his crisps with laughter. 

"You fucking wish, Malfoy," he says, the laughter disguising his words just enough. The adults give him funny looks.

"Enjoying yourself, Mr. Potter." Minister Fudge says amicably.

Harry sputters, trying to compose himself. "Oh, er, yes. This is such a wonderful event that you and Mr. Bagman have put together."

The Weasleys and Draco glance at him, the statement is clearly out of character, but both the minister and the Head of the Magical Games and Sports Department are pleased with the flattery.

"Indeed. May the best team win." Bagman cheers, but it isn't hard to tell who he's cheering for. Fudge seems to notice this as well, as he quickly tugs Bagman's flashing team scarf off, trying to maintain composure.

"Take that thing off, Ludo. We're supposed to be impartial." he hisses, before returning to his chat with the Irish minister.

"Hey, it was a gift from him." Bagman points carelessly to the Bulgarian Minister sitting a few seats over, making conversation with Lucius Malfoy. "How was I to tell him I can't take it? He doesn't speak a word of English."

Harry looks behind him to find that the Weasley boys have already scattered around to the railing, preoccupied with the omnioculars Harry bought for himself and Ron. Hermione, meanwhile, is in an odd position.

She sits on her knees, backward on one of the chairs, looking down between the rows.

Understandably curious, Harry walks over. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

"This is Winky," Hermione says, clearly distressed.

"Winky? What the hell is a 'Winky'?"

-

The green fireworks are brilliant, but no one is looking at them anymore. Everyone's eyes have been drawn down towards the field where about ten women dance. They're majestic, supernatural, extraterrestrial, and Harry has no earthly idea why but they remind him of Draco. Maybe it's their dazzling white blonde hair or the elegance with which they move. He can't think of the reason. He can't think much of anything right now.

The next thing he registers is a hand grabbing his wrist and pulling him away and down a set of stairs. He wants to protest. He doesn't want to stop watching the dancing women. He feels like were he to do so, something horrible would happen though he can't think of what.

As he's pulled, Harry turns back for a second and sees the other young men in a similar trance-like state, while the older gentleman politely looks away. He sees Hermione, unphased and still trying to console the drunken elf as she covers her large ears against the chants.

He whines when the dancing women disappear from his sight entirely.

A slender finger flicks his nose and the warm fuzzy feeling dissolves, or rather fades, not gone just diminished. 

"Oh, stop drooling, Potter. You're surrounded by much prettier girls every day." Draco, it seems, hasn't missed a beat, his tone is sarcastic as usual.

Absently, Harry notes that the resemblance between Draco and the women has increased in the dark spot under the stairs. His hair seems to glow, lighting the small space. But it's only for a second, and then it's gone. 

'Probably just all the arena's lighting charms anyway.'

Harry rolls his shoulders and stands up. He hadn't realised how slouched over he'd been, watching the women. He feels a little sick from the trance like he'd been drugged. His head swims and he grabs onto the closet thing he can find which is, of course, Draco Malfoy.

Draco blushes. Harry doesn't notice. 

"'The actual bloody fuck was that? What are those things? I was about to . . ." Harry searches for the right words, sifting through the memories tinted by the fuzzy glow, "Jump off the railing or something. Thanks for getting me out of there." He can still hardly believe what he'd been about to do.

"Yes, and I just saved your life, Potter, now you owe me now. You were acting like even more of an idiot than usual."

'Like I wouldn't do anything for you.'

"Obviously." Harry grits his teeth, embarrassed about his reaction. He risks a glance back at the women, but they look entirely different now, snarling, with bony wings piercing through their backs like Renaissance paintings of fallen angels. The fuzzy feeling is gone, replaced by disgust. 

Yet even now, it makes Harry uneasy, like they're something that could be used to distract the masses during an attack. But of course, thoughts like that are merely a side effect of constantly being hunted. Still, Harry jabs an accusatory thumb at the bird-like creatures and asks, "What. The hell. Are they?"

Draco looks almost like he wants to laugh, but then thinks better of it, seadying Harry and explaining calmly. "They're Veela."

"And Veela are?" Harry prompts, a little angry, though he's not sure why. Every other male and a few females were doing just the same as him, all heart eyes and open mouths.

"Veela are one of the few hundred species of humanoid magical creatures. Most of the time they appear as beautiful people, but their true form is that." Draco frowns down at the screeching creatures. "It comes out whenever they get angry or are preparing to attack prey. Don't worry they won't attack now, they're just throwing a tantrum."

"You can understand them?" Harry asks.

Draco ignores the question, pressing on with his textbook-like explanation, "They also go by the name 'Sirens' or 'Harpies'. They're the less prevalent but more violent cousins of the Water Sirens, also known as Merpeople. They're also somewhat connected to the fae evolutionary line. Some live in forests, some live in coastal areas, and some are nomadic. No matter where they live, they enchant prey, lure them, and then go in for the kill. Bulgaria's mascots are female, so they didn't work on me. Obviously."

Harry rolls his eyes, "Let me guess, I was in the hospital wing when we learnt this?"

Draco laughs, "No." then he hesitates, "Actually I only so much because they're part of our family history." He doesn't continue, looking suddenly wary.

"Oh, did your family like to fight with them for land or something?" Harry asks, thinking that this is something Hermione would find more fascinating, or perhaps distressing given her reaction to Winky's treatment.

Draco looks slightly offended, "Who do you think we are, Harry, some band of pillaging thieves."

" . . . Well, we are British."

Draco cocks his head, not understanding the reference to muggle museums that Harry had been dragged to on the occasions Mrs. Fig couldn't take him.

"No, the Malfoy family has always had excellent relationships with magical creatures. Actually . . . my mother is half Veela." He waits, studying Harry's face, waiting for him to make an expression of disgust like he what he gave the creatures earlier.

But Harry is silent, a thoughtful look on his face. He doesn't know what to think, but he knows that it must have taken a lot for Draco to tell him this, to reveal that the supporting pillar of his superiority complex is a lie.

Maybe Harry should feel like his world has been shaken by this revelation, he doesn't know. All he knows is that his first thought is 'That's really cool.' even though that's lame if you're older than 10.

'Potter actually taking time to consider something? This is bad, bad, bad.' Draco can feel himself beginning to shake.

But all Harry says is, "So you're not a pureblood?"

". . . Yes." The words are nearly inaudible amidst the cheers and jeers of the rabid audience around them. After a second Draco speaks up again. "Father doesn't talk about it. Mother doesn't do much either. Mother doesn't have the same mother as her sister. Her father had a short relationship with the Veela who would become her mother when he was in France for his travels. But the Veela didn't want a child or a family, she was a nomadic forest dweller, a friend of the fae, so she left my mother in the care of my Grandad, who was heartbroken. I've never met my mother's mother, but at least Grandad's wife is nice. Mother says it's important to know about your history so we visit Grandad in France a lot. Dad doesn't come." The last part is said quietly.

Harry has the sudden urge to hug Draco but doubts that Draco would enjoy that even if the boy looks sadder than he's ever seen. He does nothing for a moment, then, "I'm sorry."

"I don't need your pity, Golden Boy." The words lack vitriol, and then gathering his composure, Draco finishes his explanation. "Since Veela are so rare, they don't get talked about much. They're sort of controversial. It's kind of a 'Wizards leave them alone and they leave wizards alone' thing."

"Oh, good to know, I guess?" Harry eyes the hissing creatures as ministry officers escort them from the field. They go less than willingly.

"There isn't too much known about them, and they like it that way. Most wizards, unless they're researchers, never meet one. Professor Quirrel told us he did, but . . ."

Both boys snort.

"Yeah, he probably wasn't the most reliable, after all, he had a lot going on in his head."

With the terrible pun, they descend fully into ache-inducing laughter, not noticing the players of both teams racing onto the field for introductions.

The boys turn to watch the ceremony silently.

Even with the deafening noise, it's still too quiet. Harry's ears ring.

"Have you ever been to a game like this?" It's a stupid question. 'Of course, he has. What's wrong with you?' Harry mentally smacks himself.

Draco doesn't look at him like he's stupid, or scoff, surprisingly. He just nods. "Yes. I sit somewhere in a box like the ministers by myself while Father schmoozes."

'That's sad.' Harry thinks, watching Ireland's chasers without really seeing them. It's getting too loud again, and the feeling of foreboding is back.

"Can you tell me about them? The games, I mean." 'Anything, really. Just to fill the silence, just to make this ringing stop.'

Draco nods and launches off into the story of the latest Magpie's game he attended. His words are coloured with rare smiles. And Harry watches him, taking every one of those smiles in as if he'll never see it again. Maybe he won't.

'He looks so different.'

And when Harry looks away, back to the game he so loves, allowing Draco's voice to blend into the background, it's Draco's turn to stare.

'He never looks at me for long. Like it hurts him to stay in one place for more than a few minutes. Is that because of He-who-must-not-be-named?' He sighs.

Meanwhile, Harry is more than a little annoyed with himself, for paying so little attention to his favourite game when this is probably his one chance to go to an event like this. He barely notices when Draco passes him a pair of Omnoculars he brought from home. He takes them wordlessly.

Events like these are regular occurrences for Draco so he takes this opportunity to stare at Harry unabashedly.

'He's so still now, focused. Merlin, he's something when he concentrates. Summer holiday almost made me forget. But more than anything, he looks at peace, content, and happy. I could never make him look like that, not when the last war drags behind my name like one of Mother's capes. I don't even know what Mother and Father's part in it was and yet that is all he'll ever see when he looks at me. Should I ask him? Would he tell me?'

-

The boys watch in silence for a while longer. Harry watching the field and Dracow watching Harry. But it isn't long before they get talking again, at first about the plays and then about home, or in Harry's case, the Burrow, and then about school.

Harry stops himself just as he almost mentions Sirius. He wants to, so badly he wants to, he's never wanted to tell anyone about his secret so much before. 

'The Malfoy's are related to the Blacks, right?' Harry remembers seeing the two names together when he was searching for Nicholas Flammel in first year. 'That would make Sirius, Draco's cousin. He wouldn't rat out his own cousin, would he? But then there's Snape . . . that complicates things. The Malfoys are close with Snape who hates my father, and Professor Lupin and probably anyone who knew them. Does that carry over? I know they'd hate my muggle-born mother, or at least Mr Malfoy would, but Sirius is a pureblood. No, better safe than sorry. Even if Draco wouldn't snitch his father might force him to, and then the ministry would catch Sirius.'

With Harry's hesitation, the conversation comes back to the topic both boys have been avoiding. How could it not when thoughts of Voldemort swirl violently in both of their heads?

Draco's face darkens. "Harry . . ." He says his first name hesitantly, worriedly, so different from the affectionate 'Potter' that's become a nickname.

Shyness isn't a trait Harry has seen in the Slytherin boy since he first approached him in the Library in second year. It looks wrong on him. Harry looks up, meeting grey eyes with his own green ones. Hoping to stare as intensely as Draco does, though he doubts he will succeed.

"Yes, Draco." Whatever it is Harry just wants him to just spit it out instead of fumbling around the bush. The feeling of bad things on the horizon has Harry on edge, he doesn't want to waste time

"H-has your scar been hurting, or anything like that?" Draco looks down as he says it.

"What?"

"You heard me." Draco snaps, then softer, the desperation he's worked so hard to hide leaking into his tone, "Please don't make me ask again."

"Oh, okay. . . . Yes. How did you know?"

"It's just that you mentioned last year that it hurt whenever He-who-must-not-be-named was near."

"Yeah, I did say that." There's something in Draco's voice that has Harry on edge. He's heard him jealous, annoyed, angry, smug, joyous, but never like this, never so devastatingly afraid.

"Have you noticed anything off lately . . . like any signs?" The question is vague, and they both know it.

"Signs? Like on the road? You know I'm only 14, I can't drive yet, not that the Dursleys would let me." The sass is only meant to fill the silence. The words dissolve into the thick air, almost as if they were never said.

"It's just that . . . I . . ." He stops, opening and closing his mouth a few times only for no sound to come out. The air is thick enough with sparklers and shouts to wrap itself around you and squeeze the air right from your lungs.

"Look, Draco, whatever it is, you can say it to me. I've gotten great at keeping secrets, and if it's about Voldemort I need to know!"

Draco flinches at the name, at Harry's sudden intensity, but nods, exhaling heavily, "I think something is going on, a-and I-I think it has something to do with my father."

Harry's eyes widened. "Your father?" But it isn't hard for him to believe. He saw how easily he'd slipped that book into Ginny's caldron that day, even if he hadn't noticed the practised motions at first. But Draco is his friend, he doesn't want him to have an evil father, impossible as it may be for him to do anything about it.

Draco's lip trembles. He knows it too. He didn't see the slip happen, but he heard whispers at home about the monster deep in the bowels of the castle, heard enough to slip the page to Hermione in the library. He knows, even if he wishes he didn't, even if he wishes he could unhear everything and be happy again like when he was younger. He knows, and as much as anyone would like there's no way he can't.

"Yes." He doesn't continue, not trusting himself to hold it together. He curses the weakness internally.

Harry waits, trying as best he can to tamp down the reflexes that tell Draco to spit it out and listen patiently. When he sees that words are failing him he decides to go first.

"You know, I've been having this dream, but it doesn't feel like a dream." It's the first time he's told anyone, "It feels like I'm really there, like somehow I'm seeing something through someone else's eyes, but I have no idea whose, and no idea why. The dreams are different every night, but they always have the same few things. A snake, and this man who looks about a half step up from complete madness. And they're plotting to kill someone . . . I think they're plotting to kill me."

Draco's looking at him now, focused and thoughtful, calming down. 'Good. I don't like seeing him so worked up, it's wrong.' So Harry continues.

"The latest one was an old house. The Riddle Estate, his estate . . ."

-

When Harry finishes Draco doesn't look calm. He looks even more panicked before, hands gripping the railing so hard his knuckles turn white. He pushes it down, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, calming himself before he speaks.

"So you think that he's back." He doesn't even want to say it aloud.

"I don't know what to think. I thought he was gone in the first year, then his diary came back, but the diary was destroyed so he shouldn't be able to, and yet . . ."

Darco nods, looking out at the crowd. 'All those people, thousands of people . . .' He tries to imagine the size of the crowd with all the muggle-borns, and half-bloods gone. It doesn't look good.

"Father has been talking about an event to happen at school this year, but there have been . . . other things as well." He can't look at Harry.

"Other things?" Harry has to prompt Draco again. It's like he can't make himself say the words like he's too afraid that will make it all real.

"He's had these people over."

"What people?" Oddly, as Draco keeps talking Harry grows more patient, not less, maybe because he can see the other boy fraying at the edges, a singular thought eating at him.

'I knew my father wasn't a kind man, but is he an evil one?'

"I- I don't know but they all wear these big black cloaks, like dementors. They go to the basement and lock the door, but I can hear them through the vent in my room. The things they talk about, Harry . . ." It's the second time today he's used Harry's first name, only about the third time ever. "Horrible things. Making Hogwarts more selective is one thing, but torture is-" a sob cuts him off, "I- I think my father is a murderer . . . I think he's one of them! And I think they're planning to do something tonight!" 

Draco crumples in on himself. Normally he looks older than Harry, so much more mature, and polished, but now he's just a 14-year-old boy who doesn't want a monster for a father. He might like to play at it with his friends, but he doesn't want anything to do with real evil.

Harry is deeply confused. "One of whom, Malfoy? Do what?" He feels the slightest bit awkward using Draco's surname after Draco hadn't used his.

"Death Eaters, Potter, Death Eaters. Don't tell me you don't know!" He sobs again, distraught, face buried in his hands.

Harry doesn't know. He doesn't know what Death Eaters are. He doesn't know what to do with the sobbing boy at his feet.

"I don't." he says stupidly, feeling less like 'The Chosen One' than ever. He's said a lot of stupid things today. 'Another pattern.' he thinks bitterly.

This only makes Draco sob harder. "They're his followers, Harry. Who else would they be!?" The words are thick under the tears. Harry doesn't need any more clarification. The dream invades his mind again, the gardener once again falling at his feet, eyes still wide in shock from whatever reptilian creature he saw in that chair before his untimely death.

Struggling to blink away the green, Harry kneels down, levelling with Draco. Normally he's the paranoid one, and Ron is assuring him that nobody is trying to kill him. "Uh, look, Mal- er Dr- Malfoy, thanks for telling me, but even if he is a Death eater, Voldemort is dead, there'd be no point in trying to follow a dead guy. . . . And this event has got loads of security, like everywhere. There's no way anything could happen." It isn't comforting, and Harry knows it. He doesn't even believe what he's just said, after all, Hogwarts is the most protected place in England and Voldemort already got in once.

Obviously, Draco isn't comforted, but neither boy needs to mention that, so he just sinks further into himself. Then after a while, Draco looks up, his face like a small child, "Are you going to tell anyone?"

He should. He knows it. But with Draco looking at him so desperately he can only ask, "Do you want me to?"

Draco shakes his head, then nods, "I don't know."

'He's still Draco's father. Would it be better to have an evil father than no father at all? I'll never know, but we shouldn't rush into this. His father is a respected member of the Ministry, an accusation would likely be dismissed unless there was heaps of proof. I doubt some suspicious meeting would get it.' Harry feels as if he's been momentarily possessed by Hermione with how much careful thinking he's done today.

'What would Hermione do? Hermione would want to give someone the benefit of the doubt. She'd gather as much evidence as she could, analyse it, and then make a conclusion. The Scientific Method. But if there really is to be some sort of attack tonight, then we haven't got much time. And with the way Mr. Malfoy looked at Draco earlier . . . like if he couldn't be useful he shouldn't exist at all. I didn't like it. Having him spy would be definatley dangerous.' He doesn't know exactly why or exactly when the thought of Draco getting hurt became so utterly off the table, the same as Ron or Hermione.

"Okay, erm, I believe you. But let's just take this slow. We need proof. And he's still your dad, so-"

"I know that!" The words are supposed to sound biting, Harry thinks, but Draco's voice is too broken.

Before Harry registers his movement he's against Draco, arms encircling the crying boy, pulling him closer, as if only Harry's arms could keep him safe. 

Draco freezes, then leans into it. They stay like that for a while, neither of them knowing how to end the contact without seeing the awkward look that must surely be on the other's face. Eventually, they do separate, both blushing, and both ignoring it. Wordlessly, Harry helps the still-stiff Draco back to his feet.

Footsteps behind them make both boys freeze like deer in headlights, but it's just an old woman and a young girl.

'Aren't they who Percy was yelling at earlier?'

"Oh, no need to stop on my account," she assures them as she walks by, smiling sweetly as she lets her granddaughter lead them back to their seats.

At this, the boys spring apart, as if having just touched hot metal.

"Sorry." Harry offers dumbly. "It's just Hermione, she likes to be hugged when she's upset, and Ron always hugs Hermione and me so I thought- Whatever."

Draco nods but gives no more response.

The two don't touch again, standing an awkward distance, too close for enemies but not close enough for friends. Strangers.

[kellystar321]

*Sticks hand through catflap* Pardon me Jace but I heard you would not talk about Henry Stickmin OCs at length until someone asked you. Please deposit all of your information into my hand please and thank you

hi math!! <3 *cracks knuckles* alrighty heres my little stickmin guys, not counting ace and eca because their relationship to canon is ✨ strange and unorthodox! ✨

Short Descriptions

Acanthus: A hedge witch who lives in the woods, no associated factions but oddly seems to house a lot of Toppat visitors.

Pazi: A CCC worker who works in a mobile unit off the coastline of Russia.

The Javelins: A found family of five scientific experiments with grafted wings to be recruited into the military.

Long (and i mean long) Descriptions under cut:

^ old reference, feathers in her hat have been changed to acanthus flowers

Acanthus (she/her): Acanthus lives alone in a cabin in the woods, a little decrepit but not too worse for wear. She is a very advanced hedge witch, and her magic mostly consists of herbal remedies and teas (though she does know basic warding and sigils, kitchen magic, and protection magic.)

She married a long time ago, and she and her husband built their cabin together on the edge of the forest, and they lived happily together for many years learning magic together. As the years went by, the forest inched closer and slowly grew darker and more sinister. One fateful day, three months after their first child was born, Acanthus’s husband was killed by a creature of the forest, and in grief she cast a radiating field of protection from her cabin outward, sustained for as long as she lived. From then on, she vowed to protect anyone who wandered into the section of the forest she resided in, since she could not protect the one she loved the most.

She is the guardian of the section of the woods where she lives and she protects those who walk in her area of the forest. She goes out every day to collect herbs and plants and hangs them up to dry in her home. Those who do not mean harm can seek sanctuary in or near her cabin. She hasn’t had quite as many visitors since her granddaughter Hazel left to join the Toppats.

Y’know. Hazel. The Witch.

Acanthus’s daughter (The Witch’s mother) didn’t want to be so secluded in the dark woods and moved away into the city. Acanthus supported her daughter’s choices and continued living in the forest alone. Acanthus’s daughter had a child, and The Witch grew up with an affinity towards plants. The Witch visited Acanthus’s cabin every summer from a young age. Acanthus taught The Witch everything she knew about herbalism. Acanthus was the first person The Witch came out to about being trans, and was delighted when she found out that Acanthus was trans as well.

One of Acanthus’s many potions is a tea which helps the body develop in tune with the drinker’s perception of their gender. There’s some effects that happen right away (voice changes, hormone production), but most effects take multiple doses of the potion. (Potion of trans your gender REAL). Acanthus drank this to transition, and so did The Witch.

Eventually, The Witch joined the Toppats, though she still comes back to visit often.

Acanthus was originally created to help my friend @frazzledazzlin’s character, Jesse, transition. He wanted a witch in the woods to magically trans Jesse’s gender for his backstory, so I offered to make a witch for this purpose! Acanthus enjoys Jesse’s visits immensely and treats him like a beloved grandson. Jesse helps her with chores and she always invites him for tea and supper and a chat.

Jesse will often call her Acantha, and The Witch calls her Nana. She will always sends them back to the Toppat airship/orbital station with a protection sigil and a new container of tea bags.

If I could turn this into a piece of media, it would be: A series of non-chronological comics mostly centered on whenever someone visits the cabin. _______

Pazi (they/xey/she): Pazi Morozova is a CCC employee looking for chaos disturbances near Russia’s coast of the Bering Sea. The Mobile Unit R321 is manned by xem and xem alone. They basically live in that thing and have turned it into a one-room apartment.

Pazi joined the CCC as a mobile unit operative to investigate the strange power surges that would randomly spike in the sea. She triangulated and found the source – a ship that housed a certain doctor specializing in cyborgs – and tried to destroy it (like most CCC employees try to do).

Due to a malfunction, the Ultimate Freeze device and a Frost Ray were combined and blew back into her face, hitting her directly. The accident gave them a new power, the ability to slow time of things and people they coat in a layer of frost, freezing them in place.

However, the blast also took out much of the lower half of xeir face, as well as the part of xeir arm xey used to shield xeir eyes. Her mobile unit crashed into the sea and Dr. V graciously took her in to fix her up. Dr V. let her stay on her ship while xey recovered and they worked on her mobile unit together to get it flight-ready again (which they prolonged the repair of as they grew attached to each other). They dated for a while, but eventually felt as if they weren’t compatible as lifelong partners, so they broke up on friendly terms. Pazi quietly returned to working for the CCC.

They still care deeply about each other as friends, and they video chat sometimes and have semi-regular meet-ups whenever they happen to be near each other in the sea. Pazi docks their mobile unit on Dr. V's ship and makes her coffee, and Dr. V gives their mechanics a tune-up while they chat. These days, Pazi makes sure Dr. V is safe from the CCC’s radar.

Pazi was originally created from the #henrystickminocchallenge on twitter, and was eventually given a backstory.

If I could turn this into a piece of media, it would be: A short fanfic centered on Pazi’s life before and then during their stay with Dr. V. _______

The Javelins: jfc where do i start lmao

TW: Torture, Kidnapping, Death, Experimentation

The Andromeda Facility is a scientific laboratory that runs completely morally sound experiments with consenting volunteers.

At least… on the first floor.

Past a secret elevator, lower floors reveal much more sinister projects performed on kidnapped subjects. With excess funding from first-floor experiments, The Andromeda Facility aims to make ground-breaking scientific revelations, ethics be damned.

Enter The Javelin Project.

The Javelin Project is an Andromeda Facility initiative aiming to graft wings to a human body in order to create a mobile field operative more discreet than helicopters, but still intelligent enough for Government work. The project was named Javelin, for the sleek and efficient ability to fly through the air and narrowly breach through enemy defenses.

With three previously failed test trials under their belts, scientists are ready to proceed with Group 4, five subjects who’ve already been through the wringer...

Javelin Group 4, Case A (J4-CA) – self-proclaimed “Alexandria” (she/her) – is a reject from The Athena Assignment, an experiment to jampack all Earthly knowledge and intellect into a select number of humans. Alexandria was a strong start with an abnormally high IQ level, but was deemed too violent after weekly provoking. (One of the scientists kept challenging her to a chess game where he continuously altered the rules so she couldn't win. Every time she captured on of his pieces she'd scrape the piece along the side of the board, wearing it down to a sharpened edge she used to slice his chest.) She was removed and placed into the Javelin Project. Alexandria is highly intelligent and protective of her loved ones, jumping to defend them.

^ Javelin Group 4, Case B (J4-CB) – self-proclaimed “Jacob” or “Coby” (she/they) – is a reject from The Fountain Experiments, a look into anti-aging serums meant to help the skin appear more youthful, though this had negative effects on the physical and mental age development of Coby. A child who started as a 13 year old had regressed into a 7 year old with an even lower mental age. She was discarded as scientists researched serums with less negative side effects. Coby is shy, sweet, and easily attached to people who are the slightest bit kind to her. She’s so baby.

^ Javelin Group 4, Case C (J4-CC) – self-proclaimed “Keter” (it/they) – has not been in a previous experiment before. Its mother was a scientist working obliviously on the first floor of the facility who was killed after accessing an unauthorized level of the building. Keter broke in after its mom never came home and was taken and placed into the Javelin Project. Keter is feisty, angry, and leans hard into the experiment vibes, being a nightmare of a test subject if it means it’ll take attention off of its family.

^ Javelin Group 4, Case D (J4-CD) – self-proclaimed “Dewdrop” “Dewy” or “Dew" (they/he) – was previously a worker who tended to low-maintenance plant experiments on the first floor, and was taken to be part of the Terracotta Tests, an experiment in human photosynthesis when spliced with plant cells. The experiment failed since the photosynthesis became uncontrollable, and Dew began growing rue and asphodel from their hair and skin. They were rejected from this experiment and sent to be part of The Javelin Project. Dew is spacey, dazed and forgetful most of the time, but shows affection to their family after prolonged containment with them.

^ Javelin Group 4, Case E (J4-CE) – self-proclaimed “Jace” (he/she/they) – is me! Jace was a reject from the Nocturn Experiment, though not as a subject. He was part of the experiment equipment, meant to repeat a specific musical melody to make a group of people fall asleep as a conditioned response. After making too many mistakes in this experiment, he was placed into the Javelin Project. Jace is weary but caring, very maternal and nurturing.

--

The Javelin Project takes a long time of hollowing out bones, the wing grafting process, and eventual flight training. Every night the subjects get shunted into a room together and given their food portions which they share. They talk, sing, and comfort each other. They are all that they have.

The Javelin Project can either fail (all or almost all the subjects die), partially succeed (a set of the subjects survive), or fully succeed (all subjects survive), each leading to different timelines for the Javelins.

The main ones are: - The Escape Timeline, where the group of five try to escape, but Coby, Keter and Dew die in the process. When caught by scientists, Alexandria gives up her life so Jace can run away. Jace joins the Toppats to swear revenge. - The Government Timeline, where the Javelin Project succeeds and they’re sent to work for the government. Why do they do this? I have not planned that out yet. I think they’re being forced to but who knows why they're cooperating. I’ll figure it out. Anyway, other than The True Ending, this is the happiest ending for them since everyone survives and are let outside together. They do missions together and Jace and Alexandria take care of the three kids and are parents together and they’re found family.

J4-CE was originally created for a secret project. :)

If I could turn this into a piece of media, it would be: A “your-choices-matter” RPG Maker game with a rhythm game segment, a visual novel segment, a tamagotchi simulator survival segment, and multiple endings based on who survives. I will make this someday.

[laughterfixs]

Art dump anyone? 👀 had some major needs to wreck some celestial jesters and well…had needs for some of my older ocs so here we go!

Meet Nevera! She’s one of my old ninjago ocs from the times of me making my own serpentine tribes~

The taipanai are a strong and elusive tribe with their venom being their greatest weapon and tool! A few drops can paralyze a grown man for over an hour! But mixed with the right herbs, it can make a potent medicine!

As the saying goes, never trust a snake…Sunny likes her however~!

Fun fact about Ana, she too is adopted! Her mother being Najada! Sun and moon very lovingly refer to her as Nana or Nanajada!

And when Ana is away or busy, sun and moon are still trying to work up the courage to ask their nana for their favorite game.

Nana provides of course~

And much to the boys excitement disappointment, mama and nana will very gladly gang up on them and give them all the loving tickles they deserve~

A nuzzly huffy dragon is a horrible thing to have against your tummy~

[littlebosslady7]

what does fearne and ashton's fae cottage look like in your story?

I love this question, nonnie. Thank you.

Fun headcanon no 1: To me, it's Nana Morri's old home before and a little bit shortly after she got linked with Tummy through a pact with the ruler of 1 of the 9 hells gone wrong.

Thatched (straw) based roof reinforced with arcane elements. White brick with a deep purple front door.

A decent sized kitchen, though a bit narrow at times. White walls, avocado green painted cabinets. The ice box matches the cabinets. Bowls of fresh fruit on the wall for Mister to climb at different heights. Expensive stove and cutlery because Ashton enjoys cooking to relax. More of a breakfast nook (not a huge dining area) that leads to their living room.

Living room: Floral wallpaper that's a bit water stained. Pastel couches and chairs. A crystal ball on the coffee table to watch the chaos Nana creates. Cottage window with ivy growing nearby. A mobile bar/tea cart.

Fearne and Ashton's bedroom: They had a large canopy bed. Somehow, the curtains broke. Humungous can fit their Titan forms. Neutral colors whites, grays, and occasionally a pale yellow/beige bedspread. Pops of color with flowers on Fearne's side. Ashton has crystals. Too much contrasting color can make Ashton nauseous. A loveseat and small table should they eat in there.

Treasure Room: Shelves lined with their ever-growing collection. Fearne Druid crafts in there. Ashton meditates.

Mister's Playroom: Cat tree, but for a Monkey. Scorch marks and poop stains on the wall. A heavy bag for Ashton to punch. Targets for Fearne to blast. I'd imagine it's very earth or forest green toned.

An outdoor shower enclosed in cedar wood, small closet, cramped bathroom. Hence the outdoor shower. They grow ahem certain herbs, flowers, and fruit. All some odd fey varieties.

[hyperesthesias]

Decisions & Desire Part II

Notes: Look, what I want you to take away from this is: 'I love you. Most ardently'. I even got the rain thing going. Song choice for this installment is: Arrival of the Birds by The Cinematic Orchestra.

Context: Anya and Viktor are childhood friends who have reconnected seven months ago. Anya is a mage, and a theoretical physicist; she is also a patron of Viktor and the Academy. They have rekindled their friendship, and are in love with each other. Because Anya is a different species, who lives for hundreds of years, and takes only one mate for her lifespan, Viktor has recused himself from her life, not wanting to cause her further pain. However, Jayce has some choice words for his friend. Anya also learns more about transformation rituals from her temple elder.

word count: 4,411

Tag List: @uniquedeerwitch ; @funcoolchickie (Let me know if you would like to be tagged!)

AO3 link

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Anya kept the company of her kinfolk, while Viktor kept himself confined to his laboratory. She had not seen him in nearly a week – neither had she heard from him, despite her occasional visits to the lab with pertinent information and translations of runework. Whenever she made an appearance there, Viktor always seemed absent, and her work was relayed solely through Jayce, who asked her no questions, neither pressed any agendas about the crystal or her relationship with her friend. It only made her feel more alone.

Despite the happy faces and the welcome invitations from her kin at the temple, Anya felt no desire to join them in preparations for the Autumnal Equinox festival – she had no mirth to contribute to the festival at all, and instead planned on recusing herself from the event. Regardless of where she went, or with whom, the abstinence of her friend’s love, and desire for their bonding, followed her – a horrible shadow that clung to her, even when the Sun shone brightest. His life was fragile, its length short, and she saw his grappling as a hindrance to the time that could be shared between them, despite the obstacles presented to them. 

Her elder, Nana, was the only one of the temple who asked nothing of her, nor expected her presence in any capacity, except for that of a cup of tea. Nana was seven hundred years old, and she was the oldest and wisest among their community. She had long, silver hair that ran past her feet, and that matched her age; she had weathered skin and a warm smile that crinkled her eyes. Her home resided on the temple acreage, and she tended the sacred trees and flora and fauna that made the grounds lush and vibrant. Her cottage smelled of herbs, and the couch was well worn from visitors who sought her company. She was quick to listen, and slow to scold, but always had advice when it was asked of her.

“I have more ideas about the transmutation spell you asked me about some while ago,” Nana said, and served Anya a cup of berry tea. “I found a codex in the old catacombs of the temple. Don’t tell anyone.”

Anya smiled lightly, and held the cup in her lap. She had no desire to speak.

“There are many legends of shape shifting, as you know,” she continued with a huff and a grunt as she sat down on the couch. “Many talk of our ancient ancestors who could change into jaguars or hummingbirds during the heat of battle. Even dragons. But birds and cats sounds more believable to me,” she eyed her young guest with a simper. “Though much of what is written in these codices are thought of as fantasy by the majority – superstition and stories meant to inspire awe and terror into the hearts of enemies from long ago.”

“Do you believe it is possible?” Anya asked.

Nana looked at her and shrugged as she took a sip of tea. “I’ve seen too much to disregard anything at all. There are some who are gifted with the abilities of magic – like you and your parents; others who can communicate with animals and spirits. Who’s to say there is not a gene somewhere out there, wandering around, that can cause someone to shape shift? Maybe it got lost,” she chuckled.

“Did the codex suggest wanting anything in return for this power?”

Nana looked at her, suspicious, but she conceded: “No, there was no mention of an exchange – it was a power bestowed by the divinities. A gift. There were times it was granted as a way to smite an opponent in battle. Others, it was given as a way to protect a village or a family.”

Whatever the secret had been of transmutation, it was evident it was long lost, and was now regaled into the nebulous mythos of cultural tales. Anya set her untouched tea on the table in front of them, and nodded. “Thank you, Nana. But I do not feel up to having anything at the moment. I think I will leave.”

“What is wrong, my dear?” Nana asked, and held out her hand that she might stay.

“It is nothing. Childish things.” She shook her head, afraid she would think her a fool for her despondency. Viktor’s stubbornness was a sufficient burden, but Nana’s disapproval would be more than she could bear.

Nana gave her a sad smile as she watched the affliction on her soft face. “There is no such thing as too small a grief.”

Anya looked to her, reticent. She debated on what to say, but knew that if there was any one person in her community who could be relied upon, it would be Nana. “It does not feel small,” she admitted.

“This isn’t about runes.” Nana set her cup of tea down.

“No. It is not.” She looked out of the window at the far end of the room, she watched as the wildflowers blew, delicate and limber, in the afternoon sun – their stems and leaves had begun to turn brittle as Summer ended and as Autumn began. Soon, they would be wilted and returned to the earth from which they first grew. Viktor’s ailing health pressed upon her heart and she resisted the stinging in her eyes. She swallowed the hot, salted water that had gathered at the back of her throat, and she kept her head down. “There is someone with whom I wish to bond,” she said. She could not bring herself to say anything more.

“Have they refused you?” Nana asked.

“The desire is mutual. But he will not bond with me.”

Nana could think of no reason why someone would be so indecisive. Anya was well off – finances would never be a concern; there were no wars in which their kind had been involved, in Piltover or in Zaun, that could have amassed prejudice; there were no quarreling families within their own community that would prevent a peaceful union with Anya – a union with her would have been covetous. “Why?” she asked, bewildered.

“He is human,” she said. The tears she fought gathered at the edges of her eyes, and she struggled to keep them at bay as she looked at her elder. She turned away as a droplet ran down her face. “His health is frail, even by the standard of his kind. His lifespan will be cut short. He will not bond with me, so that I will not be alone when he dies.”

“That is honorable.”

“Too honorable,” Anya sniffled.

Nana smiled. There were few who understood and heeded the ways of their species – especially humans. To find someone with such zealous respect was both a blessing and curse.

“Nana – What is it like? To have a bonded who is no longer here.”

She took a long, slow breath, and memories passed her eyes as she thought on what to say. Her own bonded had been gone for nearly fifty years. It felt like an eternity. “I can still feel him – as I always did. When you bond with someone, you can feel what they feel, you can know where they are, and see the world through their spirit. It is the same, even now. He is still alive, somewhere. But not here. I feel that he misses me, as much as I miss him,” she gave Anya a smile, one full of joy and longing. She caressed her face – bright and full of youth and knowing. “This man loves you. Human men make no sacrifices for things they do not love. What will be, will be. Even if you love him from afar.”

Another tear fell onto Anya’s visage, and Nana gently brushed it away.

Anya returned to her quiet, cavernous home as clouds began to move their way through the sky. She recalled a rainy day in Zaun, where her mother told her to search for a bucket in the scrap heap around the corner from their house. The roof had sprung a leak, and Anya spent the night bailing out buckets of water. She was stricken with the cold, and became bed-ridden and ill, her mother tended to her with poultices and compresses for a week.

Her mansion made of marble had no leaks, and every gutter led to the gardens beneath. There were beds for vegetables and fresh herbs, there were fruit trees and bushes that yielded plentiful stone fruits and berries. She wanted for nothing. Except for the love she could not have.

She sat alone the rest of the afternoon in the salon, with a well lit fire and a hot cup of coffee as the rain began to fall, persistent and dour against the breadth of the windowpanes. She had numerous books on runes and shape shifting spread across the cushions, but she resented each of them. They all reminded her of Viktor.

Viktor arrived at the lab in a foul mood. The previous night left him restless, and what little sleep he gathered was listless and fitful. His mind was tired and overworked, and his heart had grown numb from the final exchange he shared with Anya; it sat on his stomach like a stone, and he felt himself pinned beneath it. Though he gave little credence to the tenements of Fate, he was beginning to believe in something far worse: bad luck. Luck, that he had reconnected with his friend after a decade and a half, and bad luck to have sabotaged his relationship with her. He lost the love of his life. He had no one other than himself to blame.

Viktor said nothing upon entering the lab and he promptly sat at his workbench, hunched over his journal; he analyzed the data he gathered the previous evening, along with several of Anya’s notes taped to the inside of his notebook. He could feel Jayce’s eyes on him from across the room. 

Jayce sat not far away – he had been studying the crystal under a lens, having arrived at the lab nearly two hours before his partner. He leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh, his hands ran down his face – every facet of the crystal was beginning to blur into one another, and he could hardly tell the difference between the runes anymore. He looked up towards his friend again, who seemed to share his same, glossy-eyed look. 

“You hungry?” he asked.

Viktor gave no reply.

Jayce tilted his head, trying to see the expression on his friend’s face. It was stern, guarded, and unmoving. Viktor was not often outwardly expressive, but he was not devoid of feeling altogether, and he had come to know Viktor well enough to see when his friend was perturbed – despite the few indications he might give evidently. Jayce rolled the chair closer to his partner. “Hey –” he tapped his shoulder.

Viktor started and took a sharp breath. “What?” he growled as he shot Jayce a glance.

“I think we could both use a break. Why don’t we get something to eat.” A drop in blood sugar would explain Viktor’s harsh disposition.

He waved him off. “I am fine, go on without me.”

Jayce stared at him with scepticism. “You don’t look fine.”

Viktor closed his eyes and slowly inhaled. “There are things in my private life I would like to keep private,” he said. Jayce had become a friend – Viktor’s only friend besides Anya; and while his two friends were each other’s acquaintance, Viktor was careful never to divulge more than the superficial in regard to Anya and her background. He had given Jayce no knowledge as to her species, or her capabilities as a mage; the extent of his appraisal had been their friendship in childhood, and her success at the Academy. Nothing more, and nothing less. 

Concern built itself deeper into Jayce, and worry furrowed itself into his features. Not long ago, Viktor saved his life from the broken ledge of his apartment. The chill of that terrible night’s air gripped him by the throat, and he refocused himself onto his friend, instead. “You don’t have to suffer in silence.”

Viktor stopped, overcome with the memory of watching Jayce nearly step over the ledge and into death. They never spoke of it. They did not have to. It was a hermetic secret between the two of them, one that was never forgotten, and never mentioned. But Viktor could hear between what was not said. He sighed and turned on the stool, throwing the pencil on the notebook. “There is a dilemma, in my personal life, that has no favorable solution,” he said. “My only choice is to accept the consequence, and proceed with my life. My work,” he motioned to the notebook.

Jayce stared at him, more confused than before, his worries no more allayed. “Are you…getting fired?”

Viktor scoffed. “No. Although, I supposed I could be,” he murmured. His position at the Academy forbade any fraternization with a donor. It was yet another obstacle that bid him forget about whatever childish emotions welled themselves inside of his mind. “My affections for Anya have grown beyond that of friends,” he admitted. The feeling of her soft skin imprinted itself on his hands as he spoke, the feel of her breath as he kissed her, the sweet taste of her – she flooded into him all at once, and his chest tightened.

Jayce’s face softened and he began to smile.

“There is nothing to be done about it.” He turned back to his workbench.

“What do you mean?” Jayce asked, taken aback.

Viktor rolled his tongue in his mouth, his jaw stiffened and his eyes pierced through the pages of the book underneath his palms. He debated whether to speak of Anya’s species, but if he knew anything of his friend, he knew Jayce understood the value of a secret. “Anya is not like you and me. Her species is capable of living for a thousand years. In that time, they will have only one mate. It is for their lifetime. It is a bond that will last, even after death. My affection for her now will be meaningless in five hundred years.” He swallowed and closed the notebook. “She would be alone. That is not something I will allow.”

“So you’re not going to say anything?” 

“I already have.”

“And? What did she say?”

“We have not spoken in a week, since.”

“Well what the hell did you say?”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “I was honest with her. It is what she deserves. I told her my affection, and also told her it was better we do not bond.”

“She deserves the opportunity to decide for herself, Viktor.”

The lines in Viktor’s face drew deeper, and he felt offense flush his face.

“You made the decision for her. What if she wants to be with you?”

“Then it would be better for me to suffer the next thirty years alone, than her for centuries more.”

Jayce stayed quiet as he watched his friend anguish. 

“My refusal to bond with her is not out of arrogance or self-centeredness.”

“Viktor, she won’t wait for you forever.”

“That is exactly the point,” he denounced him. “Thirty years from now, I will be dead. And in three hundred years, she will find another she loves.”

“What if she doesn’t find anyone? What if it’s only you?”

“Statistics would argue otherwise.” He sighed and looked away from his friend as he leaned back in the chair. “I would never fault her for wanting to love another. But we will have already been bonded.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, not bad – foolish. We are not the same kind. We were not meant to bond.” He ended the conversation and returned to his notes.

Jayce gave him a disgruntled frown, though he knew Viktor was unable to see it. He remained silent, and only watched his friend compartmentalize his pain – despite how well Viktor assumed he was hiding it, Jayce could see his grief plainly. They had not known each other long, but knew him to be a lonely, stoic man, who devoted his life to proving his worthiness through science and advancement. He was a good man, who always thought of others before himself. Who thought of the woman he loved before his own desires. Jayce could not say the same about himself. Though he did not know Anya well, he knew she was the only one who could make Viktor laugh and smile without restraint; when they were together, Jayce saw enjoyment in his life – rather than only discipline and hardship. 

Perhaps he lived vicariously through his friend – that the merit of perseverance could be met with reward and happiness. Perhaps he resented him for refusing to accept such happiness. Or perhaps he was merely frustrated with his friend’s stubbornness. “You’re fighting this really hard,” he said.

Viktor took a grated breath and threw up his palms, knowing he would not get any work done with Jayce’s ever-optimistic meddling. “What would you have me do?”

“Stop sabotaging yourself.”

“And when she is left alone with no one, with nothing? What then? I will not be responsible for her suffering.”

“You already are.”

Viktor gnawed the inside of his mouth and looked away.

“You can’t live your life in the theoretical.”

Life was incalculably more complicated than the theoretical, or the practical – it was an egregious amalgamation of both, that fit neither descriptor. And sometimes, there were no viable solutions. Sometimes, there was only the best that could be done. Viktor’s parents did the best they could, despite their poverty, despite their flaws and faults. There were times, much like this, he wished he could talk to them. Ask for their guidance and advice, their life experience. But even without it, Viktor did the best he could. 

That was all that could be done.

Viktor drove a carriage from the Academy, after Jayce left the lab in the late afternoon. The Sun was setting, and dusk and rain were easily approaching on the horizon – cooler hues of orange and magenta sunk with the dark, impending clouds behind the Piltover skyline, and Viktor recalled a time when he could not see the Sun set, nor when it rose. He drove in silence as he mulled over the arguments of his friend, and the blistered emotions that imprinted themselves within his chest. The ability to intuit the machine beneath his hands allowed his mind to wander freely; he shifted it from each of its gears without fault or hesitation, and his left leg moved with ease to control the clutch and acceleration. The ability to pilot a machine granted him freedom from the physical fetters that plagued him daily – the rare moments in which he felt his body free from restraint, granted his mind clarity and respite.

Anya deserved honesty, he concluded. Honesty – not only in his emotions, but in his actions. There was a distinct line he observed: to deny them both the opportunity of bonding was dishonest, to himself, and also to her. Jayce, for all his meddling, had been correct: Anya deserved to make her own honest decisions, and Viktor was required to trust her instincts, and trust the decisions she made for the course of her future. It was iniquitous, and it was presumptuous to determine her future for her. It was her future. Not his. But together, they could share the present.

The road to her home was winding, along a paved path lined with trees and wildlife. Though her mansion was modern, even by the Kiramann’s standards, the reclusivity and pastoral beauty of its location was something that appealed to him. Her culture revolved around the natural world, around the connection between their species and all life around them. It suited her that her home was deep within the forest. The fresh air of the treeline, and the onset of clean rain was a relief to his lungs, and to the memories of Zaun’s filth that permeated his mind.

The carriage pulled into the circular driveway, and he could see a dim light through the many windows of the house. Rain pummelled his shoulders the moment he stepped out, and he hurried with his cane as well as he could across the cobblestone for cover underneath the porch. But the winds were shifting through the forests and mountains around them, and despite the cover of the overhang, the rain smattered him sideways. He pulled a gilded knocker on the door, and tapped it three times. He waited, eagerly, and mulled over everything he wanted to say while he attempted to keep a chill at bay.

Moments seemingly blurred into hours, and, presently, Anya answered the door.

“Viktor?” She stared at him, shocked – misery clung to his features, and she knew he had not slept; hunger drew the color from his face, and the rain drenched him from his hair to his shoes.

Everything he wanted to say, everything he planned on saying – every point he wanted to make suddenly vanished. He stood there – dumb and silenced.

“Are you alright?”

But everything he wanted to say, could be condensed into one singular phrase: “Anya, I love you.” He met her eyes with pleading, and swallowed; he felt bare having said the words aloud. “I do not know anything with certainty, but that I love you. I do not know the future. And I know nothing of magic. But, I try.” Even in the downpour around them, his throat felt parched. “I want to try. For however long the future will have me in this life. If you will have me.”

Anya’s heart raced within her, and she saw their future written plainly on his face: one of happiness, and one of hope – despite whatever hardships they might face. Her smile trembled at the thoughts and images that played before her mind’s eye. She nodded, breathless.

But he shook his head, afraid she had given her blessing too soon. He reached for her, as if to implore her, and petition her grace. “I cannot give you status. I can give you no children –”

She dismissed his fear, and cupped his face. “I do not bond with you for what you can give me,” she said. “My bond is my love for you, Viktor. Always.”

Viktor weakened at her words, and water flushed his face – though from tears, or from the rain, he could no longer distinguish. Her hands were warm, and any part of him that had been frozen or chilled melted at her touch. He nuzzled his cheek into her palm, and took her hand to kiss it – his cane moved to the crook of his arm. He breathed in her scent and revelled in the benevolence of her softness, with the thought of awakening to her beside him every morning, and falling asleep to the sound of her every night. He looked to her one last time: “Are you certain?”

“More than anything.” She brushed the water from the stern lines of his countenance, and gently pulled him towards her.

Gladly, he met her lips and drank in the sweetness of her taste. He caressed his palms around her face, where he left behind streaks of rain on her skin, and on her clothes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him taut, pressed against her.

Viktor took a breath and leaned against her face as she nuzzled her head into his shoulder. A pang gathered in his throat: not one of sadness, nor of the grief that had so despairingly plagued him the last week, but a pang of great and overwhelming emotion. Which emotion he could not clearly ascertain: happiness, relief, uncertainty and anxiousness of the future. It was akin to the peace and quiet calm that is only left behind after a storm. He felt a tear escape him, amidst the serenity inside of him. “What must I do,” he asked, his voice overcome with whelm and affection, “to bond with you, with the ritual of your people?”

Anya held him tighter with gratitude for his recognition, and moved to see his eyes: “You must find me a feather, and braid it into my hair.” 

The carnal intimacy of her sacred hair – to caress it, and comb it, to bring her pleasure with it, seldom occurred to him, but the thought was ardent and clear to him now. He stroked the side of her face, where the back of his hand graced against the edge of her mane; she emanated a quiet purr at his touch, and he relinquished his hand, flustered – though she had made no effort to pull away from him. He took her hand, instead, and kissed it once more.

Anya invited him inside, to warm himself by the fire; he sat on the couch where she had staked herself throughout the afternoon – books were still strewn across the salon, he chose one as he put his leg up onto an ottoman. Before he could protest, she poured him a hot cup of coffee of his own, and offered him a helping of sweet bread and fresh cheese.

“Thank you,” he said, and took the cup and plate.

“You forgot to eat again.”

“Bad habit,” he looked at her, diffident.

She raised a brow. “Which means you have also forgotten your medicine.”

Realization struck him, and he searched his pocket for his pill case. In the wave of ecstasy and emotion, he had not felt the pain in his back and hip, but as his mind anchored itself again, he felt it worm itself into the forefront of his attention.

Anya sat next to him, and leaned against him as he ate, and drank, and swallowed his pills. He looked at her, in the firelight – she was the beauty of a brilliant star, illuminated by the cosmos. He wrapped her in a blanket that was thrown behind them on the couch. He wondered, what life would be like thirty years thence, when he was frail, when he had even less to give her – nothing except the love he would always have for her. He saw his own future with her, as the fire danced across her: lenitive, contented, and a life in which he may always be free from fear. With her, Viktor felt safe. He always had. He always would.

[rockybloo]

What meals does Jack make Nana when she is sick, and vice versa?

Jack and Nana reside in Briar Patch and whenever anyone gets sick in that villain, Miss Castor is the go to for help since...I'mma be real I do not consider anyone in Briar Patch really eligible to take care of someone else while sick. THEY CAN DEF HELP MISS CASTOR but no one is proficient in bed side care.

Miss Castor tends to make soup with herbs and sprinkles of healing magic to help.

Of course, she changes up the ingredients per person since it's important that whoever she is healing eats all of the soup. And not everyone in Briar Patch has the same taste buds.

So Nana prefers much more meat in her soup than others while Jack enjoys things like carrots, corn, potatoes, hard boiled eggs-basically stuff he used to eat on the farm.

[jungle-angel]

Random Dad!Rhett headcannons: Part 3

You wouldn't know it but Rhett can FUCKING COOK! That man knows his way around a kitchen like no one's business

He makes the best jalapeno cheddar burgers, Royal tried one once during your family's Memorial Day barbecue and he instantly knew who was the rising grill master in the family

And those steaks? Forget it, Rhett is unmatched when it comes to steaks

Chicken? There's a little Jamaican place near your home and since the owner knew Rhett really well he shared his jerk spice recipe with him

Rhett even cuts and cures his own pepper slab bacon. You guys use it for grilled cheeses in the fall and for breakfast

He and Royal will often catch, cut and gut their own fish and when he throws it on the grill with a little bit of lemon, the herbs and spices, you guys are in absolute heaven

He knows that when autumn hits and you start baking, he can't stay out of the kitchen either

You will often make homemade cinnamon rolls and Rhett's always trying to sneak a bite

He'll help you make your famous cakey pumpkin cookies but always has to resist the urge to eat one when they come out of the oven

Fall is also when he makes Cecelia's pot roast. You two will come home after a long day, the air is all chilly, your faces beet red from the chill and the smell of the pot roast cooking all day in the crockpot filling the house

And when the holidays roll around, you and Rhett always have to decide what you guys are gonna do. When Christmas and New Year's rolled around, you and Rhett had a prime rib roast that could barely fit in the oven (lol), but oh did it turn out tasty

He's always sneaking little pieces of food to Amy, she's daddy's official little taste tester

And her Papa and Nana Cece, Royal doesn't have the heart to shoo her out of the kitchen since she's so damn cute

But one thing is definitely certain

It's that in your house, nobody ever goes hungry

[paperstarwriters]

I swear someone before me probably mentioned this but I don't care I'm bringing it up again because I just really really cannot get the idea out of my head.

[angst warning & also I just scribbled this down idk if it makes sense lol]

But like, what if Inanna was Muriel's mother's name? Or like, if not his mother, then something that sounds like his mother's name or his father's name.

like I know that Inanna is often represented as a sister to Muriel almost, but I can't help but feel like she's more like an older sister. Sometimes playful and silly but also sometimes very parental and caring, and I really just think it's because that's what Muriel needed in a companion when he left the coliseum.

But like yeah. What if Inanna was a name really close to his mother's name, what if it was his mother's name. What if in the Arcana realms Muriel's mom watches him from somewhere in the moon's realm between realities with a hand in the heart of his familiar making sure that he is loved, if not by herself, then at least by his familiar, and if not by that, then a friend.

Like I don't know what's better or what's worse, Muriel just by chance naming the wolf he has such a deep connection with Inanna, maybe because he had a dream and remembered her from somewhere, or if Inanna told him her name, or at least the closest thing she had to a name or something idk.

Idk it's probably just me and I'm probably just reaching hear but.... it's just Inanna—and especially her nickname Nana—feels so close to the tagalog word "nanay" meaning mother and I just hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Imagine that in that first year after he first escaped with Inanna. Imagine her telling him her name or him giving her that name and the faint little twinge of familiarity with that name, as if he's always known it—something he assumes is because of familiars or something. Imagine him trying and failing to go to sleep after running, too wound up and anxious about it all, expecting to hear the sound of soldiers with their sharp staffs and shining armor to drag him back where he belongs to kill Inanna and bring him back. Imagine him fearing the day that Lucio would just kick down his door and do all of that alone.

Imagine Inanna resting her head on his chest, trying to get him to breathe, Imagine her acting as a pillow, letting him hug her, and sob into her fur. Imagine her licking away his tears when he wakes up from a nightmare. Imagine her trying and failing to get him something to eat, because she knows that a pup needs to eat after they've been hurt in order to heal up quicker, but from what she's seen he needs to have his food cooked and she can't cook so she's always pacing by his bedside helpless to encourage him to eat, helpless to get him to eat more.

Imagine how Inanna had fought tooth and nail to protect him against Lucio, only to fail. Imagine how scared Inanna had been when her little brother, her son, her pup, her best friend was bleeding out in the forest, refusing her help and trying to chase her away so she'd be protected. Imagine her relief when you finally come along and do your magic. Her joy and pride when you two become tentative friends, even if Muriel is bristly the entire time.

Imagine all the quippy remarks Inanna makes to Muriel on his new friend, she teases him the way a mother does, or how a sister does, and how it all only serves to make him even more embarrassed. Imagine her, not only showing the both of you wolf pups in the forest to lift your spirits (and introduce Muriel to those who Inanna sees as his cousins maybe lol) but also showing you herbs found in these colder regions beneath the snow, showing you the faeries that linger in this portion of the forest. Showing you, though she cannot explain, things that Muriel would have known if he hadn't been ripped away from her arms.

Imagine Inanna's fear when the both of you disappeared into the arcana realms. When she worried about her little brother vanished into thin air, into a place filled with magic and strange fae. Imagine that second voice that always sat at the back of her mind just a pace or two away reassuring her that they will be cared for.

and you know all those times that Inanna worms her way into Muriel & MC's lap—most notably that one time during the death book? as they sit and huddle by the fire and wait out the winter storm? I can't help but imagine that's Inanna's attempt at a hug, that as the both of you keep each other warm she wants to be able to put effort into keeping you warm as well (and maybe because she wants extra warmth as well lol)

and then at the end of everything, at the end of all of it, when you putter around the hut helping Muriel cook food, threats of Lucio and threats of the devil both long gone and long lost, Inanna watches wagging her tail against the floorboards as she watches the both of you putter around and cook a hearty meal. The bulk of it, she knows is because you both want to be kind to each other. Muriel, she knows intends to make sure you're at least well fed, even if he is not, but you intend to make sure he is well fed and Inanna intends to help.

and just imagine, on occasion as you cook, a little idea slips into her mind and she rummages around the herbs and vegetables that you have in store, to bring you an ingredient that you're missing that would make the dish taste better, or an ingredient that she'd use to make it taste like home. Imagine her reveling in this small chance to share with Muriel her culture, knowing that someday soon, you'll show up, and someday soon, she'll be brave enough, or powerful enough, or whatever-defficiency-held-her-back-the-first-time enough to meet her son and properly hold her baby boy.

But for now, Inanna curls around him as the both of you sit by the fire place. And a sister sits by her brother, and a mother holds her son.