#I mean he can do what he wants but also WHERE!!! IS THE WHIMSY AND PUNS!!!!! AND WORDPLAYS!!!!!!!

[agentdarcylewis]

me when i have to accept that owl city has almost completely abandoned his fantastic gift for whimsical lyrics and instead i just gotta listen to autobiographical songs about his midwestern life 😭🥲😭🥲🙃😭🙃🥲

[citricacidprince]

doodle request on relativity falls - id love 2 see ur vers of fiddleford and where he stands in the story!! :DD

Of course!!!

Oh Fiddleford, my dearly beloved Fiddleford, he’s just a little guy who makes machines that hurt people and I love him for that <3

In my Relativity Falls AU Fidds is a kid from Tennessee who moved to Gravity Falls pretty recently, like in the past year.

He’s still really handy with mechanics, like a genuine prodigy, but he’s so riddled with anxiety that it’s a battle to get him to share any of his projects outside of his robots he makes to get revenge on those who wrong him!

He really does like hanging out with the twins, he thinks their both fun and is very happy they actually wanna be his friend, however their constant ‘Getting into weird and magical trouble’ is so stress inducing to him he’s going to get gray hairs by the time he’s 20 (Dipper can relate-)

I don’t have a lot of things solidified for him yet, other than I want him to be EXTREMELY tempted to use the Memory Gun on himself, to forget a lot of the horrifying things he’s seen over the summer, but is stopped by Candy (The inventor of the gun) at the last second. You see, Candy didn’t spiral like Fiddleford did in the show, she only ever used the memory gun on herself once. However, she used it to erase every bit of knowledge she ever learned about the weirdness of Gravity Falls, and Candy had spent YEARS of her life dedicated to it, she was arguably more curious about the weirdness of Gravity Falls than Dipper was. He was only curious out of morbid curiosity, she saw the whimsy and wonder in it all. So when Candy used the Memory Gun on herself and erased such a huge chunk of her memory it cracked her psyche, not leaving her a rambling and insane kook like Fiddleford, but more oblivious and unaware to everything around her while also being a liiiiittle ‘not all there’.

Between the two of them Candy definitely got the better end of the stick. Fiddleford was deemed insane and used the memory gun over and over again until he couldn’t even remember who he was anyone, his life falling apart. Candy used it once to make sure no one could ever use her research to hurt anyone after she learned her lab partner was literally working with an otherworldly being who could go into peoples heads and it cracked her mind because her research WAS her entire life, leaving her oblivious and dazed. However, Candy managed to find people who cared about her and were willing to care for her despite this. Sure she lives in the dump, but whenever a storm comes through or she gets hungry she can always go up to her friends Grenda, Mabel Mason, or even Pacifica at some point to help her out. Fiddleford had no one.

I want Candy to give Fidds a little pep talk, convincing him that despite those memories being scary and uncomfortable he’s going to need all of them because they’re what will help him grow as a person. He can’t just pick and choose which ones he wants because one day he’ll realize he doesn’t have any memories left to burn.

Maybe there could even be a moment where Fidds tries to use the memory gun on Candy because he convinces himself he NEEDS it and doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of hating choice, but freezes up when he realizes it does work on her anymore. The realizes what he just did because of how badly he wanted that memory gun seconds after he did it and starts to tremble, dropping the memory gun as he begins uncontrollably crying that he ‘didn’t mean it’ and he’s sorry. Candy wouldn’t hold it against him, just seeing a scared kid who was so desperate to make the mind numbing anxiety that he would do anything, and she’d hug him and tell him it’s okay before leading him back to the rest of the group.

Fiddleford makes me soooo ill I love him <3

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

You seem like an incredibly well read person, plus someone with a lot of insight into intimacy because of your work. So, in light of your romance book reviews, which are an absolute highlight on your patreon, do you have any insight into what is needed/suggested for a good romance novel?

g o d this is so fucking hard and also really fun to chew on. I want to preface this by saying this is ENTIRELY subjective and based completely on what I *PERSONALLY* find that I enjoy in a romance. this isn't, like, an objective guide on how to write a romance that doesn't suck. that doesn't exist because people like different things, and I'm speaking from one perspective.

also I should say that my preferred flavor of romance novel is solidly contemporary. I haven't read many historicals, certainly not enough to opine well on them, I don't do those mafia dark romances or whatever the fuck, and I've barely dabbled at all in any kind of fantasy romance, whether they're full high fantasy or witchy urban fantasy stories. (although I'm about to do one of the latter next month, you can vote for a book on my patreon rn!)

having gotten all of those caveats out of the way, here's some shit I like and dislike:

there are exceptions to this but broadly, I prefer a POV for everyone involved in the relationship. to me a romance where we're only seeing events from the POV of one member of the relationship automatically makes it seem like one person matters more in a dynamic where everyone should be of equal importance. also, god, if the plot's really going to hinge on not knowing what's going on in one partner's head suggests that miscommunication is going to be a pretty critical part of the plot, and I hate that shit. TALK TO EACH OTHER. I'LL KILL YOU.

on that note, there needs to be an actual compelling reason why the characters can't be together, okay? the #1 driving tension of every romance is "why the fuck can't they be together yet" and you BETTER have a good answer. whether it's interpersonal or external forces, if there's a very easy solution to what's keeping them apart then your characters look dumb and I'm bored. one of the most frustrating romances I've ever read involved two characters who were mutually attracted to each from the JUMP, who refused to act on it because they were coworkers (neither of them in any position of authority of the other, nothing unprofessional or inappropriate about it) and they were "only" living in the same state for A YEAR. A FULL YEAR !!! shut up. get a grip and kiss each other.

now, having said that: whatever your bullshit reason is for these two characters to be interacting with each other, you need to COMMIT to that shit so hard that I, the reader, will feel silly for even questioning the logic. the worst offender I've ever seen on this front is D'Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding, which pulls its protagonists together via a reality TV competition and then just... promptly loses any interest in really dealing with the actual realities of being filmed 24/7? it's insanely distracting how little the book engages with its central hook, and was a huge point deduction for me. whereas you have, like, The Bride Test, a book with a premise that skirts dangerously close to a little bit of human trafficking but embraces the whole premise so wholeheartedly that you completely forget about the potentially horrific elements in there. who cares that Esme was bribed here with the promise of a green card if she seduces a man she's never met? there's whimsy happening! we've moved on! it's literally fine and she's in no danger except the danger of a BROKEN HEART.

this one is going to seem SO obvious but like. I need them to be actually like each other. I'm not saying they can't be mutually bitchy while they grow to like each other or anything, they don't have to always be NICE to each other, but there are so many M/F romances where the dude is just flat out fucking MEAN and condescending to the girl until he decides he wants to fuck her. and sometimes even after that! stop it! after a certain point I don't want her to fuck him I want her to run him over a car!!!! there's suuuuch a line between "guy I butt heads and exchange banter with but could fuck if we just got to know each other" and "man who hates me and is for real fucking bullying me."

"kisses only," "doors closed," whatever term they use for a romance novel without any sex scenes on page, I don't like it. listen: I know that they're not everybody's cup of tea, and I FULLY recognize that a lot of romance novel sex scenes are unfathomably cringe. and yet, I need them. partly because they're funny, but also because if this book wants me to be invested in the developing relationship between two adults who are supposed to be WILDLY sexually attracted to each other, then I want to see the damn sex. no matter how many bad similes or unfortunate adjectives it entails. and if you're not going to show me the sex, don't you dare have the characters gushing about how great it is. I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much. (I'm looking at you, Sorry, Bro.)

related: there's this thing that I call "Horny Wolf Syndrome," which is derived from this tweet:

initially I used it to refer to when previously sweet-tempered male romance protags inexplicably started talking like horny wovles during sex scenes - "LET ME SEE YOUR PRETTY CUNT ON MY COCK" and the like - but now I more generally use it to refer to scenarios in which characters of any gender completely dispense with their established personality while they fuck in order to fulfill a more broadly appealing, one-size-fits-all sexual fantasy. I hate that shit; if your characters act like completely unrecognizable people during sex, you didn't write very strong characters. one of my favorite things about writing sex scenes is that it's so SO interesting to see how their the characters' personal quirks translate into a setting that's very different from most other contexts, and it's deeply disappointing when authors take the easy route in favor of some pornhub dialogue.

one of the things that actually won my most recent read, Raiders of the Lost Heart, a HUGE amount of points with me was how frank the female lead was about initiating sex for the first time. it was completely in character for her and felt really different than any other book I've read, and honestly? it was a breath of fresh air.

[inbarfink]

Part of Fionna’s frustrations with Mundanewold were subconscious longings for her old life of magical adventure, but a lot of her problems tied more into deeply-rooted issues of monotony and a feeling like she can't do anything to change her lot in life and like her actions don’t matter.

And it does seem like Fionna and Friends’ lives have been kinda Stuck in a Rut - especially when you compare the way their lives parallel and diverge from their Mainworld counterparts. Most of the differences are... rather than just different choices diverging into different arcs - it’s the same arc, but the Fionnaworld characters are just stuck behind.

Fionna is still reeling from the breakup with DJ Flame and only met Hunter at the very day our story starts. Marshall Lee has more Unresolved Issues with his mom compared to Marceline and her dad. He and Gumball haven’t even met yet. Not to mention the Mundaneworld-specific problems like Fionna being unable to hold a steady job or Gary eternally spinning his wheels about opening his own bakery. 

Fionna thought she wanted a world of magic, but while the added bits of strangeness and whimsy to Fionnaworld by the end of the show are certainly a cool fun bonus (and Cake is surely thankful to have the ability to freely think and speak her mind and stretch) - what Fionna and friends were really missing was a world where their actions matter, where things change, where they are real. 

And especially important for Fionna and Cake to admit it, because handling the fact their actions have consequences has been a huge part of both of their character arcs. For Cake it was all about getting used to the fact that her newfound human-like sapience means being measured against human-like morality. For Fionna it's about not comparing everything in her life to video games and thinking through her actions at least a little bit.

Consequences are the thing Fionna and Cake struggled with the most, but it was what they were missing all along.

Now this seems to be, like, an actual metaphysical thing. I mean, the show hasn’t gone super into detail of how Fionnaworld worked but it does seem like Prismo’s stories had an active role in moving the events of the World forwards, possibly using the same event-manipulating-Magic that make sure his Wishes have that Obligatory Ironic Twists?

And once Ice King turned back to Simon, Prismo lost all ability to observe or create stories for Fionnaworld. And what happens to characters of a story once the writer can’t access their external hard-drive anymore? They just sorta get stuck. Moving their own lives forwards without Prismo’s stories is just a lot harder.

And if there is some sort of force in control behind the scenes of Fionnaworld at the start of the series, it’s only Simon’s subconscious - a fact F&C alludes to numerous times 

And at the start of the show, how was Simon’s feeling about his own life?

In addition to Simon’s longing and memories for the pre-War world shaping the exact form of Fionna’s nonmagical world, perhaps his feelings of ennui and depression and helplessness have also subtly ‘infected’ this world?

It is perhaps not a coincidence that Marshall Lee and Gary Prince’s storyline only starts moving forwards after Simon embarks on the adventure and starts climbing out of his mental rock bottom. When things seem to move forwards for him as well.

As such, ‘Canonizing’ Fionnaworld solves more of Fionna’s problems much more than simply making it as magical as Ooo but keeping it as a tiny hidden bubble in someone's dome. It ensures the World’s inhabitants’ free will and agency and ability to enact change on the status quo with no need for Prismo’s stories or being dependent on the still-kinda-shaky mental health of Simon Petrikov. Thus giving them a world where everything matters and things can always change.

But also there's a psychological element for the Fionnaworld protagonists. You know, the reason why Fionna is stuck in her rut is because she’s too impulsive and careless. Gary is too perfectionist. Marshall never had someone who would stand up to him against his mom.

Fionna’s whole arc in the show is about learning to be more thoughtful and careful and considerate through her Multiverse Adventure. While Gary and Marshall Lee find release from the thing holding them back within Fionnaworld, with each other. 

‘Canonizing’ Fionnaworld is like... half actively altering their world into a ‘real’ one where change is possible, or at least easier - and half about an affirmation that their world was always real because change is about them outgrowing their personal issues (and also, y’know, about protecting their universe from the spiteful Beetle Cop).

And with how Fionna used to feel ‘trapped’ in the City, with nowhere to go and nothing to do - there is another change in Fionnaworld as a result of ‘canonization’ that feels very notable. 

I’m not entirely sure, but from Scarab's dialogue it seems likely that becoming a ‘real’ authorized universe just kinda manifested a whole planet and universe beyond the borders of the small existing Fionnaworld. Although I guess it's also possible that the process of repairing the existing city they found a way to expand it gradually - maybe it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that either way, Fionna’s horizons have been literally expanded. 

So you know, if she ever gets that thirst for adventure again... she actually has a Whole New World to travel and explore, it might not have (a lot of) magic but... she already heard Simon's stories of his adventures in a similar low-Magic world. It's a totally viable outlet for her.

What Fionna really needed to find the joy in her life is to be Real - to know that her actions have consequences for ill and for good. Because sometimes an adventure looks like saving a Prince of candy from an evil Ice Witch, or going on a multiverse journey to uncover a cursed Magic Crown… but it can also look like backpacking through Europe or campaigning against your evil landlady.

[clairegregoryau]

Through the Looking Glass

From fairytale in Season 1 to stark reality in Season 2 of Our Flag Means Death- meta ported across from this Twitter thread by popular demand!

This thread contains spoilers for the entirety of OFMD Season 2

First OFMD S1 rewatch since S2, and holy shit, if you haven't done that yet... do that. A thing that it made instantly clear: they told us *all along* where this was going, but there was a reason we didn't see it. Because we were living in Stede's world then. Now it's Ed's.

I know that a lot of us have felt that the tone shift at the end of S2 was... jarring, compared to what's come before. This felt like a show that wouldn't go there. One where being run through was a temporary hiccup. We've travelled all the way from this to this.

But we haven't jumped there without a journey in between. And from the minute we started hearing about Blackbeard, the show never tried to hide what Ed's world and his specific life was like. Not once. In fact they told us over and over and over.

But Season 1 told us a lot of those things through song and story and fuckery. It blended reality with fiction.

Stede met the Blackbeard he knew through books and tall tales, and the real man was even more wonderful than he'd imagined.

We, along with Stede, were comfortable thinking that all those other tales were exaggerations and misrepresentations, and a lot of them very likely were.

The Ed Stede got to know was a person who was capable of whimsy and silliness and loved soft things and doing something weird. Yep, he was also capable of violence and rage, but when he was with Stede, he didn't feel it so much.

This was a vacation from that life.

To Stede he was absolutely lovely... oh, and also a bloodthirsty killer. And Stede loved (and loves) everything about him, and both of those things can be true. This is a perfect example of a spot where (in watching Season 1 without the benefit of hindsight) I assumed that everyone else in that pub was wrong, and Stede was simply trying to protect Ed's fearsome reputation by agreeing on the bloodthirsty bits. And I think from Stede's perspective that was largely true. I think that's how they wanted us to see Ed, through his eyes. Now, after watching both seasons, I think it wasn't the whole picture.

They told us, we heard it, we saw glimpses of it. But we (and Ed) were in Stede's run-away-to-sea fairytale the whole time. It wasn't until Stede left that we saw the reality- the Ed we knew had been, to a degree, a fictional character all along. I always saw this scene as Ed putting a bit of distance between himself and reality; it always felt like the Blackbeard of Stede's storybooks was the fictional one. But now it feels like the softer Ed that Stede knew was much the same- neither of them the whole story of who Ed was and is.

The one person who refused to live in Stede's fairytale was Izzy. I've seen people say it before, but he always gave off that vibe of the only human in the Muppets movie, or the guy who was in Black Sails while everyone else was in Pirates of the Caribbean. He saw the real risks clearly.

And in that light, the end of S1 has shifted an inch to the left for me, and I'm seeing it at a slightly different angle.

Izzy ripped away the healing Ed was doing, but in some respects he did it by tearing away the fairytale we'd all been living in, shoving Ed back into the Blackbeard story.

And that's where we pick up again in Season 2.

The fairytale reference came back in S2 in two notable places, those being Jim carrying that legacy forward in the darkest times, and in Izzy invoking the wooden boy against Ricky's efforts. Stede's made himself into a real boy. Ricky, nope.

Now that I've watched both seasons together, the tone shift doesn't feel so jarring at all, actually.

It feels like sliding through the looking glass, out of Stede's world, and into Ed's- a world that existed all along; we were just seeing it, la vie en rose, through Stede's eyes.

At the beginning of S2, Stede's gone, and we're seeing it unfiltered through Ed's reality.

But Stede wasn't lying when he said he loved everything about Ed. He made a promise to come back and find him- he went down into Ed's darkest place and reminded him that no matter how bad things got, there WAS someone waiting for him, ready to love him.

The contrast between S1's fantasy and S2's reality (excluding mermaids and actual bird guys and cursed coats) is stark, but it really is that.

We have the same settings, the same people, and very different ideas and outcomes at different times.

But it was always there.

Things do come back to a state of (precarious) balance once they're all together. Apologies are made, whether they're spoken out loud or through actions. Things go right, things go wrong. Healing happens. Izzy continues to have the steadiest, most real through-line in the story as he tracks toward redemption, finds acceptance, and to an extent finds himself.

Once again, I hate that they went here with the ending and I wish they hadn't. But it got a fraction easier for me looking at it not as a continuation of Stede's fairytale, but of the grounded-in-pirate-reality arc Izzy was always on, even while we lived in Stede's world.

Where does that leave us? We're not going back to the fairytale, but we're not going to be living in Black Sails for S3, either. We've hit a fusion point where S1 ended with each of them going to separate, miserable homes, but S2 ended with them in the same place, ready and willing to make a go of it.

Season 3 is going to give us their world, together.

I LOVED the moments in this season where the deep emotions were in balance with the silliness I've always adored about this show. Eps4-6 were wonderful like that. Clearly we're not done with drama, either, but like Ed and Stede, I think we'll find a middle ground.

Anyway in conclusion, a rewatch of S1 after S2 somehow made me love the first season even more, which felt impossible? It's now gained /even more/ layers of depth than it had before. No matter how you feel about S2 I think it's worth that rewatch.

Adding one more bit of clarity for myself: I think we got a bit (intentionally) seduced in S1 by the idea that the Ed of the storybooks, the Vampire Viking Clown with the nine guns, was a version of him that others saw, when Stede saw the REAL person who 'worked' for Blackbeard.

In hindsight I think it's clear the Ed Stede go to know was also not the complete version of himself- the reality is, there's a whole spectrum between the two, and they've landed in the middle of it now. Ed intentionally leaned into the unlovable Kraken image to protect himself.

It very much didn't work, just like being just... Edward hadn't worked to protect himself, either. This season has been very much about pulling those two extremes together and finding all the parts that make up Ed overall (another thread on that here on Twitter, which I'll also shift across to Tumblr soon!)

And I think one of my favourite things in S2 has been seeing the way Stede SEES that- he knows what Ed's done, everyone's told him, but he still loves Ed. sees his trauma and how it affects him, and believes he's a good man regardless. He IS lovable; he's not forever broken.

And together, they can heal.

[cloveroctobers]

Hello, I was wondering if you could write angst with Luca from the bear where Luca spends more time at the cafe than he does at home. And him and reader possible get into an argument about it? It can end however you see fit. - ✨

SITUATIONS — LUCA [Summer Requests]

A/N: angst you want? Say no more! I tweaked it just a bit so it ties in with s3, and it’s shorter than what I typically write but I hope you still like! ✨

WARNINGS: language & uncertainties in a relationship.

𓇼࿔*𝜗𝜚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓇼࿔*𝜗𝜚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓇼࿔*𝜗𝜚°❀⋆

“Do I need to be worried?” You spit out, feeling your heart hammer in your chest as you stand a great distance from the bonfire.

No matter how far you and Luca walked off, it was evident to your friends, old friends of his, and new friends that your conversation was anything but good.

You were beyond frustrated with Luca and that was rare. The both of you did pretty well at voicing exactly what may be going on with each other but ever since you chose to continue to follow him back to the states, back to Chicago, you gradually saw the change in your boyfriend of five years. It’s only been a week into month two. Some called you crazy for picking up your life yet again to be right beside Luca but love will make you do things others might not understand.

“What are you on about?” Luca’s brows curve in awards in confusion.

Folding your arms in defense you swallow, “Luca, you showed up almost two hours late here with her, with Sydney. I called you repeatedly after looking at the spaces nearly all day and it took your sister to show up to the new spot, to tell you to respond to me; that’s only because she lives on that side of town.”

Luca took a three month leave from Brimstone’s Gate and since your slowly growing e-commerce pottery business: Whimsy Glazes was mostly online, you were able to pick up and go as well, although the rental space you paid for in Copenhagen carried all of your supplies and equipment, you considered opening up a physical business once Luca voiced after a month being in Chicago, that he would contemplate moving to the states for a change and to be closer to his sister.

Again it felt like you were making the sacrifices to be here with him and not once did he ask you but it was started to feel like a given. Like you were expected to just follow and maybe that was your first mistake once you left New Zealand behind. That’s where the two of you met for the first time, you’ve been settled out there since after you graduated university but Luca showed you another piece of the world once he came into yours.

New Zealand was for you what Copenhagen was for him and now he wanted a change but did that also include a different path from you as well? You never had doubts about your relationship even making it this far and not to say that it was a spotless relationship but this situation was talking to your gut more than ever now.

Luca deeply inhales as he responds, “I truly apologize for that love. Time got the best of us and I’m bad with keeping my phone on silent…that sound’s like excuses I know and I’ll do better.”

Digging your fingers into your forearms you state, “see that’s the thing…I had a feeling you would say this to me but you’ve been at Shapiro’s spot constantly.”

Luca loved to give Chef Shapiro shit since he tended to be snarky, always observant along with being opinionated and pushy—or persistent according to him. Once his found his own space, got it inspected, made the changes, and started planning out the interiors, Shapiro was quick on looking for employees. He even considered Luca but it seemed like the now buzzed haired blond (for the season—his words, something else he recently changed as well) was also holding out much like Sydney.

So you heard.

Ultimately she made her decision.

“I alternate,” Luca interrupts, “between the bear and Smudges—I mean—The Blue-Chandelier Bistro—sheesh that’s still a fucking mouthfull isn’t it?” He attempts to lighten the tension but you’re not backing down which makes him sigh, “Babe, I’ve never given you a reason to be worried about us have I?”

Shaking your head you look away from his stare out into the darkest of the navy ocean, “No but it’s been five years and the way you’re around her reminds me of how you first approached me: Slightly awkward but talkative, curious, a glimmer in the left eye of yours.”

Luca’s shaking his head, reaching to grab your chin so that your focus is back on his, “No, don’t do that. I love you, only you. I feel like you’re looking for something that isn’t there. Syd and I are mates and I thought you two got on well too.”

“I like Sydney.”

That was not a lie. She was thoughtful, passionate, funny even, and you related to her on experiencing not being heard in spaces especially in art school. It’s what drove you to have your own business and be your own boss. You genuinely wanted to see her succeed and you wouldn’t be pointing the fingers at her. Call it insecurity or the purple devil (like you often did) but somewhere beneath it all the signs felt like they were becoming more clear.

“She brilliant.” Luca comments in admiration and you slowly nod your head, “I give credit where credit is due and over this short span of time, we’ve connected.”

“And spent a lot of time together.” You add, “Which you’re supposed to do with your kind of field, I get it. There’s a group chat that I’m not part of with you, Sydney, and Marcus and I just feel excluded majority of the time. I start to think: Is it because I’m not a chef so I wouldn’t get it?”

It couldn’t be because you still hung out with other chefs with and without Luca and although you understand that it was healthy to have separate moments from your partner…the pull was becoming evident and you weren’t sure how Luca didn’t see that.

Luca says, “No. I didn’t think you wanted to be in the chat honestly. I’m completely fine not being in yours with your friends.”

“Because you hate them but there’s not a single friend that you have that I hate. I tend to like who you have around because I trust your judgement.”

Luca scoffs, “but you don’t trust me when it comes to Sydney? Which I don’t appreciate by the way. I wouldn’t do that to you, to us. Not when we’ve been together for almost six years.”

Sometimes saying the amount of time spent together feels like a safety net, to remind yourselves that it’s been a good minute, that the love should still be there and it is. However it would be foolish to say that ever since the days flew by in Chicago that the changes were beginning to feel real. Luca had the opportunity to rebuild the gap in his relationship with his sister, consider a life here, view what the cooking atmosphere would be like in the Windy City permanently as he ran down the list of restaurants to tour, taste test, and cook in.

Life was a bit slower in Copenhagen and now this was starting to feel like a consequence and it shouldn’t be, not when you love someone this much.

“…if there’s something there, you need to tell me—

“But there’s not!” Luca finds himself yelling and that’s something he never wanted to do in a relationship. That was his rule, to talk things out and not to shout in order to be heard.

It was what reminded himself of his parents. The arguments would be so loud and long that he would knock on his older sister’s door to hide in there for the night. She would turn the tv up so loud and their night would turn into a whole slumber party of watching movies and playing games until their eyes called them to sleep. He always ended up crashing first while his sister, Georgina would sneak out to grab snacks because she knew Luca would wake up hungry once the house has gone quiet. They were once siblings that provided comfort while dealing with the loss of their parent’s union.

Luca rubs at his jaw in vexation, beginning to pace while your heart continues to pound inside of its cage. He clears his throat as he turns back to you, “I’m sorry for raising my voice and I’m sorry for making you think that there’s anybody else. I know being here means that we both have to find our footing again but I don’t have doubts.”

“That we’ll make it?” You quiz, wondering how the man you loved could be clueless.

Luca frowns, “We don’t need to make it, we just carry on like we always do.”

“I don’t think that’s working for me though, Lu. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” You sigh, “there’s things going on for the both of us separately but what is there together?”

Luca goes silent at this. He wasn’t sure at first what you meant by this but as he starts to think, you only share moments at night in that cold stale hotel bed together and by then you’re both too tired to carry full on conversations. New information was only shared in passing before you’re both out the door again. There should be more than this like it once was but this can’t continue on if it feels like things are at a standstill.

“Then we’ll do whatever we need to do to get back where we should be.” Luca decides with determination in his eyes, “neither of us are quitters right? Don’t tell me you’ve given up?”

Your throat felt heavy with tears as you managed to get out, “…I’m scared Luca.”

“Good,” Luca exhales with a laugh as he pulls you into his arms, “that means you still give a shit about me and that’s a bit of a relief, I won’t lie.”

You sink into his arms, echoing his laughter you lock your arms behind his back squeezing your head against his chest, “I don’t think I can ever stop even if you don’t decide to stay.”

Luca feels his heart ache at your words because he didn’t believe that this was an end of an era for you two but now that it’s been brought to his attention, he realizes this situation is just as deep as you were experiencing it and he was willing to fight for it with you.

Saying goodbye didn’t sit right with Luca, since he tried to stay in long relationships and figured out what relationships entailed his time, energy, and heart. You were always worth it to him and he never wanted to imagine what life would be like without you.

So he kissed the top of your head mumbling, “I’m not going anywhere.”

That was a promise Luca intended to keep and you chose to believe him…unsure if this would be a mistake on your part underneath it all.

𓇼࿔*𝜗𝜚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓇼࿔*𝜗𝜚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓇼࿔*𝜗𝜚°❀⋆

Continue with my summer anthology writings & prompts here.

[twst-drabbles]

Scarabia 7

Summary: An iridescent feather was all it took for Kalim to pack up his bags and drag Jamil to the kingdom of the faeries. Jamil has trouble understanding this odd fascination he has. In fact, it’s almost scaring him a bit.

(Trust me when I say this AU has not been exiting my mind. It’s been floating around in there, but for some reason my fingers could not get it out. The fingers and brain would much rather churn out other things. Weird weird brain. Hate having to wrestle with it so. Also excuse the errors, I am kinda sleepy.)

From birth until death, Jamil will always be expected to entertain all of the wills and whimsies of Kalim. He cannot deny him any request if it is within his means, nor should he scorn him when he clearly is making mistakes. A servant, a guide, and a source of comfort all wrapped up in one. And all he has to do is keep this facade perfect until the day Kalim dies.

…what a joke, such a thing won’t happen. His services will likely be passed onto Kalim’s child, if he even makes it to that age. And if not his child, then the next sibling. Retirement is a dream meant for the privileged, and so long as those privileged few exist, Jamil will be made to serve them.

Jamil cannot ask too many questions, especially when it carries the possibility of offending the master.

He cannot ask Kalim of the origins of that iridescent feather. Cannot question why Kalim has spent the entire week simply gazing at it. Cannot even ask if he can look at it, no matter how familiar it may seem to him.

His dreams, they don’t matter, so he must always stifle them.

Clearly this wasn’t his place, and all Jamil can do is sigh in frustration when Kalim locked himself in his room. And sigh even deeper when Kalim burst out his room one day, claiming he wished to vacation in the main kingdom of faeries. Wanted to see the sight where the most beautiful feather came from.

And off they went on a personal caravan. And onto the dark stone they walk.

“And what will you do with this bird, if you end up finding it?”

How silly. Jamil already knows the answer to it already.

“Hmm? Ah, well I’m gonna keep it of course!” And the smile on Kalim’s face was as big as ever. Any wider and it would seem manic, but that’s simply the way his happiness works. He feels it in all of its intensity, even should it warp his features into something almost unplesant.

“Though, with how big of a cage you purchased, I’d predict I’ll have to take care of it sooner or later, won’t I?” As everything does. Cute novelties always lose their luster within half a year. Such was the fate of Kalim’s private zoo when he asked for it for his birthday. There were other servants to take care of it, but it never sit right with Jamil to just, let them do part of the work when he can perfectly take care of it himself.

That and his parents scolded him for daring to slack off, even though he pulled multiple muscles in his back. He could never quite lay back on his chair the same way ever since.

“Oh no, I don’t want you to touch them.”

Jamil stopped his tracks, the frankness of Kalim’s tone and the never wavering smile on his face almost had him believing he imagined it. “…Kalim?”

Kalim paused himself, blinking before his mind was pulled from his thoughts. He waved his hands, fumbling about in his nerves. “Ah, I’m sorry! That didn’t come out right, did it?”

“Whether it came out right or not doesn’t matter. If you don’t want me to touch your newest pet, then so it shall be,” Jamil shook his head, sighing out in hopes the urge to bit his lip will also pass.

“Sorry sorry…”

What Kalim doesn’t know won’t hurt him. The role of the perfect servant isn’t something that Jamil can simply be. It’s an act, a mask, and every so often Jamil has to pull it off.

Kalim was always a heavy sleeper, even more so when he’s been drinking from the various wines he had Jamil bring. Under the guise of some jovial fun, Jamil coaxed Kalim into drinking much more than usual. No thunderstorm would be able to wake him up. Kalim once almost drowned outside in a storm like that, napping without anything to protect him.

Jamil doesn’t sleep in the same room as Kalim, but here he was nonetheless. He took a glance to Kalim splayed out in his pile of pillows and blankets, sighed, then continued digging through the various bags and luggage.

Finally, Jamil’s fingers hit something. He pulled out a large, gold gilded, black box with a keyhole in it. He didn’t have to look for the key. It was tied with a silk ribbon right at the bottom of the box. Really, Kalim needs to be more careful, but Jamil certainly won’t tell him so. Perhaps later, but not now.

He opens the box and he was almost… disappointed at the sight. The feather was dull. All the rainbow light that would scatter upon the surface of the walls when daylight hit it wasn’t there. The plumes still pulsed with those delicate colors, but it didn’t hold the radiance that Jamil knows he saw when it was Kalim’s hands.

From his dreams, the shape was the same, and yet it was missing just about everything else. What was it, beyond its glow? The lack of numbers? The sturdy feeling of wings against his body? The face that was connected to it?

Face… what face? No matter how hard Jamil tried to claw through his memories, that face he wanted to see was no clearer.

Even with his disappointment, Jamil plucked the feather and held it in his hand.

Only then did its glow come back. A kaleidoscope of colors flowed forth and blinded Jamil’s unprepared eyes. He winced and held the feather to his chest, just in case it woke up Kalim.

He waited, but only heard a snort and a shifting. He’s still asleep.

Jamil blinked, tears dotting the corners of his eyes from the brightness of it all.

There it was, the beauty he’s been seeking, that Kalim had been hoarding all to himself.

How silly. How stupid to be so taken by a feather. To have this simple item that was nothing more than a gift from a pen pal to Kalim to haunt Jamil so. To haunt both of them, actually.

Even with all those reservations in mind, Jamil lifted that feather and laid a gentle kiss on the body. It felt nice, feeling the plumes brush against his lips.

…he should put this away and go to bed. Kalim must never know what he just did.

[carrymelikeimcute]

I'm in my feels again so lets talk about Izzy Hands and violence.

I read a novel ages ago, where an older guy takes a young orphan boy under his wing and teaches him a trade - it's medieval times and said boy becomes a young adult and wants a sword, but his pseudo-father/boss/friend tells him he can't have one, because if he has one, he'll draw it and if he draws it, he could be killed. The safest thing is, paradoxically, to carry no weapons. To learn control of one's temper and control over your surroundings.

The scenes of Izzy and Stede in ep.7 at Jackie's reminded me of that novel.

Obviously Izzy has weapons, tends to put his hand on his sword during arguments and we do see him fighting and killing people. HOWEVER, I think it's really interesting that, given how often we talk about Izzy being repressed (emotionally/sexually/gender-ly) and how controlled he attempts to be, we don't often talk about his controlled approach to violence.

A lot of fic characterises him as someone who is hot tempered and violent, but looking at s1 with fresh eyes, between him and Ed, he's definitely not just the cooler head when it comes to instigating violence, but the one who takes less interest in violence for its own sake as a performance - e.g. Ed's very creative instructions with the tiny fork, the toe thing etc vs Izzy just stabbing Stede. It's a means to an end.

Don't think I'm not saying he has a fucking temper and a half, because he obviously does, but that seems to mostly be vented non-violently through yelling - not yelling at strangers either, but at people he knows and can (usually) judge where the line is.

Until he puts a toe over that line and...oops.

On first meeting Stede, Izzy cuts up his shirt without actually hurting him. It's a threat, but he hasn't drawn blood, hasn't started anything violent...yet. It's almost a display intended to dissuade actual fighting, by showing your potential opponent that they're probably going to lose.

I think one of the reasons Izzy's so annoyed about their losses in the battle with the Spanish is that it's not their fight. They didn't get anything from it - it was pointless (to him, not to Ed obvs). He wants to avoid facing the Spanish again in the following episode, because they stand to lose more than they will gain.

Even when he's actively calling for Ed to kill Stede, he isn't fussy about how. (And he uses manipulation to keep his hands clean - something he does again when selling Ed out to the navy.) Stede needs to be gone, and this is the easiest way to do that. And when he does finally lose it he doesn't just attack Stede without warning - it's within the controlled setting of a duel, which, when Stede starts improvising, breaks down Izzy's control and leads to him becoming emotional, making a mistake and getting his sword broken.

In s2 the pointlessness of the raids is obviously getting to him, disrupting a wedding for no real gain. Losing Ivan for nothing. I don't think the violence is what bothers him, he's a very active participant, but the fact that it's not for anything - it's not enough of a reward in and of itself. (It's like not really caring one way or the other about being a barista, it's just what you do and it's fine, but then suddenly you're not being paid and also your boss keeps burning you with the steam wand on purpose and you just sort of wish you could just get on with your job and make rent like before.)

S1 Izzy seems to lack the whimsy and imagination that Ed/Stede bring to piracy and to violence, but that doesn't make him stupid. They're playing some kind of made-up game that only they know the rules for, and he's trying to play chess with everyone, even when the rules are only a burden to him.

When we see him training, he's being a dramatic candlelit bitch, but he's also measuring his movements, focusing intently and not just hacking away at everything. Even the candles are interesting to me in this context - we see him playing with candles several times in S1/2 and while yes, there is a certain amount of 'Izzy likes pain' in there to unpick, it's also kind of a metaphor for control - fire is one of the most dangerous things to have on a 'wooden vessel' but a candle is like a tiny pet fire that you control - so long as you're careful and respectful. It's all about risk management, respecting dangerous forces and being aware.

When Stede kills Ned, Izzy looks impressed, even seems to smile for a second, but then he looks more subdued and tells Ed that the first kill is a head-fuck. It's like he's proud of Stede being ABLE to kill, but regretful that Stede CHOSE to kill in a situation where it wasn't necessary at all.

I don't think for a moment that Izzy regrets killing most of the people he kills as part of pirate life, but I think he would regret killing someone he didn't have to. Most people wouldn't want to carry that around with them.

We see in ep7. that Izzy is well respected at Jackie's. He tells bigger guys than him to fuck off and just takes people's chairs. He gets called 'Mr. Hands' instead of by his first name. There's a lot of respect there and I think some of it comes from his reputation with Ed, but also, from people knowing that he's not insane - he can be treated respectfully and everything will be fine for all involved. He's not some menace that's going to stab you as likely as pat you on the back.

For all that people are afraid of Blackbeard (and maybe slightly in awe of Stede as of the Ned thing) for their unpredictable natures and occasional violent outbursts, people are still attacking them or pandering to them, actual respect is something else entirely.

Later, Izzy doesn't pull a weapon and tries to discourage Stede from doing so, even tries to get him to leave to prevent a fight from starting. In the fight, he smashes a stool over someone and doesn't just start killing people - it's an appropriate level of violence for the situation, not an escalation.

It feels like Izzy is very much in that place of controlling himself, being aware and knowing when and how to use force practically, proportionally and effectively. This might be age related, but it's also a big part of his personality. I think that's also why he looks impressed by what Zheng does to Steak Knife (rip) because it's so precise, bloodless and quick. She's basically the best captain for him - she's efficient and controlled.

It's easy to confuse 'is willing to kill' with 'is eager to kill'. I don't think Izzy necessarily loathes that part of his job, he seems ambivalent, but it is still a job to him. It's what pirates do, much as the crew of the Revenge do still kill people, it's just part of their life and not some kind of performance or fun activity. It's work, and it's hard and it's unpleasant and if something can be done an easier way - a smarter way - then that's probably the best way.

[violet-shadows]

Moving On (Part Four)

⊱ Previous Part ❈ Next Part ⊰

Masterlist

Summary: After loving Azriel in secret for years, you decide it’s time for you to move on.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: drugging with the implied intent to commit SA, attempted kidnapping, vomiting

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

 Hope is a fickle thing. It can be a blessing, carrying us forward when the darkness seems infinite and giving us the strength to persevere. It can also be a curse, lingering despite logic and reason, making disappointment all the more crushing. You had tried to rid yourself of hope for so long where Azriel was concerned. You even thought you succeeded a few times, accepting that your feelings would never be returned. But then, a flicker of hope would spark, only to be snuffed out once again, plunging you into darkness. Last night, when Azriel said those fateful words, the hope that bloomed within you was all but explosive, fierce as a wildfire but as brief as a candle in the wind. In the end, it left you breathless and aching. And, as always, kicking yourself for your foolish whimsy. 

“Do you not understand how precious you are to me?!”

The words echoed in your mind long after you left the House of Wind, twisting like a knife in your gut. You knew he didn’t mean it the way you wanted him to, and yet, for a brief moment, you had hoped you were wrong.

“Precious to you… as a friend.”

“Right.” 

You replayed the memory, focusing on how he recoiled, grimacing as he clarified. As if the alternative was revolting. It had taken everything in you not to crumple as you sought out Cassian, keeping your head high and jaw tight when you asked him to fly you home. Your friend had read the look on your face but mercifully didn’t press when you shut down his line of questioning.

You spent the rest of the day shut up inside, numb and wallowing in self-pity and embarrassment, and when the sun finally set over the City of Starlight, you lay in your bed and cried. 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

“So who’s next on the roster?” 

Mor startled from her place at her desk, pushing shiny blonde locks out of her face as you entered. She blinked owlishly, not answering, and you clarified, “For dates?”

“Dates?” Mor echoed, cocking her head to one side. “More dates? I thought… I figured… after what happened…”

“I’m not going to let one bad experience ruin everything,” you declared with a shrug, forcing yourself to remain the picture of nonchalance. Acting like something didn’t bother you was your specialty, and you weren’t about to switch up now. “Besides, it wasn’t one of your picks that turned out poorly.” 

Mor shifted nervously, her previous enthusiasm over playing matchmaker gone. “I just thought you might want some time…” she trailed off. “Or maybe you and Az…”

“Me and Az what?” you prompted her when she didn’t finish her sentence. 

“Nothing,” Mor said, plastering on a bright smile that you knew meant she was changing the subject. “If you want back in the game, we’ll get you back in the game.” 

“Yep, I’m ready,” you replied, flopping into a chair across from her. Neither of you missed the way your voice wobbled with uncertainty, despite your assurances. This seemed to give Mor pause, and she was quiet for a long moment as she glanced between the fireplace and you. 

“Before we go through my roster, as you call it,” Mor began, folding her hands in front of her on the desk, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you shrugged.

“Have you ever considered… would you ever consider giving Az a chance?” Her tone was gentle, almost pleading, and you shot her a questioning look. 

“Az? As in… Azriel?” you asked. She nodded her expression remaining grave. “What do you mean? Give him a chance to what?” 

“You know what I mean,” she pushed. “Give him a chance… to see if there’s a spark. There’s no pressure! I was just wondering if you had ever considered.” 

“I’m not following,” you felt your eyebrows pinch together as you tried to unravel her words. “How would I give him a chance? He doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“Very funny,” Mor snorted, rolling her eyes in good humor, but her eyebrows shot up when she saw you were completely serious. “You’re serious.” 

“Of course I’m serious,” you exclaimed. “Did you hit your head or something? Are we talking about the same Azriel? Tall, dark, handsome, speaks to shadows… that guy?” 

“Yes, that Azriel,” Mor replied. “The same one who is completely in love with you.” 

The air rushed from your lungs and you sputtered, you gasp soon turning into a high, keening giggle as you took in the absurdity of Mor’s statement. “That’s a good one, Mor,” you said, shaking your head. “But you really shouldn’t tease people.” 

Instead of joining in as you expected, Mor shook her head in apparent exasperation and sighed. “Look, I usually wouldn’t meddle,” she began, earning an incredulous look from you. “Not in something this personal, at least. But apparently, you’re dense enough that you need a little help, so I’ll spell it out for you. Azriel is head over heels in love with you and he has been for a while.” 

“You’re serious,” you said, shock sobering you. 

“Completely,” Mor nodded. “By the Mother, we all thought you were just great at pretending not to notice. You really didn’t know?!” 

You opened your mouth, only to shut it again when words failed you. “I don’t think… that can’t be…” 

“Well, it is,” Mor said. “You’re the last to know, apparently. And now that you do know, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” you echoed numbly. Your face felt numb and a ringing filled your ears as if Mor’s revelation was a physical blow. “I don’t understand.” 

“Look, if you don’t want things to change, they don’t have to,” she said. Her voice sounded distant like she was speaking from the other end of a long tunnel, and try as you might, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the fireplace to look at her. “I just thought I’d throw it out there as an option.” 

The roaring in your ears grew, and if you hadn’t already been sitting, you were sure your knees would have buckled. Surely, Mor was joking… or just plain wrong. But one look at the pensive expression on her flawless face told you otherwise. Mor, as usual, was Truth, and she was being honest at this moment. 

“Y/N?” the sound of your name brought you out of your thoughts, and you took a deep breath before making any reply.

“He’s not in love with me,” you said. Your voice sounded flat and dull, the polar opposite of the chaos that was roiling within you. 

“He is,” was Mor’s retort.

“He’s not,” you insisted. Shock was giving way to irritation and you wanted to scream. Surely, you had enough crushed hope to last a lifetime by now. “I would know.”

Mor simply laughed at that. “Apparently, you wouldn’t know,” she said, “because he totally is.” 

To your horror, helpless tears sprang to your eyes. It wasn’t her fault. Your friend didn’t know of your feelings for Azriel, so she couldn’t know how much this was ripping your heart out. But it was, and your composure was beginning to crumble. “You don’t understand,” you averted your eyes, furiously blinking back tears. “He can’t be.”

“Why not?” Mor’s voice had lost its teasing edge as she rounded her desk to sit next to you. When you finally looked up, concern and confusion were all you could read on her face. “Make me understand, Y/N.”

“He can’t be in love with me,” you said again, staring at the fire as you steeled yourself to make the confession. “He can’t be, because I’m in love with him.” 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Azriel took deep breaths as he approached the Townhouse and worked to adopt the calm facade he usually wore without effort. There were very few things that could make the shadowsinger truly nervous, and you were at the top of the list. It had been more than a day since your last conversation, and while Azriel told himself he was giving you time to cool off, he knew that wasn’t the whole reason he had stayed away. In truth, Azriel needed time as well. Time to shore up the gaping hole in his chest and to tamp down the impulses that your presence had brought out. He had been so close to telling you the truth, and yet, he had never been further. The worst part was, he couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that you left before he lost his cool entirely. Part of him wished he’d just blurted it out if only to get the burden off his shoulders. But he knew you, knew your heart, and it would be selfish to put you through the pain of rejecting him. 

So, when you rushed out of the House and into Cassian’s arms, he went to the roof instead of chasing after you. He stayed up there for several hours, punching and kicking and running until his knuckles bled and his legs shook from exertion. When he finally stopped, it wasn’t because the roaring of his thoughts had quieted or the yearning within him had ceased, but the insistence of his shadows, who were growing increasingly agitated as he ignored their pleas to rest. He acquiesced eventually, long after the sun had set over the city, and trudged down the steps towards his now empty room. 

Cassian caught him in the hallway, his customary humor nowhere to be found as he appraised the shadowsinger. “Are you okay?” he asked. It was a stupid question and one they both knew he wouldn’t answer honestly, but Azriel appreciated the invitation to open up, nonetheless. Even after five hundred hears of his taciturn nature, Cassian still offered an ear every time. 

“M’fine,” was all Azriel had muttered, brushing past his brother without a second look. He hadn’t thought about the way your smell would linger in his rooms, and when he opened the door, it drove the air out of his lungs as if he’d been walloped. Something like grief settled within him when he flopped down onto the sheets that smelled so strongly of you. The feeling weighed heavy in his chest, following him into his dreams when he finally drifted off.

When he woke the next morning, he ignored the tug in his chest as he inhaled, struck once more by the unyielding urge to search you out. He had only just avoided laying himself bare before you, and now he was itching to throw himself back in the fire. He wondered if this qualified as a form of masochism, to subject himself to the thing he wanted most but could never have. Perhaps it was, but the realization didn’t help and soon his wings were carrying him towards the Townhouse where you dwelled, driven by self-destructive tendencies and the selfish craving to see you again. 

He stood outside the Townhouse door for a long minute after he arrived, debating whether or not to knock. On one hand, it seemed like the polite thing to do. On the other, he did technically live in the Townhouse from time to time, and not letting himself in would probably be seen as odd. In the interest of maintaining a facade of normalcy, he took one last moment to screw his features into a neutral mask and walked in. 

The lower level of the Townhouse was empty, but he could hear the faint muttering of two feminine voices coming from the second floor. Mor had taken to living at the River House most of the time and had recently converted her old bedroom into an office. She said it was to get some peace and quiet away from Rhysand, but Azriel wondered if she did it to stay closer to you. 

At one point in his life, he thought he was in love with Mor. He was sure his feelings for the blonde were as intense as they could get, that she was it for him. Then he met you, and the affection he’d felt for his friend paled in comparison. It was nearly laughable, in hindsight, that he had been so hung up on Mor. Now, he envied her, for the friendship she had with you. 

He contemplated the change in his feelings as he ascended the stairs, his steps silent as ever. When he reached the landing, he paused before turning the corner into Mor’s office, his ear pricking as he caught the tail end of your sentence. 

“He doesn’t feel that way about me,” you were saying to Mor, your tone slightly sad. Were you talking about a suitor? A friend? Azriel froze, torn between making his presence known and learning the context of that sentence, his shadows already swirling around him, concealing him from sight. 

Before he could make a decision either way, Mor let out a scoff, “Very funny.” There was a pause, and Azriel resisted the urge to send his shadows around the corner, to ask them to describe the look on your face. “You’re serious,” Mor said after a long moment, sounding incredulous. 

You spoke up, then, sounding almost scandalized. “Of course I’m serious. Did you hit your head or something? Are we talking about the same Azriel? Tall, dark, handsome, speaks to shadows… that guy?” Azriel’s mouth went dry, his heartbeat stuttering when you said his name. Now he was sure he should make his presence known. Eavesdropping was one thing, but listening in on a conversation about himself was too far. Aside from the obvious invasion of privacy, did he really want to know what you would say behind his back?

He willed himself to cough or move, to stop the conversation from progressing before he heard something he didn’t want to hear, but his feet remained rooted in place. A heartbeat later, Mor was responding in the affirmative, and Azriel’s stomach dropped. “Yes, that Azriel. The same one who is completely in love with you.” 

Azriel’s heart seemed to stop in his chest as time ground to a halt. Mortification and dread swamped him and his shadows pulled in tighter, ready to ferry their master away from the nightmare unfolding just around the corner. He remained frozen in place, though, unable to resist the temptation of hearing your reaction. Distantly, he felt slightly betrayed that Mor had revealed his secrets, but he supposed he had his own lack of subtly to blame for that. Despite how his friends thought his affections for you were obvious, though, he had managed thus far to keep you from suspecting. Until now.

The silence that hung after Mor’s words seemed to stretch on for minutes while Azriel stood paralyzed. Then, a laugh rang out, so out of place he all but jumped at the sound. It took him a moment to figure out the laugh was coming from you, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t know what he expected, but laughter felt like a particularly cruel twist. It reminded Azriel of the way adults giggle at children when they make outrageous declarations, amused, and almost pitying. Was it really so preposterous, to picture Azriel at your side? He knew the answer, but a small part of him still hoped it wasn’t.

Azriel was traveling through shadows before he made the conscious decision to leave, unwilling to subject himself to further torment. He hadn’t heard the full conversation, hadn’t really known that you were laughing at his expense, but his insecurity filled the gaps in his knowledge, edging out logic with self-loathing and melancholy. Despite all of this, he wasn’t angry at you. You had every right to reject him. It was nothing less than expected, and he had been mentally preparing for it for years. He always knew you would reject him. He’d even made peace with it. So why did he feel so devastated? 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

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[apollos-olives]

i really liked hearing you talking about the geography of the west bank. id love to hear more about what you love about palestine if you want to talk about it. if not i hope u have a good day! i’m sorry anons are being so weird to you and i hope this ask doesn’t cross any boundaries

i've talked about a lottt of different things i love about palestine, but i can talk a bit more about the old city in nablus if you'd like :)

the old city is where you go if you want to find anything and everything. there are hundreds of shops and vendors and you get to meet so many different people and experience so many different things, it's so cool. over the shops and buildings are decorations and long cloths and banners that are colored in so many different ways, and they provide shade on hot days and sometimes the colors reflect off of the buildings and the ground so everywhere you go you're engulfed in bright and beautiful colors as you walk through the streets.

you can find a lot of different shops there, and they usually have huge portions of their products on display so you can pick and choose personally and serve yourself on what you'd like to buy. people who sell spices or nuts have HUGE bags of them and you get to grab a plastic kilo bag and fill up as much as you'd like. people who sell candy and gummies do the same thing, so you get to choose however much you want to fill up your bag. my family almost never is able to eat gummies where we live because it's not halal, so whenever we're in palestine we fill up kilos upon kilos of gummies in bags so we can take them back home and eat them :)) my uncle says the gummies they sell in palestine aren't halal either but whatever man where is the whimsy 😔😔 let us have this. the last time my dad went, he came back with a kilo bag of gummies after i asked him to bring some when he returned, so for months i kept the bag of gummies and slowly ate them. i finished the bag a while ago but i loveeeee gummies and whenever i find ones i'm allowed to eat, i'm very excited about it. i cannot escape my inner child.

there are many refreshments that you can find too. in the summers lots of vendors sell ice cream and slushies (as most places do, i assume) and different juices, one of them is 'tamar hindi' which is a drink you'll often see around ramadan and eid. there are stores that sell different pickled vegetables in barrels, and they'll even let you take some out directly and eat them so you can taste and choose which ones you prefer. of course there are lots of food places, but ohhhh my god there was one shawarma place in nablus that i went to that had the BEST shawarma i've ever eaten in my life. like by FAR it was one of the most delicious things i've ever eaten in my entire life and i'm not exaggerating. i yearn for a shawarma as good as the one i had in nablus. wallahi it was genuinely mind blowing. yall don't understand how good it was. i cry and sob over it all the time.

you can also find lots of clothes!! from our traditional palestinian abayas to modern t-shirts, you can find tons. a lot of the stuff that is sold in palestinian territories is bootleg, because real brands are hard to find their way in through the occupation. because of that, some of the more "modern" stuff is really low quality. i bought a belt from the old city and only was able to wear it once before it literally crumbled in my hands. it CRUMBLED. for 50 shekel too 😭😭😭 absolute shame. that's why i think it's more reliable to buy the traditional stuff, like tatreez designs, because at least that stuff is actually real.

there are jewlery shops too!! they're full of gorgeous designs and you can often find evil eye jewelry in a lot of places. i absolutely love the evil eye design and i have a lotttt of evil eye jewelry. some muslims disapprove though, but whatever. i just think it looks nice. i like its meaning too. interesting stuff to me.

palestinians use different types of currencies too!! we often use the israeli shekel, but that's slowly becoming out of use 🤷‍♂️ but we also use the jordanian dinar, and we even use american dollars, usd, to buy stuff.

OH LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE KNAFEH SHOP !! nablus is famous for knafeh. we're like. THE knafeh city. there's a very VERY famous old white-bearded man who owns the famous knafeh shop of nablus and you can almost always find him every day making knafeh. his place always has a huge amount of people there, watching him as he makes the knafeh right in front of them and then serves it out to everyone. genuinely THE knafeh of all time. him and his knafeh are a very cherished part of our city.

i'm sure there are MANY more things i can go on about, but i hope this was interesting to you! thank you for asking :)

[rosileeduckie]

Mean, but Sweet

After all this, I don't know, the naughty list doesn't seem so bad...

Patton can be very mean, if it makes someone else happy 😈💙

Potential warnings: none. Sanders Sides, Janus/Patton tickle fic.

A Squealing Santa Christmas gift for @trashyswitch! Hoping it's worth the wait, and wishing you the happiest new year! 😊😘 Thanks so so so much @squealing-santa Hypah our hero for hosting this year!! Lots of love for everyone who participated; congrats everybody!! ❤❄

Word count: 6,406

~*~

There’s something very attractive about winter. The season is uniquely deep and dark, and Janus can’t help but thrive when there are shadows aplenty, easy to hide in and hide things in. A societal expectation to make nice with everyone also leads to the hilarious sight of people performing their “best life” routine by lying through smiling teeth and juggling a million more responsibilities that, no, they definitely don’t need help with. What could he say, it all made Janus feel very at ease, in the presence of deceit wrapped in pretty paper.

But, then, he wasn’t so cynical this year. He blamed his cohorts for melting his too-small heart over the course of the year to the point where he could now appreciate the whimsy that twinkling fairy lights give to a chilly winter evening. Still dark, but warm, too.

Metaphorically and literally warm–it was not quite a winter wonderland outside the house. Still, the lower temperature and earlier sunset and merry decorations and seasonal flavors in Janus’ mug and the obnoxiously patterned and colored sweater on his body really did make it feel like Christmas. Certainly, the Mind Palace could have been nestled in a snow globe setting if the Sides so desired, but they were partial to their host’s house in Florida. It wasn’t a white Christmas, but it was cozy and homey and–Janus could begrudgingly admit–nice.

Janus was skillfully juggling two mugs as he walked into the living room. In one hand, he carried a peppermint mocha in a plain red vessel, simple and hot. In the other hand, he held a mug covered with scenes of snowmen decorating a pine tree with little birds. The contents of that mug were just as extravagant and sweet: gingerbread spiced hot cocoa completely obscured beneath a layer of marshmallows, whipped cream, and sprinkles.

When Janus set the dessert in a cup on the coffee table, Patton looked up and smiled, his eyes really sparkling under the lights of the room’s opulent tree beside which he sat. The mug was just the newest addition to Patton’s station at the coffee table. Before him were a few sheets of notebook paper, a quill and ink, and a desk lamp and extension cord, which Janus stepped carefully over to sit on the couch just behind Patton.

“Aw, Janus!” Patton beamed, setting down his quill to reach for the mug. “Thank you!”

Even if the gap was seeming to narrow these days, Janus couldn’t help but marvel at how different he and Patton were sometimes. What an easy but incredible show of trust; any of the other Sides would have asked Janus what he wanted in return for such a thoughtful and good deed. (He would have answered “nothing,” but whether or not that was true, who could say?) “Not a problem,” Janus replied, taking a sip of his own drink. “How’s the naughty list looking this year?”

Patton giggled. He had a mustache of sweet fluff on his lip as he set down his mug and drew his quill. “Oh, I can’t say about that. But I do know Santa will have lots of ideas as to what to get you kids if you DO stay on the nice list.” He dipped the quill tip in his inkwell, humming with an audible grin. “Of course, I can’t imagine why you WOULDN’T be on the nice list…”

Janus crossed one leg over his knee and tapped his foot in a subtle but delighted rhythm. “Patton, lying at this time of year?” he tutted. “That nice list is slippery, you know. And lying around me, no less.” Janus leaned forward enough that the hissing chuckle that spread his lips into a smile could tickle Patton’s ear. “Is that my Christmas present?”

Ducking out of reach with a snort, Patton replied, “It’s not lying if I believe you all deserve the best gifts.” He turned to give Janus a boop on the nose with the fluffy end of his quill. “And it’s NOT the gift I have written down, I’ll have you know.”

For a moment, Janus’ eyes caught on the feather–a beautiful thing of blue and iridescent greens and purples that felt as soft as it looked–but curiosity shook him free, and he looked past the writing tool, blurring the beautiful colors as he focused his gaze on the page of just-dry ink. “It’s not?”

“Hey now!” Patton threw out his arm and leaned to one side so as to block Janus’ view. “No peeking!”

Undeterred, Janus didn’t fall back, just snickered and looked at Patton levelly. “What? I hardly need to know what you think I need for gifts.” He rested his chin in his hand, batting his eyelashes and tapping his cheek with his index finger. “But, say, what if I need ideas for our gift swap with the others? You know how hard Logan is to buy for.” (Untrue; Logan wasn’t hard to buy for, just irritatingly specific, which took out all the fun of surprising someone with their gift. Janus did love a good surprise.)

Eyes narrowed, Patton considered this before shaking his head and turning back to his makeshift desk. “No peeking,” he reiterated firmly. “Sensitive information here, for no one’s eyes but Mr Claus himself.” He paused, musing, then smiled. “Or his secretary. He is a busy guy.”

Janus nodded with a humoring hum. He sipped his coffee, nonchalantly scooting on the couch to be closer to Patton. If the scribe noted the movement, he didn’t mind, even leaning back against Janus’ calf and continuing to write. Janus waited a moment, then another, letting Patton’s guard slowly fall. The snake was hardly invested in letters to Santa Claus, but he did enjoy teasing and getting a rise out of Patton. And, who knows, maybe Janus would end up with someone with a scant wish-list and need a gift idea or two to fall back on. When the air felt calm enough to chance it, Janus leaned forward to peek over Patton’s shoulder.

Quick as a cobra, Patton had whirled around, brandishing his feather quill at Janus. “AH!” he admonished, tipping his head to one side and flashing a warning smile. “You better watch out.”

“You better not cry,” Janus replied with a smirk, leaning back a bit with his hands and mug raised placatingly. “Or what, Patton dear?”

Patton’s lower lip puffed out thoughtfully, and he hummed, clicking his tongue a few times. Janus waited, eyebrows raised and lips crookedly elevated. Then, Patton’s scrunched up thinking face relaxed before brightening into a big smile. He didn’t answer Janus’ question, just turned back to his list. Moreover, he didn’t move away but stayed close enough to be leaned up against Janus’ leg and, potentially, surely, observed by Janus’ looming eyes. The risk was worth the reward, and it would have been punishment to both of them to move apart. (It was nature for a Side, however deeply buried; even the prickliest of them liked company and a cuddle. And pushing their luck.)

Janus took a long sip from his drink and sighed, opening his mouth exaggeratedly wide both because it felt nice and because it tended to freak out any Sides who saw. He leaned forward, reaching purposely past Patton to set down his mug on the far side of the coffee table, securing for himself the perfect view of Patton’s cursive scrawl as well as the ideal perch to view it from, his chin resting upon the soft sweater fabric of Patton’s shoulder. Actually, it was cozy enough there, warm and soothing to the tune of Patton’s breathing and humming, and hard enough to read Patton’s handwriting from that distance, that Janus was content to close his eyes and not even try to peek. So he jumped a little, blinking in confusion, when Patton spoke again, but not quite to his current companion.

“‘And what do I ask of you dear Janus? Well, Santa, that’s quite simple. For my dear Janus, I want him to get the biggest and best–’” Patton paused, striking through the last word of his dictation with a flourish. “‘–the WORSE lee mood for Christmas.’”

Patton glanced sideways at him and smiled when Janus snickered. His head bobbed a bit atop the pleased wiggle that shook Patton’s shoulders. It wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to ask for for Christmas. The Sides, different as they could be, could all find fun in being tickled or making someone else laugh, so moods longing for one or the other were not uncommon. Sure, Virgil was more likely to be yearning for an onslaught of gentle belly tickles, whereas Remus would be more often found with fingers twitching in hopes of digging up screams from between someone’s ribs, and Logan could slide back and forth along that scale in a second. But still, it was a safe bet that someone in the Mind Palace was hoping to be or happy to be tickled. Because even if, somehow, no one was actively in a lee mood, one could pretty easily be teased out. Janus fell in the middle of the chaos, fluid like Logan in the part he was ready to play–tickle monster or squealing victim–and not one to be easily teased into a mood–not to be knocked over with a feather, so to say. Sure, seeing Patton twirl his feather quill thoughtfully and being actively threatened with a lee mood–not even being tickled, just infected with the desire to be–may have flustered Janus well enough, but he was cozy enough where he sat to weather the attack. So he only smiled, smug, closing his eyes and staying cuddled up, however awkwardly leaning, up against Patton’s shoulder.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so trusting.

“‘The kind of lee mood that makes you feel so warm and giddy and fuzzy,’” Patton went on, and Janus could hear the big smile around his words, “‘like just thinking about being tickled makes you feel tinsel between your toes and snowflake soft feathers on your belly. I want him to be so happy and flustered that he can only giggle and hiss and do that cute thing where he shakes his legs and taps his feet.’”

They didn’t live in a place with snowy winters, but Janus felt a phrase often used in that region come to mind: deceptively sunny. It was the scenario when one looked out the window to marvel at a beautiful winter landscape, blanketed in crystalline snow and brilliant beneath a crisp blue sky and bright sun, only to step outside and take in a breath that felt like a crackling snap in the lungs. Sunny, but cold. That was Patton. Warm, friendly, happy, but, just beneath, positively wicked. Freezing cold and sharp under a pretty sun, a hot spiced drink under sweet white fluff. Janus felt his stomach turn, swoop like at the drop in a roller-coaster, and burst with a blizzard of butterflies. He couldn’t look away from Patton’s quill as it bobbed, scrawling teases into paper that Janus was suddenly jealous of. Okay, maybe he was easier to tease a mood from than he cared to admit.

And perhaps Patton could read his mind, because he conveniently exclaimed, “‘Oh, and teases! Yes! He needs to get all the teases that make his cheeks go red and his scales change color!’”

Janus’ scales were certainly not doing anything of the sort when Patton paused in writing. He pursed his lips, smiled, and jumped back into his letter.

“‘And, you know, I think this mood’s gotta last until Christmas day, so maybe you can send him some tickly dreams in the meantime, too! Maybe twelve days of them would be fitting?’” Patton’s tongue poked between his top and bottom teeth as he giggled. He cleared his throat, donning a more serious face for continuing his letter to Santa. “‘If that’s too much, don’t worry about it; I’d be happy to take some of the work off your hands. I’m actually writing this letter to you with a beautiful feather quill I got for my birthday–Roman said he just knew I’d get a kick out of being fancy while writing letters. But it’s a beautiful plume, my favorite kind of teal blue and so soft to the touch.’”

‘Writing’ was a stretch; Patton wasn’t even touching the pen to the paper anymore, just twirling the pretty thing between his fingers. It was as long as a hand, with the non-writing end fanning out into a subtle fluffy curl. Its fibers seemed to float lazily as Patton waved the quill around, and Janus imagined they were so delicate as to not even be felt–until they found a place so sensitive on the body that they wouldn’t be ignored. Janus’ usually dark eyes and slitted pupils were bright and dilated, focused so on the gossamer feather that he took little note of Patton looking sideways at him, watching his reactions, with a grin.

Patton sighed dreamily. “‘I bet it would feel so nice tracing down Janus’ neck or around his belly or along his hips. Or circling every scale he has.’” When he smirked at Janus, he would have seen the scales on his face flushed a dark brown-gold. “‘Maybe what I should actually ask you to bring is a good tickle session for Janus on Christmas, and I can do the teasing the twelve days before. Whatever you decide, please know that I am a very good judge of character, and I know that Janus has been SO good this year–’”

Janus’ stomach did another giddy loop-de-loop when Patton chuckled and adjusted his glasses.

“I suppose you’re right, Jan; I should be honest, shouldn’t I?” Patton winked, and Janus’ face may have been warm enough to toast marshmallows on. “‘I know that Janus has been VERY naughty this year, and, so, deserves only the sweetest, meanest, most thorough lee mood, teasing, and wrecking that he’s had all year. And, if your present to me is that I get to deliver this for Janus, I certainly wouldn’t complain. Sincerely yours, Patton.’”

Patton’s smile didn’t falter when Janus stood abruptly from his seat, but his eyebrows did rise expectantly. “I’ve finished my coffee,” Janus answered before Patton could ask. “If you’ll excuse me.” Clutching his half-full mug tightly in his hand, Janus skirted widely around the coffee table and death sentence of a Christmas list. He stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, turning to give Patton a forcibly cool nod. “Thank you for your company.”

After a few startled blinks, Patton snorted and held a hand to his rosy freckled cheek. “Signed, sealed, delivered,” he said to Janus with a grin and a shake of his head. “It’s a little too late to try and get on the nice list now~”

Janus fled calmly up the stairs, ears flushed at the last sight of Patton waving the feather quill to him in farewell.

~*~

The teal fluffy feather was all Janus could see, later–minutes? hours? days? he really couldn’t say–when he lay buried beneath his duvet, trying to pat the heat and smile from his cheeks. The trick really was not to think about it, all the lovely teases Patton had wished for him, but how could he do that when that damn feather was running rampant in his brain, dusting all his thoughts to make them tickly. He had just finished his coffee, too, so he couldn’t even hope to drift off for a cozy little nap. It’d be just his luck though; he’d probably get a dream that would fluster him awake or the second he awoke.

With a huff of a sigh, Janus threw off the covers. If the call was coming from inside the house, there was no point in hiding; if his mind was the monster, a blanket wasn’t going to save him. Besides that, the heat of his sweater and flushing cheeks was beginning to make the bubble of space between his blanket and his bed feel like an oven. He sat up enough to free himself from his sweater and dropped it off the side of the bed and onto the discarded blankets before falling onto his back. If his mind was going to torture him, at least, his body could be comfortable.

But, Janus’ mind sang unhelpfully, now he bore even less protection if some lovely monster slithered down the chimney to leave tickly stardust in his socks and pin him to his bed and–

The pillow previously behind Janus’ head was wailed frustratedly into before it, too, was thrown off the bed. Janus forced himself to take a long, slow breath, burying his fingers in the fabric of his sheets. Okay. Clearly, the lee mood was too grand already to try and wall completely off. Trying to ignore it (and ultimately failing to do so) was just making him irritated. But then, he was too worked up and embarrassed to act on his wants, to ask for it. The very thought was mortifying. Maybe there was a safe middle ground. Maybe he could let the dam leak a little, let the thoughts trickle in. He could handle that, he wouldn’t drown. (He would be dramatic, but he wouldn’t drown.) Surely, he could let himself think about it, a little. Patton had already infected him with the feather fever, after all. Janus figured he might as well try to enjoy it.

Breathing came slower and easier when Janus brought himself to that compromise. He could close his eyes, rein in his agitated leg twitching, wade gently into the pool of his mind.

The image of the quill came back to his mind, and he welcomed it, accompanied it with soft touch from his own hand. As the cerulean feather twirled about, dancing amid the sugarplum visions it had made of his thoughts, Janus traced his fingertips over his belly. With his eyes shut, he could almost pretend the feather to be the perpetrator of the feeling, the gentle swishing back and forth along the border between skin and scales. It was a lovely feeling that made his stomach--just beneath the light show of beautiful sensation--ache with longing.

What else could he imagine? Patton had given him a few cheesy seasonal teasing suggestions, which was kind since Janus wasn't the most creative of the Sides--not the least, but not the most. Janus pictured tinsel, silver and shimmery and soft, threaded between his toes and sawed delicately. His breath caught for a moment, and his toes scrunched against the imaginary sensation. How tauntingly on the edge of feeling.

What else could he imagine? Through his closed eyes, he could see the feather swirling gentle but relentless loops around his belly and scales. He could see the tinsel under his toes. He could see Patton’s smile, his fingers curling and uncurling above Janus’ quivering abdomen. Just a little closer…

Janus sat up, burying his flushed face in his hands. Twelve days of anticipation like this would be its own torture.

A knock to the rhythm of ‘Jingle Bells’ sounded from his door. Janus gave his red cheeks one last chastising pat, floundered for a moment on where to lay his limbs to act natural, and settled on resting his hands on his knees. “Come in.”

When the door opened, the first thing to enter was the bright red and white of a Santa hat, followed by Patton’s merry smile. “Hey, kiddo! You busy?”

“Depends,” said Janus with a hollow scoff. “Did you need more help planning holiday torment, or did you want to bake cookies or something?”

Patton snorted, wiggling his shoulders proudly as he fully entered the room and shut the door. He clasped his hands behind his back, swaying his hips forward and back. “Mm, a bit in between,” Patton decided. “Mean, but still sweet.”

Janus swallowed, trying very hard to bar the dam of his thoughts to keep his hopes from running away from him. “Oh?”

“Well, Santa got back to me,” said Patton, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms with a big sigh. “I know, no time wasted; he is a professional, after all.” He shook his head and smiled sadly, but his eyes were sparkling. “But he said that even he couldn’t make a lee mood and wrecking as wonderful as I asked for in such a short turnaround. So!” Patton adjusted his hat and stood tall, beaming. “He said I should most certainly fill in!”

For someone whose thoughts had just been flooded with elated relief, Janus’ mouth was quite dry. He wouldn’t have to wither away the winter waiting. Patton’s hands and feathers and tinsel and smile were near and real. Janus felt a funny mix of gratefulness and annoyance, seeing as how Patton had been the one to drop him into such a state in the first place. But then, he was too excited already to be annoyed. “Oh,” he said again.

“If you’re not busy.” Patton took a step further into the room.

“Well–” Janus started to say.

“You don’t look busy,” said Patton. Two more steps took him to the edge of Janus’ bed, where he stood, head cocked and smile crooked. “You look like you were expecting me.”

Such rare smugness from Patton was enough to snap Janus from flustered to–well, he was certainly still flustered, but also–indignant. His mouth hung open, and, when no words miraculously filled the empty space, Janus stuck out his forked tongue.

“Don’t be naughty,” Patton chastised with a giggle. “I wrote you a song. May I sit with you and sing it for you?”

Janus nodded, pushing himself up with his hands so as to scoot back and make room for Patton on the bed, but Patton stopped with a gentle hand on his knee.

“Lie back and get comfy,” Patton instructed with a grin. “It’s not a short song.”

His sweater and blankets had already been tossed to the floor; Janus had neither protection nor a saving excuse when the heat in his face spread to his ears and down his neck. He lay back, resting his hands on either side of his head, and, mercifully, Patton commented on neither Janus’ flush nor his eagerness. Instead, Patton whistled a little yuletide carol, climbing onto the bed and kneeling over Janus’ legs. He didn’t settle yet, but turned his torso toward the foot of the bed and tugged off his Santa hat, holding it behind his back and out of Janus’ sight. But Janus could still hear as the hat was held open and its previously unseen contents came tumbling out, rattling like cartoon pots and pans fell onto the sheets. Janus had a guess as to what the hidden pile may have included, but he couldn’t fathom how Patton had managed to hide such a trove so impossibly under his hat. Said hat was placed on Janus’ head as soon as Patton had turned to face forward again, the puff of it being booped on Janus’ nose. Janus' face scrunched up in feigned distaste and fruitless effort to keep from smiling anticipatorily.

Patton adjusted himself to kneel fully and comfortably on Janus’ legs, reaching behind him for a moment to neaten up the mystery gifts from Santa’s hat, then faced Janus once more with a smile. “Alright.” Leaning forward a bit to hunch his shoulders and flex his fingers, Patton began to softly sing. “On the first day of Christmas, I count on my merry lee~”

Janus let out a groaning chuckle. Of course, Patton would come up with the silliest teasing twist on a seasonal song. A song which–Janus realized, derision turning to giddy panic–often had twelve verses that only got longer. He yelped, startled from his thoughts by a sudden whispering soft sensation swirling over his lower belly, and came face to face with the evil feather that had started the whole ordeal. Patton circled the teal feather around Janus’ navel, grinning at the smile straining to be free from Janus’ bitten lower lip.

“A giggle button on his belly~” Patton set the feather by his knee and reached behind him with both hands. “On the second day of Christmas, I count on my darling lee…” And, instead of grabbing a new tool, Patton scribbled his fingers up and down Janus’ soles, prompting a squeal and buck from the man. “Two wiggling feet,” Patton sang, before swinging his hands back in front of himself to dance upon Janus’ stomach once more, “and a giggle button on his belly~”

Second verse cleared, ten more to go. It was too late for Janus to curb his smile–the thing had taken off and spread its wingspan across his cheeks–but he could keep from laughing, he could. He had to. Because, of course, it wasn’t just ten more verses in single phrases; it was ten verses consecutive to all the verses that came before. Janus’ mind was too scrambled to do the math on how many teases in total he was about to endure–he was excited to endure.

“On the third day of Christmas, I count on my dashing lee…” Patton fell forward, hovering above Janus nose-to-nose and grinning. The heels of his hands came to rest on Janus’, his fingers sliding up Janus’ palms until their digits were parallel and easily intertwinable. Janus didn’t know whether this move was a moment of mercy early on or of false security, and he tried to hold Patton’s hands and take as deep of breaths as his cantering heart would allow. Patton squeezed his hands once before curling his own fingers inward. Janus’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion before shooting up in realization, just in time for Patton’s nails to scratch delicately along the palms of Janus’ hands. “Three pairs of twitchy palms~”

Janus snorted, and he would have blamed the tickling, if anyone had asked. No way, no way, was Patton going to get him to unfurl his other two sets of arms into a visible and tangible state. Even if doing so would gain Janus four more terribly ticklish spots to be doted upon… No. He would not so willfully participate in his own demise.

Most all his resistance dissipated into delighted terror when Patton drew back, aiming his wiggling fingers behind him until they touched down to rake Janus’ heels. “Two wiggling feet~”

Janus held his breath and clenched his jaw. He’d already let a little laughter sound loose; even if it was a relief to do so, it was too early in the marathon to let himself go. Wasn’t it?

“And a giggle button on his belly~”

Poor Janus arched his back and threw his head into the mattress as Patton’s fingers danced around his stomach, trailing long slow paths from the bottom of his ribcage to the top of his hips and back up again. On the second trip, Patton changed techniques, using one hand for featherlight skating down Janus’ sensitive skin and using the other for just a bit rougher scratching down his scales. At last, the giggly dam crumbled, and, albeit through his grinning teeth and scrunched nose, Janus began to laugh, a hissing breathy happy sound.

Patton hummed, pleased, and sung on. “On the fourth day of Christmas, I count on my cutie lee…”  From where his hands splayed on Janus’ waist, it was easy as fruit cake for Patton to slide them around until he was holding Janus in a hug, warm but made menacing by his nails sudden scurrying into Janus’ lower back. “Four spine-y squeezes~”

Grabbing at his hat to hold himself still, Janus cackled, shoving his back down into the mattress in attempt to make the spot inaccessible for Patton, but to no avail. Still, he didn’t even have time to get used to the sensation before the song went marching on. Patton gently pried Janus’ hands free to scribble into his palms, fell back onto his legs to skitter down his soles, and bowed forward to dig into the soft flesh of his stomach.

“On the fifth day of Christmas, I count on my love-a-lee…” The flurry of movement from the last verse had paused, and Patton lay, for a moment, his cheek still on Janus’ panting midsection. Janus kept his guard up, though. Haggard as he was, he felt vindicated when he saw the mischievous twinkle in Patton’s eyes immediately before he took a big breath and blew a vibrating raspberry in Janus’ belly. The hilarious and heinous weapon was matched in volume by Janus’ wail of laughter. “Five raspberries!” Patton lifted his head, beaming. Janus shook his head, too breathless to form words and soon swept up once more in a tidal wave of howling humor as Patton planted one, two, three, four more raspberries on Janus’ tummy. It certainly didn’t help that all the Sides had slight stubble growing recently; the scratch of Patton’s peach fuzz, especially on Janus’ scales, made for the most awful raspberries he’d probably ever felt.

No rest for the wicked; Patton’s song carried on. Janus, through quite brutal a memorization process, was starting to get used to the pattern mentally, but not physically. The jumping from spot to spot was too sudden and speedy for him to get used to anything, so all he could do was brace for what he knew was coming next. Four scribbles down his spine (and shoulders, which Patton did not need to be so mean as to target), three pairs of palms subject to little but effective scratches, two feet menaced this time by that damn blue feather, and one belly button turning pink from aching laughter and attention.

“On the sixth day of Christmas, I count on my dearie lee… six ticklish armpits~” 

Another pause, during which Janus gulped giggly breaths before cracking an eye open. Like spiders cut loose from their webs, Patton’s hands descended, diving into Janus’ uppermost armpits with clawing fingers.

It was good that Janus had already let his laughter loose, because, when the newest bout of cachinnation rocked his frame, he needed all his resolve to hold his arms still. His grasp was white-knuckle tight on his arms and hair, and his laughing grin was wide enough to make his cheeks burn from the ache of exertion as well as the heat of elation. And then Patton took the elevator down to the next floor of terribly ticklish underarms. Janus’ elbows strained to flap, and his head whipped back and forth, shoving one chortling cheek and then the other into the bedspread. How long could this verse possibly be?

Another brutal raspberry to his belly amidst the armpit assault prompted a shriek from Janus. He couldn’t verbalize how unfair it was to double up on spots, and Patton’s explanation was hardly sympathetic. “Five!” Patton crowed, burying his face in Janus’ stomach to deliver vibrating lips and nuzzling stubble with each syllable. “Rasp! Ber! Ries!” For as much effort as Janus was using to keep still (aside from his thrashing laughing head and heaving stomach), he was startled at how easy a time Patton had muscling him halfway onto his side. That was definitely why he squealed, and not because Patton had finally moved down to scribbling into his lowest armpits with one jumping hand and feathering his lower back with the other.

“Four spiney squeezes~”

It was small but a mercy still that Patton didn’t make Janus release his ironclad grip on his own arms for the next stanza, settling instead on brushing that evil plume along his forearms and into the crooks of his elbows. (The song’s alignment to Patton’s actions had been askew from the start anyway, but Janus was having too much fun to nitpick.)

“Three pairs of twitchy palms~”

Perhaps unintentional, but there was another brief respite for Janus in the few seconds between Patton pulling back from his upper body to reach back for his feet. Very brief, maybe long enough for one guffaw to have a longer inhale than the rest before tumbling once more into wailing laughter as Patton’s fingers scribbled into his arches.

“Two wiggling feet~”

Patton pounced forward and giggled when Janus snorted amid his laughter, only to place a teasing kiss on his stomach.

“And a giggle button on his belly~”

If Janus wasn’t half-past loopy already, he would have marveled at Patton’s masterminding. This session was pure psychological evil. Janus was all heightened nerves and anticipation; after the reveal of what spot would start the new verse, he technically knew what was coming next, but he was still awash in thrill and terror, like he was experiencing each spot anew.

He also would have applauded six ticklish hands for Patton’s composition skills. Once they’d gotten to the tenth verse, it was a very smooth and terrible line up from Janus’ toes to his knees to his thighs to his hips. The next, eleven, was not so limited in its geography but its choreography, but Patton performed it wickedly. That beautiful quill was the star of it, and Patton made use of his ‘eleven feather swishes’ to waltz up Janus’ tummy, across his chest, dipping into his armpits, to his neck and ears–eleven was so many swishes. If he’d had the wherewithal and malice for it, Janus would have thrown Patton six calling birds for his villainy.

The echoes of the last verse and laughter lingering in the corners of the room, Janus lay, limp and gulping air through lingering giggles, eyes shut and an utterly relaxed smile upon his lips. Patton lay as well, still and content, his cheek resting on Janus’ stomach and his index fingers tracing the scales on his sides.

“How ya doin’, kiddo?” Patton asked with a sigh, chuckling when he received only a happy hissing exhale in reply. “I’m glad.” He sat up, tapping a little tune on Janus’ tummy and biting his lip. “You think you got it in you for one more verse?”

Janus’ eyes scrunched further shut, and he giggled at the mere thought of Patton’s proposal. He peeked through one eye and nodded.

“Okay.” Patton’s soft, fond smile sharpened into something sinister. “But, you know, darn it, I think I’ve forgotten the words. Do you remember them? Think you can sing it for me?”

Janus snorted at that. Yes, an excellent idea, let the snake whose brain had been reduced to happy goopy goofy mush come up with the words to the teasing song that had been his detriment. Don’t let him sink fully into elated sleepiness, make him force himself to stay awake enough to bear a bit more, draw out the session a little longer to make it truly the best Christmas gift… Upon deliberation, Janus could see the appeal. Mean but sweet, indeed. Janus pulled himself up, physically and mentally, assuming the familiar position of bracing his own arms and coaxing his mind from the edge of sleep. He’d certainly heard the verses enough times to know the words. He cleared his throat, voice hoarse and happy from laughing so long. “On the twelfth day of Christmas, the tickle monster gave to me: twelve heaving ribs– PATTON!”

The newest rendition of the song had been softer, wavering a bit, compared to Patton’s more confident and lilting tone. Well. It had been quieter, until Patton had unleashed hell upon Janus’ ribs. Vibrating, scratching fingers followed the furrows of the bones, left to right, and then raked down them like a washboard. Rinse, repeat.

Oh, Patton had been going easy on him all this time. That whole marathon thing had just been a prelude to the real event: the sprint.

“Yes, Janus dear?” Patton grinned. “Go on, just waiting for you to sing the next bit and tell me where to tickle!”

OH, not even a sprint–a sprint implied pushing it to the limit for a short time. This pseudo-sprint’s pace was to be determined by the man whose legs had been jelly for the past ten minutes. So it could have been a short time, if Janus let his shrieking, snorting laughter overtake him, or it could take as long as it took him to think coherently while being tickle tortured. A very, very long time. He really must have been on the naughty list.

Like with the previous, Janus had barely crowed out the next verse before Patton had that damn feather darting everywhere it could reach, his neck and ears and stomach mostly, until it could fly back to saw between his toes for the tenth day of Christmas. The feather flipped to scribble the quill end under Janus’ toes as Patton’s other hand squeezed up until it reached his knee. Nine. Both hands dove in to spider and scratch his thighs. Eight. Then to massage their thumbs into his hips bones. Seven.

Janus was a gay mess of exhausted but elated guffawing and kicking feet and flapping elbows. He could barely get out the words to direct Patton where to tickle next. If he’d been asked to lead a verse earlier in the session, he might have mucked up the order a bit on purpose to make it easier on himself. That option was out the window now, as he could hardly keep up with calling out spots as Patton was actively tickling them. He was swept up in the speed and brutality of the menacing of different spots, all scribbling nails and stubbly kisses. Patton was laughing with him, cheeks red from the upped pace of the activity and smile wide and beaming from getting to make Janus feel so happy and safe. He was jumping and falling between spots on the final countdown, half leading and half following Janus’ howling hymnal. With one final raspberry to Janus’ navel, the both of them collapsed in a cuddly heap, Patton rolling off Janus' body to hug him properly.

Eyes heavy and chest heaving as he took slow, deep, relaxing breaths, Janus gave Patton a boop on the nose with the Santa hat that sat crooked on his head. “Merry Christmas, meanie.”

“And a sweet New Year,” Patton giggled, reaching over the side of the bed to grab the duvet and wrap them both up in it for a well-earned snuggle.

[allastoredeer]

Curiously for me it was obvious that in any of these au Lucifer had to be Hades, logic has all the subtlety of an anvil.

Ruler of a group of dead souls who is normally seen as evil and who can actually be argued to have gotten the short end of the stick compared to his brothers? ✔️✔️✔️

Hades!Lucifer with all the ways to play with the trope practically writes itself.

Now, Persephone! Alastor took me a little longer to watch and get over my critical barrier.

There is an implication that there are gods more associated with the city (Hera, Apollo...) and gods more associated with the wild (Dionysus, Artemis...) then I had an instinctive reaction to say nope, because Alastor as a radio host and Rosie as the leader of the cannibals not exactly a 1:1 resemblance, both are too associated with things in the city for me to see it (if you ask me what kind of goddess is the 1:1 equivalent of Rosie I would say it's Hera or Hestia actually)

But the thing is that Alastor already moves between both sides because Alastor in some ways is a walking contradiction (as p Persephone! Goddess of spring, Life,and lady of the Underworld, Death)and there is something in the idea of seeing a goddess of spring and a goddess of the hunt cannibalistic and quite bloodthirsty which is like mmmm.... Why do I suddenly need more of this?

But I'm really curious who Demeter would be in this scenario. It doesn't even have to be a motherly role, but who is the person who realizes that Alastor is missing without knowing what happened and wants to get him back? Because we have two options: whoever has Alastor's soul... And Charlie, Alastor was helping her with a project and now he's gone!

I can understand people's reservations about Alastor being Persephone, the goddess of spring. They're not exactly the most similar characters. But that's what I love about him being Persephone - it's so far removed from who you'd think he'd be that it's immediately intriguing to imagine how you would merge the two together.

Alastor is the god of spring, but he is still Alastor. He still hunts and kills, it's just usually hunters or deplorable mortals who wander into his territory (which is still accurate to Alastor, because according to Viziepop, Alastor in the show has his own moral code, and Viv compared him to Dexter Morgan, who was a serial killer notorious for murdering other murderers and serial killers). He's still whimsy and all about entertainment, he's just off on his own most of the time (with his equally crazy tree nymph Niffty, and the god he swindled into a deal, Husk). He's still clever and a smooth-talker, he can talk circles around nearly any other deity, he's just going to do it with flowers in his hair. He's still dangerous, he just likes planting now too.

The more I think about Artemis, the more I see her as Rosie. Artemis had her exclusively female hunters, she protected them, they were loyal to her, and even if Rosie wasn't as physically aggressive towards anyone in the show, she's still skilled in hunting and killing (obviously, she IS a cannibal), and I can totally see her hunters being the cannibals from the show as well. Her hunters don't have to be a small group in this AU, it's bigger and more like a community.

Obviously, I'm not keeping this AU 100% accurate to the Greek myths. I've found that when writing AU's it's better to change the trope to fit the character, instead of changing the character to fit the trope.

As for Hestia, well, honestly, I see Em being her more than Rosie (or maybe Carmilla could be Hestia O.O with how dedicated she is to her family and home). I mean, the goddess of the Hearth, home, family - I can see where Rosie would fit in, but with how caring, sweet, and loving Em is while still having a strong back-bone for standing up for injustice and how people are treated, she fits the role of Hestia really well (honestly, I'm also really liking the idea of Carmilla being Hestia).

I'm still not sure who I'm going to make Demeter, as Alastor didn't really have a protective, maternal figure looking out for him in the show. Some might argue that Rosie could fit that bill, but I've always seen her as ride or die friends with Alastor, and not so much a motherly figure.

So, I'm thinking of just making Demeter Alastor's mom. We don't see her in the show, nor do we know anything about her, but she's the closest character I can think of who can fit, well, his mother LOL.

I am tweaking the myth a bit so that Alastor ends up taking on more of her duties as goddess of the harvest (she was also the goddess of agriculture, fertility, and sacred law - with the last one, I think Alastor gets a lot of his moral principles from that, in the sense that he doesn't tolerate mortals (or immortals) damaging sacred ground, fields, nature, animals etc... which is another reason why he hunts the people who transgress through his fields and forests).

And the reason Alastor takes on more of Demeter's/his moms responsibilities is because, previously, he'd been attacked (see all the scars in his design) and it took a long time and a lot of power from his mom as she nursed him back to health. It took a lot out of her, so once he was healed, she stepped down to build her strength back up, and he took on more duties with the harvest, agriculture, and sacred law in her stead.

As for Charlie, well 😈I already have a character in mind for her.

[puffyducks]

DCRC Week #9 (Part 2)

Oh shit!! Is these ducks on the road??? YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS THEY ARE!!! Anyways we're reading Ducks on the Road now which I'm super excited for because it features not one but THREE characters we've barely seen in the book club so far!!

This comic is LONG (I guess it's technically like 5 comics but we're reading them all in one go) so I'll probably end up having to extend this post with a few reblogs! So look out for those.

They're in.... VIRGINIA???? NOOOOOOOOOOO (person with irrational hatred of Virginia cause my whole extended family lives there so I have to travel there every holiday and it just kinda sucks there idk what to tell you. Also if Virginia is for lovers why is it called VIRGINia hm?? riddle me that BATMAN)

SCROOGE PAY YOUR FUCKING WORKERS also I love this outfit and haircut for Daisy she looks so cute here

Does this imply that Donald was living in Virginia beforehand because the implication that I'm only 1 state away from Donald is kind of frightening ngl. also Virginia sucks.

Did they hire Tuskerninni's cousin what's going on here. Actually this is the 70s it could probably BE Tuskerninni in an earlier life

I'm so used to talking about DT17 Gyro within my circles that I see Regular Gyro and it's like oh right!! He actually has joy and whimsy in his heart!! He's actually just a funny invention man who has totally not accidentally committed any atrocities in Tokyolk before!!!! He's also changed his hair color like four times

DON'T EAT THE GARBAGE SANDWICH WHAT ARE YOU DOOIIIIING

can somebody please help him he looks like an anxious chihuahua

How do you even leave piles of money on the floor to be blown away like that HELP I'm so stressed. Dickie get it together girl.

shoutout to these two and their cool accompanying text

HOW IS SHE SUCH A PUBLIC MENACE SHE'S LITERALLY JUST KINDA MID AT PLAYING GUITAR

She kissed him then IMMEDIATELY friendzoned him it was like a speedrun holy shit

Did he just headcanon Dickie and Daisy as lesbians? Because me too.

WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT AFTER AN EXAM WHY'D THEY DO HIM LIKE THAT 😭😭😭 nice presentation you LONELY IDIOT.

DICKIE YOU CAN'T PAINT A FUCKIGN RENTAL VAN OH MY GOD

Ah yes my favorite sign on the highway. The big one that just says "WEST"

YOU GUYS I AM SO STRESSED DICKIE IS GONNA GET THEM ALL KILLED IN A HORRIFIC ROAD ACCIDENT. ALSO HOW DID THEY ALREADY GET ALL THE WAY TO OKLAHOMA-

NVM THEY'RE NOT GONNA CRASH THEY'RE GONNA GET SHOT BY THIS GUY FOR HARBORING CRIMINALS

DAISY YOU CAN'T SAY THAT WORD. also i want these two guys dead they were mean to her >:(

GET A JOB STAY AWAY FROM HER

dork ass nerd and his dork ass math pajamas. and what I assume is a plush of Albert Einstein or something. NERD.

Oh ok so we're just not gonna acknowledge what they do about their tires being gone. Ok. No it's fine I guess that's like irrelevant information they probably just like... found some new tires on the side of the road or something..... yeah....

Anyways this is the part where I briefly end the post so I can attach more reactions with a reblog!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading roundup: April 2024

oh my god you guys I've read SO MUCH this month!!! I got BIG into reread N.K. Jemisin's tremendous Broken Earth trilogy and it's been jaw-dropping, and I have been reading a HEAP of comics and manga a

on the extremely off chance there's anyone following me who doesn't think comics, manga, graphic novels, etc don't count as "real reading" lmao lol get out of here??? you're on the Reading 1000s of Pages of Old Batman Comics blog. go feel the whimsy of reading a whole graphic novel in one afternoon and maybe you'll calm down.

ANYWAY!!! what have we been reading?

Earthdivers Vol. 1: Kill Columbus (Stephen Graham Jones, Davide Gianfelice, Joana Lafuente, 2023) - Stephen Graham Jones is one of my all-time favorite authors, and I was super excited to check out his first comic series. Earthdivers takes place in the wasteland of the 22nd century, where four Native survivors have hatched a plan to try to stop the disasters that are killing the world: use a time-travelling cave to send one of their number back in time to kill Columbus before he can launch the colonization of North America. it's a one-way trip, and the time traveler will have to be ruthless to achieve their goal. beyond the attention-grabbing hook of killing Columbus, this story dives (you see what I did there) deep into an exploration of what it means to sacrifice everything for a cause and find the will to be ruthless in pursuit of the greater good. I'm not 100% sure I tracked all of the twisting threads of time travel in this first volume, but the hook is compelling and Gianfelice's art is beautiful, so I'm really looking forward to seeing the series progress!

Spoiler Alert (Olivia Dade, 2020) - at this point I've written 8000+ words about this book on my patreon and it's becoming difficult to figure out what else to say or how to say it briefly. this book ties itself up in knots with its contrivances and makes both of its protagonists look dumb in the process. I don't like either of these people but - spoiler alert! - I still think April can and should do better. Olivia Dade please call me I just want to talk.

Delicious in Dungeon Vol. 1-3 (Ryoko Kui, trans. Yen Press, 2017) - I don't need to explain Dungeon Meshi. surely you've seen the gifs of Dungeon Meshi. all that matters is that I fucking love Dungeon Meshi, this shit rules and it's going to be so hard to hold off on reading Volume 4 while I try to prioritize some other books first. this world is great, the characters are a delight and a joy, and the way that Kui is so fascinated by the food and biology and exploration of adventurer fantasy tropes in her world makes my brain go wheeeeeeeeee!!! I'm having so much fun.

The Fifth Season (N.K. Jemisin, 2015) - historically I've very seldom reread books, but I'm starting to think that I need to change my stance on that. revisiting the Fifth Season years after I first read it, with the time to really enjoy it and also the maturity and perspective to actually appreciate what Jemisin is cooking, has enhanced the experience immeasurably. a thing that really struck me this time was how artfully Jemisin depicts the way orogenes are conditioned and groomed from the jump to be subservient and scared and willing to settle for life at the margins of society; it's not something that I could totally understand the nuances of when I read this book fresh out of my first year of college. this novel and its sequels are so brilliantly devastating, I cannot say enough great things about them.

My Pancreas Broke, But My Life Got Better (Nagata Kabi, trans. Jocelyne Allen 2022) - I did it, I'm officially caught up on all of Nagata's works that have been translated into English! and man, I'm still worried about her. the experience of reading My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness hasn't quite been replicated for me; I think that was a once in a lifetime event, although I've certainly found a lot that I relate to in Nagata's subsequent struggles to sort of out anxiety, independence, art, and figuring out what kind of relationships she event wants to have in her life. at this point I feel like I'm just reading the illustrated life updates from a friend I haven't seen in a long time who stresses me out because her life is a mess. which is still interesting! but god I hope something good happens to this woman soon.

The Obelisk Gate (N.K. Jemisin, 2016) - The Fifth Season is a book about the end of the world and of one woman's personal apocalypses that happened prior to that. its sequel, the Obelisk Gate, is a book that's extremely preoccupied with the tedium of figuring out how to run a halfway-functioning society in the midst of the apocalypse, which is genuinely fascinating stuff. and it's also a book about the fear and desperation and sheer levels of exhaustion that might drive someone to decide that, fuck it, maybe the world should end and we should be done with all of this, actually. it's also a book about devotion and dependence and destruction and devouring people you love in a VERY literal way, which it must be said is pretty sexy. the stuff that pops off between Essun and Hoa in this book makes me think of Octavia Butler in the best way; I think she would have adored them. I'm so excited to get to the final book and see how this all pays off, because the first time I read it I barely understood a single goddamn thing that was happening.

I Hate This Place Vol. 1-2 (Kyle Starks, Artyom Toplin, Lee Loughridge, 2022-2023) - a short and spooky comic series that wraps up in two tight little volumes. I have some gripes with the pacing, but it makes for a fun afternoon read. a mid-tier streaming service is going to adapt this into a live action series within a couple of years, mark my worms. personally I'm fancasting Mackenzie Davis as Gabby and Samira Wiley as Trudy.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

re: the food thing

bbkeasnknd howl this is so funny because i'm writing the fic somewhat around that issue (i swear i'll finish it, i'm just busy with school aaaaaaaaa 😭😭😭). the thing is, in my alternate multiverse(?), nightmare doesn't have a castle - he just ambles from universe to universe (he's very whimsy that way /hj), and so all his subordinates also have to adapt quickly to the scavenger/nomad lifestyle or die from hunger. killer is very lucky he's nightmare's 'favorite', or else he wouldn't make it this far without any prior knowledge on hunting and foraging and stuff.

also, this brings up an interesting point about game mechanics. like, hp is the important factor to whether you're healthy or alive, and by game mechanics you can restore full hp at save points. if killer is the one with the ability (and is the most determined) in a universe, then he can use the save points too, right? that means theoretically he doesn't need to eat as long as he can access save points and restore his full hp. idk if this is a good thing or not honestly...

~ crowshipping anon

Yippee welcome back crow! Ngl id love to hear more about your multiverse.

I find it very interesting to explore what it’s like to have every aspect of your life and existence entirely controlled by another, and how that would effect someone who now is in a position of freedom and everything that comes with that.

Mainly having to learn and remember that you have a responsibility to meet your body’s most basic needs on your own now, and there’s no one around who decides when, where, how, what, and how much you eat if you want to remain functional let alone survive.

which is a big fucking problem for killer because most days he can’t feel these things and doesn’t care about himself or his body to bother to care for it. And which im sure it also pisses him off if he has to rely on anyone like that again.

im guessing one of the biggest ways he knows how to get the body’s needs met is manipulation and fawning. which gives him the idea he has to do or say something, or make someone believe something, to gain access to things like food and water.

you’d think he’d learn how to make himself more independent and less reliant on (or controlled by) others by learning these hunting and foraging skills, which im sure some versions of him absolutely did by using any resources available to learn something new, but also some versions of him may’ve gained control by just simply cutting off a need/the awareness of a need. the need for food or water or rest or sleep, especially if it’s something that was encouraged/conditioned.

Killer himself may view the hp game mechanics as a very valuable tool, a good thing. he is not controlled if he has no need for what others are offering by dangling over his head in exchange for something else. as for if it’s actually a good thing, probably not lmao.

[fallentheatre]

Time... to be a little insane <3

I entirely blame @hoverboards-and-dragons for all of this. They introduced me to the God and Archangels concept brainrot and then the Roo brainrot. And this should help explain any drawings we do with these funky designs too.

First, lets meet the cultivator of creation himself, Ady (Adonai)! (AKA the 'God' figure)

He's a gigantic plant entity that can re-arrange his floral body in ways of slightly less concerning body horror. One moment he has paws, the next, all the roots in his legs mangle and reform into claws. The yellow cloak of leaf-fur can expand into wings, but he doesn't use those all that often. He's large, a big beast. Just a massive mass of plant deity that is incredibly soft to touch.

Creation is his garden and he intends to remove it of all parasites through any means necessary.

He also will photosynthesize in the sun. He's not mediating. He's eating. Let him eat in peace.

Meanwhile... we have the parasite he's been trying to rid creation of from day one.

Roo! The 'root of evil' in Ady's creation garden (Their garden)

Where Ady is gentle fun leaf-based body horror, Roo is straight flesh and gore. A parasitic mole in the eyes of Ady and by extension his creations, Roo is something that needs to be exterminated, though none have the power to do so. She's got plant-like elements to her, something that insults Ady personally, due to her 'lure' human-like form sprouting out of the mouth like a flower.

Oh yeah, it's a lure. What easier way to draw prey into the jaws of death than to look like a struggling victim in a sinkhole? It also makes Ady feel uncomfortable beyond belief after the lure becomes more human-esque to specifically and personally drive Ady insane. They're awful to each other. Complete enemies who drove each other to become who they are today. If they aren't ripping one another's throats out, they're being the pettiest people alive.

Roo is a lot more chill compared to Ady. She kinda just does her thing, as she too is fundamental in creation. Roo and Ady spawned together in the abyss and expanded it to become more. No matter how vile her action or how Ady ensures all know her as evil and rot, Roo is vital to creation. They even created their first living organism together in collaboration. That is when it turned for the worst, as their morals clashed until they started to flash their teeth and unsheathe their claws in battle. Ady is generally well put-together, despite being a complete goofball on the outside. But when Roo is around? All his whimsy is gone. There is only mutual hatred and violence.

They're both big beasts, and the full body of Roo is yet to be determined. They're so fascinating because everything would be going so well if they just. Didn't resort to violence and aggression when things dont go their way. They're the only ones who can truly pose a physical threat to one another, and therefore are the only ones they lose their own composure's around.

Still working on the finer details, as these are just concepts at this stage, but I love them dearly. They're awful I hope they maul each other so thoroughly that they cannot tell each other apart in the carnage they make.

Roo kind of became just the blame for everything. Yeah she takes full credit for the things she did do-- she doesn't regret anything. But Ady sees her as the core source of evil, when all he wants to do is spread and nurture good. Roo has accepted the role of evil, not really caring for nor needing a definition for what she does, and Ady kind of forces everyone to see her as nothing but evil. Good and Evil just happen, but both have strange relationships with the ideas. I'm still figuring it out but like. Everything is a grey area can you two stop and accept that please! No? Well. Just keep arguing then I guess.

But yeah she's sick of Ady's shit as much as Ady is beyond frustrated and furious at her.

I also did her demon disguise / form! I don't know how to describe clothing or anything but I really like her. And the downward markings on her stomach is her body showing. It's like a slightly soft exoskeleton? I don't know how to explain pffff.

I then decided to also go ahead and do a human version of Ady. Comedy gold I tell you. Both of these guys make me very happy <3

And as a treat, I also did rough ideas for how Lucifer and Micheal look!

And before anyone says anything, no, those aren't top surgery scars. They are natural markings. Since Lucifer is the morningstar, rising before the sun, it's supposed to make the star on his chest look like it is rising, where Micheal, the eveningstar, is supposed to be setting! (I'd say falling, but that feels... disrespectful lmao)

They also get the leaf-fur elements and some more nature theming due to my idea really focusing on the garden aspect (because it is so fun and i love plant / bug / animal designs so much). Also tried to make Lucifer look more snake-like where Micheal really seems to be heavy on the bird elements (did I hear birds hunting snakes? No? well... what a very funny thing to hear from the wind ehe)

Uhhh yeah. First time trying to ramble out a few of the concepts I have. No idea if I explained anything well but hey! What are rough first drafts if not scribbles on a page?