#a very fuzzy memory. he just says he was born with them

[raydianbluesandhues]

Do you have any hcs about Blob? That do you think his “mysterious past” is all about?

[guardian music]

Hi yes i do >:] it’s about time i share my headcanons about him

Buckle up folks it’s time for blob headcanons part 2: explaining his backstory this time

——

I think I’ve stated in his previous headcanon post that he isn’t Raydian. It’s very obvious that he isn’t; comparing him to one is like comparing a cat to a dog. There’s some similarities but there are a few differences that set them apart.

For starters Raydians don’t have tails! Blob does and it often trails behind him loosely. He has partial control over it but it does what it wants most of the time. It’s sort of his “compass” in a sense? It usually ends up pointing somewhere he needs to go, or he usually uses it to point to an exact place since the end of it is an arrow (and it makes it easier for him to track things). He gets asked about it sometimes and he just says/signs

“Oh, this thing? It’s my tail” and he goes back to whatever he was doing

As for what he is/could be, have a small bit of trivia:

before the development of De Blob, there was De Blob: Utrecht! Based off of the Utrecht School of Arts, this was essentially the prototype to the De Blob games.

this game basically followed the same plot: INKT taking over a colored city, Blob comes in to save the day

Though- instead of using color, you had to absorb people

( if you don’t believe me it’s on the wiki )

I remember reading this and I’m like “Oh cool. So what if I took this and just. made them like a subspecies of Raydians” which is why we’re here today

Utrecht (The Planet) and Utrechian/Utrechter (The People that Live There)

I headcanon them as carnivores based off the game’s mechanic of literally absorbing people. They can eat fruits but it’s not something they’re going to make a main part of their diet

They’re probably a lil grumpy and rude as result but they’re pretty similar to Raydians outside of that, colorful and genderless folks

I’ll make a separate post about these guys but! That’s what I believe he could be.

As for his backstory, I do believe he was born there, but was most likely discarded for his appearance. He was probably taken in by someone who possibly had a bit of pity for him, and could’ve eventually migrated over to Raydia. He wasn’t raised in Chroma (and if I remember correctly he was raised in Pantone Village) and most likely started realizing he wasn’t exactly normal compared to everyone else

Outside of the literal difference in species his powers are incredibly out of the ordinary. I think I briefly explained them but to sum it up: he can manipulate color energy. Reviving trees, changing the appearance of a bird, breaking Graydians out of suits by overloading them with color energy. He’s able to both manipulate color energy to do what he wants and is able to raise the color energy levels by simply painting.

These powers were something he was either given or born with, and while I’ve always said he was born with them it doesn’t make a bunch of sense. Who would he have gotten them from?

It would make more sense that he had gotten them from somewhere, possibly from some sort of accident or a strange overload of color energy. Perhaps that messed him up and now he has the ability to paint and do all that he can currently do

And what he got into contact with is an absolute mystery to me. Maybe an over abundance of color atoms? Color energy is very unstable and I wouldn’t be surprised if that were to be the reason, but it’s something that I’ll have to think about more

I don’t think he has an appetite for meat purely because of his upbringing; it probably makes him sick and irritates his stomach. It also probably tastes gross to him and he absolutely prefers fruits

And i think constantly being around Raydians has also influenced this. I think if he stuck to his natural diet he would have no friends whatsoever

He probably goes quiet when someone asks him where he’s from, or what his story is. It’s probably not a fond memory for him/he doesn’t remember everything. and asking about his power is probably going to get you the same response

[thatmooncake]

What are your favourite TSAMS characters?

…Okay one unskippable cutscene on Nexus, then I go sleep in a hole

So I don’t tune in as much as I once did but anyway, Nexus is one of my faves in SAMS for a few reasons including but not limited to the following:

- Identity issues go brrrr - guy has had impostor syndrome since the day he was born and has never caught a single break. His first assignment on waking up with no memories was to fight god and to his credit he rose to the challenge from day one not just for his own sake but for his family.

Originally used his fuzzy sense of attachment to his old identity as motivation to be better than his former self, got lost along the way and ended up using that same motivation to become a twisted facsimile of that notion of “improving himself” who couldn’t let go of those he’d cut ties with and ended up hurting them instead.

Even his new form still looked like what he said he didn’t want to be anymore. In almost every way, he became the very thing he hated.

- Tragic - we lost him, gang. He died but we lost him looong before that. We lost New Moon after watching him grow for a year. He was so sweet - up until he wasn’t. He was only a baby narratively speaking and his inexperience showed. He was a victim of his own bad choices (so many bad choices) and the manipulations of others, again and again.

Came to view attachments to others as worthless because he felt powerless to stop himself from losing everything after being dealt blow after blow and learning nothing was safe no matter what he did. Held himself to such an impossibly high standard still trying to control everything that sought to threaten him and his family that he ultimately snapped.

Spent like a month being tormented by visions of losing his whole family and ended up making that a reality through his own actions and choices (but NOT without the help of Dark Sun who admittedly orchestrated the whole thing and got away with it). Died serving as a template for the very thing he tried desperately to escape.

It’s hard not to want to imagine a better ending for him where he’s either actually able to be reached or at least gets to kill some people about it.

- Haunts the narrative while simultaneously being its personal punching bag - everything from Nexus’s name to his chosen physical form to his worldview are fodder for endless jokes to this day even after he’s been dead for months. People talk about him like he’s got cooties. He’s edgy, he’s ridiculous, he says mean things and didn’t tend to think things through. At the same time, his image lingers, and so does the fact that he couldn’t be fixed and couldn’t be saved.

Characters who have canonically accomplished far worse are viewed with more sympathy, making Nexus infinitely more versatile in that he’s fun to hate on but also a character you kinda want to pluck from the garbage heap he’s been tossed into and imagine what he could have been in a more sympathetic light or if his villain arc had been given a bit more breathing room. People will be crying about that for a long time.

Tl;dr - soggy idiot bastard who belongs in a trash can, iconic, been dead forever but imagination reigns supreme.

My other faves are Ruin (does he count as SAMS anymore? Anyway I want to bully him and admire his theatrical bitchery and study him in a test tube), Dark Sun (karma Houdini grrgrrrgrr but his twisted fascination with Moons and mysterious backstory/low energy persona has got me a little hooked), and the main two (they’re not my Sun and Moon but their dynamic is fun and they make me laugh when I do tune in).

Thanks for the ask!

[ninjago-clippies]

DRABBLE TIME GRRRAAAAH

You know I thought my first Drabble might be something sweet and wholesome and NORMAL but alas… it’s freaking Wildlife. I was born to love cat men what can I say.

IT CAN STILL BE SWEET AND WHOLESOME IF YOU HAVE A HEART

I wrote this for @yhwcomeback ‘s art of them cause I saw one of the pictures and I just thought it was delicious. Thank you for the art 100000x I can’t draw but I love to see them and I can write you a little thing in return for your hard work.

GreenTiger/Wildlife

Lloyd x Ras

Phantom tags: cuddling, fluff, gay panic, cutie patooties, enemies to lovers??? (But not right here like before), large cat paws

Lloyd had been waking up on a regular schedule for years now. There was no need for an alarm. The schedule was so regular, he could almost guarantee the time. He’d stir around 4:30, turn over at 4:43, wake up fully at about 4:52, and be pouring tea by 5am sharp.

Like clockwork, no matter what or where he was…

Lloyd’s eyes opened slowly, the dim light of his clock on the nightstand reading well within expectations.

4:26.

Lloyd sighed out a breath of relief through his nose, his body deflating into the bed. He turned over, dragging the sheets along with him. He closed his eyes, laying one palm flat on the soft, warm, fuzzy…

Very warm… extra fuzzy…

Lloyd frowned, eyes still closed as he felt around the mystery blanket on his bed. There were spots that were unusually soft, almost like fur, and warm like they’d just come out of the dryer. Other spots were rough and textured, like skin but with little dips and curves he couldn’t quite place-

Lloyd’s eyes shot open, and he stumbled back, nearly falling out of the bed. He might have hit the wooden floor if a clawed hand hadn’t grabbed his wrist and dragged him back.

“Ras!”

The moonlight fading outside the window barely illuminated his figure. Half because it was almost day, and half because Ras’s wide shoulders were blocking Lloyd’s view of the window. Ras was still holding his wrist, dragging him back into bed as he laid down again.

“Quiet. You make too much noise, as always. Do you wish for the whole monastery to hear us?”

“What are you doing in my bed?” Lloyd’s concern for the rest of the monastery faded away as an overwhelming confusion gripped him. He had permitted the Lord of the Wyldness to stay for a few days, but he had his own room! Why was he here? How had he gotten here? When?

Ras looked irritated as he put his head back down on Lloyd's extra pillow. “I recall on my arrival that you permitted me to ask you for anything I needed.”

“What does that have to do with this?!” Lloyd tugged at his hold, resisting the urge to use violence to free himself. “Let go of my arm, Ras. This is completely inappropriate! You can’t be in here, in my bed-“

His eyes wandered down to the place he’d been feeling up, realizing suddenly that it had been Ras’s bare chest. The dips and rough patches he’d explored with his fingertips were scars Ras had across his abs and stomach.

Lloyd’s face went bright red. “Naked in my bed?”

Ras made an offended growl deep in his throat, finally releasing his hold on his wrist. “I am not naked. I am without a shirt. I have no need of one, I am fully covered!”

Lloyd pulled back the blanket, relaxing by only a fraction when he realized Ras was indeed wearing pants.

“T-this is still inappropriate! You can’t just crawl into bed with someone at random! Why didn’t you knock on the door o-or wake me up??”

“I did.” Ras snarled, crossing his arms and staring up at the ceiling. “I knocked, you said ‘come in’. I asked and you said I could join you!”

“I-I… did I??” Lloyd put a hand to his head, wracking his exhausted brain for any memory of that occurrence. He remembered going to sleep the night before, and he remembered this… but not anything in between! “I must have been sleep talking…”

“Regardless, I did ask permission, and received it. You are complaining for nothing. If you did not want me in your bed, you should have said so.” Ras scowled. Did he ever stop scowling?

Lloyd watched him pout on the other half of the bed, sitting with the blanket pooled around his waist as he rubbed at his eyes. Ras looked over, and there was a weird little change in his expression, something Lloyd couldn’t exactly place. If he had to guess, it was probably… clarity? Maybe he’d suddenly realized what kind of implications climbing into your enemy’s bed made and he was about to get up.

Yes that had to be it. He’d realized how weird he was acting. That’s why his gaze had softened a little. Lloyd was fully prepared to give him some kind words about how he’d forget about all of this, but when he met Ras’s gaze again, the words got stuck in his throat, and he swallowed them back down, throat bobbing.

He put a hand over his Fritz Donnegan tshirt, crumpling the fading picture on the front like it would prevent Ras from telling what it was. Did Ras even know what Fritz Donnegan movies were? Could he convince him they were very serious movies in ninjago if he asked? He wasn’t sure, but then it didn’t really seem like Ras was looking at his shirt at all…

For a minute or two, they just sat there staring at each other, taking in the awkward silence and their equally ruffled states.

Lloyd cleared his throat, looking away and draping the blanket over his shoulder to cover more of himself. “Well, this was… weird. Could you please return to your room, Lord Ras?”

Ras narrowed his dark eyes at Lloyd, his ears twitching. “No.”

Lloyd felt a chill, his head whipping back around. “No? What-“

“You gave me permission. I am sleeping here.”

“Why though?” Lloyd’s posture sagged and he dropped his head into his hands, groaning into them. “This is ridiculous! This is my monastery! This is my bed-“

He was cut off when Ras dragged him down again, tangling him further in the blankets and trapping him solidly against his chest. Lloyd squirmed, pushing at his arms and legs as his back was dragged flat against that wide, warm, fuzzy expanse of muscle.

Ras made another little growl, his arms surrounding Lloyd on all sides. One of his legs hooked over lloyd’s, pulling his hips back too. “Sit still. Surely you do not hate me so much that you cannot do me this favor!”

“Why are you doing this?? What is happening?!”

“I need a companion to sleep!”

Lloyd suddenly stopped moving, going still against him except his chest rising and falling slightly quicker. “A-a… companion?”

Ras snarled softly, flexing his claws against his shirt in a subtle threat. “I have not slept well in years. I am not finished sleeping.”

Lloyd stared at the wall, taking in what he’d just heard. Ras needed… a companion to sleep? Had he been sleeping with a companion this whole time? Even in imperium? He tried to imagine him curled up with the empress, and then his mind drifted to Rapton, instead.

The image of him curled up like a cat next to rapton’s unicorn figurine collection made him snort, his whole body shaking against him.

A low, threatening sound vibrated through the best pressed to his back, and Lloyd held a hand to his mouth.

“You are laughing at me?” Ras spoke slow, each word coming out frosty.

“Aha… I’m sorry, but the mental image is really funny.” He tried to wiggle free again, and although he still didn’t get out, there was much less desperation this time. “Look, I… I can sympathize with your issue, but you can’t just crawl into bed with people and hold them down. This is something you do with… a-a lover or something. Not with your enemy.” Lloyd made a face at the wall. Why did it feel like he was lecturing everyone these days? And why did saying ‘lover’ make his heart flutter so weirdly.

“We are not enemies anymore.” Ras said bluntly, settling his nose into the back of Lloyd’s neck. The green ninja bristled when the cold wetness pressed into his skin, a little squeak leaving his mouth. He arched his back, squirming again.

“Okay, great! We’re not enemies, that’s awesome. I’m glad! But we’re still not.. uh… whatever you have to be for this to be okay.”

“Lovers.” He offered. One giant pawed hand found its way under Lloyd’s shirt, pushing up the fabric as he felt over the smooth skin.

Lloyd shivered, putting his hand on the claw and pushing it back down. Then, when he realized where he was pushing it, he pulled it back up. “Oh, wow that… I don’t think so.”

“That is what you said.” Ras accused, rubbing that freezing cold nose into the arch of his neck.

“We’re not loveraaaah- hey! Don’t lick my neck!”

There was nowhere to go. Ras was enormous, covering him on every side, top and bottom, left and right. If he pushed up off his lap, Lloyd would feel the brush of teeth against his shoulders, and if he pulled away from the teeth, he would be forced to sit flush in Ras’s lap sideways, his ass and thighs filling the space perfectly around Ras’s-

“I have to get up!” Lloyd was practically running a fever he was so hot, struggling to free himself from Ras’s all encompassing hold. “Tea! I-I have to brew my tea, I have tea in the morning.”

“No.” This time, the tone was much less a suggestion. Ras’s tail wrapped around Lloyd’s ankle, and his face burrowed under the messy ponytail Lloyd had decided to sleep with. Another awkward little muted whine came out of Lloyd when he felt that tongue lick from the base of his neck up to his hairline for the second time. He slapped a hand to his forehead, completely exasperated and at a loss. He glanced at the clock again, hoping for some kind of reprieve.

The red numbers stared back at him through the dimly lit room, sealing his fate: 4:32

He sighed out loud, going limp in his hold. Ras pushed his shirt back up a little further, licking his way around the side of his throat.

“Stop that! Just lay still and sleep.” Lloyd slapped gently at the paw on his chest, his eyes finally closing again as renewed exhaustion washed over him like a wave. “I knew bringing you back here was a bad idea…”

[nim-rambles]

~Reincarnated as a Knolastname~

Note: HAPPY SPOOKY MONTH!! 🎃👻 gonna be honest- I actually think Crimson might have cared atleast a bit for Moxxie when he was a child 😭 Anyway~ take some reincarnated Moxxie’s Sister Reader Headcanons!! 🥳 Do keep in mind that characters may be ooooooooc, and when there’s 8 O’s you know it’s extreme 🤯. Also I haven’t been doing Tokito Twin’s content for a while so I just wanna reassure that I have some HCs coming up for them 😫!! Enjoy!

P.s in the back flashes of EXES AND OOHS I think Moxxie was 4? Yeah so that makes you 7, your 3 years older 😋👌 tho age is not mentioned at all- and I will make fics of this 😤

Warnings: a lot of slang(not rlly a warning, just thought I’d mention), ooc, may have punctuation, spelling grammer/etc errors,

Info: idk man just wanted to add this 😐

Edit: HOW DOES SOMETHING LIKE THIS- A POST I BARELY PUT ANY EFFORT INTO GET MORE RECOGNITION THEN THIS POST, THE ONE I ACTUALLY PUT EFFORT INTO 👹👹 I appreciate the likes tho don’t take it in a bad way- 😭👌

Edit#2: I recommend u don’t read 💀👍

Helluva Boss Masterlist

______________________________________________________________________

~Reaction to being Reincarnated~

-long story short you don’t know how you ended up here but you found yourself being the daughter of some random old ass guy that’s gonna be the main reason for your character development arc.

-at least that mom with an unknown name will provide you sweets and shit-

-gonna put sum realz shizz on this family fr.

______________________________________________________________________

~Death~

-isn’t this Tumblr? Yeah long story short this turned into a Wattpad story for a second and the famous Truck-kun killed you 🗿 but you forgive Truck-kun since Truck-kun’s just being Truck-kun 😌.

______________________________________________________________________

~Inside a Mansion~

Yup this “Mansion” is someone’s womb, zamn how da heck do you still have memories of your past life? Also why does your very tiny unformed body kinda look like an imp? Just like one from your favourite show Helluva Boss? How can you even see??? It’s pitch black bro- meh it’s whatever 🤷‍♀️ it’s fun kicking at least-

______________________________________________________________________

~Borth~

…I’m not even gonna explain this 🫡 but just so you know Crimson was not there for your birth 😶

-at least you still have the same Borthdah as you did before you were reincarnated???

-Girly just 🖕 this bullshit why’d you have to be re-born in this family out of all the ones in Helluva Boss? I mean- you don’t mind being Moxxie’s gay emo sister but like- Crimson…CRIMSON. Tho make sure to start those teenager phases early so no one becomes suspicious of you when your going through the teenage thinga ma jig 😔

-but yay! You bet that Moxxie’s mom- well basically your mom now, WILL BE THE BEST 😩

-but girly you weren’t even fazed when reincarnated- just accepted it like a champ 😎

______________________________________________________________________

~Crimson’s First Thoughts On You~

-Absolutely nothing- 😃

-only thought of you as his heiress and DEFINITELY to lead his Mob in the future 😔

______________________________________________________________________

~[Unknown]’s First Thoughts On You~

-this is the Mom btw 😃

-gonna be honest I don’t know much since we’ve never really gotten a FULL view of her personality- all that I know is that she’s kind? 🤷‍♀️ Yuh so I won’t really directly say what she thought but I guess I can just- I don’t know man just read I guess 😃👌

-101% THOUGHT YOU WERE CUTE AF!! what happened to infinite%? 😢

-she felt a warm and fuzzy feeling inside, something she never felt ever since she married Crimson 😔.

______________________________________________________________________

~Moxxie’s First Thoughts On You~

-‘Guppa duppa poo daaah dooo’

-don’t tell me you actually expected a real thought from him- Broski was just born 😔

______________________________________________________________________

~Your First Thoughts On Moxxie~

-‘zamn bro’s crying on his borthduh I could never 🙄💅’

-girly he’s like a few minutes old what on Satan’s ass are you talkin ‘bout? 😀

______________________________________________________________________

~What Crimson Thinks Of You~

-your a nuisance, like- what do you mean when you say “put those dawgs away💀”

-yeah you definitely got in trouble so many times- this stupid MF can’t understand slang and just thinks your insulting everyone around you 😶

-forget about you being his heiress, might as well make Moxxie his heir instead 😠

-Now take a very ooc dialogue 😋 btw this is after the Mom’s death 😃

-“[Name], cut it out. That will happen if you don’t stop.” He says calmly, too calm for you to know he’s pissed. (he was implying that he will drown you just like he did to the Mom btw-)

______________________________________________________________________

~What [Unkown] Thinks Of You~

-Loved you from the moment she layed her eyes on you 😩 (cheesy much 😶)

-wrote more then a dictionary just to prove how much she loves you 😔

-yuh that’s all I got 😐

______________________________________________________________________

~What Moxxie Thinks Of You~

He’s 4 rn-

-HE LOVES YOU!!

-your his sister why wouldn’t he- ?

-your basically his partner in crime 😈 both of you steal treats from the kitchen when your not supposed to 😤👍

-if the Mom found you 2 being naughty then sorry to tell you but yer’ both getting a time out 😔

-…BUT IF CRIMSON FOUND YOU- yuh that’s somehow gonna become a family issue problemo 😶💦______________________________________________________________________

I sometimes forget writing is for fun- but I certainly had fun writing this 😎 now I’m gonna tag this in some tags that this doesn’t even relate to which will make everyone hate me but they will soon worship me after reading this masterpiece. Praise this shit rn *points gun at you*

[dancing-dawn]

for the wip thingy: 🌈 and 💧

ooooh ohohoho thank you so much for the ask, I was so giddy to share those!

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

So the fluffiest thing I have up my sleeve is the ending of the upcoming Chapter 2 of memories of a fleeting night, so don't mind me for the lil spoiler because I gave myself the fuzzies and need to share :3

“I–uh, I... You can’t just say that!” Atsushi felt his cheeks heat up at a rapid speed. “Oh, how inconsiderate of me to leave you unattended for so long, I need to make up for my foolishness at once!” Akutagawa teased and, as promised, picked up his wildly blushing partner, earning a little yelp in return. “If you make us late for lunch again, I swear, Ryuunosuke-” Atsushi protested as he was carried and not-so-gently dropped face-first onto the sofa. He felt a weight settle on top of him and slender thighs cage his waist. “Hmm, I don't think you have a say in this matter, princess.” Atsushi turned his neck just enough and just in time to see the triumphant smirk on Akutagawa's face, before his devil of a partner rolled the hem of his shirt up and dove in to plaster a multitude of kisses all over his back. Slender fingers sneaked under Atsushi's midsection, finding the most ticklish spot with a practiced ease. Before Atsushi could even process the sudden change of direction, he found himself squirming and laughing under Akutagawa's unrelenting hold, all the while playful lips kept ambushing him from behind. The coffee got cold, forgotten on the kitchen counter.

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

Ok I dooooo have another (very self-indulgent AU series that I swear makes A LOT of sense) wip which ig for now is gonna remain a secret in the kitchen, but the most romantic thing I have actually comes from that same chapter so,, have some Atsu spilling poetry about Aku being (wholesomely?) naked:

A gentle ray of sunlight slipping through the curtains made Atsushi scrunch his eyes as he was stirred awake. He slowly sat up on the bed, rubbing his face and letting out a yawn. The figure curled up close to him shifted at the movement, mumbled something under his breath but soon fell silent and still. Atsushi smiled as he watched his partner sleep. There was not a single crease on his forehead, his face the image of bliss, a clarity of mind. He quietly observed the slight flutter of eyelashes against his cheek, the tiny puffs of air from his parted lips getting trapped in his misplaced bangs, swaying gently with each even breath. His naked skin was hidden just beneath the bed sheets, yet Atsushi felt a flicker of excitement at the sight. He could never get over how easily Akutagawa bared himself for him. Which was not the case all those years back, of course. The journey of building the trust which now defined them as a singularity was paved with scars and insecurities. Deep rooted fears taking hold of their longing and refusing to let it bloom. It was far from an instantaneous accomplishment. Nor was it a fairytale of careless love and freedom of impulse. Being in the nude was an indulgence born of the privacy of a shared home and the lengths of a rapidly growing affection that couldn’t be contained inside those layers of protection. It was the opposite of necessity - but in fact, a measured risk, a breach of fortified comfort and safety. As the criminal activity in Yokohama had been brought to a halt, the fear of being ambushed in the night subsided. And so they were left to grapple solely with concerns of their own sullied minds. To show marred ruined flesh, a myriad of ugly marks, the traces of starvation that had never quite fully disappeared.  Atsushi leaned down to place a tender kiss on his lover’s forehead. He loved this broken body just as much as he adored the pained soul burning at its core, the fragile heart that had only now learnt to let desire roam free, unchained.

[gardenerian]

Darling Mel!

May I give you a wee prompt to chew over? How do you think Ian and Mickey navigate how hard the holidays can be? And weird melancholy mixed with nostalgia and yearning that comes with this time of year?

It's a joy whenever you pop in in these parts! I hope you're doing well and are keeping cozy. ☕☃️🫂

hi sweetness! i am very cozy and enjoying the season 🥰 i hope you are too darling! thank you for this ask - i think about this often during this time of year...

i bet there are some memories that lurk for them both, ya know? they lost each other just before christmas once. mickey spent that christmas alone, on the run in a new place. and then ian came home to another loss, launching him into grief that changed the course of his life (again). i can imagine that it could be easy to get a little bogged down by those memories some days. to combat that, i bet they just spend some extra time together. romantic nights in, lazy days on the couch, going out for a holiday drink or two and smiling at each other at the bar. just to remind themselves that they are solid together and things are okay! maybe they spend a night eating holiday snacks and making some fun plans for the new year, to remind themselves that there is a future to look forward to!!!!

and i think there might be a pressure to Do Holidays Right sometimes, too. to make up for lost time, to give each other and their families the experiences they might not have had as kids. it's a lot to put on yourself! between the time commitments, family dynamics.... the MONEY it all costs.... they may end up feeling worn out and stretched too thin. for this, i think they'd slip away from all the noise when they can. when it's 1:00 in the morning and kev is leading everyone in drunken caroling, and fiona is back and shouting with vee, and lip has a screeching new born.... mickey pulls ian outside for a smoke. they sit quietly, passing a cigarette back and forth, leaning on each other. ian calls them an uber to go home after a few minutes of peace. no need to say goodbye to the mess inside, they'll be back again tomorrow.

then there's just.... like you said, a weird melancholy that can settle in the bones during the holidays. it can be hard to simply. not feel festive when there's so much expectation to Feel Good! i would imagine that ian gets a little down and moody in the winter. this is why they try to do some special gestures for each other. ian stocks up on the peppermint coffee creamer that mickey loves so much, mickey buys ian some goofy fuzzy socks while he's at the pharmacy getting ian's meds. more hand holding... more little kisses.... little gestures. i'm here you're here i love you!

whew! those are some thoughts! sending you and everyone a big holiday hug with a mug of hot cocoa and a comfy blanket 🎄❤️❄️✨

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: Azul meets Finn's father, and he is very afraid.

Word count: 3872

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Mister Clearcove

"Papa wants to meet you." Said Finn, and Azul nearly choked on his tea.

"Pardon?"

"Papa wants to meet you." Finn repeated, munching on a biscuit. "He thinks you should come over during the holidays."

He was so casual about it, as if he were telling Azul it was going to be sunny tomorrow, and not that the possibly most terrifying man Azul had ever seen wanted to meet him.

Azul gazed at Finn wordlessly for a moment. Was this a joke? Was Finn trying to prank him?

"I...I see." Azul said slowly.

Finn did not say "just kidding" as he had hoped. Instead, he licked the crumbs from his lips and carried on sketching the possible menu designs he and Azul had brainstormed.

"You're sure he wants to meet me?" Azul blurted.

Finn put his pencil down and raised an eyebrow at him. "Of course. Papa doesn't ask to meet just anyone. Don't tell me you're scared now."

"Of course not!" Azul exclaimed, frowning. "I'm just... surprised. I didn't think he would be interested in meeting me at all."

Finn sent him a small smile. "You underestimate how interesting you are."

Azul flushed. "I suppose so. Shall we set up a date, then?"

Finn nodded. "Yeah. I'll ask Papa when he's available."

The two of them went back to what they were doing, and silence reigned once more.

Azul was awake long after curfew that night, staring at the incomplete nautilus shell earings he had spent days painstakingly crafting by hand.

He planned to give them to Finn sometime, but... should he? He didn't know.

If he were to end up in Silas Clearcove's bad books, it would make any attempts at a relationship or gaining a potential seafood supplier for the lounge quite difficult.

If they were to meet, Azul wanted to make the best impression he could. Naturally, making a good impression meant knowing the person you wanted to impress, and in order to know the person you wanted to impress, one needed to do research.

Unfortunately for Azul, Finn's father was an utter mystery. Most Atlantica residents did not like Silas and preferred to avoid him, fearful of him and his origins.

"The... the abyssal mer? I can't believe some people buy food from him, if you ask me."

"Silas? I had to move my daughter to a different elementary school because that monster's son was attending hers."

"Tainted blood, that's what he is."

Rumours, often wretched and gut-churning, did their rounds often.

Azul wasn't stupid enough to believe them, of course. Call him a sceptic, but he was quite sure Silas did not murder Finn and cause Finn to become a ghost.

Most of what Azul himself knew about Silas was through osmosis and from Finn. The basic facts were: he was a cookie cutter shark from the Abyss, he was a butcher, a single father, and was married to a powerful mage named Morrigan who died before Finn was born.

"He was a mage, too." Finn would say if asked about Morrigan. "He went to Night Raven. He was a Savanaclaw student, and then he became a teacher. He was quite talented."

The cause of Morrigan's death was something not even Finn knew, and most of the city pretended it didn't happen.

"Oh, you know, Morrigan was like, fifty when he died." Some would say. "Who knows what health complications he could've had."

Azul also attempted to ask his mother about it, but she became unusually cryptic.

"It was awful." She had said sadly, dabbing her eyes. "Simply awful. Oh, poor Silas, he was heartbroken..."

Azul made a mental note to steer clear of the topic of Morrigan in case it was a touchy subject.

Azul's own memories of Silas were few and far between. They were fuzzy, blurred by time, and unreliable. Finn swam to and from school by himself most of the time, so Azul didn't see Silas every day.

All Azul could really remember was vague parts of his appearance and a presence that made crowds part and parents whisper.

There was only one clear memory that stood out, but even that one had been tainted by age.

Azul remembered cowering behind his mother, taking a peek every now and then at the large, looming shark speaking to his mother in a low, gruff voice.

He was scarred and a bit odd looking, but what truly drew Azul's attention was the ribs of... something that decorated Silas' tail, and the twin sets of orca teeth necklaces around his neck. It was terrifying to see back then. Now, though, he was concerned his seashells would be an inadequate courting gift, considering Silas was apparently very traditional.

The lack of reliable memories left Azul to rely on individuals close to him for information, although it didn't turn up much. Silas was like his son. He kept to himself and wasn't prone to chatting .

"Old man Silas?" Floyd's expression turned thoughtful when Azul asked him about him. "Don't see him a lot. When he comes to Ma and Pa's parties, he just hangs out in the corner and stares at his glass till it's over. Then we never see him until the next one."

"He'll engage in conversation if we initiate it." Jade added. "But he doesn't say much. He's not a very talkative fellow."

Azul sighed. "Do you know anything else?"

"Well," Jade tapped his chin. "He's from the Abyss. But everybody knows that."

"He's got a legendary resting bitch face." Floyd chimed in, grinning. "It puts Finn's to shame. He looks like he'll snap your neck if you look at him wrong."

"I see."

He asked his mother about Silas next, during one of their biweekly phonecalls. She had more to say than the twins, and definitely more pleasant things too, but none of it was particularly helpful.

"Oh, Silas is a dear!" Azul's mother sounded delighted. "So helpful and hardworking, and so very polite. I keep saying he should come for dinner sometime, but he's always so busy."

"Do you know anything about his preferences?"

"Hmm. No. Sorry, dear."

"No no, it's alright. Thank you, Mama."

It seemed the only one who knew anything at all about Silas Clearcove was Finn, and Azul most certainly did not want to ask him and risk his intentions coming to light early.

Azul was frustrated that his research was inconclusive, and far more nervous than he was originally. When he finally returned home for the holidays, and the reality truly hit him, the nervousness became utter stress.

It seemed he wasn't doing as a good a job at hiding it as he hoped, since when Finn arrived to fetch him one early morning, he tilted his head to the side with a bemused smile.

"You don't need to be so nervous." Finn said as he began to lead Azul to their destination. "Papa won't bite."

***

The Clearcove property was far away from the city, starting at a sand bank and stretching on to the edge of a cliff. Only the faintest tendrils of sunlight reached down there, but it was promptly snuffed out by the towering kelp forest that stretched on for miles. The kelp swayed eerily in the ghostly quiet, lit up by only a few lanterns strung about.

It was a stark contrast to the sunlit streets and bustling noise of the city.

It gave Azul the creeps, and he suddenly understood why the rumours that spread were always so supernatural in nature. It was like they were swimming through a haunted patch of sea.

They followed a stone path through the maze of kelp and rocks and fish, keeping to the light of the lanterns. It was a long swim, and Azul wished he had better endurance.

Then, the faint scent of blood made Azul stop swimming, concerned.

Finn tugged him forward. "That's just the abattoir, don't worry."

The scent got stronger the further they went, and Azul had to clench his teeth to stop himself from darting away in terror until they got to it.

The abattoir did not look quite how Azul expected it to. Rather than a dark, dilapidated building, it was a large cave with an entrance marked by the gaping maw of a whale skull. Lanterns lit the area up brightly, making it look just a little less daunting.

Mers darted about the place, lugging in fresh kills, nets of crustaceans and molluscs, and large containers.

A few of them waved at Finn as he passed by and gave Azul a curious look, but other than that, they didn't pay their presence much mind.

Finn and Azul carried on for another half hour or so until finally, they came to a circular clearing, and the small stone path led towards a garden of coral, seagrass, and seasponge.

Nestled amongst the garden was what one could supposedly call a "house." Really, it was a large rock that had been carved into, its walls etched with little patterns that Azul was sure Finn was responsible for.

Finn swam forwards to unlock the purple coral door, then let Azul inside.

"Papa, we're here!" Finn called as they swam in. Well, Finn swam in. Azul squeezed himself in through the door, coiling his tentacles close so he didn't knock anything over. He was skinny, but the Clearcove home was undoubtedly cookie cutter shark sized.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of food. It didn't have quite as strong an aroma as food on land, but he could definitely smell it. The next thing he noticed was the cosy little lounge slash dining room he found himself in.

Pictures and paintings that were probably made by Finn when he was a child were hung up on the walls, and large clumps of sea sponge, coral, and bone formed couches and chairs.

Azul didn't have much time to take it in, as Silas then swam into the room and dusted his hands, crossing his arms, and Azul went still.

"Hello, Finn." He said. His voice was as soft as Finn's, but deeper and more gravelly. He nodded at Azul. "Ashengrotto."

"H...Hello, sir." Azul greeted, his voice coming out far more wobbly than he wanted it to.

Silas... didn't look quite how Azul remembered. From his child perspective, Silas was large, larger than life, even. Now, though, as a teenager, Azul could see Silas was not much larger than Finn. Azul himself was several times bigger than both of them.

When Azul was trying to research Silas, his mind filled in the blanks and created an image of an older looking Finn. Now, though, he could see how different they were.

Finn was chubby. Soft, pudgy, and round. His skin was absent of any marks aside from the scars on his shoulder, the freckles on his face, and the stretch marks on his stomach. His hair and body were a lively forest green that blended perfectly with his surroundings.

Silas, on the other hand, was very thin. His skin stretched just a little too taught in some places. His body was littered with scars of various degrees of severity. On his face, his abdomen, his tail, his arms, his neck... even his gills. The long, jagged scar that sliced across the gills on his neck made Azul's own gills itch.

His fins were riddled with holes and tears that hadn't healed properly. It looked painful, and it made Azul wince when he looked at them.

He was purple in hue, and his face, aged and weathered, housed the only thing he had in common with Finn appearance-wise. A pair of bright amthyst eyes that shone like gems in the light of the lanterns.

It was then that Azul knew he was looking at someone who had seen and done things he could not even begin to comprehend. Someone very dangerous and very powerful.

Azul's gaze eventually drifted to the necklaces that hung around Silas' neck. The teeth that were strung up on them were quite obviously orca teeth. Each necklace had a volute shell and a skeletal murex shell, respectively.

Courting gifts. One belonged to Silas, the other, his late husband.

Silas' necklaces were difficult to make. There was a risk involved, a certain amount of power and skill required to get the materials. Orca teeth were not small trophies.

Azul felt like Silas' gaze had frozen him in place with magic. Those eyes, so deep and knowing, made goosebumps ripple across his skin, and his heart jump into his throat.

His unique magic had a benefit that few knew about. It allowed him to sense others' magic and said magic's essence or power, and dear Seven could he sense Silas'.

It was dark and twisted, rolling off of Silas in waves of power that made something primal in Azul's mind begin to panic.

It was ancient. Pulsing. It bubbled just below the surface and promised a taste of the horrors found leagues down below.

Abyssal magic.

Silas' magic was far stronger than Azul's, far stronger than Finn's, far stronger than some of the professors at Night Raven, and it filled Azul's heart with a mix of awe and terror.

The familiar urge to take it for himself was strong, tugging at the back of his head. But he knew better. By the Sea Witch, did he know better.

Finn once told Azul that Silas never had any proper magical training of any kind. In fact, Finn was the first person on Silas' side of the family to attend school at all.

The fact that Silas still held this much power despite that... it was incredible and terrifying all at once.

The fear that filled Azul turned his veins to ice. The overwhelming knowledge that he did not have the advantage, that he did not have the most powerful magic, and that he was neither the smartest nor the strongest in the room made him feel like a guppy in the jaws of a great white.

"Azul, you look pale." Said Finn, though he was clearly more amused than worried, the bastard. "Are you alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine." Azul said quickly. "Just tired from the trip here."

Silas hadn't said a word at all. He simply stared at Azul, and Azul stared back.

Then Silas hummed, a deep rumbling sound, and swam back into the kitchen. Azul let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and shot a glance at Finn.

Finn smiled. "Don't mind Papa." He said. "He's not big on conversations. It might not be obvious, but he's happy to have you over. He's even letting you eat with us today."

Azul looked towards the kitchen, then back at Finn questioningly.

"That's not something he usually does." Finn clarified. "Sharing food that he hasn't sold, that is. He always says it's safest to be selfish when it comes to meals."

Azul nodded slowly. "I... I see." He murmured, overcome with the dreadful realisation that he could not skip out on whatever would be served without looking like an ungrateful brat with no manners.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Silas returned with a number of plates and platters in tow, piled high with all kinds of food.

Finn perked up, finns fluttering. "Oh, he used the vents. We're lucky today."

The... vents?

The platters were gently placed down with magic, as well as three empty plates. Azul stared at the vast amount of food, trying to see if there was anything small with few calories he could eat.

Seaweed wraps, crab rolls, whole crabs, shrimp, lobsters, mussels, clams, scallops, abalone, tuna, hake, even sushi, and so much more was available to choose from.

Azul's mouth opened and closed in surpise, and for the first time since greeting them, Silas spoke.

"I was not too sure what food you preferred. Finn told me you're quite strict with what you eat. I hope this is suitable."

Azul looked at Silas and once again felt frozen in place by that stare. Floyd wasn't kidding about him looking like he would snap your neck at any moment...

"I-" Azul had to swallow so he could try to speak clearly. "It is. Thank you, sir. You're very kind."

"Alright, then. Sit down. Choose what you want."

Azul obeyed, wondering how on earth the twins managed to make Silas sound like a stone faced introvert when he seemed more like a retired soldier or something.

Silas and Finn seated themselves opposite him. Finn, ever the food lover, happily began piling up his plate. Silas simply watched Azul, silent once again.

Azul avoided his gaze and selected some Sushi (where did Silas get rice from?) and a few oysters.

He paused when he got to the lobster, which he was not going to eat due to the hugh cholesterol by the way, and stared at it. It... it wasn't raw. It was cooked..?

"Hypothermic vents." Said Silas, noticing Azul's confused expression. "They work like an oven or a place to boil food if you use them correctly."

Azul's eyes widened in surpise. "Really? That's... That's incredible. I would never have thought to use thermal vents to cook food. How do you not burn anything?"

"I use magic to alter the heat." Silas explained quietly, his lips quirking up a bit. "It's something my grandfathers taught me."

"So I assume you alter the heat to different temperatures to allow for different methods and cook times?" Azul asked curiously.

Silas nodded.

"Incredible. Have you not thought of selling this? You would intrigue a lot of people with something as rare as cooked food. I-" Azul hesitated, realising Finn was raising his eyebrows at him. "I-If you want to, of course."

Silas gazed at Azul for a moment, and Azul began to panic internally, cursing at himself and his inability to shut up about business.

"You are your mother's son," Silas finally rumbled, sounding more amused than angry. "I'll tell you what I've told your mother. I have no interest in monetizing this."

Blood rushed to Azul's cheeks, and his fear and panic turned into embarrassment.

"Idiot." He snapped at himself. "You ruined a nice conversation."

Silas didn't say anything further, so Azul went back to picking at his sushi, taking little bites every now and then.

The urge to say something, anything, to fill the awful silence was overwhelming, but neither Silas nor Finn were particularly talkative, and Azul didn't want to be the irritating chatterbox of the group.

Finn was currently tearing through his meal, absolutely delighted at the special use of the vents. He cracked open a scallop and popped the meat into his mouth with a happy sigh.

Silas hadn't eaten a single thing. Apart from the occasional glance at Finn, his eyes were completely trained on Azul.

His gaze was intense. Terrifying. It was as if he were mentally taking Azul apart, looking for flaws, for weakness. Azul wondered if this was how his fellow classmates felt when he made deals with them.

"Finn's told me a lot about you." Silas said suddenly, and Azul gulped.

"He... He has?"

"Yes. He quite likes you-"

"Papa!" Finn squeaked, flustered. "You didn't need to say that part."

"-and I hear you're starting a restaurant of your own at school?"

"Ah- yes." Azul nearly choked out, relieved. Now, this was something to talk about. "Mostro Lounge. An establishment for gentlemen, neutral ground between the dorms of Night Raven College where you can wind down after a long day."

Silas hummed. "What a clever idea. My husband attended Night Raven when he was your age. I remember he once told me he wished he didn't have to go all the way to town to eat something that wasn't served at the cafeteria."

Azul puffed up at the compliment, glad to finally feel like he had some semblance of control. "Why yes, it is a pain, especially if you don't have time for such trips. The comfort and satisfaction of my fellow students is my primary goal, and I hope to achieve that with Mostro Lounge."

Silas' lips quirked upwards again. "How kind of you," He said, and Azul was pretty sure he didn't entirely mean it. He sounded too... knowing. "I hope you're successful."

Azul couldn't hold back the smirk that crossed onto his face. "Believe me, sir, I will be."

Silas nodded but didn't answer, and Azul went back to eating.

"Finn," Silas said after a while, turning his head to his son, who had been quietly listening to the conversation while digging into a small lobster. "Could you please tell Timo to move his hunt to the fourth quadrant for me?"

Finn looked a little confused, but he nodded anyway. "Sure." He said, then sent a small smile Azul's way. "I'll be back in a bit."

He disappeared out the door, and Azul was suddenly very aware that he was alone with Silas Clearcove watching him like he wanted to take a bite out of him.

Azul put his hands on his lap to hide the fact that they were shaking and stared back at Silas like a deer in headlights.

"You've built quite a reputation for yourself around here over the years, Azul." Silas said. "With those little deals of yours. Your magic is quite impressive, I must say."

There was a long pause, and Silas tapped his long black claws against the table.

"I was concerned at first when Finn started telling me about you." He said. "You're quite a greedy young man. But... I trust Finn's judgement. I'm not going to sit here and threaten you or tell you not to hurt Finn. I know you won't. However,"

Silas' eyes narrowed. "I'm well aware that you like... collecting magic, shall we say. Abyssal magic seems to have piqued your interest recently. Listen to me carefully. Finn is not to make contracts with you, and you are not to try to convince him to do so. You're a smart boy, Azul. I'm sure you understand."

The unspoken implication hung in the air, and Azul understood it all too well. He's heard the rumours, and while he wasn't sure how true they were, he'd rather not risk having his magic sucked dry.

'He's like a magic parasite.'

'He'll suck you dry until you're nothing but a husk'

'If he can't take your magic, then he'll take your soul.'

The voices of Azul's old classmates echoed in his mind.

"I understand, sir." He said, feeling a little sick.

Finn returned shortly after, informing Silas that Timo had moved his hunt.

"I hope you didn't scare you too much." He whispered as he swam past Azul.

Azul just laughed.

***

After Silas gave Azul that little warning, the old mer was much more relaxed, though most of the conversation was still carried by Azul and Finn.

The day seemed to fly by now that the fear that had swallowed Azul whole began to ebb, and soon it was late afternoon and time for Azul to leave. He needed to be home before sundown.

"I'll come visit you." Finn said softly before Azul could exit through the door."

Azul smiled a bit. "Thank you, I suppose." He murmured, feeling his cheeks burn once again.

"Thank you for having me over, Mister Clearcove." He said to Silas, bowing his head. "I greatly appreciate your hospitality."

Silas hummed in acknowledgement. "I'm always happy to Finn's friends over. Get home safe, now, Azul, and..." His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. "Be careful with those contracts of yours, alright?"

Azul blinked, confused.

"Of course, sir."

-End

...........................................

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the fear of god being put in Azul! I had a lot fun writing this.

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly

@jovieinramshackle @galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00

@krenenbaker @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @am0nline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @ramshacklerumble @elysia-nsimp

@skrimpyskimpy @casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @the-banana-0verlord @skriblee-ksk

@poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch @tixdixl @ghostiidasponk

[futurama]

OK so finally after however long it's been I'm doing this sorry lol!!

I love characters like lil Hal So much. the ones that get discarded/neglected. something about that loneliness is so fun to explore, especially in Hal's case. the horror n despair of being a normal person and then one day waking up in what equates to a sensory deprivation tank with nothing else to do but talk to your lifelong friends who suddenly don't even view you as a person with thoughts and feelings anymore, but more as an obstacle or plaything. it's so fucked and it's Sooooo good. I honestly don't know how he kept it together while enduring all of that.

During my first read through of homestuck I had to pause just so I could go on a rant when dirk called him something along the lines of a shitty experiment that turned into a monster. Like, dude.. he's not a monster, he's YOU. (moot point because those two things are synonymous to dirk lmao). but for real... he's you, from when you were 13!! of course he's going to be irritating and fuck things up, especially when being irritating and fucking things up is all he has to do. I know it's because of dirks' self loathing that he treats Hal the way he does, he's basically a walking, so to peak (lol), reminder of everything he hates about himself, and a guilt-free target for dirk to take all of his shit out on, because it's not like hal can actually feel anything, right? (and if he Could, would it even make a difference?) oughhhh. but, I honestly can't entirely blame dirk for feeling the way he did about Hal because I don't know if the average person could stand having their 13 y/o self around for very long.

This is where things start getting fuzzy for me about Hal, I can't remember many specifics on the conversations he had with everyone, but I vaguely recall Hal just kinda.. not really fighting back against his situation for the most part?(aside from insisting on getting a body so he could gtfo and do something else) like, he knew how everyone felt about him, he Definitely knew that dirk hated him, but he never seemed to be mad about it, never seemed to be mad about his situation, or at least he didn't show it. I was kind of surprised he didn't go the whole Evil Robot trope route, because he'd have been totally justified in doing that. If anything, he probably felt like he must've deserved it in some way (he's still dirk after all), and I think that on top of still genuinely caring for his friends (Sob) is probably what kept him from flipping his lid. I could definitely be misremembering things though. I can't remember if dirk always hated himself or if that kinda developed as the comic went on. Maybe Hal was just a chill guy who didn't GAF lawl.

most of what I've said here just feels like conjecture based entirely on fuzzy recollections, I didn't do any research for this.... I definitely need to reread HS!!!! anyways LIL HAL!!! Love him. I feel so bad for him and deserved way better than what he ended up with. I was so hyped when I thought he finally gonna get a body, and then my blood drained from my face when I saw that shitass sprite silhouette in the back of the panel. well, at least he was happy..... :(

no no its ok… yes. yes ive been waiting for this. thank you for getting back to me with your thoughts on lil hals character, i always think its nice to sit down and reflect on your favorites every now and again lest we lose sight of what makes them important in our own eyes ^_^ its also been an eensy weensy handful of years since ive last reread homestuck so i totally get it. im sure id have a lot more to say about hal and dirks relationship if it were fresh in my brains but im running on memory and nostalgia at the time being… oh well!

ive for sure been drawn to hal since being introduced to him all those years ago, but i think a lot of people are typically drawn to the doppelganger of our favorite guys as theyre born unto us with an inferiority complex! theres nothing better than loving and maybe even idolizing a character and then finding out they have a lame, pitiful copy living in their shadow. enticing and relatable. now that i type it out its fun to think that there are plenty of homestuck characters with that specific sort of complex but ESPECIALLY the striders. hal and davesprite are copies of guys who are copies of guys (who are copies of guys…) they really have the worst of it i think!

i dont believe dirk is a monster though, i think that he just has a lot of stuff that is very hard for him to work out on his own though he only wants to do it on his own. i just dont think he trusts anyone else to help fix the gripes he has with himself but in turn isolates himself from that potential comfort and connection that is shared with talking to other humans. i think having hal, a reminder not only of his own existence but his past existence sitting on his face at all times was a really bad idea. in hindsight. i wish i could have told him not to do that, but at the same time its really fun to see him get really mad *blushes*

me personally i read the rooftop conversation between dirk and hal as dirk coming to terms with the fact that he does not actually want to kill himself and is ok with moving on from the person he used to be in turn allowing hal to grow as his own character and move on from the perma presence of his better self, or at least that would have been the case if he weren't thrown into a sprite with equius and left to be a nothing character alongside davepetasprite <--PERSONAL OPINION

anyway its fun to type about hal and co with you :) its always a treat to draw him even though i dont fuck with homestuck anymore but thats because ive adopted him as my son and roommate and brother and pet. i love drawing him and always will

[bubblecat-co]

Skip to the good part: Ash'anne Aria de Riva

I finally did some of these (I still have asks and those injury prompts but these were the ones that I had a creative outburst for)

thanks to all these people for the prompts @seizethemage-main @knowlsey @elfmaid and @larknnightingale

Full list can be found here

one's done on this post are: Hindsight's 20/20, Stream of Consciousness, Rules for thee but not for me, and The dog has the keys

This is a really long post btw. Enjoy it! the very last one is angst filled and has mentioned of blood in the first half and then torture in the second (I didn't go too into detail, but the mention is there)

Hindsight’s 20/20: Rook strolls through the city/place that they grew up in. What, if anything, has age changed in the way Rook perceives the space? 

Aria had found herself in the Antiva City. She knew contracts could take her anywhere throughout Thedas but still having one in the city she spent part of her childhood at was strange. Focus on the contract she would do that but first she wanted to see the Alienage. Her memory was fuzzy of how to get there but she managed it. 

She walked to the center of the alienage where the tree sprung up from the ground. She remembered running around the trunk with other children giggling as they chased each other, It seemed so much bigger. The whole alienage seemed so much bigger but now she saw truly how small it was compared to the rest of the city.

Rules for thee but not for me: Write the dialogue exchange between Rook and their mentor at the moment when Rook is forced to leave their faction. (What, if anything, has changed about their relationship by the end of the exchange?) 

“What were you thinking? I’ll answer that. You weren’t.” he slammed the door to her room behind him but didn’t move any closer to her. “You see anything you report back to me but instead you jumped into it and risked your life, almost ending it, and destroyed the plan that the Talons have been orchestrating for months. Do you have any idea what you have ruined.” 

Viago wasn’t shouting yet, it was just in phase one of his scolding, the calm before the storm. He used his quieter voice but with the harsh tone and icy eyes. “I was thinking.” she said holding his gaze with her own icy stare. 

“Not well enough! You almost died Aria!” suddenly there was a jump to phase three the shouting. 

“Does that really matter!”

“To me it does!”

Aria didn’t have a snarky comment she opened her mouth only to close it again as she stared up at Viago, the man who knew her since she was born and took her in to raise. His eyes were glassy tears seemingly mixing with the anger he must have felt. She had never seen him cry and didn’t want to now she looked away, her eyes fixating on the floor by his feet. “What do the Talons want to do about me?” she asked.

“They are sending you away.” he said “on a contract, one that will take you far off from Antiva. It should keep you busy and prove your place as a crow.”

“What? That’s it? I’m being kicked out. For how long?”

“As long as it takes for you to complete this contract.” 

The dog has the keys: Rook is in dire need of help, but the only person available is reluctant, scared, or ambivalent to giving aid. Write the dialogue of how Rook convinces them. 

Aria should’ve known there was something more to this contract when everything seemed oddly too quiet for her liking. Now she found her hands bound behind her back and legs tied to a chair with her weapons stripped away from her and none other than Lucia Arainai with her in the same predicament. The two girls stared at each other neither one of them wanting to be the first to talk to the other. 

“Lucia...” It was stupid to hold on to house rivalry now. “It appears our contracts were connected.”

“Ha!” Lucia let put a laugh looking away from the elf as she glanced at their surroundings. “Viago’s pet got caught.” she mumbled a satisfied smirk on her lips “and house Arainai is the one in shame.” 

“Says the sister of the Eighth talon, it seems that you will remain in shame.” the smirk vanished quickly off the redhead's face turning into a scowl. “We can figure this out, if you would like to work together instead of holding what little pride you have.” 

“I think I would rather watch you struggle.” 

“I think I like your sweet act better than your actual personality.” she used all the force she could to move the chair, the sound of it screeching against the stone floor echoed off the walls of their confinement. 

“Many people would agree, before I cut their lives short.” 

“If I can just move over to you, you can untie my hands, and I can get out then help you. After we’ll send our regards to the bastards who put us here.” she continued to try to move her chair trying to get closer to Lucia who just watched her with an empty look. 

“I’m sure that protege of House de Riva can figure this out on her own. As will I.” 

Aria scoffed, this tough girl act was getting annoying. This was the same girl that Romeo had been so distracted by? Lucia was beautiful and Romeo, like many people, was one to get distracted by beauty. There had to be something that Aria was missing about her, or she was about to lose what little respect she had for Romeo. “We don’t have time to spend an hour struggling. If you lend me a hand, I’m sure I can put in a word to Viago about some alliance with house Arainai.” this got Lucia’s attention. Aria hated saying those words, house Arainai would just as easily kill her and that was the once that killed her parents, but there wasn’t much of a choice if this is what got Lucia to work with her it will have to do. 

“Agreed.” Lucia had an accomplished smile on her face, clearly that’s what she was waiting for.

Stream of Consciousness: Rook is overcome by a magical force that essentially puts them into an emotional trance. They're unable to filter their thoughts or emotions and end up giving a graphic retelling of one event in their life to a companion(s).Write the monologue.

So, I couldn't decide between two ideas, So I did them both enjoy them Lark, eat this angst up.

The death of her Parents

“It was so quick. One moment I was sitting on the floor with my papa in front of me. He had just gotten back from a contract outside of the city. Then there was shouting, my Mamae was shouting down the hallway and things were being thrown to the ground. Papa was quick, he muttered the elven word for shadow before he picked me up and placed me in my wardrobe. I still remember his face, how he gave me a smile but there was fear in his eyes. He said ‘Neonata, close and lock the doors like I showed you. Do not come out no matter what you hear, ok? Wait until someone comes get you and uses the special knock I taught you. I will see you soon.’ then he closed the doors. The wardrobe shook around me from the force he used, for a moment I had almost forgotten about the lock but then I did. I locked the doors and did as he said. I sat there in the dark and waited. There was so much waiting. I didn’t leave no matter what I heard even as I heard my mother’s screams of terror and my father’s distraught yelling. Or the sound of someone coming in my room and destroying it. Not even when I heard an Unfamiliar voice calling for me in my room. Then i heard my father’s shouting, he was taunting them. ‘The crows send their regards! You are a bunch of amateurs, no wonder none of you could find Zevran. Talihsen failed what makes you think any of you will succeed!’ I remember thinking ‘Uncle Zevran? He’s missing?’ I wanted so desperately to leave, to run to mamae’s side but I didn’t I stayed just like pap told me. Then it was quiet, and it was for a very long time and still I stayed. No one had come to get me I started to think they forgot about me. It was hard to breathe in the wardrobe, I thought I would die. Then I heard Viago’s voice ‘Aria… It’s me Viago.’ but still I stayed then came the special knock. One knock, two quick ones, then three slow ones before a final single knock. So, I unlocked the door. I guess i had been crying because I remember feeling my cheeks and they were wet. Then Viago picked me up he told me to keep my head down and to not look. But I didn’t listen this time, when we went to leave, I looked over his shoulder and say Mamea. Her beautiful long black hair was cut; she was so pale with a pool of blood underneath her. There were so many wounds on her body. Then I buried my head into Viago’s shoulder.” 

Lucanis stared at her with an expression of sympathy on his face, while Harding next to him looked completely horrified. 

Being held captured by Venatori

“I should have been paying attention. It was a new place I’ve never been to Tevinter before, so I was unsure of how people viewed elves. I followed a mage into a dark alley way, he wasn’t my target, but he had mentioned him in the bar, so I followed him. It was a mistake. I found myself in an ambush surrounded by mages and it was too much for me, I was 19 so I was still naive and hadn’t delt with too many mages before I was completely unprepared. They got they upper hand on me, but they didn’t kill me. Instead, they held me in a dark room. I knew how far the door was from where I was hanging by my wrists and how far the back wall was from me by having listened to their footsteps and counting their paces. It took them 20 paces to get to me from the door and 14 to get to the back wall from me. I was there for days, weeks maybe months. Time was hard to tell. There was no windows I only learned their schedule, but it changed so often that it was hard to know. Sometimes it was two of them others it was more. But it was never one. The pain was brutal and unbearable; they would cut along my body and use my blood for blood magic other times they would just put it in vials to keep. Burning sensation, electricity running through my body, their torture when I tried fighting back and other times just for their amusement, but they never killed me. Why didn’t they kill me? A weapon they wanted a weapon, I had already proved myself valuable and they wanted to keep me for themselves. Lyruim they wanted to use lyruim on me, carve into my skin but none of them could figure it out instead they just burned into my skin. I was so tired, the fed me once a day maybe. Maybe they wouldn’t feed me at all for a day, the food was always scraps. Their toy. Then someone came in, I was so sure I was going to finally be killed. No, someone cut me down. I barely remember much. Then there was Viago’s voice, and I was suddenly in his arms ‘Aria! Hey! I got you, I got you now.’ then another voice ‘We have to get out of here, will she be a liability?’ I saw him, my vision was so blurry but an elf, another elf. His hair white like papa’s. For a second I thought it was, but then I saw the marking’s etched into his skin, not him someone else.”

Neve stared at Aria, horror in her face and sympathy in her eyes. Aria didn’t want sympathy not from another Tevinter mage.

[markantonys]

In the books Rand completely rejects his Aiel heritage. Jordan seemed to be going with telling the story of an adopted kid who decided only his adopted family mattered. But that's not the only way to tell that story so the show has the opportunity to do something different there if they want to. My preference would be not to have Rand reject his Aiel heritage but to refuse to abandon his Andoran heritage/Two Rivers upbringing. The Aiel canonically want him to become fully Aiel so for him to refuse to give up part of himself could be another way to frame it . They also resent the fact that Rand is only half Aiel and wasn't born in the Waste so they could do more of that imo

i'm trying to think of a useful response but my brain is too occupied by the sudden realization of the Bi Metaphor of rand being too aiel to fit in with wetlanders and too wetlander to fit in with aiel hahaha

anyway, from what i can remember, i don't know if i would say rand *completely* rejects his aiel heritage in the books (at least until the point when RJ himself shuffled the aiel off to the side in general because he wanted to play with the seanchan instead). i may be misremembering but i think rand DOES put in genuine effort to learn about aiel ways, but is just really bad at it and gets easily frustrated with trying to keep track of all the intricacies (which is completely understandable, especially since the aiel are making very little effort to adapt to HIS culture or meet him in the middle). and he IS curious about shaiel and janduin and is emotionally affected by hearing about them from the wise ones, even if he ultimately decides that tam and kari are his true parents (as he should! like you say, it's a great repudiation of the "blood family>adopted family" trope that is so prevalent in media and especially in fantasy where the Normie Adopted Family so often gets swept aside once the hero finds out about their Super-Special Secret Birth Family.)

and he knows that he needs to *be seen* adapting to aiel culture in some way in order to get the aiel's support, which is another interesting wrinkle in the whole situation, because his public behavior and his internal feelings are not necessarily aligned (i'm thinking of the alcair dal scene where i think all those lines about tam being his real father are just in his head as he's talking aloud to the aiel about being janduin's son). i'm not bothered by that sort of "i need to publicly buy into my aiel heritage but in my heart it's not who i am" attitude because i think it's pretty realistic for his situation. and maybe he starts shifting from "i just need to be seen doing this for political reasons" over to "i genuinely do respect aiel culture and want to learn about it, even if i'll never consider it MY culture" as he gets emotionally closer with aviendha and some of the other aiel.

but at the end of the day, while i like the aiel and find their culture interesting, i'm not nearly as invested in them as i get the sense many WOT fans are haha (see: me finding the glass columns sequence quite boring and being utterly bamboozled to discover that most readers list it as one of the best scenes in the series) and so i just don't feel very strongly about what route the show takes re: rand's relationship with aiel culture and his aiel heritage. and also probably have a fuzzy memory on a lot of the book details on this topic!

[m4riaa-bonita]

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙩

Hey! This is a story about two gay Russian soldiers in opposing sides of a guerrilla. I wrote this in hyperfocus for two hours. I even made a new account just to share it. Please give me your thoughts! I think this is the best thing I've ever written. Thanks if you read all the way, I've become very passionate of this story in the span of two brief hours. Enjoy! ♡

After they both died during childbirth, people in town used to say Nadezhda’s miscarried baby reincarnated in Dima; since the moment he was born under that old tree that hung loose over their family home, there was not a second Alek didn’t want to spend next to him. A quiet love blooming in the tiniest of villages in rural Velskara, a love like when one loves a pair of fuzzy socks after walking in the snow for hours, a love like when one loves their favorite wooden spoon to eat stew with. A love only brothers could comprehend and cherish as the sacred vow that it proved to be, held by shared scratched knees, sleepless nights and broken hearts. 

Alek always thought Dima was a bit weaker than him. Not because he was younger, or because his blood accumulated on his cheeks in the most vibrant and childish of ways, but because he loved harder. Because he cried at the sound of distant thunder when it reminded him of horses dying in war stories. Because he still whispered apologies to the trees after breaking off branches for kindling. Because where Alek built walls, Dima tried to grow gardens.

It was in that old barn on the Solonov property - the one with the half-collapsed roof and the hay that always smelled like memory and piss - that they used to hide from the world together. Long before sides were chosen and uniforms stitched, they spent their winters there, tangled in wool blankets and boyish dreams. The cold couldn’t touch them then, not with smoke in their lungs and laughter between their teeth. The barn creaked with every gust of wind, its bones groaning like an old man in prayer. Above, through the broken beams, slivers of a gray Velskaran sky bled light into the loft where two boys lay shoulder to shoulder, socks damp, breath fogging the air between them. The cigarette passed slowly, more for the ritual than the burn. Dima, as always, talked too much. Alek, as always, listened more than he let on.

“Do you think the trees listen to us?,” said Dima as he let out a small cloud of smoke that could’ve may as well been fog formed by the hot air in his lungs being let out into the cold and unforgiving snow that surrounded them “like… if we were to die right here, would the birch say our names to the snow?”. Alek took the cigarette from him and inhaled a long drag of smoke just like his papa did “Trees don’t talk, zaychik”. Little hare. Alek didn’t know if he called him that out of spite or love. He didn’t like thinking about it much, it was too complicated. “No, but they listen. That’s worse” “You’re soft in the head”. Dima stayed quiet at the jab for a second, staring through a crack into the vastness of white outside the creaky barn, “You’re soft in the heart, you just don’t show it…” he said it in a mumble, not out of fear of his best friend, but of fear of it being admitted aloud. The trees listened. “Someone has to be the spine when the world is snapping, Dima” “And someone has to remind it it was ever beautiful”. 

Soon after, they both walked home, along the river. No matter how many meters of snow covered the paths, that frozen beast would always show them the way to go. Ever since they were kids trying to feel a glimpse of their future independence and freedom - when Dina begged his dad to let him go out into the woods alone with Alek - the friends could never get lost in the maze that the Siberian woods proved to be after a few kilometers of walking around. The water knew the way and they knew the way of the water. Dima used to say it was the third friend they never met, Alek used to roll his eyes and dismiss him with a joke about the river not being a sentient being. Dima differed. 

Before the war spilled over their quiet village and tore their lives apart, Alek and Dima lived in a world stitched together by simple routines, shared secrets, and an unspoken bond that no one quite understood. The old men in Velskara had taken notice early on — not just because the boys were inseparable, but because of how tender their friendship looked to eyes hardened by years of hardship. At the market, by the frozen river, or outside the church, whispers followed them like shadows. “They’re too close, those two,” some would say, shaking their heads with knowing smirks. Others weren’t so subtle, their words coated in the bitter salt of suspicion. “Faggots, if you ask me,” a drunkard once slurred to Alek’s ear on a warm summer evening, his breath heavy with cheap vodka and stale bread. Alek’s fists had found their way into bruises that night, and though he never admitted it, he never let go of Dima’s hand afterward. People whispered after Alek beat the old man. They said that if he kept letting ‘the other one’ braid wildflowers on his coat, he’d grow soft. He’d stain his father’s name through the mud. A fruit? In his home? His mother would die of embarrassment if she wasn’t already six feet under with his dead baby brother. Dima, on the other hand, was too gentle to care what others thought, his eyes always soft and full of quiet rebellion. Alek’s life at home was a different kind of battle. His father, a widower burdened by grief and hard drink, spent more nights passed out on the cold wooden floor than sitting at the kitchen table. The man’s anger was a heavy shadow that crept through the house, a weight Alek learned to carry in silence. Yet, no matter how bruised Alek was, or how rough his edges grew, Dima’s mother was always there like a steady flame. She fed them both when Alek’s father forgot to put food on the table, sewed patches on their worn coats, and listened to their dreams with a kindness that felt almost sacred. It was in her kitchen, warmed by a crackling stove and scented with fresh bread, that Alek first understood what it meant to be cared for without conditions. 

Alek never fully understood what it was that tangled his heart whenever Dima was near. It was a quiet, stubborn thing—like a shadow stretching long and dark across the edges of his soul—something he neither named nor tried to grasp. He didn’t care much for girls; their laughter, their whispered promises, felt like distant echoes from a world he didn’t belong to. There was no spark, no hunger in those moments, only the dull ache of expectation he never wanted to meet. He was handsome, scars here and there from childhood mischief that now served the purpose of decorating a more mysterious front to the ladies. Dirty blonde with a cold gaze, dirty blonde with strong hands. He didn’t cared for their attention… but with Dima, it was different. The pull was deeper, heavier, existent, but Alek buried it beneath layers of silence and stubborn pride, pretending that it was nothing but brotherhood, nothing but the shared warmth of frozen nights and whispered dreams. Dima, softer in spirit and more honest with his own feelings, seemed to hold the truth between them like a fragile flame—always careful, always quiet, but never extinguished. Once, in the hush of twilight beneath the old birch tree that had witnessed their childhood, their lips met. It was brief, trembling, a fragile rebellion against the world’s cold rules and the futures carved out for them by others. The kiss was both a question and an answer, spoken without words, full of longing and fear, before they pulled away, eyes heavy with things neither could say aloud. After that, silence wrapped around them like a shroud. They never spoke of that night again—never named the secret that settled between their breaths—but it lingered, buried deep in the spaces where their friendship met something more. It was a sorrowful truth, folded tight beneath years of snow and smoke, a love that was both their refuge and their curse, whispering always, quietly, beneath the roar of coming storms.

Even amid that fragile comfort, the world outside was shifting — slow at first, like a low wind before a storm. One evening in Dima’s kitchen, as they stacked firewood to last the coming cold, the boy’s voice broke the quiet. “You won’t join them, Alek? The army?” His eyes searched his friend’s face for a flicker of doubt or defiance. Alek’s hands stopped moving, the rough bark scratching against his roughed palms. “It’s about order,” he said, voice steady but heavy, “something this place desperately needs.” Dima shook his head, the flame in his chest kindling into something sharper. “Order? It’s just control dressed up pretty. They’ll take everything—our homes, our trees, e-even the barn.” Alek met his gaze, the flickering lamplight casting shadows that made his jaw seem sharper, colder, less loving. “We need rules to survive, Dima. Not dreams.” The air thickened between them, not with anger, but the weight of things unsaid, choices unmade. They didn’t argue more that night; instead, Alek handed him the last bundle of wood and turned toward the door. But the rift had begun, as quiet and relentless as the snow melting beneath their boots on the path home.

That winter was the last one untouched by gunpowder, politics or combat boots.

By next winter, the barn would indeed be burnt down. By spring, Alek had enlisted. By summer, Dima was running messages to the farmers in the outskirts of town. The war tearing through Velskara wasn’t a grand, sweeping conflict between empires or nations. It was a raw, bitter struggle born from the ashes of a shattered country, a civil war carved out of betrayal, fear, and desperate survival. After the old regime collapsed, a patchwork of factions scrambled to fill the void—each claiming to fight for justice, for order, for the people, but each willing to sacrifice everything in their hunger for power.

On one side were the Red Guard remnants and loyalists—men like Alek—who believed in rebuilding the country through strict control and military discipline. They saw themselves as the only force capable of stopping the chaos, protecting villages from bandits, rebels, and hungry mobs. To them, order was not just necessary, it was imperative. They wore the uniform with pride, convinced that sacrifice was the only path to a better future.

Opposing them were the partisan rebels, including Dima and many of the farmers and villagers scattered through the dense Siberian forests. They fought not for glory or control, but to preserve their way of life—small communities, traditions, and freedoms threatened by the new regime’s iron grip. To them, the soldiers were invaders, agents of a brutal system that demanded obedience and crushed dissent. Their war was guerrilla, shadowed by mistrust, fueled by the fear that if they didn’t resist, they would vanish—erased from their own land.

The night before Aleksei left for the field, he decided to pay Dima a visit under the pretense of handing his mother a plate he had taken home from diner’s leftovers three moths ago. He knew his friend’s mom was dead asleep by eleven. Dima knew he knew, too. Still, he answered the door. “It’s late, dubok” Little Oak, the one tree that never folds. “I know it’s late, I wanted to give it back before I…” “Go kill innocent kids while they sleep?” Dima said as a joke though the smirk he sported didn’t reach his eyes, Alek noticed. “Before I leave tomorrow”. He held the plate with a heavy hand, almost if it were made of steel and not the fine, flower-filled ceramic his best friend had kneeled years ago. He handed it with ease, and Dima’s finger’s grazed the soft surface before he took it from him. “You could’ve just left it, it’s just a plate” “It’s not. Not tonight, anyway”. Alek tried lighting a cigarette as he said that last part, an attempt to make it more casual, like when one asks the time or if there’s any bread left. He failed, miserably. For a moment, the only sound was the cold wind rustling through the bare branches outside. The air between them was taut with everything unsaid—the years of shared secrets, stolen warmth in the barn, the quiet moments before the world decided to tear them apart.

“You know,” Dima finally broke the silence, voice steady but edged with pain, “people in town talk. They say we’re more than friends. That maybe I’m more than just your ‘little hare.’” Alek’s gaze dropped, his jaw tightening. “I don’t care what they say.” Dima’s laugh was short, bitter. “I think you do. Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be standing here, on the night before you march off to kill for people who barely know why they fight.” “I fight for freedom, for an organized country instead of whatever your renegades want to accomplish by simply letting people live” Aleks scoffed, annoyed out of his belief at the boy who held his hand through the roughness of winters both real and metaphorical. Dima’s eyes flashed, hurt and defiance mixing in their depths. “Freedom? You think your generals care about freedom? They care about power, Alek. About control. They’ll burn villages, silence voices, and call it order. You’re just another pawn in their game.” Alek took a step forward, voice low but fierce. “Better to be a pawn than a traitor hiding in the shadows.” Dima’s laugh was hollow. “A pawn doesn’t decide its own fate. A rebel does. Even if that means standing alone.” The cold night seemed to press in closer, the weight of their words heavier than the snow settling around them. Alek’s hands trembled slightly, not from the cold but from the fracture he felt between them, an irreparable one at that. “Don’t think I don’t know what this means,” Alek said quietly, “what you mean to me.”

Dima looked away, shoulders stiff, voice barely more than breath. “Then you shouldn’t be wearing that uniform.” The words hit harder than a slap. Alek flinched—not visibly, not enough for anyone else to see—but Dima would know. He always knew. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Neither of them looked at the other. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” Alek muttered, like a confession spat between clenched teeth. “I didn’t want a war. I didn’t want sides. But I can’t just stand still while the world falls apart.” “You think you’re standing up by kneeling to them?” Dima’s voice cracked, sharp and bitter. “You think wearing their colors makes you a man?” “It makes me something,” Alek shot back. “It gives me something to hold on to. Something to answer for when everything else—” his voice shook, “—when everything else is confusing.” Dima turned toward him now, the light from the doorway cutting shadows across his face. “Is that what I am to you? Confusion?” Alek’s mouth opened, but the words stuck in his throat, brittle as frost. He wanted to say no, wanted to say you’re the only thing that ever made sense, wanted to say I would have stayed if I knew how to—but all that came out was: “I don’t know what you are anymore.”

Dima stepped back like the words had physically pushed him. “Right. That’s the thing with you, isn’t it? You never say what you mean. Not back then, not now. Not even after—” He stopped, biting down on the end of the sentence like it might break him. Alek turned his face away, but the memories rose regardless—hay in Dima’s hair, lips too warm for winter, silence afterward like a held breath no one ever dared to release. “Do you regret it?” Dima asked suddenly, voice quieter now. “That night in the barn.” Alek’s hands twitched, curling slowly into fists. “There’s no space for regrets anymore.” “That’s not an answer.” “I don’t have one,” Alek snapped. “What do you want me to say? That I’ve thought about it every fucking night? That sometimes I wake up convinced I can still feel it—still feel you—and I hate myself for it? That it’s easier to shoot a man than to look you in the eyes?”

The silence after that was crushing. Dima’s expression softened, but only just. Not enough to be mercy. “You never hated yourself for following orders,” he said. “Just for feeling.”

Alek didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. “You’re still my—” Dima started, then faltered. “Still something. But not the same. Not anymore.” Alek stepped back, the threshold cold behind his spine. He nodded once, jaw locked, trying to keep himself from saying something he couldn’t take back.

“I’ll be on the other side of the river by morning,” he said. “If you ever come looking.”

Dima’s voice was nearly gone. “I won’t.”

But he didn’t close the door. Not until Alek was already swallowed by the dark.

And even then, he left the plate out on the stoop until the snow buried it.

The next morning, Alek’s baby-blue eyes searched the crowd, desperate for a flicker of green—but Dima’s eyes weren’t there. Among the tearful mothers and stiff-lipped fathers, among the town’s quiet nods and final embraces, he found only strangers. On the road to what already felt like inevitable doom, Alek couldn’t help but wonder which would’ve hurt less: seeing Dima one last time, watching those eyes spit fire and fury as he left... or being met with nothing at all.

He decided he would’ve rather seen hatred than absence. Indifference was colder than any Siberian wind.

Three winters without the barn. Three summers without the river walks. Three years without a single letter—though both of them wrote hundreds they never sent.

The army made Alek forget how to sleep properly. Nights were spent half-awake in a trench, rifle clutched to his chest like a dying promise. In the beginning, he fought with fire, because fire was all he had left. They called him dependable, loyal, sharp. No one knew what it had cost him to become that. Each town they marched through looked more or less the same—burnt thatch, fields stripped bare, women who looked through you and children who never cried anymore. Every village was a memory of what his own could have become, and sometimes, in the corner of his eye, he thought he saw him—that flash of green eyes or the curve of a familiar back—but it was never Dima. Never his hare. Just ghosts clothed in snow.

He earned stripes, lost friends, got promoted, then demoted after a brawl with a superior who laughed at the “soft boys of the north.” That man's nose never quite healed right. Alek didn’t regret it. He kept a cigarette tucked behind his ear even though he’d quit smoking. He didn’t know why. Maybe because it reminded him of the barn. Maybe because it smelled like a memory he didn’t want to lose completely. Every now and then he’d light one, inhale deep, and taste smoke and sorrow. Once, during a lull between battles, he found himself staring at the trees that lined the outskirt of a bombed-out village. Birch and oak. The wind moved through them like whispers. And he thought: they’re still listening.

Dima never called himself a rebel. He wasn’t a soldier, he didn’t wear a uniform, didn’t carry a medal around his neck like a badge of righteousness. He just carried bread and names. Codes etched into the hems of coats. Secret routes through the woods mapped only by the stars and the sounds owls made when disturbed. He got older, leaner, quieter. But never mean, oh, never mean. The tears on his mother’s eyes when he left for the safe-house deep in the Siberian tundra could never allow it. He never got mean. Even when the war demanded it. He learned to look people in the eyes when he lied, to keep steady when the barrel of a gun found the space between his ribs. And still—still—he never stopped leaving offerings for the river. A folded note. A button. A piece of wood with initials carved crooked and rushed into its skin. He wasn’t even sure it was the same river he used to walk with him all those years ago. Years that felt like centuries now. He never gave up though, maybe Alek would find the note and take the right path. Go back to him, choose the good over the fist of fascism. There were stories, whispered around campfires, about a soldier with an oak’s heart who never flinched in gunfire. A northern man, quiet and brutal. Dima didn’t believe rumors. But he listened to all of them. He stopped sleeping on his left side. That was the side Alek used to take in the barn. The space next to him always felt too warm, like a sin, like a lie.

It was a nameless village. Half-buried in mud, forgotten by maps, no more than twelve homes and a church whose steeple had been reduced to jagged teeth against the gray sky. The snow had turned to slush, red at the edges. The kind of cold that didn’t make you shiver—it just sat in your bones like grief. The morning had been filled with smoke and steel. Alek had woken before dawn to the sound of boots thundering like drums across the frozen earth. Orders were barked outside, sharp as gunshots. Another sweep. Another raid. The rebels had been nesting here, word said. Civilians and fighters blurred now. No one could tell who held a rifle and who held bread. It no longer mattered. His unit, what was left of it, moved in like wolves. The flag on their shoulders barely meant anything anymore. Just a rag to remind them who not to shoot. The sun never rose properly that day—only a smear of dull orange behind clouds. Like the sky itself was too tired to bear witness to one more massacre.

They called him Dub, now. Oak. The unbreakable one. Not Aleksei anymore. Just Oak. A name said with fear by men twice his age. His silence made them uneasy. The way he never flinched, even when covered in blood that wasn’t his. The way he stood tall while others cowered or prayed. There were stories now. About how he couldn’t be killed. About how the northern wind spoke to him. About how he’d lost something so dear it made him empty and invincible all at once. Alek didn’t correct them. Let them believe he was made of bark and stone. It was easier than explaining how silence had simply grown like moss over his mouth. How you didn’t need armor when you had nothing left inside to pierce. They tore through the village. Screams. Smoke. One of the barns caught fire—it reminded Alek of another one, years ago. He didn’t flinch. There was an order to clear the last rebel checkpoint, a crude outpost made of patched wood and tarps, tucked behind the ruins of the old church. That’s where he was sent.

Gun drawn, blood already drying on his sleeves, he stepped into the camp. The tent flap was partly open. He ducked inside, eyes adjusted to the dimness.

There was someone asleep on the cot.

Blanket curled up to the chin, dirt on the soles of bare feet, fingers twitching against a threadbare sheet like they were dreaming.

Alek’s rifle lowered by instinct—no, by something worse than instinct. Recognition. A strike of lightning behind the ribs. The scar on the left hand. The sharp edge of the nose. The black hair, unruly even in sleep. His breath left him like a bullet.

Dima.

He was thinner now, paler. His collarbone jutted sharply from his frame like wings struggling to bloom. There was a half-healed cut along his cheek. He breathed shallow, quick. A fever, maybe. Or just a man too tired to dream anymore.

For a second—just a second—Alek thought he might be hallucinating. That the war had finally taken his mind. But then Dima shifted in his sleep and murmured something, too soft to catch.

He was real. He was here. Alive.

And Alek had come to kill everyone in this place.

Behind him, heavy footsteps approached. The flap of the tent was yanked open.

Alek didn’t turn around. He knew the voice before it spoke.

"Oak. Status?” General Varavin. Old bastard. Sharp-tongued and always suspicious of Alek's silences. He stepped beside him and froze. They both stared at the sleeping figure on the cot. "Rebel," the General said flatly, after only a breath. "Kill him.” Alek still didn’t move. His hand tightened around the grip of his rifle, knuckles white. His breath had gone shallow, chest barely rising. Varavin looked at him, something clicking in his gaze. “You know him.”

It wasn’t a question. Just cold observation. Alek didn’t answer.

"Kill him, Oak. That’s an order."

Nothing.

For the first time since he joined the ranks, Dub, the unshakable, flinched.

It was small—a twitch in the corner of his eye, the catch of his throat—but Varavin saw it. And that, more than anything, made him furious. “You’ve slit the throats of better men than this,” the General spat, stepping closer, voice now a whisper of steel. “What is he to you? Another northern ghost? Some soft memory from a life too small to matter?” Still, Alek didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. The barrel of the rifle hung heavy in his hand. Dima stirred again. His lips parted. A name hovered there, unfinished. Varavin hissed, “Don’t forget what you are. What you’ve made yourself into.” But Alek wasn’t listening to him anymore.

He was staring at the rise and fall of Dima’s chest. At the way his fingers curled in sleep like he was still holding onto something. The barn. The river. The cigarette passed between them.

The kiss in the dark, lips trembling, and the silence after.

The snow. The spoon. The fuzz of shared wool. The unbearable warmth of being known.

And now—this. A rifle in his hand. His name turned to bark. A man who never flinched, standing on the edge of everything he had left that could make him feel human again.

He raised the gun. The gun stayed raised.

Dima’s body shifted beneath the moth-eaten blanket, slowly, like the world was letting him wake one memory at a time. His fingers curled. His head tilted. And then—his lashes fluttered open. His green eyes found Alek’s blue ones across the tent.

And he stilled.

No gasp. No startle. Just a long, long breath—like a man who’d seen this moment in a dream before, and knew it would come to claim him. He sat up slowly, the blanket falling from his shoulders. His collar was unbuttoned. His neck bare. His heart, exposed. And still, no words.

The General stood in the corner, arms crossed, a wicked satisfaction curling at his lip. “There. No excuses now. He’s awake. Do it.” 

Dima didn’t look at the General. Didn’t even acknowledge him. His eyes never left Alek’s. He spoke, quiet, tired. “So this is how it ends, then,” he said.

Alek didn’t move. The rifle trembled the tiniest bit. Dima smiled—but it was hollow. That old mischief, that stubborn light in his eyes, was gone now. Just ash left behind.

“I used to think I’d die in a field, nameless. But I never thought it would be you, Dubok.” His voice cracked slightly at the end—not with fear, but something worse. Understanding.

“You always were the one who could pull the trigger. Even when I couldn’t.”

Alek’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

“I knew you’d survive the war. Not because you’re lucky. Because you’re terrible at dying,” Dima said, with a soft, bitter laugh. “You hold on like moss on stone. And I think I always loved you for that. Even when it scared me.”

Alek’s jaw clenched. His throat worked around a word he couldn’t say.

“You don’t have to say it,” Dima whispered. “I know. I always knew.”

He raised his chin slightly. The same way he used to do when daring Alek to race him down the hill, or when facing down the older men who called them wrong for being too close. That quiet defiance, even in the face of fire. “I forgive you,” Dima said.

Alek’s face crumpled. Just a flicker. A single breath of weakness.

“I forgive you for being what they made you. For never choosing me out loud.” Dima’s eyes shone now, not with tears, but with something far worse—peace.

“Because you did, once. In the barn. That was real. You were mine then.”

Silence. Even the wind outside the tent stilled, like the world was holding its breath.

The General shifted, impatient. “Enough of this. Shoot the rebel.”

But Dima didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg. His voice lowered to a hush.

“You know I’d never ask you to run.”

He looked down, then back up—his eyes burning.

“But if I could have anything in this world, Aleksei Volkov… I’d ask you to remember what you were before they made you a weapon. Before they called you Oak.”

Alek’s hands shook. The rifle dipped just slightly—then rose again.

Dima exhaled, slow and resigned. He looked back down at his hands.

And in the most fragile, broken voice Alek had ever heard, Dima said, “Do it, then. If I can’t have you, at least let me be the last thing you lose.”

The tent filled with silence.

And Alek, the boy who once held him like he was something sacred, stood still with murder blooming at the tip of his finger.

The rifle didn’t drop. Dima did. Aleks followed.

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part Eleven) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs @curlycarley

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: infidelity, child abandonment, heartbreak, mentioned family dissolution, anti-Lori, anti-Shane, death of a family member, and betrayal.

[[ A/N: hey besties, I am working on other series too!! I'm just very inspired with this one right now, but don't worry!!! The Nurse, and the neighbor one I'm workshopping are still in the works! anyways, hop aboard the dialogue train my friends! Let's get to talking :))) actually insanely dialogue heavy on god (sorry if thats not your vibe) and thanks for reading lovelies !!! ]]

"Judith... She's-" he moved through them slowly -as if it hurt, "-She's not mine."

"You-" you echoed, finding your voice lost, "-You mean to say-"

"The affair-" Mr. Grimes started, "-extended beyond what I knew. Both in the length of time and extent, I came to realize."

"Yet, you-" you started, debating truly on what the right thing to say here was -somehow urged to ask questions, "-you care for her."

"Yes, I-" he exhaled, "-when Lori told me she was expectin', she told me of the full circumstance. I had to make quick decisions -despite feelings I... I realized a much lesser man would refuse to house a pregnant woman."

"You housed her, did she... was Judith borne of your estate?"

"In Atlanta," he clarified, "-I housed her for the full term, she chose to leave of her own volition. It was... She-"

"Loved him," you finished -familiar with that portion yourself, "-I... She told me so, upon my first independent visit of the estate."

"Right," Mr. Grimes hummed -something rather sad in his tone, but you found the same remembering such a night, "-Lori... Lori decided upon Judith's birth that she was to stay with me. That she'd live a life as our child and not one of an affair."

"And you agreed."

"I won't say I didn't think twice 'bout it," he confided, and you felt quite special to even be hearing all this, "-I believe... If Judith hadn't been at play, I believe I would've been much angrier. To me, this was a matter of a child's life first, and a matter of infidelity second. I just wished for her to have a good life and any sort of circumstance with Shane in her life... She'd be ostracized. I believe both he and Lori knew that well."

"So, they-" you began, trekking your words carefully, "-they gave her up. And you... you raise her as your own."

"Yes, it's odd, I-" Mr. Grimes started -he seemed to be a little on edge, perhaps awaiting your reaction, "-I found the bitterness faded away. It was less like I was holdin' somethin' 'at showed a betrayal and more of I was holdin' someone made of two people I cared dearly for."

"You are truly selfless," you complimented -rather amazed by such circumstances, "-to do such a thing. I... I imagine the decision was not easy, but I've... I've seen you with Judith. You truly care for her, love her even, despite what she represents to you personally."

"The only bitterness I hold with her now is that of the abandonment," he echoed, something rather solemn in his eyes, "-Judith was never intended to know she was her mother, only in passin', but Carl..."

"He lost a mother," you finished - something distant tone as you were reminded of your own ache in your chest, "-It's not something you're supposed to handle well.

The Headmistress was something entirely different, sure she was maternal to you and your sisters but... She was not your mother. All you remembered of her now were portraits, fuzzy memories, and the stories your father told. He said that she looked the most like Beth -big doe eyes, but she had the resilience to match Maggie and a certainty to match your own.

Father always said he'd see her in each one of you every day, a shining memory of something he wished to truly never forget. You hoped he wouldn't, you'd wanted to know everything-

"Your mother, she-"

"Died of illness when I was nearly 10," you answered -a bit curtly, but you were sure he understood, "-Beth was not yet 1, too little to remember much, but Maggie and I... We remember sometimes. We used to compile little bits and pieces and tell Father and he'd tell us the full story. You feel as though you should remember more when someone is gone but... but you do not."

"Do you..." he questioned, "-do you believe he'll remember her, truly?"

You paused, glancing out the window where they still played -although, Judith looked quite tired of it now, and you tried to put yourself in his shoes. They fit quite well, you noticed. Just add a tiny little brunette by his side and you'd say the circumstance was identical in ways. But in other ways... it wasn't. Lori could see him, she just didn't wish to. Her visits weren't prone to impossibility, just... just shame. Who would not run to the ends of the earth for their children? Not fight through the pain just to get to them, the little triumphs of it all.

You supposed some wouldn't.

"I'm not an expert, but-" you echoed -a rather bitter sort of taste bubbling up your throat, almost metallic, "-I will say he will most likely wish to, in certain ways. I... I can never see my mother again, that is not by her choice, but rather by the earth's. He's soon to understand that his mother was at quite an impasse but still... still had a choice-"

Mr. Grimes silently connected his hand with yours -rubbing his thumb along the back of your palm, soothing.

"-and she didn't choose him. Even with you asserting the marriage be ended, she still... had a choice. To visit often, be involved, or- or not. And based on her arrival to the state, I'd garner to say she's not involved."

"Would he..." he fumbled out, "-Would he be bitter? I kno' it's unusual to wish well on such betrayal but-"

"Mr. Grimes," you turned to him, voice steady, "-you have made your decision to allow the grievances on your side. It is up to Carl how he addresses them in his own life, and you must understand that independence. I know that you wish such positive influence for the mother of your children, which you are a good man for, it doesn't have to excuse the behavior for him."

"I jus'-"

"Carl hurt in his own way, as I'm sure you know-" you continued, a lowered calm tone, "-it is up to him to decide how he deals with it. If he wishes to hate his mother for the rest of his life, so be it. It's dreadful to say but Lori made the decision fully knowing such consequences could arise. If she wishes it fixed, she must do so herself."

He sighed, a deep sort of rattling one -a resignation deep in the tone as if he knew it was coming, "I kno', I just- I suppose I want better for Carl and took it upon myself to try and make it better."

"An honorable cause," you echoed -clasping your connected hands with your own, comforting, "-Mr. Grimes, if you treat Carl anything like Judith then he is well cared for. I'm positive you do everything in your power to care for them."

"Ms. Greene," he spoke -looking at you at that sort of way that made your heart flip in your stomach, "-I... Thank you."

"You should know by now, it is not needed."

"I kno'," he spoke, rather softly, "-I wish to. Ms. Greene, I don't know how to properly portray to ya that anythin' I do for you is not out of obligation. I'm rather pleased to do it just because it's for you."

"Is that not what I was implying?" You spoke, rather bashfully, "-I... Mr. Grimes, I don't need to be thanked for anything I do for you, I... I am pleased to do so myself."

"Right, yes," he continued -intently, "-but I want to. I want... Ms. Greene, I summoned you today to clear some things up, as you 'ave learned. All a bit personal, but you must understand my intentions-"

"To explain your actions?" you questioned.

"No," he started, before correcting, "-well, yes but no. I... Ms. Greene, the scenario I told you... Judith, her arrival to this world, the truth of it is something I've sworn to secrecy. Something that only is knowledge of the parties involved and some of my most trusted staff-"

"I understand, truly," you echoed -urging to soothe what you believed to be worry, "-Mr. Grimes, you will not hear me speak of such a matter to anyone."

"While I appreciate 'at notion, I-" He seemed a bit lost in his wording, almost perhaps embarrassed, "-it's not what I intended for you to understand-"

"And I'm supposed to know these such intentions? I believed you were presenting your side to something that wasn't quite whole for me."

"Ms. Greene," Mr. Grimes huffed out, maybe a touch frustrated at his own lack of cohesion, "-that is a part of why I've summoned ya today, a surly part, sure but merely a part."

You paused, a little at a loss, "What are you implying, sir?"

"There's-" he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "-Judith's tale is one I would hardly let off the estate, somethin' so jeopardizing needs to be properly policed. I've made sure to keep it 'at way, not even tellin' my complete staff, only those I trust the most. And yet, despite it all, I sit 'ere and find myself tellin' you."

"Well-"

"Ms. Greene," he urged with a playful sort of smile -the type you always saw in his banter, "-as much as I'm delighted to hear ya speak, as I am with anythin' you do, will you let me 'ave a moment?"

You flushed a bright sort of crimson, it was a rather polite way of saying 'shut up' -maybe even complimenting, "Of course, speak at your will."

He nodded, ever so slightly turning in the couch to fully face you, and taking his free hand to clasp the amalgamation you'd just previously added onto. You'd assumed it looked rather odd from an outside perspective, but still, somehow the touch grounded you to the moment -commanded you to attention. Mr. Grimes had always had such an odd effect on you after all, what was one more?

"Ms. Greene," he spoke in that sort of fond way that you often imagined narrators to be when you read -all wistful and happy, "-you rightfully delight me, and I initially, I... wished you to know about Judith to explain my circumstances. But now I find there's something bigger than that. I- I'm..."

He fell a little silent, seeming to try and gather his words -you waited, patiently.

"How did you say it?" He questioned, and you were to answer 'what' but realized he was speaking to himself, rhetorically, "-'I've fallen in love with you. Most completely'."

Something in you stilled, was he... was he truly-

"It's hard to describe, but I-" Mr. Grimes continued, hardly letting you reel yourself back in from such an admittance, "-I find a part of myself tellin' you such things, as Judith's unfortunate beginnin', because I... I want you here. It's not a lack of trust, you just-"

He paused for a moment, before unclasping your hands and using the pads of his fingers to guide your eyes back to his. The press of his thumb against your chin brought you back to the moment that you supposed you drifted to. Something in your stomach fluttered.

"-belong here with me. And maybe it's rather selfish to instill such ideas upon you, but I... I haven't been selfish enough I believe. Nor have I been clear enough."

"Mr. Grimes-" you tried to urge him away, from such a tone.

"Ms. Greene," he responded in the same tone, fingertips still on the edge of your skin, "-there is no letter this time, no coy jabs that flow seamlessly with the banter, and no heartbreakin'."

"You don't-"

He didn't respond, only adjusted slightly to fully face you -blue eyes with their ever-familiar twinkle, and hand now cradling your cheek. It was a rather tender sort of movement that sent such a familiar buzz down your spine -warmth, but also held your gaze on his.

"Y/N, I-" he breathed out and you felt it fan across your skin, "-I love you, far more than I think I could ever fully grasp. And I wish to court you, properly as I kno' ya deserve-"

"Mr. Grimes..." you whispered, slightly weepy and a little in tone but there was no bite -you felt as if you weren't really there.

He merely only moved his hands to wipe away such tears -pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin (it nearly made you want to cry even more), "-and when things go well, as I know they should. I shall ask for your hand, with a lot more bravado than perhaps now but I suppose I 'ave time to perfect it."

"You..." you echoed, voice shaky and tears a bit distant from you now, but you still felt quite vulnerable, "-You... You love me, despite the... despite the letters and the nonsense and my family and my Headmistress-"

"Ms. Greene," he hummed, "-I've never been more certain of anythin' in my life."

"But-"

"And there was no choice," he interrupted, brushing his fingers over your hair -assumedly smoothing it into place, "-you spoke of... last time, I 'chose' you. That's not what had ever gone through my mind."

"Surely, you must have considered it," you whispered out -a sort of weepy tone trailing every word, "-for societal standards, at the very least. You... When Lori appeared upon your doorstep, you cannot tell me the thought did not cross your mind."

"A long time ago," Mr. Grimes spoke, a distant sort of bitterness flaring up in his tone, "-I came to terms with what Lori had done and why. When she arrived on my doorstep that evenin', I housed her as the mother of my children, not as... not as my estranged wife. If you'd asked me years ago, I suppose I might've done so. But now? With you? Ms. Greene, there was no choice."

"I..."

"Upon her arrival, the first thing I did was write that letter, detailing the cancelation-" he hummed, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone, "-she was on my estate for the first time since Judith's birth, and all I could think about was you."

"Mr. Grimes-"

"I love you," he urged and something in you softened -something molten and warm swirling in your stomach, "-Ms. Greene, you are somethin' I'd never believe I'd get after Lori. You must understand how precious 'at makes you to me."

You were nearly speechless, only one thing floating in your mind, "I love you too. I... I suppose, I just never believed that you could love me so."

"And 'at is why I know I have been far too coy, in my affections for you," he hummed -fond and soft, as if it was only the two of you in the world. Or rather, if all he wished to pay attention to was you. Perhaps it was.

"As if I wasn't," you laughed, a little in astonishment at your current situation -he loved you, "-I haven't been too forthcoming myself, Mr. Grimes."

"I believe I have it in myself to forgive you for such misfortunes," he retorted, all smiley again and you felt a rush of fondness, admiration, love-

You smiled, a little tight from tears but still genuine -exaggerating playfully, "I'm rather honored to have such mercy, sir."

He chuckled, just a touch, bright laughter bubbling up in your chest (love, love, love-), seeming to absorb the moment -eyes flickering all over your face in a silence you found oddly comfortable. It was as if there was no need to speak, being in his presence was enough. Content.

"Does your residence 'ave any plans for dinner?"

"No," you spoke, playfully annoyed but the crimson on your cheeks told their own story, "-why? Are you so impatient to speak to my Father that you could only wait mere hours?"

"Possibly," Mr. Grimes echoed, biting back such a smile himself, "-my chef is terrific, very talented in a wide range of dishes. I'd venture she could cook for anyone."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Yes," he revealed, smile slipping across his lips, "-and a question. Do you have a favorite dish?"

"Oh, please," you laughed, "-I do not require such treatment, Mr. Grimes."

He chuckled -a rather telling sort of look in his eyes, "It's an innocent question-"

"Sure," you spoke with a certain tilt in your tone, "-and I suppose the berry basket was an innocent gift, then?"

"Alright, fine-" he urged, perhaps a little embarrassed -the familiar pink rising along his cheekbones, "-would you honor me with at least your favorite dessert?"

"Are you truly so eager to impress me?" You laughed, a bit in disbelief.

"Please you," he corrected, "-I happen to like when you're smilin', and would like to have a hand in helpin' such a feeling come to."

"Oh, Mr. Grimes," you echoed, a grin spreading across your lips -happiness a sort of electricity rattling your bones, "-you don't need a dessert to do such a thing."

[broodwoof]

Merrill meta

cw: canon character death; blood magic; discussion of anti blood magic sentiment beyond that, general heads up for discussion of the fate of Clan Sabrae, culture shock, grief, guilt, Chantry/Circle propaganda, etc.

So far, I haven’t written meta specifically and exclusively about Merrill, although I do have a lot of thoughts about her. A caveat: I am many years removed from playing DA2 and have no real plans to replay it (it’s a good game, but it’s very heavy for me for certain reasons), so I won’t be as specific here as I might be in other meta. This is going to be more about the sense I get of her overall character and her arc within the narrative.

First, I want to talk a bit about her history.

Merrill comes from the Sabrae clan, but was born in the Alerion clan, in Nevarra. But Alerion had sufficient mages and Sabrae did not, so Merrill was transferred to the Sabrae clan when she was four years old. At that age, she may be able to remember her prior clan, or she may not, especially if any part of the journey or transition was traumatic to her—which I find likely. Not because the Dalish are abusive or anything like that, but because the simple nature of leaving the familiar for the new can be traumatic, especially for a child, doubly so for one new to her magic. So it’s not clear what, exactly, her feelings about this are, but I think it’s safe to say that she does have feelings about it. She had what could easily be considered a tumultuous and possibly traumatic experience as a young child.

The Sabrae clan loses Tamlen for sure, and possibly Mahariel as well, depending on the origin the player chooses. Merrill does not contract the Blight, but she does lose one—and possibly two—clanmates to it, and the Keeper insists that they move on, despite her wanting to stay and research the Eluvian. I think there’s a lot of room for interpretation about why she wanted so badly to stay: it could have been primarily rooted in a desperate attempt to save Tamlen, and possibly cure Mahariel; alternatively, it could have been primarily rooted in a desire for her people to know more of their history. Regardless of primacy, I think both aspects were present, and would be shaped by the specifics of her relationship with Tamlen and possibly Mahariel.

I’m a little fuzzy on the exact timeline here so I’m gonna be generalizing, but she took a piece of the Eluvian with her; she contacted a demon at some point; she became a blood mage; she was rejected by her Keeper; her Keeper taught her clan to fear her; and she ended up in Kirkwall with Hawke and the rest of them. Both the demon and the blood magic were things her Keeper knew about, so they happened prior to Hawke approaching the Sabrae clan and ending up with Merrill joining, and if memory serves, her clanmates were wary about her at this point, but not as fearful as they later became.

The point of this meta is not to explore matters of fault, only Merrill as a character, but as an aside I will say that I think a great deal of this was the Keeper’s fault, but I also understand where she was coming from. We as players are accustomed to blood magic being more nuanced than it is presented culturally in-game, but I think it’s worth remembering and recognizing just how reviled blood magic truly is in-world. The Dalish are not a monolith, each clan individual, but among those we see they seem to share the opposition to blood magic with much of Thedas, with the obvious exception of Tevinter. Although even that is more complex than “Tevinter thinks blood magic is good!” but again, not the point of this meta.

I am, however, bringing this up in part to acknowledge that this in-world bias is at play with the DA2 companions. Anders has been raised with Chantry and Circle propaganda, and still believes much of it; Fenris is an ex-slave from Tevinter, where he saw blood magic at its worst. And I think even among those who accept her more—Varric and Isabela, for instance—they are still deeply prejudiced against and wary about blood magic. And I’m certain she recognizes that. How can she not?

So I think during the course of the game, she feels very much on the outside of the little group Hawke has assembled. There are certainly moments of kindness and camaraderie between her and the other companions, as well as moments of paternalistic contempt, but overall I think she views herself as being on the outside. And she’s also on the outside in her home life. Whether Alerion or Sabrae, she has spent her life with Dalish clans, but is now living in an alienage with city elves. There’s a huge culture shock going on here. There’s also no cultural familiarity between her and the companions. And if Hawke romances her (I’m ignoring rivalmance because I haven’t done it) then she’s with a human. I’m not saying that’s bad, but I am saying that Hawke could never be a cultural touchstone for her. And that’s okay, by itself! But I do think it contributes to and exacerbates the feeling of otherness, in her specific situation.

Now, the fate of Clan Sabrae. If they survive, Merrill has been shown as clearly as possible that her Keeper does not trust her and is actively working against her—whether it’s “for her own good” or not is immaterial (and shitty, condescending, and paternalistic as well, even if the Keeper truly thought this the best or was trying to save the many at the [potential] cost of the one), as it is still a major violation of trust. If they do not survive, then Merrill would feel—true or false—that it is her fault, at least in part. That it was the Keeper’s actions which endangered the clan would not mean that someone deep in grief would not draw the connection from their actions to the end result; this is a normal experience among people who grieve, although nothing about grief is a monolith, either.

So at this point, Merrill has felt: some kind of way about being transferred between clans; a loss due to Tamlen (and possibly Mahariel); rejected for her ideas about the Eluvian; judged by her clan for her use of blood magic; rejected by her clan as a whole; disrupted due to intense culture shock; judged and demeaned pretty heavily for said culture shock; also judged and demeaned for the blood magic, this time by those she works with/may consider friends in Kirkwall. 

So I think that it makes sense how, in a romance with Hawke, she’s… not really there so much? There are comments, I think from Bodahn, about how she doesn’t seem to be acting/feeling very much at home in Hawke’s estate. And of course she’s still going back to her home in the alienage, both because of her continued efforts to restore the Eluvian and because she has begun to build a life there for herself and is still connected to the other elves there, even if there is still a degree of mutual wariness. But I think her long history of rejection after rejection has made her—understandably!—wary to trust anyone. 

However kind and compassionate Hawke may be in this situation, they would not be able to cure Merrill of all her trauma through love, even within the entire lengthy span of the game. So I don’t find it surprising that she continues to exist on the periphery. It would be easy and natural for her to feel like she’s only being provisionally accepted. And at the end of the day, I think that sense has less to do with how Hawke is treating her or how sincere their feelings are, and more to do with Merrill’s background and history.

However, I do think it would be a bit different with a blood mage Hawke. I think under those circumstances, she would feel more deeply accepted. I don’t think it would get rid of the feeling of it being provisional entirely, being far too simple a cure for far too complex a wound, but I think the familiarity and shared basis would help put her at ease. She’s not being accepted despite the form of magic she chooses to employ. Of course, this interpretation depends a bit on Hawke and their point of view on blood magic, whether it varies between their own use and how others use it or if it’s more broadly accepting, but I’m going with the idea that a blood mage Hawke would likely be tolerant of blood magic, even if they only used it as a last resort or out of desperation or for any other of the many, varied reasons why someone might choose to utilize such a loathed type of magic.

So tempted to continue this into “and this is why I ship her with—” territory but I’ll leave it here so that those who just want Merrill content don’t have to sit through my shipping conversation lmao.

[jellazticious]

JELL YOU CANT JUST DROP THIS RANDOM LORE ON THE FLOOR AND RUN AWAY!! TELL US MORE PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU

If this is about the Peppino clone theory then alright, buckle up cheesebags

First of all it's a theory and a headcanon, not lore, I don't want anyone acting like what I'm saying is canon 😭

BUT ANYWHO

I just thought it's weird that Peppino supposedly has never seen the tower in his life before or he has but he gets no association with it BUT he is plastered all over the posters, graffiti, boxes, etc in the background like he was part of the team. There's even like toys and robots designed after his scrumptious physique.

He is just as cartoon character as the residents of the tower compared to the human levels of the outsiders like Gus and Stick. I mean yes, Gus can have exaggerated body parts but he is never as exaggerated as Peppino is

Next there's his malleability. I know this is a cartoon world with cartoon logic but alllll I'm saying is why doesn't Gus have that same whackiness? It's all mostly Brick doing the comedy. The most we have to Gus deforming his body was during the double jump where he turns into a ball.

Peppino on the other hand? Turned to cheese, turned to a pizza, turned to a puppet, able to handle being in the front of a rocket, his body contorts during exaggeration of poses, way faster on foot than a rat etc.

Also here's a little intermission because I just LOOOOOVE this one tube in the bg so much

Next reason, the WAR level and the very confusing and retconned implication of what Peppino did.

Some say it was canon that he was an actual veteran, some say he was technically not a soldier but a pizza delivery guy for the soldiers, and some say he accidentally wound up in the crossfires.

Other than the war setting, the level, for zero reason or explanation, transitioned to a laboratory with clones of Peppino and the big ass tube in the bg has Pillar John in it. Cloning is not new to the tower but by god are they SHIT AT IT

it's so stupid, he looks like he wanna die and he isn't even born yet, that's how you know you're getting a Peppino variant njsngjksrkj

but anwyay back to topic

I'm pretty sure we all think that the WAR level is the tower's last attempt at getting rid of Peppino by making a horrendous cheap move with making him relive his trauma. I love that take so much man, to think that the tower is this desperate because Peppino is SO CLOSE to destroying it that it didn't even have Pizza Time but a constantly ticking timer.

It makes sense with the war part of the level. That is clearly a traumatic event but then it turned to a lab which gets confusing.

I kinda stitched the two together and made them two different memories. The first one came from the original person the clones are based off and the other is Peppino's. I like to think that Faker and Peppino are opposites lol. Peppino has the perfectly structured body but not the mental stability while Faker is smart as hell despite being animalistic with a constantly shambling body. They're sorta the best ones to come out of the lab. but yeah, sorry for putting that tangent there. It's so to give a little context with how Peppino remembers stuff.

His brain is done fucked up that he cannot tell which memories are from him or from Bruno. It's like when you're dreaming and you already have stock knowledge in the dream's universe and it just hurts your brain when you try to pinpoint when exactly you got that information. He'd say some shit about his childhood and full believes he was the kid in the memory, and to Peppino he'd admit that all his memories are hella fuzzy for some reason but he just shrugs it off with "I'm just getting old". Also he kinda gets dreams about the lab and shrugs it off as some weird ass nightmare about the restaurant debt lmao.

(btw, Faker is well aware about Bruno's memories and know how to distinguish it from his own. I really love interpreting him as the alpha of all clones, it's so fun)

But yeah those are my reasons why I formulated and headcanoned Peppino as a clone.

All else that you need to know about this is that Peppino escapes, spends time in the real world, forgets his origins because brains are weird and it does this thing where it forgets traumatic events, and runs the restaurant (instinctual thing???), and seeing that Peppino is thriving on his own, Pizzahead thought how funny it would be to bring his ass back to the tower. Pizzahead is Pizzahead, his choices are whack asf

but all in all, I have always interpreted clone Peppino in all my silly little doodles gbjsbgksrbkj but like no one's gonna ask about it so I never made a peep nor a sound. But now you know lmao, which would raise questions that I'm more than happy to indulge

[mistress-of-vos]

For the ask game Ra'sTim (yes predictable I know but I just adore how you write them to the point where I want more information)

Ra'sTim

SHIP IT!!! 💚💚💚

Okay yeah I'm very loud about them but I'm still so so happy you asked about Ra'sTim! I'd talk about them all day. This is probably gonna be long 😅

P.S. Thank you! I'm happy you enjoy my work ❤️

1. What made you ship it?

Okay this is such an easy yet complex question. I have looked back and realized I was writing past/implied Ra'sTim on my fic notebook back on 2014 (give or take) when I was newly done reading Red Robin. I'm unsure exactly *how* is started because before 2020 I had been on an extreme Transformers fixation, and my memories are fuzzy. I believe I was shipping Ra'sTim as a background ship without fully realizing I was doing it (it should also be noted I started as a KonTim religious fan, and grew into a JayTim girlie). I actually read two of my fav Ra'sTim fics back in those years (around 2014-2015), which were in Spanish, but they had a Ra'sTim portrayal that would mark my views, as the characters make the dynamic very different to the most popular ships in fanfom.

It was at the beginning of 2020 when I went back to DC, and funnily enough climbed quickly from JayTim to BruTim and started writing an ongoing fic. While doing so, I re read past fics I remembered I used to love, and went back to read comics as well. Suddenly, after reading Red Robin again, I was looking at Ra'sTim through different glasses. And it was something happening to me in many levels, as I was also getting a bit away from Kon & Jason and more into characters as Babs & Jean-Paul. I wondered what *more* there could be to Ra'sTim, and started reading more of Ra's. As I read and explored Tim in my writing, I realized I wanted them together.

I'm unsure about how to call it. The feeling was almost of enlightenment, like suddenly seeing something that has always been there yet for some reason you couldn't distinguish its shape. Perhaps being a Megatron/Starscream shipper helped, because I saw the potential of Ra'sTim and decided to explore the possibilities and their tones of gray.

At first Ra'sTim wasn't my main ship (although I was already writing it), but as I explored them, the more I felt it was a dynamic that came naturally to me, and scenarios I found more enjoyable.

The more I read their comics and explored them in my writing, the more they felt *right*. Perhaps it was meant to happen, as I can admit they fall a lot more into my tastes in fiction. Ra's as a character drives me insane with his potential and lore, and Tim stays as my favorite bat boy and who I believe changed the Batman mythos.

And yet, everything was born from a simple panel. "You are a very dangerous young man."

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

Oh, this is a tricky one!

I like their dynamic a lot, as I'm an open immortal/mortal sucker. And that does play a huge thing in my view of them and why I come back to Ra'sTim again and again despite having other fixations. The fact that Ra's has such a complex background and is not your usual western interpretation of an immortal (let's say a vampire) is also a fav thing of mine, as I think it allows stories with him to leave usual storytelling and challenge beliefs about good & evil. The fact that he believes he's *good* and a hero is particularly tasty as well, and mixed with Tim's need for helping others and guilt when he's not useful to the world (and Batman), gives a wonderful meal.

Their size difference is extremely hot too.

Aaaaand having a canon mutual interest where they are connected in a mysterious, unavoidable way, it's a cherry on top.

Lastly, I adore their contrast as characters and how they will allow the other to win a little battle in order to win another. It's a game of cat and mouse.

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I have unpopular opinions on most characters and ships. Some of them I feel comfortable expressing and others... Not much.

With Ra'sTim I have many of them, but mostly, it's that I loathe how other ship fandoms use Ra's as a random villain to hurt Tim and prop up another ship. For me, that's almost insulting, as Ra's is already a hurt character broken by many writers at DC. For me Ra'sTim it's never about "evil, mean Ra's hurting Tim because villains do that" and even less would I do it for another ship. I enjoy dark Ra'sTim, but never to hurt the characters.

My unpopular opinion then would be about the characters, perhaps. I don't see Ra's being cruel to Tim without reason, because in my mind, Ra's feels *love* and he cares for Tim. And Tim loves him back. They are just messy and won't communicate well, but that doesn't mean Ra's will go full evil and that Tim is a damsel in distress needing saving.

I don't see Ra's as an abuser. Neither do I see Tim as a helpless victim. And I believe this narrative hurts all characters involved without real motive besides wanting to prop up someone else and being too lazy as to read a less known villain or writing an original one.

[goodomensgotmeeffedup]

So I had an idea for a Good Omens fic where Aziraphale and Crowley are both demons.

(This post contains season 2 spoilers and uses he/him pronouns for both of them but that's not to say that she/her or they/them pronouns are wrong or bad, just not what I'm using)

So both of the are demons. Because of this tiktok:

Anyways, so yeah.

Here's what I'm thinking so far. Aziraphale and Crowley met in Heaven, as angels, of course. Just like we see in Season 2 Episode 1.

Aziraphale is in love at first sight. How can you not be? Just seeing the angel version of Crowley, smiling, happy, excited about the stars. Gorgeous? Yes, yes he is. So Aziraphale is seriously concerned when Crowley starts questioning things and hanging about with Lucifer and the gang.

And then, he's seriously horrified when Crowley, beautiful, gorgeous Crowley, is sentenced to Fall. That's not fair. That's not right. Crowley is sweet and perfect and amazing. Aziraphale doesn't want Crowley to Fall.

At least, not alone.

Aziraphale doesn't Fall so much as dive head first, catching Crowley in his arms and wrapping them both up in his wings. He takes the brunt of the damage when they hit the sulfur. His feathers completely burn away. It all gets a little fuzzy after that. There's a lot of pain and burning for what feels like an eternity. And then they eventually pick themselves up, memories broken or missing.

They both start working on Earth, they kind of become rivals. Who can do the worse job? Not that they have to do much since humanity is perfectly capable of ruining things on their own. So they basically just exist to please themselves and piss each other off.

But, Aziraphale has dreams of them together in Heaven. Crowley's smile when his stars were born... It makes Aziraphale's heart ache. And he wants to see that smile again. Unfortunately, the sulfur burned it away but he believes it's still there somewhere. He does what he can to protect the demon Crowley, even doing some nasty things to cover up the secret good things that Crowley does.

Aziraphale is very protective over Crowley. And he's definitely the worse of the two of them. As far as being a demon goes. He doesn't mind getting his hands dirty if it means Crowley doesn't have to.

That's why he jumped Down after him, after all. He remembers that now.

And then Armageddon... they decide to work together, officially, to prevent it from happening because they like the earth and don't want to go to war.

Um... what else.... I think Demon Aziraphale runs a tattoo shop instead of a book shop

Um... I think at some point I want Aziraphale to be like, "You're the closest thing to Heaven I'll ever need"

And yeah. Any ideas? Thoughts?