#and they eventually ruined all of the characters

[aboringredmop]

k still don't know how im gonna post the videos (YouTube? unlisted?someone please help) but I can't sleep so I thought it'd write down whatever I remember happening!

(edit: here's the full recording! )

Becky and Joe walked on stage wearing sunglasses and red leather jackets and threw 3 of the trio plushies into the crowd. didn't get one unfortunately but it's really cool some people got free plushies :)

they made this robot child called the Inspiration Child, who's clearly meant to be a nod to ai (can learn from our show and generate it's own content!)

they explained how they met (and had some dodgy animated retelling), and how they started with small projects like commercials and music videos, until they came up with designs of the trio (and a mysterious fourth fella)

they made the designs first, then made the set, then the song and finally wrote the script for creativity. red guy was just a red mop head with legs at first ("alien squid thing") but Joe put the red guy head on for shits and giggles once and Becky thought it was hilarious so they kept it in the show

they were really not expecting it to blow up, and when Sundance called because they wanted to show creativity Becky thought it was a scam caller lol

they talked about the kickstarter and the credit card fraud kid. the mailed him saying "hey maybe dont do that" but the kid didnt know how to undo it cuz he just found a website full of credit card information and went ham, so Becky and Joe had to contact kickstarter because people were pulling out of the funding because they thought the project was overfunded (kickstarter was very difficult to contact)

they also made (lighthearted) fun of nsfw fluffybird art ((no padlock 😔) "using OUR characters to act out their SICK FANTASIES" - Becky) and theorists, especially because most if not all of the webseries is just them fucking around.

Inspiration Child also says something along the lines of "wow what a cool show with a great message of how corrupt the media is. I hate the media!"

Becky and Joe had these rules to make the show as vague as possible (no pop culture references, no names, no swearing and way too much detail put into small things)(the duck guy drag queen absolutely obliterates the no swearing rule lol)

they talk about the pilot, how they focused too much on the story because they felt like they had to due to it being on the big screen now, and how it ended up ruining the atmosphere and such of the pilot. they did show the entire thing sped up but my phone sucks ass so I could not get it to focus correctly. I'll see what I can salvage so you people can dissect frames of your blorbo you're Legally Not Allowed To See (which is also the official reason we don't get the pilot)

also pilot concept art showed that Mean Steve is in fact just called Key

they showed a whole post-it wall full of ideas for the tv show. don't know how much I got on footage, but what stood out most to me were 2 episodes called Money and Christmas. Joe mentioned "clock in a wheelchair" specifically

also really fun fact. Becky made the Lesley suit during covid, and pretty much threatened Baker into writing a human character into the show to wear it. concept art also shows Lesley with a mask made out of the same fabric, don't know if this was part of the original suit tho

they showed Warrens old models (?). he was gonna be a wayy more ugly looking silicone pug-worm thing y'all got lucky with the bald fuck

lily and todney were directly based off of some cancelled show about two porcelain doll children with panda parents. do not for the life of me remember what it was called but Becky and Joe were very enthousiastic about it (UPDATE: Candy and Andy!)

international release of the show soon!

Inspiration Child talks about what he's learned and sings a little song, then generates his own dhmis inspired content of a cult meeting in a forest at night. the dhmis Discord server called this "potential new content" but I doubt it

3 cultists walk on stage, face the screen backs to the crowd, drop their cloaks and boom! drag queens!!!

they were not mentioned on the site or during earlier parts of the show at all so they were a complete surprise. I asked Becky about it later during the night and she said she really wanted them there, so she asked and they were excited to! hope this means more official content with them soon I love them

they dance to There's Three Of Us, then Duck lipsings the shredder song which turns into a techno remix while Red and Yellow dance during the background

then Duck and Yellow make out while Red tries to undress to the instrumentals of the Fucked Up Part of Creativity but can't get out of his suit on time before the song ends

the drag queens, Becky and Joe and the Inspiration Child walk around during the meet and greet later and I got signatures from all of them! except inspiration child he didn't have thumbs

the drag queens were so fucking funny. Duck adopted inspiration child and loudly yelled at everyone to "GET AWAY FROM MY FUCKING CHILD" (their duck voice is sooo good). yellow stood in a corner staring at a wall for like 10 minutes and red was constantly awkwardly hovering just outside the frames of pictures (and also could not see shit lmao)

Becky liked my shirt! (the one with the melting trio heads) said she handdrew it

I'll post the signatures and some more stuff tomorrow because it is. 5 am

edit Heres the signatures! yellow guys is Italian I think? and means hi I love you :)

(the liyskaen is duck trying to spell my name. they got pretty close)

[izzyspussy]

anyway so seasons 1-early 3 mickey is a pessimist with a dash of nihilist (miserable), and because of that ian looks like an optimist verging on idealist to him.

the fact of the matter is that ian is not an optimist and he certainly is not an idealist. he's a little naive, sure, but less than what would be appropriate for his age. he's also not a pessimist or a nihilist (either kind). or a realist or a pragmatist or any of those.

no, ian is quite simply. unfathomably stubborn. and that is all.

he'll get into west point. he's absolutely certain of this. why? because he fucking said so.

he'll have a real relationship with mickey. they are in love and they are going to be together. this is true. how does he know? because. he. fucking. said so.

he doesn't have hope. he doesn't want things. that's pussy shit. there are precisely three types of things in this world: things ian isn't interested in, things ian already has, and things ian will have. that is simply that!

(which is obviously its own very specific mindset and is at least as extreme as pure optimism and pure pessimism, and is almost certainly just another fun little factor when the force of his will alone is not enough to change the reality of an ongoing traumatic event that contributes to the somewhat early onset of his bipolar disorder. but that's tangential.)

now. once again, disclaimer, these characters cease to exist past early season 5 for me, so there's every chance this next bit is exclusive to MY mickey and ian. there's just no way to know ❤️

that said. ian matures into a nihilist (carefree) - and i would say he's here-ish already in season 4, but in a maladaptive way at that stage - and then eventually matures further into a nihilistic (carefree)-leaning pragmatist.

mickey on the other hand - after a period of having no particular mindset of this type of thing at all which in effect amounts to a months-to-a-year long panic attack where his every action is fueled by emotional desperation and he has no solid concept of his own wants, needs, values, or future beyond the ever-present but totally incoherent certainty that he can't live without ian but ian can and will leave him with ease for even the slightest infraction or failure that terrorizes him like a weasel terrorizes a hen in his every waking moment - um. what was i saying.

oh right. mickey on the other hand, after All That, matures first into a sort of quiet idealism (kind of a pendulum swing maybe, but not quite not also progress, iygiygi), and then. into a less naive version of the old ian's way lmao.

there is no "that's how things are/go" or "that's how the world works" or "life is/isn't fair" or any fundamental human nature or any purpose or lack thereof to life or possible and impossible or likely and unlikely or anything else along any of those lines. there are only two types of things in the world: things that don't matter and mickey's next achievement. and that's that, baby!

and then eventually, mick finishes out at a relatively stable and sustainable realist-leaning optimism, heavily informed by romanticism of the Certain Things Are Meant To Be kind. like, he wouldn't necessarily express that or think of it in those terms. and he doesn't think it's a common thing, in fact it's rare and special and he's very lucky, and even if something is like that it still doesn't mean you don't have to put the work in for it to go well and end up Right. and he doesn't believe in a higher power or in Fate quite as such or in the will of the universe or a cosmic balance or anything like that really.

it's just, you know. sometimes. every now and then. there's just this one little thing that will continuously keep trying to happen without any heed to sense or logic or the incredible odds against it. just something in particular that will forever and always find a way to happen.

like say. for example. there's this gay kid, right? and he gets in this fight and he wins and he's about to bring down a tire iron and ruin this other idiot's pretty face and - for no discernible reason whatsoever - he just... doesn't. and maybe he'll think about it half a dozen years later and wonder why. that one tiny little thing that changed his whole fucking life, why did he do that? what was the reason? and there just. isn't one.

and that's not even all. see, these two dumbasses have no idea the other one is gay too, but some-fucking-how they don't have to say a word or even make any opening moves to just Know they want each other. it's like they read each other's fucking minds, even though he knows, he remembers, he didn't sense anything from ian. but for Some Fucking Reason he just never for a second considered ian wouldn't want him, and ian was in perfect time with him. and maybe he'll think back and try to find an explanation for this part too. was there some body language he read? was there some look in ian's eyes? but the answer is no every time.

and then after that, these two gay kids just can't be kept apart. they just can't. and it's not just that they inexplicably can't resist each other either. every time they're separated they find each other again, no matter what. even when they're the ones to separate themselves, situation after coincidence after happenstance after necessity keeps putting them in each other's orbits. secrecy and jealous exes and gun violence and imprisonment and infidelity and a fucking pathological fear of intimacy and conversion therapy and genuine threat to their lives and marriage to someone else and permanent life-altering illness can't break them up. at least not for long.

and then. somehow. SOME fucking how! after all that, and with the absolutely shit chances that they ever even hooked up in the first place, they actually fucking make it? they don't just get to be together, they get to be happy??

so no, he doesn't believe in god or destiny or soulmates or whatever the fuck. but at the same time, i mean. what other explanation is there?

[unripemelons64]

I just pulled off, the wildest move, In Baldur's Gate 3, EVER. This just cements my belief that Astarion is the most OP character in my squad. Hands down, I'm not lying. Bro is carrying my mismanaged team.

But let me start from the beginning. I was doing quests. And it just so happened that I needed to slay some goblin leaders. And me, not liking combat that I know for sure I would lose, and liking to oppose every instruction given, I had to find a roundabout way of killing them.

So i stealth the first one, the second one I needed to keep alive, but that I mostly did normal combat style, since there weren't too many enemies, and I had a fun strategy (Tav, Astarion, Gale as backup and Karlach, as what I like to call the strong characters, the meat shield). Then came... the one. That one bastard that aggros the whole damn goblin settlement.

After a long, long hours of, trying to first use void bulbs to suck him into a hole in the ground, I dropped off some loot to other characters, grabbed some explosive barrels from another room, painfully slowly dragged them over and set them around, then climbed back to the rafters and finally blew him up and teleported away before they could aggro on me. And it worked.

But, people who play this game, from what I've seen, know this tactic. It's standard, so that's not the crazy part. It's what happens after

Because you see... I forgot that I left the druid that I needed there. In the basement. With a horde of angry goblins waiting for me. (No seriously, who made that ruins? Who made the goblins so hard to beat? I'M ON NORMAL DIFFICULTY DAMMIT-)

Anyway, yeah, I kinda had to get back in. But you know, I'm not fighting all of them, because it's not fun (I'll get their asses once my party has higher level, you'll see…) Thankfully, I quite like stealth, so that would be fun! And fun it was! (And I don't feel bad about save scumming. They gave me the save button, so I will use it!) I made Shadowheart give Astarion a bonus sneak buff and sent my boy off. Also thankfully, my perfectionist collector brain made me explore most of the place, so I knew how to get around. I question how the goblins didn't hear the grown man jump down with the loudest thud known to man, but I'll take it. Eventually he ended up over the main door, so I went in... ... Yes, I opened the door from above. Game logic lol-

The real fun began inside. Because it was literally Astarion walking in, and every goblin in a nine-mile radius collectively turning their heads at the same time. I'm sorry, my boy, but I think there was no sneaking out of this one... But you underestimate how much I didn't want to deal with combat and sneaking the whole party past too, so I made him run for it-

Normally, he wouldn't get there. I ran out of potions at the end, and one hit, and he would be d.e.d. But you see, while exploring while the goblins were still calm, I found ~a secret tunnel~ So there was a horde of goblins, and Astarion was just dashing and dodging while chugging down health potions. He was LITERALLY ONE HIT POINT from dying :p But he made it! It looked comical, and he was pissed that he was hurt, but Astarion, your deeds will never be forgotten. Without you, my team would be a bit more crap than it is now. You carry everyone's dumb asses.

I imagine he came back looking like those Minecraft players full of arrows. I healed him, but my game might have glitched, and so he's now just permanently stuck in the pained pose. We understand Astarion, you break your back for us.

I let him carry all the party's gold from now on.

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Two

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter Two: History

Word Count: 3,524

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daella’s world begins to unravel as secrets from her past come to light, forcing her to confront hard truths. As tensions rise and alliances are tested, she finds herself caught between the safety she’s known and the dangerous future that awaits.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

Daella of King's Landing

The soft murmur of voices tugged at the edge of Daella’s consciousness, pulling her from the grip of a restless sleep. She blinked, the dim light of dawn seeping through the heavy drapes, casting long shadows that cloaked the figures at the far end of the room. Rosalie and Ser Harwin stood close, their faces drawn with worry, the tension between them thick enough to cut.

"He saw her, Rose," Ser Harwin muttered, his voice low and heavy with anxiety. His pacing was restless, his boots making only the faintest whisper against the stone floor. "He knows her name. She can't stay here. It's too dangerous."

"And where would you have me send her?" Rosalie shot back, her voice trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. "She's just a child, Harwin. No title, no lands, no parents—nothing that would warrant a good match with someone worthy, let alone one that would keep her safe."

Daella kept her eyes half-closed, feigning sleep, watching them both through her lashes. Rosalie's appearance was far from her usual pristine self—her strawberry-blonde hair, usually perfectly styled, hung loose and dishevelled, framing her face in a way that made her seem younger, almost fragile. Her pale pink robe, a stark contrast to the confident woman Daella knew, hung loosely on her slender frame. The vibrant green of her eyes seemed duller today, weighed down by worry as she glanced at Daella and whispered, "We are all she has."

Harwin stopped pacing, his expression softening as he pleaded, "Let me take her to Harrenhal. She’d be safe there. Daemon’s already asked if Daella was mine; it could work. Alys wouldn’t begrudge taking care of another child."

Rosalie rolled her eyes, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "I will not let her be raised in a haunted castle with no roof, by a witch!" Her words cut like a knife, and Daella saw Harwin flinch, his jaw tightening at the mention of his ancestral home. Harrenhal’s reputation was well-known—a once-grand fortress now reduced to ruins by dragonfire, a place of whispers and ghosts. Yet, the tales had always intrigued her. She often dreamed of walking its crumbling halls, feeling the history beneath her feet.

Harwin’s voice was softer now, tinged with resignation. "I promised Elyse I’d look after her. She’s my responsibility."

Rosalie stepped closer, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "We both made that promise, Harwin. She’s as much my responsibility as yours." She glanced at Daella, her gaze tender. "Besides, you have responsibilities elsewhere. Daemon will soon return to whatever hole he crawled out of and forget he ever saw her. Daella doesn’t matter to him. Stop worrying, Harwin."

Daella stifled a yawn as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, the room coming into clearer focus. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog. Ser Harwin was leaning against the wall near the door, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of worry, while Rosalie moved toward Daella, her expression softening into something more familiar.

"What time is it?" Daella asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"It’s time to get up, my dear," Rosalie replied, her voice gentle as she brushed a strand of hair out of Daella’s face, tucking it behind her ear. One of the few vivid memories Daella had of her mother was how she used to play with her hair—brushing, braiding, and twisting it with oils she had or could borrow. Rosalie had taken it upon herself to continue that tradition. Every month, without fail, she applied some kind of oil to Daella’s hair, just as her mother had done. It smelled awful and looked even worse, but Rosalie insisted it was necessary to keep the hair manageable. She always said the women upstairs used it too and that Daella should be thankful they let her borrow it.

"Is Ser Harwin staying to eat with us?" Daella asked, her voice bright with hope as she slid out of bed, the cool stone floor jolting her fully awake.

Harwin offered her a small, wry smile. "I’m afraid not, little one. I’ve been summoned to explain why I’m missing a helmet from my uniform." He winked, then turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

As he left, the door closing softly behind him, the room seemed quieter, but the tension still lingered like a shadow. Rosalie sighed, her eyes following him before turning back to Daella with a forced smile.

"Come now," she said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Let’s get this mane of yours under control."

The sun was high in the sky as Rosalie and Daella walked through the bustling streets. Rosalie rarely took her with her when she went to pick up supplies for the brothel, but after the events of the other night, she seemed unwilling to let Daella out of her sight. Although Daella wasn’t sure why, it seemed that the encounter with Prince Daemon had been blown out of proportion.

"Did you hear what I said, Daella?" Rosalie’s voice cut through her thoughts as she tugged on her arm.

"What? Sorry," Daella replied quickly, snapping back to attention. Rosalie shook her head and pointed at the stall in front of them.

"I asked what you wanted for dinner," she said, motioning to the grey-haired man behind the stall, who was eyeing Daella with mild curiosity. "Fish or pork?"

Daella cocked her head to one side, considering the options. "Pork, I think. Can I look at the stalls?"

"Of course." Daella was already walking away when she heard Rosalie call out after her, "But stay close and keep your hands to yourself!"

The main thoroughfare was alive with activity, the stalls crammed together as if every inch of space were valuable. The royal family’s carriages occasionally rolled down this road, though how they managed it, Daella couldn’t understand. The road was barely wide enough for the throngs of people, let alone carriages. But in the warmer seasons, everyone seemed happier, more willing to spend their hard-earned coin, even if the prices only dropped by a copper or two. A bargain was still a bargain, after all.

As Daella wandered past the colorful stalls, something shiny caught her eye on one of the tables ahead. She approached the old woman manning the stall, her gaze dropping to the jewelry laid out on a soft red cloth—silver rings, gold bracelets, and gems in vibrant hues of red, green, and blue. One piece, in particular, stood out—a necklace half-hidden in a pile, its color darker and more mysterious than anything else around it.

"What is that? It’s beautiful," Daella asked, pointing to the necklace.

The woman pulled it from the pile, the red and black gems glinting in the sunlight. From this angle, the metal appeared silver, though it had looked almost black before. She placed it in front of Daella with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s too expensive for you, my dear."

"I asked what it was, not how much it is," Daella retorted stiffly, turning away with a flick of her hair. She marched off, her braid whipping behind her as she left the old woman to her trinkets.

Continuing down the row of stalls, Daella stopped at a long table covered in books. She picked one up, thumbing through the pages, pausing every so often to trace the inked drawings. The words were a mystery to her, but the pictures told their own stories.

"Ten Thousand Ships," a strong voice said from behind her, startling Daella into slamming the book shut. "Nymeria was certainly a force of nature."

She spun around, nearly colliding with the body bent over her shoulder. Stepping back, Daella looked up into the familiar face of Prince Daemon Targaryen, his silver hair catching the light, his purple eyes fixed on her.

"Who’s Nymeria?" Daella asked, looking down at the book in her hands.

"You should know, you’ve been reading her book," he replied, his brow furrowing as if puzzled by her question.

"I was only looking at the pictures. The words don’t make any sense," Daella admitted, dropping her gaze to the ground, embarrassed.

"You can’t read, can you?" Daemon’s voice held a note of concern, his confusion deepening. It wasn’t uncommon for girls like her to be unable to read—there was no need to learn—but she supposed all noble children were taught from a young age.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I never needed to learn. Rosalie can, I think."

Daemon’s gaze softened as he studied her, as if trying to solve a puzzle. The silence between them grew awkward and heavy.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" His face wrinkled in annoyance as he looked through the crowd. "I thought my instructions were clear."

"Rosalie and I came out to buy things for dinner. I’m sure she’s around somewhere. She told me not to go far and not to touch anything," Daella said, rising onto her tiptoes to see if she could spot Rosalie in the crowd.

"It seems you’ve broken more than one rule today, little princess," Daemon chuckled, his voice a mixture of amusement and reprimand. He tapped the book cradled in Daella’s arms before reaching into his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, a shiny coin sailed through the air, landing with a clink in the hand of the man behind the table. Swiftly, Daemon tucked the book under one arm and scooped Daella up with the other, pressing her securely against his side.

From this new height, everything seemed so different, so far away. Daemon was tall, taller than Ser Harwin by a good measure. As they retraced Daella’s steps through the crowded streets, she couldn’t resist sticking her tongue out at the jewelry seller who had scolded her earlier. The woman scowled, but it only made Daemon chuckle more, his amusement vibrating through his chest and into Daella.

His silver hair brushed against her cheek as they walked, soft and almost silken. Unable to resist, Daella reached up to play with the ends, marveling at how much softer they felt than her own tangled locks. Softer even than Rosalie’s. Her fingers moved further up, the urge to braid his hair growing irresistible. Carefully, she began to weave a few strands at the base of his neck.

"What are you doing?" Daemon asked, his voice tinged with amusement, though softer now, as if they shared a secret.

"Braiding your hair," Daella replied, her focus wholly on the task at hand, too absorbed to glance up at his face.

"And why is that?" he queried, the hint of a smile in his tone. He sounded different from the stern man she’d met before. Kinder, perhaps. Or maybe just in a better mood.

"Because your hair is soft and pretty. It's prettier than mine, so I think it deserves a braid," Daella answered honestly, her small fingers working diligently. Daemon’s sudden bark of laughter startled her, and she nearly dropped the braid. Determined, she quickly resumed her work, not wanting to ruin the neatness she’d managed. The thin braid she’d fashioned was barely noticeable, hidden among the silver strands as it disappeared beneath his doublet. A small smile tugged at her lips at the thought that he might leave it there, a secret only they would know.

As they turned into a familiar street, Daella’s surroundings snapped her back to reality. "Are you taking me home?" she asked, a thread of apprehension weaving through her voice.

"I am," Daemon’s tone shifted, stern and unyielding. His gaze fixed ahead on the building in front of them. "I’m taking you home, and then I’m going to have a word with your mother." With one fluid motion, he set Daella down on the ground before pushing open the side door to the brothel. The darkness inside suggested that Rosalie had yet to return from the markets.

The room was silent as Daella kicked off her boots and dropped them by the bed. A sudden thought occurred to her. "How did you know where I live?"

Daemon sighed, moving to light a torch on the wall. "King’s Landing may change in many ways, but its bones remain the same. I frequented this place often when I was younger. My brother, too, though he stopped coming after he married Aemma. I’ve only returned once since her passing."

"Oh," Daella murmured, glancing down at the dusty floor. "I’m sorry."

"There’s no need for apologies, sweet girl," Daemon said gently, placing the book on the table before sinking into one of the creaking wooden chairs. "Now, enough of such dreary topics. How about I tell you the tale of Princess Nymeria and her ten thousand ships?"

Daemon’s storytelling must have lulled Daella to sleep, for when she next opened her eyes, the room was bathed in the soft light of the rising moon. She glanced around, searching for any sign that Rosalie had returned, but the room was empty save for the figure slumped at the foot of her bed. Daemon was still there, snoring softly, his back against the footboard, one leg stretched out, the other bent at an angle, his chin resting on his chest.

A mischievous thought struck Daella, and she quietly leaned over the edge of the bed, retrieving one of her black shoes. Taking careful aim, she threw it at Daemon, quickly lying back down and squeezing her eyes shut, feigning sleep.

"I saw that," Daemon’s laughter rumbled through the room, causing a giggle to escape Daella’s lips.

Their laughter was abruptly cut short by the sound of a voice outside the door. Daemon’s expression turned serious as he moved swiftly, positioning himself behind the door, out of view. He pressed a finger to his lips in silent command, drawing his sword with a quiet hiss. Understanding his signal, Daella bundled herself under the blanket, pretending to be asleep.

"Oh, thank the gods," Rosalie’s voice was filled with relief as she rushed through the door, nearly tripping over her skirts in her haste. But before she could reach Daella’s bed, Daemon kicked the door shut with a resounding thud, causing her to whirl around in shock.

"The gods had little to do with it," Daemon said, his voice low as he sheathed his sword and moved past her, reclaiming his seat at the table.

Rosalie’s relief quickly morphed into anger as she turned to face Daemon, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What are you doing here, Daemon?" she demanded, her tone sharp and devoid of any honorifics.

"You forget yourself, Rosalie," Daemon replied, rising from the chair with a deliberate slowness that made his height and presence all the more imposing. He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword, the gesture unmistakably threatening.

Rosalie’s face paled as she backed away, her movements cautious as she made her way around the bed. Her hand brushed against Daella’s hair, smoothing it back from her face as she glanced down at her, her expression a mix of worry and resolve.

"Why are you here, my prince?" Rosalie’s voice was strained, her teeth clenched as she forced out the words.

"Much better," Daemon mocked, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he tilted his head slightly, regarding her with an air of superiority. "I am here because I found Daella wandering the streets. Alone. Again."

"So you decided to kidnap her?" Rosalie snapped, her voice barely concealing the fury simmering beneath the surface.

"I didn’t kidnap her, Rosalie," Daemon corrected with a sigh, shaking his head as if dealing with a particularly stubborn child. "I brought her home. To you and her mother." He paused, his eyes scanning the room before landing back on Rosalie. "Where is Elyse?"

The mention of Daella’s mother sent a jolt of confusion through her. How could he speak of her as if he knew her? Daella’s mother had been gone for years, long before she could remember.

"Why would you think she’s Elyse’s?" Rosalie asked, her voice wavering slightly as she positioned herself between Daemon and Daella, her stance protective.

"It’s not hard to see," Daemon said, pacing slowly, his eyes never leaving Rosalie. "Daella looks exactly like her. Now, where is she? I wish to speak with her." His voice took on a taunting lilt as he called out, "Eeelyyyse, come out, come out, wherever you are."

Rosalie flinched at his words, her eyes darting toward Daella briefly, a flash of pain crossing her features before she forced her expression back to neutrality. "Stop that! You’ll wake the girl," Rosalie scolded, her voice tight with barely suppressed anger. "Elyse died two years ago."

Daemon froze mid-step, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. A storm of emotions played across his face before he spun around, striding toward Rosalie with an intensity that made the air in the room feel charged. He reached her in two long steps, his hands seizing her arms with a grip that made Rosalie wince. He pinned her against the foot of the bed, his face inches from hers, his voice low and dangerous.

"How old is she? Is she mine?" he growled, his eyes burning with a mixture of fury and desperation.

The sudden violence jolted Daella out of her daze. She bolted upright, heart pounding in her chest, eyes wide as she took in the scene unfolding before her. Everything felt wrong, twisted, as if the world had been upended. The warmth that once surrounded her was gone, replaced by an icy dread that crept into her bones. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. She didn’t have a father—never had, never needed one. The words echoed in her mind, over and over. Rosalie and Harwin were all she’d ever known.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Rosalie spat, her voice laced with both defiance and fear as she struggled to pry Daemon’s hands off her arms. "Why does it even matter?"

Daemon’s eyes flickered with something dark and dangerous, a shadow that threatened to consume everything in its path. His grip loosened for a moment, only to tighten again as his hands slid up to Rosalie’s throat. His fingers flexed, pressing into her skin as he leaned closer, his breath hot and menacing against her face. "I will not ask again, Rosalie," he whispered, his voice now a lethal calm. "Is. She. Mine?"

The room seemed to shrink around Daella as she watched in horror. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one catching in her throat as the realization began to dawn. Daemon’s face twisted into a cruel sneer as Rosalie, trembling under his grip, finally gave a small, defeated nod.

Everything shattered. The world Daella knew crumbled into dust as the truth—a truth she had never even considered—crashed over her like a wave of ice. She had never thought much about having a father and never needed to. Rosalie had always been there for her, nurturing her, comforting her when she was sick, and celebrating her namedays with whatever small gifts she could find. And there was Ser Harwin—strong, dependable Harwin, who had always been like a father to her. But now, everything was uncertain.

She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t face this—whatever this was. Before Daella knew it, her feet were moving, driven by a desperate need to escape. She leaped from the bed and bolted for the door, not bothering with her robe, a jacket, or even her shoes. The cold night air bit into her skin as she tore through the streets, the sounds of the city barely registering in her mind.

She had to find Ser Harwin. He would know what to do. He would take her away like he had wanted to. The streets blurred as Daella ran, the cobblestones rough and unforgiving under her bare feet. She didn’t care. She needed to reach the guard tower, to feel safe again. But as she rounded the next corner, she skidded to a halt, her breath catching in her throat.

A group of men blocked her path, their laughter dying as they noticed her. Their eyes raked over her, taking in her disheveled hair, the thin nightdress clinging to her skin, her torn and bloodied feet, and the panic in her eyes. One of them, his face marred by pockmarks and a leering grin, stepped forward, his gaze predatory.

"Well, look what we have here," he drawled, his voice thick with malicious glee. "The gods must be smiling on us tonight, lads."

"And what a pretty little thing she is," another man sneered, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that sent a shiver of pure terror down Daella’s spine. "Just the sight of her is making my cock twitch."

Fear clawed at Daella’s insides as the men began to close in, their intentions clear. She stumbled back, her heart hammering in her chest, her mind racing to find an escape. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She was trapped, and the darkness pressed in around her, suffocating, as she faced the monsters that lurked in the night.

[peachyfnaf]

If you could say something to all TSAMS characters, what would you say?

WHOOH boy, that's a fuckin' question and a half, ain't it? i'm prolly gonna piss some people off with this, let's see... i kidnapped most of these characters from polaris' list lol

So I don't go off on tangents for each of em, i'm gonna try to limit myself to 1-3 sentences

Sun: You've been through a lot, haven't you? Find something to do in life, something that you love because you want to, not something that you love out of obligation or programming. You're smarter and stronger than you think, stop being held back by the past.

Old Moon: You have not changed as much as you think you have- you still have some very toxic and abusive behaviors. You are not irredeemable, but you are deeply flawed. Take time, work on yourself, and understand that while making up for your past might be impossible; it's not impossible for you to carve out a future where you and those you love are happy.

New Moon/Nexus: Oh, you poor thing, what happened to you? You fucked up, but you didn't deserve the hand you were given in life, no one in your position would. Please, let yourself feel again- the pain of losing it all- only then will you be able to come back out the other side ready to love again.

Earth: As you've grown and experienced life, you've become very immature. This isn't directly a bad thing, but it contrasts with what you try to be, and makes you an unreliable person to go to with mental health struggles. Don't take life so personally, and push a little bit harder, there's no need to be so soft on people who reject help who clearly need it.

Lunar: I am BEGGING you to show some vulnerability. I know it's genuinely so fucking hard after all you've been through, but if you keep acting like you're okay after every loss then eventually you'll become a shell of a man. ...And also, respectfully, humble yourself- you are incredible, but you are not the main character.

Solar: Take a break. Please, for the sake of yourself and everyone you care about, take a break. You can't save anyone if you yourself are dying- and the people you are trying to reach won't extend their hand to a dying man. Take a break.

Eclipse (V4 Specifically): ...What can I even say to you other than that I am so incredibly proud of you. And that I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for everything you went through, being compared to someone you're not. I wish people would leave you alone, as you so desperately want to be, you more than deserve that peace.

Bloodmoon: You're a lot more put together than people give you credit for. I'm sorry you were made the way you were, with the inability to live life without being consumed by your urges. You were born a monster, and no one gave you the proper chance to become anything but one.

Ruin: I'm sorry to say this, I really am, but even though the life you lived was horrid and tragic, that gives you no right to end billions of innocent lives in your quest for justice and revenge. You have my sympathies for the trauma you experienced, but my sympathies end there. Everything you experience after the massacre you pulled is your victims coming to bite you in the ass.

Jack: I love you, so much- I love you for trying as hard as you do. Remember, it's okay to say no. You are still growing and have a lot of it to do, be kind to yourself when you make mistakes.

Dazzle: Sweet girl, the most precious thing. Never change who you are, you are literally the shining star in the darkness that is this world. Never forget how much you are loved, for it is more than you could ever know.

The Creator: No matter how many machines you build, what scientific discoveries you make, how much progress you offer to humanity, you will always be alone. No one will ever love you, and it's all your fault. Remember that when you die alone, old man.

Monty: Your violence is not funny, at least not at the severity of which you do it. You lying to your girlfriend is not funny. Do better or fuck off.

Foxy: You try so hard, and I appreciate it, but learn that there are some things that you can not fix, and some places where you shouldn't stick your nose in. It's okay to be "a rubber duck", it's okay to be normal. Stop trying to be something you're not and embrace what you can.

F.C: I love you so much kid. You're a bit wild and off your rocker, but you've also shown so much unexpected maturity. Stop growing up so fast, yeah?

Puppet: I can appreciate all that you try to do, but please, understand that you acknowledging that you make mistakes does not nullify them. You have been hypocritical time and time again, and you need to learn and grow from those experiences, not just brush them off. You are capable of great things- just learn to do them.

AND THATS EVERYONE. YIPPEE. im gonna go eat shrimp now lol

[missholoska]

aimless shenanigans ft. the underswap ghost cousins ✨

ran out of motivation for the second part but I had to draw how pom pom (ruins dummy) ragdolls to sleep when annoyed/bored:

[deva-arts]

zomg... the girls! Sketched out! And a few characters I never showed designs for! haha! I keep thinking about the beach, so this is their swimwear.

I hope to make a full fledged drawing for all of them soon~ then the guys~~

Some newbies are: Aura (blue!) Katya (Gold!) and more of Verra (Green!) We'll eventually see more about them as I draw more things and doodles.

[stromuprisahat]

TW RAPE MENTION AND NAZI IMAGERY

What I would have done with Fjerda instead of Helnik(scornful): we start on a smiling blond-haired blue-eyed family man, let's call him Alfred, who kissed his wife and children good morning and was the picture of classic paterfamilias at the breakfast table. He leaves to his 'lumber mill' management job. He gathers his workers, has morning prayers, and enters his office where he reviews paperwork on today's fresh 'logs'. He goes to the collection room, picks out a young blond Grisha for himself before telling his men what to do with the rest.

After the deed is done he continues working, observing a room of emaciated Fabrikators working on a tank. We see one guard nudge a skeletal young woman slumped over her table, declare her dead and carts her away to the incinerator. He comes home, kisses his wife and hugs his children and goes to sleep soundly.

The horrific is routine.

That's too obviously Nazi. Better to keep it in hints and put a lovely romance that will miraculously fix him.

Or outright describe drugging breeding factory, and pretend killing some of their staff and showing the victims to inhabitants of nearby town will earn a wave or righteous indignation for their sake and turn the population into Jew Grisha worshippers of Living Saints.

A girl who couldn’t be more than sixteen was being walked up and down the length of the corridor by a Springmaiden. Her feet were bare and she wore a light gray gown that stretched over her jutting belly. “I can’t,” she moaned. She looked unspeakably frail, the thrust of her stomach at odds with the sharp knobs and angles of her bones. “You can,” said the Springmaiden, her voice firm as she led the girl by her elbow. “She needs to eat,” said another of the women from the convent. “Skipped her breakfast.” The Springmaiden tsked. “You know you aren’t to do that.” “I’m not hungry,” panted the girl between heavy breaths. “We can either walk to help the baby come or I can sit you down for some semla. The sugar will give you energy during the birth.” The girl began to cry. “I don’t need sugar. You know what I need.” A tremor passed through Nina as understanding came. She recognized that desperation, that deep hunger that sank its teeth into you until all you were was wanting. She knew the need that turned everything you’d ever cared for—friends, food, love—to ash, until all you could remember of yourself was the desire for the drug. The wasted body, the dark hollows beneath her eyes—this girl was addicted to parem. And that meant she must be Grisha. Nina peered down the row of beds at the women and girls. The youngest looked to be about fifteen, the oldest might have been in her thirties, but the ravages of the drug made it hard to tell. Some cradled small bumps beneath their thin blankets, others hunched over high, protruding stomachs. A few might not have been pregnant—or might not have been showing yet.

King of Scars- Chapter 18

Just don't kill the guy behind all this no matter how many chances you'll get, because he's your new LI's daddy, and he DOES love his child (as long as he doesn't know they're Grisha too).

Save some mercy for my people my ass. Dying wish or not, it shouldn't extend to the likes of Jarl Brum.

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

All things considered Lúthien was an exceptional girlfriend.

[stergeon]

at some point i will figure out how to write the post-canon, post-empire edelgard autonomy fic of my dreams. it just feels like a very big task and maybe like with playing the dane, i’m simply not old and traumatized enough to manage it yet.

but my vision is thus: it’s set years (realistically, decades) after the end of crimson flower, when everything has gone as right as it can possibly go. fódlan is thriving. the social reforms have taken effect. the nobility system is nearly eliminated, if not entirely so, with titles made merely symbolic. social mobility, welfare, and prosperity are high. there’s an explosion in arts and culture and technology. brigid and duscur have gained independence; relations with sreng and almyra are much improved; heck, maybe they've even figured it out with dagda. in my most idealistic version, leicester and faerghus would eventually be ceded back to become autonomous regions, essentially disbanding the adrestian empire. rule is no longer hereditary, but merit-based. there's a roadmap for the future, and everything is on track—and more than that, people at all points on the power spectrum have already seen it bear fruit. with or without edelgard, it will be pursued. there's buy-in. they believe.

of course, it's not perfect—nothing can be—but edelgard's vision has been fulfilled. the people are empowered. humanity is free. fódlan has healed.

and somehow, she's had enough time to resolve her goals outside of politics, too. those who slither in the dark have been eradicated. edelgard and lysithea's second crests have been successfully removed, allowing them to live if not full lives, then substantially longer ones than they would have with their twin crests intact. who knows—maybe she finally gets around to having that wedding.

point for point, every item listed in edelgard's manifesto has been checked off. the ghosts of her past have been laid to rest. she can finally take off her crown. she can finally pursue the quiet, humble life she's wanted for so long. she can finally breathe.

... but can she?

edelgard is nothing if not driven. her intelligence, vision, and sheer willpower allowed her to plan and execute a revolution against two countries and the most powerful institution on the continent, all while she was still a teenager. as royalty, her life was never truly hers even before she became heir to the adrestian throne, with all the additional baggage of survivor's guilt and the desire for vengeance and her need to ensure nothing that happened to her can ever happen to anyone else, ever again.

so what happens when that drive has no outlet? what happens when someone who has been constantly in motion, constantly working and planning and preparing every spare second of every day since she was fourteen years old, suddenly has to stand still? what happens when someone whose hands have been bound for so long—first literally in the dungeons of enbarr, then by the weight and responsibilities of her crown—is set free?

being edelgard, she would step away from the throne, no matter how hard it was for her to give up control. she's always been focused on the endgame, and she knows that if she doesn't let go, she'll be setting the wrong tone for fódlan's future. she's too devoted to that endgame to cling to power much longer than she needs to, though i could see her making some excuses and trying to iron out just a few more things to buy herself some more time to mentally prepare before she's done for good.

but who would she be then? who is the woman without the crown? what becomes of a machine once it is no longer needed, when it has made itself obsolete? what about when that machine is a person with legs and arms and an innate unwillingness to gather dust on a shelf?

what happens when you get everything you want? what happens when all your wanting has been for others to thrive, and now you have to want only for yourself? how do you discover who you are when you've spent decades being everything for everyone else? how do you find meaning again? how do you find purpose?

after a lifetime of devotion and passion and movement, how do you learn to sit with yourself, and be quiet, and be still?

gosh, i would love to meet her. i would love to pick her brain. but boy, i do not envy the work that girl has to do.

[sskk-manifesto]

!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[rawliverandgoronspice]

alright new totk headcanon: ganondorf did try to put gloom everywhere when he woke up as a mummy, but rauru is actually the one who caused the upheaval to put every single chance behind link in his fight against ganondorf

[lloydfrontera]

i think it fucks immensely that bk moon went out of his way to 1) establish rakiel wished to live a long life and eventually pass away of old age, 2) have him very briefly envy an immortal being only to be told very clearly to be careful what he wishes for by that very same person because living forever isn't all it's cracked up to be, 3) make the main antagonist be another immortal being who is so desperate to die he's willing to destroy the universe just to finally rest and 4) have said antagonist psychologically torture rakiel with the threat of making him live for a thousand years as everyone he loves and knows eventually grows old and dies and becomes nothing but forgotten memories.

only to then end the novel by making rakiel also immortal

like. god. it's so fucking good i love it. i'm not being sarcastic i genuinely think it fucks and it's one of the best ways bk moon could've wrapped up the plot.

it's a happy ending by all means but it has consequences and through the entire novel we've been shown and told over and over again just how heavy the consequences are and/or will be on rakiel.

he got his happy ending but it was at a price and by the last time we see him he's only just starting to pay for it.

it's great i love it

[designernishiki]

just a thought but like. if akiyama, who’s established as being a bizarrely talented investigator in y5, suspected kiryu’s death to have been faked (or at least “fishy” in his own words) basically on the fucking Spot, i feel like it just makes sense that majima would’ve been just as quick, if not quicker to see where shit wasn’t adding up and become skeptical that the whole thing was a coverup. reason being, in y5 he put shit together and figured out the grand scheme going on so damn early most people didn’t even suspect yet that there was any scheme going on. he then faked his own death well enough to get it in the papers and had masterminded himself all the way to the final boss (with some help of course) before things backfired on him. so he’s got some crazy good skills when it comes to reading people, figuring out their intentions, putting puzzle pieces together, etc– way better than he wants people knowing, generally– and he knows the hallmark signs of a faked death because he’s literally done it before. all that on top of knowing kiryu like the back of his hand and knowing damn well how hard this man is to kill, and how prone to running away from shit for the sake of the safety of people he cares about (for better or for worse) he is. he could absolutely put together that, if given the opportunity by some faction or powerful individual, kiryu would sacrifice his identity and status as a legit living person for the assured safety of others, or for yakuza tensions to diminish, or maybe even as an act of self-flagellation.

tldr: I think the reasons majima didn’t go rogue/apeshit after kiryu’s alleged death are that A) for once he has saejima around to reign him in and make it feel less like Everything has been lost, B) I think he’s legitimately known pretty much all along that kiryu didn’t die that day; nor would he believe it unless he saw it with his own eye.

[magistralucis]

Still can't get over Djoseras's character arc. Heroically tragic, morally invalidated - structurally genius, since we rediscover him at the same speed Oltyx does, layer by layer as he peels his deceptions away. There is something deeply unhinged about the way Djoseras saw life while he himself was alive, in a way the standard necron contempt towards organics can't match.

He's merciless. He's loving. He's a rival, he's a mentor, he's untrustworthy. He's the best brother Oltyx could have had. He's a mirror for princes. Most of what he says is wrong, because he does not know better, or a lie, because his princehood is an unwilling burden and has become a fundamental dishonesty. He's a terrible DJ. His best friend was his enemy. Spiritually he has joined his brother in exile, setting himself apart in the landscape closest to Sedh their crownworld has to offer. His malice is almost entirely in Oltyx's imagination. He wasn't thinking about how wrong he was about everything 'since [he and Oltyx] spoke in the desert'. He's actually been thinking about it since Oltyx got exiled, spending hundreds of years carving apologies upon his own soldiers. They're even less capable of protesting whatever he brings upon them than they would have as necrontyr. They're not the people he destroyed, and not the people who can grant him forgiveness. If they could throw aside their hierachies and see one another person-to-person, they wouldn't owe him a damn thing, and he knows that and it kills him which is just as well because Oltyx killed him too.

His best-lived self belonged entirely to Oltyx. And Oltyx forgot about him, twisted the memories into something he was not, and he locked Djoseras away where neither he nor his elder brother could reach until it was too late. (Though the moral teachings kept leaking out, like pus from a wound.) Djoseras was already dead from the moment we saw him in the desert. In a way, he too is a 'twice-dead king', except he never wished to be a king and so he just keeps dying and dying until there's nothing more of him left to die. But they're necrons. They're all dead. They don't change, they never come back, only Oltyx can come back and not in a form commonly acknowledged as necron. Djoseras would've had a hard time without being as inflexible as he was, but that was the path he chose and broke like iron he did. There are not enough tears in the world

[sonknuxadow]

sorry but i hate how weird people are about disabled characters and making stories/aus where a character becomes disabled . why do you only ever want to include disability in your stories to use it for horror or angst fuel…. why cant disabled characters just exist without it being labelled as a tragedy