#and. well. i shan't say the rest.

[meyerlansky]

anyway i DO want roman to be the one who takes "if i don't do this i might die" seriously

and after he has his little mourning period with Gerri Drinks etc realizes what that means and has an Oh Fuck moment

then breaks into kendall's penthouse apartment MID OVERDOSE

and then roman gets to save kendall for once

[vulpinesaint]

all you need is love <3 that and THE HUNT.

[lonepower]

you know what. I'll say it. i know i would hate it tonally but cringe is dead and goddamn it i Like the hazbin hotel style! i think it's cute! i Did have a sketchbook full of object head bill cipher drawings at age 17 but that's probably irrelevant

[softgrungeprophet]

bummer that adhd meds aren't a magic bullet for ALL the problems (like memory or object permanence or coordination) but i appreciate what they do help with... the focus boost and the fact that it helps me feel marginally less tired all the time is nice.

it also kind of made it super obvious just how much i struggle with the thought process required for writing plots and stuff. not that vyvanse makes it suddenly way easier or more obvious or something but more like there's an element of clarity that allows me to work through the puzzles and tangles i've set up for myself a little faster and with more purpose when i'm writing. it's like, a very microscopic difference where the process is largely identical but a little bit less opaque overall... which i think is mostly noticeable after the fact as evidenced by the metric fuckton of words i've posted since 2022 lmfaooo

[fruitsclipper]

i dont go here (projmoon) but why are ppl so mad about ishy in a wetsuit. Its hot you are all just cowards

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

“Charles doesn’t know enough about Edwin to pick him over Heaven”— to you. To me Charles and Edwin are soul mates. Always have been.

Edwin is kind and smart and beautiful and literally just escaped hell, and for some reason he decided to stay with Charles to make him feel safe and comfortable as he took his dying breaths. He even makes him laugh. This little back and forth banter from episode seven kills me every time:

“That is brills. Why don't you fall through the floor?” “There are many, many so-called ghost rules. I shan't waste your time listing them.” “Only asked about the floor, didn’t I?” “Because I choose not to fall through the floor. Happy?”

And then they’re laughing. Even though the moment is so heavy, they’re laughing together. They’ve already got such a warm connection I’m unwell—

Okay. So Edwin keeping him safe and comfortable and even laughing was more than anyone in his life ever bothered to try and do for Charles. His dad “beat the shit out of him”. His own friends turned on him and killed him.

Now compare those relationships to Edwin. What isn’t there for Charles to love about Edwin? Edwin gave everything Charles was missing: companionship, kindness, a space to feel safe in while he was slipping away, and in that moment it was a very real risk for Edwin to do so. What if he got dragged back to Hell? That wasn’t Edwin’s first priority though. His first thought was “I cannot let this boy die scared and alone like I did.” He promises he won’t hurt him. He stays with him and talks to him and reads to him. He makes sure nothing about the ordeal is anywhere near as awful as it was for him. He’s a kind of gentle Charles has never had before. He feels safe in a way that Charles probably cherishes. I wonder if he’s the first safe person Charles has ever had in his entire… well, afterlife.

So of course Charles decided to stay with Edwin. You can’t tell me that Edwin is just a convenient way for Charles to put off moving on. If that was all it was, he could have haunted anywhere. He could have left shortly after picking a few things up from Edwin. But Charles decided to stick with Edwin. They have forever to figure out the what the rest means. But not for nothing, Charles did choose Edwin.

I’m so normal about this (she says, getting progressively less normal about this)

[lovesickeros]

☆ glimpse of divinity

{☆} characters lyney, neuvillette [ separate ] {☆} notes cult au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 0.8k

× neuvillette

The first time he sees you strolling the streets of Fontaine with a glint of wonder in your eyes, he thinks he must have finally lost it. He has to rub his eyes and check a few dozen times before he's certain that you are, in fact, real and not some figment of his imagination conjured by a lack of sleep and overdose on caffeine.

..Though now that he gets a better look, it's not quite the same. Like a smudged painting, he thinks. Still, the uncanny resemblance to the visage of the Divine One has him lingering around the area just to stare a little longer, a deep, devoted sense of affection bristling beneath his skin.

And then you turn sharply on your heel, staring directly back at him, and he feels a sudden wave of embarrassment and something akin to shame.

Archons, he'd just made a fool of himself, hadn't he?

He quickly turns away, clearing his throat and hiding his embarrassment behind his hand. Though it does not seem to deter you, the soft tap of your shoes growing closer until you were peering up at him with wide eyes.

"..Hello." He offers awkwardly, a little too stiff and a little too formal, but you don't seem to mind in the slightest. He knows that your appearance, your vague similarities to the Divine One are mere coincidence, but it does not stop his heart from skipping a beat when you smile up at him. "I– apologize for being so uncouth and staring, it's just.."

His voice trails off into a breathy exhale, his hand twitching on his cane as if he wanted to reach out and touch you..but he restrains himself in time. He could not make a bigger fool of himself – he would never hear the end of it from lady Furina.

"You remind me of someone."

He decides, readjusting his hands on his cane as he bows his head for a moment is a show of genuineness, though it must look awkward with how stiff his body feels.

Yet he cannot help but want to get closer anyway, to hear the silky lilt of your voice grace his pointed ears. This is as close as he will ever get to the Divine..he is a weak man, he finds, as he offers a hand to you.

"I understand if this is a bit..forward, but would you mind joining me for tea?"

× lyney

He is a master magician – his entire work is built on keen misdirection and sleight of hand, but even he stumbles for a minute thinking he'd seen an illusion in your warm smile and striking features. Almost an exact copy of the Divine One, yet not quite..

Still, it's enough to pique his interest – enough, too, to give him the confidence to slip into your conversation with ease, all smiles and the slip of a card between his fingers.

"Hello, stranger – I don't think I've seen you in Fontaine before," He laughs, his hand reaching around to rest gently on your opposite shoulder, his voice a ghost of a whisper in your ear. "Say, could I interest you in a bit of magic?"

He perks up at the way you seem to light up like fireworks at his offer, a spark almost like recognition in your eyes he brushes aside – he's quite well known, after all.

"Good! Now, if I may just borrow your attention for a minute.." He grins, stepping around you and turning sharply to face you, his hand outstretched with a deck of cards in his hands, face down. "Let's start simple, shall we? I shan't overwhelm my audience – pick a card."

He holds the cards out again, his features twisted in something like awe, though he hides it well.

His heart flutters at the briefest of glances of your hand against his as you pluck a card from his hand, and he quickly retracts it, reshuffling the deck with a broad grin and a wink.

"Do your best to remember it! If you could return it to the deck.." The card is placed back in it's place amongst the rest, and the magic begins!

"Now then, let's see..hm," He hums for a long moment, the silence filled by the constant shuffle of cards until he suddenly plucks one from the deck, flipping it around for you to see. "Is this your card?"

He frowns when you shake your head, almost pouting, before he lights up again and steps forward.

"Ah! How foolish of me, I missed it..it's riiight here, see." He winks, reaching behind your ear..and pulls free a card from seemingly thin air. He flips it around for you to see again, and when you tell him it is, in fact, your card, he flips it around again.

And before you can see it, he's holding a rainbow rose between his fingers, his hand outstretched as he bows.

His eyes glint with a sort of wonder as he looks at your features, his smile widening a fraction.

"Well, dear stranger? Did you enjoy the show?"

[eveenstar]

double the bastard, double the...what's the saying again? | Ulf White x fem!bastard!reader - PART I

consider donating to my kofi if you like my work!

You were the bastard daughter of another bastard daughter, funny, isn't it? Well, not to you. Your mother was another one of Princess Saera's bastards, who worked her entire life to escape her own mother's shadow, but it lingered in the blood. In her hair. In her heart.

It seemed the apple didn't fall far from the tree, as she got impregnated by some stupid Lord that had heard tales of the "white-haired beauties" in the depths of King's Landing. Then, you were born, with silver-white hair of your grandmother and the eyes of your unknown father.

Your late mother, bless her heart, did all she could to not have you end up like her or her mother. No, she promised you were destined for greater things. Her dreams told her so. She swore it til her grave.

After your mother passed, you took refuge with her half-brother, Hugh, always munching on your mother's words over and over again. Your once silver hair was dyed brown, despite your friends' insistence that you shouldn't hide who you are. Let the royals see their doings.

But you knew they cared little. They could have King's Landing be a city of bastards and not give one single fuck about it.

When war came to your doorstep, you were not one to pick sides. Aegon or Rhaenyra, they were all the same. They didn't put food on your table, did they? What matters is that you stayed alive for one more week.

It didn't stay like that for long, no, no, no.

When the news came that Rhaenyra was recruiting bastards to Dragonstone, your mother came to you in a dream. You saw her, standing by one of the brothel's windows, humming a soft lullaby as she held babe-you in her arms.

"It is fierce out there, I shan't lie to you." She whispered. "But we are fiercer. We are the blood of dragons, my sweet girl. I know you will achieve what I could not, and I beg your forgiveness for such."

Now, here you stood before Rhaenyra. But you weren't alone. Next to you were Hugh, a girl named Nettles, the local drunk Ulf White, and a handsome young man called Addam of Hull.

"You have done what was deemed impossible." Proclaimed the Queen.

But not to us, you wished to reply.

Your dragon, albeit smaller than the rest, was an unnamed one when you claimed her. So you took it upon yourself to name her Golden Tooth for her yellowish scales and shy nature.

Still, doubts crippled in your mind. You were to fly to battle with a dragon, likely to never return. Your hand was forced on the matter; it was either starve to death or honour your mother. You wished to not partake in a siblings' war, but you couldn't bite the hand that feeds you. And that hand was Rhaenyra's.

"Wench! Another one of these little birds!" Interrupted Ulf of your thoughts. You looked up from your breakfast.

"You eat like a pig." Hummed Nettles, sitting besides you.

"Ah, ah," Tutted Ulf with a toothy grin. "Like a dragon."

"There's a difference?" Snickered Nettles in return, and you couldn't help but laugh with her. At last, you could use a feminine presence in this stone cold keep, one that wasn't a noble, that is.

Even if Prince Jacaerys and his betrothed despised your group's presence on Dragonstone, you knew he knew they were desperate. Without you, they were nothing.

You mustn't think like that, you reprimanded yourself, this is an honour.

Is it?

Training and practicing High Valyrian and dragon commands was...harder than expected. It seemed you and Ulf were the odd ones out, taking great difficulty in the pronunciations and proper commands. Silverwing was confused, and Golden Tooth believed you merely wanted to play. As if she was a dog and not a dragon!

It was frustrating. Even your good friend Nettles was better than you in this, and despise her innocent teasing, you were growing frustrated.

"Dra-cá-ryze."

"That's not how you say it."

"Shush, girlie. I was born for this."

You scowled at Ulf's words, standing back and watching as he ordered Silverwing to burn a sheep.

"Dra...cáryze!"

The dragon huffed, a brief cloud of smoke leaving its mouth.

"It's dracarys, not dracáryze."

"Ehh, what's the difference?" Ulf brushed it aside with a scoff, but the faint pink of his cheeks did not go unnoticed by you. Yet, you remained unamused.

"How are you to fly into battle with a dragon you do not know how to command?" You inquired. Ulf glanced at you, then to Silverwing, and smiled again.

"This lady knows what to do. She's smart, I tell you that. "She flew us to King's Landing without as much as a word!"

"And nearly got you both killed by a scorpion." You added.

Truth be told, you were never even remotely an acquaintance with Ulf back in King's Landing. You knew who he was, sure, a drunk and funny man who loved to boast himself as "Ulf the Dragonlord." But he wasn't the type of people you preferred to stick around with.

Now that you get to live with him, you regret staying in the city. He was...nothing like a dragonrider (not that you had met many of them). He lacked the grace, the poise, and the looks of one.

Well...

Now that he was bad looking, especially with the new wardrobe Queen Rhaenyra provided you. But he could use with some Valyrian braids, and maybe some brooming, and....

"Aye, girlie, y'starin'." You blinked. Ulf was standing in front of you with a sheepish grin on that stupid face of his. "Can't command a dragon whilst daydreamin', can't'cha?"

You huffed. "You know, I'd call you a bastard but I forget you already are one." You said as you stormed off. "And a stupid one at that!"

"That was mean." Nettles laughed as she jumped on your bed, falling beside you. "But hilarious. The man needs to be put in his place."

"How in the Seven Hells did he claim a dragon such as Silverwing? He's a complete idiot!" You sighed, frustrated. "And his manners at the table, speaking to the Prince and the Queen? I..."

Nettles rolled on her stomach, leaning her head against her hands. "Why are you so bothered? If he's truly that useless, that will be proven in a real battle."

You sat up, running a hand through your hair to adjust it. "Well.. I... Death is a bit much, don't you think? I don't want him dead, I just wished he would shut up and behave for a moment."

Nettles hummed, a cat-like smirk plastered all over her face.

"I know a few ways men can be silenced."

"Nettles!"

Supper had been served two hours ago, yet few little had joined the table. Queen Rhaenyra was absent, and so was her son, Prince Jacaerys. Lady Baela ate very little and kept to herself, merely glancing at Ulf whenever he was being too loud.

Addam was also absent.

Nettles had preferred to stay with Sheepstealer, under her vow to you that she'd eat something later.

The room was eerily quiet aside from your hushed conversation with Hugh about training and how you loved that Targaryen female attire had pockets (of all things you should be worried about).

Much to your displeasure, Hugh, too, wasn't one to stick around for supper. You knew your sweet stay at Dragonstone was coming to an end, and that war was waiting beyond the sea, with the Stranger waiting to bring some of you with him.

Two hours had passed, and you munched on your thoughts instead of the delicious (cold) food that lay before you. You couldn't bring yourself to eat anymore, not when there was a battle inside you. You were afraid, not only for yourself, but for your newfound friends and allies and....your dragon. Something you never thought possible.

I did it, mummy. I did it. I made you proud.

You hoped she was proud. You hoped you had made something good out of your lineage.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Asked Ulf, his eyes practically feasting on your cold plate. You said nothing, merely passed it along to him.

You must have underestimated him because Ulf hesitated in taking your plate, staring at you for a moment. Usually, you'd be laughing with Nettles or Addam while teasing Ulf for his lack of manners or proper conduct.

Not today, it seemed. Ulf wasn't sure if he liked that. It was enough to have everyone on Dragonstone sulking and glaring at him -- them -- everywhere they went. But you? You were the entire sun in the stone fortress. Despite your insistence and giving him a hard time during practice, Ulf found you interesting. Especially when his antics made you laugh, even if it was at him.

"Seems like the princeling got to you too."

"Excuse me?"

Ulf leaned back on his chair, resting his feet on top of the table as he munched down on a chicken wing. "Pouting doesn't suit ya."

"I'm not pouting." You frowned. "I'm worried. As you should be. As we all should be."

"I'm worried, alright. Worried all this food will go to waste. Where's everyone at?" Ulf looked around, but saw only the servants taking the food away, as if expecting him to ask for more.

"We're going to die, Ulf!" You suddenly snapped, bringing the man's attention to you. You'd never seen him so bewildered. "We're not knights, no matter what the Queen says. We're just...pawns in this war. We have no part in this."

Ulf said nothing. For the first time, he found himself speechless. He knew you were right; he wasn't a fool. Well, he was, but not blind. He knew what was coming, but he chose to live in the moment. What memories would he have to remember when the Stranger came for him? Sulking in a palace?

"And I don't want to die. I don't want Hugh to die. Or Golden Tooth, Gods, do the dragons know we are making them slaughter their own kin?" Exasperated, you ran your hands up and down your face. "They're not....We are not-"

Suddenly, a rough and alcohol-filled kiss was pressed to your lips, silencing you. Ulf leaned back, a proud smile on his smug face as he looked at you.

Had the bastard just....

You stared at him, wide-eyed. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"Couldn't help myself," Ulf grinned, "You women love to worry, y'know that?"

The grip around your cup tightened, threatening to spill on him at any moment. But you couldn't. Your cheeks were growing redder than any of Golden Tooth's fire. The cheeky bastard!

"Ulf."

Hugh stood at the entrance of the chamber, holding a sword in his hand. His glare could be felt across the room, like Vermithor himself had just walked in.

"It's time for training."

Ulf took one last sip of his wine, clearing his throat.

"Shit."

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

girl dad Raphael ends my life

Read on AO3

-

He's not unaware of the intense gaze on him. He's ignoring it until his little admirer decides what she wants to say. She's patient, he'll give her that, but in the end she's a child and he has lived for nearly two millenia. He will outlast her. He will -

"You are staring, daughter."

Or not. His blasted curiosity gets the better of him. He has folded his hand in this silent game. He has been bested by this beast of his own creation, and from the way she giggles, she knows it.

"Yes I am, father," she admits, brazen as a bull.

"Would you care to tell me why?"

The creature's mother, lounging on a chaise across the room, hides a smile behind the pages of the novel she's reading. Clearly she finds this amusing. Later, he swears, he will show her something he finds amusing.

"Well, I was just thinking..." says the child, resting her chin on her hands. It still shocks him how small they are. Even fully spread, her fingers don't cover the span of his own palms. Looking at her hands stirs his protective instincts, fatherly instincts he didn't believe he possessed until she came crashing into his life. "Your horns are really nice and pretty but I think they would look even nicer if I put some gems and ribbons on them."

His wife disguises her laughter as a cough. Wretch. He raises a brow at his daughter, otherwise keeping his face neutral as possible.

"My horns are pretty, you say?"

She nods emphatically, kicking her feet. "Yep! They're so big and spirally and spikey. I hope mine look like that when I grow up."

He bites his forked tongue to stem the flow of pride and happiness he experiences. Despite his verbose inclinations, his knowledge of a hundred languages both young and old, he can't describe what it's like to be given such free and unconditional love like that; true to his nature, he hoards it greedily, adding to the ever-growing list in the recesses of his rotten soul of the terrible things he would do to keep this child safe and happy. He is the apple of her eye, and he will raze the Hells themselves to stay that way. Of course, she doesn't need to know any of this, not yet, so instead he fixes her with a placid look and says:

"So, what do we do when we have a theory?"

"Test it!" She shrieks, delighted, and hops off her seat to run to her room and grab her things.

"No running in the house!" He barks after her. There shan't be a repeat of the great statue-collapsing-incident, thank you very much. Tav's expression when she looks at him warms the coals of desire in his belly. He leans back in his seat and preens. When his daughter returns, her arms full of jewellery and ribbons (of course he spoils her; no child of his will want for anything) he lets her - just this once, mind - sit on his desk, obediently lowering his head so she can decorate his crown of horns as she sees fit.

Her theory, in his opinion, is proven correct: he looks fantastic.

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

Clumsy girl.

Request: Fluff, Fluffy Fluff Fluff please. Jack Dawkins and reader, she's a clumsy lady from town who is friends with Hetty. Belle is still in it but they don't have a relationship. Jack secretly likes reader. You can choose the storyline etc.

"Oh y/n what have you done this time?" Hetty asks as you walk up to her.

"What do you mean, I'm perfectly well." You say, words slightly slurred. Hetty reached up to your head, pushing back your hair to look at the wound.

"y/n?" She sighs. You smile at her and shrug, "come on." She takes your shoulder and leads you further into the hospital. Before she could get you to the ward you see Jack jumping down the back staircase, from the doctor's residency rooms.

"Oh good afternoon y/n. Look at your head. Come upstairs." He takes your arm from Hetty, "Thank you nurse." He says to his long time friend.

"umm excuse me you can't just take patients up there." A very posh and very annoyed voice calls over to you both.

"No worries Lady Belle. She is a friend. We shan't be a moment." Jack sarcastically grinned at the blonde woman and continued walking.

"Who is that?" You ask.

"The Governor's daughter, fancies herself a surgeon. Sneed let's her waltz around cause he wants to bed her." He laughed.

"ha, always trying to get one over, isn't he." You say as Jack leads you into his bedroom. You sit down on the end of the bed and Jack darts to his table where he grabs some cloths and bandages. He sits beside you, one leg folded below him.

"What happened this time, y/n?" He asks as he takes a better look at your head wound.

"Oh, you know me, I tripped, the table was I'm sure two feet to the left." You say. Jack looks down at you, concern painted across his eyes.

"y/n, you're not yourself. Lay down." He stands and guides you by the shoulders to the pillow.

"Jack if you wanted me in your bed all you have to do is ask." You say, eyes feeling heavy.

"Alright, you just lay back and rest I'll stitch this up for you okay." His voice is hardly higher than a whisper. The comfort of his feather pillows draws you to sleep.

When at last you stir and open your eyes you see Jack close by sitting in a wooden dining chair, his feet propped up on the end of the bed beside him Hetty stands, a hand on her hip and one fiddling with her apron. You stayed still to listen to them.

"I do worry about her. Could there be something worse happening?" The nurse and your long time friend asked him.

"I don't know, when she's here we never see her fall or stumble." Jack narrowed his lips and clenched his jaw.

"You think, she only has her father at home." Hetty explained. The pair fell silent and Hetty leaves the room.

"I know you're awake, y/n." Jack pulls his legs back and leans forward.

"How?" You ask opening your eyes.

"your breathing changed." He grinned.

"Doctor Dawkins, please don't think bad of my father, I really am clumsy." You say.

"Yes well, unfortunately for.him, I have decided that he can't have you back. I want you to stay here." Jack moved so he was crouching in front of you.

"For how long?" You ask. Jack helps you to sit up in the bed.

"Well actually, indefinitely." He explains. Panic makes your heart beat rapidly inside your chest.

"No, I can't do that. He needs...I couldn't..." you start to push the sheets back to get out of bed but Jack takes your hands.

"y/n, you have...what if I... I'd very much like you to be here." Jack struggles to find the words.

"It's okay, Doctor I really have no skills to help in the hospital so I could never pay for the health care." You protest once again pushing yourself off the bed.

"No, you don't understand." Jack stands, a hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not very good at this at all. I don't want you to stay here as a patient." He tries again.

"Then as what? A servant? I'm a good cook-"

"No!" He cuts you off, "Not as a servant as my...well as my wife." He finally says, dropping his chin to his chest. You stop and stand still looking up to him. You couldn't describe the feeling that shuddered throughout your body.

"Why...but we don't, I mean you have not..." It was your turn to lose the ability to speak. Jack took two large steps toward you and took your hands in his.

"I have liked you since the moment I first saw you, but I never thought you'd feel the same for me. I figured you'd have a long list of suitors but I can't do this anymore, y/n. I can't keep seeing you come in here bruised and battered by some old man who doesn't treat you exactly how you should be."

Unsure how to reply you slip back onto the bed trying to work out what he was saying. Jack crouched in front of you.

"I have no money and nothing to offer you but this room, and a husband who would love you." He says.

"You love me?" You ask with a smile. Jack lets out a single laugh

"I've been trying to find a way of telling you for a long time." He smiles.

"Well, we will need some things in here, a woman's touch and it could look quite lovely." You say looking around yourself.

"Is, is that a yes?" Jack asks.

"Yes Jack, I'll marry you."

[allmyocsarebritish]

A passion for exploration

(Known in my notes as ahkaeology)

Pairing: Ahkmenrah X reader

Warnings(?): Grave robbing

A/N: okay okay I know it's really odd that a wednesday blog is now posting for natm but I went down a rabbit hole and I'm afraid I lost the entrance. History nerd has shown through well and truly :')

Also my first multi part fic :D

Title is courtesy of my mate Abi using AI

Ch 1

Grave robbing

Was desecrating the tombs of these once honoured, omnipotent kings of Egypt really something you were willing to do? Had the circumstances preceding the grave robbery been less bleak, the answer would have undoubtedly been an definitive no. These rulers commanded the uptmost respect in life, and here you were, excavating the only memory that remained. There wasn't a day that went by during your expedition in which guilt did not infiltrate your mind, suffocating your conscience and depriving you of any sleep, even before you came close to finding an ancient tomb. But it wasn't like you had any other choice.

Pushing down your gnawing feelings of dread, you trekked on through the Egyptian desert. Rough sand brushed against your lower legs beneath your simple, calf-length skirt, chafing at the skin. You were the only one of the troupe resigned to walking, as the youngest and the lowest class. Astride camels, the two men had a better view of the surrounding plains, though the blank, barren flats stretched on long beyond the horizon.

"The valley of the kings shan't be too far from this place" called Lord Carnarvon, map still in hand.

You held back a scoff, rolling your eyes as you knew he wasn't looking at you. If only he would admit none of you knew where you were going. The only clue you were given was that the gold rich landmark was announced by a grand pyramid at the end of a hollowed valley consisting of a multitude of others. What a shame that this was the Egyptian desert.

Filled with pyramids.

Days and days stretched on of travel, and eventually, you stopped counting the sunrises, resigning to the fact that this would only stop when the valley was found, however long that took.

As with most great things, the discovery of the valley occurred at a time when you least expected. You had taken advantage of a small oasis, resting for a few hours and permitting the camels an indulgent drink. Howard Carter dozed beside you, hat pulled low over his face, in order to shield his resting eyes from the blazing fire of the sun. Carnarvon had taken his liberty and ran off, or so you had hoped. No, in fact he was continuing the investigation alone and on foot, clutching a worn, shoddy map, which was twinged a grimey brown with years of filth accumulated around the edges of the paper. He never strayed far, though attempted to work out his bearings, using the wind or some pretentious bullshit you never bothered listening to. No, you were perfectly content drawing in the sand with a stick you had found and claimed an hour or so prior.

You were more than unimpressed when the sketches you had so tediously etched into the sand were scattered by Carnarvon sprinting back to the small camp. Jolted awake, Carter sat up sharply, alarm etched across his features.

"Blimey, good sir! You gave me quite the fright!" He exclaimed as you nodded in agreement.

"Are you alright?" You asked, though your eyes may have given away your disinterest (had either man been paying an ounce of attention).

"Shh!" Carnarvon interrupted your pleasant concern, to which you rolled your eyes and began attempting to recover your drawings. "Carter, good sir! I dare say I've found it. I've discovered the pyramid!"

A bold statement, and not the first time either. No, twice prior you had been dragged into the colossal ancient skyscrapers, only to find they were far from your true destination. Empty of any treasure or historical worth beyond the buildings themselves, you continued on, fruitless. Grand structures were quite an obvious goldmine, and previous grave robbers had left the tombs void of, well, anything.

Though of course, it was more than worth it to explore this fresh discovery, not taking any chances.

Time was of the essence, or so you were told. Camels saddled up in record time, you were hoisted up from your seat on the floor by Carter, borderline dragged up.

"Come, young Y/N, you heard his lordship. We may have found the Valley. Hurry on, now" his words were gentle, still treating you as he had done in your childhood, despite the fact you were now 19. It was something that you both appreciated and hated simultaneously. Howard was kind to you, much more so than Lord Carnarvon, who cared as little for you as you did for him. The mutual disinterested made for some long, awkward silences, and many threats to leave you in an unknown grave.

Still dragging you by the arm, Carter began to untie his camel, before finally letting go of you. The rush was honestly needless, you had been expeditioning for months at the least, what harm would a few mere minutes cause? But the men were adamant, and there was no arguing, especially not from a useless child as yourself.

"Can I at least keep my stick?"

Recieving no reply from Carnarvon and an incredulous stare from Carter, you concluded the answer was yes.

The journey from the oasis to the pyramid was shorter than anticipated, though still rather long. Another day passed, spent entirely wandering through the desert. Exhaustion washed over your entire body, and it was a war every minute to keep your eyes open. But, alas, you must continue, and eventually your trek drew to a close as with further examination, it became clear this pyramid was not what you were searching for.

Disappointment and rage filled Carnarvon upon the realisation that this was, in fact, not the Valley of the Gates of the Kings, but rather a singular, sandy pyramid. "Why, there must be some mistake!" He complained impetuantly, always one to shift blame elsewhere. You exchanged a look with Carter, who for once was willing to admit the incompetence of the troupe's leader. After all, what were the chances that a random pyramid would mark the infamous, esteemed valley?

From a distance it appeared mighty, though in fact that was more than likely a mirage caused by the monochromatic nature if the desert. Upon further examination, however, the pyramid was far from the grandeur anticipated by Carnarvon and Carter. Huge gashes and rifts in the brickwork jumped out from metres away. Crumbling brickwork was cratered, resembling a sponge with many holes, as dusty gravel avalanched down the sides of the architecture at every other interval. Overall it was worn and aged, therefore more likely to be looted and barren.

"I do say it's worth taking a look around, my lord." You spoke, addressing him clearly. Carnarvon waved his hand dismissively, wishing you out of his presence.

"Yes, yes. Go ahead child." Did you expect that? No. Did you need to be told twice? Also no. A small grin gracing your features, you took off into the pyramid.

Racing across the gravely surface of the desert, the sand provided a slight level of resistance. Nevertheless, you persevered onwards, stride refusing to falter. Basking in the glorious heat of the warm Egyptian sun's rays casting down on your face, you closed your eyes as you ran, chin tilted upwards. Naturally, this obscured your vision, rendering you blind, and therefore leading you to miss the gaping hole in the ground.

A short squeala of surprise passed your lips as you suddenly found yourself unexpectedly falling through the earth. The drop was rather long, and you landed in a heap on the floor of the dugout with a large thud. You weren't aware of how long you were unconscious, but judging by the severe lack of any source of light, sunset had passed. Pain shot through your body, coarsing through your veins and ricocheting off each of your bones in turn. Head pounding, you groaned slightly, trying to work out what in the hell just happened to you.

Darkness continued to fill the room, prompting you to fish within one of your pockets, pulling out a match and striking it aflame. The hidden chamber was large, that much you could tell even despite the dim lighting. Blinking twice as you began to, very slightly, register your surroundings, you noticed the sheer obscurity of this interior. You'd heard of the saying 'paintings that seemed to follow you around the room', but this gave a new meaning to those words.

No, wait.

Those paintings were moving, and not metaphorically. Eyes widening, you began to notice everything in the tomb writhing like a cluster of cobras. Onyx black cats prowled upon shelves, worn linen bandages slowly unfurling from being bound around each of their limbs. Animated drawings of men, deities and horses alike moved naturally, as though it were a perfectly normal occurrence. Shabti servants, the colour of oxidised copper and ranging from 5-30cm tall formed an army scattered throughout the tomb. Then, slowly, as though delaying the inevitable, your eyes trained upon it.

The sarcophagus.

Shuffling away rapidly, your back hit the decrepit wall of the hidden grave. The embodiment of terror plastered over your face, you watched in horror as the coffin began to violently shake. Your blood ran cold as bangs from the inside began to echo across the acoustic chamber. The rusted hinges were worn and flimsy, and the bolts began to unscrew from their holdings. Padlocks had become frail with ages and popped open, one almost smacking you square in the forehead, to which you responded with a short yelp. For a moment, all movement ceased, as though whatever was inside had begun to listen to the intruder in their grave. You took liberty of the fleeting moment, and began to craft a way out. The quiet was short lived, however, as, with one final, mighty heave, the final lock was broken.

The sarcophagus had been opened.

Your breath caught in your throat, the air thick and suffocating as you watched a wrapped hand emerge from the tomb. The coffin lid was ajar, though it didn't take much pushing to be removed almost entirely. Almost at once, the creatures residing in the grave marched forward, crowding their newly awoken master. Hidden in the shadows, you froze, hoping to remain unseen and ignored, and thus leaving unscathed. Soon enough Carter and Carnarvon were bound to find you?

Right?

A huge open grave couldn't be subtle, you only missed it as you eyes were closed. A stupid decision really, and you mentally cursed yourself.

You remained rooted to the spot on the freezing floor, as the reanimated corpse continued to rise from its grave. Surely this was an affect of your concussion; for all you knew this was just an unconscious dream. Besides, with all the travel in the desert, dehydration had undoubtedly left you delirious. It was at that split second of slight relaxation (if you could call it that) in which you spied the piles of treasure sloping at every corner of the tomb. What could you say - you were a grave robber. Carnarvon would be so proud - if you returned alive that was.

It began to claw at the ancient, frayed linen covering its face, causing your heart to race: it thumped so hard you swore you'd be given away. Praying you didn't go into cardiac arrest, you continued staring bug-eyed as the bandages unfurled in front of you, like the dramatic unveiling of an innovative new invention. Closing your eyes for the second time that day, you winced, raising your arms to shield your face from the horrors you were undoubtedly about to witness. Bile rose in your throat as your mouth drew dry. Images of rancid, rotting flesh peeling off bones flashed through your mind, prompting your whole body to tremble.

'I'm just delirious. Any moment now I'll open my eyes to be met with a chamber of riches.' You thought to yourself. Awoken mummies were the stuff of fairytales, and despite what Carnarvon and Carter believed, you were most certainly not a child.

Your internal monologue was cut short however, interrupted by the gentlest of touches placed on your arm. It prompted you to flinch away instantaneously, a soft whimper escaping. Eyes shooting open, you came face to face with the pharoah himself. And he was not what you had anticipated.

He wasn't the scary mummy you were expecting, he was a teenage kid.

Kind, cerulean eyes rimmed with a smoky black eyeliner stared into your own, azure oceans plagued with concern. Concern for you. Such a colour must have been pricelessly rare, sapphires amongst stones.

His golden, tanned hand had felt cold and lifeless against your arm, yet the heat it had radiated was electrifying, continuing to shoot jolts throughout your entire body. His skin was soft and smooth, betraying the fact that this royal had almost certainly never worked a day in his life.

Slightly unruly brown curls and a toned slender figure - he was actually rather cute.

"Are you alright? You seem a little... Lost?" He queried, to which you seemed unable to form a response.

"I- what.. who? What's going on?" You managed, stumbling over your words as your voice cracked slightly.

He gave a small smile, clearly sympathetic of your utter confusion, before gesturing at a golden tablet, as though that were supposed to help you in any way. Noting your expression of utter bewilderment, the undead Pharaoh elaborated.

"That's my tablet, blessed by Khonsu himself. It holds the power to awake the dead at night," he gestures to himself and the cats, who stared at you, blinking and unsure whether it would be safe for them to approach. Then, he pointed to the paintings in the walls and dragged his finger towards the mass of shabti dolls, both of which watched you with the same confusion. "Along with anything else resembling a life form that finds it's way into the presence of the tablet."

"Right." You answered, holding your head and still in shock.

"You needn't be afraid, you know. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Thank you, that is a relief." You swallowed thickly.

He hummed in response, smiling with an amused frown at the fact you feared him.

"So, who exactly are you?" You asked after a short yet not uncomfortable silence.

His lavish outfit betrayed the royal status he claimed in life, only accentuated by the Red Crown, or Deshret supporting a golden snake - the symbol of monarchy- resting atop his sarcophagus. Around his neck fastened a Usekh collar, adorned with teal and umber jewels and beads, and topped with golden accents. Sleeves of cloth draped over his arms, the fibres of the fabric woven with pure gold. The metallic shine of the element was evident in the chromatic sheen of the cape resting over the Pharoah's shoulders. At his waist there hung a Shendyt kilt, fastened with a cloth belt, also elaborately decorated. Beautiful gold jewellery decorated his figure, your eyes drawn in particular to the stunning gold bracelet cuffs he supported on either wrist, encrusted with gemstones, potentially aquamarine or topaz. Once again your attention was drawn to his face.

"I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king. And you are...?"

Stunned into silence for a moment by the regality of the ancient king before you, you blinked and paused briefly before answering.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N."

"So, Y/N, what are you doing in my grave?" Ahkmenrah asked you, barely trying to surpress an amused smile. Your cheeks flushed as you tried to form a lie. This ruler seemed nice, and regardless, you couldn't exactly tell him you were intent on raiding his tomb for riches.

"It was an accident. Really, it was. I was running, and, well, I wasn't exactly looking where I was going."

"Clearly." He smirked. "Why were you in the desert though? Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you don't appear to be Egyptian."

"What? Oh, no I'm not. I'm English. I came out in an expedition with two other men; Lord Carnarvon and Carter. They're archaeologists." You winced at the manufactured truth. It wasn't entirely a lie, that was what the men claimed to be. Though all your troupe really planned to accomplish was glorified tomb-raiding, a fact that made you sick.

"And they left you here?" Ahkmenrah questioned incredulously, unable to fathom why on earth they would abandon you like this.

"Well, no. Not exactly. They allowed me to go check out the pyramid about 10 yards south, but, as o said, I fell down a hole." You blushed again, this time due to your own stupidity and clumsiness. This was not how to earn the respect of an esteemed king.

Ahkmenrah frowned. "So how long have you been down here?"

"Uh. I don't actually know, I was unconscious for a short time. Or possibly a long time, that I'm not sure of either."

Concern once again crossed the young Pharoah's face. "You poor thing! Are you alright? You're not concussed, are you?"

"Probably." You shrugged, further alarming him.

The next few hours were spent talking to Ahk, discussing everything from the legal affairs of ancient Egypt to the cats that accompanied him in his tomb. Over the course of the night, the two of you had grown closer, both in terms of friendship and literal distance. Most of the other inhabitants of the grave had deemed you safe, returning to their regular routine, and the most curious of the mummified cats, an (aptly) Egyptian mau apparently named Tivali, had become rather taken to you. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day had caught up with you, and you slumped against Ahk's shoulder. Revelling in his presence, contentment washed over you as, for the first time on your quest, you relaxed, finally at ease. Perhaps it was delirium, but in your sleepy state you swore you felt his fingertips grace against your cheek, the ghost of his lips pressing gently against your temple.

"Sleep well, my dear."

[bowtiepastabitch]

Let's talk costuming: Angelic Robes and The Unreliable Narrator

It's two am, I have to be up at six, but this has been fermenting in the back of my head for the past five hours I've spent doing homework and if I don't get it out I shan't sleep.

The costumes we see representing angelic character in Season Two are VASTLY different from those we see in Season One. (See my post on Aziraphale's Job Robe for an in-depth art history analysis of this individual costume piece.) In season one, the angelic flashback clothing we see is rather humble and uncomplicated. As all things in this show, this serves a very important narrative purpose.

Let's first compare these gorgeous gorgeous girls to their S1 counterparts, shall we?

Just look at the collar on that robe! In S1, we're introduced to Aziraphale in a very plain tunic-style robe with an unfinished neckline. Aside from a slight gold decoration and draping on the shoulders, this could easily be mistaken for rather primitive human garb. S2, by comparison, introduces angelic costume as non-ostentatious but still refined with a gold-trimmed gathered neckline and wide sleeves. The fabric itself, on a textile level, is much finer and softer. Overall, the robes give an air of innocence and angelic purity that is lacking from Aziraphale's S1 'fit. Let's look at another example:

Their Rome costumes are strewn with so many incredible details (check out this incredible post from 2019) but they still retain a bit of that historical ruggedness. Same for these:

The argument could be made for pure historical compliance, sure, but to claim a lack of anachronisms in this show would be a flat-out lie. No, S1 Crowley and Aziraphale are very distinctively human in their dress. The cloth has a wider weave, the ornamentation is minimal, all around it serves to highlight their fitting-in with humans and the humanization of their characters. They're 'going native,' as it were, no doubt about it.

So why, in S2, is Aziraphale suddenly showing up looking like he just popped out of a renaissance painter's wet dream?

Simple. Suddenly, Aziraphale isn't an angel among humans acting human, he's an angel being an angel doing angel things. We get to see the rest of the heaven gang in full angelic decadence as well, a bold departure from the starkness of 'modern' heaven. If this is, as many of you lovely folk have speculated, a series of flashbacks from Aziraphale's memory, the design choices designate very clearly Aziraphale's perception of himself as an angel. A perception which, mind you, would likely be influenced by later human ideas of angelic and heavenly aesthetics. As an unreliable narrator, Aziraphale is showing us not his actual wardrobe as an angelic being but his perception of his past self.

Crowley, too, is affected by this shift in dress. Bildad the Shuhite is everything S1 flashback Crowley is not: fashion-forward, smooth-talking, and impeccably well-dressed. We've got three different fabric textures (that's three times as many as any of his biblical S1 robing) and a definable silhouette. He's practically a fashionista.

If this were all taken as an objective narrative, the shift back to billowing-void peasant Crowley at Golgotha, where we next see her chronologically, would be strange to say the least.

So why is the costuming of the S2 pre-modern flashbacks so much more elaborate? There's three possibilities I can imagine for a change in costume design for any show:

Budget: this is highly unlikely an instant rule-out for me. I've seen what costumers can do on a shoestring budget, and besides the later period costumes make this demonstrably false.

Change in production design team: Technically possible, yes, but if there's one thing Good Omens does well between seasons it's continuity. I mean, they burned the fucking bookshop and then hand-painted tiles to recreate it exactly for the second season. This is not Harry Potter. This isn't it.

An intentional design: Everything, and I mean everything, in this show is intentional. While not everything the wardrobe team does is easily decodable (see Crowley's shapeshifting sunglasses) we've got a pretty comfortable bit of time to figure such things out. This is the only option that makes a lick of sense.

Wonderful, so we've established that this is a narrative choice.

So if it's a narrative choice, and it's distinct from the stylistic choices of Season One, then someone is lying to us. Or rather, we have an unreliable narrator somewhere along the way.

Most of the buzz on ye olde tumblr focuses on the idea of Aziraphale as narrator and memory-holder for S2, and that would certainly make sense from both a story and design. Of course he would see Angel Crowley as adorable and innocent and angelic (the hair is not helping his case either omg I love her), and of course he would see himself as grandly, exaggeratedly, almost dissonantly angelic at the major turning point in his faith.

If Crowley is narrating, then it calls into question why he would choose to remember himself this way. It holds a sort of nostalgic sadness, a memory of a joyful innocence permanently lost to God's cruelty. When we see Aziraphale in angelic splendor later, we're reminded again of what Crowley has lost. It echoes the aesthetic of his former angel self, the gathering and gold trim and bright white fabric, but also introduces a much more elaborate silhouette that reflects the shift toward heaven's new high-and-mighty attitude.

Finally, I'd like to point out that by contrast Season One focuses heavily on themes of humanity rather than ethereality. Narrated by God, no less, who probably has thoughts on their assimilation. While I think we can assume God to be a more reliable narrator than Crowley or Aziraphale, it's not out of the question that She would have her own story to spin about our Ineffable Idiots' shared history.

Ultimately, I think it's safe to say that whatever's going on in costume design is a Clue to the story we're being told in S2 and the one we will be told in S3.

[doxypsychlean]

Aegon II Targaryen x niece!Innocent!reader and her reaction to the dinner scene. Like she’s completely in love with Aegon but also that’s her family and brothers and sisters??? 🤍🤍🤍

Strong

Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Reader

Next chapter: Strong pt.2

Warnings: Targcest, Explicit language, Some NSFW stuff but it's mild, Bit dark, Blood, Aegon gets his ass kicked -sorry, I'm in a weird mood for violence-

Thou shan't repost/copy/ translate any of my work or I'll sneak into your home late at night and bite your nose off!

English isn't my first language. I don't proofread. I slap commas wherever I feel they're needed.

Additional info: Aegon and the reader are married, Viserys' failed attempt to make peace. Reader is Rhaenyra's and Harwin's oldest. A Stronk gworlllll✨

A/N: Wasn't sure what Anon meant by "innocent", so I'm taking it as the reader being a patient and understanding person. Till she snaps...muehehehhehe >:)

P.S. I might write a pt.2 to this one, if there's enough ppl interested in reading it. Pt2 will be closer to what Anon requested tho, so not as whatever tf this is

"Think before you speak" Alicent, his mother, told him once after her hand had collided with his face.

But in order to do so, Aegon first had to learn how to listen. He'd never liked listening to others. He saw no point in learning anything from them. Prince Aegon had his own ways of moving through life.

"If you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask." The Prince said as he made his way back to his seat.

From the corner of his eye, he could see his wife's pained expression. She didn't say anything, only stared down at her hands that were resting in her lap, fingers digging in. Angry tears threatening to spill from her dark brown eyes.

The woman made no move, even when her younger brother, Jace, slammed his hands on the table as he got up. All she did was shake her head from side to side, teeth clamping down on her tongue until she could taste the blood.

Not long after, music filled the room, expelling the silence. The Princess had turned to stare at her brother and aunt who were dancing, with a sad look on her face. The things she'd give to have Aegon offer his hand to her the way Jacaerys had done to Halaena. Instead, her husband was staring down the two, taking sip after sip from his cup.

────────────

Strong. Strong. Strong.

The word echoed in her head. She turned to look at Aegon, eyes urging him to do something. Say something. Anything.

The wolfish grin on his face said enough. He wouldn't stand up for her, wouldn't protect her from his brother's harsh, cruel words.

The Princess rose to her feet, muttering excuses as she walked past her brother and out of the room.

As she reached the door, a loud bang came from behind her. The woman turned around, a shocked gasp tearing through her bloodied lips. Aegon was holding Luke by the neck, pinning him down on the table. Aemond shoved Jace, the boy falling to the ground then quickly getting back up.

She used the moment to slip past the heavy doors.

────────────

She stared down at the burning logs in the fireplace, her grip on the book she was holding turning deadly as the doors flew open.

"Oh, how did you get here before me?" Aegon giggled as he made his way over to her, feet stumbling.

He was drunk. Again.

"I left hours ago." She sighed as she closed the book.

"You did?" The Prince let out a confused sound. "When?"

"Shortly before you slammed my brother's head into the table."

Aegon came to stand before her. He took the book from her hands and placed it on the table next to her. Then, ever so slowly, he sunk down to his knees, chin coming to rest on her leg.

"Well, the little twat deserved it." His finger went under the skirts of her dress, then trailed up. "Not my fault he doesn't know his place."

The woman squeezed her thighs together before his finger could go any further. She looked away from the man.

His brows furrowed, a look of puzzlement and slight hints of anger twisting his fine features.

"Are you angry with me, wife?"

She bit down on her tongue once more, blood gushing out of the fresh wound.

"No." The word came out as a whisper. "Just disappointed..."

His hands dissappeared from under her dress. Aegon grabbed her wrists with one hand, the other reaching for her face. Nails dug down as he turned her to look him in the eyes.

"Come again?" He hissed out, thumb rubbing over her bottom lip.

The woman pushed him away, Aegon falling on his back. Then she got up, leaving him to stare up at her in shock.

"First you offer your bed to my cousin, the one that is to marry my brother." She took a step towards him, Aegon crawling away. "Then your fucking brother insults me and my family in front of everyone."

Another step. Her tongue darted out of her mouth, licking away the blood that was trailing down her chin.

"You lay your filthy hands on my brother..." His back hit the wall. "...And now on me?"

Her knee met Aegon's face, blood splattering everywhere. The Prince sobered up fast. There was no anger left in him. Just fear. And desire. And lust.

"I am strong, husband." She said as she kicked him in the ribs, the man curling in a ball. "I am a Strong."

Aegon tried to hide his face, to hide himself from her.

But there was nowhere to hide. Not now. She'd been so patient with him. So understanding. She never demanded anything. Let him run around, chasing his whores. Let him drink himself stupid, then crawl into her bed. In her.

Her fingers ran through his silver-white hair. Then the hand formed into a fist. She pulled him up.

"Harwin Breakbones' blood runs through my veins. You know it just as well as I do." Aegon hissed, hands reaching for the one that had pulled him back on his knees. "Trust me, next time you do something like that..."

Aegon's ears started ringing. She'd slapped him. Hard. Harder than anyone had ever struck him before.

"...I will..." Followed by another slap. "...break..."

Aegon groaned as she pulled him up, so he could stand on his feet. Then she slammed the same hand she'd used to pull him, against his throat. The Prince's head smacked against the wall behind him. She squeezed.

"...each and every bone in your body."

With how close she was to him, Aegon could feel her breath fanning over his neck. He choked as her grip got bruisingly strong. Small white dots appearing in front of his eyes, hiding her angry face from him.

"Strip." The woman said. "That's why you came here in the first place, right?"

Two shaking hands reached for the clasps of his doublet. Aegon undid them quickly, letting the piece fall to the ground as he tried to unbutton his undershirt.

"You wish to act like a wild, uncivilized whore..." She pushed him away, tearing through the buttons of his silk tunic and making them fly out in all directions. "So be fucking it. You'll be treated as such."

A sound came from deep inside her chest. She was laughing. A low, short laugh. Her hands dropped back to her side.

"Not my fault you don't know your place..."

Then they went back up, to Aegon's breeches.

"But you'll learn."

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Fujitsumon

Debut: Digimon Pendulum 2.0 Deep Savers (kind of. It's a little complicated. But don't worry about that)

Fujitsumon is a darling little eyes-in-a-void barnacle! With their brown exteriors, they really do bring to mind Jawas, world-renowned eyes-in-a-void creature. This is a rare design choice for a barnacle, and a barnacle is a rare creature inspiration choice! Too rare! They are such incredible and fascinating animals, and should absolutely be represented as such, and not just background decorations!

Fujitsumon is essentially a Digimon by technicality, an accessory of a creature, and I'm fine with that. They're acknowledged as creatures, and that's enough for me! They're almost always seen attached to the surface of another creature, and that sure is barnacle of them!

This is their host, Octomon! Or Octmon, if you don't like the dub name, but I think Octomon sounds better. Octomon wears a clay pot on its head, and Fujitsumon live on top of that! This is a smart setup. If I lived underwater I would love to wear a hat that some barnacle friends of mine could live on! Fujitsumon and Octomon have a mutualistic relationship going on, where the barnacles will sense danger, and warn the octopus of it, getting the whole group out of danger!

The reason I wasn't so sure about Fujitsumon's debut is that in Deep Savers, Octomon's sprite looks like this, not nearly detailed enough to even depict some barnacles! However, it does seem like the official art was made around this time, so I might as well consider this Fujitsumon's debut too.

There isn't much to Fujitsumon, but I love it! It's cute, it's a barnacle, and it's almost a "secret" creature, and that makes it, dare I say, even more fun than if it was a standalone obtainable Digimon! A charming little oddity in the digital world.

That's what I thought until I found out this little barnacle has a whole dedicated ANIME EPISODE! YEEHAW! This is the best barnacle-related cartoon episode I've ever seen! Better than SpongeBob SquarePants episode 164a Barnacle Face! Why, even better than Benny the Barnacle (2022)! Can you believe it? Better than Benny the Barnacle? I can.

In this episode of Digimon Ghost Game, the human protagonist is tormented by premonitions of disasters occurring to everyone around him, revealed to be caused by a Fujitsumon settled on his head. A land mammal is no place for a barnacle! Wouldn't it be crazy if you could go to the beach and leave with a barnacle settled on your fingernail? What would you even do? I would probably feel obligated to dip my finger into the ocean regularly to let it filter-feed. If only we had air plankton!

This Fujitsumon, as well as others that are affecting other humans, come from one particular Octomon, who got so angry at his barnacles that they Left. These are no real-life, cemented-in-place-for-the-rest-of-their-lives barnacles! They can just get up and leave if they're bothered. I bet real barnacles wish they could do that! It would be so embarrassing to end up settled right next to a turtle's... hehe... I shan't say...!

Octomon's petty outburst was over his magic brain barnacles not using their clairvoyance to help him win at a mobile game. Now, because of his Gamer Moment, there are Fujitsumon stuck directly to peoples' heads, which can cause these heads to explode. Maybe he should have just played a good mobile game, like Pico Pets Puzzle! *high fives someone offscreen*

Don't worry! Everything's ok in the end, like it always is with invertebrate friends! Octomon apologizes, the lead Fujitsumon gathers the whole crusty crew, and everything is fine except for the physical damage that has already been done, but don't worry! The virtual invertebrates are all friends again! Squishy or chitinous, none of us have spines, and that's what matters!

If you know of any obscure barnacles in media, please let me know in the notes! And until the next high tide, remember to close your armored plates to prevent dessication!

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TEN (see full series list here)

1993

"Now, the mean temperature on Venus is four-hundred and sixty-two degrees celsius, making it hotter than Mercury, despite it being further from the Sun. Can anyone tell me why?"

Your third-years look around the room at each other uncertainly. You have them sitting down at desks as you teach some theory to them.

"Is it just...'cause it is?" Ron guesses, and Harry snorts beside him, earning a dirty look off Ron.

"A perfectly vague answer, Mr Weasley," you reply. "You should consider becoming a politician."

You glance expectedly at Hermione, who has fallen asleep, head held up by her right hand. Lavender Brown pokes her and Hermione wakes with a start, blurting out, "G — greenhouse effect!"

You nod, turning back to your blackboard. "Yes...the greenhouse effect. There's an incredibly high concentration of carbon dioxide in Venus' atmosphere, which produces the greenhouse effect. All the heat gets trapped in the atmosphere, like a blanket, and makes it unbearably hot." You glance back at Hermione again, adding, "Ms Granger, please see me after class."

You continue on and later, when the class ends and the last of the students are filtering out, Hermione approaches your desk nervously.

"Professor, please, I didn't mean to fall asleep! Please don't be angry, I didn't — "

"Hermione," you say gently, gesturing to the seat in front of your desk. "Sit, please. I'm not angry with you at all, relax."

Hermione relaxes slightly, taking the seat in front of you.

"How many classes are you taking, Hermione?"

She bites her lip. "Thirteen, Professor."

You're quite taken aback at this. "Thirteen?"

"Y — yes, Professor."

You sigh. "Hermione, your workload is far too much for a young girl to handle. Far too much for anyone to handle! It's not good for you — how are you even getting to all these classes on time?"

"My — um, my timetable was fixed by Professor McGonagall..."

You shake your head. "Please, Hermione. All this is clearly taking a toll on your health. Why, the last essay you turned into me was about Arithmancy."

Hermione's eyes go wide. "Oh, no! That means I gave Professor Vector my Astronomy one, oh my goodness — she's going to be so mad with me."

"I'll talk to her," you say reassuringly. "For now, Hermione, I want to see you go straight back to your dorm and sleep. And you are not to attend your next Astronomy class."

"But, Professor — "

"Hermione," you say sternly. "I don't want to see you in my next class. You won't miss anything important, I promise. I want you to use that time to rest, please. Now, straight to bed with you."

"Professor..."

"Goodnight, Ms Granger," you say and she reluctantly stands. "And if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask me. Anything at all. I'd be happy to help."

Hermione gives you a small, tired smile. "Thank you, Professor."

"Goodnight."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

On a Saturday, when most of the students have gone to Hogsmeade, you sit in Remus' office, drinking tea and snacking on a few cupcakes Bitsy made you.

"How's the potion treating you?" You ask casually, taking a bite out of another sweet cupcake.

Remus grimaces, eyeing the empty goblet on the corner of his desk. "It's rancid. But it works, so I shan't complain."

"What's even in it?"

"Well, Wolfsbane, of course..moonseed, dittany — "

You gag. "Gross."

He hums. "Exactly."

"Lupin! I want a word!" Comes the voice of Snape from Remus' fireplace suddenly, along with his angry face. "And bring her with you!"

You glance at Remus in confusion and he just shrugs, before you both step into the fireplace and clamber out of the other end in Snape's office. You brush ash off your jumper, scowling at Snape and then noticing Harry.

"You called, Severus?" Remus says mildly.

"I certainly did," Snape says, face contorted in fury as he returns to his desk. "I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this."

Mr Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business.

He points at a piece of parchment in front of him, laid flat on the desk. Inked upon it, are four sentences:

Mr Prongs agrees with Mr Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git.

Mr Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a Professor.

Well, fuck.

Mr Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball.

You do your best not to laugh and keep your expression as blank as possible. Those boys, no matter what, will always find a way to send Snape an 'up yours' in some shape or form.

"Well?" says Snape, scowling.

You stare at the parchment, mind running. "This seems to be a very...childish slip of parchment."

"Childish?" Snape repeats. "This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?"

Remus sends you the tiniest, near-imperceptible glance and you look straight ahead, boring holes into the parchment.

"Full of Dark Magic?" he says mildly. "Do you really think so, Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who tries to read it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine Harry got it from a joke-shop — "

"Indeed?" Snape's jaw is rigid with anger. "You don't think a joke-shop could supply him with such a thing? You don't think it more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?"

You cough lightly. "Hardly. Harry, surely you wouldn't be too keen to take something from someone named Wormtail, would you?"

"No," Harry says quickly.

"You see, Severus?" says Remus. "It looks like a Zonko's product to me — "

As if he was waiting for his moment outside the door the entire time, Ron Weasley bursts through Snape's door, red-faced and breathless.

"I — gave — Harry — that — stuff," he wheezes. "Bought — it — in — Zonko's — ages — ago..."

"Well!" Remus says cheerfully, clapping his hands together and giving you a happy grin. "That seems to clear that up! Severus, I'll take this back, shall I?" He grabs the map, folding it up and tucking it inside his robes. "Harry, Ron, come with me. I need a word about my vampire essay."

"Oh, I also need to discuss your star charts!" You blurt out, smiling at the two young boys.

"Excuse us, Severus," Remus says, and the four of you leave the office and walk in silence all the way back into the Entrance Hall before speaking.

Harry glances nervously between the two of you, starting, "I — "

"I don't want to hear explanations," Remus says shortly. He glances around the empty Entrance Hall, lowering his voice. "I happen to know that this map was confiscated by Mr Filch many years ago. Yes, I know it's a map," he says, and you take in Harry and Ron's amazed faces.

"I don't want to know how it fell into your possession," he continues. "I am, however, astounded that you didn't hand it in. Particularly after what happened the last time a student left information about the castle lying around. And I can't let you have it back, Harry."

"Why did Snape think I'd got it from the manufacturers?" Harry questions.

Remus hesitates. "Because — um..."

"They're a bunch of gits who'd have loved to put you in danger," you finish.

Remus frowns at you and you shrug.

"Do you know them?" Harry says, seeming impressed.

"We've met," Remus tells him curtly. He's got that extremely serious Remus expression on his face that he used to get during exam season, when he'd act like he wanted to study but really he didn't.

"Don't expect us to cover for you again, Harry," he says sternly. "I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously."

If it wasn't for his grave tone, you would laugh at that.

"But I would have thought that what you have heard when the Dementors draw near you would have had more of an effect on you. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them — gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks."

You're surprised at his last words, but can barely comment on them because he's spun on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. You catch up to him as he enters his office, throwing the map down on his desk with a sigh.

"Jeez, Moony, that was a bit harsh," you mutter and he nods grimly.

"I know, I know...but it's the only way to make him realise the severity of this situation."

You stare idly at the folded parchment on his desk. "So, what, Harry nicked the map from Filch's?"

"I suppose so," Remus answers. "We are lucky to have caught it."

"And, Merlin, that charm...Snape looked like he wanted to rip your head off."

"I'm aware. I...I don't remember writing that," he says abashedly.

You chuckle. "It was brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

It's not long before the Quidditch Cup Final arrives, and the tensions are high in the castle between Gryffindor and Slytherin. There's been more than one occasion where you've had to break up scraps between students, deducting a few points from each house.

The match falls on a beautifully sunny day and you sit in the stands, watching the Gryffindor team elatedly dance around in celebration, hoisting the Cup into the air enthusiastically. They're all smiles and happy faces and it warms your heart to see.

It reminds you of the time Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup during your sixth year at Hogwarts.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

1997

You clutch the megaphone in your hand tightly, leaning forward to watch the match.

"GRYFFINDOR'S RYDER IN POSSESSION AND SHE'S GONE!" you cry. "SHE'S BOMBED THROUGH THE AIR AND OH, HERE COMES LEVINSON FOR THE CHALLENGE...PASS TO BURNS, BURNS SHOOTS...SCORE! TEN-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor side of the stands erupts into cheers and Burns grins proudly. You spot James Potter ambling around the air on his broomstick, his eyes dancing around the pitch in search of the Golden Snitch. Slytherin's Seeker, Regulus Black, is watching James closely, waiting for any slight movement to indicate that he's seen it.

"SLYTHERIN IN POSSESSION AND IT'S MALFOY..." you gag dramatically, earning a glare from Professor McGonagall beside you. "MALFOY PASSES TO LEVINSON...LEVINSON TO PHILLIPS, PHILLIPS JUST BARELY DODGES A WELL-PLACED BLUDGER FROM GRYFFINDOR'S BLACK...he's quite handsome too — "

"Focus on the game!"

"Right, yeah — got it, Professor!" you grin at her and she sighs. You glance down at Sirius, who sends a wink in your direction and you blow a kiss back.

Then, movement on the side of the pitch catches your eye: Slytherin Captain, Lynx Phillips, has just punched Gryffindor Captain, Ryan Carr, who launches his Beater's Bat right back at him, clocking him in the jaw. Madam Hooch blows her whistle furiously and zooms over to them, an enraged look on her face.

"PENALTY, PROFESSOR! THAT'S A PENALTY RIGHT THERE!"

"Penalty to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Beater! Penalty to Slytherin for an attack on their chaser!"

Ryder flies up to the Slytherin goal to take a shot.

"COME ON, RINA...YES! SHE SCORES! TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Next, Levinson comes to take the Slytherin penalty, scowling at Gryffindor's Keeper, Fleming.

"FLEMING'LL SAVE THIS ONE, NO DOUBT...WELL, OKAY, MALFOY CLEARLY SABOTAGED THAT ONE. TWENTY-TEN TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Time passes, scores ticking up on both sides. Everyone is on the edge of their seats, waiting in anticipation for each blow.

"HERE GOES PHILLIPS WITH THE QUAFFLE...HIT BY GRYFFINDOR BEATER SIRIUS BLACK ONCE AGAIN! YAXLEY DROPS THE QUAFFLE AND IT'S INTERCEPTED BY RYDER AND SHE'S GONE — WAIT, WHERE THE FUCK DID SHE GO? I'M AFTER LOSING HER — AND SHE SCORES! ONE-HUNDRED- EIGHTY TO GRYFFINDOR!"

"Language!"

"YEAH, SORRY, PROFESSOR...BUT IT LOOKS LIKE GRYFFINDOR SEEKER, JAMES POTTER, HAS SPOTTED THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN'S BLACK IS TRAILING CLOSE BEHIND..."

James bolts through the air, heading towards the Gryffindor goals where he's spotted the Snitch. Regulus is barely an inch behind him, hot in his heels.

"FASTER, JAMES, HE'S RIGHT BEHIND YOU!"

Finally, James is upon the Snitch and he clasps it in his right hand and raises it triumphantly. The crowd explodes. Gryffindor flags are waved like mad and McGonagall cheers excitedly beside you.

"WOO! JAMES POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH, ENDING THE GAME TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY TO NINETY AND WINNING GRYFFINDOR THE QUIDDITCH CUP!"

The Gryffindors collide with each other mid-air, and you watch as Sirius and James throw their arms around each other, landing quickly and jumping up and down elatedly. You quickly drop the megaphone, jumping out of your seat and running down the stairs towards the pitch. You sprint out along with all the other Gryffindor supporters.

Everyone is cheering and shouting in the middle of the pitch and you stop just beside Sirius. He notices you and beams, his handsome face lighting up, and he detangles himself from James to throw his arms around you. You kiss him and he lifts you up to spin you around, making you giggle in delight. Eventually he sets you down.

"You were brilliant!" You exclaim. "You did so well, Siri — "

He kisses you again, and you can feel him smile against your lips. You pull away and grin at each other, before finally you let go of him and hug James.

"Not too bad, Potter!" You say with a laugh, ruffling his hair good-naturedly.

"We won the Cup!" He shouts happily, unable to quench the huge grin stretching his face.

"We won the Cup!" You repeat, grinning just as enthusiastically back at him.

You hug everyone in sight, giving Remus, Peter, Alice, and Lily especially tight ones and by the end of it you're bouncing on your toes in happiness.

It can't get any better than this, can it?

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

Exam season starts and there's a hush around the castle. You watch as your third-years filter into the Astronomy Tower looking especially nervous. Hermione Granger has her eyes closed and is reciting the names of Saturn's moons to herself — somehow managing to remember all one-hundred and forty-six. You're amazed at that really, but feel bad because she only needed to know one.

"Okay, everyone. Please take a seat and start filling out the papers in front of you. There's four questions on it. When you've finished, go to a telescope and I'll give you three constellations to chart. Best of luck everyone!"

The students sit down at the desks, and start filling out the papers in front of them. After a minute, Ron Weasley is already scratching his head at the first question; Hermione Granger has already managed to reach the end of the parchment; and Harry Potter is just blankly staring at it.

Later, Hermione springs out of her chair and you ask her for three constellations, which she charts very neatly and accurately.

It's not long before their time is up and they all leave the Tower, and you're stuck with a stack of parchment to work through.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter eleven here!

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[little-annie]

Yesterday's @strangerthingswritersguild prompt that I forgot to post

Protective | G | 181 WC | Steve Harrington

Steve had always been the protector.

The one to swing the bat and allow himself to splinter from the impact. The torn pieces of his being left to fracture just as the wood in his hands had.

He'd let it happen every time, if it meant those he loved were safe.

Safe from danger. Safe from hate. Safe from discrimination.

He'd rather see himself bruised and battered, than those who didn't deserve it.

Like the kids.

Like Robin, Nancy, Jonathan.

Eddie.

Steve would put himself in the middle to absorb the impact. Take it like a blow to the chest. A fist to the cheek. A punch to the gut.

Cathartic, he would think.

As if he deserved the pain more so than others. That it was the universe's way of getting back at him for how awful he was in his younger years.

For the slurs slung and the lives ruined.

For spray paint on a marquee and a dead girl in his pool.

He'd take every bruising, bleeding blow and say ‘thank you, I deserved that. Please. Another. Again.’

Protective | G | 252 WC | Steddie

"Swear to me, Eddie."

Rolling his eyes for what Steve thinks is the 13th time in the last hour, Eddie sticks his tongue out at Steve and rests his hand over his heart.

"I, Edward James Munson, swear on all that is Dustin's mother, that I will treat Dorothy with the utmost love and respect. I shan't drive her a mile above or below the speed limit, and I promise to take every turn at 10 miles an hour or slower. I will not fondle her buttons or switches and I swear to leave her seats, mirrors and vents, in their original positions."

"And?" Steve asks impatiently, shuffling his cast right leg and his crutches.

"I'll wipe my fucking feet before I get in. You happy? Can we go now? You should have had that thing elevated 10 minutes ago."

Is he happy? No. God. He has a broken ankle and Eddie's van is in the shop which means Eddie has to drive Dorothy if they want to go anywhere together.

Steve grumbles to himself as he reluctantly gets into the passenger seat of his car, choosing to glare as opposed to complain when Eddie takes his crutches and *throws* them into the backseat.

"No, Eddie, not at all."

"If I take you for a milkshake then will you be?"

Trying not to smile Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie buckles in next to him. " Well, maybe then I can at least try to be."