#but all of these are dear to me and hopefully varied enough? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dcbbw · 2 years

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In Progress

Hello, fellow tumblrs! I know I haven’t been around as much, and for sure not as engaged as I used to be. Can I just say that since 2019, my professional and personal lives have been filled with next-level adulting and living the consequences of other folks’ life choices. Add on that 2020-3 has been a major Groundhog Day cluster, and that’s my life now.

Maybe I’ll return to my Good Daughter WIP and write it ALLLLL out. Maybe I’ll discover I’m not alone with my frustration, anger, and innermost thoughts. Or you all will find out just who I am when I take off my masks and allow myself to be vulnerable in front of God.

We’ll see.

In the meantime, I have been working on some writing and hopefully in the very near future, I’ll be posting some things for your reading pleasure super soon (if you’re interested; I know you guys have options).

Snippets and synopses are below the cut. Everything is in a form of draft, and final editions may vary.

Trudy Sloane (#Sloane Washington Appreciation Week)

Song Inspo: Closer, Gaopele

Sloane Washington sat on the side of her bed, running her palms over her face. A twinge of pain in her shoulder caused her to roll her neck in an attempt to alleviate the hurt. She exhaled a quiet sigh as her eyes opened; they blinked as they adjusted to the darkness.

The quiet in her domicile sounded … different. Despite having shared her space with not one, but two people for months, it was no longer a temporary thing. Sloane extended her left hand, feeling the heaviness of the engagement ring on her third finger permeate her entire body.

Gertrude Sloane Washington was engaged. To be married. The permanence of her answer changed everything. Or perhaps nothing. Time would tell. Naked, she rose and padded silently across the bedroom floor to a rocking chair that sat in a corner of the room. There was just enough moonlight eking through the closed blinds for her to make out her robe laying atop the pile of unfolded laundry that sat on the chair’s seat.

Her hair, normally plaited in an elaborate coronet braid, was twisted into two thick ponytails, one hanging over each shoulder blade. She lifted the tresses while black polyester fabric whispered against soft, almond-colored skin as she shrugged into the covering. Sloane glanced over at the still-sleeping body in the bed; it heaved slightly and rhythmically, in sync with slumber-filled breath.

Khaan Mousavi. The man who would be her husband.

Sloane walked over, feeling the stickiness from their earlier coupling between her honeyed thighs before scooping her cellphone from the end table and exiting the room.

The Poisoned Apple (Birthday Fic for @bebepac)

Song Inspo: Somewhere in the Universe, Pity Party

“Nico,” she called out in an authoritative voice.

No answer.

She jiggled her wrist and forearm, causing the handcuff tethering her to the bed’s guardrail to rattle. “I know you hear me,” she taunted.

Pain, disgust, and desire coursed through his blood as Nico tensed at her words, at the very sound of her voice.

He hated her. She had murdered his son. His only child.

He loved her. He had loved her mother first, and as with her mother, Nico found himself vying with another for her affections, her attentions.

The Brooks/Rys women were trouble. Difficult, messy, drama magnets.

Dangerous.

“I’m not guilty of Nicolai’s death yet, and I never will be. The hand-picked congress my dear father is pulling out of his ass as we speak to ensure my innocence will make certain of that.”

Nico finally turned away from the windows, a disdainful expression on his face and a smirk on his lips. “Oh, is that why the King of Cordonia has placed you in a psych ward under a 72-hour hold? Because you’re so innocent? Or is it because of your true lineage?”

The girl’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “Mind your words and your tone, Guard. I am still the heir to the Cordonian throne.”

“Are you?” He moved slowly, deliberately closer to the bed. “Being a royal, there may not be actions taken against you for taking my son’s life, but there will be consequences.”

For the first time since Crown Princess Eleanor had been admitted to the facility, uncertainty flickered in her chocolate-brown eyes and a frisson of fear licked at her belly. No one saw her with Nicolai; no one saw her push her him off the cliff’s edge.

Everything hinged on her story, and as the only witness to her boyfriend’s death from an “accidental fall”, her story was the truth.

Her eyes followed Nico’s movements as he drew closer to her: the stealth-like way he walked, his shoes making no noise against the floor; the rigidness in his broad shoulders; the blank expression on his face, as if Ellie were an everyday object.

“Nicolai fell! He lost his footing and fell.”

Nico shook his head slightly. “Too convenient. My son, a King’s Guardsman, lost his footing on dry land the day after he discovered us naked together? You killed him, and you owe me the why, Eleanor.”

Partner Knows Best (Ask from @peonierose)

Song Inspo: Rollin’, Blessing Offor

Who knows who best? That is the question, and hopefully I can provide some answers. Debating between using the Him & Her crew (Mermaids, Riam, SGL x Riley B., UnRomance Liam x Riley) and the DC AU crew; leaning towards Him & Her because I have ideas/plans for DC.

Below are their questions; let me know in the comments if you have any better ones!

· Who’s the early riser?

· Go-to breakfast?

· What’s their love language?

· Sun, snow, rain?

· Who initiates sex?

· Who loves harder?

· First to apologize?

· One must-have if stranded on a deserted island?

· Who’s the better communicator?

· Who’s the better driver?

· Who’s needier when they’re ill?

· Who’s more likely to walk away from the relationship?

· Where do you see the relationship in five years?

Hell to the Hail (ask from @peonierose)

No song inspo yet

The DC AU gang celebrate a belated Valentine’s Day together (I call it PALentine’s), where Leo gloats over the Kansas City Chiefs’ 2nd Superbowl win, much to a salty a.f. SGL’s dismay.

Also, working on updating next chapters of Mermaids, Discontent, Platinum AU; a Commoner’s Wife one-shot; and quite possibly some Liara for Kiara Theron Appreciation Week.

Thanks for reading, and sticking with me during this ongoing, long-running trying time. Your support, encouragement, and care mean the absolute WORLD to me!

Tagging: @jared2612 @ao719 @marietrinmimi @queenjilian @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @liamrhysstalker2020 @neotericthemis @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @lady-calypso @emkay512 @jovialyouthmusic @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @queenrileyrose @alj4890 @yourfavaquarius111 @motorcitymademadame @queenmiarys @burnsoslow @lizzybeth1986

#dcbbw will write #fanfic wips #very soon #perfect match #trr/trh #swaw #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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themanlykittenkayden · 1 year

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Meta Talk About the Egg Storyline

Thinking about the Egg Storyline and how the way it’s played out it’s kind of hard to imagine what could happen to give a satisfying ending to such a long arc.

A big consideration with the egg storyline is the contradiction between the current story of QSMP, and the wants of a lot of the audience and players.

Specifically, QSMP is- as far as we know so far- a story about a mostly un-emotional, nearly mechanical Federation conducting experiments on its residents and using them for their own mysterious ends. The various entities vary wildly on the scale from vicious to friendly of course, but overall they are still apart of an organization that kidnaps, experiments and kills the residents on a consistent basis.

On the other hand, the players and audience have gotten really attached, and many still wish for a happy ending for the eggs. The one promised to the at the beginning of this whole arc, “you take care of the kids until the dragon returns and the ones who raise happy, healthy eggs will be rewarded”.

So, the ideal solution is to find an ending that allows for the possibility of some sort of happy ending while still highlighting the cold, calculating nature of the federation, while also hopefully keeping in mind the technical limitations of the server and admins and power of the players.

So, here’s my little fanfiction for a possible ending of the storyline:

The residents of Quesadilla Island wake up one rainy morning, and after pushing the sleep from their eyes, they realize something has gone horribly wrong. Each parent rushes to their children’s room and see their child’s bed is gone. It’s like the kidnapping on the day the Brazilians arrived all over again. Frantically searching the room, the only thing out of place is a note.

The idea of the Federation leaving a note for them is worrying in normal circumstances, but with their children gone it’s downright terrifying. What do the Federation want, will they ask for an exchange of some kind, will they be able to survive whatever tasks is set for them? With dread, they open the book, but are surprised to find it’s not from the federation at all. It’s a book from their egg.

Each one is slightly different, written by the admin that plays each egg, but all of them read something along the lines of:

“Dear Parent(s),

I don’t know what’s happening. Yesterday I couldn’t make myself eat, last night I couldn’t make myself sleep, and this morning I couldn’t stop myself from pacing around the room as something kept tugging at my mind. But when I felt my egg crack as I moved about the room, I had one thought.

I need my mom.

I know I should stay here, in the safety of my room, and wait for you to come help me, but I know. I know this isn’t something you can help with. I need my mom- I’m not sure why, but I know it. I went to go find her. Her magic is a lot closer than it was before- I can feel it. I’ve decided to follow it.

I’ll come home after I found her. I love you.”

Each parent is left reeling. Their kid- just left them? Don’t they know how dangerous that is? Do they even know where they’re going? Whatever the case, they know they need to find the other parents and try and make sense of this all and find the eggs before they get hurt.

All of the parents- and any residents they crossed paths with on the way- meet up at Spawn.

There’s chaos and commotion as normal, but a few things are established. One, everyone’s egg is missing and left a similar note. Two, everyone seems to believe that the dragon has returned and that the eggs may be hatching and fled to her on instinct. And three, they have no idea where the kids went.

What they do know for certain is that it’s early enough in the week that no egg has their quests done, so they’re now on a time limit- find the eggs before they get hurt or die of neglect.

(A weeklong event is great for a couple reasons- there’s plenty of time for the players to engage with the plot in their own ways at their own stream time, and it really gives a lot more room for failure. I’m writing the ideal version of this story, but while the story is scripted the players actions are not, so there’s theoretically infinite ways for the players to fail or throw things off track)

With no hints at where the kids have gone, and the sheer size of the island, it’s clear that everyone must split up and try every avenue possible. Some go the “no rock unturned” path and search each notable point of interest on the server in case the kids warped and a clue was left there. Some pick the direction they think their kid might have headed off in and travel off that way too. Some argue that this is the kind of thing that needs the federation’s help and goes to plead to them.

Whatever the case, over the next few days and through a series of trials and tribulations, one thing becomes clear- through some sort of dragon magic, all of the eggs went to the end. And, much to most of the residents’ dismays, the only way to travel dimensions is with the help of the Federation.

At this point everyone comes together again. Some (those who don’t have a chance to stream during the final event) trust that their egg will return to them after their quest is done. The rest however are still worried and can not rest until they see their egg with their own two eyes again. Luckily, those who immediately plead to the Federation have a plan set in place already- the Federation has agreed to open up the End for them and all the preparations have been completed. However, since they don’t plan to kill the ender dragon and risk hurting their hatching kids, this is a one-way ticket until the eggs hatch and are able to use dragon magic to open the portal home again.

Everyone prepares as best as they can to survive as long as possible in the end. Weapons, food, building supplies, whatever they can think of to survive whatever they may face when trapped in that dimension of void.

Finally, the day to enter the End arrives. All of the parents crowd around the portal the Federation has created, and all at once, they are pushed through, hearing one final “Haha. Haha” from dear old Cucurucho.

What they see on the other side of the portal is shocking. All ideas of the eggs sitting snuggly in a nest with a loving dragon are shattered as they see the eggs running around, trying to fight the dragon themselves, barely keeping up as they run out of the few supplies they brought with them. The dragon is clearly fake- a code monster amalgamation in the shape of the one who brought them life. The eggs have only survived this long because the code has some sort of hindrance towards *really* hurting the eggs. It consistently swoops at them, knocking them over and forcing them to swap their weapons for healing or a shield, but it’s goal is clearly to make them stop fighting, not to kill.

That peaceful resolution does not seem to extend to the parents however. It swoops down on the crowd of stunned onlookers, possibly even killing a couple depending on how quickly they can react. The code dragon lets out a rawr, and the battlefield shifts as the fight really begins.

The residents fight back, each focusing on their strengths. Some shift to battle stances and immediately return fire on the imposter dragon. Some focus on support and healing those around them, manipulating the field, and taking out the end crystals. A few choose to act as defense, gathering the eggs and keeping the danger away from them so they can recover.

(The fight is a really cool spectacle like the candidate dinner and what they can do with it depends entirely on the admins, writers and server limitations)

After a long, dangerous battle, the code dragon is defeated. Cheers rip across the battlefield, and the parents rush to their children. (Someone may notice that the portal hasn’t opened at the death of the dragon, but their concern gets lost in the commotion)

A heartfelt reunion is had between the parents and eggs, tears are shed, signs are read, and the eggs apologize for causing such a scare and share their fear at seeing their mother corrupted like that. The parents forgive and comfort them, dragging them into a big group hug. And that’s when the strangest thing happens.

The eggs start to shake.

A cutscene shows up, depicting the eggs all hatching, magically transforming into dragons, and then morphing to be more humanoid (ie, they get Minecraft skins that look like dragons, possibly unique dragon designs for each one depending on what the team is able to do)

The cutscene fades, and in front of the parents no longer stands their eggs but full human-dragons. The new dragons revel in their new form gushing to their parents in pure love and excitement. But they quickly come to a realization- it’s time for them to leave the nest. All of them feel a duty to the end dimension- to bring life to the place they were born and make their mark on it the way their parents did for Quesadilla Island. They promise to visit when they can (opportunity for admin shenanigans), but assure their parents that they’re excited to take the lessons their parents gave them into their new adult life.

A bittersweet feeling hangs in the air as everyone says goodbye to their eggs, and the eggs work together to cast dragon magic on the portal to send them home.

Upon returning, the residents are greeted with another cutscene. The Federation congratulates them on their quest, and presents them with an image of a dragon happily sitting on her eggs. Confusion ripples through the residents, but the federation quickly moves on to the rewards and punishments. (I’m not really sure who would get deemed the happiest egg or what the punishment would be for those who had kids die, but the most important thing is that it’s all a distraction and kind of an insult as it all clearly feels like some sort of game show where their family bonds are reduced to tasks that one either passed or failed).

The broadcast raises many questions and leaves others unanswered, but one thing is clear. With the eggs fully hatched and residents suddenly free of tasks, there’s suddenly a lot more time to dedicate to unraveling the secrets of the federation once again.

#qsmp #qsmp theory #this was so much longer than I expected

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backagainpodcast · 7 months

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dear babapodcast,

oh entity who posteth in this blog, might you behold mutual whimsy and enlightenment with answers to these queries three:

in what context are you writing a thesis? how do you feel about it? what is it?

in what context do you actively swing swords for a job? in what context did you learn? swords [y/n. this action will use up an additional 33.00 Kb of storage on your drive].

in which of many ways have you been referred to in your life? which would you be referred to now? which would the ideal, now?

good knight,

1609

dear anonymous user who submits queries three,

ONE --- I'm at the beginning of the last year of my undergrad (graduating early, which is why it's spring and I'm... now starting my senior year) and you've gotta write a fat research paper to graduate!!! I'm writing about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight being fruity asf (old news) through what is hopefully an academically relevant and not-old-news lense.

While the dread of grad school apps/The Real World/graduating is SO SCARY, this will be project #3 I am doing about Sir Gawain, because he's my most special little guy in the world, and I am having a wonderful time. It's a dream thesis class being taught by one of my favorite professors Ever. There are three thing I have hyperfocused on in my time at university, and those are 1) crows 2) twice-exploding Seattle gay bar Shelly's Leg, and 3) Gawain <3 so. Could not be happier!!

TWO --- lol, so I work at a LARP camp in the summers, which means that knowing how to use a longsword is a useful skill. Also playing DND is a useful skill. Also sewing is a useful skill. Also---

I learned such through doing HEMA, which brings me to my next point ---you, too, should join HEMA!!! HEMA stands for Historical European Martial Arts, though "European" is oft a misnomer, at least in the PNW. I write enough about swords that I started learning how to use them, and now there are five swords in my apartment and I've spent many hours sewing flowers onto my gambeson. 10/10 recommend, but learn from where I've made mistakes and always wear thicker and better gloves than you think you need to. Hockey gloves or gauntlets. I'm so serious. Finger injuries suck so much.

I study longswords from the Fiore and varied KDF traditions, sword and buckler (mostly i.33, but I'm fond of Silver), and have dabbled just enough to be #annoying with basket-hilted broadswords and montantes. I love swords so much.

THREE -- Forgive me if I have misunderstood your last query --- I'm Abigail Eliza, a lot of folks shorten that to Gale (like the wind), and I use she/they pronouns!! Those r all great ways to refer to me :)

#abigail answers asks #ask me about HEMA always im so srs

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hiswitchcraft · 2 years

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Okay, what are your special interests then? If you don't mind me asking.

I love you. This is my lucky day. So in those tags where I was talking about getting my special interest fed I was specifically talking about witchcraft but since you asked:

• Being trans. And not just my experience but other’s experiences. The beautiful parts of it like t4t, and the not so great parts like transphobia. The big and small ways transphobia manifests. How being trans can change your whole perspective. How it makes you a better witch (intersection of 2 special interests there.) Really just trans-ness and gender in general.

• Witchcraft of course. That’s how this account got started after all. I just wanted somewhere to let my interest manifest and other people showed interest! Also turns out probably being autistic can make you “good” at social media, oddly enough.

• Music and alternative subculture. This is the most varied one. Probably because music can vary so drastically unlike some of these other things and I’m into a lot of different kinds of music. A very very specific way this manifests is actually my hair. I used my hair to indicate special interests 1 and 3. When I get compliments on it (usually how bright it is) I’m always tempted to go into my spiel about how I get it that way and how anyone can do it and that I cut it myself too. Bleach isn’t as scary as it sounds my dears.

• The public education system in the US and the many alternatives. Like the trans one this is a lil weird (what did you expect) but I think not going to public school shaped my experience as a person almost as much if not as much as being transgender. So I’ve become fixated on it in the same way. Hopefully you get what I mean!

• Wildlife. It started with birds and has shifted to cats, lizards, ants and probably other categories I’m forgetting. I just know a lot of general fun facts about wildlife too! This also has an intersection with witchcraft. Having lots of info on local wildlife has made me an infinitely better witch.

• Video games. Particularly sandbox survival games or cozy games. I’ve just always loved them in general and can play them for hours and it can become my only hobby. Like the wildlife one it will shift to certain games from month to month or from one year to the next and it’ll be all I talk about for a while.

I’m so sorry most of this doesn’t have anything to do with this blog I just couldn’t resist! Ask questions if ya have em. My DMs are always open!

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icarustica · 2 years

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I refuse to title this “Dear Diary”.

Future Wednesday-

My mother (and the court) have decided that in light of the “traumatic” events resulting in the death of the last therapist I visited, that I am fully justified in my request to not see any more. However, they did issue me this journal. And they intonated that if I don’t have it filled out in six months I’ll have to see a prison psychiatrist rather than a suburban one.

I’m considering leaving the rest of this blank. I think that prison psychiatrist and I would have a lot in common.

However, doing so would mean taking valuable time out of my day to go see some random person well-knowledged with the minds of freaks and criminals, when I could just go ask Grandmama down the hall.

So I suppose I shall have to use my effortless writing talent to fill this journal. Perhaps this is a good thing. The book I finished at Nevermore is quite possibly my best work, and I feel trying to match it with another would be both taxing and fruitless.

So. News.

Pugsley and I have been spending some quality time together. Bonding. Or, I should say, I’ve been practicing my bonding skills. He was stuck in that chair for three days last week. He loved it.

Well, I told him, if he truly has retained his zeal for torture and masochism he should enjoy spending next year at Nevermore with me. I’m deeply afraid of what it will do to him. But I suppose him and Eugene will most likely get along. What a pretty trio we’ll make.

My phone is buzzing. I’ll be right back.

It was Enid. She calls me every day at varying times. I pick up once or twice a week, when I’m feeling rather talkative. Sometimes she’ll even let me get a word or two in.

She’s cut and dyed her hair again, and this time she’s added varying shades of orange to the back. I’m not willing to tell her it looks like Garfield vomited on her head but I am willing to raise my eyebrow condescendingly and let her figure it out on her own. Hopefully the abomination will be gone by the time we resume school. Four days. That should give her just enough time to work up the courage, shave it all off, cry, and reinvent her entire personality before we get back.

Xavier and I text once in a while. He’ll send me pictures of his new artwork, and I’ll send him the pictures of Thing’s progress at dissection. For some reason he doesn’t like those. He sends me the little thumbs down emoji, which I take to be Thing doing an excellent handstand.

He’s stopped having dreams. For the most part. One time he texted me in the middle of the night, when I was having tea with my mother, that he dreamed of blood. Blood in the woods.

Odd. But not odd enough to warrant an investigation. At least, not yet.

We have a new principal, apparently. Someone new. He used to go to Nevermore, and with a name like Thaddeus Croon I doubt he’s one of the outcasts who escaped the ever-pervasive sense of superiority that plagues the Nevermore elite. Somehow I don’t think I’ll like him any more than Weems. Actually, though it makes me question things to admit it, I might miss her towering gloom. Just a tad.

I haven’t had any more visions these last few months. Mother says that’s good, that nothing terrible is going to happen, but I worry…

Well. I worry they are done for good.

Good riddance.

Class lists came in. I’ve picked my electives - Archival Literacy, Mythology, and of course Fencing and Other Sword Sports. Mother would cut off my head if I didn’t. And I doubt she wants me to have that much fun just before school starts.

Enid and Xavier have forced me to also request an art class. I only agreed because I need the credit. And because “Wounded Watercolors” sounded easy enough to get an A in. And besides, I can provide my own paint - blood makes such a pretty splatter.

That’s enough for now. I do wish I could do this with a typewriter. Quill and ink tire me.

Wednesday Addams

Pugsley and I keep a tally of how many small animals we run over on the way to Nevermore.

It’s a good way to keep our nerves down.

“Wednesday,” he says, his voice like the tiny squeaks of the rodents beneath our wheels. “I’m scared.”

“Good,” I reply. “They’re going to eat you alive.”

I can hear him gulp.

“Seven,” I say as there’s another bump, rattling the car. “Best guess - racoon.”

He turns over the seat, looking as we speed past. “Close,” he says, the tremble in his voice smoothed. “Possum.”

“Interesting. They’re not usually on the road this time of year.” My phone is buzzing in my pocket. I know what it’s saying.

u here yet?

wednesdayyy

please please please pleaaaasee

ughh im so boreedddd bestiee

Ajax doesnt get here till wednesday and everyone is literally only sitting by their parents

wednesdayy

:’(((

the new principal looks so wacky loll

“Oh, Wednesday,” sighs my mother, twining her inky hair around her finger. Her eyes are doing that droopy thing. Like a begging puppy. “Promise you’ll take care of our sweet Pugsley?”

“If you recall, taking care of him is what sent me here in the first place,” I reply, keeping my hands folded in my lap. Nevermore looms in my mind. The damp smell of cobblestone. The questions that linger like dust on books.

“Ah, yes,” hums my father, looking adoringly into my mothers eyes. “Our little protector.”

This is all feeling very familiar.

As we get out of the car, the fall leaves crunch beneath our feet. I suppose this year might be different, seeing as I actually get to start at the beginning.

“Wednesday!”

Fuck.

I am tackled.

Sorry, I am “hugged”.

By the brightest, furriest, strawberry-pink being I have the pleasure of knowing. She’s wearing the shawl with all the knitted fruits on it, and I feel a felted lime scratching my cheek as she squeezes.

“Omigosh you’re finally here! I’ve been waiting for like hours and one can only eat so many of the complimentary pretzels. There’s so many new students, do you see them all? I’m pretty sure we’ve got the same room though because I asked around and nobody’s moved so far and like everyone in Macbeth got to put their stuff away earlier so I think that we’re roomies again! Isn’t that amazing!” she squeals.

I pull her away from me, look her steadily in the eyes.

I watch her smile fade.

“I missed you too, Enid,” I mutter curtly as I turn away, and the gleam is back in her eyes.

“In here!” calls a teacher, ushering us towards the gate.

“Wednesday!” My head snaps to the left as I feel a familiar hand clasp mine. “Don’t talk to anyone,” I remind Pugsley as he clings to my side. We fall in line with the students and parents trickling into the courtyard. “You never know who people are here. If you want to eat the snacks, make sure it’s actually real and not the plastic stuff they put in the middle.”

“What if someone tries to be… nice… to me?” he squeaks.

“Bite.”

He nods.

“Is that your little brother?” Enid whispers to me, louder than most people’s shouting.

“Enid,” I say by way of introduction as we pass through the gates. “This is Pugsley. Pugsley, Enid. The biting thing does not apply to Enid, Pugs. Her niceness is tolerable.”

Enid glows with the compliment. “Pugsley,” she croons. “What an adorable name!”

I’m not watching him, but I know when my little brother starts to frown.

“He’s fourteen,” I remind her curtly. “I know he looks like he should still sleep in a crib, but try not to treat him like a baby.”

She winces. “Right. Sorry, dude.”

He shrugs. Then, his eyes light up. “Oh, wow! You weren’t kidding about the snacks!”

“Here,” Enid says excitedly, snatching his hand from my grasp. “I’ll show you the pretzels. They’re actually kinda good.”

And suddenly they disappear, my brother’s suit blending into the sea of parents, and Enid’s bright colors hidden behind tables and pillars.

I feel a cold hand on my shoulder. “Ohh,” sighs my mother. “I suppose we should find a table to sit at… gosh, your first orientation day. Gomez, do you remember…”

“Yes, mi amor,” he sighs, his hand dropping onto my other shoulder. I keep my vision straight ahead, because I know their mouths are like this close together above my head. “I remember so well. So very very well…”

“That’s rather enough of that,” I say roughly, plucking their hands off my shoulders.

“Wait!” calls my mother as I march towards the stairs up to the balcony. “We’ll see you for goodbye, right? I don’t want to keep you from your friends, honey, but…”

“I will,” I say, stopping to turn for a moment. “Provided the goodbye is less than six minutes long.”

My father pouts. “Eight?” he says hopefully.

My brow lowers. “Five.”

The balcony has overgrown with ivy. There’s a little alcove I sit in as I watch the people mill around.

My phone buzzes.

Xavier: I’m going to be late. The storm is crazy on the mountains idk how bad it is for you up there

I look up at the sky, squinting. There’s a bit of a haze around the lake, streaks of rain far in the sky, and the clouds are a dusty sort of purple, but other than that there’s nothing too bad.

I shrug.

Wednesday: Okay.

And as I look down again, at all the milling people and the awkwardly standing teachers, I see…

Her.

Red hair like a rat’s nest, all curls and grease and wet strands. She’s leaning against the olive tree on the far right, near one of the alcoves that leads out into the sides of the castle. She’s got on a red and blue jacket with the most ridiculous amount of zippers I’ve ever seen. She’s built like a twig, like a fencer, a lean candy-cane of a person.

And she’s looking right at me.

Right then, I shiver. I remember those photos. The stalker.

She cocks an eyebrow and gestures with her head to the alcove by her hip. Pivots on a heel and disappears into the shadow.

I lick my lips, glance at the empty stage, and decide might as well. I never could resist a little danger.

“Light?” she says, offering out a cigarette. Water drips off the ivy and filters through the leaves. The world is turquoise back here, in the little hallway between the garden and the courtyard. Crowded with plants and quiet.

“No thank you,” I say, and she shrugs. She lights her own cigarette and the smoke filters through the shade.

“Boring, right? This whole thing. They’re just repeating all the stuff they say in the pamphlet.” She took a lavender piece of paper out of her pocket, waving it around a little.

“Do I know you?” I ask.

Her eyes flick over to mine. Blue. Her nose looks like it’s been broken, and her face is dotted with dark freckles. The curve of her mouth is cruel. “Not yet.”

“Do you know me?”

“Not yet.”

I stare at her as she takes another drag. “It is boring,” I admit.

She snorts, rubbing her peach-red nose with the back of her hand. “Incredibly.”

“Impossibly,” I agree.

“Indubitably.”

“Increasingly.”

She thinks for a moment, licking her lower lip. “Unendingly? No, that’s… dammit. I’ve got nothing.” She sticks out her hand to shake. “Fairly won, wordsmith.”

I shake her hand, nearly, almost smiling.

And she hooks her thumb in mine and pulls me close. “Reagan,” she says, eyes twinkling as my feet stumble a little.

“Wednesday,” I say, refusing to admit my heart has tripped a little. Because that would be ridiculous, that a cheap trick would startle me so suddenly. But we are very close, very very close. My boot is in between her converse, and I’m pretty sure I’m stepping on one of the laces. She smells like salt.

“Nice to meet you, Wednesday,” she whispers, and I detect just a hint of a southern accent.

I swallow, pull back, but my hand is still hooked in hers. “What–”

“Wednesday!”

I’m getting really tired of hearing my own name.

It turns out the whole event has started, and my parents want me to sit quietly and listen as a slim man makes his way to the stage - dressed in white, like Weems. Part of me knows it’s some school tradition, but the other half notes the sly, almost casual smirk dancing on his face and I think it might be to mock her.

Like wearing a wedding dress to a funeral.

“Hello, hello,” he says, waving a hand high above his head. His fingers look like they’re made of matchsticks.

I turn, catching Reagan’s gaze as she saunters to the back, tapping her cigarette out on the damp walls. Rain hangs in the air, and as my eyes track her through my peripheral vision I can’t help but note the fog.

Everything feels heavy. Weighted.

“My name is Thaddeus Croon, though I expect you’ll all be calling me Headmaster Croon,” he laughs, like he’d said something funny. His face is long and clean-shaven, he’s got clear laugh lines but no wrinkles around his eyes. He looks fake somehow, like a statue. “Though this might be my first year here, I can assure you I have plenty of experience. Three years at Rowaker’s Detention School for Unbecoming Boys taught me much, and no, I wasn’t there as a student.”

Now that seems to be an actual joke, which, to my dismay, elicits a laugh from my parents.

“I did go to Nevermore, it’s true,” Headmaster Croon acknowledges, flashing a pearly white smile. I can almost see the backs of his molars, how far that smile stretches. “Class of ‘72!”

I frown. He doesn’t look that old. No more than 30.

“And I can see some of the same old cliques,” he sighs fondly. “The Stoners, hey, some of my best friends back in the day. And the sirens! Too cool for me, hey,” he laughs. But then his face draws serious. “Now. I don’t want any infighting this year. I heard that last year was a lot, for all of you. For a few of you in particular.”

I think his eyes flicker to me. But I’m not quite sure.

“So this year there’s going to be some changes. The basement has completed renovation–”

Suddenly, there’s uproarious applause. I see Enid jump up from where she was perched on a table, clapping. I can see the brightness in her face from fifty feet away. It’s like a bonfire. Burning up witches.

Croon holds up a hand, smiling. “I know, I know. Ten-year-long project, I’m told. But that means that Nevermore can officially house up to a hundred and fifty more outcasts!”

More applause.

“I know, I know. Incredible. And why not, I thought, use this little victory to get rid of some of the silliest restrictions on entry.”

The quiet applause and chattering slows, and I narrow my eyes as I watch our doll-faced headmaster swallow nervously.

“Which is why this year Nevermore is officially welcoming back the magicians.”

“Holy shit.”

“Enid. Why is this so important?” I hiss, grabbing at her coat.

She’s buzzing with excitement, glancing furtively around at the uproarious crowd. Croon was immediately swarmed by outraged parents, and over the noise I can hear him placating their cries. “Okay, so,” she starts, waving her hands. “Like, a really long time ago, I dunno, back in the like steam-engine-Sherlock-Holmes-top-hat time–”

“The late 1800s,” I correct blandly.

“Yes! That. Probably. Back then, when they all had pocket watches and everyone dressed in black and white, there were these outcasts called the magicians. Basically, witches. Or wizards. Spellcasters. Gypsies. Whatever you want to call them.”

I frown. “Spells?”

“Yes. Their powers are basically like, grow things, summon things, or set things on fire or whatever. Nobody really knows - they’ve got their own communities all over the world. See, it’s hereditary but without training people can go their whole lives never finding out. Soo…”

One of my eyebrows raises. “So?”

“Sooo, when they were in the school everyone got super mad because they can pass. Like normies!”

She’s waving her hands, and there’s a crease between her brows. “So everyone’s really annoyed at that. And then there was this whole crisis because they ganged up on a werewolf and used him for a ritual in Jericho! And like three people were killed and there was no way of knowing which magicians did it because they pass as normies,” she whispered, eyes glittering with the drama of it all. “There’s nothing about them that’s uncontrollable or weird. That’s why everyone hates them.”

I swallow. “Enid… if I were to lose my… without my visions, I’m…”

She waves a hand. “You’re homicidal,” she scoffs dismissively. “And enough of a freak they’d let you in anyhow.”

Aww. I think I’m blushing.

“But anyway!” she squeals, holding my shoulders as she jumps. “This is totally freaky and I’m living for it!”

Before I can speak, a hand claps on my shoulder.

“Xavier!” Enid squeals, and she tackles him with a hug. “Omigosh, you’re late! You missed so much!”

Xavier chuckles, hands raised above where Enid is crushing his midsection. He looks up at me with laughter dancing in his eyes, patting Enid’s back with one hand as he looks me over. “The rain,” he explains, and almost on cue a clap of thunder resounds in the air.

The crowd quiets, then gets louder, murmuring.

Croon stands on the stage, cupping his hands. “Alright!” he shouts, gesturing to the entrance. “Guess it’s time to say your goodbyes! Students, come get your packets from the front office before you go to the cafeteria - they’ve got your room assignments! Luggage goes to the hallway, lovelies, line it up A through Z!”

“Hoohhhmygosh,” says Enid, jittering. “Literally so cold. I’m gonna go see if we got Ophelia. Meet you guys in the cafeteria!”

She leaves.

Xavier and I stare at each other. He’s got on a brownish-red sweater vest and a big jacket, and his art satchel is slung over one shoulder. He’s cut his hair. “So,” he says, scuffing at the floor with one heel.

“We should get our luggage,” I say, turning to go.

“Wait, Wednesday.”

I stop, back turned.

“There’s this thing happening tonight. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, sort of forgot. Jackson nabbed me on the way out to tell me. The Nightshades - we’re electing a new leader. Tonight. On the docks.”

That makes me pause. I turn, after a second, hands in fists by my side. “New leader?” I ask. “Bianca’s got one more year left.”

He shakes his head. “She’s not here, Wednesday.”

I frown.

“Sorry,” he says, frowning too, but it’s an apologetic sort of frown. “I know. Weird, right? She didn’t even say goodbye properly. Listen, just… come out tonight to the dock. It won’t be for long.”

I consider it.

“Fine.”

As I turn away, for good this time, I wonder if I truly want to go or if something else is pulling me there - the thread of mystery.

#wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday fanfiction #enid x wednesday #enid x ajax #wednesday x xavier #wednesday series #long post #not romance centric btw #i'm just making the second season #. because i want it. now.#pls #and i want it to be COOL and ANGSTY shaddUP netflix no more love triangles

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kae-karo · 2 years

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hi i need some advice. earlier this year me and one of my best friends had a few big fights that led to us not being friends anymore but we still hang out with mostly the same people. we both got invited to a friendsgiving in a couple weeks and i feel bad that i don't wanna go. she still makes my blood boil and i'm honestly mad that my friends are still friends with her after how she treated me (i know thats not entirely fair and i'm working on it) so to deal with all that on top of my (1/2)

typical anxiety about food and food-centered gatherings might make me have a really shitty time but i wanna see my friends.. idk what to do(2/2) thanks in advance and i hope you're having a good day<3

hi hello dear!!! first and foremost, i am so sorry to hear what happened with your ex-friend, and very sorry that you're stuck in such a tough position with this other group of friends <3 (also i totally feel u on the food anxiety!!! that can be such a frustrating additional stressor to already stressful situations)

my first suggestion would be to communicate (assuming you haven't already!!) with the friends you want to hang out with - based on the fact that they invited both you and the ex-friend to the friendsgiving, i'm guessing they aren't really expecting there to be a major issue, but they might not be aware of how you feel on the situation! very honestly, if you don't feel comfortable being around the ex-friend in that kind of situation, i might just chat with the friends and see if there's another time they can all hang out (i know that's always a bit of a challenge with aligning schedules!!) - hell, maybe solve both problems at once, are they able to do something with you sometime in the near future that doesn't involve food? ik food is often central to Hangout Events of varying sorts, but if there are any events that you'd be more comfy with, maybe start there and see if they have time to have a second hangout event without the ex-friend! or, if you can't get everyone together, maybe some time for hanging out just one-on-one with each of the friends? either way, your comfort is still important in a relationship, and hopefully they understand that!!

if that's not really feeling like an option for you (totally understood!) and/or you do want to go to the friendsgiving (for the purpose of seeing the friends), are there any friends within that group that you feel close enough to that you could let them know about your stress and request some support during the friendsgiving? i'm not sure the whole style of the event or number of friends you have attending, but if there's any reasonable chance of mostly avoiding the ex-friend, i'd say to give it a go and just have someone (or a few someones) you can lean on if you start to get stressed and need a bit of a break

the alternate to that (or an augmentation to it) would be to have a straight up exit strategy - come up with an excuse (real or not) ahead of time and have it ready for when you feel too overwhelmed. if you have trusted friends there that you feel comfortable informing ahead of time that you might have to leave due to stress or feeling overwhelmed, maybe do that as well! otherwise, invent a minor family situation or errand or work/school/whatever thing or roommate situation or something along those lines to have on hand to get you out of something when you feel like you need to absolutely leave but don't want to make anyone feel upset or targeted or whatever. this has been a lowkey lifesaver for me and made me personally feel a lot more comfortable attending events that i might otherwise shy away from cause i'm worried i'll get completely overwhelmed/overstimmed in some capacity!

ofc, if you're not vibing with going and all signs point to 'miserable' no matter which way you slice it, you may not feel great about forcing yourself to go, which is totally valid! i would still try to coordinate with the friends (since that sounds like the key thing you're really hoping for) to get some more time to hang out, if you can!

hope this helped a bit and sending u very good vibes dear <3

#ask #anon #advice #general caveat #i am assuming that these friends are ones that u would like to #continue being friends with #aka they are mostly treating you well and you enjoy being with them #if that's not the case then i change my answer #to 'hit da bricks'

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allylikethecat · 8 days

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Ally!! Can I just say you make my Tuesdays so fun because i know i get to read fics during lunch instead of stressing out over how insurance won’t cover my patients meds!!!!! 😭💀 (in the end they always pay i just have to fight with them for a couple days 🥲)

anyway— i was scrolling on your ao3 and looking at all the fics you have and i know you’ve answered before but how on earth do you decide which one gets an update??? there are so many and all of them are amazing!! how many chapters do you write at the same time and how far along do you have your current wips thought out?

todays chapter has me anxiously waiting to hear what matty and george are going to say to each other i need tears laughs loves hates basically the whole works and it ends with them being a happy family again 😭😭😭 if i were baby i would need more than a drink rn i’d be like “damn i’m staying in here my life is already insane and im not born yet” anyway—i’ll be back after i get off work to talk more

🥤

AHHH Hello my dear Smoothie Anon! As always it is such a joy to hear from you!

I'm so sorry to hear that lunch is usually spent stressing over insurance related matters (why is insurance always the worse? I just thought for two weeks to get Pop's renewed, and then when it came time for me to pay i was ghosted by my agent for a week, I was like WHERE IS MY INVOICE DON'T YOU WANT MY MONEY?! ALL THE CONTRACTS HAVE BEEN SIGNED) BUT I'm glad that a Ducklings update could be a nice little distraction!

What fic gets updated when usually varies - some fics had set update schedules (ex. All the King's Horses was every Friday) and Rid Me of the Blues was the OG Tuesday update fic (and why Tuesdays became a thing in the first place lol) now it's usually just vibes - if you come to my inbox and scream about a certain fic enough I will probably update it sooner, I also have some really great mutuals who make it very known which fic they would like next lol I try and get to the fics that haven't been updated in a while (which is why today was Ducklings instead of On a Friday.) But other times it's just whatever I'm feeling at the moment. I'm sorry for not having a more concise answer! It pretty much just is vibes though 😬

In terms of how far ahead - Ducklings the outline was tossed out months ago and we are just... seeing what happens I have no master plan (if anyone has a master plan please send it my way) but for YKWTCI (which I know hasnt been updated in ages it just makes me feel weird), On a Friday, and Forever. I do have very detailed outlines of each chapter and what is happening next. Little changes might occur but for the most part there is direction and a plot. I usually try and stay at least one chapter ahead when posting but that doesn't always happen. Forever. is the one I am the most ahead in terms of writing and posting because that is what I'm most excited about, but I also have a decent chunk of the Vampire AU written as well. (And another oneshot that is almost finished 👀) Other than when I was "broken" for a bit there over the summer I'm pretty much always writing!

AH They're FINALLY going to COMMUNICATE like ADULTS (hopefully) but yeah baby wants no part in whatever mess this is between their parents they are like ummm sort it out before my arrival thanks!

Thank you SO MUCH for taking the time to like reach my fics and send me this ask!! It means more than you even know! I hope the rest of your day at work goes / went well! And I hope you have a great night and a fabulous rest of your week! Thank you again for the continued support!

❤️Ally

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #keep it kind #fanfiction #matty fic #gatty #fanfic #smoothie anon #🥤#🥤 anon #make way for ducklings #ducklings #mpreg #i know i said i had no direction for ducklings #but i do have direction for at least 2 more chapters lol #then i'll eventually figure out how to wrap this up lol

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fellsilver · 2 months

Text

Laeral Silverhand's Explorer's Kit contains twenty-one art cards with accompanying text on the back written from Laeral's perspective. I'm transcribing the text from them for my own ease of reference.

SIDE OF THE BOX.

The path to Faerûn's wonders is endless and fraught with danger, but one you'll never walk alone.

INTRO CARD.

Today's Faerûn, our vast and varied world, is but the latest verse of a song sung through generations. Its choruses resound through the vaults of time, each a variation on people, wishes, mysteries, and myths we'll never know — yet that define everything we are. Those who listen long enough might here the refrains of lost civilizations and forgotten magic, of wars between giants and dragons, of the wizards of Netheril, and of the high magic of the elves. They are the echoes of verses long sung, but indelible parts of our ongoing song.

To understand Faerûn, train yourself to listen to the present and the past. Only fools deafen themselves to the song around them — the serenade of new wonders, the clangor of war and worse. Although I don't have the perspective to sing you Faerûn's entire song, I'm happy to share a few of my favorite verses.

Hopefully they'll help you distinguish a greater melody, so, when it comes your time to sing, you'll better understand the harmony that's waited so long for your voice.

LAERAL SILVERHAND.

My name is Anamanué Laeral Silverhand. I was the fifth born of seven sisters to the goddess Mystra. When my mother died, I was taken under the wing of the wizard Elminster who taught me about the world and the Weave of magic. Since then, I have ruled a kingdom, led adventurers on many quests, freed myself from the depths of evil, and known a love beyond death.

Now I serve the city of Waterdeep. I had retired from the world and thought my days of adventuring over when the Masked Lords of Waterdeep called on me. They had ousted their corrupt Open Lord, Dagult Neverember, and asked me if I would serve as the new Open Lord of Waterdeep — in the hopes of bringing stability and honor back to their city. Knowing the strategic and symbolic importance of Waterdeep as a beacon of hope and a demonstration of what is possible for the people of Faerûn, I accepted.

Waterdeep is the hub of the Sword Coast, a shining star of civilization, and a grand experiment in co-existence. It is a place that cannot be allowed to fall to evil and corruption. In the centuries that I have walked the lands of Toril, I have sough a place where all people could find rest. To this end, I've sworn to use my power to make sure that Waterdeep and her citizens remain safe.

HARPERS.

The Harpers and their mission are dear to my heart. The organization dedicates itself to many nobles things, but above all its members work to maintain the balance of magic in the world. To do this, the Harpers secretly keep checks on ambitious wizards, hold back the tides of extraplanar threats, and make sure that items of great power don't fall into the wrong hands.

The magic that most of us see in the world is but the visible tip of the iceberg hidden from out eyes within the infinite vastness of the Weave, the tapestry of magic that runs throughout out world. Only archmages and the wizards of fallen Netheril have experienced the full intoxicating majesty of the Weave, but I know too well how its unbridled energy can corrupt the best of us. Heeding dire warnings from the elves of Myth Drannor, Elminster Aumar, and those such as myself who understand the disastrous potential of unchecked high magic, the Harpers have dedicated themselves to protecting the world from this power.

ZHENTARIM.

I've seen the Zhentarim shift and change endlessly over the decades, consuming itself again and again, retching forth and ever more bilious incarnation each time. Manipulated by nefarious forces, like the evil wizard Manshoon or the foul gods Bane and Cyric, the Zhentarim often dance to whatever tune their mad leader pipes.

Recently, though, the Black Network has shown signs that it could rewrite its history and free itself from the clutches of evil to build a new company of merchants and mercenaries open for business. I know the weakness of mortals all too well, though. While the Zhentarim have presented themselves as a group that wishes to join society and embrace a new future, I can't help but suspect that the hand of Manshoon still manipulates the Zhentarim from the shadows.

How long will it take before I can sit with the Zhentarim and not suspect treachery? I doubt even I will live long enough to see that day.

CULTS OF THE DEAD THREE.

The cults of the Dead Three began as most cults do, their frightened members lured to depravity by confidence and hollow promises. In this case, the fanatics flocked to the intoxicating power of the fallen gods Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul.

The cults of the Dead Three predominantly flourish within the city of Baldur's Gate, and I see them as a test of the city's health. The cults raise their heads in proportion to the instability of the city and the corruptibility of its leaders. When Baldur's Gate experiences a time of plenty under the protection of a strong leader, the fanatics slink into their gutters to fester and plot. However, when the symbol of Bhaal appears in broad daylight, and cultists openly preach fear and divisiveness on the streets, then it's a clear sign that the leadership of Baldur's Gate has grown weak.

When the cauldron of hatred spills over to harm the public good, Baldur's Gate is in need of new heroes to defend the innocent and cleanse the city of evil once more.

DURNAN.

Ah, Durnan. A man of simple tastes and few words. I'm always refreshed when I meet someone who doesn't mince words with flattery, and to this effect, Durnan comes across like a cool breeze on a humid day.

Durnan's story is also the story of Waterdeep. It was Durnan who, with the help of that incorrigible rogue, Mirt, when into the Undermountain (from which no one had ever returned) and emerged not just alive, but laden with gold and magical treasures. Using his newfound fortune, Durnan built an inn around Undermountain's entrance and turned a deathtrap into a business, now known as the Yawning Portal. For the cost of a single coin, you can descend into the dungeon — Durnan's advice and rental equipment costing extra. If you return (and still have a coin to pay your way up) you'll receive a hero's welcome. If you don't return . . . well, don't expect the tavern's regulars to come looking.

Over time, traders and fortune seekers from up and down the Sword Coast settled around the Yawning Portal. The tavern became synonymous with possibility and prosperity, prospects that came to be shared by the city that grew around it: Waterdeep, the City of Splendors.

GRAND DUKE ULDER RAVENGARD.

I always admire those who put aside their comforts for the greater good. Ulder Ravengard has no love of dealing with the conniving scum that flourishes in the high halls of Baldur's Gate, yet he sacrificed a comfortable retirement as a former leader of the Flaming Fist mercenaries for a life in politics, all for the good of Baldur's Gate and its citizens.

Ulder is a warrior, used to life where direct action and immediate results define the difference between life and death. I can only imagine the frustration he must be experiencing dealing with the hand-wringing patriars and dawdling dukes that manipulate fortunes in Baldur's Gate. Without him, the city surely would have fallen even further into the corruption that has plagued it since its founding as a freebooter's stop along the Chionthar River.

Squabbling dandies aren't the only ones Ulder must contend with. More serious threats, such as the Dead Three and their foul cultists, endlessly gnaw at the heart of the city, plotting dooms beyond any sane mind.

Baldur's Gate is a powder keg, and who can say how long Ulder Ravengard can keep it from igniting?

HALASTER BLACKCLOAK.

Beyond depravity, beyond mental illnesses, Halaster Blackcloak, the Mad Mage, is a singular danger even among those who flaunt the laws of magic. His most infamous creation, Undermountain, is a chaotic maze of deathtraps filled with his personal menagerie of monsters and half-finished arcane experiments. There, unmoored from reason and morals, he obsesses over meaningless audacities. Reluctantly I let him and his creations fester, so long as they remain locked away within their twisted labyrinth. If any of his depravities leak onto Waterdeep's streets, though, then we shall have more than words.

While Undermountain has a reputation for extraordinary danger it's also famed for containing fabulous treasures — be they rarities from the depths of the Underdakr or strange wonders collected by Halaster himself. Over the years, those with more ambition than sense have ventured into Undermountain in search of gold and glory. This deadly attraction has had a significant role in making Durnan's inn, the Yawning Portal — and, indeed, all of Waterdeep — what it is today. I doubt that even the Mad Mages' bizarre genius could ever have predicted that his dungeon's greatest side effect would be encouraging the rise of Waterdeep itself.

JARLAXLE BAENRE.

While Jarlaxle Baenre selfishly serves his own hedonistic fancies, his formation of the Bregan D'aerthe has provided a place for drow outcasts of all stripes — himself included — to find sanctuary and purpose far from the awful conditions of dark elf society. While he's certainly a pompous dandy, frills and a dashing smile hide his most scandalous secret: that he actually has what might pass as a heart. This saving grace is why I don't immediately fire upon him whenever his ship sails into Waterdeep's harbor.

I don't for a second underestimate Jarlaxle, though. He's always scheming, with dozens of machinations in the works at any given time. Any dealings with him involve untangling his web of half-truths and lies to figure out what game he's playing. If he would just tell the truth up front, he might discover that I'm not always opposed to his schemes, and I rather enjoy the dash of originality he brings to a world all-too-often lacking in style — not that I'd ever tell him that, mind you.

LORD DAGULT NEVEREMBER.

Many desire power with the intention of doing the right thing once they have it. Sadly, such dreams rarely come to fruition, as other factors all too often corrupt the purity of the idealist who sets out to change the world. This is what happened with Dagult Neverember when he became the Open Lord of Waterdeep. He was filled with confidence, even arrogance, though I believe he did initially care for the city.

Over time the rot of power and wealth turned Dagult's youthful idealism into the pettiness of a man who lives in lack. He dishonored Waterdeep and its people by trying to turn the city into a revenue stream for himself and his cronies. It took a considerable amount of time, but eventually things turned bad enough that Waterdeep's citizens demanded change and the Masked Lords expelled Dagult from their ranks.

Now Dagult has gone off to Neverwinter and is actually helping that city recover following the devastating eruption of Mount Hotenow. I only hope he continues his good work, as Neverwinter's people are far less forgiving than the residents of Waterdeep. Should he indulge his greed, Dagult is apt to find himself cast out again — this time on a pike to freeze at Neverwinter's edge.

DRIZZT DO'URDEN.

My sister, Alustriel, enjoys a closer friendship with him than I, but I can say that Drizzt Do'urden is one of those people who creates paths where none existed before. Before Drizzt, most would have said that the drow were innately evil and beyond redemption. To be born into a culture, endure its relentless brainwashing, and somehow still find a way to break free is a testament to Drizzt's strength of character. Even when eh fled his home, the vicious city of Menzoberranzan, he wasn't escaping into an ideal world. Drizzt knew prejudice against the drow was rampant aboveground. He knew the road would be hard, he knew he would have to fig hgt to break the suspicions of the surface world, and he did it anyway.

People like Drizzt are myth breakers, creating new realities from nothing, remaking the world's assumptions into what they and future generations deserve. Because of his actions, we now see more drow breaking free from their cultural trauma. At the time, Drizzt might have thought he blazed his path to the surface for himself alone. Only today are we beginning to realize what hopeful droves followed on his heels.

VAJRA SAFAHR.

Vjara Safahr has talent, and is growing into her role as Blackstaff, Archmage of Waterdeep. While I still can't see the Blackstaff — the companion of my beloved, departed husband, Khelben — without distractingly dear memories flashing to mind, I'm coming to accept Vajra as a worthy wielder and able ally. While her magical skill is undeniable, I can't help but think of her as another of Khelben's students, one of this generation's worthiest magical minds, and the one luckiest to be guided by the Blackstaff and the dear soul it harbors.

Vajra is committed to her post and the defense of Waterdeep, as she must be to face the number of threats that rise to test her; the defenses of her home, Blackstaff Tower; and the City of Splendors at large. Our city's greatest defneses and most ancient magics stand ready to heed her command, such as the titanic Walking Statues of Waterdeep. Yet, for all Vajra's prospects, wisdom comes not with potential, but with experience. The Blackstaff and I will do all we can to guide the archmage, but ultimately Vajra's fate will be of her own choosing — and the fortunes of the City of Splendors hang in the balance.

MIRT.

Mirt. What can I say about Mirt? he's a scoundrel, a scallywag, and a rogue, but underneath it all, Mirt is a stalwart defender of good who has the heart of a hero. In this world of villains, having someone you can unconditionally trust is worth all the gold in Waterdeep.

Even though Mirt has lived a magically extended life, it's still impressive how much he's accomplished. He has been a trader, a thief, and an adventurer during his early days, where he made several fortunes. Like many of us, though, he eventually found that the sparkle of jewels fade. When that happened, he retired from adventuring to search for a more meaningful existence and settled in Waterdeep.

Don't get me wrong, though. Mirt did not lose a step in his legendary gadding about, becoming one of the city's premier revelers and information brokers. It seems that no amount of self-reflection can entirely tidy up his character. But a keen eye for what other people value — be it a kind word or some other treasure — is what makes Mirt, Mirt.

THE XANATHAR.

I have only had to deal with one Xanathar — the title of a procession of beholder crime bosses who mastermind Waterdeep's most notorious thieves' guild — on my watch as Open Lord of Waterdeep. As far as beholders go, this one hasn't been exceedingly monstrous. Perhaps it is due to my dearth of experience dealing with megalomaniacs, Underdark tyrants, and depraved wizards, but beholders are fairly easy to contend with once you uncover their particular paranoia.

This guild leader has attached itself to a fish named Sylgar, which it lavishes affection on and derives a sense of security from. It's just one idiosyncrasy in an encyclopedia of strange beholder behaviors that leaves me puzzled. Regardless, I've used this carp to my advantage and have worked with the Xanathar's lackeys to keep Sylgar alive. It certainly wouldn't serve me to comment on rumors that I've secretly provided now Sylgars when old ones perish. However, I will say that I've learned much of Delimbiyr carp in recent years, particularly their sensitivity to temperature and how frustratingly long it takes to safely introduce them into new bowls.

BALDUR'S GATE.

With its place at the center of the travel and trade in this region, Baldur's Gate is critical to the stability of the Sword Coast. This makes the city's notorious corruption and numerous near collapses all the more unnerving. Somehow, though, the city finds a way to thrive despite the meddling of gods, devils, and criminal conspiracies. such also makes Baldur's Gate a crucible of heroes, who regularly rise to face those endless waves of evil. Among such heroes are Minsc and his valorous hamster companion, Boo, two unlikely heroes who — along with their companions Delina, Shandie, Krydle, and Nerys — have become reliable defenders of Baldur's Gate. Six champions aligned against all the disparate evils that set their designs upon the city hardly seems like fair — or sustainable — odds, though. Now more than ever Baldur's Gate needs heroes, those who will defend the city that is and write the tale of the city yet to be.

CANDLEKEEP.

Oh, dear. Now that we're discussing the great library of Candlekeep, it reminds me that I have several books in need of returning before the First Reader sends scowling monks to hound my steps.

Among the greatest libraries in the Realms, Candlekeep is a bastion of magical and mundane scholarship in all its myriad forms. Only true scholars are permitted access to the citadel-library, a state Candlekeep's monks test by demanding a particular price: a tome not already present in the library's vast collection. If you can barter your way inside, the burden of knowledge within bears upon visitors like a physical weight. Nearly any question one might think to ask has its answer in Candlekeep, but of greater interest are the innumerable secrets that sleep amid the stacks, question — wondrous and terrible — few mortals ever thought to ask.

NEVERWINTER.

Neverwinter has seen its fair share of misfortune over the last century, everything from orc attacks to infernal corruption, from volcanic explosions to chasms swallowing up whole urban districts. Yet, somehow, the city has survived, emerging from the ashes to thrive and grow.

Speaking as the Open Lord of Waterdeep, I see Neverwinter as one of our two greatest partners, they in the north and Baldur's Fate to the south. Because of these cities' positions along the Sword Coast, they serve as protectors and allies in Waterdhavian interests, contributing to the stability that we enjoy today. Because of this relationship, Neverwinter, Baldur's Gate, and Waterdeep number among the most prosperous cities in all Faerûn. Our communities live in symbiosis, our differences paling in the face of our peoples' common needs for safety and prosperity. We depend on one another to grow and to survive fate's challenges. Let us all seek to remember the strength we share, particularly in the face of short-sighted charlatanry and grasping tyrants.

PORT NYANZARU.

Port Nyanzaru rises upon the wild shores of distant Chult, a colony of Amn that grew into a city like no other. I was there when Port Nyanzaru was still merely an outpost, a fortification run by the Flaming Fist with the sole purpose of looting the jungle of its countless riches. The wood-paneled offices and gem-encrusted circlets of many Amnian nobles arose as products of this wanton pillaging.

All that ended when the merchant princes of Chult proclaimed their independence from Amn, retook control of their home,a nd declared it a sovereign nation of their own. Many feared this separation would bear a bloody price, but deals were made and treaties signed with only limited violence.

Today, Port Nyanzaru is a bustling, cosmopolitan city, a gateway to Chult, guarded by its people.

WATERDEEP.

Waterdeep is a grand experiment. All cultures and ideologies mix here, endlessly working and realigning to make the city their home. Walking Waterdeep's streets is like striding across the nations of Faerûn. In a single day you might encounter clothing, food, and works of art form a hundred nations. Waterdeep is about expanding horizons and broadening experiences. To visit Waterdeep is to be forever changed by its people — their knowledge, stories, music, and hospitality.

Waterdeep is far from a paradise, though. There are always sinister forces at work in the city, those jealous of our prosperity or who prioritize their own greed over their neighbors' needs. That is where my role as the city's open lord comes in. Although I often take time to enjoy the city's simple pleasures, I work with many groups — the Harpers, the Lords' Alliance, the Emerald Enclave, and others — to keep informed of what's happening within, under, and around the city. Many threads I contend with directly. Others, though, call for an indirect touch. In such cases, I find myself in endless need of committed heroes willing to stand in defense of the City of Splendors.

ICEWIND DALE.

Like one of Icewind Dale's most famous residents, Drizzt Do'urden, many who travel to the frigid North are outcasts in search of a place where they can make a new home for themselves. some go to Icewind Dale determined to make their fortunes, lured by the promises of gold, gems and magical remnants of lost Netheril. Others go seeking solitude, or to escape unfortunate pasts — or laws — in the cities of the south.

Today, most residents of Ten Towns — the region's predominant settlements — dwell there because they were born in Icewind Dale. The people are mostly fishers, loggers, miners, hunters, trappers, furriers, and traders accustomed to the harsh climate, the slow pace, and the isolation. Like the hardy reindeer of the tundra, residents of Icewind Dale endure, doing what's necessary to survive.

#OOC / HOLLY.#reference #the Jarlaxle one is my favorite lmao #she talks about him the way one might talk about dealing with a devil

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jdgo51 · 7 months

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MARCH 6, 2024

Let God In

Judy Hoyt Pettigrew (Florida, USA)

"Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil." - Matthew 4:1 (NIV)

"'What are you giving up for Lent? I know I am supposed to give up something in order to reflect on Jesus’ 40 days in the desert and to prepare for the commemoration of Jesus’ death and resurrection. My immediate answer for way too many years has been “chocolate” and “playing pickleball.” But if I knew I was going to die in 40 days, giving up food and fun would not make the list at all! So, what would I give up?

I’d give up wasting time. I would focus on all the people I haven’t seen or talked to enough and tell them how much they mean to me.

I’d give up trying to tell my grandkids what to do! Instead, I would write down my life’s story — hopefully to leave answers to questions they will surely have after I am gone.

I’d give up harbored anger, resentment, and frustration over my failures, the relationships that turned out badly, and the opportunities I ignored.

I’d give it all up to let God in — not just for Lent or 40 days, but from this day forward. Let us renew our commitment to follow Jesus’ example of obedience as we seek fullness of life in God."' What is the correct thing to give up for Lent. That varies as much as the varied people who will make such choices. Some believers are not that clear on this and do not make a specific choice. You do you! Whatever works for your beliefs and for your personal satisfaction.

TODAY'S PRAYER

"Dear God, help us to appreciate the sacrifice Jesus made for us. Give us the courage to follow his leading toward wholeness of life." Amen.

Matthew 4:1-11

"'1 Then the Spirit led Jesus up into the wilderness so that the devil might tempt him. 2 After Jesus had fasted for forty days and forty nights, he was starving. 3 The tempter came to him and said, “Since you are God’s Son, command these stones to become bread.” 4 Jesus replied, “It’s written, People won’t live only by bread, but by every word spoken by God.” 5 After that the devil brought him into the holy city and stood him at the highest point of the temple. He said to him, 6 “Since you are God’s Son, throw yourself down; for it is written, I will command my angels concerning you, and they will take you up in their hands so that you won’t hit your foot on a stone.” 7 Jesus replied, “Again it’s written, Don’t test the Lord your God.” 8 Then the devil brought him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory. 9 He said, “I’ll give you all these if you bow down and worship me.” 10 Jesus responded, “Go away, Satan, because it’s written, You will worship the Lord your God and serve only him.” 11 The devil left him, and angels came and took care of him."' Continue to refuse to do anything the Devil tempts you with and eventually he goes away. The hardest part is being strong enough to stand behind that refusal. God should win, and not Satan. Blessings abound when you choose God. Joe

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ennaku-sirri-da · 1 year

Text

EDIT: I removed the "W"'s because it felt too unnecessary

K IM DROPPING ONE MORE HC AND NAPPING MY GOD FASTING( FOR RAMZAN) IS MAKING ME SO GODDAMN HUNGY

Plain text: K I'm dropping one more HC AND napping my god fasting( for ramzan) is making me so goddamn hungry

CONSIDER: Putunia also picking up Habit's speech patterns.

I wrote a little something like this a while back actually. I don't want to post the whole thing but here's excerpts. For some context here- Buddy and Rose( me and my friends OCs, a Habitician and a Flower Kid, a dubiously humanlike cat person and a rose-flower nymph. ) can't figure out what Habit is( cryptid, cartoon, evil, misguided, vampire, human?) so they go around asking every Habitican about him. Keep in mind this is an AU so it has NON- CANON elements.

Also TBH everything I've written here doesn't necessarily have to be AU canon because I'm putting it on indefinite pause...so IDK, man. But I still thought it's neat enough to share.

Here's Putunia's take...(not the whole thing, which I won't be posting ) I'll provide plaintext under the cut!

Setting: We've just questioned the punchiest kid around, who is now officially Regaling us around a campfire, her midnight cape blowing as the fire lights her acting-out up in brush strokes of orange, red and yellow against the dark sky.

THE MENACE!!!!

SHHH.

SHOOSH SHUSH. BE VARY QUIET NOW BIG KID AND BIG KITTY WITTY

HE HEARS

ALL

BEEG COTTON FLUFFY EARS

LIKE THE EVIL DRAGON!

IN LEETLE RED RIDING HOOD

"ALLLL THE BETTERRRR TO HEARR YOU WITH MY DEARRRR-IEEE!!!"

GOODNESS GOODERESTNESS!!! WHAT BEEGBEEG HANDS YOU HAVE!

"THE BEEEETTERRRR TO HUGGGG YOU WITHHH MY DEARRR-IEEE!!~~~"

AND

AND!!!

DONT JUMP SCAREDY KITTY!! HEE HEEE!! ITS JUST A STORY!

FLOWER POWER HERO #2 ROSE IS A WEAK LITTLE BABY. MORE BABIE THAN ME. HE CAN'T CARRY YOU!

ANYWAY

*clears throat* HURRUFF-HUR-AHEH-AHEH

OHKAY! SO!

THE MOST SPINE-BURNING, AFFRIGHTENING, CHICKENS WILL EXPLODED, HERRORIZING PART!

AT THE MOMENT

YOU ARE LEAST EXPECTATING

"GRANDMAMMMAAA DEAR!! WHAT SHARRRPPP TEEFS YOU HAVE!"

HE!

JUMPS!!!!

BEEG

BEEG MOUTH OPEN AT YOU

LAUGHING! SNORTING! BWA HA HA HA! SO BRIGHT!

FIRE BALL

BEEG ONE!! WOWWWWW

[ skip excerpt..]

RUN!

HEE HEE. SILL-EE BUTTI. BUDY. BUDDEDY. DONT BE A PUSSYILANIMOUS NOW.

YOU NEED TO BE BRAVE! [...] DONT CRY! NEVER CRY! BE STRONG! GOOD GIRL! GOOD GIRL! COME HERE TO ME! I WIN!!!!!

[ skip excerpt..]

YOU TWO FLOWER HEROES WILL ALSO WIN

WHEN HE SAYING

"ALLLL THE BETTER TO EATTTTT YOU WITH!!!!!!!" SCREAM!!!!! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

PUTUNIA THE MIDNIGHT PETUNIA KNIGHT ALSO KNOWS ALL! LIKE THE MENACE. BUT SHE IS GOOD. A VERY GOOD LITTLE GIRLIE.

THATS WHAT MAMA MENACE HABIT TOLDEN ME!

HES ALWAYS ALWAYS TELLING ME THAT SOMETIMES I GET BORED AND HIT HIM SOFT THUMP ON HIS SILLY HEAD SO HE STOPS SAY-SAY

SOOOO LONG TIME! ITS HORRIBLE! I LUVER MY MUMMY SO MUCH! BAD! VERY BAD! HES HURTING ALL! YOU! ME! BUDDY!

TALKING YAKKING PUPPET PAPPING BLAPALAPPING SINCE HE STEALED ME AWAY FROM THE BAD PARENTS IN MY SEVENTH FOSTER HOME AT SCARY DARK NIGHT WHEN HE SINGY-SINGY BEAUTIFUL SONG AND I WAS SLEEPY SEEPY ME ZZZZZ......

ZZZZ...

SNORT

HES...A ....MAMA...DRAGON...EVIL.....WARM...WINGS....BEG...BEEG.....

ZZZ

BLOOP.

( She's asleep. )

❤️❤️❤️

( three red hearts divider )

I have a WHOLE THING about Habit and dragons hopefully I'll have the energy later to provide more HSSJK

On a lighter note than this what aboutttt:

:- ) [ Smile emote with straight nose showing Habit ] ----> to :O ) ( Smile emote with big O nose showing Putunia )

Plaintext under the cut!

The Menace!!!!

Shhh.

Shoosh shush. Be vary quiet now big kid and big kitty witty

He hears

All

Beeg cotton fluffy ears

Like the evil dragon!

In leetle red riding hwood

"Allll the betterrrr to hearr you with my dearrrr-ieee!!!"

Goodness gooderestness!!! What beegbeeg hands you have!

"The beeeetterrrr to hugggg you withhh my dearrr-ieee!!~~~"

And

And!!!

Dont jump scaredy kitty!! Hee heee!! Its just a story!

Flower power hero #2 rose is a weak little baby. More babie than me. He can't carry you!

Anyway

*clears throat* hurruff-hur-aheh-aheh

Ohkay! So!

The most spine-burning, affrightening, chickens will exploded, herrorizing part!

At the moment

You are least expectating

"Grandmammmaaa dear!! What sharrrppp teefs you have!"

He!

Jumps!!!!

Beeg

Beeg mouth open at you

Laughing! Snorting! Bwa ha ha ha! So bright!

Fire ball

Beeg one!! Wowwwww

[ skip excerpt..]

Run!

Hee hee. Sill-ee butti. Budy. Buddedy. Dont be a pussyilanimous now.

You need to be brave! [...] dont cry! Never cry! Be strong! Good girl! Good girl! Come here to me! I win!!!!!

[ skip excerpt..]

You two flower heroes will also win

When he saying

"Allll the better to eattttt you with!!!!!!!" scream!!!!! Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!

Putunia the midnight petunia knight also knows all! Like the menace. But she is good. A very good little girlie.

Thats what mama menace habit tolden me!

Hes always always telling me that sometimes I get bored and hit him soft thump on his silly head so he stops say-say

Soooo long time! Its horrible! I luver my mummy so much! Bad! Very bad! Hes hurting all! You! Me! Buddy!

Talking yakking puppet papping blapalapping since he stealed me away from the bad parents in my seventh foster home at scary dark night when he singy-singy beautiful song and I was sleepy seepy me zzzzz......

Zzzz...

Snort

Hes...A ....Mama...Dragon...Evil.....Warm...Wings....Beg...Beeg.....

Zzz

Bloop.

( She's asleep.)

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humanoidtyphoons · 3 years

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hitskarin as my favourite kdrama otps au! not all of them technically work, but shh, we’re living in a world that it does.

cunning single lady. once upon a time, hitsugaya toushirou and karin were the happiest and most in love couple ever. then toushirou quit his job, and continuously failed to find investors. eventually, karin just can’t handle overworking herself, and decides to get a divorce. years later, hitsugaya toushirou is now a successful businessman, and kurosaki karin... is not. it would be fine, except karin finds out that it was her idea that made him successful, and she wants compensation, dammit! deciding to join his company as in intern, thus begins the cat-and-dog quarrel between divorcees, who hurt each other terribly, but also, cannot get over each other either as easily as they’d like.

because this is my first life. hitsugaya toushirou has a great apartment, but owes a lot on his mortgage. enter kurosaki karin, who has focused on her writing career and never dated, and is in need of an apartment. because it’s not acceptable for a single man, and a single woman, in reality, a landlord and his tenant, to share the apartment, they decide to get married to prevent suspicion! everything will be fine! they’re not going to fall in love! they make a contract outlining how their marriage of convenience will make everything simple and beneficial to them both. they can communicate easily, because they don’t have feelings for each other. but that soon changes, and love, unfortunately, has a way of making even what was the most simple of things the most complicated...

weightlifting fairy kim bok joo. kurosaki karin, university student chasing her dream of weightlifting, develops a crush on her friend hitsugaya toushirou’s cousin, grimmjow jaggerjaquez. at first, hitsugaya toushirou teases her, and decides to help her out, because, well, they are friends, and friends help each other right? but soon enough, finds himself falling in love with her. but the question is, will karin return his feelings?

the last empress. kurosaki karin is a bright and vivacious musical actress that marries emperor hitsugaya toushirou, who has been broken hearted ever since the death of his first wife until he meets and falls in love with karin. or so it seems. in reality, toushirou marries her as a means to cover up his scandalous affairs and terrible crimes, with karin none the wiser, until she becomes involved in a mysterious murder that sets off events that threaten the monarchy itself, and she realizes how vile the monarchy truly is, and becomes determined to expose the crimes that the royal family have tried to cover up all this time. you won’t believe what happens next!

touch your heart. kurosaki karin a popular actress because she’s pretty but bad at acting, and unfortunately, gets involved in a drug scandal, so her career is essentially over. however! she is offered a second chance: if she gets work experience as a secretary for a lawyer for a couple of months, which is the role for the exciting drama she wants to star in, there’s a high possibility for a comeback! meanwhile, hitsugaya toushioru, attorney at a law firm, cold-hearted and arrogant, is told by his boss that he needs a secretary, and who better than the goddess kurosaki karin herself (whom hitusgaya toushirou has never heard about because he’s uninterested in the acting world)! unhappy about it, but begrudgingly accepting, it’s only three months, he tells himself, with gritted teeth, it will pass, will sparks fly as these two meet and dislike each other from the get go...?

#hitsukarin #onion sprouting text #if you want to ask me questions or want recs feel free!#but all of these are dear to me and hopefully varied enough?#i do have more kd otps (scarlet heart ryeo and flower of evil and others) but i thought five was a good number to stop on #probably won't write fic about these aus but still! fun to think about and imagine!#would you believe me if i said they're ALL romcoms even if tle is... insanity itself

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oreosmilkshakes · 2 years

Text

Once Upon A Dream

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x reader Fandom: The Sandman Word Count: 2,666 Warnings: Dark Morpheus, light mentions of inappropriate touching, light obsessive behaviour, light violence. A/N: This is a one shot! This is a Hades and Persephone sort of trope, or at least I hopefully did it the right way! Enjoy!!

Taglist: NIL

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

To some, dreams are meant to be an escape from reality. To a realm where there are endless possibilities, to live in imaginary worlds where everything is perfect and flawless and to get away from reality’s problems.

To [Name], it’s just that. Everyday, she was thankful to return to the same dream. Lush, green meadows, blooming spring flowers, a small, quaint town with kind people. It brought a smile to [Name]’s face, her heart longed to be in this dream forever but she knew it could never happen.

She met with the residents, the old men and women treated her better than those in the real world. They cared for her, unlike them and she returned the action. [Name] would spend her day in the libraries or visit the town fountain to watch the children play as the sound of their giggles were like music to her ears. She would also wander to the meadows just a short walk away from the town.

However, there was something bugging her all the time. In the far distance sat a mountain. But the mountain was nothing like the town, full of vibrant colours. No, it was dark and everything about it screamed evil. She was hesitant to ask the locals about it, afraid she would not receive the answer she sought for so she kept to herself for the moment. [Name] picked up a flower and rested it on her ear, turning to town and left for it.

[Name] was a curious girl at heart. She wanted to know everything that would peak her curiosity and she figured the library would be the best place. Hence, she would always spend the majority of her time there.

Little did she know, a raven with feathers as dark as the night, perched atop a lamppost, its big eye looking down at [Name] resting on the window settee with a book open. He let out a loud croak and with wings outstretched, he took flight. Up, up and up he went, towards the top of the mountain where a lean figure stood. Little feet landed by the boot. The wind blew against the two.

“What do you have for me, Matthew?”

Matthew cleared his throat. “Well, um..It’s the usual routine, sir. Talking to the locals, reading in the library, spending time with the children,”

Morpheus stood with his back straight, hands clasped behind his back with dark eyes focused down on the little town. His tongue darted past his lips, wetting them.

“If I may, sir-,”

“No. You may go, Matthew. You will still do your duty of watching her in the waking realm. And tell no one of this. Understood?” He spoke with such a low voice, it almost ruffled Matthew’s feathers.

“Y-Yes, sir,” Matthew left shortly, leaving Morpheus alone on the mountain.

Soon, my dear

So very soon, you will be in my possession

Matthew would report back to Morpheus privately everyday on how [Name] was and it varied each day. Morpheus knew so much about her but he wanted more. Oh, he definitely wanted much more.

So far, this is what Morpheus knew from Matthew’s observation.

[Name] lived in Singapore and she worked as a secretary to a boss who Morpheus did not like. Matthew had informed him that her boss was the creep type and the King did not understand how [Name] was unfazed by his actions. Perhaps her naivety clouded her eyes from the straying eyes of her boss. [Name]’s co-workers were pretty much not very nice ones and it almost seemed as if they were alienating her.

When asked about it, Matthew replied, “They are jealous of her. Apparently, this sort happens everywhere with lower paid employees would whisper nasty shit behind the higher paid employees,” and Morpheus understood enough.

Morpheus also knew that she lived in a rented apartment with her roommates. Matthew said they were nice people to [Name] and it put Morpheus’s heart at ease. She also owned a black cat named Luna and she had a profound love for them. So much so that she would help out at the animal shelter as well as volunteering in events relating to animals and such. This information would be deemed useful for future uses, of course.

Morpheus would urge more out of Matthew and the raven would tell more.

On the weekends, [Name] would walk her feline friend in the park. She would also visit various botanical gardens all around the small country. She would take pictures of the animals, the insects as well as the flora there. This brought a rare smile to Morpheus’s lips.

She was perfect.

She was perfect to be his queen.

Morpheus couldn’t wait for that day to come.

But just like the perfect possession, everyone wants a piece of it. To taint it for the worse.

One day, Matthew came into his throne room, flapping frantically and a light pant to his little chest. Morpheus shot up from his throne, concerned covering his pale complexion.

“What’s wrong, Matthew?”

“S-Sir, I–,” Matthew inhaled deeply.

“Speak, raven,” Morpheus rumbled, eyes darkening.

“It’s [Name], sir. She..She’s..,” Matthew stammered and Morpheus did not wait any longer.

Morpheus found himself in [Name]’s dimly lit room. She was curled up on her bed, the cat snuggled against her curled form. The King tilted his head. Everything seemed well until he picked up a faint scent of salt and water. That’s when Morpheus leaned over. Tears had dried on her skin and it clenched Morpheus’s heart. Why were there tears staining her delicate skin? The purity of it, tainted by the saltwater. He brought cool fingers to her cheek, gently caressing it to wipe away the imperfections.

Little patters of feet approached the King.

“I saw everything, sir. Her boss..He touched her inappropriately,” Matthew peered up, focused on the King’s back facing him. The silence was deafening, the rage Morpheus felt, was not. He was not going to let this slide.

“Where is he?”

“He’s on the bridge-,” Matthew didn’t need to say more as Morpheus disappeared.

Alan stuck his hands in his pockets, taking short steps to admire the view around him. The castle, the greenery, it was unlike anything he has ever seen. And the last he will ever.

Alan blinked once, the castle in view once more. He blinked again, the sparkling water below reflected everything above it. Alan blinked one more time and all was gone. Sand replaced his surroundings. Vast, barren land of sand and nothing more. He gasped, looking around at the sudden change.

“I absolutely hate it..when someone goes about touching what’s mine,” Morpheus spoke lowly, a punctuated threat in each word.

Alan gasped, spinning back to face the King.

“What are you–,” “I’m talking about [Name], Alan Wu,”

“How did you know–,” A hand wrapped around his neck and squeezed, cutting the air off. Morpheus raised Alan off his feet as flailing hands tried to ease the pressure around his neck.

“I know what you did, Alan. You may think you have done it discreetly but I have eyes everywhere. My queen came home crying because of what you did and I find it unacceptable. How dare you..How..dare..you..,” Morpheus growled, jaw tight.

“Your punishment, then, will be a curse,” He tightened his grip.

“The curse..of eternal sleep,” The King uncurled his free hand, blowing lightly sand onto Alan’s face. His resistance soon weakened, eyes drooped and he grew limp. Now, all Morpheus had to do was to chuck him aside as if he was nothing and returned to [Name]’s room.

A tiny smile spread across his full lips, cool fingers brushing her cheek once more. He leaned in, lips ghosting over her ear.

“He is no more. I promise you, my love, I will give you whatever you dream of. Anything you ever wanted, it could be yours..Just get close to the cave on the foot of the mountain in your dreams..I will take you away,” Morpheus promised, pressing a very light kiss to her ear. [Name] moaned quietly in her sleep, her own smile curled on the corner of her mouth.

Once again, [Name] found herself back in her dream, back in the same little town she loved dearly. This time, it was different. There was something different about it and it was leading her towards the dark mountain.

She shook her head, clutching the book to her chest as she approached the bookstore owner.

“Good morning, Miss Elaine,” “Good morning, deary. What can I do for you?”

[Name] bit her lip lightly. Oh, better do it now then later.

“I just wanted to ask..everyone spends their day in the town and beyond but no one has ever travelled towards the mountains. Why is that?” [Name] noticed Miss Elaine visibly tensed, head snapping up to face the naive girl.

“There’s stories about it, deary. Mostly bad ones,”

[Name] tilted her head.

“What sort of stories?”

Elaine pursed her lips before sighing.

“Alright, I’ll tell you. Within the walls of the mountain lives a being that should one stumble upon him, it would drive him mad. Over the last century, only the stupid and the overly curious would venture close enough to the cave and never return,”

[Name] gasped.

“But these are just stories, right? I-It can’t be real..,” “That’s the thing, dear. Folks around here believe it to be real. Old man Fletcher even claimed he saw a figure standing atop the peak of the mountain. Whatever you do, do not go near the mountain. You hear me? Never go towards the mountain or the cave,”

[Name] pursed her lips and nodded, thanking Elaine quietly before dashing out towards the meadow fields where her favourite tree rested. White poppies grew around the large oak tree and [Name] grew to love them. She smiled wide, kneeling down to pick a flower up. Her eyes fluttered close as she brought the flower to her nose, inhaling the smell deeply. It brought so many deep memories she did not know she had.

As soon as she opened her eyes, a dark figure emerged behind the flower in a blur. [Name] gasped, focusing on the figure in the far distance with wide eyes.

The figure was tall, surely taller than her. He wore a black robe that flowed past his feet and a helm with an odd tube looking shape that looked roughly like bones. The figure turned, disappearing into the dark cave.

She was compelled, curious. She swallowed, gathering her book to follow the figure.

The hairs on the back of [Name]’s neck stood on end and her body tensed the closer she got to the cave. It was as if it was pulling her into it, whispering and tempting her to break the rule and to satiate her curiosity.

This made the girl stop short of the foot of the mountain, turning around to look back at the cave. There was still the opportunity to run back, back to safety and away from this evil.

Why run when it’s better to seek the answers you have been dying to know? Said an airy whisper, making the girl jump in shock. Her attention was back to the cave and there was total darkness..except with two white dots in the long distance.

“Come to me, [Name]. Come to me..,” The voice purred, sending shivers down her spine. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, chewing on it as she took a step forward. And another..and another and as she did, a black hand reached out through the darkness of the cave.

[Name] swallowed, lifting a shaking hand up to guide it to the outstretched hand. However, before she could make a final decision, the hand grabbed her own and pulled her in. A loud scream left her lips as darkness swallowed her and soon..nothingness. Just pure black and a spinning view.

[Name] came to be shortly after, gasping aloud as she sat up with a hand to her chest. The book was placed nicely beside her..on grass?

“What..?” She stood up, dusting the dirt from her dress as she surveyed her surroundings and what stood before her made her jaw drop from the magnificent sight. A shining palace with an intricate design stood tall, proud and majestic. Was she dreaming? Was she still asleep? She has to be, right? Because [Name] was sure nothing like this existed in the real world.

[Name] looked back down and she concluded that she was in the palace’s gardens. But, how did she get here? This still remained a mystery to the poor girl as she wandered the grounds of the garden.

It looked similar to the meadows of the little town with flowers blooming around her and along the cobblestone path she took. This sort of reminded her of the story her mother used to tell her. The story about the Greek God of the Underworld, Hades and his queen and wife, Persephone, the Greek Goddess of agriculture and spring where Persephone ate a pomegranate and was tied to Hades forever. But stories were stories, especially ones about gods.

[Name]’s journey took a short pause as she spotted a gate that led to another section of the garden. Perhaps this was the way out? She pushed past the gate, entering a whole new section. There were trees, fruits bored on its branches and hanging heavy, as if it was waiting to be plucked and eaten ripe. On cue, [Name]’s stomach growled. She smiled widely, a skip in her step as she examined the fruit trees. All of them looked enticing and delicious but what caught her attention was the biggest tree among the others, with bright, red pomegranates hanging from its branches.

[Name] scoffed lightly. The irony was truly real, wasn’t it? Trapped in an unknown place with a pomegranate tree? Stories were just stories, [Name] reminded herself as she set the book down on the bench.

She reached out, plucking the pomegranate from its branch. She brought it back to the bench, taking a seat with a wide smile on her full lips. Thumbs dug into the red skin, bursting the fruit open to reveal bright, juicy seeds. Her mouth watered at the sight as she took a handful. [Name] plopped the seeds into her mouth, chewing slowly and as she swallowed, her eyes fluttered close to savour the taste.

While the fruit tasted sweet, yet evil, she realised the irony.

She dropped the fruit, it rolled down the small slope before bumping into a black boot. [Name] realised her situation at the very last minute. But stories were stories. So, there is no way it is true..is it?

“It is, my love,” The deep voice answered.

[Name] looked up to face the voice, frozen on the spot as Morpheus stood beneath the pomegranate tree.

“You ate a fruit from my garden so now, you are forever tied to me and my realm. None of this is a dream, my love as it is very much real. How did you think the stories came to be?” Morpheus took a step forward and brought his hand up to [Name]’s cheeks.

“I have always wanted you, my queen and finally seeing you here, in the flesh, in my realm on my palace grounds, it is breathtaking. My obsession comes to an end here as I finally got what I wanted,” He continued, nose to nose brushing.

“Oh, my dear [Name], the lengths I went through just to get you here with me,” Morpheus leaned in, lips hovering over [Name]’s sweet ones. The smell of it, mixed with her natural scent and perfume was intoxicating and addicting.

“Soon enough, you will learn to love me,”

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to wail.

But nothing came out.

For she truly is Persephone and him, Hades, of their story.

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bailey-reaper · 3 years

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How about Barok's SO taking care of his scars? I imagine after so many murder attempts his body is quite scarred and that has to hurt from time to time

Stigmata

Notes: I think you’re right, anon. Barok’s lived a life of assassination attempts and there’s no way he’d have escaped all of them unscathed -- as his face proves, but he probably has more marks than that...

S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: blood mention; reference to wounds; physical harm; violence reference

"B..Barok?!” they stood, wide-eyed looking at him as he stretched up to reach something from atop one of the dressers in their bedroom, “Are you alright?”

“Mmm?” he glanced over, confused by the obvious distress on their face, “What is it? What’s wrong, love?” he followed the direction they were pointing in to a growing patch of red that was spreading over his poet shirt like a drop of ink across paper. He tsked, “... So that one hasn’t closed up still...”

“That one?” they came closer to inspect the growing patch of red, “What happened?”

“... A few weeks ago I was embroiled in another assassination attempt and I carelessly failed to take out the thug armed with a crossbow first. I ended up taking a bolt to the torso, but I’ve had it checked over and all is fine with it. The physician did say that it might take some time to heal, given its positioning...”

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me?! The last thing I’d have you doing is reaching up and straining it if I’d known!” they gently slapped his arm in admonishment.

Barok smiled fondly and kissed their forehead, “It’s not the first time I’ve been nicked, love, and it won’t be the last... I’m so used to the attacks now that they feel relatively unremarkable...”

“Well they AREN’T unremarkable,” came the firm correction from his beloved as they shooed him to the bed, “Let me have a look at it! This instant!”

The demand seemed to fluster him as he was firmly directed to the bed, “... Um...” a blush was playing on his cheeks, because this would be the first time they’d seen him without a top on; it was a small thing, admittedly, but it was something he saw as intimate, “... Love, are you sure?”

“YES!” they didn’t quite seem to appreciate the thing that was on his mind.

“....” he chuckled softly, they were so cute when they were focused upon a task and paid no heed to things like decorum or pleasantries. It clearly came from a place of deep concern, and that in itself felt precious to him. They loved him; they worried for him; they wanted to check that he was okay... “Very well...” he unbuttoned the bloodstained shirt and set it aside on a chair.

Sure enough, there was an angry wound on his side; small, but in a place where any kind of bending down or stretching up would aggravate it. The wound was weeping blood and the surrounding pallid skin was flushed from inflammation, “... Does it hurt?” they asked.

“... No more than usual,” he replied, “It’s more of an inconvenience than anything debilitating...”

“I’ll get some bandages!” they hurried off to get the necessary supplies.

While they were gone, Barok looked in the mirror. It was something he did rarely, on account of finding his body rather unsightly due to the tapestry of violence and survival that was painted across it in marks of varying lengths and widths. It was testament to the fact his enemies had not succeeded, but it was also a record of their undying hatred.

“Okay!” they hurried in with a flannel, bandages and a bottle of alcohol, “Let me clean it,” he moved over to the bed and laid down on his side so they could sit beside him and use the flannel to wipe away the blood that had started to well up. After drying it, they applied a little alcohol and winced apologetically when he hissed from the burn, “... S... sorry...” he grunted, as if to suggest it was fine. Finally, they applied bandages to it, “... There... hopefully that should help it to heal a little better.”

“..... Thank you, my beloved...” it felt strange to have someone tend to him like this. No one had bothered for quite some time, save for medical professionals when his wounds were so significant that he needed actual treatment. He was used to applying his own tourniquets and salves. It was second nature to him these days; so to have someone else doing it was both a novelty and a luxury.

Suddenly he noticed that they were blushing; and he knew why, “Hmmm?” he smirked, “What is it? You seem to have lost all that fury and fire you had a moment ago...”

“O...Oh.. um!” their rose-tinted face was such a delight, “... No.. I just... um... I am so sorry for being so... forceful and .. making you undress like that.”

Barok laughed, “... You need not apologise my dear, not after you’ve repaid me with such an adorable reaction,” he sat up and kissed their flushed cheeks, “Still... this isn’t quite how I expected you to see me in a state of undress. I’ll put a shirt on now, if I’m permitted...?”

“... Y..Yes,” they uttered while nodding, “Of course you may!”

“Thank you,” he went to don a new, unbloodied poet shirt.

#barok van zieks #Barok x Ors #fluff #request

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

Text

Title: infinitely varied Ship: obikin Summary: Sometimes your husband decides to develop an artificial intelligence capable of free choice and something called a soul and succeeds in the middle of a Thursday night. Or, more concretely: he's in the middle of succeeding because said intelligence first has to learn how to speak.Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. AN: Happy birthday @ghostwriterofthemachine

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied. Even the interpretation and use of words involves a process of free creation.

Noam Chomsky

Life was a query of expectations, margins on doorframes, bucket lists, first loves, broken hearts, and happy middles because only fools would settle for a happy ending when they had so many decades left to live. The thought never failed to bring a smile to Anakin’s face, no matter how frustrated, remembering the simple way Obi-Wan had proposed. There had been no fancy dinner, particularly stunning outing, or anything resembling outlandish romantic gestures. Anakin would have appreciated them because every act would have been colored by Obi-Wan’s love, but now, older and wiser than the rash youth who’s fallen in love at first heated debate, he preferred the way their proposal had actually gone down. A quiet Sunday morning, eating breakfast together on the sofa while the news droned in the background from Anakin’s old radio, a hesitant “I don’t need forever, but I want the present”.

And, well, for all his genius, Anakin could be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but not when it came to this.

Married life was interesting.

Somehow nothing changed, except also everything. They had bought a real house, moved out of their old apartment and made more compromises than Anakin had ever thought himself capable of, for they hadn’t been like fighting an uphill battle but dancing together. It had made him happy to paint the entrance hall in the shade of green Obi-Wan preferred if he got to paint the kitchen in the light blue he wanted.

Obi-Wan got the attic for his office where his antique book collection looked right at home, and Anakin got the basement where the hum of his servers and the generator powering them annoyed nobody else.

It was as close to white-picket-fence as it could be with two queer men, no kids, a bratty cat, and an anxious dog under one roof. His childhood self would be appalled to see how much Anakin, always the whirlwind, had settled. To a nine-year-old, Anakin probably looked very adult.

Anakin, however, did not feel very grown-up, banging his head against his desk in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan had gone to sleep hours ago, and so had Anakin until inspiration had struck and he’d snuck out of bed to return to his favorite project.

A.H.S.O.K.A may not be a child, but Anakin certainly could relate to exhausted parents when they complained about their children in endless repetitions. To this day, Anakin didn’t know why his mother figured it would be great parenting to encourage her WarGames obsessed kid to dig into the world of artificial intelligence when WOPR nearly started a nuclear war, but he’d forever remain thankful.

Or, he’d resume being thankful when he could finally get A.H.S.O.K.A to learn. He’d rewritten her code a thousand times. It was his ever-constant companion, from his first awful-looking early 2000s website to its current incarnation. A.H.S.O.K.A could solve simple logic puzzles, given that he fed her enough data. Her solutions to tasks could be downright hilarious, but they were not enough. He wanted her to be smarter, better, capable of gaining true understanding.

Perhaps, it was a dream for the future and not a Thursday night.

Anakin didn’t have any work tomorrow morning as he worked as a freelancer, so he could afford to pull an all-nighter. But his dear husband had planned a nice afternoon for them, so Anakin should call it a night or a morning as a glance at the clock told him.

Staring at the many lines of code again, Anakin sighed and leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his by-now cold tea. Obi-Wan would definitely complain that Anakin had snatched his favorite mug once he got up and couldn’t find it in the kitchen. Anakin had bought it at the last linguistic convention Obi-Wan had taken him to.

Language is a process of free invention, it read in delicate cursive before the rest of the quote disassembled in pure chaos.

Huh.

Now there was a thought. Anakin got out of his chair and left the basement, haunted by fixed principles and infinite combinations. Up in the attic, carrying Obi-Wan’s computer downstairs again, Anakin thought on interpretations and free creations. He was as giddy and nervous as he’d been on the morning of his wedding day, which had started similarly early. Connecting Obi-Wan’s computer, and more importantly, the priced result of his thesis, to Anakin’s server felt a little like unwrapping birthday presents.

language_acquisition_prediction.exe

Enter.

II.

Obi-Wan was not surprised when he woke to an empty bed. Anakin had a habit of suddenly pulling all-nighters or getting up early before the sun even thought of rising. Given that he couldn’t smell breakfast yet, Obi-Wan deduced that Anakin had pulled an all-nighter again. He slowly crawled out of bed to avoid disturbing Artoo and Threepio sleeping to his feet. Obi-Wan was pretty sure he shared his bed more often with his pets than he did with his husband.

He walked down the stairs to the ground level and went by the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. To his displeasure, Obi-Wan couldn’t find his favorite mug and so had to settle for another. After another thought, he decided to make a second one for Anakin, lavender this time so Anakin would hopefully crash after breakfast. He put both mugs on a small tray together with a couple tomatoes. Obi-Wan usually wasn’t one for eating a full breakfast on workdays – that was the influence of Anakin and his mother’s kitchen – but he was the expert in smalltime snacks. With both in hand, he walked down the second flight of stairs, down to the basement. As expected, he found Anakin at his desk, clinging to what was bound to be a cold cup, staring intensely at his screens, which were running one program or another.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan greeted him and kissed Anakin’s cheek.

“Mo-orning,” Anakin replied, a yawn interrupting him halfway. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Eight,” Obi-Wan said. “How long have you been up?”

“Uuuh.” Obi-Wan didn’t need to see Anakin’s face to know the answer. “Did you even go to sleep?”

“I did sleep for a while!” Anakin argued. “But then I had an idea, I mean, look at this!”

Obi-Wan gave the screens a closer look. Despite common misconceptions, he was not technically illiterate. Privately, he blamed the fact that Anakin was quite well known for his tech know-how and Obi-Wan tended to talk more about literature given that he was filling in as a lecturer in the British Lit. department. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan had gotten his professorship with a program he’d written, and the code currently displayed on the screens looked very similar to a section that had given him stress nightmares. “Is that my thesis?” he asked.

“Yes, sorta, partially?” Anakin replied. “I kind of took it apart a lot and maybe corrupted it a bit, but that’s not the important part! Look what she’s doing with it.”

She could only refer to one person, intelligence. There were a few constants in their life, their new house the most recent one, and Ahsoka was probably the longest. Obi-Wan didn’t know why Anakin hadn’t set her aside already, he was happy enough to leave other started-never-finished projects lying around, but the last time he’d even just suggested such, Anakin had looked heartbroken.

Obi-Wan looked at the screen Anakin was pointing at and began to read.

script input: inhibition auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˌɪn.ɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˌɪn.hɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: outstanding

script input: better auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˈbet̬.ɚ/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˈbet.ər/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: rhoticism? query: define

The text continued for a while, though apparently Ahsoka only picked out the mismatched parts in her analysis.

“Is that ‘Must have done something right’?” Obi-Wan asked, the connection between the words suddenly starting to make sense.

“Yes!” Anakin grinned. “I wasn’t quite sure how to teach her sounds properly because I hadn’t equipped her with a sound analysis program before and I figured that if babies just learn by listening to their parents, Ahsoka could learn by listening to us.”

“So you fed her audio of us singing?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed, confused, or just plain tired but decided to settle on confusion for now and let the course of the conversation determine where they’d end up.

“That too, but I actually just started by playing old voice messages. I figured getting her used to just one phonetic inventory would be enough for now. Honestly, for the first hour, I wasn’t even sure whether that would be of any use because she had no symbols to connect the sounds to, and I thought using the IPA might bias her.”

Because, of course, Anakin never deleted any of Obi-Wan’s voice messages and just kept them on his phone. The fact that he just glossed over it as if it weren’t anything special either made Obi-Wan smile.

“It’s cute that you think we have the same inventory,” Obi-Wan commented. “But continue. You just let her listen to sounds and then? Don’t tell me you gave her written texts.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and confirmed another one of Ahsoka’s queries before answering. “No, I gave her the IPA then and let her listen to the full inventory and then analyze which ones we use.”

That made enough sense. Obi-Wan was reasonably sure it was a great deal more complicated than Anakin was lying it out right now, but it was still within the realm of possible and not downright sci-fi. There were enough programs that could analyze speech and filter out patterns, recognize even emotions and tone. Feeding data to a computer wasn’t too different from the way babies learned, though, as far as Obi-Wan knew from talking to people with children, they didn’t like their progeny being compared to lines of code.

“And you accomplished this by feeding my thesis program, which is meant to predict the language acquisition of children, to Ahsoka?”

“Yes, that, uh, happened more or less,” Anakin said, his nose scrunched up just so that Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t certain. “I’m pretty sure I like, wrote some of it down. Not all of it because I knocked out at like 4 a.m., which resulted in pretty interesting inquiries on the great vowel shift.”

Obi-Wan froze. “She’s asking about the great vowel shift?”

There was a difference in the size of the Atlantic between analyzing sounds and recognizing a six-hundred-year-old change in pronunciation.

“Not really,” Anakin said. “She just noticed the patterns? And had inquiries? We’ve been following up on it since, mostly by also giving her written text, but I think that might have backfired and confused her a bit. I’m thinking of synching up the input with a visible feed so she’d learn to associate an actual object with the sound, but I’m not sure whether that wouldn’t just lead to her matching data instead of actually learning its relevance. Can teach an AI what an apple looks like, sounds like, tastes like, but that doesn’t mean you can teach it what an apple is and all that.”

Anakin smiled impishly, and unfortunately, despite his generally messy appearance, Obi-Wan still thought he was handsome. “Please don’t cite my book back at me like that.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and pinching his nose, Obi-Wan tried to focus. This was not how he expected to start his free day. He needed to wake up and possibly grab his notes to sort out this mess. This almost made him wish the car was still wrecked and Anakin would spend all his free time fixing that. “Did you have to start her on English of all languages?”

Anakin was fluent in two other romance languages; it would have been much easier to deal with a French AI than an English one. Sighing, Obi-Wan looked at Ahsoka’s latest question and promptly frowned.

script input: bear auditory input: /beər/ match found: bare analysis: mismatch diagnosis: failed word formation query: bear = bare? query: deletion >bare<?

“How long has she been doing that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Doing what— oh, that’s new.”

So Ahsoka had jumped from matching sounds to text to comparing sound to words and then referencing those words against one another. That was a logical step, but also a step Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure she should be doing without prompting.

“She thinks bear and bare are related because they have the same sound. Didn’t really expect that turn of events. Should I show her those are two different words?”

“Does she even know what a word is yet?” Obi-Wan asked in turn.

“No.”

“Then teach her what a word is first— after breakfast. I want your pancakes.”

“You never want pancakes on a Friday.”

“My husband also never decided to rope me into teaching an artificial intelligence morphology before.”

Obi-Wan needed a proper meal for this. He could talk to his students on an empty stomach, but he could not deal with the latest brand of Skywalker insanity without something sweet first.

“I haven’t—”

Ever the negotiator, Obi-Wan decided to shut Anakin up with a kiss. “After breakfast.”

Ahsoka’s many questions could wait for an hour.

#star wars #obikin #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #fanfic

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