#it really all boils down to drawing for long enough to figure out what you like and what you hate doing

[iztea]

I love you’re drawing style! I don’t know why, but it’s like my favorite thing ever. What helped develop your drawing style?

thank you! funnily enough, i never wanted to have an artstyle and i vehemently rejected the idea of developing one but it still happened anyways lmao

i think what helped me was general laziness and/or finding shortcuts that would speed up the process, incorporating aspects i liked about certain artworks into my own and also finding the right brushes that felt nice to paint with

[salmonskinrolltf]

The Grind

Todd really did enjoy working from home. He loved the perks of getting to roll right out of bed when his alarm went off, and he loved not being stuck in traffic every morning and evening on his commute. But recently, he was starting to feel like he couldn't focus. It was important to him to succeed at this job, so he could keep rising in the ranks at his ad agency, but there were too many distractions that weren't allowing him to prove himself: chores to do, food to eat, noise from his neighbors. Dear God, the noise!

The window of his home office opened right out onto the alley behind his apartment. It was summer, so he needed the windows open in order to snag that cross breeze and keep from boiling to death, but the teenage skaters that seemed to swarm the alley during summer break were out and about in full force.

He tapped his chin with his pen, trying to come up with a good word that a cat might use to describe the delicious new treats Todd's client was going to feed him, but he found himself distracted yet again by the noise from the skaters outside. He wondered how they didn't get bored, with their endlessly repetitive roster of lame-ass tricks that all sounded the same.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

That's all Todd heard all day, over and over, with metronomic regularity. If he could harness one-tenth of the passion that these burnouts used when trying to learn ollies or whatever, he would be CEO within the week.

God, if only. He felt like he was working himself to the bone, with no results. A mighty headache was threatening to rear up and throttle his brain, too. He had been chugging Pedialyte, hoping to at least make it to the end of his shift. If he used even one sick day, he worried he'd seem like a slacker who wasn't committed.

OK, staring at his laptop screen wasn't working. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. Sometimes physically writing things down helped his creative juices flow. He tapped his pen on his chin with a maniacal rat-a-tat rhythm. It didn’t help. He sighed and hung his head in his hands. He just wanted to rise in the ranks. To get a better life for himself. Why was this so difficult?

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Todd tapped his pen on his chin more slowly. Was it just him, or were the skaters kind of perfectly timing their tricks? It sounded almost like the percussion on one of his favorite classical compositions. He strained to listen.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Yeah, there was definitely a meter to the noises, so precise that his brain felt like it could slot perfectly into them. He realized the predictability of the noise would be beneficial in terms of helping him ignore the skaters and focus back on work. As long as he internalized the rhythm, it would just fade into the background.

He pulled the paper toward him and began tapping with fresh vigor, trying to let the noise sink into the back of his brain.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The sound was still present, but it was already becoming more like a gentle hum he was only vaguely aware of.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

That’s right. He felt the noise begin to flow through him. It was just like living in an apartment by the freeway, he thought. You can ignore any noise if it becomes familiar enough.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Familiar… Familiar… Family! He scribbled on his notepad. “Your cat is a part of the family…” He sucked on the end of his pen. He couldn’t figure out what to put next, but it was a start. He stared at the paper for what felt like another ten minutes, continuously drawing a blank. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck, that headache was building again. He knew he was only feeling bad because of stress, but how was he supposed to de-stress when he had a deadline? He stared at the paper intensely, willing words to appear on it.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

A particularly loud thud jolted Todd out of his reverie. Fuck, he was getting jumpy. Maybe he should take a ten minute break. As soon as he figured out the end of this tagline. He sucked on the end of his pen once more, but as he did so, something weird happened. There must have been a hole in the clicker of his pen, because he felt it break open, releasing a hot, gaseous substance into his mouth.

He gasped in surprise, accidentally forcing the gas into his lungs, which began to feel like they were burning. He gave a panicky cough and a plume of smoke trailed weakly from his mouth. What the fuck? He closely inspected his pen, but everything looked totally normal. Perhaps the end was a little damp from him sucking on it. But he saw nothing that explained what had just happened to him.

The burning sensation still tickled his lungs, but it was quickly mellowing into something… something quite nice, actually. His toes felt a little tingly, and a sense of calm washed over him. He felt his muscles relax somewhat as he slumped back into his chair. His headache was even receding a bit. If he could get it to go away entirely, maybe he could finally finish…

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Yeah, fuck it. He was gonna try again. He put the end of the pen in his mouth and took another deep breath. Once more, the top of the pen opened up and expelled smoke, which he took into his lungs and held there, enjoying the warming sensation before blowing it out in a tight stream.

That’s the ticket. He felt the headache recede entirely. He finally felt well and truly relaxed. He flipped his hoodie up over his head and drew the drawstrings. Wait, he hadn’t been wearing a hoodie, had he? Fuck it, he didn’t care. He was now warm and cozy, inside and out. He felt better than he had in a long time.

But it was still too hot under the hood. It felt right to be wearing it, even in summer somehow, but he could feel sweat glistening on his forehead. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, but he still felt himself grow hotter and hotter, yet strangely lazy and unwilling to actually do something about it because he was SO relaxed.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He began to sweat so much that his perfectly coiffed hair started to wilt, dangling down in front of his eyes. It then just… kept going. It extended down over his face to the point that he thought the sweaty strands might poke him in the eyes. His normal instinct would have been to sweep it back, but in his addled state, he instead gave a practiced flick of the head, gathering the hair at one side. The color began to change from a strawlike dirty blond, to brunette, to dark brown, to a black so concentrated it must have been dyed. But he never dyed his hair, had he? He liked being a natural blonde.

Fuck, it was SO hot. Why had he chosen to wear this hoodie? A memory blossomed of him putting it on that morning. Well, of course he had worn this hoodie. It was his favorite hoodie. He wore it every day, whatever the weather. Sure, he could do to wash it. It stank of sweat and pot smoke, but it was his and he loved it.

He needed to cool down something fierce, though. He made a move to pull the hoodie off from around his head, but his hands unconsciously ignored his intention, opting to flip up the collar of his open button-down instead. As he adjusted the collar to look perfectly mussed and careless, the material of the shirt turned coarse and thick as it became a battered denim jacket.

He was totally unaware that he hadn’t perfectly executed his plan, still feeling relaxed and a little fuzzy from his vape pen. That’s what it was, of course. A vape pen. He wasn’t sure why he'd thought it was an actual pen, like for writing. He chuckled softly. Suddenly, being confused about things felt like it came more naturally to him, somehow. At first, he was confused about that, but then he wasn’t. Being confused isn’t confusing, is it? Is that confusing? Shaking his head and laughing, he took another hit off his vape pen and blew a perfect smoke ring, letting the warm fuzziness flow through him.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He decided to return to his brainstorming. Although he was hot and not entirely clear-headed, he felt a burst of creative energy all of a sudden. He began to scribble on the notepad, working furiously as sweat began to pool on his forehead once more. He only noticed when it began to trickle down his face, tickling his cheeks and dripping from his chin onto the page. He scrubbed his face with his hand, not noticing that, as he did so, the hairs of his neatly trimmed beard were wiped entirely away, vanishing into thin air.

As he continued to scribble, his newly clean-shaven face grew pockmarked and yet more youthful and supple at the same time. His mustache, the only thing unaffected, began to recede into his upper lip, slowly shrinking back until it was just a dotting of stubble that suggested he’d been trying to grow one out but this was as far as he ever got. As if to compensate, his eyebrows thickened, darkening to a deep brown that better matched (but not entirely) his new hair color. He didn’t even notice the dark black strands hanging down over his eyes anymore, or the careful flick of his head that he gave periodically when he needed to concentrate.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The warmth around his head eventually made him feel sleepy and dull, and he couldn’t stop yawning. So, after a couple more minutes, he sat back and looked at the perfect tagline he’d been working on, only to realize that he’d just been doodling little cartoons all around the edge of the page instead of actually focusing on work.

“Dude, get a grip,” he said out loud. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dude? Since when did he say dude?

He decided to take a break, cool down, and grab a Perrier sparkling water. Returning from his fridge with the green bottle, he unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig. His tongue was suddenly awash with the taste of sugary battery acid, and he had to fight not to spit it out. What the…?

He looked down and saw that he had accidentally grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew, not Perrier. He didn’t remember buying Mountain Dew, but maybe his nephew had left one behind when he had come to visit last? He thought about going back to the fridge to swap out the drinks, but it suddenly seemed so far away. And now that he knew what flavor to expect, the taste wasn’t all that bad, actually.

He took another swig of the soda, the sugary concoction lighting up his insides.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

His skin began to feel itchy. Was he having an allergic reaction to the soda? He lifted up the hem of his hoodie and scratched at his stomach. As he did so, he felt the light blonde hairs of his treasure trail wriggling back into their follicles, leaving him perfectly smooth. What the fuck?

Finally, the shock of what he had just felt pierced his newfound love for the hoodie and he ripped it off, along with the denim jacket. He rushed into the bathroom, arriving in front of the mirror just in time to see his sparse blonde chest hair receding back into his skin. He ripped off his chinos as well, panicking as he saw the hairs on his legs vanishing into thin air. He did a quick 360 and checked in his underwear, noting that the only hair that remained on his entire body was his pubic hair and armpit hair, both of which seemed thicker than usual and were quickly darkening to a deep brown as though they were in a time-lapse video.

He watched this happen in horror, but even with his hoodie off, his head still felt warm and sleepy. His senses felt dulled, and he struggled to think of what he could possibly do next. He began to breathe faster in his panic, his belly jiggling slightly as he did so. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe… Nothing.

As he watched, his soft tummy had begun to recede as well, revealing cobblestone abs like the tide pulling out over a rock formation. His doughy chest began to firm up as well, shrinking into a pair of lean pecs, his round nipples shrinking and popping out from their perches on the hardened mounds as soon as they were finished forming.

“Holy shit, dude, I’m ripped!” he said, letting the slang tumble breezily out of his mouth without a second thought while he rubbed his abs with both hands. The ridges of his stomach made his fingers tingle and his arms shrank, lean muscles emerging from the surface while his legs followed suit, the thighs shrinking into the perfect fit for skinny jeans - where had that thought come from? - while his calf muscles rippled and stretched, their new bulging shape accentuated by his hairless, pale skin.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

Todd felt the noise from the alley reverberate around his head. It sounded like someone out there must have fucked up a crooked grind real bad. ‘Gnarly,’ he thought, imagining how much pain they must be in. His mental image grew more and more clear and vivid. Somebody falling onto the asphalt on their elbows.

He felt a slash of pain across his elbows and held them up, seeing red in the mirror before it faded into a pair of scarred, scabbed patches that he felt like had always been there. He returned to his reverie. Somebody skinning their knee after narrowly avoiding hitting a tree. Another slash of pain and the skin on his knee suddenly looked knobbly, like it was still healing.

As potent mental images flitted one by one through his brain, scars and scrapes began to dot his body. Slash, slash. Two more long scars on the left knee. Slash. A long red scrape along his right pec that looked dope as hell. Slam. His palms became pockmarked and gravel-scraped.

Not even noticing the pain anymore as his skin toughened and ever-so-slightly tanned, he stood up straight to his full height, admiring the effect of his newfound musculature. He was too busy trying (and failing) to pop his skinny pecs to notice that his “full height” was a couple inches shorter than it used to be.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The sound of the skaters outside brought him back to the present. Wasn't he supposed to be doing something, other than checking himself out in the mirror? He got dressed, throwing his hoodie and jacket back on. He could have sworn he’d been wearing a different pair of pants earlier, but all he found crumpled on the bathroom floor was his favorite pair of joggers. Oh well, he threw them on too.

He was halfway out the door when he remembered he was supposed to be doing something at home. Where the hell did he think he was going? He shook his head, trying to remember. He still felt sleepy and slow, his thoughts inching along as he tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

He reached into his pocket for his vape pen and realized he’d left it on his desk. His desk! That’s what he was doing! He was still on the clock! He needed to work!

He wandered over to his desk, took a drag from the vape, and stared in consternation at the notepad in front of him.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He knew he was supposed to care about this dumb shit about cat food or whatever, but he really wasn’t feeling it. Something in the back of his mind told him that he’d get money if he finished it though, so he decided to give it a shot. He sat back in his chair and found himself falling, the chair’s seat vanishing beneath him. Before he hit the ground, however, he was caught with a soft flump in a squishy, slick mound.

He looked down and saw that he was in a beanbag chair. Something was wrong here. He could feel his brain slowly whirring. Was it the chair? No, it’s the one he’d brought from home when he moved in. He saw his initials carved crudely into the fabric on his right side.

What was wrong, then? Was it his desk? No, he didn’t have a desk, did he? He looked up and saw his entertainment unit in front of him, his XBOX still glowing green because he’d forgotten to turn it off earlier. No, all that looked normal.

So what was wrong? Was it the fact that he was worrying about money?

Whirrrrrrr-thud

His parents paid for whatever shit he wanted as long as he kept his community college grades up, so there was no need to worry.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

No need to worry at all, really. About anything. Or think, even. He barely ever went to class. He just wanted to hang with his friends at the skate park. But as long as he flirted with his professors the right way, he passed with flying colors. He was a studied flirt, even if he wasn’t a studied anything else.

Anyway, his parents would let him drop out once he proved he could make money as an X Games champion. He rubbed his dick through his joggers, not noticing as it plumped up a few extra inches while he fantasized about all the tail he’d get once he was a skateboarding champion with endorsement deals and shit.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

No, he had all the money he needed. He just wished he was 21 already, so he could buy weed for himself at the dispensary. Then everything would be perfect. Just two more years, he reminded himself. He could survive on stealing shit from his older brother's stash at home until then.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Todd leaned back in the beanbag and reveled in that sound. His favorite sound. He loved it so much. He never wanted to stop hearing it. With his eyes closed, he didn’t notice the rest of the room change around him. The tasteful Pier One art being swapped out for posters of busty babes and retro Tony Hawk video games sloppily scotch taped onto the walls. The cream-colored couch he’d saved up for was now scuffed, stained orange in patches from crushed Cheeto dust, and stank of weed.

The wall that formerly held potted plants was now devoted to a rack of the sickest custom boards anyone had ever seen. Not that he’d made any of them, he didn’t have time for that shit. He just paid other people to bring his dope-ass ideas to life.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

Todd was rubbing his dick absent-mindedly again and came in his underwear. Fuck. He hadn’t prematurely ejaculated in months, now. As he changed his underwear, leaving the cum-drenched boxers on the floor by the beanbag, he worried about doing that in front of a babe he wanted to score.

He needn’t have worried. Todd didn’t know it, but he would never have worries again. Inside that underwear, which would remain on the floor forgotten for the next two weeks, contained the last vestiges of his previous life, expelled through pure pleasure at the life he got to live now. What he left behind was a person he would never remember and who he would shudder to think had even existed in the first place.

No, he was destined for a dope life. In a clean pair of underwear and his favorite kicks, he wandered his way into the back alley, watching his friends Tate and Landon practicing tricks while offering them tips and taking a hit off his vape. The grind was over for Todd now, though that word already meant something entirely different to him at this point.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

[universallydestinytaco]

The Little Smiling Mermaid (Chapter 6)

🌊 THANK YOU to all my 150 followers! Sorry, I didn’t get to draw an illustration this week BUT the wonderful @oskidontle had blessed me with this lovely fanart of Mer!Pim (thank you again), Please follow them and check out their own awesome Smiling Mermaids AU!✨

Charlie and Mipnessa got along swimmingly enough for two people who just met each other that day…unless, Charlie pondered, if they just-so happen to have already met! Charlie took note of how Mipnessa vaguely resembled the mystery person of whom he recalled rescuing him that morning…and while he wasn’t quite sure at first, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try and potentially refresh her memory; He also had a string gut feeling that it wouldn’t be wise to potentially out her as one of the elusive merfolk out of politeness….if not being proven wrong and labeled as a silly-hearted daydream-believer. Charlie ran back to his quarters to swipe the green cloak that was left behind to gently fold it up, then he started rummaging through his closet for a perfectly-sized decorative shoebox to place inside of as a grandiose gesture to Mipnessa before running back to bequeath the gift. “Y’know I have a funny hunch that this is something you’d totally look great in.” The flattered Mipnessa giggled in response: “Showering me with gifts already? You must take a fancy to me.” Feeling overwhelmed with butterflies in his stomach, Charlie blushed with a nervous grin. Mipnessa opened the box and held up the cloak, while she admired the deep emerald green shade, she couldn’t exactly pinpoint what fabric was used for it or could she figure out why it smelled like the brine of clam chowder. “It’s beautiful, and it matches my dress way better than the shawl I’m wearing too.” Charlie replied with a fairly obvious double-meaning: “A match made in heaven.” as he held her hand and proposed: “Perfect for an atmospheric afternoon-to-evening stroll, lemme show you to the outskirts of the palace, the sunset views are amazing out there!”

Meanwhile, Alan had just caught up with the rest of the party as an eagerly-lovestruck Pim alongside a curious Glep followed Graham Nelly to the crisp shore nearby Prince Charlie’s castle. “I can’t wait to see his cute face again!” Pim squealed in delight while fidgeting his hands, Alan sternly reminded him with a business-like tone to mask his anxiety: “We’re here to fetch back your cloak, so that nobody could recognize you and drag you back to that toxic, discourse-infested mess of a palace; We also really shouldn’t stay up here for too long lest we want to be some crazed stowaway’s four-course meal.” Pim’s glee briefly turned into annoyance as he was tempted to roll his eyes at his paranoid friend’s repetitive jargon had it not been for the fact that unlike his family, Alan’s “survival mode”-demeanor was out of genuine concern and love rather than blind bigotry over land folk. When the group made it to their destination, they would come to find that much to their surprise, Charlie was indeed out-and-about, bringing an unexpected guest with him for a neat little walk by the sparkling sapphire waves. While the party of sea critters hid behind the conveniently large rock while observing the scene from a far, they all quickly took notice that the lady accompanying Charlie was wearing an accessory all too familiar to Pim, who shook his head in disbelief before taking another look to find that Charlie was clearly flirting with with her as well. While Alan started discussing a plan to swipe the cloak with Graham, Glep took notice how his buddy Pim was doing. “My cloak…” Pim quietly uttered while overwhelmed with a flurry of mixed emotions, flashing between shock, confusion, hurt feelings and jealously all boiling down into unbridled fury. Glep never saw Pim this angry since that time he was just a teenager and his sister Amy tore the lock on his diary and blurted out all his secrets, including who he was crushing on at the time. Something REALLY must have struck a cord with the usually understanding and compassionate mercritter…

Graham proposed: “We could, like, wrangle a bunch of dolphins together to create a huuuuge wave and splash it right on her so that Prince guy can offer to hang it up for her and when they leave we can snag it from a clothes line, concrete plan!” Alan argued in a snippy-yet-monotone inflection: “Yeah but there’s no clothes line anywhere near water, besides, it would take us all night to achieve that plan anyways.” Graham then got another bright idea: “I know JUST the thing, dude. I have in my collection and it’s this neat tool called a grappling hook! It’s what land folks use to retrieve items from far-away.“ Alan rolled his eyes with an exasperated yawn. “Oh really? Go off I guess.” Graham happily explained: “It’s this long-ass stick with a string attached and at the end of the string it’s a hook! and you toss it far enough and the hook catches-“ he was cut off by a loud, panicked gasp from the horrified Alan, who furiously chided Graham while using his claws as gestures to express his disgust: “You keep a literal weapon used for catching and eating our kind?!! What in Davy Jones’ locker is the matter with you?!” Graham casually shrugged, replying: “I’ve only ever seen something like this being used to catch fish only to throw them back, like they kept catching fish but it’s obvious that she was trying to retrieve something she lost down there.” Alan stood there dumbfounded with his left eye twitching for a few seconds, until he broke silence with a sigh with one claw on his face, “Look, It would just be easier for one of us to sneak up to that lady and quietly snag the cloak away from her.” Graham cheered: “That’s it!” Alan realized exactly what he had in mind and groaned: “Alright, I understand now that I have to put my big-boy shell on.” Glep piped up: “Eskewazebewaboyo!”, Pim’s face perked up at the suggestion. Graham agreed: “Hell yeah! They’ll be too distracted to notice Alan, they’ll be all like: Oh, where is that heavenly sound coming from? Ha! It’ll be a synch!” Alan gulped, “Well, here goes nothing.”

During the conversions Charlie ignited while subtly prying for clues, he had realized that Mipnessa wasn’t the mystery critter. First off, she knew how to swim but preferred to go sailing over swimming. Second she does sing but her voice was rather different from what he had in mind BUT she did play the lute well. Lastly and most glaringly obvious of all was that she had just embarked on Eustace’s ship at the same time the rescue took place and was still miles away from Gremblonia. That being said, Charlie was perfectly content with having Mipnessa as a bride, she may have not been an exotic dream girl but she was a charmingly meek and proper lady whose lute could harmonize well with his ocarina! “You know Mipnessa, I could take you sailing on our ship and go on one of my wild adventures out at sea, maybe we’ll take on a kraken or get into a gang fight with pirates.” Charlie proposed in a suave tone, in response Mipnessa sheepishly loosened up the green cloak ‘round her shoulders, replying: “…y’know, maybe I would like that.” for a brief moment that felt like forever, the two locked eyes and gazed at each other’s presence for what felt like forever. As the sunset started melting into nighttime, the most angelic voice made it’s way to the couple’s eardrums, snapping them out of their trance. Charlie started running around frantically looking for the sound as Mipnessa’s curiosity peaked, joining him as she didn’t pay any mind to Alan’s pincer clinging onto the cloak slipping off of her shoulders. Once the cloak was freed from Mipnessa’s grasp, Alan scurried back fast he could before they’d notice. Meanwhile back behind “home base”, Pim peaking behind as he vocalized his feelings with a warm, sweet a capella with a noticeable tang of seductive amour and just a hint of bitter jealousy; This was Pim’s subtly, classy way of saying out-loud: “That boy is MINE, you got nothing on me you basic bitch!!”. Just as Alan made it to just inches away from water, the lobster tripped on a pebble and got tangled up in the shawl and tried to wriggle his way out. Pim took notice, stopped what he was doing and immediately swam to the scene to finish the job.

Just then Mipnessa realized something was missing. “Oh dear, my cloak!” Charlie blushed upon seeing Mipnessa’s curvy frame accentuated by her sleeveless dress, but quickly snapped out of it. “D-don’t worry, it’s probably back where we left off.” Charlie stumbled back to where he and Mipnessa where viewing the sunset, what he discovered was more than just the cloak itself: it was none other than the mystery critter who rescued him, half-submerged in water while clad in a seashell bra, freeing what looked like a lobster that somehow got trapped inside before taking back what was rightfully theirs. Charlie stood there and froze in shock, asking himself if he was just seeing things or he was trapped in some sort of dream, as he rubbed his eyes in disbelief, the mystery critter already vanished. A tinge of guilt filled Charlie’s heart, as he wished he could have apologized for giving her cloak away, but his thoughts broke as Mipnessa was calling for him to return. Charlie ran back and tried to explain what happened but all that came out was nervous gibberish that Mipnessa initially assumed was Spammish, until he blurted: “Damn lobster made off with the cloak!!” while shaking his fist. Mipnessa giggled: “Duke Eustace was right, you are a washed-up mess of a boy!” Charlie once again froze, embarrassed, until she nudged him a with a smile and reassurance: “At least you’re not some stuck-up old prune.”

~ Damien (and the rest of the search party) spent two days looking for Pim with a nagging conscience, he swore to Neptune if he found his littlest sibling, he’d work hard on being a better brother overall. Ironically, he found a patch of sea flowers to rest upon for the night, just as he was about to lie down he saw a short, cloaked figure picking the flowers, presumably for herbal use. “Pimberly, is that you?!” All he got in response was the laughter belonging to an elderly-sounding sea critter. “Oh deary, I’m afraid I’m not the lost Princess, I’m just an old botanist making medicine.” Damien’s heart sank, his pink skin turning grey at the reveal. “But, I have seen Princess Pimberly ‘round these corners.” Damien’s eyes widened with relief, begging: “Please, tell me where!” The old wisenheimer gave a concerning hint: “I’ve seen the Princess swimming in-and-out of this grotto hauling a satchel full of the most WORTHLESS crap!” Damien pressed for more answers: “So, where is this grotto?”

🐚

Chapter 7 Coming August 9th

[flymetosnarryland]

A little progress.

I'm working on "Infraction." My precious baby, uh. This art is part of it in a way. Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape. When people are falling in love everything seems easy, but then life happen.

(I'd like to talk about how things are going with Infraction.)

I'm back on it since couple of weeks and working on it is intense (my brain is literally boiling). I don't think I ever planned a story for that long. The first idea has born 6th January this year. I was writing down (like crazy) everything I wanted to be in this fic. During first months it was chaotic and messy, but brought me so much joy. When I've had everything that (I thought) I needed, I wrote first chapters, yeah. And then shared them, because was so excited about all of it and just couldn't wait. Gosh.

Now I... hm... well, maybe not "regret" it, but I think, I totally should have wait. Why is that? First thing first, this story is not ready yet for being written in, you know, final version. It's too fat, lol.

I may want too much from it. There is a lot, like, seriously, A LOT of things to cover. First notes took me around 80 pages and it had many gaps in it (too much if you ask me). Things I needed to figure out and fill in, in the same time making everything work together. Because this Snarry is not sprinkled with crime. It's filled with murder, political shenanigans, family shiteshow and tough, not always appropriate, love. There are secrets and lies, blackmails and history that matter. Backstory of many people, whose actions over the years supposed to bring us to the point where we are now. And, you know, all of it gives me the thrill. First time in my life I feel like a true Puppet Master.

So, couple weeks ago I started to write a proper outline, if I can call it like that. To put everything in order and, going from the very beginning, to fill all the gaps. To answer all the questions I was asking myself in notes. To figure out the missing clues, some details without I couldn't go further and with that - to find out how characters will change facing new situations. How they will grow (I really love this part). Sometimes I think, "why am I even doing it?" I could just write some cosy, little fic where Harry and Severus' silly problems would be the main goal of the story. Like, focusing on them should be enough, right? Why am I going for all the other things, if I just want them to shag and have their happy end after all? 😂

Well, if it's not for fun, I don't know the other reason. The level of excitement is just incredible. I don't know, if what I'm writing is good or bad. If it really has sense, because I've always seen myself rather as a potato, not as a great mastermind who can plot some good shite, you know. That said, "Infraction" feels even more challenging that I ever thought it will be. But I feel deep inside that I can do it. Going step by step where the main plan leads and... it just feels good.

I've started in October 1989. Now I'm in January 2011. It means that I managed to finish everything that happen before the fic starts, lol. And, actually, I almost covered the first part of the book. So, two more to go? Hehe. It'll take time, yes. It's crazy how much I want to continue writing the main chapters, not only swim in the plan-phase. Drawing the series of "Muggle London" art helped me a lot with easing this itch. However, it's still there. I know, though, that I have to finish it. The whole outline, I mean. Without it, things can go south.

That said, I can't tell how long it will take. Couple weeks? Maybe months. This is really... a lot of work and I want to be proud of it. Even more so, because this fic means a lot to me. I know it may not be, you know, mind blowing or something. But I hope that giving it all my love, it could be, you know, not that bad for reading, hehe.

[jennamoran]

The Far Roofs: the Magician

Hi!

Today I’m going to talk a little bit more about my forthcoming RPG, the Far Roofs. More specifically, I want to talk about one of the characters for the bundled campaign: the Magician.

So the characters for the Far Roofs campaign are, loosely speaking, about halfway between pre-generated characters and classes.

Pretty close to playbooks, I think; close enough for the Powered by the Apocalypse and Forged in the Dark stuff I've read to have influenced some of the details ... but, ultimately, they're coming out of a different stream of development. They just aren't quite the same.

Nor are they really pregens, or classes.

They are just ... what they are.

One of them, for instance, is the Magician.

If you play the Magician, what you're saying is, when you were young, you had a brush with a Mystery---one of those roof-haunting divine monsters I've talked about. It was traumatic, and you tried to forget, but now you've just come back from away (changing jobs, finishing a major project, finishing school, whatever) and you're learning your childhood nightmares were real.

The rest of who you are? What you're dealing with?

Well, that'll be up to you.

The Magician comes with some pregen stats, that you can rearrange if you want to. It comes with access to two "powersets," and you can choose four powers from them starting out.

(There's a set of four that the game recommends that are subtle enough that you can tell yourself you're just a regular person. If you want. For a while.

... that'll be up to you too.)

Most of all, what being the Magician gives you is four character-specific stories, of which the first is Coming Back:

Coming Back "You’ve been away, working on an exhausting project or studying abroad or something. Now you’re back … and getting dragged into the affairs of rats and Mysteries. You try to work out how you fit in."

To get you started on that story, the game gives you three things you'll want to answer or define by building words out of letter draws over the course of ... well, probably, a large number of sessions. In sum:

how can I possibly hold myself together through this?

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

[your relationship with the rats]

It also gives you a "quest," a place to start on all this, which basically boils down to

a premise: "you need to figure out how to live with this damage"

a few tools to draw bonus letters, and

the extra question: "can I really face the far roofs again?"

You'll finish that up, and at least make a start on figuring out what to do here, after which you can move on to a second, third, fourth, or even fifth quest if you're not done figuring out the three big story-based challenges yet.

When you're done, after you answer those questions and however many you needed for quests ... there's another three stories. All the while, there's some bigger-picture group stuff that's going on too.

In practice, I do think these stories will take a long time. It is possible to speedrun the stories in this game, to blur through the campaign in like twenty hours of play .. but it'll be about as weird as any other speedrun.

If you're not doing that, I figure it'll be a couple of sessions, maybe even 4+, before you even answer one of those questions.

You'll draw maybe five letters in a session, and use some of them on the group story or subplots, and all the while you're developing your understanding of the proper answers while you shuffle the letters around.

Like, let's walk through one way it might go.

Maybe you draw NA in the first, slowest session. You could treat that as an N/A answer to something, but let's say you're not really into that. Like, burning through the questions fast doesn't help you, any more than it does in real life:

You want something that means something, that helps you crystallize how your character addresses that question.

That might wind up being N/A, but probably not in the first session or two! Not until and unless it feels right.

So let's say session 2 gives you ... NPLG. And now you can decide that you're a PAL of the rats and that's one question down ... but again, that only really works if you are or you want to be, right?

It's s a very specific choice, PAL. It's not for most, really.

It might not be for you.

More likely, I figure, you just ... have NANPLG there ... and none of that answers your questions at all.

Session 3. EEGEN. NANPLGEEGEN.

So you look between that and your questions. Between that and the four major challenges you have to address:

how can I possibly hold myself together through this?

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

[your relationship with the rats]

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

And, maybe ... PLAN?

PLAN isn't bad for the first answer. I guess it was already there back in session 2, but I didn't see it until now. Maybe you didn't either. It's not bad, either way. At least, not for my version of the Magician; yours might, of course, differ a lot.

What else can we find in those letters?

GLEEP ... is ... not helpful.

LENGE ... isn't even a word!

(Update! On review, it turns out it is a word in Hungarian, and there's also a song, so like if you know the song or Hungarian you might get something out of it.

... but typical Magicians probably won't.)

Session 4, anyway, brings us up to NANPLGEEGENLMAEA.

... no O, Y, or S, which means we still can't answer basic questions like whether you believe the far roofs are real with a simple NO or a YES. Same on whether you can face them again.

In fact, without O, we can't even "LMAO" at the very idea of being able to hold things together in the face of it all!

What can we find?

...

GLEAM is in there. It's a good word, but unless it fits something that's going on in the game or your personal take on things, it's unlikely to help.

LAME to self-chastise yourself is ... good if it's something your character keeps saying, but otherwise no.

LEAN, maybe?

Like, maybe you're LEANing on the rats for spiritual and mental support?

Conveniently (I'm drawing these from an online letter server, so they're not rigged) you even have two LNA at this point, meaning you can use up LEAN and still have PLAN in your pocket.

... let's do that.

Let's go ahead and answer two challenges with PLAN and with LEAN, leaving us with GEEGNMA and two questions left:

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

GEEGNMA. Dang. So close to having ENIGMA!

... I guess you do have ENEMA but that doesn't seem relevant.

AMEN ... not that useful, honestly, either.

NAME?

AMEN or NAME might help with some miscellaneous task, but not with the two questions at hand.

The next session brings us LSIRK.

GEEGNMALSIRK.

... which does give us ENIGMA as an option. We could answer a question with basically, "I dunno, it's an enigma."

... but of the two questions we have left,

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

... ENIGMA only really works for the first.

And that's totally fine! Except there are a few in-game incentives I haven't really talked about and in fact won't talk about here to encourage you to address the quest-question first.

So, what else?

SEE? SEER? Again, they only work for "do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?"

... let's table this until session 6.

Session 6. We get the letters OAEUWH. We now try to answer the questions:

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real?

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

with letters from GEEGNMALSIRKOAEUWH.

... we have an O now.

I don't like just answering the second question with "NO" but it's now possible, at least. You might do that, with your Magician, anyhow.

MAYBE, like YES, must still wait on a Y.

WHO CAN?, on a C.

...

Oh! But there's OW, for "yes, I believe they're real, but it really hurts"

WHO for "if I decide who I am, maybe?"

Those are rough. They might feel better, though, after keeping them in mind for a bit during play.

WHEEL ... is not helpful. Nor WHALE.

WHOA?

WAIL?

... I actually like WAIL here, though I hate using up that I and taking ENIGMA off the table. But, like:

"can I do this?" answer: incoherent wailing

That ... feels like a solid answer for someone who is both doing it and doesn't really think they can. Maybe not in your group and your circles. Maybe not for your Magician. But for some Magicians, at least, it makes sense.

The question

can I really face the Far Roofs again?

came from the first quest, and so when you answer it with WAIL, you move on to the second one. That gives us a new premise, a new set of card-drawing options, and a new question:

what did/will I find on the Roofs that I actually need?

So now we have GEEGNMSRKOAEUH and our questions are:

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real? and

what did/will I find on the roofs that I actually need?

Do you maybe need a KO? A ... RAKE?

A ... GROAN?

GROAN is a good answer to "do I even believe the Far Roofs are real," at least for the kind of character who answered "can I really face them?" with WAIL.

Let's ignore the incentives I mentioned earlier, then, and do just that, giving us the following set of challenges and answers:

how can I possibly hold myself together through this? PLAN

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real? ... (GROAN)

[your relationship with the rats] LEAN

can I really face the Far Roofs again? ... (WAIL) and

what did/will I find on the roofs that I actually need? ????

plus, EEGMSKEUH.

What do you need, that you can find on the roofs, that you can make out of EEGMSKEUH?

Do you need ... an SKU?

SEEK ... it's probably good to stick SEEK in your pocket, like, in case you figure out some way to use it as a "the journey is the destination" sort of thing, but the idea's a bit thin.

... let's say you don't use that yet.

The next session draws AABHR, for a total letter set of EEGMSKEUHAABHR.

... if there were a T, we could use BREATH.

... I guess, if there were a T, we could also have TEA.

I look at those letters and want to do HOPE, but in fact, we only have two letters from HOPE. We have an M, so we're closer to HOME ... but is the thing you find there really a home?

There's SHAME, but unless that's exactly your character arc, that's probably not what you need, that you find on the roofs.

GEM? HUGE? RAM? ... just a couple more letters and maybe we can get RAMEKIN, and honestly, you do need one of those, everybody does, but ... well, you don't have the letters for it.

GAME?

Let's say you push it off one session more.

The next session brings SRIHO.

Now we have EEGMSKEUHAABHRSRIHO.

... HOME is now possible, and strong, but only if there's stuff happening in game to lead up to it.

SHEER ... doesn't work.

Not quite enough letters for RHINO.

We can do BEARS, but you probably don't need that many bears. SOME RIBS ...

Ah, here we go:

RISK.

That could work. Let's say that it does.

You needed to get out of your comfort zone. You needed to do something scary. It was the only way to discover you could.

And if that's your answer, you can finish out the story now:

how can I possibly hold myself together through this? PLAN

do I even believe the Far Roofs are real? ... (GROAN)

[your relationship with the rats] LEAN

can I really face the Far Roofs again? ... (WAIL)

what did/will I find on the roofs that I actually need? ... RISK

Roughly eight sessions in ... really, 3-15, in practice ... and you've got your first personal storyline cleared. The next one will have you deal with some ghosts.

Thirty-two sessions to finish all four; after that, there's some options, but they're not as personal.

... but if your group has scheduling issues, or even if it doesn't, you might have trouble ever seeing 32 sessions of anything. You're not going to use this stuff up. You'll just hit a number of satisfying narrative stops for your character along the way and at some point the game will end when some player moves away or scheduling gets too rough or, optimally, when one of the larger group storylines ends or a couple players finish stories at once and everyone goes: "yeah, that's an ending."

Even if you've got a really solid group that meets really often, the campaign should keep you going for a good few years of play.

And now you know a bit about both the campaign and about what the Magician is like!

[rayneydays]

very late gustholomule week drabble

_

Little human children giggled behind their hands at the sight before them, Gus couldn’t help but do the same.

They didn’t visit the public pool often. However, as witches crossed over more, Gus, as past captain of the HAS, wanted his friends to enjoy all aspects of human culture. Including the figurative and potentially literal cesspool of splashing toddlers and probably-pee infested water.

Plus, to Gus’ joy, one of those friends didn’t learn how to swim. And the beach, with its aggressive waves that even knocked Willow over, probably wouldn’t be the best place to learn. So he took it upon himself to teach Matt. He was so generous, really.

”Your parents really never took you to Lake Lacuna?” the question had been on the tip of his tongue when he first found out. But there was always a certain look when Matt got upset, genuinely upset. Faraway eyes and pinched upturned brows that made Gus feel something.

But just like he was with illusions, Matt was a quick learner, and Gus was a fabulous teacher if he did say so himself.

When they got the basics down, he retreated to sit on the edge, letting Matt practice with Vee.

Gus kicked his feet, watching the pool water ripple. It was such a bright blue. Did chlorine do that? What was chlorine anyway?

He looked up, biting back a laugh at Matt doggy paddling awkwardly under Vee’s guidance.

Anticipation simmered in his gut.

He looked at Matt, all toothy grins and bangs plastered to his forehead. He looked happy.

Gus wanted that look all to himself. And once Matt was skilled enough, he’d have it.

-

It was a pretty long ride to the beach in Conneticut, but Gus knew of another place. During their initial time on the human realm, on days he needed alone, he’d walk off.

After being gone for hours, Gus would return with a clearer head and a new secret destination all to himself. At least, until now.

Matt blinked slowly as sun hit him right in the eye. Gus brushed tree branches aside, revealing the edge of a cliff. He looked down with a grin.

“Woah,” Matt said faintly.

”I know, right? isn’t it cool?” The lake below them was a deep sea green, the sun making it sparkle in their eyes.

”It’s … okay.”

”Don’t lie.”

Gus dropped his bag, shoving it underneath a bush and kicking off his shoes, Matt followed. The two eased closer to the edge, Matt slowing a bit.

The cliff was pretty tall, but not enough that the fall hurt, the illusionist figured.

“This is safe, Augustus?” Matt’s voice voice was hesitant, however he was quick to deflect. “I don’t want you getting hurt, you’re so frail.”

”I’m bigger than you.”

”Taller,” Matt corrected, “whose job is literally construction ergo lifting heavy shit all the time?” he flexed his muscles for emphasis, and Gus had to feign disgust.

”You mainly draw the crap, and make Kikimora do all the work,” he snapped back, a light blush tinging his ears.

Matt grumbled a bit, crossing his arms as he looked over the edge.

“You swear it doesn’t boil?”

“I swear.”

“On King’s dad?”

“On King’s dad, dude.”

Gus grabbed Matt’s shoulders, hugging him loosely. Upon being drawn into the false sense of security, Matt begrudgingly nodded.

”You remember to hold your nose?”

”Yeah - but,” Gus cut him off quickly, dirt scuffled underneath their feet as Gus pushed - pushed -

A girlish shriek the constructionist would deny later.

“What the fuck!”

The two tumbled off the cliff in a gaggle of tangled limbs and held noses, the air ripping through them.

Matt yelled all the way down, clinging to him with wide, angry eyes.

Gus took back his previous assessment on it not hurting to hit the water. It was like a cold smack to the face. They detached as they sank, clawing to the surface. Gus gulped up air, skin prickly as goosebumps formed. The water was so much colder in the human realm …

”Matty?” he called as he breached the surface, eyes still shut tightly. At the lack of response, a bit of panic flared. “Matt?”

”Hold your nose.”

Gus gasped as he was pushed back under water, swallowing lake water as he sputtered for oxygen. After the blatant assassination attempt on Matt’s part, Gus had to enact revenge. They continued to splash and chase each other for almost an hour.

His legs shook from exertion as they swam for a nearby rock. He glared in envy as Matt hoisted himself on the boulder like it was nothing, like really, where was that twig packing the muscle?

Matt yanked Gus up by the back of his tank top so he could flop beside him on the rough surface, gasping.

”Weak, nerd.”

”Shut up.”

Matt looked around. The lake was encased in a woodlands, the land sloped upward to be a mountain. There were a couple lower ledges that Gus would originally jump into the lake from, as he worked his way up to the highest one.

“You didn’t even jump from that before making me do it? What if there was rocks or something?” Matt cried. “I could’ve died!”

”I’ve swam this lake plenty of times, there aren’t rocks.”

”We’re sitting on a rock, you dumb fuck.”

Gus promptly shoved the boy off the edge, taking great satisfaction in Matt’s flailing limbs.

As Matt drowned beside him, Gus tugged idly on his hair. It was a good thing wash day was coming up.

It was another hour before they made their way back up the mountain, which, in hindsight was a lot harder barefoot, but Gus still thought it was worth it.

Too tired to hold an argument, they murmured amongst each other quietly, bumping shoulders and brushing hands.

Gus shivered, only partially from the cold.

They arrived back at Camilla’s as the sun came down. Thankful that she allowed them to stay the night, they trekked to the basement.

Camilla came down to call them for dinner, only to find them tangled together still in their swim trunks.

She smiled, and flicked the light off before retreating back upstairs.

-

“Did you put on any sunscreen?” Camilla gasped in horror at the angry, red flaking skin of Matt’s shoulders.

”I did!” he shouted back, shoulder’s bunched up, “ .. Ms. Noceda,” he added hastily.

Matt hissed as Gus pumped aloe vera over the irritated skin, rubbing it in weakly. When Camilla excused herself to find more healing ointment, Gus smacked the skin lightly.

”Ow! Augustus!” Matt reached behind him blindly to hit Gus.

”Does it hurt?”

”What do you think, prodigy?”

Gus laughed quietly, muttering an apology as he massaged the aloe vera into Matt’s shoulder blades. On autopilot, he leaned forward, head darting down to press a brief kiss to his shoulder.

”I’m sorry, Matty.”

He peeked at Matt’s face hesitantly, silently hoping the red adorning his face wasn’t just because of the sunburn.

[msfcatlover]

random reverse!robins images

(old post, but fuck it, I’m emptying my drafts. If these sound familiar, that’s why.)

[post-reunion, though I’m specifically imagining post-Red Robin arc] Damian: “Stephanie. Have you seen Jason?  Jason: *slowly sinks down lower on the couch* Steph, purposefully blocking the door with her body: “Nope. Geez, can’t you guys keep track of that kid for five goddam minutes?”

[First patrol while Bruce was “dead”] Cass: “I’m going out as Batman tonight.” Dick, after a full day of trying to find excuses to make her stay home: “FINE! GO AND DIE THEN! SEE IF I CARE!” Cass, realizing she misunderstood the direction of his worry: “…Oh shit.”

[post-Tower fight] Eddie: *barely holding in panic, trying to figure out how to safely get Jason to the medical wing, not trusting his patch-job cauterization to hold up long enough* Jason: *barely cognizant, mostly stuck in a loop of, “It’s really her,” “I’m going to die,” and “She hates me, oh god, she hates me.”*

[Before the reunion, after Steph & Jason won a fight fighting back-to-back] Steph: *compliments Jason’s fighting* Jason: *rides that high for the rest of the night, back home, through the debrief, out of costume, all the way up to his room, and into his pajamas* Jason, looking up in the middle of brushing his teeth & seeing his own still-lingering smile on his reflection: “…After everything she’s done, I still want her approval this much?” Jason, spitting out his toothpaste & rinsing his mouth: “I just can’t learn my fucking lesson, can I? Dad, Steph… why am I always chasing the approval of people who hurt me?” Jason, staring into the sink so he doesn’t have to meet his own eyes in the mirror: “God, I’m pathetic.”

[After Jason calls Steph near the end of the Red Robin arc] Steph, going straight to Tim’s HQ in full uniform & armed to the teeth: “Hey Tim? We need to talk.” Tim: *tries to deflect, because extracting Jason could be dangerous and Tim’s info is about 72 very dangerous hours out of date* Steph, drawing a gun: “Oh really?” Steph, throwing her phone at Tim’s head and stalking towards him across the room: “Because I just got a phone call, you’ll never guess who from…” Steph, looming over Tim and tipping his computer chair back as far as it’ll go: “…apologizing for ‘every joke’ he ever made, and begging to know how I ‘handled the green.’” Tim:  Tim: “………………………………What?” Steph, pressing her gun into Tim’s hip: “Care to explain the sort of mission that lands my baby brother in a Lazarus Pit?”

[Any point post-resurrection] Steph, after being asked about the Lazarus Pit: “It’s like being boiled alive, but your skin heals too quickly to slough off, so your nerves never go dead. Also, you’re drowning. And swimming against a riptide. And I honestly don’t know if the Pit gets you high or if the endorphins just fry your brain, but it’s almost euphoric enough not to hurt.” Steph: “Almost.”

[carpisuns]

Huntlow Hearts Exchange gift for @amanitaaurelia ! Happy belated Valentine's Day 💕

Rating: G

Word count: 6.3k

Summary: She spun around, breaking the vines around her ankles. “Why do you still call me that? We only got to play flyer derby together one time. I’m not your captain anymore.”

Hunter blinked, magenta eyes wide. “Of course you are.”

“Why?”

“Because … because I’d follow you anywhere. Captain.”

After another failed attempt to make a portal door, Willow feels at fault. Just when she's about to break down, Hunter finds her.

when we talk like this

“Ugh, it’s no use!” Luz groaned. “We’re never gonna figure out a way to make a portal work.”

Willow frowned, watching Luz pace back and forth across the clubhouse floor. Normally, Luz was the one who was brimming with enthusiasm and ready to try new ideas. But lately she’d gotten restless. Agitated.

“We can’t give up yet! We’ll find a way,” Amity said, trying valiantly for certainty but not quite making the mark.

Luz stopped pacing. “How? Without Titan’s blood, we don’t have power. We can’t—”

“Actually,” Hunter cut in, drawing out every syllable, “there might be another way.”

Willow glanced at him. He was grinning with his tooth gap on full display, brows arched, absolutely dripping with Golden Guard confidence.

Flapjack twittered softly on his shoulder. They all looked at Hunter expectantly.

“And? Care to share with the class?” Gus put down whatever human doohickey he’d been playing with. “Dude, we’ve talked about the dramatic pause thing. I mean, I of all people appreciate the power of some good theatrics, but you really don’t need to make a whole production of it every time you have an idea. Just spit it out.”

Hunter’s grin slipped into a pout. “Fine,” he said, sweeping his forelock out of his face.

His hair had grown shockingly fast since they’d arrived. After just a few weeks, the back was long and scraggly. Willow had to wonder how he’d managed to keep it so short and neat before. At this rate, he must’ve had to pay daily visits to the castle’s barber.

He’d pulled it back in a tiny blond tuft at the back of his neck. She couldn’t decide whether it was stupid or cute. (Both, probably.)

“Okay, so, we know we need Titan’s blood to power the door,” Hunter said. “And obviously we can’t get any here. But what if we could use a substitute?”

Luz’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of substitute?”

“Well, I’ve read a lot about how the Titan’s magic powers the Boiling Isles. Every natural ecosystem, every living thing that grows on the Titan’s corpse is infused with its magic. If we can get something that’s been growing on the Isles, there might be enough Titan magic in it to power the door.”

“But how are we supposed to get something from the Isles without a door?” Vee piped up.

“That’s where the captain comes in.”

Willow blinked. “Me? How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“You can use your plant magic to recreate a plant that’s native to the Isles!” Hunter said. “Of course, it would be best to use an actual plant from the Isles, but after centuries of native growth on the Titan, the magic should be part of the plant’s genetic structure. So if Willow is able to create a plant with her own magic that’s a close enough match to the native plant—to the point that it has the same genome—we just might have what we need.”

“Hmm,” Gus said. “Sounds like a long shot.”

“Right, but what do we have to lose by trying? Besides, if anyone can do this, it’s Willow, right?” Hunter turned to her. “What do you say, Captain? Worth a shot?”

Everyone was staring at her now. Gus, Amity, and Vee looked pretty convinced by Hunter’s presentation. Even Luz looked mildly hopeful. And Hunter was waiting patiently for her answer, no trace of doubt on his face.

“Um,” she said.

I can do this. I can do this.

Willow took a deep breath and stood, shoulders squared. “Yeah. Let’s give it a go.”

Hunter beamed at her. “Cool. Well, um, we probably want to pick a plant that we know grows close to a confirmed deposit of Titan’s blood. That way the magical connection will be stronger. Any ideas?”

“What about Eclipse Lake?” Amity suggested. “The blood is gone now, but at least we know it used to be there.”

“Good idea. Do we know what kinds of plants grow there?” Hunter asked.

Willow frowned, trying to remember back to her botany class. “Well, I know that there are starfire lilies in that area. They’re really old and pretty rare, but they’re really useful for potions, because if you pluck the petals they leak this kinda sticky blue stuff that’s supposed to amplify the effects or whatever potion you’re making.”

Luz’s head snapped up. “Like Titan’s blood.”

“Sort of.”

“That sounds perfect,” Hunter said. “Do you think you can conjure one?”

Willow bit her lip. “Um, we dissected them once in class. I think … yeah, I can do it. I just have to remember the pattern.”

“Take your time,” Hunter said.

Willow closed her eyes. In her mind, all plants had a pattern—a signature unique to every species. When she held it in her mind she could feel it in her fingers, her palms, a tingling up her arms and to her chest, the source of all her magic. It was a pull, a question, a call to bring the plant to life. Like if she asked with enough certainty, it would answer with leaves and stems and blossoms at her feet.

Tentora razor plants had a spiky pattern, sharp and angular. Gemmaranda bushes were cloudy and dreamlike. And starfire lilies—she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, remembering—they were like a shower of sparks.

“Ready,” she murmured.

She raised a finger, holding the pattern in her mind. Then, carefully, she drew a spell circle. It glowed in the air, and when it faded, an enormous lily burst through a crack in the floorboards.

“Nice work, Willow!” Gus said. “Does it look like the real thing?”

Willow inspected it. A supple black stem. Large, sharp-edged leaves. And dark blue petals, with flecks of luminescent orange scattered across the surface like glowing embers.

“Yeah,” she said. “It looks right to me.”

“Okay, so, do we just … pick it up?” Luz crouched down by the flower. “Maybe we coat the edges of the door in the blue stuff?”

“Let’s try that,” Hunter said. “Captain, wanna do the honors, since this is your handiwork?”

“Sure.”

Willow plucked a petal to release the liquid, and the lily let out a cry. Everyone jumped.

“Titan, what was that?” Gus shouted. “Willow, did that thing just scream at us?”

“Oh! Sorry. Forgot to tell you about that little side effect. They’re a little bit vain, and going bald is not exactly their favorite.” She winced as she plucked another petal, letting the liquid spill over her fingers. “Sorry, little friend! This is really important, I promise.”

When her hands were properly dripping in starfire juice, she stood and walked to the door. Everyone followed her out of the clubhouse, watching as she ran her fingers along the doorframe, staining it midnight blue.

They all stared through the open door, waiting with bated breath. The seconds ticked by. No light. No sign of magic. Not even a spark.

“Well,” Gus said finally, “I’m gonna take that as a no.”

He said it lightly, casually, like it was a joke, but Willow knew Gus well enough to recognize the disappointment in his voice. Behind her, Luz let out a weary sigh, and Willow felt her own heart sink inside her chest.

She’d gotten too used to being hailed as the best plant witch at Hexside. She’d forgotten what it felt like to fail like this. And somehow, this felt even worse than Professor Hermonculus humiliating her in class. He didn’t matter to her anymore. He was cruel and callous and he’d always been wrong about her.

No … this time, away from her dads, trapped under glass, crushing her friends’ last seed of hope—all with plant magic, the one thing she was supposed to be good at …

This time felt much worse.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” Amity said. “We’ll figure something else out. Thanks for trying, Willow.”

She offered a small, encouraging smile. Something about it made old fire spark inside Willow’s blood. She knew Amity wasn’t like that anymore, that she wasn’t trying to be condescending, that she was just trying to be nice, but it made Willow remember things she’d rather forget. Those early days when they’d first started hanging out again, back when Amity went out of her way to compliment Willow for every small, unimpressive bit of magic. When she’d heap on encouragements every time she made a small slip-up—even when she didn’t slip up. Back when Amity still saw her as Half-a-Witch Willow, something small and weak she had to protect. Someone who wore failures on her shoulders like a cloak. Someone who couldn’t help anyone, even herself.

Willow forced a smile. “Would you guys excuse me for a minute? I’ve gotta go, um, check on the garden. I’ll be right back.”

She strode past Hunter, refusing to look him in the eye. She couldn’t bear to see whatever brand of disappointment she would find there.

The summer air was sticky, and the sun beat down on her bare shoulders. She really should go water the garden—it hadn’t rained this week—but instead she found herself venturing further into the woods. Gardening always made her feel better when she was stressed or sad, but it didn’t help with this kind of mood. Her hands had balled into bloodstained fists, shaking at her sides. She didn’t trust them to be gentle right now.

In the cover of the trees, Willow paced back and forth across undergrowth. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and it felt like her veins were stretching under her skin, magic coursing through every bloodpath in her body.

She forced herself to stop moving and close her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. She counted the seconds on her fingers, just like her dads had taught her.

Her eyes snapped open. Dad. Papa.

Where were they now?

A familiar ache seized in her chest. There was nothing she could do to help them. No way to protect them, or even know if they were okay. She couldn’t even help her friends here, couldn’t find a way back home, couldn’t do … anything.

A lump formed in her throat, and hot tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away furiously, remembering at the last second not to touch her face with her sticky fingers. She wouldn’t cry over this. She had to be strong. For Gus, and Hunter, and Amity, and Luz. For her dads. For everyone.

But she didn’t feel strong today. She felt lost, and weak, and broken, and that made her angry—angry at herself for failing again, angry at Belos for hurting people, just … angry.

A groan slipped through her teeth as she paced through the trees again. She still remembered the time when Luz and Amity had entered her mindscape and seen all the burning inside of her. She thought she was done with burning now. But sleeping embers have a way of sparking back into life. Like buried seeds that burst through shell and soil to clamor toward the sun.

Her mindscape was a forest, but Willow had always thought of herself as a garden. She had a multitude of scattered seeds inside her. Some she cultivated carefully (compassion, patience, loyalty, confidence—all the things she wanted to be). And some she ignored, hoping they would never sprout. Those seeds scared her. She didn’t want to know what they could be if they grew.

But some of them grew anyway, without her permission, for years and years, because “out of sight” never really was “out of mind.” She hated that about herself—that underneath all the layers of bud and blossom that she painstakingly grew from her own tears and sweat, bitter seeds slept beneath her soil. They woke unbidden, taking stealthy root inside her heart, creeping upward to choke out every goodness she had fought so hard to keep alive. Anger, fear, hopelessness—they were all like thorny vines that tangled in her ribs and twined around her veins, relentless weeds that crawled through every space and corner and filled her blood like poison, like—

“Captain?”

Willow flinched, pulled back to the reality of the forest around her—the creaking trunks, the fluttering leaves, the rich smell of dirt and moss. And an alarming tightness around her feet. She glanced down to see a thick knot of vines wrapped around her ankles, thorns pressed against her skin.

It had been a long time since that had happened to her.

“Captain?” Hunter asked again.

“What?” she snapped—harsher than she meant to. She kept her back to him, face burning. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the vines.

Hunter hesitated. “Um, we decided to take a break. Camila’s making something called lemon … laminate, I think? Some kind of human drink. If you want some.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The starfire juice had dried a little, but it still made her fingers stick together. She took in a slow, deep breath. “No, thanks.”

“Um, are you sure? Luz says it’s—”

“Hunter, please go.”

A pause. “Captain, are you okay?”

Finally, she broke. She spun around, breaking the vines around her ankles. “Why do you still call me that? We only got to play flyer derby together one time. I’m not your captain anymore.”

Hunter blinked, magenta eyes wide. “Of course you are.”

“Why?”

“Because … because I’d follow you anywhere. Captain.”

Hunter held her gaze. His cheeks were flushed, but he stood tall, shoulders squared, like he was ready to follow her into battle right this second. It was the stance of the Golden Guard. A proud soldier who wasn’t afraid of anything.

But Willow had seen Hunter when he was afraid. And lonely. And unsure. She’d seen him happy too—having conversations with Flapjack that she couldn’t really follow, nerding out over some weird human thing with Gus, laughing at Luz’s Principal Bump impression.

It was hard to remember sometimes that not so long ago, he’d been the leader of the Emperor’s Coven. Now, instead of a white cloak and a golden mask, he wore a brightly colored shirt with a pattern of weird squiggles and shapes. (What had Luz called it again? “Bowling alley carpet.”) He looked strangely out of place against the muted forest backdrop, but somehow, he’d always seemed to belong in this place much more than Willow ever did.

Still, he wanted to get back home, and he’d been counting on her back there. Hunter was smart. He studied a lot. He cared a lot. He offered more ideas than anyone else. And he’d seemed so hopeful about this one. And somehow that fact made her failure even worse. Of everyone there, why did it cut the deepest to know that she’d let Hunter down?

Willow sighed. “You shouldn’t follow me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t a flyer derby match. It’s—it’s real life, and it’s complicated, and it’s scary, and if we lose then …” She swallowed. “You just—you shouldn’t put so much faith in me. I don’t know what I’m doing. And I’m just gonna screw it up, like I always do. Like I just did.”

Hunter was quiet for a moment. “Is this about what happened with the door? It wasn’t your fault. We all knew it was a slim shot.”

“No—I mean, yes, but it’s more that that! I just …” Willow sank onto a mossy log. “I’m so tired, Hunter. I’m so tired of being half a witch.”

He didn’t answer for a long time, until she wondered whether he had left. But when she glanced up, he was still standing there, head bowed, with his face hidden in shadow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for making you feel like that. I—I shouldn’t have put so much pressure on you, especially when I knew it probably wouldn’t work, and—”

“It’s not you,” Willow said quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you,” he said. “It seems like you conjured that lily perfectly. The only reason it didn’t work was that it was never going to work. It wasn’t a proper substitute for Titan’s blood. I mean, it was just a stupid theory. You can’t blame yourself for not being able to bend the laws of magic.”

“It wasn’t a stupid theory,” Willow said. “Just an untested one.”

Hunter let out a breath. “And now we know it doesn’t work.”

“Right. Now we know.”

Hunter perched on the log beside her and stared down at his shoes (the weird rubber slip-ons with holes in them—his “clowndals,” according to Amity).

“I still think about it all the time, you know,” he said. “That day.”

His voice was such a timid, quiet thing—so unlike his usual eager chatter. His brows were drawn, shoulders sloped, eyes glued to the forest floor, his whole stance colored with remorse.

“What day?” she asked.

“The day we met. When I kidnapped you all for the Emperor’s Coven, and I thought you would be happy, but then you said … you said the same thing. That you’re just half a witch.” He squeezed his eyes shut, like even the thought itself was painful. “I felt awful. I couldn’t believe I had made you of all people feel so … small. I know what that feels like. And I promised myself then that I would never make you feel that way again.”

“You didn’t.”

He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Then why are you saying it now?”

“Because … I know that people look up to me now. Gus. Luz. Even Amity, I think.” She glanced his way but didn’t dare to include him in the list (although, if she was honest, she was pretty sure he should be the first one—a thought that made her feel strange and proud and nervous all at once).

“And I guess sometimes I’m just scared,” she went on. “Scared that underneath everything, I’m still just Half-a-Witch Willow. That I’m just pretending I’m someone different, and everyone’s gonna figure it out. That I’m gonna fail them, because I’m not strong enough to protect them, and I was lying by promising that I could.”

She took a shaking breath, gripping her knees. “And I can’t fail. I have to be strong, so we can all get back home. So we can save our families. So we can saved the Isles.” She shook her head. “I’ve been slacking off lately. I should be training more. If I’d been training maybe I’d be stronger. And sharper. My magic would be better. Maybe I could’ve conjured up a better lily. One that actually would’ve worked like you said.”

“It was never going to work. Even with a real lily from the lake.”

“Well, we don’t know that. I probably got something wrong. Maybe if I’d—”

“Cap—Willow.”

She fell silent, eyes drawn to the shape of his profile, smattered with gold that filtered down through the leaves.

Hunter breathed in. “I’ve been in the Emperor’s Coven for as long as I can remember. With the best and brightest and strongest witches on the Boiling Isles. But until that day at Hexside, I had never met a witch a like you.”

Willow heartbeat stumbled. She wasn’t sure whether it was what he said or the fact that it was Hunter who said it.

“Your magic is like nothing I’ve ever seen,” he continued, talking faster as he went. “You’re as good as some of the coven heads—and they’ve had years more experience than you! But—but what makes you a great witch is more than just your magic. It’s, like … your”—he paused, apparently struggling for words—“your heart? I don’t know; I’ve known a lot of talented witches whose magic was impressive technically but it just lacked … something. It felt kind of empty, I guess? But yours is never like that.”

He still hadn’t looked at her, but his hands had sprung to life, like they were weaving a subtle magic of their own as he spoke to the trees around them.

“Obviously I can’t do magic,” Hunter said, “but I’ve studied about to a lot. And one thing I learned is that inner magic always has an emotional core. And the quality of the magic depends on where it comes from. And yours … yours always comes from this place of compassion and care and protection. I think that’s why it’s so strong. You’re a powerful witch not just because you’re good at magic but because you’re a good person.”

His voice was slowing down now, softening to match the murmuring trees, and his hands came to rest on knees, gripping the hem of his shorts. “You’re kind, and smart, and brave, and strong. And—and when you don’t feel brave you’re still strong. And when you don’t feel strong you’re still … you’re still … Willow.”

At last, he turned to her, holding her gaze with a look in his eyes that made something stir deep in her chest.

“You’re Willow,” he repeated, softly, almost reverently, like it meant something, like her name was an answer to the most important question. And somehow, she got it.

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Hunter groaned.

“Ugh, I don’t know how to say what I mean,” he said. “That was—sorry, that was probably stupid. I—I want to make you understand, but I just—”

“I understand.” Willow paused. “Thank you.”

A blush spread from his cheeks to his ears. “A-anytime,” he said.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The longer she watched him, the more the stirring in her chest grew stronger—like the flowers of her garden were just waking up, unfurling their petals to greet the sun.

She turned her gaze back to the trees.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I just get … angry. And I have a hard time controlling it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched for a reaction. She’d just admitted something she didn’t like to admit to anyone, even herself. Those bitter seeds and thorny vines she wished that she could kill.

But Hunter didn’t even move, and when he spoke, his voice was calm. “It's okay. Everyone gets angry.”

She turned back to him. “That’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t treat my friends that way.”

“Well, maybe, sometimes, you just need to … let it out?”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“You have a lot of reasons to be angry,” Hunter said. “You cant hold it in all the time, right? So if you ever need to be angry … you can be angry at me. It’s okay.” He offered a gentle smile, a loose strand of hair lifting in the breeze.

“Hunter, I’m not mad at you.”

“No, I know! I’m just saying that you can be mad at me. If you need to. If you need somewhere to let it go. I can take it. Promise. I’ve taken worse.”

Her eyes roved over the notch in his ear, the scar on his face, the bags under his eyes—still present after weeks of rest. He had taken a lot. Too much. But he came through it all like this—still hopeful, still trusting, still so willing to place his faith in her.

Somehow she could sense the way she looked to him. He could still see them, she was sure (the weeds and bitter seeds), but that’s not what mattered to him. He saw the whole garden. He saw her.

Willow cleared her throat, ignoring the goosebumps that sprang up on her arms. “I don’t think that will work.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t feel angry when I look at you. I can’t let it go, because when you show up, it’s gone.”

“Oh. Well. That’s—that’s good, I guess.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Isn’t it?”

She smiled. “Yeah, it is. Thanks, Hunter. For helping me feel like myself again.”

He smiled back, cheeks still dusted in pink. “Cool. Happy to help.”

She couldn’t help but stare at the gap between his teeth; his sharply bent nose; his thick, dark brows that somehow didn’t match his hair at all. All these little things that by themselves might seem imperfect. But when you put them all together, it was Hunter. And Hunter was … Hunter was …

She shook her head, trying not to notice the heat in her cheeks and the fluttering in her stomach. “I think you said there was some, uh, limmy-nad? I want to try some.”

“Yeah. Um, sure.”

They both stood, and she walked quickly in the direction of the house.

“Wait!”

He grabbed her hand but dropped it, cheeks blazing, as soon as she turned around. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

“Y-yeah?” she asked.

He sucked in a breath and addressed a patch of mushrooms at their feet. “Um, I just wanted to tell you that … I know you’re kind of carrying a lot right now, and you—you don’t have to do it by yourself. I learned that, when I ran away. I thought I’d have to be on my own. But—but you and Gus—you saved me. All of you. If it weren’t for you, I’d be—I’d …”

His brow scrunched, and he shook his head.

Willow didn’t want to think about it either.

“The point is, we may not get to play flyer derby anymore, but we’re still a team, right? We’re gonna do this together. All of us.” He straightened, and suddenly that proud soldier was back, looking her squarely in the eye. “You’re not my captain because you know what you’re doing. You’re my captain because you know who you are. And if you ever forget, I’ll be here to remind you. Okay?”

It should’ve been hard to take him seriously in this outfit, with half his scraggly hair falling out of that tiny ponytail, but all his words were bleeding with sincerity. She felt them sink into her skin and bolster up her bones—make her stand a little taller, feel a little stronger. There was a song inside her ribcage and a sun behind her eyes, and she felt her garden blooming, loud and lush and wild.

“Thanks, Hunter,” she whispered.

-------

When they got back to the house, the others seemed to be in good spirits, despite their recent failure. While they talked and laughed at the kitchen table, Willow went to the sink and scrubbed her hands, watching the blue seep out until her skin was clean again.

“Captain?” Hunter appeared at her elbow, holding two glasses of yellow juice. “I brought you some, uh, lemonade.”

“Thanks.” She took one and clinked it against the edge of his. “Cheers!”

“Huh? Oh. Um, cheers.”

They both took a sip. The drink was acidic and sugary, leaving a tangy aftertaste on her tongue.

“Oh, it’s sweeter than I thought!” Hunter wrinkled his nose. “And also … sour?”

His face twisted, eyebrows scrunching, and it was such a ridiculous, over-the-top Hunter face that she had to laugh.

“Hey, don’t judge,” she teased. “You started out as kind of sour yourself when we first met.”

He flushed. “Right.”

“But don’t worry.” She raised her glass to her lips again, hiding her smile behind its rim. “I knew you’d turn out sweet.”

He blinked down at her, liked he’d been temporarily stunned, and then a smile stole across his blushing face.

“Willow, come look at this video.” Gus snickered. “This cat looks just like Hunter.”

Hunter’s head snapped toward the table, where the others were crowded around Luz’s phone. “What? No, it doesn’t.”

“How would you know?” Gus said. “You haven’t even seen it.”

“Let me see.” Hunter lunged toward the table, nearly spilling his drink, while Luz held the phone out of his reach. Willow lingered back for just a minute, laughing softly while she watched.

(As it turned out, the cat did look a lot like Hunter.)

(It was pretty cute, honestly.)

----

That night, Willow plopped her new scrapbook on the kitchen table, opening to the first page. Camila had given it to her the other day, to fill with all the photos she’d been taking. She sorted through the pile, filing away each memory.

There were … a lot more photos of Hunter than she remembered.

“Hey.”

Willow jumped, swiveling around to find Hunter himself, clutching a potted flower in his hands.

“Hunter! Um, hi!” She quickly swept the photos into a stack, realizing too late that the one one top was a potentially incriminating picture of him attempting to twirl spaghetti on his fork.

“I, uh—I brought you this.” He held up the flower—the starfire lily, newly planted in a terra cotta pot. “I noticed that its petals had regrown, and I thought you should keep it.”

She grinned. “You brought me a flower? How sweet. Now I’m embarrassed. I should’ve brought one for you too.”

His face reddened. “No! I’m, um—technically this is already yours, so I’m just … returning it to you. I just didn’t think the middle of the clubhouse floor was the safest spot for it. But I knew you’d take good care of it.”

Willow stared. “You … you were worried about the lily?”

“Um, well, I just know that you like plants a lot. I mean, of course—you’re a plant witch. Like, the best there is. And, I don’t know, I just thought you’d probably want to look after it. Since its petals came back, you know?”

“That’s—yeah. That’s really thoughtful of you. Thanks.” She took the pot from him and placed it on the table.

“I hope I didn’t hurt it,” he said. “I tried to be extra careful when I was digging it up. Like you taught me in the garden the other day. I didn’t want to make it cry again.”

She smiled. “You did a good job. It seems pretty happy to me.”

“Um, good.” He smiled back nervously. “I’m glad.”

Willow ran a thumb along the smooth edge of a newly born petal. “I totally forgot that their petals regrow. Pretty cool, huh?”

Hunter nodded. “When I saw that they’d come back, I remembered that I’ve read about these flowers before. I used to do a lot of research about potions and stuff, to help my—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Anyway, when the petals regrow, the starfire juice replenishes too. And its stronger every time. The lily may be vain, but it’s really resilient. It’ll regrow every time it’s plucked. It’s very coveted by potioneers, because if you have one it can keep producing starfire juice for years.”

“Wow,” Willow said. “I don’t remember learning about that in class. That’s pretty amazing.”

“Yeah! Apparently they’re also very difficult to conjure, which is partially why they’re in such high demand. Not many witches have the magical skill to summon one that actually has the same properties as a real one. Except for you, I guess.”

He flashed her a smile, and something fluttered in her stomach.

“We don’t know if this one even works with potions. Maybe it just looks pretty.” She turned back to the flower to hide her face. “And you are very pretty! Your petals grew back so nicely,” she cooed down at it.

“Well, you managed to make one that has starfire juice,” he pointed out. “And that regrows its petals.”

“That doesn’t mean it works in potions.” She glanced up from the lily with a smile. “We’d have to test it to be sure, wouldn’t we? Just like your theory.”

“I don’t have to test it to know you did it right. You—you’re an amazing witch, Willow.” He rubbed the back of his neck, ears pink, and Willow felt heat rise to her cheeks.

“I think—I think you’re kind of like a starfire lily,” he said in a rush. “’Cause hard things have happened to you, but you always come back stronger. And you make all of us stronger too. Amplify our effects … or whatever. ’Cause you’re the captain, and you make the team better.”

Willow’s face felt like it was glowing now, and so did her chest. Hunter finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, and she blinked back at him, at a loss for what to say.

You make me feel stronger too, Hunter.

“Thanks,” she said at last. “That means a lot.”

He fingers found the hem of his oversized pajama shirt, fiddling with the fabric. “Also, um, just so you know … it’s okay to cry when your petals are plucked. It’s—it’s not vain. It sucks. Even if you come back stronger, it’s okay to feel hurt first. Or—or angry. Or lost.”

She stared at him, heart pounding, feeling, once again, that he was seeing straight through her—to the vines and trees and blossoms, to the weeds and bitter seeds. He saw it, she knew. He saw it all.

“Sorry!” he said quickly, waving his hands in front of his face. “Was that—? That was weird. Or, like, I didn’t mean—I was just—”

“No,” she said, “it was really nice.”

Without thinking, she stepped closer, and she could almost hear his heartbeat pick up (or maybe that was just an echo of her own).

Hunter cleared his throat. “Well, Gus and I were gonna watch a movie. If you want to join.”

“I was gonna work on this.” She gestured to the scrapbook. “Maybe next time?”

“Sure. Of course.” For a second he just stood there, arms hanging limply at his sides, like he wasn’t sure what to do next. Then he blinked into motion with a jerk. “Uh, bye!”

He was halfway to the stairs when she stopped him. “Hunter.”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

She let the pattern fill her mind—blinding beams and and blooming spots and gentle dappled gold.

Her spell circle glowed in the air, and a flower fell into Hunter’s hands.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A thank-you,” she said. “For the lily. And for helping me today.”

“Oh.” He stared down at it, gripping the stem in his fist. “What kind is it?”

“It’s called a sunflower. It’s from the human realm. It, um, kind of reminds me of you.”

He looked up. “It does? Why?”

Her fingers were tingling, and she wasn’t sure if it was residual magic or something else.

“I don’t know. It’s bright. And happy.” She paused. “It makes me smile.”

He blinked, lips parting to give her a glimpse of the gap between his teeth. Then he smiled softly, bright and warm to match the flower in his hands. “Me too.”

“Hunter!” Gus called up the stairs. “Are you coming? The movie’s getting cold, dude.”

“That doesn’t—what does that even mean?” Hunter called back.

“It means get your butt down here or I’m gonna find out what happened to Shrek and Fiona without you!”

“No—wait! I’ll be right there!” Hunter stumbled toward the stairs. “Um, good night, Captain! Thanks for the sunflower.”

“Night, Hunter.”

Willow sank onto a chair at the table, listening to the sounds of the movie drifting up from the basement. She pulled the scrapbook toward her and ran a hand over its smooth, empty pages.

They’d been busy in the human realm for these last few weeks. When they weren’t working on the portal door, they were exploring their new world, trying to make memories to distract them from home. Already Willow had dozens of photos, enough to fill half the scrapbook, probably. But where to start?

She picked up the photo on the top of the stack���the one of Hunter gracelessly eating a bowl of spaghetti. She laughed softly. Maybe not this one (but it was definitely a keeper).

The next one was a group shot, all of them standing in front of the newly refurbished clubhouse. Hunter stood at her side, with Flapjack on his shoulder, wearing a smile so bright that it rivaled the sun.

Carefully, Willow taped the photo into the scrapbook. Not too shabby! she wrote underneath.

She flipped through the book of stickers Camila had gotten her, and one of them caught her eye. A smiling sunflower, lifting a leaf like it was waving hello. She peeled it off and stuck it in the scrapbook, right next to Hunter.

Beside her, a leftover drop of starfire juice was clinging to the lily’s stem. Willow wiped it up with a finger and then pressed it to the scrapbook next to the sticker, stamping the paper with a blue fingerprint.

“To remember today,” she told the lily. “You have to remember the hard things too. Because the hard stuff leads to the good stuff, you know?”

She stared at the tip of her finger, stained once again with blue. “It was nice, to talk with him like that,” she whispered. “I hope we get to talk like that again.”

When they got home—when all of this was over—she hoped they’d get to play flyer derby. She hoped she’d get to be the captain again. (It was nice that at least to Hunter, she still was.)

One day, she decided, they’d leave practice together and have a long talk, like they did today, and she’d repay the favor and tell him everything that made him wonderful.

But for now, it was nice to talk like that here, with sap-sticky hands and thorn-bitten ankles and a heartbeat that wouldn’t stand still. It would be nice like that, she thought, no matter where they were.

Willow glued another photo to the page.

One day they would all make it home. But until then, she was here with a scrapbook, so she would fill it up with long talks, and lemonade, and starfire lilies.

[halfmoth-halfman]

I didn’t know the new chapter has been out FOR A WEEK. Thanks Tumblr!

Anyways, lovely start to my morning, pretty sure my pup was enraptured cause he was snuggled with me looking at my screen as I scrolled faster than light to read.

Seeing the softer side of Ghost during the panic scene was really nice and I could almost hear his internal thoughts of “what the fuck did they do, what did WE do”. I feel as though that scene really revealed for them just how wrong they were about her and it was heartwarming to see them rally

Price was a t total DICK at first, but the love confession shocked him into his right mind. This man on his knees DID something to me, we love a man in the wrong on his knees “apologizing” (i’ll take murder as an apology along with a check sir). When Canary is healed she better make him kneel and beg.

Now on to your writing, i’m always impressed but WOW this is by far your best work, you articulated the inner thoughts of a panicked person so well I thought I was having an episode and that I WAS canary for a moment and had to take a breather. You perfectly put into a visual word form complete panic and shattered thoughts. This is a masterwork because everything was written both incomprehensible and sharp, written so that we knew how canary was thinking, with how fast events were happening and how quickly canary had to try and process it while psychologically shattered herself. I keep rereading because i’ve never read anyone write in such a way.

How dare you make me feel these emotions at 8 in the morning. I’m so impressed with your work and i’m excited to see you flourish from here. -🔥

i legitimately think hell will freeze over long before tumblr actually works like it's suppose to.

asldkajsdal not the dog reading along with you, and so early in the morning too omg i'm sorry 😭

ghost def went through a lot of realizations in that moment, the most important being that he was very very wrong about canary and regardless of how he feels about her, he needs to help her. we'll be seeing more sides to ghost in the next few chapters and maybe a few conversations with canary too!

i really like the love confession as a whole, just because it's so quick and so simple but so effective in getting price's attention. like he's just kinda laid into her, and is fully convinced canary's played him the entire time only for her to respond by telling him she loved him. it's the first time she's ever said it to him, and it throws him off enough that his anger is momentarily forgotten.

thank you so much, i usually try to draw from my own experiences with panic attacks and anxiety when i write those scenes for canary. given how quickly things happen for her, esp in the last chapter, i try my best to show how fast she has to process things while it all just keeps stacking onto the panic she's been pushing down until eventually it all boils over and she can't stop it. she's going through so many emotions, she's scared, angry, stressed, lonely, depressed, confused, just so many things that i don't even she realizes what she's feeling, all the while she's trying to keep herself together and figuring out how to save herself. i know it won't relate to everyone's experiences, but i do my best to portray her dealing with everything and the consequences of pushing it all down.

thank you so much again!!! i'm pretty impressed with myself making it this far, and i'm so eternally grateful for everyone coming on this ride with me!! 💜

[titanfall-moddy]

Huge Update

XO25_reworkFor_NSP

Goal: Rework Northstar Prime Titan to sound and behave more like Mihaly and the XO25f from Ace Combat 7

Tasks

1.Change offensive ability from Cluster Rocket to Multi-Target Rocket Core.

2. Create two new skins for NSP. Draw color palett inspo from XO25 Erusian fighters from AC7.

Skin 1 will be sleek and and clean. Mostly black with white and orange accents.

Skin 2 will be more weathered and beat up

3. Fix voiceline Mod

4. Change hud look to resemble AC7 hud. Main changes will include - changes to missile lock crosshairs - changes to taget acquisition crosshairs. Square = titan/vehicles. Octagon = pilot/grunt - change color scheme to green/red depending on situation - add elevation meter, maybe even double hover height, just for fun. kinda broken but whatever.

Lessons learned so far.

T1. Changing the offensive ability is actually really easy. all you have to do is go to /scripts/weapons/wpn_name and swap "shoulder" for "dumbfire" between the two files. While simple, bear in mind that the game will crash if player has not deselected both "Enhanced Payload" - Northstar "Multi-Target Rocket Core" - Monarch

from their Titan Kit. Having either ability selected will cause a crash on Titan spawn.

T2. Getting models into blender and editing them is simple enough through either the VPK tool or Legion+, however the real trick right now is getting them back into the game files in an edited/acceptable state. T3. I learned that nearly all audio for the voiceline mod (especially the viocelines) needs to be on Channel 2, otherwise called stereo. this mean that when you're looking at your audio file in whatever program you're using, there should be two audio waves right on top of each other that are identical. You must almost make sure that there is no meta data in the file, and that it's exported at 48K hz otherwise the game will not play the sound correctly.

Another note, it does not matter what you name the audio file so long as it goes into the proper folder, although giving it a similar name does help with organization.

T4. Changing the crosshair is probably the easiest thing to do in the game files. They're always in weapon .txt files and always at the very bottom. Also, there are plenty of lists online that have all the crosshair names so you don't even have to guess which ones are which or go sleuthing through the game files. I was able to change the mutli-lock crosshair to the smart-pistol reticle easy enough but struggled in getting the target- acquisition marker to show up even though it's coded into the multi-lock file. Weird, I know.

NEXT STEPS:

T1. Figure out whether or not it will be easier to add an entirely new titan via copy/pasting asssets and changing the names, or if I should change all existing assets for the game to XO25. In my brain the latter would be the easiest as there's some background stuff I won't have to change in order for the game to still function properly. However…

T2. My guess is that the easiest way to go about changing the skins is to edit the base model titan and then replace the existing model with my own. That way the edited version is the default skin in-game. However…

T3. I do not know why the mod isn't working anymore. Changing the vpk files shouldn't have affected it at all. I must figure out what's causing the issue. I've boiled it down to three guesses. 1. It's my computer, it just doesnt like or doesn't want to cooperate. 2. There's something actually wrong with the mod, i.e. it's not using the right dependency or something 3. somehow. palpatine returned.

T4. Changing crosshairs is very easy, thankfully. Getting crosshairs to behave is somehow another task entirely since I don't fully understand the games language/structure yet. For this, I need to get a hold of the Ace Combat game files and to be honest I haven't even begun to look into that yet. Hopefully it won't be too much of a hassle to import the assest into the game since they've both been out forever. I'd also like to take this time to stop myself before I add another task onto my already full plate. However…

11/7/2023

[lowlaif]

Konpeito

never seen a star up close.

kinda wanna eat one.

and no, not one of those starlets hanging out in ridiculously overpriced LA villas - now finally available in "sustainable" minus an ecological footprint rivaling the size of their range rovers. the owner will fly in from two towns over so they get there early for their yearly yacht trip and ill activate adblock so palantir cant pester me with 50-euro airline ads to the maldives because shit, money is going to be a bit tight this month

i want to eat a star. actual heaps of gas and space dust and heat and whatdoiknow, im not a scientist, id rather not belie my words by googling the exact chemical configuration of something thats just bright and pacifying to me, something thatll melt on my tongue. 'm not even gonna chew. just gonna swallow it. the way i ate chocolate as a kid because relishing in something meant enough time for it to be taken away. the way i drink medicine because - if you gulp it down really quickly, it doesnt have time to taste bitter: anything can be honeyed milk if you clench your teeth hard enough

did you know thats what galaxy means anyway? milk? i wonder what galactical honey would be, then. whether id think its sweet or spicy, whether id like the taste or want to spit it out. if itd go down with well-rounded corners or lodge itself into my throat and stay there. fishbones. i also wonder whether astronauts ever feel scammed when they set foot on the ISS and realize theyre not going to bear witness to a sky made out of sparkling lights and silver threads and golden spots and rainbow clouds but rather just a sea so inky black it's going to make breathing difficult not just by lack of oxygen alone. earths much too reflective for any other luminescent object to be visible to the naked eye, ive been told, hence why youd just be looking at a planet so bright it surely hurts to stare at it, and i wonder what it feels like, being up there and gazing down only to be blinded when youre so used to looking up and squinting?

im homesick thinking of kids drawing earth into the upper right corner of their drawings. i dont actually know if theres stars up there though everybody tells me those pinprick lights are, and i cant breathe when im busy trying to figure out what exact level of depression the stale air around me tastes like. but something in my brain clicks when i think of shiny things and theres no empirical evidence that grabbing the sparkly stuff up above my head wont cure me so i want to, i want to, i want to. wanting always boils down to sinking your teeth into it and ive filed my canines far too often to fear the force of my bite now

people dance on the moon and i mimic their steps in my bedroom and though these are just small steps i dont know the names of the poor sods stuck on the ISS either, even though there's only been like 500 of them and they're all way better at living life than i am. my hands ghost over where i instinctively know the light switches of my flat are and wonder if up there somebody's got a nightlight, cheap plastic stars attached to their ceilings, one of those little projectors that put constellations on your walls. whether they ever have trouble sleeping and if yes, what the hell do they look up at then? who do they cast their wishes to?

never seen a star up close. never held one. but the concept is so familiar, so ingrained into whatever our shared consciousness is made out of, that i want with my molars. i itch to keep it in my tummy so it keeps me warm on the cold days and i only trust what i see so i want to look at it until my retinas burn, until the sound of the big bang echos in the confines of my brain. itll drown out all other unwanted thoughts and itll sing in the genetic make-up of my descendants long after my neighbours cant hear me sing in the shower anymore. ill cup my palms and pray into them. begging is easier when youre in position and im on my knees and i swear ill never run out of things to whisper to the radiant little ember in my hands because it is beautiful and because i like shiny things and because stars have always made us look up at them and

When I finally get my teeth on it and swallow it whole I'm sure a piece of the star will get lodged in my throat like. fishbones. in a last-ditch effort at vengeance. I'll spend the rest of my life attempting to choke it back up.

"I made it with love," I'll say after I finally managed to do so.

"Careful, it's hot."

[intubatedangel]

Code Red : Chapter 1

I decided I would give you this early :) I really hope you like it and would love to know your reactions. This is one I’ve been working towards for so long, basically since I created the Anna Swift character in Barista’s Bad Heart Chapter 9. I’d definitely recommend reading the whole series of stories, but there is a substantial amount (over 85,500 words up to now, longer than any individual Narnia book for example), so at a minimum I’d urge you to read the epilogue chapters of the big stories, and all of the intermissions. Of course, I hope this still works as a standalone story, but it will hopefully have much more impact if you’re invested in Anna and Carl’s story.

You can find the previous stories here:

Story Index  

Anyway, here it is. Strap in because it’s going to be intense.

* * *

Anna stood there, stunned at the unexpected figure in front of her. She could tell he was boiling with anger. She would have to tread very carefully.

"I'm so sorry about Megan." She said in a quiet voice.

Somehow the young man's glare intensified. He stepped towards her, leaving just a few metres between them. "Her name was Krystal!" He snarled, his hand disappearing into the front pocket of his grubby hoodie.

Anna tried to back away, mentally kicking herself for the mistake, but she was already up against the railing. As Kevin brought his hand out of his pocket a chill ran down Anna's spine. The snick of the knife flicking open seemed to echo around the landing, and Anna felt her heart quicken. This had just become another level of dangerous.

Anna raised her hands to her sides, noting out the corner of her eyes that they were trembling. "We did everything we could."

"No, you didn't." He replied, pointing the knife at her. "She was just another junkie to you wasn't she!"

Anna shook her head slightly, keeping her eyes on him. "She wasn't. I promise you. There was nothing else we could do... The drugs in her system were too strong."

Kevin advanced another step. "So now you're blaming me? You're saying I killed her?" He spat, his knuckles turning white as he clenched the knife harder.

"No." Anna whispered, but she couldn't think of anything to follow up. Not only was it true, he had been at least partially responsible for the drugs, she was busy desperately trying to think of a way out. It was clear she wouldn't be able to talk him down. His rage was aimed directly at her. Plus, her specialty and experience was in trauma, not psychiatry. Any of her patients that were out of control usually couldn't act on it, and if they were combative, they could be easily sedated. She could offer comfort, but de-escalation was not a part of her skillset.

Her only hope was escape. Both elevators had already descended, though even if they had still been on this level, they would be a poor choice. She wouldn't be able to get in and close the doors before he was in there with her. The only doors on this floor led out onto the rooftop helipad. A slightly better option, it wasn't a closed box, but she would still be trapped. And Kevin was stood between her and the doors. Could she get past him and open the doors before he was on her? It was unlikely. That left the stairs to her right. She was a half-step closer and wasn't coming down from a drug high. She'd probably be faster on the stairs than him, and would rapidly get closer to help, but he would be able to jump on her if he was determined enough. It was her best chance. She almost laughed out loud at how small a chance it was.

"Yes, you do." The snarling was gone. His voice was cold. His mind was made up and he'd decided what to do. As if in slow motion, she saw him tense, drawing his arm back. Her heart was thundering in her ears as she started to move.

Out the corner of her eye she saw him lunge.

* * *

He was faster than she had expected. He missed his lunge, crashing against the railing and the glass panel beneath it, but his free hand shot out and grabbed her arm. He pulled her back, half intentional, half simply regaining his balance. Anna wrenched her arm free, spinning to face him. Just in time to see the knife flash towards her.

She let out a small, strangled gasp from the impact. For the briefest moment it felt like an ordinary punch in the belly. Then came the sense of sheer wrongness in her abdomen. Anna let out a quiet whimper, that became more of a yelp as Kevin wrenched the knife out of her body. Anna tottered back a step, grabbing the corner of the railing where it bent around to go down the stairs. Her other hand instinctively clamped to her abdomen. Adrenaline dulled the pain for a moment, but she could feel the warm wetness trickling through her fingers. She glanced down, seeing the stain blossoming across the front of her scrubs.

Kevin straightened up, staring at the knife in his hand, the length of the blade slick with blood. He raised his head, looking at her. The reality seemed to hit him. He had just stabbed her. For just a moment Anna hoped he might just flee. That he would realise this was a mistake, run away, so she could get to help. But when Kevin frowned, she knew he was going to double down. He was going to kill her and then try to escape. Anna took a shuddering breath. She would have to fight.

Kevin stepped forward, his hand punching forward, driving the knife towards her chest. A look of shock ran across his face when Anna's hands clamped around his wrist. He grimaced, adding his second hand to try and force the knife into her heart, but she held him there. She was stronger. Lifting patients, performing chest compressions, there were plenty of activities as a trauma nurse that were practically a workout in themselves. More than enough to make her stronger than a gaunt, undernourished drug addict. But that strength wouldn't last long. She could feel it spilling out down the front of her scrubs.

She had to do something. Right now. She fought the knife lower, so that it was no longer directed at her chest. She tried to push it to the side, but she could already feel her arms starting to tremble. She was out of time. Kevin was putting his full weight behind the knife. So, when Anna suddenly let go, he stumbled forward. The blade plunged into her abdomen again. Anna screamed out, not just because she felt the knife inside her again. She grabbed him around the waist, throwing all of her remaining strength into lifting him off the ground, and hip-tossing him over the descending railing of the staircase. The knife was torn out of her body, slipping from Kevin's grasp as his wrist hit the handrail. It clattered against the glass panel and bounced down a few steps.

Kevin plunged down the gap between the stairs, his scream stretching away until it cut off with a sickening thump.

Anna collapsed against the railing, her legs folding beneath her. She tried to pull herself up, but her strength was gone. She slid down to her knees, leaving a bloody handprint smeared on the glass. She keeled over onto her side, her cheek pressing against the cold marble effect flooring. Distantly, she heard a moan, then a cry of pain. She hadn't killed him at least. As much as she knew it was the only way to save herself, she would have struggled to forgive herself if she had become a killer. Moments later she heard the clatter of a door far below, and a shout for help. But it was not for her.

* * *

As soon as Officer Jones informed Carl and Stone that Kevin was missing, they immediately sprang into action. They headed into the hub, Jones and Stone splitting off the check the other sub-departments while Carl went the desk and grabbed the phone, keying in the extension for the security office. He quickly explained the situation, requesting the guards at the entrances to be on alert and to tell all the ward managers on the higher floors to set the doors to key card only. They'd had more than one volatile, grieving, drug addict before. He was about to join Stone and Jones in checking the other areas of the Emergency Department, when he heard a shout for help coming from the trauma rooms.

He sprinted through, almost colliding with Roger. "We need a full trauma team now!" The nurse shouted, his voice carrying through to the hub, grabbing the attention of more nurses. Roger pointed at the stairwell door, and Carl hurried through, seeing the crumpled body face down on the floor.

Kevin's legs were both bent behind him at awkward angles, a jagged bone protruding from his right calf. One of his arms was similarly shattered, the elbow doubled back upon itself. Blood was splattered around him from the impact and for a moment Carl thought the young man was dead. Then he let out a groan. Behind him Roger had brought a grab bag, and a few other nurses were arriving with a gurney and backboard. Carl took a deep breath, using the moment to recognise the nurses as they entered the stairwell and order his thoughts.

"Right then, let’s take C-spine precautions, Roger, hand me a collar and ready the backboard. Kirstie, give me a hand. Lauren, we need pressure bandages on those wounds, and I need you to check for more. Trish, he's already got heroin on board, so draw a round of ketamine for pain relief." He took the collar then stepped over Kevin as he moaned and shifted on the floor, kneeling down above his head. "Kevin, can you hear me?" Carl said loudly. Kevin moaned something, but it was unintelligible. "Just stay still for me, alright."

Kirstie slipped in beside him, ready to assist.

"Ok Kevin, I just need to put this collar on alright." Carl said, very carefully straightening Kevin's neck. "Kirstie, take over C-spine." He said, exchanging their hands on Kevin's neck so that Kirstie was holding it steady. Carl slid the collar under, looping the back over and securing the Velcro strap as Kirstie eased her hands out. "There we go." Carl muttered as he adjusted the collar to the correct height.

He looked up, seeing Trish struggling to get an IV catheter into Kevin's arm. "Come on Trish, we need that Ketamine in before we can roll him!" He stressed. He couldn't help but think Anna would have had it in by now. A ghost of a thought almost broke through, but before he could grasp it the stairwell door burst open again, revealing Dr. Stelling, the head of the department. "What happened?" She asked Carl.

* * *

Anna tried to shout out, to cry out, but her voice was weak and her breaths shaky. The other noises covered any sound she could make. She could hear the team, could hear Carl, four floors below her. But they didn't know she was here, and she couldn't warn them. She had to do something. She let out a whimper as she pushed herself onto her side and looked down at her belly. The front of her scrub top was saturated with blood, the blue fabric turned to glistening black. A crimson pool extended out in front of her. Blood. Her blood. Obviously.

Anna realised she was already going into shock. She didn't have long. With a shuddering gasp she reached overhead with her hands, desperately trying to pull herself towards the elevators. With literal gut wrenching pain, she managed to drag herself a foot across the floor, her legs trailing behind her, too weak to be of any use. She paused, needing to recover her breath just from that small effort. She reached up again, pulling with everything she could muster. She only moved six inches this time.

After a few more breaths, she tried to move with her arms again, but couldn't get a grip on the smooth floor. She was just too weak, the pain too strong. Her vision swam as she looked towards the elevators. They were too far away. She clamped her eyes shut, fighting both the light-headedness and the tears, as she realised, she was going to die here. She couldn't move. Help wasn't coming. She opened her eyes, looking down at herself again. She'd lost so much blood. Another pool was visibly growing, spreading out in front of her, connected to the first by the smear left by her failed attempt to reach the elevators.

She could hear Carl down below. Calm, commanding. Her heart, racing as it tried to get enough oxygen to her brain, broke for him. Knowing he had been so close to her as she slipped away, would break him when they found her body. She allowed the tears to flow, sobbing weakly. Lethargically, she reached into her pocket, pulling out the locket. Her fingers were too uncoordinated to open it, but her thumb stroked it gently. He would know she was thinking of him. That she loved him.

One chance.

The thought forced its way through her fogging consciousness. She blinked away the tears, pulling in a breath as the idea coalesced in her mind. Her hand tightened around the locket and its chain as she pulled her arm back towards her. Deep inside she grabbed her last meagre reserve of strength, forcing it through her arm as she flung the locket.

She watched it slide across the floor in a clump, spinning slightly as it swept through the pool of her blood, slowing all the way towards the gap beneath the glass panel.

Slower, slower.

The heart shaped locket stopped on the edge, and Anna wanted to scream, until she saw the flickering movement of the chain as one section carried over the edge.

She held her breath as the fine chain pulled itself over the edge, more and more disappearing from view.

The last few links went over.

The chain pulled taut.

The locket, with her heartbeat etched inside beside Carl's, followed the chain over the edge.

[bafflement]

Deaged Oz AU - The Cardin Incident

For @maskyartist, this is what happens when Tip gets angry and doesn't have to protect others.

"Hey, kid!" A sneering voice echoed through the corridor. Tip sighed and resolved himself to just ignoring Cardin Winchester. Again. For some reason, the young man had decided that he made a good target, but it was better just to ignore bullies than to respond to them. Especially those like Cardin.

"You deaf as well as crippled?" Cardin asked, stalking closer to where Tip was walking, looming over the smaller figure in what he fondly hoped was menace.

Tip said nothing, just continuing to limp down the corridor. Hopefully he'd go away soon, it was late and he was really tired. It had been another long council meeting and he just wanted to go to bed. He couldn't quite suppress a yawn, which just seemed to enrage Cardin even more and... really? This young man was just a few short months short of graduating, surely he should have learned better by now?

"I said, are you deaf as well as crippled, you waste of space?" Cardn sneered out. "Why are you even here, do you really believe any academy would let something like you in? You're pathetic, just as bad as the Faunus trash! You should have fallen off the edge."

Tip couldn't quite suppress a flinch at that and Cardin's eyes lit up.

"What, scared to think about it? If I was there, I'd've dropped you over myself. You and all the other wastes that came in from Mantle." He reached out a hand and shoved Tip, hard. Tip let out a cry of shock as he impacted a wall, his aura flaring briefly to keep him from any real damage.

He levered himself back to his feet, turning wide, furious eyes on Cardin with a snarl. He had tried, had suppressed and suppressed and suppressed his anger, but he couldn't do it anymore. He suspected that, even as an adult, what Cardin stated might have pushed him over the brink of his rage, but as it was.

"THEY WERE MY FRIENDS!" He screamed at Cardin, face getting redder as he relaxed into the unfamiliar feeling. "Do you even know what a friend is?" In the haze, he only realised that he'd drawn his weapon after it was already in his hands, taking an automatically defensive position and glaring up at Cardin. If looks could kill...

"Aww, touched a nerve did I, little cripple? At least you can take a hit, so I'll try to leave enough of you left to mail home to your parents. Oh, that's right... you probably don't even have any."

Tip roared again and brandished The Long Memory, too, taking comfort in its weight in his other hand. Dual wielding wasn't his favorite means of fighting, however under the circumstances it felt oddly fitting and he hated to think what might happen if Cardin got his hands on the ancient weapon.

The fight would have been short and brutal, but a body inserted themselves between the pair, drawing Tip behind her. Tip blinked up at Velvet in surprise, he hadn't really expected to see her there, after all, team CFVY were mostly away on missions. The rage still bubbled just under his skin like his blood was actually boiling, so this was what it felt like to be this angry? He couldn't say he enjoyed the experience. He really, really needed to hit something right now but that something was definitely not going to be Miss Scarlatina. He shifted just enough to be in line with the wall he had impacted earlier and punched it. It didn't really make him feel any better.

"Aww, baby throwing a tantrum because the Faunus bitch had to swoop in and save you? Freaks should stick together, after all."

"What did you just say?" A dangerously quiet voice hissed from behind him as the edge of Coco Adel stalked into view. "What did you just say, Winchester?"

"And now you needed to ruin it too? I was just going to teach the little cripple a lesson, Adel. Why did you two have to ruin it?"

"I think that we'll be the ones teaching the lessons, Cardin. Bunny, can you look after the kid while I educate this piece of trash?" Not taking no for an answer, she grabbed Cardin by the arm and started to drag him outside, the boy protesting the entire way.

Velvet turned to Tip, looking concerned.

"I'm sorry about him. I'm Velvet by the way, I hope he didn't hurt you?"

"Nothing my aura couldn't handle." Tip said softly, trembling now as his anger drained away. "Thank you, Miss Scarlatina, though I could have handled myself. You didn't need to interfere."

"Two things, kid. One, you're a child, as a Huntress I'm supposed to protect those that can't defend themselves and Cardin is over a foot taller than you. And two... how do you know my surname?"

Tip flushed, not fully having realised that he'd slipped up.

"About that, I... I am not precisely a child."

"Wait, really?" Velvet looked him up and down for a second, one eyebrow raised. "You could have fooled me, kid. You're what, ten?"

"Twelve. Physically at least, I knew you before, though."

"Before what?" She looked suspicious, but there was something strange building in her eyes as she took another look at the boy.

"Before I was a child. I knew you at Beacon, you see."

"Beacon? But... wait. Are you implying that..."

"You knew me as Professor Ozpin, I'm afraid. Wintertip Pine as I currently am. Would it be possible to set up a meeting between myself and your team at some point? There are things we will need to discuss."

Velvet just stared as a visibly satisfied Coco returned. "Professor Goodwitch saw our fight. She's having... words... with Cardin now. I don't think it's likely to end well."

Tip winced slightly at that, since although Glynda was still very angry with him, he was aware that a cursory description of the boy Cardin was attempting to bully would be more than enough to identify him. He rather feared than Miss Adel may just have rather understated Cardin's position. Normally he'd feel bad about it, but... no. Not today.

Coco grinned over at Tip, looking a bit surprised that he was still there. "Oh, hey, kid. I'm so sorry about him, I promise he doesn't represent all of us, most hunters are really nice people. Are you here to visit family, or something?"

"Not precisely, no. Hello, Miss Adel." Coco blinked down at him, eyes landing on The Long Memory and narrowing in thought.

"Let me guess, you're Professor Ozpin and there was magic involved?" her voice was flat even as Tip gaped at her for a second in surprise.

"Well, yes. I was attempting to set up a meeting later..."

"Later. Not now, I don't think I could deal with this right now. Come on, Bunny. Uh, you have our contact details?"

"I do" Tip nodded, smiling back at her. "I will see you later, then, but yes, magic was involved."

"Uh huh, of course it was..." Coco and Velvet walked away, looking dazed as Tip let himself yawn again, noting just how badly he was trembling now. He had actually thrown a tantrum, hadn't he? he blushed, mortified. He wasn't actually a child, there had been no excuse for that at all. Ah well, best not to tell anyone about it. He glanced over at the wall he had punched and winced at the slight indentation from one small fist. Hopefully they'd think it was due to someone else?

[darkapples13]

This is a continuation of a previous post I did which I’m calling based off of @forgettingcrowbin idea where Nightmare takes in Palette

The Chronicals of Nightmare and Palette

Chapter 2: Dinner Time

When Palette woke up he wasn’t sure if what happened was actually real or if it was a very civid dream. But when he shifted around in a nice soft bed covered by a full blanket he was sure it wasn’t a dream anymore. He sat up and saw a gift box on the end of the bed.

He was cautious in opening it but when he did he was pleasantly surprised by the gift. It was from Killer and inside the Box was a new pair of clothes, a dark purple shirt with a green jacket, and a pair of black ripped jeans.

He put them on and walked out of his room only to find Horror about to knock on his door. “Oh heh Horror what’s up?” Palette asked. Horror smiled and took him to the dining room where breakfast was all set up.

Palette sat down and they all started to eat breakfast, but Horror made sure that Palette had enough to eat and maybe even a bit more than enough. Since it seemed that Palette didn’t want to take larger portion sizes than ones that would be meant for little kids. So the next few days Horror made sure to serve Palette serving sizes that fit him.

Eventually this became the entire routine for them and Horror would serve Palette the correct amount before letting the rest of breakfast continue. But other than breakfast time together nothing really happened with the others and Palette during the day.

Sure they maybe Interacted at lunch or dinner but rarely any time in between those meal times. Palette mainly stayed on his own in his room just drawing or reading one of the books Nightmare gave him. He tried to help out with chores a few times but it always ended up in confusion so he just stopped trying to help and stayed in his room most of the day.

But that changed when Nightmare and the others had to go on a mission and Palette was left home alone. So he decided to do the chores that weren’t already done and to make the most of the day. He cleaned the bathrooms, did the dishes, mowed the lawn, fixed up the training dummy’s etc. So that was mainly Palettes entire day except for when it came to the end of his cleaning spree.

Palette looked at the time and saw that it was almost 6:00 so he decided to make some dinner. Spaghetti carbonara to be exact, he made sure that they had all of the ingredients for it first and then started to cook. He chopped up the bacon, mushrooms, and zucchini. Then he made the sauce.

He boiled the pasta and put the cooked pasta into a separate pot of similar size. He added the sauce and the vegetables and the bacon into the pasta. He mixed it around and added cappers into the pasta, not too many but just enough to add a pop of flavor into the pasta dish.

He then set the stove on low heat to keep the pasta warm while he started to make a lemon pie and he used the left over egg whites from earlier to make the meringue. After the pie was done he popped it in the fridge and started to work on making some garlic bread.

He just made fancy garlic bread like the way you see it in restaurants and added a crap ton of cheese on top of it. He was just setting the garlic bread on the counter when he heard one of Nightmares portals open up. And when the others came into the kitchen and saw Palette they were at a loss for words.

“How did you do this..?” Horror asked as he looked at the spaghetti carbonara. Palette shrugged and stirred the pasta around. “I figured you guys would be hungry after your mission so I decided to cook after doing the chores.” Palette said simply. Palette served everyone a nice large portion of food, he even gave himself a decent portion much to Horrors delight.

After dinner Palette went to his room where he tried to go to sleep after a nice long day. But it was going to be one of the nights where his body wouldn’t let him sleep no matter how hard he tried. So he just laid there in the dark waiting for him to eventually drift to sleep.

About an hour later he still wasn’t falling asleep and Nightmare came in to check on him. “Why are you still awake child? It’s midnight and you should be sleeping after all of the work you did today.” Nightmare said as he flicked on the light. Palette shrugged and sat up feeling restless. “It’s just one of those nights where your brain feels like it’s never going to shut off.” Palette explained.

Nightmare left the room and came back 5 minutes later with a children’s book in hand. “You need to rest for tomorrow Palette so I’ll try this method that I do with dust sometimes.” Nightmare said plainly. Palette laid back down and watched as Nightmare flipped the book open to page one and started reading.

“One upon a time there was a fluffy bunny. This bunny liked to play games with his friends. One of his favorite games was hide and seek. But his friends had grown quite tired of this game navy’s they were never able to find him.” Nightmare read. “But maybe this time with your help you’ll be able to find fluffy bunny in his…” Nightmare kept going.

Palette slowly drifted to sleep as Nightmares voice gets slowly droned out more and more the longer he reads. Eventually Palette finally falls asleep and starts to lightly snore the exhaustion finally taking hold of his body.

Nightmare pats the child’s head and ticks him in making sure that Palette is fully covered with the soft blanket. He turns off the lights and utters a single “good night.” To Palette before he leaves and closes the door behind him making sure it was quiet as to not wake him.

And the only thought that crossed Palettes mind before drifting off to sleep was.

Maybe this is my home?

Drawing of the clothes Killer gave Palette at the beginning

[selkymaiden]

Self-indulgent oc x canon word vomit✌️

hmmm, these two you can kinda interpret two different occasions of them meeting up to discuss business and these types of conversations happen. I'm like on a fine line between I really don't know how to write for 🐧 so I always keep it from Sophie's POV

-----

"How do I know you won't betray me after you've done it to Black Mask?" Oswald's tone is genial but his body language says otherwise, he's almost languid looking but someone who knows better can tell he's all control and business. Yet I figured this conversation was going to steer back to loyalty and honesty. It always happens with these types, yet I can't blame him as trust is hard to come by in Gotham City.

"Long as you don't go overboard with power you'll never have to worry." The reply is straight to the point, I don't like to make things complex and long.

"I don't think that's a good enough guarantee." Oswald chuckled sarcastically back, his mismatched eyes boring into mine.

I'm pretty sure I've never met someone who can keep my gaze so steadily, I wonder slightly if how I feel right now is how others feel when they look into mine. Except for the fact is I'm just conveying warm, green eyes. I'm not using a Gorgon's stare. I do think about it but I shrug instead at him.

"Trust is really just a matter of having faith in someone, yeah? So you'll never know until the time comes and then you'll see what happens." My manner is a bit more Sphinx like and I know it's not something he appreciates, yet The Penguin just gives a sort of hum in acknowledgment.

A silence happens between us before he gets up. His limp draws my attention and I think I stare a little too long because when I look up to meet his eyes-

"I'm sort of disappointed, I've heard of your reputation and we've talked a bit prior to this Sunday afternoon. So wouldn't you... Of all people know not to underestimate the underdog?" I start to take a turn around him, literally, I circle him slowly, watching his shoulders go rigid. His hands are gripped tight in fists next to his sides. Oswald's stance is amusing, he truly looks like a Penguin right now. "I'm still around, because I know how to take care of my business and I don't need protection." I let my words hang in the air as I stop in front of him. "And if you asked me here just to talk about loyalty and be preachy then we're wasting our time."

"Let me give you some advice. It seems the only reason you're still around is that you're protected by Black Mask because you say and do a lot of things... That would make a lot of people upset. And when that happens people die. People like you." His strange gait comes close enough to me that he's slightly standing over me, looking down.

Something boils in me yet I gaze up at him calmly. Like a snake getting ready to strike and impudently the first thing I do is cross my leg over my knee. The foot that hangs in the air I idly rub against his 'bad' leg. It does just what I want and he takes a step back, his mouth opens but all he does is splutter and look disgusted. Maybe even a blush? Either way, I take the opportunity to stand and we're close enough I know he's tensing. But I don't do anything like bodily harm, no, if he wants to be rude then I'll act the same.

Obviously, I'm not about to drop the bomb that's my EX, instead, I weigh my options. "I'm someone very useful with very useful skills so I get special privileges," I answered back cryptically.

Oswald is quick with his response, a quirk to his head and a very feral-looking smile on his face. "No. No I asked you here for more information about your employer as well as you've heard something about the Triads via..."

"Roman. Yeah. I wasn't in the conversation but I was in the room." As we stand in front of each other, for some reason or another I feel compelled to reach out and play with his tie. Instead, my eyes flicker over his person, it must make him uncomfortable because he shifts on his feet. While his face turns into something more perplexed but interested.

"You're just... In there? With him? While he has meetings?" The way Oswald is asking me these questions it's actually pretty funny, but there's something suspicious growing as he starts to put more things together. I bite my lip. "I'm sorry, who are you really to Black Mask?"

It does nothing to earn me points with Oswald Cobblepot. The look he gives me is screaming, 'What the Hell, Woman? What does that mean?!' It's silent but his irritation is written all across him and as if he's resetting himself he brings one of his hands to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose in displeasure.

"Fine. We can talk about that later, let's just get into the details you want to share. The reason I called this meeting."

As if our little bout is over with we both 'time out' of the ring and he directs me back towards my seat while he takes the one opposite of me. It seems we've come to a quiet impasse about certain subjects but others are open.

------

"Do you trust me" The question itself is innocent enough, but the context behind it is a whole lot.

"Yes"

"Wait, really?" The disbelief in his voice is comical.

"Ok, no then."

"No, no, you can't just-" He does a sort of humorless and cynical laugh. "You can't just change your mind. But why?"

"Well, I have no real choice. You're better than Black Mask, for now, so you're the best choice in this situation." I pause as I think about a certain quote before reciting it to him. "all is for the best" in the "best of all possible worlds."

"Voltaire." Oswald's tone is just as flat and dead as the face he gives me.

"Yes! You knew."

"I prefer Shakespeare." He smirks.

"You do seem like a Julias Caeser type." I almost wish I could say Caligula but Shakespeare never touched upon that madness.

[spaghettiandart]

I love your Peepaw Philip AU but I’ve got a few questions that might or might not have already been answered. (Hopefully they haven’t, I don’t like being a parrot!)

How is the Emperor’s Coven operating? Is the Boiling Isles coven system self-efficient enough without Belos manning the helm?

Is Hunter freaking out about his missing uncle and trying to find him or has he been coerced into a better health schedule by some of the coven scouts (ie Steve) and possibly Darius and Eber and Raine?

Speaking of RED (lol, my little nickname for the three rebellion coven heads), are they investigating Belos’s disappearance?

And my last question - how’s Philip’s interaction with King and Amity? Those two I haven’t seen and loved comics/art of his interacting with them yet and I’m curious how that would all go over.

Hello! Firstly I'd like to apologize for taking a while to reply, I've been a bit busy irl lol. Secondly, it's all cool! I'm always happy to answer questions, and these ones haven't been asked yet (im??pretty sure?? I dont have a good memory pfft) so it's all good haha.

A little warning, both for mention of death (just like off handedly, treated as a possible result of the emperor going splat out the window), and also I'm gonna ramble A LOT, so this will probably be... very, very long. And filled with my bad humor since I cannot control myself ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. It's been only a week, maybe less, since I came up with this au so I dont have many solid ideas in place. Everything is open to interpretation!

I've actually been thinking over how the Emperor's Coven, and by extension the coven heads and the boisling isles itself, would react to Belos' predicament. I've written out a few scenarios, roughly plotted out some scenes that would go down between characters, but nothing's really set in stone. Here's what I have so far, but I honestly encourage people to have their own interpretation of what would go down if they wished :)!

So. Belos' epic fail (real not fake) (coven scouts called) via falling out a window was obviously witnessed by some scouts down the hallway, either that or they heard a loudass noise coupled with the Emperor swearing which was totally Not Good. One of the images I'd planned to draw later but didnt get to was one where there was a coven scout (STEVE!!!), Lilith, and Hunter all staring out of the window.

Now on one hand, the coven could come to the conclusion that the Emperor is dead (because who the hell can survive a fall that high + if the emperor survived he "totally would have come back as soon as he could" = emperor is dead oh crap). Hunter would VEHEMENTLY deny this ("He can't! There's no way that could happen!" Followed by him having a rough time of it poor guy).

Either that or they come to the conclusion that this was a kidnapping attempt or soemthing of the like and Belos is missing, which is just as bad. Hunter is still suspicious about that, because /who the hell could be able to kidnap Belos/? Obviously not a human teenager. Cough.

Either way, Lilith, as the head of the emperor's coven at the time (since its early season 1, right before the convention episode too), has to deal with... a lot of things, including dealing with other coven heads, the emperor's coven, and just trying to get things in order in the chaos that came from the emperor's sudden and tragic "death". Still on the fence about if someone in particular takes over his role or if all the coven heads work together (poorly btw they're gonna fight a lot over it), as well as if the general populace is informed about him "peacefully passing away from old age" or his "sudden disappearance" or whatever.

Anyways shes working herself to the bone. Shes got eyebags for days, plus the added stress of the dude who /PROMISED/ to cure her sister of her curse just up and vanishing to who knows where, so shes. Having a rough time.

Hunter is, as I said, not doing well!! In his mind Belos has always been this sort of... untouchable figure, you know? Nobody could hurt him. Now hes missing, and since Belos is his only "family", Hunter is determined to find him, wherever he is.

So then I had this scene written down where Lilith, still wanting a cure for her sister (plus some other things she needs for the coven itself), and Hunter, wanting a clue about his uncle's whereabouts, both decide to. Uh. Break into Belos' quarters and pilfer his shit.

Does he even have quarters canonically? Its so weird thinking of this dude like... legitly sleeping. Like in a BED. Either that or he sleeps on his throne ahdhshava just imagine that. Hes sitting on his throne all day listening to people with his mask on and hes not responding because hes completely OUT behind that thing ahagdhs.

Okay side tangent over. Basically Hunter is sneaking down the hallway, all sneaky like, and he stops by the door. He reaches out to open it, but before he could it opens to reveal lilith, carrying several books that had probably been banned from the public, and they're both staring at eachother.

"I wont tell if you wont."

"Deal."

A few other notes I had detailed a scenario in which Lilith and Hunter either a) work together to carry out the Emperor's will while he's gone (or presumed deceased) or b) investigating into what occured due to their own interests, which eventually winds up with them uncovering the mountain of wtf that the Emperor had hidden. In my notes I wrote down about them potentially meeting the collector because I thought'd it be funny to draw their reactions to them. Fun!

(Also the collector has been around Belos for a while now, just kinda stuck in place. What the hell is he gonna do when the only contact they've had with another person- albeit not a GOOD one, not by a long shot- suddenly disappears???)

As for RED (THATS WHAT THAT MEANT!!! I SAW IT BEFORE IN A FEW FICS AND I WAS SO CONFUSED AHFHSGWGAH ANYWAYS-) they probably get involved later on with this whole mess. At this point of time Raine isnt a coven head- unfortanutely, but they only become one in season 2, and since its season 1 it's up to Darius and Eber instead. I do contemplate if, in this state of chaos, Raine is promoted earlier on so that theres more stability or something,,, idk. I'm still not sure ^^;

Goodness but. This kid. Hunter needs some people to make sure he doesnt wear himself down to the bone just scouring the isles. Imagine if he arrives in places to investigate like RIGHT after Phil leaves the place, both none the wiser. Gah.

Honestly though, I think if anyone would be able to coerce this kid into sleeping a full night's sleep, it'd be Steve. Hes not involved with all this conspiracy-investigatory-drama stuff like all of the other responsible adults in Hunter's life, and he has big brother energy.

Okay, onto King and Amity: I- uh, I'm still figuring things out with these two. Amity is Lilith's personal apprentice (I'm pretty sure? At this point in time at least), and the au begins before her character development really kicks off, so I dont think its until later when she gets to meet Phil and also experiences deja vu "hey your voice is super familiar?" like Eda and Lilith. Just like RED, I'm not sure what to do with Amity yet, unfortunately. I'm open to suggestions/ideas though! :)

As for King, Phil is like... you know cat trees/perches? Yeah. That's what Phil is to King. Hes like an adequate Grandpa, he has some responsible instincts, but hes kind of reserved to being King's personal perch when he wants to feel tall.

Somewhere in my notes I also wrote down the following:

"King and Phil are mysterious origins buddies

King: maybe you were also a malevolent and terrifying (though not as terrifying as me) ruler like I once was?

Phil: hm... no, I dont feel like I would have been a very good ruler"

It was for something I wanted to draw but,,, yet again, I didn't get around to doing lol.

I hope that answers your questions! If you have anything else you might like to ask, or suggestions or things you want to talk about, feel free!

Thank you for your ask!! :D