#monke shirt...<3

[madfangz]

leave him ALONE his monkey shirt is so great and stylish

[comradekatara]

Genuinely asking—what changes would you make to the adult gaang designs? :)

this is such a fun question thank u for enabling me. i mean i draw them as adults sometimes so also check out my /oldergaang tag if u want visuals (altho i also change my designs a lot because my art is nothing if not inconsistent) but if i was just going with like standard character designs like if i could redesign that hideous “old friends” poster for example…

aang: get rid of that fucking. chinstrap. don’t give him white man features because what the hell is that. and let him wear his off the shoulder monk robes from book 3 because he was slaying with that fit. actually the way aang is drawn in imbalance is basically perfect i would retain that design into adulthood. thank u peter wartman for all that u do….

katara: i don’t mind the older katara design (from the little we see of it) but it’s also not nearly as cunty and slayful as i would like. katara is genuinely interested in fashion and loves experimenting with clothes and hair and makeup, i refuse to believe that as she ages and has more resources to tailor her style to her own personal tastes she wouldn’t get a little funky with it. like she kind of just looks boring and uninspired in her older design, and that’s unacceptable to me because she should be hot. adult katara should be the hottest woman you have ever seen in your life. and she should be buff, also. shredded, even.

toph: any signifiers of copness are obviously unacceptable to me. but even more that than, it’s very important to me that older toph is distinctly butch. i think she would cut her hair the second she realizes that there is no reconciliation to be found with her parents and that there is no reason to adhere to those confucian values. and she would wear a lot of sleeveless outfits (sort of like the shirt korra wears in “korra alone”) to show off her biceps and also space bracelet (spacelet) that is her prized possession forever. and she’s just kind of a hot hippie butch legend . period.

zuko: in the old friends poster he literally looks like a lizard so just like. no. wtf. and i like his long hair in theory but i don’t like that it’s styled after ozai and not ursa, i think his hair would be shwoopier and frame his face more. and his robes should be less spiky and militaristic and more designed for comfort because that’s what makes him feel most like his true authentic self and he deserves that. also weird for a guy who is trying to demilitarize the fire nation to wear an armor-adjacent type of outfit. so mainly he’d just look softer and more like his mom.

sokka: i hate buff goatee whitewashed sokka that is some kind of demon. lok did so little with him and yet said so much (all of it egregiously wrong, ofc). sokka would be fairly tall (although not as tall as aang) and have defined muscle but in a sinewy, lanky way. and despite always having enough to eat he’d still look somewhat malnourished just because he’s constantly overworked and exhausted and never takes care of himself. and his ponytail would be longer but he’d still shave the sides. and the older he gets the darker his clothes get until he basically just wears black all the time because at some point he realizes that it’s more advantageous to remain culturally ambiguous if he’s gonna be a cosmopolitan. and he wears glasses (which were a gift from kuei). and sometimes he uses a cane because he didn’t sufficiently take care of his broken leg after the war ended and now he’s paying the price for it. and his cane has a blade inside too, but he rarely ever even pulls out the blade because he can incapacitate someone with just a wooden stick anyway. so he looks like if a nerd was a shadow was about to collapse at any given moment was secretly ruling the entire world. and he’s not in any sort of front-facing position of power whatsoever but he’s actually pulling all the strings from behind the scenes, and it’s exhausting. his eyebags are visible from outer space.

suki: i don’t even think there is a “canon” adult suki character design besides her in her kyoshi warrior armor and makeup but to me casual suki just starts dressing more like sokka. like the loose baggy sleeveless shirts (except in a lighter shade of blue bc kyoshi island colors) and tight pants and boots. it’s a very dykey look already and they’re basically girlfriend twins so their styles would merge even more than it already has within the show itself. like sometimes people think that sokka and suki are siblings because they dress so similarly and give off such a similar vibe and they’re just like “but we’re literally different ethnicities??? and also we are currently making out????”

okay bonus round bc i can’t just neglect them

azula: she cuts her hair really short and as an adult leaves it to shoulder length for the most part because that’s more comfortable for her. like zuko, she also starts dressing for comfort, and for a period in her late teens stops wearing makeup altogether. she gets back into wearing makeup as an adult, but she stops caring about whether or not she leaves the house with lipstick on, and it becomes more about the process for her than the result. she’s comfy and cute and dykey.

mai: sokka is her lesbian style icon so after her first haircut that was inspired by toph’s haircut to piss off her parents, she gets an undercut and starts wearing her hair in a ponytail like sokka. as she gets older she also gets more confident in her body and doesn’t feel like she needs to wear baggy long-sleeved clothing at all times or she’ll die. and she isn’t rail thin as an adult either because she starts letting herself eat more than a single grain of rice at a time. also, she gets a sword.

ty lee: she becomes a kyoshi warrior so she starts incorporating more blues and greens into her wardrobe, but also more oranges and yellows after she embraces her air nomad heritage. and she just dresses very colorfully and has a vast rotation of different cute little outfits. and i think she’d also experiment with different hairstyles once she has the freedom to define herself outside of the aesthetics expected of her. she looks beautiful always

haru: he finally shaves that thang

[partycatty]

So ive been obsesed with janet cage since she appeared in the end of mk1 and now shes finally being released with peacemaker and im desperate for something ANYTHING PLEASE 🙏 😭

YOURE SO ME FR I LOVE JANET SO MUCH GENUINELY i need her so bad she's my pfp and banner on discord rn HAHA thank you for sharing your thoughts bc i was so afraid i was alone HEHE

janet cage > this one's for you, baby!

janet's got a wittle crush on the reader, and will go to stupid lengths to show herself off

notes: you're in the genderbent universe :3 but because i'm stupid, the chosen ones' names are gonna remain the same because i couldn't think of a genderswapped name for them and wasn't about to do them dirty with new names LMAO

[ masterlist ]

it was only a couple months into training, and things were looking... decent? at least, you could consider yourself improving. sure, combat was something you trained in, but when it came to you versus whatever horrors outworld contained, you tugged at the collar of your shirt.

janet, however, seemed unfazed. actually, she seemed ecstatic! you'd seen a couple of her movies and knew she could kick ass if needed. her physique impressed you, as did her endless charm and effortless ability to piss the swordswoman off. her attitude was brushed off for your sake. you knew she had just gone through a messy divorce with her ex-wife, is in talks of selling her mega mansion, and new roles were coming up dry. you'd think she'd be bitter but it turned out to be quite the opposite. her typical swagger and flourished gestures tore you from your thoughts.

"there she is!" janet exclaims, swinging a toned arm around your shoulder and tugging you close to her side. "you miss me? i bet you did!" you recall the last time you interacted with her: lunch. twenty minutes ago. even still, her perky attitude flustered you quicker than you'd like to admit.

"suuure," you sarcastically reply, hoping to toy with her ego a bit. "as if i didn't see you at lunch."

"it's hard to not miss me when i'm not around," she sighs dramatically, as if she has the hard life. "no need to lie to me, babe. you love having me around." your insides twist at the name. as you eyes are downcast, janet's eyes light up more than usual with a slight blush to her cheeks.

"whatever you wanna believe, miss A-List," you swat her arm, and she removes it though her grin remains unfaltered. janet pauses for a moment, lifting her sunglasses from her eyes and settling them on top of her head. you're winded by her beauty. you had seen it on screen as mentioned before, but there was some alluring power of her eyes when they were only a couple feet from your face. janet could kick ass, but she was also a gorgeous actress.

"tell you what," she shoots a single finger gun at you, once again removing you from your daydreams full of her face... among other things. "you won't have to miss me tonight. raiden and i planned to spar after dinner. you'll watch me kick her ass, right?" there was a hint of pleading, almost nervousness in her gaze. as if she needed you to say yes. her brows knitted together for only a single twitch.

"don't sweat," you reassure her, taking her strong hands in yours with a soft smile. "i'll be your cheerleader." with your confirmation, you turn on your heel and head the other direction to tend to your own duties. what you don't notice, however, is janet whooping to herself as soon as your back is turned.

just as the sun hits golden hour, you and the girls are waiting by the sparring ring. raiden stands straight, hands behind her back as she waits for her opponent to arrive. and so she does. janet comes jogging into view, waving at the crowd of monks and earthrealmers. she waves and smiles, blowing kisses to an unamused audience. she acts like it's another one of her performances. liu kang rolls her eyes.

"i bet your chakram hat that janet gets her ass kicked," you mutter to kung lao, who stood beside you with a smirk. she nudges your shoulder.

"aren't you supposed to be on janet's side?" kung lao mumbles back with a knowing grin. when you return with a perplexed frown, she scoffs. "everyone and their mother could figure out you're into her."

your cheeks puff up out of frustration, ready to rip kung lao a new one for being so loud and direct, but you see a hand snap in your face. snapping your neck to the source, you meet your eyes with janet's, who was leaning down to catch your attention.

"hey hey, eyes on me, sweet thing," her voice feels like honey when it drops low, and you snap back to her attention with a dazed look in your eye. your heel drives into kung lao's foot when you hear her snicker. "atta girl, check this out." a part of you dies inside from embarrassment. damn her and her confidence.

the spar begins, and admittedly it's evenly matched. punches are matched with kicks, parries and dodges slightly rile the crowd up from how equal the combat is. while raiden is calculated, janet is quick, and it becomes apparent that janet actually has a good chance.

that is, until she successfully knocks raiden to the ground. she's doubled over in pain, trying to prop herself up enough to come back from the near-knockout. janet winds up a fist almost comically, winding it in circles with a grin. just before she lands the blow, she turns to you with a beaming, cocky grin.

"this one's for you, baby!" janet shouts out, pulling her sunglasses down with her other hand to wink. before you could even consider being flattered, raiden flips up and shifts her weight, readying a godlike kick.

WHAM!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

janet sits awkwardly on the cot, fidgeting with the now broken pair of sunglasses in her hands. she can't seem to bring herself to focus on you, even as you're leaning into her to wipe her wounds.

"you should have been more careful," you gently scold her, holding her face up by her chin to wipe the dried blood on her nose. "i don't need the whole show to be impressed, janet."

she smiles lazily, eyelashes fluttering as she inspects your features. "did i at least look hot getting my nose broken?"

you want to sigh and scold her further, but you decided to indulge in her entertainment and smile back, and janet visibly tenses up at your warm stare.

"very."

her lazy smile turns into a lopsided grin as she realizes you're calling her hot. not that her ego needed it really, she knew she was hot. but you saying of it all people, dear lord she was reeling. although she was an actress, a damn good one, you could see she was visibly straining herself from losing it. so, considering you had the upper hand, you hold her face by her cheeks and squish gently with a teasing smile.

"you're blushing."

janet frowns dubiously. "am not."

"i can see it. you're blushing." your eyes flicker between hers, and then to her lips briefly. she sucks them in, focusing on your own lips with dazed eyes.

perhaps janet could use another lesson, you think. so, instead of indulging in what you both want, you let go of her face and place the bloodied rag in a discard bin, wiping your hands on your thighs. janet freezes with a pleading look, knowing exactly what you're doing. you're playing a sick game of cat and mouse.

"where are...?" janet's voice trails off sheepishly, the hardest indicator that you've caught her off guard. she wants to stand up and follow you out, but the monks told her to stay, and a pounding migraine from the blow made sudden movement difficult.

"gotta fight for what you want, janet," you coo innocently, waving with your fingers before you exit the tent. "just don't get your ass kicked. maybe then i'll reward you."

you're not around long enough to see the steam spilling from her ears and her beet-red cheeks.

[thatonegreenleaf]

~Cyrus Morrison~ Sim Download + CC links!

-

This is Cyrus! He was made as a response to the extensive lore that was being developed on my twitch stream when I was building a grunge style record & music store. (find that build here) He goes hand in hand with June Singh, and is a suave aspiring DJ with a heart of gold.

TOU:

♥  Plz credit me at least once if you use and post him with no changes made.

DOWNLOAD HIS TRAY FILES ON SIM FILE SHARE!

*please note his tray files do not include CC. You can find all links below! ⇩

⇢Skin Details:

mouth corners (cheekmole+forehead) | freckles | Misc face details (skindetail and occult) | floral skin detail set (merged) | eyelashes | eyebags (merged) | face details (merged) | mesmerized body blush | body hair | lip overlay (lipstick 3) | face overlay (sfs link, skin detail, forehead crease) | spotlight (tattoo) |

⇢Genetics:

harvey hair (alpha alternative: cool men's hair) | maxis hair overlay (brow ring) *don't download this if you plan on using the alpha hairstyle, or remember to take it off in the piercing section*  | eyebrows | facial hair | angel eyes (non default) | eyelashes (glasses) | ear presets | eyebrow sliders N1 | eyelids sliders N1 | facial asymmetry slider | hip shape slider | EA lash remover

⇢Tattoos/Facial Piercings/Jewelry:

flower sleeve | single earring (merged) | eyebrow piercing (L ring open) | necklace | rings (merged)

⇢Everyday:

jacket | socks V2 (ankle, plain) | belt | pocket chain V1 | jeans | converse

⇢Formal:

slacks | shoes (monk strap 1) | jacket

⇢Athletic:

asteroid sneakers (M) | shorts (merged) | smart watch | keychain V2 | socks V1 (ankle, plain) | tank top

⇢Sleep:

sleep pants

⇢Party:

converse | fishnet top accessory | bracelet | shirt | socks V3 (calf, plain) | asymmetrical jeans

⇢Swimwear:

sunglasses | swimshorts

⇢Hot Weather:

shirt | shoes (leather sandals 1) | belt | pocket chain V1 | shorts

⇢Cold Weather:

coat | beanie (merged) | jeans | january shoes 01 (M)

-

Support me on patreon!

Follow me on twitch!

[shiftythrifting]

1. Threat shirt

2. Bear lamp that looks like he's huffing paint

3. Kenny G Keeping It Saxy board game??

4. Scary Peter Pan doll (I guess?)

5. I'm with creepy

6. Deadpool shirt

7.uhhhhhhhhh... monke.

[starsurface]

i know i already requested something, but can i still ask for fujin and tomas with a sick toddler regressor? im not sick myself. but ive been hhaving nosebleeds for 3 days and im tired,, just wanna be held by them 🔮

Oh please, request as much as you like!! I love receiving requests!! <3

WARNING: Blood mention (nosebleeds)

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Fujin w/ Sick Toddler Regressor Hcs

☁️ Gods don’t get sick, and it takes a lot to make them even feel somewhat icky

☁️ But Fujin knows Mortals can get sick very easily, and knows many ways to treat them

☁️ But his baby being sick? That’s just an outrage!! >:(

☁️ Your usually so giggle, or energetic, or wanting to play or watch tv

☁️ And now your bed bound, sniffling and whining about how bad you feel :(

☁️ He very calm about your nose bleeds, helping you pinch the bridge of your nose and holding your tissue, although does ask the Monks if your dying (you aren’t, it’s from sickness and most likely weather change, he’s just worried)

☁️ He’ll do that cold spoon trick on your back (My Momma would do it when I had nosebleeds), he’s not sure if it really works, but he’s just trying different ways to stop the bleeding

☁️ If your get blood anywhere, he’ll focus on that later, and gently shut any bad thoughts about you ‘making a mess’

☁️ You didn’t make a mess, sweetheart, sometimes nosebleeds are super unexpected and heavy, and if he needs to, he’ll just boy you a new shirt, there’s nothing wrong <3

☁️ Back onto sick hcs, he’ll try to get you outside

☁️ Nature (and cuddles) are the best medicine, so he’ll carry you outside and you two will lay on a blankie

☁️ Although if you’re feeling really sick, he’s not going to force you out of bed, he’ll just tuck you in and sit beside you

☁️ In fact, he’s by your side the entire time!! Raiden can take some of his jobs right now, he has to focus on his baby

☁️ And if he reeeeally has to leave, he’ll have one of his medics, or Nightwolf, Raiden, Liu Kang, or Kung Lao, come watch after you

☁️ He’ll play with some soft toys or non loud things, he doesn’t want your head to hurt more than it does

☁️ He’s weary about you watching too much tv while small

☁️ Too much screen time won’t help you feel better physically, but if you really wanna watch tv, he’s not going to stop you

☁️ The best part about Fujin is that he can’t get sick!! Which means, you can get sickness cuddles without getting him sick!! :D

☁️ He’s wary cuddling you though :\

☁️ Not that he doesn’t want to!! He just doesn’t want you to feel suffocated or something similar

☁️ He’ll make you tea and put it in your favorite sippy cup!! (If you don’t like tea, prepare for a bunch of water)

☁️ ^ No sugary drinks!! Your trying to get better, and Fujin’s not going to get you get worse by accident (Milk is allowed, especially warm milk)

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Tomas w/ Sick Toddler Regressor Hcs

💨 He’s the only Lin Kuei brother that can get sick, but it’s super hard

💨 Has an amazing immune system!! He can be around multiple sick people, and still not catch anything

💨 . . . You not so much, and now Tomas feels really bad about your situation

💨 Where’d his bouncy baby go? Where’s the running around the house or asking if he can play? 🥺

💨 He’s also calm about nosebleeds, but it does make him much more worry (he’s just worried about your health)

💨 If it’s something from stuff like weather change or dry climate or such, he’s very gentle about it, helping you hold a tissue and trying to find ways to stop it

💨 Don’t feel bad if your get blood anywhere!!! Nosebleeds can be very scary and unexpected sometimes, he’ll clean your shirt and wash up later

💨 He doesn’t want you to deal or be uspet about any mess accidently made anyways, it’s not your fault you feel icky and it happened, please don’t blame yourself <3

💨 Back onto your sickness, you are not getting out of bed >:(

💨 No ifs! No buts! Nothing! You are laying there until you feel better, period.

💨 He’ll also limit screen time!! >:O

💨 ^ He’s not trying to be mean, he just knows too much screen time while sick won’t help you get better :\

💨 Although if you give him big puppy eyes, or a really horsey cough, he’ll let you watch more tv, he’s not insainly mean

💨 But he’ll focus on more playing with toys or easy puzzles

💨 Mostly soft, fuzzy toys, but he’ll allow some music ones (none too loud though, your sick and teeeeechnically should be asleep . . . But Bi-Han doesn’t have to know)

💨 Tomas is a busy man, so he can’t constantly be by your side

💨 But he doesn’t leave you alone!! If he’s not there, then Kuai Liang or Bi-Han will watch you

💨 Or Harumi!! She’s very good with sick babies

💨 You don’t need to ask for cuddles, he’s already holding and cradling you

💨 Making sure you’re okay and warm, or that you're getting enough kisses and squeezes

💨 It’s to the point that you expect him to get sick too!! But there’s a 2/10 chance of that happening, so he makes sure to spoil you

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I hope these are chill, they're a bit focused more on your being sick than you being small and sick. <3

Also i hope you feel better!!!! I use to get a bunch of nosebleeds as a kid, and they're never fun. :(

^ Sending loves and cuddles!!!! 🤟 🫂

[inthefallofasparrow]

If more than one option applies to you, feel free to specify.

[joy-haver]

Social Fabric; Clothing in a Free Society.

A Speculative Fiction Essay. _

Amongst the anarchists, there are great collective lending libraries of clothes, and accompanying them are great collective laundries. Most clothes that are washed in the collective laundry are held communally, and can be selected from the whole on a basis that anyone can use them, but no one is allowed to destroy them. 

Those who do not wish for a great variety of clothing will often go to the seamstresses and tailors and have constructed for them a few perfectly chosen items, or will select a few items from the whole which are close enough to be made over to their needs. Often, these choice items are of a form of traditional dress; those articles that have proven themselves under the wide test of history; kimonos, saris, chitons, the great plaid and shirt, shift and petticoats and stays with an over dress, the various robes of the various monks and nuns - although, there are some more recent designs which serve the function just as well, such as the common overdress. Many of these traditional and custom dressers have very few total articles of clothing, but also rarely share them. In a majority of these styles, there is an under layer that is easy to launder, and most individuals have 2 or 3 of these under layers, and launder only them frequently and often by hand or in smallbatch guilds, creating little strain on the great laundries of the clothing libraries. 

With these two main ways of organizing one’s dress, the society manages to keep overall production rather low. Those who wish for variety hold their variety in common. Those who wish for more custom design tend to need little more in the sake of variety. In any case, the total number of clothing articles someone from either group may be using at any one moment is fairly comparable.

Those in society who are at the outlier of size and shape interact similarly to the rest, just in an expansive system of time. New articles of clothing are almost always brought into the fold because an individual cannot find something that suits their exact desires or needs, and there is nothing available which would be appropriate to make over and reshape for the wearer. Items are returned when they are no longer suited, and then they are kept in common till they are suited to another, or made over, or worn out. When one is very large, or needs medically assistive clothing, or is very tall, they have clothing made if there is none available. However, because there is less of a demand on these more specific articles of clothing, they are also worn out less, and take up relatively little in storage space. And so, the clothing of these outliers is also in the library system, just checked out less often- just as a specialized book might be. If something is so particular that after a few generations it still sees no use, it can be made over completely or scrapped for stuffing, and new items can be made for those who come along. 

Due to the nature of bodily change; that we will grow, that we will shrink, that we will convert to new religions and reembrace old ones; that we will give life and be taken from it, there are always a fine number of perfectly crafted custom clothes being returned to the share houses and clothing libraries. 

Having worked in the laundry, and having worked in the cotton fields and flax thrashery, and in the hunt or slaughter, and understanding of the limitations of production, those who make clothes take great care to make them to last. But that is not the only way that they ensure that their uses can be long in years and multitudinous in function. Clothing that is being made for general use is often made with removable panels to adjust the sizing, and over cloths are often pieced together and held by a great many laces, easily stripped stitches, or zippers. The sleeves are often designed such that many are in great bell shapes, with fastening cuffs that can adjust to a variety of sizes. Buttons and loops can be used to bunch or loose the large folds and plumes of fabric, or to hold them higher and short, which creates a vast array of looks and shapes and configurations of one garment. The same is true of many of the great skirts of the common overdress, which is designed to be floor length, but which can be easily folded and set to rest just past the crotch in a great petticoated cone; or nearly any length in between. These adaptations, along with the lacable panels on the bodice, mean that these dresses can sometimes be worn from child to elder in many configurations, sometimes even by the same individual across a lifetime. 

The lower total articles needed by the society, and the immense length of time that many articles stay in circulation, means that garment workers can take much more time for the planning, drafting, patterning, and stitching of each garment. To assist them with this task are the vast collections of patterns, tucked away by generations of previous stitchers, and curated by the many librarians, historians, researchers, and other everyday individuals who take their interests there. There are also a great many people in the society who seek something to fill their minds and their hands, and whom are willing and eager to assist with the hand sewing and embroidery and button hole stitching; but not everything is done by hand. Where it is of no sacrifice to the garment's quality, mechanical means of stitching, riveting, and weaving are used. Those within the society are not against such machinery; they are only against its application for the sheer purpose of speed when speed is not warranted, or the purpose of abundance when clothes already abound. In this society, it is seen as the duty of everyone, the most sacred duty, to use resources in the best ways possible.  To intentionally make an easily-exhausted garment is seen as a great disrespect to the cotton, linin, wool, or hide that gave itself for the production, and it is seen as a great disrespect to the others who helped harvest it, weave or tan it, stitch it, store it, and wear it. 

The clothes are maintained with regularity, often by each wearer, and also by those who take their work at the laundry. At the great communal undertakings, such as a large harvest or construction, it is not uncommon to see groups take long lunches and darn each other's nipped clothes. In the community houses and eateries, there are also a great many people whose fidgeting hands turn just as gladly to mending as to creating. Objects being moved from one repository to the next are often passed along with people on the rail lines - and often, they reach the new destination having been embellished, cherished, and turned over several times by several hands looking to find where they are weary. 

There are many regional variations in dress that develop to suit the climate and culture of the wearer. However, the overlays of climate and culture tend to be rather expansive and slow, not reaching sudden shifts upon some border.  And so interchange between the local systems of depositories takes place in overlocking regional scales, with each library of clothing taking its exchange and refreshment from those nearby. The microcommunities of regular laundering and stitching and curating in any area tend to have some overlay with one another, and that overlay allows them to contact one another to ask for specific patterns, fabrics, skill sets, or garments to be shared or exchanged or gifted. 

All members of the society participate in the production of attire, as the production of attire is a result of all the interlocking elements of the society itself. Urine collection assists in the processing of wool and leather. Leather and wools themselves are a byproduct of ecosystem management tactics. Sheep eat away at invasive and aggressive plants, and they form a coat to keep themselves warm. They do not shed the coat of their own accord, and those who assist them are left with the need to dispose of it. Not wanting to be wasteful, they turn it towards the purpose of fabric. The textile it makes is incredibly useful; it is warm when wet, it is water resistant, it can hold its shape, or it can be felted into new ones. 

This is the general principle of the anarchist’s, that all society is in process, and that the meeting of one need is always in process of the meeting of others. Interlocking systems, in which each individual does what is most helpful for the least effort given their personal and social circumstances, and in which the whole of the society takes on together that work which no one likes to do very much, leads to little begrudging in labor. And the complementary design of the ever changing social systems leads to new innovations being constantly added into the system. The ecological project of invasive species removal leaves a grand number of seeds which cannot be planted; and so the largest are turned over by jewelers as beads, and rendered sterile, whereas others are pressed as dyes, or sterilized as coat stuffing. Many other parts of this flora rendered into cordage or fiber, assisting in making the body of clothes that can be selected for different purposes, but also in the weaving of baskets, which aid in the transport of many things besides the clothes themselves. 

Overall, the relationship to clothing amongst the anarchists is their relationship to a great many things. It is complex, as the needs and desires of the community are complex. It is seen at scale, as the management of resources must always be done. Each individual playing their part, the day to day small scale of weaving, wearing, washing, and darning; and the social organism as a whole managing the long term store and circulation. And even then, the social organism and the individual being on the same continuum of self, each covers where the other cannot. 

Basic mending skills -in relationality and in fabric- are acquired by most through mentorship, sometimes with relatives, but most often mentorships develop out of the simple connection between one who knows and one who will come to know. The communal holding of labor creates a great many opportunities to ask questions of artisan crafters, and the slow nature of production, and the abundance of skilled crafters, lends to no shortage of time for education. These mentorships often create lifelong structures of support and kinship, and can serve as a primary social means for transference and norm setting, but not all are so long term. Some last but just a single moment, in a single stitch. The informality and overlapping of the mentorship structure leads to many students and many teachers, and often one is a student of one craft and a teacher in another, reversing the roles of knowledge giver and receiver, flattening the power between. And when that is not enough to flatten the hierarchy of knowledge, the simple giving of knowledge over time, and the gathering of one’s own skill, brings the mentor and the student together in talent and regard. If one teacher is a jealous guard of their hardwon tradeskills, the student simply moves on and learns from another, or watches and interprets the actions to recreate them. 

Those who are less socially skilled, or who find themselves no compatible mentor, or simply desire extra or specific training, often attend lectures and workshops and such that are arranged by other crafters. Often, these workshops are organized out of a sheer exuberance with one's work, an utter yearning to share information about it. Occasionally however, some person or group will ask of someone to share in an open setting, and this is rarely refused.

There are of course a great many people who participate little to none in the direct social production of clothing, but whose very existence, and whose feedback and desires, inform the trends and advancement of production. There are those with little use of their hands, or an inability to learn motor skills, for whom laundering and stitching and patterning are most often out of reach. The abundance of high quality garments, seamsters of all skill levels, and the length of time in which clothes can remain all lead to their being plenty extra to go around. In fact, it is in designing assistive clothing for these individuals that many crafters take their finest joys, and sharpen their design skills towards greater invention. In building a dress suited for all seasons, not abrasive to the skin, and which can be put on and adjusted with the use of only one finger, for instance, even the greatest crafters must return to thoughtfulness, experimentation, and research. For this reason, those circles of high craft and artisanry spend many meetings and byside conversations discussing the nuances of clothing the disabled. Disabled people themselves, especially those who cannot participate in social clothing, often host the most widely attended lectures and roundtables within the halls of the great laundries and pattern libraries. 

Babies also do very little to participate in laundering or stitching, except occasionally bring smiles to the eyes of those doing such work.. And yet it is the babies' clothes that wear out the fastest. They often do not notice the holes to be darned, nor do they ask others to darn them. They take no care when catching the nape of their jumper on a twig, and move blithely forward regardless of the damage. Their exemplary quick growth often means things are quickly returned to the library of attire. However, babies rarely suggest new designs, or give clear and concise feedback on flaws or opportunities, and they almost never order custom designs. This is all of little concern to the stitcher, in spite of it all. Babies' clothes are easy to make, famously small, and can be incredibly entertaining. A swaddling cloth designed to look like a fish becomes, when worn, a stunning image of a baby being eaten by a fish. When the baby is sad, the baby looks sad about being eaten by this fish, and this is heart wrenching and sympathy driving. If the baby is happy, the baby looks happy to be eaten by the fish, and this is silly and jovial. In this way, design can be used to help assure appropriate reactions to the baby's behavior, ensuring socialization and emotional coregulation. The babies being dressed very funny also serves as a good impetus to look at them with regularity and rigor, forming one line of care in the overlapping fabric of child rearing. For all of these reasons, it is not uncommon for the tired milliner to lay down their dress form, and take a restful opportunity to stitch some baby clothes. There are a great many festivals and art fairs in which baby clothes are shown as fun and enriching representations of the collective’s ability. The novelty also rarely wears away, as babies grow so quickly and baby clothes are exchanged so widely that one is always seeing new babies in new fun fits, doing new silly things.

Still, though, the novelty and sweetness of a babe does little to assuage the dread of laundering the baby's diapers. There are a few in the society, however, who don’t quite mind the smell, or who cannot smell it at all. They cannot alone handle the masses of baby breech clothes, but as everyone does what is most helpful for the least effort, there's a lot of effort left over for the more difficult and undesirable tasks. When each knows it has been done for them, and -should things go well enough into age- will be again, it is not hard for most to swallow their pride. But still, some cannot handle it, and turn themselves to other unloved tasks to take their share in the whole.

The menstrual pads and rags and cups are much less challenging, as most can be rinsed or boiled and then washed aside the rest. The blooded water is often boiled down for meal, to be used in the fertilization of soils, just as the wastewater of the babies and the incontinent are processed into the greater waste treatment for ecological return. All things, even the least desirable things, are revitalized to make part of a complete system. The laundering can circle back to the growing of the very fibers from which the laundry came, making them thrive alongside their niche neighbors and other biologic users, such as the butterflies and flowers and vines that form the very dyes that are then represented again in the clothes embroidery and patterns. 

There are, of course, some items of particular sizing and customization which must reliably be returned to each individual for whom they were made, until such time that they are no longer of direct use to them. The low sorting pressure applied from the communality within other aspects of the laundry system leaves this a much less daunting task. Those working in the laundries do not have to return each item to its preferred wearer; infact, relatively few and relatively small items are returned. Injury preventing daily support items like bras and corsets, and medical assistive items like splints and braces, take the first priority in both washing and in sorting. Many of these items are also designed to need fairly irregular washing, but the labor required to make them, and the changing nature of the body, often means that wearers rarely have multiples that suit their exact specifications. In this case, the library laundries also keep on hand more general purpose items that perform the same functions, if not quite as specifically. General adjustable braces, a selection of corsets that previous users have given over to the system, a variety of wrap bras, compression bras, and retired bras all serve the intermediate function whenever a custom item is in the wash, awaiting repair, or under construction. The sorting of other items is not unavailable, just rarely used. The most common requesters for this are those who wear underdresses and undershirts, and these being relatively easy items to launder and to sort, this request is most often obliged by simply placing a hold on the item in question. However, something given over to the larger system always has some risk of being missorted, or mistakenly checked out to another, and this is understood by those who choose to handover such important items for general laundering. Hand laundering or small batch laundering are often tactics used to mitigate sorting pressure and ensure diligent return.

Small batch laundering forms a layer of communal organization and laborsharing that is far more personal, and used for more personal items. Crotched underwear is one item for which many wearers have their own personal or near-personal supply. Except in the coldest of environments, these items are rather small, and not difficult to hand wash or small batch launder. These items are often shared between small groups of friends, family, or partners, but just as often held individually. Within the larger laundry system, there are often undergarment guilds which co wash and sort together. This smaller scale tends to provide more comfort and ease than sharing such personal items with a whole library's worth of users, but also helps benefit from the pooling of labor. Still though, there are those who hold these garments in full commons, taking from the library whatever will fit their body and their use, and returning it with no desire for privacy. It is the nesting of larger scale and smaller scale systems that makes the meeting of all of these seemingly conflicting needs simultaneously possible.

There are also some for whom crotched underwear is rarely worn, such as those who primarily wear skirts and underskirts, or shifts or other underdresses, and they often hand launder out of a sense of ease. A couple shifts can take only a moment to rinse, and are often set in soapy bathwater, then rinsed in clean water, then hung to dry. This process fits so neatly within the routine of many wearers that it forms almost no extra labor. However, any particular stains or longwear smells are often requiring of a more specialized removal, and so shifts are then sent to the laundries. This rare return makes individualized sorting somewhat unnecessary. In the great rooms and halls and closets of the libraries, there are sections for different categories of items. One room or wall may be devoted to underdresses, with each section sorted by color, then circumference of the garment's fabric at its waist point, and then from shortest to longest. The measurements of each are typically then sewn in tags to the outer hem. This creates an ease for those seeking to find something in their particular size and use, often such ease that one can find the exact item they left to be laundered just days before. One can even send a message ahead to hold an item, and each item’s tag has a unique identifier. Occasionally these are barcodes, but most libraries have their own systems of identification tagging.  The selection of underdresses may be large, but the selection which meets one's needed measurements is often concentrated to a few racks per type of clothing item. In this way, very little time is needed to actually find desired items, especially considering most members in any given community have worked at least a few hours stocking their library’s shelves and becoming familiar with its methods and its collections.

Perhaps the most abundant particular clothing item is socks. In appropriate climates, many individuals wear sandals and slides much of the year, but even so, socks add that extra layer of friction and size adjustment which allows for wear during even hard labor. The greatest extent of clothing mechanization takes place in the weaving of these thinner, warm weather socks. These wear out extremely quickly. A pair of thin socks may only last the dedicated wearer 5 or 10 years, and then, that is with less than weekly wear. Those socks held communally often last even less time, being worn near daily, and get worn out in about a year. The society does have an ethos of repair; however, these items being so thin, and also so easy to produce, they are one of very few items in the society where repair is less sensical than disposal. This quick disposal does form an abundance of easy rags. The society does also have purpose made rags, often those made of old clothes converted to new lives, but the socks fill a different role, especially in cleaning those things that are rather unpleasant. It is no great loss if they are sent to an early life in the compost, but many are used and reused as rags for longer than they ever survived in their intended purpose, as is with many things. The abundance does also lead to them being seen as wonderful test items and craft supplies. A learner trying out a new stitch may use an old sock, and worry less about ruining it and more about learning. This allows breathing room for mistakes within a society where the proper use of resources is the most prized social virtue. These socks are often embroidered with strange frills, and are taken with the others and made into craft items. Dolls of sock are a common children's craft. Sock coats and capes are a pleasant and fashionable adornment, especially for the many festivals, which themselves are lined with sock garlands.

The abundance of socks, however, does not speak to a great uniformity of them. Many cuts, shapes, sizes, thicknesses, and materials are used. For the purpose of laundering, socks are separated from the rest of the clothes, and then themselves are split into batches by cut. From there, they are sorted by size. Different localities have their own standardizations of sock sizing and therefor their own sorting methods. One of the most common methods is that socks of a certain size have a certain number of horizontal lines across the toe. This method makes machine storting and hand sorting both fairly simple and reliable, as well as adding little extra to production. It does sometimes clash with other intended designs of the sock, however, and so is not universal. The interchange of people can also occasionally cause socks of one standard to enter into a sorting system of another standard. These tend to be placed in their own sections at the clothing library, and those who wish for a little more variety in their life often spend time digging through these to find the most different and unique examples, often saving them as personal items to hand launder. Most of the rest, though, are sorted by system type, and, if feasible, used as packing material when a shipment is made to a nearby area that uses that system. If there is no shipment to be made, or if there is more relevant and needed resources to be sent as packing material, then the socks are simply retired early. Even a near wasteless system must balance between reuse, return, and efficacious material and energy management. In such a case, having a few select categories of items which are generally exhaustible and low priority can free up the system to more easily prioritize everything else.

The rest of the worn out clothes are not treated with such abandon as the humble summer sock. The respect of the labor put into them creates little incentive to waste. Trimmings and leavings, the cabbage of the patternmaker, is used to stuff sleeping pillows and mattresses or coats, still being of high quality and not inundated with allergens. Old clothes worn to thinness find new homes in the cookeries and kitchens, assisting in the straining of broths and cheeses, or as the cover of steaming vegetables. The leftovers of cloth, after spending many years in their function with the body, can continue to serve for even longer after. The stuffing of seating, the control of erosion, the wrapping of fruit trees in a harsh winter, lining, all are beloved uses of the clothes of a great granfparent's generation. Work clothes are drawn from those items who are close to being put to these purposes, but whom still hold some rigor. Those tasks which may be most compromising to the cloth are often done in near dressup, emulating the visages of the past. This occasionally leads to rips and tears in the clothing, but it is seen as no great waste, and in the lack of worry, laborers are able to take joy and laughter in the mild embarrassment of a crotch seam bust open. Otherwise, many of those fabrics which are beautiful -but well worn- are turned towards quilting, or used as patches. This creates a fine degree of adornment and expression, with those who do keep personal garments being able to customize to the extreme, and with those socially held garments each having their unique quirks and flourishes.  

It is the entropic nature of things to decay, and decay does reach the usufrutuctian society. However, this decay is made use of, slowed, understood, and worked with. Each moment where material reality causes a breakdown in the system becomes an adaptation within the system, increasing complexity and diversity, preparing for the next breakdown, and innovating for new uses. Moments of waste are turned over to become the foundation of other systems, or to be used as input. The very waste of death; that we may die and leave behind that vessel which has made us, is undone in its revamping towards use. The body is processed, with that which is meat serving the ecological role in carnivore rehabilitation, or in feeding those animal domestics which require it. The skin is turned over to leather, often making up shoes, or strong gloves. The same is done with those animals which must be harvested, either for the purpose of ecological management, medicine, materials harvest, research, or cultural use. Those items which would be contaminated if made from one another are made from the other living things; bog tanned hide and organ bags for food and water storage being the most common need. The usufructians do not harvest from animals what they will not harvest from their own dead, feeling no justification in holding only one species’ life sacred. Still, however, the human body does not provide for all services, and the death of animals is inherent to ecological systems. Some, not wishing to take life, utilize glass for drinking and food storage purposes, and avoid all leather whenever possible. But those who can not bear such heavy material,, often require the use of the more light and durable animal derived bags and wraps. These items are treated with even greater care than the fabrics. It is not uncommon that when one sees people sitting down to eat on the sides of the lush walkways, one will notice them spending more time looking over their packing materials than actually eating from them. 

The use of animal products, human and otherwise, is treated with both graciousness and solemnity. A great deal of meditations and spiritual practices revolve in part around this posthumous use of the body. Usufructian funeral services are varied, with hundreds or thousands of regional, cultural, individual, and religious options to discern between; but even so, a great majority of them speak of the return. Not all return their body through leather and fed flesh; a great many are composted, returning to the soil which fed them. Some are burned in the great forest fires that bring the flowers. Bones are turned to field powder. All things that come from return to. From ashes to ashes, from life to life, from body to body, from soil to soil, from all to all; to be a usufructian is to eternal only borrow, to never completely own. The anarchist takes what they need, and gives to their ability; and in death, there is alway the last giving.  

A central premise of anarchist philosophy is “From Each Their Ability, To Each Their Need”. In the world of the anarchists, the near complete overlap of hobby and labor, alongside complementary labor facilitation systems, social principles of nondestruction, and production paced to an abundant sustenance allows for this to be accomplished. “We who waste not want nothing. We who do not destroy are never led to destruction. We who meet needs are met in abundance,” goes the song the launderers sing to pass the time. 

Amongst the usufructians, most beloved is the social relationship.This is the relationship of the individuals to one another, the individual to the society, the society to the ecology, and so on. The social relationship is, in essence, the whole relationality between all parts of reality, interconnected, caring and providing for each other. In this regard, all are cared for and all are accounted for. One who allows their clothes to tatter unmended will be doted upon by the community, offered a great deal of help in repairing them, and in stabilizing whatever aspects of their life must be out of order for such a tragedy to occur. One who does not maintain their leather storage wraps will be repeatedly brought food in glass containers, with many people offering to bring them food each meal, up to their mouths if needed, and to take the storage items to be cleaned afterwards. This is done with a special caution against condescension, and the work is passed amongst the abled participatory community as to not fatigue one anothers compassion. In this way, neglect is managed by understanding that it comes from a place of inability. Those few who are able, but unwilling, often find the hassle of being cared for more exhausting than caring for themselves, and tend to begin maintaining their resources once again. Unable and unwilling is rarely the case however. Most neglect comes from an inability in other respects, throwing one off of balance and out of systemic living. Those who are in greater need are offered care, and offered it with regularity and without shame. This care is like water, and sinks to the low places in them, filling them up, rendering them unneeding; needs continuously being met.

There are occasionally those who seek to accumulate, not wishing to return their clothes. This is often met without issue. A few hoarded items by a few people is not enough to break such an abundant and cared for system, and most of these individuals return their hordes eventually, after community support and care drives them to unlearn their anxieties of scarcity or fear of noncontrol. However, occasionally, one or a few people will attempt to checkout a great sum of the most desired and necessary clothing, setting themselves up as lords of such a resource, and demanding that others give to their whim in order to attain things. In the many upstartist attempts of this nature, this is thwarted simply by those users of a library going to another library for whatever items are now locally scarce. Those whom have such hoarded abundance are then denied the access to remove further items of the type they took, and are given only standards that meet whatever real gap in need they have. Eventually, their whims not being sated, and their laundering now needing to be done individually, they almost always end up returning the clothes to a laundry, and quietly returning to society as though nothing had happened. In those few cases where individuals hold out for their entire lives, the clothes are simply reclaimed upon their death. In rare instances, some small familial groups have established long lineages of holding on to hoards of checked out clothes. However, much of what they know is the library model, and seeing its practicalities, they often emulate its customs and systems. Having no input aside from their own craft, they care for the clothes just as diligently. Within a few generations, they become indistinguishable from the collective laundries and libraries around them, and begin to slowly open exchange and public services. These more isolated library systems do tend to create new systems and innovations in storage, sewing, distribution, and laundering, so, in this way, those who dissent become great contributors to library society. On the scale of time, their return is as blessed as any return to the collective while. 

The same principle is applied to any area within the whole that does not seem to be in alignment with the usufructian values. There are those materials that seem more time or labor intensive than their fibers or substance could possibly be worth. However, to a utopian, one who views all society on the great scale of the fullness of time, it is known that ease comes through careful work, not through abandon. The ecologist knows that it is complementarous diversity which brings ecosystemic tranquility. The anarchist knows that it is noncontrolling complexity, each acting in their best towards a shared future, that drives all of reality into collaboration. Each being all three, they clothe themselves not just in the simplest of fibers, which are easiest to mechanize, have the most history and example, and are most comfortable. With such a great portion of labor assuaged, and such a great portion of discomfort brought low, these people find themselves with extra tolerance to bare labor, and extra tolerance to bare discomforts, and they measure these tolerances out and find ways to use them towards the greater social good, and the greater good of themselves. If there is a great waste in hickory nut shells, for instance, one may practice methods of grinding them down into a fine powder, and pressing them with adhesive to form the shape of a sandal. This is not ideal for daily wear. It is too hard and uncomfortable. But the wearer finds themselves building familiarity with the material, seeing where it chips and what surfaces it is assistive to walk on. This process is intended to be personalizing and generative. Even if hickory nut shells never become a meaningfully useful clothing material, their temporary adoption as such allows individuals to build a relationship with them as a material, and explore what they could be used for. All things and all people have their place in the society; so long as careful attention is given, with understanding of needs, through personalization and diversification of the relationships that are had with them. 

The society is not, however, in any lack of materials.  There are a great many fibers grown in the great many biomes, and much of global dispersement of goods is in textiles, used as packing inbetween medical components and other fragile specialities, and bedding in the rooms of travelers.  The great diversity of communities - and the uniqueness of each bioregion- leads to a multitude of fabric fibers, an abundance of processing methods for each, and then still a great many more use cases constantly being developed and discarded and elaborated upon. The many cotton species in the world are referenced in guides for their strengths and weaknesses and sourcing and abundance. Yucca, nettle, wool, cashmere, linin, seagrass, straw, mulberry bark cloth, jusi, silk, river cane, and hundreds more are grown in mixed ecological systems around the world, mostly in their places of origin or long term cultivation. This variety means that crop failure, blight, or other disruptions in one area do little to depress the collective supply of textiles. 

To avoid species invasiveness, new crops are introduced slowly and carefully into the ecology of desired regions. The primary focus of new introductions is to provide redundancy in local and regional food systems, ensuring that all nutrients are available in multiple forms at every time of year, preempting crop failures, and ensuring that allergies and other health conditions can be easily dietarily accounted for. However, the longscale nature of society, and the ability to selectively breed native crops towards different seasonality, nutrition, and shelf ripening, often mean that there is little desire to import new food crops. Many ecological maintenance systems are built to expect new species introduction every generation or so (with some more fragile ecosystems being on much longer time scales). While crops suiting some ecological niche besides food are also often needed, such as to hybridize a beloved blighted local species, there still, on the grand scale of time, comes moments where the opportunity to naturalize a new species for the explicit purpose of human use and human joy arises. In these moments, new base fibers for textiles are considered by the sortion selected councils and ecological research syndics, and occasionally are selected. 

The clothing arts, being widely shared and thoroughly understood practices - weaving, stitching, drafting, patterning, grommeting, buttonholing, thrashing, and all the rest - all help form the shared cultural motifs by which metaphor, aphorism, and wisdom can be drawn. Young lovers first separating compare themselves often to the grommetted panels of the common overdress; coming apart, fitting together, finding their way into new patterns that suit the body. To unfold one's skirts can mean to be growing, or otherwise, to be seeking more warmth, both emotionally and practically. Similarly, to raise one’s skirt often means one is preparing for hard work, acting unencumbered and uninhibited; tho sometimes it can take on other, more sensual meaning. In the great stories of the many peoples, one often finds motifs of dress demarcating the overall plot of the story, giving character insight, or implying new layers of rich meaning. This shared understanding of material culture is often generative in individuals' attempts to further interpret their own experiences, and in the describing and shaping of relationality between one another.

In this metaphorical approach, it is said that all reality is the fabric resulting from the tension of the threads of dialectical synthesis; overlapping and informing and supporting one another. Physics is the loom. Society wears the fabric. Individual consciousness is the act of looking in the mirror. Social consciousness is the act of looking over the fabric to see how it is made, and to understand its construction. To darn is to reform. Revolution is the act of changing the drape of the fabric, often requiring the ripping of many seams, experimentation, and many practiced and skilled hands to sew it up right.

The richness of metaphors that arise from such  a multi-skilled population is a driving force for innovation and communication. Familiarity with the methods of weaving allows for consistent innovation in data storage, requiring less and less resources to store more and more information, which further feeds back into the accessibility of reference material for further garment drafting. The fine motions of needlework teach movements of the hand that carry forwards into music, facilitating unique styles of plucked tremolos, allowing those so inclined to play and bring joy to the laundries with their sweet songs. Experimentation in waterproofing outerwear and soft shoes has led to the invention of canvas boats, as well as patches that can be applied to fix leaks, further assisting in the safe and ecologically sound transport of materials.

 All aspects of the society overlap to form a cohesive and coherent whole. Each process is entangled with one another. The waste from one becomes the bedrock of another. Each skill learned in the pursuit of a task is then applied to the next task, and each lesson learned in the specific is then analogically applied to the general. 

The society is clothed together in the great cloth of interdependence, woven in the ten thousand strands formed by the tensions of material life. It does not come to pass without thought, or planning, or intention; just as a length of flax left loose will tangle. But together, each giving and using, but none destroying, all are cool in summer, warm in winter, and cozy all year round. 

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 19

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Bury The Cross

Notes: Thank you all for the nice comments ;_; ! It really lifts my spirit. Also, sorry for some of the future chapters lol I never said there wasn't going to be a ton of angst. <3

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter:  19/ It’s a secret.

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The weather was in your favor today, it wasn’t overly warm but quite comfortable, perfect for horseback riding. You had even taken off your cloak and vest to enjoy some of the sun.

You rode next to Lancelot and Squirrel, knowing that the Monk had memorized most of that map by now.

Squirrel was already planning ahead on what was important for him, “What are we gonna eat tonight?”

Lancelot’s eyes moved to the boy now. “We ate only a few hours ago.”

Was his stomach already empty after such a big serving of soup?

Then again, he was a child still growing and quite energetic.

The boy did not listen to the Monk and dreamed of the next meal. “Roasted potatoes sounds good.”

You could only agree. “That does sound good.”

The Monk almost rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

The large rock formations beginning to appear alerted that Madrock was not far away anymore.

“Gods…” You uttered at the sight of them.

“Are those clouds?” Squirrel was baffled.

Never before had you passed Madrock, instead you always stuck to following the river, and seeing it now was a marvel to behold.

Lancelot heard the wonder in the child’s voice. “Those are rocks, we will be riding between them to reach the village.”

Squirrel quietly asked, “Do you think there will be Feys in Madrock?”

It took Lancelot a second to reply. “I do not know.”

You could tell that it troubled him to think of the possibility. The Fey would recognize him and not be welcoming to him, of course it was a sensitive subject to speak off. And it wasn’t good either if he was recognized and they would call him by his former title in front of others, the Church was still looking for him.

By offering some insight, you hoped to ease his mind. “Not many of our kind show themselves in villages anymore. Let us believe that they wish to remain anonymous just like we do.”

Lancelot was looking at you, wanting to believe in the hope you held.

He could tell that you were aware of the nervousness he felt towards facing the Fey again. At least he was not alone in this, not like he had once been before.

This nice weather made you roll up the sleeves of your shirt somewhat. “It’s getting warmer.”

Lancelot was feeling it too. “We’ll have the shadows to keep us cool between the rock formations.”

Squirrel was taking off his cloak and propping it between himself and the Monk. “It better…”

It still took nearly two hours to reach the rocks, their presence was impressive. The road between them was the fastest one to Madrock village.

“Whoa!” Squirrel was in awe of the rocks.

“They’re beautiful.” You stated the fact.

The reins in your hands received a small tug and you saw that Lancelot was holding them a little too.

“There are no birds.” He was looking around himself.

Both you and Squirrel were quiet now and realized that the birds were no longer singing.

There was no one in sight either, what could have scared them off?

You proceeded to ride with caution and after a few minutes concluded. “It feels like we’re being watched.”

The Monk agreed on that. “We are.” He saw you looking over at him. “Fey kind. They’re hiding.”

All you could see was plants, trees and rocks covered in moss. “I don’t see anything.”

Lancelot gestured for you to halt as he did the same.

“Maybe they think we’re Manbloods?” Squirrel wondered.

There was on way to announce yourself as being Fey kind without alerting Manbloods of what you were.

You spoke to whom you could not see, “Born in the dawn?”

Someone small darted from behind a bush into the openings between the rocks.

Their skin had been the color of the rocks, no wonder you had not seen anyone until now. They blended into their surroundings perfectly.

Lancelot tilted his head down, letting the hood of his cloak fall just above his eyes in the hope that the shadow of it would hide his Fey markings from their sight.

You reached over and took hold of Goliath’s reins. If they had recognized him, you hoped to show them that he was with you and not let them think that you and Squirrel were in danger.

He understood the intention behind your action right away and let it happen.

Slowly you rode forward together, remaining calm even if you heard more of the Fey kind move close to the rocks.

That short road through the rock formations felt like it had taken you ages by the time you were past them.

Lancelot let out a breath of relief once there was some distance between you and the rocks. “I did not know how to react.”

You were quite glad that he had kept a calm head on his shoulders. “At least you didn’t draw your sword. So, I’d say you are getting better.”

Even young Squirrel was proud of the Monk for staying calm. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt them.”

This child had faith in him…

He prayed he was worthy of it.

“I do not want to return to who I was.” He told the boy.

Squirrel’s mouth curved into a smile, “We won’t let you. Right, y/n?”

You bit back a grin. “That’s right. We’re going to keep the ‘Weeping Monk’ out off the monk.”

The sudden silence that fell between you was palpable.

He almost struggled to speak off it. “I no longer see myself as a man of the clergy, I cannot remain a monk after losing my faith.”

Squirrel was cautiously hopeful, “You don’t want to be a monk anymore?”

You held your breath for the answer.

Lancelot confirmed what the boy believed. “I do not.”

This was him turning away from the religion he had been raised to fight for…

You almost couldn’t believe it…

Squirrel was quite happy to hear it. “Good! Now you can just be Lancelot.”

Just be… himself…

He was looking over at you, awaiting your reaction to the news.

You fumbled with the reins of your horse, sensing that he found it important to know what you were thinking now, “Would it upset you if I said that I am glad that you no longer wish to be a monk?”

“Not at all.” He slightly shook his head.

You could not hide the relief you felt now that he was finally breaking free of the hold the Church had on him. “Good. Because I am.”

He was quite positive on the fresh start. “I don’t know what or who I am now, but I can start anew.”

Squirrel chimed in ,“With us!”

Another silence fell, this one uncomfortable.

The agreement was to part ways once you and Percival safely reached your friend.

So far, that remained the plan, for you had not voiced any desire to continue this allyship beyond it.

You looked over at the Ash Man and saw him search your eyes. “Take it day by day, you’ll find your purpose and path in life.”

He appreciated the encouragement, because he could tell that you meant it.

Now that Madrock was in sight, you wanted to know for certain what the plan was for today, “So tell me, Ash Man, should we find a place to sleep in Madrock for the night? Or travel further and sleep in the forest?”

He preferred the later. “We have what we need to survive some nights in the forest, if we avoid going into the village, we avoid further incidents.”

Incidents like being chased by Trinity Guards in Oldmore.

The decision was made, you did not want to flee for your life like that again. “Alright. But this forest you chose to travel through, I do not know it. I always traveled along the riverside.”

The Ash Man dared to jest about it, “Since when are Fey afraid of the woods?”

It earned him a glare from you and Squirrel.

Squirrel was appalled by the insinuation. “I’m not afraid!”

Sometimes you hated how he could on your nerves. “I was bitten by a wolf days ago!”

He found it amusing to see the defensive reactions. Unbelievable.

When the oaf chuckled it made your temperament flare up.

You mumbled through your teeth, “Fine then. I hope you get eaten by them.”

The blunt boy reacted to it, “That’s not true. You wouldn’t have healed him if it was.”

You send Squirrel a look, but the boy was not letting you act like you still hated the Ash Man.

Lancelot was glancing over at you, visibly content with the boy siding with him on this.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Let’s just get to that forest.”

They shared a grin with each other and it proved that Squirrel had grown attached to the Ash Man.

Then again, they had quite a few things in common. They were both stubborn, hotheaded and loved swords. The boy looked up to him but would never admit to it. Perhaps it was good for the Ash Man to have the child in his life and have someone to set a better example for.

As expected, you passed Madrock by nightfall and saw that the village was quite crowded compared to Oldmore. It was wise indeed to avoid the place, with so many people around it would be difficult to see the enemy before they got too close.

The horses were getting tired, it was time to find a place to rest in the forest. You decided to dismount and walk the last distance to the forest on foot. It was a welcome change, everyone was bored of riding all day.

There were a lot of deer to be spotted in the forest, along with other nightly critters that made their presence known.

Not far into the forest, the three of you began to set up camp. You took it upon yourself to begin making a small bonfire, if only that would have gone easier.

On your third attempt, you wanted to throw the flint and the small piece of steel into the trees.

Lancelot must have noticed how close you were getting to tossing his flint and steel off into oblivion, because he gingerly stole them from your fingers.

“Impatience will not help you.” He said.

The only thing catching on fire was your mood.

“Neither will that stupid flint.” You told him.

He sighed deeply, mouth curling into a smile. “It will. Be more confident with it.”

The Ash Man flicked the flint against the steel and the spark it caused fell down on the dry pile of grass and branches you had made, the fire was born so easily from it now.

You let out a groan and plopped your rear down on the grass, you took the satchel off and put it down beside you.

He was already holding out his hand, like he had read your mind, or maybe he just remembered what you and Squirrel had planned to eat tonight.

You handed him some of the potatoes and he pinned one on the tip of his sword to roast it over the fire. You did the same with another potato and Squirrel came to sit down beside you to watch the fire prepare it.

Never had you thought that you would be sitting around a fire with a young Fey knight and one of the Ash Folk. The strangest thing was how natural it had begun to feel.

Lancelot finished roasting the first potato and made Squirrel pin it on his knife to eat, so the boy would not burn his hands.

The question he had for the boy was not meant to insult, he was merely curious, “Why do you prefer to be called by the name of an animal over your own name?”

You were trying to discreetly shake your head at the Ash Man, knowing the reason behind Squirrel’s nickname.

He was quick to understand that the reason went deeper than what Squirrel had previously admitted to.

Sadness took away the mischievous spark in Squirrel’s eyes. “Momma always called me her ‘Squirrel’…”

Any hunger you had felt was gone, the first time the boy had told you was on the second day you were together in the dark of the night just like now, when he had not been able to sleep.

Lancelot opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him now.

“She got sick.” Squirrel said as he watched the potato on his knife cool down enough to eat. “Poppa never called me “Squirrel’, he hated it. When he shouted at me, he always called me by my real name. And he always shouted.”

There they were, the roots of the reason why the boy did not like his name.

Who would like their name if it was never spoken with a gentle tone to them?

The Ash Man stood up and walked to your other side, where Squirrel was sitting, then knelt down beside him, “Do you not want me to call you by your given name?”

Squirrel was deep in thought, then quietly said. “You don’t shout it at me like he did…”

He touched Squirrel’s sleeve with a knuckle. “I see no reason to.”

You curled a hand around Squirrel’s arm and moved him a little closer. “You can always tell us if there is something upsetting you.”

Squirrel nodded to you, and he answered the Ash Man’s inquiry. “I don’t mind. You can call me ‘Percival’.”

Lancelot seemed relieved to hear that he had not accidentally upset the boy.

Then Squirrel looked at you with silent hope and a hint on uncertainty, “You’ll keep calling me ‘Squirrel’, won’t you, y/n?”

Like his mother used to do…

It left you speechless for a moment, until now you had not known of how deeply the boy had grown attached.

You brushed a hand over his head. “Of course, you’re my little Squirrel.”

The boy made you regret your choice of words. “I’m not little!”

From behind Squirrel, you could see the Ash Man turn his head to the side and downward to hide the smile before the boy could see.

You sighed a little and smiled. “Eat your potato. It’s getting cold.”

The boy’s attention immediately snapped back to it and he took a big bite from it.

Lancelot let his own sword push yours away from the fire before the potato pinned on it was burned instead of roasted.

A quiet curse fell out and you quickly moved your sword out of the fire, thankfully it wasn’t burned, just a bit more roasted than preferred.

The three of you sat around the fire, enjoying the simple meal so much that no one said a word until it was finished.

Lancelot had put his sword down for just one single moment and the boy had picked it up. Even though the Ash Man saw, he let it happen and stood up from the ground. By drawing the short sword and tapping it against the long one Squirrel was holding, he invited him to try and spar.

The boy was up on his feet within seconds and took a hard swing at him.

The sound of it rang loud into your ears and you got concerned with the way Squirrel was being a bit careless about it.

The Ash Man saw the concern on your face and proceeded to help the boy wield the sword safer before one would lose an eye or limb.

It wasn’t long before it turned more into a game than an actual lesson in sword fighting, mostly because Lancelot couldn’t resist constantly disarming the boy.

For the first time since long, you had heard Squirrel laugh from joy, the way a child would during play.

The circumstances weren’t the best, but they were happy like this and it was endearing to see.

Their game continued until the boy began to yawn every few minutes.

The Ash Man was not one to take risks when it came to the young boy, he reclaimed his longsword. “Get some sleep, my boy. It is late.”

Squirrel did not even protest against it, he was tired.

You got up and grabbed some of the linen sheets and put them down on the ground, making a sleeping spot against a tree close to the fire for warmth.

The boy knelt beside you and helped, once it was finished he crawled on the linen to sleep.

You tucked him in, seeing the pull of sleep slowly take a hold on him. “Sweet dreams, little Squirrel.”

This time the boy did not take offense and seemed rather content to hear the term of endearment.

“What happens after we die?” Squirrel asked all of a sudden.

Upon looking at the boy, you saw the pensively sad expression he had now.

Lancelot turned a little upon hearing it, but did not fully look at Squirrel.

It took a few seconds for you to think of the answer, and you had an inkling where this question came from. “It is said that the souls of the Fey join the Hidden.”

Squirrel accepted it as an answer, then asked another question that had been going through his mind, “Do you think Nimue felt pain?”

Gods… how could you provide him with the answers he sought without upsetting him?

Lancelot saw you hesitate and answered it himself, “No.”

No one knew what the girl must have felt in her last moments, and why upset a child with the truth when it could be avoided?

Your eyes snapped to the Monk, as did Squirrel’s.

He tried to not cause the child unnecessary fear or pain. “It is quite like fainting. A state of dreaming as the world fades away from us.”

Squirrel was quiet for a moment, the sorrowful look did not yield. “I didn’t get to say goodbye…”

You blinked the feeling of tears forming in your eyes away and raked your fingers through his hair a little.

The Monk had closed his eyes briefly.

To hear the child suffer through grief, just as he was, devastated him.

You had seen Lancelot’s troubled reaction to it, this was painful to experience for both.

The will in you to comfort the boy was strong, “Remember her, Squirrel. We don’t have to say goodbye to the ones we love if we keep them alive in our heart and memories.”

Squirrel snaked his arms around your waist embraced you, letting that mask of strength drop and showing the broken heart underneath it.

You gave Lancelot a knowing look when his eyes opened again and fixed on you, there was a slight nod from him in return.

To offer some comfort to Squirrel, you sat down beside him, he held on for a little while until he laid down.

It did not take very long for him to fall asleep, you kept brushing your hand over his arm until he did.

The Ash Man had made his own sleeping spot against a tree and had often paused to watch you pampering the boy to sleep.

After that, you began to make your own sleeping spot close to Squirrel.

You opened your satchel and took out one of the books, the one Lancelot had teased you about before, and sat close to the fire to be able to read it.

By the time you had turned the first page, you could see him struggle to hold his tongue.

He was sitting with his back against the tree, mouth slightly curved into a half-smile.

“Shut up.” You quietly warned.

His head tilted to the side. “That is the book I caught you with before. The one which speaks of the heart’s desires.”

You mumbled through your teeth, “You know nothing of romance.”

“Do you?” He daringly asked.

By choosing to ignore him, you hoped he would treat you the same. It did not work at all.

He dared to tease you about it. “Tell me about this ‘Matthew’, the one with eyes the color of honey.”

You did not move your eyes from the page they had been on for the last few minutes.

“No.”

“Why not?”

That persistence of him found it’s match in your own stubbornness. “Don’t stuff your nose in matters that don’t concern you.”

His eyes narrowed as it finally clicked in his mind. “He does not know of your infatuation for him.”

It had been a statement, not a question.

Dammit, why could he not keep his nose out of it?

“Why not?” He sounded genuinely curious

Like he knew what it was like to have feelings for someone and having to hide them in fear of rejection. No, it was one thing he was spared of by being what he had been.

You didn’t like having to explain it, “What do you mean ‘why not’? He could reject me!”

His quiet question followed quickly, “Why would he?”

By now your attention on the book was ruined and you put it back in your satchel. “He did before…”

His brows arched, like he could not understand it.

Your eyes were on the trees, because you could feel them sting a bit from the heartbreak it caused to think back to that time.

The Ash Man had not expected the answer at all, “Did he say why?”

He had indeed, and the reason why had been a blow to your self-esteem. But you could not change Matthew’s preferences in women. And neither would you change yourself to match them.

The rustling of leaves pulled you out of your thoughts, “Did you hear that?”

He was on his feet not a second later, as were you.

“Stay here.” He told you, then he quickly walked up to Goliath to grab the bow and an arrow from the saddle.

“It could be a wolf.” He readied the bow.

A wolf? Had he not said that there were none here?

It did not sound like there were more than one out there, not like it had the previous time. “Alone? Maybe it’s a deer.”

He hoped that your guess was the right one. “If it is a deer. It will fill our stomachs for days.”

You didn’t believe it necessary to kill an animal when you still had enough to survive. “We still have food and coin.”

The rustling came closer and you looked to the sleeping child. “Lance-”

He hushed you as he aimed to where the sound came from and nocked the arrow on the bowstring.

The moonlight shone from behind the creature, causing it’s antlers to cast shadows on the ground. This was no wolf, this was a large white stag being curious to see what other creatures were wandering these woods.

You put a hand on Lancelot’s arm and made him lower the bow.

A white stag was a rare sight often believed to just having been a legend. And here one was, in all it’s beauty.

“My goodness…” You had never seen one before.

The only thing that could steal his eyes away from this majestic stag, was your hand still wrapped around his arm.

He shushed you, knowing how easily startled a stag can be.

The animal came closer and the size of it’s antlers were on full display, they were intimidating and you resisted to urge to take a step back.

The Ash Man did not move a single step, unafraid of the creature that could spear him on those antlers if it wished to.

It felt like it was staring at the two of you, the faint whispers of the Hidden traveled through the shadows around, then the stag turned and walked back into the darkness of the forest.

You weren’t aware that you were still holding on to Lancelot, or of how strong your grasp on him was now.

When you did notice, you let go immediately and wondered why he had not said a word of it.

The bow and arrow was loosely in his left hand as he turned to face you.

You could not read his eyes and felt your feet freeze to the ground when he moved his right hand towards you.

It touched your upper arm and then slowly glided down to your elbow where it stopped.

You were looking at the hand on your elbow and feeling very, very, confused. Even when his thumb gently moved over your arm, you couldn’t snap yourself out of it.

Lancelot struggled to find the words to ask what he wished for, but he forced himself to try, “I know we have agreed to part ways once we reach your friend and when Percival is safe.”

You had not forgotten the agreement. Both Squirrel and you would be safe where you were heading, and he would be free to travel off to wherever he wanted without having to worry or feel guilty about what happened to the boy.

The Ash Man stepped closer and you ignored that nervous feeling in your stomach that wanted you to step back.

He sounded determined to keep what he had now, “Is there any hope that I could convince you to forsake the plan of us parting ways?”

Your eyes were darting between his now, was he truly asking this?

You plucked his hand from your arm and stepped back a bit.

To him, this was the answer to his question.

And he never expected it to be painful, but it was, terribly so.

He took a step back as well, then walked off into the darkness too.

You wanted to ask where he was going, but stopped yourself from doing so. He needed a moment alone and so did you.

Squirrel was still vast asleep and blissfully unaware of it all.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

It took a while before the Ash Man returned and when he did, you were sitting on the sleeping spot he had made for himself.

He knew there and then that you weren’t going to just ignore this.

He walked over, stopped, and made the brave choice to sit down next to you on the sheet.

The bow and arrow was put down next to him on the ground.

For a moment, nothing was said between you.

It wasn’t simple to explain why him wanting to stay at your side was difficult. “My home is with the Feys, Lancelot. So is Squirrel’s.”

He had not expected differently. “I know.”

You did not want to sugarcoat what such a decision would mean for him, “Why would you take the risk of staying with us, knowing that the Fey will not be kind to you?”

He was fidgeting with his hands. “It is worth the risk.”

It felt so surreal to hear him admit to it out loud, it must have taken quite a bit of courage for him to do so.

That answer was what made you want to tell him the truth about this journey and it’s destination.

“Come with me.” You tapped him on the arm and stood up from the ground.

You wanted to make sure that Squirrel would not hear what you had to say.

Lancelot caught up with you by the time you were out of the bonfire’s light, “What is it?”

“I am not taking Squirrel to just a friend.” You carefully began.

Deep down he always knew that there was more behind it than you had shared with him.

Still…

He wasn’t very keen on learning you admit to the lie, “Who are we heading to?”

The answer was also the reason why you needed to be sure you could trust him. “My family.”

He took a step back to process the news.

You explained your reasoning. “I was going to bring Squirrel to them. He will be safe there.”

Lancelot fired the question, “And you?”

You shook your head, after leaving home they would not welcome you back. “They are good people, I just chose to follow my own path.”

A light scoff came out of him. “You have been lying to me for days…”

All your courage left you when he turned around and his back faced you instead.

You stepped closer and touched his arm, speaking softly to him. “My cousin is a little younger than Squirrel. My parents began raising him after my aunt and uncle died, they love him. And they will love Squirrel too.”

He stated what he believed would happen, “Percival will not part from you. The boy loves you, I can see it.”

You pulled back your hand and tried to keep yourself together. “I want him to be safe, even if it breaks my heart.”

Was there even another way? A way that could prevent this separation?

He did not want you to think that he didn’t know you were just trying to give the boy the best chances in life, “I know you do. And you must understand that I will not leave the boy with someone I have never met?”

Leaving Percival with complete strangers was out of the question for him.

“You want to meet my parents?” You blurted out.

“I do.” He was determined.

Him?!? Your parents did not even want you to come home, and now he was asking to meet them?!?

It worried you. “Lancelot, my parents are Dawn Folk. I don’t think I will be able to convince them to meet you, especially not my father.”

It was no problem to this stubborn oaf. “Then don’t. I shall just introduce myself.”

You shook your head. “Lancelot.”

He would not change his mind on this. “I will only leave Percival’s side if I know for certain he is safe. I will meet your parents and if they see it fit to kill me, then so be it.”

You hated to hear him think so wastefully about his life. “Don’t say that. I will let you meet them but I won’t let you be killed.”

His hands folded behind his back, something he would never do around an enemy, for it would be too easy to put a dagger into his chest.

It showed how much he had grown to trust you.

The Ash Man’s eyes trailed over to where Squirrel slept. “I am curious to meet the people who raised such a daughter.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The instant defensive response caused a mischievous smirk to curve his lips. “I wonder if you were this prepared for battle as a child as well.”

By giving a playful smack against his chest, you all but confirmed it. “I’ll have you know that I was always well-behaved as a child!”

He did not believe a word of it and jested, “Perhaps as long as your parents were in sight.”

The tug at the corner of your mouth betrayed you. “You don’t know anything about me, Ash Man.”

You tried to walk past him, he moved so you could not. You tried again and it had the same result.

“What?” It was ticking you off.

That mischievous smirk had now reached his eyes.

Was he daring you to physically move him out of your way? Even in the dark, you could see how focused he was on your face, in his eyes you could see a hint of curiosity and oddly enough it intrigued you too.

With a nervous soft chuckle, you swayed on your feet a bit. “I don’t play games anymore, I’m not a child.”

Your eyes darted between the sleeping child, and the Ash Man who seemed to be quiet determined to test your limits.

“I have learned about you.” He took a step closer, intruding your personal space without an ounce of remorse. “I know enough to see beyond the mask you often hide behind.”

He stood so close that you didn’t know where to look anymore, since when had it become so difficult to glare at him from a short distance?

You shook the feeling off and cheekily said, “It’s not a mask, it’s just my face when I see that you’re around.”

After that, he did not let you move past him at all, clearly you were too entertaining.

“Will you move? I am trying to go and get some sleep.” You were waving your hand at him, shooing him like you would an animal.

The sneaky bastard caught your lower arm and gave it a tug.

A squeak escaped you when you thought you were going to fall, but ended up against his side instead.

He hushed you while barely holding back a laugh himself, “Shhh… you’ll wake the boy.”

You smacked his side and arm with the back of your hand. “It’s your fault!”

He caught your hand when you tried to hit him a third time, “I thought you did not play games anymore?”

Then why was your smile so bright that it put the sun and moon to shame?

You regained your balance and pulled your hand free, but did not step back. “I don’t.”

By the look in his eyes, you know this wasn’t over yet. As if to challenge him completely, you brushed your arm against his whilst walking past him, even giving a small bump into him that was meant to imbalance him.

You got away with it for a few steps, then he caught you by the arm and had you against the bark of a tree a second later. One hand on your arm, his other placed just above your shoulder against the tree.

Your first reaction was to look over to see if Squirrel was still asleep before he got the wrong idea, you could not see the boy from this angle but knew Lancelot could.

The way he was acting now was new, and you were trying to understand his behavior.

“Have you gone mad?!?” You weren’t scared, just taken aback by it.

He was glad to see that you had grown to trust him, and pointed it out, “So far you have not even reached for your sword.”

Had he done this days earlier, you would have threatened him with it. He was testing you…

Quietly you told him of the conclusion you were drawing from his different behavior, “You’re doing this to see if I trust you.”

His hand on the tree got closer to your face, “Do you?”

You were pressing your back into the tree to handle the close proximity. “Seeing as you are unharmed, the answer should be clear to you.”

Even though he smirked, you could tell that he was waiting for a real answer.

“I trust you,” You admitted and warned him, “Don’t make me regret it.”

He let go off your arm and stood up straight again, no longer trapping you between himself and the tree, “Once Percival is safe, where will you be?”

Staying home was not an option. “Out into the world to help my people I suppose.”

“Alone?” He asked.

Squirrel turned in his sleep and distracted Lancelot.

You took the moment of distraction to step away. “I don’t want to be thinking too much of the future just before I go to sleep.”

He understood the reason and let you walk back to Squirrel.

The boy was mumbling in his sleep a bit, and you sat down on your sleeping spot beside him. You leaned back against the tree and made yourself comfortable under your sheet.

Squirrel rolled over on his back and his arm landed on your leg.

So, now you were stuck sleeping the way you were seated or risked waking the sleeping child.

Lancelot had seen it happen and focused on his own sleeping spot to try and hide the grin. “I would not move.”

You couldn’t manage to glare at him, it was too sweet to see Squirrel feel comfortable and safe enough to sleep like this.

The Ash Man rested against a tree, having both you and the boy perfectly in his sight.

A view to treasure.

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[leighsartworks216]

Safety

Astarion & nb!OC

A little ficlet of my dnd bard OC, Rynd, seeking out Astarion for comfort after a nightmare. Based on conversations with @shenanigans-and-imagines (with references to their Ace!Tav <333)

For some slight context: Rynd was orphaned at a monastery where they likened them to their "evil" deity Toldoth. They abused and tormented them. They are about 20 years old, which is very young for tieflings. There is zero romantic connection between them and Astarion

Warnings: references to past abuse, nightmares, swearing, panic, blood

Word Count: 1,084

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

They feel so small. They are small. Their head doesn’t even reach the monk’s hip. And still they grab their tiny wrists, curse their ancestry, sharpen the ceremonial knife.

It’s been several years since then. Rynd couldn’t wholly believe they remembered it - surely enough time had passed to move on?

But the sting of the knife is still so vivid. The sound of effort as the monk cuts through the base of their tail resonates so loudly in their ears. The bloody mess it leaves behind sticks to their feet and legs. The echoes of their screams reverberating off the holy walls deafen them.

They jolt awake, frantically searching around their tent and the darkness for any sign of danger. Their hand finds the old, scarred-over place their tail used to sit. The other wraps around their chest, gripping painfully onto their shoulder as they hug themself.

They were alone. They were safe. They were miles and miles away from the monastery now.

A strained whimper claws its way out their throat, choking them. They cover their mouth, desperate to stay quiet lest a monk hear them, and find the hot, wet trails of tears on their cheeks. They strain their ears, listening to footsteps or the clinking of rosary beads. Their heart thudded loudly in their head, but all they could hear past that was the hum of crickets.

They were alone. They’re not safe.

Rynd’s whole body trembles in terror as they push themself from their bedroll. Their hands shake so violently it’s difficult to get a good hold on their shoes to pull them on. In the end, the longer it takes to try putting them on, the more panicked they get. They toss the shoes aside and burst from their tent.

The fire is burning low. The night air cools their cheeks. The dirt beneath their feet was dry and rough.

They look between each tent, body acting faster than their brain can process. They know they’re looking for something, but the what is lost amongst the panic as they hear something shuffle in the woods. All they know is they have to be safe. All they can do is trust in their feet as they speed across the camp to another tent.

They burst in without so much as a knock. The second their eyes land on Astarion, they’re collapsing as close to him as possible and wrapping their arms around him, clinging onto him.

Astarion scoffs indignantly, rightfully pissed off after being tackled and having his meditation interrupted so rudely. His hands grab their shoulders, ready to push them off as he hisses, “What the hells are you doing?!”

They only hold on tighter, burying their face harshly into his chest, fingers grasping onto the fabric of his shirt. He’s about to shove them away, tell them off for intruding, waking him up, assaulting him, when a harsh sob wracks their body. He can feel their muscles shaking, hear their frantic heartbeat and the way they fight their lungs for air. Even after all they’ve faced thus far, he’s never seen them this scared before.

“Darling?” he murmurs hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

Rynd shakes their head, nearly knocking his chin with their horns. He puts a hand up to prevent it from happening. It’s bad enough they’re crying into his shirt; he doesn’t need to be beaten up, too.

He sighs quietly, looking around his tent, trying to figure out how the hells he’s supposed to calm down this poor child. He’s never been really good at this. Usually, Tav was the one they ran to for comfort, not him. What could he even do? He could hardly carry a tune to soothe them, as Tav did.

He awkwardly pats their back. Was that something people did to comfort someone else? Gods if he knew. It feels stupid. He settles instead for resting his hand on their back. He can feel the way their lungs expand and shudder and jolt as they cry.

He wonders what scared them so. Not that it was any of his business, of course; he had nightmares that left him the same pathetic mess. Still, what could terrify a young tiefling so much they were running to a vampire for comfort?

Maybe just a shadow, he thinks. But if it had been, why not run to Tav? Why find him specifically? Maybe they were trying to find Gale and ran into the wrong tent. Maybe they were simply settling with their mistake, putting up with him to avoid the embarrassment.

At least Gale would know how to deal with this.

After several, very long minutes, their shaking reduces to mere tremors. They sniffle and take uneven breaths, but don’t let go to try wiping their face. He loathes the idea of washing his shirt in the morning.

“Sorry,” they choke out. It’s so quiet and broken. “Needed to be safe.”

“Safe?” he asks, surprised. They nod slightly against him.

They ran all the way to his tent and threw themself at him so they could… be safe?

His mind can think of a million ideas why that’s so incredibly stupid. In what realm is a vampire ever considered safe? If it’s really safety they wanted, they could have run to Lae’zel and asked her to protect them. They could have run to literally anybody else in this damn camp for safety, and every single one of them would be able to provide any amount of comfort and security a million times better than he ever could. But they ran to him.

He takes a deep breath in an attempt to jostle the feeling in his chest free. Alas, it clings to his undead heart as steadfastly as Rynd does. If they trust him, enough to seek him out in their fear, surely he can’t just send them away now… Right?

Unused to the action with anyone other than Tav, he wraps his arms more securely around the young tiefling. They sigh quietly with relief. Their hands loosen their death grip on his shirt. Gods, they really did trust him.

He clears his throat. “Rest now, little one,” he tells them softly. “I’ll protect you.”

All tension leaves their body the instant their safety is vocally assured. The shaking peters off until they’re steady, their breathing becomes easier and their heart evens out to a normal pace. It doesn’t take long before he’s sure they’re fast asleep. They don’t stir the rest of the night.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Chapter 3 Available Now!

Tagging: @lemonlyman-dotcom and @kiwichaeng

Carlos is an IDIOT. He’s never listening to his sisters again. He’s never texting again. He’s going to become a monk and live a life of solitude.

He stares at the photo on his screen that is decidedly not Deacon from the bar. Deacon’s eyes didn’t sparkle like that, his smile didn’t look like literal sunshine, and his hair definitely wasn’t perfectly tousled in a way that makes Carlos’ fingers itch to run through it. 

This guy looks vaguely familiar, but the name T.K. doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe he’s seen him at the grocery store? Or they go to the same coffee shop?

However he does or doesn’t know him, Carlos ha never felt more embarrassed in his entire life. His fingers fly as he types out an apology.

Carlos

[8:53pm] Oh my god. I’m so sorry.

Not Bar Guy

[8:53pm] No worries.

Did Deacon give him a fake number? Carlos gets up and searches his mail bin for the cocktail napkin he’d brought home from the bar. The number is still legible and Carlos’ eyes scan it quickly. 512…

Carlos checks the number he’d typed into his messages. 212.

Whoops.

How had that happened? Where the hell is the 212 area code even from? Definitely not Austin. Carlos sighs and shakes his head. Whatever. It’s done. He’ll just…text the right number and try again. 

Maybe. 

Or maybe not. 

He flops back onto his sofa, his head a little swimmy from the whiskey. What a fucking mess. He lets his eyes slide shut. Maybe he’ll just go to sleep and when he wakes up this will all have been an alcohol induced nightmare.

His phone buzzes and he reluctantly opens his eyes to find another text message.

Not Bar Guy

[9:02pm] I definitely would remember kissing someone like you. I hope Deacon appreciated it.

He jerks upright, his heart pounding. Is this guy, T.K., is he…flirting? 

Something about the words and the screen and the whiskey and the calming sound of British bakers in the background emboldens him and he types back.

Carlos

[9:03pm] I like to think he did. I’m a pretty good kisser.

Not Bar Guy

[9:04pm] I’m sure you are. Did he give as good as he got?

Carlos huffs out a breath of surprise, the pounding in his heart easing into a more relaxed sense of fun.

Carlos

[9:04pm] He was all right.

Not Bar Guy 

[9:05pm] Just all right? That was a pretty hot pic for just all right.

He flushes. Yes. Okay. He’d been trying to make a little bit of a point. And maybe it was a tiny bit desperate. But he doesn’t want this guy, T.K., to know that.

Before he can formulate a good response another text comes through.

Not Bar Guy

[9:06pm] Just saying, you look like you deserve a little more than that.

Carlos snorts as he types back.

Carlos

[9:06pm] You’ve decided that from one picture?

Not Bar Guy 

[9:06pm] What can I say? I call ‘em like I see ‘em. It’s a very convincing picture.

Carlos

[9:07pm] Thanks. Yours is pretty good too.

Not Bar Guy- T.K. 

[9:07pm] Just pretty good? Ouch.

Carlos

[9:07pm] Ah I knew I could see a sensitive ego in those green eyes. How would you like me to describe it?

Not Bar Guy- T.K. 

[9:08pm] Charming, captivating, endearing…

Carlos

[9:08pm] Pushy? Forward?

Not Bar Guy- T.K. 

[9:08pm] Forward? Says the guy who sent a thirst trap to a complete stranger…

Carlos

[9:09pm] I thought you were Deacon!

T.K. doesn’t respond for long enough that Carlos wonders if he’s finally gotten tired of the conversation. It’s crazy how disappointed that makes him. He’s just about to call it a night and go to bed when his phone lights up once more.

Not Bar Guy- T.K. 

[9:15pm] Sorry, call came in. Gotta go. This was fun though. We should do it again sometime.

A call? Carlos frowns and pulls T.K.’s picture up again, zooming in. He’d been so surprised and embarrassed he hadn’t even noticed the AFD logo on his shirt. This guy is local? Even though his number is clearly from somewhere else?

That’s probably why he looks vaguely familiar. They’ve likely been on some of the same calls. Big ones, obviously, otherwise he would have gotten a more decent look at the guy. There’s no way he would have forgotten those sea green eyes if they’d ever locked on his in person before. 

The whiskey is making him sleepy, pulling his eyes downward so he drags himself upstairs and readies for bed.

If T.K.’s picture is the last thing he looks at before he closes his eyes…well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Carlos arrives for his shift the next day in a good mood. A really good mood.

“Morning,” he says, setting a coffee from the place down the block on Lexi’s desk. 

“Morning,” she says, looking up in surprise. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Carlos says, sitting down at his desk and booting up the desktop. 

She eyes him suspiciously. “You look perky. More perky than usual.”

Carlos shrugs. “I had dinner with my sisters last night. We had a good time.”

“Mmm….no,” Lexi says. “This isn’t sisters happy. This is something else.”

“Okay, well if you figure it out, let me know,” he tells her. He pulls up his email and then tries to keep his voice casual, as if he hasn’t been planning his next words since the moment he woke up. “Hey, you don’t happen to know a firefighter named T.K. do you?”

It’s the first time he’s said T.K.’s name out loud and it makes his heart flutter. The letters feel familiar in his mouth and send sparks through his stomach. It’s stupid, but this is the feeling he was trying to convey to his sisters last night. Which is dumb. Because he literally knows nothing about this guy.

“T.K.? As in Strand?” Lexi asks.

“Um, yeah?” Carlos hedges. How many T.K.’s can there be in the AFD?

“Isn’t that the firefighter that got shot a couple months ago?” she asks. “Out of the 126?”

Oh. Oh. 

That’s why he looked familiar. His picture had been on every news network, the talk of the department for over a week. Firefighter shot on duty. Crazy stuff.

“Right,” he says. “Now I remember.”

“I think his dad’s captain of that station,” Lexi says. “Why are you asking?”

“His name came up when I was out with a couple of the guys,” Carlos lies. “I couldn’t place him and thought you might remember.”

“That whole house was killed in that big explosion too, remember?”

“Right,” Carlos says, remembering it all too well. He knows people who’d gone to the scene that night and found total devastation. It was awful.

He waits for Lexi to go back to her work and then Carlos does something he promised himself he would never, ever do. He runs a background check for personal reasons.

T.K. stands for Tyler Kennedy. Carlos thinks of the picture he saved to his phone. T.K. is definitely a better fit. It’s fun and cute. Tyler Kennedy is…a little too stuffy for that rumpled hair and cheeky grin.

The shooting pops up obviously, but it’s not the only thing. Carlos clicks on a file from six months ago. T.K. was brought in for drunk and disorderly as well as assault and battery, but he blew a point zero and no charges were pressed. Huh. Interesting.

He clicks on the report of the shooting. It’s grim. Carlos feels sick as his eyes scan the words. Point blank range to the chest, a kid was involved…T.K. is damn lucky he survived.

He can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. They head out on patrol and he can’t help secretly hoping they’ll get rolled to a fire call somewhere. Then he realizes how stupid that is. Fire is a twenty-four hour shift. If T.K. was on last night, he’s probably off the rest of today. 

Carlos hits the gym after work and then the grocery store. Usually cooking puts him in a good headspace, but tonight he’s a million miles away. He can’t stop thinking about their conversation. Or the shooting. Is T.K. okay? Does he have permanent damage? He’s obviously back at work since he went out on a call last night, so does that mean he’s okay now?

This is so stupid, he doesn’t even know the guy. He shouldn’t care this much. It’s just, the thought of that beautiful face no longer being in the world isn’t sitting well with him.

He settles into bed intent on reading, trying to take his mind off of things. But his eyes keep drifting to his phone. 

He should not do this. You don’t text random strangers out of the blue. That’s not normal. It’s not okay.

He picks up his phone and then almost drops it when it buzzes in his hand.

T.K.

[9:13pm] So. Did you get in touch with “Deacon”?

Carlos stares at his phone like it’s some kind of poisonous snake. Did he make this happen? What are the chances T.K. would text him at the exact moment he’d made up his mind to do the same?

Carlos

[9:14pm] What’s with the quotes?

T.K.

[9:14pm] I’m not convinced Deacon is a real person.

Carlos

[9:14pm] You think I kissed an imaginary man in a bar?

T.K.

[9:15pm] Alcohol can make you believe a lot of things…

Carlos

[9:15pm] I’d had one beer!

T.K.

[9:15pm] You’re avoiding the question.

Carlos

[9:16pm] I was at work all day today. There wasn’t time.

T.K.

[9:17pm] No time like the present. Do you want help? I’m very good with words.

Carlos snorts and types quickly.

Carlos

[9:17pm:] I’m not going to text him. That ship has sailed.

T.K.

[9:17pm] Good.

Carlos

[9:18pm] Good?

T.K.

[9:18pm] I feel a sense of responsibility now that I’ve seen your abs. Those deserve to be protected from the average Deacons of the world.

Okay this guy is straight up flirting. They’re about three texts away from a booty call. Which is not something Carlos does. But the shiver dancing up and down his spine whispers at him to make an exception. 

He decides to change the subject before he does something stupid. 

Carlos

[9:19pm] So you’re AFD?

T.K.

[9:20pm] Yep.

Carlos

[9:20pm] But you’re not from here.

T.K.

[9:21pm] Not even a little.

Over the next half hour Carlos learns that T.K. came with his dad from New York to rebuild the 126. And not just New York, but like New York, New York. The kind of New York that Carlos has only seen in movies and on TV.

Even through the phone Carlos can tell it wasn’t an easy move. T.K. seems to be glossing over the finer details, but he does talk about his dad’s cancer and how hard it was to leave his mom.

Carlos can’t even imagine uprooting his entire life to move to somewhere so different. His family is here. His entire life is here. 

Carlos

[9:47pm] That must have been really hard. To leave your whole life behind.

T.K.

9:48pm: I needed the change. My dad saw it. There was nothing left for me there. But yeah. It wasn’t easy. Why does everyone here smile all the time? What’s with all the friendliness?

Carlos

[9:50pm] Well you never know when you might need to borrow somebody’s tractor or an extra pair of hands for calving season. You have to be nice to your neighbors so they’ll return the favor.

T.K.

[9:51pm] Ah, see. I knew that niceness didn’t come honestly. It’s all a ruse.

Carlos

[9:51pm] You got us.

Carlos glances at the clock and sighs.

Carlos

[9:52pm] Hey sorry, I have an early shift again tomorrow. I should probably call it a night.

T.K.

[9:52pm] A shift? At the…hospital? Coal mine? Car wash?

Carlos

[9:52pm] Those might be easier. I’m APD.

T.K.

[9:53pm] Wow you really withheld the evidence on that one officer.

Carlos

[9:53pm] Well I can’t tell you everything all at once. Where’s the fun in that?

T.K.

[9:54pm] I look forward to continuing to play detective.

Carlos sets his phone down and heads into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and pauses. He’s smiling. A lovesick, dreamy smile. The sight makes him laugh at himself. He’s an idiot. 

[abyssal-cryptid]

Tears of the kingdom thoughts (SPOILERS)

Beginning cutscenes are amazing

You start out with full hearts & stamina so canon events of BOTW was Link freeing all Divine Beasts and getting all the shrines (also having the master sword)

You lose them all pretty quickly to Ganondorf (?) WHO BLOODY MOCKS YOU FOR IT

The tear shaped crystals. Ganondorf has one on his head. Zelda falls and her tear teleports her away

After this Link wakey wakeys in the sky island (with Long Hair, A+)

Zonai are gods who married into Zelda's bloodline

The first king of Hyrule is Rauru who is a Zonai, appears to you as a spirit and tells you he has heard of you from Zelda

Acts esentially as the Old Man in BOTW and yes does unfortunately also disappear after you complete the tutorial

It took me 3+ hours to beat the tutorial btw. Partially because I am a dumbass

The tutorial is a bit more handholdy than BOTW but also does not tell you shit when it comes to the Zonai transportation machines

THE SHRINES (those green swirly stones) are so cool and also instead of a monk to give you an orb its a statue of Rauru and Zelda (or her ancestor) as like a married couple

The Zonai constructs are actually all friendly except the soldier ones who are just following orders and not evil. The constructs talk and are adorable

Rauru is in many places around the island and talks about how it is disquieting that the constructs keep doing things like gathering ingredients and cooking when there hasnt been living beings around for eons and they themselves cant eat

You cant choose between stamina or heart, you have to get a heart

Stamina feels like it drains slower but also recovers slower

I died like six times

No paraglider in the beginning. Pain

Ultrahand is a bit clunky and its rotation control is not fun

Controls are basically the same but also a bit different and that is slightly annoying

You go for some time in the tutorial without getting a shirt

Fusing things is so fun. Also flamethrowers exist and are a blast

No fall damage if water

Every enemy seems to have more health than previously. I had bonk a red bokoblin a lot to kill it

Also THE TREES ARE ENEMIES TOO and nearly killed me. This is not Lord of the Rings

Very much Skyward Sword vibes outside of the sky islands

Parallels BOTW beginning, Link must be so tired

Purah is an adult size now. Also you dont have the Sheikah Slate but instead the Purah Pad

I like the voice acting here

OH AND ALSO seems to transfer your horses over from your BOTW save!!!!!

[shiftythrifting]

1. Three Guys. one came home with me, there was a lot of polar bears there today

2. someones bendy and the ink machine cup??

3. the Best Shirt Ever ™️

4. bald guyz head wipes

5. a phone i considered buying

6. monke!!

7. a sign i will put right next to my sailor moon print by my pc

8. i could see this sweatshirt from across the store

9. this DEFINITELY is from my school which is alarming

[galavant-song-tournament]

List of all songs

This is sorted by episode and not totally in order within each episode section, sorry. I'm going by the names given in the wiki. Please send in propaganda for your favourites or for whatever 30s long ones you feel are excellent and don't deserve to be beaten right away!

Galavant

Galavant (Isabella Reprise)

Galavant Rides

She'll Be Mine

Galavant (End Reprise)

Hero's Journey

Maybe You're Not the Worst Thing Ever

Stand Up

Previously On Galavant

Oy! What a Knight

Dance Until You Die

Jackass in a Can

Togetherness

Comedy Gold

Lords of the Sea

Togetherness Reprise

Galavant Gallivants (this is the "I can't believe I'm almost there" one)

Hey, Hey, We're the Monks

If I Could Share My Life with You

No One But You

Hey, Hey, We're the Monks Reprise

A Day in Richard's Life (the one where he's high)

I Love You As Much As Someone Like Me Can Love Anyone

Love is Strange

A Happy Ending for Us

Moment in the Sun 1

Moment in the Sun 2

Moment in the Sun 3

Moment in the Sun 4

Moment in the Sun 5

Secret Mission

Goodnight My Friend

Getting Heavy (Jester's brief attempt at a Galavant reprise before being interrupted)

Goodnight My Friend Reprise

Galavant Wrap Up (season 1 wrap-up)

A New Season

Off With His Shirt

A New Season (Reprise)

World's Best Kiss

Let's Agree to Disagree

World's Best Kiss Reprise

Build a New Tomorrow

If I Were a Jolly Blacksmith

Sid's Lullaby

The Happiest Day of Your Life

As Good as it Gets

Serenade (Galavant's song in the pub)

What Am I Feeling

My Dragon Pal and Me

Different Kind of Princess

Dwarves Vs Giants

My Dragon Pal and Me Reprise

Today We Rise

He Was There

I Was There

Time is of the Essence

Goodbye

Love Makes the World Brand New

Finally

I Don't Like You

A Dark Season

Galavant Recap

A Good Day to Die

Do the D'Dew

A Good Day to Die (Reprise)

Will My Day Ever Come

A Real Life, Happily Ever After

Season 2 Finale

[reesedragon]

Since bugblr likes my posts lemme tell yall about Bubba the fly

So I used to work at a krogers. I'd find flies all cold in the fridges, and gently place them in my shirt pocket till they had the strength to fly off. My hope was that they would at some point fly out the door and have a normal life. At the very least, I would have a friend perched on my shoulder keeping me company.

They usually flew off perfectly healthy. I'd just spent the entire summer nursing flies, and at last, it was autumn. Too chilly to see flies outside except in the bright sun. For the flies, this was their last hurrah.

This one fly sat on my shoulder for hours. Warmed right up in my pocket, crawled up and sat on the edge. He was a huge guy, blue hairy charismatic and beautiful with a subtle sheen to him. Eyes of a gentle maroon that accented the turn of his head. I thought he would be healthy because he looked young, with perfectly intact legs and wings. I decided to name him Bubba.

Stock time came, and I had to transfer him to the top of a low shelf. I gave him a wet paper towel, he drank and just sat for awhile. It was odd to me that he just sat there, even when things spooked him he just crawled a bit. He even hid under the towel- unusual behavior in a fly, usually a scared and helpless last resort. I was growing worried.

At the end of the day, I try to shoo him just to be sure. He does a sad little hop, but can't fly. I become so, so worried. Flies are a bit like horses; loss of mobility is a massive red flag to their health.

At this point, I'd grown quite attached to him. So, naturally, I purchase blueberries and shrimp and capture him gently in a to go container to take him home.

What follows is a magical week. I finally, after 2 days of care, nurse him back to flying. I buy a larger container so he can buzz in the 2 hours the sun would heat him up. I make sure he has water, fresh fruit, shrimp juice. I watch him crawl, fly, sip. He had a way of piercing the soft flesh of an orange with sheer force, and drinking the insides of each cell like a Capri sun.

I ended up thinking about his needs, what desires he may have. At the end of the week, he's got some strength back, and deserves the dignity of choosing what to do with it.

My apartments dumpster may have bottle flies he could court. One last 3 seconds of passion. Me and my girlfriend walk him to the dumpster with heavy hearts. We know the chill of winter will take this fly I have nursed back to health, but its the way of all things. Its his right to live his natural life.

What follows is a very chilly 5 minutes of trying to coax this fat fly out of his warm, safe container full of food. Nope. This is his retirement home, and its still got warm inside air in it. Even with us moving around him, he will not leave. I even wiggle my fingers behind him. Just won't go.

I respect his wishes, and nurture him until his end a week later. Twice or three times a day, I would replace his wet paper towels and food. Blueberries sliced in half, wet shrimp tails, various juices from fresh fruit and luncheon ham. He was living the high life. Dude was so chill, he dies in the same pose as he always sat in. Just like a monk in honey, he surrendered in a perfect life-pose amid excess and luxury.

It was bittersweet, but I knew providing geriatric care to an elderly fly would end this way. My solace was that Bubba lived a perfectly happy little fly retirement. A more comfortable end than most flies could dream of.

[sadgurls-blog]

My Story Animated

Full YouTube Playlist

I Made My Billionaire BF Go Bankrupt

I Fell In Love With BF’s Bodyguard

5 Heartthrobs Fight Over Me

I Was Raised By 5 Monks From China

I Lost My Memory & I Have NO Idea Who I Am

I Played Genshin Impact

A Billionaire Mafia Boy is Obsessed with Me

I’m Isolated from Everyone. Literally

My Brothers won't let me date until 18!

The Devilish Angels (pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, full movie s1)

The One Wins the Fight, Will Date Me

My Boyfriend Never Runs Out Of Money

The Bully Loves ME Too Much

Im in Love with an ex-prisoner

An FBI Agent Mission is to Protect me

I Fell In Love With a Boy That I Can Never Have

My best friend stole my boyfriend

2 Boys And 1 Heart (pt1, pt2, pt3)

I Fell And Now I Can Only Speak In A Funny Way

The Richest Family In My Town Claim I'm Their Daughter

A Korean Billionaire Is Obsessed With Me

I followed My Crush To The Basement, instantly regrets it

My Dad Is Overprotective But I Do Whatever I Want

My Sister Had 2 Plastic Surgeries To Look Like Me

a party changed my life forever

I Removed My Birthmark & Didn't Recognize Myself

My Life With 200 Bodyguards

I'm Better Than Cruella

My Dad Hired A Bodyguard For Me

He Had No Idea I Was A Secret Agent

My "Perfect Life" When My Sister Was Born

My Bestie’s Boyfriend Fell In Love With Me

The School Bully Treats Me Like A Princess

I got 20 million followers in Tiktok, and now my parents abandoned me

Girls are Jealous of Me Despite of ALL MY Conditions

Paparazzi Chase Me Since I Was A Baby

I turned a homeless into a billionaire then he left me

Mom Isn't Happy That I'm a Successful Singer

My Dad Have A Bank: My Incredible Story (pt1, pt2)

I Got The Worst Fake BF To Make My Crush Jealous

I Dated 10 Guys! The Last One Is Going To Change Everything

The Beautiful Olivia

The President Hired Me

I Found A Way To Time Travel (pt1, pt2, full mini movie)

I Dated My E’s Billionaire Friend As Revenge

I'm The Top In Everything

Me And My Dad Traveling The World Together

Someone Gave Me A 1 Million Dollar Tip

i am too awkward

They Kidnapped Me

I'm Too Shy

My Brother Tricked All My Gf’s To Breakup With Me

I have two personalities. I can’t choose.

I Can’t Tell Anyone My Name

I Had Amnesia And Woke Up Married To A Billionaire

Oops! Hired an Actor as My Bodyguard

i found out why i am pretty

I Was Raised to Be a Criminal

The good and bad of Popularity

People Think I'm Innocent, But I'm Not

I Met MrBeast

I spent all my dad money in 33 days

how a real life princess goes to school

I Started Living Alone at 15

My drama is Worse than Selena Gomez& Hailey Bieber

My Bestie's Ex Likes Me

Switched At Birth

I’m the Tallest Girl Dating the Tallest Boy. We’re Giants

Enjoy life like there is no tomorrow

I Changed My Face To Take Revenge

i have to tell the truth

I’m A Famous Teen Actress, I Do What I Want

Ellie The Hacker

I'm Being Bullied By The People Who Adopted Me, What Happens Next Is Shocking

The Story I Wrote Became My Life

I'm Salish Matter And This Is My Story

My Sister Has The Only Thing I Want In Life

I Paid My Best Friend GF To Fake Date Me

I Lost All My Money So My Bestie Made Me Her Maid

My Stepdaughter Hates Me

We’re a Celebrity Family & We Have NO Privacy

I ruined my $1,000 Louis Vuitton Shirt

I Moved in with my boyfriend at 16

I Bet I Can Make A guy Fall In Love With Me In 14 Days

Billionaire Girls Fight Over Me. I'm a Poor Guy

I made the 3 school billionaire heartthrobs fight over me

i'm Too TALL