#need to draw their artificial gardens....

[r0b0t1me]

mikeys on casey watch duty today

[evitirey]

ok so this was a beast to draw and research good GORD. this one requires a glossary so i'll be putting the entire text under a read more bar, meet me there?

I think most of us in the Avatar fandom have some range of obscure knowledge (or who knows maybe the knowledge is less obscure to everyone else and I'm the silly one) but here's a handful of words I had to learn for this: Chinampa: small, stationary, artificial island built on a freshwater lake for agricultural purposes. Chinampan was the ancient name for the southwestern region of the Valley of Mexico, the region of Xochimilco, and it was there that the technique was—and is still—most widely used. (Encyclopedia Britannica)

Conuco: A portion of earth that the native Tainos of the Caribbean would grow their crops on. (More on that later)

Winnow: In the western world, to remove (something, such as chaff) by a current of air. I specifically based theirs off of a video that @aketchjoywinnie on tiktok posted of her culture's winnows. She is from Uganda and I love her videos whenever they come across my fyp. In this case it is more of a woven basket/plate that is used for food.

As for the drawing:

The Ro'atni have 2 forms of 'floating' gardens. The first and most productive are their chinampas; kind of important to the context is that the Ro'atni were originally a river people, but a portion of their river gave way to an oxbow lake. The young lake has turned into their gardens. The chinampas are made by their swimmers who usually chose their lifestyle very young, as their bodies adjust and grow to adapt underwater better; their strakes go from soft, unobtrusive cartilage to actual strakes, smaller than the reef people's. They dive under water and plant the reedy plants that they then weave together into a roughly rectangular box. Each chinampa is a labor of love that normally takes years to make (though if they feel the next season will not be fruitful they can and will build some quickly). The base layer of the chinampas is essentially a refuse pile. Their compost, their unusable bones, any trash (which is much less than most modern societies) is thrown into the woven reed "basket" to form the solid base along with base stones. The middle layer, still submerged in water, is a combination of compost, mulch, manure, night soil and gravel.

As the compost decomposes, they churn the dirt and build it up over the years until they build above the water level; once the dirt remains relatively dry on a sunny day, and they can dig without immediately hitting mud, they begin to build the conucos on top of the chinampas.

The Conucos are logs stacked up and packed with earth, the shape keeps plants that need dryer soil out of the water, and retains water when the lake starts drying down during the dry season. As the logs decompose they leave behind air pockets for the roots to take up as well as the necessary microorganisms. Most of the weeds are allowed to grow to an extent - once they begin to choke out the plants they want, they will be cut down. The Ro'atni believe that even the most annoying creatures (weeds) have a place in the balance of life. If they're uprooted, they're tossed on shore where they continue to grow. To combat the growth of weeds, they plant a groundcover berry-producing vine that functions as a nitrogen fixer as well as food.

The second form of floating gardens tend to be used for children to learn, as they operate on the principles of aquaponics. The winnow pads are sometimes made specifically for the purpose, but often they're made from a winnow that has reached the end of its life. If it is no longer buoyant, it is tossed into the bottom of a new chinampa. If it is buoyant, then small anchors are tied to the bottom, and a fast growing plant is placed on the winnow to take advantage of the nutrition in the water. Often seedlings for the chinampas are grown this way and transplanted once they're big enough.

Now for the plants they grow; I only had the mental bandwidth to name ONE plant, and I welcome any professional Na'vi speakers to correct me on it lol. So, they grow: Furina'ngrr: Primarily this plant functions as a starchy tuber, but it also grows "beans" (in the way that a coffee bean is a bean but its actually a berry) with a soft outer fruit that the entire clan uses to produce a bright red stain/dye. Combined with red ochre and animal fat, it creates a thick, water resistant body paint that they use both to ward off bugs and to paint pretty patterns and symbols on their skin; certain ones are protective symbols. The fruit can be peeled off of the bean and the beans can be eaten; they're more often replanted to avoid genetic monocropping. They only ripen every 2 years more or less, so the elder gardeners know to stagger their crop growth to accommodate for it. The root however is the main crop from these plants. It is ground into a pulp, seasoned and wrapped in leaves, then either boiled or cooked in a firepit. It's dumpling-like in the firepit, and more like a mochi if its boiled. It can also be fried and baked depending on preparation. The roots can be replanted and this is the quickest way to propagate the plant. They also store for a long time in a root cellar like environment. This is their first source of starch.

Reed-maize: Many different kinds of reeds can be used to create chinampas, but reed-maize is the favored choice; even after their cultivation the reeds remain for a good while before decomposing, giving the gardeners time to grow their replacements, replant them around the chinampas and weave them in again. The reed-maize grow seed pods that can be harvested; they usually require a good strike to release their seeds, which is an adaptation to release their seeds during windy season when the fluffy seeds can fly far away. These were a gift from the Sa'anre side of the clan, and comes originally from the swamps and deltas they traverse; in the oxbow lake the wind is only strong enough during typhoon-like weather to open the seedpods. The seeds release from the pods wrapped in tightly coiled fibers that spring open as they fly out; the fibers carry them on the wind. So the gardeners beat the seed pods open only inside of the hometree or where large structures have been built to catch them. The fibers are hand-ginned off of the seeds, and the seeds are then winnowed free of chaff. The fiber can be processed into cloth, but its very time consuming so they often trade it out to other clans. Other uses are compost mulch, or bedding for their fishing companions. The seeds range in color from soft oranges to gray-blues; an act of love is to separate the specific color seed your child/mate/parent loves most and to make them ground cakes from the singular color. It's extremely time intensive to sort, then grind these seeds separate from all the rest. Normally however, they are stored as grain alongside the furina'ngrr. The grain can then either be processed into flour, "grits", or eaten with minimal preparation. Boiled, they taste both earthy and floral.

Oh my gosh almost done guys lets go. Together with dried and powdered meat, the clan makes a type of pemmican out of their crops; dried roots, dried meat, dried berries and fat are mixed with reed-maize flour, then dried down and stored in their root cellar caves. Their stores are for the long rainy season when hunting is difficult and flooding is common. They have also experienced famine before so they prepare for it again at all times.

Mothers sometimes make the little pemmican cakes into cute shapes for their young ones!

[kosssich]

When I feel sad I just draw these sillies they’re so entertaining

Continuing Birds of Prey

We have 7 rings with deadly sins in Hell.

So I can assume that Heaven would also have 7 spheres of virtues.

It would also be cool to give the Winners the opportunity to travel to different spheres, unlike Sinners who are stuck in Pride.

I think that almost all Winners live in the sphere of Love (just as pride is the most common sin, to me, love seems to be the most common virtue). This is where the Pearly Gates are located.

After creating the exorcists, they needed to be given a place to live. And the higher seraphim created such a place - an artificial copy of the long-forgotten and abandoned garden of Eden.

The flying island on which the garden is located is situated right under the sphere of Love.

- Exorcists live in marble treehouses that look like bird nests.

- Exorcists don't eat normal food. If you want to eat - hunt. When Sera saw the five-year-old gnawing a rabbit, she almost threw up. Adam, on the opposite, is very amused with murder babies.

- Meat is their favorite meal.

- Vaggie ate normal food for the first time when Charlie picked her up.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Know What You Are

Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x f!reader Warnings: Allusions to trauma, oral sex (m receiving), smut Word count: ~1k

Summary: Ettore explores the boundaries of consensual touch, and finds he isn't ready to relinquish control just yet.

Author's note: A little addition to The Hand that Feeds but can also be read as a standalone. Day three of the Smuffmas prompts - "in nature and deep throating". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She loves the garden. It’s the only place aboard the ship that doesn’t feel sterile and bathed in artificial light. Digging her fingers into the softness of the soil, allowing the rich, earthy scent to fill her nostrils, she can forget that she’s a prisoner. Every brush of soft green leaves against her skin is like a fleeting taste of freedom.

Her place on board is not undeserved. To some, taking revenge on the man who has raped you would be seen as wholly justified. To a jury, however, the violence of such an act was considered despicable. But it had felt good to watch the way his eyes had gouged from their sockets, to feel the way the knife had sliced through his flesh like butter, all the way to the bone. If she closes her eyes she can still smell the coppery tang of arterial blood. It makes her mouth water. She had enjoyed it, and to derive such pleasure from such depravity is well worth where she finds herself now. She’d do it a thousand times over.

Getting acquainted with fellow inmate, Ettore, has made her time here infinitely more interesting. She had noticed him straight away. Without confirming what he was here for, she’d been able to hazard a guess, it was obvious in how he carried himself. And more than apparent that she’d caught his eye too, he was always watching her.

She ought to be disgusted by him, knowing what he is, what he’s probably done, but there is something lurking beneath the surface that draws her to him, an invisible string that tugs them both together. It has only grown stronger since their first tryst in the Box; him spilling himself onto her stomach with his face pressed between her tits.

He doesn’t allow her to touch him, but despite this she knows she’s the one in control. His desperation for her makes him vulnerable, and she enjoys toying with that, seeing how far she can push him. It’s been days since his hips had rutted against hers, taking her roughly from behind in a storage cupboard, so she knows he’ll be back soon. The Box can’t satisfy him like she can.

She senses him before she sees him, as if the mere occurrence of him entering her thoughts has summoned him to her. His approach is always silent, she never hears him coming, but she can feel his presence. He looms over her, casting a shadow over her prone form as she kneels in the soil, plucking away the browning leaves of a fern.

“Did you want something, or you just lurking?” She asks, not looking up from what she’s doing.

“Tchemy in here with you?” Ettore asks, his tone nonchalant.

“You know he’s not, or you wouldn’t be in here,” she says, ridding herself of her gardening gloves and turning to look up at him.

She begins to rise, preparing to stand, when he holds out a hand to halt her.

“Don’t,” he says abruptly. “Just…don’t. Let me just look at you for a bit.”

She drops back to her knees, staring up at him, watching the way his eyes darken as he looks down at her. It makes her core throb with want.

His throat bobs as he reaches out a hand, fingertips dragging with light pressure over her jaw, before falling to her throat, squeezing experimentally. She allows it for a moment, before pulling back.

“Stop that,” she scolds softly, narrowing her eyes in angry warning. “You don’t need to do that with me. Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

He blinks, huffing through his nose, before bringing his hand back to her face, pulling down her bottom lip with his thumb, before letting it go. “This,” he utters, “want your mouth.”

“Good boy,” she purrs, “go on then.”

“Hands behind your back,” he orders, pulling down his scrubs and freeing his already half hard cock.

She does as she’s told, parting her lips to allow him to slide into the warmth of her mouth. He is tangy against her tongue, the head of him pressing heavily against the wet muscle as he gives a few shallow, tentative thrusts, rousing himself fully.

Breathing through her nose, she inhales the heady scent of him, faint sweat mixed with the ship’s standard issue soap. It’s utterly debasing in a way, yet it has arousal wetting her underwear just the same.

Drool gathers at the corners of her mouth as he picks up the pace, and she suppresses the urge to gag as he repeatedly knocks the back of her throat.

His brows are knitted together, eyes glassy and jaw slack as he gathers a fistful of her hair at the back of her head, using it as leverage to propel himself faster and harder. She relaxes, allowing him to push down further and moans around him, causing him to groan and throw his head back.

Pushing himself all the way into the hilt, Ettore’s grasp on her hair is so tight it tugs at her roots, and he holds himself there, pubic bone grazing the tip of her nose. She looks up at him with glassy eyes, stray tears trickling down her cheeks as she watches his predatory expression, but he is unmoving.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Finally he pulls back, all the way out, a string of her saliva connecting his hardened length to her lips, and she gasps and splutters for air momentarily, before he’s pushing back in.

His thrusts are shallower, salty precome and the pulsating of him in her mouth letting her know he’s nearing his end. When he finally climaxes it’s accompanied by a strangled cry and she quickly swallows, barely registering the viscous taste of him as it slides down her throat.

Releasing her, he tucks himself away and is breathless as he drops to his knees beside her. She wipes her mouth with the back one hand and swipes at her teary eyes with the other.

“I really…really want to hurt you,” he whispers, not looking at her. “But I can’t bring myself to do it.”

“I get that,” she says gently, “really, I do.”

“You’ve seen me,” he says, looking into her eyes. The emotion she sees reflected back at her makes her heart lurch.

“Yeah,” she replies, “and you’ve seen me.”

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 8: MIND PALACES & OTHER SHATTERED CRYSTALLINE DREAMS

synopsis: connor has a talk with amanda, and you have a talk with your own mind. connor reminds you, once more, that he's made of plastic and metal, not flesh and blood.

word count: 2.8k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: i know there's a real life viktor petrov. atomic heart is just weird and named characters after real life people

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The Zen Garden is nice, if a bit humid. Connor’s footsteps are quiet as he walks on the marble that paves the sprawling paths.

Again, that stone stares at him, the soft blue glow entrancing. And just like last time, Connor kneels and touches it. The thrum of energy he expected still shocks his system, and still causes him to take an unneeded, artificial breath. With one last glance over his shoulder, Connor walks away.

When Connor approaches the dock, Amanda is waiting on the water in a quaint little rowboat, an orange and white wagasa resting over her shoulder.

“Hello, Connor.” She smiles. “I thought you might enjoy a little cruise.”

Connor steps into the boat, then pushes it away from the dock. He takes the looms of the oars in his hands and pushes the blades through the water to propel them backward.

After a few moments of looking around, Amanda speaks. “I love this place. Everything is so calm and peaceful, far from the noise of the world.”

She turns to Connor. “Tell me, what have you discovered?”

“I found two deviants at the Eden Club.” Connor looks away, then back to Amanda, then away again, like a nervous dog. He wrings his hands in his lap. He’s not sure why he feels the need to. “I hoped to learn something, but… they managed to escape.”

“That’s too bad.” Amanda’s voice is laced with overly-obvious sympathy. “You seemed so close to stopping them.”

Connor takes the looms of the oars and pushes the blades through the water again instead of responding. Again, there’s that voice (yours – he’s sure it’s your voice) in between his lines of code that tells him to snap at her, to tell her to stop with her fake worry and honeyed words. 

“You seem… lost, Connor,” Amanda says. “Lost, and perturbed.”

Connor’s lips draw into a thin line. “I thought I knew what I had to do. But now I realize it’s not that simple.”

“You had your gun trained on those deviants at the Eden Club. The Officer even told you to grab the Lieutenant’s gun,” Amanda says. “Why didn’t you shoot?”

Connor looks down at where his hands rest in his lap. “I don’t know.” A deep pang of something shoots through his systems, and his eyes snap up to meet Amanda’s. “I don’t know.”

“If your investigation doesn’t make progress soon, I may have to replace you, Connor,” Amanda says, her tone cold and even.

“I understand,” Connor says softly. He can feel something within him twitch – an instability he’s confident will correct itself as time goes on.

The twitch pulls him to look to his left. In the surrounding trees, just barely on the treeline, is a little sapling Connor knows wasn’t there before. It’s silvery and wispy, and can’t be more than a foot in height. But trees shouldn’t be that color. And saplings are supposed to be covered in leaves because of their need to absorb as much sunlight as possible. This one is bare.

“Is something amiss, Connor?” Amanda asks.

“No,” Connor lies. He turns back to Amanda. “Just thinking. That’s all.”

Suddenly, a clap of thunder rolls across the sky even though the clouds above are thin and an orangey color. Amanda looks upwards, as does Connor.

“Something’s happening. Something serious.” Her eyes return to Connor. “Hurry, Connor. Time is running out.”

Your eyes snap open as you gasp, inhaling lumino-polymer. It floods into your lungs, causing the warm and pleasant feeling that comes with having another living being invade your system.

It doesn’t shock you that you’re here again – in your memories. Your mind loves putting you back in the Vavilov Complex, a place you frequented in your youth when you were able to feel solid ground beneath your feet. (Or, rather, above your head, as most of the complex is underground.)

The lumino-polymer that surrounds you is kept in a transitional state: a diffusion-sensitive, anaerobic-bacteria-friendly, translucent, and gluey liquid. The bacteria is suspended around you in little specks of glowing blue. 

You’re not sure which way is up, but you kick your feet to propel yourself towards the light. After a few moments, you break the surface and haul yourself out of the pool, settling on your knees by the edge. Lumino-polymer sloughs off you like you’re a shedding reptile – in one gross, voluminous heap that quickly settles back into the pool.

You put a hand on your chest and take a deep breath. Now, there’s nothing in your lungs but air. But memories and minds work in weird and inconsistent ways, right? So that’s to be somewhat expected.

Yet when you look up, the one thing that’s always consistent is still consistent – the PEC-4 Birchtree is still there. The symbol of the Vavilov Complex and the capstone of its research efforts stands tall in her five meter-diameter by ten meter-tall cylindrical capsule. 

She’s not the typical birch you’d usually think about. Her trunk is thin and silvery, and her leafless branches resemble a wispy mycelium complex rather than sturdy wood. They hang down, almost like weird, sinewy versions of the leaves of a weeping willow. She’s more angel than tree.

You look down and find a metal pail by your feet. It’s already been filled with lumino-polymer. You pick it up and start walking up the stairs. 

When you reach the top, the PEC-4 Birchtree is staring down at you without eyes. Her branches wave despite the lack of a wind to move them. You kneel before the capsule and press on the fuel inlet. As soon as it opens with a soft click, you pour the lumino-polymer in.

When it settles in her soil, the PEC-4 Birchtree almost seems to inhale inside her capsule. Her branches relax soon after.

“Что мне делать?” You ask softly. You look down at where your hands rest in your lap. “Я чувствую себя… потерянно. Действительно потерянно.”

Look at where you are, my child, she responds from within your mind. She doesn’t speak in English or Russian or any other human language – she sounds like the electrical impulses from within your own brain. You’ve escaped from situations more dangerous than this. Remember where you came from. Remember your parents and the reactors they worked in and Chelomey as a whole.

“Я знаю, но…” You bring a hand to your face, then look up at her. Your voice is quiet and quivering when you speak. “Мне страшно.”

You don’t need to be, she says. You can always rely on yourself. Memorize the cards in your hand. Know when to play them. Stack the deck if you need to. Real life plays dirty.

“Да… да, вы правы.” You stand and put a hand on the plexiglass of her capsule. “Спасибо.”

You start to turn to walk away, but are stopped by the PEC-4 Birchtree’s voice permeating your mind again. 

Please be careful, she says. They need you. Both of them. You can keep them on this Earth. Be vigilant. I love you. 

“Да, мэм,” you say softly. “Я тоже вас люблю. Спокойной ночи.”

You zone back in and register your surroundings. You’re in the android autopsy room. Your autopsy table is empty.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, then you breathe in deeply. No lumino-polymer in your lungs. Just air. No PEC-4 Birchtree here. Just you. 

A knock sounds at the door. You glance at the clock – it’s just past 6:30 in the morning. You stand and open the door.

Connor stands there, his blazer now clean. “Hello, Officer. I assume an adequate amount of time has passed for you to process the events of yesterday evening and early this morning?”

You step to the side, allowing Connor in. “Khm, yeah. I guess.”

Connor steps through and the door closes automatically behind him. He moves over and sits in the chair he was sitting in yesterday while you hop up on your autopsy table. (Internally, this only solidifies that chair as ‘Connor’s chair’ in your mind.)

“Why did you come here?” You ask. “I don’t really feel like reviewing case details right now.”

“I just came to talk, Officer,” Connor says. 

You pull your legs up onto the table and cross them. “You talk an awful lot. And about personal things, too.”

“I suppose I do.” He looks down at the ground, then back up at you. “When I was in the car, you were talking to Hank. What were you talking about?”

You sigh and your eyes fall to the floor. “His drinking problem. How he gets when he drinks. His suicidal tendencies. How I can’t spend a second without worrying about him.”

“Are you coping well?” Connor asks.

“Of course not.” You let out a humorless laugh. “I went back to my apartment, but I just… couldn’t sleep. So I came here.” You gesture vaguely around the room. “Work is a constant in my life. I like filing reports and organizing data and everything that comes with it. But recently… it’s gotten turbulent.”

Your jaw clenches. “And with everything that’s going on? All the deviants? They’ll find one way or another to pin it on the Soviets. Something like a breaking news article about how a spy put a bug in an American android’s code to cause them to deviate, and it spread.”

“You won’t be able to work on the case without a good coping mechanism,” Connor says. “I suggest you find one.”

You exhale sharply and look at him. He’s leaning forward with his hands folded together and his elbows on his knees.

“You sound like Chariton Zakharov,” you say, a smile creeping onto your face. “Well, kind of. Like the way he cared about science more than the wellbeing of his employees.”

Connor’s LED flickers for a moment. “The Head of the Neurobiology Department at the Pavlov Complex of Facility 3826?”

“Yeah, that one,” you say. You don’t have to ask him if he had to look up that information this time, because you know he did – nobody would know that off the top of their head. “I remember the letter he wrote to himself that Dmitry Sechenov found after he died. The one about how man himself isn’t corrupt, but his body.”

“I haven’t read that letter,” Connor says. “And I can’t find that information in my database.”

You hop off the table and start to rifle through the drawers of your desks. “Hold on. I have something here somewhere…”

“You have a lot of personal effects in the autopsy room, Officer,” Connor says. “May I ask why?”

“It’s basically my office,” you say. “I have an actual desk, but I’m rarely there.”

You open another drawer and find the book you were looking for: The Life, Death, Neuropolymer-Induced Transformation, and Secondary Death of Chariton Radeonovich Zakharov. “Aha! Here it is.”

You put the book on the table and flick through the many worn, scribbled-on sticky notes jutting out of the side. When you find the one you’re looking for, you open the book to the pages you stuck it on. The text is in Russian, but you translate it as you read aloud. “Okay, here. The letter reads:

“Vice is a physiological property. In the magnum opus of “opium for the people,” the Bible, this is well shown, if allegorically. Man has become depraved not by tasting the mystic fruit, but by becoming aware of himself. The body dictates our depravity. 

“We want to multiply, so there are rapists and perverts. If we want to eat, we steal money and food. We want to be pleased, and now we surround ourselves with stupid luxury. It is not man himself who is corrupt, but his limited, primitive shell, which needs food, sex, drugs, and care. 

“The radiance of pure reason, and it alone, can illuminate the path of humanity. Because a human being is not a body. It’s a way of thinking.”

You look up and close the book. “Do you agree with Zakharov?”

“Agree with him on what?” Connor asks. 

“That being human is not about having a human body, but thinking in the way a human does,” you say, then look away. “Actually, I guess that’s a redundant question. Because I’m asking you if you think deviants should exist.”

You meet Connor’s eyes again. “And you’ve been programmed to… exterminate them. Right?”

“Not exterminate,” Connor corrects. “I’ve been programmed to find the cause of deviancy and to help find a way to prevent it.”

“But you’re still a hunter,” you say. “And they’re your prey. No?”

Connor blinks. Once, twice. His LED flickers yellow and barely dips into red before turning back to yellow. “Yes. I am.”

“So you’re a regular Viktor Petrov.” You lean your hip against the table. “Not the Ukrainian one, but the Russian one. A man widely-regarded as a class traitor who’s just working for what he perceives as the greater good.”

“I’m not a man,” Connor says. “I’m just a machine.”

Your face falls and your stare hardens. “No, you’re not. I’m not saying that you’re not a machine – I’m saying that you’re not just a machine. You said it yourself. You can be whatever Hank and I want you to be. We’re Dmitry Sechenov, and you’re Major Sergey Nechayev.”

“How so?” Connor shifts in his seat. He can’t be that stupid – he knows exactly how.

“Nechayev devoted his life to the USSR. In return, he only earned isolation and numerous wounds – both physical and mental. Sechenov was the only one who treated Nechayev with basic kindness. And the Major folded like a cheap deck of cards.” You lean towards him with a hand braced on the table. “Sechenov took him in and molded him into his perfect pet soldier. All because Nechayev, in his vulnerable state, let himself be molded. Just like how you are.”

“I am not being molded,” Connor says. “I am an RK800 – a machine with a mission. I may have secondary missions, but tracking down deviants has always been my number one priority.”

“But you are,” you say. “You’re changing, whether you like it or not. Connor, when you were in my apartment… you laughed. Androids don’t laugh. Only deviants do.”

Connor stands, and you’re reminded of just how intimidating he can be. He moves over so that he’s standing just a yard away from you. (A faint flicker in your mind tells you that if he shot you right now, it’d be considered point blank. But you quickly dismiss it. Connor wouldn’t do that. Not to you. Right?)

“I laughed because I was mirroring the environment you created,” Connor says. “I was designed to work alongside humans. Humans mirror and are mirrored. I was just following my programming.”

You stand up straight and set your jaw as you look him in the eye. You’re searching for any kind of emotion, anything that looks like how Connor looked when he was with Bronislava. But no. There’s nothing. His eyes look dead – like prosthetics that can move.

“You don’t laugh when you’re with Hank,” you say softly. “Even when it’s an intimate environment, like the one in my apartment. He’s a riot. Why don’t you laugh?”

“It’s like you said,” Connor says. “Androids don’t laugh. Only deviants do. I know what I am, and what I am not. And I am not a deviant.”

“Leave.” You step back, turning to your autopsy table. You reach out and grab the book, then trace the embossed lettering with your thumb. 

You glance over your shoulder. Connor’s still standing there, just like early this morning by the Detroit River. 

“What’re you waiting for?” You grind out. You nod towards the exit. “There’s the door. As if you need to be told where it is!”

Connor’s jaw tenses, and he looks like he’s about to speak, but stays silent. 

“You’re disobeying a human.” You turn away from him and look forward. “You know that, right?”

“I’m allowed to disobey orders if they contradict my mission statement,” Connor says. “If I’ve been given contradicting instructions, I opt to execute whichever has highest priority.”

“You’re not a regular android,” you say softly. 

“Of course not,” he says. “I’m a prototype.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You turn to look at him. “You’re…”

You look up into Connor’s eyes again. They’re still dead pieces of plastic. No emotions. No mirror of your own. 

“You need to leave.”

“Officer –”

“Leave!” You bark. “Сейчас!”

Connor steps back. He almost looks… hurt. But you know better. You were taught better, by Connor himself. 

He turns and leaves. The door shuts behind him. You move over and sit in Connor’s chair, then let out a shaky sigh. You draw your legs up to your chest and curl in on yourself. 

“Боже, почему же всё так сложно…?”

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Burning Hearts Chapter 19

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) OC 

Summary: You’ve spent a year with Law and the Heart Pirates now. Law is still pressing to unlock the full capabilities of your devil fruit powers as a mythical loan type, but you’ve got other things on your mind. You’ve uncovered Law’s plan to kill Doflamingo, but you’ve resigned to stop him and accept the way things are meant to be. He needs you. Your heart lies half with Law, but half at home with the Straw Hats. 

+18 CONTENT! SMUT! MINORS BEGONE!

Taglist: @zoros-fourth-sword @cottoncandyloverrrr @airwolf92 @nothing-but-brass @tuskjohnny

WC: 4200 This should have been two chapters but idk I'm the author.

Burning Hearts Chapter 19: Finally

— — 

You couldn’t sleep that night. You had spent a year here with Law and his crew. How could you keep the secret that he was planning to abandon his own crew to take on Doflamingo alone? It was surely destined to fail… as strong as he was, you knew he was no match for the dangerous warlord. 

You tossed and turned until the sun rose and you threw the comforter off your body in defeat. You had to meet Law for training. You couldn’t let him know you knew about his plans… not yet. You didn’t know what to say. Do you try to convince him to stay? Do you tell the rest of the crew and have them join you in your efforts?

Law was so stubborn. He’s changed his mind less times than you could count on two hands. 

*knock knock*

You hopped out of bed and scurried to check the peephole in your door. It was Law. You suck in an anxious breath. 

You let him in. 

“Hi.” You say shyly as you close the door behind him. 

“Hi back.” He says with a slight smile. 

You try to return the smile but fail to look in his eyes. You backpedal a few feet and lean against the back of your bed. 

“So…. What’s up?” You ask as he stands awkwardly in your room. 

“I.. was wondering if you wanted to take the Tang out with me tomorrow night? Just us? Like… a date, maybe?” Law took a step towards you and placed a gentle, cold hand on your waist. 

“I… yeah sure.. should I pack anything?” You flinch involuntarily and he recoils his hand. You still haven’t made eye contact, keeping your eyes at Law’s chest level. 

“Probably just an overnight bag…” Law takes his free hand and tilts your chin up softly so you can meet his gaze. “You okay?” He asks. 

“Yeah, just didn’t sleep well.” You lie. “Makes me kind of jumpy, I guess.” You feign a laugh, obvious to both you and Law that it was artificial. 

“We don’t have to go out tomorrow, we can do it some other time-“

“No! It’s okay.” You respond quickly, not wanting to draw more attention to your distraction. “I have a bunch of work in the garden to get done. So I would have to skip training today in order to finish in time to go out tomorrow…” You couldn’t help but at least try to give yourself an out. You move over to your desk and start putting on your apron and grabbing your gardening tools. 

“That’s fine.… well I’m going to be gone tonight but I’ll have the snail if you need me. I’ll pick you up tomorrow when the sun’s down, I should be back by then.” Law tries to push past your skeptical tone. 

“Where are you going.” You state firmly, finally make eye contact with Law and you stop shuffling through your gardening gear. You straighten your back and look deep into his grey eyes. 

“I have a meeting.” Law swallows. “World government stuff.” Law’s eyes flick to the floor, to the east wall of your room, then back to your harsh gaze. 

“Hmm.” You huff. Should you bring it up now? What was even the point? He’d never abandon his plan for you, so you probably shouldn’t bother. He was trying to be sweet… ask you out for a late night submarine trip alone… but he was still lying to you. You could tell. 

Love had been clouding your judgement- no, lust? It wasn’t love. You barely knew him, you were realizing now. Lust had been blinding you to the fact that Law only cared about his own goal. A man that cared about you wouldn’t haul his ass to a foreign country to let himself get brutally murdered after abandoning his lover and his loyal crew… you knew that much. 

There was an uncomfortable silence. 

A dry, choking feeling crept up your throat. You couldn’t show him that you knew.. he couldn’t know that you were upset… not yet. You sniffed, swiped your face with your hand to fake an innocent runny nose. 

“Right well, see you tomorrow then. I have to get to work. Have fun at your meeting.” You usher Law out of your room and close the door behind the two of you. You start walking quickly down the hall with your gardening tools in your arms before he could notice the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Yeah. Tomorrow, then.” Law mumbles as you walk away. 

But unbeknownst to you, of course Law had seen the tears.

— —  

You toiled away all day in the garden. Winter was here but you still had potatoes and winter melons to tend to along with the hardy evergreen plants. You threw yourself into your work to take your mind off of Law. Things had been so good until you discovered his plans to invade Dressrosa and the finality of your ‘relationship’ had become so real in your mind. 

The outdoor plants were fed and happy so you retreated to the shed where your prized plants were kept warm against the elements with heat lamps and hydroponic irrigation (a complicated system that Penguin had helped you set up). 

You spend the next hour or so trimming your marijuana plants and didn’t notice the sun setting outside the frost covered greenhouse windows. You reach inside your jumpsuit pocket and retrieve your rolling papers. 

You sigh and slide down against the shed’s wooden wall in a damp corner of your makeshift greenhouse. You roll yourself a joint as carefully as possibly with shaking, anxious hands. 

With trembling hands, you placed the joint between your chapped lips and fished out your butane lighter. You looked down and ran your thumb over the lighter’s gold engravings, and smiled weakly remembering the thoughtful crew mate who had gifted it to you years ago now. 

You push down the pangs of remembrance and light the joint. You take a long drag and let your head fall back against the wall. 

You exhale and catch yourself letting out a sob. You bring your hand to cover your nose and mouth, trying to keep it all in. Tears stream down your cheeks and slip over your fingers like water in a creek after a heavy rain. 

The door creaked open. 

“Hey… D? Are you in here? People are eating dinner and wondering where you are…” Ikkaku’s voice comes from the doorway. 

*sniff*

Ikkaku scans the shed and finds you clutching your knees to your chest in the corner, obviously crying. 

“Oh, honey…” Ikkaku’s curly hair bounces behind her as she rushes over to you and squats down next to your huddled form. “What’s wrong?” She reaches out to push your grey streak of hair out of your eyes gently. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” You manage to choke out after removing your hand from your mouth. You lean into Ikkaku’s chest and sob harder. She pulls you close into her arms. 

“It’s okay… let it out…” 

Ikkaku lets you cry violently into her body for several minutes until she finally pulls you back and wipes snot from your nose with the off-white sleeve of her jumpsuit. 

“Now what did he do this time? I thought he was taking you out tomorrow night?” 

“I-I can’t go.. it’s too much.. I’m leaving soon….” You whisper between sniffles. 

“Soon? In a year?” She cocks her head and asks. 

You nod. 

“Baby that’s then, this is now. Love has never had a place in the New World. It’s the shitty nature of it all. You’re going to have to make a choice. Do you want to just be happy for a year and then miserable forever, or miserable forever starting now?” Ikkaku tries to dry your cheeks the best she can with one hand as she strokes your back with the other. 

You cry harder at the thought of making that choice. 

“Just go with him. If he’s asking you to go, it’s because he needs you.”

You look up through wet eyelashes at your friend and weakly nod. 

“T-thank you…” 

“Any time. Now finish up in here and I’ll bring dinner to your room. I don’t need all those nosy ass boys gossiping about why you’re upset.” 

— — 

The Next Day…

You leaned with your forehead against the steamy shower tile fore awhile. Ikkaku’s words rang in your ears. “Do you want to be happy for a year and then miserable forever, or miserable forever starting now?” 

All you wanted more than anything in the world was to give yourself fully to Law, body and mind… but you couldn’t stop that gnawing feeling in your gut about the heartbreak you’ll inevitably receive hearing about his death. You had to push it aside as much as you knew it would hurt one day. But Ikkaku was right, you would regret it for the rest of your life if you didn’t see how far this could go. 

With a sigh you finished shaving your legs and trimming everything else, washed off the remaining body wash and turned off the scalding water. Steam radiated off your damp skin as you stepped out of the shower stall. 

You dried off and applied your favorite vanilla cashmere lotion all over your freshly smooth skin. As apprehensive as you were… he did refer to it as a date after all…

You got dressed in something cozy, not wanting to doll up too much due to the cold, and packed a small bag of overnight essentials. You tossed in your hair brush, tooth brush, fresh underwear and leggings, and an ornate cigarette case full of rolled joints and your butane lighter. 

You wave bye to Ikkaku and Penguin on your way out, Ikkaku giving you a sympathetic, comforting smile. 

You push open the heavy metal door to the base and pull the hood of your sweatshirt up to keep the brisk air from nipping at your ears. You could easily fly to where Law asked you to meet him and be there in a quarter of the time, but for your mind was telling you to walk. You trudged through the frozen field to the dock and cleared your head with each fall of your boots. 

— — 

Eventually you made it to the dock where indeed the large yellow submarine was anchored and waiting for you. You flitted up to the top deck and let yourself in the door. You slinked through the metal corridors of the ship and ended up at the control room. 

You knock twice but open the door immediately, feeling anxious. 

Law was standing with his back to you the same clothes he was wearing when he left. He turned upon hearing you open the door. He drops his hands from the wheel of the ship and stepped towards you. 

“Hey..” He sighs out softly as he starts to smile tiredly. You see that the bags under his eyes were even darker than usual. He looked exhausted. Law lifted his arms weakly towards you. You instinctively throw yourself into his embrace. One hand wrapped around your torso tightly while the other immediately went to grip the back of your head to pull you closely into him. You could tell how much he really did need you right now. 

Oh gods! You were so selfish! All you were worried about was your own inevitable heartbreak that you didn’t even think about how taxing this whole thing would be on Law. Bringing up so much past trauma and so many bad memories compounded with the thoughts of his own mortality… you almost teared up at the idea of him struggling with his feelings alone. 

“Missed you…” Law mumbled into your neck after giving it a quick kiss and a nuzzle. 

“Gods… must have been some meeting… you look like shit…” You say softly, still caught in his tight embrace. Law chuckles. 

“You could have said something like ‘I missed you too.’”

“I know I could have. I said what I said.” You smiled as you pulled back so you could look at his tired face. You cup his cheek gently. “Let’s just get out of here.” 

— — 

You look curiously at the abyssal ocean out of the Tang’s front windows as Law had been piloting the ship for some minutes now. Occasionally you see a fish or eel skittering out of the way in the dim blue light coming from the submarine’s windows illuminating the surrounding water. 

“So where exactly are we going?” You asked without turning away from the bay windows. 

“Nowhere.” Law responds before you hear different knobs and switches being turned and flipped behind you. 

“I beg your finest pardon?” You ask as you turn towards Law and rise to your feet. 

Law steps toward you and brushes your hair over your ear before kissing you gently. 

“I’m tired of everything getting in the way. No one can bother us out here.” Law leans back in to kiss your lips more firmly this time. You put your hands on his chest. 

“So you’re planning on wooing me at the bottom of the ocean?” You cock your head. 

“At this point it seemed like the only option… that or maybe the moon…” Law leans in again but this time kisses your jaw and down your neck. You huff out a laugh.

“And who is going to be piloting the ship while you’re indisposed?” You ask.

“It’s on auto-pilot, obviously.” Law remarks as he runs his hand through your hair. 

“Okay okay lover boy, you need to go clean up and change first.” You pull yourself from his grasp.

Law rolled his eyes. “No no, come on, off you go.” You turn him by his shoulder and push him towards the door to the hallway. “I’ll wait in your room, I promise.” You smile softly as you both enter the ship’s main hall. You playfully push him off to the bathroom and you turn to your right and enter the captain’s quarters. 

The captain’s chambers on the tang were a mirror image to his bedroom at the base. A rough hewn wooden desk was surrounded by bookshelves along the walls, the surface of the desk messily covered in papers. On the opposite side of the bedroom was a queen sized bed fitted with navy sheets and a quilt, made with surgical poison. The only difference from Law’s room at the base was the large windows that allowed for a fine surveillance of the ocean floor on the starboard side of the ship. 

You slipped off your sweatshirt over your head and dropped it to the floor. In just your sports bra and leggings, you flop onto Law’s bed on your stomach and gaze at the sea life floating around the windows. You notice a family of seahorses in a row frolicking across the sea floor and smile. So cute the little ones were as they followed their father in a neat row… You rolled onto your back and grabbed your cigarette case out of your pocket. 

You curled your feet up onto the bed and lit a joint. You laid back fully on the bed and watched the fish swim past as you smoked. You had no idea how much time passed, but you were down to half your marijuana cigarette. The door to the bedroom swings open. 

“I had a feeling you’d be doing that.” Law comes in with jeans hung low on his wait and ruffles a white towel through his wet hair before throwing it towards his desk. 

“A submarine ride is far more enjoyable under the influence, I’ve learned.” You smile and sit up and cross your legs. 

Law smirks. “I can’t argue with that.” Law walks towards his desk. He pulls out a drawer and roots around for a moment before fishing out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He sets them on his desk and uncorks the whiskey. He pours two hefty glasses before bringing them over to you on his bed. He hands you one. 

“Is this technically sailing while under the influence?” You remark as you take the glass from Law’s outstretched hand. 

“I’ve violated several world government laws in the last few hours… I don’t think this one matters that much.” Law clinks his glass with yours. 

You outstretch your hand that contained the half joint. “A little? One puff?” You goad Law. 

“After what happened last time and I thought I had to switch my breathing from automatic to manual?” Law raises an eyebrow. 

“That was over 100 milligrams of straight herb, this is just a hit. I promise you’ll be fine.” You gesture the lit joint towards Law again. 

Law rolls his eyes and takes the joint form your soft fingertips. He inhales and passes it back to you.

“Wow, if you could see yourself a year ago…” You chuckle. Law exhales a large cloud of smoke and takes a swig of his whiskey. 

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.” You playfully retort and take a sip of your drink. It burns your throat but it helps you push the feelings of anxiety aside. For tonight it would just be you and Law. 

Silence goes by again and you snuff out the joint. 

“Daisy… I need to tell you something…” Law says as he turns his body fully towards you, his eyes still on the rocks glass in his hand. 

“Oh?” You inquire… knowing he’s going to tell you of his plan to kill Doflamingo and you were going to have to act surprised, how the hell were you supposed to-

“I love you.” 

The world stopped. You pick up your head and look at Law in the eye, suddenly incredibly sober. What did he say?

“W-what-“ You manage to get out, but it sounded more like a cough. 

“I love you, Daisy. I-I don’t know how else to tell you how I feel I just.. you don’t have to say anything back, I just-“ Law stutters out after seeing your shocked expression. He shuffles closer to you on the bed and places his hand on your cheek. You weren’t even remotely prepared to hear that phrase from Law’s lips… shit, anyone’s lips, as long as you were alive. He was being foolish… he couldn’t possibly mean it..

“Love me enough to stay away from Dressrosa?” You spit out without thinking. 

Law’s tender hand recoils from your face. 

“W-wha-“ 

You grab his hand and return it to your cheek. 

“I know I can’t convince you to stay… I just want you to stop hiding it from me…” You say as you nuzzle your blush-tinted nose into the warlord’s cold palm. 

“Y-you know…” Law whispers.

“I do. I don’t want to talk about it right now. We have a long time, don’t we?” You smile and press a kiss against Law’s lips. 

“W-we do… Daisy I… I do love you… I don’t know what else to say… I’m sorry…” Law says as he presses his forehead against yours and paws at your hips. You could almost swear you saw a wet twinkling in his eyes. 

“I love you too, Law.” You say softly up at him, unsure of the words even as they left your lips… but they felt so natural. It felt foreign. You bring your fingertips up to your lips to try and even believe that you said it out loud.

You lay back against the pillows and pull Law on top of you with your arms around his shoulders. “I want you, Law.” 

Law flops a bit clumsily on top of you. 

“A-are you sure?” He asks. 

“Yes.” You say confidently. “Please make love to me.” You grasp his hat and toss if off to the side of the bed before pulling him into a searing kiss. Law returns the kiss by slipping his hot tongue into your eager mouth and letting your head fall fully against the pillow behind you. 

Law kisses down your jaw as he pushes his hands under your torso to remove your bra. Once discarded, he pulls down your leggings and leaves them on the floor with the rest of your clothes, leaving you fully exposed. 

Law leans back and sucks in a breath as he sees your naked form before him. He freezes in place. 

“And you?” You chide as you pull at the button of his jeans. 

Law snaps out of his trance. 

“R-right.” Law undoes his pants and pulls them down swiftly along with his briefs so that you could both finally see each other bare. He approaches you again on the bed and strokes your thigh, not looking you in the eyes. 

“Wow…” You couldn’t help but remark. 

“I-it’s alright?” Law asks nervously. 

“It’s more than alright.” You couldn’t help but chuckle as Law’s impressively large member bobbed eagerly in front of you. You swallowed at the thought of that fitting inside of you… not having anything bigger than a single finger for several years. “I-I just might need a little help…” You smile and grab at Law’s wrist. You bring his trembling hand to your sex, encouraging him to touch you further. 

“Right… of course…” Law returns to his analytical self as he begins to stroke up and down your naked slit with two fingers, warming you up to his intimate touch. You shudder a bit at his cold hands, but you warm to them quickly as you feel Law’s tender touch grip your breast with his other hand. After a few moments of rubbing through your wet folds, Law inserts his fingers inside of you with precision, like he had been preparing for this very moment. 

“Oh!” You gasp out. 

Law pinches your nipple in one hand while he gently taps into your sweet spot with the other. He stretches your walls delicately and gently while he slowly coaxes more wetness from your insides with his fingers. 

“Shit, Law-“ You groan in pleasure and grip Law by the hair on the back of his neck with both hands, bringing his head close to you. He grunts and begins to place messy kisses down the column of your throat. “F-faster… honey please…” You beg as you buck your hips into Law’s precise touch. Law obliges and pulls his fingers into your g-spot firmly and quickly, you feel the pressure of your orgasm built faster than you were anticipated. 

“Law, I’m- I’m-Fuck-“ You cry out as you reach your peak. 

“Yes, give it to me…” Law presses his face into yours and captures your lips in a needy kiss as you release all over his waiting palm. Chilly doctors fingers finally warmed by your insides, he pulls himself from you slowly. You breath heavily as you come down from your high, giggling slightly as you relax your head on the pillows of Law’s bed. 

“Good , b-baby?” Law awkwardly asks, realizing he’s going to now be asked to perform for the main event. 

“Yes… but I want you now. Please…” You grab further down Law’s back trying to pull him up over you fully. He shifts in compliance with your touch so your hips are aligned. “I can take it…” You whisper as you sign Law’s weeping cock up with your entrance. You couldn’t believe this was really happening… but you knew this was what you wanted…

“Y-your legs are shaking… are you sure? We don’t have-“ Law stutters out as he unconsciously rubs his head against your soaked pussy. 

“I want this. I want you.” You assure him. “Just do it.” 

Law nods. 

He pushes into you fully to the hilt in one swift motion. 

“Ahhh-“ Law groans the instant he feels your wet walls wrapped around him. 

“Fuck-“ You cry out, not fully physically or mentally prepared to have a man inside of you or on top of you again, regardless of who it was. You slam your eyes shut and your body goes rigid. Law senses your change in demeanor. 

“O-open your eyes. It’s just me.” Law whispers down at you as he supports himself on his arms above you. “It’s just us…” 

You open your eyes. 

Seeing Law gaze at you with such adoration and lust, all insecurities and past anxieties melted away in his ice crew eyes. You bring up your hand and cup Law’s jaw. 

“I love you, Law…” You whisper. 

“I love you too, Daisy.” Law replies as he gently pulls himself out of you and begins to tentatively thrust his hips. “So much…” His eyes move from your mismatched ones to where his cock was settled inside of you. “Shit-“ 

“Oh, fuck, Law…” You moan at the feeling of his thick length sliding in and out of your tender walls.

“I-I can’t last…” Law stutters out, embarrassed. 

“That’s okay…” You reassure your anxious lover and stroke his back. 

“Fuck!” Law quickly removes himself from you and you gasp at the sudden absence of sensation. You crane your neck down and see that Law gas empties himself all over your stomach, ropes of cum shooting so far that it decorated the underside of your breasts. 

Law collapses on top of you, sandwiching his own spend between the two of you but not caring enough to move. Law rolls out of you, pulling you into his chest without cleaning of either of your messes. 

You laid in his embrace for a long time, just enjoying the feeling of his sharp breaths and sweaty skin against yours. This man loved you, and you loved him… and so it shall be… until the end of things…

— — 

*A/N* WOOOO THEY DID IT! 19 CHAPTERS LATER!!! THANKS FOR STAYING ALONG FOR THE RIDE YALL! It’s gonna get angsty in the next chapter ugh I’m sorry guys… but enjoy the sexy time and the fun while we’re here! I promise there will be better smut in the future this was just their cutie pie first time :)

[thesharktanksdriver]

Omg I’m having so many thoughts about the newer stuff of one piece.

These are all jumbled thoughts I came up with recently so it’s unstructured and probably doesn’t make any sense but fuck it

Masterlist for Determiation!

Spoilers for egghead

Determination! Y/n and the seraphim’s would be so god damn interesting like yall won’t believe the sheer amount of ideas running through my head.

Like y/n accidentally running into the Seraphim’s in Egghead after getting separated from the straw hats and absolutely going still when they see S-String(I shall call him that since they’d yet to reveal his designation) and absolutely going into a blind haze where they apologize to him not realizing he’s not Doffy (or at least the Doffy that they feel like they failed).

And it’s there that their dragged to meet the other Seraphim’s

Maybe it was programmed into them to find and retrieve y/n, maybe even protect them.

So the young lunarian children linger by y/n’s side and naturally become curious. Because how can they not be? Especially when all their lives so far had been carried out in a lab, born from artificial wombs that fashioned them of DNA stolen from various people and a species long dead and forgotten.

How can they not be curious when this person they were ordered to retrieve and protect knew of who they were cloned of. Knew more about them than they did themselves outside their programming.

So the children ask questions and they learn

Maybe S-Snake asks about her “mother”, being the only girl had always been a bit lonely for her even when her “brothers” had done their best to make sure she knows she’s accepted. So she wonders about Boa, and how she had come from an island full of women. What was that like? Would they still brush her hair like S-Bear does? Or pat her head for doing a good job like S-Shark did?. She asks about if she was as pretty as Boa, if she was good enough for her “mother” if they ever would meet, a bit of insecurity for the first time curling up in her stomach before y/n says that Boa would love her no matter what, accept her no matter what. Because Boa would never turn down a woman in need, let alone a little girl that was imprisoned such as she was. In that sense she finds a comfort in you, especially as you indulge in things her brothers would usually sigh at but agree to anyways. Without a hassle you let her do little shows where she shows off her fire or make small drawings with the limited art supplies they have. When S-Snake draws you with her and the other Seraphim your heart squeezes ever so slightly.

Maybe S-Hawk has y/n teach him the techniques that Mihawk had taught them when on his island. In a sense he’s curious of his “father” but hides it away as he’d rather die than openly admit the gnawing questions in his mind. When y/n lets him use the blade gifted by Mihawk he can’t help but instinctively rub his thumb over the hilt where the greatest swordsman initials lay carved, a smile also instinctively crawling up the clones face. When his “siblings” become too much and he wants peace and quiet y/n lingers by his side, a silent company that he appreciates as memories not of his own of similar occasions plague his mind. He usually doesn’t enjoy these influx of memories but these ones are peaceful, not filled in bloodshed but instead of a small garden full of ripe fruits he doesn’t know the names of as well as the times in which he narrowly helps them escape an accidental death that may or may not leave S-Hawk on his toes and leads to his presence lingering by your side.

S-Shark notices that y/n seems the most comfortable with him though he knows it makes sense since they’re apart of the crew his progenitor joined. He doesn’t know how to feel about Jinbe, but he does retain a certain sense of respect for him even before he learns more about the fishman and how much he fought for his people. Much like the others he has a sense of curiosity of the world but his is specifically towards the sea, moreso a place where gilled people and pretty women with fish tails lived. That placed seemed so different compared to egghead, more lively and colourful in a way he can’t describe. He cherishes those memories no matter how hazy and unfocused they are, so seeing y/n show him the brightly coloured shells and small bits of coral really make his day. S-Shark knows he can’t go in the ocean on account of the green blood he possesses but he can’t help but wonder. Y/n occasionally clings to him in a way that feels natural, and it’s almost second nature that when this happens he lets them do so without complaint.

S-Bear even before using his ability feels pin roll off you in waves he couldn’t quite comprehend, as if your small body similar to their own could not contain the amount of emotional and physical agony, it cracks and spills from the seems of you that have been restitched and reattached like a doll. It’s scary, but somehow the most terrifying thing is that you retain a smile despite it all. It doesn’t affect you outwardly and maybe even inwardly at most times but it’s there and it lingers around you like an ever-present rain cloud about to burst into a storm. It saddens him, and it reminds him of memories of a pink haired girl he cannot place the name of. Too young to experience such heartache and at the same time her eyes are old and withered from everything that had happened. A child who acts older than their real age because they have to, not because they want to.

S-String notices that there’s a certain kind of Resigned sadness and almost a sense of hope with y/n’a eyes, yet they can never look at him fully without flinching. It confuses him, especially since despite that they treat him with such kindness even when he purposefully acts out or teases the others or them. S-String does not get as many memories compared to the others, most of which are locked away and repressed for some reason but what he does somewhat remember from his “father” is blissful moments of childhood with a boy he cannot name and y/n. This leaves him more confused, these were happy memories yet why do they look at him (and by extension his “father” with such sadness?). So at some point he asks And it’s there that S-String comes to dislike the man that made up his genetic makeup. Because for as much as the others got on his nerves sometimes S-Flamingo loved his “family”, loved his “Sister” and “Brothers” more than he’d like to admit. So hearing that the man he was cloned after harmed his family, and harmed the only person in their lives that had shown him and his siblings any sense of normalcy struck him. That man is the reason why they can’t properly look him in the eye both out of fear and a sense of failure, that man is a reason for their overwhelming pain that night even S-Bear cant comprehend, that man is the reason they broke down when they first saw him and kept apologizing for failing him. S-Stribg isn’t sure as to what happened to you and his predecessor but S-String knows you had not failed him nor his siblings, and he has a feeling you hadn’t failed Doflaimgo but rather he failed you.

S-Sand feels towards y/n a more than ordinary sense of curiosity that plagues his mind. Something he feels is a lingering emotion from his progenitor as he quietly watches and listens to you. It’s odd to him the flippant attitude towards death, something he’s pondered about as the dried out bodies of those who tried to enter egghead lay on the ground. He understands that your immortal, death isn’t much of a good deal to you yet you regard it in such a way that it bothers him. Why do you not seem to care when you tell a story of being ripped from limb to limb or left to bleed out. Surely that’s not something that was fun to experience let alone all the other instances in which you’d died via starvation on the sea or dehydration. Those things hurt, and in that regard you must be hurting all the time if not physically then mentally. Because of that like Mihawk he lingers, first due to curiosity and then out of a certain protectiveness that feel much less like programming and real. When on a mission they feel nothing, more in an empty minded state rather than truly conscious. They don’t feel fear let alone worry but for you he does, and he’s slowly seeing the others feel it too.

S-shadow just finds y/n to be cool’s ngl lol (I don’t know much about Moria so I don’t know how to write for him let alone his seraphim)

Maybe at some point y/n promises them that they’ll one day be free of orders that circulate in their heads

Free to use their wings in a real sky that’s not simulated

And maybe the Seraphim feel a spark of something at those words in their souls

The young lunarian children never thought that they had souls, had the to privilege to posses one when they were clones with no free will, remakes of others who were real people and could make decisions themselves.

But suddenly they find the words of a promise resonate within them, staying there in Suddenly full chests that should just have had it echo due to their emptiness. But the promise stays

And they silently dream of that promise

A place where they could be free

A place where they weren’t poked and prodded at

A place where they could call each other by “brother” and “sister” in full confidence

A place where they may choose their own names

A place where they could experience this idea of “family” that they often pondered about from memories not their own

A place where y/n would teach them all they’d need to know about the world before they’d one day take it by storm

A place where they’d make safe for both themselves and the person they found wanting to protect even without the orders issued by the pacifista

[biteofcherry]

I honestly think there needs to be a Ruby emoji!!!

I am too wrapped in the Ruby garden universe!!!

Anything special our couples are up to right now? Prospering?

Right?! I'm outraged there's no ruby emoji, seriously 😒

Aside from me attempting to very slowly write a proper intro story for each of the couples, they're generally having lots of fun, teasing, hotness and development (at least in my brain they do 😂).

Valentine's are approaching and I'm sure there's going to be a lot of proper, loving celebrations 😏 Lloyd may use a red colored leather whip on his Pumpkin and then feed her the most delicious chocolates. Ari already put heart-shaped red sparkles on Cherie before, but he may amp it up with additional crystals dangling on her sensitive parts (and maybe a heart-shaped ring gag). Steve will undoubtedly be very romantic and have Darling receive all of his very thorough, intense appreciation (even when she cries she can't take it anymore). Nick is going to draw pretty hearts on Bonbon; with red wax. Andy may have gotten a crop ended with a heart-shaped paddle with which he's going to warm Birdie's ass. And why not go classic for Valentines with roses and champagne? Only the roses are arranged in a artificial maze that Fawn is forced to run through and when Bucky and Curtis catch her, they're going to enjoy that champagne in most wicked ways (that include Fawn's body and mouth).

[the-wintershade]

midnight blossoms

pairing: jack russell x reader summary: it’s been a hundred years since you’d last seen Jack, and the power of the memories won’t leave you. but returning to the place where it all started has a way of bringing him right back to you where he’s always belonged. wc: 3.6k+ (mhmm, there’s plot to this one) genre: ANGSTY, comfort, soft!Jack because he is a teddy bear, immortality angst, sweet reunion bliss a/n: thank you so much for the request anon! this was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoy it, and it fits what you were looking for!

The forest looked different from all those years ago. 

Moonlight filtered through the tree branches same as before, but there was something missing in its glow. Maybe it was the spacing of the branches, twisted and maimed by time. Maybe it was the lack of magic in the air when you’d been here around three hundred years ago. 

You could feel the sleepiness in the earth now. There used to be a greater buzz, more energy to draw from when you’d create little balls of fire for your campfires. The groups of supernaturals back then could be from fifty to one hundred. 

Now, it was hard to find anyone that lived nearby that’d seen as many forests flattened to marshes and flimsy wooden buildings charred to nothing. There were many places that claimed to be a part of the “moon folk,” but their potions were cheap and murky and ambiguous words taken from fortune cookies.

You knew as much as the next supernatural that you didn’t need herbs and glowing juices to do what you did. All you needed was the energy of the earth, cultivated by the loving and respectful actions of others. Emotional content lived on in the soil. When soil turned into particles of air, the air then carried the emotions too.

That was the most powerful stuff, and that was why it was dying out. People don’t care like they used to.

The wind picked up, snapping through your hair and stinging against the collar of your jacket. You huddled into your outerwear further, squinting through frost-induced tears. 

As you leaned forward in your steps, it was as if you could almost see that fire burning again, the gathering place of old friends, some new to time’s gentle embrace and some frozen to its growing incessant staleness. Their laughs pierced through the gale, the glints of their teeth twinkling like stars.

The memory dissolved as you approached the spot of your nightly meetings, a turquoise orb of moon-generated light emanating from your palm suffused the trees around you. The only thing left of this meeting place was the cream-colored flower of the moonflower.

About one hundred years ago, once the meetings had become more regular, a couple of members thought it’d be funny to make a garden, an arrangement of fauna that didn’t sprout until the group gathered with life. Some laughed, but others, you, and a special werewolf named Jack decided it would be fitting.

A garden of midnight life. 

And so it came to be.

A new flower was planted each time a member joined and flowers were removed for those who the group had lost. Jack made sure to add one when Ned joined much later in the group’s history. 

There were ten flowers then.

There was only one flower now; the only one cared for by you.

Crouching down, you brushed your fingers along its soft, silky petals, a caress of greeting. You felt the blossom hum against your finger in response. A sweet smile curved the side of your lips.

It was too cold for the flowers now, so you had to take some liberties with its environment. You made sure to come back to cast artificial warmth around the gentle plant. To the moonflower, it was always exactly sixty-five degrees.

Your smile lingered as you watered and nurtured the soil around it, pulling from the caring energy that strengthened each time you returned. But you weren’t just smiling from the emotions left behind, there was a special story about this plant.

You and Jack had planted this together. You wanted to place yours near the back, symbolizing your protection over the group. It was true after all. You did always light the fires, waiting for people to gather and creating a cocoon of warmth around everyone. Their joy only strengthened the atmospheric dome.

But Jack stopped you with a worried and soft look. “Oh no, you can’t leave that there. You must be in the middle.”

Your answering laugh was light and confused. You and Jack were friends, but since when would he care where you placed your blossom? “Jack, please. It’s where I want it to be.”

He huffed, teasingly rolling his eyes. “Come,” he bent down to pull you off the ground, gently firm hands holding the back of your elbow. “Let us place your blossom where it truly deserves.”

Your heart soften then, and once again when he kept you close to his body, ushering you along. It felt like you were being put on display as members smiled and smirked at each other as the two of you passed. You’d noticed their subtly knowing eyes for days but rarely did it think it had anything to do with you.

Their words drifted over, ghosts of more meaningful conversations. 

“Making a move, huh?”

“About time.”

“I knew it! All it took was a flower and…”

An excited rumbling drifted over. You knew it was Ted. Of course, he would have something to say. He loved teasing the two of you about the way you always paired off to go get things together. It wasn’t your fault that the two of you enjoyed each other's company.

In your procession to the front, among stares of warm, familial eyes, you glanced back at Jack once. His eyes were the brightest you’ve seen them. While you shied away, he was glowing, smiling and nodding at everyone as you passed.

Then his eyes drifted to yours. Something in you melted at his softhearted gaze. His bright orbs relaxed into something warmer, that reminded you of the sugary coffee he loved so much. 

He stopped you before you had the chance to look away, looking down at the ground in front of you. He’d led you to the front as he’d promised. He looked up at you with an adoring smile. “Here. Perfect.”

You forgot to breathe, trying to think of what to answer. His light laughs tickled the side of your stomach that pressed into his torso. He softly pulled you down to the ground with him as he placed his flower away to help you with yours.

His hands skimmed over yours as he helped you plant it. You tried to ignore it for the sake of your sanity, but then the bumps and affectionate grazes happened, again and again, fingers tangled together and backs of hands tickled and rubbed.

When you were done, both of your cheeks were a rosy, blushing collage. It was perfect. Claps from those around you, seeing what you had missed the last half a century, filled the air, but you were too lost in Jack to notice.

It was then that everything started. The dates, the warm belly laughs, the private moonlight meetings by a pond nearby. You lived together, loved together, and spent all that time with one another. And the two of you, happily insusceptible to time’s wear and tear on the body, took your time to enjoy what you had with one another.

And then, only a decade into bliss, the town’s people finally found your group’s meeting spot. Laughter morphed into screams, pacts of nonviolence shredded to pieces, and soon there were too many flowers that would need to be ripped up to reflect all the people you’d lost.

You, Jack, and Ted formed a circle, each person fanning out to try to minimize the damage as much as possible. Fires, both from you and Ted and the townsfolk, flickered through the trees, singeing bark and people. Jack’s growls were fierce and furious. Ted incinerated people without so much as a blink. You hurled fire and electricity at people’s heads.

You were all scared and overwhelmed, and eventually, the townspeople overwhelmed you all. Jack cried out. A bullet tore through his chest. You raced to give cover, and Ted followed, but by the shakiness in your arms and the growing wave of people coming, there could be no hope of all three of you getting out alive together. 

You’d need to split up. You and Ted had already talked about Jack’s safety before, but since Ted was stronger and you were weak and drained, he would be the one to stay with him. You’d find another way out. You could move faster on your own.

But the procedure didn’t chase away the feeling that you might never see them again, and how little time you had to prepare for that. But you did have enough time to say your goodbyes.

So, you looked at Ted and nodded in silent farewell. His frown matched your own as a glistening tear lit by the orange fires trailed down your cheek. “I’ll miss you, Ted. Take care of yourself.”

His groan sounded more like an anguished and desperate cry. You felt a similar rush of pain well up in your throat.

Ted started to work on fending off the townspeople as best as he could. Their screams disguised your movements as you ran over to Jack. His face, a dense outline of hair in his werewolf state, contorted as he writhed. He folded his body around his abdomen and fresh wound. 

Jack was good at healing. You’d found that out after he’d accidentally cut his thumb and he’d healed within about five minutes, but a bullet hole was much worse than a simple cut. It would take too long for him to stay here and try to rest up.

“Jack, baby,” you reached out and smoothed some of the hair out of his face. He flinched, evading your touch, but calmed once he recognized your scent. You’d worked together over the years, practicing when he was in his werewolf state so he’d be able to remember who you were in his shifts. It paid off now. “Ted’s going to take you away from here, alright?”

His eyes, locked on your face, twisted in confusion. He pressed further against your hand as if sensing that you were going to leave him. “You have to go, darling.” You tried smiling through the lump in your throat, but the cracks in your voice gave away how much this was hurting you. “I love you.”

He stilled at your words, frowning. Tears welled up in his eyes. Whatever you were saying must have been getting through to him. He reached up to you, careful not to press his claws against your face as he pressed his large, strong shaking hand to your cheek. 

He tapped your cheek three times. It was a way the two of you could communicate when he couldn’t quite use words. 

I love you.

Ted’s thunderous footsteps came nearer, but the two of you stayed there, trying to memorize each other’s faces so that time wouldn’t dissolve your features in both of your memories. And then Ted, with one last whining, sad grunt in your direction, picked up Jack and bounded away.

The townspeople were closing too fast to watch them run away, but you could hear Jack’s cry far after you’d hidden further into the woods.

And now, here you were, minus the moon folk, minus your friends, and minus Jack. You were the last known member of a family lost to time. 

You always came here, every anniversary of the time the meetings started almost 225 years ago, to honor those that were and those that might still be. Because the stories of the moon folk became so popular nearby, it was safer to dig all of the flowers up, to keep people unaware of who might still be alive to hunt. 

But you couldn’t forget the fact that you truly didn’t know how many survived. The only person you knew for sure of to this day was yourself. So you kept the moonflower planted, exactly where it was. 

The plant was hurt in the ambush, half bent and weakly tied to its stem. In the five days you waited to return after, it somehow still lived on. You’d acquired some new scars too, a limp that wouldn’t go away until a few weeks later, and a gash up your forearm from a sword from the 18th century that would leave a scar for ten years. 

After you’d dug up all of the other moonflowers and tossed them away to protect your family’s anonymity, you nurtured your blossom back to life with the little power you had left and vowed to return. 

And here you were. It’d been a hundred years and some change since the ambush and massacre.

The wind drew your attention back to the row of trees you hadn’t realized you were staring at. It was the same row of trees that you’d had the feeling Ted and Jack ran to escape. You never knew if they’d made it, but you couldn’t find their bodies while you searched for people in the weeks following. 

It was the last thing you had of Jack. The last image that played through your mind. Your memories, still very susceptible to time, forgot his face. But you had this moonflower in front of you to see all the time, and the affection in his smile was still familiar.

You’d looked for him through the years, but with it being so dangerous, name changes happening so frequently, and your method of moving to survive, it was hard to find anything. Ted would definitely stand out and so you looked at various reports of Big Foot sitings, the closest way mortals would describe him, but nothing matched his features.

Ted and Jack were lost from you. 

But maybe one day, on an anniversary, he’d meet you here and you’d be happy again. 

You just didn’t realize that day was today.

You collected the wood to start a fire as you’d done before, a ritual to celebrate the times you’d had here. The wind was blowing hard enough to blow out the flame before it caught on the wood, but once you created a cocoon of sixty-five degrees of still wind, the fire had no problem catching. 

Your cocoon wasn’t as strong as it was before, the emotions tied to this place fading by the year, but it was enough to keep you protected.

You’d just sat down to do your annual fire-staring contest with yourself before you heard the trees rustling around you. It wasn’t uncommon for different animals to come by to inspect the flames, but these weren’t the steps of an animal. 

These were human movements. And human movements spelled danger. 

You didn’t bother putting the fire out, but you stood and cloaked yourself, watching for movement around the edges of the trees around you. After fanning through a couple of rows, a head peeked out, a bit older, but with a timid gait you recognized.

You needed more information to be sure. There were many times all over the world you’d thought you’d seen him. 

When the orange glow spilled over his suit, his face with his ancestral markings, and the warm, soft look in his eye un-morphed by time, you knew it was Jack. “Hello? Anybody there?” The sound of his voice, familiar and comforting was followed by a surprised cry. It took you a minute to realize it was yours.

“Hello?” Jack called, desperate. Apprehension pulled his shoulders into stiff peaks, ready to spring at the first sign of danger.

You forgot you were still cloaked and dissolved the spell. “Jack.” You breathed.

He stilled at the sound of your voice, just like he’d done all those years ago. “Amor?”

Cutting across the short distance between the two of you, you barreled into him, arms locked around his torso, drawing you as close as possible to him. He pressed you tightly against him, a sigh of happiness and heartbreak blowing against your ear.

He cupped the back of your head, stroking your hair. “You’re alive.” His whisper splintered as if broken by his disbelief.

You uttered his name against his chest, repeating it over and over again as if it were the first time you’d ever learned it. Maybe this was your way of relearning, trying to commit the way you said his name memory after letting it rest dormant. A name without a person to respond to it. It hurt. 

But it was different now. Now he was right in front of you, holding you, whispering your name against your skin too. Your names weren’t figments of your imaginations anymore. They meant something tangible now.

Then came the tears. Both of your chests heaved in realization that you’d been alive and not together all those years. You’d spent time apart you could have spent together, lost time that didn’t have to be.

“Ted?” You’d garbled between hiccups. 

Jack nodded his head, moving back from your embrace to cup your cheeks. “He’s alright.” His words warbled, but Jack was smiling. “We’ve been moving around together. I actually had to go save him a few nights ago.”

“Good.” You buried back into his chest giving your brain a chance to register that Jack was real and alive and holding you. “I’ve been coming here for years. I never saw anyone. I thought everyone was dead.”

Jack pulled you closer, pressing a warm, tender kiss against the crown of your head. “I thought so too. I couldn’t come back after…I thought it was too dangerous. Ted and I kept moving; it was safer.”

“That was smart.” You sniffed. “Worked just like we talked about.” 

Some time passed in silence before you leaned back again, staring at his worried face. You needed breaks from his hold to see him, to piece back together all the features you were missing, just in case he disappeared again.

In the breaks of holding each other, Jack never broke eye contact, eyes shifting over your face too. It was like he was doing the same thing you were, creating new memories of your face where old ones faded. “I looked for you,” he mumbled. “I searched all over.”

“I’ve been looking for you for a century,” you whispered, reaching up to run your thumb against his still soft cheek. He looked the same as he did before, just a little older now, five years matured where he was supposed to be a hundred. “I never stopped.”

Jack nodded, eyes closing over fresh tears. “I can’t believe it’s been so long.”

“I know,” you sighed, reaching up to wipe away his tears. “But we’re here now. The moonflower is even still around.

Jack chuckled, his slowly opening eyes spilling over with tenderness. Then he sobered, his smile fading from his face. You frowned. “Jack?”

He sighed and reached for your hands, weaving them together. This felt like the beginning of bad news. You felt your stomach drop. “(name)?” he begins. 

Jack hardly called you by your first name. One hundred years and he forgot that? Not likely, but maybe something else is going on. Does he not want to see you after everything that’s happened? Is there someone else in the picture? 

Scenarios of Jack happy with someone else appeared before your eyes before you have a chance to stop them. Your eyes fell, and you forced yourself to stare at his hands to keep from being able to read what’s on your mind.

“It’s been a hundred years, and I thought I’d never see you again.” Jack’s voice carried an undercurrent of separation, warning you to prepare your heart early for his next words. “I know we’ve probably become different people in that time. I’ve changed, and you changed.”

Your heart began to tear. It sounded like he was going to say goodbye again, just after you found each other. This couldn’t be happening, but nevertheless, your chest tightened.

Jack huffed in frustration. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” You mumbled, refusing to look at him. “It’s alright. It’s not like we knew we were alive, right?”

Jack paused for a longer time than you thought he would, and his silence concerned you enough to look up. His eyes looked so broken it crushed you. “No. No, never, amor. You are everything.”

His hands rushed to cup your cheeks, drawing you closer so your noses were touching, breaths fanning out against each other’s skin. “I just…you’re so…it wouldn’t surprise me.” You reasoned, closing your eyes at the feel of his skin underneath yours. It drugged you, pulling you into his further, but even that wouldn’t be enough. 

You needed time. You needed him beside you each morning from the rest of your lives forward. You needed the grounding feeling of his hand in yours. You needed so much more than just this one moment. 

“What I was trying to say,” he breathed laboriously as if fighting the same stupefying spell you were. “Was that, if you were available, I want to spend all my time with you.” His half-lidded eyes, open in loving despair, locked on to you. “That is if there’s no one else.”

You chuckled. “Like they ever had a chance.” His answering smile echoed your grin as you pressed closer, confessing everything against his lips. “No one compares. They never have and they never will. I adore you. I’ve never stopped. Not for a day or an hour or a minute. You are everything to me.”

Your lips pressed together with a fervor of a kiss sanctified by time and made powerful through devotion. Everything you could never say, all the love you could never express, all joined as the stars watched.

The moonflower still grows; now there lay two more.

[shmowder]

Hii I’m cringe free so here is my self-insert as I don’t have any other pathologic ocs :(

Name: Katerina Katina

Age: 27 years old

Job/Credentials: painter! I imagined she would do portraits for the Kains and the other leading families but can also do paintings for anyone in town

And she would just be an NPC

Katerina was born in the town and has lived her whole life there, though she did want to go to the capital to study in art but unfortunately for her she took too long to decide and ended up married to a guy who wants her to stay so she does

She does like the town and since she feels it’s too late to study art anyways she doesn’t want to leave anymore, maybe she’ll just visit the capital one day

She doesn’t have much friends she just talks to the Stamatins often, she WAS once friends with Vlad Jr. but not anymore (I thought he was just a pathetic kinda guy but nope I do not fuck with racists)

Also friends with Verdell Popov another oc which I hope my partner submits here!

She believes in the Mistresses at least Nina and Victoria still not really sure about Katerina Saburov or both of them for the matter

She does believe the steppe legends as she is friends with Verdell who is from the kin and even enjoys hearing about them

Not sure about authority she tries not to get in trouble and doesn’t really like any of the families especially after doing portraits for many of them

Definitely tries to help the Haruspex the most even if she was scared of The Ripper at first, later she’ll offer him to sleep at her house if he needs and if her district is plagued would give him quests and when he’s done she’ll give him food in exchange

Sorry if the writing is wonky somewhere I’m not good at telling info in English shshdh also I’m including a drawing I made of her in Pathologic 2 dialogue

Yes, a painter! I always wondered where all the ruling families got their portraits from? Especially since the paintings shared a similar style, one which clearly contrasted with Peter's more abstract and fluid works.

She is woven into the story seamlessly, I really like the fact that she has an already repeated name. It makes it just more realistic, yk? It makes sense for the most popular names of the time period to get repeated a bunch in a town this big.

Saburov and Block, Victor and Victoria, it's a small detial but provides a touch of realism. We've all known multiple people who shared the same name throughout our lives.

Her connection to Andrey and Peter does make sense. They're both interested in steppe legends and art. Maybe she did the paintings in the brokenheart pub, too?

I love her blue scarf. I know it's not intentional, but it matches Artemy's blue sweater. Poetic how he's the one she'll willing to help the most, does she believe in his cause and the Termite ending? In destroying the Polyhedron, despite the agony, it will put her two friends–the Stamatins–through?

Including the wedding ring in the art is such a good detail too, her curly/wavy hair is very lovely. God, I wish we could've seen more diverse hairtypes in pathologic.

It is lowkey ironic that she doesn't like to get into trouble yet befriended The Stamatin and used to be friends with Vlad Jr. Honestly, even if she does, she is a little too useful to the ruling families for them not to let her go with a slap on the wrist.

Keeping such a talented painter under their thumb and inside the town? Especially an artist who never went to art school, so she doesn't realise her actual worth or talent. Her only other point of reference is Peter, a literal genius in his field whose talent is beyond comprehension. So much so, Nina had to drag the twins to town no matter the cost.

It's also sad in a way, like a beautiful buttefly who may never see its own colourful wings. Who's trapped inside an artificial greenhouse, never wandering to the lush garden outside, and for love to be the one thing chaining her too? That's just amazing.

Your art is amazing! I can tell a lot about Katerina from the body language alone, the nervous side glance, the tendency to touch her fingers.

The wedding ring being silver rather than gold. Ouch.

"I shouldn't have yelled at him" Is she referring to her husband? Do they fight often? Or someone else entirely.

What a lovely and flushed out OC you have! <33 I'm so happy you told me about her, I can't wait to see your partner's OC as well. It's a unique thing for two OCs to have a slightly intertwined story, to be friends in every universe.

-

unrelated, but I wanted to thank you for the lovely ask you sent before. Encouraging me after the person pretending to be a different anons thing. I never got the chance to reply because the matter was resolved. Still, thank you greatly for your sweet words.

[archie-the-menace]

I realized it’s actually pretty fitting for my OC Taifo to have cats’ eyes, partly due to autism things.

I mostly gave him cat eyes because they’re fun to draw and can be super expressive.

But I’m thinking about how cats’ eyes work and it just suits him very well. I know the way my autism presents I have the ability to focus on one thing but only one thing at a time, which is also how cats’ eyes are structured (since they’re built to hunt). Since Taifo’s traits are very much based on mine, it’s a funny coincidence that he has eyes built to hyperfocus on things. Both his brain and eyes are suited for focusing on one task at a time.

It also just works well for his job and the climate he grew up in. He grew up closer to the planet’s equator, meaning he would’ve needed extra sun protection. His ability to change pupil shapes comes in handy in filtering light, and with the help of a little bit of charcoal dusting on his lashes, he basically never needs to wear sunglasses. Artificial lighting in Hydroponic gardens in space are also a harsh magenta hue with an extra dose of UV radiation to encourage plant growth, so the risk of eye damage is also heightened in this environment. Thankfully, Taifo has eyes perfect for protecting against UV light, and can spend hours in the hydroponic garden without getting too much eye strain and UV exposure. Obviously he still couldn’t stare directly into the sun with naked eyes, but he’s less likely to have his corneas burned by UV lights.

Now I just have to wonder; does he also have bad depth perception like a cat does, but with extra peripheral vision? 🤔

And what about the members of his species that have goats’ eyes? 🤔

TLDR:

My OC Taifo’s cats’ eyes are great for protecting his eyes from UV radiation and focusing on singular tasks.

[artichokefunction]

the handler is currently talking to the client, about gender or whatever. you're not paying them that much attention right now, you got what you needed to know, you think. the client is currently at moderately high risk, which is why the handler gave you access to the live security cam footage, and the client is a celebrity or influencer or something, one of them types, which is why this meeting is happening at a fancy restaurant that does their own brewing and has fancy food-based art displays on the walls, and a few hanging from the ceiling as lamps. you don't feel like disguising as a civilian right now, so you're in the truck, watching the footage. the handler is good at disguising. today her braids are a very ordinary blonde, up in a bun, and he's laughing like he does when he hangs out with her friends. her human friends. you're a human, technically. whatever. you keep an eye on the crowd.

someone just entered the shop, and they're only a little bit suspicious. until their eyes lock on to your table. you see the way their hand goes to their pockets, briefly, before they remember they're undercover or whatever. you're out of the truck already. the parking lot is just behind the, uhh, beer garden? you think that's what it's called. you hop the fence and slip through the back door and are at your human's table just in time to flip it on its side and pull them behind it. you don't have time to get them out the back door with you, the target has opened fire. you need to return fire. the humans in here - all of them - have gotten loud. hrmm.

-

you reach over to hold Fig's hand as the agent pulls up its pant leg to retrieve the handgun it keeps in its calf, in the space between the artificial muscle and bone. Fig has started to hyperventilate. that's not ideal. you keep your voice low, and you try to tell them that the situation is under control, that they'll be okay. the agent fumbles at its arm for a handful of bullets, and then it loads its gun with a few smooth and practiced motions. it straightens up to open fire on the attacker, and you rub circles into Fig's hand with your thumb. it's weird, working with someone who isn't used to this. makes it more stressful. you keep talking to them, quiet as you can. you think you're doing an okay job at being comforting? you hope you are. you hear a particularly loud bang from just above you and they instinctually grab at you, pulling you closer. turns out that was a good move.

-

man, fuck this guy. he shot at one of those big fancy lampthings above your human's table. that was sort of smart. you weren't expecting it. you panic, a little bit, and end up throwing yourself into it, shoulder first. it lands just out of range to do your humans any damage, but the guy got some free shots at your back and side in the process. you're mad now. you shoot him in the hand, and the shin, and the thigh. he fumbles his gun, and it falls to the floor. that's all you needed. time to get out of here. you reach down and grab the handlers shoulder, briefly, to draw her attention, and then you point out the back door. emphatically. we need to go. the handler gets the client up and on their feet, eventually, and you keep your gun trained on the attacker. he doesnt try anything. he doesn't even notice you're still pointing a gun at him, he's busy with his thigh wound. killing in public is ill-advised, which is why you aren't doing it. one of the other humans in this building is on call with an ambulance, or the cops, more likely. finally, finally, your humans are moving out the back door, and you follow, making sure they don't get ambushed. the handler opens the back gate easily [you didn't know it opened that easily. you didn't have time anyways it's fine] and the three of you load into the van, because the client walked here and also theyre still panicking. and you wouldn't be able to help with that and the handler needs to drive. so the client is in your seat, and you're in the back, by the operating table. and it's fine. it's fine. they're in your seat and it's fine. there are splinters in your shoulder that you didn't notice earlier. but you don't remember which drawer the tweezers would be in. and the road has lots of sharp turns, you don't want to mess anything up with your shaky hands. your hands are shaky. you can hear them talking in the front, in quiet shaky voices like humans who just endured something traumatic. you don't really want to be able to hear them. you have a music player back here, you remember where. you pull up something loud and shapeless and think about that for the rest of the trip.

---

you are finally, finally, finally back in your own house. and despite how paranoid you've been lately, you feel pretty safe, because there are two assassins sitting on your living room floor. Grenadine - no wait, sorry, the handler - is pulling small bloody shards of wood and glass out of their agent's back. they're leaving the pieces in a little plastic tray on the floor next to them. the agent has taken its shirt and jacket off, and it's [it, right? not they? yeah it] it's just sitting quietly, eyes closed. its chest is littered with small scars, and with bigger patches of skin that don't quite look like scar tissue? they look like something else. you're not really sure what. its shoulders are broader then you'd expect for someone with top scars, faint as they are. you're staring. you've been staring. fuck. you finish what you went to the kitchen to do, putting a frozen pizza in the oven and making some hot chocolate, for you and your guests. you put a metal straw in each cup, because you have them and they're fun. you try to carry the three mugs out to the living room, and then you decide to be smart instead and just make two trips instead of spilling all over your carpet. the handler thanks you quietly. ah, quiet mode. okay. you grab your mug and sit on the couch, trying to give them some space. the mug is warm in your hands, it's helping you calm down.

you check your phone, in case anything important happened. ah. you were the important thing that happened. you get shown four different photos of you at the restaurant and decide you don't want to see any more. you switch to the music app, and play something quiet and calm and backgroundy on the TV speakers. it has lyrics but they're soft enough that you think your guests won't mind. your guests are taking a hot chocolate break. the agent takes its mask halfway off, and underneath it has a shiny metal jaw, like a proper cyborg. it doesn't really seem to have a lower lip to speak of. it uses the straw.

the handler puts her mug down, and puts her hand on the agents shoulder, rubbing small circles with their thumb. the agent puts its mug down and lies its hands flat on the ground, and the handler gets to work pulling out bullets. you don't watch that too closely, but you do find out what the not-scar skin is, it's fake, it covers up patches of cyborg machinery inside it. that's - that icks you out for some reason. makes you feel weird in your skin. you get up to check on the pizza. it's done. you cut it up and bring it out. you put it on the little table next to the couch, and you grab a slice, and you sit down. it's not long until those two are done. with one arm around it's shoulders, the handler gets the agent to move to the couch. it's sat next to her and she's sat next to you. it's very quiet in here, somehow, even with the music. you hazard a question.

[...Will it be okay?]

[oh, yes, no doubts there. it's already asleep, see.]

and it is asleep, injured shoulder pressed gently into its partner's side, face wrinkled up in what could be focus, could be distress. you're not really sure.

[will you be okay?]

[Yeah... yeah.]

they give you a look when you say that.

[do you want to talk about it?]

you breathe a long, drawn out sigh. [Sure.]

and the two of you fall into a quiet, earnest conversation. she's easy to talk to. she's nice. the faint sound of her partner breathing matches the rhythm of the song playing. it makes breathing feel easier for you, as well.

[on-the-shoulders-of-rootstock]

A flowchart showing the approximate flow of goods within the Affini's gift-based economy. Red indicates heavy industries, while blue indicates light industries.

Permeation Gardens are large artificial forests (including interdependent fungi and insects) that leach desired minerals out of the landscape with minimal disruption to the geography. Wide, deep root structures search for mineral veins and slowly separate trace amounts from rocks and soil.

Constructor Plants are genetically-modified flora that take in and process industrial materials such as metals or chemicals. An Affini operator is usually grafted into the Constructor when it is in operation, guiding the complex metabolic processes required in modern heavy industry, though some simple tasks can be performed autonomically. Most constructor plants produce yield in the form of sap or fruit, but some also shed bark or vitrify directly into structural components.

Matter Trainers are a nanofabrication technology used by the Affini to manufacture cheap, disposable items like medical supplies and hygine products. They are sealed cabinets of differing sizes in which swarms of nano-scale assembler robots assemble objects at the molecular scale, drawing raw feedstock from communal stores. Almost all Affini homes and public spaces have at least one Trainer, usually tucked away somewhere unobtrusive yet accessible. Larger (more than 1m in any dimension) trainers are usually kept in public workshops. The biggest trainers are the size of space stations, and usually have their own crew and propulsion.

When it comes to non-disposable items such as clothes, personal electronics, furniture, etc. most Affini consumers prefer goods handmade by craftswomen, rather than matter trainers. Objects can be tailored to an individual's needs and tastes, rather than suffering the one-size-fits-all approach common to most trainer designs. Whether the object is made from scratch or manufactured with the help of a trainer depends on the item being produced and the craftswoman making it. For every Affini blacksmith making artisinal walking sticks from raw ore, there is another woman hand-painting canes from a trainer in bright floral patterns.

[journey-to-balance]

Essays: 9 Roads to a Calm Mind

In the busy rhythm of modern life, keeping a quiet, calm mind seems like a quest for rare treasure. Yet, my years of practicing living slowly have taught me that calmness is an attainable state nurtured through simple and intentional practices that root us in the present, bringing us a sense of peace and acceptance.

The garden is changing by the day. Warm spring days are well on their way with new blooms popping up everywhere. I know because I observe nature closely, using it as a guide. This is my first proven way to a balanced and calm mind.

#1. Living in tune with nature and adapting her pace.

Spending time outdoors, surrounded by nature quite literally alters our brain chemistry. It lowers our anxiety, stress levels, and risk of depression.

Personally, it also makes me realize that although I am a one of a kind individual, I am also part of a greater whole, and my worries are pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things. So I might as well take things in stride.

Hello early spring sunshine!

I feel the same about gardening. It connects me to earth's natural rhythms. In fact, gardening teaches that life unfolds in seasons and cycles. It's much easier to accept and enjoy our season of life than to force ourselves to bloom when we are not ready, or even keep on blooming when it feels like winter in our hearts.

Not all seasons of life are as glamorous as summer, but they are necessary for our development and growth.

On a lovely sunny morning after a few months of searching, I found the perfect vintage writer's desk. I resolved to give it a second, rather cozy life.

This leads me to my second point to cultivating mental peace. That is...

#2. Not chasing short lived trends. This world is designed to make us want more. New 'trends' are artificially created to make us feel like we are missing out.

There is tranquility in choosing to shop local, shop small, shop handmade, or vintage whenever possible - like the second-hand furniture shop I found on the outskirts of town just over 20 years ago and have been frequenting ever since.

Moving on...

#3. My third way to keeping mental peace is to look at things through the prism of a child.

Children are incredibly rooted in the moment, being present, without worrying about abstract or future issues. Naturally, these skills are needed in our life, but sometimes dark thoughts can draw any light away from our world.

This is when we should take an example from our children and focus on the here and now.

#4. Practicing self-care that includes physical movement is my fourth way to keeping a calm mind.

Did you know that our body can store stress and worries?

It will show up as aches and pains, stiffness, and tension.

Something as simple as daily walks with my dog help me to release physical tension which in turn alleviates my mental stress.

I'm a passionate advocate for physical movement because it cultivates self awareness and encourages kindness toward ourselves.

#5. On that vein, I emphasize self-forgiveness and avoiding overthinking.

We all have been in a situation when we did or said something out of place... or at least we believe it so.

Nothing will clutter our mind and take away our mental peace like beating ourselves over and over about the past, or often, even a small thing.

Practicing self-forgiveness and silencing an overactive mind is the way to encourage a healthier internal dialogue where calmness can flourish.

I deeply believe that our homes influence our inner state.

It's never been about having a Pinterest worthy house, but making our homes a cozy, and safe environment, and that leads me to

#6. A peaceful, uncluttered house, a clean house, acts as a buffer against external chaos, becoming a retreat where we can recharge and reflect.

In addition to aesthetics, a peaceful home environment means prioritizing surrounding ourselves with people with whom we can be ourselves and are accepted for who we are, thus living in a welcoming, nurturing environment where we feel safe, heard, respected without our boundaries being crossed.

#7. Maintaining a small, supportive circle, surrounding ourselves with a close-knit community, be it family, friends, neighbors or even kind and caring co-workers, provides emotional security and a sense of belonging which are essential elements for mental peace.

In our modern world we are becoming more and more isolated, making it all the more important to maintain real-life contact, even if its the act of exchanging a simple "hello" with a neighbor or engaging in a small chat with one of the many people who provide a service to us on a daily basis.

#8. Planning Ahead. Having some sort of plan really helps maintain a peaceful and calm mind.

Understanding our finances, knowing exactly when our bills are due, and living within our means really goes a long way in helping to put our minds at rest. The same can be said for having a clear list of any appointments and to do's.

We sleep better knowing that important dates are all in our calendar, not having to rely on committing something to memory all the time which only creates stress and mental clutter.

#9. Finally, I'd say my ninth way to seeking calm is to stay selective and stay private, choosing to stay in my lane, and in my business.

Friend, I've gotten to the point in my life where I don't care who's mad, why they're mad, and who they're actively recruiting to be mad with them.

It's peaceful over here.

Remember, whatever we're not changing, we're choosing.

I wish us many blessings, and peace.

Essays - 9 Roads To a Calm Mind - Our Journey to Balance

[sprout-senior]

the kids! both use they/them.

lore under the cut:

When Chara fell into the underground in 20XX, they had a fairly simple worldview. Monsters were wonderful and kind, locked away for daring defend the land they resided on. Humans were selfish and cruel, destroying everything in the name of profit and order. Everything, including their own kind. While they supposed it was impossible for the whole of humanity to be evil, Chara hated every single one they’d met.

The underground was just as wonderful as its residents. Chara didn’t understand why they wanted to go back to the surface, where the air was smoggy and the trees were being cut down and the only kind humans were being destroyed with everything else.

When Toriel explained that that was why they wanted to go back— they wanted to fix everything, so that everyone could enjoy life under the sun again— Chara decided that they would do everything in their power to help.

After around a year of letting themself enjoy life, collecting rocks, gardening, burying their hands in the warm soil, playing hide and seek… they made their sacrifice.

As they felt their consciousness slipping from their dead body, Chara was filled not with determination, but regret. They had ruined everything, all because they were too pushy and impulsive and stupid.

Many years later, Chara woke up as a spirit, tethered to a young human child. Younger than they’d been, even. They were a sweet kid, and they’d gone through something horrible that Chara decided not to pry about. They dedicate themselves to the role of guide and companion, even as they quietly wonder if all humans are this sickly nowadays.

When frisk fell into the underground in 206X, they weren’t sure what their worldview was. Running from some pretty awful… circumstances is bound to leave one pessimistic, but they’re meeting kind people down here and that’s confusing.

Their journey through the underground is spurred by a fear of being followed, being found, but they don’t want to leave any time soon. Sure, most of the monsters technically want them dead, but again, they’re meeting people who are treating them with such tenderness and generosity, and this is the happiest they’ve been in their entire life. Having an awesome ghost buddy is really cool, too.

Their previous situation left them artificially ill on the regular. Upon escaping, Frisk thought they would get better, but it just isn’t happening. Why? They’re doing everything right, no one is making them sick anymore, so why are they still like this?

Communication is difficult when you’re mute, don’t know how to write, and only know a few basic signs. So far, they’re getting by with charades and drawing pictures while they learn more sign language. They need a way to talk to the monsters about their strange disease, and fast.

[existential-dread-in-the-am]

Making a list of what an ideal home would be like for me

-weird location where no people go but close enough to a town where there are dance classes and a gym, and a grocery store and probably my job also, preferably within a distance that can be walked if necessary

-cold running natural water

-hiking trail or forest that can be used for the same purpose without a trail (preferably some elevation involved, and water that can be made drinkable easily) (I just want a map)

-house itself should be small and strange, can be a cottage, that would be great actually

-must have a fireplace thing in place that can be used to warm the place in case of no electricity in winter

-any variation of a functional cooling system for summer. I absolutely cannot sleep in warmth.

-I want an indoor tree

-there will be a library room.

-and strange objects

-and a tea corner next to a window

-there should be no lawn. There should be moss and rocks, mostly natural with some amount of artificially made paths and so on, probably some spots for planting garden plants. Either way I am doing zero maintainance for appearance, I am lazy and prefer things as close to their natural state as possible.

-can grow strawberries and carrots outside (and berry bushes and herbs and all that)

-need a warm garage for a car for winter time, non-negotiable with these distances and temperatures

-storage for bicycle and snow shoes and hiking stuff and other things

-should I get dogs? Maybe I should. I will build some kind of thing that allows them to run around outside when they want, how much fence do you need to make a mini dog park?

-if cats then the house will need a cat pathway system that goes from room to room

-there should be an outside building with art supplies and other stuff for projects and room for dancing and other nonsense I do (maybe combine this with the garage somehow? Also could be adjusted to be used as a quest house?)

-sort of nearby lake or river fit for swimming (clear water. Clear. Water.)

-not too large of an area bc I will only maintain narrow pathways between buildings through the snow in winter time

-poison garden, in a what are the- greenhouse. they're called greenhouses. One of those bc my few guests could have kids and animals can wander into where they should not

-second greenhouse for non-poisonous edible stuff?

-how much chemistry can I legally do at home? Can I have chemistry lab? Can I make pigments for art? Can I make dyes? How much dare I play around with tea ingredients?

-either the library room or the hobbies room will have a large table for maps and drawings and notes and so on

-can I build a fountain of sorts that uses natural water flow somehow? Like direct the water from a stream or something? Or I could use solar panels to power it...

-nature music. Wind chimes and obviously something that works off of the fountain stream thingy but also I'm pretty sure I can make something that works on rain water, also...I could add something to stairs that makes sounds when you walk on them

-wait can I use temperature too? Something that reacts with sounds to certain temperatures or temperature changes?

-apple tree