#runaways kin

[the-owl-tree]

i don't think i could make hollyleaf better per say but im pretty sure i could make her worse

[catnipqueen]

Running to the woods will soon just be my home sweet home!!! Really feeling that leijon spirit erey day!

[kincord-kinhelp]

NPT LIST FOR RUNAWAY KID FROM LITTLE NIGHTMARES

names:

Blue, chain, gnome, deux, tyler, terry, aoi, Mavi, azzy, ceru, delft, indi, Klein, Penn, aquamarine, beryl, chalcedony, zircon, aster, kori, lo, warby, ciel, kai, lane

Pronouns:

Blue/blues gnome/gnomeself run/runs hide/hideself ae/aer zee/zeer, kind/kindself

Titles:

The one who runs, the one who ran, the fleer, the kindness, the friend, the runaway, he who flees, the soft, the only kind heart, he who befriends, the one on the plate, he who regrets, the one without a number.

[kinhelpandlove]

Dark academia Runaway Kid icons!

[mnstcrbnll]

@skullkxd

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOMESTUCK BABY!!!!

(tiredly) "thank"

[city-of-ladies]

Genmei (661-721) was Japan's fourth empress regnant. She was Empress Jitō's half-sister and her match in terms of ambition and political skills. Her rule was characterized by a development of culture and innovations. 

Ruling after her son

Like Jitō (645-703), Genmei was the daughter of Emperor Tenji but was born from a different mother. Jitō was both her half-sister and mother-in-law since Genmei had married the empress’ son, Prince Kusakabe (662-689). She had a son with him, Emperor Monmu (683-707). 

Kusakabe died early and never reigned, which led to Jitō's enthronement. The empress was then succeeded by her grandson Monmu. The latter’s reign was short. In his last will, he called for his mother to succeed him in accordance with the “immutable law” of her father Tenji. Genmei accepted. 

Steadfast and ambitious 

Genmei was made from the same mold as her half-sister. She proved to be a fearless sovereign, undeterred by military crises. 

She pursued Jitō's policies, strengthening the central administration and keeping the power in imperial hands. Among her decisions were the proscription of runaway peasants and the restriction of private ownership of mountain and field properties by the nobility and Buddhist temples. 

Another of her achievements was transferring the capital at Heijō-kyō (Nara) in 710, turning it into an unprecedented cultural and political center. Her rule saw many innovations. Among them were the first attempt to replace the barter system with the Wadō copper coins, new techniques for making brocade twills and dyeing and the settlement of experimental dairy farmers.

A protector of culture

Genmei sponsored many cultural projects. The first was the Kojiki, written in 712 it told Japan’s history from mythological origins to the current rulers. In its preface, the editor Ō no Yasumaro praised the empress:

“Her Imperial Majesty…illumines the univers…Ruling in the Purple Pavillion, her virtue extends to the limit of the horses’ hoof-prints…It must be saif that her fame is greater than that of Emperor Yü and her virtue surpasses that of Emperor Tang (legendary emperors of China)”.

In 713, she ordered the local governments to collect local legends and oral traditions as well as information about the soil, weather, products and geological and zoological features. Those local gazetteers (Fudoki) were an invaluable source of Japan’s ancient tradition.

Several of Genmei’s poems are included in the Man'yōshū anthology, including a reply by one of the court ladies. 

Listen to the sounds of the warriors' elbow-guards;

Our captain must be ranging the shields to drill the troops.

– Genmei Tennō

Reply:

Be not concerned, O my Sovereign;

Am I not here,

I, whom the ancestral gods endowed with life,

Next of kin to yourself

– Minabe-hime

From mother to daughter 

Genmei abdicated in 715 and passed the throne to her daughter, empress Genshō (680-748) instead of her sickly grandson prince Obito. This was an unprecedented situation, making the Nara period the pinnacle of female monarchy in Japan. 

Genmei would oversee state affairs until she died in 721. Before her death, she shaved her head and became a nun, becoming the first Japanese monarch to take Buddhist vows and establishing a long tradition.

Feel free to check out my Ko-Fi if you like what I do! Your support would be greatly appreciated.

Further reading

Shillony Ben-Ami, Enigma of the Emperors Sacred Subservience in Japanese History

Tsurumi Patricia E., “Japan’s early female emperors”

Aoki Michiko Y., "Jitō Tennō, the female sovereign",in: Mulhern Chieko Irie (ed.), Heroic with grace legendary women of Japan

[minniesmutt]

𝔇𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔯𝔢: 𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔯

♱ ━━━  PAIRING: SEUNGMIN X READER ♱ ━━━  CW: MENTION OF DEATH, EXHIBITIONISM, DEGRADING, FINGERING, CLOTHED SEX, BLOOD, BITING, KINDA HINTED FREE USE, CORRUPTION KINK IF YOU SQUINT, UNPROTECTED SEX, CHOKING, DIRTY TALK, NIPPLE PLAY, OVERSTIM, MULTIPLE ORGASMS, CREAMPIE, AFTERCARE ♱ ━━━  WC: 1.4K

     Seungmin, the wild card she met on her first actual day at the manor. Rough but after a few days he did apologize for being somewhat harsh during their first meeting. He’d explained he’d had a lover in the past who was a royal. A runaway attempt was the cause of their death and his turning into a vampire. Selfishly choosing to live.

     Y/n understood. She was well aware from her own experience, that royalty wasn’t all it seemed to be to outsiders. When the thrown was on the line, procedures will do anything to keep it safe. Even if it means getting rid of your own kin that betrayed your wishes.

     After finding out the reason and explaining, he had been just as nice as the others. But he still had a harsher side to him. He was sweet, loving, and kind. Once the arrangement between the nine started, he kept that up until he got her alone in the same library they’d discussed everything in just a mere few hours ago.

     Just relaxing with a book and a cup of tea, similar to their first encounter. A simple conversation turned into a kiss before he smiled devilishly at her while she attempted to pull him back for another. “Needy girl,” He smiled as he crawled over her on the couch they were sitting on while she pushed his jacket away, making him toss it to the ground.

     “You all seemed rather happy about that fact earlier,” Y/n replied as his lips ghosted hers.

     “This isn’t about the others right now,” he smiled as his hand crept up her front till it lay against her neck. 

     His lips were on hers again in the next second. Moving expertly against hers. His hand tightened around her neck. Y/n gasped in his mouth just before he pulled away from her lips and neck. 

     “More,” Y/n whined as she pulled his hand back to her throat. 

     “Want to be treated like a common whore don't you?” Seungmin laughed as his other hand pulled the skirt of her dress up.

     “Please,” Y/n begged 

     “Be careful what you ask for.”

     Seungmin leaned down and nipped at her skin, certainly adding to the marks from Jisung. Hand creeping up under her dress and undergarments.

     “Maybe we should throw out all your undergarments,” Seungmin chuckled, “Could bend you over anytime and take you.”

     His hand rubbed her through the fabric of the said undergarment, making her grind against him. Her hands pulled at his hair. His tongue was warm on her skin as he licked from the hem of her dress to her neck then biting down on the skin. Y/n pulled at his roots as blood flowed into his mouth. 

     “Min,” Y/n moaned out as his thumb brushed over the small little bud through the thin fabric of her undergarments. 

     Seungmin pulled away and sat up on his knees. Her dress bunched up around her waist. Seungmin licked the stray blood from his lips before grabbing the top hem of her undergarments pulled her off her legs and tossed them to the ground. Glancing at her wet folds and laughing, just slightly. 

     “So wet from so little,” He said as he leaned back over her, two fingers running up and down between her folds making her shiver. 

     “In. Please, can’t wait anymore Min.” Y/n pleaded

     “Stooping so low to beg for a vampire to fuck you,” Seungmin chuckled as his two fingers pushed into her. Thumb slowly rolling over her clit. 

     His fingers were already hitting all the right spots inside her. Y/n grabbed onto his wrist as he picked up the speed. Thumb seemingly putting just the right amount of pressure on her clit. She tried to close her legs but was stopped by his body. 

     “Withering just from a couple of fingers?” Seungmin chuckled, pulling his fingers out when he felt her walls contract around his fingers. 

     “Minnie,” Y/n tried pulling his hand back to her but it wasn't even a possibility.

     “Gonna take a lot more than that to get what you want princess. I don’t cave as easily as Jisung.” Seungmin leaned down, kissing her neck.

     “Please Seungmin. Need you inside me.” Y/n reeled as she wrapped her arms around him. Pulling at the back of his white collared shirt. 

     “Which one do you want inside you? My fingers or my cock?” He questioned as he ground his hard cock against her, still confided in his pants, biting on her skin with his front teeth. Y/n moaned at the feeling of his teeth again. “Tell me, princess.”

     “Cock,” Y/n shied away but Seungmin smiled as he moved to pull his bottoms down.

     “Dirty mouth for a royal.” Seungmin laughed

     He ran his tip along her folds slowly as she whined for him to put it in. He teased her a few more moments before finally slipping inside of her. Both moaned as Y/n wrapped her legs around his way. The vampire let her adjust to him. His hands grabbed her waist before he slowly pulled out and pushed back in. 

     Seungmin pulled his mouth away from her neck and sat up to watch her expression as he bullied his cock into her cunt. Hands holding tightly onto her waist before sliding them up to her breasts. Groping them through the fabric of her top. 

     “Should rip this off of you. Make you walk around the whole place nude and dripping with cum,” Seungmin teased and it made her clench around him. 

     Seungmin pulled her breasts out of the garment and ran his fingers over her perked-up nipples. Y/n arched towards him; Seungmin used the chance to lean down and wrap his lips around one as he kept pounding into her. 

     “‘M close Min. Wanna cum…” Y/n whined, pulling at his roots again. 

     “Yeah? Cum all over my cock. Let everyone in the manor know I’m fucking you right now?” he muttered against her nipple. His free hand went between their bodies and pinched her neglected clit. 

     Y/n gasped as her body started shaking under him. Seungmin continued his assault on her clit with his fingers until he brought her to her release. Her body shook under him as she came on his cock. 

     He didn’t let up either. Continued stimulating her throughout her high. Pulling away from her nipple, blowing cool air onto the wet bud before switching to the other one. His hips never stopped abusing her hole whilst his fingers never stopped stimulating her clit. 

     “‘s much.” Y/n blabbered

     “One more princess. Give me one more,” Seungmin momentarily pulled away from her chest to speak before trapping the bud between his lips again. 

     His tip brushed against the right spot inside her and made her cum on his cock again unexpectedly. Seungmin pulled away and took in her fucked out expression, adjusting himself to abuse that same spot. Y/n let out a particularly loud moan before Seungmin wrapped his other hand around her neck. Y/n gasped as she looked at his lust-blown eyes while he pounded her into the sofa. 

     His eyes moved from her bouncing breasts to her cunt swallowing his cock. Fangs took their place as his mouth salivated with the scent of her blood mixed with arousal. He moved back down quickly and sank his teeth into her again. Y/n gasped as the pleasure shot through her and went straight to her core. 

     Seungmin came not long after her third release. Burying his cock deep inside her as his fangs were buried in her neck. Y/n felt limp with his weight on top of her. Her legs loosened around his waist as she finally got a break from his relentless pace. 

     He pulled his fangs out of her first and licked the wound. “Are you alright?” He asked and he kissed her cheek 

     Y/n hummed in response, “tired.”

     “Apologies,” He said

     “Don’t. Felt good.”

     “Let’s get back to your bed. Don’t need you passing out in the library.”

     Seungmin pressed a quick kiss to her lips before fixing both of them up. Focusing on her first then himself. Opting to carry her back to her room. Y/n almost fell asleep in his arms but Seungmin managed to keep her awake long enough to run a bath for her. 

     “Join me,” Y/n whined as he sat next to the tub

     “Not this time princess.”

     Seungmin helped her clean up before dressing her in some more comfortable clothing and putting her into bed. 

     “Lay with me for a bit?” Y/n asked him

     “Alright princess,” Seungmin gave in. He got under the covers with her and pulled her into his chest. Letting her sleep comfortably on him

♱ ━━━ PREV SERIES M.LIST NEXT

♱ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

♱ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[crow-mortis]

.//---------ch. 0 - in which the girl arrives on the gorkhon artemy/female oc fic -- read on ao3

She moved to the town on the Gorkhon river when she was only 12. 

Her mother had been of the Kin, and upon the woman’s sudden death, the relatives there were the last of her blood with want of a 12-year-old orphan girl. Her father had never been in the picture; her mother was a runaway from the steppe for many years before she was conceived. 

She arrived at the station with barely an idea of where she was or what was waiting for her there. The endless, grassy slopes of the Eastern Steppe stretched out and onward all around her; she followed it with her eyes until she could no longer see the end from the beginning – until everything melded into one, singular shape. 

She had shivered then, terrified at the remoteness of the Town, and how tiny she felt in comparison to the wilds around her. Despite the vastness of the hills and sky, she felt so very small; her body felt constrained, like she had been packed tightly into a box of her own grief and fear. The emotions closed in around her, threatening to choke the life from her throat. Her breathing hastened, her hands gripped tightly to the strap of her bag – a singular knapsack containing the few items she could call her own. 

She had been lost in that fear until a voice – male, young, maybe a few years shy of maturing – roused her from that small, dark place. Her green eyes had met with blue ones – held there for a long moment before a hand extended toward her with a sigh.

The Burakh family were of the steppe people, though no blood relation to her. She learned that her mother and Isidor had been children together, and he recounted vividly the day she left as he fed her a meager meal of rice porridge and bread. She listened to him talk as he peeled a boiled egg for her – she studied his hands and the delicate way he pulled each piece of the shell from the membrane; the precision of a menkhu – a healer versed in the traditions of the steppe.

Her mother’s family had perished in a fire within the district named the Crude Sprawl. It started with a lightning strike, and after the winds of the steppe snatched the embers into the air, multiple houses were engulfed in flames – all the Kin screamed in agony, their voices one in the darkness as the steppe took their homes.

Isidor finished with the egg as he finished the tale, slicing the white and yolk and placing it gently into her bowl of porridge – a period at the end of that story; the book on her family name snapped shut as she watched the porridge grow cold in her bowl. 

Isidor took her as a ward, opening his home to her and granting space for her in a small bedroom in the western end of the house. She learned the boy that found her at the station was called Artemy, and he was Isidor’s son. He was two years older and had dreams of being a surgeon – they didn’t speak much. Though, that wasn’t necessarily for lack of effort on Artemy’s part.

She spent the first few weeks in silence, her face a slate carved with grief. She took up a few of the household chores. Busying herself with tasks kept her from thinking – it kept her numb. She would do the washing. Sometimes she helped with the cooking, always the first to excuse herself but the last to leave the kitchen, absently scrubbing dinnerware until her fingers ached. Anything to not think about it – anything to remain empty.

Artemy tried many times to include her in conversation. Isidor did as well, despite being a rather quiet man himself. She had decided after the first few weeks that Artemy must favor his mother. Though Isidor’s smile lines, nose and brow were prominent on the young man’s face, the blue-gray of his eyes were distinctly other. She never saw a photograph of the woman, and she refused to ask about her.

Though, she could guess. Sometimes when Isidor saw Artemy smile and laugh at something, she could see the sadness tugging at his eyes, despite how he would gently chuckle as well. Artemy had said they were Kindred, though not Kin – they had both lost their mothers, and the quiet comfort in knowing that began to wear down the walls of her grief, even if only little by little.

One evening, after her fourth month within the Burakh household, she had blurted her name out to them – the taste of her own voice strange on her tongue as she recited the name her mother had given her. Violet.

Isidor Burakh, to his credit, did not crack a smile then, and had simply stared with his son, the two exchanging a glance in the silence that followed. She fixed her eyes on her plate of nearly-untouched food, waiting for laughter that never came. 

Isidor had simply inclined his head, slightly lifted his glass, and given a soft, “bide kharaan” – we see you.

Things felt lighter after that. The steppe began to feel like a friend and less like a foe. Artemy would lend her books and she would spend the small hours before the sun sank low reading in the shadow of the Crowstone. Sometimes she and Artemy would collect herbs together, the young man determined to make it a competition and always returning with a basket overflowing. 

She was introduced to his friends – Lara taking a specific interest in her – and the group would rarely be found one without the others in tow. 

She and Lara developed a friendship. Together they shared a love of books and their compassionate hands would heal the boys when they would get into trouble – Griff was always the catalyst, and he had taken to poking fun at the two girls frequently. Violet found a sliver of joy each time he would tense in pain as she dabbed salves on a scraped knee or bandaged a cut hand. 

Violet and Lara became the den mothers of the group, taking to calling each other by a nickname. Names were gifts in the town, and she had been nicknamed Birdie, which Lara always said was so much prettier than her own – Gravel.

Often they would read together in the steppe, and Violet found her voice in befriending Lara. She would read passages out loud as the other girl braided steppe flowers and herbs into her dark hair – the two would skip home, laughing and smelling of twyre and swevery. 

Though she hadn’t made a point of it, she began to learn the words and traditions of the Kin. They respected Isidor, and as a menkhu he was the only healer the people trusted. The man was the only healer the Town had as well, and a portion of the Burakh household served as a clinic. 

Artemy would help; Isidor would teach him to see the lines – the connections of all things. Violet would listen sometimes as he instructed. Lines represent the paths between things. The links that connect them. The laws that govern our lives. Between evil Sky and kind Earth is a Line. The veins of our lifeblood are Lines. A Line carries the inevitable retribution for evil deeds. Family ties, the way children reflect their parents… Those are Lines, too.

Artemy was smart, more than he realized. Violet would observe in silent awe as he navigated both the society of the Town, and the otherness of the Kin. He walked the line between the two much like his father did – In the way Isidor was loved and trusted, so too was Artemy. Though he was not a menkhu, the Kin would take his help and thank him with braided cords, talismans, and other handmade baubles. Artemy would accept them with the grace of a doctor - despite being a boy in his teens.

Before she realized, an entire year had flown by. Lara conspired with the other members of their gang to throw a surprise party for Violet. Artemy had asked her to accompany him to the station – he’d heard that twyre grew there sometimes out of season and he needed more for his father’s reserves. 

They arrived and found Griff, Lara, and Rubin already waiting for them; a blanket was spread over the stone of the station platform and decorated with various pies and bread and other confectionery that Violet had never even seen before. They had all yelled out a “Surprise!” and Violet had needed to blink away the burning of her eyes as Artemy tugged her down onto the blanket with the others. 

They ate, joked, and told stories over the previous year. As Violet looked out at the grassy steppe around them, she felt none of the fear or grief that had locked her voice away in that very spot one year prior. The warmth of the others as they bickered playfully, laughter floating along the breeze, made her feel lighter than air. 

Artemy had nudged her gently and shared a funny anecdote with the others about when he found her there. Violet chirped in with her own input, voice small in comparison but still jovial. They all laughed and Artemy leaned back on his hands, his fingers resting atop hers as he did so. 

They both glanced at them, then each other, before Artemy went headlong into another tale. He didn’t remove his hand, even when Griff pointed out his blush and snickered with Rubin about how much Artemy resembled a tomato. 

Something heavy had settled in her chest that day; the steppe no longer felt like a cage. As she walked back toward town with the others, the sun sinking low over the ridge, she had looked down at where Artemy’s hand still grasped hers and she felt more at home than she ever had.

Years flew by them in a blur; they all grew up, grew slowly apart as each of them took a place in the Town. Artemy’s hands felt nothing like they did that evening so many years before as she held them gently in her own at the station. 

The train whistle floated toward them, and she tried to ignore it – tried to focus on the curves of his fingers, the texture of the calluses there. He was avoiding her gaze, so she dropped her own to the stone beneath her feet. She knew what she wanted to say. It clawed at the back of her throat like a ravenous beast, sending scalding heat down where it settled in her stomach, threatening to make her sick. 

The seconds dragged, her heartbeat was a muffled thud in her skull as she tried to will herself to speak. Even when she felt the gust of wind and the heat of the brakes releasing as the train pulled into the station, she had no voice. Artemy gave her hand a slight squeeze, and her gaze snapped up to his – green eyes meeting blue.

For a single moment, the world fell away around them. For the briefest of seconds she was back at that station so many years ago; she was a girl, eyes too dry to cry anymore. He was a boy, eager to get back to his friends and their games, but too softhearted to leave her standing on that platform alone. 

She memorized the lines of his face; the way his eyes wrinkled in the corners when he gave a light smile. She traced the angles of his jaw with her eyes, eagerly committing every scratch and imperfection to memory. She wanted to remember him, as they were now, knowing that when this was over they would be changed, altered – other.

The vibration of his voice in the air shook her. She hadn’t caught what he said, his voice stolen by the wind and the whistle of the train. He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and his gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. He paused, as if considering something, but thinking better of it. With a final squeeze, the warmth of his skin left her hands, the chill of the wind replacing it. 

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but the next sensation she remembered was a hand on her back, gently nudging her between her shoulder blades. 

“C’mon Birdie, you’ll catch your death out here.”

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Demon Knight: Odel 2

Support me on Ko-fi!~    -   Patreon

Part 1  |   Part 2

A/N:

I wasn’t expecting the number of likes from the previous part, and I want to thank everyone for the kind comments! I’ve been a bit low and didn’t think it would get any likes, so it means the world!

I honestly didn’t know how else to write it, apart from the two of you discussing what to use as a ring.

-

Ad Laetitiam et Pacem Part 2

Sir Odel was a mighty knight indeed: armed and readied for anything to protect you with.

He was one to keep you close and possible enemies away: lending travellers little or no sight of you, pretending the Whitehaven Hold was merely a sight of ruin. You opted for a life of seclusion, finding it rather quaint not having servants at your whim, and the title of runaway seemed to suit your needs.

Odel was a great companion when you needed one in the loneliness: learning more and more about him by the day. He told you of the previous lord he watched and protected, his family, the life he lived and how he came to the pact of defence.

Turns out, it had been a usual occurrence for a demon like himself to make a living out of service to another. He had been a lessor lord in the underworld, a knight bound by service and duty.

He was older than you imagined, older than the soil of the world, borne before all life was created.

“What you’re offering to me,” Odel began, watching as you knitted by the well-lit fire, occupied in thoughts and peaceful silence. “this marriage pact, do you have a ring?”

You snapped up to look at him. “I never thought of that,” you thought carefully. “I guess I said it at the moment. Usually, a lord provides the ring—that’s what my father told me.”

“Your father is most correct,” he said. “Thought there are other items that can be used to replace a ring.”

“How so?”

“Well, some cultures use a sword, an axe or a great axe.” He stated, polishing his sword. “It is for both to present a sword. It represents a ring to give to one another.”

“That’s rather interesting,” you pondered. “Though I don’t think I have the strength to offer you a sword.”

“How about a dagger?”

You watched as the demon knight unsheathed a dagger from his hip, its hilt as black as obsidian, a ruby gem embedded in its hilt in all of its beauty. “I offer you this dagger as a symbol of our marriage.” He stood, walking towards you, his armour creaking as he went.

Before you, he knelt once more, the dagger held up for you. Cautiously, awaiting, you did not grab for it just yet. “I will protect and swear arms to you. Protect you in sickness and in health. For as long as you may live, your life is mine to protect and love.”

You blushed heavily, gingerly taking the dagger carefully in your hands, observing it in amazement. The blade was unlike anything you had seen crafted, the blacksmiths of your father’s kingdom had never seen the likes of this material, nor did you believe it was of this world.

“Wait—how about this.” you patted yourself down quickly, remembering you could have something to offer. The ring was given to you as a gift of your birth. It was small, but with some string, you found on you, you tied it around the ring, offering it closely to the knight to wear.

“I offer you this ring, as a symbol of our marriage.” You began. “I will keep you close to my table, and provide the needs any husband requires.”

“Requires?” He inquired.

“Needs—erm, like kin?” You hesitated, realising how incredulous you sounded.

Odel was silent for some time before a loud chuckle resonated from his armour, old and powerful. “You shan’t expect that from me.” He reassured. “I swear it.”

You nodded, continuing. “I shall adore you, in sickness and in health. Now until the moment of my death.”

Odel looked pleasured, reassured by your words, embracing the ring to his chest. He tied it around him, and the simple act was enough to make you feel a level of comfort.

Princess you had been, now, forever in peace.

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday, WIP Wednesday & Last Line

Tagged by @cassietrn and @voidika

Tagging @imogenkol @inafieldofdaisies @adelaidedrubman @shellibisshe @aceghosts @socially-awkward-skeleton @noodlecupcakes @josephseedismyfather @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries @nightwingshero and @lulu2992 + anyone else who'd like to join.

Got songs for The UnTitledverse, Wings And Horns and A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore, with a snippet for a new FC5 The Silver Chronicles WIP as well as a last line for You Make My Heart Go Doki Doki Literature Club!. You can listen to the songs and read the WIPs snippets below:

Legend is important. It's part of history and culture. It should always be preserved in the present to better understand our past to make way to the future. Now many of my series divulge into legends and myths and old stories. Some of them outright make reverence to events long passed (the Extermination Purge Wars, the Big Bangs, the fall of the Houses of the Old Gods and the foundation the Time Bureau Authority, etc). Sometimes all that was in the past emerges into the present (with the likes of the Arachnoids, Exterminators, the Old Kin and more). However, one historical text in my series is the abolishment of the (while benevolent, very flawed) Soulmate System, which my Original Work Wings And Horns is set in. The plot is that more and more mortals are being discovered without soulmarks (which come in the form of marks, initials, countdowns, etc, depending on the person and timeline), so the New Gods send Archangel Metatron and an Angel of Death cadet, Azriel, to investigate the phenomenon to see whether it is natural or manufactured. Metatron wants to preserve and fix the system because he believes mortals require it, meanwhile Azriel just wants the credit so her soul can be reincarnated at an earlier date. The duo behind the soulmark removals is a Sloth Demon by the name of Xiang Ba'al and his adopted daughter, a Sinner's soul by the name of Jezebel. This cat and mouse chase is what ultimately dictates the decision the New Gods are debating; should mortals require on the guidance on something as small as love? Or should mortals find the love of their life on their own, a small step to gifting them a responsibility that had drastically the status quo beforehand thousands of years ago; that being, Free Will?

"Legends never die When the world is calling you Can you hear them screaming out your name? Legends never die."

"They never lose hope when everything's cold And the fighting's near." "It's deep in their bones They'll ride into smoke when the fire is fierce." "Oh, pick yourself up 'cause

Legends never die Legends never die Legends never die Legends never die!"

"Legend never dies They're written down in eternity But you'll never see the price it costs The scars collecting all of their lives."

"When everything's lost They pick up their hearts and avenge defeat Before it all starts They suffer through harms to touch and dream." "Whoa, pick yourself up 'cause

Legends never die Legends never die Legends never die Legends never die!"

"Legends never die." "When the world is calling out your name." "Begging you to fight." "Oh, oh, oh, pick yourself up Once more, pick yourself up 'cause

Legends never die Legends never die Legends never die Legends never die!"

"Legends never die."

Walking Fate is a fic series in The UnTitledverse based in Telltale's The Walking Dead video game. The fic classically follows (most) of the game/s, but does diverge a bit off with pivotal focus on Clementine and an OC of mine whose the runaway son of Darling Enterprises, a multi-business juggernaut, Malcrum Darling, and their relationship. They're definitely not "tragic star-crossed lovers". I'd never do such a thing in The Walking Dead universe. Here's a song about Malcrum's feelings towards Clementine that's definitely in no shape or form supposed to be interpreted as inno- I mean twisted. Enjoy!

"Hey, he-ey-ey, he-he-hey

Your lipstick stains On the front lobe of my left side brains I knew I wouldn't forget you And so I went and let you blow my mind

Your sweet moonbeam The smell of you in every single dream I dream I knew when we collided You're the one I have decided who's one of my kind

Hey, soul sister Ain't that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo The way you move ain't fair you know Hey, soul sister I don't wanna miss a single thing you do, tonight

Hey, he-ey-ey, he-he-hey

Just in time I'm so glad you have a one track mind like me You gave my life direction A game show love connection we can't deny

I'm so obsessed My heart is bound to beat right out my untrimmed chest I believe in you Like a virgin, you're Madonna And I'm always gonna wanna blow your mind.

Hey, soul sister Ain't that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo The way you move ain't fair you know Hey, soul sister I don't wanna miss a single thing you do, tonight."

Throughout A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore, one universal rule is applied; it doesn't matter you are. From a vault dweller who drew the short straw to a psychotic resident of Vault 76 whose a bit too obsessed with wanting to kill her neighbors. A talking Deathclaw to a Ghoul addicted to chems. A brother who wants to uphold the morals his mother taught him in the Wasteland to his amoral sister who kicks old people people and harasses the less fortunate because she's from a wealthy crime family. Because in the end... they have to stand up to Arcane Urias. (Those poor fuckers are gonna die LOL!!!). Because I guess it's the right to do (in the context of self-preservation against the threat of annihilation).

"Up in the morning, up in the evening Pickin' down clocks when the birds get back to eat Oh, to eat

Up on the mountain, down in the king's lair Pushing these boxes in the heat of the afternoon Oh, afternoon

We were never welcome here We were never welcome here at all No

It's who we are, doesn't matter if we've gone too far Doesn't matter if it's all okay Doesn't matter if it's not our day

Oh, won't you save us, what we are Don't look clear, it's all uphill from here Oh-oh

Up in the attic, down in the cellar Lost in a static, coming back for more Oh, for more

Out with the reason, in with the season Taking down names in my book of jealousy Jealousy

We were never welcome here We were never welcome here at all No!"

An long FC5 WIP for The Silver Chronicles, a new one at that, one I'm naming after the lyrics of David Kushner's "Daylight"; because David Kushner and his songs fit The Silver Chronicles on a scary level. Anyway, the WIP is called Oh, I Love It And I Hate It At The Same Time. You And I Drink The Poison From The Same Vine. Hiding All Our Sins From The Daylight... also known as "the fic where Silva and Paul survive the Tumultite Massacre together and their father/daughter relationship worsens into co-dependence in Montana". Where's Elsa and Persephone at? Well, they'll arrive in the later half of the fic... along with Kamski. Despite the fact their relationship not being "gonna kill you for hurting me even though you were good once", this is far from a good and healthy outcome for both Silva and Paul. In spite of this, they make a dangerous duo (as expected of the two), something the Seeds kind of suspect when they meet them. Enjoy being as lost as the Seeds are in this scene snippet below when Paul interrupts them meeting the Muse herself at a social gathering Pre-Reaping. [Would like to add that the WIP is fairly new, and I'm still working on this scene, and may make a few changes in the near future when I have the time. Expect some mistakes]:

When the question left Joseph's mouth, he felt a pain clutch his shoulder.

With a surprised hitch of his breath, he glanced down to gloved fingers that dug into his shoulder blade with an astonishing unnatural amount of strength.

"Her padre, of course," the soft gleeful voice of the hand's owner answered from beside him, the tone sickeningly sweet.

The stranger's head faced Joseph, his eyes closed to Joseph's seeking blue. His lips curved up in a polite and cheerful smile, one that should be dripping with honey.

The man's eyes briefly opened to reveal burning yellow eyes, bordering on an intense gold. Joseph could not shake the feeling that he's seen those eyes before. A vision perhaps?

Joseph felt himself tense as he recognized the way this man looked at him; the way John sometimes gazed upon the Sinners. A predator that has targeted its prey. And it was Joseph who was already in his clutches.

The man blinked, and the inhuman hue was gone. Instead, a pale hazel resided in its stead. He drifted his eyes away from Joseph, locking with the oblivious grey of the deputy that heralded the coming of the Collapse.

An inexplicable dread coiled in his gut when the man's features genuinely lightened at the sight of his family's judge.

"Ah, il mio piccolo Boa!" he greeted with a beaming grin, letting go of Joseph's aching shoulder to push past him, swiftly making his way to Silva to the Seed's collective daze. The man wrapped his arms over Silva's body, embracing the slightly shorter woman. She seemed delighted by his unexpected appearance.

They both pulled away, though gloved hands remained on the other's arms. The man, though a stranger to the crowd around her, seemed to be a familiar face to Silva. Joseph watched the stranger's hand glide caressing fingers across her dark hair affectionately, following the slivers of the dyed silver trails that reached to her braid, "And how are you fairing this fine hour?"

Silva graced the question with a smile; not the formal and polite smile that served to keep a front up to strangers, but one with an undeniable sincerity shining through.

"Hola to you too, Paul," Silva returned with bemusement, "I was just making some new friends. What brings you over?"

From behind Paul, Joseph could see the man's head tilt. Through the abrupt gesture, Silva's features suggested she understood the meaning, "Um, amigos, Paul."

"Ah," Paul seemed to understood, sneaking an obvious glance towards Joseph and his siblings. There was no trace of gold in those hazel eyes, and the intensity lesser than when he locked eyes with Joseph, but the suspicion directed towards them held a sharp edge to it. Paul let another word roll down his tongue, but the tone matched his gaze, "Amici."

In spite of the growing uneasiness, Joseph willed himself to keep a calm front. He was unsure why Paul off-put him. Joseph regarded the man; his stature was slight taller than Silva's, but similar to Joseph's own height. He was older than all of them, including Jacob; perhaps a decade older. His hair was blonde- or rather, dyed blonde, as Joseph noted the light brown at the sides of his head. His complexion wasn't too dissimilar from Silva's own, maybe deeper.

Joseph took note of the few faded scarring scarcely scattered around his face, and like Silva's, time had laid its healing hands on Paul's own wounds.

Joseph paused his observation, about to make introductions with the askant man when John stepped forward first.

"Yes, we were giving our compliments to Silva for the couscous salad you've brought. She was just telling us it was a co-opted effort," John stated with a grin, one Joseph's had become accustomed to over the years. John's move peaked Paul's interest, his suspicion replaced with curiosity. With his audience captured, Joseph watched approvingly as John continued, a hand outstretched, "I don't believe we've met mister...?"

Recognition shined in Paul's eyes, though it was swept away with a grin bigger than John's as his gloved hand grasped John's in a steady shake, "Yellowjack. But please, just call me Paul. I've always felt the term "mister" gives off the impression I'm married, or worse, boring."

Jacob raised a brow, though refrained from commenting as John replied when letting go of Paul's hand, "Noted. So, are you a friend of Silva's or family?"

Paul shared a glance with Silva and replied, "Family. I'm her padre. I've taken care of her for a long time."

Joseph focused on both Silva and Paul; he couldn't find anything indistinguishably shared between both, though he considered that Silva might just take after her mother than Paul. However, he didn't discard the possibility that Paul was Silva's adoptive father rather than her blood relative.

He kept his thoughts to himself though; reasoning that bringing up the question wouldn't be appropriate so early now. Especially if there's a layer of deception underneath Paul's relation with Silva; he didn't want to unintentionally compromise her safety if Paul held more sin than Joseph already suspected he did.

Silva spoke up, grabbing everyone's attention as she pointed out, "You know Paul, you never answered my question."

Paul seemed to stiffen; clearly a dramatic display rather than serious, as Paul finally answered Silva, "Well, you see, I had caught up with good ol' Virgil before he had to run off for his own business and I saw you speaking to these truffatori impopolari, quindi volevo solo controllarti. You know?"

Joseph and Jacob shared a glance; none of them could interpret the words Paul had sputtered out, though Joseph relaxed when Silva gave Paul a soft smile, "I'm grateful for your concern. But I've got this handled. Gracias, though."

Paul relaxed his stiffness, and Silva brought his attention back towards them, "Now how about some introductions?"

"Great idea," Paul agreed, hazel scanning across the four siblings, "How about we go oldest to youngest?"

Jacob's mouth thinned, blue eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Paul with harsh judgement. Joseph watched as his brother scanned the older man's black and yellow attire. It was flaunting a level of wealth, typical of someone who indulged in vanity. However, that didn't sit right with Joseph. He decided to dwell on it later as he watched Paul and Jacob.

Paul glanced to Jacob, and after a pause, he leaned closer, "Let's start with you ragazzone."

Jacob stared down Paul, who was an inch or two shorter than the red-head. He exhaled out an annoyed huff, and gruffly stated, "Name's Jacob."

Paul hummed and straightened up his posture, hazel eyes trailing Jacob's forest green jacket and body. His eyes seemed to linger on the American flag, Jacob's burns and, oddly enough, his biceps more often. Paul clicked his tongued and nodded his head approvingly, "That checks out. But man, sei una delizia per i miei occhi."

Silva had a bemused expression at Paul's words. Jacob, though, raised a brow, "Mind sharing on what's on your mind?"

Paul had snapped out of his trance, and he swiftly blurted out, "Oh, I just said you looked good, is all."

Paul's attention hastily turned to John and Joseph. He looked between the two, but when the older man focused on him, Joseph witnessed his cheer drop abundantly when their eyes met.

The cold dread surfaced once more. The dead-eyed scrutiny the older man reserved for Joseph alone alarmed him. Joseph could not understand Paul's behavior. Neither could he recall any cases where he could have slighted the man, despite this being their first meeting. He'd never seen Paul in any of his visions, only Silva.

Regardless, Joseph chose to retaliate with a gentle greeting, "My name's Joseph. My family and I run the chapel over on the island by the Henbane."

"Oh yeah, I know," Paul calmly told him, all the playfulness gone, "You're the head of the Project at Eden's Gate, correct?"

Joseph curtly nodded in confirmation, and Paul continued, "Yes, I've heard quite a lot about you. Folks around here always have something to say about your little project."

Joseph's lips thinned, disappointment resonating in his chest. So the sinners lies are spreading swiftly. He was displeased by this knowledge, but he resolved to help Paul see the light. If not for his own soul, then the sake of his daughter's.

John stepped in, interrupting the exchange, "All good things, one would hope."

Paul turned attentively to John with an upbeat rejuvenation, disregarding Joseph, "Well, they can't certainly be all bad now, can they?"

Paul's change in demeanor reminded Joseph of John; both hid their emotions behind a carefully crafted mask and would only reveal their true feelings to those they liked or trusted. However, Paul had more self-control over his emotions and mannerisms.

"And I don't believe you shared your name," Paul pointed out to John.

"John. And if I may, we'd encourage you and your daughter to come for at least one sermon," John invited. Joseph smiled at John's attempt to salvage Paul's soul.

The man in question gave a brief glance to Silva, who shrugged, before returning to John and saying, "Preferirei di no."

John waited for Paul to specify but the latter's attention shifted to their final sibling. Joseph caught a flash of an offended scowl on John's face, so Joseph reached a calming hand on his younger brother's shoulder. It worked, the scowl lost in a practiced exhale.

"Oh, look at this, they have a sorella Silva," Paul said with a grin as he stepped closer to the shorter Faith. Silva narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her father.

Admittedly, so had Joseph.

"What's your name?" Paul asked. Faith shifted, hands behind her back as a delighted smile stretched across her lips with an answer, "It's Faith."

"Faith," Paul repeated her name, seeming to break it down before giving a small bow, adding with sincerity, "A powerful name for a powerful woman. It suits you."

Paul's compliment had three separate effects from what Joseph could see; it had flattered Faith, who thanked Paul for his kind words. It had annoyed John, who rolled his eyes at the exchange.

And it had concerned Joseph, at least as the Father; while he had entrusted Faith in a role that required her to attract converts to their flock, he was weary of those with perverse sins that would embolden them to act on certain depravities.

There had been minor incidents that had occurred, at least in earlier years, though Faith had shown a strength and belief that always reaffirmed him in his decision to bring her in. Especially when she purified the souls of those who indulged in such vices, allowing them to serve the Project free of their sinful shackles; as angels.

He monitored Paul, watching as the man gazed into Faith's eyes, and saw once again how he lightened up. Paul noted aloud, "I must say, you have such lovely green eyes. Is that a recessive trait?"

As Faith gave an explanation to Paul, Joseph was more confused. The way he stated the detail was too specific. And he had stated loud enough for only their small group to hear.

He glanced to Silva, and was met with a menagerie of changing expressions; first was confusion, then came analysis, followed by baffled realization, until she finally settled on looking unimpressed.

With her reactions, Joseph was at a loss on how to view this interaction between Paul and Faith. Until Paul pulled out of his conversation with Faith and attentively singled Silva out, "You know Silva, se volevi solo parlare con la ragazza, non dovevi fare di tutto per incontrare prima tutta la sua famiglia, right?"

Silva blinked at Paul, staring agape as she processed the stream of words he told her aloud. A blush darkened her skin, grey eyes wide in astounded and embarrassment.

Ah, I see now, Joseph deduced, glancing from Silva to Paul, He's teasing her.

Evidenced by the cheeky grin that grew across Paul's face as he continued, "Lei è certamente una partita. Se vuoi, posso impartirti un po' di saggezza sul primo appuntamento. Purché non riceva un invito a nozze entro la fine dell'anno, eh Silva?"

Silva furrowed her brows at Paul, the blush expanded. She traversed over to grab Paul, telling him, "¡Ey! ¡Ya es suficiente de tu parte!"

Despite an irate Silva telling off a snickering Paul who fruitlessly tried to calm down his daughter, Joseph couldn't help but be endeared by the display in front of him. There was something else too... but he elected to push it away for the time being.

Joseph turned to address his family, and paused as John commented to Faith and Jacob, "Who here suspects this isn't an uncommon occurrence between these two?"

"I don't doubt it," Jacob affirmed, eyeing the duo, specifically Paul, "He's definitely the embarrassing parent."

And here's a few short paragraphed snippets for my DDLC WIP called You Make My Heart Go Doki Doki Literature Club! for the Last Lines tag. Sayori (plus Yuri and Natsuki) enters the club and interrupts... something:

The door class door clicked open, and both students snapped their heads to Sayori entering the class, who freezes once her blue eyes took in the sight of a frazzled and flushed Monika whose uniform was unkempt and fists were gripping the opened blazer flaps of the equally more disheveled and flushed new student Haoyu, both of their faces in close proximity of each other.

"This isn't what it looks like!" a horrified Monika quickly utters out, letting go of Haoyu's blazer and letting the green-dyed brunette troll drop to the floor with an ignored 'oomph!' as she went to address her club's co-president.

Only to stutter when, much to her horrifying embarrassment two more familiar faces entered the room beside Sayori; that of Yuri who didn't immediately comment on the situation and Natsuki who rushed in with a burning question to Monika's poorly timed outburst, "What doesn't look like what? Wait..."

Monika watched as Natsuki regarded her appearance, and then her pink eyes shifted to Haoyu leaning up nearby the coral brunette; who was repeatedly trying to blow hair away from their face, to a miserable degree of failure.

Once pink met emerald green, Monika could feel sweat start to break when she unfortunately witnessed a mischievous and teasing glint shine in her clubmate's eyes. With a teasing grin, Natsuki asked, "So what's going on in here?"

[wheregoodthingsthrive]

☘️🎻🍇🌿Who wants to smash dragon ball OCs together like barbies please dm me I need dragon ball friends

All the bits under the cut cause I’m going to ramble about these

Okay. These are my pookie wookie bears from the depths of my brain that have spawned as a result of needing to stretch and chew on dragon ball's expansive universe.

Cress -- Saiyan, a runaway member of the Frieza Force who crashes onto a peaceful, shrouded planet inhabited by the Mel'hivi and their borderline god Andolin. She abandoned the force prior to the destruction of Planet Vegeta and has been willingly staying on Mel'ha with Andolin as she 1. has grown to love and value the planet, her life, and the Namekian and 2. to escape her Frieza Force squadron (SRF). She is dedicated to being a defender of the planet she lives on and its dragon balls. She and Andolin kiss sometimes. Name pun = water cress.

Andolin -- Namekian, a Dragon Clan Namekian who is the protector/'kami' of Mel'ha and the Mel'hivi population. He created, nurtures, and controls Escotera, the dragon of his created dragon balls. He is patient, somewhat stern, and extremely skilled in the magics of the Dragon Clan, creating nigh his own palette of skills that would qualify him as a nigh Grand Elder. Though he is young, he is mighty, basically. He and Cress kiss sometimes. Name pun = the mandolin.

Raserry -- Icejin? Arcosian? Frieza race. The leader of the Special Risk Force / Raserry Force (SRF). He is haughty and serious, showing off less glamor than his kin Frieza. Think Starscream from Transformers but with less "bug on the windshield" vibes. He is the one who organized the SRF, dedicating it to hunting down and executing or the reinstitution defected members of the Frieza Force. (DJD but in DBZ). He is ruthless, doesn't like to play with his food, and helps oversee the political maintenance of the Icejin-Arcosian-Frieza race planet in the absence of its political leaders (Frieza and at times Cold). Name pun = raspberry.

Saffren -- unique race (Zacin/Zacins). The green sketch one. Saffren is Raserry's right hand in the SRF and is the heavy, hard-hitter of the team. He, alongside the remainders of the SRF, are dedicated to the finding of the dragon balls for devious silly little reasons. Name pun = saffron. When Raserry is away, he runs the show with an iron fist and with merciless motion. We love him. He has four arms! That's his special bit.

Tarte -- unique race (Fumi/Fumian). The weird lady punching the super saiyan. Tarte is a member of the SRF. She is a Fumi, an aquatic dwelling mammalian creature who is such an amalgamation of traits and tropes that she is a melting pot of Bad. Her unique skill in the ability to quiet her ki, turn invisible via her mirage-inducing skin, and her traversing skills under water. Name pun = tarts.

[h-didanart]

Don’t mind me, just uh, felt like writing in a fancy way I guess? Idk, I kinda just made this so yeah :P

———

“I would die for you” thinks the former killer, the little fox that’s now their little sibling yelling over some game he lost.

The cub is fierce but not yet trained in the ways of the world, he’d be ripped to shreds were he left alone. They have to make sure he won’t be thrown to the wolves, won’t spend days in hunger or long for comfort over the freezing nights, won’t run to the arms of a monster, that he won’t follow in their path.

He’s their brother, whom they may not have met before but will love as if they did, they’ll watch over him and strike any menace down, they’ll be the best older brother there ever was.

“I would kill with you” say the runaways, the smarter of their group not amused despite the compliment.

Realistically in a fight it would not be able to do much, having such injuries that limit its movement, not like it’d like to join in, death being that thing that’s better away than up close. They may annoy it by poking fun at its work, or its art, or its style, yet a better bud they couldn’t have, it understands the snide remarks, the accusations and infantilization, of others deeming you the crazy one, telling you your life is a lie.

It’s their friend, their sole source of support during all these years, and they’ll help complete its research as silly to them as it seems, just as they’ll come back at the end of the day and annoy it to no end.

“I will die with you” grumbles the warrior, the actor’s core still beating in spite of their broken chassis.

Such delicate machinery, a survivor of those ashen remains, it must be careful if it doesn’t want to lose its leg again. It’s that care he has such trust on, even through their first impressions, he knows it does what it must, they both do what they can, never exactly at peace in the world lest within the other’s arms.

They are his friend, the one who brought him back alive, who may not understand his way of feeling but will still be there to pat his back, he’ll do his best to keep it alive, and if he can’t then better to stick together, neither has anyone else as it stands.

“I will die for you” feel the twins at once, firmly entwined amongst their family.

It was a miracle they had stuck together, original three as compatible as identical magnets, the now five or six as united as a fly in a deadly glue trap. To have heard as life passed while they remained frozen had been a sweet agony, once the stasis traded with separation a new horror dawning, yet they managed to all hold together through the lies and manipulations and disappearances and pains.

They are their family just as much as they are to each other, they’ll keep them safe, they’ll keep them happy, to show they too can change and to truly join the whole family.

“I will kill for you” the demon tells the virus, holding her arm as they bounce towards the unknowing victims.

Calling themselves their Father and taking them in, they hadn’t expected to get much out of this, a pleasant surprise it was when they did. The only person who gets it he was, having been the core program they were based off, the insatiable hunger, an itchy need, what they had to do to live, not even the Morning Star could look so deeply.

She is their Father, not a creator or whatnot, the one who teaches them efficiency, cares about the means more than the results, they‘ll stand by him as long as they live, one does not just betray their kin.

“I will live with you” the vampire promises, both sleep deprived bots staring at the newest project, wondering how it could work.

With a face such as that not much good was expected, yet he pulled through time and time again, reliable, though never to himself it seems. He had helped through the horrors, helped through the numbness, they had learnt of his life and looked up for the stoicism, they make sure he won’t push his limits, they cannot have him throwing himself around all the time.

They may never say it but he is their brother, the one they wished they could’ve had since day one, and it’s such a dumb promise but they can’t help but make it, they’ll live alongside him, live for their talks, live like they owe him to, because they do, they owe him their lives, so they’ll live to make him proud.

[subzeroparade]

what little you've posted of your tarnished oc really interests me! if you'd like, and if comfortable, could you share a little bit more about his lore + his connection to the ancestral followers? what motivated him to join them (other than death, as tagged in one of your posts) and why was it such an ultimatum?

Thank you anon (and sorry for my late response, shit is crazy atm).

Kotschei is a longstanding OC of mine (by which I mean 10+ years), and in his ER iteration he’s a scholar of the Lazuli Conspectus (astrologers who argue for the preeminence of the moon over the stars) and a faithful servant of Carian interests in the Academy. He’s also neither a fighter nor a terribly talented mage, which means he flees in the pseudo-counter-reformation we know happens when the other Conspectuses (all glintstone purists) wrest power from the Carians, depose Rennala, and reassert the Academy’s doctrinal position (as deferent to the authority of the stars).  His brush with the Ancestral Followers is really accidental - they don’t quite speak the same language, they have no written histories, and to a scholar of the Academy (and not a historian) they’ve never seemed more than a race of brutish non-believers. They are openly scornful of the Academy’s petty factional arguments about the moon and stars, immutable, true things that to them are fixed and unchanging rather than questions to be debated. By the Siofra riverbanks the moon’s face is obscured, and they take pity on Kotschei for it. On encountering the Ancestral Spirit, its magic astounds him: it decays and flourishes at once, dying and returning to the earth and living again, nature in service to it. He learns that Ancestral magic has no link to the stars or the moon, nor the black currents of deathblight or the gruesome way the Golden Order has made a farce of immortality.

So in his little bubble of woe is me I am a sinner on all fronts betraying the moon, he trades his own magic for Ancestral learning. He’s also a floppy little glass cannon, so getting skewered by their arrows and later watching them shoot is how he manages a degree of mastery over Loretta’s Greatbow. The Shining Horned Headband he wears for the rest of the game is one he fashioned himself, observing their techniques - on the branching antlers, alongside the flourishing buds, he grafts Carian blue glintstone shards. This is in part to channel their power, and in part because when he returns to Liurnia, shamanic regalia is an improbable disguise for an excommunicated mage. 

I don’t usually write extensively or lore dump about my OCs in particular, but I appreciate the ask (it's timely, since he will appear in the @gracedbygold Tarnished-centric zine). In the end I enjoyed beefing up his backstory enough that I turned any prospective lore-dump into a ficlet, which goes into a little more detail on how he got to where he’s going (from runaway mage to pledging himself to Ranni, first as a servant and eventually as potential consort). It’s not done yet, but here is a snippet:

“I see you look at me, Master Scholar, and I invite you to look closer.”  She spreads all four hands, though the gesture fails to be inviting. “You know what I am. I have lost my Empyrean body, and with it, some manner of power over the order of things. The Fingers, and the Greater Will by extension, have branded me their enemy. Dethroned, the academy has abandoned my royal house. I can muster no army. Many who would be my subjects think me dead. My kin have become rivals, trapped or compelled by their own machinations for power. I am a soul in a loosely-bound collection of porcelain limbs, and my only ally is the distant, mercurial Moon.” She leans forward. “Are you so unimaginative as to be bound by duty? This is not the winning side.”  A fine scholar’s argument, I want to tell her. We are not imaginative. We want to know the world, not guess at it. You cannot stand before your peers and imagine possibilities. You argue for truths, for once something is written down, there is security in certitude. Glintstone is a hard and cold discipline - improbable, I know, given the wobbling bodies and fragile egos who master it. For all our formulae and suppositions and mastery of cosmic principles, we mostly cast light and fling rocks. These are the things we are certain of.  The interesting part is guesswork, which, by virtue of its incertitude, means it’s not really scholarship. For all my learning, it’s no more than a series of lucky guesses that have delivered me here, before the last true daughter of the Moon.  “I reason,” I say at length, “that you can still inherit the world.”

[regretevator-confessions]

we honestly need more lore on jermbo, why does retro kill them when they enter, what does their presence mean? what are they even capable of? are they the one pulling the strings to this elevator's mysteries?

can go for glevil too, is mark technically apart of the cult and if he was, is he still capable of feeling/hearing the thoughts of the other mannequins, are all mannequins within this hivemind? Can the other mannequins hear his thoughts or feel the need to come back to his kin? if mark did branch off from the cult and left, would it be like runaway? [ WoF ref ] how did he even meet with wallter? Does glevil still go after mark after this amount of time? does the hivemind ability let them control the strings for the other mannequins at times?

on the other hand, what was wallters actual past before meeting mark? who made him? did gnarpians make him? did another race make him? did gnarpy create him? what was his sole purpose? why is he considered useless now? what introduced him to drink gray stuff?

.

[kuramirocket]

@devotion-that-corrupts Okay a new post because I have thoughts about finishing Sunrise.

In regards to Hollyleaf herself revealing the secret; I mean I can understand her rage, confusion and despair. The Warrior Code was so integral to her belief system and worldview, so I don't really find it all that surprising, psychologically speaking, that it shattered everything for her and it caused her to reveal everything at the gathering and runaway where she was ultimatley killed in the collapse of the tunnels. She just could not deal with it mentally and emotionally.

I would have loved to see what her thoughts would have been had she known another medicine cat existed who too had kits. It's too bad Hollyleaf was too angry and shattered to talk to Leafpool or Squirrelflight or even Firestar as clan leader. I wonder if Firestar would have told her about Yellowfang, though revealing that secret after so long doesn't seem likely, maybe.

I also find it hard to believe Hollyleaf died. Sure, Firestar has other kin besides Hollyleaf and her siblings, but I always got the impression the prophecy talked about three siblings specifically not necessarily different kin relations (e.g. two siblings, a cousin) if that makes sense. The prophecy being about Lionblaze, Jayfeather and one of the newly born kits just seems pretty out of left field. Though, I suppose it would explain why Hollyleaf didn't seem to have any special powers. Hmm... Just Hollyleaf dying seems convienant and lacking closure to everything.

Also, I know Hollyleaf and her siblings are extremely young and inexperienced and lack wisdom and life experience, but they were so unfair, especially Hollyleaf towards Leafpool and Squirrelflight. I know, they were shocked to say the least about the reveal and it was a great burden for them to bear along with the secret of the prophecy and it shook everything they thought they knew about themselves and everyone around them, but Leafpool and Squirrelflight are only 'human' for lack of a better phrase. Lol. I mean, they're just cats. They, too, will make mistakes and have regerets. Yet, they tried their best and it was obvious they loved Jayfeather, Lionblaze and Hollyleaf. They looked after them and cared for them. Leafpool and Squirrelflight also suffered a great deal and too shouldered a great secret and burden. Though, I can't blame the young cats for being angry with Leafpool and Squirrelflight. They reacted like any young individual would, I think. It's all just a complicated mess. Oof.

So yeah, oooh boy what a way to end Power of Three! Holy cow!

[witchofthesouls]

Wondering how Tarn and the Nurse's story would go if they shared a world with Fusian Cannon Wedding Megatron.

The idea of fusion Cannon Wedding Megatron!AU is that the senate reserved the right to take any sparkling from unconjuxed parents ostensibly to be put in a worthy home while simultaneously making it cost prohibitive for all but the elite. Even for the upper middle caste it was incredibly burdensome. But if you could get an audience with a priest of the 13 they could interview a couple deem them worthy and chose to wave the fee.

Megatron, the agnostic, due to Gladiatorial WWE-esque Theme Shenanigans actualy ends a priest of Megatronus because he refused to be a fake priest in such a way that the last Priest of Megatronus decided "welp this is my best bet as a secuessor." Megatron ever the political activist used this to perform legally binding weddings for any sparked couples he came across.

Cue the Revolution and the risk of Deceticon newsparks being stolen increases. But there are treaties to return kiddos to their parents or next of kin. So if con, bot, neutral, or implausiblely compatible alien sparks up or is sparked up by one of his Decepticons, they are kidnapped and brought to the alrer at gunpoint for now High Priest Megatron to Marry them off "for the children's sake." The DJD has brought runaway 'juxes to the alter.

Now the DJD still has the Doner Cause because it's a way of protecting the bitties. Megatron initaly gets wind of the situation of with the Nurse and is relatively chill. Right up untill he realizes that the nurse was never married to the sire. Nevermind their Caimen with very diffrent rules and cultural norms. (Also their the mentee of a very scary Healer). Kaon doesn't even have to pull a witnessed act shenanigans to help his ship set sail. He just has to include a question in his routine report that Tarn is continuing providing doner support as outlined in the Doner clause. "As the cowardly tratitor abandoned his lover the moment he found out she sparked we did not find out he had sparked her after he was dead. Is it possible to posthumously conjux them for the security of the sparklings?" Kaon knows damn well posthumous conjuxing isn't a thing.

Shenanigans are about to ensue.

This is great because Megatron's manifesto would have revisions about religion, so instead of an atheist society, he more likely written about freedom of religion for anyone to practice. Just as a final Fuck You to the Senate with their harsh stance.

And because of the wild shenanigans, I think the Decepticons would have strong civil and family court proceedings.

Deadzone and Nurse were (ex) fiances, so Megatron could be chill with that.

But not with Tarn also sparking up the Camien. Now that's a whole-ass security risk!

Megatron wouldn't need to demand Tarn to return. The Peaceful Tyranny bulleted itself to the main flagship, ignoring everything else to get it situated after the consequences of too much excitement at the "fake" resort wedding.

A poor, sleep-deprived and absolutely exhausted Nurse would have been scooped up and thrown into the shower and polished to high-hell. You were vaguely aware of quick, sure servos working your back and sensory panels, and Helex was hogging the dryer.

This was no dignified walk. The entire Justice Division burned rubber and left scorch marks on their stampede to the Altar. Every other 'con jumped out of the way and booked it elsewhere because no one wanted to be in the vicinity that had the D.J.D. that hyperfocused.

Shockwaves rippled across the base that it wasn't a gruesome execution but a wedding.

Out of all the mechs, Tarn's.

The gossip mill was set aflame. Information between truth and rumors clashing, especially when the newlywedded mech was spotted with strange, blue Energon painted bright on his chassis.

The reality of it was far less fantastical.

You were a sack of photon-potatoes over Tarn's shoulder as he carried the cradle-pod of newsparks under his opposite arm.

At the daunting reveal that Megatron the bomb of Megatronus Prime's ordained lineage with the markings and proven insignia, you took a short break in the private sideroom (with proper permission from the High Priest) to freak out over your own lack of preparations and courtesies for said High Priest.

You did invoke part of an old bonding custom from Caminus' initial vorns when the Titan carried the survivors of the Tribal wars composed of different peoples.

You and Tarn get married with each other’s Energon painted upon the chassis.

Not only Megatron officiated the ceremony, but allowed a generous honeymoon package of timeoff and a few gifts.