#so here they are all in chronological order

[sevinagreatergood]

Whole lot of bullshit once again. Because if we're going at it like that. James harms a half muggle. James threatens and extorts a mudblood, James doesn't give a shit about his friends opinion who has a special condition. Only friend he sees as his equal is a white rich boy who is also a pureblood. He doesn't even give a shit about lily, the mudblood.

She dated him if he were a changed man, he didn't change. Who admitted that? How own friends lol.

Marauders are infamous for figuring out spells, hence the animagus stuff AND AND AND the map they worked on TOGETHER to create. That's right team work. They are also infamous for having 0 respect for Snape's boundaries.

While this whore was yapping about some horse shit. It never showed in the books HOW they got to their spells. So they SHOULD have said FANON but would a snater do that? No. No they won't. Like the usual typical whores that tear apart the idea of marriage. You see there are THREE things wrong with that yapping this snater did here.

1) Lily would not sit back and let Snape do that. And before these sluts will say "oh but she allowed Snape to say mudblood" SAYING AND DOING SOMETHING ARE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. If I tell my friend I hate men, she would at most agree somewhat with me or reason with me. Nothing too harsh. But if she found out I abuse my husband because I hate men, now that is a different conversation. I'd be dragged to police and yelled at. So again, Lily would've dumped Snape's ass much sooner. Because why would marauders hide the fact Snape invented it when James tries to pain him evil so badly? Lily already bitches about Snape's CLASSMATE doing something to her friend. She would lose her shit if she knew Snape went around using spells on muggleborns.

2) Slytherins. Anything a Slytherin dies is painted as evil. Similar to how snaters paint Slytherins as evil. Weasleys use Darm magic constantly, but nobody yaps about them. Why would they, they are gryffindors. Slytherins aka future DE lot using dark magic suddenly makes people shit their pants. Do people HONESTLY think langlock spell would've become popular is Slytherins went around using that muggleborns first like this snater claims? No. Lily lost her shit over Mary alone. Imagine a full blown popular spell started from the so-claimed DE lot children using it on muggleborns, all thanks to Snape. Read that? Sounds ridiculous.

3) Marauders. They were able to become illegal animagus WITHOUT a teacher's help. Nor did they have any respect for Snape. What is usually happening when the bullies have no respect for the victim yet got their hands on the victim's stuff? They stole it. In every scenario possible, a bully corners the victim, steals their bag or books, to either humiliate the victim, or steal answers for homework. They stumbled across that langlock spell, figured it out and began to use. That's my headcanon, since all we do is come up with possible answers.

My headcanon fits more than whatever the fuck snaters come up with. And Lily deserved to be called a mudblood at this point. Like what the fuck are snaters on? She acted like a mudblood and will be called as such. Just like how a snater acts like a bitch so will be called as such.

I don't know if snaters are familiar with chronological order. Because before Snape called her filthy mudblood (should've added WHORE too bby boy, but he has manners lol), she absolutely gave him shit.

- called him ungrateful for not kissing James his ass

- compared her GRYFFINDOR friend shitty day to her skythering CHILDHOOD friend abusive years. What an amazing prefect there.

- compared ganging up on 1 person to "at least they don't use dark arts" what an amazing prefect. Chef's kiss.

- smiled for a brief second at her childhood friend his SA then restraint it but if push came to shove. The slut did find her whore's tricks on Snape funny to hold back a smile.

And sure, she does yap about "You call everyone of my birth mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different."

Yeah, why should she be any different Severus? She was far much worse than the other goddamn mudbloods you cussed. But I'm protecting his case. Snaters, allow for a second some oxygen in your rotten mind. Let that crippled brain of yours breathe for a second.

So let me get this straight. The book shows he only does that whenever he is around a group that hate half of his guts if not all his guts, yet he should stick out his neck for people that don't lend him a hand whenever marauders come around?

Read that again. Read that again, VERY VERY slowly. Slytherins hated purebloods that were blood traitors. People ASSUME they adored Snape, but where? Not once did Severus mention a Slytherin fondly. Nor did a Slytherin show up to help him whenever marauders BULLIED him (no equal rivalry or some bs bitches) and Snape was a foot soldier when he entered DE, he wasn't in the main circle.

Gryffindor bullies him, Hufflepuff and ravenclaw do absolutely nothing to help Snape. Snape fights back against his bullies which they all find so funny/ ignore it. Of course Snape would not get on Slytherin nerves to endanger himself in his own bed too aka Slytherin bedroom. If they say "call her a mudblood" he would do it. Because why would he object for people that didn't help him any way either?

And what lily did with her scatter brain "You call everyone of my birth mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different." Is a forced confession. Let me make it always for those snaters there. They have some infant brain.

Let's say, I am a child and my mom is outside. She told me many times to eat only the food outside. Not the food in the fridge, those are for guests. On my way to get some drink out the fridge, I come across a rotten apple in the fridge that she probably did not notice. I cut the bad part out and ate the apple. She taught me to never waste food after all. She comes home and sees the apple. She finds out it's an apple out of the fridge but before I couldn't find my moment to tell her it was partially rotten, look I cut out the bad part, you taught me to not waste food, because she doesn't give me such a moment. Instead she asks me "did you or did you not eat the apple from the fridge? I only want to hear a yes or no, no other excuses!"

You're forced to confess in other words without pleading your situation. How is that fair? Didn't we hate this shit when our parents did that to us? I thought we did. Guess snaters love doing this. Forced confessions.

That what lily did. She didn't even bother hearing his side, she instantly confronts him with a yes or no situational question which is unfair. Extremely unfair. Especially from a goddamn slut that doesn't even remotely feel bad for smiling at his abuse created by James of all people. What if he asked "did you find potter's joke funny? Yes or no?" How many snaters would lose their semen soaked panties? A lot.

This is COMPLETELY AND ONLY lily her fault. Don't drag my baby in your shit. Not to mention that Snape didn't choose Slytherins as friends. Meanwhile Lily did. Guess what lily says next? Her friends didn't like her childhood friend (aka, she's WILLINGLY befriended with gryffindors that gossip about her bestie) and can't choose his side now thanks to those friends.

Makes you wonder, how long lily hung out with kids that didn't like Snape one bit, filled her head with hatred towards Snape and she succumbed to it. So Snape fearing for his life every day, doing things under peer pressure is evil. But lily willingly doing shit because she adores Gryffindor much more than her friend is called silly teen.

Get your fucking brains checked. Even if you sluts did ignore all her red flags, she should have NEVER EVER dated a man whom she witnessed that ruined the life of her childhood friend. And if you hate spells that Snape created, guess you hate the marauders too for using it. You're also raised so privileged, so that's a win. But since you have no backstory whatsoever, leave victims out of your std ridden mouth. Thank you.

I once again find myself needing to remind everyone that the spell James Potter uses to hang Severus Snape by his ankles in OoTP was a spell invented by... that's right, Severus Snape. The only way James would have learned the spell was if.... that's right, again, if Severus used the spell on someone else first.

And also, the scene might have been the first time that he called Lily a Mudblood, but to quote Lily, "you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?"

James wasn't bullying some innocent kid. He was bullying a wannabe death eater with his own spells.

[mailamoon]

Say hello to the Germa prince

[icestorming]

Again, I had to illustrate part of the newest chapter of "The line is covered in jellyfish" by @yunuen : click for better quality as always!

[rabbitinthemeadow]

Alas, the cradle of my heart waits elsewhere || One

[pixlatedvampire]

wee hee arcane doodles for your🫵 enjoyment 07

✨💗

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

Trial by fire: Tale of the Mantis Lords

The newly appointed lords of the mantis tribe continue to honor their agreement with the kingdom of Hallownest, keeping the beasts of Deepnest at bay.

The task growing more difficult, as their enemies grow stronger,

And as the eldest and youngest's plans begin to clash.

Chapter one (5k words)

Read below the cut~

Oriana glides down the walls, with her bone crafted claws and two sinew baskets filled with goods from the hunting grounds strapped onto her back.

The second and third born children of the mantis tribe's ruler glide down behind their sister, each carrying a basket of her own.

"Ori look out! You'll land on a sporg!" Siara shouts.

"I'm not so easily fooled!" the eldest of the three laughs after hitting the bottom level of their fungal framed village.

She then takes off fast as a wind scythe in the midst of battle.

Determined to leave her sisters as far behind her as is necessary in order to be crowned victor of their homeward bound race.

"Ori your basket's slipping!" The second born shouts again, another attempt to slow her down or distract her.

The supplies she carries are strapped to fit.

She sprints onward.

"If you wish to best me, you'd have a better chance utilizing your feet rather than your mouth!"

She can hear her sister let out a winded scoff somewhere behind her.

She chuckles. Her sisters are determined but not so much as she.

She is still surprised with how quick her legs can carry her.

It wasn't long ago the wings that she relied on since birth had been ceremoniusly clipped.

The hind-wings that is, and now her indigo fore-wings wrap over her shoulders like a cloak billowing in the wind behind her.

"I was simply testing your wit sister." Siara's voice becomes clearer as she catches up, still breathing heavy and apparently more determined than Oriana had anticipated.

"Obviously I intend to win!"

Oriana picks up her pace just before Siara can pass her.

Bounding over shrooms and dodging pikes bearing the faces of their greatest foes.

These remnants of once mighty beasts directing her home to the champions court.

The lowest level of the mantis territory boardering the caverns of Deepnest had long been reserved for the strongest of warriors.

Oriana's lineage had proven to be the mightiest and thus had borne the responsibility of leadership these past four generations.

She and her sisters had recently completed the trials that would determine whether or not they are worthy of residing in the court themselves.

Having been trained since birth, and at last proving herself to her mother, her mentors, and the tribe, she is immeasurably proud to call the place her home.

And she's almost made it back.

Almost won the race.

"Wo- aah!"

Oriana halts upon hearing her youngest sister, Biana, cry out.

Then,

SNAP

WOOSH

The sound of a trap set into motion.

She spins on her heels, allowing Siara to catch up with her.

Far behind them Biana is pulled into the air, tangled in a rope net dangling from the shellwood gates of the cavern.

"Biana!" Siara gasps and follows after Oriana who is quick to put to rest their competition in favor of assisting their sister caught like a beetle in a web.

"Hold on Bia!" Oriana finds where the lever was set and carefully pulls down the heavy rope.

"Do you fare well? Is anything broken?" Siara asks.

"No no I'm only a bit tangled up."

Upon being assured that her sister is unharmed Siara nearly bursts into laughter.

"Oh you find this humorous do you?" The captured one grumbles.

She wriggles out of the hunting trap after having been settled on the ground.

Oriana helps to unravel the rope.

"What fool would place a trap along this passage?"

Siara's laughter dies down at that query, and both sisters turn to her adorning knowing glares.

Siara, the newly appointed captain of the hunting team, had a special knack for building and placing traps.

"Really Siara? Here of all places? That is especially reckless of you." The eldest chastises her.

"You told me they were to be placed along the northwestern boarder!" Biana speaks.

"They are well designed though." There is a hint of pride in her tone.

Biana often assists Siara in perfecting her traps.

Truly there is very little that the sisters do not participate in equal with one another.

"I heard rumors of dirt carvers breaking in from a tunnel below here.

Besides, you were running off of the path."

"Barely!"

Siara sighs. "Very well. It may have been bad placement."

"Young lords!"

Two messengers from the court ahead sprint toward the sisters and halt to bow.

The sisters are swift to lend them their attention.

"Welcome back." The first greets them. "Your mother has asked that you meet with her outside the training grounds without hesitation."

Oriana nods. "We will meet with her straightway."

Any demand of their mother's is to be followed by the same reverence that any humble basket craftsman or shroom gatherer might offer having being called upon by a queen, or lord in this instance.

Not even the daughter, and future successor of the tribe's renown leader is exempt from such formalities.

She gestures for her sisters to follow.

"Allow us to take care of the supplies." The second messenger speaks.

"Very well."

~~~

"An upper claw attack, might prove advantagous in an instance where you had not been held at lance point, young one."

Timono glances up at his mother from where she had only a moment ago cornered him in their practice duel.

She chuckles as she rubs her chin where he had landed the strike a bit harder than he had meant to.

Then she settles her lance-nail on the ground and takes his tiny and cracked claws into her hands.

"If I was a beast or weaver you would have made for quite the feast by now."

She lifts him up.

Not yet of age to spar without the aid of his wings, the Mantis Lord's youngest child and only son, flies back from corner to center of the sparring ground.

The standard setting consists of even ground, two walls to grip, one lined with claws, lances, and scythes, and a cage wall to prevent the dishonorable act of fleeing mid-challenge.

This most unique training center in the champions court had been equipped with several settings. with the pull of a bone-crafted lever the floor could open and reveal a pit of spikes below. Shell-wood walls of varying lengths, and adorned in spikes of their own could be added to the ring. Other obstacles included swinging blades, captured sporgs, and a blackout setting.

That last of these designed to prepare scouts and warriors when traversing their enemie's kingdom below.

Timono had been hoping to practice in a more advanced setting.

His mother had promised him that he would, soon enough.

He wonders how soon...

Had he disapointed her with that last-second attack?

She doesn't appear to be so disappointed...

"Maybe we would have gone down together." He suggests.

"If you had been a beast, better that we both go down."

She considers his suggestion.

"Better you never fight alone." She replies. "So that you may rely on your companions to aid you when forced to surrender.

Hold out as long as possible until then. Refrain from reckless strikes."

He flies just before her and bows his head.

"Yes mother..."

He peaks up at her.

"But mother I was fighting alone."

She pats his little head.

"On the battlefield you won't be.

And you'll be practicing alongside your sisters soon enough."

"My sisters?"

He flutters up in excitement.

His triplet sisters being a few years his superior, did not often practice alongside him, despite his many attempts at convincing them to do so.

He has been training day and night, wishing he had not a moment to spare, in order to catch up with them.

With his mother, the lord and champion of the tribe overseeing almost all of his training it is not a surprise he has already come so far.

"Do you believe I could best them?"

"Perhaps. In time." She tells him.

"You still have much to learn.

Besting them aside,

I'm quite positive you will soon be ready to aid them in their training."

She leads her son to the gates.

"Your sisters have learned to rely on each other completely, and you rely on them.

They now must learn to place that same confidence in you."

"They say I'm too young."

She halts before exiting the grounds and he stops beside her.

"You are a bit younger, and still not as strong.

But you contain the spirit of a fighter the likes of which I've never seen Timono."

He cannot deter a beam of pride, upon receiving the accolade.

"And after you've come of age to pass the trials, and have proven your might, nothing more will come between the four of you."

He's dreamed of that day since the day his sisters had begun dreaming of their own victory in passing the trials of pride.

Now all of their dreams have come true.

He is next.

He'll catch up with them soon.

~~~

Oriana waits beyond the training ground gates, both of her sisters at her side.

Guards placed along the nearest walls.

Their mother had been training with their youngest sibling once again.

Outside of her regular duties she seemed to dedicate all of her time to that cause.

She had instructed each of her children, all of their lives, and had gifted them with the greatest among the warriors ranks to mentor them when she could not.

Oriana, as the first of the triplets to hatch, was to be honed into the perfect example of a mantis warrior. This task fell upon her mother and mentors within the very moment of her birth.

It has long since been tradition for the rulers firstborn daughter to be given advanced training in order to keep her family line upon the throne.

But her mother had three daughters, and believed each deserved the greatest that she could possibly give.

She believed that her son deserved the same.

No sons of the tribe have ever been granted such advanced training.

No sons had ever been expected to fulfill roles only the strongest could bear.

Not that little Timono was expected to bear any immeasurable responsibility...

Still Oriana took notice to how much value their mother had placed in the act of instructing him.

He is younger.

Smaller.

Less graceful.

He needs her guidance more...

"My daughters."

Having sent Timono to rest for the time being their mother greets her three eldest with a nod of acknowledgement and respect, before beckoning them to follow her.

The Lord of the mantis village stands tall and lean, she wields her lance-nail, on which the proverbs of her people have long been engraved,

And settled over her antennae the symbol of her leadership, the traditional headpiece that allows her a powerful horned silhouette.

This headpiece and the title of mantis lord have always come hand in hand.

To this day, beetles from the pale being's kingdom or beyond it are occasionally surprised to discover the leader of their tribe is female, the title of lord belonging to the male gender among them.

Within the mantis species that misconception would be impossible to make, the lords have always been female, from the first to last.

As the women have always carried the advantage in terms of strength, the determining factor of leadership.

It was the beetles themselves who had given the first of the lords their title.

Hundreds of years ago, the mantis that had lead their people to this territory had adorned a pair of beetle horns cut from the head of her mightiest opponent, and this symbol of victory had confused the common bug.

She, was mistaken for a he, and was renknown for being the lord of the mantises.

The title stuck.

For generations all those who have been bestowed the title have worn it most honorably.

"I have been taking note of your progress since completing the trials." Their mother speaks and Oriana is focused on nothing short of every word.

"Each of you has proven to be remarkable not only in the area of your strength and agility.

You cotian focus, wisdom and accountability." She proclaims with a sincerity that will impress Oriana all her life.

She stands taller.

Her mother is truly proud...

"You are most honorable representatives of our people." She affirms as they traverse the champions court, prompting all whom they pass by to pause and bow.

"Oriana, my firstborn, I have trained specifically for the task of one day claiming my throne."

Oriana gives a gentle nod, as her mother continues.

"Though after pondering the future of our people, and having witnessed the inner strength that each of you possess." She stops before the entry of the throne room.

"I have come to the conclusion that a change should be made concerning the rule of our tribe."

"A change?" Oriana questions, still she remains composed.

Their mother turns to face them.

"The three of you were born together,

I wish for you to rule together,

And alongside myself."

"Together?" Siara is the first to respond. "All of us?" She cannot stifle the shock in her tone.

"That has never been done before..."

"I have proposed that a mantis lord council be established." Their mother explains.

"A Quadrumvirate."

She turns and lifts her arm, gesturing for her daughters to enter into the throne room before them.

Oriana is the first to follow the unspoken command.

The room representing their tribes vigil, built before the gates of Deepnest now holds within not one, but four towering thrones, the three most newly constructed stand not quite to the length of the original, but are otherwise identical.

Each of the sisters gasps upon taking in the sight.

Oriana's gaze is fixed upon the thrones and cannot easily be swayed.

This is no idea or suggestion.

Her mother is entirely intent upon there being a council of lords.

Upon her daughters ruling at her side.

After all of this time, she truly believes they are ready...

All of them.

She turns to her sisters. Siara had taken Biana's hand.

She herself can hardly still her racing heart.

How must they feel?

It is the greatest possible honor,

And none could be more deserving of such.

Her sisters.

Always at her side...

Their mother comes in from behind them.

"When I retire from my position Oriana will take my place as head of the council." She continues.

"Still each of you will oversee the tribe as one.

Relying on each other's strengths."

Oriana shifts to face her mother and bows before her on one knee, Siara and Biana join their sister in expressing their gratitude.

"Thank you mother." Is all they can manage to say, as they attempt their very best to remain collected while most certainly feeling overwhelmed.

"You have earned this responsibility.

Our people will grow ever stronger under your combined rule." She glows with pride.

"And when your brother is of age and has completed his trials I wish for him to join you on the council."

Oriana glances upward.

Timono a mantis lord?

She is not sure he will ever be strong enough to pass the trials...

Though he still has a few years...

And the guidance of their mother.

Her faith in him appears to be unshakable.

Will that be enough?

Has she not yet told their brother of this enormous expectation?

It seems almost absurd...

In time though,

She reminds herself.

Their little brother may indeed prove himself, in time.

At least for now, she can rest assured that she has more than proven herself to her mother and people.

For so long, from the day of her coming into this world until this very moment, she has been preparing for this,

In the training grounds, hunting grounds, battlefield, and every path she had ever taken, learning from her people, from their written history, from her mother,

memorizing every move her mother had ever made,

And throughout all of this her sisters have been at her side.

It is an unexpected yet immeasurable relief that is all at once overtaking her, knowing that it will always be that way.

A pressure she had not known until now she is finally forced to comprehend as it instantly becomes lighter.

A weight being lifted.

This is all quite the opposite of what she had anticipated she might feel upon at last being bestowed the sacred title of mantis lord.

They shall rule together.

A quadrumvirate.

The mantis lords...

~~~~~~~~~~

~ 3 years later ~

The talons of the monster dig into the earth below and pull its body upward, it bears eight claws on each side of it, sixteen in total, until the front two are speared clean off.

The sharp appendages litter the cavern ground and the garpede roars, then thrusts itself at its attackers.

The sisters disperse in different directions as to confuse the beast who's mandibles snatch nothing aside from the dust now far below Biana's feet.

She and Siara cling to opposite walls and thrust their wind scythes downward to strike the enemy.

Two hits to the backside shell. It's impenetrable.

The underside is incredibly difficult to strike.

If the beast cannot be pulled over,

It must be bound.

Siara unhooks the end of a rope ravelled beneath her wings.

She keeps a manageable collection of weapons on her person.

Hunting rope and a set of daggers carved from mawlek teeth.

The enormous creature tumbles through the dim passage heading for the gate.

The sisters dart ahead of it.

"Catch!" Siara instructs the other as she throws one side of the rope.

Biana takes hold and pulls the end.

After their enemy has made collision the two leap from their positions, pulling the rope around its thrashing form, and tying it down.

The two have practiced this hunting technique before and move quickly though with precision.

Wild Garpedes have neared their territory on occasion, but this marks the first trained attack.

The master of the beast had been targeted first.

A spider who's corpse now claims place atop a mountain of discarded dirt carver shells.

The rest of the spider warriors involved in this sudden attack, had been driven back into the shadows by the lords and champions of the mantis tribe.

Now their final, and greatest foe is caught and crashes onto the stoney ground.

Biana ties together the ends of the rope, while Siara hurries to gather their warriors.

With their assistance they can pull the beast to its backside.

This attempt to break through the barrier utilizing the strength of the giants native to their land,

Siara is almost surprised the spider clan has never attempted it before.

Though, training a garpede could not have made for light work...

~~~

Pebbles scatter beside Oriana's feet, she carries herself with her usual practiced grace and swift pace, ducking below the low and crumbling walls of a newly formed tunnel that becomes darker the deeper it twists.

Of course one doesn't lead a scouting expedition without the essential tools.

She carries a hand crafted lantern filled with bioluminescent fungus, as to help her see.

This particular fungus populates a good portion of the beasts land, and thus makes for a less noticeable visual aid, than the more commonly used luma-flies.

A dark scouting cloak is draped over her shoulders and her lance nail rests over her back.

She had borrowed a tablet from the teams appointed cartographer, with the intention to map out this new tunnel on her trip back to the fungal core.

She follows the sounds of a caught and released weavers crawl.

The tunnel winds deeper than she would have preferred but not more than she had expected.

She holds to that faint skittering sound ahead of her like a thread,

Pulling her closer to the heart of the land of beasts, and further from her scouts.

She had never before taken such an action.

Trekking into these lands, alone.

For weeks now they had been receiving reports from the shrumal tribe.

As a lord of the waste, she had learned to decipher their messages.

Strange activity in the pit of beasts beneath their domain.

Scouts had been sent after the first report,

And the two disappeared shortly after.

Another party was sent, and similarly never returned.

That's five of their best, presumably lost to the spider clan, who had found some way through the fungal wastes boarder.

Lord Oriana organized her own team, and here she is.

She could have taken the weaver back as a captive for questioning.

But she knows better by now.

Besides the fact that their strange magic makes them particularly difficult prisoners,

The weavers would sooner die than betray their own.

She has seen it happen before.

Her people would do the same...

They have died, and worse,

Several of her people have endured the most dishonorable acts of torture, at the hands of these creatures, in the name of loyalty.

She can only hope the scouts she had lost, did not have to suffer in a similar way.

It must come to an end.

She had let their enemy escape in order to follow it, and uncover their new base.

For this plan to work, she must not get caught.

As to not get caught, she must venture alone.

The noise ahead quiets and Oriana comes to a halt, more abrupt than she had meant.

The slightest hitch of breath nearly gives her position away.

She hears the weaver turn and finds the nearest nook in the cavern to back into as softly as possible.

Then stills.

The enemy draws a bit nearer.

If it sees her she is prepared to attack.

She only hopes the potential commotion doesn't invite the attention of other enemies, that may be lurking not far.

She is too far into the deep...

She remains, holding her breath until she hears the weaver turn back at last.

It continues on its path.

Only then does she allow herself a hint of relief.

She must be cautious.

An entire tribe depends on her successful return.

She carries on.

In moments such as these, when the possibility of defeat, however faint, looms overhead,

Oriana is especially grateful for the creation of the mantis lord council.

The tribe does not depend on her alone.

Her sisters are currently overseeing a threat to the gates.

She has full confidence in them.

For three years they've led alongside her with capability and grace.

Their mother would be proud.

And Timono...

He has not been a mantis lord long.

He tends to be overly excited, overzealous even,

He can be terribly naive...

Still,

She must retain their mother's faith in him.

He will grow,

He will be a great leader himself one day.

He is proving that possible now.

While she leads the scouting expedition and their sisters hold off an attack at the gates,

He maintains his position in the throneroom, watching over the village without their aid.

A task he has been bestowed for the very first time today.

She can't allow herself to be overly concerned.

She must have faith in him.

~~~

"To unleash our power through transedence,

Offer a gift in turn.

Fail and face the mystics vengeance.

Implement and earn."

The youngest lord reads over the words of an ancient tablet he carries, one last time as he glides carefully down the walls of a chasm tucked deep within the fungal forest.

Far away from war rooms and throne rooms. Far beyond the hunting grounds,

Hidden in the very outskirts of the tribes territory.

Hidden so well and for so long, only few know the place exists at all.

He leaps onto a floor flooded in bone.

The dim little mound illuminated only by the light that the mantis had let in, upon breaking open a long locked entry way high above him now.

"Kiorin was right about everything else.

He must be right about this too..."

Timono tucks the old shaman stone tablet away and trades it for another record.

He looks it over again.

One of the oldest records of their tribe, carved on well-worn shellwood.

It keeps some detail of their ancestors arrival in this valley, and most notably, is the only written recollection of the being whom the shrumal people had worshipped centuries ago.

A shrumal 'god'

Or being that claimed to be.

The manties did not honor any of their weak-minded neighbors chosen divinities, with such titles.

This being had been their leader once, whom they believed was also their creator and craftsman of the fungal waste.

It was slain by the first of the mantis tribe.

A supposed diety, who had met its demise at his ancestors claws,

A mighty tale, once renowned throughout the tribe,

And exists now only in the form of whispered legend.

This last record of it has been kept secret by the lords of the tribe since the pale being's arrival.

After learning of the record for the first time himself, Timono had thought to use it, to empower their people.

Remind them of their strength,

And the fragility of those who bear the title of God...

His sisters forbid this idea be put into action.

They insisted it stay hidden.

But what use is anything hidden away for eternity?

If his people can not benefit from the old recount, perhaps the owner of this similarly forgotten mound might...

And he will gain something for their people in exchange.

"Yes. This will make for a fair trade." He decides.

A mantis lord is honest within their dealings.

Their honor remains, even when dealing with cast off magicians...

Even when said magicians, also happen to be,

long dead.

Bone masks crack and shatter under the weight of the mantis lord, who approaches the shaman's tombstone lying in the center of the mound.

Having been seperated from her strange kin, The stone was placed by a mantis.

Kiorin.

Timono hadn't been told this directly, but it wasn't difficult to put the pieces together.

Her grave was instantly recognizable as crafted by one of his own.

And Kiorin, the tribes eldest healer, widely considered village eccentric,

And a friend, almost mentor, to the young lord, had informed him of this shaman, whose power still lingers, even after death.

He suspects that he knew her in life.

Though unable to utilize spell casting himself,

(A practice that would likely have had him banished from the tribe even if it were possible.)

The old mantis held much knowledge, that could only have been obtained through a creature like this.

Timono kneels before the mark of the old shaman's departure.

He places the gift, (the gift Kiorin judged would please the shaman) beside her staff leaning against the stone.

Then he waits.

...

Now what?

He is still a moment, though he rarely stills for long.

"I've brought you what you asked for."

He speaks, as he gets back on his feet.

He speaks to the dead...

How foolish must he look?

At least no one is around to bestow him the title of fool.

The way they have Kiorin.

An elder of the tribe who should be respected.

He has seen what that healer can do.

He is unorthodox certainly but he is no fool.

He trusts his old friend.

This will work.

"Is there something else I must-"

Before he can finish the splintered masks beneath his feet begin rumbling.

As the ground quakes he backs away from the planted offering and leaps to the wall, he steadies himself there and watches as a burst a soul erupts from the center of the mound.

A flash of white floods the chasm and dispels an instant after.

The surge nearly knocks him down, but he is able to more carefully land himself after the sudden intrusion.

He looks back at the grave.

The record he had placed is there no more.

The flood of white had claimed and replaced it.

Now flickering above the sight of the trade, is his promised power,

Taking a most peculiar form.

The form of a void-black flame...

The tablet within his travel bag begins to glow, and he is swift to pull it back into his claws.

The inscription has changed.

"For your gift, the shaman fire.

An undeaftable flame.

Your foes will face the ancient ire,

That only you can tame."

~~~

Oriana slows and finally reaches a halt where the tangled routes have conjoined in the deep.

The walls open before her and she waits until the weaver whom she follows is far ahead, before turning to peer through the silk-lined opening.

With the entry clear, she slips in and glides along a crawlspace between the wall and rock remnants of the spiders sucsesful expedition to hollow out this cavern and expand.

Once concealed, she lifts her scouting lantern, careful as a carver before springing from the earth.

The hollow appears unremarkable at first glance,

Then she hears the falling of broken stone and the skittering of spindly legs crawling up to the roof of the cavern,

And she lifts her gaze,

There is something up there...

Something unusual.

She steps forward, every step she takes as if the ground beneath her might give way at the slightest intrusion,

From this new angle, she can decipher the scene more accurately.

An outpost. The grandest web crafted structure she had ever seen.

Suspended far above her,

And weavers.

Deephunters and weavers, fulfilling their tasks to guard.

There are so many...

The cavern roof is adorned in enemies.

She steps back, as debris continues to fall from the workings of the outpost overhead,

And shifts her lantern to face the sound of something hitting the ground just before her,

It did not sound like stone.

It cracked as it hit the floor...

She nearly gasps upon finding it.

She remains composed,

And shrinks back into the darkest corners of the cavern, away from shattered remnants of a captured mantis scout.

[raspberryandechinacea]

.

[zanukavat]

OOOO OP DROP RICK AND MORTY OCS

OH BOY HERE WE GO.

so, I made these cute ref sheets in the shows style yesterday (and today), apologies if you cant decipher my scribbly handwriting, ill summarize below:

Rick (nicknamed on the citadel "Seven")

Rick's home dimension is M-121.5 but you could hardly call it a home. He left his Diane and Beth behind shortly after acquiring portal technology from Prime or one of his subordinate Ricks, wandering off to absorb himself in the vastness of infinity.

His original dimension never ended up birthing a Morty, since his Beth and Jerry had trouble supporting themselves and had Summer as their only child.

Rick, eventually growing lonely but refusing to admit it, joins the citadel in an effort to be useful and climb the ranks there with the hopes of living a fulfilling life in a safe, Rick-made bubble. He gets assigned a Morty as standard, but said Morty dies in combat on a riot not too shortly after.

Rick gets a (small) punishment, one you'd get for breaking a doorknob or forgetting to turn off the lights in the building before you leave; getting a Morty killed. He probably just has to scrub toilets for a week or something.

He gets his new Morty and resumes work on the teleportation deck as normal and lives with his Morty in a small apartment, until S301 where they manage to flee the citadel together.

Morty ("unlucky charm" / other similar insults behind his back)

Has forgotten his original dimensional code due to constant changes of ownership. Only the Morty databanks know it now. He took M-121.5's dimension as his and carries a small wristband with the code written on it.

This Morty has gone through a LOT of Ricks. Six in fact, which is why his new Rick is mockingly called "Seven" by others on the citadel, making fun of him for ending up with such a shitty excuse of a Morty. Asking him if he'd lost a bet.

Morty's left arm has been surgically altered to fit a tracker interface that'll show Rick's current position and vitals to Morty. Though he only gets this later, after they flee the citadel.

The jacket he is wearing was originally merchandise stolen from a small shop he worked in while living on the citadel. They later add patches to it in an effort to cover up the citadel logo, since Morty doesn't want to give up the jacket, and Rick is paranoid about association with the citadel after they've fled. Pretty rich coming from the guy still wearing his uniform under a stinky coat, but what can you do when those are the only clothes you've got.

They go through an intense period of struggling for survival, with the Federation collapse and chaos left behind, the two of them retreat to more desolate spots of the universe to wait for the dust to settle. After a bit of "holy shit we lived" euphoria, they fight a lot, with Rick slowly noticing the many flaws in this Morty he is now -- in his assumption -- forever stuck with. He also pushes Morty too far numerous times but reels him back in again anytime because what other option is there? Being stranded alone in an asteroid gas station restaurant?

Eventually Morty suggests returning to "their" home dimension. Rick's home dimension. He's reluctant but eventually (after a really long while and lots of convincing) does give in since their circumstances are dire and they could use a little civilization, even if it means returning to the family he abandoned.

I don't have much worked out for this Smith family, but I'd assume Summer is a good deal different from the Summer we know, due to being an only child. Beth's daddy issues are just as intense as Beth Prime.

This Beth and Jerry probably also never end up divorced and stay together for Summer's sake, honestly probably unhealthier than just splitting up for the time being and working out their issues separately.

Once they crash (probably literally) into their new "home" and everybody gets over the initial insanity of the situation, Rick struggles to confront the reasons he left and kind of just drowns himself in unhealthy habits. Besides the known drinking issues which is kind of the baseline, he makes sure to never let Morty out of his sight and pretty much makes a normal life for the kid impossible despite desperately promising it to him when they turned to move to Earth.

He builds a new portal gun out of scrap they've harvested while surviving and old things Beth never threw away because they reminded her of her father, and he's gone again. Gone with Morty. Gone God knows where. Except he returns at night to sleep in a shitty little cot and fuck he probably drags Morty's air mattress into his room with him without any explanation. Blames it on Morty not being able to sleep alone since they left the citadel. Blames it on anything but himself.

They go into what I'd describe as a narcissism-fuelled grace period, or honeymoon period, the more time they spend together off-planet after crashing at the Smith's house.

They go from Rick being very controlling and making Morty feel like an inferior sidekick, to Rick actually opening up and helping him become better. Very slowly and gradually, he realizes that, well, he's stuck with this Morty now. This is *his* Morty by all intents and purposes, and he doesnt have a fuckin replacement Morty ticket and after constructing and unregistered portal gun he'd not be let back into the citadel anyway even after reconstruction - so might as well invest his time and effort into this one Morty as much as he (claims to) hate it.

The kid is so broken already, having witnessed so many versions of his grandpa die, which Rick realizes after a while would just make it easier for him to reassemble him anew and mold him how he wants it. He's a sick bastard but if it aint broke dont fix it and especially dont fix it if it promises to always stay by your side and begs you not to leave

The whole "unlucky charm" curse only serves to fuel Rick's ego too because, unlike all these previous Ricks he only knows about on paper, *he* hasn't died yet with this shitty excuse of a Morty around him. which makes him better than all those before him. He's cocky, priding himself on living where those Ricks failed.

He gets too confident, as all Ricks do, and after a few too-close brushes with death he does decide to invest into various failsafes and "upgrading" Morty to a standard he sees fit. This is when Morty gets the tracker arm enhancement and various other augmentations that'll essentially turn him into a lifeline for Rick. He's driven by anxiety of his past mistakes, past deaths of Ricks, repeating. This time there'd be no scolding by teachers and new Rick two weeks later. There'd only be grief, and nothing.

Morty's trained not only in combat and survival skills but also shown how to reboot and even replace certain cybernetic parts of Rick's body.

surgery, baby!

Not on a clone, not a simulation, the real him. Train for the real deal.

They spend weeks in the newly constructed underground labs, Morty cutting him open and putting him back together; surgeries upon surgeries without any anesthetic so that Rick is fully aware and awake to guide Morty through it.

Eventually Morty does have to put those skills to the test when shit goes wrong on an adventure, but this is already so long so I'll spare you!! I'd be surprised if you read to here, if you did, thank you and I'm glad you're interested in my little guys !!

[lonelystarbuckslover13]

Track 5 this or that: Cold As You or White Horse? Dear John or All Too Well? Delicate or All You Had To Do Was Stay? The Archer or You’re On You’re Own Kid? My Tears Ricochet or Tolerate It?

[fuckyeahkagepro]

Ayano no Koufuku Riron - cover + PV by NIJISANJI

[ceramicbeetle]

Augustus looks up from her sketchbook to smile across the yard at it, eyes blinking hard. The Changeling distracts itself from the way the tic and expression both push the skin around her eyes into soft little folds and creases by staring at the way the sun cuts a halo against the broad silhouette of her shoulders instead. Eventually, it glances away altogether — even with sunglasses on, it is too bright to withstand gazing directly at her for long. "Now who's got a lot to say?" Augustus asks, poking her tongue out from between her teeth, and Changeling turns to busy itself with the bleach again, scowling.

you can also read this fic on my neocities!

[twelve-nights]

thank you to:

doll murder drones / uzi doorman / murder drones in general

animation meme community

ic3peak

linguistics

animation in general

and doing things out of "i think it'll be funny"

for causing my russian hyperfixation

[amiscreations]

2023 - my year of concert photography✨ I’m so proud of how far I’ve come, and I can’t wait to see where I am on this journey this time next year✨

Check out my photography insta @amicreatesphotos on insta if you want to see more of my photos!💜

[burningcomputerpersona]

ahahahahahaa isn't it wild how listening to the wonder years on repeat will completely fix you anyway i am so normal about this band i swear

[segemarldoodles]

Just copying the post I just made to my comic's Patreon so people here can see it too.

So. We're on page 90 of chapter 1. Originally I had planned to separate each of the story arcs into chapters, but because of the way I wrote things there was never really a good place to end things and call it a full chapter, so I just kept writing, and I'll be honest I originally planned to wrap up this arc abd have at least one of two more arcs before the finally that ive had planned since the comic began, but I'll be honest, imngetting tired and I frankly don't have any free time to work on any of my other projects while keeping up with this weekly schedule, and story elements aligned so that I can wrap things up by page 100.

So that the plan.

10 more pages to draw, like 12 or something more weeks until the finale, (I'll be posting thumbnail spoilers in a few hours), and (again this is a spoiler) despite how it ends, I'm gonna start working on chapter two. The caveat is, I'm not going to start publicly posting ch2 until I finish it. It's going to be a much shorter chapter than ch1, I can't say how long, but it won't be 100 pages, that's for sure. Pages will still be posted on Patreon as I finish them, but they won't start going public until I'm done. I need the break, and then while ch2 is schedule posting I can slowly work on ch3, which will probably be pretty long.

All this is to say, things are coming together, I'm very excited about next three ish months of comics (they're planned for once) and while a hiatus is coming after, I'll hopefully get fully rested and finish up things quick.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

(NO BETA) EXCERPT FROM MY SHIGADABI FANTASY AU, UP ON THE CLIFF:

“... Kurogiri told me earlier that you slept through most of the passage to the cliff. Should I trust you found it a peaceful ride?”

Still encased in nighttime dimness, Touya tried to decipher the tone floating down at him from the head of the table. He couldn't see its owner past the glow of the candles, the darkness that rained down on them from the vaults in the high ceiling. To compensate his lack of visual confirmation, he sketched the man there with his mind, faithful to the memory of how his host, the Count up on the cliff, had looked under the morning sunlight.

Touya remembered it all too well, how they had sat there distracted with their food or the noises of their companions. The Count's hair would flow down and sparkle against the raw terrain of his skin, making it all the more hard to not stare at his eyes of red turmoils and secrecy. The Count was fresh snow on an open wound and Touya thought the color was more common the closer he was to the passage, but not by much. On his journey to the valley, he had met barely a few of human refugees with a similar red in his eyes. Yet the Count's matched his cape and its collar, lined in white fur —it matched his hair.

That thought would've made him frown if spoken aloud. After all, he cared nothing if the Count had had the coat over his shoulders made to match him, if his scars made his all the more raw, if his was the name he hasn't known yet. Curious but trivial things did not matter and they shouldn't. Touya was only interested in the sensation of his mind already wandering, getting uncoordinated. It was the same case as before, when any thought of the Count would lead him into slippery slopes and Touya, or anyone else on that matter, would soonly forget why they were thinking about him at all.

“...”

Once more, Touya looked up to face the Count's silence, allowing the company to chitchat as they pleased. The times they talked were enough to be counted with the fingers of a single hand and, rare as they were, they would startle Touya, raising his attention of the ones sitting or resting beside him. The Count had the soft-spoken cadence of a man home taught by the best tutors money could buy, but his words lacked any politeness or fondness and instead came enveloped in direct orders or demands, cryptical than most, that the habitants of the castle would follow to the letter. Touya did call him a petulant child in the past, if he recall the accident shortly after his arrival. It had been easier back then, to insult him, to blame the anger and frustration he felt on the man that demanded his sacrifice. Touya hadn't known him yet and he did not know him still, which left him with the only other option available: to know himself better, his place in that monster town, his role in that castle. He could only decipher his own heart to set apart any alien feeling, any influence, any invasion.

As for now, it was as if they were not there. Touya had disappear alongside the Count to the world.

He risked a glace at Toga and the gecko boy, each by his left, but they were busy reacting to some kind of joke Jin was telling. Mr. Atsuhiro, by his right side, was not even looking at the table or his dessert, too busy gesturing at their butler as if explaining his excitement about what they had had for dinner that night. No one reacted to the conversation he was having with the Count. No one even looked his way o tried to pressure him to answer, not even the butler confirmed what the Count had said. Could it be...

Could it be that the Count was reading his mind?

Touya made to grab his glass, emptying his mind so violently he felt a snap in the back of his head. However, as soon as he extended his left hand the room started spinning, the smiles of the pictures framed by the walls getting more loopsided by the minute, the food balancing left and right over the tablecloth, a waltz of dresses and coats and hats and spiders—

“Calm down.”

Touya tried to blink it away. There was a solid grip on his chest, tugging to get the nod on his lungs undone. He allowed the unknown pulse to had him as he concentrated on keeping his face clean of panic; not thinking, not allowing anyone else to know how altered he wasat the moment. It took him a lifetime, the type that is condensated in a minute, before the room settled and he was able to hear.

“ —ust like that. Good,” Touya blinked again and again towards the direction of the voice, one, two seats past Mr. Atsuhiro, noticing what he thought was a faint smile hovering on the air and a pair of watchful red eyes on him.

Touya heard it again, this time realizing the Count was not moving his lips, not even vacillating on his strange and curious expression:

“Did I spook you, Dabi?” when he only narrowed his eyes in response, he was allowed to appreciate how the Count huffed with amusement, looking down at his plate, “A-ah. Don't be angry. It's not my intention to read your mind, nor am I doing it at the moment.”

Confusion accumulated on his brow, driving him closer to the table as if he could figure out what the Count was talking about by sheer proximity. He was not talking, was he? Touya could see how he lifted a cup to drink of the wine, responding to whatever Spinner had asked him a second ago.

“I am projecting the words to your mind, that is. I asure you it's a one-way road. Unless...”

For the first time since his arrival, Touya saw the mouth of the Count tilt at the corners with what could only be mischief. It was hard to admit, even harder to explain, what the motion did to him and how it activated his competitive instinct. From his time training with his dad, Touya could recognize a challenge with eyes close, hands bind, deaf to any sound. It was in the air, in the gentle swept of the candlelight, the smooth inclination of the host shoulders until his elbows were resting fully on the table, hands intertwined ao he could rest his chin.

He reminded himself of the original question, the one that started this whole conversation. He had slept, sure, but it jad been due the strange magic that had surrounded him that evening. Memories of his family had seized him as their car climbed downhill, images of his childhood on the Himura state, of Sekoto Peak, of his siblings and cousins running in the distance as he chased butterflies in the hidden fields past the family greenhouse. He doesn't know when he transitioned from merely reminiscing to fully dreaming. The distant howls woke him near the butler's tavern, some hours past midnight, maybe.

When Touya glanced at the Count, he was almost bored, playing with the rim of his cup while gecko boy showed him something on his hand. It could have been a spider, but Touya didn't care. He had an hypothesis to prove, a host to impress, a dare to win.

He pictured himself opening his mouth, forming the syllables with his lips, tasted the sounds of every vowel and sent them crashing to his host pretty ears.

Touya thought, “unless I talk back?” and stared satisfied at the Count as his eyes left the gecko's hands to look at him, red so bright he thought the world had caught fire. The Count waited, moving his fingers against his cheeks as if telling Touya that now he had his attention. “I slept on the ride here influenced by your butler's dark magic, but you knew that. You asked him to use his magic and put me to slumber. Your question, it was not politeness nor politics.”

The Count lifted his cup, drinking the last of his wine as Touya organized his thoughts.

“You wanted me to talk to you this way.”

It was the longest conversation he had had with the man since he arrived at that wasteland. The fact dented Touya's pride. That he had allowed the Count to treat him like a prisoner for so long, that he had allowed the Count to ignore him, his existence, if not for his presence every morning during breakfast and more recently on dinners, where he would not address him at all and leave as soon as the meal was over. He did not ached for his company or validation. He didn't want him to treat him like the rest, with similar silence that always ended on a well though inquiry, maybe a few words of encouragement, disguised by his position as the count so they wouldn't sound very vulnerable. The Count had talked to him before, but always through others, or just a phrase, just a nod. He had sent him a trained dog to guide him through the town, so he wouldn't get lost. He had offered to took him back to his village, ordering a car to wait for him every evening by the gates of the castle. He had gave him the key of his room, accepted him as Dabi and only referred to him as that, despite knowing the truth. Had had Dabi's meals made specially for him as to not upset his stomach, gave him a room specially acclimated to accommodate his wronging sickness.

Everything he knew about the Count, he knew it for his actions and never his words. And it had been enough for him for an entire month now. He had found it comfortable enough to walk and talk and act among them without much fuss. Touya only demanded answers or respect when it was either about his mission to unlock the mystery behind the demon sickness that afflicted him or when it was about his freedom to roam around doing whatever the fuck he wanted. He didn't care about the games the Count wanted to play with the rest of them.

He almost missed the moment the Count stood up, the legs of his chair scratching so subtly the wood of the floor. It was their signal. The meal was officially over.

He thanked the gecko boy —Iguchi— for showing him the cards of a new game he was crafting and nodded once, a gesture meant to acknowledge everyone in the room in a brief goodbye, before he walked out the room and left behind only the trail of his coat disappearing around the corner.

Touya followed the rest, his dessert intact on the plate as they took the dishes to the kitchen to be magically cleaned by the staff. Jin invited them to play cards, an offer he denied without explanation and that Iguchi and Toga immediately latched to. Mr. Atsuhiro had only crossed his arms and let out a single sigh, deciding he could play piano to make them company or supervise the progression of the game, in case it got... Complicated.

Dabi sent them to the game room with a shake of shoulders. They could do as they wanted too.

He didn't want to know.

On the hallway up to his room, he stopped along the way once, in front of the window walls. The moon had partially came out, clouds rolling low over the forest and mixing with the fog. The air was chilling, cold kisses on his bandaged wounds. He extended his pointer finger to touch a pale ray of moonlight, admiring the absence of heat and the silver stiches that differentiate it so much from its daylight equivalent. Beneath it, the edges of his burns became a deep purple, his skin taking and unnatural blue glow. Back at home, they had told him several times that his eyes would get the more scary at night, when they would shine even brighter than the moon or any fireplace made by human hands. He would laugh and smile, big, big enough to show all his teeth, and the kids would run and call for help and their mothers would call him a monster, a zombie, a walking grave.

Then came that sensation to his chest and Touya squished it, set it aflame, reduced it to ashes. He stepped back and turned around, not stopping until the door of his room was locked and his body was resting on his bed, curtains close, his clothes changed and wounds freshly bandaged.

He had felt red eyes on him. That sensation. The tug, the weight, his finger touching the glass of the window. Touya didn't want to know. He didn't want to know if what he had said was right or if it was wrong, if the Count left becuase he left or if he left because of him. He didn't want to know if the others were having fun, sitting on the carpet, fingers touching one another as they laid their cards down.

The night had inflicted irreparable damage on him. He shouldn't had allowed the Count to talk to him like that, through his thoughts, direcly to his mind. Touya shouldn't had fallen so easily for the Count's twisted games, craving the excitement of a new discovery, a challenger to beat, a rival to show off to. Something had been taken and given in return that night. The full moon was whispering of trades and Touya sat by the fireplace, burning piece of paper after piece of paper, until his rage had subdued.

« you want me to talk to you like this. »

Touya threw an entire book to the fire.

He didn't want to know.