#well if i want to do it with no chunks... i have to advance it 37 times.....

[adhdvane]

i finished making my gear build for inkbrush yesterday.... i think i found my favorite weapon to play.... is this how you become a brush main

[thegalleonsnest]

Flight Commission Sale! 15% Off total Purchase! Icons $20 & buy 2 icons, get them for $30! Reblogs are appreciated!

Hey ya'll! I'm making a trip out to the UK during late September to go see my partner! And in the process of that, getting flight tickets wasn't cheap, so I'm running a sale to recoup what I've spent and also have general security when all is said and done! (please read further for full transparency)

DM if your interested!

All payments are done through Paypal Invoices Only.

> Google Doc for full Commission Info, Terms of Service, additional detail and prices.  Additional Sketch/Line Art examples can be found here.

> Ko-fi for if you wanna support me in general or buy some of my stickers!

> Check “My Art” on my blog or “TheGalleonsNest Art” tag for more examples of my work.

For full transparency:

I am not in dire financial straights because of buying the flight tickets. I have done as much as I could to prepare for this flight months in advance, but I am also not exactly in a high paying position to afford this on a regular basis; this did take a healthy chunk of cash, just about $800 for flying alone. I'm not expecting that this sale covers all of it as I am still working my irl job as well (some weeks are better than others). If anything, any commissions that contributes to recouping the tickets will be something I am incredibly grateful for.

I am leaving on September 19th and returning on October 3rd (2 week period). I do have the sale extending just past when I make it home rather than giving such a short deadline before I leave. If you want to place an order while I am in the middle of my visit, it will be my first priority as soon as I come back and survive jet-lag.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hi! Big fan :) You're an environmental lecturer, right? I recently got into a debate with someone about rewilding in the UK, and the clash with farmers and agriculture. To me, this is a no-brainer - I absolutely do feel for farmers losing their livelihoods, and I think there needs to be a system to help them transition to something else, but also, the planet is dying. But you explain things well, so I wondered if you have thoughts? Particularly on the Welsh side of things. Thank you in advance!

Hah. I literally have a lecture on this. Or, well, a chunk of a lecture, anyway; so yes! I have thoughts. I'll use those notes, and stick a big reference at the end in case you want to read more

I'll talk about this specifically from the Welsh perspective, okay so:

The rewilding project in Wales is the Cambrian Wildwood, launched in 2004ish by a guy who bought an abandoned farm in the northern end of Mid Wales with the express intention of rewilding it. The aim is to convert some 7000 acres, and the initial mission statement said they'd reintroduce wolves and lynx. That's the project I'm going to talk about, because it's a great case study for how to spectacularly fuck something up (and eventually realise you've spectacularly fucked up, and do something about it.)

These are the Cambrian Mountains:

When looking at that, there are two competing viewpoints that are relevant here:

The Cambrians are ecologically depleted. Their biodiversity has crashed since the Second World War, when modern farming methods were introduced. Environmentally, there is a perception of emptiness and degradation.

The landscape is a glorious one that has been shaped by the human actions taken on it for generations, as we are a shepherding culture – culture and land are inextricably intertwined.

That's a big fundamental difference! Two people can look at that same photo, and see something diametrically opposed. But there's more lying on it, so you also need to understand the socio-political background.

Socio-Political Background

(I know! Headings! So professional)

A lot of rewilding – Cambrian Wildwood included – is taking place in areas where farming is declining for various political/socio-economic reasons, so this can be ENTIRELY FAIRLY seen as yet another threat. This goes hand in hand with rural migration and community decline, too.

In Wales, we’re mostly rural, and characterised by extensive upland livestock farming (sheep in particular). Most farms are small to medium family-run setups. ON TOP OF THAT, the vast majority of Welsh farmers are Welsh-speaking, and the right to operate a farm the ‘traditional’ way without UK government oversight is seen by Welsh Nationalists as an important post-colonial act.

Many of them didn’t even like the National Parks being set up, as they were seen as an English outsider imposition that ignored the working nature and cultural history of the land. Remember: the farmed uplands are often seen as a heartland of Welsh identity, and those have historically been intentionally destroyed by UK central government land management decisions (e.g. Tryweryn, Elan, Claerwen, etc)

“Over the past half century we have witnessed the arrival of countless environmental fundamentalists… seemingly oblivious to the fact that their new-found paradise is already occupied by people whose connection with the land is deep rooted, dates back thousands of years, and is embedded in their language and culture.” (Nick Fenwick [Farmers’ Union of Wales] 2013)

SO IT’S CULTURALLY DICEY

(And in my opinion an incredibly stupid idea to go and give it a primarily English name with a Welsh translation as an afterthought but that is Elanor’s Opinion and not Scientific Fact)

(But fr fr if you ever have to get involved in these sorts of projects you will go a long way if you have the basic respect of learning the Welsh names and pronouncing them right rather than lazily expecting everything to be in English sorry sorry I digress)

From the Cambrian Wildwood’s Mission Statement on their website, their objective is:

“To rewild or restore land to a wilder state to create a functioning ecosystem where natural processes dominate by carrying out habitat restoration, removing domestic livestock, and introducing missing native species as far as feasible.”

Can you see the controversial bit of the statement

Can you see the bit where they directly say they want to remove domestic livestock

Jesus Christ

Cultural Differences

AND THEN HERE'S THE BIGGER PROBLEM

‘Culture’ in Welsh is diwylliant – literally, a ‘lack of wildness’. There is no direct translation into Welsh for the term ‘rewilding’ – the closest you can get is anialwch or diffeithwch, which mean ‘wilderness’ in the sense of ‘desert’ or ‘wasteland’. So right off the bat, if you tell a Welsh-speaking farmer that you want to rewild the place, what they hear is "We want to make it dangerous and empty and degraded."

A related concept is cynefin - knowing one’s ‘patch’ and the feeling of belonging associated. The term has its roots as a description of the way grazing animals know their area of mountain land, but it is also used to describe how people come to form an intimate experiential knowledge of place - and specifically, a Welsh farmer's cultural attitude.

Basically, Welsh literature and oral traditions speak of a relationship with the land, not a separation and longing for an untouched wilderness. Farmers feel this especially keenly. Culturally, this is a big part of why they do it – they’re rooted to the land, and therefore to their identities.

“Interviewees conveyed this by referring to areas proposed for rewilding as being comprised of “a quilt of cynefinoedd: interwoven stories, the layered and collective place-making of families and individuals over-generations, co-constituted with the physical landscape” (Wynne-Jones, Holmes and Strouts, 2018)

So, to them, rewilding is erasing and disregarding these stories. To them, this is not just a land-use change, but the latest colonial attack. They've known the family who lived on that farm for generations - every birth, marriage, death, joy, triumph, loss, everything. You are saying that you are going to strip that family, all those stories, all those people out of that land, to be forgotten.

…

However. There is a counterpoint to this.

Many farmers taking this view have therefore identified themselves as the only “truly Welsh” people in the debate, accusing environmentalists as being outsiders. The problem with this being, most of the environmentalists involved with the project are also Welsh; so who the fuck are they to say who is or is not Truly Welsh? It's what we on the internet would recognise as gatekeeping, with a big side order of No True Scotsman fallacy.

Also this quote sums it up well:

“Sheep farming in this country goes back a few hundred years. I think if you go deep enough into our culture and ancestry, we have a really deep native relationship with wild forest areas and with the wild animals that are native to this country…I just don’t agree that sheep farming is really part of our traditional culture.” (WWLF Interview [15] 2016) (Wynne-Jones, Holmes and Strouts, 2018)

This is also a fair point. It is true that upland sheep farming, the way we now practice it, is only a few hundred years old, and at the current intensity only a few decades (since WW2).

On top of which, there has been plenty of exploration over the years of farmers as being a government-subsidised landed gentry, which I won't go into here, but it also contains some fair points.

In truth, all of it and none of it is true. It’s far more complex and nuanced than either side might want to believe.

Solutions So Far

This is an ongoing project and they're still learning and changing new things and stuff, but a big thing they did was get someone in to basically be a mediator and listen to both sides, because Jesus, those sides were not listening to each other.

But to date:

They actually worked with a first-language Welsh speaker (WHY DID THEY NOT DO THIS FIRST I'm sorry I'm fine). Originally the Welsh translation of the project was Tir Gwyllt – wild land. But given that Welsh connotations with gwyllt are something out of control or dangerous, Coetir Anian has been chosen – anian refers to a sense of natural order and creation, a sense of health and vitality. Similarly, ‘rewilding’ is being translated as ‘di-ddofi’ – ‘de-taming’. This acknowledges the labour and culture taken to tame it, and just suggests an avenue for discussing some relaxation of farming practice in appropriate locations rather than, you know, releasing packs of wolves directly into sheep pens

In online materials and in community engagement events where traditional storytellers and musicians have performed to celebrate the Wildwood, the trustees have drawn heavily from Welsh myth in the form of the Mabinogion. Enormous amounts of the Mab lovingly and respectfully feature wild woods and wild animals. The emphasis is therefore on how wilderness is also part of Welsh identity – and arguably a much older part, going back to the Celts. (This is clever, in my view, but something to approach with care - it's rarely a good idea to play the game of "What's the most Welsh". But so far it's been done sensitively)

Land purchased for the project has so far been wholly limited to that available in the public domain. The main site, Bwlch Corog, was empty and unfarmed for six years before purchase, which has been stressed in all media interviews and releases; this is important, because farmers do have a sense of "Productive land is being stolen by environmentalists".

Large predator reintroductions have largely been abandoned. Lynx and wolves are no longer on the agenda. It’s possible they’ll be included in the future, but it is acknowledged as currently impractical (both from clashes with farmers and lack of habitat).

Instead, they’ve supported smaller species reintroductions, such as the Vincent Wildlife Trust’s pine marten translocations, and some proposed red squirrel ones.

Bwlch Corog is to be managed as an experimental plot that farmers are encouraged to engage with.

Assessing the potential for new income streams (from improved tourism and educational activities) rather than just the ecological benefits – this has become central to the project, and the emphasis is on how this might benefit farming communities and keep them together. This has been huge, and has also been successful in rewilding schemes in Europe.

Tensions are a lot lower now than they were ten years ago, but ultimately the problem was a bunch of outsiders came in and decided they knew best without listening to anyone else's point of view, and that meant both sides really dug their heels in. Much better now.

Ultimately... yes, I am in favour of rewilding, in a general sense. But I think it needs to go hand in hand with supplying farmers with the necessary subsidies to transition back to more traditional and sustainable farming methods, and the two elements run side by side. You can't do one without the other, not if you want them to succeed. The Pontbren Project is a great case study for how a farmer-led scheme can successfully aid them economically while also improving environmental outcomes, and we need to learn and incorporate more lessons from it when discussing this kind of landscape-level management.

Also, with land management in general, I think you're a fucking idiot and dangerously arrogant if you think you can get anything done without all stakeholders being on board. And potentially wandering down the ecofascism path, circumstances dependent.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Source:

Wynne-Jones, S, Holmes, G & Strouts, G (2018), 'Abandoning or Reimagining a Cultural Heartland? Understanding and Responding to Rewilding Conflicts in Wales - the case of the Cambrian Wildwood.' Environmental Values, vol. 27, no. 4.

[adore-laur]

Dadrry idea: since Harry left his position of head chef and there’s a second baby now, maybe they’re struggling a tiny bit with money. Not too much but things are a little stressful and they have to cancel a holiday maybe? Or one of the girls just doesn’t get a toy she wants or something? And they have to explain it to the child just while Harry picks up a few more shifts

——

Harry handled the finances and was highly aware of each transaction made in the family. With two kids, you both had to be quite frugal, especially since Harry was working fewer hours at the restaurant and you were a stay-at-home mom. While there was never an issue of not having enough money to pay the bills and provide your children with life’s necessities, the prospect of running out still haunted your mind. It was possible that an unforeseeable emergency could snatch a hefty chunk of money away. Additionally, there were other boring adult charges like mortgages, taxes, and monthly subscriptions that all left a bigger deduction with each year that passed.

Then there was the summer trip to Italy happening in two months. The plane tickets had already been bought and gifted for Christmas, and the villa was booked in advance. It was expensive, but the other option of staying in a cramped hotel room for a week was undesirable in all regards. The space and privacy were crucial for your sanity.

Italy was not a cheap travel destination per se. There would be money spent every day on transportation, dining, tourist traps, and whatever else sucked you in with its magnificent European beauty. Indulging in extravagance would be tempting, but if you planned and budgeted ahead of time, maybe the financial repercussions of the trip wouldn't be so deplorable. Your wishful thinking was blatantly deceptive.

After putting the kids to bed, you sat at the kitchen table under the dim chandelier and waited for Harry to finish unloading the dishwasher. His silent presence was comfortable as you pondered the logistics of the upcoming trip. Well, pondered was putting it lightly—you were brooding.

"I can hear you thinking," Harry said, setting the last bowl in the cupboard to his left. He washed and dried his hands, then walked over to you with his cotton pajama pants slung low on his hips. His bare torso was at your eye level, and you fought the urge to bury your face in the warm, chiseled skin there.

"My head is going to explode," you muttered, feeling an imminent migraine pulsing near your temples.

He fell into the chair beside you, exhausted from an eventful Saturday filled with dad duties, and scooted it closer to you. "Why, baby?" he asked, his palms scrubbing down his face as he yawned.

"I'm overthinking everything."

Placing his elbow on the table, he cradled his cheek in his palm and gave you his full focus. "Break it down for me."

"There's mainly one thing." You huffed, deciding to broach the topic before it got swept under the rug. "The Italy trip. Prices are going up, and I'm worried we won't be able to afford going anymore."

Harry's expression was the epitome of flummoxed. "Wait, what? Where is this coming from?"

"You're not working full-time," you explained, "and I'm not raking in any income. I mean, will we be able to financially recover from the trip? What if—"

"Hold on, hold on," he said softly, his eyes pinching shut. "Can I interrupt, please?"

You half-heartedly waved your hand in his general direction, in desperate need of his sensible guidance. "Be my guest."

"Let's backtrack for a second. Honey, why do you think we won't be able to afford it? The biggest costs are already out of the way."

"I just told you why. Think about it, Harry." You tapped the table to emphasize each point. "A meal for four people will probably cost over a hundred dollars. That includes breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so if we multiply that by the seven days we're there, it's going to be well over a thousand dollars."

"Okay," he said. He didn't seem to have anything to add after that, so you continued.

"Then there's transportation." You groaned, staring up at the ceiling. "We still have to decide if we're renting a car. If not, we'll have to pay for a bus, or a train, or a taxi. That's going to add up very quickly."

"Mm-hmm." Harry had a dopey look on his face, a hint of a smile tugging the corners of his lips up. Whatever. You were being realistic, and he was in a dreamland where money grew on trees.

You carried on, getting tangled in the vines of your brain's dense jungle. "And then what about all the sightseeing and activities? That's the most expensive aspect." You shrugged helplessly. "I was recently searching for free things to do in Tuscany. I guess there are a lot of buildings we can look at, but I don't know if the kids would enjoy it."

Harry nodded along. When he realized you were done with your long-winded explanation, he lifted his eyebrows and said, "It's a good thing we can spoil them with the raise I got yesterday."

"And also—what?" You stopped abruptly, catching your breath. Did he just...?

Harry stood and bent down to kiss your forehead in that sweet way of his—gentle and imploring, like he wanted to caress your brain and will it to calm down. "I got a raise yesterday," he repeated nonchalantly, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you demanded, lightly smacking his shoulder.

"I'm telling you right now. I wanted to wait until we had a moment to ourselves." He crouched in front of you, holding your knees just like he'd done when you told him you were pregnant for the second time. The memory was so vivid that it almost left you stunned with emotion. "Five percent pay raise. We're going to be just fine." His simple smile was remedial. "We are not canceling this trip."

You exhaled, releasing all of your worries into the air, the pounding in your temples dissipating. "Why didn't you stop me from rambling on?"

"Because it's healthy to speak those types of thoughts aloud instead of letting them simmer," Harry replied like the perfect husband he was.

You cupped his cheeks and kissed him deeply, pouring all of your love and gratitude into it. "I'm so proud of you," you whispered against his mouth. He savored your words by humming and sliding his tongue across yours for a brief second. "I appreciate the hard work you put into making our little family happy. And thank you for making this vacation possible."

"Wanted to spoil my girls," Harry murmured, craning his neck to kiss you more. His wet lips pulled at yours, greedy for their pliancy.

"Are you going to pick up more hours at the restaurant?" you asked in between the sounds of lip-smacking and heavy breathing. Something about him at night, in the dimly lit kitchen, with you as his sole focus, was igniting that secret fuse only he could play with.

"Shhh..." His fingers dug into your waist as he lifted you off the chair. Your legs and arms wrapped around him, warmth flooding right under your skin like wildfire. "No more work talk. I want some alone time with my wife before a hungry baby wakes us up."

You giggled and bit his bottom lip in excitement before he carried you to the bedroom.

Miraculously, your six-month-old gave the both of you forty minutes of uninterrupted time to roll around in the sheets.

When you went to sleep later that night, visions of Tuscany's hillside vineyards and swimming in the vast sea erased your concerns. As did the unequivocal vision of the man beside you making precious memories with his babies.

With Harry, there was no need to sweat the small stuff. His eyes were set on the most important thing—family.

——

[outofconcheol]

Exit West (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: Minho x f!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, post-apocalyptic au (based on the Netflix series Sweet Home), 18+

summary: Even when the world is plunged into its darkest hour, you find the faintest light in Minho.

warnings: heavy angst, lots of mentions of blood and injuries (i tried to make it as non-graphic as possible), minor character deaths, weapons, panic attack (again not graphic), it's heavily implied OC struggles with agoraphobia and PTSD, brief infidelity, Minho and reader do get into verbal arguments (they're a little toxic lol), Minho is a true loverboy, ambiguous but hopeful ending, smut warnings: kissing, fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, brief nipple play

word count: 6.3k

a/n: i'm so sorry that this took so long, google docs decided to be a jerk and delete a huge chunk of this while i was working on it (I apologize in advance for the poorly written angst)! It is based on the world of Sweet Home but honestly you don't need to have watched the show or read the webtoon to follow along. the title is from the book by Mohsin Hamid. I hope you enjoy! <;3

The sharp wire of the metal fence cuts into Minho’s palms, digging into his mottled skin, and he braces himself for the jump. Leaping over, Minho lands silently on his feet, skills honed from many years of observing his cats take the same leap from couches or counters. But none of that existed anymore.

His eyes remain sharp, taking in the cover of woods around him, and he remembers that while the trees helped him stay hidden, they hid the monsters from his sight as well. No sooner than he’s managed to calm down the ever-present racing of his heart, he’s swinging the door to the bunker open, closing it quietly behind him.

Wincing, he examines the cuts on his palms, tinged with dirty specks of rust. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this, knowing the small supply of rubbing alcohol he’d managed to collect over the past few months was now down to the last bottle. And there was no more to be found.

The small bit of sunlight that streams in through the barely-qualifying window illuminates your sleeping figure nestled amongst a pile of dirty blankets, and Minho almost hesitates to disturb you like this. You look so peaceful like this, a stark contrast to the emptiness that fills your eyes when you wake, the pain of living through two starkly different lifetimes contained in their depths. He knows his eyes hold the same.

“___,” he shakes you awake gently, watching you stir. The gashes that mar your face have begun to scab over, leaving ugly scars in their wake.

“I brought dinner.”

That gets you to jolt up, rubbing sleepily at your eyes. 

“Are you okay? Anything hurt?” You shake your head, a small frown on your face when you see the fresh red marks that litter his palms. He has the feeling you’re lying to him again, but he doesn’t push it. A lot went unspoken between you two.

Minho wordlessly hands you over a full sleeve of crackers, your eyes lighting up. You chomp down eagerly on one, before pausing, holding it out to him.

“I already ate,” he lies, knowing he didn’t want you to sacrifice any kind of meal for his sake. He’d eat the less full sleeve when you fell back asleep.

Moments of silence pass between you, the soft sounds of your eating lulling Minho’s tired eyes to fall, becoming heavy with sleep. He rests his head on his knees, fighting back the shiver that night brought with it. 

A deafening roar breaks through the stillness, and you freeze, dropping the crackers to the ground. Minho is by your side in an instant, hand tentatively reaching out towards your shoulder. But he never closes the gap.

“Ten seconds,” you croak out, so softly that Minho thinks he might not have heard you. “If the distance that sounds travel is 343 metres per second, then ten seconds means it’s far enough away from us.”

The ghost of a smile twitches at Minho’s lips, and he wants to praise your sharp skills, considering he’d only ever been a pabo, but you’ve turned around and fallen asleep again, your back to him. 

Minho settles into the blankets across from you, watching you for a few minutes before his body is weighed down by the exhaustion of the day, knowing the exact same thing waited tomorrow. The end of the world was more boring than he’d expected it to be.

It hadn’t always been this way. The chaos had naturally broken through the quiet, starting one night when a fire broke out in his apartment complex. Amidst the screams and sounds of windows shattering, Minho’s only concern had been the cats, scooping them up, taking special care to cover their ears from the blaring alarms. But all of it hadn’t made a difference anyway.

He thought it was his neighbour at the end of the hallway. Or at least, it looked like him. He’d always had some sort of disdain for the man - in Minho’s eyes he talked too much. Always interrupting him during his morning mail runs to brag about his latest conquests when it came to dating. It was a sore spot for Minho, especially considering his own romantic interests were so singular, something he didn’t want to get into whenever his neighbor cornered him.

But the vain man who talked Minho’s ear off about sleeping with as many women as possible was nowhere to be found, lithe limbs transforming into ropes that broke through the ceiling. Heading straight for Minho.

Somewhere in the chaos, Minho briefly had time to register that whatever was in front of him was no longer human. And so, he did the only thing he could do. Run.

The floor slipped underneath him, hurtling Minho to the ground, the cat carrier thrown open next to him. Soonie, Doongi, and Dori are nowhere to be found. His palms claw against the tile, trying and failing to lift himself up, eyes widening when he sees the red that coats his palms.

“Please,” Minho croaks, attempting to break through to the human underneath the monster. “Don’t do this.”

There’s a brief flash, a spindly arm reaching out for Minho’s face, and he ducks. The sound of shattering glass follows, the grotesque body flinging itself out the window. Minho heaves, hot tears leaking from his face as he remains curled in the fetal position, arms braced over his head. When his breath returns to him, he looks over at the empty carrier and lets out a sob. Slowly, his eyes turn to the shattered window. 

Blood lines its jagged edges, dripping to join the mess on the floor. Peering downwards, Minho sees the mangled body of the thing (he refused to acknowledge it had been his neighbor) that had attacked him, unmoving. 

He had to get out of there.

…

The knock at the door startles you. It’d been days since you’d locked yourself away from the chaos, days since you’d heard a sound. But the screams would never leave your head. 

You’ve been huddled up in the same corner since it all started, exactly ten feet away from the door. Close enough to act quickly in case someone (or something) came knocking, but far enough away to duck into one of the rooms of your apartment for safety. 

However, the splitting pain in your ankle prevents you from doing either. The bruises are turning a nasty shade of yellow, mixing with the unsightly violet from before. You’re pretty sure it’s broken, your bookcase toppling over onto it the day this had all started.

The knock startles you again. It’s soft, gentler than the ramming you’d expected if a monster were to come knocking. But still, you could never be too safe. 

“Churu,” a soft voice whispers through the darkness, and you freeze. There was only one person in the world who’d know that word, and come knocking at your door.

Your palms burn as you drag yourself against the floor, taking extra care to make as little sound as possible. Fighting the urge to curse when the door creaks, you brace yourself against it, peering through the peephole. 

The banged-up face of Lee Minho greets you on the other end, and you nearly sob with relief. Swinging the door open, you take him in at the threshold, peering at you with a strange gaze. You’d often joked to Minho that his eyes resembled his cats’, curiosity mixed with having seen too much contained in their depths. But it seemed especially true today, his lip split open and face haggard while he clutched a baseball bat in his hand.

You know the first thing he’s going to ask before it even leaves his mouth.

“Are you hurt?” he huffs out, watching you collapse against the door frame.

“Junho is gone.” You watch Minho’s entire figure tense up when his best friend’s name comes off your lips, his grip around the bat tightening.

“I-, I tried to talk to him, but there was a weird sound on my phone that kept breaking us up, and then I heard him scream, and then…”

You collapse against Minho in a fit of sobs, forced to recount those awful last moments when you’d heard your boyfriend die over a phone call, the chilling screech of something that wasn’t human cutting off his screams for help. And you were trapped halfway across the city, crumpled on the floor, unable to do anything to help him.

Minho’s arms wrap around you, supporting your weight, and he’s moving you both over the threshold, taking care to shut the door softly behind him. You don’t know how many minutes you spend wailing against his chest, the sight of another human forcing you to confront the horror you’d dealt with in the past few days, but eventually, the pain in your ankle makes itself known again, and you slide to the floor.

Minho rests his head against the door frame, his own eyes red-rimmed, and you watch his face contort, trying to hold back the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, watching Minho’s gaze snap to yours. 

“What for?” he croaks. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m so scared, Minho,” your eyes fill with tears. “I thought that no one would come for me, that I’d be alone here, and that I’d…”

You choke, unable to finish the sentence, and you watch Minho straighten next to you. The warmth of his hand wrapping around your waist startles you, watching his lithe body contort as he helps you up off the floor, taking special care not to put weight on your ankle.

“You’re with me now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

There’s a furrow in Minho’s brow when he hears your request, lips tightening into a thin line while his throat bobs.

“Absolutely not.”

The decision is final, resolute, stubborn — Minho’s arms are crossed over each other, and he stares down at your figure among the blankets, eyeing the makeshift splint currently tied around your ankle.

“Minho, please.” It comes out as a whine, years building in your eyes from the frustration of being trapped in the bunker for months on end. 

“I said no.”

Minho had dragged the two of you to safety not long after he’d found you, stealthily dodging the strange creatures that had begun to pop up on the city landscape. There was little in common between them besides their monstrous appearances, but Junho’s screams lingered in the back of your mind, causing you to wake up every night in a cold sweat for the first few weeks.

The tiny bunker became your new home, and Minho your roommate, forced together by circumstances beyond your control. You’d snapped at him when he brought up the idea of leaving, wanting to search for food and supplies outside. 

Unfortunately, your ankle made the final decision for you — Minho would have to be the sacrificial lamb, risking his life for you both. It filled you with an immeasurable amount of guilt, knowing he put himself in danger every day to provide for you both. But it also made you angry, the listlessness that had begun to brew inside you only becoming stronger when you felt more and more useless every time he’d come back with food and medicine for you and nothing for himself. 

Regret cut through you like a searing knife. Who was Minho to do all these things? He’d been Junho’s best friend, not yours. The relationship between you two had been cordial at best, Minho barely managing to string more than five words together every time he was around you. It always seemed to you like Minho stood at the other end of a vast abyss, impossible for you to reach in any way. Admittedly, you’d been no help in closing the chasm, even since you’d both escaped together, the pain in your ankle lulling you to sleep as soon as you swallowed the meds he brought every day. 

Your eyes flit to Minho across the bunker, holed up into the corner. You watch his hands rummage around in his pocket, pulling out a switchblade. The shiny metal gleams in the rays of the sun, Minho’s fingers enclosing around a lock of his messy, overgrown hair—

“STOP!” The switchblade clatters to the floor at the sound of your voice, Minho’s lips parting in surprise. A deep flush creeps across your neck, wondering what had prompted you to interrupt him in the moment. His eyes study you with a curious glint, a thousand questions hidden in them.

“You’ll dull the knife,” you manage to get out, amazed at the calmness in your voice despite your heart racing at a million miles an hour. “What if we need it?”

Minho’s lips twist up into a smirk, and you wonder if he can see through your thinly veiled excuse. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, throwing a baseball cap over the shaggy strands, smiling when they fall into his eyes. 

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “You can come along. But any sign of trouble and you have to leave me and get back here, okay?”

“What do you mean, leave you? You’re coming back with me, of course.”

“___.”

“Minho.”

You push yourself off the ground with your palms, hobbling over to Minho’s side. 

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him, and Minho rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly, before the door to the bunker creaks open once more, this time the two of you stepping out into the sun together. 

. . . 

Sweat pools on Minho’s shirt, the sun beating down on the two of you while you make your way through the woods, eventually finding yourselves in a vast field. You’re slower than he is, trailing behind him while you skip on your partially healed ankle, but Minho finds he doesn’t mind.

In fact, he thinks he must look like a fool, the huge smile that threatens to take over his face creeping up every few minutes. Somehow, it feels different now, having you here with him. The sun’s rays feel less ruthless, and there’s the faint rustling of a breeze through the meadow. It's almost like he’s on an adventure, and not caught in an endless struggle for survival. He’s filled with the hope that maybe the two of you can come out of this alive. Together.

Pushing through the blades of grass, Minho pauses when he hears a small thud behind him, followed by the faint sound of wheezing. Turning on his heels, his heart turns to ice when he sees you, knees curled to your chest, the faint sheen of sweat lingering on your skin. 

“Shit!” Minho curses into thin air, crouching onto the dirt next to you. “Stay with me ___!”

His arm swings out to steady you, but recoils at the last second, not wanting to startle you. Guilt eats away at his chest when he realizes this is all his fault. He’d been the one to agree to let you go outside. Realization dawns on him that there’d been a reason you stayed in the bunker the entire time, his mind flashing back to the days you must have spent alone in your apartment, full of pain, wondering if anyone would show up.

Minho panics, looking around the field for something, anything that could help hold you over until this passes, when a thought crosses his mind.

“Do you want to hear about the time I tried to walk my cats?” He babbles out, cheeks hot at the silly interruption. It works though, your face jolts up, the trance finally broken. Your eyes are red-rimmed, hair dampened with sweat, snot running down your nose. Minho thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“It was in a field just like this, I brought them out here with their harnesses,” he continues, the smile growing on his face when he sees the stream of tears that run down your cheeks dry up.

“It was a disaster. I thought Doongie ran away for sure, and Soonie just laid down in the grass on his belly, refusing to get up. Dori was the only one who took to it,” he reminsces fondly, a half-sob, half-chuckle escaping him at the memory, trying to soothe the hollow ache in his heart when he thinks of them.

“I wish I’d met them,” you reply softly, your hand resting on Minho’s shoulder.

“It was my fault,” Minho spits out bitterly. “Junho was over all the time, I could have introduced you. They would have really liked you I think.”

Just like I do.

“I hope we find them,” your voice is quiet, but there’s a resoluteness to it that surprises Minho. “They have to be out there somewhere, waiting for you.”

That strange feeling of hope bubbles up in Minho’s chest again, and he helps you up, fighting the burning in his cheeks when your hand remains clasped in his, the two of you hobbling through the field.

Half an hour later, and you’re stopped outside the remains of what looked to be a convenience store, completely ransacked. Minho ignores the emptiness he feels when he lets go of your hand to peer inside, his heart dropping at the bare shelves.

Behind him, a twig snaps, your sharp gasp echoing amidst the silence. The gleam of the switchblade is apparent in seconds, Minho pulling it out of his pocket.

The woman is whimpering, her gauzy white dress in tatters. His eyes trail to her hands, the discoloured nails offset by the glint of a fancy diamond ring, and for a moment, he could almost believe she’d just walked out of the church, beaming from the happiest day of her life.

But her eyes say differently. Hollow pools of black, nothing behind them. She’s one of them.

“___, run.” Minho commands, not even turning to look behind him. He hopes you’re gone already, hopes you won’t have to stick around to see this dark side of him, the one that was used to doing battle with monsters every time he left the safety of your little bunker.

But you’re not gone. Your hand wraps around his, lifting it up to study the switchblade in his hand. He looks into your eyes, full of fear but also sadness at the sight in front of you, and he wonders if you see yourself in her. What things could have been with Junho.

“I don’t think she’s going to hurt us,” you wrestle Minho’s blanched fingers off the blade. “We should just go.”

You pocket the knife, Minho’s jaw tensing at the thought of leaving the woman behind, unsure of the potential harm she could cause. He opens his mouth to protest, but realizes you’ve already begun to walk away, your slumped figure visible against the setting sun. You’re crying again.

The woman wails harder when she sees the two of you go, her cries echoing into the silent night.

It’s cold tonight in the bunker. 

You shiver among the pile of blankets, watching your breath turn into mist in the frosty air. Teeth chattering, you look over to Minho. His pile of blankets is even more sparse than your own, and you catch sight of his own trembling figure. 

It’s cold, your voice echoes in the back of your mind, your feet dragging across the floor, the blankets dragging behind you. 

It’s cold, it echoes again, Minho stirring when you lay by his side, throwing the extra blankets over the two of you. His eyes go wide with shock when he sees your face across his in the darkness, studying the way your hair falls messily in your face, the rapid rising of your chest with every breath. 

It’s cold, it repeats a final time, your lips surging forward to meet Minho’s, a strange noise escaping his throat before one of his arms comes up to wrap around you, his other palm steadying him against the floor. It’s cold and Minho is warm, the heat from his body burning through you when his tongue traces your lips, before slipping inside, a low whine escaping your throat. 

You break away from him, flushed and shivering, but no longer cold. Minho’s hot breath fans against your cheeks, his thumb resting tentatively at the curve of your jaw.

“Touch me please,” you beg him, and his grip around your waist tightens, hands tracing circles on your side. His lips find yours again, thumbs slipping underneath the hem of your shirt, resting against the curve of your hips. You burrow your face into Minho’s neck, leaving featherlight kisses against his jaw, heat rising in your chest when you hear Minho hold his breath. Breaking away, you meet his gaze, the tips of his ears turning red. 

“Anything,” he whispers against your lips. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Sparks crackle in the air between you, the once stagnant air in the bunker becoming filled with frantic energy, you slipping a leg over to straddle Minho, him fumbling with the buttons to your clothes, pushing aside just enough to feel how wet you are. The fingers of his other hand trace under your shirt again, climbing up your stomach, thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts before he tugs at your nipples. 

Sighing, your hips move against Minho’s hardness, pushing aside the worn fabric of Minho’s flannel to press kisses to his collarbones, his thumb working on your clit. Your back arches when he presses another finger inside, and the familiar burn of your orgasm begins to rise, building in your stomach.

“Let go for me,” Minho groans, and the deep growl in his voice has you hurtling over the edge, trembling as you fall apart on top of him. The two of you exchange shallow breaths, Minho’s fingers still buried inside you, and you feel your core begin to clench around them, whining from the oversensitivity.

“Please, please, can I fuck you?” Minho whispers, desperation in his tone. You nod, head spinning with everything that had happened, and you reach back under his sweats, fishing his cock out from underneath them.

He pushes into you slowly, groaning when he feels your walls widening to accommodate him. The two of you stay there for a few moments, catching your breath before you tell him it’s okay to move. His hips snap lazily against yours, fucking you slowly and deeply, soft pants and the sound of your wetness reverberating through the bunker.

You rock against him gently, and you reach for his hands, his warm fingertips slipping through your own easily, limbs tangling together in desperation. 

“You’re perfect god, you’re perfect, I love you, I love you so much,”  he slurs the words, the confession ringing in your ears, soft groans accompanied by the speeding up of his thrusts before he spills inside you. 

Lifting you off of him, his arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel the wet trail of tears on his cheeks. Eventually, his breathing slows, soft snores telling you he’s fallen asleep, but you remain restless for the rest of the night.

The headache hits Minho like a freight train in the morning, as he stares up at the rust-covered ceiling. There’s a faint chill in the air, one that became even more pronounced when he woke up and you weren’t by his side, and he wonders for a second if he’d imagined it all, from the softness of your lips to the way the words he’d been wanting to say, waiting years to say spilled out of his throat, every kiss and laugh you shared with Junho burned into his memory. And all he did was look on, hopeless in his desperation. Until everything changed last night.

A loud clang startles him, and he jumps up, watching you throw a heavy sack containing the supplies he’d stockpiled against the walls of the bunker, your back turned to him. He lifts himself off his feet, padding softly behind you, his arm reaching out for you.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, words clipped and venomous, and you keep rearranging, completely ignorant to the way Minho stands there, unable to formulate a response, his tongue feeling as though it’s weighed down with lead. 

Rage lights up inside him as he watches you move around him, the silence making his heart freeze over, and he decides that he can’t take it anymore. It’s been months with you acting this way, cold and distant, refusing to let Minho in. Before, he’d been able to write off your happiness with Junho as an excuse, as a reason why he couldn’t let himself get close to you. But Junho was long gone.

“We’re not doing this,” he spins you around to face him. “You don’t get to walk away from me like that.”

You push against Minho’s chest with all the might you can muster, and he staggers back. The look in your eyes makes you seem like a wounded animal, ready to pounce.

“Why’d you say it?” Another push, the words leaving you in a broken sob. “Why’d you do that?”

You bat against Minho’s chest until he can no longer take it, grabbing both of your hands with one of his, pinning you against the wall.

“Because it’s true,” he breathes, looking past you through the window outside, unable to meet your eyes. “I love you ____. I’ve loved you this entire time, even when you were with Junho. And I hate myself for it.”

He lets go of your arms, stepping back, his shoulders beginning to shake with the force of his own sobs. 

“Why do you think I stayed? Why do you think I put myself in danger every day to make sure that you had medicine for your ankle, food to fill your stomach? Why do you think I go out there and kill every single monster I run into, because I need to make it back here, to be with you again?”

“You shouldn’t!” you scream at him. “What kind of life is this? Love should be the last thing on your mind right now, Minho! You should fucking worry about your own neck, and stop giving a damn about me!”

The words tear through you, because you know that if it weren’t for his love, you wouldn’t even be alive right now. And it hurts, hurts to think of how long he’s spent living like this, merely surviving, a wall of ice around his chest.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t. But I do. Do you know that these past few months, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been? What kind of fucked up logic is that? I have nothing, nothing in this world besides this stupid bunker and the clothes on my back, and it makes me want to sob with joy. Because I get you. I get a chance at life with you, after so many years of wishing for it, and knowing I could never have it.”

He falls onto the ground, tucking his head into his knees. 

“The universe gave me another chance,” he whispers softly.

Your blood turns to ice, and you crouch down next to him.

“What do you mean, another chance?”

He looks at you, and you finally see all the pain in his eyes come to the surface, everything that he’s kept bottled up inside.

“It should have been me,” he mutters, lost in his own head. “I told Junho about how I wanted to go up to you that night, how beautiful I thought you were, but before I could do anything, he was there. It ended up being him.”

Your head reels from his confession, and you think back to everything that’s happened through the years. All those memories you had with Junho, Minho lingering in the background, purposely keeping his distance. Memories that you could have had with him instead. Bile rises up in the back of your throat, and you back away.

“I can’t do this, Minho, not right now, I can’t–” 

“I know.” He’s at the door before you can stop him, one foot on the other side of the threshold. “Don’t worry about it.”

He leaves before you can even ask him to stay.

Minho knocks back another shot, stomach churning when he sees Junho approach the pretty brunette, chatting her up. She’s batting her eyelashes and giggling at him, and he knows he should be grateful that his best friend is helping him out, on a desperate mission to cure Minho’s singleness.

But all he can focus on is you in the corner, nervously watching your boyfriend flirt with another girl, and Minho wants to vomit when he sees your lip tremble, eyes glassy with tears. 

He’d driven himself nearly mad with the fantasies about what he’d do if he was in Junho’s position, how much better he could treat you. But at the end of the day, that’s all they were. Fantasies. You two were happy together, and he had no place in it.

Minho suddenly remembers the shiny ring that Junho had shown him last week, tucked away in the drawer of his dresser, and decides promptly that he needs to step outside, the stale air of the bar burning his nostrils.

There’s a faint breeze outside, and it calms him, rewiring his muddled senses enough for him to plop down on the curb. Minho heaves, the alcohol coming back up his throat, but he tries his best to breathe deeply, like his therapist had told him. The pity in her eyes when he’d explained his feelings for you lingers in the back of his mind. You were a vice he couldn’t quit.

A shadow looms next to him, and Minho looks over to see you standing on the curb next to him, studying him curiously.

“Not a fan of cheap vodka?” you chuckle, taking a seat next to him, and Minho internally curses when he feels your thighs brush. He was too drunk for this. 

“Just needed some air,” he tries to laugh it off too. “Gonna have a killer headache tomorrow.”

“She was pretty,” the statement startles him. He couldn’t give less of a damn about the girl Junho was talking to, but it seems that wasn’t the case for you.

“Not interested,” he grits out. Not when she’s not you.

“You know, dating isn’t all it’s cut out to be,” you sigh. “I mean, there are good times, don’t get me wrong, but the bad times feel a thousand times worse when you care about someone. Like seeing your boyfriend flirt with another girl right in front of you.”

There’s a bitter edge to your words, and Minho surprises you, reaching over to cup your cheek and tilt your head towards him.

“Junho is a fool,” the words come out in a slow, heavy breath.

“Happy birthday, Minho,” you whisper, a small smile on your face, and Minho leans in, lips searching for yours. The kiss is quick, a brief graze full of shy reluctance, but you’re surprised you don’t back away, dizzy when he retreats, and missing the feeling of his soft lips.

You lean your head on his shoulder, the two of you lingering on the curb for a few moments, before Junho’s loud voice echoes in the background, startling you apart from each other.

“Hey dipshits, the party’s inside,” he drawls, walking over to swoop you off your feet. Junho presses a peck to your cheek, wrapping his jacket around you, and your eyes roam around frantically, looking for any sign of Minho. But he’s already gone, the faint outline of his leather jacket the only thing you see before he disappears around the corner of the bar, vanishing into the night.

Minho stumbles through the forest, the pounding in his head only growing worse, the memory of the kiss you’d shared consuming his thoughts, splintered with snippets from the conversation with you. The one he’d been waiting so long to have.

The spell had been shattered, and Minho thinks he’s foolish to imagine that it could have lasted, the two of you playing house together, and he cursed the false hope he’d harboured for so long. It was a fucking apocalypse, you were desperate for release, and you’d never cared. Not like he did.

But then his mind flashes back to the kiss, and he doesn’t know what possessed him that night, or possessed you to return it. The moment was the single spark that kept the flickering flame of his love for you going, even now, when you’d basically banished him.

A sharp pain surges through him, and Minho staggers to the ground. He clutches the fabric of his shirt, lifting it up to see the ugly wound he’d been letting fester for weeks, a stray swipe from a monster he’d run into. It’s pulsating now, stabbing into his side, and he wants to kick himself. Why had he been so selfless?

Sometimes, he thinks loving you was the worst decision he’d ever made, the way it consumed him completely. He thinks that maybe if time could reverse, and he had a second chance, that he’d never do it, never lock eyes with you from across the party, your smile forever etched into his memory. But that was a lie. Minho knew he’d do it all again for as long as his heart continued to beat.

Minho feels something squelch on the ground below him, a metallic tang hitting the back of his throat. He swipes at it, crimson coating his fingers. Blood. His blood. He presses a tentative hand to his face, swiping at his leaking nose, but the bleeding won’t stop. There’s too much of it.

Minho screams when his spine cracks, the pain splitting through his entire body, and he feels his eyes roll back into his head. 

When he opens them again, the world is dark. And he runs.

. . .

Your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse, parched for air as you make your way through the forest, wobbling through the trees, looking for something, anything that could lead you to Minho. 

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, accompanied by a ringing that hasn’t ceased since you left the bunker. The decision still made your stomach turn, afraid to confront the outside world without Minho by your side, but you had to find him. Had to let him know that you wouldn’t let him suffer anymore.

Mind lingering on a specific memory from Minho’s birthday, you realized there’d always been a strange undercurrent between you, even when Junho had been around. Despite how many times he drew away from you, you never let him escape completely. At first, you’d thought it was because he was Junho’s friend, but it all changed after that night outside the bar, your attraction to Minho settling in your chest like a lead weight.

You think back to the months you’d spent together, the world falling apart around you, and how Minho had become your entire world, the reason you’d continued to hope. How you’d fallen in love with every part of him, from the way he’d let you take the first share of food to the messy strands of his grown-out hair. 

The wind whips through your hair, the dense cover of trees thinning around you, and you stumble upon the meadow, a lone figure illuminated in the moonlight. You know it’s him.

“Minho!” you scream, watching as he stumbles across the field in response, trying to get away from you. “Minho!”

You scream until your voice runs hoarse, fighting through the pain in your ankle, and eventually, Minho draws closer and closer, collapsing in the middle of the field. His back is turned to you, and he ducks his head, avoiding your gaze.

You think he’ll run away when you approach him, but he remains lifeless, as still as a statue. Crouching down beside him, you lift his chin, turning his face up to you, a gasp caught in your throat at what you find.

There’s something wrong with his eyes. They shift from the dark brown irises you’d come to know to hollow pools of black. His face is smeared with blood, and his breathing is shallow.

“____, you have to go, I’m turning, it’s not safe, I’m not safe–,” Minho grabs your arm, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. His speech is garbled, but you can hear the gentle tone of his voice still trapped inside. He’s still Minho.

“How dare you tell me to run,” you hiss at him. “How dare you tell me to leave?”

“You don’t understand,” he growls, hands shaking in rage. “I’m a monster!”

Fear strikes you at the realization that something was very wrong with him, something neither you or him had ever been able to anticipate. But it’s overcome by a stronger, more profound emotion.

“I don’t care,” you take his face in your hands again. “I love you, Minho. I loved you through the world ending, and I’ll love you through this. Because your life is mine now, just like mine is yours. It’s our second chance. And we will do whatever it takes to survive.”

Minho clasps your hands in his, fingertips rubbing against your knuckles, and you smile when you notice that his eyes are normal again, no longer filled with darkness. Maybe there was a chance.

“We’ll head west,” Minho rests his forehead against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I saw a hospital nearby. Maybe there are other survivors, people just like us.”

You nod, throwing your arms around him and burying your head into the crook of his neck. The two of you would exit west as soon as the sun rose, ready to start a new journey together.

Perhaps the life you shared was far from perfect but you realized that you’d clutched onto it as desperately as him, because he was the only thing you had. You were each other’s home.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Walking on Sunshine 4

Sister series to Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows

Warnings: non/dubcon, antisocial behaviour, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: God The Bounty Hunter x reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You have your muffin with tea. It’s a special treat for the night even if it remains confounding. With every bite, you can’t help but think of that man. His piercing blue eyes bore into your soul and his silence piques your curiosity. 

The question you can’t help but ask over and over is why you? Why is he leaving you muffins? And seemingly, why is he following you to the cafe?  

The question follows you to bed. Most nights, you’re tired enough to pass out just before ten, watching some crafting video or another. Often, you wake up to the idle screen of your laptop. Not that night, your sleep is splintered by the ghost of your waking hours. 

As you get ready for work, pulling on a loosely crocheted cardigan over a light blue plaid dress, you think of him. You try to place him. Is he new? You don't think you've seen him before. You aren’t exactly the most observant; apparently, he’d been following you and you didn’t notice. 

You put on a pair of socks with scalloped tops and some well-worn oxfords. You check your work bag to make sure everything’s inside and grab your travel mug of tea. It’s a new flavour from your sample pack; sweet pear. 

You take your usual route to work. You can’t help but glance over your shoulder as you do. You doubt he’d be hanging around that early. Besides, he’s not a stalker. He just wanted to give you the muffin. 

You yawn as you enter the office building and wait for the elevator. You blow over the lid of the thermos. The tea won’t be cool enough to drink until you get to your desk and untwist the cap. You have your routine. Your boring, repetitive routine. 

You near your desk as a few early comers settle in. The smell of coffee wafts in the air as you hear the single-serve machine grinding over the lazy clacking of keys. You put your thermos down and pause.

You look over your chair, turning it slowly as you examine the arm. This isn’t your chair. There’s a piece missing out of the arm rest, a chunk you can’t help but pick at but this arm is brand new, the whole seat is a different style. The wheels don’t squeak. 

You look around. Maybe the cleaners switched it up by accident. Hard to say who they would switch it with, you don’t exactly go around checking out chairs. You go around to examine your neighbours to see if it was a simple switch. Nope. 

You peer around and blow out through your lips. You don’t want to be accused of trying to acquire someone else’s chair. It looks new, almost like one of the ones from the managers’ offices. You really can’t be on the wrong side of the higher ups. You get by on your invisibility. The job is safe so you play it safe. 

You spin the chair. No squeaking, no creaking. The fabric looks as pristine as the rest of it. A seat should not cause so much concern. 

Your neighbour appears and drops their bag beside their desk. You glance over at their dark hair, barely getting a glimpse before they set off for their first coffee of the day. Dark roast. You can tell by the smell. As they strut away, either unaware or or deliberately ignoring your existence, you assume the latter, you stay standing, staring at the mysterious chair. 

“You don’t like it?” A gritty voice startles you as a figure appears from behind the next group of cubicles. 

It’s him. That man. He crosses his arms as he watches you. He wears a grey button up and corduroys a shade darker. His tie is skinny with a flat end. His square jaw is shadowed with stubble and his hair is unstyled but not messy, a short trim along his forehead. 

“It’s not mine,” you utter bluntly. 

“Expense report was approved. It’s yours,” he insists. 

“You?” You wonder. 

He gives a short nod and unfolds his arms, standing staunchly across from you. You look down then back at him. “Thanks, but, you didn’t have to.” 

“I did,” he counters. 

You don’t know what to make of him or his responses. Or the chair. You gulp and once more examine the cushy backrest, touching it, squeezing it’s firm but soft padding. 

“The muffin was goo--” you look up and he’s gone. What the heck? This is getting really strange. If it wasn’t for the very real chair in front of you, you might think he’s a ghost. 

Your cubicle neighbour returns and sets his cup down. You don’t miss the pointed way his eyes flick across you before he sits. He must think you’re talking to yourself. You do your best not to do that at work. If you can help it, you try not to make much noise as his sighs and grumbles keep you on edge. 

You shrug and roll the chair back. You sit. No squeak! Your neighbour doesn’t huff. You pull yourself smoothly towards the desk and boot up your computer. This is nice, but you’ll have to figure out who your kind benefactor is. You owe him a million thanks, and you have a million questions. 

[stinglesswasp]

Hi! First of all, I think your art is gorgeous and honestly whatever words I put here, they will never be able to do your art justice. I love your visual storytelling! Now for the actual ask part. How could one start learning how to draw? I have a STEM background and I have wrestled many times before with the idea of trying to pick up drawing and every time I see content creators, such as you, posting their works, it makes me even more motivated to get some scenarios out of my head and place them on paper. Right now I do it in writing but I would love to do something graphic about it too. Problem is, it can feel overwhelming to start as there are so many resources and stuff and it can feel like a daunting task. So, how did you start drawing?

Thank you so much and I hope you will always keep your passion for this craft alive and well. Be it CoD or anything else.

Hi, thank you for your kind words! I've been drawing since I was a wee baby wasp, but anyone can start at anytime. You're absolutely right that it can feel overwhelming, but I love that you're motivated! That's honestly half the battle. I can give some general advice:

Start small, like really small… I know it's tempting to immediately jump into drawing your favourite blorbos smooching (yes, this is the entire point of being an artist) but it's like exercise, you need to build muscle bit by bit before you can attempt any ambitious goals. Draw very basic shapes like circles, squares, triangles, followed by spheres, cylinders, prisms. Try to rotate/stretch/skew/slice them in your mind's eye and draw the result. Draw some simple objects around you. You'll find that all objects, including complex organic forms, can be broken down into basic shapes. Here's an example of the types of exercises you can try: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-6F5q_5HC3o

There are beginner's tutorials on every aspect of drawing, I'd recommend spending a chunk of time in each area, learning fundamentals like perspective, proportions, and lighting. There are easy rules that you can follow that will make your art look 'correct' and not 'wonky' which might happen if you try to wing it without really understanding what you're doing. This video (though more advanced) has tons of useful advice and a fantastic guideline to follow: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6T_-DiAzYBc (in fact I think this is one of the best art 'tutorials' ever 🤯)

Be patient with yourself!! Your brain literally needs time to grow new neurons because you're learning a new skill. It can be frustrating to be unable to draw what you're imagining, but go easy and build up a strong foundation first. The more solid this is, the more satisfied you'll be when you finally tackle the stuff you actually want to make.

I hope this was helpful! Just practice a lot, have fun, and be proud of your progress 🧡 (also, sit with good posture, stay hydrated and take regular breaks <3)

[onepieceoftheoceanblues]

Batfam X One Piece Crossover AU

Someone mentioned this sort of au and I went Insane a bit ^-^' hope you guys enjoy!

Okay so a Batfam in the One Piece world au and how I think it would work/go;

I imagine the Batfam were whammied into an entirely new dimension while on patrol so we have the full costumed roster (but not the full extended clan cuz that's so many people lol) so we have Bruce/Batman, Dick/Nightwing, Jason/Red Hood, Tim/Red Robbin, Damian/Robin, Cass/Black Bat, Stephanie/Batgirl (you can pry Steph still being batgirl out of my cold dead hands), and Duke/Signal.

The First thing they do is figure out where they are, an island in something called the ___ blue (idk which they should be in lol, but it's best if they start in a blue I think), and are very obviously not in their world. (I'm gonna say for the sake of Plot either One Piece doesn't exist in their world or none of them have watched/read it because that would be too easy lol)

Ofc the second thing they do is try to find a way home and gather info but uh, they quickly realize this world doesn't have the best tech around to build something to take them home, and places/people they can get to would be either hard to find or in a place that's very dangerous to get to (Vegapunk is their best bet but... not really an option for right away due to mentioned reasons).

They think of asking this "World Government" for help for all of two seconds, before finding out how fucking awful and corrupt the whole system this world has and nixes that idea right in the bud. They're Vigilantes for a reason, after all, and know corruption in governments very well. So honestly, their best bet is either trying to go along and find someone that can help and materials, or waiting for their people from their world to come and get them.

(SO much more under cut im sorry Brain went Brrr)

Tbh it must be so wild to be in this world too tho, for some many reasons. It's close enough, but then you factor in all the different races and species, and how the world is set up. Add the fact most of it not as advanced as their world, except in some places which it is? And how half their technology runs on... snails?????? What a baffling world. Also, people can have powers and are gained from something called Devil Fruits which give you powers in exchange that the sea can and will kill you, except for some races have natural powers due to their biology.

They decide pretty quickly in world of water to not eat the Devil Fruits. Also keep an eye on Duke because his powers, while not too flashy, arnt a devil fruit, and they have no way to explain how he has them, and how he can manipulate both light and shadows.

Its probs also so jarring because like, in their world, they are used to being the peak of what humans can do. They keep up with metas and aliens and are cosidered among the best of the best for a reason, and while they often have to compensate with gear and tech, at the end of the day they can only go so far as humans.

However, it's different in this world. Clearly even though there are humans, their biological standards are different then their Earth, and even just humans without powers can go far beyond their own norm if they train and work hard enough for it.

The Batfam could easily handle the Blue's pirates and marines, and probs all cannon fodder marines, and while I think they could deal with a good chunk if not most people in Paradise baring the strongest in the first half of the grand line, there's no way they could deal with the New World even with their best gear and in peak condition for them. Which sucks because their best bets are likely in that Sea.

Idk where I'd see them, my heart wants them to be pirates of their own little run pirate crew, but I could easily see them being picked up by a canon crew or turning Revolutionaries in exchange for getting help find a way home, or pirates with connections to Revs. The only thing I can't see is them as Marines, as stated a few paragraphs above, lol, but also I figure they run into the law and go fuck you guys and what you stand for and end up with bounties so they are wanted anyways. But either way they are gonna be progressing and trying to find a way home while getting stronger.

I imagine Haki is the first thing they really try to get down after leanring about it. Idk how they managed to find out about it either in the blues or so early in the grand line, but they are expert information gatherers so they do and immediately try to learn it (either tracking someone down who knows it or how to unlock it, or finding adequate documentation in how to do it) and get to work. It's their best chances in getting a leg up in this world.

And they do unlock it! They're pretty much all geniuses, and they already have experience learning weird skills and manipulating their mental will (they can block out telepaths and have strong willpower in general against mind control canonically), so learning to manifest it into Observation and Armament Haki is less about how hard it is and more just if they can (After all they aren't from this world) and how to apply it. Thankfully, it seems they can.

Duke's Observation makes his future vision so much more powerful, so much he actually has adverse effects to it at first before he gets used to it. Observation is great, just helps what they already natrually know but Armament is very much beloved, instant armor that helps you hit harder even against normal people, let alone devil fruit users!! They are big fans.

Conquerors Haki off the table rn because A.) they don't know if they have it and B.) Who or whatever they learned Haki from didn't explain it or have it to explain so that's put to the side for now, but I'm unsure who, if any of them, have it. Maybe Bruce and Jason, and maybe Damian? I feel?? I could also see Dick unlocking his use of it in a fit of protective rage? Im largely Unsure.

I also think it would be neat if the longer they are here, their bodies adapt to this world more and more until they start being able to past their peak of what they could do before and just... keep going. It varies from each batfam member how they feel on their biology changing over time, but they can't do more than just accept it. At least it will help them survive.

Also, they have to adapt in more ways than one. They arrive and their best gear, fully stocked and mostly undamaged, but the longer they are here the more they run out of supplies and things wear down so they have to figure out how to get/make more or alternate for something better. Batarangs thankfully, while having to be made of a different material, can be made from any island with a good blacksmith who's willing to let them use their forges to make them themselves (cuz having to commission them would take money they don't actually have)

Their suits thankfully are fine and reinforced, but over time they're gonna have to likely find a fabric that could replace the stuff their suits are made of or just switch to diffrent outfits inspired by their suits. Dick's Escrima Sticks can't be charged, so they end up not electrified until they find a way to do it later. Jason's guns inevitably run out of ammo then even if he makes his own, they get just damaged so he's forced to switch to the local pirate guns, thankfully not all are just flintlocks.

Damian's sword is apparently very high grade here and is very smug about it, though annoyed other "Swordsmen" keep wanting to know more about his blade and where he learned to use his "weird style". Tim gets a boa staff that has the ends tipped in sea stone.

Their styles also adapt over time. I have this vision of Dick getting his hands on these boots, probs with Dial technology, that let him jump higher and bounce off of walls if he times it right. Jason with Dial guns. They start picking up the 6 powers as well, not all, but Geppo and Soru become very heavily utilized. I think one of them should end up with Voice of all Things, either Cass or Duke, because it's fun lol.

Im... unsure about devilfruits, but I think it would be intrestin to explore if somone ate one, likely out of despration or having little choice. Unsure who or what fruit but just would be neat i think, expecially dealin with the side effects. Tho Dick with a Wind Logia or a winged Zoan of sorts sounds SO interesting. (Can you tell who my favorite batfam memeber is? ^-^')

As for Ponyglaph Runes, Bruce and Tim def find out about it and try their best to tackle it, but It's REALLY hard to learn an entirely different language with unfamiliar sentence structure when you have absolutely no keys or references to work with. They learn of Nico Robin, and aren't stupid so figure it's likely an awful cover-up or more to the story, and decide to lowkey make it one of their goals to track her or any other knowledge on how to learn it down. If they get even a bare hint of a clue on how to translate, I'm sure they'd figure it out over time, but Robin is their best bet.

They find out about Whitebeard, and they are quietly glad Bruce's adoption problem isn't that bad but think its funny. Dick is beloved by all and makes enough friends and allies to rival Luffy's charisma, it's a skill man. I can't decide if their Epithets in this world are just their Vigilante names, and they stay masked, or they get knew Epithets and decide there's no point in hiding, or a mix of both but yee.

The OP world either speaks "Common" they can all magically speak now with some diffrent launages in diff parts of the world, OR Japanese, which some of them know and have to teach the others, OR a weird mix of English and Japanese. There's a point in time that people think Damian is Nico Robin's child or sibling because of the Robin thing, and he's a little demon child. Or hell they still do, and he's very livid while Robin is both amused but also scared for this child who is being tied to her.

They still dont kill for the most part, baring Jason, but some of them are pushed into it and they have to figure out what that means for them and what it means moving fowrard with their no kill policy. Some do better with it, some dont. Bruce still hasnt and wont kill, same with Cass, and Damian decides he doesnt want to but will if absolutly no other choice is offered, thankfully they havnt let him had to make this choice yet. (I just have so much thoughts about a assassin raised child deciding they dont want their hands more red now they have the choice).

One or more of them should end up pulled into the War at Marineford and Ace should be saved because I will try to fit a Ace Lives plot into everything lol

Overall I think if this was a fanfic the plot would be a lot of exploring the differences in their worlds, how they adapt and overcome, and trying to find a way home while also coming to like this world and overturning corruption and fucking over the government. I think them with the Strawhats or another crew would be fun, either as allies or joined idk, but I think with them as their own crew would be cool as well. If they join or ally with a crew Bruce lowkey adopts everyone, and he's given SO much shit for it but christ so many of them have such sad backstories and he wants to help

I think in the end they should get to find their way home and like no time has passed, but they're so changed, and arguably considered powered now because lol, but find a way to go back and visit safely.

Sorry for the word vomit but man im in love with this idea. Feel free to comment or send Asks with questions or comments about the au! Please Reblog, and not just like, as they do nothing <3

[project-sekai-facts]

You touched on this in your last ask about how Mizuki's first events were too detailed with their secret. I always thought that too but now I'm wondering why. Since the writers sped through the set up part then spent the last year trying to delay the payoff. I'm guessing it was either to see how people would respond or they were unsure how well the game would do (imo latter is unlikely since anything that has Miku is basically a license to print money)

Kinda makes you wonder what would have happened if most people ended up hating Mizuki.

I think in part it may have been the latter, the stories are written pretty far in advance (Haruka Ryo spent almost a year on Kashika iirc, and fawo would’ve started writing around the time they commissioned him), so at the time footprints was being written, and definitely at the time secret distance and exciting picnic were being written, the devs may have still been uncertain at how many years the game would stay popular. This is something they’ve even brought up in more recent interviews in regards to the end of the current stories and continuing them onwards. So in that regard, quickly introducing Mizuki’s arc and making it very clear what their secret is makes sense, even if she never states it outright, because the player knows by this point anyway. Like if you dragged it out for years and the game had started to lose popularity then the story isn’t going to reach people.

But also it makes sense narratively. You don’t want Mizuki being trans to be a big twist or reveal for the players, partially because it could cause uproar with unsupportive fans but also because it’s kind of important information that shouldn’t really be withheld from the reader, hence the ? in Mizuki’s official bio and the main story immediately implying that there’s something gender related going on. Also the writers always talk about how they want people to relate and connect with the stories, and you’re not gonna reach that audience if you don’t make it clear from the start.

Quickly introducing the player to Mizuki’s secret and their feelings and setting up Ena as a support makes a lot of sense. However like I said in the last post you don’t wanna speed through the other characters knowing as well, because then Mizuki’s development would go stale. Also having Ena wait contributes to her relationship with Mizuki developing too, showing how Mizuki can trust her and is willing to be patient to make her more comfortable, so again it would just stale their relationship development too if she found out in footprints. The player knowing what Mizuki’s secret is also makes their interactions with Mafuyu make a lot more sense. Mizuki is able to help Mafuyu because they’re both hiding a part of themselves. If we didn’t know about Mizuki being trans then those interactions wouldn’t work the same way.

I mean this hasn’t entirely worked there’s still a fair chunk of fans primarily on JP side who believe Mizuki is a crossdressing boy still but that’s on them for having bad media literacy.

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

HOTD S1: Aegon serially rapes servant girls and watches flea bottom children fight in the pits for his entertainment - his own illegitimate child among them. We follow Ser Erryk and Arryk on a tour of the worst of Aegon in a Green-centric episode, dedicating a huge chunk of the episode to building up to Erryk's moral decision to back Rhaenyra as Queen instead, choosing her not just out of duty but out of a meritocratic comparison.

TG: B-But it's because his terminally ill evil dad didn't love him 🥺 And he doesn't know what rape is, it was just a misunderstanding! And WHY is it his responsibility to look after an illegitimate child he didn't want 🥺 ANYWAY this was just Mushroom slander the show is just anti-Green and pro-Black and what do you mean Daemon didn't kill his wife in the book? What do you mean Aemond killed Luke on purpose? What do you mean Alicent bullied a child? What do you mean Criston groomed a 7-year-old? Did MUSHROOM tell you that-

HOTD S2: Did you know Aegon cares about the SMALLFOLK? He cares about the SMALLFOLK. Have we mentioned how much Aegon cares about the SMALLFOLK yet? He really does care about the SMALLFOLK- and he's a really really really good dad-

TG: 😍 SEE he's trying really hard and he cares about the SMALLFOLK! 😍 I bet Rhaenyra doesn't care about the smallfolk (when Aegon lands HIS dragon I bet they don't run away screaming, they know Aegon has a nice friendly dragon who wouldn't hurt a fly and is a nice nuke, unlike other evil nuke dragons that the evil bad coloniser targs ride 😡). And he's such a good dad he loves his son so much he's a good dad - and when he was watching the flea bottom children fight for his entertainment he didn't know one of them was his child so that's alright then-

Meanwhile Aegon III and Gaemon Palehair: Are we a joke to you?

Queen Alicent had reluctantly agreed to the betrothal of her granddaughter to Rhaenyra’s son, but she had done so without the king’s consent. Aegon II had other ideas. He wished to marry Cassandra Baratheon at once, for “she will give me strong sons, worthy of the Iron Throne.” Nor would he allow Prince Aegon to wed his daughter, and perhaps sire sons who might muddy the succession.

“Cut off one of the boy’s ears and send it to Lord Tully. Warn them he will lose another part for every mile they advance.” “Yes,” Aegon II said. “Good. It shall be done.”

“I mean to give the small folk peace and food and justice. If that will not suffice to win their love, let Mushroom make a progress. Or perhaps we might send a dancing bear. Someone once told me that the commons love nothing half so much as dancing bears. You may call a halt to this feast tonight as well. Send the lords home to their own keeps and give the food to the hungry. Full bellies and dancing bears shall be my policy.”

King Aegon himself, when asked, put forward his cupbearer, Gaemon Palehair, reminding the regents that the boy had “been a king before.”

Aegon seemed to have only one companion he cared about. Gaemon Palehair, his six-year-old cupbearer and food taster, not only shared all of the king’s meals, but oft accompanied him to the yard, as Ser Gareth did not fail to note. As a bastard born of a whore, Gaemon counted for little in the court, so when Ser Gareth asked Lord Peake to make the lad the king’s whipping boy, the Hand was pleased to do so. Thereafter any misbehavior, laziness, or truculence on King Aegon’s part resulted in punishment for his friend. Gaemon’s blood and Gaemon’s tears reached the king as none of Gareth Long’s words ever had, and His Grace’s improvement was soon marked by every man who watched him in the castle yard, but the king’s mislike of his teacher only deepened.

"And if I will not, who will you punish, ser?” King Aegon shouted down at him. “You may beat poor Gaemon’s bones, but you will get no more blood from him.”

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

"Come with me" by Alicent after b&c and well, basically everything, was such a disgusting way to put a final nail in the coffin of what once was, or could have been, a great character. I'm so tired of this useless and distasteful queerbaiting and the nonsensical ship that has been so detrimental to the story. And 'a son for a son' by Rhaenyra?? B**ch, what?! What about baby Jaehaerys? And why wouldn't Alicent mention him? No mention of Jaehaerys, but we got the cringe nail biting, what a peak character development. They must think they are so smart, Condal and Co. Anyway, almost everything was bad in the episode, but the Rhaenicent scene must be n01 of the horrors.

I would also like to make a brief comparison of the two character assassinations we saw this season, Alicent's and Aemond's. Both characters were indeed stripped of any significant and organic development and the result is the mess we've got. However, I think that the intentions weren't the same. With Alicent, I believe that these excuses of the writers wanted to depict it as her atonement, her regression to the only version of Alicent that in their minds, deserves sympathy, young Alicent who longs for Rhaenyra and seeks her approval . She is humiliated and constantly punished by the narrative so when she finally 'comes to her senses' and crawls back to Rhaenyra, she has a chance to ingratiate herself to the audience (and I've seen positive reactions to her in the finale on SM, so it wasn't entirely fruitless). Therefore, the writers actually in a way wanted to endear her to the GA and this was their way to do it. She is in the wrong and must be punished and ridiculed as long as she is the beacon of TG and as long as she doesn't ditch her sons for Rhaenyra, or, "to stop the bloodshed". With Aemond, it was more straightforward. They needed a one dimensional villain and they got him. They wanted to kill all the sympathies for his character and his popularity in s1 was in the way. Hence, all the idiotic changes and inventions regarding his character, and let's not forget the fact that he is one of the supposedly 'important players' who doesn't even have a POV. He needs to be boogeyman for tb and he is allowed to be badass and scary just enough to be a worthy opponent to Daemon so his victory (or whatever it was) at God's Eye doesn't fall flat, but he cannot in any way overshadow the rogue prince. And yes, in the finale he had less than 4 minutes of screentime which proves how Condal's gang sees his character, and also the utmost disrespect they treat him (and his fans) with. Once again, this clearly works because a considerable chunk of the fandom, and I'm sorry to say this, is braindead. It's apparently true that they wrote the show for the worst sort of Dany and Targ stans (and I like Dany and the Targaryens), people who go like 'yass, Queen,' 'slay, queen' , 'the Targaryens are the saviours of Westeros' etc. Daemon's vision and his and Rhaenyra scene proved this perfectly.

Sorry if this was too long. I know I sound angry, but this damn season wae such a torturous and nonsensical snoozefest that it irreparably soured this universe to me. Anyway, it's always a pleasure to read your thoughts wi thanks in advance.

Hello! Thank you for the ask and for the compliment!

First of all, I heartily agree with everything you said.

Condal&Co, apparently, really believe themselves to be oh so clever. GoT callbacks - you got them (overbearing and quite often confusing as heck but who cares). Scenes featuring mirroring, symblolism and whatnot (most of them with Alicent and Rhaenyra) - in abundance (dragged out and pointless - like Alicent swimming scene - but this is Cinema™️). Progressive feministic agenda - you are welcome (said agenda is actually degrading for women as it at the very best presents them as passive and lacking ambition and the will to act - plus it absolutely effing destroys multiple characters and their storylines). And HBO people apparently don't care - and they will not care until all this atrocity bites them in the ass in one way or another.

Alicent doesn't remember Jaehaerys having been murdered - but who does? Poor boy has been all but forgotten right after the show had Helaena announce that she should get over her grief because the smallfolk suffers more than she does. Besides, in the writers' eyes it's not Rhaenyra's fault anyway since she had nothing to do with it. And it's not actually Daemon's fault either since he was shown feeling sad about it for a couple of seconds. You know what, in fact the blame for Jaehaerys' death completely lies with TG: Aemond shouldn't have murdered Luke, Alicent and Criston shouldn't have been fucking, Aegon shouldn't have been drinking with his friends. So it really doesn't count. I have seen a post made by a (quite deranged) TB stan where they claimed that "many sons should die to avenge Luke because we are talking about Lucerys Velaryon". Whatever that even means, Condal and Hess apparently share this opinion.

As for Aemond and Alicent, I agree with you once again. In one of my previous answers I mentioned that the key word for Alicent's character assasination this season is "humiliation" and for Aemond's - "dehumanization". Well, that's literally it: one is shown to be completely miserable (the cause for that misery being her supporting the wrong side of the conflict) - plus she brings the same misery on her daughter's head; the other is left almost without any means for us to understand what he really thinks and feels. Ewan pours everything he has into his eye acting - and it can be seen in the few instances when we are allowed a couple of seconds to focus on his face - but the script staunchly continues hammering home the point of Aemond being a psycho with next to none emotional connection to his family.

Team Green characters had such a huge potential - together and separately - but the writers with their pro-Daenerys agenda (and hence pro-Rhaenyra one as the Black Queen is clearly their Dany 2.0) couldn't have that. There is some hope remaining for Aegon and Larys team up - but I don't trust the writers with them one bit.

[chibifox2002]

Little Spec of Seafoam

IT TOOK ME SEVEN HOURS TO WRITE THIS!!!

(note: I'm not good at grammar and stuff, so this might be typed weird. But regardless I hope y'all enjoy my attempt at writing)

((also I might end up writing BPC ooc because I'm still learning about the characters and their personalities so I apologize in advance. I'm solely going off of the vibes I got from her in cosmicwhoreo's posts 😅))

Fic under cut 👇👇👇

...

She had done it.

She didn't know how. But she'd done it.

Seafoam Cookie used those damn sea bandit's tricks against them, lit every single batch of dynamite they had (for some reason) and sunk their ship. Blew it into smithereens and, from the looks of it, left not a thing nor living being intact. They weren't gonna take her things without facing the consciences.

She didn't care about the sea they were all near either, she'd rather deal with the legendary sea witch than some pathetic land cookies.

As Seafoam Cookie looked around, she saw bits and chunks of the ship she had just sunk slowly sink around her like snowflakes during a snowstorm.

"Dang... I really did some damage..."

She wondered how she was able to breathe and speak, and then wondered how deep she had already sunk. It was surprisingly difficult for her to tell at that moment...

Then she heard something.

The sound of something... big, swimming by her.

Seafoam had looked down towards the dark depths, when a pair of giant piercing blue eyes appeared in the dark. Then the eyes began moving up, the sunshine leaking from the surface revealing a familiar looking pearl and crown from the stories she had overheard throughout her wandering...

The legendary sea witch, Black Pearl Cookie, was there before her. Her hands on her hips, and a puzzled, yet angered look on her face.

Seafoam Cookie froze, her stomach dropping.

"And what do we have here...?"

She spoke in an intimidating tone.

"It seems that this little thing has lost her little crew~..."

Seafoam paused.

Oh heck no.

If she's going down, she REFUSED to be thrown in the same group as those... t-those... TRASHY LAND COOKIES!

"OH HECK NO!"

Black Pearl jumped slightly at the sudden shout.

"I AIN'T AFFILIATED WITH THOSE PATHETIC EXCUSES OF LAND COOKIES! I'D RATHER BE GROUPED WITH ACTUAL TRASH!"

Black Pearl was absolutely baffled. "But... You're a land cookie as well..." she said, confused.

"Pfft- Please! At least I KNOW I'm trash!" Seafoam replied with a puff. "Some of those guys act like they're rulers of the world or something! Taking what they want, saying what they want, HURTING WHO THEY WANT! It ticks me off!" Seafoam ranted.

"The only reason I was on their ship in the first place was because they took my bag with all my stuff in it! AND NOW IT'S GONE!..." She fell silent, crossing her arms, angry that she couldn't get what was hers back. She could feel tears trying to escape her eyes, despite being underwater.

Black Pearl was silent. Looking at the girl as a sense of deja vu crept up her back.

This small girl... This land cookie... She shared the same anger as her. The same feeling of betrayal in her heart... and judging by the clear hatred she had for her own kind, she beared a similar, if not the same, heartbreak as the sea witch as well...

She thought for a bit... Then acted.

She brought a hand up to cup the child in, keeping her from sinking further, and brought her closer to her face. Noticing that she had a similar looking blue right eye as herself, and that her left eye was nothing more than an unfixable hole on her head with two nasty looking scars going down her cheek and ending close to her mouth.

Something about that angered her... For some reason...

"Well, normally I wouldn't do something like this... But it seems that you share some of the same feelings as I do." Black Pearl began to swim towards the sea's surface as she spoke.

"So it would be rude of me to do with you as I do the others."

Seafoam Cookie looked at the giant sea woman as she spoke, remembering the tales she'd overheard. About how apparently someone had stolen something from her as well. She always wondered what it was that was taken from her... She was almost tempted to ask, but decided against it due to just meeting the mermaid. She herself wouldn't share that information with someone she'd just met after all, so why would Black Pearl?

She was brought back from her deep thought at the sound mermaid's voice.

"I've decided to let you go with your life." Black Pearl said calmly. "Call this a foolish decision, but I assume you will not speak of this moment to anyone else, yes?"

"You have my word on that!" Seafoam responded. "I doubt anyone would believe a "street urchin" like me anyways." She continued, making heavy quotation marks with her hands at the childish yet cruel title some of the most ignorant adult cookies had given her.

Black Pearl hummed. "Well, regardless of what those fools think about you, I want you to live proudly with the fact that not only did you face the vicious sovereign of the Duskgloom Sea and leave with your life intact, but you have also impressed her with the amount of destruction you have caused to that pesky ship that had trespassed into my waters! Why... I have never seen such a small cookie reduce a ship of that size into nothing but boards and splinters before!"

Seafoam smiled and scratched the back of her head in embarrassment, not used to being praised or complemented. "Ah jeez... Thank you, your highness!... Uh... That's the correct way to address you, right?"

"It'll do, child..."

....

After what felt like mere seconds later, Seafoam Cookie was floating away towards the land where she came from on a spare wooden chunk from the destroyed ship, made into a makeshift boat with a sail, oars and all.

She was still confused about the reason why Lady Black Pearl decided to spare her, but she wasn't complaining. Especially since it turned out to be the most pleasant conversation she's had with another being in a while!

As she rowed, she admired the sky. It was sunset now, the stars just started to peek out from the remaining sunlight that was in the sky. The sounds of the ocean's gentle waves starting to lull the girl into drowsiness. She'll keep this day's events close to her heart, despite the fact that it started rather violently.

She looked towards the boat that the mermaid made for her, it wasn't the best craftsmanship she's seen, clearly only used to destroying ships and boats than making them, but it kept her afloat and was making the trip back to land easier. That's all that mattered to her.

Seafoam then put the oars up into the boat and set the sail up, deciding to rest her arms and maybe even get some sleep.

She decided to rest against the sail's mast to sleep. As she sat there, her eyes began to close slowly. Her eyelids feeling like they were being weighed down by anchors.

Before she could succumb to slumber, she noticed something underneath the plank bench she was sitting on.

...Was that...?

No... It couldn't be...

...Right?

She crawled over to the bench and grabbed the object from underneath it...

It was a bag... Her bag.

She undid the latches and flew open the flap and...

It was all there. Everything she had... From her strange trinkets to her precious crafting supplies. The medical kit, the shells she liked, even her hair brush. It was all there.

She couldn't believe it. Did Lady Black Pearl do this? She was the one who made the boat after all. Had she somehow saved her bag and snuck it in while Seafoam was waiting for the boat's completion?

She couldn't keep it in anymore, the intense emotions flooded her entire body, and she cried.

Cried from being treated as an equal instead of a disgusting pest. Internally thanking the mermaid for returning her things and treating her as if she mattered.

She silently hoped she'd encounter her again soon.

She slumped back against the mast and continued to gently cry until she sniffled herself to sleep, feeling happy.

....

Black Pearl Cookie was laid against the large, smooth rock she used as a bed, looking at all the wrecked ships surrounding her. She was proud of this "little" collection she had. Each one served as a symbol of what would become of those who dared enter her seas. No hesitation. No mercy.

... Except for one...

She turned her head towards another rock. One that had a decent sized area jutting from the side of it, perfect to use as a shelf for her more, precious treasures.

Upon it rested a chest where she kept those treasures, and that was normally the only thing there.

But now?

There was something else beside it. Something she took from the little land cookie's bag, and placed it inside something to prevent it from floating away...

An art piece.

An art piece that was made by the girl... Seafoam Cookie, that was the name that was carved into the back... A fitting name, given her seafoam like hair.

It was a wood carving of her, looking as beautiful and powerful as the real deal. With waves crashing and a storm above her head. It was clear that a lot of time and passion had gone into this little thing.

Black Pearl wasn't sure if Seafoam Cookie had intended on giving this to someone, but if so, they could deal with it. She deemed that this was worthy enough to be in her possession along with her treasures.

As to why she decided to place it there? No reason to ponder over. It simply had plenty of space, and it was nice to have something new there.

Black Pearl looked up towards the surface of the sea, the sunlight no longer peeking through due to the time, and thought about that little girl. As she did, she began to wonder what kind of person she'd become. She wasn't sure why she was thinking about this, considering she doesn't do the whole "fondness" thing with people.

"Such a strange little spec of seafoam..." She thought to herself.

"Perhaps I should keep an eye on that little one..."

[lil--nuggett]

Hey guys, so if you know Baldur's Gate 3 this is an AU for that with Hardenshipping but it's really fucked up. I will explain why it's fucked up below the cut.

Maxie is a High Half-Elf Warlock (his patron is Groudon), and Archie's a Human Fighter <3

Also I just realized this is the first time you have seen me draw Archie seriously lmao my bad guys I'll try to draw him again soon

I took a ton of inspiration for various things for these designs, including Guile for Archie's armor bc I love Guile sm!!

(More info and our dumb AU lore under here - No BG3 Spoilers I promise <3)

I'm going to tell you this now... this gets really fucking crazy and honest to god I know I'm going to have a hard time explaining this. It WILL be quite long and I WILL be yapping.

This AU is really just something we did on impulse and it's really fun to mess around with, so I'm hoping you all will enjoy the concept as well :)

I'll try to explain it simply as I can. I thank you in advance to all who sit here and read this ily sm if you read it all <3333

Anyways, okay so imagine how one could do a bg3 AU for these two fuckers...

And throw it right out the window because you'll never guess how me and my friend have done it.

The Backstory:

This all started when my friend decided to play BG3 for the first time, and he jokingly said to me "Should I make Maxie our main character??" and I replied "I you want, but I won't force you" and thus BG3 Maxie was created, and his misadventures began.

Now your probably wondering (if you've played the game) what about the guardian?? Who did we make the guardian?? Well, we made Archie the guardian. However, I did not know just how wild this idea would get within the next few days.

So, eventually we realized how crazy the BG3 lore actually is (it's a like fucking DnD campaign idk how we didn't realize this beforehand), and so, we jokingly started our own "AU Lore" that ties in with the BG3 Lore.

If you really want to know, I have an entire note in my notes app dedicated to keeping track of what happens. It is very long.

The Parasite:

Now, if you've played the game or know anything about it, you know about the Mindflayer parasites. Well, one fateful day, me and my friend joked that the Parasite in Maxie's head was this little freak who looks like Archie.

The two have no correlation other than looks, its completely coincidence and it's not a mimic situation. The Parasite "Archie" does nothing but talk nonsense to Maxie all the time, and initially the bit was that he only talked about Fortnite. All because I made the joke that the dream realm in game looked like a fortnite update. By now, that bit has fallen off (thank god), replaced by just general nonsense and lies.

Also he fucking looks like this:

Weird little freak. This is just one of his talk sprites I have, this is just his neutral expression.

So basically it's:

- Maxie was supposed to be on a Geology research trip, but instead he got dragged into the Parasite issue with the rest of the companions. He really just wants to get home to Archie.

I am the one who handles everything for Maxie in this AU, I do his voice, I handle his lore, etc.

- Parasite Archie is this 1 foot tall, neco arc-esque version of Archie that sits on Maxie's shoulder and tells him nonsensical things. He also says Maxie's name wrong, he says Maxie's full first name and pronounces it as "Maximilliam" instead of the "N" at the end. For Maxie it's like handling a toddler but the toddler fights back, doesn't shut up, and threatens your life. He also has a ton of his own lore that my friend continously adds on to, so I can make another post with just the parasite's part of things.

My friend handles everything with the Parasite himself, comes up with the lore, does the voice, etc. I simply keep track of it.

- The "dream visitor" version of Archie is not real either. It's linked to the Parasite in ways that if I get into it, I will spoil a good chunk of the game. Sorry. Just know you can consider this and Parasite Archie kind of as one in the same almost.

- The REAL Archie is still at home, completely unaware of what's happening, while Maxie is fighting for his life. He does miss him, though, and hopes he gets home soon. He and Maxie are only boyfriends, they haven't gotten married yet. (They also haven't been through their rivalry yet, as this all takes place before that happens.)

Sorry for the convoluted yap sesh, I just have more art planned for this stupid AU and- God I cannot possibly just post this shit with no context. Like, I'd have to explain it eventually so I might as well do it now beforehand yk 😭😭

I might do separate posts with our HCs and some silly conversations that have happened between Parasite Archie and Maxie if you guys would want that :)

Also, I do have all of the sessions from where my friend plays the game recorded and I'll be sure to post some clips of what Parasite Archie sounds like eventually, possibly with snippets of my shitty Maxie voice in there as well. You'll get to see the talk sprites in action with that, too.

[writingforatwistedworld]

Hi, could please i request an Entering your world for Sebek? I really love reading your fics!

Thanks in advance

A Sebek a day keeps the ear doctor away.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationship, violence, blood, implied death, religion

Entering your world

What is this nonsense? WHERE IS WAKA-SAMA??!

When Sebek suddenly lost his balance whilst trying to levetate higher than usual, Crowley being present, he didn’t expect to come by in a completely different place

Much less did he expect a person sleeping in that place, their posture telling him that they fell asleep whilst doing who-knows-what on their phone

Not lie it mattered after all they are just a normal hu… is that the Overseer?

And thus, the great screaming commenced

Safe to say that he gave you a heart attack

And who wouldn’t be frightened out of their mind if they woke up to a stranger kneeling in front of them, screming how honored they felt to be in your presence?

I would recommend getting earplugs the next time you go shopping

But now you have him here, in all his screaming glory

Since then you have a servant at home

No joke, Sebek can’t go out and make money since there is just nothing he could give a hiring place to identify himself but his tea is pretty good

So instead he keeps your home in pristine condition

That little bit of dust? Oblitirated. That small stain on the window? Cleaned into submission. That one person breaking in whilst you were out? Crushed into dust

He does all of this with such enthusiasm and concentration that you might as well think that he is fighting for his life

But it’s not realy a suprise considering how he is towards Malleus

Although, you had thought that he was lettting Malleus have at least some free time

Is it normal for him to stand guard in front of your door when you are sleeping?

And what is with him always taking care of you as if you were an old person too tired to move a finger?

Not in a bad way of course. But at least making your own food should be alrigh now and the, right?

Well nope becasue the second he sees you in front of the stove he is screeching and then asking for your forgiveness for being so inattentive

There is a much sadder side to this though

Whenever Sebek feels like he didn't do something right he will correct himself, you are his God after all

But that is only what you know of

Even if it's something minor like accidentally missing a spot whilst washing dishes he will punish himself for that

Whether that is mentally, him telling himself that he is not worthy of being close to you, or physically, which I won't describe

And there is also him witnessing someone being “rude” (or rather what he understands under that term, we all have seen him and his devotion to Malleus) to you

All I can say is, it's probably at this point a very good thing that he is doing all the household chores because I wouldn't want to wash a former white shirt, now white

Him not exactly what we would call “doing good stuff” is of course also something that has it's marks on his mental state

But I guess what did we expect? He was raised for a good chunk of his childhood by Lilia and that man is a completely different beast in it's own

Just don't be too surprised when you wake up one night and catch him staring down at you, muttering something you don't understand to himself

[copperbadge]

Mr Sam, I've never thought about freezing dairy before. In particular I thought you COULDN'T freeze milk and yogurt. Could you talk about your freeze / defrost process and how the thawed product compares to original? This could change my shopping habits so thanks in advance.

In my experience, you can freeze almost any dairy product except sour cream, which for some reason does Not Cope Well with being frozen. Also some cheeses, but that varies. Full report below! :D

Regular yogurt can be frozen and is actually extremely delicious when eaten straight from freezing, I love the texture it develops. Greek yogurt freezes well too, though it needs to be stirred after defrosting. Both taste roughly the same after being thawed, as long as they weren't in the freezer for long enough to get freezer burn (like, over a year).

Milk can be frozen, or at least skim and 1% can; I only ever drink skim, but I recently had to buy 1% because there was no skim to be had, and it froze just as well; it looked a little gross when frozen but when thawed and shaken up it was fine. Butter, buttermilk, and cream can all be frozen, although cream gets a bit weird and thick so you either need to shake it up with a bit of normal milk, or only use it in baking (as I do -- I don't use it for coffee, for example).

Cheese can be frozen but it has the most textural issues when thawed. Harder cheese tends to break up into chunks, becoming brittle and difficult to slice, though it still melts well and tastes fine. Shredded cheese freezes very well, though if you have say a pound of it, it's best to break it up into smaller packages first, so that you can thaw out what you want without having to set the whole thing out. I've also had luck with freezing brie and other soft cheeses, but effect varies. The flavor does not appear to me to change after freezing.

I have admittedly never frozen kefir because I don't like it and don't keep it, but I think kefir probably shouldn't be, because it's fizzy.

Eggs, as long as we're in the sphere of dairy, can also be frozen, but need a little more care. You need to either crack them into oiled muffin tins and freeze individually, or beat the white and yolk together and freeze (I do this, and they turn BRIGHT ORANGE when frozen, this is normal). If you beat them together you can freeze multiple eggs in one container, so like I'll beat together four eggs and freeze, then thaw for epic scrambled eggs or for use in baking (by weight).

The freeze-thaw process is pretty simple for most. Yogurt and greek yogurt can go into the freezer in the containers they come in; I usually buy one of the bigger packages of greek yogurt, split it among 2-3 tupperware, and freeze it that way, and I've also frozen it in a ziplock bag in a pinch. Thaw in the fridge or on the counter if you're careless like me. Give a stir before eating.

Butter (and also cream cheese) can be put into the fridge in the packet you buy it in; if you're freezing a large portion of butter that isn't already split into sticks, it's probably wise to divide it up and freeze it in plastic wrap or tupperware. To defrost, thaw in fridge or on counter. This works for salted and unsalted. You can also place the butter on a sheet of plastic wrap, put another sheet over the top, and smoosh it out into a thin pancake before freezing; it thaws much faster that way. 

Milk can be frozen in the packaging it comes in but it's generally not a great idea because you also have to thaw it all at once, and milk thaws very slowly. I usually just try to buy small amounts of milk, but lately you can only get skim in gallons, so I buy a gallon, pour it into a series of jars (I'm short on tupperware and well-stocked with jam jars) and put them in the freezer. With any liquid, you want to fill the jars/tupperware only about 3/4 of the way full and put the caps on LOOSELY until the milk is frozen; a tight cap will trap the air and when the liquid expands, it can crack the glass or plastic. You can tighten the lid once it’s frozen. Thaw on the counter or in the fridge, or microwave it; often I'll set the milk out to thaw and every two hours or so pour off what's been thawed into a new container in the fridge.

As mentioned, cheese gets brittle; if I'm freezing cheese I tend to shred it first because that'll be the end result anyway :D

I think that's everything, but if you have a question about dairy that I didn't mention, I'm happy to answer!

[elexuscal]

Ficlet prompt idea! Interactions between ART and Pin-Lee and/or Mensah in the time after NE but before SC.

More thoughts if you wanted more inspiration than a single line. Does Pin-Lee teach ART some new curses ('cause ART curses alot more in this book, and I wanna blame Pin-Lee like how Rhatti mentions the overlap between MB and Pin-Lee's curse vocab)? How great would their banter be, lawyer vs know-it-all-AI?!

Is ART still kinda shy/excited by meeting Mensah?

Thank you~ I really love your work!!!

Awwww thank you very much!

Oh man i was so spoiled for choice here but i really really struggled to think of an interesting take on this

Big thank you to @specialagentartemis who i paraphrased a significant chunk of this from as well as general Vibes

Asshole vs Asshole

So here's the thing. Here's the fucking thing, okay?

Twenty-three days. Twenty-three fucking days of waiting, of worrying, of preparing. Of nearly chewing her own arm off. Of thinking she was walk into a fucking blood bath.

And the Preservation Alliance rescue team finally gets to the scene of the crime, and no one is dead. Which is fucking good, obviously. Okay. She gets it. No one's dead, no one's lost any limbs, and praise the dark gods of yesteryear, no one has even been kidnapped. This is literally better than the best-case scenarios they concocted.

But surely, surely, Pin-Lee can't be the only one who thinks it is fucking weird to be having tea with the person who did the kidnapping in the fist place?

"Thank you, Perihelion," Ayda says, as a shiny blue drone finishes pouring tea into a cup. Just a whiff and a glance is all Pin-Lee needs to know it was brewed exactly the way Dr. Mensah prefers it.

The drone turns to hover to her. It pours a drink into her own mug. Pin-Lee glares at it.

Ayda doesn't look at her, doesn't so much as tilt her head. But they've worked together for a long, long time now, and Pin-Lee nonetheless reads the subtler body language. She grinds out, "Thank you."

She sips the drink. It is coffee and it is extremely bitter and it's warm-but-not-quite-hot and Pin-Lee has a sneaking suspicion it is at least a few hours old.

[You're welcome~] Perihelion's trills as the drone zooms away.

Peri. Fucking. Helion.

Turns out, it's the one that orchestrated this whole thing. The super-secret advanced spaceship that SecUnit apparently befriended while it was off on its journey of self-discovery or whatever decided that it knew exactly who could handle its little pest control problem, and hadn't much cared which innocent civilians got stuck in the cross-fire.

"There were extenuating circumstances," SecUnit had explained, face set like it was ready for a fight.

"It's all fine, water under the bridge," Ratthi had said. "No harm done really."

"Except for the new layers of fresh trauma," Overse had groused.

"But we're handling that, too," Arada had said, with a too-bright smile. "And it's a good thing we're here to help the colonists."

"Yeah yeah and you should see ART's hydroponics bay, it's super cool," said Amena, tugging on her arm.

So suffice to say she was kind of getting some Mixed Signals about this whole thing.

But okay! Corporates descending to steal the livelihoods of hundreds of innocents! Fine! There's a lot at stake! And this is what Pin-Lee is good at, and (sort of) what she was dragged along to handle, so she is willing to put this all aside for the greater good.

Pin-Lee sips at her under-handed-insult coffee and reads over the legal feed documents of this whole cluster-fuck of a case. "Okay," she says at last. "Okay, this is salvageable. But I'm going to need to some more info before I can fully revise this.."

"Of course," says the captain of The Perihelion, a note of genuine relief in his otherwise professional voice. "What do you need?"

"1: A full list of all the symptoms associated with the contamination, and its speed of spread. That'll influence what level of breach this is classified under. 2: Estimates for all of the colonists deaths that were directly caused due to their being stranded. 3: Monetary evaluation of all the colonists' remaining assets..."

"Of course," the captain agrees

Which is fine. Except fifteen minutes later some teenager not-much-older-than-Amena shows up and hands Pin-Lee a stack of paper.

"What's this?" Pin-Lee says, her eyes immediately skidding off of the hand-written tables and charts.

"That's our evaluation of the colonists' assets, like you asked for," the teenager (Turi?) says.

Pin-Lee looks at Turi, to the papers, and back at Turi again. "Can I get this in the feed?"

"Well.... You can..." Turi says, a bit of red in their cheeks. "But..."

"But no guarantee the numbers won't be doctored there," calls Karime from the other side of the lounge.

Teeth grinding in the back of her mouth, Pin-Lee manages, "What?"

[My numbers are perfectly accurate,] Perihelion protests. [It is hardly my fault if none of you are capable of following the calculations.]

Martyn snorts. "It would help if you bothered explaining all your sources."

[Find them yourself.]

Pin-Lee can barely believe what she's hearing. "Are you telling me... that your AI keeps fucking with the numbers so bad that you need to get a teenager to do the accounts by hand."

"I'm not a teenager, I'm twenty-three." Pin-Lee huffs; as if that's a meaningful difference. "And I'm a very, very good accountant." Turi pauses, then admits, "But that's the long and short of it, yes."

Pin-Lee can't help it. She drops her head to the table and hides it under her arms.

[Do you have a problem with this state of affairs?] the very aptly re-named Asshole Research Transport oozes in her private feed.

[You really don't need me to answer that.]

[You're right. I don't.]

She uncurls her finger and makes a rude gesture. Presumably one of its thousands of cameras will see it.

That summons SecUnit into the conversation. [Are you two fucking with each other again?]

[No,] they say in unison.

[Cut it out,] SecUnit says, and then drops away. Truly a master of conflict resolution, that one.

'I'll cut it out when you learn to make nicer friends', she almost sends, but catches the obvious come-back and stops herself. Instead she takes sip of her shitty coffee and gets to work trying to interpret hand-written accounts.