#some days you just have a mighty need to look -respectfully or not- at the glorious thing that is frank grillo half-naked in slow-mo

[norrlands-nonsense]

Frank Grillo as Chainsaw Angus DONNYBROOK (2018)

#frank grillo #donnybrook #chainsaw angus #some days you just have a mighty need to look -respectfully or not- at the glorious thing that is frank grillo half-naked in slow-mo #my edit #my gifs

[onskepa]

Syawn ch 2

request:

Halo Hello Halo! I hope you are having a mighty fine day/night!

I hope this is alright but could I request a neteyam x avatar,na'vi! Reader?

Basically the reader is pregnant with what's supposed to be their first born. However, fate would have it that y/n would give birth to triplets! A never before heard of phenomena, due to na'vi usually having children one at a time and even then twins were a very rare event to occur!

I dunno I just like the idea of reader giving birth to triplets much to the sully family's surprise. Plus I couldn't help but think of how funny it would be for neteyam to be pacing outside the door for hours and the almost faint when finds out he doesn't just have one or two babies, but three!

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This is part two of Syawn request. Go check that out before reading this one! Now that aside! here is the awaited chapter two! enjoy!

Syawn series

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This communion with Eywa will be one for the books. Or in this case, a mark in na'vi history. Word spread of Eywa's miracle. Three na'vi children born at once! and from a dream walker no less!

All na'vi clans near and far wanted go and see for themselves. Because many refuse to believe such words, thinking its merely lies. But curiosity got the best of them.

When a day was set for the triplets communion with Eywa, many clans were set to witness it for themselves.

When such news got back to the Omatikaya clan, the world "overwhelmed" doesn't even begin to cover what everyone is feeling. While it is a huge honor for the clan to receive such guests, there is so little time to prepare who knows how many!

While jake and neytiri who are respectfully the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik of their clan, it was neteyam and syawn that were overwhelmed to the max.

So many people are coming to see their children bond with Eywa. The fear of seeing so many people just because of a impossibility happened.

Neyetam and syawn worry for their little ones as many people can scar them. Only having them for a few days and already both parents are being over protective and only want to keep their children safe.

"is this right...?" syawn asks neteyam as they gently rock the children's large basinet with them sleeping. "Let so many come see them...?" syawn says with clear worry in her eyes. Afraid that maybe what is happening isnt right.

"This is the first time many clans have come to see another's communion. It is a high honor....but I understand you yawne..." neteyam looks down at his sweet children. So small and already the three were making a impact on the world.

"to have them be shown like some spectacle, I fear the clans would see them as something else. Tell me nete, am I in the wrong? is this just my mother instincts seeing danger everywhere?" syawn goes on.

Neteyam brings her to his chest, her arms over his neck and his around her hips. The need to be closer to each other as means for comfort never dimmed with time.

"I can speak with my parents...I know they will understand and take our side" neteyam suggests. He felt his mate nod, her breathing slow as she relaxes in his embrace.

However as much as jake and neytiri understands their concerns, it was too late. By the next day, three clans arrived.

The Tipani clan, Anurai clan, and the Twakami clan.

And they all brought gifts for the children and the parents. Neteyam and syawn were grateful, but their worries never waivered despite the kind generosity the clans showed.

As the day goes by more clans appeared, even their closest ally, the Metkayina clan. Ao'nung and his beloved tsahik, Unyor came as well as bearing gifts from their island.

Tonowari and ronal, aged well but still in their prime, congratulate the couple and surprisingly, they along with the other metkayina members were allowed to the see the triplets first before everyone else.

Syawn understands the deep trust the sully family has with the metkayina clan, so she puts her trust in them too.

Ronal, Tonowari and their youngest, Ti'ong were given the privilege to carry one of the triplets in their arms. Ronal was happy, even though she isn't Tsahik anymore, she still blessing them like one. Giving each one a prayer and to hope for them a bright future.

As a warrior, Tonowari senses great strength in each of the little ones, sensing their hearts beating mighty and strong. Why, the one he holds already has a strong grip on his finger. That says a lot about them.

Ti'nong was looking at them with love and adoration in the young one's eyes. So small and so cute! Already seeing themselves as like a older distant cousin. But a fun cousin no less!

Ao'nung and Unyor were next to carry the two. Ronal held the other triplet a bit longer. Reminding herself of when her children were young.

"May Eywa bless you three with thriving joy and great bliss. Enjoy the gift she has given you and brace it to the fullest" Unyor says as she blessed the children. Syawn smiles, feeling pride and joy that her children were giving such blessings.

"I still don't understand how it is possible" ao'nung says, still confused of seeing triplets for the first time in his life.

"believe me brother, we don't either" neteyam replies.

"It is Eywa's will. She saw syawn worthy and blessed her with a great gift. That all is to it" ronal quickly tells. As Tsahik, one of the main things to do is try to understand and interpret what Eywa's will is and repeat it to the people.

The time came, where neteyam and Syawn's children would have their communion with Eywa. Thousands of na'vi from many tribes came to witness it. To see for their eyes of three of a kind na'vi.

Neytiri took charge, smiling happily as she recites the words, as neteyam, syawn, and kiri were each holding one of the triplets.

Neytiri took her time on each child, gently holding their queue and connecting them to one of the hanging vines, feeling joy as she is reminded of her children's communion.

She makes eye contact with neteyem. Love and pride seep from her golden eyes, smiling proudly at her eldest son.

"I am so proud of you ma'itan" she says lowly. Neteyam smiles, "thank you sa'nok". She goes to syawn and they make eyes contact with the same love and pride.

"May Eywa bless you ma'ite, to live long enough to see your children thrive. Protect and love these beautiful children unconditionally" neytiri says. Syawn nods and smiles lovingly, "yes, with all my heart".

It was a beautiful sight. Kiri felt proud to be part of the communion, to see her brother and his mate smile and beam with joy. She knows Eywa feels the same, deep in her heart.

Seeing the three children's golden eyes light up, smiling in daze. She wonder's what the triplets are seeing. Maybe seeing their great grandfather, Eytukan, or someone else. But either way, she is happy to see them happy.

After the communion, the celebration was large and loud. Many still hand neteyam and syawn gifts. There was so many, it began to build a hill. From fruits, medicines, beads, necklaces, bands, bows, arrows, you name it. There was so much, the parents believed they wont worry about shortage. All the Olo'eyktan's and Tsahik's gave their blessings to the triplets. Their eyes now believing the expansion of Eywa's gift.

For what they witnessed will be told throughout time. That the future generations must know about this wonderful night.

By the end of the night, everyone was tired. Syawn and neteyam brought their children back home. Where its warm, safe, and cozy. The children themselves were tired and slept peacefully, the three holding each other and snoozing as one. The three tucked in their big soft bassinet and syawn rocks them gently.

Neteyam adds beads to their children's songchords, singing out their life story, even if its short. Now a new bead to add of their communion. Syawn doing the same, as parents seeing their children connection with their great mother for the first time. She adds three purple colored beads, different shades, one for each child. She sings of her love and joy into her songchord.

Neteyam and syawn hug each other once more, and once again looking down at their children. Love is all they feel for their little ones. As they can only hope and see what will become of their little ones. And Eywa wonders too, to see what her little three souls will do with her gift.

Aaaaaaaaaaand that is it for ch 2! I loved this one and I hope you all do! Until next time! see ya!

taglisht: @quirkyhero , @theunfortunateplace , @moonchildxoxx

Unyor = sweetly aromatic, (a flowery or aromatic woody sort of smell). (may also refer to some spices used in Na’vi cooking)

Ti'nong = blooming, unfolding

#avatar #na'vi x reader #avatar the way of water #na'vi avatar #avatar 2 #na'vi x human #lo'ak #kiri #jake sully #lo'ak x reader #neteyam fluff #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neytiri fluff #jake x neytiri #neytiri x reader #jake sully x neytiri #jake x reader #kiri x reader #kiri x y/n #ronal #tonowari #tsireya #ao'nung #ao'nung x oc #metkayina #omaticaya clan #omatikaya #eytukan

[katherines-imagines]

“Don’t be a skxawng, just ask her.” Part 4

pairings: neteyam x reader

warnings: cute, fluff, bad writing

key: skxawng - moron, yawne - darling, my love, munxta - mate

summary: Neteyam tries again, this time it’s for sure going to happen, because third times the charm, right?

Another day had gone, and Neteyam had still not confessed to his yawne.

Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, the one who was supposed to be leading next, the mighty warrior.

He had not, as his father would say, ‘manned up’ and asked her yet.

Neteyam sighed in disappointment.

Maybe his family was right, and he was a skxawng.

How pathetic, that he helped with the attacks on the sky people, and yet he couldn’t talk to a simple girl.

To an outside eye it was baffling, but to Neteyam it had made some sort of sense.

Asking to be one’s mate was an important matter. It was asking to spend the rest of your life with someone.

It was asking to share food and home with someone.

It was asking to share pains and happiness.

It was asking to forever be lovers and start a family.

Asking to take care of one another.

Asking the girl whom he loved ever since he could remember, to be his munxta, was a very serious matter, and could not be blurted out.

Sadly, every time they had a quite moment to themselves, it was always interrupted by someone.

But this time, Neteyam was determined to not be disrupted.

He had a plan, which he had thought out the previous night.

First, he was going to take you to the pond where his father had taught him to use his bow and arrow, catching the girl a bountiful hunt.

Then, he would walk her around the forest, to admire the beauty of their home.

Lastly, he would take her to the remains of the Home Tree, the place where his mother and father had mated.

It was the perfect plan.

Nothing would ruin it, not even the cruel writer of his story.

So off he went to find Y/n, the girl who his planning was all for.

But first, he had to find one Na’vi girl before.

While Neteyam searched for someone, Y/n was talking with Kiri and the Tsahik.

Kiri and Y/n were mixing medicinal herbs, while Mo’at, the Tsahik, was preparing the supplies needed for when some of the hunters came back if any were hurt.

While the women worked in silence, Kiri spoke up.

“So, you and Neteyam, huh,” she asked with a knowing smirk.

Blushing, you vigorously shook your head in denial.

“No, no, there is nothing there,” you sighed wistfully.

“Oh come on Y/n, you love Neteyam, don’t lie.”

With a pause, Y/n hesitated before starting again.

“Well, yes, I do love him, but my affections are not returned I am afraid,” the girl in love sighed looking down.

Hearing a chuckle from the older woman, the two teenagers turned towards Mo’at, who’s head was still facing what she was doing.

“Y/n, you know I am Tsahik, yes,” Mo’at asked without looking up.

Y/n responded by nodding her head.

“And you know that I have knowledge beyond your years?”

Y/n hesitantly nodded.

“Then you know that I have an eye around the village, connected fo Eywa,” Mo’at finally looked up from what she was doing to pierce her eyes through the young girl’s.

“Yes, Tsahik,” Y/n answered respectfully.

“Good, then listen,” Mo’at started.

“I have heard from Eywa since you and Neteyam have met. She has always been whispering in my ear, when I see you two. ‘Mates,’ I hear. ‘Munxta.’ She whispers such things, and I hear her plans for you two. It is strong, and by Eywa, your future together will be beautiful,” she said, all while looking at Y/n with soft eyes.

“I know you think I am some crazy old lady,” Mo’at says, standing up and walking funny, coaxing a small chuckle out of the two girls.

“But I know what I talk of, yes I do. I have been around a long time. Eywa plots for you two. Eywa herself has made you two a match, it has been told. But it cannot be done by herself. You and Neteyam must communicate.”

Listening insightfully, hope shone through her eyes, hoping it all to be true.

Hoping that it was true they were going to have a future.

True that Eywa had handmade their destiny.

True that there was a chance Neteyam could love her back.

As Y/n stared at Mo’at in awe, the elderly woman saw a glimpse of Neytiri in her. When Neytiri had too questioned about love.

“Enough talk,” the Tsahik decided.

“Back to work you too.”

Both girls nodding quickly, return to their work, both smiling, yet Y/n’s smile shone the brightest.

When they had finished with the herbs, the Tsahik had let them go for the rest of the day.

Y/n had decided that she might go find Neteyam, she started walking towards his tent, eager to tell him how she felt, when she saw something that made her heart drop.

It was Rini, daughter of the famous Ninat.

Rini followed in hee mother’s footsteps and had been the most beautiful and talented singer in the village.

Y/n had never been jealous of Rini, but seeing the girl with her Neteyam made her blood boil.

She wanted to stomp over there. She wanted to crash her lips into Neteyam’s, showing Rini that he was all hers. She wanted to hiss at Rini to back off.

But Y/n stayed put.

Neteyam wasn’t hers, and Rini was a nice girl who had done nothing unkind to her.

So Y/n just stood and clenched her fist.

Taking a deep breath, she turned around with tears in her eyes, and walked away.

Y/n was now determined to make Neteyam hers, because she’ll be damned if another girl takes her from him.

As Neteyam finished his conversation with asking about what flowers to her for Y/n, he saw Y/n walking away with what seemed to be tears in her eyes.

His stomach dropped, filled with butterflies that didn’t make him feel good.

As much as he wanted to chase her down and explain, he knew he would just vomit his love out for her, but she deserved better.

She deserved to be romanced, charmed, to have the moment he asked her to be his lovely mate be the most memorable in her life.

So he let her go, knowing that he would make it up to her and explain later.

Hopefully.

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A/N: Making angst now? yes, bc I’m a meanie >:) But aside from that- I have a list for those who want to be tagged in the next part, and those who want to be tagged the whole series, so lmk in the comments!! also, when I decide to finally have them confess, should I continue and have a few parts of them being together?? lmk also in comments lol. Again, the kind comments mean so so much to me and they motivate me so much!!

Hope you all are doing amazing!

-xoxo Katherine :>

tagged: @kikookii @dioraaaaaaa @mashiromochi @sloppierjewel @mommyneytiri @nanamisbigassschlong @secrettreaderr @bewbz2110 @xxannyxx @youshoulddrinkcoffee

#avatar #avatar x you #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #atwow #avatar 2 #james cameron avatar #neteyam #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully imagine #neteyam x you #neteyam sully #sully family #neytiri #jake sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x omaticaya!reader

[erissheiress]

Happy Solstice

Mor x Reader

Warnings: fluff, female!reader, established relationship, kissing, suggestiveness, no spoilers. Repost from main blog. requested by @reetriestbr

Summary: The day before Solstice with your beautiful mate

Taglist:

Word count: 1313

* * *

“Babe”

“No”

“Babeee”

“It’s too early”

“It’s almost noon, the day is almost over!”

Mor glared at you, unimpressed about being pulled from her deep slumber, face softening when she saw how excited her mate was. She sighed, golden curls in her face, but obeyed, although slowly, and sat up in the bed. Surrounded by soft white blankets, the soft winter sunlight streaming through the uncovered windows made her look even more angelic than usual, as well as her long, golden hair and her perfect face… and perfect lips, just begging to be kissed. And again. And again.

“Why do we need to- mmph” her half-assed complaining was muffled by your lips on hers, throwing your arms around her neck. When you did finally pull away, her hair was even messier, lips slightly swollen, her smirk grown in size.

“Happy Solstice, my love!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Solstice is tomorrow.”

“Exactly! And I have none of my shopping done!” you exclaimed, jumping off her lap ungracefully, and pulling her with you. “C’mon my love,this is our first Solstice as mates, it's important!”

She was never able to say no to you.

. . .

You strolled hand-in-hand down the streets of Velaris, greeting shop owners and their families cheerfully. Mor had required a little more persuasion, also known as more kisses, to wake up, but you didn’t mind.

Although you grew up in Velaris, you were only really noticed when you became the High Lord’s cousin’s mate, part of the mighty Night Court. The people adored Feyre, their beloved High Lady, but you were one of their own. The people who watched you grow up now nodded their heads respectfully when you passed. Velaris was a community, a family.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” you said, a list in your other free hand, “jewellery for Amren and Feyre, something practical for Rhyand and Cassian, I was thinking a new dagger or something for Azriel, and a surprise for you.”

“And what are you planning on buying me, Sugar?”

“Well, that would defeat the purpose of it being a surprise, now wouldn't it?”

. . .

“Darling, I need my hand to pay”

Mor shook her head, refusing to let go of your gloved hand, smirking at your exasperation. The woman behind the counter smiled at the two of you’s antics, accepting the money you handed her, your own money, which Mor visibly grimaced at. Her and Rhysand constantly tried to persuade you to use the Court’s funds, but you refused, much to their frustration, especially Rhys, who adored you and how happy you made his cousin.

“I said no, Rhys,” you groaned at the frustrated male in front of you.

“Y/N please, will you just use the Court’s money, for Cauldron’s sake, we have more than enough.”

“I have my own money, there’s no need to spend yours.”

He ran a hand through his hair in annoyance, “it’s not just mine, it’s the Court’s, and you’re part of this Court and this family, so please use it.”

“He’s right Sugar, it’s your money too,” Mor chimed in, and you rolled your eyes. 

“I love you both, but I have my own money, for my own use.”

Eventually they stopped pushing, but you weren’t a fool, and knew that Rhysand or Mor would always pay for you when they thought you weren’t looking. 

The shop owner handed you your purchases, Amren’s necklace, a stunning emerald green encased in silver, instead of her usual ruby in gold. The green would suit her beautifully, you knew it. For Feyre, rose gold earrings and bracelet to match, simple but elegant. Mor was holding the bag containing Cassian and Rhysand’s gifts, some polishing things for their armour, something practical anyways. Azriel was a harder male to buy for, he was your best friend in the Court, besides Mor, so you wanted to buy him something special.

“Are you not buying anything?” you questioned her, as she took the bag from you. She shook her head, “I’ve already bought your present, Sugar.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm, but you have to wait and see… you’re gonna love it.”

“Ugh, fine, now help me think of something for Azriel”

“Can I help?”

A deep, smooth voice from behind you made you spin around, grinning. “Afternoon, Az.”

The handsome Illyrian was holding two cups in his hand, handing them to the two of you. You took a long sip, relishing the feeling of the warmth in your cold hands, although gloved and clasped in Mor’s. Hot chocolate was the perfect way of warming up. “Did I hear something about a present for me?”

“I can’t answer that, and you know that,” you retorted, and he smiled slightly, a sight you still weren’t used to, but welcomed gladly. “Thank you for the hot chocolate, but I’m not telling you what your present is.”

“I’ll tell you what Mor bought you-”

“Don’t you dare, I will never forgive you if you tell her,” Mor interrupted, and you giggled at her determination to surprise you. She acted laidback and chilled, but deep down wanted your first Solstice together to be special. Anything to see your face light up with joy. 

He just smirked, winked at you and teleported away. Mor said that it wasn’t winnowing, but something that came with his Shadowsinger abilities. She clutched your hand tighter, “can we go home now?”

“Soon, just a few more things.”

She groaned,but followed you into the next shop.

. . . 

“Cassian!” Mor called, as she struggled to carry all your bags through the door of the Town House. She wouldn’t have struggled as much if she had allowed you to carry some of them, but refused vehemently. She, however, had no objection to making Cassian carry the load.

The summoned male appeared, immediately groaning at what Mor had called him to do. He didn’t complain though, when she dumped the bags in his arms. “Where to, my most bossy lady?”

“Mor! Don’t just dump them on him,” you reprimanded, and she just shrugged. “Thank you, Cassian, could you bring them-”

“Just leave them in the hallway, we’ll sort them after,” Mor ordered, before grabbing you and winnowing, both of you disappearing in a flash and landing at Mor’s favoured location;

Your shared bedroom.

“Babe you can’t just-” you began to whine at your mate before being cut off by another kiss. “It’s Solstice!”

“Exactly, we should be spending this time together, quality time.”

“We spend every day and night together already, I can’t spend time with the others?”

“No. Only me, your favourite person in the whole, wide world,” she stated, lips finding your neck, making it very difficult to keep a straight face, or continue to be annoyed at her. “They won’t mind if you’re gone for a few hours…”

“A few hours? Hours we could be wrapping pres-,” her lips pressed against that sweet spot on your neck and your legs felt weak, and you unwillingly let out a quiet gasp, barely audible, which only spurred her on more. “Yeah okay… I can spare a few hours…”

. . .

"Finally!" Cassian groaned, as you and Mor finally joined the rest of the Inner Circle, "we thought you'd never come."

"leave them alone, Cas,'' Feyre laughed, as you plopped yourself down on the couch beside her, tuning out Mor and Cassian's bickering. 

"Ready for tomorrow?" she asked, smiling.

"It's gonna be my first Solstice with you guys, I'm excited!"

"It's pretty great, everyone all together,” she smiled fondly, most likely remembering previous years, “I’m glad you’re here with us this year, and for the ones to come.” She placed her hand over yours, and you smiled gratefully at her. 

Mor threw herself down beside you, and you lay your head down on her shoulder. She pressed a kiss against your forehead, and you settled against her comfortably. 

“Happy Solstice, Sugar.”

“Happy Solstice, Darling.”

#mor acotar x reader #mor x reader #the inner circle x reader #the inner circle #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses x reader #a court of thorns and roses #mor acotar #my writing

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

hey i was wondering how would the main 6 react/deal with an mc who can be a half dragon form like this one https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/34480753384518754/

(p.s ever since you popped in my "for you" I've been following your blog and your head canons are very good :) )

The Arcana HCs: M6 with a half dragon MC

~ thanks for the love anon, and here are your headcanons! I'm sorry if it took a while, I work through requests in the order they come in and I'm still figuring out how to do that without getting overwhelmed lol

Enjoy! - brainrot ~

The picture in question:

Julian

The first time he sees you take this form is after you've had a few drinks with him and the wrong person ticks you off

Three different parts of his brain are having three very different responses all at once and he doesn't know which one to listen to

Julian.exe has stopped responding

The drunk part of him doesn't even know what's real anymore, is that actually you?

The doctor part of him is fascinated, how does that work? Why is it coming out now? Why didn't it come out some other time? Is it voluntary?

The third part of his brain, the one that's flustered by you 24/7, is very confused. He knows he's attracted to this, but he has no idea why and he's not sure he's ready to reflect on what that says about him

He will very respectfully request that you do this again, when he is sober, and he can have all his questions answered

Asra

They have a snake familiar, this just confirms your status as Faust's other best friend

His biggest weakness (after you) is new and unconventional things, and it shows

Can you use your wing as a bellows? How much more strength do you gain with that talon arm? Is it strong enough to open the jar of kool-aid pickled garlic they bought the other day and still can't get open?

Very excited to see what magic he can teach you/you can develop using it

If you cast a spell with your wing can you aim it at an object farther away?

The stove salamander adores you

Will ask you to volunteer to try something to double check if it's safe for Faust

"MC, there you are. I made something to help Faust shed her skin but I need you to see if I made it too strong."

This has gone horribly wrong once or twice

Nadia

Oh my

She's not sure exactly what this is, but she's into it

First things first though, what unique circumstances lead to this and how best may she love you with that in mind?

Is it inherited or developed? Did you steal it from a mighty beast after defeating it in battle? What other secrets are you hiding?

Does the skin need any special products? Would you like anything added to your diet?

She's already got a mental sketchbook pulled up in her mind's eye to plan an outfit that would not only accommodate the physical shift but accentuate your striking appearance

She commissions a piece of jewelry to wear on your horn that matches her hair pieces

She will ask if she can kiss the affected side of your face, because she's curious about what it feels like

She would also like to know if you can fly in that form, and if so, if you can take her flying with you and Chandra

Muriel

He's not that shocked, he lives in the woods, he's seen weirder

But having observed wildlife for so long, he is now very intent on observing you too

Your form is dragonlike, do you have reptilian traits? Does it affect your body language? Are you able to speed up and slow down your metabolism and experience of time at will by adjusting your temperature?

He will begin acting on the conclusions he draws. Dragons hoard treasure, so he starts bringing you little gifts to see what you do with them

You received them from him, so you're not going to throw them out

Now there's a growing pile of pretty rocks and leaves and carvings in the hut

But he never sees you act protective of the collection, he knows you smile when you look at it, but aren't you supposed to sleep curled around the thing you consider your treasure?

You don't sleep with your things, you sleep snuggled up to him - oh. Oh.

Portia

She first sees this form come out on an ambassador trip, when an extremist group in the country you're visiting makes an assassination attempt

It's a pitiful attempt, really, she could've easily beaten them without any help at all

But there was an archer involved who let an arrow loose just before they were tackled by a pile of guards, and hey, that's the woman you love

Next thing she knows she's being held firmly against your human side, the armored dragon half on full display between her and her attacker as the arrows bounce harmlessly off

She is both intimidated and impressed

Now whenever you're in that form next to her she'll be walking around with her cheeks puffed out in pride

Because yeah, that's MC, that super badass dragon person is all hers, that's her best friend, that's her bullet proof sweetheart

Lucio

He doesn't want to admit it, but he's kind of jealous

He thought he was the coolest with his clawed golden gauntlet, and here you are with half your body covered in scaly armor

He really, really wants to spar with you in that form now

Initially it's because he needs to prove to himself that he'll be able to win against you and maintain his status as the strength to your brains

But once he gets you to agree all he can do is admire you

As a natural-born fighter himself, he's drawn to anything that shares that nature with him, and yours is on full display like this

The way you're able to use your wing both offensively and defensively, the way your talons act as extra blades, the way the horned side of your face glares back at him

He's in love, he's so in love

He keeps getting distracted and messing up, so you let him call it a tie since you didn't really want to fight him in the first place

He can and will bring it up in every conversation he has, regardless of who it's with and what the context is

#the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana shitpost #the arcana game #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #portia devorak #muriel of the kokhuri #lucio morgasson #ask arcana brainrot

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

A king's pity

Day 3 for @manweweek

Prompts: The Children | Whispering Breeze: Manwë & Fingon

Pairing: Manwë & Fingon

Themes: A bit of Russingon | Happy ending

Warnings: Maedhros' imprisonment against a precipice of Thangorodrim | Fingon's attempts to grant Maedhros' plea by using his bow and arrow

Wordcount: 1.3k words

Summary: Manwë hears Fingon's prayer for pity, and must decide if he is to aid the exiled Noldor

Also available on AO3

This was requested by @melestasflight. I hope you like this!

“O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!”

Manwë listened attentively to the prayer that was carried to him on the swiftest wind. It was a plea for his aid, no more, no less. He peered into the heart of the one who called to him, taking care to shield himself from discovery. And he saw much: a barren land that reeked of death and worse, fell towers of black stone, skies darkened with black, acrid smoke, a steep precipice covered in soot and dust, and a lone elf hung by the wrist of his right hand upon the face of it. A stray wind lifted wisps of brilliant coppery hair, revealing a countenance so marred that it nearly made the king recoil in horror. Another elf stood far beneath that captive elf, bow and arrow at the ready, his cheeks and robes wet with his tears. Manwë, aggrieved by all that he saw, recognized the elf with the marred countenance and the elf that stood beneath him. 

It was Findecáno who called out to me, and it is Findecáno who wishes to free his kinsman from his agony, he thought. And he did not need anyone to tell him what the bow and arrows were for; he understood well enough. He yearns for nothing more than to grant Nelyafinwë the kindness of a swift and peaceful end. 

Ah, but there was more within that heart filled with kindness and mercy, Manwë knew. He heard many things, and he had witnessed a great many others with his own eyes: a touch that had lingered longer than it should have, a look filled with longing and hunger, words that held hidden depths and meanings. The king was no fool. Maedhros was more than just a beloved friend and kinsman to Fingon. Fingon was more than just a beloved friend and kinsman to Maedhros. Their bond was deeper and held within it more than one would find in an ordinary bond between kith and kin. While another would have openly condemned it, calling what they had a sin of both the spirit and the flesh, Manwë kept his peace instead, believing this bond, this hidden love, could one day end the strife plaguing the House of Finwë. 

I could answer him, he thought, rising from his throne. His bare feet made no sound as he descended the marble steps. And help bring this healing about. But there is the decree to consider. We swore to offer the exiled Children no aid.

The king, caught between the growing need to show pity and the need to be as unwavering as a king sometimes ought to be, made his way out to a balcony open to the sky. He peered at the slopes beneath Ilmarin and the great white clouds swirling peacefully around them. There was a mighty gust of wind, disturbing the clouds and bringing another prayer only the king could hear. This one was more insistent and desperate. Fingon’s arrow had missed its mark.

He is resolute in ending Nelyafinwë’s life, Manwë considered in astonishment. The one whom he loves over all others. 

Determined to learn more, he willed his mind to open fully. Fingon, startled by this unexpected intrusion into his thoughts, stumbled and fell to the stony earth. He tried to shield his mind, believing himself to be yet another victim of the unseen hand of the enemy. When Manwë made his true identity known, he sighed in relief. 

“Speak true to me, Findecáno,” the king commanded, though not unkindly, “and tell me why you are determined to do this.”

“I love him, my lord,” the elf returned swiftly but respectfully, for even in this new land, Manwë was king. “More than what has been allowed to us by both custom and law, as you have no doubt seen in my heart. I wish to free him from his torment.”

“I have indeed seen; long before you departed for these lands,” The king admitted and reflected on the elven prince’s confession. Then he said, “Tell me. Do you truly wish to free your beloved by ending his life?” 

“There is no other way”—Fingon trembled, despair cutting a fresh wound through his heart—“to free him from his torment, my lord.” 

"And this is what he wants as well?"

"It is what he pleaded for, my lord."

“You willingly do this, knowing you will have to live through the ages without him by your side?”

“If it means that he no longer suffers, then yes, my lord, that is the price I am more than willing to pay.” 

The king heard all he needed to hear and withdrew without a word of farewell. Then he stood as he was on the balcony, silent and unmoving, searching for the path he must take.

Do I abandon Nelyafinwë to his fate? He thought. Do I leave him to languish against that precipice alone? 

He considered the wisdom of aiding the exiled Children and acting against his own decree. He pondered for a great while, wondering if it would make him as cruel and unforgiving as his brother if he did nothing to aid Fingon and Maedhros in their hour of great need.

Could I truly do it? Forsake them at such a time and leave them with no hope? Manwë could not make such a decision lightly. And he did not have enough time to seek the counsel of his queen; she had departed for the timeless halls to aid others in their work. He turned to the creator of them all instead. 

“Show me the paths that lay before me in this great matter, my lord,” he pleaded wordlessly.

 Eru then revealed to him visions that had been hidden from his eyes until now. He saw what would happen if he aided Fingon, and all that could come to pass if he did not. He trembled.

“You know what you must do,” Eru returned after the visions ended.

“I do, my lord.” Manwë opened his eyes. His decision was made.  

And Fingon, now caught in a state of slow-growing uncertainty and despair, returned to his tent and waited. The new lights ascended and descended in turns once and then twice. He received no further visit from the king during that time, no word of his aid, no word of his refusal. Then, after the bright golden orb rose from its resting place a third time and painted the clouds the color of brilliant flames, he returned to his usual place at the base of the precipice, thinking Manwë’s silence alone was enough of a sign. The Noldor had been forsaken by all and were very much left to their own devices. He reached for another arrow and whispered another prayer, asking for forgiveness for what he was about to do. He pulled back the string, hoping against all hope that this arrow flew true to its mark and freed his beloved from his agony.

Can I succeed this time, he thought, when I have failed so many times before? A moment passed, and the elf hesitated, lowering his bow in shame. Fingon could not do it. He knew he could not. He was no Oromë; his arrows would never reach their mark, no matter how hard he tried. His beloved was doomed to hang upon the face of that accursed cliff until death and the Great Judge’s embrace finally claimed him.

Forgive me, my love, for failing you. He turned to walk away, grief-stricken and helpless, preparing himself to deliver dark news that would distress them all.

A strange, whispering breeze swept around him, carrying with it a barely heard command to "stop." Fingon halted mid-stride, his skin prickling and fear squeezing at his heart, when a great shadow fell over him. He looked up, thinking he had been discovered and that the enemy had sent a fell beast to hasten his demise. What he found soaring high above him, watching and waiting, prompted the faintest of smiles to tug at the corners of his mouth.

tags: @asianbutnotjapanese

#manweweek #manwe week #Manwë #fingon #maedhros #the valar #the silmarillion #a world of whimsy writes

[nightmaretist]

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Metzli @muertarte & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Muertarte SUMMARY: Inge and Metzli toast on their collaboration moments before the opening of Inge's exhibition at MuertArte. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Meeting Inge had been long overdue. Ever since they perused through the online portfolio she had, Metzli knew they needed her work in their gallery. Pixels hid so much, but they did not hide her obvious talent. Even in their absence, with Rachel taking over, Metzli took great pride at the fact that they were able to convince the artist to visit. Maybe they didn’t give her the final push to convince her and add her to the rotation, but having a hand at all was enough for them to have some sort of pride. All credit to Rachel, of course, though.

“Hello, Inge.” They rounded the corner, inhaling the hints of paint still clinging to her scent. She was tiny in comparison, but they had no doubt she would be mighty and exude more confidence than a twelve foot man. It was a silly concept in theory, but they’d read it on some forum, and figured using exaggerations might make them a bit more appealing. Even if it was just in their head. “I apologize for not meeting you sooner. I had to be away.” Metzli bowed their head respectfully, raising it back up to lock their eyes onto her shoulder. They were getting better, they thought. Usually, their instinct was to go for the ceiling.

“We have coordinated your exhibition and all works you have given are now on display. Will you like to take very first look?” Gesturing to a table, Metzli pointed to some flutes and bottles of champagne. “You can also celebrate if you will like. This is your big day.”

Though all instinct demanded she leave, she remained. Inge considered this to be the cause of it all: this exhibition she had been working for and towards for a few months, showing Metzli’s employees what works she had in storage, what works she was expecting to finish before opening date. Rachel and her had poured over her catalog, which went back further than she would ever be able to logically explain. Metzli had been an absent ghost. Inge figured that they were a troubled person, or perhaps more busy than a local-gallery-owner typically was.

At last, though, they were there. Inge was considering her little darlings, the endless birds she had crafted and glazed, having formed a flock of statues. Gleaming eyes, dead eyes, sharp talons and ones that were missing. One of her fingers was underneath a beak, as if she was petting the little thing, “Hello Metzli.” She shrugged away their apology. “We all have obligations. Rachel was more than accommodating.” 

She had seen the plans of course, the drawn up maps she’d given approval on — but she’d not yet ventured deeper into the exhibition, past her birds. “I’ll take a flute for on the go, and then we can take a look.” Inge didn’t ask before taking a bottle and popping it over, skillfully succeeding in not spilling anything before pouring two glasses. “I don’t … mean to be presumptuous.” She held out one of the glasses. Maybe Metzli didn’t drink.  “But we should at least clink to this collaboration!”

“That is good to hear.” They nodded along, looking toward Rachel’s office. “She did very good while I was gone. Give her promotion. Deserved.” Metzli took the flute graciously, nodding again as Inge offered her her glass. She was right. An artist’s debut exhibition in a gallery was worth celebrating. Metzli, by no means, drank often, but thanks to their undead status, it hardly mattered. It took copious amounts of alcohol to affect them. 

“Congratulations, Inge.” Metzli tapped their glass against Inge’s, sipping and wincing at the sensation of the pointy liquid hitting their tongue. It wasn’t too awful, they supposed, but they much preferred their usual; blood. Shrugging mentally, Metzli gestured to the hall, trying their best to scrape the spiky sensation off their tongue as they moved. 

“I know you see designs for the custom frames, but I think they come out better than expected.” They stopped, “Ornate features are preferred with your style, but sometimes this is too distracting, so using stained poplar wood, briar smoke, and walnut became my choices. Dark. So intricate work will blend easily and leave focus where it should be.” Metzli smiled subtly, almost spiraling into a deeper dive about what they did, but they stopped themself and sipped the spiky liquid instead. “I hope these are good standard for you.”

Part of her was immensely curious to know why Metzli had disappeared, but she wasn’t one to pry. At least, not with people like the other, who she wanted to have a mutually beneficial business relationship with. “She seems like a good one. Best to keep her on.” Inge took a sip from her glass, giving a sound of approval at the taste. Some art galleries tended to serve horrible champagne, but it seemed Metzli’s wasn’t among them. 

Her lips spread and she nodded her head, ready to thank the other but changing her mind at the last second. “Appreciated,” she said, glancing around the gallery. She wondered about the clientele that came here, if it was mostly locals or some others. Inge tried not to undermine the place, but it was hard not to — it wasn’t like some of the places in larger cities she’d had her work exhibited. Still, this town proved to be more exciting than one might expect at first glance, so perhaps the same could be said for MuertArte.

And Metzli seemed more than good at their work. Her paintings, which were often her least favorite part of her oeuvre, looked stunning in the frames the other had designed. “They’re marvelous, Metzli. They did come out better than expected. So yes, a good standard. I think we can both agree that this entire collaboration is proving fruitful, no?”

“Yes, that is the plan.” They replied dryly, arching a brow at the sound Inge made. It was one of surprised pleasure as she sipped on her expensive champagne. Metzli supposed they should give her details about what she was drinking if she liked it so much, especially if she wanted to purchase it herself. “Goût de Diamants.” They pointed at the glass with a jut of their chin, their only hand otherwise occupied with a glass of their own. “This is bottle only for you. I have one extra if you want to take it home. The rest are Dom Pérignon. It is good to see enjoyment on your face.”

Metzli closed their eyes proudly, bowing their head for what seemed like the hundredth time. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. As far as artist’s go, Inge had been a change of pace to work with. Confidence and pride in her work, requesting well within reason. Which was odd, at least to Metzli. Most artists wanted the most elaborate exhibits with parameters that the gallery could execute in theory, but didn’t make sense for such a beginner. And by no means did Inge seem to be so green. Her confidence appeared to be far more earned than most, though that was just from a short glance by Metzli and what they’d heard from Rachel.

“Fruitful?” There was no fruit, but context gave the vampire enough understanding to nod enthusiastically. Frutífera. That had to be it. “Yes, fruitful. With limited time exhibit and well-known critics coming, people will demand for more. Have very much doubts that you will have much to take back. Me and Rachel think you will sell very well here.” Taking a sip, Metzli cleared their throat, whisking away the pointy liquid. It was getting a tad bit easier to enjoy. “Will you have any friends visiting? If you give names, I will let them in free.”

Metzli had a way of speaking and communicating that dazzled Inge, albeit in a good way. Straightforward, matter-of-fact and blunt, with no beating around the bush. It was opposite of how she conversed, as she spoke with embellishments and half-truths, dancing around her intentions with extra words. But she liked straight-forward people, most of the time. “It’s good. It’s hard to get wines right — I mean, there’s not much to get wrong, but to get it right … that is a challenge sometimes.”

The idea of selling her art was always a strange one. She wanted money, relished in the security of having a lot of it – especially because there had been plenty of times where she’d had none – but she didn’t make her works to sell them. Still, to know her work was thought good enough to be bought and put up in a stranger’s home was a compliment, and one she took without much complaint. Inge smiled a little, “I don’t doubt it. If you’d want to add anything to your more permanent collection after this, do let me know.”

Her last exhibit had been in New York, which felt like a world apart from this strange, small town. Inge preferred cities, but there was something about Wicked’s Rest, and because of that she was glad to have an exhibit here, too. “I’ll forward you a small list of people you can put on the guest list. I have a few that I’d like to get in for free, yes — but some of the others can pay.” She smirked, giving Metzli a look. “I’m excited to see the public’s response.”

Continuing through the exhibit, Metzli led the pair toward a sculpture they were particularly fond of, nodding along to Inge. They raised a finger, placing their glass down and retrieving their cellphone to send a quick text to Rachel to let her know there would be a list of guests for Inge. She replied instantly with a simple thumbs up emoji, to which Metzli shook their head. They sighed, pocketing their device, “It is strange that people respond with these emojis.” It was efficient, sure. Rachel let Metzli know in a single symbol that she would await for the list, but still. They wanted clear words, not a random collection of colorful pixels that didn’t even match her skin tone. 

“Rachel will be waiting for list.” They nodded, regarding the sculpture they wanted to discuss. The most beautiful one that Metzli had had the honor to lay eyes on. They had been adamant that they needed to be the one that prepped it, knowing their plans to purchase it as a permanent addition to MuertArte’s collection. Eyes gleamed and stared reverently, a stark contrast to the rest of their stoic visage. “Want to discuss this beautiful piece.” The delicacy of it was profound, strength found in the expertise of Inge’s ability to mix. It combined creativity and anatomy, science and art meeting to bring the audience a masterful take on their own autonomy. Metzli needed it. Craved it. Thirsted for the visual flow and sense of movement throughout.

“Wish to purchase for the gallery. It is favorite. Will give you ten-thousand for it.”

As Metzli commented on the use of emojis, Inge thought they sounded rather old. It was a notion she shared, in some sense — she did think that words conveyed more than any tiny pictures ever could. But Inge was old, in a way. “I agree. Some of them are cute and can be a nice addition to a message, but the message itself? Needs to be written.” Rachel had been an emoji enthusiast, even she had picked up on that in their short time of knowing each other. It seemed that was who Metzli had contacted. “I’ll send it to her shortly, then.” 

She looked at Metzli as they looked at her work. She didn’t create to get praise or applause, but she did create to get a reaction. Something like fear, preferably — but anything would do. To bore those who witnessed her art could undo her, she was sure of it. Metzli was a worthy witness and Inge was glad to see their face change as they looked at the immobilized version of a bird.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking.” Selling ones art was strange, Inge found. She was glad it was a source of income, especially as she remembered not making anything from her art — but still, to put a price on a piece of work seemed strangely perverse. It helped that she liked money, needed it. Her annoyance with how art had been commodified, turned into a product even, only went so far. “And I would like to sell, yes.” It was very forward of the other to already name their price. She looked at them. “Fifteen.”

When Inge gave her counteroffer, it gave Metzli pause. Not because they were offended, or because they were upset. In fact, they were impressed that Inge knew her worth, and they offered her a smile, a real one, in return, accompanied by a nod. “For that, I will add another three-thousand. Artists like you that push worth are my favorite.” And selfishly, Metzli really wanted to keep the piece for display while also ensuring Inge got her share, what she was owed for her talent and effort. It was still a strange concept, them being able to have a business, let alone being able to afford such high prices. But that was how things were. It wasn’t the trading and bartering they once knew.

“The world runs on money now. Well,” They juggled their head side to side, pondering for a few beats. “There was trading and money, but now money is everything.” Shaking their head, Metzli tutted with disapproval, waving for Inge to follow them back to their office as they continued to speak. “In return for having the honor of displaying your work, I will make check for eighteen-thousand, then maybe we can discuss a permanent collection as well?” Their intonation peaked at a higher pitch than normal, making the question even more noticeable.

“Without people like you, art will be lost and I want to make sure this is not something that happens. If money can do this, then there will be…” Brows pinched together as Metzli searched their brain for the English word they needed. Upon finding it, their face relaxed. “…adapting.” They reached the office and found themself seated at their desk, gesturing for Inge to take a seat, too. “I must give my gratitude to you, Inge.” 

Drawers slid open, wood and metal’s smooth friction a satisfying roll. Metzli pulled out their logbook and checks, closing everything softly before regarding Inge once more. “It has been many years since an artist has given me motivation to create. Your mind is beautiful and I have much hope that you and your people have a good time at this exhibition.” To give Inge a moment, Metzli began scribbling all the information needed for the artist’s payment, happy to have found a visionary among the sea of bleak and untalented artists. 

She liked Metzli. That was definitive now, and not just because they were giving her money. Sure, that helped, but it was rather the way Metzli responded to her asking for more money that made her lips spread into a smile. “I think that means we have a deal.” Quick and to the point, which seemed to be how the other approached most things in life. Inge liked them for that, too, even if it was quite different from how she tended to approach things.

They did have a strange way of speaking at times, but she didn’t find herself overthinking it too deeply. Inge nodded, “It does, yes. It’s silly sometimes, to tack a price tag onto art. To measure it by something as … mundane and dividing as money. But alas, there’s rent to pay! Materials to buy.” She followed the other, taking another sip from her glass and looking at her piece over her shoulder. It was impossible to lug around with her, when she was to inevitably part from Wicked’s Rest and this was a worthy place for it. “That all sounds good to me.”

Metzli’s praise was like wood to a fire, making Inge’s ego swell and burn brighter. The value of art was lost on plenty of people, especially in today’s day and age. “Ah, tell me about it. I worry about the place of art in the future, you know? These rapidly evolving technologies, they’re …” She pulled a face. “Not only hard to keep up with, but a threat! More funds should go to the art — not just privately, though I appreciate it, deeply, but also publicly.” A bit political, but it was true. 

Her face brightened a little. “Oh, well — I’m honored. I think your work is astounding, you know, so to inspire you …” Inge shrugged. “It’s a nice side effect of our collaboration. I would love to see what it is you end up working on, will you share it with me when it is done?”

The scribbling came to a halt so that their eyes could take a moment to truly digest what Inge was saying. Speaking of technology the way she did made her sound older than she looked. In a town like Wicked’s Rest, that was usually an indication of something else. “Inge…?” Metzli began, on the brink of a question, but stopped short when their phone began to vibrate. They ceased the buzzing immediately with a press of a button, suddenly remembering what the rest of the day’s plans were. 

Their entire body bristled at the thought of Chuy, and they swallowed thickly as they centered themself with the final details of Inge’s check. What were they going to ask? Brows furrowed and eyes blinked rapidly as Metzli attempted to remember, but their mind was clouded with the fog of stress and anxiety. “Apologies. Do not remember what I was going to ask.” They took a shallow breath, putting the pen down with a bit of finality before tearing out the check to hand to Inge. Ants were already beginning to crawl down their fingers, the intensity of their march growing more and more uncomfortable. As much as they were enjoying Inge’s company, they knew their time had come to an end, and they needed to excuse themself.

“If you have wish to explore, you can do so. I have one more meeting to prepare for before the opening and then we can celebrate you with all guests here.” Metzli offered Inge a robotic smile as they shook her hand, somehow managing to exude friendliness and warmth in their attempt at being a person. It was crooked and all their own, even if it didn’t quite meet their eyes. “Please let Rachel know if you need anything. I am looking forward to your event. It is…” Their smile turned brighter as they huffed a brief puff of laughter through their nose at the reality of it all. Freedom was beautiful and it was amazing what a person could do with it. “Happiness. It is happiness.”

#works of art. #metzli. #threads.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Not gonna lie Frank is looking mighty dad shaped at the moment like I know Peter would not allow Frank to be his uncle because that title belongs only to Ben but rereading the kintsugi the part which Frank tells Peter to call him Pete and Peter thinking people will make assumptions of Frank being his father got to me.

Frank is absolutely becoming an important figure in peters life. I think I would respectfully disagree with any like, genuine attempts to analogue him with peters father though.

Spoilers for punisher seasons 1 + 2 below.

As a like, disclaimer, I’m soooo aware that being a dad is more of a meme in fandom than genuine attempts to say someone is the functional father of someone, but also it does crop up in genuine contexts too, and I don’t know if you mean in more of the general like, vibes sense or in a more literal “Frank is becoming his father as an actual relationship development” kind of way. I built my brand on taking things way too seriously however, so I’m gonna like, delve into this as if it were.

Frank is the most stable adult influence in Peter’s life right now, and I’m going to somewhat include May in that. That’s not because May is somehow failing to be a stable adult for Peter, but more because Peter has purposefully cut her out from access to parts of his life in a misguided attempt to protect the last family he has left to him. And that’s a decision that has pretty severe consequences for Peter’s mental health.

The decision to sort of phase May out of full involvement in Peter’s life predated Spider-Man; however, Spider-Man turned this from a sort of gradual decrease of information he shared to an extremely abrupt stop. We know that, for whatever reason, Peter did not tell May or Ben when he first got his powers. If it was physically painful or even just noticeable, he did not tell them about the probable medical emergency, but even if we just assume he went to bed normal and woke up with abs, he did not walk into the kitchen the next morning and announce he could stick to walls now. Ideally speaking, kids should be going to their parents about that kind of shit. Peter didn’t. So we know something’s just not exactly right with Peter’s relationship with May and Ben.

Usually, that’d be a bit of a red flag with abuse. Frank actually had a moment where he suspected as much, and Peter flipped his shit on him, so he knows it's not that. But whatever the cause, Peter's been without an adult influence to rely on for a while.

And, psychologically speaking, that's fucked him up pretty thoroughly. Peter's been taking on stresses that are way worse than most adults ever face, and he's been doing it without having the support that kids really need. That's compounded by the fact that he's still reeling from one of the biggest pillars of support in his life, Ben, just got ripped out entirely.

Frank's relationship with peter has developed on an incredibly quick timeline because he's been able to occupy that empty space that parents usually are meant to be in. In that respect, he's acting in a lot of the ways a dad is supposed to, by being that sort of adult figure Peter can go to as a reliable source of support. Peters finally buckling under the pressure now that he finally has someone who can help take some of it off of him, which quickens the development of their relationship.

But at the end of the day, that does not change the fact that it’s only been two weeks. Peter hated him for the first week of it. They’re very much in the infancy of their relationship, so like, genuine fatherhood is a good long way off.

I’m a big believer in the fact that there’s no substitute for time in relationship develop. That’s not to say that relationships can’t develop on different timelines, but there’s a very practical reality that figuring out the boundaries and dynamic of a relationship is something that develops over multiple interactions and needs time to do. Peter and Frank are still at the stage where Peter’s struggling to figure out if he can ethically have Frank in his life and Frank is struggling to figure out how to be in Peter’s life when his objective goal is still to get peter to stop being spider-man. They need a lot of time still to figure out who they are to each other.

The other thing about time in a relationship is that it’s really going to be the thing to build trust. Trust isn’t exclusively built by time, but it’s still important. Frank and Peter have started to build some trust between them, but it’s still young. Frank, specifically, only got peter to start to trust him when he helped out with the Calloways. Peter only started building trust that same night when Frank started to understand why Peter did what he did.

When you’re in someone’s life, especially to the degree that a father and son would be, then you’re going to get into conflict with them. You’re going to disagree, fight, cross boundaries. Or you’re going to need to be vulnerable to someone, and you have to decide if they’re a safe person to do so with.

Time where you can build up a consistent basis of trust and understanding is what helps you weather that. There’s going to be fuck ups. That’s part of being human. If you have spent a long time developing a relationship, people are going to have a better time grappling with those fuck ups, figuring out how to navigate it, and then moving towards forgiveness. If you really trust someone, then there’s more stability and reliability to fall back on when they do something that hurts you. If you haven’t had that time? Then it risks destroying the relationship entirely.

We’re still seeing that develop with Frank and Peter. We have yet to see if they can even last, let alone make it to father/son.

I don't want to say that I have compunctions with how fandom treats relationships, because that is suggestive of like, a higher degree of dislike than I actually have. It's just not my style. A lot of fanfiction or fanon has people going from 0 to 100 really really fast. You go from just having met to being the most important and trusted people in each other's lives in a few days. You're madly in love in the span of a few interactions. Characters hand out trust that isn't really earned yet and act more comfortably with people than they objectively should. With Peter especially, you have him like, calling people 'Dad' or being like, really comfortable accepting physical affection from them almost immediately or he's like, really quick to seek comfort and support from whatever adult is around. It just all happens on a weirdly fast timeline.

And I want to be clear--there's nothing wrong with liking to write that or read that. It's fanfiction. We're all doing this shit for free, and sometimes you want to get to the found family part everyone's showed up for without trudging through 100k words of boundary negotiations and relationship development.

It's just not how i like to write? I'm a slow burn person. I need a bunch of build up or i'm not satisfied in the pay off. toy rosaries is 45k words and counting because i wanted to write one fucking scene. i'm holding myself hostage. I could not bring myself to write frank and peter as father/son on this timeline even if i wanted to.

They also have the added hurdle of their own trauma around parents and children.

With Frank, it's pretty obvious--he loves kids, it's undeniable. He was great with Zach and Leo, would die for Amy, and even had a cute moment with Rex in the diner. He gets attached to his kids, acts parental with them, and would straight up die for them. Peter's well in that same territory now.

I think we still have to ask if he would be able to be an explicit father/son relationship given his lasting trauma around his own kids.

It could go either way, honestly--it would depend on how someone wanted to take their relationship development. The thing is, Frank wants to be a dad--but he wants to be his kids' dad. The debilitating loss he feels from his children's death is absolutely central to his character--and it's pretty clear he's not even close to getting over it. First off, he's living like a fucking goblin in the seedy underbelly of new york. that's not an emotionally healthy decision. But secondly, he's established time and time again that he's not ready to really heal from his family's death. He picked the Punisher over going with his family when he went up against Agent Orange. Season 2 opens with Frank's revenge complete, experiencing that great, peaceful family dynamic with Beth and Rex--and then he's killing a room full of people by the end of the episode. Undeniably, he loved Amy--but he still sends her off to live in Florida with someone else. He could have gone with her. He had finished his newest war entirely. There wasn't any immediate danger of staying with her. He could have asked her if she'd like to set up shop somewhere new, with him, new names, new pasts, new lives, as father/daughter. Instead, he ships her off and fully becomes the Punisher.

The Punisher is a part of Frank, and it's not exclusively a product of what happened to his family. But it's impossible to remove his grief from who the Punisher is. Being a dad means putting the kid first, picking the kid first, and it's not really clear what would win if it really came down to being a stable influence for Peter and giving up his war or staying with his mantle.

It's particularly difficult when you consider the parallels between Peter and his son. Frank didn't really have regrets around Lisa, save that she died and that he did not read the book to her the night before. He didn't visibly regret the state of his relationship with her when she passed--in fact, most of how he talks about her suggests their bond was incredibly close.

His son, though, is almost exclusively shown in canon to be in conflict with Frank, and it's something that Frank displays visible regret over. He seems to constantly wish he could have been a better father to Frank Jr.

Peter, like Frank Jr, spends a lot of time in conflict with Frank. They don't see eye to eye. They bump heads. Peter disobeys him every chance he gets. And Frank's really, really trying not to repeat old mistakes, but it still begs the question whether he could bring himself to be the kind of father to Peter that he never could be to Frank Jr. How would that feel? Would it feel like a betrayal of Frankie? Would he be haunted by the fact that he couldn't be like this with his own son? It'd be a long, painful road to figure that out.

Is it possible that Frank could be someone's father again? I think so. But he needs to do a lot of healing that he's just not done yet.

Peter, likewise, is in a state where he'd need an enormous amount of healing to have another father.

I think with Ben particularly we need to distinguish from Dad as a title and Dad as a role. Peter Parker, whatever universe he's in, does not call Ben "Dad." He calls him uncle--but calling someone "uncle" does not dispositively indicate that that's the role they fill for you.

And there's no real definitive right answer as to what Peter considered Ben to be. Life is messy. Peter's relationship with Ben and his father is honestly fascinating. Peter went to live with Ben at a young age--but not so young that he didn't have defined roles of "Mom" and "Dad" already filled. He never tried to call Ben and May mom and dad. But it's indisputable that the larger influences on his life were May and Ben. He's spent more time with may and ben than he ever did his parents. It's their moral code that defines his character. By every functional sense of the word, Ben and May Parker are his acting parents, but they never cross into parenthood by title.

If you lean into the comic book death of the Parkers, it's especially interesting when you take in Ben's likely confused feelings on this. His brother died in the most obvious cover-up known to man. They were murdered, their plane was sabotaged, and Ben can't do anything about that except raise his brother's son. His brother won't get the chance to be Peter's father throughout his life. He won't get to be there for Peter's graduation, birthdays, wedding--all those things Ben thought he'd live to see. Richard's death is this horrible source of constant, aching injustice, and instead of getting that justice for him, Ben gets what Richard should have gotten to experience--would he have felt guilty taking the title of Dad too? At the end of his life, did he regret never telling Peter that he was his son?

Does Peter regret never telling Ben that he was his father?

Ben is meant to be this horrible, aching space in the narrative. The death was recent and the pain is fresh. Peter lost someone who was one of the biggest if not the biggest influences in his life. Could he want another father figure one day? Honestly, I have no idea. He's already lost two. But he definitely would not be ready right now. If you offered him a new father figure right now, he'd say he doesn't want them--he wants his uncle, and that's the person he simply cannot have.

This isn't to diminish Frank and Peter's relationship--it's just that it's very messy, fresh, and has a lot of space to grow. Are they important to each other? Absolutely. Is Frank Peter's father right now? No, and they both would need a lot of character development and healing if they were ever to get to that point.

#pottery shards #pottery shards verse #the first step of kintsugi #to be soooooo clear op i'm aware you probably meant it in more of the meme sense #this is less of a response to you and more of me climbing on a soapbox #the ongoing journeys of me catching up to my inbox #it is very full and very neglected asks will be answered eventually #i respect the fandom dadification of everyone but i will take everything too seriously

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

ever and always (beauyasha week day 6)

Prompt: Lionett-Nydoorin @beauyasha-week Read on ao3!

Beau can’t fucking breathe. Her suit is too tight, her shoes pinching her toes, she’s sweating, her hands are shaking. She can hear Fjord and Caleb trying to talk to her, but all she can hear is the pounding of her heart and her utter panic. Her mind rattles with the words of her mother and father, only increasing the panic.

A hand gently clasps the back of her neck and she lifts her eyes up to see Caleb crouching in front of her, his eyes intense with worry. “Beauregard, you need to breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

“Fuck off,” Beau spits at him. “I’m breathing just fine.”

“Respectfully, you’re freaking out,” Fjord says, sitting down on the bed beside her. The wedding is set to start in half an hour in the backyard. Until then, Beau and her groomsmen have been in the bedroom together while the rest of the Mighty Nein decorates and helps set up, Jester and Veth getting Yasha and the kids ready.

And Beau can’t fucking stop panicking. It seems Fjord can’t understand the reasoning as he says, “You know that Yasha loves you, you have two kids together. So what’s wrong?”

Beau shakes her head, “I don’t know.” She sits up, talking with her hands much more than normal as she tries to explain, “All of a sudden this feels like…so much. What if this changes everything? What if this brings up some shit for her with Zuala? I’m just…I’m losing my shit here.” She laughs tensely.

Caleb sits down on her other side, wrapping an arm around her waist. Beau leans against his shoulder with a sigh, glad to accept the comfort. Fjord’s hand rests warm and heavy on her upper back.

“You know, in the other room, Jester and Yasha are devouring all the pastries. They’re playing with the kids,” Caleb tells her. “Yasha is just fine. If she wasn’t certain about this, she wouldn’t have asked you to marry her.”

“I asked her,” Beau grumbles under her breath, but she can’t help but lean a little heavier into Caleb. There’s a long moment before she admits softly, “My mother used to tell me how romantic my father was before they got married. And they…stopped loving each other afterwards. What if she stops loving me after we’re married?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Fjord cuts her off gruffly. “What you’re saying is absolutely ridiculous.”

Caleb stands up, pushing Beau into Fjord, “I’ll go get Yasha.” 

Beau can’t even say anything to stop him before the door shuts behind him and she looks up at Fjord. He gives her a stern look, “You are not like your father. He was an ass before he married your mother. You and Yasha have been acting like a married couple for years now. You love her, you love your children. She loves you, that much has been clear almost as long as I’ve known her.”

As her eyes grow wet with tears, Fjord sighs and pulls her into a tight hug. Yasha has made her soft, Beau realizes. Never has she needed affection this much. Not since Yasha and Caleb and the kids. So she presses her head against his neck and makes herself smaller in his arms. Her suit is going to be wrinkled, but she doesn’t care in the slightest.

“Mama?” Beau looks up from Fjord’s embrace to see Yasha entering with their two children. Her breath catches in her throat.

Yasha looks utterly divine. She’s wearing a long white dress with flowers embroidered on the hem in yellow and pink and blue. The plunging neck and the lack of sleeves show off her muscles and scars. Cricket is wearing a bright yellow dress and a fresh flower crown on her head, hair braided on her shoulders. Imdrin wears a deep grey skirt and a blouse with flowers embroidered on the collar, Essek did his hair in traditional Xhorhassian braids.

As they enter, Beau quickly smiles and pulls away from Fjord to wipe her eyes, “Hi, guys.”

“What’s wrong?” Imdrin asks immediately as he follows his mom into the room. Yasha sits down on the bed beside Beau, immediately taking her hand, the two kids hopping up beside them. 

Beau sighs. Marion’s first advice to Beau and Yasha when they took in Cricket was to never lie about how you feel, don’t teach them to hide emotions. So Beau drops the smile and tells them, “I’m nervous about the wedding, that it might change things in our family.”

Cricket frowns, “That’s stupid. What’s the difference?”

Yasha chuckles, “It’s complicated, bug.” Yasha looks back at Beau and touches her cheek, “We don’t have to get married, babe. We can just have a big party with everyone we love and it will mean the same thing. This won’t change anything about our relationship, I promise.”

Beau swallows thickly, “You don’t know that.”

“Mom knows everything,” Cricket chimes in, affronted on Yasha’s behalf.

“You’re right,” Yasha smiles. “I do, and that’s why your mom should listen to me.” She kisses Beau softly. “This is your call babe.”

Beau takes a deep breath of Yasha’s perfume and Cricket’s flower crown and the arcane scent that lingers around Imdrin now. She blinks and looks up at Yasha, “I want to marry you. So much you have no idea.”

Yasha grins, her face utterly glowing, “How does twenty minutes sound?”

Beau chuckles, wrapping an arm around Imdrin and hugging him into her side, “Give me thirty? I think Jester is going to want to redo my makeup.” 

“You look like a raccoon, mama,” Cricket says bluntly. Beau and Yasha laugh loudly, all four of them leaning into each other. 

Yasha touches Beau’s chin gently, “I’ve been waiting for you a long time, Beauregard. I can wait thirty more minutes. But no more than that.”

Beau smirks, “I won’t keep you waiting, but Jester will kill me if I get married looking like this.” Beau kisses Yasha again gently and sits up, straightening her coat, “Alright, all of you out, you’re not allowed to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Uncle King says that’s stupid,” Cricket announces. 

Beau just laughs and picks up her daughter, “Did he say that now? Well I think you should go tell him that he’s wrong, and be sure to remember what he looks like when you say that. You’ll have to tell me later.” She tickles Cricket’s side a little as she sets the girl down, watching her scamper off.

As Imdrin takes Yasha’s hand, holds the door for them, only giving Yasha a slight glare when she slaps her ass on the way out. Gods, she can’t wait to marry her.

#beauyashaweek2023 #critical role #mighty nein #beauyasha

[nixie-writes]

Nixie x Striker - Son of a Gun

Another song fic. This is only four pages but I'll put a cut to keep this short. Consider this some of Nixie's backstory.

There was a time she would lie in the grass and imagine the places she’d never go,

And there all alone she would pleasure herself with the thoughts of a man she’d never know. 

Nixie lay in a patch of tumbleweeds, sighing in content. She was finally done helping around the farm for the day and could daydream her heart away. The barn she slept in was cozy and dim, with a slant of moonlight shining through the doors. Surrounding her were bales of hay and bags of feed for the horses. The barn smelled of musty grass but it was home to her. 

Nixie threw her arms over her head and hummed softly. Closing her eye she thought of the rings she’d traveled. Sloth was beautiful but too busy. Greed was a rather criminal ring. Lust was just not up her alley with all the succubi, incubi and imps roaming around. Gluttony was broken, always taking more than it could handle. Envy made her feel insecure about herself and she shied away from that ring. Pride was a wonderful ring full of culture and many types of sinners, but she could never shake the idea of visiting Wrath. 

Ah yes, Wrath ring. Nixie had heard stories of the imps and other demons that inhabited the Wrath ring. So much variety, so many opportunities to make a living. What captured her interest the most, however, was the demons themselves. She could only dream of riding a horse with a cowboy, her arms around his waist for support. Shifting comfortably in her makeshift bed she opened her eye again, staring at the ceiling of the barn. 

Lying there she made a promise that one day she’d run,

And find just the man she was looking for. 

As much as Nixie loved the Pride ring and everything it had to offer, she couldn’t stop the tug towards Wrath. Even with all her shifting she couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep. The night toiled on until morning and Nixie had spent the night awake, thinking of her dream to live in Wrath. While she appreciated the help the imps she lived with gave to her, she felt it was her time to leave. With only the clothes on her back she bid farewell to the elderly imp couple and wished them the best of luck. She was out to reach Wrath. She’d find her cowboy somehow. 

Upon reaching the elevators for different rings she boarded the elevator for Wrath. This was her first adventure on her own. Her mother had sheltered her since she was a baby and now she was on her first solo mission. Excitement bubbled in her stomach. Glancing around the elevator she wasn’t surprised to see some rough looking imps on board with her. Many wore hats, sombreros and ponchos. The culture in the elevator alone was incredible to Nixie. Shuffling around in the elevator she bumped into a figure behind her. Turning to make eye contact and apologize for her rudeness Nixie was met with a tall imp who was definitely born in Wrath, golden tooth and snake eyes. 

“Oh, my apologies!” Nixie squeaked, sounding more like an impling than a fully grown water nymph. The taller imp just chuckled. “You have a mighty fine way of meetin’ demons. What’s your name doll?” He held out a clawed hand and Nixie took it out of politeness. “N-Nixie, sir. And you are…?” She prompted. The imp chuckled. “Oh how rude of me! I forgot to introduce myself. Name’s Striker, I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” Nixie shook her head no. Striker quirked an eyebrow. “No, really? Well ya do now!” 

The elevator to Wrath opened and Striker, still holding Nixie’s hand, guided her out into the desert terrain. Nixie gave a loud gasp of happiness. “I’m finally here!” She squealed loudly. Striker chuckled. “Ya like what ya see? Not much to see really.” The Wrath imp admitted. Nixie was taking in her surroundings. “This place is beautiful. So barren, in need of life! It’s better than I ever dreamed of! Thank you,” Nixie bowed respectfully.

Well, she was in love with that son of a gun but he was not the man that she took him for. 

Striker patted her between her tall ears. “You’ll get to like it here. Let me give you a tour.” Striker offered. Nixie nodded her head in agreement. “Yes, please!”

Striker, with Nixie’s hand in his, guided her through Wrath. From the boring heat of the fiery sun to the baked sand underfoot to the scattered farms. “Why don’t I take you to the farm I help out at? They could surely use a pretty young lady to help with the cattle.” Nixie smiled, her magenta eye shining brightly. “That sounds wonderful!” Striker smiled, his gold tooth glinting in the light, and dragged her along to Joe’s farm. Nixie felt butterflies in her stomach walking beside Striker. He was everything she’d dreamed of: tall cowboy with a Wrath drawl. Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach twisted into knots. 

Oh it wasn’t long before he pulled her in and he asked her to come run away with him. 

He saw a pretty young girl who was ready to run, 

And he saw just the chance he’d been looking for. 

Well, she fell in love with that son of a gun but he was not the man that she took him for. 

It was a week after meeting Striker and agreeing to work at Joe’s farm. Nixie had a fun time supplying food to the cattle and riding the horses. She was in a dream state. Everything seemed perfect. In fact, Joe’s daughter and the rest of her work crew were going to be visiting the farm for the Harvest Moon Festival. Nixie was excited to meet the famous Mildred. 

But when they arrived Striker was quick to compliment Mildred - no, Millie - and Nixie felt something she’d never felt before. She had an instant sense of tensity between herself and Millie, as though they were about to fight over a piece of meat. “Oh yeah, you remember my husband Moxxie,” Millie sang, shoving her husband to Joe and his wife. Nixie released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. What if Striker liked her? It didn’t matter, did it? They weren’t together. Yet still, that nagging feeling. She only felt it when she was in Envy. Was she…Jealous? Of course not. They were just friends, right?

After Striker was done introducing himself to Millie’s co-workers Nixie pulled him to the side. “Striker, what was that?!” Nixie demanded in a hushed voice. “It’s like you like her!” She hissed with venom in her words. Striker only chuckled. “Darlin’, the only woman I’d run away from this dump with is you,” he assured her. Nixie felt her face flush a dark blue. Striker patted her shoulder and left their hiding spot to wrastle a beast for dinner. Nixie could only watch in awe as Striker knocked Moxxie off the beast and took its life with precision and ease. He said something inaudible to her and carried the beast inside. Ditching her hiding spot she followed the Hellhound and imp inside, leaving Millie to tend with her husband. 

After carving the beast for dinner it was brought to Nixie’s attention that Stolas of the Ars Goetia was visiting to reveal the true harvest moon. While she was interested in seeing this feat, she was more interested in what Striker was doing. Slithering up the stairs of the house she came in front of a door closed ajar. Peering inside she saw Striker brandishing a gun with holy trails on it. Did it have holy bullets? What did he intend to use that for? It wasn’t her business so she slid back down the stairs to the festival. 

While gazing in awe at the true harvest moon Stolas summoned, Nixie felt a hand grab hers. “We’ve gotta get the fuck outta Dodge,” Striker informed her and  pulled her with him out of the crowd, running to a horse on standby. He heeled Nixie up first then took his seat in front of her and took off, bullets flying past them as they fled. 

They headed out west riding into the sun and he promised her she was the only one, 

Well he was a thief and he’d steal just for fun, 

He’d go cruising around with his little gun. 

Nixie took tight hold of Striker’s waist and buried her face in his shoulder as he rode out of the festival. She had no words. She knew he was in deep shit. Was she somehow involved in this? She wished no ill will on the Goetia family. In fact Stolas had a daughter who hadn’t reached maturity yet. She had so many questions but none of them came out of her mouth. 

The two rode on until they came upon a dingy motel. Using what money he had Striker booked a room for the night that he and Nixie shared. Immediately upon entering the room Striker laid himself out on the bed and grabbed the phone, dialing a number. Nixie was too numb from all the turmoil to hear everything, but she picked up that Striker was set to assassinate Stolas and he failed and dragged Nixie with him to run away. She shrank away from the imp, sliding down on the door with her ears in her hands. After the phone call Striker moved to sit beside her. “Now, don’t let that upset you. This is the life we picked, remember?” Nixie could only nod her head in fear. 

“Don’t worry doll, I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re my one and only,” he coaxed. Nixie took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, I chose this,” she decided. She loved him too much to turn her back on him now. Striker gently pulled her off the floor and let her to the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor, you take the bunk,” he instructed and took a blanket for himself. Nixie crawled into the bed, suddenly so exhausted, and fell asleep to the sound of Striker’s breathing. 

***

Two weeks passed since the festival. Striker never stayed in one place for long. He slung his gun at anyone he deemed worthy and used said gun to steal food, water and other necessities. At first Nixie could understand the theft but it progressed from necessities to useless things. He stole a gas station of all its oil to resell, brandishing his gun at anyone who dared interfere. Nixie knew it was only a matter of time before someone stopped him. 

He ran afoul of the law and decided to run and he left her alone. 

Well, she was in love with that son of a gun but the story between them, it wasn’t done. 

One morning Nixie woke up alone. Striker was nowhere in the barn they’d taken shelter in the night before. All she found was a sheet of paper. “Thanks for the fun times,” was all it said. Peering through the door of the barn she saw Striker, bound by holy rope surrounded by constables. THey crowded her vision and she couldn’t see what they were doing to him. Her first instinct was to run to him and protect him, but before she made it far she was grasped by a constable. 

“We found the hostage!” The imp called out to his associates. Hostage? Didn’t she agree to this life? Was she just a hostage to Striker? Her knees went weak with terror and she sank to the sandy ground. Looking up at the imp who held her arm she whispered, “was I really just a hostage?” He nodded solemnly. “You’re lucky to be alive,” he informed her. Lucky to be alive. Did he have plans to kill her off when the searches stopped? Nixie watched halfidded as Striker was dragged into a van and shoved inside. Was that the end of their story? She gave up everything…For this? She allowed the constable to guide her to another van to be questioned. 

When she finds him, 

She will make him regret he was ever born. 

Many years passed. Nixie found herself back in Pride, living on her own among the sinners. She’d since climbed the social ladder to Overlord, looking over her territory and defending the Hellborns of Pride. Their culture had to be preserved and sinners were clogging up the ring. She had no issue with the yearly extermination, the exorcists weren’t after Hellborns. 

Despite her success she never forgot her roots, the Stockholme syndrome she felt with that Wrath imp who carried her along as an unknowing hostage through the ring after a failed assassination attempt. She could never forget those eyes or golden tooth. The same gold tooth that Valentino sported. She could never forget those snake eyes or the rattle of his tail, or his smooth Wrath drawl. She couldn’t find out what she saw in him. An escape from her sheltered life? Maybe. 

All Nixie knew for sure was that she craved revenge for being taken advantage of for her childish feelings for Striker. She knew they would cross paths again and when they did, she’d give him back exactly what he gave her. 

#helluva boss x reader #striker x reader #helluva boss striker

[redinkbunny]

autumn leaves, autumn sorrows

(Part 2)

Xiao recognized him before he could even notice his presence.

It was the way the wind picked up, as if carrying the content of seeing their master; it was the way music accompanied him wherever he may go, a tune too subtle for mortal ears, but to Xiao, it was one of his favorite sounds.

“Hey there!” The Lord of the Wind called, waving the hand that wasn’t holding a bottle of wine. Such frivolities he occupied himself with, much like Xiao’s own master. (His master doesn’t view himself as such anymore. He said it himself, he had retired, but Xiao still couldn’t get used to the feeling of freedom, not when there’s still so much work to do and no one to replace him if he were to stop.) “You seem tense.”

“Lord Barbatos" Xiao bowed, respectfully. Once, Venti has said he didn’t need to carry all the formalities, not when it was only them. Xiao, however, argued he at least had to demonstrate his gratefulness for the one who saved his life and granted him power, even though Venti acted as it was nothing.

Which, considering he was a being of unlimited power and knowledge of past, present and future, it probably was.

“Just Venti, aren’t we friends already?” Venti complained, tapping his shoulder. He walked past Xiao and sat on the roots of a large tree, motioning for Xiao to sit in front of him. “We have shared wine and songs, aren’t those the most intimate things you can share with another?” Smiling came easy to Venti, Xiao wished he could smile at him as well.

“My lor—," Xiao bit his tongue. Venti’s smile faltered. Right, he should have gotten used to the idea of friends a few decades ago. “I have come here with a favor to ask.”

Venti opened the wine, though there wasn't any glass for him to pour the content into. He took a sip directly from the bottle.

“What is it I can do for you?” He asked.

“I believe I have lost a very important item on your territory. Though it isn’t that noticeable, and perhaps that is the reason why I failed to perceive its absence before, it is still something I should retrive.”

“What is it? I can help you search for it.”

Before Venti could finish, Xiao was already shaking his head.

“It’s not for others to touch," he tried to state it in the gentlest way possible. “A cloak of feathers, weaved from my fallen wings, made to mold itself on the body of anyone who wears it. A harmless item for me, but who knows what it may cause at the hands of a mortal," Xiao explained, while refusing Venti’s offer of wine. The idea of putting his mouth where the Lord has touched previously was unnerving, but he also didn’t enjoy the taste of alcohol.

“I see." Venti brings a finger to his chin. “How long have you lost it? Do you know where it was last put?”

Something in Xiao hesitated.

“Probably a decade or so. I am to believe it must be near the border, I vaguely remember defeating monsters that day.”

“Then why have you come ask me for my permission when you could have just looked for it on your own?” Venti bursted. His anger was mild, Xiao was used to dealing with this one — the hatred for pleasantries. “You’re free to do whatever you please, Xiao." Venti’s fingers extended themselves in his direction, taking Xiao’s face between them. “The wind will carry you wherever you may go, stars and clouds shall guide your way, the breeze has your back on whatever decision you take.”

It was different when Venti talked seriously. It reminded Xiao from another time, when he was only a young, barely illuminated beast and he saw an Archon for the first time, powerful and wise and mighty. Venti looks every bit of wise right now, save for the wine breath.

“Now go, fetch your cloak, I assume that’s the cause of your nervousness?”

Xiao cannot lie to an Archon, but he can omit some facts. For that reason, he nods, for the declaration was a semi-truth, and vanished with a gust of wind, as rapid as he appeared.

Venti sipped on his wine and wondered if his friend would ever change.

#xiao genshin impact #xiaoluc #couldn't sleep so decided to update this one

[telekinetic-electronica]

Yeehawgust Day 1 (2022): Meowdy

Gather around, folks. We have a new tale for you to witness today. Here, come listen to The Tale of The Lucky Meowdy. The Meowdy was said to be a regular, normal cat. The cat’s finger was as orange as the sun itself, with emerald that was as green as the grass on a rancher’s farm. She had an owner. Her owner’s name was Lucky Phil. See, Phil was a hard, working young man. He was new to the ranching scene, and previously worked on his ma and pa’s land to help support them. But Phil wanted to grow his own wings and start up his own ranch.

In Texas, he moved to. Taking all with him, along with his sister Mary to help out on the new ranch. Together, they even brought a cat with them, Meowdy. Now, their little ranch was just doing mighty fine. Until a rich man came along. See, this rich man was named Mr. O’Connor. He was slick and charismatic. Could talk the pants right off of ya. Wanted to buy their lil’ ol’ farm, out back. However, Phil and Mary had decided to talk this out with each other. This was a big deal.

It could bring in more profit and stocks, to their ranch. Not to mention, even more attention to them. But. The one thing Phil and Mary were raised and knew better was doing the right thing. Treating their cattle right, and doing them respectful before going out to sellers. They respectfully declined Mr. O’Connor’s offer. He gracefully took it, but behind the scenes, Mr. O’Connor felt humiliated. That a couple of random kids just rejected him like that? Oh, no. That wouldn’t stand for him.

Instead, he started viewing them as competition. Going after new ranches and pitching up new sales just to spite them. Meowdy saw this and saw his owners hurting for money. This simply wouldn’t do. She wouldn’t let her owners be cheated out of something, by some upstate business man. So, on one hot day, Mary and Phil were having a break, sipping on some sweet tea. Meowdy brought over a golden coin. Something straight out of the minds. Phil wondered where his cat friend got the key, and Mary decided to play a little game along with it. Tails was for Mary, and Phil was Heads. It was a “luck duel”. Anytime they make a decision, the luck would go to that person. The game sounded weird to Phil, but without anything to do, he agreed to do it. But little do they know, Mewody was a very cunning and smart cat. And even better? A magical cat.

She has been around helping others and making others lucky in despite the odds. And what do you know? The coin came in handy and made enough money to make their little ranch boomed. And as for Mr. O’Connor? Meowdy rewarded those who needed with guidance and good luck, and visited greedy and dishonest people like O’Connor with a message. 

The cat became a towering finger. Her fur from a golden, sun color was now the blackest of midnights. Her eyes were still green, but her eyes were more shape. She looked like a harbinger of death. She whispers a message of what greed and jealously does to her a person. Even now, she watches over O’Connor enterprises. So, would you care to test your luck with Meowdy’s coin?

#yeehawgust #yeehawgust day 1 #day 1 meowdy #yeehawgust 2022 #prompts #cowboy #cowboycore #yeehawgust writing #original work #one shot

[lily-drake]

Photograph

Based on

Thank you @johannaiii for letting me write this!!!! It was so much fun and it was a really good prompt!

Talia didn’t like the process of giving birth, in fact she loathed it.  She swore she would never, and she meant never do it again.  But when she was giving birth, and she found out that she was having twins, and she got to hold her children that she sacrificed and suffered for, she loved them.  When she learned that one of them was a girl, she knew that her father would be furious and demand her death.  So she immediately summoned one of the monks from the Tibetan temple that her father was allying with and gave them the girl.  She demanded that they train her and protect, and that she would never, ever be mentioned to Ra’s.  She even killed the nurses who helped her give birth to make sure that there was no one left who would know.  It wouldn’t be hard to find replacements for them anyways, it’s not like their lives were significant.  They had served out their use, now there was no need for them.  When it was time she presented her son, Damian, to her father claiming him to be the only child and heir to the Demon’s Head.  Ra’s was very pleased with her and she felt pride at being able to carry out her task properly that her father was very much pleased with her and her child.

Even though Marinette, as she had named the child before she had given her up, was no longer in the league, she made sure she was still in her daughter’s life.  Once every year she left for “training” purposes with Damian and went to the ancient temple in Tibet to visit her daughter and make sure that the two siblings got to spend time with each other.  Marinette was growing up so fast and the monks would report to her of her daughter’s progress.  They told her that Marinette was destined for greatness and to be a powerful leader, and that pleased Talia greatly.  The man in charge of her daughter's training, Master Wang Fu, would show her photos of her daughter and her accomplishments; she wished that she would be allowed to do the same for Damian.  But the League and the Temple of Order, while partners, were two separate entities when it came to how they were trained and taught.  She smiled as she saw her children sparing on the temple’s grounds, each assessing how strong the other had become since their last meeting a year ago.

They were both 6-years-old now, and Marinette had lost one of her top baby teeth.  She wore the traditional light blue training robes the monks wore while Damian wore his traditional black and red armor with his katana sheathed on his back.  She watched her children and a small smile graced her lips as she watched the two.  They were opposites in almost everything, yet they were still so similar.  Damian’s fighting was aggressive and forceful while Marinette’s focussed on out maneuvering and tiring out the opponent from a distance before striking where it hurt the most.  Their personalities were like fire and ice with Damian being aggressive and mighty while Marinette was soft and humble.  Damian was assertive and forceful in the way he spoke, while Marinette was gentle and descriptive.  Though, like she said before they had many similarities that helped to cement their relationship.  They both were very artistic, in battle they both would get up and personal with their challenger if given the opportunity, both were very intelligent and soaked everything up like a sponge, and both were highly competitive.  The sound of metal being hit together sounded from the training grounds as Damian and Marinette fought with their respective weapons; Damian with his katana and Marinette with her two daggers.

“You’ve definitely improved since the last visit, 'ukht, but so have I.”

Damian announced as he went in to sweep his sister’s legs all while bringing his blade down towards her.  Marinette used her daggers to lift Damian’s blade and flipped backwards as Damian tried to perform his strike.  She was very flexible and graceful when she was in the air.  It sometimes looked as if she were flying when she performed some of her stunts.

“Maybe you have, Xiōngdì, but I seem to still have the upper hand.”

Marinette replied with smugness dripping from her voice as her brother glared at her.  Marinette carefully crafted her words to manipulate while Damian spoke his mind and used his to order and command.  They were opposites, but they completed each other in a way few will ever know.

The day Damian and Talia were to begin their trek back down the mountain Fu ran up to Damian and placed a piece of paper in his hands.  He bowed respectfully to the old man and looked at the picture.  It was a picture the old man had taken a few days ago.  Marinette was smiling brightly and had her arm around his shoulder while he had his arms crossed in front of him and leaned into his sister’s touch with a small smirk.  They were both in their training clothes and stood in front of the mountains that hid and protected the Temple of Order.  He smiled at it and glanced at his sister who was waving goodbye with a big sad smile.  He simply nodded and left not knowing that this would be the last time he would for many years that he would lay eyes on her once again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Order, it was gone, destroyed!  Marinette felt tears rush down her face as she watched her friends and mentors perish in the flames of miraculous magic gone astray.  She could feel the cold wind passing by her as Master Fu dragged her away, but she couldn’t remove her gaze from her home that was falling into pieces.  What would Damian think, she had to leave something for him to let him know she was okay!  But she was never given the chance because she couldn’t pull away from her master.  They were the last ones left, and Marinette couldn’t wrap her mind around it at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Damian and Talia hiked the trial many months later, and as they neared the top they could sense something was definitely off.  The top of the temple would usually be in view by now. When they finally reached the top they froze as they saw the ruins of the burned and destroyed temple in front of them.  Talia was the first to break from her daze and ran to the ruins searching through them to find any remains of her daughter.  Damian soon joined his mother, but it was no use.  Damian and Talia believed the worst had happened to her, and with silent tears flowing down his face he stabbed his sword into the ground in front of the burnt remains and fell onto his knees in front of it.  The sword would serve as a gravestone for the fallen warriors here, but it specifically would serve as Marinette’s grave marker.  She was a brave warrior, one of the best, and she was gone now.  Talia stood by her son’s side and soon kneeled in front of it as well with her hand placed on her son’s shoulder.  As they traveled down the mountain Damian swore that he would never be vulnerable again, he would never care about anyone ever again, because the pain he felt was too intense and never wanted to feel it ever again.

So both He and Talia took on more missions, Talia was rarely at the base, always gone doing whatever her father needed.  The training in Tibet never happened again, and Damian grew closer to his grandfather.  He trained harder, attacked ruthlessly, and channeled all his pain and rage into his strikes.  He held onto the photo that Fu had given him of the two of them so many years ago.  He had it tucked away in a secret place in his room where no one would ever find it, because he wanted to keep her with him in some way.  Never again, he wouldn’t be hurt like before ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette lived with Master Fu in a tea parlor under the guise of Marin Fu.  She helped him run his parlor and distribute his charms to the people through the teas she brewed while he placed charms on people through the massage therapy he did.  Fu let her be home schooled as she already knew way more than any normal school could teach her.  She would just be repeating things when she could be learning more new material.  She was also taught how to better practice her magic and use the miraculous.  She was going to be the new guardian one day, she was going to be the last guardian one day, and that thought scared her and brought back all of the nightmares.  She locked that night and anything before the fire back up in her mind only remembering what she needed to when she needed to.

Fu wanted her to interact with people though, so with the money he made he sent her to a gymnastics class where she could still retain her skills and get better at them.  She honestly loved the classes and she felt so free when she did them.  Nobody could beat her, in fact she advanced to level 10 quickly and was well on her way to the elite by the time she was 13.  And that’s when Hawkmoth struck Paris.

Lady Rouge and her partner Chat Noir made a decent team, but he was nowhere near her skill level which often annoyed her.  He wasn’t a true black cat, her brother was.  He was her balanced counterpart, and this cat was just a stand in.  And as time went on the imbalance continued the boy became corrupted by the destructive energy of the ring.  She had continually told Master Fu about it, but he would not listen.  And then it was time for him to pass, and she became the grand guardian, the last grand guardian.  Tears fell down the young 15-year-olds face as she watched her mentor's spirit leave him in his peaceful slumber.  He was so old, and it was just his time for him to go, but now she had nowhere to go, but she knew what she had to do.

“Hello, M’lady.”

Chat Noir said in a flirty tone as he spun his staff as if the speed he was doing it at would impress her.

“Hello, Chat.”

She replied terse with her arms crossed in front of her as she leaned on the railing of the Eiffel Tower and gazed at the sky that held little stars due to all of the lights of the city below them.

“Are you not excited to see your soulmate?  Come on M’lady,”

He said grabbing one of her hands with a large smile and deep voice,

“let me take you out somewhere, just the two of us.”

It took everything in Marinette not to break his wrist in that moment, but she had to play along.

“Okay.”

Chat’s eyes widened and his leather tail began to move side to side in an excited manner.

“W-wait, really?!”

“You know what, ya.  This week has been really tough and I could use it.”

Chat’s smile turned into a smirk and a dark twinkle lit up his eyes.  He took a step back and held his hand, his ringed hand, out for her to take.  SHe smiled at him gently and innocently and took his hand, and as he was about to pull her forward she took hold of the rings and ripped her hand off, taking the ring with her.  There was a blonde boy with green eyes staring at her with shock and hurt written all over his face, then eventually anger.

“I am revoking you from being able to wield the Black Cat Miraculous.  You are not compatible to wield this power as you are not my balanced counterpart.  The ring has been corrupting and harming you after all of your exposure to it when you are not the right one to wear it while I hold the earrings.  Thank you for the help you have given me in the past, but I’m afraid that I can not risk hurting you any longer.”

The boy stared at her with wide shocked eyes and nodded.  She could see that he too had now noticed the change as with the ring it didn’t feel like he changed at all.  She helped him get to his house and left after shaking his hand and thanking him one last time for his help.  And as she was about to leave the property she heard the sound of something above her opening and through the now open window she saw an akuma flying out of it.

She quickly caught the akuma and crashed through the glass window into the dark room.  Before Hawkmoth could even realize what had happened she had tied him up in her yo-yo and he was pinned in place with the tight cord.  If she pulled it any tighter it would cut into his skin and draw blood.  She grabbed the broach from the middle of the suit --which was as hideous as his akuma designs, if not worse-- and watched the man detransform making sure the camera on her yo-yo recorded the whole thing.

“You will be subject to the curse of whatever your abused kwami sees fit for you, and then the people of Paris will have you.”

Was all she said as she brought the man onto his knees so he could properly respect the kwami and the God’s they are.  Nooroo appeared and stared down at the man in front of him with an angered fiery glare.

“Gabriel Agreste, you have abused me and my miraculous for too long!  I bring upon a curse upon you, that no one will ever believe a word you say, and that your craft of manipulation will only work against you!”

And with that, pain courses through Gabriel and the wings of a butterfly were branded on the left side of his chest just above his heart.  She left soon after that and sent the footage for the police.  She watched from a distance as the police took him in, and told one of the officers that Adrien was innocent and had no connection to his father’s scheme.  Once she was sure Gabriel would not be able to escape his justice she pulled the horse miraculous from her yo-yo and summoned a portal to wherever she needed to be next.

~~~~~~~~~~

Damian was in the cave training when Todd burst in and began to run towards him with a stupid smug grin on his face.  Damian rolled his eyes and watched Todd stop in front of him holding something small and flimsy in his hand.

“Demon Spawn,”

He breathed out, his smug smile growing wider,

“Did you have a girlfriend in the league?”

Damian was….confused.  He had no such thing, but as Todd showed him the thing in his hand his blood froze.  It was the photo of him and Marinette.  How did he find it?!  Why did he even have it?!

“Give it back, Todd.”

Damian growled lowly hands gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

“She is!  Guys, Damian had a-“

He tackled Jason after that and wrestled the photo out of his grip and held it close to him.  He glared daggers at Todd and made absolutely sure that the old photo was still intact.  Once he was sure.  Todd was back on his feet and Damian had the urge to run him through with his sword for daring to rummage through his belongings and to dare touch his picture.  He opened his mouth to spit out fiery words of anger, when a portal opened right in front of Damian.  A girl walked out of it and the portal immediately closed.  It was absolutely silent in the cave as the other occupants who were also there stared at the person.  The girl was rigid as she stared Damian directly in the eyes, and he felt a familiar pull to her.

“Kaalki, Tikki separate.  Tikki spots off.”

She spoke quickly, and her voice, and those words, and he knew who she was.  But that was impossible, because she had died, hadn’t she?!  Arms wrapped around him and he could hear sniffles and he felt his arms wrap robotically around the small frame of his sister.

“Xiōngdì, I missed you so much!  I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner!  Th-the Order was destroyed and Fu woul-wouldn’t let me leave a message, and-and someone was misusing the Butterfly in France (sniff).  And-and…..”

She took a long shaky breath in and sighed,

“I missed you so much.”

It took a while to realize that silent tears were falling down his face, and he hugged her even tighter against his chest.  Because his sister, his twin sister was alive, and she hadn’t died in the fire and destruction of the temple.

“It’s okay, 'ukht.  I’ve got you.”

They stayed like that for a few precious moments before Todd yelled,

“What the f*!”

———————

Permanent Taglist:

@aespades @adrestar

#maribat #sibling au #sibling daminette #marinette al ghul wayne #marinette fu #damian al ghul wayne #monk marinette #talia sugar #bio!dad bruce wayne #twins au #The Order #mlb x batman #dc x mlb #angst #fluff

[devildom-drabbles]

Story - Diavolo’s Distractions

Characters: Diavolo and Barbatos

Word Count: ~1.4k

Warnings: None

A story for the birthday boy, Diavolo! 🖤 Enjoy! =)

Barbatos was considered a demon with an incredible amount of patience.  But this week, his young master managed to wear his patience far too thin.  It wasn’t a serious matter, but that was part of what made it all the more frustrating.  For you see, Diavolo had a huge stack of paperwork that he kept neglecting to complete.  He prioritized other tasks over them, both important and trivial ones, which only made the paper tower grow larger by the day.  If he didn’t get to it soon, the mess it would create from its collapse would be the least of his worries.

Thus, on the last day of the week, a day with no meetings and no RAD classes, Barbatos ordered the prince to remain in his study until the paperwork was complete.  He would bring Diavolo meals and whatever else he required, of course, but if Diavolo tried to step even a toe out of the room, Barbatos would suddenly appear to usher him back inside.  The prince attempted an escape twice before understanding that there was no getting out of his work.

When noon came, Barbatos knocked on the door of the study.  “My Lord, I’ve prepared lunch for you.  I’m coming in with it now.”

“Ah, wait--!”

Upon opening the door, a paper airplane flew straight into the demon butler’s forehead.  He held out his palm to catch the falling paper and then unfolded it to read its contents.  His eyes glanced over at Diavolo’s shocked expression.

“Are you all right, Barbatos?” the prince asked worriedly.  “It wasn’t my intention to hit you.  It flew in a different direction than I had thrown it, and--”

“Young Master,” Barbatos interrupted him calmly, “isn’t this document part of your paperwork?”

“Well, yes, but it’s just a copy!  You see, MC and Mammon taught me how to make different paper airplanes the other day, and I wanted to try one of them myself.  Did you know that the way you fold it can affect how it flies?  I suppose I still need to practice a bit more, considering it flew funny.”

“Very fascinating, My Lord.  If you’re making paper airplanes, does that mean your paperwork is finished?”

Barbatos already knew the answer to this question.  The stack barely had a dent in it since Diavolo began that morning, and the prince’s eyebrows drooped with guilt.

“I’ve made a little progress, but no,” Diavolo admitted, “there’s still a lot to do.  It’s just--”

“--your least favorite activity?” Barbatos inquired, having heard the statement many times before.

“Right,” Diavolo chuckled lightly.  “I know it’s something I must do, but it takes up so much time.  Time that could be used for doing other important things.”

“I understand you find it unpleasant; however, if you work on it in increments, you won’t have as much to do each day.  Keep that in mind, Young Master.”

“Yes, I understand, Barbatos.”  He looked over at the mighty tower of documents, laughing at its magnificent height.  “I won’t let it ever get this bad again.”

Barbatos placed the tray with Diavolo’s lunch on the table within the study and bowed respectfully before leaving to let the prince eat and continue his work.  He expected Diavolo to get distracted with such a long, tedious task to accomplish.  Still, perhaps after that brief talk and getting some food in his stomach, his young master would be able to get it done before nightfall.

The butler’s confidence wavered when he returned to the study an hour later to retrieve the lunch tray.  In Diavolo’s hands was not a pen but a small handheld gaming system, stealing all his focus.  He hadn’t even heard Barbatos announce his entry.  The side of his desk housing the completed paperwork had grown slightly, but it still paled in comparison to what was left on the other side of the desk.

Barbatos cleared his throat.

No response.  Just the beeping sounds coming from the game.

Without a second thought, Barbatos snatched the gaming system out of Diavolo’s hands. “Young Master.”

Diavolo glanced up in surprise, his eyes following where the game went.  “B-Barbatos!”

“Taking another break, I see.”

“Yes, you got me.  I felt really motivated after the delicious meal you made, but not too long later, I started feeling tired.  I thought playing this game Leviathan lent me would help me feel re-energized.  It’s a fantasy role-playing game, or ‘RPG’ for short, called Last Legend.  It’s apparently a really popular series, so I wanted to see what all the excitement was about.  It’s so fun and interesting, I simply couldn’t put it down!”

“How kind of Leviathan to let you borrow it.  Do you feel motivated to continue working now that you’ve played it?”

“I’m more awake now, but...”

“Then, I shall hold on to this game until you finish the paperwork.”

Diavolo sighed in defeat.  “Right, that might be best.”

Game and lunch tray in tow, Barbatos left the room once more, promising to check in on the prince again in another hour.  Surely there would be no more distractions now?

At the next check-in, Diavolo was found watching cat videos Satan sent him on his D.D.D.  The phone had to be confiscated as well.

“If anyone messages you, I will let you know and respond to them on your behalf,” the butler declared with a smile before leaving again, not allowing Diavolo to make any protests.

OK, now there’s nothing else to cause a distraction.  ...Right?

Another hour passed, and Barbatos felt somewhat nervous about what he’d see when he entered the study once again.  To his relief, Diavolo was focused at his desk, his pen scribbling away at one of the documents.  When it came down to it, the prince always made sure to complete his work to the best of his--

Are those doodles on his paperwork...?

“Ah, these?” Diavolo pointed to the silly artwork on his current sheet in response to Barbatos’ curious stare.  “I wanted to make a visual for the document to make it more entertaining to read over.  What do you think?  It matches well with it, right?”

The prince grinned proudly at his creations as his butler silently gazed at them with a hint of bewilderment.  At this rate, Barbatos feared he might be repeating this routine with his young master until well-past nightfall.  There was only one idea he could think of in order to get Diavolo to properly finish his work, but it would have to involve--

Diavolo’s phone went off from within Barbatos’ pocket.  The butler took it out to see the message notification.  Speak of the devil; his idea just might work.

“Who was that?” Diavolo inquired.

“It’s a message from Lucifer,” Barbatos replied with a smile before looking back down at the messages that continued to pop up on the screen.  “He’s planning to come over to the castle to drop off the student council work he completed.  It looks like MC will be joining him as well.”

“Lucifer and MC are coming here?” Diavolo questioned, his eyes wide as he nearly jumped up from his seat.  “When?  Now?”

“Within the next hour.”

“I see.  Let me know when they arrive so that I can greet them--”

“My Lord, I’m afraid you cannot leave this room until your paperwork is finished, remember?  And as you can see, there is still much to be done.”

“But--”

“I’ll be sure to properly greet them in your absence.  Then, if there isn’t anything else you need from me, I’ll take my leave now.”

“Wait, Barbatos.”

The butler hardly had a chance to turn away when his master called to him in a serious tone.  “Yes, My Lord?”

“I’ll have this paperwork done when they arrive.  You can even check before you let them through the gate.  In the meantime, I’d like you to prepare tea for us.  Since they're taking the time to come here, the least we can do is offer them our hospitality.”

Barbatos knew that look in the prince’s eyes:  He meant every word he said.  There was no doubt now that Diavolo would finally do his work without any other distractions.

“Very well,” the butler complied with a bow.  “I shall make the preparations for their arrival.”

And as if by some powerful magic, the tower of paperwork was no more, and Diavolo was freed from his prison to spend his time doing the most important thing to him:  being with his cherished friends.

#And Happy Halloween if you celebrate it! #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #short story

[niseamstories]

10 Lessons on Realistic Worldbuilding and Mapmaking I Learned Working With a Professional Cartographer and Geodesist

Hi, fellow writers and worldbuilders,

It’s been over a year since my post on realistic swordfighting, and I figured it’s time for another one. I’m guessing the topic is a little less “sexy”, but I’d find this useful as a writer, so here goes: 10 things I learned about realistic worldbuilding and mapmaking while writing my novel.

I’ve always been a sucker for pretty maps, so when I started on my novel, I hired an artist quite early to create a map for me. It was beautiful, but a few things always bothered me, even though I couldn’t put a finger on it. A year later, I met an old friend of mine, who currently does his Ph.D. in cartography and geodesy, the science of measuring the earth. When the conversation shifted to the novel, I showed him the map and asked for his opinion, and he (respectfully) pointed out that it has an awful lot of issues from a realism perspective.

First off, I’m aware that fiction is fiction, and it’s not always about realism; there are plenty of beautiful maps out there (and my old one was one of them) that are a bit fantastical and unrealistic, and that’s all right. Still, considering the lengths I went to ensure realism for other aspects of my worldbuilding, it felt weird to me to simply ignore these discrepancies. With a heavy heart, I scrapped the old map and started over, this time working in tandem with a professional artist, my cartographer friend, and a linguist. Six months later, I’m not only very happy with the new map, but I also learned a lot of things about geography and coherent worldbuilding, which made my universe a lot more realistic.

1)  Realism Has an Effect: While there’s absolutely nothing wrong with creating an unrealistic world, realism does affect the plausibility of a world. Even if the vast majority of us probably know little about geography, our brains subconsciously notice discrepancies; we simply get this sense that something isn’t quite right, even if we don’t notice or can’t put our finger on it. In other words, if, for some miraculous reason, an evergreen forest borders on a desert in your novel, it will probably help immersion if you at least explain why this is, no matter how simple.

2)  Climate Zones: According to my friend, a cardinal sin in fantasy maps are nonsensical climate zones. A single continent contains hot deserts, forests, and glaciers, and you can get through it all in a single day. This is particularly noticeable in video games, where this is often done to offer visual variety (Enderal, the game I wrote, is very guilty of this). If you aim for realism, run your worldbuilding by someone with a basic grasp of geography and geology, or at least try to match it to real-life examples.

3)  Avoid Island Continent Worlds: Another issue that is quite common in fictional worlds is what I would call the “island continents”: a world that is made up of island-like continents surrounded by vast bodies of water. As lovely and romantic as the idea of those distant and secluded worlds may be, it’s deeply unrealistic. Unless your world was shaped by geological forces that differ substantially from Earth’s, it was probably at one point a single landmass that split up into fragmented landmasses separated by waters. Take a look at a proper map of our world: the vast majority of continents could theoretically be reached by foot and relatively manageable sea passages. If it weren’t so, countries such as Australia could have never been colonized – you can’t cross an entire ocean on a raft.

4)  Logical City Placement: My novel is set in a Polynesian-inspired tropical archipelago; in the early drafts of the book and on my first map, Uunili, the nation’s capital, stretched along the entire western coast of the main island. This is absurd. Not only because this city would have been laughably big, but also because building a settlement along an unprotected coastline is the dumbest thing you could do considering it directly exposes it to storms, floods, and, in my case, monsoons. Unless there’s a logical reason to do otherwise, always place your coastal settlements in bays or fjords.

 Naturally, this extends to city placement in general. If you want realism and coherence, don’t place a city in the middle of a godforsaken wasteland or a swamp just because it’s cool. There needs to be a reason. For example, the wasteland city could have started out as a mining town around a vast mineral deposit, and the swamp town might have a trading post along a vital trade route connecting two nations.

 5)  Realistic Settlement Sizes: As I’ve mentioned before, my capital Uunili originally extended across the entire western coast. Considering Uunili is roughly two thirds the size of Hawaii  the old visuals would have made it twice the size of Mexico City. An easy way to avoid this is to draw the map using a scale and stick to it religiously. For my map, we decided to represent cities and townships with symbols alone.

 6)  Realistic Megacities: Uunili has a population of about 450,000 people. For a city in a Middle Ages-inspired era, this is humongous. While this isn’t an issue, per se (at its height, ancient Alexandria had a population of about 300,000), a city of that size creates its own set of challenges: you’ll need a complex sewage system (to minimize disease spreading like wildfire) and strong agriculture in the surrounding areas to keep the population fed. Also, only a small part of such a megacity would be enclosed within fantasy’s ever-so-present colossal city walls; the majority of citizens would probably concentrate in an enormous urban sprawl in the surrounding areas. To give you a pointer, with a population of about 50,000, Cologne was Germany’s biggest metropolis for most of the Middle Ages. I’ll say it again: it’s fine to disregard realism for coolness in this case, but at least taking these things into consideration will not only give your world more texture but might even provide you with some interesting plot points.

 7)  World Origin: This point can be summed up in a single question: why is your world the way it is? If your novel is set in an archipelago like mine is, are the islands of volcanic origin? Did they use to be a single landmass that got flooded with the years? Do the inhabitants of your country know about this? Were there any natural disasters to speak of? Yes, not all of this may be relevant to the story, and the story should take priority over lore, but just like with my previous point, it will make your world more immersive.

 8)  Maps: Think Purpose! Every map in history had a purpose. Before you start on your map, think about what yours might have been. Was it a map people actually used for navigation? If so, clarity should be paramount. This means little to no distracting ornamentation, a legible font, and a strict focus on relevant information. For example, a map used chiefly for military purposes would naturally highlight different information than a trade map. For my novel, we ultimately decided on a “show-off map” drawn for the Blue Island Coalition, a powerful political entity in the archipelago (depending on your world’s technology level, maps were actually scarce and valuable). Also, think about which technique your in-universe cartographer used to draw your in-universe map. Has copperplate engraving already been invented in your fictional universe? If not, your map shouldn’t use that aesthetic.

9)  Maps: Less Is More. If a spot or an area on a map contains no relevant information, it can (and should) stay blank so that the reader’s attention naturally shifts to the critical information. Think of it this way: if your nav system tells you to follow a highway for 500 miles, that’s the information you’ll get, and not “in 100 meters, you’ll drive past a little petrol station on the left, and, oh, did I tell you about that accident that took place here ten years ago?” Traditional maps follow the same principle: if there’s a road leading a two day’s march through a desolate desert, a black line over a blank white ground is entirely sufficient to convey that information.

10) Settlement and Landmark Names: This point will be a bit of a tangent, but it’s still relevant. I worked with a linguist to create a fully functional language for my novel, and one of the things he criticized about my early drafts were the names of my cities. It’s embarrassing when I think about it now, but I really didn’t pay that much attention to how I named my cities; I wanted it to sound good, and that was it. Again: if realism is your goal, that’s a big mistake. Like Point 5, we went back to the drawing board and dove into the archipelago’s history and established naming conventions. In my novel, for example, the islands were inhabited by indigenes called the Makehu before the colonization four hundred years before the events of the story; as it’s usually the case, all settlements and islands had purely descriptive names back then. For example, the main island was called Uni e Li, which translates as “Mighty Hill,” a reference to the vast mountain ranges in the south and north; townships followed the same example (e.g., Tamakaha meaning “Coarse Sands”). When the colonizers arrived, they adopted the Makehu names and adapted them into their own language, changing the accented, long vowels to double vowels: Uni e Li became “Uunili,” Lehō e Āhe became “Lehowai.” Makehu townships kept their names; colonial cities got “English” monikers named after their geographical location, economic significance, or some other original story. Examples of this are Southport, a—you guessed it—port on the southernmost tip of Uunili, or Cale’s Hope, a settlement named after a businessman’s mining venture. It’s all details, and chances are that most readers won’t even pay attention, but I personally found that this added a lot of plausibility and immersion.

I could cover a lot more, but this post is already way too long, so I’ll leave it at that—if there’s enough interest, I’d be happy to make a part two. If not, well, maybe at least a couple of you got something useful out of this. If you’re looking for inspiration/references to show to your illustrator/cartographer, the David Rumsey archive is a treasure trove. Finally, for anyone who doesn’t know and might be interested, my novel is called Dreams of the Dying, and is a blends fantasy, mystery, and psychological horror set in the universe of Enderal, an indie RPG for which I wrote the story. It’s set in a Polynesian-inspired medieval world and has been described as Inception in a fantasy setting by reviewers.

Credit for the map belongs to Dominik Derow, who did the ornamentation, and my friend Fabian Müller, who created the map in QGIS and answered all my questions with divine patience. The linguist’s name is David Müller (no, they’re not related, and, yes, we Germans all have the same last names.)

#enderal #dreams of the dying #worldbuilding #resource #writeblr #writing tips #mapmaking #cartography #illustration #realism #writeblogging #novelwriting #writing research #research #writing

[heavenlyeros]

All this recent lore seemingly pointing us to draw the connection between Umun’arath’s corruption and Saladin slowly falling to the darkness himself is driving me crazy. Is Xivu Arath whispering dark temptations to our favourite angry warmonger? We don’t know, but it sure seems like it. And then, of course, we have the emotional rollercoaster that Osiris has been going through. Naturally, I can’t help but look (respectfully) at these two arrogant and extremely competent men 👀 They have both spent a very long time with only themselves, and they are both acutely aware that they are good, so it’s no surprise they’ve built fortresses around themselves - and blinded themselves in the process, too. It’s been exciting and terrifying hearing these two grow to respect each other over the past few weeks, but while Crow sways Amanda to acceptance... I was not quite expecting Osiris to be swayed to Saladin’s views. He was always quite firmly in the middle, for what’s logical for the greater good if nothing else, and it makes sense, but it hurts. And that exchange where Osiris confirms his support were Saladin to split from the Vanguard and go against their wishes? Sign me the f up.

I wrote a thing about this, of course: my interpretation of what’s been going on in Osiris’ brilliant, idiotic bird brain. Warnings for angsty O14, Sagira, and general sadness. This is only how I see it (hint hint please come scream about lore with me whether you think the same or different), shaped in part by some amazing lore people in the community (check out r/destinylore and also tumblr user homosiris’ essay on Osiris if you haven’t because dayum, that’s some good shit that echoes my angsty feelings just right): 

Picture this: you wake up one day from your forever-slumber with no memory of who you were before. The little drone who appears to have brought you back - your ghost - explains that the Traveller has gifted you with Light. You have infinite questions. You might not precisely remember the world you came from, but you know it has changed. Everywhere you go is a battle: the hive, the fallen, even your own kind - war lords versus iron lords. You find out that not many were given this gift. There is no other logical option, of course, but to keep fighting these battles to protect those who cannot. You don't understand, but every day answers a new question, and you have faith that the machine god in the sky must have chosen you for a reason. Years pass, outright wars, the weight of leadership. Your questions take different shape. Reason chips away at blind faith. You realise, one day, that the only gift your people have been given is the gift of war - that the Light's gift for you was to be a warrior. Endlessly. Your questions make others uncomfortable. Eventually you are exiled. Your student, your colleagues, your friends - they don't stick up for you. But you've been bearing the gift of dying to protect others forever. You must carry on. And despite all of your doubts and all of your anger, the Traveller's shackles, your ghost, your little light - she sticks by you. She never stops supporting you. She is your dearest friend. The two of you spend what feels like an eternity in the corridors of time. Not lost, but always searching. You make echoes, countless reflections of yourself, but for centuries upon centuries the only voices you ever hear are Sagira's, and your own. No one reaches out. They did not listen before, and they will not now. You carry on fighting in your isolation, forever seeking an answer to the most frightening of questions - how do you stop the end of everything you hold dear, the annihilation of your people? The few who paid some mind to your so called "prophecies" are little more than fanatics. It lends you little credibility. You are not only an exile, you are a pariah; you are alone and that extends beyond the simulated limitlessness of the infinite forest. You would not admit to it, but you are lonely, too. Time changes you. Confined within these confluxes, doubt takes roots, and you realise your mistakes. No one ever came to apologise to you. But more painfully than that - you have no one to apologise to. Would they give you the chance, if you were to return? Would they even be there at all? Or would everything you failed to prevent have crushed them into nothingness? You must fight on. Time also makes you powerful. You were always amongst the very best, but in the forest you hone your skills into the closest thing your kind has had to godhood. If nothing else, you have faith in yourself. If no one else, you will prevail. Something changes, one day. In the blink of an eye you are lost in the inevitability of the vex's machinations. You lose Sagira, too, for her own good, maybe for good. No matter; you must fight on, you must continue in your mission before the calamity has time to sink in. But another Guardian shows up. They carry the fight where you couldn't. They bring with them Ikora, too, and she seems willing to listen. She invites you to come back - come home. But what you did get back was your little light, and a million more timelines to explore, infinite new questions, and you know there will be no place for you in the City that threw you out. You have become invincible, and with that invincibility comes the wisdom of knowing where you cannot take another blow. You have spent eternity preventing untold histories repeating outside the realm of your control. You have grown skilled at not repeating history. Amongst the people who left you behind - whom you left behind, a little voice that might not always be Sagira's nags in the back of your mind - was the one that you loved most. You would never say, you would never risk it. So when you find out that he did not abandon you at all, but has come on a crusade to get you back -- you don't know what to feel. Joy. Horror. Love. Fear. Only, you don't know what you fear most. And suddenly it feels like your whole life's work has come to exactly this moment. It is now your turn to get him back. It strikes you, all at once, the suffocating loneliness you have endured. The tether to your sanity that was your clear purpose. It terrifies you, the hurt Saint has been subjected to. It terrifies you, too, the purpose that has kept him fighting. You don't know what to make of it. But in the end, you don't have to. You don't succeed. You wouldn't ever let your countless failings eat at you, but this failure is like a dagger through your chest. It is the Guardian, once again, who recovers Saint. Time is funny and cunning like that. You know where to find him. You know you would be welcome back, too, but time has made you see open arms as little more than a cage, a trap waiting to close in on your lungs and crush them. The guilt, most of all, cannot be reasoned with. Saint is good. Saint represents every ounce of Light you wouldn't believe in but cannot help still having faith in, even after all this time. Saint would not see in you the hate that you do. You cannot put him through that. Saint deserves the world, and even in your egotistical confidence you know that you are not it. So you must fight on. For the world that Saint deserves. Sagira, of course, is as always by your side. You don't know how it happens. One moment you are a fury of light in its every shape, and the next you are alone. Truly alone. You had accepted time has finally come for you. You were ready to die. Not... not this. But you must carry on fighting. You have nothing else left. It is once again the Guardian who saves you - this time because you asked. Not to save yourself, but to avenge her. Days and weeks and months pass and all you can do is drown in the fight. You must do it for those you love, so you do not lose any more, even if they will not have you back. The fight takes a different form now, but it is still a fight. You are confined to the City. The place that exiled you, now become prison. All because you dared ask the questions that terrified them! And you paid dearly for it. You are heartbroken and tired and underneath it all you are angry - an anger that bubbles pleasantly to overtake all of the pain. You must not give in to it. You are invincible. This, too, time will heal. So you tell yourself you fight because of love. Your love for the people, your love for this prison-City, your love for Saint. You catch glimpses of people looking at you with pity and it fills you with rage. You cannot escape this anger. It keeps you fighting because you are so, so exhausted, and there is no place for you to rest your head. You have made your loneliness into a way of life. You do not need their pity. You will prevail, as you always have. Sagira might be gone, but you will learn to carry on. You always have, you will prevail. You will fight for those who are hurt - you will not fight just to hurt those who hurt you. That is how it's meant to be. And you are always right. You are the Vanguard Commander's advisor now. It feels like a mockery - the mighty phoenix, now little more than a flightless canary in a gilded cage. You remind yourself these people care about you. That after all this time, and after all of your perceived wrongs, they have taken you back. You remind yourself it is them you fight for, any way you can. It is a slow road back up now that you cannot fly, but you will make it out. You will come out soaring. Victorious. You know it is true; you are always right. You work alongside Lord Saladin. He carries the same exhaustion you are all too familiar with less gracefully than you do. You see him be consumed by countless traumas, you see him for what he is - a shellshocked veteran flailing in resemblance of fight, clinging desperately to a place he used to have in a world that has moved on. He doesn't sleep, doesn't care for himself, his living quarters are a mess. You almost pity him, but you have to stop yourself to laugh at just how similar you are. Saladin is past forgiving. Saladin is past compromise. He has let the hate consume him, make him blind - but in his anger you see him come alive with a fire you know you shall never again harness. Perhaps Saladin is right. Perhaps you were wrong. Perhaps the only way to not give up is to give in.

#destiny the game #season of the chosen #destiny 2 #lord saladin #osiris #destiny osiris #destiny #i have a lot of feelings and all of them hurt #if there is an ounce of potential for angst and pain in something you bet i will latch onto it like the hungriest monke #these two angry assholes? yes #i could have had something wholesome but no #give me the idiots #someone needs to slap some sense into them #at first i hoped osiris would slap some sense into saladin #and honestly? he is well known for playing the long game #he might not be the wisest but he is smart and a good strategist #so maybe this is all just a ploy for osiris to do exactly that #osiris has a voice line i think in presage about saint saying hello #he is not an island #he has a support group #i just really don't think he's actually accepted that whatsoever #maybe he will #or maybe he'll fuck up again he's good at that #tell a man you don't agree with him once and he will go fight literal god all by himself #anyway yes #p a i n o c l o c k