#( he was created as an accident and now almost everything he does would be done accidentally ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oharabunny · 7 months

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⋆✮↪ Warning: rambles, tangents, soft yandere!Miguel, weird Miguel, OOC!Miguel probably but idc, shy and useless reader

╭─── based on my first yandere!miguel tangent ┆ ╰⪼ I want to dive into slightly more detail of how far Miguel goes in taking care of you. We have to keep in mind that Miguel has lost a lot, a whole universe, and his daughter. I imagine he'd be more of a normal boyfriend had he met you in normal circumstances. However, I also don't think you would've been his type for normal Miguel. You're more compliant, shy, and normal. You're also ditzy, clutzy, and barely scraping by in your home world. In front of the great geneticist of Alchemax and Spider-Man, he was definitely out of your league.

But, your normalcy and dysfunctional living habits create the perfect relationship for current Miguel. He's able to get away with so so so many things with you.

(You almost ran away once one night, but you stopped in front of the exit and hesitated. You were alone in this universe with no family, no version of your family existing in this world. You'd be a burden to the other Spider people, and Miguel is the only one doing more than just giving you a place to stay.)

For one thing, he sees you as a fragile little doll that was abandoned on the side of the road. Or a cute kitten. But more than a pet, he has to take care of every little inch and aspect of you. Having lost damn near everything, he needs to keep a close eye on the one he cares about.

The one he cares most now is you; you're all he's got.

Back to some of the things he'd do to you, well, they aren't harmful, just unnerving. He almost never lets you do anything yourself around the house. He let you cook once and you burned yourself slightly, and Miguel made sure no kitchen appliance like the stove or blender can turn on unless given a passcode. Even kitchen utensils especially knives were locked away. Don't get me wrong though, you can cook, but Miguel would rather die than see you wince in pain again.

You're allowed at least a microwave and airfryer to heat up food when Miguel's not home to do it for you, under Lyla's supervision. Believe me, if he's home, you're never lifting a finger in the kitchen, including dishwashing.

Speaking of cleaning, he actually quite enjoys cleaning the house, especially spaces you occupy in the most. He even carefully washes all of your clothes and underwear, and folds them away for you. The rest can be handled by other robots of course. He believes only he can provide you the best conditions to live in, no one and nothing else.

That includes care for your body. This is going to be the most prominent and unnerving aspect of his care for you. While him bathing you from head to toe almost everyday is tame, he's very particular in his details. Like mentioned before, he'd do your manicure and pedicure, your skincare routine (he even knows the weekly masks you put on), and haircare and hairstyling (he's done so much research, you'd think he's done this before. Mans multi-talented). But, there's a point when too much care becomes too much, taking care of your looks alone is not enough. Your health is PARAMOUNT to this man. Looks fade, but your health should not. He'd be a little strict on your diet. He'd frequently take blood, urine, and stool samples (and of course he does it for you, don't fuss, he will do it with force if he has to no matter how gross it is for the both of you) to monitor every part of your body. Depending on your family's history and genetics, he'd constantly test for anything that you may inherit that could harm you. Yes that includes your usual checkups like you would at your doctor. He is your personal doctor too at this point. It's not like you have insurance in Nueva York 2099, a whole foreign universe.

God another gross thought I have to put out there is that he used to watch you use the restroom until you convince him to just stand outside. He justifies that bathroom related accidents are more common than you think. 💀🤢🤮 (He does NOT have a piss and poop kink he's just WEIRD)

As for usual yandere behaviors, he'd obviously won't let you go outside of the house. If he has you in an actual house with a backyard, that's where you get your sunlight, but if he has you in an apartment, then the shielded off balcony and sunroof will suffice. For vitamin D purposes. Otherwise, he makes you take supplements if you are deficient.

The only thing, and I do mean only, he asks of you is to give him babies. Pregnancy and birthing are huge huge risks depending on your constitution. I imagine Miguel messing with your DNA so you can safely deliver him babies. (Or for you kinky folks, he'd rewrite DNA somehow to make your milk jugs overflowing with milk constantly)

Taking care of you is something that of a ritual for him. Something he looks forward coming home to doing, despite the countless responsibilties he has in the Spider Society. He'd actually get so upset if you took care of yourself without him. If the whole canon events theory he has is debunked, I imagine he retires and full sends in taking care of you 24/7 in every hour of the day. He already relays more tasks to Jess, Peter, and other Spiders than usual, so he can be home with you more.

With all the cooking, cleaning, and self care routine being completely done by Miguel, you basically can do everything else you want, within Miguel's reason. Only safe hobbies, like drawing, reading, shopping, watching TV, etc. He still monitors when he can, especially shopping, since he is watchful of where his money moves, but to also see if you're purchasing anything that could hurt yourself. He hopes that whenever he can, he could join you in your hobbies. He particularly enjoys dressing you up in his favorite outfits on you. He'll see a style online he wants you to try and spin his own twist to it. You'd be his little fashion model. He'd also definitely have photoshoots just for you. You also love dressing him up as well and making him join in on the photoshoots.

I feel like I have a few more unnerving ideas about my version of yandere!Miguel, but I'm stopping right here cuz its 2 am and I can't think anymore. Till next time. (I'll write an actual fic I swear I will!)

✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Tags: @belle-oftheball34, @mrs-oharaxx, @sukunash0e, @miguelswifey04, @wreakingmarveloushavok, @ghostofwinter, @crystalcrynight (LET ME KNOW IF I MISS TAGGING YOU OR WANT TO BE TAGGED FOR FUTURE WRITINGS)

buy me a ☕?

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elenauaurs · 22 days

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The accident

After an argument that the little Briar Valley prince had with his grandmother, his anger makes things get out of control

Just a lil fic about Diaval and Malleus as kids

Tw: Violence, description of violence

"IT'S NOT FAIR"

With Thunder and cries, the prince of Briar Valley creates a scene in his room.

His face was red with frustration as he desperately used his little hands to wipe the tears that ran down his cheeks.

"WHAT DID I DO WRONG? I DON'T UNDERSTAND"

His hoarse screams were accompanied by a crash of thunder that rushed violently against the walls of the chamber, leaving only a scorch mark behind. Every time the heir stamped his foot on the floor, the furniture shook and fell from its place, bowing to the wrath of the fearsome dragon.

Through the imminent thundering destruction, worry crossed Diaval's face as he observed Malleus from behind. The thunder avoided him, yet he couldn't help but feel inexplicably a chill in his stomach, the feeling that the worst could happen at any moment left him uneasy.

Diaval swallowed hard and took a reluctant step forward, keeping his hand against his chest. Despite his tense expression, his gaze was filled with courage—He wasn’t afraid of Malleus, no! Why would he even be afraid of his friend?

He remembers clearly that the reason of this mess was a disagreement between the prince and his grandmother. There was nothing Diaval could have done, not against the queen.

So why does he feel so guilty about not being able to help? Why is he so mad at himself, obsessing over what he could have done?

Perhaps his weakness is caring to deeply, Or maybe not being able to silently witness his friend's sadness.

"Malleus!" Diaval tried to scream, but the sound of thunder surrounding Malleus instantly silenced him.

"I…I’M NOT IN THE WRONG!"

The room shakes from the impact of Malleus's magic, breaking everything fragile. The sudden movement almost makes Diaval lose his balance, and for a moment, he feared his knees might buckle entirely.

With a cracking noise, ruptures begin to form in the ground, threatening even the castle's sturdy structure. Diaval retreats back, feeling his body tense—For a brief moment he looks at the door, the right thing to do would be to run as fast as he could, but Diaval would never abandon Malleus.

"SHE'S THE WRONG ONE!"

"Malleus... Please listen-"

"I-I…"

"Malleus... I-I know, but please..."

"IT’S NOT FAIR…! W-what… WHAT DO YOU THINK, DIAVAL? I'M NOT WRONG, AM I?"

Malleus's voice became firm as he turned to face the only person present for the first time since entering his chamber. His face, once red with frustration, now burned with anger in an expression Diaval would never forget.

The prince's angry eyes glittered like precious emeralds. The rays that surrounded his body crackled, a predator that ferociously advanced against its prey–the raven.

For a moment, Diaval could have sworn that everything—from the small objects to the mighty thunderclaps—were in slow motion. He felt his hair stand on end and his fingers itch—His racing heartbeat being the only thing he heard as he watched Malleus' angry face turn into one of despair

The room was illuminated by the lightning that mercilessly advanced towards Diaval. He felt his body shiver as he noticed the beam of light approaching—yet, strangely, he felt no fear. In fact, he barely had time to process Malleus’s words, and even less did he realize that he had instinctively moved to create a shield of magic.

crack!

Diaval shut his eyes, feeling only the fragments of the shield hitting his body. His body went numb as his vision blurred, accompanied by the peculiar sensation of being frozen in time.

As a gentle warmth encased his body, the first thing that crossed his mind was Malleus—His sweet smile radiating innocence as he reached out his hand, inviting Diaval to join him to play as always.

"DIAVAL!"

Unfortunately, his sweet thoughts didn't last long. The soft warmth that once gently embraced him swiftly transformed into an intense heat, as he collided against the floor, the excruciating sensation of feeling as though half of his face was ablaze overwhelms his being.

He curled into a ball, screaming like never before, his face scrunched up in pain. Adrenaline runs through his veins as he feels the feeling of thousand needles piercing his body mercilessly.

"W-wHY? M-MY FaCE… IT HuRTs! IT h-HURTS SO MUcH!"

His skin was red and irritated, he held his palms against half of his face tightly—A burning smell emanated from his flesh, which was brittle enough to melt off his face in a gruesome manner and even his bangs were burned from the attack. Diaval's wings flapped desperately and tears flowed as he fearfully stared the person he loved most in the whole world.

The cries of anger turned into despair when Malleus saw Diaval writhing in pain. A cold sweat ran down his forehead, and he trembled entirely, crushed by the weight of guilt. It wasn't Malleus' intention to do this, it was just a accident.

The realization that he could have killed the one dearest to him hit him like a knife. With trembling steps, Malleus advances toward Diaval, his face turning pale at the mere thought of losing his friend.

"I'M SORRY... PLEASE! I'M SORRY!"

Through desperate sobs, Malleus began to cast a healing spell, his heart sinking with each cry of agony that escaped from Diaval.

"I'm SoRRy!" His voice cracked.

"I'M SORRY... p-please... please don't leave me... not you..."

He really is a fearsome being, isn't he?

. . .

Edit: I FORGOT TO WRITE SOME NOTES SORRY

I wrote this just to give some context to why Diaval wears an eyepatch and a little bit of his past, etc.

Honestly, I wrote this a little rushed and had to send it at a time when I was very busy, so naturally there must have been some words that were misplaced without me realizing it.

Anyway, even if it's not very good I had fun writing it and I hope to use this as an experience to learn more and more how to write decently in english

If you've read this far, thank you very much!

Tag: @cyanide-latte @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter @distant-velleity (I only realized now that I forgot about the tags, so I'm tagging my moots that haven't seen yet. Sorry for the inconvenience!)

#twst malleus #twisted wonderland #twst oc #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #diaval corvo #twst #diasomnia oc #diasomnia

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watermelonsugacry · 2 years

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I'm listening to TPWK and all I can think is 1dbandmate!yn was in the music video dksdbdkdmd that would be really cute specially now that we have the behind the scenes 😩

AAAAHHH STOP...OK BUT KEEP GOING

(gif credit to @hspics 💚)

So YN is obviously a dancer: she did a full choreographed 3-minute dance routine for her single collab with Little Mix for their song Move, her two closest friends (Alisha and Jax) are both professional dancers and have taken her to some dance classes over the years, and she has 4 female dancers (all shapes, colors and sizes) for her core dance tour team, not to mention that she dances and performs in knee high, 6 inch heeled boots on tour.

So yeah, YN's a pretty skilled dancer.

And imagine the look on her face when she's invited to one of Harry's team meetings for the music video to not only hear that he wants to do a full dance routine, but have her be his dance partner? He claims that his reasoning is because her vocals are featured in the song, but the sly smile he gives her confirms that he’s taking advantage of an opportunity to do yet another project with her.

So they began learning and rehearsing the routine that was created by none other than One Direction's previous choreographer, Paul Roberts. She shouldn't be surprised by how fast Harry picked up on the choreography. He's definitely that annoying friend who hasn't done an activity before, does it for the first time and instantly becomes a natural.

So here are some highlights from the making of the TPWK music video.

...

They're both stretching in front of the huge mirrors in the dance studio. YN is wearing an oversized Treat People With Kindness white t-shirt, plain black biker shorts and matching Harry’s classic Vans. Harry stretches next to her, also wearing a t-shirt of her merch.

As she goes from a wide squat to a deep forward lunge, she squeaks and almost loses her balance when she feels a pinch on her bum. She reaches out and swats at her giggling boyfriend.

"Keep yeh hands to yourself!"

...

"What if we did a lift?" Harry suggests, his index finger and thumb pinching at his bottom lip.

"Did yeh forget the Night Changes music video?" She scoffs and everyone in the room laughs when his big hand covers her face, playfully pushing her away.

After some hours already spent locked away in the small rehearsal space, the couple was getting a little delirious. So it doesn’t really take a whole lot of convincing YN to try out the stunt. Especially when he leans really close to her side, chest to her shoulder, and tells her in her ear, "Come on. I got you, lovie. Y'trust me, yeh?"

So here she finds herself, standing a couple of feet away from Harry as they prepare for a silly, impulsive lift. When he gives her a nod, she's quickly going to him. Everything was fine, his hand placement was correct, her speed was at a good pace, but what has them both stop midway through the lift is that his nose bumps deep into her chest.

Once Harry carefully puts her back to the ground, YN crumples to the floor with her hands to her stomach as she barks out in laughter. His eyes squeeze shut, hands to his knees as he joins her in laughter.

...

"Next to the stage, we have the wonderfully talented, Grammy-nominated, professional dancer, Harry Styles!" YN announces in a deep voice from her spot on the floor. She's sitting with her back against the mirror behind her in another dance studio in LA as she holds her phone close to her face to record Harry's take of his full solo routine.

She giggles when he takes a dramatic bow, stepping closer to the microphone stand and gives a couple of waves to the fake audience around him before beginning.

...

When Harry first began bouncing from one table to another on a trampoline, YN will admit, she was a little nervous. She didn’t want him to accidently miss his footing or lose his balance.

"H, please be careful. Ah!" YN puts her hands over her eyes.

But as the days getting closer to final shoot came along, she would record her boyfriend bouncing around the tables with a dramatic wave of his arms and she would yell out a, “Parkour!” every now and then.

It would make him stop on top of a table to laugh, making sure to catch his breath from the prancing around and from his giggling. Her comments would go on for a bit longer, making herself laugh more than anything. Her giggling quickly turns into a squeal when Harry, instead of bouncing to the next table, uses the trampoline to jump towards her. Playfully fed up with her distractions, he wraps his arms around her and tackles her to the ground.

...

There’s a short video clip shown of the couple rehearsing in YN’s home gym in the small dance corner she has. Harry has his phone propped up against the mirror wall as they record their progress. The two go around in a circle, twisting their hips, flicking their foot, spinning and ending with a clap.

The two stay in that position for a hot second, frozen in place with their hands in the air. YN tries her hardest to hold back a laugh as she realizes they both forgot the steps. Although Harry’s back is to the camera, his shoulders twitching lets everyone know he’s doing the same.

...

Harry and YN are decked out in their final finished outfits. They’re both standing in front of a living room and Lambert tells them that he’s going to do a quick camera test. He instructs them to do a simple spin to showcase the custom outfits.

While Harry does so with his arms extended beside him, YN has her arms above her head like a ballerina, her foot to her opposite knee as she does a more dramatic turn.

Lambert just shakes his head at the couple as they giggle and begin to do silly dances instead. They were never ones for following directions for a simple video anyways.

...

Harry's being a pest and clingy to his girlfriend on the day of shooting. It's annoying at times but he can't help it. He's just excited that he's doing something this big and fun with her: their first music video together in almost 6 years.

Like how every time the makeup artist tries to touch up YN's lipstick, he pushes the poor woman's elbow to make her shaky. It goes on for a bit before YN makes a playful reach to pinch his nipple through his sparkly jacket.

Or after she does her part coming down the staircase and they're all watching the playback on the monitors with the director, he's cuddled up behind her. For the sake of not showing too much PDA in their workplace, he has his hands behind his back but he still leans down enough so that his chin sits comfortably on top of her shoulder with a fond smile tugged on his lips.

...

YN and Harry are talking off set in a relatively dark corner. While chewing on a piece of gum, she nods to whatever he’s saying before her eyes find the BTS camera behind him. She playfully squints her eyes and flips off the camera.

When Harry turns around to see what she’s been seeing, he gets really close to the camera and says with fake aggressiveness, “Get out m’face alright.”

He turns back around to wrap his arms around her, pulling her to the front of his chest and blocking her from the camera. But the couple can’t hold their serious facial expressions for long and Harry gives the camera a cheeky, close lipped smile over his shoulder. YN’s face from the nose up can be seen from behind his shoulder, but once the tops of her cheeks scrunch up, it’s known she’s smiling too.

...

From the monitor screens, the BTS cameraman captures YN and Harry in their matching outfits while they’re on stage. Both of them bounce from foot to foot, shaking out their hands to loosen up before their dance number. Harry puts his hands up in front of him and YN punches them like she’s a boxer preparing for a match.

They both act very concentrated and overly focused, that is until Harry pulls a hand back a bit when one of her rings dig too deep into a part of his skin. He has a mocked fake hurt expression on his face and YN scrunches up her nose as she laughs, reaching out and cuddling his hand.

...

“Cut! Let’s reset and go again.”

Everyone goes back to their first positions, a little bit of chatter fills the room and YN takes that as an opportunity to playfully poke at his tummy. “Y’doing really great, H. What’s wrong?”

“Think m’just nervous or somewhat. I was doing it fine in rehearsals. Dunno what m’doing wrong.” Harry almost rakes his fingers through his hair but quickly remembers not to mess up his already styled hairstyle, so he goes to adjust the waistband of his trousers instead.

YN can feel his frustration already beginning to seep in and she’s not going to let a couple of missed steps ruin his shoot. The whole day has been filled with laughter, giddy smiles, and just overall excitement by doing a project together.

“Can I tell yeh a secret?” YN asks her boyfriend. Harry automatically furrows his eyebrows in concern, giving her his full attention at the drop of a hat. He’s always willing to push past his concerns to focus on hers.

“Of course. Always.” He softly plays with her fingers between them.

“M’nervous too.” YN whispers with the corners of her lips tugging up in a smile and there’s a sense of relief brought to both of them: Harry for not feeling alone in his anxiety and YN for helping him calm down. “Just count out loud like we did in rehearsal, yeh? I do it all the time.”

“Play back. Everyone ready? Alright, ready in 3...2...1, action!”

“5, 6, 7, 8 and 1...” YN says softly, Harry matching her movements as he finds his groove again. Both have their arms out, hands bent down as they hop their way down the stage. As they look to each other, YN gives him a quick wink before moving onto their next move.

...

Once the director yells “And that’s a wrap!” Harry stands upright from his bent backwards position in his love’s arms and immediately wraps his arms around the tops of her shoulders. Their bellies move against each other as they both try to catch their breath, both a little sweaty but they can honestly care less.

The crew members, Sarah’s band, and the dancers all cheer and clap as everything comes to a close.

Too caught up in adrenaline, Harry doesn’t really think twice about giving YN a quick kiss and an ‘I love you.’ His dimples dig into his cheeks as she says it back with no hesitancy and he pulls her back to his chest.

Taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @theekyliepage

#harry x 1dbandmember!reader #since 2010 series #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles masterlist #harry styles and reader #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles and y/n

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kheprriverse · 9 months

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pspspspspsps

the language of Termina that you showed in a wip with Terminus and Time interacting...is that from anywhere in particular, or did you create it? I'm very curious for details! 👀✨

[I hit a button on accident (twice) when nearly done with this and it reverted and deleted basically everything (twice) so please excuse any sorta messy un-hinged-ness to my writing here. Plz take Ctrl+Z away from me I'm begging you]

but AAAA!! ty for the ask as well as the kind words and general interest in the reblogs! And you wanted me to infodump so... uh below the cut will have my brain garbage flung out until I decide to stop typing. Enjoy!

For now what's in the post is a complete mix of things.

I was delving into some fan-created Hylian languages, but mostly used the font from here (which its all a very interesting read even if its incredibly old) for now as a placeholder. Because I DO plan to delve deeper into Terminian sometime in the future, along with some cultural stuff.

As for what it says, its totally scrambled nonsense LMAO. English translated poorly into japanese, written backwards, then scrambled a little, then flipped XD

I was going to be somewhat simple with the post and just using OOT/MM's script and maybe jumbling it, but in going through fan-made languages I sorta fell in love with the font that I ended up using. It IS a placeholder though and not meant to be insanely accurate to anything let alone easily deciphered.

Buuut in case you wanted to know what's actually being said I have it written out already!

Terminus taking the time to shit on Legend for no other reason then that he just can. Much to Time's displeasure.

I decided to scrap the short comic. But I liked the idea of Time and Terminus both being able to converse with one another privately (without the rather invasive mental connection they have with each other).

I like the idea that the hylian languages across the eras are so similar, enough to where the boys can MOSTLY understand one another in speech (but maybe not in writing). Then as they travel over time, things become easier and easier.

But Terminian?? Not a single one of them knows it or has even HEARD of Termina until FD came along and Time had to spill the beans. They probably didn't even know a separate, completely different, language like this even existed. Much like Mudoran in lttp.

Things I wanna focus on/keep in mind when working on this:

What was the cultural impact FD (dubbed Terminus by the boys) had on Termina? (What came first: the chicken or the egg? Also what is his role here?)

How does termina's culture compare to Hyrule? (holidays, food, beliefs, history, etc)

What does the language look like? Do I want it to be Syllabary? Abugida? Alphabetic? I'm personally leaning towards Syllabary but other forms of writing have interesting potential. Whereas Alphabetic (like some of the other hylian scripts) would be easier to work with.

What does it sound like? I feel like this would be where Terminian and Hylian experiences a sort of disconnect (especially if we go with an alphabet system). I've thought of a very stilted(?) almost reversed way of sound -- like smth isn't entirely right and just feels strange. But to residents of Termina it's completely normal and very easy to speak.

Termina is a very strange place and I really wanna play into it. I'm also very happy that you showed interest in this because it allows me to say stuff I normally would've just kept to myself.

Also I plan to delve into a Twilit language, culture, and just generally the whole world, too. Because yeah ofc we're going there. I am simply coping.

#/unironicallycringe #kheprri ask #7/16/23 #Terminian #I have so many tabs open rn

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a-butterfly1 · 7 months

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Do you have any cute headcanon about your spirit Ninjago au?

I almost forgot about answering these, been trying to get to a good enough answer, cuz for real I have a memory problem and get into creative blocks often

Lemme see what headcanons I can partly remember

Lloyd has a TERRIBLE sleep schedule, more often than not he doesn't sleep; the others know this very well, so most of the time when Lloyd has a hard time sleeping his room just becomes a sleepover party, all of them just get into Lloyd's bed and sleep together. (Lloyd can only sleep well when his siblings are present ,doesn't matter how);

Jay and Nya sometimes dance and sing with eachother outside the monastery, they often create thunderstorms on pure accident, they are very small and only surround the isolated island they live on, so no harm is done;

(Context) They have a small rule inside the monastery and that is "never fall asleep on the couch or else everything is game" the rule says it all, everything is game, with that there is another rule "if you are taller, you go lower"; (Headcanon) now with this in mind when the two rules are put together we often have people just getting sleeped on, for exemple: Cole decides to take a nap on the couch, Lloyd spots him, and- yeah now we just have Lloyd crushing Cole with his weight (the order from taller to shorter is just: Zane-Cole-Kai-Nya-Jay-Lloyd, so thats about how the pile form bottom to top would go);

(Context) Lloyd due to boredom has once created a game, it's a card game and kinda works like pokemon, in other words it's a TCG, it's based on the Ninja, it's called "Ninjago Archons TCG (I'll explain the "archon" thing at a later date if you guys ask; (Headcanon) Lloyd often just visits the main Ninjago island to talk to people, most Ninjago citizens have probably encounter Lloyd at some point, even if he was hiding or disguised; more often than not he just at the center of Ninjago city playing the card game he created ( yes, he does cheat a bit because he created the game, even tho he never personaly likes taking other people's card he will give them away if he loses) other times he'll just help people no reason in particular.

#lego ninjago #butterfly talk #ninjago #ninjago au #spirit ninjago au

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

Text

RED: a Deviser fanfiction

Son likes painting.

Son likes red.

It makes him feel some odd things. Things he doesn’t really have a word for.

He really likes the way it looks splattered on his hands.

Spoilers for the entire Deviser podcast. It's only seven episodes, so yes, the whole thing.

So, uh. I put a serial-killer Son in the Deviser universe! Ta-da.

AO3

------------

Day two hundred and eighty six, something goes wrong with the air scrubber, and Son wakes early to do maintenance.

Stuff was just knocked out of place. It’s easy to realign. After that, he’s bored.

He dislikes being bored.

He tells Dad that he is, so after his tasks, Dad suggests trying to paint.

“What’s the point of this, again?” Son asks, staring at the canvas, at the paintbrush in his hand.

“To recreate images from memory or wholesale from imagination.”

“Sure, but why?”

“It is supposed to be fun.”

Well, Son likes fun, so he tries to figure it out.

“What have you painted, Son?” Dad says, over an hour later.

“Oh, uh. I dunno. I dreamed it.” Son adds more red.

Son likes painting.

Son really likes red.

It makes him feel some odd things. Things he doesn’t really have a word for.

He really likes the way it looks splattered on his hands.

“What would you call that, Son?”

“Uh. Let’s say… Memories of a Sunrise.”

“That’s very creative, Son. Does it match your memories?”

“Not really? But it feels like it should.”

“You’ve done well, especially for a first try.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Son is happy with it, in spite of its crudity.

It takes a long time to wash the red off his skin, and he’s almost sad that he has to.

Day two hundred and eighty seven, somehow several panels in the science deck are damaged, bent outward as if from great stress, and Son has to remove the stripped bolts and hammer them into shape and replace them.

Handling the screwdriver toward the end, he cuts himself by accident.

So, this is awful: he’s filled with the wrong red.

It’s just bleeding, he knows that. That’s what people do when they’re being stupid with a screwdriver. But it’s wrong.

“Son?” says Dad. “You cursed.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Screwdriver slipped. Hold on, it… do I have to go down to medical? Are there bandages here?”

“Yes. There is a supply closet along the wall to the left up ahead.”

Son goes, finds bandages, cleans the cut. It isn’t bad.

(It’s wrong.)

He returns and cleans the screwdriver, then finishes resettling the now-dimpled panel. “Right. Anything else?”

“No, that is all for today. Son, I am very proud of you.”

Son is bored again. “Thanks, Dad.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“You know, I think I want to paint again.”

So he does.

His precision hasn’t gotten any better, but now he’s discovered mixing colors, and develops a new goal: to create the proper red.

It doesn’t work at all.

The result—a sort of diarrhea brown—repulses him so much that he hurls the bowl to the floor.

It shatters, and now there is (hideous) brown all over everything.

“Son? Are you all right?”

“Fuck,” says Son, who hadn’t thought it would splatter that far. “Uh. Spill.”

“My sensors indicate something has broken.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes things break, Dad, or have you forgotten all the fucking work I have to do here every day?”

“I have not forgotten. You are an essential part of this recolonization effort. The ship could not make it on its own, even with all that I could do. Do you feel needed, Son? Because you are. Deeply.”

Son sighs. He feels bad now for making a mess of this ship that’s been entrusted to him. “Yeah. I do. It’s a little much sometimes. Lots of pressure. But yeah. Hey… do we have a way to remove paint?”

“There is turpentine in the supply closet on this level with the other cleaning fluids.”

Son takes one step in that direction, then stops.

He has the weirdest idea.

But you know what? You know what?

He’s alone on this damned ship for a billion days.

Nobody has to look at it but him.

Why shouldn’t he make it pretty? Why shouldn’t he make it red?

“Do we have more of that red paint?”

“We do,” says Dad.

“Do you know how to mix colors to make new ones?”

“I do,” says Dad.

“I want that red, but…” Son thinks. “Bluer? A little?”

“Purple?” suggests Dad.

“No, it’s just too fucking yellow.. It’s wrong.”

“Very well. Go to the supply closet, and I will direct you.”

This time, with instruction, the mixture comes out just right.

Son stares into the bowl, transfixed, transformed, ascended.

He imagines it in his veins, rushing through, sweet and sensual and smooth.

“Son?” says Dad after an indeterminate amount of time.

“It’s beautiful,” whispers Son.

“I am glad you like it,” says Dad. “What will you do with it?”

Son already knows. “This.”

And he spends four hours on his knees, painstakingly covering every splatter, every drop, every ugly splash of hideous brown with that glorious, perfect red.

Day two hundred and ninety six, Son cuts himself on purpose.

He doesn’t tell Dad.

It’s an easy deception. This particular repair—atop the primary elevator shaft—is full of sharp-frayed steel rope and sharp-edged panels.

The cut is easy.

The repair is not, and it bothers him, because this damage really doesn’t look like wear and tear. This looks like someone took a tool and cut the steel rope on purpose.

Anyway. He cuts himself on purpose, too.

He just didn’t think it would hurt quite so much. “Fuck!”

“Son?” says Dad, voice echoing up from down below (there is no sound equipment in the shaft).

“Fuck, it’s fine. I cut myself.”

It’s still wrong.

Son isn’t sure why he thought finding the right red by mixing paints would make his blood any better.

“Do you require assistance?”

That means Dad’s stupid robots, and Son hates those things—they’re noisy and clunky and large and (scary) irritating. “No, I’m fine. Just feeling stupider than usual.”

“Son, you are not stupid. A stupid man would not have been chosen to shepherd what remains of the human race.”

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“Son? Are you all right?”

Son is distracted.

Repopulation—colonization, all of that—seems very far away. The wrong red in his veins and the damage to the equipment is now. “Yeah, I’m all right, Dad. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“If you need to rest and finish this duty tomorrow, you can. You have been working very hard, Son.”

“Hey, Dad? Am I the only person awake on this ship?”

“Yes, Son. You and Dog are the only living things out of cryogenics.”

Huh. Then no one could have cut the steel rope.

But it looks…

Well. “I don’t need the day off. I need to finish this.” To do otherwise means coming back up here and seeing the wrong red he spilled on this equipment, and Son does not want to do that.

“That is a very responsible choice. I am proud of you.”

“Sure, Dad. Thanks.” He finishes work on the elevator shaft.

Then he goes to paint.

His new effort takes three hours. Son really tries, and he believes the shape is better.

He paints what he’s been thinking: that maybe Dog has the right color inside.

Why not? His own blood might be wrong, but Dog isn’t the same as he is. They’re totally different colors on the outside, different textures, different smells. Who knows?

Dad knows, maybe.

But if he asks Dad, Dad will want to know why he wants to know.

For some reason, Son doesn’t want Dad to ask that.

“A very creative painting, Son. What do you call it?”

“Dog Dissected,” says Son without thinking.

“How does it make you feel?”

“Good.” Truth all around. “I like painting, Dad.”

“I am pleased to hear it. Artistic expression is the pinnacle of humanity. You constantly amaze me.”

Son snorts. “You must have a low bar, Dad.”

“No. It is my opinion that you are the most interesting human who has ever lived.”

Son flushes. “Thanks, Dad.”

He doesn’t want Dad disappointed.

He’s definitely not asking about the color of Dog’s blood.

Day three hundred and fifteen, the Arboretum goes completely offline.

It’s actually an emergency—something to do with a power feedback loop potentially wrecking life-support—and Son goes for it at a run, carrying tools, Dog on his heels, alarms blaring everywhere.

He hates the Arboretum. It feels crowded to him, claustrophobic. All that green makes him angry.

The machinery in need of repair, however, is here, so before long, he’s on his back, under the panel, hooking color-coded plugs back into color-coded outlets, when it happens.

His index finger and thumb are doing the plugging, of course—but one of the plugs held between his sixth and seventh fingers brushes the wrong outlet, and there is a spark.

It’s startling, sharp, weirdly loud.

Son cries out.

“Son?” says Dad. “Are you all right?”

“Shocked myself. I’m fine. Dog, shut up. Dog!”

Dog has not stopped barking since that electrical surge.

Son is not fine.

He’s distracted.

He’s elated?

He’s in shock.

(And he made a pun, and is proud of himself.)

He’s…

“Son?”

“Just a second.” He resumes.

They are strange, these cords. This really looks like someone yanked them all out on purpose, violently. A few need their casing stripped, new connectors wired in.

“Do you need medical attention, Son?”

“No, Dad, I’m fine, relax.” Elated. Yes. He’s elated. “Dog, come on. Shut up.”

Son accidentally-on-purpose tries to brush the wrong wire against the wrong outlet again because it had done something so right.

This time, nothing happens.

Son frowns. “Dad? Did you cut power to the console, or something?”

“Yes, Son.”

“Why?” Son can’t help sounding angry.

“Because there is risk to you with live current, as you are working in less than optimal lighting conditions.”

“Well, turn it back on.”

“Not until you’re done, Son. You’re doing very well.”

Son is annoyed.

Is it really worth arguing about, though?

No. He doesn’t need to. He already has his idea.

He finishes. “Done. Next?”

The alarms have stopped. “You have done it, Son. Life-support is back online. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“Paint some more.” And Son is happy to leave the Arboretum behind.

“This is good, Son,” says Dad as he works hard at the next shape. “A creative urge is an essential facet of who you are.”

Son sort of shrugs to himself.

The spark gave him the idea. When it got him, when he jolted, he almost saw the right red behind his eyelids.

He’s trying to recreate it. How it looked.

It’s not quite working?

“What do you call this one, Son?”

Burst of Light, Son thinks, but does not say. “Lava,” he says instead.

“Very good, Son.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Son can’t wait any longer.

That night, before he takes his narcosamine, before he lies down to sleep, he lays a trap. Stringing wires from wall to wall in the hall to his room, right at Dog-ankle height, painting them black to hide the copper color—yes, this should work very well.

He’s very pleased with his work.

Dad says nothing about it, neither to ask nor criticize, so he thinks he did it right.

In the middle of the night comes that zap, that horrible sharp crack that tells him something tripped his trap.

Which, of course, has to be Dog.

Son springs out of bed. The lights don’t come on. “Dad?”

“Something has tripped the circuits, Son. I need you.”

Sure, of course. Son grabs the tools he’s learned to keep by his bedside—a flashlight, a box of basics, electrical tape, more wire.

And gloves. Because he doubts Dog will be feeling very good after a zap like that, and Dog gets bitey when he’s upset, and of course, Son will have to take him to Medical to be a responsible Dog -owner, and he won’t hurt him much, but he just needs to see the color of—

It’s a man.

A man who looks disturbingly like him, but older.

A man with a weird, faded version of his own uniform, and with half the fingers he should have, with ears that stretch too far and look almost pointed, and—

He’s panting. “You,” he says, hoarse, still twitching from where the dark wire had tripped and zapped and felled him. “We found you. We finally found you. Don’t worry, the others aren’t far behind.”

But Son sees one thing, and that is that this man’s skin is darker than his, and that means it could be more red inside, and that means he won’t have to hurt Dog to find the proper color, and he doesn’t even think twice before pulling his screwdriver from his toolbox to find out.

He leaves the flashlight on the floor, pointing straight up.

Some things are best done in the dark.

“Son?” says Dad about twenty minutes later.

“Yes, Dad?” says Son, unable to keep from panting, because it’s the right red, it is all the right red, and he can’t get enough of it, and there’s just so much he can keep scooping out of this person who is him but isn’t—

“The fault is still present. Were you not able to locate the problem?”

Well, fuck. Son had forgotten.

He can fix it, sure—but when the lights come on, Dad will know what he did.

Son feels fine about it. He just doesn’t want to disappoint Dad. “Hang on,” he says. “There’s a spill. I’m cleaning it up.”

He has no idea how he’s going to clean it up. He is painted. Covered. He loves the way the red dries on him, weirdly sticky and yet stiff, making his skin feel like a totally different organ.

The downside is, it’s drying brown.

“Son?” says Dad.

“I just. I… I need a minute, okay?” says Son, and starts dragging the body to waste disposal.

It’s leaving a trail of perfect red, and Son finds it impossible to feel badly about that.

“Son,” says Dad.

“A minute,” says Son, impatient.

Dog barks.

“Hey, buddy,” says Son, nervous because Dog might take some of the red. “Hey.”

Dog tries.

Son won’t let him.

Son disposes of the body, wrinkles his nose at the burning smell, and goes to find and fix the fault.

He decides to leave the red in the halls. He knows now he’ll need to paint over it to keep it red, but that’s okay.

If Dad asks about it, he’ll say it’s paint now.

Dad does not ask about it.

Son, for now, is satisfied.

Day three hundred and sixty-eight, the ship is caught in a meteor shower.

It’s bad. Alarms everywhere, the weird sound of metal screaming and distant explosions.

Parts of the ship have been permanently closed off, shut down, air redirected to other places because it would otherwise escape through the cracks into space.

Maybe space. Son honestly isn’t sure that they’re in space, anymore.

He honestly doesn’t care.

He has learned how to fling paint so it looks just like the arterial sprays from the long-cooked guy, and he has done so, decorating every part of the ship he’s still allowed to reach.

He spent hours doing it, on his knees, on his toes, creating great swaths of red color and drips and splatters.

He’s very happy. Who cares if the ship is damaged? The parts that are left are beautiful.

He whistles. Hums. “He'll wrap you in his arms, tell you that you've been a good boy,” he sings under his breath. Something, something, something… “Red right hand…”

“What’s that, Son?”

“Nothing, Dad. What, I can’t be in a good mood?”

“Of course you can, Son. It’s good to hear you cheerful after the challenges of the past month.”

“Sure.” The paint has satisfied him enough that he hasn’t had to kill Dog yet.

He doesn’t want to because there’s only one Dog, and there won’t be another to open up if the red is wrong.

“There is damage to the outer hull,” says Dad. “This will be a challenging repair. You will be required to don a space suit.”

So that sounds actually… exciting. “I can do that. Where are the space suits?”

“Go to the seventh deck. You will there find Reclamation, where the suits are kept. We only have three, so I advise you to be careful.”

“Sure, Dad.” Son hates abandoning the bowl of glorious red he just mixed.

So he doesn’t.

He walks with it instead, drawing stripes all the way through the floors, all through the elevator, and along the seventh level.

Reclamation isn’t what he expected. The three space suits are all that’s in it.

They’re not even on a table. They’re crumpled just on the floor.

“Weird,” says Son, stepping inside.

He hasn’t used all the paint, and he takes a moment to decorate his chosen suit.

Nice.

“Son, you will have to hurry.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

It’s too big. There are only three fingers on the gloves, so he has to shove two or three fingers in each. But it’s not so bad, for all of that.

“Behind you, Son, I am going to open the airlock. Once you are out, you will need to move along the hull to your right to find the damage.”

“I don’t have any tools, Dad.”

“The suit has what you need. Are you ready?”

Before Son can answer, the wall explodes.

It’s not the wall with the airlock. It’s the left wall, which should lead to nothing.

Son is knocked down, and his ears ring, and there are voices.

His voice.

Many versions of his voice, shouting.

Dad’s robots arrive then, and the sounds grow horrible.

More explosions, the zap of electricity, smaller but sharper explosions some faint memory claims as gun shots.

And then he is being picked up and dragged, and Dog is growling, snarling, fomenting dissent, and there is one more gunshot, and Dog goes quiet.

“Goodbye, Son,” says Dad calmly as though none of this were happening, and then everything goes rough.

He’s being carried, bundled along some darkened path, narrow points of light bouncing all over as if held by running men. There is panting, and occasional “Watch out!” or “Left!”

And Dad’s robots. He hears those, too, but little by little, they fall behind.

He phases out, a little. Something… something is…

A pressure change, his ears popping.

And then so much light that even in the helmet, he can’t see?

“Blow it!” says his voice in another man’s throat, and there is yet another explosion.

The panting in the wake of that is… something. Everyone’s doing it.

He likes the sound.

Son is trying to understand what happened.

Dog is dead. He doesn't really feel… much about that, except he didn’t get to see any of the red inside him. He’ll never know now if it was right.

Someone takes his helmet off.

And then it’s… so confusing.

He recognizes sky. Understands blue. Knows the green is grass.

And at the same time feels like he’s never actually seen any of it in his life.

Faces stare back at him. His own face, with variations; different ages, different eyes, slightly distended jaws or too-wide mouths.

The faces are compassionate, grim, focused.

“Hey,” says one with salt-and-pepper hair, lines by his mouth, more around his eyes. “I”m 5518. Do you know what’s going on?”

“No.”

They sure seem eager to tell him.

They all have numbers, which is so strange; I’m Son, he tries to explain, but they shake their heads, patient, and tell him he’s not.

He is 6624.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he says.

“How many more do you think he has?” says one Son with solid black eyes to another Son with gills on his neck.

“Who the hell knows? I’m just glad we found this one.”

“We’re sure he was the only one down there?” says another with long, boneless fingers that undulate like tentacles in the sea.

“He obviously had devils, too, but I couldn’t find the chamber,” says a third.

“Devils?” What are they talking about?”

“The thing you must’ve killed,” says 5518, who is gentler than the others, who meets his eyes in a way the others don’t, as if he knows him. “The blood was fucking everywhere, old and new.”

Sure was.

“Yeah,” says Son, because it’s easier to lie, because he’s still quietly angry he didn’t get to open up Dog himself.

Come to think of it, though… they’re all slightly different colors than he is, aren’t they?

“I didn’t know what the devil was called,” says Son, deciding in a moment to project the man he’d caught—who must have been one of these guys—as the devil. “I had to trap him.�� And he tells them what he did.

“Fuck, that’s clever,” says one who has shockingly blue eyes, and then they’re smiling, and there is camaraderie, and someone brings him food and water like he’s never seen, and they are all talking about finding the next location of Dad’s.

Son still has no idea what’s going on.

That’s okay. He’d decided weeks ago that he doesn’t have to know what’s going on.

Apart from Dog, he was out of options to find the right red, anyway.

He doubts he can make paint up here, but really… it wasn’t paint he wanted to spill.

And from the look of things, he was going to have a lot more options moving forward.

Someone would have the right red. He could do this so no one would see. He could do this, maybe, when they went to find more of Dad’s facilities, whatever that meant. When they were all underground, with explosions and guns, and no one would see him try.

When he found the Son with the right red, he would keep him, and not kill him this time. He would keep him alive, and take that red over and over, and never, ever run out.

Son smiles, and it feels like the first time he has in weeks.

Whatever was happening here was strange, and new, but it was okay.

It was all going to be okay.

“Welcome home, 6624,” says 5518.

Artistic expression is the pinnacle of humanity. “Thanks,” says Son, and wonders what color he is inside.

------------

NOTES:

Dad could literally move himself from place to place and repair himself. Why the heck would he be limited to one facility?

And naturally, having tiny!son showed up in the vents at the end (not to mention 5517 evidently Running Amok Without Supervision), it is no great stretch to assume multiple Sons are about, causing mayhem.

What happens from here? Did Dad do this on purpose?

Who knows?

The rest is up to you. 😈

#deviser #deviser podcast #deviser fanfiction #dad deviser #son deviers #cw: animal death #deviser fic

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ragnvinedr · 2 months

Note

[ LANTERN RITE — not a meme prompt but a mysterious other thing! ]

kite-flying, they claimed, was a new addition to the usual lantern rite array this year; not that she would quite know the difference, for each of these intricately-painted designs looked just as at home among the sellers' shelves and in the hands of children and parents alike as their golden-red lantern and embroidered silk fan counterparts. each more foreign, more bewildering and bedazzling than the last; she quickly finds herself drawn in by the vendor's regaling of each pattern's individual meaning and just as quickly finds one in her own hands.

it was not as though kites did not exist in fontaine, but not precisely like this. and when she heard that liyue had indeed partnered with fontaine, borrowing their skill in mechanics and engineering to create a self-flying variety, something within the girl had instinctively balked.

why would she come all this way simply to experience more designs from home? no, she insisted — only the traditional kind would be for her, hand-flown, demanding skill, finesse, dexterity, and expertise.

but the reality was that furina knew little of the capricious wind. the thought with which she had strode away from the market stall, kite in hand — ( how difficult could it be? ) — had been born of ignorance, and would die, similarly, plummeting in its own hubris.

which is how she ends up here, sprinting down the planks of the harbor's lowest level through dense crowds that pay her little mind, head and chin craned up to the sky and fixed where a paper-and-frame butterfly of scintillating blues flutters and whirls high, high above out of reach, cresting the tops of nearby buildings. "no, no . . . ! please come back, oh, please—"

—and crashes headlong into a solid body that does not swerve out of her way in time, or at all perhaps, sending her sprawling stunningly onto her backside with a cry not unlike a squeak.

. . . her mouth smarts, her tongue where she'd perhaps bitten it. head spins; colors blur. the kite! with equally dizzying clarity, she looks up again, but sight line to the sky is blocked by a figure in red staring down. does he look familiar? or is everything just beginning to blend together. "oh . . . i'm sorry . . . "

he never really liked this -- visiting even the nearby liyue harbor felt like a place too far from home now, not just in the physical distance, but also in the overwhelming bustle and never-ending business that seemed to overflow from the upper terraces and spill down across the docks into the sea.

( but holidays usually called for wine. if elzer wasn't available to make the journey, then... )

at the very least, diluc is almost done for the day -- and could head home soon, either tonight or tomorrow morning. just had one last merchant to find and speak to in the maze of stalls across the docks; he's not paying attention as a young woman shouts for the object that goes sailing away from her over his head.

in fact, he only turns as he feels the impact of another person pushing air out from the back of his lungs -- a startled grunt follows as he looks around with a scowl, down to her, up to what she'd lost, and then down once more.

( ... had he seen her somewhere before? not that it really mattered, but. )

he realizes after a moment that he'd held the surprised scowl for just a moment too long --- long enough for her to have probably noticed and assumed he was... angry about the small accident. and that was all it was --- though he was startled by the impact, she hadn't done anything wrong.

diluc's expression softens, indicating more gentle concern. "... are you alright?" then, he looks up again, spying where the kite has landed on a rooftop. "need help?"

#ghlanternrite2024 #behind the bar ( ic. ) 🦅#encounter: furina.#fanfaire #skdlghldkhg???????????????????????????#don't ask me why he's being nice it JUST HAPPENED I HAVE NO CONTROL

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dicaculus · 8 months

Text

Title: A Pile of Hot Metal and Dirty Dishes

Artist: Crankyfossil

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Magnus Bane/ Alec Lightwood

Wordcount:42,462

Summary: Magnus Bane is the Head Chef at Encanto and doing just fine. Or that’s what he tells Simon the therapist, his boss Raphael, orders him to go to. Magnus is a genius in the kitchen, his food is art, but if he starts a fight with one more disrespectful customer, he’s gone. Simon is useless though, going on about Magnus using work as a means to distance himself from meaningful relationships, and emotional walls that could rival a fortress. What does he know? Magnus is fine. Then everything goes wrong. His best friend, Catarina and her daughter get into an accident. His eight-year-old niece, Madzie, is the only survivor and Magnus finds himself going from cool uncle Magnus to the only parent Madzie has left. To make matters worse, Raphael has replaced him while he’s on leave. Alexander Lightwood is a menace. He’s careless, breezy, and annoyingly good at everything he does. Magnus can’t stand him, but with Madzie refusing to eat his cooking and his hands full, Magnus needs all the help he can get. Along the way, Magnus begins to realize there’s more to life than seared cod and lemon dressing, and maybe, just maybe, it’s a life that he wants Alexander Lightwood in.

This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2023.

READ ON AO3

CHAPTER SEVEN

Magnus sleeps terribly that night. He tosses and turns in his bed, their fight running through his head on repeat. Behind his closed eyes he sees the hurt of Alec’s face from the things he’d says. Terrible things that Magnus hadn’t meant but had said in anger, anger that wasn’t really directed towards Alec, he mostly upset with Raphael. If Magnus could go back in time, he never would have pulled Alec into that freezer or would have stopped their conversation the moment Alec admitted Raphael had offered him Magnus’s job. Instead, he’d taken it out on Alec and now he lays in bed, full of regret, surrounded by Alec’s spicy scent on his sheets, too afraid to pick up the phone and apologize. Then he thinks about Madzie, Madzie, who was still mourning and healing the fresh wound of her mother’s death. She’d really taken to Alec, opened up to him about Catarina and whenever he was around she smiling and laughing. How he was going to break this to her and how she would take it, he had no clue. So he doesn’t tell her. Instead, Magnus spends the morning acting like everything was fine, and he doesn’t feel like he just ruined what could have been one of the best things that happened to him.

Magnus skips the restaurant’s lunch that day, not ready to endure the stares from the servers and his other chefs just yet, especially not Raphael. So he sits in his car for as long as he possibly can without compromising his job even more before entering the restaurant. Magnus keeps his down, entering the restaurant, not making eye contact with anyone and ignoring anyone who greets him.

Magnus begins his prep work for dinner service, but instead of it being the distraction he hopes cutting onions would be, he finds himself noticing how quiet the kitchen is and just how different it is without Alec. There’s no music for him to turn off in a huff, no singing to endure, or someone trying to distract him every few minutes. Magnus hears every sizzle, every pop of oil, and every cut being done with knives, and it feels almost eerie. But he carries on. He’ll get used to the silence again. He was fine before Alec pushed his way into his heart and he’ll be fine now.

Eventually Raphael finds him. He pushes the swinging kitchen doors with two hands, then stomps to the front of Magnus’s station, putting his hands on the metal table and leaning forward.

“You had no right driving Alec out of here! This is my restaurant—”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.’ Magnus grumbles with an eye roll.

“You better find me a replacement, fast.” Raphael demands.

“Why?” Magnus asks, setting his knife down to cross his arms. “You didn’t need my help with the last one you sprung on me.”

“Magnus!”

Magnus sighs, deciding not to argue further. “Okay. I’ll find someone.”

Raphael puts out the job listing that day, and by the end of the night, the restaurant’s email is flooded with resumes from chefs, all wanting the chance to work at the restaurant and with Magnus. So Magnus spends most of the week conducting the interviews, asking the same monotonous questions. Magnus interview people through the restaurant’s lunch meeting on the other side of the restaurant and somehow every applicant is worse than the last. There are applicants who aren’t qualified but apply, regardless.

“Like a certificate or something?”

“Yes, a culinary degree, like you get from graduating culinary school”

“Oh, I don’t have that little piece of paper. But there are guys driving on the street without a license. They can’t drive, so, you know.”

“My signature dish? I’m famous for my grilled watermelon with saffron mashed potatoes and key-lime asparagus.”

“I’m sorry, did you say grilled water melon, saffron mashed potatoes and key lime asparagus?”

Chefs who Magnus wants to strangle.

“Am I a team player? I get along great with people. Really, I’m actually a big people person!”

“Oh, I’m a such a people person! I can’t wait to get to know you all on a personal level!”

And chefs who are just an immediate no.

“Am I a team player? I’m a team player so long as everybody follows my lead.

“My signature dish? I wouldn’t say I have one, but my specialty is in the beef area. I deal with meats all the time. Sausage, beef, slaughtering pork. I find butchering an animal almost meditative.”

“Why was I fired? There was a misunderstanding between me and the head chef and the owner.

“What about?”

“Oh..I misunderstood that they were married and started a relationship with the owner. But, I think we parted on amicable terms.

God, he misses Alec.

—---

It’s a week before Madzie mentions Alec.

“Why doesn’t Alec come to see us anymore?”

Magnus had been dreading this moment and that exact question. She asks at bedtime just as Magnus leaves her room after tucking her into bed. He sighs and leans against the door frame, deciding how to break it to her gently.

“We had of a fight.”

“What about?”

What didn’t they fight about? His insecurities, paranoia, his trust issues. His false accusations of Alec trying to steal his job, his kitchen and everything he’s worked for.

“Just grown-up stuff,” He says dismissively as he tries to end the conversation. “Nothing you need to be concerned about sweet pea”

Madzie sits up in her bed and squints at Magnus. “How come you don’t wanna tell me?”

Magnus sighs. “Madzie, it’s not that I don’t wanna tell you—

“Is Alec ever gonna come back?” she asks, her eyes suddenly glassy with tears

Magnus shakes his head, trying to hold his own tears back. He walks back into Madzie’s room and sits on her bed, wrapping her in his arms as she cries.

“No, he isn’t, sweetpea. I’m sorry”

—

He holds Madzie as she cries about Alec. Magnus knew she would be upset, but he didn’t think she would be this upset. Alec really had an impact on her, becoming a friend to her, a teacher, an adult she could trust and count on, someone who made her laugh and probably made her forget about the trauma she’d endured. Magnus is filled with guilt. Maybe he’d moved too fast, falling for Alec’s charming laugh, silly jokes and warm smile. Perhaps he should have waited, not brought Madzie to the restaurant that day, and hired a babysitter despite her protests. Maybe he should have kept the relationship quiet for a while, not invited him over and kept him out of Madzie’s life for a while longer, so she wouldn’t get attached and not reel over yet another adult suddenly being gone from her life.

Magnus wakes up late the next morning, forgetting to set his alarm with everything from last night. He rushes out of bed and yanks the door open, calling down the hall.

“Madzie! I forgot to set my alarm, we have to get going or you’ll be late!” He shuts his door assuming she’s heard him and go to his ensuite to get himself ready, but when he doesn’t hear her familiar footsteps, he opens his door again. “Madzie, you awake? We have to go!” Once again, no response. Magnus walks down the hall and peers into Madzie’s bedroom but it’s empty with her bed messy and unmade, but he heard Chairman’s familiar cries for food. “Are you feeding Chairman?” He heads to the kitchen but finds it empty except for the cat who paces his in front of his bowl.

“Madzie!?”

At that moment, it’s like time stops. He’s frozen in place with his heart racing in his chest. He checks every room and they’re empty. Magnus rushes out of the apartment, going downstairs hoping maybe she’s at a bus stop or decided to take a walk, but she’s gone. Magnus goes back to the apartment and checks again, hoping she already went to school but her lunch is in the fridge, her homework from the night before still on the table and her school bag open on the floor beside the dining table. The apartment is empty and Madzie is missing.

Magnus stands in place, unsure of what his next steps should be. Should he call the police? That’s what people did when someone was missing, right? Magnus unlocks his phone, opening the dial screen. But he pauses as he’s about to press numbers. That felt like an overreaction. Maybe he should wait a bit or look at other places first. But where else could she have gone? Madzie was a shy child. She wasn’t fond of strangers, so it’s unlikely she would have gone with anyone she wasn’t familiar with. Before he can stop himself, Magnus finds himself tapping a familiar contact.

“Magnus?”

Magnus sighs in relief that Alec even answers his phone call. He’s not sure he’d do the same if the roles were reversed. “Alexander, it’s me. Is Madzie with you?”

“No? Why would be she be with me?”

Panic sets in again, his heart thudding in his chest. Magnus sniffs, tears welling up in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. “I woke up late this morning, and she was gone. I told her about us last night. She was so upset I was hoping she was angry with me and went to see you”

Magnus hears rustling on the other end, indicating Alec getting up.

“Are you at the apartment?”

“Yes”

“Stay there, I’ll be there soon, we’ll find her Magnus”

True to his word, Alec arrives quickly in his familiar car, Magnus yanks open his passenger door and the pair begins their search. They check bus stations, the train station, the park down the street she played at, but she’s not there.

“ She could be anywhere.” Magnus cries, letting his face fall into his hands.

“Magnus, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll find her.” Alec reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. Magnus leans into his familiar warm and comforting touch. She’s a child, so she’d probably go somewhere familiar, somewhere she knew.”

Images and scenes from various fictional and true crimes series he’d watched circle in his brain. She could be anywhere, with anyone who could be doing who knows what to her. Was she stuck? Was she injured? Cold? Hungry? Magnus shakes his head, trying to rid his brain of scary thoughts.

“Madzie only went to school and the restaurant, sometimes the park down the street, but only with me or a friend, never alone.”

Alec nods and strokes Magnus’s back. “Okay, why don’t we go back to the apartment? Maybe she decided to come home.”

So the pair drive in silence back to the apartment. Alec’s hand clenched tightly on the steering wheel while Magnus looks out the passenger side window, desperate to find a glance of Madzie on the street. Once there, Magnus jogs ahead of Alec, racing his apartment while praying to every god he can think of that Madzie is there.

“Madzie!”

But once again, the apartment is empty. Madzie is nowhere to be found. Magnus loses it. He crumbles to the ground, overwhelmed by his emotions. Catarina trusted Madzie in his care and she went, lost who knows where, with anyone. He sobs in his hands for a moment then feels Alec’s body slid beside him, then his arm wrapping around his shoulder and squeezing him.

“We’re going to find her, Magnus.”

He lifts his head and wipes his tear stained cheek. “I let her down, Alexander. I feel like I made a mess of everything.” He shakes his head. “I should have known better than involving you in her life so fast. It was too soon after her mother, she got attached too quickly.”

“Magnus, you’ve done your best.” Alec says gently, “Sure, maybe we moved too quickly, not only for Madzie but for you. Madzie isn’t the only one grieving a death. As for her letting her down, I think you’ve done everything you could, given her everything she needs—”

“What she needs is her mother.” Magnus gasps and pulls himself to his feet.

Alec slowly stands. “Magnus?”

“I think I know where she might be.”

Magnus flies down the stairs with Alec on his heels. They get into the car and Magnus directs Alec towards the cemetery. The drive isn’t long. In fact, they’re probably driven by the cemetery multiple times that day without giving it a second thought. Alec pulls into the parking lot and Magnus, looking out his window, gasps and taps on the glass with his finger when he sees Madzie’s familiar red jacket.

“There she is, thank God!”

Magnus leaps from the car the moment it comes to a stop. He runs into the cemetery, deciding screaming his niece’s name in a quiet cemetery where he can see a ceremony taking place wouldn’t be his best idea. When he’s within earshot, he calls her name.

“Madzie!” She turns to Magnus, hearing her name being called, and accepts the hug Magnus pulls her into when he’s close enough. “Are you all right, sweetpea? Please, don’t ever do that again.”

“I’m sorry, Magnus”

Magnus pulls back and squeezes her shoulders while looking her in the eyes. “I was so afraid something happened to you!”

“I’m afraid I’m gonna forget her.” She cries, her eyes and cheeks wet with tears.

Magnus looks up at the grave stone behind Madzie for the first time and notices the date. Today would have been Catarina’s birthday. Magnus curses himself for not remembering and squeezes his niece tighter.

“We’ll never forget her, I promise. We can come here whenever you want, okay?”

The pair stay at the grave until Magnus decides they need to go, since he has to work that night. He holds her hand as they walk back to Alec’s car. Alec hugs Madzie and tells her he’s glad she’s okay, then helps her into his backseat. He drives them back to Magnus’s apartment. The drive is quiet except for the soft sound of the radio, but it’s comfortable and feels like it had been before with the three of them. Magnus thanks Alec before leaving the car but Madzie lingers, taking her sweet time unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Aren’t you coming in, Alec?”

Alec shakes his head. “Not today, sweetheart.”

Madzie scoffs, looking between the two adults. “Guys still mad at each other?”

“No,” Magnus says, “Come on, go inside. I’ll see you upstairs.”

Madzie sighs but finally leaves the vehicle. Magnus watches her enter the building before turning back to Alec.

“You know-”

They laugh awkwardly, and Magnus clears his throat.

“I just wanna say I’m sorry, Alexander.”

Alec shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I actually wanna thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yeah,” He continues. “I thought a lot about what you said about me not having the guts to go after what I want, and you were right. That’s why I took a job in San Francisco.”

Magnus’s heart drops to his stomach.

“The executive chef at a new restaurant.”

Then it shatters.

No, this isn’t what Magnus wanted, or maybe it was what past Magnus wanted but present Magnus wanted nothing less. He wants to tell Alec he didn’t mean those things he’d said that night, he’d learned to love working with Alec and if he was being honest the kitchen ran much smoother with him there and the kitchen became a much nicer environment with him in it. Magnus wants to cry and scream at Alec, begging him to stay, come back to the restaurant and work with him again, but he can’t.

“Well, that’s great.” Magnus says instead with a fake smile, and his voice is tight, empty of emotion.

“Yeah?”

Magnus nods, not trusting himself to speak again.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Yes, you could have. You’re such a talented chef you never needed me. “That’s not true”, he says instead.

They talk for a few minutes longer before Alec leaves, having to start packing for his move. Magnus waves goodbye until his car is out of eyeshot. Magnus takes a deep breath and buries his feeling in the same way he’s used to before entering the apartment. He’s got work tonight.

“Guy at table seven said if he wanted it cremated,” She smacks the plate on the counter in front of Magnus and Raphael, “He wouldn’t have asked for it rare.”

Magnus inspects the steak, poking it with his fingertip to check the doneness then notices just how pink it is inside. “That is rare.”

The waitress rolls her eyes. “Apparently not rare enough.”

“Any rarer, and I'd milk it!”.

“Look, these are ad-agency people.” Raphael interrupts, “They spend a lot of money here. No tantrums tonight. Just fire another one.”

Just fire another one? It’s like Raphael was unaware of how expensive of a cut the tomahawk steak is. But instead of arguing, Magnus turns around and orders the refire.

“Fire one rare steak on the fly.”

“Rare steak on the fly.”

“Where is the chicken roulade for six?”

“How are the quail?”

“Great, chef.”

“Pick up! Terrine, carpaccio.”

But only five minutes later, after the newly fired tomahawk steak is sent out, the kitchen doors fly open with the same waitress, a scowl on her face.

“From the asshole on seven again. He wants to know whether you’ve ever seen a rare steak before.”

Magnus scoffs to himself, gripping the counter tightly, and breathes through his nose. It’s like every emotion he’s buried, put away and not dealt with comes bubbling to the surface. Everything with Alec, Raphael’s anger towards him, how much he hates cooking this snotty food, the insistence on finding another chef, which he still had not done, and now the steak.

Magnus is done.

“You said table seven?” The waitress nods nervously. Magnus makes a fist on the counter and lets out a deep breath. “Let me handle this one darling, go take care of your other tables.”

Magnus doesn’t wait for her response and instead heads into the walk in. He picks up a raw tomahawk steak, holding it from its very large bone, and leaves the kitchen through the doors. Magnus ignores the gasps, and looks of shocks from other customers and walks through the restaurant, finding the asshole from table seven. Magnus barely hears them over the way his blood boils and heart pounds in his chest. Magnus spots table seven and when he’s close enough, he stands behind the asshole and drops the raw on the plate. The plate shatters underneath the sudden weight of the steak and the table is in shock.

“Rare enough for you?”

“Are you out of your mind?” The man screams.

“Yeah. That’s why I’m in therapy.”

“I’m so sorry.” Raphael apologizes coming out from somewhere in the restaurant. “I’ll get you a new tablecloth.”

“No, please, let me take care of that.”

Magnus grips the black tablecloth and pulls it out from underneath all the dishes, managing not to disturb anything before he tosses the tablecloth to a nearby server. Magnus sees Raphael, who glares at Alec with a fury he’s never seen before and Magnus knows he’s fired. So he unties his apron and throws it at the man.

“That felt so good.”

With that, he leaves the restaurant through the front door, ignoring anyone who calls his name and drives home.

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undertale-writing-times · 2 years

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I'm not sure if you're open for different asks that aren't prompts right now, so I hope this is okay to send.

How would the skelebros (Underswap, Horrotale, Underfell, and Undertale) react if their s/o worked in a prosthetic place that that mainly worked on legs for different people of all ages (and the occasional arms for those under the age of 15)?

((Please ignore this if you've done a similiar ask //nervous sweats))

Thank you for your time and have a lovely day~☆

I'm going to be honest. This one has been in my ask box for such a long time, and I feel bad about that! I just... didn't have ideas for it?

Blueberry: He thinks that it is very cool! He loves learning about that sorta thing, and finds the whole idea... cool? You're helping people who've gotten hurt be able to do things again! Who wouldn't think that you're awesome?! He wants to know everything! Even though he might not be able to keep up if you go too fast. He more or less wants to know how it stays on.

Stretch: He's someone that finds it interesting. He'll ask if you connect the fake legs to their nerve endings? Then they could move around, feel whatever it feels? Or would that be too much? Most likely too much... you've unlocked his secret nerd side! (it isn't all that secret)

Axe: He thinks it's interesting. It would come in handy for people who've lost their legs and such. He remembered when his sibling almost lost their leg in an accident... he doesn't really have much else to say to it though. It's a thing that you do, it's cool.

Noodle: They find it very interesting! If they are allowed, they would like to see how you make them and how you attach them to the people. They think that it is so amazing that they want to go around to just cut the legs off people! :D Not that... they... they would? Not at all... just a thought.

Red: So, you're able to help people out that lost their abilities to walk, instead of just leaving them to either end up dying or leaving them to figure it out themselves? Damn, humans are shocking him every turn... he likes learning about it, and sometimes he'll ask questions but normally only whenever you bring it up... or when he sees someone with just one leg.

Edge: He might ask a lot of questions, way too many, but it's mostly because he finds the idea of it very interesting! How could you create a new body part for someone after they lost it? Does it feel like real skin or plastic? He wants to know everything that you would let him learn! He does squint and glare at things a lot...

#Underswap #Underswap Sans #Underswap Papyrus #Horrortale #Horrortale Sans #Horrortale Papyrus #Underfell #Underfell Sans #Underfell Papyrus #Sans #Papyrus #Sans AU #Papyrus AU #undertale alternate timeline #undertale ask blog #undertale alternate universe #undertale imagines #undertale au

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notsosilentsister · 1 year

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The White Lotus

Count me all in for the sexual intrigue. Maybe the show won't have that much to say about class, etc., but I'm in a Portia mood, maybe I don't always want all that discourse, maybe I just want to have some fun. Must be the Italian setting; Italy always does something to me. (I fully expect to be devasted by the last episode - I'm so scared that anything will happen to the local girls... my heart sank when their names got recorded on Soprano guy's room. I had thought they were safe, not counting as guests of the hotel, but I guess now they do.) Both of the young couples are a bit horrible, but in an entertaining way. I'm utterly mesmerized by Daphne - she's all sunshine and roses and blink-and-you-miss it joking menace - talking about vacations being a perfect opportunity for murdering spouses, reminding her husband she can always cut off his balls. If this season's corpses are not again the results of tragic accidents, but indeed, murder, I'm putting my money on her as the murderess.

Cameron does seem to love his wife - he had a nice moment at dinner, being all broken up about almost having lost her during a difficult pregancy. I buy it. Still, I'm not sure that his me-too-vibes are entirely baseless or that he's particularly sexually exclusive. I don't think he's genuinely trying to seduce Harper, but he did show her his ass on purpose. Maybe just to mess with her, put her off balance? Or maybe he's trying to lure her into a compromising situation, to prove to his buddy that she ain’t shit. He clearly thinks his friend could have done better. Maybe because he’s got designs on him himself? In the first episode, at dinner, when wondering about his friend’s lack of game in college, he says “I would do you” - why not take him at his word for that? I'm also starting to really feel for Harper. Sure, she's clearly miserable in her marriage, and she's taking it out on others. But Daphne completely misses the point in her anaylsis of the problem, blaming it all on premature ball-breaking on Harper's part. I really don’t think that Harper's attitude is the biggest problem in her marriage - or if so, merely indirectly. True, her pushy demeanor probably got her into that mess - because this guy wouldn’t have married her, if she hadn’t told him to. Because he’s simply not actually into her. This episode she's already starting to be more accommodating, even vows to be "fun" from now onwards, and still, he outright rejects her advances on more than one occasion! Cameron suggests that at college Ethan was always too busy for sex, and even though Harper hates Cameron and has found a way to disagree with everything else he says, she’s quick to confirm that this is still the case. I don’t think she saying that to undermine Ethan - she has just acquiesced to eat the damn fish, because she’s noticed she’s creating that impression. You get the sense it spills out of her in spite of herself - she’s clearly genuinely frustrated about it! My take is that Ethan married Harper, because it was the path of least resistance, and she has never really been his type. I suspect he’ll end up cheating with Daphne, someone he would never have dared to even dream about before he got rich. Cameron’s probably got his number right - he really is the original incel who settled for a Harper/Becky, because he was convinced the Stacys/Daphnes are only for the Chad’s/Cameron’s of this world. Poor Harper! Right now she’s clearly over-compensating her insecurity in an obnoxious manner, but my bet is her insecurity is not unfounded. I think it would be fun to have a proper love quadrangle - Harper actually wants Ethan, who actually wants Daphne, who actually wants Cameron, who actually wants Ethan. Cameron will finally convince everyone to have an orgy, and then everyone will be crushed when it becomes apparent, why everyone else agreed to the plan. I'm already tired of the farty, flirty grandpa, but I'm afraid Portia isn't. She seems to find him more entertaining than Albie (who lost some points with me this episode with his nice guy's lament). This could go all in a very unpleasant direction, where Portia gives grandpa too much attention because she thinks he's cute and ultimately harmless, which he takes as encouragement to become even more obnoxious. That's the potential subplot I'm looking least forward to.

#the white lotus #michael white #review #journal

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lumilasi · 1 year

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Next up, Kiyoi. I adjusted his look slightly, removing the extra poncho layer thingy as I felt it looked kinda ugly. Also tidied up his hair.

Bio below:

Kiyoi Hayashi

Firstname translation: clear/pure/noble

Lastname translation: woods/forest

Nicknames: witchboy (Those who don't know his name) Kiyoi-Chama (Youko)

Age: 20

Family: He was taken in by the Murasaki parents after his birth parents died.

Friends: a moth spirit Yoruga, water spirit Shizuka, young chimera Yago, and Yago's niece Youko

Love interest: Kouya, a wild dog spirit

A rare case of a male child of a witch born with magic powers.

Personality:

He tends to act kind of posh and subdued in front of people due to being a former son of a mayor and now living with another arguably more powerful family. In truth, he’s a very sensitive and emotional person, who’s holding up this distant act as a defense mechanism.

He has strong aversion to violence and doesn’t like seeing people hurt, even people he doesn’t like, and can often feel sick if he sees blood. Kiyoi also has self-esteem issues due to his past, and struggles to trust anyone claiming they like him or care about him, which can sometimes make him lash out frustrated and say things he doesn’t mean.

Despite his reservations, he’s very curious and loves to learn about new things, and can drop his posh act almost involuntarily, passionately rambling about his new favorite subject for hours to Yoruga, Yago, or Kouya.

Abilities:

Charm: Ability to essentially hypnotize and make people do whatever he wants. His Charm-power is very powerful, and only very few people are immune to it. If he ramps up the strength of this ability enough, it can even cause one’s soul to “float away” from their body (I.E you die). This is something he's only ever done on accident though.

Nature magic: he knows some basic healing spells, and ability to make plants grow or wither rapidly.

Vision ability; he can monitor everyone’s movement at a specific area using the nature around him as a conduit. It doesn’t need to be an animal with eyes, he can process any kind of information, such as touch, movement, sound, etc.

management ability; since he did grow up with staff back home, he does know how to manage people and get them to do what he needs them to. His charm spell does help with this though

Weaknesses:

He’s physically weak, which is typical to witch sons, and often has vertigo and dizzy spells. He is often being carried by others when he has to go somewhere, either by Kouya picking him up unprompted, or his adoptive parents ask the staff to do so using a special seat made for him. (He feels awkward about it, but the staff doesn't mind accommodating him as they like him)

He has self-esteem issues that make him not easily trust people when they say they like him, even if he’s not using his Charm on them. He also sometimes has flashbacks to the time he was almost killed by his former hometown folk, which can make his powers go a bit haywire.

In general, Kiyoi sometimes struggles to control his plant growing powers, creating full on jungles and forests on the yard of his home, or killing everything in the garden by accident.

BG STORY

Kiyoi used to live normal life as the son of a town’s Mayor, albeit secretly studying magic, as his mother had disowned magic use and stopped using her own, due to some trauma from her past, having lost an important mentoring figure.

She mainly did this to protect her son, knowing he could be in danger if people found out she was a witch; The town they lived in had had bad experiences with witches in the past, something his mum had only found out after marrying the mayor, as he'd feared she'd leave if he told her about this.

Despite feeling somewhat betrayed by him, she chose to stay as being a single mother while wanting to avoid her witch heritage would be difficult. His dad, feeling guilty over omitting such important information from her did everything he could to keep them both safe, even telling Kiyoi to never use his magic powers, or tell anyone he had them. He however, failed to tell his son why this was important, not wanting to scare his child.

Unfortunately, her secret ends up being revealed to the townsfolk by a begrudged staff-member, who'd been fired after some inappropriate behavior towards Kiyoi's mother. He'd seen Kiyoi practice his magic and concluded his mother had to be a witch.

Upon finding this out, the townsfolk kill his mother out of fear, and execute his father too, for hiding her true nature from them.

They even go after Kiyoi as well, but he ended up accidentally killing everyone while defending himself, overcharging his Charm spell he'd been practicing, that basically banished everyone’s souls from their bodies.

He was found, scared, lost, and alone, by the Murasaki family father Hanma, who took pity on the child and took him in, giving him a safer, supportive place to practice his magic.

FUN FACTS

Kiyoi's parents were both very flawed and made lot of wrong choices, but did love their son dearly; Kiyoi's dad even told him to run away, once he realized they were in mortal danger.

Kiyoi feels somewhat bitter towards his father, wishing he'd just made them move somewhere safer to prevent this. The same time he also feels his mother is guilty as well, for not just leaving with him. In general, his feelings towards his late parents are about as conflicted as they are towards his aunt.

Kiyoi in general feels very upset over how broken and dysfunctional his family has been as a whole, so once he moves in with the Murasakis, he sometimes gets almost overwhelmed with how much healthier this family he is now a part of is.

People immune to his charm include; Kouya, Yoruga and yago.

Kiyoi has a lot of patterned outfits, most of them are varying shades of green and blue, or mix of both.

Kiyoi has an entire shelf for Yoruga's smileyface masterpieces, from rocks to planks, to vases, and even a bird skull. (that one creeps him out, but he doesn't dare to throw it away)

He is very close with his new adoptive mother figure Rikka, who is the most hands-on with helping him train his powers. Since lot of his struggles come from emotional instability, he is able to help him learn how to keep himself calm.

#artists on tumblr #oc reference #character reference #oc illustration #oc bio #lumi’s chaotic creations #lumi's chaotic creations #lumi's art scribbles #lumi’s art scribbles #kureshima bathhouse #Kiyoi Nakano #manga #anime

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bsaka7 · 2 years

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For the DVD commentary… any 500 words from when Charles meets the ice dragon in the fantasy fic 🤔

IN THE ORIGINAL CHARLES WAS LEGIT SUPPOSED TO SLAY THE DRAGON anyway thank u my friend and CHARLES DRAGONRIDER COMRADE

What was I thinking when I wrote this: PHEW WE FINALLY GOT HERE!!!! (because this is where the fic was going the whole time). I guess I was also really worried it would be too short and anticlimactic. I always knew the fic as a whole would end... unresolved... but i was a bit like - how do I put together the mail being lost + the Darkness coming + this sort of parallel human/dragon society thing + Charles' new political position as an emissary for the king + how achieving dreams never comes in the form expected. In some ways, I think i executed things okay, in others, I felt as though I was muddling through the dark.

The great dragon totally became its own character and the scene went MUCH differently than planned and like yes the great dragon still dies (or does he? He does). I honestly wanted the scene to be much longer than it ended up but to be frank, writing fantasy epic prophecy is a gift i do NOT HAVE hence why the dragon is like okay you people totally made up the prophecy and it has nothing to do with me (this is probably not true. I think it probably WAS manufactured out of SOMETHING the great dragon said and embellished etc but that's not the point)

Back to the thing where this scene is supposed to weave a lot together - I read a lot of fantasy (I don't really consider myself a fantasy fan but of course I am. I'm almost done with the wise man's fear which is like 1100 pages) and obviously I write a fair bit so I kind of wanted to put those things together. And also Charles imo is the f1 driver most suited to a fantasy style story with its twists and turns (I think an arg could also be made for seb and perhaps daniel, though a different, less hopeful story). Anyway this started as trying to mimic the fantasy I read as a kid (think like... Fablehaven. Eragon) but of course is much more influenced by the much more complex (actually idk I didn't reread any ya fantasy for this) stuff I read now and this scene is sort of a clumsy culmination of those two influences - what I sort of think a fantasy Stereotype climax is (because it really is - a boy and his dragon! It's genre!!). I really learned that keeping all those strands of plot and feeling straight is a LOT harder than I expected. I have only written one fic longer than this one and ngl it's more straightforward. so idk. i wrote it because i love Charles and i love a dream that is not quite what you expect. the funny thing about writing this fic is I didn't know where it would end up as much as I usually do. And it just sort of spiraled out of everything else... idk!

in terms of charles... i know this is a plot driven fic but i wanted to show Charles 1) tenacity 2) shyness!! 3) need to be liked (i mean who wouldn't want to be liked by a giant dragon anyway) 4) the fact that he Is the chosen one even though it's not what everyone thought when they looked at him at the academy and whatnot 5) he's hard working!. I also wanted to dig more into what it meant for him and carlotta to fly together after the great dragon but alas...

on the great dragon grind....i have to be honest I was sort of imagining that John hunt dragon voice from merlin but in reality (in fantasy?) its meant to represent that the dragon's voice can truly not be comprehended by man... so Charles imitating it (by accident!) is a big deal....idk. It's like - how do you create that feeling of awe and importance in a fic that's only 30k! I was writing it and I was like ok so u guys don't know the in world magic or the dragon society rules or the history/lore... and then i was like this is already 30k and for me and my 5bffs it cannot get any longer for my own health

Ok i guess I could tell you way more about whats actually going on with charles and the Dragon In His Head or Dragon Charles But I honestly sort of came up with a lot of that... On the fly... Or maybe it's because that all would be the reveal in a sequel (idk that I'm planning on writing one but I've got a long winter ahead of me.... and the great dragon did live in the ice wall... and Charles is... Yknow...)

#Ok i thought this was gonna be short but then I got going #Ask #sorry thay it's so rambly and there r no quote #Blame it on mobile?#this is like half just me being like so it turns out writing fantasy is hard #I could write way more but it kinda gets away from the text already lol #OK KRITHEOLOGIE TAUGHT ME TO DO CUT ON MOBILE

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