#he HAS to do this. sometimes things are infected and rotting and you have to just burn the whole tree.

[candescentdibromoindigodreams]

Just a couple of reasons why Izzy is NOT

RICKY doing that?? Pshaw, they didn't even meet until this episode! From the narrative POV, this doesn't make any sense. Izzy supposedly taking his own life off-screen was more likely.

not enough stakes. That WE'RE GOING IN, BOIS scene almost didn't have any at all, not even to the level "someone gets hurt", definitely not to the level of "someone gets killed off". That scene was "Successful heist" vibe, not a "We're gonna look Death in the face" vibe. Izzy getting shot was like a random thing - which COULD have been poignant in a different show (about how life is tragic and unpredictable, yadda yadda), but it's really out of place here.

Izzy touched Stede's leg in the bar. This wouldn't have happened if the continuation of their relationship was not planned (and I mean plot threads getting forgotten about is a thing, but it doesnt seem to be a thing in this particular show). Teaching Stede is one thing, that can be interpreted as part of the "Izzy accepts the crew as a family" narrative, but keeping your hand on someone's knee? Not really familial and also would have been random if that was the intention.

We were shown this very same type of wound basically being easily survived by both Stede and Ed. Stede also moved a lot after getting stabbed (more blood loss, same as Izzy). Still both survived. Ed treated getting skewerd like a scratch and was not shown to be even slightly affected by it. If now this wound would suddenly be fatal that would be illogical in the context of the show.

Izzy didn't die from rotting leg infection, didn't die from the blood loss when getting a leg amputated (major surgery done by complete noobs), didn't die from pain shock, didn't die from a bullet to the head (thanks to luck but still), didn't die from a severe head trauma (I assume a bullet ricocheting off of your nogging hard enough to leave a scar would give you one. Ed definitely agrees), didn't die from subsequent alcohol poisoning while his health was very much impaired. "Indestructible little fucker" indeed, so why would he die here.

on the topic of "indestructible little fucker". The show spells out a lot of things to us with words. Sometimes also repeating them kinda incessantly (count how many times a variation on the "turn toxicity into positivity" was mentioned). So pronouncing Izzy as such is basically a spell (during a storm and lightning to boot! STYLE), it's the point of him now.

Ed and Stede getting this type of wound has made it symbolic. It would be a different wound if the creators just needed to kill Izzy off. Giving him this exact one does not give the situation a "time to go, bud" meaning, instead it connects Izzy more to the guys - and again, not in a familial sense but specifically a romantic one.

the show didn't spend nearly enough time on grieving given what Izzy is to the story. Instead, that was the only time of broken pacing and vibe tbh, it was a bit jarring (he dead. okay, now wedding). I mean, Im not expecting the SPN-final-death levels of time spent, but still.

There was no narrative sense for Izzy to die after the journey he had in S2. That was a character on the mend, having ALREADY paid off all their sins. A second punishment like that (and by cinema rules death is always either a tragedy (not that type of show here), a joke (not that type of show or situation) or a punishment) is undeserved and illogical.

By the end of S2 Stede was not being his best, but rather kind of an asshole. This character clearly has not finished his journey yet to settle in an "inn" or whatever. Which means that the guys are there only for the purpose of being close to the grave for when Izzy gets back.

If we assume that removing Izzy was important for BlackBonnet - why? To make them closer? What is he, their child or parent (not even really a friend), why would his death make them closer? Plus, they already got to that point without his help. It would make a bit of sense if he was Ed's pronounced romantic ex who was still a threat that needed to go but that's not the case. It would make a bit of sense if he was Ed's pronounced past / the Blackbeard that needed to die - and to be clear, he was (WAS) that to a certain degree in S1 and the creators tried to use that point - BUT Ed ALREADY both rejected his past/BB persona (via Jack for instance) AND also accepted and embraced that part of himself. The narrative tells us that Ed learned to use his "darkness" for relative good, to protect those around him or as means to achieve something good. Izzy did not need to be cut off for this plotpoint.

It would make sense to write the character out if the actor needed it. But we know for a fact that Con loves playing Izzy. So not the case either.

S2 specifically established with Ed's "gravy basket" situation that none of those idiots know how to certify someone's death.

Izzy somehow being back after this gives (more) purpose to the whole Buttons Burb situation. Introing what, real magic (??) into the show was a weird point in itself (and it was not refuted in the show as, say, Ed's confusion) but also a point that went kinda nowhere. But it's not "nowhere" if it was needed for S3 Izzy return!

The only kinda one real point towards Izzy really being gone is

cinema rule number whatever: they show the character's dead face with open eyes. And the show did do that… But again, freakin Bird Buttons flew on his grave. So Izzy definitely comes out of it.

But thank you for giving us a chance to enjoy Con's impeccable dying acting!

#ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd meta #does this count as meta? what is meta

[onejellyfishplease]

Hi hi!! I have questions regarding snapdonnie (plant boy)

Can he talk? If he can what would it sound like? How would he try to hide this from his brothers if he does? Are your commissions open? Oh I wonder if he would just disappear. I imagine this is sensory hell for him. On top of having to eat bugs. eugh hahahaha I love this! He kinda reminds me of those mushroom zombies (/pos)!! What are your thoughts on him? I would love to hear more about this creature against nature (or with nature now, haha!!) I was originally here for open your wings but I have gotten thoroughly attached to the wacky Donnie fusions. Are you alright if people draw him?? How did you do this?? This is so cool!!! I love all of your Donnie designs but he is most definitely my favorite.

(Feel free to ignore, this turned into just gushing about him)

I was gonna keep going but it was going to get into weird unhinged cult territory really fast, hahaha!!!

Wow! Hi!

I will try to answer all your questions, me and @zeawesomeness were just throwing ideas around for SnapDonnie, so theres quite a bit to talk about!

What does he sound like:

I'd imaging real gurgly when he's like that, but he absolutely hates the sound of his voice, and the fact that most of what he says is muddled. So id say he mostly uses sign language to communicate. while he can still do that

How would he hide it from his brothers:

He would definitely try at the beginning! especially when it starts off as a small growth on his softshell, but eventually the consequences get too big and it gets revealed relatively quickly (at least compared to Open your Shell)

Are my commisions open:

uhhhh, not at the moment, but if there's enough interest in commissions for my art (which would be amazing) then i would be open to opening them!

Is this sensory hell for him?

Absolutely. especially now that flies are attracted to him. he hates it. his shell is consistently moving and it is hell.

My thoughts on him:

I live this creepy little dude. but now there is a little bit of trepidation with it. because now i want to turn this into a proper au and i need to stop doing this to myself.

More about SnapDonnie!

he was infected with this venus fly trap-like curse (from what I havent figured out yet, either kraang or mystic)

it started as a growth in his shell, which then sprouted those flytraps (which he couldnt hide)

the energy needed for the transformations makes Donnie ravenous, and the more he eats, the faster he turns. this is the part where his family find out.

yes he was compelled into eating raw (kinda rancid) meat.

they find out that this infection will continue until Donnie is fully turned into a carnivorous plant.

at the end of the transformation, Donnies face would split open and the single flower would bloom.

Small teeth-like spines are growing down the middle of Donnies face.

Donnie has to balance, starving himself without rotting/wilting (bc yes he does that now), while not eating too much that the transformation continues at too fast a pace.

it doesnt help that sometimes he goes feral (and his face does the splitty open thing), and attacks and tries to eat anything in his path. including his family. Ah yes. Angst.

so they need to figure out how to help Donnie before they loose him forever.

Okay I think Im done with ranting lol.

Can you draw him?

ABSOLUTELY!! please tag me if you do! in fact I am completely on board with you drawing anything from my aus! I love receiving fanart!

I think thats all the questions answered! I love asks like this lol, theyre always so fun!

#rottmnt #asks #anon asks #jelly rants #rottmnt donnie #snapdonnie #<- oh no it has a tag now

[ilkuee]

@wolfythewitch ‘s zombie au has me in a chokehold rn so i just had to write something

i’m aware i’m a bit late but zombie apocalypse aus are a special interest of mine and i like writing and i’m trying to improve so here goes nothing <3

-

Happiness is always hard to grasp, but when you find it, you know that you never want to lose it again.

The warmth of being genuinely happy was one of the first things Wilbur lost after Phil was bitten. He spent most days crying, apologizing over and over to the slowly rotting corpse that was his father. He never got a response. He never got a hug. He never got reassurance. He just received groaning, or a scratch on the arm from the zombified man. Occasionally, Wilbur would find himself content with that. The contact. It makes him feel like his father is still in there, somewhere, even though he knows that he probably isn’t anymore.

His own father didn’t feel like family anymore. “He's still in there. That’s still Phil.” was something that Wilbur found himself chanting in his head most days, and yet he still struggled to believe that it was true. Everything about Phil Craft had changed. Everything.

His normally alive, bright skin had paled into a dead, pasty gray. His warm blue eyes were replaced with pits of complete darkness that shot daggers into the back of Wilbur’s head. His gentle smile changed to a constant frown. His cheery voice had shifted into nothing but a low, raspy one. And his smell, the smell that had always allowed Wilbur to feel at home no matter where the pair was, had been erased entirely, covered with the scent of a rotting body. A dead person. His father’s corpse.

The teen drags Phil along everywhere with him. Countless people have tried to take him away, but he doesn’t let them. He puts a gun to their heads and tells them he will shoot if they don’t back away. It works, most days. Wilbur is only ever bluffing, but sometimes if the gun doesn’t work, he just takes off running, taking the corpse with him. All the two have ever done is run.

Perhaps it’s time to fight, but it’s hard to do so when you don’t have anything to fight for anymore.

The pair have been through so much together. He can’t let him go. Not now. Not ever. That’s his father. Infected or not, he is not letting him go. No matter what. He would let Phil bite him, if it came down to it, despite knowing that his father would never bite anyone not would he want Wilbur to allow himself to be bitten.

Sometimes, Wilbur talks to Phil. Forcing yourself into believing a lie is unhealthy, sure, but maybe, just maybe, if Wilbur pretends everything is normal for just a little while, life would go back to being how it was before. He tells him about his day. How he feels. What he ate. What he dreamt about the previous night. The topic of the one-sided conversations always varied, and Wilbur felt like he was just talking to a mannequin constantly, but he was fine with that.

The only thing that didn’t vary about the conversations, were the apologies, and the affection, and then the sobbing.

They always came in that exact order. Wilbur would apologize for letting Phil get bitten in his place, or for not being quick enough, or for not being smart enough, or for being so weak. And then he would tell him how much he loves and misses him, how he will always love him no matter what, how he wishes he could still talk so the pair could have a normal conversation, even if it’s just one, and it’s short. Hearing Phil’s voice again instead of constant groaning would be a blessing.

And then comes the sobbing. Wilbur saw his parents hide their tears from him a lot, and he grew up doing the same. He doesn’t like letting Phil see him cry, but he can’t help it anymore. He just lets the tears flow while his father sits there silent and motionless, staring.

Wilbur always ends up staring back into the dark abyss that is what is left of Phil’s eyes. He finds comfort in the darkness, funnily enough.

Though he would much rather a hug. Or reassurance. Or even a smile. He wants to go back to how everything was before the apocalypse, but he can’t, and he has come to terms with that. To an extent. He knows he can’t go back, but that doesn’t change that he wants to.

#writing #zombie apocalypse #wolfythewitch #dream smp #dsmp au

[grollow]

watch you lose

Title: watch you lose Rating: M Characters: The Hollow Knight, The Radiance Warnings: Disturbing Content, Trauma Bonding, First Person POV, Prequel (sort of) Author's Notes: This is canon to White and Gray, technically, and was written as a gift for @astorichan for Elegies of Hallownest's Secret Santa. Happy holidays, my friend! <3

watch you lose on AO3. “At the rate that we are going, we will die here together like this, you and I,” she says.

I ignore her, drifting in a state somewhere between waking and the anguish of sleep. In this state, she cannot reach or touch me, but her words are an insidious whisper that brushes under my skin like the diminutive scales that so resemble fur. She would have the world think that she is soft, but I know better. She is the edges of claws that scrape and scratch, and she leaves everything bleeding underneath them.

I prefer this state. I can see the world around me, a witness through the windows to history unfolding, but never a participant. This has always been my role. Never a participant, always a spectator. I have watched Hallownest crumble around me, bits and pieces rotting away as proof of my flaws. I have watched my king’s palace vanish under the weight of his own failure, disappearing like a mirage; sometimes, I can even glimpse it in the distance, and she says that is because it is here, because he has joined us in this eternal prison.

Like us, he is a spectator.

Like us, he is dead without truly dying.

We are corpses that have forgotten what it means to be dead. We are animated not by the essence that inhabits our body but by the spite that drives us: emotions like blood strangling out whatever light might have remained in the two of them.

I have always been a dark thing. I suppose that is to my benefit.

“You could end the pain we are both enduring,” she tells me.

My reflection is a passive thing, void obscuring it on the shell that makes up the floor. The chains that bind us in the air have long lost their shine. Like my armour.

(Like me.)

She deludes herself, as I often do, that we might some day see freedom outside of these halls. Were I to be set free of my binds, I doubt my body would animate properly. There are great crevices in my carapace where infection has boiled over, eating away at tempered void. The most egregious of these is a great hulking furrow that jots along my shoulder where my missing arm should be. It drives down deep and is, at times, painful. I can see the illumination of pustules growing in place of where the void has been burned away. They unsettle me, raising bile in a stomach that I did not know that I possessed.

(I have a mouth. I have always had a mouth. Mouths are conducive to stomachs; they are used to consume food, though I have never needed any—

Hunger notwithstanding.

I have ever been starving.

The void within me longs to devour all that it sees. I hold it in check, as I always have.

Would it be void that came up, if I succumbed to the writhing in my guts, like invisible claws twisting them to-and-fro, tying what insides my third parent did not destroy into tense, tight little knots?)

I cannot feel my legs. I have not been able to in a very long time.

“Let me set us both free, my shadow,” she pleads, drawing me back. I can feel her wings like the soft of feathers wrapping around me. “It needn’t be one or the other. I would miss you—”

I do not answer her in words, but in a feeling: a hot rush of stubborn refusal that manifests like ice through me. I drown her light in my shadows, and she recoils, hissing shrilly. 

“I will miss you,” she finishes.

There is nothing to miss, I say without words, pulling my void like a noose tighter around her throat. She struggles, fighting back, and the course of sunlight through me makes us both scream in mutual agony—her from my freezing darkness and me from the searing that rips through me, settling in welts that fill with fluid within my eye sockets.

It is a scream that reverberates through the void. All creatures of my kind can hear it, but none can answer. I am alone.

(I made that choice when I left them behind. I am selfish. I was willing to climb out of the Abyss over the corpses of my siblings, no matter the cost. And I was willing to sacrifice it all—

Hallownest. Myself. The lives of thousands of bugs.

I wanted his acknowledgment. I wanted to be seen.

I wanted to succeed—)

“You never could have. The fact that you wanted to is proof of that. But fine, fine. When death takes you, I will be free. I can be very patient when I need to be.”

The light of my eyes pulses in time with her heartbeat. The arteries that sprawl across the cavern ceiling are perfectly in sync with them.

She has never been patient in her life.

-

From the moment of my conception, I have been wed to her. The ties that bind us are far stronger than that of matrimony and impossible to break. I was molded to be her creature. Try as she might, she can never escape a shadow that bears her shape—and that is all that I will ever amount to.

Still, it is entertaining to listen to her wish that it be otherwise.

She would no more choose this than I, she claims. But she forgets.

I did make this choice. I told myself it was for him. I told myself it was for the Pale Gift that I left behind. I told myself that I had enough strength within to succeed.

We are both fools and liars. I am, at least, aware of my failings.

They are all that make up what remains of me.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

NO.

-

There is another like me.

There is another and it has come for me; it has answered a scream from the two of us to set us free and I recognise it, I know those horns, I know, and I do not deserve, I do not want, I do not want to be saved—

There is another there is another there is another

Kill the empty one.

There is another like me there is another like me there is another

Kill the empty one.

It is her voice, I tell myself. It is her command issued to force her slaves, mindless as they are, animated by her power, to attack.

I would never.

(I want to. I want to rip it apart.

She is mine, she is mine, she is mine. This is my task, this is my burden, these are my shackles to bear, and I would not have her be taken from me, not like everything else, I have never had anything that is mine, I have never had anything, she is all that I have—

Go. Go. Go.

It should have died.

Like the rest of them.)

The frenzied feeling inside of me is a swelling thing. It shivers in my guts. It settles in as numbness at the tips of my fingers. He has cursed me. He has left me to watch the world, watch it die around me, watch my failure unfold on the stage, the curtain raised in a final act, Hallownest’s requiem in harmony with my screams. I cannot look away. I cannot stop myself from watching my sibling’s journey; I cannot tear my focus to something else, anything to ease the terror that surges through limbs that have long stopped aching because I no longer feel anything physically to begin with.

Run, I want to scream.

Leave, I want to beg.

(Save—

Save who? Me?

I don’t deserve it.

If it comes here, I will fail—

If it comes here, it will take my place and I do not want to—)

I cannot see her. I can feel her writhing within me, though. I can no longer tell where I end and she begins and that is for the better.

I think, perhaps, that I love her. She shaped me into something else; she moulded me into her creature, and she has always seen me. Where others bore witness to a monster in the shell of the king’s misbegotten offspring, she saw the writhing shadows and knew the potential that lay within. She sees me.

I think, perhaps, that I hate her for all of that, too. For how dare she look into my eyes and know my secrets—how dare she rummage through my mind to find where my scars are—how dare she reach out with tenderness.

“I know what it feels like to be abandoned by family,” she’d whispered one day, when we were newly acquainted, as if she could understand my pain.

She knew nothing about me.

She knows everything about me now.

She knows that I will bite every hand outstretched in kindness. She knows that mine are words edged in nails, that my heart is wrapped in razor wire and that to love me is to drown. She is caught in my maelstrom, as I am in hers. She burns everything that she touches. She convinces herself that she has been abandoned, but I know—for I know her secrets, surely as she knows mine.

One who burns down their house cannot complain about a lack of home.

But she loves me, she thinks, in the only way that she has ever known how to. She would break me into pieces to fit her shape and she would see nothing wrong with that. That tendency is why she is alone, I know.

But void is without form, and I can bend, I can twist, I can adapt.

I will never break.

This is the kind of love that I deserve.

For being a failure. For being selfish. For choosing to believe in a lie, to perpetuate it, to walk knowingly into a task I could never succeed at. My false faith has cost Hallownest everything. Who would dare love someone so wretched? Someone equally so.

We orbit one another. We will both kill the other given a chance. And then we will mourn the other’s absence horribly. We cannot exist without one another.

I would die with her. I want to die with her.

(I want to die. But not alone. No, never alone. Come with me. This is our tomb—together.)

-

Kind, gentle Isma falls first, of the Great Knights, and that is both heart wrenching and unsurprising. Ever has her nature been one of kindness, of compassion, of consideration; ever has she been the warmth that seeps through the Palace when none else could reach. As Hallownest withers beneath a rot so deep as to infect the very soil, its blossom turns her blooms to the ground, and she is consumed by the very vines that she once commanded.

I mourn her.

It is noble Hegemol who falls second, in the service of our king. The infection lays claim to him, ravaging his shell. He is buried in his armour high above the kingdom, to watch over from above; his is a sacrifice mourned by all.

I mourn him.

She tells me that she loves me as we watch my home fall apart. She tells me that this is not my fault; she reassures me that I am not to blame for failing, for no living thing could ever do what was commanded of me, and I do not respond. Her wings hold me tight, embrace warm, and the shadow within me surges, aching to devour.

Dreams are life essence, and the void will always long to smother out life, until nothing but itself remains.

Until it is whole again.

It can never be. Too many fragments have been broken away, stolen, thieved in the night—

I am one of those pieces.

I want to rend her with my maw. I want to bury my face in her feathers and sob.

The whole world knows that I have failed now. The whole world knows that I am flawed. Only death comes for them now.

-

She hates me, she tells me, whenever I refuse her. She reminds me of my failures, of the things that I have wrought upon Hallownest. “Your fault,” she reminds me. “You chose this. You could have done something different.” Never the same argument but it is the same thought in essence, and it needn’t really be voiced. She is right. I chose this. I caused this.

Failure. Failure. Failure. Failure.

I do not long for freedom. My sibling comes. My sibling means to set me free, regardless of what I feel—or it means to join me in endless torment, a storm of shadow to drown out the world.

What would I do if it succeeded? What will I do, when inevitably it breaks through the seals?

(Teacher, I have failed. All of your studies on void with the king have amounted to nothing. I am a craven thing, desperate. All the knowledge in the world cannot save you from that which you wilfully ignore.)

…kill it.

(Watcher, forgive me; you will never be given the chance to reunite with your Knight and it will be for naught—for I chose my own whims over your sacrifice; I chose to let you die for nothing. Noble Hegemol, forgive me; I have taken the person most dear to you from you, and for what?)

I would kill it.

(Beast. Oh, Beast. We have both left the Gendered Child behind in our ruins, to mourn us, and when we both are dead, she will be alone.

For I have failed. I have failed. All of this has availed us nothing.)

I tremble.

(Leave, sibling, I beg.

Leave, because you cannot withstand this. I see in you something alive. I see in you something with potential to survive.

Leave, because if you come here, I will kill you—and it will not be her command that makes me do it.

I have never been a good loser.)

-

Dryya falls third, far later than her other two companions.

Some of the honourable Mantis Tribe willingly take in the infection—their strength of will is too great to be consumed on their own, but their pride is their downfall, and they would do anything for strength. They do not understand that in bargaining with her, they seal their own fate. They do not understand that in choosing this path, they are condemning themselves to torment.

The fiercest of the knights falls to their blades in service of her queen, but she does not go alone. Her grave is composed of the bodies of the infected, her armour stained in orange. She goes down fighting, claws, and blades.

I do not think the White Lady is even aware of the moment that she dies.

Perhaps that is for the better. This torment should not be anyone’s to bear but my own. It is my fault, after all.

My captive no longer attempts to convince me otherwise. She is not cruel to me, but she need not be; I am vicious enough for us both. We are a shattered, tangled thing, and she regrets nothing of her choices.

Will they all die? I ask her, voice strangled from the pain that paralyses me, like the chains that hold us fast in the air, higher still.

This is an ascent with a great fall at the end.

Our shared body will break before we hit the ground.

“Yes,” she answers. “They all deserve to die.”

I do not agree, but my ability to stop her is hindered by the fatality of my flaw.

I do not want them all to die, but I do not care if they live, either.

Who among them mourned for me?

-

Leave, I command. It both is, and is not, my voice. Hers lays over it, a second skin, resonant and clear. My own is a rattling thing, hoarse to my ears, for so little do I bother to make words. I sound like a thing dead. I am a thing dead. The command holds force, though it goes ignored by the smaller figure circling me, its nail raised to shatter the old, rotting chains. Metal shouldn’t decay, but the passage of time is a brutal thing, and void corrodes what it encounters. This place is thick with it.

It jumps over the cracked, charcoal gray shell that was once my arm. The black stain around the discarded limb is a pool, rendering it unrecognizable. I can identify spots of mottled brown where infection has dripped from my rotting carcass. I am a sick thing. Perhaps it means to grant me a merciful death, but—

I am also a possessive thing. I have ever-been. I do not share well. So few things have ever truly been mine. But she is.

Leave, I reiterate. This time it is my voice, hers having faded back. I can feel her contemplating in the back of our shared mind, analyzing the threat it poses. She thinks in its small form, she might yet find salvation; perhaps it will set me free, and she can use me, macabre puppet that my wretched body has become, to enact her own terrible fury.

She is hope. She has yet to give it up.

I will never her go. This is my burden to bear, and she is mine. She is only mine.

Leave.

Its nail clashes into one of the blades. Metal screams in agony as it is shattered—or maybe that is the sound of the voice that I am not meant to have.

It circles. It means to release me from my bindings.

(It means to set me free. It means to shoulder my task on its own.)

My binds shatter one-by-one. The void within it purrs, melodious, through my own. I can feel it like blood beneath the shell, testing the waters, touching me, verifying that I am still here—that I am still alive.

I do not answer. I am not alive.

My chains fall away and I collapse to the ground, a pathetic caricature of the noble grace that I once possessed, and the infernal light of my eyes reflects back at me.

It probes again, gentle and reassuring, as though to remind me that it will stop at nothing to see me set free. It knows not that there is nothing left within me to save.

Very well. It will learn through pain, if it must.

Kill the empty one.

(We will.)

#ashe writes #one shots #hollow knight #hk fanfic #hk thk #hk hollow #the hollow knight #w&g #posting this on main and then reblogging to my writing blog dw about it

[dilfmansion]

Eclipse ~ Post-TotK Zelink

words: 2k

read on ao3

Nightmares are nothing new to Link.

He’s had them nearly every night since waking up. He doesn’t remember dreaming when he slept then, drifting weightless in that pool of blue fluid, but every time he’s shut his eyes since has been fraught with visions.

Even now, after all that has happened, after the Calamity and the Upheaval, after losing everything and finding it again, he still can’t seem to shake the worry that follows him into sleep.

The dreams are not the same from one night to the next.

Sometimes it’s about his arm.

The feeling of it rotting away while still attached, the flesh infected with malice and death. The way his nerves fry and his grip on the master sword slips as muscle is worn through and rendered useless.

Sometimes it’s Ganon.

Red hair corded like sinew, eyes so full of calm hatred that Link’s hands start to shake if he looks for too long. His hands wrapped around Link’s head, squeezing like he’s trying to burst his skull.

Zelda sleeps with him now. It had been something silently agreed on when she came to stay in Hateno and just never left. It helps, a little— having her there. He likes waking up to the smell of her hair, the press of her hand to his chest, soft murmurs of assurance as she coaxes him back to sleep. It’s a vast improvement from silence and an empty home. It doesn’t stop the dreams, but they seem easier when she’s there.

Today the nightmare is something new.

It begins with the blood moon. Hung low and bright in the sky, it casts deep shadow across the landscape that seems to twist and writhe everywhere it can find darkness. Link blinks. It feels slow, uncoordinated. He recognizes this place, he thinks. A vague approximation of the ruins of Sanidin Park, slightly distorted and stained red from the light of the moon. 

Link steps into the vision. It feels dull, like tepid water lapping against his skin. Strings of malice seep up from the ground and dissipate. It would almost be beautiful, if he didn’t know what it was. What it could do.

He thinks to look up, drawn by some invisible string to the statue of the horse that sits in the middle of the rotunda. Link’s breath stops in his throat.

Zelda stands there. Barefoot, staring up into the bloody sky. She looks like some homage to the Goddess, clad in robes dyed pink and brown by the light of the moon, 

It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

I missed you , Link responds, though he doesn’t remember speaking.

Zelda turns to him slow. Like they’re underwater. 

At the same unhurried pace, Link feels an echo of discomfort at the very fringes of his mind. Something is not right, though he can’t place what. 

The princess picks her steps carefully as she steps towards him. She moves stiffly, like her legs aren’t quite limber enough to carry her. Link frowns. Doesn’t move from where he stands as she approaches.

You are so loyal.

She’s right in front of him, suddenly.

Kneel .

Link does– his legs turn to liquid under him before he can choose to obey. When did she get so close to him?

Do you know why I like you, knight?

He doesn’t like the way she says these things. She speaks to him like he’s a child, but there’s something missing. The words are hollow. Absent of tone. Link swallows down a question– she’s already asked him one, requested an answer. He stays silent for a few beats.

I serve you .

He blinks and Zelda is gone. 

No .

Her voice returns, directly in his right ear, sharp where it should be soft. Link is pushed forward by the force of the word and something he cannot name. He trips over himself to look back at her.

Zelda smiles, the expression dying before it reaches her eyes. 

Silly boy . She rises from her low bow. You’re a fine warrior, but you’re quite dim, aren’t you?

Link’s brow creases, his eyes searching her face. It holds no humor, no sense that she may not be telling the truth. She wears an expression of utter indifference. And Goddess, that hurts .

You would do anything for me, if I asked.

It’s true and Link knows it. Maybe that’s why he falters.

You would kill for me , Zelda continues. Her feet begin to lift off the ground. Black pools flood her eyes in place of vibrant green. You would die for me . You have, before.

Fear crawls into Link like an animal. It begins to gnaw at his bones, make his breath come quick and his hands seize up. He squeezes his eyes shut, praying to the Goddess that that will make this go away, make everything normal again, bring the real Zelda back so that she can laugh and take his hands and tell him kind things.

Link is awarded no such luck.

When he opens his eyes again it’s not to Zelda. It’s to Ganon, looming massive and stifling above him, mirroring the red moon.

You will die again .

Link is ripped from the dream like a bandage from a fresh wound, raw parts of him sticking to its fabric.

He wakes up crying.

The blankets are shoved off as he scrambles to sit up, clawing at his heaving chest, breath catching in his lungs before he can take in enough air. His throat aches and sweat sticks his bangs to his forehead. Streaming in through the window, just as vicious and unwelcoming as it was in his dream, is the light of the blood moon. 

“Link..?”

He responds to the soft call of his name instantly, wild eyes snapping up to find where it came from.

Zelda is standing there at the top of the stairs. She looks almost out of breath, like she had run up them, and pure, soft worry has set creases in the lines of her face.

All Link sees is the Zelda from his dream. Her dead eyes, the way she moved like her limbs were not her own. He hears what she had said to him. How true it had sounded. Like his stupidity was a fact, like all he was good for was following her around like a stray dog and barking only when she commanded it. Link starts to shake his head, his tongue caught.

Zelda moves towards him, slow, careful. She had learned quickly what his nightmares are like, how scared he can be when he wakes up from them. Most nights she is already there next to him, cupping his face in her hands and carding fingers through his long hair and telling him everything is okay. Tonight is different. This is new territory.

“It’s alright,” Zelda is quick to assure, concern creasing her brow as she comes to rest at the side of the bed, kneeling to bring herself closer to Link’s level. “You’re safe, Link, it was only a dream.” She reaches out to him. A hand on his knee, nothing more, but the gesture makes him jump as if he’s been burned. Link recoils, pressing himself into the corner where the bed meets the wall. His breaths begin to come faster, tears spilling down flushed cheeks and fingers trembling where they’ve latched onto a fistfull of the bedsheets.

Zelda’s eyes widen– that had been mistake, evidently. She withdraws her hand, eyes searching Link’s for any sign of what went wrong. What he’s seeing that she’s not. She is a scientist. This is what she does best.

It only takes a few moments for her to notice it. Link is tracking every movement she makes. Every time she blinks. Frantic, hesitant. Assessing what she might do next. Zelda sees it on his face. Slowly, painfully, realization dawns. 

She is a threat.

Zelda ignores the ache in her chest that flares up at that thought. Gingerly, so as not to frighten him more than she already has, she turns around, never raising herself higher than Link’s eye level. She sits with her back to him, a universal act of surrender and trust. Placing the control in his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, soft and level, eyes cast down to the floor, “I didn’t know.”

It doesn't feel like enough. Zelda wants to wrap her arms around Link, press soft kisses to his forehead and show him just how little of a threat to him she is. But now is not the time.

Minutes pass in silence. Eventually Link’s panicked breaths begin to slow, and the light of the blood moon graduates to a softer red as the night passes its peak. 

“It wasn’t you.”

His voice is startling in the quiet. Zelda lifts her head, taking a moment to sit with the words.

“In your dream?”

She doesn’t need an answer to know she’s right. Link has told her about what happened during the Upheaval before, on nights not unlike these. When his hands move feverishly with the weight of words he cannot say. He’s told her about the other Zelda. The figment of malice and deceit that Ganon had seemingly crafted for the sole purpose of destroying Link’s will. Of shredding any hope he had left. It had worked well, if this was any indication.

Zelda moves slowly as she angles herself back towards Link. He’s still backed into the corner like a feral animal, but some of the fear seems to have subsided. Now Link sits there, hand curled in the hair at the back of his neck, miserable and exhausted . Dark circles cast his eyes in shadow, lids only halfway open and lashes wet with clingling tears.

“I know it wasn’t.” Zelda extends a hand again– slower this time, making sure Link sees exactly what she is doing as she places it palm-down on the bed at least a few inches away from him. He watches, makes no change or indication of discomfort. Progress , Zelda thinks. “I’m sorry for frightening you.”

Link shakes his head. He lets his hand fall from his hair, reaching across his lap to let his own hand rest near hers. Not quite touching. 

“I missed you.” 

His voice is so small it hurts. Zelda bridges the gap between them, fingers lacing together in a small promise of assurance, comfort. 

“I will always come back to you.”

That’s all it takes. Link’s face cracks and he looks up, finally meeting her gaze as another round of tears well up in blue eyes. He unfurls himself from his hiding place, stretching out towards Zelda, towards solace.

She meets Link halfway and catches him as he all but falls into her arms. Zelda holds him close against her as she smooths his hair down against the back of his head, chest hitching with ragged sobs. His fingers curl in the back of her tunic. 

They hold each other fast there for far too long to count. Hours, maybe. Until Link breathes steadily again and his fingers loosen in the fabric of her clothes. Zelda only moves when her legs begin to grow numb beneath her. She joins him in their bed then, limbs tangling together as they curl into one another, as close as they can be without taking up residence beneath each others’ skin.

It’s late– early, rather, and they both need rest. Link breathes out against her, long and soft. Gentle. At ease. He reaches out until he finds her hand, calloused fingers cradling hers as he turns it palm-up to face them and begins to write against her skin. The slow drag is warm and familiar. I love you. Zelda smiles, kisses the side of his head.

“I love you,” she returns, a whisper against Link’s temple, and it’s so earnest because it’s true. She would give her life for him in a heartbeat and take care of him until the word ceases to spin. He is the bravest person she has ever met. The strongest, the kindest, the most honest. He is a thousand perfect things, and he will hear every one if it takes her a lifetime to speak them all.

As the last rays of the blood moon fade, and the sky cedes to the dim light of morning, Zelda feels the soft imprint of his smile press against her collarbone.

#legend of zelda #princess zelda #the legend of zelda #link x zelda #zelda #zelink #zelink fanfiction #zelda tears of the kingdom #zelda totk #totk #link totk #loz #levi writes #link loz #loz totk #tears of the kingdom #zelda fanfiction #post totk #ganondorf #totk ganon #puppet zelda

[tonberry-yoda]

Once Upon A Dream - Julian Devorak

Pairing - Julian Devorak x reader (a dress is mentioned to be on reader, but clothes dont mean nothin frfr)

Warnings - Julian getting drunk lmaoooo but nothing other than that lol

Word Count - ~1,270

Notes - this is old... LIKE REALLY FLIPPIN OLD like SO OLD OMG. it was rotting in google docs and I found it and I actually love it. I kinda miss my old writing style ngl... that's okay tho lol, I still love my writing now dont get me wrong, but this was in a time where i had a ton of free time, so i could write all day if i wanted to. anyway, enjoy!!! <333 (i did edit it a bit tho lmao)

You were never around the palace often, considering the people there didn't like you much. You were poor. You worked in the marketplace.

But occasionally, You would find yourself in the garden on a gloomy and foggy day playing with the frost covered, half dead flowers with a smile on your face even though your feet were covered in mud and there was no saving the brim of that dress that had dirt and grass stains collected from the past couple of years.

You smiled as you ran your hand over the ice covered fountain humming to yourself, Once Upon a Dream. The tune has been stuck in your head all morning.

As you was getting through the chorus, watching a bird eat the seeds you threw, you felt something warm next to you and another voice joined in. “But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…”

You turned over, shocked and a man laughed. “My apologies. I love that song. Been stuck in my head all morning, I just had to get it out. I thought it was a nice opportunity.”

You smiled, tilting your head. “Are you… Doctor Devorak?”

“Ugh, formalities. Call me Julian, dear. Or Doctor Julian. Formalities.” He shook his head as he repeated that word.

“What are you doing out here, doctor?”

He smiled, looking at the crisp grass. “Nothing like a morning walk, don't you think? Sometimes one man can get sick of the plague.”

“I would imagine,” you pulled you cold legs towards your chest, sitting down. “Are you getting close to a cure?”

He shrugged, looking off before sighing, putting his head in his hands. “God, I just feel like I'm a failure.”

“A failure? No! You’ve helped a lot of people!”

“There’s only so much I can do before there’s hoards of people! More and more people get infected every day. More people are dying and I can only heal so many at a time.”

“Doctor, you’re doing fi-”

“That’s what you see on the surface! Do you see this?!” He threw off his eyepatch revealing the plague.

You gasped and backed up.

“It's not contagious, love… I apologize… I just let out everything on a stranger, huh?” He sighed, laughing sadly to himself and sat back down, putting the eyepatch back on. “I'm fine. The plague doesn't affect me or anyone around me.”

You sighed, sitting next to him. “I'm sorry about that. You’re doing the best you can do right now though and that’s enough for the town for now.”

“I'm trying.”

You grabbed his warm, gloved hand and rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand. “You are. And that’s good enough. At least you’re putting in effort.”

He laughed and looked directly into your eyes. “I just realized that I never learned your name, dear.”

---

“Can I get another salty bitters over here?”

The bartender leaned over the table, laughing. “Another one?! Dr. Devorak, you’re going to die off of those things!”

“The great Dr. Devorak doesn't die over alcohol!” He hiccuped and stood up on his table. “I am the great Dr. No. 069! Got it, barkeep?!”

The whole bar burst out into laughter, including Julian who slipped off of his table.

All of a sudden, the whole bar got quiet when a small silhouette walked in and over to the bar. “Excuse me… can I get a salty bitters please?”

The bartender looked at you with a very skeptical eye, laughing along with the rest of the bar. “The little one… wants a salty bitters?!”

“Yes please.”

“Where did you come from?”

“None of your business. Can I have my drink please?”

He laughed so hard that he fell over along with the rest of the bar and you stood there, rolling your eyes.

Julian scattered up and ran next to you. “A salty bitters, you say?”

You smiled, turning to Julian. “Yes, a salty bitters. Does everyone and their mother have a problem with that?”

He laughed, banging his hand on the counter. “You heard the lady, barkeep! Get her a salty bitters!”

You were standing so close to him that you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

The bartender got up and handed you your alcohol. “There ya go little one! A salty bitters… in a teacup!”

The whole bar broke out into insane laughter as you took your drink.

It all stopped when you slammed it down though.

“I'll take one more and be on my way, thanks.” You threw the money on the counter and the bar went back to normal.

“Did you used to be a pirate or sumthin?” The bartender slid over your drink, flashing you a toothy smile.

“I did.”

“Cute. Enjoy the drink, okay?” He winked and you smiled and walked away, rolling your eyes.

Julian ran after you and grabbed your shoulder. “You look familiar… Do I know you?”

You studied his face for a minute, only a flash of a memory appearing for a second. “I… I don't know.”

His hand slid down your shoulder, falling limply. “Okay… sorry.”

You grabbed his fallen hand, looking into his shaky eyes. “It's okay.” You smiled, sending a shockwave of familiarity through his body that made him shake.

“I'll… see you around?”

You turned over, the smile only turning brighter. “Yeah.”

---

He stared at his plague doctor mask, looking off to the sea with a sad look striking his eyes. “Who needs a plague doctor if there’s no plague? …”

He threw his mask into the ocean and a small tear fell down his cheek. He let himself cry with his face in the palms of his hands, calling himself things like a failure and a murderer. He didn't want to be seen as these things, but he figured they were true based on the words of the people. The people he tried to save, only to let down.

“Dr. Devorak?” He turned over, seeing you, who he met at the bar. You, whose shop he broke into. You, who patted him down and he subtly flirted with.

“D-Dear!” He realized that when he looked at you, his face was red, puffy, and tear stained. “S-Sorry.”

She sat next to him, looking out at the sea. “Sorry for what?”

“N-Nothing. Nevermind.”

You sat in silence for a moment as you scooted closer to him, your hands almost touching.

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Did you actually kill Lucio?” He looked over to you with shock in his eyes that turned soft almost immediately. “I don't remember.”

You hummed in response, scooting closer. “I hope this doesn't sound weird… but Julian… it feels like we’ve known each other for years.”

He laughed, moving his hand to his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “You’re telling me!”

You smiled and stood up, stretching your hand out. “Julian, let's go get some dinner.”

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he stood up, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “Yes please.”

---

Julian, I love you. I didn't tell you… but I have the red plague. I don't know when you’ll read this, but please know that even in death, I will be with you forever. I promise that we’ll see each other again. Even if it takes an eternity. To be honest with you… I love you. I always have. You’ve had nothing but respect for me and I hope that I showed you the same. Good luck. You’ll always be the best doctor in my eyes. I believe in you. Even in my last days I look at you with dreamy eyes. I love you, Dr. Devorak.

XOXO

the arcana masterlist

@tonberry-yoda

#writing #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #the arcana #the arcana x reader #julian #julian x reader #julian the arcana #julian devorak #julian devorak x reader #julian devorak x mc #julian devorak the arcana #OLD WRITING #this took forever to edit omg #<3 #i need to write for him again frfr

[the-magpie-archives]

MAG 6 - 'Squirm' - Speculations on parasitic infection.

This statement has many interesting aspects, but one that catches my attention is the subtle details of just how Prentiss's parasites seem to infect.

Harriet says she felt like she was stabbed, but doesn't mention worms or obvious rot on Prentiss, which would have been noticeable even in a moment of shock. This, and the fact that she wasn't wounded implies that the spreading of the sickness is not only caused by the worms.

From their description, Prentiss's worms are more like larvae than your standard worm, and the thing about larvae is that the eggs they emerge from are small, delicate. Anyone that's dealt with maggots knows that you can't just get rid of the maggots, you need to destroy the eggs too, but this brings me to another point.

Because of how delicate the eggs of a fly are, its common for them to lay them on things, and even in things; this is sometimes called flystrike. When I was a child I had a bright green pet caterpillar, I kept him in a jar and fed him leaves, and was so excited for him to turn into a butterfly! He never did though, instead I watched him torn in half from the inside out as fly larvae crawled from his corpse. If a fly laying its eggs under the skin of a caterpillar could do that, imagine what a human could do to another with this mutated, powerful, fear-driven parasite.

Harriet's eventual demise wasn't all that different from that of my pet, but as all things are with humans, it was undeniably messier. This dramatic end also puts me in mind of Ohiocordyceps unilateralis, more commonly known as the zombie ant fungus. After its host has served its purpose it very dramatically blooms, spreading the infection further to keep its species alive.

The parasite being spread by intercourse implies that either extended physical contact or transfer of bodily fluid can also cause infection. To me it makes more sense that it's fluids, as I think Timothy Hodge would have noticed anything physical, he seemed to be quite perceptive. The parasite being spread by fluids is interesting, as that could mean it has more fungus-like properties and spreads it's spores through the bloodstream, thereby affecting everything else.

This would mean that the methods of infection are: transfer of bodily fluid, flystrike, and the traditional worm burrowing. Correlating it as best I can, it seems to me that the worms exist as both parasite and fungus- something obviously not possible in reality, but definitely pleasing to the otherworldly fear entity of rot and filth!

Prentiss, as the source of it all, seems to have the ability to plant the eggs, which in turn can grow the worms. Whilst a host grows these perhaps the spores inside of them can spread others that they become physical with. I like to think that then the spores could grow and change into the worms, which in turn can infest others, leaving spores to create even more, creating the perfect flesh hive.

#Every day I wake up and choose to analyse Jonathan Sims work in terrible ways #I have no scientific background‚ I am but a hobbyist with a passion for the grotesque! But I hope this makes sense... #Any real sciency people please add to this 😌 #Ik it's the worm sex statement and all but I want to think about disgustingness and infection #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus institute #jane prentiss #tma the corruption #Jonathan Sims #Mag 6 #Magpies-analysis #God this is gonna need so many tws #tw bugs #tw worms #tw maggots #tw death #tw body horror #tw mentions of sex #tw mushrooms #tw parasite #tw infection #tw gross #Okay this is all I can think of so lemme know if there's any more I should add :)

[bwobgames]

Previous First

"We met on University, I was on the student council and he was the type of guy who was everywhere, all volunteer works, all university events, all sport competitions, he was there. So, I decided to befriend him, to get information on how the student body was doing"

"You networked your way into romance?"

"Don't say it like that"

"We made a great team, He was amazing at managing time and ideas, while i'm great at people managing and overall organizing. We admired that about eachother. That admiration turned into love, I think"

"He told me of his big project, his dream company. We were young, we were extremely competent, and most importantly, he was rich. So, clearly, it was a success."

"After that we had it all, a nice house, money, time. So we decided to take the next step: kids"

"From the moment I saw my little Nadia's tiny hand, I knew this was happiness. I knew that this was all that i've worked for, that it was finally time to rest."

"Eugene wanted a boy too, so we had another. Two silly little things waddling around the house."

"But after a while, he was restless again, He wanted more projects, more travels, more deals. But I couldn't join him, our kids needed us!, I tried to make him understand that, but he took it as an invitation to just do it alone"

"He appeared once every month or so, bringing gifts to the kids, claiming he loved them. I hope he did"

"Honestly, If it wasn't for Nina I wouldn't be standing right now."

"Excuse me, who?"

"Eugene's sister, She's always been there for me. She's wonderful with kids, and with me. I would do anything for her"

"We raised the kids together, they still call her "Mama Nina" sometimes. it was difficult, but she made it all better"

"Until one day. when suddenly Eugene came back carrying divorce papers"

"I asked why, and he just said he was over with family, that he tried it but didn't want it anymore, so he was going to leave"

"He decided to take the house, and our shared bank account"

"At first I thought he was cheating on me, but then I realized it was way worse"

"He never loved, he wanted the concept of a wife, of kids and family. But he didn't care, he just wanted to check that mark and continue with the next life event. I was just another dumb girl being used by a selfish rich guy"

"I don't really remember what I did, maybe I cried, maybe I screamed. But knowing myself, I probably just stood in silence and accepted it."

"Nina didn't accept it at all"

"I've heard siblings fight but never like this. Whatever she said must have really moved him, because next thing I know, he's running away from authorities"

"The thought of all my youth, my potential, my life prospects being squashed by one man- I... I wasn't coping well.

I screamed and cried and said horrible things to the people I love. My kids went to live with their friend. I drove Nina away. And when i tried being better, doing something for the community, this happens. He haunts me. We are still perceived as husband as wife because we didn't tell anyone!"

"I don't know why this is happening, but I know one thing: Just like his name, that man is a bacteria. He will infect you and slowly rot your insides, and you will never realize it until he has killed you already."

"Tell me, detective. Now that you've listened to all that."

#girlies we are getting LORE #i do be writting #if you see a gramatical error fuck you #/teehee #girls that are born from mitski songs #detective beebo #wlw angst?? on my detective story? more likely than you think

[mayybirds]

TtVtL Chapter 8 Snippet~

I was hoping to have the new chap out this weekend, but it didn't quite get together in time. We're looking at sometime late next week for the update. So for now, here's a lil preview to whet your appetites:

Eventually, once the pins and needles in his legs have come and gone, and with some reluctant help from Eveline, who grumbles the whole time about it, Ethan manages to finagle himself, with minimal flopping, into a sitting position, and then gets to his feet once more, this time successfully. He stretches out his aching limbs, and then pulls the rough-hewn wood table that is the centerpiece of the cabin into the patch of filtered light cast by the window, places the chairs at either end for himself and Eveline.

Sunlight, Ethan decides, is a glorious thing he is never going to take for granted again. Not after yesterday’s long night, where he’d feared to never see the sun again, to die in darkness and decay. 

Eveline sits in hers carefully, regarding him unsurely as Ethan flops in his and rubs a weary hand over his face. He feels remarkably well-rested, all things considered, but the aches and pains in his body are definitely not minor. What he probably needs is food, and water, and yet more sleep, in all honesty, but while he’s certainly going to prioritize the first two, he’s not hedging his bets on getting more of the third. It’s already lucky the BSAA and Umbrella haven’t found them yet. 

When he pulls his hand away from his face, Eveline is still staring silently at him, and Ethan realizes he has no idea how to even start this conversation—what needs to be said now to get them situated and out of here without her freaking out on him, and what must come later—and flounders. “Uh…” Great start, asshole, he thinks sourly. “Sorry you couldn’t wake me up earlier. I’m…not usually such a heavy sleeper. Next time just kick me awake, or something.” The second it’s out of his mouth, his long history of reacting violently to being awoken forcefully occurs to him, and Ethan winces. “Actually, wait, don’t do that.”

Eveline just keeps staring, and he coughs awkwardly. 

“How long were you waiting for me to wake up?”

Eveline finally breaks eye contact to look at her hands, fidgeting with them in her lap. “Don’t know. A while.”

“Shit,” Ethan mumbles. With the cursed ambiguities of kid-speak, that could mean anything from thirty minutes to hours. “Sorry. You must have been…” Don’t say scared. “Hungry?” It comes out sounding more like a question than anything else, timid and unsure. He tries again. “I mean…it’s probably been a while since you ate, right?” Hell, the last meal they’d both been present for had been Marguerite’s god-awful rotting carcass of a dinner, and he severely doubts Eveline ate any more than he did. Though, in retrospect, maybe the rotten food was good for people who were infected? Mold grew on rotten things, right? Fuck, he’d never been that good at the biological sciences. He was a computer guy for a reason. 

Eveline is looking at him again, though, half-wary but seemingly half-intrigued by the concept of food, so he plows on. “I know I’m hungry, at least. Starved,” and he manages a half-hearted laugh that quickly trails off. “What about you?”

“I ate,” Eveline mumbles, not really answering the question, and points a finger out behind his shoulder. When Ethan glances over, he notices for the first time a couple empty cans on the bench next to the sink that look like they’ve been practically licked clean, as well as several empty test-tubes scattered about with the remnants of black sludge clinging to their glass sides, and winces—both at the clear picture being painted of Eveline having to feed herself what was in all likelihood cold beans while he took a fucking nap, as well as at the…other stuff.

He’s not going to ask Eveline if she ate mold samples. He’s not. If only for his own sanity. 

“Okay,” he says after a long moment, “But…are you hungry?”

Eveline shrugs, and he takes that as a yes. 

#for those who are curious this takes place in like the first 1/3 of the chapter but is NOT the opening scene #Ethan and his cringefail struggles to bond with his new kid and also figure out how to feed her: the chapter #Through the Valley to Life

[cryo-lily]

For the ~couple questions~! How about 1, 14, & 24 for whoever feels like answering! 😁

Thank you thank you for the ask @shynmighty! Gunna answer these for Issie & Lana as they are the SWTOR brain rot currently infecting my brain lately ^-^

These two will be the death of me one of these days, and I would die happy.

1. What do they think of each other's family? And how does the family feel?

Well with what little is known about Lana's parents, I can only hope they would at least respect Isadola if not like her. In the very least from Isadola's side of things she would respect them, but probably not trust them completely as they were highly respected entrepreneurs (and how they got to be such being up in the air, that detail would be key tho), and until she got to know them better she wouldn't know what to feel about them depending on the kind of relationship Lana had with them, assuming they were still alive.

On the flip side of things, Tilera (assuming she was still alive) would love Lana. She would probably hit it off with her and love seeing how happy Lana makes Issie. It wouldn't out of the picture for Tilera to just immediately accept Lana into the family. And on the other hand I think Lana in the very least would respect Tilera, and the woman she is/was. Lana would also probably even hit it off with her as well, as each of their own ways of a Sith aren't totally different and would easily talk philosophy if given the chance.

Now Issie's father, Donovan, on the hand... He just views his errant daughter as a mistake & complication that needs to be "fixed" or taken out of the picture. He doesn't like Lana in the slightest and the feeling is mutual. With what little Lana knows of the whole situation, and as she learns more, it's matter of when she tries to kill Donovan, for everything he has put Issie through and continues to put her through as time goes on as he eventually comes back into the picture later. And Lana now being in the picture, it complicates his plans in trying to remove his daughter from the picture as he tried & failed to do years ago.

So all in all... just... complicated all around 😅

14. What little things remind them of each other?

For Lana, certain types of musics & crystals always remind her of Isadola. She has caught Issie more than once just lost in her Artifice crafting humming or singing to herself to some obscure music not typically played in most cantinas they've passed or been in amongst their travels. Whether it's how the certain shine or glow from some crystals that always seems to light Isadola's face up whenever she sees one, seemingly always captivated by them. Or how pleasantly lost in her music Issie gets when she's alone always brings a certain lightness to Lana's heart whenever she encounters her in such situations. Reminded of all the lighter moments of Isadola being unburdened by her responsibilities, allowing herself to let the facade and walls she's built up drop, being able to see the real woman underneath that very few beyond Lana herself have seen.

As for Isadola, she was never one for poetry or poetic literature but seeing how Lana sometimes unwinds with it, and being able to see how calming it can be for her made Issie develop an appreciation for it even if it still isn't a favorite form of literature for her personally. And even when Isadola away from Odessen/home, away on a mission or away from Lana, Issie always takes with her some poetry to read, to keep her mind occupied in any downtime she may find herself in. No matter the subject matter her mind can't help but drift off sometimes to moments she's seen of the softer, more serene side of Lana that she only allows Isadola to see in her moments alone or in private.

24. How did they fall for eachother?

For either Isadola or Lana, both truly fell for eachother back when they began to grow closer on Rishi years ago, despite being drawn to eachother since their first meeting.

In Lana's case, seeing & getting to know Issie beyond the Jedi titles that drew her into the Revanite plot they each found themselves in, is what really made Lana fall for her. Seeing how fiercely Issie cares for others, for better or worse, even those she doesn't know, and strives to do what she believes is right despite the possible cost to herself most of the time. But never failing to take a step back and thinking pragmatically about things before acting on situations without knowing as much as she could. Even if it means taking lives for a greater good, seeing Issie not as bound to the Jedi code that most other Jedi she's run across.

As for Isadola, Lana turned out to be not like any other Sith she's encountered or heard about, but getting to know her more as they worked together really struck something in Issie down to her core. Though not always agreeing on things, something that really caused her to fall for Lana was having a similar or like mind to talk to when trying to figure out anything or a problem out. Also easily working together to save both sides from worse machinations, not to further one's personal gains, but just because it was right. And just working together helped Issie break through the binary definitions of things drilled into her by the Republic & Jedi when growing up. Isadola could possibly spend the rest of her life trying to list the reasons she fell for Lana.

Thank you thank you for the ask again! Sorry it took me a bit to answer!

#swtor #swtor oc #oc: isadola ardeen #lana beniko #oc asks #ask lily

[nickosaymon]

WARNING: ⚠️⚠️⚠️

This "fanfic" addresses sensitive topics, such as death, infection with a lethal virus, bad language, cannibalism and violence.

If you are sensitive to these topics, please do not read. Or at least read it with a plush toy by your side!

For the rest of the remaining people, have a good read!

If there are any spelling mistakes let me know, English is not my native language.

DAY 10 - “Today my sister went to the market, she was just hoping to buy some fruits like apples, but when she got there, she was almost attacked by a pony. She managed to defend herself, but it was still dangerous. Princess Twilight Sparkle asked us to quarantine, all the ponies are scared, sometimes we hear noises at the doors, but we don't open them, it could be one of them... Anyway, the letters don't go anywhere, many ponies have gotten sick, so no one risks going out. I keep thinking about my special po-”

FUCK! MY SPECIAL PONY! What the fuck am I doing standing here? I.. I need to find him! This is dangerous... But sick ponies can't fly...

I look at my wings, this will be a quick flight, I'm just going to see him and then come back! No one will notice I even leave..

Opening the bedroom windows, he also opens his wings and with a little preparation, flies out the window. Flying over all of Ponyville, the houses had their doors and windows closed, there were some ponies coming out, but there were others that were completely strange.

“Ah, this perfectly recalls what Princess Twilight said, these strange ponies are so clumsy and slow...”

The little pegasus watched those ponies as he flew low, quickly arriving at his beloved's house, but the low flight had its bad points... the smell is strong, it smells like rot.

“OH NO NO NO NO! WHERE ARE YOU LOVE?”

Looking everywhere, putting your ear to the window and listening to the ponies inside. Where is he.. maybe infected? The little pegasus flew away, this time back to his home.

“He’s probably not infected! He is smart, handsome and agile!”

As he questioned in his head, his wings ended up beating faster and faster, but lower, and lower, until he crashed into a pony.

“OH OH OH, SORRY” He looked around but didn't see any pony.

“Hey! I'm right here!” The pony, comically, was underneath him.

They stood up and when they looked at each other.

“SASA! What are you doing here! It's dangerous!" The unicorn said this bitterly, but with a tone of concern.

“By Celestia, be gentle I was looking for you! Since the letters don't arrive..”

Both ponies were worried about each other, but the place and time did not allow for conversation.

“Sasa there's a... Behind you..”

The pegasus flapped its wings and started to fly low, it turned around and looked at that thing, it didn't look like a pony.

That thing made some strange noises, it has the structure of a pony, but it doesn't look like one, it's almost an empty shell of what once was a pony... I wonder how he is still alive and slowly walking towards us.

“SASA GET OUT” A ray of magic is thrown at that infected pony, which scares the pegasus and almost fails to fly.

“We need to get out of here, I think your achievement attracted attention..” They both look at a bunch of infected people walking close to them.

“So they are attracted to sounds... some don't even have ears”

“Don’t just stand there!”

The unicorn murmurs, but then runs away close to some houses, while the pegasus flies right above him. No pony would answer them, everyone is too scared to be kind, so what was left for the two was to hide between the alleys.

“So, I don't want to ruin our escape, but there are already other weird ponies in this alley..."

“FUCK! We’ll have to do this another way!”

The unicorn quickly stopped running and turned towards those ponies, using its horn to make magical rays and hit them. Which was easy, since the infected were very slow, sometimes one or the other was faster, but it still wasn't difficult.

The pegasus to help, ripped a splinter of wood from the roof of one of the houses and threw it at the other infected people who were already in the alley.

“YUCK! HOW DISGUSTING THEY ARE FULL OF WORMS” He kept hitting those things with the wood until it broke.

“We are stuck! Couldn’t we run away?”

“Escape how?? Run where??” The magical rays began to diminish, just as the unicorn's horn began to hurt.

"The roof!" Quickly the pegasus held the unicorn and flapped its wings as hard as possible, but he wouldn't be able to do it alone. “USE YOUR HORN, OR WE WILL DIE!” The unicorn quickly forced its horn to levitate itself, with a lot of effort, both managed to climb onto a roof.

“There's no point staying here. They’re going to try to get up here.” Soon he looks at the pegasus who rips a splinter of wood from the roof and throws it down below. “That'll probably keep them there..”

The two ponies were tired, definitely neither of them imagined that this could happen, maybe the unicorn, Arthur, imagined this, but the pegasus didn't. The two of them just decided to stay on the roof, and maybe jump from roof to roof.

With every minute that passed, they both became more anxious, it's not like they were taking any risks, but they just wanted to be safe at home soon. It wasn't close to night, but it was as if a dense fog was under the sky. A possible side effect of the fact that pegasus stopped clearing the sky over time. Some of them simply refused and others were just scared.

For a while Rainbow Dash was cleaning the sky on her own, but she and her friends were summoned by Celestia to go to Canterlot. Nopony knows what they are doing, some simply assume they have all escaped to somewhere where this infection doesn't exist.

The pegasus, now a little rested, flaps its wings and flies up to the sky, close to the clouds and takes some out of the sky. Then he goes back to the roof where he was with his special pony.

“Now we can know when it’s getting late!” The little pegasus places his wing behind his beloved, and looks at him smiling. “How long are we going to stay here?” The unicorn looks at his beloved, half torn between concern for his love and concern for his family.

“I just hope we stay safe.”

.

In a place not far away, six brave ponies and two princesses were planning something. They set up armies and strategies, at the same time as they prepared their best doctors. The ponies didn't know it yet, or at least most didn't, but what was coming was terrible. No one would know how this terrible virus started, but there was speculation.

“ A curious unicorn stole a book from the forbidden part of the Canterlot library, in the book there was an unfinished spell, which promised to keep pests away from fruits. But at a terrible price.. ”

“ Wow.. do you think this story could be right Celestia? ”

“ We hope so, this is our only chance Twilight ”

END

of the first chapter

#my little worms #my little pony #fanfic #mlp #mlp ocs #mlp fan fiction

[myersesque]

ok, more coherent post for you (spoilers for ep1 of the show AND the entirety of the first game):

i LOVE how they're handling the realism in this show so far, especially in regards to joel. everything from giving him n tess a slightly more realistic job (there's no way in hell they'd sneak in and out of quarantine zones Constantly without getting caught, and weapon smuggling somehow strikes me - an inexperienced person who has never held a gun before - as less believable), to actually acknowledging that what happened in the prologue was traumatic (not just through his nightmares, but the flashback he experiences at the sight of the guard's flashlight and gun, the less-than-wonderful coping mechanisms e.g. substance abuse, his tendency to lash out when upset), to even just showing him as A Normal Person before he becomes the protagonist (not just because it's sarah's pov, but because we see him eating breakfast and talking about his job and making dumb inside jokes long before there's a single infected on screen). as a professional joel miller enthusiast, i really appreciated how much it seems like they're trying to flesh out his character (as wonderfully-written as he always was, video games can't have cutscenes upon cutscenes of exposition and character development lest they bore the player), and his relationships with other characters (tess being the most noticeable for me - their relationship felt more heartfelt and genuine to me than it ever did in the game, though perhaps that's a personal taste thing).

my favourite bit of casual dialogue that i feel rlly meant a lot to joel's character was sarah remarking that she fixed his watch because "you'd never do it for yourself" - because joel, as much as he nearly forgets it before meeting ellie, is not nearly as selfish as he sometimes seems. he'd never fix his watch on his own, because he'd rather use the money on sarah. he'd never let the fireflies keep ellie, because he'd rather let the world - including himself - rot than let them hurt her.

tl;dr, i absolutely love this interpretation of joel so far. i can see areas where some people (especially those who wanted an exact replica of the games) might dislike him, but i for one could not be happier rn

#also? rlly like pedro's joel voice #it's higher n raspier than troy's but it suits him and i still fully believe him as joel so who cares #og #fav #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo spoilers #spoilers #joel miller #also: #drugs tw #alcohol tw #guns tw

[sophiethewitch1]

Chpt. 7 - Witch With A B

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None in particular. 

A/n: Sorry I forgot tumblr exists. In other words you get four new chapters so nice? Also, comment or msg me if you want to be added to the future taglist!

Your trudging through the snow is, as it always fucking is, miserable. Asa is in your arms again, because he can't walk with the rotting affecting him. He's chewing on a cooked piece of rabbit, silent as he watches you suffer.

And, shit, you are suffering.

As if God himself has come down from the heavens just to make you a little more miserable, the snow falls harder. White powder catches on your eyelashes, and you rapidly blink away the distraction. Your hands burn with the freezing air, the pressure you put on them after being literally impaled is not helping much. You were surprised they hadn't fallen off, from frostbite, infection or some other malignant disease.

Still, you trudged on. You were close to the hag's new hideout now, you'd started to see signs of her work in the woods around you. Hanging talismans, runes carved into tree trunks, an uncomfortable amount of skeletal carcases. You didn't know what half the things she did meant, but you knew they made everyone uncomfortable. Human and vampire alike.

The first part was probably intentional, the second part not so much. She'd welcome any vampire into her abode, and probably thought the bodies were welcoming. You wouldn't tell her they weren't, because you wouldn't like to bump into a blood-sucker on one of your visits. They fucking sucked well enough already.

The rustling of wood and feathers behind your ear draws your attention, and you huff. Looking over your shoulder you find Asa playing with your arrows, chewing on both feathered edges and rabbit bone.

"Asa, I told you to stop playing with those. They're dangerous," you chide, and he barely gives you a glance before going back to his incredibly fatal playtime. You sigh, shifting his head to your other side. He goes to cry, but the start of his wail is stopped by your stumbling.

He pauses, sniffing the air, and says-

"You're bleeding, Baba."

You take a deep breath of biting air at his words. That's probably why your hands hurt so much. Your wounds had reopened, and you were running out of bandages and disinfectant. Fuck, you don't know what to do.

You take another breath, like that'll make this all easier. Pausing in the wintery woods, you slowly let Asa down. The snow creaks under his boots, and you watch fang dig deep into bone. He leaves little bite marks along the side of it, another casual show of his supernatural power.

"Thanks for pointing that out, baby," you say, unwrapping your hands slowly from his little form. He pouts, but doesn't complain. You sometimes wish he would more, but not today. Today you were thankful for his careful silence, watching you like a hawk.

Looking down at your hands, you can see your bandages have cleanly bled through. You sigh at all the blood, wondering how much longer Asa could last before he had... an episode. If that's what you could call it, but you knew the true term the vampires used.

'Bloodlust.'

It was something you staved off with lots of raw meat and filling human food, but you were all too aware of the red eyes that followed your movements. Asa didn't want to hurt you, and you had faith in that above all else.

You didn't have faith in a child's self control, however.

After all, your blood was delicious, that's what he always said, anyway.

A crunch in the snow has your head whipping upwards, but when Asa doesn't pay the newcomer any attention, your shoulder's relax. Through the snow you see a familiar figure, a hunched crone with a staff in one wrinkled, many ringed hand. The woman you'd been looking for had come to greet the two of you herself. You feel a tired smile tug at your lips when you hear Asa's low growl.

Asa isn't scared of her, but he certainly doesn't like her, moving to shuffle behind you.

"My, my, is that you again, podzhigatel'?" the familiar Russian nickname falls from her lips, and you can't help the small flare of pride with the title. You had many nicknames, but this was your favourite. 'Hunter' didn't speak to your accomplishments, but the word the witch spoke did.

Arsonist. That's what it meant. Even if she spits it with disgust, you choose to take it as a compliment.

The crone's eyes flicker down past your legs to where Asa hides, and she gives him a grin with missing teeth. He hisses at her, reminding you faintly of the street cats you used to feed. Ah, damn this old bitch. She brought far too many memories with her sweeping robes and wicked grins.

"And malen'koye sokrovishche too, of course!" she reaches the hand not holding the staff out to Asa, but you slap it away.

She looks up, the smile she wore dropping into a scowl. You return her glare, knowing not to let this crazy woman a single step closer to you son. She leans back at this, giving an eye roll as she stretches to her full height. Or well, what she can, at least.

"Do you have anything for me today, or are you just here to eat my food and take up space?" she asks you, and you hide your wince. Your deal with the Witch of the North was a simple one. She helped you with Asa and all of his quirks, and you gave her... supplies.

Fresh ones, usually.

"...Rogues are skittish, an Abomination has been roaming," you reply, and she scoffs at that.

"They always are at this time of year. Your excuses are getting worse. Any blood?"

You bite into your lip, shaking your head.

She places her hands on the staff, nodding her head in a mocking way. This hag had never once cared for your life, and simply saw Asa as a way of furthering her goals. You didn't think she knew what empathy was.

"And you still won't give me the boy?"

In seconds you have a knife to her throat, rage burning in your chest. She laughs, waving her hand like you're old friends, not someone about to be slain and the slayer. She gives you a wink and says-

"I'd put that down if I were you. You well know I'm the only one who can help you - for whatever idiotic reason you've come here again," she croons, and you clench your jaw so tight that your ears ring. Still, you drop the blade to your side, not holstering it away just yet.

"I'll do it one day," you promise, and she claps her hands together, giggling.

"I hope you do! The great Hunter chasing me down and slaughtering me? My, it'd be a memory I'd cherish even in death!" she said with all the cheer of someone who had actually completely lost their mind. She was almost as irritating as Creel, and the only reason he was ahead of her was because of his simple obliviousness to how annoying he was.

You huff, shaking your head.

"I don't have anything to pay you," you say, and you suppress the shudder that rolls through you at the cunning grin she offers in return. She reaches her hand out again, palm splayed upwards to the falling snow.

"A debt then?"

Now, you weren't stupid. Debts were in the realm of the other, and the witch wasn't just called that for show. She had powers you didn't understand, and they terrified you. Her magic was closely intertwined with the same magic the blood-suckers used. Debts, truths and lies, names... All of it she wielded tight in her grasp.

An open ended debt was truly open ended. You would have to pay it back, you would be physically forced to by something you, human you, could never truly understand.

You were no fool. But you were desperate, and sometimes that was the same thing.

You take her hand, and with the other pull down your collar, showing the faded mark on your neck. In between the scars from the teeth digging into your skin shines a faint mark, almost glowing in the afternoon light.

The witch gasps, a delighted smile stretching over her cracked lips.

The inside of the Witch's house was as miserable as always. Rotted wood and foetid air, not to mention the miserable cold. The hag pushes at your back, shoving you further into the darkness. She takes a box of matches from her pocket and moves around the room, lighting a litany of candles. The warm glow doesn't make the space any more comfortable, revealing the interior of her hut.

Considering she moved so often it was a wonder why she always chose the most miserable places to shack up. You think it's a matter of aesthetics in this case. After all, a nice abandoned mansion wouldn't fit her jars of organs and fanged skulls.

She ushers you towards the table in the middle of the room, where you take a seat, pulling Asa into your lap. The crone takes to the back of the room, pulling dried herbs and strange salves from her shelves.

"So, who's the man of the hour? Or a woman perhaps? I don't know much about vampire proclivities when it comes to their fated-partners," she asks over her shoulder, and you wince. You weren't interested in telling her the details, merely in finding a way to get this mark off you.

You'd have carved a chunk out of your neck if you thought it would do anything, but the other humans you'd seen forced into this who'd tried that had just seen the mark pop up somewhere else on their skin. It was similar to a curse in that respect. And other ways too.

Because now that vampire would inevitably track you down, no matter where you ran. You didn't quite understand how the mark worked, but from what you did get, it seemed to almost have a compass-like system in it. He'd know whichever direction you were in at all times, as if you were his true north.

"That's none of your business," you cooly answer, and she grunts an answer.

"So be it. Blood sample, dearie?" she shrugs off your standoffish ways without a care, and you eye the needle in her hand. Your shoulders tense, your teeth dig into the skin inside your mouth, and you hear Asa growl. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself with the scent of mould and earth. The witch watches you with a predator-like curiosity, and that doesn't help your anxiety.

Calm down. Relax, relax, relax, relax, relax, relax-relaxrelaxrelaxrelaxrelax-

You weren't there. You weren't inside the Walls. Gradually, your shoulders drift from where they were bunched up beside your ears, and you summon the balls to continue this unpleasant conversation.

"Is that one new?" you ask.

She grins, reaching her other hand out for you to offer your arm. You don't, simply staring at her in waiting. After a moment her grins falls into a wicked scowl.

"You know I treat you with the utmost care. Frankly, I'm hurt by your actions, podzhigatel."

You give her a disapproving look, tucking Asa tighter in your grasp.

"You have a seventy percent mortality rate, witch," you reply, and she laughs, shaking her head.

"But I do not care about those patients! You, however, are as precious as our little treasure here!" she coos at Asa, wiggling her old fingers at him, and you wonder if he's going to try and bite her finger off. When he lunges forward, teeth sharp, you don't protest. You do sag a little when the crone manages to make sure she doesn't lose a digit, darting backwards.

Well, her words do seem true. Still, you don't offer your arm, and Asa doesn't offer any extra of your space.

She sighs, looking at you like you're a petulant child. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, knowing you've been doing it far too much lately. Maybe they'll roll into the back of your skull and get stuck one day.

You think Creel will be the one to doom you to such a fate.

"Yes, yes, yes. You stupid thing, of course it's a new needle. I can't have you dying of a blood disease off somewhere in the middle of the woods, can I? Especially not now with..." her words trail off, eyes naturally flowing to the hidden juncture of your neck. You hate how giddy she is about it, but there's literally no one else to go to, so here you were.

Extending your arm, averting your eyes from the syringe.

The tiny pin-prick in your arm is infinitesimally small compared to the rest of the pain you've experienced in the past few days, yet it feels like the worst you've experienced in your life. It doesn't make any sense, but it doesn't need to. Creel often talked to you about the affects of trauma in his gang, and he'd once even whispered to you about the nightmares that plagued his sleep. You knew why it was.

That didn't mean you didn't fucking hate this weakness, that you didn't hate the fact you couldn't lash out and kill this evil fucking bitch. That you didn't hate the memories that flick past you like one of the DVDs you and Asa sometimes find.

That you didn't hate the sight of white sterile walls and blood drips, the lines of weathered, weak humans ready to be harvested like livestock.

"All done!" the crone chirps, and you feel the words like a slap. You blink away visions of things that aren't there, head lightly craning as you get a feel for where you are. You're breathing heavily, and Asa is whining into your arms. You strangle down a rope around your fear, hand curling through his golden locks to reassure both him and you.

That you aren't there. Not any more.

She gives the blood a delicate look, hums approvingly, and turns to the rest of her workshop. She starts to assemble the gathering of herbs and your blood, pulling them over to the table which you sit at so the two of you can watch. She's that type of person after all.

Plucking apart leaves and grinding floral herbs in her mortar, she, unfortunately, opens her mouth again.

"So? Are you going to tell me about the bonding, podzhigatel?" she asks without looking up at you, going about her task in a surprisingly methodical manner. If she didn't you would never come to her, but it still shocks you every time she starts one of her spells.

She doesn't seem like a competent person, but everyone has their things, you suppose.

"Will that be necessary?" you ask with a grimace, and she tilts her head to the side, making a grand show of thinking. We all do it, woman.

"Yes, actually. I do think it will be. A bond is something even I don't quite understand, much less those fools locked inside their towers. It's a very personal thing, a welding of two souls-"

"Okay, that's enough," you cut her off, and she cackles.

"Was it not very romantic, dearie? I can't imagine someone like the great Hunter would be very willing to let a vampire bite them," she says, snickering at the very thought. No, you wouldn't call that regrettable meeting 'romantic'. Not that you knew what that was, of course, but you still didn't get butterflies in your stomach thinking about the way your home had been ransacked and you'd nearly been killed or enslaved.

No, that wasn't your idea of romantic.

"There were two of them," is the first thing you say, and even that makes the witch pause.

"Truly?"

You tilt your head to the side, analysing her suddenly shifty expression. You didn't like the look of curiosity on her face on a good day, and especially on a day like this one.

"Yes. One of them was the one who..." you gesture vaguely at your neck, and the hag seems even more interested.

"The other didn't bite you?" she asks, dropping a handful of garlic flowers into the mixture.

You think back, but can't remember if he did. You don't think he did, at least. But your memories were hazy, as was common with extreme blood loss.

"I can't recall if he did," you answer, and she hums under her breath. She makes a waving hand gesture, telling you to get on with what you did remember of the story.

"They were both elder vampires. I don't know how I managed to fool them, but for a while they thought I was a vampire too."

"Probably the scent of their soulmate messing with their heads," she says, her words muttered like she's thinking outloud. You frown, knowing that can't be it because only one - a flash of silver hair in your mind - marked you. And you knew enough about soulmates that you only got one of those, not two.

"But only one of them marked me."

She hums again, tilting your blood into the mixture now. Only a few drops fall in, but a wifty, dark smoke seems to travel upwards from the mortar. It looks like a black smoke, but you know it's something unnatural, and you have to suppress a shiver at the sight.

"My mistake, then. You must've gotten very lucky. Keep going, podzhigatel, I'm interested now."

Her response makes you unnerved, but you can't quite spot why. So instead, you continue on with your tale.

"I lured them towards where my best traps were, and then it's sort of... blank. I can't remember much else, but I know Creel saved us and one of them... bit my neck," you finish, and a glazed look falls over the hag's eyes. You wait for her to say something, but as you do, her eyes slowly grow white, and you realise something strange is happening here. Her eyelids flutter closed, and your shoulder's tense, something niggling at the bottom of your spine. Her eyes snap open.

"Duck."

And then, the roof caves in.

-

NEXT CHAPTER

#the bow and the arrow yandere x reader yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere story #oc x reader #yandere oc x reader gender neutral reader

[shkika]

I might end up taking u up on that offer this is so so soo fun

I really enjoy it when people make moon mad at fp..like how could she not be yes she cares about fp a lot but siblings don't exactly...do that to eachother very often I think (but maybe they do /j the woes of being an only child)

I think not being able to harm artificer did him good in the end (therapy dog!!) like he would have definitely just wanted to send that thing FLYING into the sun but he couldn't!! he was forced to just deal with it and eventually he realises hey. Maybe this thing isn't so bad... honestly I think he really needed something like that right then given his tendency to push people away (thinking abt how he BLEW UP srs' poor overseer. That made me jump actually i didnt expect it i sat still for long enough to get myself blown up too it was kind of funny...aside from the trek back of course) (ALSO THE ADS HELP thats golden)

Adding onto that like....him being a silly little loser that wants to do everything by himself and the like loving the attention etc I really think that like... the time period he was built in only made it worse??

Like......i feel that being built when he was added to a sort of pressure of needing to feel superior, to not be one of those bugs in mazes. To have something with like a genuine true path ahead instead of blindly grasping for answers

Like...I guess he'd want to prove just how good he is by doing it without any sort of help and he just has so MUCH to figure out by himself that he just...builds that pressure more and more and that's gotta be too much at some point

^^ I like the idea of the triple affirmative stuff happening like...around this point in time (forgive me if my timeline is terribly off) but anyways like..it kind of just fucks up everything for the dude...like all he's worked for is kinda just for nothing so then it leads to everything with the rot as like some sort of last resort. Like he knows the risks but he just cant bring himself to care like he's in such a vunerable state he doesn't think about how it'd affect moon until all of a sudden there's a forced message being sent his way, but even then I guess being younger than like everyone in the group he doesn't fully grasp like oh. This is as bad as it is. Until moons can comes crashing down and hes left infecting himself with the stuff

Anyway you are so very right with the echo actually I haven't thought very much on the shaded citadel but it must have...not been pleasant going through the rains knowing that there's so many others unaffected by it

Sorry this response is so late actually I've been multitasking to all hell but RRAGHGJ squishing the iterators in my hand like stress balls I am so normal about this game

please do! <3 ramble incoming

Moon being angry at Pebbles is fun. I love seeing different interpertations! Though I do think she doesn’t hold actual bitterness towards him in my personal belief.

The idea that she isn’t actually *angry* angry at him makes her very tragic to me. By all means she knows his actions are inexcusable. What she went through was horrifying and painful and she acknowledges that. Nsh even mentions she’s always had way too much patience for him and that she really tried to be a good big sister to him.

So as his big sister and someone who guided him in early days I can see her being unable to feel spite towards him. He fucked up, hes now sick and rotting and it all fills her with grief. It’s all just unfortunate and sad! (definitely see moon being a little hater with salty comments sometimes. as she does but most of her anger is reserved for their shitty parents)

Pebbles desperately wanting to feel superior is something really fun to me!! Absolutely see it! (idk why u went and became close friends with guy who called you dumb and naive but u do you 🤷 maybe u like that. likr OoOo hes the only one that listens to my theories and he calls me dumb <33) We know he learns about what happened to sliver from suns, so I can only assume that happened before he was made..? But the game is vague enough for u to hc it as you want honestly.

What he did was out of desperation for sure! He never wanted to even involve Moon according to what he says while commenting on a pearl by Arti. It was just kind of impossible.

I think what Suns told him just left a big scar on the poor guy. Not only is he being told he never mattered, he has to accept he’ll slowly break down and not even die while still trying to solve their issue he doesn’t even care about. He wanted the feeling of power over his own self back and he wanted to desperately escape. Feeling helpless is the worst.

He thought he could be fast enough and not harm Moon and then failed! He doomed her and got a very bad case of the rot ( consequences of my actions) ((another bracket but the poor fucker tried to cure himself all the way until arti campaign! sad!!)) along with his failure becoming gossip material and a sensation as we learn from spearmaster logs. Which is why I assume he closes all communications.

Also Moon forced many many broadcasts onto him while dying :) not only partly the reason why he failed the project, it also further cemented his helplesness.. because he can’t do anything to help! A common phrase you hear from him is “I can’t even help myself”.

It’s a little treat in almost all scug campaigns iirc.

Also echoes are all so interesting I love them and their silly little opinions. Shout out to the one who told arti to stop being such an angry bitch <3

#im sorry for writing essays hehe hoho #actually ill out this into read more! #being ill do this with further long asks #waking up ranting abt rw lore oh what joys #waiting for my wrist to heal has never been more fine <3 #ask #pinkavtomation #also these rambles #although i try to take as much from the canon as possible #they uh- u dont have to feel pressured to take any as fact #the fun with media is to enjoy it however u want

[artwithoutblood]

Hey if the parasight covers your body with eyes are you like a biblically accurate angel

Can you go have a staring contest with Aeron 👁️👁️

Oh shit wait - is that the origin of the parasight? As a demon was Silas testing a theory of self-annihilation with divine energy or something? Was he trying to self smite?

Is Silas’ position as demon of dreams and/or his wakefulness a punishment?

And how did the parasight of Silas’ creation spread through Delusion? It doesn’t affect demons but could they still be a healthy carrier? But then how has Micah not caught it.

Hey if the parasight covers your body with eyes are you like a biblically accurate angel

would you like to know?

all of us have a disease. it is awakened. mine came with the betrayal of ephah in ██. i watched how it infected him. perhaps i willed it when he rotted under my watch. he deserved it.

how it arises in other people is something i do not entirely understand. i want to say prolonged exposure, but people i've known for weeks will develop it and not those i have known for years, in some cases. but sometimes it is sporadic. it's spread either by random, granted by some unknown force as an unholy gift, or it is passed through wounds. it is why some who contract it after feeling pressured by eyes which do not belong to living things peer through the skin and into the sinews seem to be overcome with a madness, hoping to hurt everyone around them. the eyes will spread into them as well.

the first stage, it lays itself where it can. your organs. behind your eyes, in your brain. in the deep layers. you experience mild discomfort. brain fog, perhaps. aches and pains.

the second stage, it raises itself upwards. you begin to see hallucinations. the eyes raise closer towards the skin. you vomit. you are dizzy. you want to scratch at your skin until they escape.

eventually, you are unable to feel it. unable to see the world for how it really is. you will live a hallucination. and it will be beautiful.

when ephah finally succumbed, his head split open, blooming outward like petals. eyes were carefully embedded into these slabs of skin, and they all looked just like mine. i took them out of my head just to make sure. he was smiling.

i can tell you one thing for sure: for each person, it is different. based on their insecurities, i believe. a belief is better than something unfounded, unsure. perhaps your death to the parasight will result you in being the angel that people have described in two books. i cannot know that. i do not know that. or maybe i do, and i just should not tell you that.

if the person dies while the parasight is still within then, the eyes will open on the top layer of the skin, but they will be unable to escape. they will die days later.

there have been random outbreaks before. they have all been culled quickly, before anything horrible happened.

the side effect is has on other demons i only learned after the demon of dreams used it in his suicide attempt. i have chosen to keep quiet about this knowledge. the other do not need to know. this is silas's failed mission. i am just upset he tried this....without asking me. even if we did not know each other.

at its lightest, it changes the eye color of the demon's bodies permanently. his eyes weren't always like that. that's not to say all demons have regular eyes. erebus's nor dorian's were caused by me. at worst, they will experience hallucinations. perhaps his further crusade for death is a hallucination itself. other demons cannot spread it. it will die in their bodies, but oh darling, it will leave a scar on the flesh that melts into another once it dies.

#aeron ask #silas ask

[cienie-isengardu]

@blue-mint-winter​ commented post:

Your welcome and I completely agree about TCW changing important characterizations, especially Anakin's. Also Barriss, I will never forgive that shit. They definitely did that. That's why my favourite eps were about Jar Jar LOL

I spent the whole day debating with myself should I go on and scream about the unfairness done to Barriss and Jedi as a whole or not since talking negative about TCW at times feels like opening can of worms, but my frustration with current star wars content already hit acceptable limits and is waaay past them so I decided to screw all consequences, it is time for a mini-rant. I hope you don’t mind me bringing that up as separate post (or if you don’t wish to be tagged in that post, lemme know :))

Okay. Where do I even start? Anyone who would sort posts through my blog will know that I love analyzing stuff and more often than not, I’m critical toward the Jedi Order (especially Order as the institution) and that through the years I have a lot of critical things to say about the new canon, with the emphasis on The Clone Wars.

TCW has literally been a thorn in my side for years and although the show had its good moments (storyline wise and artistic effects/music) that I want to acknowledge, the longer the show was run, the more it felt to me as the Triumph of Form over Substance. The creators needed to go from point A (post AotC/clone wars) to point B (RotS / Order 66) but as it was proved, they did not need to actually keep Legends (old canon) elements in the original form and things were used or discarded as they wanted. Some choices made more or less sense, some were turning our knowledge totally 180 degrees with various effects or fan reactions. Like I will never agree with chip in clone brains storyline (x)(x) nor implying domestic abuse toward Anakin and Padme (they were meant to be tragic, doomed lovers, not being in abusive relationship for Force’s sake) or erasing Prequels/Legends characterization of Anakin for the more common action macho idiotic one (something that creators themselves admitted to do, which is why Skywalker is more mix of Han & Luke because apparently some people aren’t capable of accepting introverted / emotional man as main hero? Riiight). At the same time, I’m willing to defend changes done to Mandalorians,  because the story has a great potential but sadly the show focused mainly at the pacifism vs. terrorism angle. Which I guess makes sense from U.S.-centric perspective, but for someone like me, whose country/nation actually lost its independence for over 123 years (1795 -1918) and then suffered through the Nazi occupation (1939-1945) and survived the communist regime (1945-1989) before finally feeling like free country again, then Death Watch, however brutal or incoherent at times, rings a different bell. It is not about nationalism itself but wanting to have your culture back despite all the damage done through the years of forced expulsion / displacement or warriors (those not fitting into New society) and be independent from Republic / Empire. And this hits me more closely as a Pole than terrorist narratives done to DW (and Bariss). 

But the thing that irritates me the most is how characters and their powers aren’t incoherent in a sensible way. They can use Force for great action and dueling, but Anakin can’t feel Obi-Wan’s presence when the man worked undercover (sorry if the show actually explained it for I do not remember it was ever addressed?).  Anakin at first was shown as a self-sacrificing type of person (e.g. Jedi Crash) but for some reasons sometimes doesn’t do anything to save clones from certain doom even if he could use Force to stop them from falling down into lava or whatever it was in Citadel? And it is not just him? Ahsoka killed clones infected by worms but didn’t kill Bariss because they were best friends or whatever? But she is the bestie with clones! She cares! She is after all the protagonist who acts smart and all while all adults suddenly lose their brains. Like Anakin, a Jedi General, does not study maps before an attack on an enemy position, but Ahsoka did and saved the day. What a hero! And whatever she will do, it is all right at the end of day. Bo-Katan willingly supported Pre Vizsla/DW who destroyed the whole village and killed an innocent girl (whose Ahsoka befriended) but does it matter? Nope. Because she is now besties with Bo-Katan, a beloved freedom fighter, a noble lady and all the jazz.Pre Vizsla? Anyone remember him? No? No wonder, a persona non grata who would drag Bo-Katan (and Ahsoka by extension) in bad light so the show and other current sources are literally erasing him from the Mandalorian storyline. Because it is better to not remember the past than face a consequence of characters (creators) choices. 

It feels like yeah, Jedi care if the episode needs it but don’t care if the show needs some shock value or feeling of danger. Mace cares for clone troopers and even offers droids a chance to surrender but isn’t somehow bothered when 12 year old Boba was put in prison for the worst ADULT criminals. Sure, it is very reasonable. Anakin cares for clones, unless the show needs a high death toll or jokes (throwing Rex off the dam without warning). Jedi will literally jeopardize an important mission just to give one of them a proper burial but will not give a shit about dying or dead clones. And so on.

I understand that the show was made for kids, but if we go into dark themes - and the show went into pretty dark stuff, mind you - then at least it should be addressed properly. Slick accused Jedi of keeping clones slaves yet it doesn’t matter. What a bad clone! Totally forgotten for the rest of the season. Bo-Katan’s past crimes don't matter since you can just erase Pre Vizsla from her narrative. Does the story need emotional impact? Create female characters (Satine, Steela, Tryla, Teckla Minnau) to kill off, so someone else (Obi-Wan, Ahsoka & Padme) could use it for either development or making political statements and either turn dead ones into some saints or forget them all. Or just kill off clones, there is so many of them anyway, who cares how competent soldiers they were or if you make them act idiotic. Jedi lead an army made of people with no legal right, but the clones *love so much them they have nightmares about order66* so everything is right. All makes sense, right?

This doesn’t just influence how fans see Anakin (turned into a typical action male lead) or how Ahsoka is literally everywhere now. The show, as I’m seeing it, did a great disservice to Jedi. And Barriss… Barriss is just the tip of the iceberg. The authors literally twisted every established clone wars storyline around a new character - Ahsoka Tano - so there was no real reason to use Barriss since they could simply introduce us to original Ahsoka’s friend. She already interacted with so many original Jedi characters but instead the team took one of the most known Legends!Jedi Healers and turned into terrorist? Killing innocent people to prove Jedi lost their ways? It really feels disrespectful, both to fans and Jedi.  

And you know what TCW did not show us? Jedi Force-healing their troopers. Something that Barriss did on various points in Legends sources. She literally worked in various Republic Mobile Surgical Units (Rimsoo) as was seen in Republic comics series & Medstar duology or helping at triage unit(s) and as Jedi healers would not abbadon the wounded during enemy attack. Like when fire spread around them and cut away from safe way to evacuate, her first worry was about the injured people (Republic #65)

I’m really supposed to believe a person with such a mindset and compassion would decide to kill innocent people to make a point about war? Really? REALLY? Even more since there was no focus on why a Jedi like her could break and do something like that in the first place? This wasn’t a development or fleshing out for character, it was just shifting the blame on someone so Ahsoka could get out of Order before RotS/Purge. Which is unfair to Barriss. 

Oh, and by the way, remember how Luminara was talking to Anakin to let it go and accept that his padawan may have died or something along the lines? The mentioned Republic #65 has Mace Windu personally searching for survivors and not leaving enemy lines without checking first if someone survives even when he was told that enemy may attack at any moment:

 This is a proper Jedi. There is a difference between accepting that you did not manage to save someone and not bothering to at least try to save. Which is just another reason why TCW Jedi strikes me more as arrogant, manipulative and uncaring than the flawed people presented in Legends. 

Good Force, it is really bad if I'm going out of my way to rant about respecting Jedi characters...

#star wars #the clone wars critical #just to be sure #barriss offee #deserves better #like anakin skywalker and female characters created to be killed and forgotten #like jedi as a whole #and clone troopers who are so ah colorful and different but never explained how they went from #you may be killed if you stands out into the whole tattoos and colors and so on #the show has it good moments #but overall it makes me more frustrated than happy #the first seasons feel more respectful to characters i think? #anyway sorry for rant #my frustration hit the dangerous level LOL #also #personal stuff #death watch and mandalorian society as a whole has so much potential to explore and think about #but yeah lets make DW a total bastards when you feel like having a motor gang like and switch the concept to fit one episode #and then forgot about it #so the ladies (bo and satine and ahsoka) can be not seen as the best good and all #suure #also just to be clear i do not hate ahsoka as a concept but i'm tired of her as character if that makes a sense?