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lattescribble · 6 days

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Happy Birthday, Fuuta! (~600 word yap session about T3 Fuuta predictions + phoenix symbolism under the cut because I am incredibly excited for his birthday TL and have English this semester.)

To establish some background, Fuuta is described as “good-hearted” on the wiki page, and in the past he has stated he cares for Haruka, but usually when we see him he’s just being an asshole (or “caring” in strange ways like… offering Mahiru a tomato on her birthday???)

But in the TL since his 2023 TL with Amane and her preaching to him, we have actually seen Fuuta being OVERTLY caring. Although he may have always been good-hearted deep down, he’s always been a pretty big asshole on the surface so it’s still a massive change for him.

Putting these two TLs side by side, we can also see his tone has visibly changed - he’s referring to Mahiru by name (I don’t think he’s ever done so before in any TL 😭), and he’s a lot more hesitant, soft spoken, and thoughtful.

I think his mannerisms stem partly from Amane’s influence, but also from the remnants of his desire to act as a “hero”. With those combined, Fuuta is likely letting his kinder side show more often as a means for “salvation” - namely being forgiven, essentially “repenting for his sins”.

Now, what happens now that he IS forgiven? Fuuta’s primary symbol is fire, which can be likened to his strong beliefs. In T2 this “fire” in him is slowly withering out, yet also being replaced by… whatever this new “salvation” thing is. The purpose of the voting in Trial 1 and 2 is to affirm/deny the prisoner’s beliefs, so this new fire - his new beliefs - are being metaphorically reignited.

That’s where the phoenix symbolism comes in. We also see him literally burning to ashes in Backdraft, potentially representing the death of his former self.

And what rises from the ashes? The phoenix, obviously! Phoenixes are known to resurrect themselves after death, in some interpretations dying by their own fire, bearing similarities to Fuuta being burnt by his own “fire” in Backdraft. With his forgiven vote, a new kind of fire may be ignited within him hence the rebirth of the phoenix.

This is a stretch, but fun fact: the Chinese phoenix, mostly used in Eastern mythology, is denoted by the characters 鳳凰 (Fènghuáng) with etymology related to the character for wind… which happens to be in the Kanji for Fuuta’s name (風汰 or Fēngtài in Chinese pinyin).

Phoenixes are also like angels but with fire. This isn’t a well-researched point, it’s just that Amane has angel symbolism/wings in Magic and wings combined with Fuuta’s fire symbolism is just a phoenix. Yeah.

With all that being said… Happy birthday, Fuuta. Today is certainly a good day to be reborn.

#milgram #fuuta kajiyama #milgram fanart #extremely long yap session #unrelated but it would be cool if his T3 song has a drastic switch-up in tone to reflect his changes i.e. Till in ALNST R6 vs R2 #bonus points if his T3 song vibes like Mili’s In Hell We Live Lament or Porter Robinson’s Fellow Feeling I love those songs

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savaalienfish · 18 days

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Slankats

Slankats are a wide group of Sinedenian parasitic heliophytes, most often found in areas with particularly thick foam grass layers which they parasitize on. It is the main host for the most slankats, although there are some exceptions. This group of mixotrophs especially stands out from the rest, having a more animal-like appearance rather than the usual plant-like body plan. Some might confuse them with barnacles, due to their segmented tail and valved body with a feathery appendage. They are highly specialized for parasitic lifestyle, to the point that some of them cannot produce their own nutrients by photosynthesis at all.

General anatomy of slankats Their large bodies, despite their visual bulk, are actually very light and contain only a small number of tubular organs as well as a cavity for folding the stem into it. They attach to their hosts with the help of a scaly tail, at the end of which there is a spiked anchor with the bases of root organs on the sides. The roots of slankats are thin, long and highly branched, which allows them to absorb as many nutrients as possible from the foam grass. At the top of the body there is a gill plate, with the help of which slankats breathe. Next to it there is a hole, from which emerges a flexible stem with genital organs growing on it (whip-flowers and chains of fruits). The number of whips differs for different types of slankats (from 1 to 10). These whips carry female and male reproductive cells and unction similar to flowers on earth. When the whips are pollinated, after some time they wither away and in their place the fruits begin to grow, the number of which also varies. They can grow either in a chain or in a kind of bouquet. Slancat fruits carry from two to ten embryos, and the fruit also contains chambers of gas that allow the fruit to fly away on wind currents or float on the surface of the water during floods (depending on the species, breeding cycle and season). When the fruit gets carried away to a fitting place, embryos emerge by popping out of the husk of the froot and then borrow into their host by using their tails.

#worldbuilding #missionsinedey #speculative evolution #creature design #spec evo

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azullumi · 10 months

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“heart to heart” ; ayato, cyno, diluc

summary — he could only watch as you die ; alternatively, he’s there to comfort and hold you as you take your last breath.

characters — ayato, cyno, and diluc (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — angst but not that heavy but not that light also, grammatical errors bcs i don’t like to proofread, established relationship ; scenario/one-shot

words — 1460

note — this is part 1 out of 2 !! here’s the next part with a different set of characters <33

;; AYATO

“—and i want a garden full of tulips.” you declared, a smile creasing the line of your lips, and he admires you ever so lovingly while listening to each one of your words. “why a garden only? we could have a mansion overlooking the sea.”

a hum escapes your lips as you think of his answer, “but mansions are huge and often lonely. i want a home, a warm one, big enough for us and our children and i want a garden where they can play.”

he smiles, gently, eyes gazing at you as if you’re the most lovely thing he has seen and you really are—the moonlight dances and rests on your skin, emitting a soft glow on your features, and you look much more breathtaking than ever. “we can be the ones to plant the tulips,” he elicits a light laughter from you, “mhm, we definitely should.”

it is late now, the both of you are a little bit tired resting underneath the sky peckered with stars. and right now, in the past, and future, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you, he—

“i love you, ayato.”

his breath hitched, like his heart has crumbled at his hands, you were there bloody and withering away on his hands, like a flower that had cut off its stem. and just like how quickly the world can be created out of three words, it shattered right at his hold.

“please don’t say that.” his voice breaks, faltering, compared to the tight hold he has on you as he desperately wishes that this warm embrace can help you even for a little bit. “why?”

not like this, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you aren’t supposed to die like this, you weren’t supposed to leave him, not right now, not ever—not when he still hasn't accomplished all of the things you two have talked about underneath the night sky.

“you’re saying that as if you’re going to die.”

you chuckle, “because i am.”

“this isn’t the time to be joking around.” but he knows the reality of it, he just refuses to accept it. “what about our plans?” he knows it from the way you struggle to find the words in your tongue, from the way you smile at him as you listen to his voice coming apart, “what about the tulips? the garden? you promised me,” from the way your breathing slows down and eventually—

“i… i’m sorry.”

—it stills.

a brief moment of silence and a broken sob came, “you promised me…” that you’ll be there, that you’ll plant the tulips with him. “i love you,” that’s why he mourns for you and the promises you made.

;; CYNO

“i think that’s all of them?” you walk over to his side, feeling the soreness of your body hit you. bodies were found laying all around you but they weren’t dead, just knocked out as if they still have to be taken in for questioning.

“yes but nevermind that, are you hurt?” he asks him in a flat tone, despite the nature of his words, worry didn’t lace his tone. “it’s not that bad,” you say but half of your body feels numb, your side is damp, aching as it continues to bleed—it’s just a small wound.

you weren’t going to die even if your line of work requires you to be put in danger at times, you will never die for anyone, you’ve sworn that to yourself. it may be a selfish idea but you had promised yourself that you will always choose yourself because no one can be more than you. your existence is way too important for someone else’s to have it for their own—nobody can and nobody will.

but not the general mahamatra, not your love, not him as you willingly took a hit for him which left you at this state but he doesn’t know the severity of your situation as you chose to hide it. you didn’t want the man to worry—you were selfish not until it came to him.

your vision blurs and you feel your head spin.

“cyno—“

it happened so fast. you, suddenly collapsing to the ground and him, calling out to you as he towards your direction to catch your collapsing figure before it hits the cold floor.

he cursed underneath his breath, panic washing over him as he noticed your wounded side, covered with blood and it was then that the realization had dawned upon him—you were severely hurt since earlier and he just wants to berate himself, not you, for being so careless and ignorant.

“no matter what happens, don’t you ever dare risk your life for me.”

he trembles, recalling those words in his mind. it was you who had told him that and yet, you’re here, “keep your eyes open.” he pleads in a broken tone.

“i’m sorry…” you try to fight off the growing feeling of your eyes becoming heavy and your slow breathing, fighting off the ominous being cloaked in black standing at your foot. you weren’t going to die, you promised yourself.

you were getting weaker so is the sound of your voice, your vision seems to blur and darken in each moment that passes by and oh god, how much you fear not being able to see his face, not being able to see him completely in your last moments with him—thoughts came drifting in and out of you, asking what kind of expression does he have at this moment. does he still have that same calm expression you adored?

you coughed once more, fading eyes looking for the warmth of his own, “i love you, cyno, from the first time we met until forever. remember— remember that.”

“s-stay with me.” a command, but his breaking voice fails the firmness of his words, his tone could only be so soft as he spoke. “don’t you—don’t you dare close your eyes, that is an order.”

but the light of your eyes had already disappeared and at that moment, not only you had died but also him as you breathed out your last—even in death you still held his heart.

;; DILUC

“a hug, please?” you beckon with your arms wide open for him as you sit on the edge of the bed, your bed and his. the red-headed man only smiled before

“why do you need a hug all of a sudden?”

you hum, “nothing, i just want to feel you.” and in which, he huffs out a chuckle, “you can feel me as much as you want, my love.”

he could spend his life just with you in his embrace alone. oh, how he would choose to be alive by your side over anything, over everything. nothing could beat the solace of your hands on his own, of your lips in a kiss, of your skin at his touch.

but fate could be so cruel.

“do you remember the first time we met? i was also in your arms, you caught me when i was about to fall.” your tone was soft, fragile, as if anytime soon you’ll break and give in. “please—stop talking, save your strength, please. my love, you cannot leave me, you are not going to leave me.”

he spent so much of him guarding and driving danger away from the beloved city of freedom only for him

to not be able to protect you against those, it was injudicious on his part for not thinking that those very perditions that he fights were lurking at the comfort of his home. cruel, cruel, cruel, how could fate be so cruel? how could people be so selfish?

a dry chuckle and a weak response, “we know much better than that, ‘luc.”

how could you still look breathtaking even at the hands of death? how is it that you still manage to enamour him with blood staining your lips?

“i know that i’ve always belonged in your arms, even in death.”

he’s as warm as you remember him and you are cold despite his embrace, you remember—or perhaps, know—the expression on his face as you took your last, remembered the way he feels on you, remembered the way he speaks to you so lovingly, remembered everything about him and burned it your memory in hopes that you’ll know him in your next life, if there is one.

“i love you.” he mumbles as he brings you closer to him, tears that he had been holding back had now came pouring out of his eyes, the words he had told you were laced with warmth and affection—with hurt and poison.

but you are still cold and now, lifeless as you lay in his arms. beautiful, captivating, darling—dead.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin angst #genshin ayato #ayato x reader #cyno x reader #genshin cyno #diluc x reader #genshin diluc #genshin x you #genshin #genshin fanfic #ayato x you #cyno x you #diluc x you #azul.writes

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fayeriess · 3 months

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⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE STORM ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: restless nights come with revelations.

warnings: 18+, tully!reader, mentions of death, descriptions of death, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, a small bit of angst, an even smaller amount of fluff, ( should be everything but if something is missing please let me know )

a/n: not much to say except a big thanks to @aemondtarqaryens for beta-reading this for me, I appreciate you friend <3 enjoy!

Soil often had centuries of stories to tell; laying dormant beneath blades of grass. Tragic tales that weaved themselves deep within valleys, grasping the roots of trees, and twirling around death to keep themselves nourished. A realm stained with maroon liquid that would seemingly rejuvenate the earth; feeding it flesh and carcass as an offering for those who had conquered, who had built on such sacred lands and birthed destruction.

In turn, erde would lap the harsh waters that sat at Blackwater Bay, raising the tides, angering the gods — old and new. It devoured those whose hearts palpitate under the scrutiny of the sweltering heat, falling victim to the ball of fire in the sky. It clawed at the remains of sanity, erasing any and every part of one’s being until flesh peels away from bone.

For the lives erde took, less was given.

The greater the loss, the greater the greed.

That was something your mother had whispered near the shell of your ear, her voice lilted and as smooth as honey — becoming equally sticky when it finally stuck itself between lumps of tissue that made up your brain.

She had told you to be cautious, for she would not be around much longer. Within the crevices of your soul, you knew that to be true, as she had sacrificed her entire being to keep you gentle, and strong — something she could not be. Though young, pale skin and sunken cheeks were what you gazed upon when the thinness of your fingers would swipe across her face in tender affection, you were always doing your absolute best to keep the tears at bay.

Sickness flourished in her lungs soon after; blooming from the inside, withering her away little by little until you had nothing else left to cling to. Her skeleton became fine flora and fauna on your ten-and-fifth name day, sprouting stems of green, budding willows and small clusters of lavender blooms.

Your bones had ached with growth as the years grew harsher, and war crept close in the form of those a part of the City Watch, donned in the finest of armor and longswords sheathed at their sides when they’d march about back within the walls of safety. Imagining the blood dripping down the sharp, curved edges of their blades came easy, as you had witnessed such brutality and heard it with your ears.

And once you were married off by your father, serenity became a craving. An itch in your gums and esophagus exceedingly stuffed with savagery so grand, the familiar taste of copper would pool in the middle of your tongue. The foreign feeling would not fade until it was acknowledged, welcomed with warm arms and an equally warm heart — somewhat naïve — just like you.

At first, it had been bearable. Starting as a tingle on the bumped expanse of the spine, inching in every way possible, a certain desperation in how quickly it spreads, how it consumes you whole in something mildly familiar. Delusion — something you’d come to realize you would happily tangle yourself in if the soles of your bare feet weren’t absorbing the vibration from woodland grounds, greenery tucked between your toes.

Moonlight descended upon your skin, trickling up the stretch of your arms in a dim warmth you were sure that none else would bring you. The lids of your eyes were screwed tightly, a dull throb forming in the sockets as you balled your fists at your sides.

If there was one place you should not be, it was here, out in the open and shaded by nothing but leaves of the weirwood tree in the Godswood, the looming towers of the Red Keep filling your veins with a sense of dread.

Misery has become you; sealed in your fate the minute you were bound to your husband — a Targaryen man with a temper as hot as coals. Though you have never been on the receiving end of his murderous wrath, you were no stranger to his sharp tongue and hasty decisions. Aemond was clouded by his loyalty to his family and the crown, and in the end, it would surely be the thing that would kill him.

A reoccurring dream would appear behind your lids on eves such as this, when the night grew colder and the violence you had grown accustomed to faded with the crickets' songs, becoming a solemn lullaby. Most nights, you’d have no qualms, resting your mind once you were cradled in the arms of your lover. But this night, sleep had yet to find you, and without Aemond’s presence looming over, scarpering was as easy as taking a breath.

A light wind swept through the air, ruffling the already creased fabric of your nightgown even further as you stared at the face carved into the tree, corners of your lips downturned in a slight frown. By now, you had committed every single piece of chipped wood to memory, eyes growing watery and skin bumpy with gooseflesh the longer you stood atop dead leaves, hearing them crunch beneath the soles of your feet as you shuffled somewhat.

Perhaps you were waiting for a beam of lighting to strike down upon you, to scorch your insides and eviscerate every single cell in your body until you become one with the earth. Either that or whisked away into the air. As of now, you had no arguments as to which one would be your fate.

Cold had nipped at the pads of your toes, a sure sign that it was time to retire to your chambers and retreat underneath the comfort of your sheets. Yet, no matter how tempting that fleeting thought was, it felt as if you were cemented to your spot, slightly swaying in place to get rid of the chill.

“What are you doing out here alone?” His voice made your spine stiffen, teeth gritting together at the low, patient tone of his voice. The clatter of his shoes reverberated throughout your ears, turning light as he joined you on the grass, shoulder nearly pressed against the left side of your back.

Aemond’s lingering presence brought you some sort of comfort, even if it was just a ghost of a touch covered by clothing, and you found yourself longing to be in his arms. Ultimately, you kept your distance, fingers numb as you tried flexing them at your sides.

“I received a raven earlier in the evening,” your murmur came quickly, lips barely moving as your gaze blurred slightly, eyes glistening with a sheen of unshed tears. Although he does not answer, you can feel his violet eye cautiously peering at the side of your face, lips slightly pointed downward.

“Grandfather is ill. Elmo will be lord soon.”

Not a crease embedded itself in the muscles of his face as he continued to stare — only for a second longer before averting his eye to the weirwood tree. “We’ll make him see reas-”

Shaking your head, you finally cocked it in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest to self-soothe as you took in the sharp angles of his face shadowed by the moon.

“He is still keeping our house banners in Riverrun. I know Elmo well enough to know he has already chosen. He’s always looked at Rhaenyra as the sole heir to the Iron Throne, and when grandfather takes his last breath, he’ll surely pledge allegiance to the Blacks.”

Your elder brother was stubborn. His skull was as thick as the fattest lords in all of Westeros, and even if it was indeed your grandfather’s dying wish to join the Greens in this war, Elmo would rather take a blade to the skin of his own throat than obey. Perhaps, that was one of the many reasons why you did not get along as well as siblings should have. Where you were meek, he was bold. Where you were sharp and quick-witted, he was dull and slow-minded. Choosing opposite sides when it came to the facet of war, of life and death, further broke a bond that was already weakly stitched together.

Deep within, you were confident your words would fall on deaf ears, and Aemond would eventually take to the skies with Vhagar, only to find himself in Riverrun and surprise Elmo Tully with an unwanted and unexpected visit. He was married to you after all. What good of a husband would he be if not to check on the wellbeing of your kin?

Aemond sighed, momentarily closing his eye before turning his body to face you, hands snaking up to circle your forearm. “You should be resting. The maester requested that you not walk much.”

Huffing, you swat him away, practically ripping your hand from his grasp before turning sharply on your heels. “I just need a minute, Aemond, please. I do all you ask of me, just grant me this.”

Salt-ridden were your tears as they cascaded down your chin, dripping onto the linen of your nightgown when you clutched your swollen belly, anxiety rumbling with your little one. A throat full of sand and a broken heart was what you carried when he nodded reluctantly, taking small steps toward you until his arms snaked around your hips, coming to rest at your stomach.

He smelled of dragon; the faint scent of rose and citrus from his earlier bath still clinging to his clothing just as you are, the back of your head pressed to his chest. You focus on the low thrum of his heart, the stiffness of his body as he hums lowly.

“He spoke to me about your dreams as well.”

Blinking, you press your lips together thinly before responding. “Now I’ll refuse to utter a word to him.”

“Hm, yes, I would rather my wife tell her husband what troubles her.”

“I am worried the babe might be suffering.”

Aemond’s chest caves below your head, crisp, night air all but knocked out of his lungs at your vague concern. However, he does not move, not even when you crane your neck to stare at his clouded eye as best you can.

“When I finally find rest, blood decorates the sheets. It all starts the same. I reach between my legs and the smell of copper sours in the air, and everything feels wrong.” You shake your head, ridding your mind of such an ugly, yet recurring thought.

There’s a fearful movement in your fingers as your nails bite into his covered arm, eyes blinking rapidly as you nonsensically continue. “Fire spreads, setting me ablaze and I watch as my flesh burns.”

Aemond says nothing, only pulls you as closely as he can manage, thumb bending to trace shapes over the clothed, stretched skin with his nail.

“It’s merely the stress, sweetling.” His dismissal has you scoffing, warm breath hitting soundless air, eyes rolling far in their sockets when he continues. “A lot has happened within the past moon, I’m positive it's taking hold.”

Your hands curl inward under his warm palm, the other moving to clasp over the fingers that itch your skin. “No, Aemond.”

Foreign to your ears is your voice, laced with annoyance and fearfulness at the darkness consuming you entirely. Even in a state of unconsciousness, you weren’t safe, and as long as this babe grew bigger inside of you, you’d never be.

Turning in his loose grasp, you clutch at the collar of his tunic, lower lip trembling as his brows furrow in concern. “Then what is it?”

In the short time you’ve come to know Aemond, you’ve always made it your goal to at least try and understand him in ways none could; whether that be through a slow blink of his eye or a quick twitch of lip, his expressions weren’t as concealed as he hoped to keep them. You could tell it peeved him to no end — having someone recognize what emotions were harbored in the center of his heart, unprotected by the rest of his shielding exterior. In truth, it would’ve been all too easy to lie and say he was quite satisfied with the way things currently were. In his mind, what little claim to the throne he had in the palm of his calloused hands amounted to nothing, especially when he had offered to seek out his brother the second word had passed that his father, King Viserys, first of his name, had succumbed to the Stranger.

It was a striking reminder that anything, and anyone he’s ever held dear in his heart, could wither away before his very eyes.

Including you.

His wife. The mother of his unborn child. Someone he had sworn his entire life to protect and cherish as if you were a part of him, a missing piece he had the pleasure of rediscovering.

Your revelation had hushed the dragon fire burning in his veins but emboldened the tragedy materializing in his psyche. Aemond Targaryen would never win, and that was something he would not swallow even if it had been poured into a chalice of wine.

“Helaena speaks in riddles, as if her tongue is twisted.” Tugging the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, you wrack the mess that is your brain of how to word your next sentence. “Death amid a storm.”

It rolls off of your tongue, malice laced between her spoken words that have yet to leave you. Helaena was peculiar — in a sort of way, one would either deem her mad with the words that left her mouth as quickly as they had come.

Her lavender eyes would fall cloudy, hazed with something unforeseen to anyone else but her, mind miles away, and never in the present.

“The sun rose and fell three times, and what has yet to leave with it, Aemond?”

The man before you can only part his lips, skin creasing in the gap spacing his brows, shaking hands now resting at either side of your waist as his sole eye scans the distress etched in your features. He knows.

He can smell previous rainfall in the air, inhales it, and lets it repose his lungs with freshness he can only compare to the feeling of your skin against his.

“The rain.”

You nod curtly. “Exactly. And with these dreams destroying my sanity, draining the blood from my very being, how can I not believe her words to ring true?”

The safety you had hoped the weirwood tree would bring, has not reached you, nor will it tonight as he pushes you toward the Red Keep, thin-lipped and jaw tight. “We’ll further discuss this in our chambers.”

Aemond clenches his teeth together; not out of vexation, but out of consternation. He hopes, and prays to the Seven, that everything you uttered was merely due to your worries of the babe’s nearing birth as he guides you up the steps toward one of the many halls.

And when his lips press against your temple, right hand coming to rest on your swollen belly once again, the clouds continue their crying.

#house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x female reader #hotd x reader #hotd aemond targaryen

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djfan-naftv · 10 months

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I prob should draw more about this whole concept but for now have these. So these are the leaders of the Aqua and Magma gangs, two groups that constantly clash on each other and brought mayhem across ancient Hoenn.

They stem from the founders of the Pearl and Diamond clans

After the arrival of the hero they decided to leave Hisui, but not many people were willing to offer them a shelter, afraid they would bring some potential political conflict in their region as well

They traveled until they arrived at Hoenn, where the aviators decided to be merciful and offer them a home in exchange of their service to the region

They willingly accepted, and had a big respect for the aviators

But sadly as the generations went by that preservation withered in time and after a couple of centuries as their descendants developed their own ideologies the gangs eventually became a thing.

Despite causing regional mayhem they somehow still have a speck of respect for the aviators, although at this point it’s mutated into something like intimidation towards them. And that’s why people like Occo are often the intermediary between the two gangs.

They are a reason why places like Fortree Camp came to be, since they were meant as shelters where people could hide away from dangers like wild Pokémon and the gangs.

#pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon maxie #pokemon oc #pla oc #pokemon winona #pokemon archie #team magma #team aqua

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mksbigg3stfan · 1 month

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Season 1 Aiden is a kid on a power trip. He's never told no, and the rare times he is, he throws a tantrum. Aiden needs to get his way because he sees people's respect not as something he needs to earn, but as a thing they automatically owe him. Even though Lukas was the founder of the Ocelots, Aiden never saw him as the leader. Because of his harsh personality, he's likely able to override what Lukas says, as in season 1, Lukas might be a cool guy, but he very much lacks confidence. Never being challenged for his role as leader has made Aiden comfy and certainly inflated his ego, but it doesn't absolve him of his extreme insecurities.

He looks down on Jesse because Jesse has things he doesn't, as simple as that. The only reason the Ocelots hang around him is broadly because they fear him in general.* Jesse, Olivia, and Axel have a real, close, and tight-knit relationship. Just like with Lukas, Aiden probably noticed how easy so many things come to Jesse. The fact that it was so easy for Jesse to get people to like them was what made Aiden most angry. His strongest want is for people to admire him because he's prideful.

Because of his pride, Aiden was unable to realize he admired Jesse as much as everyone else, maybe even more, and decided to make them his rival. However, instead of inflating his ego further, like he wanted, it just further deepened his insecurities because Jesse is better than him at a lot of things. So, whenever he gets the chance, he antagonizes Jesse. Just to try and regain some power, he feels like he's lost.

Lukas standing up for Jesse makes him wary. He sees Lukas as someone easy to manipulate due to him not liking conflict, so to Aiden, it's like Lukas defying him for the first time. That makes him feel even more like his control on the group is slipping, and there's nothing Aiden hates more than not being in control.

When it comes to the Wither, one of Aiden's biggest insecurities and flaws is revealed.

His cowardice.

Instead of going off to play hero, which he later states was his right, he hides away with the rest of the server and only comes in at the last second, under Lukas's orders.

And that, that absolutely made him feel pathetic.

He probably starts getting stricter with the Ocelots, and that leads to him and Lukas, with newfound confidence, butting heads more often. Because Lukas keeps challenging him, Aiden kicks him out and forms the Blaze Rods, just to cut all ties with the group he feels like he lost.

To be honest, there's not much background on Aiden at all or exploration into his character. I feel like he puts up a facade to seem cool because he's scared of people leaving him. His need for control would stem from that, with him using fear as a way to keep people close. He cares about his group in his own way, even if it's toxic. But, Aiden isn't the most loyal. He will absolutely ditch Maya and Gill if he feels he needs to.

His cowardice and self-righteousness are especially apparent in Sky City. He'll butter up Isa as much as he needs to, to gain some power, even if he hates it. After attempting to kill her and Jesse, Aiden seems to care very little. When he takes over Sky City, Aiden is a tyrant who terrorizes his citizens. He sees little value in anyone who is not himself.

(On less serious note Aiden served absolute cunt on that throne.)

In the episode Order Up, Aiden's flaws are especially apparent when he fights Jesse. He sees what Jesse has as things that have been as his born right. Jesse, having everything he wants, drives him crazy. When he says, "It just drives you crazy to see someone else succeed, doesn't it?" He doesn't realize how hypocritical he's being. He's the one who's jealous, who admires Jesse more than anyone, even Lukas.

(This is a HC, so it's optional !! I think Aiden might’ve had rich parents and been spoiled, so he doesn't like seeing other people have what he doesn't. Because of their seemingly neglectful way of raising him, probably by showering him with gifts, he never learned to respect people or what love and caring about someone was really like. This caused him to have a disconnect with most people and difficulty making friends.)

When fighting Jesse, it's the first time he's ever truly not been in complete control. Jesse has to decide what to do with his life, and it terrifies him. He knows exactly what he'd do in this situation, and he doesn't want that to happen to himself.

If Jesse spares him after the fight, it's giving Aiden a second chance. He's barely grasped what caring about someone is, but he's stubborn, and he will figure it out, because he wants to.

And maybe, just maybe, he can start with Jesse.

*(Mini section on the ocelots:)

Gill fears Aiden, but also looks down on the people around him. He may be afraid of Aiden, but he seems to have a special kind of disdain for people outside of their group. It's possible that he sees the Ocelots as a way to hide his insecurities, too. Gill could've gotten so wrapped up in trying to seem cool that he fails to see that Aiden is insecure too and idolizes him. They've probably known each other since they were very young, so Gill trusts Aiden with his life.

(This part is just a HC, so it's optional !!! Gill might’ve been bullied when he was a kid, and Lukas stood up for him. This led to Gill joining the Ocelots, but he sees Aiden as the leader, so he sees Aiden as the person who saved him. Maybe his memory is even blurry, or he has memory problems. But he trusts what Aiden says, to fill in the gaps.)

(For the other members of Aiden's group it's basically all just HC to be honest so...🙁🙁)

Maya sees herself in Aiden and is loyal to him, maybe because she sees Aiden as a savior to her. He could've saved her from a mob attack or a player with Lukas, and then she felt as though she must be loyal to him. Maya and Aiden also share similar traits, as well as the rest of the Ocelots (Lukas not included), like arrogance and selfishness. Maya seems to blindly believe whatever Aiden says, more even than Gill. But who wouldn't trust the person they owe their life to?

(This was a rough one guys...there's SCRAPS of Aiden and Blaze Rods content. I fr end up just making shit up sometimes....🙁)

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #aiden mcsm #mcsm jesse #mcsm lukas #minecraftstorymode #aiden #mcsm gill #mcsm maya

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Text

Welcome to Moon Siren Horticulture! - Morpheus x Witch!Reader

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

SUMMARY: Running a plant shop known among deities and occultists just can not be a simple job. One day, the strangest client shows up looking for a remedy for a curse.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

Dirty hands, strong smells that gave you a perpetual migraine, cuts from thorns all over your hands - running a horticulture store was a physically demanding job that became only more challenging when one considered a clientele of occultists, deities and pure madmen. The other side of the coin was the curious and hardly practical methods of payment you so often received like phoenix feathers, dragon scales, mermaid tears or sasquatch fur (you were never quite convinced about the authenticity of that one). Despite having no use for them, you had kept the strange artefacts patrons of the store had given you. It seemed like the more responsible thing to do rather than abandon them in the middle of nowhere for regular people to find.

The doorbell rang when you were repotting some plants. A heavy sigh left your lips - you didn’t want to leave your little maintenance task unfinished but you knew better than to make deities o cultists wait. As you had learned quite early on, sacrifices made one quite impatient if not entitled.

“Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back in a bit,” you said to the plant. The stems and leaves waved in a disturbingly intelligent manner as though they had a mind of their own.

Rushing through the spacious greenhouse, you were frantically wiping your dirty hands on the thick apron you wore to work, although the dirt under your fingernails seemed humorously unimportant when it came to the entirety of your appearance - no matter how clean your hands could be, dust and leaves were still in your hair and your clothes reeked of nitrophosphate. Despite being unpleasant, you had a burning suspicion that it only added to your ‘strange plant expert’ image.

The man at the counter appeared about as bizarre as he looked charming. His dark hair was dishevelled as though he had only just woken up from a deep slumber. The black coat, if the night sky could ever be sawn into a garment, stood in contrast to his pasty skin. The stranger was quite thin, making his head look disproportionately big compared to the rest of his body. His protruding cheekbones contributed to his already quite strict demeanour. A raven’s croak resounded in the small shopping area of your store.

"Welcome to the Moon Siren Horticulture!” you exclaimed with a smile known only to people who had worked retail at least once in their life. “How can I help you?"

His glistening eyes of deep blue, a starry sky reflecting in a raging sea, stared at you with a disturbing lack of emotion. "I wish to lift a curse,” he said in a low voice. Paradoxically, the brooding ones were generally more pleasant than the giddy ones - mainly because they had a tendency to keep their thoughts to themselves.

"Of course, sir but I must ask: are you sure it's a curse?” you asked him in the most polite tone you could muster. Gods were often proud but rarely were they bright.

"Do not question me,” he warned you slowly.

Without a falter in your polite smile, you continued your inquiry: "Then tell me about this curse."

“A young boy,” he began in a breathy, low voice, “who’s neither asleep nor awake. He can not eat or drink and yet his body withers. His mind resides between life and death, inside a void between realms.”

You nodded to yourself. "Yes, I'm afraid it is a curse. A minor one, more of a hex but on a child nonetheless…” A shudder run through your body as you felt your skin crawl. "I’m sorry for being impolite. You have no idea how many old deities come through this door every day and talk about curses when they mean a common cold. Apparently, when people stop worshipping gods, the gods begin to lose their holy powers and need to wear scarves during colder months. Who would have thought?"

The sound of talons clicking against a clay pot swayed your attention. Looking away from the brooding patron, you saw the raven nip at a bell-shaped indigo flower with a golden stalk. The moment its beak touched the petals, the bird croaked loudly and jumped away from the plant.

"That's a Gilded Dendra, very poisonous. Turns your blood black. A truly horrible way to die,” you warned him. Disappearing into the greenhouse in the back of the store, you added: “You don't want to touch it, little friend!"

“Little friend? I’m kind of offended but I kind of like it,” Matthew bemurmured. “Hey, what’s a ‘moon siren’?” he asked loudly, partially expecting Morpheus to be the one who answers him.

“It’s not anything in particular,” you called back from the greenhouse. Grabbing the right pot, you were making your way back to the front of the store: “My grandfather was a sailor and had a tattoo of a siren sitting on a moon on his forearm. His wife, my grandmother, absolutely despised that tattoo, so when he passed away, she renamed the store in his memory.”

The clay pot settled on the counter with a muffled thud.

“What about this one?” the raven croaked. He was sitting on a branch of a small tree, or a big bush, with round, gold-coloured berries that looked a little too shiny and metallic to be considered ingestible. “Death by ambrosia?”

“This is Amberberry, safe to eat. It tastes like beetroot and honey. Some say they can also taste mint. Go on, have a few.” Your shoulders shrugged with disinterest. It was safe to say that working at a store that was fairly popular among the strange and divine, you were quite used to the ruckus. Redirecting your attention back to the strict-faced man, you presented him the plant you had just brought: "Long Verecund, Humilus Proceria. Often called Witch's Remedy. I’m sorry but I have to ask: have you ever prepared a cure for a curse?"

The flower generally looked like a rare specimen of a lady bell: small, lilac petals growing along a thin, long stem. Among all the other fragrances drifting through the air of the store, including the stench of nitrophosphate that stuck to your skin, it was virtually impossible to smell the faint, sweet aroma of the plant unless one had their nose right up against the lilac flowers.

He didn’t answer you - simply stared at you in anticipation. “It’s not complicated,” you gave him a nervous laugh. To be fair, you weren’t sure why exactly you were tense: was it because his ambiguously inhuman appearance had an odd charm to it or because his apparent lack of emotions made you unsure what reaction action to expect from him? “You need to grind two parts petals to one part moon water, bring to a simmer and keep slowly mixing until it's a smooth paste. The remedy should be either ingested or used as an ointment.” Here you made a small pause, for a moment pondering whether it wasn’t rude to inquire about the boy. But the image of a child being eaten away by a slow, malicious curse made your stomach churn and your sympathetic heart yearned to know more. “Who’s he to you? If I may ask?”

“An opportunity to pay off a very old debt,” the stranger answered. His response came off as assertive but not yet crude. “Name your price, witch.” For some reason, the title came out of his mouth dripping with venom as though the sole motion of his tongue pronouncing that word made him disgusted.

“I can’t take anything in return,” you said while shaking your head. “I don’t want to. The boy’s well-being is good enough for me.”

“I did not ask if you had a price. I asked what it was.”

Surprised, you lifted your eyebrows - he had to be the very first client that insisted on paying. “What do you think this flower is worth?”

“I’m not knowledgeable in plant maintenance.”

“You misunderstood me, sir. This Long Verecund, what is it worth to you? How much does it matter whether you have it or not?”

The stranger reached inside his coat. As though he had been prepared for your wish of strange currencies, he revealed… a snowglobe? It was a small trinket, couldn’t be taller than 7 centimetres. Once the golden sand, a curious element in a snow globe, settled, a statuette of a siren sitting on a moon was visible inside the sphere. It looked like something straight out of a souvenir shop but at the same time, it was strangely personal and thoughtful. He put the item on the counter before quietly saying: “The nightmares brought by the plant shall not bother you anymore.”

You furrowed your eyebrows feeling an odd sense of dread appear in your stomach. How on Earth did he know about Widow’s Woe?

The doorbell rang again as the man opened the door. The bright sound pulled you out of your own bewilderment. “Sir?” you called out to him before he could leave your store for good. Morpheus looked at you over his shoulder, silently awaiting whatever it was you needed to tell him. “I wish you all the best. I really do.”

“Thank you.”

Part of you wished he’d swing by again but maybe not because of cursed children that time.

____

I played "Strange Horticulture" and absolutely loved it. A chill game with plants and achievements for petting a cute black cat? Hell yeah!!

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anne-chloe · 4 months

Text

Trust me | Three |

Jareth/Goblin King x F! Reader

Summary : As Sarah's next door neighbour, you're often Mrs Williams' last resort as a babysitter. Sarah had never liked this, but she can be extremely unreliable at times. One stormy night, Sarah grows frustrated with her baby brother and babysitter, resulting in saying a phrase that she later wants to take back. Now, you are stuck in The Goblin Kings realm with little hope to returning home again, unless Sarah can reach the castle and defeat Jareth in time.

The smell of flowers and greenery happened to be thick in the air. The scent wafted towards you from the only open doorway, enticing you forwards and into the unknown.

You were aware that everything was some sort of trick set up by Jareth, so you reminded yourself to remain cautious while heading forwards.

Inside the room lay a lot of flowers. You were fascinated to see that the ceiling was made entirely of glass, and that this room appeared to be a greenhouse. You wandered further in, sticking to the main path and refusing to stray, but you allowed yourself the opportunity to gaze at the gorgeous bundles and bunches in the room. Flowers of all sorts, roses, daisies, hydrangeas, peony's... thousands of flowers and all a rainbow of colours.

You paused in delight when you came across a patch of sunflowers. Sunflowers happened to be your favourite flower, and just the very sight of them brought comfort and joy. Your parents had planted them in the garden a few years ago to bring some colour to the house. In your eyes, it did more than just being colour to the house—it brought bee's, sunshine, happiness and an overall warmth that made you skip everywhere.

You reached your hand out the touch the sunflower, to assure it was real and not another trick that Jareth was playing on you. Sure enough, as the tips of your fingers brushed against the petals, you smiled truthfully at its realness.

But you couldn't linger over flowers for too long.

You pulled your hand back and turned on your heel, continuing onwards to the other side of the room, where you were starting to see the entrance to another room. You willed yourself to pick up the pace, wanting to find Tobey and leave as quickly as you could.

Your thoughts drifted to Sarah. Had she noticed yours and Tobey's absence at all? It seemed as though The Goblin King had made it so that she couldn't hear your yelling through the door. You didn't want to think of the possibility that Sarah had simply gone back to sleep, enjoying the quietness of the house.

What would happen when Mr and Mrs Williams returned home to find you and Tobey missing? Would Sarah explain that she had wished you both away? Would she feel even an ounce of guilt that she had condemned you to The Goblin Kings twisted games?

You didn't want to doubt that Sarah would have a change of heart. You wanted to believe that she'd make a wish for you and Tobey to come back. But that seemed extremely far fetched and unlikely as you navigated the castle deeper and deeper, finding yourself no closer to Tobey or an exit.

A stray sunflower caused you to stop before reaching the doorway. It lay on the ground, completely out of place. You stepped up to it, reaching down to pick it up by the stem, but something in your mind suddenly warned you against it.

You retracted your arm immediately and stood up straight, frowning down at the lonesome sunflower. As much as you desired to hold it and twirl it between your fingers, you felt as though something might befall you by doing so. It was obvious that Jareth had placed this for you to pick up; but why had he done so? It must be another trick.

You inhaled deeply and stepped over the flower before continuing through the doorway. If you had looked back, you would have seen the way the petals withered and curled into themselves.

You don't know what trick could have come from picking up the flower, but you didn't want to find out. For all you knew, another trap door was underneath it, and picking it up would only trigger the trap. You didn't want to risk being stuck in a hole again, where you might have no other choice but to ask for Jareth's help.

You decided that if you could withhold from asking for his help for as long as possible, then your chances of escaping would be much greater. You didn't trust Jareth, and asking for his help meant that you did.

Coming into an empty room, you paused directly in the centre. You looked at all four corners, your heart sinking into your stomach when you realised the doorway you had come from had now disappeared. But there was nothing inside the room. However, looking up, you saw a doorway higher than you could reach on your own.

Your brows furrowed together in focus, a frown deep on your face as you scanned the room again. And again. But nothing was there that could possibly help you. How were you supposed to reach the top?

Your answer came in the form of rumbling. The ground shook for a moment as stairs started to rise from the floor. You blinked rapidly at the appearance, and immediately you made a start for the stairs.

Just as you reached the top, where the doorway was, it suddenly closed off and reappeared in the ceiling above you. You gaped at the trickery, feeling betrayed at your hope being snatched so fast from you. Is this The Goblin King's game? To dangle hope in front of you and then snatch it away last second?

You steadied yourself against the wall and stretched your hand upwards, trying to touch the doorway. You were too short. So you jumped to try and grab the side, so you could attempt at pulling yourself up, but again that was a futile attempt.

Jareth then appeared standing normally in the doorway. You squinted as he came into view, wondering how he had somehow altered gravity in a way that made it possible for him to stand like that. He crouched down and leaned his hand through, offering for you to take it.

You stared at his hand for a beat, your own hand beginning to rise to take it. Just as your own fingers brushed against his, rumbling caught your attention as several more staircases started to rise from the floor, the walls and the ceiling. None of them directed to where you wanted to go, which was up, so you ignored them and continued to stand on tip-toes to grab Jareth's hand.

Then, like the doorway had done, at the last second, the stair case underneath you turned into a slope. You immediately lost your footing. A gasp left your throat as you felt yourself falling, then sliding down to the bottom of the staircase.

You rolled across the floor. Sitting up, you hissed at the throbbing in your bottom and your hands, which had taken the brunt of the fall. Then, you accusingly looked back to Jareth, who remained crouched in the doorway, his smirk wider than ever and a devious glint in his eyes.

You pushed yourself to stand and clenched your fists by your sides. "What was that for? I was accepting your help!" You whined, feeling deeply betrayed that he had, again, snatched away your hope at the very last second.

"You rejected my gift," Jareth pointed out smoothly.

His gift? Did he mean the sunflower?

Your bottom lip trembled slightly. "I thought it was another one of your tricks, so I ignored it," you explained, now feeling rather silly for thinking that a flower could set you back. But you couldn't cross it off as a possibility when everything was so incredibly odd.

Jareth shrugged. "And I decided to not help you here."

You couldn't believe how sensitive The Goblin King was. He was seriously offended that you'd ignored his flower, and because of that he was punishing you for it. It was clear that Jareth did not take being rejected very well.

You tried not to stamp your foot out of throwing a temper tantrum. This entire situation was incredibly against you. It was like Jareth was deliberately keeping you away from Tobey.

"Maybe if you had given me the sunflower yourself, I might have actually accepted it," you quipped back, growing frustrated with this entire conversation.

"Maybe if you trusted me, you wouldn't be stuck all the way down there," Jareth countered in a teasing voice.

Trust him? You felt like screaming at the implications. How could you possibly trust him when all he had done was tease and trick you? He had stolen you from your world and forced you into some sort of game, which you didn't want to play, and was now keeping Tobey away from you. You wanted to blame Sarah for all of this, but how could she have possibly known her wish would come true?

Jareth stood up, tapping his cane against the doorframe, a sinister smile playing his lips. "Oh, [Name]. My dear, we could be so great together, if only you'd open your heart and trust me."

Then, he swished his cloak and disappeared, leaving you to stew in your emotions. You wanted to scream loudly in frustration, but that would do no good and would probably give Jareth the amusement he wanted.

Instead, you huffed and tried to reassess the situation. Lots of stairs leading to nowhere, some of them upside down, others protruding from the walls... how would you even begin to go about climbing the staircases on the ceiling?

Then, as if answering your question, new doorways appeared at the top of each staircase. You gasped and made your way to the nearest one, peering in and being confused when it only lead back to the same room. However, you noticed that you were now standing on the staircase that came from the wall.

You didn't feel unsafe. It was like gravity had shifted and made it so you could stand there. If it weren't for the actual situation, you would have found it to be extremely cool, and you would have complimented The Goblin King for his creativity.

So you began rushing up the steps and entered another doorway, now finding yourself on the opposite side of the room, across from the actual doorway you wanted to be in. You frowned and stepped to the side, eyeing the staircase that had attached to this one. It would mean you'd have to somehow be upside down, and you couldn't see how you could make that happen.

Trust me.

Isn't that what Jareth had said?

Sure, he played lots of tricks on you to throw you off your course, but he'd never actually put you in danger. When you fell through that trap door, you had landed so softly that you wouldn't have even believed that you'd actually fallen. And when the staircase turned into a slope, the fall down hadn't hurt as much as it should have done, considering it was made of stone.

You peered over the side, eyeing the upside down staircase with great skeptism. You decided to sit down and dangle your legs over the sides, and you took a deep breath in, squeezing your eyes shut as you pushed yourself off the edge.

You expected a falling sensation to take over, but instead your feet came into immediate contact with something firm. You gulped, opening your eyes, now aware that you were standing upside down on the staircase.

So, if you now flipped the room, you could get to the bottom of the staircase and run to the other side, and all you'd have to do is slip into the doorway that was now on the floor.

You took cautious steps down, but once you assured yourself that you wouldn't suddenly fall up, you darted to the other side. You reached the doorway and stepped inside, watching as the walls shifted and altered to match your gravity.

You breathed a sigh of relief. You had taken a chance and decided to trust The Goblin King, which is exactly what he said you should do. In a way, didn't that mean he had helped you? Would that mean that you had accepted his help, or had you just taken his advice?

Either way, you had escaped that room at last, and now you could move on to the next, to face whatever the next obstacle may be.

And as you left the room behind, Jareth watched with great interest, his smile wider than ever at the fact that you had listened to him. And wasn't obedience always rewarded?

#fan fiction #labyrinth #the labyrinth #Jareth #the goblin king #goblin king #goblins #magical creatures #maze #x reader #reader insert #female reader #ballroom dancing #ballrooms #fantasy world #fantasy land #the underground #David Bowie

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fawism · 1 year

Text

Phases Of You

A little sneak peek of my WIP— I swear it's not angst(real)

Tags: death x reader, parallels, contrasts, deep longing, forever bound together by the cycle that is life and death, you're constantly reincarnated into multiple facets, but death never forgets the outline of your soul, totally not a soulmates thing * I may also pub on ao3 because wtf the last time I'm on there there was literally NO death x reader fic 😕

You're here again.

He raised his head, sniffing lightly. As soon as Death recognized the familiar pattern in the air, he breathed out a long sigh. Looming over everyone amidst the building's shadows, his eyes soon landed at your form who seemingly ducked from across a market's fruit stand. Judging from the way you peeked from behind the table together with a hooded cape covering half of your features, much like his, it was clear that you were trying to lose a certain group of individuals.

And he could already pinpoint who by the amount of royal guards dashing past through him, charging at the bustling streets in pursuit of their escaped target.

"Where's your highness?!"

"Not again!"

"They couldn't have gotten that far!"

Death scoffed at the unfolding scene, his gaze shifting into amusement as they barged their way through the crowd, completely missing your hiding spot.

So you were born into nobility.

Good for you.

The last time you had mentioned something along the lines of hoping to be more fortunate with your next life, you were but a young commoner then. You got by everyday through the means of letting the spreading garden outside your lands flourish. And you were good at what you did that the village folk regularly flocked for your goods. You've always crafted and tended to them with great care after all, Death could tell, notably with the souvenir you had dearly imparted him in that lifetime.

A pink carnation.

It was foolish, for someone to offer him a thing so delicate that could wither in his touch.

(The petals were kept away safe, surprisingly staying intact despite its age.)

Still, out of all your paths he had the displeasure of clashing fates with, it was in this moment where Death deemed you most worthy by how you spent your days to the fullest compared to the those who put very little value in theirs.

It's why he never understood the appeal of that one silly dream of yours. He believed you were already blessed with much more than those sitting idly on their thrones and wasting away inside their high castles.

Wealth, of course, came in different forms.

And so Death told you it was stupid thinking, his usual spat when it came to your absurdist of ideas, which were honestly plentiful in your brief periods of living.

"Why does it matter? Kings and queens and peasants— you're all going to meet the same end someday."

His bitter tone was dismissed by a snort of disbelief. "Geez, you talk so dark," you commented, shaking your head.

You often found yourself wondering how indeed you managed to strike an unlikely friendship with such a brooding cloud of a bounty hunter.

He, on the other hand, liked to think that you were able to entice him with your humble presence and a warm welcome home whenever he was at the area to fetch some sorry fool who grated his nerves.

Gently picking at the stems of your morning harvest, you broke into a half-hearted smile. "If I'm lucky, maybe I'll even find you first next time."

"You won't," he responded, voice low yet so sure, like this was a common topic between the two of you. His answer would remain the same. "But I will."

Death always did.

#puss in boots death #death x reader #puss in boots #the last wish #pib death #ongoing AAAAAAAAAAAA #I'll try speedrun this fic this upcoming weekend lmao #puss in boots death x reader

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goldencherriess · 1 year

Text

Language of flowers.

Pairing: Young! Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: In a moment of darkness, Remus finds the light of his life.

Warnings: angst, grief, fluff, hurt/comfort, flower shop AU, lots of flowers

Masterlist

The flower shop was open, colors drifting through the breeze. But the sky was grey and Remus was feeling a weight crushing his heart and soul.

It was hard to say where it started and where it ended, the sky or the heaviness of his heart.

It had been a few months since 31st of October, spring slowly settling in. A few months since Remus had found himself alone, with his bestfriends dead or imprisoned.

A few months since Remus had been questioning everything he ever knew. He often wondered about it. If he was to be there with them, would things be different? And what about Padfoot?

He couldn't answer his own questions. They drove him insane.

A few birds, flying over him and chirping, brought him back to reality. Life was coming back to life, basking in the glory of now, but he was still stuck in the past.

A bell dinged when he opened the flower shop's door and all sorts of sweet smells hit him. There was some stark, but delicate, almost lacy, perfume drifting through the air, some daring ones too (like the lilies in the corner).

Lilies.

They broke his heart.

"Sorry, I'll be at the front in just a moment!" a soft voice called out.

Remus made no move whatsoever, afraid to wither the flowers with even just an intake of air. He was just standing there, in the middle of the isle, surrounded by bouquets and flowers, with his hands in his coat's pockets and shoes sticking to the floor. His hair was probably a mess too (when was it ever not?).

The soft pads of converse against the pristine tiles and the swishing of a dress drew his attention to the backroom. She was wearing a polka dotted, red dress and a warm smile. She reminded Remus of spring itself. "Hi! Sorry for that, just some organizational stuff! How may I help you?"

She was looking straight at him, not afraid to meet his eyes and he suddenly felt small, fidgeting on the spot. The flowery smells tickled his nostrils. "I, uh- I want to buy some flowers."

Her smile broadened, her white teeth glittering in the light. "Well, I sure would hope so! It is a flower shop, after all."

He felt his face burn up and he cleared his throat. "Just those lilies, please."

Her gaze turned to the flowers in the corner, their white so fragile and pure. "That's beautiful. Lilies symbolize purity, something heavenly. Did you know that?"

He shyly shook his head. His voice croaked out a no.

"Well, now you do." she softly smiled at him before going to take them out of their vase. She started counting them. "How many would you like?"

Remus remained silent for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. "An even number would be fine."

Her moves halted, hands wrapped around the flowers' stems. "Oh, I see."

Even numbers for the deceased, odd numbers for the living.

Without turning to him, the florist brought six lilies out of the vase, putting them tenderly on the counter, as if she was dealing with a porcelain doll. "I'm sorry for your loss." she quietly added, her voice just a mere sound in the air.

Bashful, Remus shrugged, his hands still stuck in his pockets.

"These are beautiful flowers. I'm sure they'd love them." she continued, her fingers delicately tying a blue ribbon around the lilies.

He slowly lifted his head. "She was a lily and he always loved lilies." he whispered, but he was sure she still heard it. Her eyes met his, in a compassionate gaze, a touch of sadness in them.

"I'm Y/N." she said in a meek voice.

"Remus."

She handed him the bouquet, fingertips brushing. A strand of hair was falling from the ponytail she hastily put up. "That'd be ten pounds."

"Make it twenty. For the company."

She laughed, eyes lighting up and cheeks blushing. "You're a charming one. But can't do. It wouldn't be fair. Just ten pounds."

Remus felt a daring something in his chest and he took a step closer to the counter. "Fifteen and we'll see each other again?"

She shook her head, a smile still etched on her lips. "Yeah, okay, can't say no to that."

His own smile turned into a grin, before he put the money on the counter. He straightened his back and saluted her.

Y/N waved, her voice carrying sounds of worry. "Take care, Remus. Flowers wither easily."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He knew the path all too well, taking turns through the cemetery. Left, right, left and right again. He was still holding the lilies in his hands, maybe a bit too tightly, his knuckles turning white.

It was a bit odd coming back here. Nothing ever changed since the funeral. And he supposed nothing would ever change. Life would go on, time passing by, but the cemetery would still be stuck here in a time bubble, a testimony to the past.

He knew the path all too well. Right, left, left. Grave stones after grave stones. Left, right, left. Stillness. Quietness.

Loneliness.

He remembered the times when they would all joke around (Prongs had the most bonkers ideas), and Lilly would be the one who'd always get them out of trouble. He remembered how it felt to have someone besides you in the darkest moments.

And now he had no one.

Right, left. Stop.

The grave stone greeted him like always: cold and motionless, their names hitting him like bullets.

James and Lilly Potter.

He'd forever miss them.

Remus placed the bouquet on the grave, letting a moment of quiet pass, before he turned on his heels and left.

He knew the path all too well.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He kept coming back to the flower shop every month. At first he only bought lilies in even numbers, but then she started suggesting him to try something else ("Maybe white hyacinth. It symbolizes loveliness, prayers for someone.") Other times, she'd have a bouquet ready for him to pick up.

Remus no longer felt lonely. There was a light in every thing she said or did. She was careful with her words, and even more careful with the flowers. More often than not, even surrounded by a multitude of colours and flowers, the only flower he ever saw was her.

It was a wonder, to begin with. He'd get lost in the way she handled the flowers, so carefully, delicately. Just a touch of the hand, caressing them, never squeezing them. Angelic. Velvety.

After a while, he started to stop by just to greet her. He'd usually find her in the back, planting seeds or wetting the flowers she was growing. (These are irises. They symbolize faith. Isn't that beautiful?")

Y/N was the whole spring in the form of flowing dresses and warm smiles.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The flower shop was closed that day. He frowned in a confused manner, sticking his hands in his pockets. For a moment, he rocked on his heels, looking around, a breeze ruffling his hair. And then he turned to leave, a destination already imprinted in his mind.

But a weep stopped him. He recognized her. Her voice was muffled and strained by cries, but it was still her voice.

He followed the sound, taking the corner of the shop. His knees were weak, trembling just at the thought of her crying.

He found her on her knees, near a grave behind the shop. There was a whole meadow behind the flower shop, flowers everywhere and Remus figured out that this is where she was growing most of her flowers.

He took a tentative step towards her before stopping abruptly. What was he supposed to say? Words failed him.

Y/N sniffled. "I know you're there. I can feel you, you know?"

Remus gulped, before taking a seat near her. He didn't dare to take a look at the grave, instead gazing at her, waiting for her to say something. Patiently.

"I'm sorry that I closed the shop today."

He shook his head desperately, reaching out with his hand to touch her arm but dropping it at the last second. He didn't know how to comfort her. "Hey, hey, it's fine. I understand."

A broken laugh made it through her lips. "You're my most faithful customer."

"Irises, right?"

Y/N laughed again, turning to meet his eyes, unshed tears shining in her own. "You remembered!"

He shyly shrugged (he seemed to be doing that often around her). "Of course I did. I remember everything you ever tell me."

Her grin turned soft and her gaze dropped. "You're sweet. I wish I could repay you for all the kindness you've ever shown me. The business thrives just because of you."

This time he didn't hesitate to grasp her hand. She was soft, just as he always imagined. She was warm too. Her touch was velvety, much like a petal would be. "Don't say that. It's always a pleasure to come by. And your flowers are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen. They're very alive. You put love in your work. Anyone would see that."

She raised her head, wonder in her eyes. "It used to be mom's business. But I took over once she-" She inhaled. "Once she passed away."

Remus was familiar to grief and loneliness. He slightly squeezed her hand.

"Her name was Iris." Y/N added.

He nodded his head. "I see." He pushed behind her ear a strand of hair. "My best friend's name was Lily."

Her eyes turned sad once again. "Purity."

"Faith." Remus replied, referring to her mother's name.

An unspoken, shared pain settled between them as she slowly let her head fall against his shoulder, a few birds singing in the distance.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The bell chimed when he enter the flower shop that evening. He was smiling, his face flushed.

"Sorry, just a sec!" her voice called out, much like it did the first time they met.

Her converse padded against the tiles much like they did the very first time. Her dress swished like it did the first time.

And Remus blushed much like he did the first time he saw her. Y/N's face lit up when she rounded the corner and met his gaze. No amount of greetings could reflect the excitement and warmth in her eyes. The sun would be jealous of the light in them.

She approached the counter, a skip in her steps. "What flowers this time? Magnolias?"

Remus shook his head. "Roses."

Her lips formed a perfect "O", eyebrows rising. "That's new. Even or odd?" she asked, already going around the counter towards the flowers.

"Odd, this time." replied Remus, carefully watching for a reaction, one that'd betray her thoughts (he was hoping for a blush to resurface, or a tint of jealousy).

Even numbers for the deceased, odd numbers for the living.

Her moved halted, fingertips barely brushing the roses' stems. "How many?" Her voice was even, but Remus could detect a sound of annoyance in it.

"Just one. A single red rose."

The flower shop went silent. Somewhere outside, leaves rustled and the wind of early April started picking up, ruffling the trees. Her hands froze in the air, once again, before she straightened her back, her face void of emotion. Her face betrayed her, though. ''Who's the lucky one?''

''You.''

It was as if time stopped. Y/N was speechless for the third time that day and Remus took a few steps closer to the counter, trying to meet her eyes. ''It's you, Y/N. The rose is for you.'' And with a tremor in his voice, he hastily added. ''That is if you accept it.''

He was now in front of her, hands on the counter itching to touch hers, to grasp her fingers in his, ''Please, do.'' he whispered.

She slowly lifted her head, her eyes shyly meeting his. ''Is it for me?''

Remus nodded his head, soft crinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes. ''Indeed.''

''Nobody has ever given me a flower before.''

''That's quite ironic. You have a flower shop.'' he said while a breathy small laugh escaped his lips. His fingers tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. He could see her bright eyes clearer now.

She shrugged. ''People buy flowers for others.''

Remus cupped her cheek gently. ''And now I bought one for you. Please, say yes. Let me take you out. I promise I'll be extra good. I'll hold doors open for you. I'll hold your hand. I'll pay. Just- just have me.''

Y/N turned her head slightly and kissed the back of his hand. ''Yes.''

A grin broke out onto Remus' face and he lightly let his forehead fall against her, the sun rays bathing both of them. The quietness filling the room. Tranquility.

''You'll still have to pay for the rose, though.''

''Right, yes. Of course.''

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: Hello! Thank you so much for reading! I've always felt for Remus after the whole Voldemort fiasco. All his best friends died or got unfairly imprisoned. One of them even faked his death! So, this fic kinda blossomed (pun intended) from that. I threw in some language of flowers as well, lots of researching!

Another Remus Lupin fic is in the works. Hint: it's a Titanic AU.

If you'd like to be added to my tag list, just comment under this post or send me an ask! Lots of love xx

Tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead

#young remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #the marauders #the marauders x reader #young remus lupin #remus lupin #harry potter #reader insert #fanfic writing #angst #fluff #masterlist #my writing #laura writes

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coffeedrawingandwriting · 10 months

Text

Returning the Favor (Moth!Reaper Sans x Reader)

Never walk in the forest alone, was often the warning.

Perhaps so, with the recent release of monsters terrific and horrifying from Mt, Ebott, intelligent yet as wild as the deep legends of the world.

Curiosity isn’t often the issue, but acting upon it? Well, at least you satisfied its siren call.

Warnings: creepy elements, captivity, hypnotism, monsters are sort of like fae in this world, illusions

—————————

"Heh... a graveyard was the last place I expected to see someone to make my heart flutter that wasn't a ghost..."

You should've run at those enchanting words.

But how could you resist your terribly curious mind?

Those alluring black and silver shimmering scales leading through the forest, down the hill, into the deep forest of Mt. Ebott.

Your feet tracked the path with caution, stepping onto mossy ground through craggy trees that threatened to claw at your clothes, seeking and tangling your hair in hanging moss. To your surprise, you found more glittering scales, flimsy and dissolving to the touch when you found them caught among sticky thread...

Glowing neon blue thread.

It positively lit up the area, how anyone coculd not see it, you didn't know... but you pressed on despite the terrible pit of fear beginning to well in your chest.

Faintly, warnings of monsters came to your mind, but you were too far to give up.. and a glance behind showed the way back was hidden by tall spruce and old oak, forbidding as they leered against a stormy sky.

Spiderwebs caught in your hands as you finally stumbled onto withered grass, an open area...

The old Ebott graveyard, long abandoned, but with a legible path back to town and relative safety and light.

Light...

It was dark here, wasn't it. Odd. The sky was relatively clear, yet a sense of gloom and immense loneliness hug over this place of cracked stone, as you stepped forward.

Old withered stems of a gate gave way easily as you stepped into the cemetery.

Patchy grass greeted your eyes, old moss covered gravestones still standing tall and proud. Several even had crumpled or somewhat fresh flowers. Were old relatives of some bygone buried here, remembered only by their grandchildren or great grandchildren?

When would they be forgotten? Or where they already and the flowers were just a goodbye?

You shook your head, trying to dissipate your thoughts.

It never did well to go down that path.

More blue thread caught your eye.

You followed.

The path led you to the back of the cemetery, and as you bend down to glance at the path of scales, something moved... a deep groaning noise.

You froze.

What was that?

Curiosity rose in your mind, yet fear and trepidation gave you pause, analyzing the situation. The gate was still open for an easy escape, you still had service (by some miracle, and you had your trusty fists!

That, and that groan sounded way too close to human for you to ignore it.

Peeking over a gravestone, a giant lump of a shadow stood out among dead bushes. Your ginger approach didn’t alert it, as heavy breathing came from it, the lump twitching.

What caught you off guard was that while it was covered in that alluring blue thread, the shadow seemed to suck up the light, preventing the glow.

You stepped closer.

Its twitching stopped, breath faltering.

It shifted, rolling over, or at least, craning its head to look at you.

A black eye socket met yours, framed by a pristine white skull.

You screeched and stumbled back, tripping and landing on the dirt as it shrank back, two long antenna flicking back from where they had been raised, like semi ears.

It made a face of displeasure, eye sockets crinkled in annoyance.

You caught yourself, stopping even as the breath was forced out of you by your fall.

A silent standoff started, your eyes locked with its. If you could call those black eye sockets eyes. Not a speck of light within, pitch black.

A lengthy silence occurred, before it huffed, turning back over, having apparently deemed you as not a threat.

You stood, brushing yourself off as yiu approached a little, curious.

Your attention had been solely on its face, but now you could notice new things- the shadow wrapped around the body of this creature were wings- moth wings.

Dusty grey and black like blackened dead leaves in the height of winter, speckled with white in some parts. Lower wings were exposed, pale yellow with black striping. Where the shoulder blades would be on the creature was a soft rise like the thorax of a moth, fuzzy grey with a pale cream skull.

A death head moth.

Was this thing a moth man? You didn’t think moth men had skeleton heads, or distinctly human ones like that. Or if there was more than one moth man.

Scales were missing from the wings, making the edges ragged and the main parts shabby.

The thread you noticed before was wrapped cruelly around the creature, purposely, but it was clear if it had been dragged here or not.

Looking at the ground, there was a deep stain to to earth.

What could’ve caught this creature? The thing was at least a foot taller than you were tall.

You cautiously stepped around to face its front, its antenna, thin black things, vibrating as it picked up on the thrumming of your heart.

The bone looked almost fuzzy, and parts of it was ruffled as if dragged mercilessly, scrapes and dents to the delicate bone. Its front was delicate rib cage, with not one pair, but two pairs of arms ending in blackened claws. Its lower part was clad in stained black cloth, wrapped like a kilt with a twine belt.

But once again, black, emotionless eye sockets catch yours, eyeing with you in curiosity. The corners crinkle like living flesh, the bone seeming malleable like skin. In fact, none of the usually daunting angles or planes of a human skull were apparent. Round and smooth, pristine white, no sign of aging, no hint of bereaved flesh or blood.

Its mouth curved up into a dry smile.

"Well, hello, doll."

...

Two thoughts struck your mind.

One, that this giant creature, probably some ancient monster or fae, released from Mt. Ebott, could talk.

The second thought was that of all the things it could've said, it called you a doll.

"I... beg your pardon?" You asked politely.

"Pardon given," it replied in a deep baritone, that totally didn't send a shiver up your spine.

There was a bit of silence, as you tried to wrap your mind around this crazy set of circumstance.

"It's usually polite to introduce one's self," it rumbled, crooking an bone brow as if raising an eyebrow. The versatility of expression astonished you.

"Oh, I'm... wait, how do I know you're not a fae? You could try to steal my name!"

The creature snorted in amusement.

"Doll, would a fae be this handsome?" It smirked.

"... you're not proving anything."

"Huh, tough crowd." It considered for a moment. "Well, I'm a monster, born and bred, even if I've been alive for longer than your short years. My name is Reaper, doll."

Reaper... obviously male from his voice as well. Made sense he was called that, as you caught another glance of the skull marking on his back.

"Are you a mothman?"

He looked almost offended. "Of course not. Those aren't real, but I am. You're more welcome to get a feel to see for yourself." He smiled, fangs revealed as he did.

"I'll pass," you shied away slightly. Another moment of consideration. "I'm Y/N."

"Y/N...." He tested the sound of your name. "A good name, doll."

He moved slightly, his limbs straining against the blue thread. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, his brow furrowing in... fear?

"What happened?" Your question seemed to draw him back to you.

"Oh, this? Just a little tussle with... well, it doesn't matter who with. Only that he's annoying and a killjoy. I was simply approaching him for simple talk and he got offended, so now I'm here... he'll be back soon to finish the job, I'm sure."

You stared at Reaper.

"There's another one of you out here?"

"Oh no, I would never allow that. He's an arachnid. A spider."

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry from fear.

"And... by finish the job?"

"Monsters also prey on monsters, doll. Some of us have developed the morality to stay away from such morbid thoughts, but most... rather keep to how it's always been."

"And prey on humans," you scowled slightly.

"If we do, it's never completely intentionally. Believe me, I much prefer fruit to human, but you do seem like a snack." He winked.

You couldn't resist a slight blush. You weren't sure how to react to any of his flirting, which you assumed it was.

Why would a giant moth monster flirt with you anyway?

Yet, a more pressing matter was at hand. He seemed likeable enough, and you didn't enjoy the thought of him being eaten. So bending down, you gently tested the thread that Reaper was tangled in, wrapped in, you realized.

"Doll, if I couldn't break through it, then you can't," he pointed out. He strained against the webbing to show you.

"What about a knife?" Your pocket knife was safely stashed in a pocket and you began to cut the string, the iron making the thread almost wither. Pausing, you give Reaper a look.

"Iron affects monsters just as much as fae. A single stab of a good iron knife and it turns us into dust if our HP is low enough."

You didn't bother to ask what HP was. Probably not the computer company anyways.

A fifth string broke, and suddenly Reaper sprang up, stretching and flaring his wings, giant things that suddenly wrapped around the two of you, surrounding in a messy cloud of dust and wing scales, his skull nearly touching your head, as his eyes, still devoid of any light, peered into yours.

Antenna unfurled to gently touch your forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips, testing, flitting like gentle paint strokes.

"Why, doll? Monsters and humans don't get along," he rumbled, still not backing away even as you stiffened at his proximity. His hands, all four of them, trailed up to gently rest on your arms, a curiosity to them as he compared how different the two of you were. Four arms, two arms, black eye sockets, your living eyes of color, fuzzy bone, dry skin.

"I don't think anyone deserves to be eaten," you confess nervously.

He laughed, a warm sound.

"Well then, allow me to return the favor by taking back to more... human occupied space."

Your shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you.”

”Don’t thank me yet, doll.” He stepped back and straightened to his full height. You were wrong, he wasn’t a foot, he was probably two feet taller than you, towering over you as he offered a lower arm for you to grip onto, a wing curled around you.

You took it gingerly, following him down the road leading from the graveyard to the city.

”… you seem oddly honorable,” the words slipped out before you could fetter them.

He didn’t seem offended, only chuckling.

“Call it returning the favor,” he replied in a deep murmur, sending another shiver down your spine, heart beating fast as a hand clasps on top of yours.

It felt oddly protective, yet you couldn’t deny the strange sense of comfort you felt with him as he guided you through withered trees and dry grass, till lower slopes turned to more pleasant greenery.

”What were you doing up there anyway?” He asked suddenly.

“Oh, uh… I was hiking when I saw the scales and thread… and I decided to see what it was.”

His smile contorted into one of amusement and slight mock, as he laughed.

“You are a curious one…but… I will say… heh... a graveyard was the last place I expected to see someone to make my heart flutter that wasn't a ghost..."

You almost tripped over your feet. You sputtered for a moment, blushing as he easily caught you, helping you up as he chuckled.

“Easy there doll, you’ll flatter me by falling at my feet.”

“I am not falling at your feet!” You protested.

He only chuckled, but you noticed his hand tightened on yours.

You didn’t comment, but something suddenly seemed off.

The sky was still grey, like at the graveyard, and the green seemed… flat, lacking in life. You looked at your feet.

Moving on gravel road… but there was no sound. No crunch of gravel.

Rather, it sounded like you were stepping on dead leaves and bare dirt.

Your eyes snapped to his face.

“Heh. I told you not to thank me yet.”

Panic bloomed inside as you tried to rip your hand away, but he held tight.

”Believe me, doll, you don’t want to go home. The monster who captured me won’t be happy that you helped me. Again, I’m returning the favor. A life for a life.”

“Let go of me!!” You gasped, struggling against the much stronger monster.

He frowned, moving to grab your body with his other hands, eye sockets lacking any mirth or kindness you had tricked yourself into seeing.

You broke free, rubbing down the slope, as the world shimmered.

You didn’t know where you were.

A large ravine, almost canyon like with multiple outlets and dark corners, taunting you as you ran heedlessly.

“Come now, doll, you can’t get that far,” Reaper called from behind.

A terrified whimper left you, feet pounding the earth, cutting through grass or golden flowers.

You tripped over a branch, landing a few feet from a giant crater.

The entrance to the monster world, as you were taught in school, that no one was permitted to enter. An old fence surrounded the pit, slats missing and posts collapsed.

The rustle of dead leaves startled yiu from your sudden realization as you turned, scrabbling on the ground.

And stilled.

A myriad of color, soft silver and gold merged in a swirl of unfathomable pattern, luring you to peace as you stared with wide eyes. Something brushed your temples, like moth antenna, a soft brush to your lips complementing a feeling of dazed thoughts.

Your eyelids sank, eyes reflecting the colors as your soul fought briefly before succumbing.

Rise.

You stood, not seeing as arms scooped you up, pressed against a firm chest as a chuckle echoed through your skull, something firm yet soft pressed to your head, then your cheek, and your other cheek.

I’ll take care of you, doll.

A falling sensation as the world went black, carried away by a reaper of the forest.

An arachnid stepped out from the shadow of the forest. His mismatched eye lights regarded the pit, knowing that that human would never again exit.

”I warned you that you would fall as well, Reaper,” he near grumbled. Yet a satisfied smile touched his own blackened skull as he skittered off to an abandoned cabin, to tend to his own human. Despite losing a meal and the chance to deal with a meddler, he knew Reaper would not again bother him due to such things as morality of… relocating humans to safer environments, often to his own nest.

In this world, humans often disappeared, most now associated with monster incidents. It was no longer human vs human, but human against a new predator in the food chain.

The only error was oft the reason most assumed monsters would take humans. Monsters were not often empathetic, but most craved the looseness of feeling a human was so willing to give…

And besides…

What was one human to billions?

——————

Hope you enjoyed the story and our little surprise guest!

Thank you for reading!

#undertale #sans #reaper sans #moth!reaper sans #mothman #monster au #arachnid!error mentioned #x reader #sans x reader #reaper sans x reader #mild horror #creepy #thriller #implied captivity #hypnotism #fae #flirting #writing #xreader

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ecoamerica · 21 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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esteemed-excellency · 3 months

Note

💜- What’s their favorite memory of the other?

>:}

hi I forgot this ask in my drafts for an entire week so I hope the answer is cute enough to make up for it

💜- What’s their favorite memory of the other?

Hiram's favourite memory of the Deviless is when she tried to show him how she experiences time. He was still unsure of his final choice after the Marvellous, but she was very interested, and she insisted on talking about it. They spent a wonderful and enlightening afternoon, albeit a bit confusing, dancing through a lot of sigils. They had to stop after a while because the human brain is not built to perceive all the depths of anachronistical timelines, and the Deviless kept on explaining as best she could, even if mere words couldn't hold the same nuances of meaning as the correspondence. Hiram concluded that her anachronistical experience of the future was similar to his constant reminiscence of the past, just in the opposite direction, and he couldn't help but feel extremely fond of her in that moment. He decided that if experiencing time meant being able to keep feeling like that for a little longer, he had made the right choice.

The Deviless' favourite memory of Hiram is when he gave her a particular gift after he began experimenting with the Red Science. He was always at the laboratory and they weren't seeing each other very often, until one day he said he was almost done with the experiments, and he gave her a rose, as usual. She didn't notice any difference at first, but after two and a half weeks the rose was still as fresh as the day it was picked. After three weeks the stem began to wither. After a month, the rose rotted away in a single morning. It took another two other weeks for the Deviless to stop thinking about the fact that Hiram manipulated reality specifically for her.

#listen i don't know if the red science can do that but i just decided it can #you can bend space and time with it so a little rose would be relatively easy to keep fresh for a few weeks i guess #also don't ever ask hiram what his favourite memories are there's a chance he'll list every. single. one.#in chronological order complete with date time and duration #“did i ever tell you about that time on june 15th 1883 at 7:38:52 pm bla bla bla”#oc asks #hiram x deviless

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mathiwrites · 9 days

Text

And for the second prompt of Day 3 of @tamlinweek: Flower Language.

Content warning: Grief, war, allusions to torture, graves/graveyards, depression and PTSD.

Read Potentillas on AO3 or beneath the cut:

Where are you?

Days, months, years have passed, and he still cannot find him. Through the thicket and into the brush, Tamlin speaks to the whispering moss and the little creatures hidden within. The smallest things carry the greatest knowledge, often unseen and unheard, but Tamlin listens.

He’s always listened.

They tell him of the eagle and the bobcat, and of the new silver lace vines that have taken root in the North. He follows the trail they lead towards all the changes of his father’s Court. Maybe today, he’ll find what he’s looking for.

White flowers on shining pale gray stems greet him, honoured to be noticed by Spring’s prince. They bloom, showing their very best side. He asks their name, and though he is kind and caring, his heart shutters with disappointment. Not here.

The forest is his home; the war has made him restless and he rejects stillness. When the body does not move, the mind begins to race, and his mind lives among the dead.

He knows every inch of this place, from the growth of the trees, to the war of the weeds. He wakes his great-grandmother from her willow, and asks if she has seen anyone new, too. The souls always come home, so why isn’t he here? He loved the forests just as much as Tamlin did. He taught Tamlin to look, to listen and to respect. The Green should have welcomed him by now.

It has been days, months and years since Tamlin failed to bring Iolin’s body home, and he will not rest until he’s found his spirit.

***

The Middle is a barren place, ravaged by war. The soil is dead, poisoned by the iron of blood and the toxicity of faebane. Few things grow here, but they do not bloom—they claw their way out of the ground, all sharp edges and dark stems. Their leaves are shades of black, gray and rotted brown.

It has been a long time since Tamlin dared to venture here, and he does so against his better judgement. Shame isolates him, making him too afraid to reach out for help in this desperate endeavour. What will his friends say when the realize his crime?

I let my brother die.

That’s it.

Tamlin knows it, his family knows it and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else knows it, too. Cold seeps into his bones, a needling sensation that only ever takes place here. He pulls his cloak closer to himself and begins the trek.

Bones litter across the ground, half-devoured by vicious plants who thrive not on sun, not on song, but on the hard calcium of the dead. His mind shutters, withering under the weight of memories. This graveyard is of his making.

But Tamlin does not sop. He never learned how to. He only ploughs forward.

Further, and further, until he reaches the western shore close to where the King had stationed his temporary palace. The air grows thick, and Tamlin has to stop.

I can’t—

I can’t do this.

He promised he would bring Iolin home; he failed the first time, and he will let this attempt kill him before he fails again. Tamlin forces himself back to his feet, and keeps walking. He remembers exactly where he collapsed, where Iolin’s body had slipped from his arms and rolled down an incline, breaking him even more than he was already broken. He was already dead by then, succumbing to Amarantha’s wrath.

He was already free by then, leaving Tamlin in this interminable hell.

The gnawing in his chest is too much; he clutches it, as if he can reach his heart and throttle it in hopes of making it work again. It keeps failing, just like his lungs that can’t ever find enough air.

Please, please, please, I don’t want to be here.

Out of the corner of his eye, a glimmer of bright yellow sings softly to him. He knows that voice, and its gentle cadence. Iolin had always been kind, even when he was hiding from his father’s harsh gaze beneath the mask of duty. Iolin had always been the one to find Tamlin when he was running from something. He was courage itself.

Tamlin picks himself out of the dirt, walking with heavy steps towards the only bloom in the heart of this hellscape.

“Potentillas,” he whispers, touching the five petals lightly. “Of course.” His voice falters, and the breath that escapes him is shaky. He sits beside his brother’s resting place, and lets the relief wash over him. Iolin had always been his safe haven.

“The flowers of resilience. Crush the petals and steep it in tea, and you’ll find strength for another day,” he recites his brother’s words back to him. “I miss you, I miss you so damn much.”

#i promise tomorrow will be less emo #probably #tamlin week #tamlin #acotar fanfiction #acotar au #pro tamlin #my fics

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stickthisbig · 8 months

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I was in a mood about how being a broke kid never actually leaves you and despite the fact I'm almost 40, I still deal with behaviors that stem directly from that, but then it got depressing, so this is my technique for making berries last longer/prepping them for freezing:

Buy them cheap in bulk when they're on sale. Kroger's got them for $7/3 packs right now, which is right about the price point I want them for. These are probably going to be pretty long in the tooth, so plan to prep them right away. You can also do this with stone fruit (peaches, plums, etc).

Wash the berries right away, then cut off any nasty bits. If there is any mold at all, throw the whole berry away, do not try to save it. If it's just that they're bruised or a little withered, those are salvageable. You don't have to look at them and you don't have to feel the slightly unpleasant squish; it'll be cooked. For strawberries, give them a rough chop at this point. If it makes you feel better, rinse them again.

Transfer to a small saucepan. You absolutely do not want to be able to see the bottom of the pan. If they're pretty juicy, you can just let them go, but if they're drier (blueberries), start by adding about 1/4-1/2 cup water. You also need to add sugar at this point. You want regular white sugar. Add 1-2 tablespoons now.

At this point if you want any additions, here they go. Orange flower water can add flavor; you can also use lemon or lime juice (helps preserve color) or citrus zest (remove before packing). With strawberries, I find that a splash of gin really opens up the flavor, but that's optional. Remember that you can always put stuff in later, but you can't take stuff out.

Cook the berries, covered, on the stove over low heat. It takes way longer than you think, so add water if they're not breaking down into a sauce. I usually do 20 minute intervals. Anything in a small saucepan can bubble over really quickly, so don't go out of earshot. If you intend to freeze them for smoothies, cook them for less time; if you want to make a desert sauce, cook them for longer.

Cook them until your heart says that they're done. I cannot make that call for you. Please know that firmer berries just won't break down. If you want a smooth blueberry sauce, it's more steps.

Once the berries are at the consistency you want, it's time for the coating the back of a spoon test. If you've never done this, take a room temperature metal spoon and swirl it around (you should have a lot of liquid at this point). Pull it out, wait a few seconds, then draw a line across the spoon with the pad of your finger. If that line remains there, congrats, you're done. If it's too wet, turn up the heat, push the berries to the sides of the pan to reveal as much of the juice as possible, and add sugar a teaspoon at a time to create a reduction.

Remove the berries from the heat and let them rest until cool. If you want a smooth pureed sauce, drop them into a food processor, with the optional step of straining out the solids afterwards. If you want a fruit preparation that's good for dropping into yogurt, oatmeal, etc, put it in a tupperware and stick it in the fridge. If you want it frozen so you can put it straight into a blender, put it in a, and I cannot stress this enough, cheap tupperware and whack it in the freezer.

Is all this worth it? I'm paying $2.33 for 16 oz of fresh blueberries and a 16 oz bag of frozen blueberries is $4.99, so, unequivocally yes, even if the fresh berries are regular price ($3.29). Once you know this technique, it's maybe 20 minutes to set it up if you have just the worst berries, then it's something you just leave on the stove to do its thing. You also know exactly what's in it, unlike any jarred fruit sauce you're gonna buy. I don't typically mix kinds of berries if I'm starting from fruit I bought for purpose? But I often do if it's just that I looked in my fridge and went "shit, those berries were so expensive and they're gonna go off."

Please use this knowledge for your berry purposes. Couple scoops of frozen berries, couple tablespoons of yogurt, drizzle of honey, splash of milk, a little ice, optional protein powder, blend it up and you've got a treat.

#food

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