Santa Is On Strike Due To Global Warming.  All Presents This Year Will Be Delivered By Sasha The Christmas

₎₎　　⊹　skibidi sampo graphics　！ @lavendergalactic's event ﹕ gen alpha themed edit ♡　reblog && credit if using　≦

"I can fix him" ok but *I* don't want to. I want him to be evil and wicked and terrifying dangerous actually. If I fell in love with and kissed an unspeakable eldritch horror, only for it to magically transform into a conventionally attractive human man, because I "broke the curse with the power of true love," me personally I'd kms on camera idk

"Venti sus"- list of things that makes Venti (and Mondstadt) incredibly weird and suspicious

Venti is talking to Aether in the Webtoon. This takes place before the game since Aether's elemental signifier thingys are black. But it's also much later then Vanessa's time since he is wearing the outfit he has in game. We do not know if this is the abyss sibling or the traveler.

Aether asks if entering Celestia makes you a god. Venti completely dodges the question.

Venti then proceeds to list several irl gods and genesis myths as "in distant worlds". This gives him a meta aspect similar to alice

Speaking of Alice, he knows her well enough that he helped set up a summer vacation for her daughter and her friends. Twice.

He is also on good terms with the hexenzirkel. A group that includes Gold Rhinedottir, the woman that had made at least 2 nation destroying abyssal dragons and rift wolves.

When he's waking up he has the same effects as Vennessa turning into a falcon. He is even briefly seen as a bird .

This sigil seen here is also seen in liyue (I cannot for the life of me find a picture but yeah), in stormterror's lair and his hold skill

He only wakes up when something bad is happening ie: the cataclysm, Lawrence clan's rule, dvailn. So... why is he still awake

HIS HELLO VOICE LINE???

"*Yawn* That was a refreshing sleep. Ah, Traveler, we meet again! What? You don't remember me? Ahaha, well, allow me to join you on your quest once again. I must see to it that the bards of the world tell the Traveler's tales!"

That's not what he said in the archon quest???? When does this take place??? Why would Venti expect them to remember him and why don't they???

He straight up god infected by the Abyss. He's fine. I don't think it's ever mentioned again.

Why is his statue the one being hung like that

Venti is mentioned in a letter in the Chasam. IN LATIN

Currently the only god who has wings other then the statue of the omnipresent god and Phanes

Was friends with the tsarista before the cataclysm. The had a falling out afterwards

Used to be worshiped alongside Istaroth

Mondstadt has TWO descendents of Khaenri'ah, Albedo and Keaya.

The base of the statue in Mondstadt reads, "Gateway to Celestia"

The hands of Barbatos' statue points directly to the spiral abyss portal

Are you implyin to me that a shramp managed to frah this rice? It's preposterous! But it intrigues meh so.

whenever I vote in a poll and choose the most popular option I am a champion and when I pick the least popular option I am part of the revolutionary underdog class fighting against the posers

“english isn’t my first language sorry for any mistakes” —proceeds to write the most beautiful work of art ever created with grammar ten times better than an english professor

,,,maybe this request is weird but I’m a sucker for vague horror stuff,,, but what if The Rookie is just sorta off? Like they appear blurry in pictures, their voice in the comms sound super weird, or they look scary from the corner of your eye? No preference with suitors just whoever you think would be interesting. They/them pronouns please!

Again I’m really sorry if this is weird or if it’s too much to ask,,, and if you don’t feel comfortable doing this you can just delete the ask.

The Confessional Booth

or: There's something not quite right with the rookie. No one is willing to bring it up.

Wow, look at me, working my way through my inbox. I've honestly lost a lot of confidence in my writing but this was fun. The next two weeks I'll only be posting smut.. so, yeah, send in ur requests luvs

"WELCOME BACK, KYLE"

The laptop monitor winks to life, the blue light maps the planes of his face. He does not look at the HAVE YOU BEEN SAVED YET HAVE YOU BEEN SAVED YET HAVE YOU BEEN SAVED YET below.

Kyle doesn't remember what he's writing even as his fingers linger above the keys of the next word. His earphones have long stopped playing music, only white static drifts to his ears.

He bought them yesterday. He doesn't know when yesterday was. He thinks he's lived this day before.

"No casualties encountered.." the document stares at him, the clock in the corner has stopped its solid tick of time. In the corner of his eyes, he sees a single crow linger by the windowsill.

Footsteps sound in the hall outside. The door opens, a hint of malaise and rot fills the room. This is routine.

"Hey, Gaz," they say. Kyle fights the instinct that tells him not to turn around. The Rookie doesn't go inside, face obscured by the harsh fluorescent light overhead the corridor.

"Need somethin', Rookie?" He thinks he sees them grin at him, teeth jagged and laugh wrong in all the way humans aren't. "Got any idea where the Captain is?"

"Think he's out for a smoke," he says, not meeting their eyes. He is the only person in the base with them. The beads of his rosary dig against his palm. Kyle doesn't know to whom he prays to. All he knows is that no one is listening.

(Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee;)

"Alright. Want to go to a pub? Wouldn't do us any good to be rotting down here," they ask him. Kyle ignores the unmarked grave that flashes over his vision. He looks over his shoulder and meets the too-dark gaze of the crow. "Sorry, mate. Need to finish this report."

"Come on, Captain wouldn't mind-"

"Sorry," they pause. "I really have to finish this or Price will have my head," he insists. They stare at him from the doorway, shifting from one leg to the other as if weighing what this lie will cost him.

They can't read minds, he has to echo, he has nothing to fear.

They inch forward and the iron cross of his rosary bleeds a bead of crimson from his palm. Their unseen eyes flicker to his trembling knuckles, then to the window. Their lips pull up into a smile. "Maybe next weekend?"

"Definitely. Sorry for turning you down, mate. Just.. busy." No casualties encountered screeches at him from the screen. They're not-quite-face suck him in. It is a sinkhole of dark decay. Everyday he treads closer to the brink of falling.

"Don't worry, I'll catch you next time." They grin, smile a little too large on their face, voice without any discernible accent. They mean it.

"See you then." He doesn't.

(blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus—)

The door closes and their footsteps echo away. There is still a figure standing behind him, their reflection on the screen of his laptop. Kyle doesn't turn around. He knows better. His mama taught him to never look.

When they are gone, for what feels like hours later, he stands and locks the door. He knows it won't help them from breaking in.

He has followed all the rules. He has nothing to fear. Kyle looks to the clock. It's 3:14.

The crow is no longer by the windowsill. The window latch is closed. He draws the curtains and blinds.

—

The light in John's office flickers, the sky outside is dark. The cicadas are shrilling and singing and he is glad for it. When they stop, a different being roams the corridor.

The Rookie's file reads a long string of [redacted]. The paper holds a reddish stain on the right corner. He tells himself it's spilled ink.

Every week he checks what their name is, every week he forgets. The note in his pocket reminds him to never check more than once every seven days.

There is a roll in-between his fingers. The air is hazy and humid. The smell of tobacco in his nostrils, the taste of smoke on his tongue. John leans against the chair and follows a crow's path above the cornfield.

It lands on the shoulder of a scarecrow. There are footsteps outside the door. The cicadas stop singing.

There is a knock on his door. He pans the CCTV as far right as it goes.

He knows who it is. It is routine.

The crow. The cicadas. The knock.

The Rookie stands there, shadows pooled at their feet. They stare at the camera, unblinking and empty-eyed. John is being watched even if he is the one watching. His breath stops short in his chest.

(Holy Mary, Mother of God,)

There is another knock on the door. It is already dark. He does not answer.

"Captain, can I come in?" they whisper, voice crawling through the cracks of the walls. They almost sound human, but there are no other soldiers who leave their rooms at night. He does not answer.

"Captain, I'm coming in." The door is no longer locked. They step inside, crossing the boundary of the doorway.

This is new. They were never able to enter rooms without permission before.

"Rookie," he speaks through clenched teeth. Their eyes gleam in the dark.

For a second, he thinks they're looking at him.

They are not.

They track a silhouette in the cornfield outside, face bleak and cold. The scarecrow is a little closer than how he remembers.

Shadows spy them as their not-body passes through the room, sticking by the walls. John blinks once and now they are right behind him.

He does not turn around. Their breath is hot against the back of his neck, their hand right over his shoulder.

"Captain, did you see anything tonight?" they ask, feigning a tone that vaguely sounds apologetic. They sound too human.

"No." He hasn't seen anything. Sometimes he forgets that anything outside his office exists.

"Why are you lying?" He does not respond. John's teeth are clattering, his palms clammy. He swallows around a dry mouth.

"Are you afraid?" He doesn't turn around. It doesn't matter that he is. He doesn't flinch, doesn't check if anyone else is awake.

At night, you are alone if they come to your door. He hears a flap of wings.

"You didn't see anything tonight."

(pray for us sinners,)

"Nothing," he whispers. His blood is cold.

When they're about to leave, they linger by the doorway. They stare at him, gaze straight, eyes milky white and soulless. They do not blink. Razor sharp teeth grin at him. John makes sure not to meet their gaze.

The door closes. The lock turns from outside.

He looks to the window. It is afternoon. There is no cornfield. The ground outside is barren. Its harvest is hollow.

The skin of his neck crawls. There is something in the room with him.

A life-sapped carcass of a crow lies on the floor right below the clock.

It reads 3:15. It has always been 3:15. John hasn't seen anything.

—

The fog speeding through the streets is thick. The flickering lamp lights do not cut through the haze. Nothing cuts through the haze. The fog has been here since forever. The white-haired old man down the road says it's ne'er receded even when he was still playing by the creek.

There is no eventual dissipation. There never will be.

The fog is alive.

"Rookie, give me a sit-rep," Johnny grumbles, eyeing the mossy oak tree that is always 4 feet away. "Rookie?"

Their voice crackles, static broken. "..cHurCH.."

"Anything else?" He does not remember how they got here. A whisper from the woods behind him tell that it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter. He is never leaving. It doesn't matter.

"I- it MaTtErs.."

""D you jus'say?"

"..hUrRY." Johnny spares the woods a last glance. It waves him goodbye.

A crow caws.

He arrives at the church some time later. Its floorboards creak with every step he takes. Mold and decay has taken the building. The Earth is taking back God.

The pews are dusted. The Bibles he sees are blank. The holy water, maggot-infested, is dark.

There are footsteps that lead to the confessional. "Good evening," The Rookie whispers inside.

He enters the booth. His skin crawls. He cannot see their face. He does not want to.

(Now, and at the hour of our death,)

"Confess your sins, Sergeant," their voice is dry. Johnny does not listen to the hymns that have started to play outside the booth.

"I don't—"

"Confess your sins or you won't be able to leave." It is not a threat.

The bell rings overhead. The tower had been empty. The organ begins playing. "Hurry," they urge him.

Murmured prayers begin rising from the church. He sees shadows roaming the aisle.

The voices are rising— give sentence with me, o god, and defend my cause against the ungodly people: o deliver me from the deceitful and wicked man.

"Confess—"

He spills open.

(Amen)

When the confession is finished, the shadows outside turn to face him. They are smiling. He grips the rosary in his pockets. It does not help.

The Earth has long taken God.

"Ego te absolvo," The Rookie whispers.

When he leaves the confessional, there are corpses of crows on the pews. They are smiling.

".. what's the time?" They tilt their head, unseen eyes turning away from the cross.

"3:16"

—

John 3:16

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

STORYBOARD/ANIMATIC TIPS

ko-fi✏️

I made these for my friends, but I thought that might be helpful for yall as well! hehe! Now whenever someone asks for storyboard tips I can throw this at them!

Examples of storyboards I made for fun:

a psa for those writing for johnny “soap” mctavish

as much as a love the works you’re all writing, a lot of people really don’t know how to write a scottish character (and that’s ok !!!! we get like no rep so) so as a scottish writer, i figured i should help you guys out a little bit.

dialogue

johnny has a VERYYY strong accent as i’m sure anyone can work out

however this doesn’t mean he’s suddenly speaking a different language

yes, a lot of slang is used and for a basic definition of scottish slang and how they should be used; use this ! if you have no idea of slang i’d recommend reading through every word

although we like to use slang, i can promise you that if we’re with someone that wouldn’t understand a word of it / someone who’s first language isn’t english, we wouldn’t speak fully scot (for example if johnny was speaking to alejandro or rudy)

there’s absolutely nothing to suggest he can speak gaelic. yeah i know this is an obvious one but i have seen a few people slip gaelic into his dialogue and that’s super duper inaccurate

barely anyone in scotland speaks gaelic (unless you’re up very high north or maybe in the isles). it’s actually almost an extinct language because the english pretty much wiped it out when we got colonised.

something i love to see is when he mumbles little scottish things under his breath. accurate af.

we say shite more than shit. and never ever will a scottish person say ass. it’s arse all the way.

we don’t call people (especially if you’re sleeping with someone !!!!) lass. or lassie. we call kids that.

pet names are normally along the lines of love, hen (my personal fave), sweetheart, little lady, bonnie (sometimes)

also, shagging is sex. shag, shagged, shagger. yeah.

mum not mom. maw, more commonly.

all that being said he does use a loottttt of slang so honestly go ham i love seeing scots language get used because it’s not been used in fanfic like ever before

culture

seen a few people write soap going mad for st andrews day

yeah no we don’t to that lol i barely every remember that it’s actually st andrews day

also, we aren’t all completely versed on celtic mythology. i could barely tell you the first thing about it.

in scotland we’re all kind of touchy, like we’ll greet people with a hug and stand weirdly close to each other so if that’s something you’re writing about it’s important to note that our personal space is really small

not sure where people get this idea from but scotland isn’t all sheep and highlands and fairies and like little huts

yes we have that but we’re a really modern nation and wayyy to many people have a weird perception of scotland

my man is literally from like glasgow (his accent sounds glasgow but don’t quote me on that) he’s not a farmer or anything

we swear. a lot.

KILTS. not skirts, very common to wear in scotland to events like weddings, christenings, anything formal really.

cunt isn’t a horrible word i literally everyone a cunt, sometimes it’s used affectionately

misc.

if you’re gonna write about scottish politics i beg you research it. johnnys probably pro independence and an SNP voter. google it for context

we’re really loud. and we talk really fast. yes, other characters are gonna be confused af

irn bru !!!!!!!!! it’s a scottish drink and ive seen one person mention it and i just about cried i loved it

in scotland you can vote at 16 and join the army at 16 if that’s relevant to you

if you’re going to write about something you don’t know anything about, either do research or ask someone scottish (im more than happy to help!!)

please don’t take these as complaints or anything !! it’s just very very off putting to see people make massive misconceptions and conclusions about scotland! i love that we’re finally getting some hype. anyways ask about anything!! <3