let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
todays bird
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Not today Justin
Xuebing Du
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
One Nice Bug Per Day
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@4vium
Update!
I’m so sorry I dropped off the face of the Earth! This blog will be going on a hiatus until I can find the muse for Daniil again. In the meantime, if you’re interested, I have a new blog, @sloppyjoesandpurpleprose except this one delves into the Slenderverse, more specifically TribeTwelve. I’m so sorry to all my lovely followers, but the mun, they are finicky.
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Plotted Starter With Oscorpson
“So, who are you? Am I talking to a celebrity or something along those lines?” Daniil asked as he set the plate of plain cheesecake in front of the man, pouring him a fresh mug of coffee with it.
Everything had been going fine. They’d been getting ready to close, like you do when it’s getting late, when suddenly, Daniil’s manager, Georgie, had pulled Daniil into the back. At first, Daniil had been confused, especially when a plate of cheesecake had been shoved into his hands.
“Take this to him. Be as polite and clear as you can be. The last thing we need is a bad review from the man who runs half the city.” As Georgie spoke, he pointed towards the man who’d recently come in.
So, that’s what Daniil did. Giving his most genuine fake retail smile, he’d placed the plate in front of the man.
It should have ended there, but Daniil was curious. This man was obviously someone noteworthy. Not only did the way his manager was acting suggest so, but the way the man carried himself. It reminded Daniil of walking in The Capital, surrounded by hedonistic airs.
That wasn’t all, though. A man who ran half the city could probably afford a sizable tip, and every little bit helped when you were a medical student in University. Even with ongoing monthly support from the Capital, Daniil had quickly found his rubles were not equivalent to the U.S. currency. If he played his cards right, he might be able to afford something other than ramen for a night, as a way of treating himself.
@4vium
The Stillwater makes the Changeling feel calm. It makes sense, in a way. It is, after all, a place for outsiders to rest. And while she is beloved to the Kin and to Mother, she still only just arrived here. She has things to learn about this town, just as dear Dankovsky does - though in her professional opinion, she’s learning things a great deal faster. No matter her ramblings, though, it’s true that every person’s soul could use a good stretch every once and a while.
She glances at Miss Eva Yan and wonders if the stretching might have bodily repercussions, after all, Miss Yan is quite the tall lady. Which makes it all the more comedic that the woman is cowering in fear, shuddering each time she dares to glance down at the Changeling’s clay legs. She’s sure Miss Yan would scurry out like an oversized rat and call the guards, were those guards not all under her father’s jurisdiction.
The lady of the house is probably quite relieved, then, when the favored doll of this timeline finally arrives to the scene. The Changeling smiles and waves. “Bachelor, there you are! Miss Yan makes such lovely biscuits, you know? I’m quite jealous of you.”
Daniil’s eyes narrowed at the thief. How deplorable. How disgusting. He’s never interacted with children like the thief much, but based on his brief interaction with her, its fair to say he doesn’t much care for children like her.
“Your brother?” He asks. He had seen the....beast earlier. It certainly wasn’t human. Disfigured and disgusting. A creature that should not have been. Daniil should have slain it. Why hadn’t he? It had pained him to look at it, made him feel ill, but he had let it live.
“What is your end, thief? Why do you care so much on my reputation? Haven’t you your own miracles to work?” Daniil scoffed at the idea of such foolishness. The starry eyed notions of a child.
@4vium
“Do what ah owe the pleasure of someone visiting lil ol’ me?” Her scottish accent was clear as day now, and she waved a hand, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearence. The witch gave a gently hum, grabbing a bottle of vodka and a cup, pouring herself a drink.
“Not often ah get visitors her’.” She comments. “Thirsty? Ah have a wide array of drinks.”
TIme has never been on Daniil’s side. Be it rushing to get projects done, rushing to finish exams before the time was up, and rushing in general, he’s never really had much opportunity to stop and actually enjoy the time he’s been given.
Sia’s smile is invigorating. It shouldn’t be, but it is. It’s just a smile. Muscles moving after the brain tells them to.
He tries again. Still, nothing. But he’s engaged now. He wants to see this through to the end.
It takes him quite a few more tries before something happens. The glass seems to glow a soft teal color, and shifts a little. It’s not much, but it’s something, and Daniil’s heart thrums with excitement.
Flushed Futures
Author’s Note: This ain’t a happy drabble. I wrote this as a way of venting my own struggles. Trigger Warning for Ableism, Derogatory thinking of mental health, self harm via not taking care of one’s self and suicidal ideation Description: It’s modern day, and Daniil is doing fine. The pills fall from his hand into the bowl of the toilet. He can’t throw them in the trash, as he usually does, because Artemy is in the kitchen where the trash can is kept, reading as the television hums with life. There’s a tight knot in his throat as he watches 2 of the pills disappear down the drain. One of them bobs, as the water recedes and comes back. To Daniil’s horror, it doesn’t go down. Brief thoughts swarm his mind like an angry nest of bees or wasps, and he feels hot, uncomfortably so as he presses on the flusher with a clammy hand. He hears footsteps nearby, which accentuates his terror. He turns his head to find Clara, glancing at him. “Is it going down or coming up?” She asks, and he feels relief at her ignorance. Ah. Of course. She must be assuming that they are having issues with the toilet again.
“One second.” He says, pushing the door partially closed as he keeps holding the flusher down. The water burbles and the pill finally vanishes along with Daniil’s worry he will be caught. He turned back to her, giving a small nod of his head. “It’s down.” he remarks. Clara nods and starts to go towards the stairs.
He heads towards his room, sitting at his bed and pulling his laptop towards him. He needs to finish some responses to clients before he can sleep. That seems like all he does. Work, eat, sleep. It’s not an ideal life, and Daniil can already feel the creeping sensation he normally gets late in the night, that nothing really matters and his work isn’t important, that he is easily replaceable.
He pushes it away, fingers clacking at the keyboard rather ferociously, with more aggression than usual. Digits peck and prod, like chickens for corn. Daniil is fine. He is fine, and the bad taste in his mouth is because of the tea he just drank in the kitchen, to give the illusion of taking his meds. The tea always has an aftertaste, after all. Artemy has been telling him to drink more water, and Daniil tries, but water is so plain, and tea is so sweet, so much more delicious. So much more adept at keeping him awake so he can work.
He is still warm, despite his lackadaisical clothing. Shorts and a black t-shirt. He can smell the sweat still beading up under his folds, and he runs a hand back through a disobedient greasy lock that refuses to cooperate. One more e-mail. One more, and then he will shower. Maybe he will even brush his teeth, as he told his therapist he had been when he had spoken to her yesterday. Tomorrow was another day.
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@4vium
The Stillwater makes the Changeling feel calm. It makes sense, in a way. It is, after all, a place for outsiders to rest. And while she is beloved to the Kin and to Mother, she still only just arrived here. She has things to learn about this town, just as dear Dankovsky does - though in her professional opinion, she’s learning things a great deal faster. No matter her ramblings, though, it’s true that every person’s soul could use a good stretch every once and a while.
She glances at Miss Eva Yan and wonders if the stretching might have bodily repercussions, after all, Miss Yan is quite the tall lady. Which makes it all the more comedic that the woman is cowering in fear, shuddering each time she dares to glance down at the Changeling’s clay legs. She’s sure Miss Yan would scurry out like an oversized rat and call the guards, were those guards not all under her father’s jurisdiction.
The lady of the house is probably quite relieved, then, when the favored doll of this timeline finally arrives to the scene. The Changeling smiles and waves. “Bachelor, there you are! Miss Yan makes such lovely biscuits, you know? I’m quite jealous of you.”
Daniil Dankovsky was on the verge of losing his mind. All his years in The Capital could not have prepared him for this town. Demons, traditions, and doubles. The whole situation was maddening. Were he a lesser man, he would have given up on the town altogether. How lucky for them all he was no such thing.
With an infinite scowl spread across his face, Daniil narrowed his eyes at the other, arms crossing. Indeed, Miss Yan was quite relieved, but that’s not Daniil’s focus right now. “Thief.” He says coolly. It’s a way of keeping his knowledge of whether this is the real Clara or not hidden. It didn’t really matter to him, either way. Blood is blood, after all. “Come, thief. State your purpose. We both know you didn’t come here to terrorize Miss Yan for biscuits.” Straight to the point. He’s no mind to play games, and there is nothing to be gained by sweet talking a thief.
The 2nd day in this wretched town, and Daniil Dankovsky was exhausted, low on money and starving. With all his food and money gone to fund a doomed shelter ensnared in the plague, and only a few nuts to tide him over, which he’d quickly burned through in his ravenous state, the night couldn’t come soon enough to allow him and the Stamatin brothers to escape this hellhole, to move on to greener pastures. But in the meantime, his main focus was on finding food to quell the ache in his stomach. He recalled some food left as some sort of offering on one of the graves in the graveyard. At the time, taking it seemed abhorrent, given it’s place in the dirt, but now? Now, Daniil was desperate, a desperation that he had never felt before, never experienced in his cozy, comfortable life. It was uneasy, to say the least. Entering the graveyard, Daniil briefly struggled with remembering which grave held his succulent reward. Hunger had obfuscated his memory, like a fog stretching over the land. Daniil needed to find food, fast, lest he turn into one of the primitive townspeople here, dirty and decrepit, so focused on their superstitions that their minds were starved of true knowledge. He started to search among the graves. @aleximedicus
Daniil, so focused on his hunger, didn’t notice Lewis until he was practically right beside him. Ironically, it’s Lewis’ realization that Daniil is there, and his impromptu reaction that alerts him. He himself nearly shouts an expletive as a result, scalpel flashing into his hands as the most immediate weapon he can think of. “Who are you?” He states, upon regaining his composure. His composure is his bread, his butter. He is not an animal, after all. He is a doctor. Then, seeing the shovel and the shallow grave, “What the hell are you doing?” It’s ironic, really. Had a few more days passed, Daniil most likely would have assisted Lewis in his morbid attempt to help the town. However, as it was now, Lewis would have to either be fast with his tongue, or faster with his feet.
The Glass Egg
Author’s note: I wrote this from 2 to 4 in the morning. This has not been proofread and I’m literally just typing things off the top of my head. Strap yourselves in, chiefs. Description: In The Marble Nest, Artemy is dead. However, Mark, taking pity upon the other, allows him to become a Executor after making him a deal. Artemy, realizing that The Bachelor is their last hope in this timeline for finally finishing the play, follows him around. It's an uphill battle, given that Artemy can not speak in his new form as part of the deal, and his form is the one of the Plague, echoing his death. “I told you, I’ll eat later.” Daniil waved a hand, skin brushing against the grooved beak of the Executor that had once been Artemy Burakh, renowned doctor, father, and right now? Pain in the ass.
Artemy had been insisting he stop and eat for a good few hours now, but he of all people should know that time was of the essence.
A part of Daniil still refused to believe it, believe that they were all actors, and that they were doomed to repeat the same actions over and over and over again until the play had been completed. It had taken 3 iterations for him to come around. 3 times of being woken up, racing to find the source of the plague, all while having the very distinct feeling something was wrong. Daniil was snapped out of his thoughts as something dry and rough slapped against his cheek. He turned to glare at the cause, only to have brownish red completely obscure his vision.
Artemy kept slapping the smoked meat he’d impaled on his beak against Daniil’s face. The mask obscured his expression, but Daniil could just tell the surgeon was pleased with himself for his obstruction.
“Fine! Fine!” Daniil snagged the meat off Artemy and took a rather bitter large bite, accentuating his chewing far more than he should have. He ended up choking on the piece, scrambling for a drink of water. He could feel the air around Artemy shift to one of concern.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He coughed out, clearing his throat. “You needn’t fuss over me so. I’m not a child.”
Practically feeling the doubt resounding from Artemy, Daniil rolled his eyes, stooping over the table to look back into the microscope to examine the cells of the infected tissue sample he’d gathered.
Daniil hadn’t realized just how important Artemy was until the 2nd iteration, where he’d finally got to questioning why the giant scary bird plague monster actually walked after him instead of merely already appearing places. Questioning that got him nowhere, originally, as Artemy apparently couldn’t speak, a part of the deal he’d made in coming back, information Daniil would only find out later. It was only after Daniil had made the mistake of leaving the ink pot out that they finally managed to get somewhere. He could still remember the shock at waking to find ‘Daniil’ messily scrawled all over the walls of his rented residence. He was glad they’d found a way to communicate, but fucking Christ, he’d wished Artemy had used the floor or something not as expensive to replace. Still, property damage aside, Artemy had been a great help in developing a Panacea while Daniil worked on a vaccine. They’d run through a lot of parchment, and a lot more ink, til the tip of Artemy’s beak was permanently dyed a deep black, but they’d managed it. Both were hopefully optimistic about finally ending the play, for good.
🌠
(( Star Emoji - Would your muse make a wish on a star? If so, what would they wish for?)) Honestly, yes. Silently, though, and he would condemn it externally. I don’t think he’d wish for the answer to death, at least, not my Daniil. I think he’d wish for someone else’s sake, someone he was close to, to give them something they want. If he didn’t, then he’d wish for someone who he could be close to.
Thought-Provoking Headcanon Meme
Send a symbol and I’ll answer the question about my muse. (Or answer in character. Whatever works for you!)
⛔️ - How does your muse react to others breaking the law? If they would do it themselves, what is their reasoning? 🚑 - If your muse was the only person around and someone was injured, would they help? Would they have the experience needed? 💸 - What does your muse think of wealthy people? Do they resent them, or do they believe they earned what they have? 🆘 - What does your muse think of poor people? Do they think they’re a waste of space, or do they want to help them? 📩 - Does your muse prefer to physically write letters or send them online? What is their reasoning? 📢 - Does your muse have a loud personality or a quiet one? Do they enjoy being the center of attention, or would they rather watch and listen? 📊 - How does your muse feel about the state of the world? Could it be better? Could it be worse? 👨 - What is your muse’s relationship like with their father? Is it good, bad, or complicated? 👩 - What is your muse’s relationship like with their mother? Is it good, bad, or complicated? 👧 - What is your muse’s relationship like with their siblings? Who do they get along with best? 👶 - If they have any, what is your muse’s relationship like with their children? Do they feel like they’re a good parent? 👻 - Does your muse believe in an afterlife? What do they think it’s like? ⏰ - Does your muse feel like they need to do things quickly or do they take their time? ⌛️ - How often does your muse think about death? Do they think about it at all? 🔗 - What are your muse’s standards for meaningful relationships? How quickly do they form relationships like these? 🚹 - How would your muse react to losing their father? How would they cope? 🚺 - How would your muse react to losing their mother? How would they cope? 🚼 - How would your muse react to losing a child? How would they cope? 💧 - How would your muse react to losing a best friend? How would they cope? 💔 - How would your muse react to losing a romantic partner? How would they cope? 🐜 - How does your muse feel about animal lives? Do they treat them the same way they’d treat a person, or do they feel they’re inferior? 🌎 - Does your muse want to change the world? How would they go about it? 🎭 - How does your muse handle their emotions? Do they bottle them up or pour them out as soon as they start to feel? 💋 - How does your muse feel about people who cheat? Do they see a reason for it, or is it completely immoral? 🌠 - Would your muse make a wish on a star? If so, what would they wish for? 🎁 - Does your muse celebrate their birthday? If yes, how do they celebrate? If no, why not? 🍟 - How does your muse feel about their body? Would they change it if they could? 💅 - How does your muse feel about gender roles? Do they conform to them, or do they play by their own rules? 🌺 - Does your muse have a favorite flower? Why do they like it?
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Daniil Dankovsky was taking a well deserved break from the intense work that was being a doctor in these times. Walking along the shore of the beach, he had a small, clear box with him, made with air holes. After all, he didn’t want his specimens to perish. Daniil stooped down close to the ground, carefully and gently picking up a rove beetle, admiring it. Daniil had a rather tender spot in his heart for beetles. Something about them was just so...mesmerizing. He placed the beetle on his gloved hand, watching with intense curiosity as it scurried around on his leather covered palm. Beautiful. Many would have found his borderline obsession odd, but Daniil didn’t particularly care for those peasants. He was entitled to a hobby, even if he got weird looks, as a grown man walking along the shoreline, occasionally squatting and seemingly playing in the sand. @flusenimkopf
Daniil blinked. This is perhaps the strangest conversation of his life. Entertaining the thought of alien life. But then, he’s got proof in front of him. How strange. “Others? Interesting. Do you have any of these bugs in your residence? I’d like to study them if need be.” Daniil is curious, there’s no doubt about that. It’s in his eyes.
Joins avis ad alia conspiratio
Daniil was in Hell.
He’d thought the town was bad, with it’s folk centered healing and such? He apparently hadn’t seen anything yet, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Scorching reds and crimson bloodstains, all around him. Even worse was he was no longer human, if looking down told him anything. A skinny torso, flesh sticking to the bones, with herbs sprouting out of open gashes.
Daniil couldn’t do much besides wander and try to find a way out.His doctor’s bag was gone, along with all his belongings inside. It was truly a nightmare. He longed to get out, but couldn’t.
Daniil sat down after hours of walking. Waiting for...something. @angel-livin-large
“The big...shots?” Daniil is clearly confused, his expression twisting into one behind the mask he can’t seem to take off. “Alright. I suppose I have no choice. Where is this hotel?”
@4vium
“Do what ah owe the pleasure of someone visiting lil ol’ me?” Her scottish accent was clear as day now, and she waved a hand, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearence. The witch gave a gently hum, grabbing a bottle of vodka and a cup, pouring herself a drink.
“Not often ah get visitors her’.” She comments. “Thirsty? Ah have a wide array of drinks.”
Daniil has never been one for touch. Preferring to keep himself stand-offish. It led to less opportunities to hurt him. But this is different. He glanced at Sia before mumbling the latin phrase needed. His heart is thrumming in his ears, and he can’t seem to rise above it no matter how hard he tries. Nothing happens, at least, not in the case of the glass. However, Daniil feels something hit him that he’s never felt before. He can’t describe it. It tightens the lump in his throat. Fuck.
Daniil Dankovsky was taking a well deserved break from the intense work that was being a doctor in these times. Walking along the shore of the beach, he had a small, clear box with him, made with air holes. After all, he didn’t want his specimens to perish. Daniil stooped down close to the ground, carefully and gently picking up a rove beetle, admiring it. Daniil had a rather tender spot in his heart for beetles. Something about them was just so...mesmerizing. He placed the beetle on his gloved hand, watching with intense curiosity as it scurried around on his leather covered palm. Beautiful. Many would have found his borderline obsession odd, but Daniil didn’t particularly care for those peasants. He was entitled to a hobby, even if he got weird looks, as a grown man walking along the shoreline, occasionally squatting and seemingly playing in the sand. @flusenimkopf
The long pronunciation was fine by Daniil. It gave him a better opportunity to study the...alien? That had to be it. An alien. Weird, but what else could he think of to describe her?
“We can be dangerous if need be.” He remarked. He wasn’t trying to scare her, mostly just correct her. Anyone who hung around Daniil usually had to get used to that. It was tiring, which was why he was alone most of the time.
Daniil carefully placed the beetle in his carrying case. “Where did you come from? I assume there are more of you out there?” He inquired curiously.
“You are such a cutie~” and- “Does the cute doctor like being praised~?” (Sia is comin for ya)
After many, many, many adjustments to his collar, Daniil finally managed to answer, his face red and clearly flustered. In terms of success to get him to blush, SIa has managed to hit the astronomical mark.
“I wouldn’t particularly object to it.” His voice is low and quiet. His eyes are very focused on his gloves, rubbing them together. It gives him something else to focus on besides the fact someone isn’t using or insulting him. they’re just being nice.
Make no mistake, Daniil had little right to complain given his own attitude, but still. The words make him jittery and warm.
Oh yes, he fucking loves it!
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@4vium
“Do what ah owe the pleasure of someone visiting lil ol’ me?” Her scottish accent was clear as day now, and she waved a hand, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearence. The witch gave a gently hum, grabbing a bottle of vodka and a cup, pouring herself a drink.
“Not often ah get visitors her’.” She comments. “Thirsty? Ah have a wide array of drinks.”
Daniil watched the cup levitate. He was half tempted to reach out and touch it, but held back. He didn’t want to interfere with the glass. Well, that wasn’t true, he did, but he didn’t want to do something that might accidentally mess with Sia.
Daniil waited for his own turn. Funny. Now that his own abilities were about to be tested, he was...apprehensive. He was hesitant to use the word nervous. The irony was not lost on him. Daniil Dankovsky, opening his mind to magic.
“Right. Noted.”
@4vium
“Do what ah owe the pleasure of someone visiting lil ol’ me?” Her scottish accent was clear as day now, and she waved a hand, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearence. The witch gave a gently hum, grabbing a bottle of vodka and a cup, pouring herself a drink.
“Not often ah get visitors her’.” She comments. “Thirsty? Ah have a wide array of drinks.”
Daniil stood from the chair and went to Sia’s side, leaning in to look along the book’s pages. A younger him would have never even considered doing such a thing. Hell, one close to his current age wouldn’t have either.
“I assume that the heavier an object is, the more energy it takes?”
