My religious blog (hellenic polytheist/witchcraft) is @poly-pomegranate
Magdalene's religious blog (Christian/witchcraft) is @judas-magdalene
The smalls' blog is @thelittlestsunshine
You can call me SkyFire or Dennis. I'm twenty-four years old. My pronouns are he/it.
Current hyperfixations include: BBC Sherlock
Current interests include: Dragon Age, Baldur's Gate 3
Special interests include: Arthurian Legend, Dragon Age
My selfies are tagged "dennis dress up", my personal posts are tagged "dennis speaks", my vent posts are tagged "dennis vents", and my writing is tagged "dennis writes"
I write fanfic, original stuff, and poetry!
Ask me about my OCs, I have so many.
My AO3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
My Dragon Age Drunk Writing Prompt List + Dragon Age OCs:
My prompt list for @dadrunkwriting
Please feel free to send me any prompt for any character or relationship, even ones I don't have listed,
it's so wild when your parent changes when you become an adult. my dad is very cordial and non confrontational - he regularly helps me with adult stuff like changing the oil or providing insurance tips. he's always smiling when i call him on video and providing jokes when i complain about college
when i was a kid, i would have to tiptoe around his anger issues often, sometimes running quietly past his work table until he got his own place completely separate from our family, locked away for days. every so often he would start screaming in the car and trying to hit me or my brother for talking too loud while my mom attempted to calm him down as he swerved on the road. and now he, smiling, helps me with car insurance.
like oh, this is just who you are when you have power over someone, and this is who you are when you dont have power over someone. no wonder you can have a normal life, friends, work while scaring the shit out of your kids and wife. i see it now. i see why no one would have believed me. that, i think, is one of the core fears of trauma - seeing the outside of it from the perspective of other adults that brushed you aside, and understanding. of course, that understanding gives the opposite of solace; it just gives you more grief with nowhere for it to go
Oh sorry i took a long ass time to reply and didnt say anything. I got arbitrarily scared and tired myself out so now i cant say much. Oopsie teehee. it makes you feel like a huge dickhead
since becoming a barista i have noticed a few very distinct typologies among my customers. such as:
the woke left: young and fashionable. visible tattoos. often enjoys matcha, lavender flavoring, oat milk, and cold foam. pretty decent customers.
sweet old man: drinks very sweet iced lattes, pays in cash, puts all of his change in the tip jar. sometimes orders hot coffee and i get scared that his shaky old man hands will spill it and he'll get burned but that has not yet happened and god willing never shall.
evil old man: only wants drip coffee and declares it ridiculous that any other form of coffee exists. some variants only want americanos and these variants are even scarier. watch out.
sweet old woman: might need her daughter's help to order but is very bubbly and open to trying new things. compliments baristas freely and frequently.
evil old woman: does not want coffee and only wants sweet tea or soda. will not tip even if she spends three hours in the shop repeatedly asking baristas to fetch things for her.
errand husband: either stiltedly recites an order to you or shows you the order in their texts/notes app. needs to step out of line and make a phone call if you ask any follow-up questions.
grindset girlie: always wearing scrubs, an apron, and/or a name tag. orders the exact same thing every day and knows the exact change she'll need to pay for it. her regular order is both extremely caffeinated and extremely sweet.
#mamabear: is actively wrangling two to four children while ordering. order changes repeatedly because the children cannot decide if they want a muffin or a cookie or apple juice or chocolate milk etc. for some reason these women are always wearing an article of clothing or carrying some personalized item that says "mama" on it.
schoolchildren: band of two to eight adolescents hanging out after school. extremely indecisive but generally quite polite and tip well.
amnesiac in love: grown adult who needs their partner to tell them what they like. gets asked a question about their own preferences and turns to their partner to answer for them. generally acts like a shy child looking to their guardian for behavioral cues if you try to interact with them and only wants to talk to mommy i mean their wife.
this of course is not an exhaustive list but those are just some of the most consistent Types i get. ok bye xoxo
I wrote a little thing set in my Arthuriana verse. Feel free to read it. :3
Warmth hit Mordred's cheeks as he turned his face towards the sun, allowing the rays to caress his skin. His eyelids fell closed as he basked, enjoying the moment of peace. There were no other knights around to mock him for his lack of talent, no servants to cast their gazes towards him and whisper, no women trying to catch his eye. There was no one but himself, which was the way he much preferred it.
Until footsteps approached.
Mordred couldn't help the scowl that appeared on his lips at the intrusion, his head swiveling to face the stranger and his eyes opening just enough to display a glare. He didn't like his alone time being interrupted.
The boy standing before him was one Mordred recognized — Galahad, the illegitimate son of Sir Lancelot and the newest Knight of the Round Table. His blond curls hung awkwardly into his grey eyes and Mordred was reminded with clarity of the boy's father.
Mordred didn't much care for Sir Lancelot. Then again, he didn't much care for most of the other knights. They were all so much larger than life, thought themselves as heroes who served a kind king. But Mordred knew better. He knew the type of man King Arthur truly was and he served him only to further his own goals.
Galahad stood before him and brushed the curls from his face only to have them fall right back into place. "Am I interrupting?" He spoke with the air of someone trying to make their voice sound lower than it truly was without succeeding.
"Yes," Mordred replied.
"Oh." Galahad blinked at him, clearly not expecting such an answer. He lowered his head. "Forgive me. It wasn't my intention to interrupt."
"And yet you are still here." Mordred tilted his head at the other boy. Galahad truly wasn't much younger than Mordred himself, perhaps by a year or two.
Galahad's head jerked up. "Yes," he said lamely, pulling awkwardly at his sleeve. "I must admit that I don't know where else to go."
"Elsewhere."
"I do not know the castle grounds very well yet. And I know the city outside even less." Galahad gestured vaguely to the world around them. "I'd hate to get lost."
Mordred's scowl deepened. "I fail to see how that is any concern of mine."
"You are a knight." A frown appeared on Galahad's lips. "Is it not your duty to help those in need?"
Mordred almost laughed. "You've read too many stories about knights," he said. "The ideas of chivalry and honor are just fairy tales. Knights care for nothing more than their own pride and glory."
Those grey eyes stared at Mordred for a long moment, seeming to peer into his very soul. It was enough to make Mordred shift uneasily and look away. He didn't much like being perceived.
Eventually, Galahad spoke again. "Then why are you a knight?"
For the first time, a smile appeared on Mordred's face. "For my own pride and glory, of course."
Galahad laughed, his head tipping back and his golden curls catching the sun. "I don't believe you." He took a seat beside Mordred. "I don't find you to be so selfish."
Mordred shrugged. "I suppose you'll see, won't you?"
Everyone would see. Once Mordred got older and stronger and better, everyone would see what he was truly capable of. Until then, he simply had to bide his time.
A smile warmed Galahad's face. "Yes, I suppose I will."
