Greetings {{firstname_title | Valthakai}}, bad bitches, good witches, and chaotic neutral tsarevitches…

I hope you all had a lovely weekend. I certainly did.

I’m currently cat-sitting for my friends while they’re on their honeymoon, which means I am in charge of a void named Satan.

The irony is not lost on me.

Either way, as we continue to gain readers here and on the Valthakan Literary Universe, I wanted to invite people to preview some of our premium content and show their support for the Valthakaverse.

Whether that’s recurring offerings to the Crone or a one-time donation, it’s your contributions that allow us to continue what we do.

So thank you.

Love,

The Crone and Daniel

It wasn’t the original Allseed, I knew that instantly.

How? You may ask.

The answer, dearie, is I have fucking eyes.

If the actual vessel of the Goddess Flame had been shipped offworld, the entirety of Priapniorian society would have gone on the war path. Given that the planet of Filasphian was still remarkably alive, it’s safe to assume I was looking at a cultivation of the Fragment.

Just as I had managed to bury Sircevial with a growth from the Allseed, someone had brought another one here.

Given the bones that dotted this household, I was lucky this Allseed was as friendly as its mother. The vines writhed beneath me, encouraging me to step closer to their makeshift altar.

“How did you get here?” I whispered. Most Fragment spirits—ethos—have what is best described as a rudimentary consciousness. They aren’t true Minds, but can exert enough control over the Fragment that composes them to protect themselves.

The Goddess Flame is a special case.

Millennia under the gentle care of Priapniorian royalty have granted a vast, if alien intelligence to the Fragment. To the best of my understanding, the Flame is tangentially aware of just about everything that occurs on Priapnior, every root, leaf, and seed whispering to it in an endless chorus.

Aphros even hinted that the Flame could peer through his eyes, though there was no pattern to when it chose to do so.

This… Daughterseed knew that it was supposed to be connected to something much larger, a network of life and growth that spans a planet, yet it couldn’t grasp why it was cut off. For all intents and purposes, it was an exact copy of the original ethos, now experiencing a new world.

Its energy was stable for now, but it would bear strong instincts to propagate without the tempering of an Incarnate—something I was not going to allow anyone on this planet to attempt. Even I didn’t understand the exact mechanics of Aphros’ Incarnation, and anyone who performed the usual ritual would just have their identity consumed by the Flame.

In the worst-case scenario, this Fragment could violently expand across the entire planet. I would need to keep it away from powerful Creative sources. Which meant I needed to get to work.

I reached out with my Mind, the Daughterseed sharing a sense of joy as it felt my touch. I wandered the remains of the basement, finding several more bodies among the thriving foliage.

An advice column

Antiheroes.

A term whose actual definition has been lost to the hordes of the media illiterate.

Just because nobody else understands them doesn’t mean I won't make fun of you.

Let’s get started.

Wow, somebody didn’t get enough special treatment as a child.

Your attraction to assholes belies a crippling fear that they’re being mean to you because of your flaws.

I blame your father.

Unfortunately, assholes aren’t typically morally grey Fae Lords with a fondness for pet names and talking you through multiple orgasms.

Hence why you’re reading this with a gasoline-powered friend in your top drawer.

You’re tough.

You’re stoic.

Your enemies cower in fear.

Or this would be the case if being mean to video game NPCs didn’t make you physically nauseous.

I trust there’s a badass in there, deep down.

Unfortunately, they’re buried beneath the part of you that still feels guilty over not playing with your Nintendogs.

All right, girls, gays, theys, and probably the one straight guy who reads these, welcome our next roastee, RizzyRay!

I hope to gods (worldbuilding) you’re just protecting your identity, but on the off chance that’s your real name… I’m sorry?

Settle in, everyone, and let’s begin with some of Rizzy’s favorite characters.

Ah, Will Herondale. I love the smell of broken men in the morning.

Of course, we can’t be so surface-level with ol’ Rizzy, so feel free to take note of BBC’s Sherlock and Tony Stark, because nothing says “emotionally stable taste in men” like a group of know-it-alls who enjoy talking down to people.

“Oh, but Daniel!” Rizzy may argue, “They secretly have hearts of gold and just want to be loved and appreciated for who they are deep down!”

You understand you don’t have to sacrifice your self-esteem on the altar of male attention, right?

RIGHT?

Just know you can’t fix your father, no matter how hard you try.

The good news is, we’re not just here to critique your taste in men; we want to make fun of your personality, too!

Let’s see, Annabeth Chase, Adolin Kholin, Chicha from The Emperor’s New Groove, somebody likes being bossed around, don’t they?

You thought you could hide it when one of your favorite characters is a villain named Tristan (because of course it is), who just… hires the protagonist?

Girl, your fantasy involves having to fill out a W-2 at some point?

That’s almost more disappointing than you being a Disney adult.

Almost.

There are some things you are supposed to conceal and not feel. Or admit to me.

Trope-wise, you’re about as spicy as a glass bottle of Coke.

Slow burn plus found family? Babes, this sounds like decision paralysis. 75 chapters just to discover you two are, what, really close work colleagues?

Do you happen to view yourself as a burden to others?

You know what, don’t tell me, speak to a professional… and don’t apologize for taking up the full hour.

THANK YOU RIZZYRAY!