#< have one more thing for pride month (yes its late in the month) so im tagging for organization

[orykorioart]

Some pride art for these guys :-)

(+little wip sketch for a cover of a fic I’m working on that I’m hooooping to get out this month)

[g-hughes]

Bite Me - Q. Hughes

hockey masterlist | g's graduation celly

synopsis: When one of Quinn's teammates asks if their sister could stay with him to bounce back after a break-up, Quinn said yes. But six months later, Quinn feels like he has met his matched. Or when Quinn Hughes falls for his roommate, who happens to be his teammate's sister.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: smut mentioned! friends with benefits situation, Boeser!Reader, nudity, cursing.

Quinn Hughes thought of himself as being a “good guy”. He held doors open for people, swapped seats on airlines when asked, donated money to various charities, and spent time, when he could, coaching the Canucks Youth Team. He was a good guy and an even better teammate and captain.

He prided himself on being the one on the team the guys could go to when they needed advice or just someone to sit and listen to them rant. He would give his teammate the shirt off his back if one of them asked. So when Brock Boeser, Quinn’s best friend, asked if his younger sister could crash with him for a few days, Quinn said yes without even really thinking it through. 

“It’ll be a few days,” Brock assured Quinn as he brought in one of her suitcases, “Her dick head ex cheated on her and threw all her shit in the driveway. She was gonna spring for a hotel, but I couldn’t let her do that. I’d let her stay at mine, but we’re remod-” 

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Quinn assured his winger, “I know you’d do the same if it was one of my brother’s. She can crash here as long as she needs.” 

“She swears it’ll only be a few days.” 

But a few days turned into a few weeks, and a few weeks into a few months. Now it's been six months and Y/N Boeser has become Quinn’s official unofficial roommate. And he hated it. 

Quinn didn’t want a roommate, nor did he need one. He actually loved coming home to a quiet apartment after weeks on the road. He liked the solitude of being able to hide away from the cameras and the press in his face and following his every move. He liked to be able to walk around damn near naked and not have to worry about being walked in on. But having a roommate, all those privileges had been taken away. 

“Quintin! You parked in my fucking spot!” Y/N yelled as she slammed the front door shut. Quinn smirked to himself, as he finished mixing around the vegetables in the pan. He knew exactly what he did and he knew it was going to piss you off. Quinn had two parking spots, one for himself and one for a guest (which had become Y/N as of late), and he decided that tonight, he was going to forget his driver’s ed training and park in the middle of the two spots. 

“Quintin,” Y/N groaned, coming into the kitchen, setting down her bags from work. Quinn looked over his shoulder, trying his hardest to fight the urge to stare at your breasts. 

Yes, Quinn hated having a roommate, but it did come with its own perks. Such as, his roommate was very, very attractive. 

“Oh hey sweetheart,” Quinn smirked, “Did I miss something?” 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms across her chest, pushing her tits up even more in the tight tanktop she was wearing, “You know what you fucking did, you parking in the middle of the spots again!” 

"Oh, I did?" He feigned innocence, "Well, maybe if you didn't leave all your damn shoes by the fucking door!"

"It was one pair! One pair, Quintin!"

"Quit calling me Quintin!"

Y/N groaned and grabbed her bag, stomping her way out of the kitchen. Quinn turned back towards the dinner he was cooking, his mood sour. He had such a good day too. Practice went smoothly, Toch only yelled at them for an hour instead of two. Things were finally starting to take a turn after a losing streak that put everyone on edge. Quinn felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, his first season as captain after a disappointing season. He had to prove himself, he had to prove that he was worthy of the captain spot. 

Oh, and waking up with Y/N’s mouth wrapped around his cock was an added bonus. 

Quinn hated to admit it out loud, it made him feel dirty and wrong about it, but there was nothing dirty and wrong about it. It seemed to have happened naturally, the tension between them building since the moment Quinn first saw Y/N. He had done his best to ignore her for the first week she was occupying his guest room. She had just been broken up with in a horrible way, and was trying to pick up the pieces of a shattered years-long relationship. But then she started to come out of her room, and she was like a storm, Quinn had no idea how to brace for. 

She was sassy, and smart, and beautiful, and stubborn, and messy, and so fucking sexy when she was pissed off about something work or at Quinn for parking over the line of his parking spot. 

It was bound to happen, the tension and animosity growing between them as the days went by. It turned into more than Quinn bitching about the shoes by the front door, which he had repeatedly told her to stop leaving them there. It turned into her bitching at Quinn for leaving dirty plates in the sink. Then it was Quinn bitching about how she would take the full garbage bag out of the can and leave it by the front door (in her defense, the dumpster was in the alley behind the building and Quinn didn’t feel very comfortable with her taking it out late at night). Then it was Y/N bitching about Quinn leaving his travel bag, unpacked, in the laundry room between roadies. 

The final straw for both of them was when they both came home, unsatisfied in different ways. Quinn had come home from a long roadie, the majority of them being losses. All he wanted to do was take a bath and relax and regroup for the next series ahead. Y/N, had come home from yet another shitty date. She insisted that her date didn’t need to walk her to the door, but he wanted to make sure she got in safely, or so he said. Quinn could hear her fake laughter from the other side of the door, as he stood at the kitchen counter, waiting for the tea kettle to whistle. 

“I had a good time,” She said, “Thanks for walking me back.” 

“No problem,” A male’s voice sounded out, “Ya know. . . this doesn’t have to end here.” 

Quinn grimaced. It didn’t take a genius to know that Y/N wasn’t interested. 

“I uh. . . I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Quinn could almost picture her nervously pushing her hair behind her ear, “I’ll give you a call.” 

“C’mon,” The guy was sounding desperate, “We both want to end the night right.” 

It was silent for a moment, and for some odd reason, anger flowed through Quinn’s body. Was the guy kissing her? Was she seriously considering letting him in? Quinn had never brought it up, but he assumed that Y/N wasn’t having people over. Not that she couldn’t, he guessed, it was her place too. But for some reason, the idea of her having a man in her bed pissed him off. 

“You’re right,” Y/N sighed. Quinn’s body seemed to move on it’s own accord as he walked over to the front door, his hand wrapping around the knob, “I better go see if my vibrator is charged. Night, Marcus!” 

Quinn jumped back startled as the front door was pushed open and Y/N charged in. He could see the confused face of the man, Marcus, behind the door as it slammed in his face. Y/N groaned as she kicked off her shoes and tossed her purse on the couch. Quinn wanted so badly to make a comment about her shoes, but instead he said;

“You have a vibrator?” 

Y/N looked at him, one eyebrow raised, “I am not a 16 year old. Of course I have a vibrator. Almost every woman has one.” 

“You use it?” 

“Yes, perv,” Y/N scoffed, and reached for her purse, “Boe said you were quiet, but I didn’t know quiet meant stalker. Night.” 

Quinn blinked several times as she walked down towards her room. His mind, again, thinking of other things to say, like apologizing for asking her such a vulnerable question, but instead, once again he blurted the wrong thing. 

“I don’t want you having sex in my house.” 

Y/N paused in her walk, holding still for a moment and turning around to face him, “Excuse me?” 

“I don’t want you having sex in my house,” Quinn stood firm on what he said, even though he regretted it the second he said it. Even though her name wasn’t on the lease, she was still living and paying rent (Quinn told her several times her money was useless, but she cried and told him she had to contribute somehow). 

“I am not.” 

“Good.” 

“Good?” 

“Mhm,” Quinn nodded. It was silent again as the two of them stared each other down, tension thick in the air like smoke. 

“Need anything else?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence. She folded her arms under her chest, pushing her breasts up in the tight black dress she was wearing. Quinn gulped, taking in her appearance; short, tight black dress, black leather jacket, black heels that made her legs look like they went on for miles. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, a dainty good chain around her neck. Quinn gulped, thinking and praying of anything that would keep the blood from rushing south. 

“Nope,” He shook his head. 

“Good,” Y/N responded, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to end my night right.” Quinn felt his boxers grow tighter as she turned on her heel, and walked down to her door. She stopped just before going inside her room, “Ya know, a gentleman would ask if I need help.” 

Quinn watched as her eyes seemed to turn a shade darker and looked him over from head to toe. In two quick strides, Quinn was pushing her against her door, his lips on hers. Her hands were in his hair, pulling on the locks she told him not to cut. His hands roamed her body, pulling her as close to him as she could possibly get. He shamelessly rutted her hips against her, his cock begging for release from his pants. 

“If I fuck you, will you stop leaving your shoes by the door?” Quinn mumbled, his lips leaving a trail of searing hot kisses on her skin. 

“If you do a good job, I might consider it.” 

From that night, their friends with benefits relationship blossomed. One would think with the among of orgasms they gave each other, that the animosity would be nearly nonexistent. But it only seemed to up the ante between them. The fights were louder, the pranks were almost near nuclear, and the sex. . . the sex was downright rough and dirty. It almost became part of Quinn’s pregame ritual, to fuck Y/N or jerk off to a video of her. 

Y/N clenched her jaw as she threw her dirty work clothes into the hamper, getting ready to shower the day off. She grabbed her speaker, making sure to turn it up loud enough to annoy Quinn down in the kitchen. He hated her taste in music, and she was well aware of it, always taking the aux cord from her when they would drive to Roger’s. Quinn also liked to eat his dinner in silence, claiming it was one of the only times of his day he had to himself. 

Smiling, she turned on Taylor Swift, letting the bass hit her ears as she stepped into the hot stream of her shower. 

Quinn was mid bite when the all too familiar intro to “SLUT!” started playing. He groaned, slamming his fork down, “One dinner. One fucking dinner in peace.” He pushed his chair away, storming down the hallway towards Y/N’s room. He wasn’t surprised to find her bedroom door unlocked, almost as if she was expecting him. He was about to push the door open, when he heard another all too familiar sound coming from the other side, the blood in his body rushing south. He smirked, imagining how deep her fingers were inside of her to get that kind of reaction. 

Quinn could tell she was getting close by the way her moans got higher pitched. He knew now was the time to strike. Pushing the door open, he walked right over to her shower and yanked back the curtain. 

“Quintin!” Y/N squealed, pulling her hands away from her core and covering her chest, “What the fuck!?” 

"Don't be shy, sweetheart," He smirked, looking up and down her soaking wet body. He licked his lips, and she scoffed, turning away from him, "Oh come on, it's not like I haven't seen it before. Turn back around, lemme see the girls again."

"Oh bite me, Hughes!" Y/N turned the shower head towards him, affectively soaking him. Quinn turned his body away from the water stream that was not only soaking his t-shirt and shorts, but the floor. 

"No," Quinn grunted and grabbed the shower head, turning it back towards her, "You'd enjoy it too much."

Y/N looked over at him, "You're all wet."

"That makes two of us now, huh," Quinn shot her that megawatt smile. Y/N rolled her eyes and snatched the shower curtain from his hand.

"You just lost your invite!"

my requests are open!! :)

[alacetor-the-duckies-deer]

I have this headcanon for Alastor's back story where he's trans, and just as himself, as he is in the show, even as a kid. So his parents sent him of to a convent, were upon ww1 breaking out in his late teens, he ran away, forged a new identity as a man, got found out once he was already over seas, blackmailed a superior into letting him stay on, where he was introduced to radio communication, and the rest is history.

But all that to say, I like to then imagine, whenever anyone tells him something mildly outlandish, but definitely true, he likes to respond with "Yes, Vox, and I took a vow of celibacy when I was a catholic nun"

To which of course people think, "so you don't belive me? I mean but aren't you a virgin? Are you not????"

And of course, this never gets asked because who's gonna ask The Radio Demom about his Sexy Life.

Angel Dust that's who.

I imagine him doing an interview on Al's Show, just a mix of publicity for them both, hanging out because they're friends, and it's all a big middle finger to the Vee's.

Maybe it's pride month and so they were planning some talk about that, Alastor joking about a possible comming out, even though its plenty well know Alastor is some where on the ace spectrum to anyone with eyes.

They get on the topic somehow, Angel says something like, "I never laid myself across the bar like that! Second set of arms at most! Never my butt, never mind my legs! not after the first time!"

"Mh-hm. You got desperate in your flirting, and I took a vow of celibacy, when I was a nun. We all do silly things, Angel."

"Well, maybe I've laid out on the pool table, but it makes for good pictures. Anyway, I been meaning to ask you about that."

"About being a nun?

"No," angel laughs, plays it off, thinking he's joking. "About your being ace and all. No pressure, but like, you really never even wanted to try?"

"No, I find it quite repulsive. The idea even,"

"You don't watch nothin'? Read nothing either?"

"Ha! No! The filthy little novel Sister Amillia sneaked in the once was quite enough- are you okay Angel?"

Angel had infact just chocked on his latte. "Wait? Sister Amillia? Sneaked in? To where!?"

"The convent, Angel. I was 14, she was 16. Wonderful woman, taught me how to handle a knife, she left shortly after the novel was discovered- Sister Tabitha was as squeaky a little rat as she looked- never saw Amillia again, though."

"Wait, sorry. You were a nun, like, actually? What the fuck?"

One of the little lights that says they have a caller lit up, but Alastor ignore it for now. "Yes, Angel, do keep up."

"Wait, so like that nun costume you wear on halloween?" Angel blows right past the fact Alastor just came out as trans, because yeah. Didnt see it comming but, the trains already wizzing by, and more importantly- "Is that like your actual nun costume?"

"Ha! No, I flung that horrid thing in a garbage can on my way to the enlistment office when I was 17."

"Enlistment?" Angels begining to see what Alastor meant when he said this episode was going to be a unique experience for his listeners at the start of the braodcast. "Like world War 1, right? You were alive for that..."

"Yes, I figured with all the confusion one little girl-"

Angel's phone goes off. It's Val. Angel hits ignore.

"Fuck off Val, I'm off today" Angel says into his mic.

But they get interrupted again and again until Angel turns his phone off.

At which point all twelve of the little light that indicate the show had callers on the line, light up.

"Ah fuck. What does he want that bad? Can you just answer it real quick?"

Alastor flips a switch and answers.

"The fuck you want Val-"

"I'm not calling for you!" It's Vox on the other end, his voice booming from the speaker "Alastor! Are you fucking serious? You were a fucking nun?"

"Yes, Vox." He says with faux patience. "My goodness, did you all stuff your ears with cotton this morn-"

"So you DID actually take a vow of Celibacy? The other day at the meeting during my presentation, you said "that'll work, Vox, sure- and I took a vow-"

"Yes. I was there."

"And!?!"

"Celibacy, among other things. If this is a dig at my sexuality than-"

"Nah fuck that, hang on I'm doing math! Okay you were born in 1901, makes you 17 in 1918, yeah that tracks. Okay so 2024 make you 123, minus the 17 years to be conservative, thats 106 yeah?"

"I was 15 when I took that vow, and under threat of being institutionalized, if that's what you're getting at-"

"108! Ha! Oh my God! 108 years! That's gotta be a record!"

"What are you getting at Vox?"

"You took a vow!" Vox screams through his laughter. "All the pomp and circumstance! On consecrated ground! before god!? To abstain from sex! And even here in hell, were sin and blasphemy are rampant and free-"

"Careful Vox, your televangelist is showing-"

"Who gives a fuck!? You're the one whos upheld their vow to God for over a century like some devout saint!"

Angel and Alastor sit there staring at eachother while Vox laughs his head off around them

"Saint Alastor the Abstinent! The pantron Saint of Virgi-"

Alastor hangs up. "Well that was informative!" Alastor chirps "Well, What's to be done about this? Hm, Angel?"

And for some reason, an unholy one, surely, the first thing out of Angel's mouth is "I could suck you dick? If that- would count?"

And it's a testament to how far they've come as friends, or pooooossbily Alastor's nerves, or maybe his sheer unwavering bravado, but Alastor only bursts out laughing, shaking his head as he get out between laughter "I don't- have one!"

And then they're both laughing and laughing and laughing, and eventually they calm down, and Alastor gets a thoughtful look. "Though, Vox did have one good point."

"Oh?"

"That does have to be a recorded, at least among sinners. Why! I very well might have redeemed myself! We should certainly bring this up with Sera at the next conference!"

And then their off both laughing again, imaging Serra's face when she realises she's going to have to look into yet more research onto the workings of redemption from Heaven's end.

[celestialprincesse]

Hiii! This is my first time doing this so I hope I'm doing it right 😅. Anyways could I ask for fluff Soap with the head-canon that he brings you weird souvenirs from his deployments ex: stones, flowers or a jar of dirt

Hello! Sorry I've been off the grid I swear I'm still lurking! Anywhoo! pls feel free to send in fluff reqs (and distract me from studying for my language exam) (please)

🧼🫧🧽🛁

With Johnny having just returned from a two month long deployment somewhere in Eastern Europe, the pair of you are practically attached at the hip, making up for lost time. With that in mind, as your boyfriend unpacks his cases, haphazardly throwing his laundry in the general direction of the hamper, his clean stuff in a pile to be hung up in the closet, you sit in your shared bed, scrolling absently through your phone.

"Got ye this." He pipes up, unfortunately a little late as you're smacked in the stomach by a shopping bag full of miscellaneous crap.

"Ow, Johnny!"

Despite being a little winded, you're quick to abandon your phone and eagerly sit up in bed, emptying the contents of the bag out before you. Some items immediately jump out at you, recognising little city magnets from trashy tourist shops - one of you and Johnny's little habits, collecting a magnet, shot glass or postcard as a memento from every city you visit.

The bag contains other things too, stuff you wouldn't find in a tourist trap on every city corner. A little pebble black pebble worn by tides and time. "From the river Danube, tha." He points out, eliciting a warm smile from you at his sheer pride alone.

Continuing your search, you find a little ballet slipper charm, the sole stating its provenance as the Bolshoi theatre. It almost makes you well up a little at the fact that even in the midst of such a long and rigorous deployment, Johnny still went out of his way to think of you and the things you'd like.

The thing that makes your stomach plummet the most, though, is the little black velvet box in the bottom of the bag, and Johnny's sly smile when you look up at him like a deer in headlights.

"Price and I had a long chat one night." He starts, sitting on the bed before you, an earnest glimmer lighting up his blue gaze. "About the people ye love, and holding 'em close - makin' sure they know ye love them before ye've no longer the chance. An' I love ye - the only thing I'd love more is to be able to call you my wife, if you'll have me."

🧼🫧🧽🛁

[vitaminseetarot]

PAC: Random Messages You May Need 🌈🎆⛅

Sup, y'all. I'm finally back for another pick a card reading. I really apologize if folks have not heard from me over the past month, I meant to get this reading (among other things) out a while ago. I have not been able to touch tarot for the past few weeks. Life has been… topsy turvy, to say the least. Heh heh. [sweating profusely]

I meant to have another game out and to have paid readings available by now--that is still part of the plan. What was meant for June will be in July. So this blog might go from 0 to 100 mph real soon, to move along with plans as intended!

I was loosely inspired by the Baker pride flag from 1978 for this group selection. These piles are pretty nondescript: each one contains a random message that may resonate with you. Pick based on whichever color of the Prism Oracle speaks to you most, and feel free to choose more than one. Take only what resonates.

Pile 1 - Strength (Red) Pile 2 - Happiness (Orange) Pile 3 - Illumination (Yellow) Pile 4 - Movement (Green) Pile 5 - Flow (Turquoise) Pile 6 - Trust (Blue) Pile 7 - Intuition (Violet) Pile 8 - Love (Pink)

Pile 1 - Strength (Red)

10 of Swords, Insight

You've been asked by the universe to put up with a lot, especially recently. You're reaching a finish line of a very long and brutal marathon. There have been too many times where you questioned whether or not to throw in the towel. If you have, you may also have questioned whether or not it was the correct choice. Sometimes, things don't work out, and it's better to move on. It can be difficult to hold everything up when one thing after another seems to fall apart at the seams, but either way you're being reminded of the light at the end of this long and turbulent tunnel.

Collect yourself, pick up what pieces you can. Time has shifted everything, but the essentials still stand. Gather the wisdom you have learned from this ordeal. There is still beauty to be found in the decay, glittering gems in the rough.

Maybe you don't want to get stronger. Healing may feel like a better option than grinding for difficult experience points. Give yourself the rest and repair you need. Let go of only that which is keeping you from starting again, but you don't need to throw the baby out with the bathwater. You've gained so much wisdom and strength, this trial wasn't without gain. Treasure it and begin anew.

Pile 2 - Happiness (Orange)

2 of Swords, Clarity

Whatever answers you seek are coming to you. Or perhaps they've already arrived; open your eyes and see for yourself. You may be wondering which path will satisfy you more. The process of reconciling this could take forever unless you lean on your gut here. This can't be decided based on intellect alone, for you could get stuck mulling it over for days. Imagining all the different possible outcomes could be taxing for your brain, so narrow it down. Eliminate the weakest links and home in on what excites you. It should feel like an "aha, yes!"

If you cannot see the answer right away, go within to the realm of imagination. Feel your way through. Visualize not just with sight but with yearning. Does the light of the sun make you feel hopeful? Does the cool rain make you feel relaxed? Would an art class expand your capacity to imagine many things, or would taking a science class?

The X mark in 2 of Swords is like a railroad crossing sign. Redirect that train of thought into brighter and more positive avenues of expression. Say "what if" as if you can't wait for something to happen. "What if I saw a shooting star tonight? What if my cute neighbor asked me out?" Let the future shine its beacon for you. It will all make sense in due time.

Pile 3 - Illumination (Yellow)

Ace of Cups, Reconciliation

Have you been staying up way too late trying to figure everything out? Please give yourself a brain curfew: no problem solving or saving the day after 10 pm! I'm getting that you may tend to ruminate on the same strong emotions. For some I'm getting that there is a crush here. There's inconsistent text messaging. I know it's easy to get too nervous about their reply, but try to wait until at least the next day to hear back. They may need time to formulate their words right. They may not even see your message straight away. Take it all in stride and sleep on it; if they want to reach out to you, then they eventually will.

For others in this pile, you may be going through a rough patch with another person right now and could be wondering how things will pan out. Give them time to respond, they could still be processing it. Stay on the more positive end of things with the idea that things will work themselves out. I feel like if you can manage this in a relaxed and non hurried way, the knot will untangle easily. The coffee in the Ace of Cups is very hot, so give it a chance to cool.

There is opportunity in your near future to make up for something that went awry due to a miscommunication error. You may get a chance to make up for a test, appointment, or an interview. You will receive grace for any mishaps. Remember that tomorrow won't necessarily be the same as today, so cherish both the good you have now along with the good that soon awaits you.

Pile 4 - Movement (Green)

IX Hermit, Devotion

Looks like things are progressing faster than you even thought they would. You may be blinking your eyes in partial disbelief: could this ball really be rolling? Indeed, thanks to your efforts, goals are being met and results are more evident by the day. You eschewed a lot of distractions to make this work, so give yourself a pat on the back for the level of commitment you put into it. Some of you in this pile may have just graduated, if so then congratulations! But try not to get too comfortable with your laurels, for you have a long road ahead of you in whatever you do next. This one completion is the start of many.

Does that thrill you? If so, wonderful! On the other hand, some of you may be feeling uncertain about continuing. You may be reviewing your options to see if this really is worth pursuing. Something that requires a lot of dedication and focus on it to the exclusion of all else… yeah, I can see how that can get tiring after a long time. There are folks who can get their Master's right after their Bachelor's, or have another child right after the first, but people can also happily move on to what feels more right for them instead.

It's okay to stop and assess your tracks if necessary. Taking time off is not the same as quitting. It's not losing motivation, it's recovering it. This is your passion and your discipline, not anyone else's. If you need to give other parts of your life more room to breathe, then do so with the confidence that your great work will wait for you.

Pile 5 - Flow (Turquoise)

4 of Wands, Hospitality

Have you been stuck with something for a while? There's a strong sense of a blockage that is being eroded away over time. This process can be sped up by allowing the ice to thaw a little more. "Break the ice." You may be wanting to open up and spend more quality time with other people but don't know how. Or you could be faced with meeting new people and being nervous about interacting with them. Even more so if they're roommates. A few people in this pile could be moving or have just moved. This is a chance to ease up and get to know new people.

This blockage could be a result of the past and of anxiety. The sound of a turning doorknob just jumpscared me as I typed the last sentence. You may benefit from learning about social anxiety and how to manage it. It's not an overnight job for you to fix this, though, but to just be aware of it and not allow it to get in the way of positive change in your life.

If you're struggling to figure out how to deal with meeting new people, I would suggest looking up videos or how-tos on social interaction, especially if a certain etiquette is required for an event. Learn about conversation starters and fun things you could do together like hosting a game night. Practice makes perfect, and over time the blockage will melt into the stream.

Pile 6 - Trust (Blue)

3 of Swords, Conversion

You have a very soft and tender outlook on life, which makes it all the more painful when reality doesn't conform to such a compassionate vision. It doesn't always try to respond to vulnerability in appropriate ways. Much of the time, this isn't from natural events as much as it stems from the ways in which people can treat one another cruelly. You've had some toxic people in your life who have put you through the wringer and attempted to squeeze every ounce of kindness they could from you. Making light of this pain to them only resulted in further deflection and antagonism on their part. The only outcome was to salvage whatever you could and pray for the best.

It is not your job to change their closed minded perspectives. They're on their own, here. Do not concern yourself with their messy inner world and lose any more of your energy. Also, do not attempt to regain what energy has been lost through bargaining either, as much as it hurts to press onward without looking back. You will recover, but you have to move on first and prioritize what you deeply care about most (you included).

There will come a time when your heart will be healed so you can see the brighter side of human connection again. All the beauty that your gentle soul is seeking is still there, shrouded by layers of protective petals that will one day bloom again and your life will truly flourish. For now, this is a time to give yourself all the comfort you can.

Pile 7 - Intuition (Violet)

XII Hanged Man, Spring

I get the feeling that you've been waiting quite a while for some good results to come in. This could either be from something that you started back in the spring, or are waiting to see results which may come around springtime. It is a season of flowers, so you may be waiting for this thing to blossom--that is, to be fully presentable to the public in some way. To have something to show for the time you put in. Like "hey, this is what I've been working on, this came from the seeds I planted." It could be growing in a direction unlike what you're used to, leaving you wondering how it could succeed in such unusual and burdensome conditions.

Lean on your inner guidance when it comes to the right timing. I don't believe that you're currently in a space where you need to push so hard for the best results. You can let things move at their own pace. Over tending to anything can end up in just as much trouble as neglect. There's only so much you can do before you have to let the flower do the growing and blooming for itself.

It's not always easy to sit in the place of uncertainty with the idea that doing more will provide more. But sometimes less is more. What you're creating is coming to fruition and may even turn out better than you expected. Trust in both the knowledge you've earned over time from learning lessons, as well as your natural intuition, to help you decide when it's time to take action.

Pile 8 - Love (Pink)

7 of Swords, Gossip

Let your heart lead the way here, not your worries over what others will think. Sure, you may end up with some people talking about you, but opportunities will keep passing by if you wait for everyone else to catch up to you. Leaning too much on everyone else's perspectives will only distort the vision you have for your own life journey. We all have unique journeys to go on, but unconditional kindness remains at the center of the Love card, the one thing that brings us together. Following life from a heart centered place may result in having others glance over and whisper, but that shouldn't distract you.

There is a rather delicate message here about dealing with friendships, colleagues, or possibly even family. You may have a tricky situation between several other people right now who have beef not with you but with each other. They may be coming to you to air their grievances and ask for advice.

If you care about both of these people, then it's best to approach this issue as diplomatically and impartially as possible and avoid feeding into the conflict. What would an enlightened mindset do in this situation? How would you want the other person to behave if they were in your shoes? Come from a place of pure compassion. They may choose to make amends or not, it's up to them. If their butting heads is bringing you down, it's always okay to step back and take a break. You are not responsible for what's going on in their heart, only your own, so protect yours well.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[snapeaddict]

(June) Snapetober Day 31 - Costume

Listen. This might be 8 months late, but at least it's there. I have nothing else to say for my defence.

When his body exploded in pain again, he held down to the one thing that could keep him sane, or so he thought – patterns. It was interesting, really. Albus would certainly have much to say about this. He would say, pensively, ‘Ah, yes. A great flaw of his. Once proven effective, Tom holds on to strict modes of action, and one failure rules out even the most effective strategy’. He would then add something about mental plasticity, perhaps something about the boy Tom had been, as if to reassure himself that he had always been the adult.

In any case, it was true: the Dark Lord was a man of habit, especially when it came to torture. It would take one some time to realise that, of course. It would take many sessions and a rather thorough interest in dark spells to pinpoint each cycle, each pattern. It would take a little more time, then, to place within these patterns the fits of anger, themselves only but a regular variation. But it was doable.

Severus knew them all by heart. The surprise always lay in the intensity and duration of the torture sessions, not in the spells and methods employed. He secretly prided himself on the knowledge that he would have been a much more imaginative torturer had he wished to be; it was naturally not the kind of thing he liked to admit to himself on a good day, but it certainly made encounters such as this one more bearable.

And so he thought of this as his body convulsed; a broken stream of thought, of course, repeatedly interrupted then pursued after fits of spasms, vomiting, and blackouts. By this point he could also track, more or less, retrospectively, how many had occurred, if left alone for a few hours of respite that was. So he counted: one, two, three crucios; head under water; a broken nail, or finger; one choking spell, fire in his veins, a blinding spell, and invasion of his mind.

It was a good idea. Disorientation was the enemy of even the most skilled occlumens. And sudden sensations of cold, or direct burns on the skin, they all made focus within oneself, rather than outside, terribly hard to maintain: it worked, to an extent. Severus had long lost any sense of his surroundings. He maintained the barriers in his mind intact; he ignored the agony of his body, with growing difficulty. He counted the spells.

And repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Darkness again.

It was fine; it was. He knew it was coming. Natural body reflex; exhaustion. He could never evaluate how much time had passed when he awoke, though. That he should work on.

-

‘Severus – Severus. Dear boy, can you hear me?’

He came to, slowly. He heard himself moan pitifully, he tried to exhale to manage the pain, but his nose was stuffed with dry blood. It must have been a while, he thought confusedly. Since it had dried. And where…?

‘Severus.’

The well-known voice reached his ears, then his brain, and he turned his swollen face in its direction, keeping his eyes shut for just another moment as a wave of relief overcame him.

‘Albus…’

He felt a hand stroke his hair. He relaxed, instinctively.

‘I have called Poppy. Do not try to move just now.’

‘Albus…’ Severus repeated a bit louder, as if to convince himself he was not hallucinating. He opened his eyes: the headmaster, who was kneeling just beside him, gave him a joyless but comforting smile. Silver beard, starry robes and blue eyes shone in the moonlight. Still it was dark… the floor was cold. A sigh of relief escaped him when a warming spell slowly reached his freezing bones.

‘I have been so worried, Severus. I waited for you… 5 days, and still no sign of you - no, don’t tire yourself, you will tell me everything later. If you are here, I know all is well.’

Severus started coughing. Gently, softly, in a fatherly way, Albus helped him in a half-sitting position.

The younger man rested his head against the headmaster’s chest, exhausted by the effort.

‘If you are here, I know all is well… isn’t it?’

Severus closed his eyes again. He tried to focus, he fought off the urge to fall asleep in the warm embrace.

‘Headmaster… yes… my cover… it is intact.’

‘He knows nothing?’

‘He knows… what he must know.’

‘You are relaxing, Severus. It is good.’

His breathing slowed, like that of a sleeping man.

‘You are safe… Poppy is coming. Get comfortable. Sleep…’

How good it felt to let go, to be unbothered by what was happening inside, and outside… To no longer be so cold… He was to have tea with Minerva, at 4 pm. What day was it? She would reschedule, surely… Holidays too, soon… Albus sounded satisfied… Hogwarts... Hogwarts, finally…

He smiled slightly, through the pain and spasms. He felt Albus’ arms tighten their grip around him, and fell into a half-sleep.

‘Severus, dear boy.’

But those arms...

‘Dear, dear boy.’

Too tight…

‘You have become too comfortable… too attached.’

Suffocating.

‘You feel safe in his arms, Severus. Tell me... has the spy traded allegiance for safety?’

His eyes snapped open. They met with blue ones which, at first, he thought he recognised. Then he noticed the reddish hue, the pupils, too yellow, too long, too narrow… the smile, predatory.

The spell that had been warming him, started to burn him.

And he had not seen it coming, no; he had not expected the pain, the perversion, had not placed them within the anticipated cycle of cruelty. He had gotten too comfortable.

He was taken by surprise, and a broken-hearted cry escaped his lips.

[caliburn-not-calculator]

Any thoughts on the angst potential of Legendary VR-LA? Just rewatched the episode and am curious on any opinions

Okay so this has just been sitting in my drafts and I completely forgot about it for… too long. But yes!!! I have thoughts. Sorry for how late of a reply this is

Okay so. My first thoughts are more related to everyone else rather than VR-LA himself.

The Per Aspera crew left without one of their members, the ship finally void of its longest continuing inhabitant. He never seemed to make that much noise but it is notably quieter. He had more personal effects than most of the others, and with them gone… it hollow. So dreadfully hollow.

Emi no longer has VR-LA there to guide her, raise her, teach her. The person she was begining to model herself after is gone. Dani has lost her first mate and best friend, another brother gone beyond her reach, no one to work with deep into the night or stop her from doing so. Vhas who would usually stop by VR-LA’s room to antagonise him finds nothing but silence on the other side of the door, no lighting or snark at his back in battle. Kyana stargazing with no wizard pointing out his favourite constellations and telling her their stories. Finbar has one less serving to prepare (he always forgets, and they end up with extra food).

He’s not dead, they have that at least, but he isn’t there. Perhaps sometimes he can visit. Every few months he’ll appear at the Sprite Spring, or standing in the doorway to the Per Aspera’s common room. Seemingly out of thin air, and vanishing much the same. There isn’t enough time. It’s hard to accept that there never will be.

On the sanctum his loss his somehow felt more acutely and subtly simultaneously. They were already used to not seeing him for long periods. They had adapted to communicating via infrequent sendings and letters, but this is different. VR-LA rarely has time for even that much anymore. C-RA has lost another friend, someone else she couldn’t and can no longer protect. K-LB, whose brother was taken from him in memory and then finally returned, finds that closed gulf suddenly tearing open. Things keep changing… he wishes things would stop changing. AS-TR takes it better than most, there is a pride in the way she regards the situation, she is glad to see her friend go so far yet still finds herself melancholy at his absence when they’d had so little time together. E-DN tries not to be angry at him, or Mystra, or anyone else. She’s been trying to cut down on those emotions, but still, things end up broken when she hears that he is, one way or another, gone.

Maxim is… complicated. He feels betrayed, he is angry, and somehow he is relieved. VR-LA was meant to step back, he was meant to stay safe, they were meant to have… something. It seems the gods can’t help but take what he loves. Greedy and uncaring, keeping those he loves from his reach. The one solace he has is VR-LA is alive. He is safe. He is still out there somewhere and Maxim still may see his face, and for that he suppresses what might be rage. He was so used to feeling either grief or nothing, the way his gears are wrenching at the injustice is a new feeling.

As for VR-LA. He saw himself growing old, settling down, living a long and full life with the friends he has found and freed.

He doesn’t know if he can grow old anymore.

But he does know there is no settling. He was meant to step back, but instead he has stepped up. Balancing on the precipice of something beyond mortality and terrified of what it could mean. Terrified that the choice he made to save his friends may lead to him losing them. Time and existence doesn’t work the same as it once did. He may outlast them, out pace them, become something so much more than them that he can no longer be who they care for.

What he can do is watch. Only occasionally, but more often than he can visit. A simple scry to look over his friends, to ensure they are well. Eventually he finds that he can even bestow minor boons. Gift them with echoes of his magic to aid in their adventures in ways he can no longer. To remind them he is still there. That he still cares.

To ask they please not forget him. To not abandon him as a memory or a tragedy. To pretend that maybe, things aren’t so different than before.

[amethystina]

i have a question. One which may point out my slight lack of media literacy, but I must ask. It's clear from reading the snippet of who holds the devil chapter from Yohans pov that he is more than willing to wait. currently, in chapter 41, he seems to have given up. Has he actually given up or is some part of him still trying to give gaon time?

This is a little tricky since the answer is both yes and no. Or maybe I should call it a third, secret option? xD

Yo Han hasn't given up on waiting as a concept ��� even if three months have passed within the story since that chapter I wrote from his POV — but he's been forced to admit that he might have been waiting for the wrong thing. Like, if it was just a matter of waiting for Ga On to get used to his feelings and attraction to Yo Han, he could wait a lot longer than this. He's patient and in no rush whatsoever. He can give Ga On as much time as he needs to get over his internalised homophobia.

The problem is that given what has happened lately — and everything Ga On has been saying and doing — Yo Han is, understandably, under the impression that Ga On is still in love with Soo Hyun. Ga On might be attracted to Yo Han but that's not the same as being in love with him. I elaborated a bit on that subject in another ask which you can find here.

In chapters 38 and 39, Ga On flat out said that he loves Soo Hyun, but never specified what kind of love. He didn't explain that he now suspects that it's more platonic than he first thought. But Yo Han of course assumes its romantic love since why wouldn't he? And Yo Han knows it's pointless to wait for Ga On to fall out of love with Soo Hyun. Sure, it might happen eventually, but how long would that take? And is Yo Han truly willing to submit himself to that? To wait for months — maybe even years — on the off-chance that he can become Ga On's grief rebound?

He's got too much pride for that.

Essentially, there's a pretty big difference between "I think this boy is in love with me and while he doesn't want to admit it right now, I can wait until he's ready" and "this boy I thought was in love with me is actually in love with someone else and waiting for him to maybe fall in love with me instead is going to take a while and will probably be excruciating for me."

The first he can do without problem, but not the second.

So while it looks like he's given up and is no longer waiting, that's only because he's under the impression that he's misread the situation and has been waiting for the wrong thing. But if Ga On were to explain to him that the first option is back on the table? That Ga On does want to be with Yo Han after all because he's a little gayer than initially advertised but he's also a bit scared to admit it?

Yo Han would be sceptical — and understandably wary — but he'd also be willing to give waiting another try. Because as long as he knows that he's waiting for something that's actually possible and worth the wait, he'll do it.

I mean, he would also make Ga On jump through a couple of hoops and drag it out a bit just to soothe his own bruised ego — payback, if you will — but he's willing to wait for as long as it takes if it's for the right thing.

And, deep down, he hasn't really given up. He's telling himself that he has, which is why he's acting all distant and trying to put so much distance between them but, even now, some part of him still feels a tiny bit of hope. He's hoping that he's wrong. And that Ga On will come back to him and say that it's all a big mistake.

Yo Han is too in love to give up this easily.

But that hope will eventually dwindle, especially since Yo Han is going to become more and more convinced that Ga On can't love a monster like him. Yo Han already has a list of reasons why it would be foolish — or even outright dangerous — for Ga On to love him and, unfortunately, it's only going to keep growing. But we're talking months down the line, so Ga On still has time, don't worry.

So, in short, Yo Han isn't actively waiting anymore, but that's only because he's misunderstood the situation and thinks he's been waiting for something that will never happen. But if they're able to clear that up?

Then he'd be back to waiting.

Hope that helps! :D

[funtomfactory]

A Kuroshitsuji Christmas

A little Black Butler Christmas thing I threw together, enjoy!

Sebastian: *narrates* It was Boxing Day, late 19th century. Just outside of London, UK, lay the grand Phantomhive manor. Its rooftops were decorated with a sheet of white snow, and its windows shimmered with light coming from within. All of the household was in high spirits; the maid, Mey-Rin, was donning some wreath in her hair. Finny, the gardener, had helped to set up real trees inside. They were decorated with candles and ornaments, and proven to be capable of taking a blow, which was proven by the cook Bardroy when he tried to set the Christmas pudding alight. Old man Tanaka was resting near the fireplace and the footman Snake was handing out hot chocolate to everyone. The season had everyone in its grasp. Everyone, safe for the young master, who was sitting cross-legged in a chair near a tree ladened with presents.

Ciel: *shifts in his chair and grumbles* Ugh, I can't believe how much time I've wasted on social frivolities these last few days, I'm horribly behind schedule on my paperwork....

Sebastian: *whispering, while smirking mischievously* Come now young master, this is a special day for us servants. You owe it to us for all our hard work.

Ciel: *sighs* I suppose you're right. Well then... *turns around towards Finny* Finny, would you be so kind to hand out the first box?

Finny: With pleasure, young master! *Finny jumps up and grabs the nearest box* This one is for... S-Snake... Hey! It's from Lady Elizabeth!

Snake: *takes the box from Finny* From Smile's fiancée? How nice, says Webster.

Ciel: Yes, she was pretty thorough with buying presents this year...

Snake unwrapped the box and looked inside. He pulled out a handful of what appeared to be tiny scarfs and hats.

Bard: Are those...

Ciel: Lizzy insisted that she wanted Snake's snakes to wear matching clothing. She insisted it would make them... *twitches his fingers* That much cuter.

Snake: That's a lovely idea! We'll wear them with pride, says Emily.

As Snake tried to fit his snakes with their new ensemble, the young master guestured Finny to hand out the next gift.

Finny: Here you go, Mey-Rin!

Mey: M-My turn?! Thank you Finny!

Mey-Rin unwraps her gift to reveal a lavishly decorated hair clip.

Mey: Oh my! It's stunning yes it is! Thank you young master!

Ciel nods in approval as Mey-Rin tries to put the clip in her hair. Meanwhile, Finny reads the tag on the third present.

Finny: This one is yours, Bard!

Bard: Alright! Let's see what we've got here! *tears off the wrapping paper* A metal cigarette case!

Sebastian: Since you're prone to... Flammable accidents we thought it suitable to buy you something to at least keep your cigarettes safe from anything catching on fire. It would be a waste if you didn't get to smoke them.

Bard: I don't know if that's a compliment... But I'll take it. Thank you very much!

Finny: *frowns at the next present* This one is for... All of us?

Bard: Well then what are you waiting for?

Ciel: Go ahead Finny, open it up.

Finny rips open the box to reveal a stack of Chirstmas hats. The hats are covered in glitter and ribbons. Ciel moans.

Ciel: Lizzy... What have you done?

Sebastian: It would be an insult not to wear them.... *takes one from the stack and puts in on his young master's head, then puts one on himself* Now we're actually dressed for the occasion.

The other servants cheer as they put on their hats. Ciel slumps in his chair, looking miserable.

Finny: Ah, this box is if you, mister Sebastian!

Sebastian: *looks surprised* For me?

Ciel: *smirks* Did you really think you would be spared?

Sebastian: *takes the box from Finny* I... Well thank you!

Ciel: I wouldn't be so quick with the gratitude...

Sebastian unwraps the present. Inside is a calendar for the new year, each month containing a drawing of cats.

Sebastian: Aah... How adorable...

Ciel: *annoyed* And here I was thinking Lizzy would give you something more...

Sebastian: Unsuitable? That thought hardly fits with the Christmas spirit, young master...

Sebastian hugs the calendar to his chest as Finny hands the next gift to Takana.

Tanaka: Ho ho ho...

Finny helps Tanaka open his present. Tanaka got an expensive looking set of tea cups.

Tanaka: Hoh!

Finny: One for you, young master! *hands Ciel a box*

Mey: Oh! That's from all of us!

Bard: Please enjoy it, young master!

Snake: And a Merry Chirstmas to you! Says Oscar.

Ciel has a quizzical look on his face as he opens the package. The servants got him a set of eyepatches.

Ciel: Wha-... Thank you...

Bard: There's no need to be embarassed about receiving a gift young master!

Finny: Now you can match them with your outfits!

Mey: Me and mister Snake picked them especially for you, yes we did!

Sebastian: *has a look of malice in his eyes as he takes out a bright, crimson eyepatch* How about you try this one, young master? It matches the hat....

There was no room for protest as Sebastian swapped the regular, black eyepatch for the coloured one. Ciel's face was barely a shade away from matching the new ensemble.

Finny: Ah, this package is for Mey-Rin again!

Ciel: Wouldn't you want to unwrap a gift yourself first?

Mey: You can't skip yourself, no you can't!

Finny: O-Okay!

Snake: Here's one with your name on it, says Wordsworth.

Finny took the box Snake pointed at from the stack.

Finny: I wonder what it is... *unwraps his gift* ... It's a book!

Bard: *reads the title over Finny's shoulder* "20 Christmas stories and carols, bundled".... With this, you'll be an expert on Christmas before the next year rolls around!

Finny: Thank you young master!

Ciel smiles as Finny stares at the cover, tears in his eyes.

Ciel: I hope you've been practising your reading skills.

Finny: I have! I'm still not that fast, though... Hey... Here's an idea... Could you read us one of these stories tonight, young master?

Ciel: Wha-

Mey: What a splendid idea that is!

Bard: Hey yeah! That would be fun! We've never heard you read something aloud like that.

Ciel: *blushes* And you never will...

Sebastian: Come now, young master, don't be a spoilsport...

Ciel: Why you... *sighs* ... Fine. But only one, and you'll have to work extra hard to do all the cleaning up in the morning.

Servants: Will do!

Ciel: *flips through the book* Hmm... Ah, here's one. A visit from St. Nicholas.

The servants leaned in closer as Ciel cleared his throat.

Ciel: 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care-

Finny: Stockings?

Bard: Yeah some people put the presents in socks above the chimney.

Mey: Really?!

Finny: That sounds fun! Let's hang our socks above the chimney too!

The servants scrambled on thier feet and ran out of the room.

Ciel: Hey! Wait!

After a while, the servants returned, each carrying a sock. Snake's sock looked wrinkled, and Bard's contained a hole. Ciel blinked in surprise, then shook his head in annoyance. The servants hung their socks on the chimney mantle, then settled down again.

Ciel: Could I please continue the story without any interruptions? ... Here we are... The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, and mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap, when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, when, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

Finny: Wow! Santa really has that many reindeers?!

Snake: Do they all have names?

Ciel: *sighs* I'll get to that in a minute... Now... With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN! On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONNER and BLITZEN! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

Finny: They can climb walls?!

Mey: Hush Finny, or we'll never hear the end of the story!

Ciel: As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

Finny: *rushes to the fireplace, knocking over Tanaka* Santa! Santa are you in the chimney?! But the fire is on! It's hot!

Tanaka: Hoooh!

Bard: Finny! Would you please calm down?!

Snake: You know he's not real, right? Says Webster.

As Bard and Snake tugged Finny back to his place and Sebastian helped Tanaka upright again, Ciel continued.

Ciel: He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

Finny: *sighs dreamily* With a description like that... How could he not be real?

Bard: You can't be serious, right?!

Ciel: This is indeed a rather joyful version of Father Christmas. He has also seen other iterations, though... *smirks impishly*

Finny: *a little scared* R-Really?!

Ciel: Read the rest of the book and find out for yourself... Now where was I... Ah... He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk, and laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose-

There was the sound of something clattering. Looking around with a jerk, the household saw Finny laying on his back on the floor, blissfully asleep, his cup of hot cocoa rolling on the carpet.

Mey: Oh dear...

Bard: He couldn't even finish the story...

Ciel: *snaps the book shut* Well I guess that's the end of it for now then... Sebastian, Bard, bring Finny to his bed. Mey-Rin, Snake, clean away the cups and then it's off to bed. We'll finish the rest of the presents tomorrow.

Servants: *nod* Yes sir!

And so, Sebastian carried Finny downstairs, with Bardroy in tow. They entered thier room and lay Finny down on his bed. As Sebastian pulled him under the covers, Bardroy put on his nightwear.

Bard: I swear he's still just a kid, despite his ridiculous strength.

Sebastian: Kid or not, I'll expect him to work hard tomorrow to mkae up for the ruckus he caused.

Bard: *slides into his bed* Geez, lighten up a bit, it's the one time a year we servants get to taste a bit of magic... Who's the spoilsport now... *turns around and starts snoring*

Sebastian: Magic, hm? *grabs the red duvet from Finny's bed and swings open the window, jumping on the windowsill and climbing towards the roof, the duvet draped over his shoulders*

The cold draft from the open window made its way to Finny, who stirred, searching for his covers.

Finny: Hm? Ah! *spots the open window and scurries over, looking around over the landscape, and spots something crimson* Santa Claus?

Meanwhile upstairs, Snake and Mey-Rin just finished their tasks.

Mey: I know I shouldn't ask, young master, but just how does the story end?

Ciel: *reopens the book and points at the last few lines of the poem* He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-

At that moment, Sebastian soared from the rooftop towards the trees, guised under a blur of red. Ciel looked in disbelief as the jaws of Snake and Mey-Rin dropped to the floor. A few flors below, Finny cheered with delight.

Finny: Santa! Santa! Bard! Look!

Bard: *Sleepy* huh...? Wha-!

As he flew by the windows, Sebastian shouted.

Sebastian: Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

[windywallflower]

Its a very late post into pride month here (we've been exercising sleep-month jk... we've been kinda scrambling to get back on top of everything after May. Idk what it is but every year is the same).

But HEY! If you don't know who we are yet, we're Tas & Winter and we run a small minipub called Windy & Wallflower where we write a bunch of fun stories featuring gaggles of queer characters.

Note: on our shop ALL of our PDFs are 5$ no matter if its comics, prose, zines, what have you (some of our older stuff is free/pwyw).

But here's a VERY quick run down of our series/titles!

AUGUSTINE - is our newest webcomic! A series we lovingly dub as our junkpunk meets greek mythology, borderlands meets hercules, mad max meets... uhhh uhhh t-troy?? ENOUGH COMPARISONS. You've got a found family of freaks who get into trouble pissing off local landlords in a crusty pit of desert lovingly called the Crater. Maybe the group relies on their leader a bit too much, maybe she DOESNT know what she's doing. Maaaaybe we'll find out what happens ... when she ... [spoilerspoilerpsoiler] (You CAN buy the PDF on our shop, the physical copy of Volume 1 OR you can also catch up and read it FOR FREE online!) (.....yes its coming back v soon we're almost done rebuilding the buffer i promise)

MYTH RETOLD - Is prose! Retelling Greek myths but with a queer twist. There are 3 in the series so far: Iphigenia (sapphic babes, Iphigenia gets to KISS Artemis? mmm~), Medusa (maybe she meets a transmasc Perseus... maybe its just bi af and Medusa DOES get a happy en-- wait spoilers--) & Atalanta (what can i say, im a sucker for sapphics... Atalanta x Dyktinna) with loose plans to make ... even More. (You can also get all of these as PDFs or as physical copies... im a sucker for the physical since I went pretty hard with the foil ANd spot gloss--)

PAINT THE TOWN RED - is our other major ongoing comic of the queer persuasion (are we... starting to notice a pattern--). This one with a main cast consisting of Vampires, Werewolves.... ... and other mysterious babes. Story opens up with a werewolf shelter, but what happens when a vampire shows up one night?? Hmmm. Looks like things are a lot messier in Merlot than we thought~ This one releases in volumes first so you can grab them all on our shop OR you can test it out for yourself and see if its your thing by reading the first 2 volumes for FREE online~!)

PRISM KNIGHTS - A series of short stories (loosely based on fairytales) in the POV of queer knights! Each story is a 'different shade of queer'. You will be hearing a LOT about these two in the next month because we're funding the paperback print of the omnibus so here are the highlights:

Coquelicot: Evil lesbian knights.

Bronze: A nonbinary, ace knight caught in a time loop.

Lamplight: A haunted trans knight learns to love the beast within.

Juniper: A tragic gay knight meets his blacksmith boyfriend.

Sapphire: A polyship between a dragon, a knight and a royal.

Velvet: A sad bisexual knight overcoming grief.

You can snag ALL of the PDFs on our shop though a lot of the physical copies are out of stock because, as mentioned, we're hosting a campaign to reprint soon. You can follow along to be notified the second we launch! (We'll need a LOT of help pushing this one since... um... it IS a reprint).

THAT'S my schpeel. I know we try our best to offer our stories free/as cheap as we can possibly make them to keep them accessible so if you CAN afford to spend a bit this pride consider checking out our shop! You'd be doing us a real solid.

We have a TON of really cool stories in the works all of them extremely queer so any little bit goes a long way, boosting, sharing, buying, telling your libraries about us.... hinthint, everything helps!!

[sseanettles]

For the WIP ask game, oh you know I'm going to ask for more on Ruin. 😁 This series is my Dreamling life blood at the moment.

ohhhhh @windsweptinred yes, yes indeed, I did know you were going to ask for more on Ruin, but what to give you, what to give you, what to giveeeee youuuuuu....

you know what. you have been my biggest champion of nothing grows in corpses and this AU-verse as well as my buddy in "actually Hob and Dream are incredibly cruel and destructive and selfish people and we shouldn't whitewash that, it's a feature not a bug." So I think I'm gonna quickly do some typing and give you That One Fucking Scene where everything falls apart and we hit rock bottom as a reward. (this is a first pass draft below the cut so apologies for any errors or slight OOC-ness)

Gwen has been planning to leave Hob for a couple months now, as it has become clear that this is a dysfunctional dynamic that Morpheus and Hob can’t help but be bound to. She got a job offer at a university back in the States anyway, and he needs to stay here. What she’s planning to tell him (and what she’s practiced with Matthew) is a variation of “Morpheus needs you, and you need him. I need someone who can be present for my lifetime. Because I only get the one.” But then, Destruction comes for dinner. She never gets the chance to use it.

BIG spoilers and long excerpt ahead for ruin (of bitten lips and broken hands). The chapter song will be 2WEI's cover of Crazy for those who like to play along. and...tag warning for gore, violence, and discussions of assault. Talking about Nada's canon gets harder after all the NG fuckery but in light of that especially, I do not shy away from it.

+++++++

Hurt him, the voice, that voice, seethed within him—gnashing its teeth with black eyes and paper-white skin and hair as black as the pitch that filled the throats of animals and men mired alike in its fields until there was nothing left to do but gasp for air and die. Simpering, sickening, make him SEE—

Make him see that which he proclaims he loves in the blackest of mirrors.

“I killed my son, yes,” Murphy agreed, proclaiming the words with something that could almost be called pride, and he saw the flinch in Hob’s eyes as he spoke. Saw the confusion, the uncertainty at his delivery in response to what the man had intended to be context to behavior, not proof of Morpheus' malice. Oh, how blisteringly wrong the low-born idiot was, and when he continued, there was no more Murphy. There was only the truth.

Only Morpheus.

“But I disowned him first.” He stepped closer. Gadling’s balance tipped further, unsteadied. Morpheus’ lips curled, baring teeth like fangs, and he let that light into his eyes that he had kept smothered for so long in this suffocating home: that light of Endless righteousness. “Left him dismembered and begging for the mercy of death and refused him it when I was one of the few who could grant it.” He guided his advance by the backs of the stools at the kitchen island, by the chair Destruction had left pulled out at the table when he had bid his farewell, both too early and too late in his departure. He closed in on Gadling like a predator, like a spider upon a web the humans were only now seeing had been spun about every inch of their home far, far too late. “And when I did grant it?” Was he smiling? Grimacing? Laughing with the tears of the unhinged and anguished in his eyes, with the heat of a manic king? Morpheus could not tell, but his face was doing something, his blood boiling in his veins with the same wild, untethered thing that twisted within him in the way that Destruction laughed and laughed and laughed and— “I did not do so until it served my purposes.”

Gadling looked distinctly ill. Gwen was not far behind him, her normally warm cheeks taking on a decidedly more ashen tone as she stood there with one hand still braced on the counter, near the cutting board and the barely touched bird sliced open upon it.

Perfect. Ill was what Morpheus wanted, disgusted was what he wanted. Enough of this charade, of this pretending. Gadling wanted to preach of his missteps, of betraying his evolution? Gadling wanted to scold him? In the same breath that he championed themselves?  Their journey?

Then, let the charlatan face that which he upholds.

“I damned a woman to hell for no greater crime than refusing to love me,” Morpheus spat, drawing closer still, his hands clawed and shaking. Gadling stood tall, unmoved not with conviction but with the paralysis of the doomed deer in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. But there was no truck, there was only his Stranger before him, stooped and unfurling like a kettle about to explode. Morpheus’ words came faster, unraveled, more impassioned. “Condemned her for thousands of years—starving, alone, tortured, in agony for millennia.” Hatefully. “For exercising her right to consent!”

None of this was news to the immortal; he had seen it himself in the prison of Fawney Rig. And yet, Gadling’s face had grown as flat as stone. He scarcely seemed to breathe, and somehow the dispassionate response only fueled the molten rage burning away the fallen Endless’ insides. The heat fissured through to the surface, turning his skin brittle and fractured until it was tearing him apart. Morpheus laughed, his eyes creasing, and something as searing as acid cut its way down his cheeks as he did. He dragged himself forward another step by the guideposts of the furniture. His hands shook. His legs trembled in kind, and he forced them to steel.

“I let a universe burn into madness because I could not kill a single child, my pride and my principles were to great a treasure to me,” he intoned, slowly drawing his stooped height up to its full towering form. “I rotted in a glass and iron sphere for a century rather than succumb to my pride and plagued the world with my absence! Robbed millions of their lives, robbed the Kincaid family of normalcy and joy!”

He was so close to Gadling now. Close enough to strike him, and he threw a hand toward the man—a damning, condemning jab, as the furnace blew.

“AND YET YOU FAWN OVER ME, EVEN NOW!” Morpheus bellowed, and Gwen screamed at his sudden, uncharacteristic roar, something clattering across the counter behind Gadling’s back. The mercenary seemed to grow taller and broader at the sound, interposing himself squarely between them.

Between the halves of his heart, Morpheus sneered, and went for the kill, grabbing the man by fistfuls of his shirt front.

“YOU!” Gadling grunted, startled, and took a half-step back only to come up short beneath Morpheus’ stunning strength—an evolution he had kept a carefully guarded secret in this prison of a home. Gadling’s eyes flashed, taking him in head-to-toe in the manner of a soldier, a killer, and not a friend, and Morpheus’ eyes burned brighter at the returning grip that seized his wrists on fighter’s instinct. He laughed again, mocking, scything, aching. “My only friend,” he sneered, almost sing-songy, fracturing, and once again the acid cut its way down his sharpening face, “a human who profiteered over the slavery of other humans, the chattel of Africa—”

He felt the shift in the man beneath him. Felt the grip go from steadying to defensive, from stilling to get the fuck away from me, and he struggled to hold fast as Gadling tried to push him away.

“—who acquired a wife and son as if they were naught but more trinkets to collect—” Gadling tore his hands free and slammed him back a few steps with open palms to the chest—his face, god his face, it had gone pale, his eyes wide, red, stop, stop, too far—

Morpheus caught his balance easily; his stance braced, battle ready, to Gadling’s own, and he glared blindly into his friend’s setting face.

Destroy him.

“A GLUTTON!” he finished in a roar. “And yet!” Morpheus spread his arms, laughing, laughing, laughing—crying, you are crying, stop, breathe— “He preaches to me!”

Gadling was trembling. Head to toe, the man was trembling, his face going from pale to now dark with abject rage, his hands curling into fists, his arms tensing to iron in turn, his back heel grinding as his knees began to bend, and Morpheus’ chest heaved. His mind had gone fuzzy and beyond the bounds of control or sanity. He knew where to go next. He knew, precisely, where to go next, where he had to go next, to destroy this man at his very core, to take a sledgehammer to the last, threadbare beam holding his illusion together like glue and tape—

Destroy him.

He took the breath…

Destroy me.

And the plunge to follow.

“And your latest conquest?” Morpheus prompted with a mocking, taunting saunter back into the man’s reach, a chin jerked toward Gwen where she was still ducked behind him. “Is she merely a method by which you can alleviate your guilt or—”

Pain split across Morpheus’ mouth, his lip scything open on his teeth that knifed with white-hot pain all the way through his skull as something cracked, his nose shattering into a spray of hot blood and crunching agony—

His head snapped back, and he hit the ground just as hard, the air and his words knocked from his chest in kind. And as the stars and the tears cleared from his eyes, Morpheus worked himself up onto his elbows. Gadling loomed above him. His right hand was splattered with their blood, split where the knuckles had struck teeth, and his chest heaved, setting his whole body trembling with the depth of his fury.

“YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT HER!” Gadling’s rage shook the very rafters, echoed clear out onto the street even through the closed windows, left their ears ringing, and Morpheus lay beneath it in silence, slowly touching a hand to his wounded face. “YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT ELEANOR! YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT ROBYN! YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT LIZZIE!” He paused, his breath stuttering, his body shaking so terribly that for a moment words failed him until his teeth bared in a clench. His eyes glittered. “BUT YOU ‘SPECIALLY DON’T SAY THAT ABOUT HER!” His hand swung around to point toward the last place he had seen Gwen, the rest of him remaining fixed upon his Stranger, and he glared down at the man beneath him as if he could not fathom his very existence, as if he were a wholly alien species, unknown and unknowable to him, disgusting. Incomprehensible. “AFTER EVERYTHING SHE’S DONE?!”

What an impressive display for such a hypocrite, Morpheus glowered back at him. He lowered his hand from his nose and lips as he forced himself back up into a reclined seat, balanced on a single arm with his weight tipped onto his healed hip. His fingers were coated in rapidly darkening red, and he felt the blood coursing down his face, soaking into the black of his shirt, never to be seen again, and spattering the wooden floors. He spat out a mouthful of blood, licked his lips with a reddened tongue, and looked up.

When he did, it was not at Gadling.

“Has he told you?” he panted, his eyes dark, his voice a sickening combination of goading and truly wondering. “Has he told you all he did on those ships of his? To your ancestors?”

Gwen gulped and stepped back from him on shaking legs, jumping near out of her skin as she hit the cabinets, and immediately swung the carving knife to point down at him, gripped in two trembling, pale-knuckled hands.  

Murphy just laughed, fragile and mad and mocking.

“Do you know, truly, the man with whom you share your bed?” he pressed and saw in his periphery the way Gadling’s expression changed. “Or has he got you fooled with his stories of woe and regret?”

His final words grew wicked and sharp, deriding, and his matching gaze slid from the shaken Gwen to Gadling as the man let out some kind of twisted, whimpering exhale.

His face…his face was a most exquisite betrayal, as if Morpheus had just plunged a knife into his very heart down to the hilt and twisted. His hands had gone limp at his sides, the fingers still trembling but slowly unfurling from their fists. His shoulders still heaved with battle breaths, those gulping, grounding things that filled your head with oxygen and your limbs with energy, yet every bone in him seemed to be fracturing. Every muscle seemed to be losing its strength, and his eyes….

His eyes were so very filled with heartbreak.

“…How could you say that of me—”

“Were you on the ships?”

Gadling froze at the sharp, wavering demand, his own achingly genuine question to the man he had laid out on the floor dying on his lips. And he followed Morpheus’ unblinking, dark eyes to slowly, oh so very slowly, turn on his heel.

Guinevere stood where she had been stood before, backed against the cabinets with the knife held before her in both hands. But where once she had been terrified, defensive, holding the room at bay with shaking hands, her stance had firmed. She was no longer recoiled against the wood but braced against it. Her eyes had recovered some clarity, some strength, and both sharpened the longer the silence dragged on. Her grip on the blade adjusted, eased from throttling to sure.

“What?” Hob asked.

Her eyes never wavered from his, and she took a step forward, gesturing between him and Morpheus with the blade. The silver gleamed in the warm glow of the island lights, and Hob watched it move with a prowling of disquiet deep in his gut.

“You told me that you profited off the slave trade,” she accused. “That you owned the ships that stole my people across the Atlantic, took cotton one way and my ancestors the other. And I thought…” Hob watched her, held her glittering gaze with quiet somberness. Her chin trembled on her next words, the shine in her eyes brightening. “I let myself think….”

“But the shit you’ve described,” she gritted out and swiped at her eyes with her free hand, “the things you knew they did…” She pointed to him with the knife again. Took another step forward until she was standing alone on her own strength, with no wall to hold her.

Gadling did not move so much as a finger; his breaths grew careful, damp. On the floor, Morpheus grew extraordinarily still, shrunken back toward the floor, as if rendered to stone, and watched all that was unfolding with unreadable eyes.

Guinevere no longer held the room at bay.

She just held the room.

She took another step forward. And she repeated her question, the wobble in her voice worsening even as she tried to embolden her stance, tried to square her shoulders and stand tall.

“Were you on the ships?”

Robert Gadling beheld the woman he loved, with her microbraids and her beautiful, dark skin that smelled of coconut oil and her earth-after-rain eyes and the stray bits of paint around her cuticles that she hadn’t quite managed to clean away. He beheld her height, her strength, her soul, her gorgeous face that had the most beautiful smile and laugh now caught in a horrible moment of realization and denial. Her artist’s hands that were now clenched around an implement of cooking turned lethal weapon….

He slowly raised his hands to his shoulder. Her chin shook and then clenched shut, and she shook her head in a vicious denial.

“Gwen,” he started, quiet, apologetic, placating, and she took a final step forward, bringing him to a standstill with the point of her carving knife.

“WERE YOU ON THE SHIPS, YES OR NO, GADLING?” she screamed.

Silence rang in her wake. Morpheus’ heart was in his throat, his words all dried up inside him as if they had never been there to start with, and he watched Gadling’s back as the man took a deep breath and slowly released it. He could see Gwen’s control spiraling, her mind buckling under the realization of what was coming, the inevitable truth, the truth Morpheus had forced to the surface. Her second hand came up to support her wrist, to steady the blade, and the tears in her eyes neared the tipping point. But still Gadling did not speak. He only stared at Guinevere, held her anguished eyes, held his hands where they were at his shoulders, and breathed.

What was he thinking? What was he doing, what was he—

Robert Gadling beheld the woman he was partly responsible for creating, seeing through her to her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother, her great-great-grandmother—to whoever it was that his industry had kidnapped from her home, whisked away to be little more than an animal bound in servitude and cruelty until death. The true answer to her question was a complex one. It was a simple one. And there was a way to say it that would shatter her heart but end with the knife clattering from her hands to the floor as she sobbed and wailed and screamed at him to get away from her as he moved on well-meaning but ill-timed intent to comfort her. There was a way to handle this that did not end in brutality.

But the corner of his mouth itched to smile, to crack open wide like the pavement artist and laugh and laugh until he cried, until he sounded manic and battle-mad and hollow…so very hollow.

There was a way to handle this that did not end in brutality.

But that was not how Robert Gadling wanted this to end. And so, with his last full, painless breath, he answered Guinevere’s desperate cry with the bluntest, simplest truth he could. He gave her a small, sad, I’m so sorry, love, I’m so, so sorry smile—a tragic acceptance, an I forgive you for what you’re about to do, an it’s okay.

He shook his head. Let out that breath in a heavy, sepulchral sigh.

Where you on the ships, Gadling, yes or no?

“I started it all.”

The pause as Gwen processed his words, as she struggled to parse the reply to a yes or no question, as she realized what he had just admitted to, the implications of it, seemed to last an eon. The way her face frowned, first in bafflement, in dismay, in refusal, in rage, in anguish—all the stages of grief switching between each other like a flip book repeating endlessly, mis-bound in the wrong order—it filled Hob’s heart with a sickening lead. But in truth, it took no more than a breath, for he had not completed his next inhale before her tortured countenance made its choice.

And on the floor, Morpheus’ heart stopped beating as Gwen loosed an anguished, desperate scream. It echoed from her very soul, raked its nails up her throat as it tore from the fibers of her heart. It spilled the tears from her eyes, left her eye-teeth bared like fangs, and the grief of generations turned to pure anger as, in a single, life-changing moment, their beloved lady of Camelot moved.

Gadling let out a strangled, animalistic wail of pain as a single line of slicing agony split open his abdomen, and he stumbled back, crashing into the island counter and the stools, as his hands clutched for the source of the pain and immediately found themselves full of something writhing and hot and thick like sailing rope. Something that could not seem to stop expanding, that just poured and spilled, meters of it, endless—

The scream came again, and he forced himself to meet Gwen’s hate-blinded eyes, forced his arms to remain at his eviscerated gut, cradling his spilled intestines rather than defending himself, as she followed him down and stabbed the blade down again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again—

They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, a wet splat of blood and viscera and flesh and bone, and Guinevere was left straddling a mess of blood and gore where once there had been the man she had loved. His gut had been split from nearly hip to hip, leaving his innards to spill out, to entangle his hands and bind them in his own sinew and flesh. Even now, she could see the intestines moving, the peristalsis causing the organs to shift and squirm in his twitching hands like snakes. His eyes were still open, still blinking through the blood spray that had flecked into his lashes. They looked agonized, terrified, yet somehow accepting all the same. His mouth, filled with blood, continued to try to swallow, to push the pulsing crimson from his airway with his tongue to no avail, and when he coughed, weakly and growing weaker, the blood sprayed and bubbled. His ribcage, riddled with holes, sputtered and quaked as he tried, even now, to breathe through lungs that could not expand, could not deflate—that could only drown and drown and drown. His legs beneath her twitched and kicked, desperate for air, for the fear to be gone.

Drowning, he had once told her. Always hated drownin’ the most.

And as she stared down at him, she saw not the individual pieces of horror detached from context, not the murder of a man who had had it coming for centuries, not the murder of one of the founding fathers of chattel slavery, not justice. Not peace.

She saw the crimson-soaked blade clenched in her shaking hand yet held aloft for another strike. She saw her other hand fisted in the ribbons of his shirt, a shirt they had picked out together last summer break. She saw the blood drenching her clothes, her thighs, could taste it in her mouth.

She saw Robert.

She saw Robbie.

And Morpheus watched the scene in silenced, terrified horror from his paralysis on the floor as Gwen’s mask of rage faltered to a mirror of his own, and she began to wail. Her hands clapped over her mouth, smearing her face with Robbie’s blood, the killing blade still clenched tightly in her fist. She pushed herself off of him, slipping on and crashing to the blood-soaked floors in the process as her sneakers transformed to ice skates in the viscera.

“Uh-uh,” she begged, whimpering, shaking her head desperately, “nuh-uh, wh-what did I—wh-what did I—no! No, mm-mm, no—” The word drew out in a choked-back wail, and she scrambled to her feet, fleeing, as she saw the tears falling from Gadling’s eyes that watched her even now. “No! Nononono—”

And, the knife still clenched in her hand, Guinevere bolted.

[peony-pearl]

She had bragged to her friends that Uncle was the strongest man in the Fire Nation; especially since Lu Ten had passed away, Iroh became the winner of that title by default. He was Lu Ten’s father, after all, and he had secured Ba Sing Se as part of the Fire Nation now. He returned home, full of pride, but also sadness, the same sadness Azula had felt when she had heard about her cousin’s demise.

Azula had once told everyone about how her Uncle Iroh was the Dragon of the West, and had scorched the earth and its armies as penance for Lu Ten’s death.

Now she looked on at him in confusion just over a month later.

Just a week after Lu Ten’s death became second thought.

Iroh leaned back, smiling at the tiny thing in his arms. It was bundled in mauves and golds, curling into his chest as her father spoke softly to her.

Azula listened as her newborn baby cousin emitted little sounds, to which Iroh responded in full.

“Is that so?” He asked, his face brimming with a smile.

Azula watched as one of Iroh’s hands patted the child’s back absentmindedly. He was just... talking to it. Azula slowly put a Fire Flake in her mouth, watching her Dragon of an uncle melt and coddle his little hatchling.

“My goodness!” Iroh beamed as his daughter let out something between a cry and a coo. “My goodness, Zion; what else?” Iroh asked, cradling the princess tenderly.

Azula crunched another Fire Flake; her book going more and more unread.

She tried to pinpoint the emotions she was feeling. She thought about how Iroh’s demeanor had changed so much since he’d brought Zion home.

Home with no mother whatsoever - and no mentioning of her to the family, supposedly until the day she was born.

Azula had heeded her father’s concern about the situation. Once he’d seen his supposed niece’s blood red eyes, he knew something was amiss; but Azula had noticed his hesitation to verbalize his worries.

Instead, he told her to play along with it; and she, as a child, was very good at playing - but she was also not stupid. She crunched on another Fire Flake, turning a page to deceive Iroh’s ears while his eyes were glued on his daughter. Azula kept her head turned ever so slightly as she eyed her Uncle. She’d only ever known him as Lu Ten’s father; and Lu Ten was already over a decade older than his cousins; and as the youngest of Azulon’s grandchildren, Azula had never witnessed any of her elders tending to babies.

She kind of hated it. Her nose wrinkled, her lip curled; the softness and sweetness was unbecoming of her Uncle who had ravaged and razed the most secure city in the Earth Kingdom. Surely he never spoke to Lu Ten this way. He would have become like Zuko if he’d been this coddled.

But Azula kept her mouth shut; Zion’s existence had allowed Iroh to keep his birthright as crown prince. There was little Azula could say to critique her uncle’s parenting style.

“You know, Azula,” Iroh’s voice crackled like embers. “You were just smaller than Zion is when you were born.”

Azula blinked. “I was?”

“Oh yes,” Iroh said, still gazing at his daughter, who snuffled and scrunched her little face. “When I first saw you, you could just fit in both of my hands. You were a tiny thing.”

“Why?”

Iroh shrugged. “That’s just how you were; you were healthy, born on time. And you had the loudest little warcry when you were upset,” Iroh’s eyes finally turned towards his niece as he smiled. “Agni help me if I was holding you and your mother wasn’t there in time if you were hungry.”

Azula had fully abandoned her book; Iroh’s gaze turned back to Zion.

“Lu Ten and Zuko didn’t have half as much fire in their cry as you did. You wanted to make sure everyone knew you were furious if someone was late to your feedings or changings.”

Azula smirked.

“I can teach Zion how to scream that loud.”

Iroh laughed. “If you’ll put mercy on an old man’s heart, I would appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Azula smiled more. She stood to join Iroh and get a look at Zion. Azula found babies... confusing. Zion’s entire body seemed to have a mind of it’s own; from her wobbly arms, to her scrunchy nose and face; her eyes that squinted and blinked and couldn’t focus.

She registered she was once smaller than this tiny little swaddled potato-y thing; but she refused to believe she was just as pathetic looking.

Zion’s attention darted around, and her big, red eyes opened as wide as they could to look around; causing Azula to laugh as her otherworldly face compensated.

Azula snorted. “She already has your forehead wrinkles!”

Iroh chuckled, gently moving Zion to let her look his way. “Oh gracious; you’re right,” he said, allowing Azula her laugh as she held her stomach. “It’s alright; she’ll grow into them.”

”I don’t know; those are pretty big wrinkles,” Azula teased as Zion huffed, just beginning to fuss. “Uh oh,” Azula’s face quickly dropped as Iroh pulled Zion closer.

“It’s alright; she’s just tired,” he murmured.

Azula watched Iroh press Zion to his shoulder firmly, as though melding with the little baby. She stood back just a bit, and found herself blurting out the question:

“... Does she look like Lu Ten?”

Iroh didn’t answer immediately; nor did he really even acknowledge her question - until seconds passed and his eyes opened.

“... Not really. Not yet at least. Then again; Lu Ten resembled his mother when he was born, and when he became older he began to resemble me a bit more. Zion, though; she looks just like me. Hence those wrinkles,” Iroh smiled, looking at the child.

“... Do you remember who I looked like?” Azula asked. Iroh hummed, closing his eyes as he leaned his cheek on Zion.

“You didn’t favor either parent; you were a near perfect mixture of your parents. Zuko resembled Ozai a great deal; but when you were born your parents were finding that you had taken quite an assortment of traits from both of them.”

He didn’t mention how this had caused Ozai some anger and concern when his child didn’t perfectly resemble himself; but when Iroh reminded him that Lu Ten didn’t look like him when he was born, it allowed his younger brother to think again before becoming too angry. That, and Iroh could perfectly remember Ozai’s certain scrunched face when he was angry, and seeing it again in his little brother’s tiny princess was a source of great comedy for Iroh as her parents and maids scrambled to quell the tiny little volcano.

“... Uncle?”

Iroh looked upon his niece.

“Maybe she’ll look like Lu Ten a bit when she’s older,” Azula suggested. He could still tell the mourning tone in her voice.

She had no idea the raging ache he still held.

He smiled for his niece.

“You could very well be right.”

[commonpigeon]

its that time of year thats exciting exclusively for me. fanfic spreadsheet wrapped 2023.

this year i read 9,020,674 words :O thats over a million more than last year lol (7,815,414). i read 1172 fics total, which was less than last year (1325). so i suppose overall i was reading longer fics.

top ten fandoms

teen wolf - 405

fall out boy - 202

the untamed - 81

stargate atlantis - 53

the witcher - 50

the sandman - 48

x-men - 47

merlin - 46

ted lasso - 20

les miserables & atla & pride and prejudice all had 17 each lol

top ten pairings

derek hale/stiles stilinski - 389

patrick stump/pete wentz - 193

rodney mckay/john sheppard - 50

erik lehnsherr/charles xavier - 46

merlin/arthur pendragon - 45

geralt of rivia/jaskier - 44

dream/hob gadling - 43

lan xichen/jin guangyao/nie mingjue - 36

enjolras/grantaire, elizabeth bennet/fitzwilliam darcy, sokka/zuko - 17 each

aziraphale/crowley - 15

break down into months

january

top fandom was the sandman, top pairing was dream/hob. makes total sense because i was still clinging on from 2022.

top fic - And Not Ask Leave of Any - dream/hob 15th century faeries au. i have no recollection of this but january me loved it.

february & march

top fandom was the untamed, top pairing was lan xichen/jin guangyao/nie mingjue. i had been rewatching the untamed and was going insane despite not even getting to the best bits for that ot3 lol

Feb top fic - Some others I've seen - steddyhands established relationship - ed and izzy have a tavern and stede visits. again i have no recollection of this and i think its mostly sex

March top fic - An Elegant Solution - nie mingjue/wei wuxian/lan wangji. by far one of my favourite fics EVER and this was a reread and it still hurt me just as good as the first time. arranged marriage fic that fixes so many problems and weirdly the thing that hurts me most wasnt even the main pairing it was the nie minjue/lan xichen/jin guangyao. never has a fic made me pivot from hating to liking a character so effectively

crazy that neither of my fav fics were from my top read pairings lol

april

top fandom was x-men and top pairing was cherik.

my mum died in late march and i lost my MIND and could exclusively watch media i enjoyed between the ages of 12 and 14 and xmfc was The movie when i was that age

top fic - Weekend at Casterly - jaime lannister/brienne of tarth regency au. sorry i will always come back to these two altho ill admit this was rogue and came out of no where

may & june

top fandom was teen wolf, sterek

may top fic - Yes is a World - sterek. derek rejects stiles and then they get together after a few years and have to reassert boundaries. didnt finish where most fics finish and i enjoyed that extra insight into what happens after the get together

june top fic - it’s a long way forward (so trust in me) - geraskier. reread. geralt is an omega who wants too much. soooo embarassing to put omegaverse on here which i usually avoid but this fic is soooo good their dynamic is perfect

july

top fandom was the witcher, geraskier

THEY MADE THAT BARD BISEXUAL

Jinx Removing - sterek. this is saved as dr pepper fic on the spreadsheet which means nothing. another case of derek waiting for stiles and planning for them to be good for each other

bit funny that last month sterek was my top pairing but my fav fic was geraskier and now its swapped for july

august & september

top fandom was merlin, and merthur

august - Once & Future - geraskier, warlord au where geralt is a statue awoken by jaskiers kiss. really beautifully written

september - the devil's in the details - merthur. arthur lists the ban on magic and thinks merlin just learnt really really fast

i left a specific note for myself in september to lmk i was really into reece shearsmith but he simply has no fic. thanks past me

october

top fandom was sherlock, but the pairing was enjolras/grantaire. i simply have no idea how this happened

Epiphanies - enjolras/grantaire. modern au where they do a christmas reunion and enjolras isnt doing too well. i found this too relatable thumbs up emoji

november & december

ah. well this was the time of fall out boy and peterick. what a way to end the year

nov - Schrodingerverse - covid verse that was written during covid and the series that got me back into peterick. guilty pleasure fic for me

dec - time is luck - there was like 3 good fics this month it was very very hard to choose between. but this ons is the ultimate dynamic that im seeking from modern peterick fic where pete is entirely dedicated to patrick and completely accepting of their friendship and not wanting anymore. But What if He Could Have More???

in summary. when your mum dies make sure you read like a shit ton of sterek fic for 2 months in a tiny box room in a village itll be so good for you. and then go to see your favourite band from when you were 14 live and get back into rpf while trying to start 2 new jobs.

seriously though how did i read 405 teen wolf fics in like 2.5 months and then just never touch sterek again. i didnt even finish teen wolf

[riririnnnn]

Most of all, hello again! And before you ask, no, I'm not a telepath or a psychic. I mean, I was a psychic for a mini time to steal— I mean, make money fairly. :D

Back here again… I'm glad you've found some new hobbies and are doing other things! Of course, I'm also very sad when I see that you're stopping writing because maybe you feel like it's becoming more of an obligation than something cool that you're doing to share. I'm really feeling like a balance, I'm happy and sad because you really are one of the few creators of quotev that I like and you were also the one who gave me the starting point to start writing my Blue lock povs. <3

So what I'm really going to say here now as a young Brazilian who accidentally took a six bloody month psychology course is; Don't try too hard or force yourself to do something you no longer want to do. If that second one is the case then I just wait for a post like "It's over, I'm done writing, Bye and Lol."

And one more thing, I'm like air. You may not see me or smell me, but sometimes you hear me and feel me— :D

Ily, bye-bye darling.

—TJ. 🇧🇷

PS; Don't worry, I probably won't actually kill someone and I'm sorry about the accidental double ask.

Ah, well, I consider myself as a lawful good, but I don't mind the idea of, y'know, stealing money from the rich. Like, I don't condone the idea of stealing—that's a bad manner, but stealing from the rich? I understand that.

And you are scaring me now..

Like, be honest, do you have any special supernatural power? Do you have a camera in my room or something? 'cause how do you know that yes, writing indeed started to feel like an obligation to me—I lost the sparks—especially during those times when I, out of the blue, started to lose motivation to write.

You see, personally, I think the most important thing for a Fanfic writer is that you should have fun while writing! I mean, it's not a job, so you should enjoy it! And I've been living by this motto ever since I, myself, became a Fanfic writer.

But lately, I wasn't able to feel the same, y'know.

Whenever I do random things, I think of my books, the potential future plot and stuffs, and I always have this stupidly big smile on my face during the whole time—you might even think I'm mentally ill or something because I'm feeling that much of happiness!

However, you can say a couple of weeks to be completely honest, I wasn't able to feel the same joy, y'know, Instead of smiling and giggling like an idiot, I ended up frowning whenever I opened the books. My face used to be like: >:( It started to feel more like a chore of something, and I couldn't confess it truthfully until now because, well, haha, I thought it was very rude of me to say so.

I kinda don't have any idea why I started to feel this way, but I'm sure that the book Cliché had a pretty big hand behind this—I think I did vent about it to you some months ago (?).

I mean, it's very arrogant of me to say this, but I took (maybe take?) pride in the fact that I never suffer(ed) from writer's block and that my imagination power is very strong—ideas always keep flooding in my mind and story automatically formed on its own as I typed. However, I never realised that having so many ideas can also mean that they may not connect very well to eachother, y'know.

And that's exactly what happened while I was writing the book Cliché. I had abundance of ideas for the story to proceed, but they just didn't link up which frustrated me and, I guess, also damaged some of my ego.

I won't say I'm done with writing though :) I still like it a lot, and I'm, slowly, getting back into the track—it may take a while, I think.

Oops, I ranted a lot :p

Thank you so much! You are very, very sweet <3

Also, "You may not see me or smell me, but sometimes you hear me and feel me," hm? That's scary, hehe :p

And LMFAOOOO! Glad to know you won't actually kill someone, lol.

Take care <3333333333

Sending you lots of love!!

[homophyte]

it is interesting to me that ive seen lately (n yknow this is subjective and likely not any real social force just what ive seen) many queer people simultaneously talking about taking back and embodying unpalatable and ‘unmarketable’ queerness (the recent return to the terms faggot and transsexual come to mind) which i think is pretty evidently shaped by the conservative moment were in of demonizing queer ppl and especially gnc and trans people as predators--it reads as a return to queer isolationism in the face of external hostility, imo--while at the same time ive seen a lot of rallying around the “original” 6 stripe rainbow flag as opposed to any of the purportedly ‘factional’ flags of different queer identities, with the assumption being different identity flags divide us while the rainbow flag encompasses everyone and its kinda fascinating to me bc the rainbow flag is probably the single most marketable and palatable and uncontroversial symbols of queerness which has been seamlessly uptaken by those who wish to sell it back to us as gets pointed out every pride month with all the cringey pride merch.... i dunno you could maybe take that as a point of hypocrisy and claim the queer community is itself in a conservative moment rn where its returning to a sense of history and historical continuity (perhaps even out of that sense of external threat) or even that the queer community has for some time been in a conservative moment given the like, decade of identity discourse and lashing out at any people deemed to not have a sufficiently established history or however we should categorize the bihets/ace discourse/transtrender-tucute discourse/pan discourse/bi lesbians discourse (because lets be frank its essentially all the same discourse just keeping up its momentum by leapfroging from one target to the next) which i think is, like, SOMEWHAT true but not entirely? its more interesting to me, in any case, as an expression of a conflict the queer community is facing given that current state of affairs RE antitransness and that very recent history. like, the simultaneous need to retreat to a safe sense of community which is welcoming to the very things the outer world is demonizing ie mutable gender, complex or contradictory experiences of gender, gender expression which is hostile to the cis binary, but also the ways in which it has to grapple with those discourses which have largely defined the community infighting for again the past decade. its queer people begging the question ‘how can we make the queer community welcoming to the girlfags and genderfucks and tboys who are being threatened when we have spent so much time making the queer community a hostile place for anyone with a non-conventional or not easily (or even just palatably) sortable sense of queer identity’. and the answer it seems to be grappling with at the moment is like, welcoming all that diversity of experience but being absolutely averse to naming it. yes we love all the fuckery with gender and sexuality never be marketable but like, ew, why are you calling yourself [insert microlabel here]. you can be genderweird but you cant call yourself genderweird. you can only exist as queer in the broadest possible way (the all-inclusive gay pride flag!) but if you try to name the specifics or use those identity labels weve been fighting over for years youre doing it wrong (the progress pride flag is now ugly and cringey and ‘too much’). i think theres something also to the way (at least on this site) transmisogynistic discourses have really taken hold as legitimate (though yknow i wont downplay how much a problem transmisogyny has like. always been in queer spaces no matter what) in the name of protecting n defending trans people. like its just regurgitated transmisogyny but its being mobilized supposedly in the service of helping trans people. idk its definitely getting a little late for me to string this together fully coherently but theres a throughline there, in the ways certain ideas are being consolidated and reified as ‘yes were more progressive now!’ when i think theres definitely something to question there in terms of like...are we? are we actually? are we doing better by the people were trying to help or are we setting strict standards and forcing ppl to adhere to them again?

[greypetrel]

🌾 for aisling?

Ooooh this is an interestin one, thank you! :D

You know what. This is becoming a letter. Yes. And I twisted the prompt a little...

Tis the ask game

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them who loves them so so much

7 Kingsway, 9:47

My dear Cullen,

I hope you can forgive the familiarity with which I’m addressing you, and if I can't wait to have left to leave you the first letter. This happy month seeing you with my daughter has made me think of you as yet another son. Forgive an old woman for the confidence, if you mind it.

I wanted to thank you personally, one more time. Not only for your hospitality and the food and the stori you shared with all of us -another thing that settled you as “family”. But also for all you’re doing for my child.

Her letters in the last years had me a little worried, and I believe there’s something she didn’t tell me about what happened in the Exalted Council and what she discovered chasing the Dreadwolf. I won’t ask, she will tell me when she will be ready. She’s always been stubborn like that, all too understanding and obliging, even when it meant her suffering, until there was something she really didn’t want to do, or set her mind in doing. No way of swaying her, in that case, even when she was little!

But seeing her here with you and seeing what you two built calmed me down. She’s scarred, and whatever happened picked at old wounds… But I’ve seen her loved. She’s always been loved, even when she couldn’t realize how much.

For the first time, tho, I've seen her sure that she’s receiving the same amount of love she’s giving, and for that I thank you: it’s something precious and fleeting, hold on to it with all that you got. It makes me happy, and I will leave with a lighter heart. It’s not enough to heal her completely, as it isn’t enough to heal you either, on its own. But you both have love enough to keep you warm during rainy days, and a person at your side, willing and eager to pick up the pieces to bring back a smile. It’s all I could ask for her.

And well, little Niamh is even more than I could dream of, of course! She's beautiful, I am so grateful to have met her. I am sure she’ll grow up strong and happy. She has so many people who loves her here, and she has others who loves her dearly from Wycome, when we’ll head back, she’ll always have a home with us as well.

I know you were worrying about me, at first, and I hope this will be enough to convince you that you made quite the impression. Yes, in spite of the differences and of your past, and more so for it. It takes courage and intelligence to change, I am overly proud of the both of you. As I am sure your parents would be. I should know, as an old mother myself as I hope you’ll consider me.

I will stop it here, lest you start considering me an old cranky lady too sentimental for this harsh world.

Even if, indeed, I am an old, cranky and sentimental lady. Who really doesn’t believe that sentimentality is a flaw, in this harsh world.

This was all a circonvoluted and sugary way to say: thank you for taking such good care of my youngest, reckless, overly worrying and fawning until she gets stubborn daughter. A parent really couldn’t ask for more.

… That’s the time I should add an ominous “You’ll see in some years, now!”, but that would reveal that my first-born has not taken his terrible timing for humour from his late father -Falon’din bless him- and I don’t think I am old enough to give up that speckle of pride. Another thing Aisling has taken from me, I suspect.

I am closing this for real, now.

Feel free to take this letter as it is, without replying. I understand you’re not the fondest person of letters around. And as for me, my daughter and your lovely eldest sister promised to keep me informed. Still, if you would like to write, for anything, I would be glad. I would be glad to help with your clinic, my know-it-all son thinks that since I left him the title of Keeper I am decrepit and can’t do anything at all, and my overly fussy youngest daughter thinks that I should lie in a bed and do nothing at all to avoid joint pain. But it gets very boring and I’m not decrepit, and if I could do something more to help…

Write to me and be as detailed as possible about what ailments you have to deal with with your patients, and I will do my best to suggest something. Aisling never was the most talented herbalist -mind me, she's good, but her real talent and passion is for weather magic- but she will be able to interpret and adapt my instructions. I taught her well.

With all my love, and another warm, warm welcome to the family,

Deshanna.