#'to feel heartened' perhaps?

[hello-eeveev]

so i don't stalk my stats on ao3, but they interest me, right? and if i notice one of my fics is getting close to a milestone, i like to be able to catch it. like, all things and otnoa were sitting at 199 and 399 respectively for a hot second recently, so i was on round number watch for them bc that's exciting to me lol. esp bc i love those fics and it makes me happy to see so many people like them (same for all my fics but those two especially bc otnoa is so personal and all things is my series underdog. it didn't get as much attention as some of my other fics but it SLAPS, imo)

all this to say: hi! did you know that How to Rest is at 199 kudos? If any of you are like me and like round numbers and clicking the button to make them appear, and you like the fic, you could be the 200th! obviously please only read it if/when you feel like it, and give kudos if you want to, not because i'm excited about a number. i want the number to be earned; that's 90% of why it's so exciting. but if you were waiting for a reason to read it, maybe now’s the time!

[britneyshakespeare]

the more time goes by the more i'm like yeah... cymbeline might be my favorite shakespeare play

[vivid-ink]

Kinktober #1 - Handjob "Mission Accomplished"

fem!HumanReader x Neteyam or Lo'ak (you pick! 😉)

Summary: You've been asked to fill in for Norm on one of his Na'vi patient observations, except this isn't any old observation appointment... You need to collect a semen sample and the appointment doesn't go at all to professional plan...

Warnings: 🔞 Sexual content 18+, MDNI 🔞 Word count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Happy Kinktober everyone! 😁 I'm late with this prompt as it was completely unplanned. I got inspired late last night after posting Part 4 of 'The Love Shack' and this is what my brain spat out! As usual, my inability to write short drabbles means that what was meant to be a short, sweet kink-scene turned out to be 4.6k. I've not used any names in this piece, so you're free to imagine either Neteyam or Lo'ak as the male lead in this. Enjoy the spice ya'll!

Tagging some mooties who may be interested (no pressure though): @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @adrianarose7 @vintaqestar @eyweveng @qcswrites @daeneeryss @oasiswithmyg @delacruzyari @teymars @neteluvr @sulieykte @teyamsatan

And OMG (I feel absolutely rotten for overlooking this until now) - Thank you to the incredible @cinetrix for her render of Neteyam which I've used in the story cover.

You swallowed tightly as Dr Blaise briefed you around the purpose of today’s observation and what was required of you. Your heart was galloping in your chest and you could feel yourself breaking out into a nervous sweat. It amazed you how unconcerned and unaffected she was about the whole thing.

“It’s a simple observation. We’re looking for any key physical differences in appearance, as well as any differences in physiological function.” Dr Blaise stated casually, “No swabs or bloods needed today. Just some notes, photos, and a semen sample. There are sample collection jars in the consultation bay already.”

A semen sample… Good Lord, she said that with all the nonchalance of someone asking for a saliva sample. Though you figured that’s what medical professionalism was all about, right? No awkwardness, no emotion, just plain science and fact.

When Dr Norm Spellman had said that he was writing a book about Pandoran Biology and Na’vi Physiology, you’d jumped at the opportunity to be involved. After all, Pandora was your home. It was the only home you’d ever known. As one of the only two human babies to be born on Pandora, you and Spider were the only generation of humans who’d never known the dying mother planet Earth.

Unlike Spider though who had taken to life on Pandora like a duckling to water, scaling trees, swinging from branches and pretty much adopting himself into the Omatikaya clan, you weren’t anywhere near as outgoing. You’d stuck to the medical labs and the avatar camp for majority of your life, rarely venturing out into the wilderness except to accompany the other scientists on their excursions. Perhaps the only similarity you shared with Spider was that you too were an orphan of war. Your parents had been on the frontlines of the battle between Toruk Makto and the RDA, and they’d met their maker on that fateful day.

You were just an intern currently, but the older staff and scientists were more than willing to teach you. Doing lab observations, drawing blood and other lab technician work was your job, so this morning’s appointment shouldn’t have been any different. And yet it was.

You’d never had to collect a semen sample before.

“Patient is a young unmated male, 23 years of age. Fit. Occupation is hunter-warrior. No pre-existing medical conditions and no recent injuries.” Dr Blaise rationally, handing you the clipboard and pen, “The patient has also been briefed about this appointment, so he knows what to expect and he’s aware he needs to produce a sample.”

“Right, understood.” You mumbled and the words were slightly hoarse. You cleared your throat, dislodging the sticky lump of uneasiness there.

Sensing your discomfort, Dr Blaise placed a heartening hand on your shoulder. Her eyes were kind and the crows’ feet at their corners crinkled as she smiled, “Look, the patient is friendly with the team, one of Jake Sully’s sons actually. So you needn’t worry about any hostility. You’ve done numerous observations and collected all sorts of samples. This is no different. It’s only awkward if you’re awkward. Besides, I’m sure you can understand why Dr Spellman didn’t want to conduct this particular observation himself, what with them being family friends and all.”

A giggle and snort left you at the humorous thought and you found you had to agree. Dr Blaise chuckled alongside you. It would definitely be ten times more awkward if the patient and medical professional were familiar with each other during this observation.

The fleeting moment of hilarity eased the nervous roil in your belly. Tucking your pen into the breast pocket of your lab coat, you took a deep breath and nodded, “Ok, I’ve got this. Thanks Dr Blaise.”

With two thumbs up and a wink, Dr Blaise turned and left you to depart down the corridor, her black pump heels clicking neatly across the hard floor.

Turning to the wall, you grabbed an exopack kit and hooked it to the leather belt around your hips. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you positioned the mask over your face and returned to the doorway that led into the consultation bay. The doorway was tall, much taller than you were used to. All the consultation bays were built big enough with high enough ceilings to accommodate the Na’vi and the avatars. While the main ventilation in the compound was suited to human lungs, the consultation bays were fitted with ventilation to suit their Pandoran patients. Scanning your ID card on the panel of blinking lights on your right, the door slid open with a hiss and you stepped into the bay.

The first thing that always hit you when you entered any of the consultation bays was the sterile scent of it. After a couple of years working here you’d think you’d have got used to it, but every single time the smell was like a synthetic slap to your senses. You wrinkled your nose in distaste. Everything smelled so chemical; too clean and too artificial. It was no wonder the Na’vi didn’t like being in here. If the smell was strong to your human nose, you could only imagine how much more potent it was to their heightened senses.

The second thing to hit you this morning was the sight of the magnificent creature that was standing in the corner of the bay, peering at the various medical models, instruments and books in the wall-mounted glass cabinet. He’d been facing away from you at first, but the sound of your footsteps had caught his attention and he turned to face you then.

A genial smile stretched across his face and he greeted you in a voice that was deep and warm, “Good morning, doctor.”

His use of English surprised you and while his words were accented, his pronunciation was clear. Go figure that Jake Sully would’ve taught his children to speak his mother tongue.

You gave a clumsy laugh and you were quick to correct your patient, “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I’m just an intern. I’m just filling in for Dr Spellman for this observation.”

Your patient grinned toothily at you and gave a nod of his head in acknowledgement, although his tone was teasing when he replied, “Alright Dr ‘Just-An-Intern’, where would you like me?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from your throat at his playful demeanour. You smiled at him. He was charming this one, handsome too. Like all Na’vi, he towered well above you in height at approximately nine and a half feet. Though you noted that he was very well-built. Courtesy of being a warrior, you supposed. Yes, he was muscular in all the places you appreciated in a male… You silently reprimanded yourself for your unprofessional thoughts.

“Just take a seat on that gurney for me.” You replied, gesturing towards the make-shift bed against the wall. Retrieving your pen, you began to scan through the notes at the top of the form on the clipboard, double-checking the patient’s details and ensuring everything on it was as it should be.

“Ah, do you want me to take my tewng (loincloth) off?”

Suddenly remembering the aim of the observation again, you felt hot blood rush to your cheeks and ears in embarrassment, “Umm, yes please.” And in a bid to stop your embarrassment running away with your courage, you launched into a rambling outline of the appointment agenda, “Today’s appointment is an observation around Na’vi male genitalia and sexual function. I’m going to need to make some notes and take some photographs of you, both in a r-relaxed and a-aroused state, and I’m going to need to collect a s-semen sample. If you feel uncomfortable at any point…”

He watched you attentively as you babbled onward, the smooth skin of your face and neck taking on a ruddy and flushed hue. He smiled to himself. You were shy and today’s agenda clearly made you uneasy. He felt a twinge of empathy for you. His father had told him that humans were private about matters of the body, especially where it came to sex and pleasure. The Na’vi held no such restraints; sexual freedom was celebrated.

He’d already removed his tewng and had perched himself on the gurney as instructed, unbothered and uncaring of his own nakedness. He was quietly enjoying your discomfort, but not in a rude or condescending manner. He actually found your unease rather endearing.

“Any questions?” Your prattling came to a finish and you took a deep inhale as if you’d squeezed every last ounce of oxygen out of your lungs rushing to finish your speech without taking another breath.

He graced you with another charming smile, “No. You may proceed.”

Willing yourself to get a grip, you walked on slightly shaky legs to the desk in the corner and plucked the glass tablet from its stand and returned to place it on the end of the gurney. You kept your eyes lowered to your clipboard, filling in the date and the time. You could see the striped cobalt of his muscular legs in your peripheral vision where he sat with his shins dangling off the gurney. For the meantime, you dared not glance any higher than his thighs…

Your eyes moved to a set of highlighted bullet points in the middle of the page that indicated questions the patient had to be asked.

You read the first question aloud, its meaning registering simultaneously in your brain as the words left your lips, “When was the last time you ejaculated?”

You fought the mortification that threatened to consume you and your mind struck up a chant of ‘stay professional, stay professional’ in your head.

“Yesterday morning.” His answer was composed.

“And was that with a partner or was it self-stimulated?” Fuck, maybe you should’ve read the questions before coming in for the observation…

“It was self-stimulated.”

“And do you have a preference for male partners, female partners, or both?”

“Female. Definitely female.”

His voice was a smooth, velvety rumble. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something in his tone stroked over you like an invisible caress that made something clench in your lower belly. You scribbled his answers on the page in a messy scrawl that had more to do with your nerves than your actual style of handwriting.

He continued to observe you as you worked. Your knuckles were pale where your left hand gripped hold of the clipboard and you were so focused, almost concentrating too hard on what you were writing. Nose twitching quietly, he parted his lips and scented the air around. The artificial smell of the bay was unpleasant, but a sweeter and much more appealing smell was filling the vicinity now. Your scent.

The blush on your skin remained and he was sure that if he reached out to touch you that your skin would be hot to the touch where your blood had rushed to the surface. He could smell hints of your perspiration and he could also detect a musky and moist feminine undertone. You were attracted to him… His masculine pride delighted in the realisation. Despite your human form, he found you attractive too.

Finishing up your notes, you settled the clipboard down on the gurney and mentally prepared yourself for the ‘looking’ part of the observation.

Eyes still glued to the brown leather of the gurney’s mattress, you declared your next action, “Alright, just stay relaxed for me with your thighs slightly parted. I’m going to begin the physical part of the observation now.”

“Sure.”

Your gaze travelled from the beautiful stripes on his outer thighs inward to the slightly paler blue of his inner thighs and finally, up to his groin. Suddenly, you didn’t understand why you were so nervous about this. He looked fairly… normal? Apart from the general larger size of everything and the blue hue of his skin, everything was as expected. Feeling a little braver now, you grabbed the glass tablet and took a couple of photos and then set it down to return to your clipboard.

“Is everything the same?” He asked out of the blue, “Same as with human males, I mean.”

You looked to his face instinctively and found his amber eyes trained on you, “Ah yes, more or less. Penis, foreskin, testes; everything expected is there and I haven’t noted any real differences in physiology apart from the lack of hair, but that’s consistent with the lack of body hair all Na’vi have apart from on your heads and tail tufts.”

Following the words down the clipboard sheet you came to a section that was titled ‘Texture and Sensitivity’. You paused. How the fuck were you supposed to assess those? The section didn’t have any required questions or sample questions to help you, and no suggestions either, just a space for you to jot down your notes. You looked from your patient’s body and then to his face, and when he gave you a small smile, your gaze shot back down to your clipboard sheet in embarrassment. Texture and sensitivity were tactile aspects. You didn’t really understand how you could assess them without touching the patient.

Evidently you were taking too long in your deliberation, because your patient’s voice sounded again with a gentle query, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m just trying to work out how to assess the next bit.” You apologised sheepishly. You weren’t doing a very good job of appearing collected, you realised.

“What’s the next part?”

“Texture and sensitivity. So, what it feels like and which parts respond the most to touch.” You stated in as even a voice as possible. You huffed out a laugh then and shrugged, “It’s a tricky one because they’re tactile observations and I don’t know how to assess them when you can’t touch the patient.”

“Why can’t you touch the patient?” His response was clearly a surprise to you and he couldn’t suppress his grin as you goggled at him in shock, “You can touch me if it will enable you to do your job.”

You were almost about to say that you couldn’t possibly do that, but you stopped yourself. You were a med-science professional. The patient was consenting and your research required you to perform a physical examination. In a professional capacity, there was no reason you couldn’t touch the patient to achieve the intended outcome of the examination.

You remembered Dr Blaise’s words: It’s only awkward if you make it awkward. Fuck, you needed to swallow a bucket of concrete and toughen up. The sooner you completed this observation, the sooner you would be out of this uncomfortable situation.

Nodding resolutely, you agreed, “Alright, but you will guide me with your own hands. That way I can be assured that you’re only leading me where you’re comfortable to be examined.”

Your patient dipped his head in agreement, the tuft of his tail curling and uncurling charmingly on the gurney next to him. You set your clipboard down and moved to position yourself before him, standing between his knees. You lifted your eyes to his and they locked with his gentle gaze. Tentatively you offered him your hand and he took it, his large palm and long fingers engulfing it easily.

“So first up, texture?” He reminded, and you nodded.

Slowly, he brought your hand to his crotch and settled your hand over the shaft of his cock. It was very warm beneath your palm. Gently, your fingers tested the slightly springy flesh, noting how smooth and silken his skin was. At this closer proximity, you noticed that there was also spattering of bioluminescent freckles on the shaft. You made a mental note of that.

You touched the base of his cock, gingerly feeling around the length of it and you asked, “What’s the sensitivity like here?”

“I can feel it, but it’s not intense or anything. It’s more sensitive up here.” He guided your fingers nearer to the tip and you stifled a small gasp when he assisted you in pushing his foreskin back to reveal the smooth, dark purple head of his cock.

You’d never interacted with a naked man this close, human or Na’vi, and you certainly had never touched one in such an intimate place. Your body was starting to tingle in various places; in very unprofessional places. It was a surreal situation to be in and you found that you felt oddly calmer now than you were a few minutes ago.

Trailing the pads of your fingers over the smooth tip, you found it was moist and a little slippery. Your thumb tested the underside of it, “Sensation?”

A quiet hiss left him and you instinctively attempted to move your hand away, but his hold over your wrist kept it there, “That’s sensitive. That feels good.”

Your heart was still thumping and your cheeks were still warm, but it wasn’t nerves anymore that were causing your reaction. God, his skin was so soft and so warm… Your curiosity was growing now; your innate desire to explore taking hold of you.

You traced the raised rim of his cock head with your thumb and forefinger, watching as your patient emitted a rumbling groan. His hold on your wrist tightened and he began to move your hand over him. You intuitively wrapped your fingers around his cock. You felt entranced almost, caught up in the moment as you unwittingly began to enjoy the feel of him in your grasp.

The hot flesh in your hand was growing, elongating and engorging as the stimulation aroused him. You watched, amazed, as it swelled to its full capacity. The fingers and thumb of your hand could no longer meet each other. The girth of his cock was easily the same width as your forearm and by your approximations, it looked like it had also more than doubled in length from its relaxed state.

The erect shaft had lengthened out of his foreskin and it was a lovely shade of striated blue all over, except for a paler purple underside and head. In its aroused state, you discovered that while it shared structural similarities to a human male’s genitalia, it also possessed other aspects which were very different. The engorged shaft of his cock was ridged all along its length and as your hand smoothed up and down the column of it, you noted that the ridges were firm and palpable against your hand.

It was the most arousing thing you’d ever seen… Those ridges must feel so good inside for the woman…

You didn’t perceive his eyes on you, watching you as you explored his hard flesh. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even cotton on to the fact that he wasn’t even guiding your hand anymore. He could smell you, smell your arousal dampening between your thighs and the sight of your much smaller hand stroking and squeezing his cock was incredibly sexy.

You ran your enclosed hand in one full stroke from the base of cock and up to the head of it, fascinated by the ridged texture of it and the slippery, bulbous tip. However, your patient emitted a hissing intake of breath then and you jumped a little, snapping out of your thoughts.

“S-Sorry! Is that painful?” You stammered, shooting him a slightly apologetic frown.

He shook his head with a husky chuckle, “No, it’s just very sensitive. A lot more than earlier.”

“Where?” You asked, stroking him from tip to base and back up again.

“Everywhere. The ridges and the head especially.” His voice was notably breathier than before and his breaths were coming quicker, shallower and less even.

“That is fascinating.” You muttered, and your other hand joined in on your exploration. You fondled his balls lightly, observing the weightiness of them.

Your patient grunted and he parted his thighs a bit more. He leaned back to brace his weight on his palms behind him. He gave a small roll of his hips, which caused the top half of his cock to push and pull within your grasp. He moaned and the sound shot straight to the apex of your thighs. When you didn’t object, he continued the motion, thrusting lightly into your hands, both of which were now grasping his length one on top of the other.

Clear and viscous pre-ejaculate began to ooze from his tip, increasing in quantity with each roll of his hips. It was so copious that it was beginning to pool on the backs of your palms and drip down towards your wrist. Lord help you… there was nothing professional anymore about what you were doing… Not that your patient appeared to have any objections…

Still completely spellbound by the situation, your curiosity pushed a murmured query past your lips, “Is there always so much pre-ejaculate?”

“Depends. Generally the more aroused a man is, the more he produces.” He replied and when your bashful gaze lifted to meet his, he smirked wickedly.

You were such a pretty little thing to him, your smaller hands trying their best to keep hold of his slick cock. He knew that this was beyond the normal boundaries of the appointment. He knew that while you would’ve been required to touch him to examine him, stroking him off was probably not anywhere on the agenda. He suspected he was supposed to produce the sample on his own, but looking at you now, so enraptured by his body… How could he have resisted? And besides, he knew you were enjoying this as much as he was, your scent told him so.

You tightened your hold on his cock experimentally, squeezing harder. Each time the swollen head of his cock pushed out of your hands to greet you, you swiped your thumb over the oozing slit on its tip. He was panting heavily now, his impressive abdominals bunching and flexing as he continued to thrust his thick cock through your hold. The bioluminescent freckles that dotted his shaft were glimmering brightly and you never thought you’d ever use the word ‘beautiful’ to describe genitalia, but his cock was gorgeous.

All of him was gorgeous, truth be told…

You were attracted to Na’vi men. Ever since you were old enough to notice the opposite sex, you’d been drawn to male Na’vi. After all, you’d grown up on this moon, inhabited by and surrounded by tall, beautiful Na’vi. The humans who surrounded you at the compound and the camp were your family, and they were all much older. There were no men of your own species to look at or be attracted to. Spider was the only one of your generation and he was like your annoying, gross brother. Your attraction to Na’vi men had been an inevitable result really.

So now as you stood in the consultation bay, between the knees of this striking and aroused Na’vi male while he pumped his cock in and out of your hands, you’d never felt more validated and aroused in your life.

Your patient’s fingers were digging into the squeaky brown leather of the gurney now, straining slightly as his hips continued their onslaught. Your hands and wrists were completely drenched, soaking in his thick pre-cum. The slippery mess caused his cock to squelch obscenely as it slipped through your hold. The whole situation was so sensually explicit and you were never more thankful in your life than you were now that there were no CCTV cameras installed in the consultation bays.

You’d be expelled from your chosen profession for patient abuse… Though by the half-lidded, slack-jawed expression of pleasure on his face, he didn’t look much like he was being unwillingly abused…

A string of Na’vi curses left him then, followed by several panted moans. He abruptly pushed off his palms to sit upright and he stuttered, “W-Where is the container?”

A little stunned by his sudden and urgent tone, you stumbled in your own response, “The w-what? Oh, the sample jar?”

Panting heavily through parted lips, he nodded at you and you pointed to the desk on his left. You saw his gaze follow your eyeline and when he caught sight of the plastic collection jars that sat patiently waiting, he let out a hearty guffaw.

He reached for one and deftly flicked the already loosened lid from its mouth, still chuckling away between his huffing breaths, “It’s so small. You ready, doc?”

“For what?” You asked, realising only as the words left you what a dumb response it was as he handed the sample jar to you.

Your patient smiled at you and it was a salacious leer, all narrowed eyes and pointed canines showing, “You’re about to get your sample.”

One of his hands returned to guide yours, wrapping around your one remaining hand where it encircled his stiff cock. The pace of this rocking thrusts increased and he began to exhale with throaty moans that you swore made your own feminine core throb with desire. Gingerly, you held the collection jar up to him, being extra careful not to drop it.

With two more lurching breaths, his abdominal muscles contracted and his back bowed inward, his entire torso going rigid. You felt his cock harden impossibly before it pulsed and the breath he was holding left him in a coarse growl while his face twisted into an almost pained expression. His cock pulsed again and the first spurt of ejaculate missed the sample jar entirely, landing with a warm splat in the middle of your chest where the frills of your blue blouse peeked out from behind your lab coat. Quickly, his free hand grabbed hold of yours to position the jar better, while his other hand attempted to position his cock so he could shoot straight into it.

He was absolutely breathtaking in the midst of his orgasm. The luminous freckles on his face were twinkling and the striped cobalt skin of his neck and chest was glossy with a sheen of sweat. His cock continued to throb and pulse, emitting rope after rope of thick cum that splattered untidily over the mouth and sides of the sample jar.

You could see why he’d laughed at the size of it. There was no way the small jar could have held the full volume of what he was producing.

Coming down now off the high of his climax, your patient slouched against the wall behind the gurney, breathing hard. He caught your eye and he grinned indolently at you.

The adrenalin and heightened arousal in the atmosphere was fading rapidly now, and cold, hard reality was slowly returning to you. You looked at the pearlescent contents of the sample jar, which was still decently full despite majority of the sample not making it in there. You smiled to yourself.

Mission accomplished and what an exciting mission it was…

Carefully setting the jar down on the flat worktop of the metal sink next to you, you replaced the lid on it with sticky fingers and made a note to thoroughly wipe the jar down later before handing it to the lab techs.

Returning your attention to your patient, you smiled at him, suddenly shy again, “Thank you for your co-operation today. I’ll leave you to clean and freshen up. You can see yourself out after.”

His answering laugh was husky and he dipped his head at you, “I should be thanking you for your co-operation I think, doc.”

“Not a doc, remember?” You grinned at him and you were about to turn on heel to depart into the adjacent washroom when you heard him call out to you again.

“Hey Not-A-Doc, if you ever need another sample, I’m happy to provide another one, whether for med-science research or your own personal research.”

A girlish giggle left you and you felt your face flame again. You shook your head, making your way into the washroom to clean yourself up. He was a naughty one that one…

[autistichalsin]

Do you ever just read over the letter Halsin sends you in the epilogue if you didn't break the Shadow Curse, and cry because Halsin's pining for you is so deep, that it clearly causes him almost as much pain as the Shadow Curse itself?

My friend, I was truly heartened to learn of your success in the fight against the Absolute- the whole of the Sword Coast and beyond owes you a debt that can never be repaid. I dearly wish I could have joined in your moment of celebration, but the Shadow Curse remains, and so my vigil must continue. Perhaps I shall yet discover a way to restore light to this place, but until then, the memories of my time traveling with you shall sustain me through all manner of hardships. If the Oak Father is kind, one day I shall feel the warmth of the sun and know the joys of your company once again. Yours until the end, Halsin

This is a fucking man in love, your honor. This is a man who fucking gets strength from your EXISTENCE, who could endure literally anything as long as he has just the THOUGHT of you. He is. He is basically Alfredo Aldarisio and you are his Olive. HE FUCKING LOVES YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE FUCKING WORLD okay

[merrinla]

Story to be told

When Halsin asks you to tell him something about yourself, the answers will be different depending on who you play as.

Tav / Dark Urge: I live in mortal fear of krakens, though I've never actually seen one. Halsin: Well they are fierce creatures from what I understand... but as long as you avoid the high seas, I think you can consider yourself safe.

Astarion: Maybe I have a sweet tooth too. Halsin: Is that so? Would you seek to drizzle honey on a neck before indulging?

Shadowheart: Well, I have something of a soft spot for animals... though I've never had a pet, that I'm aware of. Halsin: Ha! Pet ownership is an illusion - nature's creatures choose their own companions. No one has true mastery over them in the end. As it should be. But it heartens me to learn you and I share the same admiration.

Karlach: When I first got to the Hells, I was so scared and lonely I adopted a pet rock. Named it Crag. Halsin: Ah, but there are no pets in nature - only companions. Though I'll admit Crag likely made for a rather stoic confidante...

Gale: I cast my first spell whilst still a babe. My mother took an awful fright when I conjured up a score of rabbits in the pantry. Halsin: Ha! Talented from the beginning, then? Almost a surprise you didn't cast magic in the womb.

Wyll: I've always wanted a child of my own. Perhaps one day, when peace visits the Coast. Halsin: I think I know how you feel... duty, eh? I hope your wish comes true. We'll need new life once all this is over.

Lae'zel: I despise sunsets, slow wits - and small talk. Halsin: Luckily there's nothing small about getting to know someone like you. There's little occasion for frivolity in nature - I can appreciate your stance... even if others do not.

Githyanki Player: I once stitched shut a wound using twine made from the entrails of an enemy. Halsin: You are... nothing if not inventive. I can only hope the foe had already expired before you began your work.

Dark Urge: I really don't know very much about myself to tell. Dark Urge: Nothing half as charming as that... it's all crimson and rot. Standard option: I don't think there's anything worth sharing. Halsin: Oh. Well, your choice, of course.

[syndrossi]

October Trick or Treat Fill #8: Jaehaerys receives word of the twins

This time we have a trick! Which in this case means "something that wasn't on the prompt list." Though it could mean something entirely different next time it appears as a poll option, so be warned...

This fill won't make much sense unless you've read Fill #7 aka the first part of Regnal AU aka "consummation babies" as it's a continuation of that, where we get Jaehaerys's POV of receiving Baelon's letter sharing the happy news.

x~x~x

Father,

I bring joyous tidings from Runestone: our family has grown by two! After a day’s brave labor, my good-daughter brought forth a pair of screaming babes, furious at being parted from the safety and warmth of the womb. Though the birth came one moon early and they are yet small, their lungs are quite healthy indeed, and the maester assures me that they are as healthy as can be.

Your heart would swell to look upon them, as mine has. The name of the eldest is yet to be decided, as it is a matter of fierce debate between Daemon and Lady Rhea, but the younger is to be Aemon. He is the very image of my brother. I swear that I can see him in his eyes—not only the color, though that too they share, but the manner in which he studies me, as though he knows things that I do not. His hair is strikingly light of color, just as Aemon’s, though the maester has reminded me that it will yet darken, perhaps to something more like mine own. Selfishly, I wish otherwise. 

And the eldest! Daemon is insistent that he should be Baelon, after my own name, while Lady Rhea favors Hubert or Rodrik, after her great-uncle. He reminds me of Rhaenys at birth, hair dark like his mother’s. His eyes are as a field of lupin clouded by storm, and it is already plain to all that he has a warrior’s heart. If his brother is out of his sight for but a moment, he howls his displeasure at the world, whereas his brother Aemon howls whenever he is given into Daemon’s arms, much to my son’s dismay.

Words cannot describe how it is to hold them. I feel as though a piece of my own heart has been returned to me, and I am certain that they are destined for greatness. You may discount such as a proud grandsire regarding his first grandsons, but it is more than that. You will understand when you meet them.

All of this to say that it is my intention to remain at Runestone beyond the original moon I had planned. I beg your indulgence in this matter. The realm is peaceful and we are at the height of summer, in a time of plenty. Should that change, I shall of course hasten back to your side, but Daemon is yet young to be a father, at only seven-and-ten. Although he has made great strides as a husband since the wedding, I would offer him whatever guidance and wisdom he needs. It is quite a thing, after all, to suddenly find oneself a father twice over!

Please give my love to Mother and sweet Gael. They will adore the twins as surely as I do. I only wish our family could meet them sooner! It is the maester’s recommendation that they remain at Runestone until their first year has passed. As such, I seek your guidance on the matter of dragon eggs for their cradle. I know that you have forbidden that any be taken outside of King’s Landing, but it is good for the health of the babes. I implore that you consider it. If you are amenable, I shall gladly fetch and safeguard them myself.

Your son, etc,

Baelon

Jaehaerys leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a celebratory sip of wine as he reread the missive from his son once more. It was far cheerier in tone than anything his son had written in the years since Aemon’s death, which was heartening on its own. He had hoped that his son’s first grandchild might grant him reprieve from his grief, but his joy at Rhaenyra’s birth had been fleeting. That he had named the younger child after Aemon, however—that spoke to a healing all its own. Merely hearing his brother’s name spoken would on occasion plunge him into despair.

Twins. Jaehaerys looked out the window of his solar, into the warm morning sun piercing through. Was it a good omen, or ill? Rhaella and Aerea’s birth had been heralded as a blessing, yet his sister’s family had come to sorrow and ruin. Aerea’s death—

He set his wine cup down, mouth tightening at the memory of it, even after all these years. It had been a thing of horror, but best not let himself fall into the trap of superstition over reason. He had watched his line dwindle over the years, sons and daughters claimed by death, one by one, to Alysanne’s everlasting grief. The holdfast stood nigh empty, save for Baelon, Gael, and Viserys’s small family.

His sons had given him but three grandchildren, and from them, three great-grandchildren.

For Daemon to have nearly doubled that number was encouraging, and made suffering his grandson’s bitter protests over his match with Rhea Royce more than worth it. Rasher than his father, and with an arrogance not matched in deed. Fatherhood can only improve him.

Would that he could swap Daemon’s success for Viserys’s lack. The match between Viserys and Aemma had been more than fitting, and yielded a great-granddaughter, but his granddaughter had suffered four miscarriages already, which did not bode well for future children from his eldest grandson. And yet it was Viserys who would take the throne someday, after Baelon’s reign.

Even so, the birth of two great-grandsons was to be celebrated. At not even nine moons past the wedding, they could very well have been conceived that very first night. If the gods are good, it is a sign of things to come.

That the children had been born at Runestone was unfortunate. It meant waiting for their presentation to court, though that could also be for the best. He was no stranger to sons who never reached their first name day. But if Runestone’s maester insisted they were in good health, despite the twins’ early birth, then that was encouraging.

I could send Allar to attend at Runestone, Jaehaerys mused. Doubtless a house of Royce’s standing would have a capable maester, but royal children deserved the very best of care. And then there is the matter of the dragon eggs.

There was a reason his son’s letter had taken on a wheedling tone. He greatly misliked the thought of any eggs leaving the care of the Dragonpit or the well-guarded holdfast. Elissa Farman’s theft was not so distant as to have fallen out of memory. There would be those who might expect dragon eggs to find their way to Runestone, and seek to steal them.

If they are as healthy as the maester claims, then they have no need of them. When the babes were old enough to travel, they could be brought to King’s Landing and have dragon eggs placed in their cradle then. Doubtless his wife would petition Baelon every moon to have them brought here.

His eyes fell once more upon the one paragraph that had drawn his attention. I am certain that they are destined for greatness. Baelon was inclined toward excessive pride in his children, as he had been with both his own sons’ births. But for him to insist upon it, to have already found such solace—

Jaehaerys sighed, feeling his bones creak with the motion. Baelon’s dark mood since Aemon’s death had been a matter of concern for years now. His son attended to his duties as Hand with diligence, but little satisfaction. Jaehaerys had begun to fear that the Iron Throne would be the same for him, a burden rather than an opportunity. It was not a fear he would have had a decade before, when his sons had been eager with possibility.

If anything happens to the babes, it could plunge him into despair. In that, his son was far more alike Alysanne than him. Precautions would be needed, but perhaps the prospect of Baelon finding new purpose outweighed the risk of dragon eggs falling into the wrong hands. After all, no dragons had come of the eggs lost before.

He may have his dragon eggs, but I cannot fathom what he is thinking in allowing Lady Royce to entertain such names for a Targaryen child. That must be quickly settled. Daemon’s stubborn pride is of some use here, at least.

Jaehaerys took up his quill. It will be a pain to be without him for a time, but Hightower has been agitating for his younger brother to be appointed to some role within court. He can take this opportunity to prove his usefulness in Baelon’s absence.

[thatrandomwriter]

Caught

Ghostface Stu Macher x Reader

Warnings: violence, swearing, sexual language, knife-play

Summary: What happens when Reader catches Stu before he can cover up the evidence of his latest murder?

It wasn’t like I’d never showed up to Stu’s unannounced before. In fact, I had done it plenty of times - either to surprise him, or simply because I could not be bothered to call ahead. But something felt off today, when I stepped through his unlocked front door and into his house. His was always leaving the front door open, even when his parents were out, which they had been for a few days now. I was always telling him to keep it locked, especially now with a killer on the loose, but he never managed to take my concern seriously.

“Hey, Stu, you upstairs?” I called up to him from the hallway.

“Yeah, I’ll just be a minute,” his voice raised at the end of the sentence, strained slightly.

I began to climb the stairs, “Everything okay?”

“Yep, yep, of course, just gimme a minute okay? One minute and I’m all yours, okay baby?”

I waited. One minute turned into five, and I decided that enough was enough. I finished my climb and pushed open his bedroom door.

“Stu?”

He turned to me, shirtless, his sweater bundled and bloody against his chest in one hand, a knife in the other. This was no kitchen knife, either, long and curved and dramatically pointed. It was the sort of knife meant for tearing through flesh.

“Stu,” I repeated his name - what else was there to say? His sweater was stained deeply red, he must have been in the middle of cleaning up whatever mess this was when I had arrived.

A grin broke out across his face. Then a laugh. My feet were frozen to the floor. This was a sound that should be heartening, but instead my stomach churned.

“Are you - are you the killer?” The words felt unnatural, ludicrous, even. Stu, my Stu, a killer? This was insane. There must be some other explanation for this, I thought, but still my body was frozen and my stomach felt choppy as an ocean.

“Oh baby, you’re so stupid,” Stu’s sweater had dropped to the floor, but he retained the knife, “How are you possibly surprised by this? Aren’t you supposed to know me better than anyone?” he pouted at me. Mocking.

“I thought I did,”

“Come on, now, don’t be like that - don’t act all high and mighty, hoity toity, morally superior,” he punctuated his sentence with the knife, gesturing into the air, “I know you get off on this shit - no-one watches Halloween that many times if they don’t want to fuck Micheal Myers,” Stu stepped towards me, slow and deliberate. I felt like prey.

My words stumbled, “That’s - it’s not true. And this is real life, not some movie, or a stupid fantasy,” So maybe I had an unhealthy interest in slashers. That was irrelevant. Micheal Myers had not killed any of my friends.

“Can’t I be your stupid fantasy?” He had backed me into a wall. There was no avoiding him now, no escape, no evading his touch. He placed an arm above my head, caging me in.

I felt cold metal sliding across my neck, down my chest. “Please don’t kill me,” my eyes were blurry with tears.

“Looks like you know your lines already,” Stu tilted his head down, lips making contact with my neck. Then teeth, pulling and sucking at the soft skin beneath his mouth. My breathing caught. I was achingly aware of the knife pressing into my side, and the feeling of him kissing my neck. My heart was pounding, and I was not sure which sensation contributed to it more - my persisting attraction to him, or the imminent threat posed upon me. Perhaps it was some strange combination of the two.

He pulled away to take in my face. I turned my head away, sure that if he saw my face directly, he would see the conflict on my face. But his hand gripped my jaw, turning my chin towards him so that his eyes could meet mine.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He was grinning madly, “Now I need you to promise me baby, that you won’t tell anyone about this? I can make all your fantasies come true, but you know what I’d have to do if you told anyone, right?” His knife, which had been pressed into my side just enough for me to be aware of its presence, began to press deeper. Enough to make me gasp. Stu groaned. “You make such pretty noises, don’t you?” he pressed the knife against me harder. I felt it cutting, not deeply, but just enough to draw blood.

“I promise, I won’t tell anyone,” It was not as though I had a choice. But still, my breath was heavy. I did not hate this, or Stu, nearly as much as I should.

“Good,” Stu did not remove the knife straight away, instead sliding it forwards, lengthening the cut. I cringed, attempting to pull away from the burning sensation at my side, but Stu had me held in place. Tears slipped down my cheeks.

“I said I promise, okay?”

Stu leaned in, catching a tear on his tongue as it fell. The corners of his mouth twitched up. “Prove it to me,” he challenged. I was not sure exactly how I could fulfil his request, but I made my best guess, leaning up to kiss him on the mouth. The knife let up as my mouth slid against his, my chin upturned towards him. His hand found the back of my neck, cradling the back of my head in a movement that pressed my mouth further to his. My lips parted to allow his tongue to glide against mine, playful, teasing. The heat of his bare chest burned even through my clothing, igniting my skin wherever we made direct contact, burning even hotter in contrast to the cold blade now grazing my ribs. My body arched under its caress. It was so wrong for me to derive any enjoyment from this, but I had no choice, I told myself. I was doing this to stay alive, that was it, not because the sensation of Stu’s knife against my body made me feel alive, sending sparks shooting up my spine. My hands found his back, tracing the hollow of his spine, fingernails finding friction. Stu’s teeth caught on my lower lip, biting down to elicit a gasp from me.

“Can I really trust you, baby?” Stu had pulled away, only slightly, to murmur against my lips.

All I could manage was a nod.

The knife rose to my neck, “I need to hear you say it for me,” Stu’s eyes were wide, wild. I did not doubt in that moment that if I did not give him what he wanted, he would slit my throat and likely enjoy it. The thought had my breath hitching in my throat.

“You can trust me, I promise,”

His eyes narrowed, analysing my face, scanning for any insincerity. I scratched down his spine again with my fingernails and he groaned, leaning down to kiss me again, long and lingering, “You sure know how to make keeping you alive worth my while,”

[astral-mariner]

Vegebul headcanons: Vegeta fell for Bulma first

So lots of ppl in fanfic often write Bulma falling for Vegeta first. I see it the other way around.

The ship explodes while he's training, and he suddenly has all this downtime he never had while serving under Freeza. They've had surface-level conversations before, gotten at each other's throats over alien-human misunderstandings as well as serious moral and/or experiential differences. But while he's recovering, he gets a bit stir-crazy and just...finds himself around Bulma rather often, and they actually start to get to know each other.

Bulma finds him dark and mysterious---fascinating to her in an almost scientific way because he's so like a human but so different at the same time. She admires his tenacity; though he would never characterize himself as a victim, she knows he's faced grief and hardship, and carrying on with such clarity of purpose anyway is heartening in a way. Meanwhile, Vegeta just doesn't understand why this woman insists on talking to him, making sure he takes care of himself... He can understand her providing gear and housing---she and her friends need him for the upcoming battle. But the interest, openness, and basic kindness she displays baffles him, especially when he is a sworn enemy of Kakarot's. With Nappa and Raditz things were always complicated. So many roles and expectations with him being their prince. But with this Earth woman, there are no expectations at all. So he doesn't know what to do with her.

He won't let himself think of her as beautiful even if his eyes linger on her. He has just seen so few women like her. Certainly, he's never spent so much time with one either. Always on his way to a new planet. No real friends or consistency of any kind. That's not to say he regards her as a friend. Of course not. He tells himself that she's useful. She has resources, power. And she pursues her own ends with intensity and fearlessness---saiyan qualities he understands.

And then she's in his thoughts day and night. He thinks of her scent or her voice when he's trying to train, when he's lying awake and can't sleep. That sparkle in her eyes when he challenges her, but it doesn't shake her in the slightest. Her laugh, her little touches. He's head over heels for her long before they have sex, but he has no context for feelings like that. He just feels like he's losing his mind.

And it scares the shit out of him. How can he focus on transforming and defeating the one who took his birthright and Freeza's death from him when this woman is just fucking haunting him? He doesn't even know it's romantic attraction. He won't even accept that he's sexually attracted even though his body reacts to hers however fiercely he avoids looking at or touching her.

Meanwhile, Bulma has just broken up with Yamcha. She's not really in a place where she's thinking about a new relationship. She might want to have some fun here and there now that she's single, sure, but she's much more focused on the arrival of the Androids. Especially since she knows how hard her future self worked to warn everyone and give them a chance to have a different outcome than she did. And Vegeta is a powerful asset to have on her side. As much of a jerk as he can be, he works tirelessly to prepare himself for the battle, and helping him become stronger may make a difference in their survival.

Sure, it tickles her scientist brain to have an alien living on her property she can ask about space and otherworldly tech whenever she wants. And Vegeta himself has a fascinating (if dark and disturbing) personal history. He's not what she expects in some ways. Proud, and yet also very reserved and even shy. Aggressive and intense, but at the same time thoughtful, introspective, and so dedicated to his calling that she realizes it's a spiritual thing for him, perhaps even religious.

She finds herself enjoying his company even when she knows that she shouldn't. He's not exactly a true ally. He's not a good person. But he's just so...interesting. And he's more attractive than he seems to realize. She indulges a fantasy or two of what he might be like in bed. But it's not serious. She knows she shouldn't. It would never work out. It would be so fucking complicated and fraught for everyone involved. There's no way an alien man would have the same (or even compatible) ideas about relationships or sex. Even if Vegeta did, he'd never fucking tolerate having a frank conversation about it. He's really kind of a prude.

And yet...they spend more time with each other, and the tension between them just builds. Over months and months, it builds slowly but surely. And one day, it just fucking breaks. One evening, they end up closer than usual. Touching each other, and it gets really intense really fast. No time to really discuss where things are going or what anything means---they just need each other in that moment. And it works out. Somehow. It's almost too easy. Despite all the cultural differences. They have sex, and it feels...good.

For Vegeta, sexuality had previously always been something tainted with negativity. What's the point of having a drive for sex, after all, when you're the last of your kind, and fleeting pleasures are hardly more than distractions? But with Bulma, everything just felt so fucking right and good. Like finally getting to experience all the things he'd always wondered about and longed for even if he never admitted it to himself. Things he thought were impossible. Having sex in a situation where he had a real choice in the matter. With a woman when he had spent his whole life having to accept the fact that no saiyan women had survived. On top of everything, not only does he want her---desperately---but she wants him in return. How she squirms when he touches her, how her scent changes, how she trembles and whimpers when he gets to do all the things he never let himself want before.

It just completely and utterly unravels him, and he can't get enough of her. He thought that, just maybe, if he gave in and slept with her, she wouldn't fucking haunt him anymore, but it just gets fucking worse. He needs her like water. Like if he doesn't get to be in her presence and touch her, he will just fucking lose it even more than he already has. And it fucking terrifies him. He's only ever wanted one thing: to transform and make things right after Freeza destroyed everything. But now he's preoccupied, and he can't handle it. He doesn't know what to do. What any of it means. What he really wants out of any of it. And he has no idea what she wants either. Only that however many times he tries to stay away from her, they always end up tangled up again. He couldn't even tell her how he feels even if he wanted to because he's so clueless about what's happening to him.

Meanwhile Bulma is just absolutely floored by how intense everything is from the beginning. She wonders if it's a saiyan thing, or if he's just intense like that himself. She doesn't know what Vegeta's full history with sex is, but she knows it's complicated. All she knows is that he kisses her like it's his last day on Earth. That he fucks her like he couldn't resist her if he tried (and he does try). And she can't help but ride that high. She brings this mysterious, strong, and austere man to his knees, and her power over him is intoxicating. She knows she shouldn't play around with someone so dangerous even if she's convinced he'll become an ally eventually. She knows that most of her friends wouldn't approve. It's not like she wants to DATE Vegeta. But gods...his desperation, the way he almost worships her, how wild and even frightening he can be---she can't help but indulge herself at least a little bit even if it's against her better judgment. It's not serious, after all. It's not like Vegeta of all people would even want to be some kind of partner to her anyway. He just wants sex (right?), and that's all she wants too. So she proposes a friends-with-benefits situation that they are determined to keep on the down-low.

Vegeta's head is just spinning at all of this. He still doesn't fucking know what to do with her. He can't have an attachment to her---especially not now when his sole focus needs to be transforming---but imagining his life without her is just... So he just lets her call it whatever she pleases, as long as no one else is involved and no one else knows about it. The weakness all the more glaring and real if other people know about it. He can tell himself he is just having sex with her so he can stay focused on training. Nothing more than that. Certainly not.

Over the course of it, Vegeta's feelings for her just intensify. If he was head over heels before they had sex, the more time they spend and the more intimate they become, he only falls more madly in love with her. And while Bulma tells herself that feelings aren't really involved for her beyond the friendship she develops with him, she has little pangs of romantic longing that hit her out of nowhere from time to time. Almost hard not to when the sex is the way that it is. She wonders sometimes if he has feelings for her. Real feelings. But he just couldn't, right? She's just being a silly hopeless romantic like she was when she was younger, and she's over that. He's an alien with a tortured past, and he's not boyfriend material, and she's fine with that. That's not what she wants anyway. Certainly not right now with the end of the world around the corner.

We all know how things go down after this, though, don't we?

But yeah. I headcanon Vegeta falls first and harder, whereas Bulma falls gradually after they become involved. Bulma has experienced good relationships before, and she wasn't looking for a romance with Vegeta in the wake of her breakup. Vegeta, on the other hand, hasn't experienced romantic love or sexual attraction where things weren't fucked up and fraught in some way before. So his "relationship" (re: passionate affair) with Bulma means so much more to him even if he couldn't articulate it. It completely blows him away, but he doesn't have the context or emotional insight to make sense of it. So he just panics, lol.

[thenameswinterfics]

GET TO KNOW…CREGAN STARK

Word Count: 1763

Cover magazine by @foxyanon Dividers by @zaldritzosrose

The following writing is a companion piece to "The Lives of Friends", a SMAU collaboration made by me, @legitalicat , @zaldritzosrose and @foxyanon.

Interview under the cut!

Interviewer: Welcome back to our readers. This is Cayn Karstark for Northern Wilds, and our weekly appointment is focused on the well-known Winter Wolves Sanctuary. But before we focus on the conservation work being done, it is important to remember that there has been a recent "changing of the guard" at the sanctuary, and now it is being run by none other than Rickon Stark's eldest son, Cregan, who is here with us today. Welcome, Cregan, and thank you for accepting our invitation.

Cregan Stark: Thank you, Cayn. It’s good to be here. 

CK: Before we start our interview, we would like to know if your father is okay.

CS: Of course, he's much more than fine, sometimes even better than me! (laughs) But it was not the health issues that convinced him to take a step back, but rather the desire to retire and focus more on his private life.

CK: We are heartened to know that health was not the reason for Rickon Stark’s retirement, but we must know this: how did you feel at the realisation that you had inherited your father’s “little empire” at such a young age?

CS: Oh well… I was intimidated at first, I won't hide it. Not all young men my age have a father who leaves you with a family business that has stood for generations. It was a huge leap of faith at first, but I overcame my fears and embraced my family's philosophy about the sanctuary, and it warms my heart to see it thriving despite this change.

CK: It was indeed a surprise to us! When the news broke, some of us were sure that your Uncle Bennard would step in for you.

CS: There was a private discussion in our family about who should replace the figure of my father. My uncle's name came up several times in internal meetings, with many for and just as many against. But Rickon Stark has always been a man of family tradition: he inherited the Sanctuary from his father, who inherited it from his father, so it was inevitable that his choice would one day fall on me.

CK: How did your uncle take your father’s choice?

CS: Knowing that old man, he would probably feel left out by his own brother, who chose his own son over him. The Sanctuary had always been a source of tension between them, with my grandfather placing the responsibility on my father's shoulders and thus neglecting his other son. Fortunately, the bad feeling was quickly dispelled and relations relaxed. He's building his own business in Winterfell, near the Wall, hoping to create a small legacy to pass on to his own sons.

CK: It's good to say that everything ended in the best possible way. But we will come back to your private life later, if you allow us, of course, and focus more on your recent activities at the Sanctuary.

CS: Of course, I’m glad to answer all your questions. 

CK: Let's get straight to the point, then. What impressed us the most about your work at the Sanctuary is there’s a continuous work philosophy between your leadership and that of your father. What convinced you not to detach yourself from him completely?

CS: Perhaps the fact that I flanked my father before he handed over control of the Sanctuary to me was the reason I did not change our working philosophy. He was an endless source of inspiration, and he was very serious and meticulous about his work: I still remember him scolding me when I mixed up the resting places of different animals, or when I made trivial mistakes at work! (chuckles, shaking his head) But he only did this because he loved his work and felt the need to preserve the family tradition through me, passing on a passion that I immediately shared with him. He was my shadow during my first days as an official owner, and it was only after he made sure that I had learned all the necessary skills that he completely disappeared from the scene. I feel like I owe something to him, and a total disassociation from our shared vision of the work would have been a misuse of the mission and vision of our work.

CK: One of the first things we noticed in your early leadership is how conservation has become a focus of your own work. Could you please explain your view on this subject?

CS: Well, the thing is, Westeros has areas of great beauty, with a cultural diversity not to be underestimated. The local fauna is highly concentrated there, and it's not surprising to see herds of wild animals roaming undisturbed in the wilderness. What worries me most is how our planet has changed significantly in recent years due to our impact on it, and how this has affected the home of most species. This is how the Winter Wolves Sanctuary works: we emphasise the importance of preserving the fragile wildlife of Westeros, providing them with a safe environment and allowing them to recover from threats such as habitat destruction. Our efforts are focused on the recovery and immediate care of animals in distress until they are deemed healthy enough to be released back into the wild. 

CK: Why is it important for you to rehabilitate animals in the sanctuary? 

CS: I think the importance of rehabilitating animals in sanctuaries is critical to preventing the possible extinction of certain species. As I said, our main goal is to protect the animals' welfare by providing them with all the food and medical care they need until we are sure we have increased their chances of survival in the wild. Every day we receive various calls about animal hoarders throughout Westeros, and we are all increasingly surprised by the number of animals we collect at the Sanctuary: large and small, puppies and adults... Every kind of animal is welcome at the Winter Wolf Sanctuary.

CK: You said before that every kind of animal is welcomed in the sanctuary. But it’s an animal species that you most frequently receive during your retirements? 

CS: Funny enough, wolves are the animals we usually take in, especially since many of the calls come from the wild areas of Winterfell. Generally young pups that lost their mother, but it happened that in the past we welcomed young adults or elder wolves as well. Sadly enough, when we have to take care of our puppies, many are too young to be released alone into their natural habitat, and so they stay with us in the sanctuary. It is the case of Fenrir, the wolf cub a person and I decided to officially adopt.

Cregan leans forward and extends his arms gently towards Fenrir, who occasionally approaches his owner. The wolf cub allows Cregan to pick him up, and he rests quietly in his arms

CS: You can pet him, it doesn’t bite! 

CK: This is surely one of the reasons why you are known as the “Wolf of Winterfell”, then! 

The atmosphere is playful, and the room is filled with the laughter of those present. A couple minutes after, everyone become serious again, and the interview goes on

CK: Thank you for sharing with us your knowledge of the animal world and the philosophy you've adopted for the sanctuary, Cregan. But I would like to reopen a small parenthesis about your family. In all the interviews we have done in the past, your father Rickon has always emphasised how close your family is. Has that changed or remained the same?

CS: Oh, luckily not! Our strong bond is what characterises us as a family. I would like to use a phrase that my father used in all his interviews: "family is like a pack of wolves: we are all united in front of the leader of the pack and no one is ever left behind." This is essentially what happened when my father decided to step in and welcome Sihtric Kjartansson into our family. He and my mother gave him food and shelter and treated him as if he were their second son, and that kind of love continues to this day. We're not blood brothers, but we've always had each other's backs and loved and respected each other as if we were. Sometimes he shows up at the doors of the Sanctuary, tired and still covered in bruises and cuts from his previous fights, but no matter how much I shout at him to go home and rest, he'll just be there waiting for a call for help, and even if I don't show it much, I'm glad for his generosity.

CK: I suppose the same relationship exists with your sisters.

CS: Right. I have two amazing sisters who have supported me from the beginning of this journey. Alisanne is my twin sister and a force of nature, she has a huge heart and supports you with everything she has. Lyanna too, as both myself and Alisanne have been her rock in her first steps into the fashion world, and in return she has supported us by helping out with the bakery and the sanctuary as much as she can. Our greatest weakness is that we are hard workers: we barely manage to find any free time, and now that Fenrir has joined the family, all attention is focused on him. Perhaps Sihtric is the only one saved from this workaholism, since his wife Rhaenerys knows how to discipline him properly. (laughs)

CK: So, outside your family, have you not yet had the chance to make new acquaintances?

CS: As I said, the sanctuary takes up most of my time, so it is difficult for me to get out and meet new people. It's also why the few relationships I've had in the past haven't lasted more than two months. But when I joined a dating app for fun, I found a connection with a girl I've been seeing recently. She's a kind soul with a lot of creativity, and being with her makes me forget all the stress and commitments I have at work. We're in a sort of 'long distance' relationship, but...

Suddenly, Cregan’s phone rings. The interviewer sees him talking a bit about something important related to work, and a few minutes after the call ends.

CS: I have to go, I've just had a call about a new hoarder coming to the sanctuary. Thank you for your time Cayn.

CK: Thank you for your time Cregan Stark and good luck with running the sanctuary.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading this! Hope you enjoyed it!

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2024-08-16

(Previous post - current page 666)

We're continuing from yesterday inside Therapy Purgatory, and by checking out this second part with what looks like Mindfang's Journal, I'll finally be caught up on Homestuck^2: Beyond Canon and ready to liveblog any future updates as they come! :D Don't expect me to drop everything and blog immediately every time there's an upd8, but you CAN expect me to be ready to liveblog at least within a couple days of each one, I'll try to keep track of the Homestuck Twitter for updates to this section specifically too.

So, Mindfang's Journal... what will this represent in comparison to the others? Not Terezi, yet? It seems like her feelings toward Terezi would be either saved for the last part (the 8-ball) or not shown here at all, because her path to growth regarding Terezi is meant to be resolved outside the Plot Point's purgatory, not inside.

Will this deal with her relationship with her ancestor, and/or her mother? Is she going to see that she was looking up to a toxic role model in those journals? Are we going to see any hints of Vriska having been transfem or is that relegated to Pesterquest still, 'cause that would be nice to see? (I don't know much about Pesterquest other than that toblerone wish being fulfilled over there along with several other possible-trans identities hinted, no need to spoil me on any of it in case I have the courage to go through that content someday. It'd be too much work to LIVEBLOG it but I might go through it on my own and have commentary to share with y'all or something.)

Okay, clicking on Mindfang's journal now...

YEAR 4

WOW, she's going to have caught up to John (and/or Terezi in the (Meat) Timeline more like) in age at this rate? GOSH she takes a long time to psychotherapize but this is the best deus ex machina I could have ever imagined, getting her to have so much time without distractions to ACTUALLY work through her issues is fucking incredible.

But what is she working on this time?

Oh hi, one of the Nannasprites? Her "lucky mojo"... so she doesn't feel like she has her powers in this realm, which makes sense because there's no relevance or luck left to take/steal from here that isn't already concentrated inside herself?

HOLY SHIT SHE'S ACTUALLY GROWING UP IN THE SPRITEWORK, she's taller with longer horns and everything!!!!! Compare to this from the Flarp Manual section:

--although when you compare that to THIS from the very BEGINNING of page 666's sequence before the two year skip, there's not much change:

--so this NEW, MUCH TALLER sprite model is a huge step up in visual age that will likely last a section or two at least, or even serve as her final form aside from outfit changes.

Moving on...

Okay, so she's been trying to use her powers with everyone cheering her on, and it hasn't been working.

VRISKA: I don't want to 8ore you, it's just the same pro8lem as always. VRISKA: Finally I get my sea legs and figured out what this whole process is a8out, 8reeze through Eridan and John and Kanaya, only to get stuck all over again on HER.

Interesting... so is it Terezi, Mindfang, or her Lusus? I figure the Cueball section that isn't done yet is Doc Scratch, because Doc was someone who intentionally used and took advantage of her faults compared to almost anyone else, and fooled her into using the excuse of inevitability. Interesting that that's the next step after she's "cleared" lessons she's learned from her past relationships with the others offscreen. So who's this HER who's the step before this?

VRISKA: I'm not so sure........she's different from the rest of them. And no matter how I approach this, I can't figure out what the hell she wants.

Hm-- perhaps this one isn't about listening to them and what they want, but penetrating through to a way in which THEY wronged YOU and that you SHOULDN'T be listening to what they want, if we're going with Mindfang or her Lusus?

Ooh, it's weird and heartening to hear her honestly telling the Nannasprite Duo that they've made this "whole experience way more 8earable" and honestly thanking them. She's really in the process of growing up emotionally, not just physically, and it's SHOWING.

And now she's talking about having talked with John about Nanna and their shared experience of "connecting to our predecessors through their writings". Maybe "HER" IS Terezi, and she's going to try to take a detour to try and learn from Mindfang to help her with the process, only to figure out how to be somewhat disillusioned with Mindfang or actually learn from Mindfang's mistakes somehow?

VRISKA: What exactly do humans get out of these familial prim8 relationships, anyway?

Hrmm, maybe this IS about her lusus?

Ooh, Vriska asking Nannasprite why she had children (Dad Egbert). Never thought she'd ask something like that.

NANNASPRITE: I couldn't exactly bring that man [Sassacre] back from the dead, but I could put myself in his shoes and do the bang up job he never had the opportunity to do. Not to mention, I like babies! :B

Yeah, you would!

Hahah, of course Vriska doesn't understand why a human would want to raise a gross infant. So maybe this IS about her Lusus, and why her Lusus would really "want" to raise her and not eat her in part, not to mention accepting how her Lusus essentially abused and used her in ways that fucked her up?

Nanna talking about wanting to avenge herself against the Batterwitch once, before she'd vanished, of course.

NANNASPRITE: So many nights spent plotting that awful woman's downfall and making her pay for all the indignities of my childhood. For always making me feel like I was powerless to do anything.

OH THIS SECTION IS TOTALLY ABOUT VRISKA AND HER LUSUS ISN'T IT!!!

NANNASPRITE: Not to mention that now, after seeing what my younger self has gotten up to in this realm [Candy], I clearly underestimated the depth of my own desires.

Yeah, that must have been disconcerting. It's so easy for Life players, tied to the aspect of power and wealth and privilege, to decide they want IT ALL regardless of their class.

And Nannasprite realizes that if she HAD gotten revenge against the Batterwitch she wouldn't have been satisfied, that's a mature viewpoint; she can't fill the hole in her heart with it.

Wow, even watching Vriska these past few years has changed Nannasprite's point of view, she says?

NANNASPRITE: I had always wanted Betty Crocker to know what a mistake it was to steal my life, my potential, from me. NANNASPRITE: But the real issue was that not once during my childhood did I ever feel particularly wanted, or welcomed, into the world. I only had my brother, and even he ran off on me! NANNASPRITE: Yet despite that fact, and the anger and the disappointment, I still raised someone who knew what it was like to be loved.

And that pretty much SOLIDIFIES that this has to be about Vriska's lusus. We'll finally get to hear the version of her that TALKED to Vriska in sprite form, possibly! That would be the best way to work through the abuse that she was put through in part, and how unloved she felt in other-part where she felt if she didn't feed her lusus said lusus would easily have turned on her and eaten her to search out better food providers, Vriska likely always believed. Perhaps she'll also learn that her lusus thought teaching her to feed on and kill other trolls would MAKE HER STRONG, much like Bro's abuse of Dave was intended to make HIM 'strong' but weakened him in ways he's still reckoning with.

Nannasprite definitely feels that despite her hardship, she "indeed fulfill a path of potential to its fullest degree", lived a full and enriching life by doing what her own parent wouldn't for her for someone else, and doesn't regret it. And almost ("marginally") is grateful for the Batterwitch serving as counterexample, as learning NOT to live like her taught her how to seek true happiness through fulfilling others, not just herself. Vriska needs to learn this same lesson from her own experience with her lusus, it's being all spelled out here practically. Heck, it almost feels like we're speedrunning the part, except Vriska will need a bit more than the answer spelled out for her like this to get it through her thick head I bet.

VRISKA: I guess that makes sense. Weren't you worried, though? That you weren't following the right path, or living up to your destiny? NANNASPRITE: I never even considered that, hoo hoo! NANNASPRITE: Is that how you kids think these days? My lord, no wonder none of you go outside anymore.

(Pff)

Interesting, maybe Mindfang IS involved in this section too, maybe BOTH her lusus and Mindfang-- and the above is indeed an insecurity Vriska reckoned with through the very end of her plotline so far.

VRISKA: Don't p8tronize me, old lady! Destiny's the found8tion of my godhood!

Yeah, she still has a lot to learn.

Nannasprite contending that "destiny mostly fulfills itself" is nice, and also a very Life-player outlook I'd think.

Aw, Vriska's even apologizing for getting snippy!! She's come so far already!!!

Oh gosh, this WONDERFUL pose in this frame and Vriska's eye shining with emotion in it, that's so good.

{Choose Mindfang's Journal.}

Pure white...?

{????????}

Oh you overdramatic 8itch, Ancestor-version Aranea Serket! Mindfang being as overdramatic and insufferable as she TRULY MUST HAVE BEEN.

Now she's storywriting for her, setting a scene unseen, the way Mindfang's journals must have done for Vriska making her imagine her ancestor's setting and travels. Also interesting how her tangled spiderweb looked like broken glass...

As was the figure 8efore her. Though she had only ever seen it 8ehind her eyes, its form was shaped 8y words.

I have to admit, overdramatic as Mindfang can be, sometimes her writing is really damned good.

VRISKA: You can drop the ominous buildup, I already know the twist.

Hahahaha, even SHE'S getting impatient with Mindfang by now.

Oh? Had the thief 8een here 8efore?

Interesting to see the ghost/image that "shouldn't" know about the broader situation visibly deducing things about its recurrence, because both the real Mindfang would have and Vriska's image of her was smart enough to put it together.

--AT LEAST ONCE A WEEK FOR THE LAST TWO YEARS!??! WOW. When she said she was stuck at this part, she wasn't kidding! I hope some of what Nannasprite just told her helps her finally break through the web Mindfang's journal caught her in.

VRISKA: The whole endeavor usually ends with me either killing you or... feeding myself to you.

WOW

IT'S HER LUSUS *AND* MINDFANG COMBINED

HOLY SHIT

Talk about a tangled knot of insecurities to tackle together all at once!!!!!!

VRISKA: You were all like, "Surprise, 8itch. I'm 8oth the Marquise, and your lusus!" And I fell str8 on my ass, flipping the fuck out like a 8ig tool.

Of course, this wasn't the way it was back in her real life. It's the fact that the impact both Mindfang and her Lusus's expectations had on her was similar, and an intertwined problem she has to deal with all at once. (Also this is a more interesting way to hear her lusus "talk to her" than hearing however the fuck Spidersprite must have roared.)

Scene change to the feeding cliff.

VRISKA: Hi, Momfang.

That's a heck of a nickname that works so well right now.

Holy FUCK AAAAH!!! That's a hell of a clever jumpscare and artistic depiction, her lusus roaring from out of the shape of the back of Mindfang's HAIR!

Ew, Vriska got stuck in the web once and had to eat her way out? Not pleasant.

WOW THAT'S DISTURBING, Mindfang tenderly hugging the lusus's severed head from after Vriska mercy-guillotine'd her. HS^2 artists are going crazy good here, both visually and thematically.

The girl was 8linded 8y her pup8ed angst. As 8efouled as those we8s were, this gossamer carnage had 8een home, once. Her time here made her who she was.

Fucking indeed. Vriska has to come to terms with that, both the good and bad of it, in ways she's refused to confront fully.

Mindfang asking her to collaborate with "thespian vivacity" here in her melodrama.

Yeah, back then the satisfaction of FLARP as a game was short-lived because it meant feeding the troll who lost to your lusus, ending in screams.

VRISKA: Every win, I had to share with her. Every moment, I felt her w8ting for me. It feels 8ad, not getting a choice when you do all the fucking work.

Yeah, her lusus's relationship with her was abusive and PARASITIC.

VRISKA: Sure, the 8ooty was gr8, up until the point where there was no one left to play with. After that, it was all good as gar8age.

:CCC

Ah HERE we go. Vriska's now hearing the voice of her mother(s) speaking to her conviction that it was a GOOD thing to be raised as a killer, when parts of Vriska have learned that there are ways of growing up not shouldering that awful responsibility that could have been better... but needs to accept that in her own case, too.

VRISKA: I've already tried respecting you for making me the 8est, 8ut you know what I'm realizing? VRISKA: I didn't have to go through aaaaaaaall of THAT to 8e strong. Vrissy didn't! VRISKA: Even growing up in a f8ke world where no one has a spine, and with 8arely any guidance, her powers can do things mine can't.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT she's LEARNING FROM VRISSY ALREADY YESSSSSSSS

AND FUCKING CONFIRMATION THAT I WAS RIGHT THAT SHE WAS MANIPULATING HUMANS IN WAYS VRISKA HERSELF COULDN'T!!!

I don't think this is the right place for her to realize that the other Vriska has a different Hero Role, but she will eventually, doubtless, if the theory pans out, and I just can't wait for that if it's going to happen.

VRISKA: 8ut that's the point, right? VRISKA: There is no p8sitive spin, no learning to appreci8 you, 8ecause even by Alternian st8ndards you sucked! VRISKA: You weren't a cust8dian, you were a responsi8ility. VRISKA: I protected you, I c8red for you, and you would have happily killed me the moment things didn't go your w8y.

FUCKING PREACH

And?

FUCK YOU MOMFANG

VRISKA: Th8t's not fucking norm8l!!!!!!!!

YESSSSS GROW UP VRISKA!!!!

Oh wow, now LUSUS HEAD Momfang is holding MINDFANG's head.

VRISKA: I had one place I was supposed to feel safe. VRISKA: Why did you h8ve to 8e everything wrong with the w8rld, rolled into one terri8le monster?

😭

Yeah, the momspider was only acting according to her toxic nature. There's nothing to redeem about it.

VRISKA: I KN8W YOU'RE HUNGRY! What a8out me? My entire gru8hood, I gave and you took. F8r once, what a8out what I w8nt?! She has never considered this. And wasn't considering it now, to be clear.

😭😭

8ut the narrator was curious, what DID the spiderling want from the monster?

Here we go... open your heart and spill out its contents, Vriska.

VRISKA: What I w8nt is for you to go 8ack in time and pr8tect that fucking kid, like you were supposed to!!!!!!!! VRISKA: If you did, may8e I'd 8e a8le to relax and let my f8cking guard down for ONCE, instead of const8ntly ruining things and thinking everyone is going to turn around and kill me!

😭😭😭

VRISKA: Oh my god. VRISKA: Tavros was right!!!!!!!!

HOLY SHIT

YOU GO GIRL!!!!

VRISKA: Now I get why talking to all my friends finally led up to you. VRISKA: Y8u're the reason why I could never trust any8ody! VRISKA: Even h8r!!!!!!!! Especi8lly her.

Nooooo Terezi thoughts!!! 😭 I mean I LOVE that she's finally putting it together but it's also SO SAD OMG

This is the pain she needed to face.

And now she's even rolling it into following in the footsteps of the Marquise being wrong.

She taught her descendant so much, and in such lurid detail. VRISKA: It was 80% smut!!!!!!!!

LOLOLOL

Yeah, just as you're saying now Vriska: Mindfang's example helped keep you alive, made you a "wicked pir8", but also made everyone else hate you. :C

VRISKA: I could have 8een any8ody... and you took that aw8y from me. You made me afraid of it.

I'd insert another very appropriate sob emoji here but I'm afraid of overusing it. I'm so glad Vriska is coming to terms with all this, FINALLY, after two years of trying to confront her mothers' ghosts.

--Of course Momfang says she thinks she would be an idiot to trust anyone. She was passing along her own toxic mentality.

And Vriska says she doesn't want to think like that anymore.

"TRAPPED."

Vriska regretting not killing her lusus, saving herself from what she became, before it was too late.... christ that's heavy.....

8ut even as she said it, the Thief knew that was never an option. Emancip8tion couldn't 8e granted to either party, only mutually assured destruction. VRISKA: ........ VRISKA: I wish it had 8een different. Impossible. VRISKA: I wish I was 8orn some8ody else.

Oh honey!!! 😭😭😭

Another dead end.

STFU

Vriska deservedly blowing up and yelling at her to let her get out from under her, be her own fucking person for once...

What will you do?

Oh boy... the PROMPT appears again for the first time in this branch. What will you do. Do what you will.

I wonder... perhaps this time you can run from her. Live without her. Seek... some sort of sanctuary, like the one your friends could have given you. What if you had gone to live in Terezi's treehouse and just, never, ever come home again? Her sleeping lusus wouldn't have eaten you, and you'd have been just as protected as Terezi was. What will you do, Vriska? What will you do here and now?

VRISKA: Huh. "KILL." VRISKA: You know, every week I come in here trying to figure out what more you could possi8ly want from me, and every week it's the same shit. VRISKA: I really am suuuuuuuuch a moron. "FEED." VRISKA: Exactly. It was never any deeper than that, the answer was right in front of my face. VRISKA: Well. I'm not your free ticket anymore. M8tricide then?

No, she's just going to walk away. She doesn't need to CONFRONT her mother... she just needs to MOVE ON from her.

VRISKA: Nah. VRISKA: I never really wanted that either. Lest the girl forget, there were only two choices.

Nope. There's always a third option. Tavros's option, the one you used to think too cowardly. You can always simply flee.

VRISKA: 8ut that's not true. I'm not a wiggler anymore. Alternia is dead. VRISKA: For once in my life, I have options. And just what did the ungrateful upstart mean 8y that? VRISKA (that pose from earlier, hands at her hips, grinning and eye shining almost-wet, brilliant.): I'm glad you asked! VRISKA: It means I finally get to walk away from all this. And I'm not going to look 8ack.

YES, YOU GET IT VRISKA! You can finally MOVE ON from her! You can be who you want to be now, you're not trapped anymore!

The spider forgot her hunger, for a moment at least, as the reality of such a statement sunk in.

Whoa, you even gave THEM pause. :D

She was only a spider. She did not fear death, or feel regret, or hold any sadness. She never once loved the girl. She did not feel responsible. That said, the arachnid had grown accustomed to the smaller creature's presence. She extended one long, spindly leg 8efore her, towards the young troll.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 fuck it I'm using as many of these as I want

As if to say, "HUG?"

😭

VRISKA: Oh, a8solutely not. VRISKA: Hell no.

Maybe. But if you held any feelings for her... what would be the harm, one last time? One first time?

That proved a good call, as the spider had 100% planned on eating the girl.

Okay I stand corrected. XD Get the fuck out of here Vriska, now that you finally know you never need to come back!

Instead, the long lim8 was retracted, placed 8etween the monster's own massive jaws.

What?

Crunch noise???

The spider would not notice when the girl turned to leave. And the girl would not turn around to see if she had. The 8ound cover was closed on our trusted narr8tor, as she whispered these final words. "Good luck, Vriska. 8e assured, you will need it."

🥺

And we hear the sound of footsteps, finally walking away.

{Level Complete!}

Lots of Fire motifs in the titles this time, ending in "FUNERAL PYRE". And that long candle... is it burning down a little bit each time? The lonely candle?

Perhaps representative of the trap?

Instead of going back and comparing it, I'll just take the easy route... and wait to compare it to how it looks the next time this game on page 666 updates. C:

Gosh that was so good. We'll leave things here. I'm finally caught up. I could speculate on what the last two that aren't the cueball mean... the feather doesn't make sense to me, and the 8-ball might just need to be BROKEN in order to escape the black Plot Point, metaphorically and/or literally, since Calliope did raise the possibility that the plot point might need to be "destroyed" and this candle of the time she's spending here might itself be burning it away, until she learns she has it in her heart to shine like the SUN and melt away the wax of the candle to nothing... but for once, instead of doing too much speculation on what's about to happen, I'd rather leave it for next time.

We might get to commentary at some point, or Patreon bonus panels, or even some of the Bonus Comics from before I might have missed the last tail ends of... in which case you'll get surprise posts about them from me, most likely. But for the moment, I'll just relax and see y'all again soon. At the minimum: talk to you next upd8! Or likely before then, since it seems these additions to Homestuck^2 might be weeks apart, and I'll likely feel the issue to delve into SOMETHING of the back-commentary before then in case this Mindfang journal update was anytime recent. <3

Note that if you didn't know already, the official homestuck twitter account is letting us know when the Plot Point page is upd8-ed (this last one was August 11th), and you might need to Force Refresh or clear your cache on the page if that Mindfang chapter or whatever new one that comes out later doesn't show up immediately. I'll be putting that twitter account on Notify for certain.

[buckevantommy]

Tommy didn't have a father, growing up, he had a Glenn. In the army, he had sirs. At the 118, he had those things combined in Vincent Gerrard. All he wanted was a father. He's in his 40s now and stopped looking a while ago, but that doesn't mean he hasn't noticed good father figures around him: friends who are good to their kids, past partners with good relationships with their fathers.

When he reunited with the 118 he felt fortunate to play a part in helping save Bobby Nash. That man is perhaps the closest to a father figure Tommy's ever found in his career, or his life. Soonafter he came to realise how the present day 118 view him as such - especially Evan - and he envied them. The what ifs started in, like: what if I'd never left the 118 and allowed myself the chance to make a family among my team the way they all had?

But any deviation from the course his life took, changes in the choices he made, might not have led him to Evan. Even if he had a time machine, he couldn't do it; the risk is too great.

And he finds himself fortunate, once again, in seeing Bobby be the father figure Evan deserves, the one he never had growing up. It's one of the great unexpected joys of Tommy's life: to witness his partner recieve the care and patience and understanding he himself was denied. And it's not like with previous boyfriends, because the envy doesn't linger and fester, instead it dissipates, and in its place something that feels a lot like what a family is supposed to feel like, takes shape.

Bobby welcomes Tommy into the family they've made of themselves, accepts Tommy for who he is, and looks upon his relationship with Evan as a heartening development. It feels like belonging. It feels like home.

Tommy knows that one day he'd be honoured to call Bobby Nash his father-in-law.

[haleswallows]

May I see your. The. My brain is empty but it's the. The. There's dragons. It's whatever the TimxDanny ship is called. It's arranged marriage. Can I see some please?? 🥺

-Faer

Dragon fic! Of course. Good news, Chapter 10 is going to be split and it is done. Chapter 11 is close to done. And I've already started chapter 12.

So, a bibbit from Chapter 10

It was heartening to hear, and gave Danny courage to make his request. “I would like to greet the day of our wedding as your equal, as we will be in our marriage. Will you allow me to rest next to you tonight?” Perhaps Danny was wrong to ask. He watched the prince’s eyes widen and his shoulders tense. He still held the book, hand tightening on it. It was a mistake. A disrespectful request. The prince still feared him, this new home still so foreign, Danny had overstepped –. “Yes,” the prince agreed, the hint of a tremor in his voice. Danny watched as Timothy visibly steeled himself, smoothed out his smile. “I must confess to not being a very good bedmate, but I find nothing objectionable. We’re already married.” Danny searched Timothy’s face. Found only a calm smile. Something niggled at him, but… well, the prince agreed. He let himself feel relieved, the fear of rejection melting away. “Thank you. Jazz will tell you I sleep like the dead when I manage it. I promise, you won’t be a bother to me.” “What a relief!” Prince Timothy tittered. “Shall we retire then?”

[pejite]

"Dear Elizabeth,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and high spirits in London. I was overjoyed to receive your latest correspondence and to read the wonderful news that you are expecting a child. It brings me immense pleasure to know that you are well and that everything is progressing smoothly. I hope and pray for a healthy delivery and a strong, thriving baby. I would be delighted to visit you someday and finally meet the little one.

I understand that Thomas and Josephine have been exchanging letters since your move. He often speaks of her with great affection and has mentioned on numerous occasions how much he would like to see her. It seems their friendship endures despite the distance, which is heartening to know.

As for the weather here, it has been quite disappointing. Spring has not arrived as we had hoped; temperatures have barely risen, and we are enduring incessant rain every day. Edwin is growing increasingly concerned that this prolonged wet weather could have a detrimental effect on our crops. We are both hoping for a change soon and for the arrival of warmer, more favourable conditions.

But my greatest concern, however, is George’s health. He has been suffering from a rather troubling cough for several days now, and despite my best efforts with various remedies, he does not seem to improve. Edwin keeps assuring me that it is merely another one of those persistent colds that will eventually clear up, but I cannot help but worry. I sincerely hope that George recovers soon and that we return to the more prosperous days we were enjoying before this setback.

I look forward to your reply and would be grateful for any updates you can share about how you and the baby are doing. Please take care of yourself, and know that my thoughts are with you.

With love and best wishes,

Wilhelmina"

That afternoon, after sending her letter to Wilhelmina and the one that Thomas had written to Josephine, Wilhelmina found Edwin seated at the desk, looking troubled. She carried George in her arms and dragged a chair over to Edwin's side. Settling into the chair with George on her lap, she gazed at her husband, waiting for him to break the silence.

Edwin, feeling his wife’s gaze, finally pulled himself out of his thoughts. He forced a weary smile at both her and their son. “How is he?” Edwin asked, glancing at little George, who was occasionally letting out a soft, persistent cough.

Wilhelmina sighed deeply. “Just the same as he was this morning, and yesterday, and the days before. He hasn’t had a fever or complained too much, but…” She trailed off, shifting her legs gently to keep George entertained, hoping to soothe him.

Edwin rubbed his face with his hand, clearly unsure of what to do or say next. “If this cough doesn’t clear up soon, we’ll have to call the doctor. Perhaps he can prescribe something to help with the cough” Edwin suggested, his voice tinged with worry. Wilhelmina nodded, appreciating the practical suggestion but still looking concerned.

“The farm-” Wilhelmina began to speak, trying to shift the focus to another pressing issue, but Edwin interrupted her with a note of exhaustion in his voice. “Please, let’s not talk about the farm right now” he said, turning his gaze away and resting his face in his hand, clearly overwhelmed by the mounting pressures.

Wilhelmina felt a pang of frustration but understood Edwin's state of mind. She lowered her head slightly, feeling a mix of helplessness and fatigue. She focused her attention back on George, who had started coughing again. Rocking him gently, she tried to comfort him while silently wishing for better days ahead, for both their little boy and their farm.

[kagecreep]

An Aftermath (VxMC)

(KillerChat)

Description: The aftermath of your first in-person meeting with V... you take care of him.

(Some small spoilers for V's route!)

Notes: this is my first KC fic! i wanted to take off where V left us after the first meeting, with the police and all. So the first little bit of this is basically taken directly from the game. youll see what is and isnt (: WC: 3.1k

━─━────༺༻────━─━

It feels like forever until the police leave. You peek out of your curtain and wait until the last sirens fade. V laughs breathily. He looks at you with so much adoration. 

You take V into your arms, cradle him. Tilt his chin down, kiss him. He laughs into your kiss; disbelieving and heartened, like the noise of victory.

"I'm beginning to believe that you are being truthful, my love," he said.

"Truthful?" You ask, pulling away.

"That alibi could not have been constructed by any run-of-the-mill serial killer. No... there was skill involved. Whether that arrives from formal instruction or training I do not know, but after all... that you fooled me you were a serial killer at all proves your talent."

You could practically cry with relief; the fact that his realization came with a smile, a tinge of pride in his voice.

"Finally!" You laughed, squeezing his arms.

"I apologise for how long it's taken me, my love. But in a way, I'm glad that you are not a serial killer––at least, not yet."

"Not... yet?"

"For our first real date, I plan on feeding many a corrupt official to my animals. I hope you will find it... enlightening."

His voice deepened in the delightful way it often did when he spoke of more serious topics, and despite the gravitas of the situation and his admission for his plans, you couldn't help but feel your heart melt.

For the next several hours after your encounter with the police, you continued peering through the blinds of your windows, watching to see if any of the cars come back. It happened quickly, and the moment of truth, long awaited and long agonized, passed with ease. Somehow, convincing policemen of V's innocence was much easier than you had imagined it would be. You supposed they didn't want much trouble considering their evidence was almost non-existent, anyway.

You checked one last time––an assurance of your fears––and let out a sigh of relief.

You turned back and found V standing in your living room, resting his weight by a hand on your couch's armrest. His breathing, audibly ragged, gave soft movement to his chest. Despite the blood and difficulty standing and breathing, his posture was stiff, and his mouth closed out of some sense of decorum when he realized you were staring at him.

"Valentin," you said, the name spilling out before you realized it. "That's your name, yes?"

He nodded somewhat hesitantly. The adrenaline of the moment seemed to have worn off now.

"Yes, it is," he said, his voice firm as ever.

"It's very beautiful," you said quietly.

He stuttered for a moment, his eyes widening imperceptibly.

"Um – thank you," he said with a gracious nod and smile. 

A soft blush filled his cheeks. Both of you stared at each other for a moment, neither daring to move before the other.

"Oh, um," you suddenly broke the silence, shaking your head, "your wounds. You're bleeding."

"As I said, the wounds are not severe," he said.

You strode forward, placing a hand on his own curled around his stomach. He winced, pulling back.

"Well let's get your 'not severe' wounds patched up, alright?" You said softly, looking up at him. 

"You're very kind. Did I say that already?"

"Maybe," you said. "But it's not really kindness. It's more... basic human decency."

You grunted a little as you set his other arm over your shoulder, helping balance him as you led him to the bathroom. Fortunately the distance was short, and you fumbled your way inside, opening the door with one hand and stumbling in.

"You might be surprised at how few people enact your 'basic human decency'. Perhaps it is not as basic as you think," he said, groaning as you sat him down on the edge of the toilet. "Perhaps you are more extraordinary than you realize."

"No time for your sweet words, my dear," you said. 

Your voice shook slightly as you began to rifle through the cabinets and underneath the sink, looking for antiseptic and a first aid kit.

A soft chuckle came from above, and you nearly hit your head on the counter as you lifted to meet his gaze. He was smiling at you, never moving from you, his heart still in your eyes.

"What?" You asked.

It was rare to find a gaze so intense.

"I... find myself very happy, to hear you say that. To hear you call me that," he said, earnesty bleeding in his tone.

"My dear?" You asked, and he nodded gently. You reached up to cup his cheek. "You are my dear."

There was little melody in your tone, but the softness remained. Assiduous and sincere.

You watched his throat as he swallowed thickly, how the skin shifted and revealed his delighted nerves without speaking a word. Just as gently as your hand arrived it receded, and your attention turned back to the task at hand; you grabbed a cleaner and bandages, and placed them on the counter. Shifting over, you settled between his legs which hung open in his slack state. He stiffened above you––a poor attempt to fix his posture.

"Do you need help taking off your shirt?" You asked, doing your best to quell your shaking heart. When his eyes widened, mouth parting to stammer out questions, you quickly followed with, "I need to see what I'm tending."

"You know, I can do this myself. There have been many a time I have returned from a hunt injured," he said with a soft chuckle.

A smile broke across your lips. You lifted yourself up onto your knees and began curling your fingers round the edge of his shirt, pulling up to reveal the soft, torn skin beneath.

"There's something to be said for servitude," you murmured as you gently stripped him. Over chest, over shoulders, through sleeves. "Sometimes, when in service to someone worthy, pleasure can be derived in helping them. So let me help you. It will bring me great pleasure."

Words choked in his throat again. He remained silent, his smile twitching, and nodded.

His sweater, splattered in curling and splashing patterns of red, gave way to dark skin shadowed in his own blood. Holy ichor, pulsing and dried, flaking off the curves of his abdomen and breast. The wound was still damp. You washed everything away and the stickiness dissipated, gone from everywhere but your fingers, where it lingered beneath your nails, tainted by the scent of antiseptic. With slow, careful hands, you wrapped his stomach in white bandages, sealing the wound from the prying eyes of light.

For a moment, envy flooded you; or perhaps hunger, a lusting desire. Greed. Envious that you could no longer peer into his flesh. The meat of his being. You let the feeling go and tried not to linger on the implications.

There is no greater intimacy. I could've dug my fingers in, torn and revealed, but you trusted me to seal you back together.

You set everything away, tucking the remaining bandages and cleaner back underneath the sink.

A hand on your cheek. Cold and sweaty. You looked up and met his eye.

"Thank you, again," he said. "I seem to be thanking you many times today."

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. Evidently, however, the sentiment was not fully returned. His gaze flickered away, lips parting as he debated his words.

"I... do not wish to impose myself upon you, my love. As I said earlier, I did not come looking for hospitality. Only a refuge," he said, at last returning to search your expression. Quietly, he added, "only for a little while. I can return home, if that is what you desire."

"V, you can stay as long as you want to. And to let you know I mean it, I'll tell you that I was thinking of what we'll have for dinner, and where you'll sleep tonight," you said. "Um, if you want to stay here, that is."

A soft breath left his chest, and he smiled.

"If it's not too much trouble," he murmured, "I am entranced, being in your presence."

You laughed, your face warming with blush.

"I have noticed you're a little less... talkative?"

"Just captivated by your beauty, my love."

By now, you were sure your face was fully inundated with a thick blush.

Pulling V's arm over your shoulders, you carefully led both of you out of the bathroom and back to the living room, where you set him down on the couch. You bent down and lifted his legs as well, settling them on a pillow on the couch. He made some weak attempt at protesting, but upon seeing your smile, his words fell silent and he graciously accepted your kindness.

You sat down on the floor next to him, your legs curled up beside you as you leaned on the couch seat where he lay.

"I don't really eat meals, so to speak," you explained. "Sorry. I eat a lot of small meals. So I'll... try my best to find something for you to eat. Are you hungry? Is Lebanese food okay?"

"Anything you make will do just fine. Food is sustenance, but by your hands, it will become ambrosial."

A grin crept across your face, growing into laughter.

"What?" He asked flatly.

"Nothing, you're just so... cute," you said, unable to stop smiling.

He grunted, furrowing his brow.

"I'm glad I can be of amusement to you," he grumbled, crossing his arms, before hissing at the weight on his wounded stomach.

You reached up and, taking his arms, placed them at his side.

"You be careful and don't hurt yourself. If you need anything, just tell me. I'll be right over here," you said, pointing to the kitchen across the room. 

"You do not have to 'baby' me."

"I know. I want to," you said, shrugging with a smile.

He chuckled breathily, and eased his body against the cushions.

"Then I will allow you to fulfill your desire, as... fatuous as I may find it," he said.

Your heart, already pacing rapidly in your chest, beat faster and harder as you reached up, brushing his thick braids off and over his shoulders. There were many details made clear without the buzz of an electric screen and faulty camera between you––his long lashes, the clarity of his coloured eyes, the curvature of his nose, the softness of his lips. You allowed yourself to stare, to try and encapsulate his beauty in a moment. It was a losing battle, that you knew when you started, and you finished it with another soft smile and a kiss to his forehead. You stood, and with a last stroke of his face, left for the kitchen.

Each time you closed your eyes, his smile gazing down at you was imprinted; an impression of glowing light, lingering like radiation burns in your mind.

You brought him water before anything, and once again he thanked you for your kindness, holding your hand and staring up at you with those eyes that seemed to melt the sunset. You kissed his hand and wordlessly returned to the kitchen.

Your fridge was almost shamefully barren, but you scrapped together what you had; hummus, baba ghanoush, thomeya, pitta, olives, cucumber, and feta. Each piece you set carefully down on a platter, cutting the cucumber into clean slices, placing clean scoops of the three dips. You stared for a moment, debating if it was adequate enough for V. Part of you imagined he could be elaborate in his meals; another part thought that food was simple nutrients to him. You hadn't ever thought to ask.

Regardless, you had already made your apologies, and so with a constricted chest you took your little plater of food into the living room and placed it down on the table in front of the couch. You sat down where you had been before, kneeling on the ground beside V.

He groaned as he slowly lifted himself into an upright position, his face contorted with discomfort. You quickly helped him, gripping his arm and settling him to rest against the back of the couch.

"I hope it's enough," you said quietly, staring up at him.

"This?" He asked. "It's more than enough, my love. I am happy to be with you. And, maybe some day... I can cook for you."

You giggled, resisting the urge to rub your face against his knee.

"I'd love that," you said.

"What are you doing on the floor, anyway? Is it not uncomfortable?" He asked, furrowing his brow.

"I just – thought maybe you wanted some space," you said with a shrug.

"That's ridiculous. Why would I want space?" He asked flatly.

That familiar blush, that warmth, creeped up your neck. You made a noncommittal sound and shrugged again.

"Please," he said, "sit next to me."

You did as asked without a single word.

For the most part you ate quietly, but your small meal was interspersed with V's questions, and you dutifully answered. What you really did for a living, how you came by the server, what you truly thought of all the serial killers you came to know as friends. V ate slowly and little, a behaviour you attributed to his wounds. Likely, he needed sleep more than food, but it was good for him to eat something small anyways.

By the end, he had little strength to eat, much less converse with you. You finished the last of your meal and asked your first question for him.

"Where do you want to sleep?"

"Wherever is best for you... I will be comfortable," he said quietly.

You stared at him, wondering if it was yet appropriate to sleep in the same bed together. But you already knew your answer; whether or not you were together, he would be sleeping in your bed, as it was the most comfortable place in the house. You didn't tell him any of this, of course––you just took him to the bathroom, offered him a new and clean toothbrush (which he took and used), and then brought him to your bedroom. He had seen some of it before in your calls, but there was still a certain nervousness that lingered in your thoughts as you opened the door and placed him on your bed.

He stared at you, and you felt his eyes burning you as you walked around your room, pulling curtains shut and sorting out clothes. Most of your clothes would be too big for him, but you managed to find something large to fit him for the night. You turned, sleep-clothes in hand, to see him still watching you, his hands in his lap and his expression full of starlight.

"I, um... have some clothes for you to sleep in, so you're not sleeping in your slacks," you said quietly, holding out the sweatpants.

"Thank you, my love," he murmured.

Your nerves slipped away from you as you handed the clothes to him, and held your clothes tight to your chest.

"I guess I'll... sleep out on the couch tonight," you said.

His head tilted to the side curiously.

"Why would you do that? This is your bed, is it not?" He said.

"Well, yes, but..." Your throat tightened. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable. We did just meet today, after all."

"(Y/N)," he set the pants aside, taking your hands instead, "while we may have only physically met this day, we have known each other... our lives, our souls, for much longer. I do not want you to be caught in the idea that we are strangers just meeting. You are my beloved. Unless... unless you do not wish to be so close, so soon. In that case, I understand your apprehension, and accept your decision."

"No, it's not that at all," you said quickly. "Really. I just want you to be comfortable."

"Ah," he hummed, smiling. "In that case, I will be most comfortable in your arms."

You couldn't help it––you giggled, blushing down to your shoulders.

"You're incredibly sweet, you know? It bleeds out. I can't believe I didn't see it before, but, I really wasn't expecting it when we were first talking," you said, staring, enamoured within him.

"Yes, well..." He cleared his throat, glancing to the side. A seriousness overtook his tone, and his eyes steeled. "It's best to keep an even demeanor, especially when dealing with personalities such as those found on goreboy's server. I hope you understand."

"Of course I do," you said, holding his face in your hands and feeling it warm with blush. "And I appreciate your... romanticisms, too. A lot. I love them. I love you."

Warmer. Visibly darker, eyes flickering like jasmine petals falling to the ground from tall branches.

He cleared his throat again.

"I am... happy you feel that way." He looked you in the eye, and managed a smile through his awkwardness. "I love you, as well."

Gently, slowly, you leaned forward, the two of you drifting closer, pulled in by one another's gravity. Like swirling planets, a moon devoted to its earth, an earth devoted to its sun, the sunlight kissing and burning––your lips touched like raindrops, warm on the heated summer cement. You kissed and asked for more, and gave more when asked. Lips like silk against yours.

When you pulled away, you slotted your nose beside his, breathing in and dwelling in his scent and warmth. He did the same, and your heartbeats slowed to intertwine.

"Thank you for trusting me," you whispered, "enough to come to me in your time of need."

"Thank you for trusting me," he whispered in return, "and for loving me. I know it... must not be easy. I am not a common man."

"That's what makes you interesting," you said with a sly smile.

You helped him take off his trousers––not without some struggle, both in physically getting them off and mentally getting over your handicap when it came to being near your dearest Valentin––and settled him in softer clothing. You dressed yourself, and finally tucked him into bed alongside you. He reached for you, still too weak to fully pull you against him, but grasping and longing. You obliged, tucking your body against his.

"Rest well, my dear. You're safe here. I hope you feel better in the morning. I'll redress your wounds, find something for breakfast. But until then, dream sweetly," you said, running your hand over his braids.

He was quiet for a little while––bright eyes staring through the dim light of midnight, unable to meet your gaze, then staring directly into you.

"You are... divine," he murmured.

"And all yours."

[autistichalsin]

If you're curious, this is what Halsin's letter says in the epilogue if you fail to break the Shadow Curse:

My friend, I was truly heartened to learn of your success in the fight against the Absolute- the whole of the Sword Coast and beyond owes you a debt that can never be repaid. I dearly wish I could have joined in your moment of celebration, but the Shadow Curse remains, and so my vigil must continue. Perhaps I shall yet discover a way to restore light to this place, but until then, the memories of my time traveling with you shall sustain me through all manner of hardships. If the Oak Father is kind, one day I shall feel the warmth of the sun and know the joys of your company once again. Yours until the end, Halsin

So... there is a LOT going on here. A lot. One, obviously, the heartbreak of Halsin resigning himself this way. "If the Oak Father is kind," he'll feel the warmth of the sun again?

The way he sees the player's company as something he longs for just as much as the sun. While confining himself to darkness and despair, what he longs for most- even more than nature itself- is sunlight and the player.

Which brings me to... you can feel the pining here. This letter was what finally cemented it for me: Halsin is, canonically, in all "good runs", in love with the player. Not "holds a lot of affection for the player that may or may not become romantic" like the others. This was what finally made me decide, beyond a doubt, he is ALWAYS in love with the player so long as they don't raid the Grove. This is just too much pining, too heavy of a romantic coding, too much he sees in the player, to be anything else.

He puts the player on par with sunlight. The thing he uses as a metaphor time and time again to explain as a basic need, something no life can live without. Something whose absence chokes the nature he loves so much into nothing. A need. That's what he considers the player.

And that's not even getting to "yours until the end," which is so obvious, I think it speaks for itself. With all the "I'm glad to be had"s and the "I am your servant, my love"s, Halsin is someone who- despite loving to be "unbound in nature"- considers a form of "being had" to be something of a love language. And here, knowing he will very possibly never see the player again unless a miracle happens or the player goes on a borderline suicide mission just to visit him, he still calls himself "yours". Even when he devotes himself to the land he couldn't heal, he still sees his heart as belonging with you, first and foremost.

And that's the happier explanation. The sadder explanation is that he's so tormented by the shadows and everything else that he's making up a fantasy in his head, of the player being his tragic, could-have-been love, just to cope. Just to convince himself there's something, someone, waiting for him should the curse ever be broken, so that he can imagine better is waiting for him, to give himself enough strength to endure the shadows for however long it takes, because the alternative is surrendering. And he can't let himself do that as long as he's needed. So, as he has done before, like when he convinced himself he liked being a sex slave to survive being a prisoner in the Underdark, he indulges in fantasy to survive- but instead of enslavement, it's solitary confinement.

Both are HEARTBREAKING options, in a scenario that was already beyond heartbreaking just before the epilogue.

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

ive had an account for a couple years and i use this site occasionally, but it just feels like a regular, non-personal stream of content. how do i use this site n get into it and meet people

This is an interesting question. Especially in light of the new Twitter migration. Despite it not having anything to do with this blog, I want to answer it.

Come to think of it, this is probably a very common point of confusion for people. Tumblr is very different from Twitter and Instagram and Tiktok - because it doesn't force new content into your dash. You only get what you signed up for, and nothing more (unless you ask for that option.)

So in a way, Tumblr is kind of like socializing as an adult!

Meaning you need to go look for stuff - and PEOPLE! - you enjoy seeing and interacting with!

Here's a couple of ideas to help with that:

1. Tag your posts, and browse other people's tags!

Tumblr's tagging system is....................something. But it's at least ACTIVE. Meaning that on any given post, you should be able to simply look at some tags, and click on them! And then you get all recent posts WITH THAT TAG!

Enjoy pokemon? Go to the pokemon tag! Want to see what everyone is posting about the new games? Go to the Pokemon scarlet and violet tags!

What's more, if you want to consistently see things from that tag.... you can! You can just follow it. In fact, the tag page itself will often recommend you EVEN MORE TAGS.

Hell, you can even follow more blogs from the tag.

And the more you tag your posts, the easier people can find YOU and perhaps follow you for whatever you post!

2. Interact with people, and look through their blogs!

I won't pretend to know what your background is, anon, but I know many people use Twitter primarily, and Twitter kind of favors quietly following and liking posts.

It's fine to do that here, too, but you'll probably make friends faster if you follow a bunch of people and then reblog/comment on their stuff. Tumblr even has handy suggestions for other blogs if you're lost on who to follow.

I would recommend maybe taking care with WHAT you say, though, because if you leave rude or odd comments, some people will block you pretty quickly. Just use common sense. :)

Hint: If you reblog art, feel free to tag it! Heck, if you don't want to say something to the artist but feel too shy to make it an ask or a DM or a comment.... just put your feelings in the tags!

Most artists will look through the tags on their posts, which means they'll likely see your comments and feel very heartened by them.

3. Use the Stuff In Your Orbit options tumblr DOES have!

Tumblr has options for letting you see other people's Likes and follows. If you click on the little person icon at the top, and then go to settings, you can fix your dashboard preferences.

Scroll down until you see this menu:

...and turn on the first three options! That will populate your dashboard with suggestions based on the people you already do follow. It's going to be random, but probably the easiest option if you're used to other algorithmic sites.

Anyway, hope that helps, and happy uhhhhhh tumbling.