#Even with it being the announcement of a new project over more Archive I was ecstatic because I love these peoples' work

[vibinginthedreamlands]

EVERYONE EVERYONE THE ARCHIVE 81 FEED JUST UPDATED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FIVE YEARS

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

MARC, ONE OF THE CREATORS, WROTE A BOOK YOU KNOW I'M WATCHING OUT FOR THAT RELEASE

GENERATION CROSSING!!!

SPOKEN WORD SPACE OPERA

THEIR VIBIEST PROJECT TO DATE

NOVEMBER 12TH

THEY SAID THEY AREN'T DONE WITH ARCHIVE 81

OOOOOOH DAMN I'M EXCITED FOR GENERATION CROSSING

[bookofbonbon]

strut: in the snow - coriolanus snow.

Characters: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Summary: Secrets are discovered, deals bartered and announcements made.

Word Count: 800+

A/N: Curious if this will make people regret their choice on the poll lol.

Your employee file proves to be almost entirely useless to Coriolanus; though the file was thick, the majority of it had been redacted, large chunks of information scrubbed out in thick, black, blocks. He learned part of it was because of Capitol laws that had come into place to prevent the exploitation of child labour; not that that had done anything to protect you. 

The other part being your participation in highly classified projects that required the highest levels of security clearance to gain access too, information that wouldn’t be lying around in a  regular old employee file in the back of the Archives. 

Your file was a mess quite frankly and clearly no one had bothered to do a thorough check of it, only adding in new pieces of information as required.

Almost entirely useless but, still he’d learn three things of high value about  you:

You had been in the Capitol for as long as Sejanus and the Plinth family however, judging from the photograph attached to your file, even longer - something told Coriolanus the photograph had been an oversight and should not have been in your file.

You’d been officially employed by the War Department at 15, primarily working in the Capitol’s Experimental Weapons Division under Dr. Volumnia Gaul - doing what? He was unsure. 

Four years later, you’d transfer out of the Experimental Weapons Division - almost immediately after Sejanus’s death - remaining in The War Department but now, in the private sector of Munitions and under the tutelage of your uncle; coming out of the shadows and making yourself known to Capitol society - Coriolanus just couldn’t figure out why; there had to be more to it than just him. 

Despite the limited and missing pieces of information however, Coriolanus was able to put one important truth together: Strabo Plinth was once notoriously known for his refusal to supply The Capitol with munitions in The First Rebellion. His stance however, had taken an unexpected and dramatic turn as he began to supply The Capitol with military weapons in droves. None knew what caused the sudden change of heart in stubborn Strabo Plinth but many assumed it was the first-class ticket it bought the Plinth family to Capitol Citizenship - given his new discoveries, Coriolanus knew that this was not the case, it had something to do with you.

It's what brings him to the door of Strabo Plinth’s office in the early hours of the morning. Strutting past the older man, the threat you posed to Coriolanus and his claim to the Plinth Munitions Empire; that loomed largely over him was about to grow smaller as he prepared to leverage his newly discovered secrets (and ambiguous claims) about you to his advantage and bring you to heel. 

-

Your footsteps are hard and heavy, striking loudly against the marbled floors and echoing throughout the empty university hallway. Most students had gone home for the day and the sun was long gone from the sky - not that you noticed, eyes focused only on the ballistics report in your hands; you had been waiting for it in anxious anticipation all day and finally it confirmed what you already knew to be true.

So, focused however, you don’t notice the figure creeping in the shadows until she makes herself known-

“Trapped in the Snow, she is- trapped in the Snow and she doesn’t even know, she is trapped in the Snow and she doesn’t even know there is nowhere she can…”

Go, you think, but don’t say it aloud. 

“Volumnia,” you close the file, not appreciating what sounded to be a veiled threat. “I hope you’re not still upset about me killing the upgrades to your laboratory. I’m sure you can understand why it had to be done.” 

She laughs her usually maniacal laugh, quietly, her hands pressed together as if she knows something you don’t. 

It unsettles you in ways it had never done before. 

- and she doesn’t even know - 

You straighten your back, all senses on high alert - something was wrong, something was very wrong. 

“Come to kill me like you did my cousin,” you eye her wearily, waiting for her to pull one of her mutts out from one of the many pockets of her clinical looking dress. 

She laughs again, louder this time. 

“You insult me, Miss Plinth, you know very well that I prefer to take my enemies out in a spectacle,” she tuts at you. 

“So then why are you here? You never just show up somewhere, there’s always a reason.”

“There is always a reason,” she repeats with a smile and speaking in rhyme. “Why I only came to congratulate you on the new season… he only just told me a few moments ago, so glad I am, to be one of the first to know - given the role I have played in your life, it seemed only right I congratulate the soon to be wife .”

“Who? What are you…” you trail off, blood draining from your face. “What are you talking about?’

She smiles wide, all her teeth showing. 

“Your engagement of course, to Coriolanus-

- and she doesn’t even know she is trapped in the - 

Snow.”

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2023. All rights reserved.

[moog-rt]

GO TO HELL [ch. 3]

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Chapter Two

➨ Chapter Three

Next: Chapter Four

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

Warning(s): sudden popularity, mistakes were made (by you not me <3)

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER THREE

Well.

You finally made it on TV. Fame and fortune were nearly yours for the taking. People would be lining up outside for your autograph and maybe even just the chance to catch a glimpse of you.

The ‘Human in Hell.’

That was the headline the news broadcasters decided on. It was slapped on top of a clip of you hauling ass through the rancid streets of Hell. You were clearly panic stricken and fearing for your life, but why would the announcers care about that?.

A darn shame it was being aired live across all of Hell. Your dignity was the price you would pay for fame amongst the worst people to walk the Earth.

You were curled into yourself on the couch, unable to peel your eyes away from the screen. Vaggie was pacing behind it, muttering out profanities you didn’t know existed. And Charlie? She was doing her best to calm the both of you down. Bless her heart.

The reason you had to end your little escapade to the Morningstar Manor early was because Vaggie texted saying she had bad news. You thought perhaps her recruiting backfired or there could have been a fire in the hotel that she couldn’t put out.

You did not expect to be called back because the entirety of Hell now had you on their radar. This complicated things quite a bit as one might imagine. It was much easier to hide as a human when only a handful of people knew about you. Now, everyone’s eyes were peeled in hope of finding you.

“Look, she’s all-over social media, too,” Vaggie groaned, showing her phone screen to the two of you. She began to read off some of the posts, “Vox and Katy Killjoy are promising viewers an interview with her…There’s already bidding wars for Christ’s sake!”

“Let’s not worry too much about this…As long as we make sure she’s in her disguise when we’re out, it’ll all be okay,” Charlie said.

“They caught her on video. What if they tracked her to the hotel? They could show up any second looking for her!”

It was touching she cared so much about your well-being in this situation, but the goal was to have you back home as soon as possible. Once you were out of Hell, none of this would be a problem. You doubted demons would pass into the living world just to come after you. At that point, there was an endless number of humans to choose from.

“I don’t know…They probably would have already shown up if they knew she was here,” Charlie reasoned, and Vaggie’s pacing began to slow.

“I was able to get away from all the demons that were after me by the time I found the hotel,” you added. “No one should have been around to see me come in.”

Charlie was finally able to get Vaggie to sit, and a tense silence enveloped the three of you. Charlie was rubbing Vaggie’s arms soothingly, so you took it upon yourself to turn off the tv. There was no point in listening to it anymore. All it did was stress everyone out, and there was nothing you could really do about it. Your current plan of action remained the best.

“So how was your day, Vaggie?” you asked in hopes of breaching a more positive topic.

“Oh, right! Did you find anybody who would be interested in staying with us?” Charlie chimed in with a bright grin.

The poor girl sighed in response.

“There was one person who was interested in what we’re offering,” she began, “but he seemed more enticed by free rent than redemption…”

“That’s okay. Maybe if he spends a little time with us, the idea of redemption will start to grow on him!” Charlie sounded like she was also trying to convince herself.

“I guess…” Vaggie grumbled. “He said he might drop by tomorrow or the day after to check things out. Would that work for you guys?”

“Oh, my gosh. That would be great!” Charlie squealed, jumping up from the floor. “We have to head back to my dad’s in the morning, but any time after that would be perfect.”

“No luck today?”

“Not really,” you sighed. “We were able to look around a little bit but we ended up running into her old man.”

“And he tried interrogating her,” Charlie groaned, running her hands through her hair as the memory resurfaced. “I was so worried he would suspect something, but your emergency text totally saved us.”

“Did the disguise work at least?”

That was an excellent question. While he didn’t seem to question anything about your appearance, he still seemed suspicious. It was entirely possible he could smell your fear. You’d expect no less from a demon; they probably fed off of it. Who knows…

You should be nicer. Charlie and Vaggie certainly hadn’t given you that impression. In fact, you were pretty sure you saw one of them eating toast for breakfast. They likely had perfectly normal digestive systems.

“I think so! We’re just gonna have to make a good cover story in case he finds us again.”

The three of you began to brainstorm, losing track of time as it faded into playful conversation. There was an intermission to order food since their ‘kitchen’ still wasn’t quite ready to be used to such an extent. And eventually, you parted ways to get ready for bed.

Your arms were full after they had given you a towel and a plethora of toiletries to help scrub all the paint off of your body. When you entered your room, you were also greeted by your ‘human’ clothes, clean and neatly folded on top of your bed.

And laying on top of those was your phone.

Holy shit. You had completely forgotten you had it on you before your ass was ripped through that portal. Of course, the adrenaline rush that immediately followed your arrival in Hell didn’t help. And you were so eager to get those nasty, garbage covered clothes off, you hadn’t noticed the weight in your back pocket.

You dumped all the toiletries onto your bed to grab it.

The home screen was piled with notifications ranging from worried texts to company newsletter alerts. You began thumbing in your password to rifle through it all… but then you noticed your hand.

The paint was rubbed away.

On your fingers and wrists. There were splotches where paint was gone, revealing your natural skin underneath.

When did this happen?

Your palms were almost completely barren, likely from everything you had touched throughout the day. On the back of your hands and around your wrists, there were smaller spots where your skin was peeking through.

Like fingerprints.

You felt like you were delt a sucker punch to the gut.

Maybe…Maybe it was from your own hand. You could have been rubbing at your own wrists subconsciously. With all the stress-inducing shit going down, that wouldn’t be unlikely.

But if the paint could come off so easily…

No. You had to believe it was your own doing.

Regardless, you had to find a way to prevent it from happening again.

You opted to wait until the morning to break the bad news to Charlie and Vaggie. The two had just gone off to bed, and honestly, your nerves were getting the better of you. Your stomach was twisting in on itself as your heart pounded relentlessly against your ribs.

You would tell them. You would.

Just not right now.

More than anything, you wanted that dried up paint off of you.

Tossing your phone aside and grabbing your bathing supplies, you scrambled into the bathroom to throw the shower on. The feeling of peeling those clothes off and clambering in to let the hot water rush over your sticky body was ethereal. It was so satisfying to watch the unnatural pigment run off your skin, erasing any evidence that it may have transferred onto that man’s hands.

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, hoping it would wash away your worries, as well.

Finding the will to get out of the shower was difficult. But your body was tired, as well as your mind.

Flicking the lights off, you tumbled into bed, content with its softness in that moment as the mattress and pillows consumed you entirely. You were more than ready to knock out and forget about all that had happened over the past couple of days.

You didn’t want to think about the fact you were likely being hunted by god knows how many hell-goers. You didn’t want to think about the impact the time you spent here would leave on your life in the living world. Your job, your relationships (thankfully you didn’t have a pet). More than anything, you didn’t want to think about the possibility you may never get home at all.

With a deep sigh, you rolled onto your side and felt something hard beneath your hip. You groaned as you reached down to remove it, finding the phone that you had carelessly tossed aside. It made your heart swell.

You wanted your friends. You wanted to read their texts, new and old. Hell, you wanted to see any memes or posts they may have sent you. Any semblance of normality was all you needed right now. You would take whatever you could get.

Slowly, you reached over and grabbed it. Its brightness hadn’t yet adjusted, and you squinted as you flash banged yourself.

Opening your messages, you saw Devon at the top. They said that they hoped you could see their message, that you were somehow okay.

That depends on what you consider to be ‘okay’.

Beneath them was that boy, Jack. He sounded upset. He probably thought you were ignoring his texts out of spite. His messages were a mixture of asking what was wrong and saying you were overreacting over whatever it was he had done.

You couldn’t recall him doing anything to upset you recently, so it seemed there were things you had yet to find out about. What a pain.

Your other friends that you were supposed to spend time with today were expressing their concern for your absence.

Are you coming?

Where are you?

Is everything okay?

Please respond.

It made your heart ache. You needed to let them know you were at least alive.

As soon as you started writing a message of your own, the text began to buzz. The overhead light and lamps in your room began to strobe, and pixels of red flashed across your screen as a horrible humming emanated from the phone. It sounded as if the room was filled with a swarm of bees. It was deafening.

Then you noticed those shackles.

Those red, glowing shackles that dragged you here were flickering around your wrists once more. You sat straight up, ready for them to pull you somewhere new, but then the room went dark and the noise was gone.

You could still feel the sheets beneath your knees, and when you turned on the lamp beside your bed, the room looked untouched. At the very least, you knew you hadn’t been thrown through another portal.

There was no sign that anything had happened at all.

♡

Your phone would not turn on again after that whole…event…from the night before. At most, it would crackle at you, but the screen remained black. It was possible it just died from low battery, but you weren’t paying attention to that. You wondered what the odds were that Charlie would have a compatible charger.

You could ask her about it later.

The two of you were back on the grind to find a way to access the living world. Once again, Vaggie had to hang back. They decided it would be best for someone to make the hotel slightly more presentable in case the potential patron decided to stop by that evening. A good call, in your opinion.

Beggars can’t be choosers, but their place didn’t seem particularly livable from the outside. Hence, why you thought it would be a good spot to hunker down to begin with.

You and Charlie had slipped into her dad’s place again, this time undetected. After checking out the room of relics once more and without any interruptions, you found nothing that seemed to be of use (from what you could tell, shit was written in ancient tongue).

Your next stop was library where you decided to split up in order to cover more ground.

Now, you wandered aimlessly through the towering shelves of books, unsure of where to start. Having no clue how it was all organized, you settled on the tactic of picking out books at random and letting your luck guide you.

It wasn’t going so well.

You were able to find only one or two books pertaining to the ‘mortal’ world, but neither had anything to do with accessing it. They more so covered history of civilization and travel guides once you were there.

Pulling out another book that looked to be promising, you sighed as that, too, ended up being a dud. Half an hour had easily passed since you began your search, and you were growing despondent.

You wanted to believe that there was some way to get back. Charlie and Vaggie had said so themselves. But if Charlie’s old home was your best shot, you didn’t like your odds looking anywhere else.

No matter how much you tried to stay optimistic, you couldn’t help but dwell on the possibility of being truly stuck here. Finding a way out was starting to feel like finding a needle in a haystack, especially now that you were rummaging through a library that easily held thousands of books.

You hated the thought of not being able to see your friends again. Your family. Stuck in a world where there was a target on your back for simply existing in it.

Your energy was beginning to dwindle. You were slowing down, and your heart felt so heavy.

And you hated it.

You hated the way your vision was beginning to blur and how your sunglasses were fogging up as your face grew warmer.

Your sleeve wiped away the first tear that threatened to slip past, but you were too slow for the second. It left a wet streak down your cheek before you were able to dab it away. You wanted to be careful of your makeup.

When Charlie was getting you ready earlier, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her about the paint missing from your hands. You wanted to, but every time you thought you found the courage to say it, your throat grew tight, choking you into silence.

The most you could do was suggest a setting spray or powder to make sure it really stayed put. You told her you were just worried about the possibility of it coming off. Even if you couldn’t pull the truth from your own mouth, you wanted to take whatever precautions you could.

Your precautions, it seemed, were still not enough as the paint transferred onto your sleeve. Leave it to tears to ruin a girl’s makeup. You need to find someplace with a reflection to see if you could cover it up somehow.

As if on cue, you heard Charlie walking into your aisle. You felt relieved as she could probably blend the new smudges you’d created before anyone could see them.

“Hey, sorry but do you think you could help me out real quick?” you ask as you turned to her with your hand covering your cheek.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you were greeted not by the sight of your newest friend but her father instead.

His hands were propped up on his staff, and his eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline. He had a smug smile on his face to compliment it. Like he had caught you in the act.

There was nothing suspicious about looking at books in a library, though. Was there?

Adjusting your sunglasses so they were back in place, you put on the most charming smile you could conjure.

‘Hi—Good morning, Mr. Morningstar!”

“Hello, again,” he hummed, tilting his head as he watched you. “I didn’t think I would be seeing you again so soon.”

“Right, uh…Well, we had to leave in such a hurry yesterday. Charlie wasn’t able to find what she came for, so we’re back!” You lifted your shoulders to appear more excited than you were. At least you weren’t lying.

His finger started tapping on his apple.

“It’s quite interesting she didn’t think to give me any heads up. Almost like she’s trying to hide something…” He looked down at the book you were still holding for a moment then back at you.

Your heartrate spiked.

“What is it you’re looking for exactly?” He walked up next to you and made an act of looking through some of the books on the shelves you had just gone through.

“Huh? Oh, I’m not completely sure what Charlie needs, but she said I was welcome to look around in here,” you said, holding the book closer to your chest in hopes of hiding its title. “But I understand it’s your library, so if you’d prefer I not be in here, I’ll leave.”

He paused. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and pressed the apple of his staff to his lips.

“Look,” he began, turning back around to face you, “you said you were relatively new here, correct?”

You nodded, unsure of where this was going.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I can imagine the change was sudden, and it can be pretty hard to accept,” he said as he made a gesture with his hand. “I don’t blame you for seeking out ways to feel like you’re still in touch with your life before.”

You looked away, tight lipped.

It was hard, but you didn’t want to have to accept it. You weren’t dead. Not yet. Which meant returning to your life before was still an option for you.

“I’m very grateful to have met your daughter,” you said, shaking your head and looking back at him.

His eyes were trained on you, and it no longer felt as if he was trying to look through you or figure out your intentions. Rather, he was looking at you.

“It all would’ve been much worse for me if I hadn’t,” you continued. “She’s given me a safe place to stay and has been trying to help me in any way she can, and I feel very lucky for that.”

You looked back at him with a soft smile. Soft but genuine. Meeting Charlie and Vaggie was the only bout of good luck you’d had since being sent to Hell.

A smile grew on his face in return, and for once, you didn’t feel threatened by it.

“That makes me happy to hear,” he said. “She’s always been much too kind for a place like this.”

“I suppose so,” you chuckled. “I think that just means you did a pretty good job raising her.”

“Aha…I hope so…” he glanced away, sharp teeth beginning to peek through his lips. He then reached a hand out towards you. “May I see that book?”

Hesitating for a moment, you passed it to him. He read over the title before looking up at the endless shelves.

“Come with me,” he said, walking down the aisle.

You followed him in silence. As he turned the corner, you passed a large arched window that allowed red light to stream through. It illuminated the few specs of dust in the air, and when he walked through it, it turned his hair and skin a blush pink.

As you passed under the light, it felt as though all your prior nervousness washed away.

Yesterday, you wanted nothing more than to be as far from this man as possible.

Now, you felt at ease as he guided you through his labyrinth of a library.

He began pulling books from the shelves here and there, handing them off to you. When you looked them over, you realized they were all pertaining to the living world. You knew better than to hope he’d give you one that held the key to getting home…but what if?

You chatted with him a bit about Charlie and her hotel as you went on through the aisles. You were a little surprised by how much he didn’t know about her plans.

After a few minutes, your arms were filled with a stack almost up to your chin.

“That should do it!” he announced, turning to you with a wide grin as he brushed the dust from his hands. His eyes lingered on your face.

“Thank you so much! This is really kind of you,” you said politely. “I’ll be sure to give them back when I’m—uh…done with them!”

“No rush at all. I’ll be sure to stop by soon to see what all my dear daughter has been up to,” he said with a smirk.

You said your goodbyes and watched as he walked away. The smile adorning your face was subconscious, and your chest felt full and warm.

The weight of all the books was making your arms tired. You had yet to look at what he pulled out for you, but you could wait until you were back at the hotel to rifle through them. You probably wouldn’t be able to find anything better than what he had given you, so you decided to meet back up with Charlie.

She found some things that looked promising, as well. You figured she would have told you more about them if her eyes hadn’t landed on your cheek. The cheek that was out on display for the whole world to see as both your arms were full of the books her father had pulled out for you.

Next Chapter

♡ ♡ ♡

tag list: @spookysisters @for-hearthand-home @crescent-z @mixplara @juskonutoh @tinywolfiegirl @lafy-taffy @glowinthedarkbones1150

[shiningliive]

It's been a while.

If you haven't heard, Shining Live JP is ending service on the 26th of December 2023.

It IS however, being ported to switch, in some format at least. Im interested to see how that works. There is also a Shining Live artbook in the works, which I will absolutely be purchasing.

With the recent-ish announcement of the upcoming mobile game including Starish, Quartet Night, and Heavens, I suppose it was only a matter of time. If anything, hopefully this is a sign of more news regarding that project coming up soon.

I don't know if anyone still thinks of me or this account, but if you're seeing this, thank you for sticking around, even despite my inactivity over the last few years of the game's development, I hope at least my old archives of the game are useful to some.

If there are any archival projects underway, feel free to reach out to me and I can provide any old assets I have backed up that may be handy, although most, if not all are already posted here in some format.

Thank you for indulging my sense of nostalgia towards this game, and account. I am still very much an Utapri fan, and always will be. Who knows, maybe someday I will return to archive the next mobile game. I hope you will be the same and continue to support future Utapri Projects. <3

[harpersdragons]

New Fic!

Theft in the Family...By Jason Todd

Talia tasks Jason with taking Damian to his father, and a few things change

Primary Tags: jason and damian met in the league, mainly fluff

I've written through half of chapter 4, i'm expecting 5-6 chapters

Chapter 1 under the cut:

word count: 1327

Jason’s life changed (for the third—fourth? Fifth? Fuck Jason’s lost count—time) the day Talia burst into his room in the league headquarters.

Jason snaps to attention, drawing the knife from under his pillow.

Talia may be like a mother to him, and he may love her little boy more than anything, but this is still the league. If you’re not hypervigilant, you’re dead. Threats are everywhere, even where you don’t expect them.

“The clown is dead.” She announces.

Jason relaxes, then tenses up again once the words register.

“You’re not kidding.”

“No. I have personally ensured it.”

“What…what about the plan?”

“It has been changed. You will still go to Gotham, but you must take Damian with you.”

“What.” He didn’t mind Damian coming with him, but taking him from Ra’s was declaring war on the league.

“I need you to deliver him to his father. It is not safe for him here.”

When Jason agrees, she hands over a letter.

“Give this to my Beloved. Come, you leave now.”

“I’m—I’m not packed.” He didn’t want to see Bruce, maybe he could keep Damian for himself?

As soon as the thought pops in his head, he dismisses it. He wouldn’t be able to give Damian a fulfilling life, he’s barely 17 for fuck’s sake. (He thinks, anyway, the whole being dead thing makes knowing his age difficult).

“You will find everything you need on the plane.”

They weave through the labyrinth of corridors, eventually reaching the plane Talia’s arranged.

Damian is already there, sitting primly in one of the chairs in the cargo hold.

Talia exchanges a tearful goodbye (on Damian’s side, Talia is as immovable as ever) with her 6 year old, and Jason readies for takeoff.

When they arrive in Gotham, Jason lands at a private airstrip just outside of Gotham. Bruce would probably find out about it, since he seems to know fuckin’ everything, but that’s really not Jason’s problem right now. Talia had provided a small car, so he packs Damian into the backseat and drove off towards Bristol.

“Alright, Princeling, the rules are different here. Your father has two other kids, and you need to get along with them. No killing, no maiming, no trying to assert yourself as the rightful heir.”

“But I am the rightful heir, am I not?”

It still shocked him how formal Damian was. No matter how many times he heard it, hearing a six year old talk like he’s an old monarch or some shit is something you never get used to.

“It doesn’t work like that here. Bruce…Bruce loves his children equally,” Jason may not believe it—the Old Man has favorites, and you can never convince him otherwise—but Damian needs to. Bruce needs to accept Damian, and that won’t happen if the kid is trying to kill his siblings. “No killing and no maiming are the main rules, but make sure you listen to whatever Bruce and Alfred say, alrigh’?”

“Ok, Akhi.” Damian’s voice is sleepy, and Jason can practically hear him drifting off.

He smiles softly, having Damian around helped tremendously with getting the Pit Rage under control, and he’s sure that’s what Talia’s plan was. The rage is useful for some things, but if she wanted to get Damian out of Nanda Parbat for his safety, she had to make sure he wouldn’t be overcome with pit rage and kill the kid.

The drive passes pretty quickly, though he does catch a few glimpses of Bats on rooftops on his way to the manor. He makes sure they haven’t followed him, and then parks in the woods about a mile from the manor.

“C’mon, Habibi.” He grabs Damian out of the backseat and settles him on his hip.

“I can walk, I am not a child!” His voice is still sleepy, but the exclamation is still there.

Jason couldn’t help but snort.

“Actually, by definition, you are a child. I’m not making you walk a mile, I can carry you.”

“I can walk, Todd!”

“Quiet, Habibi. You’re not walking.”

“Tt.” Damian huffs but settles down.

The walk passes quickly, if you ignore Damian’s annoyed grumbling, and then they’re standing before the gates of the manor.

Well, kind of.

They’re standing off to the side and in one of the camera blind spots.

Jason takes a second to analyze the fence line, and finds a shorter tree they could climb and hop over.

Hopefully Bruce didn’t drastically change the security measures on the grounds.

He carries Damian over to the tree and prompts him to grab the lowest branch. Once he is safely sitting in the tree, Jason climbs up after him.

”Can you jump over the fence and land safely?”

Damian tosses a scathing glare (well…as scathing as a six year old can be) at Jason and prepares to jump.

”That wasn’t an answer, and I really need one. The ‘safely’ was the most important part of that.”

”Tt.” Damian throws himself off the branch, flipping in the air and lands softly on the ground.

”You’re gonna get along so great with Golden Boy…” Jason mutters before following. He doesn’t flip, but he does manage to land almost as softly as Damian. He eyes the yard for a few seconds, trying to spot the security triggers.

He scoops Damian up again and picks his way across the yard, heading for the Manor.

He stops a little ways away, within view of the driveway and front door. “Ok, I’ll stay here until you’re inside.”

Damian furrows his brow and turns his inquisitive gaze on Jason. “You are not coming with me?”

”This isn’t my home anymore, Princeling.” He smiles sadly, “Your father won’t want me around, this is somewhere you have to go alone.”

”I do not want to live there without you! Why can’t I stay with you?”

”You need to stay with your father. He can keep you safe.” Jason crouches to be eye level with him, and runs a hand through Damian’s soft hair. “I will always come if you call, Habibi. I promise you.” He tugs two letters out of his jacket, one for Bruce and one for Alfred.

He wrote the one for Alfred specifically. Damian needs to know how to contact Jason, and therefore someone in the family will too.

“Give these to Alfred Pennyworth when he opens the door.” He hands them to Damian, “Go on now.”

”No! You can’t leave me.”

”Damian.”

”Why do you have to leave me?” Damian’s eyes started watering.

”I don’t belong here, ok? I can’t stay.”

Damian huffs and glares at him, tears still leaking out of his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but you need to go.” Jason pulls him in for a quick hug. “I love you, Habibi. If you need me, tell Alfred, alrigh’? He’ll be able to contact me.”

Damian doesn’t respond, just buries his face in Jason’s chest, in an uncharacteristic show of affection.

Eventually, Damian pulls away and wipes his eyes. “I do not want you to go, Akhi.”

If Jason stays any longer he just might stay, damn Damian’s convincing.

“I can’t, Dami. Bruce doesn’t want me!”

”How do you know?”

I’m not your father. I don’t have to deal with your teenage rebellion.

I’m not your father

I’m not your father

”Because he fuckin’ told me so, kid.”

”Tt.”

”Dami…” Jason sighs, “I’ll visit, how ‘bout that? I’m sure we can figure it out.”

”That is acceptable, I suppose,” Damian’s tone is sullen, and he refuses to meet Jason’s eyes.

”Good. Now go on, the bats will probably be back from patrol soon.”

Damian darts in for another quick hug, then makes his way towards the door.

Jason watches as he knocks, then a few seconds later Alfred opens the door. Damian hands over the letters and is ushered inside.

Time for Jason to head out, then.

“Bye, Habibi.” He murmurs, then leaves the way he came.

[catiecat1320]

Sonadowtober Prompt 14: Prank

Arthur decides to have a little fun… with consequences unforeseen

Technically Arthurlot and not Sonadow but shush. I’m having fun

Read Below 🔽

Being stuffed in a dress wasn’t exactly a goal of Arthur’s. By his most trusted knight, no less!

It wasn’t unpleasant, per se, but it was definitely unexpected. It was his fault it happened, he had to admit. A war of pranks, with him disguised as a new knight of their table while he pretended to be away for foreign affairs.

Its beginning sat in a joke.

“Gawain,” Arthur— well disguised with a pinch of magic as Sir Dinadan— chirped at the dinner table. “Your eating habits are despicable.”

Everyone goes silent. The Knight of the Sun stared at him, an entire bunch of grapes in his hand. He had the audacity to look surprised. Perhaps his manners were only for show when the king was present. “They are not.”

“Sure,” Arthur shoots, thoroughly amused by his knights’ habits when he was supposedly not around. It wouldn’t hurt to poke fun at them. “For a wolf. Were you perhaps raised by them?”

“Watch your place.” Lancelot! He’d know that voice anywhere. Coming to Gawain’s defense was something of a surprise; the two were well known rivals. Perhaps their bond went deeper than that. “Just because His Majesty isn’t present does not mean you can be brash.”

Arthur hides a smirk at the mention of the king. If only they knew… but this anonymity was too fun to give up so soon. “Gawain can speak for himself.” The echidna glares at him, but doesn’t say a word. “See! He agrees.” 

Lancelot stands, slamming his hands on the table. “You’ve got a big mouth for a small guy.” But before he can do anything, Gawain gives him a wave of dismissal.

“Stand down, Lancelot. I don’t need you to defend me.”

And that was that. Or so Arthur thought.

Lancelot fumed at the audacity of this new knight. To insult his comrade! He needed to be taught a lesson. 

But how to do such when Gawain refused his help, and brushed it off as if it were alright? He usually held his honor at the highest regard, but perhaps this knave has damaged his ego.

He mulls over his options for a long time, unable to let it go. A brilliant idea suddenly nests itself in his mind when he sees Sir Dinadan’s name on the participants list in the next day’s jousting event.

It was just a fun show, a series of challenges aimed to connect the people. The king himself had proposed it; it was a pity that he wasn’t there to witness its happenings. Lancelot himself would be participating in a swordsmanship contest later, but…

He smiles to himself as he signs up for jousting under a false name. In all hopes, revenge would be swift.

Arthur pulls up his visor, smiling as the folks cheer for his victory. He hasn’t had this much fun in years. Perhaps when he’s seated on the throne again, he’d request his knights joust with him.

After a short break, he’s up against his newest opponent. They’re… anything but expected. Wearing a dress and a few pieces of armor, there’s a lady on the opposite charge.

He has to admit, she’s as beautiful as she’s daring. 

His opponent’s face is covered by a simple visor, leaving him unable to identify her. Arthur knows many people, but he’s never seen her before… She mounts her horse with practiced swiftness, despite the unconventional dress. Amazing. Not even the ladies of the Round Table wore dresses in combat…

The announcer’s voice casts over the crowd and immediately, the jousters spur their horses into a charge.

Perhaps Arthur had underestimated this lady. Perhaps it was the usual chivalry weakening his fight. He doesn’t know, but as his opponent’s lance crashes into his chest at full force, he’s really, really glad he has armor on.

That hurt.

A lot.

Even more when she takes the chance to knock his own weapon out of his hands, then comes around for round two. He’s torn off his horse in an instant.

Black flashes in his vision for all of a second, ringing filling his ears along with the roar of the spectators. He finds it hard to breathe all of a sudden. 

Arthur’s vision clears to see his opponent standing over him, staring ruby eyes somehow familiar. But he doesn’t have a chance to ponder over it before he’s whisked off the list field, his consciousness slipping.

The last thing he remembers thinking is how impressive of a feat that was.

Lancelot stood by the bed in which Dinadan rested. Perhaps he’d used a little too much force in unhorsing him. The rookie had been unconscious for quite a bit now, and Lancelot couldn’t help but worry for him despite his grievance against his fellow knights.

The worry was unfounded, however. The medic had declared him a heavy sleeper, nothing more.

He could move on to part two of his plan. Was it a bit much? Maybe. But defeat was something suffered by many, and Lancelot couldn’t help but be petty enough to wish for more. Gawain had suffered embarrassment, it was only fair for Dinadan to do the same.

It was with that logic that he took Dinadan into the dining hall, rightfully in a princess carry with the dress he’d put the knight in. Everyone looked up the instant the door opened— for they were late; after all, a dress was a finicky thing to wear for someone inexperienced, even more so when that someone is unconscious.

Gawain was the first to speak. Rather, try to speak. It was a bit of a challenge when he was struggling to breathe from suppressed laughter at the same time. “I-Is that…?”

“Sir Dinadan,” Lancelot affirmed, deadpan. “Or perhaps he’d be Lady Dinadan now?”

That did it. The table erupted with laughter, and though some tried to hold it in and be respectful to their unconscious comrade, they lost to the crowd. Laughter was contagious, and it was only supplemented by the rarity of seeing Lancelot attempt a joke of any kind. It was truly perfect.

The knights took to posing with Dinadan, who was soon awoken by the rabble. 

“...what?”

“He awakens!” Gawain lifts him above his head as if celebrating a victor. Cheers rang all around, leaving Dinadan looking around in bewilderment as he’s passed around, before landing in Lancelot’s arms and seeing him smirk.

He opens his mouth, but before he could say a word, the door swings open to reveal the royal wizard, likely come to investigate the noise, who quickly takes on as surprised of an expression as Dinadan wore as her eyes lock on the gowned figure. “Your Majesty!”

Everyone freezes instantly, eyes wide with shock… with the exception of Dinadan, who pouts.

“Must you ruin my charade so soon, Merlina?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she dips into a small curtsey. “I figured you were in trouble, sire.”

All of the knights tense as the truth sets, frantic thoughts practically bouncing off one another. They’d just been making fun of the king. But no other is more afraid than Lancelot, who uses all the willpower he has to set Dinad— Arthur on the ground gently before dropping to his knees.

“Sincerest apologies, Your Majesty,” he blurts immediately, words spilling out like a waterfall before he could think about their effect. “I… I take full blame and punishment for our actions against you, I provoked such out of spite and should not have done it. Regardless if they were you or a fellow knight or anyone at all. I… don’t know what I was thinking. I-I’m so sorry, sire.” He touches his head to the floor while the rest of the knights shuffle amongst themselves and bow theirs in shame.

“Lancelot…”

He flinches at his name, preparing for what came next. But Arthur just lays a hand on his head, dress splaying on the floor with his crouch. Lancelot resists the urge to look at him.

But that was the wrong choice. “Get up.”

He rises, slowly, careful not to take his gaze off the ground. But Arthur puts a hand to his chin and forces him to look at his face. Whatever magic that disguised the king has either worn off or been removed by Merlina, leaving him struggling to meet emerald eyes. “You’re not in trouble. No one is.”

There’s not a hint of malice in his voice, yet Lancelot bites his lip to keep from protesting. To parade the king around like a fool was worthy of death, it… it wasn’t just, to let him off.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Arthur says, interrupting his thoughts. “But this was a harmless joke. There’s nothing wrong with that. I see no need to punish you, nor anyone else involved. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lancelot replies, because what else could he say to that? His king was so kind…

“If it makes you all feel any better, I find this terribly amusing,” Arthur smiles, twirling around. As everyone resumes their activities, he takes the time to tell all the knights what he noticed while undercover, coaxing quite a few laughs out of the table.

At the end of the night, the king pulls Lancelot aside, an innocent request to help him remove the dress. It’s a tedious process. 

As Arthur stands in his bed clothes, he holds up the gown in the lamp light with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I have to say, Lancelot, you wear this better than I. If you weren’t my knight, I’d consider making you my queen.”

That comment leaves Lancelot awake that night.

[the-4-horsegents]

Update after like 2 years

Hello!!! It's been a while since I so much as looked at this blog, I know, but I never forgot about it, I promise! Even though it's been collecting dust all this time, I want to update those still interested in the project; and if you are still interested, I definitely think you'll be pleased!

I always wanted to come back to these guys when I had my work more organized, was able to do things quickly at a quality I was satisfied with, and overall just improve upon the story. I barely scratched the surface when it came to the story I meant to tell, and while I can't promise that we'll for sure see the end of it, I am excited to say that it's coming back!!! I wanted to make a post to announce this while I reconstruct the blog's layout, redo the pinned post, and a few other miscellaneous things here and there.

I've been tinkering a lot with my timeline over the years and decided it best if I just start totally new. I'll keep the old posts up for archival purposes, but everything is being redone; the intro, the set up for the prologue, art direction, etc.

Another thing that will be different is the "askblog" portion of this story. While ask blog elements remain, I will be telling a very linear story that wont be dependant on asks at all. It's more of a webcomic with occasional breaks in the plot for asks as flavor text during downtime. I created a backlog of content way in advance before even posting this announcement, and I plan on updating the comic itself on a schedule, while asks and such will be posted more loosely depending on when I draw them. I'm not exactly sure on when I'll post the intro, but you can expect it to be within a few days of this post if nothing comes up to deter me!

TL;DR - The blog is coming back in the form of a comic with occasional askblog elements! I'll spend a a few days redecorating the blog itself before we begin completely anew!

Also, I'll keep asks open while I redecorate in case there's any questions or messages anyone would want to share regarding things.

With all that said, it's good to be back working on this again, and I'll see you all on the flipside! Thank you for reading. - Mod Shark

[karniss-bg3]

Salute, Larian Studios

Heya folks! It’s been a while, I hope everyone is doing well. I’m breaking my hiatus to discuss the recent announcement made by Larian Studios on their steam development blog. I will add the link here for those who wish to read the blog in its entirety but be warned, there are patch seven spoilers within. I wish to focus on a particular section in the final three paragraphs of the document, which reads as follows:

“Being given the chance to develop a game set in the Dungeons & Dragons universe has been a dream come true for all of us. But as Swen recently confirmed, we won't be introducing any major new narrative content to the story of Baldur's Gate 3 or its origin characters and companions, nor will we be making expansions or Baldur’s Gate 4. As an independent studio since 1996, we value the freedom to follow our creativity wherever it leads. In this case, after six years in the Forgotten Realms and much discussion and rumination, we’ve decided to seize this opportunity to develop our own IPs. We’re currently working on two new projects and we couldn’t be more excited about what the future has in store. It’s still early days - we’ll tell you more about those later down the line. But know that even as our focus turns to these new games, the sensibilities that brought you Baldur’s Gate 3 are alive and well here at the Larian castle. We’re fueled by the very same fire in our bellies, one that drives us to create immersive experiences shaped by your choices, and we can’t wait for you to join us on this next adventure.”

I will admit, when I first read this I felt a tinge of disappointment. As someone who had a lot of hope in seeing some stories continued, Kar’niss especially, this feels like the once open door is now sealed shut permanently. To be entirely fair, I always looked at an expanded Kar’niss story with skeptical optimism; hope for the best but expect the worst. After all, Kar’niss was designed as a throw away plot device that had no real bearing on the over-all narrative. Most of what has been derived of the character is entirely fan driven and not based on anything confirmed by Larian as a whole. Furthermore, there were many fan favorites that had a larger base than our dear drider and chances are even if Larian did decide to do an expansion, Kar’niss still wouldn’t make the cut.

With that said, I respect Larian in their choice. To expand on other characters would cost a lot of money and time. To juggle that alongside making new games would be unrealistic, and I understand their point of view completely. We also don’t know what is going on behind the scenes which could’ve influenced their choices all the more. Over all this situation mirrors the old saying, “Don’t cry because it’s over, be happy that it happened.” I am happy, and grateful. Without Baldur’s Gate 3 this blog wouldn’t exist. All of the amazing interactions I’ve had over several months would’ve never occurred, nor would I have found the courage to publicly publish stories to the internet. While I don’t consider myself an awful writer, I never believed my work was good enough for those outside of my personal circle. To say that my confidence has blossomed over the last few months is an understatement, and I owe that to the fantastic support of those in the fandom as well as those close to me. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

With Larian closing up the BG3 shop after the next few patches the question becomes, what’s next? For me, I don’t know. Sadly I’ve been swamped lately and it’s not destined to slow down until the middle of May. By then I hope to have a sufficient breather so I can return to projects I’ve left on the back burner in the interim. The Kar’niss blog will remain in place along with all of the archived stories, theories, and miscellaneous posts that are present. I still have a few writing requests that have waited a lot longer than I anticipated, so forgive me for the delay. I may also make a new blog that is dedicated solely to writing and other fandoms of interest. When the time comes I’ll post it here and folks can follow it if they wish but I’ll understand if not. Regardless of what the future holds, I am very stoked with the experiences I’ve had within the Baldur’s Gate 3 fandom. I’m a painfully shy individual and I am not a spotlight seeker by any stretch of the imagination. This section of the internet allowed me to expand my horizons a bit proving that you can indeed teach an old writer new tricks.

I look forward to seeing what is in store for Larian Studios. So long as they stick to their passion for making good games and treating their customers like people instead of money cows to be milked, then I will support every game release that comes in the future. While I’m sad that the many questions I had about Kar’niss will go unanswered, at least the drider will live on through the stories, art and other creative works made by his fans. In that way he is eternal, as are all of the other characters we’ve grown to love over this journey.

I hope to return on a more regular basis soon. Until then drider army, take care of yourselves and thank you for your continued support.

[areyoudreaminof]

ACOTAR GIFT EXCHANGE

Beyond: a Helion x LoA fic for @spell-cleavers

For the @acotargiftexchange I was thrilled to write this fic for @spell-cleavers who just so happens to be one of my very favorite people. Getting to know her over the course of this year has been such a joy, so I wanted to writer her something special. And by special, I mean I wrote my first ever smut scene. Can you believe?? Special thanks to @iambutmortal and @rosanna-writer for the beta help, and @separatist-apologist for allowing me to have a fun little cameo.

The Lady of Autumn has agreed to come live at the Autumn Court, though seems hesitant. Can Helion convince her that she belongs at his side?

And here's a little playlist!

She shines me up like gold on my arm I wanna take it slow but it's so hard I love to see her face in daylight It's more than just our bodies at night

Do you think I'm being foolish if I don't rush in?

Beyond-Leon Bridges

MORNING: 

Helion Spell-Cleaver was feeling a bit unhinged. It wasn’t a surprise, since he had been looking forward to this for centuries. But still, he was teetering on the edge of his sanity. 

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day, though. The sun rose over the Day Court, cloudless skies stretching from the far valleys and hills in the east to the rocky coast and the city of Naxopolis. Groves of orange and fig trees surrounded the sandstone palace, brushing up against its white pillars and walls. The smells of citrus and trees were deepened by the warmth from the sun and a cool breeze from the turquoise sea. From the balcony, Helion watched the early morning sunlight reflect off the waves like small golden flecks. The room was peacefully quiet and open. Helion was certain when he had chosen the large and spacious suite, she would love it. 

Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

She had never seen the sea, she had told him once, many, many years ago, when they had only met under cover of darkness in the far corners of the Autumn lands. He chose the large wing of rooms as soon as she had agreed to move to the Day Court. Helion wanted a fresh start for them both. 

They had each other again. They had their son, Lucien, who had agreed to stay too. Though, Helion would admit only to himself that he wasn’t letting his son and his mate out of his sight again. Never again would Thérèse be stuck in Autumn, never again would she be under anyone’s control. The members of his court were thrilled when he had found Lucien, and they were equally as thrilled when Helion announced his mate would finally come home. 

But as he heard the soft cries of morning gulls, and the city coming to life below him, Helion’s doubts slithered back into his mind. 

Will she even like it here? Will she ask Eris to take her back? She left once. 

Yes, but that was to save us, and to save our son.  Helion reminded himself as he took steadying breaths to calm his speeding heart. And I am not that monster. I will never force her. I am at her service. 

A soft knock at the door brought him back to the morning. Costis, his butler, entered with a soft robe of linen in his arms. The satyr’s hooves clicked sharply on the tile, as he draped the ivory fabric chiton across a chair. 

“Good Morning, my Lord. We’ve received word from Velaris, and the Lady Thérèse will be arriving with your son and his mate promptly at eleven o’clock.” Costis announced, crossing the room to bow. “Her personal items will be sent here. 

Helion nodded once, quickly attempting to clear his mind. “Is everything else in order?” 

“Yes, your Grace. The food is being prepared as well as the smaller dining balcony in the northwest wing. Nothing much is happening in the city, and The Magus has predicted fine weather for today. Perfect to show Lady Thérèse her new home,” the satyr said as he removed the sleeping robe from Helion’s shoulders. “I can send up for breakfast, unless you prefer to wait.” 

“I’ll wait, thank you,” Helion said. He hardly had an appetite anyway. 

Costis began to dress Helion, expertly wrapping the toga around him. The soft mix of linen and cotton promised a warmer day, the fabric hitting just above his knees. Enough to tempt, but not enough to scandalize. As Costis fetched his sandals, Helion removed the silk wrap from his head, satisfied that his hair still looked perfect. He had removed the ornaments from his locs for the occasion, instead opting for a small golden thread woven throughout his hair, tying it back with a leather strap. Helion placed a golden sun band on each bicep, cuffs on his wrists, and the small bronze ring Thérèse had given him five centuries ago. Striding to the mirror, Helion took in his reflection. He wore no crown, his toga was simple, and he was unadorned. He looked like the same male that went to the Equinox ball all those centuries ago. 

The sharp clang of steel and bronze bells from the Magus’s tower rang, indicating it was half past ten. Helion straightened and took a deep breath. He had been planning this day for weeks, no, centuries. He was ready. “Costis, remind me of the possible itinerary I had drawn up.” 

READ THE REST ON AO3

[eldritchlibertine]

Michael Langdon x Nameless FMC Words: 5,462

The apocalypse has come and gone, and 18 months have passed at Outpost 3. Life is a monotonous, bleak expanse of tedium - until the arrival of Michael Langdon shakes the very foundations of her existence and she realizes how little control of she has over her own life.

They were all gathered in the library, waiting for an ‘announcement’ from Ms. Venable. And she might have been imagining it, but the air in this horrible, underground bunker felt even more still and oppressive than usual. 

Maybe it was the silence. 

While they would usually spend their evenings in the library, spending time before and after dinner reminiscing about the times when the world wasn’t completely fucked, tonight was different.  

Tonight, there was a stranger in Venable’s office and live snakes had crawled out of their dinner bowls, despite being definitely not alive just moments before. No. Tonight was very different.

Even the radio was silent. Maureen McGovern had been singing about a morning after ceaselessly for the last 18 months. She thought back bitterly to those happier times, when they thought the song was a good omen - a sign that perhaps their stint in this terrible purgatory would soon come to an end. But no, as time had dragged on without change, the stupid song had morphed into nothing more than a mocking reminder of their stagnation. 

So this silence should have felt like a blessing - but it didn’t. It felt like a threat.

It loomed over them like a black cloud, heavy with foreboding. The only sounds that punctured the quiet were the soft rustles of clothing as the others shifted uncomfortably, each noise amplified in the unusual stillness that had taken hold.

Finally, Venable arrived, shadowed as always by Ms. Mead, her faithful specter. The rhythmic tap of her cane interrupted the horrible silence, but she didn’t speak once she’d reached her position in front of the fireplace - she just watched them - waiting. The atmosphere of the room seemed to pull taut, like a violin string about to snap. Now, no one was fidgeting. It didn’t even seem like anyone was breathing. Then, cutting through the suspense like a knife, the sound of deliberate footsteps echoed from the passage outside. 

This was obviously who Venable was waiting for; the mysterious visitor that had arrived the day before.

He entered with an unhurried gait, footsteps echoing methodically in the oppressive silence that followed him like a shroud as he took Venable’s place in front of the fire.

Her breath caught in her throat. Maybe it was because his was the first new face she’d seen in what felt like an eternity, but she found her mouth going dry at the sight of him. There was something ethereal about him - captivating, but unsettling. Perfection in the flesh.

His golden hair framed his face like the halo of a fallen angel, and his eyes seemed to flicker with shadows and flames. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch him. 

"Allow me to introduce myself," his voice cut through the thick tension in the room, breaking her from her reverie. "My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative." He spoke with a theatrical flourish, and his lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes; a facade of warmth unable to melt the ice there. 

Her mouth was dry again; this time, a primal instinct warning of danger. He exuded power and menace and his voice carried the intangible authority of someone who knows too much, who has seen things no one else has, and who wields that knowledge like a weapon.

He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped behind his back, savoring the moment. “I won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he says, the ghost of a smile hovering around the corner of his lips. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. The three other compounds have been overrun and destroyed.”

Timothy voiced the question that was on all of their minds. “What happened to the people inside?”

"Massacred," Langdon drawled, drawing out the syllables. They rolled off his tongue like he enjoyed the taste of them, and she couldn't help but feel there was a sort of relish behind his words. Her gaze flickered up to meet his, and for a moment she saw it—the glint in his eye that said he was enjoying telling them this. Her heart fluttered, and she told herself it was from fear.

"The same fate that will befall almost all of you. But," he continued with a casualness that belied the significance of his message, "there is a place beyond the reach of this devastation. The Sanctuary." 

A flicker of something indefinable sparked in his eyes as he leaned forward, the dim light catching his gaze and making it dance with something indefinable and sinister. 

“The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.” 

The next questions he fielded with a bland, “that’s classified,” before he said, “All that matters is that the sanctuary will survive, so the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive.”

"The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call Cooperating" he announced, the words dropping like weights into the silence of the room. "I will then use the information gained to find those who are—how shall I put it?—worthy and fit to join us."

The air seemed to thicken around her, charged with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. She watched as his lips curled into what could have been a smile, though there was nothing warm about it. 

"If you belong," he continued, his tone almost teasing, seeming to relish the power he held over them, "you'll be safe within the Sanctuary's embrace."

He seemed to take a sick pleasure in their uncertainty, in the hope he dangled before them like a lifeline that might just as easily turn into a noose.

The air seemed to grow colder, denser, as if every word from Langdon's lips added weight to the already suffocating atmosphere and she questioned silently whether survival was worth enduring more of this.

Her thoughts must have been louder than she realized, because suddenly, Michael's gaze captured hers. His eyes - icy, sharp and discerning - held her own for a moment and a shiver ran down her spine as she wondered whether he could feel her inner turmoil. But just as quickly as their eyes met, his attention swept past her, continuing his survey of the room.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn’t even hear Coco’s objection, but she felt the palpable tension settle over the room, as thick as the shadows that played across Michael's face. His eyes fixed on Coco with a disquieting calm.

“You don’t have to sit for questioning,” he said, each word dropping like a stone into the silence that followed Coco's outburst. Coco, her earlier confidence now shattered, shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. 

"What happens if we choose not to?" Andre asked, his voice scraping against the stillness of the room.

The question hung between them and Langdon’s lips curved with the hint of a smile; one that spoke of malice - a smile that knew too much, that held secrets and the power to unravel them at will.

"Then you stay here and die," he said, that cold smile leaking into his voice.

The declaration sliced through the tension like blade and the finality in his tone made it clear that this was not an idle threat. 

Without breaking eye contact, his hand delved into the pocket of his coat and emerged with a small glass bottle filled with white pills. The rattle of them as he held the vial was unnervingly loud in the quiet room. 

“But all is not lost,” he said. “If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these." His eyes seemed to glitter as he continued. "And one minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up."

The offer dangled before them, an alluring escape from the waking nightmare they found themselves trapped within. She could feel the pull of the promise—peaceful oblivion, an end to the fear and uncertainty that had burrowed deep into her bones. Her mind toyed with the idea, desperate for reprieve, Maybe she could skip the interview process altogether and just ask him for one of those pills. Anything had to be better than this.

Around her, the silence swelled, heavy with the unspoken thoughts of her companions, each person wrestling with their own demons, their own temptations. To her, the pills were a siren call, a way out that was both terrifying and tender in its cruelty. To the others, they seemed to be a threat - a warning.

Again, Michael’s eyes seemed to catch hers as her thoughts drifted to the darkness. For a fleeting moment, she felt exposed, vulnerable as if he had peeled back the layers of her resolve to glimpse at the turmoil swirling within. His eyes were sharp, piercing, and she couldn't shake off the sensation that he was sifting through her thoughts and was ill-pleased with what he found there.

"Once again," he said, his voice low and resonant, "I look forward to meeting each and every one of you." The words slithered through the room, wrapping around her like a shroud. His words were a threat, thinly veiled as a courtesy, and they hung in the air, ominous and foreboding.

He swept out of the room then, leaving them all reeling. At least Coco waited until Venable and Mead had also departed before she lay into Gallant for offering to take the first interview. Things snowballed from there, and she slipped out quietly while everyone continued to bicker, her presence dissolving into the shadows as if she had never been there at all.

—

She awoke groggily the next morning, dreading the idea of having to face another day in this interminable limbo. Venable’s rule echoed in her mind—no idle lounging in bedrooms during the ‘daylight’ hours. She scoffed. They hadn’t seen daylight in nearly two years.

The hallways were silent as she made her way through them towards the library - the heart of their little hell and the only place they could really spend their time when they weren’t just wandering the halls like ghosts as she sometimes did when she couldn’t bear another moment of banal chatter or Maureen McGovern. A wry smile touched her lips as she thought of Jane Austen's characters in their finery, forever seeking purposeful activity. "Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room," she whispered to herself, channeling Miss Bingley's persuasion to break the monotony of inactivity.

Stepping into the library, she was greeted by the sight of the others already gathered, their nervous energy palpable even in their quiet chatter. She shifted from foot to foot, her arms crossed over her chest in a subconscious effort to ward off the discomfort that seeped into her bones. She tried to focus on the lyrics floating through the air, words about hope and moving on, but they felt hollow, an echo of optimism that seemed out of reach.

She couldn’t engage with anyone, though Coco tried to pull her into a conversation. At some point, Gallant drifted in, looking pale and shaken, but she couldn’t even focus on that. The tension coiled tighter within her, a physical presence that made her heart race and her stomach churn. It was like the very air was laden with trepidation, and with each inhale, she drew more of it inside herself.

Finally, the oppressive atmosphere became too much to bear and she had to escape. With a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she murmured an excuse about needing a moment alone.

The narrow passage was dim, the only light filtering in from the sconces that hung on the dark walls. When they built this horrible bunker underground, they probably should have used some brighter colors so that living there wouldn’t feel so much like living inside a tomb. And before this, it had been a school - she pitied the students who had to live and learn here. 

She walked swiftly, with no particular destination in mind, her thoughts a tangled mess. 

Without warning, her forward motion was abruptly halted and a firm grip encircled her upper arms, steadying her as she collided with a solid chest.

"Careful," Langdon's deep voice rumbled, resonating through the close quarters of the hallway.

She looked up, her breath catching at the intensity of his icy blue eyes. The contact sent a jolt of warmth flooding her cheeks, her skin tingling where his hands made contact. His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who seemed to be the living, breathing embodiment of menace, and yet it did little to ease the tight coil of anxiety in her stomach.

"I was just coming to find you," he said, his voice low and even. There was something in his gaze that made her heart race.

Nervous energy buzzed through her, and she couldn't help but take a half-step back as he released her, though the echo of his touch lingered like a phantom sensation. The air around him seemed to thrum with intensity, and she swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat.

As she regained her balance, she thought back to Gallant as he’d stumbled back into the library - his face a picture of unease, his shaky hands as he poured himself a drink. 

Now, standing before Langdon, poised for her own interview, apparently, she understood why.

And as she stood caught in his unwavering stare, she could only nod her acquiescence, motioning for him to lead the way. 

The click of their footsteps was the only sound as they made their way through the dimly lit corridor and she fought the urge to turn and run. Something inside her was screaming. 

A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the room that played on the walls and as Langdon closed the doors behind them, she felt like she was stepping into another world - one that was intimate and somehow more daunting because of it.

He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the two armchairs positioned before the fireplace, then settled into the other without a word. The silence stretched between them, heavy and laden with an unspoken tension. She found herself acutely aware of the subtle sounds—the soft crackle of the fire, her own breath as it hitched in her throat.

Langdon’s eyes remained fixed on her and she felt exposed—like a specimen pinned under glass. There was something about being in his presence that magnified her every flaw, turned each fidget into a scream of nervousness. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, the leather of the chair creaking softly under her shifting weight.

She caught herself running her finger along the armrest, tracing patterns in the soft leather - anything to avoid meeting his gaze. But it was futile; his stare was almost palpable, a force that commanded attention even when she sought desperately to escape it. Her hands began to tremble slightly, betraying her composure, and she clasped them tightly in her lap in an effort to still them.

The twitching of her foot, a slight bounce of her knee; they became her body’s metronome of anxiety, counting down the moments

She could practically hear the snap as her voice broke the silence - like a stone shattering glass. "I don’t even know why I’m here," she blurted. Langdon remained as impassive as the walls, his gaze fixed on her with unsettling intensity. Not a single muscle moved in his face, no twitch, no flicker of emotion. It was as if he had expected her outburst, as if he had scripted this moment in his mind and was now watching it play out exactly as he planned.

"I brought you here," he said simply, the words falling from his lips with an unnerving calmness.

She faltered. 

“I meant here, at the Outpost. Not here in your office. I don’t know why I’m here.” She felt the weight of his eyes, holding her in place more firmly than any physical restraint ever could. “I’m not like the others,” she said, her voice taking on a shrill edge. 

“I didn’t pay my way in like Coco and Evie. I didn’t luck my way in like Gallant. I’m not even here because of something special in my blood, like Timothy and Emily. I don’t belong here.” The last part was almost a shout - a confession that kept bottled up these last long months. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t fit in. 

Her breathing was ragged, and her heart raced in her chest. She felt the weight of her confession, finally acknowledging the confusion that had plagued her since her arrival. 

His stillness was a stark contrast to the storm raging within her. There was something in his look that disarmed her, leaving her defenseless and exposed. "I told you - I brought you here." 

Her breath caught, her mind struggling to parse his meaning, her thoughts ensnared by the gravity of what he was saying.

Suddenly, the fire was no longer warming the room, and she felt a chill seep into her bones as she wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt at comfort in the face of his unsettling composure and his wild claim. 

Distantly, she noticed the firelight playing over his features, making him appear both present and distant, a spectral figure in a world that was becoming more surreal by the second.

"What do you mean," she finally asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

He leaned forward then, the motion deliberate - predatory even. "What’s unclear to you?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers, a smile at the edges of his mouth. 

Her heart continued to hammer against her ribcage, a caged bird frantic for escape from the intensity of his scrutiny - the gravity of this exchange. Her eyes darted to the door for a fleeting moment before she anchored herself back in the room, back to him. 

"Wh-what do you mean you brought me here? Why?" The words tumbled out of her like a handful of coins slipping carelessly through the fingers of a clumsy child, laced with a confusion that was quickly morphing into alarm. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck, painting her skin with visible unease.

He remained still, a statue carved from darkness, his gaze locked onto hers with unnerving precision. "I watched you," he said, each word measured and deliberate, "before the world burned. I liked what I saw." His voice was low, dark and resonant, carrying with it an undeniable assertion of ownership.

She felt her breath hitch, his words settling over her like a funeral shroud. 

"I decided that I wanted you," he continued, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, "and I always get what I want." There was a finality in his tone that frightened her - and sent a thrill through a deeper part of her; one that she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

In that moment, it was as if she could feel the unseen threads he'd woven around her life, pulling her into an orbit she never would have chosen, and she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself against the dawning realization.

The color rose in her cheeks as his gaze held hers, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. Every nerve ending seemed to spark to life under the weight of his attention, leaving her tongue-tied and adrift in a sea of confusion. 

He leaned back slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. The soft sound of his chuckle sliced through the tension, mocking her inner turmoil.

 It was a sound that stirred something within her, a mixture of irritation and another inexplicable thrill.

Gathering the remnants of her composure, she squared her shoulders, attempting to project an assurance she was far from feeling. "And what if I don't want you?" The words came out steadier than she expected, even as her heart continued to beat a wardrum in her chest. 

The laughter spilled from him again, the silky sound wrapping around her like velvet chains. 

"But you do," he said, his confidence seemingly unshaken.

She clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as if the pain could anchor her to her defiance. He was right - of course she was attracted to him - he was beautiful and new and she hadn’t been touched in years. She refused to acknowledge that secret, dark part of herself that thrilled at the thought of the power he must wield to have orchestrated her being here.

No. These last 18 months had been a horror - a slow march towards death, fraught with anxiety and fear. Just last night, she’d very seriously considered asking him for one of those little pills, so that she could finally escape this place. 

While she couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him, wanted him, she'd be damned if she let him see the full extent of his effect on her. 

Swallowing the knot of frustration in her throat, she straightened her spine and met his piercing gaze head-on. His smug assurance was a challenge she refused to lose. He didn’t have to know that behind the façade of indifference, she was like a sapling in a hurricane, bending under the force of his presence.

Her breath hitched again, a silent cue to the tempest brewing within her. With a swift surge of her will, she rose from the cushioned chair and pivoted on the balls of her feet, every muscle tensed for retreat.

But he was a shadow, a whisper of movement more felt than seen. His hand encircled her wrist with the sureness of a man accustomed to getting his way, his touch firm yet devoid of the malice she half-expected. The warmth of his fingers shocked her and her lips parted with a silent gasp.

"Let me go," she managed, her voice a whisper, fighting against the feelings his proximity stirred. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips.

His fingers uncurled from her wrist, only to trace a path upward, reaching the side of her face with a tenderness that belied his assertive words. "No, I don't think I will," he murmured, his voice a low thrum that resonated in the charged air between them.

The brush of his thumb against her cheek was maddeningly soft. It was a caress meant to soothe, to seduce, and she hated the heat that blossomed beneath her skin in response.

"Come now,” he said, “it's silly to fight this. I know you want me." The arrogance in his words sparked a fire behind her eyes, even as an unwanted shiver trailed down her spine.

She did want him - how could she not - and the honesty of that admission clawed at her pride. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a fraction of a second. To lie would be futile; the intensity of his gaze seemed to pierce through all her defenses, laying her soul bare.

A silent battle raged within her, a war between desire she felt and the fear and how suddenly that desire had come. Yet, in that moment, with his hand cupping her face and the world shrinking to the space where their breaths mingled, she knew that resistance was futile. 

She didn’t even have to say anything. He already knew. All she could do was surrender to the warmth of his palm against her skin, fingers expertly weaving through the tresses at the base of her skull. His touch was a paradox—gentle yet commanding—as he pulled lightly, eliciting a shiver that ran down her spine and sent her eyelids fluttering. 

"I should have saved you for last, but I didn't want to wait anymore," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the quiet space between them. 

The admission hung in the air, charged with the electricity of anticipation and the gravity of his desire - a brief intermission in reality, as his lips claimed hers. The kiss was an unexpected storm, fierce and all-consuming. Her breath caught in her throat, heart still pounding. His hand, still entwined in her hair, anchored her to the moment, each gentle tug of the strands sending sparks of awareness cascading through her senses.

The world around them faded into a blur, leaving only the taste of him, the heat of him. With a fluid motion that spoke of a deep-seated need, he released her arm, his own sweeping around her waist possessively, pulling her snugly into him. 

Her trembling fingers curled around his arms - though whether to pull him closer or push him away; she didn’t know. 

The kiss was all-consuming - heated, and fierce and muddling her senses - but she came back to herself, just enough to yank herself backward, away from that burning kiss. 

"I shouldn’t be doing this," she whispered to herself, the words slipping from her in a breathy murmur. 

He only laughed again, his voice was low and smooth and laced with a dark humor. "Of course you should," he said. He leaned in, a mere whisper away, his hot breath fanning over her flushed cheeks. "I want you, you want me, why shouldn't we both take what we want?" 

The weight of his gaze felt tangible. 

"Chaos has won," he murmured, his voice a caress that sent shivers down her spine, her resolve splintering like sugar-glass. 

He seemed to sense the shift within her, and without a word, released her with a deliberate slowness. One step back, then another, he retreated to the leather armchair. She watched him reclaim his seat, the shadows playing over his features, enhancing the sharpness of his jawline and the depth of his stare. A predator at rest, yet every inch of him poised, ready—a coiled spring waiting for the slightest provocation to leap forth.

Chaos has won. 

The silence stretched between them for another moment and his gaze seemed to darken as he continued to watch her. “Take off your dress,” he said finally, relaxing into the chair as though he seemed to sense that all her resistance had finally fled.

But she wavered, muscles tense, heart finally ceasing its incessant hammering as it seemed to still completely. 

“What?”

His voice, still low and even, seemed to fray at the edges as he repeated: “Take. Off. Your dress.” 

Her dress, a relic of some bygone era, was a complex ensemble of layers and fastenings that required grace, patience and usually the assistance of a Gray to remove. But slowly, she began unfastening the tiny pearl buttons at the back, a task made more challenging by the limited reach of her own hands. 

Finally, with the buttons undone, the heavy fabric whispered against the floor as she let the gown slide down her body to pool at her feet, leaving her in only a simple shift. 

Her entire body was flushed, her limbs trembling and her breath coming in ragged gasps and she stood there, naked to his scrutiny despite the covering of her shift. “That too,” he murmured, his voice noticeably rougher. 

She couldn’t look at him as she lifted the shift above her head, leaving her completely exposed, but she heard his low growl as she finally stood completely naked before him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear, and she flushed again, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribcage. 

Finally, she brought her eyes up to meet his, her whole body burning (with shame? With arousal?) and even in the dim light she could see that his pupils were blown wide, his whole body tense as though he was fighting for control. His eyes burned across her body as he took her in, his own breath seeming to come harder now.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding, holding out his hand to her. 

Slowly, nervously, she padded her way over to him, his gaze never leaving hers. She slipped her hand into his, a shocked gasp leaving her as she was pulled suddenly into his lap, her legs straddling him.

Then, his hands were all over her - a soft touch at her sides, his fingers caressing the skin of her back; reverrant - as though he was trying to touch all of her all at once. Once again, his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of her head, his fingers threading through the strands, and she was lost in the sensation of him - the heat of him, seeping into her skin in all the places they were touching, his fingers leaving burning trails. 

She didn’t resist when he pulled her in for a demanding kiss, giving back to him all the fervor he was pouring into her. His free hand drifted to her hip, and his fingers turned bruising as they pulled her further into him. His touch was hungry, possessive, and he moved from her lips to leaving a trail of desperate burning kisses along the column of her throat, eventually sinking his teeth into the soft flesh where her neck met her shoulder - almost hard enough to draw blood. The shock of it, the slight pain 

She gasped in earnest then, grinding against him looking for friction, and he let out a guttural sound that was part growl and part moan, and his hand fisted into her hair, pulling her just far enough away for their eyes to lock. His glacial blue eyes were almost black with hunger, his pupils blown wide as his gaze bored into hers. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, his fingers digging even harder into the flesh at her hip, the other hand still tangled in her hair. “Say it.” 

Barely thinking, eyes half glazed with lust, she just nodded, “I’m yours,” she murmured breathlessly.

Suddenly, the world turned on its axis and her back met the warm leather where he had been sitting less than a moment ago. Suddenly, he was kneeling before her, his hands pressed against the armrests and she was completely caged in by his presence, unable to move or escape his grasp. Her body was trembling, every nerve on edge as she whispered, “What are you doing?”

“I told you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, his mouth working its way slowly down her body, punctuating each word with a kiss, or a graze of his teeth - “You’re mine, and I take care of what belongs to me.”

In stark contrast to the gentleness of his kisses, he grabbed the backs of her thighs roughly, pulling her down till she was almost flat, spreading her apart.

She held her breath, the anticipation making her heart race as he leaned forward. His lips were soft and warm against her inner thigh, sending shivers of pleasure through her body. 

His tongue traced a path from her knee to her hip, and she let out a gasp as his mouth finally reached her center and his tongue began to explore her.  Her back arched and her hands scrabbled for purchase on the armrests, eventually coming to rest on his shoulders. He growled against her as her hand found his hair.

His touch was like fire, igniting every nerve in her body, and as he continued to lap at her.

With each flick of his tongue, she arched her back and dug her fingers into his scalp. He knew exactly how to drive her wild, taking his time and savoring every inch of her. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, leaving her mewling.

All too quickly, that familiar pressure began to build, heat pooling low in her belly, like she would come apart at any moment. Her fingers like a vice on his shoulder, the other hand in his hair, she ground against his face, ready to drop off that peak into the oblivion of ecstasy.

But before she could, he pulled away, and a strangled moan left her throat as she blinked at him in confusion. He sat back, mouth glistening and eyes dancing with sadistic glee as he watched her, flushed and panting.

He kissed her knee again, his hands stroking her body gently, fingers dancing across her breasts and along her thighs until her body relaxed - and then his mouth was on her again. 

Again, he brought her to the edge, his skillful tongue and roving hands leaving her almost screaming and panting. Over and over again, he toyed with her, only to pull back at the last second. Her body was on fire, yearning for release.

She was frantic, bucking against him as he chuckled at her desperation, his warm breath tickling her skin.

"Go on, beg for it," he commanded in a low growl.

And she did.

[mariacallous]

Donald Trump’s youngest son, and his only child shared with Melania Trump, has largely remained out of the public eye to the degree any former president’s child could. Well, until recently. Newly 18, Barron Trump is now a freshman at NYU and a burgeoning political adviser to his father.

For the past two weeks, my TikTok For You page has been filled with posts from New York University students posting clips of Barron Trump attending classes as if he were Sasquatch: the videos are all blurry and taken hurriedly, and mostly feature fellow students trying to track down the once-elusive Trump. These cryptic videos, complete with shaky camera angles set to songs like Chamillionaire’s “Ridin,’” are all over, taken from “day in my life”-style student videos and reposted to the dozens of Barron stan accounts across TikTok and Instagram.

These posts have garnered millions of views and look like paparazzi shots. You can tell from the camera angle that the people filming are trying to hide their cameras under backpacks or sweaters. New genres of Barron memes have flourished.

“I feel like Barron could’ve gone to any school, but the fact that he chose one of the most liberal schools in the country speaks volumes,” Grace Rowley, an NYU student who posted about Barron on TikTok, told me. “I was shocked and super intrigued that he would choose NYU. Would love to speak with him and would love to read his ‘why NYU’ essay.”

This kind of projection has been part of Barron’s story for years.

Before September, Barron was an enigma. He had no social media accounts and rarely made public appearances. For eight years, his personal life and interests were left to the public’s imagination. In 2020, rumors spread on TikTok that his then classmates had identified his Roblox username, “JumpyTurtlee.” The account’s bio said that the user was a fan of anime and K-pop and supported LGBTQ+ rights. While the rumor was never confirmed, it became part of Barron’s online mythos. Users would grab clips of him looking glum and make it sound as if he were miserable and despised his father, and then post them under the hashtag #savebarron2020.

Barron was the subject of dozens of pieces of fan fiction on sites like Archive of Our Own and Wattpad, and on fan accounts that recycle the same few clips and images over and over again. As Slate writer Luke Winkie noted earlier this year, Barron became a blank canvas for anyone even somewhat interested in the Trump family to project their own “fantasies” on to.

As Winkie also noted, the weird Greco-Roman antiquity-obsessed wing of the conservative base has obsessed over Barron as well, comparing his jawline to that of Alexander the Great and referring to him as America’s Caesar. Earlier this week, someone made an account seemingly impersonating Barron, making it appear as though he were making misogynistic comments about Kamala Harris. That account has since been suspended.

But fans of Barron won’t need to make up their own personal headcanons any longer, especially as it looks like Barron is beginning to take on a more public-facing role supporting his father. He made an X account on Monday to join a Space hosted by Trump to announce the former president’s new crypto venture. “He talks about his wallet, he’s got four wallets or something, and I’ll say, ‘What is a wallet?” the former president said. When Trump sat for an interview with Kick streamer Adin Ross earlier this year, he said that Barron was a fan of Ross. “My son’s told me about you,” Trump told him.

Time will tell, but for now, I'm not sure the internet can assume Barron is merely a weeb anymore. At least we'll probably find out on TikTok soon.

[siriannatan]

Late Bloomer

I took a longer break from writing than I had planned… But I finally got an inspiration to write something :D

Scott was shocked to receive an invitation to Grimlands. And even more by it being signed by fWhip's highest rank secretary and not the count himself. It had to be an emergency if fWhip wasn't handling his paperwork. So the half-dragon half-elf instantly cleared his schedule and set off.

When he arrived there was a small crowd of helpers and staff outside fWhip's manor. The elven king approached them. "Head secretary Mog?" he called out, smelling some vague sweetness in the air. It couldn't be... last he saw fWhip was as human as possible.

"Ahh, King Scott, thank you so much for arriving quickly," a bit older secretary beamed as he walked to Scott. And he quickly got to the why of everything. "His lordship hasn't been feeling well since yesterday. Lady Gem has been here most of the time, but nothing she does is helping. Late yesterday, his lordship told everyone to leave the mansion. Lady Gem has stayed despite his protests. Told us to call you if nothing got better by morning."

Scott nodded as the man spoke. Noting how he dabbed sweat off of his forehead. There was an unusual amount of heat radiating from the completely closed-off manor. And that sweet smell. "I have bad news and good news," Scott sighed. "Good, I might know what's happening to fWhip." he sighed, walking closer to the door.

"And the bad?" Mog asked.

"My well-educated guess might be right," Scott groaned. He was not imagining the smell. "I'll go in and confirm," he announced and walked into the manor. 

He had no clue where fWhip would be so he trusted his nose and followed the more and more intense sweet smell. And as he walked closer to the source the heat intensified as well. And usually, excessive heat didn't bother Scott.

"fWhip?" he asked as he walked into a room the smell and heat were most intense outside. 

Inside he found the bedridden count and his twin. Gem was trying to cool him down with a damp towel. Stacks of books surrounded the bed. "Scott? What in Sheep's name are you doing here?" she asked, tossing the towel into a likely warm bucket of water.

"Mister Mog send a request for help, as you apparently told him to," Scott shrugged and removed his coat. And undid a couple of buttons on his jacket as he approached.

He looked over unconscious fWhip. The count was sweating, breathing heavily, but still bundled under many blankets. No fire was going in the fireplace. With a sigh, Scott removed one glove and gently rested his hand on fWhip's forehead. Pushing away stuck by sweat hair. 

"I'm afraid my guess is correct," he grumbled with a cringe. His inner dragon instincts were screaming at him to toss Gem away. It was getting hard to ignore it actually.

"And that would be?" Gem asked, arms crossed, eyes narrowed staring at where Scott was touching her brother.

"He's a half-dragon and his dragon side is awakening. Along with his secondary gender," Scott said as calmly as he could. He could feel his tail hitting the stacked books. fWhip's smell was slowly making his sanity leave the room, the manor even. "I'll explain when he's better. It's best if you leave, I can handle him," Scott said with a shaky breath.

"Why? He's my brother! I'm not leaving..." Gem shouted in protest but froze as they heard growling.

They both looked at fWhip. The count was looking up at Scott with barely cracked-open eyes and a loopy smile. "Scott..." he rasped and started to purr.

"You best leave while I'm still sane, dragons tend to be a bit... territorial,. I promise he's safe," Scott warned before sitting on the bed and cradling fWhip's face in his hands. When did he remove his second glove, he briefly wondered. "Hello spark, how are you feeling?" he turned his attention to fWhip. He could see first traces of scales under and around fWhip's eyes.

Gem at least was reasonable enough to leave. Scott breathed a sigh of relief. This whole situation would be messy enough as is.

fWhip grumbled something. Dragon half of Scott's brain wanted to believe it was his name. "What's happening?" fWhip managed to say.

"You're turning into a dragon," Scott saw no need to beat around the bush. His being here seemed to help the process. Good, since his brain would not let him leave.

"I'm what?" fWhip blinked as one of his hands found Scott's still cradling his face hand and just stayed there.

"A half-dragon to be precise," Scott nodded, hoping his confidence would calm fWhip. "A bit of a late bloomer, but I'm here to help," he tried sneaking in a joke. "How's your back and head?"

"Hurt," fWhip said almost instantly. 

Scott hummed and nodded. "Want to try laying on your side? Or turning over? More pillows?" Scott offered as his instincts sang in happiness over taking care of fWhip. Mate, passed through his brain. He almost cringed at it. He was here just to help. Nothing else.

fWhip didn't respond. Just scrunched his nose. Scott sighed. Dragon clinginess was starting it would seem. With a sigh, Scott pulled away. His dragon side was angry as fWhip whined at the loss of contact.

"Give me a second," Scott said, to calm them both. And quickly removed his jacket. Followed by the only three buttons of his undershirt. How long could he handle fWhip's uncontrolled heat? Didn't matter. Scott's brain was becoming foggy. The sooner they both fell asleep the better. fWhip would need some coaxing. With second thought Scott removed that shirt as well. 

Once shirtless he coaxed fWhip to sit down and out of his soaked with sweat, shirt. And with some softly whispered praises Scott got fWhip to lay on top of him. That had fWhip relax and purr. Scott could more than hear, feel it. Matching it without realising as he gently stroked along fWhip's spine. Hoping to calm any aches with the coldness of his hands.

But all purring from fWhip quickly turned into soft snores.

fWhip had no clue what happened the last couple of days. He remembered waking up with a ridiculous fever. Some flashes of Gem by his bedside. And most confusing of all.

Scott. 

Why would he be in fWhip's house? Why would he be willing to help? Who would even think to call for him? But as he opened his eyes he was met with the face of no one other but...

Scott S. Major. Elven king of Rivendell. Sleeping in fWhip's bed. Under him to be exact. Looking annoyingly peaceful. But for some reason, fWhip was happy to see him. And could hear purring. Did half-dragons do that? Did... 

fWhip froze realising it wasn't Scott but he that was purring. With a lot going in through his brain fWhip sat up. Or at least tried to. Moving hurt, he discovered, as he hissed as son as he tried to move more than a couple of inches. And his pained hissing seemed to have waken up Scott. Who saw fit to immobilise fWhip with a hug? An awkward hug but still.

"Stay still, growing wings hurts," Scott mumbled and to fWhip's terror - and delight of long-hidden crush - gave him a forehead kiss. "How are you feeling aside from the pain?" he asked with a toothy yawn.

"Weird, still warm," fWhip admitted with a sigh. He might as well indulge his crush seeing that Scott was willing to cuddle... "WAIT. What wings?" fWhip suddenly realised and sat up in shock.

"Turns out we're both half-dragons," Scott explained nothing, in fWhip's opinion. "If it's any consolation you're still cute," he chuckled and fWhip could not help but blush. :I should probably go and tell your helpers and house staff you'll be out of commission for a little longer," he sighed as fWhip got off of Scott. What kind of stat had he been in to allow this?

And why was he sad at Scott proposing he leave even for a short moment? He didn't protest Scott getting all his shirts on and actually leaving. Instead staring at himself in a mirror.

Scott was absolutely not messing with him. He really had wings horns and a tail. And lucky for him his scales were deep shades of crimson. He didn't feel really all that different from usual. Aside from the weird heat in the bottom of his stomach. Maybe he could breathe fire? That would be cool. He certainly would be able to fly. He saw Scott fly on several occasions.

While marveling at himself he suddenly had an urge to go and try to see what Scott was up to. But he couldn't see anything from his window having chosen a bedroom with a flower field view after becoming the count. So he just flopped back down on the bed. On his stomach, he didn't trust himself with the wings just yet.  And waited for Scott. And the reason why he needed to stay in bed longer. And maybe the heavy flowery scent hanging around his room...

[stormdragon23]

5 times Choi Jong-In looked out for Baek Yoon-Ho + 1 time he didn't

Finally finished the first chapter

Full chapter also posted below:

Baek Yoon-Ho hated dealing with the media.

Yoon-Ho always tried to avoid answering their meaningless questions, especially since the reporters were irritating with their methods. The questions they were currently asking him were about someone he didn’t even know. 

However, he couldn’t help the frown deepening on his face as the reporters continued prodding him for answers, despite him telling them that he had nothing to say.

As he grew increasingly frustrated at the insistent questions, Yoon-Ho heard the familiar baritone voice speaking to the reporters.

“Mr. Lee Min-Sung has already signed a contract with the Fiend Guild,” Choi Jong-In responded politely. “Guild Master Baek and I are here for something else today.”

Disappointed, the journalists stopped questioning them, though that didn’t deter the photographers from snapping pictures of them.

While Yoon-Ho was relieved with the reporters no longer hounding them, he despised how Choi Jong-In was here for Sung Jin-Woo as well. He had already seen the redhead when the new S-Rank was getting re-evaluated the first time.

Yoon-Ho knew the other guild master wasn’t completely unaffected by the presence of a press conference like he was pretending he was though. He could see the way Choi Jong-In squinted slightly at the flashes of the cameras since the mage was sensitive to such lights, despite his efforts to hide his discomfort behind a polite smile. The media may not have noticed it, but Yoon-Ho could with his enhanced senses and far too much experience dealing with the other man.

Shifting so that he was close enough to the shorter man to speak to him without being overheard, Yoon-Ho casually mentioned the most recent news he heard about the Hunters Guild.

“I heard,” the taller man began with a grin. “The Hunters Guild also had a close call.”

The Hunters Association tried to keep the matter quiet due to Sung Jin-Woo’s involvement as someone who has not yet been announced as an S-Rank. However, it wasn’t hard to find out what had happened after actively looking into it. After all, it was difficult to keep people quiet, especially with that many people there.

Yoon-Ho had a satisfied smile after watching the mage’s smile slightly fade after hearing what Yoon-Ho had said. However, his moment of triumph was short-lived.

“Well, at least we didn’t lose any A-Rank recruits like the White Tiger Guild did,” Choi Jong-In said casually.

Yoon-Ho scowled at the other guild master’s response as the deceptively kind smile Choi Jong-In typically had came back.

Yoon-Ho took a moment to calm himself, especially since people were still photographing them. 

“It seems we both received help from that hunter,” Yoon-Ho stated instead as he glanced at the crowd.

The other man hummed in agreement. “If he hadn’t been there, the entire second-tier team would not have survived. Which is why...”

Choi Jong-In said as he turned to take a step toward Yoon-Ho and looked up at him in a confident manner. “We want to recruit him to our guild. It would only be right for us to do so.”

Yoon-Ho grinned mockingly at the shorter man as he also stepped closer until his forehead nearly touched the other guild master’s. 

“Our guild has lost members, so it would make more sense for us to recruit him to enhance our forces.”

Choi Jong-In grinned back at him as he narrowed his eyes, visibly alight with mana that caused them to shine a bright magenta even behind his glasses. 

“Why would you need an S-Rank to enhance your forces? Are you trying to start something?”

“I could say the same to you. Since when did you do what’s morally right?”

As Choi Jong-In was going to respond, another voice interrupted their dispute.

“What’s up, you two? Are you arguing over Minsung?” Lim Tae-Gyu laughed as he approached them, grinning.

What the hell is he talking about?

Yoon-Ho was already dealing with one annoying guild master sticking his nose into something he didn’t need to. He didn’t need another one to prevent him from recruiting Sung Jin-Woo to his guild.

“I don't give a damn about Lee Min-Sung, or whatever his name is!”

The response took Lim Tae-Gyu aback as he looked at them.

“Gee, what’s up with you two?”

Yoon-Ho paused briefly as he realized Choi Jong-In had said the same thing he had as he turned to look at the other man. The redhead smirked at him, causing Yoon-Ho to scowl at him.

“Oh, it’s not something you need to be concerned with right now,” Choi Jong-In replied to Lim Tae-Gyu. “Maybe you will a little later.” 

He then walked past the Fiend Guild’s guild master with Yoon-Ho following him, leaving behind Lim Tae-Gyu who was more confused than before.

The two S-Ranks walked past the reporters into the building. Yoon-Ho sighed in relief as the noise of the group and flashes of lights were dulled by the doors, and he could see Choi Jong-In relax slightly as well with the way tension visibly left his shoulders.

“How did you know Sung Jin-Woo was an S-Rank?” Yoon-Ho questioned the mage as they walked further inside the building, away from the chaos outside. As far as Yoon-Ho knew, Sung Jin-Woo tried to keep his information as hidden as possible. The only reason he knew was because Ahn Sang-Min got involved with him, which led to him meeting the other hunter at the Red Gate. 

“Hm?” Choi Jong-In looked at him with an innocent smile while tilting his head to the side to look up at Yoon-Ho. “Oh, I have my ways of finding out.”

Yoon-Ho narrowed his eyes at Choi Jong-In’s response. The most likely answer was that he was near the building where Sung Jin-Woo had retested out of pure coincidence. He didn’t know why it was so difficult for the mage to answer such a simple question. Giving vague answers was just one of the reasons he found Choi Jong-In so annoying to converse with.

“The Hunters Guild must be doing very well if you can afford to have the time to do such research.”

Yoon-Ho knows Choi Jong-In would work 24/7 if he didn’t need to eat or sleep just to survive and if it was socially acceptable. Even Woo Jin-Chul didn’t work to that extent, and the chief inspector was, unfortunately, given a lot of work against his will.

The S-Rank mage hardly engaged in matters that didn’t concern his guild, so it was strange how quickly he found Sung Jin-Woo, who was just an E-Rank before his re-evaluation.

“Well, I need to be aware of everything that involves hunters to look after my guild matters properly. But I’m sure you’re already aware of that as a guild master yourself,” Choi Jong-In said with a sly smile.

As Yoon-ho narrowed his eyes at the mage, he heard footsteps steadily getting louder in their direction. Even before he looked to see who it was, he could already feel the great yet familiar mana presence of the person.

Turning his attention to the figure approaching them, he saw Chairman Go Gunhee approaching them with a smile.

“Good morning, Chairman Go Gun-Hee,” Choi Jong-In greeted with a bow, a gentle smile quickly replacing his earlier sly smile. 

Yoon-Ho also bowed as the chairman greeted them.

“Good morning. Are you two here for the new S-Rank hunter?” Go Gun-Hee questioned.

“We are,” Yoon-Ho stated. He didn’t see a reason to lie as there wasn’t any other reason for either of them to be here. He noticed from the corner of his eye that Choi Jong-In was glancing at him for answering the question for both of them.

“I’m afraid you’ve come rather early. He won’t be arriving for another hour,” Go Gun-Hee informed them.

“I’m fine with waiting,” Yoon-Ho replied. He decided not to answer for the other guild master as he didn’t seem to appreciate the thought.

“As am I,” Choi Jong-In answered with a smile that seemed slightly more genuine than before.

Go Gun-Hee smiled warmly at the two of them. “Is there any reason why the two of you came together?”

Yoon-Ho was so taken aback by the question that he didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t until he heard Choi Jong-In clearing his throat after a few moments that he realized the chairman was still waiting for an answer.

“We just happened to arrive at the same time,” Choi Jong-In stated with a nearly imperceptible strain in his voice. “It was not our intention to enter together.”

“Ah, of course. You two always seem to be with each other so often that I assumed you came together. My apologies.”

If Yoon-Ho wasn’t embarrassed before the chairman’s most recent comment, he certainly was now. He didn’t even want to see how Choi Jong-In reacted to hearing that.

He couldn’t help the fact that they always seemed to run into each other, no matter how much Yoon-Ho tried to avoid it. Every time there was an issue with ownership of gates or recruiting highly ranked hunters, the sly fox would be there, smiling like he had not done anything wrong. 

The three of them exchanged more words regarding their guilds until Go Gun-Hee excused himself first.

As the chairman walked away, Yoon-Ho took the opportunity to glance at the other guild master, who was now looking at his phone, from the corner of his eye.

He didn’t know how much Choi Jong-In knew of the Red Gate incident that Sung Jin-Woo helped with or if the mage knew he had been trying to recruit him for a while, but Yoon-Ho was certain Choi Jong-In already knew far more than he needed to know.

The White Tiger Guild had claimed the number one spot among the major guilds soon after Yoon-Ho had left the Fiend Guild. Yoon-Ho needed help in creating the guild, but it was still an accomplishment he was proud of. 

Then the fire mage came out of nowhere and rose in the ranks before quickly claiming the spot of the top guild in Korea. And if that wasn’t infuriating enough, Choi Jong-In acted as if he didn’t know what Yoon-Ho was referring to when Yoon-Ho finally accepted the Hunters Guild overtaking the White Tiger Guild enough to congratulate the other guild master. He knew the mage was more than aware of what he was congratulating him for.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Baek?”

Yoon-Ho blinked until he realized that Choi Jong-In had stopped looking at his phone and was now looking at him with a raised eyebrow, his ruby eyes appearing to almost glimmer in amusement, possibly as a result of his glasses.

“It’s nothing,” Yoon-Ho stated as he looked forward again to compose himself.

The Hunters Guild’s guild master stared at him but didn’t get the chance to say anything as he head Go Gun-Hee approaching them with the newest S-Rank hunter.

______________________________________________________________________

Yoon-Ho couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw Sung Jin-Woo leap over the reporters and disappear from their sight. He knew for certain that the hunter was not that powerful when he saw him before-

“Baek, your eyes??”

Yoon-Ho was startled upon hearing Choi Jong-In’s voice and realized he had accidentally used his Eyes of the Beast.

“Ah! M-my apologies,” Yoon-Ho muttered as he quickly covered his eyes and turned away until his eyes returned to normal.

He didn’t understand how Sung Jin-Woo had become stronger than when he had last seen the hunter. Sung Jin-Woo had awakened a long time ago, so it didn’t make sense for him to become even stronger than before. 

Could he be a hunter who can constantly level up?

Just as he had reached that conclusion, the same voice broke through his train of thought.

“Excuse me, Mr. Baek? Are you alright?” Choi Jong-In asked as he moved closer to Yoon-Ho, concern evident in his voice which sounded somewhat softer than his usual tone.

Yoon-Ho turned and stared at the other guild master for a brief moment before looking elsewhere. He must have shocked him with his Eyes of the Beast if Choi Jong-In, the man he has always known to be impeccable in controlling his demeanor, made the mistake of dropping the honorific he used to address him. 

Yoon-Ho shook his head as he rubbed his temples. 

“I just got light-headed for a moment. I’m fine.”

He could feel Choi Jong-In’s acute gaze on him, scrutinizing his appearance which Yoon-Ho knew was less than ideal, especially for someone as observant as the mage. He knows the mage didn’t believe him, but Choi Jong-In didn’t question him further. 

“You’re still young,” Choi Jong-In finally stated lightly. “You should take care of yourself more.”

Yoon-Ho didn’t reply and could barely pay attention to what the redhead was saying as he looked in the direction Sung Jin-Woo had taken off in. As he thought of the possibility of Sung Jin-Woo getting even stronger than he was now, he closed his eyes to regain his composure but couldn’t suppress the shiver he felt overcome his body. 

Yoon-Ho was so lost in his thoughts and taken aback by the discovery of the extent of Sung Jin-Woo’s strength that he was startled by a sudden warmth against his forehead.

Looking down, he became aware of Choi Jong-In holding a hand against his forehead, likely to check his temperature. He wasn’t sure if he could even tell if Yoon-Ho’s temperature was normal based on how warm his hand felt, but the redhead’s furrowed eyebrows and worried ruby eyes snapped Yoon-Ho out of his thoughts again.

Yoon-Ho quickly pulled away from the shorter man and realized that the Hunters Guild’s guild master had somehow gotten him back inside the building, including closing the door to give them privacy. He had not felt Choi Jong-In taking him inside and realized that he was more affected by Sung Jin-Woo’s mana than he had expected.

The redhead blinked at him before lowering his hand and taking a step back as if to give Yoon-Ho space as he adjusted his glasses, hiding his face from view briefly with his hand. Raising his head back up, he looked at Yoon-Ho once again before seemingly judging him to be well enough.

“You should head home,” Choi Jong-In told him in a steady voice, any trace of concern he had gone from his face. “It’s not good for you to overwork yourself.”

Yoon-Ho didn’t get a chance to respond as the redhead turned to take an exit that wasn’t swarmed with reporters. He could only watch him silently before walking toward a different exit to his car.

Any thoughts he had about Sung Jin-Woo were replaced with ones about Choi Jong-In. Despite knowing what the mage’s intentions were a large majority of the time, it was moments like this that Yoon-Ho didn’t understand him.

Choi Jong-In didn’t attempt to figure out what was going on like he normally did, always having to know everything despite it being none of his business. 

There was also obvious concern he had in his strikingly ruby eyes that couldn’t be hidden behind his vibrant red bangs and glasses. And the way the mage continued to check to see if Yoon-Ho was okay and went so far as to shield him from public view, despite gaining nothing from doing so.

He had never seen Choi Jong-In express that much emotion in front of anyone, especially him, other than the time Yoon-Ho had gone to his office to speak with him about the Jeju raid. Even then, the other guild master had turned to look out the window when he was struggling to keep his composure before turning back to him once he was calm again.

For the mage’s sake, Yoon-Ho never mentioned how even though Choi Jong-In wasn’t looking at him, he could see the pain on his face from his reflection in the glass window. 

Yoon-Ho wondered if Choi Jong-In had some hidden agenda like he typically did when discussing guild matters. It wouldn’t be the first time the other guild master did such a thing to get what he wanted. He didn’t get the Hunters Guild to become the top guild in Korea by being kind to people after all.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts as he got inside his car, thinking he was overanalyzing the other’s actions. The redhead was likely just worried about him losing control of his powers after seeing his Eyes of the Beast suddenly appear for no apparent reason. 

As S-Ranks, they were already seen as monsters in a sense with how their power was immeasurable. They didn’t need civilians seeing his beast-like eyes to add to the rumors people liked to spread about them. It made sense for someone like Choi Jong-In, who took great care in his appearance to the public, to not want Yoon-Ho to tarnish that reputation.

He couldn’t remember when Choi Jong-In had last seen his eyes like that unless they happened to be raiding together, which was rare. There was nothing else the mage could want from him other than for him to be more cautious around other people since they were both S-Ranks, so when one of them acted out of line, it would reflect poorly on all of them. 

When Hwang Dong-Soo left for America, their reputation as S-Ranks took a hit, and false rumors about them started circulating. It was only thanks to Cha Hae-In’s awakening as an S-Rank soon after that people stopped spreading so many rumors. However, it didn’t prevent them from trying to find reasons to get more information on them.

There was no other reason for Choi Jong-In to be interested in him if they didn’t affect the man himself. After all, they could barely be around one another without having some sort of disagreement.

Yoon-Ho sighed as he got into his car and loosened the tie around his neck to allow himself to finally breathe properly. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need to deal with all this drama anymore, whether it was the reporters, more S-Rank matters, or Choi Jong-In.

[beamiesbuddies]

Web Update #3: Final Gallery Section & Commission Updates!

Hello all! Happy Fall! 🍂🍁☕🍄🌰

As the cooler weather approaches, it’s time to bring my big website gallery overhaul to a close with the final (for now) section- the Passion Projects Section! Here I’ve documented 3 of my bigger projects (including my most recent doll of Mr. Dream).

You will find the finished photos, as well as more in-depth commentary on how I made them, materials, fun facts, WIP photos, & more! I hope you will enjoy reading them. Go to beamiesbuddies.com, hit the Gallery > Passion Projects

With that section, my Archive Gallery is more or less complete! As I make more dolls going forward, I will update the galleries from time to time. Follow me on IG and/or Tumblr to see the most recent creations!

Now for the big one- Commission Updates!

As longtime BB fans know, I’ve been opening commissions on a bi-yearly basis, to give myself the summer to finish my own projects (or even -gasp- have other hobbies!) This year, the summer has been focused on beamiesbuddies.com, as well as working on my first new line of original dolls (which I PROMISE I will start sharing soon!)

The summer was also full of activity lifewise for me, most good & some not so much. As such, I’m a little behind where I wanted to be at this time, & more than a little burnt out. I wanted to open up commissions this month for the upcoming holiday season, but being realistic, I don’t think I would be able to deliver my best work with so much still going on/needing finishing. (One of the things needing doing is the shop on this website, after all!)

Therefore: I will be opening commissions as of January 2025, for the winter season. Big apologies to those who wanted to commission me for Xmas gifts & such, but this will allow me to get a good head start on my ready-made dolls & hopefully have them up by late fall in time for holiday gift purchasing time. So you may not get a personalized character, but you could have another very cool original themed doll ;)

November 1st I will be opening up slots for the January commissions, which I will announce at that time. So, if you wanted to grab a gift for a friend, maybe you can give them the gift of a Beamie’s Buddies Custom Commission Slot? 👀

I can’t wait to share my upcoming dolls with you as I think they are looking super cute & I have so many ideas for future ones. In all my years I have never really gotten to let my imagination go & make my own characters, I feel like I’m unlocking new potential as a doll artist.

Thank you all for your lovely support on my work over the years & to come!

Love, Beamie 💖

[a-m-pyra]

First Burn: Ch7 Leading By The Hand (American McGee's Alice/Lies of P)

P had been in a bad mood since the morning; It's been a long time since he felt like lying in bed all day, getting absorbed in painful thoughts and memories. It had been a long time since he felt a terrible pressure in the middle of his chest, for the first time he felt his stomach being painfully squeezed.

Geppetto's words echoed in his head, “I knew it, you’re just a useless puppet.” Words that hurt even more than before. Sometimes he thought that maybe it would be better if he let him take his heart, not fight the Nameless Puppet, and let him have the son he wanted. 

Carlo. Not Pinocchio. Not the poor replacement he has become.

He blinked as a few drops of tears fell onto the paper. Crying was still new to him — the sadness felt terrible and yet so comfortable. It made his head feel heavy, it made it hard for him to catch his breath, and yet he felt like that was how he was supposed to feel. He liked how tears made all his emotions soothe.

Sometimes it was hard for him to stop crying. He wanted these devastating feelings of injustice, mourning and emptiness to continue. He wanted to immerse himself in them, like in the ocean. Let his body drift into the depths of loneliness in the middle of the night.

When he finished the sketch, he put the pencil between the pages of his sketchbook and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

He wasn't in a good mood, but he needed it. Just sit there with his eyes closed, let the thoughts flow in his head, reach his heart and force a flood of tears from him. 

He opened his eyes, staring at the pattern the wood made on the ceiling. He smiled slightly, paying no attention to the footsteps behind him. The whole world came back to him only when he felt someone's hand on his right hand. He saw Alice crouching next to him, looking at his face. 

“Do you sometimes…” he paused, wondering what he should say, “do you sometimes just want to be unhappy for a while? That you just want to feel... like that?”

“And cry mindlessly like a little baby?” she asked, and P nodded. “Yes. Sometimes coming back to the blues is like coming home, when for a huge part of your life all you have known is sadness.”

“I like this feeling. When I feel a tightness in my chest, my thoughts are hurting me and racing like crazy, and tears just flow down my face. Then I feel so… Human. Almost like a human.” 

She rested her head on his shoulder and ran her thumb over it. If he were Spring, he would have purred happily. Her touch was so nice and comforting — and yet reassuring that if he wanted to be sad, he could be sad with her. 

She reached for his sketchbook, hovering her hand over it. P, however, handed it to her himself, bending down and resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“Useless puppet,” she whispered, looking at the drawing of P with a shattered heart and the man above him — she thought it must be Geppetto. “Did your father tell you that?”

He nodded.

“When he died in my arms.”

She lifted her head to look at him. He didn't cry anymore. His face was slightly swollen, his eyes were bloodshot, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Still, I'm glad he's dead,” he announced after a short while. “The only thing he ever wanted was anything but me. With love for Carlo, he also woke up when it was too late.”

“He didn't deserve any of you.”

He rubbed her hand with his thumb.

“Could I… Cuddle with you?”

She gave him a tender smile. They both stood up, Alice wrapped her arms around his neck and let him cuddle up to her. He buried his face in the space between her neck and shoulder. The scent of her perfume reached him. He sniffed, closing his eyes and enjoying the scent that reminded him of a tea party. 

“Thank you,” he whispered as Alice threaded her fingers through his semi-long hair — which was only getting longer with each passing week. 

He groaned as he felt her nails scratching at his scalp. Her touch, so caring, so nice. Her warm breath on his cheek. He felt her pulse.

“No. You don’t need to thank me.”

He pulled away from her to look at her face. He hesitantly reached out to brush her hair and tuck it behind her ear.

He felt a strange tension arise between them — and she felt it too. They watched each other's faces, waiting for the other's move, afraid to initiate anything.

“I have no idea how I will repay you for this.”

“You don't have to. I…”

He waited for her to finish. He felt his mechanical heart pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

Alice clutched the middle of her chest, turning red in the face.

They heard Alex's voice calling for her to help her with Evie.

“Go,” he announced, nodding. “I'll be fine.”

She smiled and nodded, heading towards the door. But when P wanted to go back to finish the sketch, she grabbed his wrist and kissed his cheek tenderly.

P stood still, but when he tried to look at her, all he saw was a cornflower blue skirt disappearing behind the corridor wall.

He laughed and touched his cheek.

She kissed him.

God, have mercy on me, he thought, glad he couldn't blush. Nevertheless, his entire body was tingling and he felt hot.

He felt electrified, and the stupid smile wouldn't leave his lips.

“Well... I'm starting to understand what's going on here,” he heard suddenly.

He shuddered, looking over his shoulder at the door where Otto stood. He fisted his shirt, trying to stop his heart from beating much faster than he would like to admit.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, don't make excuses, people like me have instincts. You two thirst over each other, you can feel it."

The Gemini, that Otto had brought with him after watching Evie sleep, chirped in agreement.

“Are you crazy? Alice just comforted me. I'm having a bad day.”

“Oh, come on. Wake up and make another move. Go there and tell her how you feel about her!”

“But there's nothing to talk about. Besides,” he sighed, “Even if I told her... I mean, you understand. I'm not saying it’s true, because it's not true…” Gemini, for as long as he knew P, knew that he never stumbled over his words, even when he lied. “She is the human woman. And I…”

“What? A puppet?” Gemini asked, and P clenched his left hand into a fist without looking at them.

“Yes. A puppet.”

P rubbed the edge of the paper between his fingers, then closed the sketchbook with the pencil inside and stood up, passing Otto in the doorway.

“Hey, where are you going?”

He slowed down, his fingers gripping the cover.

“I… Mrs. Seymour asked me to chop wood for the fireplace.”

Otto looked at Gemini's lamp. He chirped, agreeing with him that it sounded like a lie so they would leave him alone.

Meanwhile, P, taking advantage of the fact that the cold didn't bother him, sat down on a bench in the garden. However, he did not open his sketchbook. Instead, he stared at the cover, letting a different kind of thought than before flow through his head. 

He pursed his lips as he opened his sketchbook to the page with Alice's portrait; with her radiant smile, sparkling eyes and dark hair framing her face.

He felt warm, heavy material on him. He looked up and followed Mrs. Seymour, who sat down next to him on the bench, wrapping herself in a blanket.

“I thought you needed an extra few minutes.”

Madame Seymour's unfailing intuition; for some reason, she always knew when someone needed something.

“Is this also part of your magical practice?”

“No, through my family I learned how to read certain behaviors. So what?” She tilted her head.

P realized that she had let her hair down and cut it shorter. He looked closer only to delay his words — he didn't want to talk about it, but he wanted advice — on both issues. Otto and Gemini, however, did not seem competent enough to advise him. Especially since now any confessions were out of the question.

He felt her thumb rub his cheek. 

“You had Alice's lipstick on your cheek. Now, what’s in your mind?”

He felt the heat of embarrassment throughout his body again. He rubbed his cheek harder to make sure he got it all out.

Mrs. Seymour was Alice's mother. Decency made him keep it all to himself; but Mrs. Seymour was also his therapist.

He didn't think he would ever have to face this type of dilemma.

However, he decided to start with what really bothered him. He opened his sketchbook to the latest drawing and handed it to Mrs. Seymour.

“My father told me this when he was dying in my arms. Those words were running through my head all day long, like a broken record.”

Mrs. Seymour's face darkened. She looked as if the drawing had unlocked certain memories for her.

Otto blurted out that Mrs. Seymour was thrown out of the house for witchcraft. Maybe she was actually familiar with what he was feeling right now.

“Geppetto was… A truly vile man.” She fell silent, rubbing the edge of the paper.

“Actually, at one point, Mr. Venigni was closer to me. Everyone in the hotel was closer to me than my father, but…” he clutched his chest, “it still hurts. Here."

“I know from experience that no matter how far you distance yourself from your parent, no matter how well someone else would be better in this role, who would know you better than your own family, rejection still hurts terribly. This is the worst type of betrayal. However, you must know that there are or will be people who will want to be a part of your life, no matter who you are or what you are like. Finding a family is a long process in which you will return to that moment of rejection, even when you find your dream family. But we're here to support each other, right? It may not be perfect, but…”

P smiled. 

“It's almost perfect.”

Mrs. Seymour returned his smile.

"That's true." She sighed. “But, due to my past, I'm probably not the best person to give motivational speeches on this topic. I react too emotionally.”

P chuckled to himself and looked down at his lap.

“You remind me of Sophia.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Blue Fairy?”

P nodded.

“As soon as I saw you, I felt like I was seeing her reflection. Unlike my father, she gave me space to make my own choices and gave me advice. And she was always so… Motherly. You're like that too.”

Alex felt moved by these words.

“Alice is so lucky to have you as her mom.”

“In a way, I'm the mom of all these children. For you, I'm probably closer to your mother-in-law.”

P felt embarrassed again. She knew. Alice was right, Mrs. Seymour didn't miss anything.

“I like Alice. So much. I feel... her presence makes me happy. Even today, even though she was ready to be with me and…” He fell silent. Mrs. Seymour smiled broadly. “Sorry.”

“No. Don't apologize. I wouldn't say that if I minded you two getting closer.” She pulled the blanket over herself a little tighter as the wind picked up. “If I can assure you of one thing, it's that you make her happy, too. I don't remember ever being as radiant and at ease in a man's presence as she is with you. We don't count Otto for obvious reasons.”

P laughed.

“You give me hope.”

“Me? Never! However, I don't think you need to rush into anything, and I told Alice the same thing. Allow yourself space, see where it leads. Sometimes jumping in at the deep end isn't a good thing at all. If you incorrectly determine the depth of the tank, you may break something. Or not to come out.”

Digression. Alice said that this was one of the biggest symptoms of Mrs. Seymour's disorder — after the pervasive interests and hyperfixations.

“What was it like with you and Alice’s sister?”

“Oh, she spilled the beans?”

“It was supposed to be a story for a story.”

She laughed the warmest giggle he had ever heard in his life.

“I see. Well, our case was slightly different. In the case of Lilibeth, it was like a bolt from the blue, and from the very beginning, as soon as I saw her, I knew that I would be with this girl. Everything happened so fast, but, for some reason, we were a perfect match.”

P reveled in the way Mrs. Seymour said the diminutive of her name. There was so much love in it, even after all this time.

“How many years has it been?”

Mrs. Seymour thought for a moment.

“Fourteen.” She looked down at her lap and smiled sadly. “And I still only love her. And I miss her, hoping that we will meet there someday.”

P grabbed both sides of the blanket and wrapped it tighter around himself, enjoying the warmth and softness of the thick material.

“I wish I could love like that someday.”

She patted his thigh.

“And nothing, dear P, prevents this. However, remember that you don't have to rush anything. With healing, forgetting, happiness, love or confessions. It's all like gingerbread. The most important thing in creating good gingerbread is not expensive spices or a fancy recipe. Time plays the main role here.”

He liked the allegory — and was glad that Mrs. Seymour had taken a completely different tack from Otto, allowing him to find his way through it all at his own pace — especially since he had only been aware of the world around him for a few months. He was like a child in a fog and he was happy to find someone who could help him get out of this fog.

[pickalilywrites]

Modern AU, 10 year old Zeke gets to meet his new baby brother, Eren at the hospital

ty this was rly satisfying to write :)

brotherhood

zeke jaeger. modern au. 1806 words.

“Aren’t you excited to be a big brother?” one of the nurses asks. She kneels beside Zeke, smiling up at his disgruntled expression. Rather than being inside with the doctor and other nurses, this woman had the unfortunate assignment of appeasing ten-year-old Zeke, who wanted to be as far away from the hospital as possible. She had done everything she could: offered to play games with him, coaxed him with toys, and given him sweets. Nothing seems to be able to lift his mood.  

“I’m not going to be a brother,” Zeke says stubbornly once more, kicking at the floor and nearly hitting the nurse beside him. He doesn’t bother with an apology. He had already told her to leave him alone. He glances back at the room where his stepmother is currently giving birth. He can hear her cries through the door and the encouraging words of his father and the doctor as they guide her through her labor. “That’s not my mom. No matter what anyone says, I’m not going to be her kid’s brother. We’re not family.”  

Zeke knows that he’s too old to be throwing a tantrum, but he’s told his father time and time again that he could never accept his new family. He wanted his family to be the way it used to be: just him, his father, and his mom. He hated it when his parents told him they weren’t living together anymore. When they officially divorced, Zeke didn’t leave his bedroom for two weeks. He didn’t care for it when his father brought home a new woman or when he eventually announced that Zeke was going to have another mom. Even though his father and Carla were over the moon when they announced that Carla was pregnant, Zeke just stormed up to his room in a huff and waited for his mom to come pick him up.  

His mother doesn’t care for Carla and his father’s new kid either. She only rolled her eyes when Zeke told her about Carla’s pregnancy. Whenever Zeke’s father brought up anything about the baby — the baby shower, the baby’s new room, the due date — Zeke’s mom would nod and listen passively, but she never asked any questions because she didn’t care to hear any more than was necessary.  

Zeke had hoped that he would be with his mom when the baby was born. He didn’t want to be stuck in a hospital, abandoned in the hallway while his father forgot him for his new family. He hates the sharp, sterile smell of the hospital hallways and the strained cries of Carla as she struggled through her labor. He’s been here for hours waiting, probably half a day, but his mother hasn’t even come by to pick him up. He can’t really blame her, though. He wouldn’t want to see his dad either.  

The nurse sits down next to Zeke, the same patient smile on her face. He’s been incredibly stubborn this entire time, but she hasn’t let her smile crack even once. Zeke doesn’t know if it’s because she’s a saint or just good at hiding her emotions. 

“I’m sure you’ll feel different when the baby is born,” the nurse tells him.  

Zeke scoffs and slumps lower into the uncomfortable hospital chair, his arms crossed against his chest. “I doubt it. It’s not like it’ll be any different from other babies. It’ll just cry all the time for its mom.”  

The baby hadn’t even come and Zeke was already tired of it. It was all Carla and his father would talk about it. They would talk about potential names for it — Eren if it were boy and Faye if it were a girl. They spent so much time converting their home office into a playroom for the kid, buying new furniture and painting the walls a pastel blue. Carla would ask if Zeke wanted to help decorate the walls with decals of different fish and ocean critters, but Zeke would icily decline. He didn’t understand what the fuss was about. Zeke could somewhat understand Carla’s excitement, but his father was equally restless as if he didn’t already have a kid from his first marriage.  

“I want to go home,” Zeke says sullenly. His head hangs so that his chin hits his chest. He hates the way his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t know why my dad brought me here anyway when he’s going to have a new kid.”  

“Oh, sweetie. It’s not like that at all,” the nurse says, and she reaches out to cover his hand with hers. Zeke wants to snatch it away out of spite, but her hand is so comforting. It’s been a while since anyone has ever thought to comfort him. Even his mother doesn’t bother with him sometimes, too caught up in her own bitterness to attend to him because he should be old enough to handle his emotions anyway, so Zeke lets the nurse hold his hand. “Zeke, your father loves you. Your stepmom loves you, too. They keep asking about you. Why do you think the nurses keep coming in and out of the room?”  

Zeke bites his bottom lip. He had noticed the nurses coming in and out, but he thought that was normal. He assumed they were just grabbing supplies. Now that the nurse mentions it, he does remember the other nurses casting a glance at him every time they passed him, but he thought it was because they were afraid he’d run off while his parents were in the delivery room.  

“They care about you so much, honey,” the nurse says. She gives his hand another comforting squeeze. “Before your father went into the delivery room, he told me to take good care of you. He told me to yell if you needed anything at all. Luckily, you’ve been such a well-behaved and mature kid, so I haven’t had to call him for anything.”  

Zeke purses his lips, feeling guilty. Even though the nurse had praised him, he knows he’s been ornery and difficult this entire time. Carla and his father had been in there worrying about him amidst the baby’s delivery, and he hadn’t even been concerned about Carla and the baby’s wellbeing once. 

Hesitantly, Zeke asks the nurse, “Is the baby going to be born soon? They’ve been in there for a really long time. Is it bad if the mom is there for a really long time?”  

The nurse reaches out to pat Zeke on the head. "It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but you don’t have anything to be worried about. It usually takes a long time for the baby to come, especially if this is your stepmom’s first baby. It won’t be long now. We just need to be patient.”  

Zeke sits up straighter and nods. Even though it was the nurse that had held his hand earlier, now he clings to her, his grasp so tight that his knuckles have turned white as he waits for news of the baby to emerge from the doors of the delivery room.  

The nurse had said it would only be a little while until the baby finally came, but every minute passes by so agonizingly slow that Zeke isn’t sure time is passing by at all. When the time came that the baby was finally born, the doors of the delivery burst open and Zeke’s father emerged, red-faced and sweating. He kneels before Zeke, grasping his son’s hands in his with an expression of pure delight on his face. 

“Zeke, the baby’s here. You’re a brother!” his father gasps.  

Zeke isn’t used to such attention from his father, but he doesn’t pull his hand away like he usually would. He gives his father an uncertain smile. “I-is Carla okay? The baby is alright?” he stammers.  

“Yes, yes, let’s go see them,” Zeke’s father says. He pulls Zeke up and begins to usher him towards the delivery room. 

Zeke stumbles towards the door and gives the nurse a backwards glance, but she gestures for him to go on with a reassuring smile.  

When Zeke enters the room, he sees the nurses fussing about the hospital bed where Carla lays with the baby. She looks exhausted, her hair plastered against her forehead and her face shining with sweat. Still, the expression on her face is serene as she looks down at the child in her arms, her gaze full of love as she looks at the little one. For a moment, a familiar jealousy surges within Zeke before he recalls what the nurse had said to him earlier.  

He approaches Carla’s bed with hesitancy. He had always been cold to her, but she looks over and smile at him with the warmth she’s always had when she sees he’s arrived.  

“Oh, Zeke. I’m so sorry. You must have been waiting for so long outside. I didn’t mean to make you wait that long,” Carla tells him. 

“It’s okay. I’m a big kid now. It wasn’t that long anyway,” Zeke says. His gaze is drawn to the baby in Carla’s arms. It’s far smaller than Zeke had expected it to be. Its face is red and scrunched up, and it begins to fuss in Carla’s arms even as she rocks him and coos. “Is it ... is the baby alright?”  

“He’s alright. He’s just excited to meet everyone,” Carla replies with a little laugh.  

“He?”  

“Yes, he. You have a little brother now. His name is Eren,” Carla says. She smiles when she sees the surprise on Zeke’s face. “Would you like to hold him?”  

“I don’t know how -” Zeke begins, but Carla is already holding out the baby to him. He’s afraid he might drop the baby and that Eren will shatter into a million pieces, but Carla gently guides his arms so that he can properly hold Eren and support his head. Once again, Zeke marvels at just how small the baby is.  

The baby no longer fusses now that he’s in Zeke’s arms. Eren lets out contented noises as Zeke rocks him back and forth gently. He reaches out his tiny hands, grasping for something, and Zeke offers his younger brother a finger. Eren’s fingers barely wrap around one of Zeke’s fingers, but it delights the baby, who lets out a delighted gurgling noise. 

“Look at that,” Carla smiles. “He likes his older brother already.”  

Zeke feels his face flush after being referred to as Eren’s older brother, but he finds he doesn’t dislike it. Zeke looks down at his baby brother clinging onto his finger. Having just been born, Eren can’t even open his eyes yet, but he grasps on to Zeke so tightly. The elder can’t help but smile. He doesn’t know what kind of brother he’ll be, but he’ll try to be a good one.