#I want a rose garden and an orchard

[astracora]

Caleb saw your 'Xavier is jealous of himself' and decided to raise 'Caleb is jealous of a tomato plant'.

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter thirty-two — do your taxes (💋)

The funniest thing about apple orchards is that there's never just one type of apple orchard.

Why were they all unique? He would never care enough to find out. The main point is that he's got one now; and even with his extensive research on said orchards, he can't even find the proper way to take care of 100 per acre.

That's how he felt as his violet eyes examined the nature, almost with malicious eyes.

The orchard was in its bloom, a quilt of colors as green and gold under the sun had grown duller from the overcast day. It was ironic, really. He was convinced Sumeru never rained except for around the woods, and even then, there’s no thunderstorms. He thought picking a desert would make it so that people wouldn’t feel inclined to figure out where he lives, but at this rate, he was better off just selling the orchard part of the home to some guy who really likes fruit.

Scaramouche— or rather, Kunikuzushi...knew Furina did this on purpose. But jokes on her, really, he has much more discipline than she thinks.

It was taunting him, especially because he knew his lack of expertise and despite that, the trees still stood proud. The rows were endless, each one seemed to rustle softly under the unnatural clouds of the day.

Deciding to leave it, he opted to go back inside and waste away with the nagging feeling of that fucking orchard again. He stepped away as his steps crunched softly on the gravel path back to his front door. It was like the neglect was oddly making them stronger of a threat to him.

It was kind of offensive. How they just live on without him. But it was also what he'd hope would happen with everything anyway. Maybe he didn't know everything about orchards, and maybe he never would. But all he did know was that he wouldn't see himself enjoying the sickly smell of the fruit rotting soon. Was this going to be on his taxes? Doesn't matter, he's evading them this year, just like he does everything else.

'Horrible idea', he thought. Do your taxes.

Once he went back inside, the dim lights and the cool air of his home welcomed him again. But it wasn't a miserable type of welcome, for once. The air was what he wanted it to be, different from the overwhelming perfume of apples outside.

The longer he mulled on it, the worst his thoughts nagged at him. So instead of looking up someone to take care of his orchard, he yet again began to start reading one of the many books about garden and orchard care he bought at some abstract store in the city on his coffee table.

It took up hours of his time at once— taking notes, reading more, reading another book to confirm his suspicions. The words blurred together and he would force himself to consume the material again.

He was only actually taken out of the fixation once he heard a soft knock on his door many hours later. His head snapped up quickly, his bleary-looking eyes blinking multiple times to clear his haze. With a deep sigh, he closed the books, stretching his stiff muscles. He quickly rose from the chair once the knock sounded off yet again.

When he opened the door, his entire brain flatlined in an instant. You were standing there, a suitcase beside you and an unordinary looking cat nuzzling the leather. The sight of your presence, mainly very out of place in his domain. He had no idea what to say, so he didn't say anything at all. His lips parted smally, awkwardly looking everywhere except your eyes. "Hey."

"Hey," You remained straight face, the cat meowing softly, rubbing against your leg now. "I didn't know you knew how to farm." Your voice was as gentle as the knock.

"I don't." He responded, also just as straight face. "Your cat?"

"Housewarming gift."

There was no way that he could take care of a cat with how worried he is with the orchard. No matter how much the cat looked into his eyes and matched his expression, a very sentimental emotion he held for it in the moment. Still, very ironic for fate to do this to him. "Keep it."

A moment of silence came across the both of them, it was like the air that Kuni was talking about was now polluted with the same feelings he did about leaving. Which disappointed him, it was almost like he was never going to stop remembering things again.

Until you approached Kuni with a swift movement that turned into you encompassing him in a hug. The sudden hug caught him off guard, stiffening in initial reaction. It was something he didn't usually get too comfortable with in the first place, but something was different about this one. Something definitely more relieving.

"You could have just been honest from the start." You said, exhaustion finally meeting you halfway.

The more he stood there, enveloped in your warmth, the weight that was always on his shoulders loosened him. And time suspended itself momentarily, allowing him to feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat sound off with his. Except his could have very well been faster than yours in that moment.

He allowed himself to lean into you after a while, to bask in your presence, and to feel the comfort that he wish he had a long time ago. "I know." He whispered, a guilty solace in his voice.

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @littlesliceofcheese @yumejo89

@liuaneee @franaby @tiddieshakeshownu @mimi3lover @kavineyah

@kittywagun (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[thatonetargaryen]

The Wolf and the Dragon

Masterlist

Part 5: A Walk Through the Gardens

A/N; This is mostly a filler chapter, so it doesn’t have to be read. Part 6 will be posted soon 🎀

To say Valaena was content was an understatement. She quickly became accustomed to her new surroundings and managed to avoid the prying eyes of the court.

Anya proved to be a pleasant yet constant presence in Valaena’s life. The maid had slowly softened up, becoming more comfortable with the princess. If she was simply placed with her to keep an eye on her, she didn’t make it known.

The two girls folded a pile of sheets in a comfortable silence. Valaena had come to enjoy doing simple chores like this. Back home, she had a group of maids doing everything for her. Now that there was only Anya assigned to her, she decided to help her out.

“You know, you don’t have to do this, princess. That’s what I was assigned to do.”, Anya complained.

Valaena shrugged her shoulders, “I know I don’t have to do this, but I want to. And didn’t I tell you to call me Valaena?”

“It’s just weird calling you by your first name. You are above me, and I prefer to address you as such.”

Valaena picked up another sheet as she started to fold, “Above you? Back home, I am a princess, yes, but here..I might as well be another maid.”

Anya chucked as she shrugged her shoulders, “Touché, Valaena.”

……

Valaena’s boots clicked on the concrete as she made her way through the beautiful garden. From her balcony, the flowers were vibrant and bold, but up close, the view on the balcony was nothing.

The princess took in the sight of all the bright red roses, and fought the urge to pick every one she saw.

Meanwhile, Anya rubbed her nose vigorously as her eyes watered. All the pollen in the air was driving her mad, and she couldn’t wait to get away from here.

“Isn’t it pretty, Anya?”, Valaena said as she knelt down to smell the flowers. Anya nodded stiffly and gave a muffled “Mhm” through her sleeve. Valaena looked up towards her, noticing her discomfort, and decided that she could visit the flowers another time.

“What else do they have here, Anya?”

Anya sighed in relief, “Well..there’s an apple orchard nearby. I’m sure her lady wouldn’t mind if we visited.”

Valaena stood to her full height. “Lead the way!”

Anya did so without hesitation.

……

Valaena looked around, looking for a basket for her apples. She lit up when she saw a few nearby, though they weren’t in the best condition. She looked over her shoulder, and threw one towards Anya.

The two girls looked towards the vast field of a variety of produce.

Anya made her way towards a nearby tree and started to climb. Valaena stood, stunned. “Don’t you need a ladder?”

Anya grinned. “I’ll be fine.”

She continued up the tree until she found a comfortable, sturdy branch to rest on. She held out her hand for Valaena to take. “Well, aren’t you coming?”

Valaena stood, scared for a moment. The tree was at least twice her height.

Anya’s grin grew wider, “How can you mount a dragon, yet scared to climb a tree?”

Valaena finally tossed her basket towards Anya, taking up the challenge. And just as if she were mounting her dragon, she ascended up the tree. She reached for Anya’s hand, and the maid pulled her up in one smooth motion. Valaena wiped her brow as she turned towards Anya. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Anya shrugged, “I’ve been doing it from the moment I could walk. You’ve never climbed one?”

Valaena shook her head, “I spent most of my childhood studying and learning what it is expected of me. The most exciting thing I can remember is riding my dragon.”

Anya squeezed an apple lightly, checking to see if it was firm, “I used to climb up trees when I was being chased by Enforcers. It was funny seeing them looking around frantically, as if I had disappeared out of thin air. I was a troublesome child.”

The smile on Anya’s face as she recalled her childhood is one Valaena wished she could share. While her childhood was not eventful, she would always cherish the days she spent in Noxus. She had more freedom than ever. The princess smiled as she helped Anya pick apples. “I’m glad I came here.”, she said, breaking the silence. Anya turned to her, and then that same smile reflected onto her face.

“I’m glad you came here too,Valaena.”

…..

Ambessa rested her head against the velvet, lavish chair she was sitting in. She stared into the fire as it danced atop the wood. She made no move when her chamber doors opened.

Anya bowed deeply as she entered. “You requested my presence, m’lady?”, she spoke just above a whisper, already knowing why she was here.

Ambessa continued to stare into the fire. “How is she?”

Anya silently sighed. The General would call her into her chambers at least once a week asking about Valaena. She asked about the smallest things, which was strange to Anya. After a minute or two, she was dismissed, leaving her in a pool of her own thoughts.

“Um…the princess is fine, m’lady. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Ambessa stayed silent, signaling for her to continue.

“Today we visited the gardens and the apple orchard. She seemed enthralled with the flowers in the gardens.”

Ambessa stayed still, making a mental note of what Anya said. She waved off the maid.

Anya let out a sight of relief as she exited the chambers. She would have to tell Valaena about these strange encounters sooner or later.

……

Taglist:

@randomstuffthatdontmakesense

[macabr3-barbi3]

PrideRing and Prejudice Prompt Challenge!

hello everyone! the Bapple's Orchard Discord Server had a Regency Prompt Challenge that a lot of crazy talented artists and writers have contributed to: here is the Masterlist of everyone's submissions that will be being updated through the day as more people post! There's something for everyone, and will be including RadioStatic and x Reader fics and music!

With that said, here are my submissions! First, have a string quartet arrangement that I did for a Bapple Approved™️ RadioStatic song, Something About Us by Daft Punk 🦌📺

And a short and sweet Alastor x Reader fic- enjoy! 💕🦌

Moonlight on Canvas (Hazbin Hotel Regency AU)

The ball hosted by the Morningstar family had been, as always, a fantastical soiree until you had spotted Alastor.

You give Lord Morningstar’s daughter Charlotte a wave across the room when she spots you, her own arm waving furiously, and as she turns away you see Alastor behind her, caught in conversation with the eager viscount, Vincent Vox. He strikes a silhouette like a portrait, one you’ve painted countless times before; tall, lean, the red of his outfit a charming contrast to his dark hair and eyes. You can see it in your mind now, the brushstrokes you could use to mimic the beauty of him in the lights of the ballroom, the burgundies and crimsons for his jacket, hickory and mahogany for his hair and the darkness of his eyes where they watch the viewer under the shadow of his fringe. It would make a stunning painting, and yet still be a poor imitation of what stood in front of you.

He looks like he would rather be anywhere but where he is, taking cautious steps backwards that Vox follows, and when he casts a desperate look behind himself he catches your eye, brows rising when his gaze settles on you, resplendent in your evening finery.

You bolt when he turns to make his excuses, ducking into the hall that leads to the garden before his eyes can track where you’ve gone.

The cool air of the night is a soothing balm on your nerves as you settle on the bench amongst the roses and tulips, off the main path where married couples and chaperoned groups pass by. Your heart is racing and you wish you had given enough thought to your escape to grab a drink before fleeing. You couldn’t face Alastor tonight; maybe you never could again. Once a close friend, he had been gone for seven years. You had written him countless letters, asking of his travels, when he would be coming home, why he had left so suddenly- every one of them left unanswered, the Viscount having assured you that he was passing your messages along since they had also been tentative friends before he left.

Surely you had done something wrong. He had changed his mind after leaving, your last conversation one about his marriage prospects- “if I must marry anyone, a lifelong commitment to a friend that I have grown fond- to you- would be far more desirable than one thrust upon me by the demands of society,” he had said, and while it wasn’t a dramatic declaration of love you knew what you expected of one another. You wanted him, but you would settle for being part of society, not pushed to the wayside as a spinster as your age went on; he wanted to be left to his own devices, no longer bothered by the mothers of eligible women or fathers looking to make a marriage for business connections. You had thought that he meant you- you must have been mistaken, if his blatant ignoral of your letters was anything to go by.

You wouldn’t let it bother you. You had been waiting for him all this time, but perhaps the time had come to set aside matters of the heart and focus on your life. Sir Pentious, a charming (if clumsy) man was present at the ball, and had made an offer for your hand once that you had declined, no father or brother to convince you on the matter and your mother uncaring of your choices- perhaps you could speak with him and see if the offer still stood… 

A branch cracks behind you, tearing you from your thoughts, and you turn to see Alastor behind you, two glasses of champagne held in one hand. “I thought I might find you here,” he murmurs, giving you that familiar smile of his. “Where else would an artist be but amongst the most beautiful scenery on the grounds?”

“Alastor.” You glance through the bushes and trees, not seeing anyone in the immediate vicinity. “I didn’t know that you were back!”

His head tilts ever so slightly. “Oh? So your record setting sprint from the ballroom was for another reason then; I see.” Despite his smile you can see that he’s a bit irritated, his grip on the stems of the champagne glasses making them clink together before he hands one to you. “I had hoped that we could speak tonight- I meant to inform you of my return sooner.”

You take the glass from him wordlessly and down it, ignoring the amused look on his face. “Perhaps you should have informed me of your departure sooner as well, rather than disappearing into the night without so much as a ‘farewell.’” You use your glass to keep you grounded and turn to inspect the flowers, fighting to keep the ire from your voice. You weren’t ready for this conversation with him, hadn’t been planning on talking to him at all really, after his absence. 

“Darling.” You hear the compression of the grass as he steps closer to you, entering the peripherals of your vision. “What have I done to earn such a dismissal? Do you not wish to see me at all?”

“No,” you say truthfully, and the flash of hurt across his face strikes anguish into your heart. “I didn’t- I wasn’t ready to see you tonight.”

Even now he is beautiful, especially now; he stiffens his shoulders, his face upset, eyes still bright in the darkness of the night. Amongst the flowers, the yellows and reds contrasting so stunningly with the image of him, you could paint this scene a hundred ways and still never quite capture the raw emotion that overtakes his expression. Depending on how the rest of the conversation goes, that might be the only way that you can gaze upon his beauty going forward- paintings done from memory, sketches on ballroom napkins when you spot him at a party and can’t stop the itch in your fingers that demands you bring the vision to fruition.

The tension seeps from his frame, not in relief but defeat. “I wish you had come to me,” he whispers, pain evident in his tone. “About whatever I did to cause your apparent frustration with me. Before simply deciding to cast me- our friendship- aside. So that I may have had some attempt at salvaging it.”

“What are you- Alastor, you cut me off!” You whirl around to face him fully, hating the sting of tears in your eyes. “I sent you countless letters when you left and you never responded-”

“You’re one to speak of unanswered correspondence,” he huffs. “‘Countless,’ you say- can you not count to ‘zero?’”

“What?” The tension in his frame has returned while he struggles to keep his composure, and he looks away from you, casting his eyes out across the garden rather than facing you. “Alastor, I sent you hundreds of letters over the years- I had to send them off through the Viscount since you didn’t deign to even tell me you were leaving. So many letters asking where you were, why you left, when you were coming back. If you were… okay. I thought you might have died and I was devastated until I saw you today and I thought that you just-” You cut yourself off when you hear the quiet clamor of other voices, and you duck into the shadow of the apple trees that line the path. You watch Alastor track their movements down the path before he turns back to you as they get out of sight, his expression now curious rather than pained.

“What did you think?” He sets his glass down on the bench and steps closer, maintaining a respectable distance between your bodies but reaching his hand out to take yours, pulling the champagne glass from your own tight grip with his free hand and setting it beside his. Your heart is hammering in your chest while you stand there together; if someone so much as saw you out here together-

“Dearest.”

“Don’t call me that,” you manage despite your breath being caught in your chest. “Not now. You’ve clearly changed your mind, if you meant it at all, and I was foolish to-”

His unoccupied hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone and effectively making your brain stutter. “What did you think?” He asks quietly, his eyes lidded as he looks down at you, his familiar smile looking like it means to come back, twitching at the edges of his lips. “Grant me this clarification if you would- a proper conversation might help to clear up any lingering uncertainty between us.”

You can’t bring yourself to step back from his hold on your skin. “I- our last discussion,” you breathe, not daring to speak any louder lest you break the spell that’s fallen over the pair of you. “You had said that were you to marry anyone you would want it to be me, and then you vanished for seven years without so much as an ‘adieu.’ I thought…” You swallow the lump in your eyes, distantly thinking that the blurred image of him before you would make another lovely portrait. “I thought you changed your mind; that you had said something reckless and wanted to take it back without having to have such a discussion with me.”

“It would appear that the charming Viscount has played us both for fools, darling.” He looks like he wants to step closer to you but thinks better of it as a peal of laughter escapes the hall leading to your little platform in the garden. “I am not one to change my mind once I have made a decision; I sent you letters as well. Tales of what I could divulge of my travels- and I will provide more details when I am able to- and questions about what you were doing without me, mentions of how I missed our chats and teas. I inquired multiple times if you had considered what I said, blatantly verified that I would be interested in marrying you whenever I was able to return. I thought your lack of a response was a refusal.”

“Oh my God, Alastor.” The nervous laughter that bubbles out of you is so refreshing it takes over your body, stomach not able to heave the way it wants with the corset in the way of your air intake. “You tried to send your letters through Vox as well?”

“Not directly- I had my aide, Husker, coming into town with my correspondence. He left them with dear Vincent who assured him that they were going to the proper recipients. I suppose I can only hope that no one else was subjected to the same discourtesy and received my letters as intended.” He removes his hands from your face and wrist to clench his own into fists at his sides. “This blatant disrespect of not just my matters, but yours as well, will not stand.” He turns like he means to head back into the ballroom and your hand darts out, grips his arm like to let him go would be a grievous mistake.

“Did you really mean it?” You ask him, and the look that he gives you you want to find a way to paint on the back of your eyelids- fond and amused and relieved, tinged with anger that is not directed at you but on your behalf. “You- you would marry me?”

He hums a bit, glancing back at you with that fond look in his gaze. “As long as you'd still want to marry a man potentially convicted of manslaughter after I've seen the Viscount, then yes, darling. Seven years might have changed a lot, but neither my feelings nor my intentions.” He pulls you closer, almost into his arms then, his embrace so light it’s hardly there, the fabric of your clothing just barely brushing his. Your gasp is lost against the soft material of his coat before you look up at him, smile soft when he directs it to you. “Would you think me a scoundrel should I steal a kiss from you before my possible imprisonment?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “I could never think anything but the best of you, Alastor,” you tell him, and then whisper, “please,” tilting your face up and closing your eyes, the thought of someone seeing you far from your mind. This moment would make a beautiful painting, you were sure of it; anticipation clear in the strokes of the brush, the colors making the tension and relief between the two of you evident, your emotions bleeding through the canvas into the eyes of whoever looked at it.

His lips press to your forehead, and when your eyes fly open he’s chuckling at you, grin mischievous as he steps away. “I’m afraid this is all I will allow myself, dearest- I can’t be causing too many scandals in one night.” He brings your hand to his lips and presses a light kiss there as well before releasing you entirely.

“Now that things have been cleared up between us, I do believe the Viscount is owed a visit!” Alastor says this cheerfully, a wink aimed in your direction before he's striding back down the hallway to the ballroom, his long legs making it difficult to catch him before he can do something reckless.

You’ve just entered the room, cheeks flushed, when you see Alastor stroll up to Vox as casual as can be. “Alastor!” The Viscount exclaims, gesturing beside himself to a tall companion, dressed in a gaudy shade of purple. “I was just telling my friend here about-”

The crowd never hears what Vox was telling his friend as Alastor’s clenched fist connects with his face, sending him flying backwards into a table and spilling punch and hor d'oeuvres across the floor. His friend looks outraged, a young woman nearby failing to stifle a chuckle into her glass of champagne, and everyone is watching Alastor like some feral animal as he straightens up after dealing his blow and stretches his hand out. “This man,” he says, his voice full of contempt like you’ve never heard from him before, glaring down at Vox’s bleeding form, “is a cad. An encroaching fungus that has wheedled his way into the fine community that we have here and should not be spared another thought. Viscount or not, a wretch will remain a wretch; things such as honor and loyalty cannot, apparently, be taught. I implore you all to keep that in mind!” He offers a smile and a low bow to some of the nearby ladies as a couple of the Morningstar guards are shuffling over, and he puts up no resistance, holding his arms out amiably for them to take and lead him away. 

When the guards have led Alastor away, the Morningstar patriarch following out the way they had come, you watch as Vox is helped to his feet by his companion, furiously wiping blood off his face before storming out of the ballroom. You wonder if there’s a way to get your letters back- to give them to Alastor, provide him with the words that you had tried telling him for so long before the opportunity was forcibly taken from your hands. You find a glass of punch from a table that hadn’t been buckled under the weight of a man and sip it while you make a lap around the ballroom- unsure if Alastor will be able to return but not yet willing to let the magical feel of the evening end. There are whispers all around you, about Vox, about Alastor, and you look again to the broken table that hasn’t yet been cleaned up, wondering if they would allow you to take the stained tablecloth to use as a canvas if you stretched it properly.

“Excuse me, miss.”  A man speaks behind you, and you turn to see an older gentleman- Husker, if you remember correctly of your tea and chats with Alastor. “His Grace has asked me to reassure you that with the exception of his being thrown into a jail cell, he will come to call on you tomorrow at your mother’s residence; to ask for your hand properly.” He gives a heavy sign, glancing at the rest of the occupants of the ballroom and the group of people that stand to your left. “I was also asked to inform you that should you decide to paint the events of this evening, he would be more than happy to hang the resulting portrait in the manor’s foyer.” 

Your face lights up with a genuine smile, something that Husker eyes suspiciously before he walks away, muttering under his breath. You look around the ballroom and find Charlotte talking to a friend and make your way to her- she could be convinced to part with the tablecloth, you were sure of it, and you would use it to make a beautiful piece of art that hung in your new home and marked the start of something that had been worth waiting for after all.

[sweetwriter]

Muse of a poet; muse of an artist

Geto x black fem reader

A/N: just a little idea I had in the shower

You and Geto make love to eachother in many different ways. Physically- all over the place: the bed, the kitchen counter, the shower- anywhere. But you guys make love to eachother in eachothers art work.

Geto has always worked with his hands. You met him in the philosophy 101. You guys were grouped up together and never let go of eachother since.

YN was in an debate with one of the other classmates over MLK- truthfully, she felt as if it was ridiculous to argue with someone on something they have a skewed idea of, but YN loves to fight.

He stumbled upon you at the library nose deep in Audre Lorde essays, he lowkey was a little nervous to come up to you, you were beautiful- just beautiful.

Closed his eyes and took a breath only to see, when he opened his eyes, you were already looking at him with a curious look. She sent a smile to Geto and he returned the look.

He asked her to coffee. You said yes.

Coffee dates lead to library dates which lead to dinners and then studio days

“How long do you want me to sit like this” she laughed to Geto. She’s completely still watching as her lover takes the wet clay and turn it into her likeness.

“Stay still beautiful, you look gorgeous just like this.”

There are days that Geto struggles like anyone- Geto hates critics, he wishes he could just create without the heaviness of his professors approval.

It was a rough critic, Professor Yaga wasn’t too excited to see the same character not fitting the rubric- safe to say- it was an argument leaving Geto drained by the time he enters the shared apartment.

he sees YN snuggled up to a book in the living room and makes a bee line towards her.

Hearing him through her headphones she makes room for him. He then lays he head on her lap.

“Read something to me” he whispers.

“Show thy face, for I desire the orchard and the rose-garden; ope thy lips,” YN bends down to his lips to capture them, “for I desire in plenty. O sun, show forth Thy face from the veil of cloud, For I desire that radiant glowing countenance” (Rumi).

YN rubs his hair as Geto drifts peacefully to sleep in the arms of his muse.

[etoilehistoire]

When talking about Astarion’s choice to ascend or not, we tend to act like it's our choice. The player decides if he ascends or not. But... there IS a roll involved. Yes, as players if it doesn't go the way we want we can always reload and try again, but... in-game, the characters don't have that option. What would happen, then, if a Tav desperately tried to talk him out of ascending... and failed? Rolled a one? What might they do? What might happen next?

This story takes place after the end of the game.

The little farmhouse was in the middle of nowhere – no other homes in sight, miles from the nearest town.

Not that Wyll was surprised. In her shoes, he’d surely value his solitude too.

It was pretty, he noticed as he rode up the path. A dark brown roof over white walls, almost completely hidden behind trellises of morning glories, climbing roses, and other flowers. A spray of sunflowers nearly hid the door. Berry bushes sprawled across the front yard in glorious disorder, many of them sporting ripe fruit that filled the morning air with a sweet scent. And there, filling a bowl with blueberries, her dark hair pulled back in a scarf, was Xia.

She turned when she heard his horse's hooves, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I’ll be damned. How long has it been? Ten years?”

“At least,” he agreed with a grin. Hopping down, he clasped her arm in greeting, and wasn’t the least bit surprised when she pulled him into a full-bodied hug instead. “Oof! You’re strong as ever. Country life suits you.”

She looked well too, he mused a moment later, stepping back to look her over. Her hair had a little grey at the temples, and crow's feet were beginning to form at the corner of her unscarred eye, but she seemed more at ease with herself and the world than he remembered her being before.

She laughed at the comment. “I suppose it does. But what about you? I didn’t expect to see you out here in the middle of nowhere! How’s the war going? How’s Karlach? How’s her heart?”

He threw up his hands in mock surrender, laughing. “So many questions! And the answers are all related. The war never ends, of course – it will outlive all of us. But sometimes you have to step away from battle for a moment, to focus on more important things.” He smiled, a softness entering his voice. “Karlach's new heart is treating her well. It’s stable. So stable, in fact, that… well, that’s part of what I came to tell you.” His dark skin flushed even darker. “We’re expecting.”

She gasped. “No.”

“Yes! Dammon's with her now; she’s already complaining about us coddling her.”

Xia laughed, the sound open and free. “Oh, I’ll bet. Tell her you’ll knock her down and sit on her if she doesn’t behave.” Looping her arm through his, she continues. “You have to tell me everything! Let me show you around while you do; I’ve got a little orchard started – the trees won’t bear fruit for another year or two, but it’s pretty. And oh, do you like tomatoes? Please say at least one of you does, I have so many tomatoes and I don’t know what to do with them all…”

She’s freer with her words now too, he noted, holding back a smile as he let her ramble on. She gave him a quick tour; he dutifully admired the gardens, and smiled at the chickens and the cantankerous goat.

Finally she gave him a sideways glance. “But happy as your news is, it could have been delivered in a letter. And you didn’t come all the way out here to see my flowers and be loaded up with spare vegetables. What’s up?”

He gave her a gentle smile. “Actually? I wanted to check on you. I was surprised to hear you’d hung up your sword.”

She smiled, but it seemed more reserved now. “I got out of the game, Wyll. It happens.”

“Doesn’t usually happen to someone who makes the kind of name for themselves as you did.”

She was silent at this. After a long moment he added, gently, “They’re singing songs about you, you know. About what you did.”

Now her shoulders sagged. “Ah.”

“Is it true?”

She looked away, dark eyes staring off into the blue morning sky. “They would hardly sing songs about it if it wasn’t.”

He touched her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What is there to say?” She still didn’t look at him. This, this was the Xia he remembered, careful and closed-off. It made him sad to see. “The ascended vampire lord has been destroyed and his budding empire torn down. I dealt the death-blow myself.”

His heart hurt for her. He, too, had grieved what Astarion had become, but he’d never been as close with the vampire as she was. Xia had always been driven to do the right thing, but he couldn’t imagine how it must have felt, having to kill her former lover. “Is that why…?”

“Why I stopped?” She shrugged. “I made a mess, Wyll. It was on me to clean it up. Once I did, that life didn’t have much appeal for me anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. “We should have been there with you. You shouldn’t have had to do it alone.”

“I did have an army with me,” she replied mildly. “I was hardly ‘alone.’” Glancing over at him, she gave him a small smile. “I’m glad you weren’t, honestly. It makes me happy that you and the others are living your lives. You deserve some peace.”

He returned the smile. “Well. So do you.”

“And I’ve found it.” She leaned into him, wrapping an arm around him in a half-hug. “Listen, I do want to catch up, and I have missed you, but I’m afraid I have to be a bad host. The house is a mess – turns out I’m a much better gardener than I am a housekeeper – and I never get company out here so I don’t have a guest room set up. Maybe we could-"

Just then the door banged open and someone strolled out of the house. Lanky build. White, curling hair. Skin tanned pale gold from the sun. Pointed ears. Clutching a mug of coffee in his hand.

“Darling,” he drawled, “did a blight destroy our berry bushes overnight? Did you have to plant entirely new ones before you could pick the blueberries? I don’t mean to be impatient, but you promised me muffins, not abandonment-"

“Astarion??”

He froze. She froze. Wyll stared between them, his eyes growing wide as he tried to process what he was seeing.

Then Xia turned toward him, slowly, with the absolute strangest expression he had ever seen on her face: a guilty, sheepish smile.

“Explain.”

 

~15-20 Years Earlier~

 

Astarion sat on Cazador’s- no. His throne, now. His, all his, and he should be happy about it, damn it. Instead he drummed his fingers, their last conversation playing in his head.

“You will regret leaving me. More than anything else you live to regret.”

She’d simply looked at him with her quiet eyes. “No, Star. The only thing I regret is that I couldn’t stop you from doing this to yourself.”

He scowled. What did she know? He hadn’t ‘done anything to himself’ except seize the power he deserved, the power that always should have been rightfully his. After 200 years of pain, of fear, of being weak, now finally he was the one who was strong. He would never be afraid again. He could have kept her safe too, could have given her everything she ever wanted. Instead she rejected it. Said she liked him better when he was weak. When he was pathetic.

She didn’t deserve him. Didn’t deserve the gifts his power would have bestowed. So be it. She could grow old and suffer and die, while he was beautiful and strong forever, and he wouldn’t care. He was better off without an ingrate like her anyway. He would put her entirely out of his mind and never think of her again.

*

It didn’t go as well as he’d hoped.

The first thing to do, of course, was make new spawns. He was powerful, of course, but he was only one man. An army of offspring, all loyal to him, all able to be controlled by him, would increase his power exponentially, allow him to effectively be everywhere at once.

So he started.

His first spawn was less than pleased by his new fate. That was fine. Astarion hadn’t suffered under Cazador all those years without learning a few tricks to break the will of a rebellious slave. If the boy couldn’t see the advantages of serving the most powerful vampire lord to ever exist, he would instead learn the folly of resistance. He’d come around in time. Astarion would make sure of it.

The second, by contrast, took to it like a duck to water. She had a streak of cruelty that delighted him, and she was a sensible girl, able to understand the quid-pro-quo of “serve me loyally, and I’ll be good to you.” Yes, she would work out nicely.

It was when he was out hunting his third spawn that he hit a snag.

A tall girl. Well-muscled from hard work. Dark hair, dark eyes – a round face with a serious expression. Not Xia, of course, but similar enough to her that they could have been sisters.

He brought her back, of course, fully intending to turn her. As he should have turned Xia, nevermind that she said she didn’t want it. Once it was done she would have seen the benefits, and even if she hadn’t, she couldn’t have left him then anyway. He should have done it.

Her face came back to him, the way he’d seen it last. Cold. Sad. Judgmental, as if she had any right to judge him. He snarled, the rage filling his mind, and lunged.

When he drew back she was dead, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling as the tattered remains of her throat slowly dripped onto his second-best couch. Ugh. Such a waste.

He made his first spawn clean up the mess – it would do the boy good to get used to such things. His second spawn (he should learn their names eventually, or perhaps give them new ones) he sent out to hunt a replacement. “And,” he added, glancing back to the cooling corpse. “If you can… find someone who looks like her.”

He could control himself better the next time. Of course he could.

*

He saw her again, a year or so later.

By that point his influence had grown enough that he was making alliances with other power players, but he wasn’t quite high enough – yet – to force them to come to him. So he was traveling, visiting a strange town to seal a deal.

He hadn’t had to hunt himself for months – his pets brought him all the fresh blood he could want. Still, there was nothing quite like the thrill of the chase, and he was in a new place where his face wasn’t widely known… so why not? Why not, for old time's sake? He donned a cloak, headed to a nearby tavern, and watched the crowd.

And there she was. Singing, for the gods' sake, like she was some common wench and not a paladin. His lip twisted in pity and disgust. If she’d only listened to him, she could be living in luxury right now, her every whim seen to, instead of debasing herself like this. Singing for her supper. She might as well whore herself out.

He stayed and listened, his fury growing as he did so. The song was sad, and told the story of a woman who had loved a powerful man, but her love wasn’t enough to keep him with her and so he had abandoned her.

How dare she. As if she hadn’t left him! As if he hadn’t offered her the world, if only she’d stayed! How dare she paint him as the unfaithful one, how dare she mourn their love! She had no right!

His hunt forgotten, he waited for her until she left the lights of the tavern. Stepping out of the dark night, he grabbed her by the throat and forced her back against the wall. “You know, darling, if you miss me that much you could always come home.” He bared his fangs, moving in closer. “Your place as my consort is still open. In fact, I’ve half a mind to put you there anyway – there are others who would kill to be my most beloved spawn, you’d learn to appreciate it in time.”

A blade pressed against his throat – gods, he’d forgotten how fast she was. Cold eyes stared into his. “If.”

He considered his odds. Her throat was right there – but lunging for it would mean the dagger slicing into his own neck. Possibly he could incapacitate her before it cut all the way through… but possibly not. “Beg pardon?” he asked, playing for time.

“If.” Her gaze grew, if anything, even harder. “I told you that it was a big ‘if.’ That I didn’t see it happening. But it’s getting closer.”

He stilled. He remembered now – a conversation long ago, around a fire. How pathetic he’d been then, cringing and sniveling, as if he needed her approval or affection. “Oh, pretty paladin, please tell me you aren’t threatening me.”

“Not a threat. A warning.” Now she leaned into him, bringing their faces close. “I know that ethics won’t move you, nor morality. Not love, not mercy, not kindness. You’ve seen to that.” Her words were quiet and emotionless, fired at him with a dreadful matter-of-factness. “So I’m appealing to enlightened self-interest. Keep your predations to a reasonable level, vampire. For your sake and mine: don’t become something I’m honor-bound to kill.”

He snarled, hate twisting his features. The blade biting into his neck was becoming uncomfortable; he took a few steps back, pretending it was his own idea, glaring all the while. “The arrogance. You really believe you could do anything to me? To me?”

She sighed. “Oh, Star. You know I was never afraid of you, right? Not once. Not even with your teeth in my neck. That hasn’t changed.” Her knife disappeared, vanishing into whatever hidden pocket she’d drawn it from. “Perhaps you should have been more afraid of me.”

And with that, she turned her back on him – deliberately – and walked away.

And Astarion, for reasons he absolutely did not understand, let her.

*

It wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t safe enough.

He wasn’t strong enough.

He had an entire horde of spawn bound to him, yes, but they could only operate at night. That was a limitation, and limitations were weakness.

He’d had the idea, once, to cover the city in fog and clouds, blocking out the sun, making it safe for his little pets. So he did. It took a while, of course, but he figured it out in the end.

Of course, then the people in the city were angry. There were rumblings of discontent. That wouldn’t do. The city should be his – he deserved that much, didn’t he? And anyone who disagreed, well. He always needed food. And he always needed entertainment. Those who spoke against him could provide both – quietly at first, then as publicly as possible – until no one else dared to speak.

So the city became his. But then it occurred to him – it was only one city. A single city could be destroyed, could it not? No, it wasn’t enough. To be truly safe, to be truly powerful, he needed multiple cities.

He needed an empire.

And, after all, why shouldn’t he have one? Why shouldn’t he rule this land? Who could stand against him?

Some years into this, the rumors first reached his ears. Whispers of tales told in taverns and common rooms, songs sung in secrecy. The story of a paladin who had been betrayed by a vampire lord, who would ease her heartbreak by taking revenge on her evil ex-lover.

He was furious. He sent out an entire squadron of spawn, with instructions: tear out the tongues of anyone heard repeating this rumor. He nailed the tongues to a board in the square, scores of them, a grisly display for all to see.

But the stories kept being spread.

Soon it was more than whispers. An army was amassing to the west, led by a scarred paladin, sworn to bring him down. Xia's name seemed to be on every pair of lips – a beacon of hope, they called her. A hero, come to free them from the scourge of – well, of him.

He hated her. Gods, he hated her. How could he have ever thought he loved her? It wasn’t enough to abandon him, to throw away everything he’d tried to give her. She had to try to destroy everything he was working so hard to build, too? Everything that would finally, finally make him secure, safe, happy?

They moved slowly. First a tiny border town, one he had only barely secured. The spawn he’d left in charge was killed, the fog dispersed. The people were free.

He sneered when he heard it. ‘Free.’ Free to live their miserable, pathetic lives, perhaps. To die meaningless deaths. Instead of being led by someone with vision, someone who would have protected them, who would only have taken a few lives here and there – and even then, those who died would have known they were sacrificing to further a glorious cause! But no. They wanted to live and die like animals? Fine. He didn’t need that town anyway. He had others.

But her army didn’t stop there. They moved forward, inexorably, whittling apart his budding empire and growing stronger all the while as people flocked to her banners.

He screamed as the reports came in, as he heard of each new city lost. Sometimes he took it out on the messenger. Sometimes he took it out on the townsfolk. So what if he did? It was her fault anyway, for angering him like this.

Then they were there, in his home city, moving closer, fighting pitched battles in the street. It should have been impossible for them to fight him here, in his own territory, but here they were, growing closer by the day. Until the city was theirs. Until they reached his walls.

And stopped.

They didn’t move on the castle.

Maybe they were recovering from the battle, licking their metaphorical wounds. Maybe they didn’t think they were strong enough. Maybe they were doing reconnaissance, or building a powerful weapon, or waiting for the stars to align. Whatever the reason, they stopped, and for months there was a stalemate. Astarion took advantage of it, building up his defenses and training his pets. If they were going to give him breathing room, he’d make them regret it.

Then, after several months, something changed. He wasn’t sure what – he shuddered, as if someone had walked over his grave, and afterwards he knew something was different. Something had fundamentally changed, and he hated that he didn’t know what.

A week after that, the attack came.

The fighting in the lower levels wasn’t going well, he could tell by the sound. His spawn were fighting for their own lives and his, he’d summoned wolves and bats and everything else he could think of, and yet the army kept coming, kept slicing his forces apart.

And then she was there.

In his private rooms. Alone.

He grinned when he saw her. “The years are catching up to you, Xia. Is that grey I see in your hair?” He clucked. “Should have let me turn you when you were still young and – well, as pretty as you’d ever be.”

She regarded him quietly, naked sword in hand. “I didn’t come here to talk, Astarion. I came here to kill you.”

“You still think you can?” He sneered. “Your little soldiers down there might be able to defeat my spawns, pretty paladin. But I am the ascended vampire. You cannot bring me down.”

“I can,” she said – calmly. Steadily. “And I will. I promised to make it quick, Astarion. And it will be.”

With that, they flew at each other.

She was every bit as fast and strong as he remembered – more so, even, after the decade or more she’d had to improve. But he was stronger too. Faster. And he had more tricks up his sleeve.

He drew first blood – the fingernails he’d allowed to grow long, had sharpened into talons, missed her neck but scraped against the melted flesh of her scar. He paused, grinning, and licked a drop of blood off of one of them.

Hells below, it was sweet. He’d forgotten how good she tasted.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy draining you dry,” he purred, and lunged again.

He relished the look of surprise on her face the first time he turned into mist, her sword passing harmlessly through him. He danced around her, waiting for her to grow tired and out of breath, something he no longer needed to worry about.

She stabbed. He misted. He laughed inwardly at the confusion in her eyes as she looked around, trying to figure out where he was this time. Silently, he materialized behind her, moving in for the kill.

Too late, he realized it had been a feint, as she whirled to face him, knowing exactly where he’d be.

Too late, he saw the blade swinging for his neck.

Too late.

Too late.

In his cold dead heart, he hadn’t actually thought she could kill him, any more than he could kill her. Oh, he could consider it. Fantasize about it, even. But actually do it? No. They were bound together. He would disarm her. Render her helpless. Then turn her, as he always should have, and they would be together. Forever. As it always should have been.

He was wrong.

There was the excruciating pain of the sword through his neck. The sickening spin of the world as his head left his shoulders and tumbled down. The darkness taking over his vision.

Then nothing.

*

The first thing he was aware of was… warmth.

He was warm.

That was new.

He opened his eyes to see Xia bending over him, her eyes red and puffy, tears streaming down her cheeks. That was wrong. Xia never cried. Not once, in all the time he’d known her.

“Oh gods,” she gasped out, as soon as she saw his eyes open. Then, standing, she stumbled away, turning her back to him as her shoulders shook.

Carefully, he sat up. His body felt… weird.  Something was on him, littering his lap and the floor near him. Little stones, or gems maybe, but hollow and blackened as if they’d been burnt from the inside. He touched one and it crumbled to dust.

Something was wrong. Something felt wrong, familiar and alien at once. He stilled, trying to feel it, to understand what was happening to his body.

It was a heartbeat. It was his heartbeat. For the first time in over 200 years.

He stared at the paladin’s back. “Xia… what did you do?”

The answer was slow in coming. When it did, it was in a voice that was dull and despairing. “I undid the most important choice you ever made for yourself. I ignored your wishes and turned you into what I wanted you to be, without your consent. That’s what I did.”

His breath (he had breath!) caught. He stared at the crumbling gems again. Diamonds, he realized. Or they had been, before.

He remembered… oh, he remembered the ritual. He remembered Xia trying to talk him out of it. He’d ignored her, so sure he knew what he was doing, so sure it was the only way.

He remembered everything he’d done after.

His stomach heaved and he doubled over, retching, unable to bring anything up except strings of yellow bile. Still the horror and disgust washed over him in waves.

He'd become his own worst nightmare. He was as bad as Cazador.

No. He was worse.

When he finally regained the ability to speak, he croaked, “Why?”

She shrugged – one-shouldered, listless. “Because I’m selfish? Because I knew I needed to kill you, but I wasn’t ready to live in a world without you in it? Because I would rather have you alive to hate me dead.”

He shook his head, not understanding. “No. Not – what? Why would I hate you?”

She hesitated. “Star. You made a choice. You chose power. That was your choice; my choice was to fight you. And that choice was mine to make… but I didn’t have the right to take your choice away. You’ve been treated like a thing for too long, you deserve to make your own choices about your own life. And I knew that, and I did it to you anyway. Knowing it was wrong.”

He felt sick. “No. I didn’t – I didn’t know. Xia, please, I – I chose to do the ritual, yes. But I didn’t know it would be like this.” He swallowed. “I didn’t know I would be like this.”

She did turn then, tears streaming from her eyes, turned and knelt with him. Shaking, her hands reached out to cup his face. Hope, wild and fierce, blazed in her watery eyes. “You didn’t? Star. Please. Swear it. Tell me you didn’t want… this.”

He shuddered, shaking his head fiercely. “I swear it. Xia, the things I wanted to do to you – I would never.” He covered his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Strong arms wrapped around him then, holding him close; he let himself lean into her embrace, feeling like he didn’t deserve it. “You should have killed me,” he whispered. “You should have let me stay dead. The things I did… Xia, you don’t know the things I did.”

“You can tell me,” she murmured back, “if you want. But it wasn’t you. If you didn’t know what the ritual would do… then you didn’t choose what you’d turn into. The person who did those things, it’s not you, and it’s not anyone you would choose to be.”

“It was still my hands,” he whispered. “Still my voice that gave the orders. You tried to warn me.”

“I did,” she replied, rubbing his back. “With things I guessed. Suspected.  Not things I knew. You were scared. You wanted something to make you strong. I wouldn’t have believed my warnings either.”

He had nothing to say to that, unable to believe in the easy forgiveness but unwilling to reject it either. He clung to her in silence, until the shaking stopped.

Finally he asked, “…What happens now?”

“Mmm. My army is pretty gung-ho on ‘kill the vampire,’” she mused. “Probably you’ll want to lay low for a while. I’ll tell them you’re dead, and after things calm down I can smuggle you out of the castle.”

He nodded, sitting back and wiping his face. “I’ll… I don’t know where I’ll go,” he admitted, “but I’ll figure something out. I won’t make trouble for you, I promise.”

She frowned. “…Oh,” she said after a moment. “I mean… yes, of course you can go off on your own, if that’s what you want.” She hesitated. “I just… can I give you anything? Money, supplies?”

He shook his head, not looking her in the eyes. “You’ve given me the greatest gift I could ask for. I’m… Xia, I’m alive.” A laugh escaped him, soft and disbelieving. “I never thought, never even dared to hope… it’s freedom. True freedom. A second chance, despite everything I’ve done. I… I couldn’t ask for more. I’ve done enough to your life as it is.”

Silence. Then slowly, tentatively, gentle fingers reached out to push hair away from his face. “I mean,” she said, hesitant. “You could do more.”

He looked up then, meeting her eyes with a look of utter confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I delayed my attack for months – over the loud objections of my generals – until I could get my hands on the magics that could bring you back,” she said. “Because I didn’t want to risk killing you for real. I mean that even knowing that I had the magic to fix it, it still hurt more than I can say to see you dead by my hand. I mean that I didn’t do all of that because I never wanted to see you again afterwards.”

Now his eyes filled with tears. “Xia. You can’t mean that.”

“Can’t I?” She met his stare unflinching, and there – in her dark eyes, there she was, his quiet, pretty paladin. “Astarion. My Star. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Nothing has changed that. Nothing could.”

He shook his head. “I’ve killed people. Enslaved people. Tortured people, mutilated people. For bad reasons, when there was a reason at all. I don’t-" He ducked his head. “I don’t deserve you. I never did.”

“Oh, Star.” She reached out, her fingers soft in his hair – and then, suddenly, she was gripping his hair, gently forcing his his head up like she did the first time he fed on her, when he lost control. She raised his head until she could meet his gaze. “I already cut your head off once.”

He stared at her. “I. What?”

“I already cut your head off once.” Her mouth twisted. “It almost killed me to do so, but I did it. Was that not enough punishment? I can do it again, if you need me to; bringing you back should be much easier now. Or I can just yell at you a lot, if that’s easier. Tell you what a horrible awful person you are and why you should feel bad.”

His heart lightened even as he scowled. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Little bit.” Her grip on his hair loosened and she sat back, ruffling the curls once before letting her hand drop entirely. “I could tell you again that I don’t blame you for what you did, but you didn’t believe me the first time, so. Let’s do this instead. You say you don’t deserve me. But what do I deserve?” She leaned in. “Do I, or do I not, deserve to finally be with the man I love? After fighting for him all this time?”

Gods, she was going to be the death of him. Again. He swallowed hard. “Can you blame me for thinking you could do better?”

“Better than the love of my life?” She smiled. “Can you blame me for not believing that that’s possible?” He melted. How, how could she still believe such things about him?

She touched his cheek again, her thumb running lightly over his cheekbone. “Beloved. My night has been empty for over ten years.” She leaned in. “Please. Give me back the stars?”

He felt himself sag forward. Felt his lips meet hers.

It felt like giving in. It felt like giving up.

It felt like deciding to live again.

 

~Present Day~

 

As the story wound down, Wyll reached for another blueberry muffin – they were really very good. “So… a combination of Wish and True Resurrection? Clever.”

Xia nodded. “I cast Wish ahead of time, to undo the time limit on my next use of True Resurrection.”

“Which I felt,” Astarion chimed in. “It was itchy, feeling someone mess with my fate.”

“I’m not sorry. Anyway, I took a week to recover from the effects, and then the rest is history.”

He nodded. “How did you know it would work?”

“She didn’t.” Astarion arched an eyebrow, smearing butter on a muffin. “Which I remind her of all the time, that if her theory had been wrong I would be dead for good.”

“Yes, you do, love, and it’s not traumatizing at all,” Xia deadpanned, poking him. “But, Wyll, you can see why we keep it a secret?” Her eyes met his, pleading. “You and I, we knew him before, and we understand the circumstances. But someone who lived through the Dark Times… whose son or daughter or sister or husband was taken to the castle and never returned… they wouldn’t forgive. They’d come looking for him.” She glanced at the elf by her side. “Maybe they’d even have a right to. But gods help me, I don’t care.”

He nodded slowly. “No, I… I understand the predicament. But… well, you understand I’m not the only one who cares about you two?” He leaned in across the breakfast table. “Astarion, I’ve talked to some of the others from back then. We all grieved, when we thought you were dead.” He glanced at Xia. “And for you, when we thought you’d had to kill him.”

Astarion blinked, but recovered quickly. “Hmm. I would have thought I’d burned those bridges long ago. Surely a decade or so of terror matters more than a few weeks of sharing a common enemy?”

Wyll reached out, laying a hand across his pale wrist. “You were our friend. We didn’t forget that, even after you changed. We never stopped caring about you.”

Astarion blinked again, then looked down; there was a rustle under the table, like the sound of one person kicking another. “I told you,” Xia murmured, then turned to Wyll. “Every new person who learns a secret increases the chances that it will get out,” she said seriously. “That’s why I was trying to get rid of you before. Nothing personal, just. That’s how the numbers work.” She sighed. “But… we do trust you. If you’re in contact with the others, if you think they can keep this secret… we’ll trust your judgment.”

He felt a rush of warmth within him at the words, at the two cagiest members of his old party choosing to trust him with something so monumental. “It’s been about fifteen years,” he remarked. “Maybe twenty. Might be high time for a reunion. We could have a party and everything.”

Xia and Astarion glanced at each other, a whole conversation seeming to pass between them. Finally Xia sighed, turning back to him with an expression of resignation that didn’t actually hide the joy beneath the surface. “You’re really going to make me set up that guest room, huh?”

He grinned. “I am. I really, really am.”

[meadowlarkx]

Body and Spirit

Fic/Elven food writing on pregnancy for @tolkienekphrasisweek day 2: Culinary Arts, for the theme of "bread and roses." | AO3

From the writings of an unknown Elf-scholar of the First Age, found in the ruins of Vinyamar before Beleriand’s sinking; now housed in Rivendell.

Rightly has it been written that the bearing of children takes great share and strength of one’s being. It is the duty of each faithful spouse to attend their partner carefully in this time and wait upon their needs. So the proverbs run “thou worriest like a first-time father” and “when the husband’s belly is full, the wife’s hands are never empty.” And any healer will attest that food nourishes the spirit of parent and child both, if it is prepared correctly.

In days of old, parents could rest easier: it was peacetime, and labor was effortful but always painless. Dim eyes were soon brightened by the new child’s squalling, and child and bearer both were anointed with Laurelin’s dew and garlanded with Telperion’s blooms as safeguards against dark dreaming. It is true also that Yavanna and Oromë never let expecting parents go wanting, sending servants to each threshold with fruits of field, orchard, and wood that sated more than any other. If even then Míriel’s spirit was spent and spouses fretted, how much more do they fret now, and with better reason! Yet babes go on being born as if in spite of the shadow.

Our souls are fashioned such that the mind of one spouse draws very near to the mind of the other and each knows always (if things are aright) the contemplations of the other’s inmost heart, and this is to great advantage in childbearing just as it is in child-begetting. It makes easy and unburdensome those urgent cravings that may strike one with child. Indeed a husband often knows before his wife does what it is she wishes to eat or drink, and the best spouses are ever at the elbow of their partner with this or that delicacy. My own wife once had such a wish for pickled radishes that our garden’s were finished in one Mingling, and all of the neighbors made gifts of theirs for our kitchen.

Of these desires some say that they foretell the tastes of the babe when it is grown, and others divine in them the babe’s impatience, laughter, worry, and so on. I will not here offer a full enumeration, for it seems to me each family speaks differently, and every parent is their own loremaster in this matter.

A few more words on the subject. Many have found certain cordials and tisanes soothing and strengthening for the spirit strained with child. A honeyed elderflower infusion refreshes the body, especially when chilled with ice. Dried mint, thyme, and ginger root steeped in hot water ease discomfort, and the fragrant steam brightens the spirit. As winters here bite so deeply, this last may be of most use. 

Begettings are most frequent in the Spring and thus Elves are often in childbed come Spring again. So I have striven to mark a calendar of the seasons, as well as those dishes once or now customary to be served for the health and joyful greeting of a new-growing babe and to honor and sustain the one with child. Though much is scarce, and certain plants cannot be found, new children are rare in these lands and the bearing of them is a hard thing, and a brave one. I ask readers to use every store at their disposal to make it easy and happy. Where one thing cannot be found, another of similar savor can be used in its stead.

Spring (begetting)

It is still a tradition among our people to celebrate with feasting when the child’s spirit is first felt, even if, as it may be now, only the wedded pair themselves are at the table. Sweet and savory dumplings are usually the centerpiece of this dinner. A simple dough of flour and water or egg will suffice to wrap them. Soft cheese well-salted and herbed with chopped ramp, garlic scapes, and violet leaves makes a good filling in this season. Preserved fruits and jams will suit as well.

Two things are essential in such a feast: a bowl of rich broth (each prepares it differently), to nourish the child, and a small dish of honey infused with violets, to welcome it with sweetness. Both are for the bearer of the child to drink entirely, or among the Sindar and Teleri, to be passed between both parents to the raucous encouragement of their family and friends. It is a remarkable and auspicious thing that the Elves of Middle-earth drink broth and honey to mark the time of begetting as we did in the West. Perhaps this has been our way since the days of the first awakening, though to uncover the truth of it would demand a keener mind than mine.

Summer

Summer is a time for sweets as the babe grows. The moment of quickening often occurs in late summer and may be celebrated as well. The following is the method for a cake preferred by the Vanyar that has since become popular among our people: Mix a light batter of flour, butter, egg, milk, and honey, perfumed with a spoonful of orange blossom water or rosewater, and some of the peel of a lemon; pour it into small round baking dishes that have been well oiled. Into each dish of batter, press the cut slices of exactly one peach or plum, arranged in a round to resemble the whole. (Persimmon and guava were also favored in Tirion, an you find them.) Bake in a quick oven until fragrant and golden, then cool and turn out. Scatter the tops of the cakes with rose petals.

Some among the Vanyar make a version of this sweet with a heavier dough, pressed thin and swaddled about whole fruits which are then baked so assembled. In both methods, the cakes, or depending upon whom you ask, the round fruits therein, are said to show the size of the babe at midsummer.

Autumn

The foods preferred in autumn during childbearing honor Elf and child while lending strength for the coming winter. One preparation that is very savory is to set a partridge or game hen in an artfully arranged “nest” of carrots, parsnips, slivers of apple and wild onion stalks, whichever of these are to hand, and to roast them all together until tender and browned so that the vegetables take in the bird’s juices. A lighter but very popular delicacy is that of strips of very thin dough twined into the shapes of nests or cradles. They are then filled with a mixture of stewed figs and blackberries, spiced with cardamom. The time spent upon winding such small baskets makes this task one best and most joyful shared among many hands with laughter and singing. It is ill fortune, however, if the Elf bearing the babe lays hand to such work, which ought to be done instead on their behalf.

Winter

Anyone will tell you that several foods for pregnant Elves are ever insisted upon by relatives and spouses in the cold of winter, and all the more in this land where cold numbs and freezes. One must be especially careful during this time. Yet some dishes are held to be particularly lucky or healthful. One adopted from the Falathrim is a clear stew of white fish and pickled salted greens, flecked with barley: it is oft prescribed and thought to ensure a good flow of milk after the birth, especially when tender crab’s meat is added. A porridge of as many different seeds as can be found (poppyseed, wheatberry, buckwheat, oat, walnut, and hazelnut are favorites) brings a life of plenty to the couple and the future babe. It is typically flavored with dried fruits and orange rind, and sweetened with honey.

In the past, the most devoted spouses sought fresh snows from the heights of holy Taniquetil to mix with cream, sugar, and vanilla seed. Such a simple iced confection is thought especially delectable for Elves bearing children, as it refreshes a strained body and delights the spirit. Here the winter season affords the best opportunity both to make and to relish it.

Spring (childbed)

Just as violet-steeped honey is drunk to celebrate conception, so it is again upon the table as the span of a year draws to a close and the time of childbed approaches. A draught of such honey stirred into clear springwater with crushed thyme is drunk by the Elf nearing childbed to make labor sweeter—all the more needful now that it brings such pain. Many favor also a round leavened bread of red winter wheat studded with seeds, said to be more strength-giving in the short term than lembas, and good for weariness before and after childbirth.

All must attentively wait upon the Elf who has recently undergone the trial of childbirth, providing comfort and celebration. A sweet soup of cloudy sea moss, dried fruit, and boiled dumplings filled with chopped nuts is customarily prepared by the family and specially offered to the Elf recovering abed. It is delicate and soothing to the stomach and marks something of the sweetness of this most joyous of times—before the great feasts of the child’s naming.

_____

Endnotes on AO3; say hi if you like!

[meli-meliai]

When Seth was a child, he wanted to know about everything.

How humans had first came to be, who the mysterious God that his parents so often whispered about on nights when they didn’t think that he was awake, why his mother always flinched whenever she caught even a fleeting glimpse of a snake. Why his father went out of his way to hunt down every snake he saw. Who decided that the trees and grass should be the same color in vaguely different shades.

It wasn’t just mere, childish curiosity, either. His thirst for knowledge was insatiable. But books weren’t invented yet when he was young; so instead he focused on listening to as many stories as he could.

His beloved mother, though an eternal burden weighs upon her shoulders, took it upon herself to weave the young world’s very first stories. Before the Son of the Lord had walked upon the Earth, gentle Eve held her son in tired arms and spun tales that no one but him would ever hear, parables of virtue and morality, her melodic voice floating in the cool, nighttime winds whistling past the orchards that could never compare to the Garden of Eden. Though she was exhausted-a feeling that she could never quite get used to, no matter how many times she has experienced it- she had never failed to scoop her son into her arms and hold him close as she spins another new story out of thin air.

“My son, have I ever told you about the angels who fell from eternal paradise?”

”No, you haven’t! Tell me!”

”Of course, of course…but before I tell you, do you know WHY they fell from paradise?”

“I can’t know ANYTHING if you don’t tell me! Why did they fall?”

”…I don’t quite know either! But… I might have a guess.”

”What is it, mom?”

”…”

Eve still had dreams-or rather, nightmares- of the beautiful angel who held out the tantalizing red apple out to her- his soft, sultry voice promising her an eternity of knowledge and a vast sea of answers. On some nights, she woke up shivering, swearing that she had felt a feathery wing envelope her back and raise her up, up, up… to a light so bright that she felt as though she might burn if she rose any further Funnily enough, though, it wasn’t his beauty that she remembered. That part was wispy around the edges, blurred and faded like a memory of the wind.

No. It was the promise. Of freedom, of knowing. For what is life without the crisp, sweet satisfaction and reward? What is humanity without automity?

Sometimes the taste of forbidden fruit lingers on her tongue, the crisp sweetness unlike anything she had ever experienced. Yellow-gold snake eyes watched her as she bit into the crisp flesh, and a part of her wanted to kiss it. To thank it for giving her a choice, the freedom, the knowledge that she could make decisions by herself.

Knowledge was a beautiful thing, for if she hadn’t eaten the fruit, she wouldn’t have seen the way the snake’s eyes softened in turn. And for a moment, she could see an angel behind it.

Then she and her Adam were promptly kicked out of Eden.

Her Adam…

”Mom! Are you okay??”

”…Oh! I’m so sorry, Seth. I was just… lost in thought.”

”About what?”

”Nothing, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

Seth looks so much like his father, but also…so much like him. The fallen angel that she never had a chance to understand.

“…Mom?”

”Hm? What is it, my son? Are you tired? I can put up your bedroll…”

”No! I just wanted to ask, how did you come to love Father? He’s so…”

Frigid. Bitter. Demanding.

She couldn’t imagine a day where she wasn’t in love with Adam.

“I was created for him, Seth. I was born to love him.”

”Yeah… but what about him? Do you think that he loves you back the same way?”

Eve wasn’t sure. Before the fruit, before she got them both thrown out of Eden, she had never questioned her purpose or place in Adam’s life.She was literally created from his bones, shaped to be perfect and his love, his constant companion. But… he had another one, didn’t he? Before her. She never learned the woman’s name, but Eve wonders if she left because of the same reason that the snake tempted her with.

Knowing. Freedom. Something more out in the world.

She wonders about this woman, would love to talk with her about all the answers of the world. She wonders if she is as beautiful as the angel of her dreams.

“Of course he does. If he didn’t, he would’ve left me to face the consequences in the Garden of Eden.”

Seth frowned, scrunched up his nose. His mother always seemed distracted whenever he asked these kinds of questions, but never doubtful. He saw the way her warm brown eyes (the only part of her appearance that he had inherited) stared wistfully into the trees, as if she was reading something that wasn’t- and will never- be there. Waiting for answers that will never come.

And he hated it. He hated leaving questions unanswered. He hated the twistedness of guessing, of having to wrack his brain over and over again just to find a puzzle piece of the uncompleted whole story. What was the point of breaking God’s rule to consume knowledge itself, only for it to be twisted in a labyrinth of confusion? He was only a child, and he had hundreds of years in front of him to figure everything out- but he wanted to know now.

But he loved his mother. He inherited her eyes, her smile, her craving for knowledge. Her desire for something more. But unlike her, he would never have the chance to satisfy his curiosity until long after his death. And his fate will be far, far more cruel.

To him, at least.

”Hey…Mom?”

”Hm? What is it, my dear?”

”If you don’t know exactly why the angels fell, can you make up a story about it?”

Eve smiled, and in that moment the tiredness from her face faded. She nuzzled her son and placed a kiss upon his silvery-white hair, and her heart felt light and content. It was as if she had never left Eden. In fact, she felt even happier, somehow. Would she have had her wonderful children if she never ate the Fruits of Knowledge? Would she have had the joy of holding her bright-eyed son in her arms and making up lullabies to sing to him every night? Motherhood was suffering, but what is joy without it? Light and color would’ve never existed without darkness. And, though she knows that she should disagree, a part of her felt like she would never have it any other way.

If only she could’ve done the same for Abel and Cain…

If only she could’ve saved both of them.

But she was powerless to her own consequences, the first seeds of sin taking root in her own children. Holding Seth close so that he wouldn’t see his failure of a mother blinking back tears, she whispered a feather-soft prayer into the nighttime wind, that none of her children would ever suffer the same fate for as long as they lived. Otherwise, if anything happened to them because of her idiotic mistake, trusting that damned snake’s honeyed words and false promises…

She felt like crying. What kind of mother cries in front of her own child? She felt like a failure of a mother, unworthy to be the forebearer of humanity. For was the purpose of humans simply to struggle, due to her choice? Did she bear her children only to have them face the same fate?

…No. It won’t be like that again.I’ll get them right this time. She thought, as she wiped her face and lifted her face to smile at her son again, unaware that he heard and saw everything. But Seth has always been good at hiding his true emotions, so he gave her a smile that mirrored Eve’s own. He felt her hands tremble against his back.

She could still see the blood that coated her son’s dead body, could still feel the rasp in her voice as she screamed and screamed and screamed as Adam came running to see what was wrong-

No. It would be different this time. It would never happen again.

Her smile faltered a little bit as she looked at her son. So much like his father, but so much like her. Forced to carry such a burden at such a young age… but he never would’ve been born if not for that burden. Truly, a gift from the omniscient and omnipotent Almighty, sent as both a consolation and a reminder of what she had done wrong. And if not for that gift, she would’ve never been here, singing lullabies and weaving stories to tell him. And so, she began a new one, her ethereal voice carrying in the cool airs of the wind, the stars twinkling overhead mother and son as moonlight enveloped their silhouettes. The creatures of the Earth held its breath in anticipation of a new story:

“There was once an angel, the most beautiful out of all the ones in Heaven… he was God’s favorite, until the day he fell, both from his home and from grace.”

[curseofthebloodcountess]

Strahdtober Day One: Sergei

I didn't get a chance to write this on time - I might be a day behind or more all month - but I wanted to share some fic writing about Sergei in Blood Countess. Tagging my party: @thelostbarovianroyals, @morpheoussilvercreature, @knightinkosherarmour

On days like this, Sergei longed for the orchards of Huldefolk. Spring spread across the valley and the fragrant blossoms of Ravenloft’s garden could only be coaxed open at sunrise. 

“So, they’re morning glories,” Sergei had quipped when Strahd showed him. Her face of iron did not flinch to a smile. She instead reached for one of the crimson roses and cupped its bloom in her hand. Blood-red petals dropped to the grass under her touch. 

“Is this what passes for wit at the Church of St. Andral?” she asked.

Sergei could never understand her nor the austerity of Ravenloft. He lived deeply in the world, if not always easily. He sang the songs of worship and of secular pleasure in Common, Elvish, and even Sylvan. He danced alongside the peasantry at festivals and only adorned himself richly when wearing his vestments. He laughed and smiled readily. There was so much to mourn in the world; joy should be seized. Strahd had not learned that lesson. 

She must have still mourned Mother. It would account for her black dress and aloof nature. Grief painted her as a matron, which she surely was not. Sergei wondered if she would be mired in such deep grief if she knew what had killed Mother in the end. Strahd had killed Osybus for the same crime not yet twenty years ago.

There hadn’t been a body to bury. 

He spent more time with Rahadin at Ravenloft. Many he had grown up alongside regarded Sergei’s older brother as some kind of bogeyman. Sergei couldn’t see that, not really. Maybe he didn’t want to. 

There was better company in the village of Barovia. Sergei went often and again thought of going today. It was a quick, invigorating ride through the woods - a chance to revel in Barovia’s natural splendors before indulging in the company of smiling faces who knew the Morning Lord’s light and love as he did. Perhaps he would go now. Yes. He rose and donned his travel cloak. With luck and the Morning Lord’s smiling favor, he would see his new friend again: Tatyana. In a castle clouded by grief, she brought sunlight. Maybe she could make the flowers bloom, even in the night. 

A silly thought, a romantic thought. Sergei had always loved stories and he shared the ones he had learned in Huldefolk with Tatyana. His favorite were the old, Elven stories about how the day fell in love with the night. He loved the drama of it and the way it wove neatly into religious teachings he had learned in the Church of St. Andral. He also loved battle stories, usually the ones about Strahd, which had set a precedent for him as a child. He was never sure how to reach the heights of glory his sister had already achieved in vanquishing demigods and reclaiming the Balinok lands for the von Zarovich crown. He trained to be like her and though he was no more like her than the sun was like the elusive moon, he shone in his own right. Taty reminded him of that in a gentle way. Mother used to say it, too, but there was something dangerous about not being like Strahd, though Sergei could never tell where the danger lay. Growing up, he hadn’t told anyone how scared he had been that he would never be enough like Strahd to please anyone or that it had been safer to go into the Church (even with some reluctance) than become a soldier. He had still trained with the blade, just in case. 

He readied his horse, that beautiful white mare. 

White horses did not exist, not really. They were all shades of gray. No one wanted to know this, of course. Not artists nor historians. Not even his family as they made painful, quiet small talk. He felt like Tatyana would laugh at him and ask, grinning coyly, if he had any other interesting facts to share. She was the only one who saw it that way, who didn’t expect him to be perfectly charming and didn’t expect him to be a von Zarovich or a priest or a prince. The thought of seeing her and of being seen by her cheered him. 

So he rode on to Barovia Village.

Maybe he would invite her to Ravenloft. Maybe together they could bring some light to the gloom. 

[coffeeosims]

NAME: VON HAUNT ESTATE

NO CUSTOM CONTENT / USE CHEAT BB.MOVEOBJECTS ON WHEN PLACING THE LOT.

PLAYTESTED.

PACKS USED: GET TOGETHER + ROMANTIC GARDEN STUFF + CITY LIVING ( just 1 item)

Origin Id: Coffeeosims.

I really wanted to use this lot more, but there was nothing to do there. This lot has:

-a rose garden with chess tables, a place to paint ( if the sim is sitting on the bench you can create a portrait using "paint by reference"), a busking area, a woohoo bush.

-a wishing well and a small cemetery area for the original owners of the house

-a cherry orchard with easy access to the party area near the lot.

-a gazebo with a wedding arch, some chess tables, another easel and a piano.

-a small area for children to play.

- the inside is decorated in a similar way to the original build and the bookcases contain some skill books for your sims to read. I kept the original information plaques that tell the story of the house.

TRAY FILES: DROPBOX

Feel free to use or modify my creations however you like (personal games, public saves etc.). Credit is appreciated but not required.

[therealslimshakespeare]

How would the men of "Those Who Can" react

If they received flowers from their spouse for the first time?

How would they respond if they were called "beautiful," "gorgeous," "breathtaking," or even "ethereal" by their spouse, rather than being called "handsome" or "good-looking"?

What would their reaction be if they were complimented on the beauty, color, and softness of their skin and lips, or told that they have very beautiful and delicate-looking hands?

How would they react if their spouse told them they have mesmerizing eyes?

How would they feel if they realized that their spouse is obsessed with their buttocks, constantly slapping and pinching them?

How would they respond to being complimented on how muscular and strong their legs and back look, prompting them to start wearing shorts more often or simply walk around the house shirtless and in their underwear?

Lastly, how would they react if they wore something that compliments their physique and their spouse got all flirty and tactile with them?

Those men need to be appreciated! Thankfully their partners in crime love them to infinity and beyond!

Gosh I love these sorta asks, Nonnie, as I’ve said before they make me think harder on dynamics while also being so pretty and lovely and it’s just a grand time all around. Ok let’s do this.

18+ for typical universe warnings, Those Who Can. here in lies some sexual content and illusions to past Male S.A. read at your own discretion, as always .

💐 Receiving flowers:

Gale Cleven: oddly touched by it tbh, even if it was some rose Maureen snagged from a bouquet at a wedding and tucked behind his ear. He totally treasures it and presses it in one of his study books and no one finds it until his kids are cleaning out his shit and there it is.

Rosie Rosenthal: Ida buys this man flowers like he’s a Victorian maiden she’s trying to woo, full on sprays and bouquets, vases full of seasonal market bunches and pickings from her nephews and nieces. Insists his desk is bare and bachelorly without them, and she’s got a point because any time someone asks Robert Rosenthal Esq. what the flowers are for he always beams and informs them they’re from his wife who loves him. He blushed like a girl when she first gave them to him, and still buries his nose in them as she holds them before taking them from her. Every single time.

Jack Brady: chronic gardener and wildflower picker himself, it’s hard for Tilly to one up him but she’s determined, very proud to bring him the first few blossoming branches from their orchard. They are the sort to plant certain things and dedicate them to each other.

John Egan: don’t think poorly of Jo that she doesn’t give him flowers. But here’s the truth of it, his first and most prized blossoms he ever received were dandelions from his eldest baby girl when she could barely crawl and clutch at them in the park. Later it’s upgraded to flower crowns that both daughters craft intricately and with great pride for his curly head.

✨Being Called beautiful/ethereal:

Gale Cleven: Maureen never once called him handsome and he rolled with it, he is not preoccupied with it but he’d have to be dull not to be aware of the fact he attracts a certain kind of attention, different from the sort that a man like Bucky gets. Even before Maureen’s attention came, unwanted or wanted it’s always simply been a little different for him. So he’s not weirded out or bashful for the most part. But honestly? When he wakes up to find her staring at him like he’s heaven sent it makes him blush. and her juvenile delight at the fact their children have his features is gratifying in an awful way he barely can own up to

Robert Rosenthal: a gratified and stammering blush of a man. Ida hurls the compliment at him as if she’s got a grievance to level with him and she must kiss him as punishment and it makes him feel like her loverboy in the best way

Jack Brady: quite negatively initially. It was all very funny and well to be compared to Ida as a handsome girl, etc but after the camp it genuinely smacks of something sour to him and while he’d never admit that or ask for a change in his friend’s ribbing, as it’s not something a man owns up to, it still sits uneasily. But from Tilly? After years where she’s studied his soul and crafted children by her body with his eyes and her skin? Ah his wife can call him beautiful and he knows it’s an expression of admiration for more than his physical features

John Egan: Jo calls him that one night when she’s riding him and the lamp light really makes his sweat soaked skin glow a burnished bronze -he cums instantly tbh

Ok I’ll admit -third question I haven’t got anything I didn’t overstate above, lol so pardon the skipping.

👁️ Their Eyes:

Gale Cleven: honestly it gets to him so much, melts him, he’ll turn pink and those lashes will flutter overtime

Robert Rosenthal: widens them like a dork so she can get a better look, “these ones?” usually blames it on her non-existent drinks or the orgasms talking

Jack Brady: positively loves when Tilly traces them, is immensely proud that they’re notedly remarkable according to others, almost a family hallmark, that Bradys as a whole are recognized by them, his kids, Ida and Eugene…

John Egan: was informed of this while weedling his way into something with said eyes and immediately got a big blushy smile on and kissed the daylights outta Jo

🥞Slapping/pinching of the butt

Gale Cleven: long suffering endurance and an instant shame boner

Robert Rosenthal: flexes and asks if she knew he used to play football…yes Rosie, she knows and she likes it

Jack Brady: a scowl followed by a smirk that means absolute terror for the inflicter

John Egan: high pitched squeaks every time, desperately concerned about his balls as if they’re in danger???? is mostly ticklish more than scandalized, gives as good as he gets

👔Compliments on an appealing article of clothing that flatters them:

Gale Cleven: knows he looks good in what he chooses, but is rather conservative in it. Most of the time, but he is aware nothing tickles his vain little wife more than when he rocks up to her stuffy old money family reunions looking like a matinee idol, and he’s happy to play his part once a year: good god the swim trunks and slung towel around his neck with the beach hair and golden tan?! he knows he’s pretty arm candy and he expects payment from her for it afterwards

Rosie Rosenthal: short shorts king, hysterical he pulls them out for vacations and when kayaking or at the beach or hiking because tbh he’s a bit shit at relaxing but still, he’s very pretty like that and Ida always had an affinity for his thighs, ever since his skivvy story, tbh. he maybe wears them to mow the lawn more often than necessary.

Jack Brady: speaking of mowing lawns -all that gardening mentioned earlier? Yeah, sweat soaked white shirts and singlets and faded denim baby, he’s a dream in it and he can’t get over the fact Tilly restrains him in her kitchen often to copulate when he’s disgustingly sweaty and smelling of gasoline and fresh grass. (I trust you can see where she’s coming from with this??) but also!!! When he’s not gardening he’s the most homebody of all homebody’s and he loves a good book or an easy jam session with musical instruments. His go to cozy outfit is a sweater, tighty whitey underwear and socks. Those pretty, track hardened, lean legs going on for miles…the underwear usually gets soaked. Blame Tilly again.

John Egan: short shorts and open hula shirts. I don’t make the rules, and my god he looks good in them with his chest hair and man boobs out and about and those massive thighs. When he sees the affect this dad outfit has on his wife he becomes insufferabley committed to it.

[emeraldxphoenix]

TYPES OF PEOPLE: DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS CLASSES.

BARBARIAN. toothy grins. stories around the campfire. clothes covered in pet hair. hot temper. old jeans. heartbeat in head. potatoes and steak. beaded jewellery. bruises like galaxies. mementoes. backpack stuffed full. craigslist furniture. spontaneous road trips. air ripped from lungs. BARD. homemade bread. white lies. easily excited. trying on hats. band geek. pep talks. no impulse control. sunsets. vintage fashion. long showers. selfies. following dreams. rosy cheeks. song mash-ups. pink lemonade with tequila. loves easily. animated storyteller. full of comebacks. CLERIC. list of wishes. biting their tongue. band-aids and neosporin. shoulder to cry on. morning sun. necklaces. trial and error. homemade quilts. formal clothing. astrology fan. messages in bottles. pleated braids. speaking up for friends. feathers. motivational quotes. vivid dreams. DRUID. bird watching. shy kid. wind chimes. trying to whistle. summer camp. apple orchards. lost in their head. glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. hoodies. thrift shopping. saving worms off the sidewalk. pig latin. bare feet. thunderstorms. numb fingers. braided hair. naming potted plants. FIGHTER. goose bumps. leather jackets. adventure. chewing nails. cares deeply but can't show it. bronze locks. no sleep. taste of iron. netflix binges. never forgets. combat boots. stories behind scars. table for one. official soundtracks. sore calves. trusts themselves the most. MONK. always trying to be better. wanderlust. meditation. sweat pants. old photographs. yoga. sleeping in hammocks. nostalgia. minimalist design. breath of fresh air. baby animals. volunteering. perfectionist. doesn't care about fashion. healthy snacks. noticing the little things. PALADIN. school uniforms. thick jackets. sleeping with the windows open. logical advice. scrapbooking. compasses. i fight for my friends. sculpture gardens. cold morning air. big soul. likes routine. secret romantic. last to get jokes. sunflowers. practical presents. misty weather. RANGER. herbal tea. smell of rain. blinking away tears. camping trips. collecting bones. swiss army knives. first impressions. anxious thoughts. bobby pins. burnt marshmallows. too competitive. clothes lines. messenger bags. holding grudges. gets along better with animals than people. ROGUE. flirtatious sarcasm. candid photos. lost phone chargers. adrenaline rush. picking dirt out from beneath their nails. social chameleon. clashing clothes. self-deprecating jokes. claw machines. sits in chairs wrong. smudged eyeliner. has too many sunglasses. eats nothing or everything. SORCERER. infectious laugh. family trees. shivers down their spine. lipstick and roses. mood swings. clumsy. believing in destiny. high expectations. sleeping in darkness. collection of nail polish. passionate. good grades but never studies. poetry books. blowing kisses. not knowing their own strength. WARLOCK. knowing everyone's secrets. backpack covered in pins. envy. being in walmart late at night. earl grey. selective memory. conspiracy theories and cryptids. keysmashing. need to know basis. can't cook. bags under eyes. experimental art. flickering bulbs. black clothing all year long. WIZARD. piles of textbooks. cat in lap. keeping a diary. indecision. scented candles. studying alone in a cafe. lingering touches. museum dates. unanswered questions. taking on too much responsibility. collections. chalk dust. comfy robes. unnecessary apologies. coming home after a long day.

tagged by: @victoriousfidelity <3

tagging: @rvndrkhlme , @wildcxrds , @tempusetveritas , @spidersdance & anyone else who wants <3

[aintashes]

𝑇𝑌𝑃𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝐸𝑂𝑃𝐿𝐸 : 𝐷𝑈𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐺𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐶𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑆𝐸𝑆

𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐼𝐴𝑁 ⚔ toothy grins, stories around the campfire, clothes covered in pet hair, hot temper, old jeans, heartbeat in head, potatoes and steak, beaded jewelry, bruises like galaxies, mementos, backpack stuffed full, craigslist furniture, spontaneous road trips, air ripped from lungs.

𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐷 ⚔ homemade bread, white lies, easily excited, trying on hats, band geek, pep talks, no impulse control, sunsets, vintage fashion, long showers, selfies, following dreams, rosy cheeks, song mash-ups, pink lemonade with tequila, loves easily, animated storyteller, full of comebacks.

𝐶𝐿𝐸𝑅𝐼𝐶 ⚔ list of wishes, biting their tongue, band-aids and neosporin, shoulder to cry on, morning sun, necklaces, trial and error, homemade quilts, formal clothing, astrology fan, messages in bottles, pleated braids, speaking up for friends, feathers, motivational quotes, vivid dreams.

𝐷𝑅𝑈𝐼𝐷 ⚔ bird watching, shy kid, wind chimes, trying to whistle, summer camp, apple orchards, lost in their head, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, hoodies, thrift shopping, saving worms off the sidewalk, pig latin, bare feet, thunderstorms, numb fingers, braided hair, naming potted plants.

𝐹𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝐸𝑅 ⚔ goose bumps, leather jackets, adventure, chewing nails, cares deeply but can’t show it, bronze locks, no sleep, taste of iron, netflix binges, never forgets, combat boots, stories behind scars, table for one, official soundtracks, sore calves, trusts themselves the most.

𝑀𝑂𝑁𝐾 ⚔ always trying to be better, wanderlust, meditation, sweat pants, old photographs, yoga, sleeping in hammocks, nostalgia, minimalist design, breath of fresh air, baby animals, volunteering, perfectionist, doesn’t care about fashion, healthy snacks, noticing the little things.

𝑃𝐴𝐿𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑁 ⚔ school uniforms, thick jackets, sleeping with the windows open, logical advice, scrapbooking, compasses, i fight for my friends, sculpture gardens, cold morning air, big soul, likes routine, secret romantic, last to get jokes, sunflowers, practical presents, misty weather.

𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑅 ⚔ herbal tea, smell of rain, blinking away tears, camping trips, collecting bones, swiss army knives, first impressions, anxious thoughts, bobby pins, burnt marshmallows, too competitive, clothes lines, messenger bags, holding grudges, gets along better with animals than people.

𝑅𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 ⚔ flirtatious sarcasm, candid photos, lost phone chargers, adrenaline rush, picking dirt out from beneath their nails, social chameleon, clashing clothes, self-deprecating jokes, claw machines, sits in chairs wrong, smudged eyeliner, has too many sunglasses, eats nothing or everything.

𝑆𝑂𝑅𝐶𝐸𝑅𝐸𝑅 ⚔ infectious laugh, family trees, shivers down their spine, lipstick and roses, mood swings, clumsy, believing in destiny, high expectations, sleeping in darkness, collection of nail polish, passionate, good grades but never studies, poetry books, blowing kisses, not knowing their own strength.

𝑊𝐴𝑅𝐿𝑂𝐶𝐾 ⚔ knowing everyone’s secrets, backpack covered in pins, envy, being in walmart late at night, earl grey, selective memory, conspiracy theories and cryptids, keysmashing, need to know basis, can’t cook, bags under eyes, experimental art, flickering bulbs, black clothing all year long.

𝑊𝐼𝑍𝐴𝑅𝐷 ⚔ piles of textbooks, cat in lap, keeping a diary, indecision, scented candles, studying alone in a café, lingering touches, museum dates, unanswered questions, taking on too much responsibility, collections, chalk dust, comfy robes, unnecessary apologies, coming home after a long day.

tagged by: @chaos--mode tyyy this was so cool and fun !! tagging: @painmon @afterdeaths @asaemi @bloodsalted @carltongrimes @florrentine @ischaron @jundlcndwastes @noblehigh @rayofsunshinc @rebuiltmyself and anyone else who wants it !

[forlorn-crows]

CUTE MOUNTAIN BLURB FOR CROW ♡

It's cold this morning.

Raw and damp, fog still hanging in the pre-dawn air as Mountain takes his morning walk. He's headed to the greenhouse, technically, but he always takes the long way around. Through the rose garden, past the orchard, skirting the edge of the lake - it turns the five minute walk into a half hour journey, one that fills Mountain with joyous calm.

The sun is creating the horizon by the time he's done, the early spring sky painted in streaks of pink and orange. He ducks into the greenhouse just as the first birds begin to chirp, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it just inside the door.

"Good morning, everyone," he calls, flipping on the lights. It's a silly habit he supposes, but the plants are alive as anything else and it would be rude not to greet them in their own home.

Mountain tugs his apron over his head and ties it off as he wanders through the rows. He pulls his hair back into a loose bun at his nape, securing it with a tie he definitely hadn't stolen from Dew, making his way to the worktable at the back of the building. He grabs one of his gardening gloves - it's pruning day - and is hunting for the other when he hears the telltale squeak of the greenhouse door.

"Mount?" The earth ghoul smiles as Rain's still-sleepy voice cuts through the silence. "Are you here?"

"In the back," he calls, pulling out a pair of battered stools and dropping his glove. Rain rounds the corner a minute later, still in his pajama pants and bedhead. He's carrying a small canvas bag. The water ghoul gives him a lazy smile.

"Mornin'," he says through a yawn, setting his things on the table and wrapping his arms around Mountain's middle. He rests his head on the taller ghoul's chest and Mountain presses a kiss into his hair.

"Morning to you too, lilypad. What brings you here so early?" He wraps long arms around Rain's shoulders, listening to his soft purr. "Not that I ever mind your company, but even Dew isn't usually awake at this hour."

"Couldn't sleep," Rain murmurs, nuzzling into Mountain's apron. "I got up to make some tea." He unhooked himself from the taller ghoul, pressing a chaste kiss to Mountain's neck. Rain steps back to the table and gestures at the bag. "Saw you forgot your breakfast, so I thought I'd bring it."

Mountain blinks as he watches Rain unpack things - a small plastic container, a banana, some grapes in a baggie and a dented green thermos.

"I think I got everything," Rain says, folding up the bag and covering up another yawn. "The coffee is nice and hot still, three sugars like always." He shakes the container, letting its contents rattle around. "I dunno how you have enough energy to work off of a handful of granola and some fruit, honestly. I -"

Rain is cut off with an /oof/ as Mountain pulls him into a crushing hug, holding the water ghoul so tightly that Rain probably thinks he's going to get sucked right into his skin. Mountain can't help it, not with the way he's so overcome with affection.

"Raincloud," he says softly, "you didn't have to come all this way for that." Rain gets his arms around Mountain's waist and squeezes.

"I wanted to," he says, resting his chin on Mountain's chest so they can look at each other. "It's no big deal." The fact that Mountain feels like his chest is crackin gone suggests otherwise, but he doesn't mention it.

"I appreciate it very much," he says instead, kissing Rain's forehead to get another one of those sleepy smiles tugging at the water ghoul's lips. "Are you heading back?" Rain shrugs.

"I guess, yeah. I'll probably crash on the couch and try for a nap until Dew is up. We're on kitchen duty together anyway, so-"

"Stay," Mountain interjects. Rain tilts his head, quizzical. "If you want to, I mean." the earth ghoul clarifies. "I have a few blankets in storage. I can throw them down for you to rest on. It'll be warmer here than the common room, and you won't have to walk back in the cold. Only if you want to, you don't-"

"I'd like that," Rain says softly, eyes shining. "As long as you join me." Mountain huffs out a soft laugh.

"I can do that."

[nephriteknight]

i've made a playlist for my hanahaki-adjacent martin corruption fic! i spent way too much time on this, and it is ordered deliberately ;) it is almost entirely the crane wives because a) the themes!! and b) i just love their music okay. thought i'd highlight some lines from each song, think of it as a tonal sneak peak (can you tell i'm way too invested in this wip? ironically, it is consuming me)

"Feed me promises, keep my heart well, I'll sing you songs until the darkness does recede. But if in the end I lose my voice will you forget about your love for me?" (Canary in a Coal Mine by the Crane Wives)

"I bite my tongue to keep the worst of the words in so they don't hurt nobody but me. Swallow the poison I wanna spit, bitter medicine, I think it's making me sick." (Bitter Medicine by the Crane Wives)

"Oh, the path of least resistance, foolish misinterpretation. Your heart is a nasty place, I'm afraid to say no to you." (Predator by the Crane Wives)

"Folks 'round here are mean, spit fire and gasoline but all I want is solitude. I have half a mind to climb up in the sky and hide myself inside the moon." (New Colors by the Crane Wives)

"I will drown for you, sink to black from blue, and let the water win. Wear you 'round my waist, hold your heart like weight, open my lungs to let you in." (The Diving Bell by the Crane Wives)

"Someone teach me to love without it swallowing me whole. If to love is to be changed I'm only worsening, mosquito larvae in my ribs. He only loves me when I rot like him." (The Bog Bodies by Rabbitology)

"I should be counting blessings, something is better than nothing, isn't it, isn't it, isn't it? It's close enough to perfect, what does it hurt, a little bit?" (Nobody by the Crane Wives)

"All my aching bones are trembling and I may yet fall apart. Won't you stay with me my darling, when the war starts in my heart?" (Curses by the Crane Wives)

"Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's the pain but I can't shake the feeling we're not coming back again. We're not pure of heart but we're true of aim and our heads are full of love and blood and whiskey." (Blood and Whiskey by the Mechanisms)

"Dreams are sweet until they're not. Men are kind until they aren't. Flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart. Is anybody listening? I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Nothing, nothing gonna wake me now." (Flowers from Hadestown)

"There's a wind alive in the valley, it will fill your lungs if you'll have it. Where I go, will you still follow? Will you leave your shaded hollow? Will you greet the daylight looming? Learn to love without consuming?" (Thus Always To Tyrants by the Oh Hellos)

"Come my dear and drink while the water's still cold. I am naught but a scar upon your breastbone. So kiss me quick steal every secret I keep. You can have anything that you want from me." (October by the Crane Wives)

"When it's love turns you sour, only love can turn you back. Stop waiting on the flowers. Blood don't mean a thing in the end." (Caleb Trask by the Crane Wives)

"Been enraptured and tied, turn your ghosts into mine, all the years, all the years I'm alive. Softly a cold wind paints my face into your arms, sell my sorry soul." (Naked, the Night Falls by the Crane Wives)

"The moon will sing a song for me, I loved you like the sun. Bore the shadows that you made with no light of my own." (The Moon Will Sing by the Crane Wives)

"Time will change you. You'll leave behind what doesn't move. We all outgrow our roots." (Time Will Change You by the Crane Wives)

"So lets throw my garden party, you promised roses but gave me thorns. You'd leave me rotting 'til summer's over, guess I'll be digging alone." (Garden Party by Madds Buckley)

"Climb ye higher and higher and higher 'til you're far away and breathing cleaner air. Oh my brother, my brother, my brother who have you become in the wake of all that happened here? They're burning down the orchard to the soil, to the soil, to the grave. Spreading out the ashes of a love that only gave and gave." (Icarus by the Crane Wives)

"So I take a deep breath and turn to be brave. Harvest the fruits of being afraid." (Red Clay by the Crane Wives)

"I thank these walls, my hideaway, my sanctuary to worship the pain. I never thought I'd leave the cave, but I'm more curious than afraid." (Arcturus Beaming)

"I won't bargain, I won't break, my mind made up though my head still aches, and all my love you tried to take but you can't have it all." (Can't Have It All by the Crane Wives)

"I have always known you, you have always been there in my mind. But now I understand you and I will not be part of your designs." (Dear Wormwood by the Oh Hellos)

[wizofwaterdeep]

types of people : dungeons & dragons hc meme

𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐼𝐴𝑁 ⚔ toothy grins , stories around the campfire , clothes covered in pet hair , hot temper , old pants , heartbeat in head , potatoes and steak , beaded jewelry , bruises like galaxies , mementos , backpack stuffed full , spontaneous road trips , air ripped from lungs .

𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐷 ⚔ homemade bread , white lies , easily excited , trying on hats , band geek , pep talks , no impulse control , sunsets , vintage fashion , long showers , following dreams , rosy cheeks , song mash-ups , loves easily , animated storyteller , full of comebacks .

𝐶𝐿𝐸𝑅𝐼𝐶 ⚔ list of wishes , biting their tongue , band-aids , shoulder to cry on , morning sun , necklaces , trial and error , homemade quilts , formal clothing , astrology fan , messages in bottles , pleated braids, speaking up for friends , feathers , motivational quotes , vivid dreams .

𝐷𝑅𝑈𝐼𝐷 ⚔ bird watching , shy kid , wind chimes , trying to whistle , summer camp , apple orchards , lost in their head , glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling , saving worms off the sidewalk , bare feet , thunderstorms , numb fingers , braided hair , naming potted plants .

𝐹𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝐸𝑅 ⚔ goose bumps , adventure , chewing nails , cares deeply but can’t show it , bronze locks , no sleep , taste of iron , never forgets , combat boots , stories behind scars , table for one , official soundtracks , sore calves , trusts themselves the most .

𝑀𝑂𝑁𝐾 ⚔ always trying to be better , wanderlust , meditation , sleeping in hammocks , nostalgia , minimalist design , breath of fresh air , baby animals , volunteering , perfectionist , doesn’t care about fashion , healthy snacks , noticing the little things .

𝑃𝐴𝐿𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑁 ⚔ school uniforms , thick jackets , sleeping with the windows open , logical advice , scrapbooking , compasses, i fight for my friends , sculpture gardens , cold morning air , big soul , likes routine , secret romantic , last to get jokes , sunflowers , practical presents , misty weather .

𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑅 ⚔ herbal tea , smell of rain , blinking away tears , camping trips , collecting bones , swiss army knives , first impressions , anxious thoughts , burnt marshmallows , too competitive , clothes lines , messenger bags , holding grudges , gets along better with animals than people .

𝑅𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 ⚔ flirtatious sarcasm , adrenaline rush , picking dirt out from beneath their nails , social chameleon , clashing clothes , self-deprecating jokes , sits in chairs wrong , smudged eyeliner , eats nothing or everything .

𝑆𝑂𝑅𝐶𝐸𝑅𝐸𝑅 ⚔ infectious laugh , family trees , shivers down their spine , lipstick and roses , mood swings , clumsy , believing in destiny , high expectations , sleeping in darkness , collection of nail polish , passionate , good grades but never studies , poetry books , blowing kisses , not knowing their own strength .

𝑊𝐴𝑅𝐿𝑂𝐶𝐾 ⚔ knowing everyone’s secrets , envy , earl grey , selective memory , conspiracy theories and cryptids , key-smashing , need to know basis , can’t cook , bags under eyes , experimental art , flickering bulbs , black clothing all year long .

𝑊𝐼𝑍𝐴𝑅𝐷 ⚔ piles of textbooks , cat in lap , keeping a diary , indecisions , scented candles , studying alone in a tavern , lingering touches , museum dates , unanswered questions , taking on too much responsibility , collections , chalk dust , comfy robes , unnecessary apologies , coming home after a long day .

tagged by: @oathwilled & @sorcerav tagging: @sanguisarcana, @myristicisms, @merdeva, @ehrendiil, @chaostring, @spiderwarden & whoever wants to do it!