#I wish I had art or something else to share that was less. All that tbh

[sxorpiomooon]

What does your family think of you?

Paid readings

Masterlist

Pile 1-

More thinking less actually talking about it. You might talk to yourself alot or blabber alot? Alot of words that you say or are deep thinking about never actually see the light of the day and that's what they think. I see especially a women figure mother probably very worried and curious about this. They think of you as someone who knows very well how to hype others well someone who brings the light in people and you know the mood settler. Someone who brings excitement and they are always upbeat when you are near. However I think your family might be a little worried about you mainly because they believe that you hide alot from them especially your struggles it's like you refuse to talk about them or even acknowledge that they are there. There is also this theme about trying to ignore the past or let go off the past but not being able to. I keep having a vision of a person with their hands on their face there is a shame that this person feels as they wish to hide themselves/ their face so that other people don't look at it. Your mother or a women around you is the one that is the most worried and concerned she loves you alot and is waiting for the moment that you come up to them to talk. They believe that you bring light whenever you go and it's like you are the light. Your family also believes that you tend to hide your struggles this might be someone who might have had to protect their family from a very young age, someone with alot of burden on their shoulders and a belief that no one else can or should be handling it except them.

Pile 2-

The thought daughter. "You got your passion, you got your pride but don't you know that only fools are satisfied" from Vienna started playing in my head. Very warm and kind you might love winters or more so being able to hide yourself in big clothes, mufflers and fire near. You might daydream alot and might drink coffee or some other drink alot. "You know how to love better than most of us that's why you find it all so painful" from fleabag played in my head I heard "begging to be understood". You might feel as if no one understands you or your struggles but they do that's what you need to know. You might repress your anger alot in order to be kind or nice. I think your dad loves you the most he understands you it's in the way that he stares at you. Read books, philosophy, write in your journal and observe art you have a very long way to you. You have to understand and realise that people do see you for who you are especially your family. Someone very warm, kind and wise very good intuition and very connected to her inner voice.

Pile 3-

do you perhaps say the same thing alot of times because you are nervous or simply because you are not able to remember what you were gonna say next? Your family is patient with you. You have a good home I think if not good, you do have a home. You will always come back to your home and you will always have a place that will celebrate even your smallest goals. I think you make your house a home. You might connect all the family members with each other and even if there isn't much love between them they share this mutual love for you. You also have your community I think for this pile their family is not just their parents who gave birth to them etc but also other people that they have found over the years. You have a bigger family than the rest of the people. You are very celebrated. Are you good with decorations or surprises? There is something coming up regarding that I think your family might have wanted to do something for you alot of times but they fail because you are always two steps ahead. Your family might also feel as if they are a burden to you or perhaps you do more for them than they do for you? This might be a native household I'm also hearing a language I heard "their first time living too" and "maybe they really don't know any better"

Pile 4-

Oh they really fw however it's either that they think you are too much with your friends and about friendship or they believe and actually think of you as someone who is their friend and keeps a very friendly environment in the house. They might think that you like to party and have fun and also that people around you just have fun yk. Do you bring your friends to your home alot I see one in particular dancing with you dancing queen by ABBA started playing in my head. I heard "a very loving community". However they might also feel as if you have not yet discovered who you truly are. They might often worry that you are too fixed on the superficial thing and other people and pay no focus to your own well being I heard "emptiness and hopeless" that's not how they feel about you but that's what they believe that you feel about yourself. They might worry about your future and might want you to see things for what they truly are I heard "disregard for consequences". But they believe that you are someone who's very compassionate and composed.

[lynxfrost13]

Haiiiiiiiiiii Lynx!!

Okay, so 1, 3, 16, and 20 on the character asks schmorgasborg for Schrott! My grumpy old lady. Also this wasn’t part of the thingermajigger but what’s her gun? Her starling fetish object?

HI JAY HOLY FUCK YOU SENT THIS A WHILE AGO I'M SO SORRY but I've finally gotten to it!!!

What was the original thought that led to the creation of this character?

So Schrott as she is now is very different, but I'd had the idea of a character I'd dubbed "scrapyard star" living in my head since around september/october. The original scrapyard star didn't come to much other than being a bit of a joke character back when an older version of Hollenhund had replaced her leg with a starling's (basically i thought it would be silly if there was a sierpinski star who Wanze had to get her black chestplate from + then ALSO lost a leg + generally looked like a mess). But anyway that was like PROTO protoschrott. She came from a combo of that early idea and a thought I had of giving Holt another old lady friend! Then the last thought that I can definitely point to and go That's Schrott for sure is one I had where originally she was heavily based on a gw2 oc of mine, Nana Ragemittens (shoutout to u Nana ily). That wasn't the original thought tho but it's the first one I had that can clearly tie back to how Schrott is as a character now if that makes sense.

3. What was the first thing you decided on, the character's name, appearance, personality or their role in the story?

Going off of the proto-Schrott, appearance first! I knew from the start I wanted her to be a very banged up mess of a star, she's literally rusting on certain parts of her body due to her age and neglect. The visible aspects of her age also came in pretty early too, basically right around/before I started determining her personality.

16. Is there any memes or running jokes associated with the character, both in- and out of universe?

Lmao there's definitely a running thing of people making fun of her age, one of the first things I did when coming up with her character was this stupid thing:

She consistently gets dunked on for her age and I also enjoy calling her gramma and making fun of her I can't help it!!!

20. Bonus question: share any additional thoughts, art, favorite scenes, anything you've been waiting for a chance to ramble about

Okay I'll include your fetish item question as part of this!! I'll be honest I barely know anything about guns other than how to use one if I need to meself, so I'm mostly going off of aesthetic and names. That being said I think Schrott would have a Colt Commander of some sort:

I like to think its pretty rough looking and not originally hers, but instead a gun she took off one of the bodies of her cadremates as a way to always keep a part of them with her. It holds more sentimental value than anything, and she always keeps it on her both because of that, and as a last resort to get her mentee to do what she wants (is this good? No but Schrott kinda sucks). Off of THAT thought though I'm thinking about her relationship to Hollenhund. They're both very "dog who was neglected and given a last chance" coded but in very different ways. Schrott is like an old dog who's so angry she can't move. She's a character I really pity in many ways because she's in so much pain, but she'd rather make others hurt instead of confronting her own grief properly. And she's spent years like that and kind of trapped herself in that behavior to the point where no one genuinely wants to be around her. She also knows this and is so damn lonely and wishes she was the suave laidback girl she used to be but she's scared to change and doesn't even think she can anymore. I think a lot about how being transferred to the VDF-5 was her last chance before decommission and how if she keeps acting the way she does there's no more chances. And she doesn't really care about that. It was just a nice alternate way of decommissioning anyways really, since the VDF program is going under anyways. She does get slightly better in that her and Hollenhund do develop a genuine bond and are able to reconcile over some of their issues but Schrott's never going to be fully at peace until she's scrap metal rotting in a junk yard and at the end of the day she's the reason that's her only option now. Sorry that's a little depressing but yeagh I rotate her and her many many issues my wretched old hag <333

[tonycries]

Brooklyn Baby - G.S.

Synopsis. Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. Said Suguru doesn’t want to fuck anyone else but you. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rock star! AU, fwb-to-lovers, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), fingering (female receiving), Suguru is sinfully sexy and in l*ve with you, Satoru is a menace, pet names (darling, my girl), Suguru has tattoos and piercings, swearing.

Word count. 3.2k (DAMN I got carried away)

A/N. Happy Valentine’s day! *throws somewhat-fluffy smut at you and leaves* 

Art by @_3aem on X.

Also, wild west! AU longfic with someone dropping on Sunday night (EST), keep your eyes peeled yeehaw.

Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades.

You did. Your fans did. Hell, you’ve even caught your overworked band manager sneaking a few too many glances. 

And, you conclude, the groupies currently batting their lashes at him definitely did. 

You watch as they swarm to him during open rehearsal, giggling at his pretty smiles. 

Whatever, part of the job anyway.

It’s not like you two were dating. Yeah, a few fucks here and there throughout the years - but what’s one to do when on the road and in such close proximity with a guy that’s practically walking sex? 

Trying not to scowl, you turn away from the commotion, continuing to tune the strings of your trusty Fender. You’ve had your fair share of die-hard fans, so lately why did it bother you so much when Suguru entertained their thinly-veiled advances? 

“Ohoho~ Quite a look on your face there, why don’t you go and caress his biceps too?~” you hear idiot brigade member #1, Gojo Satoru, cackle from beside you. 

If looks could kill, Satoru would’ve been 6 feet under and rotting already. “I thought you stopped writing band fanfiction, Satoru.” you raise a brow. 

“THAT WAS ONE TIME.” he whines dramatically, clinging onto you and shaking you back and forth as if to knock the memory of his Wattpad tendencies out of you. “WHY ATTACK ME JUST CUZ YOU’RE JEALOUS? C’MOOON ADMIT IT.”

You were not jealous. 

Suguru knew you were jealous.

Sneaking a glance, he had to fight the urge to coo at the adorable little furrow of your brows. How unprofessional would it be if he walked off mid-conversation to kiss that pout off your lips?

He knows it’s just sex for you. But - foolishly - every time he held you he could only hope that he ran through your mind as often as you did through his. It elated Suguru to know you were getting that worked up over him. 

That is until, out of the corner of his eye, he spots Satoru draping himself all over you, whispering god-knows-what into your ears. 

The rational part of Suguru knows Satoru is a very touchy person, but why was he so…close? And why weren’t you pushing him off?

Smile tightening into something a little more artificial, he turns to the girls fawning over him. “Well, ladies, I’m sorry to say I’ve gotta go practice before Shoko yells at me again. I’ll see you all in the front row, yeah?” he lies smoothly, disappointed whines following him as he makes a beeline for your figure.

“Well! What have we here, Satoru, are you done tuning?” Suguru pops a head between yours and Satoru’s overly close ones, interrupting whatever conversation you were heatedly whispering. What was so important that you two needed to be that close to talk anyway?

He narrows his eyes at Satoru’s surprised ones, an invisible conversation taking place between them before Satoru cracks a smug grin. “Alright alright. I’ll go tune my guitar.” he rolls his eyes, heading for his electric blue Gibson. 

Your confused gaze meets the twinkling eyes now boring down at you. “Done with the meet-n-greet already?” you question, eyes darting to the group now watching you two like hawks.

The smile on Suguru’s face grows, “Yeah, remembered I didn’t do my pre-concert rituals right.”

“Oh?”

“Wanna help me with it?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer. Quickly setting down your guitar, he drags you out into the corridor - hand tightly in yours and pointedly ignoring Satoru’s wolf-whistles. 

Hallway sex is overrated, Suguru believes - which is why he heads for the dressing room. 

“Pre-concert rituals” his ass, Suguru just thinks he might pass away if he doesn’t get his hands on you right now. Make you feel like his.

It’s not long before the door is locked and he has you bent over the vanity, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt. 

“S-Sugu! Why now? The concert- Hah-” You gasp in pleasure as two long fingers probe inside of you, ruthlessly searching for the spot that Suguru knows would have your toes curling and eyes watering deliciously. 

“Fuck the concert, darling. Barely even started and already so wet f’me.” he drawls out over your whimpers. “Wanted you to come over y’know? And save me from those groupies trying to get in my pants.” 

In your lust-hazed mind, you find the words to respond to him, “You s-seemed to - hah - be enjoying that.”

“Of course not.” he leaves a trail of kisses down your back, “Wasn’t my favorite girl.” he whispers into your heated skin.

He’s being rougher than usual, he knows. In the back of his mind he wonders what it was that he was so pissed at. But all thoughts of that are thrown out the window once he presses into that plushy spot inside your wet core, drawing a sinful whine from your mouth. There.

Pulling back to tease your folds with your own slick, he plunges into your swollen pussy once more, easily hitting that spot over and over. 

“Hngh- Suguru, more!” you grind your hips to meet his merciless rhythm, clenching around his fingers. 

You feel as if you’re losing your sanity when he adds in another finger, walls burning as your cunt stretches around his thick rings. 

Suguru was definitely losing his sanity. 

Anyone could walk by. The concert was about to start any second now. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck, too focused on how his fingers were being sucked back in every time he pulls out, your pretty pussy dripping all over his numerous bracelets.

He has to hold back a moan at the way your ass jiggled every time your hips buck to meet his fingers. 

Leaning down over you, he hums lowly into your ear “So desperate for me, hm?”. Pressing the erection straining against his trousers against you, he huffs out “I’m the same, darling. You drive me absolutely mad.”

He feels the way you squirm in impatience at the large outline of his dick, raising your ass in an attempt to get more friction. Eyes crinkling in satisfaction, he pushes down on his girl’s slutty hips, cold rings digging into the small of your waist. 

“Now now…not yet.” he tuts mockingly. 

“Please, Suguru. Please let me cum.”

Increasing his pace, abusing your g-spot relentlessly, Suguru knew by your breathy moans of his name that you were getting close. 

His hand moves from your waist, leaving behind purple marks to remember him by. They wander the expanse of your body - groping your curves, and pinching your nipples through your thin top - delighting in your mewls.

God, you were perfect. He really needed to take his time with you later.

Suguru’s hands, nail polish chipped and fingers calloused from years of playing, finally rest on your face. He pushes your cheeks together, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and forcing you to look at him through the vanity mirror in front of you. Your dazed eyes meet his darkened ones. 

Suguru was so feral. The man that was usually the personification of grace and poise was falling apart at the seams. His eyes wild and grin spread devilishly as his fingers abuse your cunt never-endingly.

“Look at me when you cum.” he murmurs raspily into your neck, teeth ghosting over your rapid pulse.

You don’t know what it is that sends you over the edge - maybe it was his lustful words, or the way his fingers quirked just right inside of you. All you know is you’re cumming all over Suguru’s fingers, hands clutching the vanity table and eyes locked with Suguru’s in the mirror, mouth dropping into a gasp.

“Fuck! Suguru- Suguru!” you whimper.

Suguru watches in wonder as you ride out your orgasm, using him. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Let them see how beautifully you fall apart because of him.

Finally pulling out, Suguru inspects his fingers. “Now now. That won’t do.” he purrs. 

His tongue erotically licks up your juices covering his rings, still holding eye contact with you through the mirror. He catches the way your thighs press together at his lewd act. ‘Oh? Want some?“ he teases. 

Before you can retort, he’s bullying his fingers into your mouth, making you taste yourself. 

The way you moan around him sends blood rushing straight to his cock. Fuck, he has to steel himself from cumming in his pants right then and there - that wouldn’t be very “sex icon” of him. 

You have no idea what you do to him.

Not willing to wait any longer, he leisurely takes a seat on the spacious vanity sofa. You whine at the loss of contact before catching the predatory look in his eyes. Suguru was going to eat you alive. 

“Come on, darling. Show me how badly you want me.” he grins, legs spreading and prominent bulge on display. 

You take a second to admire the view. Tousled black hair falling enticingly along Suguru’s muscled shoulders, tattooed dragon peeking through where his shirt was messed up. His eyes lustful, and locked on you. 

He was devastatingly handsome. Your mouth waters at the chance to get what so many people would kill for.

Suguru chuckles as you struggle to unbuckle his belt - did rock stars have to always wear such complicated trousers? 

Finally, you pull them down along with his boxers to expose his creamy thighs. Suguru’s throbbing erection lays on his abs, flushed a delicate pale pink.

Your pussy quivers with excitement as you press wet kisses to Suguru’s leaking head, precum dripping down his length to where you’d gently grasped him. A strangled hiss leaves his mouth as you swirl your tongue around the slit. You find yourself lost in his heady taste - he tastes so good.

“Having fun, darling? C’mon now, use me the way you want.” he murmurs, need laced into his voice.

You’ve never gotten used to how big Suguru is. Soft groans leave his mouth as you flatten your tongue and take him in inch by inch, eyes locked with his blown-out ones.

Suguru’s back arches as the heat of your mouth envelops him, hands bunching your hair into a messy ponytail. His pornographic groans echo across the dressing room as you suck on his cock, tongue swirling in just the way you knew he liked.

He can’t even catch his breath with the way you bob your head so heavenly, sucking the soul out of him. It drives him wild to think about how he’s got his lead guitarist on her knees, choking on his cock as your fans wait outside. 

Suguru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as you pop off his cock to take his heavy balls into your mouth, moaning around them as you suck on both erotically.

Shit, he was really feeling it today. 

Through the bangs now sticking to his forehead, he makes out the way your thighs grind against each other for relief. 

You were, too.

If this keeps up he really will lose his sanity.

“As much as I’d love to paint your pretty face with my cum, I think we both prefer it inside, no?” he grits out, cock twitching at the strings of spit and precum connecting you to him as he pulls you off. 

“Need you inside me so badly.” you nod, brain foggy and filled with only Suguru.

He’s quick to lift you into his lap, resting your ass against his pulsing cock, sly grin spreading at the way you’re already so fucked out. 

Suguru feels like he could cum just from the sensation of your juices smearing all over his length, pussy dripping and aching for his throbbing cock. 

“Oh yeah? How bad?” he purrs, eyes half-lidded and already knowing the answer.

“Please. I want you to fuck me so badly, Suguru.” 

“Badly enough that you’d fuck me out there - where everyone is? Show ‘em who I belong to?”

“Yes.” 

At your whimper, Suguru thrusts fully inside you, a moan of relief leaving you both as you finally get what you’ve been craving for. 

“Shit, so tight. Always so good for me, darling.”

Once you start, it’s hard to stop, Suguru finds. 

It happened when he first fucked you in high school - in his car after your first show, running on adrenaline and teenage hormones. And, years later, it’s happening now as he sheathes himself in your wet cunt. 

He just can’t get enough.

He fucks you animalistically, cock ramming in and out of your hole in a way that makes it feel like you’re missing something without him. Nothing in the world other than your two connected bodies. He feels you clamping down on him deliciously, ego growing at you struggling to accommodate his size. 

“F-fuck, darling. Hah- It’s s’tight. Take it like my good girl.”

“Hngh- Suguru, faster!” you groan, fingers delicately playing with the nipple piercings peeking out of his barely-buttoned shirt, euphoric at his drawn-out moans. 

Unlike Satoru - who takes off his shirt every chance he gets onstage - Suguru was one to shy away from showing skin, slutty piercings and tattoos hidden to the world. It just makes it all the more satisfying as you lick a long stripe along the dragon on his shoulder. 

Feels like your little secret. You wanted to be the only one to see this ethereal sight.

“Ah- So good, darling.” Suguru leans back, allowing you more room to play with him as you please. Cock twitching - so close - as you bore into his eyes, sucking his flashy piercings. 

He ramps up his pace, bouncing you on his cock in a way that was carnal. It was so feral, the way his balls sting as they smack your ass, a ring of spit and precum forming around his base. 

His cock aches for release, but he wants to see you cum first. His pretty girl, cumming all over his throbbing cock.

You pull yourself off his swollen nipples and attach your mouth with his, tongues swirling sensually as he kisses you like he needed you to breathe. 

He’s almost as unforgiving with his mouth as he is with his cock. Almost.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“YOOO I don’t know if ‘pre-concert rituals’ was a code-word for something else but we’re on in twenty minutes.” the unmistakable voice of Suguru’s best friend - and occasional bane-of-his-existence - made you two jump apart. 

“The ultimate cockblock.” Suguru sighs out - his pace, however, does not slow down. Each harsh thrust makes it difficult to muffle your yelps of pleasure from Satoru, who was still calling for you two from outside.

Noticing your predicament, Suguru grins dangerously. “Oh? My poor girl finds it hard to stop her moans? Aww, better try harder unless you want dear Satoru finding out.” he mocks in your ear. 

Both humiliated and turned on by his words, your dripping pussy clenches around his cock. He lets out a choked-up groan, biting hard into the crook of your neck to stop it.

A satisfied smile spreads across your face, “Who should try harder now, Suguru?”

Ah, perfect. You were perfect, perfect for him.

As Satoru’s yells about “cutting a chunk out of Suguru’s pay” disappear across the hallway, both of you let out exhales of relief.

“Dangerous game you played there, mister.” you raise a brow, teasingly.

He chuckles out, before pulling you to him closer by the waist. Lips ghosting over your own, he whispers “Only with you, my darling.” 

Slightly more clear-headed but still dripping with lust, you meet the bounce of Suguru’s hips with your own. Eyes still locked with yours, he stuffs you with every inch - tip kissing your cervix so painfully good. 

The steady slapping of skin and synchronized moans fill the room, blocking out the cheering of the audience awaiting your band. 

Yet, the air crackled with something different this time. For the first time, it didn’t just feel like just mindless fucking.

Bite mark on your neck stinging, you could feel Sugurus heartbeat thundering under your touch - synchronized with your own.

In this moment it felt like just you two in this world. 

You wanted to be the only one in his world. Not his fangirls, not some manager, not anyone else. 

Maybe that was the reason for your courage, feeling like everything has finally come to a boiling point. 

“S-Suguru.” you breathe out as you feel yourself getting closer. 

“Mhm?” brows furrowed, he looks up at you with a tenderness in his eyes that does not translate to the merciless cadence of his hips. 

“Be mine.”

And that’s all Suguru ever wanted. 

With a final hard thrust of his cock, he pulls you into a searing kiss that sends you both over the edge. He cums in hot spurts, thick ropes of seed filling your quivering cunt. It was feral - and it made you feel like his. 

Suguru’s seed drips down the side of his length, forming a white ring at his base as he fucks it deeper into you, letting you ride out your highs together.

As your climaxes bate, he buries his face in your neck, kissing softly over the mark from before. “To be yours is everything I could ever want, darling.” he breathes out, hugging you closer as if to hide this vulnerable moment. But you feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin.

Embracing him, you gather his beautiful black locks in your hand, fingers deftly taking the hair tie around your wrist to tie his long hair into a messy ponytail. 

Pulling back, you admire Suguru’s angelic features. Face flushed, lips swollen, and dark eyes half-lidded as he stares up at you in surprise.

“Wanted to see your pretty face.” you huff out a low laugh.

The expression on Suguru’s face is indescribable, such pure adoration in his eyes. 

Voice low, he murmurs words meant only for you, “I…I’m in lov-” 

“HEYYY I’m serious, stop doing the devil’s tango and GET THE FUCK OUT.” Satoru’s voice bellows once again through the door, shattering the little bubble you and Suguru had found refuge in.

“Ah- um-”

“You-”

Both of you stammer out at once, chuckling at how shy you were acting with one another even after all that had transpired in this room.

“We should probably go, before Satoru and Shoko pop a blood vessel.” Suguru jokes. You laugh out in agreement as he carries you tenderly to the washroom, his interrupted words weighing heavily on both your minds. It’s okay, you have time. 

Rapidly cleaned up and dressed, Suguru stops, a hand on the dressing room doorknob. “”Hey..” he starts almost-hesitantly, “After the concert, would you maybe want to-”

“Yes.” you interrupt, excitement lacing your voice. 

Chuckling in pure euphoria as you both exit, your smiles turn more sheepish as you’re faced with a bored-looking Shoko and an impatient Satoru tapping his foot. “You horny lil’ fuckers almost missed the show, think of my poor fans~” he exclaims, though the glee in his eyes at your intertwined hands was very evident.

“Hope the sex was good at least.” Shoko drones out, eyes flitting over your guilty flushed faces. 

‘Oh yeah, and Suguru - next time you dump your fangirls on me, I chop your balls off.“ she chirps out, pointing her drumsticks threateningly at his neck as you all head back.

Blinding lights. 

Deafening screams.

Hair pulled into a messy ponytail, he was fatally beautiful onstage.

Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. 

But he only wanted to fuck you.

A/N. MMMMM long-haired men.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[xamag-draws]

BBR thoughts 2024

Since I mentioned that I finally dusted off an old project of mine and was ruminating on how I'd remake it, I thought I'd elaborate a little, now that I've solidified some concepts. For funsies

This is gonna be a bit of a long and unfocused one, but I don't share my personal thoughts here often, especially the stuff about my projects I always marinate in. And for once it's something that people have existing context for, so hey why not

So for anyone who hasn't been following me for a gajillion years, The Black Brick Road of OZ was a webcomic that I posted around 2013-2015, back when I was in highschool going on college (which is kinda crazy to think about). It was sort of a darker twist on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, although I definitely leaned a lot more into dark humor more than anything in those first few chapters

I don't think it's available to read anywhere anymore, and I know people have been asking me about it. So here's the full proper archive of BBR, as full as it can be with deceased Flash

I totally used it as an excuse to shamelessly and self-indulgently experiment. It had interactive pages and GIFs and was wayyy too overproduced for what I could handle or what was necessary, but I did have great fun making it while it lasted

Unfortunately, that excess and the fact that I've changed too much as a person by the time I was in college is what ultimately killed it. The direction I wanted to go in was practically unrecognizable from the original idea started back in 2011, so there were many old hold-ups that I felt ruined it

At the time I kinda wished I could start/rewrite it all over, but considering that I pretty much had the entire script done at that point, it felt like a pointless sisyphean task. So I just put it on a shelf and didn't look back for about 8 years, because I didn't know what else to do

Now to be fair, the nature of my art has always been iterative and cyclical; when I feel like my creative juices have run dry I prefer to leave a project to marinate and move on to something else; cycle through other old things and bring in new skills and perspectives into the mix when I'm ready again. Not very productive, but it is what makes me happy to work on my OCs; I'm doomed to hit a wall with them eventually and I need some time to be able to find a new direction

So that said, I'm glad that BBR was left to marinate for that long. I don't think I was prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to tackle it again until now. The Wizard of Oz book (and the entire series of them, really) has always been near and dear to my heart, but there's a lot of context around it that I'm only unpacking now that I'm older

I think I always inherently feel negatively about the stuff I've made in the past, like its faults always jump out to me more than the positives, especially the more time passes. I've never liked that, and I do really appreciate the kind things people have to say about BBR to this day. The fact that it still can be recognized and remembered is very sweet

When I left it, I already found it "kinda cringe", and that feeling only deepened with years. When I took my first look back at it, asking the question "how would I rewrite it now?", at first I took a very cynical approach, as in "everything would have to be torn down"

But the more I sat on it, the more I found that I still see some merit and charm in the ideas I was putting out; I just didn't know how to execute them at the time (not to pretend that I know what I'm doing now, but I certainly know more at least). Turns out a lot of my old concepts could be changed substantially with just a few small tweaks. So I'd say that's a nicer way to think about my previous work

If you haven't seen yet, I posted a first draft of my new designs for some of the characters (the main group, the Goods and the Wickeds). Definitely subject to change, but more or less how I see them now

I'm just playing with these concepts; by no means would I attempt to remake BBR right this moment. Call it a pipe dream among my other ones. But just for fun, this is the direction I'd like to take:

Nowadays I'd probably make it a visual novel, with more emphasis on the visual part than the novel because I'm no English prose writer by any means. It'd still let me play a little with the interactivity while helping cut some corners on the drawing part (only some, I imagine I'd go hog wild anyway)

I've always intended for some events inspired by the sequel books to take place in BBR's past. Stuff like Jinjur's revolt or Ozma's rule preceeds the main events here. So I think it would be fun to follow the past of a few key characters alongside the main story. One chapter focusing on the present quest to see the Wizard, then one focusing on the past events (that are maybe reflective thematically); rinse and repeat

I'm also sticking a little closer to the original text in some regards. Not everything that I enjoy from the books would be translated here, it's still just a very loose fantasy on the material; but I'd like to be closer in spirit at least

I like mature, wise and powerful Glinda, I like kind and vulnerable Tin Man, I like the Wizard being a pathetic yet loveable liar, so I'm sprinkling in more of that for example

I'd like to keep some whimsy, but make it more grounded and a bit more serious to be coherent in tone. I think the original TWWOOZ book was a more realistic fantasy in some ways, even for the standards of the time; I like its simple but vivid tactile descriptions and details like bringing attention that Dorothy needed to eat and sleep

I find it funny that Baum specifically was averse to making his books scary or unpleasant, finding that unnecessary for telling a compelling kids story, but they still can get pretty dark and disturbing, at least for our modern sensibilities. Let's just say that I intend to use the Evoldo and Chopfyt storylines for my purposes. In that way, I feel like a "darker" Wizard of Oz retelling can still mostly be tonally in line with the original and balance it with enough heart and occasional humor

I slowly grew to appreciate the quaint old-timey quality of the original series, as well. The first book is both timeless and very much a product of the 1900s. Originally I tried to give it a little modern or at least anachronistic spin, but it was moreso because it's what I knew best, so these days I'd rather intentionally lean into the time period. Still not fully historically accurate by any means, but at least directly acknowledging the influence

The events of the story span across 40 years of these characters' lives, so I'm drawing inspiration from the entire so-called La Belle Epoque: the time period around 1880s-1920s. Basically I'm cooking, and my soup is old Victorian fashion morphing into Edwardian fashion and slowly inching towards flappers

Some new Dolly outfits

Lots of crazy things, political changes and innovations were happening at the turn of the century, which I think is noted and reflected by Baum in the books as well; the character of Tik-Tok might not blow any minds now, but he was one of the first robot characters in literature at that point; and don't even get me started on Jinjur, etc. Plenty of really interesting stuff one could lightly ponder in an Oz adaptation these days

Aesthetically, art nouveau has always been a big artistic influence for me, and it'd definitely be its time to shine here. John R. Neill's illustrations of the Oz books often keep me company as well. Nouveau architecture in particular fits that fairytale whimsy extremely well imo

I'd allow myself a little bit of art deco here and there, but ultimately its intimidating geometrical splendor is an antithetical to the flowery nature of nouveau and I associate it with a completely different era. Definitely fitting some characters like my Wicked Witch of the West, but shouldn't be overused

One of my main problems with the original BBR was that eventually I lost track of what it was even about; and the original ending felt too mean and unfulfilling to be worth it. Now I'd like to stick to the theme of home and family as my main theme, but in a different, more bittersweet way than in the book

An interesting connection I made is that a lot of my aforementioned older key characters (the Witches, Jinjur, the Nome King, etc) all came from the same reformatory as kids, that's how they know each other. In my recent research I learned that in those reformatories it was usually frowned upon to release the children back to the families, which were seen as the original corrupting influence regardless of the circumstance. The reformatory did everything in its power to cut that connection and make itself the only family those wayward kids were supposed to know and love. That's an unexpected tie into the theme of home that I'd like to explore as well

So yeah that's the current state of it. I have a bunch of outfit concepts I'm slowly cooking, although I'm now sure whether I'd post them... But I do miss these funny guys, and I'm glad some people still do as well :)

[shockinglyangel]

THE BEGINNING OF THE IRRESISTIBLE - TOM RIDDLE x reader

MATURE, Warnings, Virgin!Tom, Virgin!Reader, Unprotected sex, Shit ton of narration.

SUMMERY: You’re doing your DADA homework with Tom when all the sudden he becomes a little less interested in hexes, and a lot more interested in you.

NOT PROOFREAD

You were sat at the desk in Tom's dorm, an organised chaos painting the delicate wood, parchment splayed out, some ink dribbles showing the intension and concentration of what you were doing. You scribbled down another few things, dusting off the side of your hand with your other hand's fingers, not wanting to further smudge the words on the paper.

It wasn't necessarily uncommon for you to be in Tom's dorm, you two were put together in a Defence Against The Dark Arts project, so you'd been spending a fair amount of time by his side throughout the past few weeks. Tom's dorm was always very well put together, he had a lot of space since he had no one to share it with, the walls decorated in a dark shade of green to show the commitment to his house — although Tom rather disliked the scheme. His bed sheets were dark, black to be exact. He'd come into a large sum of money unexpectedly during the summer, when asked about it he told people that it was an inheritance from his late grandparents. With this money he had been able to cover the expensive of some nice silk sheets for his bed, along with some pillows to accompany it.

You turned to look at him, your eyes traveling over his face as he stares at your handwriting on the paper, something he was trying to learn was what someone's writing style could mean — he was critical and observational like that. "Well I think that shall do it for our hexes section, is there a spell you would prefer to focus on for the jinxes?"

Tom lifted his eyes from the paper, moving his head to face yours. His eyes never quite gave away what his emotions were hiding under the mask of his face, but they were a rather nice sight to see. "Impedimenta could be of our interest."

"A spell to slow someone down to prepare an attack?" You paused, bringing the feather of the quill to your lips, brushing it over the pigmented hue in contemplation. "I am not against the suggestion."

The Riddle boy — or more alike to a man, nods his head with one simple movement, not wishing to overdo it and show too much involvement in the work you two are doing together. "Then that shall do it."

"Although," you begin, turning your body on his chair to face him better, wanting to have him a more invested part of the conversation, and figuring your attention was the only way to get him to be so. "I rather enjoy Levicorpus, it may be overused, but it is such a classic."

Tom failed to see such an argument against his option, but he brushed it aside, if you wanted to work on the Levicorpus, then he supposed you would. He didn't want to say anything, he was too busy trying to understand the feelings in his body, the rushing through his veins, and maybe other areas of his body.

His flesh was burning, and he truly wasn't quite sure as to why. Riddle is not incompetent, nor oblivious to those bodily functions, but one so overwhelming, one that he cannot push down or dismiss with a simple thought of something else? Now that was confusing. He felt his breath get tighter in his throat, like it had morphed into a piece of glass and had began to scrape the inside of his oesophagus, such a similar, yet unfamiliar sensation. Too much for someone with little experience.

He thought about it for a moment as you looked away to get back to your work, your hand so delicately holding the quill, the way the feather dances along with your movements; so precious, so graceful. So you. Tom brought his hand up, allowing his heart to take control of his body. He reached out for your face, placing but only a finger to your chin and using the pressure to bring your face back to his.

The act of his finger, even if only one, was so intimate, and intimidating all in one. If the touch made up of only one bone could have your heart shoot up into your mouth, what could two or possibly three do? You dropped the quill, placing it down on the parchment as your head was moved to face him.

Both of your chests had somehow managed to move in unison, like your hearts were beating in a similar rhythm, like everything up to this moment had you so disconnected, but now you are one. Keeping your eyes on him, you watched his move down to his finger which then became two, traveling the intensive digits down your neck and to your tie. He added his thumb, messaging it down the fabric of the green, striped elongated triangular shape.

At this point you couldn't help but look down, his hand making it's journey to the slip of your tie, holding it between his thumb and middle finger, loosening it from around your neck before giving it a pull. You looked closely as the tie was removed from around your colar, watching as he places it on the floor.

It was as if all of your formality had gone from your figure as the piece of fabric was taken from you, something so exciting yet confusing, your body begging for more answers.

Tom's fingers didn't stop, moving back to your shirt and undoing the top button, causing you to lift your head up for better access. He blinked for a moment as the dip of your neck was revealed to him, his newfound mass of blinking making it seem as if he was a victorian man seeing a pair of ankles for the first time. A piece of your skin; so unimportant and small, yet such the thing to affect his put together demeanour.

His eyes shot between yours and the shirt, his fingers not faltering as they continued to undo your buttons, his gaze becoming more fixed on your skin as it was revealed. Tom was a starving man, someone with little to no intimacy, never to know the feeling of a warm body under or beside his, but God, did he crave it.

Riddle swallowed as he undid the final button, unsure of what to say. There were no words he could think of, his brain to scattered and disorganised to find the sentence he should be speaking. You were the same, your chest moving with rasher movements, deeper breaths digging the oxygen into your lungs as if you could consume the scent of him there and then.

You could see in his eyes that there was more than a desire of the simplicity of removing your tie, or the drive for his fingers to unbutton each and every button of your shirt. There was more, always more. You both knew it, and you weren't to be the one to stop it.

You were quick to take the initiative, looking down at his lips before back to his eyes and finally, finally leaning in, the plushness of your mouths crashing together in a feverish dance, a destiny untold in the stars, known to everyone around you, and yet hidden from your eyes.

He breathed desperately against your lips, his hands moving to connect with your cheeks, cupping you in his grasp as if he would lose you if you were to slip out of his touch. His hands were rougher, colder against your skin, the temperature a stark contrast to your own.

Tom's tongue grazed your bottom lip, as if silently asking for the approval of taking things further. You accepted almost immediately, allowing his tongue to enter past your lips and into your mouth, finding yours and fighting with it as if he had something to conquer. You to conquer. He slowly but surely allowed his hands, which were almost trembling from uncertainty to move to your shoulders, pushing your already opened shirt down your arms, his palms taking in the newer feel of your arms and the prominent shoulder blades as he pulls your shirt down, tossing it to the side and leaving your torso in only your bra.

You took his initiative of a sign for you to take action as well, your hands leaving your side of the desk and wandering over to him, to his tie. Your hands fumbled for a moment, struggling to remove his tie before triumphantly pulling it off and letting it fall from your grip to the dorm floor beneath the two of you. Next was his white button up, but you wasted no time to undo it, Tom not allowing you as he pulled away from the kiss after you successfully undid the top four buttons, his impatience getting the better of him as he reached down to pull it up over his head before reconnecting his lips with yours.

It was like he was hungry for you, as if he could not survive without a taste. He allowed not one of you to catch your breath during the kiss, or even in the moments between kisses. Perhaps he thought the added oxygen would make your heads clearer and cause more logic to your actions. He did not want to think logically, he did not want to think at all.

"Get on the bed." His voice was slightly quieter from his usual tone, his lungs reeling in the need of air, but all he needed was you.

You nodded quickly, moving to sit on the bed, him not wasting even a second before following after you, his hand coming down onto your thigh, pushing up underneath your skirt, causing shivers to arise on both of your skins. You both knew where this was going, although neither of you were strong enough to, nor wanted to stop it.

He grabbed you by your hips, his hands sliding up to your waist as he lifted you up, placing you further back on the bed. His mind was filled with the desire of the evening, all the ideas in his mind spinning like an unstoppable wheel of destiny, and it would not stop until he had you, he could not force it to halt until the two of you were corrupted by dark desires and the feel of one another's body.

It had to be you.

He had grown needy in your absence, those nights alone when the only thing that was left to do was to lay in bed with only the memory of you, his hand doing the work that he had so desperately wanted you to do, his mind imagining it was you, it could only be you.

He crawled over you, placing his knee in between your legs to part them, his lips finding yours another time as his hand went back to your thigh, running over the burning flesh of your leg, and oh so desperately wanting to go further. His free hand dipped under your back, causing you to arch it for him, allowing just enough space for his touch to travel down the skin of your back, truly not wanting a single piece of you to miss out from the feel of him.

He found the attachment of your bra, unclasping the material with a slight pop, his lips pulling away from yours to look at you, so open and vulnerable for him, and only him. It was no mystery to Tom that you hadn't done anything like this before, the way you allowed him to guide you, to instruct you and tell you what to do. He knew you were a stranger to the touch of a man, especially a man that wanted you as bad as Riddle did.

His hand made its way back to your front, his large palm placed flag against your upper abdomen before turning around to allow his two middle fingers to hook under the middle part of your bra, pulling it ip in anticipation. You helped him, your own hands going to your shoulders to remove the straps, pulling them down and allowing him to do the rest.

Tom's brain could've short circuited the moment he saw your bare chest, your eyes displaying a look of vulnerability and nerves in them as his eyes revelled in the exposure of your body to him. He traced a hand over one of your breasts, his palm riding over the hardened nipple, his body reacting to the arousal of your own.

The tent in his trousers was all but noticeable, it blended in too well with the black colour, however it was uncommon to see him wear any other colour, he was quite picky like that. Regardless of how visible it was to the untrained eye, he wanted you to know the impact you and your body had on him and his. He reached down for your hand, taking it from your stomach where it rested. He swiped it over his bare chest, trying desperately not to give away how needy he is for you, and how much he desires your touch. Then finally, he ran your hand down to his bulge, his fingers wrapped around your wrist in a commanding way as he allowed you to touch his most intimate area.

Your breath was quick to get caught in your throat another time, even inside the casing of his trousers, behind a whole fabric prison, you could tell how large he was; and how hard you were going to struggle with this — but you were both learning, neither of you had done this before.

Riddle grabbed your skirt, slipping his fingers under the sides of your waistband and pulling in hopes to remove it from your body. You let out a small laugh at his anticipation, the look on his face as he realised he couldn’t pull it from you. “It’s a button up.” You spoke up, breaking the silence that he had created, or perhaps that was a joint task.

He looked at your slightly frustrated before searching around for the buttons, using his fingers as an anchor, waiting for them to hook onto something he could unfasten. “Where the bloody hell is it?” Tom was at his wits end now, he had you so close, yet so far due to these darn buttons. The desire in his body was brewing over, his veins more prominent on his arms.

You moved your hand down to your side, showing him the buttons before undoing them with your fingers, it was only two buttons, but Tom’s feelings were too overwhelming to take the time to find them.

His mind was anything but clear when he slipped your skirt off in a moment of liberation, a small — very small smile across his normally harsher looking face as he removed the fabric from your body, leaving you in only your underwear, shoes, and socks.

Perhaps he didn’t quite think through the order.

One of his feet went to the back of the other as he slipped off his down shoes, his feet then finding yours and successfully removing them, listening to the almost deafening sound of your small heels clattering to the ground, scratching his brain in the worst way.

His mind became more aware as he leaned back up, the buckle on his belt louder than it had ever been, the buttons on his trousers somewhat harder to undo, the ticking of the clock beside his bed almost mocking him for doing this so late. He was only but an adult when he discovered the need to please, and the desire to be pleased anymore.

The ticking started to become louder, more aggressive, and he couldn’t allow himself to waste any more time pretending he doesn’t feel anything, that his apathetic mind was even so far removed from the intricacies of needing another for sexual pleasure. But he wasn’t, and he needed it now.

He removed his boxers hastily, before tapping the outer side of your thigh, silently ordering for you to lift your hips for him as his hands went to the waistband of your underwear, pulling them off in one swift motion and throwing them down to the pile of clothes below.

Tom had never been naked in front of anyone, not since he was a baby anyway. It was somewhat freeing, to have someone see everything he was quite proud of, he knew he wasn’t terrible to look at, he just didn’t prioritise it above other things.

He moved closer to you, placing his hands either side of your head, his arms holding him up over you, his eyes pining into yours as if looking for you to show signs of discomfort or unwillingness, so then he could stop himself from making possibly his greatest mistake. When you showed no emotions of uncontrollable vulnerability he looked down to where the two or you would connect if he was to move just another inch.

And then he did.

You looked at Tom as his eyes bore back into yours, his body finally connecting with your own like a missing key, he had unlocked something in you as his body pushed into yours, entering you seamlessly, your arousal aiding his movements as he did so. Your mind was blocked, as if the only thing you could think about in that moment was the man in front of you, on top of you, inside of you.

It was hard to stop yourself as your mouth fell open, his hips retracting before moving against yours again, trying to figure out for the first time what either of you liked. It was different, and expectedly slightly uncomfortable. His delicacy tearing past your innocence and corrupting you just how he had wanted to.

And yet he was still unsure of what he was doing. Sex is simple when you hear about it, read books about it, learn about it. But not knowing it from experience is something everyone has to learn, even the great Tom Riddle had to teach himself the ways of the body, and it seemed he was doing a fair enough job.

Tom had obviously read about it, how else is one supposed to keep their mind occupied when they do not desire to give into mindless, and meaningless debauchery their peers were so familiar with? It was the only way to keep that last string of remaining semblance and not snap, to not give into what his body craved.

But he failed today.

His body became faster, his movements more intentional and desperate, as if he knew what he was chasing and exactly how to get there. Your eyes closed as he hit those sensitive spots inside of you, the places that brought both pain and pleasure, and you wanted both. Your head tilted to the side, your cheek resting against the cold silk sheets on his bed.

“Look at me.” His voice spoke with a slight rasp along with a shake, his vulnerability almost captivating as you looked back at him, your eyes staring directly into his. His body never stopped its movements, the hair on his head almost bouncing along with his thrusts, tipping forward as if gravity begged his soft locks touch you. He pushed his head forward as his biceps felt your fingers on them, placing his face in the crook of your neck, his lips gracing your skin as he murmured against it. “Merlin.”

It took every ounce of your self control not to find your orgasm in that very moment, the way his lips touched your skin, the sound of his words against your neck, the way his body felt — God, he was captivating.

He pulled back up, moving himself so he could kiss you again, his hips finding a comfortable rhythm as the sounds of his bed grow louder and louder, as if the poor thing was begging not to be fucked upon. Tom showed no care for the bed’s voice, nor for the clock ticking and timing his every move, his mind too torn to focus on anything besides your body on his, the way you felt around him, and how thrilling it felt to be inside of you.

The two of you were nearing the edge, your bodies dancing together as you moved against him, trying to help him find your pleasure points, although he was not doing a bad job at it. You let out a string of moans, his lips continuing their assault against your as his hips picked up their pace, his movements becoming sloppier as he found himself arriving at the peak of pleasure.

You felt the same, your lips failing to move against his as your breath came out in more laboured gasps, your body almost feeling like it’s levitating as his touch took you to another world.

You couldn’t stop yourself when it hit, your mouth opening as your face contorted. Your body shook as your eyes forced themselves shut, the pleasure was becoming overwhelming, you had hit the most anticipated part of the evening, and you had only Tom to thank.

Riddle’s head moved back to your neck, not wanting you to see the face he would make as he finished inside of you, spilling everything he has left from his body, his breath coming out a huff against your skin as he fills you for the first time. He let out another almost groan sounding vocalisation as you arched your back at the feeling of his aftermath stilling inside of you, his body coming to a halt as a wave of realisation washes over him, his mind suddenly more in tune with the sound of the clock ticking, or the breathing of you underneath him.

He had lost his virginity, and he had taken yours.

Neither of you dared to even look at each other, not wanting this to become any more real than it already had, your hands slipping from his arms and onto the bed as you tried to catch your breath, and catch your thoughts along with it.

However, the one thing you did both share in this moment was the knowledge that this was not going to be the first time, that now there was some reason for uncontrollable passion amongst your disliking for one another, and that you now had no excuse not to settle your arguments in a way much more fulfilling.

[yaut-jaknowit]

So somehow Gawtin or her human lover get ahold of a strap on :3

False Control

Pairing: Gawtin (female Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Strap on, wlw, lesbian sex, cunnilingus.

Word Count: 3926

Summary: Gawtin comes to you with a silicone dildo. She wants you to use it on her. The first time you are able to fuck her the way she deserve. Despite her allowing you to top her, she's always in control.

Author Note: I know I say this every time but I love our girl Gawtin. Sexy motherfucker who could twist off my head and I'll thank her. Also, I didn't know who was suppose to use it so I took the chance to write about our goddess getting dicked down.

P.s. I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to close asks. I didn't expect nearly thirty to be sitting in my inbox right now. Plus, I'm falling behind in my writing right now. Work has been rough with summer coming and people fucking calling out. So fun.

Masterlist

Ao3

In your hand, the silicone was heavy and thick. A concerned look passed over your features when you glanced up at Gawtin. “This is the average size for a male?” you exclaimed, eyes darting between the fake phallus and those gorgeous purple eyes of hers. Gawtin had given you this after visiting the market today. The two of you have been talk about getting an item like that.

One of her upper mandibles lifted with a smirk. “Yes.” She bent at the waist to pinch your chin between her thick digits. “And that does not even include the knot.” Your eyes widened. You had forgotten that small detail. Males had a knot… part of their breeding and such.

Your bottom lip was caught between dull teeth, eyes raking down her form you knew so well but loved just the same. “I wish I could knot you,” you uttered softly into the air, dazed by checking your green Yautja out.

The grasp on your chin tightened and tugged you towards her. Her warm breath fanning over your face. “Is that so?” All you could do was just nod with your eyes softening. Her long, skinny tongue darted out and teased your lips for a second. “You will not be able to but you have a chance for something else,” she purred with a hint to why she bought that.

It’s the classic Qui-oki visiting his aunty again for the night. Bziut-ty knows the drill by now. Every time you left her dwelling after dropping Oki off, a heavy blush burned your cheeks. Yet, the sister to Gawtin was nonchalant about it. She happily took Qui-oki for the night with no complaints.

You attempted to wrap your fingers around the base of the shaft but came up short. “Are you sure this isn’t going to hurt you?” you couldn’t help but question. This thing would tear you into two without any preparation. For her, it seems like she could take it with little foreplay into the mix. No matter what, you would still do at least some foreplay. If not for her sake, for yours to make you feel more at ease before shoving this massive thing inside of her.

Gawtin chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I am more than sure, artful one. I want you to watch as it splits me open and I take it fully in. I cannot wait to see that look of surprise on your face.” She grinned and released her hold on your chin with a last kiss.

“Well… if you’re sure,” you trailed off and glanced down the hardwood floors of the house. Gawtin patted your head.

“Do you want to test it now?” Your head snapped to look up at her towering form.

“Like, right now?” It was stupid to question her like that but you couldn’t believe she was wanting to do that now. She just bought it. Well, that’s true. She did just buy it. Who doesn’t want to try a new toy the day you received it.

The forest green Yautja snorted and stepped further into your personal space. A space always welcomed for her. One of her hands splayed across a large portion of your back and pushed you to her. “Yes, this very second.”

Both of you were into your shared bedroom in less than a second. A giddy smile gracing your feature to hide your nerves. Despite her attempt to cool your anxiety, but the fact this thing was massive in your hands… you thought it was going to hurt her. Though, she does a little pain, biting and scratching are always welcomed.

The yellow toy was set on the bed. You stood before her, still fully clothed. Something Gawtin was going to fix. She hooked a claw on the strap of your tank top and pulled on it. Though, she could easily tear it off of you and replace it just the same, she gave you the option to remove it yourself. You raised a brow, eye flickering down to her own clothing.

“Honey, I think it’s you that needs to strip,” you pointed out, nearly demanding your mate to strip before you. Every time, you loved the sight of her muscles and even slightly pronounced breasts from breastfeeding Qui-oki.

Gawtin had to teach you a lesson. The massive female grabbed a handful of the clothe and ripped it straight off of your torso. You didn’t expect less from her and gave the green Yautja a deadpanned look. She ignored it by lowering herself onto her knees and cupping one of your freed breasts now. “I prefer to see you bare and at my will,” she purred and bowed her head to lick at your pebbled nipple. A low groan sounds from the back of your throat.

Your jaw drops at the feeling. “Gawtin, please. Be nice and strip for your mate,” you pleaded with the stubborn female. You saw the fire in her eyes flicker to life. Her tongue trailed up, followed by her lower mandibles up to the vulnerable column of your throat. They carved a path till your jawline before slipping off. You shuttered, body covered in goosebumps.

“Hearing you beg is Paya’s grounds,” she whispered against your ear, tongue ghosting over the shell of you ear. “Be good and ask properly.”

Now, you were beginning to pant, even with the light, little touches she gave to you. With your brows furrowed and lip pushed out, you up at her. “Gawtin, I want to see your body. I’ll be good. I promise. I want to fuck you. You’re so pretty. I want to see you take this dildo. Will you let me?” you rambled and your beautiful mate a look you knew she couldn’t resist.

“That is a good little ooman,” she praised and tapped your cheekbone with a claw. “All you need to do is ask sweetly, just like that.” Gawtin stood back up and stripped her body of any clothing.

Dumbly, all you could do was stand watch each piece of clothing fall away. It was like the first day you saw her naked. Adoration sparkled in your eyes even after the last article was placed to the side. “God, you’re my pretty woman,” you muttered and reached out to squeeze her hips. Your head only reaching her midriff, shoulders level with her hips.

She snorts and motions her head over to the bed. “Get the harness on, artful one. I’ll help adjust,” she ordered with a soft tone but you knew to listen to her. You padded over to the end fo the bed and found the item she told you about.

A black, simple harness that’s been modified for someone of your smaller stature and to fit the tank of a dildo she wants. It was simple enough to pull it up and secure it to your hips. Gawtin’s warm hands helped to tighten the harness so it wouldn’t fall off nor was it too tight. The toy itself was secured as well to the designated spot.

Your hand wraps what you can around the base and gave the firm silicon a few strokes. Your lover lies down on the bed and spreads her legs. You follow after her and kneel between her legs, eyes softly gazing at her. “Can I warm you up, my pretty warrior?” you asked with a hopeful gaze.

The Yautja raised a brow at you, letting the tension build up between you two. Then, her massive head dipped down in permission. You silently cheered and bent down, face to her exposed cunt. Though this wasn’t your first time, you still took in the sight.

Alien, but in a good way. Three clits, though longer than usual. You’ve learned they can grow up to two inches long when aroused. The folds themselves are ribbed and even inside are too. Definitely alien. And you loved it.

Softly, you wrapped your lips around the top clit, the biggest of the three. One of your thumbs runs a path along what would be considered the labia. The pad ghosting over the nubs that lined her entrance. Gawtin’s thighs tensed but refused to clamp down on your head, taking your fragile self into consideration. You lightly suckled on the sensitive nub you pulled into your mouth and ran your tongue over the flushed skin.

Her breath hitched while watching you, resting on her elbows. “Keep going, little one. Do not stop,” she commanded, voice in between soft and firm. Gawtin rolled her hips slightly against your face, your thumbpad teasing her nubs harder. You took it as a sign to press against the little sensitive bumps harder. She responded the way you expected her. A short growl escaped her throat. “That’s it.”

From the top clit, you moved to the one on the bottom left. That drew a soft sound from your mate. Her thighs flexed at your sides, barely moving any closer to you. You dipped a thumb just past her entrance to dampen the fingertip. The moist digit glides across the bumps easier, gaining a pace you she enjoyed.

The clit was released once it was flush with blood. For the first time, you tongued at her entrance and tasted her again. Your muscle scooping up what was possible and drinking in her taste. Such deliciousness that couldn’t be contested. You hummed, eyes hooding over, and returned to finishing the last clit. Her sweetness makes it hard to focus on one thing at a time. You just wanted to dive back in and consume the taste she created.

As you sucked, you slipped two fingers, just the size of one her own, into her. Her strong muscles rippled around your digit, trying to suck it in more. You stopped at the knuckle and kept your hand vertical. With those two fingers, you find a well defined ribbed area and push.

Gawtin growled lowly in her throat, muscles throbbing around your fingers. God, you loved that sound and the feeling. You continued to rub a small circle around the area and returned to loving on the first bud. It slightly twitched in your mouth, at it’s full length at this point.

“You know me so well, little one. Know all my spots. Such a good little artist,” she cooed, head rolling back and neck fully exposed. You hummed around her clit and sent vibrations up the length of her spine. Her thighs pressed against the sides of your head before pulling back. “Paya, you are playing a dangerous game, teasing me like that.” You smirked silently to your self and started to pump your fingers. Another finger added to the ring.

It barely did anything to stretch her out. Your hand being too small for the job. That didn’t bother more than did it worry you instead. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt her in a bad way. You added your last finger inside of her and kept pumping away.

Her arousal began to leak down the swell of her cheeks as you drew it out from her. You abandoned her throbbing buds to dip down and lick up what spilled. Your hand was withdrew from her and was replaced with your mouth. The taste of her returning to your tastebuds. A hum sounding from your pleased state.

In such a state, you didn’t even realize your hips were rutting against the mattress until you felt her hand on your hip. They stilled under her touch; breath caught in your throat. Your own slick was starting to drip down the inside of your thighs. The scent mingling with hers.

The hand slips more from your hip and towards your entrance. You mewled with her fingertips ghosted over your dripping folds and swiped up some of your arousal up. Gawtin brough it up to her mouth and licked off the sticky substance staining them. You shuttered and doubled down on her, tongue scooping what you could at the source.

Your mouth returns to her sensitive clits, hand diving back to rub at the spot deep inside of her. Gawtin’s walls started to pulse around your hand. Her noises gaining pitch, hips thrust harsher against your face. You severely focused on her, letting every other thought fall away besides just hurt.

With your other hand, you wrapped it around one of her thighs and pulled yourself snug with her. When her muscles clamped down on your fingers, you felt the bones creak under the strain but refused to pull back. You continued to suckle and lick at her buds, drawing out her orgasm the best you could. Your name was thrown in the mix with a magnificent whine you rarely got to hear.

Gawtin’s chest heaved with breaths as she gathered herself. You drew yourself onto your knees and placed the heavy cock on her mound. Deep down, you were excited to see this thing spilt her open, better than your fingers ever could.

When the dazed look started to fade from her eyes, you rubbed your hand over her stomach then dragged your nails down. They might be dull but she arched her back to press against them harder.

“There’s my wonderful mate. How was that?” you teased your very dominate mate. She growled that ended into a purr and exposed her throat to you. “Are you okay to continue? We-“

One of her hands lashed out and grabbed your throat. A soft yet firm grasp to keep you from pulling away. Gawtin pushed up to rest on her hand instead of her elbow to lean closer to your face. “If you do not put that thing into me now…” she trailed off, leaving open the threat. You couldn’t help but snort, knowing where she was coming from. All the times she’s teased you before coming to mind.

“If you let go of my neck, I can see what I’m doing.” There was just a hint of a snark in your words. One that Gawtin let slip past for the moment. She let go at your words. A smile was giving to her. You gazed down and lined up the pointed head of the yellow dildo at her entrance.

The fire in her eyes could rival the sun’s heat itself. Her desire heavy and thick in the air. You timidly pushed the head past her folds, watching as she consumed it. Gawtin’s cunt starting to stretch to accommodate the toy. Fuck, this was a sight you never knew you needed to see.

Each inch pushed deeper into her, you met no resistance, even when you hilted inside of her. A tiny part of you wished to feel what it would be like to have her wrapped around a real cock. “You look so beautiful stretched around my cock, Gawtin. You don’t understand what this does to me,” you admitted, raptured by the sight before you. You never thought this day would ever come.

She was back on her elbows and kept that sense of dominate aura around her. A soft look passed over her features. “Oh, I do know what you mean, little one. Every time I use my fin-ah,” she gasped when you pulled out and thrusted fully back in. “You sneaky little brat.” Her voice hardened. You smirked.

“You were saying?” With this tiny lick of dominance, you were acting like you had the whole universe in the palm of your hand. Her hand flicked out and wrapped around your throat all over again. Your thrusting stopped, eyes widening at the show of dominance over you. Again, she’s in charge.

Gawtin pulls you closer to her face. “When I stretch you with my fingers alone, you are a squirming, pleading mess underneath me,” she finished what she was originally going to say. You shuttered, your empty pussy clenching around nothing. “So, you better fuck me good, little one.” Her wish is your command. You rapidly nodded your head to get her to release your throat.

Thankfully, she did. Your hands grasp at her hips and pull back your own. A mix of her arousal and your saliva coating the toy. You shoved the entire length back into her, watching as it disappeared. You groaned lowly in the back of your throat and started up a pace. One of your thumbs moved to run tight circles around her top clit, still wet from your mouth earlier. Her walls tightened around the dildo.

“Paya’s grace, you know what you are doing,” she moaned and watched as you fucked her, eyes glued to the yellow toy moving in and out of her. “Tilt… tilt your hips down, little one.” Every little sound and word she made you soaked in. Instantly, you listened to her and angled your hips down to drive the head towards the ground.

Her abs flexed when you hit something your fingers could never reach. “That is it. Right-right there.” In the heat of moment, you accidentally sped up your thrusts, the praise making you lightheaded. “Slow. Slow down.” You whined an apology and returned to your former speed.

An array of sounds echoed back at you in the privacy of her room. The slapping of skin on skin; her keens; your pants. You bite your bottom lip to keep some of your control in check. Your finger continuously rubbing at her sensitive nerve endings.

Sweat pooled on your forehead. Though you felt your energy depleting, you were driven by determination to get her come. You wanted to leave a good impression on her so she’ll let you do this more often. You bowed down, keeps still angled down to rub against the sweet spot inside of her. “Shit, Gawtin. You don’t understand… how much I love you,” you rambled and gave her the sweetest eyes you could pull.

In her orbs, you saw something shift. But you had no time to prepare for when the scenery changed. You gasped after finding yourself on your back and staring up at Gawtin. The giant straddled your hips easily and positioned herself over the toy. Her body slammed down and engulfed the dildo back inside of her. She moaned, head bowed and began to ride the strap on still attached to your hips. Gawtin easily trapped both of your hands in hers and pinned them to bed. Her entire frame leaned over you as she took her pleasure from you.

“Gawtin?!” you shrieked afterwards, unable to move but not in any pain. She was taking what she wants from you. She dismissed your squeak, not stopping.

Gawtin leaned down and practically shoved her tongue past your lips. Her muscle dominated yours without much of effort. You were too stunned to fight back. You moaned though, back arched off of the bed. Her free hand found its back to your exposed chest and tweaked a nipple. Gawtin pulled back and stared deeply into your eyes.

“Ah, shit!” you squeaked and keened under her touch. “This is supposed t-to be about you!” With her riding you, it still was mainly focused on her pleasure, but you wanted to be strictly zeroed in on her.

All she did was growl, the fire in her eyes bright. Your bottom lip caught between dull teeth as you attempted to reel in your noises. You didn’t dare drown out what little sounds she made. Gawtin pulled harshly on your perked nipple with a huff. A knowing look passed over her features. You kept any other words to yourself if it wasn’t praise.

Fangs dug into the skin of your throat, on the verge of spilling blood. You pulled on your hands but the Yautja refused to let go.

The teeth moved to your shoulder, holding on tight. “Good girl, Gawtin,” you cooed and tried to thrust up to meet her hips. Yet, each time she slammed down practically bounced your body back up into hers. “You gonna come? Come all over my cock inside of you?”

A pitiful whine pierced the air. Her hips slammed once more with yours before stilling. All of her muscles flexed and twitched. Pain radiating from your shoulder, her teeth lodged into your skin. Another mark to add to the pile. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

Hands cupped your chin. Gawtin released her hold on you and looked at you. A smile broke across your face. “How was that, pretty girl?” you asked the goddess in a soft tone. Her face relaxed after making sure you were okay. Gawtin began to purr and rested her forehead to yours. “I think you liked that more than me.” At least you hoped so.

One of her hands left your face to touch at the bite mark on your shoulder. You couldn’t help but hiss at the pain. It wasn’t bad but definitely noticeable. “I would apologize but it will scar nicely,” she stated.

You couldn’t help the snort that left you. “I think everyone in the village knows I belong to you. Possibly the planet,” you teased her. Marking you is a favorite thing of hers. Anything to get you marked and smelling like her was her favorite. None of the males ever come up to you, especially when Gawtin is around. Expect those two times… those two males really learned a hard lesson.

Gawtin huffed before leaning up to stand on her knees. The dildo slips out of her and flops onto your stomach, covered in her essence. Before you had a chance to even think about cleaning anything, you were lifted up and off the bed. You yelped and scrambled to latch onto Gawtin. “What did I say about warning me?” She didn’t response and began to walk towards the bathroom. “Hey, I’m supposed to be one taking care of you.”

“It is my duty to care for you, little mate,” she stated. You groaned and leaned back in her hold, trusting her to keep you safe. “Complain all you want but I love caring for you.” You softened at her words and looked at her beautiful eyes.

“You’re such a big softy,” you jestered then leaned up, arms hooked around her neck to hoist you up. “You’re my big softy.” Then, you kissed her top two mandibles each. Blood still stained her inner fangs.

A purr started in her chest. The Yautja starts to run a bath for both of your sake and sets you down. You were able to strip yourself of the toy and tossed it into the sink for cleaning later.  “You never answered my question,” you brought up after the tub was filled with hot water.

She perked a brow at you. “I rode you like… like a horse into the sunset,” she responded with a smirk on her alien face. You pressed your lips together and looked away. “And you figure out your speed quickly. It was perfect. You are perfect, my little ooman.” Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked away from her shyly.

Warm water engulfed you. Gawtin sat you in her lap and wrapped her arms around. “You’ll let me go that, right?” you pleaded with a pouty look on your features. “Since I did so good.”

One of her hands stroked down your back, sending tingles along your skin. “Yes, you did earn the chance to do it in the future.”

Dominate as she is, she’ll let you have your moments of false control. You were swift to eat up each second she allotted to you.

[autistichalsin]

I know a lot of people find it boring how much Halsin talks about nature, and I do get it- it is repetitive. However, I also find that if you break some of his statements down into what he's implying, you end up with something a lot more interesting. (ESPECIALLY because a lot of these support the "Halsin is autistic" interpretation.)

Take, for example, Halsin talking about his place in the world, specifically relating to relationships:

Halsin: I still have hot blood in my veins. Nature gifted us our desires, and the means to act on them. But we muddied its beautiful simplicity with rules, social strictures... clothes. So, I am not bound to nature. I am unbound in nature.

Halsin: Relationship? Such terms belong to civilisation - a little unfamiliar to my lips. You know what we share is more fluid, more founded in the principles of nature.

Implications: Halsin finds society too complicated. He enjoys nature because its rules are simpler and more sensical; rather than social rules and structures that are beyond him (especially when you take into account the autistic Halsin interpretation), he feels comforted by nature, which is complex in a way that he understands.

There's also Halsin's friendship with Thaniel.

Halsin: I had a friend when I was young, long ago. He played with me in the forests where I grew up... but eventually, I realised no one else had heard of him. It was Thaniel, of course. Nature was my very first friend. I get older, but he hasn't changed a day. I knew then that I had to be more than a companion to him. I had to be a protector.

Implications: Nature, by being Halsin's first friend, has always been what Halsin is comforted by. It has been a steady and comforting presence for him, something he can rely in, in contrast to other people who are unpredictable. Nature is consistent and comforting for him.

Halsin, infamously, is not happy in the city of Baldur's Gate.

Halsin: Too much noise, too many lanterns kept burning... nature's rhythm is ignored here.

Implications: Halsin is overstimulated easily by excessive noise and other sensory inputs. Nature provides him somewhere quiet.

Halsin: I wish... I wish there was a better way. I wish everyone could see the sun, have a full belly, and know nature as a friend. There is a balance that is yet to be found.

Implications: Again, Halsin sees nature- not just Thaniel, but all of nature- as a friend. A source of comfort and companionship.

Halsin: I think on [politics and high art] also. But nothing matches the splendour of an ancient tree.

Implications: Halsin loves the beauty of the natural world as much as anything else. Rather than art or music (which he can appreciate), what he prefers is something that grew rather than being made.

Halsin: I am... less anxious to find myself in a city. So removed from nature's power - I do not know how I will fare.

Implications: Not only does Halsin prefer not to be in the city, but he is actually, to some extent, frightened of it (likely due to how overstimulating it is for him), in contrast with his feeling of being right at home in nature.

There's other things to note as well. If a Dark Urge player embraces Bhaal and then tells Halsin to bow, Halsin has this to say:

Halsin: Nature bows to none. It will fight on and survive, no matter what madness your god has inspired you to undertake.

Implications: Halsin views nature as strength, and admires that very much. He draws a lot of his tougher qualities from this aspect of the natural world.

Or a line where Wyll gently points out that he talks about nature a lot:

Halsin: When you care about something deeply enough, it consumes every thought and word.

Implications: Halsin isn't thinking of little else besides nature because he's "boring"; it's because it's important to him. (A special interest, one might say.) And when something is deeply important to a person, they think of everything else in relation to that thing; think of a sports fan who constantly uses sports metaphors to understand the world around them.

There's another party banter with Wyll that is telling when combined with what he has to say about the city, too.

Halsin: It is most unfair to pour such scorn on rats - they have their place in nature, same as you or I. 

Halsin: I thought cities were supposed to welcome folk of all walks of life. Clearly I was mistaken.

Implications: Halsin feels everyone has a place in the natural world, yet that the city shuns those it deems different. As someone who has struggled greatly with fitting in/finding a place he "belongs", Halsin feels more sympathetic to nature, where all living things belong, than anywhere else.

I think that when you break up Halsin's love of nature into all the little things it implies, it paints a much more interesting picture of him, personally. It also supports the "Halsin is autistic" interpretation, which makes him even MORE interesting.

[apolloscastellan]

We were just kids, babe | loss of my life chapter two

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig x FemaleTennisPlayer!reader

Summary: Your life had always been divided in two: before you met Tashi and after you met Tashi. The second you had laid eyes on her for the first time you knew you had been changed. You were soulmates, meant for each other Nothing could ever tear you two apart, or so you had thought. You could've pinpointed the junior U.S. Open as the night that changed everything. Now you have to juggle your hate-love relationship with tennis with your love-love relationship with Tashi and the two guys who you can't seem to stay away from. Tennis, after all, was only one of the most fucked up relationships of your life.

Warnings: challengers spoiler, challengers content warnings, super minor character death, terrible mother figure, use of y/n, polyamory.

Word count: 6.3K

A/N: the comfort before the hurt me thinks. Please let me know what you think!! <3

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Monica Seles Tennis Summer Camp for Prodigies, June 15, 1996:

You have never been more excited for anything in your life. You jump off the car, almost skipping towards the uniformed girls at the tables. Summer camp is everything you have ever dreamed of, six weeks of tennis, nature and no contact with your mum. She seems slightly less excited about it all. She wouldn’t have let you come if it wasn’t for the reputation of the place, they turned kids into legends, and that’s all your mum wanted for you. You are starting to suspect she wants it for herself, but you’re still eagerly attempting to impress her. One of the women introduces herself as Linda, your cabin leader, and one of the coaches you will be working with. You shake her hand, feeling extremely professional as you follow the instructions your mother had laid for you on the drive over. You follow her to a wooded cabin, almost shaking. All but one of the beds seem to be taken, however, there is only one other girl in the room. She was sitting on the lower bed of the bunk you, apparently, were going to be sharing. Linda informs you of the schedule for the rest of the day before she leaves to let you settle in. Your mum pulls you to the side to say her goodbyes. You know she is trying to be quiet so the other girl won’t hear you, but you can see her looking intently at you from the corner of your eye.

“You need to go out there and prove who you are every single practice, ok? I’m not paying all this money for you to waste your time. You need to fix your serve, and get better at your backhand, I want you on the courts every second of the day. And play a thousand percent every time, you never know who could be watching. Understood?” you nod.

She taps your shoulders twice before leaving the cabin. You walk over to the bunk bed, the girl has not stopped staring at you for a second.

“Who’s that, your coach?” she finally asks

“I wish, that’s my mum.”

“She sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“She is.”

She seems like she is going to say something else, but she is interrupted by another girl barging in the cabin. She has red hair and freckles all over her face. She looks down at you two, not even bothering to smile before she speaks:

“They are about to serve lunch and we can’t eat without the entire cabin being there so… Chop, chop” she walks towards the door before stopping herself, she looks back at you, a condescending smile now on her face, “I’m Kat, you’re gonna wanna remember my name.”

“She sounds like a pain in the ass,” you whisper as soon as she leaves the room.

The other girl snorts, covering her mouth before descending into a fit of giggles, you laugh with her, glad to have broken the tension. You both stand up, not willing to make your entire cabin wait for lunch, no matter how annoying the other girl was. You don’t wanna make a bad first impression.

“Hey, they said there would be a doubles tournament later today, do you want to play with me?” She says as you walk out the door.

You can barely contain your smile as you nod.

“I would love to. I’m Y/n, by the way,” you say, extending your hand.

“Tashi,” she replies as she takes it.

Flushing hotel, Junior U.S Open, 2006:

You can’t help but shake in anticipation as you knock on the door of room 206. You have never done anything this rebellious, you’ve never gone against your mother’s wishes so explicitly. You don’t even want to think about what your mother would say if she knew what you were doing instead of meditating and going to bed. It is part of what makes it so exciting. Tashi pulls you so you both have your ears against the door. You can hear the two boys scramble around, it almost makes you laugh. Before you can make any comments, the door is pulled open abruptly. The two boys stand before you out of breath. You smile and they mirror you immediately.

“Hi”

“Hey”

Tashi looks at them impassively, waiting. They seem to finally notice the awkwardness of having you stand outside their door while they gawk at you. The shift to let you walk in. The room looks exactly like what you’d expect two teen boys’ room to look like. There’s empty lunch boxes on the trash can, the beds are hastily made and pushed together

“So, how did you guys meet?” you venture to ask.

“Yeah, did you go to mommy and me classes together?” Tashi’s teasing makes them both laugh. “What? You seem like brothers.”

Her last comment is what makes you laugh. They look back at you strangely, unaware of why you are laughing. You try to play it off by shoving your face into the can of beer Patrick just handed to you.

“Well that’s what the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy will do to you” Art says, looking back at his friend with a wide smirk.

“Oh, that’s right you guys went to boarding school together,” Tashi says, as you hand her the beer.

“We’ve been bunkmates since we were twelve” Patrick doesn't hesitate to share more about their lives.

“That’s really cute.”

“You guys ever thought of doing something like that? Is that where you met” Art seems eager to learn more about you, it’s endearing.

“Boarding school? No, no, I couldn't afford it” your friend looks at you as she finishes, letting you choose how much you are willing to share.

“And my mum would have a stroke if she had to let me away from her sight for that long. No, we met at tennis summer camp. The Monica Seles Tennis Camp for Prodigies. Those were the good times.”

“So, is the Mark Rebellato Academy where you met your girlfriend?” Tashi changes the topic, looking at Patrick questioningly.

You admire the way her stare never wavers. Her confidence doesn’t falter as she digs for the information she wants. Although you don’t enjoy not being the center of her attention, it is interesting to see this side of her come out with someone else.

“No, no… yes. But she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Does she know that?” Patrick smirks at you, pleased to see you get out of your shell, but he doesn’t answer.

“What about you? Why are you not pretending not to have a girlfriend?” Tashi asks Art, instead of dwelling on your question.

“Art’s between ladies right now.”

“Don’t say that it makes me sound some sort of…”

“Player” you finish for him, extremely amused at their banter.

“Yeah, Art does fine for himself, I mean look at him” it’s soft, the way Patrick cups his face as he speaks.

They look into each other’s eyes for a second. You wonder if they notice it the same way you do, if they are as attuned to their feelings as you seem to be. 

“Have the two of you ever…?” you don’t know how to ask the question, but you are too curious not to.

It takes them a second to understand what you mean.

“Oh, oh! No, no,” Patrick’s face falls for a second, he recovers quickly, laughing with Art’s words, but you notice. “Why? Is that surprising?

You raise your eyebrows, eyes fixed on him.  You don’t know if he is unaware or trying to conceal it. Something about the shocked look in his face as he laughs it all off makes you believe it’s the former. Tashi, who has been instead looking at Patrick the entire time, must catch something in his expression because she speaks up:

“What?”

“Well…”

“No,” Art interrupts immediately.

“I mean…”

“No,” he repeats. “Not happening.”

“I think you need to tell us now,” Tashi resolves.

“C’mon this is a safe space,” you smile openly at them both, trying to convey how much you actually mean those words.

It’s the first time you’re in a room with Tashi and you’re not entirely consumed by her presence. You don’t know what to make of it. 

“I think it’s a sweet story,” Patrick presses.

“Well let’s hear it then” your smile widens as Tashi continues to push for it.

Art reddens, his face lowered, his head in his hands. He covers his mouth with his t-shirt.

“Mhm, yeah, no, go ahead”, he finally concedes.

“I… I taught Art how to jerk off,” he says it almost coy, but the smug grin on his face tells you all you need to know

From the corner of your eye you can see Tashi struggle to hold in her laughter. You are on the same boat.

“Okay,” Art says, finally looking up. “Patrick was an early bloomer, ok? And I think that I was on time. And one time, when we were twelve… He thought I was asleep and he was, you know…”

“Jerking off” they both say at the same time.

“And, yeah, and I asked him, what are you doing? And he told me”

“Jerking off” they repeat again.

“He asked me if I had ever done it before and I told him no. And so he just… He showed me how.

When you look at Patrick, he is already looking at you. He looks so proud of himself as he nods, a shit-eating grin adorning his face.

“What do you mean showed you how?” you say, just to steer the pot. “Did he…?”

“No, no…” Art is quick to correct. “I mean, he did it on his bed and I did it on my bed. We did it together, but on opposite sides of the room.”

You look at the beds, pushed together, then at Tashi, who raises an eyebrow at you. She doesn’t believe him, and honestly, neither do you. But you don’t want to push too far.

“In silence?” is Tashi this time who presses for more.

“Oh, no, no. We were talking about Kat Zimmerman, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, Kat Zimmerman.”

You can feel your eyes open comically at Art’s words, you start laughing uncontrollably, Tashi following close behind.

“Patrick said it’s always better if you’re thinking about somebody when you’re doing it. So I asked him ‘who are you thinking about?’ And he was talking about this girl, Kat Zimmerman, and so I thought about her too” Art rushes to explain, misunderstanding the reason for your laughter.

Tashi and you roll on the ground laughing for a couple of seconds more before you both regain your composure.

“Kat Zimmerman, you’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“Me and Y/n went to summer camp with her for like two years, she was in our cabin.”

“She was a total bitch,” you say, rolling your eyes at the memory. “She walked around camp like she owned it, and she kept saying she was the best player at camp, even though she could never beat me or Tashi.”

“What happened to her?” Patrick asks, looking back at Art.

“She got injured that summer and never came back.”

“Oh, yeah, that was Y/n.”

“It was not me,” you immediately refute, incredibly offended. “I was playing against her when she took a bad fall and broke her knee.”

“She was frustrated because you were demolishing her.”

“Not my fault!”

“No, you’re right, it wasn’t” you smile at Tashi, getting lost in her eyes for a second.

“What about you two?” Patrick interrupts, a knowing smirk in his face when you turn to look at him.

“What about us?”

“Have you two ever…” Art continues his friend’s thought.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” you say, unwilling to say too much and make Tashi uncomfortable.

“We’ve made out a couple of times,” your jaw drops when she speaks. “We spend too much time alone in hotel rooms not to. I was Y/n’s first kiss” you nod, she has never spoken about this out loud before, not even with you.

“Oh, were you?” you can feel your face growing hot as Patrick turns to look at you.

“This guy asked me on a date and I didn’t want to not know what I was doing,” you shrug, as if it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing. You had never called the boy again after that night. You hadn’t even let him kiss you, too afraid he would wash away the feeling of Tashi’s lips. You had never told her that, though. You had dreamt about that kiss for months, still now, if you focus, you swear you could feel the ghost of that first touch in your lips again.

“And?” Art asks, too eager to pretend he doesn’t care.

“She’s a quick learner. What, are you hoping for a repeat?”

“No” Art quickly denies, at the same time Patrick exclaims “Yes!”

Tashi laughs, standing up. She pulls your hand until you are face to face with her. Too close to focus on anything that isn't her lips. She manhandles you until you are both sitting in the bed, thighs touching, one of her hands on your face.

“Are you ok with this?” she whispers.

You nod, as eager as the boys had been. You know they are probably watching you, but you can’t get your mind to think of anything except how Tashi is drawing closer and closer to you. Both your hands are on her thighs as her lips crash into yours, an involuntary moan escaping your mouth. It gives the other girl an in to push her tongue onto your mouth. She kisses you with practiced ease, with the familiarity of one who has done it a million times before, with the tenderness and care she always kisses you with. Your face burns where she is touching you and you forget completely about the other two boys until Tashi pulls away, her hands still in your face, to look at them.

“Oh my God,” they say, at the same time.

She motions them to join you with a quick head gesture. They obey immediately, Patrick sitting next to you, Art next to Tashi. She pushes your and Art’s faces together, joining your lips in a kiss. He kisses you slowly, savoring it, as if he can’t believe what is happening. His lips are thinner than Tashi’s, but just as soft. After a couple more seconds, you get pulled apart. Tashi smiles at you before she pushes you towards Patrick as she starts kissing Art. When you look at him, his eyes are glossy, his cheeks flushed red and his hair messier than it had been before, you realize quickly that they must have been kissing, the same way you and Art were. You press against him without a second to think about it. His lips are less forgiving as he kisses you, hard, wanting. He doesn’t try to appear calm or collected, letting his desire and desperation for you show in the way he kisses you. It’s sloppy, but you like it.

You feel Tashi’s hands on your thigh, and you turn to look at her immediately. She has that smile you love on, the one that lets you know she is scheming. She looks to both boys quickly, then back at you, her smile never faltering. You know what she wants to do, the knowledge sending a thrill on your face. You match her smile as it dawns upon you.

The boys have no idea what you are doing as you pull them both in. The four of you crush, there’s lips and tongues everywhere, but you can’t bring yourself to hate it. Tashi lets all of you kiss for a couple seconds before she is pulling you away from the back of your t-shirt. You stand back, watching the two boys kiss each other passionately. There’s no way they haven’t noticed they are alone, but they don’t pull away. You feel almost giddy.

“Okay,” Tashi says, breaking the moment.

They pull apart and look at you, lips parted.

“That was very nice,” she continues, standing up from the bed, you do the same, “but we do have a final tomorrow, so we should leave.”

“What about your numbers?”

“We told you we are not homewreckers.”

“Please” it would be pathetic, if Art wasn’t so cute.

“Uhm, okay. We will be watching your final tomorrow, whoever wins can get my number” Art groans immediately, Patrick smiles.

“You can beat him,” you say, trying to encourage him to fight, to not give up.

“What about your number?” he asks, looking straight into your eyes.

“She’s not interested in you like that” Tashi replies, before you can come up with an answer of your own. “You’re not her type, if you know what I mean.”

You know what she means, and, by the way their mouths drop open, they do too. It’s not that you’re not grateful that Tashi is supportive, and loving, and willing to defend you if need be. But when you had told her you liked girls three summers ago, you didn’t mean you didn’t like boys. It’s true that you have never really liked a boy, but that’s probably because your head is constantly running endless circles of ‘Tashi, Tashi, Tashi’. You don’t think you would mind dating a boy, you’ve made peace with the fact that Tashi is never going to like you back, at least not the way you want her to. So yeah, you would probably enjoy dating a boy, especially if that boy was one of the ones sitting in front of you right now. But you don’t say anything, too embarrassed to correct her. They’re probably only interested in Tashi, anyways, you don’t want to be somebody’s consolation prize. The room is silent for a couple beats, you speak when you can’t take it anymore:

“Well, goodnight,” you say as you pull your friend out of the room with you.

“I'm so sorry,” she says as soon as the door is closed behind you in your own room. “I didn’t mean to out you, I swear, it just came out.”

“No, it’s ok, I’m not mad at you… I just… Tashi, when i said I liked girls I didn’t mean I didn’t like boys. I do, I’m… Bisexual” you manage to say.

“I… I didn’t know. Are you interested in them? Do you want me to take it back?”

“No! No, it’s ok. They probably weren’t interested in me anyways.” 

“What do you mean they weren’t interested in you? They were practically drooling everytime they looked your way.”

“Tashi, it’s ok, I don’t want their numbers, swear. And now, they get to compete for the wonderful Tashi Duncan’s number. That’s going to be a fun game” she smiles at you, before she can say anything else, like you can tell she wants to, you continue, “now, go to bed so you can beat my ass tomorrow. I need my beauty sleep before I get yelled at by my mother.”

She laughs, listening to you and getting into bed. You whisper a goodnight to each other before you turn off the light. You look at the darkened ceiling, your head too busy to fall asleep. You don’t know what to make of what just happened, of Art and Patrick, of how Tashi had acted. So you roll over, force yourself to stop thinking about it and close your eyes, willing sleep to come to you soon.

––––––––––––––––

You hug Tashi over the net, smiling wildly. She looks excited, but the smile on her face falters as her eyes meet yours.

“Congrats, Champion!” you say unwilling to let her feel guilty for winning.

“You gave me a good fight.” 

It was true, it had been a very close match until the very end. Both of you fighting tooth and nail, as you always did. Anything else would feel disrespectful. You walk over to the trophy table, arms intertwined. She claps as you get given your plate, smiling openly for the pictures, enjoying your last minutes before your mum starts laying it on you. You cheer for her too, louder than anybody else. The two of you take one picture together before you walk away, letting her bask in her deserved spotlight. You stall as you pick up your rackets and water bottles. You see some young girls in the stands, waving you over and you smile, loving an excuse to not go to your locker room yet. You sign a couple backpacks for them, making easy conversation. They tell you how much they admire you, you promise you will tell Tashi to come over too. You turn to walk away when a familiar voice stops you.

“That was a hell of a game” you turn to look at Art and Patrick, smiling at you over the railing.

You can’t help but grin, hoisting yourself up to hug both boys with a familiarity you should not have, given how little you’ve known them for.

“Shouldn’t you guys be preparing for your own final?” you ask, instead of acknowledging their praise.

“We wanted to congratulate you! Honestly, you could be winning slams tomorrow,” Patrick says, “both of you.”

“Well, we’re off to college, both of us, so maybe you should just let it go,” you’re teasing and he knows it.

“Are you coming to Stanford? You never said,” Art wonders.

“No, no, I’m going to Berkeley. Still close enough for visits, though,” you say.

“Berkeley? You’re going to Berkeley?” Patrick looks more confused than disappointed.

“It’s the top ten tennis program in the country, and they gave me a full ride.”

“You don’t look like you need a full ride.”

“Well, there’s more to me than what meets the eye,” you say, with no bite. “I need to go, my mum will be wondering where I am. Good luck, both of you. There’s a lot at stake today.”

You turn around and run towards the locker room, fully aware that the extra time you’ve taken will only infuriate your mum even more. She is yelling at you before you’ve had time to close the door.

––––––––––––––––

You sit next to Tashi, face recently washed, now out of your tennis clothes. The glow from her win shines on her face making her impossibly beautiful and you have to force yourself to look away from her and into the court. There Patrick and Art are battling it out, it’s not a close game. Art is putting up a fight, hitting the ball as well as he possibly can, but there is nothing he can do against Patrick. The blonde guy scampers around as his friend plays with him however he wants. It is almost painful. Patrick hits the winner with a trick shot in between his legs that has the crowd gasping. He turns around immediately, looking straight into Tashi’s eyes as he bows. Art struggles to catch his breath, clearly disappointed. 

You walk down next to Tashi, nothing to do as she sees Patrick in the distance and runs to catch up to him. You should probably leave, there’s nothing left for you here, and you don’t want to hang around to third wheel Tashi and Patrick. But you stall, walk around unsuspiciously, acting as if you belong there. A couple minutes later, Art walks out of his own locker room, head down.

“Art!” you yell at him.

His face lights up when he hears you. He looks around until his eyes meet yours. He walks up to you, a confused grin in his face. You hug him, your arms around his shoulder. His hair is still wet from his shower.

“That was a good match,” you whisper in his ear.

“No it wasn’t,” he laughs you off, shaking his head.

“Ok, so it wasn’t the most exciting game, but you still played well!”

“You don’t need to coddle me, I promise, I’ll get over it, I'm not a baby.”

You don’t know what compels you to do what you do next. Maybe it is his gentle smile, or the things you know Patrick and Tashi are probably getting up to right now. Whatever it is, you pull your phone out of your pocket, offering it to him.

“So, I know I’m not Tashi, and I’m not trying to be your consolation prize, but if you want to put in your number, I might be persuaded to call you some time.”

He takes the phone off your hands immediately.

“Consolation prize? Are you fucking kidding me? Patrick is almost going to wish he lost,” he says, then freezes in the middle of typing the digits into your phone. “Wait, I thought you didn’t…”

“That was a misunderstanding. I am into boys. I like girls too, though, so if that’s not…”

“No, No! I’m not… That doesn’t…” he interrupts, as he finishes typing down his name and hands you back your phone. “Call me, please.”

You nod, feeling giddy, something flutters in your stomach, akin to the butterflies that had only belonged to Tashi until then.

“Ok, I’ll see you around.”

You call him that same night, laying backwards on your bed, alone. Tashi is getting dinner with her family to celebrate, and you can’t wait a second longer, can’t pretend not to care.

“Hi” you say when he picks up, after only ringing once. “It’s Y/n”

“Hey,” he says almost out of breath, as if he didn’t believe you would actually call him.

“Who’s that?” You can hear Patrick's voice wonder.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No! Let me just…” you can hear shuffling and Patrick’s teasing voice, you can’t make out anything of what they are saying.

You know they are on the bus on their way back to boarding school. It is a bad time, but you couldn’t help yourself. You hear footsteps and you assume he is walking to the other side of the bus, vying for some privacy.

“Ok, I’m ready, sorry, Patrick was being a dick.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will hear all about his dick when Tashi comes back” he laughs loudly.

You hear somebody tell him to “Shut the fuck up, Art” and it makes you giggle. He apologizes, then focuses all his attention back on you.

You are still talking to him when Tashi comes back. She smiles but doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to hang up the phone so she can grill you for information.

“It was Art” you say, after you place your phone on the bedside table.

“Oh, was it? Interesting.”

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

Art Donaldson: 2-0

Patrick Zweig: 5-15 

You are more excited than you should be. And pleasantly surprised. It’s not that you didn’t believe in Patrick, you did, but he is not used to playing on his own against the big names. It doesn’t help that he is playing against his long lost best friend, the first person he ever loved. So you weren’t confident that he was going to play his best tennis. Somehow, he is proving you, and probably everyone else, wrong. So yes, you are excited, the most sadist part of you reveling in the way Tashi looks more and more frustrated the more mistakes Art makes. It almost reminds you of the Junior U.S. Open finals, how Patrick had made Art look much worse than he was. Your husband wins the set with an ace, not giving the other boy a chance to score in the last game. Tashi stands up, walking out. You almost stop her, almost ask her what’s wrong. Until you remember that’s not your place anymore. 

When you look back at the court you notice both boys following her retreating figure with their eyes, both now sitting down for a break. Art takes off his t-shirt and you have to force yourself to look away, Patrick does not have the self control. He is grinning when he catches your eye. You shake your head, praying he doesn’t get too cocky.

Earlier that week:

You jump on Patrick the second he walks out of the locker room. He wraps his arms around your waist and spins you around. 

“I’m so proud of you” you say, running a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower. “Does it hurt at all?”

“It’s a little sore, but no pain.”

“I scheduled Mike in for an hour then we can grab dinner at the hotel, how does that sound?”

He nods, his head still hidden in your neck as you guide him towards the car waiting for you. Mike, his physical therapist, is already in your hotel room when you get there. You walk into the bathroom, using one of the courtesy glasses to take the pill you had bought the day before in the first pharmacy you had found. It’s supposed to help with morning sickness.

When you walk out again Patrick, Mike and your coach, Julian, are all talking, discussing the game and Patrick’s recovery. You sit next to him dutifully, holding his hand and letting him squeeze it when his physical therapist presses on a particularly sore spot.

“Do you wanna order room service?” you wonder, turning around after closing the door behind your staff.

“But I won! I think we should go out and celebrate.”

“Yeah, absolutely not, baby. I need you well rested for your next match tomorrow. I’ll give you the hotel’s restaurant, but that’s as far as we’re getting for our room” you melt at the way he immediately folds at the pet name, nodding along to what you’re saying.

He switches into a dark blue polo and you get a fancier shirt on before the two of you are making your way down to the hotel’s lobby. It is not very difficult to get a table for two at the side of the restaurant. Soon, you’re both laughing over your food like teenagers.

“Do you wanna try it?” he asks, his mouth stuffed with the steak he’s eating.

“God you’re so gross,” but you have hearts in your eyes, you’re smiling, and you lean over to let him place a bite of the meat on your tongue.

You don’t break eye contact as you chew and swallow, nodding your head.

“It’s pretty good.”

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m going to have to drag you to our room without paying.”

You laugh, openly, your head falling backwards. People turn to look at you, confused, but you’ve spent too much time dating Patrick Zweig to care about how people look at you in public.

“I’m going to the bathroom, behave,” you fix him with a warning glare that has nothing but love in it.

He raises both hands in surrender, and follows you with his eyes as you walk away. He does whatever you tell him, because he loves you. You are the best thing that has happened to him, and he doesn’t really know what he did to make you fall for him too, but he is going to do his damn best to keep it that way. So yeah, he is planning to behave, but then, as he is turning away from looking at your butt, he sees Tashi. And he doesn’t believe his eyes at first, he is sure he is making things up. But that is Tashi in the bar, with tired eyes and a sharp-looking outfit, never looking anything less than perfectly put together. So he has to stand up, he has to walk in her direction. Especially as they make eye contact and she turns, starting to walk away. He sees her give her mother the cup she had ordered and quickly dismiss her and a big guy standing with her. He supposes that must be their bodyguard. It’s kind of freaky that Art and her need a bodyguard now. He walks up to her when she is finally alone, she turns to look at him, sending an unimpressed glare his way.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asks.

“I’m playing at the challenger.”

“Yeah, I know that, but you’re not staying here, are you? There’s no way you can afford it.”

“We can, actually. Plus, with my injury, we couldn’t go to any of the Grand Slam Tournaments, so we decided to give ourselves a little treat with all the money we saved. We were already meant to be staying here for the U.S Open, so… Why are you guys staying here? I’d assume you would rent a villa or something.”

“Lilly likes hotels” Patrick pretends to be confused, as if he doesn’t know who Lilly is. “Our daughter.”

“Ah,” he acknowledges.

“Art can’t see us together, he already thinks I planned this to humiliate him.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Not this part” she starts to walk away, but turns around.

She spots you on your table, alone, your back facing them. She shakes her head, walking closer to him.

“Shouldn’t you be with your fucking girlfriend?” Patrick can’t help but smile, Tashi scoffs. “I don’t think she’d be very happy if she saw you talking to me.”

“And I don’t think you know my wife anymore,” he says, emphasizing the ‘my wife’, Tashi’s mouth falls open comically, but she is able to play it off quickly, “so everything you say are just assumptions.”

“I don’t have to talk to you. You and Art are on opposite sides of the bracket, you’re not gonna face each other unless you’re both in the final.”

“I don't think we have to worry about that.”

“No, you always used to fall apart in the second round without her. Can’t see why it would be any different now. Do me a favor,” she says, walking towards the elevator, “stay the fuck away from us.”

“Can you stay away from her?” the door closes as soon as those words have left his mouth, but he knows she heard them.

He turns around, a self satisfied smirk in his face, he knows he’s gotten under her skin. He sits in front of you, still smiling. You don’t look quite as happy.

“Why are you starting shit again?” you ask, more tired than angry.

“C’mon you love it when I start shit. Plus, she deserves it for what happened in…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupt firmly, his hands shoot up in surrender. “We need to win the open. I don't want them getting into your head and messing you up.”

“It won’t happen, I promise. I’m locked in.”

You can help the smile that spreads through your face. He puts his hand over yours on the table, your fingers interlacing.

“Now, what if I paid the bill really quickly and then we can go back to our room and celebrate properly?” 

You giggle, he kisses your knuckles. He stands up and pays, then comes back for you. His hand is on your back the entire trip back to your room, itching to go lower. You fall onto each other as soon as the door is open, kissing passionately. And just like that, you have almost forgotten about Tashi, and Art, and how this is the first time the four of you have been this explicitly close to each other in a very long time, almost.

Hillsborough, California, August 20, 2006:

You and Tashi have spent August in your vacation home, away from everything. Now, on your last day before you have to move into college you sit in your lawn, watching the sun set.

“Are you nervous?” she asks.

“A little. I’ll probably be fine, but I’m gonna hate not seeing your gorgeous face every day,” there was more truth to that statement that you were willing to admit.

“Yeah, I still can’t believe we’re not going to college.”

“I'm going to miss you,” you whisper, letting yourself be fully vulnerable.

“Oh, you won’t, I’m going to be calling you all the time. I’m going to call you so much you’ll change your number.”

“That would never happen.”

“I’ll even write you letters, I know you love that romantic bullshit.” You can’t help your eyes from getting wet at her words. “And I’ll visit. Plus, we’ll play against each other a lot, so get ready to get your ass whooped.”

“I just wish I was going to Stanford with you…” and Art, you think, but don’t say.

“You made the right decision for yourself, and I’m proud of you. You won’t have to put up with her anymore.”

You nod, you have been feeling guilty over your decision, telling yourself you should’ve put up with your mother for a couple more years to be with Tashi. You feel more confident once you know Tashi thinks you’ve made the right choice. You haven’t picked up any of your mum’s calls since the start of the month and tomorrow, when you drive yourself to college, will mark the official start of your new life, a life your mum is not a part of.

It’s dark by the time you make it back inside, drunk on sadness and each other. Tashi kisses you before you walk into your room. It’s sweet, softer than any other kiss you’ve ever shared with her. You can taste the salty trail of tears on her lips. You stare into each other’s eyes for a couple seconds when you pull away. You don’t talk about it, not that night, not the next morning. You don’t talk about the kiss or how the both of you are in relationships with other people. If you had known that would be the last one, you wouldn’t have let her go.

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 10: Yes.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Once in a while, right in the middle of a (not so) ordinary (un)life, love gives us a fairy tale.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Commissioned from my dear friend Leira Art <3

Astarion’s thigh was starting to get numb. Ban was on her stomach, stretched out beside him, her hands cradling her face. The unfortunate fact that her elbows were digging into his thigh was something she missed entirely.

He’d arranged for a small moonlit dinner in the gardens, just bedding laid over the grass and nothing but the moon and the stars to keep them company. It had seemed like the perfect idea after a long day of trying to broker some sort of arrangement between Shadowheart and the city about the now-abandoned Sharran cloister. Ban had gone to see Shadowheart for this purpose when she’d first come back to Baldur’s Gate; that had been the day the mirror had been delivered. The two had been coordinating in anticipation of today’s meeting ever since.

He sighed and flexed his leg in an attempt to get Ban to notice his discomfort. She shifted along with the muscle, but merely looked at him, smiling.

“You’ll have to move soon, else your poor husband loses his leg,” he remarked.

She lifted from his leg, smirking. “Nonsense. You’re undead. Regardless, bodies don’t work that way; all you’d get is a… spasm, of sorts, which I’m sure you can handle.” She gave him a soft pat on his beleaguered limb, playfully dismissive.

“As enlightening as you think that is, I actually do know what cramps are. Being undead doesn’t save you from that particular torture, as I’m sure you know.”

“Just teasing you,” she said amiably, lying down to rest her head on his thigh instead.

He looked down at her, admiring the way her hair fanned out in a halo around her head.

“Cramps, spasms… you’re all too familiar with such things, aren’t you?” He wrapped his fingers around her bicep, squeezing. “You’ve probably had more than your fair share, flailing about with that frankly ridiculous weapon of yours.”

“Says you.” Ban huffed, glaring good-naturedly at him. “You couldn’t even swing it, Astarion. You and your little crossbows and daggers…”

He laughed, sliding his hand over her shoulder. “You’ll have to tell me how you became so… forgive me, brawny.” Astarion watched her consider the question, eyes glazing over as she brought forth memories.

“After I ran away from my family, I found my way into the employ of an innkeeper, as a barmaid. Not a horrible place to earn your keep; they were kind enough to allow me to live in one of the rooms of the inn. But as in all such establishments, you occasionally get… unpleasant clientele.”

He rolled his eyes. Of course. “And so this was a way to protect yourself.”

“It was,” she agreed, “One day, a customer managed to get their hands on me; before anyone could intervene, I broke his nose. It was mostly a lucky shot, but the innkeeper saw potential in it. They had been a skilled fighter, and decided to pass their skills along to me. Over time, I built a small reputation keeping the peace in the tavern, took a shine to… all that, and eventually received offers from merchants and the like, to help out or provide protection.”

“With a greatsword?” he said, a little incredulous.

“No, although I wish I had. Merely a longsword; easier to handle, but a lot less impressive.” Her hands mimed swinging one, the movement quick and efficient, if inelegant.

His hands covered hers. “You’ll have to teach me how to wield a greatsword one day.”

Her answer was quick. “Not a chance you’ll have the patience for such a slow weapon, Astarion.”

He chuckled. “Truer words have never been spoken. Besides, finesse and dexterity are all you ever need, really.” He twirled their entwined hands, flipping an invisible dagger in the air. She giggled, and he watched their hands against the night sky, dancing amongst the stars.

“This was a brilliant idea. I’m impressed you came up with it.” He peered down at her as she spoke; he’d thought she’d passed into sleep - her eyes had been closed for some time.

“I’m far more capable than you give me credit for,” he scoffed. Since she was not asleep after all, he gave in to his lingering urge and wrapped his hands around her wrists, tugging her off his much-abused leg and up. Spreading his legs, he guided her to sit between them. She leaned against his chest, closing her eyes as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Far more romantic is what I would have said,” she corrected, “not that I’m complaining. But this is something that… I don’t know, Gale would have done.”

“Gale?” Astarion scoffed in mock offense, “I can do better than anything he could conjure up. Had you said Wyll, I’d have to admit I’d have a slight challenge on my hands.”

“A slight challenge?” Ban laughed, “It would be quite a bit more than a slight challenge for you to outdo Wyll in romantic gestures, Astarion.”

“Tell me, then. What would you consider the most romantic,” he rolled his eyes, “thing he’s done?”

Ban was silent for a moment, then raised a finger in an aha! gesture. “He gave up his life in Faerûn and followed Karlach to the hells.”

His stomach turned, the comment stinging as it hit sensitive spots. She said it in jest, but there was an underlying truth behind her playful words.

“You truly think I wouldn’t do the same for you?” He was a little piqued, the offense not entirely feigned anymore.

Ban shrugged, failing to sense the change in his mood. “And give up everything you have? Every bit of luxury? Your palace, your art, your suits… the sun? Why would you?” she quipped airily.

A soft hiss escaped him. “I would do anything for you; have already done so, to be frank. I’ve fought everything we’ve had to overcome, have I not? Everything we’ve ever faced. I fought for you, for us - fought our enemies, our companions, the Absolute, my master, myself…” he took a sharp, pained breath, “I have clawed my way through everything for the privilege of being the one by your side. Nothing would part me from you.” He clenched his jaw, his scowl deepening. “If anything, I should ask the same of you. Would you go to the hells for me?”

He watched her face. She barely considered the question and answered quickly - too quickly for his liking.

“I would, of course,” she replied, her tone still light and conversational, as if she didn’t take his statement or his question seriously. She smiled at him, but it did nothing but agitate him further.

Why would she take him seriously? It was hypothetical, nothing serious, even though his words had been from the heart. They’d even been to the hells before, however brief, although that was for thievery and to save the godsdamned world. For a moment his mind flashed to Haarlep, his daggers sinking into that cursed incubus’ flesh, for her, always for her-

“Forgive me for asking such an inane question, then,” he snipped, all mirth gone, “For the longest time I’ve felt… unsure. Of how much you love me.”

He’d always felt it, he realized. From their days on the road - wondering when she’d come to her senses and he’d be left to rot, to the early days of his ascension - wondering where she had gone though her body had still been there, to their eventual reconciliation - wondering if he’d ever be enough for her to love him as he did her. Always doubting, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was exhausted.

She blinked, surprised. “Don’t I tell you enough? I love you so, so much. Endlessly so.” He felt her body stiffen in his arms; it merely served to irritate him even more.

“You do say it more as of late, which I find gratifying. Thank you.” The bitterness bled into his voice; not that he’d tried very hard to mask it. “Whether you truly mean it or not remains in question, especially with how you’ve…” he tilted his head in that cold, arrogant way of his, a defense mechanism she hadn’t seen in awhile, “treated me, since we reconciled.”

She finally realized the extent of his pique, that it ran deep, and that her flippancy had reopened the wound. She lifted herself up to meet his gaze.

“Astarion, I… I am sorry. I-”

“Do not apologize, at least not yet.” He took a moment to clear his head; the Ascendant could never be allowed free rein in conversations like this. Never again. “I refuse to hear mere platitudes in an attempt to placate me. I wish for you to hear what I have to say, and should you feel it appropriate, you may do so then.” He was stern but holding the vitriol back. This needed to be said, but it need not be an argument.

“Alright.”

He watched as she pulled away from him. There was a sudden spike of fear there, one that dissipated when Ban stayed within the circle of his arms. She’d shifted just far enough so that she could meet his gaze.

“I’m listening. Say everything you need to say,” she said gently, offering him a nervous smile. She rested a hand on his thigh, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

I’m here. Her mind touched his, something she’d been doing more and more often these days. He let her in, lowered the walls he’d been hiding behind for so long.

“I am aware you love me. How can I not be, when you have shown me so time and again?” A small, rather sad smile graced his face as he spoke. “What concerns me is the intensity of it - rather, the strength and longevity of it, compared to mine.”

“Strength?” Her lips tugged downwards as she considered his words.

“But I… I did tell you. You’re enough. You’re all I want,” she sighed, “But I also know it’s probably not enough - they’re merely words.”

“I am enough, for now,” he corrected.

A small series of thoughts were passed to her: a memory of their argument after her discovery of the contract, moments when he’d expected her to commune with him but instead she retreated, times he’d hoped she’d feed from him and nourish herself with his blood in moments of intimacy, only for her to turn to their stores instead.

“Would I still be enough, were I to displease you again? We’ve discussed this, but I must confess that I haven’t been completely forthright with my feelings on the matter.”

He wanted to tell her how painful it had been; how reminiscent of being punished by his master it was - to a lesser degree, of course, but it opened the same wounds in him nonetheless. He found his heart failing him, unwilling to inflict pain. He wished he could say it but he couldn’t allow it, wouldn’t willingly hurt her, wouldn’t let her even see-

And what of it, if she treats me that way? I can handle it, have handled it for centuries. I’m not worth better; they’ve all drilled it into me - Cazador and his patrons, our companions, even her. She turned away from me when I was lost, shut me out when I tried to understand her, withheld her heart from me until I begged, wielded silence like a weapon when I didn’t behave. Yes, most of that was my own fault, but that merely serves to prove I’m unworthy of it all. Of her.

Just shut up, Astarion. Let whatever needs to happen happen. You don’t-

He felt the air in his lungs escape him as her arms crashed around him and held him tightly, so tightly it felt like it could bruise. He found himself pressed against her chest, realizing she was murmuring into his hair.

“No, no, don’t hide, please,” she whimpered, barely coherent, “You- I didn’t know, I didn’t see, and I know you’ve tried to tell me before but it felt like barbs you were throwing mid-argument. I didn’t want to see there was truth behind them. I’m them, aren’t I? I’m so sorry, Astarion, please.”

He let her hold him, allowed her to cry into his hair, fingers digging into his back with a desperation he hadn't seen in her before. His hands rubbed her back, but he didn’t speak. His thoughts had slipped into her mind as they’d flitted through his, he realized, but he didn’t regret it.

“I love you. I love you so godsdamned much and I realize I’ve been doing it wrong, not loving you the way you deserve. I’ve been neglecting your needs in favor of my own. I’ve been… all of them. Cazador, everyone who ever used you, even my wretched parents. I’m like them - I’ve been being everything I hated in them all and I’m just like them and I should just-”

Her frantic words cut off in a sharp intake of breath and she tried to pull away, her face stricken with horror. Astarion held on, refusing to let her go.

“Don’t go,” he crooned softly, as if calming a skittish animal, “because that would only serve to hurt me more. If you do love me so much then tell me. Show me. I need both in equal measure, my love.”

“I thought I was,” she choked out, “I thought I had been trying. And I’m not sure I’ve succeeded at all-”

She bit back a sob, refusing to allow her words to dissolve into tears. Not right now, when he deserved to hear more than sad blathering, knowing that his first instinct would be to backtrack. The tears came anyway, pooling in her eyes. She took several deep breaths to collect herself before continuing.

“There’s trying, and there’s not trying hard enough. I’ve been the latter; I see your pain and I make attempts in the moment, but then you seem better and I let myself carry on. I slip into old habits and behind walls that are all too easy to hide behind - and I let myself ignore what’s outside those walls.” She laughed, the bitterness evident. “Ironic, I think, that I’ve been doing what you did after the rite. I’ve been hiding myself from you, the way you hid yourself from me. You’ve tried so hard to heal my pain, attended to my needs, at the expense of your own… worked tirelessly at undoing the damage of those early months, and you’ve succeeded… but it was so easy for me to keep letting you do that, to be neglectful attending to you and your needs. To your heart. I will try to be better - No. I will be better. I swear it.”

And there were truths, painful ones, that needed to be said. She steeled herself; there wouldn’t be a better time.

“It has been better,” he assured, “These past weeks have been wonderful; they’ve soothed a lot of the ache. I suppose I merely wanted you to know, and even then I wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk of dredging up.”

“Oh, but it is. There’s something I should have told you, something I should have talked to you about the moment we reconciled, or any one of a hundred times since. I should have told you that although I never stopped loving you, and wanted to be with you again, I didn’t forgive you. That I resented what you’d done to me, resented it enough to keep holding it against you, to measure every good thing you did against the past - and I found it lacking.”

“Ban-” he tried to interrupt, his face a mask of worry, but she shook her head; her eyes begged him to allow her to do what he’d done for her barely more than a month ago. He quietened once more, tightening his grip on her, grounding them both.

“I withdrew at every sign of discomfort; I didn't even really try to trust you more, not outside of our bedroom, anyway… Even as I promised to work on us... I used affection as currency - I saw it as… justified retribution, at times. Not consciously, not deliberately, I don’t think, but neither did I deliberately try to move past those feelings. Even as I speak now I’m only now finding the words for it. All I know is I should have told you this, should have realized earlier what it was I was doing to you. I should’ve been fighting to improve myself, and our relationship, like you were, instead of putting all the burden and responsibility for my feelings and our happiness onto you alone.” She finally let him go enough to cup his cheek.

“We desperately need to learn how to talk, Astarion, as laughably simple as that sounds. Let’s both do what you promised to do for me - if we find ourselves unable to talk it out, we’ll use the connection to think it out, together.” He nodded in agreement and she sighed, calmer now, but no less agonized over these personal revelations.

“I wish I… hadn’t done any of that, or that we had found our way to talking about it earlier, but I also know how… recalcitrant I can be. And of course you feared yet another retreat, or worse, had you tried and it escalated. I didn’t make any attempt to talk about it, and you didn’t feel safe enough to try. We've both spent too long afraid to talk, me fearing compulsion and now you fearing abandonment.”

He chuckled. “On that I cannot refute you, and thus can provide no comfort. On the other hand, not all of my concerns are because of your transgressions, or mine. Some of it is concern about your… former mortality.”

Ban froze for a moment, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“It isn’t a fundamental issue, but if we are to talk about love, and its relative… longevity, even though such a concept is nebulous at best,” Astarion’s eyes flicked away, gathering the strands of the thought he was trying to piece together. “I suppose this is worth bringing into the discussion.”

She saw the way his eyes darted away, locking onto some distant spot; the way his shoulders squared, the bated breath. Even now he tries to diminish his own feelings to avoid upsetting me further. Now that she was watching for it, she couldn't believe she hadn’t seen it all this time - rather, that she had seen, but had refused to acknowledge it, so much so that it had stopped registering in her conscious mind. Never again, she vowed silently.

“What ‘this’?” She was confused, but allowed him the space to think.

He stayed unmoving for a few moments, then finally reached for her mind.

What flowed into her was immense - seemingly boundless stretches of time, of days flowing into months flowing into years, decades, centuries. The moon rising and setting, interminable nights of untold suffering and the rare, quiet moments in between, stretching seemingly endlessly. To her, it felt an eternity - although she knew this was a mere grain of sand in the infinity of time.

Fragments of memories, the earliest of which were mere wisps, lost to the weight of the centuries; then his time with Cazador, bathed in cruelty, a parade of bodies and the scents of rot and sex and filth, blood-red and tinged with pain and fear and anger and self-loathing, all blending together in one massive wave of anguish - then silence.

His year alone, she realized, a small gasp escaping her as he allowed her to see a fraction of how it had felt. The maddening isolation, the despairing, desperate prayers to every god ever named, his fingers bleeding throat raw stomach hollow every muscle aching mind racing and this is it forevermore the four corners of this cold tomb please let me die please-

“Astarion,” she cried out, gripping his shoulder, trying to stop him from spiraling. Those beautiful eyes locked onto hers and to her surprise he was calm. He took her hand, squeezing it.

The memories shifted. The colors became more vivid, the smells became warm and heavenly in comparison to everything else before. The chirping of birds. The smell of grass and earth. Sunlight. Blood from a boar, warm and so, so much of it, and his stomach had never felt so full…

Footsteps, a blade held to someone’s throat. Cautious, hesitant trust. The smell of thinking blood, so close he could lean in and taste it. Laughter. Voices. Her voice. His teeth, sinking in, that first taste forever dooming him to crave it, crave her. Their first nights together, the push-pull of his heart and mind, warring between thinking her a gullible fool and the flickering ember of warmth and affection in his chest.

I want us to be something real.

But not merely real; thiramin - passionate, true, eternal. Nights under the stars. Fighting back to back, daggers and sword flowing seamlessly. Banter by the campfire. Frustration as he regarded her hands, trying to teach her how to pick locks, only for her to give up and smash the chest with one swing of her sword. Those same hands, touching him with an aching tenderness. Uneasiness slowly morphing into trust and then into comfort and then longing, into home. Touch me love me see me be with me, forever and longer than that. I love you, I love you and I will say it, soon, every single day, when I am free.

His eyes left hers, downcast as the memories continued to flow.

Power, as it flowed into him, exhilaration drowned by the look on her face and the disgust in her heart until all he felt was loss and anger, that the thing he loved most would slip through his fingers when freedom was finally his. Regret, still stabbing even to this day. Visions of her face, cold and angry and at times frightened. His voice, commanding, demanding her subservience - on your knees, a finger pointing downwards. The denial of any vulnerability - rebuffing her when she reached for him, admonishment for the attempt. The slow corruption of what was between them.

Astarion didn’t shy from it, his hand merely tightened on hers. The stream of recollections didn’t stop, but his eyes flicked back to hers.

The agony of losing her, the hopelessness, the emptiness. The slow process of prying open his heart once more, at first nearly impossible and then increasingly easy. The sheer joy of seeing her smile at him again, her face emblazoned into his mind. Memories of more recent, happier times. Elation mixed with spikes of anxiety whenever she retreated from him - confusion, worry, fear. And finally, the slow ebbing of those feelings, contentment suffusing more and more of the final visions, the doubt ever-smaller, more easily brushed away.

And then she was seeing through his eyes, he through hers, here in the garden with no other soul, only the stars in the sky. One last feeling - love - and he retracted from her mind, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Ban snapped back to reality, to her own mind, reeling. In front of her Astarion looked fond, his hand still cradling hers, waiting for her to settle before he continued.

“A long time to live, and I am still young for an elf,” he began, “I would assume the weight of it infinitely more burdensome for someone as young as you, from a short-lived race.”

She nodded. “I wouldn’t contest that. Were I not turned, I would have died within the century.”

“But you will not,” Astarion reminded, “I am merely concerned about your capability of loving steadfastly, long past the normal span of your lifetime. The constancy required for a love that spans millennia, that follows us through reincarnations… It is something elves are born with. It is not so for humans. I simply… wanted to bring it to light.”

“Astarion,” she said, voice tinged with hurt, “Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I will fall out of love with you in a century or two. No one can know the future, but I swear to you - I will love you for however long this-” she gestured between them, “-undeath lasts, love you the best that I am able. Eternity, if it comes to that.”

Ban weighed her words, weighed the visions he’d allowed her to see. “I know I can’t prove anything today. The future is never set, and I’ve hurt you. I have no idea how to measure our love, to even consider if they are things to be compared against each other-”

“They are not,” he assured her, “But I appreciate that they have now been spoken out loud. That I am understood, seen, and that you do not disagree.”

“If that’s the case, I can promise to continue comprehending. To… see you, fully, even when it’s uncomfortable for me. To understand, to do better. To listen and care, and love. To work toward your happiness as much as my own. To fight for us, always. I can’t prove it today, but I will prove it. From today, until forever.” She made this vow without hesitation or reservation, and with utter sincerity.

Astarion smiled at her, a soft, almost hesitant smile, one that told her she’d soothed a lot of his heartache, before leaning his forehead to touch hers. They sat, quietly, absorbing one another’s feelings through their bond.

“Astarion…” She lifted his hand and placed it over her heart as she spoke; his brows raised in surprise. They had spent a long time in heavy but comfortable silence, basking in the closeness of their shared emotions. Hearing her speak aloud nearly startled him, but he was eager to hear what she may have to say.

She waited until his eyes met hers, until that slight surprise passed into curiosity. He held her gaze, lips parted as if to speak.

“Let me get this out,” she interjected before he could respond. His lip quirked, eyes narrowing, his brows shifting into an expression of wry, if fond, amusement.

Ban locked her gaze onto those beloved crimson irises, ignoring everything else. If she considered any more of his beautiful face, she was sure her courage would fail her. She’d been thinking about this, had been considering it for a long while before the mirror, before her family came back into their lives. She had lain awake thinking of it as she was cradled in his arms, had almost spoken it into being numerous times in post-coital bliss or in quiet, happy moments. It had never been quite the right time - something had always come up - whether it be some small quarrel they had, some playful remark that derailed her line of thought, or simple cowardice. She’d let her lingering doubts serve as excuses, but the idea never went away for long. This finally felt like the right time, to finally fully open herself to him, to let her faith and love and trust shine through in actions, as well as words.

She felt her hand shake, tears threatening to blur her vision, and swallowed hard.

“I figured I would say this sooner or later, or if I’d kept letting my cowardice win then later than sooner, to be frank. It’s been on my mind for…. Well, I’m not even sure how long, but it’s been a long time. It first crossed my mind that it would make sense, politically - legally it would make sense as well: properties, assets, all that - and no one would question the legitimacy of our union, would solidify alliances and our good standing, and-”

Her words were cut off by a soft laugh. He leaned in, keeping his hand over her unusually fast heart, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Keep going,” he urged, his tremulous voice filled with a hunger she barely recognized, and although he was smiling, his eyes were misty and intensely focused, as if not a single other thing existed in the world besides her, and him, and this moment. “I think I’d rather like to hear what else you have to say.”

She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, so she gave up trying. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I love you.”

“I’m aware,” Astarion responded, the picture of patience. “And you’re well aware of how much I adore you in turn.”

“This isn’t… politically it does make sense,” she said again, knowing full well she was repeating herself. “But I don’t want you to think that, I- I’m not doing this because it makes sense. It- that’s not it, and I’ve just been thinking it and it’s not that, do you un-”

This time it was his lips on hers that interrupted her, a soft caress that was unhurried and filled with nothing but reassurance. He held the back of her head, keeping her close. She allowed herself to melt against his parted lips, allowed his tongue to slip in and explore her, but he barely dipped in before retreating. He didn’t speak, merely gave her a small nod, thumb wiping away a falling tear.

She took several deep breaths, collecting her thoughts as best she could; she was appalled how much she had fumbled it thus far. “I’ve thought about saying it so many times, and in just as many ways. When I was lying in your arms, when I’d made you laugh, over meals, when we talked about our plans, even when we argued…” She shook her head. “Gods, even before that. I fantasized about it that first night in the clearing - stupid and naive, I know, but there it is. It just kept popping into my head, ever-present, always a wonderful daydream that I daren’t speak into existence. I was afraid I’d ruin it.. I knew… I knew it would seem cold, calculated, because there is so much benefit to our goals in it, and I didn’t want it to be for that. I didn’t want to say it when you might think it was only about that, because it isn’t, not at all. And then the time never felt quite right, and I was so scared of making you feel it was cheapened by politics…” She sighed, pausing again to gather her courage.

The words finally managed to leave her mouth. “I want… forever. I want what you wanted, all this time. To be real.” Another shaky breath, and she saw the smile on his face fade, replaced by an eagerness framed with such tenderness it almost broke her. “I was your first. I want to be your last. I want you to marry me. Say yes, please.”

“Ban,” Astarion chuckled. It was a soft, wet sound, his sniffling ruining the intended effect. “You merely had to say ‘will you marry me’ and it would have sufficed.” He flapped a hand dramatically. “You could have gone with some quip, like ‘if you turned me into your bride, why don’t we make it real’ or some comment about how I already call you my wife…” He trailed off as he realized she’d begun to sob, shoulders shaking.

“Love… yes. Of course yes!” He shook his head at the utter idiocy of this moment, of how she’d assumed, even for a moment, that he’d refuse, as if all that babble wasn’t just his own nervousness coming to the fore, the old theatrics a way to defuse strong emotions. He pulled her to him tightly, pressing her to him, his joy overwhelming him as he felt her return the hug with just as much strength.

Yes. Of course, yes. Astarion recognized it for what it was - a large step - and felt joy suffuse him. I am seen, chosen, cherished, loved… I am enough! Everything he’d wanted and had ever needed, condensed into the being of this magnificent person he held in his arms. He pulled away to peer at her face and she shied away, cuddling deeper against him, as if she could stay there forever to avoid his prying eyes.

“Darling, your tears will stain my shirt,” he chided, as if he wasn't crying himself, tears streaking all over his own face. There was a muffled sorry and she let him go, her hands moving to cover her face; he was quick enough, however, and caught her wrists.

“There’s no need to hide, nor cry for that matter,” he murmured, blinking his own tears away. “This is a happy moment. We’re to be wedded, for real this time - not that it matters, really,” he scoffed. “I’ve considered us husband and wife for, gods, I don’t even know how long.” That made her smile, at least, and she finally opened her eyes, although she hadn’t looked him in the face yet.

“Do indulge your to-be-husband, Ban. First, don’t enlist a cleric to officiate the ceremony. I won’t stand for religious prattle. And second, I want to be wed quickly. No more than a month.”

“A month we can do. As for the other, I was thinking Ulder might help us,” she finally said. He blinked in surprise, impressed.

“So you have planned this,” he mused. “You figured you could pull favors from dear Wyll’s old man, get a wonderful ceremony, and consolidate political influence, all in one fell swoop.” He clapped his hands in amusement. “I’m impressed.”

“Well there was also the fact that I get to marry you,” she quipped, eyes still pointedly staring at his chin instead of his face.

Astarion placed a hand under her chin, tilting her face up. “I know,” he murmured. “I know all too well.”

He leaned in close, slotting his lips against hers. This time he didn’t pull away, allowing the kiss to intensify. He waited for her to part her lips then pushed his tongue in, tasting and devouring. Finding a fang, he pressed his tongue against it, longing for her to taste him.

When they parted he was breathless, eyes locked onto her face. “How long have you been considering this?”

“A while,” came the answer, spoken hurriedly as he pulled her on top of him, lying back onto the dewy grass. “After the clearing, it was a daydream - a silly, romantic wish. I first thought of it as more than a fantasy, in terms of the political benefits, shortly after we reconciled, but of course didn’t really think seriously on it then. In terms of when it became something I definitely wanted, for myself - for us… When we had the ball to celebrate our first year. I could see us doing that, but instead of celebrating an anniversary, it would be our wedding.”

“Then why not ask me earlier? That was months ago.” He shivered at the feeling of her lips pressing against the base of his ear; Ban was obviously seeking to correct previous shortcomings. He felt her trail a small path of kisses across his jaw, and then the underside and down his throat. He sat up a bit, propping himself up on his elbows, baring his neck to her, a plea for her to continue. “Did you think I would be so foolish as to decline forever with you, when that’s all I’ve longed for?”

“I thought you would find the ceremony involved trite; like you said, you already obviously considered us wedded,” Ban said. “I also didn’t want you to think it was merely a political move. I didn’t know how to make it romantic and not… pragmatic.” There was a quick pause and then her lips were replaced by fangs, cautiously scraping against his skin, far more hesitant than he would have been. The sensation sent a wave of delight straight to his groin, regardless. “I apologize that I haven’t been feeding from you. It’s not you. I- it’s taken a long time to be comfortable with what I am now.”

“Forgiven.” Astarion purred as her hand wrapped around his nape, guiding his head to the angle she desired. Fingers caressed the curls at the base of his neck, sending more shivers racing along his body. He’d known of her issues coming to terms with her undeath - he’d been hoping learning how to use her powers would help finally ease her into it. That being why she rarely sank her fangs into him was a significant relief, chasing even more of his concerns away. “It is trite,” he admitted, a small sigh escaping his lips as he pressed his hips against hers. “As much as I do agree - doing so will solidify your legitimacy as my partner, afford you more respect, provide a wondrous opportunity to host a grand ball, provide ample chance for mingling, and bind us together in a new way, one that I want very much. I am no fool; I am not incapable of knowing both can be true at the same time.”

“I know you’re not. I just didn’t want you to-”

“To be hurt,” he agreed, placing a hand over his chest dramatically, the effect significantly lessened by the fact that he was painfully hard. The comfort at her openness, in the acknowledgment of his hurts, the balm of her promises, the all-encompassing joy of their engagement, the pleasant weight of her straddling him, grinding against him, the press of her fangs against his neck… It all blended, forming an irresistible cocktail of desire. “Darling. I’m touched. A little insulted you’d think me that incognizant,” he chuckled as she huffed at him, “but very, very glad you have thought of me - worried for me.”

“That being sa-'' he began to say, but the words were aborted in favor of a low, undignified whine as her fangs finally found their mark, sinking into his neck. Pain and icy coldness spread from the pinprick wounds as she drank - rather clumsily in his opinion - the pain quickly followed by pleasure. His hips bucked as her fingers gently traced the edge of his ear. “You- ah- might want to suck and then swallow, instead of… whatever it is you’re attempting to do.” He shifted to center his cock against her, allowing her to feel all of him with every grind of her hips.

Ban opened her mouth to snap out a retort, forgetting to lick the wounds to stem the flow beforehand. Blood gushed and she swore, tongue immediately latching onto his neck to seal them shut.

Astarion snorted. “Messy, Ban. Whatsoever would you do if you actually did have to drink someone dry? You’d have half of it spill.” He took a look at his shirt and sighed. “There’s also the fact that you ruined my sh…”

He cut off with a groan, her wicked tongue lapping harder at his neck, sliding down to his collarbone, licking the blood that had pooled there. A soft snap heralded his shirt being torn open, buttons flying off in every direction, baring his chest. There was another sharp flash of painful pleasure as she nipped at the hard planes of his chest, nicking him slightly above a nipple; he opened his eyes to see her licking at the small rivulets of blood.

“Fuck the shirt,” she said, eyes glinting mischievously. “I want you to forget everything but my name.”

He swallowed, his skin feeling a little too tight, and his cock gave a long throb at her words. He was rather taken aback, surprised by the uncommon forwardness; he delighted in it, in fact. “You’ll have to try harder than that.” Not that he thought she’d have a hard time of it - Ban knew him as well as he her, and all she had to do was place her finger-

But that wasn’t a finger, was it?

She’d slid up his body again, pressed a kiss against his lips - quick and hurried - and before he knew it she’d taken his ear into her mouth, sucking it once. Hard.

The sensation was gone as soon as it came - wet and hot and tingling all around his ear, almost overwhelmingly intense for that split second. He whined at its loss, hips violently jerking up against hers, cock straining against his trousers.

There was want, there was need, but there was also desperation.

“You utter…” He shook his head. “Where did you learn that from?” More, he thought, I need more.

Ban laughed, pulling away to shoot him a wry grin. “A couple of suggestions from friends, here and there…”

He groaned. “Shadowheart?”

“Perhaps.”

He felt her hand snake down, wrapping around his clothed length; his hips canted upwards of their own accord to meet her, seeking friction. The other hand traced an ear, tongue swirling around a nipple and gods he refused to come like this, at least not tonight…

“That’s quite enough.” There was no bite in his tone - he thought it impossible at the moment - but she paused long enough for him to lean her back until she was underneath him. One long, hard thrust - pressing his cock against her, fabric the only thing between them and oh gods he could feel how wet she was - and he pulled away enough to flip her over.

“Was it too much?” She propped herself up, looking at him over her shoulder with careful, slightly concerned eyes. Astarion shook his head.

“On the contrary; I want more of it, much more - but later, else this won’t be a long enough nor a worthy enough encounter for our engagement night.” He considered her, laid out in front of him, eyes and body beckoning to him. “On your stomach, darling,” he whispered, pleased at how quickly she obeyed, lying flat and resting her head on her hands, the muscled expanse of her back and ass presented to him. He ran his hands up the back of her legs, slipping under her dress, fingers digging into each ass cheek before rucking the garment up and off, tossing it to the side.

She turned to look at him, amused. This he matched with a wry grin of his own as he sat up and made a show of stripping off his trousers - slowly undoing the laces, hooking his fingers under the waistband and tugging them down inch by painstaking inch to reveal pale, perfect hipbones, running a hand over the tented outline of his cock, causing her to bite back a moan. She knew Astarion was fully aware of how he looked: bloody shirt torn open, wounds already closing, grass in his hair, cockhead finally slipping out of his trousers. He stroked himself again, eyes locked onto her.

“Hurry up, you tease,” she admonished, rolling her hips to briefly lift her ass up in the air.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Trousers and underwear were roughly tugged down and kicked off. He crawled towards her and she began to spread her legs in anticipation, but he stopped her with a gentle touch. Guiding her thighs back together, he slid his legs on either side of hers. He grasped himself as he shoved her underwear to the side, sliding across her folds, rubbing himself against her.

She watched him throughout all this, her look of amusement changing into one of lust. He gave her one last smug smirk, then slowly sank inside her; the position made the fit deliciously tight, but she was so wet he slipped in without difficulty, burying himself to the hilt. They both groaned when his balls pressed against her.

He leaned forwards, palms gripping the small of her back, thrusting into her. Utterly perfect, that tight, wet, heat that was taking him so well, the feeling of being home. His thrusts gradually lost their slow pace as his self control dissipated. With every stroke he could hear her moan, feel her clenching all around him in an exquisite rhythm that was only her, could only ever be her-

He wrapped his hands around her waist, urging her to sit up. He sent an image over their connection, showing her what he wanted, and she had to bite back a moan of anticipation. He knelt as her legs slipped out from under him, watched hungrily as she straddled him, her back arching against his chest as she slid down onto his length once more. Her ass was pressed wonderfully against him and she began to ride him slowly, gliding her hips languorously, keeping him deep inside her. He rolled his hips up into her, working with the rhythm of her movements, slipping a hand lower to part her folds and find her clit, tracing circles in a slow but insistent pattern.

“Astarion, I love you,” she groaned out. “I’ve always loved you. Have always wanted you, longed for you, needed you. You… you deserve everything - love, happiness, the world. I haven’t been the best at giving it to you, but I swear I will. I’ll love you and cherish you and choose you, over and over again, in every lifetime and beyond. My life didn’t really even start until you. You were my real beginning, my future… you’ll be with me at the end, and for every step in between. You’re the part I’ve always been missing, the half that makes me whole, the other half of my soul. There’s only ever been you, there will only ever be you.” She was babbling, words spilling freely, words she had kept behind walls for so long.

Words he had always needed to hear. Words that only fueled his desire and joy, that brought tears to his eyes and drew a whimper from his lips, hips thrusting faster in response. What he had hoped she’d be to him for so long, finally reciprocated. In her own words, yes, but very much the same. He breathed the words out into their bond, hoping she understood.

My thiramin. Finally. My very own. I’ve waited for you for so long.

They both sighed, both overwhelmed by the headiness of the moment, their bodies moving in unison. Their grinding gradually began losing rhythm as they both approached their peak, the quiet gasps and groans becoming more urgent. His hand snaked up her body to her neck, fingers wrapping below her chin to pull her head back; she felt him press his lips against her pulse, then replace them with fangs.

“I should show you how it’s done,” he purred. “How to bite perfectly, to suck, to swallow, to lick.” Each word was accompanied by the action itself. A small nip, enough to break skin and draw blood, then pleasant suction, and then loud, exaggerated swallows, accompanied by moans of satisfaction breathed right beside her ear. In conjunction with those talented fingers on her clit and the unhurried rhythm of their lovemaking, it was almost too much, but she never wanted to stop.

She leaned into his touch, arching her back and neck to give him even more access. Tangling her fingers in his curls, she tugged, urging his head forward. He followed her lead, eyes closed. She could tell he was close, possibly even closer than she was - his short, rapid panting, the now-frantic rolling of his hips, the fingers on her clit losing their tempo - she saw it all, saw her husband lost in her, lost in his pleasure and joy, and she intended to give him more.

He was pressed tightly against her, jaw digging into her shoulder as he drank from her neck, his eyes roved down her body, watching everything. He was so focused, so lost, he didn’t even register her movement as she shifted to wrap her lips around his ear again. She took it in and gave a long, firm lick and then a sudden suck, swallowing as she did.

She felt him come before she heard it - the sharp, hard jerk of his hips, the sudden, violent slam of his cock so deep inside her it bordered on pain, and the fingers on her neck tightened, overwhelming her with sensation. His loud, whimpered gasp followed a half a heartbeat later, quickly chased by his low, guttural moan as he spilled inside her. The feeling was so intimate, so delicious, so perfect and she came undone as well, clenching tightly around him over and over as their joint pleasure took them both.

Perfect, his cock buried in her, her spasming around every inch of him, his fingers working her through their orgasms. Suddenly, their minds linked, each reaching for the other at their peak, reveling in the joy and the love and the overwhelming pleasure the other felt. Her clit, his cock, his hand on her neck, her fingers in his curls, his ear between her lips, her nails digging into his thigh - every sensation mixed together in a golden spiral that was magnificent and wonderful and beautiful and euphoric and consuming and it was everything and then suddenly it became too much. They instinctively drew away from the contact, the edges of it having become too keen, leaving them both overstimulated, overwhelmed, and a bit delirious.

Their bodies slowed in unison and they collapsed into each other as the last waves washed over them. She leaned heavily against him; he released her neck and held her close.

“That,” Ban said, licking her lips shakily, “was new.”

“Far newer than even you intended,” he agreed. “I however found it glorious - both things, in case you were wondering.”

Ban nodded. “That last thing we’ll have to use sparingly, I think. I…” she sighed, feeling lightheaded. It was amazing, far more intense than the time they’d melded minds while touching themselves before their reconciliation. Remember, Ban, openness, she admonished herself. She found it easy to do, suddenly realizing the lack had been more a force of habit than any actual need to hide, for awhile now. “It was amazing, much more intense than when we shared our pleasure from afar.” Her voice was quiet, almost distant, her mind struggling to retain thoughts in the aftermath.

“Agreed.” Astarion’s voice cut through the haze in her head, and he slowly repositioned them, turning her in his arms to cradle her in his lap. She could see him peering at her, the concern in his gaze obvious. “Are you alright?”

“Oh yes, just a bit adrift, like my mind is more exhausted than my body. I do think I’ll need a break after this, though,” she admitted.

He hummed softly, thoughtful. “Perhaps it would be a good time to bring back that idea we had - that little game we wanted to play. We agreed on a tenday, yes?”

Ban chuckled, tickled even through her exhaustion. “I’ll do you one better. Not until our wedding.”

“Not until-” Astarion cursed. “Gods. You are evil, you know that? You give me the best meal of my life and then decide on a month-long fast - evil. Unmercifully, unrepentantly evil.”

“It’s a yes or a no, Astarion.”

He smiled, seemingly pleased at the prospect despite his complaints. “It is not unprecedented amongst elven mates, to fast in this way, for long periods, to heighten the pleasure…” he mused, a devilish smirk blooming at the thought. “I’d very much like to see how intense things can be after a month’s respite.”

“Yes, or no,” she pressed.

He laughed. “Yes, darling. Yes to everything.”

To every question she’d asked today, to every one she would ask from this little game to eternity - yes.

Bonus: Was listening to this song while writing this chapter!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

[welcomehomediscordserver]

(joking) CW: AGGRESSIVE SUPPORT AND LOVE FOR CLOWN FROM THE MOD TEAM AND MEMBERS OVER AT OUR DISCORD SERVER !!

I have found joy in your little show that I rarely find in things. The overwhelming love and care I have not just for these specific characters but for your art and talent as a whole is astounding. I want you to know that your community, the good parts of it, support you in any endeavor you choose to take. Although this project may have blasted your popularity you are 3-dimensional, you are much more than the creator of welcome home. You are a multi-medial, skilled, talented, and strong artistic being. Throughout all of this I have had nothing but the utmost respect for you. I will continue to no matter what. Just know we over at The Welcome Home discord server have been following your art closely and appreciating every detail! Do what is best for you clown, and continue to do so! -Reggie

It's been a while since something has grabbed me like this... Welcome Home is one of the most precious things I have ever seen, the creation has and will it always have a place in my heart. Thank You creator for sharing this piece of you heart with us. But your safety is more important, I hope that you'll be safe. -Jax

"dear clown, from the heart of one fan to many others, i find so much comfort in your project that i hope that even when things just like now are awful, you know that there's people simultaneously supporting you in every step of the way! We can wait however long you believe is necessary, you deserve to feel respected with your own passion project! And with that to a close, i wish you well! Thank you for giving us a grand welcome home!" -gremints

dear clown, you don't know me. i don't know you either. but everything you've been working on? it's changed my life. and i know that sounds cliche and silly, but it's true. you've inspired me to keep working on my own passion projects, to keep going. because of you, i have found a little community to call home. because of you, i have rekindled my love of silliness and color and creativity. i cannot thank you enough. without you, i would not have found the friends i have now. whatever you do, i want you to know that we're here to support it. and i hope that wherever you go, you also find home. - moth

Hi you dont know me but im Bug, one of the mods^^, I just want to start my message with this, Before I found welcome home, everything for me was going downhill, I had lost so much that was important to me in less than 2 weeks, I couldn't get out of bed and I wasn't doing my favorite things anymore. I couldn't even smile, My eyes were tired and heavy from crying. But thanks to you, Clown. Wonderful you..and your beautiful vibrant creation. With characters I saw and adored right away. I've smiled, danced, sang my favorite songs again, met new and amazing friends & began to draw again. I felt happiness faster than I thought I would again. A peace from your life helped heal some of mine and I'm grateful. Your creations bring me and so many others joy, But even then it as not as important as you. Yes It brings many smiles to people and i hope that doesn't sound to overwhelming.. But although we can't fix the issue people have caused you, we can't apologize for those who don't respect the boundaries you've set and we can't take back what others have done we want you to know that no matter what, the good of the community will always Have what's best for you in mind, in our server we make sure all rules are followed and you're privacy and mental health is respected. Take as much time as you need to take it all in, relax, do what's best for clown. 💚 take care of yourself before aything else. We thank you for all you've done already. -Boogerbug

EVERYTHING BELOW WAS SUBMITTED BY MEMBERS !!

Hi Clown! Just another rando passing through! While I have known about your artwork for a few years now, I never dove into it until Welcome Home became popular, and I genuinely love the vision you have. Your other artwork is also phenominal and genuinely inspires me, and it always has, even before I discovered the Welcome Home website. Your character designs are impeccable, the way you portray the muppets is genuinely awesome and brings back a lot of good memories, as I grew up watching puppet shows. Explains one reason I enjoy your work doesn't it?Despite making godly artwork, people forget that you are a human like the rest of us. Most people who become famous or popular because of something they have done experience this and it is unfortunate, but there are some of us that know you have a life and are already struggling. Take the time you need to rejuvinate yourself and try not to let these people get to you, as hard as it is to do, as even I still struggle with this daily. These are your creations, and you deserve to have control over what happens with them, and the disrespect this slowly growing fanbase has for your requests is terrible. Hoping that things eventually improve on your end, especially since you already aren't in a safe environment, something I also understand. I've already planned on throwing some bucks at you through Ko-Fi once I open my new bank account, and even if I cant, I still want to help prove that you are worthy and deserve better than this. You are incredibly talented and I hope to see Welcome Home and all of your other works of art flourish over time! - Sunnie/Mizo

Now onto the big reveal....

Our server members as well as a few mods all banded to together to create a collage showing our appreciation and support for Clown during these rough times. I hope this can serve as a reminder that despite the shitty people out there, there is a large community who still very much respects and enjoys every aspect of Clowns artwork.

An art collage put together by the moderators with art submitted by members.

Below are more signages as well as the usernames of everyone who participated:

Micah

Maximus

Beans

Wynn

Avery

Global

Vinnzhe

- and lastly, the rest of the welcome home discord server 🩷

@partycoffin

[the-hydroxian-artblog]

I love your animatronic toy OC guys so much, they have so much personality to them and their colours are really good (especially umbra)

Thank you! The funny thing about Umbra's design was that while I was developing it about two years ago and had some colors in mind, I described in text what I already came up with to an image generator for fun (shitty unconvincing old kind, vs now where it looks like shit but in a somewhat more convincing way) and it produced something so silly that I made her design better than what I would've settled with out of spite.

More details of my process and anti-AI ranting below the cut, so the examples given won't show up on search results. Google Images is getting polluted too much with slop to begin with.

Let's begin.

In 2022 I was drafting up Umbra's design with mostly concrete details. At this time image generators were newer and much less convincing, and I was a bit less aware of just how unethical they were, so I fed one a text description of what I had drafted for her design out of curiosity. Something along the lines of, "doll of an anthropomorphic owl librarian in glasses, blazer/suit jacket, skirt, corset, high heels, sitting on a bookshelf" and probably a few more terms. Really specific, lengthy prompt.

I try to be open-minded and give new things a shot, but the results were Not Great. Ideally, I'd want to not share the AI pictures at all on-principle, but I feel like it's useful, transparent, and necessary to show them. Both as a means of not hiding anything, but also just to appreciate where the design is at in spite of it.

Outside of this particular collage of Weird Owls, no other pictures on this blog are AI-generated. AI Image Generation is harmful, and I am against its usage.

But hey, two of the generated pictures look close, right? The top left is the closest, and bottom right is second.

That's because they started out worse, and I had to actually erase chunks of them and have the generator fill in the blanks to get anything remotely close to what I wanted. Misshapen limbs, unrecognizable anatomy, fever-dream clothing details, etc. They didn't even have a corset or proper legs until I slapped the generator in the face enough times to make it produce them. I was just using it to photobash, which was such an annoying process, I just went "this is dumb" and stopped. They're literally posed like that because I kept erasing and regnerating their limbs until they looked vaguely in-character. It literally only looks passable thanks to STRANGLING it with human input.

Before I used the image generator, I already drafted her to be night-themed with yellow eyes and something like purple, dark blue, or sky-blue as her main color; the generator making one owl yellow-eyed and purple was a happy coincidence, and the only thing the generative AI "came up with" that I didn't already have in mind or included in the prompt was the light blue shirt, which I did adapt into her cyan shirt and stockings/socks as well. That was a good call. You get One Point, Mr. AI.

...Which still meant that at its absolute best, it was a largely redundant step in the creative process if its contribution was worse than what a randomized palette generator or character creator could come up with.

That's already putting the ethics of it aside, like carbon emissions, data pollution, using artists' and photographers' work without credit or permission, the incentive to plagiarize, flooding sites like deviantart with slop, Willy Wonka Shit, etc etc etc. When people say "you can use AI as a tool though", this ordeal was enough to convince me that it's more trouble than its worth, even in its most ethical usage. I feel gross for having even tried. I wish I knew what sources went into the creation of those Weird Owls. It'd be better for research if the right people could be credited.

Nothing else on this blog is AI-generated or ever will be. The art below is purely my own (2022 vs a few weeks ago)):

Actually drawing Umbra and solidifying her design was far more rewarding than having an image generator vaguely approximate my own ideas. I wanted her to look really special, so I used a black cape and pants, gold highlights and buttons, and blue undertones to make something more distinct. Also, neck floof. Very important. I wanted the head in particular to look distinct and original, going with bold black streaks to really help her look distinguished.

I also have certain inevitable Hydroisms for Fancy characters like her; most apparent in these designs for Chasey and Kaita from even longer ago, which were more of an influence than anything else. (Old art of mine from like 2021, Kaita ref looks wonky but Chasey still holds up nicely):

Most of Umbra's other design elements were already commonly used with established ocs like Kaita, like her shape language, corset, skirt, heels, etc. It was my previous work with Chasey that inspired the use of gold buttons and highlights.

Umbra is also now a bluer shade of purple partly to distance the current design from that ordeal. All things considered, I'll probably make her more indigo next time. I already wanted her to have a wide color range from the get-go (Featured below is, again, purely my art from 2022:)

I may use a different colored shirt and stockings in the future. I like to think she has many different shirts and clothes based on the different stages of the night sky, from dusk to dawn, and the painting I made in the top right there was an exploration of her range in different lighting.

All in all, it's frustrating. I'm proud of her design, but explaining all of this is annoying, because it's technically all relevant to showing how her colors were picked and how the design was made. I still technically have AI to """Thank""", in the way you thank a bad experience for encouraging you to make things better out of spite.

[asoulwithadream]

EXCLUSIVE FALL PREVIEWS

Mates. LADS. BRETHEREN.

I think I'm going to die now. AAAAAAAAAAAAH—

BUT OF COURSE WHAT WOULD BE THE SENSE OF MY EXISTENCE IF I DIDN'T SHARE MY OWN PERSONAL THOUGHTS ON THESE BEAUTIFUL THINGS BEFORE THE MEDICINE KICKS IN.

The Crew — I think this is where they see LUCIUS!!!! I'm so very convinced this is where they meet Lucius. As we can see, they're all in the same clothing as the Vanity Fair first looks, where Black Pete is visibly overjoyed. But can't you see that he is missing from this shot? Probably snogging Lucius' face off or hugging him or doing something as such.

Lucius probably popped around the corner in the Vanity Fair one, and now they're sharing an intimate moment (keeping it PG) on deck while the rest of the happy crew watches on (as visible from Roach's, Oluwande's, and Wee John's faces). Of course, Buttons has no interest in human adoration, and instead looks on towards his own lover, the sea.

Stede is looking quite perplexed, or maybe contemplatively—perhaps as a result of Lucius telling Stede what happened to him. He doesn't look directly all that happy, does he?

(OMG OMG OMG WHY DO THEY ALL LOOK SO HAPPY EXCEPT STEDE BUT OLU YOU DEAREST MAN AND THEY'RE LOOKING SNAZZY AND I LOVE THEIR SOCKS I'M AHHAHASIJDHKAE)

Stede — That's the floor of the Revenge guys. I know it well since the last time Stede was pushed onto it. (Solidarity for the harm that the foot touch caused in these trying times) He is wearing what looks to be ye olde fencing gloves, and this means that was just handling a sword. (Though, he could have been using the cannons; we all know Stede would probably confuse fencing gloves for heavy artillery)

There are a few scenarios I can find at the top of my head: he's either training with Izzy (though would that explain his terrified expression? maybe)—we also see the lack of the red ribbon, which I think he removed when he teams up with Izzy, for whatever reason—or he's been duelling with someone else, someone who is extremely better at swordsmanship, someone we know to have been excellent at both maiming and receiving stab wounds. Has he been fighting with Edward?

I think it's the former, but who knows? The best part of theorising is being wrong, after all. I guess we can just gang up and say "calm down mr wavey blade" to whoever is behind this. Plus, do I see traced of some fuzz on his chin? Confirmed baby steard, guys???

(He's such an ICON I WANT TO BREATHE HIS HAIR AND SEE IT BEHIND MY EYELIDS. In the wise words of Rhys Darby, "I wish I had his hair". BUT LIKE HONESTLY WHAT'S GOING ON HERE WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE HE'S SEEN A GHOST)

Frenchie and Ed — This has me on actual alarm bells mode. I can't tell whether or not this is Blackbeard or post-Blackbeard era—he's not wearing any dark chunky make-up, and has his hair up in his classic, beautiful half-up half-down, and we finally get a more close-up and clear shot of his earring, which we first spotted from the Vanity Fair first looks?

A detail I spotted for Frenchie's new goth uniform, which he is still wearing in this shot (further confusing me on the timeline of this image)—I think that his jacket is the very same from the "The Best Revenge Is Dressing Well" episode, which is so incredibly sweet and a beautiful little detail to connect back to season 1. I'd like to think he customised it himself, since we know Frenchie can "sew like the wind."

That's also still the Revenge, in fact the very spot where Lucius was about to get his finger cut off in "The Art of F**kery". But what intent Ed has with this confrontation with Frenchie, who seemingly looks like perhaps he wasn't even doing anything wrong, escapes the depth of my theoretical mind. What contributes even less to this is that Ed is smiling? Rather maniacal, might I add.

(WHAT. THE. FUCK. help me why is this happening. I LIKE AM SO ANGRY AND SO HAPPY AT THE SAME TIME THAT I CAN'T FIGURE ANYTHING OUT FROM THIS PICTURE. NOT EVEN WHAT STAGE OF GRIEF ED IS IN. HELP ME)

Edward — That chair looks like it's from Stede's room, from one of the desk-like tables in the corner next to his bed, and perhaps even the only chair which Ed kept in the room after his rather ill-tasted renovations. What's he doing there without his make-up on? Perhaps this is still during the early stages of new Blackbeard, and he's just in the transit period between washing and re-application.

BUT, if we look at the background, does that look like the Revenge? Not really... There is what seems like a fireplace or some sort of stone plate in the background, with a painting on it with a man on the left side of the composition, who seemingly looks to have lighter coloured hair. So what I may be thinking, is that Edward is visiting MARY ALLAMBY! The painting in the background may be the one from Stede and Mary's wedding, and Mary might have kept it as memorabilia in ode of her now good friend. (Stede is on the left in that painting). Plus, where else would Stede get his furniture and taste for his bedroom than his own former house, which Mary currently lives at?

Even though I think David Jenkins said that Mary wouldn't be present in the season, do I believe him? No. I think I have the right for me to be delusional without external interference at this point.

(Please let me be right please let me be right I NEED A MARY / ED INTERACTION AT SOME POINT TO HEAL MY HEART. I need Mary to realise that fucking Blackbeard is the Ed that Stede was talking about, I NEED ED TO THINK THAT STEDE DIED, FOR EVEN A MOMENT. I think my brain has stopped receiving oxygen.)

Send hopes and prayers

[dearestdo3]

I saw your pregnant!Voldemort art, and I had this idea: (It may or may not be omegaverse) Voldemort and Harry are together, and he knows that Harry always wanted to have a family. So he does everything he can to get pregnant, but it's hard to conceive and when he does he has many miscarriages. Voldemort insists on keeping trying, but Harry doesn't want to see any more miscarriages. Voldemort thinks that Harry will leave him for not being able to have children. He knows that it's his fault that his body is not fit for pregnancy. He asks for one last try, and Harry accepts. He manages to get pregnant, during the gestation Voldemort makes a deal with Death, he agrees to lose all his magic in exchange for Death not taking his baby. The pregnancy is difficult and complicated, and ends in a long and painful birth. Death didn't say he wouldn't take Voldemort with him. Voldemort survives because he uses (unconsciously) the magic of love (he loves Harry and the baby). A girl is born and has magic. Voldemort loses his magic. The girl is named Eliana (means God has answered). Sorry if this is too much distressing, I just wanted to share this idea. ;w;

anon thank you so much for feeding me you absolutely have no clue how much i love angst in general!! whump and pregnant tom/voldemort is something ive desperately wanted for so long as well so im eating a buffet w ur ask 😭💕

link to post for self promo 😘

more rambles under cut!

ive always loved v's determination, so despite the miscarriages and the emotional + physical toll it takes on him, he def would still trudge forward bc he has a goal and he will tunnelvision until he gets what he wants. I'm thinking this would be omegaverse and v got hit with the worst baby fever he ever experienced in his life. It just so happened that he could feel how harry years for a family he can call his own so he'd start plotting in his head and execute it entirely on his own.

harry as you said of course hated seeing him doing that to himself and felt guilty over his wish that drove v like this, but one last time they tried for a baby (per harry's insistence that it will be the LAST time ever) and it actually worked <3

omega!v would be a force to be reckoned with definitely, w how protective pregnant omegas are in general. he's already a lot normally, but pregnant v? he will do everything to make sure the child survives if it means sacrificing lives

v losing his magic would be a very extreme situation though i feel like, since hes always been very very dependent on his magic and its something absolutely precious to him. but if there's no way else than to lose his magic in exchange for a life that is a part of his own, he'd take a looooong while to think about it first (even if harry promised he will protect v and the child)

and eliana is such a cute name!! 💚

deviating from your ask though, I'm more of a believer that if they were to concieve, harry and v would accidentally create a child and v is too proud to admit it wasn't part of his big master plan to keep harry with him lmao

Harry in my head would've had a horrific time trying to process everything and is so flabbergasted at how casual v is with this sudden revelation. Of course due to age, v's gaunt genetics, non-human body, the pregnancy is really hard on him that he can barely even do the simplest magic the more the baby grows. it kills him inside that he has to rely on harry/DEs for a lot of things, made him feel like he's weak and fragile and his ego can't handle it, so his mood worsened and he's far more intimidating/mean to harry/his followers than usual.

when the baby's born he will also be protective, rarely ever leaving the bed much less the bedroom. nobody but him and harry can meet the child, and this protective mood prevails until she can actually start walking on her own (like baby snakes leaving the nest after they hatch) 😊😊 harry is still finding his footing with this new weird family that v gave him but eventually he will grow into a dadgirl who does everything he can to influence his princess to sort into gryffindor and play quidditch like him lol

[olympeline]

@endlesscolddreams and @liemurienn dropped some really good replies on my USUK vs. FrUK post and it’s made me think about the differences between both pairings and why they might attract their respective fans the way they do.

Let’s begin with USUK, which nearly from series start has more canon on its side. Or rather it has more “serious” moments. Hetalia is a gag show at heart and its non-jokey parts are few and far between, ship tease included. The first gut punch most fans will encounter is Alfred and Arthur’s battle during the American War for Independence. That will definitely stick with a lot of people if for no other reason than it’s so unexpected. The funny, silly anime about pasta and gag war abruptly pivots to a main character sobbing his heart out in the rain while another looks on, stony faced, with no joke at all. This can’t not leave an impression. Even fans who loathe Alfred never try to pretend his effect on Arthur isn’t huge. Then the series carries on teasing the things left unsaid between them in both serious and silly shapshots. With all this is mind, it’s not hard to see why USUK became the big, swinging dick of Hetalia’s ships. Aside from the borderline canon Gerita, nothing else really has the weight behind it I think.

This definitely makes it what I would call an “easy” ship to get into. That sounds bad because fandoms can be very judgey about pairings they find to be basic. Just like everything else in the arts, there’s a perception among some people that if something is popular then it must be dumber/less deep/worse. Pure elitism basically. And it’s bollocks. Just because something is popular with the masses doesn’t make it worse. It just means it’s popular. Plenty of people hate USUK for the perfecly legitimate reason that it just doesn’t gel with them. But there’s always been a minority undercurrent of “I hate this just because it’s the fandom’s most visible ship!” Seen this happen a million times with other communities over the years.

USUK also has the almost universally beloved tropes of Happy, Gregarious, Extroverted one loves Moody, Gloomy, Introverted one. Who loves him back but can’t say it because tsundere. FrUK on the other hand is more subtle. It has Slowburn, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers as its bread and butter. These tropes are well loved but there’s no big, attention grabbing dramatic moment early on that makes use of and cements the FrUK interpretation of them in the minds of fans. Francis and Arthur share a lot of screentime but it’s all jokey and fun. Even the ship tease is all gags relating to Francis being comically pervy and Arthur being comically stuffy and flustered. Francis gets some heart rending moments later (Joan of Arc, the wish for a mortal life) but Arthur isn’t included. Even though he could have been because of what happened to Joan. It’s left up to the fans to add him. In another universe the Closet Cleaning arc was replaced by a Bitter Hundred Years War arc, and FrUK subsequently took the top spot in the fandom’s ship rankings as a result.

Leaving plain, old personal taste aside, I think all this divided the fandom between shippers who wanted something they could leap into and get early gratification (USUK) vs shippers who wanted to expend a little more energy on interpretation (FrUK). Because there’s plenty of drama to be had with Francis and Arthur thanks to the French/English historical rivalry (see above). But it’s not offered up on a plate in canon like with Arthur and Alfred. A USUK shipper gets drama given to them while a FrUK shipper has to dig deeper and make their own fun. Different strokes.

This kind of thing is very interesting to me. Please feel free to add on your own interpretations if you like ☺️

[callipraxia]

It’s pretty clear Stan is closer to Mabel than Dipper. They have more tender moments, he teases her less, and they have more in common. Stan definitely loves them both dearly, it might just be a case of finding it harder to relate to Dipper. Because while Stan and Dipper share a stubbornness and a commitment to their twin, they share relatively little else. But I wonder if you thought there might be more to that?

If it’s not just because Mabel is more like him, but that Dipper is more like Ford and there’s some lingering thoughts and feelings under the surface that make it harder for him to connect to him. Perhaps some underlying issues that Dipper might end up like Ford, or a subconscious frustration towards his brother.

It could simply be he finds it harder to connect to Dipper because Stan’s now much older, might have an old man’s opinions about how boys should act because his own childhood was a lifetime ago and he’s forgotten what it used to be like.

Or maybe it’s because Stan’s doing his best to keep his family out of danger but Dipper is the inquisitive adventurer, and actively seeks out the mysterious that put them at risk.

This touches on one of the reasons why I briefly considered doing a take on the Relativity Falls concept: I haven't read many fics, but all the art I've seen for it seems to substitute the characters without accounting for the fact that Mabel is a girl whereas both of the 'original' first set of twins were boys. There are very few historical absolutes, of course (you get powerful, educated women even in history's most misogynistic eras), but if Mabel had been born in the early 1950s instead of Stan, the odds are excellent that the world would have treated her very, very differently than it did Stan, and that she'd have had a very different set of problems to contend with.

From what we see of Stan's childhood, he was under pressure, from an early age, to tone down the softer aspects of his personality: to be tougher, to be more stoic, etc., and that if he simply had to express emotion, he should do so through aggression. It's pretty striking to contrast the short in Lost Legends to the scenes leading up to the falling out in ATOTS: Little Stan could admit that what bothered him was his perception that Filbrick just didn't like him and how he wished he could get Filbrick to act as though he did for once, but by the time they're teenagers...During the first scene where they discuss the prospect of Ford going to college, Stan cannot admit any of the complicated feelings (fear of abandonment, how what the principal said would have to hurt even if you were used to it, maybe even anger that Ford seemingly had no problem with the idea of walking away from him whereas he was freaking out over the mere suggestion, etc.) he's having, so he just makes fun of Ford for sounding like a nerd robot. Ford seems to be at least dimly aware of what Stan might really be thinking, but the best he can do is say that Stan had better visit him in California. To Ford, that was probably a reassurance: don't worry about it, it's all good, I still want you in my life even if I'm not doing the same thing you're doing - because we already do some different things, right? To Stan, however, it was nowhere near enough. To him, the word visit just means: you don't need me; I am unnecessary, just like Dad always said. But he can't admit he needs to feel needed and doesn't even know who he is in a world where Ford is a completely separate person from him and they aren't just the collective "Pines twins." He can talk to inanimate objects, but not people - something mirrored by his behavior in the show proper, where he has no problem talking to Ford's super-secret nerd diaries during season 2, but cannot communicate at all with the real deal, who is a stranger who happens to look exactly like him but who doesn't act like he expected Ford to act. And in the finale, it's right after Ford apologizes to and accepts a hug from McGucket (ie, did the exact things Stan wanted him to do when they first saw each other again) that Stan snaps that it's good to see him, too, and only a very little bit later that Stan flips his lid without a care in the world for the bigger picture. From his point of view, people just stuck legs on his house/business just so they could all sally off and risk their lives - in his case, again - to rescue Ford...and Ford appreciates Dipper and Mabel, and he appreciates Old Man McGucket, who looks like the personification of bad grammar, but the only time Ford even acknowledges Stan's presence voluntarily, it's to criticize him. And by this point, Stan has internalized the Filbrick Code to some degree, as shown by his treatment of Dipper in "Dreamscaperers" and how he snapped that he no longer considered Ford family at the end of ATOTS: you toughen up, because if someone hurts you, the only way to handle that situation is to hurt them back, preferably more than they hurt you. This wouldn't have been exactly the moment to discuss his real feelings about the issue anyway, what with the whole active threat to the fabric of reality problem they had going on, but Stan isn't that great at repressing strong emotions until it's a more appropriate time to deal with them in general, and the only emotions Filbrick seems to have felt comfortable expressing were anger and contempt, and while Stan does have a slightly broader emotional range than Filbrick, Stan has also learned to channel a lot of every and anything else he has going on into one of those two emotions, too. Then you add in Stan's difficulty with emotional regulation, how he cannot just put it aside and deal with it later, and you get a sudden explosion.

Contrast Mabel. It's never really pointed out, but while Dipper’s having all these issues with whether or not he is manly enough all summer, his sister’s arguably already closer to the standard than he is. Mabel is loud to the point of dominating the room; Mabel is assertive and confident; Mabel even may have a bit more of a natural inclination toward violence than Dipper does. A Mabel born in the fifties would have probably been something like Stan in the looking-glass house: put under intense pressure from an early age to stop acting like herself in several key ways, but from the opposite direction. The world would have told Mabel to shut up, to not just see what she wants and boldly stride forward to get it, and to want very different things than she really does. It’s also unlikely she would have still really expected to stick with Dipper forever the way Stan seems to have really expected to do with Ford, because while she might run an out-of-home business for some extra money like Caryn did, the expectation would have been that Dipper would go Do Something With His Life while she stayed in Glass Shard Beach and got married; if they were still joined at the hip as teenagers, their parents would probably have been Concerned about that and trying to discourage it well before scholarships became an issue. All of this, of course, could have led to the same emotionally repressed pressure-cooker kind of situation that the Stans eventually found themselves in, but even if Mabel had broken Dipper’s science fair project, the outcome would have probably been different. It would’ve been less likely for her to get kicked out, and more likely for home life to just become far, far worse until she married the first person who’d have her in order to escape, or at least ran away of (mostly) her own free will instead of because the family had disowned her. If she had still gotten kicked out, though, it might well have been harder for her to find workable options than it was for Stan – which is definitely saying something - unless, of course, it was easier for her to do so, because Mabel's not naturally inclined to scammery and thus could have ended up tied down working in a sewing plant for ten years instead of roaming the country at all. And, of course, the only way she could have used Dipper's reputation as "that mysterious science guy who lives in the woods" to her advantage after his disappearance would have involved dressing in drag for thirty years – or longer, even, since unless she was already dressing as a man, she wouldn’t have been mistaken for Dipper by chance, which meant she’d have had to think up the idea of stealing his identity and creating the Shack on her own instead of just running with it when the opportunity presented itself. Either way, very different dynamic with Dipper once he got back, I imagine, and that's before we get into all the ways Dipper isn't exactly like Ford and how that could have affected the story.

There also would have been a lot of differences in how the Stans were parented, too, most likely…but I’m drifting a bit from my point, which (I think) was that I think part of the reason Stan is able to get along better with Mabel might be in part because of the ways in which he doesn’t relate to her experience and does remember what his childhood was like. He sees a lot of Ford in Dipper, which I do think caused some subconscious Issues with resentment that even he couldn’t have articulated but which doubtless impacted their relationship, but also a lot of his younger self, as he tells Soos in the porch memory. Stan probably shares Ford’s offhand confidence that Mabel can fend for herself in the world, but he sees the potential for Dipper to end up beaten up by the world like he was, and possibly going mad because of it like he might have thought Ford did – of course, we don’t know that Stan ever thought of that, but based on the state of everything Ford left behind and his behavior on the night of their reunion, I find it…unlikely that the thought of “oh, God, not only did I go off on my brother and make him literally disappear into thin air, but this happened because I went off on him when the reason he was acting so weird was because he’d had a mental breakdown” never crossed Stan’s mind over all those years. Which…I’ll just quote myself from the Ford Essay:

The matter is more complex than [previous paragraph, not relevant here] in this case, however, due to the show's setting and the 'rules' which dictate how that setting 'works'. Bill and Ford’s relationship exists in the context of Gravity Falls, which takes place in a world where complex and especially disturbing ideas are often partially diluted through the filters of symbolism and substitution, as is done with the show's recurring theme of substance abuse metaphors. The portrayal of the relationship between Bill and Ford is mostly devoid of humor anyway, but if Bill was truly another man, or even much closer to humanoid, then what little there is due to his status as an over-the-top, magic-wielding triangle-thing would vanish. Since he is a magical, over-the-top triangle-thing, though, the only time that Bill is, for instance, visibly physically abusive toward Ford in something like the normal sense of the term is during the torture session in “Weirdmageddon III: Take Back the Falls," and even then, the fact that humans can’t electrocute each other simply by willing it takes at least some of the realism, and therefore at least some of the horror, off the edge of the situation. Before Weirdmageddon, though, Bill only appears in his own person as an incorporeal dream demon. Before that, he could only inflict physical harm on others by gaining control of the victim's body, all while his eyes appear in that person’s face to simultaneously remind the audience that the victim is not actually the one inflicting the damage. We find ourselves, therefore, in an ambivalent situation: clearly, Bill is engaging in physical abuse, but should we regard Bill another entity in the usual sense, as one independent actor who is choosing to abuse another independent actor, or is he better understood as a symbolic representation of some mental illness that might inspire Ford and Dipper both to self-harm? The answer is more or less ‘both,’ which means it can be passed off as ‘neither’ well enough to – just, and probably only in combination with Bill’s cartoonish, neon-sign appearance – avoid the censors.

I’ve previously written another mini-essay about how the first time I read the Journal, I assumed “coffee” was a euphemism for “meth, cocaine, or both,” not least because of how similar Ford’s behavior was to someone whose stimulant addiction had careened into at least temporary psychosis. Stan had some inkling of Weird Stuff being real even before he came to GF if we accept Lost Legends as canon, and he learned a great deal more pretty quickly, but given the kind of life he’d been leading before he got to town…I imagine the question had to cross his mind at some point. If it did, then that probably made him feel ten times worse than he already did about the situation, and probably about as much more worried about what would happen if Dipper didn’t learn that the only way for a man to make it through in the world was to be tougher than everyone else, to always be the person in the room who could hit the hardest and sublimate other emotions into aggression the most easily.

Another thing about his relationship with Dipper that I…think I might have first thought of in a long-ago comment thread with Theory. One of my very favorite episodes of the show is “Little Gift Shop of Horrors,” because it’s basically a twenty-one minute powerpoint on Stan’s psychology. On the surface of it, it looks like “Abaconings” is supposed to star Mabel as a stand-in for Stan himself and Dipper as a stand-in for Ford…but in the story, the character who actually abandons Mabel to pursue genius is Waddles, not Dipper. Dipper is the person who takes her place in Waddles’ life, not the person who leaves her life. What’s the closest thing anyone ever got to taking Stan’s place in Ford’s life? McGucket. Of course, at that point, Stan probably didn’t know that the person he’d have felt discarded in favor of was McGucket, but since the layout of the episodes means the showrunners had probably already decided that the Journal included references to Ford having a friend outside the family, then this means Stan had already read about it after copying J3 while Waddles was in the room. If he put together that the mysterious “F” was McGucket at some point, then he’s even more jealous of Fiddleford in the Weirdmageddon scene than my ramble about that scene already has him being. So…well, this is highly conjectural, since the Journal wasn’t published until after the episode had aired, but if Stan was on some level equating Dipper with “F”, then yikes, does he ever have messy feelings he doesn’t know how to deal with about the boy.

Then we go back to Mabel. Mabel is a girl, so it’s okay to be somewhat affectionate with her – the expectations for her are totally different, showing affection to women is permissible, and what does he know about how to teach someone how to be a woman? Zilch, nada, nothing. This means he can just interact with her without much of an agenda other than “make child like me so I am less lonely” while with Dipper, he’s still got the agenda of “make child like me so I am less lonely,” but it’s also muddled up with “turn child who reminds me of both me and my brother in ways that scare me into a Proper Man so the world doesn’t hurt him, because after I toughened up, it certainly never hurt me again, nope, I’m a very psychologically well-adjusted person” and also his feelings about smart people and how they screw everything up. And then, on top of all that, Dipper is, as you point out, the adventurer, the one who usually leads them into the trouble Stan’s constantly worried about them walking into. Last time someone he loved knew how weird this place was, look how that ended; definitely not something that would dispose him kindly toward Dipper’s refusal to ignore how weird the town was. He’s also a constant threat to Stan’s ongoing Project, sticking his nose into things at every occasion, even being willing to talk to a fed! Mabel is straightforward, Mabel is uncomplicated: Mabel acts like a child who poses no threat to him and brings back no ghosts he’d rather forget, like the kind of child Stan was, more or less, when his relationship with Ford worked, and is perfectly happy to engage in entirely harmless childish pursuits like making bad art, watching the television, and playing with water balloons with him. Dipper does some of this as well, but also has all that other baggage attached. This could put him on a constant emotional see-saw where Dipper is concerned, generally much to Dipper’s detriment. This also makes Dipper a constant challenge to his ‘need to be needed’ – as he says in “Stanchurian Candidate,” he wanted the twins to regard him as a hero even more than he wanted everyone else to do so, and Dipper is both highly independent already and then immediately latches onto Ford, which from Stan’s point of view might have been akin to them both announcing that Stan just wasn’t a necessary person and that they might be better off without him. To quote myself again, from a comment reply to user underground_lurker:

Just to survive as a young adult, Stan also had to pretty much develop a moral code that allowed for harming (identity theft isn't violent, but it's still definitely a form of harm) basically everyone he came into contact with - except for the tiny group he defined as "my family," which served as a motivator to do whatever else he needed to do, no matter how difficult or distasteful he might find it. He couldn't believe in or care enough about himself to push himself when the going got tough...but the Ford in his head, the one I think he was addressing when he talked to Journal One in "Scaryoke" and probably for a long time before it, that guy was worth doing something for. Then, when Real Ford epically disappointed him after his return, Dipper and Mabel - both them and his ideas of them - were still worth doing something for. That's why I think he was able to so casually dismiss the impending death of his own personality during the finale as "eh, not like I was doing much with this space anyway." Mental Ford had been replaced by Real Ford, who didn't even want rescuing and who talked back and thought of things to say that Stan never could have predicted, and either the summer or the world was about to end, which meant the twins didn't/soon wouldn't need him anymore, either. Aside, of course, from the extent to which Dipper had already established that he no longer needed Stan anyway, what with Stan realizing he'd badly mishandled Dipper after "Dreamscaperers" and Dipper being the town mystery solver after "Society of the Blind Eye" and Real Ford being in the picture after "Not What He Seems" and all. So why would he care that his mind was on fire? There was no one left who mattered to him to do anything for, which, for him, meant his existence was at best pointless and at worst actually detrimental to the world ("Dad was right about me, I really am a screw-up").

There’s nothing straightforward and uncomplicated at all in the relationship with Dipper, and thus, Stan repeatedly bungles said relationship, which leads to half the events of “Dreamscaperers” and the massive buildup of tension until almost the very last moment of NWHS and creates several layers of the show’s emotional complexity, I think. Also, note to self, add MBB to the list of people to copiously thank in the acknowledgments when/if I ever get the Stan Essay done.

[iamamythologicalcreature]

WIP Wednesday: Kitten Edition

Shush there's still fifteen minutes of Wednesday in my time zone...

Thank you to @whatevertheweather for the tag! (Can't wait to read more of your story!) And thank you to everyone who's continued to tag me in wipsday stuff even though my ability to reblog and such is somewhat limited right now. Means a lot to me. <3

Sooo as much as I'd like to share little art bits with you, this is going to be more of a life update. But with bonus kitten pics.

Here's what I'm up to these days:

In case you haven't heard, @carryonthroughtheages is happening! I'm very excited to be working on such a cool event. It's everything my snowbaz-lovin', history-nerd heart could wish for.

I am working on art! It's just that I can't post any snippets because it's concept art for @carryon-reverse-bang. So it's shhhh secret.

I'm moving. Like. Many thousands of miles away from my current location. It's going to keep me pretty busy for the next 2-3 months, but please keep tagging me in stuff if you have the room. When I can pop onto Tumblr, I love seeing what everyone is doing!

One other project that's very special to me.... KITTENS! (See below.)

All other projects are on hold for now, but not abandoned! (I'm very attached to them.)

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter

*Yes, the gray one is totally laying on top of the orange one and pinning him down in that first pic. Orange dude seems okay with it.

I got some new foster kittens! They're about 9 weeks old or so, and have had a pretty rough time of it. They're still pretty afraid of people, including me, but I'm making progress. They needed to be dewormed, but now that that's done, I expect they'll become more and more themselves quickly.

More info under the cut, plus the whole naming conundrum:

Because they're still recovering from a traumatic few weeks of being separated from other sibs and being bounced around before finally landing here with me, it's hard to know their personalities yet. But here's what I've observed thus far:

Gray girl was the most afraid, hissing at me at first, but has taken to being petting with a little more willingness than orange boy. (She even purred today!) She's also very fond of the plastic pink spring toy I gave her, and I caught her climbing the side of the enclosure at one point.

Orange boy is still sleeping a lot, and is less open to being handled, though he takes it stoically when I reach in and give him a gentle stroke or two. I can't tell what part of that behavior is recovery, and what's shyness, or something else. He's pretty chill with his sister, though, and watched with great interest while she played with her spring, earlier. I'm pretty sure he's playing with the dangly-bell-toy when I'm not looking. Cause. Ding-ding.

I’d love to wait to name them until I know more about their personalities, but unfortunately, I can’t. I need to get them into the fostering database, and thus, names are required. I have a couple ideas, but if you have any thoughts or suggestions, please do let me know!

That's all! You're up to date! Cheers.

Tags for future wipsdays and/or hello's to: @drowninginships, @ic3-que3n, @prettygoododds, @monbons, @thewholelemon,

@roomwithanopenfire, @facewithoutheart, @noblecorgi, @mooncello, @rimeswithpurple,

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @hushed-chorus, @bookish-bogwitch, @artsyunderstudy, @best--dress,

@youarenevertooold, @supercutedinosaurs, @cutestkilla, @imagineacoolusername, @tender-ministrations,

@bazzybelle, @theimpossibledemon, @emeryhall, @blackberrysummerblog