#May batches may open later in the month

[nosnexus]

April batch of commissions! Thank you for the opportunity to draw such badass characters!

Orithyra and Handsome

Ophelia for @gloomiegladiator

Iylth'ar

Myranna for @aceisthehelpfulplace

[gutsby]

Bloodline

Pairing: Dark!Marcus Acacius x Reader

Summary: The General needs an heir.

Warnings: 18+. NONCON. FORCED IMPREGNATION. Unprotected p-in-v. Arranged marriage. Throatfucking. Face-slapping. Breeding kink. Praise and degradation. Age gap. Dacryphilia. Fear play. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: Silphium and pennyroyal (or ‘glechium’) were herbs commonly used for contraceptive purposes in ancient Rome.

Word count: 4.4k

You woke up knowing you were fucked.

In more ways than one: today brought your husband home from his latest campaign in Germania, and last week, your only batch of contraceptives was running low. Now, it was gone. You cursed the apothecary who had sworn she would procure your silphium drink before you were to see the General again, but presently, there was nothing more to be done. You had tracked your cycle and knew you were ovulating that week. You just hoped your husband would be too battle-weary and overwrought to seek a place in his bed, between your own legs, tonight.

‘Down’ came the order before the door to your chambers had even closed behind Marcus Acacius later that day.

Down meant he wanted you lying back.

Down meant your thighs had better be spread apart by the time he reached the bed. He wasn’t a patient man.

Down meant your meticulous menstrual contrivances had all been for nothing; you had been married to the General for almost a year, and in that time, you had promised yourself you would never bear him a child. While the only reason for your being forced to wed in the first place was to give him a son, you despised the idea of being the Emperor’s pawn. A vessel for the next awful bloodlusting boy to be born—you had been a present from your uncle Geta to Acacius, and ever since then, you had come to hate them both. You drank your herbal teas daily, without them ever knowing, and you feigned ignorance when, after months and months of the General’s best efforts, you never fell pregnant by him.

Today might very well be the day to change all that, if you had to judge by the look in your husband’s eyes, though.

The harsh, dark irises were alight as he approached you. Their gaze betrayed little more intrigue—or curiosity to know how you had been these last three weeks he was gone—than sheer lust. You could see it in his movements while he peeled his armor apart and drank your body in.

He shrugged the last scrap of metal and fabric away and climbed over you in bed. His motions were graceless, and his body was heavy. He smelled of dirt and blood.

“Wider,” he told you.

Wider your legs spread. He slipped between them, and with an affectionless, rough grip, he grabbed your wrist.

“Touch,” he commanded.

You obeyed that, too. Your fingers were guided to, and wrapped gingerly around, the thick, warm base you had come to know well since marrying Acacius. He pulsed proudly beneath your hand, and the grunt he gave said he was expecting this the whole long while he had been away. You stroked him slowly. Firmly. Contemplating.

“My love—” you started, low.

“Quiet.” Your husband’s voice swiftly supplanted yours.

It bid you to do as you were told, and open your mouth for nothing else but to pleasure the appendage you held.

You knew better than to speak in moments like these. But you also feared, for very good reason, that if you didn’t interject now, you may never get a chance to prevent this dreaded thing. It would only get harder.

He would only get harder.

“Husband,” you tried more warmly, stroking his cock as though you loved him, like weren’t repulsed by the thought of birthing his son. You forced your gaze up, too.

And no sooner had you done that when a hand landed across your face. Your cheek flamed; your skin bristled.

“My sweet wife insists on being heard, does she?” the General broke in, and you could tell it was through teeth, “Does it look like I’ve even begun to fuck you yet, girl?”

You shook your head that it didn’t. Your face stung, and you were about to look away when you felt the same hand that had delivered the last blow take your chin.

The General tilted it back up to his.

You felt him harden even more seeing tears start to well.

“Whatever it is, tell me after. I’ve waited too long for this.”

From his tone, you could tell that meant more than sex.

An heir.

He must have known you were withholding something.

Your hand moved quicker. More nervously. Worrying.

“Allow me to…to use my mouth, then. I-In other ways.” You hated even saying it. Your voice trembled as you did.

Silently, you braced yourself for another hit. Your wrist worked relentlessly, moving up and down the man’s shaft with little more intelligible thought in your head than the fear of being punished by him, when it stopped.

The General halted all movements of your hand. He eyed you once, uncaring, and then shook his head. The next thing you knew, you were being shoved off of the bed.

You never thought you would feel such relief sinking to your knees on the floor. You were good at this—could finish your husband off in under two minutes, easy—and for once, you were happy to feel the man’s fist in your hair. Holding you firm, guiding you fast, and being his normal gruff, callous self to force you onto his cock.

He filled your mouth quickly. Though it might not have meant much to a girl who had never seen, much less sucked, a dick in her life before becoming a wife, Marcus was big. He fit uncomfortably between your lips and stretched your jaw until it ached. At length, you let him move your face up and down, again and again, wetting his shaft with your slick, shiny, delicate strings of saliva. You almost felt grateful to be made to move so fast, so your tongue couldn’t get fully acquainted with his taste. You gagged lightly when he shoved you down to the base. Your eyes rolled back; his belly grazed your nose.

“You look better when I’m in you,” Marcus said coldly.

He dragged your head back, and you inhaled a breath. Your eyes rose to his, and he smiled—he saw tears again.

You blinked and let your expression fall limply, knowing how much he loved seeing you weak. You took the tip between the seam of your lips, and you kissed it once. Then you kissed it again. Your mind grew dizzy with the idea that you might actually get to swallow his load and be left alone the rest of the night if you only kept going.

You opened wider to do just that when next you heard:

“You’ll look better with my child inside you.”

As if galvanized by some sharp, unseen electric current, you wrapped your lips around his head. Fully. You tried enveloping the rest with your mouth, desperate to get your husband’s mind off of putting himself anywhere but at the back of your throat, and you hummed. The man above you gladly pushed himself further. You choked.

And just when you were about to force a breath through your nose, flatten your tongue and prepare to go deeper on the man you disliked most in this world, you felt him coax your gaze up to him. Tears were streaming down your cheeks at this point. You had to blink once or twice to even see him. When you had, you found him beaming.

For once, the General’s gaze was soft as he watched you.

You felt him tug your hair forward, and your lips went with it. Your throat resisted at first, but then it relented. In just a few moments, he was sliding down your throat.

You felt powerless. Your husband seemed to know.

“We’ve been unlucky, haven’t we?” he asked.

Surely, the question was meant to be rhetorical, for you couldn’t move your mouth without gagging on his cock.

Instead, you blinked. More tears flowed down your face.

“Nearly a year of being my wife, and still no child.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve taken him for contrite.

He sounded like he could’ve been forlorn, but the tone he used was too smooth. Slow. His voice was like molasses, almost. And then he moved his hips and sank in deeper. Your throat opened because it had no say in the matter.

You blinked harder, and more tears fell.

Please cum, please cum, please cum—

“I have it on good authority that a girl your age should be as fertile as anything. It shouldn’t take this long to take.”

—just finish, just finish, just finish where you are.

Marcus shifted again, and this time, you couldn’t control the spasm in your throat. You just coughed, and sputtered, and gagged down his length. You jerked your head pathetically under his hold, and just barely were you able to steal a gasp of air. The man loosened up.

And though his touch was less tight, his voice almost soft, and his eyes as bright as they had ever been, the words that followed after struck your senses like a fire.

Practically searing the insides of your skull when it came:

“You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, would you?”

You would’ve liked to swallow, but your esophagus was too chock-full of cock. Your lips were stretched, tongue flattened along his length, and your cheeks were now glistening with tears—from the strain of your husband’s intrusion, for one, and the fear of what he might already know, for another. You felt the head of his cock slide deeper down your wet and velvety channel before carving a path back up. Its ascent was slow. Teasing.

The fingers that were threaded through your hair held your head in place as he withdrew all the way to the tip.

“Answer me, wife.”

When you hesitated, the General slapped you again. His cock fell out of your mouth, and you coughed reflexively.

“I-I-I don’t…I don’t know what—”

“Think harder.”

A hit was shortly delivered to the other side of your face. You flinched, and winced, and right before you tried answering again, you felt your jaw forced open for something else. Rather than being made to let words fill the space, your husband’s cock was thrust in. It went far.

Your mouth was leaking with drool now. You couldn’t contain the spit. If anything, the General seemed to enjoy that as he slid himself further. Then he grunted.

“Why is it I’ve filled you with enough cum to paint the fucking Coliseum, and you still haven’t give me a son?”

You gagged. Your hands flew to his strong, bare thighs to grab the flesh out of habit, and once again, he withdrew.

“Why?!”

“I don’t know!”

Of course you did.

Still, you shook your head and kept your gaze plastered on his, begging for some shred of lenience. If he’d had any within him, you reckoned you weren’t seeing it that day. Before you could stop him, the General forced his way back into your mouth, and shortly down your throat.

“I think you’re a lying—” He jerked his hips once, to stab the very back of that place, “—pathetic fucking whore.”

You tried to whine in protest, but the sound was shortly muffled by his cockhead gliding back and forth in that wet, fleshy passage. Its path was suffocating. Your eyes almost rolled back from how fucking awful he tasted.

Please, please, your nails scratched at his legs like some kind of wordless entreaty. Your gaze was glossy and wet.

You could scarcely muster the strength to meet his own, but when you did, you found your husband smiling back.

He slid out of your mouth, and you could breathe again.

“We’ll try once more,” he said, pulling you up to your feet by your armpits, like he might treat a toy he didn’t like. When you were standing upright between his legs, you felt a shudder pass through your frame, and you tried to hide it. He leaned in: “Why haven’t you given me a son?”

“My body must not be r-ready.”

Wrong answer, apparently.

He slapped you again.

By now, your face was blooming with pain. Your skin stung, and your eyes burned, and you could still feel a trace of his precum trickling down your throat, and you hated him so much. But you had to be stoic. Insensitive.

Inventive.

“Silphium,” you stuttered out, before swallowing the awful tang you sensed and recollecting yourself, barely, “Pennyroyal, too. I hear there are…concoctions that help to make the womb more…more…hospitable, I believe.”

You were lying through your fucking teeth. Knowing your husband was far too dense and war-crazed to have ever consulted an apothecary in his life, and hoping he’d be stupid enough to accept whatever it was you said. When it came to things concerning your health, he rarely cared.

You swallowed hard and for once, felt a little more stable.

Then you were shoved onto the bed again, and any semblance of composure was sucked from your bones. You fell pathetically against the plush, satin covers of maroon and gold and were prone for no more than two seconds before the General started tearing your clothes.

“We’ll see,” he said simply.

He flipped you onto your back, and you writhed without really meaning to. You were operating on pure instinct, feeling a man nearly three times your age moving his hands across your front and ripping fabric left and right. It wasn’t fair. You could hold your tongue if he hit you hard enough, but your muscles fared worse when it came to constraining their natural inclinations. You kicked your feet, you squealed, then you begged him—

“Please, stop! I’m not ready yet! I can’t— I can’t— STOP!”

This was just like your wedding night. Only worse, because you knew exactly what lay in store with harrowing clarity and certainty. The General grinned.

“Pennyroyal, huh?” he sneered, yanking your clothes away while you thrashed and tried to push his hands off, “Is that what my wife needs to be ‘ready’ to bear sons?”

“Yes!”

“Silphium?”

“Please, please.”

There were fresh tears brimming in your eyes when he peeled the last scrap of covering off of your body and shoved you back down. You were shaking, and he was smiling, and as much as you knew the man hated being defied, you reckoned he took pleasure from the chase. Seeing the moisture well up and spill, feeling you crawl back in bed, meet his greedy, calloused hands and beg him over and over again not to make you do it, not now.

You could hardly even see him through your tears, but you felt him. Sensed his lower half forcing its way between your legs and then his member coming to rest on your belly. You squirmed at the feeling of your spit still coating him, and now brushing against you. You sobbed.

“You can’t keep forcing yourself inside me—”

“I can.”

“Won’t make a baby stick if you just—”

“I will.”

You felt betrayed. All your life you’d been force-fed these sunny, sanguine ideals of what motherhood was going to be, and this was all it was? After cherishing that prized thing between your thighs—like virginity were some real gift to be given—for so long, this is who owned it now? The General hadn’t had so much as a fraction of the compassion or patience a wife needed to feel secure. He didn’t treasure you, or care for your pleasure, or do anything to soothe the ache of his repeated intrusions. You couldn’t begin to think what he’d be like as a father.

Presently, he smoothed your hair from your face; not to comfort you any, but to make sure that he could see your expression when he sank himself in. When he took again.

“We’ll have to seek the Emperor’s best,” he murmured.

Your husband gripped one of your knees, and at the same time, held himself. You felt his thick, leaking head trail from your navel to your pubic bone, down exactly where you wanted him least. You tried to protest, but his grasp on your leg only tightened. He pressed you down into the mattress and wiped his cock between your folds.

“This pennyroyal you mention…” Marcus went on.

For some reason, your legs tensed as he said it.

“Or silphium. Whatever it is. Can we get it?”

His tip teased your soft, swollen clit—a place he rarely cared to touch—and, against your will, your body started.

Some minuscule ripple of pleasure there. You swallowed.

“Yes. We can. Please, just—” You glanced down between your body and the General’s then, and the sight nearly sent your head spinning. He looked so big. And cruel. And dripping with precum across your puffy, wet skin.

He knew this act well. You knew this act well enough, but for some reason, you thought your actions aimed at forestalling the inevitable might succeed this time.

You reached for his wrist, and your eyes pleaded with his.

“Don’t do this again,” you whimpered, feeling pathetic.

The General only shook his head, and he held on tighter.

“As your husband, I’ll do this as often as I please. And you’ll learn to like it, if you just stop fighting,” he said.

He found your dripping entrance, like he always did.

“Just let me in. Let me feel her, honey, I deserve it.”

You shook your head, but he pushed on anyway. Your stomach clenched, your walls tensed, and, in spite of your body’s strongest attempts, your husband notched the first inch of himself inside. He let out a happy sigh.

“That’s it. That’s a good wife,” he told you contentedly.

His girth was too much. It was always too much. No matter how slow he went, or how much you tried to prepare yourself, it always hurt. You whimpered at that feeling and had to bite your bottom lip to keep the sound from slipping out. Marcus nodded and kissed your cheek

“Sweet girl. ‘S’all she needed, see? One little inch, or—”

His words were cut short. Then he thrust in all the way.

“—eight, maybe.”

You shrieked and met his palm. It clamped over your lips.

That first stroke was torture. Dragging back was even worse. Re-sheathing himself and making you listen to his wretched grunts and groans of pleasure was pure agony.

“Will the herbs help? Pussy feels plenty ready to me.”

He was mocking you now. Your whines were stifled under his hand and your walls were forced wider for his girth as he sawed back and forth, over and over, without mercy.

“Nod if you want it,” he panted, “Nod if you need that.”

You weren’t sure if he meant the herbs or him. Slowly, and knowing he’d hit you if you didn’t, you nodded.

The General grinned. He didn’t hesitate to speak again.

“Good. Now you can stop soliciting apothecaries behind my back and using these same herbs as contraceptives.”

Your stomach dropped. Your eyes widened, though you knew it was a stupid thing to do when the man’s gaze was practically scorching through your own. You froze.

Your husband wedged his cock even deeper, and you felt him in your cervix—unprotected from any medicine now.

Medicine that he knew about, too, apparently.

You had no choice but to whimper when he kept digging his strong hips into yours, repeatedly, battering that soft, sensitive, defenseless place with his dick like he owned it. You wanted to kick your legs but sensed it was useless. General Acacius would get what he wanted.

What he needed was a son. You could see it in his eyes.

“My stupid, silly wife,” the General chided you, now fucking in deeper than he’d done before. Taunting, “I hope our son gets my brain, or the poor boy’s fucked.”

You wanted to cry. You were still sobbing, but the tears had come with such force before that there didn’t seem to be enough moisture in your body to allow them now. Any wetness, it seemed, was inside your legs, allowing your husband to pound into you with complete abandon.

Skin slapped skin. The man’s breaths grew quicker, more frantic, while your own you wished would halt altogether. His hand moved from your mouth to take your chin in his palm; he looked proud as he drilled your soft, limp body.

“Finish. Please,” you whimpered, all fight extinguished.

You didn’t know what else to say. Your husband had caught you, somehow, and probably knew as well as you that your body would now be forced to accept whatever he gave it. When that warm, throbbing member between your legs had had its fill and the man had decided he’d humiliated you enough, he’d paint your insides white. He’d shoot thick, hot ropes of cum where you’d dreaded him most, and in all likelihood, that seed would take. If not today, then tonight, tomorrow or the next day—there was no clear end in sight until the General had secured the heir he so desperately wanted. What Geta promised.

And you would be a mother, whether you liked it or not.

Every subsequent thrust, grunt, and groan rang hollow to you then. It was like your mind was lost from your body, your brain an open wound, and what was left of you simply splayed on that bed. Unmoving. Unfeeling. Being fucked and filled up without a modicum of concern for your humanity. Or what remained, anyway.

When he was finished and he could feel your body stuffed with his greedy, sticky release, the General leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead.

He seemed more confident than ever as he spoke.

“I can feel my legacy has already been cemented.”

As it turned out, a month was enough.

Within the year, you gave birth to a son.

This was no great shock to you—getting forcefucked every night for five weeks straight would’ve done the trick for any woman in your position, you supposed.

What surprised you most was how gentle the General became after learning you were pregnant with his child. Ever the paragon of paternal affection and husbandly devotion to you from that moment forward, you were convinced the man had been transformed overnight. He never spoke so much as an unkind word to you, or gave a glance that said anything less than that he was in love and elated to help you bring new life into this world. He never forced himself on you in bed. You could sleep again

One morning, you were cradling your baby in your arms. In just a few short weeks, you had already memorized every inch of his soft, sweet face. And you knew from the first you’d never love a single creature more on this earth

When your husband approached, you smiled—beaming.

“How is my son?” came the deep warble of his voice.

You drew the blanket back an inch with just your finger; beneath the soft cloth, the two of you could see that the infant was sleeping peacefully. He made a delicate sound, and you were half-certain you could hear the General’s heart splintering in two along with it. He dropped to his knees beside you, where he leaned in near and let his eyes say all the rest. They were cheery. Wet.

Sometimes, you, too, enjoyed seeing him cry.

You pet his wavy grey locks and gave them a tug.

“Is he exactly as you pictured? Your legacy?” You smiled.

Marcus blinked, letting two warm tears trickle down.

“Better than I could have dreamed him myself.”

That made your heart swell with a still larger ache. This was all your husband had ever wanted—wrapped up in your arms and swaddled with wool. Your son looked like him, too. You could see the General’s appreciation of this every time his eyes fell to the child, and every time his gaze drifted to you. There was admiration. Adoration.

Love, for once.

“Will he be a soldier like his father?” you asked next.

“A much braver one than I ever was.”

“Will he do Emperor Geta proud by this calling?”

Once more, your husband’s eyes flitted from the baby up to you. His look was soft as he reached out for your hand.

“There isn’t a doubt in my mind of that, my love.”

You squeezed his palm. You couldn’t help yourself.

“And will he carry the Acacius family name with pride?”

At that, the General’s hesitation was even shorter than the last. He swiftly confirmed that his son would, indeed, wear his name like a badge of honor. There wasn’t a shred of uncertainty on that front, he assured you.

His smile was so wide you couldn’t help but mirror it.

Even as you slid the knife from in between the folds of your son’s blanket, you were smiling at him all the while.

“And what if he doesn’t?” you asked quietly.

The General’s gaze fell to the blade next.

You thought he might die on the spot.

“What if he bears no name at all?”

The serrated edge now hovered over the baby’s throat. When Marcus jerked toward the thing, instinctively, you only lowered it more. Brought the silver closer to skin.

“Please— You— you can’t— can’t— can’t— please stop.”

He was fumbling for words. You didn’t blame him.

“Your precious legacy is a fragile thing, General.”

And with that, you drew the knife closer.

Your husband let out a strangled noise.

Right when he rose to knock the weapon out of your hand, you took it and flipped it back around to him.

Your first stab was swift. Into his chest.

“My child will never know your name.”

It was clear the injury stunned him.

When you plunged the knife in again, the man let out another sound—this time, a grunt of pain—and you wedged it deeper. You didn’t flinch when his face twisted

“My son will take my name.”

Frankly, with the trauma your blade had already inflicted on his chest, you didn’t expect the General to be able to say a word. Or resist. By the look of horror in his eyes, you could tell he was capable of listening, though.

Now, he would be forced to hear it all.

See his own life taken away from him.

And feel the blade thrust in when you punctured his front for the third and final time. Your eyes were shining now.

Still cradling your child, still holding his gaze, still smiling like this was the single greatest day you’d lived to see.

“Acacius, your bloodline dies with me.”

[thewickwheat]

The remaining bust comms from last batch are getting finished up this month, so I'm opening up to start accepting the next group!

Snag one here!

As a note, these may be the last comms I take on for a while. I'll go more indepth about my upcoming break/hiatus later in the year but just a quick lil heads up about it!

[parkerslatte]

Unspoken

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of Beron’s torture. mentions of nightmares.

Summary: Eris had been in love with his best friend for centuries. After a long, tiring day of his duties as High Lord, he just wants to sleep. But he would rather listen to Y/N talk to him more.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The moment Eris entered his own private chambers, he immediately shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. Next were his shoes, he kicked those from his feet and dragged himself to his large bed in the centre of the room. When he was near it, he allowed himself to fall, landing on the soft mattress and pillows. He always knew that being High Lord would be time consuming. But he hadn’t realised how long he would need to be on his feet all day. Eris was sure that he had only been allowed five minutes to rest his feet before he was demanded somewhere else. All he wanted was rest.

Eris closed his eyes and begged his body to drift off to sleep. Of course nothing came of it. Despite the fact that his father was dead, killed by his own two hands, Eris could never fully settle. Afraid that if he closed his eyes, his father would rise from the shallow grave Eris buried him in and come after him. For months, Eris was constantly plagued by that nightmare, his only reprieve from it was–

“Eris!” A voice called through the door. “Are you in there?”

A soft smile fell upon Eris’s face. “Yes, my dear.”

The door was pushed open and in walked Y/N, Eris’s best friend for the past few centuries. Since becoming High Lord, Eris had finally allowed her to enter his chambers for the first time. Always wanting to keep her out in case his father ever got the wrong idea and would use her to make him obedient. Now he had a hard time keeping her out of his chambers. She always demanded that they were much nicer than hers. 

“You will simply not believe the day I have had!” Y/N exclaimed, falling next to him on the bed. 

Eris moved to lay comfortably on his back and turned his head to look at Y/N. Her hair was simply a mess, sticking up in nearly every direction. Eris chuckled at the sight. “Tell me about it.”

Y/N huffed. “Well when I got to the shop, there was a vile woman already waiting outside demanding to be let in, insisting that the shop hadn’t opened on time. Even though I had written a note, with large bold letters I may add, fixed to the front door that explained that I would be opening an hour later than usual.”

“She sounds awful,” Eris commented.

“That’s not all!” Y/N exclaimed. “When I let her in, she said that the bread I baked was not fresh enough, even though I put an enchantment on it to make sure that it was, and demanded that I make a fresh batch just for her. I don’t have the time for that! I am the only one working at the bakery and there was a large line forming.”

“What did you tell her?” Eris asked.

He had now turned on his side and watched as Y/N told her story, her hand gesturing wildly. Ever since he had met her when she worked as a chef in the kitchens, he had always loved the way she emphasises her speech with her hands. Often when people noticed it she would try to stop, but not around Eris. Never around Eris.

Eris knew that their friendship was unexpected, he hadn’t expected it himself. But after she was sent by his mother to give him food when he was extremely ill, Eris had simply loved her since then. She never cowered away when he glared at her and tried to intimidate her. She never backed away when he spoke cruel words about her job and her station. She didn’t even leave when he dismissed her. She had stayed and asked him what was the matter and that was when the facade Eris constantly had up vanished. No one had ever asked him that before. The softness in her voice, the understanding. It was something Eris had never experienced. 

After that it was always quick yet playful glances in corridors. The occasional nudge when brushing past one another. And when Eris had endured another beating from his father, he would make his way to the kitchens. And remain with her. Those few days after the beatings, Beron never expected Eris to make an appearance anywhere so he could be in the servants quarters without the threat of his father coming after him.

Eris remembered the first night he had spent with her. They had only known each other for a few months by that point so Eris hesitated before knocking on her door. He knew that she had a room to herself, it was the size of a shoebox but Y/N was grateful for her own space. When Y/N brought him inside and cleaned the wounds on his back, Eris finally allowed himself to break down for the first time in a long time. Y/N only held onto him, soothing him, as he cried and let everything out. Not once did she complain. 

Even when he fell asleep in her arms, Y/N did not complain, she only held him closer. That following morning, Y/N never made him leave, she simply stayed with him the whole day. She took his mind off everything. She made him smile. She made him laugh for the first time in years. It was so easy to fall in love with her. 

And he was still in love with her. Even after a few hundred years. 

“Eris?” Y/N said, nudging his arm. “Are you still listening?”

Eris smiled. “Yes, I’m still listening. What did you tell her?”

Y/N laughed. “Well first I threw the bread at her and told her to stick it up her–”

“Y/N,” Eris said, laughing loud. “You are going to lose customers.”

“I’ll be glad to lose her,” Y/N said. “She was a prick.”

Eris continued to chuckle as Y/N turned onto her side facing him. His hand twitched to reach out and pull her against his chest. It was all he wanted to do. 

“Why would you burden me with running a whole bakery?” Y/N questioned.

Eris rolled his eyes. “I did not burden you. I remember you begging me to buy the building when it was planned to be torn down. And I keep suggesting that you hire more people but you never listen.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Y/N questioned. “Since you bought the building?”

“I gave ownership to you,” Eris said. “It is legally your business and, therefore, your job to hire people.”

Y/N sighed. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about running a business where other people depend on me. The thought terrifies me. And what if they don’t like me, what then?”

“It would be impossible,” Eris stated.

“Me as someone’s boss? Because I agree.”

“No,” Eris said, his voice soft. “People not liking you. You are impossible not to like.”

Something flashed across Y/N’s eyes but it was gone before Eris could even place the emotion. 

“You mean that?” Y/N asked.

“Of course I do,” Eris said, swallowing hard. “You are the easiest person to like.”

It is why I fell in love with you, Eris thought. The words he was never brave enough to say. 

Y/N smiled and Eris swore his heart skipped a beat. “Thank you Eris.” Her tone was sincere and far from her usual light hearted and playful tone.

“I could always help you,” Eris said. “In the bakery.”

“Eris, you have enough duties here. You already look ready to pass out and the sun hasn’t even gone down,” Y/N said. “And why would you want to spend any more time with me than you already are? I’m sure you are sick of me already.”

“I could never be sick of you,” Eris said. “You are my best friend, Y/N. I will always want you around.”

Best friend. Those two words Eris hated. Y/N was more than his best friend. She was the light of his life. The reason he woke every morning. The reason he breathed. She was a part of his soul even if she didn’t know it. Eris was so inexplicably in love with her that nothing else mattered when he was with her. 

Something akin to disappointment flashed on Y/N’s face before it was gone in an instant. “Well you are my best friend too, Eris.”

Eris forced a smile upon his face. She was laying next to him on his bed, yet she still felt so far away. 

“I should be letting you rest, I can tell that you have had a long day,” Y/N said. “I don’t think you want me bombarding you with stories from work.”

“I enjoy your stories.” Eris’s voice was quiet and pleading. Pleading with her to stay for just a moment longer. 

The smile on Y/N’s face was small but Eris wanted it tattooed onto his brain. “Perhaps tomorrow,” Y/N said.

Disappointment surged through Eris as his hope subsided. Y/N leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “I will see you tomorrow Eris.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N,” Eris replied, his voice unusually quiet. 

Y/N slipped from his bed and left the room and left Eris alone once more. The silence was almost deafening. If it weren't from the heat on his cheek from where Y/N had kissed him, Eris was sure he would go insane.

Eris did not even bother to chance into more comfortable clothes, he didn’t even bother to get under his covers. All he did was pull his pillow closer and close his eyes, his mind filled with images of Y/N before drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

[orfeoarte]

Hi! I'm a latino battling my country's 250% inflation rate. I'm opening this month's batch of commissions (my main source of income). I work fast and in close communication with my clients!

If you can't buy a commission, please consider reblogging, it helps me reach me clients. Thank you!!

TOS under cut 💛

•I will send updates as I have them. For more complex pieces, expect turnout times to be around a month.

•Payment is done 50% upfront and 50% after the sketch is approved.

•The piece, as purchased, is owned by you, but the licensing is mine. This means I do not allow commercial uses unless previously agreed upon, and I do not allow editing of my work to be posted unless previously agreed upon. You may post my work with proper credit after discussing it with me.

->Credit: linking to my social media and/or portfolio. You may never claim authory over my work.

•I reserve the right to reject a commission.

•Refunds: only 75% after the first sketch is done. I will retain 25% for the work put into the sketch. Is not refundable after the piece is at later stages (lines, colors, shading, scene).

•If the subject(s) of the commissions are found to be illegal or I find it to be morally reprehensible (directed hatred, bestiality, minor/adult, abuse, violence, etc), I will request payment in full and discontinue the work. For this to not happen, be honest and communicate about what you're looking for. I do not condone art with those themes and will reject the commission before even taking it up.

[toska-writes]

Hello Toska!

I really enjoy reading your stories, they are really good! I see so many fanfics that swear, or have nasty stuff, but yours are good. I was wondering if you do requests? If so, could you do one with the Bad Batch (mostly Hunter and Crosshair) where the reader is a female Jedi? And the reader goes on a mission and risks their life to protect one of the Bad Batch but they get injured? Take as much time as you need, thank you for your time! :)

Yeah this may be from a few months ago…. But here we are

“Concussion Protocol”

Summary: concussions are risky business, and a certain “unconcerned” sniper makes sure everything this ok

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (Platonic)

Warning: small mention of blood, throwing up I guess, nothing crazy

Word count: 1313 (I meant for this one to be a short blurb but whatever

Notes: I changed up the request a bit but it was just a small thing I wanted to write

The ringing was so loud. Though maybe it was so loud because everything else is so quiet. Or maybe you couldn’t hear anything else at all.

The only thing you did know is that if you kept thinking about this it would make your head hurt more than it already was.

And that was saying something. Your head felt like it weighed an extra 50 pounds as you were hunched over trying desperately to catch any breath and keep your head from hitting the floor.

Ringing, that’s all it was. For a moment you could hear your own thought and could have sworn something touched your shoulder.

You couldn’t tell, it didn’t matter at this point because in all honesty you couldn’t even tell where you are.

No no the something definitely touched your shoulder because it was a lot firmer this time. Your whole body shook with whatever was on your shoulder and if it wasn’t for something else grasping your other arm you definitely would have fallen over.

You looked over slightly, more even breaths rolled through you now, and finally something came into focus. A hand…. Oh that’s what was holding you up right now.

The shaky image of helmet comes into your view with a hand now place under your chin slightly lifting it up.

The way the helmet was moving you assumed the person hold be talking to you, it was either that or the world was spinning around you.

They looked familiar, whoever they were, but if you tried to think anymore you were pretty sure your head would pop right off. What did even happen? It was blurry looking back now.

Crosshair watched them for a moment, their eyes lost in thought finally trained back onto him but only for a moment before they drooped again.

He felt the growing weight of your face in his palm before you slumped over even more

“Okayyyy” He muttered more to himself since the calls of your name moments ago fell on deaf ears. The first thing Crosshair had to do was get you off of the battle field.

He was just lucky he saw you in time, the amount of now broken battle droids scattered around your unaware mind scared him. Scared him more than he would like to admit.

“I found them, I just need someone to cover me.” Crosshair spoke cooly into the comm, the panic rising in him however contradicted him.

A confirm from someone on the other side didn’t really matter to Crosshair at this moment, it mattered getting you to open your eyes again.

Finally the ringing died down, enough to recognize there was a voice coming from somewhere extremely close to you. It took a moment more to realize it was your name someone spoke.

The fight to open your eyes was hard. The dying light still hurt your eyes as they tried to adjust again.

“Hmmm?” Was all you could get out before you felt a thumb trace over part of your forehead.

It worried Crosshair of where this blood was coming from, he tried to keep in away from your mouth and eyes with his thumb for a moment.

The sound of blaster fire sounded closer to his head than he would have liked.

“Come on Crosshair go!” He heard hunter practically yell in his ear. Right he could worry about wiping your face later.

You felt yourself move off the ground slightly. Looking around you were about to protest to the person that you still couldn’t identify in your state, but the swirling world did not pair well with your head. This resulted in you quickly shoving your head towards the armored chest that held you.

A groan must have escaped your lips but a husked voice reassured you quickly. Wait no you definitely knew that voice, but for the love of maker a face nor name could make it to your brain.

A feeling did however, and it was warm in your chest- you had nothing to worry about if he was here.

“Where are we going?” You finally managed to slur some words together without moving your head too much.

“Towards the Marauder.” He spoke clearly to you, no more ringing seemed to disrupt your hearing. “Can you tell me what that is?”

The question struck you as odd for a moment. Of course you knew what the Marauder was….right? That didn’t stop you from thinking for a moment before you responded with “… a ship?”

“I’m actually impressed” was all that came from whoever held you as he started to slow down more. You couldn’t tell with your eyes closed when your surroundings changed but a quick tap to your check and you opened your eyes to the inside of a ship.

“Is this…” you started, a limp hand gestured around before returning with a thump to your lap. “ the Marauder.

The figure now crouched in front of you with on hand keeping you sitting straight up nodded once before reaching with his other hand a removing his helmet.

“Can you remember anything else?” He spoke softly and slowly to you, but you didn’t answer.

The man had a tattoo over his eye, one that caught your attention immediately.

You knew who that was. A smile broke across your lips and a small laugh forced its way through your mouth. A shaky hand of yours reached out to the side of his face with the tattoo. He let it happen and watched your face hoping for any recognition.

“Crosshair.” Finally something you remembered

The man, now you were sure was Crosshair, nodded ever so slightly again but the smirk was prominent in his features.

“I’m going to clean your head ok?” He rasped.

The smile couldn’t be swiped from your face either as you continued to smile at him. “Crosshair.” You spoke again. Just like the first time it wasn’t a question, you were sure.

He hummed as a response before pushing you back slightly and dampening a rag as he still was crouched on the floor.

“I’m tired.” It was the first and only thing you were thinking about or could think about. The pounding in your head and the swirling of the world was becoming too much.

“You just have to wait a few seconds for me ok?” The cool ragged touch your face and surprisingly didn’t burn. “I just have to make sure nothing too serious is going on up there.” He poked the middle of your forehead with his finger.

Crosshair deemed his work satisfactory enough when he could finally locate one of the many cut along your forehead. Grimacing at it he decided that it would definitely need stitches.

But you didn’t have to know that right now. “All done.” His nimble hands returned to your shoulders pulling you up. Your eyes once again opened, though you couldn’t fall asleep since Crosshair did anything in his power for you to keep talking to him.

“Is it nap time?” He almost couldn’t make out your words for a moment before he took your face in and sigh.

“Don’t tell Tech, but yeah I think you deserve a nap time.” Crosshair still planned to scan for more injury’s but could letting you sleep change a lot?

Before he knew it your body leaned forward and quickly crashed into his own, your head found its stop between his shoulder plate and his neck perfectly.

The words were soft now muffled into his skin but he could nearly make out “Thanks Crosshair.” The voice faded out towards the end but that what brought the smile back to his face.

Thought he was sure they would never hear it again small “ Of course ad’ika” was muttered into the air before he scooped the padawan up into his arms once again to move them someplace more comfortable.

————————————————————

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[summer-of-bad-batch]

Welcome to Summer of Bad Batch! 

This is a light-hearted, weekly prompt challenge for the months June, July, and August! 

13 weeks with 13 prompts! 

I’m excited! 

Here’s how it’s going to work: 

Fill out THIS form to submit prompt ideas! Even if you don’t plan on completing the prompts yourself, please submit ideas for other artists and writers to work with! What would you like to see gallivanting across your dash this summer? Tell us! (The form will be open until May 18th)

Once prompts are submitted and compiled, there will be an opportunity to vote on your favorite prompts! The top 13 prompts will be the prompts used over the summer. Again, even if you aren’t a “participant”, please vote and share! You are a VERY important part of the fun! 

The weekly prompt will be posted at the beginning of each week (Sunday at 12a.m. CST)! If you are a participant, start working on the prompt whenever you want. Post whenever you want. It can be within the week of or later…the point of this prompt challenge is to be laid back and fun! There’s no real deadline! (Although the event ends August 31, 2024) 

At the end of the summer, participation awards will be given! Something cute, something fun, something sunny…bragging rights! There will be a participation award for the casual participant, and a completionist award for those who got all 13 prompts done. (This is based on the honor code…if you say you did 13 prompts, who am I to doubt??) 

Find “Rules” and my Q&A post HERE!

For those of you who have followed my main blog, @kybercrystals94, you’ll know that I’ve participated in a few prompt challenges over the past year. I love them! They motivate me to write, and inspire ideas I would never have thought of on my own. 

My hope for Summer of Bad Batch is that it will inspire fun stories about some of our favorite clone boys. There isn’t a specific genre to be followed, just prompts that can probably be taken any number of ways. 

I plan to dabble in some more lighthearted genres myself this summer, but go where the prompt takes you!

[missmonstermel]

Squip’s new spawn batch has been hatched, wrangled and placed in support solution tubes while they go through this first life stage! They need caretakers who can stir up the nutrient sediment weekly and openings for adoption will begin this Friday at 2pm PST! These are slightly unstable prototype tubes that may be prone to leaks ( no escapes so far!) The nutrient solution is non toxic and will only stain human skin for a few months at most if a leak does occur. Each spawn has a name and some handy info that will help their new caretaker meet their emotional needs, written by Squip herself! More info and footage will be available later this week… #missmonster #squip #sepioid #alien #prop #missmonstermel #stimtoys #glitter #sculpture

[endataraxia]

sage forest mental institution.

chapter 1: pilot word count: 2.5k note: yes this is a rewrite. i am sorry. also on AO3. here is the link.

Working in Wing F, evaluation and quarantine, allows for you to observe a whole slew of mental disorders. Some make sense to you, and would as well to the layman. Some simply do not, and the shit-grade doctors at Sage Fores are apparently as stupid as they seem and dropped the fuck to be given between the cracks of drainage.

Three new patients come in, along with a cold gust of wind.

The transport officer, Jeremy, offers you his greetings once again.

“’Sup, lil’ bro?” To him, gender is irrelevant, and so is age. You’re not even sure how much older he is than you, or if he is at all, but you’d gotten used to the term of affection long ago.

“Nothing much, Jeremy. Thanks for bringing them in. Need a snack?” You offer, knowing the man to have an endless pit for a stomach.

“Aw shit, you know I do.” So you toss him a pack of three Oreos. The only thing stronger than the man’s lactose intolerance is apparently his love for the cookies.

Four other officers—they have to be new, you’d never seen any of their faces before—bring the new patients to be evaluated into the building, distributing them into their cells.

One patient with light brown hair and baby blues, still in prisoner’s clothes, speaks up. “May I be placed next to him?” His hands, cuffed, weakly gesture to the bearded man next to him.

And with a sharp wham he’s beaten into the ground. Jeremy, still with Oreos in his mouth, is startled.

Something tugs at your gut.

“Who the fuck gave you the right to touch my patient?” You snap, not recognizing the volume and ferocity of your own voice.

The nameless officer, his face now burned into your mind’s eye, opens his mouth, only to stutter.

Jeremy’s hand shoots out between both of you and places his back to his subordinate. You vaguely register the third patient—the one with a shaggy brown mop of hair—help up the one who spoke.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it,” defends Jeremy half-heartedly. You know this guy well enough to figure out that he’s just defending a newbie on the job.

“Not your fault, Jeremy,” you mutter. “But keep him on a leash or something. I don’t care if he beats other prisoners or something, but,” you step closer to look the new officer in the eye, his own orbs glazed over with a hint of fear and remorse, “remember that my job is hard enough as it is. I now have to treat a wound and whatever trauma that person suffered from you.”

The new officer gulps. “S-sorry.”

“Hm.” You keep your response curt so as to avoid any words that might let him think what he did was marginally okay.

You turn back to get a good look at your poor patient. “Sorry about that. What’s your name?” You always preferred asking your patients directly instead of referring to a document serving only to persecute them.

“Brian Thomas,” he croaks out, but not before his eyes flit to your nametag. “I’m fine, I was just caught off guard.”

“I’ll still have to send you to medical later,” you say apologetically. “Here, as an apology.” You pull another pack of Oreos out of your pocket.

The man smiles weakly at you, accepting the cookies. “Thank you.”

This batch of new patients seems to be rather well-behaved and rational, instead of the violent type you get most of the time. They are, after all, being sent to an asylum for the criminally insane.

---

After Jeremy and his subordinates are gone, you settle your patients in with the help of Andrea, a nurse from another wing. In this godforsaken asylum, you believe only her to have a good heart. She was the one who helped you get settled in with this job when you’d first entered 8 months ago.

And as Brian Thomas had wished, you placed him and his pal next to each other. You note that the three of them seem close, which might make your job easier. If you can’t coax something out of one of them, there are two others to try it on.

“It’s only two weeks, and if you’re lucky, maybe just one,” you had told the three men, who all provided you with no noteworthy reactions.

No meds were needed at this point in quarantine, unless the doctor determined that they were in need of it, which was usually in the later stages of quarantine, and usually signified their release into the main asylum.

Administrative work is a blur as always. All work in this gloomy building is to you, and every day is a dissociative fog to you until you get to visit your own patients in their rooms.

The first one you visit is the one whom Brian had requested to be put next to, and you did indeed place them in adjacent cells. His dossier carries the name “Timothy Wright”.

You knock on the door respectfully— a thing you do for your patients in hopes they don’t lose the sense that they’re still a person. This asylum is no cozy home, but if you don’t try to make it one for them, they’ll probably lose their minds.

No response comes from within the room. You take it as an absence of objection to your intrusion, and enter.

“Hey, man.” You include a deliberate casualness in your tone, hoping it’ll help set the man at ease.

The cell includes a simple bathroom cubicle in the corner, complete with a sink and a mirror right next to it. The floor is tiled and the bedframe crickety. On the rare occasion that a patient invites you to sit on the bed with them, you find that the mattress can barely be classified as decent.

Timothy sits on the bed, his attention now captured by you. “Hey.”

You allow a calculated amount of silence between you and him, allowing for him to speak his mind. He does.

“You still got some of those Oreos?” He asks.

This question is not unexpected. “Yeah.” And you toss him a packet from your coat’s pocket.

He catches it with ease. “You, uh…just keep those in your pocket?”

You can recall a patient or two who’s asked you that question before, so you take it as an opportunity to explain. “Sometimes we give these out to patients who’re well-behaved as a reward.” You pause, choosing your words carefully to balance both honesty and a sense of warmth. “But honestly I don’t like that we only give it as a reward. It’s like you’re dogs to be rewarded. Just don’t tell anyone else that I simply give out Oreos.”

You say this as if damn near half the asylum patients don’t already know you for your free Oreos, though they’re all bribed with a free Oreo pack pass to keep it a secret from the asylum. The rest of the staff, save for Andrea, just think you’re nice and happen to give the treats for every single good deed the patients carry out. Though, you’re still careful, lest a single glance at your wing’s stash of sundry Oreos betray you. So you make it a point to buy them from the convenience store outside your home with your own pay, and replenish the stock every day, making sure the stash seems untouched.

Timothy simply nods in understanding, opening the pack to pop a cookie into his mouth whole. Next up is something you don’t expect.

“Want one?” He holds the open pack to you.

“Uh.” Then you laugh. “Why not?” You make sure not to reject, placing yourself on the same level as him. That is to say, lacking a stash of Oreos. Pulling an Oreo out of the packet in his hand, you pop it into your mouth too.

“Thanks, man,” you say through a mouthful of Oreo. After you swallow, you ask his name.

“You can just call me Tim.” You note that even he prefers the shorter version of his name.

“Alright, Tim. If you ever need me, just call me. Okay?”

He provides a simple nod in response, then offers an “okay” in return.

You nod. Everything in his room is in order, and he seems to require no more than just that simple check-in.

The door closes.

---

The next to visit on your list is Brian, who sits on the bed, an ice pack pressed to his cheek with Andrea crouched by his side. She notices your presence, gets up and whispers to you.

“I’ll leave you to it, hun.” She knows you don’t like your patients surrounded by more than one nurse or doctor if necessary, so you thank her silently and turn to face your patient once your colleague is gone.

Brian’s swelling seems to already have gone down, with the darkness of the bruise already fading to a dark green. “You heal quite fast,” you remark.

Straightening up, you hold a hand out to him. “I’m Y/N, a nurse here.” He grabs your hand and shakes it firmly with a slight smile on the good side of his face. “I’m Brian Thomas.” You chuckle. “Yes, I have your dossier here,” you joke, albeit a lame, half-assed one.

“Hey, I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” you begin. “Usually, those guys don’t touch my patients ‘cause they know what happens if they do—I’ll sock them right back— but it seems these ones were new. I’ll see what I can do about it, disciplinary actions or getting them barred from here or something.”

Brian smiles, letting out a huff of a laugh through his nose. “No need. I can see why they act like that. In prison…sometimes it’s necessary.” When that doesn’t seem to reassure you, he adds, “I’ve been through a lot worse. Trust me. It’s okay.”

You’re not reassured, not in the slightest bit. But years of experience with patients have taught you to go along with them. Forcing them in your own direction would do no good for either of you.

“If you say so,” is what your mouth and brain collectively settle on. “Doesn’t mean you should be treated like that, though. Any staff touches you, let me know.” You smile a little at the following thought, “Everyone knows not to touch the patients in my wing.”

That’s not to say you’re the head of the wing. You feel a little ick, even, at claiming that this is “your wing”. But seeing as patients leave the wing happy or even a little better than before, you think it’s fine.

“Are you three friends…?” You ask.

Brian replies. “Tim and I are. The third one, Toby, is new to, uh… us.”

Something tells you not to press it.

“Right then. That reminds me, I’ve gotta get around to Toby. Uh…,” You refer to the third one’s dossier. “Is calling him Toby okay, or should I be calling him Tobias?”

Brian’s eyes darken. “Don’t ever call him Tobias.”

So you enter Toby’s room, and make a mental note to never call him Tobias, because he could be dangerous if you do so.

---

I didn’t expect us to find the one so soon.

---

You enter Toby’s room and make a mental note to never call him Tobias, because he could be dangerous if you do so.

But it seems otherwise to you.

What sticks out to you, more of a concern than even his potentially murderous behavior upon being called his real name, is the bandage on his cheek. While Toby was indeed quiet at first, especially on your first visit, with small, retracted body language, knees pulled to his chin and short, quiet responses, he quickly warmed up.

After countless “yes, no, maybe, I don’t know”s, you insert an innocent, “You can call me any time for anything you need,” and his eyes light up. You think that perhaps he’s just lonely, and anticipate a lot of calls from him. 

And you’re right to do so, with him calling you for every little thing.

Every. Little. Thing.

“Y/N, I can’t tie the robe at the back…,” whines Toby as he half-heartedly reaches and grabs at the ribbon behind his back. 

“Okay,” you laugh, and reach out to tie it for him. And then, gently, he grasps your hand, perhaps to guide it to the ribbon. You’re not allowed to touch patients. But for him, for just this once, maybe you’ll let him. 

But he turns around to face you, brown eyes unreadable. 

“You really mean it, right? That I can call you for anything?”

You’re caught off guard by the whole thing. “Uh…,” You laugh nervously. “Yeah. Yes.” Before you’re about to blabber on in nervousness about why and how he should, he grins, eyes brightening a little.

“Great! I’ll see you later.”

He does, in fact, see you later.

To put it lightly, Toby calls you a lot. To put it bluntly, he calls you for a lot of stupid shit.

“Y/N,” he’d whine, dragging out the syllables of your name, “I’m bored!” So you give him a book. Then, you play a board game with him. Finally, you attempt to teach him biology, which a man his age should really not be marveling at, given the rudimentariness of the content you rattle off.

“Y/N,” he’d whine again, “I’m hungry!” And you’d tease, “You just had lunch, Toby.” 

“But I’m hungryyyyy!” He’d exclaim. “I get hungry easily. And I’m hungry now.”

You begrudgingly pull out a pack of Oreos from your pocket.

And now, it’s the 64th time, at the end of two weeks, and most likely the last time he’ll get to call on you like this. Though you’d usually begrudgingly heed his call and head over with a slight drag in your steps, you decide that today, now, you may as well entertain his silly little questions for the last time.

And so you knock on the door and enter upon his “Come in!”, bracing yourself for whatever nonsensical request he might make. 

A nonsensical request he makes indeed. “Y/N,” he mumbles, fidgeting with his hands. “Can you…uh… turn around for a moment?”

Never turn your back to a patient, not when they’re criminally insane. But today, now, your guard is down, and your brain somehow forgets that you might land yourself in danger.

You laugh, dismissing his silly request as “just a Toby thing”, and twirl around, only exposing your back for a moment. 

One second is all it takes. You only turn 180 degrees, barely a completion of your round.

You hit the floor with a thud.

note: sorry for all the page breaks. i promise it'll get better soon.

[fimbry]

This is going to be a long post, a mix of what happened and then what Charlie meant to me. TW pet death

Charlie has passed away after eating 2 bad rats from Big Cheese Rodent Factory. She regurgitated 3 days after feeding and died two days later. I have been purchasing f/t rats from Big Cheese for years, and if my friend hadn't been having these same problems with the same batch of jumbo rats I would have thought this could be a freak incident or a mistake on my part. However, my friend's snakes are also regurgitating and one has died after eating these jumbo rats, and we bought them during the same Mother's Day sale. Same batch. I'll be getting a necropsy on Charlie to see if that has any answers as to what was off with the rats.

Now I get it that sometimes food safety measures don't get carried out every time and most suppliers have some kind of scandal like this, but the company's callous response and refusal to even entertain that it could be their rats at fault is pretty fucked up and has me a bit heated. It's just a "coincidence" my friend's and my snakes are getting sick/dying after eating rats from the same batch. Eye roll. The money doesn't even matter to me at this point so I may not message them further about this, I'm just so upset over the cold response and the loss of Charlie.

The email response from them:

With that out of the way, I do want to share what Charlie meant to me. She was a very special animal, I thought of her as the "matriarch" of my collection as I have a good number of her kids and grandchildren still with me. Four of each actually if I'm counting, and I love them so very much.

When I got Charlie I was still pretty green in the hobby. Yes I'd had snakes for years, my cornsnake and then a couple ball pythons, and even a Sumatran short-tail, my beloved Svid, but these were all very "easy" snakes... I learned with them, but I was not challenged the way that Charlie challenged me. I got Charlie as a full adult, she was my first blood python and I had not even planned to get into bloods until I saw her. I was planning to focus on Sumatran short tails, but Charlie changed things.

Charlie came out of the shipping bag striking and bit me on the finger immediately. Now I'm not sure if anyone remembers this but that video of the two little brothers "Charlie bit my finger" is how Charlie got her name lol.

The first 4 months were... challenging. I could not even touch her directly. I was so afraid I'd made a mistake. Charlie was a 17lb adult blood python, far bigger than my other snakes, and she was TERRIFIED of me. She wanted me to go to hell, and would send me there herself if only she could. We spent a lot of time together, just me sitting near her open enclosure and her glaring at me. Over the months we went from no contact, to minimal contact, until finally I was able to at least clean her without too much trouble. She liked routine, liked to know what was going to happen next. Any deviation from the routine and the trust would be broken, she'd be full of fear again. It was a few years of doing things purely by her strict rules.

Around 2014, something clicked. She began to actually trust that I wasn't going to hurt her and didn't have bad intentions. We seemed to have an actual understanding where if something happened out of the norm, she wouldn't react badly. I could even take her out for pictures and she behaved! Soon I was able to pet her, touch her tail (which I was doing a lot about now since I was trying to figure out why my "male" was not breeding, ha), even pet her head. I was still a bit wary of her, but we were in a good place. As the years went on, our trust grew deeper and I knew she wouldn't bite me, and she knew I was a safe person.

She also showed me how intelligent these snakes could be. She could tell people apart which became obvious if she saw anyone besides me. While I had earned her trust, others had not, so I refrained from taking her out if others were around. While she was a big beautiful animal, I couldn't take her out to show guests. I respected her all the more for it, if I'm honest. She knew what she was about, and I didn't push that.

Over the years she ended up giving me three clutches of beautiful babies, she did such a good job. After her last clutch in 2021, she started showing her age. She was nearing 20 years old, if not over, and had begun getting wrinkled scales and grew a cataract in one eye. I decided to retire her from breeding and let her enjoy her golden years in peace. Pythons can live a very long time, so I expected to have another ~10 years with her.

I'm devastated that her retirement was cut short like this, devastated that I was robbed of more time together. We had both grown and changed a lot over the last 12 years together, and she really was a picture of "to be loved is to be changed." My sweet old lady who knew me, and I knew her. ♥

[tsunami-of-tears]

Draw me like one of your fae girls

Feyre x Reader (sapphic)

A/N: okay I may have plotted too hard before the porn

Thank you so much to ✨ anon who sent this request in. I’ve diverged a little bit, but most of your points are covered 💛

Wordcount: 2.4K

Warnings: Female reader; we have a little bit of angst/pining; smut (oral - f!receiving, fingering, soft d/s, mommy kink)

The rushing of the Sidra, a crisp breeze rustling through the trees, the soft tap of footsteps on the cobblestone streets, people laughing and chattering as they mill about. Velaris, the city for the dreamers. 

I meander through the artist’s quarter, arms full of my new supplies. A big gust of wind blows down the street and I spin to shield my face, clutching the bundle close to my chest. As I turn, a sign comes into view: 

“Help wanted. Any artistic experience is desirable. Enquire within.”

What are the chances? I’ve been looking for a new job, and being surrounded by art all day sounds like a dream come true. I shift my supplies into one arm and open the door. 

Inside the studio is bright and welcoming. Easels line the room, some holding paintings in various stages of completion. The walls are scattered with artwork, all portraying different subjects– flowers in vases, scenes of restaurants by the Sidra, a boy throwing a ball in the park– all breathing life into the space. Vibrant, joyous life. 

A high-fae female stands behind one of the easels, she has smears of yellow paint on her cheek and smock. Her grey-blue eyes are narrowed in concentration and waves of gold are tied messily in a bun on her head. She bites on her lower lip as she continues painting, her nose scrunching ever so slightly. 

She is captivating. 

She looks up from her work, finally noticing my presence in the room. 

“Oh hello there. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you come in. My name is Feyre,” she smiles warmly at me before setting down her brush and palette. She wipes her hands on her smock, though it doesn’t help much. 

“It’s okay, I just got here. I’m Y/N, I saw your sign outside.” I return Feyre’s smile, and gesture to the door behind me. 

“That didn’t take long,” she laughs. “I put that sign up an hour ago. You’re an artist?”

“Yes, I paint and draw, but my preferred medium is ceramics. I like using my hands.” 

“We have that in common,” she says, her smile turning slightly playful. “I’m looking for someone to assist during classes. It’s gotten so busy, which is wonderful, but my attention is stretched too thin. Do you think that’s something you’re interested in?” 

I nod eagerly, “Absolutely. It’s my dream to be surrounded by art all day. Would you like to see some of my work? The sculptures are difficult to transport but I can deliver some of my sketchbooks.”

“I’d love to, but it’s not required for the position. How soon can you start?” 

I blink a few times, repeating her words in my head to make sure I heard Feyre correctly. “Does next week work?”

———— 

I’m unpacking the fired pottery from the kiln a few months later. Feyre had bought it soon after I started working for her. With her blessing, I’d begun teaching ceramics classes. This last batch was from my regular students who attend once a week.

I’m holding the last piece when Feyre enters. “Wow, these are amazing. You’re doing so well with the students,” she beams. 

“It’s all them,” I respond, setting down the pot carefully.

“Don’t do that,” Feyre tuts. “You’re a great teacher and I’m thrilled to have you working with me.” 

“Thanks, Feyre. I really love it. It’s so rewarding.”

“I’m still waiting on my personal lesson though,” she laughs. “Are you still up for drinks tonight?”

“Definitely. I just need to reload the kiln, the next batch should be dry enough.” 

———— 

Feyre and I walked to the bar arm-in-arm, already giggling at each other and we hadn’t started drinking yet. Since I joined Feyre’s studio, we’ve developed a close friendship, though a small piece of my heart yearns for more. 

She’s mated, I remind myself for the hundredth time. 

As we enter the dimly lit bar, Ressina spots us, calling us over to her booth. I take a seat next to another instructor, Coral, and Feyre slides in beside me. Across from us sits Ressina and her partner, Pollux. 

Ressina had bought a round of drinks for our group just before we arrived. We raise our glasses, clinking them together in cheers before taking a sip. 

“Coral was just telling us about her hot date last night,” Ressina explains. 

“Don’t sound so excited,” Pollux says sarcastically. 

“Oh it’s just fun, we have to live vicariously through our single friends. Feyre gets it, right?” Ressina gestures vigorously towards Feyre.

“Oh actually,” Feyre says, “I might be back on the market.” She takes a casual sip from her drink, as if she had just said the most mundane sentence in the world. 

My jaw drops and my eyes widen in alarm. Across the table, our friends are sporting similar expressions. No one saw that coming. 

“Oh no, not like that!” She quickly reassures us. “Rhys and I are quite happy, we’re just finding it a bit… stagnant. We’ve discussed it at length, and have decided to open our marriage one weekend every month.” 

“Wow Feyre,” Coral says. “Are you and Rhys equally excited about that?” 

Feyre smiles, looking down at her glass, the flush on her cheeks deepening in colour. “We’ve both got different reasons for wanting it but yes, we are. I’ve had my eye on someone,” Feyre’s gaze meets mine for a split second, “and Rhys knew that. It took a lot of conversations to figure out our boundaries, and they’ll likely evolve over time, but we’re taking the first step.” 

“Well congratulations,” Pollux says, raising his glass before taking a swig.

“Thank you,” Feyre says, her eyes finding mine again. I can detect a hint of… longing? Surely not. This wine must be going straight to my head. 

The rest of the night goes on without a hitch. We drink and talk and dance until late into the night when we stumble out of the bar, waving goodbye to our friends who are heading in the opposite direction. Feyre’s arm is wrapped over my shoulders as I do my best to keep her upright. 

“Mmms love you, Y/N,” Feyre slurs, drawing out the syllables of my name. 

“I love you too, Fey,” I answer, quickly grabbing her forearm to stop her falling to the ground. 

“You’re the bestest,” she sighs, slumping in my arms. 

Just as I’m wondering how we’re going to walk home, the darkness in front of us ripples, revealing Feyre’s mate. 

“Feyre Darling,” Rhys coos, scooping her into his arms like she weighs nothing; a stark contrast to my earlier struggles. Feyre wraps her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. My heart constricts at the sight.

“Perfect timing,” I smile tightly in an attempt to hide my true feelings. 

“The bond was muffled and I got worried, though I now understand why,” Rhys explains. 

Right, the bond. 

“You must be Y/N,” Rhys continues. “She talks about you often.” He smiles, looking down at the female cradled in his arms. “Thank you for taking care of her, do you need to be dropped home?” 

“No, thank you. The walk will sober me up.”

“Of course, I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point. Goodnight, Y/N.” Rhys inclines his head before disappearing into the night with Feyre safely in his arms. 

The walk home certainly was sobering. How could I be silly enough to believe she thought of me in any light other than as a friend? Surely she meant she was opening her marriage to other males. Not me.

———— 

A few weeks after our night out, I’ve finally given in to teaching Feyre how to use a pottery wheel. She’d been gushing over my latest collection all week - a series of vases celebrating the divine feminine, the Mother. She was dying to get her hands dirty, quite literally. 

The reason I was hesitant to teach Feyre wasn’t because of her artistic talents. No, I hadn’t stopped thinking about her confession. I hadn’t stopped hoping she meant me.

Feyre is perched on a stool across from me, the pottery wheel in between us with a lump of earthenware clay. Feyre had quickly picked up how to work the peddle, now she just needed to use her hands to shape the clay.

She put her fingers into the centre of the ball like I demonstrated, easing the sides outwards as it spins. As she concentrates, her nose scrunches up and she bites her lip. It’s the same face she always makes when she’s engrossed in creating something. 

“It keeps getting wider, how do I make it go back in again?” Feyre asks. 

“Here,” I put my wet hands on top of Feyre’s, helping her ease the clay in the direction she wanted. “Perfect,” I smile. Feyre looks up from her work to smile back at me. With her focus shifted, her foot slips and the wheel spins out, spraying both of us with muddy water. We both erupt in giggles as we look at the mess covering each other. 

“And I thought painting was a messy hobby,” Feyre laughs. 

———— 

Feyre finished her creation - a simple round vase that she has plans to paint once it’s fired. 

The two of us are cleaning up our tools and hands in the large basin. The laughter from earlier is gone,  leaving us with a comfortable silence. 

Feyre sighs, “It’s the last weekend of the month.”

“I do have a calendar,” I tease. 

“No I mean, it’s the weekend Rhys and I decided on.”

“Oh,” I say quietly. “Do you have anything planned?” 

“I have someone I’d like to ask, but I’ve been a bit worried about how they’ll react,” Feyre admits. 

My heart breaks a little bit at her admission. “You do not need to be worried, you’re gorgeous. I doubt anyone could reject you.”

“I guess,” Feyre sighs.

The silence has now grown deafening between you. 

Finally, Feyre breaks it. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asks. 

“Hey, I thought we were talking about you here!” I exclaim. 

“We still are. I was hoping you’d like to join me.”

Oh. 

OH.

Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I know my mouth has fallen open. 

I look down, unable to meet her gaze as my heart races, the sound pounding in my ears.  “Yeah, I would like that,” I respond. 

———— 

Kissing Feyre was everything. 

Soft lips against mine. Soft hair between my fingers. 

Her scent is dizzying. 

This kiss is all-consuming. 

Every thought, every touch, it’s all her. 

Slowly, her hands slip down my body. Brushing down my neck, grazing over my breasts. 

We’re in her townhouse. I’m lying on the couch with Feyre on top of me, her thighs on either side of my hips. 

We barely made it through the front door before our hands and lips were all over each other. 

Feyre sits up, panting as she regains her breath. She peels off her top, throwing it to the side before doing the same with mine. 

“I can’t believe you asked,” I say, propping myself up on my elbows.

“I can’t believe you said yes,” she retorts, leaning down to kiss me again. 

Feyre kisses down my exposed neck, teasing along my collarbone, surely littering my skin with marks. 

She keeps kissing lower, taking one of my hardened nipples into her mouth and sucking. She takes the other between her thumb and finger, pinching softly. I gasp at the sensation, my hips roll, desperately begging for more.

Feyre hums against my chest, nipple still in her mouth as she grazes it with her teeth, eliciting another gasp from me. 

“You make such pretty sounds,” she says, swinging her leg over my body to stand on the floor. Feyre extends her hand for me to take. “Let’s go somewhere with more room, I want to explore every inch of you.” 

I take her hand, following her upstairs to the bedroom. 

We remove the rest of our clothes before Feyre motions for me to lie in the centre of the wide bed. She crawls between my legs, her face hovering centimetres above mine, her hand gentle against my cheek. 

Feyre leans down to kiss me again. Each stroke of her tongue is intentional. 

I wonder what that tongue would feel like in other places. 

I’m not left wondering for long as Feyre moves down my body. She pauses above my exposed sex, stroking down the outside of my thighs. 

“So pretty,” she says. “May I?” 

“Please,” I moan. 

“Such good manners too baby,” Feyre purrs, dipping her head between my legs.

She starts slow, lapping at me like a cat laps at milk. 

My hips start rolling and she presses them down firmly. 

“So responsive,” she laughs and I whine at the loss of contact. 

Feyre goes in with her fingers next, softly tracing along my clit at an agonising pace. 

I moan as the strokes turn to circles, giving me even more friction. My eyes close, allowing my body to focus on the feeling. 

“I like that noise,” she says, “but what sound do you make when I do this–” Her fingers slide down inside me and she starts to fuck me slowly. My moans get even louder as she starts to curl her fingers, hitting my sweet spot. I writhe beneath her fingers and she starts to pick up her pace. 

“You’re doing so good baby, tell Mommy how good it feels,” Feyre says, lowering her mouth to my clit once again. 

“Mmmm Mommy, feels so good. Mm so close.” I babble, eyes rolling as Feyre’s tongue circles my clit in tandem with her fingers. 

“Cum for me baby,” Feyre says, her fingers keeping their steady pace. 

A few more hard thrusts are all it takes to send me barrelling over the edge, crying out as the waves of pleasure roll over me. 

“Such a good girl,” Feyre says, slowing her thrusts as I ride out the high. 

My body stills as Feyre crawls beside me, wrapping her arms around me. She softly kisses the top of my head as I sigh contentedly. 

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asks. 

“Phenomenal.” 

Feyre laughs at my answer. “Are you tired, or do you want to keep going?” she questions.  

“I’m not even close to being done, it’s your turn.”

“Well then, come here and show Mommy some appreciation.” 

“Gladly.”

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

"A Different Approach" Ending

Having seen this episode twice, I think the ending does work. I know some people aren't happy and I understand why. I really do. But, I have faith that the creators will handle this situation well.

Spoilers below

Omega and Crosshair came home. I am beyond happy to see them finally reunite with their family. Now, I know it wasn't my ideal fanfic fluff reunion where Crosshair gets hugged liked crazy and everyone cries. For Omega, that makes sense. However, I do think this ending was realistic from a narrative POV. Forgiveness, especially in a complex topic like this, doesn't always happen overnight. It needs to be earned.

Crosshair's absence hurt Hunter deeply. Hunter had to watch his own brother, whom he grew up with, shoot his family. He had to watch his brother hunt him down. He had to watch his brother try and hurt the kid Hunter loves so dearly. It doesn't help that Crosshair lured the others to Kamino using Hunter and later rejected Hunter's offer to come back. From Hunter's POV, Crosshair doesn't want to come home nor understands the Batch. Simply put, he doesn't trust Crosshair and still is in pain from past grievances.

Wrecker being upset also makes sense. The last time he saw Crosshair, his brother rejected the opportunity to rejoin. Furthermore, Cross wasn't exactly in the brightest mood. Imo, Wrecker feels betrayed and hurt, but not to the degree Hunter is. He wants Crosshair back, but past grievances remind him of the pain he felt. Also, Wrecker wants to keep Omega safe and he knows Crosshair doesn't have the best track record with making good decisions.

Then, there's Crosshair. I LOVED that we hear his new theme when he walks out. This is not the same Crosshair from season 1. He is a changed man who's gone through so much suffering to get to where he is now. There is a lot of unspoken pain and turmoil going on inside him. Hunter and Wrecker don't know what he's been through. Over 6 months of separation and there's been no contact except for the warning message. Crosshair knows that Hunter and Wrecker don't trust him. Deep down, I believe Crosshair wants to go home, but his internal conflict and abandonment have impacted him hard.

Now, this is where the family therapy section starts. Crosshair, Hunter, and Wrecker will not bounce back to their original relationship prior to Order 66. They may fight side by side, but they won't have that bond that they had before. For these brothers to slowly build back their relationship, they need to acknowledge their shortcomings but also work towards solutions. This is mainly for Crosshair and Hunter.

Cross made mistakes. He needs to accept that, even if it might be hard to admit. I do believe he also needs to acknowledge Hunter's feelings. Hunter did feel betrayed. He didn't fully understand what was going on. Crosshair, through his actions, needs to show he's changed. By being open with Hunter, hopefully both brothers can begin to understand each other better.

Hunter needs to acknowledge Crosshair's pain and feelings of abandonment. Because yes, Hunter never really did anything to try and get Cross back or wonder about the chip. He goes back for Omega, but not Cross. And it's established that Crosshair wasn't completely in control at the start. Hunter also has a lot of other issues he needs to accept, including his own identity issues.

TLDR: both sides need to put a lot of effort into repairing their relationship. Hunter was hurt, Wrecker was hurt, and Crosshair was hurt. They need to acknowledge their shortcomings and the other party. But I'm confident that the brothers can do it. Their loyalty and love for each other, particularly with Omega to mediate, hopefully will pull them through to the end.

[faceofpoe]

What Happened to Bad Batch Season 3: Canceled Season 4/Condensed/Frankenstein'ed Plots Conspiracy Edition:

(aka: Poe Is Still On Her Bullshit)

(It's a puzzle, I like puzzles, but this one has been breaking my brain since May 1st/but really as far back as s3e8/9).

(And if you loved season 3, I am very glad, but this post is probably not for you lol)

We begin our tale with the episode Bad Territory (3.8), wherein with very little pushback, Hunter & Wrecker decide to venture off alone to find Fennec, despite the indignation at the idea of being left behind when infiltrating an Imperial outpost 3 episodes earlier.

(yes there are textual excuses for this; does it stand up to close scrutiny that we'd trust taking Omega more to an Imperial outpost we didn't know was abandoned rather than to see a bounty hunter who isn't known to currently be after her? you do you.)

We notably get this conversation with Fennec - this is important - while they're on Creepy Toxic Planet:

Fennec also has a jab about how Nala Se thought Omega would be safer with the Batch, rather than on Kamino, and how that obviously didn't work out so well.

Which... makes no sense in the context of the episode except maybe flimsily in a "well she's not here so she must be lost" way. But she looked into the squad, she knows there are/were more than 2, so Omega's absence isn't necessarily weird...

Unless this part of this episode was originally a hunt for Omega early season plot repurposed around a new intro/ending/motivations and with the Pabu scenes in between to carry on the Omega & Crosshair relationship development.

Now this episode builds up straight to The Harbinger, i.e. the Ventress episode, i.e. the episode that tells us twice in the script itself, that we are wasting valuable season time on a question that does not matter.

From the end of episode 7 and Rex's "you have to figure out why they're after her" spiel, we are never given a compelling reason to figure it out. As Crosshair tells us in 9 - it matters not at all. It's not like the answer would change anything. And from a viewer standpoint, we were given the answer at the end of episode 3, when Emerie rushes to stop the ship being shot down.

But I have another contender for a repurposed early season storyline:

The Juggernaut. Crosshair is with them in this episode. Crosshair is the driving force behind this episode.

The big action scene of this episode quite notably is Hunter & Wrecker centric, and when Crosshair is in the room (in the Juggernaut cockpit) (aside from the shot of him dragging Rampart out of the hold) - he is in the background, doesn't speak, and is not spoken to or acknowledged.

He is likewise just floating (lol get it?) in the background during the chaos approach to Erebus, while Phee actually has a conversation with Hunter & Wrecker.

(I've been trying to decide if Crosshair looks potentially added in later to the dramatic jump on the ramp scene as well)

(should emphasize when I say things like 'added in later' I know fuck-all about animation)

Were these sequences salvaged from an earlier hunt-for-Omega story where Phee was actually part of the search and repurposed for this hasty/bananas-pacing Rampart-driven conclusion? And thus the relegation of Phee to suspiciously-arrived-right-on-time taxi driver and what-the-hell-cavern-on-Pabu-is-big-enough-for-THAT-ship?

Taken with a couple of dropped threads such as:

A sector location for Tantiss that's never again mentioned after ep2

Hemlock's "other plans" for Crosshair at the end of ep1

The bag of 30k credits Crosshair makes sure to scoop up on Lau

I am thinking we were intended for a mid-season reunion. Few episodes hunting; few episodes building up Tantiss. Maybe 2 shorter episodes condensed into the long(er) season opener to get that 5 month time jump in there?

Which then prods my curiosity about other curiously dropped threads or just irrelevancies like:

Omega's crossbow

"All our operatives" Hemlock wants notified on Lau and how few that is/(or how quickly they get killed off??)/the fact that he's yanked 4 aside despite the crucial need to get Omega back so he can make them... idk extra badass Worst Batch operatives who all bring knives to gunfights?

(sorry my salt is showing lol I hate them so much)

What the hell does Hemlock show the Emperor (WITH Nala Se in tow) in ep 3 (and was that supposed to be the Vault)?

Everything about CX-2.

...weirdly I also kind of want to call Batcher a dropped thread? Like... I don't think she needs a bigger story and she deserves her days obliviously relaxing on Pabu while everyone else almost dies. But I do wonder if she wasn't envisioned for... some further role after ep 3. Besides therapy dog and snow shovel. But if not I'm not mad about it lol.

My instinctive thought wondering, if mid-season was meant to be a reunion after at the very least a Phee/Fennec/Durand sequence of hunting episodes and maybe another ep or 2 on Tantiss (or another ep on the run? or an earlier Emerie-centric episode?), what sort of season 3 (of 4) finale might that be building towards.

I have a hard time imagining it'd be Point of No Return and repeating the end of season 2 but maybe....

Or my first thought was:

building into a season 4 follow-through-on-Echo's-whole-story-since-season-1 plot, tying in his and Rex's side, the politics...

with a touch of

to tease us into season 4 with Crosshair's making peace with the "regs" as he completes a longer season redemption arc and CX-Tech (yes, CX-Tech) crawling out of the river (possibly after getting beat to hell starts cracking the conditioning a bit?).

(This potential finale thought does however leave hanging curious threads such as the CX-2 & Phee scene and the forever fascination with CX-2 shooting his own pilot in 3.11 so maybe not)

(but setting it at the end of the season does satisfy my 'doesn't Omega look a lot older between eps 5 & 6?' thing that's been bugging me for months lol)

Now. If they found out when they were already well on their way to done with season 3 (and started on 4?) that they were getting 4 canceled... how do you hastily jam a resolution into place?

Condense your reunion to one passage of time Tantiss ep/one hunting ep/escape ep/hijinks&reconnect ep.

Replace CX-Tech stakes with kids-in-the-basement stakes.

Maneuver Emerie & Omega to facilitate a nice smooth resolution to the kids plot to make way for a grittier action plot for everyone else. (I know I know no one else is on my episode 10 Emerie making no sense + lego brick vault vendetta but it is what it is)

Replace a bigger Tantiss clone assault with Tarkin shuttering it despite the emperor's eagerness in ep3 and going from "more prisoners than we thought!" to a manageable amount for a 4 man infiltration team + 1 evac shuttle.

Conveniently ignore the second mountain.

And have CX-2 cut off Crosshair's hand to emphasize no-really-he's-totes-mcEvil and deserves the spear and none of the clones are redeemable after all but then not have time to worry about the traumatic aftermath of it lol.

(+ keep your Ventress ep however you can fit it because someone said you had to) (I guess?)

Anyway all this to say: if a canceled 4th season is what happened, perhaps season 3 originally had room to breathe. Perhaps we got some actual Pabu time, and Omega meeting the cadets, and some reminder the Pabu friends existed before they just existed to be threatened in 3.11. Perhaps Phee was more than a ride to Erebus. Perhaps it took Hunter & Crosshair more than an episode to make nice. Perhaps the Ventress episode was... uh. Relevant? Force-sensitive Omega maybe?

Perhaps they took Omega and her 30k credits to Canto Bight, idk.

And perhaps, well - CX-Tech.

(Better late than dead)

[loveephia]

*immediately bolted here as soon as i saw my favourite hq writer open these prompts again >:D*

"i cant get over how a few months ago i wanted to learn your name and now youre having breakfast with me in my sweater" + goshiki 🥹🥹🥹 (stay safe and stay hydrated phia love u <333)

#8'S LOVE STORY | goshiki tsutomu

prompt: "i can't get over how a few months ago, i wanted to learn your name, and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater."

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, goshiki gushing over you and perhaps getting distracted during practice while thinking about you, you're his upperclassmen (second year), tendō is a wingman and brownie enthusiast, you like baking, quite long.

⚠ warning/s: none.

note: gosh this was so fun to write that it became a one-shot instead of a drabble. i've never gotten a goshiki request so this was a good challenge for me. i really hope that i got him and the rest of shiratorizawa's personalities right! TYSM AND ILY HIKARIII ENJOY READING GIRL!!! :D

"her name.. what's her name?!" goshiki tsutomu mentally groaned with furrowed brows, peeking out from his classroom door to look at you, his beautiful upperclassmen. you were a responsible girl who did everything at your own pace, hence the clipboard in your hands to check your schedule for the day. if the student council of shiratorizawa accepted second years, you definitely would've at least been the secretary.

goshiki heard your name once from a few of your friends, but he.. just can't remember!

so here he is, irritatedly sipping on his juice box while staring you down. although not on purpose, of course.

"what's up, goshiki! what are we lookin' at?" tendō appears out of nowhere, accidentally spooking the poor wing spiker. goshiki turns his head to look over his shoulder, "huh?! tendō, what are you doing here?! aren't the third year's classrooms all the way on the third floor?"

"what a smart little cookie you are!" tendō ruffled goshiki's hair. "well, y'know how shiratorizawa's annual bake sale is coming up? i'm trying to find y/n because i heard that she's handling the preparations this year. i wanna see if i can get some of her famous two-bite brownies in advance before they sell out again!" tendō hisses at the bitter memory.

tendō can still recall the stinging feeling of how he wasn't able to purchase last year's batch because a volleyball game overlapped on the same day as the sale, so by the time the team got back to shiratorizawa, all of the brownies were gone.

and, hold on..

"y/n!" goshiki rejoices as he was finally able to recollect your name, all thanks to tendō. "yes?" you ask, looking at goshiki with a confused look.

goshiki turns red. "n- nothing!" i forgot that she was in the same hallway!

something in tendō sparks, and he suddenly has the urge to help his underclassmen's love life. he can bring up the brownie topic with you later..

"hey, n/n! what do you think of our up-and-coming ace here? ain't he a real firecracker?" tendō suddenly compliments goshiki, even wrapping his long arm around the young boy's shoulder. goshiki widens his eyes, already wanting to hear more. "hm? oh, i haven't seen him play yet," and just like that, goshiki's ego has been cracked and bruised.

"but i'd love to be invited to the next game if that's okay with you, goshiki." you smile a pearly one at him, and goshiki's mood is turned right back around. "yes! please come, y/n! i won't disappoint you!" he exclaims.

you giggled it off and soon excuse yourself from the two.

"what a cute boy!" you thought with a faint blush on your cheeks.

goshiki looks at tendō, utterly speechless to the core, while the middle blocker only dusts his hands off as if he's just finished some heavy labor. "what can i say! i may not be the first to get married from our team, but i can be a good matchmaker!"

goshiki has never had more respect for tendō than he has right now.

time skip.

"oi! stop standing around like that, number eight! you look like a lost kid at the mall!" coach washijo scolded goshiki, who flinched. i was spacing out again! "s- sorry, coach!"

reon comes up to tendō and shirabu, "what's up with him?" he asks. shirabu sighs, "i don't know. but if he continues to do this, then he'll just drag the whole team down."

"oh, poor little shirabu! i can tell you what's going on in goshiki's head," tendō says, "our future ace has a crush on the sweet and classy y/n!"

"that doesn't matter. can't he just leave his personal feelings out of practice? prelims are around the corner, after all." shirabu stated factually. "it's not like you're capable enough to have crushes anyway, so the least you could do is cut goshiki some slack." semi poked fun at shirabu, as the older setter just so happened to overhear the conversation from a few feet away.

"what did you say?" a visible vein forms on shirabu's forehead.

tendō turns to reon while shirabu and semi bicker, "anyway, the kid is all worried about the upcoming game because y/n is coming to see him play for the first time." tendō whispers. "you think he'll be alright?"

reon looks at goshiki, who's physically trembling. there's even a gloomy aura around him practically screaming, "don't screw this up, don't screw this up, don't screw this up."

just in good timing, ushijima places his palm on goshiki's shoulder. "rest, goshiki. you need to be in good shape to practice." he states. "yeah, exactly! aren't you gonna be ushiwaka's successor? what'll y/n think when she sees you all shaken up on the court!" tendō exclaims.

ushiwaka's.. successor.. y/n..

goshiki's aura quickly shifts into one of fiery determination, ready to take on anything and everything. "you're right, tendō! i'll do my best!"

"it's really easy to get this kid going, huh.." the team thought simultaneously, sweat dropping in the process.

time skip.

it's the day of the prelims, and shiratorizawa was up against ohgiminami high. they're not a powerhouse that goshiki was familiar of, but then again, they're not be underestimated.

the starting line-ups are on court, and there goshiki was standing, being the only first year. that was something you noticed from the stands.

"he must be really talented to have been able to get that far.. i heard that coach washijo is tough on the volleyball club too." you thought.

the coin is flipped and shiratorizawa ends up serving first. ushijima hits the ball and there we go, a service ace. you're impressed to have seen the ball fly by that fast, but then again, it's ushijima. "if i tried receiving that, my arms would fall right off.."

goshiki sees your amused face from the stands, and he huffs. "wait until you see me score a point, y/n!"

a few rounds later, and the rotation is in goshiki's favor. he's up front. he can do a line shot, a move that he specializes in.

"make it a good one, goshiki!" tendō encourages the boy as shirabu sets the ball cleanly toward goshiki. even though he has two blockers against him, he was still able to make a beautiful line shot that granted shiratorizawa another point.

"what was that?!" you were shocked, to say the least. "tendō wasn't kidding when he said he'd be the up-and-coming ace.." you quietly mutter, referring to goshiki.

you watched the way that goshiki shortly celebrated on the court with each of his teammates giving him some heavy pats on the back. the moment was adorable.

goshiki looked up to see you smiling fondly at him. you send him a wave, and he shoots back a smile full of pride; a smile that says, "look at me, y/n! aren't i amazing?"

and only if you knew what it conveyed, you would've replied with a, "yes, goshiki. very."

time skip.

you yawn, clearly drowsy from the lack of sleep. on the table in front of you, was a nice breakfast whipped up by shiratorizawa's patient cooks; one omurice, a small bowl of grapes, and a cup of milk. but besides what was on the table, was what was across from you; goshiki tsutomu, your boyfriend.

it was a cold morning in japan, for spring had finally started. so here you are, all bundled up in goshiki's volleyball jersey.

he's seen smiling at you, and you tilt your head. "what's on your mind, tomu?"

"nothing, it's just.. i can't really get over how a few months ago, i wanted to learn your name, and now you're having breakfast with me in my jersey." goshiki says, "honestly, if it weren't for tendō, i probably wouldn't even be with you right now."

you perk a brow. goshiki panics, "d- don't tell him i said that though!"

"i wouldn't give tendō all the credit, really," you started, "i actually had already taken an interest in you when you were looking at me in the first year's hallway. it was only a matter of time until i'd have mustered enough courage to talk to you myself." you admitted.

is this what a heart attack feels like, because goshiki can feel his chest swelling in both love and pride.

this was a happy ending not only for the two of you, but for tendō too, since he was able to buy all of the two-bite brownies he needed.

© lowercase intended | loveephia

[arc852]

10. Alien

Definition: a creature from outer space; extraterrestrial.

Summary: Jimmy has been abducted by aliens, who he has learned are at least a hundred feet bigger than any human on earth. He's been trapped in a cage and he can't even ask why. Forced to sit and wait, anxiety building over time about what was going to happen to him. But one day, a couple weeks later, the alien forgets to lock his cage after feeding him.

Jimmy takes the chance to run.

G/t: Jimmy is normal-sized, Tango is a giant

Warnings: Keeping someone in a cage, abduction, mentions of dissection, mentions of death, and fear.

Word Count: 3140

AO3 Link

Okay, I gotta say, I love alien aus. Especially in G/t. It's one of my favorite tropes and I'm happy that it ended up being one of the prompts in this list!

Two things about this particular story, I actually just finished this one up today. It was from the batch of 10 fics I still needed to finish, so it was a bit last minute but I still made it! And I'm pretty happy with it, all things considered.

Also, this au has been in my head for months. It was my go to daydream scenario for a while there if I'm being honest. So it was nice to finally get something written down for it. I may even write more in this universe later on!

Oh, and because there is a language barrier, I used runes and galactic for when either Jimmy or Tango are speaking in the other person's POV. It's not a lot but there will be the translations for those at the end of the chapter.

With that said, I hope you guys enjoy!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Jimmy backed away as far as the cage would allow him as his captor came towards him, a small plate of food and a small bowl of water in hand. The giant set the plate of food down on the table so he could use his hand to unlock the cage and open the door. Jimmy couldn’t help it as he shook in fear, wondering if this was when he would be grabbed and taken out of the cage.

 But it wasn’t. The alien simply placed the food and water in his cage and then closed it back up. Jimmy looked down at the food before looking up briefly at the giant. He quickly turned his gaze away when he noticed the guy yawning. That was not something you wanted to see when you were small enough to fit in that mouth.

 The alien turned and walked away and Jimmy was left alone again. Well, as alone as he could get with the alien only being on the other side of the room. But it was a big room, so he considered himself alone.

 Jimmy finally scooted forward, taking a bit of food and taking a bite. This routine of theirs had been going on for what felt like weeks now, at least. Jimmy didn’t really have a good concept of time here but based on how often he ate, again, it had to be at least 2 weeks being trapped here.

 He still couldn’t believe he had been abducted by an alien. He didn’t even think they were real. But not only were they real but they were massive. His captor had to be over a 100 feet tall in comparison to humans. 

 The strangest thing was, the alien could almost pass for human if not for some stand out features. The size, of course, but also the alien had red eyes and even darker red pupils. The most notable thing, however, was his hair. Flames licked the sides and top, a constant movement. Fire and red seemed to be this guy's whole thing.

 They couldn’t even communicate. There was a language barrier between the two of them, where neither could understand the other. Jimmy wanted nothing more than to ask why he had been taken. He had only been out in the woods on a camping trip with his brother and friends and decided to go for a walk by himself.

 The next thing he knew, a large ship had landed and the giant alien had taken one look at him and grabbed him.

 Jimmy shivered, still remembering the feeling of the larger than life hand wrapped around his entire person. He was put in this cage and since then he’s just been…waiting. For what, he’s not sure. But everyday his nerves get more and more tense with anxiety. The alien hasn’t taken him out of the cage yet but he has tried to speak with him. At least, Jimmy thinks he has. It was hard to tell when he couldn’t understand what the giant was saying. 

 The thing that made Jimmy the most nervous was that, looking at all the stuff around, the alien had to be some sort of scientist. And scientists, especially alien scientists, usually dissected things they wanted to learn more about. At least, that’s what movies had told him. But he could be wrong.

 He really hoped he was wrong.

 Jimmy sighed and took a sip of water. The first few days he had refused to eat or drink anything he was given but eventually he had gotten so hungry and thirsty that he had given in. Thankfully, nothing was up with it and so Jimmy continued to consume what he’s been given.

 Jimmy stood up and stretched after he was done eating and then began his walk around the cage. It was one of the only things he could do in here and he figured he should try and keep himself in shape, just in case. 

 As he passed by the door of the cage, he put a bit of weight on it, jumping back as he saw it swing open just a bit. His eyes widened as he stared at the slightly ajar door. The alien hadn’t locked the door this time.

 Jimmy didn’t even think twice about it, he slipped past the door and onto the desk, finally free of the cage. He glanced around, desperate to get away. He noticed the alien, still on the other side of the room. He seemed engrossed in his computer-like screen. Jimmy hoped that meant he wouldn’t look over here.

 He went to the edge of the table and looked down. He got dizzy just looking at how far it went but he couldn’t give up here. He noticed a cord going from a machine down to the floor and ran over to it. He yanked it slightly to test it but it didn’t move at all under his weight. He took in a deep breath and scaled down the cord. When he finally reached the floor, he scurried off. His goal only to get as far away from the alien as possible and find a way out of here.

  ***

   Tango rubbed a hand down his face and yawned into his hand once again. He was so tired, having been working nonstop to try and get everything sorted. His report on Terra was limited though, considering he hadn’t stayed long once he had realized a Terran had gotten into his parameters. 

 He was also still trying to figure out what went wrong on that front too. His ship had been programmed to make sure he found an area far away from any Terrans. So the fact one had passed by undetected shouldn’t have been possible. 

 Tango closed his eyes, still remembering the fear in the little guy's face. He felt bad for what he did but he had panicked. He tried to calm him down after the fact but the little guy didn’t understand Galactic and Tango didn’t understand any Terran languages either.

 No one did, which was why he couldn’t even use a translator to help him out. Terra was still a new planet as far as the federation was considered and they were still trying to learn more before even thinking about making contact with them. That was why Tango was here, one of the first selected to gather some data on Terra by going there and gathering it himself.

 He was never supposed to bring back an actual Terran though. But because the Terran had seen him, the federation told him he had no choice but to bring him along. It was too dangerous for the little guy to get away and tell someone. So, Tango made the difficult decision to put him in an enclosure and try and gain his trust from a distance.

 After 2 weeks though, not much progress had been made.

 Tango sighed and stood up, heading back over to the enclosure. By now, the Terran was usually done eating and Tango didn’t want to keep any dirty dishes in there for too long with him. “Alright, little buddy, I’m just gonna take your dishes from you.” He said, despite the fact the Terran couldn’t understand him, he still made it a point to talk and say what he was doing.

 Tango looked down at the enclosure, only for his eyes to go wide at the lack of life within. “Wha-little buddy?!” Tango exclaimed, looking all around the table and right underneath the floor. He stood back up, looking to see the door was ajar.

 He had forgotten to lock it.

 “No, no, no, no, no…” Tango said to himself and then ran over to his Holo-Screen, the flame on top of his head rising a lot higher than normal because of his panic. “Holo Tek! Call Zed!”

 “Calling Zed.” The robotic voice spoke and then there was a ringing.

 The screen came to life with the face of Zedaph smiling at him, giving him a wave. “Hey Tango! What’s going on-”

 Tango cut him off. “I lost the Terran!” He said, arms waving up and down.

 Zed blinked, taking in the information. “You what?!” He suddenly exclaimed as the information caught up with him. “How did this happen?”

 “I-I think I forgot to lock the enclosure.” Tango admitted sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve just been so tired lately…”

 “Well, that’s not good.” Zed pushed a few buttons on his side of the screen. “At the very least, the Terran can’t get too far. He’s stuck on this ship. But we don’t want him to get into anything dangerous so best we find him quickly.”

 A blare of red flashed across Zed’s face after a few more button pushes and he frowned. “I wish you would have given him that chip we had talked about…”

 Tango sighed. “I didn’t want to do anything like that until I built up trust with him.” Inserting a GPS chip into the little guy would have been traumatizing for him, no doubt. He didn’t want to scare him anymore than he already had. “Besides, I didn’t think we’d really need it yet.”

  “Right…” Zed said with his own sigh. “We need to get that in him sooner rather than later though. Especially once you get back here.” Zed typed a few more things. “For now, the life detection you have installed on the ship should help you find him.”

 Tango’s eyes went wide and then he grinned. “The life detectionificator! I completely forgot about that!” He nodded at Zed. “I'll try that, call you back soon!” Before Zed could say any more, Tango pressed the hang up button and went into activating the system.

 Tango frowned in concentration as he set it up. “Don’t worry little buddy, everything is gonna be okay…” He said to himself.

  ***

   Jimmy should have thought this through better.

 He was currently on the floor of an oversized spaceship, dwarfed by everything. Somehow, even the dust particles seemed to be at a larger scale. He wasn’t sure how that was possible but he was not in a state to be thinking about stuff like that.

 He had retreated to an isolated corner of the room, trying to figure out what to do and not wanting to be in the middle of the floor while he did. But what exactly had his plan been here? He had been so happy about a chance at freedom that he hadn’t stopped to consider if it even was a good idea.

 Because honestly, there was nothing Jimmy could do. He was trapped, if not in the cage, then on the spaceship itself. There was no way for him to get back home by himself, even if he knew what anything in this place did, his size was a huge detriment to his ability to even use any of it.

 And now, having jumped at the chance to get out of his cage, he was probably only going to make the alien angry. Jimmy shivered at the thought, mind racing with less than pleasant scenarios. But the other problem was that Jimmy couldn’t survive like this on his own. He hated to admit it but he needed the alien. The alien was his only source of food, of water. Jimmy had no hope in getting any himself.

 So he was in a dilemma. He didn’t want the alien to find him, scared of his reaction to having escaped. But he needed to be found by the alien, so he could live.

 Of course, the alien finding him could also lead to his death, depending on his reaction. But it was the better choice of surviving.

 Maybe if he went to the giant himself he wouldn’t be as mad?

 Unfortunately, Jimmy didn’t even have the chance to make that choice, as the floor underneath him started to rumble. It wasn’t earthquake worthy, but it was enough for Jimmy to feel and know what was coming.

 Jimmy turned around and looked up, backing into the corner as the alien walked over to him. His eyes had honed in on Jimmy immediately and Jimmy couldn’t help but shiver. 

 The towering being then stopped just short of his position and started to kneel down. Jimmy turned his head away and shut his eyes tight in preparation to be grabbed. His body tense as he waited for the feeling of giant fingers to completely surround him.

 When nothing happened after what felt like several long minutes, Jimmy peered his eyes open and looked toward the alien. He was still just kneeled there, looking down at him with an expression Jimmy couldn’t quite identify. But it at least didn’t appear angry. The alien’s hands started to move as he noticed Jimmy looking at him and Jimmy flinched back. The alien stopped short before continuing. But he wasn’t bringing his hands closer to Jimmy, no, instead he moved his hands upwards, palms facing Jimmy.

 Jimmy just looked at him, wondering what this could mean.

 And then the alien started to speak. “I’ᒲ ᓭ𝙹∷∷||, i ↸𝙹リ’ℸ ̣  ᒲᒷᔑリ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᓭᓵᔑ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍.” Of course, Jimmy couldn’t understand what he was saying but something about the tone of his voice made Jimmy pause.

 “I…i ⊣ᒷℸ ̣  ╎ℸ ̣  ℸ ̣ ⍑𝙹⚍⊣⍑. Y𝙹⚍’∷ᒷ ᓭ𝙹 ᓭᒲᔑꖎꖎ ᔑリ↸ i’ᒲ ᓭ𝙹 ʖ╎⊣…ᔑリ↸ i ↸╎↸ ℸ ̣ ᒷᓵ⍑リ╎ᓵᔑꖎꖎ|| ꖌ╎↸リᔑ!¡ ||𝙹⚍…” The alien shook his head with a slight wince, the meaning of the words still lost on Jimmy’s ears. “I ꖌリ𝙹∴ ||𝙹⚍ ᓵᔑリ’ℸ ̣  ⚍リ↸ᒷ∷ᓭℸ ̣ ᔑリ↸ ᒲᒷ ʖ⚍ℸ ̣  i ∷ᒷᔑꖎꖎ|| ↸𝙹リ’ℸ ̣  ∴ᔑリℸ ̣  ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣  ||𝙹⚍.” The alien’s eyes squinted in earnest and Jimmy really wished he could tell what he was saying.

 But maybe he didn’t have to. After saying his last sentence, the alien pinched himself letting out a small hiss of pain and making Jimmy jump. The alien then pointed towards Jimmy, pointed at his arm, and then shook his head.

 Jimmy blinked.

 If he didn’t know any better, he would say the alien was charading that he wasn’t going to hurt him.

 The alien must have seen a spark of understanding in his eyes because he smiled gently and spoke again. “I’ᒲ リ𝙹ℸ ̣  ⊣𝙹╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣  ||𝙹⚍, i !¡∷𝙹ᒲ╎ᓭᒷ.” His voice was softer now, as gentle as his smile. “Pꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ⋮⚍ᓭℸ ̣  ⚍リ↸ᒷ∷ᓭℸ ̣ ᔑリ↸ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣  ╎⎓ リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣ ᒷꖎᓭᒷ.”

 The look the alien was giving him was much too human. It made Jimmy question everything he thought about the alien.

 The alien seemed to hesitate, before lowering his hands. Jimmy once again flinched back as he realized they were heading toward him but they stopped short, both hands lay flat on the floor palm up. An invitation for Jimmy to get on himself.

 That gesture alone spoke volumes in Jimmy’s mind. Being grabbed, he felt helpless and trapped. But being offered a hand, one that was not constraining him…this had to be the alien trying to tell him that he wanted things to change between them.

 Jimmy bit his lip. He didn’t really have a choice but at least the illusion of one was nice. At least the alien seemed to be trying. He looked into those giant red eyes, searching for anything malicious but came up empty. His gaze wandered back down to the offered hands and he felt himself stepping forward.

 He hesitated as he came to stand right next to the alien’s giant hands before slowly climbing onto them. He sat in the center and looked up at the giant with shaky trust.

  ***

   Tango couldn’t believe that had worked. He knew it was going to be hard to get across what he meant, what with the language barrier and all but he seemed to have done a pretty good job. The Terran in his hands was evident of that.

 He knew this was just the start and they still had a long way to go but Tango felt giddy that they were finally making some sort of progress. 

 He still had a chance to mess this up though. He needed to be careful and take this slow. Tango cupped his hands slightly, so the ride would be a bit safer for his tiny passenger, and then he slowly stood up. He didn’t take his eyes off the Terran the entire time, making sure nothing was going to go wrong. Once he fully stood, he walked back over to the table with the enclosure on top of it. As the enclosure came into view, a tiny noise started up and Tango looked down in realization that it was the Terran speaking.

 The little guy looked up at him, a wary look on his face. He looked between him and the enclosure before he pointed at it and shook his head, his expression becoming slightly more determined.

 It didn’t take a genius to guess what the little guy was trying to convey. He didn’t want to go back into his enclosure. Which was entirely fair, honestly. Tango felt bad for keeping him in there but it was only to try and keep him safe and from trying to run.

 Of course, it didn’t even do that well. So Tango was not against taking the enclosure away. “I’ll get rid of it, don’t worry.” He said. He needed to show the Terran that he could trust him and that included listening to him as best as he could.

 Words weren’t going to work though, so he needed to take action. He nodded down at the Terran and then set him down on the table before grabbing the enclosure. He saw the Terran watching him with wide eyes and Tango gave him a smile before he took the enclosure back over to the closet he had gotten it from in the first place.

 With that done, he walked back to the table and took a seat, looking down at the Terran. “There we go. Is that better?”

 The Terran took a few steps back but at least didn’t look like he was going to run away again. He looked up at him and said a few words in his language. “ᛏᚺᚨᚾᚲ ᛁᛟᚢ”

 Tango tilted head, catching onto the tone. He sounded grateful.

 Now Tango felt even worse about putting him in there.

 But he shook off that feeling for now. “You’re welcome.”

 They still had a long way to go but Tango was certain now that they could do it. They could bridge this gap and learn to understand each other. Both in language and otherwise.

 And Tango could only hope, that once that time came to pass, that the Terran didn’t hate him for being unable to take him back home.

Translations:

I’ᒲ ᓭ𝙹∷∷||, i ↸𝙹リ’ℸ ̣ ᒲᒷᔑリ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᓭᓵᔑ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍. - I’m sorry, I don’t mean to scare you.

I…i ⊣ᒷℸ ̣ ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑𝙹⚍⊣⍑. Y𝙹⚍’∷ᒷ ᓭ𝙹 ᓭᒲᔑꖎꖎ ᔑリ↸ i’ᒲ ᓭ𝙹 ʖ╎⊣…ᔑリ↸ i ↸╎↸ ℸ ̣ ᒷᓵ⍑リ╎ᓵᔑꖎꖎ|| ꖌ╎↸リᔑ!¡ ||𝙹⚍… - I…I get it though. You’re so small and I’m so big…and I did technically kidnap you…

I ꖌリ𝙹∴ ||𝙹⚍ ᓵᔑリ’ℸ ̣ ⚍リ↸ᒷ∷ᓭℸ ̣ ᔑリ↸ ᒲᒷ ʖ⚍ℸ ̣ i ∷ᒷᔑꖎꖎ|| ↸𝙹リ’ℸ ̣ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣ ||𝙹⚍. - I know you can’t understand me but I really don’t want to hurt you.

I’ᒲ リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ⊣𝙹╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣ ||𝙹⚍, i !¡∷𝙹ᒲ╎ᓭᒷ. - I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.

Pꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ⋮⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ⚍リ↸ᒷ∷ᓭℸ ̣ ᔑリ↸ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ╎⎓ リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣ ᒷꖎᓭᒷ. - Please just understand that if nothing else.

ᛏᚺᚨᚾᚲ ᛁᛟᚢ - Thank you

[blairx-bitch]

BG3 Tarot Update!

12 people so far have responded to the form- tysm!! Those who prompted in for the tag list I will begin that soon, but for now I'm gonna just post this update.

°‧★ Anyone new seeing this post, quick rundown is I'm making a fully functional 78 card tarot deck around things from bg3. I post all my updates under #bg3 tarot on this blog! ☆⋆｡

PLEASE NOTE: From here, card designs contain companion ending spoilers !!

I've began working on both The Lovers card (aylin x isobel) along with The High Priestess (selunite shadowheart). Finalized designs will be posted once done and the designs will probably be fixed slightly before I release the entire deck, which will take a VERY long time btw.

More information on some design decisions, major arcana lineup, how i will distribute the decks +more!!⬇️⬇️

First off, another huge thanks to the people who responded to my form!

Back Design:

The decision of the gold + purple was reinforced through the responses with over 50% of responses voting for it.

There was also some helpful feedback given too, I really appreciate it! I'll likely tweak some colors and the center design slightly and post it on the next update

Frame Design

Complex won by far, and I totally agree. This is pretty much final with a bit of room for color and symbol tweaks for consistency between the back and front of cards. Lots of great feedback on this once again, thanks!

Major Arcana line up!

This is probably the biggest decision for this project, and the lineup two won in the polls with 66.7% voting for it. So, what does those mean? It means that as I shuffle around the minor arcana placements a bit (which are set but not finalized or released) I'm now able to provide more diversity of characters in the cards. Minor arcana will be the next big poll, stay tuned!

Below is details on line up two :)

Lastly...how will these decks turn to physical form?

I've done lots of thinking on this, and once more, this info is not final! Due to my distrust and/or lack of funds for the several large manufacturers I have looked into, I will likely make the decks by hand and sell them on my etsy. I've found several methods that which i am yet to test in the upcoming months that would ideally make a high quality and similar product to if I followed through with a large manufacturer such as mpc. Pros to this would be I can better manage the quality and design of this, and it may actually be more cost wise for me while still making a good product. Cons, it's extremely time consuming. This means I'll probably have to make smaller batches to sell than I would with a manufacturer and have them be spaced out, along with opening my shop over the summer as I have no time otherwise (I am a student)

Anyways, my main worry is the designs right now. More updates on this later :))

Concepts? Questions? Ideas? Want to be added to the taglist?

PM me or comment! I'm happy to answer