#Poking through old screenshots.

[catventuring]

[mrs-kodzuken]

Christmas Magic ♡

Pairing: Aged up!Kenma Kozume x fem!reader

WC: 1.6k

Genre: mostly fluff, marriage, sexual tension

CW: fem!reader, lots of sexual tension at the end, long haired!reader

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I scrolled on my phone looking through a baking app, skimming across it for new recipes to try out. I wanted to bake something for Kenma and I even though it was only one in the morning.

Currently, I was sitting on the counter in our beautiful kitchen. The bar stools were always an obvious choice to sit in but alas I loved our granite counter. I screenshotted three recipes for three different types of cookies to try out.

Gingerbread sandwich cookies, Peppermint patty-stuffed chocolate cookies, and some DIY YouTube emoticon cookies, those were for Kenma.

Speaking of my husband, he had told me about thirty minutes earlier that he was going to stream live. Which is most likely what he was doing right now.

I looked through the ingredients on the list and quietly headed upstairs to the second floor. Even though Kenma was an entire floor above, in his gaming room, of our three story house, I still tried to be as quiet as possible.

I mean, it was one am after all. Time didn't really bother Kenma and I because of our schedules.

Entering our bedroom, I grabbed a measure of clothing. Hat, scarf, winter jacket, sweatpants, and warm socks. Grabbing my snow boots from the closet floor I headed back downstairs to the door.

I looked up at the snowy sky and took a deep breath in of the sharp icy air, which felt like needles poking my lungs. Winter is here and it's my favorite time of the year.

Smiling at the decorative lights flashing on our house that we put up a couple of weeks ago. I started my walk to the closest market, I didn't want to travel too far just for some cookie ingredients.

Some of them we didn't have either. Hopefully, they'd be open because I wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. And I needed something to busy me whilst my husband was streaming.

I headed in and heard the bell ding as the warm air from the small convenience store heated me up.

Immediately, I went to the baking and ingredients section. I tried to balance the objects in my arms while walking up to the front counter because I didn't think to grab a cart.

"Hello." I spoke to the cashier and carefully set my items down.

"Hi Mrs.Kozume, do you plan on making something this late?" The old lady had asked with a light laugh. The crinkles by her eyes creased and shown her age.

"Yes ma'am, I wanted to bake for my husband. He's working right now and probably won't be sleep for a couple more hours." I laughed with her.

Since I would always come here for plenty of household things, at any time of day or night, I knew most of all the workers.

"Ah, well I hope the two of you have a good night." She placed my ingredients in two plastic bags then held them out for me.

"You too. Thank you." I waved at her and opened the door, leaving as the cold air from the chill night surrounded me once again.

Not after hearing a mumble of 'such cute youngens.' I had quietly laughed to myself and continued my short walk home. Eager to bake and be in warmth again.

Passing all the colorful decorations of houses, I stared in awe. Small snow flurries had began to fall as well. Christmas is such a wonderful time, isn't it?

Finally coming close to a familiar decor, I quickly got inside. The coldness nipping at my nose and body as I shivered from it.

"Baby? Are you back?" I heard a deep voice fill the air as I took off my winter boots and continued to strip until I was in my regular house clothes.

"Yes hon, I went out to get some things." I answered my husband while hanging my big coat on the rack and leaving my snow boots by the door.

"Did you finish your streaming?" I questioned, tilting my head as he rounded the corner from the kitchen.

"Yeah, it was a short one." He muttered, his eyes focused on the bags in my hands.

I walked into the kitchen, setting them down on the counter before heading upstairs, kenma following my every move.

"What'd you get?"

"Just a few ingredients for baking." I opened our closet and picked out my pink Christmas pj's that Kenma bought me. They had small green Christmas trees on them and were very soft.

As well as reaching for some big fuzzy socks to warm up my cold feet.

I took off my house clothes and slipped that on, not bothering to cover up my body. It's not like Kenma hasn't seen any of this glorious body before.

I watched as Kenma's eyes trailed down my body and gawked at my every move.

"My love, do you wanna your Christmas jammie's on to match me?" I asked, silently begging so we could be cute together.

He came from behind me as I reached into the drawers to pull out his set. Ken hugged me from the back, his arms wrapping around my waist and his head on my shoulder.

"Sure baby, I'll be right down." Kissing the nape of my neck, I sighed peacefully and broke our hug.

Heading down, I waltzed kitchen, pulling my hair up and started with the basics.

I could basically feel his eyes staring at me while I started getting the bowls and utensils out as well as my ingredients I had bought.

"Yes, my love?" I turned around to face him, getting ready to start whisking the batter.

"Can I help?"

I smiled softly at him, my heart bursting into flames full of love. Especially since he looked so precious in his pajamas that matched mine.

"Of course you can, here." I gave him the batter I was just about to whisk and started on a new task.

"What kind of cookies are these." He sniffed the batter, his nose twitching.

"These are gingerbread sandwich cookies. I have two others that i wanted to bake too. I'm gonna start on the peppermint patty-stuffed chocolate ones." I gave him my phone that had all the instructions on how to bake the Gingerbread cookies.

He set the bowl down and his eyes skimmed down the phone to the last one. I saw a soft smile grace his handsome features.

"Can we make the last one next?"

"Sure, let me finish with this chocolate first and you put those in oven." I directed, happy that we were bonding.

Baking with Kenma was always nice, even if we stopped a few times here and there because he wanted to make out for some unknown reason.

"Are they done?" I asked him, peering back while he opened the oven. I cleaned the last couple of dishes that we used for baking.

"Yeah, but they're hot so be careful." He warned me as some of his two toned hair fell into his face. Ken put the cookies on a platter and set them on our granite counter, waiting for them to cool.

I grabbed my step stool and set it where I could fix his hair, as per usual. I, unfortunately, had to stand on my tippy toes from how short I am.

Lightly taking his hair out of the messy back bun I had put it in earlier, and changed it to a ponytail.

"Your hair is so soft and long baby." I gently racked my hands through his hair.

"Oh please, your hair goes down to your ass baby." He retorted as if I meant it as a bad thing.

"It's not a bad thing honey, most guys don't wear it long. It looks sexy on you." My face flushed and I stepped down, putting the step stool away to where it goes.

I didn't hear an answer from him as I made my way towards the cookies. They should be cool enough by now to eat.

Gently, I touched one before picking it up just to see if it would burn my hand or not.

Seeing as I could pick it up I turned to Kenma with it.

"Say ahh." I broke the cookie in half so I could feed it to him.

He stared down at me with watchful eyes and an eyebrow raised like I was dumb. Nevertheless he did as I asked.

"Good boy, does it taste good?" I could have sworn that he almost choked when I said that. I was just proud that the cookies we made came out looking so good.

"That's new. It's usually Daddy." He smirked, his cheeks flushing bit red, watching my expression.

My face burned a bright red because I knew what he was talking about. And it was, in fact, true.

"How does it taste?" My voice high pitched because of his response, I cleared my throat to fix it.

"Eh, you taste better."

I could have died right then and there.

"You're such a horny person, Kenma." I laughed at him, feeling the sexual tension in the air.

I thought this was supposed to be wholesome and yet here my erratic husband is, trying to be sexy.

"You're one to talk.." He trailed off, analyzing my face.

"Anyway! Do you want to watch home alone? I'll bring the cookies up while they're still warm?" I said getting a glass of milk for us to dip our cookies in.

"Sure baby," He kissed my jaw in the same place of where he had set a mark he made a couple nights ago.

I rolled my eyes at him. "I can't believe I married a horny tornado." I muttered and focused on the sweets in front of me.

Knowing damn well that later I would be getting some Christmas magic.

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a/n: this is from my “Haikyuu x Reader Oneshots” on Wattpad! I hoped you enjoyed and let me know if you want more!

the header is from lena!! on Pinterest

[angel-of-the-moons]

Okay so Tumblr deleted two asks I really wanted to do >=( but luckily I had screenshots! I plan on working on them when I snag some time to myself the upcoming weeks (which is usually in-between work, my dad, nephew and sleep, and between planning a trip we're supposed to be taking)

@spiderversewizard

I'm No Celine Dion

Pavitr x Singer!Reader

TW/CW: None, fluff, Pavitr being turned into a dumbstruck goober!

As with all my fics like this, Pavitr is an adult.

A/N: I can picture Reader singing this song (I prefer this version to the English one askskdksjl) but y'all can picture whatever you like!

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

"So, I figured we can have some chicken tikka masala for dinner tonight, hm, Pavitr? Maybe some soan papdi?" Maya hummed to her nephew.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Auntie, sure!" Pavitr chirped, adjusting his hold over the canvas bags full of groceries he was holding.

Maya smirked at her nephew with a chuckle, noticing him once again look over to a small crowd of people gathered, the sound of music bleeding through the throng of them.

"Oh, so curious." She teased, reaching out to poke Pavitr in his side, making him squeak in surprise and laugh; earning a deep chuckle from his aunt and the little old man running the fruit stand.

"I'm ticklish!" Pavitr pouts. "And besides! I'm curious to know what's going on!"

"Ah, some new street performer." The old man replies as Maya purchases some mangoes, "Been drawing a big crowd lately. Doesn't bother me, people standing for too long get hungry, and it brings them to us!" He laughs as he gestures to the other carts and street stalls. It was a typical street market that he and Maya went to; their prices were cheap and their wares were always top notch!

Pavitr noticed the man wasn't wrong, the market was busier than usual, many of them breaking off from the audience to look at wares (judging by how some of them looked and acted they were tourists to Mumbattan) and go back to listen to whoever was playing and singing.

It surprised him that nobody thought of putting up a little performance here sooner!

"Come on then," Maya chuckled at her nephew, taking one of the bags into her own hands, plopping the juicy mangoes into it. "Let's go see what the fuss is about!"

Pavitr laughed along with his aunt and squeezed in between the gap of the people gathered, uttering "excuse me's" and "pardon me's" every time he thought he was being rude.

"Hey, watch it!" One rather grumpy fellow grunted as Pavitr squeaked by.

"Sorry!" He mumbled awkwardly, his face flushed a little bit. "I was just--"

His eyes blinked wide, his jaw dropping a little bit when his eyes landed on you.

You, who was singing into a microphone mounted to the music mixer you were using to create the beats, occasionally hitting a few soft keys as you softly and sweetly sang the song you played.

Pavitr stared, transfixed, his jaw slack as he watched you bob your head, eyes closed as you lost yourself in the melody.

You were amazing!

He looked down and saw the little sign you had at your feet;

Inside the bin attached to the sign was mostly spare change, a few crumpled small notes here and there, and for some reason, some candy. Honestly! Your singing was amazing! How on earth were people walking by and just tossing coins?

'Any little thing helps! :)'

Beneath that little sentence was an "@" to your socials, promoting your music.

Such is the life of a street performer, he supposed...

Maya cleared her throat just loud enough for Pavitr to hear and she nudged him with her elbow, giving him a knowing smirk and handing some money over to him. It was certainly more than what you've earned thus far, and surely you would appreciate it!

Pavitr set the bags down at Maya's feet and sheepishly made his way to your donation bin; his feet feeling like cement as he walked up to you. He felt clumsy; awkward. Almost like he was getting in the way of the show as he dropped the money in.

As he pulled back, he looked up and saw you smiling at him as you sang, your eyes glimmering joyfully.

Pavitr felt his heart lurch in his chest and his face heat up when you winked at him, continuing to sing without missing a beat.

He gave you what he hoped was a charming smile--but in reality he probably looked like he was in pain--before scurrying back to the anonymity of the crowd, picking the grocery bags back up.

His auntie Maya simply chuckled and smirked at her awkward nephew, watching him from the corner of her eyes as he continued to watch you perform.

For the rest of your set, you never broke eye contact with him, grateful at such a nice donation (and secretly amused that his aunt seemed to be silently teasing him). By the end of it, Pavitr had memorized your socials, hoping later he could find more of your music and... and then what? Ugh, he was so dumb!

As your performance came to a close and you thanked the crowd; you began to pack up as the crowd dispersed, parting like the waters as they went about their days.

Except for Maya and Pavitr.

Maya had smiled at you warmly, "You have a lovely voice!" she complimented.

"Thank you." You laugh softly, tucking your equipment back into their cases.

"I'm sure the market appreciates your presence, as well. It's typically so empty, here." She replies.

"Oh, actually that's what I was going for!" You chirp honestly. "Kind of a symbiotic relationship, if you will."

"Ooh, a good head for business sense, I see." She chuckles.

"I s'pose." You grin at her.

You notice (but pretend not to) how Maya not-so-subtly elbows Pavitr, raising her eyebrows and tipping her head at you.

It takes him a second to get the hint, and that makes you want to giggle, but he eventually finds his voice and awkwardly stumbles through a compliment.

"Oh! Y-yeah, I liked the song you sang! It was... Eh... Uh... Pretty..?"

Maya rolls her eyes and sighs at her hopeless nephew, almost wanting to facepalm.

"Thank you." You smile at him sweetly as you stand up straight, hoisting some of your equipment over your shoulder and taking the handle of the largest case in one hand.

"And thank you for the donation! It's appreciated, for sure. This money helps me maintain my equipment."

His face flushed as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, "Oh! Uh, yeah! For sure! I mean, wait--like, I mean you're... welcome?"

"Oh, for the..." Maya sighs, shaking her hand and pressing a finger to her temple. She recovers quickly however, and looks at Pavitr, her eyes glimmering mischievously.

"Ah... Are you new here?"

"Yep! Moved here a couple of weeks ago." You say to her, tilting your head a bit; almost like one of those cute puppies Pavitr loves so much.

"Then that means you also don't know the best spots! Tourists go nuts for people like you, singing the way you do." She replies civilly. "If you don't mind my suggested my nephew, Pavitr, here knows almost every nook and cranny in Mumbattan!"

Maya bumps Pavitr playfully as his face gets darker and darker with embarrassment and shock. "In-between work and feeding the street pups, he could show you around!"

"I--uh--auntie--" Pavitr blubbers. You seem to pick up on his apparent discomfort.

"Oh... Really? I mean, uh... are you sure? If he's not comfortable...." You trail.

"I can do it!" He blurts out, barely letting you finish your sentence; immediately biting his tongue afterwards in embarrassment.

You jump back a little at his outburst, a lopsided and surprised grin on your oh so soft looking lips as he claps a hand over his mouth, then awkwardly tugging the collar of his shirt to the side.

"That is, uh... I mean... If you are comfortable with it, sure!"

"Haha... Sure. I'd very much appreciate it." You reply.

Maya looks at Pavitr with an "innocent" smile, "Why don't you add her on one of your... app thingies? It will be easier to communicate, that way."

Pavitr shoots his auntie a barely-concealed, panicked look in his eyes before trying to grin in what he hoped was a casual manner. "Sure, I can do that!" He says, pulling out his phone and tapping one of your socials in. He immediately sends a smiley face and a puppy emoji to you, his soul cringing at the horrible start to a convo.

You chuckle and show the message to him when your phone chimes, "This is you, hm?"

"Y-yep!" He laughs.

"Cool! I'll text you later when I plan on heading out somewhere!" You reply to him innocently.

Maya loops her arm around her nephews elbow and chuckles, "Have a nice day, dear."

"You too!" You grin brightly, waving at them as you part ways, Maya having to practically drag Pavitr along with her.

"Auntie, why did you--?!" He sputtered, his brain finally kicking back into operating parameters.

"You're welcome." She smirked.

Well...

At least now he had a reason to talk to you!

A part of him wondered...

How did you feel about superheroes? You didn't know it yet, but you were about to run into Spider-Man more often than most people, too...

[its-your-mind]

ya know what, I just put all of this in the tags of someone else’s post, but I have More to say about it

This is a letter to 12-year-old me, who just listened Welcome to Night Vale for the first time in 2013.

Hey, 12 year old me. There are some things I know you need to hear right now.

You are 12, and you’ve just discovered podcasts for the first time. You’re in 7th grade, and you saw screenshots of tumblr posts in nerdy Facebook groups about this super weird one called “Welcome to Night Vale” where they said weird things like “Wednesday has been cancelled, due to a scheduling error.” You think that’s pretty funny, so you check it out.

It’s fun, there’s a dog park no one goes in, and Wednesday has indeed been cancelled due to scheduling errors. The people who live there are delightfully odd - they don’t believe in mountains or angels, despite the fact that the angels sometimes change lightbulbs. When the host describes a new person in town and declares himself in love with him, you (know you’re weird but aren’t sure why - why does Cecil’s comment make you feel so seen?) write it off as equally strange as a disbelief in mountains and move on.

You, 12 years old, only just poking your head out of the hole you grew up in, don’t know who you are yet, because looking too closely at yourself is scary.

You keep listening. When Cecil and Carlos finally talk to each other, beneath those lights above the Arby’s, you start crying. You don’t know why. You don’t understand yet that you are finally being told a story where someone like you was accepted and loved, not in spite of the eccentricities, but because of them.

But that’s not a revelation you’re ready to have yet, and that’s okay. In the exact same way you had glossed over Cecil and Carlos’s relationship development for those first forty episodes, you brush past your own emotions and keep on keeping on. If you keep moving, you don’t have to stop and think harder about what caused you to feel so strongly.

You keep listening. You cheer as this strange town defeats the followers of a Smiling God, you scream into your pillow at the words “he is holding a cat,” you have legitimate nightmares about a beagle puppy, and you bounce up and down as a young disabled girl leads her family in carrying out a successful heist. In the midst of it all, you hear these characters push through the challenges they face by banding together and embracing the things that made them strange.

And slowly but surely, you begin to learn to embrace the things that make you strange, too.

Let’s jump forward a few years. You’re in high school now. You’ve been made fully aware of how people in your life see people like you like Cecil and Carlos, but you also feel nothing but giddy, pure joy each time they talk to each other over the radio. You don’t know how to reconcile those two things.

So you don’t. You slot yourself into the crowd of weirdos at school, and all of you pretend you’re not all going through the same struggle. (Over half of those weirdos turned out to be queer, by the way. Funny how that works out.)

(But that’s another story.)

For now, you’re a sophomore in high school, and you’re feeling lost, and overwhelmed, and alone. And like you always do when you feel overwhelmed, you put in your earbuds and listen to someone else’s story for a bit.

This episode is called Toast. It’s just a bunch of speeches from the characters that have welcomed you into their community. At first, it’s not clear what the toast is to, and so you focus on trying to figure it out. Your mind cycles through possibilities. Is it a funeral? Commemorating a special Night Vale holiday? Someone’s birthday?

It slowly dawns on you. This is the toast at a wedding. Everyone giving the toast can’t help but talk about what a happy occasion this is. But you are still so small, and so so scared, and it doesn’t occur to you whose wedding it might be until Old Woman Josie comes up and mentions them by name.

Without understanding quite why, you start to sob. You cry through the rest of the episode, so much that you have to pause and rewind to hear the entirety of Carlos and Cecil’s speeches to each other. Carlos talks about love as a continuous series of choices, as the turning of a story about “you” and a story about “me” into a story about “us.” Cecil shares how his love for his community and his partner has gotten him through the hardest times, not because it overpowered the difficulties, but because it allowed him to keep going in spite of them.

With the benefit of hindsight, I can see why those things brought up the emotions they did. We want to be loved, but more than that, we want the chance to choose to love, and we want someone to choose to love us. What we crave, at our very core, is acceptance. We just want to be seen and welcomed, no matter who we happen to be, and no matter the person we have chosen to love.

You won’t be able to label yourself as queer for another three years. You’ll meet people who will tell you that something in you is broken, but you’ll meet even more people who build on the foundation that Night Vale began. You will learn that being different, in whatever way you are different, is something to be celebrated, not hidden.

There will come a day when you are safe, and happy, and loved, just as you are. You can let all of yourself shine - your loves, your fears, your odd fashion sense, your passion for weird radio-broadcast podcasts - and the people around you won’t just tolerate it, they’ll admire it.

The road to get there won’t be easy, but I am so excited for you to walk it. You’ve got this. And on every step on that journey, just remember: The moon is still beautiful, mysterious lights still pass overheard, and you are loved.

Sincerely, 23 year old you

[rozaceous]

the blorbo-ification of korvin kwan

set in a combo of @vermillioncrown's 'the pros and cons of digging your own grave' and my 'a sunset every hour,' i wrote a scene for verm as gift fic, because i was so affronted by how mean the narrative was to My Boy (korvin) and how much i wanted him to get wrapped in a blanket and also have a dental visit. hence the title--i spiritually adopted him in a hopefully less cracked version of 'you lost the rights to your oc bc you were mean to them.' (we've all seen the screenshots of those posts, right???)

so this is allie finding out that dick grayson has been hiding an entire twelve year-old from her. she is not well pleased lmao.

Allie’s pretty sure that she’s timed Dick’s work schedule correctly, but she’s also willing to wait outside the doorstep of his latest safe house until he arrives and soothes her frazzled nerves about his general state of being.

What Allie is not expecting is for not-Dick to answer the door, and especially she isn’t expecting that someone to be a wavy-haired East Asian boy who opens the door but doesn’t undo the chain lock, peering through the gap between door and frame all squinty-eyed.

“Um,” says Allie, eyes flashing to the 302 on the door, which is exactly the number it should be. “I’m…looking for Dick?”

The evaluative quality of the kid’s stare does not diminish. “You’re too young to be a girlfriend.”

She’s helpless against the instant full-face squinch that sentence causes. “We’re more like mutually adopted siblings,” she hazards, voice tight, and regretful that everything regarding the usage of Dick's name sounds inappropriate for the public, especially under-eighteens.

A pause.

“Mr Richard didn’t tell you he underwent child acquisition,” he observes.

“He didn’t, and he’s going to rue that fact until the day he dies.”

“Sounds like siblings, yeah. You’re Allie, then?”

“He talked about me to you but couldn’t be bothered to mention you to me?” she mutters, mostly to herself.

“I was trying to pretend to not-hear him talk to you on the phone. Not really possible in this shoebox.” Some of the squinting eases. “If you can prove who you are, I can let you in until Mr Richard gets back. Otherwise I’m calling the cops.”

Allie is…impressed by that statement, she's pretty sure. “I haven’t got a driver’s license yet, but I’ve got a learner’s permit and a library card. Sufficient evidence?”

A hand pokes through the gap, fingers making grabby motions. Three minutes later has her standing in the kitchen, shoes and coat off, and peering at the meal prep in progress.

“Korvin,” as she’s been informed is the kid’s name, “I know Dickard’s idea of a good meal is take-out, but what the fuck? Do you seriously have to cook it yourself if you want a vegetable?”

“Mr Richard makes sure I get fed,” is the dodgy reply, and Allie knows what covering for someone you don’t want to get in trouble sounds like. So she decides straightforward is best.

“Look, I love Dick to bits,” she tells Korvin. “But his life is held together by silly string, boyish charm, and Barbara. Fuck,” she realizes, pulling her flip phone from her back pocket. She holds the power button until the screen lights on. “Yeah, hope that freaks them both out and gets him over here tout de suite.” She puts her attention back on Korvin, who is regarding her with similar wariness as when he first opened the door. “My point is, if you’re not getting taken care of, you tell me, and I make sure it happens. Capische?”

Korvin seems a little too stunned or cagey or something to reply.

She flips her phone back open and opens her contacts before pressing the device into his hands. “Put your number in and text yourself so you can contact me. Which, by the way, is an ‘anytime’ kind of offer.”

Another, slightly wide-eyed look, and Korvin follows her instruction.

Twenty minutes later and even the way that Dick opens the door tells Allie that he knows he’s about to get the ass-chewing of his life. He slinks through the entry like a dog pretending it doesn’t know a thing about the torn up couch cushions, grinning brightly and waving at her across the apartment where she’s removing vegetables from the oven.

“Hey, Allie!” She’ll give him credit that nervousness makes his voice waver only slightly. “See you and Korv met!”

"Hm."

[linka-from-captain-planet]

Florrickology, Part 2: The most beautiful face in Faerûn

General simping under cut, plus:

Why I think her face model was changed so much from EA

How her face contributes to her characterization

Spitballing how old I think she is

I actually didn't even really notice Florrick's sexy dress until I saved her from Wyrm's Rock and saw her moving about in the light of day, so I spent 2 whole acts deeply in love with her simply because of her gorgeous face, husky voice, and dominant personality. I was gobsmacked by a total elven MILF come out of nowhere, and while I did recognize her as a beacon of drip in the swagless wasteland of Act 1, I didn't need to notice her thong to know immediately that this was the most beautiful person in the entire game and I must stan.

This was also before I noticed that most NPCs have the same like 6 faces, so I wasn't even yet aware that Florrick's face was especially beautiful and unique.

In addition to going through three outfit changes, she went through two earlier face models. Her original and second models are below.

Her hair and eyes remained essentially the same (minus the smoky makeup), but big changes were made in her face shape and other features between each version, even down to her ears. The second version is definitely a generic head (and not my favorite); I'm not sure about Original Florrick as I don't know what the base heads looked like then, but it is pretty bland, albeit very beautiful.

So, why change? As I said in Part 1, her exact appearance isn't really important, but it is very intentional because they made the effort to change it a few times.

The decision to give her a unique face sculpt makes perfect sense; she's more than significant enough for the effort, considering she shows up in all 3 acts, has lots of dialogue and emotes while talking, plays a fairly sizeable role in the overall story, and appears in the High Hall cut scene as a final battle ally. I figure that, for the most part, the intention behind giving her this unique face is pretty simple: it's gorgeous, increases the game's overall diversity, and enhances her characterization.

I love the type of beauty she was given in the end. She exudes femininity, yet her personality is very dominant ("masculine") and her face isn't traditionally "feminine". Her most prominent feature, her nose, is angular and long, and looks bumpy in certain lights. Her jaw stands out to me next, nice and sharp and strong, but she lacks the cheekbones to give a really chic look. Her chin is large and has a hint of a cleft in some lights. From the side profile (alas I don't have a screenshot even tho I think of it often), her nose, teeth/lips, and chin jut forward a bit from her cheeks and eyes, giving her a very determined, jaw-set look.

But she also has big, soft puppydog eyes, some of the juiciest and prettiest lips in the entire game, the most beautiful and distinctive skin tone, and the most nibbleable ears in Faerûn. Look at the little tippy tip poking out of her hair on her right!!

ps if anyone tries to tell me X is more beautiful or Y has more nibbleable ears I will simply block you, make your own insane simp post

Anyway, her face suits her perfectly. She looks like someone you'd describe as "steady as Tyr's heartbeat" or "upstanding as the Sword Mountains". She looks proud, confident, and maybe a little pushy. Her nose has that elegant slope, so when she stands straight up with her strong jaw set and her chin proudly raised in the air, she looks down it just so that you can tell this isn't a woman to be trifled with. She looks stern, but never mean or cruel. When she's grateful, she's gracious and charming. Her big brown eyes are imploring in her moments of vulnerability, and she can't hide when she's worried or concerned because her eyebrows move on their own. She might turn away so her hair covers part of her face in those moments, too.

In her absolute lowest moments, she doesn't even try to hide, and lets the player in on exactly how she's feeling, in her expressions and words.

You don't really get all that from her earlier two models, right? They're beautiful, but don't tell as much of a story.

I think to a lot of people, she may come across as one-note, but she has an emotional arc like any other significant NPC with a longitudinal storyline and you see that the most in her expressive face. I do think that's remarkable, since she is a female character who exists in this story to support the greater arcs of two men. There are strengths and weaknesses in Larian's writing when it comes to things like this, but I really do think they did a great job with Florrick, in balancing her autonomy and treating her as an individual, while holding her to the minimum-necessary screen time/resources (in this long, enormous game) to fulfill her role.

Not strictly related, but I'll always appreciate that it is essentially never implied that Florrick does what she does because she's in love with Ulder. It would make a great romance side story and I'd have loved it, but I love more that it's left up to interpretation. However she feels about him in private, the fact is that it doesn't make a difference in her behavior; lover, friend, or just a boss she respects, she will move mountains for him and her city because it's the right thing to do, and she'll always do what she thinks is right. Florrick being allowed to exist in this story as her own person, never commanded by the writers to be Ulder's wife or Wyll's mother, even if her storyline is really about Ulder and Wyll, is really special to me.

So on that note, I do have one theory as to why they gave her these very unique features:

To help prevent players from assuming that Florrick and the Ravengards are related.

It's important to Wyll's story that his father is his only living family; letting players assume Florrick is (secretly?) his mother or aunt because she's coded as a middle-aged black woman and closely-associated with him and his father interferes with that story, and introduces confusing questions that don't need to be asked like "is Wyll supposed to be a half-elf?" or "why doesn't she seem to give much of a fuck about her son/nephew?"

On this note, I really like that because not only does it shoot down the conventional demand that any woman in the vicinity of a child be their mother, it also highlights that Ulder was Wyll's entire world, making all of their stories more poignant.

Now the final question her face leads us to is, how old is Florrick? This is tough to answer due to Elf Aging, which means you have to triangulate her actual age by starting from how old she looks and how old she seems compared to others.

For my impressions, I think Florrick's voice is what MILFifies her moreso than her face. Her VA, Karen Bryson, was born in 1975, which tracks with the way she sounds, but her face comes off as a bit younger: she's essentially unwrinkled (minus her forehead when she emotes), bright and fresh-skinned with no other signs of aging, so I would place her at a maximum of mid-30s by appearance.

My impression of elf aging as a non-lore-expert is that, at least in BG3, they grow at the same rate as humans until reaching physical maturity around the early to mid twenties, then age visibly but at a very slow rate thereafter.

Fortunately, there are a few full elf characters whose ages we know. Disregarding Astarion who seems to have been fucked up due to stress/vampirism, we have Minthara (~250) and Halsin (~350) for comparison.

This is convenient, since Florrick looks tennish years younger than Minthara, and Minthara looks tennish years younger than Halsin. So, perhaps full elves, once having reached full physical maturity by approx 25 years old, age about ten years for every hundred give or take stress/genetics/etc. So if Florrick looks about 30-35, that'd work out to the neighborhood of 120-130 years old.

This tracks to me, as she definitely comes off as a fully-fledged elven adult, but still young enough to be a bit cavalier and have things to learn about herself--much like a human in her early-to-mid 30s.

Also, I notice she doesn't have anything to say about the previous Bhaalspawn crises (124-125 years ago), because it seems like the type of thing she'd comment on if she remembered it firsthand (either from growing up in Baldur's Gate, or hearing about as the news travelled.) So her being either not born yet or too busy learning to tie her shoes to engage with current events makes sense.

This concludes Florrickology part 2.

[ticklishprincey]

Tiger Stripes

Hehe I'm so glad you enjoy what I put out! This was @lanie-lee-llama reblog of my Helluva Boss Headcannons (screenshotted because I didn't wanna forget about it) and I just couldn't pass this up, for now I'll just do Blitzo buttttt don't be surprised if there's a Moxxie one directly after. (I really hope you like it, I've never done a self-insert fic before so please don't hit also my laptop refuses to do the cross over the o I'm so sorryyyyyy) Warnings: Tickling (obv), insecure reader, implied body dysmorphia, reader is referred to as kid but it's just a nickname not serious Summary: Reader is insecure about how their body looks. Blitzo notices and convinces them their body is amazing. You had been standing in front of your mirror all day, looking at your reflection in disgust and disdain. Your brain ran a mile a minute, pointing out every possible flaw in your body, and despite your various attempts, tears burned your eyes like pin pricks and threatened to spill. You sucked in your stomach as much as you could, still not satisfied with the results. You let out a sigh, sitting down onto your bed and hugging your knees to your chest. "Kid?"  A knock on your bedroom door stirred you from your thoughts. You quickly rubbed your eyes, grabbing an old sweatshirt and slipping it on before answering the door, an over-enthused smile plastered on your face. "Hey, Blitz! What's up?" You had hoped that your boss wouldn't pay attention to your tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, but you were mistaken. The usual sarcastic and shit-eating grin was replaced with that rare look of concern he saved for you. He reached out and gently touched your cheek, wiping away a stray tear in a rare showcase of affection. "What's goin on, kid?" "Nothing." You responded quickly, too quickly, even. The larger imp rolled his eyes, taking your hand and pulling you into the room, sitting on your bed and patting the spot next to him. You sat reluctantly. "Don't bullshit me, kid. What's on your mind?" You sighed, then proceeded to explain how you had been feeling, how you were unhappy with your body. He listened silently, nodding in understanding. When you had finished, he pulled you into his arms and held you close. "Don't talk about yourself like that. You're amazing, got that?" You rolled your eyes at the sentiment. Blitzo noticed this and squeezed your sides teasingly. "What was that? Don't you sass me, remember who's in charge here." A small squeak escapes your lips, a wobbly smile crossing your features in anticipation for his next move. He grinned and scribbled his nails into your tummy. "What was that? Was that a squeak I heard? Don't tell me someone's ticklish?" You shake your head, fighting back the laughter bubbling in your throat to no avail. You pushed half-heartedly at his hands. "Wahahait Blihitz!!!" "Wait for what? I'm already tickling!"

His hands move to poke and prod at your hips, causing you to squeal and squirm in his arms, laughter pouring out freely now. "Ooooo, that's a bad spot, huh? Too bad!" Your face grows red at the teasing, pushing at his hands. You would never admit it, but you liked these moments with Blitzo. You felt his hands pull up your shirt slightly, tracing lightly over the stretch marks of which you were so insecure about earlier. "I don't understand why you don't like these. They're like tiger stripes." A snort slips through your lips at that, causing your hands to immediately cover your mouth in embarrassment, your blush increasing tenfold. Blitzo simply laughs and continues his tracing. "That was cute! Can I hear it again?" He blows a raspberry over your belly button, rewarded by your squealing and bubbly, bright laughter, a stark contrast to your earlier anxiety and stress. He lets up, holding you close and rubbing your back gently as your laughter dies down into soft, happy hiccups. "Feeling better, kiddo?" You nod your head as Blitzo chuckles, continuing to rub your back as you slowly begin to fall asleep in his arms. Maybe he was right, your body was pretty amazing. ALL NSFW/KINK PLEASE DNI!!!

[rikerssexblouse]

Oh my God, Rikerssexblouse! That salamander embroidery is just stunning!

Did you do it freehand? Or did you have some kind of instruction because if I wanted to take up embroidery before - I now need to do it! 😂🦎💕

Thank you! It was not freehand, and this was actually my first attempt doing one that wasn’t out of a kit. Before this I’d only bought kits on amazon or Etsy, which is nice because you get everything you need, plus instructions. But for a while I’ve wanted to do something of my own design, but I hadn’t quite figured out how. So since it would have been useful for me when I was trying to figure this out, I’m going to explain the whole process. And to be clear, I’m just figuring this out, so maybe people have other strategies, but it worked for me.

First, I took a screenshot of the salamander babies poking out of the hole and opened it up in Procreate. I am not at all experienced with Procreate (my 9 year old is better with Procreate than I am), but I created a second layer, and then drew on the second layer to outline the image. That looked like this:

Then I hid the layer with the screenshot, so you only saw the outline. It looked like this:

Then I printed it out.

Michaels has little squares of fabric for embroidery, so I bought two of those, one white and one purple.

It’s probably overpriced for the amount of fabric you get? But it’s a very convenient size for one embroidery project and it’s just two bucks.

But then I had to transfer the pattern to the fabric. This meant that I had to lay the fabric on the printoff and trace it with a special pen. I used this one.

It’s water soluble, so you can rinse the marks right out when you are done.

The problem I ran into, was that the purple was much too dark to see through to be able to trace, so I had to use the white (I just thought the purple would be more fun but dark colors won’t work well with this strategy). Then I was just filling in the shapes from my pattern. After I was done, I took it out of the hoop, rinsed it in water to rinse away the blue pen marks, pressed it between towels overnight, then put it back on the hoop and tied it up the back.

I think figuring out what stitches to use were might actually be the hardest part. It’s a combination of your vision/creativity and just enough experience with the stitches that you can visualize what they will look like. I used satin stitches (to fill in the big spaces like the salamander babies’ faces and the rocks), lazy daisy stitches (the nostrils), stem stitches (for the outlines), and about a thousand million french knots (the moss). Oh and straight stitches for the letters.

The salamander babies’ heads were hard, because I had to work around the spots and eyes and everything. The hole might be the part I’m most proud of, because my plan to give it depth actually worked. Instead of doing a satin stitch to fill it in smooth, I did straight stitches and arranged them directionally (into the middle and then down) to try to give it shape so you could see how the the hole goes down into the ground. I also used a little gray in between the black to give it some dimension.

The french knots that made up the knots aren’t particularly hard (although I do suggest finding a YouTube video to see how to do it, I could NOT figure it out from written instructions when I first started) but it used up SO MUCH more thread than I ever anticipated. Doing a kit, you get everything you need, but I didn’t know what I needed. Whoops. So I had some last minute panic about running out of thread (literally the night before Threshold Day). So a lot of the color variation is a matter of necessarily rather than my plan. But it worked out well.

If you look closely, the moss on the left has a lot more color variation than the moss on the right, and that is because I was running out of thread. But it’s not too noticeable (hopefully). I do love how the moss looks though! French knots are usually used for little details, but the mass of them gives it so much texture. I love it.

I will say, if you are trying it for the first time, don’t start by doing your own design. Follow a kit and figure out what you are doing first. And don’t be afraid to look up YouTube videos when you can’t figure out how to do something. Video is a MUCH better teacher than words can ever be, in this context. But at the same time, there really isn’t anything that difficult about embroidery. You mostly just have to be patient. I find it quite relaxing.

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

In honor of the new Cartoon Therapy episode coming out tomorrow (TOMORROW? TOMORROW!), have the first chapter of a fic that I am (sadly) most likely never going to finish. I once referred to it as Eucatastrophe by way of Cartoon Therapy, with less Eldritch Nonsense and more gratuitous cartoon references (of course). Enjoy some Elliott POV fic! The world is sorely lacking in it.

What OVER THE GARDEN WALL Can Teach You About Rescuing Your Therapist From An Otherworldly Magical Forest!

It’s already pretty bad when Elliott’s boyfriend doesn’t show up to couple’s therapy, weeks in a row.

It’s even worse when their therapist is the one not showing up.

At first it’s annoying, but only for the first fifteen minutes of waiting. Elliott rubs their forearms, glances around the Funko Pop-lined walls of Dr Picani’s latest office, and shifts back and forth on the comfy patient’s couch. They check their phone a few times, scrolling through Twitter and old strings of messages, and wonder if they’d got the date or time wrong, somehow.

After fifteen minutes, it’s confusing. Dr Picani is usually nothing less than slightly-less-than-punctual. Sure, he’s almost never actually on time, but fifteen minutes is the worst he’s ever been, and even on those occasions he’s always sure to send a string of reassuring emoji-riddled texts and bring an extra apology mug of hot chocolate from the café he’d been held up at. (Elliott generally prefers coffee, but never brings it up. The hot chocolate’s actually really good.)

With that in mind, Elliott checks their messages. There’s no promises of hot chocolate, no goofy Disney White Rabbit GIFs, no texts at all. They bite their lip, and shove their phone into their pocket before focusing all their attention on the Finding Nemo poster plastered on the wall across from them.

Twenty minutes in, and his secretary pokes her head around the door, looking apologetic. She tells Elliott that it looks like Dr Picani isn’t coming in today, would they like to reschedule?

Elliott does, same time next week will be just fine thank you; and leaves, and goes to sit at the park across the road and worry. The secretary hadn’t said anything about why Dr Picani hadn’t been in today, but Elliott likes to think they’re pretty good at reading people, and they could see that she’d been just as confused as them. They can’t be sure, obviously – they might be overthinking, actually – but it’s entirely possible that this wasn’t a planned sort of absence.

Is he sick? Did he get into some sort of accident? Did he find a life-changing obscure German cartoon on some out-of-the-way streaming website and get fixated on it to the point of forgetting to turn up to work? Did he decide to ditch therapy as a career altogether and accept a job at Disney as the official guy who sits in the corner of cartoon pitch meetings and cheers ‘yeah, heck yeah!’ at each and every pitch that comes over the table? All extremely real possibilities!

…They really, really hope he’s all right.

*

But the next week, Dr Picani isn’t there – and the office is completely closed. He still hasn’t replied to a single one of Elliott’s texts, which is downright terrifying. His response time is usually about one minute flat outside of office hours, no matter how late at night or early in the mornings it is – something Elliott only knows because of the embarrassing time they’d impulse-texted him at 3 AM to share that they’d started watching Avatar. (He’d been right about Elliott liking Zuko. Letting him know had seemed only fair.) Again, really embarrassing, but at least Dr Picani hadn’t been weird about it. Weirder than usual, anyway.

But there’s no text responses at all, not even read receipts. Elliott’s not even annoyed anymore. They just want to see one incomprehensible cartoon GIF, and then their brain can stop exploding with worst-case scenarios. A single weird reference. One out-of-context screenshot.

Elliott loiters at the closed-and-locked door to the therapy clinic, frowning at their phone, not really knowing what to do. They don’t want to go home and face Mitchell, who’ll only laugh and say I told you so, and he wouldn’t be wrong, he had told them so. But it’s not as if staying here’s going to do any good.

“Hey! Are you one of Picani’s other patients?” says a too-loud someone from behind them, and Elliott’s body makes the fun decision to flinch violently.

“Sloane, you can’t just ask someone that,” hisses someone else.

Elliott turns, and sees two unfamiliar people holding hands, standing nearby. One’s looking at Elliott with expectancy. The other is looking at the first with exasperation.

“I mean,” they say, slowly, “yeah. Yeah, I am. Do you, like… know where he is?”

 The person whose voice is too loud gets a look on their face that’s all scary intense and breathes, “I knew it. I knew something was wrong. Didn’t I say something was wrong?”

“Back up,” says Elliott, raising a hand. “What are you talking about? Who are you guys? What’s going on here?”

Introductions all around. Sloane is tall and bright-eyed and has no inside voice; Corbin is his boyfriend and looks like this conversation is the last thing he wanted to be having today. (Elliott can sort of relate to that, but since when have they ever got what they want?) Neither of them have seen Dr Picani for weeks, either – looks like he ditched their group-therapy appointments as well, both last week and just today.

“God, that’s weird,” Corbin says, when they’ve confirmed their respective situations. “He’s… well, he’s a bit out there sometimes, but he’s not an actually bad therapist.”

“Yeah, it was out of character, so we were worried about him,” Sloane says in a majorly straightforward sort of way. “So we were thinking – ”

“You were thinking – ”

“Fine, I was thinking, and you were onboard enough to come here with me – ”

“I can’t believe you’re making me partially responsible for this – ”

“I was thinking that there’s a window at the back of the building that we could probably get through, and then if we get into his office, well – well, I’m not sure what we could actually find out, but there’s probably something, isn’t there?” Sloane is practically bouncing in place, very enthused of his own plan. “Hey, do you want to get in on it? The more hands the better, you know!”

“Sloane, you can’t just invite someone to do break into their therapist’s office – ”

“I totally can! I invited you, didn’t I?”

Elliott sighs, and tries to work out just how much they care about finding what Picani’s up to. The answer is, apparently, enough to break into the guy’s office. They’re not sure how much further past there it’s going to stretch, but they have a feeling that this entire experience is going to be an exercise in finding out. “Fine. But if the cops show up, I’m leaving.”

When their small group of three rounds the side of the building to do an Actual Proper Crime (Elliott is already regretting this), there is a crime already in progress. There’s a middle-aged couple in matching denim jackets watching a younger person with a fierce scowl slashed across their face sitting on top of a dumpster, fiddling with the exact window that Sloane had been planning on going through. The guy with the beard is offering occasional advice. His partner – wife? – appears to be keeping lookout, but not very good lookout considering that Elliott, Corbin and Sloane manage to get all the way into the back alley and right next to the three of them before she notices them.

The kid on the dumpster freezes, and mutters, “Oh, shit.”

“We are not doing anything wrong, and we’re absolutely meant to be here,” says jacket guy loudly.

“Hey, chill, we’re here to break into the office too,” Sloane says, raising his hands.

“Sloane, you can’t just admit to breaking and entering – ”

More quick introductions follow. The angry kid is Kai, the matching-jacket couple are Dot and Larry. They’re also patients of Dr Picani’s, and all seem to have had the same idea vis-à-vis Picani’s office, which Elliot thinks probably says something about the general demographic of this guy’s clients. They clearly haven’t been having much success with getting in, though – the window’s locked from the inside. Apparently therapists lock their windows.

“I know the technique of getting it open,” mutters Kai furiously, “I’ve watched so many YouTube tutorials, but my fingers won’t work. Stupid fingers. Stupid bendy bony fingers.”

“Break the window,” says Sloane enthusiastically, looking like he’s wanted to do just that his entire life.

“Do not,” said Corbin, the polar opposite of enthusiastic.

“I’ll pass,” Kai says, and uncomfortably shifts from side to side from where they’re sitting on the dumpster. “Anyone got something flat and sharp? I can probably wiggle it underneath and pop it open that way.”

Corbin reluctantly passes up his pocket knife, and within seconds, the window is open. Kai gets down painfully from the dumpster, citing bendiness and refusing to climb through.

A moment later, Elliott is voted smallest and lithest, and subsequently reluctantly wiggles their way through the opened gap to unlock the office from the inside for everyone else. They really hope there’s no security cameras in here. This would be the stupidest possible way to get arrested.

Although strangely, they can’t picture Dr Picani actually getting mad about the whole thing. He’d probably compare the whole venture to Totally Spies or some other cartoon Elliott only vaguely knows about, and try to relate the whole thing to dealing with anxiety or separation issues somehow.

Unbelievably, Elliott is starting to miss him.

*

Two queer couples, a kid with bendy bones, and a very nervous Elliott break into their therapist’s private office at two thirty-five in the afternoon. It’s a bad joke of a situation, and Elliott doesn’t want to know what the punchline is. Inside they find sixty billion plushies, an impressive wall-to-wall tapestry-style Spirited Away poster, and a shelf that’s completely packed with VCR cartoon recordings – among other things.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I expected,” Corbin says. “That’s… yep. That tracks.”

Speaking of tracks, there’s mud tracked all over the Aladdin-style carpet laid out in the centre of the room.

Larry says, “Oh, he’d never let that happen. Someone broke in here.”

To which Kai says, “Yeah, us. We broke in here.”

“No, someone before us,” Larry is saying, and meanwhile Dot and Sloane are poking around behind Picani’s desk. They’re avoiding all the papers and patient files, which Elliott is silently relieved about, and just reading the Hello Kitty post-it notes papered everywhere.

“It’s mostly anime recommendations,” Sloane announces. “Ooh, Spy Family, he has good taste. Oh. One Piece. Uh, less good taste? I mean, it is a classic, but… sheesh, dude.”

“I don’t understand half the words coming out of your mouth,” Dot mutters. “Is any of that relevant, young man?”

“I guess not, but man, I kind of want to see his MyAnimeList now,” Sloane says thoughtfully. “Guy probably has some killer reviews."

Elliott is the one who realizes that the television hooked up to the laptop on the other side of the room is not just on, but is blisteringly hot – like it’s been running for days or maybe weeks, without anyone shutting it off. It’s almost too hot to wiggle the mouse and tap at the keyboard to refresh the screen. When it flickers to life, it probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that there’s a cartoon playing on-screen – soft, smooth animation, oddly-dressed kids and talking birds flitting across the screen. Honestly, it’d be weirder if there hadn’t been cartoons running on this computer.

What’s weird is the fact that the show, whatever it is, seems to be set to a loop – and what’s more, it looks like it’s been running continuously for a very long time. Even weirder; a smudge of that same mud on the laptop screen, like someone had brushed a finger up against it, except it’s weirdly-shaped, almost arrow-like.

As Elliott notices the smudge, something strange happens to the video player. It flickers and stutters, and then freezes altogether on an image of a rather forbidding forest, a path leading into it. The arrow-shaped smudge now points directly down the path, into the trees.

Elliott is, understandably, a little freaked by this, especially when they try to rewind but the video player won’t let them.

They wave the others over, and Kai says, “Oh, that’s Over the Garden Wall, Lauren keeps telling me to watch it.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard of it,” Corbin says. “Kind of weird that he left it on when he was gone. That’s gotta be running up a killer power bill.”

Dot’s still at Dr Picani’s desk, and has now sat down on the comfy colorful desk chair, pressing her glasses all the way up at her nose to properly study the sticky notes. “You know, this isn’t all cartoon recommendations. Well, mostly not – he’s got a lot of contingency plans on here.”

Which is interesting enough that Elliott briefly forgets about the weird mud and the frozen screen. “Contingency plans?”

“Yes, he’s got a lot of them,” says Dot, and squints over her glasses at the sticky notes in her hand. “See – here. ‘In the case of loss of faith in humanity, watch My Neighbour Totoro.’ ‘In the event of mysterious deaths of the 1%, watch Death Note.’ ‘In the case of total collapse of personal morals and decency, please for the love of Don Bluth do not make it worse by watching South Park.’”

“Has he got one for ‘weird disappearance out of nowhere involving mud and moss tracked all over his office’?” Elliott asks, half-joking.

Dot looks through the rest of the notes on the desk, and then holds up a dog-eared note, looking faintly bemused. “Over The Garden Wall.”

Elliott blinks, then looks at the TV screen, still showing a shot of that darkened forest. The mud remains, pointing an arrow right into the trees, like a sign screaming, go here. Seriously, go here. I am so not joking about going here. “You mean, like… like this show?”

“I suppose so,” she says.

“Well, that feels like a clue,” says Sloane. “Maybe we should watch the whole thing!”

Elliott wants to say that’s stupid, and by the look on Kai and Corbin’s faces in particular, they’re both thinking the same thing. But Sloane’s not wrong. It does feel like a clue, dumb as it feels. After a second, they start looking around for the remote.

“Hang on, we’ve just found out that Dr Picani’s gone mysteriously missing – we can’t just start watching TV based on a Post-It note he left,” Corbin says incredulously. “Would he really want us to sit here in his office, watching some kid’s cartoon instead of, you know, going out and actually doing something about it?”

There’s a short silence.

“Um, yeah?” says Elliott.

“He’d probably be disappointed if we didn’t,” Kai admits.

“I wonder if he has any popcorn,” Larry says thoughtfully, eyeing the small microwave tucked underneath Dr Picani’s desk.

He does have popcorn. And, well, as long as they’re doing breaking-and-entering, they might as well throw petty theft into the mix.

Elliott really hopes Dr Picani’s not going to mind.

*

So they watch Over The Garden Wall, and afterwards they all agree that yes, it’s a solid show and yes, Dr Picani’s often-questionable good taste has hit home on this one show at least.

But even thought most of them cried at least once during the impromptu binge session, it doesn’t exactly help them in any way. There aren’t any hidden recordings spliced in-between episodes, there’s no obvious signs or placards in the background art saying ‘THIS IS THE ANSWER! HERE ARE THE EXACT COORDINATES YOUR THERAPIST IS HIDDEN AT!’, and if there’s some sort of metaphor in here, it’s flying entirely over Elliott’s head.

After it’s all done, Sloane is excitedly explaining the Divine Comedy metaphor to a mostly-uninterested Kai, and Larry is eyeing the minifridge. And in the middle of all of this awkward we-don’t-know-where-to-go-from-here, Elliott looks down at the mud-caked carpet and thinks wait a minute, because it’s not just random mud, there’s definite footprints. And more than that – the footprints are leading somewhere.

Leaving everyone else behind for the moment, Elliott follows the mud trail all the way out of the office – down the hallways, past their usual therapy room, and out to the reception area. Now that they’re paying attention and not just trying to get everyone inside as quickly as possible so they don’t get arrested or whatever, they can see that the mud is much more obvious here – several sets of footprints. One big set of therapist-sized footprints, with little puppy paws in the sole marks (Scooby Doo? Courage the Cowardly Dog? It’s anyone’s guess what reference it is, this time!) – and several improbably small sets, which Elliott would have sorted into the ‘animal tracks’ category, if not for the fact that they are visibly bare human feet. Humanoid feet.

“No,” Elliott tells themself, very firmly. “Not thinking about it. Not thinking about the implications. I do not need to to think about the implications. I just… need clues.” They pause, grind a hand against their head, and very carefully do not voice a Blues Clues reference out loud, despite the immense urge to do so. Something about this goddamned office wormed the cartoon thoughts right into the centre of your brain. Probably all of the cartoon merch. It’s near-unbearable. Honestly, Elliott would have switched therapists months ago, if it weren’t for the fact that…

Elliott rubs the side of their head again, this time a touch more anxiously. Yeah. Okay. They’re really worried about Dr Picani. He’s nice, is the thing. And not sugary-sweet, too-cheerful and too-bright nice in the way you might expect from just looking at the guy; he’s got a sharp wit and a gentle hardness. He’s never once dismissed Elliott’s feelings as unimportant or stupid, which is a hell of a lot more than they can say for… a lot of other people in their life.

He’s a weirdo, but what’s that thing everyone always says? Cringe is dead? He’s a good therapist, and you don’t need to be ‘normal’ or ‘mainstream’ to be good at your job. Elliott knows a good thing when they have it, and fuck if they’re going to go through the mortifying ordeal of interviewing a dozen new therapists just because their current one thought it’d be a good idea to re-enact Spirited Away or whatever the hell this is.

Elliott looks behind the front counter, and finds a map there. It’s a normal-looking map of the immediate area, one they’ve seen before pinned to walls of local businesses – but it, much like most of the office floor, is covered in mud. And bright-pink ballpoint pen, in familiar handwriting.

In case of having already watched Over the Garden Wall, it reads, I’m probably somewhere out here.

They carefully lift the map from the desk, and stare at it for a long, long moment before they become aware of the fact that they’re holding it tight enough to crumple the page.

Slowly, they look down at the mud tracks, and the tiny little footprints running all the way through the hallway, all the way out the front door.

Okay. Yeah. Elliott’s officially thinking about the implications now. They wish they weren’t, but they’re thinking about them.

*

Elliott returns to the office, map in hand, to find Dot and Larry stealing from Dr Picani’s minifridge, and Sloane trying to find hidden hints on the underside of his work desk, while Corbin looks on ruefully.

“Forest’s haunted,” they say.

“What?” Kai says, looking up from a limited-edition Avatar: The Legend of Korra complete artbook.

Elliot holds up the map, and repeats the awful truth of the matter: “I said, forest’s haunted. Does anyone have a car? Because if we’re going to get our therapist back, I’m sure as hell not walking all the way there.”

[catventuring]

Cat got in the void? That's a scoopin'.

[ghostace]

GShade in SWTOR

Surprise, the screenshots I've been posting this week have been getting carried by the power of GShade, not a sudden improvement in my editing skills. All of these have either no edits or only minor adjustments from in-game.

I decided to poke at it after @spindlewit got it working initially, since I have a stubborn streak and no fear of destroying my game files. It's not as simple as just installing and launching the game, and every time I tried I seemed to have to take different steps so don't be shocked if it doesn't work for you the first time, or if it breaks in the future.

At the moment I have only tested it with the Steam install. I don't intend to test it for the regular launcher, but the same steps may work. The reason why Steam is safer is that for whatever reason GShade deletes a key launch file on install, and Steam can recover that file if you don't back it up first. And best yet, it also worked on PTS so once SWTOR goes 64 bit this should still work!

Use entirely at your own risk. This may be considered a TOS violation.

Step 1: Download and install GShade locally.

Step 2: Install GShade with default settings to swtor.exe in your game installation folder. For me, and most Steam installs, the path is C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Star Wars - The Old Republic\swtor\retailclient. Do not install to launcher.exe

Note that if GShade installs as DirectX 9 you may have to uninstall and reinstall GShade to SWTOR until it lets you install as OpenGL since the DX9 install doesn't seem to work.

Step 3: Open the GShade control panel and turn on Vulkan (x86) under the Installations tab. GShade will not work in SWTOR without this.

Step 4: "Verify integrity of game files" through Steam (right click on game in Steam -> properties -> local files). This will recover the missing launch file that GShade deletes.

Alternately, you can back up client_defaults.ini from the same retailclient folder location as swtor.exe and just put it somewhere safe before installing GShade to SWTOR.

Step 5: Go to your GShade installation folder (typically C:\Program Files\GShade\DXVK\x32) and copy d3d9.dll into the same retailclient folder as above. Do not use the version in the x64 folder unless you are installing to PTS or following this tutorial after SWTOR goes 64 bit.

Step 6: Launch SWTOR. It will probably prompt you for the EULA again, just go through that and hopefully the GShade banner will pop up and you're good to go.

If the GShade banner is still not showing up, I found in my installation I also had to delete opengl32.dll from the retailclient folder. Other people testing did not have to take this step so don't delete unless GShade is not working.

Some notes and tips:

You may have to scroll through the EULA every time you log in. Sorry, not sure why that happens or doesn't happen.

You will have to turn Anti Aliasing in SWTOR to medium or off. There are graphical artifacts if you have it on High or Very High. Many pre-made shaders include anti-aliasing and I don't find it that big of a loss.

I experienced slightly more lag during gameplay with GShade running even with all shaders turned off. I also experienced noticeably more lag in cutscenes, especially right when they start. YMMV but I would recommend not running GShade for anything where more lag would cause problems. I may have died to VM Eyeless with a shader running because I lagged right as I was trying to get out of the purple circle of death.

In trying to reduce lag, I updated my DirectX 9 files from Microsoft here. It seems to be helping but I'm still testing, so if you experience excessive lag maybe try that.

I would recommend if you want to use any DOF shaders in cutscenes to turn off SWTOR's Conversation Depth of Field so they're not competing.

DOF shaders in SWTOR are a little tricky. SWTOR seems to use very large "slices" of depth, so every tick can cause a large amount of the background to come into focus. I'd recommend using mouse-driven auto-focus when practical, especially in cutscenes where the focus is change depth very frequently.

If you want to use the regular DOF autofocus, I'd recommend changing the Autofocus Center so that it's actually sitting on the character model (default is 0.500 x 0.500, I find generally 0.500 x 0.700 works well), reducing the Autofocus sample radius, and reducing the Far blur curve. SWTOR's camera is a bit hard to work with so play with those settings as needed. Below is a sample of before and after with default and my own picks for DOF autofocus sampling. It does vary depending on what DOF shader each shader preset uses.

Please rec me your favourite shaders for each planet or location if you use this, I'm still just messing around with this myself.

[sergeant-spoons]

130. This December

Verity/Victor Rich

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow​ @chaosklutz​ @wexhappyxfew​ @50svibes​ @tvserie-s-world​ @adamantiumdragonfly​ @ask-you-what-sir​ @whovian45810​ @brokennerdalert​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​ @claire-bear-1218​ @heirsoflilith​ @itswormtrain​ @actualtrashpanda​ @wtrpxrks​

And so the time has come at last for the final chapter of IDOC. It has been a remarkable journey over the last 20 months writing this fic. I will forever be grateful to the readers I’ve seen come, go, and stay, to the commenters whose kind words I’ve screenshotted time and time again to boost my spirits on a tough day, and most especially to my friends in this fandom who have encouraged me to write - @chaosklutz​ @tvserie-s-world​ @itswormtrain​ @penguinated​ @thoughpoppiesblow​ @wexhappyxfew​ @50svibes​ @actualtrashpanda​​ and @phoenixes-and-wizards​, I love you all so very much. 💕 P.S. Most of these folks ^^ are writers too - go check out their works!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An Alton Autumn always seemed to skip through the season. Leaves changed and fell so rapidly that half the trees had gone bare before October was up. September had started to cool the air, and now the time had come for zip-up jackets and corduroy pants, for wool sweaters and shin-high socks. Little by little, Verity adjusted to life back home. Her father poking his head through her bedroom door to wish her goodnight no longer startled her. Her breathing became easier as time went by. The aches in her chest that wracked her senses and shot sparks through her vision whenever she sat up too quickly or turned her torso too far slowly began to fade. She got her old job at the flower shop back, mostly stocking flowers of the red and orange variety and ferns of the deep green, plus a few mini pumpkins to boot. The manila folder in her bedroom sat dormant more often than not, for the poetry that used to pour from her pen like a river carving its way across a landscape ripe for creation now evaded her. She knew perfectly well why the going was so slow—writing about anything but the war seemed insignificant now—but knowing why didn't much help her solve how. Besides, she'd promised Shifty she wouldn't write about the war. So she stewed, stumped, and let the folder be.

She called Perry just as frequently as Perry called her, which could be anything from twice a day to twice a week—it all depended on when Perry could find a spare minute. She'd been busy as a bee the moment she set foot in California. For a while, she'd had trouble finding work thanks to the invasive press coverage of her family's ongoing lawsuit, but in time a local newspaper gave her a chance, and now they called her the best secretary they'd ever had. A little more courageous in a position of steady employment, Perry braved the witness stand not once or twice but four times throughout October. Halfway through the month, she was thrilled to report to Verity that she'd heard from Buck Compton, and the news was as good as it could get. Buck had gone into law school as soon as he'd come home to California and was doing well. From what he'd told her, Perry guessed that he had figured her and Joe Toye out when Toye got hit but never mentioned it to a soul. When he saw the Blommes' court case in the papers along with a photo of Perry and her father standing on either side of Clyde's wheelchair, Buck recognized her and the pieces finally clicked. He called the next day and offered Perry his help with any legal challenges or issues the army might force upon them after the war. Verity cried a little to hear the kindness had been extended to them both.

For quite some time, Verity didn't understand how Buck could have possibly known about her. She guessed at first that Perry had let it slip, but Perry swore she never had, and Verity was never inclined to disbelieve her. A few years down the road, Lt. Lipton—who never failed to check up on Verity every few months for the rest of his life—let slip that he knew the answer. Buck had realized about Verity right before they entered the Bois Jacques (the one time Verity had let her hair grow a little too long) but Lip had sworn him to secrecy. Buck never said a damn word about the matter, not after the war, not even at the reunions where half the men would forget and wonder why Eugene Roe's girl looked exceptionally like Victor's twin. Verity never forgot his sure heart. She swore to herself that if Buck ever needed help with anything at all, she'd be there. Many years down the line, she would keep that promise, coaching his wife through her second childbirth in the backseat of Buck's car as they fought their way through L.A. traffic. Perry and Joe made it to the hospital before they did—

But Perry and Joe weren't always in California. There was a time when a country's worth of land and longing still separated them. Neither knew what their future held nor if the other would want a place in it.

It was three days after Halloween when Joe Toye finally took the leap.

"We won, Red!" Perry shouted tearfully into the phone, and Verity jumped for joy, accidentally hitting her elbow on the kitchen counter. "We won the case! Clyde's safe!"

"That's wonderful!" Verity managed to get out, gripping her elbow and wincing. "Oh, Perry, that's amazing."

"Isn't it?" Perry giggled and sniffled with charged elation. "Oh, and Clyde says hello and thanks for the baseball cap. He loves it."

"I'm glad. Should keep his face out of the sun when he's playing on the court."

"He wears it every day. Where'd you find that basketball pattern anyway?"

Verity cracked a smile, leaning around the partition to see her father dozing in his armchair in the living room. He'd gone to seven different stores in three different cities to find that pattern for Clyde.

"Just a little something Pa picked up while he was out and about one day."

"Well, tell him thanks, from me and Clyde both."

"I will."

A beat.

"Verity?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"'Course, you can."

"Okay."

Perry considered, and Verity settled her excitement, sensing the tone shift in the conversation.

"It's- Well, it's about Joe."

Verity's smile crept back up into being.

"Go on."

"I got a letter from him yesterday. I'm gonna write him back as soon as I can get myself to sit down for longer than ten minutes—aw, to hell with it. You know just as well as I do that I'm in love with him."

"I do."

"It seems simple enough-"

"Mhmm."

"-but is it, though?"

Perry sighed.

"I love him, but I don't know what to do about it."

"Him, of course," Verity teased, and she could picture the red blossoming on Perry's cheeks as her friend gasped a laugh.

"Verity Miranda Rich!"

"Sorry. I couldn't resist. But really, here's what you do—you tell him." Verity wound the cord around her finger, smiling faintly as she remembered that first time she told Gene she loved him. "You tell him, and you let him know you want to be with him if he'll have you. Which he will."

"You think so?"

"Yes, because he loves you, too."

"He does?"

"He calls you Lovely Summer, doesn't he?"

She could almost hear Perry smiling.

"Yeah, he does. He, um... He called me that in the letter. Five times. I counted."

Verity's lips tugged up at the corners, and she leaned against the wall, balancing the receiver on her shoulder.

"Then have a little faith, Perry—he loves you, too."

They talked a little more about this and that, and then Perry hung up to write that hopeful reply. Verity hadn't even gotten the phone back on its hook when it started to ring again, and when she checked her watch, she realized it was already two in the afternoon. David Webster was right on time. He and Verity had taken up the habit of calling almost as often as they wrote as soon as they'd both settled in back home. Accordingly, their spoken and written messages often crossed, and every few weeks, Verity would receive a letter with information Web had conveyed two days ago on a call and had changed since. It was good to hear he'd taken up sailing again and begun saving up for a bigger ship. So far, he'd gone out on the Atlantic six times since his return to Massachusetts and invited her to come with him someday. The academic year at Harvard was already in full swing, but Web was planning to re-enroll and complete his degree the following Autumn. Verity made him promise to send her a copy of his notes every now and again so she could learn a little something, too.

A postcard from Austria arrived on the same day as Perry's fourth and final time on the witness stand, a little over a month after Verity had come back to Alton. Though she hadn't expected any sort of missive from Major Winters, she hadn't known she'd needed to hear from him until she did. His note was brief but heartwarming, conveying that he'd be home by Christmas, that she was welcome to visit at any time, and most importantly, that she could rely on him even out of the service. She supposed he'd sent the same to every Easy veteran, but that only served to make the sentiment seem ever the kinder. Best of all was the note tacked on to the bottom, scribbled in minute handwriting far messier than Winters' but still fairly legible—an addition solely for Verity. All it said was "same here", but it took a kind of pinching weight off Verity's chest she hadn't even realized was still there. She hadn't been sure where she and Captain Nixon stood. Now she had relief; now she had closure.

Bill Guarnere called out of the blue a week into November. He and Verity talked and laughed and caught up for several hours, then several more once he got Babe Heffron on the line. Verity asked if Heffron had heard from Perry, and he told her they'd been writing. He and Bill knew about her by now, from the newspaper clipping she'd sent him, but they both seemed to have taken it well, once they got over the shock. Babe had settled the facts with himself far quicker than Bill, who started reeling all over again when Verity told him she'd known about Perry all along. Thinking it the wiser decision, Verity didn't correct them when they called her 'Victor' and teased her about still not having a girl of her own. When Bill asked about Perry and Joe Toye, her two cents were simply that it was "about time".

"I'll say," Babe said. "It all makes sense now, don't it? The way they'd look at each other."

"I still can't square it with meself," Bill laughed. "That kid's as much a dame in my head as you are, Rich."

Verity laughed a little harder than she probably should have, but Bill just roared along, and even Babe chuckled a bit.

"You'd better visit," Bill urged her, "you and Bloom. Together, if ya can."

"We will. Maybe sometime after Christmas, yeah? I've still got a few things to settle up here at home-" Including puzzling out how to tell you the truth without causing you to shortcircuit. "-but I'll call Perry and see if her and I can work something out."

"'Her'," Bill marveled, clucking his tongue. "Jesus. 'Her'."

"Don't think about it too hard, Bill," Verity said gravely, "you'll give yourself a headache."

"Hey-"

The next few weeks passed by without much incident. It was nice to have a bit of peace like that. The first time Verity went out by herself was right after Thanksgiving to get a wreath from the local Christmas tree farm. She took a hammer to the front door and tapped the nail into the same hole they'd used for the past twenty-some years, then adjusted the wreath until it no longer looked quite so crooked. The wreath was nice, and the Riches thought it was enough, wordlessly deciding against a tree. Maybe next year, they thought as they passed by the living room, looking at the empty window-side corner where, once upon a time, twinkling lights gleamed against the shadows and an angel's cloth halo brushed the ceiling. Verity hardly remembered the sight. They hadn't put up a Christmas tree since the year her mother passed away. Maybe next year, and their eyes made empty promises and their hands patted shoulders a little stiffer than before.

After she put up the wreath and it started to sink in that Winter was on its way, Verity took to occupying her every spare minute with some task or preoccupation. She sent a letter to Joe Liebgott right before Chanukah to wish him a happy holiday and to see if he'd settled in alright back in California. She knew Perry had been to see him once, but her friend had been oddly reticent about Lieb, and Verity had been nursing a walnut of worry in her chest ever since. All she wanted to hear was that Liebgott was doing fine—well, even—and she'd be satisfied. If he wasn't, then perhaps a trip to California was in her near future. She'd been dying to see Perry, after all, and Liebgott, whether he knew it or not, had stood by Verity's side when she needed it the most. She would be hard-pressed indeed to let distance interfere with the loyalty she owed him in return. It was almost funny, how she'd consider buying a ticket cross-country when just three or four years ago, she never would have imagined traveling outside the Northeast. Now she was ready to hop a train to Oakland at a moment's notice—and all it took to get her there was a war.

Her letter to Lieb was far from the only correspondence she cooked up that early December. Most afternoons, Verity could be found fiddling with paper, pens, felt, and glue, crafting Christmas cards for her friends from Easy. Once she finished her list and leaned back in her chair to examine it, she was surprised and humbled to realize just how long it was. She even penned a snowflake-adorned note to Captain Speirs, who was still somewhere out in Europe, continuing his career with the Airborne. Though she had her doubts about the card's timely arrival, she knew Winters would know how to reach Speirs (whereas she did not) and so sent the card through him. The rest, she could address herself. Nearly fifty cards went out over the course of a week, each personalized to its recipient, some more so than others, and for every single card she sent, she received one in return, and then some. She even heard from Floyd Talbert, who (rumor had it) had gone all but radio silent since his return to the States, and Smokey Gordon, who was finally able to write her back from that letter she'd sent him from Austria last May. He enclosed a copy of his latest villanelle, asking her advice on its rhythm and rhyme schemes, and in doing so began a lifelong correspondence between two kindred poets.

The first card to arrive bore Gene's return address, and it showed up the same day she put her card to him in the mail. He must have been thinking about her to have sent it so early. She couldn't help that fluttery feeling in her chest as she ran her thumb over his endearments and well wishes, wondering how his handwriting could be so pretty and fine. They wrote so often already, but this card felt different, in a way—he'd drawn a little dove in the margins of the card, and in its beak was a ribbon tied around a ring. She knew a promise when she saw one. He still wanted to marry her, and that was the best Christmas gift she could have asked for.

The next few cards came from Winters, Webster, Lipton, and Frank Perconte, all linked to Verity by the same time zone and postal service. The Southerners were quick to follow, with Shifty and Popeye sending a sweet and simple angel-adorned note while Bull's triple-folded memo included a dozen signatures from his whole family, including his fiancée Vera and Vera's parents. Babe and Bill sent theirs together, and Verity got a laugh out of how they'd stuffed three different cards into the envelope as if they'd squabbled so much about which to send that they'd resorted to making no decision at all. Then the West Coasters converged on the Riches' mailbox all at once, starting with Malarkey, all the way out in Astoria. Liebgott was next, and though Verity was surprised at how peculiarly thick the envelope seemed, she understood once she saw the four-page folded letter he'd enclosed with the card. It was his response to her how-do-you-do, and though Verity couldn't be more pleased to hear he was doing well for himself, when he asked her to come and visit if she could "get away from fucking work"—even in his letters, he couldn't help but cuss—she knew she'd be off to buy a railway ticket just as soon as the holiday rates went down.

But no card—besides Gene's—could bring Verity greater joy than that of Perry and Joe Toye's, whose signatures sat side-by-side under a flurry of well-wishes. Verity placed that lovely card, its cover a vision of a snow-blanketed steam train puffing through a starry night, right in the center of the mantel, packed in with all the others. By the 16th of the month, the windy day that blew George Luz into town, that mantel appeared to have sprouted a veritable forest of cardstock pines.

George had been planning his visit for months. He came prepared with a suitcase and a broad, unfailing smile, and Verity could not have picked a better war buddy to be the first to meet her father. They hit it off, especially once they discovered they both loved to work with their hands. George had resumed his handyman's work upon return to Rhode Island and was perfectly satisfied with his career; Nicholas, though retired, was still an avid leatherworker. He came this close to giving George a fully-stocked tool chest before their guest politely let slip that he (unsurprisingly) had his very own. Then they got into a conversation comparing wrench and socket manufacturers and Verity started to wonder if she'd ever get a minute to talk to George herself. Her father was quick to notice her antsiness, however, and refused to keep them any longer from their reunion.

That first day, Verity kept touching George's arm or shoulder or ruffling his hair in teasing, half because she'd missed him so dearly and half to make sure he was actually here, telling her all his old jokes and talking to her like he'd known her—the actual her—for years. He brought his Christmas card to give her in person, partly because he was good like that and partly because he wanted to see her reaction to the terrible tinsel-themed joke he wrote on the inside flap. They were light and happy and glad, but there was still snow on the ground outside, glaring frosty and unforgiving in the sunshine. Verity and George stayed indoors most of the week. The one time they went and stayed out was to ice-skate on frozen Lake Winnipesaukee on Verity's twenty-fourth birthday, and after that, they bundled up in blankets and cupped hot cocoa mugs so tight they almost burned their fingers.

It was no secret among the veterans still in contact that Winter was proving difficult for most of Easy who served in Bastogne. Verity bore the added weight of her mother having passed away just a few days after Christmas. Twenty-one years ago this December, she and her father had laid Marguerite Rich to rest in that hillside plot in the only cemetery in town. The only thing Verity remembered from the funeral was how it had begun to snow, white flakes peppering the casket as they lowered it into the earth. She took George to see the headstone, and if he cried an icy tear or two as he knelt there, let into a facet of her past not even Gene knew much about, she pretended not to see. They walked close together, shielding each other against the snow and ice delicately painting the lakeside landscape, already mumbling promises to see each other again once the frost had broken and the forest was green again. So Winter was not easy, but they made do with each other and a warm house to get back to at the early end of the day.

There was one thing Verity wanted in particular to show George but was too nervous to bring it up until the day before his leaving. Right before her friend's arrival, she'd had a breakthrough with her poetry. She'd realized one sleepless night, staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom as visions of the rolling flowering fields of Holland swept through her head, that if she put aside the war years, she'd be ignoring the greatest emotional period of her life. She didn't have to write about the war part of the war. She could write about the parts that were good, the parts she'd look back on and smile because she was there with her friends and she was important and loved and protected. When she settled it with herself that she wouldn't be breaking her promise to Shifty after all—that's what set her in motion. She barely slept that night. When her father came in and found her on the carpet the next morning (again), he was pleasantly surprised to discover her surrounded by dozens of penned pages and an ink stain that had bled into the bottom hem of her sleep shirt.

She showed those poems to George, tucked neatly into their manila folder as she passed them over a dropped-egg-on-toast breakfast table. She could barely eat another bite, tapping her foot under the table in her anxiety, and as George flipped through the loose leaf sheets, she watched the minutia of his expression for any sign of his opinion. To her utter relief, he seemed to like her work, and when he told her how impressed he was, she turned several shades of pink. He insisted that she send him an autographed copy of the collection once she'd had it published; with a new sense of purpose blossoming in her chest, she humbly promised she would.

George left for Rhode Island on the morning of Christmas Eve, wanting to be with his family for the holidays. Verity hugged him goodbye and didn't care how obvious she made it that she didn't much want him to go. He kissed the top of her head in the kind of brotherly fashion that made her heart ache for the siblings she might have had if cancer hadn't taken her mother so soon, and when he waved goodbye, leaning out the train window despite the freezing morning, she watched him until the train was gone, leaving trees and empty tracks and Verity behind.

The morning of the 31st was growing late when the Riches' doorbell chimed through their home. Verity and her father had taken to the kitchen, making peppermint cookies and preparing to stay up until midnight. Bing Crosby crooned "Jingle Bells" from the radio in the living room, almost drowning out the I'll get it that Verity called over her shoulder as she swept past the archway. She wiped her hands off on her apron, its grey stripes now dotted with sticky red candy cane residue and clingy white flour. She paused in the foyer to tug it off and tossed it onto the little bench they kept to help her father put on his shoes, curiosity getting the better of her neatness. Then she opened the door and there he was, cracking that slow, content smile she didn't think she'd ever get to see like this, silhouetted by the snow and a thick beige scarf.

They'd discussed him visiting, playing with dates, but none sooner than Springtime next year. And yet, here he was, promises on paper fulfilled as he stood before her. There was a small rose in the buttonhole of his jacket. Verity wasn't sure if he meant to impress her or her father but didn't much care because he was here, on her doorstep in Alton, his eyes wide and wet with emotion.

"Gene," was all she could manage in a gasp before she simply had to throw herself into his arms.

They stayed like that for some time, just standing on the porch, breathing in the moment. The cold pressing on their lungs felt insignificant now that they had each other again. Footsteps came up behind them, followed by a chuckle.

"I think I could probably guess our company, but if you wouldn't mind the interruption..."

Verity slowly stepped back but did not let go of Gene. She kept his hand in her own, and having him there, at her side, was just so right that she nearly started to cry. Gene brushed away a stray tear of his own and she squeezed his hand, a smile growing on her lips as she looked between her beloved and her father.

"Pa," she said, breathing in deep the frosty air, "I'd like you to meet Eugene."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[tinyglitterrose]

Snapchat Messages

Part 1, Lashton, boyxboy, 18+

Bottom Ashton, Top Luke

Warnings: SMUT

Ashton sort of accidently keeps sending Luke his nudes on snapchat and finally Luke has enough...and maybe Ashton didn't send those pictures so accidentally.

----

One thing Luke would have never expected was a snapchat message like this from Ashton. He didn't even know the man still used snapchat, so when he got the notification that Ashton Irwin had sent him a snap at 2 am the previous night, Luke thought maybe he had found a funny filter and sent him a selfie or something.

Well, it was a picture of himself, just not what Luke would have expected.

And Luke was very much straight and happy in his open relationship with a girl called Mandy (fictional made up character) .

So, not thinking much of it, he opened the message in the morning, while he was brushing his teeth.

Two seconds later, the buzzing toothbrush dropped to the floor, toothpaste getting all over the tiles.

"What the -", Luke gasped, spluttering toothpaste on the mirror and sink in front of him, too.

That was - that was certainly Ashton, his moon tattoos were visible in the shot. But what was also visible were his... private parts. Gripped into his right hand, with the pink shiny mushroom tip poking out was his dick. His erect dick.

Luke's knuckles were starting to turn white around the edges of his phone. He had no idea why he was even reacting like this. They had all seen each other naked before and even when those pictures of Calum got leaked years ago, he hadn't reacted like this. He had laughed it off.

But he wasn't laughing right now. Was it because Ashton had sepcifically sent that picture to him? Well, obviously it wasn't meant for him, but then why had Ashton not called yet and told him to not even look at it or had he not even noticed?

It was only 8 am right now after all. Yea, that must be it.

He closed the app and the picture disappeared.

---

Ashton never came up to him to say anything, he seemed clueless the whole day.

Really clueless and dumb, Luke thought, because at half past midnight that night he got another notification.

Now that was his apology text, Luke thought.

But it was another picture. And not an apology picture, if that even existed.

It was a picture of Ashton standing in front of a mirror, bare from what Luke could see.

His legs were spread, phone in one hand and the other tightly gripping his balls.

The room was almost dark, but Luke could still see everything very clearly. Too clearly, because now he had an unobstructed view to Ashton's hard member and he couldn't help himself but tap on the screen to make the picture stay longer.

Luke was so straight. But then why was his own dick twitching in his pants when he - for whatever reason and also he would never ever admit he had done it - zoomed in to get an even better view?

And Luke was not going to be dumb enough to take a screenshot because snapchat notifies people when you take a screenshot, but he caught himself wanting to screenrecord his screen so he could keep the picture. Why would he want to keep a nude selfie of Ashton on his phone?

He had no clue, but the next night, when he was laying in bed again, alone once again because Mandy liked to go out partying and only come back in the morning, he was waiting to get a snapchat notification. But it didn't come. And when he woke up in the morning, the phone lost in the tangled bed sheets, there was still nothing.

But Ashton didn't dissappoint. Luke was singing along to old 5SOS songs, Mandy leaning on his chest, while she was scrolling through her own phone. She had told Luke about the guy she had met at the bar and how they had spent the night together and Luke had only nodded, mind elsewhere.

He didn't think much of it, when his phone made a small noise, signifying a new notification, but he immediately jumped up from the couch once he had turned on the screen and saw that it was a snapchat message from his older bandmate.

Mandy gave him a confused look, to which Luke only mumbled a "Need to make a call, be right back", before he all but stumbled out of the room.

Just to be extra safe, he locked himself in the bathroom upstairs where he had opened Ashton's first message three days ago. He still couldn't believe that Ashton seemingly hadn't noticed that he was sending his nudes to the wrong person.

He gulped, looked at his own blue and anxiously flickering eyes in the mirror, then he unlocked his phone.

Here we go, Luke thought, and with a deep breath and a weird tingly feeling in his stomach opened the message.

It was Ashton. Of course. He was in his basement, where he kept all his drums, his green shimmery snare drum even in the front of the picture.

But right behind it was Ashton's body, part of his upper body clad in a blue and black striped shirt visible, as well as his legs in grey sweatpants. It was just that those sweatpants were pulled down to just below the full balls, pink dick hanging or more like standing out.

Luke gulped audibly.

What was he supposed to do?

The decision was taken from him as he was alerted with yet another message from Ashton. Now that was new. Was it finally the 'oh shit, sorry, wrong chat' message?

It was not. Instead it was a picture of Ashton now having lost his shirt and from what he could see also his pants, fully bending over the snare drum and his face being in the shot.

Ashton's hazel eyes were staring right at him mischieviously, further back part of his penis still visible and the naked curve of his bent back.

He was grinning, dimples showing and a drum stick clad between his teeth.

If Ashton ever wanted to become a nude model instead of a drummer, he would definitely be successful. This was the sexiest and somehow also prettiest picture Luke had ever seen.

"Ash", he caught himself mumbling, taking in every detail.

Why - why was his own penis starting to grow at seeing Ashton bent over his own drums? The twitching a few nights ago he was able to ignore, but right now he could actually feel blood rushing down there.

Two seconds later he knew why. Or at least he couldn't possibly deny it anymore.

Another message showed up and without thinking, Luke opened it.

A shocked "oh my god" left the blonde's lips.

There was no more dick in this picture. But there was the drumstick. Just not in between Ashton's teeth anymore, but...it was... it was in his butt. In his damn butt.

How had he even taken this picture?

Both Ashton's hands were visible, each pulling one of his butt cheeks to the side in order to expose what was inbetween.

And inbetween was Ashton's fucking asshole with the drumstick pushed into it.

"What the fuck"

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck", with each repetition of those words, Luke's voice got louder.

How - why - Ashton - Luke had no idea what to think, his brain wasn't functioning anymore.

Of course he knew that some people did this, hell Mandy had told him about anal sex before but he had never wanted to do it, she had a pussy after all so why would he want to put his dick where she pooped out of?

And Ashton had just sent him a close up view of where...he pooped out of. And Luke certainly wasn't as disgusted as he wanted to be.

He took a few deep and shaky breaths, then he directed his eyes to his phone again. Just to see, just because he was curious, totally.

The pink hole and the wooden drumstick shimmered like they were wet with something. It seemed to trail down the drumstick.

Luke’s breath stuttered when he avtered his focus from that drumstick and instead stared right at the pink slightly swollen and shimmery wet rim of what was Ashton Irwin’s asshole. He was fucking staring at his bandmate’s asshole right now.

Did it really feel that good to put something in there?

Whether it did or not, a sudden anger came over Luke. Because these pictures weren’t meant for him and that meant that Ashton was sending these kinds of obscene pictures to someone else. And that was dangerous.

So without further debating it, he closed snapchat, the picture disappearing like all the others before it and after a bit of fumbling around he clicked the call button next to Ashton’s name in his phone.

It rang a few times...then it was denied.

Ashton had denied the phone call and oh hell no, Luke was not having that.

Sure, he might be in a very sexy phone call with the person the pictures were actually meant to go to or even have them over at his house right now, but Luke needed to speak to him now.

When he was denied the call again, he groaned loudly, then stomped down the stairs, gave his irritated girlfriend a quick kiss goodbye and jumped into his car.

If Ashton wasn’t going to pick up the phone, he would come to his door.

Two four-minute songs later, he rang the doorbell.  And just in case Ashton wanted to ignore that as well, Luke kept his finger pressed to the button until he heard an annoyed groan through the speakers above it.

“Luke, seriously?”, Ashton sounded beyond annoyed.

And because Luke knew that Ashton could see him through the small camera, he frowned right at it with scrunched up eyebrows.

He could hear Ashton sigh through the speakers, then a long beep that signalled the door being opened.

Luke all but stomped up the stairs to Ashton’s front door, kicking off his shoes in the entrance hall with one of them kicking over a vase and while Ashton was starting to complain about that, Luke wordlessly grabbed his tattooed upper arm, fingers tightening around the black snake and pulled the other man with him to the living room.

“Luke, man, what is wro-“

Luke interrupted him by forcefully pushing, almost throwing, him onto his own couch. Ashton released a whimper when he landed but Luke barely registered it.

“Do you know”, he started angrily, crowding over Ashton, “how fucking dangerous what you’re doing is?”

Ashton only stared at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, come on”, Luke scoffed in return, “You can’t seriously not have noticed that you were sending your shit to the wrong person”

Now a grin formed on Ashton’s face. “Oh, no, I’ve noticed.”, he said.

Luke really wanted to smack that stupid grin off his face.

“Is that all you have to say to this? ‘Oh, no, I’ve noticed?’”, Luke was fuming, “Your tattoos are all over it, you fucker, this could ruin you!”

Ashton blinked in surprise at such swear words leaving Luke’s mouth, but didn’t say anything else.

So Luke kept ranting: “You can’t send pictures like this to people, Ashton! Did your stupid dumbass brain forget what happened to Calum a few years ago? How they published his pictures? Do you want that to happen to you?”

He stopped when he looked back into Ashton’s eyes.

The hazel eyes were big now, looking up at him from under dark eyelashes and looking like a lost puppy.

“But you- “, his voice seemed like a whisper compared to Luke’s loud one before, “but you wouldn’t- “

“Of course not me, Ash, but the other person, huh? Have you even thought about that? They can see your tattoos in it and – would you stop looking at me like that… what?”

Luke groaned in annoyance as Ashton’s eyes only seemed to have gotten bigger, making the lost puppy look even more prominent.

“I haven’t – “, he bit his lip, a blush spreading on his cheeks, “they were only for you”

Luke’s face displayed pure horror at Ashton’s mumbled words. Only for him? No! No, he refused to believe that Ashton would take pictures like this only – Luke wasn’t even gay for god’s sake and Ashton knew that!

“Oh yeah?”, he bent down to make his eyes the same height as Ashton’s, “And the first one? Was that only for me, you didn’t mean to send it to someone else?”

The guilty look that flashed on the drummer’s face told Luke that he was right.

“But only at the beginning”, Ashton’s big eyes were almost pleading now and Luke had never seen his friend like this, “Only the first two. I haven’t sent them anything else since!”

Luke seemed unfazed.

“Were your tattoos in it?”, his voice was cold, or at least he wanted it to sound cold.

Ashton averted his gaze for a moment, but before Luke could start with any more accusations, he rushed out: “But I blocked them! I really don’t send them pictures anymore!”

Luke continued to stare into the other’s eyes for a few moments, as if trying to figure out whether he was lying, then he stood upright again, grumbled out a “Good” with clenched fists and turned to leave.

Before he could even leave the living room, though, Ashton’s voice stopped him. “Wait”

Luke rolled his eyes and turned around, raising an eyebrow at the other man.

Ashton didn’t look like a puppy anymore, he looked unhappy, well possibly an unhappy and pissed off puppy.

“You’re just gonna leave? You tell me I’m good and then you leave?”

Luke’s other eyebrow rose to the same height as the already raised one.

“If you don’t actually think I’m good then don’t tell me I’m good.”

Okay, Luke was beyond confused. What did he even mean by that?

“If I’m not good – “, Ashton reached next to him to retrieve a drumstick that he then offered to Luke in his open palm, “Do you think I’m not good?”

“I – what?”, Luke was confused and concerned at the same time, “Ash, you know you’re a good drummer, why would you ask that – “

“No!”, Luke jumped a little at the shrill sound, “not – you have to hit me if you think I’m not good.”

And he reached out his palm with the drumstick more to Luke, nodding towards it.

“Hit you?”, Luke vehemently shook his head, “Ash, I would never hit you.”

“Right”, he tilted his head, “And you would never like my nudes, would you?”

Luke’s eyes widened in panic for a moment, before he quickly shook his head.

“Why did you look at them then?”, Ashton was clearly mocking him now.

And Luke wasn’t entirely sure if he had interpreted things correctly, but he didn’t want to let himself be mocked like this, so he just went for it. “Thought you wanted to be good”, he said, tilting his head too and grinning to himself when he successfully made his bandmate shut up, “This isn’t very good behaviour, you know.”

“I – “

“And sending nudes to strangers isn’t very good either”

Ashton was still staring at Luke, shocked by his sudden change of behaviour and Luke was enjoying it too much, so he went another step further and took the drumstick from Ashton’s hand.

Ashton’s eyes got wider, when Luke twirled it on his fingers and said nonchalantly: “Maybe you’re right, I should hit you. You sent me your nudes without asking for my consent after all.”

“Uhm – “

“What, you just assumed that I would like them? Would want them? What do you think I did with them, get off to them? Well, guess what, I didn’t.”

He stepped in front of Ashton again, looking down at him. “Don’t you feel weird sending me your nudes? Especially that last one? You sent me a picture of your asshole, that’s pretty weird if you ask me”

Ashton visibly gulped.

“Pretty weird”, Luke repeated.

Then, without any warning, he struck the drumstick over Ashton’s cheek, his face getting turned to the side with the speed of it.

Upon seeing the red stripe now covering Ashton’s face, though, Luke immediately dropped the drumstick, kneeling down to him and apologizing profusely while carefully cupping his cheek.

“Shit, shit, sorry. I’m so sorry, Ash, I don’t know why – shit, I’m so sorry.”

Ashton grabbed Luke’s wrist and pulled it away from his face.

“I like when you treat me like this”, he admitted quietly.

“Like..?”

“Like I’m disgusting. When you berate me like this.”

“But if you – I have no experience with this.”

“Yea, I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”, Ashton giggled a little, “And I know you have no experience. If you would’ve hated my pictures I would have long apologized for them, I promise.”

So it was obvious that Luke had not not liked them?

“Okay”, Luke mindlessly let his fingers trail over Ashton’s reddened cheek, “But if you… behave…”

“Then tell me I’m a good boy”, Ashton sounded breathless, when he said it, like he really wanted to be called that. He wanted to be good for Luke, so good.

“You’re not being very good, though, Ash”, Luke said after giving it a moment of thought. He purposefully made his voice sound disappointed.

Ashton’s gaze turned to that of a sad lost puppy again.

“A good boy would have long given me a real-life view of what I got to see in the pictures.”

And alright, Luke had expected Ashton to obey, but not as fast as he did. Within seconds he had jumped off the couch, turned around, pulled his pants and underwear off, almost tripping over the pant legs, and then he was showing off his butt to his best friend.

“Funny of you to assume that that’s what I wanted to see”

Ashton moved to turn around, but Luke stopped him with a laugh and a “No, no, this is good, I’m just teasing”

He took his time to look at Ashton’s bare butt for a bit. He would have never expected to at some point in his life be basically inspecting Ashton’s ass. And to be liking it.

And wanting to see more: “That’s not what you showed me in your pictures, though”

“Uhm”, Ashton hesitated.

“Come on”, Luke said, pushing on Ashton’s back to make him bend forward more and cause the side of his face to get pressed to the cushions of the back of the couch.

“Be good”, he added and that did it for the drummer. Long freckled fingers gripped into his own flesh and slowly, still hesitantly, pulled his cheeks apart.

Luke let out a gasp once he got a clear view. “You filthy little – “, he mumbled, then remembered that Ashton enjoyed being talked to this way, so he spoke louder, “You’re so dirty, Ash. Sitting here with a sex toy shoved up your ass, while you’re talking to me and acting all shy? So dirty, so filthy.”

“It’s – it’s – “

“It’s what, Ash?”

“It’s”, he took a shaky breath and Luke saw the pink rim clenching around the purple butt plug that was peeking out of him, “It’s so you have it easier.”

Luke wasn’t really listening, distracted, one hand laying itself onto Ashton’s back again, the other slowly reaching out and one finger experimentally poking the end of the toy. “Easier for what?”, he asked absentmindedly.

“Easier – ah”, Luke had given the toy a slight push, “Easier i – in case you want to fuck me”

Luke’s mind needed a few more moments in which he was still poking the purple plastic, until it had caught up with Ashton’s words.

“You want me to – “, he stopped himself from talking, only staring at the back of Ashton’s curly haired head.

The curls bounced as he nodded his head.

“If you think I’m a, I’m a good boy then you have to gi – give me a treat”

“Oh”, Luke grinned even though the other couldn’t see that, “I have to, huh?”

Ashton nodded his head more forcefully.

“And that’s the only treat you want? A bit picky of you, don’t you think?”

Ashton turned his head around at that, rolling his eyes at Luke and said: “Obviously I don’t want Cal or Mike to- “

Luke didn’t let him finish.

“Shush”, he ordered and turned Ashton’s head around again with a tight grip on his hair.

Ashton gasped, his hole clenching around the toy again.

Luke’s eyes zeroed in on it again. Something about this was so pretty to him and he didn’t understand why. This was his friend’s asshole with a sex toy in it for god’s sake, why was he so fascinated by it? And how beautiful would it look if he could see his own dick moving in and out of it instead? Luke had always liked watching his own dick drive in and out of Mandy, but he had never – would it feel different? Tighter for sure? Or not?

“Only one way to find out”, Luke mumbled to himself, ignoring Ashton’s questioning meep and gripped the end of the purple thing to start pulling it out.

What he had not expected though, was for Ashton to start gasping and mewling the way he did. A long stream of high pitched sounds started leaving his mouth as soon as Luke started pulling.

“Feel that good, huh?”, Luke grinned as he pulled the buttplug so it was barely keeping inside Ashton.

He didn’t let the other man answer before he pushed it back in as far as it would go without losing his grip, in one quick and powerful motion.

Ashton screamed out, his knees buckling.

“Please, please”, he whimpered, when Luke didn’t move it any more.

Luke grinned wider. Something about this high pitched tone the drummer seemed to not be able to control made Luke feel so excited, he wasn’t even denying the hard on in his pants anymore.

In fact, it was starting to feel quite tight with his pants in the way.

“I - I, yes, yes – please”, Ashton whimpered desperately when he heard the zipper of the other man’s pants being pulled down. He started to turn his head, wanting to see, but Luke gripped onto his hair and pushed his face back into the cushions.

“But Lukey, please”, Ashton mumbled into them.

“You can look when I fucked you”, Luke grunted, and without warning pulled the plug out, throwing it somewhere over his shoulder, possibly a bit too enthusiastically.

But he didn’t notice the sound of it knocking something, whatever it was, over and had barely registered Ashton’s long gasp when he had pulled it out. He was too focused on the now empty hole closing around nothing and clenching repeatedly like it was searching for something to wrap itself around of.HHhheojdoej

“Damn, Ash”, Luke mumbled stunned, “You’re so – I don’t think I can go back to pussy after this”

Luke wasn’t sure if he was joking or not because this was certainly a sight to behold. Once again, he didn’t notice Ashton’s mumbling of “Then don’t”

Suddenly Luke realized “Shit, we have no lube”

He was really not willing to leave his position and this sight, but he knew there was no way that anal sex would work without lube, except maybe spit but Luke wasn’t sure if that would really be enough.

But it was definitely something he wanted to do, just not now, “Imma rim you one of these days”, he stated and received another mumbled string of pleas from Ashton’s mouth in response.

“Not now, though, just wanna fuck you now, babe”

“There’s lube behind that cushion”, Ashton almost shamefully admitted, gasping at the soft slap he received to his ass in response and the mumbled “dirty little boy”, before Luke pulled a small lube bottle from behind said cushion.

He didn’t tell Ashton what he was doing, just kept the man guessing and waiting, while he spread lube onto his fingers and already on his dick, too.

He got a little carried away when he started smearing it onto his dick, starting to stroke the length, while his gaze was focused on Ashton’s still slightly clenching hole again.

Ashton must have heard the squelching sounds of the lube moving on Luke, because he started to turn his head around again, but Luke was quick to grip onto his curls again and press his face back to the couch.

“What did I say about looking at me?”

“S-sorry”

“I think you need to be punished again, Ashy”, Luke mused.

Ashton enthusiastically pushed his ass towards Luke in response and Luke chuckled at how eager he was. He squeezed his cheeks with lube wet hands for a moment, then he let go and pushed two fingers into the other man without warning.

“Your punishment is that you’ll be coming from my fingers and when you’re still gasping from your orgasm, I’ll fuck you and make you come again, baby”

Ashton’s knees buckled, barely holding himself in the bent over standing position, as he moaned.

Luke deemed that as answer enough, finally starting to move his fingers. He scissored them to spread Ashton and changed the angle until the other man screamed into the couch, biting the leather to prevent further sounds leaving him.

“There?”, Luke asked, grinning devilishly even though Ashton couldn’t see him.

“Huh?”, he added, when he didn’t get a response and drove his fingers in harder.

Ashton mewled again, unable to get any actual words out.

Only when his knees started to buckle so much that Luke had to get a hand under his tummy to hold him up, otherwise Ashton would've collapsed into the couch, did he start crying out a string of "Luke, Luke, Luke"

Luke loved the way it sounded so helpless, like there was nothing but him in Ashton's brain. And probably, at this moment, there wasn't.

----

I've been writing on this for like two weeks now, so I'm putting a cut here to post it and part 2 will be uploaded soon! ❤️

Check out my ao3 profile (also tinyglitterrose) for the whole fanfiction once I've posted it!

[mechahero]

//Some HypnoOutlaw AU stuff because I have a problem

Lambda's username on there is jetixis (or cyberworldz maybe? If I go down the cyberworldz username route, he'd use it out of spite or some attempt to seem cool because it's ironic to use the name of Hypno.space's competitor while being on HS. Even though he uses Hypno.space and doesn't use CyberWorldZ at all.)

His desktop wallpaper is the classic light green and slightly darker shade of green checkered background. Or a Taurus X wallpaper. He changes between the two a lot.

Listen, his display settings are Squisherz themed, except for the sound which is default. His cursor setting is HS default or this cool gauntlet cursor he found while poking around one night. His screensaver is Oozle Drip.

Motor City isn't a thing but he still does live in Virginia. I don't know where in it yet.

He's usually on HS to hang out with people. He's kind of lonely in real life and uses the internet as a method to connect with other people and talk with them!

Yes, he has a virtual pet. It's Mushi. He used to have an April the Flying Hamster but he made the mistake of taking a weeklong break from HS and it sort of... died? (I know the pets don't actually decline or die when you log off but roll with it.) He's still upset about it.

The song that plays on his page is either Wild Sleep, or he managed to scoot around HS's copyright system so he can have Platinum Retriever or Glamopaster #2 as his page theme.

His page is... well, it's not really weird exactly. It's kind of just average? Imagine a page for a heavily masc 18 year old but slightly juxtaposed by the fact that he often talks about cute things he likes. And the background being pink perhaps, that too. Maybe a mix of cool and cutesy gifs and stuff.

He just kind of talks about whatever! From the music he likes, the shows and games he likes to watch and play. Average stuff. He won't shut the hell up about KATACLYSM and a vampire show he likes though.

Has a page dedicated to Taurus X. He wanted to make a fan club so he could talk about it with other fans of the show but he wasn't sure how to do that, so it's just a page.

Has an unlisted page that's tucked away. It mostly functions as a diary. It's more of a place for him to try and put his thoughts and feelings. It's rarely updated due to how weird he feels about it.

He has another unlisted page which is basically just a place for him to put his fanfiction. He mostly writes a lot of worldbuilding stuff for the world his character is in. He very rarely writes stories about his character, which is a cyborg catboy that takes cues from JRPG protagonists. (Just... roll with it. Please.)

Has a third unlisted page where he posts screenshots of drama he comes across and talks about it. Think like Gossip Girl. Lambda tends to follow these bouts of drama very closely. It's mostly for his eyes only as he's aware that it's really fucking weird to post about someone else's drama publicly, hence the unlisted page. Doesn't stop him from getting into the occasional fight outside of that page though. Because never knowing when to keep his mouth shut is just consistent with Lambda no matter the verse.

He's a sparklehaze disliker, sorry. He's tried to like it but it's not his thing. Dislikes a lot of cosmic music and coolpunk songs as well.

Ironic considering he's a Fre3zer fan lmaooo (he only likes Icy Girl and that's it so that doesn't even count.)

Secret Seepage fan. He keeps it to himself but Lambda really does like their songs. He just doesn't want to be made fun of for listening to the HS equivalent of nu metal lmao.

He's just kind of nosy. His nights when not spent in ChitChat talking to his friends or posting on his page consist of going onto other people's pages and looking through them. He has a lot of fun going through rabbit holes and seeing just how many pages are connected to each other. The downside is that he tends to find a lot of weird stuff. But hey, that kind of happens so he's not too bothered by it, he just moves on.

You know Lambda would have the HS_Lifestyles badge on his page. And HS_Music. And HS_GamersOnly while we're at it. He's not subscribed to a lot of things.

[dovand]

everyone have a look at Andrew Loomis' drawing books! They're excellent resources, from what we've seen so far (we've been working through Drawing the Head & Hands and while it's very obviously mid-1900s (very gendered, very white-centric), it's still an incredibly helpful resource re: construction of the head. The other books look very good, too, from our poking around.

(Also, they're on the Archive in their entirety for free! No need to borrow the files.)

(ID: A series of black-and-white screenshots of scanned books. The first image reads: "All that you need to know, to start this book, is how to draw a circle...", followed by a hand-drawn circle. The text continues: "And it can be as lopsided as the family budget, and still work out." This is followed by three uneven circles. "Don't start out with that old gag, 'I couldn't draw a straight line.' Neither can I, freehand. If we need a straight line, we can use a ruler. Now please try it, just for fun.'".

The following images are screenshots of plates 41, 74, 75, 28, 29, 54, 55, and 42 from Andrew Loomis' Drawing The Head & Hands. They each feature graphite sketches, in varying stages of completion and/or detail. One page has several women's faces. The next has several drawings of teenaged boys and girls. The next page has just under twenty expressive drawings of a man's head, with some cartoon stylisation that emphasises certain aspects of the man's expression and/or features. The next page has several sketches of babies, and the final page has some sketches of a young woman and man. These are all in a mostly realistic style. end ID)

[thewizardtower]

Hello - I am necromeowncy, I am thirty years old, and today I just bought my very first art tablet while suffering from insomnia while discussing art with my friend who was also suffering from insomnia halfway around the globe. I am struck with the strangeness of human connection as I think that it's taken me thirty years to finally be the person seventeen-year-old me would think is cool. Let me elaborate as I poke holes into the walls of this personal blog here.

My spouse's alarm rings at 6am. I turn to him in bed and say: "Good morning, I've been awake since 3am and just spent $80 on a Wacom." He rolls over and says something like, "Hmmrh?" while the light of my phone illuminates his face. I get up and make myself a latte while he shows me cute kitten videos and says: "That's you." I agree.

From ages fifteen to about eighteen, I tried drawing art and writing fanfics. It did not go very well. The ghosts of my past still haunt me as specters on DeviantArt and Fanfiction.net. I don't delete them. They exist as a time capsule - one I choose to open today and witness the rotting corpse of my teenage years as a closeted queer dumpster fire. They are awkward and amazing and not cool in the slightest.

That period of my life was the last time I tried to exist as a creator in fandom. I admired the art of friends; I published fanfics; I drew with colored pencils on paper. My art sucked ass. My fics were slightly less ass. I developed a crush on a cosplayer from California. I wrote a fic for her. She ripped it apart. I stopped writing for a decade.

Now, I am a creator in a fandom space, once again. My fics are marginally better. I'm happily married, have a job as a professional writer, am no longer closeted, and still very, very awkward (but at least I'm aware of it, this time around). Last month was my one year anniversary of publishing my first wolgraha fic on AO3. I've fallen in love with writing through the XIV fandom. I make my own mods and learned to create cool screenshots. Now, it is time to learn about art. I owe it to teenage me.