#because why would it be any other day naturally

[delulupunk]

How the batboys would react to anniversaries!

Dick Grayson

He really tries his best to spend the day with you or carve out some time, but if you’re a civilian then it’s hard. He’s got to lead the titans, stop Mr Freeze, make sure Bruce doesn’t adopt anyone else, stop Mr Freeze again!

When he finally gets to you he makes it well worth your time. He’ll confidently give you your favourite flowers because he knows exactly which ones they are.

Dick is a diehard romantic so he’ll bring you back to wherever you had your first date, or where you first met depending on how memorable the moment was.

“Sooooo, I’m assuming you remember this place…” He’ll say with a cheeky smile- nervously he’ll add, “You do like it right?”

Expect a lot of nostalgia to the early days of your relationship, which will lead to you two falling in love with each other again.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the entire World.”

Jason Todd

“Well… do you want to celebrate our anniversary?”

Jason doesn’t believe it should be any different from any other days in your relationship. Sure he wants to commemorate and appreciate your time together, but you two shouldn’t be doing anything drastically different right? After all you both put a 110% into your relationship naturally.

He’ll definitely buy you a very thoughtful gift, most likely a book that reminds him of you. However Jason doesn’t have the confidence to give it to you in person, because he’s scared you’ll reject the idea or throw his affections back in his face.

Instead he’ll leave the gift for you on the beside table with a note. Which is short and to the point, but again he’s worried that he may be overestimating how much you truly care for him, so he acts aloof.

“For you, happy anniversary.”

Tim drake

He’ll probably be a few minutes late to the date looking totally disorientated. Shoving your favourite flowers into your hand he’ll breathlessly give you an apology.

“Sorry-“ pant, “riddler,” pant, “is crazy,” wheeze.

Tim is looking for more of a casual day rather than a massive extravagant event. He just wants to spend time with his lover and feel free to be himself.

The pair of you will go on a date doing something that you both find equally enjoyable so the day isn’t solely spent on one of you.

Tim’s definitely bought you something expensive to give you after the date is over. It’s something that reminded him of you when he walked past a store in the diamond district a few weeks ago and he couldn’t resist. Secretly he hopes you like it, one because his bank account took a bit of a dent, two the store doesn’t do returns and three he’ll be scared he doesn’t understand you properly.

“It suits you perfectly.”

Damian Wayne

You and Damian have dinner at Wayne Manor, which sounds very simplistic, but the little details are what makes the anniversary special.

Either you or Alfred will make the dinner, while Damian goes patrolling. This means he has the entire night to give to you and not Gotham.

You both dress up as if you’re going to a fancy gala and insist on no interruptions.

It’s just you and Damian with the fireplace silently rustling behind you and the opulence of Wayne Manor to embrace you.

The affair is quiet and romantic, not overstated and tiring. It’s just the right pace for you and Damian.

No words need to be said at the end of the meal as you both stare into the fireplace, save for a previous statement.

“Thank you for trusting me with your heart.”

Duke Thomas

“No it’s next week right?”

Duke is so sweet and loves you to the moon and back. Unfortunately he’s a bit forgetful. Duke however makes things up for you in an impressive fashion. If there’s one thing Duke is known for it’s kindness.

You’d think he hadn’t even forgotten considering how he takes you to all the right places and says all the right things. The day goes by so quickly but it’s completely jam packed with activities.

“I know you always wanted to, so why not today!”

Since he forgot the anniversary he doesn’t buy you a specific gift, but to you the day in itself is a gift. He completely forgoes patrol all together for you.

“Please forgive me, I love you too much to let you go.”

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER TWELVE

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch

warnings a lot of angst this time whoops 🤭

kalena speakss 🪽! so there’s like four chapters left guys woah. i’m sorry for this one and the next one because it’s lowkey just angst but you’ll live 😆

July 2025 — Los Angeles, California

“You did what?”

“Azz—”

“No you dumbass, you did what?” Nika cuts in, her voice echoing through my phone speaker as she repeats Azzi’s question.

I had just landed from our latest road trip, mindlessly trying to unpack and clean up around the apartment. Maraye was coming over and I wanted to have everything looking good by the time she showed up.

I’ve kept our conversations brief over the last couple days. Every time I hear her voice it just triggers my throat to close up and my mouth to get all dry.

But I can’t avoid her anymore. Whether I tell her about Nyla or not, she’s bound to find out. So I’m left with no other choice to tell her.

“You really want me to say it again?” I ask them, turning down the volume on my phone. Each time one of them yells it feels like my ear drum is seconds away from being ruptured.

“You had sex with Nyla? Why the hell would you do that?” Azzi yells again, confirming the fact that she heard me the first time.

Azzi is filled in on the lore more than anyone. So I know she’s irritated, she almost gave me a concussion when I told her about hooking up with her before the championship. I know if we were in the same room now she might actually render my abilities to play.

“I already told you it was an accident.”

“Oh, you accidentally fell into some pussy? Good luck explaining that to Maraye.” Nika laughs at me. I just know if I could see her face she’d be red from laughter.

“You didn’t tell her yet? Oh my—”

Azzi obvious exasperation is cut off when I hear my front door knock. My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest. I swallow the lump in my throat and reach for my phone.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s at the door so we can talk later.” I breathe, not even waiting for a response before hanging up on the group call.

My feet drag against the floor on the way to the door.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been nervous for a girl to come over to my place. Even when she was here last week, it felt natural. Like she was supposed to be here anyway.

But now my palms are all sweaty and slipping against the silver doorknob.

I think I might stop breathing the second I see her. Raye’s always been perfect, she could be wearing a garbage bag and I’d still think that’s true. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her in person completely barefaced, not even a little blush on her cheeks or mascara on her lashes.

Just her. No enhancers, and looking as beautiful as I’ve ever seen her.

Raye wears that one jacket that every girl in LA seems to own, the Lululemon one. I didn’t get it at first but now I totally get the hype, the navy fabric clings to her arms and waist and everything in between, making her body look otherworldly. The matching shorts, however, are too damn short. I might not be able to control myself.

“So, can I come in?” Her nose scrunches as she asks almost like she’s shy but also teasing me over my gawking.

I don’t even waste any time tugging her arm and pulling her body into mine for me to hold.

I can’t help but grin to myself at how fast she returns the gesture, her arms wrapped around my neck and mine pressed to her lower back. Raye kicks the door shut behind her, humming softly.

It feels light, the hug. Almost like thousands of pounds of weight were lifted off of both of us and now we’re just floating together.

“Someone missed me, huh.”

I let out a breathless laugh, resting my head on top of hers. She smells incredible. “So fuckin’ bad, Raye.”

Raye is pulling back from me slowly, limb by limb detaching from me with a little fight as if they were stuck.

My lip travels between my teeth, looking over her whole outfit once again. Navy looks so good on her, and I start thinking that I might have to buy her more colors of this exact set because of what it’s doing to me.

“This lil set is cute.” I compliment, tugging at the spandex material on her mid thigh.

“Yeah?” Raye asks, looking over her own body. “I was supposed to go to the gym and then you called.”

The statement brings an embarrassing smile to my face. The fact that she dropped what she was doing, changed her plans to come and see me.

I’m embarrassingly whipped over her.

“We can do sum exercise here. No worries.” I smirk. She’s quick to drop a hand from my shoulder to mush my face off to the side.

“Shut up.” Raye giggles, “you wanna get some food?”

I lick my lips as slyly as I can, which really is a lot harder than I thought. There’s something, something that makes my mind run a thousand miles a minute. Her eyes, which I swear I’ve been obsessed with since we first met. Her skin, it’s glowing, looking like glitter that covers her skin. The smell of whatever curl cream she used lingers in my nose.

“Well I needa shower first, and then I wanted to talk.” I explain. My hands trail down to the backs of her thighs, just under the curve of her ass. She lets me, not even fighting me off or telling me that all of this is wrong. It’s the most intimate I’ve ever been with her that hasn’t led to kissing her.

Which makes me want to do it even more.

“About?”

"You." I say gently pushing her back against my front door and Raye raises her eyebrows. "And me." I add on.

Her tongue slightly slips from her lips, poking at the corner in the way it does when she’s concentrating or listening or thinking. She holds the back of my neck with one hand, her acrylics grazing the hair at my nape. I shudder, finger nails subconsciously digging into her skin.

“Okay.”

—

I’m not sure what I thought Paige’s room would look like. Her apartment— large and spacious, floor to ceiling windows, lights that set the mood so well that i’m sure every girl she’s had in here was throwing themselves at her— fits her completely. But her bedroom, is almost bare.

Cream white walls and a bed in the center. Oddly enough, there’s no purple decorating it like I assumed. Her duvet is a tan color, pillows that match, and a white throw blanket that is a nice addition to it.

The mattress nearly sucks me in when I lay back on her bed. Her phone in my hand as I order us some Chinese as per her request.

I can’t help but let my eyes wander. The room is clean. So clean, not a single book or pencil or sock out of place.

A bible sits on her beside table, along with a journal and some pens.

Then the more I look around the more the room becomes Paige. The bible is her, the picture on her full length mirror of her and her siblings, the framed piece of nylon she cut down from the net in April, the affirmations on sticky notes above her dresser. It’s all Paige. Everything that I know makes her the annoyingly smart, beautiful, and sweet blonde that I know her to be.

And she gets to be mine. As soon as I tell her that Julian isn’t my boyfriend anymore, things get to be the way they should be. I get to feel good around her rather than guilty.

Even if I do. If I do feel guilty for enjoying myself around her, I’d live with it. Because it’s Paige, and no matter what she always finds a way to get my mind off of everything.

My ears perk up the second I hear the shower turn off and I swing my feet off the side of the bed, almost in excitement of seeing her face again.

Her phone buzzes avidly on the blanket, just slightly muffled but I still hear it. I reach for it immediately, thinking that It’s our DoorDasher confirming our order. I type in the password she told me, clicking on the message notification.

lmk when you get bored of that LA girl again

i’ll be right here like i always am 😂

When you’re like me, and have been in your fair share of shitty relationships, you sort of become numb to it all. The lying, the hurt, the yelling.

I deal with it through music. Spending hours in the studio or in my room writing. It works. It helps me remember that the Earth will keep spinning.

But for a second, it does feel like the world has stopped. Like the planet, that spins a thousand miles an hour, has come to a complete halt and everything is just crashing around on me.

I have to stop looking, protect what’s left of that goodness in my heart and not keep fucking reading. But my thumb moves anyway. I read this girl’s text to Paige from last Sunday. The day after I stood in her arms and told her I’d make a decision. The night after she told me she’d wait for it.

A texts that reads: “had fun ;)”

That fucking wink. It makes me seethe. I swear it’s meant for me, just to rub it all in my face. My heart thumps so loud, and I feel like I’m underwater just drowning.

Within seconds I’m scrolling through what seems like years of texts messages, years of pictures and intimate texts that make me nauseous.

This has to be what karma feels like. I did it to Julian, right? I kissed and touched on someone else while making a promise to him. And now it’s all getting thrown back at me.

Paige took everything I gave to her, and went and gave it to someone else.

Her bathroom door glides open, a cast of steam coming into the room and she follows. “Are you sure y’on’t want anything more comfy to wear? Y’look sexy, but I can—”

Paige stops when she sees I’m not looking at her but rather that my eyes are trained to her phone.

“Ma, you aight?”

“Let me know when you get bored of that LA girl again, I’ll be right here like I always am. Paige, do you take me for a joke?” I ask her, rereading the text out loud to her before finally looking up.

I can’t let her see my tears, the ones that build and poole at my waterline, but Goddamnit they sting. Everything does. My throat feels small, the lump in my throat huge in contrast. And I want to cry. Like all this, all the confusion and the trust and the happiness she made me feel was all for nothing.

I see all the color drain from her face in an instant. Her shoulders dropping.

Paige only has on a sports bra and some sweatpants, the white towel around her neck picks up all the water that drips from that perfect blonde hair, and I’m so mad at myself for thinking about how irresistible she looks.

It’s entirely too reminiscent of the first time we met, when she was all flushed as sweaty and standing there looking like everything I’ve ever wanted.

Now I look at her and just feel like a boulder is crushing my chest.

“Raye.” She starts, stalking over to me and I stand up, feeling like that’s the best thing I can do to stop her from touching me. “Baby, just listen.”

“Me? Listen? To what. Listen to you lie to me about how you just want me? Because you obviously don’t.” I shake my head at her. “It took you 24 hours, Paige. 24 hours and you were fucking some other girl.”

“I—” She starts, sighing and tossing the towel in her hand on the bed. “I thought you chose him and I got drunk.” She babbles. Each step she takes towards me sets me off just a little more, and I feel suffocated.

“I didn’t! God!”

“What?”

“I didn’t fucking choose him, Paige. We broke up, I ended it. But instead of communicating with me when I called you, you went all silent on me.”

My voice cracks as I feel my composure slipping. It’s unbelievable, the entirety of it all.

“But now it all makes sense. You were with her.” I laugh, except it’s not funny. I think it’s the only thing I can do to stop me from lashing out at her, screaming and crying and fighting her in a way that makes me look like the bad guy.

Paige’s eyes flicker. And I know her. The confident and slightly cocky blonde girl that would double down on anything. She’s stubborn, more than me, so when I see it; the slight hint of guilt in those crystalline blue eyes, I know she’s not going to say anything I want her to.

“Wait a minute, you don’t get to be mad at me over this.” She shoots. The words hit my heart violently, sharp, like a knife. “You were with him. The whole time, who I was with is not something you get to be mad over.”

“You knew, Paige! You knew I was with Julian. And I fuckin’ told you over and over that this had to stop. Don’t turn it back on me when it’s what you wanted.” I defend, my voice cracking under her gaze.

She’s nearly unrecognizable. This isn’t Paige. Or at least the Paige I knew and fell for, because I thought she would never do something like this to me, yet she did.

Paige takes a step back from me, running her fingers through her wet hair.

“You don’t have the right to tell me what I can and can’t be mad about. I trusted you.”

“Julian trusted you.” She says, bitter and harsh. “But that didn’t stop you from kissin’ me and tellin’ me you have feelings for me, right?”

“That’s not the same—”

“It’s exactly the same, Maraye!” She yells. “But I’m tellin’ you the truth. I’m tellin’ you straight what happened, and you ain’t even do that for him.”

Maybe it’s the way she says it all like it certain. Like she knows me so well that she assumed I didn’t tell Julian anything. Or even the way her voice is so animalistic, full of emotion that I’ve never heard from her. But I lose it. All that is left of my composure, if you could even call it that, goes down the drain and I’m breaking down.

The tears in my eyes finally slip, making my lashes stick together. They’re hot, burning my cheeks.

I hate that I’m letting her see me cry, hate that she gets to see me this emotional. She doesn’t deserve to see me cry. Paige doesn’t deserve to know that she hurt me this bad.

At the same time, I want her to see it. To understand how fucking stupid her actions were. That what she did hurt me to my core, because I don’t even cry in front of people like this. But I am for her. I’m crying, and the tears don’t fucking stop falling.

“You think you know me! You don’t know me, Paige.” My eyes narrow and my arms fall to my sides. “I told him everything. I told him that you made me feel different, so much better than he ever could. A-and I told him I was sorry. I fuckin’ apologized for having feelings for you. I owned up to it, and I messed up so many times but you, God, Paige, you made it all worth it.”

When I look at Paige she isn’t even looking at my eyes. She always does, but now she looks at the ceiling, frustratingly running her hand over her chin.

“And you didn’t. You didn’t tell me the truth, I found out myself like an idiot.” I scream until my voice is raw. Her phone in my hand feels like hot coal, burning my hand and then burning a hole in her sheets when I throw it there. “Fell for you like an idiot.” I murmur under my breath.

“Hol’ on, Angel. C’mon.” Paige says. It’s soft, the quietest her voice has been all night. Of course Paige hears me. She steps to me again, reaching for my hand that I pull back with haste.

“You don’t get to call me that.”

“I made a mistake. A huge fucking mistake, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work this shit out.” Paige reaches for me again, I throw my hands away from her, hitting my hand on her bedside table and breaking a nail in the process.

“Fuck.” I groan, shaking my hand off and turning away from her. “Move!” I yell, stepping to the side so she isn’t that damn close to me.

“Raye—”

“I don’t trust you.” I breathe, shrugging my shoulders at her and trying to wipe the tears that stain my cheeks. “It’s not about working this out. You broke my trust and y’can’t even apologize for it.”

“Jus’ listen. Please.” I hear her voice crack, that guilt I could pick up on when she first came out of the bathroom so evident in the way she looks at me.

Paige’s blue eyes are rimmed with red, I nearly scoff. She doesn’t get to cry. She did this, she went to her, confided in her instead of talking to me. I shake my head in an attempt to wrap my head around all of this.

“I’m sorry.” And I thought that hearing it would make it all better but my chest just burns. I’m honestly running out of patience because this isn’t working. I’ve made up my mind, she’s done something so fucking unforgivable and it’s sad. I never would’ve imagined it from Paige.

“Really, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I can’t do this.” I blurt like word vomit. “I just can’t. Ion even wanna look at you right now, Paige.”

“Maraye.”

“I’m gonna go.” I say under my breath, nodding as if that’s what I’ve decided to do. I reach for my phone on the dresser, trying to ignore the pulsing feeling in my broken fingernail. The room suddenly feels so small, suffocating. Filled with hot air and lingering insults.

Paige looks at me incredulously. Almost shocked that I was willing to leave it at this, that I didn’t want to hear her out. “I-that’s it? We’re not gonna talk? You just gonna leave like none of this shit matters.” Her voice is low, throat almost scratched raw.

“I don’t know what to say to you that’s not gonna make this worse.” I explain.

“I can fix it, Raye. Please.”

It’s so hard. Hard to not fall victim to everything that she is and give her what she wants.

Believe it or not, I want to, I want to hear her out and have her tell me just how much she regrets it all.

But every time I look at her, I keep thinking about that girl. That girl who had Paige first, seemingly long before I did. Who had her hands in Paige’s hair the same way I do when she’s laying on my couch with her head on my shoulder.

That girl who got to feel Paige’s lips. Soft and plump with that enticing color of pink. The same lips that told me she felt something for me, told me that she’d give me time. The lips that made me feel like I was the only person in the world to her.

Don’t even start on the image of the two of them— a girl who’s probably prettier than I am or funnier or impossibly more into her than I am, and my perfect blue eyed Paige— being together in a way that we haven’t. Kissing and touching and moaning together.

Being together.

It’s nauseating.

So I just turn around, dragging myself to her hallway and to her front door. I can hear her soft footsteps following after me fast. I sniffle as I slip my shoes on, hoping that if I leave just fast enough I can hang on to the words she said to me before she slept with someone else. The words that let me know that it was just us.

Maybe those are enough to get me to forgive her, eventually.

But right now. I can’t.

So I leave. The door slamming shut behind me, and more tears falling before I even get a chance to stop them.

[syndrossi]

Restoration AU: Jon I

Previous part, Ned I, here.

x~x~x

Jon knew where Robb would go next, and that his presence would be more unwelcome than ever, so it was the solitude of the godswood he sought instead. Better than roaming the castle halls or grounds, where he could already feel stares following him, and hear whispers falling to silence in his wake. Theon’s handiwork, no doubt.

Brothers. Jon stared into the dark pool at the base of the heart tree, feeling as though he might wake up from a dream at any moment. He had always longed to know more about his mother, and it was plain as day that those boys were kin. With the other Jon—my name, why would she give him the same name?—it had been like staring into a mirror. They looked even more alike to him than Arya, which surely meant they shared a mother too.

Why is she not here with them?

Jon burned with questions. He had been since Jory had helped the boys up onto the horses, the one named Jon with the captain, and the other with Robb. The choice had felt deliberate on Jory’s part, as deliberate as their return by the Hunter’s Gate, bearing further shame for Lord Stark.

Had he loved his mother, then? Jon knew that it did not take love to sire children, that base lust would suffice, but his father was no Theon. If he had gone back to her, that meant he had missed her.

He took me from her, but not my brothers. Had he known about them? There had been a wide-eyed recognition in his father’s eyes when he beheld them, but Jon did not know if that was because he had not expected them, or because he had not known of their birth.

They had been abandoned in the wolfswood, too, at risk of freezing in the cold. Two children who could not be older than Arya.

She is dead. Jon knew it in his heart. If she had kept his little brothers for this long without telling his father, then she would not have easily parted with them, and certainly not in such a way as to endanger them. She is dead and I will never know her.

But his brothers had, and he could not help the ache of jealousy in his heart. They had not known their father, he reminded himself. Each of them had grown up half-orphaned, mistrusted for their very nature.

And it was plain to see that they had grown up in a lord’s household as well. Their dress was fine, and they had been comfortable speaking to Robb. Despite their shivering, they had walked confidently through the halls of Winterfell. That sense of belonging was not one that a baseborn bastard would possess.

Had she been highborn herself then? There was so much he longed to ask his father, questions he had not dared before. If he will answer, even now.

Motion flickered in the periphery of his vision, and he turned his head to see his father approaching as though summoned by his thoughts. His little brothers were at his side, and they had been changed into warmer clothing that Jon recognized as belonging to him and Robb when they were younger.

I looked like that once, he thought as he watched the other Jon. There would be no confusing his other brother, Raymar, for Robb of course. Their mother must have had uncommonly fair hair, more silver than golden. It was a color Jon had not seen in the north. The closest he could recall was a blond-haired whore who Theon had favored for a time, and the memory of it brought a clench to his stomach. He could already hear Theon’s voice drawing the comparison.

“Jon,” his father called in quiet greeting once they had reached him. His face, which could be by turns stern or gentle, was neither. It was almost uneasy, as it had been when they had come upon Ghost’s mother, dead in the snow.

“Which one?” Jon asked.

His counterpart did not react to the bite in his question, though their father grimaced. “I am Willam now.”

Lord Stark put a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders. “These are your twin brothers, Willam and Raymar.” He glanced down at the boys, taking in a breath. “And this is your brother Jon.”

Jon had stolen sidelong glances at the boys on their way to his father’s solar. Now that they were right before him, no longer shivering with cold, he took his time in study. He and the other Jon—Willam—were not exactly alike, he could see now. His own face was slightly longer, his hair and eyes a shade darker. There were subtle differences in the shape of their eyes and mouth, though they were close enough that Jon felt like he was looking into a mirror some five years before.

He could easily see himself in Raymar as well, though his coloring made the differences more dramatic, the boy’s eyes a striking purple. Jon struggled to find their father in him, however. He must favor our mother, the way Robb does Lady Stark. Jon had been teased before for his own locks, which he wore longer than Robb’s or Theon’s, but Raymar’s were far longer, giving him an exotic look that did not match his name.

Both children were subdued, as though numbed by the shock of the day’s events, and there was a tension to either of grief held in check. Jon, who had been ready to demand answers of their father, felt some of his hurt-fueled anger falter.

They had been alone, abandoned, their lives upended. Winterfell was at least Jon’s home, and the Starks his family. But to his little brothers, they were all strangers. Jon tried to imagine someone setting Bran or Arya loose to wander alone in a cold summer snow, far from home, and his blood flared hot.

“Hello,” Jon said, softening his voice. “I am glad to meet you.”

Willam approached first, gaze solemn with understanding, and Jon hugged him. His brother did not relax, though he returned the hug. Raymar was next, his violet eyes taking in Jon’s features with the same intensity as his own study, shifting between him and Willam. His upset seemed to grow, and Jon could feel the shake of it in his limbs as Jon pulled him into an embrace.

I have true brothers and I never knew. But on the heels of that anger came guilt. Robb is no less my brother, nor are any of my siblings.

“What happened?” Jon asked, meeting his father’s gaze. “Why were they abandoned in the snow? Where is—”

Where is our mother?

“Come,” Lord Stark said. “Such matters must be discussed in the privacy of my solar.”

Jon felt his eyes narrow. “First I would have you stand before the heart tree and tell me of my mother.”

Lord Stark’s discomfort seemed to grow, only confirming Jon’s suspicions. He wishes to continue to withhold the truth.

It was Willam who spoke, moving to press his hand against the weeping face of the weirwood tree. “Our mother’s name was Rhea. She died two years ago.”

Jon had been expecting it, but still the blow caught him in the chest. Rhea. He knew his mother’s name at last, and she was dead. He could not help the sagging of his shoulders, or the sudden ache of his throat.

“Did you love her?”

His question was for his father, who stepped before the tree as well, his sorrow plain as he placed his hands on Jon’s shoulders. “I loved your mother, yes.”

Jon had dreamt of hearing his father say those words for most of his life, but they left him hollow now. He had been a product of love, born of a woman his father had perhaps wished he could marry instead, and yet it did not matter. She was dead, and the legacy she had left was one of regret.

“Come,” Lord Stark repeated, hand squeezing his shoulder.

The stares were even worse in Lord Stark’s presence, his father’s face a stony mask as he led his three bastard sons through the halls of Winterfell and into his solar. Jon sat down by the hearth, half-numb, while his brothers settled on the couch. He should have sat with them; they looked overwhelmed, but he could not bring himself to.

“Who was she?” he asked, knowing that he should be asking what had happened to his brothers instead. “What was her house?”

His father had chosen to stand by the fire, his back to it, shrouding his face in shadow, but it could not hide the tension in his frame at the question. Even now, with her two years dead, he does not wish to speak of her. Perhaps it was love or guilt or grief—or perhaps it was regret that the evidence of greater dishonor still had come knocking upon his door.

“Her family was from Lys,” Raymar said, answering the question instead. “House Perzane. We grew up in Gulltown, but were sent to live with kin there, after her death.”

House Perzane. Jon did not know much about the houses of the Free City of Lys, but it explained both Raymar’s odd coloring and the twins’ noble upbringing. He had never considered that his mother might not even be of the Seven Kingdoms.

“What did she look like?” Jon asked.

Raymar’s gaze dropped. “Me,” he said, his voice small. “She looked like me.”

And now he was surrounded by kin who looked nothing like her. Willam reached for his brother’s hand, but he snatched it away, angling away from his twin. Jon leveled a look at their father, whose fists had clenched but otherwise made no move to comfort his own child.

Jon stood then and joined them on the couch, squeezing in next to Raymar to gather him in for a hug. “I am sorry,” he told the boy. “I wish I had known her.”

“They were taken from their mother’s kin,” Lord Stark said stiffly. “I assume their abductors had learned of their relation to me and sought ransom.”

Or perhaps blackmail, Jon thought cynically. How much would Lord Stark have paid to keep their existence a secret, had they not been found wandering alone?

“How did you come to be on the edge of the wolfswood?” Jon asked, turning to the twins.

“Jon—Willam stabbed that man who took us,” Raymar said, still staring into his own lap. “We ran into the wood.”

“We were close,” Willam added. “We could see smoke from the castle rising into the sky.”

Jon wondered what their captor’s plan had been. To march them directly to the gates of Winterfell? Perhaps he had thought that Lord Stark would want his bastard sons, since he had taken Jon in as a babe, and had instead sought a reward.

“He did not hurt you, did he?” Jon asked, looking them over for signs of injury.

They shook their heads in unison, and it was his father who spoke. “They were dosed with dreamwine to keep them docile.”

A wise measure, given that little Willam had managed to wound their captor gravely enough for them to escape. “Has their captor been found?”

“I have sent men in search,” Lord Stark said grimly. “If he yet lives, I doubt he will come here.”

Jon frowned at the thought of the man escaping. “Let me join them.”

“No. Your brothers will need your strength.”

His meaning was plain. “You spoke with Lady Stark.”

His father grimaced. “I have not. Once your brothers are settled, I shall go to her.”

Who will she hate more? The bastard she knows, or the two that are proof that she comes second in his heart? Jon looked down at the dark and light-haired heads of his brothers, feeling a surge of pity. They do not deserve her scorn.

“Take them to your chamber,” his father continued. “They will stay with you for now.”

For now. “Do you mean to be rid of them?” Jon demanded.

“No,” Lord Stark said with a quiet sigh. His gaze swept the three of them, and Jon caught another glimpse of that unease. He is worried. Did he fear reprisal from House Tully? Unrest amongst his bannermen? Jon was unsure why. He would hardly be the first lord to sire three bastards. “You do not shame me, Jon, nor do they. The shame is mine alone.”

Only it wasn’t. A lord was untouchable to most, above jeers and japes. A lord’s bastard sons, however, were not. And it was not Lord Stark who had borne Lady Stark’s jealousy.

“When do you mean to introduce them to the rest of their siblings?”

Jon had shied away from thinking about them, especially Robb and Sansa. Robb had always admired their father, and held him as a man of upstanding character. It had been easy for his brother to dismiss his infidelity before as a young husband at war who had not yet had enough time with his new wife. He had not blamed Jon, but now—

And Sansa had never viewed Jon with particular kindness, preferring to keep a distance. It did not bother him too greatly these days, since she was just a girl while Jon was near a man, but his little brothers would not have the same armor if they had grown up with their mother’s family. 

“Tomorrow, perhaps,” his father said after a long moment in thought. “I need to speak with their mother first. It would be best if you took supper with your brothers in your chamber tonight.”

Jon smiled without humor. “But we do not shame you, of course.”

“Jon—”

“I will take them there,” Jon interrupted, not caring that their father looked sad and tired. He sprang to his feet, and held out a hand to his newfound brothers, forcing warmth into his smile. “Come along.”

x~x~x

They did not go directly to Jon’s chamber. He did not care if it was a bad idea to venture out, there was one thing capable of cheering him and comforting young boys, and he was currently nursing in the kennels, which were at least mostly out of the way of any would-be gawkers.

“Wait out here,” Jon bade them before slipping into the building.

Ghost was curled up next to his direwolf littermates, as well as their adoptive hound siblings, dozing lightly. He wriggled with excitement as Jon picked him up and tucked him into his shirt, and his smile felt like his first true one since finding the twins shivering in the snow.

It instantly faded as he stepped out to find Theon outside the kennels, leaning on the fence as he looked the twins over.

“I heard we had some fresh snow,” Theon said with a smirk. “I did not take the honorable Lord Stark for a man who would keep a mistress. Some pretty thing from Lys, maybe, with a bush as white as her hair.” He thrust a hand out, ruffling Raymar’s hair for a second before the boy ducked out of his reach. “Where did he find the time?”

“It must have been when he was on the way to crush the Greyjoy Rebellion,” Willam said, his voice cold as ice. “He made quite a few widows there before your father begged for peace.”

Theon’s mirth disappeared, hand twitching at his side as though he wished to cuff the boy, and Jon immediately stepped between them, fists balling. He was hungry for a fight, and he did not care that Theon was larger and close to full-grown. “Try it, Greyjoy.”

His father’s ward backed down after a moment. “They’re as mouthy as you, Snow. You would do well to teach them what a bastard’s place is in the world.”

With that, Theon shoved off, disappearing through the gate into the castle’s courtyard. Jon took a few breaths to reclaim his composure, not wanting to walk into the yard looking upset. Willam was glaring after Theon with a dark fury that surprised him, leaving him to wonder if bastards were treated differently in Lys. Perhaps it was more like Dorne, where it was said a man’s bastards were held as equal to his trueborn children.

The quiet shock that had yet to leave Raymar seemed to tell a similar story. Jon put a hand on his back. “Let’s go.”

Jon did not relax until they had successfully navigated the halls without running into Lady Stark. He did not want his little brothers to face her venom just yet, not without warning. Once they were safely in his chamber, he dragged his chair from the hearth over to his bed, and gestured for his brothers to take the bed.

“Here,” Jon said. He reached into his shirt and withdrew a sleepy Ghost, setting him gently on the bed between them. “This is Ghost.”

Their eyes went wide, both children extending a hand to the direwolf pup, which he happily nosed and then licked. But before Jon could feel any triumph at managing to comfort them, he realized that Willam was crying. He could tell the boy was trying to hold it in, but the bed practically shook under the force of his quiet sobs.

“It’s all right,” Jon assured him, though the words felt empty. 

His brother’s tears seemed to unleash a similar flood in Raymar, and Jon was faced with two silently crying children on his bed, their pain reaching deep into Jon as well. There was something hauntingly familiar about strangling the hurt until you choked, knowing that it was not your place to burden others with it.

If their birth came from the Greyjoy Rebellion, they cannot be older than Bran. They looked closer to Arya’s age, but it was said that bastards grew faster than trueborn sons. Jon abandoned his chair, clambering up onto the bed with them to pull them into a hug, one in each arm. Just because he had been alone with his pain in this room, it did not mean they need be.

“I want to go home,” Raymar said, the words half-mumbled into Jon’s chest.

“All will be well,” Jon promised. “I will look after you, and so will Ghost.”

He helped them out of their boots and their borrowed cloaks, noting their exhaustion through the tears, and tucked them in beneath the furs of his bed. Ghost licked worriedly at their faces, until the heartbreak on Willam’s face turned to a tremulous smile, his fingers burying into the pup’s fur with each stroke.

“Take some rest with Ghost,” Jon said. “I will wake you when it is supper, and I can tell you all about Winterfell.”

[stacygetsit]

Just some thoughts

I wanted to share some of what's been on my mind. Some of you may have come across my ask before I am Calm theory anon. And I have always voiced my opinions on anon ask on others blogs. It was where I was the most comfortable. Well I decided today that I was going to put some of the calm and realistic thoughts out there on my own blog. See I am a Lukola shipper for those that don't know me. Now I am a recent shipper. I have never shipped anyone in my life. Never watched Bridgerton at all. Yet here I am devoting hours to them. One of my thoughts recently was I truly believe that Luke and Nic are in a relationship. I understand that people need more hard-core proof of a relationship between them before they believe. But what mind boggles me is that they believe that Nic is dating JD just because they held some hands and visited places together. And funny how we have the same situation with Luke and the girl (i won't ever name her) all we have seen was them going places and a weak hand hold. None of this is actual concrete proof that they are more than friends. I find it really funny that all of the photos beside Lukes new year eve kiss in January we don't actually have any recent proof of any of these couples kissing or having any type of PDA. How can that be when fans and paps have caught them out? Why haven't we seen any PDA? Another thing that's been on my mind is Nicola. I read that she was on a podcast during Covid and stated that she lived with her last boyfriend. How is it that she was able to fully live with a human and no one knew about him? Yes, she wasn't as worldly popular but she still had a following from Derry girls. How is it that she kept even now to this day the guy from being found out? She makes it clear who her friends are. We also know who her family is. Yet we didn't know who she was dating. Y'all she lived with him and we knew nothing. So if her natural habit is to keep her relationships private would she post her man all over the place? I know the other side argues that she's more widely known now and she can't keep her private life secret. Yet she still has kept who her last boyfriend was a secret. yet the masses would like us to believe that she's with JD. I'm sorry I just feel like that's too far away from what she's comfortable with which is keeping her relationship on the low. That's just taking just Nic past habits into account. That's too far away from her natural habits. We know that during the world tour we found out some key things. We know that Nic and Luke hang out outside of work. They said it in an interview. We also know that he gave her something that she cherishes. Because they said it in an interview. My point is that we wouldn't know any of that if they didn't say it an in interviews. So it blows my mind that people think that they have this couple all figured out and they're so dead set that they're with other people. You're basing your opinions on assumptions and calling them a fact. It would be different if they officially launched to the world I think a lot of people to respect Nick and Luke and whomever they wanted but we haven't gotten that. So it's really possible that those of us that people call delusional are correct. We don't know these people. We can only go based on what we know. I want to preface by saying that I will always say I think not I know Or act like what I think is a fact I'm not like those creators. Part of me understands why Luke and Nick are so secretive. I understand that they want to keep their private life private. And I can respect that but the reality is they're celebrities now. Every career comes with a sacrifice and that's their sacrifice. But are they really keeping it a secret? If you Look hard enough you see they leave hints they are together.

[finnlongman]

Do you have to get a master’s degree or a PhD to publish research? Or work at a university? I don’t currently plan to go into academia but I really enjoy doing research, is it possible to do that as a hobby/side job? (Specifically asking in relation to literature, obviously research in things like the natural sciences requires the extra training and lab access by default)

An important note to start with: basically nobody is getting paid for academic publishing. Especially not for articles. They write them for free, they're peer-reviewed for free, they're edited for free. The only people making money are usually the big corporate owners of journals, if it is a big corporate journal and not one of the small independent ones. It's all a huge scam, obviously, but the idea is that people who have an academic job will be publishing the research produced in the course of that job, and thus they are already being paid for doing the research. In an age of precarious employment, it doesn't really work like that, but that's the idea.

That means you can't really do it as a side job, because there isn't any money in it. Doing it as a hobby, on the other hand, is theoretically possible, although I'd have some major caveats to offer:

On the publishing side, I can only speak for my particular field of medieval Celtic Studies, which is weird and old-fashioned and works on arcane and unknowable systems that deeply confuse anyone in a field advanced enough to have heard of "digital submissions" and "online journals". One of our major journals is literally run by one guy who requires you to do all the page proofs by hand and post them back to him and you can buy the (physical-only) journal for £5 per volume. This is not typical for academia these days, so all of my answers are going to be shaped by that.

On the publishing side, you definitely don't have to have a PhD or an academic job to publish an article, which I know because I have published several articles and am only now doing a PhD, so by definition I did that without a PhD or an academic job. This is unusual, for the record; I know very few people who've published before doing a PhD, but that's partly because a lot of my friends went straight through from undergrad to postgrad with no time out, and thus wouldn't have had time to be publishing in between, whereas I took a more leisurely approach.

However, two of these articles were significantly based on my MA work, and one of them -- the only one so far published in an actual journal rather than a conference proceedings -- would have been completely impossible without skills and knowledge gained during my MA. That isn't to say there is no way to gain those skills without doing postgraduate study. But it does mean that there are specific skills required that require training and experience, whether you get that in a university context or find a way to learn it outside of that. (For example, palaeographical or linguistic training, or a firm grounding in theoretical approaches, specific methodologies, etc.)

The purpose of doing an MA or a PhD a lot of the time is to pursue research and gain those skills. If you really enjoy doing research to the point where you would want to publish it (note above: zero financial reward for doing so), I would question why you don't want to pursue higher education. There are lots of reasons not to, for sure, so this isn't me saying the only valid research comes out of that environment or that it's the only path to academic fulfillment. Again: I published articles before I started my PhD. One of my articles is even based on undergraduate work, though substantially revised and redeveloped.

But... that is a point. It was substantially revised and redeveloped. Because for the most part, work produced without the higher-level study and skills (whether gained formally or informally) is not going to be of the same calibre as work produced with them, which seems kind of obvious when you spell it out. There is more to literary research than just close-reading a text and having a lot of thoughts about it, because if there wasn't, nobody would need to do postgrad study about it.

Literature may have different, less obvious skills required than natural sciences, but that doesn't mean it has none. It does mean they may be easier to acquire outside of formal academic courses, but that doesn't mean they don't need acquiring, however you do it.

There are also practical barriers to publishing as an independent scholar. Sometimes these are financial barriers, where not having institutional support will mean you can't publish open-access because you don't have the funding to support it. Sometimes they're things like library access -- when my article in Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies came out in 2022, I was not currently in academia, nor was I living within easy reach of an academic library, which made it incredibly hard to check references or follow up on suggestions from peer reviewers. The editor of the journal was kind enough to send me scans of articles that had been recommended by reviewers, but not all editors would do that, and so without access to past scholarship, it would be very hard to write something academically solid.

Again, there are other ways to gain that access. I have spent a fair bit of my adult life working in universities in a non-academic capacity, which entitled me to use their libraries even though I wasn't a student or officially "in academia". Many fields have a larger proportion of their scholarship digitally available, which can make it easier to access without physically going to a library. Etc. But it is a barrier, and the financial hurdles are less easily overcome. (Fortunately, very little in my field is pay-to-publish, but Open Access costs can be troublesome!)

I guess what I'm trying to say is that all of my currently-available articles were published before I started my PhD, and I was not "in academia" at the time that I wrote them, but all but one of them was based on work I had done as a student, and they relied heavily on skills and knowledge I developed as an MA student. I am now as a PhD student seeing elements I could have done better, having built on those skills and that knowledge further. Subsequent work was submitted while working for a university in a non-academic capacity, because this gave me access to their libraries. (Which really shows you how long I've been procrastinating on finishing the edits for this article, because I've been a PhD student for over a year now... I originally submitted it in January last year, whoops.) Again, I have ended up subsequently revising this as I improve as a scholar.

So, technically I have done research as a "hobby" alongside a non-academic day job. Technically it is possible. It is hard, but you can do it, if you really want to. But I think I would have struggled to produce anything of a sufficient standard for publication if not for my MA and the skills I learned during it, and there is zero financial reward for academic publishing, so it's definitely not a viable "side job".

Having said all that: If you want to keep researching things alongside your other work, there is absolutely no reason not to do that. Formal academic publishing isn't the only way of doing research, you know? It's probably not even the best way, even if it's the current institutional standard for sharing that research with other people. But you can just... learn things, and enjoy them, and post about them on your blog, and so on. Lots of people do this. Sometimes the most useful website collecting resources or variants of a text or commentaries or whatever is run by a complete randomer with a job in a totally unrelated field who is just super into this in their free time.

And I will also note: my MA and PhD thesis proposals both came out of research that I was doing independently alongside my day job when I realised that I needed more support and skills to do it properly, so I would benefit from doing it as part of a formal programme. I did not originally plan to do postgrad study. By the time I finished undergrad I was fairly sure I was done with academia forever, because I'd mostly been miserable at uni. But it hit a point where I kept chasing up details by myself and going "damn, I wish I knew how to read these manuscripts", or "if only my Old Irish skills were better", or "I wish I could access this obscure text that's only found in special collections of that university library", and that's the point at which I decided to do an MA. So sometimes it happens like that too.

(I have been adamant all along that I wasn't aiming to stay in academia as a career. Given that my previous claims that I was not going to do a PhD and then, before that, that I was not going to do a Masters, turned out to be categorically false, well... I'm not necessarily right about that. I would certainly love to keep doing research, but the short-term contracts and precarious employment of early career academia don't appeal to me, and there's absolutely no way I want to start moving cities/countries every year or two again when I've just managed to get semi-consistent healthcare after moving back to the UK and having to start on all the waiting lists from scratch. I am too chronically ill for that kind of lifestyle and, I suspect, for the demands of academia in general. We will see how long I can stretch out "getting people to pay me to research things" without those aspects, but it may be that I end up as an independent researcher alongside my other jobs again. At least now I live in Cambridge, and can access the University Library as an alumnus wherever I end up working... that's something!)

I published 'early' both because I felt I had something to say and if I didn't say it, nobody would say it (nobody else cares about Láeg), and also because I didn't think I was sticking around in academia, so if I didn't say it then, I would never say it. I was definitely right about the first part, but if I end up sticking around, I'll disprove the second part and I'll probably start regretting publishing at such an early stage as I continue to disprove my own points with further research. I do think that's normal no matter when you start, lol, but there's a degree of "and why do I expect any more senior academics to listen to what an MA student had to say, anyway" at times. (Because I don't believe in hierarchies and I'm convinced I had something meaningful to offer, that's why, but hey.) The only tangible benefit to having published that research for me was being able to point at it when applying for PhD funding and say "look, I'm already published and everything!". The main benefit to other people wasn't much beyond what it would have been if I just... put that research on my blog for them to read anyway.

Where am I going with this? I don't know. I apologise, this is rambly as hell and I'm going in circles, I'm not very awake. Maybe I'll just stop there. I could start talking about popular history books that you'll find in bookshops and how most of them are written by people without postgraduate degrees, but I don't really know that much about those, and I feel this would be getting us off-topic.

tl;dr you technically don't need postgraduate qualifications to publish academically, but you do generally need postgraduate-level skills to produce work that's good enough, however you acquire them; there are a fair number of practical barriers to publishing without institutional support; and there's no money in any of it anyway

[your-unfriendlyghost]

How I draw: Proportions/sketching

The first response to a few art questions from @johnny-and-clyde :))

sketching:

So I honestly used to be a lot more…intentional about my sketching?? Up until a few months ago I would draw out actual sketches that I’d then cleanly ink on top of in a separate layer, like this:

I’d try to keep things loose and easy, but I’m not fantastic at that lol

I have a tendency to over complicate sketches- It’s not super obvious here, but I did semi-map out the anatomy under the clothes and fabric folds. That’s probably a good thing to do, generally, especially since I was and am still learning anatomy.

I don’t do it much anymore tho, because I often got caught up in little details that just wound up covered by clothes 😭 So I generally focus on mapping out the clothing shapes over the proportions/ anatomy. Definitely study anatomy anyway tho- this only works for me nowadays because I did and still do study anatomy a lot lol

These days though, I don’t r e a l l y sketch that much. I mean, I do- but instead of making another layer and inking it, I kinda just clean up the sketch the way I would if I were using pencil and paper. I don’t have a lotta example images of this, because it goes from the sketch to the final lineart in one layer?

tried to reverse-engineer it here on this Angela drawing. idk how helpful that is tho lol.

Idk, most important thing for me while sketching is remembering that everything has a 3D form, and also to FLIP MY CANVAS FREQUENTLY so that it stays balanced lol. -also- I almost always take note of the ribcage, the clavicle angle, and the hip angle when planning poses

-And I consciously try to keep things from getting stiff, and think of the pose as an intentional composition. I actually struggle most with plain standing/walking poses, because I very often can’t think of ways to make them look…idk, interesting? That’s why it’s taken me so long to finish pt.2 of my Outsiders character designs- I can’t find good dynamic-but-also-stagnant poses for them

proportion:

Honestly man idk I just sorta say “fuck it we ball” and hope for the best. I used to think a lot more about this one but as it’s become more and more natural to me I become less and less able to define/describe it?? I dunno lol.

My art style is semi-cartoony, and honestly kinda inconsistent in terms of proportions. I generally aim for the hands to be similar in size to the face, and for the shoulders/chest area to have enough space to fit the clavicle…but none of this is really a conscious decision? It just sorta happens. The heads/eyes of my characters are usually stylized, and so the hands end up a bit bigger to match the faces, and I tend to exaggerate muscle mass but not really muscle definition…And I also stylize things for characters to better contrast each other. For example, I’ve noticed I draw Steve Randle stockier/bulkier than he is to better highlight Soda’s slenderness.

(see how they’re not as drastically different in build as I draw them? Steve seems bulkier mostly cos he’s shorter but has a similar amount of mass I think) (don’t quote me on that tho idk how to put this shit into words lol)

I have a pretty decent idea of how proportions are supposed to work from years of studying them, and I have no idea how to explain any of it. Just…do a lot of figure and gesture drawing, use a lotta refs, and it’ll make sense eventually 😭

[firewoodwander]

🥨 for Jessix? 🫶🏼

Wintertime prompts

“—and don’t go lifting anything heavy for the next few days at least.” Kix says. Then, “Yes, I know it’s your ankle that’s sprained. How do you think you’re going to carry anything when you can barely walk?”

The Lieutenant closes his mouth with a grimace. Kix is kind when he hands over a crutch with a smile, helping the slightly-wobbly kid get back onto his feet. To his utter lack of surprise, once Bo waves his goodbye he hobbles straight towards the bustle and lights of the civilian celebration.

Coric snorts when he sees Kix shaking his head.

“Come on, they’re not going to do themselves any more harm than they would on this ship.”

“You are far too optimistic about that,” Kix mutters, but it’s more for the principle of the argument than any true disappointment.

The slap to the shoulder and good natured jostle are expected, Coric grinning in that way of his that always makes you feel like you’re sharing a joke together.

“Not really,” he says lightly, “but I am certain you’re just grumpy because you’re stuck here with me. Where’s that second of yours?”

“Jesse? He’s probably stuffing his face with some kind of unrecognisable species of tuber.”

“Someone say my name?” comes a voice from over Kix’s shoulder. They both turn to take in the sight of—yes, a rather pleased looking Jesse tearing a chunk of something bread-like and definitely dunked in too much sauce, off a stick as he wanders into the medical tent.

Kix watches in fascination as he chews, swallows, and somehow manages to get it all over the left side of his chin.

“Why are you like this,” he groans, mostly to himself.

Jesse grins and throws his arm over Kix’s shoulder. It’s the arm holding this strange half-mauled treat, so Coric is forced to lunge out of the way lest he also be covered in sauce.

“I know you’re just sad you’re missing out, it’s a real fun time out there. Looks like we’ve come during some kind of local holiday, so all the stallholders have Hardcase’s squad helping them put up decorations. So, I thought I’d bring the festival to you.”

Jesse’s other hand, which Kix had somehow ignored, appears in front of his face holding a second stick. It’s the same bread-snack, apparently originally shaped like a tree, although this one is adorned with a much more reasonable quantity of sauce. Kix takes it carefully and sniffs it. Tangy.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jesse grinning. He only gets like this when he knows it’s something Kix will genuinely enjoy—unlike Echo, who adores Fives’ terrible reactions to horrible tasting foodstuffs from the worst corners of the galaxy. So Kix bites into it, pleasantly surprised but not actually shocked when the warm, savoury flavours make his mouth water and his stomach gurgle.

“Hells, you two make me sick,” Coric laughs. “Take the rest of the evening off, for stars’ sakes, just don’t bring any of that sticky stuff into my sterile zone, you hear?”

Jesse laughs, replying with something jovial and almost witty, no doubt; Kix, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion from the day’s work and a deep, spiritual gratitude for surviving this battle yet to have this moment here, sinks into Jesse’s side and enjoys the comfort of good food and a safe embrace.

Even if Jesse smears sauce over his cheek when he leans in to kiss him.

(He can be forgiven, just this once.)

(And every time hereafter.)

[scummy-writes]

Arguments were not rare between the two of you. There were countless times that you clenched your fists around Gilbert, bitter that he'd chuckle in response to the reason you tried to speak. At times, he was stubborn, set in his ways, and nearly mocking when you tried to go against his wishes to kill someone. You'd been shown proof for his reasonings, forced to try and decide on a middle ground, losing small hopes in humanity during the worst of the cases he let you see.

However far the argument went, though, it was resolved during the same day. With reminders of how unfair the world is, or reminders of how he wished he could believe in solely your way of correcting others, rather than the ultimatum of death. He'd apologize in actions for any belittlement of your beliefs, and would make it clear that you weren't wrong in your hopes or attempts.

It was something you were thankful for, and something that you missed terribly right now. For you hadn't slept with your lover in days.

The argument this time was less about corrupt nobles, and moreso... the result of stubbornness. And now you were learning just how stubborn the two of you could be. A few hours without Gilbert felt so much longer, but a few days? You missed sharing your warmth with him.

You had no doubt he shared your same feelings, due to his ever evolving possessiveness with you. Despite how obviously angry the two of you still were, he'd still see to it that Roderic made sure you ate and were taken care of, as well as having Walter check up on you.

Learning Gilbert-ese had certainly come in handy, because if it wasn't for that, you'd likely be trying to mourn your relationship instead. For now, you stretched back on your bed with a disappointing huff, wondering when it was reasonable to admit you were being childish, and apologize. But for that to happen, you needed Gilbert to come to terms with doing so as well.

A man who would rather shoot first than ask questions. (Well, not with you, but...) A man so stubborn that it took him to dramatic lengths to understand some of his anger towards you previously was worry, and was shocked from experiencing it.

... it may be another few more days. Perhaps you could play into his dramatics and write him a letter?

Before you could pull out the ink and paper, the door swung open with a thunk, making you yelp out a curse.

"G-Gil?? Hey-!"

You couldn't help it - Gilbert strode in with determination, plucking you from your bed and securing you in your arms, refusing to let you stand - and the second he did so you squeaked.

"You can't carry me like-" a sideways glance, cocking his brow unimpressively. Ugh! Okay, he could carry you without an issue. "What are you doing?"

No answer. He remained tightlipped, carrying you through the halls without a care towards those staring. Or the way your cheeks burned from the act.

"I-I'm still mad, you know."

But the poor admittance did nothing but tense his jaw, leaving you to sigh. No, he wasn't going to put you down.

... at least his grip was gentle, despite how tense he was. And after a few moments, you realized exactly where he was taking you to: his 'lab' upstairs.

He often worked there, especially when the weather was sunny and on the warmer side. Regardless of how dark and moody he kept his dress and room, he was fond of the warmth of the sun.

When he opened the final door (with some help from you to turn the knob), you were greeted with the sky shining through the wide windows, filling the room with natural light. It gave a cozy feel to the room, almost as if the two of you were outside.

As for why you were brought here, though...

Gilbert ignored his desk as he trudged through the room, and instead beelined towards the hammock resting away from the paperwork. Over time, he had switched from his small, single hammock, to a bigger one that could accommodate the both of you.

And he promptly, unceremoniously, plopped you onto it.

"Wait- hey!"

A pillow and blanket were tossed upon you, and then with a huff, Gilbert climbed into it as well, grumpily moving the pillow and blanket to comfort the both of you.

"I don't care how you feel right now, little rabbit." He huffed, drawing you into his arms and sighing into your hair, "... I haven't been able to sleep."

Slowly, but surely, you felt his rigid body start to loosen. To relax the longer you settled into his arms. And the more he did so, you found the fight leaving your body, causing you to sigh.

" ... I'm still a little angry, you know."

"Yes, you've proven yourself quite stubborn."

"... but... I still love you all the same."

"... as do I."

[marshallsmikaelson]

"You don't think that's a bit... weird? N-Not in a bad way. I mean, you and I - we only met, what, a couple days ago?" Marshall questioned, quickly corrected himself, and looked the male over curiously. Maybe it was a wolf thing he didn't understand. Maybe Wyatt really did just find his presence or scent or whatever to be comforting. The latter Marshall couldn't personally fathom why. There wasn't anything particularly 'remarkable' about him. Sure, he was good-looking, but wasn't that where anything interesting about him ended? Most people only found him interesting in the future because they wanted to ask something about the Mikaelson family. Needless to say, those conversations didn't last long. "And I do vacuum my own room! I'm not spoiled and pampered that much!"

As Wyatt squeezed himself onto the reading bench, Marshall chuckled. He hadn't realized just how bulky Wyatt's build was and how small the bench really was. "Wha--No, we don't need anyone to lose any hands! It wasn't their fault and I was literally asking them for it last night." Marshall stated quickly at the suggestion. Sitting so close to the other, Marshall could smell the remnants of the man's cologne and a sharper scent of Wyatt's own natural scent coming through. It was pleasant; and for a moment he kind of understood how Wyatt might have found his scent to be the same.

He watched Wyatt dance his fingertips along his sweater before looking back up and meeting the man's gaze; brows lightly furrowed from a curious confusion the entire time. "Maybe..." He hummed some and dropped his gaze. "My friend Maxfield would insist that the guy I was last night was the type of guy I could always be if I just learned to stop doubting myself or overthinking about what people would say or think about me. And, maybe he was right in a way, you know? I mean, I would still say last night was terrible, but when I think about what I can remember, a part of me did enjoy myself, after all. A part of me doesn't regret everything, you know? It's... confusing." He shrugged.

He shook his head quickly once more. "There I go again, rambling on and on while you're just forced to sit and listen to it." He chuckled. It seemed to be a recurring situation for them.

"I don't know—just made me think of you, I suppose." Wyatt's gaze drifted thoughtfully, the words slipping out before he could fully grasp their origin. He wasn't one to dissect his instincts; he trusted them implicitly, perhaps more than a rational mind ought to. Yet, they had never led him astray, even if a touch of witch's intuition colored his judgments.

At Marshall's quip about shedding, Wyatt's eyes narrowed playfully before a smirk tugged at his lips. "So, are you admitting you don't vacuum your own room?" he retorted, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"I see..." Wyatt murmured as he settled beside Marshall on the small bench. His leg brushed against Marshall's as he adjusted himself on the small space. "Sounds like there are folks who could use a lesson in keeping their hands to themselves," he mused. "I'm pretty sure I've got a spell to remove hands somewhere." A soft chuckle escaped him, lightening the mood.

He lifted a hand gently, fingertips grazing the fabric of Marshall's oversized sweater. "Hence the cover-up," he noted, his eyes meeting Marshall's for a few seconds. "But something tells me you're not the type to open up... like that so easily," he said softly. "There's no need to rush anything of that nature, just take things slow. Magic has a way of barreling past boundaries, and many times even if it picks at something deep down inside of you its not really you own actions when magic is involved. Or compulsion."

[yearning-butch]

Everything is so much all of the time

[coquelicoq]

what i love about the Famous Actor Natori Shuuichi of it all is that...it's not just that he's famous and therefore widely recognizable wherever he goes. like yes that is very funny because he was an exorcist before he became a famous actor, which means he CHOSE, on purpose, a day job that would make it harder to hide his double life/secret identity from the hordes of his adoring public, but it's more than that. it's not just that he's famous, it's that he's famous specifically for being an ACTOR, aka a person whose job it is to dissimulate, to make believe, to inhabit roles and emotions other than his own. like he decided he was going to become as visible as possible (which again was literally not necessary! he could have gone into any other career for his day job!!) but in such a way that everyone would see him but no one would see him - they would just see his various made-up personas, including the Famous Actor Natori Shuuichi persona. i can't decide if he's a genius or if he just made so many absurd decisions that they canceled each other out and circled back around to working out. he's either playing 9-dimensional chess or he's eating the pieces. too soon to say.

[sparky-is-spiders]

tell me about the Jon Isolation AU!

This ask carried me through microeconomics homework, econometrics lab, microeconomics class, econometrics class, AND worries about Big Future Assignments! So thank you very much <3

This is a fun one cause I actually have the first draft of the first part written!! It's basically a version of one of my favorite personal Jon plotlines where he moves into the Archives and has no social support system. Desperately in need of a rewrite to sand away the rough edges tho lmao.

Alright I won't lie: this AU was born when I was thinking about creating an Archivist, and why it wouldn't work if you just stuck someone in a room, made them read a bunch of statements, and then dropped 14 marks on them (because that would be much easier, faster, and more efficient than what happened in the podcast, but that's not what Elias did). And then I (world's most normal Jon enjoyer) thought about Elias doing that to Jon. And then, I (and I cannot stress this enough: world's MOST NORMAL Jon enjoyer) started thinking about. The most reasonable. Effective. Low-effort. Jon kidnapping plot. And then I wrote about 5k words. And then I left those to languish in the WIP folder, just like Elias leaving Jon to languish in the basement Archives.

In hindsight, it's also a spiritual precursor to my vampire JE fics. Like. Same basic setup.

Huh.

(Believe it or not I'm actually even more of a freak about Jon NOW.)

Just to be clear, warning for:

Unhealthy relationships (I mean it's JE lmao)

Dubcon captivity?? I guess?? Like Jon agrees but Elias manipulates the scenario and Jon is. Not super happy about the situation.

Anyway the plotline is: Gertrude is missing (how mysterious and worrying!) and Elias needs himself a "temporary" Archivist to take care of the Archives until either she returns or until it becomes clear that he needs an official replacement. Jon is a very hardworking institute employee with a dedication to research and a knack for organization (autism requires everything be Sorted). Elias (who only wants to help Jon realize his full potential and has no ulterior motives whatsoever) decides that to promote him to the position. For career development reasons!

Jon:

Wants to prove that they are an asset to the institute and that they are up for the task.

Is hoping they can maybe be promoted to Head Archivist? Like Elias implied might happen if they did a good job?

Maybe. Possibly. Potentially. Fancies Elias a tiny bit.

Would appreciate the opportunity to do his own research on the statements there without their supervisor asking why they're so invested in statements involving Lietners and spiders.

Hypothetically wants Elias to praise them and validate them and respect them and profess his undying love for them make them employee of the month.

So. Obviously. They agree.

The thing is, it's only temporary, and Elias doesn't want to disrupt the other departments too much, you see, and surely Jon can handle a little tidying all by themselves? And obviously Jon can't say no to that! Haven't they always sort of wanted to not have to deal with annoying coworkers constantly chattering and bothering them and demanding their attention? Haven't they always wanted to work by themselves and be responsible for their own tasks? And Elias makes it sound like such an inconvenience to hire additional hands. Besides, Gerturde managed just fine without. Surely they can do this by themselves. Surely it will be fine.

It goes from there. The Archives are, obviously, a much bigger disaster than Elias had let on. But Elias expects Jon to handle it and handle it they shall. They just need to work harder. Come in early. Stay late. Miss lunch, sometimes. Work while they eat. It will be fine. What would Elias think if they asked for help? If they essentially admitted that they couldn't live up to his expectations? And other people would disrupt their ability to work. Might ask questions about any areas of interest they try to focus on.

They come in earlier and earlier. They stay later and later. Elias stops by occasionally to congratulate them on what a good job they're doing. To commend them on their dedication. So they have to keep it up. Can't slack off. They had friends before, sort of. Tim and Sasha were nice to talk to occasionally. But now Jon doesn't work near them, can't talk to them as much. Doesn't have time to get drinks with them after work, doesn't have the energy to answer their increasingly sporadic texts. Jon doesn't speak to much of anyone these days. It's fine though. It's fine it's fine it's fine.

There's something about the quiet stillness of the Archives. The echoing silence of the rest of the institute in those few moments Jon spends there in those long, lonely halls (not lifeless, per se, but lonely). There's some deep ache inside of them. It feels almost hollow, but it feels like home, too.

Elias is there, sometimes. To tell Jon how proud he is, how well they're doing. He likes to show up in the moments when Jon's thinking about leaving, maybe to eat in the cafeteria, maybe to stop by Sasha's desk... but that's probably paranoia. How would he know?

Every night, it feels so difficult to leave. Every night, Jon worries that Gertrude will come back and take the job from them, that Elias will find a replacement, that they'll lose their Archives. It's ridiculous, they know it, but it doesn't change the impulse to stay as long as possible. To prove to Elias that this is where they belong. It is an itch deep in their soul.

They think someone might be going through their desk. Something is watching them. It doesn't feel safe, leaving the Archives unattended over night.

(The Archives need an Archivist. The vacuum needs to be filled, and there is a perfect candidate right here, visiting them every day. Of course Jon is feeling the pull.)

And then it's been months, and Gertrude just hasn't been found, and Jon's done such a very good job, and it would be much easier if Jon would just... continue what they were doing? And if they think the work might be too much they can always ask for assistants, of course.

The itching in their soul soothes when they sign the contract. They try not to think about it.

Aaaaand that's about it as far as detailed plot goes. I do have some ideas for later on that are less well defined?

On the angstier side of things:

Things get easier when Jon is made Archivist officially. He feels more comfortable leaving at night, but he still spends a lot of time there. So many secrets, so little time.

He's paranoid. He knows something is up, that he might be in danger, that he's being watched... he can't involve anyone else. Not if he can't trust them, not if they might be in danger too.

Some of it is also the wearing effect of isolation. It's very easy to see other people as a threat or disturbance or unknown variable if you spend so much time alone.

He's looking into Gertrude's disappearance too. What did she know? What happened to her? Is he in danger too?

He can't trust Elias. He knows it. And it's so stupid that he's still maybe in love with him, just a bit.

Months pass. Relationships have surely withered and atrophied from Jon's absence. He still spends some time at his flat, but it's the Archives that feel like home.

And then, one night, the shadows in his flat come alive. Reaching ink-slick hands out to grasp him and pull him in.

It follows him. Shadows reaching with a dozen hungry hands as he races for the institute. Out of walls, street posts, parked cars. One catches on his side, and the flesh tears like paper.

It was midnight when he left. It was almost daybreak when he arrived at the Archives. He knows he's safe as soon as he crosses the threshold.

From there, I'm not sure what happens next. Tempted to say Elias was there waiting for him (I think the formatting maybe implies more continuity than there is there, how much Jon knows by the time he has to leave his flat behind is... debatable). Maybe Elias comes in to visit him and pretends to be shocked and worried about all the very unexpected blood. Maybe Jon has to phone him, begging for help because he can't go to the hospital (he knows it'll come back, the next time he's left alone in the dark), and really, who else does he have that will believe him?

Elias stays with him, tends to his injuries, spends his nights in the Archives with Jon. It's Jon who begs to stay in the Archives. Who needs the safety. The surety. Maybe Elias suggests that he stay there forever. Maybe he doesn't have to.

On the much goofier side of things: I do have an idea of them (once Jon is healed) going to Ikea to pick out some furniture. I'm thinking maybe Jon would know about the Eye, just for some fun bickering over picking out furniture or assembling a dresser or whatever. Idk, I just really like the idea of JE making the Archives into a cozy little home for Jon, somewhere he can comfortably live forever <3.

Jon has a lot of complicated feelings about the Archives and living in them and being the Archivist. Maybe he even tries to leave and go back to living a normal life. Maybe the reaching shadows break that idea for him forever. Either way, one way or another, he will learn that there is no point and there is no freedom in trying.

Despite this AU's beginnings, I don't know if Elias is working towards some big ritual. Maybe he just wants a perfect Archivist to keep in his basement forever.

And. I mean. Can you really blame him??

Not sure if JE ever become like. Official Romantic Partners. But Jon is Elias' Archivist and Elias is Jon's Watcher and that's kind of the same thing, really.

(Maybe they can have some sort of binding ritual ceremony at some point. As a Treat.)

Okay that's. God this has been a bit of a ramble, huh? Anyway I hoped you enjoyed hearing about this AU. I did get excited to take another crack at it while writing this! At the same time, however, I recently saw a post about Love that annoyed me a bit and which has made me think about the Subway Monster AU (and how those two concepts are connected is a WHOLE other story lmao) so we'll see which I end up doing (the answer might be neither for a while. I have. Big Graduation Responsibility due Oct. 1st). But yeah anyway thank you again for the ask! It was fun rambling, and actually really nice to sit down and Think about my AU lol.

[tophats-tea]

NEW 🔥 DGNG 🔥 LOG 🔥

been a while i think. Anyway like I said, there’s a Lot to say here. Her design is genuinely beautiful to look at, the colour scheme is immaculate, I think fourwings mentioned the asymmetry which looks really nice, and I absolutely love the hair (partly since it’s really fun to draw :P.

I’ll talk about the burn scar later, but there’s a lot to say just based on the rest of her design too. She has a butterfly collar (ult lepidopterologist, obv), and her right arm is almost entirely covered (interesting given the whole thing about which hand she usually uses). Zooming in, from what we can see, her right hand doesn’t seem to be damaged in any way (unlike the right side of her face), so it doesn’t seem like that it being hurt is the reason behind why she tries not to use her right hand. If it weren't for it being her right hand and not her left that she avoids using, I’d have maybe hazarded a guess that she was just raised to use her right hand despite being left-handed (though that in and of itself has its issues since she’s already 18, meaning she’d have already either grown used to being forced to use her right hand, which happens, or just outright decided herself to use her left).

Since that’s not the case, the reason could be for all we know because of any number of things. Some kind of internal damage in her body (and she was warned not to use her right by her doctor), superstition or some kind of self-imposed rule (likely not this one, since if anything, the left hand was always associated with evil/bad luck not the opposite), or even just something small like training to become ambidextrous or something (though heavily unlikely too). The muttering in pain line right after suggests the first option, but it could still be because of a bunch of different but similar reasons (it does point to the root cause being something to do with her burns though).

Going back to her design, what’s interesting about her monocle is that seeing through it, she has the same styled eyes as Chika. As of right now since we only have the default expression, it’s hard to judge if that’s a genuine connection since it doesn’t seem as expressive as Chika’s, but the lens does have the same colour, so it’s not entirely out of the question. It doesn’t seem like just a way to style all glasses though, given the same thing doesn’t happen with julien (though his glasses are a lot more transparent). The only thing going against it right now is the fact Chika’s eyes still have her eyebrows above them. Despite Kellen’s expression being neutral, she should still theoretically at least have an eyebrow slightly above her eye. That in and of itself could still be a style choice, simplifying the eye, but who knows.

Anyway, moving onto the quotes and other details, from what I can see, there’s nothing too out of the ordinary. Her quote is pretty standard, kinda similar to other logs of the same nature (especially Kya’s, which makes sense since they’re both scientists who research nature of some sort). Her likes and dislikes are fairly standard given her log blurb, but the bugs and fire is something that’s mentioned in Chika’s log too, which points to another connection between them. You could argue that given her talent is related to bugs, Chika’s log might foreshadow more ultimates whose talents are related to fire and people respectively, but that’s entirey just baseless speculation for now (you could say that that might suggest Naruko had met Chika after having met Kellen, since that would make the topic of bugs a possible discussion to come up). Kellen’s birthday’s also on Pi day, but I don’t think that’s really meant to mean anything. She’s also the fourth adult, which isn’t anything special for now.

Moving onto her blurb, the first line’s a bit suspicious, which might or might not place her as a candidate for antag? (regardless it’s definitely something that’ll come up later at the very least). Not like there’s been too many participants that give off that vibe so far. Anyway, She seems to be hiding something, which might be related to her left/right hand deal, or something else entirely. Goal-oriented is used to describe her, but is also an adjective explicitly used to describe Asaro, but given it’s one time, it’s probably not too important (probably along the level of importance of the diamond in Asaro/Mikazuki’s clothing, at least until a third participant comed up with the same pattern).

Her philosophy brings into question a new trio, where her, Poppi, and Chika all have conflicting worldviews. That’s something that’ll be interesting to look forward to developing as the killing game progresses, so that might lower all 3 of their chances of becoming the first victim/blackened, though not guaranteed.

Oh, also, something I forgot to mention about her use of her left hand is that it reminds me a lot of what happened with Nikei in SDRA2. From what I’ve heard (I haven’t actually watched the full fangan), Nikei was shown across the game talking about how much he liked his right hand, and how it’s what allows him to engage in his talent. When (spoilers for sdra2 obv) his right hand gets blown off in the fourth trial, his tendency to use his right hand still remained. When trying to escape his execution, he tries to jump and reach for the ladder of a helicopter, only for his instinct of reaching towards it with his (blown off) right hand to cause him to miss, causing his downfall (literally, since he fell to death ;-;). Anyway, just as a small theory, something similar might happen with Kellen as it did with Nikei with either her forcing herself to follow through with using her left hand (thereby dooming her), or the opposite, accidentally using her right hand despite everything she’s done to stop and suffering the consequences. That plot point could develop in any number of ways, so we’ll see as it actually starts.

That aside, that’s pretty much it for her main log. Moving on to the butterflies though, I can’t really tell if they’re a real species or entirely functional since that’s not really my field of interest, but given the fact that they’re canonically there in the killing game presents a lot of different opportunities in the future.

Being a topic to help her build connections, butterfly accomplice murders?, tragic butterfly deaths (average lifetime is 2-4 weeks), butterfly births??? (there is more than 1 tbf. Also opportunity for slightly corny jokes about Kenta and Julien Kenta), and a possibility for them to die before her whether through the killing game, the first chapter, or even in an execution. As an early plot point, their deaths could also be used as symbolism or an allegory for any number of possibilities too (speaking of which, an execution for the ultimate lepidopterist would genuinely be really interesting to see).

Moving on again, something pretty simple to note is that their names start with the same letter as Kellen and each have 2 syllables (and they’re each of pretty much the most popular 4 colour combo). Doesn’t really mean anything, but I thought it was nice to mention.

The quote, “I swear they [the butterflies] have it out for me” is a lighthearted joke, obviously, but it does hint towards some kind of interaction between Naruko and Kellen in the prologue that wasn’t mentioned in the log blurb. Probably something simple like them bothering her (as an introduction to Kellen showing up?) or then blocking her from speaking to Kellen. Well, either that or Naruko dies first as a fakeout protag killed by Kyra (Kellen butterfly #3).

The butterfly log’s labeled #10.5 and doesn’t have much written, which makes sense considering they’re…butterflies. That’s about it.

Oh, also also, something I never had the opportunity to mention was that some of the chest measurements are measured in inches while the others are in cm, while the heights are all in feet. Thought this might be a bit of a hint towards about the characters nationality-wise, but given Julien’s existence (claims to be british; uses inches), probably not. It’s probably an innocuous detail. Anyway, banger log. Kaia new favourite character frfr

Log #10: Kellen Asuka, Ultimate Lepidopterist

[countess-of-edessa]

the thing about taking advice from anyone on tiktok or instagram including catholic and christian type influencers, parenting advice, relationship advice, etc, or internalizing any stories of horrible relationships and betrayal people tell on those platforms, or reading about all the ways interpersonal relationships can end horribly and be cycled through extremely quickly on those platforms is that you are necessarily then consuming the thoughts and experiences of someone who is willing to put their face and name on a public social media platform to talk at you. and like 1% of those people have a good reason for doing so and the other 99% are completely unhinged. so everything you’re consuming has first gone through the filter of "is this person weird and insane enough to make Instagram reels of themselves crying?" and if the answer is yes maybe their advice doesn’t apply to your life because you’re a normal person who would not do that.

[vamptastic]

romancing astarion has thus far made me exponentially less attracted to him. can we go back to you serving face in the background and contributing the occasional quip while i go do my hero things? i can't listen to the pickup lines i cant. they're bad they're not good they're bad. and i don't know if hes doing this on purpose as some kind of sick and twisted test of faith or he thinks he is a master casanova. also if astarion can't lift a backpack full of plate armor he sure as hell cannot lift up my entire PC. sorry.

[crystal-verse]

divinity -- noun; the quality of being divine/divine nature/a divine being

sae'pheli'ehva has always been divine. mortal bodies are not meant to hold such sacred, hallowed aether.