#drawing 2 more OCs tonight!!

[lady-quen]

I have no braincells for clean art... Mael but put him in fancy clothes for those pesky Krytan parties. Political assassinations optional

[einsatzzz]

i slept and hibernated so hard the last two days, anyway i'll just be chill and try to clear my inbox so it will be clean by new year, yipppeeee!!! just need to chill and not stress too much, my guts are alr telling me jan-feb 2025 period lowkey just might be rough like this year so im bracing myself.

the target release date was there to force myself to get the ball rolling so now that its rolling at around 40-50% progress (conservative), i don't need to worry about that anymore. i think my sketching speed got faster, so that's a good thing. besides that, ive been doing some updates on the wiki too and making some assets as well.

[cupiditzy]

cheer up sylvie, it’s just strahd inviting you to see him at the castle! your party will read it for you

[sanchoyoscribbles]

artfight attacks & revenges from this week!

in order the charas belong to:

theyellowcatgirl, @zeriphi, @doodlemel

spnopn, @mewmizu, @streamywhisper

@gonebatty-artistry, PinkStardustz, @kami-scribbles

jdbuenol, @collapsedrainbow, and cycy_nebbs!

[spaceratprodigy]

next week on friday I'll post the full lil faith and max mm au illustration :]

[solplease]

well. i finally finished the assignment..!

[xoxorealitygalore]

Plan B 2

Jey Uso x Afro-Brazilian OC

Summary: In her thirties and single after a breakup, Hamisa decides she wants to become a mother, despite her friends' and family's objections. Unable to wait any longer, she chooses to have a baby on her own. However, she unknowingly ends up using her ex-boyfriend sperm after he drunkenly swapped her donor’s sample for his own. As Hamisa raises her child, she starts noticing striking similarities between her ex-boyfriend and her baby, leading to questions about the true origins of her child's conception.

Plan B Masterlist

Taglist: @xbriexx @christinabae @blackchickinthedesert @princess-saki1 @skyesthebomb @raya-hunter01

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hamisawoo ✓

555 posts 19.8M followers 100 following

Hamisa Janeisha Woo

Public Figure

WWE

Tik tok: hamisawoo

@hamisaboutique

🔗 linktr.ee/hamisawoo and 2 more

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Hamisa had always prided herself on her independence and quiet nature. A woman of few words, she wasn't one to express herself easily. Yet, standing in the midst of the bustling Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse in Cleveland, Ohio, she felt a flood of emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

Tonight was Monday Night Raw, and although she had always been a fan of the WWE, this night carried with it an unfamiliar tension. It wasn’t the roaring crowd or the electric atmosphere of the event that was weighing on her; it was something much more personal.

Her eight-month-old daughter, Jhream, was the source of her internal conflict. As Hamisa and her daughter walked down the hallway, she couldn’t help but notice the way the baby’s squeals and excited waves seemed to draw everyone’s attention. The young girl was a social butterfly. And Hamisa wasn't ready to embrace that reality. She was a mother, yes, but still a woman who valued her peace, her space. A life spent in a quiet, almost introverted existence didn’t naturally mesh with a baby who had already mastered the art of making her presence known.

Pamela pushed the stroller from behind, her eyes glimmering with amusement as Jhream's delighted shrieks echoed through the hallway. "She’s an extrovert, good luck to you, Hamisa," Pamela teased, her voice lighthearted, as she laughed at the attention Jhream was attracting.

Hamisa couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at her lips, though it was tinged with exhaustion. "I’m praying it’s a baby thing, and she’s not really an extrovert. I can’t handle it," she admitted. The thought of a lively, outgoing child, one who wouldn’t sit still, who would always be the center of attention, made Hamisa feel overwhelmed.

Despite being far from shy, Hamisa preferred the quiet moments. But now, she had a daughter, a little girl who, from the moment she had entered the world, seemed destined to challenge every piece of calm that Hamisa had worked so hard to cultivate.

As they continued to walk through the hall, Jhream’s squeals grew louder. Her eyes brightened when she spotted Joshua and his twelve-year-old son, Jeyce. The sight of them was enough to excite the already boisterous baby even more. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jeyce rushed over, his eager face a mixture of excitement and curiosity.

"Can I hold her?" Jeyce asked, already reaching for Jhream before Hamisa had a chance to respond.

Jhream, as if guided by some unseen force, launched herself into Jeyce’s waiting arms, her small hands gripping his shirt with surprising strength. Jeyce caught her effortlessly, and for a brief moment, everything in Hamisa's world seemed to slow down. She watched as her daughter, so tiny and innocent, found comfort in the embrace of someone other than her. She felt a bittersweet pang in her heart, a mix of pride and protectiveness.

“She is wild,” Joshua chuckled from behind them, shaking his head as he watched the scene unfold. His voice held a note of affection as he observed the bond between his son and Hamisa’s daughter.

Hamisa, standing slightly apart, gave Joshua a small smile. She didn’t speak, but there was something about the way her lips pressed together that conveyed a thousand unspoken words.

In the midst of the joy, Jhream’s tiny hand reached up, grasping one of Jeyce’s braids. The baby, clearly fascinated by the texture, brought the braid toward her mouth, clearly intending to chew on it. Joshua, ever the protective one, moved swiftly to remove it from her grasp, preventing a potential disaster.

Jhream's reaction was immediate, her face scrunched up in annoyance as her hand was pulled away from the braid. She rolled her eyes, a movement so deliberate that it could have belonged to a much older child, not an eight-month-old.

“Uh-Uh, I know she didn’t just roll her eyes at me,” Joshua said, his voice tinged with mock surprise as he turned to Hamisa. His grin was wide, but there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes, something that Hamisa couldn’t quite place.

Hamisa giggled, a nervous laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She loved her daughter more than anything, but moments like this were unsettling. She wasn’t sure what to make of them, how to interpret the way Jhream seemed to be growing up too quickly, too fiercely.

As they continued down the hallway, the group ran into Charlotte. "Wow," Charlotte said, doing a double take as her eyes locked onto Jhream. "She looks so much like you, Josh."

Hamisa’s heart skipped a beat, and her stomach dropped. She glanced at Pamela, silently pleading with her to speak up, to offer any sort of reassurance that might ease her mind. Pamela, however, didn’t seem to notice the worry creeping into Hamisa’s thoughts.

Pamela shook her head. "I don’t see it," she murmured, trying to mask the unease in her voice. She didn’t understand what Hamisa had been sensing, what she had feared might be true.

But Hamisa couldn’t shake the growing panic inside her. Her baby, her precious daughter, was looking more and more like Joshua every day. It wasn’t just in the way she smiled or the way her eyes seemed to light up when she saw him, it was something deeper, more inexplicable. How could this be? Hamisa had used a sperm donor. Joshua was supposed to be just a friend, a trusted figure in her life, not someone whose genetic traits would find their way into her daughter’s features.

"She looks like Hamisa, right?" Joshua said quickly, trying to ease the tension. He grabbed Jhream from Jeyce’s arms, pulling her close as he pressed her cheek against his own. "You think so? I think she looks like Hamisa," he continued, his voice softening as he looked at the child in his arms.

Hamisa’s chest tightened. There was something about his words that stung. Did he know something she didn’t? Did he feel something she couldn’t understand? He had known about the sperm donor, of course. Hamisa had been open about that decision from the beginning. But now, looking at the child in his arms, Hamisa couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more at play.

"I think she just looks like whoever she’s next to," Pamela said, attempting to shift the mood. "Her features haven’t fully set in yet."

But Charlotte, still processing the interaction, looked at Pamela with a puzzled expression before walking away, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Jeyce, still holding Jhream, looked at his father with a thoughtful expression. "Yeah, she does look like you, Dad," he remarked, his voice casual but somehow laced with uncertainty.

Hamisa’s heart skipped a beat, the words like daggers sinking into her chest. There it was again, the overwhelming feeling that her daughter’s resemblance to Joshua was undeniable, something she couldn’t ignore, something that was beginning to consume her every thought.

Jhream, as if sensing her mother’s tension, tugged at the Cuban link chain around Joshua’s neck. The child’s small fingers gripped the shiny metal, pulling at it with curiosity. Joshua let out a nervous chuckle, but the sound was hollow, just as hollow as the unease swirling inside Hamisa’s mind.

Hamisa’s grip tightened around the stroller, her eyes narrowing at Joshua. She could feel the frustration bubbling within her. She didn’t know what to think anymore. There was too much uncertainty. Too many questions.

Without a word, she grabbed Jhream from Joshua’s arms, her movements sharp, her expression tight. Pamela, sensing the shift in the mood, fell into step beside Hamisa, the two of them moving away from the group without another glance backward.

"Girl, get a DNA test," Pamela muttered under her breath, her tone light but filled with underlying seriousness.

Hamisa nodded, though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. A DNA test. That’s what she needed, wasn’t it? The truth. Something to prove to her that her fears were unfounded, that her daughter wasn’t, in some strange, inexplicable way, a mirror image of someone who shouldn’t have been involved at all.

But deep down, Hamisa knew one thing for certain: the need for answers was becoming more pressing with each passing day.

It was Thursday afternoon when Hamisa finally gathered the courage to confront Joshua. For days, the unease in her chest had only grown, a gnawing suspicion she couldn’t shake. She had done everything she could to calm herself, to tell herself that it was all just coincidence that Jhream’s resemblance to Joshua was nothing more than a trick of the light, a fleeting illusion. But deep down, she knew something was off.

Her mind raced with questions: Could she have been pregnant when she used a sperm donor? Had the timing been wrong? Was the universe playing a sick joke, or had something else been at play, something Hamisa hadn’t even considered? The idea of her daughter looking so much like Joshua, even when she had never intended for him to be involved in her conception, kept her up at night. It was too much to ignore.

She found herself standing in front of Joshua’s house, the cool afternoon air biting at her skin as she clutched the small box in her hands. It was a home DNA test kit. A simple, straightforward solution to an impossible dilemma. All she needed was an answer. She knocked firmly on his door, staring at the yard with unseeing eyes as she waited. The seconds stretched on endlessly, and with every beat of her heart, her resolve hardened. She couldn’t keep living in uncertainty. She needed to know.

The door creaked open, and there he was, Joshua, looking at her with surprise written all over his face. Without saying a word, Hamisa shoved the box at his chest, her hands shaking from a mixture of anxiety and determination.

“Take it,” Hamisa said, her voice cold but steady.

Joshua looked down at the box in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. “What’s this?” he asked, clearly unsure of how to respond.

Hamisa’s voice was sharp. “I need to know why my baby looks and acts like you,” she answered, her words hanging in the air between them like an unspoken accusation.

Joshua’s face immediately shifted to something more guarded, almost guilty. A flash of discomfort passed through his eyes, but it was quickly masked by a neutral expression.

“We don’t need to take a test,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I know why.”

Hamisa’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean, you know why?” Her voice was laced with disbelief. She couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. How could he know? How could he possibly know?

Joshua stepped aside and motioned for her to come in. Reluctantly, Hamisa crossed the threshold, her eyes scanning the familiar space of his living room, as though seeing it for the first time. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shake him and demand the truth, but all she could do was follow him to the couch, her mind whirling with confusion.

“Sit down,” Joshua said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll explain everything.”

Hamisa sat down on the couch, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap as she stared at him. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether the truth would set her free or plunge her into darkness.

Joshua took a deep breath, as though trying to gather his thoughts. His eyes dropped to the floor for a moment before he met her gaze again, his expression suddenly much more vulnerable.

“When I came to visit you that one night�� after I got drunk,” he began, his voice quiet, “I went to the bathroom. You weren’t home, and I saw the sample cup sitting there.”

Hamisa’s breath hitched in her chest, and she instinctively leaned forward, her mind racing.

“You saw the sample cup?” she repeated, struggling to wrap her head around what he was saying.

Joshua nodded slowly, guilt clouding his features. “Yeah. I didn’t know what it was, but I was drunk, and I thought it was just… I don’t know, a random cup or something. I started messing with it. I played with the cup, and I—” He stopped, his face reddening with embarrassment. “I spilled it in the sink. I panicked, Hamisa. I didn’t know what to do.”

Hamisa’s pulse quickened. She felt her stomach drop, her thoughts swirling faster and faster. What was he saying? What was he admitting?

“I didn’t know what to do. I—I replaced the sample with my own,” Joshua continued, his voice strained as he looked at her, the weight of his confession hanging heavily in the air. “I didn’t remember anything about it until recently. When I started noticing how much Jhream looked like me, and how similar she acted to me, too.”

Hamisa’s head spun as Joshua’s words began to sink in. “Wait… wait, hold on,” she stammered. “Are you telling me… that my daughter is… is yours?”

Joshua nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving her. “Yes. Jhream is my biological daughter, Hamisa. I’m the one who—” He swallowed hard, his voice faltering as if the words were difficult to say. “I’m the one who switched the sample. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t remember until now, but now that I see it, now that I see her with my own eyes, it’s clear. She’s mine.”

Hamisa could feel her chest tightening, her breath catching in her throat. The room felt like it was closing in on her. Everything she had thought she knew about her daughter, everything she had thought she understood, was crumbling before her.

“This was all a mistake,” Hamisa whispered, her voice shaking with disbelief. “You—you can’t be serious. How could you do this? How could you just… switch it?”

Joshua’s eyes softened, regret filling them as he took a step closer. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Hamisa. I was drunk, and I didn’t think. But I swear, I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted this to be a thing.”

He paused, taking a deep breath. “But now that it has happened… I think this is a sign. I think this is a sign that we’re meant to be together again. We’re a family now, Hamisa. It’s not too late. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Hamisa recoiled from him, her hands shaking as she backed away from the sofa. “No. No, you don’t get to just say that. You don’t get to act like this is some kind of happy ending. You switched the sperm! You hid it from me! You ruined everything!” Her voice broke as the anger surged through her, threatening to overpower her.

Joshua’s face fell, the hopeful expression slowly turning to one of sadness. He reached for her, but Hamisa jerked away, her breath ragged and uneven.

“I can’t do this,” she said, her words clipped and sharp. “I can’t. This is too much. You should’ve never done that. You should’ve never… switched it.” Her eyes filled with tears as she stood up, her knees weak as the weight of the situation came crashing down around her.

Joshua’s voice was quiet as he watched her, his face filled with hurt. “Hamisa, I didn’t mean for it to go this way. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Hamisa looked at him, her chest tight with emotion. “I don’t care about your excuses. You should’ve been honest with me. You should’ve never… done this to me.”

With that, she turned away, her body trembling as she walked toward the door. Joshua’s voice called after her, but she didn’t stop. The door slammed behind her, leaving Joshua standing alone in the living room, the remnants of his confession hanging between them, unanswered.

Outside, the cool air hit Hamisa’s face as she stepped into the yard, her heart racing with the weight of the revelation. She wanted to scream, to cry, to somehow make sense of the madness she had just heard. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.

Next

[killeromanoff]

I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 2

summary: Months after Venturer's official approval, Declan O’Hara's latest broadcast takes center stage, his incisive interview style sparking reactions from viewers—and Cassie Jones. Spending the evening at Baz’s bar, Cassie finds herself caught between reluctant admiration and lingering resentment for Declan’s relentless drive.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Themes of Corruption, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension, Alcohol Use, Realism in Media Industry, Cassie is always in distress mode

w.c: 7k

[prologue], [chapter one], [here], [chapter three], [chapter four]

o2. But I can't get her outta my sight

Declan sat in his study, a sanctuary of muted tones and understated elegance. The polished surface of his mahogany desk reflected the faint glow of the desk lamp, its circle of light casting the rest of the room into a warm shadow. Shelves of books lined the walls, their spines forming a mosaic of knowledge and ambition accumulated over the years.

A hint of cigar smoke clung to the air.

A stack of notes lay before him, meticulously organized yet untouched. He had intended to review them for tonight’s show on Venturer, he has studied and written everything down for the past week. Yet his pen had stilled, his attention wandering far from the political breakdowns and exposés he usually found energizing.

Instead, his mind was tangled in thoughts of Cassie Jones.

The doubt in her eyes was striking—not just a fleeting hesitation, but something deeper, a quiet war between uncertainty and conviction. Yet, it was that same doubt that seemed to amplify the glow of her fierce determination, as if her fears only highlighted the brilliance of her resolve.

Her gaze, dark and willful, resisted him, darting away like a bird wary of being caught.

But in those few moments when their eyes met… It was impossible to look away. There was a rhythm to her words, calculated and unhurried, as though each syllable carried a secret she was daring him to uncover. Her voice was a melody he couldn’t quite place—familiar enough to draw him in, yet distant enough to leave him looking for more.

Her lips parted and closed with the precision of a storyteller, shaping each word in a way that made even the most banal details sound extraordinary. There was a magnetism to her presence, an energy that turned a simple conversation into something unforgettable.

Not that he stared at her lips. He hadn't. If someone asked him about them, he wouldn't know what color they were. A shade somewhere between the warmth of a dusky rose and the faint blush of autumn’s last leaves.

In short, the conversation between them that early afternoon lingered—not as a memory, but as a sensation, persistent and impossible to ignore.

It felt foolish , truly. That was the best word to describe the whole situation.

He couldn’t decide what annoyed him more: the fact that his thoughts were so easily hijacked or that he had let them linger. There were always more pressing matters to deal with—scripts to finalize, segments to tighten, the never-ending negotiations with sponsors… Venturer wasn’t just a television station; it was a warfront, the last bastion of independent media in Rutshire.

And yet, here he was , caught up in the memory of a single conversation.

What made it worse was that it wasn’t even a conversation that should have stood out. He’d met people with stronger résumés, sharper tongues, and more experience in front of a microphone.

But Cassie... She wasn’t polished , and that was the very thing that stayed with him. Her honesty felt raw, untamed—a blade still learning the strength of its edge.

Foolish. The word echoed in his head.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. What was it about her that unsettled him?

Was it her conviction? The quiet courage hidden beneath layers of uncertainty? Or perhaps it was the vulnerability she carried so openly? The kind that didn’t ask for pity but challenged you to see it and still believe in her strength.

And yet, her resistance baffled him. How could someone so driven, so clearly destined for something bigger, shy away from a platform?

His fingers tapped absently against the desk as he tried to reconcile her fear of the screen with what he had seen in her.

In his mind’s eye, he could picture her features perfectly—the elegant line of her jaw, the soft curve of her cheekbones, the intensity in her eyes when she spoke about what mattered. He could see how the camera would frame her, how the lights would catch the warm tones in her hair, and how her expressions, so honest and unguarded, would translate to the audience.

She didn’t see it, but he did .

Her face was made for the screen, not because of perfection, but because of its authenticity. It would draw people in, hold them captive. She didn’t need to be polished; she was already compelling in a way that made the camera irrelevant.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, his voice steady despite the jumble in his head.

The door creaked open, and Taggie stepped inside, her auburn hair catching the soft light from the lamp. She was dressed casually, her apron dusted with flour, a reminder of the event she was catering later.

“Still brooding?” she teased gently, holding a letter in one hand while absently smoothing her apron with the other.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but her tone carried genuine concern.

“Brooding?” Declan repeated, his voice amused, “I prefer ‘preparing.’ ”

“For the show or something else?” she countered, stepping closer. Her gaze landed briefly on the untouched notes before flicking back to him, “You look... Distracted.”

Declan exhales, leaning back in his chair, “I visited Cassie Jones today.”

Taggie’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Cassie Jones? The Cassie Jones? You mean the one from the radio?”

She stepped closer, as though proximity would confirm his words. Her tone changed, and her thoughts flickered back to the previous morning.

Yesterday, the kitchen had been filled with the sound of Cassie’s fiery monologue, her unrelenting voice cutting through the room like a razor. Rupert had leaned in, more amused than anything else, but her father—she remembered her father: he’d been completely still , eyes fixed on the radio with an intensity she hadn’t seen in months.

That explains why he hadn’t had dinner last night , Taggie wondered.

Declan nodded, his expression contemplative.

“She has potential, Taggie,” he paused, searching for the right words, “Raw, unpolished, but it’s there. I want her on Venturer.”

“You’re recruiting her?” she asked, her voice with a hint of curiosity and excitement, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day you’d bring someone like her in. Isn’t she— well , shy?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he admitted, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge, “She’s terrified of being seen, but she’s brilliant. The way she speaks... It’s not just reporting. It’s storytelling. She makes people care.”

Taggie studied him for a moment, her head tilting as she considered his words. There was something about the way he spoke—quiet but charged with energy, a drive that hadn’t been there in a while…

Her father had always been passionate, but this was different. There was a spark, something that reminded her of the early days of Venturer, when everything was just a shot in the dark.

“You’re really invested in this,” Taggie lifted a brow, “Aren’t you?”

Declan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze dropped to the scattered notes on his desk, their edges curling slightly under the soft glow of the desk lamp. His fingers tapped idly against the wood as he tried to put his thoughts into words.

 “Let’s just say,” he murmured, “It’s been a while since someone reminded me why we started Venturer in the first place.”

“It’s good to see you like this again,” Taggie’s smile widened, “You’ve never been so focused, so determined since we won the franchise approval—it’s like you’ve finally found something that excites you again.”

Declan chuckled, though the sound was tinged with self-awareness, “Don’t read too much into it, Taggie. I’m just doing my job.”

“Sure you are,” she said, a touch of mischief in her tone, “But I’m not complaining. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you looking this... Alive.”

She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Do you think she’ll accept?”

Declan’s expression grew thoughtful, his gaze distant.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “Freddie’s been trying to bring her on board since we got the franchise approval. She’s always said no. But today…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he thought back to their conversation.

“But today?” Taggie prompted, stepping closer, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“She seemed... Torn ,” Declan replied, “Like part of her wanted to say yes, even if she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’s hesitant, scared even, but she’s not someone who backs down easily. If she sees what we see in her... She’ll come around.”

Taggie studied her father again, a knowing expression in the way she furrowed her brows, “You’re really invested in this, aren’t you?”

Declan met her gaze, a flicker of something undefinable in his expression—determination, perhaps, or something even deeper.

“It’s not just about her, Taggie,” he said after a moment, “It’s about what she represents. Venturer was supposed to be about giving people like her a voice, wasn’t it? People who can make others listen, who can make them care.

“Well, I hope she sees that”, a soft smile tugged at the corners of Taggie’s lips, “And I hope she knows how lucky she’d be to work with someone like you.”

Declan chuckled again, though it was quieter this time, tinged with something almost self-deprecating.

“Don’t go turning me into a saint, Taggie. I’m just trying to do what’s right—for Venturer and for her.”

Taggie hesitated, watching him for a moment before stepping forward and placing the envelope on his desk.

“Just don’t let this drive of yours keep you from dealing with this,” she said softly, her fingers brushing the edge of the envelope.

Declan’s gaze followed her gesture, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight of the crumpled edges and the weight it seemed to carry. How it quickly changed his daughter’s humor.

“What is it?” he asked, though something in the pit of his stomach already knew the answer.

“It’s from Mum’s lawyer,” Taggie replied quietly, “The final papers.”

Declan’s breath caught, the words dripping between them like a heavy curtain. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached out to take the envelope. The paper felt heavier than it should, as though the culmination of everything—months of silence, arguments, the growing distance—was contained within it.

How could she not answer any of his letters and the first one she sent to them, her family, was the divorce papers?

“I see,” he said in the silence, almost whispering, his grip on the envelope tightened.

Taggie hesitated, her eyes scanning his face as though trying to gauge his reaction, “Are you okay?”

Declan chuckled, but it was devoid of humor.

“That’s a loaded question.”

The corner of her lips twitched, but her attempt at a smile faded just as quickly.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, Dad. I know how hard you tried to hold things together.”

“Did I?” Declan asked, almost to himself. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling to the envelope in his hands, “Or did I just try to hold on to the idea of us? To what I thought we were supposed to be, instead of what we actually were?”

Taggie bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. The silence that followed wasn’t tense, but it was loaded as the question of before. There was a shared grief for something that had been unraveling for longer than either of them cared to admit.

“She made her choice,” Declan continued, his tone low, “And maybe... Maybe it’s for the best. For her. For both of us.”

“Maybe,” Taggie said softly, though she didn’t sound convinced.

Declan glanced at her, his expression softening.

“What about you? How are you handling all this?”

Taggie bit her lip, clearly taken aback by her father’s question. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering downward as though the answer might somehow be hidden in the floorboards.

“I’ve had time to process it, I guess,” she responded, her voice quieter than before. She shrugged, slipping her hands into the pockets of her apron, “It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but... I’m not angry anymore. Just… S-S—”

Her voice faltered, the word slipping from her grasp.

“Sad?” Declan offered gently, watching as her jaw tightened.

“Yes,” she said, nodding a bit too quickly, “ Sad. ”

Her struggle with the word wasn’t lost on him. It was a passing moment, brief but telling. Declan knew how Taggie’s dyslexia sometimes crept into her life in ways she didn’t expect—moments of hesitation or the occasional stumble over a word when emotions ran high.

It wasn’t something she let define her, but it was always there.

Over the past months, with Maud gone and Taggie stepping up beside him, Declan had seen more of it than he ever had before. At first, he had felt like the worst father in the world for not noticing sooner, for letting the chaos of his own life distract him from hers. It took him some time to understand—not just how it was for her, but the quiet strength with which she handled them.

It humbled him, this quiet resilience of hers.

You’ve handled it well, he wanted to say, but instead, he offered her a smile.

She looked at him, surprised by the sudden gesture. But the small, appreciative smile she gave in return told him he had done the right thing. He was still trying, and that was enough.

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the soft hum of wind and the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. Declan found himself studying her expression, the way her eyes mirrored his own weariness but had a resilience that was unmistakably hers.

“I suppose sadness is easier to live with than resentment,” he said, more to himself than to her.

Taggie nodded, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well, I should get back to work. The buffet for Mrs. Spencer’s gala won’t prepare itself.”

Declan raised an eyebrow, “A gala? And they’ve roped you into catering for it?”

“Not roped,” she corrected, “I volunteered . Keeps me busy.”

He gave her a look, one that carried both fondness and a hint of fatherly skepticism.

“Just don’t let them take advantage of you.”

Taggie laughed softly, the sound warm but subdued.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I can handle Mrs. Spencer.”

She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back at him. Her expression softened, the hint of concern in her eyes mirroring the quiet care she always tried to mask with humor.

“And you? Will you be okay?”

Declan offered a faint smile, “I’ve got notes to review and a show to prepare for. I’ll manage.”

Taggie nodded, staying for a moment longer before slipping out of the room.

The silence that followed her departure wasn’t empty; it was filled with the echoes of their conversation, the unspoken words that always seemed to hover between them. Declan’s gaze fell to the envelope on his desk, its stark presence a reminder of what had already unraveled. He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers brushing the sharp edges, the sensation grounding him in the heaviness of the moment.

The ache in his chest deepened, not sharp but persistent, like a bruise that refused to fade. Maud’s absence wasn’t new; it had been a constant shadow for months, haunting him at the edges of every room, every thought. He could still hear her voice in the quiet moments, see her smile in the periphery of his mind.

They had tried, hadn’t they ? Yet, here it was—the finality of a marriage reduced to paper and ink.

Declan leaned back in his chair, his head tipping slightly as he closed his eyes. The memories pressed in, uninvited but relentless. The laughter they had shared, the fights that had grown sharper over time, the silences that had said more than words ever could. He wondered, not for the first time, if there had been a point where they could have turned it around—if he could have been someone different, better , for her.

The ache tightened, and he exhaled slowly, as if trying to release it. But as his thoughts circled Maud and the void her absence left, another voice crept into his mind.

Cassie .

Her words reverberated in his memory, not as a balm to the pain but something else. The raw honesty in her tone, the conviction laced with doubt, had a way of unsettling him, of pulling his focus from the ache of what was lost to the possibilities of what could be.

That's what she usually talked about in her past broadcasts, right? In the projects she had done in Chicago? How there was always a possibility, a light in the end of the tunnel, despite people locking all your windows and doors?

He sat up straighter, his gaze falling to the notes scattered before him again. The words blurred for a moment, stubbornly refusing to take shape. But as he thought of Cassie—her eyes, her words, her fear—it was as though something clicked into place.

It wasn’t just about giving people a platform , he remembered, it was about finding the voices that mattered, the ones that could cut through the noise and make people listen.

Declan’s lips quirked into a smile, the kind that came unbidden, as he turned his attention back to his notes. The spark of inspiration she had ignited within him was enough to push the rest aside, at least for now.

There was a show to prepare for, and tonight, he felt ready.

The bar was alive in its muted way—a quiet chatter and the occasional clink of glassware against polished wood. It wasn’t the raucous energy of a weekend crowd but the steady rhythm of regulars, the kind of people who found comfort in routine. Cassie sat at her usual corner, her drink untouched, save for the condensation slipping down its sides.

The golden light from the overhead fixtures cast a soft glow on the surface of the bar, making everything look warmer than it felt.

Bas moved with the practiced ease of someone who had owned this space for years. His motions were fluid, as though the rhythm of tending bar wasn’t a job but an extension of himself.

His dark hair, perpetually tousled in a way that suggested he didn’t care—or maybe cared too much—caught the light whenever he turned. His eyes scanned the room, but they kept returning to Cassie, watching the tension in her shoulders, the tight grip she had on her glass.

“Alright, Jones,” he said, leaning over the counter with a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You’re quieter than usual. Either someone’s died, or you’re brooding about something big… Again .”

Cassie shot him a look, one that was stabbing but softened by the weak tug at the corner of her lips.

“Always with the optimism, Bas.”

“It’s my charm,” he quipped. But the teasing in his tone didn’t mask the concern that was beneath it.

She sighed, her fingers drumming lightly against the bar’s surface, “Let’s just say it’s been a day.”

Bas’s eyebrow arched as he slid a pint across the bar to a waiting regular, his movements unhurried but precise. His attention, however, was fixed on Cassie, the practiced ease in his gaze giving way to a flicker of curiosity. The murmured conversations, the muted clatter of glasses—seemed distant, a backdrop to the conversation they were having.

“A day, huh?” Bas leaned a little closer, his lips drawing into an amused smile, “Sounds vague,” he added, lifting an eyebrow in mock challenge, “Care to elaborate, or should I start guessing?”

“You’d only guess wrong,” she replied almost immediately, a smirk curling at her lips before she took a long sip from her drink.

Bas didn’t miss a beat. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the counter, the polished wood cool beneath his hands. His teasing expression softened just a bit, the shift subtle but perceptible.

“Enlighten me, then,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.

Cassie hesitated, her gaze dropping to her glass. But her grip on the glass hardened, her thumb tracing absent patterns against the condensation. She inhaled quietly through her nose, her lips pressing into a thin line as if bracing herself.

“Declan O’Hara showed up at my door this morning.”

The words landed heavily, drawing Bas’s full attention. His playful demeanor faltered, his brow knitting together in thought.

Cassie could see the gears turning behind his eyes, his indissoluble wit piecing together implications faster than he let on. He blinked once, his lips parting as if to speak, but then he let out a low whistle, a sound of disbelief mingled with admiration.

“Well, that’s not nothing,” he said, straightening as his grin returned, this time full of intrigue, “What did the Irish Wolfhound want with you?”

Cassie’s lips twisted into a wry smile, though there was no humor in it. She shrugged, her voice tinged with weariness.

“He wants me on Venturer . Just like you and my uncle.”

Bas’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his head tilting as he considered her words.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice almost reverent. He reached for a cloth, wiping down an already spotless section of the counter as though the action would help him process the news, “One thing’s for sure—it’s not every day Declan O’Hara comes knocking at your door, specifically your door . I mean, me and Freddie? Sure. But him ?” His dark eyes narrowed slightly, “That’s big.”

He set the cloth down, his gaze steady on her, “What did you say?”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her shoulders hunching slightly.

“That I’d think about it,” she admitted, the words clipped as though they’d been dragged out of her.

Bas studied her in silence, his expression unreadable, though his brow furrowed as he watched her fidget with her glass. After a long pause, he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“You never seem thrilled about this,” he remarked, his tone carefully neutral, “Most people would jump at the chance of joining Venturer—especially if it was me inviting them.” His lips drawn into a lopsided grin, a flash of his usual humor breaking through.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people,” Cassie replied, her voice sharp, the words a defensive barb.

Bas’s grin softened, the teasing edge fading as he regarded her more closely. He reached for a glass of water, taking a slow sip before setting it down with deliberate calm.

“Alright,” he said, his tone quieter but no less insistent, “Let’s hear it. What’s holding you back?”

Cassie’s fingers stilled on the rim of her glass. For a moment, she seemed to shrink into herself, her expression tightening. Her eyes darted to the counter as she wrestled with words that didn’t want to come.

“It’s not that simple,” she muttered finally, her voice low, almost to herself.

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Bas countered.

Cassie shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass again.

“I just… I don’t think it’s for me.”

Bas’s laugh was short and dry, a single puff of air that carried no mirth.

“You don’t think it’s for you? Come on, Cass. That’s not an answer. You’ve got a voice people listen to—even when they don’t want to. Hell, you made headlines just by opening your mouth. And now you’re telling me you can’t see yourself in a chair next to Declan?”

Cassie clenched her jaw, the muscles tensing in her neck. The words were there, but they felt too heavy, too real to say out loud.

Her thoughts spiraled, never giving her a rest— Could I? Be in a chair next to him?

What if I say yes and ruin everything?

The offer, the screen, the lights… It was all too much.

What if they really do see something in me that I don’t see in myself?

But that wasn’t the real issue, was it?

“I can’t do it, Bas,” she whispered, as if saying the words could keep the fear at bay.

The issue was if they saw all the mistakes that she knew that was beneath her skin, her choices and her attempts.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, leaning her elbows against the edge of the counter, her head hanging low.

It wasn’t the stage, or the lights. It wasn’t even the fear of failure.

Her mind raced with the images— the screen, the questions, the voices of people in her head, judging, scrutinizing, always waiting for her to slip.

“Why not?” he pressed, not giving up so soon over this subject.

Cassie’s breath caught, she had hoped that he would drop it , as he usually did.

Her pulse quickened, the discomfort twisting in her stomach like a knot pulling tighter with every passing second. She knew what was coming, and still, she couldn’t find the strength to articulate it.

To say the words that circled her thoughts.

Why not? Her mind repeated the question and, as if it was a broken record, it started to repeat again and again., why not? Why not?

What was holding her back?

“Cass—”

Why not?

“I can’t even look you in the eye while we’re talking, Bas,” she snapped, her voice trembling, “How the hell am I supposed to talk to a camera? To an audience?”

There it was—the rawness of the truth.

Her fear wasn’t just about the screen. It was about her inability to stand in front of anyone and not feel exposed, vulnerable. She wasn’t ready to show that side of herself, not to millions of strangers, not when she could barely face the people she cared about.

Bas’s reaction was immediate. The mischief that usually animated his features vanished and turned into something quieter, more serious. He straightened slightly, as though anchoring himself to the counter while Cassie’s turmoil unfolded in front of him.

The ambient noise of the bar—a murmur of laughter, the clinking of glasses—faded into a distant sound, no longer relevant in the charged space between them.

For a moment, Bas said nothing. His gaze held her frame—not in judgment, but in understanding. He wasn’t a man who filled silences lightly, and Cassie had come to appreciate that about him.

The absence of his voice gave hers the room to breathe, even as it quaked under the weight of her uncertainty.

“You’ve always been harder on yourself than anyone else,” he interrupted the silence once he noticed she was more at ease, “You don’t trust what people see in you, Cass, and maybe that’s part of the problem. You think you’ve got to hide everything, like people can’t handle the real you.”

She winced, her fingers hurting against the edges of her glass. Bas had an infuriating way of hitting nerves she hadn’t realized were exposed.

Her eyes flicked to the countertop, the wood grain blurring as a knot tightened in her chest.

“It’s not about hiding,” she muttered, “It’s about… Not giving them the ammunition. You don’t get it, people don’t just listen. They dissect. They pick you apart until there’s nothing left, I’ve seen it.”

“You’re right. I don’t get it—not in the way you do,” He let out a breath, rubbing a hand along his jaw, “But I’ve been in enough storms to know that people don’t waste their time picking apart someone who doesn’t matter. The fact that they’re looking at you? It means you’re already doing something worth their attention.”

Cassie shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one they’re staring at right now.”

“No,” Bas agreed, his tone too calm, “But I’ve seen what happens when someone refuses to stand up because they’re scared of the fallout. It doesn’t stop the storm—it just leaves someone else to clean up the mess.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his figure, a spark of indignation flaring in her chest.

“So what?” she wondered, “You think I owe it to the world to put myself out there? To be ripped apart just because I have something to say?”

Bas leaned closer, resting a hand on her shoulder—not heavy, but firm enough to anchor her. His dark eyes locked onto hers, steady as ever, but there was something deeper in his expression now. Not pity, not even frustration. Just belief.

This time, Cassie tried to force herself to stare at him back, to see what he was gonna say.

“No,” he said, “I think you owe it to yourself.”

Cassie froze, his words cutting through the haze of her spiraling thoughts. They weren’t flashy or grand, but they had a quiet truth that she couldn’t ignore. For a moment, the emotions that were pressing down on her chest lightened, replaced by something that felt disarmingly close to hope.

She couldn’t stop herself before a smile creeped out of her teeth.

Cassie wanted to believe in him, she truly wanted to. Perhaps, that time she would.

Bas’s hand lingered a moment longer before he stepped back, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips in response to hers.

“Now,” he said, his voice returning to its usual easy warmth, “don’t make me pull out a soapbox, Cass. We’ve got a show to watch.”

She managed a weak laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slowly as he reached for the remote. The television flickered to life, casting a pale glow over the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast filled the room.

Declan O’Hara’s face appeared on the screen, his sharp, commanding presence filling the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast faded. The backdrop was strikingly simple—sleek, modern lines contrasting with a warm palette that suggested approachability. The kind of visual balance that made the show feel personal without losing its gravitas.

Cassie leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn’t say a word, but Bas caught the way her fingers tapped lightly against her arm in a rhythm too calculated to be unconscious.

“You good?” he asked, keeping his tone light, though his eyes didn’t leave her face.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on the screen, “Just... Curious to see how he spins it.”

Declan’s voice came into the segment seamlessly—a live interview with a city council member who had been at the center of recent housing debates. The guest looked composed, but there was a tension in his smile, the kind that came from knowing you were about to face someone who wouldn’t let a single inconsistency slide.

He was the Irish Wolfhound , after all.

“Here we go,” Bas muttered, leaning in his seat, clearly expecting fireworks.

Cassie didn’t respond, her focus on the screen unbroken. Declan’s approach was surgical, every question calibrated to draw out information without tipping into outright confrontation. His tone remained calm, professional, but there was no mistaking the intent behind his words.

He was peeling back the layers of the council member’s carefully rehearsed answers, pushing him to explain vague statements and sidestep slippery rhetoric.

“Man’s a scalpel,” Bas said under his breath, shaking his head, “Doesn’t let up, does he?”

“It’s effective,” Cassie admitted, her tone grudging. There was something fascinating about watching Declan work—how he managed to command the room without ever raising his voice, how he drew the audience into the conversation without alienating his guest.

It was a skill she recognized, even admired, though she’d never admit it aloud.

Her attention was drawn even further as Declan leaned forward, his next question landing with deliberate weight.

“As Cassie Jones accused in Dan Murphy’s broadcast at Crawford’s FM yesterday,” Declan glanced down at a note in his hand, the movement unhurried, “there are claims that the council’s housing allocations lack transparency. Specifically, that contracts were awarded to developers with personal ties to sitting council members. What’s your response?”

Cassie blinked, her body instinctively leaning a fraction closer to the screen, as though the words might hit differently if she were nearer. Hearing her name roll off his tongue in that voice—the cadence carefully deliberate, each word with the precision of a blade—was something she hadn’t prepared for.

It wasn’t just that he repeated her accusations; it was the way he positioned them as essential to the conversation, stripping away any lingering doubts about their importance.

But then there was the other thing— the truth of it all . What truly shook her in her seat.

She hadn’t been the one to say those words during Dan’s broadcast.

The story, the study, the facts—they were hers, yes . Yet Dan had been the one to voice them, stealing her moment before she arrived at the station to reclaim it. By the time she had taken control of the broadcast, the opportunity to lay out her findings in full had slipped through her fingers. All she could do then was pivot, focus on the other truth she’d uncovered.

And now? Declan O’Hara, of all people, was giving her story back to her.

Bas’s head whipped toward her, his expression part shock, part amusement.

“He’s quoting you ?”

“Looks like it,” Cassie muttered, her voice faint as her gaze remained fixed on the screen. Her chest felt a lot heavier, a strange warmth stirring in the pit of her stomach, though she tried to brush it off.

On screen, the council member’s practiced composure faltered before he recovered.

“I’m not aware of any evidence to support those claims,” he said, his tone clipped, “And I think it’s reckless to give air to accusations of a—”

“It’s not about recklessness,” Declan interrupted him, as calm as he was since the beginning of the show, “It’s about accountability. Jones provided specifics—figures, dates, patterns. If they’re inaccurate, wouldn’t it benefit the council to set the record straight?”

Cassie bit her lip, fighting back the urge to grin. For the first time in weeks, it felt like her work wasn’t just hers—just something she could keep on her shelf. No, it was out there , undeniable .

Different from Dan and Crawford, Declan O’Hara wasn’t stealing it. He was amplifying it.

Declan gave my story back to me , Cassie repeated again, as to remind herself that this day wasn’t a dream.

Bas snorted, “Looks like someone’s got a fan.”

“Shut up, Bas,” Cassie muttered, her voice threatening but there was no bite. Still, she could feel the heat creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks, a flush she didn’t dare acknowledge.

Did Bas mean that she was Declan’s fan or Declan who was her fan. Either way, both made her blush even more.

She folded her arms tighter across her chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

The council member stumbled over his response, scrambling to reframe the narrative, but Declan was relentless, pressing for specifics with a calm determination that left no room for evasion. When the segment ended, Declan delivered a closing remark that felt both pointed and perfectly impartial, a masterful capstone to the exchange.

The screen transitioned to a softer feature—a local artist creating murals across the city. The shift in tone was smooth, offering viewers a reprieve from the tension.

Cassie exhaled, her eyes fixed on the screen after a beat.

“He’s good,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

Good as a presenter or a good person? Her mind asked her and, well , Cassie didn’t have an answer for that.

Bas chuckled, “That sounded dangerously close to actual praise.”

“Don’t push it,” Cassie warned, though the curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.

The bar’s energy had shifted as the night deepened.

Voices softened into murmurs, glasses clinked with lazy rhythm, and the warm glow of the overhead fixtures seemed to dim ever so vaguely, making the room feel closer, cozier. Cassie and Bas were still at their corner, both a little slouched, their earlier sharpness dulled by the hour and the lingering warmth of their drinks.

From an outsider's perspective, they might have appeared as companions deep into their cups, the way Bas’s posture had relaxed, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, his grin loose and easy. Cassie, by contrast, seemed more guarded, though the light flush across her cheeks and the way she covered her mouth mid-laugh betrayed a rare moment of vulnerability.

A laughing fit took over Cassie as Bas told her a story about a patron mistaking a bottle of soy sauce for whiskey last week. She was shaking her head, trying to compose herself, her cheeks flushed from laughter and the residual embarrassment of the earlier show.

Bas placed a hand dramatically on his chest, “I swear on King’s Ransom,” his grin wide and unapologetic.

Cassie shook her head, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the tug of a smile.

“Right, because your horse makes you credible.”

“Don’t disrespect King’s Ransom,” Bas shot back with mock indignation, “He’s got more class than you’ll ever have.”

Cassie leaned forward, her elbow propped on the table as she took a sip of her drink. The ice clinked softly against the glass, and she watched Bas with a bemused expression, her free hand lightly tracing a circle on the tabletop.

“You know,” she said, setting the glass down, “you’d make a terrible lawyer. Your evidence is a horse , and your defense strategy is sarcasm .”

Bas grinned, leaning back in his chair as though settling into the role of a court jester.

“A lawyer? Please . Too much paperwork. I’d rather keep slinging drinks, making people laugh and playing polo.”

“Ah, here we go to the noble profession of bartending again ,” Cassie teased, raising her glass slightly in a mock toast, “Defender of soy sauce incidents and peddler of questionable anecdotes.”

“Questionable?” Bas raised an eyebrow, his hand dramatically clutching his chest again, “That story was the highlight of my week.”

“Well,” Cassie replied, her lips twitching as though fighting a laugh, “your weeks must be very uneventful .”

Bas opened his mouth to retort, but his attention shifted mid-thought. His expression stilled for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before his grin returned—sharper now, edged with mischief. He sat up a little straighter, his eyes drifting past her shoulder.

“Uh-oh,” he murmured, amused.

Cassie frowned, following his gaze halfway before stopping herself. The bar was quieter now, the conversation muted, the warm light softening the lines of every figure in the room.

She turned back to Bas, raising an eyebrow in question.

“What?” she asked, her tone half-curious, half- suspicious .

Because everything that made Bas grin was suspicious.

Yet, he didn’t answer immediately, his smirk widening as though he were savoring the moment before delivering a punchline.

“Oh,” a voice behind her said, smooth and far too familiar, “I thought Rupert would be here already.”

Cassie froze, every thought in her head stalling at once. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, the earlier warmth of laughter fleeing in the face of a sudden, overpowering heat that had nothing to do with the bar’s cozy atmosphere.

Her pulse kicked up, erratic and insistent. She didn’t need to turn to recognize the voice. That deliberate cadence, the trace of an accent—it was as unmistakable as it was infuriating.

Declan O’Hara.

Bas, unbothered and clearly enjoying himself, leaned back further in his chair.

“Rupert’s at Mrs. Spencer’s gala,” Bas replied easily, his tone almost conversational, “Something about giving someone a ride.”

“Hm,” Declan mused, the sound more thoughtful than dismissive, “Taggie’s doing their buffet, isn’t she?”

Bas hummed in confirmation, the sound low and knowing. His smirk teetered on the edge of outright glee, and Cassie could feel it radiating off him like heat.

Cassie still couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Her earlier humor had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming awareness of Declan’s proximity. She could almost feel his breath against her neck, irrational as it was—however, she was sitting and he was standing .

Images flashed in her mind—his piercing gaze earlier that day, his voice echoing through her living room as he made a case for Venturer, and the way her name had rolled off his tongue during his broadcast.

In the end, what did he want with her? Truly? He had already done so much tonight—repeating her accusations, giving her the credit Dan Murphy had stolen, framing her work in a way that no one could ignore. And now, here he was, unbidden and unexpected.

A sharp thought pierced through her tangled emotions: All of this... Was it just to get her attention? For her to finally accept his offer?

If yes, then...

She swallowed hard, trying to force the thought away, but it was already there, fully formed and impossible to ignore:

Bloody hell, he was good.

Her thoughts spiraled, and though she wanted to blame it on the warmth of the room or the residual adrenaline from the broadcast, she knew better. Declan O’Hara didn’t just walk into places—he arrived , every movement perfectly calculated, every word perfectly placed.

And then, the moment she’d dreaded :

“Hi, Cassie,” Declan said, his voice taking on a lighter tone, “I imagine you saw my show tonight?”

The words were delivered almost as a challenge. And, unfortunately , for some reason, her brain was built to never ignore a challenge—so, Cassie, despite every instinct screaming at her to remain frozen, finally turned.

Her movement was hesitant, as if her body was testing each muscle before committing fully to the action. She didn’t know what she expected to see—something intimidating, perhaps, or something too familiar to handle—but the reality was worse.

Declan stood there, relaxed in a way that was almost infuriating, his suit still immaculate from the broadcast, the crisp white shirt open just enough at the collar to suggest he’d taken the edge off a long day but hadn’t fully unwound. The muted lighting of the bar softened the sharpness of his features, but his presence remained undiminished.

His dark eyes found hers immediately, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wide smile. It wasn’t a smirk, not exactly—it lacked the arrogance she might have expected—but there was something inherently self-assured about it. Like he knew exactly what effect he had on her.

The kind of effect that made her unable to look away when he looked at her.

Her lungs burned from the effort of keeping her composure, but Declan didn’t press. He simply smiled, the gesture disarming in its simplicity, and waited .

[velarisnightsky444]

Scorched Shadows: Part 3

Eris x Azriel's Sister OC

Summary: Estella is the younger sister of Azriel. Like her older brother, she is a shadowsinger and spymaster for the Night Court. When she meets Eris, she initially despises him, but after a bargain is made between them, and they are stuck Under the Mountain together, things begin heating up.

Warnings: Overbearing brothers

Word Count: 1289

Series Masterlist

Part 2 || Part 4

»»————-　♔　————-««

Year 3

    Morrigan had never been overprotective of Estella like her brothers had always been.

     Estella was six when she and Azriel were released from that cell and taken to Windhaven. Estella was the youngest, and everyone treated her as such.

     But never Morrigan.

     The day she had turned 16, Morrigan dragged her to a bar to get wasted. Selene had sent them both to the cabin that was explicitly reserved for what Estella and her brothers called 'solitary confinement' when they were in trouble. She and Morrigan were there for a week, but it wasn't all bad. Rhys had snuck in books and wine. 

       With Morrigan, Estella could speak freely. She didn't have to worry about scandalizing the girl like she did with her brothers. She could barely say an undignified word around without them overreacting. To them, she was still the scared little girl who didn't speak until she was 11.

"Mor, you're still hungover. We're not going out again tonight," Estella scolded the female. Morrigan pouted.

"Getting drunk is exactly what I need to get rid of this hangover," she insisted. Estella giggled as her shadows swirled around the blonde.

     Morrigan went back to filing her nails, and Estella went through the various nail polishes that Morrigan owned. The scars on Estella's hands were too severe for her to be able to paint her own nails, and she had no interest in drawing any more attention to her hands, anyway. But she enjoyed painting Morrigan's nails. Mor had taught her everything she knew about keeping up her appearance, and the two loved to engage in girl's nights, where they did various forms of self-care. 

     Rhys's talons gently caressed Estella's mind, causing her to lose her focus on which color she wanted to choose. Estella reluctantly let him in. 

"Come to my office now," Rhys said into her mind. 

     She tried to keep from being anxious at the tone. She got to her feet, explaining to Mor that she'd be back.

     Estella's shadows gave her no intel as she made her way to his office, and his talons never left her mind, so she could not think freely.

      She recalled how terrified she had been when she was first brought to Windhaven. She didn't speak then, which made them all concerned about her.

      The first time she'd had to leave Azriel's side on his first day of training, she had been so upset with no way to express it except tears. No words, just sobs. 

     Rhys had caressed her mind, thinking it would help. But it had terrified her, and she'd thrown a screaming fit that only his mother had been able to calm. Selene had held her through it all, stroking her hair and calming her down.

     For years, she would cry anytime he tried to enter her mind. But centuries later, she had become accustomed to it.

"What's going on?" Estella asked as she finally entered the office.

     All three of her brothers were there, and none of them looked happy. Rhysand sat at his desk, a piece of parchment in his hand, and his brow raised at her. Cassian stood in front of the desk, his arms crossed and a frustrated expression on his face. Azriel stood next to Rhys, looking over his shoulder at the parchment. And while the untrained eye may not have caught the expression on his face, Estella knew her brother. And he was angry. 

They're upset, a shadow whispered.

No shit, Estella replied. She winced as it tugged a strand of her hair in response. 

"We've received a letter from Eris Vanserra," Rhys announced, holding the piece of parchment up.

     She chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety eating at her gut. It had been months since that day in the Autumn Court, and he hadn't yet called in his favor. Estella had been hoping he never would. 

"He invites you to a ball being thrown for the Autumn Equinox," Rhys explained, eyes narrowed. "According to this letter, you owe him a favor."

"Shit," Estella grumbled, earning a raised brow from Cassian, who was always on her ass about her language. As if he didn't have the dirtiest mouth of anyone she knew. 

"Why don't you tell us exactly why you owe him a favor, dear sister?" Rhys asked, setting the letter down.

     Estella huffed, crossing her arms as her shadows began to swirl around her restlessly.

"A few weeks ago, when I met with Graham, Eris found me waiting," Estella admitted. "He told me Graham had been beheaded."

"And you didn't tell us?" Rhysand demanded.

"I did tell you!" Estella objected, eyes widening.

"No, you told us your shadows informed you of Graham's death," Azriel corrected, his hazel eyes cold. "And you most certainly did not mention Eris Vanserra."

"I knew it'd just upset you all," Estella explained.

"Damn right," Cassian agreed.

"Why do you owe him a favor, Stella?" Rhys questioned, impatience wearing his voice thin.

"I said if he didn't turn me into his father, I'd owe him a favor," she explained, sighing.

"You what?" Azriel snapped, eyes firm as he stared at her in outrage. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to owe Eris Vanserra a favor?" 

"I panicked! I didn't know what else to do," she defended herself. "If I hadn't thought of something, I would likely be in the dungeons of the Autumn Court right now. Or dead." 

"Well, you're not going to this ball," Azriel decided.

"I wasn't planning on it," she snapped glaringly.

»»————-　♔　————-««

     Estella liked to talk to the portrait of Selene nearly every Sunday since she was killed. It was stupid, but she enjoyed catching Selene up on her week—even the mundane details.

     Selene had been everything to Estella. Although she was never a replacement for her own mother, she still loved her like one. 

     And Selene had loved Estella like a daughter. 

     Selene had rescued Estella from her father's keep after Azriel had been sent to Windhaven. They had sent Azriel away, leaving Estella behind to rot in that cell, only six years old and alone. When Azriel told Selene of his sister, neglected and abused in that awful house, Selene had gone to get her. 

      Estella had spent a week alone in that cell, and it was the darkest week of her life. She stopped receiving food as often, and they stopped letting her out for the hour she was supposed to get. She had not seen her mother that entire week. Selene had saved her life whether she knew it at the time or not. 

"I just hate how overbearing they are," Estella was telling her. "I didn't even want to go to this ball, but now that they're forbidding it, I have half a mind to."

     Selene's beautiful, violet eyes stared back at her. Even if it was just a painting, it was comforting. 

"I hate Eris, but I hate being told what to do more," she continued. "You know that better than anyone. The only thing holding me back is that it might hurt Morrigan if I go."

     She thought of her cousin- her best friend- during every interaction she had with him. Guilt would eat at her with every word she said to him.

"But she might understand," Estella debated. "I'm just doing it to spite my brothers. She does things to spite her family all the time."

     It may not have been a fair comparison, but it was true.

"You would never have forbade me from a ball," she mumbled. "You knew how much I love the music, the dancing. I miss you."

     Selene's soft smile comforted her, giving her the sense that everything would be okay. Selene had always made everything okay. 

»»————-　♔　————-««

Scorched Shadows Taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @hnyclover @lilyevansstudygroup @esposadomd

Eris Taglist:

Comment to be added to the Scorched Shadows or Eris taglists!

»»————-　♔　————-««

[xxnashiraxx]

AO3

Welcome!! My name is Ali and I like to yap a lot, draw, write, and play music! I am currently buried in BG3, though you'll see some other fandoms cross my blog from time to time! I have a main long-fic for my BG3 isekai below, as well as some other one-shots set in that fic's universe but not explicitly tied into it or canon (yet or eventually!). Stay awhile! I make stupid jokes and I'll tell you I love you within days of speaking to each other!

๋࣭⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Fics ⭑ ๋࣭⭒๋࣭

✧˖ With Stars to Fill My Dream: Main ongoing long-fic isekai story following the events of the game. Releases every 3 Saturdays!

A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid?

Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

✧˖ Act 1 🗡Chapter 1: Chasing Rabbits 🗡Chapter 2: Known Me, Broken By My Master 🗡Chapter 3: But It Was a Trick and the Clock Struck 12 🗡Chapter 4: Behind a Broken Frame 🗡Chapter 5: Close Your Eyes and Hear My Secret 🗡Chapter 6: My Thoughts You Can't Decode 🗡Chapter 7: From Now Our Merge is Eternal 🗡Chapter 8: Born in Blood I'm Not Like You 🗡Chapter 9: Darkness Helps Us All to Shine 🗡Chapter 10: Let the Dystopian Morning Light Pour In 🗡Chapter 11: Try to Keep the Truth From Showing Up 🗡Chapter 12: You Know How Much You Broke Me Apart 🗡Chapter 13: Moving Through the Silence Without Motion 🗡Chapter 14: I've Held On but I Feel a Storm Approaching 🗡Chapter 15: I Cast My Spell of Love on You 🗡Chapter 16: I Could Show You Tonight ✧˖ Act 2 🗡Chapter 17: I Feel Like I'm Leaving Myself Behind 🗡Chapter 18: And It's Bringing Me to You 🗡Chapter 19: Coming 2/22

✧˖ Kinktober 2024: Small collection of fun prompts featuring Astarion and Ofelia from my main fic.

🗡Prompt 1: Incubus Astarion + Fanart! 🗡Prompt 2: Breeding Kink/Sex Pollen + Fanart! 🗡Prompt 3: Inappropriate Use of Tadpole/Melted Candle Wax/BDSM

✧˖ Christmas in Baldur's Gate: Set in Act 3 of Ofelia's journey, this can be read as a standalone fic- reading With Stars to Fill My Dream is unnecessary!

๋࣭⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Lore ⭑ ๋࣭⭒๋࣭

✧˖ With Stars to Fill My Dream Art: My Art: Character Portrait & My Art: Ofelia Portrait WIP) Commission of Astarion and Ofelia Dancing from Chapter 12!, My Art: Spoiler Art of Ofelia (See After Chapter 8!), My Art: Sad Ofelia Portrait, Amazing Art of Ofelia and Alfira as a Promo for Their Tiefling Party Performance by the incredible @bby-bel! GORGEOUS Chapter 13 art of Ofelia in Astarion’s shirt by @bby-bel-art 🥺❤️, Beautiful Ofelia Character Portrait by @bby-bel-art!, Birthday Art of Ofelia by the lovliest @pinkberrytea 💕Commission by @bby-bel-art of Astarion and Ofelia in @caffeinatedmunchkin's fic (below) Stop Me if You've Heard This One- specifically Part 2! 🩸

✧˖ With Stars to Fill My Dream Gifts: Stop Me if You've Heard This One Part 1, Stop Me if You've Heard This One Part 2 (a lovely, insanely beautiful gift fic from @caffeinatedmunchkin)

✧˖ Ofelia's Playlist: #1 Mitski ,

✧˖ Extra Screenshots: Astarion & Ofelia Meeting, Karlach Meeting,

✧˖ Ofelia Lore: OC Smash or Pass, OC Insight: What Kind of Love Are You?, OC Patron Saint Game, OC Deep Dive:Ofelia, All About Your Tav/Durge and Their Romantic Interest, 30 Questions Ask 1, 30 Questions Ask 2,

✧˖ Extras: Ofelia Moodboard 🖤🩸

✧˖ Future Scene WIPs and Drabble: Potential Future Smut Scene,

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the new tag list!

✧˖Tag List: @khywren @allymcfee @pinkberrytea @beewilko @bby-bel-art

More fun stuff!!!

✨Ali's Birthday Bash✨

❀ Post 1 ❀ Post 2 ❀ Part 3 ❀ Part 4 ❀ Part 5 ❀ Part 6 ❀ Part 7 ❀ Part 8 ❀ Part 9 ❀ Part 10 ❀ Part 11 ❀ Part 12 ❀ Part 13 ❀ Part 14

Thanks for visiting!!! 🖤

[transmascaraa]

♡!200 followers special!♡

"A valentine's dance."

bf!gaming x gn!reader

author's note: this is basically the longer version of the gaming hcs in my last post aka the valentine's day special ALSO 2nd time ever writing a fanfic shiver me timbers😰 i hope it okay btw i'll draw my (genshin or whatever )oc/self-insert tonight cuz i have school in 2 hours and i have a bit of homework left lol

"thank you, lion dance boy."

You and your boyfriend, Gaming, have been dating for a few months now. He loved you very dearly, just as you loved him. You were an inseparable couple, like you were glued to eachother. But, the relationship that you had was healthy, and really sweet. People talked about your closeness to other people, in the streets. You've overhead them quite a few times now. You were a famous couple in Liyue.

A really special date was approaching. The 14th of February, Valentine's day. A day to show your loved one how much you love them, to give them a gift. It was a heartwarming "holiday", for most. Not everyone, but most. And as soon at it sttarted approaching, the streets were bustling with the names of you and Gaming.

Gaming, he planned a dance show for that day, that night. He invited everyone from Liyue, and even other nations! As promised, he would amaze them and make them smile. But that wasn't all that much important to him. You were.

The whole dance show was actually just made so he could give you a rose in a more romantic and surprising way. Yes, it was a surprise. He didn't mention Valentine's day to you for the whole day, but that night...

When it finally came, that night, you started getting ready. Putting on your best outfit, ready to be looked at and praised by everyone. Was it the outfit, or the whole night? Nobody knows. The outfit was one of Gaming's favorite ones for you to wear. Whenever you wore it, he ended up staring at you too much and blushing more than usual. It was interesting, really. How can such a simple outfit make a man's heart go crazy? Make his blood rush to his face, his cheeks? The human body and mind is really impressive.

As soon as you were done getting ready, you got your bag and went out the door. Going to see your precious boyfriend perform on such a special day.

When you got there, everyone had surprised looks on their faces, but positive ones. They got out of the way, and let you stand in the first row out of the thousands of people in the crowd. Like I said, the two of you were really famous there.

Then, music started playing, the crowd went silent. The lights went out. Rose petals started falling out of nowhere from the sky, making it much more beautiful to look at.

Soon, 3 different lights were on the stage. 3

The 2 of them started dancing. They were dancers. Lion dancers.

It was nice seeing them dance, so many moves and talent. It was worth seeing it.

Eventually they stopped, and the third dancer started dancing. He was Gaming, recognizable even in the night. Flawlessly dancing and moving across the stage, everyone was amazed.

A few minutes passed, and the lights turned on again. The 3 dancers bowing down.

"Happy Valentine's day everyone! Here's a rose to a special person in the crowd!" He threw a beautiful red rose to the crowd, and coincidentally, it landed right in your hands.

Smiling, you spoke, "Thank you, Gaming!" and the performance ended there.

After there were only you and Gaming left there, you read a note that was connected to the rose by a beautiful orange string.

"Happy Valentine's day, [name]!" and just as you read it, Gaming said it himself.

"Thank you again, lion dance boy. I loved the performance."

"You're welcome, it was dedicated to you alone. I'm glad you liked it."

~~~~~

YIPPIEEEE I REALLY LIKE IT

i'm not good at fanfics imo but ig i like this one

adorable gaming frfr

[mrd0ll]

[Angler Family part 2]

[Yipeeee, almost finish- Just need to do Pande and A60 ;'v I will color them later bu5 here anywaays]

[I struggled to do Chainsmoker I think I'll do it better later :'(]

[Anglerrr of courseeeee]

[I will try to draw more tonight but maybe ;v (I try to find some ideas with OCS / fandoms]

[darkbluekies]

Jerry asks #2

Previous one

Concept: I've put multiple asks into one post to avoid too much loose posts on my account! This way, you have more to read too<3

Warnings: nsfw mentions, drugs, murder

Rahhh i love ur OC Jerry smmm, i wanna squish her like a stress ball and inhale her into my nose 😔😔Im conclusion, i can't wait to see more of Jerry and your writing in general!!! &lt;;33

youwannadowhatnow???? (thank you so much ily)

Bro i am SO in lesbians with jerry its not even funny

Very good >:)

how would Jerry react to reader killing someone out of self defense?(p.s. im lowkey in love with Jerry)

She will be proud over you. All that self defense she taught you actually worked. She's so pleased to know that you can take care of yourself when she's away. She'll comfort you, knowing that this most likely will take a toll on your brain.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay I promise, you did nothing wrong! You did so well. You could even have been harsher if you ask me, but you're so nice, aren't you? The nicest little baby? Come here."

As soon as Jerry puts a colouring book in front of me bam my attention is gone I am drawing I am gone I am happy

Perfect, just like she wants :>

"Giving you a coloring book to keep you occupied" Jerre what the actual f... do you think i'm a child ?! *is absolutely doing the coloring with an offended look*

Lmao coloring books really are fun, i love them so much

She'll come over every ten minutes to check up on you and see how far you've come.

"No need to glare at me when you're obviously having fun, you child." She peeks at the drawing. "That looks good, baby doll. If you finish the entire page before I'm done here I might let you sleep on my arm tonight."

Does Jerry get softer over time? She’s stand offish but we get those moments of softness, when she settles down with her darling and they both trust each other will she be soft or still only fleeting moments?

She doesn't get softer in theory, but you learn how to take her behavior and analyze it. Her cockiness is a part of her personality. it's not disappearing anytime soon. However, if you match her energy she will be much more comfortable. You might even be on the same level with her instead of being her property.

Example:

"I ought to give that son of a bitch a real pounding", Jerry mutters with her arms crossed over her chest.

"You should wipe the floor with his hair", you reply. "Use it like a real good mop."

She scoffs out a laugh. "I should, shouldn't I?"

"If you don't, I will."

You're about to leave, but she grabs your shoulder, forcing you back.

"Not a fucking chance, Y/N", she says. "He would grab your hair and swing you over his head like a damn propeller. I'm not letting him hurt you, you're too important to me. You can help me, but you're not doing anything by yourself, do you understand that?"

"In that case he'll hurt you too."

"I'll be fine." She taps your nods at the man. "If you take his glass, I'll put in the sleeping pills. Let's go, baby. I'm right behind you."

on my hands and knees begging for more information on jerry’s mommy kink

Well ... haha ... Jerry loves to be in control and know that she's the leader of the relationship. Having you call her that makes her feel important to you. Plus it feeds her gigantic ego.

She's the type to want you to call her that among others, just so people know. It makes her feel even cockier.

Of course she mocks you about it when you become shy about it, why wouldn't she do that? The more embarrassed you are, the happier she gets.

BLUE OMG I LOVE JERRY SO MUCH SHES LITERALLY RHE STANDART ‼️‼️

AGREED<33333

jerry stole my heart<3 -💤anon

She will steal more than that, she will steal your entire life

[sleepingsun501]

Shared Experiences

(Part 1, Part 2 tbd)

Pairing: OFC Sellé x Fives x OMC Aergad

Summary: Fives takes the chance at a threesome and being shared.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (Minors DNI)

Warnings: Threesome F/M/M, smut, bisexuality, hand-job, established open relationship between OCs, dirty talk, praise.

Word Count: 3.2k

Ao3 link

A/N: MINORS GET OUT OF HERE!! Hello everybody, it's been a while since I wrote much of anything. Been working way too much for my own good with not enough time to be creative. This has been sitting in my wips forever, and there will be a Part 2 eventually. For now, I hope you enjoy Fives being the bi king he is!!

Shared Experiences

Fives was no stranger to what went on behind closed doors in the storage closets and refreshers of 79’s. More often than not, he was the one who would run off to a vacant space with a willing partner in tow, but tonight, he had been pulled into the darkness of a hallway by a gorgeous, feisty Twi’lek woman.

“Fucking hell, Sellé,” he moaned, gripping the plush of her hips as she nipped at his neck. With her bright reddish-orange skin under the singular overhead light, she was nearly luminous in the dim hall, but her gold eyes were dark with want.

Sellé trailed her lips across Fives’ neck and jaw as she pressed a hand against his codpiece, holding his back to the wall. Even beneath the plastoid, she could tell he was getting harder as he rutted into her palm and grinned down at her.

“Take me right here, soldier,” she whispered against his sweaty skin. “I don’t want to wait anymore. Watching you all night has been torture.”

Fives shifted down to scoop her up, his hands full of her perfect ass as he pushed her little black skirt up her hips. In just a few steps, he was pressing her against the back wall, trapping her in a cage of blue and white armor. 

She gasped as he pressed a thigh between her legs. The plastoid ridge put the most exquisite pressure on her sensitive folds and clit as he traced his tongue over the black ring piercing in the center of her bottom lip, begging for entrance. 

Before he could draw a breath, Sellé invaded first, licking into his mouth and capturing his lower lip in her sharp teeth to pull him closer. He let out a sultry growl at the slight pain, but ground his hardening cock against her belly, wishing she had unclipped his codpiece first.

“Come on, Fives…” she begged with a needy gasp, gyrating her hips as his armor rubbed against her rapidly dampening core.

He pulled a glove off, chuckling and nibbling at her ear cone playfully as he worked her black lace panties aside. His goatee scratched against the hot skin of her neck as he prodded her entrance, and the drag of her nails in his hair sent a shiver rocketing from the crown of his head to the base of his spine. Every little sound she made went straight to his cock, and he was eager to feel more of her wet heat on his fingers.

He explored her folds expertly as she hooked her leg around his hip, pulling him closer and proving her impatience. Fives had no problem fucking her right there if that was what she desired, but her breathy whimpers suddenly turned to a fit of giggles, causing him to pause.

“What’s so funny, baby? Did that tickle or something?” he asked, confused and pulling back to study her. He was no expert on Twi’lek anatomy, but he had never had much trouble pleasing a woman of any species before.

Sellé bit her kiss-swollen bottom lip, looking suddenly adorably shy and trying to hide her smirk as her seductive gaze flicked past him. “No, but… we seem to have caught my boyfriend’s attention.”

Fives’ eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, and his stomach felt as if it had dropped to the floor.

“Your what?!” he exclaimed, quickly setting her firmly on her feet and whirling around. Although he had never been truly picky about his partners, Fives was no homewrecker and detested the idea of cheating. “You didn’t tell me you were here with someone!”

From the lights pulsing brightly just beyond the entrance to the hallway, he could make out the shadow of a tall figure leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed.

The seconds seemed to drag by as the figure lazily pushed off the wall and drew closer with long, slow strides. He could tell it was not another clone from the way the man moved, but Fives felt the panic start to rise in his chest when he noticed a crown of small, spiked vestigial horns encircling the man’s head.

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. He’s a Zabrak.

Fives had two options: either he was going to have to very convincingly talk his way out of this predicament, or fight his way out. Even with his venerable skills as an ARC trooper, the last thing he wanted at the moment was a scrap with an angry man of a species known for their natural brute strength.

“Don’t stop just for me,” the man suddenly said with a low chuckle. “I like to watch her have fun.”

Fives’ wary eyes flicked between the two of them as the man stepped into the dim light. He was a bit taller than Fives, leaner with a gentle grace about him, and looked as though he had no intention of picking a fight. As if to prove it, the Zabrak smirked at them as he affectionately brushed Sellé’s high cheekbone with his knuckle.

“Oh, please,” she huffed, rolling her eyes and distractedly playing with the end of one of her lekku. “You like to do a lot more than that.”

“Wait a minute,” Fives said, holding up his hands and looking between the couple again. He needed more information. “You’re both okay with this?”

“Relax, Fives, Aergad isn’t going to hurt you,” she said reassuringly, placing a hand on his vambrace and nuzzling up to him. “I like being shared, too, you know. Would you be interested in something like that?”

Fives gave Aergad an inquisitive look, his forehead wrinkling in surprise, and the Zabrak nodded suggestively. 

The prospect of sharing a female partner, with someone other than Jesse for a change, had piqued Fives’ interest intensely. Although he was not entirely sure of the dynamic that existed between Sellé and Aergad, he was not about to pass up an opportunity to have a woman screaming with pleasure if she wanted him. Taking a quick, steadying breath, he made up his mind.

“I-I… uh… I wasn’t expecting this,” Fives’ stammered, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as an involuntary grin spread across his face, “but y-yeah, I’m game.”

Nearly giddy with excitement, Sellé stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss Fives’ scruffy cheek and began pulling him back out of the hallway. Aergad wore a cocky smile as he clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly as he passed, following on their heels.

The crammed cab ride to their apartment was thankfully short. If it had been any longer, Fives would have pushed up Sellé’s tight skirt again and had her cockwarm him because she would not quit wiggling in his lap. The warm, sugary vanilla scent of her skin was intoxicating, and he particularly enjoyed the way she would dig her nails into his neck every time he gave her ass a squeeze.

“Easy, Sel,” Aergad said, playfully admonishing her. “I doubt he wants to cum in his armor.”

“He’s right, sweetness. I’d prefer to cum in you,” Fives muttered, kissing the little black, diamond-patterned tattoo resting at the base of her throat. As she ground her hips down into his lap again and giggled her approval, he hazarded a glance back at Aergad, realizing they had not yet discussed any ground rules. “That okay with you?”

Aergad’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he gave Fives a sexy wink while he unabashedly readjusted himself in his pants, watching Sellé squirm with delight.

“If I’m okay with it, he’s okay with it, handsome. It’s safe for you to cum in me all you want. Let’s talk more about this inside, though. We’re here,” she said, scooting off Fives’ lap and out of the cab.

As he followed them into the turbolift to their upscale apartment, Fives found it a bit odd that Aergad was so willing to let his girlfriend so lewdly seduce and fondle another man right in front of him—a complete stranger, no less. However, he conceded that unless they had anything other than a healthy open relationship, he would have been grappling on the sticky floor of 79’s.

Sellé practically dragged them both down the hall and shoved them inside the apartment when they got to their floor, and promptly asked Fives to help unlace the back of her corseted top. With such an edgy beauty proudly shedding her clothing for him, it was extremely difficult for Fives to take his eyes off of her.

She let the corset fall to the floor, revealing more diamond-patterned tattoos flowing along the curves of her back, and shivered as Fives traced them with gentle caresses of his fingertips. He pulled her close as his hands wrapped around her waist with her tattoos, kissing her neck and giving her waist an affectionate squeeze.

“Get that armor off, soldier,” she sighed as his hands came up to cup her full breasts. “I’ll be right back.”

Fives released her and watched hungrily as she scurried off down a hallway. But out of the corner of his vision, he could not help but notice the way Aergad’s violet eyes were drinking him in with a look of barely-contained lust. 

He could not deny just how attractive the Zabrak was as he recognized that look, and it made his half-hard cock twitch as he began placing his armor in a neat pile next to the discarded corset.

Aergad’s angular face was covered in smooth, light tan skin marked with sweeping, symmetrical linework tattoos of a darker shade, and his striking eyes were stoking that ember into a flame in Fives’ gut. The tight fit of his clothes also left little of his lean physique to the imagination, and if he said the word, Fives would have been on his knees in a second.

After finally plucking up the courage and stripping down to nothing but his briefs, Fives turned to face his admirer and asked, “Like what you see?”

Aergad gracefully pushed off the table he had been resting on and slowly circled him, trailing his fingers across Fives’ burning skin. Fives felt his cheeks darken, and he shuddered pleasantly at the taller man’s light touch.

“I think you’re absolutely gorgeous,” he mumbled, his hands settling on either side of Fives’ neck as they came face to face. “I’d love to fuck you.”

Fives blinked in surprise and swallowed nervously. “Oh, I thought you might want me to do that,” he chuckled bashfully, briefly locking eyes with him before averting his gaze again.

Shrugging, Aergad caressed Fives’ pulse points gently. “Either way works for me. Sel’s only into males, but I like to keep options very open.”

He did not quite know what Aergad had meant by that, but he had a good feeling he would soon find out—a prospect that thrilled him more than he expected. He was suddenly overcome with the need to kiss the beautiful man in front of him, but instead settled for resting his hands against Aergad’s trim waist. 

The rush of nerves must have made Fives’ heartbeat quicken because Aergad quickly shifted his hands to Fives’ chest to steady him. 

“Hey, now,” he said soothingly, “it’s okay if you don’t want me. You get to decide, since you’re our guest. If you only want Sellé tonight, that’s fine. I’m… I’m sorry if I’ve come on too strong.”

“No! No, you didn’t. I-it’s fine, really. I just…” Fives found himself gripping one of the man’s slender, but sturdy wrists, soaking in the warmth of his palms and searching for the right words. “I’ve been with men before, but I’ve only been a top. You’re the first who’s ever said he wanted to fuck me.”

“We can share you, too, you know,” Sellé said quietly, reentering the room. Her slender arms encircled Fives’ waist, and she pressed her lips into his shoulder blade. “There’s no pressure at all. If you want to stop now, if you need some time, it’s all right. Whatever you want, Fives, you can have it.”

“I… uh… I’m not sure,” Fives replied, reaching down and holding onto one of her arms as well. “Never been given so many choices before… with anything.”

Being sandwiched between them was starting to become overwhelming in the best way possible. He was already so hard from the knowledge of both of them wanting him, and the warmth and feel of their bodies were keeping him grounded as his curiosity burned hot for the first time in a long time.

“Aergad?” Fives finally asked, swallowing nervously. “Kiss me?”

Aergad smiled brightly for a brief second before cupping Fives’ face in his hands and bringing their lips together. 

Something deep and primal sparked in Fives’ brain as Aergad’s lips slotted with his own. He breathed in sharply and leaned into the kiss, but he let Aergad control it. The Zabrak’s lips were thin, but both tender and firm at the same time as they moved against his. Though it only lasted a few seconds, Fives could feel the desire rocketing through him. He could barely hold back the urge to chase him when Aergad pulled away.

“I think I’d like it if you shared me,” Fives confessed, left breathless and dizzy from the kiss.

With a pleased smile, Sellé came around to his front and took his hands, guiding him to their bedroom.

Fives had barely noticed before, but the whole apartment was incredibly spacious and finely decorated, and the bedroom was no exception. Later he would wonder what they did to afford such a place, but he kept his eyes mostly on Sellé, loving the way her bare, luscious body jiggled slightly with every step. 

However, the oversized bed draped in nothing but plush white blankets and pillows was difficult to ignore. As she sat him down on the bed and crawled behind him, Fives was certain he had never felt a softer bed in his life.

“Wh-what should I be doing?” Fives asked uncertainly.

Aergad quickly stripped off his vest, revealing his athletically lithe torso and even more sweeping tattoos. He came to kneel between Fives’ parted knees, resting reassuring hands on his thighs. “Tell you what, since you’re new at this, we’re going to take this very slowly. Have you ever used toys on yourself before?”

His voice was like rich velvet, and Fives once again felt the excitement bubble in his stomach at the sight of the bulge visible through Aergad’s pants. “Yeah. A plug… just a few times, but nothing fancy.”

“Perfect, I have a few I can use on you first to warm you up. That okay?”

Fives nodded, struggling to control the arousal coursing through him from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“Go get comfortable with Sel first,” Aergad murmured, stroking Fives’ cheek. “I’ll get everything prepped.”

As he strode off into another room, Sellé pulled Fives further onto the heavenly bed. She waited for him to settle into the cloudy pillows before straddling him and grinding delicately over his still-clothed cock, smiling at his contented groan.

“Fuck, you’re kriffing hot,” Fives hissed, eagerly running his hands up her body and bucking into her gently. It was also the first time he noticed the barbell piercings in each of her nipples, and he gently thumbed one to tease her, delighting in her little moan. “I still wanna cum in you before the night’s over.”

Sellé giggled, kissing the tip of his nose and leaning into his touches on her breasts. “That can be arranged. But first, some ground rules. In this room, we use the color system, and ‘red’ and ‘no’ mean we stop immediately. I may look kinky, but I’m not into anything non-consensual. Neither is Aergad. Do you understand?”

Fives nodded seriously. “Yes, I do.” Just from her tone, he could tell he was in experienced hands in a very safe space. Nothing would happen without him wanting it to, and it helped him relax further.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, either. This is going to be new for you, and Aergad and I have done this before, so if we see you slipping, we’ll stop and check in. Understand?”

“Yes,” Fives replied again. Her gold eyes were just as fierce as they were affectionate, and he felt himself wanting to melt beneath her from the fire coursing through his veins. If it had just been the two of them, he imagined he would have already made her cum on his tongue, and that desire to do just that quickly cemented itself in his mind.

A heartbeat later, Aergad reentered holding a small container full of various toys, lube, gloves, and bio-sheaths.

“All set?” he asked, kneeling beside them and lovingly petting down the full length of Sellé’s lek to make her shudder pleasantly.

As both Sellé and Fives replied affirmatively, Sellé shifted further up onto Fives’ abdomen, covering his hands with hers as they continued playing with her breasts and piercings. She began grinding her aching clit against the curls disappearing into his waistband, searching for the delicious friction between them.

Sliding up against Fives’ side, Aergad began slowly pressing a hand up his muscular thigh and teasing the edge of his briefs, pulling them down just enough to reveal the swollen tip of Fives’ already weeping cock.

“I’ll use my hands first, then we’ll work up to toys,” Aergad whispered against Fives’ shoulder, kissing his bronzed skin as tenderly as his words. “I promise I’ll be slow.”

Fives nodded fervently in agreement and gripped Sellé more firmly above him. “Need one of you to touch me. Please… touch me,” he gasped, barely able to believe how desperately he desired them both.

Fives thrust involuntarily into Aergad’s hand as the Zabrak pulled his underwear out of the way and grasped his cock, and his moan sounded wanton to his own ears. The callouses on his palm were a bit rough, but it was nothing compared to the relief of the pressure and warmth. As he looked at the man beside him, he was once again captivated by his violet eyes.

“You have a beautiful cock, Fives,” Aergad praised, his mouth watering at the sight of it. He released him to thoroughly lick his palm and adjust his grip before stroking him even more firmly. “So thick and hard. Look at him, Sel.”

Sellé twisted around and grasped Fives’ length behind her, joining her grip with Aergad’s. “Oh, he’s gorgeous,” she praised, deliberately pressing hard against the prominent, pulsing vein running up the underside. “Can’t wait to have you inside me and stretching me out, soldier.”

“F-feels good… so good,” Fives groaned, his every nerve tingling with need at their words. “Want… I-I want…”

“It’s okay, don’t be shy,” she said softly, slowing her movements to lean forward again and take Fives’ face in her delicate hands. “Tell us what you want.”

Fives could hear his heart hammering in his ears, but he gripped her thighs and pulled her up with surprising strength. “I want you to sit on my face,” he growled, once again finding his confidence and dying to taste her.

As soon as she shifted up onto her knees and straddled his head, Fives pulled her down and began devouring her like a man starved. He felt his cock twitch hard in Aergad’s grasp as Sellé let out the sweetest gasp of pleasure, and he knew he was in for the night of his life.

TBC

Part 2

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[ruthytwoshakes]

oh good evnening my homos,, my swagggalishis peepol, my lovely little guys . idk. I drew some gi. rrrrrls !!! Some fem fort!! Wahhooooo!!! Yippepeeee!! oh oh and big thank you to everybody who voted in the poll I set up! Once winter break hits I’ll be able to work on the projects full time, until then I’ll just be putting out little wips because school is more important :]

I’ve always wanted to make a gender swap au of some sort but I really had no good ideas until now,,. . They’re all clones of the red team that Engineer and Pauling worked on!! But like kinda. really crazy and blood-thirsty.

Pauling was requested to make a better Blu team because they sucked so bad,, ,so instead of hiring new people she got lazy and asked Engineer for help to mess with the respawn machine and create these new guys. They’re also like a fourth bigger than the original mercs. They’re very scary and violent and not r,eally good at being people yet. to be fair they were born like yesterday sorta. And I think I’d be a little evil too if I was born with the memories and mannerisms and scars of a life that I had not lived. ? ,,,,oh well sucks 2 suck. They hate the other team with a burning passion because they were programmed that way I guess. Idk I just came up with it tonight so it kidna isn’t all that coherent but we bal l . If I have the time I’ll draw them all beating up the boys or just like tormenting them. heheghjshh. pyro is a bear because the original pyro is a butch,, and spy is trans masc cus the original spy is trans fem. c ool

oh if anybody has any ideas for names I’d love to hear them! I’m shit ass at names so help is appreciated B))))) )

oh. welell hello thehrer,, here is more deisntns

these are for fun and would not actually work in the au,, teehhe. Man I don’t know what the fuck happened with saxton but he just looks the exact same. he’s growing out his hair. happened with saxton rhymes kindaa also Bidwell yay! Made her look more like Ma because I think she and scout are sisters booyahhh woah. Reddy with the butch realness hell yeah ,, love her. Mister Pauling wooooooow don’t have much 2 say. Twink Pauling little scary. Administrator though fucking killed me ,,I turned a bad bitch into an old man I’m losing my minddd. Kept the earrings cus they slayy cunty cunt cunt? Idk I don’t say that stuff

PYRO FACE JUMPSCARE !!! I know I committed sin and removed a masked character’s mask buut,idk fuck it I wanted to. Got some gnarly burn scares there and a rat tail cowaaabunga. Don’t know if you can tell but Blu has a half a beard.

JUMPSACREE JUMPSCARE I ADDED MY OCS MUHAHHA it’s gliderrrs yay. Red and Blu glider are two different. guys,, uhh they’re both twins!! Fraternal I think. Red is very flamboyant and extroverted and talks with her hands while Blu kinda stares at you,, you can’t really tell if she’s angry or not? Not happy with you that’s for sure. I can’t info dump about them on this post because I have to get back to work but one day in the near future. perhaps. perchance. mayhaps. what

[obsoleteozymandias]

"Hmm...it seems I'm right where I need to be"

Moira Thea has arrived at the Glimmering Soiree!

{ Voice lines, full design, credits, and extras below! }

Voice Lines:

Summon: "I knew you'd come looking for me."

Groovy: "All of us here tonight, intertwined in the moonlight - how enchanting."

Set Home: "What a pleasure that our fates may meet yet again."

Home Idle 1: "I do wish my cane matched my dress... Ha! How privileged I must be to be concerned over such things."

Home Idle 2: "Might I have this dance?"

Home Idle 3: "I can't say I'm surprised that Mr. Shroud has yet to appear. He is such a... hmm... let's say a recluse."

Home Login: "It's a pleasure to be here with you this evening."

Home Idle Groovy: "The orchestra here is wonderful. I must ask for them at our next party."

Home Tap 1: "Why yes, this dress is custom made. I made sure every thread was in its place. You've got a good eye."

Home Tap 2: "It's a same I can't behold the decorations tonight. I bet they're lovely."

Home Tap 3: "I will remember this night for eons to come, I'm certain of it."

Home Tap Groovy: "I can't recall when I last felt so... light. Is this your doing? Or perhaps the music's?"

Full Body Art:

Credits:

Thank you to the lovely and talented @starry-night-rose for holding this event, it was an absolute delight to draw for :)

Extras / OC Information:

Moira is based off of the fates from Disney's Hercules! Her design took me a very long time to get down, hehe.

As such, she's wearing clothes inspired by Ancient Greek peplos.

She's blind! I didn't draw her with a cane here, but in future art I may.

She is a fae related to the Shrouds through marriage (Idia and Ortho’s cousin, in theory. Families are weird) and is 18 years old.

She has two older sisters.

Her unique magic allows her to see and behold both future and past events, although only pertaining to one subject at a time.

Personality wise, she’s a somewhat pretentious and high maintenance woman, but still caring and generous. Kindness and subtly are not her forte, but she wants the best for those she cares about (and the worst for her enemies).

MBTI is INTJ

If she were in a TWST dorm, it would be Pomefoire.

More will be added when I feel confident in her story!