#gale x mara

[megs-98]

Megs BG3 Masterlist

Please feel free to check out my works or my AO3! :3 Everything is listed by character <3 If you want added to a taglist at all, DM me and let me know!

My AO3 Account

Dammon

It's Always Been You

Summary: Tav left Baldur's Gate after the final battle but years later something... or someone, drew her back and she had to find out why

Pairing: Dammon x f!reader (Tav)

Tags: Fluff, light make out scene at the end, mostly just Dammon being the sweetest boy

word count: 3.4k

Gale

No Extra Excitement

Summary: Tav comes back with the party after a long day exhausted but thankfully everyone's favorite wizard stayed behind to prepare a couple of surprises for her and they both have a lot of thoughts about each other

Pairings: gale x f!reader (Tav)

Tags: Explicit, fingering, vaginal sex, fluff, mutual pining

wordcount: 2k

Like You Mean It

Pairing: Gale x f!reader (Tav)

Summary: After a long, dreary day spent in Gale's tower, barely seeing him at all, you decide that you're going to get the attention that you crave. Even if it means Gale has to tame his brat with the help of a mage hand.

Tags: Explicit!, bit of a dom!Gale, use of mage hand, clothed nipple play, some voyeurism, male masturbation, riding, lots of praise, mutual orgasm (Please let me know if I missed any!)

Word count: 3.8k

A Gentle Touch Under A Canopy of Wonder and Beauty

Pairing: Gale x f!reader (Tav)

Summary: (This turned into a different take on Gale's love confession) Tav and Gale share a night together, saying, and doing things, that they need to get off their chest before they reach Moonrise Towers.

Tags: Explicit!, little bit of angst? (if you squint), expressing feelings, Mystra hate, female receiving oral, vaginal sex, sweet Gale, soft fucking, mutual orgasm, some religious themes during the smut (it's my favorite) idk I just have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this pixelated man.

Word count: 4.6k

Petals and Poems

Pairings: Gale x f!reader

Summary: Gale is off to work after making you breakfast, so you decided to go shopping and leave some gifts for him to find once he arrives home. Also Tara is peak mom in this.

Tags: None, just two idiots in love :')

Word count: 1.9k

Mesmeric Revelation Chapter 1

This will be a multiple chapters - it's a modern au (still set within Faerun but no magic or anything), slow burn, enemies to lovers fic between Gale and my tav Mara

Pairings: Gale x f!namedTav (Mara) & Astarion xf!named Tav (Fox)

Other characters: Hoping to get all the companions in even if it's a small scene, Gortash, Orin, mentions of Thorm

Summary: It's the start of a new school year at Chiontar High and there's been talk amongst the teachers about how the esteemed Professor Dekarios from Blackstaff Academy has joined the school's faculty. After a chance encounter between Gale and Mara, leaving her less than impressed with the professor, will the two be able to start a friendship and maybe something more?

Tags: Gale is a dickhead, eventual smut, slow burn, enemies to lovers, Astarion being incredibly sassy, just a good ol time

Happily Decorated; Galemas days 1 & 2

Winter had officially engulfed Waterdeep; business at the docks had slowed down due to icy winds and choppy waves. The street lamps were wrapped in garland and festival colored bows. The market stalls had begun selling mulled wine and hot cocoa as the yuletide markets stayed open into the dark evenings. All the residents within the city of splendors had donned their heaviest coats and cloaks to keep them warm as the frigid sea air settled over the city

AN: i combined days 1 and 2 in this since i forgot it started on the 16th lmao, will probably have to continue combining days but this all gave me so much inspiration. this also slightly delves into mara's backstory

Pairing: Gale x f!named Tav/ Mara, Astarion (mentioned in one line), Tara

Tags: Kissing, fade to black at the end before anything spicy happens and tooth rotting fluff, set post game

Word count: 2.4k

Merry Midwinter; Galemas days 4 - 7

Tara nuzzled her face against the woman with a purr, “Now you know that’s not true, dear. And he is absolutely beside himself over your admission.” Mara grimaced when she heard Tara’s words. “I believe you both know it would be more beneficial for the two of you to be together rather than apart right now. Off you go, back to bed. In your actual bed.” She said as she headbutted Mara’s shoulder. Mara gave the tressym a pet before she got up. She caught a glimpse of Tara as she kneaded Mara’s pillow and laid down on top of her blanket.

A/N: liked stated above, this is galemas days 4-7 all wrapped up together, also my first gale smut in almost a year. i honestly forgot how much fun these are to write. also, i didn't skip day 3, i did a little sketch for it. it's on sky if you want to see

Pairing: Gale x f!named Tav/ Mara

Characters: Tara, mention of Morena Dekarios

Tags: mild hurt/comfort, explicit, MDNI, m and f oral receiving, kissing, vaginal fingering, make up sex, mating press, praise kink, nothing better than having sex all night and into christmas morning

Word count: 3.9k

Halsin

There's A First for Everything

Pairing: Halsin x f!OC (Elyra)

Summary: (Taking place post game and featuring bloodlessbhaalbabe 's OC Elyra) After celebrating Love Day in Thaniel's Realm with the refugees and his love, Elyra, Halsin sets up a romantic evening for the two. He has something important to tell her before the fun starts.

Tags: Explicit!, mutual pining, fluff, love confession, f! receiving oral, inappropriate actually quite appropriate use of entanglement spell, vaginal sex, lots of praise. I think that's it

Word count: 2.7k

I'm Aching for You

"My mind has been haunted by your visage. Everywhere I looked, there you were; smiling that sweet smile, putting others before yourself, fiercely protecting your friends. During the nights that I could not get you out of my mind, I would turn into a bear and run halfway through the forest, yet your smell still lingered in my nose. Everything about you has beckoned me to you yet I could not."

back with another halsin x oc fic! this one for @stinadrawsthings 's beautiful tav, gia! hope yall like it! :) also trying a slightly different way of formatting these posts

Pairings: Halsin x oc!f tav (Gia)

Summary: As the shadow curse has finally been lifted, and your party ready to start towards Baldur's Gate, Halsin has asked you to meet him at his room in The Last Light Inn for a much needed conversation.

Tags: Mutual pining, making out, lots of praise, m & f receiving oral, fingering, light fem dom, vaginal sex. Really these two just finally fully confessing their feelings and fuckin like the oak father intended

Word count: 5.4k words

An Understanding

"You have a good heart, little one. One that I admire very much. It takes a special person to do everything that you have done, please don’t forget that.”

A/N: LOL i was big in my emotions the other day and i guess i just needed to hear a pep talk from halsin so i wrote a drabble. i think i'm gonna keep doing one shots of halsin and my tav mara and seeing how their relationship evolves

Characters: Halsin, f!named Tav (Mara)

Tags: Thoughts and talk of low self confidence, depiction of smoking, the slightest mention of death, halsin being a reassuring sweetheart

Word count: 1.6k

[fenharel-archived]

astarion & ysabel ✨ gale & elowen lucien & shadowheart ✨ marazhai & arabella

tagged by @leviiackrman, @risingsh0t & @baldurians to use this picrew for my ocs, thank you!! tagging

@rkyloren, @shadowglens, @rosymorns, @solasan, @catacomb-chaos,

@stephschoices, @thefathersbride, @faerune, @queennymeria, @thedeadthree,

@alistairs & you!!

[scrollsaplenty]

Meet My OC!

Mar’enthia ‘Mara’ Ni’Dar is the only child of the elven Lord Ilidan Ni’Dar and late wife, Merlanna.

Mara is a High Half-Elf, wild magic sorcerer, and comes from a noble family in the Upper City of Baldur's Gate. Though she grew up in high society, Mara's life was more akin to a gilded cage then one of elegance and privlage.

Due to her somewhat unstable magical abilities, Mara was isolated from others due to her father's fear that her instability would tarnish the family name. Ilidan commissioned the wizard Lorrokan to fashion magic suppressing bracelets for Mara to wear at all times. Lord Ni'Dar also went to great lengths to hide his daughter's magical abilities by hiring private tutors from the Under Dark to train the young sorcerer in secret. He feared Mara's unstable magic would ruin his plans of marring her off for political gain.

Before our story begins, Mara escaped from her father's home with the help of her tutor, a Drow wizard named Kethan. While running from her father's guards, the pair are separated. Mara is abducted by a Mind Flayer and thrown into a events that are destined to change the history of Faerun forever.

Mara is a bit naive, kind hearted, adventurous, and is eager to about the world. Mara struggles to see herself and her magic in a positive light. Mara loves the freedom of her newfound situation and is deeply afraid of heights.

[gale-enjoyer]

This is my OC Mara (32), you can find her in the druids' grove along with the rest of the tiefling refugees. Her father is a close friend of Zevlor and she can normally be found taking care of stray animals or trying to look out for the orphaned children. She had a fleeting crush on Rolan, who showed no interest in her, and then on Wyll, who she was tragically too shy to approach beyond a few polite words.

She has always wanted to learn magic, but her self-study has not taken her very far and her attempts have been known to cause some accidental destruction, so others have discouraged her from continuing to try. Still, she sneaks out into the forest to practise sometimes. It's during one of those times that she meets Gale, who saves her from some perils. She begs him to teach her some magic, even if she has nothing that she can offer in return. I'll be writing some one-shots for her and Gale, and maybe some for her and Wyll as well! 🌼

[simstorian-blog]

Dusty Turf

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Parched Prospect

Lot Size: 30 x 20

(3-bedroom, 2 Bathroom)

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Used

Cottage Living

Desert Luxe Kit

Dream Home Decorator

Eco Lifestyle

Get Famous

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

Island Living

Laundry Day Stuff

Outdoor Retreat

Spa Day

Wedding Stories

Build Mode

AnneSimmer – Wall Mural Pt. 1

Felixandre – London (Chandelier, Panelling)

Felixandre – Grove Pt. (Plaster Floor)

Harlix – Bafroom (Mirrors, Windows)

Harlix – Harluxe (Used Throughout)

Harlix – Orjanic Pt. 1 (Column)

Harlix – Tiny Twavellers (Mural Wall)

Harrie – Kwatei Pt. 1 (Doors, Windows)

Max20 – Polished Sandstone Trim

Peacemaker – Curly Koa Flooring

Peacemaker – Simple Siding

SimPlistic – Leafy Wallpaper

Sooky – Victorian Floor Tiles

Buy Mode

Anye – Cal Magazine

Anye – Neomy Table Lamp

Anye – Zara Bathrobe

Awingedllama – Apartment Therapy (Rug)

Awingedllama – Boho Living (Cement Planter)

Awingedllama – Blooming Plants

BlueTeas – Rivers Bedroom (Base, Headboard)

CharlyPancakes – Lavish (Shopping Bag)

ClutterCat – BusyBee Pt. 2 (FlatBox)

ClutterCat – Cozy Casita (Candle)

ClutterCat – Dandy Diary Pt.1  (Leather Tray)

ClutterCat – Dandy Diary Bathroom

Dereon – Silver Lining Stool (DL Available via Patreon)

Felixandre – Chateau Pt. 4 (Square Container)

Felixandre – Colonial Pt. 3 (Parasol)

Felixandre – Florence Pt. 3 (Luggage)

Felixandre – Florence Pt. 4

Felixandre – Grove Pt. 2 (Stacked Plates)

Felixandre – Paris Pt. 3 (Pouffe)

Felixandre – Shop The Look 1 (Side Table)

GreenLlamas – Kerv Inkblot Rug

Harlix – Baysic (Bedding, Hanging Clothes, Packs System)

Harlix – Baysic Bathroom (Toilet)

Harlix – Kichen (All glasses)

Harlix – Livin’ Rum (Tv, Bowl, Vase)

Harlix – Orjanic Pt. 2 (Vase)

Harrie – Octave Pt. 4 (Light Switch)

Joyce – Simple Live #5 (Separate Towel)

LeafMotif – House & Garden Covers

LittlBowBub – Home Barista

Littledica – Delicious Kitchen (Paper Towel)

Littledica – Rise & Grind (Flavour Syrup)

Madlen – Dionis Ottoman

MyCupofCC – ColourTalk (Mirror)

Myshunosun – Gale Dining (Cart, Wine Bottle, Wine Glass)

NoStyle – Mara Living Chair

Peacemaker – Ellipse Armchair

Peacemaker – Mid-Century Abode (Bedframe)

Peacemaker – Oasis Chic Living (Cordyline)

Pierisim – Domaine du Clos Pt. 2 (Account Book)

Pierisim – Domaine du Clos Pt. 4 (Zucchini Chopping Board)

Pierisim – Living Room Mini (Citrus Bowl)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 2 (Rug)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 3 (Metal Sconce, Soap)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 5 (Table Lamp)

Pierisim – Oak House Pt. 4 (Shower)

Pierisim – Vera Bathroom (Mounted Hook, Robes, Soap)

Ravasheen – Hot Sim Disguise Clutter (Tray)

RusticSims – Kind of Modular (Books, Coffee Table)

RusticSims – Lofi Pt. 1 (All Lighting)

Severinka – Aura Ottoman

Sundays – Duvet

Sundays – Kediri Pt. 1 + 2 (Sofa, Throw Pillows)

Sundays – Kuta Pt. 1 (Dining Table)

Sundays – Pandawa Pt. 3 (Pouf)

Sundays – Sumba Pt. 1 (Pillows)

Sundays – Swell Pt. 1 (Bolster Pillow)

Sundays – Ungasan Pt. 2 (Slippers)

Sundays – Yarra Pt. 3 (Bed Pillows)

Syboubou – Caroline Shower Rug

Tuds – Ind 02 (Wine Rack)

Winner9 – Malibu Pillow

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: Download

[owlespresso]

adrenaline lunge blade x reader tags: fem!reader, spice beneath the cut, dubious consent, Blade does unspeakable things with the hilt of his sword, reader is implied to be a reincarnation of someone Blade once knew

The fight was finished in a flash. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. It passes through your vision like old timey strips of film.

Your blade slices through the flesh of your foes like a hot knife through butter. The blood is warm on your hands, on your face. You might be covered in it, honestly. From head to heel. Maybe it’s the adrenaline that warms your body. Drenched in sweat which cools under the cold gales which slice across the muddy plane. The overcast skies seem to coalesce with the smoke. You breathe it in, become it, cloak and cutlass billowy blurs as you slice and slice and slice. 

All at once, there’s silence. Eerie quiet. The world comes back to you in stages. Awareness stumbling fumbling back into your body like a metal pipe tossed down a flight of stairs. Concrete. Concrete stairs, hard and grey. 

The only figure standing upright in the bleak landscape is the other mercenary you deployed with. Blade. A Stellaron Hunter, a trained killer whose quiet and frigid demeanor have made him an easy, though unsettling traveling partner. It’s been a week since you’ve deployed, traveling across this planet’s barren, war-torn plains in search of some sort of gadget or gizmo for them. You weren’t entirely paying attention when it was explained to you, and you don’t exactly care what it does or why they want it. The Stellaron Hunters have a horrendous reputation amongst the stars, but they pay exceedingly well. That’s all you can ask for.

It’s not like it’s difficult work. You clean up the unfortunate remnants of some Abundance-related invaders and progress towards whatever thing they’re looking for. No one knows the deadened valleys and ancient ruins and impact craters of this forsaken planet like you do. It’s an easy payday, and the company isn’t as obnoxious as you had at first feared.

He speaks only when he has to and follows commands with mechanical perfection. He stares at you, when he likely thinks you’re asleep during the night’s small hours. In fairness, though, there isn’t much else in the wasteland to look at. Maybe he’s just ensuring you don’t slip away before fulfilling your end of the bargain.

He’s looking at you now, a few yards away. His eyes are blown wide, letting you see the candle wick of his irises in perfect clarity. His bloodied lips are slightly parted. His sword is soaked in similar crimson, spiderweb veins of bright gold gleaming underneath all the viscera. You open your mouth to call out to him, but he’s already moving in your direction, taking long, measured strides across the field—until he reaches the halfway point. 

He breaks into a sprint. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as he closes the gap between you. He’s not there, and then he is, with a suddenness you hadn’t thought possible.

Blade bowls into you, rough hands shoving you into the grey dirt. Your back thunks against the cold, hard ground. Maybe you shout, it’s hard to tell over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears. 

“Blade—” you try, as he drops down. His knees land on either side of your hips, stranding you between those thick thighs. You swallow, eyes blown wide. The iron grip you have on your cutlass's handle doesn't wane, but you keep still, unsure if rending him in twain would truly do anything. You’ve seen him regenerate and recover from wounds that should have killed him instantly—what can you do? “We’re on the same team—” Surely, the mara hasn’t rendered him incapable of recognizing you? 

Where is his handler, the wine-haired woman you’d met for a flash few seconds before embarking? You should have asked her more—should have insisted she tell you how to deal with him when he rages out of control, but any thoughts or pre-death regrets rattle out of your skull as he sets his teeth to the bottom of your jaw, a calloused hand gripping your hip and squeezing.

“I knew it from the start,” his lips ghost against your skin as he speaks, tongue and teeth carving a raw path down your throat. Your free hand sinks into the broad, firm flesh of his shoulder, wrinkles in his jacket. “It was the way you smelled—gunpowder and chamomile.” He mutters in between bites and open-mouthed kisses. The adrenaline from the fight filters into something carnal and hot, settling low in your stomach as you twitch beneath him.

You’re left to flounder as he undoes your belt, shoves your black trousers down to your knees. His fingers pet your cunt through your panties, black and plain and unsexy. A part of you feels a rush of completely misplaced self-consciousness, but that too is shorted out along with the rest of your thoughts as he presses back close to you, idly toying with your folds and clit whilst his mouth paints spit and blood across your skin. The wetness chills under the rolling winds, free hand dipping under your shirt to squeeze and palm at your stomach, as though desperate to touch any part of you.

You take in a shuddering gasp as his warm, warm, warm tongue presses against the gusset of your panties. He licks you like a fucking dog through the wetted fabric, hands kneading your thighs tight enough to bruise. He breathes you in, long and shuddering, lets you feel the press of his face as he noses as deep into your cunt as he can get. A maniac, a madman—your pulse skyrockets, breaths becoming pants and pants becoming something deeper. Sobs? You can’t tell, anymore. 

“I knew it was you,” he repeats, softer this time, voice dragged by something tender and aching. A misplaced fondness you know not what to do with. You’ve never met him before accepting this mission, and you’re sure you would remember someone like him.

His thumbs hook underneath the sides, a thin strand of slick sticking to the cotton as he drags them down your thighs. Just enough for him to touch your skin, crowding in between your thighs. His eyes flutter shut, the very picture of a man savoring a meal. Molten strokes roll up your spine with every brush of his tongue. Your thighs snap shut around either side of his head and he moans, sound so rich and raunchy you can hardly believe it came from him. Blade, who you’ve known for little more than a week and some, so stoic and still you hardly considered him alive.

It’s with starting gentility that the tips of his fingers nudge your panties to the side. They brush over your wettening folds, thumb seeking your clit while his tongue dives deep towards your entrance, circling its very edge. You shout, you howl, you whine into the empty air, hips writhing and rolling in his brutal, unyielding grasp.

“Blade! Are we really doing this here!?” You’re more irate than afraid. You tap your ankle against the back of his shoulder, giving a surprised shout when he grabs the joint and tugs you even closer. Doing this here, steeped in blood and surrounded by the red strewn bodies of allies and foes alike, is an unsafe and perhaps unsanitary prospect. But you are not in the practice of making decisions safe or sane. 

“Do you see anywhere else to do it?” Blade replies, annoyed, not even lifting his head. You feel his lips against your clit and folds as he talks, warm breath brushing against the sopping skin. 

And fuck it, really. There’s nothing else you can do. Might as well let the sensation wash the shame away. Not that you have much of a choice. 

Those calloused fingers pet meanly at your walls, run figure-eights up and down until he hits a spot that has your back arching, toes curling as you scream to the skies. He wrings your pleasure out of you, fucks you on his fingers with a dexterity and skill he has no right to possess. Blade, cold and steel and empty before whatever brought this fit on.

You’re about to cum, you realize, nearly devastated. That tight, succulent heat churns in your lower tummy, free hand fisting in his hair. How has he managed to push you this far so quickly? You’re almost annoyed all over again. A guy with a personality this shit shouldn’t know how to do this. He shouldn’t be getting any action at all!

“Blade,” you snap, and he stops moving. Long digits leave your cunt with an obscene, wet sound. A sense of cold emptiness cloys at the space where he was, but you push the longing down in favor of catching your breath. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you lift yourself onto your elbows, beginning to shift away from him.

Before you can even squirm an inch, he’s yanking you close again. Is he toying with you?

“Blade,” you grumble. “Don’t fuck with me.” Your ankle digs into the back of his shoulder in warning. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t release you, either. Silence settles between the both of you, only interrupted by his deep breathing. “Fine,” you grimace, surrendering yourself to his whims for the time being. The uncertainty of what he’ll do next makes your skin crawl, but he’s clearly intent on keeping you in his grasp—and angering him is the last thing you want to do when he’s behaving so unpredictably.

There’s a metallic clink. You take in a deep, stuttering breath, steeling yourself for the oncoming press of his cock.

Except it’s too cold, too ovaline to be human. Thicker than a finger but perhaps too thin to be his cock. Swallowing another whimper, you glance back down—just in time to watch him feed the hilt of his sword into your aching, clenching cunt. The sob he wrenches from you is so deep and guttural that it burns—you’re used to blood and death and carnage, but something about this feels so filthy. Near sacrilegious, despite your complete lack of faith. The blade isn’t sheathed. It’s cutting blood gashes into his fingers and palms, scarlet bleeding onto dirt. He doesn’t react. His eyes are blown wide and his candlewick irises smothered into a bright ring around his pupils. That manic gaze remains fixed on where your legs remain splayed open and twitching for him, gasping for breath. 

“Blade, are you fucking kidding me—” you must be making some sort of stupid expression, eyes wide and mouth agape. He offers no remorse or shame, leaves you to listen to the lewd squelching that fills the air as he drives the hilt further inside of you. Your cunt squeezes around it tight, and you drop your arm over your eyes. Hot tears roll down your cheeks and you blink—when did you start crying? There’s no space to think properly, not when he pulls the weapon back and shoves it forward, beginning a rough pace that absolutely knocks the breath out of you. “Blade, what are you—”

A firm hand seizes your wrist and wrenches your arm to the ground. His fingers lace through yours in some strange simulacrum of tenderness.

“Eyes on me, girl,” he snarls, but you hardly hear it over the thrumming in your ears.

You squint as light floods your vision, nothing bleak skies for miles and miles. Bleak skies and you and a madman, intent on watching your pleasure just as much as supplying it. It’s as though his universe has boiled down to a single point, bitten lips falling open around pants.

A roughened, calloused thumb bats at your clit, rolling over the bundle of nerves in a series of unkind, jerking circles that make you writhe. The feeling is white hot, unsteady pleasure slipping easily into pain as he works you over the hilt of his sword. 

You cum on it, too. With tears running down your hot cheeks, your entire body tingling like an exposed nerve. You’re not sure how long you lay there. The sky remains apathetic and unchanging as the cool air fills your lungs. His touch leaves you, bare and empty. The sweat that slicks your skin cools underneath the rolling breezes. 

The lunacy is gone from his gaze, now, replaced by something bitter and stoic. 

“Do not look at me like that. You were the one that did this,” you snap at him, and he lowers his gaze. Almost ashamed. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he fixes your clothes, sliding your panties and trousers back on with hands that have somehow already healed, gaping gashes replaced by perfect, new skin. You watch his fingers work, looping your belt back into place over your hips. The action, compared with the silence, is oddly and uncomfortably intimate. You don’t try and piece together why he does it, nor do you try and understand what just happened. It was excess adrenaline leftover from battle, you reason, and don’t peer beyond that.

You push yourself to your feet as soon as you feel presentable. He doesn’t help you (even though he by all means should), but you like it better that way. The two of you amble through the field of corpses, each step making you painfully aware of the cooling wetness which lingers between your legs. A new ache hounds you between the crux of your thighs.

“You’re taking care of dinner tonight,” you bite out. He hums, though you can’t tell whether it’s a noise of agreement. Just one of acknowledgement. His footfalls thud heavily behind you. You pretend you don’t feel the white hot of his gaze burrowing between your shoulders. In a few hours, none of this will matter. You focus on the empty horizon, amble towards the extraction point on wobbly fawn’s legs.

[nightmarefuele]

muse directory.

repression is a huge theme on this blog. smut happens (usually in body horror font), but don't expect it.

Nosferatu (2024);

Ellen Hutter ; lily-rose depp Thomas Hutter ; nicholas hoult Count Orlok ; bill skarsgård ; do not expect me to sanitize or sterilize him.

Dune, Star Wars, general gritty sci-fi;

Qimir | The Stranger; manny jacinto ; might feature a knight verse in addition to some canon na-Baron Feyd-Rautha ; austin butler ; draws 98% from the '24 film. Verosha Aniseya ; amandla stenberg Ren (of 'the' Ren) ; adam driver ; a heavily divergent/'oc-ified', post(usually)-snoke, visceral horror, gritty lean from star wars' kylo ren. Shin Hati ; ivanna sakhno ; ahsoka. Kylo Ren ; adam driver ; as close to kylo 'canon' as i'm capable of writing, but solely draws from tfa characterization. Mae-ho Aniseya ; amandla stenberg Paul-Muad'Dib Atreides ; timothee chalamet ; leans on the book(+ messiah) from time to time. Lady Margot Fenring ; léa seydoux. Officer KD6-3.7 ; ryan gosling ; blade runner 2049 . Ezra ; pedro pascal ; prospect (2018). Cee ; sophie thatcher ; prospect (2018).

bg3;

Raphael ; andrew wincott Ketheric Thorm ; j.k. simmons Astarion ; neil newbon ; incredibly selective muse. no smut. primarily ascendant. Gale ; tim downie Shadowheart ; jennifer english Gortash ; jason isaacs

villains, antiheroes;

John Constantine ; keanu reeves Loki Laufeyson ; tom hiddleston ; selective muse. fuck u i don't consider post-tdw canon. ciao Jonathan Crane ; cillian murphy ; selective muse

bleak, flexible, modern;

Lisa Nova ; rosa salazar ; brand new cherry flavor. Connor, the Android sent by CyberLife ; bryan dechart Elijah Kamski ; d:bh ; neil newbon Hank Anderson ; d:bh ; clancy brown Sofia Falcone ; cristin milioti ; i'm in love with this crazy bitch Elliot Alderson ; rami malek ; mr. robot. Phillip Price ; michael cristofer ; mr. robot. Leon ; joey bada$$ ; mr. robot. Lisbeth Salander ; rooney mara ; the girl with the dragon tattoo (2011) . Berry Rydell ; young josh hartnett ; freelance private security officer from william gibson's virtual light trilogy, based in retrofuturist nocal and socal. just a guy doing his own thing and getting caught up, routinely, somehow, in the national (but very top-secret) dickfight over some expensive glasses. + virtual reality, or whatever. Control (John Rodriguez) ; bob morley ; based on authority by jeff vandermeer, and annihilation, book and film, exploring hypnosis/mind control and consequent distrust, or outright paranoia. operates at the branch-end of a highly bureaucratic and mysterious organization. eventually ends up at Southern Reach, "...a secret agency that manages expeditions into a place known as Area X, an uninhabited and abandoned coastal area of an unnamed country which nature is gradually reclaiming." 'nature', in this context, being a cute/tame word. refers to his guns as 'gramps', 'grandpa', 'grandpap', etc. 6" tall, impassive. Tangerine ; aaron taylor-johnson ; bullet train .

apocalypse;

Joel Miller ; pedro pascal Imperator Furiosa ; anya taylor-joy. (alyla browne.) Dr. Dementus ; chris hemsworth.

aus are fun. hit me with em or forever hold your peace.

ocs, always subject to adapt and update on a thread-to-thread basis;

Oeznik Ambroicz ; cillian murphy ; loosely based on a character from an original script. flexible iterations. director of an institute/facility (sometimes agency, depending on setting and historical values) that focuses on exploring the residual elements that paranormal trauma leaves behind. these elements can be purely psychological, physical, combined, or, sometimes, paranormal themselves. in other iterations, to draw further on lovecraftian or cthulhu mythos elements, oeznik may lean more private investigator, or 'freelance', for his own mysterious and often unexplained purposes. focused and preoccupied when fixed securely inside his element; wary and suspicious when not. Nadya ; sara serraiocco, sara montpetit ; lab experiment turned a) runaway, b) interdimensional spy/assassin, c) something something time shenanigans. or simple modern ones. who the fuck knows. Dorian Yu ; christian yu ; tba. loosely based on christian yu's musical creations. relies either on psychological themes (wherein dorian is bipolar), for stories more grounded in realism, or the supernatural. heavily flexible, works into most (if not all) modern environments. can be taken a vaguely sci-fi or heavily cyberpunk route. (he's fun. smiley ball of energy and sunshine, or depressive and vaguely antagonistic shut-in.) prone to delusions, dissociation, and in severe instances, amnesia. Fifine ; anya taylor-joy ; random modern verse shenanigans. (the) Insomnium ; tbd. ; developed and hatched by a cult of space witches moreso than born. derived from an organically inorganic (or just inexplicable) substance. for tumblr purposes, blends the idea of dune's 'voice'. cult functions similarly on some levels to the b.g., but is entirely an unknown. stems from the same gritty, visceral horror environment and themes as the ren. (especially picky about where i throw this one.) space cultists tba.

[dez78]

Multi-Fanfiction Blog

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My name is Dez, I write in a lot of fandoms. Including video games, movies, and tv shows. Healthily into vampires and elves. (Not really though, I'm obsessed.)

This blog is poly safe and LGBTQ safe.

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I usually write for female characters, unless you guys want to request otherwise, I don't want to exclude anyone. See down below at the lists of dos and don’ts for me and my writing! 

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Requests are open and welcome, ask away.

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What I will write: 

 Smut

Fluff

Hurt to comfort

Light Bondage

Angst

I'm also open to writing for your ocs if you wish.

I will write about my ocs as well.

Dom and Sub

Character Redemption or Character Condemnation

AU

Tame Kinks

What I won’t write: 

I won’t write about hard core slapping during intimate scenes (Only booty taps)

Being called slut or whore, or partners being disrespectful to each other (unless it’s during an argument and they don’t mean it later) 

Nothing with an excessive amount of spit, and hard-core bdsm. 

Won’t write about incest, unless it’s for the Game of Thrones franchise.

Nothing derogatory or abusive (Unless it's for a specific setting)

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RULES FOR MY PAGE: No destructive criticism, no negative comments, if you don’t like my writing then don’t read it, please (Constructive Criticism is welcomed)

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Fandoms and Characters I will write for: 

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Baldur’s Gate 3: 

Astarion

Shadowheart

Gale

Durge

Tav

Ocs

Star Wars (Clone Wars)

Fives

Rex

Wolffe

Anakin 

Obi-Wan

Plo Koon 

Hondo

Ahsoka

Jango Fett

Boba Fett

Ocs

Fallout 4: 

Hancock

Nick Valentine

Nate 

Nora

Danse

Piper

Mara (R4)

Heather 

Ellen

Yekvad Company (My OCs)

Ocs

Skyrim: 

Rumarin

Vilkas

Harkon

Roggi Knot-Beard

Ondolemar

Inigo

Lucien

Serana

Dragonborn

Caryalind

Taliesin 

Ocs

True Blood: 

Eric Northman 

Sookie Stackhouse 

Jason Stackhouse 

Jessica Hamby

Ocs

Witcher (Netflix and Witcher 3): 

Geralt 

Yennefer

Jaskier

Ciri

Ocs

LOTR: 

Legolas

Aragorn 

Thranduil 

Kili

Ocs

GOT: 

The Hound (Sandor Clegane)

Jon Snow 

Jaime Lannister

Ocs

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[benefits1986]

Unmothering, Unbothering

The inner child is the adult we all become and "unbecome", yes? One of the most curious stories I've witnessed is that of an adopted, abandoned, and illegitimate child. (Ang hirap i-spell ng illegitimate, mhie!) Let's call this child A so there's no hint about the identity of this soul. A's story is not in the closet. In fact, A doesn't hide the fact. A told me the story randomly. No drama. No bwelo. Much like spiced rum without the rocks and without the chaser. Nakalagay sa tagay glass na shiny and vintage. At mataas, mainit-init pa ang tagay because we're but talking about shitshows and dogshows, tapos boogsh. Ayun na po. I rarely am lost for words, but I took a deep breath and paused when I heard this side of A's story. Crickets everywhere.

We tried not blinking for a few moments, and then, poof. Kaya pala may mga moments wherein kahit sobrang A-game si A, I can't help but think with frown pa na: Huy, ang galing-galing mo na, in demand ka pa pero bakit hindi ka pa rin masaya? Parang may blank sa vibe mo especially when you're getting legit compliments. A is a complete very, very "curated" package: looks, bearing, career na may super duper golden handcuffs and feed-wise na rin, walang palag levels. Sabi ko sa kanya minsan: Tacca. Kaya pala parang incomplete tingin ko sa'yo. 'Yun lang pala 'yun. Siya naman: Sabihin ko ba agad sa first meet and greet? Hi! I'm adopted na, abandoned pa. But wait, illegitimate din. Gusto mo ganun? Me: Why not? Try mo minsan. Role play tayo. Kunwari, 'di kita kilala. Siya: Baka 'di mo na ako kausapin. Me: Aywawww siya. Maka-judge, wagas?

Fast forward... A as a shala, found a first world DNA sampling kit that enables people to trace their family tree. Opak. A curiously took it and boogsh. Nakita ang trail pero dahil nga "abandoned" siya, there's no name on any document even A's birth certificate. Ganun po kalinis ang galawan. Mala-Mara Clara x 100 vibes. LOL. I asked A kung bakit ayaw niya tanong sa nanay niya. Sabi niya: I know my mom would be hurt. Alam mo naman si mama. Me: Hahahahaha. Oks. Got it. Oo nga. As a boomer church stay-at-home mama nga pala mama niya. A told me that when the right time comes, aka mama dies, A will finally take the trip of A's life... doon pa lang niya hahanapin totoong mama niya.

Very interesting ng character sketch ng roots ni A. As in. Baka tagapamana pa ng azucarera levels. LOL. Kidding aside, here's a letter to the inner child and the abandoned adults. Gusto ko lang may context kasi late mother's day nga pala. LELS. Dear Abandoned Inner Child of An Adult,

I feel the gaps you bear because of the blanks in your life that can't be filled. I know that no amount of validation and status will make your eyes smile. The snapshots I take of you are completely incomplete and that is magic drowned in the tragic state of your true self. You may argue about the existence of that "true self". I won't contest, but hear me out.

I don't know your pains amidst all gains, all wins, all milestones. I can't imagine how you power through the chasm that's so real and unreal, at the same time. I can't fathom how you are taking care of the inner child that may be unwanted, but hey. You are not unloved forever. You've gone a long way and while you don't know your origin story, your story is unique and yours alone. Being alone may mean being lonely to you. True. But, that loneliness made you super independent and resilient. While at it, you care for people even when it's inconvenient. While it made you overthink ng malala, it also allowed you to feel more, do more, and live more. You may be dying deep inside, but, you're fighting a good fight. Tiwala lungs. I know you feel that your status and your whole personhood are but a scam. True. But, that feeling of invalidation made your strides longer, faster, and richer, too. By richer, I don't care about your golden state. By richer, I mean, you have that gift of going above and way beyond all the games you play. You're always ready to gift the world with all that you and all that you're not. Never apologize for being too much. Not a lot of people know how it feels to have much but feel so little, and almost non-existent.

You say that you're truly a "no maintenance" lifeform yearning for love, that simply stays. Never mind if it's but a fallacy. I say, LUH. ULOL. I hope you go for a love that puts acceptance at the core. The kind of love that won't make you question things that are but life's shitty curveballs. The kind of love that you deserve after a long day and longer night. The kind of love that won't doubt your capabilities and your limits, too. The kind of love that would embrace every inch of your jagged, vulnerable edges inside out. The kind of love in its purest form. That kind of love? It begins with you, and only you. The other love forms can only do so much, and so little, too. Reality. It bites hard, dear. Now, drink it and down it like the bitterest cup of piping hot coffee you chug non-stop.

You're on track in the same manner that you're a forever work in progress... like the rest of the universe. So, you're not alone, dear. You're never alone, because, we all are. Truly. Don't be afraid of dying alone, because we all die, anyway. Morbid, I know, but, you only receive the love you think you deserve. So, let's start from there.

Let's take baby steps toward the path that you didn't choose, but were given. It's okay to take steps or leaps back, too. 'Wag mong daanin sa paspasin like you do with the rest of your to-do list 'to. Nakamamatay 'yan ng kaibuturan lalo when no one is watching, and the spotlights on you are turned off. I am but a curious critter who hopes to take a snapshot of you with your eyes smiling... someday. Maybe sooner? Maybe later? Basta 'wag lang akong ma-bore. Lels.

Tara, g?

[shirtshawaiian]

Ah thank you!! Now that ive been invited to talk about it excuse me while i dont shut up.

my first lets play i tried i played a barbarian elf named Mara 😌😌 they were meant to be a tough, high moral, straight edged character- (a soldier which was fun when i met Karlach). but i got a little too silly playing her for my first time and i messed up alot of things around act 2 as well as missed a bunch of shite 😭

Before act 3 could begin I decided to restart and now im playing beloved Durge but i redesigned them as a tiefling druid just cus i liked the idea of Durge being able to shapeshift into Beasts. Shes a little more sassy and very much a dumbass b u t is trying to resist the urge, and i named her Ayda <3 currently running around lost in the shadow lands wish me luck o7 (oh and shes romancing Astarion cus I'm. Predictable)

UNDERSTANDABLE i love that pale elf too. he can be quite silly

i missed soo so so much stuff my first playthrough because i got fixated on gale's plotline (i figured i'd worry about taking care of the other companions in later playthroughs)

the resist durge x astarion story ❤️ very nice indeed i ALSO love the idea of a druid durge killing people as just a little critter. like pre-everything

[jackie-talks-about-starkid]

ANI: A Parody (Rewatch #8, 10/27/2020)

YouTube publish date: October 31, 2014

Number of views on date of rewatch: 990,767

Original Performance Run: July 3 - August 10, 2014 at Stage 773, Chicago (part of their Summer Season program)

Ticket price: options available for Ani, The Trail to Oregon, or both shows      Individual: $35      Both shows/Season Pass: $65

Director: Matt Lang

Music and Lyrics: TalkFine

Book: Matt and Nick Lang

Cast album price and availability: $7.92 on iTunes      Release date: October 31, 2014

Parody or original: parody of Star Wars, heavily influenced by the prequels with references to the Dark Horse Star Wars comics and formerly-canon Star Wars novels

Main cast and characters

Ani - Chris Allen

Tarkin - Joseph Walker

Mara - Denise Donovan

J.J. - Brian Holden

Emily - Julia Albain

Sebulba - Eric Kahn Gale

Bob/Veers - Joe Moses

Oola - Meredith Stepien

Pappy/Obi-Wan - Nick Lang

Band and Vocals

Keyboard 1, Vocals - Clark Baxtresser

Keyboard 2, Vocals - Pierce Siebers

Keyboard 3, Back. Vocals - Max Evrard

Guitar - Corey Richardson

Bass - Mason Cormie

Drums - Nick Kabat

Percussion, Back. Vocals - Meredith Stepien

Musical Numbers:

*all vocals provided by the band

     Act I

“Ani”

“Long Ago and Far Away” 

“Strike Back” 

“With My Own Eyes” 

     Act II

“The Force (You Got It)” 

“Haunted by the Kiss” 

“One in a Million” 

“Back on Top” 

Notable Notes:

Performed two years after the acquisition of Star Wars by the Walt Disney Company, and before the subsequent Star Wars sequel films, as well as Disney’s decision to make any non-movie material produced before their acquisition (ex. Novels and comics) non-canon

Not a fun fact, but I highly recommend watching this short video essay by Silvana Ltd. discussing whether or not Ani can be considered a musical (x)

According to Nick Lang, the numbers were performed primarily by the band and are interspersed with dialogue because he wanted Ani to “feel like a Rocky movie” and give the feeling that the band was “like a Greek chorus” (x)

Cultural Context: 2014

Ellen DeGeneres take arguably the most popular selfie in existence at the 2014 Oscars

Disney’s Frozen is released in theaters

The series finale for How I Met Your Mother airs

Scotland decides to stay in the UK

Robin Williams passed away August 11, 2014

Content Analysis:

ANI: A Parody is StarKid’s least popular musical because of two reasons: the niche subject matter and the fact that people cannot decide whether or not Ani is actually considered to be a musical. This is a matter of personal opinion depending on the audience member watching it, but from a theatrical standpoint, Ani heavily leans more toward being a musical than not being a musical, despite the fact that the characters in the show do not actually sing the songs. Rather, the songs are sung for them by the band and the characters perform them through dancing or act through the songs by interspersing sung lyrics with dialogue and action. The definition of musicals and musical theatre is very loose. Musical theatre has technically existed for as long as song - even in ancient times, songs for ritual purposes were performed in a distinctively theatrical way, such as being performed with costumes and makeup and telling a story solely through song. In more recent history, vaudeville can be considered by most theatrical scholars as being a form of musical theatre because it uses song as the main source of entertainment for an audience in a very specific setting of a theatre, regardless of whether or not it physically takes place in a theatre with what we consider to be traditional architecture such as a raised stage and a strong distinction between an audience seating area and a performance area. However, many people use the terms ‘musical’ and ‘musical theatre’ interchangeably, thinking that they are one and the same when the working reality of the fact is that the two are different. Sort of like how every square is a rectangle but not every rectangle is a square, every musical is musical theatre but not every work of musical theatre is a musical. 

Now that I have that out of the way, let’s discuss the origins of what the modern-day idea of a musical is: a story that is told and advanced through song. This is often referred to as a “book musical” in that a plot, or “book”, is being performed for an audience while songs are a separate element of the performance that are used to continue the story. This is also referred to as an “integration musical” in that songs are integrated into the action of the story to make a complete performance. The idea of a book musical is a relatively new one when looking at musicals in relation to all of theatre history. Whereas theatre has existed as long as historical documentation has existed, and most likely before than, the book musical or the modern-day musical is often attributed to becoming a solidified Thing™ in 1943 with Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma! In Oklahoma! and every subsequent mainstream musical, a story is presented in which a character or group of characters go through various experiences and eventually reach some kind of entertaining conclusion while using song, and often dance, to continue the action of the plot. That is a very simple way of defining modern-day musicals but is a definition of a musical nonetheless, which is why I consider Ani to not only be a musical, but an experimental one at that.

As stated, the characters of Ani do not sing the songs at all. The only time they interact with the songs being performed by the band are when the character or characters dance to the song or have their actions narrated by the song being sung. However, even though the characters do not actually sing the songs themselves, the songs that they interact with, which are entirely non-diegetic, are still used to advance the plot or deepen a character’s development, which is the ultimate goal of any musical. So, yes, Ani is a musical but it is a very non-conventional musical that I believe the media will be experiencing more of in the near future. One of the reasons musical were so commercially popular in the Golden Age, and even today with Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen, is because the musical recording for the productions were made available for the public to purchase and listen to on their own time when they could not afford to go see a physical musical production of Broadway or go see a musical film in a movie theater. The beauty of Ani as a modern-day musical and a piece of musical theatre in general is that, unlike most musicals where only one or two songs can be separated from the plot and reach commercial success outside of the theatre community, is that Ani’s songs advance the plot of the musical perfectly while also being well-written and enjoyable standalone songs. 

Any Star Wars fan who is familiar with the lore of the universe can listen to the recording of ANI: A Parody and enjoy the music to the fullest extent of being a fan through the references and the general energetic composition of the songs alone. Really, despite Ani not being a traditional commercial piece of theatre on Broadway, it is a money-maker’s dream production on top of being just a great, well-rounded production in general. The songs can be taken out of context of the musical and still be enjoyed by anyone with a fan connection to Star Wars, while holding even more meaning for those who enjoy Star Wars and have also seen the production on YouTube (which is yet another reason for encouraging greater access to theatre by using the internet and  other multimedia platforms that lessen the need for large ticket and travel expenses). Similarly to the popularity of non-musical movies and their successful chart-topping soundtrack counterparts à la Dirty Dancing and Guardians of the Galaxy, musicals with the Ani format have a great future for both commercial and fandom success in the theatre community and the media industry at large. ANI: A Parody is a musical in the traditional sense and a piece of musical theatre that could potentially hold the key to theatrical accessibility worldwide due to its creative and inventive format.

[megs-98]

BG3 Romance Picrew Game

Rules: Show me your Tav/Durge and their BG3 romance, then give me their song. Tag some friends to share too!

thank you @coreene for the tag!! <3

Gale and Mara

made using this picrew

their song:

god they make me SICK i love them so much

tagging (no pressure, just for fun!) @jeneralmischief @dr-demi-bee @lotsofthinkythoughts @tripleyeeet @bloodlessbhaalbabe

[dazzys-oc-corner]

Character/OC Guide

This here is a list of all if not most of my OC’s! Feel free to ask me almost anything about them :D

A - Dragons of Lockra (Dragon Universe)

B - The Foroverse (Demons and other beings)

C - Warrior Cats

D - Dungeon & Dragons

E - Wings of Fire

F - Guilds of Rainbow Hill (Pokémon Mystery Dungeon)

◇ - Other / Miscellaneous

Characters

Dragons of Lockra:

A1: Vibrancy (previously named Veneasha) (x)

A2: Valorous (previously named Valor) (x)

A3: Vitality (previously named Vara) (x)

A4: Rhodonite (previously named Ruby) (x)

A5: Vaunt (previously names Vroih) (x)

A6: Jiernaq (x)

A7: Swift (previously named Swijore) (x)

A8: Gamehna (x)

A9: Saline (previously named Zarshaul) (x)

A10: Aurora (x)

A11: Kelp (x)

A12: Emerald (previously named Fala) (x)

A13: Rosethorn (x)

A14: Briar (x)

A15: Mound (previously named Grala) (x)

A16: Obsidian (x)

A17: Blink (previously named Hectra) (x)

A18: Victory (previously named Glory) (x)

A19: Permafrost

A20: Snowdrop

A21: Crystaline

A22: Flint

A23: Tekeli

A24: Flicker / Yewsha

A25: Sunbeam

A26: Crystal

A27: Skyfire

A28: Striker

A29: Brine

A30: Screech

A31: Angelfin

A32: Fogbank

A33: Oyster

A34: Foren

A35: Ringleader

A36: Storm

A37: Montipora

A38: Azurine

A39: Cyclone

A40: Grasshopper

————————————————

Foroverse:

B1: Dusk Aborough (x)

B2: Static Kaiga

B3: Zakai Quip

B4: Vemunt / Daru Grambar

B5: Akalie Ahenoruvia

B6: Darren Otiragvurae

B7: Royal Blue

B8: Goldenrod Yellow

B9: Zaffre Indigo (Previously named Navy Indigo)

B10: Sora Fuari

B11: Jaia

B12: Lyrica Giantivar

B13: Lucy Ordell

B14: Garula Fuanodraki

B15: Mara Yenumma

B16: Naza Cazari

B17: Karmu Morounaca

B18: Torja Shura Pyra

B19: Nakila Cazari

B20: Viza Cazari

B21: Cricket

B22: Cobalt Indigo

B23: Slate Indigo

B24: Jessia

B25: Xynaxi

B26: Starkiller

B27: Kai Soulagoa

B28: Oruiji

B29: Zarma Ahebami

B30: Adrian Crow

B31: Caleb Fuanofru

B32: Ringleader

B33: Fleck

B34: Shimmer

B35: Turquoise Blue

B36: Fraara

B37: Galen Moroutornaki

B38: Starflare

B39: Forest Ganwousik

B40: EXDIUS

B41: Darius Blake

B42: Jared Trent

B43: Magenta "Rose" Porter

B44: Ridel Pyra

B45: Dakanza Shura

B46: Lau Harr

B47: Mani Harr

B48: Jekla Teki

B49: Dallmy Teki

B50: Jalm Teki

B51: Varka Tsara

B52 Paru-Pa Tsara

B53: Tiyani Veka

B54: Kayna Veka

B55: Soulavangar

B56: Unnamed Human Girl

B57: Unnamed Beast/Warrior Guy

B58: Unnamed Warrior/Ice Girl

————————————————-

Warrior Cats:

C1: Owlflight

C2: Gingerstep

C3: Frosteye

C4: Pinepaw

C5: Quailpaw

C6: Pebblewing

C7: Snowtuft

C8: Ebonyfoot

C9: Featherfall

C10: Alderwhisker (x)

C11: Mudpelt

C12: Rainstar

C13: Stormclaw

C14: Sunflowerspeckle

C15: Ridgetail/star

C16: Milletswirl

C17: Dappledflame

————————————————-

Dungeons & Dragons:

D1: Arri

D2: Rainer

D3: Blazing Sun / Blaze

D4: Ryan

D5: The Bronze Jester

D6: Venture

D7: Sootstone

D8: Blister

D9: Atticus Ataman

————————————————-

Wings of Fire:

E1: Vulture / Plummet

E2: Fissure

E3: Maelstrom / Irida

E4: Goldstone

E5: Snow Leopard

E6: Prickly Pear / Prickle

E7: Spearmint

E8: Rosethorn

E9: Cirrus (Sky/Ice hybrid oc, not canon)

E10: Stellar Jay

E11: Cometdrop / Comet

E12: Magma

E13: Sungaze

E14: Snapdragon

E15: Sail

E16: Fireswipe

E17: Andromeda

E18: Mantidfly

E19: Goldenray

E20: Citrus

E21: Cliffhanger / "Silversight"

E22: Pitch

E23: Temporal

E24: Nowhere

E25: Golden Ash

E26: Desiderium

E27: Cepheus / "The King"

E28: Jasper

E29: Grove / "Vile"

E30: Duskcrawler / "Noire"

E31: Lahar

E32: Asperitas

E33: Pyroclast

E34: Drift

E35: Summit

E36: Gale

E37: Rise

E38: Asp

E39: Thoughtfinder

E40: Sanddollar

E41: Stormbringer

E42: Seashore

E43: Panther

E44: Thunderbolt / "Bolt"

E45: Rutabaga

E46: Fractal

E47: Fractaline

E48: Sol

————————————————-

Guilds of Rainbow Hill:

F1: Kabu

F2: Willow

F3: Splotch

F4: Mama Apple

F5: Grove

F6: Ribbon

F7: Palm

F8: Duncan

F9: Puff

F10: Ruby

F11: V

F12: Tenzin

F13: Trident

F14: Cotton

F15: Ridge

F16: Keen Eye

F17: Cole

————————————————-

Other:

◇1: Greer

◇2: Barnaby

◇3: Okwaho

◇4: Aspect Sprites

◇4a: Nightmare

◇4b: Sleep

◇4c: Logic

◇4d: Doubt

◇4e: Motivation

◇4f: Idea

◇4g: Unmotivation

◇4h: Dream

◇4i: Soft

◇4j: Edge

◇4k: Energy

◇5: Chichi

◇6: Helia

◇7: Something More Crew

◇7a: Benny

◇7b: Rory

◇7c: Victoria

◇7d: Tony

◇8: Anima Heroes

◇8a: Ratalar

◇8b: Bunnabit

◇8c: Yinnin-Yannin

◇8d: Sunsin

◇8e: 2 Scrapped Characters

◇8f: 4 Villains

◇9: Chugs

◇10: 45 Designed "Fakemon" Dubbed "Kismets"

[lizartgurl]

The Little Atlantean (Aqualad x OC

(part one) (part two) PART THREE

@princes-jasmine @the-shadow-of-atlantis @super-spoiler @dykeclone @thespacebuns @flamebiirds @snaibzel

Emma danced arm in arm with Richard, who had finally found his sea legs once the party began. She was tossed from sibling to sibling, spinning Duke under her arm and tossing Cassandra up in the air- once to spin, and twice so Cass could swing herself up onto the mast, where, once she found her balance, did a hearty jig.

“Show off,” Stephanie grinned as she bowed to Jason and the song finished.

Richard took Cassandra as his partner for the next dance. Duke took Stephanie, Tim with Mara, and Jason took Annabella, leaving Emma with Roy, the first mate, and something like her only friend outside of her siblings.

At complete ease with the casual and less-than-noble sailors of the family’s royal yacht, the royal children felt more themselves than they had in years, than they had since their kind father had died.

King Bruce had loved sailing trips, especially toting along the whole family to visit foreign lands and old allies. They traveled by sea wherever possible, like travelling with an old friend. Obviously, all his children, adopted or by blood, had inherited his love of the saltwater.

Talia smiled as she watched her children. The twins, young as they were, were allowed to stay for cake, but had been sent to bed before the rest of the festivities. She stood on the sidelines with Captain Pennyworth, the oldest and most trusted companion of both herself and the late king. She watched it all with a relaxed grace as she clapped along to the sailor’s pipes, trumpets, and makeshift drums on barrels full of various amounts of salted fish.

After this sea shanty, Talia raised her arms,and the sailor’s instruments fell silent, followed shortly by the Princesses and Princes.

“Crown Princess Emma,” Talia said, a hint of her courtly voice rising in the back of her throat. Emma shot her a pleading look, and Talia all but sighed.

“There is one more gift that must be presented tonight. It was commissioned by your father before his death.”

“King Bruce, may he rest in peace,” the sailors chanted respectfully. A brief moment of silence swept over the ship with the breeze, and Annabella squeezed Emma’s hand.

Talia approached her children, arms spread to offer a hug, “As you all know, Your father’s statue stood in the center of the capital of Gotham since his coronation, as did his father’s, and his father’s before him.

Emma and her siblings nodded.

“Princess Emma,” Talia nodded to the sailors, who cleared aside their musical setup to reveal a large object, covered by a tarp.

“I want one,” Jason grinned mischievously.

“You don’t even know what it is!” Mara elbowed him.

“She just said it’s a statue, genius,” He hissed.

“Oh, right.” She said sheepishly.

Emma gripped a corner of the tarp, and with the help of her siblings, yanked it off to reveal her elegant and gleaming marble statue.

“Wow,” Annabella gasped enviously. Richard gave a low whistle, impressed.

"It's...shiny?" Duke said slowly. Jason and Stephanie held back gales of laughter.

“It...it’s beautiful.” Emma mumbled, suddenly intimately aware of everyone’s eyes on her, comparing her to the statue of the goddess-like woman. Her features were stern and cold, like the rock it was carved from. She held a book in one hand, and a sword in the other. She already felt completely overwhelmed.

Kaldur reached the ship, heart racing. His cheeks were already beginning to hurt from how much he was smiling.

“Your highness!” Garth hissed, not wanting to warn the humans, but unable to bring himself to scramble up the side of the ship as Kaldur was deftly doing, in order to get closer to the sources of light on the ship above.

He hardly knew what to take in first. There were dozens of humans, some dressed identically, while a few of the smaller humans were dressed more elegantly with flowing sleeves and skirts about their legs. The smaller humans danced about with incredible agility and smiles to match his own, following the music produced by the larger humans, each wearing blue stripes with a red scarf tied around his neck.

A familiar squawk sounded above the din of the jaunty music, and a few greasy feathers fell in front of Kaldur’s nose. He barely brushed them off before he sneezed.

“How ya doin kid?” Vulko screeched, landing next to Kaldur on the side of the ship.

Kaldur clamped his hand over Vulko’s yapping beak as one of the dancing humans looked up, glaring around as one of her dancing companions crashed into her.

“Bella? You okay?” Stephanie rubbed her nose, looking around with her sister.

Annabella glared at the opening in the side of the ship's railing, used for cannons inb times of war. “I thought I heard someone...talking.”

“Over this din? Really?” Duke asked.

He was right, and Annabella shook it off, but not before noticing that Emma was now standing on the side, too relaxed to be catching her breath.

When he was certain that the coast was clear, Kaldur peered back through the opening.

“I’ve never seen humans this close before.” He whispered to Vulko, hoping the crazy bird would get the message.

At that point, a medium-sized female human began to approach the side of the ship where they were hiding. Kaldur slunk back into the shadows to avoid being seen, but it was quickly apparent that this human was too lost in her own woes to notice the merman clinging to the side of the ship.

She leaned over the railing, staring off into the distance. The bright blue dress she wore matched her intelligent eyes, Kaldur could tell that even in the shadows created by the ship’s lanterns, and a thin silver diadem not unlike the ones he and Tula were required to wear at most official court functions wrapped around her forehead.

She sighed long and loud, and Kaldur immediately felt sorry for her.

“Emma,” A tall human woman, in an elegant green dress that resembled more of a robe, approached her. She wore a simple but elegant golden crown, and her shoulders seemed to bear the same weight as her younger human counterpart.

The first human- “Emma” -threw herself in the older woman’s arms the way Kaldur used to do with his mother, back before all the tragedies that took his father, his uncle, and placed Sha’lain’a on the throne until her niece could assume that duty.

“I take it you are not enjoying the festivities that much?”

“It’s wonderful, Talia, but how can I do it all? I know Bruce had faith in me, I know you and practically everyone I talk to about this has faith in me, but, but...it’s all so much.”

Talia grimaced at herself for even thinking this when Emma was in such distress.

“You know, Bruce always said that being King became ten times easier after we were married.”

Emma grinned wryly up at her mother, and her expression softened as she looked over at her siblings.

“Trust me, Talia, when I find the right partner, it’ll hit me like lightning!”

Her declaration echoed dangerously over the ship, as lightning flashed in the distance.

Roy scuttled up the mast in a second.

“Hurricane!” Came the warning from the crow’s nest a moment later. In that moment, the wind began to pick up. Jason wrapped his arms around Cass and Bella, as if the wind would lift them up by their skirts and carry them away.

“Woah!” Vulko’s grip slipped as Kaldur hung to the ship’s rigging for dear life. He couldn’t see La’gaan and Garth anymore, and a sudden fear ripped through him that he’d lead them all to their deaths. Surface-related, yes, but humans would take the brunt of the blame, should his mother find out.

“Vulko!” The winds carried away his voice, along with the seagull, who seemed worried about Kaldur, but otherwise content to let the winds carry him wherever.

“Batten the hatches, men!” Captain Pennyworth struggled to hold onto his hat. “Get the Royal Family below decks!”

Roy stumbled in an effort to get to the unattended steering wheel. Emma almost flew past him, turning as sharply as she dared to start them away from the storm.

But it was too late, the storm was already upon the unsuspecting revelers, and a fresh lightning bolt split the mast into two jagged halves.

“Abandon ship!” Roy declared. Half the sailors began to loosen the longboats while others attempted to stifle the fire for even a moment.

“Damian! Athanasia!” Talia screamed in a panic, realizing that her two babies were trapped beneath the deck, and the fire was growing closer to the stairway.

Without thinking, a plan came to Emma as she skid across the deck, soaked from the downpour. She gripped Bella and Jason’s shoulders to get their attention.

“Get Talia and everyone else off the ship, I’m getting the twins.”

“Emma, wait!” the hem of Emma’s skirt slipped through Annabella’s fingers as her big sister leaped over the flames, rolling down the stairs, steadily filling with smoke. The royal quarters were easy enough to find, and had she not known the ship like the back of her hand, the cries of her baby brother and sister were enough to lead her through the violent pitching.

“Hang on, Dami,” Emma whispered, placing the older brother on her back and holding Athanasia to her chest. She tore three strips of fabric from her skirt, wrapping it over their mouths to help the three of them breathe as she navigated back up to the deck through the smoke, now a billowing cloud of darkness that stung her eyes and seared her tiara.

She could barely see as she stumbled back onto the deck. The screams had mostly stopped by then, but the tears were still flowing.

“Emma!” Talia screamed, guiding Emma to the railing.

“I’m going to jump!” She warned the three boats below. Damian whimpered as the flames licked at her back, and that was enough for Emma to ignore Talia’s protest and pitch herself over the side of the ship and into the roiling waters, clinging to her baby brother and sister.

“Emma!” Richard was half-scolding as his boat reached her. He gripped the fabric of her sleeve as Cassandra and Stephanie took the babies.

Richard’s grip relaxed as he thought maybe perhaps they’d all make it through this alive. Emma only had time to flash a weekly heroic smile before another wave washed her underwater.

[its-just-like-the-movies]

The Letter (1940, A)

There is something wonderful about how the best Old Hollywood, big studio melodramas so deliciously inhabit a space between the visual beauty of their wealthy protagonists (and producers), the bigness of their emotions, and the sincerity of their realization. It’s almost funny watching Dark Victory, which fervently tugs on the heartstrings through its magnificent score, every element working in tandem to make you feel sympathetic for a dying Bette Davis. And yet, in spite of how overtly the whole thing is working to get to you, in spite of how much you can see the wires, it still works. Then again, being able to see the way these pictures are constructed isn’t because they’re poorly made, the methods of filmmaking are just more resplendently obvious than a comparable picture might be today. Then again, would a modern version of The Letter be able to be as compelling, given today’s filmmaking practices? There’s no tinkling score or over-reliance on actors to shape the material, no juggling between close-ups to film a scene, no affectation around the wealth of its protagonists, no cleaning up of the politics around it. Would it feel the need to do that, even if it set in a pre-WWII rubber farm in Singapore? What would a contemporary setting even be for this project?

But why fret about the movies of the never when we can gush about the movies of the almost eighty years ago, and how well they hold up? Even if some of why The Letter’s combined elements are so noticeable is because of the era in filmmaking it resides in, as much of it is because the film is so virtuosically assembled that you cannot help but notice the quality of the whole and how wonderfully constructed each of the parts are. Yes, there is the Hays Code ending that is so obviously tacked on, and how an oddly cast, imperiously framed Gale Sondergaard somehow turns in a bad performance despite never saying a word in English. But these are two minor perforations in an impressive vehicle, stuffed to the brim with peak contributions from almost literally everyone involved. Rare is the film with seven Academy Award nominations that I can happily stand by every single one of them, and in fact wonder where its Costume Design and Adapted Screenplay nominations, perhaps even Production Design. Even rarer is for a women’s picture of any kind to get that kind of recognition this day in age. Bette Davis is the sole, unabashed lead of this Best Picture nominee, and it’s practically impossible to attach that kind of Oscar heat to any recent Best Actress nominee that doesn’t have an accompanying Best Actor nominee waiting in the wings. Technical juggernaut Gravity is the only exception to the rule in this decade, throw in The Hours, Chicago, and Moulin Rouge! and we’ve got the millennium covered. It’s dispiriting to realize how many Best Actress nominees are the sole representatives of their films, and even more dispiriting to wonder if the same fate would’ve befallen The Letter. So let’s rejoice again that it was made in an era where women’s pictures were known as a valuable commodity at the box office and to those all-valuable awards bodies, and let me get down to actually talking about it.

You could hardly ask for a more galvanizing opening to The Letter, as the tranquil roll of the credits over workers luxuriating in their barracks in the moonlight is broken by the sound of a gunshot. Out bursts an unknown, wounded man who becomes even more doomed once we see that the person shooting him is Bette Davis. The steeliness of her posture, the rigidity of her arm, the hardness of her expression, everything about the way Leslie Crosbie kills the man she says tried to rape her is the only thing that feels like it contradicts her later recounting that she doesn’t remember killing Geoff Hammond. Her presence, her rage, is simply too potent to match her description - no, her recreation - of a frightened woman desperately fighting for her life. Not that Leslie’s retelling of the killing to her husband Robert and her lawyer Howard Joyce isn’t completely convincing. In fact, what sets off Joyce’s antennae is how perfectly she tells this story of fighting for her honor against a drunk acquaintance, how composed she is until she suddenly isn’t, how there’s something that’s just off about her otherwise spot-on description of events. These suspicions are given even greater weight once he learns from his assistant about the existence of a letter from Leslie, suggesting a relationship with Hammond and asking for a meeting the night he died, albeit threateningly. An explanation that Leslie wanted to corroborate on buying her husband a birthday gun doesn’t quite stick, but she tells it like a woman trying to save her life and get back to her husband, not a scheming murderess furious she isn’t being believed, though her rage is still palpable. 

And yet, because the letter is not public knowledge, the idea of Leslie being in any legal trouble is a joke to the wealthy whites of Singapore. Yes, she did kill a man, but because he died how he died, it’s not as though anyone thinks Leslie committed a crime. She defended herself from a drunk attacker, already ostracized for marrying a Eurasian local. Mrs. Hammond, who does not get get a first name, is the woman in possession on the titular, scandalous letter, and most of the film is devoted to Leslie and Mr. Joyce trying to get it from her, fulfilling her requests and meeting her in the ethnic part of Singapore to make the trade. The actual trade-off is perhaps the film’s second-weakest sequence, though one wonders how much this could’ve been elevated even a little had Gale Sondergaard decided to pick an expression other than Imperious Anger. Eyes lit by moonlight through window shades, the sheer electricity of her anger feels oddly one-note, though Mrs. Hammond being scripted only in unsubtitled Chinese denies us any way of understanding why she would give Leslie the only evidence that could possibly bring her husband’s killer to justice. It’s still as tense as any other scene in the film, though it’s just too obvious that Wyler doesn’t know what to do with Mrs. Hammond aside from framing her as a narrative obstacle, not a human person. As it stands, the central conflict of The Letter is not about the trial or the letter so much as it is the accruing of tensions around its main characters as these events come hurtling towards them. What is the state of Joyce’s ethics, his soul, as he commits himself to taking this letter away from the eyes of the prosecution and the hands of a widow to save his friends? What shall become of doting Robert once he finds out the letter exists, and what has been done to acquire it? What’s to make of Leslie’s soul as it is, and who is she really? A long-standing lover or a rattled wife, both perhaps responding a little too insouciantly after killing a man on front steps of her bungalow.

Still, say this for Wyler, Mrs. Hammond is by far the exception to the rule of quality in The Letter. All three of its tech Oscars are richly deserved; Georgy Amy and Warren Low make this is a fleetly edited yarn that knows when best to deploy a close-up, a two-shot, to jump to an insert of an important item. Max Steiner’s score is roiling, emotive, and malleable enough to fit into any emotion Bette Davis is telegraphing for us, even if her face isn’t quite saying it. And Tony Gaudio’s cinematography is a tremendous, nimble asset to The Letter, doing great work with moonlight coming in through window screens, with the blocking of actors, with finding the right angles to get a pang of unrest at an empty porch, a bedside confession, a shadow traveling on the lawn. . Much like the first hour of Malcolm X, Gaudio’s cinematography in the film’s lowest moments - the tradeoff with Mrs. Hammond and the tacked-on finale - creates a feast for the eyes and an interesting mood that almost takes away from how disinterested the director is in these moments. To hop off Oscar’s bandwagon for a quick moment, let’s not deny ourselves how scrumptious each and every one of Leslie’s outfits are, how well Joyce’s and Robert’s suits fit their bodies, how intimidatingly styled Mrs. Hammond is.

But let's not bury the lede here. The Letter lives and dies by how Wyler and Davis navigate the role of Leslie Crosbie, and they do incomparable work filling out this woman without betraying her. The first real genius of Davis’ performance is that Leslie’s responses to new information are in the basis on emotion and intellect without flaunting if these reactions are coming from an innocent or guilty mind. The questions of Leslie Crosbie’s innocence or guilt, steel and vulnerability, who she does and doesn’t believe in, is handled with remarkable subtlety and depth by Wyler and Bette Davis. The genius of her performance specifically is that she does not sell out Leslie, navigating her emotional and intellectual arcs without playing innocent or guilty outright. This isn’t John Carroll Lynch’s squirrelly prevarication in Zodiac, actively playing the perceptions of the audience or her fellow characters, but nor is this Rooney Mara’s shell-shocked, impenetrable innocence in the first half of Side Effects. Davis’ choices are compelling in the moment and hold up once every truth has been laid bare, every letter read and confession given. It is the way that Davis responds to new pieces of evidence, to questions, to statements of affirmation from friends, from her husband, from Joyce, emotionally and intellectually, in how she moves her eyes and cocks her head. Even if we doubt the honesty of what Leslie is saying, we never doubt the emotional Davis is an actress who knows how to use her entire body in a performance, not just those electric eyes but her posture and her physicality - the different ways she grabs her husband, her posture as she shoots Geoff Hammond, her unease with Mrs. Hammond - and that theatricality, on top of the bigness of her emotions and the subtlety of her playing, fits perfectly with The Letter’s tone, Wyler’s ambitions, and Leslie’s truths.

 James Stephenson as Howard Joyce gives the film’s other great performance, and in contrast to Davis his greatness is based in stillness, the variants and degradations of commonalities in a decent, hardworking man. Joyce’s willingness to go along with obtaining the letter goes against everything Joyce believes in, yet he cannot seem to understand why he’s putting his career in jeopardy, even if he is friends with the Crosbies. Stephenson finds the tremors in Joyce’s faux-cool exterior, seemingly taking the whole thing in stride as becomes increasingly fraught by his own actions. His closing statement to the jury of Leslie’s trial, the outcome so assured the prosecution doesn’t even bother to present their own finisher, betrays so many emotional conflicts while still functioning perfectly as an impassioned statement on behalf of his client. Herbert Marshall is very much the third wheel narratively and in terms of performance, though his turn is still poignantly sympathetic to this basically decent man being kept from the truth about his wife until he stumbles into it.

Robert’s stumbling happens almost immediately after the trial concludes, where a getaway plan is dashed once he learns about the letter, and what was done to acquire it. The truth about the night Geoff Hammond died, what prompted him to arrive and what he did to make Leslie shoot her, is finally revealed by Leslie herself. The final half hour is essentially a series of reckonings between Leslie and her husband as the two realize what their marriage can and cannot withstand, culminating in the film’s saddest confession as Leslie howls in the face of a failed reconciliation that she is still in love with the man she killed. It’s here that the tacked-on ending of the Hays Code takes hold, as an eye is exchanged for an eye on Leslie’s front lawn. A getaway stroll is immediately foiled by a police officer the killer stumbles into, an arrest seemingly made through a series of silent glances. It’s palpably odd, unlike a similar tacked-on comeuppance in The Bad Seed, where its ethics-code assigned bit of karmic justice fits the film’s cray-cray style. I suppose The Letter chooses the proper minor character to dole out vengeance, but the sudden resolution of the killing feels bizarrely enacted. As mentioned early, the sheer beauty of certain moments in the sequence feels as though Wyler is trying to find something to be interested in, and its truncated presentation suggests he’s trying to get through it as quickly as possible. The sheer distance Wyler stages us from the killing is odd considering how close we are to Leslie’s killing of Hammond at the beginning, how he does nothing to skimp on the violence of the moment and the responses it creates in Leslie, in the panicked workers. Yes, this killing is done in almost complete isolation, but even the audience is isolated from it, and the poignancy of the moment suffers for it.

If I’ve had a difficult time balancing between what’s inevitable about The Letter and keeping some of the mysteries intact, forgive me, but it’s hard to call the narrative trajectory the film’s most compelling feature. It’s a character study with the trappings of a film noir. The Letter is a deep plumbing of Leslie Crosbie by Wyler and Davis, and they do so with astonishing success and syncopation. There’s no distance between Leslie and Bette, even if the performance is so remarkably realized you can’t help but notice how good she is in the role. The diminished returns of the final minute is nothing compared to the preceding 93 minutes, and I’m amazed that in all my ramblings I’ve barely devoted a paragraph to Wyler’s direction. To be fair, Wyler credited himself totally with the success of The Letter once it was realized, though the fact that the man is perfectly willing to speak for himself is no excuse not to give my own praise. Wyler makes the film sing, coordinating perfectly not just with Davis but with Stephenson, with Steiner, with Gaudio, with Amy and Law. His is the hand that guides the whole thing to triumph, and he’s as worth crediting as Bette Davis is for making The Letter such a vivid, singular experience. Even if the trial is seen as a joke by many of the characters, Wyler’s investment in the trial is enough that the incriminating letter has real weight on him and on Leslie. The stakes of the whole thing, and how those stakes are different for Leslie and for Joyce, is never lost on him.

 Have I said enough to convince you to go and watch The Letter? Frankly, I’ve run out of nice things to say about the film. Taking into account the two quibbles I’ve made about Mrs. Hammond and the odd ending, it’s not enough to matter compared to the virtuosity that the rest of the film exerts. There’s no moment when the picture isn’t completely compelling, and if the sputtering disorganization of this paper indicates anything, it’s that my enthusiasm for the film far outweighs my interest in giving an organized testimony about it. You could never get a corker this finely tuned and psychologically rich made this day in age, let alone one starring a platinum-class actress operating in perfect sync with an equally invaluable director. The Letter has a gargantuan amount to offer, from the fascination of the central mystery to how marvelously it’s realized on every level. You could barely ask for a better version of the film, certainly not one with the Hays Code in play. I’d encourage anyone with an interest in top-tier actressing, sordid 40’s mysteries, stylized lighting, spiritual crises, all guided by a genius director, to rent this film as soon as you possibly can. Hell, buy it. Every choice in The Letter is carried out with finesse, fulfilling its duty to the moment and to the ultimate finale. At 95 minutes it’s built like a steel watch, endlessly rewatchable and sturdy enough to withstand multiple viewings. So go, my pretties. Find The Letter. Give it the attention that it deserves. Anything that has the hutzpah to open with a woman killing a man at the dead of night knows exactly what it’s doing from the start, and believe me, anything this confident and charismatic deserves more shots at our love and attention than the six that Geoff Hammond got.

[thetribes]

Personajes

Personajes Principales:

Drew Van Acker ... Yron Taylor 

Marie Avgeropoulos ... Emery Corinthos

Brant Daugherty ... Harvey Shephard

Jessica Parker Kennedy ... Susana Lawson

David Mazouz ... Jake Taylor

Emma Watson ... Kate Henderson 

Luke Mably ... Preston Taylor

Gloria Reuben ... Evelyn Lawson

Bridget Moynahan ... Marie Henderson 

Personajes Regulares 

Tim Phillipps ... Robb Hayes

Robbie Amell ... Trent Grimm

Nicola Peltz ... Andrea Leah Walters

Hector David Jr. ... Lexon Krause

Blake Jenner ... Connor Kyte

Nicole Gale Anderson ... Didi Miller

Dan Curtis Lee ... Strike

Eve Harlow ... Tara Dreyfrus

Molly C. Quinn .... Mara Hopkins

Spencer Boldman ... Bull 

Autumn Reeser ... Secretaria Johanna Boone

Ryan Eggold ... Burt Richards

Personajes Recurrentes:

Amandla Stenberg ... Baylee Hirst 

Madeline Brewer ... Portia Shantel

Burkely Duffield ... Boyd 

Anne Winters ... Liv

A

Andrea Leah Walters

B

Bayle Hirst

Bull

Burt Richards

C

Connor Kyte

D

Didi Miller

E

Emery Corinthos

Evelyn Lawson

F

G

H

Harvey Sheppard

I

J

Jake Taylor

Johanna Boone

K

Kate Henderson

L

Lexon Krause

M

Mara Hopkins

Marie Henderson

N

O

P

Preston Taylor

Q

R

Robb Hayes

S

Strike

Susana Lawson

T

Tara Dreyfus

Trent Grimm

U

V

W

Y

Yron Taylor

X

Z