#i thought about adding another excerpt

[quadrantadvisor]

This post reminded me of the time I got entranced by the idea of in-universe rpf and wrote an "excerpt" of a hypothetical accidental selfcest fanfic.

The Lore tm is that in a universe where Bernard never met Tim, he became a prolific Capes RPF writer as well as conspiracy theorist, and that the popularity of the Bruce Wayne/Batman ship gave him the fun idea of pairing up the Wayne kids with Batclan counterparts, which lined up surprisingly well! Tim, who frequents the Gotham Capes RPF tag for normal reasons (as a kid he wrote a surpisingly popular series of gen fics where his self insert oc got adopted by Batman, he was like 11 don't judge him) sees this fic and finds certain details, such as, y'know, shipping his family members with themselves, highly suspicious. He must investigate this person and find out how much they know.

-

[...]

“What are you doing here, Nightwing?” Officer Grayson sighed. He looked tired, the hero noted. He understood that. A city like this could make a man tired in his soul. “The case is over. There's no reason to see eachother anymore.”

It didn't take long for Nightwing to find a reason. “There's no Batman in Bludhaven,” he said. “I need to take allies where I can get them, and you… I think you're in the same boat.” He remembered the photos of young, pretty Richie Grayson, smiling in the tabloids,  and thought about how the force could beat down someone like that. “I know you want to make Bludhaven a better place. We can keep helping eachother, working together. We need eachother.” That was all true. But none of it was why Nightwing had come to the officer's apartment balcony.

Grayson rubbed a hand over his face. “I don't think you understand how much trouble I could be in. If the other officers found out I was slipping information to a vigilante…” He frowned, the dark circles beneath his eyes even more pronounced with the expression. “They don't trust you.”

“Do you?” Nightwing couldn't help but ask.

Grayson clenched his jaw, and his gaze on Nightwing became piercing. Looking at him, the vigilante knew—he had been beaten down, but not broken. His free spirit compressed into something stronger, harder. There was fire in his eyes. “I don't know,” the officer said, “should I?”

In some ways, the display of dominance was adorable, and Nightwing couldn't help flashing his signature sharp grin. “You can,” he promised. “It's up to you. But I could show you.” He hopped onto the balcony's railing with his inhuman grace, and held out his hand. “If you put your trust in me, I'll make it worth your while.”

The man looked dubious, gaze flicking from Nightwing's shielded eyes to his outstretched hand. “How?”

“You used to be an acrobat, didn't you, officer?” the hero asked.

Grayson looked away. “That was a long time ago.’”

“Well,” said Nightwing, still grinning that wicked grin, teeth flashing in the dim light, “how would you like to really fly?”

The officer's eyes went wide, and for a moment, Nightwing worried he would close the door, shut him out, and it would all be over. Then a determined look swept over him, and he stepped forward, reaching out.

Grayson's hand slipped into his, and Nightwing took the leap.

[...]

End notes:

😭 why did you have to become a cop richie how am i meant to acab like this????

like yes cops are Bastard but like. Richie Grayson was an outlier and should not have been counted. he's perfect your honor. he's never done anything wrong in his whole life. no one tell me otherwise pls

also nightwing is some kind of fae creature but don't worry about that

[hoseoksluna]

— VALENTINE'S DAY WIP ︵ᡣ𐭩 scheme | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x strategy!oc

genre: smut

rating: 18+

about: jungkook thinks you're such a good girl, and for that reason he can't help but to fuck you with his fingers.

warnings: fingering, squirting, praise kink.

word count: 0.671

note: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO MY BABIES. i couldn't NOT spoil you on this special day! this is a smut excerpt of the chapter that is coming out on sunday, and i'm so excited to show this to you and essentially give you this little gift on this day. may love surrounding all your life, not just on this day, and may you know that i love you with all my heart. MWAH. ENJOY READING.

︵ᡣ𐭩

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

And like you tilted your pelvis, you tilt your chin and seize his bottom lip, kissing him with such tenderness that he moans and nearly gives you the entirety of his finger. It takes all of his willpower not to do so, concentrating instead on the sealing of the promise as he allows you to kiss him on your own terms. Soft pecks handled by the turning of heads with interludes in between, tasting each other while the time and the cosmos hold their breaths. How beautiful this is and how delicate, the act of not ripping each other’s clothes off but taking your shared time, standing in the way of the laws of this life. 

“Okay,” you whisper against his lips, and Jungkook grasps that you’ve been gathering courage all this time for a reason he longs to know. “Fuck me, please.” 

He hums in pleasure, pressing a rewarding kiss against your lips that lasts for only a second—interrupted by the force of his pleased grin. The fulfillment he feels grows, merging into a high-leveled gratification that buzzes throughout his whole body. He tries to kiss you again but fails, awkwardness seeping through that makes you daintily giggle. And once he hears his own, an oasis of serenity and sentimentality, perfumed by the sweetest tea of pomegranate leaves, transpires in his chest. 

“Good girl,” he praises, adding another finger, his vocal cords strained by his emotions. “Where do you want me? Tell me where.” 

Your breath hardens, wafting across his features, but you’re not shy, you’re not timid to tell him where you need him: “In my pussy, please.” 

His cheeks ache from his smile, but he can’t stop. He’s fucked, he loves you, and it completely massacres him. “That’s it. You learn so well.” 

Jungkook pulls out his fingers to his first knuckles, dropping his gaze to them just to see how much you coated them. Your essence glistens in the dimmed light and drips down his palm. Wanting you to see as well, he pulls them out entirely and shows you. The droplets plummet to your chest and you bite your lip, blushing, your eyes running all across his hand. Over and over again. 

“You’re so prettily wet,” he rasps, closing his lips over your cheek, and he doesn’t need you to respond to his comment before he plunges them back in and begins to fuck you with such a speed that you scream out, grabbing his forearm and sinking your nails into it. 

That doesn’t stop him either. The need to make you come for being such a good girl after that winter of emotional pain ferally takes control of him and he douses himself in its tide. 

He pistons his fingers into you, curling them at the front wall. Thumbing your clit, you roll your eyes back, your chest heaving and gasping for air. Your little nipples perk up for him against the fabric of your night dress, and the sight is so dazzling that he doesn’t blink as he watches you. He can’t wait to have you all bare for him—to see you in your full glory, your flesh bouncing and under his command. His cock leaks at that thought and his animalistic instincts take a hold of him, fucking you faster with his fingers until your whole body shakes—just like he wanted, and until your whole body comes for him. 

The fountain of your pleasure soaks you first before it soaks him, and Jungkook thinks it’s exactly what you deserved. You yelp, but the sound of horror soon turns into a sound of elation as you begin to sputter into a fit of giggles. One he consumes by kissing you nastily, all tongues and spit, while he massages your clit, taking you to the finish line until you can’t anymore. 

“Oh, Jungkook,” you moan into his mouth, barely able to kiss him back as the daze and dizziness of your orgasm seizes you, and Jungkook hums in response, knowing—knowing all about how you feel. 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

WIP masterlist | READ full chapter

[dickgraysonsptsd]

Hey, remember me? Idk if you do, but I looked through some of your stuff and you know a lot of what all went down with Devin Grayson's run when it comes to like... Interference from other comic stories and not being able to do what she was planning and also just everything that happened with her and her night wing run.

Can you help me understand what this person who reblogged my post is talking about and how to respond to them/refute their point?

https://www.tumblr.com/titans-thoughts/778916858908884992/the-problem-is-she-also-said-i-never-said-it-was?source=share

hi, i do remember you!! <333 yes, i'm familiar with what this person is talking about. i hope it's okay that i'm answering this publicly because i think this is useful information and context for understanding nw #93 and the 2004 interview this person is paraphrasing.

short answer: she apologized for saying this in 2011 and 2014. grayson saying something harmful one time 21 years ago doesn't negate the points made in that essay.

long answer... content warning for extensive discussion of sexual assault below!

what did devin grayson say about the rape scene she wrote in nightwing (1996) #93?

let's start by looking at the exact text of what grayson said. here is the excerpt from her 2004 comicboards.com interview that this person (and anyone else talking about this subject) is referring to (bold added for emphasis by me):

MSL: Male rape is a topic rarely touched on in comics. Why is it suited to bring it into Nightwing? DEVIN GRAYSON: For the record, I've never used the word “rape,” I just said it was nonconsensual (I know, aren't writers frustrating? *smiles*), but I think Nightwing is suited to cover any topic rooted in human behavior. The Batman characters are unique in that they're not super powered – they're extraordinary people who devote themselves to operating effectively in a very dangerous realm of human existence – crime and injustice and even, very often, mental illness. They are in constant physical danger, to the point that as readers we don't even always respond to that anymore because we assume they'll eventually be okay. I think sometimes it's more rewarding to put them in emotional or social peril of one kind or another, situations which challenge them as people as well as as superheroes. MSL: (Question by dmb1991) Will we be getting a reaction to Dick's rape anytime soon? Ever since it occurred the audience hasn't been privy to NW's thoughts, and I was really hoping you could flesh out that event in Dick's life. and I'm really hopping there will be an educating story to follow. DEVIN GRAYSON: That's very perceptive of you to notice that we lost Dick's narration! That was very intentional – he's so broken down at this point that he's gone quiet inside. I think if you read through issue 100, you'll see some of the response you've been waiting for, but remember, too, that events in superhero comics are often as much allegorical as actual – that is, we're not doing a public service announcement here, we're telling an ongoing, multi-layered story about one individual finding himself at an emotional rock bottom he doesn't know how to fight his way out of.

grayson did not say the act was not rape. she said that she did not use the word rape to describe it and clarified that she personally used "nonconsensual" when talking about it. this is absolutely talking around the issue enough to be a problem (and to qualify as rape apologism, imo--not acknowledging rape as rape IS apologism), but i want to come back to that in a sec.

do i think she spoke poorly here? yes. grayson also thinks that she spoke poorly here and has apologized for basically every line of her responses here over the last 21 years, from not using the word "rape" to talking about rape as something that can be rewarding when used as part of a narrative. her interviews from 2011 and 2014 make it extremely clear that she learned she was wrong for talking about it in this way and apologized profusely for it, even going so far as to apologize for writing the arc at all.

(i personally think there was no reason for her to apologize for writing the arc, but given that people to this day still loudly and passionately claim that writing the arc is proof that grayson loves rape and wanted to rape nightwing, i get why she did publicly apologize for it. people are deeply weird.)

so why, in 2004, would someone not call nightwing (1996) #93 "rape"?

in 2004 in the us, "rape" was legally defined almost exclusively as a female victim being penetrated through force or coercion by a male perpetrator. the us federal government via the fbi to this day still does not consider being forced to penetrate (what tarantula does to nightwing) "rape," which is deeply fucked up. it was only in 2013 that the fbi changed its definition to include male victims in rape statistics at all.

i'm sharing this for some context of what talking about sexual assault and rape was like at the time. it was not incorrect in 2004 for a progressive, educated person to refer to the act of being forced to penetrate a perpetrator as "sexual assault" or as a "nonconsensual sex act" rather than as "rape." i think a lot of people either don't remember or aren't old enough to know how abysmal and evil usamerican culture was about rape in 2004--it was either a punchline, something that happened to a male character's girlfriend to give him angst, or at best a Very Special Episode to Teach An Important Lesson (something that grayson points out wanting to avoid, which i appreciate--rape survivors don't exist to be educational material). we were AWFUL, culturally, about rape. imo that makes grayson's statement in this interview both more hurtful (it sucks badly that a fellow survivor would talk around the issue like that at a time when people were already terrible about it) and also more understandable (being progressive, anti-rape, and pro-survivor at the time still often didn't look great in a 2025 context).

what i think people get massively, critically wrong here is the assumption that because of this one interview line--one line that is very much of its time--devin grayson believed the act she wrote tarantula committing against nightwing was not sexual assault. there's an assumption that because she said this, the arc itself must be written to be titillating, dismissive, trivializing, or to frame the act of rape as not a big deal.

what did devin grayson actually write?

okay. so we've talked about how grayson talked about this run while it was being published in 2004. we've talked about how rape and sexual assault were defined and perceived in 2004. now let's talk about the actual content of the arc and what that means for the broader argument (which people keep insisting on making) that devin grayson thinks it wasn't rape.

i think it's really clear from the tone and writing of the following excerpts of nightwing (1996) #93-94 that grayson was well aware she was writing a traumatic sexual assault arc, and that she was intentionally tying together the trauma of the violation of dick's body (tarantula raping him) with the trauma of being an accomplice to an act that violates his moral code (tarantula killing blockbuster) and the trauma of blockbuster violating his secret identity and using it to kill whoever he can in dick's life. it's violation on top of violation, it's people who want something from dick or blame dick for something taking things from him over and over until he's empty and literally catatonic. it is very, very obviously a dark and serious look at the aftermath of rape.

putting this last bit under a readmore because it's long and includes screencaps of the actual rape scene.

nightwing #93:

above: the beginning of the repetition of "it will never stop"/"it's never gonna stop" that will be continued into the aftermath of the murder and rape.

above: a distinctive red frame is used as dick thinks "never gonna stop... never... stop it... STOP" as he steps away from blockbuster.

we lose dick's narration as soon as catalina shoots blockbuster. the last thing we see him think is "STOP" in distressed lettering. we get dialogue from him again as dick tells catalina not to touch him:

...but we don't hear dick's thoughts or narration again this issue until the final page.

above: the distinctive red frame returns as catalina rapes dick. the last time we saw this frame was in the "STOP" panel, clearly drawing a line between the moment of catalina shooting blockbuster and the act of catalina raping dick.

above: the final page of the issue. dick thinks again, "it's never gonna stop... never gonna stop... never..."

dick is about to enter into a several issue long "relationship" with catalina that overlaps with crossover events. in this arc dick is portrayed as traumatized, sometimes catatonic, and not consenting to being with catalina, who is using him for her own adrenaline high. "it's never gonna stop" will stay relevant because catalina isn't stopping. blockbuster may be dead, but the horror of the situation dick is in is still present. catalina will keep dragging him around like a chewtoy, breaking the code, murdering people, and abusing dick until nightwing (1996) #100 when he turns her (and himself) in for blockbuster's murder.

nightwing #94:

above: dick catatonic on his knees in an alleyway while tarantula is fighting baddies, unable to move or react while he thinks about the gunshot that killed blockbuster. he hardly reacts to a man about to bash him in the head with a baseball bat, lifting his hands up slightly as he thinks about the gunshot, and calling the gunshot (again, the gunshot is tied inextricably to that repetition of "it's never gonna stop" and the final "STOP") worse than the sound of his parents' bodies hitting the ground.

again, we tie the rape to the murder. dick goes from catatonic about the gunshot to flashing back to the rape.

above: catalina takes dick back to a motel room and drops him on the bed. dick doesn't respond to anything she says to him in this scene, instead starting to infodump fixatedly on the gunshot in small italic text. he's not present here. he's dissociating. catalina touches his face gently and stands over him. as dick keeps talking, clearly not responding to her at all, she starts to leave the room.

above: "so if i'd said 'stop,' we would have heard it. heard it and processed it along with the gunshot, simultaneously. 'bang'... 'don't do it, tarantula, STOP!'... bang... stop!... bang..."

as a reader, this is really obviously a rape victim reacting "weirdly" in the aftermath, fixating on the moment that it became real, on odd details, on the "STOP." dick is talking about blockbuster's murder, but he's also talking about catalina raping him.

and now... catalina isn't having fun here. dick isn't her cool crush doing stunts and unintentionally flirting with her, he isn't her trophy, he's a traumatized unmoving mess talking to himself about something she doesn't understand (and doesn't want to understand). so she leaves. this is grayson showing us very directly that catalina is using dick, that she doesn't care about his well-being as much as she does about her own adrenaline rush, and that she doesn't care that what she did to him traumatized him horribly.

now look at the tone of the dialogue when dick is up and about again after catalina returns:

dick: it's epinephrine with a generalized viperid antitoxin. batman developed it as a-- catalina: cool. whatever. dick: no, not "whatever." this is called being prepared, and if you're not, you've got no business taking on a meta-- catalina: where were you, anyway? dick: i... just went out to move the bike. if you leave it out in the open like that, anyone can-- catalina: --follow us? yeah, i noticed. you comin'?

earlier in the run, when dick was acting as a sort-of-mentor to catalina, he would give her these kinds of explanations confidently. now, catalina is cutting him off when he talks. she's demanding to know where he's been. she's cutting him off again, and looming in the doorway ominously as a clear visual sign that she is the villain here--she's the bad guy lurking in the shadows, she's the abusive "girlfriend."

everything about this scene screams that dick is off-kilter, that he's reverting to familiar things--infodumping about a batman-esque subject, trying to be a good mentor--because he's in a crisis and doesn't know what to do. it is SUCH an effective depiction of a rape victim trying to find some stability and normalcy in the aftermath. it is not something that someone who believes they didn't write a rape scene would write.

and that's my 2 cents on "devin grayson said it wasn't rape!!".... i think it was way more than you probably expected/wanted lmao 😭😭😭

[velarisnightsky444]

Angel of Music

Flufftober Day 14: Singing to Sleep with Azriel

Azriel x Rhysand!Sister OC

AN: This is a little sneak peak for my Stargirl fic. OC is Rhysand's twin sister and Azriel's mate. She has some trauma, but it's not something you need to know for just reading this excerpt.

CW: Nightmares, insomnia

Summary: OC is struggling to sleep, and she asks for help from her mate.

Word Count: 410

October Masterlist

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

     I woke up with a harsh gasp, jolting straight up, loud breaths leaving my lips as I tried to catch my breath. The pitiful tears were streaming down my face, tears I had cried in my sleep. In my dreams, I was right back in that horrific place. I would never, ever escape. 

     I thought that with time, the nightmares would go away. But it had been so long, and still, I dreamed of those terrible years. I saw his face every time I closed my eyes, and I couldn't stand it anymore. 

     Azriel groaned as he woke up, his hazel eyes fluttering open, a yawn on his lips. He sat up when he noticed the state I was in, his wing wrapping around me delicately. 

"Nightmare again?" he asked gently, his soft voice laced with lethargy. 

"Yes," I whispered, sniffling as I wiped the tears from my violet eyes. "I can't sleep, Azzy." 

"What's wrong, love?" he murmured softly into my ear. 

"I don't want to have another nightmare," I replied, tucking myself into his strong arms. 

We laid back down on the bed, my head resting on his broad chest. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me closer to him. I nuzzled my face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. Reminding myself that he was real, and my dreams were not. 

"Will you sing to me?" I asked him, my quiet voice shaking just slightly. 

"Sing?" he asked, amusement in his voice.

"Like my mother used to when none of us could sleep," I recalled, the memories of her voice singing in my head. She had such a beautiful, soothing voice. And when she sang, my nightmares disappeared. 

"I remember," he hummed, kissing my cheek softly. "Okay, baby."

A smile stretched across my features, my eyes closing as he began to sing one of the lullabies my mother had sung to us as kids. My favorite. One she had sung since Rhys and I were just little babes. 

A maiden mother, meek and mild, In cradle keep, a knavë child, That softly sleep; she sat and sang. Baw me bairne, sleep softly now.

He had the voice of an angel. It made me sad that I was the only one he shared his gorgeous voice with. I always encouraged him to share his singing with others. But he was shy, something I had always found cute about him.  

His voice calmed me into a deep sleep. One free of nightmares. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Kink/Fluff/Angstober Taglist: @serxndipity-ipity-blog @danikamariemain @book-obsessed124 @winchesterbbygrl @kissesfrommads @binnieonabike @fourthwing4ever @ghostslittlegf @mollygetssherlockcoffee @hawke1917 @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @honk4emoboys @rogerbarnesxx @a-courtof-azriel @kodokunarisu-blog @dxjaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore @littlepippilongstocking

Azriel Taglist: @serxndipity-ipity-blog @panther-girl-124 @tangled-sun @hawke1917

General Taglist: @lilah-asteria @anneas11 @andreperez11 @isnotwhatyourethinking @effervescentbutterfly

comment to be added to any of the taglists!

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

[haunted-obsidian-of-asgard]

I want to take a minute to talk about the books that are in the therapist's office in 'The Gang Gets Analyzed'. Now, I've watched this episode at least ten times, and I never once paid much attention to them, but upon viewing it today, they finally stood out.

The first one that caught my attention was the Child Sexual Abuse book sitting atop the Lesbian Subjects one. I had to pause and rewind, and immediately I couldn't help but think they were referring to Dennis, Charlie and Dee (I've read speculation about her sexuality and it's a definite possibility as we know Glenn stated that all the characters are a little gay).

Let's look a little closer at the other titles - (I can't make out the very first one on the left, no matter how close I zoomed in), but from there we have Soul, Mind, Body, Medicine : A Complete Soul Healing SYSTEM for Optimum Health and Vitality (again, Dennis, anyone?), Psychological Research in Prisons (Mac and his daddy issues?), Power vs. Force (a book that explains how anyone can tap into their inner power to change their lives and the lives of those around them) (Again, this cries Dennis to me), Identity and Anxiety (Mac again), and finally, Listening Perspectives in Psychotherapy, a book that illustrates four distinctly different styles of listening that have emerged in psychoanalysis (Dennis and how he analyzes the other four).

I just found the titles not only interesting, but quite specific to the characters' traits.

Moving on...

Next up, on the top shelf, the first book Medicine Without Menopause felt like a dig at Dee, followed by Adult Children of Alcoholics (Dee, Dennis and Charlie), (And I Can only partially make the next one out) The Handbook of Psychiatric x (I can't make out the part in white but it sounds like something Dennis would've ingested at some point), Sex After Sixty (Frank, no doubt), and lastly Collective Behavior which the very definition of describes the gang to a t - {Excerpt from the book} Collective behavior takes many forms but generally violates societal norms. Collective behavior can be tremendously destructive, as with riots or mob violence, silly, as with fads, or anywhere in between. Collective behavior is always driven by group dynamics, encouraging people to engage in acts they might consider unthinkable under typical social circumstances.

Then we have the other books that are standing - The Human Animal (Charlie and possibly Frank), Adult Bipolar Disorders (Dennis, Mac?), When Life Becomes Precious (a book about taking care of a loved one with a terminal illness i.e. in reference to Charlie's Mom Has Cancer?), Woman Heal Thyself (another dig at Dee), and lastly, How to Live Well on a Shoestring Budget (Frank and Charlie).

This screenshot was taken in the last few minutes of the ep, and look! A new book has been added to the pile - Childhood Socialization. I don't know why I found that one to feel like it was calling out Charlie specifically, but could quite possibly refer to them all as well.

I feel like all of these titles weren't just mere happenstance and that someone picked these out to represent the gang as a whole or individually.

Either way, just thought there were a lot of interesting choices in the mold. Thank you for listening to my ted talk regarding the Gang Gets Analyzed.

[or-what-you-will]

Phantom Newspaper Prop Scans

Recently a friend gifted me a stage used prop newspaper from Phantom of the Opera West End. As we were chatting we thought to look up the dates and newspapers in the archives, and turns out, the prop uses scans from actual newspapers from France!

There were eight unique pages, and some repeat filler pages. I've scanned each of the eight unique pages and added an image of their corresponding historical equivalent. Links to the archives where I found the historical newspapers are also included.

Left is my scans of the prop newspaper, right is scans taken from French newspaper archives.

Le Figaro was the first page. It was a bit tricky to find because the date on the prop has had the year changed and reads "Lundi 29 Novembre 1900" while the newspaper in the archives is "Lundi 29 Novembre 1897"

I found them because the issue number is the same on both.

The stories are mostly the same, with the exception of the block of handwritten text on the archive copy which has been replaced on the prop with random excerpts from other articles, like the one about the Austrian Parliament on the same page.

Source: BnF

L'Éclair makes up the second page of the newspaper and the second to last page. Both pages are pretty much exact copies of the first and second pages of the newspaper from the archive on June 21st, 1900.

Souce: RetroNews

L'Événement makes up the third page and third from last page and is the last title page included in the newspaper. Like L'Éclair, this one seems to be pretty much an exact copy of the first and last pages of the real archived paper from March 23rd, 1887.

Source: BnF

The rest of the middle newspaper pages are all copies of the same two pages. These two pages took me forever to find because there is no newspaper title on them. I had given up and assumed they were assembled together from other newspapers until over a week later by sheer luck I found them in another archive. They're from a newspaper from Grenoble called L'Impartial Dauphinois on November 24, 1883.

The bottom lines of the articles on this page of the prop are cut off, but otherwise it's an exact match.

Source: Lectura

This is the second page of Le Figaro which serves as the last page of the newspaper. This page gave me a massive headache as well because it's not from the same issue of Le Figaro as the one above. I was able to find some of the ads on it but not a replica. It wasn't until I finally located the inner pages that I found it as well. Turns out it's the last page from the November 24, 1883 issue of L'Impartial Dauphinois with Le Figaro added to the top of the page.

Source: Lectura

Huge shout out to the French newspaper archives for not only preserving these papers and digitizing them, but also for making them searchable by text and hosting them publicly for people around the world to see and use.

[sepdet]

Killing Time excerpts #2:

Kirk & Spock compare dreams over breakfast (p 7-10)

(from that totally canon Star Trek novel that Pocket Books rapidly recalled from stores to de-gay certain Kirk/Spock scenes, but my Mom beat the censors to a first edition!)

Kirk poked at the eggs on his plate with the tip of his fork, but it was blatantly obvious to Spock that the captain had little interest in the food.

"I don't know who I was, but ... I wasn't who I was supposed to be." He laid the fork aside and took a healthy gulp of the reconstituted orange juice. "And that's not exactly right either," he continued, not quite looking at the Vulcan. "It was as if I was still James Kirk—the same James Kirk I've always been—but I wasn't in the right . . . place." He shook his head in frustration. "I can't explain it, Spock."

Spock eyed his friend carefully. "Dreams of alienation are not unusual," he pointed out. "In situations such as exist onboard starships, they are, in fact, extremely common." Taking a sip of the hot herb tea, he pushed his own plate of untouched tood aside. He couldn't help remembering that he, too, had been experiencing dreams of alienation and displacement for nearly a full solar week; but something restrained him from mentioning it. "In your dream, Captain," he continued cautiously, "was it as if you were . . . not how you would normally envision yourself to be?"

Kirk frowned thoughtfully, then glanced up as his open palm slapped the table."That's exactly it!" he exclaimed, then lowered his voice as he noticed a young yeoman at the next table cast a quick look in his direction. He leaned closer to the Vulcan, feeling vaguely ridiculous for the outburst, but somehow closer to the solution. "I was on the Enterprise— but it wasn't even the Enterprise—at least not like I know her," he added as an afterthought. "And . . . I kept seeing you." At last, he looked up. "But you were different, too, Spock," he stated emphatically. "I'm not sure, but . . . I think you were the captain."

He shuddered internally, as the haunting quality of the dreams sharpened. He thought he saw a faint smile come to the young yeoman's face as she stood and quickly left the dining area, but he no longer cared. At least it might alleviate her boredom. "And I didn't know who I was." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I must've been an ensign or something, because I remember trying to think of some way to approach you—to tell you that things weren't the way they're supposed to be."

He grinned without looking up, and took another swallow of the orange juice, tasting it for the first time. It only strengthened his resolve to put in a formal request to Admiral Nogura for fresh orange juice at the next opportunity. "And I also remember thinking that you would never believe me. After all," he added as the smile broadened, "you were the ship's captain— and a Vulcan! What chance would a lowly human ensign have of trying to inform the Vulcan commander that he (meaning me!) was supposed to be the cap-tain?" He laughed aloud, feeling some of the tension ebb away just in the act of telling Spock about the absurdity of it all.

The Vulcan leaned forward, and their eyes met across the table. "Jim," he murmured in a tone suddenly deep and foreboding, "I also dreamed."

Kirk swallowed the lump of nervousness which rose in his throat, but he could only stare mutely at his first officer. Guiltily, he looked around to see if the yeoman was still eavesdropping. Bad enough that the captain's having anything but delusions of grandeur, he thought. But if Spock buckles . . . He let the thought drift into silence.

The Vulcan steepled his fingers in front of him. "At first, I believed the dreams were attributable to the somewhat uneventful mission currently assigned to the Enterprise. However, I am no longer convinced that such is the case."

Kirk looked at his friend for a long time, their eyes holding them together. "What did you dream, Spock?" he asked, forcing his tone to remain neutral.

But he didn't need to hear the answer; it was clearly inscribed in the dark eyes, carved in the angular features, written in the almost tangible conviction with which the Vulcan spoke.

One eyebrow arched, and it seemed for a moment as if the first officer might surrender to the human urge of shrugging. He did not. "I do not believe it is worth concerning yourself, Captain," he said as if attempting to dismiss his own statement. Somehow, it sounded far less logical in reality than it had in his own thoughts. "We have observed in the past that our minds have developed a telepathic rapport of sorts. Perhaps I was merely receiving fragments of your dreams, thereby—"

"Spock," Kirk interrupted with an exasperated sigh. He reached across the table, resting his fingers lightly on his friend's arm. "I know it's an inconvenience to your Vulcan logic to have this link with a human, but just tell me!" But the gentle smile robbed the words of any harsh implications.

After a moment, Spock nodded almost imperceptibly and took a deep breath. "I dreamed that you were an ensign," he stated, "and that I was . . . captain of the Enterprise."

Kirk leaned heavily back in the chair, letting his hand fall back to his side. He could think of nothing to say.

"Perhaps we should inform Doctor McCoy," Spock suggested. "Since Vulcans do not normally dream whatsoever, and since our dreams do bear remarkable similarity . . ." His voice drifted into silence.

Kirk glanced at the chronometer on the wall, then nodded. "You're probably right," he agreed. "As a precautionary measure, we probably should tell Bones. But . . ." He put one hand to his forehead, sensing a headache struggling to break through. "Just keep it to yourself today, Spock. I'm going to talk to a few other people and see what I can come up with first."

Spock's head inclined in acknowledgment, and he rose from the chair as Kirk stood and followed him toward the door.

Once inside the lift. Kirk tried to shake the feeling of uneasiness with a deep breath. His success was marginal. But when the double doors opened to reveal the familiar refuge of the bridge, he stepped back, smiling deceptively at Spock's apparent confusion. "After you . . . Captain Spock," he offered graciously.

The Vulcan turned, both brows climbing in a moment of surprise. "Illogical," he noted, but nonetheless stepped onto the bridge first. "Captain, I need not point out that it would be irrational to base rank solely on the basis of dreams—regardless of the fact that I would, no doubt, make an excellent commander.*

Kirk shrugged, scrutinizing his first officer discreetly. "Maybe," he conceded, stepping onto the bridge and pulling the professional air of command into place. But he couldn't resist one final urge. "But keep in mind that I'd make one hell of a lousy ensign, Spock!*

The Vulcan stopped, meeting Kirk's eyes warmly. "Of that," he readily agreed, "I have no doubt."

Next Time

Things get steamy (literally) as Kirk dons a lumberjack shirt and invites Spock to stroll with him in a garden.

See tag Killing Time excerpts for more

[lakesbian]

Although that Discord excerpt is often cited as the original "Coil is black WoG", my secondhand understanding is that the actual original moment is a fair bit older, took place in IRC instead, and sadly wasn't recorded as far as I know. Basically, someone floated the hypothetical possibility that Coil was black. Another user insisted that he couldn't be black, apparently for racist reasons, and Wildbow decided to do a little trolling by decreeing on the spot that Coil was canonically black, to dunk on the racist in the chat. And because of Wildbow's whole personality, he then became very attached to the idea that this had always been his intent, even though it was clearly an impulsive decision and he clearly hadn't actually thought through the implications for the race politics of Worm as a whole.

Sending this ask actually sent me down a whole rabbit hole, because the main piece of evidence that gets cited that Wildbow totally actually did intend Coil to be black all along is that at one point, in 16.10, when Taylor is blind, she describes his hair as "coarse". I was going to bring that up, but it suddenly occurred to me that Wildbow has gone back and edited Worm several times, especially over this kind of internet discourse bullshit, and it's entirely possible that this was one of those times. So I decided to do some investigating on the Internet Archive, and it turns out that I was right! The word "coarse" was added to the description of Coil's hair in 16.10 sometime between September 19, 2015 and May 27, 2016. Which I guess narrows down when that incident in the IRC must have happened.

damn you should have made this your own post this is good detective work. didn't know that was a mystery that needed solving but the more you know. i was rather baffled as to how the book that's infamously racist about derogatory descriptions of Evil Gross Black People managed to have a black child predator villain without ever including gratuitous racism in the description of coil, and "it's because coil wasn't initially intended to be black and wildbow retconned it in an ill-advised attempt to own a racist + maintained it as true henceforth" would actually make perfect sense as an explanation

[felassan]

Article excerpt:

"During a panel at GDC 2025 today, BioWare's former lead UX designer Bruno Porrio discussed the Veilguard team's multiple attempts to make the game's complex combat more intuitive to their disoriented playtesters, who sound like they were suffering. "I wanted to zoom in a little bit and talk about what, in Veilguard, we call primers and detonators," Porrio said, referring to the game's combo system that allows you to create "opportunities for one ability to then 'detonate' another one." [...] Strategically planning combos in this way requires comfort with both your character's and companions' abilities, "so it could be overwhelming," Porrio explained. The Veilguard's UX team designed the game's interface with this in mind, and Porrio said they believed that, "'okay, if we're not obtrusive, players are not going to be overwhelmed.'" So they stuffed information about things like creature weaknesses, equipped items, and available companions to the tops and sides of players' screens… until it turned out that players "won't notice the things on the top right, the top left." "So much confusion around detonation," Porrio remembered. "There was a lot of confusion, and players weren't really utilizing the detonations." As the Veilguard team continued to tweak their UX design, they thought that adding visual effects to indicate helpful abilities could help clarify things in battle, but there was still "a lot trying to get the player's attention," Porrio said. "It was still confusing," he continues, "It's OK. Sometimes, we have to let it go.""

[source]

[sherlocking-out-loud]

there are quite a few clues pointing to Buck adopting a pet in the near future (a guy with abandonment issues giving his love to an abandoned animal? ok , sure 😭😭😭), so I thought I'd share again the fic I wrote where he does it too but with Tommy. here's an excerpt:

One year later, their family grew. 

Tommy knew that that’s what was going to happen as soon as he saw the way Evan looked at that little baby he was cradling in his arms.

They were both at the same emergency (a rare occurrence): a big residential fire that was spreading way too fast, courtesy of the Santa Ana winds.

It had been a long night divided between evacuating a whole neighborhood and putting out the fire as quickly as possible. When they were finally done, Tommy went looking for Evan and that’s when he saw him, just standing on the sidewalk, smiling tenderly at that little thing.

Tommy stopped and just stood there watching them, his own heart melting at the sight. And that’s when Evan looked up at him ( How does he do that? He always knows when I’m looking at him. ), smiled apologetically while scratching the back of his neck. Yeah, it was a lost cause.

Tommy walked up to them. 

“Can we?” Evan immediately asked, with a smiley wince.

(...)

“I-I mean we don’t have to,” Evan explained, “It’s just— We found this litter of five kittens by the bushes, and I was helping Martha take them to her ambulance, so she could drop them on a shelter on the way back to the firehouse, and this one here just wouldn’t let go of me. She practically screamed every time I tried to place her down.”

If Tommy wasn’t already in love with him, he would have fallen for him right there and then. He couldn't help but smile. “Adorable.”

“She is, isn't she?” Buck beamed.

“I was talking about you, Evan,” he told him with a pointed look. Is he blushing? Yeah, he is. Very, very adorable. “But yeah, she's cute too,” he added.

“Sooooo… Can we?” Evan tried again, grinning.

“How could I ever say no to you?”

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he joked.

“I was talking to the cat this time,” Tommy deadpanned — for which he got a playful smack on his shoulder and another beautiful smile in return.

from Growing Together

[roguishcat]

A sound judgement

Thank you so much @pursuitseternal for your request and for giving me this prompt (Magistrate Astarion AU, where he was never turned)! This was an absolute delight to write, even if it took me a while to actually get done. Hope you enjoy it!

Excerpt:

And this was when Astarion remembered that he was, in fact, the law and you had no choice but to obey him. A small voice in the back of his mind chose to remind him how badly this could backfire. Astarion chose not to heed the warnings of said voice and immediately began plotting.

Word count: 5.1k

Pairing: Astarion x female Reader

Tags: some suggestive themes, Astarion being a menace to society, Astarion being a brat, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff

❤️Love it? Hate it? Tell me what you think! ❤️

If you want to be added to my taglist, feel free to send me a message or leave a comment!

The afternoon sunlight brushed warmly against your cheek as you enjoyed a rare moment of peace. Instead of running around Baldur's Gate, fixing buildings, helping those in need, the Hero of the Gate for once decided to read a newspaper in a park. Something quite mundane for some, a rare luxury for you.

You were not slacking. But you have come to realise that in your bid to please everyone you would soon completely burn out. Which is why you didn’t feel a smidge of guilt when you found yourself going to Bloomridge park instead of the Upper City.

Not having to make any decisions and just simply be for an hour felt absolutely heavenly. Children played, the members of the book club gossiped, and couples whispered among themselves. This was exactly what you loved about this city. No matter how much havoc was wrought, Baldur's Gate healed rapidly and would soon be back to its former glory.

You cast your eyes over the articles in the newspaper. Nothing special, thank the gods. Just silly gossip and the like. You quickly looked through it and gave a happy sigh. No news was always good news in your books!

Yet, no matter how pleasant this little break was, you were well aware that your assistance was needed at ten odd locations today. It was time to get back to work.

Getting up, you looked at the newspaper in your hands and decided that perhaps someone would enjoy reading it. Afterall, there was hardly any reason for you to take the paper with you. And leaving it behind would probably save some poor apprentice a copper. Thus assured that you were doing no harm, you folded the newspaper up neatly and set it down on the park bench for another to enjoy.

Just as you were about to walk away, you heard someone clear their throat loudly.

"What do you think you are doing?"

It was one of the Fists. You didn't recognise him. Perhaps it was a new recruit, seeing as otherwise he would have known who you were.

"Excuse me?"

"You are littering," he stated, pointing to the newspaper with an accusatory finger.

Ah, so a simple misunderstanding.

"I am not littering,” you smiled pleasantly, in spite of feeling that it was rather strange of the Fist to worry about something as inconsequential as litter out of all things. “Just thought someone else might enjoy reading the paper now that I'm done with it."

The Fist did not look impressed by your explanation. In fact, if anything he seemed even more set in his belief that a heinous crime was being committed in broad daylight.

"I am arresting you for littering in a public garden," he seemed to think about it for a moment. "And for arguing with a city guard."

"I've hardly said any-"

"Resisting arrest, are we?" he drawled, making your mouth tighten as you bit back a snarky retort.

"No, I will come with you willingly," you grumbled.

Perhaps if you played along for a bit, you could talk to someone of a higher rank. Saying anything to an overly eager guard who was obstinately sticking to his accusations would just attract onlookers.

"Good. The judge is waiting for your arrival."

"What? What do you mean judge?" you frowned. What business did any judge have looking into misdemeanours and especially something like littering?

"His Honor Judge Ancunín is waiting for you. Don't dawdle. It's rude to keep him waiting."

Suddenly all of this made sense. You ground your teeth and followed the Fist. Of course it was Astarion! That ass!

"Oh, trust me. Him waiting for me will be the least of his worries once I see him."

You felt that you had every right to be annoyed at Astarion. No scratch that. You had every right to be livid and spitting fire! Because this was the fourth time that bastard got you arrested in a little more than a month! And every single bloody time if was for something dumb and trivial. You had no idea how Astarion managed to do it, how he knew exactly where you would be, and how he convinced those Fists that he was to be the judge handling your case.

That stupid, stupid ass!

He couldn’t just come by the tavern and talk to you like someone normal. No, he needed a show of power, especially with him being promoted to judge in high court! Because apparently this was how Astarion got his kicks nowadays. He needed for you to be near forcibly escorted to the courtroom and thrown at his feet. Preferably pleading for mercy and asking him if there was any way that you could make it up to him.

You scowled. The whole scenario just sounded like the plot of some cheap, third-rate smutty novel one would pick up at Sharess'. But if he thought that you would cower before him, that elf had another thing coming!

On the other side of the city, Astarion Ancunín was drumming his fingers against some book he was supposedly reading. Astarion was in a foul mood. It's been several months since the defeat of the Absolute. He and the merry band that defeated the cultists were celebrated just as you deserved for about a tenday, and then went back to your lives. Halsin was immediately off with his wagonfuls of brats, Gale returned to Waterdeep, Shadowheart went to live with her parents in the countryside, Wyll and Karlach waged war in Avernus whilst Lae’zel sought to overthrow Vlaakith. In short, everyone left the city except you and Astarion. Well, Jaheira and Minsc were probably about, but he didn’t care about them enough to check.

For a while, Astarion enjoyed the privileges that came with the title of Savior of Baldur's Gate. The fame had him moving up the ranks with impressive speed until he was promoted from magistrate to judge. No more minor cases! Oh no, he was in the big leagues now. And he was so, so bored.

Astarion could hardly believe that this dull, bureaucratic crap was all he did for years until he got tadpoled. And in the past, he enjoyed it well enough. But having experienced the thrill of adventure, the rush of adrenalin, the drama and the fun of travelling, he could not fathom sitting at a desk for the rest of his long, long life.

Which was when he realised that the only acceptable source of entertainment was you. Except getting to you was easier said than done. Everyone wanted your time and, being the annoyingly selfless creature that you were, it was near impossible to find any window of opportunity and see you for longer than a few minutes. And by the gods Astarion wanted to.

You two shared a couple passionate encounters when you were on the road and decided that you were better of as friends. Well, at least you decided that. Astarion was not quite on board with the whole platonic thing, but with death literally being around every corner, he begrudgingly agreed that a budding romance was the last thing you both needed at the time.

And this was how the two of you became friends. Except Astarion wanted more, so much more. And herein lay the problem. He never in the past had to woo anyone. His good looks and roguish charms were generally enough to have everyone chasing after him. An interested look and a smirk would often be enough for his potential lovers to drop their pants fast.

But this tactic, if one could really call it that, didn’t actually work on you. And he tried showing his interest. Astarion invited you on outings and to parties. Afterall, there were soiree aplenty where he his resplendent beauty would definitely be reason enough for you to want to sneak away and spend some quality time in some secluded alcove. Except yoh would actually have to turn up for that to happen.

Not deterred, Astarion tried sending you gifts and you sent him something equally pleasant back. Which he interpreted as 'thanks for the present, but not for the interest'. This had him gritting his teeth in annoyance but surprisingly not giving up.

Because he wanted, and craved and yearned. He wanted nothing more than sequester you in his rooms and not allow you to leave for weeks. Or until he felt that he fucked that whole ‘friendship’ idea out of your mind.

And this was when Astarion remembered that he was, in fact, the law and you had no choice but to obey him. A small voice in the back of his mind chose to remind him how badly this could backfire. Astarion chose not to heed the warnings of said voice and immediately began plotting.

So he abused his power in every way, had you arrested time and time again, dragged through the city and thrown into prison to await his judgement. You should have been flattered really that he went to all that trouble simply to arrange a meeting. Honestly, most wanted nothing more than to have a passing glance from him, when you had the entirety of his attention!

Except something seemed different this time. When you walked into the courtroom and levelled him with a look previously reserved for your enemies, Astarion wondered if perhaps his plan was not quite as foolproof as he had thought.

But it was too late to back out. He assumed a sort of casually reclining bored noble position and waited for the Fist to read out what you were being charged with.

It was a surprisingly long list. Perhaps Astarion should have chosen a less zealous guard.

As each wrongdoing was reported to him, Astarion couldn’t help but worry about the way your face darkened by the minute as your eyes shot daggers. He was quite sure that it would have been actual steel piercing his flesh by now if it weren’t for all those witnesses.  

“Enough,” he lifted his arm with an imperious look, making the Fist pause, only half-done with his report.

“Your Honor?”

“I see that this matter does indeed require my special attention. Yet, seeing as this is the Hero of the Gate,” he paused for dramatic effect noting with annoyance that this seemed to have the desired effect only on the scribe, the Fist and whatever staff were about rather than you, “I may be persuaded to lift the charges.”

“How generous of you…. Your Honor,” you said in a reverent tone that contradicted your face expression.

Astarion gulped, to his confusion feeling both concerned and aroused.

"Well,” he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, “I am nothing but generous."

"Of course. And earnest too!" you nodded. “Why, I am sure that your impartial perspective will allow you to deliver an objective verdict-"

"You forget yourself!” Astarion cut you off abruptly. He rather enjoyed your insolence, but appearances had to be kept up. “Justice should be a harsh lesson. To make sure that no such offense occurs in the future. I ought to administer the punishment where you stand. Make an example of you."

"Well, what are you waiting for, your Honour?” You leaned forward slightly and lowered your voice. “Punish me as you see fit."

Astarion thanked every god he could think of at that moment that he was required to wear loose fitting robes. Because he was already half-mast and carrying on with this conversation would eventually make his problem rather obvious to all present. That would be the Fist, the mages, the scribe, and whoever else was milling about that he generally did not notice. Wholly unacceptable.

"Do follow me, no guards required, thank you."

"But- but your Honor!” the Fist stammered, clutching the report to his chest. “What if she tries to assault you!"

"Trust me, I am perfectly capable of handling this one."

He pretended not to notice you rolling your eyes, motioning for you to follow as he started for his office.

You made your way down the long, winding halls, quite sure that you would be lost if it wasn’t for Astarion. Every now and then the surface of the walls would ripple, and a clerk would emerge from the depths of a secret passage and shuffle past, head bowed and curling in on themselves, only to sink into the opposite wall. If you were to press your fingertips against the surface, you were sure that you would find solid stone.

The narrow hallway widened and you walked into what appeared to be the archive, shelves filled with scrolls, stone tablets and books. A veritable cornucopia of every kind of crime carefully recorded and catalogued over centuries. You scowled as you thought of how your supposedly atrocious crimes were among the entries.

You walked up two flights of stairs and finally reached the door to what seemed to be Astarion’s office. The elf opened the door and stood aside, letting you walk in first. You scoffed and pushed past him, making a show of flicking your hair in his face. Astarion drew back a little with a grin, anticipating you doing something so childish.

The door clicked closed behind you and immediately magic hummed to life.

"Arcane Lock? Really?" you arched an eyebrow.

 "Just so we don't get disturbed, dearest."

Your eyes followed Astarion as he walked around his desk and sat in the beautifully upholstered chair. Just like everything else in his office, it looked eye-wateringly expensive and imported.

"How may I help you on this fine day?" he motioned for you to take a seat on the other side of the desk.

"How may you-"

You cut yourself off and took a few deep breaths before you said something terse that would get thrown into prison. Again. You took a seat, noticing immediately that your chair looked much less comfortable. Trust Astarion to make his company squirm in their seats.

"Astarion, I think-"

"Your Honor," he corrected you with a smirk.

"Fine, whatever! Tell me, oh great Judge Ancunín, ignoring the abuse of power, the made up charges and you potentially bribing the city guard into arresting me, what are you actually hoping to get out of this, hm?"

Astarion took off his glasses and started polishing them with careful, unhurried movements. Outwardly he was the epitome of calm and grace, the one in charge. Inwardly, however, he didn’t have a clue what to do now that he had your full, undivided attention.

Because eloquence in the courtroom apparently did not translate into eloquence with you. Astarion was kind of hoping that you would just somehow fall into his arms and then the two of you would forget about the battle of wits in favour of something far more engaging. But apparently you wanted a real, honest answer. And that would be tricky seeing as he didn’t know how to put what he felt into words.

The silence stretched, tensions high, your patience almost at its end.

"Do you know what? Fine,” you spat, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don't answer that. It was stupid of me to think that you would treat me as a friend. I'm just going to pay a fine or whatever else I have to do and be out of your hair. You obviously have better things to do around here than talk to my lowly self."

"I never wanted to be your friend,” he interjected, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Well," you cleared your throat, annoyed at yourself for feeling hurt by his words. "You've made that plenty obvious."

Understanding that you misinterpreted his words, Astarion quickly grasped your sleeve as you prepared to rise.

"I- I am not sure exactly what I want,” he frowned, looking down at the polished wood of his desk.  “I have very little experience of wanting to be around others for the sake of enjoying their company. Getting acquainted with someone was always done with one purpose in mind, to climb the social ladder until I came out on top," he gave a little high-pitched laugh, running his fingers through his hair to brush it back.

"So when it comes to you, my dear, the last thing I want is to be your friend,” he took a deep breath, letting go of your sleeve to interlace his fingers to stop himself from fidgeting. “I have never wanted to be just friends with anyone less in my life.”

“And I don't know what you are to me,” he took a breath to summon the courage to carry on. “But when I look at you, I ache. We are good together. There is a potential for... something wonderful,” he did look up then, eyes locking with yours. “And I want to find out what that is, if you want that too."

You were stunned, momentarily speechless. Looking at him as if you were seeing him properly for the first time. Because it has been so long since you've seen that raw, earnest expression on his face. Body language filling in whatever blanks that were left behind by words.

"Oh hells, say something," he pleaded and put his hands on top of yours.

And then you were in his lap and your lips were on his, because you would be lying to yourself if you did anything but kiss him at that moment.

"You are still an ass," were the first words out of your mouth when you broke apart.

"Yes, dear," he kissed you jaw and then down your neck.

"I can't believe you had me arrested!"

"And I probably will again if you take days to answer my letters or otherwise ignore me," Astarion was already done with the ties of your outer clothing, discarding them by throwing them carelessly somewhere behind you.

"Do you know how embarrassing it was to be escorted to the courthouse? I bet newspapers will have a field day with this!"

"And any journalist who writes a word about this will be brought before me."

You tried to get his robes off him but were having trouble with the diamond encrusted broach holding the cravat in place.

"Argh, why do you insist on decorating yourself with all of these useless baubles!"

"Well, someone has to support the local businesses. You do your bit to see Baldur's Gate restored, I do mine."

"Oh, shut up," you laughed, finally getting a glimpse of his chest and running your hands down soft skin with a sigh.

"Feeling happier dear?"

You felt a breeze on your shoulders and then Astarion's hands cupped your breasts.

"No, I'm still annoyed at you."

"Well then I must double my efforts."

Clerks scuttled about the endless, winding halls, each wanting to impress their superiors.

A loud thump was heard, and a tremor reverberated throughout the building, making the panes of glass zing in protests.

A young human clerk gasped, "What in the hells is going on?"

"Judge Ancunín is questioning the Hero of Baldur's Gate," another replied with a yawn, seemingly not worried.

"This sounded bad, do you think he will need a hand?"

"What, ya mean since his own hands are full?"

The other clerks tittered, picking up scrolls and putting them back on the shelves.

"Oi, stop being mean to the newbie!" someone called from a distance.

"Or be even more of an ass and let him barge in, that would be even more entertaining," a tiefling chortled without looking up from his scroll.

"So, no one is in danger?" He said slowly, not really sure whether he was meant to ignore whatever was going on during an interrogation.

"Nope, in fact, I'm pretty sure that next couple of days are going to be easy," the tiefling took another scroll and added it to the pile in front of him.

Another tremor went through the building, making an ink pot fall off the desk.

"What do you think is going on there?" the young clerk whispered to the co-worker that seemed fairly friendly, unlike the rest.

"Aw crap, don't tell me that no one explained the birds and the bees to you yet?"

"Oh. Oh!" He gasped, a blush dusting his cheeks as realisation set in.

A halfling carrying thick tomes past his desk stage-whispered to no one in particular, "This one is not the sharpest quill, right?"

"Shit! Code Arsehole! Judge Buttershed is in our wing!"

An elf burst in, every head turning in his direction. The clerks stopped laughing, one hurrying down the hall towards Judge Ancunín’s office whilst the rest got to work with impressive speed.

"Why are you even covering for Judge Ancunín?"

The tiefling rolled his eyes at the newbie but graciously chose to reply.

"Because in spite of his eccentric ways and borderline obsession with the Hero of the Gate, he is the best we've had in years! Do you want to have to rewrite all your scrolls because your handwriting is neither here nor there?"

"Gods, do you remember the 'no use of magic above Level 1 in governmental buildings’?"

"Pft, that was nothing,” a handsome elf with long hair put up in a severe, tight chignon scoffed. “I heard they used to have gremishkas just to make sure no one used magic on site.”

"He's here!"

Most would not understand what the commotion was even about. To a casual observer, Judge Buttershed would appear fairly unremarkable. Just a short, portly man with a sweaty face and capricious expression whose spectacles were woefully unfashionable even a century ago. His whole demeanour screamed that he disliked everyone in this room immensely and could not wait to go back to his wing, where according to him things were still done the right way, and settle into his chair in his office.

"I heard that Ancunín was late for court yesterday. Again. Although, judging by the disorder I see here,” he boomed, a little spittle flying forth, “this is of little surprise. Therefore, I feel it is my duty to give him a stern talk."

"Considering his status, your Honour, is that wise?”

Judge Buttershed looked down his nose at the half-elf who dared contradict him.

“Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? I will make sure to fire you first once Ancunín is out of here,” he pointed a fat finger at the clerk.

Expecting to see fear and reverence in forest-green eyes and finding neither, he cursed under his breath and made his way down the hall, muttering to himself and shooting hard looks at whoever happened to cross his path.

Thus assured that he was doing the only thing that would save Baldur’s Gate judicial system from collapse, Buttershed burst through the doors, all righteous anger, ready to deliver his judgement. Only to find his rival and the Hero of the Gate sipping tea, engaged in amicable conversation.

“Oh? To what do I owe the honour Buttershed?” Astarion quirked a brow. “What was important enough for you to barge into my office without making an appointment with my secretary?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way, you- you- charlatan! You know full well that you have no business sullying these halls with your disgusting presence!”

“Astarion? Who is this? I will make sure to mention him the next time I pay a visit to Duke Ravengard,” your voice was pleasant enough but the look you levelled the intruder with spoke volumes. “In fact, I was going to call on Ulder tomorrow. Luckily, with us being old friends and all, I hardly need to bother to make an appointment!”

Judge Buttershed was defeated, and he knew it. Whilst he was prepared to take on Ancunín, feeling that he could successfully make a case and prove that the elf committed professional misconducts, the Supreme Marshall of the Flaming Fists was not someone to trifle with. Bidding his farewells to you only, he left the room in a flurry of silk and barely concealed complaints muttered under his breath.

“Now, my dear. That was most impressive,” Astarion purred, taking a sip of tea.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you shrugged, picking out a particularly scrumptious-looking biscuit and happily crunching on it. And then selecting one more, wondering if Astarion would mind terribly if you took the rest with you.

“I mean, you accuse yours truly, saying that I abuse my power. But are you any better?” he set his cup aside to place a kiss on the corner of your lips, your cheek and under your jaw. “It’s nice to know that the heroes are as bad as the rest of us.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Astarion,” you popped the biscuit into your mouth with a smile. “Now then, I must leave. Seeing as I missed most of my appointments for today and have to reschedule, don’t expect to see me for a while.”

His hands tightened round your middle, head resting in the crook of your neck.

“Must you leave?”

“For now. But I will make sure to come by in the next few days or so, okay? I miss you when I’m not around you,” you admitted, looking at him from underneath long lashes. “But there is so much to be done still… I feel selfish. For feeling so happy.”

Ah. And that was your most vexing quality that he exploited so readily when you first started travelling together. Your damnable selflessness. He loved you for it. He hated that you extended it to others.

Astarion sighed into your shoulder and withdrew. You felt the absence of his warmth so acutely that it took all your willpower to turn around and walk out of his door at that moment.

Astarion got you arrested on five more occasions before he finally summoned the courage to ask you to move in with him. Not for any particular reason. You were barely home as it was, so did it really matter which space you cluttered up with your armour and such? Which corner you tossed your boots in at the end of a long, tiring day?

Astarion, of course, being quite meticulous, made sure to organise your things for you. He began by colour-coding your undergarments drawer. To which he got a mixed response, considering he expected nothing but enthusiasm and gratitude.

A year into you living together, Astarion tossed a book onto your shared bed with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Dearest, I got you this. Considering you might not have enough reading material.”

“The ‘Court of Love’? Let me guess, you saw the title of this smutty little number and just couldn’t pass by?”

“Something like that. Would you indulge me by reading out a passage or two whilst I get ready to retire for the night?”

You narrowed your eyes. Something seemed off.

“What are you up to, Astarion?”

“My love! Your suspicions wound me!” Astarion crawled onto the bed and leaned against the bedframe.

You didn’t trust him for one second, but decided to play along for now, being a little curious yourself.

“The culprit was dragged in front of the magistrate. Her heavy breasts heaving with every laboured breath, nipples erect and pointing in his direction… Oh gods, this is terrible!” you chortled, making yourself comfortable and putting your head on Astarion’s bare chest.

“Isn’t it? Go on then, I want to hear what happens next,” he grinned, twirling a strand of your hair around his long fingers.

You giggled and turned the page.

“The magistrate rose in one swift movement, his eyes flashing and muscles flexing. He moved slowly, a predator circling his prey. Her eyes followed him, heart hammering as he breasts rose and fell with every breath, her nipples-  What is with this writer and nipples?” you rolled your eyes.

“Hot, isn’t it?”

Astarion was clearly having a whale of a time, though he seemed to be familiar with the text, his attention directed at you, as if wanting to make sure he caught every reaction, every expression.

“Are the nipples meant to be moving around so much? They could be out there directing foot traffic! I’m guessing that you picked this up at Sharess’?”

“Indeed, I did! And who are you to judge the quality of this book!” Astarion said with an air of a mother defending her child. “I’ll have you know, it was sold out in hours! I worked hard to get my hands on this copy!”

Then something clicked in your mind. You read the next two pages quickly.

“Magistrate Arunin and the Hero of the Coast? Astarion, is this based on us?” you looked at the cover at the book to check the name of the author. And sure enough, it was the Fist that arrested you for littering and then two more times after that.

“I’m going to kill him!” you growled, throwing the book on the floor. “And I don’t mean that in a cutesy way. I mean I will literally run my sword through him,” you pushed against Astarion’s chest. The elf gripped you tighter to stop you from leaving, as you were clearly intent on making good on your promise in spite of the late hour.

“Being a slave to the quill is truly a dangerous profession these days,” Astarion laughed, flipping you over and manoeuvring you so swiftly that you felt a little dizzy until he had you pinned against the bed.

“Now, whilst that murderous glint in your eyes is truly fetching, I think our energies would be better spent on each other rather than on some writer. Besides,” he went on, popping button after button open and pulling your shirt open slowly, fingers trailing along your skin, “I hear that he is planning on writing a sequel. And I find myself eager to read what depraved adventures the magistrate and the hero will get up to.”

Your words of outrage were quickly cut of by insistent lips as Astarion kissed you, tongue darting out through the smallest opening in his mouth to coax your own to open. And then there was no more talking, just groans and sighs, and gasps and moans.

As night bled into morning and you were fast asleep, Astarion congratulated himself on his usual practical sagacity, as once again his sound judgement resulted in an outcome most pleasant. Perhaps you were not keen on his brilliant plan at first, but you had no reasons to complain about his ways of going about getting what he wanted now.

And thus assured that he was always right, Astarion pulled you closer and closed his eyes, allowing himself to rest.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9, @hellethil,

@khywren, @maeryls-journal, @larvasmoon, @xxnashiraxx

[littlemisspascal]

Today marks the 3rd anniversary of my fic The Infinity Cube. I can still remember posting the first chapter, hoping at least one person out there liked it, and I can still remember how it felt to reach the end, a feat that wouldn't have been possible without the support of so many kind souls 💗 I wanted to make something for the occasion and having seen so many amazing web weavings out there, I thought I'd give it my best shot 😊

THE INFINITY CUBE: a journey home

Shades of Earth by Beth Revis // I Choose You by Adam Melchor // When Did It Happen? by Mary Oliver // First Love by Jennifer Franklin // The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde // The Bronze Horseman by Paullina Simons // The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman // 10 a.m Is When You Come To Me by Louise Bourgeois // Maybe In Another Universe, I Deserve You by Gaby Dunn // Maybe When the Time is Right You Will Find Me Again - K. Tolnoe // We Were Missing the Present by Mahmoud Darwish // Persona (1966) // Matched by Ally Condie // In the Pines by Alice Notley // It Wasn't Love // La Pointe Courte (1955) // "My better half" by Pablo J. Davis // The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller // Bioshock Infinite // Calling a Wolf a Wolf by Kaveh Akbar // Oh It Was Meant to Be - Kate McGahan // Pillow Thoughts by Courtney Peppernell // If My Body Could Speak by Blythe Baird // Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens // Unending Love by Rabindranath Tagore // The Blinding Star by Blanca Varela // Wild Spirit, Soft Heart by Butterflies Rising // Finding You by Kesha // Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths // Web weaving about the untold story in you // "Feel like making a deal with the devil?" // A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara // Reborn: Journals ad Notebooks by Susan Sontag // I love you like a rotten dog // Sax Rohmer #1 by The Mountain Goats // The Bubble (2022) // Rabbit Hole (2010) // Beginning with O by Olga Broumas // How many times can the same thing break your heart? // War of the Foxes by Richard Siken // On Death in Heartbreak // Lonely Day by System of A Down // This Road (The Mirror is a Trap) by Poe // Memory for Forgetfulness by Mahmoud Darwish // "Do you think we're soulmates in another universe?" // Radio Silence by Alice Oseman // "In one timeline we kiss" - Elizabeth Hewer // Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar by Cheryl Strayed // Almond Blossoms and Beyond by Mahmoud Darwish // X // The Collected Poems of Alvaro de Campos by Fernando Pessoa // Excerpt from Moony Moonless Sky's 'I am an observer, but not by choice' // @/lookoflove // Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg // "Do you know what it's like to live somewhere that loves you back?" - Danez Smith // Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros // The Chaos of Stars by Kiersten White // Home // You and Me

All Pedro Photos - Pinterest // Reader in my story is physically a blank slate, I just really like the photo of Javi + Gabriela touching foreheads

[seilnakyle]

A different anon but I am quite interested in this topic because of the sheer discourse that revolves around this.

do you think there's any way for talia to be "fixed" as a character? not morally redeemed, but... you know. i don't see a unified census on how she should be as a character, whether she agrees with her father or not, whether she's a good parent to damian or not, what comics of hers are canon and not canon as per fans and antis alike, what her compass and motivations are like. could she be revamped once more to be a more thoughtfully created character with as little racism/anti-arab sentiment as possible? i'd definitely prefer none but that would be a tall ask so. baby steps.

i personally want her to have more agency in her stories and not just be limited to her relationships with ra's, bruce and damian. yes, they are crucial parts of her life, but there could be more to her. not asking for those to be removed, but to be simply added on so that discussions about talia can be carried on from the same old "who's the better love interest for bruce" or "did talia did this or is this a mouthpiece for biased writers", if you get what i mean? we can talk about other things regarding talia when there are.. other things

Well, as I am neither Arab nor Chinese, I can’t give any insight on how the Al Ghuls could be “fixed” to be less racist. To begin I think you would have to acknowledge that they were literally ALWAYS racist and the problems absolutely did not begin with Morrison. I mean, they were created by white dudes in the 70s playing around with orientalist tropes and stereotypes and specifically using another racist caricature created by white dudes in 1912 as inspo 😭 these were NEVER going to be well written or well thought out characters…

Morrison didn’t add any racist tropes that weren’t already there at creation. What Morrison DID was make Talia evil, and “changed” (I use quotes bc son of the demon has never been canon) Damian’s conception. I’ve already talked about that situation here, but tldr I don’t agree with making her into a rapist and think it was unnecessary.

There’s a good article here that breaks down how much Talia specifically but also Ra’s are caricatures, and also touches on her completely nonexistent agency, and the way her fans have to completely infantilize her just like Bruce and Ra’s do in order to enjoy her as a “morally neutral gal who never meant any harm 🥺”

Pre Morrison Talia was quit literally “I’m just a girl”-ing her way through everything lol, but like, in an intentional manipulative way that she got away with bc every character also sees her as someone with no agency. Post Morrison Talia is just far more blunt, and self assured, but still never on her own path. Neither of these are good characterizations.

Talia is simply the Fah Lo Suee to her father’s Fu Manchu. She has no agency, and the only reason she ever does ANYTHING is for her father or the man she’s obsessively in love with whom SHE by her own admission, is the one usually doing the pursuing (“it’s I who chase you!” “Be with me and i will live with you wherever under any circumstances!!” BARF- i mean) which is why I’m never feeling that relationship lol

At this point in time? As she and her daddy are racist caricatures in 100% of everything they are part of?Just archive them and do better with Damian idk bro 😭

Anyway, here’s some excerpts from that article:

[haleswallows]

i come with a gift. that gift is an excerpt from dragon fic

The sun had not yet risen, the deep fathomless black of night breaking slowly into purples, red, and oranges. Not yet blue. And beside him, the prince continued to sleep. Buried in the blankets until only a tuft of raven black hair was visible.

The prince hadn't lied - he was a terrible bedmate, prone to tossing and turning. Even now, he kicked his legs only to roll over and press his face into Danny's arm. His face, smoothed in sleep, was beautiful.

He was beautiful in waking, of course. Danny's self control was the only reason he didn't stare endlessly at the prince. Tracing his sharply angled jawline, plush lips, a thick fan of eyelashes, Danny took the opportunity to admire the prince in his sleep. And pale, so pale, skin entirely unmarred save for a small scar under his eye. Danny wished he knew the story of it, glad whoever had wielded the blade had missed his husband's eye.

Danny kept his sigh to himself. The memory of kissing the prince was still fresh in his mind. It had been an impulsive want. The ceremony didn’t call for it but Danny…

It was hard to forget the way the prince went soft and pliant during the kiss. The way he leaned into Danny and kissed back. His fingers itched with the urge to brush the prince's - Timothy's - hair from his face.

They were married. Twice even! But the prince hadn't yet given Danny permission to his name, and schooled himself to respectfully honor that even if in his thoughts alone. Danny was a lot of things, but 'proper' definitely isn't one of them. And… he wanted to do this properly. For the prince. To treat him well.

It was backwards. Despite being married and sworn to each other in the laws of two countries, Danny thought about how he'd like to court the prince. Treat him with the respect and admiration he deserved.

Another lifetime. Maybe they would have been friends first, maybe they could have cared for each other before making vows, maybe they could have done it right. In this lifetime, Danny was nothing but a commoner and then cursed and now the High Chief.

Danny couldn't change that.

He doesn't know the prince. Not really, not yet. There were hints of it, the truth of Timothy Drake-Wayne. Beautiful, brave, thoughtful. Danny liked that. It seemed every time he looked at the prince, there were countless thoughts behind the pretty smile and his sharp attention.

The prince doesn't know him either. Danny is… Danny doesn't know what he is. Brash, too stubborn for his own good. Trying his best, for all that's worth. Used to be clever with his hands, his mind rooted in engineering like his parents. But that all got left behind. He was the High Chief now, no time in his life left for tinkering or inventing.

Hopeful. Danny was hopeful.

He wanted a lot of things.

Right now, Danny was being lazy, curled up under the blankets even though he was wide awake. The only excuse he had to not be up yet was the prince still asleep at his side, curled into a comma.

The bonds were a sleepy thing in his mind. Fright Knight a cool and calm thrum as he moved through his never ending nightly patrolling. Jazz, still asleep and warm, soft. Dan, starting to stir and the bond lighting up with his drowsy morning thoughts. All enveloped by his strongest bond - Aquila, deep asleep in the tower, grumbling.

Idiot, probably has an upset stomach, Danny thought ruefully to himself. Added getting milk weed to his mental list, to soothe the silly dragon's gut. Smiled softly at the ceiling, nothing but fond and warm.

He had to get up. There was a list as long as his arm and then some that he needed to do today. First of which being check on Dan, debrief with Fright Knight, hit the town to gather supplies for a trip to Frostbite. At some point, getting the prince's ring resized. Take him to Paulina to get clothes appropriate for the chilly mountain conditions.

Danny sighed. No more lazing about. He needed to start his day. Any moment, he'd get up.

It was just…

Being close to the prince was nice. 

Girding himself with every responsibility and duty, Danny forced himself from the bed. His movements caused the prince to stir, pulling away from where his face had pressed against the bulk of Danny’s shoulder. He blinked slowly as he propped himself up on an elbow. One side of his hair was flat, the other side sticking up.

Ancients, Danny was screwed. He thought even the prince’s bed head was charming.

“Hey,” he spoke, keeping his voice low. “It’s early, you should sleep more.”

[griefabyss69]

Vulture

Have this fic I started working on months ago, it's still unfinished but it's 10 chapters already! If you've been playing along with my WIP games, you'll recognize this by its working title: Quiet House. I'm ready to start sharing it, it might have slow updates depending on how my life is in the next few months, but the story isn't too complicated to follow along with!

Steddie - Rated: E - CW: Absent/bad parenting

Tags: Tags will be added as story progesses, Post-Vecna (Stranger Things), Slow Burn, Getting Together, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives

[ AO3 ]

Chapters 1 & 2 are posted!

Summary

Another ending, another aftermath—and then, somehow, another ending, aftermath pending.

Steve's exhausted, but his friends don't mind. In fact, there's someone who holds him up with steady shoulders and cuts through his malaise. He just has to have self control so he doesn't kiss him and scare him away. That gets harder when Eddie gives him something special—something Steve becomes a little bit obsessed with.

Excerpt

The exhaustion feels like an insurmountable curse, but... it'll go away. Eventually.

A pair of his favorite jeans can't get rid of bruises and scrapes and the ringing in his ears, but he can put them on and pretend the flesh inside of them hasn't been desecrated like the graffitied walls of an abandoned building. Then it's a soft t-shirt, not his favorite and not something with a tidy collar, but his skin is raw in some places and he's not ready to deal with the claustrophobia of bandages unless he absolutely has to. Besides, most of it's just more of the same old on his back, a place that's hard to get at and a place that's already fucked up with scars.

He has to laugh, thinking about what his mom would say about them.

___

The phone call is short, quick like getting stabbed by a million demo-teeth or perhaps a needle full of weird drugs.

There are no pretty lights on the ceiling though, except for the way the tears in his eyes make everything look gauzy and smeared.

It's not an end—the Harringtons are too smart for that—but Steve feels the same kind of peaceful acceptance as he did one of the times he thought he was bleeding out on the ground somewhere. The impossible ultimatum sits heavy in his gut like a stone, and he makes a snap decision all at once.

[zexapher]

Weiss: You know… I’ve been thinking back to when you asked me to the dance.

Jaune: You – ah, you have? I’m sorry if I was a bit… much, back then.

Weiss: Don’t worry, you weren’t so bad. It certainly frustrated me to no end back then, but now it seems cute. Something personal, and heartfelt. I had all these ideas in my head and, well…

Jaune: I shouldn’t have kept at it like that.

Weiss: No, but now things are different. Things have changed – we have changed. And I wouldn’t mind you trying your hand at another serenade.

Jaune: Really?

Weiss: You know I like music. And I have a collection of instruments back home. Perhaps we could put on our own little duet. You can… you can grab one of the guitars, finger a few of my strings.

Thought I'd share a little excerpt from the fanfic I published today, titled "Pastry Pandemonium." I threw a chunk of innuendo in, but that last line is about the most risqué it's gonna get. But I know what the people want, so I added a little arm in arm hand-holding action. You animals!

It's really all fluff and humor for a White Knight date night set in Mantle. 2k+ words, so it's a quick read. I figured it rates K+ on FF.net, so PG if you want to be careful. Originally planned to just make it as another edit, but then I got rather taken with the idea and turned it into a nice little story. I'll come back around to make that edit eventually.

Anyway, here are the links if you're interested in reading:

FF.Net

AO3