#it just might languish for a while

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

second season of Apothecary Diaries is good so far

[autball]

When you can’t show what you know, people assume you just don’t know anything.

At least that’s how it works for most autistic kids who can’t speak, or can’t control their bodies as much as they’d like to, or can’t answer things “fast enough,” and so on. Because the people who give the tests really don’t want to entertain the idea that their tests might just be garbage sometimes.

Non-speakers who have gained access to communication later in life all tell a similar story: that they experience a mind-body disconnect that makes it hard for them to control their own bodies. That means that they struggle to perform tasks on command, whether it comes from other people or their own minds, and that their bodies will just do things that the person didn’t even mean to do.

And despite the growing number of people who are able to share these stories, most of the People In ChargeTM are still operating under the assumption that if you can’t answer a question or follow an instruction correctly, it’s because you didn’t understand it.

Which means that kids who can’t show what they know because their bodies won’t cooperate are assumed to just not know anything.

Which means they never get to move to the next level of education.

Which means there are millions of children who languish in educational settings that are not academically challenging enough for them- because the problem they have with their bodies is assumed to be a problem with their mind.

But the inaccessibility of assessments is the problem here. As well as the assumptions people make about those who are thought of as “low functioning.” As well as the fact that the majority of autistic kids who can’t speak are still not given alternative means of communication soon enough, if at all.

We can do better. Presume competence. Treat communication like a basic human NEED and a RIGHT, not an optional privilege to be earned. And believe the people who keep telling us as soon as they can, “It’s our bodies, not our minds!”

NOTE: I’ve been wanting to do something on this for a while, and this particular cartoon came together a couple weeks ago while I was listening to “Ido in Autismland” by Ido Kidar. Please do check it out, along with the work of other non-speakers, to learn more about this experience from the people who actually live it. 

https://www.amazon.com/Ido-Autismland-Climbing-Autisms-Silent/dp/0988324709

https://www.amazon.com/Autistic-Boy-Unruly-Body-Autism/dp/B0B7XF3CVT

https://neuroclastic.com/directory-of-nonspeaker-pages-blogs-media/

[avelera]

Something something… through Viktor’s actions we see his possible linear mental checklist of his goals in life, and those goals included eventually confessing his feelings to Jayce, but before he did he felt he needed to do other things first. Namely:

1) Make Hextech a reality - Check. Viktor and Jayce actually achieved this one by 1.04. They could continue to refine forever but you can tell they both felt a sense of accomplishment in this.

2) Give Hextech to the people - Incomplete. At the end of S1 they had the refined Hextech crystals but the full benefits of their work had not reached the masses. Nor would it/should it ever.

3) Help the Undercity - incomplete, arguably completely unaddressed or even undermined by their work. The Hexgates drew Piltover’s attention away from the Undercity, which is why it languished while Piltover looked to distant markets. Hextech materially made life worse for the Undercity, as the alternate timeline showed us.

4) Hextech innovations lead to a cure for Viktor’s disease and disability - Successful but in the most horrifying way possible, including a body count.

5) Profit - Confess his feelings to Jayce.

(Don’t get too hung up on the order here because obviously a lot of these things could happen concurrently and I don’t think Viktor is stupid he would know that Hextech innovation could take a lifetime and probably wouldn’t wait to confess to Jayce just for that endlessly moving finish line.)

BUT, joking aide, I truly DO think that Viktor is kind and empathetic at his core and he really didn’t plan to confess his feelings to Jayce until he found a cure for his disease, which would require a lot of Hextech innovation to have any hope of reaching. Literally it would take a miracle.

I think Viktor’s belief in his own inadequacy could have festered in the painful doldrums of his own rapidly advancing illness after the initial glow of making the Hexgates happen.

Any hope of finding a cure was always remote, but as his illness advanced, this is when he may have even begun to push Jayce away, knowing the inevitable was coming. He certainly wouldn’t confess feelings to someone he loved with his days so numbered.

And that’s where I think a thread of actual resentment towards Mel might have crept in. To be fair, I don’t think Viktor hated her as a person, as such, nor was he a swooning teenager wracked by petty jealousy. But I think it must have stung to have his days so numbered and have this woman who represented everything he couldn’t offer to Jayce: health, wealth, beauty, position, prestige, etc distracting his attention away during what might be Viktor’s final days.

The thing is, I think rationally Viktor didn’t say anything because again, his days were numbered and Jayce and Mel were happy and well suited and beautiful and perfect together. He had nothing to offer. And it would be cruel to drag Jayce back just so Jayce would have to mourn him even more. Then as a result, Viktor was even more consumed by trying to save his own life by a miracle, though he now had to do it more alone than he ever predicted he would have to.

But there’s that horrible catch 22. He can’t tell Jayce how he feels because he might fail and die anyway and that would be cruel to someone he loves. But if he doesn’t tell Jayce, Jayce won’t come back to his side to help him out with the research needed to maybe save it.

Then Sky dies to the Hexcore and Viktor realizes just how much he’d lost of the parts of himself he liked, the parts that cared about helping others as PART of the cure for himself, and truly just gave up on any of it. He made his peace, decided to support Jayce during the emancipation of Zaun as a sort of ambassador, and resigned himself to the fact this would be the end for him.

Well, we know what happened next. Jayce saved his life, against Viktor’s wishes, using Viktor’s now-hates innovation.

Ok so now for the part that I was trying to get to:

A newly healed Viktor now has to reevaluate his life’s work checklist. It’s a much shorter list now.

1) Save his own life - check.

2) Figure out a way to make the world a better place - check.

3) Confess to Jayce now that you’re proud of who you are both inside and outside. You are finally worthy of him. You will finally live long enough that confessing isn’t an act of cruelty. You finally have achievements that make you worthy to proposition the creator of Hextech and the man you love, who is as far as you know, currently dating the physical embodiment of perfection.

And that explains Viktor’s catwalk into the Council Chamber in 2.08. He’s decked out in Mel’s colors. He’s ready to compete. He’s perfect now. He’s found a way to save humanity from itself. He is now worthy of Jayce and in a place where he can actually offer a lifetime together.

And Jayce rejects him.

This stuns Viktor. Actually, it fully knocks him into a villain arc, because Jayce has never refused him anything before. And Viktor can’t comprehend why his checklist didn’t work. Why did becoming perfect not work?

Because Jayce didn’t need the checklist. He’d already broken up with Mel. He didn’t need Viktor to be healed or to have already saved the world or to be anything else but Jayce’s partner. Jayce would have been happier if Viktor proposed at Step 0, but Viktor thought that would be a cruelty if he didn’t have a cure yet.

But I truly think Jayce would have preferred even just a day as Viktor’s official partner if that was all they got over a decade of being held at arm’s length until “everything was perfect”.

And that’s what Viktor doesn’t understand.

And that’s what Jayce had to show him in that final act of love.

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #5: CADMIUM COLORS

(also on bandcamp and spotify!)

Once again, welcome back to the Constant Companions Closeups - a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Last time, I wrote a whole diatribe about my OCs while talking about I Wish That I Could Fall, and today, we're eating paint! Cadmium Colors featuring Soneji of Project Mikan!

Consider this a content warning: this post will discuss the pandemic, struggles with mental health, and suicidal ideation/attempts. I'm hoping it'll ultimately be uplifting, but the discussions at hand are incredibly heavy, and it wouldn't do this song right to be vague. Please be warned.

---

Let's talk about COVID.

At the beginning of 2020, I was in the midst of a long-term break from making music. It wasn't completely cold turkey, and I might not have even called it a break if you'd asked me at the time, but things were dire. I was still dealing with the burnout I'd sustained from the making of Autumn Every Day; I'd had my ego bruised by a live performance at a house party that went so hilariously bad it'd hurt even the most stoic performers (imagine watching an entire packed room of people clear out in 5 minutes flat from the already hyper-exposed vantage point of being on stage in front of them and knowing you single-handedly caused that lol); I had just moved across the country, and was preoccupied with trying to make ends meet as a 22 year old dealing with pure adulthood for the first time.

I was working a shitty minimum wage job at a discount clothing store I will not be naming, slogging through late-night shifts that wouldn't get me home until 3 am some nights. I had friends and roommates, but they were all just as overworked and exhausted and dealing with their own shit as me. I was mentally ill and unmedicated. Suicidal ideation was rearing its ugly head at my lowest moments.

Then, as I turned 23, a global pandemic shut the world down, my grandpa died with me being unable to attend his funeral, and I had a catastrophic mental breakdown that suddenly turned the voices in my head into a deafening cacophony of self-inflicted malice.

In hindsight, I think being 23 kinda just does that to you

---

Fast forward to 2021. I was back at my retail job with the pandemic raging in full force, my sense of self was held together with duct tape, positive self-talk essentially didn't exist for me, and I was the loneliest and lowest I had ever been. I was working the fewest hours I could get away with, and still, almost all spare time I had was taken up either by work or by my recovery from it.

This was around the time I got an email from Crypton, of all places - the people that make Hatsune Miku, for anyone uninformed. They wanted a remix of the song Happy Synthesizer for a Digital Stars compilation. I could not for the life of me tell you how I lucked into this or why they reached out to me of all people, but they did, and I was deathly determined to prove myself worthy of it.

This was August of 2021. I was staring down the barrel, languishing in what felt like only half of a life, fantasizing about death and trying to twist my thoughts into something that could at least keep me blearily shuffling forward another couple days. It was untenable.

(I'd also recently been diagnosed with OSDD 1b - this is a whole can of worms I can't really open until we talk about Breeze Blows, but it's important to at least mention that coping with this was a significant part of this turnaround.)

It's melodramatic, but I had only two options - make things again, or die.

I finished that remix within 24 hours of getting the stems, and I will gladly toot my own horn about it - it's really fucking good, in my opinion. Bittersweet ended up coming together in a mad dash over the next couple months as well. I was making music again.

Even though I was exponentially busier, things paradoxically got easier. I made the creative process a priority in my life, and not only did it give me an outlet for everything that had otherwise been eating away at my soul, but it struck a chord with other people who had been struggling as well. Things just... started getting brighter.

So I kept making music and living and yadda yadda blah blah here I am. This is all a lot of words and very personal stories of mental health struggles to say this:

One: The line between being an artist and being one of countless people forced to work jobs that go nowhere, that put their life at risk, that force them to strip parts of themselves away - it is a faint and transparent line built on circumstances of class and privilege and luck. Making Art and being an Artist aren't magical elevated states of existence, but something anyone is capable of if given the space to nurture their creativity. I believe the world should be a place where any person can do this.

Two: It's easy to convince yourself that art is meaningless in the face of the world at large. And yes, revolutions aren't fought by poetry and paintings, and people aren't fed through songs. But art is a source and a medium for connection; Art is how we find beauty in a disorganized and entropic world; Art is what we come home to and what words we write and pictures we paint and songs we sing to remind us that people matter to us and love is real and life is worth fucking living. Maybe that's corny and stupid, but it's true.

Three: So help me God, I will never work retail again in my entire life.

---

This is another song that is heavily inspired by artists like Prefab Sprout, Peter Gabriel, Kate Bush, and other artists of that ilk - very 80s, very flowery and sentimental lyricism, focused on telling a story. I greatly admire songs that aren't afraid to paint otherwise banal or ordinary scenes in abstract reverence!! I wanted the verses to contrast heavily with each other in that way, with verse one's relentless poeticisms (prosaic practice of depravity) and idioms turned on their head (suspending innocents above their disbelief) against verse two's incredibly straightforward depiction of a factory worker's circumstances.

The flowery language might have worked against me somewhat, though! I've seen a lot of folks that thought the ending was darker or much more defeatist than I intended, and while some of that is just inevitable with a work of art, I want to be clear.

Translator's note: this means "don't kill yourself, you idiot"!!

As you may have picked up from the previous post in this series, this song does heavily feature a leitmotif or two predominantly performed under pudgy pretenses. I'm not going to go on that whole novella-length spiel again, but rest assured knowing that this song, too, is one that makes me think about my OCs. Since it's something many people missed, however, I will take a moment to point out that this song quotes none other than Autumn Every Day off of my album of the same name!

Painting and visual art have been something of a reoccurring obsession of mine in my own art. I grew up around visual artists, have always been friends with many visual artists, and generally have a really intense love of it as a medium and a mode of expression. However, there's also always been a sense of... well, I don't want to call it jealousy, but it's jealousy. I've tried many times to start making visual art of my own, and I have made some things, but it's been a struggle, and I worry sometimes that my eye has permanently outstripped my ability.

However, in my quest to toss out grand expectations and simply have fun making art, I did recently pick up a cheap little drawing tablet! I'm excited to be a beginner at something artistic again...

Finally, I want to thank a couple people: Soneji of Project Mikan for the gorgeous, soaring saxophone solo; friend_xp for the mindboggling MV editing; and especially my good friend Que for the GORGEOUS painterly art that goes along with this song! Que's style was just perfect for this, and really tied the whole thing together immaculately!! There's no joke or deeper lore or anything I just fucking love Que's art go follow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And with that, I think this post is complete!! If you have anything else you wanna know about, ask away in the replies! Tomorrow will be Breeze Blows with Marcy Nabors and Marlow Jacobs!!!

MAKE ART AND BE GAY

[metamorphesque]

Formula 1, Sportswashing and Greenwashing a Genocide ... in other words, just an ordinary day in baku

As the final Formula 1 Grand Prix is set to take place tomorrow in baku, azerbaijan, I find it impossible to remain silent. The world is gearing up for what’s supposed to be an exciting event but behind the gleaming lights of the racetrack, there’s a much darker story that demands attention: the ethnic cleansing of Artsakh and azerbaijan’s ongoing brutal actions against Armenians.

azerbaijan’s history of oppression toward the Armenian people is not a secret. The forced displacement of Armenians from their ancestral lands, the violent campaign of ethnic cleansing in Artsakh, and the inhumane imprisonment and torture of Armenian captives in baku are undeniable facts. The world has remained shockingly quiet as over 200 Armenians languish in azerbaijani prisons, subjected to treatment that violates every principle of human rights.

One of the most glaring symbols of azerbaijan’s hatred toward Armenians is the Genocide Theme Park in baku, a chilling place that mocks the pain and suffering of an entire people. This is not just an internal issue; it’s an attack on humanity. But instead of confronting azerbaijan’s actions, the world is endorsing them.

These atrocities are certainly not limited to the government and the officials; the indescribable hatred has extended over to the people as well - take a glimpse into the azeri society

Now, let's imagine that you were fortunate enough to watch the F1 Grand Prix live in baku. How would you feel knowing that the azerbaijani person sitting next to you might be one of the many who were selling beheaded bodies of Armenian children on Facebook? Or perhaps they took their children to the Genocide Park and photographed them pretending to choke the statues of Armenian soldiers?

azerbaijan is not only hosting the Formula 1 Grand Prix but is also set to host COP29, a global climate summit. These events are being used to greenwash and sportwash the regime’s crimes.

How can we watch Formula 1 without acknowledging that the very ground this race is held on is soaked in the suffering of Armenians? How can we cheer for a spectacle when the cries of the oppressed go unheard?

This is not a political issue; it’s a matter of basic human decency. While the world enjoys the race, we must not forget the injustices happening in the shadows. Formula 1 should be about fairness and excellence. But in azerbaijan, it’s about something far more sinister—using sport to hide atrocities.

So, as you watch the Grand Prix in baku, remember the Armenian lives shattered by violence, hatred and silence. Let’s refuse to let sports and international events become tools for erasing history and ignoring the suffering of innocent people.

BREAK THE CHAIN OF IGNORANCE: Share Information: use social media platforms like Tumblr, Instagram, X, Facebook and others to share articles, videos, and testimonies about the atrocities being committed by azerbaijan. The more people know, the harder it becomes to ignore. Engage in Dialogue: talk to friends, family, and colleagues about the situation in azerbaijan and encourage others to take action too. Support Armenian Communities: donate to/support organizations helping displaced Armenians and those impacted by the conflict in Artsakh. Even small contributions can go a long way in providing humanitarian aid. Artsakh Relocation Project All For Armenia

TAKE ACTION by adding your name to THE LIST of supporters.

Remember that this is not a political issue; it’s a matter of basic human decency.

[voidsuites]

TASHI DUNCAN BOT RELEASE !!! (7/1/25) ⌢ 🎾 .ᐟ

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．bid day. wlw. getting this far into the recruitment process for xi omicron upsilon’s no easy feat; even though you might as well be a regular pledge considering your legacy status holds little weight with the sisters. however, it looks like you’ve bitten off more than you can chew when a midnight meeting turns into some stereotypical college hazing trope where the sorority president’s interest in you is more personal than you’d first thought. sure, xi girls have a strict set of rules to follow— but where’s the fun if they can’t put the hell in hell week? (sorority sister!au)

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．manEATER. while tashi may be your closest friend at stanford, you should have been more careful about who you let into your circle. this isn't her flirting openly with your boyfriend across the cafeteria table, making bedroom eyes at art and denying it when you catch her, it's worse. god, you wish you never, ever met her at all. (bones and all/eater!au)(based off of “maneater” by nelly furtado!)(tw: blood + cannibalism)

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．she gets the job done. wlw. tashi’s never been selfish, nor has she been one to hold her tongue when others dance around the truth. it’s what’s earned her the title of lead ranch hand on your father’s ranch and the #1 spot in your heart for the biggest ego. she can’t just stand by and watch you languish in a relationship where your boyfriend can’t give you what you need even if you tell her otherwise. she’s a giver, baby— it's just in her nature. (cowgirl!au)(based off “the giver” by chappell roan!)

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．under the sea. the human world above the surface has always called to you and tashi, even with growing up hearing your father’s stern warnings about mankind. you’ll evade your guards as many times as necessary if it means scavenging another shipwreck or catching a glimpse of a human along the coast— though the latter possibility better include her lest you run into trouble. the life of mermaid royalty may not be for the faint of heart, but tashi alone makes the risk of being caught worth the reward of human treasure. (mermaid!au)

got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 18.5K! my girl deserves the world, but i think that goes without saying. challengers doesn’t happen without tashi duncan so let’s keep that in mind before we try and brush off her role or whatever. argue with the wall… tashi duncan hive rise tf up!!!!! anyways join my community if u want to… or don’t. we are very close to hitting a big milestone so stay tuned… keep your eyes peeled! love you all!

[ladykailitha]

One in a Million

Welcome to fic three in my 1 million words in the Steddie fandom. This week has been so amazing!

Summary: Sequel to Oh, For a Muse of Fire! Steve is still painting the most beautiful works but still is struggling with coming out as Eddie's husband and that it's okay to sell his artwork and still be a teacher. Eddie comes up with a solution that will help Steve with both. A gallery opening and silent auction where all the proceeds go to charity. Steve might just learn that he's one in a million.

~

Eddie walked into his husband’s studio and shook his head ruefully. He knew that Steve had always wanted to be an art teacher, but these works deserved to be in museums and art galleries not languishing in a studio in Upper Manhattan.

The band was on their third album and while Steve had done the cover art for all their albums none of them had been credited to him. And other that that interview with Max Mayfield, Steve hadn’t been brought up since.

Some of the more eagle-eyed fans had spotted Steve and connected the figure with the Max Mayfield interview, but everyone had been super respectful about his privacy.

So far.

He wandered through the stacks and piles of canvases of art in various stages of completion until he found what he was looking for.

Steve Harrington. His beautiful husband. He was in a dirty, old t-shirt and raggedy jeans with an apron over top. His feet were bare as he was hunched over a painting that when it was completed would be Orpheus and Eurydice on the stair.

As he got closer, a grin spread out over Eddie’s face. Orpheus had honey colored hair that brushed just above his shoulders and Eurydice had long, dark curls.

“You are absolutely the biggest sap,” Eddie whispered into Steve’s ear.

Steve leaned back into Eddie’s chest and then tilted his head back to look him in the eye. “Says the man who wrote an entire album about how much he loves me.”

“Don’t tell the band that,” Eddie said with a chuckle, “they’re all ready think I was too much of a sap writing Thorns & Thistles about you. They would absolutely throw hands if they new the third album was all about you.”

Steve sat up and rubbed his hands together. “I wonder what I could get for my silence!”

Eddie shoved him off the stool, Steve landing on the floor with a thud and a laugh. “Like I wouldn’t already give you the moon if you asked, asshole.”

He reached down to help Steve back to his feet and Steve gave him a peck on the cheek. He settled back down on the stool.

“It looks good, babe,” Eddie said earnestly. “I’ve noticed you’ve been on a Greek myth kick lately, what prompted that?”

Steve shrugged. “I was looking at the piece I did of you and was reminded that it was supposed to be Psyche coming to Eros while he was asleep. And that spawned the weaving battle between Arachne and Athena, which lead to lead to the kidnapping of Persephone, which lead to this...”

“I really liked the Arachne one,” he replied with a grin. “I liked how it showed her fear changing her into a spider. I bet it would sell well too.”

Steve sighed and swung around to face Eddie. “You know I don’t want to sell my artwork, Eds. I don’t know why you keep insisting I do.”

Eddie took his face in his hands. “Because people deserve to see your work and not just at some dinky university showing either. I know you think it will interfere with your teaching. But that’s only if you take commissions, which you don’t have to. You can have Robin be your agent even. She would love that. You put your work in a gallery and if people want to buy it they go through her and presto, you sell your art and you still get to teach.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Steve huffed closing his eyes.

“Because it is,” Eddie kissed him deeply. “I assure you there are several art teachers out there selling their work. I bet that’s how they can still be teachers. They don’t have rich rockstar husbands to make sure they have everything they could ever desire, like a kilo of phthalo green paint.”

Steve opened his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “I guess I never really thought of it that way.”

Eddie kissed his lips and then his forehead, both cheeks and then finally his nose.

“I actually have been putting some serious thought in this,” he purred. “I know you’ve been wanting to come out as partners to the public but didn’t want to do a red carpet event.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “I think all the cameras would make me freak out, if I’m honest.”

Eddie nodded. It was the one thing that Steve couldn’t get over. The constant barrage of flashing in his face. Especially with his trauma regarding his scars.

“So why don’t we have an auction selling off some of your works,” he suggested. “You can debut being my partner, you get to clear out some of your studio, and there won’t be any pictures taken. The bonus is that the money goes to a couple of good charities.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Charity you say?”

Eddie grinned. He knew that would be the real hook for him. Whatever else Steve was, he loved giving what he had to others.

“Yeah, babe,” he confirmed. “Youth music programs country-wide.”

Steve’s lip quivered and he chomped down on it to make it stop. He hung his head between Eddie’s hands and Eddie wrapped him up in a tight hug.

“Will I get to pick out fancy clothes?” he whispered, shyly.

Eddie wanted to throw his head back and laugh, but to Steve this was no laughing matter. He could tease him for it later, but now? It was an honest question.

“Black tie, by invitation only,” he confirmed sternly. He had the biggest smile on his face. He couldn’t help it. He was so in love with this man. Even with their very rocky start, he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

Steve lifted his head to look Eddie in the eyes. “Yeah, okay. I don’t trust myself, but I trust you and I trust Robin.”

Eddie kissed him soundly. “That’s a really big thing to admit, I think Dr. Owens would be proud of that one.”

Steve snorted. With Eddie making rockstar money, he got Steve into proper therapy. How to manage his panic attacks, what to do when he does get them, how to identify triggers and how to avoid them.

It was one of the reasons Steve was doing so well. He was getting the help he needed. Eddie also had sessions with a different therapist to make sure there weren’t any lingering feelings over the broken jaw incident. He wanted to be the best boyfriend Steve ever had, bar none.

Which was why he was pushing this, if he was honest. He knew Steve had thought he had gone as far as he could, but both Eddie and Dr. Owens knew that he just needed permission to color outside the lines once in awhile. And this charity auction was certainly help in that regard.

He looked around the room and licked his lips slowly. “Why don’t we do a theme so that you don’t have to feel like you’re choosing your favorites out of your children?”

“Max.”

Eddie burst out laughing. Yeah, okay. That was fair. Out of all of Steve’s ‘kids’, Max was definitely Steve’s favorite. Dustin probably came in close second, but Max wasn’t as pushy as he was.

Eddie had met all of the Party as they called themselves. Dustin and Will he had met before, but he was introduced to Mike and Lucas, too. And those two brought the ladies, Max, Ellie, and Erica. Well, Ellie was technically Hopper’s adopted daughter, so that was brought into the mix.

His life had been very chaotic for a bit there. But thanks Murray’s quick thinking everything had smoothed out quite nicely.

“What’s the theme then?” Steve asked when Eddie finally caught his breath.

“I figure you’ve got a least a dozen or so myth related paintings,” he pointed out. “Greek, Nordic, Egyptian, and a couple others thrown in there fun, we can sell those.”

Steve’s brow furrowed as he thought about it. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Eddie jumped up and down, whooping and cheering.

“Yes!”

~

Steve stood next to the painting that started it all. Eddie had convinced him to do a showing of his other works as well as the auction. There were two distinct rooms that were separated by the main hall where the reception and auction would be held.

There were drinks being served as guests admired the artwork and decided what they wanted to bid on.

There were already a couple people who had tried to bully Eddie into telling them who the artist was so that they could then bully them about selling a painting from the gallery room.

Eddie stymied them all. He refused to budge on the matter. The paintings that would be sold would only be done so through the auction. And the artist would be revealed at the reception.

Steve was grateful that Eddie was handling it all as he had been close to a panic attack at least twice. But all of their friends were here.

Including Diamond and his wife Amethyst. Steve was really excited to see them, as he hadn’t since the wedding reception two years ago.

All that to say that he was nervous as hell.

Steve looked up at the painting that was supposed to be Eros asleep, but it was more like Eros beckoning the viewer to come closer with a debauched stare.

It was that very stare that had him enthralled from the very beginning. God, he loved Eddie. He let out a shuddering breath.

“I must say this Steve fellow is quite the talented artist,” said a deep rumbling voice next to him who caused him start.

Steve looked over to see a tall older gentleman in a neat brown suit with a trimmed goatee and round glasses.

He stuck out among the other guests who were dressed to the nines in tuxes and tailored suits and beautiful dresses.

He reminded Steve of his ethics professor.

“I understand it’s just a hobby for him,” he said instead of asking who he was. He brought his drink to his lips to hide his smile.

The man looked at Steve directly. He had startling blue eyes and a wicked smile. “And I hear he teaches middle school students, that hardly makes painting a hobby, wouldn’t you agree?”

Steve burst out laughing. “You’ve got me there. No, that doesn’t sound like a hobby to me.”

“I’m René Benoit,” he said reaching out his hand. “I’m the curator and owner of the gallery.”

Steve shook his hand. That explained the lack of formal attire then. “It’s nice to meet you.” He turned back to his painting, admiring his husband in all his glory.

“Don’t believe you gave me your name,” René said raising his eyebrow.

Steve glanced over at him for a moment and then back to painting. “No, you’re right, I didn’t.”

René regarded him, tilting his head to the side as he regarded Steve. He too, turned back to the painting. “So you are the mysterious artist. I suppose it would make sense considering you are the only one admiring the best painting here.”

Steve snorted. “It helps I was in love with the model.” He turned to look at René. “I still am.”

“Ah, yes the indomitable Eddie Munson,” René said with a small smile. “We’ve met. He was very insistent on your privacy. Now I understand why.”

“Oh.” Yeah. He had almost forgotten he was once a nine day wonder. He never got recognized anymore and those that did were respectful of his privacy.

His hand went to his neck and rubbed the scar self-consciously. It was barely there now, long since faded into the folds of his neck. The ones on his back where more noticeable but only he if he wore something that made them visible.

“You are brave young man, Steve Harrington,” René said with a smirk. “And a better artist.” He paused a moment to look up at Eddie as Eros. “Perhaps that bravery is what makes you a better artist. You aren’t’ afraid to do something bold.”

“I don’t feel brave,” Steve said with a snort. “I’ve been through a lot of therapy and I still get panic attacks.”

René hummed. “Maybe so, but panic attacks mean that you’ve been through some horrible things and survived.” He turned to Steve and cocked his head to the side. “The fact that you still have panic attacks and chose to be here says you are very brave indeed.”

Suddenly a voice crackled over the intercom. “The auction is about to start, if you would please take your seats. Again the auction is about to start, please take your seats.”

Steve raised his glass. “I guess that’s my cue to exit stage right. Thank you.” He nodded and stepped away.

René nodded and let him go. He looked up at the painting again. “Very interesting young man indeed.”

~

Steve was sitting on the back row watching the auction and occasionally bidding to drive up the price of piece if he thought it wasn’t going for enough. He might have his issues, but he knew how much time he spent on a piece and he wasn’t going to let one of his babies go for less than a thousand dollars.

He had his pride after all.

Wayne was the auctioneer and he was doing a stellar job. A lot of the pieces were being sold fairly quickly. Some of the paintings going for several hundred thousand dollars and Steve was proud of those.

Then it was time for the final piece. His Orpheus and Eurydice on the Stair. This is was the one he was the proudest and hoped it went to the person who would love it for more than the subject matter.

And almost immediately a bidding war started between a couple and a perky blonde in a pink, sequinned sheath dress. It heated up fast bursting past the hundreds and into the thousands before Steve could even blink.

“One million dollars!” Wayne called out. “Going once...” He looked over at the blonde but she shook her head, “going twice...” He scanned the crowd for any other takers, but even Eddie was shaking his head. “Going thrice...” One last scan for would-be bidders but the house was silent. “Sold! To the gentleman on the third row. Can I get your name please?”

“Maximilian Diamond,” the warm and rough baritone called out.

Steve’s jaw fell to the floor. Diamond bought his painting. Diamond bought his painting. Diamond bought his painting. Holy shit.

He stood up numbly as the rest of the crowd filtered out to the room that used to hold the auctioned works that would be used for the reception.

Eddie was by his side in moments.

“Holy shit, Stevie,” he breathed. “That’s $2.7 million dollars for a dozen paintings and one of them went for an even million. Can you believe it?”

Steve shook his head. He figured that they would get a couple hundred thousand maximum for the whole lot and he could go back to saying his stuff wasn’t worth selling. He go back to teaching and everyone would forget about Eddie Munson’s partner for another couple of years.

But this wasn’t that.

His work had actually started a bidding war. Yes, part of that war was a personal friend of his, but not to the tune of a million dollars.

He knew the club was doing well, but he hadn’t known it was doing that well.

He melted into the crowd as Eddie stood up to speak to them.

“I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight to celebrate a couple of charities that are near and dear to Corroded Coffin’s heart,” he began. “Music, Mind, and Memory, a charity dedicated to using music in helping kids learn, but especially those with learning disabilities. And Street Music, a charity dedicated to helping poor kids get the instruments they actually want to play and not just whatever the school has left over to lend out.”

Everyone clapped.

“But all this wouldn’t be possible without the love of my life,” he continued. “My Stevie. The band has talked about him a lot but we never bring up his last name.”

The crowd got a little restless at that, murmurs and whispers suddenly filling the air.

“My Stevie has always been a private person,” Eddie said, starting to pace on the little raised platform. “But that’s because he went through a harrowing ordeal and the media made him out to be a nine day wonder and he still gets recognized sometimes for the trauma he went through.”

Steve felt a warm hand slip into his. He looked up to see Robin holding his hand. On the other side of him, Chrissy snuggled up next to him.

He felt so blessed to have the best friends in the world.

“For you see, my husband is Steve Harrington,” he said fondly. “You can Google him later, but essential he stepped into a help a girl who was being attacked by homophobes and they tried to kill him for it. But he survived. Not without his share of PTSD and anxiety. But he’s worked a long time to get to where he is today.”

He stopped pacing and put his hand over his eyes to look out into the crowd. “Come on up, honey, and let the good people see you.”

Chrissy and Robin walked with him to the front of the crowd and then let him walk the rest of the way to Eddie.

Eddie held out his hand and Steve took it, allowing himself to be pulled on stage.

“This is the love of my life.”

Steve blushed and tucked his head into Eddie’s neck.

“And the artist whose work raised so much money for these two charities,” he continued, tucking Steve further into his side. “Me and the boys have been telling him for years that his work could even bring in hundreds of dollars let alone hundreds of thousands of dollars. But I think we can put that to bed, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve huffed. “You win. You can sell my artwork.”

The crowd cheered.

His cheeks burned with the overwhelming feeling of appreciation. Eddie lifted his chin and kissed his lips.

“Let’s hear it for Steve Harrington!”

The crowd roared in response.

Jeff poked Steve’s side. “Does this mean you’ll join us on the red carpet now?”

Everyone held their breath.

“I want the Grammy’s and nothing less,” Steve said, looking up at Eddie heavy lidded.

Eddie’s eyes went wide and the rest of the band’s jaws dropped.

“Really?” Gareth asked, his hands going to his mouth to hold back his giggles.

“Yeah,” Steve said, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s face. “But I only want the best.”

Eddie picked him up and twirled them around. He was forced to stop as the microphone cord wrapped around his legs. Jeff hurried forward and between him and Brian they were able to get Eddie and Steve untangled.

“I’m still going to be teaching,” Steve said firmly, when Eddie was finally able to put him down.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Eddie murmured.

~

Steve only taught for another year. But because he wanted to stop and not because of the press he got after the announcement. He had been on the cover of every magazine and the front page of every newspaper. Most good, some bad.

He was in a gay relationship with a heavy metal rockstar after all.

But because he had found his true calling in painting and selling his artwork. He loved teaching, he worked hard for his degree. It was how he met Eddie. But there was something special about knowing his paintings and drawings were being hung in someone else’s houses.

He made his first debut on the red carpet at that year’s Grammy’s. Corroded Coffin were presenting the Best Metal Act.

And with the tux he wore, there would be chance of his scars being seen, so he was able to walk hand in hand with Eddie and Chrissy and Robin were more than thrilled to stay home and watch the awards in their pajamas.

As they waited for their turn to be photographed, Eddie turned to Steve. “You’re my one in a million and I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Eds.”

~

Tag List:

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[luveline]

a june baby drabble —a typical sunday morning with eddie and his girlfriend (and her toddler)

Your arm wakes up first. Eddie's trying hard to climb over you without making any noise, and for the most part he's succeeding. You have superhuman hearing, the groan of the bed springs and the soft shuck of his socks on the floor waking you. 

"Eddie?" you mumble, blinking tired lashes. 

He strokes your cheek with the side of his pinky finger. You startle but turn into it fast, hungry for doting touch. Usually, Eddie would be eager to give it to you, but he needs to pee. 

He gives your cheek a last rub. Eddie's heavy with affection —he loves giving it to you, and you're in sore need. You're a sponge for love, probably because you didn't get as much of it as you needed the last few years. 

You poured it all into Junie 'til you had nothing else left, then you poured more. 

Eddie does his business, gets distracted in the bathroom by a toothpaste stain on the sink and then decides he might as well brush his teeth while he's in here. He rushes through it, excited to get back to you and the warm patch of bed he's left behind for some Sunday morning languishing. He's thinking he can stroke your back until it pisses you off. He loves how you let him do it far past annoying you, hiding your squirming until you have no choice but to push him away, the tickling unbearable. 

He's scratching his hair away from his face and squinting in the morning sun in the hall when he realises his prime time spot has been poached. A little arm curled around your neck, little face pressed to your face. Junebug hugs you while you snooze with a massive goofy smile on her lips, her cheeks chubby and her bare feet by your hip. 

Eddie knows then, looking at her, that he was wrong for thinking you needed love. You may not have been getting all the love you deserved, but the love you needed has been in arm's reach for the last three years. 

He climbs up the bed from the bottom, holding Junie's side up gently to slide beneath her. 

"Good morning, Junie-girl," he whispers, meeting her tired eyes. "You have a sleepie. Want me to get it?"

Her nod is slow like her head is moving through jelly. Eddie reaches up around her to brush it from the corner of her eye, careful not to scratch her with his nail. "Ew," he whispers teasingly. 

"Eddie," Junie grumbles. 

"You're gross, babe." 

"No," she says. 

Eddie wipes her sleepie in his shirt, unbothered. "Mom gets bad sleepies too. Must be from her. But I'm kidding, I'm kidding, you're not gross, are you?" His voice turns to a loving croon. "You're beautiful." 

You mumble something. Junie hugs you more insistently, prompting you to turn her way and pull your arm out. You drag her into your chest and bury your face in the side of hers, barely audible as you say, "He got that right." Cheek kiss, your hand covering her back, her pyjamas bunching under your slow back and forth, Junie looks as spoiled as any girl can.

Eddie inserts himself into the cuddle shamelessly. 

"What were you doing?" you ask, reaching blindly for his hand. 

"Me? Just using the facilities. You're real nosey, you know that?" 

"Bite my head off for asking," you say. He imagines you'd shrug if you had the arm space. "I won't ask again."

"Good," he says, though that's the opposite of what he wants. Eddie plans on answering small questions from you for the rest of his life if he has a choice. 

Junie plants a kiss on your cheek and uses her arms to leverage herself high enough to pout at Eddie. He brandished his cheek for a kiss, endeared when short fingers tangle in the hair by his ear. "Good morning," Junie says. "Mommy, you want breakfast?" 

You giggle and push yourself up the pillow, elbow in the mattress to get some height. You look very tired still, but you're a dream in Eddie's eyes, skin puffy around your eyes and your lips chapped. He's so in love, he wants to unscrew the chapstick and put it on you himself. He genuinely might do it. 

"Do you want breakfast?" you ask Junie. "Can you tell me? I want breakfast." 

"I want breakfast," Junie says. 'Breakfast' is a struggle for her sometimes, heavy on the 'uh' sound, like break-f-uh-sssst. She's a slow learner, but getting better everyday. "Sausages."

That sounds even funnier in her high-pitched voice. You brush a curl from Eddie's face thoughtlessly, looking at him without really looking at him. "We'll have sausage, egg and grits, yeah? Yummy." 

"Yummy," Junie agrees. She gives Eddie a pointed stare.

"Yummy," he says, scooping her up carefully to hold to his chest. "Let's go! Before mom thinks she's in charge of cooking!" 

You laugh as Eddie stands up in the middle of your mattress, and Junie screams with it as he bounds off of it and into the hallway. "Eddie, you could've tripped on the sheets!" you chide. 

"Oh no," he says, spinning down the hall, laughing himself as Junie starts her infectious baby giggle, vertigo pulling her head back. 

He makes a maraca of your girl until you appear to get her back, and for a good ten seconds, Eddie manages to wrap his arm around your arm and spin you with them. Your laughter is as cute as June's but lined in real alarm. You get dizzy faster than your daughter does. 

"Don't drop her," you plead, pulling away from him.

"As if I would." 

"Please, Eddie, you're wearing slippery socks." 

He stops spinning her. He doesn't feel dizzy himself, he wouldn't have risked something silly like that, but he stops because you were worried, and he only ever wants you to be relaxed, well-rested, and loved. 

"Take your spawn," he says, passing her to you with the utmost care. 

You take her and settle her against you, stroking her under the eye with the back of your finger. "Thank you. Eddie shook you around like a can of soda, huh? How do you feel?" 

"Hungry," Junie says immediately. 

You press a smile to her temple. "Good. Eddie's making breakfast." 

Eddie could pump his fist in victory, he's that happy. You're finally letting him take care of you. "Three plates of the best sausage, egg, and grits ever coming right up, ladies."  

[utilitycaster]

you know, I had a much longer and saltier post that honestly I simply don't feel good about posting so it's in my drafts but it might just languish for a while and get deleted but I do want to say, from the bottom of my heart, that if Laudna is your favorite character of all time that's your business, follow your truth, but to say she will never be replicated is false and I recommend you find literally any self-insert fic written by a 14 year old goth/emo girl on Archive Of Our Own Dot Com

[dreamsteddie]

I'm sick, I'm languishing, I'm wearing a blanket in 70 degree heat, and I've been watching The Price is Right on loop since 10 AM.

Anyway, related to my previous posts (here and here), Eddie goes on tour for a couple of months and while he's away, Robin and Steve take a cross-country road trip on a whim to try and be on the Price is Right together.

She's glad Eddie was a good partner and took Steve to be on his favorite show, but she's a little offended they didn't bring her with them. She is mostly appeased by Eddie's continuous and vehement denial that Steve was talking about her and not him when Bob asked him about having a special girl back home. No mater how many times she brings it up, he always gets all red in the face and gives some long winded speech about love and being queer in public and coded speech. It's always hilarious.

Anyway, they get bored one day, and Steve has no qualms about using his and Eddie's joint account, even if it's mostly Eddie's money these days, while Steve does charity and volunteer work. So, when Robin asks Steve if he wants to go to California with her and try to get on again, he kind of just shrugs and goes to grab his shoes.

They drive for two days to get there, singing along to their music, eating too much junk food and not drinking enough water. Robin even forces Steve to listen to one of her book cassettes for "enrichment."

When they get to LA they grab a room at a semi-decent hotel (they could afford something luxury but they are so deep in Roadtrip Mode they don't even think about it). Robin lets Steve try on a million outfits that all look the same and makes up critiques and compliments for each of them because she knows her best friend and knows he won't leave until he feels like he's made the 'right' outfit choice. Steve, who still never fully let the outfit thing from last time go, will add this onto his once-yearly rant to Eddie. The man in question will find this equal parts endearing and aggravating.

They wait in line for two hours with the rest of the hopefuls, partake in interviews with PAs out on the street, and get ushered in. With their dynamic and good looks, they were never not going to get in.

It's the mid-90s, but everything is mostly the same as when Steve and Eddie went together in 89'. Some of the curtains are different and some of the small decals have been removed or changed and Steve delights in pointing off each and every minute change to Robin who finds it fascinating. She likes to pose outlandish hypotheticals for why they had to change it. Apparently, the last set of curtains got eaten by a pack of alpacas that broke in after hours. Who knew?

They watch and cheer and give standing ovations and it seems like the show is going to end without either of them being called up. Neither of them are too put out by it, chances are always low that they call your name, but then they go to call up the last contestant and the name is Robin Buckley. It takes a second for them to register what they heard, and the camera pans just in time to see them holding hands and jumping around like children. Robin steps on several pairs of shoes on her way to contestant's row

Bob catches it and ribs her a little about the number of toes she just broke and how she might need to win to pay off some medical bills. She laughs, extremely awkwardly, and they get to bidding. It's a pair of bicycles which she actually loves since her Women's History course last year had a lesson on how the widespread accessibility of the bicycle in Europe and the United States was seen as a "dangerous" gateway into women's liberation and a potential cause for lesbianism due to the shape and placement of the seat.

Steve knows she's been looking for a good bike, and has been given many a second-hand lesson about Women's History from his best friend, cheers extra loud in the audience. They both know she's got this.

Robin guesses the exact right number on the first try and wins that extra hundred. She kind of hates reaching into Bob's pocket to get it, but a hundred dollars is a hundred dollars. She plays Danger Price and wins all four prizes (a secretary, a stereo system, a barbeque, and a fancy-looking clock). She is so extremely smug about the whole thing.

When it's time to spin the wheel, she get's a dollar across two spins and gets the 1,000 dollars, which Steve absolutely loses his head about. The camera pans to him on his feet, clapping and screaming her name. Unfortunately, another contestant does the same and loses in the spin off. Steve is in no way put off by Robin not being in the showcase because he's too busy going on about statistics and average winnings like this is an actual sport.

At the end of the day they pack away all their stuff into the back of Robin's old station wagon, check out of their hotel, and spend a couple of nights in San Francisco before heading back home. It's a miracle no one breaks into their car.

Eddie comes back home about a month later, and Steve just...never mentions it. For how much he loves The Price is Right, he never says a word about their little trip until a week after his return when the episode airs. At first, Eddie doesn't even notice because the camera pans over everyone so quickly. It's not until Steve runs to grab their now cordless phone, an unheard of act for Steve who takes this time of day very seriously, that he even clues in on anything being different.

It's only when he hears Steve talking into the receiver to Robin about "our episode being on" that he cottons on completely to what exactly is happening. The camera snatches a close up of the two of them whispering to each other and clapping when they come back from commercial break.

He nudges Steve with his toe the entire episode just to bother him for not telling him about an entire multi-day trip, but he knows trying to tear his boyfriend away from both The Price is Right and Robin is a lost cause and resigns himself to waiting until the episode ends before they talk about it.

It turns out Steve did call Eddie the night they got back from filming to tell Eddie all about it. Unfortunately, it was one of those nights where Eddie is both in a different time zone and deeply asleep after a performance and he answers the phone half awake and doesn't remember it in the morning, having hummed and agreed in the right places on instinct and only remembers the call as a hazy dream the next morning.

[caterpills]

Traffic Light Tag Game!

Thank you so much to @cha-melodius and @leaves-of-laurelin for the tag for this! Similarly, I'm going to do this instead of the normal Sunday snippet sharing.

rules: talk about something creative you're working on of any kind.🚦

green: what is it about, what excited you about it, what sparked the idea?

orange: slow down and share something from it: a photo, a few words, some more background info etc.

red: what is the roadblock currently? what is one thing that is a necessary evil in making it? GREEN

So many things, but going to pick this one: affectionately called "the saudade fic" was an idea I had mid-writing and posting Comment/Question, and it's been percolating for a while. Basically, Alex attempts to save a boy from drowning when he's younger, but he never knows if the boy survived, so in order to cope with the loss, he creates an imaginary version of the boy, who he calls "H", to talk to. Except you know, H talks back. And maybe isn't as imaginary as Alex thought when they meet (unknowingly) again in college. There's grief! Feelings of loss! And so much yearning! And coming to terms with not being everything to everyone! So many water metaphors! And takes place over a series of time, and playing with some timeline things, for funsies. It has all the things I love reading about in books.

ORANGE

I have a whole pinterest board of things that inspire the feelings I want to feel while reading/writing it, so it's grown a lot (lots of oceanic pictures - I'm also afraid of the ocean, so this is really a terror writing experience for me too!!) I also have an extensive playlist for no reason other than I love music to write to. But I wanted to use this quote, in the literal sense, as well as the emotional one in the book:

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having saved me. I was drowning and you threw yourself into the water without hesitation, without a backward look.”

And a quick little collage of some photos on that pinterest board:

RED

URGHGHGH so many things. Real life is very nightmarish, so finding time where I don't want to sit and disassociate is hard. I also have some pretty complicated feelings about writing and fandom at present and feel that maybe the idea might be too big for me to tackle (right now.) It's weird because the urge is there, but the words are all mucked up, and I just wish it was easier than I thought (this goes for all my languishing WIPs, too.) tl;dr - I'm tired, and I feel like putting words to paper is a massive undertaking for me. But I figured blabbing about it here to people might get me out of that stupid little rut and get more than 2-3 sentences on a page a month.

ANYWAY, if you've gotten this far, here are some no-pressure/low-pressure tags to join in!! I hope you all have a wonderful week ❤️

@alasse9 @taste-thewaste @firenati0n @thesleepyskipper @suseagull5914

@myheartalivewrites @miss-minnelli @judasofsuburbia @thinkof-england @onthewaytosomewhere

@anincompletelist @14carrotghoul @porcelainmortal @wordsofhoneydew @blueeyedgrlwrites

@stellarmeadow @faketrex @sophie1973 @littlemisskittentoes @thedramasummer

@tailsbeth-writes @milowren29 @tinyarmedtrex @sparklepocalypse @clockwrkpendrxgon

@cricketnationrise @kj-bee @thighzp @theprinceandagcd @bitbybitwrites

@miharaikko @dani-dabbles @msmarvelouswinchester @priincebutt @incalamity @shesfromboston @zwiazdziarka

[blackjackkent]

More parsed dialogue adventures. I was watching the video linked in this post about Astarion's dialogue if you try to throw the ball in camp if Scratch has been killed for whatever reason. Got me wondering what the other companions say in various ball-throwing scenarios...

If the ball is thrown and Scratch is trapped at the posthouse but could still be rescued:

ASTARION: - Even the power of a squeaky ball isn't enough to break the dog out of that kennel. - Well... there might have been another dog around? - What, I have to go and pick it up myself? Ridiculous. - I should probably free the dog - this ball won't fetch itself. LAE'ZEL: - The dog's still stuck at the post house. - Just - tossing the ball around. - I need to break Scratch out of that kennel. - Throwing the ball around is no fun when there's no Scratch to catch it. GALE: - I suppose teleportation is beyond Scratch. - I should probably fetch Scratch from the post house. - I'm just playing fetch with myself unless I go back for Scratch... - Might as well throw the damn thing at the post house... SHADOWHEART: - I suppose I should really free Scratch before I expect him to come running... - Scratch can't aid me just now - not while he's in the post house. - Worth a try. I really ought to free Scratch. - I don't know what I expected - Scratch can't reach me just now. WYLL: - Scratch is cooped up at the post house. Can't wait to have him back. - Scratch is a good friend. I need to get him back. - The pooch won't be fetching balls until I fetch him from that kennel. - *Sigh* KARLACH: - Scratch is still stuck at the post house. - Don't know what I expected. - We need to go get our boy back from that awful kennel. - This is no fun without Scratch here. JAHEIRA: - Blast. We left the dog to the kennels. - Too much to hope that Scratch would hear it and break free. - Perhaps if I threw Boo, Scratch would come running... do not think I missed that hungry look, hound. - Enough - I do believe the dog himself would be embarrassed for me. Let's go get him back. HALSIN: - Scratch cannot come - he still languishes at the post house. - Of course, my canine friend cannot help just now. He remains at the post house. - Thwarted again. I must see to freeing that poor dog. - Worth an attempt, but it would surely be quicker to just free Scratch. MINTHARA: - Scratch! Here, boy! Where is that damn dog? - Scratch is at the post house. We should organise a rescue mission. - Who do we need to kill to get Scratch back? - I hope he remembers us. (Devnote: Sadly.) MINSC: - Scratch is a captive of the post house still. Unless he breaks out to come and fetch...? No. - Would you like to fetch instead, Boo? - One more throw, and then we shall go and fetch Scratch from his prison. - You are right, Boo. If Scratch could see me now, he would be concerned. TAV: - Ah - Scratch is still at the post house. - It was worth a shot. Could have been other dogs in the area. - Time to fetch Scratch from the kennels, I suppose. - Well, it was worth one last shot.

If Scratch is permadead:

ASTARION: - Good riddance to the dog. Who'd miss that waggy little tail... (devnote: Pretending not to be sad and failing) - Does it have a sad squeak now? Is that even possible? - I suppose I'll just pick it up myself. - Can't believe the stupid dog isn't here to get the stupid ball. LAE'ZEL: - It's not much fun alone. - I really don't know what I thought would happen. - Solo fetch. A miserable pastime. - Can't believe I'm going to say this, but - I miss Scratch. GALE: - You were an excellent friend, Scratch - and that's coming from a cat-lover. - I hope there's balls and bones galore, wherever you are... - Poor Scratch. I'm lucky to have met you. - I hope Scratch doesn't miss his ball, wherever he is... SHADOWHEART: - I need to stop doing this to myself... - I didn't do this enough, when I had the chance. - I hope Scratch has a new ball to play with, wherever he is... - It's silly... part of me felt like Scratch might still show up for his ball. WYLL: - Fetch isn't much of a solo game. - Damn. I miss the furry fellow. - For old times' sake. - I miss you, Scratch. KARLACH: - I miss my dog. - Here, pup. (Devnote: Sadly - the dog is dead and she knows this.) - Why am I doing this to myself? - Scratch should be here. With his family. JAHEIRA: - Enough. This isn't helping anyone. - You deserved better, boy. - Gods, but you'd miss the fuss. The noise. Gods above, even the smell. - Pointless, without a pup to chase it. HALSIN: - I hope you are happy, wherever you are. - I am sorry, Scratch. - I torment myself - Scratch is not going to come. - Poor Scratch. I hope he is at peace. MINTHARA: - Everyone assumes I killed the dog. I liked the dog. - Scratch reminded me of my first displacer beast. A noble creature. - Withers! Be a good skeleton and fetch that ball. - Gah. I miss the damn dog. (Devnote: Surprised by her own feelings.) MINSC: - Scratch, come and... oh. How could I forget he was gone, Boo? - No game of fetch will bring Scratch back from death. - I know he is gone, Boo, but... perhaps this is a way of keeping him alive, no? - I miss him, Boo. TAV: - I suppose I'd better pick it up. No one else will. - Poor Scratch. I miss him. - It's not as fun when no one brings it back. - Scratch really gave that ball life. DARK URGE: - Why can't you fetch, puppy? Death is no excuse! - I think Scratch is up north. Playing in a goat-farm in Icewind Dale, of course! - Scratch was only ever meat of the lowest grade. - Aw, did someone pet you a bit too hard, pup? I thought you liked it!

If ball is thrown but Scratch unavailable/not currently summoned:

ASTARION: - Oh, the dog's had enough fun? Lazy mutt. - Dog? Dog! Fetch the ball. Fetch the - never mind, I'll get it. - First he wants to fetch, now he doesn't want to fetch. Make up your mind, dog. - The dog's tired after one little game of fetch? Weak. Pathetic. Barely a good boy at all. LAE'ZEL: - I don't think Scratch is up for it. - Scratch is resting. Not sure who or what I expected would fetch that. - It's Scratch's naptime. I'll need to get that. - I guess I'll have to get that. Scratch isn't about to. GALE: - Poor pooch is worn out. - Better let Scratch rest up. - The ballplay can wait, I suppose. - Hmm. I suppose Scratch has had enough fun and games for now. SHADOWHEART: - It's too soon - Scratch needs his rest. - Lazy mutt... no, I shouldn't say that. He's a good boy. - Poor thing. He must still be tired. - Still too soon. Scratch is dreaming of balls and buried bones, no doubt. WYLL: - Poor Scratch is tired. I should let him rest. - Scratch needs a snooze. The games can wait. - All tuckered out? Me too, Scratch. Me too. - No point in that. Good ol' Scratch is snoozing away. KARLACH: - Poor Scratch is all worn out. - I shouldn't tease our boy. - Fella must need a little shut-eye. - Better get it myself. JAHEIRA: - Well, Scratch? Do you scratch yourself somewhere? - Would you prefer I wild-shape, and fight you for it? - Take your rest then, Scratch. Eldath knows you've probably earned it more than us. - Lazy pup! Must I fetch it myself? HALSIN: - The poor dog is still weary. I must give him a chance to recover. - The valiant Scratch deserves his rest. Best leave him be for another while. - Even the most loyal of companions needs his rest. Sleep on, Scratch. - Scratch deserves his rest - I can handle this without him. MINTHARA: - Disobedient hound. Where is he? - Scratch. Obey my command! (Devnote: miffed but not actually angry; she likes Scratch too much to be angry.) - Blasted dog. You dare ignore me? - Do I have to fetch it myself? This is demeaning. MINSC: - Scratch is off somewhere scratching himself, I think. - Ah, I see. Scratch is playing fetch in his dreams instead. - Scratch sleeps still? Boo, you will have to share with him some of your stamina-building tricks. - If Scratch will not fetch, and Boo will not fetch, then Minsc must fetch. TAV: - Must be tired from all that running around. - Even good boys need a moment to catch their breath. - Must still be tired. Poor Scratch. - If Scratch won't pick it up, I guess I will.

Some other bonus animal-related items, starting with the owlbear cub talking about Scratch:

If Scratch and the cub are friends: No - Scratch friend! Takes care of me when scared at night. If Scratch was killed: Sad. No want food. No want play. (Player: What's the matter?) Scratch gone. Miss him. (Player pets cub.) Little better... You're nice.

And Scratch about the cub:

If Scratch and the cub are friends: No, nothing happened - just the young one having bad dreams. That's what you heard. (Player: I hear you're friends with the owlbear cub.) Yes! He's a handful, but I like having him around. I stay with him and keep him company when he's scared. He'll settle down, in time. If the cub was killed: It's not the same here. Feels emptier. (Player: What's wrong?) The young cub. He's gone... for good. (Player pets Scratch.) Thank you. I needed that.

[jelloapocalypse]

Last question I've got for you, has there ever been a reason why there isn't more continuously-available Epithet merch on Creator Spring? It's always struck me as odd that you haven't gone for more stuff like shirts, stickers, and buttons.

The honest answer to this is that I just do not like merch.

I'm a really environmentally-conscious person and frankly there just aren't a lot of merch options out there that aren't objectively kind of bad for the environment. Even t-shirts and plushies are pretty dicey in the long-run due to textile waste.

Print-on-demand services have a lighter carbon footprint, but they're usually poor quality. I don't mind Spring for posters or prints, but their t-shirts feel cheap. I don't like wearing them myself, so I don't want to promote them to other people. It makes me feel like I'm lying to my fans or trying to rip them off. One-time campaigns like the dolls are fine, but they are, by nature, one-and-done.

You might not know this if you haven't been A Content Creator(tm) in a post-2020 world, but we get emails and offers from all these horrible companies literally nonstop asking for merch opportunities. I got six today alone. There's a huge subculture of scummy merch providers who can't wait to help you rip off as many people as possible. It's poisoned my opinions on merch even more.

Additionally, merch is exhausting to promote. Every single campaign is 5-7 days of emailing and planning minimum and then a little dedicated promotional video. "Well, you don't have to make a video Jello". Oh yeah I do. People miss these things even when I do promote them. If their only heads up is a tweet or an email from the website subscription letter, nobody's going to buy them, and that usually means a failed campaign if if I have to hit a threshold.

It's worth mentioning that "the Epithet team" is just me. I'm the one guy who has to oversee literally everything. And if I'm having trouble keeping official print runs of the actual book on store shelves, which I am right now, I don't feel like it's a good use of my time to start selling extra stuff while the series languishes.

The only piece of merch I've ever made that I thought was pretty cool was the Molly hoodies because they were interesting and custom made. The dolls are okay.

I'd like to release a blu-ray set for Epithet some time in the future so people can have a physical version of the media. Other than that, I'm hesitant. I know people want more merch. I just hate making it.

[katakaluptastrophy]

My poor brother—Magnus’s parents—my fern collection—”

“Lady Pent,” said Harrowhark forcefully, “forget the ferns.

Tamsyn doesn't really do innocuous or incidental details. So like so many things in TLT, I don't think Abigail's fern collection is just a passing sad detail about a dead woman's hobbies.

I wonder whether it's a nod to 19th century pteridomania? After all, the Fifth do seem to be strongly modeled on a certain image of historic British aristocracy.

Basically, posh people in the 19th century were really, really into ferns. And for those with the money and resources, this might mean collecting rare and expensive specimens in elaborate greenhouses on a huge scale, or even sponsoring scientific expeditions to discover new ferns in exotic locations.

It was a sign of intelligence and sophistication and a symbol of Victorian technological might and the reach of empire (the term "pteridomania", as an acceptable hobby for women, was coined by the same guy who came up with the idea of "muscular Christianity" as a patriotic engagement with manly physical faith, in case you're wondering about that milieu...)

So when Abigail Pent, Lady of Koniortos Court, has a fern collection, it's probably not a few pots in her study. It could be a hothouse fernery on quite a grand scale.

How many species of fern survived the apocalypse and the Resurrection and were brought out to space? Maybe her collection is entirely earth ferns. Maybe this is a historic Fifth hobby, perhaps dating back to one of the Quinque brothers (maybe Alfred was really into the 80s fern bar aesthetic?).

But it's also possible that like the Victorians, Abigail is leveraging her wealth and imperial connections (we don't know exactly what the Fifth do, but they apparently make stele and may well be invovled in the administration of those craftily worded contracts).

We know there are ferns on planets outside of the Dominicus system: when Harrow kills the jungle planet, she is surrounded by "ferns and fronds".

Abigail's collection may well include plants from planets that are now dead at the hands of the Houses.

While the Angel languishes on New Rho, are there Lemurian ferns growing in the Koniortos Court?

[sepublic]

It’s actually really beginning to bug me that Luz’s mental state likely might not have plummeted so hard by the end of October if Hunter had actually been there for her.

Because realistically? Hunter is a contributor to Luz falling into a suicidal depression. By the end of the day he enabled Luz’s self-loathing because he wasn’t there for her, by throwing Luz’s secret in her face when she tried to help him, letting Luz hide it. When Luz suggests getting help with Belos, Hunter tells her they can’t. He was the only person who knew Luz’s secret and could’ve helped her with it! He just… didn’t.

And I don’t think he can really hide behind being traumatized because if he spends two whole months continuing to feel better while Luz just gets worse, it looks really bad. I can understand not pushing Luz to admit her secret because it might feel hypocritical on his end. But the fact that he doesn’t try to tell Luz it’s not her fault… Across two months? Hunter is NOT being Camila, who tried to preserve Luz’s other secret out of respect but still made a point to ask for advice on how to help her about it as soon as she had the chance.

On some level, Hunter IS insinuating that he thinks it’s Luz’s fault that she helped Belos meet the Collector, that Luz is indeed somewhat to blame for the entire coven system, the sigils, and the seemingly-genocidal Collector’s current reign while Luz and her friends are left exiled and haunted by the fear of the unknown of what happened to their home and loved ones. That helplessness just made Luz hate herself more.

Hunter makes the subject of Luz’s secret, her fear about being hated to be about himself, she tries to be supportive to Hunter about his secret and he emotionally blackmails Luz over it; Luz always tries to make Hunter feel better but Hunter doesn’t actually extend the same to her! You’d think after two months and most of Thanks to Them of healing he’d finally realize Luz needs his help. But instead the scene in the basement is once again about Hunter’s feelings.

Hunter really isn’t Caleb here; He’s Philip. He’s the guy getting everything from this dynamic but not providing the same support when he should know better after enough time. Mayhaps if Hunter actually tried to talk to Luz with the acceptance he got from the others, she could’ve confessed her secret sooner. She wouldn’t have gotten suicidal, her baggage could’ve been addressed before it reached that point because a lot of PTSD happens because of a lack of ensuing support, just as much as it happens from the trauma itself.

Hunter really does just wait for everyone else to say it’s cool to support Luz over her mistake. He waits until it’s socially acceptable before he finally tells Luz what she should’ve been told at least a month ago. By all means, when the dust has settled, I think Vee -who was considered for an arc where she was skeptical towards Hunter for his past as the Golden Guard- and ultimately can be more willingly pissed about her suffering…

I think Vee should be a good sister to Luz by encouraging Luz to admit that she has every right to resent Hunter for not being there for Luz, as Hunter continued to get everything because of her, while Luz languished without the emotional support she needed from him. Hunter was the only one who could’ve done it so long as only he knew and he didn’t.

And unlike other relationships Luz has, Hunter never really makes up for it. He just traumatized her worse and never even apologized for it. In fact I’d like for the others to be kinda pissed at Hunter for knowing Luz was struggling with this and not doing anything to help her while he continued to thrive just fine with his Grimwalker secret, and acted like it was comparable to what Luz was struggling with.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Under Your Spell

Vox x Reader

Since childhood, I have been told I look identical to my great-grandmother. Her husband, my great-grandfather, has looked at me like I was the last fragment of her to walk this earth. When he passed, it made me realize how some people lose their first loves and never get to see them again. I decided for this story that Vox should get to see his first love after he thought all was lost. However, it was you, his first lost love's great-granddaughter. You have the same looks and names, just younger. He thought after his first love's father chased him away, that was it, and any part of your life would never be in his hands again—until you were placed in Val's hands, and his protective side came out. Can you two learn to love each other? Will things grow or dissolve since he is close to that horrid Moth man? Tw: MDNI, 18+, Assult, Val being Val, Weird family-like relations, based off my HC Vox

Wow, this one is a long one. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think! I don't normally write long pieces like this, so if we like it, I will attempt to do it more! I wanted this posted yesterday but just kept writing and writing and writing. I had to make myself stop and cut off.

“No, Vox! You will never see my daughter again! Do you hear me?” The older man’s voice thundered, his face a deep crimson, veins bulging as fury twisted his features. Spit flew from his mouth with each vehement word, a grotesque display of his rage. “She is a good Christian woman, and she will not fall for your television antics! She deserves a good man—someone who can provide for her, not some reality star scum!”

Vox swallowed hard, the bitter taste of desperation rising in his throat. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he fought to keep them at bay, unwilling to give the man before him the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. “You can’t do this!” He surged forward, trying to push the door open again, the threshold of your home now a barrier between love and despair. Just moments ago, he had envisioned a simple marriage proposal—an intimate moment filled with promise. But the moment he uttered those words, it felt as if the heavens had opened up to unleash divine wrath upon him. Vox was never a good christian man and now only seemed to further prove that.

“I love her! I have loved her for so long! I will treat her right! You cannot take my Angel from me!” His voice cracked, desperation saturating each syllable as he pleaded with the man who wielded the power to shatter his dreams.

But the door slammed shut, the finality of it echoing in his heart. As Vox stumbled back, the world around him blurred, the vibrant colors of love fading into a monochrome nightmare. You were gone, just as quickly as you had entered his life, your father’s iron grip ripping you from his arms. Like a good Christian girl, you obeyed, never looking back.

You married a well-off businessman, someone who could provide in all the ways Vox was deemed incapable. Sundays found you in polished pews, while he languished in the bright glare of daytime TV. You bore children while Vox climbed the ranks to prime time, and as he basked in fleeting fame, you were left to wither under the weight of a dreaded illness. When he was ultimately taken down by his own deceitful schemes, it felt like a cruel twist of fate for you both.

When Vox woke in hell, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he felt a strange sense of contentment; he knew he had courted darkness throughout his life. A con man’s rise to fame was paved with the broken dreams of others, and he’d danced on that line with reckless abandon. Yet, the greatest cost was the loss of you—his little angel, the only light that could have guided him from the shadows. Perhaps, if he had kept you by his side, he might have found redemption instead of ruin.

Years in hell stretched on, dull and monotonous, much like his time as a TV host. He made acquaintances, and he made enemies. He learned from the notorious Radio Demon, their relationship evolving into a rivalry as fierce as it was complex. Valentino entered the picture, a partnership forged in the fires of self-interest, followed by Velvette, who added her own chaotic flair to their strange trio. Despite these new connections, Vox could never fully release you from his heart. How could he let go of his first love, the girl who had filled his world with color?

Vox kept tabs on you long ago when you two still walked among the living, an unyielding shadow lurking in the corners of your life. He was a shady man, after all, so it was no surprise that he employed someone to follow you and your family. He needed to know you were loved and cared for, even if it meant watching from the sidelines. Your life blossomed into something beautiful—a picture-perfect family, Sunday church outings, laughter echoing through the halls of your home. Each glimpse of your happiness twisted the knife in his heart, a reminder of what he had lost. He only wished now here in hell he could have a moment to see you once more.

Yet, you never looked back at him, not once. Even when he learned you were sick, he held onto the hope that your devoted husband would nurse you back to health. Instead, you spent your final years in a realm far brighter than hell, surrounded by family, while Vox remained trapped in the shadows.

Then, one fateful day, the story took an unforeseen turn. You, Y/N L/N, the great-granddaughter of the woman who once bore the same name and likeness, found yourself in a world steeped in piety and predictability. Your family’s life revolved around the church—Sunday services, Bible studies, and summer camps that felt more like shackles than blessings.

Yet you, the wild child among your siblings and the first daughter in generations, danced on the edge of rebellion. Your spirit, a fiery blend of your grandmother’s beauty and the reckless charm of a man she once sought to escape late into the night with, burned brightly. You lived humbly, taking only what you needed in the daylight, but at night that didn’t stop you from indulging in the vices that thrilled your heart—partying, drinking, and seeking freedom in every forbidden encounter.

As you stepped into adulthood, the veil of your misdeeds was ripped away, exposing the wild and reckless girl you had been. On your eighteenth birthday, the news broke like a thunderclap, echoing through your conservative town. Whispers turned to shouts as tales of your high school escapades spread like wildfire—parties, late nights, and indiscretions that painted you as the black sheep of your family.

In a desperate attempt to salvage your reputation, your parents enrolled you in a Christian college, hoping the structure would steer you back to the righteous path. But even there, with the pressure of expectations weighing heavily on you, you found ways to maintain your hedonistic lifestyle. You studied hard, yes, but the allure of nightlife was too intoxicating to resist. By the time you turned twenty-four, your antics had once again come to light, revealing just how unladylike and un-Christian your behavior had truly become.

Disowned by your family, you were cast out like a forgotten relic, but it hardly stung. You had siblings aplenty—golden children who fit the mold your parents desired. While they basked in their parents' approval, you reveled in your newfound freedom, embracing a life unshackled from the burdens of propriety. You danced through life with a wild abandon, each misstep a badge of honor in your quest for self-discovery.

But this exhilarating freedom came crashing down one fateful night. On the eve of your twenty-eighth birthday, you found yourself at a pulsating club, surrounded by friends who matched your energy. Laughter and music melded into a cacophony of joy, and for a moment, the weight of your past felt distant. But as the night wore on, everything blurred. A drink, laced with malice, slipped into your hand, and before you knew it, the world around you faded to black.

When you came to, the vibrant lights and music were replaced by an oppressive stillness. You blinked, disoriented, trying to piece together what had happened. Panic surged through you as you recognized your surroundings—a hellish landscape bathed in a sinister shade of red. The air was thick with a suffocating heat, and the ground beneath you felt like it was pulsating with a malevolent energy.

The reality of your situation crashed down like a wave, and you realized you were no longer in the world you had known. You had crossed an unforgiving threshold, one that led straight into this hellish landscape. Memories of your life flashed before your eyes—your family’s disappointment, your reckless choices, the fleeting moments of joy that now seemed tainted.

As you struggled to rise, the shadows began to shift and swirl around you, whispering secrets of despair and temptation. You knew you were exactly where you belonged, a place you practically through yourself at the minute you were old enough to disobey your family. You were killed and now resting here in the pits of hell.

In those fleeting moments, you understood that you weren’t just a victim of circumstance from one bad drink; you were a participant in your own chaotic narrative. The life you had led and the choices you had made brought you here, and now, in this twisted realm, you had the chance to confront the consequences of your actions. 

With a mixture of fear and defiance, you steeled yourself, ready to navigate this dark new world. You would face whatever challenges awaited you, determined to reclaim your story, even if it meant battling the demons of your past—both literally and figuratively.

You were in hell and you readily accepted this, dressed in a glitzy clubbing dress, your skin transformed to the vibrant hue of a fox’s rich orange, glinted with specks of white and black. Yet, amidst this twisted beauty, your features still bore the unsettling resemblance to your deceased great grandmother.

As the years dragged on, the brutal exterminations became increasingly difficult to evade. The once-familiar landscape of hell morphed into a relentless hunt, where survival was a cruel game of chance. Desperation gnawed at your insides, leading you to a place you had sworn to avoid—a notorious sex house owned by Valentino, a figure whose reputation sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened souls.

You stepped into that den of sexual sin with a singular purpose: the Vee’s worker bees somehow endured the purges, and you were desperate to escape the clutches of a second death. With a resolve, you signed up to be 'looked at' for a position among his girls, hoping to cling to life a little longer.

What you encountered inside was an atmosphere so charged with depravity it felt like a physical weight pressing down on you. The air was thick with the heady scent of desperation and lust, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and smoke. You had pushed boundaries in your past life, but this was another level entirely. As nausea rose in your throat, you instinctively turned to prayer—a futile gesture in this place of darkness.

But in that moment of vulnerability, your fate took a turn. Valentino’s gaze locked onto yours, and you became acutely aware of the power dynamics at play. You were stunning, a rare gem in a world where foxes were coveted for their allure, and you were an easy choice for Val, despite your lack of experience in the kind of intensity he demanded.

Fortune, it seemed, was on your side. Within hours, you found yourself promoted, thrust into the orbit of Angel Dust, a top star in this grim world, and whisked away to Vee's Tower, where the underbelly of the film industry thrived. At first, your work was relatively tame, as Angel had angered Val, bearing the brunt of the wrath while you breathed a sigh of relief. You grew to enjoy the role, finding unexpected camaraderie with Velvette, the costume designer whose creativity brought a splash of color to the otherwise bleak environment. She was a refreshing presence, a stark contrast to the calculating Val.

Yet, the shadows loomed ever closer. Angel’s absence, demanded by the princess of hell, left you standing alone in a spotlight that felt increasingly dangerous. Whispers of Val’s violent tendencies echoed in your mind, tales of how he had ruthlessly eliminated two of Velvette’s models and three of Vox’s interns. Fear coursed through your veins as you perched on a plum-red bed, clad in a navy blue lingerie set, feeling like prey waiting to be devoured.

And then, without warning, the door swung open. You braced yourself, only to find not Val, but a strikingly handsome man with a television for a head. It was Vox, the elusive figure you had only heard whispers about. You leaned forward, captivated by the confrontation unfolding before you, the tension crackling in the air like electricity.

But then Val’s eyes landed on you, and his smile widened, a predatory gleam igniting within them. “My dear Voxypoo,” Val purred, “how about we make a deal? I’ll apologize for my misdeeds towards your interns in exchange for Hermosa over here.” 

Your heart raced as Vox’s eyes widened in recognition, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. An unexpected jolt of electricity surged through you, mingling with fear and a spark of something dangerously close to desire. You were caught in a web of fate, and as the stakes rose higher, you realized that your story in this hell was only just beginning.

You had never met this man before a day in your life, yet an inexplicable pull drew you toward him, a magnetic static crackling in the air around him. “Oh Vox, if you don’t want her, that’s fine. I plan on her taking Angel’s role today. The damn spider is off playing games with the princessa bitch,” Valentino sneered, and your heart sank. Fear coursed through your veins like ice water; the realization hit you hard—he intended to use you in one of those scenes, to thrust you into the depths of humiliation and despair.

“She's a high commodity; I’m sure her soul would be mine after—” Val’s voice trailed off, but you couldn’t grasp what was happening next. One moment, you were trembling in fear, and the next, a whirlwind of chaos erupted. Valentino’s eyes swirled with ominous black and red spirals as the shoot was abruptly canceled, the tension snapping like a frayed wire.

A navy blue jacket was draped over your shoulders, and a firm hand helped you to your feet. “Come with me. You will be working in VoxTech from now on. Understood?” Vox’s voice was steady, but you could only nod, relief flooding through you at the thought of escaping Val’s clutches, at least for now.

You were still ensnared in the web of the Vee’s world, but perhaps you could choose the cranky TV man who seemed more enigmatic than predatory. Maybe you could carve out a semblance of a life, away from the chaos that had become your existence.

Following Vox, you traversed the unfamiliar corridors of Vee’s Tower, finally arriving in a room that felt distinctly different from the others. The walls were lined with large screens displaying chaotic scenes from around hell, and a solitary chair sat in the center, casting a shadow like a throne of power. “W-Where are we? Val never brought me here?” you stammered, confusion clouding your mind.

He hesitated, swallowing hard. Was this place a reflection of his past? Did you really resemble someone he had lost? The thought flickered through his mind, but Vox regained his composure and sat down, turning on the myriad of cameras that monitored the chaos outside. “This is my office. You will grow acquainted with it, as you will be my personal assistant.”

A wave of dread washed over you. So you weren’t free from the chains of servitude; you were merely swapping one form of obedience for another. His gaze flicked toward you, and he must have seen the pain etched in your features because he added, “You will do nothing more for me than paperwork, gather intel, and help set up schedules.” He motioned for you to leave, his tone dismissive yet oddly gentle.

“This floor has eight unused apartments. Choose one and message me; I will unlock it for you, and you can create your own secure pin to come and go.” His words felt like a lifeline, yet the way he avoided looking at you left a strange knot in your stomach.

Nodding, you stepped out, still wrapped in his jacket, a strange comfort amidst the chaos. You wandered the floor until you found a room that resonated with you—a sanctuary away from the dirt and grime of your past. After messaging Vox, you entered, marveling at the unexpected upgrade. How had you managed to elevate your circumstances so easily?

Lying back on the bed, you gazed up at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of your new life. You were seeking refuge, had become Val’s plaything, narrowly escaped abuse because of a cranky TV man who wouldn’t even look at you. What an absurd turn of events—what the hell was happening?

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you changed into comfortable clothes, the tension of the day beginning to ebb away. Just as sleep began to weave its way into your mind, a soft chime from your phone startled you awake. Vox had messaged you, detailing the new daily routine you would follow to assist him. 

Setting an alarm, you nestled into bed, uncertainty swirling in your thoughts like a restless storm. What would the next day bring? Would it be more of the same, or perhaps a glimmer of hope in this hellish landscape? As you drifted off, the questions lingered, weaving through your dreams like shadows, leaving you on the brink of something you couldn’t yet comprehend.

------------------------Time Skip-------------------------

Vox quickly grew to love your company over the last three years, though Vox knew deep down that you weren’t the woman he had loved in his youth. You were almost her replica—a haunting echo of the past—but with a wilder, more untamed spirit. As he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief, he found himself drawn to that wildness even more. It was as if fate had conspired to create you just for him, a masterpiece crafted by your great-grandmother’s whims.

Yet, he never dared to reveal this connection, fearing it might shatter the fragile friendship that had blossomed between you. Yes, friendship—nothing more or less. However, with each passing day, he found himself surrendering to the undeniable truth that he had fallen for you harder than he ever had for your great-grandmother. 

No matter how many times he insisted that he was merely helping an old friend, a beacon of support for someone who had been torn from him, he couldn’t deny the intoxicating pull you had on him. At first, it had been your striking looks that captivated him, but as time wore on, it was your vibrant personality that ensnared his heart. You were everything Vox craved and needed on a biblical level; an irony he chuckled at, considering he hadn’t picked up a Bible since your great-grandmother had left him.

His mind was spiraling, his hypnosis streams were intensifying, and his push for innovative Vox tech was reaching a fever pitch. He even managed to score a narrow victory against Alastor, all thanks to you. How could one person be so perfectly oblivious to the advances he so desperately tried to make?

No one had ever worn his watches, draped themselves in his jackets, or even held his cherished pocket squares—except for you. But a troubling realization swept over him: all the advances he made were rooted in his time period, not yours. Your great-grandmother may have swooned at his charm, but you probably saw him as nothing more than a friend. In that moment, he knew he was utterly doomed.

You genuinely enjoyed working for Vox, relishing the opportunity to utilize your strengths. With a degree in entertainment and public relations, you found it easy to navigate the world of hypnotic persuasion he wielded. You were a wizard at uncovering people’s weak spots, providing Vox with ample ammunition against his personal enemies.

Almost immediately, you had become Vox’s young, gorgeous vixen. You liked the title so much that you gradually stopped using your real name, opting instead for the playful 'V' theme. Yet, Vox never referred to you by that name—always your real name, accompanied by a distant look that gnawed at your insides.

It had taken a year for him to truly see you, another year for him to stop freezing like a computer caught in a loop, and now, in this last year, he finally spoke without those awkward buffering noises. 

You never understood why he had chosen you as his assistant if he struggled to be around you. But you were content, especially since you had escaped Valentino’s grasp. You felt lucky that the exterminations had ceased shortly after you joined Vox. You often reassured yourself that if they ever resumed, you would leave—but the truth was, you were too attached to the enigmatic, awkward TV man.

You couldn’t deny the chemistry crackling between the two of you. He sent sparks racing through your body, igniting your nervous system with a thrilling energy. He was handsome in a classic, old-school way, the type of man your father would approve of—if only they never got to know he was a con artist. 

Every fiber of your being screamed to be with him, to unravel the layers of his soul and understand him in a way that transcended mere friendship. He was smooth-talking, undeniably hot, and invading your dreams more each night, leaving you craving his presence even more. The tension hung thick in the air, a tantalizing promise of what could be, if only you dared to cross the line that separated friendship from something infinitely more profound.

It was utterly embarrassing—sneaking down to the old production studio, heart racing, just to rent out some toys that would let you indulge in your fantasies of being with Vox. He had never once hypnotized you, but you were undeniably under his spell, enchanted by his presence in every way.

“Vox, I got you the meeting with Carmilla about the angelic steel and its reproduction,” you announced, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your stomach. “I also secured a meeting with the health district to discuss the drug you want to utilize.” You had become extra vigilant lately, making a concerted effort to show him your interest. Your skirts grew shorter, your tops had fewer buttons, and your heels reached dizzying heights, showcasing your legs to their best advantage.

You were the death of him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his composure crumbled completely. You were tantalizingly close, yet he felt he couldn’t take advantage of your affections. The scars from his past ran deep; he didn’t want to go through that kind of heartache again. Even if your father couldn’t steal you away like your great-grandmother had been stolen from him, the odd connection to family made him reluctant to risk your bond.

But the way you presented yourself, dressed to entice, sent a tent of desire straining against the fabric of his pants. It felt as though he was being dragged through heaven, hell, and every place in between. He knew you were in hell in your own way, unlike your great-grandmother, but damn, did you have to be so deliciously tempting?

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll be getting off early today due to an issue with Val. If you could make sure the cleaners come in here and do their job properly, I’d appreciate it,” he said, his voice calm and cool, eyes never lifting from the screen. 

He was an enigma, nearly impossible to crack, seemingly showing no interest in you at all. Sighing, you nodded and began clearing his schedule; his fights with Val tended to stretch on longer than they should. You made sure to leave a dinner reminder for him and then headed out to retrieve the cleaning staff.

When you returned, you monitored the cleaning process closely. Vox usually preferred his tech to handle the cleaning, but today he insisted that his computers and TVs needed a “Sinners touch” to avoid any mishaps. You settled into his large chair, humming softly, legs crossed, watching as the young, fish-like boy worked diligently.

Out of the corner of your eye, a faint blue glow caught your attention. Vox was typically meticulous about shutting everything down before leaving, yet this one tab remained open. Half of you wanted to close it and move on with your life, but the other half—the curious, daring part—couldn’t resist the temptation. 

With a deep breath, you opened the screen. A Word document sprawled across the display, pages filled with dates and passages that traced the evolution of technology from its inception to the present. Your heart raced as you scrolled through the text, but then you froze, eyes fixated on the most recent passage. 

It was a detailed account of his current hyperfixation – You. As you read on, the implications began to sink in, filling you with a mix of excitement and dread. What had Vox been planning? And how deeply did it truly involve you? 

‘She was a vision of beauty, captivating in a way that made my heart race and my thoughts spiral into chaos. I found myself wanting to take her, to make her mine in every way possible—over my bed, on the couch, against the cool surface of the counter, or sprawled across my desk. It was a reckless desire, one that threatened to unravel my composure and resolve with each passing glance. I was trying to court her like a proper gentleman, even though every instinct screamed for me to act on the primal urge that surged within me.’

‘What would she think if I finally confessed the truth? The truth of the connection that shimmered between us, electric and undeniable. If I bared my soul, revealing the reason why every time I looked at her, I felt an insatiable longing to claim her and never let her go—would she recoil in fear, or would she lean in closer? Would she despise me for the dark secrets I harbored?’

‘It was a sin, a tangled web of emotions, that I saved her not just because I had to, but because I had once been in love with her great-grandmother. If only it were simple to tell Y/N that my heart had shifted over the years, that the ghost of the past no longer haunted me as I found myself enchanted by her. I needed to steady my racing heart, but the hope of seeing more of Y/N today filled me with both excitement and dread. She had left a dinner reservation for two—was it meant for us, or was it for Val and me? My heart leaped at the possibility that it was for her and I.’

You were in shock. A torrent of questions flooded your mind, each one more bewildering than the last. How did he know your great-grandmother? How had he concealed this attraction so skillfully? The cleaner’s approach broke your reverie, and the scream that escaped your lips echoed through the building, a cacophony of confusion and fear.

With a heavy sigh, you closed everything down, your thoughts still swirling like leaves caught in a wind tunnel. You gently patted the shorter fish boy’s head, his wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty mirroring your own. As you made your way back to your room, you collapsed onto your bed, the weight of the revelations pressing down on you.

He knew her? You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately rifling through the foggy memories of your childhood, the faded photographs that lined the walls of your mind. Your great-grandmother had passed away when your grandmother was still a child, but her belongings remained—a bittersweet reminder of a life once lived. Vaguely, you recalled a picture that had often sparked your great-grandfather's ire.

Vox was in that picture… Vox, her first love, the man who had been banished by her father, the one your great-grandfather had despised and vowed to protect his family from. He was the specter who haunted your past, a figure you were compared to when you were disowned from the family and stripped of your inheritance.

The realization hit you like a thunderclap, shattering your understanding of everything you thought you knew. How did you feel? The attraction was still there, a flicker of warmth igniting within you as you considered his little habits, the subtle ways he courted you, filling you with butterflies. But could you allow yourself to love him? Would it be wrong to care for him in that way?

You glanced at your tablet, your heart racing as you noticed the dinner reservation was in just forty-five minutes. Swallowing hard, you stood up, a newfound determination coursing through your veins. The only way to truly understand what he made you feel, to unravel this complex web of emotions, was to show up. Normally, these reservations were for Val and him, a ritual of reconciliation, but this time, you would be there for him. For you. 

You moved quickly, the anticipation coursing through your veins as you stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over you like a refreshing embrace. With each drop, you washed away the remnants of your uncertainties, emerging with a renewed sense of purpose. 

Dressing became an art form; you pulled out all the stops to impress Vox. The deep ruby red pumps clicked against the floor as you slipped them on, a bold statement that added height and confidence to your stature. Black frilled lace-topped stockings clung to your legs, accentuating every curve. The navy blue long-sleeved dress hugged your figure just right, revealing just enough to showcase your best assets without losing an air of elegance. You styled your hair to perfection, cascading waves framing your face, while your makeup highlighted your features, making your eyes sparkle like stars.

It had been ages since you had gone to such lengths, not since the days of trying to impress Val, desperate to avoid his inappropriate advances. With a sigh, you shot a quick message to Vox, sharing the restaurant's destination but omitting any mention of Val. Tonight was about you and Vox, and you were determined to make the most of it.

As you stepped out of your door, your Vox Tech security bot awaited you, its sleek design a reminder of the world you inhabited. Vox had insisted on the device escorting you, and as you arrived at the restaurant, your eyes locked with Vox’s as he just arrived as well. Time seemed to pause as you both stood there, taking each other in.

To him, you were radiant, every inch of you exuding beauty and allure. His desires surged within him, overwhelming as he imagined symphonies and angelic choirs serenading your presence in this chaotic world. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but admire his dashing figure. Though a hard day had worn on him, leaving traces of fatigue etched across his handsome features, he maintained an effortless charm. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, his cuffs slightly askew, and in that moment, you realized something profound: tonight, he would be yours, and you would be his, come what may.

A soft smile danced on your lips as you reached for his outstretched arm, feeling a rush of warmth as you entered the restaurant together. The high-end staff treated you like royalty, ushering you to a table draped in elegant linens. Once seated, you glanced up at Vox through your lashes, your expression teasing as you playfully toyed with the rim of your wine glass.

“I know about our family ties…” you said, watching as his eyes widened in surprise, a dark blush creeping across his cheeks. Was he embarrassed that you knew, or perhaps flustered by the undeniable attraction that pulsed between you? 

“I want you to know, connection or not, I feel it all too,” you added, punctuating your statement with a sly wink. His composure faltered, and you could see him short-circuiting, lost in the implications of your words.

Once he regained his composure, a soft smile broke across his face, his eyes flickering nervously as he tried to avoid the luxurious curves that had him entranced. “So this means I can finally stop dancing around and court you more publicly?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his gaze.

You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head with a smirk. “I think we’ve passed the stage of courting, Mr. Bed, Couch, Counter, and Desk.” Your cheeks warmed at your own boldness, while his face flamed with embarrassment at your teasing. A soft giggle escaped you as you flagged down the waiter, paying for the wine that would accompany your evening.

“Let’s head back to the tower, Vox… let me help you relax after today’s tiring events.” The confidence that surged within you was intoxicating, fueled by the way he looked at you and the undeniable chemistry crackling in the air. 

You had dreamed of this moment, of nights alone together, your hand tucked beneath you in hopes of relief, but it had never been enough. Each day spent near him only deepened your addiction to the awkward yet captivating man. But with the dark, calculating look in his eyes, you knew that from this moment forward, you would be more than satisfied. 

As the evening unfolded, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you—two souls entwined in a dance of desire, ready to explore the depths of your connection, past and present, together. 

A chill raced down your spine as you and he stepped into his work car, the evening air thick with anticipation. He wanted to wait until you were safely hidden away in his condo before his hands roamed your body, but the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. As the engine purred to life, his fingers found their way to your thigh, gently caressing the soft fabric of your stockings. You could feel his gaze on you, hungry and intense, as you breathed heavily, caught in the electrifying moment. He was eager to claim you as his own, to make you his in every sense.

The drive felt like an eternity, each passing second stretching out as his hand danced tantalizingly close to where you craved him most. You were ablaze with desire, the thrill of his touch igniting something deep within you that had lay dormant for far too long. No one had ever made you feel this way—caught between the living and the dead, lost in a whirlwind of longing and need. You were ready to surrender completely to the man beside you, to give him every part of yourself.

When the car finally came to a halt, all semblance of self-control shattered. In one swift motion, he pulled you over the center console and into his lap, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that stole your breath away. One hand tangled possessively in your hair while the other gripped your waist, asserting his dominance in a way that sent shivers of pleasure cascading through you.

You mirrored his urgency, your fingers gripping his shoulder and the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth radiating from him. Every kiss, every whisper of his breath against your skin, sent jolts of electricity sparking through your nerves, making you whimper into his mouth. You could feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against you, a reflection of the heated chemistry that crackled between you.

With his patience wearing thin, he pulled away, but only long enough to fling open the car door. He was acutely aware of your head as he stepped out, holding you firmly against him, making his way through the throng of Vee staff and personnel. There was no hesitation in his stride; he made it abundantly clear that you were his and his alone, a declaration that sent a thrill coursing through you.

As you rode the elevator, the air thickened with tension and need. He pressed you against the cool metal wall, his lips crashing against yours as he kissed you fervently, over and over again. His hands roamed your body with a glorious sensuality, and you could hear the soft moans and whimpers escaping him, reverberating in your chest like a sweet melody.

When the elevator doors finally opened, it was as if you were stepping into a dream. He swept you up in his arms, never breaking contact with your warmth or your mouth. With a careful grace, he navigated the threshold of his condo, ensuring you never brushed against anything sharp or hard, as if he wanted to preserve this fragile moment forever. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other, ready to explore the depths of your desire.

The sensations heightened once you two entered his bedroom as he gently set you on the bed. He was careful to lay you down, slotting himself between your legs. He hummed quietly in the kiss as he enjoyed the feeling and taste of you. You were, finally, his, and he could have you all he wanted here. You offered no protests.

You raked your hands over his arms and chest, slipping behind his back, scratching gently with your nails on any skin you could find. Vox's sounds, the same frequent heat, and need, were identical to yours. Everything begged you to take your clothes off and take him.

Vox pulled away, looking down at you for the first time since tonight's escapades began. A sloppy, lopsided grin was on his face as he moved the hair from your face. "Are you sure you want this doll?"

You gave him one soft nod, and all bets were off. Before you could utter another word, a moan was pulled from your lips as he kissed down your neck and pulled on the base of your hair. Soft pants left you, and you felt the tension pool in your core. How long have you two wanted this?

Sighing softly and pushing into Vox's clothed crotch, he growled low and kissed you roughly. Hands roamed your body, and your dress was slowly unclasped from your body. Your chest became exposed, and the most beautiful red bra he had ever seen was on display upon your delicate body. Even Val's porn stars had nothing on the sight of you half undressed before him.

As if dreams were becoming reality, he shivered as you slowly pushed his jacket off and tugged him down by his dress shirt. Kissing him, you worked on his buttons, running your hands along his torso once it was freed. Both of you shivered in delight and need as the other touched what was finally theirs.

Vox kissed back down your neck, leaving marks all across you, and landed on your breasts. Each one gets a solid mark right on the top where your cleavage sat. His lips teased the sensitive flesh. His arms snaked around you as he lifted you gently to unclasp the bra. Once it was off, he could feel the drool not only on his tongue but his cock head as well.

He hummed in delight as he bowed down and wrapped his blue tongue around one perky bud, the other gaining his talons' attention as he made you mewl for him. He was in heaven—here, right now, was his little heaven with his little angel. He switched between the two buds until they were too sensitive from his menstruation. "V-Vox, please, too much...need more...please..." You didn't mean to sound like a young virgin, but it was all too good to feel any other type of way. Soon, you felt the pressure above you leave as he stood up at the edge of the bed. Gently, he took your leg, resting your foot on his chest. He kissed your ankle and calf, taking your tights from the garter on your thigh. Slowly, he took the garments off and got a perfect sight right up your dress. Your pretty red underwear was stained wet from your need.

"Tell me, Y/N, where do you need me most? What do you need most? Tell me, and I will happily deliver it all to you, doll, whatever you need." He sounded so good saying that. His voice was an octave lower as he was already pussy drunk. You whimpered gently and sighed when he moved on to the next leg, removing the garments

"Need you between my legs Vox, so so many toys...none of them you," Your words sent a spark through him. He now understood today's argument with Val; some toys in the production studio had been missing, and his little Vixen took them. He smiled wide and fell to his knees at the edge of the bed.

"Your wish is my command, doll," He grabbed your waist, pulling you close to him. He shoved your dress up higher on your hips, having it bunch up on your stomach. Slowly, he ran a claw down your clothed heat. With each stroke of his claw, his mouth moved closer from your knee to your core. He always managed to miss where you wanted him most, though.

When you went to complain, however, you were interrupted by the cold sting to your cunt as he ripped the panties off completely. You gasped and cried out when Vox's long slender blue tongue licked a deep stripe up your soaking cunt. "Taste so good, doll, like my own apple pie, so fucking delicious," His menstruations didn't stop there, however, as Vox began to devour you like a man starved.

Your legs spread wider for him as he slotted himself against your cunt. His tongue was making circles on your puffy bud. Your head was thrown back as you grasped onto the bed for dear life. You needed him. Each tongue swirls and thrusts, sending you one step closer to your breaking point. At some point, your legs began to close, and all you could feel was a thread snapping. Vox didn't let up, though. If anything, he abused your clit and sucked you dry further.

When you began to cry and beg for relief, he stopped and pulled up, climbing back on top of you and kissing you hungrily. You could taste yourself on him as you felt his need press against your cunt. You needed more. "Please, Vox, take me, please, please; I need to be full and stuffed."

He thought he had heard angels earlier. He was dead wrong. What he heard then and was now hearing were two completely different planes of reality. He made quick work of his pants and boxers as you resituated on the bed. He slowly crawled back over you, kissing you deeply again. When he got between your legs and slotted himself right where you needed him, you moaned quietly.

Slowly, Vox entered you, both holding your breaths and breathing out together. He was so big, filling you to the brim while you were tight on him. He finally opened his eyes when he bottomed out and saw the most beautiful sight. Your tummy bulged out where his cock sat. Groaning in need, he pushed down on the bump and growled. "Oh, look at this baby, look at how deep I am, I will fill you up so full."

You cried, nodding, holding on to him for dear life. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He felt so thick and full as he abused your cunt with his deliberate speed. However, you knew he was coming to an end as well; he was pent up just as long as you were, and as his hips stuttered, you finally felt it, the whole feeling you had wished for since seeing the TV man.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back, keeping himself slotted in you. He held your hand close, playing with your hair. "Stay with me, Y/N, let me give you everything after life can offer."

You hummed softly and nodded, your eyes growing heavy. Life with Vox would be perfect, and you couldn't have been happier that you, Y/N L/N, got to live the carefree life your great-grandmama once wished for.