#none the measurements fit lol

[got-eggs]

i bought a shit ton of fleece expecting to be getting 36in by 60in pieces ( 1 yard width of fabric thats almost 2 yards in length)and i got sent more than that

[aw-bean-s]

Yknow I gotta say, I love sewing and a lot of ppl find a lot of body confidence or whatever from sewing. But for me I never felt bad about my body until every pattern I find is telling me I'm meant to have a 26 inch waist.

[sleepymarimo]

𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕣 (fantasy au!)

summary: you're to be wed in order to bring more greatness and glory to your kingdom. to narrow down your suitors, it's decided that they will participate in a jousting match. a particular jouster riding a reindeer and wielding three lances catches your attention. you really hope he wins... pairing: zoro x gn!reader cw: none (i think?), small bit of angst, but mostly some fantasy based fluff, helmeppo jumpscare an: thank you all for being patient with me! i hope you enjoy it. i don't really write fantasy so i hope it's alright! also why are there no gender neutral terms for prince/princess?! wc: 3.9k way longer than i expected it to be when i made the poll lol

the sun rises over strong stone walls, illuminating the beauty that is your kingdom. you're in a deep sleep, your expression relaxed. all of that changes when a multitude of royal attendants scurry inside, light flooding your room as the curtains are peeled open.

"good morning, your highness." one of them chirps, ushering you off of the plush bed. "today is the day! oh, aren't you excited?"

your eyes open and you need a second to adjust to it all, letting yourself be guided to who knows where. the light is blinding and disorienting, as are the hands on your back and shoulders pushing you towards the dressing room.

the day?

oh.

the day.

the fog in your head starts to clear and you register the commotion going on outside of the castle. the horns, the cheers, the utter liveliness of it all which contrasted with the dark pit growing in your stomach. with a quick sideways glance out a passing window, you confirm that today is in fact the day- the day of the jousting tournament which will determine who’ll take your hand and rule alongside you.

before you could even reply, another attendant, an older one who has been by your side since you were a child, grabs your hand and gives you a warm smile. "all the suitors will adore you, your grace. you'll make this kingdom so proud! whoever wins your hand is sure to be strong and worthy."

swallowing a lump of anxiety, you return her enthusiasm with only a small smile as you feign excitement. from there, you're prepared and pampered for the occasion.

multiple attendants step in and out of the lavish dressing room, carrying clothes and hair products and shoes and jewelry. measuring tape is wrapped around nearly every part of your body to ensure a proper fit, nothing allowed to be out of place for the big day. you're bathed and clothed and sprayed with an insane amount of fragrance.

hours later, when the sun is high in the sky, you're guided to the jousting grounds which lay just outside the castle.

armored escorts surround you, ensuring your safety and holding the crowds at bay. the many citizens smile and wave as you pass by. you return their gestures with polite greetings of your own, satisfied with their trust in you.

your eyes glance towards the large stone walls which surround the kingdom. tapestries line them, colored in your favorite hue and sporting the insignia of the kingdom. the jousting arena is bustling with nobles, clergy, merchants and citizens. on a platform, above the rest of the stands, is where your parents sit and await your presence.

they're sitting tall and proud, oblivious to the unease growing within you.

your steps are a little awkward as you make your way to your seat, one of your undergarments having been fitted a little too tightly. it was almost impossible to relax your muscles unless you wanted seams digging into your flesh. when you finally reach your seat, nestled between those of your parents, you give them each a respectful nod and put into practice those lessons in formality they made you partake in.

"mother. father." you greet, taking your seat. shifting, you take a second to find a comfortable position before sitting tall and placing your hands neatly in your lap.

your mother's eyes lighten up, a hand coming up to gently pinch at your cheek. "oh, don't you just look so darling..." she coos, humming in approval as she eyed your attire and hair.

crossing his arms, your father simply states your name as a way of greeting you. his focus is on the arena, which is still being prepared. the jousters aren't anywhere to be seen. presumably, they're in the stables adjacent to the arena and preparing their lances and steeds for the upcoming matches.

"this kingdom needs someone strong." your father muses, casting a glance in your direction. "be prepared to take the hand of the one who wins this tournament. remember, it's not just nobility that are participating- this was an open invitation event, free to any and all who deem themselves worthy."

feeling uneasy, you just nod. with a shaky breath, you patiently wait for the jousters to line up in the arena.

it's a half hour later when all the contenders are lined up on their steeds, lances up and sitting tall as they await the introductory announcement. you're stunned by the number of potential suitors. there were at least fifty. you can't blame them for wanting a shot at the throne.

musicians blow their horns, playing a welcoming tune, before a royal attendant clears their throat and begins to speak.

"ladies and gentleman!" they announce, their voice ringing through the arena. "today, we will be witnessing a jousting tournament which will decide who will take the hand of-"

"hold it!" comes a high pitched voice, sounding displeased and almost whiny.

the crowd's attention turns to a lanky looking blond man with a cleft chin, who sits atop a white steed. he wears armor that looks much too big for his scrawny form, his expression disgusted.

the crowd breaks into hushed murmurs and mumbles, recognizing the man. "that's prince helmeppo!" one of the bystanders exclaims.

he raises a hand and points it toward another jouster, his tone sharp. "that jouster wields three lances!" he huffs, eyes narrowing as he puffed his chest. "and he rides atop a reindeer instead of a horse! dear king, i believe that he is at an advantage and should be disqualified."

your brows rise at the, well, audacity of this man. it sends a shiver down your spine to think that he was a potential suitor.

the attention of yourself and the entire crowd then turn towards the supposed three lanced jouster, who looks tense. he wears a steel helmet with a visor, so you can't exactly see his face.

"huh?" he exclaims, caught off guard by the sudden attention. "why're you talkin' about me for?"

the blond laughs upon hearing the jouster's informal manner of speech. "oh, you're just a commoner! no wonder!"

the unknown jouster and prince helmeppo exchange verbal blows until your father stands up from his seat and puts an end to it. "enough!" he orders, the arena falling silent. he looks between the two men, eyes narrowing at the reindeer and three lances. "it is true that your style of jousting is...odd. it may put others at a disadvantage."

the jouster tightens his grip on one of his lances, his frustration evident.

"if it were up to me, i'd have you disqualified. however, it is not my hand you'll be taking." your father says, gesturing to you. everyone's attention is on you, including the jouster, and you squirm in your seat, your face warm. "your highness, make a choice."

your mouth feels dry and you focus your attention on the jouster. even though you can't see his face or his expression, you swear you catch a glimpse of his steel gaze from behind the eyeholes of his helmet.

"i..." you let out a sigh and straighten up, your voice firm. "i will allow the jouster to participate in the tournament!"

cheers ensue, and so does the tournament.

the matches are all riveting. the sound of steel on steel reverberates through the air. people yell in excitement, clap their hands and make it known that they have favorites. you're on the edge of your seat the whole time, but your focus is on him.

the jouster with the three lances.

his style is interesting, almost captivating to watch. he holds a lance in each hand and lifts his visor just enough to place the last one in his mouth. it gives you a glimpse of his strong jaw and nose, the rest of his face a complete mystery to you.

every match he takes seriously, not caring much for taunts or mind games. his posture is consistently strong and poised- a true warrior. you wonder if he truly is a commoner and not a knight in disguise.

he takes out competitor after competitor. unfortunately (and you don't know how), so does prince helmeppo. before you know it, it's the time of the final match.

the two men are on their respective steeds, staring each other down from across the arena as the announcer gives a final speech. the crowd is on edge, a good majority of them rooting for prince helmeppo while a designated few display their fondness towards the reindeer riding mystery jouster.

the announcer raises a horn, about to signal the start of the match.

however, before he can do so, the sound of thunder echoes throughout the kingdom. the crowd audibly sighs in disappointment, the pitter pattering of the rain drowning out cheers and music.

both the jousters lower their lances, their postures relaxing.

the king grunts in displeasure, rising from his seat and acknowledging the spectators, as well as the final two contenders. "the match will be postponed. we will continue tomorrow at approximately midday." he pauses, thinking over something before he goes on. "a celebration will be held in the castle to compensate for such a delay. you are all welcome to join."

your father's invitation seems to reignite the earlier enthusiasm, and the crowd slowly starts to make their way towards the castle.

guiding you back are your armored escorts, who urge you to return to the safety and warmth of the castle walls. while being guided away, you can't help but look back at the finalists.

prince helmeppo speaks with his royal attendants, commanding them to take off his armor and bring him some dry clothes. his attitude towards his servants makes your nose wrinkle in displeasure.

the other jouster, though, doesn't seem to have any attendants or other individuals with him. he doesn't seem to mind the rain either, patting his reindeer and feeding it... cotton candy?

you don't have time to question it, as one of your escorts ushers you forward.

in the castle, a grand dinner is held for the people and jousters. the whole banquet hall is alive with food and music and drinks. it's a little overwhelming having so many people come up to you, but you do well to stay strong and treat them with kindness.

it's made all the worse when prince helmeppo comes your way, giving you a smile that makes your stomach ache. really, how is this guy a finalist?

"your grace." he all but purrs, kissing your hand for a bit too long. "i look forward to winning your hand tomorrow. i can assure that i'll treat you well."

your laugh is forced, but he can't seem to tell. you quickly retract your hand and subtlety wipe it on your clothes. "you're too kind..." you tell him, voice strained. "i, uh, need to attend to some royal matters..."

with that, you scurry off.

since the festivities were so lively, you were quickly able to evade the attention of your escorts and your parents. with light steps, you navigate through the castle walls and sneak out via passageways used by the servants.

it's late when you finally make your way to the stables, finding solace in the silence. since most of the citizens were in the banquet hall, you didn't worry much about being seen. you remember prince helmeppo's words and shiver in disgust. honestly, you preferred the company of the horses at this point- at least they weren't as snobby.

as you walk through the stables, petting some of the friendlier palace horses, you hear a bleat a few stalls down.

your eyes widen when you catch sight of the reindeer, curiosity taking over as you carefully approach him. it looks just as interested in you, it's head tilting while it stomps the ground with its hooves. on the stall, the name 'chopper' is engraved into the wood. a piece of metal reflects the moonlight and you realize that one of his horns had, at some point, fallen off before being reattached.

one of your hands raises to touch the cool metal and you let out an appreciative hum when you realize just how sturdy it seemed. did the jouster patch him up? perhaps he was sweeter than he-

"what are you doing?" comes a familiar, gruff sounding voice from behind you.

the cool metal suddenly feels burning hot and you quickly pull away, holding your hands in front of you as a bout of nervousness strikes through your core. how did you not hear the sound of clinking armor? you don't turn around, not having the guts to do so.

"sorry!" you say quickly, clearing your throat as you revert back to your formal self. "i mean, my apologies, jouster. i was simply-"

he exhales, the sound rattling in his chest and seeming to echo in his helmet. "you don't have to do all...that." he says, referring to your scripted, overly formal words. "it's fine."

he seems oddly calm for being in the presence of a royal.

the muscles in your shoulders relax and you allow yourself to slump slightly. you turn around and, as you thought, he's still fitted in his armor and helmet. now that you were in front of him, you noticed just how massive he was. for a second, you're almost intimidated, remembering that you're alone and without any escorts.

"i... i didn't see you at the banquet." you state, curious to learn more about the enigmatic jouster. after all, he could very well be the one to take your hand tomorrow.

he shrugs, nonchalant as ever as he took a step closer to chopper and placed a hand on the reindeer's head. "went to a tavern."

his blunt response pulls a thoughtful hum from you, leaving you unsure of what to think.

when it came down to it, it was either him or helmeppo. as of right now, you just felt trapped. you knew that by this time tomorrow, you would arranged to marry one of them.

something about that thought has you feeling a little too vulnerable, enough to want to hide your face from him. you enter one of the empty stalls and rest your weight on the wooden walls, sliding down until you were sat on the floor.

you didn't care that your clothes would grow dirty. you didn't care that some of the hay was digging uncomfortably into your skin. your head and heart were too full for you to really give it much mind.

"why're you doing this?" you ask with slight resignation in your voice, hoping you wouldn't offend or anger him. "the title? the berries?"

for a second, he doesn't answer.

his armor clinks together as he moves, then you feel a pressure on your back as the wood gets pushed inward. you quickly realize that he's sitting on the other side of the stall, right behind you.

you're back to back, so close yet just out of reach.

the next thing you register is the sound of his helmet sliding off. his action is a little surprising and it makes your heart skip a beat. you really wanted to see his face...

"i don't care about any of those royal titles." he says with a hint of indignation. his voice is clear now, not muffled by his helmet. the deep and rough timbre of it catches you a little off guard. "the only title i want is that of the world's greatest jouster."

your eyes widen a bit, before your brows furrow. "so, you want the berries?"

he sighs in frustration, armor clanking together as he crossed his arms. "i don't want-" he stops for a moment, clicking his tongue and taking a deep breath. his tone is notably softer when he speaks, more calculated. "the arena where i learned to joust is being shut down. my old mentor can't afford it, so i'm doing this to get the berries and..."

from there he trails off, but it's pretty clear what his intentions are. you imagine all the other jousters in training, children who won't be able to practice their beloved sport. you can't help but feel a great deal of respect for the jouster, even if he seemed a little rough around the edges.

yet, the notion is also so over the top. becoming a king just to keep an arena running? he'd really be willing to bear the weight of being a royal, just for all the young jousters in training?

the utter absurdity of it has you chuckling ever so slightly in disbelief.

"somethin' funny?" he asks with an underlying note of exasperation, getting defensive.

"no, not at all." you reassure, finding yourself smiling uncontrollably. your voice softens, true admiration lacing your next words. "i think it's very noble of you."

your words stun him into silence. if you could see him, you'd have a clear picture of his clenched jaw and reddened cheeks.

some amount of minutes pass, the distant sounds of the celebration ringing through the air. your head races with thoughts about the future. this jouster had earned your respect, that much was certain.

with a sigh, you make your decision.

"i'll give you the berries." you say, determined and unwavering. "i'll talk with my father and have them sent to the arena.”

his surprise is evident as he quickly straightens his posture, armor clinking together in a frenzy. then, it's quiet. his voice cuts through the thick air, more gentle than you've ever heard it.

"why?" he asks, not understanding your intentions. he wasn't used to free hand outs, especially from royalty such as yourself. everything he had was earned, and he liked it that way.

"because you need it." you reply simply, digging your fingers into your clothes until your knuckles turned white. you realize that with this choice, helmeppo would ultimately be taking your hand. "you don't have to show up tomorrow. go home and help your students."

he lets out a small grunt, a hint of irritation and wariness in his tone. "and you?"

even though you know he can't see it, you shrug your shoulders. you resign to your fate, knowing that your happiness was never guaranteed. it's a role you take with a heavy heart, but you find some solace knowing that others will benefit from your sacrifice.

"i'm sure i'll get my happily ever after." you say with some self-depreciation, smiling at the ceiling. "eventually."

there's silence, then more silence.

finally, you hear the familiar sound of his armor shuffling together as he stood and made his way towards his reindeer companion. you can hear him prepare the reigns and open the stall door. the sound of hooves echo through the wooden walls as he guides the reindeer outside, but there's a pause.

"thanks." he says, genuine and grateful.

you bite at the meat of your inner cheek, keeping your voice strong. "you're welcome, sir...uh-"

"zoro." he interjects, sliding his helmet back on. "roronoa zoro."

"zoro." you echo back, smiling as you said his name.

he walks off, until you can't hear the sounds of armor or hooves. dropping your head, you let yourself cry.

the night passes slowly, time crawling by at a snail's pace. a sense of defeat is instilled within you as the sun starts to rise. when your attendants dress you, you even tell them to get you clothes which coordinate with the colors of helmeppo's kingdom.

the arena is packed, everyone eager to witness the spectacle. but you know what the outcome will be.

helmeppo is on one side of the arena, gracefully sat on his steed as he awaited the arrival of his competitor. when his opponent doesn't show up, spectators begin to murmur and gossip. after twenty minutes pass, there's no need to go on any further.

the announcer clears his throat, musicians preparing to play a closing tune in light of a winner being chosen.

your eyes close as the announcer begins to speak.

"by reason of absence, we have chosen to disqualify-"

"hold on!" comes a familiar voice, the crowd gasping as the jouster approached on his reindeer. his armor rises and falls, as if he's taking deep breaths. it goes silent and his next words are eagerly anticipated by many. would he make some sort of declaration? a noble speech of redemption?

his arm comes up to rub the back of his helmet as he clears his throat. "i got lost."

some spectators boo at him.

your breath catches in your throat and your lips tremble. he came back?

the exhale that leaves you is shaky, full of relief. zoro takes his place on the other side of the arena, steeling himself and giving chopper a solid pat on the side.

"i ain't gonna run from a damn fight." he growls, readying his lances. “gotta finish this the right way.”

helmeppo is more than displeased, already preparing for a win. he raises his lance and the spectators hold their breaths. the announcer lifts his hand and starts the count, then the two men charge at each other.

you watch as they get closer and closer, lances drawn, but as they're about to make contact, you can't help but close your eyes.

a metallic thud.

silence.

then, cheers.

when you open your eyes, a smile grows on your face when you catch sight of zoro sitting proudly on his cotton candy loving steed. his three lances are still poised and ready, his armor shining in the sunlight.

the announcer declares a winner and you're given permission to head down to the arena. you pay no mind to helmeppo, who lays on the ground and throws a fit.

zoro hops off his steed when he sees you approaching, tucking away his lances.

when you're in front of him, your voice is barely above a whisper, trembling and just loud enough for him to hear. "thank you. you could've just taken the berries… you didn’t have to-”

he huffs out a laugh, hands coming up to remove his helmet. your expression falters in awe. that's what was underneath the whole time?

"yeah, well, you don't make bein' royalty seem so bad." he coolly replies, rolling out his shoulders with a gruff exhale. "and i sure as hell wouldn't wanna marry that dolt of a prince."

his moss-green hair is slightly slicked back from the helmet, a light sheen of sweat on his face. you meet his steel gaze, warmth spreading in your chest. your eyes trail over his face and he seems to sense your surprise, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"think i'll make a good king?" he asks, a tad smug as he tucked his helmet under one of his arms.

his question has you letting out a laugh, your worries dissipating into nothing but excitement for the future. "i think we can make it work, your highness."

he rolls his eye and extends a hand toward you, palm facing upwards. you take it and he offers you a lopsided grin, giving your hand a quick squeeze. his gaze shifts to your clothes and he lets out a playful scoff, bringing you closer.

"by the way, you'd look a lot better in green."

and you lived happily ever after...

thank you for reading!!

[charmandabear]

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Leather and Lace

Summary

Lady Estelle wasn't expecting to fall for her tailor, of all people. But with everything under her control during the day, she's more than content to cede control to him at night.

Pairing: Astarion/F!OC Rating: E Word Count: 5.7k Tags/Warnings: unprotected sex, orgasm denial, safeword discussion, light bondage, d/s dynamic, p in v sex, vampire sex, biting, vampire bites, blood drinking, sexual tension, casual classism, AU, (sorta, you can make an argument), praise kink

Read on AO3

Something in me turned feral when I saw Hamrikaa's tailor!Astarion art and I needed to get this out of my system. It doesn't help that I work with costumes irl and I suddenly got a lot of opinions about Astarion and sewing.

I have more thoughts on this relationship, particularly with the class difference and power dynamics. I also really want a story with a plus size protag since I'm really tired of feeling like the implication is that all Tavs/OCs are the type 1 body. So let me know if that's something that appeals to you, or if you're interested in a longer version with more than just sexual tension and smut, lol.

Fucking Arfur.

It’s sundown on a Saturday and Lady Estelle Rosewinter is traipsing through the Lower City looking for a tailor. Arfur Gregorio had shown up to her masquerade several hours early already intoxicated. While trying to shoo him off the grounds, he had stepped on her gown, ripping the seam of the thigh high slit to a nearly obscene height. Now, as guests are beginning to arrive, she isn’t there to greet them and is rather passing shop after shop putting up their closing signs. 

She could have just chosen a different gown as her handmaiden Celia had suggested, except that it took her so long to get into the damn thing. She thought that getting it fixed would take but a minute. It did not occur to her that, given the hour, finding an available tailor would prove so difficult.

Estelle is about to give up when she sees a dim little shop out of the corner of her eye. It’s not on the main drag, but rather up a quiet alleyway. But there’s no mistaking the sign.

Threads of Starlight

The door to the shop is clearly open, so she rushes in, desperate to speak with the proprietor.

“My apologies, I know you’re probably about to close, but I have an emergency, and I promise that I’ll pay handsomely for the inconvenience–” she cuts herself off as the tailor walks out from the back. He’s so much more attractive than she would’ve expected from someone of his station. His clothes are humble but understandably incredibly well-fitting, his trousers gently hugging his lean legs and the sleeves of his light linen top rolled up above his elbows, revealing pale, slender forearms. His silvery hair looks windswept and effortless, although Estelle knows it takes a practiced hand to get one’s hair just right like that. There’s a measuring tape slung around his neck and he looks briefly startled by her appearance before a practiced charm takes over.

“No need for apologies, Lady…” he leaves a gap in his speech for her to tell him her name. His voice is melodic.

“Estelle. Lady Estelle.” She tries to match his honeyed tone but her mouth has suddenly gone dry. He takes her hand and gently presses his lips to her knuckles.

“Lady Estelle. The pleasure is all mine,” he coos and a shiver goes up her spine. What on earth would a tailor need with this much charisma? Without letting go of her hand, he gracefully leads her up onto the fitting stand in the middle of the shop. She has danced with the finest nobility in Baldur’s Gate, and none of them were even half this elegant.

“Now please, tell me what I can do for you. I hope there’s nothing wrong with this beautiful gown of yours. Is it one of Galwen’s?” The way he looks at her makes her feel exposed, almost naked, despite the conversation literally being about her clothes. She clears her throat in an attempt to regain some composure.

“Yes, I’ve been going to her for years, but she’s tragically unavailable this evening.” Not that Estelle didn’t try. She sent three messengers and finally went to Galwen’s door herself, but she refused to open back up. Pity, since it looks like she’s lost Estelle’s business for good, especially if this one turns out to be as good as he looks. And gods does he look good.

“All the more fortunate for me that I stay open late,” he says in a low tone, and gooseflesh breaks out over Estelle’s arms. “Now, tell me darling,” he coughs at letting the casual pet name slip out, “pardon me, my Lady, how can I be your gown’s savior this evening?” Estelle hadn’t heard the rest of his sentence because her ears started ringing at the “darling.” Normally she would not take too kindly to someone in the working class speaking so informally to her. She’s beginning to feel lightheaded. Has she been hexed? Does this happen to any who cross his threshold?

“It’s torn,” she says in an uncharacteristically small voice. “Right here.” She lifts her skirt at the thigh slit, threads popping out of the seam. In an instant the tailor is on one knee, examining it closely. With him suddenly this close, all of her symptoms dissipate and are replaced by just one: desire.

She tries to shake herself out of it. Not only would anything of the sort be wildly inappropriate - given her status in Baldur’s Gate, an affair with a lowly tailor would be splashed all over Baldur’s Mouth within hours - this man is a consummate professional, and she’s certain that he would never return her affections. He must look beneath dozens of hems a day, this is nothing out of the ordinary for him. 

He touches the fabric as he studies it, cool fingers lightly grazing Estelle’s skin. She gasps at the sensation, and he looks up at her sheepishly.

“I’m terribly sorry, I have poor circulation. My touch is always something nasty, I’m afraid.” Estelle shakes her head and finds anywhere to look but into those piercing red eyes. 

“It’s fine, really. I have an important evening planned, so I’m a bit jumpy,” she lies through her teeth. He steps away to pick up a needle and thread from behind the counter. While his back is turned, Estelle takes the time alone to wipe sweat off her brow. This man is making her burn up inside and out.

“Oh really?” he sings as he’s back down on his knees, dangerously close to her upper thigh once again. “And pray forgive me, but I must reach up slightly in order to make this repair, if that’s alright. I promise, I’ll be the picture of a gentleman.” He looks up at her, waiting for her consent before touching her further. Estelle, worried what might come out if she opened her mouth, just nods. 

He slides his hand between the fabric and her leg, pulling it out slightly so he can tuck his needle into the underside of the seam. Estelle bites down on her tongue to keep from moaning. She knows that she’s touch-starved, it’s been far too long since anyone has warmed her bedsheets. Between running a household, meeting with politicians and nobility alike, and her position in the Baldur’s Gate arts council, she hardly has the time. But this is ridiculous. A gentle caress from a man should not elicit this much heat between her thighs, and yet here she is, keeping them pressed together tight, the slight pressure her only relief. 

His fingers move deftly, pulling the needle through the fabric with ease. He’s focusing on his work so intently, and Estelle watches him almost like he’s a dream. He begins tying off the thread, and before he’s complete, his eyes flick upward to meet Estelle’s.

“All finis-” he begins, but Estelle is so startled by the intensity of his gaze that she jumps, causing him to prick his finger with the needle. A tiny droplet of blood lands on the pale pink silk. The tailor jumps back, horrified, and immediately starts apologizing profusely.

“Oh gods, Lady Estelle, I’m so terribly sorry, look at what a clumsy little fool I am, gods on such a beautiful dress, too,” his words tumble out of him, all composure that was once there, now gone. She’s finding this flustered side of him possibly even more appealing than the cool and collected version. Her lady-of-the-house instincts kick in, and she addresses him like a new maid who has accidentally broken china while transporting it to the kitchen. 

“Darling,” she breathes and lifts his chin with a finger. She can finally look into those crimson eyes, feeling herself regain the poise she’s accustomed to. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just a speck.” She swears she can hear his breath catch, but maybe it’s just wishful thinking because he recovers quickly.

“Perhaps, but I still feel terrible. This mend is on the house, as well as any alteration you might need done on another garment. And, ah. How to say this.” He looks flushed again, despite the paleness of his skin. “There is a foolproof way of getting one’s blood out of fabric, but it’s not the most, er, refined shall I say.” This piques Estelle’s intrigue.

“Really? And what way is that?”

The tailor shifts nervously, and she positively relishes in the trade in demeanors. 

“This only works if it’s the one the blood belongs to, but if you can catch it straight away, then, erm, saliva will do the trick,” he says with a chagrined smile. Whatever Estelle was expecting, this is not it. 

“Oh,” she responds, and suddenly she’s back to that lightheaded feeling. What is he proposing exactly? Whatever it may be, she’s certain it will involve his mouth in some way and she’s not sure how she’ll handle that.

“The next five alterations are free, I’m so very sorry, this is very uncommon while working on a garment. At least, I’m usually better at catching myself,” he adds with embarrassment. 

“Uh, yes, whatever- whatever needs to be done. Thank you.” She peers down at him, willing herself to find somewhere else to look but unable to tear her eyes away. He pops a thin, pale finger in his mouth and swirls his tongue around it. She swallows loudly as he takes his finger out and dabs it on the slit of her dress, still achingly close to her thigh. He rubs at the spot, but evidently it’s not enough, because he then brings his lips to her dress and lightly rubs his tongue on the silk. 

“Oh gods,” she can’t keep this moan from escaping her lips. If he can hear her, he doesn’t respond, blessedly. He pulls away from her, silver hair ever so slightly disheveled, and rubs at the spot with a handkerchief to dry it.

“Apologies again, my Lady,” he says with a frown, examining the spot for any remaining blood. Then he stands and they’re face to face, the few inches of pedestal putting their eyes at the same height. “I hope this doesn’t make you think any less of my skills as a tailor.” She briefly wonders what other skills he might possess before banishing the thought from her head. 

“Not at all, er,” she falters, realizing she never asked his name, which is unlike her, she usually tries to learn the names of all of the people she contracts to work for her.

“Astarion,” he says with a bow.

“Astarion, yes,” she repeats breathlessly. “Well, Astarion, you came to my aid in a time of desperation, and I suppose there was a blood price to be paid.” He lets out a startled laugh, clearly not expecting her to make such a joke.

“That’s very clever, Lady Estelle,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “You were a pleasure to have on my fitting platform, I do hope to see you again soon. At least to make up for my absolute buffoonery.” He’s back to the confidently poised man who first greeted her when she entered the shop, and he plants another light kiss on the back of her hand. 

“I assure you, the pleasure was all mine,” Estelle murmurs, almost hoping that he doesn’t hear her. “Oh, and Astarion?”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“Please. Call me Stella.

***

Several tenday have passed since Stella’s first meeting with Astarion, and she had visited his shop nearly every evening. It didn’t take long for her to admit her feelings; she couldn’t hide them even if she wanted to. Even when Astarion confessed his status as a vampire spawn, she wasn’t deterred. If anything, it aroused her all the more. Something happens to Astarion when he drinks her blood. The humble and subservient tailor disappears, and in his place is a self-assured and dominant man. Stella is more than happy to relinquish control over to him. She’s responsible for so much during the day, making decisions, telling people what to do, so there’s an appeal to having someone else take that role for once. 

The moment she walks into the shop she’s met with the graceful gentleman. No matter how many times she sees him, that wicked smile sets a small ember in her belly that quickly spreads. Each point of contact lights on fire despite his chilled skin. A spark in her fingers as he pulls her forward, a flame on her cheek as he strokes it gently. In an instant he shuts the door and flips around the open sign. With the darkened windows and the door now closed, they’re plunged into semi-darkness and Stella feels a chill go up her spine.

Astarion wastes no time in pushing her against the door and kissing her deeply. He presses his body up against hers and she gasps into his kiss as he pulls her in closer by her waist. He slides his knee between her legs and she lets out a whimper. Astarion chuckles in her ear.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he coos, lifting her slightly with his knee putting a delicious pressure on her mound. She clutches the back of his neck and hair, wrapping her leg around him to get even closer. He hikes up her skirt to her waist and scoops her up so both of her legs grip his midsection. Keeping his lips locked on hers as she continues to devour him, he carries her through the shop and to one of the adjacent rooms where there’s a bed and two untouched glasses of wine sitting on a side table. The tailor’s quarters. 

He throws her down on the bed and she looks up at him, cheeks and lips flushed, eyes glowing. Her typically neatly coiffed hair is mussed and strands splay out beneath her head like a halo. Astarion straddles her waist, pinning her in place, as he strokes her face.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathes, looking down at her with heavy lidded eyes. She grabs his shirt and pulls him in close.

“You know what I want,” she smirks, gaze flickering between his eyes and lips. He laces his fingers through her tousled hair and gently grazes his fangs over her neck, eliciting a sharp gasp.

“And you know I like to hear it,” he murmurs into her neck, and another full-body shiver goes through Stella. His breath feels chilling against her warm neck, blood pumping eagerly through her arteries. She grabs his face and forces him to look her in the eye – the last bit of control she has before she cedes it completely.

“Astarion,” she says slowly, measured and teasing, “I would enjoy it very much if you bit my neck, drank my blood, and then had your fucking way with me.” He chuckles darkly.

“Well,” he grins, a mischievous glint in his eye, “since you asked so nicely.” Stella lets out a moan as his fangs sink into her skin, the piercing pain soon giving way to a throbbing ache. His lips close around the wound, drinking in her delicious warmth, leaving her feeling blissfully lightheaded. She hums with pleasure as she curls her fingers into his silvery locks, hips unconsciously rolling into his, hungry for more contact. She can feel him growing stronger as her blood flows into him, his thighs tightly gripping her hips, keeping her locked into place. 

Astarion pulls away from her before going too far and Stella lets out a small whine at the loss of contact. He’s out of breath, chest heaving as he licks the last of her blood from his lips. He presses two fingers to the wound on her neck to stanch the bleeding as she looks up at him, pupils blown wide with lust. Once he can feel that the blood is no longer flowing freely, he takes his fingers away and hovers them centimeters above Stella’s lips.

“Open,” he commands, and she dutifully obeys. She takes his fingers into her mouth and sucks on them lasciviously, the metallic taste of her own blood filling her mouth. It’s one thing to prick her finger and to suck on it to make the bleeding stop. It’s quite another to lap her blood of Astarion’s fingers, languishing in the vulgarity of the taboo. She yearns to hear his breath hitch as she works her tongue over their length. 

He slides his fingers out of her mouth and grabs her chin, reversing the roles from moments before. He examines her face, turning it this way and that, like he’s inspecting a prized golden retriever at a dog show. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he lets out in a low tone. “Trapped underneath me, open and wanton, ready to let me do whatever I want with you. To you,” he adds on with an impish grin, and Stella squirms with anticipation. He swings a leg over her and stands by the edge of the bed, towering over her.

“Up now, on your knees,” he instructs and she scrambles to sit on her knees, still looking up at Astarion with lust-filled eyes. He reaches behind her and fully releases her hair from its loose braid letting it fall down the length of her back. He runs his fingers through her hair, humming as he does, “Good girl.” Her chest swells with the intake of breath as she leans into his touch even more.

“Undress. Quickly,” he demands. Her skirt is already up around her waist so she peels the rest of her dress off in a fluid motion. The corset provides a little more resistance, but even with fumbling fingers she manages to untie the laces and undo the hooks, letting it fall behind her. The sudden exposure to air makes her nipples go hard. Astarion smirks and cups one of her breasts in his hand, stroking her tit with his thumb. Stella bites back a cry.

“Shh shh shh. Not a sound,” Astarion whispers as he puts his lips close to her ear, continuing to fondle her. “I don’t want to hear you make a single noise, understood? Not until I say so.” He pulls away and locks his crimson eyes on her brown ones. Stella trembles, but nods silently.

“Good,” he breathes and slides her forward so that she’s sitting on the edge of the bed with her toes lightly touching the floor. He then lowers himself to one knee between her legs. He kisses up her thigh until he reaches her panties. He looks up at her mischievously as he hooks a finger in either side of the waistband, and he slips them off in a single fluid motion. Stella shudders with anticipation for what he plans to do next. 

Astarion parts her legs and she can feel the cool air on the slickness between her thighs. He leans forward and takes her nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue lightly over the tip. She takes in a shaky breath, but she manages to keep any noise she might want to make under wraps. He looks up at her while continuing to work his tongue. She clenches the sheets as jolts of white hot electricity shoot through her body. He pushes her legs apart even further and leans in, the ties from his frilled shirt lightly brushing against her folds. She gasps and shifts her pelvis, simultaneously trying to get less and more contact. He grabs her waist forcefully to hold it in place. He snakes his way up so that they’re face to face, lips a hair’s breadth apart.

“Ah ah, no moving either. Are you going to be good for me? Will you be silent like I’ve asked?” he says in a light, sing-songy tone. Stella keeps her lips clamped together as she nods.

“And what will you give me if you can’t obey?” he purrs, brushing his lips against hers as he runs a thin, cool finger along her slit. 

“Ah-anything,” Stella moans, turning her pleasure sound into a response. Astarion lets a smug grin play on his lips.

“Either way, I’ll get what I want,” he intones, and mercifully pulls his face away from hers. She releases a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. But it’s still only the beginning.

He lowers himself onto both knees and places a delicate kiss on her labia. She squirms but remains silent.

“My, you could drown a small army down here,” he says with an amused smile, and Stella just continues to breathe heavily, her chest rising and falling as she gazes down at the head of white curls between her legs. He runs the tip of his tongue along her folds, hands pushing out on her thighs slightly as he does. As he parts her legs further he exposes more of her, letting his tongue explore the newly uncovered skin. A cry catches in Stella’s throat and she slaps a hand over her mouth. His scorching gaze fixes on her and she lets herself fall back on the bed. If she watches she’ll be done for. Then again, not being able to anticipate his next move might be even worse.

Not being one to let her escape his torment, Astarion grabs Stella beneath the legs and yanks her toward him, letting her legs fall onto his shoulders as he continues to lap up her sweetness. She chokes down a whine, her breath quickening as she desperately tries to control herself. His tongue plunges into her and she bites into her hand with a hiss. With her pelvis rolled up so that he can get the best angle, he continues fucking her with his tongue, getting deep enough that the tips of his fangs press into her ever so lightly. 

That’s what sets her over the edge. The smallest pinprick of pain along with all of the filthy things he’s doing to her with his tongue tears a scream from her throat, muffled by her hand. He stops and stands over her, backlit by the low lighting, her wetness reflecting off his devilish smile. He then grabs her by the throat, not enough to constrict her breathing, but just enough to pull her face up to his.

“What was that, my sweet?” he growls dangerously. 

“N-nothing,” Stella stammers out, but Astarion just smiles.

“I don’t think it was ‘nothing,’ darling,” he breathes, acid in his voice. “I was very explicit in my instructions, was I not?” His hand tightens around Stella’s throat and she lets out a choked sound. It’s not a sound she usually makes. Astarion pulls his hand back slightly, concern creeping into his eyes. Stella looks up at him and nods.

Keep going.

They have a safe word for a reason, but if anything unexpected happens, Astarion still prefers to check in. He’s mentioned before that sometimes he’s worried that he’ll lose control, especially right after drinking her blood.

Stella finds the danger absolutely thrilling, but wants him to feel just as safe as she does.

Astarion drops her throat and pushes her down so her back is flat against the bed. Still between her legs, he pushes his pelvis against hers, pinning her wrists above her head. He’s still fully clothed, and the leather of his pants feels deliciously cool against her wet pussy. He puts one knee up on the bed, pushing her right leg up higher and spreading her even further. As unphased and indifferent as he seems, Stella can still feel his erection pressing into her, and she shifts to feel it more.

“You said you’d give me anything if you failed, correct?” he murmurs against her lips. 

“Yes,” the word escapes on a breath.

“Then hold still.” Astarion stands and the sudden loss of all contact elicits a small whine from Stella. He flashes her a playful smirk as he walks over to the bedside table and pulls out two long strips of cloth. He climbs on top of Stella again, straddling her hips and squeezing lightly with his thighs.

“Wrists, please,” he commands almost nonchalantly. Stella immediately puts her wrists together and holds them out to Astarion.

“Good girl,” he coos and the praise makes her lightheaded. He tenderly wraps her wrists up in the silk cloth, making sure it's tight enough to prevent escape but not enough to cause any lasting damage. He then takes the other strip of cloth, a sturdier cotton broadcloth, and holds it to her lips. He ties it tightly behind her neck, keeping her from being able to open her mouth at all.

“Since you can’t control yourself enough to stay quiet,” he purrs, low and dangerous, “maybe this will do it for you. And I think,” he stands and walks over to the bed stand. He looks over his shoulder and orders in an apathetic tone, “Up dear.” She scrambles to her knees, wrists falling limply in her lap. He continues, “I think you need one more thing to remind you to whom you belong.” He pulls out a fine leather collar with a silver O-ring in the middle. Stella’s excitement mingles with genuine admiration for the craftsmanship. He turns around and lovingly closes it around her neck. He then slips one slender finger through the ring and pulls it up so her head is tilted toward him.

“How does that feel, good?” he asks lightly, and she nods, still desperate to please. He lets go of the collar and strokes her jaw. “Good,” he breathes, and she can see the self-control in his eyes. He wants to fuck her just as much as she wants him to, and it’s taking everything in his power to hold out. He leans into her lips as though he’s about to kiss her but stops just short of making contact. 

“Now, before I decide precisely what I want to do with you,” he hums into her lips, “I want to make sure you can still tell me if I need to stop or slow down. If it ever becomes too much, I want you to snap your fingers, understood? Show me now.” Astarion keeps his lips achingly close to hers, but she does as he says. When he hears her snap, he grabs her face in his hands and kisses her roughly, sliding a dastardly knee between her legs once again. She longs to reach for him but keeps her bound wrists dutifully in her lap as his lips continue their assault on hers. 

Once he breaks the kiss, he remains close and slides his hands behind her head and into her hair. “Good girl,” the words rumble low in his throat and Stella is grateful for the cloth that muffles the obscene noise she makes. He steps away and she’s finally able to see all of him as he pulls off the tunic, revealing his porcelain chest. She yearns to run her fingers along it, tracing the outlines of his muscles, but instead she just grabs a fistful of sheets beneath her hands. He pulls down his trousers, letting his already hardened cock free, and her pussy twitches in anticipation. 

Astarion saunters back up to her and touches the front of her gag where a small wet spot is forming with her desire for him. He smirks and pulls her face down to his cock, running the tip of it along the broadcloth. She can feel it brush against her lips, and she again moans in anticipation. 

“Don’t you wish you could take me in your mouth?” he breathes, and Stella presses her tongue against the inside of the gag, trying to make even minimal contact. He laughs cruelly. “Gods, you’re desperate,” he scoffs. “It’s a shame, because if you had been able to follow my instructions, I may have even let you ride me on top.” He pushes the tip of his dick into the gag one more time before pulling away, leaving Stella to squirm achingly. 

“But instead,” he forcefully pushes her back so that she’s once again lying on the bed with her legs spread open for him. He crawls on top of her and teases her opening with his tip. She mewls in desperation. “You’ll have to contend with me doing whatever I want to this beautiful body of yours. I can slide in,” and he pushes into her, wrenching a gasp and whine from her mouth, before pulling out and letting his tip tease her again, “and pull out on a whim. You said I could do whatever I want.”

Stella is beside herself with lust. Unable to move her hands, she writhes her pelvis, trying to get even the slightest bit of contact. Her pussy is starting to burn from the pent up desire and she’s genuinely unsure of how much longer she can last like this. Astarion grins widely and his fangs sparkle in the low lighting. 

“Shall I give you what you want, darling? What you so fiercely crave?” His slick tip is still dancing around her cunt and tears are starting to form in her eyes as she nods. He thrusts into her again and rips the cloth from her lips before whispering sharply into her ear.

“Then I want to hear it all,” he hisses. “I want you screaming my name as I fuck you.” With his permission, she cries out, all of her stifled energy finally releasing.

“Oh gods, Astarion, fuck me please,” the words spill from her mouth uncontrollably. He starts pounding into her and she knows after all that time teasing her, she won’t last long. The heat of him sliding in and out, the stretch with each thrust, fills her with a fire that threatens to turn into an explosion. 

“Fuck, Astarion, please,” she whines, moments away from climax. She wraps her legs around his waist to get him in deeper, and now it’s his turn to let out a low moan. He continues to slam into her, the sounds of their mutual pleasure mounting.

“Look at me,” he growls, and she struggles to keep her gaze locked onto his crimson eyes. He looks so beautiful above her, silvery hair getting slick with sweat, panting as he continues his smooth rhythm. She can feel her orgasm building as her cries grow louder. He knows she’s close, too, and once again he flashes a fang-bearing smile.

“Come for me, darling,” he groans, and that sends her toppling over the edge.

“Gods, Astarion, yes!” she screams as she comes, and his follows shortly after. With a final thrust, he releases into her, his cock pulsing exquisitely. He looks down at her with an uncharacteristically shy smile and kisses her as he pulls out.

Both of them are out of breath as he collapses onto the bed next to her. Stella’s limbs feel light as though she just downed an entire bottle of dream mist. She rolls onto her side to look at Astarion, who appears to be equally intoxicated. Without a word she holds her wrists up, and he laughs lightly.

“Ah, yes, you might want those back,” he croons, and uses his teeth to pull out the knot, and the silk falls away in one fluid motion. Her hands are so close to his face that she cups his chin gently, just content to look at him.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, and he turns a kiss into her palm. 

“I could say the same thing,” he purrs as he looks up at her through his lashes. “Tea?” He pulls up the plush blanket that had been folded neatly at the end of the bed and wraps it around Stella’s shoulders. She snuggles into it and pulls it closed around her, then nods. He plants a quick kiss on her forehead and walks over to fill the kettle hanging above the hearth. Stella admires his silhouette, backlit by the light of the fire. He’s lithe and sinewy, his sculpted muscles built for dexterity more than strength. Her eyes rake over his broad shoulders, the dip of his lower back, the curve of his bare ass. He turns his head to look at her over his shoulder.

“Yes?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Nothing,” she hums, “just enjoying the view.” He smiles as he leans over the blanket cocoon she’s swathed herself in and kisses her lips softly, gently. He’s always particularly tender with her after a session like that, and Stella is grateful for it. She loves being able to see both of these sides of Astarion. The affable tailor eager to serve, and the dangerous dom claiming his power. Her fingers lightly dance on the collar he put on her. She likes the idea of belonging to him. A pity she couldn’t wear something as conspicuous as a leather collar in her daily life.

Astarion returns with a steaming mug, and as though reading her mind, pulls a long jewelry box from the drawer of the bedside table. 

“A companion piece to your collar, if you so wish,” he says in explanation. “You’re under no obligation to wear it, of course, but I thought you might like a little reminder of me everywhere you go.” She opens the box and nestled in the satin is a delicate silver chain with a small ring in the center. Her jaw drops slightly as she marvels at its beauty.

“Astarion, how did you–?” she begins, but he cuts her off.

“It pays to be a well-connected artisan, darling,” he says with a shrug. 

“Will you put it on me?” Stella asks in a light voice, and he looks delighted. She lifts up her hair so that he can unclasp the leather collar and replace it with the silver necklace. His fingers brush against her neck, lingering on the puncture mark he left earlier.

“Although perhaps you might want to sport high-collared dresses for a bit,” he admits with an apologetic grin. Stella turns and kisses him, cupping his face and gently running her thumb along his jaw.

“Well thank the gods I have a tailor who can make me new gowns in all the latest fashions,” she smirks. He climbs on top of her to kiss her more deeply, their naked bodies touching in a way that’s intimate, but not sexual. She could melt into his flesh, his kiss, his breath, and never want to change a thing.

[oh-shtars]

Lol I meant like Anny’s Nightmare Asha and Black Hole Aster but I also love your nuanced take (+bonus points for Nimona)

Ahhhhh okay. Sorry I’m dumb 😭😭

I’ll be honest, I haven’t given much thought to the alternate possibility of what the dark version Hopes and Dreams would be like. But DAMN, you guys are starving for angst crumbs aren’t you??

Fine.

For Sueño, I think he’s the one with the loosest thread. Maybe somewhere in an alternate timeline, he does lose it and really snaps at Magnifico’s cruelty. His dark aura and desire for vengeance and hatred corrupts his core and instead of pure Wish Magic, it becomes Curse magic.

Because with the cost of using this kind of dark magic, he loses all rationality and goes mad. And I MEAN very mad, with a hatred towards all humans other than those he deems worthy. After all, all these mortals ever want is ‘more than this,’ isn’t it? Instead of a Wishing Star, Sueño becomes something that the rest of starkind fear would happen. A Curse Star. A Star that grants desires in a way that they think is best instead of letting fate and the wisher’s strength decide.

He’s not going to let any stranger, regardless of who they are, good or bad, to get near him and his friends. Especially Asha. He’s not taking any more chances this time, because you’ll just never know what happens in this world anymore. It’s best to just strike anyone who gets close enough for good measure.

………….

For Asha, it’s a little more difficult to come up with something that still fits her character. Her main trait is love, which can be both her strength and weakness at the same time. Maybe I could use that?

She’s torn between choosing to protect her kingdom or Sueño. She believes he’s just scared and fed up with everything and needs help to find the light again. But then, what about Rosas?

Wouldn’t it be also an angsty alternative if she’s forced to fight him? To defeat the one she grew to love for Rosas’ sake? Just putting the thought out there :))

But what if she were to choose Sueño? To choose to side with him?

Maybe she’s doomed to be stuck in the middle of that decision. Forever. Sueño is in a state where he’s dangerous to everyone else except Asha and certain others he’s grown close with. Her friends and other people could see that but Asha refuses to listen. She begs them to leave the kingdom if they can’t stand it, but she won’t leave someone like him alone just like that. But neither does she want to force them to endure it for their own safety.

It’s a toxic kind of protection where none of her options win. If someone were to try to strike Sueño down, she’ll do whatever it takes to get them to leave Rosas and leave him alone. For Sueño and that person’s own safety. Even if it means she has to turn to dark magic to do it.

(Btw, I’m NOT encouraging this. If you’re in a toxic relationship, please don’t think that’s okay and that you should defend your partner at your own expense. You should always take good care of yourself.)

[noblebs]

oc profile tag

tagged by the talented @tragedycoded wow <3 I was like "maybe I shouldn't just do Orion by default" so I used an RNG and it landed on Orion anyway lol--NO WAIT FUCK THAT. DEV TIME

Name: Devilant

Nickname: in-universe, Orion's the first one to call him Dev

Kind of Being: demonic

Age: ???? was summoned 50 years ago, he considers that his age

Gender: masculine, sort of ambivalent about it tbh

Appearance: 8' tall from the top of his head, horns coming out of his temples (shaped kinda like upside down ?) make it closer to like 9.5' or so. he's fat, his skin is made of obsidian, and he has burning eyes. clothes are very basic and old/ratty, nothing fits unless he stretches it out beforehand. I think wifebeaters and sweatpants are his go-tos, and if that doesn't scream "long-term undiagnosed depression" then damn idk what does

Occupation: retired Annex agent/monster hunter

Family members: the person who summoned him and sort-of-maternal figure, Aisha

Pets: none. I bet he'd enjoy keeping goats or cows though

Best friend: oh don't even bother asking, she's long gone

Describe their room: cramped, bed takes up most of the space. a few bits of trash (mostly beer cans) lying around and a little dusty, but he doesn't own enough stuff for it to be disorganized

Way of speaking: usually has a very even and measured tone, doesn't inflect a whole lot

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude): tends to slouch and try to make himself look smaller (doesn't really work), doesn't gesticulate much and has a hard time emoting with facial expressions (skin too thick/stiff) so he can be very hard to read

Items in their pocket/purse: one key and some cash. talk about traveling light

Hobbies: woodworking

Favorite sports: not really a big sports fan, but I guess if you made him choose he'd say baseball maybe?

Abilities/Talents/Powers: I mean just...very very strong/durable. wounds close fairly quickly, but he can't, like, regenerate (but surely that's irrelevant). decent aim with a handgun

Relationships (how they are with other people): very quiet and stoic around people he doesn't know well. relaxes a lot more once he feels like he's not going to scare someone away, and then he can be more jovial and earnest

Fears: he thinks he's not afraid of anything. but really: the past catching up with him. in the deepest recesses of his mind he feels like he has terrible things to answer for.

Faults: withdraws/self-isolates the minute he's uncomfortable; gets complacent and stuck in a rut when he doesn't have some external force to drive him forward; can be very stubborn

Good points: compassionate and conscientious; very easygoing and emotionally mature, it's truly very difficult to upset him most of the time

What they want more than anything else: a purpose

ALL RIGHT going to test out my snazzy new tag list (no pressure, ask to be added/removed): @saturnine-saturneight @tragedycoded @sodaliteskull @autism-purgatory @leahnardo-da-veggie

@rhikasa @varsbaby @badscientist @ashfordlabs @sender-paulson

@captain-kraken @aalinaaaaaa @author-a-holmes @cowboybrunch @wyked-ao3

[goosewriting]

Rise turtles with a gn!reader s/o who is very tall like 190 or 233 cm in height like some one piece characters bc if you watch it or read it yeah

My eyes are up here (pun intended) (rottmnt x reader)

summary: headcanons for the turtles with a very tall reader.

relationship: Rise Leo, Raph, Mikey, Donnie x tall GN reader (separate, established)

warnings: none!

word count: ~830

A/N: i’m assuming you meant a human reader, for which 233 cm is freaking massive so i went with 203 cm (6’8”). you can see the size comparison here (lmao splinter). i based the turtles’ heights on this chart; i’m fairly sure that’s the canon one. also sorry this one’s so short! i’m pretty short myself (pun not intended) so racking my brain to come up with these was particularly difficult sdjfhsdf

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

🔵 Leo

Leo discovered how much he likes being the small spoon when he started cuddling with you.

Most times he wants to feel like the “protector”.

He is a ninja after all.

But when he really grasped your size and build, that perception shattered completely.

Loves it when you tower over him.

He is 100% smitten with you.

Has definitely misjudged a distance or depth so that you end up hitting your head or shoulder somewhere because he pushed/dragged you with him, convinced you’d fit.

When Leo’s feeling cocky, he’ll probably try to kabe-don you, but will get too flustered every time.

Has begged you a million times to do the Dirty Dancing move where he comes running and you lift him up, spinning.

Whether you feel like you can pull it off or not is up to you lol

🔴 Raph

Our big boy in red is delighted.

He’s usually the biggest/tallest one in the room.

So when April introduced you to the group he was all starry eyed.

You’re so tall!

After you got together, his favourite thing is when you hug him and rest your chin on his head.

Forehead kisses 🥺

You’re the only one who can do the thing to him where you hold something over his head and mock him about not being able to reach.

His shell doesn’t really allow him to be the small spoon (which makes him a bit sad).

So instead your favourite cuddling position is you on your back and Raph on top, with your legs at his side as he rests his face on your chest/stomach.

You can’t help but gently trace the edge of his shell and spikes on his shoulder, he looks so peaceful!

Raph may or may not have purred at this while asleep.

Your cheeks burn up every time you think about it.

🟠 Mikey

Mikey is shmol.

And that’s a fact.

How he managed to pull someone as tall as you, he has no idea.

You always call him “pocket size” to tease him, but you mean it endearingly, not in a mocking manner.

He lets you get away with it, but will use the “how’s the weather up there?” joke if he wants to tease you back.

Mikey loves getting piggy back rides.

You may or may not leave things up high on purpose so you can come up from behind, offering to help him reach it.

No matter your body type, Mikey will 100% ask you to pose for him so he can draw you.

He’s fascinated by how far your limbs can reach.

Will often hold out his hand over yours to compare sizes.

Or stretch out his legs when sitting next to you, seeing how when your hips are aligned, his feet don’t go much farther than your knees.

🟣 Donnie

The purple turtle doesn’t really care about what you look like.

He has his spider leg thingies so he can reach wherever.

But with your height, he’ll still try to take advantage of it by having you help out in his lab somehow.

Either by holding several things in place at the same time.

Or using you as a measuring instrument when he doesn’t have his measuring tape at hand.

“Hey Y/n, come here and stretch your arm along this panel please.”

He aligns the tips of your fingers to the metal panel and marks where it ends on your upper arm with a pen.

Then guides you towards a different panel to get the right length to cut them the same size.

Really he’s just using that as an excuse to touch you, but don’t point it out or he’ll stop doing it.

And you’re amused as well so why confront him about it.

Donnie has definitely used something along this line* against you when he was mad about something.

When he’s feeling especially vulnerable or blue, he’ll take off his battle shell and sit back with his soft shell against your chest so you hug him from behind. Your arms are long enough to completely engulf him.

*Transcription: “What was that? Sorry, I just thought somebody above the national average height said something. (Dry chuckle) You’re disgusting, tall man. Shrink.”

Bonus:

🐀 Splinter (platonic, friendly kid-in-law kinda relationship)

Be aware that if you offer him a ride on your shoulders once, he will not hesitate to ask you for them when out and about.

For example when exploring the Hidden City.

If you’re nearby and he wants to talk to Draxum and is trying to make a point, he may climb you up himself and sit on your shoulders to be more on eye level with him.

Doesn’t like it when he’s trying to reach for something high up and you pick it up for him.

Instead has no shame in asking you to pick him up and towards the high shelf so that he can reach for the thing himself.

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @hearteyedracoon, @koalaray, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @lovelylovelydreams

[themetalvirus]

thinking about shadow and surge. surge shows up and shadow's like. wanna talk. and she goes i'm sick of talking and baps her fists together with electricity and shadow just doesnt move, maintains measured eye contact, narrows his eyes at her. and shes like (exaggerated sigh) (giant exaggerated arms down movement)

shadow has dealt with memories that arent his own, has gone from doing what others told him to forging his own path, and has Medical Trauma. hes seriously the best fit for actually talking with her about what she's going through and how to move forward. shadow DOES have a past, and surge has none, which is where they chafe (on surge's end anyway). but being stuck on that "past" and "doing what you're told to do instead of forming your own identity" stuff is exactly the kind of thing shadow has dealt with and overcome so he could provide some guidance.

i think he would stress that he isnt telling her what to do and the decisions she makes in her personal life arent of his concern, but if she continues to be violent, he will intervene. he isn't like (specifically idw) sonic, wanting her to have freedom of choice no matter what without consequences. there will be consequences for wrong decisions and he will see to that. he wants her to make the right ones, but knows he has no control or real say over whether she does or not, and has no interest in forcing ideas on her that she isn't interested in (he's gone through that before).

he also sees himself in her and identifies with her anguish surrounding her identity. i think he would try to express that it's okay to not know what you really want (aside from killing sonic lol), but it's important to search for what that is, to embark on that journey instead of following existing self destructive patterns

surge, of course, is not immediately receptive to any of that shit and is frustrated that people keep trying to give her life advice, but she senses something different about this particular guy and doesnt resort to fisticuffs. she'd stress that she really does have a helpless fixation on killing sonic and feels as though she can't have peace and will never have peace until he's dead so she can finally fulfill that one "prime directive" and move on with her life. the conversation makes her think, though. she didn't really think about the "after" piece, what she would do. she starts to think about it, but it's difficult, hazy, and she isn't sure where to begin. the conversation doesn't fix her but it does plant seeds, give her stuff to think about for later. she peaces out and shadow feels like hes done his good deed for the day and needs a nap. surge goes back to wherever shes nesting with kit and has a lot of thinky time

[multifandom-worlds]

My First Noel

Genre: Angsty fluff

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Angst (duh, it's me LOL), feelings of loneliness and inadequacy,

Authors Note:I'm sorry it's so angsty! I really tried! It is written from Loki's POV

Tagging: @simplyholl @holdmytesseract @lokiprompts @dryyoursaltyoceantears @buttercupcookies-blog @ladyofthestayingpower

Sitting amongst the group can still lead to a world of loneliness. I was “included” in the group, sure, but I still didn’t belong. That much was obvious. Everyone got these thoughtful, well-intentioned gifts, while I got simple, meaningless, trivial nonsense. Even my brother, the one I foolishly believed would break the mould and get something meaningful, let me down. I found my attention returning constantly to her. 

She sat in a chair closest to the fire, a blanket wrapped around herself, gifts and declarations of love surrounding her, yet none mattered; her attention was focused solely on the notebook in her hands. She would look up occasionally but nothing more than a quick glance. When she concentrates, her tongue sticks out the corner of her mouth, what I wouldn’t give to feel that tongue against mine.

Hours pass of the same things, being neglected by the group, on this, the day of supposed merriment where friends and enemies are one. I silently rise from my chair and retire to my room. Why grace them with my presence when it’s not wanted or required? Deep in my soul, I had hoped that today would be different, but it appears I was wrong again. 

I settled into my chair by the window with a book, trying to distract my brain from the overwhelming feelings of loneliness, when the faintest knock came at my door. A war raged between my head and my heart. Perhaps it was her coming to check on me? But then again, maybe it was Stark, drunkenly asking why I was no longer with them. Ultimately, my heart won out, hope sparking in my soul.

I rise from my chair before taking measured steps over to the door and pulling it open, only to see an envelope on the floor, my name scribed on the front. I know that handwriting; she was here. I quickly looked down the hallway, but I had taken too long to open the door; she was gone. 

I pick up the envelope and turn to the solace of my room, sitting down to rip it open, careful not to destroy the contents therein. There were two pieces of paper, one evidently from her sketchbook; the other was a mystery. I decided to open that one first, revealing a handwritten note.

Loki,

It hurts me to see you neglected when you deserve so much. Seeing how the others look right past you when it’s clear you need today more than anything. I’m sorry it appeared I was ignoring you, too; I promise I was not. I was actually working on your gift - you are the only one to receive a gift from me this year. It is enclosed in this envelope if you are interested. If not, do with this letter and gift as you see fit. Worldly possessions mean nothing to you; that is why I had hoped this gift would bring you joy somehow. I had hoped this view into my mind would be enough to make you feel wanted.

Over this year, I realized I have fallen so in love with you. You carry yourself the dignity and poise of a King but possess a scholar's knowledge. You have the humour of a court jester and the heart of a maiden. It is that heart of yours I have been drawn to. It’s that heart that makes me weak. If my feelings for you are mutual, meet me in the lounge at midnight once everyone is asleep. 

She had not signed the letter, but I have seen her writing many times to know who it belongs to. I draw out the second paper, opening the carefully folded parchment to reveal a detailed sketch of me; sitting in the chair, I spent a fair portion of the evening downstairs. The way she got the drape of my clothing, the sparkle of the lights in my eyes. 

A soft smile draws on my lips, holding the portrait to my chest, my heart thudding at the realization that someone cared. Someone looked at me like I mattered, like someone wanted me. The 12 chimes of midnight drew my attention. It was now or never. I swung my door open before walking towards the elevator. How long would she wait for me? Would she still be there when I got there? 

A million and one things rushed through my head when I stepped foot into the elevator, her note and her drawing clutched tightly to my chest. This was my one chance, my one opportunity to have something good, to feel wanted - I can’t mess this up. If only this damned elevator would hurry up!

12:02. 2 minutes since the designated meeting time. I round the corner into the lounge, hoping to a god more powerful than I that she would still be there. There she stood; the only light illuminating her was the tree's lights. She turned around with a brilliant smile on her perfect lips as I entered the room.

“You came…” She said softly, looking me up and down. I could feel her eyes on me; the very feeling alone set my soul ablaze.

“You asked me too,” I answer, walking towards her. It took all my willpower not to kiss her right then and there. “Thank you for this..” I add, dropping my hand from my chest and showing her the note and drawing. “This is more than I could ever ask for. For someone to see me as something more than a monster. I will cherish this drawing.”

“Did you just come here to thank me for your gift? If that’s the case, you’re welcome. I’m going to be going now.” She said, her voice broken. 

She pushed past me towards the door before I stopped her, grabbing her hand as she passed. “Dove, please don’t leave… I’m not ready to watch someone I love walk away from me. I will cherish this drawing, not because it was a gift but because you drew it. Every time I look at this, I think of the note you wrote me, how you love me. I will never find someone better for me than you, Dove. I would love to show you all of me if you would have me.”

She looks at me questioningly, “What are you saying, Loki..?”.

“My Dove, my freedom, my hope. Will you be my partner on this day, my first Earth Christmas?”

[darkfictionjude]

Etymology nonnie here!

I have come back. And well, I almost regret writing what I did about the names in a previous ask. This is because most of the names that begin with "Luc-" are names that I do not like that much, or that often got replaced by an English variant by Italian Americans (during the 1950s, since that's when Luce was born, if my calculation was correct they were born in 1952, but the data I found wasn't so specific).

Worse, I ended up with a selection of three names. None of which had nothing to do with Luce. In any case, I believe the nickname has more to do with personality or how the character is seen by others. Or it may be related to the incident. Who knows? Not me, but you do, dear Jude.

Those names are:

1) Angelo: While it was often replaced by an English name (like Andy or Andrew), it was used enough at the time for me to consider it. I enjoy the contrast with the story and setting. And I always have liked the name. More so than the Spanish version (I do like Ángel, but I prefer the Italian 'g' sound most of the time). Also, I think it fits with the idea I have of Luce so far. Yet I may be wrong, so I may give it some thought before picking this one.

2) Michele: In most circumstances it would be readily replaced by Michael (which I'm also technically considering, but I want to consider Michele the main choice instead of Michael). But I like the Italian version better.

*I did consider the combination of Michelangelo, but I think too much of the artist, and I don't feel worthy. Lol.

3) Ernesto: I like Earnest better, probably. And I find funny both Italian and Spanish have the same spelling and pronunciation. Similar to Angelo, I enjoy the contrast between the meaning and the story and setting. And the meaning seems to make sense with the Luce I'm imagining in my mind given what little we know of them.

Now, I'm not making you choose (although any commentary about your preference is welcome). Rather, I'm curious about something more open and that can help other players figuring the name they want for their Luce.

See, it was common for Italian Americans to use a translation or a similar English sounding name of an Italian name. Although, there were still some who used the proper Italian name. What I'm wondering is what Luce's parents would prefer? Would they go for the original Italian name, or would they prefer an English one because of how convenient it can be for Luce in their daily life?

Now I'm also remembering that Luce is probably customizable, which means their ethnicity is not necessarily just Italian American. In that case, would Luce's parents consider a name that resembled the other ethnic/country origin (of the mother, I would believe)? Or an Italian one? Or an English name both out of convenience for Luce and as a compromise between the two heritages?

Also, maybe unrelated, but feel free to ignore it if that's the case: Do you have a name for the MC you play when you are playtesting? Does it change based on IF? Do you go with a gender neutral name for all those MCs (since I assume some interactions based on gender require a different MC while testing), or with a specific name for male MCs and female MCs?

So yeah Luce doesn’t have to be Italian American, they can be mixed. Their father is Italian, he’s pure Italian but Maria can be from any background. As I’ve said the Italian heritage is strong in the family and it is traditionally patriarchal and so the children’s names are Italian names, not English variants. Antonio chose his children’s names.

I actually don’t have a specific name, I choose the first name available for each gender just to see how gender influenced flavour text is looking. So by that measure it does change for each IF since the suggested names are all different. For WWC, it’s normal yet old names, for EC it’s traditional Italian names, for OYHS it’s names that real Hollywood actors had. From what I’ve seen most players don’t think that much about their character’s name, really. Many people use the same name across many IFs

[star-going-supernova]

I saw fan art of bear cub Gregory from pixlokita on tumblr, so I hope that I can request a prompt where Gregory becomes a bear cub (still can talk and looks like Gregory) and Freddy is happy to have an actual bear and son. Please write this please, for a birthday wish. Thank you.

I took these two prompts and came up with something in between, lol. This is pure fluff. Happy belated birthday, friend! 🎉

Like Father, Like Son

None of them were technically supposed to be able to access the internet. All relevant knowledge to their jobs, the kids, the pizzaplex, etc. already existed within their databases, and all information stored across the servers was available to them. But Chica had gotten bored one day and spent a bit too much time tinkering with herself via the upgrade cylinder. Monty had demanded his own internet connection after that, and before long, every animatronic in the pizzaplex had access. 

It was not long before Roxy discovered online shopping, and after a few mishaps in trying to figure out how to get the packages to themselves without management finding out, there was not an animatronic among them who had not secretly ordered something or other. 

Sun in particular seemed to enjoy finding new things to add to the daycare—rightly so, considering management was slacking in that regard—and as a result of his frequent digital window shopping, he often sent links to the rest of them, sharing things he had found that he thought they might like. 

All that to explain why Freddy opened a link from Sun with the caption you HAVE to get this :D and discovered that yes, he had to get it. 

It was a child-sized onesie with little footie boots and gloves that could be folded out of the way or velcroed into place and a hood with ears stitched on. It looked wonderfully soft and fuzzy. It was a warm brown with details depicting a bear cub. 

And it had excellent ratings. 

• • •

Gregory laughed when he saw the onesie, but he also snatched it up and took off to go change into it, so Freddy did not think he minded the gift. The others would probably tease him once they caught sight of it, but it would be worth their jokes.

Make no mistake, Freddy did not wish Gregory was any different from the way he was. Nor did Freddy wish he himself was human. But it still tickled something in his code to imagine silly little impossibilities, like he and Gregory being a family by blood. Of course, Freddy was as much a real bear as Gregory would be in a stylized onesie, but that was hardly the point. 

It was only a minute or two before Gregory returned, and he must have stopped by one of the others’ rooms because his nose had been carefully colored in and a line drawn beneath it down to his upper lip. The onesie was a perfect fit—naturally, as Freddy knew his son’s exact measurements—and Gregory’s glee was near palpable. 

Freddy made a little involuntary sound of delight. He crouched down, feeling his eyes brighten to match the building warmth in his chest. 

Gregory came to stand in front of him and did a jaunty spin to show off the little pom-pom tail. Freddy had never understood the human urge to squeal from seeing something so utterly adorable as much as he did then. 

“C’mon,” Gregory said, showing off the toe beans on his gloves, complete with felt claws, “tell me I’m not the cutest bear cub ever.” 

Laughing, Freddy swept him up, and Gregory did not even scramble to hold on, so great was his trust that Freddy would not drop him. 

“You are certainly the cutest bear cub I have ever seen,” Freddy assured him, and Gregory smiled smugly, head leaning on Freddy’s shoulder. “And the best bear cub in general. My bear cub.” 

How odd that mere months ago, Freddy would have said he would not want a child of his own. He could not imagine, now, not having Gregory in his life. When he looked back on pre-Gregory memories, the absence of his adopted son almost shocked him sometimes. He had been happy back then, yes, but in a very mild and content way. There was little variation in his day-to-day, though he had not minded at the time. 

He did not think he could go back to that way of life. It fell far short of the joy that each new day brought now. Gregory made things unpredictable and lively in a way Freddy would be loath to give up. 

And best of all, his love, his gratefulness, and his happiness was matched in Gregory. 

Beaming, Gregory wrapped his arms around Freddy’s neck in a tight hug. “My papa bear,” he said, and it was only a bit teasing. 

[aldantler]

My first Grimoire Noir is done. Which makes him the 28th grimoire in total I’ve built so far. And it’s the most difficult. There’s so much measuring & hand fitting that really pushed my ability as someone that makes things to my limit in terms of what I can do with the tools I have. But he is DONE. The stitching of the cover to the text block isn’t pretty, but he has a hollow spine like the in-game model, so it’s a trade off. None of the cord overlaps because running cord through a strand and pulling tight only causes trouble. I’m happy, sad, annoyed, satisfied, and just...I need to rest lol. I’ll do more photos later.

[jgvfhl]

Song Poem Tag Game!

Put your entire song collection on shuffle, then write down the first line from each of the first ten songs that pop up to create a poem. You must then dedicate the poem to the blorbo or OTP that it most reminds you of! Then tag or send asks to three others that you think might enjoy the challenge! I was tagged by @padme--amygdala 🫶

God made the mountains; God made the skies -- Paint Your Wagon musical

I slept with another guy, just for you! --Desperate Measures musical

I've been good and I've been kind, Mother, doing only what I learned from you --Into the Woods musical

I DON'T KNOW, BUT IT'S BEEN SAID! --Spamalot musical

Six hundred men. Six hundred men under my command with only one goal in mind --EPIC: The Troy Saga

So Jacob came to Egypt, no longer feeling old! --Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

A-way out here, they got a name for Rain, and Wind, and Fire --Paint Your Wagon musical (again)

A little gossip! A little talk! --Man of La Mancha musical

I am a sentimental man, who always longed to be... a father --Wicked musical

And it's home, boys, home! 2, 3, 4! --The Jolly Tinker Boy (Hadrian's Wall)

Dear god, that truly exposed me for the musical theater NERD that I was raised to be 😭 I swear the other half of my song library is sea shanties and Irish and Scottish folk music????

Umm... Blorbo... uh... okay the lines from Into the Woods and Wicked are throwing me, bc NONE of my blorbos wants to be a parent of ANY kind lol... my favorite book character Count Vega???? Maybe????? Again, has both mommy and daddy issues but IT'S THE CLOSEST FIT!!!!

@theultimatesandwich @lucidz-dreamz @23-bears @worldseer HAVE AT IT, FOLKS

[ratanarchist]

i watch a lot of youtube videos about autism and employment (for obvious reasons) and i get really frustrated by them because so many of these content creators will say stuff like "i realised i couldn't handle employment so i started my own business" "i live off my partner's income now" "i found this autism friendly job [insert job that wouldn't even cover my rent] that fits with my schedule" and i'm like ??????? the amount of privilege associated with all of these things is so obvious like none of this is accessible to me lol. i'm on government assistance that legally obliges me to comply with their "measures" which includes proving that i'm looking for work. i don't have a partner that financially supports me. idk i guess i'm looking for some actually realistic advice on how to survive as someone who can't handle long term employment and also doesn't have the class privilege associated with just starting a business lol.

[fractallogic]

Well. Fuck. My very first therapist might have been right when she was like “mmm… I think you have Clinically Diagnosable Issues with food, weight, and body image” and I was like “lol no let’s talk about how depressed I am, I don’t have issues with food lol”

(She was also right about Q being abusive when I was in denial about that too, so… shit)

I’ve only been like 50% serious when I was like “lol orthorexia feels like it fits” but given how much of my day it ruins when I have to get weighed and I no longer weigh 140 lbs, or how personally I take it when I’m told my blood pressure is slightly high (I was at 122/86 on Thursday, which is SO SLIGHTLY above the high normal range, but I was already feeling Attacked that I Had To Remember) or my cholesterol is slightly high (again, last time it was measured it was like two points above high normal) or even (ffs) when I’ve gotten random UTIs that don’t have a clear origin

So there’s CLEARLY a lot of Anxiety there at the very least, coupled with how much it also ruined my day when I was trying to alleviate some of the anxiety (or prove it was right and I was Very Bad) by using myfitnesspal to log my food, no matter how much I tried to ignore or adjust the calories to make it not yell at me

Plus all of the RULES I make for myself (today I had ice cream for part of my lunch and poptarts for breakfast, therefore no sweets for the rest of the day and maybe not tomorrow either) around food. Plus how you know, the only people who have ever seen fit to comment on how my body looks/how fat I am/how I’m going to eat myself into diabetes one day are the two abusive exes and my mother, NONE of whom are good for my mental health in the first place for various other reasons… no fucking wonder when I finally stood up for myself at the drs office last week and said “no thanks I don’t want to be weighed at all” I burst into tears when the med assistant was like “well… we NEED to” and “[Dr] really wants us to… I’ll talk to her but you’ll probably need to get on the scale”. No wonder my stomach churns when scone talks about how he’s allowed certain amounts of carbs during the day and is gleeful about how many calories he burns during exercise and how much weight he’s lost (because wtf is wrong with me why can’t /i/ be that disciplined and drop the weight I want to get rid of to not have it hanging over my head and be presumed to be in fine physical condition)

ANYWAY!!! Time to go home for dinner and make some quesadillas and refried beans (fat, minimal carbs, protein, fiber, vegetables)!! Why must we introspect and come to conclusions about our beliefs about ourselves!!! God!!!

[hersweetrevenge]

rohan is so cute as frank. and not enough people talk about it!! just wanna hold him and tell him everything will be okay 😭

he is !! anon, you are so right !! 💗 i could talk all day about how pretty rohan is and his boyish good looks, but i could spend just as long talking about how much i love frank and how interesting i find his character so i really wish there were more frank fans out there too (i guess we just have to stick together lol) !! season three is not available for me yet so this is based on s1&2, but my agenda remains the same: protect frank hardy at all costs.

i think what i love most about frank is he is so earnestly genuine. i love how when he first meets callie and chet and isn't sure how to respond to callie's playful scrutiny. i love when he can't take the rosegrave tour seriously. i love how he understands the need to hone his detecting skills through fenton's books, rather than joe's intuitive approach. i love when his voice goes all soft when he realises he was wrong about tom ellroy (and also how it signals the first inkling that he is getting too reliant on the eye). i love how when fenton comes back from finding rupert, his reuniting with frank is so different to his one with joe; he tells frank "it's okay", over and over because frank's reactions are so much more internal than joe's (for the most part).

frank is honestly just very well-written. he's athletic but not a jock. he's studious but not an academic. he's romantic but he isn't particularly flirtatious (i'm not sure it even registers to him that he is handsome, beyond the "clearly biased" opinions of his mom/grandma/aunt). he's level-headed and has a check on his external displays of emotion, but his internal emotional experiences runs very deep. he is rational and measured, but he can also be one-track minded.

i love how there are so many facets of his character but none of them are ever really contradictory, and when they are it just highlights how he is a teenager who is struggling with this huge trauma and sometimes makes irrational decisions because of it. he's a skeptic, he's level-headed, but he's also not had the support he needs in order to grieve his mom properly so all of his skepticism goes out of the window for a chance to see laura again. he's selfish in his grief because even though he knows joe is hurting too, it's difficult to see past his own hurt because (as everyone points out) he was laura's counterpart, and joe is fenton's. the fact that he really is a perfect fit to be gloria's heir but he's so deeply compassionate that he could never be ruthless enough for that sort of business.

where was i going with this? i don't know, but i agree with you, anon. i really want to tell him it'll all be okay. frank really has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he is struggling so much but it's revealed in much more subtle ways than with joe. in the first season, he's lost his mom, he's in a new place and his dad has left. i think part of him feels like he has to stay grounded and reasonable, for joe and fenton and trudy. i just want him to be supported and happy. in the second season, he's still struggling, and now has to try even harder to keep himself grounded even with unimaginable influences working again him in his very own brain. he's trying so, so hard to remember that it is the eye that manipulating him, he tries so hard to ignore george even when he's starting to see him everywhere. he can feel himself going mad and there's nothing he can do about it.

by the end of season two, before the sleep room, frank feels like he needs to save himself because no one else will. he feels like he needs to save his mom, because no one else wants too.

the show is really about, amongst other things, how grief can effect people. and even more so, it's about grief effecting people in different and unexpected ways. joe clearly channels his grief into solving mysteries and helping people. sure, he's a little bit gung-ho about it but it makes sense for his character -- optimistic and impulsive. frank, on the other hand, who is shown time and time again to be skeptical and level-headed, is the one who becomes irrational and unstable and emotionally volatile. of course the eye has some influence, but i also think frank's more reserved nature is being strained by the grief that he isn't given a chance to deal with and ultimately it makes him desperate and scared.

what i'm trying to say is: frank is so very cute and caring and earnest and i love him very dearly.