#oc: savil

[sweetmage]

I already posted this Tamlen art yesterday, but I'm posting again because there is now a fic (fluff to angst to happy ending) to accompany it 😊

AO3 link, or scroll/click "expand" to read💗

There is also more context for this AU below the cut but it spoils some of the fic. Enjoy!

----

Springing forward, twirling around roots, dipping below the sway of stray branches—Savil's feet found the well-worn path and his eyes found Tamlen.

Fresh-faced and eager, Tamlen,too, tumbled over loose stones, so lost in the blissful energy of freedom and youth that he never once turned to see if his hunting partner followed.

"Hey!" Savil called above the bubbling stream, arms outstretched until they caught Tamlen's shoulder. He was puffing, breathless, but the giggles came quick when Tamlen turned to greet him. 

"About time you showed up."

"When you run like that, you'll scare all the rabbits. This is why you need me around," Savil had chided.

And he smiled, bright and big and lively in a way that said 'Yes, I do. Of course I do.'

And Savil smiled back, just as fond, just as wide. "Don't forget me next time, alright?"

And Tamlen didn't. 

They found themselves, as they often did, at each others' side. This time on the edge of the precipice overlooking the vast woods, sheltered beneath a canopy of late-evening stars. 

Bright-eyed, newly vallaslin-ed, just eighteen each—they'd lost themselves to song and merry chatter and pebbles skipped over a slow-moving stream. 

They kept an arbitrary score: ten points for style, three for distance this time, five for it last time. Tamlen triumphed, in the end, because Savil made it so. Because the "prize" was burning an eager hole through his pocket. 

"Enough gloating. Hold out your hand," he instructed, already holding out his own, fist balled and palm down. 

Their trust was clear and unspoken. Tamlen's hand was outstretched, risking insects and trickery, before he even bothered to ask "why?" 

The tips of their fingers brushed oh so gently as he'd filled his upturned palm.

Savil watched his hand unfurl, the pendant within catching moonlight and glinting as brilliantly as Tamlen's grin.

"For me?"

"I shouldn't reward all the trouble that you cause, but when you're away serving punishments, you must get lonely. I thought it would be nice if you had a way to think of me. To not feel so alone."

He turned it over in his hand, closed his fingers around it like a hug, and he smiled again, dashing and dazzling like he always did. "Ma serannas. I'll hold on to it forever. I'll cherish it."

"I hope you'll remember me the next time things get tough."

And he did, but just barely.

His thoughts and memories had peeled away like putrid flesh and tattered cloth, but the pendant still hung. The blood and rot had dampened its luster to something dull, something lifeless. 

But it still hung.

And so did Tamlen, as limp and still and cold in Savil's arms as the gem round his neck. 

"I'll fix this, Tam," Savil—weathered and worn and broken—swore aloud to the darkness, voice raw with anguish. 

The moon fell heavy and mocking, its faint glow seeping past clouds and giving light to Tamlen's slack mouth, and festering skin, and maddened eyes that projected the same horror they must have witnessed.

The flames of camp were a distant flicker behind them, duty and promise deserted. Savil couldn't bury what still breathed, what could yet live, and he couldn't stand by those who would stop him.

 

"You must stay with me, lethallin. You promised. You promised we'd be together for the rest of our days. I need more days with you, Tam. Don't forget… You promised me!"

But Tamlen forgot.

The one who'd promised otherwise had dissolved and reabsorbed into something else. Whatever chewed away at his mind had imprisoned him in a way even Merrill's weeping wounds couldn't touch. 

Contorted in unfathomable pain, screaming like a tormented beast, the "cured" Tamlen emerged from his cage a writhing husk.

Thrashing and spitting, he flailed against what wasn't there as though desperate to tear the very air itself apart. 

Seven years of trial and hope... for this. 

Seven long, miserable years without Tamlen. 

Seven wasted years.

Despair clawed its way to the surface and dragged Savil under. All he could do was cradle Tamlen, endure his wretched howls and the shredding of dirty, untrimmed nails against his skin. And beg. He could only beg.

"Please… please…." He pressed the sincerity and desperation of each word into Tamlens hairless scalp with a kiss, hoping against hope that the words might somehow penetrate some tiny fragment of his trapped soul and set him free. "Please. Please come back, please remember me..."

And through a miracle or sheer luck, on one distant day Tamlen remembered. 

An overnight rainstorm swept through the meadow, but now the midday sunlight danced over the lingering droplets, making the rolling fields sparkle anew. 

The grass parted for Savil's feet as he stumbled headlong across the uneven ground, his untethered heart soaring free.

And there was Tamlen at the crest of the hill, waiting for him.

As he reached his side, Tamlen flung himself at him so emphatically that it almost sent them sailing. With his face tucked into the crook of Savil's neck, Tamlen teased fondly. "About time you showed up."

"Wouldn't miss it," replied Savil, all smiles and warmth, his hands reaching tentatively for those familiar shoulders. "More importantly, I brought food."

Tamlen pulled back, radiant and shining, his sporadic tufts of golden hair gently tossed by the wind. His scarred features were alight, his smile safe and genuine, "What would I do without you?"

"Starve, most likely," Savil deadpanned. "That's why you need someone like me around. 

"I do," he admitted, toying with the pendant that hung by a new cord. "I really do."

He fished a neatly wrapped parcel from pocket and placed it into Tamlen's hands. "Made your favorite."

"Ma serannas, vhenan. I won't forget this," Tamlen swore reverently. And then, more softly, "And I won't forget you again. Promise."

They settled in the grass side by side, lost to song and merry chatter, content to simply be where they were.

For some additional context, this is based on my AU where Tamlen is rescued by Savil (my Warden, his friend and love interest) during the attack on the camp. After telling the others hes going to go bury his friends, Savil instead deserts the Wardens and flees with a still living Tamlen in favor of trying cure him.

Tamlen remains as a ghoul (caged for their mutual safety, but well looked after) for the next seven years.

The cure finally comes in the form of Merrill, once again tempted to blood magic after the discovery that her two closest friends, the ones she'd presumed dead for years, still live.

As with all matters of blood magic, there are consequences. However, the steepest drawbacks come as a result of the 7 year ordeal itself. The taint was removed, the singing silenced, but Tamlen remained incoherent, void of memories, yet so painfully aware now of his surroundings, of the pain.

His recovery is long and arduous, memories and faculties slowly returning. But, with the love and support of his clan, with Savil and Merill at his side, he does recover and at last he smile, and taste joy, and be thankful to wake up every morning, living and loved.

[absintheancandle]

i have redesigned my Dolls who do Crimes aka "tailor gets dragged around by a rich man (who was his former client) to do False Necromancy and hates it the entire time. and also atlas is there."

[atiredsalmon]

Savill, my Inquisition arcanist OC, working with the Veilguard as Lucanis’ babysitter because, as someone also possessed by a demon (Desire) he can see Spite and thought of the occasional ‘hey hey look at me jingle jingle’ interaction when Spite takes over has me giggling

[bewaretheidiotsofmarch]

Work in progress

Currently doing more Marion Saville(my oc) x Lyutsifer Safin art.

Power couple- except love isn't really what they have. I don't even think they'd use the term "friend" about each other. They're like each others shadows. And the power structure is not equal and Saville likes it like that. It doesn't offend or threaten him. It's just the way it should be. If Safin wants to be a god, Saville will be his first devotee.

[kanerallels]

Just so y'all know, you can feel free to use this post too!

Christmas Themed Drabble Game

What's up, I have a deep need to write Christmas fan fic. Send me a pairing (platonic or romantic) and either A) a Christmas song or B) a common Christmas time trope, and I'll write you a drabble!!

I'll put the pairings/fandoms I'd write for in the tags!

(disclaimer: as people have very strong feelings about Christmas songs (don't argue you know it's true) I reserve the right to veto a few songs. Same goes with pairings. I'm also not gonna write anything NFSW)

Questions? DM me or send me an ask. Happy holidays!!

[thealogie]

Well if Broadchurch was so populist why did you give a Bafta to OC for that then? Also, Des was supposedly too brutal, but "Steve Coogan’s recognition for his Jimmy Savile in The Reckoning feels a rare case of absolute technical mastery (the voice, look and inner moral void perfectly captured) overcoming concerns about content." Des wasn't a sufficiently masterful performance then, to overcome that. I see, Brits, even when you praise ma boy you shade him. Cursed island.

I had the same reaction but it’s literally that writer doing what we were attempting to do here for the past few months and offer some logical reason for past snubs. And obviously she can’t go “the British are just insane” so she had to make something up before her deadline

[altotos]

Centipedess…

His name is Savile ^^ hessss totally not my favorite oc…

[theink-stainedfolk]

Happy STS Zehra!! 💛✨

Do your OCs celebrate Thanksgiving? If so, what dish are they making and bringing? 👀💫

Thank you for your question♡♡♡

Yes, Shion and Raoul, from Eclipsed Hearts, would definitely celebrate Thanksgiving, albeit with their own unique twist on the holiday! They might attend a gathering with fellow vampires and humans, blending traditions to create a fun and memorable experience.

They'd bring Pumpkin Spice Blood Pudding (lol)

Shion and Raoul decide to make a pumpkin spice blood pudding, a creative dish that pays homage to traditional pumpkin pie while embracing their vampire nature. This sweet and spicy pudding is made with real pumpkin puree, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a dash of vanilla, blended with a rich, dark blood base (perhaps a mix of animal blood for flavor, keeping it ethical and within vampire norms).

---

Saville and Arce from Under the Knife

Saville is not the traditional family type, and Thanksgiving is mostly a nuisance for him. However, he acknowledges the day as an opportunity to indulge in some culinary creativity. Given his snarky personality and a penchant for the unexpected, he decides to bring an unconventional dish: pumpkin ravioli with sage brown butter sauce. He’ll make it from scratch, enjoying the process of crafting the delicate pasta and filling. While he might roll his eyes at the idea of "family time," he finds solace in the kitchen, where he can exert control and express his culinary skills.

Arce, on the other hand, has a more complex relationship with Thanksgiving. He values the connections with. To celebrate, he brings a smoked turkey breast that he prepared himself, having learned to appreciate the art of cooking as a means of bonding with others. He might also whip up mashed potatoes with garlic and chives, showcasing a softer side as he attempts to impress Saville and make the gathering a little less tense. He enjoys the opportunity to create something delicious for others, perhaps trying to atone for some of his darker past.

---

Aster, Piper and Alethea from Shades of Erudition

Asterion 'Aster' Carter

Dish: Herb-Crusted Roasted Turkey

He would source high-quality ingredients and pay close attention to the details, marinating the turkey with a blend of herbs and spices he meticulously selects. The presentation would be elegant, showcasing his culinary skills and adding a touch of sophistication to the Thanksgiving table.

Piper Redmond

Dish: Sweet Potato Casserole with Marshmallow Topping

He would be the one to add the marshmallow topping, using it as an opportunity to lighten the mood and make jokes about “the best part of Thanksgiving.” His dish would be a bit messy but filled with love and humor, reflecting his vibrant personality. Piper might even sneak in some unique spices or nuts to surprise everyone, showcasing his creativity and flair for fun in the kitchen.

Alethea Pierce

Dish: Cranberry Sauce with a Twist

Why: Alethea, with her sharp intellect and creativity, would prepare a homemade cranberry sauce that stands out from the usual recipe. She might infuse her sauce with orange zest, ginger, and a hint of cinnamon, giving it a unique flavor profile that surprises everyone at the table. This dish would reflect her personality—classic yet innovative, with a touch of warmth and sophistication.

---

Rosaire and Leslie from Crimson Threads

Rosaire, with his penchant for charm and sophistication, takes on the role of the host and prepares a luxurious roasted turkey, seasoned to perfection and garnished with fresh herbs. He believes that a perfectly cooked turkey is a staple of any Thanksgiving gathering, and he uses this occasion to show off his culinary skills.

Leisle, on the other hand, takes a more playful approach. He decides to make a dessert—pumpkin spice cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. He knows Rosaire loves to impress, and he wants to bring something fun and casual to balance out the elegance of the turkey. Leisle also throws in a few surprises, like adding unexpected spices and a hint of chocolate to the cupcakes, making them a delightful twist on the traditional dish.

---

I hope you enjoyed this. Yes it is not systematic, i tend to get confused with the aesthetics.

Thank you once again ♡♡♡

[princepandemonium]

"who cares what they're wearing

on main street, or saville row,

it's what you wear from ear to ear

and not from head to toe"

Starting off 2024 with drawing a comic of one of my clown OCs Sour Party. I wanted to try something new and have never drawn and colored a comic before.

[thesorceressandthemagicx]

❛ 𝐿á𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑎, 𝑙á𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑎, 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑧𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑠. 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑎��𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎, 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑜𝑠, 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑠, 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑜.❜

୨ 𝕙𝕖𝕪! 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠... 𝖨 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗼 𝒃𝒐𝒙! ୧

◜ ‘ﾟ𝒇𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 ⭈ Life in London (Original history)

‘ﾟ 𝒕𝗒𝗉𝖾 ⭈ canon/oc/ 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗼. ◞

❰ ❱ ⇋ ˛ ⁰⁰¹ 𝐓𝐇𝐄﹒𝐁𝐀𝐒﹒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ˞ ˝

⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗻𝖺𝗺𝖾 ◞ ⊶ Juliette Meyer ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗻𝗂𝗰𝗄𝗻𝖺𝗺𝖾 ◞ ⊶ Jules ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗮𝗀𝗲 ◞ ⊶ 24 años ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗯𝗂𝗿𝗍𝗵𝖽𝗮𝗒 ◞ ⊶ 20 de abril ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗻𝖺𝘁𝗂𝗼𝗇𝗮𝗅𝗶𝗍𝘆 ◞ ⊶ Inglesa ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗲𝗍𝗵𝗇𝗶𝖼𝗶𝗍𝘆 ◞ ⊶ nativa ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗿𝖺𝗰𝖾 ◞ ⊶ Negocios internacionales ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝘀𝖾𝘅𝗎𝗮𝗅 𝗼𝗋𝗶𝖾𝗻𝗍𝗮𝗍𝗶𝗈𝗻 ◞ ⊶ Heterosexual ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝘀𝗍𝗮𝗍𝘂𝗌 ◞ ⊶ Clase social Alta

⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗽𝗅𝗮𝖼𝗲 𝗈𝗳 𝗋𝗲𝗌𝗶𝖽𝗲𝗇𝗰𝖾 ◞ ⊶ Londres, Inglaterra. ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗯𝗂𝗿𝗍𝗵𝗉𝗹𝖺𝗰𝖾 ◞ ⊶ Residencia de la familia Meyer, ubicada en Savile Row street ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝘀𝗉𝗲𝖼𝗶𝖾𝘀 ◞ ⊶ Humana ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗷𝗈𝗯 ◞ ⊶ CEO de la Fundación Meyer ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗼𝖼𝗰𝗎𝗽𝖺𝘁𝗂𝗼𝗇 ◞ ⊶ CEO ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝘀𝖼𝗵𝗈𝗼𝗅 ◞ ⊶ Estudio en casa ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝘂𝗇𝗶𝗏𝗲𝗋𝘀𝗂𝘁𝗒 ◞ ⊶ Oxford

❰ ❱ ⇋ ˛ ⁰⁰² (𝒅.) 𝐏𝐇𝐘﹒𝐒𝐈﹒𝐂𝐀𝐋 ˞ ˝

⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗲𝗒𝗲 𝖼𝗼𝗅𝗼𝗋 ◞ ⊶ miel verdoso ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗵𝖺𝗶𝗋 𝖼𝗼𝗅𝗼𝗋 ◞ ⊶ rubio ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗵𝖺𝗶𝗋 𝘁𝗒𝗽𝖾 ◞ ⊶ long ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗯𝗈𝗱𝗒 𝘁𝗒𝗽𝖾 ◞ ⊶ delgada

⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗽𝗂𝗲𝗋𝗰𝗂𝗻𝗀𝘀 ◞ ⊶ orejas

❰ ❱ ⇋ ˛ ⁰⁰³ (𝒅.) 𝐏𝐒𝐘﹒𝐂𝐇𝐎﹒𝐋𝐎𝐆﹒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 ˞ ˝

⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗽𝗈𝘀𝗂𝘁𝗂𝘃𝖾 𝘁𝗋𝗮𝗂𝘁𝗌 ◞ ⊶ ❛⁺⤿ Es buena escuchando ❛⁺⤿ Alegre ❛⁺⤿ Espontánea ❛⁺⤿ Extrovertida ❛⁺⤿ Activo ❛⁺⤿ Sociable ❛⁺⤿ Productiva ❛⁺⤿ Persistente ❛⁺⤿ Constante ❛⁺⤿ Leal

⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗻𝖾𝗴𝖺𝘁𝗂𝘃𝖾 𝘁𝗋𝗮𝗂𝘁𝗌 ◞ ⊶ ❛⁻⤿ Vanidosa. ❛⁻⤿ Tendenciosa. ❛⁻⤿ Prejuiciosa. ❛⁻⤿ Impaciente. ❛⁻⤿ Inquieta. ❛⁻⤿ Explosiva. ❛⁻⤿ Obstinada.

⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗹𝗂𝗸𝖾𝘀 ◞ ⊶ ⤽ ‹ Le encanta el helado de fresa. ⤽ ‹ Seguir con la última moda en prendas y accesorios. ⤽ ‹ Su animal favorito es el koala. ⤽ ‹ Su color favorito es el beige y colores parecidos. ⤽ ‹ Ama las joyas. ⤽ ‹ Su música favorita es la clásica y el jazz. ⤽ ‹ Disfruta tocar el violín.

⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗱𝗂𝘀𝗅𝗶𝗄𝗲𝗌 ◞ ⊶ ⤼ › Odia que su cabello luzca desarreglado. ⤼ › No le gusta que sus bebidas sean excesivamente espesas. ⤼ › El humo del tabaco. ⤼ › Los olores baratos. ⤼ › Oler a comida y a grasa. ⤼ › No le gusta comer la fruta entera, debe ser picada y sin huesos. ⤼ › Le molestan los necios. ⤼ › La música urbana y sus derivados.

⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗵𝗈𝗯𝖻𝗶𝖾𝘀 ◞ ⊶ Tocar el violín; escuchar música clásica, el jazz, y sus derivados; ir de compras; viajar con su mejor amiga. ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗽𝖺𝘀𝗌𝗶𝗈𝗻𝗌 ◞ ⊶ La beneficencia se lo toma en serio; leer novelas rosas; y ver películas. ⋆ ∿ ◜ 𝗳𝖾𝗮𝗋𝘀 ◞ ⊶ los animales que se arrastran.

❰ ❱ ⇋ ˛ ⁰⁰⁴ 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊﹒𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃﹒𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓﹒𝐎𝐑𝐘 ˞ ˝

⊱ 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝗈𝖿 𝒕 𝒊 𝒎 𝒆 𝒔 𝗐𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍... 𝗝𝗨𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗬𝗘𝗥 ⊰

❪ ஜ ❫ ˒ ʻ 𝟎𝟎𝟏 ‚ Juliette Meyer nació en la cuna de una familia burguesa, por lo que nunca tuvo una necesidad económica. Su familia convivía constantemente con la familia Castle. Los Meyer llevan años diseñando ropa y son dueños de varios centros comerciales. Richard, el padre de la familia, es heredero de un emporio de maquiladoras. Su familia es altamente prejuiciosa. El hijo mayor, Steven, forma parte del Parlamento. La hija menor, tiene aspiraciones de ser parte del Royal ballet, por lo que le dedica en alma y cuerpo cada minuto de su vida.

❪ ஜ ❫ ˒ ʻ 𝟎𝟎𝟐 ‚ Juliette era muy parecida a su madre, Irlanda. El mejor ejemplo que ella pudo obtener era de una mujer de sociedad cuyos únicos fines era mantenerse siempre dentro del mismo círculo sin ser parte de las habladurías. Juliette era tan superficial y frívola como su madre donde su vanidad era lo más importante para ella. El problema apareció cuando la hija de en medio se fijó en un chico pobre. Su mejor amiga trató de que ella entendiera que las cosas irían peor si no desistía esa locura. John Brown fue su primer amor, aquél que nunca olvidaría, y sería fiel a su recuerdo. John trabajaba en una fábrica y tenía tantos empleos que el chico apenas podía sostenerse de pie, pues todo el tiempo se encontraba cansado. El moreno cargaba con el peso de la educación, el cuidado y la alimentación de su hermana y de toda la familia Brown. Fue él quien logró que Juliette cambiara su manera tan egoísta de ver la vida, pues ella fue quien lo vio primero y se aseguró de investigarlo para saber cómo acercarse a él. Morgan odiaba ver a su mejor amiga distraída y abandonada por un “muerto de hambre”, pero no entendía que el amor que Juliette sentía por él, era verdadero. Lo conoció mientras caminaba en dirección a uno de sus trabajos, por lo que no pudo prestarle mucho tiempo a la rubia. Creyó que nunca la volvería a ver, pero desde ese momento, supo que ella era el amor de su vida.

Durante su relación, ella cambió tanto que dejó de ser fría, egoísta y superficial; dejando a Morgan con la duda respecto a su posición en la vida de Juliette. Morgan sintió envidia de que su mejor amiga pasara su tiempo con él y no con la morena. Así que, sabiendo que la rubia no se enteraría, le comentó a los señores Meyer de ésta quienes le pudieron un últimatum para que terminara esa loca relación. No consiguió sus planes pues Juliette terminó renunciando a su herencia por él y se fue a vivir con John. El amor de los dos era tan fuerte que no le importó abandonar a su familia por el chico que sería toda su familia y su cuñada. Sus padres creyeron que en cualquier momento, regresaría pues no sabía vivir sin dinero ni sus relaciones. Fueron tiempos difíciles para ella, pero aprendió a trabajar, a realizar las actividades de su hogar como la limpieza. En algunos momentos flaqueó pero no resistió por cuestiones económicas. Fueron invitados los Brown y Juliette a la casa de los Meyer, la reunión fue un fracaso. Juliette tenía la esperanza de que sus padres por fin los apoyarían, pero se llevó una sorpresa cuando en la cena también se encontraban los Castle. Morgan sostenía un Martini en su mano y Scott un vaso pequeño con Whiskey. La verdadera intención de su madre era volver a juntar a Juliette con Scott, pues éste había sido su novio cinco años antes que John. Salió furiosa de la habitación y tras ella, se fueron John y Mia.

❪ ஜ ❫ ˒ ʻ 𝟎𝟎𝟑 ‚ Después del regreso de Scott, se dio cuenta que la chica estaba más hermosa que antes, por lo que, independientemente de sus padres, se propuso que ella regresaría a sus brazos. Así que se encargó de buscarla y encontrarse con ella en cada rincón. Tenía que hacer que rompieran para que regresara a su círculo social y tuvieran más cosas en común. Mientras tanto, Juls trabajaba en una cafetería, pues sus padres se aseguraron de que no la contrataran como profesora en ningún colegio y con ayuda de los Castle, tampoco un colegio del gobierno la contrataría, no hasta que regresara a casa. Sus valores poco a poco cambiaron y entendió que su vida era muy fácil, más que la mayoría de las personas, por lo que dejó de ser frívola y mantuvo cuidado en su imagen lo mejor que pudo, pero ahora su mayor preocupación era sobrevivir. En cualquiera de sus encuentros con Scott, los que más odiaba eran cuando éste se presentaba en la cafetería y se quedaba sentado frente a ella con aquella sonrisa de niño encaprichado. Juliette no lo podía tratar mal, pero esperaba pacientemente cuando acababa su turno y salía del lugar, pues una vez fuera, Scott la seguía. Lo que facilitaba que explotara frente a él. Muchas de esas veces, John se enfurecía pues lo veía dentro de la cafetería, o bien, riéndose de Juliette, entendía que él estaba ahí para llevarse al amor de su vida. John no sólo estaba celoso, brotaban todas sus inseguridades, ya que Scott podía darle mejores cosas y sabía que era el chico perfecto para sus suegros.

Después de muchos intentos, Scott no lo conseguía, ni siquiera porque tenía la ayuda de Morgan; pero fue paciente y decidió darle espacio a ella. Juliette y John terminaron porque el chico cometió la falta más grande para la rubia: le mintió repetidamente y de muchas maneras, que finalmente su confianza huyó. Decidió ponerle fin a la relación y lo abandonó. Se fue directo a un departamento que rentó con lo poco que ganaba en la cafetería, pues no regresaría a la casa de los Meyer porque no confiaba en ellos y ya no se sentía cómoda en el que había sido su casa. Tras enterarse de esto, Scott la buscaba todos los días y le enviaba regalos todas las mañanas antes de que la rubia se fuera a trabajar. Morgan la visitaba todo el tiempo y le rogaba que regresara a su casa, o bien, que se fuera a la casa de los Castle. El mayor de sus problemas era que Juliette Meyer ya quería ser independiente. Poco a poco las puertas de todos los trabajos “decentes” les fueron abiertos; pues Scott se aseguraba de ello. Y logró conquistarla nuevamente. Sentía que Scott le pertenecía y no se lo dejaría a nadie más; como Scott seguía diciendo que Juliette siempre sería de él, aun cuando no salieran juntos, aun cuando terminaran, siempre sería de él. Desde que había terminado con el joven Brown, ella ya no era la misma, se la pasaba arriesgando su vida por proteger a los huérfanos de la calle, a los pobres que se encontraban a las afueras de la ciudad, se preocupaba por el medio ambiente.

❪ ஜ ❫ ˒ ʻ 𝟎𝟎𝟒 ‚ Ahora creía en la igualdad de las personas, entendía que los puestos no debían heredarse y también tenía fe en que aquellos que trabajaban más, debían llegar a tener los mejores lugares, pues ahora apreciaba las habilidades, conocimientos y perseverancia de las personas. Creyendo esto, y tras años de una reconciliación familiar, ayudó a su familia a que sus propiedades y la empresa familiar crecieran; por lo que más adelante la nombraron CEO de la Fundación Meyer y seguía formando parte de la dirección del resto de sus negocios familiares. Ayudaba a los niños pobres de todo el mundo, eso quería, y sobre todo, buscaba el apadrinamiento de dichos niños para que pudieran estudiar y aspirar a una vida en la que no sólo se preocuparan por sobrevivir. Juliette viajó a Hawai con un propósito enorme: ser socia de Scott y Morgan Castle. Planeaban montar uno de los más grandes emporios hoteleros en la ciudad, y para ello, tenía que viajar antes que los otros socios, con el propósito de canalizar el lugar, liquidar los terrenos que estaban comprando para su proyecto. Tenía muchos pendientes y poca ayuda por parte de su prometido y de su mejor amiga, no sabía que en realidad la querían alejada de John, aunque no sabían que éste, por motivo de trabajo, se había trasladado a Hawai. La rubia viajaba constantemente a Londres, Hawai y Nueva York.

❰ ❱ ⇋ ˛ ⁰⁰⁵ 𝐑𝐄𝐋﹒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍﹒𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 ˞ ˝

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝒎𝒆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝙢𝙚 𝖼𝗎𝗓' 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗒 ╭𝐅﹒𝐀﹒𝐌﹒𝐈﹒𝐋﹒𝐘╯

დ⨟ Richard Meyer ╱ padre. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ Irlanda Meyer ╱ madre. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ Steven Meyer ╱ hermano mayor. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ Shophie Meyer ╱ hermana menor. (Amanda Seyfried) 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝘀𝘂𝗻 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝙬𝙚'𝙡𝙡 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝖻𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 ╭𝐅﹒𝐑﹒𝐈﹒𝐄﹒𝐍﹒𝐃﹒𝐒╯

დ⨟ Morgan Castle ╱ mejor amiga (Leighton Meester) 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ John Brown ╱ ex pareja – amigo (Sean Faris) 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

𝖧𝖾/𝖲𝗁𝖾/𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙠𝙨 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝖽𝗂𝗀 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆/𝗁𝖾𝗋/𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌/𝗁𝖾𝗋/𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 ╭𝐄﹒𝐍﹒𝐄﹒𝐌﹒𝐈﹒𝐄﹒𝐒╯

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

დ⨟ nombre ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻. 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

𝖢𝖺𝗇 𝗜 𝗀𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝒈𝒐? 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝐰𝐞 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝖻𝖾 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾? 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿, 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝗎𝗓' 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝒎𝒚 ╭𝐋﹒𝐎﹒𝐕﹒𝐄﹒𝐑﹒(𝐒)╯

დ⨟ Scott Castle╱ prometido. (Robert Pattinson) 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨 ∯ ＃tag.

❰ ❱ ⇋ ˛ ⁰⁰⁶ 𝐃𝐈𝐒﹒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈﹒𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 ˞ ˝

𝐈. εïз Personaje basado en Life in London (una vieja comunidad de RP). Créditos del personaje a 𝚃𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚊.𝚝𝚡𝚝 𝐈𝐈. εïз Me reservo el derecho de escoger las relaciones del personaje y también brindo la oportunidad de dar a los pjs pertenecientes de dicho proyecto y que poco a poco subiré en la wishlist. Cualquier detalle, el personaje podrá ser retirado. 𝐈𝐈𝐈. εïз ¡ᴄʀᴇ́ᴅɪᴛᴏs! 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒐 𝖻𝒚: dreamcatcher.txt. 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝖻𝒚: 𝚃𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚊.𝚝𝚡𝚝 

[sweetmage]

Deathroot and Embrium for the OCs you most want to talk about (I can't decide!!)

Thank you for the ask!! <3 Let's see... Maybe I will do some characters I don't talk about often 🤔Also this got suuuuuper long! I am bad about that, sorry 😅 Embrium: What is the kindest thing anyone had ever done to your character, and do they remember or even know it happened?

One of the most pivotal moments during El'la's brief stay (about 2 years) in the circle was when they first met Owain. It was their first direct interaction with a tranquil mage and they implied that Owain was not a person because of what had been done to him. Their discussion on personhood and emotions really impacted El'la for several reasons: El'la is neurodivergent, they don't emote much, struggle significantly with understanding their own emotions and the emotions of others, and they have their own unique ways of processing and interacting with the world that others may fail to understand. Because of this, they were able to realize their ignorance in implying someone's situation (a cruel one at that, brought about through coercion and inspired by fear and shame) makes them less of a person. Someone close to her (Lorenzo, one of my other OCs) had been made tranquil (against regulations, at that). She never saw him, but she'd heard the news of it and was very unnerved by what that meant for him and what might have become of him. El'la and Lorenzo reconnect years later and she is better able to support and understand him. Most importantly, I think this event is what helped radicalize El'la. Living, breathing people were being exploited by the circle, used for labor and profit, their susceptible natures taken advantage of. On top of that, they were ostracized, othered, and used as examples as if their fate wasn't enough. El'la already despised the circle and the chantry as a whole, but this was certainly their tipping point. El'la aligned herself with the beliefs of libertarian fraternity and later the resolutionists. She also questioned the rest of the Chantry's warnings and teachings, seeking knowledge in "forbidden" practices and familiarizing herself with spirits, blood magic so that she may one day dispel the fears that had been ingrained in her and others about it and find a way to engage with these things in safe and informed manners. It wasn't a sweet and sugary kindness or an emotionally driven one at all, but the time he took to explain to them and undo their biases did more for them than anyone else could have. Deathroot: What is the most horrifying thing the Nightmare can cause your character to see? I am going to put this one under the cut because it contains horror elements and heavy themes relating to Tamlen, 'came back wrong' scenarios, and the like!

So Savil (pic included because, despite him being one of my OCs with the most detailed backstory as well a DAO and DAI playthrough, I basically never post about him for some reason😅) has a pretty clear and definitive fear. So for some backstory: ⚠ tw horror In his canon, after the ghoul attack on their camp, Tamlen is incapacitated but lives still. Savil informs the other Wardens that this is his friend and he would like some time alone to 'bury him', but he instead deserts the Wardens and runs off with Tamlen. Despite the dangers and ethical questions, he becomes consumed with finding a cure for him even as Tamlen loses more and more of himself. Sometime after DA2, Savil reunites with Merrill who, after much catch up, discussion, and hesitance cures Tamlen of the taint via blood magic. Initially it appears to be a "came back wrong" scenario, though as the years pass by he regains more of himself, his memories and motor skills slowly return, and is ultimately his happy and thankful for his life, but Savil remains horrified at the conditions he allowed him to live in for 7 years and how he selfishly played god with the life of someone he loved. Soooo... all that is to say, what he saw in the fade during DAI were the twisted forms of a Tamlen who was more grotesque and clearly suffering, a Merrill who was under duress and in despair, and many other ghoulish figures representing those he had cut down and never put in the effort to save like he did Tamlen. He has issues :)

[atiredsalmon]

Savill didn’t understand Compassion’s strange compulsion to clean the table built into the wall which surrounded the statue of Fen’harel in the Lighthouse’s courtyard, but he hadn’t bothered to ask, either. Demons had their urges and he supposed Spirits had them, too. Caretaker, is what Compassion called itself, and overseeing the state of the Lighthouse must have been a lingering sentiment from the ancient times of the elven rebellion. Now it guarded the current residents’ armor and weapons and enchanted them when asked with the appropriate runes. It’s name wasn’t Architect, however, and it’s knowledge ended at simple maintenance. Savill, however, was handy with more than just a mop and broom, and he could dignify the help by claiming the statue and it’s multipurposed wall was a type of relic. Perhaps not magical in and of itself, but Savill appreciated history just as much. He appreciated the view it gave him, as well. Savill could watch the ancient tower forever in its endless spinning top. He could measure the timeless passing of the Fade in the number of revolutions the floating islands made around the courtyard. Bellara was kind enough to join him for conversation at every trip between her quarters and Neve’s, entertaining him with summaries of the latest Tevinter serials and the wisps kept him company when she wasn’t. And when neither were around, he could look up from his work to distract himself with the sight of Lucanis’ training. A passing wisp, covered in Neve’s notes, floated across his gaze and while Savill glanced away from the shifting forms of the assassin to gently peel the pages off, he didn’t need to watch the final movement to notice the poor posture the man was making. “Are you attempting to strike a mark or a bronto,” Savill asked, shuffling the papers into order and storing them away into a hidden shelf beneath the table. Sound carried differently in the Fade, and Savill could clearly hear Lucanis’ unamused snort from across the courtyard. “Your elbow is held too wide.” “If a target is to move, I will need the reach.” “If,” Savill repeated with a small laugh. “A Crow preparing for a target with the opportunity to run? Perhaps the world is ending after all.” “And what do you know of Crow preparation?” “Only what the usual rumors teach.” Savill ran a palm against the stone of the table as he answered. The crack he had been asked to fix was no longer visible, but he could still feel it against his skin. It would have to do for now - unless the Fade could produce concrete. For now, it was providing him a bit of entertainment. He hopped over the edge of the wall and strolled across the uneven path of floating stones to stand besides Lucanis. “Some of the poisons the Crows use are well known enough to be made by the common man such as myself. I think I’m just as handy with a knife as a Crow, too, but I’m sure you’d have comments of your own. Killing, however…” Savill waved the rest of his thoughts away. Lucanis had lowered his daggers with an amused shrug of his shoulders. They stiffened, now, as Savill took a hold of one of his wrists and gently lifted his arm back into its previous, offensive position. He ran his hand up to the elbow, fingers light, tucking the joint closer to Lucanis’ side. Savill kept his hand there, a smiling slowly spread across his face as he felt the assassin’s skin warm through his shirt. “Killing, I must say, I have less knowledge than a Crow on. But I do have an incredible sense of anatomy.” Savill raised his other hand to press his palm against the assassin’s chest, fingers curled gently over the collar bone. His pulse pounded hard, and Savill felt more than just his own draw towards the man. “You don’t need to slit the throat to silence a man. Right here should do.” For a moment, Savill wondered if he truly had silenced Lucanis until a soft hiss escaped him. “Spite does not like you.” Savill pat Lucanis’ shoulder before drawing back, chuckling. “I don’t need him to like me.”

[bewaretheidiotsofmarch]

Here's a silly meme of my oc, Saville and Safin🤲🏼💓

a rare moment

The name of my oc is a play on an alternate spelling of my own last name

[kanerallels]

#1, 7, 8, and 15 for the fic ask game, please ?

1.What's something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again? Ummmm good question. Oh! With one of the random obsessions I had this year, I didn't overthink my need to write fan fic, or go overboard. Instead I just wrote a bunch of one shots while the obsession remained, and didn't get too worried about the plot or anything. It was really fun, turned out well, and I think I would do it again!

7. What character(s) captured your heart? ALWAYS Kanera. But I had a lot of fun writing some (unpublished) Trilla content, and Inspector Wellington from Miss Scarlet And The Duke was very fun to write!

8. Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year? Yup! Probably some others, but the main one I can think of would be Miss Scarlet and the Duke (William x Eliza) and The Company You Keep (Charlie x Emma, obviously!). Oh and Saville and Galen from Valiant by Sarah McGuire, too! OH WAIT AND CHENFORD FROM THE ROOKIE dang I wrote for a lot of new ships this year

15. Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023! Oooh! Um let's go with "Traditions", one of my two Jacen Syndulla Week fan fics! It features our Ghost crew beloveds, plus also my OC ship for Jacen which I wrote roughly 53 k words of context for a couple years back

[leam1983]

Types

I used to think that being poly meant an end to most fantasies. I thought it would mean those three or four OCs I spent using strictly as a medium to yank on my crank would be pushed in some musty corner of my subconscious, but a check-in with Walter was all I'd need to realize that fantasies are like cockroaches. You can't kill them, but they also have a role to play in your relationship's ecosystem.

We just settled into bed and I mention this to Walt, who seems nonplussed. "George Grimm isn't real and he couldn't be real, hon. Am I supposed to be jealous of a made-up guy you've pulled up AI art renders of? He's never actually touched you, never actually kissed you - and you know what I noticed?"

Walt smirks. "You're feeling guilty about it. That means you probably went at it last week, during one of the two evenings I spent at the office, and now you've got irrational guilt pangs about having cheated on me with a JPEG of a guy that could be me if I got everything tailored on Saville Row and had absolutely zero backdoor shyness in regards to your kinks."

His smirk turns into a chiding gesture. "You're being silly, you silly goose. We've sploshed - you know we're open concerning our kinks. Come on, tell me about him. Tell me about George Graham Grimm the Food Vampire."

I figure I'll do it like this, instead.

George was a solid coping mechanism in my late teens, someone who's cropped up in my dreams during a phase of my life that saw me define myself as unloveable by default. I don't remember the specifics of that particular dream, but I do remember the broad strokes.

I dreamt I was dragged to some sort of symposium by my Ph. D. of an aunt and was forced to spend four hours dipping my lips in cheap champagne while pretending like I didn't have a piteous inferiority complex. Dreams go as they're wont to do, elastic and fluid in their arrangement of Time, and I find a secluded dining room on the floor being used by the reception. Its décor is ornate, and its four massive tables are arranged in a square. In the middle of one of the sides is seated a mountain of a man, about four hundred pounds and change, and he's dressed in custom-tailored clothing that's probably cost a fortune. As obese as he is, he's the most smartly-dressed of the assembly, with a bowtie and vest combo that's so perfect you'd swear he was born with them. His thick fingers are impossibly agile, swiping things from the piles and piles of food waiting on the table and wolfing them down with a mixture of sheer abandon and meticulous precision - extended pinky finger included. He somehow never stains himself and his thick and flowing beard remains immaculate no matter how fast he goes. His utensils are barely touched, and he instead keeps going back to sucking on his fingers. He's a very vocal eater, groaning in appreciation or drowning a satisfied chuckle in an umpteenth bite. He does it all with his eyes closed and a light frown, almost as though he's got a mental map of the table's furnishings he keeps perfectly up-to-date.

Considering the amount of food that's involved, my first thought is that this is actually a buffet and this dude here's just decided he'd click on that I Will Attend link for the RSVP for the exact purpose of stuffing his face with free food. I don't remember the exact dialog in the dream, so I'll sub what was probably said with what actually makes sense in-context. Guy sounds like Tony Jay and Sydney Greenstreet made love and had a posh, congested and vaguely eerie descendant - and he stops between two bites, eyes opening to reveal two gray slivers behind his bifocals and his thick and well-groomed snowy-white eyebrows.

"Pardon the intrusion, but I don't recall the help replacing the buffet sign on this table..."

Just that is enough to prime my hind brain. This man's voice is the stuff my insecure adolescent self's dreams are made of. The snootiest Received English Pronounciation imaginable, rendered in a low and rough timbre by a guy who looks more fit to mumble than ti articulate - except everything is crisp. My flustered teenage brain thinks he's being contemptuous so I nervously blurt out a response - and he laughs.

I woke up, the first time my subconscious made George Grimm laugh. Again, it's Tony Jay and Greenstreet melded together, as if normal people had Plosive Laughing Prefixes without veering into outright guffaws, or as if your classic swell of Evil Laughter could've actually sounded congenial.

"Never you mind, dear boy - I was merely... indulging."

Over time, I'd realize George refuses to call eating what it is. He seeks repaste or regales his tastebuds, or maybe he prays to the God of Luxury, which I've always taken as being my subconscious regurgitating my brief obsession with Roman mythology. Grimm does fit the bill for some sort of modernized and expanded take on Dionysius and he did first come into being during my High School History classes on the Roman civilization.

"Go on, fix yourself a plate," he then says. "I'll hardly miss these bites you'll take."

I realize that he's serious, at that moment. He was rearing to polish off all four of these tables on his own. Something makes me want to keep my distance and to settle with clearing off a bit of table surface for my plate - and what I put in it never quite gels into something. It's like AI Art's idea of a plate of food, with chunks of unidentified meat, mounds of recursive and self-cannibalizing stringy pasta, black masses that might be meatballs or olives, it's hard to tell - and Dream Logic being what it is, I'm not fazed by this at all. My plate seems endless, but I work through it at a pace that I assume matches with my usual pace for a normal-sized meal. In the meantime, the big man's gaining speed at an impossible rate. He's slurping, gnashing, worrying, moaning and grunting his way towards my location, and I get the sense that he'll just keep getting faster if I try and slip away. So, half-convinced this just flipped into Nightmare Country, I feel the dream turn lucid as the overly-dressed organic Shop-Vac I'm seated with works his way through enough food for twelve people in a few seconds. He stops right next to me, daintily raised a tiny piece of cheese to his mouth and politely covers his mouth. If he's burped, no sound's been made.

He turns to face me and outstretches a hand that certainly has the mitt-like qualities of the appendages of particularly fatter people, but with an almost feline level of grace.

"George Graham Grimm - monster, scholar, gentleman, professor amongst others - at your service."

I take his hand. There's an instant of tension, the sense that Grimm's hunger's just shifted - and he's warm, warm like I've never felt anyone's hands being, before.

What I remember is that this was enough for my dream self to practically climb over his immense paunch and perch myself on it. His amusement and surprise immediately turns to relish, and George's kisses would be my measurement for Decent Snoggings for years, up until I met Prof - and eventually Walt. The specifics leave me, but I do know I dump everything on this posh quasi-ogre. Time dilation being what it is, George ends up being the perfect listener, as you'd assume, and he knows his voice is basically single-malt whiskey down my ears - again with weird plosive inclusions that make it so he hungrily moans or grunts at the beginning of every other sentence.

Obviously, my subconscious and my loins don't care about logical progression - we're Together, and that's it. George would crop up every now and again, typically when arousal was mixed with loneliness, and he'd call me his "dear boy" by repeating the word dear a good ten times or so.

Unsurprisingly, Younger Grem had Sugar Daddy fantasies and dreamed of a man large enough to be heavier than a loaded semi who'd take him out to walks and daintily request stops for "snacks" that would involve lifting hot dog carts à la Obelix the Gaul and tipping them into his open gullet. I understand that I spoke, in those dreams, but I don't remember anything I ever said. Even George's actual words faded, but I was left with a sense of either glowing praise or the sort of public expression of physical attraction that would normally make people ill-at-ease. Dude was horny on main the same way I was, adolescence oblige, and bowties-plus-silk-scarves affairs turned into spy thrillers as we both tried to find a sufficiently quiet and secluded space that would let us screw each other wild instead of catering to a gaggle of strangers in galas and receptions neither of us knew what to do with.

Then came Prof, and now Walt and Sarah. I started to feel guilty about an overdressed fatty that would've never left the confines of my mind - especially in regards to Walt.

The coincidence didn't escaspe me, back then. George Graham Grimm. Walter C. George. Walter's actually Grimm with the brakes on, the much more realistic idea of what it means to have a plus-sized boyfriend. The closeness isn't always welcomed on my end of things, seeing as I want to enjoy the Actual Man's emotional and intellectual availability, but my hind brain wants the Fake Man's relentless libido or his appetite. It's not that much of a problem, but it makes those occasional times that see me superimpose red paisley-patterned silk over Walter's gray gabardine feel like a dereliction I'm the only one to perceive.

I guess I needed George Grimm, back in the day. I needed a belly platform so big I could sleep over his chest without my feet touching the mattress, or the eventual internal running commentary on the various happenings in my life. I needed a guy with so much self-confidence and zest for life that he could turn morbid obesity around on a dime and make it look sexy. I do channel him on occasion, when I have to be snippier or more authoritative than I usually am. I probably needed the embryonic forms of the Loudest Fake Lover in Existence to make some inroads about my sexuality. I probably needed the imagined bedroom theatrics, Grimm gnashing his perfect teeth at me over climax, heatedly declaring that "our exquisite flesh" would "endure for aeons".

I think everyone needs or wants a concept of a certain "Forever Love", past a certain age, and it's probably natural to start out with an idea, a dream, a fantasy that's gone a little haywire in my case, that still sometimes looms over me while I'm working on our server stack, smelling of expensive cologne and of the cooked juices of something that's been expensively prepared. I don't need running commentary from Walt; he's always right around the corner!

George Graham Grimm, however - monster, scholar, gentleman, professor amongst others - hasn't really left my side for a good twenty-three years.

[absintheancandle]

suffer with a comic that was originally a joke that i took too far bc Inspiration:tm: struck, a guy that is not an idv oc, and a chart of. intentionally poorly drawn idiots. ask me about doll society and economics and their laws on body modification and how saville is not actually committing necromancy and yet is still bringing the dead back “somehow” aND AFFINITIES IM OBSESSED WITH AFFINITY MAGIC okay this originally had an “/hj” at the end but this isnt a joke anymore these guys are living in my brain anyways i’ll probably. post more designs later as i make em hehe. including savilles more.casual clothing. yeah