#only so more references to make for this au....

[tsukimefuku]

CHAPTER THREE PT. I: DIMINISHED CAPACITY ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni!

❀ diminished capacity.

Diminished capacity refers to an individual’s impossibility to form the intent necessary for committing any criminal act, because their capacity to fully comprehend the nature of their actions is impaired. It doesn’t, however, completely exclude their responsibility, and they may be held accountable to a lesser offense.

wc: 5.7K ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. slow-burn romcom. professor and college student pre-relationship. reader is lowkey obsessed. mentions of hypothetical violent crime. exams suck. higuruma has an old car. law firm shenanigans ensue.

❀ notes etc.

Thank you so much @ratiopoetry. If it wasn’t for you, this chapter wouldn’t exist, so a big, fat, huge thanks. You reminded me of the reason I started writing this (and why I write at all) in the first place. 💛

also, some love for the betas: @redlikerozez and @sandsorghum thank you both!

You sat there staring blankly during Higuruma’s class. He was definitely teaching… something. You had no idea what, though.

More importantly, you were laser focused on one thing, and one thing only — his crooked tie.

Burgundy, satin. Slightly bent to the left. Crumpled underneath the knot, bulging inwards. It kept pushing up anytime he moved his arms to write on or gesture towards the white board behind him.

Just enough to make you want to stretch out your hands and touch it. Straighten it.

Probably a regular black tie or even a navy blue one would’ve suited him better. 

 Worked up and yapping continuously about something that was clearly important, Higuruma would pace back and forth, and all that you wondered was how the hell this man with dozens of academic accolades didn’t know how to properly tie a tie.

That single piece of attire seemed to mock you. The off-putting dip underneath the knot looked like a cocky smile.

It was all made worse when Higuruma mindlessly tugged his fingers around it. The tie bent even further from the center.

For fucks sake.

After a while, you gave up on trying to pay any mind to his class, and let the time slide off the clock’s hand until the bells went off and you were finally free to go. 

Before you could bolt your way out of there and leave this weird obsession behind, though, he spoke.

“Hey, Sanrio.”

Is he calling me Sanrio for real now?

Your cheeks flushed a dusty pink, and you were glad that nearly all of the students had already left the classroom. You gulped and turned calmly from your half done backpack to face him.

“Yes, Professor?”

“I need to speak with you, if you may,” he replied, signaling for you to approach him.

Your throat tightened, and you wondered if this could be related to the debacle from a few nights before. After all, this was the first time you saw each other after you unceremoniously gave him a pure vodka shower.

Then patted him dry with your scarf.

And spent a few moments holding hands.

Damn. 

He sat over his desk while crossing his arms, and your eyes were instantly drawn to his forearms, the way they softly bulged in that position, every corded muscle visible with his sleeves rolled up, his veins perfectly protruded down his forearm, all over the back of his hand, and his tie-

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

Only then you registered that he was actually saying something, and you didn’t catch a word.

“Oh, no. I mean, I wasn’t… I got distracted.”

“I can see that. Actually, I wanted to ask if everything is okay, you seem off today,” he inquired, softly tilting his head to the side. His eyes landed first on your face, and slowly made their way down your body. For a second, you wondered if he was checking you out, or if it was just your imagination.

The thought had you blushing even deeper, because of course not, this is not happening, what the hell is wrong with me-

“Sanrio, you’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Zoning out while I’m speaking to you.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I must’ve been distracted.”

“With what?”

And he did ask it in earnest.

Distracted with you checking me out, and your forearms, and the way you tug that goddamn burgundy satin around your perfect neck, and-

“Your tie.”

One of his eyebrows slowly peaked up in disbelief.

“My… tie?”

For a second, you wished for a hole to be magically conjured right underneath your feet just so you could bury your head in it like an ostrich. Not the smartest defense mechanism devised by nature, but definitely one that would save you some embarrassment at that moment.

He cleared his throat, and you could just about die not knowing what he — or anyone, for that matter — could reply to whatever that was. 

“Do you want to… straighten it?”

“… What?”

“You heard me.”

Completely dumbfounded, you wondered if that was just mockery. Or a poorly executed joke, since he seemed to be a professional at cracking those.  

“If it’s so distracting, come on over here and straighten it,” he repeated, almost like a dare, holding your gaze. Sure enough, there was not an ounce of jest in that man’s face.

Disconcerted, you slowly walked in his direction, and as you lifted your hands towards his neck, Higuruma tilted his jaw up, projecting his neck muscles and making all of his tendons much more apparent.

At the same time, your teeth clenched, your mouth watered and your hands stuttered.

“Is there any problem?” The Professor asked while raising a curious eyebrow.

His voice sounded sultrier than usual. Suspiciously raspy and velvety. Is he doing it on purpose?

You simply nodded while your brain short circuited, and the more you tried to steer away the thoughts of how much you had the hots for the Professor, the more you wanted to tug on that tie and-

“There, straightened,” you whispered in a rush, eyes glued to the floor, ready to bolt away and leave all your belongings behind, even if you were still clutching his tie in between your fingers as if holding onto a lifeline. 

An unnecessarily sexy lifeline.

Before you could leave, though, he held your shoulder with one hand while tilting your face up by pushing his index finger under your chin, catching you completely off guard.

“Are you in a rush? Do you have some place else to be?”

Absolutely not hallucinating. He was, indeed, making a move on you, and his gaze slid down slowly towards your lips. “We still haven’t talked about that night. And how you left some lipstick on the cigarette you lit up for me.”

Nothing but a pathetic whimper left your lips. He smiled.

“Is this the same one?” Higuruma asked, flickering his eyes between your gaze and your lips.

“S-same… what?”

“Lispstick.”

It felt like you were in a plane cabin and it had just depressurized. 

I have to leave, I can’t do this, this is highly inappropriate behav-

You nodded. His smile widened.

“Perfect. Now I can taste it from the right place.”

Your stomach dropped further and your heart thumped in your chest, skipping more than just a few beats as it drummed enough to have the space around you both grow even quieter to your ears.

Rational thought had abandoned you as your grip tightened around his tie, your eyes dropping to his mouth. Higuruma seemed pleased, and slid one of his hands to the nape of your neck while carding his fingers through your hair, bringing his other hand down behind you to cup your lower back. You softly jumped in surprise, and he wasted no time into pulling your body against his, having you instantly feeling his warmth all over you.

As you both inched closer to each other, you could smell some of his aftershave on his skin, and his minty breath, and his cologne impregnated all over his clothes, and…

This smells like my laundry detergent…?

The bells went off again.

This time, however, it was your morning alarm yanking you out of sleep as your face sunk into your pillow like a rock in a lake.

Peeling your eyes open to the unforgiving light that flooded into your dorm room, you slowly propped yourself up from the mattress. Your laptop was open by the edge of the bed, and on the screen, you found your shame displayed in between three different types of ads containing huge twerking asses in 4K.

You had most likely passed out on top of your vibrator the night before and wondered if the kinky Professor x Student role play porn on your anon tab was the reason you dreamt… that. Especially considering that today you had a criminal procedure lecture with the star of the M-rated movie your horny mind cooked just for you.

Is there anything worse than meeting someone you shouldn’t be interested in right after having those types of dreams with them?

Fun. So fun.

At least this time life spared you the little mercy of having no company after Nobara decided to sleep over at Maki’s again.

Carrying yourself with the few shreds of dignity you still had, you rolled out of bed, and while getting ready for that day’s class, a realization suddenly dawned on you.

Where is my red scarf?

***

Higuruma’s car.

The beat up 2015 Toyota Passo had a lot of personality as an old piece of junk that failed on the road more often than not, but even so, it had been his reliable companion for nearly a decade. Its glossy navy blue paint was covered in dirt, and Higuruma wondered to himself as he entered the vehicle that morning if he should perhaps take it out for a wash, which, in all fairness, he never did. The rain will wash it clean was his motto, one that rarely proved itself to be true.

His car was always crawling with old food wraps, random papers, spare change and some clothes. While Higuruma looked frantically for something to wrap around his neck in the cold — a beaten up old yellow shawl all weaved in sunflower patterns he received as a gift from his grandmother —, his phone rang.

Using a makeshift bluetooth haphazardly rigged up to the radio, Higuruma answered the call while twisting his arm beside the passenger seat.

“Hello, who is this?”

“It’s Kento, good morning.”

“Morning. May I ask why such an early call?” Higuruma asked with a strained voice while he dove down his seat, a hand reaching between the passenger seat and the handbrake.

“It’s not early. Actually, I thought I’d find you at the campus, but since you weren’t in the teacher’s lounge, I’m calling.”

“Oh, I’m just… late,” Higuruma muttered under a tense breath, still bending himself over while prying his scarf out of its death trap underneath the seat beside him.

“I figured that much. Are you on your way?”

“Kind of.”

Nanami found that reply to be suspicious, especially considering his friend’s usual antics.

“… Did your car break down again?” Nanami asked with a hint of judgement to his inquiry. If the Toyota Passo had a hater club, Nanami would be its president, especially considering all the times he found himself stranded with Higuruma by roadsides while on past trips. This was the main reason Nanami would never be caught dead taking a ride with his best friend nowadays if he could help it.

“Shh, don’t say that. It can hear you,” Higuruma chastised while half joking, being more acquainted with Murphy’s Law than he’d like to admit. It had turned him into a somewhat superstitions man, at least when it came to the Passo.

“Hiromi, that’s not how cars work.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” he quipped. Hearing Nanami sigh on the other side of the line was an amusement that served him some semblance of comfort as he battled his way through his current predicament. “Now, what did you want to speak to me about anyway?” 

Hitting just the right slant, Higuruma felt the already familiar wool-weaved pattern on the tips of his fingers.

“Well, it’s about what I told you last Friday,” Nanami ensued.

“Go on.”

As Higuruma contorted his limbs and spine on the driver’s seat in some sort of malevolent pilates while searching for a better position to pull his shawl up, he slowly elevated his arm with a firm grip on the thing, doing his best to not have it tangle on its way out. 

“We’ve allocated some revenue to open more departments in the Firm, and to make some changes to others. I’d like your input, if at all possible.”

Higuruma’s tie contracted uncomfortably around his neck with every wiggle his body made, prompting him to pull around it in a feeble attempt to not have his windpipe crushed. It worked, but barely, messing up his already disarrayed outfit even further.

“My input?” he asked, taken aback while adjusting himself in his seat. “I mean, I’d like to help, but I don’t know if my input is what you’re looking for. I didn’t have that many years of experience as a private lawyer.”

“But you do have a lot of experience dealing with a team of people working with you, and impossible criminal cases absolutely no one would accept.”

“One intern and one assistant,” Higuruma noted, “and those cases weren’t impossible. No case is, even in our Justice System.”

Nanami smiled softly before replying. “Okay, ‘remarkably challenging lawsuits’, then. In any case, we’re creating a criminal law defense department, and considering your experience, you input would be much appreciated.”

Higuruma managed to haul nearly the entire shawl out of its hideout, but before he could consider himself victorious, it got stuck.

He sighed.

“My input or my participation, Kento?” Higuruma asked, even if it wasn’t an actual question. “I know you. You’re not that smooth when attempting to get me on board for something. I remember all the times you casually mentioned a group project in college — which all coincidentally had themes I was studying in depth at the time — while trying to act all nonchalant about it.” 

Nothing gets past him, Nanami thought to himself at being caught red handed.

“Yes, I’d like your participation.”

Higuruma stopped in his tracks, and placed the pulled-up end of the shawl over the passenger’s seat, propping himself up to sit. In silence, he brushed his fingers over his temples, and remained like this for a few seconds, not realizing how his whole body had stiffened up like dried bamboo.

“Kento, I don’t think that’s a good idea, I just…” Higuruma mumbled as he let his forehead lay over the steering wheel.

“Do you trust my judgement?”

Nanami’s question came without missing a beat.

“Of course I do,” Higuruma replied, “I don’t know if I trust myself.”

“Let me worry about that,” Nanami interjected, “I’ve gotten other attorneys on board that can work with us. With you.”

With an uncertain hum, Higuruma cleared his throat.

“I’m… late. I should get going. And sort my damn scarf situation. It’s awfully cold today.”

“That hideous little thing with the sunflowers?” Nanami’s disdain was evident, and Higuruma chuckled.

“Morning, Kento.”

With that, the Professor ended the call, and put his whole mind to solving his current dilemma.

As a final Hail Mary, Higuruma held all he managed to pry out with a firm grip, and slowly descended his other hand, feeling his way over the piece in an attempt to find whatever was hooking it.

Quickly enough, his fingers met something else entirely. It had a softer texture, almost like old frizzly, worn out cotton.

Well, I think I’ve found the culprit.

With a careful tug, he pulled everything out, and a snaky, crimson, polka dot fuzzy worm surprised him. Upon further inspection, Higuruma realized that such horrid sight was actually your ugly red scarf entwined with his sunflower shawl.

This… what? How did her scarf end up here? 

Blinking once, then twice, the Professor found himself still completely dumbfounded. For a moment, Higuruma wondered if this was all a figment of his imagination. That is, until he recalled last Friday, and remembered you used your scarf to pat him dry after an accidental alcoholic skin care routine.

Out of all the things I could’ve picked up by accident, this is what I got? This hideous little thing? 

He snorted at the red polka dot scarf while holding it with the tips of his fingers, wondering if you’d really care to have this back.

Smiling to himself, Higuruma remembered the exchange, your laughter, and his eyes slid towards the cigarette butt from that day. It was currently shoved into the ashtray he kept right in front of his handbrake.

He noticed there was still a faint red stain around it. Against his better judgement, his mind wandered for a moment as he reminisced on the occasion, and how smoking that cigarette left a soft tinted smudge on his lips too, one that he noticed upon arriving home that night and looking at himself in his elevator’s mirror.

I… really shouldn’t. 

Shaking the thought away, Higuruma mindlessly spoke to himself as he turned the engine on.

“I have to give this back to her.”

If only his memory didn’t betray him just like his car — more often than not.

After an uneventful drive, Higuruma stood in front of the white board ready to resume his criminal procedure class as all of the students made their way into the classroom, including you. 

Picking a seat not too close to the main stage, you noticed that Professor Higuruma had his back turned to the rest of the class as he wrote something on the white board. That day, from what you could tell, he was wearing just a plain white buttoned shirt and linen black slacks, not accounting for a coat and whatever else he had haphazardly tossed over his desk like a ball of garments.

There seemed to be a small red something tangled right under his coat. 

Your dream prickled you in the back of your mind, and you cleared your throat trying to feign off the thoughts.

This is real life, at a real class, and not my Orpheus domain. This is real life… You kept repeating mentally to yourself, like a mantra. Even if his shirt draped perfectly over his shoulders and highlighted his slender build.

I’ll just focus on today’s class and that will get my mind out of the gutter.

Higuruma stepped back from the white board and the word “truth” was written on it. Before you could think anything about today’s main topic, though, he turned around to face the students, and your day just became that much more awkward.

For a second, you couldn't truly believe your eyes.

His tie — which at least wasn’t burgundy, nor satin — was crooked. Actually, truly crooked in the real life of real events during a very much real class.

My life is a bad joke and I’m the punchline.

You straightened your posture in your chair with the sudden piercing, delusional self-awareness that anyone who looked at your face would know telepathically what you were thinking, because your cheeks felt suspiciously warm. You tried brushing your bangs down your face to no avail, and a small lock of hair poked out of it like a sore thumb.

In an attempt to distract yourself from that nonsense, you tried as best as you could to check how Higuruma was looking like today — apart from the crooked tie, that was — and noticed his hair was more disheveled than usual. It seemed like he hadn't shaved for at least two days.

Finally, Higuruma ensued his grand introductory lecture on the value of truth for criminal proceedings, and you were actually listening to it.

Good. Deja vu is not Deja-vuing enough. I’m fine. This is fine.

“Truth. Who can tell me the three main concepts of truth in western philosophy?” Higuruma asked while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You saw a familiar hand raising in the very front row, and Higuruma nodded for the person to proceed. 

“The three main concepts of truth are the correspondence, coherence and consensus ones,” Megumi answered. 

“Exactly. The relevance of truth in legal proceedings has been an ongoing debate for centuries, and some lines of thought even consider it to be completely irrelevant. We won’t be tackling that. For those who think truth is important, the most well established position is that truth as correspondence is the one we should strive for, even if our true knowledge of facts that occurred in the past through evidence can be, at best, approximate.”

A few people nodded, and Higuruma continued his exposition.

“Truth as correspondence… In simple terms, a statement can be considered to be true if it corresponds to a fact that has happened in the real world. For example, by this, if I say ‘today I was at class at the inhumane time of 07:05AM’, and here we are at that very same time, it means my statement is true. In criminal proceedings, the truth finding task revolves around verifying if a crime has occurred or not, and in order to do such verification, we need evidence,” he paused for a moment and pulled a bottle of water from his briefcase, carefully putting it over his desk, “and one of the main types of evidence in criminal proceedings are witnesses’ testimonies.”

You were able to follow his exposition so far, and not get distracted by the crooked black ti-

Exposition. Truth. Witnesses. Focus, woman.

You could still feel the lingering sensation of his dreamt tie in between your fingers, and it wasn’t doing you any favors.

“What is a testimony? A testimony is basically someone’s account of an event they have witnessed, and formed a memory of through their senses — sight, hearing, etc. In that regard, it’s safe to say testimonies are a type of evidence that depends on memory, and human memory is fallible. What we can apprehend through our senses and actually remember is deeply affected by what we can or choose to focus on,” Higuruma concluded. 

Your eyes involuntarily dropped to his tie once again. 

Goddammit.

The class was considerably peaceful so far, and you wondered if he would require a victim for his usual slaughter sessions. It would certainly serve the purpose of getting your mind out of your fantasies. Fantasies about running your fingers down the fabric of his clothes, clutching them, crumpling everything in the messiest-

“You.” 

His voice fished you out of your daydreams and into the very much real and concrete reality presenting itself. Subconsciously — involuntarily, perhaps — his finger pointed in your direction, and you knew you’d be the prey for that class’ expository capers.

“Please, step forward,” Higuruma asked as he stood beside his desk.

You did like you were told, as a robot would, and walked in his direction, ready for whatever insanity he had to throw your way this time. Perhaps a marker for the white board. Or the water bottle.

“So,” Higuruma proceeded, “we need police to retrieve information from people that may have witnessed a crime in order to investigate it. That’s usually how investigations begin.” He quickly paused to check if everyone was following, and resumed his explanation, “after the investigation is completed and someone is actually charged or indicted, these same people, the witnesses, will be asked to repeat what they told to police right in front of the judge or a jury. The main question is… how reliable is that initial information relayed to the police at the beginning of it all? How reliable are these testimonies that give the very foundation for a criminal proceeding to exist in the first place?” 

You didn’t know the answer to that question. You knew nothing, really, staring dumbly at your feet while trying to not make a fool out of yourself.

 Before you knew, Higuruma grabbed the water bottle that was on top of his desk and approached you. When he was about a foot away from you, his cologne seeped into every neuron dedicated to smelling you had inside your nostril. Musky, fresh, and-

I can’t deal with this.

You tried fixating your eyes on the bottle of water he seemed to be giving you — anything but his face, his eyes, his nose.

His tie.

When you touched the bottle, he retreated it, and you felt somewhat confused. Then, he leaned it towards you again, you tried grabbing it again, and he retreated it once more. 

Is he teasing? What… what is he doing?

“Do you guys see where I’m getting at?” Higuruma asked, pointing towards the water bottle.

He was met with silence.

Higuruma then pointed at you, and your focused gaze on the bottle that was damn near boring a hole through it. “This is what we call the ‘focus on the gun effect’. You can all see that so far, her eyes pay more attention to what I’m holding than on any of my features. If this were a gun in a stressful scenario, it would probably only heighten such effect even more.”

Sir, this is a stressful scenario.

Your eyes flickered to his tie right before landing on the bottle again, and he did notice your gaze wondering elsewhere, but didn’t think much of it. 

“So at the moment she’d be testifying and was asked to describe my features, how well do you all think she’d be able to do it, if she hasn’t paid any attention to my face, focusing only on object I was holding? How trustworthy would such a testimony actually be?”

Tired hangdog eyes, aquiline nose, thick black frame glasses, white dress shirt crumpled at the hem, loosened black tie crooked to the right, criminally good-looking forearms, black linen pants-

“You can go back to your seat,” he remarked, and you did your best not to stumble on your way back.

The rest of the class went on painlessly, and by the end, Higuruma sat at his desk, lumbering back on his chair. He pushed aside the bundle of coat-and-other-stuff-in-a-ball, took his briefcase and opened it up to grab a pile of paper sheets from it. Upon further inspection, you gulped, knowing full well what those were.

“Before you all go, for those who are also my criminal law students, please come by my desk and take your corrected exams with you.  Give some special attention to the questions you got wrong, I made a list of the most common mistakes in these and will start off our next criminal law lesson by correcting them with the class.”

Shortly after, a line formed in front of Higuruma’s desk, and one by one, each student took their exams in their hands, either grunting displeased or sighing relieved with their result, leaving the classroom subsequently. You occupied yourself with slowly putting your things into your backpack, knowing full well that the walk towards that exam — and how poorly you did in it — would feel like a walk of shame. Only after the line was nearly done that you actually made your way to it, dragging your feet each step closer to what felt like doom.

“Good morning, Professor,” you mumbled as you reached for your exam and picked it up.

“Good morning,” he offered, bowing his head.

For the lack of a better term, your exam sheet looked like a crime scene, completely scribbled with red pen ink all over it. The discontent in your expression must’ve been incredibly evident, because Higuruma  spoke immediately.

“You know, these tests don’t truly assess your actual knowledge of a subject. Not entirely. It’s also about knowing how to take the test, and how the questions are phrased.”

You nodded half-heartedly. 

“Mm-mhm, I know. I just… I felt like nearly every question here could have-”

“Two answers?” He promptly interjected.

“Yes!”

He acquiesced.

“In criminal law, most things are determined by which line of thought one chooses to interpret a topic. You were not the only student to struggle with this, don’t worry. It’s easier to learn how to take a test than to learn the actual subject,” Higuruma offered, and as you looked at him, he welcomed your gaze with a soft smile.

“Is it?” you inquired, shoving the sheet of paper into your backpack. You looked back at him, and your eyes involuntarily dipped towards his tie. You averted your gaze while silently coughing. 

My future is on the line and here I am obsessing over a stupid tie. God.

He lifted a brow, intrigued, and continued.

“Absolutely,” Higuruma said, “you see, these types of standardized tests are terrible. Take a look on question number 15, the one about excess in self-defense.”

“Oh, I remember that one! The question in which guy 1 killed guy 2 through choking because guy 2 tried to kill him first with a sharp object but dropped it accidentally, right?”

“That one.”

“I was unsure, because even though he ended up killing guy 2, to be a target of an attempted murder must be horribly stressful. I mean, with all the adrenaline and everything, sometimes the body just reacts by itself, and the person is not even thinking.”

“Exactly!” Higuruma responded, clearly getting excited by this little exercise, “but the ‘right’ answer was that it was an excess in self-defense, because given the method — choking —, he could’ve ’stopped at any time’. Could he, though? Shouldn’t that be up for debate instead of…” The Professor took the list of answers and shook it in his hand, “this?”

He looks so adorable when talking passionately like th- stop. 

You shook your head before continuing.

“Yes, I agree. However, there’s not much we can do other than learn how to take these exams in order to get to where we want to, right?”

Your voice sounded more disheartened than you thought it would, and your self-disappointment dripped from it in a saddened cadence. You looked like a cornered animal who had just accepted its fate. Higuruma noticed it, and looked the other way to take a moment before speaking again, mindlessly tugging around his already loosened tie. It seemed like it could fall from his neck anytime soon.

Jesus Christ Almighty, can you stop fidgeting with the thing already? You brushed your face in quiet discomfort, and he barely noticed it, too immersed into whatever he had simmering in his mind.

“The main thing is… I just hope you and the other students don’t think less of yourselves because of this short assessment test,” he stated, “college shouldn’t kill the hearts of people who have dreams just because the way it works is not suited for everybody from the get go.”

What he said touched some deeper part of you, one you weren’t usually much in contact with. You stood there silently letting his words sink in, and curiously, they did have some tranquilizing effect of sorts. It must’ve been a while, because Higuruma looked at you with confused eyes when you finally snapped out of it.

“Is everything okay, San-…” he coughed, “I mean… are you alright?”

Pulling yourself together, you drew in a breath before you replied. Once more, you slotted your hands through your hair and his eyes involuntarily peeped over your pseudo ahoge in your bangs before landing on your face again.

“Yes. It’s just what you said about dreams,” you began, “I was worried that this test would nuke my future dream of becoming a criminal defense lawyer, but… I doesn’t quite feel like it now, somehow? It feels like not all is lost, it’s just an exam.”

Higuruma listened to you attentively before sparing you a modest smile.

“I suppose so. We are allowed to falter and make mistakes, especially here, in a classroom. You’re here to learn, after all.”

You nodded.

“Thank you, Professor. Truly. Your words have really helped me,” you stated, not realizing the smile  all over your face in a beam while you bowed towards him, “and for whatever it’s worth, your classes inspire me even more to chase my dreams. You are an amazing teacher.”

Higuruma seemed surprised and retributed the gesture, bowing his head towards you, his own cheeks pooling a soft pink.

“It’s my honor and privilege to teach you all, and I hope you get to realize your dreams in the future.”

You sighed content, and you both remained silent for a short while. Considering the conversation was already done, you bid him a “bye” and turned on your heels to leave the classroom, but his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hm, may I ask something?” Higuruma inquired.

“Of course, Professor. What is it?”

“You kept looking at something on me, is my shirt dirty or something like that?” he asked, trying to look down and assess his state.

Your ears went deaf for a second with the blood rush from your thumping heart at the realization he had, indeed, noticed your stupid obsession. And for a split second, you wondered if you should explain it. The dream flashed through your mind, and better not obviously was the answer you arrived at.

“Ah, uh… your tie, it’s crooked, and- yeah, it’s just crooked. That’s it. I tend to notice these things,” you blurted out, letting each syllable tumble over the other carelessly. You did your best to pretend you were scratching your nose, just so you could hide the small flush you felt over your face.

Whatta’ lousy liar am I. 

“Oh.” Higuruma gently glided his fingers over his tie, and tightened it slightly around his neck, “thank you for letting me know, but I figure that’s okay. My crooked tie has not prevented me from teaching today, or my students from learning, I presume,” he jested, and you acquiesced trying to hold down a chuckle unrelated to his lukewarm joke.

“Well, thank you for the talk, Professor. Have a good day!” you said, finally making your way out the classroom.

The door closed behind you, and instead of getting up immediately, Higuruma found himself still caught up in the conversation you both just had, being brought back to his old memories, his own old dreams and how he had once lived them in the past before everything went wrong. It felt like eons ago.

 The Professor pulled his phone from his pocket and opened up his chat Nanami, thinking back on their earlier conversation.

“Dreams, huh?” a lonely Higuruma mused before typing, failing to realize he had been softly smiling to himself for the past minute.

HH: Kento, if you’re really going forward with this idea, you should put up a notice for an intern opening

NK: Already did, for two positions actually.

NK: Did you think about what we discussed earlier?

Sighing to himself, Higuruma finally got up, stretching his legs and arms as if he had been sunk in it for millennia. He picked his briefcase up in one hand, and pulled his coat with the other. As he did so, your red scarf fell on his desk beside his shawl, and Higuruma realized how human memory, more often than not, was indeed pretty fallible.

“Argh, dammit.”

PT. II WILL GET POSTED ON DEC 26TH

I had completely forgotten to feature this amazing fanart of chapter 1 (that I’ve already screeched about like a banshee on more than one occasion) when I posted chapter 2. Traffi, as always, this is STUNNING, I JUS- Thank you 🥹

all credits for this amazing art go to @traffi -

Tag list (updated):

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @markleeisdabestdrug @redlikerozez @killerplink

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @cmdrfupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider 

@ohhheymessa @bigbaddulce @actuallysaiyan @s-witch-bitch @yeonjunarchives

@soft--cherry @bsaeshell @quinnyundertow @traffi @shibataimu

[docdudo]

I love your story abour Witches!AU. It’s refreshing to see a new side of witches AU where we can find familiars can force a bond on a yound witch. But I’m kinda curious on how familiars know who are witches or so? They can smell or feel? And do witches die? and when they die the bond between them and the familiars will be broken? Oh I have so many questions and looking forward for your next post soon.

Hi, thanks for liking the series!

So, yeah, witches and familiars can recognize each other (most of the time). Familiars have stronger instincts, so they find it easier to recognize who is a witch and who isn’t. However, it’s much harder to identify a witch who is still young and doesn’t have strong magic yet—it becomes more difficult to sense their magic core in that case.

The 141 only managed to sense your magic because they are ancient and powerful familiars. They are highly attuned to the magic around them and around others, which allowed them to identify you as a witchling pretty quickly, even though your magic core is still underdeveloped.

(Younger familiars and younger witches would probably struggle to recognize you as a witch.)

Familiars are usually easy to identify even without strong magical instincts, simply because they are so animalistic. The way they act and speak, especially with each other and with witches, makes it pretty clear that they are familiars. Except, of course, when they are purposefully trying to act human. Then, it becomes harder to tell if they’re familiars or not. More powerful witches would be able to recognize their magic, but younger witches would have a much harder time.

(But you don't have to worry about that, Familiars never bother to try and act anything other than what they are. Maybe just at their witch's orders).

For a more direct answer, Familiars who have been in this world for a long time can easily see, smell, and sense magic.

And yes, witches do die, but not of old age. That’s not something that happens to witches, as their bodies barely change after reaching maturity. However, they can die if someone kills them or if an accident occurs. Powerful witches from different Covens often kill each other for one reason or another. There are even Covens that become unbalanced, where members turn on each other.

There have also been cases of witches dying from heartbreak, losing their familiars, or losing other witches they were close to. It’s not unusual for witches to commit suicide if their witchlings dies.

Also, a bond is formed by linking compatible magic. By "compatible," this refers to the magic of a Witch and the magic of a Familiar. Familiars' bodies are made of magic since they are old nature spirits, so they bond directly with a witch’s magic core.

So yes, if the familiar somehow survives after their witch dies (in most cases, they die together in battle), the bond between them is broken and they turn into rogue familiars.

That's what the 141 were before they got you kkkkkkkkkk

This answer got long, but yeah, it's basically this kkkk

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

1  2  3  4  5

Chapter 6

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: implied possessive and obsessive themes/actions/behaviors/thoughts, reader is one second away from having a panic attack, indirect mention of death, mention of murder, implied toxic family/child abuse, very, very light choking, mention/possible stalking, Toxic marriage/relationship, Reader is so done mentally despite only living in the Argece mansion for one (1) day, Reader becomes sassy, jealousy, everyone ooc

NSFW warnings: Very suggestive, throw back to their first time, implied dacryphilia

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE THEY ARE BOTH ARE  EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS 

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DON’T INTERACT/REBLOG WITH FANDOM STUFF DNI AND PLEASE DO NOT SPAM LIKE MY POSTS

= = =

“You never once referred to Dion as your husband.” 

“P-pardon?” 

That caught you off guard. Frankly speaking, calling the man your husband aloud is stomach-turning. Not that you would admit that, or rather not that you could. The punishment you would receive from Lant if it were to ever reach his ears…

 “Well, we haven’t been married for even a week.” Carefully explaining yourself, you scan behind her to check if anyone was there. “So, I am still a bit shy about it.” you smile shyly. Blood rushes through your veins and you can hear the thundering pumping and feel it. 

Your blood becomes ice and skin slime as Roxana observes your behavior and reaction before making a move. Fresh coral lips tug into a soft smile as Roxana sees past your lie and stares into your soul. Her eyes remind you of your husband’s; glowing scarlet that curtains their true emotions and thoughts. 

Sinister or otherwise, you’re afraid to drown in them. 

“I see. That’s adorable.” She reminds you of a venus fly trap; inviting only to trap you. Even so, her ‘affection’ towards you nearly has you tripping on your feet. No. This is how she gets people. 

“Lady Roxana, I had a fun time speaking with you.” You halfheartedly bid her farewell, bowing. You plan on walking the moment you raise your head. What you don’t plan on doing, however, is returning to your chambers immediately. 

Ah, but… where would you even go? 

“Oh, right. Do you remember the way?” she blinks at you while you blink back. Your mind is a void - absolutely nothing in it. Next, she laughs. 

It sounds like bells on Christmas, a chorus in the church, that exciting and relieved feeling you get once you hear ‘shift’s over,’ from the managers. Head full of cotton, you allow yourself to simply enjoy this moment. Once the blissful laughter has ended, she offers to guide you.

Personally. 

“O-oh, it’s fine - “ you just got mind fucked - Roxana willingly go anywhere near Dion’s room? Something’s not right. You take a step back. 

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” You give her a faux smile, worried.

 Worried for what? Your safety? The possible argument that could break out between the two half-siblings? Seeing something you’re not supposed to? Or having to awkwardly stand to the side as Dion acts weirdly and creepy towards his sister?

“It’s fine; I’d like to get to know you more. We’re family now, so it’s natural.” 

We’re family now. 

“...I’ll accept then. Thank you for taking care of me.” The scream that wishes to burst from your chest, the saliva drowning your gums and mouth, the quiver that threatens to take over your body - you hold it back. You have to. 

“It’s not a problem.” 

Fear prevents you from asking about Hana. 

You follow once she starts to walk, the sound of heels hitting the floor echoing. Even her back is elegant - perfect form, back straight and head up. Carrying an air of sophistication and confidence, Roxana Argece deserves the female lead role. Her blond waves lightly bounce with each step. 

She is the definition of beauty. 

And as a dedicated fan - also driven by fear and mental stress - you will stay steps behind her. It’s for the best, it’s for your safety. Walk in her shadow but not at her side. Let the spotlight shine on her so you won’t be noticed, left alone by anyone and everyone. That is one plan for survival. 

“Oh? Sorry, I didn’t realize that you were behind me.” The fifteen year old girl waits for you to join her side after stopping, refusing to walk another inch until you do so. And your eighteen year old self  heistates - not because you feel inferior to her. God no, but because her mind is a puzzle you can’t solve. 

You don’t have the power to read her thoughts. You are only able to guess. 

This isn’t fiction anymore. 

“It’s fine. I was also lost in thought.” Busy with admiring her rather. You pick up your pace a bit if only to please her. She resumes guiding you once you’re right by her. Nothing falls into place despite observing her from the corner of your eye. You don’t sense anything.

No hostility nor mischief. There wasn’t a hint of pity on her face. Mockery was also absent, genuine joy nonexistent. 

“If I may say, you’re more lovely than I heard.” She compliments you, offering another one of those sweet smiles. And like the fool you are, you trip over both your feet and words. 

“A-ah, you’re too kind. If anything, the saying goes towards you.” Your neck feels hot and your mind is turning to mush. “Truly, you are indeed an interesting person.” 

She stops again, taken aback. But she quickly recovers before returning back to the conversation. “Interesting? You’re the first person to describe me as such.” 

“That’s a surprise. I thought many would have.” You think about it. What was the first thing everyone notices about Roxana? Her beauty, of course. 

But, as a reader, how could you ignore and forget her personality? 

…then again, this entire time you were mentally obsessing over her appearance and voice. You were no better than everyone else.

You take a turn in the ridiculously long hallway. Just for a moment, tranquility replaces the harshness of reality. Funny. 

One moment you’re afraid of her and the next she brings you peace. She’s a bit easier to deal with than Dion. Softer, gentlier, and outwards she is humane. The most sane person in this hell. 

“We’re in the main hallway.” Roxana informs, and the staircase looks familiar. When you had made your way with Hana to the dining room, you were disoriented so hard you didn’t even realize your feet were moving. 

“Up these stairs and we’ll be closer to your room.” Roxana tells you, a hint of disgust in her  voice. Aha. So she doesn’t want to go near him. Then why guide you? 

“Oh,” you say, “how nice.” How wonderful indeed, seeing the husband who left after your first night, who’s acting weird, who’s brutal personality is hidden beneath a layer of indifference, who probably stalked you while - 

Oh. 

Oh God. 

“? Are you okay? You look pale.”

Roxana’s question brings you back to reality. Blinking, you try to calm yourself before your breathing gets heavier. Your heart won’t stop rattling. Your blood won’t stop rushing. Your ears are ringing. 

Never once did you think of the possibility that Dion Argece had stalked you during the duration of your engagement. The shampoo, the sheets, that horrifying look in his eyes - 

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course. I’m just a bit… nervous.” Did he stalk you? If so, why? To drill even more fear into you, to show you that he could easily cause you harm? To silently threaten the safety of your family if you were to ever act out? 

“But yes, I’m fine. Just need a minute to gather myself.” 

Either out of curiosity or obligation, or even consideration, Roxana lets you do just that. 

- - -

You got to the door sooner than wanted. Way too soon. 

Despite the show your sister-in-law displays, she can’t hide the disgust and hatred in her eyes as she stares at the heavy double doors. You don’t blame her. Even if he acted out on orders, your husband still killed her brother. Their brother. 

He also attempts to harm her mother. Just to see her cry. 

…would he do the same to you?

“Well,” turning to her, you show a smile. It doesn’t reach your eyes. You’re too tired to even try. “Thank you for showing me the way.” 

You open the door before she could even get a word out. Shut it behind you before every single ounce of bravery evaporates, leaving you a slimy mess. Monster or not, Dion Argece is still your husband. And, as you were raised, you have to play the role of his wife. 

 His pretty, little, obedient wife. 

Only to see that no-one is in the room. 

“...haha…wow…hahaha!” like a mad woman you giggle, falling to the floor as your legs give out. Was it from stress? Relief? Does it matter? 

You’re happy - you don’t have to see his face for a bit longer. Even if it’s only for a minute, you don’t have to be in his presence. But with happiness comes realization - Dion will eventually show up. He told you such. 

“...I… I just want to sleep.” your shoulders slump as you become boneless - so much happened within the span of a few hours. Odd behavior, old memories, confusing feelings - you’re not meant for this environment. Forget about being murdered or tortured - your mind would dismantle before anything could happen. 

The floor is uncomfortable but all of your strength is gone. Were you always this weak? This hopeless? So much that you couldn’t even last a single day. Pathetic. 

“...” ahead of you is the bed. The same bed you lost your virginity on. The same bed you will have to share with your arranged husband. It was comfortable, but the fact you laid with Dion on it makes you sick. 

You’d rather sleep on the floor. 

Moonlight fills the room from the glassdoors closing off the terrace. Jeremy said you should escape. Is it worth it? Was jumping off the terrace to attempt an escape worth it? Would you survive it? 

Get caught? 

Die?

Your mind is becoming muddy. You haven’t even met with Lant yet. The worst of the worst. Yet here you are, already thinking foolishly. Of course you would be caught. Dying wasn’t something you wanted to do, though. Neither was being punished for attempting an escape. 

Your ears perk at the sound of the door opening behind you. 

“Do you find the floor more comfortable than the bed?” Low and deep, Dion doesn’t even properly greet you. Well, not like you want to either. 

You want to tell him to try it in spite. But you’re too tired to even turn around and face him, much less stand. His footsteps get closer until he’s right behind you. Your eyes shut close. 

“Wife.” he calls once, and you don’t respond. You don’t want to.

You want him to stop calling you that. You want him to stop talking to you. You want him to stop existing. 

His footsteps echo in the room before he kneels in front of you. Finally, you look at him. What type of expression are you making? 

His hand is cold as he brings it up to cup your cheek. Scarlet that glows in the moonlight that looks at you in such a strange way. Do you know what was swirling in his eyes? Do you want to?

“...Dion. Welcome back.” acknowledging him, you peel his hand away from your cheek. He already touched you the night before. That’s enough. 

Instead of leaving, he grasps your wrist. Firm enough to where you couldn’t tug your hand away. You eye it before giving up. Just for now. 

“I’m sorry, but i’m too sore from last night,” you say, assuming that sex is on his mind. Obligation, lust, routine. Either one could be the reason. 

“I’m not here for that. Nor do I want it.” 

Your head tilts to the side before he continues. “Father expects us to dine with him tomorrow.” 

“I see. Is that all?” 

“You look dead,” free hand cupping your face - again - Dion gently swipes his thumb under your eye. “Worse than when you showed up for dinner.” Hah. Is he enjoying himself?

“I’m just tired,” lying your eyes travel to your lap. “I’ll… if that’s all, then I’ll retire to bed.” You want him to leave you alone. You want to go home. 

On shaky legs you force yourself up and your husband lets go of your wrist. Your knees buck as you walk towards the bed. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. All you need to do is make it to bed. Changing clothes isn’t even on your mind - you just want to lay down. 

“You’re not going to change?” Your husband inquiries. What was wrong with this man? He barely spoke a word to you before the wedding. He left after cumming and leaving you alone, in pain and shivering like a fucking newborn foal. He didn’t spare a fucking glance at you during dinner until his siblings showed up. 

“Where is Hana?” You ignore his question, focusing on the one person who doesn’t feel like a death trap. 

“She retired for the night. On Roxana’s orders.” 

“What? Why?” you almost get whiplash from how hard and fast you turn your head to look at Dion. Your husband has been looking at you this entire time. 

“She didn’t think I’d show up here.” 

I wish you didn’t. I wish you would have stayed indifferent as you were until today.

“Oh. Then, I’ll just sleep like this.” Flopping onto the bed, you kick your heels off. The corset is still tight, and it makes it harder to breathe. But you refuse to ask him for help. 

Thankfully, your husband makes no move to. Instead you hear him walk and the sound of the closet opening. Ruffling of the clothes before it stops. From what you heard, nothing dropped to the floor, rather, heavy boots walk towards the bed until they stop right at your side. 

Amazing how being so mentally and physically worn makes a person forget their survival instincts. How it makes fear turn into annoyance and gulps become huffs. 

But annoyance becomes confusion when something soft and loose lands on your back. Did he just… throw something on you?

Why can’t your husband just pick a side? Decide to ignore you. To be nice to you. Not go back and forth like it’s a fucking swing boat. 

“Wife,” there he goes again with that dreadful title, does he not remember your godforsaken name? “You won’t fall asleep with it on. You’re unable to.” You’re one second away from tearing your hair out. One second away from strangling him. 

You can regret everything tomorrow. 

“... Will you leave me alone if I change?” Supporting yourself on your shoulders you crane your neck to look over your shoulder. Your husband only nods, not explaining why he’s so insistent on having you change. 

You’re so done that you don’t even realize he’s enjoying this side of you. Your frustration, your annoyance, all spent and directed towards him. Tomorrow, when you’re of clear mind you’ll freak out, kicking and yelling at yourself for risking making him mad, only to question why he didn’t say anything in the first place. 

“I can’t reach behind my back,” you communicate to him, waiting for his reaction. A reply that may never come. 

“Just lay face down. I’ll untie it and won’t touch you further.” You wish he would leave and maybe fall down the stairs and break something. Ah, but maybe Lant should go through that instead. Break his neck and lay there, lifeless. How would the scene play out after that?

“Alright,” you give in, preparing for a war that doesn’t exist. Dion removes whatever he threw onto your back before nimble fingers quickly and carefully undo the strings on your dress. Once he’s done with that, he works on the corset, completely gentle. 

Wait, something wasn’t right. 

“Wait, how do you know how to undo the strings so quickly?” Waiting for his answer, you don’t make an effort to watch his reaction. You’d rather not look at the man who’s walking on thin ice right now. Yes, you are going to consider chucking yourself into the nearest river tomorrow. If you could find one. 

“... I was taught.” 

“By?” 

“A teacher.” 

He leaves it at that, choosing to leave out the details. It makes you suspicious. …was he also taught those techniques by a so-called teacher too?

Considering the amount of wives Lant has, STDs most likely don’t exist in this world. Regardless, the mere thought of your husband sleeping with someone before you irritates you. Not because you were jealous or anything of that sort, no; but because it was hypercritical. You were expected to stay ‘pure,’ a virgin while -

“You are the only person I’ve touched, much less slept with.” Was he a mind reader? Or were you just that obvious?

“As your wife, I think I should meet and thank your ‘teacher.’” Exhaustion does wonders to a person. The brain doesn’t work as it should and fright is no longer a thing. Instead it’s replaced by reckless behavior and a clouded mind. 

“Although, I do wish they also taught you aftercare.” 

“That person,” Dion begins, “is someone you know but are unable to see.” Sure Dion Argece, sure. “As for afterwards… Father called for me.” 

“Mhm. For what?” Cold fingertips barely graze your spine as he looks at your skin. By now everything was untied yet the male doesn’t move. With lidded eyes he considers biting it. But he’s already breaking his promise by granting himself to graze it. 

And you’re giving him a pass, perhaps with a blurred mind. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be having this conversation, much less show something other than fear in his presence. 

“To discuss further action regarding our marriage.” 

“You know,” you yawn out, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “most people in arranged marriages would refer to the marriage as ‘this,’ not ‘ours.’” The call of sleep is tempting you. 

“I’m not most people.”

“I know. If you were then you…” 

“Then what?”

Then you wouldn’t be a product of two insane and mental people. You wouldn’t be so jaded nor affection starved to the point you consider hatred as it. You wouldn’t have killed your own siblings or live solely to make one cry. You wouldn’t wander around the earth until your sister decides to kill you. 

You change the subject. “You could have let me finish at least once. It was my first time - you’re supposed to make it a positive experience.” Why you brought this up, you’re not sure. You doubt he feels guilty about it. 

“...Should I make you now?” He traces your spine, the cold sensation making you shiver. Odd. His touch doesn’t feel as gross as earlier. You must be going mad. 

Even more so since you’re hallucinating the hint of hunger in his voice. 

“No. I hated the entire thing. Just jerk off and I’ll shove it in, or something.” The idea of his cum going anywhere near you repulses you, but you understand your role as a wife. His wife. 

“You also found my crying cute. I don’t like that, I actually hate it.” Was communication always this easy when your body is boneless and mind worn? Was he so talkative because he’s tired as well? 

“I can’t help it, “ Dion rubs circles between your shoulder blades and it makes you melt. For a split second, you forgot who you’re talking to. Where you were, who your husband was, your in-laws forgotten. For a moment, everything was ordinary and domestic. 

“I enjoy seeing you cry.” His fingers travel higher until his fingertips are at the sides of your neck, feeling your pulse. He wants to squeeze it, see you squirm. The urge to make you cry over and over again from overstimulation gets harder to resist. You’re allowing him to touch you, to see the skin of your back, to see you so vulnerable - surely, you could offer him a taste too, right? 

“...You’re not supposed to be this way.” A light chuckle comes from your chest. “You’re supposed to be brutal, selfish, unredeemable - well, you probably still are, but still. You’re not supposed to be married nor basically asking your wife to fuck.” 

You go on. 

“You’re not supposed to be this way. You’re driving me crazy, acting so different from what I know.” You’re supposed to be the character that was written in the series. Not… whatever this is.

Maybe you misunderstood his character. But you never did finish the novel and the webtoon was put on hiatus because of the shit the artist went through… you hope she’s doing better now. Way better. 

“Even Jeremy and Roxana are behaving weirdly.” You leave it at that, becoming silent. Dion doesn’t say anything. 

You decide to ask him a question that’s been nagging you ever since he mentioned his ‘teacher.’ 

“Oh, by the way… how would you react if I also had a ‘teacher’?” An undertone of teasing laced your voice - of course, you didn’t mean it. Unless it was a lover, you wouldn’t sleep with anyone outside of marriage. Although, you never did enter a relationship once prior to your engagement. 

The atmosphere becomes stiff. You suddenly remember who you’re dealing with - an Argece. Dion Argece, to be exact. 

Horror spreads throughout your body once you realize just what you asked him. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him lean over you, fingers putting slight pressure on your neck, a silent threat to choke you. He’s like a heavy cover, you can barely breathe. 

When he talks it’s lower and deeper, sinister and possessive, his breath hitting your ear as he answers. 

“Easy. I would kill them.” 

[macknshift]

THE ONE WHERE . . . I INTRODUCE Y'ALL TO LEO!

SOOOO…i have mentioned leo in like, 90 different posts atp and never actually made a "leo intro" (mainly bc i have weird feelings ab sharing him heavily to the rest of the world lol) but! i figured now would be the best time to get into explaining him to y'all.

LEO , commonly given the last name SCOTT (depends on the dr!) is actually originally the main character's love interest in a hockey romance book i've been in the process of writing. after getting #sickandtired of annoying ass book men i gave up and began drafting one of my own. the main character is literally me (i mean, for christ's sake her name is sloane mackintosh,) and eventually, i began thinking of him in other "au"s (i used to do this a lot on wattpad - i mean DRs but the term AU is usually more digestible to ppl that may not be aware of reality shifting. Anyways.) and began kind of placing him in everything. a list of the drs he is my love interest in is follows;

BETTER CR : (fc silasj2004*) the hockey romance book pretty much as a dr. small changes occur but basically he's the exact same as leo in the book lol

PARENT DR : (fc jack schlossberg. yes. i am one of those girlies. i am not ashamed! at least he has morals + a backbone y'all this could be much worse) the "backstory" is my better cr dr. i'm now a mother of 3 (amelia or mimi, aged 5, giselle or gigi, aged 4 and i'm pregnant with vincenzo, our final kid,) and it follows our life after what would be the events of the book. i sort-of made it also as like a WAG dr in a sense bc leo is a professional hockey player! (but he retires 2 years before this point in time so idk where my thought process is w this lol)

FORMULA 1 DRIVER DR : (fc pato o'ward MY!!!! mclaren man ln4 U ARE NOTHINGGGGGGG) leonardo dempsey, son of actor patrick dempsey (my forever celebrity crush ugh he's so fine) and driver for aston martin aramco f1 team under #99. i essentially took l*nce str*ll's daddy's boy backstory and gave it to leo bc he is indeed a daddy's boy. the only dr leo and i are enemies to lovers bc i'm too obsessed w him otherwise LMFAO

MARVEL DR : (fc marcello hernandez (MY MAAANNNN)) leo scott, secretly the speedster superhero 'comet'. hired by my dad as essentially a bodyguard (leo's not intimidating AT ALL idek how the hell this is supposed to work LMFAO) as comet and knows me out of costume as his sister's roommate (mj is also in every dr ever and actually is here in this cr. i can never leave her out i love her DOWN) basically marichat vibes (god i miss marichat)

POP STAR DR : (fc marcello hernandez, again) leo sinatra, nepo baby great-grandson of frank sinatra (there's a whole, incredibly large bit of lore ab this LMFAO + he's also a great-grandson in my better cr dr too bc i need my man RICH!) and Saturday Night Live cast member. basically i go on snl and immediately fall in love. i've stolen the 'unlikely couple' weekend update sketch for us & he does domingo, which is my song lol we're funny for it idk

THE FCS, in color photos:

i'm missing like, 18 other drs that i can think of but some important info about him;

he's half oaxacan mexican. i've tried my damnedness to find a way to make it obvious but when i was 'designing' him (aka drawing him out) i used jack, silas (*NOTE: he is leo's typical fc if i don't have an designated one for him) and marcello as references to make him look the most like him as i can. the fcs are kind of loose for him but i need a way to like fully visualize him. so. yeah. his 'color palette' (weird way to put it but idk how else) makes him tanner than all three of them i fear. all of the fcs i use (other than jack schlossberg but like. idk his main celebrity lookalike in the better cr is him so i kind of had to) are latino, but i feel like it never ever properly translates when i talk about him bc his name is fucking leopold scott. like. huh.

he's also tall AS FUCK lol and built like a tank lowkey (think tom welling clark kent GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY) but it's mainly bc he's a hockey player. in every vers he's like. 6'3. shortest he is is w marcello as his fc and even then he's 5'11. (note in pop star dr he gets a lot of comparisons to jacob elordi for some reason??? idk my fans are weird)

he's got big brown baby cow eyes. every. single. time. like that is this man's defining trait and you know what? i would not change that for the world lol

his position in hockey is a goalie! he uses the number #29 and plays for our college and later for the new jersey devils before being traded to the anaheim ducks. after he retires he becomes a firefighter!!!! (which is sooo hot btw)

[rockybloo]

Is Nana legitimately uncomfortable with the idea of being a mom or is she just flustered by the idea of it?

Both.

I'll start this long response off by saying that Jack and Nana DO have kids IN AN AU! They have six of them in an AU I refer to as the "Parent AU" where I can toy with the concept and dynamic of the two having offspring.

BUT in the canon of Beanstalked, and basically all the other AUs featuring the two that aren't the Parent AU, Nana doesn't want kids.

The thought results in very mixed feelings for her, with discomfort outweighing her comfort. She loves Jack and if the situation ever occurred where she was pregnant, she'd feel better knowing its his kid because he's a trustworthy and protective fella who'd never let anything happen to her. And the thought of carrying his children does make her flustered and gives her butterflies sometimes...

But she'd very much love to avoid ever having to deal with being knocked up in the first place. The idea of being pregnant, dealing with all the issues that come with pregnancy like the mood swings, cravings, weird body stuff, fluctuating energy, and the ordeal of childbirth itself is just too much for her.

Add in the fact having kids is a never ending responsibility and stressor, especially with the world she and Jack live in where literally ANYTHING can happen, and you got Nana's typically tough and stoic exterior crumble and she becomes more skittish and avoidant of the topic.

Jack doesn't really have kids on the mind either. I say "doesn't really" because he is honestly leaving the idea to Nana to decide. It's her body and her decision ultimately. After all these years, dude is still ecstatic that she decided to date him at all. So having kids isn't an end goal for him, he just wants a happy life with his future wife.

I decided that Jack and Nana don't have kids in their canon timeline because it's a rarity to see a male and female in a romantic relationship that don't want or have children. And I grew up constantly having couples in animate movies and series I watch have kids since it was basically the default. Even if they didn't have kids in the first movie, you could bet your ass that the sequel either had the couple from the first dealing with children or they toss in a last minute twist where the girl reveals she's pregnant.

And around the time I was plotting out the ending of Beanstalked, a lot of the shounen I was into or knew about, were ending with couples having babies (typically as a set up to a spin off focusing on a next gen situation).

As someone who doesn't want kids at all, I think it's important to have a couple who also make it apparent they don't want kids. It's a POV that, AGAIN, isn't that frequent of an occurrence in media featuring a m/f relationship. And Red Beans is a deeply personal OC ship for me, which is why they are like...the only ship out of the main three that don't have kids in their canon. Pluto and Nova craft Comet, and Sweetheart and Bitterbat wind up giving birth to 13 whole little monsters.

Jack and Nana don't have an kids in their canon future because I want their love for each other to be enough for them to be happy together.

[ririabeam]

𝗕𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗗𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

—

I drew this to cope with my birthday depression.

Took 5 months. I also wanted to beat my old manhwa from 5 years ago.

-- Long post ahead! It's my WIPS and thought process. --

Junko is my comfort character as she's the only character I know who hates her birthday.

(Screenshot from Ultimate Talent Development Plan)

I know she’s a villain who has done a lot of bad things, but finding comfort and liking her doesn’t mean I excuse her actions.

A lot of painful feelings went into this, even in Mukuro's perspective so please respect it 🙏🏻

—

- WIPS & Thought Process -

—

Story Script Writing:

A lot of thoughts and feelings went into my script.

-I removed sentences like “For giving me cake!” as I wanted to do more showing than telling.

-“Why do you seem so happy Mukuro?” is changed to “Why are you smiling like that, Mukuro?” as I wanted the sentence to focus more on the thing Ryoko noticed. Mukuro would definitely be happy celebrating Ryoko’s birthday, and the new sentence would help to understand how Ryoko interpreted that Mukuro was more happy than usual.

-“good day” is changed to “great day” for greater emphasis of Ryoko’s happiness.

-A pun is done on “live”, I wanted this sentence to convey the complicated feelings of Junko. She doesn’t want to “live” a “fabricated happy lie” as it goes against her honesty moral. But there’s also a part of her that doesn’t want to kill Ryoko, as she doesn’t want to “leave” this “fabricated happy lie”. She wants to be happy as Ryoko, even if it’s a lie.

This part is a big reference and a reply to Danganronpa Zero.

The background texts are quotes from Danganronpa Zero.

Junko saying “What the hell? Hope?” is a reference to Danganronpa Zero’s ending:

Reading Danganronpa Zero feels like it’s saying something to me: “We are trapped in a loop of despair and hope.” and I’m replying with this part as a “Yes, I agree.”

Junko being confined in her mind is another thing I like about her too. 

I feel the moment we are born, we are trapped, that’s why I ended this comic with “I wish I wasn’t born.”

The moment I’m born, I’m unwanted and worthless, a monster.

I’m trapped in my mind, in other people’s judgements and expectations, and there’s no way out.

I can’t just turn invisible and there’s always something for people to judge and hate. And that hurts when it’s something important to you or you can’t change about yourself.

But even with all the pain, I think of hope to carry on and it’s a loop to fight to live.

I think I make progress with healing but then I’d think wth I’m made to work on this. Cause my life is already scripted from the moment I was born— I’m scripted to have this trauma, this story made my personality and character so in the end I’m still trapped.

So that’s another reason why I find Junko a comforting character and why I feel birthday depression.

I thought of the story first before I thought of the characters who would play it, so I had to make sure it’s in character. 

Things like if Mukuro would say “AU” or “Alternate Universe”. I felt since she spent a lot of time with Junko who knows a lot about these things, she would have heard of this and know the short form term for it. Especially since she had to be Junko at some point.

Since it’s a story about Birthday Depression, my thoughts instantly went to Junko then to Mukuro. It was the perfect story theme to write for them especially cause they are the despair sisters. 

Plus, they are two characters I can feel their struggles and feelings deeply for, so I can write and draw deeply for this story.

Birthdays tend to be happy, and I felt the only kinda right time I can talk about my birthday depression would be on their day.

I felt suffocated and lost myself over the past few years, as I felt I needed to be happy no matter what. When I opened up about sadness and my struggles, people would hate and invalidate me for it. I feel my art reflects that, I don’t like looking back at my old art. It lacked my true feelings, but I feel I’m finding myself again in my Mirai Nikki and Danganronpa art.

For the past few years I tried to celebrate my birthday to try to make myself happy about it but in the long run it didn’t work. I appreciate everyone who celebrated with me all these years still, but now I’m trying to overcome it in another way— facing despair instead of trying to cover it with hope.

I think I’ve learnt a lot about myself and understood myself better through this comic’s process.

Layout Plan:

You can see that things were changed in the final from my layout plan X’D haha

In page 2, Mukuro’s 1st panel is changed so composition is better.

In page 3, after seeing Ryoko as Junko, Mukuro is reaching out her hand instead of placing it on her chest. I wanted it to feel like Mukuro wants to reach out to Ryoko at that moment, like trying to get a wish she knows isn’t real.

In page 5, binary code is replaced with texts from Danganronpa Zero’s story so it reinforces the idea of “a life already fully planned out”.

Lining Process:

I struggled with this part the most as anatomy and poses is not my strong point.

I asked my friend, Setsuya, for help with my poses and redrew the same pose many times for this comic. I really wanted to convey the feelings for this comic right especially since it’s very personal to me. Big thanks to her for helping me so much, I feel I improved a lot from this! 🥺 <3

1st panel of 1st page is the hardest to draw, I’m laughing at my first try of Mukuro who looks like she’s forced to be there 😂:

With suggestions from my friend of how to improve, I tried to improve everyone’s poses:

^ 

Mukuro’s pose was changed to look more fondly at Ryoko, happy to be there and relaxed haha.

Ryoko’s pose was changed to look more delighted and happy about the cake (Which helps to convey the line I removed from my script, “For giving me cake!”)

Matsuda’s pose was changed to look a bit more annoyed about still cares for Ryoko (shown by him still looking at her from the corner of his eyes even though his head is turned away)

And haha I forgot Ryoko’s legs can be seen due to the table frills being transparent, so I had to go back and draw her legs X’D

For this panel, a lot of thoughts went into what things I should place, how they are placed, and what kind of items it should be e.g.

I wanted it to tell the story of what happened before all the characters gathered here, what their feelings are towards each other, and how they are like as individual characters :3

I was thinking Mukuro and Matsuda love Ryoko so much they spoil her by buying a giant cake haha X’D So that’s why there’s a plastic knife instead of a real knife— to show that the cake was bought.

I think they decided not to cook as they would fight about it… (idk if they know how to cook tbh)

I chose strawberry shortcake cause white = purity and red strawberries = blood X’D Kinda like Ryoko-

I was about to draw neatly cut and placed cakes but I think... Ryoko is bad at cutting… X’D so the cakes are lying flat with the cream a bit splattered on their plates.

The table cloth, spoons and plates are all elegant and neat cause Mukuro prepared it for Ryoko :3 I don’t think Matsuda would be able to do that since he seems to not be a tidy person X’D but I do think he probably decided these items and arrangement with Mukuro :3

Here’s a random joke Matsuda + My roughly drawn Promised Neverland manga cover before I squeezed it on to his book haha:

I was going to make Matsuda read Megaman at first like in canon, but I felt making him read “Promised Neverland” was fitting as it helped me bring some foreboding to my happy setting. Like the promise never landed cause I’m going to break my happy promise/premise X’D 

I felt it was fitting too as Matsuda wasn’t met with a good fate like the Promised Neverland children.

Plus I feel Matsuda would like a genre like that, or perhaps he wouldn’t mind anything as he is a laid back character.

This pose was changed so Ryoko would look more reserved and have less of a romantic vibe? Cause the intertwined fingers felt a bit more romantic and off to me, as it wasn’t the vibe I was going for.

Feat. The paper sketch is my friend helping me with anatomy X’)

While writing sentences and drawing for Mukuro’s scenes, I was thinking of experiences I’ve gone through before and the feelings I felt then. 

The way I wished things could be different. I kept having dreams of happy endings I wanted to happen but then I would wake up to the tragic reality and cry.

The way I was suffering on the inside but still held on to this thing I perceived as “Hope” even though it was killing me and could be seen as “Despair” in another POV/or I already knew it was bad for me but it was also my only hope.

Symbolisms for this panel:

Carrying a candle-> holding on to hope/a wish.

Candle not blown out -> Mukuro's wish didn't come true (blowing out a candle means bringing your wish on smoke to the good spirits above to grant your wish) , her hoping leading to despair.

My pose was changed here as it is more natural for the hands to be like that, plus the other hand holding on to the arm greater empathise how Mukuro is holding on strongly to this candle.

The candle is melting and the wax is getting on her hand, burning her. Still, she refuses to let go which empathises how much she needs to hold on to this. Even as she grabs her own hand causing more pain from bleeding, she still needs this “hope.” 

Some colour tests for this panel:

I was considering blue fire because blue fire is stronger than red.... but then if it is a wish of hope, I was considering yellow too... but maybe it would be too happy? 

Mukuro is feeling sad and wishful in this panel. 

I ended up going for blue fire which gives off yellow light for a purposeful contradictory colouring— to show that what is perceived as despair can also be perceived as hope.

^ Some exploration for the poses here so I can figure out which conveys what I wanted to convey the best. I like the poses where Mukuro is reserved happy, Ryoko is more playful(?), Matsuda is more relaxed.

^ Exploration for the Junko slash pose. Ended up just going back to the original pose I had planned for the layout.

I found this super hard to draw as I’m not good at anatomy, drew it quite a few times and deleted as I couldn’t draw it right. In the end, my friend drew that pose reference which helped me get it right in final!

Reasons why I chose the original layout pose in the end:

Strangle pose-> I don't want to strangle Ryoko, not because it’s too violent or graphic or that she's 🥺uwu and I can’t kill her-

I just feel Junko doesn’t completely hate Ryoko... a part of her wants to live a happy life after all

But she can’t, that's why the words "A fabricated happy lie, I don’t want to live this!"

It's a lie and it's against her value (honesty).

Sword slashing pose-> Junko is directly jumping towards and has no hesitation slashing Ryoko. This feels off cause it’s too violent which doesn’t convey the message I want.

Sword is also stronger than knife, which would hurt more.

When I see the knife and how the body is twisted a bit away in the original layout pose, it works better as I can see some control to the slash so it's not full on hatred and anger towards Ryoko.

Random full drawing of this Junko before I cut it off for composition.

I find it easier to get the anatomy right if I draw the full thing and draw through everything.

^ I’m super sad at my failure for this :,) I didn’t intend it to be like that 😭 

It’s too hard for me to draw, so my friend helped me again and I chose a pose and studied her pose and drew the whole pose again:

I chose the 1st pose because the angle of the faces there best shows both character’s facial expressions and the emotions are the most important for this scene.

Plus 3/4 angle is better than the flat side view one as it helps make this scene more dramatic!

My friend helped me with the position of Junko’s tie:

reached max images for this post so,

WIPS continued in another post

[poppitron360]

*raises hand slowly* Did… Did anyone want some fluffy Grace Siblings set to the backdrop of my Married Valgrace AU??

— — — — — — — — —

“Do you need any help with that?” Jason asked, looking down at where his sister was crouching, “Reyna’s pretty good at this stuff having lived on Circe’s island-“

“I can handle it on my own,” Thalia said, her tone not quite irritable, but a little flustered. She fumbled the long sheet of silk that hung around Jason’s legs, trying to hoist it up in the customary fashion.

She took a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket and studied it. It was a printed-out screenshot of a Pinterest board, taken from a demigod-safe computer in a New Rome Public Library.

“I’ve fought countless untold horrors,” she muttered to herself, “I’ve slain the unslayable. I’ve completed feats no mortal could possibly accomplish. I should be able to handle a frickin’ toga.”

Despite her frustrations, Thalia was doing very well- all things considered.

She went about pinning down the garment, smoothing the folds perfectly crisp, tucking and pressing the delicate fabric- she was being uncharacteristically gentle as she ran her fingers along the gold embroidery on the hem.

Jason helped where he could- holding the silk in place with his fingers, directing Thalia on where and what to adjust. Eventually they fell into the rhythm of it. There was a quiet sadness to this ritual. Jason could feel his sister grieving for all the moments she had lost with him. All the school uniform collars never smoothed down. All the medals never pinned to lapels. All the ties never tied. She was mourning the loss of a childhood. One they could’ve had together. Where she got to be a big sister.

She clipped the gold broach at Jason’s shoulder to hold the silk in place, and stood back to admire her handiwork.

Jason turned so he was standing in front of the mirror and adjusted the garment.

“Does it look okay?” Thalia asked, glancing at her reference pictures, “I’ve never even worn a toga before, you have more experience than me.“

“It looks great,” Jason assured her.

He turned to his sister. There was so many things he wanted to tell her. So many emotions it was hard to put into words.

Thalia reached a tender, almost motherly hand up to Jason’s cheek, the back of it brushing against the stubble on his chin.

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” Thalia whispered, “It seems you came into this world only yesterday, and now… gods… married?”

She cupped his chin in her palms, and stood on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead against his. A little spark of electricity jumped between their hair. “I am so proud of you, Jason.”

Funny- Jason had worked his whole life trying to make people proud. His father. His friends. Camp Jupiter. They’d awarded him Praetorship and Pontifex Maximus, given him medals and wreaths and titles- but never had anyone said “I’m proud of you.”

And here Thalia was, staring in wonderment of him just standing there, just… existing. Jason hadn’t done anything to make her proud, and yet she was proud all the same. He’d worked his whole life for the approval of others only to realise the love he needed could be given to him unconditionally, by Thalia, by Leo, by the hundreds of friends and found family waiting out there- all for just being himself.

“Oh gods, I’m gonna cry-“ Jason said, hiding his face and wiping his eyes.

Thalia rubbed his back. “Let it out, brother,” she told him.

He fell into her shoulder and buried his nose in her padded suit jacket, letting his face sink into the warmth of his sister’s earthy smell.

“I love you.”

“Love you too,” she patted his arm, soothingly, “Now we should probably get going. You’ve got a man to marry.”

“You’re right,” Jason stood up. Thalia handed him a tissue, which he accepted and used to wipe his eyes.

Then he took a deep breath, and grabbed the door handle.

— — — — — — — — —

So! You all apparently loved my Married Valgrace AU. And if you didn’t… I loved my Married Valgrace AU. This is another little vignette set in the same world, or in any other world where Jason gets married! The fact that it’s Leo he’s marrying only comes up once, so feel free to swap it out for whoever you want in your head. This is just a short little bit of Grace Siblings fluff to keep the gremlins fed while I’m away for the holidays. Their siblingship is everything to me.

Also, for the record, Leo is doing the exact same thing with Nyssa in the other room.

Basically tagging my usual tags + anyone who left a nice comment on the Married Valgrace AU:

@ottpopfic @ginnyluna @groverapologist @echo-stimmingrose @demigod-shenanigans @lavenderfairiez @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @euryvices-deactivated20241019 @123letsgobestie @kaleidoskuls @fairytalesociology @four-leafed-queer-gal @child-of-helios @green-tea217 @puzzled-pegasus @ollieisanerd @twomanyfandomshelp @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @keefessketchbook @xixovart @frayna-of-the-hollow @via-rant @daonedaonlyskh @hadeslegacyhephgirl @siimplyapril @pjowasmy1stfandom

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

A Snowy Wolf Pup

Paring: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 5.2k

Warnings: mild angst, reference to past abusive relationship, implied stalking, lots of fluff

Notes: Just a little flash forward holiday drabble for the modern!au, I'm sorry it's so short. Previous Main Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Catelyn wrapped her cardigan around her tighter as she descended the stairs. The morning was cold, and it seemed overnight as if a very light sprinkle of snow had turned into a heavy snowfall that now covered the property. As she had passed down the second floor, she knew her children would all still be fast asleep this early. It was rare southern holidays and northern holidays matched up, but there was one week in the peak of approaching winter that did it. And for a house which followed both faiths, it was a busy week with many late nights for her children.

Only noticing one specific bedroom door left slightly open and empty looking, she narrowed her brows as she realized now four people in the house were awake and yet there wasn’t a sound to indicate where they were. Though, already finding the kitchen having been in use, it was clear despite the early hour those four had been awake for some time. Not bothering to search far yet, she only begun preparing coffee when the front door opened.

Her eyes trailing over only to be greeted by Ned as he put something on the smaller table off to the side of the kitchen. A fond smile coming over her as she shook her head, “Every year I believe more and more you can sense when it snows in your sleep.” A deep chuckle left him, passing her by but not before leaving a kiss to the back of her head to grab a mug of his own. Bringing up your name she only asked in a casual manner, “Was she and the others already awake at whatever hour you woke up?”

Ned had a fond smile as he gestured his head somewhat to the other side of the house for her to take a look. Outside passed the glass door leading to the porch was even more heavy snow, but this one unlike the view from her bedroom window of the clear front year, the back was not so left pristine.

Four figures were outside, and from the looks of it, you all had been for some time now.

Kneeling down, your face was twisted into a playful frustration as you were in a fight of your life to keep the toy rope. Ghost was braced in front of you with a deep growl as he tried to pull back on the toy as you did the same against him. It had turned into a game of who would pull the other into the snow, and Ghost was happy to indulge. His fur made him look almost blending into the snow around you even as it continued to fall, save for his red eyes. You amusingly knew any else would feel fear at a direwolf growling as it tried to tear something from your grip, but you knew if you simply let go and gave up now, Ghost would stop and whine for you to keep playing.

It wasn’t the only sounds though. If you looked further down the backyard, you could see two mops of inky black curls, only one much shorter to the ground, as both attempted to make a snow castle.

Even now it never failed to astound you how quickly little Eddard had started to look exactly like his father. He had your green eyes, but everything else around him was so distinctly Jon and watching them side by side now was only ever more prominent. His hair was growing very quickly, quicker then you could recall Shireens hair at just a little over one year old. Just another thing he got from Jon, luckily. All of the best genes coming from his father.

Little Eddard had seen snow before, but only light flakes and sprinklings that typically covered thin across the grass in the morning and melted by the evening. This was the first time a true snowfall happened since he was born, and the moment he saw it as he woke up he wanted to go outside, and neither of you could bear to deny him that.

Jon had jested that he was only behaving long enough to eat breakfast because you were there, but even then the little one fidgeted in his highchair as his wide, bright eyes kept looking to the kitchen window where he could still see fat snowflakes falling down in droves.

Still barley able to walk, Jon had stayed close with him the moment you put him down onto the ground as he begun to excitedly crawl through the snow. Father and son now building a snow castle, you could somewhat hear Jons deep rasp even from here explaining that their home used to be a castle. Asking his son ideas on what it looked like. Never getting even slightly impatient as he got too excited and knocked down some of the towers trying to help. Jon could get him to giggle each time instead of little Eddard wanting to say sorry, “I don’t think that looked right either.” He would say whenever the wide look came on Eddards face as if to say sorry.

They hadn’t make significant progress for how long you both had been out here, but you were fine with that. Before now, you had just been sitting back and watching them as you ran your gloved hand over Ghosts fur before he too got rowdy. Running to the other side of the yard only to come back with rope in his mouth and you read his intent clearly. Not noticing the sound of the glass door sliding open and shut, or spotting as Ned leaned against the banister along the porch steps watching with a fondness at the sight.

Sensing Ghost gaining the upper hand, you tried to lean back a bit more better leverage. Only, a grand mistake was made, guessing incorrectly at how stable of a position you already were in and the moment Ghost tugged the rope once more, did it slide from your gloves grasp. The direwolf celebrating in victory didn’t even keep it, barking loudly and playfully before all but tackling you to the ground trying to lick your face. A laugh came over you, making breathing a struggle let alone getting the large, heavy canine off of you.

The commotion had grabbed Jon and little Eddards attention, Jon knowing Ghost was only playing grinned at the sight, but his son was one, and didn’t quite understand. His voice high pitched and worried sounding did your head turn to the side as did Ghosts at the sound of little Eddard shouting “Mama,”

Flopping more onto the ground, he immediately tried to crawl over as if to push the direwolf off you himself, but Jon had a better idea it seemed. Calling over, “Ghost, ease up.” Did the direwolf give you space again as you pushed up to pet him, muttering what a trouble maker he was. Only for little Eddard to shout again, frustrated at crawling was going to make it so far away. Quickly kneeling over to the not so far his son had gotten, Jon gently grabbed him and helped stand him up, Eddards face twisted upset as he pointed at you. His eyes screaming the message that said you needed help.

But Jon held him gently on his two feet, a warmth in his voice as he muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “How about you show your mother how much we’ve been practising, yeah?” Looking over at him with wide eyes, Jon pressed a kiss to his forehead before pulling back. “You’ll make her so proud if you walk over to save her life.”

That did little Eddard in. Jon knew possibly more then you did, how much your son wanted to do things like a grown up to make you proud. You were proud no matter what, but he always wanted to do things for you much like Jon. His hand coming up to his mouth almost in a nervous habit as he looked between you and Jon at the distance he’d have to walk on those waddling little legs. But Jon nodded, not yet taking his hands away so he felt the support. You pushed up, not standing but more laying half way across the ground so you could stand up easily at any time, but upright that your son understood you wanted him to come to you.

Jon learned he was more eager to learn to walk if Jon was there to do the encouraging, and the prize for walking a certain distance was to walk over into your arms, but this was the longest he’d have to try yet to make it. Nodding at Jon, it was all up to him now to start walking. Jons eyes gazed up passed you, spotting his father watching from the porch before letting his gaze turn back to his son. One last whisper for now only him to hear, “Don’t be scared if you can’t walk the whole way, your mother will be proud that you even tried.”

Nodding back at him, did he finally start to move. He took his time, waddling along and the snow didn’t help much with quickness. But perhaps it did his balance, having to focus a lot more to wade through it then walk without obstacle. Pushing now more up to sit on your heels with your hands waiting on your thighs, you watched little Eddard as intently as he watched you. Not wanting to look at his feet but make it to you no matter what.

If you were to ask him, this was the most perilous adventure, the highest of stakes he had ever faced in his short life. It was perhaps a little over five feet of a distance, but he was so small it looked double that in distance. Jon stayed crouched as he watched you both, his eyes flickering up once more to glance at his own father watching. He could read the signs that he wanted to speak to Jon about something but was waiting until this moment played out. Sometimes it intimidated him, wondering if his father was judging his own skills as a father, but if he only focused back on you both then he could ignore it for if only right now.

Closer and closer little Eddard waddled over, clearly growing tired and your own view could tell he was getting upset that he might not make it. Looking up at Jon, he read you as if you had asked him outloud. A smile and a nod, you leaned forward a little bit, prompting him to speed up as you let your arms hold out to entice him. “Come on, sweet boy, just a few steps more.”

A sound came from him, both you and Jon knew it too well. If he fell now and didn’t get to you, he might cry. Your poor son, only twelve months old put so much pressure on himself to do things for you and make you proud even though all he really wanted was to cuddle in your arms. Watching him speed up, your eyes trailed how much his feet were dragging.

Moving the second you knew he was going to trip, you pushed yourself forward just enough so that little Eddard fell into your own arms. A loud gasp coming from you, and truly, barley having to exaggerate in the slightest as you picked him up. Standing upright, you held him in the air a bit from you in a celebration, giggling right away as his hands tried wacking at you wanting to be held closer. Pulling him into your arms, close, you pressed a kiss to the top of his head as he cuddled close right away. Shifting so you held him more by your side so you could run a free hand over his thick curls he asked with bright eyes, “Mama?” He never said many words at once, but you could read him perfectly, his bright eyes were actually asking you if he did it.

A soft smile came over you, pulling him back to kiss the top of his head again before pulling back, “Yes you did, sweet boy.” Spotting as Jon came over, a hand running over little Eddards curls he muttered that he would be right back, nodding behind you. Half turning to see Ned standing and watching, before turning back. “Take your time.”

Instantly you carried little Eddard over to the snow castle, sitting him down as Ghost came up to his other side while you knelt there, asking him questions about his work so far, which he happily babbled some words, and mostly nonsense about what was what.

Jon approaching the steps gave his father a look to ask what was it, only to feel a concern rise in him as he only nodded towards the house. “I’ll show you.” Both kicking snow off their boots before taking them off, as if sensing Catelyn ready to round the corner telling them not to get the floor dirty and wet again. It sat on the couch nearby, a small wrapped gift with a card on top. Unopened, as Ned specified it came that way. “I haven’t opened it yet, I thought it was best if you were here to see it too.”

That feeling increased, first picking up the card he read in silence. Knowing his face gave it away when Jon put it together, who had sent this. An anger rose in his body, warming his blood as he felt himself, muscles and jaw tense up. “How?” Looking over to Ned, “How can he be allowed to send this when-”

Cutting him off, Ned already knew what Jon was going to ask. “All the information was sent through his father, so on paper it doesn’t appear as if he sent it. And there was no restriction for him not being allowed to speak to her.”

Low and cutting an edge, Jon felt no need to hide how he felt about this. His father knew too well that anger. “So he cheats, and finds a way to send something to her. Why?” If Jon looked more to the side he’d be able to see you and his son with bright smiles as you guided his hands around working on the castle yourselves. Out of all the time, his son had just reached his first nameday too. If his jaw could break from the force which he was clenching it tightly, it would’ve.

Helped no further by his fathers answer. “I don’t think it’s meant for her. He knows she lives here now with us, and we wouldn’t let her get a gift from him this way. I think he meant it for you.” The unspoken was understood between them, it was meant as a mock, whatever this was in the gift. The card already was barley anything, a lament about missing you and how much you’ve changed since you last saw each other since there was no chance he had not heard the news a year after you gave birth.

Slowly putting the card down, his eyes darkening did Jon pull at the ribbon keeping the modestly wrapped gift sealed. Every step as he did so felt it took ages, trying to contain whatever it was he’d find only to not be impressed. In fact, Jon could feel himself shake at his audacity. Ned leaned over and he could hear his father exhale roughly, knowing he matched in emotion. The rage in Jon made him want to drive to the Dreadfort now and do what he should’ve done the day they all saw you with a black eye.

A tiny pair of shoes. That’s all it was. A card for you, a gift for your son and all of the audacity of Ramsay Bolton to mock Jon by reaching out to you this time of year. He didn’t touch nor pick them up in any way, staring at them before all but roughly slamming the lid back onto the box. Looking at his father, a darker look shining in his own, both quiet wolves understood that this better be Ramsay’s only trick otherwise it would get very difficult to hold Jon back. “Don’t show this to her.” Both knew he meant you. “I don’t care what you do with it, but I don’t want her knowing he sent this, any of this. It’ll only upset her.”

Picking it up, the timing was lucky beyond belief as Ned just walked out of sight when he heard it. A hand running over his mouth trying to bring himself back down, did Jon hear the sliding door open and close. He loved how you looked. Snow still fresh in your hair as you held your son in your arms, snow in his curls that matched Jons. Only little Eddard was snuggled close to you with an adoring look he was fully aware Jon gave you all the time. Clearing his throat, he hoped you wouldn’t pick up on any of the tension he tried to now shake off.

Forcing himself to move to you as you carefully stepped out of your own boots Jon approached looking at his son. “Too cold, pup?” His son shook his head adamantly with a more serious, stern look on his face. “No?”

Little Eddard looked over at you, “Mama cold.” Your eyes closed for a moment as you huffed out a bemused sigh. Looking back with a playfully narrow eyed look, you muttered that you were fine staying out there as long as he wished, but little Eddard was not having it. “No.” Turning to look at Jon, and you must have known your word would lose against both of you. “Daddy. Mama cold.”

Looking you over, there was a shiver about you that begged to warm up, running a hand along your neck to cup your cheek, his hand inside from the warmth seeped into your cold skin as you leaned somewhat into his touch. Stepping close, Jon tilted your head better to look up at him, watching your eyes yet flutter closed as he leaned in. Letting his nose gently trace down the bridge of yours as he rasped, “You feel cold.” Opening your mouth to protest, Jon grinned. Sliding the hand on your cheek around to behind your neck, he pulled you forward more to press his lips to your forehead before resting his against yours. “Sorry, darling. You’ve been outvoted.”

Sighing deeply, you looked between them. “Honestly you two baby me,” turning specifically to little Eddard with a grin, “More then I baby you.” Leaning in very close it made him try to back away with a giggle before you matched Jons actions to you but to the baby, kissing his forehead. “Come on, let’s get you changed to something warm instead of this.”

Sometimes Jon had an urge to tell you that you should put him down and let him crawl when at least you both were here on the carpeted part of the house, but he struggled too. Telling you to put him down felt mean, it felt controlling even though he had heard Ned and Catelyn tell you that. But little Eddard snuggling into your arms, it felt unfair to deprive him of being so close to his mother, something Jon knew he never had. But too, it was the sight for him. The love of his life carrying the son you created together in your arms, it was something Jon would never get tired of, and he knew it.

You has gotten little Eddard changed into warmer clothes by the time he joined you both upstairs. Kneeling in front of the bed where you had him sitting, you were running a towel over his curls to dry them. “You can say you enjoy the cold all you like, until the day you get sick being out there for so long.”

Little Eddard shook his head, you simply working around him moving on you without bothering to gently tell him to sit still for you. Hearing his footsteps approach, you half turned to look up at him in time for Jon to sit gently on the bed beside his son, picking him up and sitting him cozy in his lap now as he looked down at him. Your own position not having changed, Jons eyes narrowed at you playfully. “What?”

Glancing to his hair and back, you knew the snow had much like in his sons curls, had begun to melt. Instead of saying a word, you pushed yourself upward, sighing as you climb behind both of them on the bed, kneeling being Jon as you didn’t bother saying a word as you gently ran the towel over him as well before water dripped all over the sheets.

A small giggle could be heard from in front of Jon, as well as is voice low and playful, “Whats so funny?” Little Eddard didn’t respond from what you could hear, but a giggle did get let out and almost a sort of yell to make him stop, Jon no doubt tickling him for laughing at him. As you leaned back on your heels, folding the towel before you bothered moving to get up, Jon turned halfway to look at you. “He gets this from you.”

About to gently place it on the side table, you turned back with your mouth partially open. Half blindly tossing it now as you moved back, your voice slightly raised as he could surely detect. “From me? If I’m not mistaken, I’m the one who when we were children, you kept referring to as a goody two shoes.” Only muttering with a smirk that he changed his mind, you mockingly huffed. Attempting to move up off the bed, only for Jon to move quicker.

Picking up the baby in one hand, holding him high on his chest as his other snatched at the edge of your sweater and yanked. Pulling you back into his lap with you giving out a small yelp, before landing in his warmth, and your son giggling endlessly. Instead of addressing Jon, you turned to the little one. Cupping both his cheeks gently you kissed his forehead and nose, muttering lowly but with a playful smile, “I think this is proof where you get being so silly from after all.” Pressing one more kiss to each of his cheeks as he giggled. Grabbing gently at your hair so you wouldn’t back away.

Jon didn’t bother trying to stop him, instead he only shifted on the bed enough so that you could rest against him more comfortably as he moved little Eddard to be more carried by you. The baby’s very small hand now clutching your loose hair as he held it close to his mouth, something he had done since nearly the first few days we was born. A sort of soothing act Maester Luwin had said it was, like one would clutch a stuffed animal or toy, but with something much closer to his mother.

Holding him closer, Eddard snuggled more into your shoulder. Jon ran his hand gentle through inky black locks that so closely resembled his, as the thought turned to words slipping from your mouth quietly before you could stop him. “At least he looks like you.” Jon hummed a question, your own head leaning back slightly into his, feeling Jon almost nuzzle into your hair as his son snuggled his face more into your neck and shoulder, all the action of the morning catching up to his small stature. “Eddard. At least if he’s like me, he looks just like you.”

Sighing into your hair, Jon pressed his lips to where they merely sat, as his other hand ran up and down your waist. “What does that mean? At least he looks like me?”

You didn’t say it with malice, nor insecurity or judgment, but perhaps to Jon you should’ve known he’d have taken it as such. “I’m glad. I’d rather he look like you any day then me.” Holding your waist a bit tighter, Jons voice was low, and a bit on edge as if needing to jump to your own defence as he muttered that there was nothing wrong with the baby looking like you.

It wasn’t easy, still shaking off those feelings that you’ve changed since giving birth to him. The feeling as if Jon just may look at others and wonder when you’d start looking more like then again. He never expressed the thought, but it permeated for weeks when you first came home from the hospital what a mess you must look in comparison. Sometimes now it flared up, and Jon was always on the defence whenever you might even trickle into such a train of thought again.

But, you knew he wouldn’t suspect what you meant, nor did you want to explain it plainly for his own ego. You simply said it, because looking down at your son, it was so clear. “It’s like a part of you is still here, even when you have to be away for so long.” Jon went quiet, and you knew him having to still work so many days away at a time in some instances was difficult on him. “He looks just like you, and no matter what you claim, he acts just like you. Even if you’re away, he still has me and I still have him, and in a way it’s like you never really left.”

He said nothing, nor did you expect him too. He wasn’t a man of easy words when emotions ran deep and by the long, shaking exhale he let out, there was some rawness in how he felt about that. Not that you meant anything specific by it, but when you had spent the better part of the morning looking at both of them together, it was hard to keep your mind off of how you may have gifted him a child he always wanted, but he gifted you something too. A way to never truly feel alone without him anymore.

You weren’t sure how long you both sat there. Eddard not quite asleep, but his eyes drooping and drifting off as if relaxed too much to care about anything else. And with Jons warmth behind you, it made the urge to get up no faster. But, eventually one by one doors opened and voices filled the hallway outside Jons room before directing downstairs.

Leaning back into him, Jon pressed a kiss down to your neck, almost hiding against you on the other side of your neck and shoulder as Eddard, without even realizing. The sounds of breakfast downstairs starting, as meal times always made the echo in the Stark house loud, Jon muttered, “Do you want to join them? You didn’t have much earlier.”

You thought about it, and if he was suggesting it you knew Jon also could likely be hungry but you instead pulled back to run your hand over little Eddards curls. “What about you, sweet boy? Do you want to join everyone for breakfast?” Shaking his head no, you heard and felt Jon chuckle. A smile came over you, pushing your sons curls from out of his face more. “How about we get you something to eat in the kitchen, just the three of us?” He nodded at that.

You both knew why. When at proper meals, he hated being in the highchair. Only one of you could pay attention to him at a time, and you’d take turns so the other could eat and it never felt like a meal between you three that way. Whereas in the kitchen, you and Jon were much more liberal about where he could eat, and many times, he’d sit on your lap and eat as you would reach around his food to pick at yours.

Jons grip dropped to your waist, prompting you to stand up as he helped you so your hold on the baby didn’t jostle. Pausing, he looked at his son still grasping your hair. “Your mother won’t be able to eat if you’re holding onto her the whole time?” Shaking his head, as if your son was saying no he didn’t want to let go, but Jon knew. Walking to the other side of the room where his crib was, you turned to watch with a smile.

You knew exactly what he picked, and no matter how much he had now, toys or otherwise, it was still little Eddards favourite. His first toy. Jon gently cupped the side of his sons head, running a thumb over his cheek as he leaned to meet his eyes, holding up the small toy wolf plush in his other hand. “What about if your mother carries you, and you carry him? Will you let go of her hair then?”

Eddard slowly nodded, and even more slowly let your hair free as he grabbed at the wolf plush and pulled it very close to his chest, almost hiding his face in it comfortingly. Jon kissed the top of his head, before tilting your chin up to him. His thumb lightly brushed over your bottom lip before he met your lips in a kiss.

Sighing out right away, Jon captured the breath and didn’t release your kiss just yet. Instead, until you held no more breath to give, did he let go. Nothing but a slow, and chaste kiss that yet somehow left your lips tingling a bit, your eyes fluttered open far after Jons eyes opened to watch you. The words slipping from your lips without any hesitation. “I love you.”

Jon kissed you once more, muttering against them as his hot breath traced over your skin. “I love you too, darling.” Not another word was needed as he guided you both out of the hall and down the stairs.

Guiding you to the kitchen, Jon just barley could see the table everyone was sat around. Only catching Robbs curious eyes with a shake of his head to answer the silent question if he was joining. Only when Robb noticed little Eddard snuggled into your front did he nod with a smile. He knew too well not to interrupt his nephew when he was this warm and snuggling against you.

You stood in the back out of Jons way for a bit, his insistence to let him handle it as you muttered to the baby. “You did so well this morning, how far you walked? I’m so proud of you.” Snuggling closer, you pressed a kiss to the curls atop his head. Your eyes closed as you rested your head a little more comfortingly against him. He had come so far even at just a little over one.

Looking back to Jon, your own gaze softened. You had mulled over what gift to get him for the holidays for months, but in that moment you were fairly certain what you’d get him. What Jon would truly want more then anything else. You didn’t have it here and now, but you knew it would be a gift enough tonight after the baby was long asleep if you suggested it.

The question of whether or not it was too soon to start trying for a little girl.

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

This might be a dumb question, but mind explaining why meta ends up changing from his anime design to his modern one?

Oh, no problem... I've been dying to explain this, so it's perfect timing with the question. The gradual change in his armor starts after (the Knightmare's end), the first thing that changes starts with his pauldrons. That was completely shattered at the end of the arc (how or why can't I say it just yet I really need to get back to writing it...)

In the KBASW (AU), I lean into Arthurian lore (a lot) here, and Meta Knight is our Mordred. And his design, in general, is meant to show his growth and eventually becoming the leader of the GSA. Adding more purples and golds... this is due to the people he's closest to.

Purple: (Kirby's influence/relationship)

Kirby, of course, being red, is the dominant cause & reason for his change. Not being able to let go or forgive himself for the past (representative of his blue). He's able to accept and move on with Kirby, understanding he can't truly love and care for Kirby if he doesn't love himself first. He lets' his walls down and let's & allows himself to be loved and enjoy life again, finally able to let go of his guilt and his team (Halbred).

He kept away from Kirby due to not being able to save his team and also for not being able to be there for Kirby due to his corruption. A mistake he allowed to happen. In an attempt to keep the remaining team members alive (as well as going berserk after Jerca's Death), he turned to "dark magic... Nightmare's magic," Which (without spoiling anything...) gave Nightmare an opening to get him. And MK bore immense guilt for doing that... He wasn't able to save anyone (which led him to have to stay away from Kirby), finally seeing himself as a monster... he finally removed the blue cape due to Kirby.

Not only that but it's also meant to show Kirby & Meta Knight sharing the same dream. With Meta Knight honoring the past but being moving forward. Mixing his blues with Kirby's red, thus creating his current purple, is the main support of Kirby's group, Star Allies (which is meant to mirror Meta Knight's OG group, Star Allies.) Sharing the desire to make the galaxy a more safe & accepting place for everyone.

Gold: (Arthur's influence/relationship)

Arthur was not only his father figure but his savior... very much idolizing him. Similar to Jon's snow/ and the reference to Mordred. He was seen as an illegitimate (Arthur's) child or, in this case, Arthur's demon child. Arthur protected Meta Knight fiercely...but, as the philosophy goes, "Prepare your child, not protect them..." And tried his best to shield him from the cruelty of the world.

Very much trying to tell him he was no different than nobody else... and tried to instill hope as long as he worked hard enough: "One day he can be a hero too..." Which was a dream that was dashed after Meta Knight got rejected into joining the elites, and they had their falling out. It seemed like everything Sir Arthur had told him was a lie... A white lie that (what else was he lying about...) and doubted their relationship, feeling he was ashamed of him...

But despite all this, Meta is still a part of that kept that little hope in life. Not only keeping his knightly honor & code but all the morals that Sir Arthur taught him. Out of love and loyalty for Arthur... and Sir Arthur still loved & believed him too...

They do makeup with each other after the events of Falspar being branded "the fool." But it was mostly Arthur apologizing... and Meta Knight accepting it... But Meta Knight doesn't truly understand the extent of his love after Arthur goes M.I.A... Despite the fallout, Arthur had continued to look after Meta... secretly being the one to cover Team Halbred's tracks... and was the one that made sure Icarus upheld his promise to Meta Knight... he was still there despite it all. (And like with Kirby), he was initially afraid to admit his corruption to Arthur when he saw him again in person...

But of course, had nothing to about worry ... because, to Arthur, He still shined like gold... (as he always did to him)

So Arthurs' gold represents Meta Knight, representing "the worthiness" he has as a person. The unconditional love that is always there & that you always deserve it. For all his failures, mistakes, and regrets... he was still a worthy king!~

His arch of acceptance and self-love only when Meta Knight completes his journey and when he can take his rightful place as the leader of GSA... and yes, I made Meta Knight's iconic "Get It Sword" into a "sword in the stone reference."

And I'm so glad you enjoyed his future design so much, I'm reworking the emblem on his. It's so supposed to be a deconstructed "M" for Meta Knight as well as a nod to Arthur's emblem.

Not only that, but the slashes are meant to be a reference to sword beam slashes I tried to indicate that with the armor design as well. I really wanted to emphasis the connection with Kirby & Arthur's character to Meta Knight.

I also did this thought process with future Arthur's design, with him donning greens & orange, which is meant to represent (green- Meta Knight & orange -Kirby) when their respective colors mix.

Thank you so much for your questions, you really did have the best timing... I was planning to do this post for a while. And to my other readers, thank you for reading this long explanation. No doubt there's a grammatical error somewhere... but regardless, thank you for riding this wave with me.

[thefearfulheart]

Swap au clownbo thingy for the clownbo/everyone people (I’ll do Seastar soon I promise) but it kinda has a twist to it @beebutadinosaur this is for you! (And everyone but also you!)

There’s more below the cut since there’s a lot here ehehehe

Establishing stuff right now for it:

Evbo (the Villain) takes the place of Clown but, to add some flavour to it, he was originally the Parkour Champion and was well loved by the people before he ended up getting betrayed and locked up in the lava prison by Seawatt. Void (EmF) ended up finding out what Seawatt did when he interrogated him on Evbo’s whereabouts and felt a overwhelming sense of revulsion at the realisation of what his lover (toxic Yaoi x2) did to his best friend, though Seawatt tries to justify his actions that he did it for them since now Void can be the champion instead of Evbo. Evbo eventually grew bitter and resentful from the betrayal by Seawatt, as well as seeing it as a betrayal from his people that he looked after, that he promised Void when he returns that he would destroy it and leave it all in ashes. He gets commonly refer to as ‘Hero’ by everyone and when it’s revealed that he used to be the old parkour champion that’s what everyone calls him except Void, even Seawatt forget Evbo’s name after so long.

Seawatt takes on the takes the place of the Evil Champion and pretty much has done his best to erase the Evbo’s name from the records of Parkour Civilisation and the Leather level from complete existence as well (similar to how the chain level was erased from everyone’s memory in Parkour Civilisation 2), utterly paranoid on the potential of Evbo escaping from there…he pretty much has a sock puppet Champion that wears decoy diamond boots (similar to his own in the end) that he uses to ensure that people are following his rules and to keep them in line from behind the scenes. Exceedingly paranoid, desperate and very dangerous to keep what he did underwraps…as well as missing Void a lot as well…still terrible at Parkour as well lmao

Void takes on the place of the old man (and Seawatt as well lol) where he’s trying to guide the Holt (the old man) and Clown (who kinda takes the place of both Evbo and EMF as well mostly EmF for Holt but he’s also Evbo’s role here) to find the Leather level and ferry back information to Evbo on what’s going on with them. Pretty much a tired, regretful man that desperately wants to make things right and help his friend with what happened to him since he doesn’t deserve it. He’s a mentor and guide to Holt and Clown and ensures that they are safe to the best of his abilities while leaving little breadcrumbs of a place that shouldn’t, but does, exist and the people from it…

Holt (the old man) mostly takes the place of Evbo and is the person that Void decides to use in order to get Evbo out of his prison with Clown being his longtime friend in the Chain Level. Pretty much a ace in parkour and exceedingly skilled at making jumps the more he got used to it in the end. Clown was his longtime neighbour before the other decided to move up in parkour and take on the challenge of climbing the tower while Holt decided to hold back onto it until a recent decree by the champion made him want to climb up the tower to face him.

Clown takes the place of EMF (and technically evbo as well UwU) but in the au holt and clown both hailed from the chain level before clown decided he wanted to rank up since he was tired of how little skill the parkour on the chain level took and wanted to prove himself moreso in the upper levels. That’s not the only reason to why he wants to rank up as well…he ended up finding a strange book that talked about the old parkour champion…something that he could barely read but the desire to know consuming him that he decided to track up to try and find out more about them.

That’s pretty much the roles that they all play here in this au for the time being…Evbo the hero turned villain that’s manipulating Clown and Holt in the background to get him out, Void who wants to help his friend out and then Seawatt who’s desperate for recognition but wants to hide himself from the light…then we have Holt who wants to do the right thing and help people…Clown who wants to prove himself to someone-anyone-and be seen by them.

I’ll be posting more on this at a later date but I shall leave you with some particular design quirks they would all have!

Evbo has a more kingly/princely look to him with a flowing green cloak, no headband (unfortunately) with his hair flowing (shoulder length hair for this one), green stripped shirt, black pants and diamond shoes (something that resembles sneakers in the end that contrasts his entire look). He’s kinda meant to contrast Clown’s look in PkCiv with him looking more like a Prince/king while clown is a jester.

Seawatt keeps the same design in all honesty except his diamond boots are meant are duller in colour (a big indicator that they’re fake diamond boots) and look like sandals with slight, pale green cracks in them. His hair is longer and messier as well with dark circles under his eyes…as well as gold ring on his finger.

Void has a dark purple wrapped over his shoulders, that goes below the knees, with a golden rope tied around the waist, a golden headband and golden ankle boots. His skin also looks a black vortex of stars and dying supernovas with a red spattering of stars around his neck and chest…a golden ring is on his finger as well.

Holt is pretty basic with a teal shirt, blue pants, dark brown hair and beard, silver arm band with a spidery design and diamond sandals (the ones that cover the back and front of the foot). He also has a red jumper wrapped around his waist with bits of black stripes on it.

Clown does wear his typical outfit with the addition of a dark teal jacket being worn, fingerless gloves, his hat is more softer looking (not pointed like devil horns but more like a rams horns kinda??) with silver bells on it, his mask is a plain white mask with eye slits and a black smile on it (a red heart under the right eye with a black diamond on the bottom left corner of the lip to resemble a beauty mark) and his diamond boots resemble laced up riding boots that goes below his knees.

Some simple things here but I please ask me questions if you want to know more!

[stoned-frog]

⚠️toxic/abusive relationship⚠️(killermare)

@beforetheendowo this got really long so I'm making it its own post

answering this

I absolutely agree with the pushing boundaries part, Target would do or say things that obviously make Nightmare upset, he would openly show that he knows stuff about Nightmare he probably shouldn't, showing that Night wasn't careful enough in maintaining his perfect image and he would never admit to it but it makes Nightmare very unsettled and sometimes even scared.

Target would also sneak in on Nightmare to just watch him sometimes. He isn't that interested in him but it makes Nightmare tense up and Target can see behaviours he's never seen before, he can see that this perfect powerful being can be bothered by a pathetic mortal like him. That way he can get to know Nightmare better and use it to his advantage but also it makes Nightmare more prone to lash out, he can never take a break because at the back of his head there's always this irrational fear that Target might be watching him.

Basically Target pushes bounderies, gives him the silent treatment and annoys Nightmare because it amuses him to see his god vulnerable and that makes Nightmare more stressed leading to more abuse

Adding to all that I also think about Target being toxic because he worships Nightmare in a way, he believes that he is a god, a being far higher than him therefore Nightmare's actions are what he deserves. He knows he is used and abused, objectified and molded like "his new owner" wants it, but he just submits to it. He was already used by his AU's anomaly (Chara or whatever, I don't like that aspect of Something New, that it's just Chara) and when he thought he was free they got replaced by another abuser. He might think this is just his fate? But yea back to my idea-

Nightmare can never change or even reflect on his actions because Target doesn't resist, he follows orders, bows to him, never responds violently to him. It only takes one word for Target to throw away whatever he was doing and come to him like a dog.

I'm talking mostly about Target lol but that's cuz Nightmare is just so obviously abusive both verbally and physically, gaslighting and making others think they need him it doesn't need as much attention? But I will say what I think anyway

Aside from all you said, I also imagine Nightmare would use him as a kind of stress toy, when he needs to blow of some steam, or Target just says one word too much he might get thrown across the room or pinned to the nearest wall by his neck and yelled at. Some time ago I drew some things that might illustrate what I mean

Here and here

Also this is just for my headcanons but Target introduced himself just like that to both Dust and Horror and that's what they call him (in all versions I made for the gang) but in this one only Nightmare refers to him as "Killer" and of course, Target never corrects him. When Dust or Horror call him that either by accident or to tease him he always corrects them and it sometimes even turns into an argument but with Nightmare, nothing. Not a word.

[ghouljams]

Hey so, I’m the anon that sent the initial ask with the Sire and Dam terms and I’m just confused and looking for clarification

I’m aware they aren’t dogs. But the term itself isn’t uncommon in the a/b/o community at times; in any case, most terms in the community compares them to dogs or other animalistic sayings. (ie. Calling babies ‘pups’, using the concept of ‘heat cycles’, using the term ‘packs’, rutting, mating, to say a few)

And even you, in the omegaverse headcannons ask said “I think I've called alphas "herding dogs" before and that's such a great way to think about them lol”. You’ve compared them to dogs too, in a way.

I don’t intend to come off as rude, I’m just seriously a bit lost on what you mean considering everything. /lh /genq

The terms sire/dam make me incredibly uncomfortable because in my mind they break so.ething complex like gender into strictly biological parts. I also would call this a recent addition to the omegaverse Canon because I had never heard the terms used until you sent your ask.

Perhaps I don't view mother/father as gendered terms, in my mind it's just the "role" that one fulfills. Not even in terms of mother=birth giver, father=sperm donor, more in terms of labor, emotional education, perhaps a form of distance from the child. Idk

I would say me using "herding dog" as a metaphor is different from using dog breeding terms to refer to human people. Is any birth giver who hasn't been mated referred to as a bitch too?

I have made a concerted effort NOT to use dog/animal terms outside of heat/rut only because those are the accepted terms for the fertility cycle that exists within omegaverse. I don't call them packs, I don't really talk about mates, I don't call children pups, but I'm sorry I used a metaphor to describe an abstract concept that happened to also be dog related.

This is not a reflection on you but it is a little frustrating for me to create what I consider to be an "untraditional" omegaverse au where: betas have an actual endotype, omegas are not weak simpering submissives, alphas aren't sex crazed rapists, and where sortie dynamics are actually interesting and have social implications, and people still will come into my ask box and ask like really aggressively traditional omegaverse questions.

"What if a beta!reader wanted-" then they could do that.

"What if the reader went into heat and alpha!x-" they'd be fine, alphas aren't hormone monsters.

"Can alphas be parents?" Yes because they're people and alpha =/= absent father.

I am sorry, I was more confused than frustrated by your original question I just am a little tired of doing all of this world building and people just seem to ignore that. Like I'm really proud of the work I've put into my au! I wish people would read it before sending me really really "traditional" omegaverse questions. This will never happen though.

[slothquisitor]

Invisible String: Chapter Sixteen

A Baldur’s Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: With the exhibition open, Liv can finally figure out how she feels. Here there be smut!

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

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When Liv arrives at the empty apartment, she’s struck by what a relief it is to walk back into a space that is hers. And it still does feel like hers despite all the ways she’d worried it wasn’t anymore. She doesn’t regret leaving, but she does regret telling Astarion it wasn’t her home. Because it still very much is. 

There’s a familiarity in dropping into her own bed in her own room, in the quiet of the apartment. Astarion promised her time, and she intends to take it, but first, she needs to sleep. And then she plans to spend the entirety of the weekend in what she lovingly refers to as goblin mode: in comfy clothes and absolutely not leaving the apartment under any circumstances. 

She does this sometimes, especially when it feels like her social battery has run out. She enjoys a weekend hermitted up alone and ordering takeout and generally not having to interact with anyone. It’s been a long time since it’s felt like a need in the way this weekend does though. 

On Saturday, she doesn’t wake until almost noon. She hadn’t realized just how tired she was until she woke up to discover she slept nearly twelve hours. Several notifications wait for her from her colleagues, congratulating her on the exhibit opening. She’s also missed a call from her sister. All of that sounds like a good thing for Monday Liv to deal with. 

She goes about making coffee, reads a book, watches her baking show. Orders a truly unhinged amount of take-out that will keep her fed all weekend. And then she does the only sensible thing one does in goblin mode: binge-watches the worst romcoms she can find.

The problem with most romcoms, despite her love for them, comes in the third act break-up. Every romcom has them. It is the staple of the genre and important to maintain a cohesive plot structure in an otherwise too-quiet story since the tension of the romantic leads getting together, which holds an audience’s attention until the culmination of the romance, needs to exist in some other way. Now they’re together, what is the thing that is going to tear them apart? And how do they overcome whatever insurmountable odds the writers have placed for them and claim their happily ever after? 

Liv’s issue with the third-act break-up is just that all too often the conflict feels…contrived. I didn’t tell you I was writing an article about how to get a guy to break up with me. Going out with you was actually a bet, but then I caught feelings. All of my wildest dreams have come true, and I’m dating this actor guy but I miss my best friend. Or least likely of all: I matched with my roommate on a dating app, and he figured it out before I did, used it, caught feelings, and then came clean. 

So does that make her the ridiculous one or the fool who forgives an unforgivable offense too quickly or readily for the sake of a happily ever after? Is there real substance here or do the main leads simply have too much chemistry that the audience is willing to believe they can just work it out? Are they on the list of couples that don’t even make it six months past the events of the movie?

Is that what this is really about? Is she afraid that whatever it is they are won’t last? That a single month in and his confession has rocked her to the very core, what happens if she forgives him and they have more time…and it still doesn’t work out? What happens to her then?

Because it’s a lot easier to hold Astarion at arm’s length now, to put that distance between them. Her own family can’t find a way to love her, to choose her, so why would he? And in lying to her, hasn’t he shown her what he thinks of her? But then…he’d also come clean. Not because he had to or because she’d caught him in the lie…but because he values honesty. Because he wanted something real. And where does that leave her? What happens now?

There are a lot of people she could call to talk this out with, but she needs someone who will understand completely. So she calls her sister. 

“How was the opening?” her sister asks. She sounds terrible, already coughing twice over the course of the call and clearly stuffed up. 

“It was great, but that’s not what I called about…I can let you rest though.”

She hears muffled movement of the phone while her sister goes through another bout of coughing. “It might be annoying to talk to me like this, but please distract me. I’m so miserable, and I blame Erin completely.”

“Is she feeling better?”

“Yes, thank the gods. We’re the worst versions of ourselves when we’re both sick. So…what did you call about?”

And so she tells her everything: from joining the app to that kiss on the couch even telling her about Astarion being a vampire. She leaves nothing out, even the way she’d run out of the apartment the other night and the distance she’d kept from Astarion at the exhibition. She tells her about her fears and hopes and everything in between. And Brelia listens. 

“You know, if he’d been any less awesome about you asking for time, I might be more mad at him,” Brelia says. “I feel like his respect for your boundaries says a lot about how much he genuinely cares. He did fuck up, don’t get me wrong, but he is also trying to fix it.”

“Is it ridiculous to want to let him?” she asks. 

Her sister clears her throat. “Oh honey, no. You love him.”

She immediately goes to correct her sister, to realize…that she’s not wrong. She does love Astarion. 

“When I first left the family, I felt like I was wandering around with my hands up, ready to fight anything. I felt suddenly so strong, so able to advocate for myself. And I was utterly convinced that I wouldn’t put myself back into a situation where I was treated like that ever again. What I didn’t realize was just how fucking isolated that made me…made it impossible for me to connect to anyone around me.”

Liv knows exactly what her sister is talking about. “So what did you do?”

“I had to learn how to let people around me in. That also means letting them close enough to hurt you. But you know what I’ve always admired about you, Liv?”

Her sister admires something about her? “What?”

“Your capacity for hope. For seeing the goodness in the world and being good to people regardless if they deserve it. You’ve never let your pain define you, don’t let it shape this either.” 

“You’re very wise.”

“Thank you, it’s the cocktail of cold medicine coursing through my system. Don’t expect it every day.”

“I do appreciate you letting me talk this through.”

“I think this is what sisters are for, but can’t say I’m very practiced at it.”

“Me either.”

“Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

When she wakes on Sunday morning, she feels like a person again. And unlike yesterday, the apartment feels empty. Astarion’s absence is everywhere. She wanders over to the open doorway of his bedroom, coffee in hand, leaning against the threshold. She misses him; it would be a lie to deny it, even to herself. She misses her friend and roommate. She misses the person who wanted to talk about weird theories from Crown of Shadows with her and set out her coffee in the morning so they could chat in the living room. The person who choked down food he doesn’t even eat simply because he wanted to spend time with her because he wanted to feel normal with her. She misses the jokes and the sarcasm and all of the ways he is the most high-maintenance person she’s ever known. 

 And yes, he had lied and obfuscated and it had hurt her. But he had also acknowledged it. Apologized, shown up when it mattered. Astarion is not her family, and it’s unfair to punish him like he is. 

He had called himself a bad draft with such utter hopelessness. And he’s not…like everyone else in the world, he is simply painfully imperfect. 

And at least now, she knows what to do.

***

“How am I supposed to do anything when I don’t know where I’m going?” Astarion says as his operator gets violently murdered in the video game Petras has insisted he play with him. 

“You’ll learn the map. Just look for people with red names over their heads and shoot them,” Petras replies. “Karlach says you walked off the edge earlier though, maybe don’t do that.”

Astarion bites his tongue because it’s not as if he can hear Karlach’s response anyway. He refuses to put on one of those ridiculous headsets like Petras is wearing and ruin his hair. So he simply can’t hear Karlach while they play. 

“Oh! I got a kill!” Astarion says excitedly. Had the person been mostly injured by another player? Yes. Did he still get the final shot? Also yes. That’s all that matters.

“Ayyyy. You’re gaming!” Petras says, but the tone is so patronizing he slaps his shoulder. 

“I won’t keep playing if you and Karlach make fun of me.”

The only good thing about couch rotting with Petras this weekend is that it keeps him from obsessively checking his phone to see if Liv has decided to talk to him again. He feels like his entire life is somehow hanging in the balance, and there’s really nothing to do but wait. He told her she could have time, and well, here he is, playing the most ridiculous white male military simulator…and weirdly having a good time anyway. 

Karlach and Petras are good at this game, moving with practiced ease and dragging Astarion along. He just likes opening loot boxes and gathering as much money as possible and hoarding all the good weapons even though he can barely win a gunfight in the game. He will grudgingly admit that he’s having fun, but he’ll never tell Petras or Karlach that. 

“Why are there no stairs in this house? I can hear a loot box,” Astarion says. 

“You’re looting right now? Karlach and I are fighting a team. Get over here!”

He shrugs. “No.” And keeps looking for a way up to the second story of the building. So annoying Petras and Karlach might be where the bulk of the fun is coming from. 

He’s a little disappointed when they all hop off so that Petras and Karlach can get ready for their shifts at the Elfsong later this evening. “You could come in tonight if you want,” Petras says. “Give you something to do that’s not watching your phone.”

Astarion tosses his phone aside on the couch. “I’m not watching it.”

Petras laughs. “You are, but it’s okay. She’ll reach out.”

“Eventually.”

Though how much longer is really anyone’s guess. Which means he’s stuck here for the foreseeable future. He finds he hates it less than he thought. Petras…isn’t the worst company in the world. He’s toying with the idea that maybe he should tell Petras that, but then his phone vibrates and he nearly leaps across the couch to see the notification. Even Petras freezes on his way to the kitchen. 

Liv: Are you still at Petras’s? Do you have some time to talk?

“It’s her…she…wants to talk,” Astarion announces. His chest feels tight like he can’t quite catch his breath. He’s already typing out a reply and doesn't care about how potentially desperate responding immediately makes him look. 

Astarion: Yes, of course. I’m still at his place. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?

“And?” Petras asks. 

Liv: I’m already on my way. I should be there in five minutes or so.

Despite having been waiting all weekend for this moment, he finds himself suddenly unprepared. She’s going to be here in five minutes? And then he’ll no longer be in limbo wondering what is going to happen to them, but what does that mean . Is it a good thing she’s coming here instead of inviting him back to their apartment? 

“Hi. Would love an update here…you’re just like…hyperventilating and we don’t even have to breathe,” Petras says leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Astarion stands up, unable to contain this sudden influx of nervous energy. “She’s on her way here.”

“Like right now?” 

Astarion nods. 

Petras looks around the apartment with concern. “We should clean up.”

It’s not as though they’ve really made a huge mess of the place, but Astarion’s bedding from the couch has been unceremoniously tossed on the floor to make room for gaming and there are empty glasses that were once filled with either booze or blood scattered across the coffee table. They immediately move into clean-up mode to make the apartment look a little less like Astarion’s personal pit of depression. 

A few minutes later, the place looks better and Astarion feels not even a tiny bit more relieved for that fact. “Should I go out front and meet her or…wait for her to knock on the door?”

Should he change his clothes? Should Petras be here for this? The questions all become quickly moot when there’s a quiet knock on the door. 

He and Petras stare at each other for a moment. Liv is here. 

He feels frozen in this moment, staring down the short hallway that leads to the door. Whatever happens next is either going to be very good or very bad. And he has no idea what to expect. 

“Astarion!” Petras hisses, and he’s brought back to his body. “Answer the damn door. Go!”

He nods quickly and hurries to the door, opening it to find Liv. She’s bundled up against the cold, cheeks bright from it. He drinks in the sight of her, unsure for how long he’ll be able to do so. 

“Hi,” she says with a tight smile. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

Behind him, he hears Petras peek around the hallway. “Hi, Liv!”

She offers Petras a smile much less complicated than the one she’d given him. He tries not to resent it. “Maybe we should chat out front?” 

“Sure.”

He doesn’t need it, but he grabs his coat anyway, if only because it gives him something to do with his hands, and follows her back out into the cold, into the small courtyard in front of Petras’s apartment building. 

There’s a mixed sense of anticipation and dread. He wishes he knew whether he was walking towards the death of something or not. He wants to ask, but instead, he decides to wait, she’s clearly got some sort of plan, and…well, he’d follow her anywhere. Even out here. And he tries to make peace with the fact that this could be the end of everything and that maybe in a few moments, all he’ll have is the comfort that he did get to love her, and that will have to be enough. Because he does love her, but he wants her happiness more. Whatever that means for him. 

The silence drags on, but he’s aware it hasn’t really been that long when she turns and begins to speak. “Thank you…for giving me some space to figure this all out.”

“Of course,” he replies, stuffing his hands in his pockets so that she can’t see the way they’re shaking. 

“When you told me about the Weave…and I had to run through all those conversations and memories and pass them through the lens of that new understanding…it felt…it felt a lot like when my mother told me about my half-brother,” she explains. 

Oh, shit. He hadn’t thought… “I’m so sorry, I didn’t -”

She holds up a hand. “I know, and…it’s not your fault that it triggered those memories. You were wrong to keep that from me, and you could’ve just kept going on like that. I never had to know…but you value honesty too much.”

It’s funny to have spent so much of his life lying and pretending. Even his career is in some ways a bit dishonest, the way he hides behind a handle and can’t show his face. But she’s right, in this, with her…honest is the only way he can have it. 

“I should have told you sooner,” he says, gaze falling to the pavement. 

“Yeah, you should have,” she agrees. “But I forgive you.”

The vice grip on his chest loosens, just a bit. “You do?” He looks back at her, her green eyes are soft, full of an emotion he can’t quite place. 

She steps closer, not quite touching him, but it would be easy to close the distance entirely. He keeps his hands in his pockets, lest he does something to mar this moment, lest he’s read this wrong. 

“You made a mistake, but you’ve owned up to it. And I think you’ve been punishing yourself long enough. Don’t you?”

No. Not just for this…but for everything that came before it too. The years and the pain and all the ways that he kept himself locked up there. “Some days I don’t know how to move forward…if I’m even moving forward or just…walking in a circle.”

She nods like she understands, and he knows she does. “Do you want to figure it out together?”

“Yes,” he breathes. He wants nothing more. 

She smiles. “Good, I really miss my roommate.”

Is that all? He wants to be content with that…with whatever and however she’ll have him. “I missed you, too.”

But that is not all he wants to tell her, and he has waited too long and suffered too much to not at least try . “You are the single brightest spot in my life. You’re brilliant and funny and kind. Sometimes, I get overwhelmed just knowing that you exist. I love knowing how you take your coffee and that you watch baking shows when you’re stressed. I love getting to be the person you come home to every day. You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had, but I don’t want to just be your roommate. Liv…”

Her eyes are bright as she gently cups his face. At her touch, all words desert him. He leans into the gentleness she offers. “I love you.”

After everything? Even knowing every bit of darkness? All his secrets…everything he is so ashamed of? She loves him. And she wouldn’t say if it wasn’t true. This feels too big to hold. “I love you, too.”

“So kiss her already!” 

They both turn to look back at Petras’s building, seeing him standing at his bedroom window, head propped on his chin, unashamedly eavesdropping. He scowls and flips Petras off, but then Liv’s hands are back on his face and she’s pressing onto her tiptoes to kiss him and he forgets to be annoyed. 

Her lips are soft where they meet his, but he cannot help but deepen the kiss, arms wrapping around her and pressing her fully against him. She loves him, and he feels the truth of it with every press of her lips and gentle caress of her hands. 

Liv pulls away all too soon. “Do you want to come home?” Home. She’d told him that their apartment wasn’t home, but it is, for them both.

He pulls her back in. “Gods yes. You’ve no idea how dismal the shower pressure is here.”

She laughs into his kiss, and he thinks it might be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

***

Liv books a rideshare back to their apartment after bidding goodbye to Petras. Despite his unabashed listening in on their conversation, Astarion had even thanked him for allowing him to stay there, and there had been some understanding passing between that she was glad to see. If nothing else, the events of the last week have shown both her and Astarion that they are not alone in this city. 

Still, it feels right to walk into their apartment together, falling right into routines and habits as if no time has passed at all. They hang their coats on the hooks near the door and she places her keys in the bowl on the counter. 

Astarion pauses as he enters the kitchen. “You cleaned.”

She shrugs. “Helps me think.”

“And what all did you need to think about?” he asks. Because he would need to know, to understand what kept her from forgiving him immediately, what kept them apart.

She steps closer to him and leans against the counter. He’d held her hand the whole way back here, as though letting go might mean she’d simply disappear. It breaks her heart a little to realize how tenuous this all must seem to him. She needs to explain this, explain it right. “That despite my knee-jerk reaction you don’t and have never treated me in the same ways my family has. For years, I minimized everything they did. I made excuses for the ways they treated me. And it was easy because none of it was outright abuse, no one hit me…no one told me to my face that I was unlovable or stupid or only worthwhile if I did something that they could brag about…It was easy for me to believe I was the one with the problem when faced with their utter indifference.

“So I made excuses and I minimized my own pain so much that when the next thing happened…I was always filled with so much hope it would be different this time that it all felt like fresh betrayal. Every damn time. Until I cut them out of my life, I didn’t realize just how…exhausted I was.”

His eyes are hard. “You deserve so much better than the ways they treated you.”

She nods. “I know. I know that now. If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that…they’re the problem not me. But I did allow it for a long time…so when you told me the truth…I was…I was afraid that forgiving you would be falling back into that same cycle. But it was unfair to you.”

“And I was unfair to treat you like someone who might discard me the moment I didn’t live up to expectations. You’ve always been patient…understanding…kind.” He steps closer, presses his forehead against hers. “We are…both of us…more than what others have made us.”

“I love you,” she says. The words come easier the more she says them, the more he offers them back. And the words are nice, but they have been telling each other how much they care in smaller, more subtle ways for a while now. She thinks the speed should scare her, but it doesn’t. It just feels right . 

His whole face softens at her words. “And I love you.”

“I’m in this, Astarion. All in. No matter the risk.”

He takes her hands in his. “I still don’t know what I’m doing. I might…hurt you again….even without meaning to.”

She squeezes his hands. “We’ll probably hurt each other, but that’s just part of being imperfect people. What matters is what we do every other day, not just the bad ones.”

“You make me feel like all the struggle might be worth it,” he says and then he’s kissing her, lips soft and insistent. Her arms are around his neck and he’s pulling her flush against him while backing her against the counter. They’ve been here before, kissing and touching and holding one another, but this feels different. There’s an undercurrent of need pulsing through them both, as though they’re trying to reach something in each other no one has ever found before.  

They are so often careful with the physical aspect of their relationship, but there is nothing careful about the way Astarion kisses her now, every touch a branding. He lifts her onto the counter, and her legs wrap around his waist, locking him there. Cool fingers ruck her sweater up, run over the exposed area of her stomach and waist before pushing higher to cup her breast through her bra. She is surprised as the sound it coaxes from her, the low neediness of the whine. He drops his attention to her neck, kissing and gently worrying the sensitive skin with his teeth while her fingers tunnel through his hair. 

He pulls back and they’re both breathing hard, but his crimson eyes are bright and alert, and so very present. “Your bed or mine?” he asks. 

“We don’t-” she begins only to be cut off with a fierce kiss from him. 

He pulls back just enough to brush his nose against hers. “I’m all in.”

And what a gift that is. “Yours.” And then she drops off the counter, letting him lead her to his room. She pauses at the threshold. “Not exactly interested in adding another roommate to the mix though, do I need to grab a condom?”

He smiles a little at her attempt at a joke. “I’m not interested in that either, though it’s less of a concern for me. Vampires…can’t.”

“Good to know…I’ve got an IUD, but I’m usually paranoid enough to use both.”

“Now that doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

He pulls her in, easing her sweater up and over her head before discarding his own shirt. She laughs as she nearly loses her balance trying to kick off her shoes and kiss him at the same time, and he’s smiling into every kiss too. This feels different than the night he drank from her, there’s a lightness to it, an absence of shame, still, she is careful in following his lead. 

He removes her bra and she is nearly undone by the press of skin against skin, the drag of her breasts along the smooth expanse of his chest. He pushes her jeans down and she steps out of them, already working at the button on his pants as he presses her down onto the bed. 

When he breaks away to kiss down her chest, tongue circling the peak of her breast, she stays watchful, looking for any sign or hint that this is too much. His gaze meets hers and reads the concern there. He crawls back up her body, and brings them nose to nose, the weight of him a solid press into the softness of the bed. 

“Stop worrying. I’m with you. Besides…I’ve had such plans since the last night we spent in my bed.” There’s no false confidence, no forced aloofness, just a naked earnestness that feels softer, more hopeful than anything he’s shown her before. 

He pulls away, kneeling on the floor and pulling her to the edge of the bed with him. He kisses the inside of her thigh, watching her with an obvious question in his eyes. Her mouth feels too dry to form words, so she simply nods and lets him pull her underwear away before burying his face between her legs. 

Her fingers clench the sheets as he licks her tongue toying at her entrance before darting up to her clit and white-hot pleasure courses all the way through her. It takes every ounce of willpower not to tighten her thighs around his head, worried what he might feel if she boxes him in. She’s lost for several moments in the movements of his tongue, drifting on the waves of slowly building pleasure. 

And then she feels his fingers move inside her and she nearly jumps at the sensation. “Astarion…”

“Hmmm?” he hums with amusement, mouth closing around her clit, the vibration making her see stars. Her hips buck uncontrollably at the sensation, and his fingers move inside her at a torturously slow pace, but all it takes is a flick of her clit with his tongue and she’s coming around him with a soft cry. 

His fingers coax her through the orgasm and when she gathers herself enough to look at him, she realizes he’s watching her with a soft, self-satisfied smile. She’s already pulling him to her, and he follows easily, discarding his briefs as he crawls up her body. She flips him as he kisses her, tasting herself on his lips, his hands in her hair. 

Now, there is nothing between them, just the coolness of his skin against hers. She rocks forward, groaning at the sensation of her swollen clit on his cock. He whispers her name and she breaks away from the kiss, only for him to carefully cradle her face in his hands. His hips roll below hers, and she shifts just slightly to feel his cock at her entrance. It’s tempting to simply sink down onto him, but she waits, breathing hard. 

One of his hands skates down her neck, over her shoulder, and across her waist. She shivers at the soft caress before he pulls her to him, his cock pressing inside of her. Fully sheathed inside her, he presses his forehead against hers, eyes falling shut. She kisses him, softly, tenderly and then they begin moving together in a broken rhythm. 

They move slowly as if this isn’t the first time but the thousandth, hands reverently seeking each other. Liv doesn’t forget the act of trust that this is, how preciously rare. He kisses down her neck, sitting them both up so he has better access to her breasts. He swirls one nipple with his tongue while his hand gently squeezes at the other, it’s all she can do to hold on as she moves in his lap. He leans back up to capture her lips in a hard kiss, his breathing stuttering as his hold on her tightens. 

“I’ve got you,” she whispers into his skin, reaffirming it with the press of her lips on his neck, his chest, whatever parts of him she can reach. 

He flips them in one fluid movement, rocking into her, hips picking up speed. He reaches between them, fingers brushing her clit, another orgasm building at her edges. She meets each thrust of his hips, the friction driving them both higher. The wave of pleasure rolls over her first, his name escapes her in a breathless whisper. He follows soon after, coming nearly soundlessly, arms tightening around her. 

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes a little wide, but they remain connected, his softening cock still inside her. 

She brushes an errant curl out of his face. “I love you.”

He presses his face into her neck, breathes her in. “You are everything.”

And they lay there together, comfortably entwined for a long, long while.

[inkyucu]

Guess who? (I actually might be dead)

[Sun] [Moon]

[fl00mie]

daisy bell gives me so many fatal error vibes that i can't describe it

swap sans by popcornpr1nce fatal_error by @xedramon

[carouselunique]

They had a bit of a chance encounter on a day where Blueblood was dealing with something that was very difficult and was so caught up in his emotions he didn’t even care that he was in the garden getting grass stans on his coat and Ditzy, with her natural impulse to cheer ponies up, didn’t even notice or care that she was flying into the palace gardens when she saw someone sat in the rain.

At first he was definitely going to call the castle guards to come apprehend this strange filly with the odd eyes who was intruding when this was the last moment he’d want to entertain any desperate debutantes, however she surprised him by not fawning or anything, not even caring about his status, just putting one of her fluffy wings up and asking if he needed somepony to lend an ear.

“Don’t let my eyes fool you, my ears work just fine!”

She was incredibly disarming and while he didn’t reveal everything about why he was upset, he found himself talking about his feelings to her. And she made such cheerful remarks, and was very comforting. In the end, he felt better and she came to check on him the next day, even sharing a blueberry muffin with him. He remarked that he’d never seen her around before, and that he wouldn’t mind terribly seeing her more often.

The rest, as they say, is history.