#other than dubiously white. its the same shit they do with a lot of their cast where they wanna keep them ambiguous so they can get the

[termagax]

like i guess this is cool. whatever. i dont like the color palette very much and i have some Opinions on this thing they keep doing to him but whatever.

[hookedontaronfics]

Weekends are for Lovers - Prompt fic

Title: Weekends are for Lovers Pairing: Taron x reader Rating: M Warnings: Some smut A/N: So I kind of took this idea and ran off with it. Not really sure I’m capable of writing anything short these days, but I hope you all enjoy this very sweet and slightly sexy one shot. Enjoy! x Prompt: Something with Taron, Y/N, and his beloved camper van? Requested by @authordreaming13​! Hope you love it, lovely!

You had just tucked into your kale and balsamic salad when your phone rang. You smiled to yourself as the screen lit up with a picture of your smiling boyfriend. You hit the button to pick up the call.

“Hi babe!” you said, happy to hear from him and grinning over his uncanny ability to always call just as you were taking your lunch break. It seemed like some kind of cosmic connection, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Heeeey, how’s my favorite lady?” he asked.

“First of all, your favorite lady is your mam, and we both know that,” you said, making him chuckle. “And otherwise, I’m good. Bloody ready for the weekend, I can tell you that. Today at work is draaaa-gging,” you said, also dragging the word out.

“Oh love, sorry to hear that. But you’ll love to hear what plans I’ve cooked up for the weekend,” he said excitedly.

“Plans?” you asked, raising an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see that.

“Yeah. I’ve loaded up the campervan and she’s all ready to go. Just you and me, a case of beer, and being surrounded by nature and the water. What do you say to that?” he said, sounding obviously proud of himself.

“Oh Taron, honey, that sounds amazing. But you forgot about my wellness retreat this weekend,” you replied.

“I forgot about your wellness retreat. Shit,” he said. “I know you told me about that.”

“About ten times,” you sighed.

“Ahhh, well, I suppose we’ll have to go another time,” he said, sounding so crestfallen you wished you could reach through the phone and give him a hug. The gesture had been incredibly sweet, and you couldn’t lie, there was a part of you that just didn’t care to balance your energy vortex or whatever it was your friends called it after convincing you it was going to be the best time.

“You know what? I can skip the retreat. Let’s just go,” you said.

“No, no, nooo, babe. You can’t cancel on your friends,” he replied, and you loved him for the fact that he always supported your time spent with the girls you’d known since school days.

“Look, I think I can pass on the kombucha bar and inner goddess workshop and spiritual cleanse. I just want time with you. That sounds like the best retreat by far.”

“You sure?” he asked, a bit dubiously. “I mean, you’ve already paid for it.”

“Won’t be the first time I’ve wasted money, T. But I think the retreat is just going to stress me out more than anything. If I really want to find some wellness, I think it’s gonna be in the back of your campervan,” you said with a smirk.

“Oh-ho-hoo, I can promise you that,” he replied, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice too. Less-than-subtle flirting was apparently your specialty as a couple.

“Alright, so… I’ll get myself home as soon as my shift ends,” you smiled to yourself, suddenly really looking forward to the weekend. You both managed to hang up the call and you quickly finished off your salad before returning to work, staying as busy as possible but also having thoughts that probably weren’t exactly appropriate for work. But if anyone noticed you blushing, they didn’t say a word.

You nearly leaped from your desk as soon as the clock hit 3 p.m. and rushed out to your car. You dialed Steph, easily your most sympathetic friend, to tell her you were canceling on the retreat. Instead of cooking up some kind of white lie, you told her the truth, that Taron had made weekend plans for you and you got so few of those together that you didn’t want to pass it up.

“So I can count on you to smooth things over with everyone?” you asked nervously.

“Of course. I mean, I can tell you you’re missing out and you’d better promise to dish about the weekend at yoga class next week, but everyone will understand. I mean, if I had the chance to sleep with Taron all weekend long I wouldn’t pass it up either,” she teased you.

“Shit, Steph,” you laughed, feeling your cheeks redden, but grateful for her understanding all the same.

Sure enough, the campervan was waiting in the drive when you got home. You parked your car behind Taron’s, feeling slightly giddy as you rushed inside. “Babe, where are you?” you asked as you wandered down the hall.

“Back here!” he called, his voice coming from the bedroom. You dropped your purse and coat on the couch as you passed by it and found Taron in the closet, rifling through some things, both of your open duffle bags resting on the bed. His was nearly full; yours still completely empty.

“Hey,” you smiled, leaning against the door frame for a moment.

“Hey you,” he smiled back, wrapping his hands around your waist and leaving a playful kiss on your lips. “Excited?” he asked.

“Of course!” you said with a laugh. “It’s going to be brillo.”

“Soooo, get yourself packed up and we can hit the road as soon as you’re ready,” he smiled, tossing one last thing in his duffle, zipping it up, and hefting it over his shoulder.

“Sounds good,” you said, accepting one more kiss before he left you to it. You were so distracted by the possibility of the weekend ahead of you that you didn’t exactly pay a lot of attention to what you were tossing in your duffle. Of course you made sure to grab some cold-weather clothes, as it was still early spring and England weather liked to be tempestuous. But you imagined neither of you would be spending much time outside of the campervan, or in clothes for that matter, so you didn’t put much thought into it.

Taron did some final checks to make absolutely sure everything was ready, and soon you were both rolling down the road, the windows down despite the chilly air, the radio turned way, way up, and both of you feeling about as free and relaxed as you ever got to feel. 

While he genuinely enjoyed meeting fans and doing the promotional bits like interviews and appearances, you also knew the grind could get to him. He absolutely cherished his campervan and his ability to get away, to just be another person at a campsite, kicking back with a good beer and his girl. There was something to be said for anonymity. The rest of the world always wanted to be known; you personally wanted to scream back at just how much fame stole from the people who, by talent or luck or something else, had managed to fall into its abyss.

“You’re thinking something,” his voice broke into your thoughts.

“No, nothing important,” you shook your head.

“Yeah, but I know you, and I know that face you make when it’s not nothing. Do you want to talk about it? Get it off your chest now so we don’t have to think about much else later?”

You sighed slightly and turned the dial down on the radio. “Just thinking how nice it is that you can still get away, that’s all.”

“Disappearing isn’t all that hard. It’s wanting to give up the glitz and glamour and attention that is. It’s an addictive lifestyle,” he admitted, “having everyone at your beck and call.”

“But you’re not about that, are you?” you smiled over at him.

“It has its perks, but it’s also exhausting. And when I’m off doing those things, I’m not spending time with you, and I miss you terribly.”

“You’re too sweet babe,” you said, running your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

You both settled into a comfortable silence again, the hours and hills of the countryside rolling past you gently. After just about four hours, you finally were on the narrow access road to Westacott Farm Camping on the Devon coast. It was a new place neither of you had camped at before, but the reviews had been good and the views of the bay unparalleled.

You pulled in to the campsite and Taron carefully navigated the vehicle around to the Lundy field, pointing out a sign that had your names carefully chalked on it. There was only one other name on the board at the moment, so you guessed it was going to be an incredibly quiet hideaway this time. “Cute!” you remarked as he backed the campervan into the spacious pitch and, once satisfied, turned the ignition off.

“We’re here!” he announced with aplomb, making you giggle too. You both crawled out, grateful for a chance to stretch your legs and to breathe in the sweet country air. A gaggle of ducks greeted you as you walked to the farmhouse to get checked in, squabbling loudly but harmlessly at you. A few sheep peered at you curiously from behind a fence, chewing methodically.

The owner you met was incredibly friendly and laid-back, making sure you had everything you needed and walking you around the toilet and shower facilities. She even offered a fire pitch rental, which you both happily agreed to, as the nights were still nippy. She answered your curious questions about the small working farm, and even allowed you to meet a few of the animals, your enthusiasm for this part making Taron grin to himself.

Eventually, though, you two were left to your own devices, and you both decided a trip down to the beach was in short order, no matter how chilly it was. You both pulled on windbreakers over your jumpers and, hand-in-hand, made the hike down to the pebbly beach. Your shoes crunched a bit as you walked, taking in the stunning view. You didn’t walk too far, eventually getting chased back to the campervan by the cold.

“I can’t feel my cheeks!” you giggled as you settled in on the bed next to Taron, happy just to warm up a bit. “Or my nose. Or my fingers.”

“Here, let me have a crack at that,” he said, taking your hands between his, still somehow so warm, and rubbing them gently until sensation returned. You stared up at the purple frilly curtains hanging over the squat horizontal windows in the campervan; Taron had been so amused when you’d picked them out because they reminded you of the ones in your childhood bedroom. But he’d obliged you and now here they hung, providing you some privacy from the outside world.

“This was the most perfect idea,” you said, feeling a calmness settle in your soul.

“Yeah?” he asked, propping his head up in his hand and gazing at you sweetly. “I’m quite grateful you decided to run off to the wilderness with me.”

“Civilized wilderness, if you will,” you teased him lightly. “I hear in America that some people go totally off the grid. No electricity, no toilet facilities at all,” you laughed lightly.

“What do they do, poo in a pail? Shit in the kettle?” he asked, feigning outrage.

“Taron!” you squealed with laughter, slapping him in the arm lightly. “I think they just dig holes or something. Apparently they quite enjoy it but… I’m good with still having lights and heat and a shower.”

“You’re so spoiled. And I love it,” he grinned, leaning over to steal a kiss or three from you. You got caught up in the feel of his soft, supple lips moving hungrily against yours, your breaths mingling in the small space. His fingers slowly found purchase under your shirt, brushing against the skin of your stomach, drawing goosebumps across your skin.

You raked your fingers through his hair, drawing him closer to you, feeling that familiar tingle waking up in your core. Safely cocooned away in your campervan, it felt like a world away from the world, and all you needed was the man right in front of you.

You allowed the kisses to deepen, opening your mouth to him, your tongues meeting messily as you hastily pulled at the hem of his jumper. He broke those searing kisses only long enough to allow you to pull the jumper and shirt under it off, tossing both aside. You ran your fingers over the heated skin of his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin rippling slightly. You loved that he was the perfect blend of small but built, strong but also compact, muscular but lithe. You had never cared for men so beefy it would feel like you could be broken in half with a simple hug; Taron seemed to exist in the perfect middle, and you could never get enough of admiring him. Though, to be fair, he never gave you much time to just gawk.

He carefully pulled your own jumper and shirt off, revealing that you hadn’t bothered with a bra once you’d changed out of your work clothes. “I came prepared,” you chuckled lightly as he raised that characteristic eyebrow of his, before delving between your breasts, leaving a trail of kisses along the valley of your chest. Tiny moans escaped your lungs at the feeling of his lips traveling fervently over your bare skin.

His fingers traveled along the waistband of your jeans before fumbling with the button. “Fuck,” he said with a giggle, having to take a moment to actually concentrate on what he was doing, pulling them slowly down your legs. The anticipation was killing you.

“Ahhh, the feast awaits!” he said, pushing your knees apart and diving in between them, nuzzling his nose into your clothed core and making you throb harder with need. He made small kitten kisses against your sensitive nub before pushing your panties to the side and sliding his fingers through your wet folds.

“Holy fuck,” you groaned loudly, arching your back. You gripped the sheets as he slipped his fingers into you, pumping them slowly.

“So wet for me, princess,” he said, his voice gravelly. You would never have chosen that nickname for yourself, but he also only ever called you that when you were in the throes of passion. And when he made you feel like that, he could call you anything he wanted.

“Please, I need you inside me,” you groaned, not wanting to cum without the feel of him stretching you in that delicious way.

“I will always oblige you, my love,” he said roughly, removing his fingers and making you keen softly at the feeling of emptiness. He peeled your panties off you before quickly removing his own pants. The bed springs squeaked as he clambered over you, lining his hips up with yours, his throbbing erection hot against your thigh.

You anticipated the feel of him sliding into you, but no matter how many times you had sex, it always felt deliciously new every time. “Ohhhh,” you gasped softly as he pushed his way into you, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt. The groan that ripped through his body went straight to your groin, your walls clenching around him and spurring him to pull out and thrust back into you powerfully.

“Shit,” he moaned, a vein in his neck standing out as he began thrusting in and out of you, both of you lost to the feeling, the knot in your core winding tighter and tighter.

“Oh god, so close,” you managed to mumble. “I’m … going to cum,” you gasped, feeling the knot snap inside you, sending you over the edge. Your walls clenched around his engorged cock as the waves of pleasure rushed through you, crashing endlessly upon themselves. All you could do was try to hold on through the crescendo of your body’s climax. Taron’s thrusts grew sloppy as he spilled into you, his chest heaving as his hips snapped against yours until he stilled, spent and absolutely happy.

He peered down at you, sweetly brushing your hair aside, the sheen of sweat on both of your bodies glistening in the campervan’s low lights. He pulled out of you and rolled over on the bed, sighing deeply as he did so. “Absolutely perfect,” he said, to no one in particular though there was no one else around but you.

“What, the camping or the fucking?” you asked cheekily.

“Making love, love,” he giggled lightly, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “I can never get enough of you.”

“Well, there’s more where that came from, but I’ll have myself a pint first, if you don’t mind,” you said as you rolled off the bed and felt around on the floor for your jeans. You found them and pulled them on, as well as your jumper, before going to the fridge and pulling out a beer. You popped the cap off and took a long swig, your back still to Taron, knowing you’d abruptly left him hanging.

He always got vulnerable after you’d had sex, and you weren’t good at being vulnerable. He wanted to talk about his feelings, he wanted to tell you how much he needed you in his life. You were comfortable enough being his girlfriend, of course, but you didn’t need to state it after every sack session to know it was real. Maybe that was being a bit harsh, but his lovesick soliloquies always made you feel on edge, like he wanted more from you than you were willing or able to give.

“Pass me one too?” he asked you, a strange timbre in his voice, as he tried to collect himself again. You popped the cap off a second beer and handed it to him, still sitting on the bed in his glorious nudity. His hair was a total wreck, his eyes much darker than usual, but he looked pensive now, and you knew you were the reason for it.

“I’ve got to take a piss,” you said, grabbing your phone and leaving the campervan, crossing the lawn to the toilet facilities. You barely had any reception out here but still typed a message to your best friend Rosalind. <I’m an absolute idiot, Roz.> You waited for the little circle to finally show the message had been sent and sighed.

<What’d you do this time?>

<Oh you know how I said Taron gets after we... sleep together. I know he’s wanting me to tell him I love him and that I’ll have his babies and we’ll live happily ever after and I just can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know why, because I love the guy, dearly. But something stops me every time.>

<Afraid of the permanence, perhaps?>

<Maybe> you texted back, looking at yourself in the mirror. The harsh lighting in the bathroom made your face look haunted somehow. You grimaced slightly and turned away from your reflection. <What the hell am I supposed to do?>

<I think you should take the leap. You live with him, you say you love him. Maybe it’s time to really open up. I know you’re scared of being hurt. I know you’re scared that he’ll leave you. But real love takes risk and being vulnerable is worth it. You should really tell him how you feel.> Damnit if Rosalind didn’t make a lot of sense.

<I don’t much like feelings, you know. They’re messy and imperfect and can get you in a whole load of trouble.>

<You also can’t run from them> she pointed out, and I sighed. If any of us was a spiritual guru in a past life, it would definitely have been Rosalind.

You returned to the campervan to find it empty, a pang of nervousness running through you for a second, until you heard Taron’s characteristic chuckle drifting across the open field. You pulled your jacket back on, as well as a pair of gloves, before going to find him.

“Alright, now watch the ball. Keep your eye on it, alright. Here you go,” Taron said, carefully and slowly tossing the ball at a kid wielding a bat. The kid swung wildly but managed to hit the ball, where it bounced across the ground a couple times and rolled to a stop near you.

“Heeey! Good job! That’s how it’s done,” he grinned, clapping his hands cutely. You stooped over and picked the baseball up before tossing it back to Taron. “This is Emmanuel,” he added to you, gesturing to the kid. “The McCormick’s invited us over to their bonfire. You should go say hi,” he replied, nodding his head at the other camper in the area.

You slowly walked over to a couple sitting around a fire along with presumably their daughter. You wished you’d thought to grab your unfinished beer, but it ended up being unnecessary, as these people were incredibly friendly and all too happy to share theirs with you. They introduced themselves as Patrick and Sandra, and daughter Celia and son Emmanuel, whom you’d already met.

“These nights are chilly! You shouldn’t be without one of these!” Pat exclaimed, gesturing to the raging fire pit that was putting out quite a bit of heat.

“Oh, we rented one, just haven’t had a moment to set it up yet,” you smiled ruefully.

“Look at those stars, dear. Nothing like this back home,” Sandra said, gazing up at the deepening night sky, thousands of stars twinkling across the expanse.

“Where’s home?” you asked, taking a swig of the beer.

“Barnstaple, not far from here,” she replied. “You?”

“Oh, London. It’s a busy city, and it’s good to get away from it all once in a while,” you smiled, as Taron and the young boy finally returned, plopping themselves down in the empty camp chairs.

“Can we get the mallows now, mummy?” Celia asked primly.

“Fantastic idea!” Sandra agreed, and her daughter went to retrieve the bag of marshmallows and the roasting sticks. You all had fun roasting marshmallows and getting to know each other a bit, and while the kids excitedly talked about their favorite things to do in town, you and Taron stole a few glances at each other.

Eventually you both felt you’d worn out your welcome, though Pat offered that you both join the family for dinner the next day at the pub, which was only a 20-minute walk away. You gave a non-committal answer before returning to your campervan, full of marshmallows and beer and conflicted feelings.

“We should probably get a proper dinner in us, don’t you think?” Taron said, pulling out storage containers of pre-made food and holding them up. “Indian or Italian?”

“Uhhhh, let’s go with the curry,” you said. “Save the Bolognese for tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” he said, going about reheating the curry and rice in the incredibly compact kitchenette area of the campervan and dividing them between bowls. He turned the small TV on and popped in one of your favorite movies, and you both snuggled together while you ate, enjoying the cozy feel of it all.

“I’d probably be trying to choke down a grass smoothie right about now if I’d gone to that wellness retreat,” you joked.

“That bad, huh?” Taron chuckled slightly.

“I mean, I’m probably being judgmental and all but… Wellness retreat just smacks of superiority.”

“Glad you’re not above roughing it with me,” he commented.

“Of course not. This feels perfect, really,” you said, looking up at him. “I love the campervan. And I love you. And I know I don’t say that nearly enough.”

“You really don’t,” he sighed softly.

“And I’m sorry for that, I really am. I’ve never been good at this, sharing my feelings,” you admitted. “But I don’t mean to shut you out either. So… let’s talk about it.”

“What is there to say that I haven’t already tried to say?” he asked, his fingers running idly over your forearms.

“There can be more to us than just this. There can be a future together, and as scared of it as I am, I’m willing to follow that path with you, if you want. When we’re ready for it. The idea of that kind of dependability on you terrifies me, to be honest.”

“Why?” he asked in a whisper. “Have I ever given you any reason to not trust me? To be scared of a future with me? To keep the walls up?” You shook your head and mouthed the word ‘no’ as he continued. “Every layer of you I pull away, I just want to know more. I need more, of you. And yet there are these times you’re as much a mystery to me as the first day we met, and I wonder if that means I’m not enough for you.”

“No, god, that’s not it at all, T. Just sometimes I don’t have the words for how I feel. I can’t connect my heart and brain and I just sound stupid,” you sighed.

“You never sound stupid to me,” he said, brushing your hair out of your face and shifting slightly so he was facing you. He sweetly cupped your face in his hands before leaning in and kissing you, slowly, gently, tenderly. “Sometimes, words aren’t even needed to speak how you feel,” he whispered against your lips, his light green eyes seeming to look right into your soul. You felt your breath catch in your chest, knowing no one else had ever looked at you this way.

“God, I love you. You...are everything. You always make me feel like a better person than I am.”

“Doubtful,” he said with a sweet smile, as you continued to ramble on.

“I miss you so badly when I have to be alone, but it’s like we never lost that time at all when you come home.”

“I’ll always come back home to you, darling. I adore you too,” he said, wiping at the tears shining on your cheeks.

“You are the poetry of my soul, Taron. And maybe none of this life makes sense but everything makes sense when I’m with you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, in every way we possibly can, and even the next life after that, wherever that finds us,” you finished, knowing it all probably sounded insanely stupid but not caring.

“Did you just propose to me?” he asked, cocking his head slightly with a boyish grin growing across his face.

“Oh my God, I’m just trying to express how I feel about you, about us. I want this and I’ll go shout it into the universe if you want!” you said, hiding your laugh and your blushing cheeks behind your hand. “I don’t want to be the thing holding us back, T. I know this is a rambling mess, but it’s how I feel.”

“I’m so glad you told me,” he said, the string of twinkling lights you’d hung across the campervan’s ceiling reflecting in the deep pools of his eyes. He looked affected by what you had said, truly touched, and even if it had been scary, you felt so much relief finally saying how you had been feeling all along.

He leaned in to kiss you again, something deeper, more meaningful, passing between you. You kissed him back, feeling yourself completely opening up to him, needing more of him than you’d ever demanded before. Because this time, you wanted to feel, everything, not just the delicious, spine-tingling physical bits, but also the way your hearts beat in time together, the way he caressed every curve of your body with such care, the loving gaze in his eyes you’d always shut yourself off from seeing before.

Your kisses heated up, and your bodies were on fire, as you quickly divested yourself of your clothes and crawled back into the bed. But this time, as he joined your bodies together, there was so much more to it than just sex. He filled you up in so many more ways than just physically; he gave his soul to you, he trusted it to you.

This was making love, and as you reached your climaxes together, your moans mingling in the campervan’s cabin, skin pressed deliciously against skin, breaths ragged, you knew you never wanted to go back. This was where home was, this was what it felt like to be totally, utterly loved. It was unlike anything else you’d ever felt before.

As you laid on your stomach on the bed, hugging a pillow and feeling completely spent again, the blankets pulled partly over you, and Taron’s fingers languidly stroking your bare back, you felt completed, whole; excited for what the future could hold for you both. You felt your eyes grow weary with sleep, Taron’s caresses lulling you softly toward slumber. “Love you,” you managed to mumble, feeling him press a gentle kiss against your forehead before settling in beside you.

“Love you too, my beloved,” he said gently.

“I thought your beloved was your campervan,” you teased in a voice thick with sleep.

Taron chuckled at that. “Only cause I have the best times in it with you. The weekends are made for lovers just like us.”

“And so is the future, Taron. So is our future,” you replied sweetly, letting yourself softly sink into sleep, welcoming the delicious dreams to come.

[ancientbooshartifacts]

CRIMPETY CRIMPETY FUCK YOU

Author: Thieving_Gypsy

Year: 2008

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Howince

It was a crisp, cold winter night. The best sort of night for vest-and-pants antics, that. A satsuma fight to get the circulation going, then a good hard heavy sweaty passionate noisy bout of crimping til the early hours. "Capybaras," Vince started, tentatively, but Howard didn't join in so he tried something else. "Marshmallow... um. Dishes." Still nothing. He looked at Howard, worried. "What's wrong?" "I don't know." Howard was sitting there on the edge of his bed, hands in his lap, just staring at them, exuding confusion like a human skunk. "I'm just... not feeling it tonight, Vince." "What? Why?" He couldn't make himself sound completely horrified, though. He felt the same. "You're always up for a bit of it." "I'm not a lightbulb. I can't turn myself on and off when you feel like it." "Come on, Howard, I know that." He shuffled forward and uncrossed his legs, sitting on the edge of his own bed so they were knee-to-knee. He went to take Howard's hand, then changed his mind and went to put his fingers under his chin instead and raise his head from its slump so he could see his eyes, but then he remembered he wasn't allowed to touch and his hand kind of wandered around the air for a bit instead, looking lost and foolish. He dropped it back to the mattress with a soft little thump and tried a different tactic - Old Faithful, the unbeatable gimmick. Vince made his eyes go very very big and said nothing. After a minute, Howard glanced at him, and quickly away again. And back. And away, and back. He seemed to hover on the edge of some kind of mental precipice for a while, then sighed and let himself collapse over it. (Vince smiled behind his hand, pretending to scratch his nose. Always worked, the big blue eyes.) "It's just... can't you feel it? There's something wrong here, Vince. There's bad juju afoot." "What kind of bad juju?" Vince leaned in and slid his hand up Howard's arm, clutching him tightly near the elbow. He didn't get yelled at. That scared him a bit. Howard must be really freaking out not to, well, freak out. He just sat there, looking somehow small, utter misery all over his face as obvious as if it had been stamped there by an over-zealous librarian. "I think someone's stolen the crimp." ... Two comforting cups of hot sweet tea later, and a gorilla-smack round the face for Howard, they'd just about stopped shaking enough to explain to Naboo why they'd woken him up by screaming hysterically and running around the bedroom like panicky trapped flies. "Bollo thought noise was sexnoise," Bollo said, stroking Vince's hair back off his sweaty forehead and glaring at Howard as if to say oh, you great Northern behemoth, this one's fragile. "Yeah, well," Vince muttered, shaking the big hairy hand off and huddling into himself as much as a man can when he's wearing nothing except a vest, knee-socks and little blue pants, "Bollo's a bloody creep, then, innee?" "Someone's stolen the crimp," Naboo repeated. There was a hint of dubiousness in his voice. A bit more than a hint, really. Quite a lot. An excess of dubiousness. Howard nodded frantically, sloshing lukewarm tea over the rim of his cup and all over his bare thighs. "You have to help us!" "How come I have to help you?" "Because that's how it works!" "...Oh yeah. Alright, then. Have you seen anybody weird lurking round the place recently? Let's start with that." Vince piped up immediately with, "I saw that fishy freak here the night we had the bouncy castle party!" and Howard went all shifty and said Vince was a nincompoop and his flighty eyes couldn't be trusted and that he, Howard, had exceptionally good eyes, although they were small, and surely would have noticed such a shameless blatant invader himself had one actually ever made it into the building. (Vince grinned to himself at Howard's blustering awkwardness, hiding the smile behind his cup, and decided he'd probe Howard later. Not like that. Although possibly like that, too.) "This useless," Bollo grumbled. "For sake of moving plot on, we pretend Honey Monster has been sighted like big yellow Dalston yeti." Naboo nodded, and sent him to fetch transportation. Higher minds were needed. ... The magic carpet skidded to a halt with a confusing screech of non-existent brakes. Howard promptly tumbled off, landing head-first on the leafy ground. Vince stepped down with a bit more grace, grimacing at the mud squelching under his long white socks, and offered Howard a hand that was completely ignored because apparently cold muddy half-naked Men of Action aren't allowed to accept help when they fall over. The hum of voices could be heard coming from somewhere nearby, although not quite the words being said until they made their way closer, rounded a corner, and stepped into the Board's clearing. "Is it true, Kirk? You're the father of Jamie Lynn's baby?" "Yes." "Naboo, you're late," Dennis said sternly, then seemed to deflate like a knackered balloon when he saw Howard and Vince and spent the rest of the scene trying to hide behind the bloke with the feathered hat (the bloke Vince's mate Kelly thinks has lovely pretty blowjob-lips) muttering vaguely obscene things about basic principles and the rethinking thereof. It was a difficult thing to explain to the Board, this crimp-theft. How do you convey the urgency of such a thing when the people whose help you're trying to get don't have a clue what you're talking about? It's not like they could do a bit to demonstrate, THE CRIMP HAVING BEEN STOLEN and everything. "It's a bit like two-way scat with words," Howard tentatively started, then the others had to hold a snarling red-eyed Kirk back from ripping open Howard's jugular with his teeth. "Oh, well done!" groaned the little pink tit with tentacles. "Go on, why don't you set him off again? We've just got him calmed down after last time someone referenced the j-word. My friends and acquaintances, this is, unequivocally, an outrage." The mêlée raged. Naboo turned his back on it, but nobody noticed and that made him sulky. "Bollo has cousin," the gorilla suddenly said. "He tiny-brained retard. His friends also tiny-brained retards. Perhaps tiny brains not matter. They will die anyway. Perhaps they could help." Howard still had his hands around his own throat in a sort of protective collar and he gave Bollo the dirtiest look he could manage. "Great, Bollo, thanks. You couldn't've told us this back at the shop?" "Aw, Howard, leave it out, alright?" Vince was shivering in the cold night breeze, feeling even more petulant than normal and willing to go along with any plan if it meant he'd get out of the mud. "It's not Bollo's fault. I think B just wanted to write the Shamans." "So how come they're fighting like cocks and not coming with us?" Vince shrugged. "Cos she discovered she was shit at writing them? I dunno." He turned to Bollo. "How can we get hold of your cousin, then?" ... Back in the flat, far too many odd little people were squashed into a kitchen that was only used to seeing one - a strange little chap dressed like an astronaut, an oversized bee, a leprechaun, a racoon on a skateboard, three little men who appeared only to be able to speak that snapcracklepoppy African language of tongue-clicks (and whom Howard secretly believed to be involved in a nasty sordid little sexual threeway in their spare time), an anthropomorphic tiger in a really homosexual neckerchief, a terrifyingly large cockerel, an aging pervert with a balding head and a white labcoat, and what appeared to be their ringleader, Bollo's cousin Coco, a small brown monkey in a baseball cap who seemed to have the unique power of making everybody he met want to murder him. Howard had already tried putting several moves on him, although these had all been foiled by Vince grabbing at him to keep him back and finding only small pants to hold, which for some reason made Howard go slightly funny on the inside and forget all thoughts of murder in favour of rainbows and bubbles and skipping through flowery meadows with some dark-haired little lady he didn't know yet but hoped he one day would, thoroughly and Biblically. Coco rudely invaded Howard's daydream by clambering onto the table and banging a couple of saucepans together. "ATTENTION!" he screeched, in an annoying high-pitched voice that made Howard's ears want to leave his body and take a gap year somewhere very far away. "Friends, my cousin Bollo-" ("Third cousin," Bollo corrected hurriedly, "several times removed.") "-has called us here to help him in his quest to rid the world once and for all of the infamous thief known as the Honey Monster." "HE STOLE MY LUCKY CHARMS!" the leprechaun howled. There was a great hullaballoo of noise, all the other weirdo little people and animals talking at once about the big yellow furry and its various heinous crimes. Vince shuffled as close to Howard as he thought he'd be allowed, shivering again and feeling rather in need of a big comforting cuddle. Somehow he felt worse, now, not better. This wasn't the way things were meant to be! He and Howard sorted out their messes on their own! Howard leaned in close to whisper. "This isn't the way things are meant to be," he said, sounding miserable and kind of lost. "You and I sort out our messes on our own!" He looked a bit confused when Vince BEAMED, but Vince couldn't help it, it was just reassuring to know that even when they were in the shit, when their crimp had been stolen and their kitchen overtaken by aggravating cartoon characters, even then they shared thoughts. One constant in this big stupid mess. It was something to hold on to. Something other than the pants, anyway - which, Vince suddenly realised, he was still clinging to from the last time Howard had tried to choke the monkey. (Not like that.) He almost let go, but didn't really want to so he, well, didn't. "Let's just go, then," he said. Howard raised his eyebrows, confused but kind of smiling, too. "Go where?" "Away. Anywhere. Fuck 'em. It's just you and me, innit? We don't need anybody else, 'specially not these little freaks." He plucked gently at the waistband of Howard's little pants, feeling suddenly shy. "I mean, I'll miss the crimping, but... I dunno, we'll just have to find something else to do at nighttimes in our room when no one's looking... yeah?" "Yeah," Howard said. He could feel Vince's fingers just inside the top of his pants. Somewhere in his head fireworks started going off in big gay colours like fuchsia and magenta. Like a slow-motion bad soap opera, he started to lean in for a kiss- -unfortunately, Bollo chose that exact moment (trying to hurry along the 'plot' some more) to get himself a little late-night snack of cereal, and maybe he had some lingering magic on his hands from tidying up Naboo's stock cupboard earlier because something very strange happened when he touched the Sugar Puffs packet. "SHIT, BOLLO, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Naboo said, emoting with his customary vigour as his little form got swallowed up by the big black shadow of the monster erupting from the front of the cardboard box. All the little cartoons started freaking out, crowing and buzzing and clicking in fear, running and flying and skateboarding away as fast as they possibly could, except Coco who was an idiot and got crushed under the Honey Monster's massive yellow foot. (There was much rejoicing.) "How d'you kill a Honey Monster?" "Grab its balls?" "Vince, that's a kangaroo!" "Yeah, but grabbing anything's balls is gonna slow it down, innit?" But the monster didn't seem to want to have its balls grabbed, not even by Vince Noir, which Vince found incredibly hard to deal with as it was a good solid fact in his life that everybody wanted him to touch their genitalia, as solid as up is up and water is wet. To have this fact casually nudged aside like a leftover crust of cold toast was unsettling, and that made him falter. The Honey Monster smiled its big furry vacant evil smile and grabbed Vince instead. "DROP HIM AT ONCE, YOU... YOU... YOU BIG HAIRY UGLY MONSTER!" The outburst felt like something of an anticlimax to Howard, who had been hoping for something much wittier and more commanding when he opened his mouth to let spew the rising flood of rage. The yellow monster just laughed boomingly and shook its big head, holding Vince by one muddy ankle and dangling him upside-down above his gaping mouth like a tasty oversized Haribo... "Do something, Bollo!" Howard yelled, and Bollo scowled so furiously his glittering black eyes disappeared in folds of fur. "Why? Because Bollo too is big hairy ugly monster?" "Look, I apologised about that already." "Hmph." "Please, Bollo, I know you hate me but YOU LOVE VINCE and he's about to get eaten by a crimp-stealing furry!" "Yeah!" Vince yelled, flailing around and spluttering through the hair hanging in his face. "How're you meant to write a song about that kinda death? Do something! Anything! I can't die like this!" "Grab his balls," Bollo ordered. "No, you idiot, not Vince's. Monster's." "No, mine!" Howard hesitated, hand outstretched. "What?" "Um. I said, wine! Throw wine at it. Red wine stains like anything, 'specially on yellow fur." Nice cover-up, Vince thought, quite pleased with himself, and then his sparkly little braincell suddenly lit up like a billion torches and he screeched, "MILK! THROW MILK ON IT! HE'S A CEREAL-MONSTER!" Howard lunged at the fridge and wrenched the door open, hoping hoping hoping they still had that four-pinter of beautiful creamy full-strength full-fat... but no, they had half a cardboard carton of skimmed, one day over its date. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Howard screamed, but salvation came in the shape of a big homosexual tiger. "Stroke it!" the tiger said over its shoulder as it scarpered with the last of the cartoon cowards. "It's gets bigger if you stroke it! It's GRRRREAT!" If this didn't prove his love, Howard thought, wanking off a carton of turned milk, then he'd just give it all up and settle for the merman. It grew in his hands, though, swelling and bulging alarmingly until he could barely lift its throbbing weight. A white trickle dripped from the top down over his fingers. "Vince!" he yelled. "Lean back! You don't want this all in your face and hair!" Vince did a painful-looking backbend, wrenching his hair away from imminent danger, and Howard threw the massive carton of milk with a strength and aim he would never find again, directly into the Honey Monster's om-nom-nomming mouth. The beast roared, then made a funny glugging noise, then melted into a puddle of yellow gloop. Vince landed in it and shrieked hysterically because it was in his hair after all, and it was such a horrible piteous heartbreaking sound that Howard completely forgot he hated to be touched and threw himself at Vince for a bonecrushing comfort-hug. "Erk," Vince said, after a minute. "Flnahg." "What?" He loosened his grip slightly, and Vince heaved in a massive desperate breath. "I said, ow." "Oh. Sorry. Erm." "Oh LOOK!" Vince said, excitedly interrupting Howard's awkward manly stammering. "It's the crimp!" He plunged his hands into the lumpy goo and lifted the crimp out, cradling it tenderly in his arms and nuzzling it like it was a little teeny tiny pet fluffy kitten. Howard let his arms slip from round Vince's body and sat back slightly. Of course he was happy Vince was still alive, of course he was, but he was also three nanoseconds from giving himself a Chinese burn to soothe his INNER PAIN now they had the crimp back because surely Vince would take back that thing he said before about other things they might be doing alone at night in their bedroom, now. "Hey," Vince said. He was smiling a little bit, all crooked and lopsided like he was nervous, which was funny because when was Vince Noir ever nervous? He put the crimp down beside them and took Howard's hands. They stopped itching to mutilate his arm at once. "Hay's for horses." "Permission to make a joke about riding you?" Howard thought for a second. "Denied." Vince's face fell, but his smile picked it back up when he realised Howard hadn't pulled his hands away yet. Eventually, after a lot more awkwardness, and a very well-needed shower, they had blistering hot fluffy sex (Vince was on top, if you must know) - but that's another story for another time. end.

[becuzpurple]

Father’s Day

(an Ed & Kate one-shot)

21 June 2016

Lucy brushed some dirt and debris from the surface of the stone, clearing it for me to place a half dozen red and white tulips across it.  Nathan staked 3 mini Cubs pennants into the soil at its top.  Then we sat, mostly quietly, surrounded by a sea of trees, flowers, and grave markers.  It was a beautiful first day of summer - the peaceful setting lending itself to quiet contemplation.  It was Father’s Day.

When I was a child, and my parents took us to the cemetery to pay respects to our deceased relatives, we’d clean up the gravestones, plant flowers, and say some prayers.  Since Jason’s passing, though, I’ve found that reciting prayers at his gravesite just doesn’t work for me.  It feels almost forced, as if it’s expected, but it holds no actual meaning for me - they’re just empty words.  I completely understand and respect that others find doing this to be very meaningful and comforting, but it just isn’t for me.  

I talk to him instead.  Sometimes I’ll talk to God, too, but more often I talk to Jason - not out loud, but in my head.  I tell him about our lives - stuff with the kids, our family...and I talk to him about Ed, too. As weird as that sounds, I find it to be therapeutic.  It gives me a way to sorting out my joys and worries, my hopes and fears, all without judgement. Sometimes I can imagine his reply.  

It helps.

On that Father’s Day, I shared a secret with him - a big one, that no one but I knew, yet. That would change soon enough, I supposed.  It was strangely comforting to think that I no longer held the secret entirely alone, even if it wasn’t with anyone currently alive.

“Do you think he can see us?  Or hear us?”  Lucy was pulling random weeds and dandelions from around the stone as she spoke, eyes focused downwards.

I paused before answering her.  It’s something I wonder about, too.

“I don’t really know.  But I like to think so.  You know, sometimes, in my head...I talk to him.”  She did look up at me then, and I grimaced in a self-deprecating way...trying to keep things from getting too heavy.  “Is that weird?”

“No, I do that, too.” 

Nate had been quiet, but was nodding in agreement, as well.

Oh, my babies

“I guess...it’s comforting to think that he might hear us.”

“Yeah…”  Lucy nodded and resumed weeding.  

I glanced at Nate, who watched us curiously, also nodding.

“I think he does,” he added softly.

---

We didn’t stay much longer - cemetery visits tend to be emotionally exhausting for us. From there we met my parents at The Pancake House for a Father’s Day brunch.  Filling up on family and sugary, carby comfort food helped us transition from our melancholy moods.  

My dad is the best.  I’ve literally never met anyone who didn’t love him.  He’s smart and funny, yet on the quiet side.  He’s a hard worker and a devoted family man.  He loves baseball, sci-fi, and giant jigsaw puzzles.  He’d do anything for us.  He really stepped up to be there for the three of us after we lost Jason, and I’m so grateful for that.  There is no better father or grandfather out there, so celebrating his awesomeness (on Father’s Day, fur sure, but at other times of the year, too) has become very important to me.

“When does Ed get back, Kate?”  I have to smile at how my mom’s face lights up at the mention of his name - even when she’s the one saying it.  She loves him, and it’s adorable.

“Today, in a few more hours.”

“Ah, good.  I hope things went well for him out there.”

“Yeah, he said they got a lot done,” I shrugged.  “He sounds pretty happy with everything.”

He’d been away for a week, in southern California, working on the next album. From how he described it, it sounded like they were in an absolutely beautiful setting - a gorgeous chalet in a wooded area, a river nearby, and distant mountains.  He’d been with some of his favorite people in the business - people he considers dear friends - and they seemed to have had an abundantly creative and productive week.  He was really pumped about it.

He’d wanted me to go with him, but my schedule just wouldn’t cooperate. The kids started their summer sports and art camps, I had a few looming deadlines for work that couldn’t wait, and I had a doctor appointment mid-week that I didn’t want to put off.  It’s too bad, too - I would have loved to have witnessed their collaborative songwriting in action.

---

That night after the kids were in bed, we’d finally caught each other up on everything - his stories of the last week were much more interesting than the mundane details of my suburban mom life, but, lovely man that he is, he wanted all of them, anyway.  Ed genuinely loves things like that - anything involving family.  Which is a good thing, considering what I was about to drop on him.

“So, I have something for you, but I left it in the bedroom.”  I stood and wagged a finger at him, grinning at his curious, wrinkled brow.  “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

I left him there on the family room couch while I jogged to our room to grab the small, gift-wrapped box I’d been keeping hidden away.

Without a doubt I was dying to finally tell him, but at the same time I almost felt a little sad that it would no longer be my secret.  I laughed to myself at the idea of being possessive of it.  But I’d had a whole week for that - it was time to spill the beans, and giving him the little gift was how I planned to do that.

As soon as I re-entered the room Ed’s eyes zeroed in on the small, prettily-wrapped box in my hand.  Before I even reached the sofa I could see that he was starting to look a little freaked out.  Maybe he had an idea of what this was about.  He knew what day it was, and there I was with a gift for him - it wasn’t a difficult jump to make.  But I know him well enough to see that he was trying not to psych himself up, in case he was wrong.

But he wasn’t wrong.

I re-joined him on the sofa, mirroring his pose by sitting with one leg tucked under the other, our knees touching.

“What-what’s this, then?”  He tried to appear calm and casual, but between the stutter and the wide eyes, it was clear that he was not feeling calm.

My plan had been to not give anything away before he opened the gift, but that all went to pot because I was way too close to falling into a fit of nervous giggles. This was more than obvious to Ed, who was eying me dubiously, waiting for me to say something.

“Umm, this is for you.”  I gave him the neatly wrapped present, about the same size as a watch box.  But there wasn’t a watch inside, nor any other jewelry.

He held it in his hand, just staring at it, eyes wide.  He glanced at me a few times, finally asking, “What is it?”

He was nervous, watching me with barely reined-in wide-eyed excitement.

A few giggles finally spilled loose from me, and I couldn’t stop smiling - I was just as anxious as he was.  Attempting to calm the both of us, I placed my palms flat on his lap, just above his knees, tapping my fingers before murmuring, “Ed.  Open it.”

He took a calming breath and looked down at the box in his hands, again.  Smiling to himself, he began pulling off the ribbon.

“I - I might know what this is about...maybe?  But I also have no idea what’s actually in here.”

“That’s...probably completely accurate.”

“Jesus…”

“Open it.”

“Yeah.” He wore the cutest little grin, and kept shooting small glances at me as he carefully unwrapped the paper from the box.  How he wasn’t tearing it apart I’ll never know.  Maybe he wanted to savor the feeling of anticipation.  Maybe he was a little scared, too.  I know I was.

He removed all of the paper and turned to me with a look of pure bewilderment, holding the unopened box.

“I - I’m nervous to open it...fuck’s wrong with me?”

I gently shook my head, unable to stop grinning. “Nah, you got this.”  I gave his leg a little squeeze, as my hand still rested on it.  “Please open it, though, because I can’t take this much longer.”

He laughed, and then finally opened the lid.  He just stared for a few seconds - no response whatsoever.  I’m not even sure he remembered to breathe.  He blinked several times, and then he smiled - a slow-growing, tentative expression of stunned wonder.

“It’s a pick.”  His eyes lifted to meet mine, his voice barely more than a whisper.

I nodded.

“A ba- we’re gonna...you’re pregnant?” His voice broke on the last word.

I nodded again, my heart pounding with nerves.

“Bloody hell, I knocked you up?!”  He found his voice again, and his accent was much more pronounced than usual.  He looked at me in complete astonishment.

I hiccup-cry-laughed all at once.  “Yeah, you did!”

He glanced down again at the custom-designed guitar pick I got for him while he was away.  “January...”

“My due date is January 12th.”

“January the 12th.  Holy shit, this is for real...”

“This is real, Teddy.”  We shared a tender look at my use of the phrase he’d once used to reassure me when we first started dating.  “We’re going to have a baby.”

We’re gonna have a baby.” He repeated the words slowly, trying them out for the very first time, himself.  “I…I’m going to be a dad.”

There was a sweet shyness in the way he said it, a self-consciousness in saying the words out loud - I’m going to be a dad.

Nodding again, I cupped his jaw in my hand, bringing his earnest, deep blues back to me. “You’re going to be an amazing dad.”

He was quiet, eyes still on mine, listening.

“Your parents did good raising you and Matthew, right?”

“They are literally the best parents, yeah.”

“You’ve been learning your whole life from the best, then.  And I’ve seen you with kids - my kids, your godchildren...Ed, you were meant for this.”

His tentative smile grew, his eyes lit up, and soon his entire body was practically humming with hyper energy.  It must have been contagious, as I was nearly vibrating with giddiness, myself.  I’m sure we looked completely ridiculous beaming at each other like that. Or just deliriously happy.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes on me curiously and gave the sweetest, closed-mouth smile.  “You’re happy Kate?”

“Oh, yeah!  I - well, I’m feeling a lot things right now, but ‘happy’ is definitely at the top of the list.”

My thoughts had been going in so many different directions over the last few days - I was absolutely over-the-moon.  I never thought I’d have any more children, and I was thrilled to get this chance - and with Ed!  It made my heart feel whole and complete.  

But I’d be lying if I said I had no worries.  I’m older now, and that brings more risks to a pregnancy.  Also, there was the fact that Ed and I aren’t married - we’d only been together for six months at that point.  I didn’t know if that would be an issue or not, but I knew it was something we should probably talk about. I also worried that he might not be thrilled with the timing of the pregnancy, relative to his career.

“Me, too!  It’s crazy, right?  I can’t even keep up with everything going through my head right now.”  He huffed out a breath, surely still trying to wrap his head around the news.

“I know.  I mean, the timing isn’t great, like with your work, and-”

“-Oh, no, no,” he interrupted.  “this is everything, and it-it’s perfect.  Like, work is well and good, but this?  Family?  Is what we’re all really here for, right?  To love, and to teach our children to love.  I feel like I’m finally about to really start my life, now - the most important part of it, and I get to do it with you?  I'm - I’m so fucking in love with you, and I'm just...really chuffed right now...”

His voice caught as it trailed off.  He took off his glasses, wiped at his eyes and cleared his throat, and that’s when I started to lose it a little bit, too.

“Baby, stop.”  I sniffled as I shifted closer against him.  He pulled me in even more so that my legs were across his lap, his arms secure around my waist.  

I don’t know how he does it - he has a knack for saying the very thing I need to hear, and even better - he means it every time.  I sent a quick word of thanks to the universe, or maybe it was God (I’m not entirely sure there’s a difference), for somehow bringing us together.  “How’d I get so lucky?”

He pulled back just enough to see my face and wipe a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb.  “I ask myself that same question every single day, sweet girl.”

“I love you, Ed.”

“I know,” he answered, grinning cheekily.

I couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed.  I adore him and I’m happy to say it for the rest of my life.  But there was something else I wanted to say, too.  

“Oh, and one more thing…” I grinned.

“What’s that, love?”

Happy Father’s Day.”

---

just a friendly reminder that I’d love to hear your thoughts on this!  Send me likes, or reblogs, or send Anon questions/comments - these are the only ways I know what you like.

Thanks, guys!

[a-d-n-d-journal]

Game Session #13

Characters:

Mirri in the wind, tabaxi "cleric" (of Tempus); rapier, lute, robes

Rysiel "Riceboy", half-elf druid (Circle of the Moon); acid burns, simple clothing (vest w/bare chest) and leather armor, scimitar

Zastu, dragonborn rogue (Thief); white scales almost completely covered in a hooded cape and mask, leather armor, short bow and shortsword + dagger

Introducing...

Kix, ?race? rogue (Arcane Trickster); nice clothes, leather armor, rapier, shortbow

Saying goodbye to...

Teir, tiefling warlock;

Noteable NPCs...

Sydiri Haunlar, human (Chondathan) fighter; brunette, chain shirt, dagger, shortbow, wooden club

Darathra Shendrel, human; Lord protector of Triboar

Narth Tezrin and Alaestra Ulgar, humans; Own and run the Lion's Share trading store

Darz Helgar, human; Groundskeeper for the two large caravan camps in Triboar; squirrelly

Urgala Meltimer, human; ex-adventurer and owner of the Northshield House (inn); her late wife died during an adventure

Ghelryn Foehammer, dwarf; master armorsmith, claim to fame is fashioning armor for the kind and queen

Urlam Stockpool, human; owner of the Triboar Travellers, a caravan escort company; dresses very well and sports a bright red eye patch with the Zhentarim winged serpent

Valken Naspeer, half-elf; Urlam's friend and body guard; dresses almost as suave as Urlam, his posture suggests that he's very dangerous.

Nemyth, tiefling; owner and proprieter of the Triboar Arms tavern

I'm a little late writing this, but notes from Rysiel's player really helped! :D

The adventurers wake up at the Northshield house, in a small two-bed room they decided to share, despite having more than enough gold to get separate rooms. Sydiri paid for her own room. Teir's brain has been spinning all night regarding the issue with upsetting some members of the Lord's Alliance. He decides to buy a horse from one of the stables and travel back to Waterdeep--alone--in order to petition the nobles there for forgiveness on their behalf. (Reminder: Rysiel attacked dwarves loyal to queen Dagnabbet of Mithril hall, at Zephyros' tower without provocation) He tells the others his plan, but doesn't invite them along.

Without her employer, Zastu has a momentary crisis about what to do. Luckily, Rysiel suggests they pay back those snooty guys at the Everwyvern Inn for being so rude. (Sydiri stays behind at the inn to hang out with Urgala, the innkeeper) They decide to break into the wine cellar, but first they head over to the Lion's Share to get servant costumes. Once there, Narth tells them that they don't sell such things. The Everwyvern Inn is an upscale establishment that provides its workers with uniforms. Besides, the Lion's Share isn't that kind of store... But whyever would they want to dress like servants anyway? The three of them visit the Triboar Arms to find something for breakfast, and to talk to Nemyth (the tiefling owner) about the Everwyvern House. The party is mostly upfront about their goal-robbing his 'competitor'. Nemyth balks at the idea, but maintains his suave composure. The Everwyvern Inn has very different clientelle, plus they have rooms, while he does not. "I can't be seen with their wine! I would go out of business. What did you think I would say?" He subtly guides them out back for a more frank conversation. He doesn't like the people who own the place, but if anyone asked him about a robbery there... He would have to pretend like he knew nothing. And no, he's not going to help! Here's what I know, he says... Half the people there are actors, paid to make the place look busy and exclusive. Second, the owner, Draven is a mage, so be careful of any magic, though you probably could tell that just by looking at all the glowing lights and floating plants. Third, he hires thugs to keep the riffraff out (the party had a run-in with them as they were considered riffraff themselves). The party presses him for information, such as how to get into the cellar, but Nemyth frowns at them. He knows nothing. It's uncertain if he's telling the truth or not. They give him a big tip of 100 coppers (1 gold/10 silver) for their meal, and head off to the Triboar Traveller caravan escort service to ask the same questions.

They approach the man wearing a red eyepatch with the Zhentarim serpant emblazoned in black, Urlam. They seem surprised when the immaculately-dressed human (and his suave half-elf bodyguard, Valken) recognizes them. Rysiel asks Valken if he's up for some mischief but doesn't offer context. Valken says he's on the clock, so Rysiel asks "Later?" Valken asks if he's hitting on him, and Rysiel asks in Valken wants him to be. Then they become more upfront about what they're after: "Hey, we want to rob the Everwyvern Inn's wine cellar. Do you want any?" Urlam purses his lips and shares a glance with Valken. He gives them a shit-eating grin. "Their wine is quite good, but I can't be seen with contraband bottles. Wouldn't want to have Darathra on my back." They try to get some information out of them, but all they find out is that the two of them like to eat there occasionally, and are on good terms with the owner, Draven. (I check Urlam's alignment, and roll a d100 to determine whether or not he tips off Draven, with 51-100 being a yes... I roll a 91)

The three adventurers stake out the inn from the trees, for about 40 minutes. They're waiting for a servant to come out of the inn, but grow impatient. They joke that they turn to crime as soon as Teir leaves. Riceboy turns into a cat to go in through a window at the back of the inn and unlock the door for the other two. Rysiel easily finds his way downstairs, but he also finds burly guards in waiting for them in the cellar. They're talking openly about Draven being tipped off, and the dubiousness of the warning. He reports back and they decide to try to steal from the other fancy restaurant instead. Despite the fact that this restaurant wasn't the one that was so rude to them, now they just want some pretentious wine, and to cause some mischief. They move to the trees on the perimeter of the Pleasing Platter, and Rysiel changes into a cat again to scope out the place. it's very busy in the kitchen, as lunch is approaching, but Rysiel is stealthy enough to sneak in. He finds someone (Kix) drinking behind a makeshift wall of barrels, who is happy to see him and offers cat-Rysiel some wine. Rysiel lets out a confused maow and then darts off to report back to his companions.

Rysiel and Mirri start performing out front of the restaurant to distract the workers, so Zastu can sneak in through the kitchen. (Keep in mind that this is a fancy restaurant in the country, not a bar in downtown Waterdeep) Zastu goes around back to the open kitchen door, and tries to convince the cooks to go see the performers, but they're suspicious and uninterested. "Why would we care that our bosses hired musicians out front? That happens all the time, and besides, it's almost lunch." She then tells them she has to go to the cellar and talk to someone who went down there. Somehow she's convincing enough that they go with that. "New Girl" takes Zastu downstairs, but there's no one in sight. The girl notices that the barrels are stacked oddly, and the two of them discover that there's a youngish-looking person in nice clothes wasted and drinking wine. New Girl leaves to get her supervisor. Zastu immediately tries stuffing bottles into this rando's bag, but quickly discovers that the weight and clinking of the bottles is inhibiting. She only has a moment, so she empties the bag again and just grabs one bottle. She also grabs the rando's arm and hauls him out of the cellar. They run into New Girl and Supervisor on the stairs, and somehow Zastu bluffs her way past them.

They collect Mirri and Rysiel--who are playing out front for no audience--and they go to the nearby abandoned house, which has obviously been grafitti'd and carved up by the local teens. New person/Kix is already pretty drunk, so the other three split the sole bottle of nice wine that Zastu stole. I guess they chat or something?

Their short rest is interrupted by a boulder crashing loudly into the building in front of them--the splinters and shrapnel flying everywhere while people start screaming. More boulders fly overhead and more crashes are heard. The field before them dips down to another level, hiding the approaching enemies. Only two heads on two broad sets of shoulders are visible at first, then several large flightless birds with axe-shaped beaks appear from behind the ridge with orcs riding them! They enter the town quickly and start harassing and chasing down townsfolk. They don't seem to be trying to kill anyone, but they aren't pulling their strikes as they ride past either. Lagging behind the axebeak birds are two groups of six goblinoid-shaped creatures, with skin like molten lava, all glowing and sinister. Everything they touch catches on fire, and they like to touch a lot of things! Seconds later, three larger orcs march up wearing heavy platmail, and behind those three another orc on an axebeak, but this one has a single ominously glowing eye...

Roll for initiative! Some of the townsfolk get ready for battle... I hand out character sheets for Darathra the Lord Protector, Ghelryn the orc/giantslayer, Darz the ex-rogue, Narth the wannabe adventurer, and Urgala the retired adventurer. ((Riceboy takes Darathra, Zastu takes Darz, Mirri takes Urgala, and Kix takes Ghelryn; I take control of Narth and Sydiri)) Mirri casts Vicious Mockery at the enemies as they advance. One of the Orogs (large orcs in platemail) is hit with psychic damage and has disadvantage on its next attack. Narth dashes from his store to see what's going on, and to see if he can help. The magmin (goblin-looking things) have fun lighting trees and fences on fire. Darz follows Narth to see what's going on. Urgala leaves her inn and takes out her shortbow. She sticks two arrows in the closest magmin, killing it. Kix takes out his shortbow as well, and sticks another magmin with an arrow, then uses their bonus action to hide around the corner. Sydiri shoots her own shortbow, sticking an orc with an arrow. One of the orogs jumps the fence of the abandoned house's yard, and attacks Zastu. Fortuntely, it misses with both swipes of its axe. Darathra sees Narth and Darz, as well as the advancing enemies. She dashes toward them, but isn't fast enough to engage just yet. The orcs on axebeaks advance. -one goes towards Urgala and Sydiri at the inn -one leeps the fence to attack Zastu, but misses -others continue to harass the townsfolk -three see the dwarf, Ghelryn, and attack their mortal enemy, injuring him greatly The two fire giants move forward, stepping over the fence, seemingly approaching Zastu. Zastu, intimidated, backs up to where Mirri and Rysiel stand. Rysiel casts the Tidal Wave spell, and manages to knock an Orog and one of the Fire Giants to the ground. The second giant is hit, but stays standing. Oddly, that giant only checks on their partner before continuing past the adventurers. The one-eyed orc is Norgra! He sees his sworn foe: Sydiri, and rides toward her on his axebeak, casting Spiritual Weapon as he approaches. The spectral spear attacks Sydiri, but misses. The dwarf Ghelryn manages to escape the three orcs by falling back into his house and barring the door. He dashes through to the other side to get away. --end of round one--

[thatsjustsupergirl]

ur post about fic & racism in the supergirl fandom really got me thinking (especially about my own biases so thank you) but also like, how there’s this incredibly pervasive but subtle new form of racism I haven’t seen b4 in other fandoms? Like on one hand u have this loud condemnation of how racist monel is & how he was a slave owner blabh blah but no corresponding attention given to the existing Black characters. 1/4

I get wlw not wanting to write m/f fic but a lot of the fandom doesn’t reblog (or make) any of the gifsets, they don’t meta for him they don’t call for more screen time for Mehcad. Same for M’gann. SO many posts talking about how awful monel is compare him to Lena and strangely don’t mention the Black female character who also came from an oppressive society to become a hero? And there are like, idk, 4 people? Who write or post wlw fic with M’gann in it? 2/4

Same with Maggie. A huge segment of fandom decided Floriana is white (even tho hollywood clearly won’t cast her in roles for white women) so they use that as an excuse to exclusively stan the very light skinned white wlw. And the way it carries over to the characters, like, okay Flo is white? but Maggie is absolutely treated like a woc in how parts of fandom aggressively ignore her & find ways to demonize her character while overtly supporting lighter skinned characters ¾

And that same part of the fandom doesn’t ever seem to create content for Lucy or Vasquez either. IDK this isn’t something u can probably explore with stats but ur post really got me thinking and it just feels really gross now bc I see all these posts condemning racism but there’s still this extreme perpetuation of privileging white characters at the same time? & I haven’t seen this particular trend in fandom b4 4/4

Oh, anon, this made my day. I have a bunch of notes waiting in a doc to address the whole Mon-El thing with regard to the racist undertones and the rhetoric used by the show to frame his storyline, and I will do my best to write it before the season comes back again, because I genuinely think they tried to aim high and just … missed completely. (But I make no promises because my thesis defense is on Tuesday.)

To your first point re: fandom attitudes – I was surprised in the early half of S2 when so many people came out of the woodwork making posts in the main tag like “wait, why did they get rid of Kara/James??” because, oh right, nobody acted like they cared for almost twelve straight months. If y’all were so okay with this ship, where were you to acknowledge its social significance when it was canon? Where are you now? Why hasn’t there been an outpouring of tweets week after week at the execs and the writers for sidelining an interracial couple in favor of what we’re getting, especially since the storyline literally handwaved away human trafficking and slavery as minor plot points?

Not only that, when there’s unrealized potential for a non-canon ship there is typically an outpouring of fic in response, and while there’s been a statistically significant amount of new Karolsen fic in S2 because it’s pretty easy to top zero percent, the writing there is not keeping pace with any of the other dude-involved pairings. 

And you’re right, anon: it is not possible to prove anything with stats. HOWEVER, thanks to the addition of these new characters for S2, I *am* at the point now where it’s possible to see correlation between character race and fan engagement with different pairing choices. And the bias is there, whether it’s in the het pairings, the femslash, or even the m/m pairings. The whole reason I started tracking fic outputs in the first place was that any attempt to have this conversation last year devolved into yelling and finger-pointing because “you have no proof!” that racial bias is a thing. Except, yanno, all the POC who live with it daily saying that it’s a thing. Well, congratulations y’all: your choices leave digital footprints behind that are pretty easy to follow and chart for everyone to see.

This isn’t actually a new problem, by the way – racism and preferencing of white pairing happens a lot, in almost every fandom. The only difference maybe is that I’ve experimented with quantifying it, which is not something that people usually do when they study fandoms or fan behavior.

It pains me to no end that M’gann has been so overlooked, because her story has just as many dark character beats to it as Lena’s, if not more, plus the added bonus of her sharing a sense of “otherness” with Kara in a way that few other people can. And there is no way the disinterest in that pairing isn’t about race, because there are a whole bunch of ships from S1 between white women who’d never even met each other in canon that have more romantic fics than M’gann/anyone.

And the nonsense about Floriana, which I’ll remind everyone again was started by a white girl, had a demonstrable chilling effect on interest in Sanvers as a pairing. Like. I can actually show that on paper. And you’re absolutely right with what you said above, which bears repeating: Maggie is absolutely treated like a woc in how parts of fandom aggressively ignore her & find ways to demonize her character.

There’s also a treatment of Floriana herself that reminds me uncomfortably of how people went out of their way to demonize Naya Rivera’s personal life whenever she reminded the world she was black instead of just “very tan.” And a lot of the rhetoric people are using to talk about Floriana’s racial heritage is almost verbatim the same as what you’ll find on white supremacist discussion boards about Italian people. I’d love to think this is an accident, but I’ve made some people pretty angry for pointing this out in the past, so I suspect it’s at least partially deliberate.

Lucy was another case that drove me insane, for two reasons:

The vast majority of femslash fans flat-out ignored her as a romantic choice even though there were a whole lot of good reasons to ship her with either Kara or Alex, and a whole lot less negative reasons not to. (And it’s not like Supercat was already dominating the scene before Lucy’s character was introduced. That ship only became popular after the movie Carol came out during the winter hiatus of S1.)

People had the same fight last year about whether or not Lucy counted as a WOC and ultimately insisted that the answer was no. But then people kept on ignoring her anyway like somehow dubiously legal boss/employee relationships, potential treason, and incest were more logical bases for attraction.

Also, to the people who have been like “oh yay we could’ve had Dichen as Maggie, a real WOC” like somehow this would have made the fandom love her more – you’re full of shit. If you mean that, why has there been so little fic about Dichen as Roulette? Like, last year there were a whole bunch of shipfics featuring Livewire. There was Kara/Siobhan. And yet … no dark scenarios of Supergirl/Roulette? No Alex ones? There were even a bucketload of those for each Danvers sister + Max Lord, and this fandom isn’t even that into dudes. You’re telling me no one is interested in this kind of hero/villain dynamic with the Asian chick and somehow that’s not also about race?

tl;dr I suspect that a decent chunk of this problem is the result of subconscious bias, but some of it’s not. And what’s really sad about it is that, for all the talk on Tumblr about representation being important, we’re really doing no better as media producers than Hollywood when it comes to race. If anything, we might actually be doing worse.