#silver blankie

[fledermaus-art]

Gay. Homosexual. Gay.

Anyway. Blue Blanket x Silver Circle is already taking over my brain

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[fellow-traveller]

I guess it's already my mission now to find as many Hol Horse merchandise as possible. So I already have his 3 Medicos figurines, and one Banpresto keychain...

Today arrived this little tiny baby; again with that smug face:

It's a Cutie Mascot figurine, meant as a keitai (flip phone) strap, released about 10 years ago. It comes in a mystery box thing, which, since I bought it from a collector, I don't have the box to show.

Also, Polnareff ♡

Two Polnareffs, actually (my smol horse is a happy boy with his two polpols)

Of course, the whole gang:

I think I'm missing...Dio, The World, Hierophant Green and another version of Jotaro. Do I want to scavenge for the remaining 4 one day? We'll see.

After all, I only bought the set for Hol Horse. The rest were pretty much a happy bonus.

[kandyshoppe]

Just some baby ideas that I (hopefully) will (eventually) draw!

Riddle as a little baby and kid was in and out of the hospital. I feel he was a premie baby, and really struggled for a few years. He’s obviously better now, but a lot of his younger years were spent in hospitals and sickly.

Trey working the counter, and younger Crewel buying something, and just fawning over the cute baby! And Trey being like “can I takes you order!” And “fank you!” As he waves at Crewel with his arms FULL of baked goods! He bought them out, just so he could stay with the baby longer!

Cater playing with a camera, I bet he LOVED being his sisters camera man much more than their dress up doll. He liked pictures cause he can go through them and remember stuff!

Deuce just being a mama’s boy. Helping carry anything and everything, though the grocery bag drags on the ground, trying to cook and burning the eggs, picking flowers for her.

Ace just following his brother like a duckling, copying whatever his big brother does! (Silver doing this with Lilia too!)

Leona also having a nice relationship with his brother, but his brother is probably a little overbearing as many kids can be. Leona is such a cat he needs his space sometimes, but Falena just loves his baby bro so much!

Ruggie helping granny with laundry, and cleaning. Also crying cause he ate all the food, and it’s gone, he knows he ate it, but he wanted more! Oh! Ruggie was probably a messy eater, sprinkles and frosting everywhere!

Jack doggy paddling, Jack chasing his tail, Jack playing with squeaky toys, just Jack being a little puppy!

Azul helping cook, and run the restaurant! I like the idea that he would make pretend food and feed the customers the “special” he cooked up! Showing people to their tables, and helping taste test food! As well as his first Father’s Day present for his step dad!

Jade And Floyd just being brothers, fighting, stealing, arguing, but also just having so much fun together. Being silly and having fun.

Kalim chewing shiny jewelry, and just being a silly baby. I also like the idea he would run through the fountain with his nice party clothes, right before the party!

Jamil probably adored having his hair done by his mama, and would try to do his sisters hair, but as a baby she had short hair and he couldn’t do much. Put bows all over her! I also be as a little little kid he was allowed to shine, and liked showing off to his sister.

Vil just being a cutie! He’s adorable no matter what he does! He probably wasn’t a big model as a kid, and his dad tried to protect him, but man! Holidays are fun, and he does share his holiday pictures with Vil. Not to mention Vil’s Halloween MEGA photo shoot, cause his dad is a Halloween lover!

Rook being in his outdoorsy family, learning to fish, and track, helping garden. I have a headcannon that as a toddler, and he was mad, he would go eat the mint plant (his mother’s favorite) as like a gotcha! He always felt bad and would help heal it, but three year olds don’t think far ahead.

Epel helping Granny in the kitchen, covered in flour, carefully carrying the eggs! I also bet he was a big helper with picking the apples! On his dad’s shoulders, reaching as high as he can for the shiniest apples!

Idia and Ortho! Idia holding baby Ortho, showing baby Ortho his favorite games, and his toys! Crying when Ortho drooled on his favorite stuffies, and his mama comforting while she dries the toys.

Malleus learning how to shift to his human body, and him having hiccups that make him blow small fires!

Silver and Lilia! Omg! So many ideas! I love the idea of Lilia struggling with baby Silver, as a new parent, exhausted from baby cries, panicking over every little thing, ect! Lilia also crying and having to be comforted by Silver on Silver’s first day of school.

Sebek with his little crocodile tail, and teething! I bet his home has a lot of teething damages on chairs and table legs. Bet he had a favorite blankie too! Oh! And him and Silver being friends!

[crimsoncandy04]

Halloween offer. Scaramouche in a costume: ulona, ​​Scream, Vampire any to your taste. Wants to kill us trying to find us in a big house where they threw a party. 🎃

Posts have been slow today and I'm sorry for making you and everyone wait.

(it was my laundry day ☺️ it took a bit but now I can write in clean/lavender scented sheets. Plus my favorite blankie is soft again 🥰❤️)

So here is your request.

(Albeit a bit behind schedule) ( please forgive me 🥺😖)

Jealousy was a nasty emotion. An unsightly feeling that made any respectable human look stupid and deranged. At least that's what Scaramouche had originally believed before he discovered that a certain brother of his had done the unthinkable. No. The unforgivable.

Kabukimono KNEW that Scara liked you. And yet he STILL accepted your confession and started dating you.

He didn't even attend the same university as you and still just believed he could have you when CLEARLY Scaramouche would have been the more convenient pick! It's not that they looked any different anyways...Scara could EASILY act more whiny and insufferable if he needed to, since you APPARENTLY had a type.

The audacity of the little pipsqueak.

He wouldn't let this betrayal slide.

No.

Kabukimono would pay.

YOU would pay.

And so Scara quickly began to set everything up for his revenge plan.

Getting rid of his triplet brother would be the hardest part. But he decided that it would be easiest to frame his end as a tragic accident.

Adding something he was allergic to in his food would be easiest. Especially if he hid it well and convinced kabukimono to eat after he took his medicine.

The police would see that he was already under the effects of sleeping medication. And conclude that in his dreary mental state, he must've accidentally eaten something that was deadly to him and rule his death as an accident.

It was perfect.

However, just before Scaramouche pulled it off, fucking WANDERER nearly messed it up completely by asking Scaramouche why he offered to make dinner and clearly added something to the pot that Kabu couldn't have.

He brushed it off as a mistake and assured his other kin that he would make something else but as soon as Wanderer left, Scaramouche went back to scheming.

He knew he succeeded when he got a call from the local hospital with Wanderer on the other end screaming his head off about Scaramouche being a piece of shit and accusing him of purposely harming their baby brother.

Scara just hung up.

That little shit had it coming.

But now his attention was back on you.

Beautiful, funny, charming... STUPID...you.

No. He had to remain strong.

You were clearly in the wrong. How could you not have seen the way he looked at you? The way he'd leave little gifts on your desk? The way he'd always drop EVERYTHING to spend time with you if you just as much as mentioned that you were lonely.

You did this on purpose just to fuck with him huh?

You'd regret that.

One of the most popular men on campus (Aether) had recently announced that he was going to throw a huge Halloween party at his house. Everyone who wanted to come could as he and his sister (Lumine) were well regarded for their kindness and easy going attitudes socially. Therefore the event wasn't exclusive and they made it clear that everyone going was to just have fun and have a few drinks regardless of anything going on in their lives outside.

This opportunity couldn't be better for Scara. He relished in the idea of being handed such a perfect chance to get you alone practically on a silver platter.

Now he just needed a fucking costume.

A day had passed since the party announcement and eventually Scaramouche found the time to shop for a costume. A typical store bought vampire outfit. Nothing special, he didn't plan on staying honestly. Just wanted to get you and then leave. There was no need for an elaborate or expensive costume.

However once Scaramouche arrived at the party, he realized that finding you might be more of an issue than he originally considered.

Aether and Lumine clearly came from a well off family to put it simply. Their home was nothing short of an old money mansion that had more square feet to it than the number of citizens in the town. And as Scaramouche crept inside the painted giant oak doors along with the rest of the crowd, his eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he took in the giant foyer and circular iron staircase as well as the high ceilings and marble floors.

Where the hell were you in this absolutely unnecessary amount of likely inherited living space?

Scaramouche slowly made his way through the crowd of guests and made it upstairs safely. Pausing to look below only once as his heart practically stopped.

Wanderer had just entered.

He wasn't dressed up either and he had his phone out which meant only one thing.

He was looking for Scara.

Quickly Scaramouche fled from the stairs to the upstairs hall. A long corridor with six doors lining the walls in total. He could hear voices and the muffled sounds of people fucking, however as he crept closer to the end of the hallway, he managed to catch your voice finally.

However it was coming from the stairs.

Fuck.

Scaramouche crept back towards the top. Careful to not make much of a scene as he tried to blend in with everyone else he passed and appear nonchalant.

What were you wearing?

He heard you laughing then. Sharply turning his head to face the group of people that were drinking and chatting near the railing. However he couldn't spot which one was you. He saw two men dressed as a cartoon character and an actual banana. The rest of the group consisted of 5 women. Three were wearing generic witch costumes while the other two were some kind of robot and a maid.

Scaramouche tried peering at their faces but was quickly given a look and was forced to look away. Not that he had had much time anyway as he glimpsed Wanderer coming up the steps too.

Scara hurried away.

He guessed you were probably one of the witch girls he didn't see very closely and ducked into a closet nearby to wait out Wanderer while also spying on you and your two friends.

You sounded drunk. But oddly enough it was almost cute to him. The way you laughed at stupid things and sang along to the music playing downstairs. Going as far as to poorly mimic the sound of the instruments with your own voice as you gave little care to your surroundings.

Eventually you wandered off. And so did Scara's brother thankfully.

He tried to trail you now. The knife he had brought still safely tucked into his pocket as he struggled to guess which room you were in now.

Scaramouche couldn't wait to make you pay for playing with his emotions like you did. Just the idea of seeing your pretty face contorted with fear as you struggled to move underneath him while he pinned you down. He could just hear the sounds of your adorable shrieks of pain and terror as he plunged the blade into your chest. The satisfaction he would feel, knowing that HE had been the last face you saw. The last man that would be in your mind as your eyes dulled and your body slowly bled out beneath him.

Finally you would know how he felt when he saw you with his brother at that stupid park that day.

The suffering he had been put through. The pain in his chest that YOU had inflicted upon him.

Scaramouche crept into the first empty room. Nothing. Just some random girl that lay passed out on the floor. Some other girl was clearly high as she sat on the bed staring at the ceiling blankly.

He shut the door angrily.

He heard you talking again.

The end. She's near the end of the hallway.

However before Scaramouche could head that way, he glimpsed a blue and white hoodie out of the corner of his eye and immediately ducked back into the room he had just left as Wanderer passed by the door and greeted you as you spotted him.

"Wawan! You came! Wait where's Kabu? Is he busy or something? I really needed to see him today."

"he's fine. He just had a really bad allergy attack yesterday. He's at home resting now. By the way, have you seen Scaramouche anywhere? I need to discuss something with him but I can't find him."

"no. I haven't. I thought he didn't like parties so I didn't bother looking for him."

"don't worry about it then. It's no big deal anyway. Just text me if you do see him. Have fun Y/N. I'll see you next week."

Finally he left after that.

Scaramouche quickly made his move.

However you were fucking gone AGAIN by the time he got to the end of the hall and picked the lock on the furthest door.

Swearing to himself and turning back around, he spotted your hat above the crowd and quickly stalked after you as you went back downstairs.

Several people were suspicious of him now as he had done nothing but creep around and hide since he had arrived and as he followed you into the kitchen, more heads turned his way.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This was NOT as easy as he thought it would be.

Scaramouche quickly put on a fake smile as he pretended to be grabbing some pizza and ate it in the corner as he kept his eyes glued on you.

Your long dark hair fell over your plump ass in the most sensual way in his opinion. Your smooth skin glistened in the harsh bright lights. The way your soft voice sounded so breathy and kind even now as you slurred your words and tried to hug someone only to spill your drink on yourself.

Your thin black dress clung to your hips and emphasized your full figure beautifully as you struggled to wipe off the excess beverage from your chest with a napkin someone handed you.

Gods how Scaramouche could just feel his cock harden in his pants at the thought of being able to yank down that tight dress and expose your fat tits to him as he leaned down and gently bit one of your nipples between his teeth.

But no. He couldn't. You didn't want him.

You wanted his lousy and probably terrible lay of a brother instead.

Scaramouche struggled to understand what you even saw in that brat as he followed you out the back of the kitchen and through the small hallway behind it. You were heading for the bathroom at the end and he knew it was now or never.

If Scaramouche couldn't have you.

No one would.

You stumbled through the door just as he lunged in after you. Quickly shutting it and locking you both inside.

You had no idea what was going on.

"oh Scara! I thought you were at home with your brothers. Sorry I really need to pee. Can you wait outside for your turn in the bathroom? I don't feel comfortable with you while I'm here too.

Suddenly Scaramouche grabbed you by your shoulders and flipped you around. Pinning you against the bathroom wall as he swiftly pulled out his knife and held it to your throat.

"I'll bet you would be just fine if I were Kabukimono though hmm? You'd let HIM be in here with you wouldn't you?"

Scaramouche's hand shook as he pressed the blade into your tender flesh. A thin crimson line forming as he continued.

"so did you have your fun? Did you and him just LAUGH it up as you joked about how PATHETIC I must've looked trying so hard to get your attention for so long?"

"S-Scara... please you don't understand! We're not together!" You pleaded.

He just rolled his eyes.

"yeah right. I SAW you two meet up after evening class last month. DON'T fucking lie to me bitch."

"I'm not lying! Check my phone if you don't believe me!"

Scaramouche paused. Inching the blade away from your neck just a little.

"what? What do you mean?"

"just look. I didn't know how else to try and talk to you. So I befriended Kabu in hopes that he'd help me figure out how to spend more time with you." Your voice trembled. You shook physically as Scaramouche felt his entire inside grow cold.

No way.

He pulled your phone from your purse and easily unlocked it. Scrolling through your messages. His entire face went blank.

Shit.

He fucked up.

BEYOND fucked up.

You suddenly began to cry.

"please don't kill me! I didn't mean to make you mad! I thought you hated me because we never talked! Please just let me leave! I wanna go home!"

Scaramouche's heart raced.

No no.

This was bad.

You'd NEVER talk to him again after this.

You'd probably even call the police.

Wanderer would hear the story and put two and two together as to what happened to Kabukimono.

He'd absolutely beat the shit out of him and that was if Scaramouche DIDN'T get the shit beat out of him in prison first for two counts of attempted murder!

He knew he was fucked.

And so he gave in to the thoughts in his head.

"I'll let you go. But first..."

Scaramouche pulled you back against him as he continued to hold the knife to your throat. His free hand grasped your boob as he leaned in and gently nibbled the side of your neck.

"If I never get the chance to touch you after this, I want to enjoy myself tonight."

Using his blade, Scaramouche then brought the weapon downward and cut open the front of your dress. Your nipples grew hard as the cool air hit them. Your pussy getting wet despite the circumstances.

You tried to push Scara away from you but he clung on tightly. His entire arm wrapped around your waist as he pushed you towards the floor. Once down, he slapped your ass HARD as he pulled down the back of your dress next and exposed more of you to his predatory gaze.

His eyes linger on your curves as you feel his hand carefully trace the outline of your sex through the fabric of your panties. Cupping your pussy as he pulled your hair aside and kissed your neck again. Leaving a small trail down your back as his lips stopped on your ass cheek. He then gave it another slap before suddenly cutting away your underwear too.

Your glistening sex was a sight to behold. So wet and plump. So warm and inviting. Scaramouche couldn't help but give your lower lips a little lick as he dug his hands into your hips and pulled you against his face.

"Scara~" you whine. His tongue is deep inside of you then. He doesn't stop.

He laps at your delicate inner walls greedily even as you writhe on the floor. Your drunk body doing very little as you slump against the bathroom tile. The pleasure being too much for you in your current mental state.

You hear him sigh and moan a little against your cunt as he gives some attention to your clit next. Licking in a small circular motion as he makes your legs shake. Only stopping when you cry out and your juices squirt into his mouth.

Scaramouche swallows every drop hungrily as sits up and then flips you finally. Settling between your thighs as he frees his cock and teases your opening with the head.

"Scara you can't...I could get pregnant ~" you moan. Your words simply go in one ear and out the other as he slides into you roughly.

"good. If you do, everyone will know who this pussy belongs to and no one will DARE take you from me. Besides..." He picks up the pace. Yanking your knees up further as he fucks deeper into you.

"I think you'd look so cute all swollen with my child." He places a hand on your lower abdomen as he begins to go even faster now. His climax quickly approaching.

You moan and gasp as he hits your sweet spots repeatedly. Causing your lower body to tighten as you feel yourself cumming again. This time alongside Scara.

He takes a few deep breaths before slowly pulling out of you. Your body limp from the assault as you lay completely spent on the floor before him.

Fuck.

There was no coming back from this.

Scaramouche pulled out his phone and shot Wanderer a quick text. Telling him everything before tossing it over his shoulder and going back to focusing on you.

You were clearly still intoxicated. But your face was glowing as the aftermath of your orgasm still has you relaxed and tired. Scaramouche knew he'd be in deep shit for this. All of this.

But he still had one plan in mind.

He slid himself back into your tight heat and began to thrust into you once more. Your soft moans already driving him wild. And this would just be the beginning.

Before the night was over either Wanderer or the police would arrive for him. Or maybe both. But that didn't matter anymore.

Scaramouche still had a good 45 minutes with you before anyone would find you both.

That was plenty of time to ensure that at least when he was behind bars, that you and your body would be forever marked by him.

And that he'd have a new son or daughter waiting for him upon his release.

[averagepolarexpeditionenjoyer]

sex enjoyers poll part 2!!!! My bad for not putting Blanky on the first one, apparently there’s a cuntiness limit we hit last time 😔😔

personally I would want to fuck Francis Crozier when he was better but if I couldn’t… I’d fuck him again but when he’s going through the alcoholism withdrawals so I can sensually nurse him back to health like a baby bird except he’s a sad sweaty man (..Jopson…. I get it now….)

[spacebarbarianweird]

Generations

Synopsis: Astarion just watches his baby daughter sleeping. That's all. And three centuries later Alethaine does the same with her own little elf.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Tags: fluff, dadstaron, dhampirs, snippet into the future, no hurt, no angst

Alethaine's age (1st part) - 7-months-old

Alethaine's age (2nd part) - 302-years-old

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Alethaine is seven-months-old. She can already crawl and tries to grab everything she can reach out for. The little dhampir bites, her fangs grow faster than regular milk teeth, and she often leaves small bite marks on her mother’s hands. 

The girl sleeps peacefully in her cradle, covered in pillows and blankies, barely visible in her soft shelter. Other pillows are thrown on the floor in case the half-dead baby decides it’s time to crawl out using her spider climb.

It’s already a headache that she can defy gravity by using walls and ceilings as the continuation of the floor. 

Astarion places his pale hands on the cradle. His sharp senses immediately identify the fast heartbeat of the girl. Her living heart beats so fast that it sounds like a little drum.

But her chest doesn't move, as if she were dead.

A month ago Astarion held his baby girl fearing she was going to die. A sickness, a fever – the town's healer couldn’t help Alethaine and just told her parents to wait. Tiriel cried, placing her red head on his shoulder, and so did he. But then, Tiriel accidentally scratched her finger causing some blood to spill. Astarion still wonders what exactly made Tiriel believe the solution would be to give these red droplets to the girl. 

But she was right.

The moment her mother’s blood was spilled into her toothless mouth, Alethaine’s eyes glowed red and her chest stopped moving.

Forever. 

A dhampir. Half a vampire. 

An elf with a quarter of human blood. 

His daughter. 

Astarion caresses her silver hair – they are already pretty long and have the same color as his. 

“Is she asleep?” Tiriel asks, entering the room. “It is time to feed her.”

“If she was hungry, she would wake up,” Astarion whispers. 

“All right. I want to go outside,” Tiriel kisses his cheek. Astarion nods – it’s a summer day and Tiriel loves spending it outside. “You know where her food is.”

“Don’t worry. Will you go to the woods?”

“Yes, I want to swim in the lake.”

“Be careful, darling, there are some nasty things in this forest,” Astarion playfully slaps Tiriel’s butt. 

“Oh, everyone knows I am married to a vampire! I have permission to do whatever the fuck I want!”

As Tiriel leaves the house, Astarion stays alone. He tries to remember how the woods look in the summer sunlight but can’t. The High Wood isn’t like the forests around Baldur’s Gate, and it transforms into another world at night. Alas, he can’t leave the underground part of Daggerlake – and now, when the days are long, he sometimes feels confined. 

He shakes his head.

The thing is, he isn’t. A confined person wouldn’t have his own home. A confined person wouldn’t be a parent.

But he has and he is. 

Astarion walks up to the ceiling. Then, he lies on his back right above the crib looking at his daughter. Alethaine moves in her sleep and he smiles like an idiot. 

Such an adorable little creature. 

Elven culture is extremely child-centric. Every baby and every pregnancy is seen as a gift from the gods. Miscarriages are treated like the death of an actual child. Elven babies are rare and usually, there is only one child in a community. 

Astarion doesn’t consider himself an elf – he is a vampire, and it seems like his whole mindset is closer to the human one. But looking at his daughter awakens something in him. Maybe it’s just what every parent feels toward a wanted child.

But maybe it’s his own elven nature that reacts to the fact he was indeed blessed with a gift. The gift of having a child.

Does she have an elven soul, one weaved by the Seldarine? Did she have past lives? Do dhampirs even have souls? What will happen to her when her long centuries of life come to an end? Will her soul mingle with other elves and return to the material plane in the next reincarnation? Or she will experience mor, the final death?

So many questions. And no answers. 

Alethaine’s ears twitch and she yawns, exposing her little fangs. Astarion keeps looking at her from up there, grinning and smiling.

Suddenly he feels his body stir. Sunset.

The night has come.

Alethaine opens her dark eyes and sits up. She stares somewhere, baring her fangs.

The night has come for her, too.

Then, she looks up and sees Astarion. 

“Da-da,” Alethaine stretches her little arms to him.

“Good morning, little princess,” he says in Elven. 

She tries to stand up but falls back as her muscles are too weak. Then, she turns away as if hearing something.

Astarion catches Tiriel’s scent.

“Oh, it seems like Mum is coming back,” he coos, returning to the floor.

As Astarion takes the baby in his hands, Alethaine immediately presses her little face into his chest. 

“Hello, my love,” Astarion smiles at Tiriel coming to their small kitchen. Tiriel smells like the woods and the lake, and her hair is wet. She cups his cheeks and kisses him. 

“How have you two been?”

“Woke up at sunset,” Astarion sits at the table, and Alethaine immediately switches her attention to Tiriel. 

“You are such a sleepy kitten! Look what I brought you!” 

Only then, Astarion notices a wooden plate full of blackberries. They are big and smell like late summer. 

Alethaine wastes no time and grabs a berry with her small hand. In a second, the berry is already in her mouth.

“Do you like it?” Tiriel asks.

Alethaine grabs another one. Her lips and cheeks are covered in purple juice; she looks a bit like a vampire. 

“Well, now we know she does,” he laughs. “I suppose your scratched hands are the result of your berry gathering?” 

“Couldn’t resist!” 

Alethaine hicks and turns away – she’s eaten enough and now wants to do something else. Tiriel places her on the floor. Alethaine sits looking around and then tries to get up which ends with her falling back. The moment it happens, the dhampir bursts into tears.

“Kitten, don't be upset” Tiriel rubs her daughter’s left ear. “You will learn. What?” The half-elf laughs looking at her husband’s face. 

“I am just happy,” Astarion finally admits. “I am very, very happy.”

**

302 years later

A seven-month-old elven baby sleeps in a wooden crib. The blanket covering her delicate body is green and decorated with intricate symbols and runes, a combination of Wood Elven and Moon Elven scripts. 

The girl has fire-red hair and it is already pretty long, a very clear difference between elven and human children.

Alethaine holds a plate with blackberries in her hand. It’s the third one she’s eaten today – blackberries grow abundantly in the Isle of Evermeet, especially close to the Feywild portals, and it’s probably the dhampir's favorite thing about her new home.

The fact she doesn’t need to wait for the late summer to get her favorite treat 

“Still sleeping, Little Fire?” Alethaine asks, studying her daughter’s face.

The moment the newborn was placed in her hands, she noticed this quirk of her. Her hair is the color of a forest fire. None of Elren’s ancestors had such – he was half a Wood Elf and his mother had Sun Elven heritage. Thus, Alethaine’s husband has fair hair with shades of gold. 

And his eyes are as blue as northern rivers, a contrast to Alethaine’s pitch-black irises. 

“It seems like we all are heavy sleepers in this family, Tiriel Goldenroot,” Alethaine murmurs.

It is against elven traditions to give an adult name to the child. But no one could prohibit the witch queen of Evermeet from calling her daughter in honor of her mother, Tiriel the Barbarian. 

Tiri. Little Tiri, that is what became her child's name. 

Alethaine puts the plate on a table and walks up to the ceiling. She nestles right above the crib putting an arm under her cheek.

Looking. Studying. Listening.

Tiri’s heartbeat is fast like a drum, and her chest moves up and down as she peacefully sleeps.

Elren says she might see some glimpses of her past lives, but they will never be consistent enough for her to apprehend.

Alethaine smiles. By the time she turned 299, she had accepted her life was in its stable stage. She had settled in a small town and got known to the locals as “that witch who helps to investigate suspicious deaths”. She loved digging graves and scaring suspects with her necromancy. Asking the dead questions was fun and comfortable.

Her father, Astarion, would sometimes come to her without warning when he grew tired of his vampire guild. Sometimes, it annoyed Alethaine (who would love to share the property with a parent at her age?), but mostly, she enjoyed his company. Though it was difficult to deal with a father who was going through his third or fourth youth while the dhampir was experiencing yet another existential crisis. 

And then, Althaine got guests. An elf. His friends – a dwarf, a halfling, a druid, and a dragonborn. And a job – help them to retrieve an artifact that could potentially save the world from demons.

Alethaine just asked for money – and Elren didn't try to convince her to play the hero. He was offering a job, not a life mission. And he’d had enough life experience not to teach others what to believe in. 

In her crib, little Tiri turns on her right side and her ear twitches. Alethaine bares her fangs – she still breastfeeds and the dhampir feels an unpleasant heavy sensation under her corsage. 

The side job ended up with Alethaine finding her thiramin, her elven soulmate, the man who was worth staying with. Elren led the elven army to the fight and Alethaine resurrected the dead, her very own soldiers slaves to her necromantic will.

The adventure came to an end with her becoming the “witch queen”, the elven king’s wife. She knows Elren suspects she will grow tired of such life and run away back to Faerun, maybe to her father’s guild.

But Alethaine won’t. She feels at home. She feels safe. She feels loved. 

Her parents tried their best to raise her, but she is a dhampir. Half-undead. A monster of her own. Nothing can change it. 

And now, she knows what her father felt by Tiriel’s side. When someone looks at the monster and loves them the way they are. Elren looks at her as if she was some dark goddess. And her mother adored her father as if he was the most precious and beautiful thing in the world.

Well, Alethaine can’t complain.

But there is a thing that bothers her. 

What is her child, exactly?

Dhampirs are born mortal and normal, but then, they experience bloodlust, they stop breathing and suddenly they realize an unfriendly creepy neighbor is a vampire. Usually, this transformation happens before puberty, sometimes later, sometimes earlier. It’s a disaster if it happens too late, when the dhampir is already an adult. Alethaine became a dhampir when she was five months, and she thinks it’s for the best because she just doesn’t know what it is to be something else.

But what about her baby daughter?

Is she like her? Did she inherit her dhampirism? Of course, it isn’t a problem – but Alethaine knows too well that being dhampir often… sucks. It’s loneliness. It’s fear. It’s…not as good as it may sound.

Alethaine jumps on the floor and leans on the crib. Elren says she looks like a witch  trying to kidnap a baby when she does it, but she can’t agree more. Besides, it’s a compliment. Elren, who could have been placed in a book with a commentary “a classic looking and behaving male elf”, has always had a taste for macabre.

Tiri opens her eyes and stretches her arms to Alethaine, demanding attention. 

“Your grandpa will adore you, you know that? He already does, even though he has never seen you.” 

Alethaine caresses her daughter’s ears, so similar to her own.

The realization comes to her out of nowhere and strikes her like sudden bloodlust.

Tiriel Goldenroot isn’t like her mother at all.

She isn’t a dhampir. She is an elf. In every aspect of her existence.

Alethaine grabs the baby and Tiri makes a disgruntled sound. 

“You are not half-undead!” Alethaine exclaims. “You are not!”

She presses the warm bundle to her chest and rushes downstairs. She passes by a few elves but pays little to no attention to them.

Elren reveries in the garden and his hair resembles molten gold in the sunlight. He sits placing his hands on his lap. His bow and arrows are put aside and his circlet, the only visible symbol of his “royal” position, lies in the dirt, as if the adornment caused discomfort.

His familiar, a lynx called Echo, follows Alethaine as she enters the garden. Echo is only two decades younger than Elren. 

Lynxes don’t live that long, but Echo does. And the ranger’s familiar is much more intelligent than it tries to look.

“Elren! Elren!” Alethaine kneels in front of him and basically pushes Tiri to his chest.

“W-what?” He returns from his trance dizzy and disoriented, unable to distinguish the events he re-lived and the things occuring right now. “What happened?’

“Look at her!” Alethaine demands, showing her fangs. “Look at her!”

Elren rubs his eyes and cradles his daughter in his gentle hands.

“She is mortal! She is mortal, not half-undead like me! I know it!” Alethaine sniffs.

“You say it as if it were something bad” He mutters, putting his arm on her chest as Tiri also awakens and starts playing with his long hair.

“Don't get me wrong, Elren, I wouldn’t want to be anything else, besides, I can’t imagine how limiting it is when you can’t use walls and ceilings to move. And having to breathe! You mortals don't understand how comforting it is to lie on the bottom of the tub covered with hot water or bury yourself in the heaviest blankets!”

“Yes, love, visitors who are told they would be greeted by an elven queen definitely don't expect to see a necromancer in a black dress standing upside down and commanding her skeleton-butler to bring tea,” Elren finally manages to concentrate on her face and Alethaine feels a bit guilty for disturbing his reverie.

“I thought you liked Mordo.”

“I do like him.” He places Tiri on his lap. Echo approaches them and leans its head near the girl, allowing the toddler to grab its ear. The lynx doesn’t seem to mind it. “Especially the fact it has shadows of the memories of all three people you’ve made him of”.

“And all of them were morons,” Alethaine would sigh if she could. “I like being a dhampir but I didn’t want Tiri to be like me”.

“And she isn’t?”

“She isn’t,” Alethaine kisses her thiramin’s cheek. “Sorry for interrupting your reverie.”

“Don’t. It wasn’t a good one.”

Tiri gets cranky and starts crying, stretching her arms towards her mother. 

“Hungry, Little Fire?” she smiles. 

Elren stands up holding Tiri to his chest. Alethaine picks up the circlet and places it on her husband’s head – he is much taller than her and she has to tiptoe to do that.

“It suits you, you know that?”

“Still not sure,” he pouts, taking her hand.

Alethaine Ancunin smiles sensing his warmth.

She is lucky. And happy. And it will always be like that. 

--

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[chiropteracupola]

Hi I am Exceedingly Curious about leg theory but tumblrs search function is the only search bar that exclusively shows you things that AREN'T what you're looking for. May I have a link to an explanation of Leg Theory?

leg theory is the brainchild of the excellent and esteemed @catilinas and in short it is A Collection of Thoughts regarding Seafaring, Identity, Curses and Rituals, Sacrifice, and a Significant Leg Injury or Incident!

notable incidences of leg theory include: odysseus when scar on leg, john franklin's / thomas blanky's / ???'s legs in the terror, john silver's leg in treasure island & black sails, a good 45% of what's going on in moby dick, and that time my dad fell through a hatch on a sailboat and fractured his tibia in a way that was quite interesting for his character development.

other and perhaps more coherent explanations about leg theory can be found here, here, and here, and for Grasping At The Vibes of When It's Leg, I highly recommend perusing the 'leg theory' tags on either of the fine blogs I have linked!

[jungle-angel]

Stormy Nights, Sunny Mornings (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Amy’s looking for snuggles during a thunderstorm and there’s only one place she’s sure to find it

Thunder rolled and boomed like cannon-fire outside the house, the lightning flashes bright and ominous as the rain pelted every last inch of the house. Downstairs, the cats were asleep, purring away against each other and Diesel snored away in his crate near the stairs. The whole house shook from the tremendous force of the thunder, yet you and Rhett hardly even woke at all. 

The sound of tiny little feet pattering down the hallway were drowned out by another boom of thunder, hurrying as the toddling figure of a little girl reached with all her might and pulled the door handle to open the door. In the curve of one arm, she carried her yellow blanket embroidered with several Winnie the Pooh characters and her Tiger Lily ragdoll, clutching out of sheer fear of the thunder. 

You and Rhett snored away in your bed, completely unaware of the sensation of the covers lifting up and Amy crawling her way up the foot of the bed. She popped right up between you and Rhett who rolled right over with his arm around the both of you. 

“Princess?” he mumbled sleepily. 

“Dada I scared,” Amy whimpered. 

“Ain’t nothin to fear sweet pea,” Rhett yawned. 

You smiled and rolled over, your sleep made slightly more uncomfortable by your ever growing bump that had practically shown up overnight. You gently scratched Amy’s shoulders as Rhett covered her with her blankie and drawing the covers back over all three of you. The storm lasted well into the night, yet you slept through it, barely even stirring. 

You awoke when the sun had finally come up, pouring through your windows only to hear the birds chirping loudly. The smell of fresh rain and humidity filled the room and when you rubbed the grog out of your eyes, you found Rhett sanding at the window with Amy on his hip, still wrapped in her blankie as they stared out the windows. 

“......Uh huh and look,” Rhett said, pointing out the window at the fields beyond the house. “You see the rainbow over the mountains?” 

Amy giggled and clapped her tiny little hands, excited that she could see the big rainbow that had settled over the mountains in the distance. You very quickly pulled your phone off the charger next to the bed and snapped a picture, wanting to capture the moment for your scrapbook later on. 

“Mornin my queen,” Rhett said when he noticed you were awake. 

You laughed a little as Rhett leaned over to kiss you, placing a giggling Amy on the bed next to you before kissing your bump. “And you my other little princess,” he chuckled. “I hope you were good to your momma.” 

“She was don’t worry,” you said. “I don’t think this one has any fear of thunder at all.” 

Rhett laughed a little as he helped you up, the two of you leading each other to the window where you saw the sun illuminating the dark silver clouds in the distance and the brilliant rainbow that arced over the mountains. You snapped another picture before you kissed your husband and felt the baby rolling over in your belly. 

“Now somebody’s awake,” you laughed.

Rhett laughed with you before he kissed you again. “C’mon sweetheart,” he said. “I promised I’d make Amy pancakes and bacon for breakfast.” 

You followed him downstairs before Amy came close behind you, holding her hand while you and Rhett went with one arm each around your waists. Never before had your home been so full of love and you hoped that it would be filled with it forever.

[dragon-communion]

Here at Fort Blankie, dedicated to the saintess of A Full Eight Hours of Sleep, we don't really have guards. If someone invades and they look a little cranky, we just flip a switch that floods the halls with dream mist and collectively pass out. With the invading army. Everyone deserves a nap, okay, either they'll reconsider when they wake up or they don't and we just kind of nudge the bodies into the peat bog of eternal oblivion. Technically we're supposed to be guarding this huge shiny silver bow until a champion of our Lady comes along in her hour of greatest need, but it's a pretty cozy job? And there's like. Fifty thousand traps in here that also trigger the dream mist. Most of them even work.

And if someone does steal the bow somehow... they still have to get out, right? And the lights are really dim, and the bodies in the marsh sing very softly. There's really nothing to worry about. Coziest job in the world.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Aim True (Bridglar)

The runner-up of the "country loves songs" prompt poll was: Trick Shot

Virginia City gets cheesier every year. John is just glad the worst of the Nevada heat hasn’t made an early appearance; last year, it reached triple digits in spite of it being only May. 

“Mr. Bridgens!” Three of his students wave to him from in front of the “Olde West Shooting Gallery.”

Why they’re attempting a middle English spelling in a state that never saw a British colony is beyond him, but he waves back as he crosses the road to join them. 

Ostensibly, this field trip is to cap off the senior year with a celebration of Nevada history. John doubts more than a handful of students see it as anything other than a chance to spend the day browsing souvenir shops, daring each other to go into the plethora of haunted hotels, and gorging on ice cream and caramel apples. But they look forward to it, and he does like seeing the young minds he’s shepherded through AP or standard English have a day to just be young and carefree. 

Principal Franklin sets only three mandatory events for the day: getting to the bus on time, getting back on the bus on time to depart, and seeing the live “Wild West” show.

The trio of students tells him all about the Silver Queen as they find seats in the open-air theater. John ends up between Franklin and James Fitzjames, the drama teacher. He wishes he’d taken a cue from VP Crozier and brought a large hat; the sun is baking his scalp, and the flies keep buzzing past his ears. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, cowpokes of all ages, prepare for the wildest show this side of the Rockies!”

The crowd cheers with mild enthusiasm; it’s only the 11am show, after all. No one has had time to imbibe from the saloons lining the street. Not that John would anyway; he’d sooner die than be a derelict chaperone. 

A stetson-bearing figure bursts through the central curtains and the staff, and a few of the seniors, hoot and clap. Thomas Blanky, former and much beloved shop teacher, gives an exaggerated bow before launching into the same speech he gives every year.

“Howdy folks! We’re just plum tickled you could join us all on this fine, Friday mornin’. We got a real fine show for you today full of sharp shootin, trick ropin’, and the prettiest face in the west” he winks, “the rest of my troop ain’t bad either.”

Bad accent aside, John enjoys seeing his old colleague acting the ham. Blanky runs through a handful of mildly impressive trick shots, including popping balloons taped to the hats of his fellow performers. 

Next is a comedy act involving a literal dog and pony (and a cockatoo), the handler going by Irving insisting that the routine is wholesome while his co-presenter and the exotic bird do everything they can to undermine this assertion. 

The third act earns an incredibly loud cheer from James and Francis, as well as from the rather odd duo behind them of Goodsir (biology) and Collins (P.E). Lady Silence, as Blanky calls her, steps onto stage, and John is tickled to see she’s sporting period-accurate Shoshone clothing. Her act consists of more elaborate trick shots, all of which she does without uttering even a peep of fear while permitting a tarantula, then a scorpion, then a rattlesnake (“really a gopher snake” Francis mutters, only to be elbowed by James) to climb on her arms and hands.

When Lady Silence is done, she’s followed off stage by the loudest cheers so far, including a “Brava” from Goodsir. 

Act number four sets John's heart beating quicker; knife throwing has always struck him as one of the more dangerous endeavors one could pursue. It doesn’t help that Mr. Irving is back, looking a bit too convincingly terrified as one Mr. Hickey outlines his silhouette with knives. When both men exit in one piece, he relaxes and listens to Blanky introduce the final act. 

“And now, to close out our show, the amazing, whip-smart, hawk-eyed, Harry Peglar!”

John’s heart speeds up again. 

The man smiling out at the crowd with quiet showmanship and earnest excitement has the most handsome face he’s ever had the pleasure to see. 

Harry tips his hat and proceeds to shoot smaller and smaller targets from the air. The coin shot is so impressive that he even hands it to Crozier to inspect before and after the shot. As he straightens and tucks the coin into his pocket, his eyes fall onto John

“For this next trick, I need a charming assistant. How about you, sir?” 

John blushes, his instinct to demur, but both Franklin and James urge him forward, and so he allows Harry to pull him up onto the stage. Some of his students cheer, and he can tell without looking that many phones are pointed his way. 

“What’s your name, sir?”

God, does the man have to address him that way? He can only pass so much pink off as 

sunburn. 

“John.”

“Tell me, John, do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Good man.” Harry claps him once, friendly, on the shoulder, “you do, however, know what one of these are?” He produces a cigarette from his pocket. 

“Yes.” He smiles, “I said I don’t, not that I never.”

Audible shock from some of the students earns a laugh from the crowd. 

“Are you willing to hold this in your mouth for me? It won’t be there very long.”

John obligingly parts his lips only to realize, belatedly, that Harry meant for him to take it from his fingers. Without missing a beat, the trick shooter places it against his lower lip with a grin. 

“Now, John, I have another question. Do you know what this is?”

He holds a bullwhip up to the crowd to “oohs” and “ahhs.” John, slightly distracted wondering where the man had been hiding the implement, nods. He’s fairly certain James is cheering extra-excitedly; he did make John watch all four Indiana Jones films. 

“Here’s what I’m going to do, John. I’m going to light that cigarette for you. And before you even have a chance to inhale, I’m going to put it out from all the way over there.” He gestures eight feet to his right.

Harry looks over his shoulder, still audible to the crowd but with clear sincerity, “Do I have your permission, John?”

He nods again, trying not to imagine all the other things he’d grant Harry permission to do if he gave him that same look once more. 

“Wonderful! Let’s have some cheers for my brave volunteer!”

He uses the cacophony to huddle in close to John, who steadies the unlit cigarette steady with his fingers so the younger man can click a tarnished Zippo beneath it. Then, in a blink, he’s out of reach, unfurling the whip and testing it, bantering with the crowd but keeping his focus clearly on John. 

“Ready, John?”

Not knowing what else to do and feeling too tense to nod, he offers a thumbs up. 

“Hold still now, I’ll have that out for you in three, two, one.”

Crack

His ears ring, though the claps from the crown and the lack of any blood on his face tell him Harry managed his trick beautifully. He holds up the remainder of the cigarette, increasing the cheers. 

“Well done, John!” Harry practically bounds up to him, “let’s give him one more round of applause, folks!”

John means to leave the stage to the performers once more, but before he can, Harry grabs his hand and brings him down into a bow along with him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s an hour left to go on the field trip, and John is an extremely icy cold brew that Fitzjames treated him to. Most of the students are staying close to main street, finishing up their last purchases and taking endless pictures of each other.

“They were a fun crowd.”

He turns to find Harry leaning against a streetlight, still in his cowboy costume, ten times more handsome than anyone who ever played the role on screen “school groups can be hit or miss.”

“I’m glad as well; an excellent show deserves an appreciative audience.”

“Easy to put on a good show when you’ve got good help. I, um” he reaches into his pocket, “I have to go get ready for the show at two, but I meant to give you this before you hopped off stage. I always like to give it to my volunteer for that trick. This time I was a little flustered and forgot.”

Harry holds out the coin from his sharpshooting trick, dropping it into John’s palm. 

“Oh, I-” He’s not sure if he means to protest, or say thank you, but Harry cuts him off by closing his palm for him, keeping his own hand around it.

“Something to remember me by.”

A flash of a smile, followed by someone shouting his name from across the way, and then he’s gone. John stands, watching him walk toward the theater, and savoring the ghost of those fingers around his own. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late June finds him back in a much hotter Virginia City, the sun refusing to drop behind the mountains quickly enough to provide a much needed respite from the glare. He hadn’t expected to visit again so soon, but Silna and Goodsir invited him to meet them for dinner; the Delta Saloon has begun serving a special, twice-monthly menu of period accurate fare and he’s very excited to see if it’s any good. 

Arriving early–there’s been bad traffic the last two days so he erred on the side of caution–leaves him ample time to ponder the historical artifacts tucked away in the corners of the saloon. He’s reading the plaque on the “suicide table” when a figure steps beside him. 

“Anticlimactic, I always thought.” 

Harry smiles when John looks his way, the undercurrent noticeably changing from friendliness to hope when John smiles back. He’s dressed in modern clothing; a black tank top, tan shorts, and ankle hiking boots (much better protection against the dust, pebbles, and sunburn than the sandals of most of the visitors). 

“The story” Harry continues, “that it’s named that when what happened is one or two people might have killed themselves because of losing money at it, not because someone used it in one, or died right on the wood. Besides, if that’s the bar for calling something a suicide table, I’d bet half the slot machines from here to Vegas need the same plaque.”

“Agreed. Though I do enjoy the thought of preserving some piece of the past, even if it’s to make salacious signs about it.”

“Did you come all the way back just to read our signs?” Harry says with a hint of cheek. 

“That depends on if there are any you think I’d like.” He turns full-on toward Harry, who aims for a subtle looking him over and fails.

When his phone buzzes, he considers dropping it in the nearest pitcher of water. 

“One moment, I’m meeting Silna and Harry, other Harry, that might be them.” 

H. Goodsir: Running late, courtesy of the majesty of nature.

Attached is a photo of a herd of mustangs, who seem utterly disinterested in moving from both lanes of Highway 50. He shows it to Harry, adding, “That’s not sarcasm; the man is delighted any time he sees the native wildlife. Which doesn’t always end well; we were driving to a conference in Tahoe once and he stopped to look at a large black bear. Still in the car, of course, but poor Mr. Collins was still rather stressed by the proximity.”

Harry laughs, then tilts his head towards the bar, “Sounds like we might have time for a drink?”

“I’d say so.”

John orders a gin and tonic, paying for Harry’s lager with a playful, “they don’t pay teachers that poorly” when the younger man tells him he doesn’t have to. 

“What do you teach? I didn’t get the chance to ask and I’d been wondering.”

“English, two classes of honors and the rest for seniors and a handful of juniors.”

“I hope they get on better with you than I did with mine; we got into an argument over Tess of the D’urbervilles and I’m not sure he ever got over it. The dyslexia didn’t help; he thought I wasn’t applying myself.”

“That’s a shame. There are lots of ways to assist students who struggle with reading, for any reason. And as a teacher, I’d argue it’s part of the job to make sure you do.” He sips his drink, “may I ask what the argument was?”

“I just thought it was worth talking about how Hardy has a lot of opinions on farming and morality for a man who probably never did any farm work. All well and good to talk about the evils of modernization taking us away from nature, but acting like the things that make running a farm ten times easier are evil because they don’t match your imagined idea of the life seemed…shallow. And I thought that might be an interesting angle to look at the book from. Mr. Thompson disagreed.”

“I happen to think it’s an excellent point.”

A shrug and a sweet smile, “Might have just come to me because I grew up on a farm. You grow up shoveling cow shit, you have some thoughts on the pastoral.” He flinches, “pardon my french.”

“Harry, I was in the navy for ten years, I’ve heard profanity that would make the devil faint.”

“That’s why you have tattoos. I noticed them during the show and, um” he takes another sip, licking his lips after in what’s either an automatic motion or a bid to drive John mad with desire, “I’ve been thinking about them ever since.”

He forces himself not to say that if he’s a very good boy, Harry might get to see the rest. This can just be a friendly drink. If Harry wants it to be more that’s for him to decide. John won’t push it. 

“None of your own?”

“Not yet. I want to get a line of poetry but I haven’t decided on which.”

John is very glad for this; if he’d managed to get Harry into bed only to find lines from one of the greats etched into his skin, he might have fainted. 

“Who are the contenders?”

A snicker, “Thomas Hardy, for one. I do love his poems about nature. I like Whitman too, but it’s so hard to choose…”

They spend a good half-hour discussing the merits, and ironies, or tattooing varies stanzas onto oneself. By the time Goodsir taps him on the shoulder, they’re leaning far enough towards each other that his glass nearly hits Harry’s jaw when he jolts in surprise. 

“I was starting to worry you’d be stuck there all night.”

“I’m sure.” Goodsir says with a smile and a glance at Harry that suggests he doesn’t fully believe him, “they eventually realized there were better places to rest their hooves. I got some wonderful pictures though.”

“You’re going to run out of memory at this rate. Again.” Silna keeps her amused look as she adds, “do you want to eat with us, Henry?”

“Oh no, I don’t want to intrude, I was just keeping John occupied while you got here. I ought to be going, it’s not the longest drive back to Dayton but I’ve got a mountain of chores to do. I’ll see you tomorrow, Silna. Nice to see you, Harry, and it was wonderful talking with you John.” He offers a final, parting smile. John watches him go once more, wondering if doing so makes him lecherous, or if he even cares if it does. At the door, Harry pauses, looking back, and his face brightens when he sees John is looking at him. Then he winks and steps into the finally cooling air.

“Your right pocket.” Goodsir murmurs as the waiter leads them to a table.

John ventures a hand into his shorts and finds a slip of saloon napkin next to the coin, the one he’s been carrying like a lucky charm for a month. 

Give me a call

It’s followed by a phone number. Harry didn’t have a chance to write it while they were talking, which means he must have done it the moment he saw John in the bar. 

Silna shakes her head, “I told him I could just give it to you for him.”

“You trick shooters, you do have a flair for the dramatic.” Goodsir pulls out her chair. 

“If we didn't, no one would watch.”

John lets them banter for the moment. After all, he has to attend to the pressing matter of asking if Harry would like to join him for coffee tomorrow.

[custardcuddles]

[Image ID: A long haired, black and silver tabby loafing under sheets being suspended like a tent by two legs on either side of the photo. The cat has big yellow eyes and she looks up at the photo taker. End ID]

mommys working but i ask her to move into nana's room to snuggle under the blankies

i cannot snuggle in mommys room for secret reasons

[midnightmah07]

I headcanon that as a child Silver had a baby blankie he couldn’t sleep without and if he didn’t have it he would be cranky when he woke up. Lilia likes to bring it up from time to time🥺

That's SOOOO CUTE💙💙💙💙 makes sense too hehe... You know who else had a blankie when he was a child... TARZAN– [GUNSHOTS]

[liviavanrouge]

Baby Pictures

Ollie: You have pictures of Livia as a baby?

Lilia: You wish to see them?

Aura: YES!

Oz: GIVE ME A REASON TO TEASE HER! SHOW US!!!

Lilia: *Beams and runs off*

Livia: PAPA NO!!!!

Silver: At least it isn't me....

Kuro: Me neither...the others got lucky as well..

~~~~

Lilia: *Beams* This was when Livia first crawled!! She kept rolling over onto her back and side! It was so precious!

Oz: HAHAHA! Look at that cute bonnet! Liv, who knew you were such a cute and small baby!

Lilia: This was when she tried fruit for the first time! The way her eyes lit up when she tasted a strawberry!

Lilia: Oh and this one was from the first time she went outside to her mother's garden!

Aura: Oh, look at the smudge of dirt on her cheek

Ollie: Awwww!

Sebek: Her ladyship looks so adorable!!

Livia: *Trembles covering her face* This is so embarrassing....

Silver: Better you than us

Kuro: Yeah!

Lilia: These two are from when she turned two and went swimming for the first time! Aren't her swimsuits adorable!

Oz: *Laughs* She was still so small!

Malleus: *Smiles as Aura passed him the photo next* Cute...

Lilia: Oh look at this one! When she was a baby she'd cuddle up with her blanky!

Livia: *Looks up her face turning bright red* PAPAAAAAAAAAA!!!

[red-panda-agere]

I'm not sure if you usually take asks, but I will die for any headcanons you have on Little Yoomtah or Little Zora. Please. I know some people headcanon that Zora uses her epithet to turn herself back to be that size, but I want to know your opinions. I'm sorry if this sounds awkward. I'm just not really used to talking about this side of things. I'm glad you're a safespace and show it proudly!

ฅ(•ㅅ•❀)ฅ

I’ve literally been avoiding talking about these two because I’ve been worried nobody wants these headcanons, I’ve never been so happy to get an ask, Epithet is my biggest interest and has been for over a year now, ESPECIALLY BLISS OCEAN!!!

SO I HAVE FAR TOO MUCH TO SAY AND I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE SO EXCITED TO TALK ABOUT THESE TWO (but I’ll try to keep it short!)

(I will not be talking about Anime Campaign, as much as I want to,,,)

Regressor! Zora Salazar

Headspace range of 2-5

Yes, on occasion she likes to use her epithet to physically regress herself but if she’s with anybody else she refuses to let herself be physically small, especially when she’s already unbelievably mentally vulnerable as well. Ontop of this, if she’s ever with Yoomtah or someone else who’s regressed, she doesn’t want to make them feel bad or upset since they can’t just do the same as her. So, Zora usually only uses her epithet to regress when she’s alone.

I feel like she’d use her epithet to age herself down just to go play at the park by herself, and not feel out of place, or like the swings were too small. She gets a bit sad though when she does something she thinks is cool but can’t turn around to see if her mom or dad saw her do it.

Even when only mentally regressing, it can be the result of a meltdown, Zora bottling up her emotions and refusing to regress as much as possible. She will put off regressing for as long as possible, enjoying being regressed but dislikes the fact she enjoys it. Being vulnerable is very hard for her, even when she’s alone. She will eventually hide in a blanket fort and cuddle her wolf stuffies and color, crying while doing so as she guiltily tries to make herself feel better.

Teethes and chews on anything and everything. She really likes more rubbery things though, pacifiers and chewlery, but will chew on blankies or stuffies when those aren’t available.

She hides her pacifier under her scarf or hat when regressed, but still in uniform, even though nobody would be around.

Not very verbal when little

Needs a nightlight to sleep when little

She melts at the nicknames “sunshine” “little lady” and things like “lil bugger” or just “kiddo.”

Her prized stuffed animal is a Build-a-Bear wolf named “Silver.” He has voice boxes in his paws from her ‘co-workers’ telling her how loved she is. The one from Yoomtah is more silly than the other three, and weirdly a bit static-y for some reason.

Honestly just a pretty chill little one when she’s regressed. Compared to other little ones, she’s honestly okay with anything, and is only really emotional if she’s been caught regressing or a caregiver is trying to help her regress. Afterwards, she’s okay with a lazy day of cuddles at home but still excitable when she’s asked if she’d like to play or go on a zoo trip.

When overwhelmed, she likes to hide in pillow forts alone by herself and look through story books or play Pokemon.

She really likes playing with Calico Critters. The texture of the Calico Critters makes her really happy, and the fact they’re animals just makes her ten times happier.

Zora would shoot you in the back with a Nerf gun and evil giggle to herself.

Wears blankets around like they’re ponchos or capes.

Sometimes she just has days where she likes sitting in caregiver’s laps when she can, or at least next to them, hiding her face in their neck. If it’s mentioned, or even acknowledged she will sit back up so fast.

She has really bad and vivid nightmares about her parents that usually leave her regressed pretty small and crying into her baby blanket. The baby blanket is one she’s had since she was a baby, her mother making the blanket for her, quilting the sun and sheep patterns into it. It’s one of the few items she took with after her parents were killed.

Avoids baths at all costs

Dinosaur nuggets

Doesn’t really do “little clothes,” but she does enjoy baggy t-shirts and pajama bottoms.

Loves playing outside when little, but not really in Sweet Jazz, unless it’s beach season. She’d much rather be running around the woods, finding cool rocks and showing anyone with her the cool mushrooms she found (but didn’t touch).

She prefers apple cider when a caregiver decides to give her a bottle before bed.

Loves talking about dinosaurs

She enjoys Sherrif Callie’s Wild West, but will usually prefer older movies like Care Bears or The Land Before Time.

Regressor! Yoomtah Zing

Headspace 3-6

She adores playing dress up, especially when she gets Zora to join. They like playing “Dragon and Princess” but they end up arguing over who gets to be the dragon sometimes so they just play dragons.

Invites Zora to all of her tea parties and treats Silver as “the honored guest” every time. When she has tea parties on her own or with just her caregiver, she has elaborate drama between all of her stuffed animals. She can’t have ‘pretend’ tea parties either, there’s always sugar cookies or snacks of some kind, and usually soda or strawberry milk in the teapot. She thinks most tea tastes too bland.

Always has Bluey, My Little Pony, or some cartoon on in the background

She loves finger painting and likes giving everyone in Bliss Ocean one of her masterpieces so she can receive praise.

Near impossible to make her upset or find her fussy

She probably tries to eat things she shouldn’t. (In all honesty, she probably does this normally but ESPECIALLY when little she needs to have a watchful eye on her.)

Releases Zhu Zhu pets into rooms without warning

She can sit still for hours if you give her enough bracelet making materials, especially rainbow loom.

She enjoys loud toys a bunch, but understands that Zora gets overwhelmed by them when they’re together.

Zoobles

She really likes pink lemonade and strawberry milk.

iPad baby

Her assortment of toys is really varied and random. You could find an original gen 1 My Little Pony toy and then stumble upon the newest Hot-Wheels set.

She has a Furby that is almost always in her hands, as well as a collection of animatronic animals. Some of her favorites are her iDog, Hatchimal, Little Live Pet turtle, and a Furreal Friends Alicorn (just to name a few.)

If possible, she becomes even more energetic when regressed (and more impatient/lh)

Will wear onsies, dresses, skirts, overalls - whatever, she’s not picky about clothes, just impatient when they’re being chosen for her.

Yoomtah is alot less shameless about her regression than Zora and will ask everyone in the headquarters to play with her.

When Zora feels extra little, Yoomtah likes to act as the big sister, and sometimes babbles nonsense at the regressed cowgirl if she babbles first, and pretends to have full conversations with her in baby talk.

When Zora is being really stubborn about regressing, Yoomtah is really good at getting her to relax, not prying or asking things like ‘how old are you right now?’ or ‘do you feel little?’ She just walks in and asks her what she wants to play, or if she wants to come build a sand castle with her.

Yoomtah and Zora seem to have some sort of secret, silent code, and Yoomtah can always understand what Zora wants even if she doesn’t speak. Not even Zora knows how Yoomtah does this, because sometimes she’ll ask for something for her and Zora won’t even realize she wanted it until it’s given to her.

She and Zora will often just sit and talk about animals they like. Zora really likes talking about canines and animals on land, while Yoomtah knows far too much about microorganisms and alien sharks. They probably watch Wild Kratts and Octonauts together.

[silvlee-shepherd]

Tickletober Day 15: Tickle Fight

More info under read more:

When this poly is together, tickles are inevitable. Tickle fights are no exception.

Nearly anything can stir up a tickle fight. Something as little as a startled gasp can lead into one, because then they have to take advantage of whatever caused the reaction, then one gets a little too cocky and has to be reminded about how cute they are, and by then it's simply unfair to let one be untickled!

Ah but once in a blue moon their tickle fights can become quite....intense. That's what you get when your relationship is made up of a reality bender, a demon child, and a herp with a lot of experience on his belt. Surprisingly these tickle fights have no gauge on who would win. Allow me to explain.

First we have reality bender Host, who could literally narrate what happens to their bodies if he wanted to. However, it can be proven quite difficult to bend reality while being tickled. It takes a lot of focus. Still, he has enough strength to summon feathery, fuzzy tendrils to wrap around his lovelies' spots. He may be recieving the least amount of attention, but Host can only take so much at once before it becomes overstimulating, but don't think that a little tracing can't make him crumble.

Next is Yandere. This fierce soul is fueled by determination. I personally like the idea of them having the demonic summoning power of dead hands (from OoT) since it was a demonic easter egg from Yandere Sim *

Though they cannot help but crumble under having two Senpais teasing their ticklish spots

And lastly is poor Silver. You'd think with the combination of two magical partners he'd tap out first, but not Silver! Thanks to his superheroness, his endurance allows him to endure the most intense ticklings for a good while if he's determined enough. He may not have incredible powers, but a quick webshoot to immobilize and his incredible endurance leaves him in a giggly waiting game. After all it's not just him against Host and Yan, since they are also focusing on each other and waning down their energy as well!

Of course it's all good fun for the poly, and they immediately cuddle up with hot cocoas, tea, water, blankies, and with one having bragging right. Well, until the brag one too many times and start another tickle fight

*Note: Artist does not support the creator for Yandere Sim

[themetalvirus]

I dont remember if you've talked abt this before but uwahhh ;-; the egg boys not growing out of nesting habits but egg sonic being alone after silver and shadow leave...who does sonic nest with? 😭 does he have anything to nest with as a substitute?

i imagine he would try with metal sonic, orbot/cubot, and/or badniks, but its not the same.... he still makes his blanky nests all the time but hes in them alone