#thank you again nonnie!

[plain-as-pandemonium]

When Hannibal showed up at Bedelia's home with the dinner he'd cooked for her, did Bedelia know/suspect that the meal was made with human meat?

i absolutely LOVE this question and i really want to thank you for sending it because there is so much to discuss here!

thinking about the answer to this question requires us to consider what bedelia knew, what the audience knew, and when. what do we know for sure? well, we know the meat wasn't human. despite the writers leading the audience to believe at the end of s1 that hannibal had killed abigail and was serving her as "veal", after s2 we know abigail was actually still alive and in hiding at the time of the veal dinner. so the meat was veal, which is an interesting choice in itself. as bedelia notes, it's a controversial dish--how did hannibal know she would be willing to eat it, let alone that she would appreciate it?

she certainly seemed to appreciate it 😏

here's what else we know: throughout s1, bedelia is gathering information. about hannibal. about the work he's doing for the fbi. about the nature of his relationship with will graham. she knows hannibal is consulting on serial killer investigations. she's would also know, presumably, from reading the newspaper, that a serial killer is operating in her general area. of all the characters on the show, she is in the best position to connect the dots between the murders in the paper, their timing and their gruesome details, and her social anti-social only patient, especially when the fbi shows up at her door to ask questions about him.

we simply do not know, for a fact, what bedelia might have suspected. however, i am inclined to believe--based on her sharp intellect, her ability to connect dots, her remark that "they're starting to see your pattern"--that whatever suspicions she may have had, she put them aside in order to enjoy a gorgeous, five-star meal that was brought directly to her door by someone she considers a worthy dinner companion

[thirteenemeraldcats]

I can't remember which team they're playing in the ep with the yellow and blue kit, but football teams have a 3rd kit to wear if they are playing away and their away kit is too similar to the other team's kit so thats probably why we only saw that one once

Hello Nonnie!

Thank you so much for dropping this insight off in my inbox! The wildly talented and endlessly knowledgeable @abubblingcandle was just explaining this to me as well!

In my domestic football code, teams have a home kit, an away kit (which is usually just switching out the colour of their shorts lol), and only one clash kit- any further variations to the uniforms are either charity based or occasion specific, so the existence of that blue and yellow bonus clash kit from 3x07 was just very perplexing to me 🤣

Thankfully there are wonderful people like you and candle floating about on the internet to explain the fantastic chaos that is 'the world's game' to football-naive people like me!

💚💚💚

[tonycries]

drunk reader sucking on getos adams apple while he's asleep🥴🥴🥴

[sakasakiii]

hi!!! how long does an average panel of one of your comics take??

i love your work so much!! it got me into silmblr hehe

HI NONNIE!!! thank u sooooso much for checking in and for ur lovely ask! it means a lot to hear that my silly ol scribbles were what introduced u to the glorious landscape that is the tolkien fandom! on tumblr no less!! i hope you stay a real long time, and have a blast while you're at it 💖💖

now onto your question! that's some good food for thought uhhhh i can try to estimate?? its been a while but i shld have some rough ideas abt each that i can share! the time frame each comic/panel takes is highly dependent on WHAT kind of comic it is. i hv two kinds of comics I usually do: 1) full-length, and 2) goofy/4koma.

i have a few full-length comics laying about in my archive, but my most recent one/best example is Ghosts which was around uh.... 7 pages excluding the bonus panels! in terms of the process, i usually divide it into 5 stages:

Drafting: this is either the fastest stage OR the slowest depending entirely whether i know what im doing LMAO,, if i have a set idea for what i want to happen, i might get drafts done in a few hours, but if i flounder, it can take a few days 🤔

Lineart: relatively simple enough once i hv the draft down, so id say anything ranging from an hour to half a day if theres nothing else going on irl

Block colouring (main actors): there are DEFINITELY easier and more professional ways to do this with mass-selection and the lasso fill/bucket tool, but idk how to do that on SAI (my art program) so i colour everything by hand HAHA which makes the process longer.... half a day to a day?

Shading: THE WORST!!! definintely my least favourite bc i find it tedious due to all the details/prettification of elves that i am legally obliged to pour into this stage 😭😭 as a result, it can take days!!!

Background + Lighting + Final Rendering: similar to the previous stage haha it just depends on how much effort i wanna put into the final product looking nice. roughly a few days? it kind of meshes with stage 4 anyways haha

just for fun, i hope this process gif for page 6 can illustrate that 👇

these are just rough estimates, bc all in all, the time it takes so finish a page is really dependent on how free I am hahaha. Also, I usually work on full-length comics like Ghost which have more than one page all at once, which means I drafted all 7 pages at once, then did the lineart for all 7 pages at once, coloured at once, shaded rendered bla bla bla 😚 iirc, i think it took me 11 days in total to finish Ghosts before the end of June last year!

For goofy/4-koma, its usually just one page with less detailed/more cartoonish/chibi character styles so it takes a day or two days at most! again, it all boils down to how free i am hehe

YEAH SORRY THIS ENDED UP BEING AN INFO DUMP but thank you so much again for asking and letting me ramble! <3 i ended up having a lot of fun looking back on my drafts n thinking back on my processes.... theres defininitely room for improvement, but thats another worry for another day heheh 😎

[bonnieisaway]

Thoughts/interpretations of past seven? (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

MY FAVORITE SUBJECT WAHOO! !!!!!!!!!

Okay I've said it like a lot in the past but I do not believe past Seven is different from the current Seven. I will DIE on this hill, they are the exact same person. There is no two different versions of Seven.

'past Seven' is often seen through the eyes of very unreliable narrators. It is very difficult to discern what is and isn't true about Seven, because in the past he was so outwardly emotionless that everybody else would project their own ideas onto him, so any assessments of his personality from Captain Jack and Redtooth are not actually factual. Green Phoenix is the most impartial in his retellings of past Seven, so we can only trust when other characters tell us about the EVENTS that happened, not about how they thought Seven felt.

With the preface, Seven is just as sympathetic and caring in the past as he was now. This is factual. We can learn this from three key things:

He refuses to fight outside of missions, and does not draw his blade unless his life is threatened.

He did not kill Ouyang Zang when he killed his master.

He did not kill the man from season 3, who recounts the story of when Seven was chased by all the killers in Xuanwu, and Seven noticed how scared he was and chose to walk past him.

From these we can gather he does not like killing, and he more often than not is spares people he does not need to kill, even if it is in the future, possibly detrimental to him. Both of the second points come back to bite him later in season three - and that is something he would have known could happen. Ouyang Zang is actively grieving when Seven notices him, but he is not a threat to his life, so he does not kill him.

And there's a pattern set of other assassins willing to kill any witnesses or people who do not, in the current moment, cause them any harm. The assassins that killed Thirteen's mother planned to kill them both - not only for the sake of trying to hurt her father, but they were willing to kill an innocent child. Manjusaka also murders three people in a restaurant for shit-talking Redtooth. Most assassins do not care to spare innocent bystanders or people that are bad mouthing them.

So we can reasonably assume that Seven is not like this, and does not like killing people senselessly. He only ever does it to survive. And that might not entirely sound like he's still an empathetic person - which I think it does but I'll be damned if I won't drive my point home - but we KNOW he is because he scarifies everything for the Girl in White.

Somebody who is ruthless, unfeeling, and a cold hearted murderer - as Seven is often painted as by other character - would have never crumbled for the Girl in White, because they never would have had a reason to. There would never be any empathy within them for her to set free. Seven walked into a trap and committed treason to save her life, for no discernable reason. It is the first time he has ever outwardly protected somebody. Seven, in his past state, has to be an empathetic and caring person in his heart, because only an empathetic and caring person would have put everything on the line to save her. The 'ruthless, unfeeling Shadow Killer' he is painted as has no reason to do this, and would never do this, because he understands the harms way he puts himself in doing this.

These previous instances, of him sparing people and only drawing his blade to protect his life or for a mission, are our first hints that he was not the person people believed him to be.

But then you ask, if he was an empathetic person, who never wanted this, then why did he become a Shadow Killer at all? And the simple answer is: He had to be.

Seven is fifteen years old when he joins the Shadow Killers. He has zero affiliations to any clan, family, or school, and the only other person we've ever seen from this part of his life, is an unnamed, unarmed woman who unexpectedly dies. Leaving Seven alone and fighting to survive for most of his life.

We know from Thirteen's backstory that children are not seen very empathetically in Xuanwu, at the very least, her mother's assassins were not afraid to kill her, too. And we've learned in several instances that the wildlife in Xuanwu is dangerous, there is an entire species of serpent people who shapeshift into humans to try and fucking eat you. It's also incredibly hard to make a living in Xuanwu, as we know from Meowcai, and the most lucrative, easy option is becoming an assassin. Seven is a child who is, presumably, living on his own. I think it is more than reasonable to assume that Seven ended up somehow on the path to be an assassin in order to survive, and he never left because there was nowhere else for him to go. So he grew up to learn to ignore his empathy and compassion because it would only get him killed, because it was nothing but a glaring weakness. So he always keeps a straight face, never lets anybody get close, does his job, and always masks his emotions. This bottles up inside of him up until the incident with the Girl in White, and then he cannot ignore it any longer and risks his life to save her, despite only ever being a killer, and never protecting anybody before.

Seven was always an empathetic person, and he grew up in an environment where he never could be. When he washed up on Chicken Island, he was nothing but his bare bone personality. His core personality never changed, just his environment, and his care free environment allowed him to be a more goofy, loving person than he ever could've been in the past. When people say Seven is 'reverting' to his past self in season four- he's not. He is the same person, in the same environment, who cannot afford, or have the time to be fun loving and goofy. That is why he is a doomed Shadow Killer. Not because he wants to be, or because it's in his nature to kill, but because he will always end up in this situation again, and he will have to resort to killing to protect himself once again. And that 'fun loving' part of his personality will never get to show, because he'll never feel safe enough to let it. Past Seven and Seven are the same person, just in different environments. Thanks for coming to my TEDTalk

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Autumnal doctor/rose, i lov it! How about ninerose and some alien hot cider?

thank you so much for this prompt, nonny! <3 hope you enjoy the fluff! and as always, please forgive any mistakes. i am my own worst grammatical enemy.

[read on AO3]

"That can't be right."

Through the doorway, he watched Rose laugh as she dumped yet another fistful of pseudocinnamon into a giant cauldron. The TARDIS had dug both out of storage—or generated them spontaneously, the Doctor suspected. He certainly would have noticed the cauldron before: the thing was massive, a piping hot shade of orange that assaulted the eyes, tall enough that Rose could barely see over the rim after hauling it up onto the hob. It was so fanciful and absurd he couldn't believe it was supposed to be functional.

It was also exactly what Rose had asked for.

Could hardly be a coincidence, could it?

You spoil her, he thought with a brief, mild accusatory glance upward. But he was not favoured with so much as a blinking light.

Typical.

The Doctor had always known the TARDIS had favourites, but he'd never in all his lives experienced such blatant, unrepentant spoiling of a travelling companion! The first time he'd seen Rose's bedroom—or, more accurately, palatial bedroom suite—he'd been gobsmacked. Her bed was enormous, at least twice the size of his. Though he wasn't much for throw pillows, hardly any aboard the ship had escaped the journey to Rose's bed; it was a miracle she could sit on the thing, let alone sleep there. And the eightieth century hi-fi teledeck?

No longer the centrepiece of the media room.

Which he was still sulking about.

But this was a new level of indulgence. The ship didn't just create matter out of nothing; everything had to come from somewhere—usually her vast stores of past rooms. To come up with something completely new involved energy transference. Effort. Time.

And, to create something as specific as a garish orange cooking cauldron? Care.

Shaking his head, he stepped inside the little galley kitchen. He'd followed his nose thus far, but the scent grew even more potent the moment he passed the threshold and into the sweltering heat of the narrow space.

"What do you mean?" Rose was asking, turning to look at him with big, worried eyes. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, nose and lips a berry pink. "This is exactly what the barista told me to do!" She rapidly dusted off her palms, a cloud of warm brown powder dispersing into the air, carrying with it the spicy, faintly floral scent of the cloned cinnamon root native to Chame. It made his nose itch. "Why would he lie?"

The Doctor scoffed. "To keep you coming back, Rose! All the way across the charted universe—dragging me and my poor ship with you—just to get your hands on the real thing," he said, with a grumbling noise of displeasure as punctuation. "Probably a bit of clever salesmanship."

Rose's smile slipped a little, prompting an unpleasant dip in his own stomach. It wasn't fair to her, him being so obviously jaded.

After all, the barista had been perfectly nice. To Rose.

Specifically.

"Was that a harrumph? Did you just harrumph at me?" Rose's head cocked, and the grin she set loose on him was a true blue Rose Tyler special, top to bottom: eyes sparkling, tongue curled around her teeth, and with a certain jaunty angle to her chin that told him she was gloating for some reason he didn't want to think too hard about, lest he actually find out what in the world she meant by it.

"Here, put this on. You can help," she said, turning to withdraw—from one of the kitchen's many and dangerously full drawers—an apron that didn't quite match her own. Hers had cheerful, smiling Jack-o'-lanterns all over a white backdrop, nestled amidst illustrations of autumn leaves and lit candles and seasonally appropriate candies that nobody he'd ever met actually enjoyed.

His apron... also had pumpkins on it.

"Oi! Is that s'posed to be me?"

He snatched the article from her hands, pulling it up to look closer at the frowny, grumpy-looking illustrations dotting the black fabric. The eyes and mouths of the Jack-o'-lanterns were slightly puckered, like someone had left the pumpkins out in rough weather for a few days, and it gave them a uniformly sour, Scrooge-like expression.

His gaze narrowed, and Rose pressed her lips together, like she desperately didn't want to laugh. "Don't look like that," she managed, raising her hands. "I just asked her for aprons."

The Doctor scowled, even as a part of him perked up. Aprons, plural. Had she wanted him to join her all this time? Why hadn't she said anything?

"Anyway, don't worry," she went on carelessly, "nobody's here to see you in it."

You are, he thought in spite of himself.

His eyes followed her as she took back the apron and motioned for him to bend so she could drape it around his neck. The brush of her jumper-clad arms against his hair made the tips of his ears tingle and grow warm, and he ducked his head nearly to his chest in sudden awkwardness. The few moments it took for her to make a knot would give him just enough time to get hold of his rebellious—not to mention ridiculous—biology, he decided.

Don't be daft, came his stern internal voice.

There. Job done.

When he righted himself, Rose was beaming. "I dunno," she said, tipping her head this way and that, observing him, her ponytail flopping about. "I think it works for you."

"Do you now?" He looked down at the frowning pumpkins spread across his chest; they were even more wrinkled and unpleasant viewed upside-down.

But if Rose thought differently...

"Yeah." She nodded more definitely. "Very good look."

Well, then.

-

Making the cider took more time but was somehow less involved than it seemed Rose had expected.

Aside from grinding up all the pseudocinnamon and quartering the apples—they hadn't picked up any authentic Autogolds on their last grocery stop, but had some lovely Galas to hand—the other steps were quick and simple. Most of the process was a load of hurry up and wait.

Which left them with little to do but hover around the cauldron, breathing in the steam and knocking hips when they got too close. Which was often.

"What's so great about this cider anyway?" the Doctor finally asked, after a few moments of grinning at one another across the cauldron. He dipped the wooden spoon in for another sample, wondering when he'd suddenly taste what made it special enough for Rose to go to all this effort.

He remembered the overly-friendly barista, smiling with all his teeth. He remembered walking around the market stalls afterwards, Rose beaming and pointing out every little thing that caught her eye while the sun set. He remembered sudden warm pressure—how she hid her face against his shoulder when a stiff wind blew through the courtyard, setting all the beads in the jewelers' tents tinkling and flashing. There were no skittering leaves to speak of, but the whole scene had given a passable impression of a mild Earth autumn day.

It had been a good day, yes. But the cider had been rather ordinary.

Rose nudged his hip again, then deftly pulled the spoon from his hand. "Stop messing with it, or it's never gonna brew right. We're s'posed to let it sit." She replaced the lid, closing in the steam and the gentle sound of simmering. Then she sighed. "I dunno. The barista told me all the ingredients and how to make it and it all seemed fairly normal, I guess, but there was just something about it—comforting. Couldn't put my finger on why. Maybe because it was such a perfect day," she added absently, fiddling with the hem of her apron.

The Doctor stilled. "Perfect?"

When he looked at her face, her eyes were on the floor. "Yeah. Think it was."

"Not... boring?" he asked, wishing she'd look up at him. But she was just crossing one foot over another, concentrating on her shoelaces. He wondered why.

After they'd dropped Adam off on Earth, he recalled with a scowl, he had gone a bit mad with the easy trips. Just a little break, he called it. But their "break" had turned into weeks of short stops on interesting—but more importantly, peaceful—worlds. Playing tourists.

At first, neither of them had really known what to do with themselves in these sorts of places. Relaxation was anathema. And Rose had been around long enough to know you never took off your running shoes, not ever, so she didn't quite let her guard down either. They'd wandered around, taking in the sights—Rose was never short on curiosity and clever questions—but it was always with their backs up. Ready for anything. It was a vigilance neither exactly knew how to shrug off.

Especially after he'd nearly lost her.

And she knew it.

They would meet each other's eyes and just know what the other was thinking of. The Dalek, the laser to the back of her head. Incomplete goodbyes over a staticky video. And the fear in her eyes when he'd run toward her with a gun in his hands. He hadn't felt that kind of shame in... a long, long while.

But they'd survived.

It took every moment of those two weeks to make him believe it. And it was only once they landed on Chame, in that market—so familiar, so Earth-like, and yet so different—that the calm finally found them. Arm in arm, meandering through a crowd with warm cups of cider in their hands. He'd realised then he wasn't waiting for the next thing to come around the corner. And neither was she.

Time had passed since that day on Chame. Back to the old life. The adventures. Neither of them could bear to stand still for long, or rest on their laurels. There were so many worlds needed saving, where time and tide of history had to be set right. It was never-ending.

It was their life.

But not the only part. Was that why she wanted to recreate the cider?

"No," Rose said after a moment. "Not boring. Not for me." She finally looked up, eyes soft. Shrugging helplessly. "Could never get bored with you."

The Doctor swallowed. Her proximity was like gravity.

He felt himself tipping into it. Giving in to it. Hands lifting to settle on her arms. and his head falling forward, lips coming to rest gently on her crown. Her hair smelled like apples and cinnamon and warm human.

It would have been impossible for him to say it, but he had no doubt she knew.

That day hadn't been boring for him either. It had been... more than good.

It had been perfect. The day's very ordinariness made it unusual, standing out like a burning star amidst their murkier, often more difficult travels. Its simplicity—its uncomplicated pleasures—made it rare and maybe even worth recreating. Sometimes.

"All right, then," he said. "We'll have cider." He couldn't say all he felt, couldn't tell her he understood, because he didn't know exactly what he felt. Like a pinching deep within him, clenching tight around his hearts. The Dalek had called it love; his people might have called it foolishness.

All the Doctor knew was, he wanted more perfect days with her.

[suusoh]

johan and Anna together would be The worst combo ever

exactly. THE worst. you're not escaping them. If we're talking Johan and Nina then at least it's like a good cop bad cop thing where Nina is at least trying to keep things at a level. The classical yin and yang balance. She genuinely wants you to enjoy their presence without any stress or discomfort while Johan could not care less if you're scared or not, since he knows you won't truly escape them anyways. He finds it amusing even— both on how visibly unnerved you are, and how much lengths Nina will go through to keep you in the dark of their obsession. He almost finds it like a game: how uncomfortable can he make you and how good of an excuse can Nina make this time? But if we're talking Johan and Anna, on the other hand, the Anna Liebert I have in my head (the one who's objectively WORSE than Johan): There is no pleasantries. Nada. They want you, they have you. That's it. They don't even bother to hide their freakishness (well maybe at the start, just to lure you in. They have to be on their best behaviour after all). But other than that, no chance at things being normal. Zero. You have two traumatized blonde twins touch starved for affection and connection and they will get exactly that from you. No matter how unsettling you find them. Not like you could do anything about it anyways.

[linkedin-offficial]

spare some tadc cats 🥺 on a other note I love your art!!!! it's so warm and cozy!!!!

so ... abt that warm and cozy thing ..

[pinkmirth]

Ok, but imagine wearing Richter's coat and nothing else after he makes love to you? It's much too large, and the blue fabric swallows you. However, the warmth from your lover still lingers on it, as does his scent; a heady mixture of leather and musk. You find yourself nearly being soothed to sleep. However, Richter is completely enamored by the sight of you — naked, in his coat, bearing the Belmont crest. The image conjurs something primal and possessive within, and he suddenly finds himself reinvigorated despite having already thoroughly ravished you thrice that night. You tiredly wrap your arms around his neck and melt into his embrace as the brawny brunette effortlessly bounces your exhausted body on his cock. "Just one more time for me, angel" he murmurs feverishly before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

oh my god, nonnie . . ?! delicious, every single word of it. this is all i wish for, honestly— to be just completely surrounded by richter, from his safe embrace to wearing his clothes >< i adore everything about this!!! the wording is soooo perfect, and i just love him going ahead and taking control as you snuggle into him, draped in the fabric of his clan . . . i am not fucking normal about this at all, not one bit. want him to let me relax into him & just be cute ‘n lazy while he does all the work, rocking my hips into him by using his large hands and smothering me with his affection ❤︎ live laugh love richter fucking belmont!

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Vague prompt: Rebecca vehemently disagrees with the dad advise that Ted gives Jamie

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ted, why would you tell him something so stupid – not to mention potentially dangerous! What’s next, are you going to tell me I need to forgive Rupert for the years of lying and cheating and bloody gaslightning, too?”

Ted blinked at her, looking a little stunned, and Rebecca loved him, she did, and respected his opinion hell of a lot more than she did most other people’s, but sometimes he just didn’t get it.   

“Well, no, but to be honest, I kinda thought you might have had already, what with you no longer feeling the need to destroy him and those other things you said.”

“That’s not forgiveness, Ted,” Rebecca said flatly as she reached for the drink she suddenly felt a very strong need for, “that’s just not letting him matter enough to make me do things I otherwise wouldn’t, and that’s not even remotely the same thing.”

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Sweet Amber, I wana request "hushed sex while staying in the guest room of another’s home" for AOU Steve and reader when they were at Clint's farm, because he wants a life and family with his girl.

And thankyou for seeing my previous ask, I'm the same AOU anon BTW.. I can't tell how much I love this man.

I hope this is some of the feels you were looking for. I'm super tired tonight and having a hard time wording what I want to say. But thank you so much Babes for sending me this request. All the love right back and imagine Steve just loving you so damn much.

Send me an Ask from this list of Prompts

This is an 18+ Only Blog.

Everything felt so much MORE.

The squeak of the bed, Steve's soft huffs against your neck where he buried his face for a moment, the feeling bombarding both of you overwhelming in this second. Your thighs squeezed around his waist, encouraging him to continue while your fingers grazed up and down his muscled back, making an invisible painting speaking of your love along his spine and over his shoulder blades.

The tension of the past few days, all of your worlds being disrupted by Tony and Bruce's error was bleeding out of you both for now. You both tried to be quiet in your needs for each other, hushed tones whispered to each other about how good it felt passed between press of lips. The house was full, brimming with people and this might not be the right place or time, but there were no real rules between you two anymore.

Right now it was about feeling, anything, something. As long as it gave you both hope to keep going. The world threw so much as all of you, you had to take it where you could get it to prepare for the next disaster. "Oh god, Steve." You muttered, arching under him when his hips pushed back in, his cock thick against your slick walls, squeezing him just right that his movements stuttered in several quick thrusts before he pulled back again.

You were ready for him to push back into you, wanted it, your body arched in an invitation for him to fill you in the way you only ever wanted him to. "I know Doll, it's just so good." He lifted away to catch your lips, drawing out the moan built up in your throat to keep quiet, gasping against you at how you made him feel.

"You gonna fill me with your babies Steve?" You moved away from his mouth, moving along his jawline as his mouth went slick, his eyes screwed close in concentration to keep from cumming yet.

"Dance with me late at night after our kids are in bed?" You continued, painting the dream you knew he has had since you two fell for each other. "In our home full of love and life?"

You could feel him, he was so close and you didn't even care that you weren't. Today this was about Steve, being able to take care of him in a way he never had with anyone, to give him tenderness and passion among the anger and heartbreak surrounding them right now.

Steve pushed up enough to roll the two of you in the small bed, making it creak ominously beneath the two of you while you straddled him, pushing your hands against his strong chest to ride him slowly, let him savor watching you, your golden-haired super soldier seemed to finally let go of all the bullshit, being here with just you.

His hands glided onto your hips, fingers possessively pressing into the soft curves of you while helping you move, unhurried, you just let yourself sink onto him over and over, your sighs and moans all soft just for him. "You know I love you right?" He asked out of nowhere, his hips arching under you to press himself back into the deepest part of you. "I don't think I would have been able to do this without you Y/N."

You let yourself fall forward, your chest pressing against his and your hands cupping his face, tracing the angles of his features that you were so intimate with, your eyes softening with love in return. "It's always going to be you and me, Steve, no matter what happens."

Your forehead leaned against his, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close while you felt him cum, his spend warm as it spread through you and you melted in against him, sated and content to just enjoy the moment right now, not what had already happened, or what was possibly going to come. "I love you too Steve, we were always meant to be here I think." You let your head lift to look at him. "Even here and now, in Clint's house, trying our damndest to be quiet." You broke into a grin and his matched, finally some of the shine returning in his eyes.

"I don't know how quiet we were Doll, but we certainly tried."

[afewproblems]

In My Heart is a Memory (And There You'll Always Be) Part One

So! Awhile back now I received an anonymous prompt - which I can't post all of (yet) since it will spoil this new WIP which has gotten away from me in terms of length (as always). Needless to say we begin with Steddie childhood friends AU and continue from there!

Thank you to the nonny who sent me this beautiful prompt, I can't wait to take you on this journey!

Steve never thought it would end this way. 

He tries desperately again to loosen the fishing line that has wrapped itself around his foot, trapping him in the frigid grey water. Steve paddles up again to take a deeper breath only to find that he's unable to fully breach the surface enough to breathe.

He gulps down a mixture of water and air, sputtering as it hits his lungs and chokes his throat. He realises, deliriously, that he might actually die here, alone in the woods at twelve years old. 

This is why his mother had forbidden him from swimming in the lake, especially by himself; she had told him a million times not to go down there alone. 

Steve slips under again, watching as the last few bubbles of air fly towards the surface above him, his vision begins to tunnel as he belatedly wishes he had thought to tell someone that he was going to lovers lake that afternoon. 

Two strong hands suddenly appear on both sides of him, grasping Steve by the arms, hauling him out of the water. 

"Shit, he's caught on something, Ed, hand me my knife, hurry," a gruff voice says as Steve is dragged into a boat, he sputters and coughs, gasping for air as his lungs burn and seize.

"Is he okay?" another younger voice says anxiously. 

Steve opens his eyes just enough to find a wide pair of brown eyes staring back at him, a boy with a mop of curly hair sits beside Steve, he chews his lip nervously as the older man works on cutting away the tangle of old fishing line that had caught Steve earlier.

"This is why we always take our lines with us instead of leavin' em in the lake," the older man huffs as he severs the last knot holding Steve's leg, "he should be okay, you're lucky we were here kid".

All Steve can do is nod, his chest and throat still sore from his near drowning.

The other boy, Ed, inches closer but doesn't touch him, he looks around the boat with raised hands as though looking for some way to help.

"I think we're done fishing for today," the old man huffs, if he's anxious his voice doesn't show it, but Steve can see the worry in his dark eyes. 

"Give him your coat Ed, let's bring our catch home to warm up".

The words seem to jumpstart the other boy as he hurriedly shrugs off his jean jacket and draps it clumsily over Steve's shoulders.

"You got a name kid?" the man asks gently before his expression finally shifts to one of panic, "aw hell, we gotta warm you up, you ain't even shivering". 

"His lips are blue," Ed blurts out, his brow pinched with worry, "Wayne--"

"I see it, sit with him would ya, I'll get the engine going again," Wayne grunts out as he switches places with Eddie. The boat tips slightly as they move making Steve hiss as cold water tips over the side and onto his legs. 

"My name's Eddie," the teen yells over the roar of the engine motor as it jumps to life; he sits down on the bench across from him, "what's your name?"

"S-Steve," he manages to get out between chattering teeth, his body finally beginning to shake in an attempt to warm itself back up.

"Don't worry," Eddie murmurs sagely, "we'll take care of you, right Uncle Wayne?"

Wayne nods with a tight smile as he begins to steer the boat back to shore.

"I don't need the hospital," Steve grumbles from the back seat of the pickup truck, eliciting an exaggerated eye roll from Wayne in the rearview mirror.

Heat blasts from the vents as soon as they pull away from the dirt side road by the docks and Steve is finally starting to warm up. Wayne had helped him step his shaking limbs into his discarded clothing they found on docks, but his damp swim shorts had soaked through his jeans, leaving a small persistent shiver running through him.

"We ain't leaving it to chance kid," Wayne grouses at him, "you inhaled a lot of lake water back there and I've spent enough time in a boat to know you need to be checked out by a professional".

Steve pouts in the back seat next to Eddie who looks between Steve and his uncle with a sharp furrow between his brow.

"Couldn't we take him to our place Wayne, we can look after him there," Eddie says with a toothy grin, he winks at Steve before catching Wayne's unimpressed glare in the rearview mirror.

"No, hospital first," he grumbles but the words are without heat and if the fond smile is anything to go by, Wayne seems more exasperated than angry.

Which is good. 

Steve can't begin to picture how angry his own dad will be when he gets home. 

Maybe enough for the belt again.

He shivers again and feels a bony shoulder connect lightly with his own; Steve looks up to find Eddie staring again, this time with a shy smile.

"You good," Eddie asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice, "sorry 'bout him".

He holds up one hand to block Wayne's vision of Eddie's face and points towards his uncle into the palm of his hand, "the old man’s stubborn sometimes".

The absurdity startles a wild giggle out of Steve that Eddie soon matches.

Wayne keeps driving, his eyes travelling between the road and the rearview mirror at the two boys giggling in the backseat. Wayne shakes his head and smiles slightly as they pull onto Main Street.

"Are you at Hawkins Middle? I don't know if I've seen you there before," Eddie asks abruptly, interrupting the laughter.

"I'm going to the highschool next year which is kind of cool," Eddie continues, not waiting for Steve to answer which is almost a relief given the strange exhaustion settling in Steve’s bones the longer they sit there. 

"I heard from one of the other older kids at the tra--the park that there are a ton of clubs to join and even one for Dungeons and Dragons --you heard of it?"

Steve shakes his head, "is that like a board game or something?" 

Eddie barks out a laugh and launches into an explanation, the words tumbling out at a mile a minute to the point that Steve isn't sure what he's even talking about anymore.

"And you use your character traits to help decide what to do, then the roll you get from your dice determines if you are successful or not!" 

Steve frowns slightly, it doesn't sound like any board games he's ever heard of but it has dice, what else could it be? 

"It's hard to explain without like showing you the books," Eddie admits, picking at a stray thread from the hole in his jeans, "I'll show you later at school, maybe?" 

Steve can count on one hand the number of times he's actually been invited to hang out or play with another kid over the years that wasn't orchestrated by his mother.

He's not much for board games, but if that's what Eddie's inviting him to play, who is Steve to say no? 

"Do you get to fight Dragons? Like a knight?" Steve asks quietly, his throat still sore from earlier. He laughs when Eddie nods so excitedly his whole body practically vibrates before jumping into a new explanation of the different characters people could play.

Steve spends the whole time listening with a wide grin on his face. He doesn't think he's ever met someone who talks so much, but Eddie has so much to say and he wants to tell Steve of all people. 

He's too tired to add anything himself, the adrenalin from earlier seems to flow out of him, sinking into the back seat.

"Do you have Newson for English?" Eddie asks as they enter the hospital and Wayne takes them to the counter, he speaks with the nurse at the Emergency Room intake desk in a hushed voice, letting Steve and Eddie continue their conversation.

Steve shakes his head, feeling suddenly warm, much too warm and tired.

"Maybe we have the same lunch period, I want to show you the players handbook on Monday," Eddie practically vibrates beside him with excitement, "you can sit at my table and…Steve?" 

Eddie suddenly sounds so far away, Steve struggles to stay upright and sways heavily into the other boy's side. 

"Steve?!"

There's a commotion around him, people yelling and touching him suddenly, but he doesn't want that. He's so warm, it's hard to think, his vision begins to tunnel again.

The last thing he sees as a pair of gentle hands lay him down is Eddie worried brown eyes staring into his own as his world goes dark.

***

The first thing Steve realises when he wakes up, is that he's in a hospital bed.

The second is that he's alone.

The steady beat of the heart rate monitor almost lulls him back to sleep but he fights to stay awake. 

Steve peers around the room, spotting his mothers coat and purse on the chair in the corner. 

Shit. 

This is what he was hoping to avoid, his parents finding out he deliberately disobeyed their rules and landed himself in the hospital. 

Steve tries to sit up but the movement pulls at the strange tubing around his face and the IV in his arm. He hisses at the tug of the needle and flops back down against the flat pillow behind his head.

The heart rate monitor ticks up slightly at the movement, seemingly calling out to the nurses at the station outside.

As if on cue, a nurse steps into the room, followed by his mother. 

Diane Harrington always looked put together. Pearls, heels, never a hair out of place.

Today however, Diane's pale wane face stares at Steve in stony silence. No makeup, her hair sits flat against her head. A fine tremor runs over her clenched hands but she smooths down the front of her shirt to hide it.

"Looks like someone's awake," the nurse says with a kind smile. 

She picks up the chart at the edge of the bed as his mother walks around to the chair that has been pulled up closest to Steve's side. She doesn't sit.

The nurse is around his mom’s age, maybe a little older if the laugh lines around her mouth are any indication. Her blond hair is streaked with grey as well and pinned back to let the small white hat sit properly on top. Her light brown eyes trace over the page of his chart and a slight crease begins to form between them as she frowns slightly.

"What is it?" Diane says, the words come out smoothly; Steve tries to make eye contact with her, to see just how mad she is about this, how mad his dad will be when they get home, but she ignores his gaze.

"The doctor will be in shortly, he'll explain," she says apologetically before placing the chart back down at the edge of the bed.

"Steven," the nurse says softly as she walks towards him, on the side opposite his mother, "my name is Claudia, and myself and Doctor Sattler will be taking care of you today".

Steve nods, suddenly shy as Claudia reaches into the pocket of her white apron and shows Steve a long black tube with a shiny metal circle at one end, the other is split down the middle into two angled sections at the other end.

"Steven, this is a Stethoscope, I'm going to use it to listen to your heart and your lungs, so I'm going to need you to sit up, can you do that for me?" 

He nods and begins to shift, slowly this time to avoid jostling the IV this time. 

"Steven," Diane says sharply from her place beside the bed, she still isn't looking at him, "you need to answer when you're asked a question."

"Sorry," he mumbles, abashed at his mother's words.

Claudia's frown returns as her eyes dart between Steve and Diane, but she remains silent and simply places the stethoscope into her ears.

"This will be a little cold," Claudia warns as she lifts up his shirt to place the metal against his back, "okay, you're going to give me a big deep breath," she instructs softly, giving him a smile.

Steve breathes in, it's not painful, but there's an awful pressure in his chest that makes him wince, the strange whistling sound his breath makes also doesn't help.  

Claudia must notice because she tuts and tells him she just needs a few more breaths from him.

She moves the metal from his back to his chest and asks him to take two more deep breaths for her, on the last one his chest spasms and his throat constricts just enough to make him begin to cough horribly. 

Steve doubles over, uncaring this time of the pull on the IV, he can't seem to catch his breath this time.

Steve registers his mother and Claudia trying to speak to him and a gentle hand on his back rubbing in a soothing circle but all Steve can think is, I can't breathe, as he coughs up a glob of frothy pink liquid into the sheets covering his legs.

The steady beep of the heart rate monitor begins to increase to a constant frantic pulse, I can’t breathe, he wants to scream but his throat constricts around the words, it feels as though an elephant has sat itself in the middle of his chest as he registers something being pressed to his mouth and nose.

"Try to take a deep breath, one mississippi, two mississippi, that's it sweetheart," Claudia pats his back gently and keeps a steady hold of the mask over his face.

The pressure in his chest slowly begins to relent as he follows Claudia’s direction, one mississippi, two mississippi, in and out. The constant puff of air around his nose and mouth seems to finally be helping.

"You're going to give us even more grey hair before we discharge you huh kiddo," a new voice rumbles from the door.

Steve looks up wearily at a man in a white coat with horn rimmed glasses staring down at him. There is a kind smile on his face, much like the one Wayne had when he helped Steve exit their truck earlier that day. 

Was it still Saturday? Steve looks around again for the window, he could have sworn it was still light out.

"What are you giving him?" Diane whispers above Steve, she hazards a brief glance at him before looking back at the doctor who lifts a syringe to pump something into the IV tubing, but Steve isn’t paying attention, he’s trying to find the clock he had seen earlier on the far wall.

"Just something to help him breathe a little easier, that's all," the man says gently as he takes Steve's chart from the end of the bed where Claudia had left it.

"BP is a little low," Claudia murmurs, she lets go of the mask and lays Steve back down onto the bed, smoothing his hair back lightly as she leaves his bedside.

"Steven, my name is Dr. Sattler, I heard you had an interesting morning today?" 

Dr. Sattler gives Steve and his mother a warm smile as he places the chart back down on the bed, he eyes the machines at the bedside for a moment before taking Steve’s wrist gently in his hand and lifting the face of his watch up to meet his eyes.

He nods and lays Steve’s hand back down onto the bed, above the covers. 

Suddenly a bright light is shining into Steve's eyes, he winces slightly as it moves quickly, “Steven, can you tell me if you hit your head at all when you were in the lake today?” 

Steve tries to think back to the lake. He remembers getting his foot caught in the discarded fishing line, the feeling of water running down the back of his throat, filling his nose; the way the light began to fade as he sank down--

“Steven?” Dr. Sattler prompts again, his brow creases in the barest of frowns.

Steve swallows once and shakes his head as a shrill beeping noise fills the room, everyone flinches, whirling around to the machines before Steve's mother snatches her purse from the nearby chair and rips the buzzing pager out to turn it off.

She glares at the message, "I need to make a call, I'll be back". 

Dr. Sattler frowns but steps aside to allow Diane to sweep out of the room.

"Well Steven-"

"Can you call me Steve?" He asks, the words so quiet that Dr. Sattler and Claudia both tilt towards him to hear.

The doctor reaches for the chart again, his eyes flick to Claudia once before landing back on Steve with a small patient smile.

"Of course, Steve," he says deliberately before clearing his throat, "I'll wait for your mother to come back to go over our plan for you okay?" 

"Are you," he whispers, "am I going to need a shot?" Claudia tuts this time, coming around to the side of the bed to brush his hair away from his forehead, "you were so brave for your IV," she says brightly, "if you need another I'll hold your hand, how does that sound?" Steve blushes as his little face scrunches into a grimace. He knows he wasn't awake when they gave him the IV.

After a beat, he shakes his head, "It's okay, I'm not a baby". Claudia purses her lips and pats his hand gently, "I don't like needles either, sometimes I need someone to hold my hand, no shame in it, okay?"

Steve chews on that thought for a moment, rolling it around in his head, why would adults be scared of anything?

His dad had made it perfectly clear over the years what real men were like, and being afraid of things never once made the list.

Steve looks up at the nurse and meets her kind eyes, a softer brown than he'd ever seen before with fine lines in the corners creased into a smile.

"I'd hold your hand, Miss Claudia," Steve agrees eventually.

She smiles at him and pats his hand again before stepping away.

"I'll go find your mother, there's only one payphone on this floor so she can't be far," she asserts to Steve before making her way to the door. She whispers something to Dr. Sattler on her way out before disappearing through the door.

"While nurse Henderson tracks down your mother, I'll see if radiology has your scans ready, sit tight kiddo”.

Steve nods as the doctor tries for a small reassuring smile but the effect is lost in the tightness around his eyes. Dr. Sattler pushes open the door which swings back and forth as he disappears into the hallway, leaving Steve to lay back against the flat pillows and scratchy hospital sheets, with only the steady sound of the monitors and the clock on the wall to keep him company.  

A new wave of exhaustion sweeps over him suddenly, now that he’s alone. 

He wishes Eddie had managed to convince his uncle to let them just go back to their place, he would have been okay if they had just stayed in the truck - he probably wouldn’t have passed out if they had just gone to Eddie’s house.

Steve glares at the ceiling at the unfairness of it all, a small part of him knows that it’s for the best that Dr. Sattler and Miss Claudia are looking after him now, but what will his dad say about the hospital bills, or the bed rest?

He’s not sure how much time has passed. It’s been harder to keep track of here without a proper clock in the room but the sun has moved, carving long shadows in his room in between the copper evening light. He must have drifted off at some point since his mother has suddenly returned as well as Dr, Sattler. 

Miss Claudia is nowhere to be found and Steve finds himself feeling rather bereft at her absence. 

Diane Harrington stands beside his bed, her hands wrapped so tightly around the strap of her purse that her manicured nails dig into the palms of her hands and her knuckles have been stained white.  

Dr. Sattler stands in front of a large box affixed to the wall, it’s lit up with two translucent black and white images on it that the doctor keeps pointing to different areas of the strange lumpy white images while he talks.

“To put it simply, Mrs. Harrington, it’s not good”.

Oh.

Steve feels as though the bed beneath him has dropped away while Doctor Sattler continues speaking. 

Steve had aspirated a lot of water into his lungs while in the lake and was already in the beginning stages of pneumonia because of it. So Steve would need to stay on his course of antibiotics and oxygen for at least a week to let his lungs heal and rest as much as possible. 

Diane’s expression does not shift during the conversation, remaining artfully neutral the entire visit. She nods and asks questions about Steve’s medication and when he would be allowed to come home.

A flicker of something crosses her face when Dr. Sattler mentions the inhaler Steve would likely need to carry with him at all times.

“For how long?” she asks sharply as Dr. Sattler flips through Steve’s chart once more.

He hums and purses his lips, “honestly, it depends, he could need it for a few months, he could need it for the rest of his life,” he shakes his head and sets down the chart, “we need to see how his lungs look after the inflammation goes down to really be sure”.

“What does that mean?” Steve blurts out, drawing their gaze towards him. 

Steve bristles slightly as Diane shoots him the barest of glares. He’s the one in the hospital bed, he can’t even ask questions about what will happen to him?

“The tissue in the lungs is very sensitive and delicate,” Dr. Sattler continues, his words come out slowly as though he is carefully sifting through to choose the best ones, “so, what that means is you may need medication to help your lungs function properly”.

“Steven’s father was hoping for him to join the varsity swim team in the next few years,” Diane says wearily, the first hint of emotion finally seeping into her voice as she sinks into the chair holding her purse. 

Steve winces. 

It’s no secret that his father’s goal for Steve, his…expectation, is for his son to follow his example to the letter. 

Varsity swimming --perhaps even basketball if he takes after his father’s lithe frame of six foot two. Get into college on an athletics scholarship, graduate with a business degree to eventually take over the family business --not that Richard has ever once explained just exactly what he does for a living. 

Steve would then marry a nice girl, one he'll meet at college since Hawkins won't have any girls good enough for the Harringtons, and eventually pump out two grandkids for Diane to fawn over.

This was the plan for Steve’s life, there was no room for error.

“Mrs. Harrington, there’s no reason to think he won’t be able to do these things--”

But the words fall flat as Steve’s mother gets up from her chair and stalks out of the room, leaving a wake of disappointment and silence behind her. 

A lump begins to form in Steve’s throat and he tries to blink away the harsh sting in his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t have gone to the lake that morning, he’d been told so many times never to go by himself, not when the Harringtons had their own beautiful inground pool installed just three summers ago. 

Dr. Sattler breathes out a long weighty sigh and lifts a hand to scratch at a missed patch of stubble on his chin.

He looks between the closed door and back at Steve, seeming to make a decision.

"Okay son," Doctor Sattler sighs, "you're going to hear things over the years about what you will or won't be able to do".

Steve lifts his hand up to wipe at his eyes as discreetly as he can with the doctor at the edge of his bed and nods.

"This does not need to define you, there are plenty of athletes out there with lung conditions and I would encourage you to keep active, it might actually benefit you to do so". 

Steve manages to hold back a scoff just barely and nods, dropping his gaze to his feet beneath the blankets.

"I'm not saying you need to go out and run a marathon," Doctor Sattler says dryly at the incredulous expression on his face.

"But you will need to keep them strong and exercise will help with that, so if you like swimming, keep swimming, okay kid?"

He pauses again and adds, "no smoking while you're at it". 

Steve's mouth drops open in protest, he's never smoked, well, not a full cigarette at least.

One of the neighbour kids, Tommy, had smuggled cigarettes out of his dad’s pants pocket and taken them to school for everyone to try. Steve had nearly thrown up at the taste and the feel of acrid smoke filling his nose and mouth.Tommy had laughed so hard about Steve spitting into the grass outside the baseball dugout and proceeded to tell everyone he could find. 

Steve still associated the taste of cigarettes with Tommy's laugh, the sound turning his stomach just as easily now.

Steve shakes his head under the doctor's unimpressed gaze, "I-I dont--"

Doctor Sattler raises his eyebrow and cuts Steve off with a sweep of his hand, "sure son, just make sure you don't continue, especially because your lungs are still growing and we want to capitalize on that as much as possible".

The doctor pats Steve's shoulder awkwardly, letting his heavy hand rest briefly before he turns away towards the door once more. 

"Anyway, I have a feeling you'll be getting a few more lectures in the future so that's enough out of me, you best settle in kiddo, you'll be here for at least a week".

Steve nods tiredly, he can hear his dad's voice in his head now, 'this is the stupidest thing you've ever done Steven--'

"Get some rest, no sense worrying about it now," Doctor Sattler says as he slips out into the hallway without a knowing furrowed brow.

And with that Steve is alone once more. 

The light outside his window is beginning to fade into the horizon; he wonders belatedly if Eddie will look for him on Monday.

Steve rolls over, ignoring the new sting behind his eyes and the heaviness in his lungs as he wonders how he can miss someone he just met this much.

Part Two Now Up!

[sillyfairygarden]

Of all the works you've published on your ao3, which is your favourite, and why? :D

hi nonnie ^_^

auugh this is such a hard question but if you are asking for one… right now it’s “no number exists for griefs like these” which is my secret life fic about scar & pearl.

if you’ve read my other works with these two characters you know they are. my favourites to explore. and secret life was SUCH a fantastic palette to paint them on with their stories being so. augh. augh. family guy death poses.

i loved writing a different side for them… scar’s bloodthirst and pearl’s inevitable loss of joy… and for portraying the unreliability of scars internal monologue. the way he separates himself from the consequences of his actions from his POV but feels abandoned regardless.

> honestly it was a fun challenge writing the tasks as this somewhat unacknowledged, inner monologue rather than an exterior hand guiding him to victory. there’s a short exchange that ultimately got canned where scar + pearl acknowlegde with each other that there’s a greater force at play? but i decided it was a distraction from the greater story i wanted to tell, which is that scar himself was the catalyst to his isolation and loneliness.

but i love ya :p so heres the scene:

but yeah this fic was sooo self indulgent to me. i loved writing scar on his girlfailure arc <3 and ANY excuse to write about pearlescentmoon is one i will take. they’re my personal dress up dolls and i love putting them in situations.

[nani-nonny]

Apologies if I’ve missed something or got it wrong, I had to rush these as it turned out 🫠 so please excuse the coloured one, I don’t really like colouring…

But you really did fill my need to drawing tots 😂 I was getting art block on my wips I hope you like? 🫣

Lil Lou-Boo :(((( /pos

She’s so— *crumbles* in her dad’s scarf too??? *melts* aksjakasjgagahsjaag

Thank you so much :(((((( /pos /pos /pos

I’ll skip all the plot just to get to the fatherhood solely because of this /j

Sweet lil bean baby, que linda preciosa :((((

<33333 thank you so so much!

[foibles-fables]

hi foibs, hoping you’re doing well. there’s something i’ve wanted to ask you since burning shores…can you say more about why you weren’t impressed by seyka/seyloy? i’ve valued your hzd opinions for a long time and am curious and interested to learn more about this one. but if you’d rather not answer that’s fine!

Hi nonny!! I told myself I wasn't going to answer any of these, but I really appreciate your kind tone and am happy to address this again for you!

I won't go into a list of specific reasons why here. I do enjoy a good bit of piece-by-piece analysis a LOT but--frankly, picking apart another ship in a public zone like this is not what I want to exemplify on my blog, at all. It's not the kind of environment I'd like to create or discourse I'd like to foster. If those conversations are to be had at all--which, let's face it, they're probably not--they're to be had one on one, with a promise of good faith and open-mindedness between participants.

So to answer your question, I'll give a little more info, but still in generalities.

First and foremost, it's the simple fact that their dynamic, as portrayed in HBS, didn't spark for me! If y'all know me, you know that there is a very specific ship dynamic that I tend to latch onto, and this repeats ad infinitum across fandoms. I just wasn't compelled by the material, which is fine! More power to you if you were, for sure.

That loops into the second reason I'll give: yes, I did find the writing of HBS to be lackluster in many aspects, including the relationship between Aloy and Seyka. The sloppy writing absolutely influenced the way I viewed/reacted to Aloy and Seyka as a ship. To me, it did feel rushed and very much removed from the character and pacing of the series we've known for years. And that was not a boon for connecting with the presented narrative, the same way I began to feel disconnected from HFW. Once again, though, totally subjective and valid if it did hit for you!

I wanted to like Seyka so much more than I did. (This is--as I've shared other posts before--commentary on the writer's room character work, not on Seyka.) I wanted her to oust Alva as my favorite Quen babygirl (A HARD CHALLENGE, I'll admit). I wanted to be compelled by her, and by her dynamic with Aloy. She didn't, and I wasn't. And that's not an attack on Seyka herself, or on folks who enjoyed her. That's my own peeve with the writing and the way she was presented both in the narrative and in the HBS marketing.

If I can also use your ask to be a little vulnerable, nonny? It's been a hard six weeks. I feel like the posts I've put up and the opinions I've offered with regards to this have been nothing less than respectful and pleasant and, in a lot of cases, that grace hasn't been returned. From being blocked/unfollowed/vagued by other Horizon wlw shippers with whom I've built a rapport over the years (which of COURSE it's anyone's right to curate their feeds--still stings on the other side, in this situation especially)--to being directly compared to the Actual Homophobes for supporting the idea of romance options in game three (the same Actual Homophobes sending death and other threats directly to my inboxes)--it's an unfortunate state. I'm doing my best to be positive for the whole fandom, but some days it's harder than others.

In any case--I'll say, contradictorily--there is a Seyloy idea I've been working on, in attempts to connect more with them and sublimate my quibbles with what was presented in canon. So I hope any Seyloy enjoyers who might read it eventually (and this!) will take it in good faith when it's finished, as it's being written in nothing but good faith!

And, FINALLY, because every single time this question comes up, I say "I DON'T DISLIKE SEYKA" out loud in Nadja's voice, and this is the perfect opportunity to finally make the joke in public:

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

ASHJKKLLMNBVVSDEW the pirate au....ur pirate au jason!!!!! thank u so much for yet another wonderful part to the pirate au!!! i always look forward to your fics so much, opening up tumblr and seeing u post gets me kicking my feet in happiness!!!!💘🫶 thank u for always writing the best jasons rae!! have a great weekend ahead🥹💘

The pirate au!!!! Omg thank you so much, nonnie!! She's my favorite child and that's not changing any time soon. I'm giggling and kicking my feet over this ask. 🥰🥰

There's definitely going to be more pirate Jason because I love him and I have not let him do enough pirate stuff. We're getting back to his ship and we are going to wave swords around like he deserves! 🤺