#there's thousands more but you get the gist

[a-soft-fluffy-girl]

TL;DR: Steam just made library sharing so much fucking easier and so much fucking better. Instead of login-trading, it's just a simple goddamn invite.

Read this. Really. It's a good read. Because it shows that, full-stop, Valve isn't just doubling down on their stance to make sure that people can and should be able to share their copies of digital goods as easily as they can physical ones, but they're making it better and easier than ever.

But you know how Steam allowed you to, with either friends or family, link accounts with another person to be able to establish an ability to share game libraries with one another? The general gist of Steam Family Sharing was that, with a limit of five people plus you (six in total) on a limit of ten computers total could share account access to willingly mix your libraries. You could play theirs. They could play yours.

This was a huge boon. It was meant to emulate sharing a physical copy of a game. A way to allow children to play games their parents or siblings had bought without having to fork over double the cash to buy it a second game. But it had some major limitations and drawbacks, and was archaic to use.

If a person did not share the same computer, you had to manually log into that computer to give it and the accounts on it access. This wouldn't be a problem if both accounts were used on the same computer, but many households (and astronomically more family and friend groups) had multiple computers, all used by different people.

If that computer, at any point, was hard reset to any point before the sharing occurred, you lost access. And had to do the whole process again. This was also an issue with computer transfers. The whole kit and kaboodle needed to be redone on upgrades. On top of that, the old computer is now just dead weight that you may not realize you have to manually revoke access to.

Putting your account information on another person's computer opens up security issues. They could, intentionally or accidentally, land themselves on your account if the login information was stored. Which could easily lead to purchases or bans you did not want to happen.

If anyone was, at any point, playing any game on their own library, you had no access to their games. Even if it was a totally different game, you had to wait your turn as if waiting for their computer to be freed up to sit at. (Admittedly this is kind of like the "mom said it's my turn on the xbox" meme, but hey, kinda archaic.)

You could not choose whose library you accessed a game from. Not at all. It always prioritized the first library it gained access from, DLC access and multiplayer be damned. If another friend you were accepting games from had more DLC? Too bad.

And yet here we are. Steam Families Beta fixes EVERYTHING about the above issues. By just going through Settings > Interface > client Beta Participation and clicking onto Steam Families Beta? You get:

No more login sharing. No more computer links. You can now choose which person's library you borrowed from. And you can play any other game from someone's library, even while they're in-game. It just needs to be a different game than what they're playing.

Pick five people. Invite them to your family. And now everyone has access to everyone's library. My goddamn library went from 150-ish to almost a goddamn thousand in ten minutes of setup.

Account sharing and password sharing are dirty words that "lose" billions of dollars. Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, Max. They aren't game storefronts, but they still allow you to access massive libraries and scream like you murdered their firstborns for daring to share your password with your mother after you moved out.

Microsoft tried pushing to demonize and undercut used games sales and borrowed copies of physical games. Remember the first attempt to reveal the Xbox One? People forget, but these vultures tried to make an always online console that checked to see if you were the account that owned the game, even if you had a physical disc, and prevent access to the disc's contents if you weren't the original downloader.

Valve walked the fuck up. Valve tapped the mic. And Valve dropped the fucking thing right onto the ground with one feature's revamp.

About the only issues I can see with this are twofold:

If someone sharing your library gets banned from a game's servers... so do you. No one else in the family does, but the both of you do. This is... rather unpleasant, because banhammers can be dropped quite frequently by mistake. I'd urge Valve to rethink this one, but I see the logic: don't cheat and effectively bite the hand feeding you. Still making me side-eye that, though.

If you leave a family you've joined? You have to wait a YEAR to join a new one. It's to prevent people form jumping ship to another group and screwing over who's in the former one in the process, but a YEAR? OUCH.

Problems aside, though... it's probably the biggest fucking power move I have ever seen a media distributor make in the current economic climate. It's the kind of thing that would let so many new games be available in a way that's easier than ever. Just a few clicks to send or accept an invite, and bam. Permanent access to dozens or even hundreds of new games with so much more freedom than earlier drafts of the system.

It's the kind of thing that slaps you in the face with positivity after so many Ls from the games and media industries. And I'm all the fuck for a W like this.

[extrajigs]

Wanted to get into the Abby choirs. These are some of the fellas from an undisclosed (read: the favorite) Abattoir! INFO DUMP BELOW!

Starting with names! From left to right, Daniel, Michael, and Kirstin! Have a big post cooking about how to get into the club but for now what the job entails. Choirs are those blessed with slivers of the Gods power, BUT unlike the dragons and abattoirs they are born from within the Abby they'll serve. Not that Abattoir residents know that there are any others!

Choirs are tasked with keeping order and stability within their Abbies, the two main tasks are ensuring that the populace stays in good condition and making absolutely sure the tobacco quota is met. The latter being far more important than you'd think at first.

The God Worms kind of give them free reign to do whatever they want otherwise, so it kind of depends on the vibe of the choir for how your internal Abby experience shall go! Some are more laid back, some are more totalitarian. Gods don't really care as much as they probably should. These fellas within the favorite Abattoir are more laid back than most, defaulting to a more democratic approach to keep the people they're watching happy. Michael has been there the longest, a few thousand years, Kirstin and Daniel have been there a few hundred years.

Another IMPORTANT NOTE is that every choir member looks like that is because to become a member you need to partake in some divine flesh to gain godly power. Such power violently corrupts those it meets! But should you survive the process, you get a fun monster form and power in one of two veins. That of either flesh or soul. Both the separate domains of the Gods so you can only be particularly good in one. Flesh is far more common than soul, as leaning too hard into the soul aspect may result in getting kicked out of your body. :(

That's the main gist! Oh another big perk is also the initial reason most people try to join the choir! Choir members are exempt from the yearly feast.

[slutfactory]

I couldn't stop thinking about Matsukawa, so here's a thirst. Saw that your thirsts were open, lol. Also sorry if my English is bad 🤭

Okay, so timeskip!Matsukawa is a well known S&M streamer, and he approaches the unsuspecting reader in a bar he frequents. Why? Because he's looking for a new sub after yet another one quit without so much as warning. For about three streams, he's been doing chit chat streams. By now, his audience has probably gotten tired of it.

Cut to Issei bringing reader to the room he streams in, and reader immediately knows what's going on, because reader was an on and off watcher of his streams. Of course, reader plays along right up until the stream is about to start and quickly turns the tables on him. You put his face mask on to protect his identity and try to keep your face out of frame as much as possible when the stream starts up.

You can't even read the chats because everyone's sending comments, but you get the gist of what they're all saying. Ignoring them, you tell them to sit back and enjoy the show.

YES. why does this suit him so well?

the chat's going crazy and the donations are piling in, yet Issei doesn't notice because he's too focused on trying not to cum. alas, he fails in this and gets his thighs and cock whipped with the same riding crop he would use on all his partners before. he can't do anything but cry out and beg for mercy while you manhandle him in front of what could be tens of thousands of people.

mattsun is honestly surprised that you know how to use most of the toys on him; little does he know, it's all thanks to his teaching. <3

he's so embarrassed, being made to look like a pain slut on camera, but he can't stop himself from moaning and shaking his hips when you spank him when you call him a whore.

imagine if after you're done, he swallows his already shattered pride and asks if you could do this again sometime. though, he says it's for the sake of content, but you know that's not the case.

more of these, pls bats eyelashes

[silverskye13]

Silver I know next to nothing about the alien franchise and movie, I am giving you full permission to use this ask as an opportunity to spread propaganda to get me (and anyone else) to finally watch it

So it's, so like, the thing is, right. I'm not a movie tech kinda person [though it is technically impressive, the funny little tricks they did, like not having the budget for a Big Space Ship Derelict so they are a scaled down model that the director's kids in space suits walked up to so it would look bigger, and it was shown to the audience on a shitty CCTV because they didn't do a big matte painting of the set they filmed the tiny one, projected it onto a wall, and then filmed that.] So my rant isn't going to be about how technologically cool the movie was for 1979 on a less than optimal budget. But what I do like, what I excel at, is breaking down themes and tropes. And my god. My god. Just. Ugh. [Flails my arms.]

So a basic rundown for the movie, spoilers ahead, and my analysis of how fucking cool it is:

Basic gist of the movie: The crew of the commercial mining vessel Nostromo are awoken halfway through their trip back to earth by a mysterious signal, calling for help on a far away planet. Upon going down to investigate, one of their crew members is attacked by a strange alien parasite which attaches to his face. This kicks off a tale of increasing horror as the new alien kills off the crew one by one, culminating in Ripley [the main character] blowing up the ship and fleeing in an escape pod, not sure if she'll ever be picked up in the vastness of space -- with the ships cat, who miraculously also survives. [We all know Jonesy is the real main character 💜.] Along the way a plot by the Weyland-Utani corporation is revealed, one of the crew is discovered to be an android, and there is a lot of alien screeching.

Now! The themes that I go absolutely feral over can commence.

The horror of the movie, the reason why the alien is scary, and lethal to humans specifically, is it is a creature built for efficient survival, and this is a trait that Ash, the ship's science officer [and resident hiding android] highly praises in the critter. He describes it as beautiful, elegant, pure in its efficiency. The perfect organism. Efficient.

Humans, by comparison, aren't efficient. We are social. And efficiency preys on social needs. For example:

The xenomorph eggs can survive for ages [in the derelict they're found on, the dead alien who drove the ship is described as fossilized. These eggs have been here for thousands of years. But they activate immediately when a curious human pokes around them. It isn't a fast process. Kane is poking around for a few minutes, looking at the movements of the creatures in their eggs, making observations. Curious. Curiosity is an inefficient trait -- he would have survived if he had climbed out of the hole the eggs were in and left, or even waited for the rest of his team to enact quarantine and investigation procedures.

Speaking of quarantine! When Dallas and Lambert bring Kane, newly infected by an alien parasite, back to the ship, Ripley locks them in the airlock. There are quarantine procedures. We can't risk the whole crew. But they are scared for Kane's safety. He might die without help. They break quarantine. If they hadn't broken quarantine, the baby alien would've been born in the airlock, where it would get spaced the moment it was born.

When the face hugger parasite dies and Kane seems to return to normal, what they should have done to attempt to reinstate quarantine was put him in hyper sleep. His body would have been frozen in a stasis which might have frozen the parasite or, if it hadn't, would have left the new baby alien trapped in a stasis pod. But Kane, haggard and scared from his ordeal, asks can we please have one more meal together before I go to sleep? And that one meal is long enough for the new xenomorph to be born, and release terror on the ship.

There is more. Parker would have lived if he hadn't gone to find the cat by himself, leaving the safety of his group. Dallas would have lived if he let Ripley go through the vents, but he was the captain and he didn't want to risk someone else's life so he went instead. Brett would have lived if he'd left Lambert behind when she was being attacked, or if he'd hit the xenomorph with the flamethrower instead of insisting Lambert get out of the way first. And Lambert would have lived if she'd run instead of being paralyzed in fear by the creature killing her friends. And the xenomorph? Wasn't even eating it's kills. No gore. Little blood. It was killing them because it knew they would kill it, and it was neutralizing threats. Efficient.

The xenomorph is very clearly engineered for survival, and it's survival depends on killing the inefficient organisms around it. Even it's acid blood is described as a survival mechanism, not an offensive mechanism.

Okay Skye, we hear you talking about how scary the critter is because it's not a social creature. That's an interesting observation, but it's still just a monster story, right?

Well, let me tell you an alternative story. Just a little to the left of the original, but one I would argue is still very very canon.

You are an android built by Weyland-Utani, a company which is jealously hunting alien tech to use for its many space programs. You are placed on the Nostromo because there is a known anomaly in the area, and they want to find it. Your job is to get a specimen back to the company, all other protocols expended.

You are programmed to be efficient, so you get to work.

You wake the crew when you find the signal. You give them only the information they need to investigate: it is a signal that repeats every 12 seconds. You let them make the conclusion it is an SOS. Humans are social creatures. They want to help other social creatures in need. There is some arguing about whether they should go, but in the end an extra push from you sends them. Ripley, one of the more efficient members of the crew, keeps asking you why you haven't decoded the message.

"Mother [the super computer running the ship] is still working on it." This is true. She has only translated part of the signal. By the time Ripley realizes it's a warning, the crew is already on the way to the derelict. You tell her if she walks out there, they will have already figured out if it's a warning or not by the time she makes it to them. She agrees.

When they return with a specimen, Ripley [efficient, following protocol] doesn't want to let them on. But Ripley doesn't know you're an android, so when you break quarantine, and you tell her you just wanted Kane to be safe, she begrudgingly believes you.

When the alien is loose, it is easy for you to keep them from killing it. Humans are social, inefficient creatures, and you feel no empathy for their deaths. You do pity them though. Between you and the alien, their chances of survival are slim.

If only they were more efficient.

The horror in Alien is not the xenomorph. The horror in Alien is when anything, primal creatures, androids, a particularly greedy corporation, preys on human social needs in order to get what it wants. There is significance in that Ripley, despite everything, chose to save the cat. She needed companionship. All humans do. She needed to save that cat. A cat that was cantankerous and mean, and hissed whenever it was held, was better than the cold efficiency of empty space.

Any system that prioritizes absolute efficiency will be inhospitable to human life.

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

I've been eagerly anticipating Django Wexler's latest book, How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying, and it did not disappoint. It lacked his trademark ambivalently aspec protagonists, but it's got plenty else to recommend it. Our protagonist Davi is the Chosen One, summoned by Ancient Magicks from our modern world to save the ancient fantasy kingdom from evil and defeat the Dark Lord... except that, after nigh on a thousand attempts ending in abject failure and agonizing death, she's sick of this shit and ready to try something different.

Her narrative voice is pretty jarring at first, all gratuitous callousness and memelord edge, but it didn't take long to adjust to, and it took on an air of tragedy as it became clear that, after centuries of bashing her head against the same unsolvable problem, these contextless quips and references were basically all she remembered of her "real" life. The overall tone reminded me of nothing so much as Nevernight, with its cheerfully crapsack world, pitch black humor, and frequent tangential asides, but it's execution was far more deft, never straying into the excessive gratuity or clumsy moralizing that Nevernight is sometimes prone to.

Davi is a deeply entertaining protagonist, balancing a fundamental decency with a near complete disconnect from reality after so long spent in her time loop. She's also astonishingly bisexual and unabashedly horny about it - it's always a plus for me when a book captures some of the viscerality of queer desire. Though the book fades to black for any actual sex scenes, her observations after the fact are always a delight. For anyone who's read Ashes of the Sun and remembers the scene where Beq got distracted and started talking about her special interest in the middle of getting fingered... well, you get the gist.

Definitely recommend for any fans of high fantasy subversions, isekai subversions, and traumatic time loop enjoyers (tagging @urban-sith for no particular reason)

[theeio]

If u have the time could you pls give us ur jim analysis based on this post im very interested in hearing it

headsup for some heavy mental health talk:

so my interpretation of jim, and the reason why i drew him the angsty way i did was because i looked at his character in ToA from like, a mental illness metaphor perspective. i dont think(?) it was ever the showrunner’s intention to do that, but its just a personal way i viewed it bc i saw and felt a lot of his struggles between the lines of the series.

like in episode 6: Win Lose or Draal- where Jim thinks hes going to get killed in battle, writes letters to his loved ones, cooks a last meal for his mom, felt and acted like was the last day he was going to live. Claire interpreting his letter to her that he was talking about having “internal monsters” and “being in some kind of trouble” didnt help much as well AHAH

jim hiding so much from his mom, that one shot in season 1 episode 12 or 13 where he hides the damage on his arms from the goblins behind his back-AHHHHH

and dont get me started on the bathtub scene in A House Divided like idk what the showrunners were thinking doing that but okay i guess😭 that one made me sob on the floor like TWICE

and Jimhunters-god that really felt like your life being altered, and seeing everything in a much darker lens when going through depression. the first time i watched it and when Jim ran to the school rooftop i was legitimately horrified and scared out of my MIND but thank god they didn’t go much beyond that. STILL. thanks for the heart attack 😭😭😭

so back to the tags on that post:

i never liked a hero w a thousand faces because of how chaotic and exaggerated everything was but i guess its because it was different parts of jim split and personified.

but i guess it just messed me up seeing that episode again and having Hunter Jim, the highest functioning one out of them all being the one hunting HIMSELF DOWN, one by one. it really felt like a lot of self loathing going on, and he literally was looking to “kill” other parts of himself, and then the Real Jim as a whole. sorry that was jumbled up and a lot but it was what made me go like

thats kinda the gist of how i saw some moments of Jim’s character back then, and i guess it explains why so much of my art leans towards angst and that hurt comfort, because of all those interpretations i had going on in my head. it was rough a couple years back and this series helped me to reflect and process a lot of what happened and the feelings i had, through Jim. it was a like a safe little sandbox i could toss around in and it genuinely helped so much in healing :”D!! so yeah its more of a personal take, but hope this answers ur question?

ty for sending this ask!! hope you’re well💖💖💖

[lazaefair]

Stitch lays it out thoroughly, as usual, so there's no commentary I could add that would be better than just quoting what she says. I definitely recommend reading the whole thing, but here are a couple excerpts to give you an idea of the gist.

Excerpt 1:

Let’s return to the myth of preference. In fandom, as with online dating, folks think “preference” is a neutral word that shields them from the mere potential of having to interrogate why they seem to “prefer” white people as their faves. The thing is that this “preference” for white dudes isn’t all that neutral. A “preference” for white men is tied into centuries of racist propaganda that portrays whiteness as an ideal to the point where even people of color have trouble finding themselves or other people of color attractive.

[...]

Of course, that translates to fandom because fandom isn’t born in a vacuum. We don’t leave our ingrained prejudices in “the real world” when we log on to Tumblr or go for a scroll on the AO3. In fact, because many people in fandom curate their timelines to only show them their like-minded faves, they’re more likely to surround themselves with fans who think like they do and fanworks that reinforce the validity of their interests.

Excerpt 2:

Fantasies are just that – fantasies. On their own and in our heads, they can’t directly hurt people, and they provide the pleasure of partaking in the forbidden or the denied. For many people – especially marginalized people in unsafe or unhealthy positions in their daily lives – fantasies are all they have, and that’s important. However, in fandom spaces, fantasies don’t stay in people’s head, and they’re never on their own no matter what nonsense we fed about fandom and fiction not influencing/being influenced by reality. These fantasies come loaded with expectations, prior knowledge, stereotypes, trauma, politics, and a whole bunch of other stuff from the person fantasizing as well as other people who are aware of the fantasy. They get turned into fanworks that get thousands of views and hundreds of readers. After all, nothing we do or like or create is formed in a vacuum. In fandom spaces, fantasies that either exclude people of color entirely or reformat them as stereotypes for easy consumption (erotic and otherwise), are harmful because they are put forward without any awareness to a potential audience of thousands.

[anxiousdreamcore]

Hi would you like to draw Spider as street kid in modern au? I really like your Billy Batson art + the way you draw Spider so I think this combination would be so perfect 😅 I totally understand if not, anyway have a nice day/night!

BOY DO I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU—

Ever since @naavispider responded to a prompt about street kid Spider meeting Quaritch, I was very interested in the idea so I def wanna draw that but for now, let me present you with some thing I came up with.

.

Street kid Spider modern AU

Imagine Miles Spider Socorro in the modern AU, escaping from the foster system bc he was treated very poorly and decided to gamble with the homeless life instead. He lives like that for maybe three-four years when Miles tracks him down. Because the boy is so good at parkour, he’s been given the street nickname of Spider, which the blonde is proud of and uses as his real name.

Spider lives in the attic of an abandoned mall that is so overgrown with unkept plants and trees that it’s more of a jungle. He takes care of many cats who made themselves at home there and as a result of being around them 24/7 develops some of their mannerisms, like head movements when curious, crouching and hissing when agitated. He doesn’t get much proper human contact until meeting the Sullies.

The Sully kids have moved in not long ago and crave adventure. The overgrown mall looks like a magical forest to them and in it they find Spider, a creature of the woods with his long, curly, matted hair, ripped and stitched together over a thousand times clothes, trinkets worn on his neck like necklaces, and the many cats surrounding him. Spider smells like soil and cat food and is initially scared of the four children (four bc you’d never catch Neteyam exploring abandoned buildings, he’s a good boy), ready to fight them like he fought every other street-dweller ever since ending up outside of care. Out here, the kids mostly end up either as addicts or in gangs, so Spider had no friends his age…until that fateful day.

From that point on, Spider becomes their secret friend and the siblings visit him every day. They love his bravery and sass, underneath which lies a compassionate heart of gold. They not only buy him necessities, but even help him shoplift on some days, not only for himself but for the street animals as well, plus old homeless people who huddle around makeshift fires on cold nights. They become sort of robins in their own right, and Jake, together with Neytiri, although suspect something, don’t know about the secret bestie their kids made.

Neteyam suspect much more and slowly puts the puzzle together. He is not thrilled.

All is well, life is looking up…until Kiri tells Spider one day, as they hang out in the roof, that she heard in the news of a certain “Miles Quaritch” getting out of prison, advising that the boy stays safe.

She stills when she sees the sheer look of horror on his face.

“Spider..?..”

“I…”

“…You know him?”

“Promise me you won’t freak out.”

“I-I won’t, I won’t.”

“…

I’m, like…his son.”

From that point on the drama quickly ramps up because Spider’s social cervices agent Norm has also tracked the kid down to this city, operating on rumours and rare camera footage of the boy. It doesn’t make the situation easier that Norm is also friends with Jake and keeps venting to him about how miserable and hurt Spider must be while the Sully kids are right there knowing where he hides.

And that’s pretty much the gist of this AU. For Spider, it’s a tense situation where he has to be sneakier than ever bc cps are close on his track and his father is even closer and he wants his son back. On both fronts, Socorro is threatened with a total loss of freedom and autonomy. The kids have to be sneaky too when they visit him…but no one can be sneaky enough to pass under Quaritch’s nose.

[swiftieblyth]

Tangled start

warnings- long but cute

a/n- feel free to skip some of the dialogue, it’s mostly the Tangled script, just Tom and Y/N. Don’t worry, not the full movie

You and Tom were in the recording studio, it was the first day and you were going to do voiceovers and songs.

You were so excited to sing with Tom. Not just at home or karaoke. Tom didn’t give himself enough credit when it came to singing.

“Okay,” the director called from the other side of the glass with headphones on, knocking you out of your thoughts, as you and Tom stood up. “Okay, Tom how about you start with your opening monologue then we’ll go from there.”

“Cool.” Tom smiled, walking to the microphone, as you sat back down, ready to watch him.

“Ready when you are,” the sound guy said.

“This is the story of how I died,” Tom started in his American accent. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him. “Don’t worry, this is actually a very fun story. And the truth is, it’s not even mine. This is the story of a girl named Repunzal. And it starts, with the sun.

Now once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens. And from this small drop of sun grew a magic, golden, flower. It had the ability to heal the sick, and injured. Oh, you see that old woman over there? You might want to remember her. She’s kind of important. Well, centuries passed and a hop skip and a boat ride away there grew a kingdom. The kingdom was ruled by a beloved king and queen. And the queen, well she was about to have a baby, and she got sick, really sick. She was running out of time. And that’s when people usually start looking for a medical. Or in this case, a magic golden flower. Ahh, I told you she’d be important. You see, instead of sharing the Sun’s gift, this women, Mother Gothel, hoarded its healing power and used it to keep herself young for hundreds of years. And all she had to do was sing a special song.

All right, you got the gist. She sings, she turns young. Creepy, right?

The magic of the golden flower heals the queen. A healthy baby girl, a princess was born,” Tom explained looking at you, which made you smile even more. “With beautiful golden hair. I’ll give you a hint. That’s Repunzal. To celebrate her birth, the King and Queen lunched a flying lantern into the sky. For that one moment, everything was perfect. And then, that moment ended.

Gothel broke into the castle and stole the child. And just like that…gone. The Kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find the princess. For deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Gothle raised the child as her own.

Gothel had found her new magic flower. But this time she was determined to keep it hidden.

Butt the walls of that tower could not hide everything. Each year, on her birthday, the king and queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky in hope that one day, their lost princess would return.”

“Cut!”

“Tommy, that was amazing!” You smiled, getting up to walk to him.

“Thank you my love,” he smiled, kissing your cheek as you hugged him.

“It was so beautiful, my very own Flynn Rider.” You smiled, kissing his lips.

💜💜💜

“Okay, and now for the final monologue, Y/N, you’re in this too.”

“Okay,” you smiled, as you and Tom walked over to the mic.

“Well,” Tom started in his American accent. “You could imagine what happens next. The kingdom rejoiced. The lost princess had returned. The party lasted an entire week. And, honestly, I don’t remember much of it. Dreams came true all over the place. That guy went on to become the most famous concert pianist in the world. And that guy? Well he eventually found someone to love. As for this guy, well, I assume he’s happy. He’s never told me otherwise. Thanks to Maximus, crime in the kingdom disappeared almost over night. As did most of the apples. Pascal, never changed. At last Rapunzal was home, and she finally had a family. She was a Princess worth waiting for,” Tom smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist, making you smile. “But above all, she lead her kingdom with all the grace and wisdom that her parents did before her. And as for me, well. I started to go by Eugene again. Stopped thieving, basically turned it all around. But I know what the big question is; did Rapunzel and I ever get married? Well I’m please to tell you. After years, and years of asking, and asking, and asking. I finally said yes.”

“Eugene,” You let out, rolling your eyes.

“All right,” Tom cut in, tickling your rib. “I asked her.”

“And we’re living happily ever after,” you smiled, looking up at him, so see his baby blue eyes looking at you.

“Yes we are.” Tom said, leaning down to give you a kiss.

“And cut!” The director yelled. “Great job!”

You and Tom pulled away from each other and took to your headset. You opened the door and walked out and were met by Lady running up to you both.

Her little tail was wagging, and her tongue was out, as she jumped up on yours and Tom’s legs.

“Hi, darling,” Tom smiled, picking her up. Lady barked and licked his face.

“Hi, my sweet girl,” you smiled, kissing her, and rubbing your face against hers.

[appri-dot]

G'day to you It's been months of my searching for Woody's reference ever since I've lost it again and I cannot identify the. in my hundreds upon thousands of tumblr saves.

I have resorted to asking. May I get a gist of their ref? :³

Woody refs inbound !!!!! I have alot of drawing of him, both his old n new design (the yaoi is there for eye and colour tone refrence)

The charred looking one is woody with his paint chipped off

also it wasn't intentional but @akheku's fanart of woody having one arm makes me imagine he occasionally just goes along without it, because he has been shown troubling over it lol. I say, Whatever makes it easier/more fun to drawing this freak

[thebigbiwolf]

Starvin', Darlin' - Chapter 1

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Astarion knows his power is waning, and seducing their leader Evelyn has gone poorly at best. If he is to keep himself in the tiefling's good graces, he's left with no other options. He must drink from a thinking creature.

Everything goes according to plan... until it doesn't.

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Word Count: 6.1k

Read on Ao3: Here

A/N: I started this as a way to get this fruity fuck out of my head but I think I just made the situation worse. If you know me, no you don't. If you've followed me for a long time, sorry in advance. I may make this a mini-series depending on time and reception, but we'll see! OC is a rogue who seduces men to gain their favor but we'll get to that in later chapters.

Astarion's trance did not come easily that night; his hunger manifesting as a throbbing headache that refused to subside. It had been hours of tossing and turning in his tent, willing his body to settle, forcing himself to ruminate on the past few weeks.

Before he joined this disgustingly merry little group of adventurers, hunting rabbits and the occasional boar had been enough to sustain him. In fact, dining on larger animals had been a significant upgrade from the meager flies and rats he’d become so accustomed to under his master’s rule, but that was before all of this incessant hard labor. 

He could feel his strength waning over the last several days. His senses were dulling, his reflexes numbed. Just this morning, he had failed to gain the upper hand with a particularly nasty kobold. He paid for it dearly when the damned thing all but pummeled him into the ground. 

Luckily, Lae’zel had been there, hammer at the ready to divorce its jaw from its head. Beautifully done, by the way, but his blunder did not go unnoticed. All this sneaking around for barely a nibble during his watch was beginning to take its toll.

Astarion knew he was on thin ice, considering his relationship with their fearless, incomparable leader began with him pulling a knife on her and grappling her to the ground -  in front of the damn wizard, no less. Some friction was to be expected.

But things hadn’t progressed much between the two of them since then. The pair rarely saw eye to eye on anything, and she seemed to have an innate passion for berating him over his unwillingness to stop for every single injured bird or helpless child as they traveled - as if playing the part of a hero was a favorable distraction from the literal time bomb in both their party and their heads. 

“The world is full of potential allies, Astarion,” she had told him, sprinkled with a hint of her usual irritation. “I’m simply expanding our network.” As if a group of starving refugees and mud-slinging tree huggers were going to find them a decent healer any sooner. At this point, he’d heavily considered taking his chances with the goblins. At least they knew how to have fun.

What made matters even more frustrating was that Evelyn was seemingly unaffected by his charms.

Just how exactly was he supposed to secure his place under her protection when the woman barely spared him a second glance? Surely he wasn’t losing his touch. He was a master of seduction. Thousands of others had thrown themselves at his feet for far less effort. He’s had centuries of practice. The mere notion would be ridiculous.

In fact, he couldn’t remember a single moment in the last two hundred years where his advances had been so callously brushed off. Every attempt to make her laugh with his (admittedly morbid) quips was met with her chastising him for being insensitive and making threats to send him back to camp. She dismissed every flirtation, even if her lovely little blush betrayed her. She seemed determined to make him play her little game. He just hasn’t quite figured out what the rules are, yet.

Astarion couldn’t afford to take any more chances. If sleeping his way into her good graces wasn't an option, he was left with little choice. He wanted to make himself indispensable, so he was going to have to take drastic measures to ensure that his strength and physical prowess would never come into question. At least, not again.

He would have to drink from a thinking creature.

The idea of it was as invigorating as it was terrifying. He had spent the last two centuries enduring unimaginable cruelty, starved in ways mortals couldn’t begin to imagine--for years--without any reprieve. 

No, starving doesn’t even scratch the surface. No words could ever describe the tortuous, gnawing, ravenous hunger that consumed his every waking moment under the heavy weight of Cazador’s boot.

Though, Cazador wasn’t here now, was he? 

Curious.

Astarion had spent some time ruminating on who to approach before settling on Evelyn, though his options were limited at best. The githyanki was entirely out of the question; gods forbid he get caught, she would make quick work of him without allowing him so much as a single word of explanation. Shadowheart was…tempting, but that mark on her hand frequently caused her pain, and who knows if that magic would have any affect on him or worse, her taste? And Gale, well, he would rather subsist on a diet of garlic sprinkled with holy water before he put his lips anywhere near that man.

So, Evelyn it was. The tiefling wasn't terrible to look at. She was a younger woman full of vitality, so surely she wouldn’t miss a bit of her blood. He would just have to mind the horns. 

He would be in and out. A quick nibble, then he'd be right as rain. One bite, he tells himself, barely enough to leave a mark. Then, he’ll pass it off and say that they had been attacked by bats during his watch and, not wanting to wake everyone, he quietly dispatched them and saved the day. Unfortunately, not before one of those wretched little beasts managed to puncture their illustrious hero. It was the perfect plan. Infallible. They'll eat it right up.

He continues passing through camp undetected, catlike in his silence, but when he reaches the canvas entrance of her tent ready to pounce, he freezes at the sight of her.

She looked…different while she slept. Softer, gentler, almost; surrounded by a nest of fur blankets, snoozing away instead of attacking his ego. Her hair was puddled beneath her head and horns like dark, red wine; rich and unrestrained by her usual loose bun. 

Another realization hits him: this is the first time Astarion has ever seen her in her sleep clothes, a simple basic black wrapping across her breasts. Practical. Of course.

Her skin is pale enough to rival his own, even with the warmth of the firelight. She’s lying on her side, her uncovered shoulder lightly dusted in freckles, much like her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, and in the silence of the night air, he can hear her light, even breaths.

Cute, he thinks to himself. He could almost forgive her for being so maddeningly aloof with a face like that. Almost. 

Astarion leans over to brush her hair away from her neck; the strands softer than he had anticipated. The thrum of her pulse underneath is magnetic. It pulls at his very being, beckoning him closer.

Settling on his knees beside her, his arms form a cage around her body.

He takes in the image of her form one last time and allows himself a moment to savor it. She is toned and lithe, much like himself, but smaller. Perfect. Delectable. 

He bends closer, feeling her gentle puffs of breath on his shoulder; the warmth of her body. His ears ring with anticipation; manicured nails clench the sheets by her head.

She’s going to be so-

Something brushes his leg, hidden beneath the furs.

Her tail. He forgot about her bloody tail.

Evelyn stirs, and fully awakens right as his teeth are at her throat, eyes meeting his. 

Shit.

“Shit.”

With incredible speed, she reflexively reaches for the dagger closest to her pillow, lunging at him. He just barely seizes her arm in time to save himself from being skewered.

“What in the hells are you-” he clasps his palm over her mouth to silence her.

The girl’s eyes are wild with panic, their golden hues burning a hole in his skull. He notices them flit down to where his body hovers over hers before she begins to struggle against him. “No, no, shh,” he whispers. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” 

Her expression shifts from panicked to confused. She ceases her squirming. Good. Well, not good, but better. He can work with this.

“When I take my hand away, you have to promise not to scream and wake the whole camp,” he continues, hushed, “unless you’d like for them to find us tangled up in your bedroll. You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression now, would you, darling?”

Her eyes widen. Her face flushes deep red, warming his palm against her skin.

There, he thinks, that should-

Her body turns, and suddenly he feels the hard edge of Evelyn’s knee make contact with the corner of his ribs. A direct hit. Pain shoots up his chest as he rolls off of her and onto his side, clutching himself and coughing, heaving air back into his lungs.

She hurriedly covers herself with her sheets, glaring at him as he struggles to collect his breath. He can see her fuming through the tears forming in the corner of his vision. If looks could kill, he’s sure she would have him skinned alive. Maybe use what's left of him to scare away the crows. 

She’s still holding the knife out toward him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing in here?” 

A fair question, one he was not prepared to answer. Perfect. He’s just going to have to wing this. Possibly with two broken ribs. He can’t believe he expected this to go any smoother.

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He raises a hand and falls back on his thighs with a grunt, grimacing in pain. His other clutches his side, a bit of sweat forming at his brow. “I just…” 

Okay, this is it. He’s got this.

“I just needed, well,” 

Aaaaand,

“Blood.”

There. Excellent form, Astarion. Good show.

“I - You needed what?”

She blinks at him, whether in disbelief or shock, he cannot say.

It takes a moment before his words start to sink in. She takes that time to scan over his body, purposefully. 

He couldn’t quite tell if she was looking for something or if she was deciding whether or not to believe him, but then again, what other explanation could he give? 

He works over his options in his head, considering just how difficult it would be to pass this all off as a terrible joke, but just as he’s about to open his mouth to start on damage control, he hears Evelyn heave a deep sigh. She lowers her weapon, then tosses it to the side, massaging her eyes in frustration. 

Oh. Well, alright.

After some time, he watches her expression soften into understanding as a few notable things dawn on her. He’s never really eaten any meals with them, has he? Then there was the drained boar, which he so carelessly left out by the road.  The damned beast hadn’t even taken the edge off that night, and he was so desperate to quell the nagging ache in his stomach that it lay there forgotten until she found it the next morning. He admitted to her himself that it had been drained by a vampire, after all…

A bit of silence follows.

Astarion doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare move a muscle. He just allows her the time to process whatever she’s feeling. What’s important is that he’s still alive, she hasn't run him out of camp, and she hasn’t screamed for help. 

He may be able to salvage this, yet.

She scratches the back of her head, carding her fingers through her hair to ease her irritation before finally meeting his gaze.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name leaving her lips pulls him from his thoughts. He can see the disappointment on her soft features just as plainly as he can feel it humming through their psionic link. 

He didn’t think himself capable of guilt, but there was an emotion akin to it brewing within his chest. Ugh. He breaks eye contact, searching for anything to pull his attention away from his discomfort. The miscellaneous bags of clothing and trinkets she had scattered about her tent were just oh so fascinating. And was that a new hairbrush? Hm. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He’s taken aback by her question. He expected a more offensive reaction. A few insults, maybe ones pertaining to his sharp teeth or bloodlust, but an olive branch?

After all the lies, the invasion of privacy, and the failed attempt at assault?

She really is just full of surprises.

“Well, we aren’t exactly close, you and I. Though, you must admit, I’ve made several attempts to…” He waves a hand between them for emphasis, “mend the gap, so to speak.”

“Well, have you ever considered maybe not being such an asshole?”

Ouch.

But in fairness, no.

“I…” He thinks carefully about what to say next. The buzzing behind his eye socket acts as a threat, reminding him of the very fragile barrier between their minds. Should she choose to dig her claws in and pry the information out of him, she may find more than he's comfortable sharing, so Astarion makes a decision that surprises even himself. 

He chooses to be genuine.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” He gestures towards the dagger at her side. “But believe me, I’m not some monster. I’ve never killed another person.”

Evelyn raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, not for food,” he quickly corrects. “I’ve been subsisting on animals. Boars—like the one you found the other day—deer, kobolds, whatever I can get my hands on.”

“And what exactly was the plan here? You were just going to kill me and expect the others not to notice?” 

He recoils at the accusation but fights to keep his expression neutral. “I had no intention of killing you. I would never do such a thing.” He leans in closer to her and lowers his voice, as if letting her in on a secret. “We need each other.” 

Evelyn shifts to lean her weight on her arm as she listens, dark hair falling to the side of her shoulder. With the new level of exposure, he can hear her pulse settling into a more comfortable rhythm. 

He swallows. Hard. His hunger is rearing its ugly head again, just at the sound of her.

Oh well, might as well lay all the cards out on the table while we’re at it.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and continues, “As it stands right now, I’m too slow. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” There is a question hidden in his words, a favor to be asked.

She seems pensive as she considers him, mulling over everything he’s said in her mind. She lifts a thumb to her mouth and starts nibbling on her nail, no longer looking at him. Nervous too, no doubt. How could she not be with what he’s asking of her, as if he had any right to ask in the first place? 

“I understand you detest me, but-”

Evelyn appears to snap to some conclusion, sitting up straighter and placing her arms to her sides before she responds.

“No, I should detest you, Astarion, but I don’t. You just don’t impress me.”

Wow.

It feels as though he’s been slapped. He barks out a laugh that’s a bit too loud for the intimate setting, trying to mitigate the damage to his ego. “Excuse me?”

She has the nerve to shrug at him. “I’ve seen every trick you’ve used to fill your little black book, probably a thousand items over. I’ve used them all myself. So, frankly, I'm uninspired.”

For the first time in his undead life, he’s totally speechless. His face contorts in indignation, disbelief. This devil.

There is something dangerous in her expression as she leans further forward, neck tilted, exposing herself to him. Her eyes are hooded, with long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Her shoulders relax as she lifts her chin to stare down her nose at him, sneering. 

He works his jaw, clenching the muscles unconsciously.

“Astarion, men are idiots. I’ve spent my entire adult life toying with them and robbing them blind. I’ve heard and seen it all. You really believed a few empty praises and mediocre jokes would have me jumping into bed with you? 

Wha- Mediocre?

He opens his mouth with every intention of retaliating, but Evelyn’s palm unexpectedly rests itself on his calf, and the action stuns him into silence. She begins leisurely dragging her nails up towards his thigh. 

His body responds involuntarily; eagerly, frustratingly, the delicate little motion leaving his skin prickling with excitement. 

She regards his chest, admiring the hard planes of muscle. Then, her attention slowly inches down the toned curve of his abs until, finally, they stop at where his cock hardens disobediently beneath his pants.

“Your pretty face doesn’t detract from the fact that you’re still just a man.”

It finally clicks.

She’s baiting him, attempting to get a rise out of him. 

Hm. Impressive.

Normally, at this point in her little game, he assumes most men would take her flirtations at face value. They would likely mistake this performance as an enthusiastic plea to bed her, but Astarion is not like most men. He sees her little game for what it is and recognizes it with ease because he has spent lifetimes playing it himself.

She leans back, satisfied with her little show, and smirks at him.

“So, you admit I have a pretty face?” He teases, his own smile twisting, becoming more mischievous.

She rolls her eyes, but this time she laughs. It’s a soft sound, genuine.

A pinkish hue crawls up her face and paints the tips of her pointed ears, but he can’t discern if that's supposed to be part of the act or, more likely, an unfortunate side-effect of the living experience. He’s finding it hard not to admire her dedication, regardless. 

Well, that’s quite enough of that. Back to business, then.

“It’s settled,” Astarion clasps his hands together, “I’ll just need to impress you with my more eclectic talents if I am to earn your favor. We can start by gracefully slaughtering a few goblins, depending on how the rest of tonight goes. Which is entirely up to you, of course.”

The tiefling squints at him. “Oh no, if you want something from me, darling, you’re going to have to ask politely. With manners. You have those, don’t you? Familiar with them, at least?”

Under normal circumstances, he would find this amusing; nothing like a little role reversal to spice up the evening. But this feels different, heavier, as if her feigning indifference will alleviate the weight of what he's asking of her.

Fine. He supposes relinquishing a little bit of his pride is a fair price to pay.

He takes a deep breath. "Please." 

"Please, what?" She lifts an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Come on, Astarion. Use your words. I know you’re quite fond of them."

He scoffs at her shamelessness, and for a moment, he honestly considers whether this is worth it, but he can't back out now. He'll make it through this, surely. He's been through worse. 

Through gritted teeth, he barely spits out, "Please, may I drink from you?" 

Gods. He's going to be sick.

"Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?" 

He’s going to fucking kill her.

There is an uncomfortable silence that follows. So many unspoken questions and a rising suspense that makes Evelyn adjust herself uncomfortably where she sits. Astarion is also musing to himself, still wondering how it's all come to this. Why did he choose her, again? Something about her not killing him right away? Death may have been preferable to this, actually, but he is pulled back to reality when she finally speaks up.

“So," she's picking lint off one of her pillows, avoiding his gaze as she asks, "how exactly should we do this?”

Well, it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know. He understands the mechanics behind it, of course, but how exactly were they supposed to go about this?

Should he tell her that he’s never actually fed from a person before? Would it make her more or less comfortable to know that he’s just as clueless about this as she is? 

No. He decides against it. Astarion has always done best when he’s playing the role of the confident seductor. This should be no different. He’ll just treat this as if he’s bedding a virgin: guide her, take things slow, and she’ll no doubt be begging him for more soon enough. It’ll be easy. All she has to do is behave.

“Lie back and get comfortable.”

He moves himself closer to her, settling at her side as she does what she’s told. The flap of the tent remains open, letting in the faintest amount of warmth and illuminating Evelyn’s features. With such close proximity, he can see the gold flames within her irises flickering and dancing, a genetic trait attributed to some luckier members of her race, and a feature of her’s that Astarion would have never otherwise noticed. 

He can hear her pulse quickening as he closes the space between them, lifting himself a bit to settle above her, once again caging her between his arms. One of his knees parts her legs, and he can tell in the quietness of her tent that she’s struggling to hide her uneven breaths. Her stare is intense, but he can’t read the meaning behind it.

He decides to give her another out, just in case. Better safe than sorry. 

“We don't have to do this, you know,” his voice is composed, as if his body wasn't currently screaming with anticipation. “I appreciate the consideration, regardless.” 

“I’m fine.” Her response is clipped, dismissive. Her face remains stoic though her fingers fidget with the blankets at her sides. She had moved the furs to give him better access to her body. The darkness inside him preens at the concept.

Best get on with it, then.

He leans down and, unable to help himself, takes in the scent of her: woodsmoke and the faintest hint of vanilla, which he had watched her pick up from a merchant in the grove just the other day. “For Gale’s cooking,” she amended, when he gave her a questioning look.

He gives her one more moment to stop him.

She doesn’t.

A bit of pressure on the skin before it snaps and gives way, his fangs finally sinking into her. He can feel Evelyn’s body tense at the sudden intrusion. She hisses through gritted teeth, her arms involuntarily raising at her sides, reaching for him, but she stops herself before she touches him. He wants to tell her it's fine, expected, even, the need to ground herself, but all of his higher thoughts are plunged into complete chaos when he finally registers her taste. 

Every cell in his body awakens.

The iron flavor of her floods his throat and sets his nerves ablaze. Its heat fills, expands, and splits every crack in his self control into deep, cavernous fissures. 

A groan escapes Astarions throat before he has the chance to quell it. Of course it would be like this - drinking from a thinking creature. Drinking from her. He understands now why Cazador forbade this. Before, he had assumed it was a matter of keeping his spawn weak and compliant, but this was entirely different. This was far more than a method of control. The bastard had been withholding ecstasy greater than he’d ever known.

A feeling swells in him, crashing like waves through his veins. Warmth. It invades him and fills every fiber of his being. He wasn’t naive enough to believe his first time wouldn't have some sort of great, emotional impact, but this? 

This was everything. How was he ever supposed to come back from this?

"Agh - Astarion," he barely registers her pathetic little whine through the haze. She finally allows herself to grab onto him, the loose sleeve of his nightshirt tightening in her fist. For purchase, he tells himself with what little is left of his consciousness, practical. That is until he lowers himself fully onto her in an attempt to relieve the strain on his biceps.

With no space left between their bodies, he doesn’t anticipate the blazing heat of her core on his thigh, even through the several layers of clothing. She gasps at the sudden pressure,  fingers twitching, nails digging little crescent shapes into his skin. What surprises him most, though, is when the taste in his mouth melts into a flavor so much sweeter. 

Something primal within him recognizes it instantly; it twists in his gut and sits there heavily, as if the emotion were his own: arousal.

Oh.

She is burning for him.

Good.

After all of that teasing, the woman he’s spent weeks enduring endless lectures from actually does desire him, or at the very least desires his body. Which is just as favorable, in his opinion. It’s just nice to know all his hard work hasn’t gone to waste. 

If she lets him live, he's going to spend every waking moment tormenting her over this. His lips vibrate against her skin as he chuckles to himself, causing some of her blood to run down his chin in hot rivulets, blooming new stains onto her sheets. 

He knows he’s had enough. He means to let go, he truly does, lest he end up draining their groups' only hope of survival. Surely that wouldn't go over well with their companions. Pitchforks, and all that. 

But her whimpering, her heat, coupled with the ferocity of his hunger, all provoke a feeling that has been building beneath the surface which he’s unable to name; it's desperate and possessive, a predator guarding its kill from hungry scavengers. The monster in him casts a dark shadow over his mind as he feeds. His body no longer feels as though it is his own, betraying him; a slave to the demands of his appetite. 

He needs her, needs all of her, and he cannot will himself to stop, too lost in sensation and the sound of her mewling to bow to his higher thinking. 

He mindlessly rocks his weight into her and grunts—a slow, unintentional grind against her mound. The motion comes easy to him, like breathing - instinctual. The blunt edge of his clothed cock drags deliciously through her parted thighs. Evelyn’s breath hitches at the feeling, her squirming beneath him giving him the sickest form of satisfaction, but the animal within him demands her compliance.

His hand gathers her loose hair and pulls, growling, warning her to keep still. She whines at the force, back arching. The other grabs her arm, pinning it down, and tightens, thumb gently stroking against her wrist.

"Astarion,"

She’s no doubt making a mess in her smallclothes as she quivers beneath him, all flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. She may deny it later, but her taste tells him everything he needs to know.

Her body is burning against his cool skin, and her gasps are only spurring him on. He laps at the wound, dragging his tongue up the length of her throat, indulging himself in her. It's too much. 

He feels her pulse weakening, her rhythm slowing.

It isn't enough. 

He's about to latch on to her again, teeth at the ready and blinded by his eagerness, when he suddenly feels a piercing sensation behind his eye - the tadpole, he assumes, writhing in panic. Screeching at him to open himself to it. The discomfort is just enough to pull him back into his body. Then Evelyn's voice invades his mind. 

‘Astarion, enough!’

He disentangles his limbs from hers, practically jumping off of the poor woman. He’s gasping for breath as he comes to his senses, the mix of her blood and his saliva staining his lips pink. It dribbles down his chin. He wipes his face with the back of his knuckles and licks them clean.

But then, the cold realization of what he’s done is thrust upon him like a bucket of iced water, shocking him back to the present. He’s going to need to come up with one hell of an apology to get himself out of this one. Or maybe he should just run? Baldur’s Gate is really only a few weeks travel at most. 

“Shit,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. "Are you alright, dear?"

Evelyn's eyes meet his. Her pupils are blown, almost entirely overtaking the gold of her irises when she glances away from him to assess the damage.

"Gods damn it," she quietly groans and applies pressure to the wound, thankfully finding that it isn't too deep or particularly painful. She tends to it, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from her brow. She searches for a rag as she avoids his concerned stare

A deep purple bruise spreads across her pale skin. Small red droplets trickle down the length of her nape, dampening her black breast band before soaking into it and disappearing entirely. He collects himself, willing his mind to cease its incessant urge to lick the damned liquid from her neck. She is flushed and sweating, unbalanced, panting from exertion as much as her own embarrassment. Her dark hair is a tangled mess from his attention. She looks ravaged. 

It… suits her.

Astarion clears his throat, trying his best not to get caught admiring his handiwork.

She was right about one thing. He was, at least in some respects, just a man... 

“Here,” he insists, grabbing one of the smaller furs and holding it up to her. She takes it from him without acknowledgement.

“I -” He begins, but he’s at a loss for words. What does one say in this situation? ‘My sincerest apologies. I don’t know what came over me! I must have gotten swept up in the moment!’ as if that pitiful excuse would overshadow the fact that he manhandled and almost devoured her.

He wants to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat.

He begins to worry that she really may not forgive him. He fears she'll wake the whole camp, or maybe finally cast him out like the monster he is. He wouldn't blame her. She took a great leap of faith in trusting him with this, and he rutted against her like some horny bugbear. Or worse, a teenager, he sneers.

Evelyn pulls the rabbit skin away from her neck, examining it. The brown hairs are matted and crimson, but the bleeding has stopped. She runs her fingers over the puncture marks, feeling the skin dip slightly where his fangs pierced her. She sighs with resignation, surely thinking about how the others will approach her with a plethora of questions tomorrow morning, face reddening at the idea.

“You could have warned me, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize I was agreeing to…all of that.” 

His heart sinks. 

Of course she thinks it was on purpose. I mean, look at him. He’s all but thrown himself at her since the moment they met. He’s spent this entire time playing the part of the rake. It's only natural she assumes the worst.

“Evelyn, darling,” speaking her name aloud brings her focus back onto him. 

The gravity of it is suffocating, condensing the already small space they shared. The tension pulls at something undefinable within him that he thought was long dead—a sincerity that betrays the character he’s been crafting for as long as he can remember. 

It sways him.

More truths to forgive more transgressions, then. A fair transaction.

“I’ve had this condition for over two centuries, but, truth be told,” he clears his throat again, because ugh this is awful. And why does she have to stare at him like that, with her earnest, wet eyes? “You were my first. I’ve only ever fed on beasts.” 

The implication is there: how could he have known?

His confession takes her by surprise. “You don’t…” she pauses, taking everything that transpired tonight into consideration. He must be giving her a look akin to pleading, because she takes mercy on him and disregards whatever question she was about to ask. 

“Please tell me you didn’t do that to the boar.”

Seriously, a joke?

He barks out a laugh before he can stifle it. Whether it's from the sheer ridiculousness of the question or the disbelief towards her acceptance of it all, he truly doesn’t know.

“No, my dear. Just you, and you were delectable.”

Her expression is difficult to read. She’s not looking at him; refuses to, when she replies, “So then, did it work?”

Astarion moves to stand, peering down at her form. He exhales in relief, feeling as though he is a century younger. His muscles are lax; all the stress has been drained from his body. A novel experience. “Yes, I would say so. I feel stronger. My mind is clear. I feel…happy.”

He adds the last word in an effort to appease her, but it does ring true. His main source of joy since he contracted this affliction has been causing others pain, ripping out throats and such. This feels distinctly different, less exhilarating, but pleasant all the same.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you fight.” 

He acknowledges her, then stretches his back out, extending his arms to the sky with his hands clasping behind his head. The motion pulls the rest of his nightshirt out of his trousers and tugs it upward, exposing the hard edges of his hips. He can’t confirm it, but he swears he sees her eyes flit quickly towards them before making an expeditious retreat.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing.” He lifts the flap of her tent to peek outside. No sign of anyone stirring, and the night is still young. Knowing the wildlife in this area, he may still have a chance to sate himself. With his newfound strength, he may even be able to wrangle up a bear. What a feast that would make.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” He bows his head to her in thanks. 

He’s about to step outside, one foot exits the canvas before the rest of him, when it hits him that he feels…odd, uncomfortable leaving her like this. He can’t place his finger on why. He’s ridden atop many women and left without saying a word.

But, he supposes this is dissimilar.

Evelyn listened to him tonight, heard him out when anyone else would have carved him into pieces without second thought. She let him drink from her, forgave him for getting…carried away. 

The most shocking part of it all is that regardless of her dismissiveness, he now undeniably knows that she’s attracted to him. Yet, she didn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it arose to take advantage of his altered state; of his needs. With that, she’s shown him more kindness in the last hour than he’s experienced in his entire undead life. 

He likely owes her for this, of course, but there are worse fates he could endure.

The elf looks over his shoulder at her and catches her watching him intently, as if she wants to continue this conversation but can’t quite figure out what she wants to say. The intensity of her gaze almost forces him to turn back towards her, drawn to her by an unfamiliar ache; a thrill in his spine, the compulsion pulling at his chest like some sort of spell.

“This is a gift, you know.” The words escape him, hanging in the air between them with raw authenticity. He means to make himself sound more frivolous, but before he can edit them in his head, more truth spills from his lips, “I won’t forget it.”

His throat tightens. He considers her for a moment, wondering what he might find if he does turn to meet her eyes.

But, Astarion resists.

She must be exhausted. He shouldn’t take up any more of her time.

He leaves before she can respond. There wasn’t anything left for them to discuss, and he’s desperate to break free from the uneasy weight of her presence.

The second he steps fully outside, he feels as though he can breathe again, not that he needs to, being undead and all. 

What a strange feeling, that was. 

One he decides he’d rather forget. Best to not burden himself too much with it.

The taste of her lingers on his teeth. He finds himself savoring it for a moment too long before stalking towards the forest, confident. Ready to hunt. 

[marigold-hills]

Dunes & Waters, part 44

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

They get the water.

Remus fills a glass bottle he steamed clean before leaving, corks it and puts a charm on it so it doesn’t spill. Sirius is already Padfoot, running in and out of the Nile, accosting passers-by’s and making children laugh. A little one gets prompted by his parents to ask Remus permission, then spends half an hour throwing a stick which Padfoot fetches each and every time. It’s a lovely day. They’re just north of Aswan, where the Nile historically began to flood before promanades were built and agriculture evolved into no longer needing the natures’ assistance.

There’s something sad about it, even while it’s amazing, how the people living there moved forward and harnessed what before was out of their control. Still, Remus can’t help but look at the water with a nostalgia for things which came and went before his time: for five thousand years, people came to the river for help with their crops. Prayed to it, made up gods for it. Now, the river is just that. Beautiful, but not much but a geological attraction.

“Your dog is very well behaved,” the family says when the child has had enough of running around with Padfoot. “What did you use to train him?”

“He came to me like that,” Remus tells them because anything else that springs to mind is not appropriate for polite conversation.

He sits on the grass. Padfoot lays at his feet, head resting on his thigh, eyes closed. The Nile is in front of them, the New Aswan City Amphitheater behind.

“The Nile was a way into the afterlife, you know?” Remus tells the dog. It focuses on him. “A causeway from life to death. Where Osiris drowned, but also where all life comes from.”

A soft huff from the dog, and Remus knows Sirius well enough to know it means keep going. Tell me more.

“I think I know what the potion does,” Remus pets through the dark mane on the dogs head, “I’ve got the translation… not fully, but I’ve got the gist of it. She wrote about control, and regaining it. When the moon is full, before you are made into beast, drink. The gods will speak to Osiris for you. If he’s so willing, forever the night will be yours to command.”

The dog pushes its mouth into Remus. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. No, that’s a lie. You can always tell anyway. We should write to Kingsley. You’re done with what you were supposed to do. And I’ve been keeping you here, pointlessly. Keeping you from going home. Just… well, the translation was something I could still pretend I needed your help with, but it’s just unfair on you, and I’m sorry. I really, I am, Sirius -”

He’s cut off. The dog becomes a man. There is no one around them, but Remus still panics. 

Hands on his face, Sirius stops him from talking. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he says. “You think I didn’t realise we were almost finished? Remus, you’re not keeping me here. I’m staying here, whatever my conditions of release were, because I want to be.” Sirius kisses so softly like it could show he’s honest and Remus breaks, just a little bit, because he fretted for nothing. They still have time. Not much of it, but it’s there. Sirius isn’t leaving.

“The translation. Tell me.”

“Follow in the footsteps of Osiris, beloved one, but beware. There is a price to be paid for chance of freedom - the price of rebirth is wading through death. If gods do not favour in your way, the path of return will be lost.”

They sit in silence, Sirius with the frown between his eyebrows he always gets when deep in thought. “So it is about the transformation.”

“It is. I think… well, I think it’s meant to make it so the werewolf doesn’t lose control. It sounds like once you drink, you stay in your mind forever.”

“It sounds like it’s warning you of something. The price of rebirth is death,” Sirius speaks cautiously. Moves himself away to get a better look at Remus. “And I checked, red lotus and acacia both symbolise rebirth. You weren’t planning on drinking it, were you?”

And Remus knows better than to lie, so he stays quiet.

“Remus. My love. Darling. You can’t be… this is an ancient potion we got the recipe for out of an artefact. It’s not tested. Surely you know I wouldn’t let you.”

“You can’t be surprised that I would be tempted.”

“Tempted is one thing,” Sirius runs frustrated fingers through his hair. “But to actually consider it? It’s not worth it. Even if it wasn’t for the fact that it could be a very old practical joke a couple thousand years in the making, it literally has a warning on the label. The path to return will be lost, you said.”

“That could mean anything.”

“Or it could mean that you die, Remus.”

They both sit with the words. The sun softly sets over the Nile.

“I won’t make it if it’s for anything else than research,” Sirius says. “You can’t make me contribute to you hurting yourself.”

Remus lays his head on Sirius’ shoulder, half expecting to be pushed off. Instead, a hand cradles through his hair, fingers get lost in curls frizzy from the day spent by a late body of water.

“Fine,” he agrees, because he can’t imagine a world in which he’d willingly push Sirius away.

There will be ways to test it, he thinks. To check whether it works, what it does, what the warning really means. If death is, in fact, a condition of the potion and rebirth just the optional outcome. 

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

@arasael

@a-pine-cone

@goldenprophetwrites

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[xxnomadsxx]

The Nomads Au! Those feral things i mentioned that one time!

(SORRY this is soooo cringe! in my opinion pls give it a shot and don’t unfollow😭)

I mentioned awhile back in the au summary about a distant distant cousin to the trolls who found Branch and I just…never explained them EVEN THOUGH THEY ARE A HUGE PART TO THE STORY….in a way.

Basically I was like what if I just made a species of feral trolls and yea that’s basically them. (They get alot of troll headcannon design Stuff like tails and claws while the trolls look like the movie versions )

They look sorta similar but not really to troll. They have huge fangs that will sometimes stick out there mouth, the teeth are a mismatch of sharp and pointy fangs while being crooked (huge carnivors! the only reason they let all these trolls stay is cause they help them hunt) their hair consist of some desaturated colors or a scale of hair colors from brown to black. There outfits look similar to branches style of clothing, plus random genre themed clothing from some of the trolls ( like a battered crop top from a rock troll a beat up bow tie from a classical troll, you get the gist) there hair is long and look like they could use it to cover there entire body it’s also a disheveled mess with leaves bugs and twigs in it(it’s there for camouflage), they have retractable claws, some random fur sticking off there elbows, no noses, pointy ears, tails, silted pupils that makes them look terrifying in the dark.

Personality wise they differ (cause free will and stuff) but it usually consists of anger, hunger, annoyed, absolutely batshit crazy, i don’t get it, lets eat it, a lot of paranoia, will run after you on all fours, will growl bite snarl and hiss at you. There like piranhas after food when they hunt. They would totally hunt bergans ( they’re like reverse trolls they eat huge things instead of vice versa) they will eat things a thousand times bigger than them. They act like feral animals.

The reason they exist in the AU is because I need a reason for Branch to be absolutely feral. One of them was totally going to eat Branch once got a good look at him and said “this is my brother now” continued to pick him up like a mama cat with her baby and scurryed home on all four cackling like a gremlin( no one cared they brought home a troll as long as he helps he’s fine, or else they will eat him) then more trolls came and the same policy was installed. They basically filled Branch with fear and aggression over the years (I also made them so branch could have at least one thing that would care about him for 20 years (who will be explained later) because he needs SOMETHING GOOD IN HIS LIFE!)

I’m calling them feral (trolls?) cause honestly no one knows what they are.

Any questions can be asked and answered in the comments or as a direct message.

[faustandfurious]

Master and Commander liveblog: Chapters 1-2

Apparently the Locatelli C major quartet that kicks off the entire series isn’t even a real piece of music??? Locatelli exists, but his C major quartet sure doesn’t

I’d honestly forgotten how young they both are at the beginning of the story

I love that the first interaction between these two is Aubrey being excited about music and Maturin being a bit of an asshole. Truly excellent golden retriever/black cat character dynamic

Aubrey’s first impression of Maturin is extremely funny in light of everything that is to come: “The ill-looking son of a bitch, to give himself such airs”

Honestly my only frame of reference for money in this time period is Mr. Darcy with his ten thousand a year, so Jack making 5 pounds 12 shillings per month really puts that amount of money into perspective

Implication that Jack Aubrey slept with Molly Harte?

“I am to be found any morning at Joselito’s coffee-house” Maturin being broke and hanging out in coffee shops is a vibe

“the velvet softness of the April night, and the choir of nightingales in the orange-trees, and the host of stars hanging so low as almost to touch the palms” I’m absolutely in love with these small snippets of atmospheric writing

Teniente (Spanish) = lieutenant

I’ll have to pay more attention to the dates this time around, to keep track of the progression of time and the historical events. Anyway, we have our first time point: 1st April, 1800 - Jack Aubrey is made captain, though he receives the news later the same month

I won’t go into all the naval terminology here, because I don’t actually think that you need to understand every single word in order to get the overall gist of what is happening on the ship, but I’ll try to make some notes every now and then

First-rate = Royal Navy term for the largest warships

“May I propose a cup of chocolate, or coffee?” AUBREY/MATURIN COFFEE SHOP AU

These two being nerds about music gives me so much life

Boccherini (which I’ve actually played on violin at one point)

Upupa epops

Maturin remarking on Aubrey wearing only one epaulette and asking if he has forgotten the other one, and Aubrey saying that he’ll put them both on by and by, because you’re only allowed two epaulettes with at least three years seniority as a captain. Stephen knows jack shit about naval ranks

Well, Captain Harte is a piece of shit

Mr. Baldick really said “there’s too much buggery on board” and Jack is like “I don’t want people to be hanged for being gay”

And here comes the naval terminology

“It’s the price that has to be paid” I don’t know why Jack reflecting on the way his new role as captain sets him apart from the rest of the crew, hits so hard, but it does

Stephen being a language nerd <3

Meanwhile Jack gets putain (whore) and patois (nonstandard language) mixed up

“looking at Stephen Maturin with candid affection”

Stephen does math in Catalan because of course

Phthisis = pulmonary tuberculosis, apparently

“‘Surgeons are excellent fellows,’ said Stephen Maturin with a touch of acerbity” average internist describing surgeons tbh

“and when I told you, some time ago, that I had not eaten so well for a great while, I did not speak figuratively” Stephen Maturin poor little meow-meow confirmed

For the ominous way James Dillon is mentioned by Stephen here, I can’t actually remember from my first readthrough what that was all about

“‘Christ,’ he said at last. ‘Another day.’” Stephen continues to be a mood

The way Stephen thinks Jack sailed without him, as if he would ever do that

First appearance of nickname “Goldilocks”

Jack giving Stephen money in a way which leaves his pride intact is such a sweet moment <3

[shizukateal]

Miraculous Ladybug Magical Girl Fashion Review -Part 1

Preamble

Ok, so. What do you people generally think of as a "superhero outfit"? Spandex, right? Tight-skinned, uninterrupted spandex covering almost all the body, or at least not straying away from the body line if you're a girl and only get a swimsuit. Maybe a cape (hood optional) depending on how dramatic you are to add some flow or, if you're a woman, your hairstyle will do that job. Otherwise you can have some form of helmet or headpiece to distinguish yourself, and that's it. That's the extent of options you have. If you're extremely lucky, they might allow you to wear a jacket.

While this description might be a bit of an exaggeration (not by much, though) I think we can all agree that this is a very restrictive set of rules to work with. It's very hard to make something that completely contours to the body visually compelling. It's hard to distribute colors and shapes and patterns in a neat way that makes you stand out when you have to compete with thousands of millions of characters with the same 3 allowed bodytypes (lean, broad, or Woman™️). Which is why we should clap even more at designs like the DC holy trinity and especially Spiderman, who not only has a fantastic design in spite of how alienating it should be, but whose look is also currently inspiring thousands of artists to make their own variations, technically also including today's very own Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

This is all a very lengthy way to say that some of the MLB people wear their fursuits better than the rest. Skin-tight onesies with fur patterns are not something everyone can pull off. Doubly so with how inconsistent the art direction in the show is, with everyone in the cast reaching different levels of uncanny valley and swagless drip. I personally think that many of them would do better if they thought a bit outside that box of "standard superhero fashion" and went for something more specific to the personalities of the characters, but there are some winners amongst the rabble. Much like the writing of the show itself, the show's design averages into a trashy sludge pile that still manages to look tempting thanks to some unexpected moments of competence. Let's sort through the pile *cracks knuckles*

Ladybug (standard and ultimate version)

You'd think it would be easy for me to just say "yeah, the bland, near fully uninterrupted polkadot bodypaint onesie is both boring and silly and the other more balanced version is a LOT better by comparison" and leave it at that, but unfortunately I also have to talk about the hairstyle. And the hairstyle is wrong in a very specific way which I don't have concise terms for, so I need you to pay attention and stay with me here.

The pigtails work well for Marinette. They are distinct, practical, realistic enough while bordering just slightly on the fantastic, and their mild childishness enhances Mari's romantic nature. In theory they also match the polka-dot theme and they are not impractical considering the function of Ladybug's suit, but they still go against what it's trying to do. There's probably a concrete term in shape and action line theory that better educated people than me know about, but to give you the gist of what I mean I'm gonna do another Shitty Paint Edit™️ so I don't go in too many circles explaining myself:

Ok, you get what I'm trying to say here now? The pigtails match the balance of this specific pose, but the suit is too skin-tight and it highlights Marinette's neck, so they interrupt the buildup. They don't even work well as pieces of flow for contrast, because the hair is so stiff and the ribbons are barely noticeable. Compare to itsanarkee's cosplay and how much better she looks because she has an updo. The worst part of it all is that, usually, matching a body-paint suit with a hairstyle to provide contrast in a female superhero is, like, babyshit, the bread and butter of superheroine costumes, but Astruc managed to find the one hairstyle in the world to make it work wrong because he was to proud about Marinette's design to change anything. Just give her the fucking buns already.

Chat Noir

He serves cunt. Pops pussy, if you will. The only very mild itch it gives me is that I can't see what his ears are attached to and it bothers me, although he's not the only one with that feature and I understand why they would want to hide a hair band especially in his design. I can forgive that when everything else in this design is genius. The belt tail. The way his mask sharpens his features alongside the hair and ears. The flaps on his boots and gloves that highlight how his movements put more weight in his joints. The acrylic claws, the paws on his boots. The lines that highlight his figure in just the right way. The fucking bell. Chat is easily the best design amongst the heroes.

And while this my purely subjective interpretation, I truly do think it's understated how much this outfit manages to sell Adrien's clark kenting. It makes complete and perfect sense to me at least that Marinette wouldn't recognize him like this. Adrien is just slightly generically pretty enough that you wouldn't assume they are the same person just because they're both blonde bishies, and the contrast between the two personas is high enough that it could be realistic that some people wouldn't put them together if they are not looking for that connection. Doubly so for Marinette, who is way too enamored with Adrien's personality of generic un-disruptive niceness with a touch of rich boy angst to fully reconcile it with Chat's outright spicier demeanor lightened with Pathetic Wet Beast Energy for potability.

Rena Rogue vs Volpina

Yeah, this one merits a comparison. It's a perfect example to elaborate on my first rule. Lila already stands out as another of the best human designs amongst the cast, and the sleaze she exudes lends itself a lot better to this slick body-paint tightness and form-highlighting curves. The tail-sash around her waist is also brilliant. She'd probably look even better in something more grounded, but the fact that she's already pulling the outfit off like this is still an accomplishment.

Rena Rogue on the other hand... well, everything around her head is very good and cute, and I especially appreciate the eyebrows on her mask. On paper I also like the top with its longtail, but overall Alya looks a lot blander than Volpina, because her outfit doesn't reflect her personality the way it does Lila's. It's not ugly, even if the patch of white starts to bother me because it has no interruptions as it goes down. In fact it succeeds in making Rena look kind of adorable, really, but Alya is not a cutesy girl, and tbh the overall general texture of the outfit is a lot more body spray-painting-ish than Volpina's, which also makes it look cheaper in a bad way.

The Fox miraculous may be summarized as the power of Illusion, but both girls represent two facets elaborating on that concept: where Lila is the Fox as Deceit, Alya is the Fox as Cleverness. So Lila may be... smart manipulative -Ok, sincerely speaking Lila Rossi is the single most blatant Villain Sue I have ever seen put onscreen, but what I'm trying to get at is that while she -supposedly- has some cunning, her pettiness and eagerness to speak on the fly is -or rather should be- a contrast to Alya, who goes around sniffing for the truth and thus always has a fuller picture. Because remember: the best liars tell the truth. So Rena's outfit should reflect that. It should be less slick and more street-savvy, something that the pendant with its long chain is especially well suited to.

Speaking of all these thematic parallels, am I the only one in the fandom who is extremely weirded out that Lila isn't a rival to Alya? Like, aren't they extremely obvious foils beyond both of them being fox-themed? The girl who bases her clout on lies vs the one who searches for the truth? The girl who pretends to be friends with Ladybug while bullying her civilian identity vs the girl who is friends with both? Have the writers ever exploited this ever since I stopped watching?

Carapace

Nino is almost perfect. I am genuinely impressed at how well they chose the angle of this costume. It's so easy for me to imagine a much shittier version with an ugly cowl/spiderman wannabe facemask -because other characters in this series take that approach-, but taking a page out of spider-gwen's book instead paid amazing dividends. He looks great as teenage not-mutant ninja turtle.

He only has two significant faults. One is that I feel his goggles should be tinted opaque orange, and he should wear a mask over his mouth and nose. You know, make the clark kenting a little easier, the stealth more pointed, maybe he can have a cool graffiti of a turtle beak over the mask for a sprinkle of his actual personality. The second is that the partition he chose for his crotch area is a bit iffy and yes, I am very sorry to talk about this. The shape of the partition itself is not bad but it's the same color, so it doesn't actually help the transition all that much and instead, sadly, it only brings more attention to the middle. My suggestion is that he should take a page out of Rise of the TMNT's book and make the plastron into actual armor that goes from his chest to his navel, instead of just a logo on the front. Then he can either wear black shorts or he can go the Rise!Casey Jones route and wear pants that are slightly baggy but still cinch to his ankles.

Then there's only one last thing he needs to be completely perfect and that is having an actual relationship with Master Fu since he is the direct successor of his miraculous and one of the first characters to be akumatized on account of his resentment towards adults, so I feel like there's a whole bunch of narrative foiling potential not being explored there, you get me?

Queen Bee vs Vesperia

Zoe's face is more interesting and I appreciate that, as well as the design team giving her a braid, but Chloe still wins this one. Vesperia's outfit is reasonably cool on its own, but it does very little aesthetically for her. Perhaps if the colors of her top and pants were inverted it could work, but there's something about the aggressive sharpness of its lines that Zoe's bubbly face is not matching, made worse by the black being at the forefront. That might not be a problem in civilian outfit, but only because that look is balanced with other colors. Or rather, I think she also needs a more casual fit to pull it off instead of a skin-tight jacket. I also get what they're trying to do with her bangs and I would love it were it not for the fact that it doesn't look good in this artstyle. Chloe also has that problem with her hair, but Queen Bee's style fits her a lot better in a much obvious way, and for added points I think Queen Bee wears the cord as a belt better too., so congrats to Chloe on her one win, I do hope the writing allows her to have proper character development later instead of constantly resetting her to square one for conflict.

[ubtendo]

Could you tell us about your oc you posted? She looks super cool and I wanna know about her

Wait, like actually for real?

I mean sure, might as well (tldr: a bit lengthy background story about how the oc came to be; you can skip that if you want)

So like about 6 or 7 years ago (so like, when I was 13 - 14ish) I actually had a bigger friend group I was hanging around with by the end of my school years and we DID have a plan to play a dnd campaign but we never even played one session and the friend group dispersed soon after we made that plan since we all graduated and switched schools so we never saw each other again (only got contacts with one of the guys anymore so yeah, wah-wah, nobody wants to hear the sob-story but I feel the background is imp to mention)

I don't have any previous drawings of her and only sparse notes flying around, and I was only reminded of her existence by that friend more or less recently, since I told him about my current interest in dnd

(Also here please note, we were children who didn't know dnd, any mechanics or how to play, we were just having fun with our imagination, so if anything doesn't make sense about this character, this is why)

So here ACTUALLY what this characters is about:

Her name was supposed to Silvester and she was a bard wood elf, about 200 years old and actually stupid tall, I'm talking about 7 to almost 8 ft tall (I know that this is a ridiculous hight, don't come for my teen self💀)

The "staff" she is carrying and using is what we call a "Teufels Geige", which translated means "Devil's Violin", and I only know about that thing because I saw an old video of when my dad was a teen and he played it (I don't know if there is an official English name for it? From what I know it's primarily used in European countries in folk music and to accompany other instruments but you could just play it on it's own) (The devils head on top is placed there because of its name but I wanted for Silvester to match that energy so she made herself a headpiece out of a cow's horns)

Since I'm not really a singer type or like super witty and funny, I was having trouble with making her character, but one of my old friends said that she doesn't have to be a singing performer but that she could be a poet of sorts. Now, I'm not a poet either, but I could work with that better.

So Silvester here was striving throughout the land watching people and writing down and collecting stories she heard from others or witnessed them herself, to make poems, stories and nursery rhymes out of them.

And well she had hundreds and thousands of these stories and stuff written down, but one she had never finished about a mother and her four children, which would have been a rather sweet rhyme, but in the end she would get way to upset just thinking about what happened.

Not gonna continue here because that part of the backstory got unnecessary dark and morbid because it would involve deaths and I was still a bit edgy with my story writing.

She was chased away by people living in a village near her cottage in the woods, by burning down that small forest she was living in.

After that she still continued to write down stories and poems. But they usually ended up being dark and grotesque now. (Because a lot of nursery rhymes and children short stories we were told about as kids were about injury and death and tragedy, for some reason, don't ask😗🫰) (I would put some examples out the top of my head here but I would have to translate them and then they would sort of lose their charm and meaning)

Annnnnddd I don't remember how she actually met the rest party after that since we never got that far💀

But yeah that's about the gist of it

If I ever play dnd I would really want to reboot her character since I kind of think that she had an interesting concept.

(+ here is also a little warm up drawing of her)