#well not really an ask meme but that's the tag

[kathlare]

out off the bag

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In the midst of the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix weekend, Lando Norris faces the unexpected challenge of discussing his relationship with Amelie, now very public after their kiss in Miami. As the media and fellow drivers tease him about the newfound attention, Lando navigates the awkwardness with a mix of humor and genuine sentiment for his girlfriend.

Wordcount: 0.7 k

Warnings: just fluff

May 17th, 2024 - Imola, Italy

The Emilia Romagna Grand Prix weekend had officially begun, and Lando Norris stood on the fan stage in front of a cheering crowd of fans, most of whom were eagerly awaiting to hear about the upcoming race. His usual confidence in front of the fans was there, but there was an unmistakable unease in his posture. It had only been a couple of weeks since the race in Miami, where the whole world had found out about his relationship with Amelie—his beautiful, talented, and slightly chaotic girlfriend.

The kiss they shared at the Miami Grand Prix had gone viral almost immediately, sending social media into a frenzy. And now, just thirteen days later, he was standing on stage, trying to answer questions while also processing the fact that this was no longer a secret. Amelie was a part of his life, a very public part of his life.

Lando took a deep breath and looked at the interviewer, who was smiling a bit too mischievously for his liking. The interviewer, a young man with a sharp wit, wasn’t going to let Lando off easy.

—So, Lando,— the interviewer started, drawing the crowd’s attention with his exaggerated enthusiasm, —I think we need to talk about your… new relationship status. It’s been all over the news after Miami. Can you tell us a bit more about how things are going with Amelie?—

Lando’s stomach did a flip. It was only natural that people would ask about it, but now that it was out there, he wasn’t sure how to talk about it publicly. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He was so used to talking about racing, strategy, and the latest car developments—this felt... different.

—Uh, yeah, it’s, uh… going great,— Lando began, shifting on his feet. —We’ve known each other for a while now. Been good friends for a long time, and, uh, things just kind of happened after we started spending more time together last year. But, yeah, Miami definitely… well, I guess it made everything a bit more public.— He chuckled awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood, but the crowd was already roaring with excitement, some fans cheering, others shouting his and Amelie’s names.

As soon as Lando mentioned Miami, the teasing began. Oscar Piastri, who had been standing next to Lando on the stage, smirked and leaned in, nudging him with his elbow.

—Oh, come on, Lando,— Oscar said with a grin, —you can’t just brush off that moment. The whole world watched you two kiss. You really didn’t think you were getting away with keeping it private, did you?—

Lando’s face flushed even more, and he shot Oscar a glare, but it didn’t do much to stop the teasing.

—Yeah, mate,— Alex Albon chimed in from the other side of Lando, his tone dripping with mock sympathy, —you looked like a man in love. Pretty sure I’m still getting tagged in memes about it.—

Logan Sargeant, standing just behind them, couldn’t help but add his two cents.

—You two were basically a real-life rom-com moment. Can you at least admit that?—

Lando groaned, his hands finding their way into his pockets as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. This wasn’t how he expected this whole thing to go.

—Alright, alright, I get it, okay?— Lando said, a nervous laugh escaping him. —But seriously, I’m just trying to talk about the race, yeah?—

The interviewer was clearly enjoying himself, leaning into the banter. He gestured toward Lando and the teasing trio.

—Well, it looks like we’ve got some new fans for Team Lando & Amelie here! But tell me, Lando, what’s it like having your relationship out there for everyone to see now? I mean, Miami was a big deal. There’s been a lot of attention. How are you handling it?—

Lando hesitated for a moment, his gaze shifting down for a brief second before he met the crowd’s eyes again.

—Honestly, it’s… it’s weird at first. I’ve been in the spotlight for a long time, but this feels different, you know?— Lando began, trying to find the right words. —Amelie and I, we’ve always been really close. I’ve always admired her, and now that we’re… together, it’s just natural. But yeah, having it all out there for everyone to see is a little overwhelming. It’s not something I ever thought I’d have to talk about so publicly.—

—So what’s the deal with the kiss in Miami, Lando?— the interviewer pressed, smirking.

Lando’s hand shot up in the air in mock surrender.

—It was a spontaneous thing! I mean, we were celebrating, and...uh, well, it just happened! Not everything needs an explanation, right?—

Oscar snorted, shaking his head.

—It’s fine, mate, we’ve all seen it. You looked pretty happy. And I’m sure you didn’t mind the attention. We’ve been getting tagged in Amelie’s posts too, haven’t we? She has a bit of a following herself.—

Alex jumped in with a sly grin.

—Yeah, and don’t forget the constant memes and the romantic captions she puts up. I’m sure she’s loving it just as much as you are, Lando.—

Lando groaned, trying to hide his face behind his hand.

—Alright, alright, you lot are too much right now. Just let me get through this, please? I’ve already said enough about my love life for one day.—

The crowd was absolutely loving the banter, and Lando had to admit, it did make things feel a bit easier. He caught a glimpse of his phone, and for a moment, his thoughts drifted to Amelie. He hadn’t spoken to her in hours, as she was on her way to New York for her Saturday Night Live appearance, but just thinking about her put a smile on his face.

—It’s great though,— Lando added, his voice softening a little. —She’s amazing, and I’m lucky to have her. But we’re both just taking things one day at a time. For now, though, I’ll just stick to racing.— He cleared his throat, trying to shift the conversation back to something more comfortable for him. —Speaking of which, let’s talk about the race weekend. How are you lot feeling about the track?—

The crowd cheered, and just like that, the conversation shifted back to racing, but Lando could still feel the playful teasing hanging in the air. He knew that he couldn’t avoid the subject forever, especially now that Amelie was a part of his world in such a public way.

But at least for now, it was done. And for a brief moment, he could just focus on the race, on the adrenaline of the track. He couldn’t wait for what the weekend would bring.

[imjustavenuxwithaboomerang]

zombies: re-animated + text posts

[corviiids]

THANKS @kimdokjafan you are so kind and generous. ok im cashing in the first of three blank checks to talk about faith trust and pixie dust (most recent chatfic) because the last two directors commentaries were too serious so let's do a silly one.

some p5r spoilers, and this is mostly about sumire, and it's long again. do i need to keep disclaiming that these are long? you should know me by now.

i had this written for a while before i started formatting it because i wasn't really sure if i should post it? i feel like silly chatfic is something people go to for predominantly lighthearted nonsense so i was like, maybe there's too much plot and dramatic misunderstanding and i should just keep this one for myself. but then i was like well nothing matters and maybe someone will have fun with it. it's kind of terrible how much fully or mostly completed fic there is my docs that just doesn't see the light of day lol. write for yourself etc but i like sharing! too bad it comes with the mortifying ordeal etc. anyway that was a tangent

potato counter is a neopets game. there's no deep lore i just like neopets. i guess in this universe ryuji doesn't play neopets? or maybe he's just never played potato counter specifically. i also have a different fic where ryuji DOES play neopets. it's about neopets and ryuji and goro talking on neopets.

i think this might literally be the first time ive written sumi in a fic because i haven't actually written that much fic for royal, like, now that im looking, literally almost none? and none that had a group dynamic. so it was kind of fun to find her voice for the first time in a silly groupchat like this. i was worried people would find her exclamation marks annoying but i personally thought it was endearing so i added it in there.

every time i do a gag where a character corrects their own typo i have to code more stupid little bubbles to make it happen but i think it's worth it. all the effort that goes into making tgis look as much like a real chat as possible

this obviously doesnt take place in the canon p5/r universe, but im imagining sort of a postcanon sumi personality where she's more comfortable being herself and isn't borrowing kasumi's brand of confidence, but she's visibly a really anxious person without that kasumi veneer. i also think in this universe sumire is a fairly recent addition to the friend group, and while everyone likes her a lot and she really likes them, i kind of wanted to emphasise that feeling of being in a friend group where everyone's established and you're sort of a plus-one? you don't really fit yet. part of that is her being new, part of it is her anxiety, part of it is just the kind of person sumi is where she's so polite and self-conscious she ends up taking herself out of things with her own good intentions. stuff like her interrupting the flow of an existing conversation by greeting everyone instead of jumping straight in because she doesn't feel comfortable inserting herself, which means everyone else stops to greet her even though that doesn't normally happen in a friend group, or making a point of thanking everyone for being invited to events while the others take it as a given.

idk i love that she feels a bit out of place with the phantom thieves in p5r. and part of that is a natural consequence of being a new addition in royal who can't be naturally integrated with an existing dynamic but i honestly feel like the writing team realised that and acknowledged it, and really leaned into it, and that made it work incredibly well for me. like, it's part of her character that she's sort of an outsider. it's not like p4g's incredibly clumsy integration of marie and subsequent attempt to shove her down everyone's throat as the canon love interest in p4ga (knife). sumi has that outsider vibe on purpose and it makes me really like her dynamic with the thieves as an individual

goro also feels slightly out of place in these chats, but his conversational style blends more naturally with the other thieves at this point and he even uses their codenames sometimes. i keep saying my chatfic series isn't a real Series because the lore keeps changing, but if we accept that they're all kind of following a General Continuity, assume this takes place some time after the last fic in which ren added goro to the groupchat and they made an effort to integrate him into their friend group. he's kind of there now and has settled into being the weird boyfriend. that's his role.

every time goro says something like "ren and i" assume it's the text equivalent of him talking to the group with his arm around ren's waist.

ok i got really fond of this silly running joke where sumi brings up the weather when she's feeling uncomfortable. she's so polite. i like this thread because setting it up meant i got to tie it off like this:

this just made me happy lol i liked writing this. i tried to use it to demonstrate that despite goro's abrasiveness he obviously knows sumire pretty well, he's attuned to her quirks and knows how to tell when she's having a bad time with her anxiety, so he uses her little weather habit to ground her.

i honestly dont think goro and sumire could be considered close in p5r and as much as i like the "royal trio" in canon they're not really... like... friends? with each other? they're both attached to ren, so it' more a V shape than anything else. but that said, i really LIKE goro and sumi's canon dynamic. he takes a really grouchy but politely attentive supervisory role to her during their few forays into the palace as a trio where he doesn't really know her well but clearly identifies her as a harmless little tryhard who needs some guidance and steps into that role grudgingly, and she immediately looks up to him despite being very wrong footed by his ruthlessness, which i find incredibly charming. i think given time they could be good friends, they just didn't get much chance to know each other very well in canon. so i tried to kinda do that here.

once goro stops being evil and joins the group they all kind of tiredly accept that his role is to occasionally push a cup off a bench while smirking and refuse to clean it up. emotionally, i mean.

wait i need to backtrack chronologically to talk about akeshu.

in this scene they're in the same room lol talking and snickering while typing. im trying to get at that vibe of the annoying couple who is flirting with each other, via you. you know? like ostensibly they're talking to you (sumire) but everything they say to you is part of their stupid game. sumi is incidental to goro and ren teasing each other about flirting with someone else, goro is reporting everything ren says because his boyfriend is so eye-rollingly foolish in a cute way. they're very tickled by how amusing and charming they are. gross. disgusting. sumire im so sorry for putting you through this

anyway here are too many of my favourite jokes from the fic

[spacebubblehomebase]

What app and what pencil do you use :3?

(I send u big hugs and hav a nice day :D♡)

Hehe. (Hugs back. I like hugs. XD) I believe someone else had a similar question before! I made this art then too to demonstrate how I use, Ibis Paint. The free beginner friendly drawing app! (No I'm not sponsored-) And as for the "pens", I usually go for the default brushes. As in the first basic ones you find on the app! ^v^ I've been promoting this idea for years and I'll never get tired of saying it! While fancier equipment IS nice, skills can ultimately outclass tools any day! =D In fact, sometimes limiting yourself can hone your creativity as it forces you to work with what you have and invent new ways of experimenting with materials that are often overlooked! That's how I learned. ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ -Bubbly💙

[blackjackkent]

The usual three prompts :)

Karlach - Sunflower

Jaheira - Sweet Pea

Isobel - Dandelion

(Flower prompts meme)

Finally responding to this! I ended up picking both the Karlach and Jaheira ones and combining them into one fic, and also making them both about friendship stuff even though I think the prompt definitely intended romantic. And then it grew legs and became an AO3 one-shot instead of a drabble fill. More bang for your buck. XD Really hope you like!

Sunflower - drunken rambling about their adoration Sweet Pea - a tender moment

-----

We Who Have Faced Gods

Pairing: Karlach & Jaheira, Tav & Jaheira, Karlach/Tav Characters: Karlach, Jaheira, OC Male Tav Rating: G Warnings: Drinking Descriptors: Fluff, humor, drunk silliness, cross-generational friendship, mentorship. Chapter Word Count: 3.0k Chapter Setting: On the road to Baldur's Gate, between Act 2 and Act 3.

Summary: A brief interlude of rest for three heroes on the road to Baldur's Gate, in between one battle and the next.

read on ao3 | send me fic requests!

-----

“I can't fuckin’ believe it,” Karlach slurs happily. 

Hector grins. “So you've said - a few times now.” 

He gently pries the bottle of ale out of her hand and takes a sip from it himself before setting it aside next to the tree they’re sitting against. Another bottle, already empty, is nestled there in the grass, damp with condensation in the crisp evening air.

The camp’s much-needed celebration at finally escaping the Shadow-Cursed Lands has also turned out to be an excuse to clear their supply packs of the unreasonable quantity of alcohol they’ve accumulated. Karlach has been doing her part in the drainage effort. Hector himself hasn’t had too much; he is, however, very much enjoying listening to her increasingly exuberant ramblings as the night has gone on and the bottles have slowly trended towards empty.

He stretches, draping his arms loosely around her waist as she settles more comfortably into his lap. “But go on. Tell me again.”

“I’m serious. I can’t believe it,” she says earnestly. Her whole face scrunches up with concentration as she tries to focus her eyes on him. “Jaheira. In our camp. That's her tent right over there!” She points unsteadily in a vague direction. “D'you know how many stories I heard about her as a kid? SO many, Hec. Like…” A pause. “So many.”

He chuckles. “Yeah?” He kisses the tip of her nose, then her lips. “I’d love to hear them.”

“She’s so cool. She can turn into a panther,” Karlach says dreamily. “I saw her do it at Last Light. An’ she cut up those winged horrors like they were nothing .”

“A very impressive show,” he agrees, nodding. 

She considers for a moment, her eyebrows knitting. “Bet I’d make a good panther.”

“I'm sure you would.” Picking up one of her hands, he interlaces their fingers, kissing each of her knuckles in turn. “You've already got the claws for it.”

“I should get Jaheira t’ teach me,” Karlach decides. Her gaze drifts out of focus again. “And then we could be panthers together and slash everyone up. And then you'd run up and punch them too. POW POW.” She thumps her fist lightly into the pit of his stomach. “Like that.”

He slumps dramatically against the tree trunk, clutching at his abdomen. “You got me. A wicked strike indeed.”

“Hrrrrrmm.” She clicks her tongue dismissively and gives her head an exaggerated shake. “C’mon now, Soldier. You fought that weird Myrkul bone motherfucker,” she points out. “You can take a gut hit from me, I bet.”

“No doubt,” he agrees. His eyes narrow teasingly. “Only you've seemed rather fond of some parts down there, and I'd hate for you to damage them accidentally.”

“Oh, shit, you're right.” She bursts into a fit of giggles and slumps against his shoulder. “Gotta be careful.” She kisses his neck, under his jaw, up to his ear, and nips gently at his earlobe. This elicits a soft, involuntary noise of eager satisfaction from him, and she snickers, pleased at the reaction. “Better?” 

“Much.” He runs the tips of his fingers down the back of her neck and feels her shiver pleasantly in return. “I love seeing you so happy, you know.”

This seems to give her some pause. “Happy. Yeah.” She fidgets her fingertips at his jaw, pushing against the grain of his beard with an air of deep absorption.

There's silence for a moment, filled with the noise of the living forest around them - so different from the desolation of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Damp leaves rustle against each other in the slow, warm breeze. Somewhere above them, a hawk screeches a hunting call. 

 “We're gonna kill Gortash, right?” Karlach asks abruptly. 

His lips purse tightly and his smile fades. He remembers the mop-headed bastard in the long coat, standing alongside Ketheric and the Bhaalist in that pit of horrors beneath Moonrise. He remembers the rage in Karlach’s face and how it echoed in his own heart. “Yes,” he answers. “We will.”

She presses her face into his neck. “An’ Jaheira's gonna help us. An’ I can kiss a hot monk any time I want, an’ he promised me nothing bad is ever gonna happen, ever again.”

He blinks, then chuckles, the grim mood easing again. “All true things.”

“Then yeah.” Her voice is muffled and increasingly drowsy, but he can hear the smile in it. “I'm happy.”

He digs his fingers gently into the small of her back to pull her tighter against him. “Good. I am too.” 

It isn’t a lie - he is happy, here at this moment, blanketed in her warmth. But uncertainty lurks very close at hand. They have a plan, a goal - a purpose that will save thousands of lives if they can hold to it. But their enemy is horrifying beyond comprehension, and everyone, even to the daughter of Selune herself, has trusted him to be equal to it.

What if he’s not?

He’s jarred from his thoughts by the soft thump of a footstep, and he looks up to see Jaheira rounding one of the nearby tents. The High Harper also has a bottle of wine in one hand, but her steps are steady and her bearing straight. Only her eyes - softened from their usual sharp glint and peering languorously into the middle distance - betray any sign of inebriation. 

She comes to a halt just shy of tripping over Hector's outstretched legs. Her eyes take a moment to refocus, and she tips her head to one side as she takes in the scene.

“Good evening, Carlisle,” she says with exaggerated gravity, inclining her head at him. 

He tries to straighten up respectfully, although the effect is somewhat marred by Karlach’s weight holding him pinned against the tree trunk. “Good evening, High Harper.” 

Karlach stirs in his arms. “Oh, fuck. Is that Jaheira?” she mumbles, still muffled against him. 

He grins, ruffling her hair gently with his fingers. “Seems so,” he answers.

“Shit.” She makes an uncoordinated (and unsuccessful) effort to lift her head. “Don' tell her I'm drunk…”

Jaheira’s eyes narrow with sudden humor and she crouches at Hector's side. With a deft jerk, she lodges the butt end of the bottle she’s carrying into the dirt next to the others. “Do not worry, Karlach,” she says gravely. “Your secret is quite safe.”

“Good,” Karlach mumbles sleepily. “I want her t’ think I'm cool…” She squirms and grinds her face more firmly into Hector's neck. “And teach me about… panthers…”

Jaheira quirks one eyebrow up and her lips twitch. “I believe she vastly overestimates the number of ‘cool’ people I have traveled with,” she says to Hector, her tone deeply dry. 

Hector grins cautiously. He does not quite have Karlach’s level of hero worship, but it still feels mildly unreal to be sitting here talking with one of the heroes of the Bhaalspawn Crisis, a woman he read of in countless historical texts in the monastery’s library. In person, Jaheira has proved to be remarkably down-to-earth, despite all the lofty tales that speak of her, but Hector’s instinct for deference towards her is hard to shake. “Well, we’re all very pleased you’ve chosen to travel with us,” he tells her earnestly. “And honored.”

“Bah, the honor is mine, Saer Carlisle.” She grins crookedly and raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It is an exclusive club, we who have faced down a god and survived. It is so rare that we get new members. I should be thanking you for the company.”

He relaxes a little with a laugh. “I never imagined facing anything like this,” he admits.

Jaheira snorts. She slowly lets herself topple out of her crouched position to sit next to him on the dew-damp ground. “In my experience, a world-ending crisis is not something one plans for. It merely happens, and you are swept along in the rising flood, will you or no.” 

Her eyes flick from his face to Karlach, draped in his arms, and her expression softens slightly. “But you have been equal to it, so far. What we faced in the Shadow-Cursed Lands… not many would have come out of it unscathed.”

Hector drifts his fingertips over Karlach’s back, feeling the slow rise and fall of her chest and the pulses of heat from the infernal engine - and the subtle rough texture of one of the new scars she gained at Moonrise. “Unscathed might be putting it a little strongly,” he murmurs.

“True enough. Let us say… alive,” Jaheira says with a flash of gallows humor. “An accomplishment that should never be taken for granted.” A pause. “I am proud of both of you - of all of you. And proud to face whatever lies ahead at your side.”

Karlach’s head has become heavier on his shoulder and her breathing, against his ear, has settled into a steady rhythm, but at these words, she looks up suddenly. Her eyes are at half-mast and her nose rubs against Hector’s throat. 

“Soldier?” she mumbles.

“Yes, love?”

“Jaheira just say she’s proud of us?”

Hector smiles and presses a kiss against her hairline. “She did.”

She gives him a bleary smile. “I think I’m dreaming,” she murmurs. “But it’s a nice dream, so don’t wake me up, m’kay?”

He rubs his fingers gently at the base of her neck. “You have my word.”

She makes an inarticulate, happy sound and buries her face back into his chest. 

Jaheira chuckles. “Perhaps I am not so sorry as I thought that the bards have made so much of me,” she says lightly. “One could get used to such adoration.” She draws a long inhale through her nose, savoring the scent of the forest around them, and then exhales it in a heavy sigh. “You should get some rest, cub,” she adds gently. “We’ve a long walk in the morning, and many more to follow.”

Hector lifts an eyebrow at her. “I could say the same of you.”

She laughs. It's a sharp, almost barking sound - a trifle bitter, but not without humor. “It has been many, many years since I last slept a full night, Carlisle. I think tonight will be no different. But there may yet be hope for you.”

He shrugs - carefully, trying not to jostle Karlach's head. “Perhaps. But…” He smiles sheepishly. “I need to bring this one along with me, and I don’t think she’s much in the mood to move at present.”

“Mm. I will help you move her, then. You have both earned a better bed than the cold forest ground.” Jaheira glances at the two bottles sitting side by side against the tree trunk, and snorts softly. “She has told me something of her story. I suppose a decade in the Hells must lend one a certain tolerance for the weak drinks of the material plane. All the same, I have seen stronger warriors than her felled by the combination of Balor ale and fireswill. I am impressed that she is still conscious.”

He frowns. “It’s a special occasion,” he says with a shrug. “We all needed to let loose a little, I think.”

She grins. “Oh, do not mistake me - I am not judging. Besides, practically the whole camp is passed out. I was surprised to find anyone else awake at all. Well, besides Dame Aylin,” she corrects herself with a low laugh, glancing over her shoulder. “She keeps a vigil in the moonlight and was quite uninterested in the revelry. Perhaps the daughter of a goddess sees little point in the meager wine that mortals brew.”

Involuntarily, Hector looks up, following Jaheira's gaze to see if he can spot the aasimar in prayer. But wherever it is that Aylin is apparently keeping vigil is out of his sight, masked by the tents or the trees or the gentle, moonlit darkness. “I still can't believe it,” he murmurs, slowly starting to squirm out from beneath Karlach's weight. “My Lady's daughter, here in flesh. She laid a hand on my shoulder and said she would follow me.” He pauses and then smiles ruefully. “It's the only thing that could possibly be more astonishing than you saying the same thing.”

Jaheira looks at him curiously for a moment. Then she catches Karlach by the shoulder and helps to lift her up so that Hector can wriggle sideways onto his knees. “For so many years, you have had faith in Selune,” she points out. “And yet you are surprised to receive it in return, in the hour of crisis?” 

Hector grunts and pushes himself to his feet, hooking Karlach's arm over his shoulder. Between them, they lift her onto her feet; she's definitely almost asleep now and mumbles inarticulately at the motion.

“I don't deserve it,” he says quietly, more to himself than to Jaheira. 

Jaheira smiles faintly, bracing herself to help hold up Karlach's considerable weight. “A thing worth knowing, Carlisle, if you are on a path of which songs will be sung,” she answers, “is that you no longer get to choose what you deserve. Least of all the faith that is put in you.”

Hector doesn't answer directly at first. “Come on, love,” he tells Karlach gently. “Let's get back to the tent.”

“Tired…” Karlach mumbles. 

“I know. I’ve got you…” He drapes one hand around her waist to keep her upright, and they take a few awkward steps forward. On Karlach's other side, Jaheira moves easily, adjusting to the rhythm of their movement to help support her. 

They're almost to Karlach's tent before Hector finally speaks again, and it’s so low Jaheira probably has to strain to hear it. “I don’t want to let you down,” he mutters. “Any of you.”

To his surprise, Jaheira laughs softly. “Hector,” she says, “you still have the bone dust of the god of death on your fists. What right would I have to feel you have failed me?”

He crouches at the flap of the tent, lowering Karlach carefully. “Myrkul was one thing,” he says. “But there is so much that lies ahead. We face an elder brain. And those two other Chosen, the Bhaalist and Gortash…”

Karlach squirms suddenly, her eyes opening halfway. The sudden movement overbalances Hector and he falls sideways, hitting the ground next to the bedroll with a grunt, Karlach half on top of him. “I’ll kill ‘im,” she growls unsteadily, struggling to right herself, one hand planted in the middle of Hector’s chest. “Gortash… that fuckin’...”

“Shhhhh…” Jaheira leans forward and presses her palm gently to Karlach’s shoulder. “Not now. Rest. You are no use to anyone if you do not sleep.” 

Karlach blinks blearily, and then lets the pressure of Jaheira’s hand guide her backwards, until she sprawls out onto the bedroll, her head lolling into the pillow. Her gaze drifts out of focus, and then her eyes fall closed. “‘Kay,” she whispers, the burst of energy fading as quickly as it came. “G’night…”

To Hector’s intense surprise, Jaheira doesn’t draw back immediately. Instead, she settles her weight down on her knees next to the bedroll and simply looks at Karlach in silence for a little while. Then she reaches out and brushes a stray bit of hair off the younger woman’s forehead, with a gentleness Hector has never seen from her before.

“Rest, Karlach,” she murmurs. “There will be many battles to fight in the morning… but none of them call you tonight. Rest and breathe nature's clean air. Let it bring you peace while there is peace to be had.”

Hector listens in silence. It is hard to imagine Jaheira singing a lullaby, and yet there is something of that cadence in her words - and something like a prayer, too, gentle and meditative. As she looks at Karlach's half-sleeping form, her thoughts seem for a moment to be far away. Something of the brittle, sardonic mask has slipped, just for a moment, and he can see age and weariness and regret through the cracks. 

The remaining tension in Karlach's body fades and she sags, her head slumping against Jaheira’s fingers. “Where's Hector?” she mumbles, just barely audible. 

Jaheira smiles. “He is here. I do not think he would leave your side if I tried to drag him away.” She turns, rests a hand gently on Hector's arm for a moment, then draws back and out of the tent, looking back at him sitting in the opened flap. 

“I will not tell you, Carlisle, that all will be well,” she says quietly. “Nor do I think you would believe me if I did. But it is well for tonight. And tomorrow… we will meet what comes. I am not mistaken in you, nor is Aylin; of that you may be certain.”

He feels a sudden tight lump in his throat, and for a moment he can't quite speak. “Thank you,” he finally murmurs. 

“And take care of each other,” she adds gruffly, jerking her head to indicate Karlach. “The road is hard, but to travel with someone you love is a gift. Treasure it.”

“I do,” he answers, following her gaze back to the woman he loves. Karlach is certainly asleep now, facedown on the bedroll. Her shoulders rise and fall in a steady rhythm, lacking the tension and twitching energy of her waking hours. “Every moment.”

She nods slowly, and for a moment seems to look through him, back towards some memory long out of her grasp. “Then you are doing all I can ask of you,” she says softly. 

Suddenly the moment breaks. Her head snaps back and her gaze hoods over with wry humor again. “Now, ye gods, lie down and rest yourself as well, boy. We are free of the shadows at last; I can breathe again and I mean to enjoy it. It would be a poor ending to my night to have to knock you out.” She laughs sharply and gives him a gentle nudge with her boot to push him fully back inside the tent. Then, without waiting for a response, she turns and walks away, disappearing like a shadow back towards the warm dark of the forest.

read on ao3

[specialshinytrinkets]

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts? (Seven Seven (if bestie does!!))

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it? (Kee)

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred? (Lioo)

mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on? (Derres)

>:3€

Ghost (Seven): "Oh, hehe, don't you worry, buddy! Nobody's haunting li'l old me! And if I was, I'd just reduce the number to zero! If we're talkin' concepts and not ghosts, then... I guess I've been haunted by the family guilt this whole time, can you believe it? Crazy stuff, I know. BUT! I have been attending therapy, and my therapist, she managed to convince me I do not have to center my whole life 'round numbers anymore. I have no idea what to do with this information, but, if I'm bein' honest, it's SO much easier to live like this. I don't have to repeat the first word two times! Do you know how hard it is to hide such a habit?! To make it into a presentable, cute little scene quirk for the audience? I had to make scripts in my head on the fly! That's right, my shows are unscripted. Pretty cool, huh? Every single one is pure improv. I've always been good at improv. Been told I'm good with kids, too! If I had the qualifications, maybe I could become an elementary school teacher."

Guilt (Kee): "I have lived too long to not have any guilt on my shoulders. It's hard to pick... I've made myself a fool countless times, with my friends, family, partners, by getting too emotional or not emotional enough talking with them; sometimes I'd get violent and fight my way to self-isolation, in attempts to "prove" something, I suppose. All of that to say, I've been a jerk my whole life. And I've accepted it, after weeks of ruminating over every single incident. Some took more time, some less, but a couple of apologies, and I was fine. The only thing I'll never be able to accept is my whole... Escape. That was very, very stupid of me. Sure, it's led to some encounters I'd never otherwise have, but it will never be worth all the stress I've put my Mom and Dad through by vanishing. And Zaaze. How she's still tolerating me is a mystery. Derres, too... How did he see anything in me when I was so... Dismissive of him? It feels like he's not a human sometimes... I hope you were not insinuating THAT thing, by the way. I don't want to remember it."

Hate (Lioo): "My father. I like to pretend he doesn't exist, so that when he's least expecting it, I can clock him in the jaw. Bastard really thought moving here would save his marriage. Freakin' moron. ... Oh, we're talking about objects? Do animals count? Then, I guess I don't really like crows? They're too smart for their own good. At least they're not as bad as dolphins, though, but that's a given. I don't know ANYONE who likes dolphins. After they rebuilt Atlantis and sunk it again, nobody trusts them. Minus that one weirdo, what was his name..? Squeel, I think? But I wouldn't trust their word. Their whole biography is so shaky that - and I know it's unfounded, but I have my reasons - I believe it was raised by the dolphins. He's just way too nice about them. Plus, I heard he smells like fish? On sidenote, I never liked his moves. They're too janky. Honestly? They're such a tryhard, it's embarassing. Even if they weren't raised by the dolphins and aren't a trained fish assassin or something, they try SO HARD to appeal to the MMD enjoyers demographic it's a WONDER nobody called him out. So what if he can lick its elbow?? It doesn't make his music good! I genuinely believe its audience is compiled of wannabe marine biologists that got kicked out of university because they let an octopus escape, knowing full well what it can lead to. I read of this guy once, who said he didn't believe in the Kraken and that we're sheeps for thinking otherwise. Sorry, fishermen, your boats got drowned by a collective hallucination, I guess! Unbelievable that guys like him get to vote... What was I talking about again? Oh, yeah, crows. They're... Not the kind of bird I'd want to encounter on an empty street. Ever."

Mistake (Derres): "Worst mistake ever, huh? Hm... Well, it's a story that I don't like to recount, but, if you insist... My biggest mistake was not teaching Lioo how to perform the spider safety circle, alongside some other basics. If I had done that, she would have survived... And we could all have... Ah, but what's the use of crying over spilled milk! I've learned my lesson, as grim as it is... And, uh, now I'm teaching her all that I know myself! That will... Never make up for what happened and my selfishness... But it's a start, right? Right..?"

[aethermimic]

🪞or 🕳 ! (from @tsunael)

Send 🪞 to see them as a villain (if they are a hero) or vice versa.

From the FFXIV Screenshot Meme ask post! An alternate universe, where Oyuun is a villain instead of a hero... hmm...

"I didn't flee to Eorzea, I went there because it had what I wanted -- the knowledge to become powerful."

"What secrets the thaumaturges refused to teach me, the Amalj'aa were happy to impart for a fee of crystals. Oh sure, I razed their camp later with the Scions, but that just means there was no one to tattle on my little enterprise."

"Why do it? Haha, it's rather simple -- because everyone in the Steppe deserves to burn, and I aim to be the match that will light the rotten tinder."

"Maybe they'll come to regret what they did to me when they have to bow to the witch that slew everyone they ever cared for. Ha! Haha!"

"Submit or become ash. Either way, I get what I want -- hahahahaha!"

[pauls1967moustache]

hey babe! if you’re still doing this can we get a perspective flip for one and one and one is three? x

I see none of you fell for my clever ruse of not including a real Paul reaction because I didn’t know how to write it…

Yoko slides away, leaving Paul bent beneath John and only John.

Paul finds himself disappointed she’s gone. Without Yoko’s steady weight holding him down, he’s too aware of his body, folded over and aching. Impaled with John inside him, holding Paul’s composure open like a doorstop. Paul can’t get a handle on himself. He feels like if he tries to move he’s going to dissolve into a puddle of mushed, clammy organs. There’s sweat cooling at his temples, and John’s skin feels hot like a branding iron against Paul’s belly. The clashing sensations make him tremble. Lost to the thick of it, Paul has nothing to hold on to but John’s mouth against lips.

He tries to breathe, grasping at John like a life raft, but John floats away from him, and suddenly, Paul is sinking.

Just like that, it’s all so empty. Paul watches John lean over Yoko, grinning wildly as she whines for him, and he feels so far away he may as well be watching from underwater. He feels the weight of an ocean pressing, and pressing, and pressing on his heart, and all he can think is he’ll never reach John again.

He turns away. Stares at the emerald lampshade covering the bulb handing down from John and Yoko’s ceiling. Listens to their ragged moans, and panting breaths, until John grunts—guttural—and oppressive silence falls over them.

John rolls off Yoko, bumping Paul’s shoulder. Paul finds, strangely and distantly, that he can’t really breathe until John’s no longer touching him.

The unexpected stillness of the moment makes Paul feel woozy. Nauseous. There’s not enough air in the room. His heart’s going like it intends to crap out. He’s trapped there in some horrible paroxysm, feeling everything too much to really process it as anything. It’s just sensations. Just claustrophobic discomfort.

He feels a touch, feather-light against his wrist, and he knows at once that something terrible is going to happen if he doesn’t get out, now.

“I should get back, you know. Linda,” he blurts out—his own voice echoing in his ears like it’s coming from somewhere else.

He thinks John might’ve said something to that, but he doesn’t hear it. His mind only able to focus on one thing at a time: stand up, pick up clothes, walk, walk, walk, shut the door. And then he’s standing alone in John and Yoko’s guest bathroom.

He stands there for a moment staring at the tidy, impersonal sink, and the clean toilet, and the small, square window—pitch black behind the obscure glass. Where before he was feeling everything, he feels nothing now. Only base instincts.

Step furthers into space, set the pile of clothes on the floor, pull pants up, zip, (hands are shaking, hands are shaking, hands are shaking). Close the toilet, sit, roll sock right side out again, pull it on.

And it’s only when his foot’s down, and he’s staring at his clothes, lying rumpled on the soft, peach rug on the bathroom floor, that he registers that something deep, deep inside his ribcage hurts.

And then, Paul bursts out crying.

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself, pressing the heels of his hands tight into his eyes, as if he could put a stop to it. As if anyone’s here to see. He’s alone. John didn’t follow him. He knows—though he wasn’t aware that he knew—John’s gone for good. Paul can’t reach him. He’s drifted too far.

He feels the wet slide of tears escape past his hands, tickling down his face, trailing into his beard. He feels ridiculous. His right foot is cold from the still missing sock, and he’s sitting on a toilet lid, and he can’t stop gasping for breath as he weeps, and in his eyes all he sees is them, pressed together, moaning together, kissing—fuck. Fuck!

Paul hears a horrible whimpering sound, and knows it’s coming from himself. He feels mortification curdling in his belly. He’s caught between his own humiliation and the deeper thing; the thing gripping his chest and pushing behind his eyes. He hiccups out desperate breaths, and wipes at his wet cheeks so roughly his skin burns, but it doesn’t make it any less absurd, and it doesn’t stop his heart from wringing it all out of him. He’s left pleading with himself: “Stop. Stop. Fucking stop!”

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. It’s not like he didn’t know. He’s well aware that John’s in love with her. He did this because he knew that. Because a little bit of John is better than no John. But christ, he doesn’t think he can fucking do it all again for the rest of this fucking album—sit there and watch John choose her again.

He chokes out another sob, and swallows it down like swallowing razorblades.

He knew this. He knew. He doesn’t need to cry about it, when he already knew.

He folds in on himself, curling into his knees, and feels a dull muscle ache down his back, because this is how John had him earlier, and well. He didn’t know about all that.

He tastes something bitter in the back of his throat, because if he’d known. If John had only—

Well, why did he ask now? Years they’ve been teetering on the edge of something, and if this is something John knew he wanted then why did he never say it, before? Why now, with her, when Paul would’ve—

Well, maybe not would’ve, but he could’ve—

Stop, Paul thinks,because what he does know is he’s on the precipice of something too heavy to bear.

His body goes chasing it without him. He can feel the echoes: John’s gentle touch; the kind, softness in his voice. John had looked at him like—

And maybe Paul didn’t know know, but he knew that he and John—that the way he felt about John—

“Stop,” Paul says out loud. His voice comes out hoarse but firm.

He blinks his eyes open and stares at his clothes for a very long time, and doesn’t think about anything at all except for how there’s a loose thread on the rug tickling the arch of his foot.

Eventually, his breath evens out. The skin of his face feels weird. Conspicuously dry, and awkward when he moves a bit, like his tears left a crisp shell of grief over his skin. Paul takes a deep breath and swallows. He pokes through the pile of clothes for his other sock.

He dresses slowly, going through the motions like when he’d come in here, but present in himself now that the anxiety’s been rinsed out of him. He feels lighter, though not necessarily better. Mostly he just feels tired. He wants a drink, and Linda’s arms wrapped around him. He wants to be somewhere someone’s still got a use for him.

By the time he’s dressed, and looking at himself in the mirror, any redness from the crying is gone. He’s left with his own pale reflect, blinking listlessly back at him. That’ll do, he supposes. That sort of looks like a person.

[jazzzzzzhands]

HI JAZZ! So I’m thinking if you can make a doodle about Howdy holding Wally in his arm(or if you don’t want to, that’s completely fine:)Right now, I am really OBSESSED with your artstyle! ⭐️

*👆for example*

i do not ship them BUT

i think i'm funny!!

this also helped me get a lil comfier in stylizing howdy hehe

you like my artstyle?? THANK YOU QwQ

im gonna continue to improve!

Wally just wanted to be carried, and who can tell him no?

[kakusu-shipping]

I’m making a Mario Series Shipping Chart and Bowser is making it incredibly difficult to format

[good-beanswrites]

Hello, I've been thinking about your actors au. Are you doing anything about Rei and Mikio being the only side characters with faces in the first trial? Because I do have a theory about that which I haven't posted but I always thought that was really interesting. Even Yamanaka pointed it out in the first anniversary stream.

Ah, I definitely want to!! Mikio is the man in Harrow, right? (There's also maybe-Rumerie in Bring it On who drives me crazy to this day asdfsd) I'm hoping once the project ends and we get the bigger picture, I can really highlight their relationships more. I'll touch on some of my ideas real quick, but I'd love to hear your theory if you ever end up posting it 👀

My problem is, I originally thought the faces show the prisoners' love towards them, and not necessarily mutual relationship -- which causes some hiccups with including them as characters in the au... (Including t2 faces), Haruka hungers for his mother's love, but given her abuse, they couldn't in good conscience have her on set with him. Rumerie may have been some sort of friend, but he didn't seem so close that he'd be okay seeing Fuuta again and being implicated in his crime. Muu cares very deeply for Rei, but even if the murders never occurred, I can't picture a young girl would feel safe filming her own death at the hands of her bully... I ran into a similar issue with Mahiru and Kazui's partners, but as adults I felt like it was easier and safer for them to consent to the situation.

However! The fact that Kotoko's victim has a clear face really interests me, because that's the only one that (seemingly) has no established relationship or love between them. What could Muu's realtionship with her classmate have in common with Kotoko's and the victim she hunted down from a distance? So I'd love to compare with your thoughts and reevaluate my theory as the new mvs come out...

[midgesrphub]

((I'm lowkey tempted just to reblog memes here once I get everything up and running so I don't have to reblog them to each blog

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

For the ask thing: is there a media (written, film, series...) you're really into right now?

Whelp, I doubt any of my followers managed to avoid noticing the giant Dimension 20-shaped hole I fell into like half a year back, and it's currently airing the third season of the silliest sweetest High School drama and these characters have my entire heart. I've not been that well for a while I think, and watching both people in their thirties just be very close friends and also watching the very thight-knit teenagers they're playing is giving me so much serotonin by proxy. It is addictive and frankly a bit of a problem, but I do really recommend it, everything they do is so fascinating narratively and I think it's taught me a lot about writing.

It's also invigorated a dormant trait of my personality which is that I was apparently abnormally into Grimm's fairy tales even for a German child? This comes up every now and again and then I immediately forget it but I've been really wanting to buy a copy and read some of them again, dark confusing fairy tales are my absolute catnip and maybe I could actually do it on purpose for once.

[nebulainatree]

Girl who has severe social anxiety when it comes to talking to people online and has to close her eyes to press the send button whenever she writes a message to anyone 😔

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

ME ASK U THE 21TH QUESTIONS

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

hard one to answer b/c 1) i don't even know what exactly what category my art style would fall in, so therefore i don't necessarily know what would be the opposite of it? 2) idk how to properly categorize art styles in general or like the names and stuff [aside from like generic umbrella categories]

its kinda basic[???] but i do def have admiration for the rubberhose cartoon style, and/or also like that sort of early western 2000s cartoon style?? really exaggerated expressions and fun dynamic poses that sort of break proper logic but LOOK really fun and expressive in general, i wish i could do smthn like that lolll

there's also just some art styles that i feel are more soft and "rounded" ig?? i have no idea if that makes sense but those are sometimes interesting to look at too, i feel personally my art style's very like pointy/sharp? so i feel like i struggle w/ trying to make smthn softer w/ rounded edges and cutesier? (like best example i'd be able to think of is making like chibis. i suck at those 😭)

i have mixed feelings on [photo?]realism, and idk if this necessarily correlates w/ that but for a really niche one: vintage woodcut/lithograph illustrations (basically the really scratchy sorta ones you'd see in like really old books or newspapers?) are so fascinating to me, especially more so considering the medium but i also just like how they look its very interesting... not sure how to describe it properly b/c there's also quite some variation but it just looks so coolll

weirdly specific artist asks

[hellpupp]

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