#Honestly I should make a little reference sheet for him...

[platinummice]

AAAAGH MY BOY!!! Thank you so much 😭😭😭

Small sketches : CLOSE

As I said in the last post, I've been a bit sick, and I don't have the strength to do a big drawing, so I thought I'd do this, little color sketches of your Wh40K ocs!

What do you have to do? Reblog this post with an illustration where I can see your OC (if it's in color, even better) and a brief description of them. I also want to meet more people's OCs!

I will do it little by little, I don't know how many I will be able to do, I am very sorry if I have not managed to do any of your OCs

I will just set some rules:

One OC per person

You have to follow me

[If one of these two rules is not met, I will simply not do the sketch and skip to the next person]

And that's it, I don't know if this will last long, so I won't put a limit on the number of people. If I find it fun, I might repeat it in the future.

💕✨

[ayrtonswnna]

hello there!

Can I request a Franco x reader? But where Ayrton Senna is alive in this universe and the reader is Senna? If not, then fine. It's up to you. Thanks in advance 😊😊

ʚɞ a/n: that is my moment!!!!!!!! i often imagine how would it be to have ayrton in contemporary scenarios it's unhealthy lol. i really think he'd be full of jokes and a fun guy just like he was off track. thanks for the request, it was a real nice one to write! (and if anyone has any senna request, i'll be more tham happy to take it! (i'm even willing to write stuff with senna himself))

ʚïɞ "you got me good" FC43

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀↳ masterlist ↳ drop a request! ↳ more franco fluff!

✧₊⁺ franco colapinto x cecília senna (senna!female oc)

✧₊⁺ word count: 1,6k⠀⠀⠀⠀✧₊⁺, gender: crack, fluff.

✧₊⁺ summary: franco and cecília kept a secret relationship and when they decide to come clean, her father was ahead of it and he's a total menace.

✧₊⁺ warnings: alternative universe where that may 1th 1994 didn't happen and ayrton grew old like he deserved to, my hyper focus on that man shown in references, a bit of portuguese properly translated, kinda short and poorly contextualized, curse words, franco is a baby, just soft and light content for the win.

"What do you mean he doesn't know about it?"

Franco took a deep breath, massaging his own scalp as his friend and co-worker continued talking, a mix of excitement and judgment in his words.

"You are not making this any better," he mouthed.

"You are dating his daughter! You are da-ting. The man's daughter. Like... The man's daughter. The hell haven't you met her family!?"

"I am scared, okay!? If I get rejected by her family... It's not just my girlfriend's family. It's simply Senna himself! Should I what!? Drop the job? Hide in a cave?"

Alex laughed, the words and the tone easing the tension. The guy was worried to death and things might be simpler than he thought. Everyone knew Senna was a fun person.

Dating Cecília Senna felt almost like marrying into royalty. It's a good feeling, though. Bagging Cecília Senna could easily be added to one of Franco's big achievements — and he's a former F2 driver called in last minute to fill a Formula One seat — and he's doing great.

But still, it's Cecília Senna, the only child of a legend, someone he looked up to growing up, someone he saw in the paddock many times before ending up in his daughter's sheets.

"Hello, everyone!"

God, his heart might have dropped to the floor just now. The retired driver walked into the garage happily, with his daughter attached to his arm and waving familiarly.

Everyone gathered around them immediately, though Cecília's eyes instantly met Franco's. She knew he was scared and had made fun of him until she couldn't anymore, teasing him in every way she could.

"I've heard the news on the Argentinian! You guys are lucky you got away easily!"

Alright, it's time to pray. What news? That he's fucking his daughter? That they meet every week? That she wanted a Williams' box pass so badly just because of him? Or... That they hid it from everyone just to gain a bit more time?

"We got quality, mate! That's it." Vowels took his cue to fill in the blank, the people dispersing and going back to their work. "Found the kid sparring and made him a beast."

"Yeah, of course," the Brazilian laughed. "What's up, buddy! Feeling the pressure?"

Franco mentally cursed Cecília for raising her eyebrows and doubling the meaning of the question, but he managed to stand up and dry his sweaty hands on his pants.

"I try not to, honestly. Not... think about it a lot," he said, feeling he could have worded the sentence a bit better as they shook hands.

"That's the spirit! I heard a lot about you, little man. Do you know my daughter? Cecília?"

Tricky question. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tricky question.

If he had heard about it, then he knew about them. Franco could say "yes" and end up with a lecture, or say "no" and be caught in a lie.

"You guys think you are smart, huh? Fooling around, hiding from cameras..."

Oh, it's over. It's over for him. The "drop the job and hide in a cave" plan was almost running in his veins right now. Maybe he should Sebastian Vettel his way around, retire early, and move to a countryside home in Switzerland. Yes, that's a good plan.

"Pai... Para com isso." Cecília shoved her dad's side, rolling her eyes. (Dad... Stop that.)

"What? You guys thought you got away with it?"

"Pai! Ele tá ficando sem graça!" she insisted. (Dad! He's getting uncomfortable!)

Franco thought of speaking up, but the nerves were all up and maybe he should let it be.

"Yeah! He should!" Ayrton still had a serious look on his face, making Franco shiver.

"Pai, sério." (Dad, I'm serious.)

"Sir, I know it—"

"Come on, Franquinho! I'm fooling around, take that scared look off your face!" In a matter of seconds, Ayrton's grin turned into a playful smile, and his arm was hooked over Franco's shoulder, messing up his hair and leaving him even more confused. "Did I scare you? You should have seen your eyes!"

Franco laughed, still a bit dulled. That was a big one.

"You're a bastard," Cecília rolled her eyes once again, aware of the father she had.

The man was a natural jokester, full of little jokes and loved making uncomfortable scenarios in the name of fun. He was a handful.

"And you guys should have told me about this before! You lost it all, Franquinho. Angra, the travels... You need to be introduced to the family!"

He had heard about Angra; the beach house Cecília went to every now and then, how much she and her father loved the place. He even saw an old interview where Ayrton said that his retirement plans included being "Angra's nature inspector."

"Yeah- Yeah, sim." Franco risked some Portuguese, patting Ayrton on the back before they both stepped apart. "Sorry for... for taking too long to meet you, I was- Damn, you got me good."

"I could see!" Senna didn't waste a single laugh. "Don't worry, little boy. You're a good investment. And Cecília is pretty happy, so... you got my support."

"I'm even happier to hear it." Franco chuckled. "Thank you, very much. Your daughter also makes me really happy."

"Of course! Her bad jokes make everyone laugh." Ayrton kept the teasing going. "Now you better show me some racing! I've been in your place and to keep the daughter you need to be as good as dad!"

"You should have seen your face, baby!"

Franco glanced at his girlfriend as he turned his head, their first alone time since the morning's humiliation session.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he mouthed, shirt off and focus switching. "That was traumatizing."

"I told you he's a clown." Her shoulders went up a bit. "But he wasn't lying at the end! He likes you!"

"I got that part. Now I know where you got that dark humor from." The blue-eyed boy stood in the middle of his room, hands on his waist as he let his girlfriend use her eyes.

"What can I say? I am my father's daughter." She smiled mischievously. "He wants you to spend some time, though. Before Vegas, maybe?"

"I could've Max Verstappen my way around and have stayed for the week... But we waited until your dad could scare me to death in the middle of the box so... Yeah, it can be next week." He started simple, voice steady.

But then Cecília approached and her hands liked to touch. All over his torso while she traced a good way for his hair.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." The smile was still on her face, lips coming closer and closer to his. "But I am really happy, you know? Now we can just be and enjoy some time... I can take you to Angra, and I don't need to hide in your driver's room. I was done with pretending I was investing in Williams just so I had a reason to watch the races here."

"Told you about it... You could afford my seat."

Another joke. Ever since he got into F1 as an emergency call, she did say she only had to call her dad and his 2025 seat would be secured.

"You're gonna get it because you deserve it, I am not affording that." She flashed her eyelashes, rimming a single syllable as his hands also started to travel.

Inside her expensive shirt, up and down her back in good pressure before they found room at her waist.

"You know what else I deserve?"

"You freak! Go shower and I'll be waiting for you outside. My dad is around!"

It took them no time. Within weeks, Ayrton and Franco became partners in crime, and suddenly, Cecília was having a taste of her own medicine.

"Turn it off! Now!" Ayrton whispered in a screaming tone, the last signal Franco needed before turning off the power for the whole house.

Cecília had just come back from the beach and Franco finally knew the Angra house. It was dark, and the prank was not very well planned.

"Porra." (Shit.) they heard the Brazilian swearing. "Que inferno, de novo? PAAAAI?" (What the hell, again? DAAAAD?)

He knew some words in Portuguese and it only made it funnier. Him and his father-in-law were hiding in the small laundry room as Cecília searched for them.

"Ready, kid?"

"No, but I'll do it anyways."

"Good kid. You're a great one." The old man, as a new custom, messed with the Argentinian's hair, before opening the door and waiting for him to leave.

"Eu juro, se vocês estiverem armando pra cima de mim eu— Ah— FRANCO! NO!" (I swear, if you guys are planning something against me I—)

He's fast even with his limited knowledge about the furniture in the house, walking in the dark before he could lift her and throw her over his shoulder.

It's the fourth time she's thrown in the pool and she just knows it's her father opening the glass door for the exterior area before she's sinking in cold water.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ALL!" Cecília screamed. "I JUST WASHED MY HAIR! OH MY GOD! PUTTING YOU TWO TOGETHER WAS THE WORST THING I EVER DID!"

"Não reclama, princesinha..." (Don't you complain, little princess...) her father played, now standing besides her boyfriend. "Bate aqui, you passed the test. Welcome to the family." (High five,)

"I hate you guys. Eu odeio vocês, los odio. Whatever. Don't ever talk to me again." Cecília stomped her way out of the pool, walking straight past them.

"Don't get mad, baby... It's just a joke!"

"Well, boy... It's your girlfriend. Go ease her nerves. You're called Colapinto for a reason."

ʚïɞ ayrtonswnna, 2024. check my masterlist or drop a request (: reblogs and feedback are always welcome (:

[ggirlthatgotaway]

You Will Have Me Boneless in Your Arms in Mere Seconds

summary: plotless sex, everyone

trigger warning: sexual activity, swearing, name calling, incest

word count: 1.3k

note: this is very basic… but i honestly enjoyed writing it. anyway, promise you the next one’s gonna have a plot. Enjoy while it lasts cause honestly it’s gonna be 5 mins

-💎

“‘Tis not proper of a princess, dear niece…” Aemond taunted in your ear as his fingers slid in and out of you with ease. He was referring to the moan he had just caused, which threatened to awake Joffrey from his bed beside yours- beside the one on which Aemond’s fingers were making your legs shake like never before.

You covered your mouth with a hand, but the whine you let out as his thumb’s pressure on your centre increased made you realise just how futile your efforts were against the effect he had on you. Aemond let out a little laugh, completely mocking your reaction, and brushed his lips against your earlobe.

“Too much for you, little girl?”

You wished to protest, you tried with all your might, but as you attempted to remove your hand from your mouth, another whine escaped- pathetic, even on your own judgement. Letting yourself fall onto the cushions of the bed, you pressed both hands against your lips.

His laugh reached you again as he followed your movements, his breath was hot on the flushed skin of your cheeks when he pressed his lips to it.

“What will you do once I push my cock inside of you, hm?”

His words alone made your eyes roll back. What would you do? Press the cushion against your face? Waking up Joffrey and telling him to go sleep elsewhere became an incredibly appealing idea.

Aemond’s hand left your throbbing cunt, and you pressed your lips together at the empty sensation he left behind. He then moved your leg so it lay on the mattress opposite of him, and raised your nightgown to expose the lower part of your body. His mouth moved to your shoulder, still covered by the thin, white fabric, and he sank his teeth into it, making you hiss and clench a fist in the sheets.

You heard him fumbling with the laces of his trousers, before he freed himself from the straining confines of his breeches. Then you felt his tip against your drenched folds, teasing you mercilessly, as if he hadn’t been toying with you for the past fifteen minutes.

“Beg.” he breathed the order roughly against the skin of your neck, making goosebumps rise over your body. “Tell me how badly you crave my cock inside you.”

Even if you were sure your previous whines had convinced him far enough, you obeyed. “I… Please, Aemond… I need your cock inside me.” you whispered, feeling his tip nudge further between your folds, almost entering you.

“Not enough, Princess.”

“Aemond, I need you, please.” you breathed out, desperation leaking into your voice, hopefully enough for him to comply. “Fuck me, I… I feel so empty without you.”

He grabbed your hip, molding the soft flesh under his palm as he let out a grunt. Finally, he pushed forward, entering your tight channel with an ease provided by your wetness. “Isn’t this my good princess?” he whispered, moving his hand to grab the inside of your thigh from behind, raising your leg to thrust deeper. The sensation of his cock stretching you out, made your vision blur. “Letting me fuck her with her little brother in the room.”

You whined something incomprehensible even for you as he began to move inside of your cunt, hitting deeper each time. The preparation he gave you with his fingers before entering you- and also the fact that it was him inside of you, thrusting, using, and persuading you to do as he pleased- had you already on the brink of orgasm.

His free arm, the one propping him above you, slid closer to your back and slidered its hand under your hair and around your face, holding it so your eyes fell inevitably on your brother- still asleep, thank the Gods. “Is the Princess not ashamed? I know she should be.” he murmured teasingly, his hand on your thigh making its way between them, rubbing your clitoris in delightfully teasing motions. “Is she?”

You shook your head in disagreement. Your mouth was parted by his hold on your jaw, soft whimpers from it in time with his thrusts, which he kept slightly calmer than usual merely because of Joffrey, yet your eyes threatened to fall closed at the pleasure they were still providing. A sharp shake of your head was enough for them to be wide open again. “No.” you breathed out, “I’m not ashamed.”

“Fuck.” he hissed, moving faster now- a sign he was losing control, while still careful not to make too much noise. “You’d deserve far less than this… Less than being fucked on a royal bedding. Your behaviour would be better suited for a brothel.”

You whined again at his words, and moved his hand from from your jaw onto your mouth, pressing it there with both of yours to muffle yourself. Your hands barely covered his. His rough breath skimmed your neck once again, and his lips travelled down to your shoulder, biting once more where his teeth had sunk before.

You felt your drenched walls starting to flutter around his cock, and you knew he felt it too, when the bite got tighter and the thrusts erratic. “You’re so tight… It’s driving me wild.” he whispered ruggedly, moving his lips across your nightgown and up to your neck, biting on your pulse point while pressing his hand tighter on your mouth, knowing of the scream you’d let out.

“You want me to spill inside of you?” he asked into your ear, making you nod fervently and clench around him, hoping that answer to be enough. Yet, Aemond’s hand turned your face towards him, his silver hair brushing against your face as his fresh and sharp scent of thyme. “Beg for it, then.”

You would have rolled your eyes, hadn’t the pleasure of his cock pounding into your quivering cunt been that overwhelming. “Please…” you whined into his ear, “You will have me boneless into your arms in mere seconds…I want your cock inside of me until you cannot move any longer.”

Aemond released your face with a grunt, only to press his hand against your lips once again, this time making you arch your back against him. His other hand delivered a slap to your pussy- the sound wet, incredibly arousing, before it moved to your waist, bending it further. “Spoilt little princess.” he growled into your ear, picking up the speed of his thrusts.

Your hands found his once again, one wrapping around his index finger. Your eyes closed shut as you tried to remember that your brother was still asleep at mere feet from you two. “You’re unbelievably pretty like this…” he whispered, his thrusts starting to fall erratic once again.

The angle with which his thrusts hit your insides, the depth of them, made you feel as if your insides were bursting, and eventually, you came, trembling around Aemond’s cock with need, until his grip on your waist slipped, the palm landing onto the mattress as he released himself inside of you.

His breath fanned across the skin of your cheek as he tried to regain his composure. His hand released your mouth and found your shoulder, rubbing the thumb against the thin material. “Please… Tell your father I will marry you.” he whispered, brushing his lips against your jaw. “I cannot stand pretending to be partial to you.”

You closed your eyes, taking his hand into yours and wrapping his arm around your waist, “He will be against it.”

“Then tell him I’ve ruined his precious daughter.” he said, his grip tightening, “Tell him I have marked you with my cum more than once, that I count every time, and that I will do it again.”

[pjmmania]

If Snow Decides to Fall

2. “Hi, you.”

Chapter Warnings: Light smut, references to sex, pregnancy

Back to Chapter Index

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jimin had gotten out of bed before you, for once. His place on the bed was left a gathering of sheets, cold and crumpled.

After brushing your teeth and hair, you got into a cozy lounge set, and padded out of his bedroom, into the hallway. The sound of running water could be heard from the kitchen, so that's where you headed next.

He was still in his typical sleep attire - boxers and nothing else. His toned back was facing you, giving a view of the moons etched into his skin. He was filling up a pot in the sink to make French-press coffee when he heard your footsteps.

You were greeted with his hoarse, low morning voice, "Hey, you're up."

"Morning," you yawned, "You are up earlier than usual.”

He turned off the tap as you sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, “Yeah, I didn’t sleep well honestly. Kind of hard when you find out your girlfriend’s pregnant.”

“I know, I didn’t sleep the greatest either,” you said prior to realizing, then your cheeks flushed a deep rose, “Wait, girlfriend?”

Jimin turned around and put the pot of water on the stovetop to boil. He was grinning at you handsomely, with hair slightly disheveled, “We hang out, have dinner together, watch movies, have lots of sex, and we love each other enough to have a kid together. I’d say we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now, if you’d like to be.”

You smiled back, “I suppose that’s reasonable.”

He rounded the corner of the grey marble top of the island, aiming straight for your lips. His kiss was short and sweet, exactly the kind you had grown accustomed to when it came to Saturday mornings with him.

“Would you like some coffee?” He asked before pecking your cheek.

You wrinkled your nose, “I’d love some, but unfortunately I probably should stick to decaf now.”

He pursed his plump lips together and hummed, “Oh shit, that’s right. Are you hungry at least? I can make the eggs you like.”

“Over easy?” you shook your head and laughed, “I don’t think I can have those either. They’re too raw.”

Jimin chuckled, bowing his head in defeat, “Scrambled then.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded and happily returned to the stove, getting out a pan and setting it on one of the burners. As he opened the fridge to get out a carton of eggs, he glanced back at you through slightly puffy eyes, “So aside from not being able to have your normal breakfast, is there anything else different?”

You propped your chin up in the palm of your hand, “You mean the symptoms? Well, it’s been kind of mild, to be honest. The only symptoms I’ve had so far are sore boobs and a little bit of spotting. Actually, now that I think about it, I might be sensitive to the smell of kimchi too. But that’s all.”

“I hope it continues to be relatively easy," Jimin cracked a few eggs into the pan, "But I'll be here for you if it gets worse. This reminds me of something important I thought about while you were sleeping - your key."

You tilted your head to one side, "My key?"

"To my apartment," he said, "You have it, but you always knock on the door and wait for me to let you in. From now on, please use it. Let yourself in, whether I'm here or not."

"Are you sure? I don't let myself in because I know how much you value your privacy."

He smirked, whisking the eggs to scramble them, "If I wanted privacy from you, I wouldn't have given you a key in the first place. Maybe you haven't noticed, but I really enjoy your company."

In an attempt to conceal how much of a sucker you were for his little flirtations, you pursed your lips together. Still, it was plain as day when he glanced at you. This flustered yet giddy expression was a habit of yours that he adored.

Jimin turned the heat up slightly on the stove before letting the eggs do their thing, "Besides, I want to be here for anything you need. My biggest fear with this whole thing is not being there like any decent father would be. It will be hard enough with my schedule."

You detected the insecurity on his face, "Don't worry. I promise I'll use the key from now on."

You scooted the stool backwards so you could get up. Then you made your way to the other side of the island, hugging him from behind. Your cheek pressed against his back.

He released a content sigh and twisted himself to face you, enveloping you in his chest instead. His lips kissed the top of your head, "It's interesting. I feel like one moment, it's really hitting me, and the next, it doesn't feel real."

"I know," your voice was slightly muffled against his skin, "I can't believe I'm going to be a mom."

Jimin had recollections of you playing with the kids of your coworker. He knew you had a loving, natural touch with children, "I've seen you with Chaeyoung's twins. You'll be an amazing mother."

You didn't know if you believed him with such immense pressures staring you down, but you smiled anyway, "And I've seen you with the managers' kids. I think you'll be an outstanding father."

He laughed a little nervously, "It feels so absurd applying the word 'father' to myself."

"But we'll get each other through it," you muttered, "Because we love each other, right?"

He smiled again, closing his eyes and cherishing the feeling of having you in his arms, "Exactly."

Both of you heard a little sizzle coming from the pan on the stove. Jimin chuckled, “I’d love to stay like this, but I don’t want to serve you burnt eggs.”

Eating breakfast that morning was slowed by both of your needs to talk this through some more. He had to leave for another recording session at noon, but there was still time to discuss some of the general things.

You told him about what your care provider told you, “Apparently, the best time for me to get an ultrasound is in the next couple of weeks. I’m assuming Doctor Baek will be able to give me a list of recommendations for obstetricians. I guess you wouldn’t be able to go…would you?”

“I hate to say it but I don’t know,” he said with his hands on his thighs, “We are due in Tokyo next week and will be there for eight days, doing various promotions and the Vogue shoot. This is going to be one of the biggest issues throughout this whole thing. Some things are easy to get out of, but others won’t budge. And even if I could make it to an appointment, how would I be able to explain my presence there?”

You don't know how you could have forgotten about the Tokyo trip. Sometimes, you attended trips like this, but a photoshoot as big as Vogue didn't require your assistance. They had quite a few of their own people for styling.

“That’s right,” you huffed in a slouch, “The doctors are legally prohibited from saying anything, but there’s no way we’d be able to avoid other patients and staff seeing you and talking.”

He swallowed a bite of food, nodding along, "It might be a stretch, but if we can get the ultrasound for this coming week, we can have the doctor come here. As you know, I leave my Friday evenings free when I'm in town."

"Here? You're comfortable with that?"

"Not entirely," he admitted, "But like you said, they can't say anything without risking losing their license. It makes sense for the sake of privacy, and it would allow us to squeeze it in between all of my commitments."

"That sounds nice, but I’m going to be swamped at work this week. We’re putting together your styling concept for the tour next year. Maybe we could find time after you get back from Japan.”

Jimin became more serious and put his hand on your knee, eyes firm, "Y/N, as much as I want to be there, let's not ignore the advice of the professionals. If it's better to get a read on you and the baby sooner rather than later, then don't wait for me.”

It was disheartening, but it was something you’d have to get used to. You wanted to do this, but it little about it would be normal. You had to make peace with that.

“Okay,” you sighed, “I’ll call today and see what’s available.”

He leaned forward to kiss your temple, “I’ll be excited to hear all about it, baby.”

You smiled at his touch, “Well that’s that. Now onto an even more pressing matter…”

He finished what was on his plate and took another sip of his coffee, “Which is?”

“Who are we going to tell about this?” You asked with raised brows, “Obviously no one at the company can know, at least not yet.”

“I’ll have to tell the guys at some point before you start showing, or they will figure it out on their own. And I know they would keep the secret for as long as we asked them to.”

You already felt mortified with that, but again, you had to get used to the awkwardness, “Alright. What about our parents?”

A twinge of guilt rang through him, like a child who was about to get a scolding. Jimin took his empty dished and got up to put them in the dishwasher, mumbling a cuss or two.

He said under his breath, “My parents would definitely come around, but they’ll also want to kill me.”

“Do they…know about us?”

The dishes clanked in the washer as he shuffled some things around, making room for the new ones, “I’ve told them I’ve been seeing someone and that things have been getting more serious. But they’d never see this coming. What about your parents?”

Your features sank, “They’d probably want to kill you too, no offense. I don’t think they’d be thrilled with the idea of their daughter having a baby with a popstar out of wedlock. It’s, uh…kind of a negative trope.”

“I get it,” Jimin then came over and took your dishes away for you, “Have you told them about us?”

You wanted to shrivel up and hide somewhere, “Not exactly…”

He was taken aback, “Really? Not a single thing?”

You sat on your hands and shrugged, “They’re as traditional as it gets, Jimin. They wouldn’t react kindly to me sleeping with you. They don’t even agree with the career I chose. Honestly, I don’t really speak with or see them that often. They live on the other side of the country.”

He could have been offended by the idea of your parents’ disapproval of him, but he wasn’t. Instead, he grinned, “Then I guess we have our work cut out for us.”

You half laughed, though you were more apprehensive than amused, “We certainly do.”

Jimin was the last to join the recording session. It wasn’t a big deal - the others started without him, taking turns in the booth.

When he entered the recording room, Jungkook was in the booth with headphones on, singing the lines in front of him. Yoongi and another producer were sitting at the panel, while all the others were either sitting on the couch or bean bags.

“There he is!” Hoseok called out with his classic mile-wide smile.

Taehyung covered his mouth, chuckling, “You look exhausted, hyung. Late night?”

Just because the work had begun didn’t mean he could escape a little teasing. It was normally alright with him. After all, they all knew about the affair, but his patience would be thinner than normal today. He was running on little sleep and just had his world shaken.

He faked a short laugh, but it didn’t travel all the way to his eyes, “Yeah, late night.”

Namjoon made room on the couch and he sat back onto the plush leather, letting his head lean all the way back. The leader and the others were glancing at one another with confused looks on their faces. It was typical for Jimin to be the last one to arrive, but once he showed up, he was in work mode. Right now, he looked somewhat out of it.

“Woah,” Jin said, “Must have been a really late night.”

The session lasted hours. Much to their surprise, Jimin never seemed to get into the groove. He recorded his parts well, but the intense focus was simply absent.

Jungkook, who had been with him the day before, already had a suspicion that this was about you.

Not only was this their brother who they passionately cared for, but they also had an important trip coming up. They needed to figure out what was going on.

When it was time to wrap up, the six members waited for the other producer to leave the room. It was only after that could they mention you by name. After all the years together, it was like they developed a form of telepathy. Something was up with their friend, and they moved in-sync to fix it.

Jimin was puzzled as to why no one was grabbing their things to leave.

Once they were isolated as a group of seven, Namjoon started the conversation from his same spot on the couch, “Let’s stay for a few minutes to talk about whatever’s going on.”

He knew it was about him, “I’m alright, guys. Really. Just exhausted.”

“Are you positive? Because you don’t just seem tired. You look withdrawn.” Jin said.

Trying to play it off coolly, he smirked, “That can happen when one gets tired.”

“Jimin, come on. It’s us,” Hoseok urged, “We just want to make sure you’re all good.”

“I am.” He gave the persuasion another go.

But it was to no avail. Jungkook spoke up next, leaning with his back against the wall, “I’m sorry, hyung, but I have to wonder if this is about that thing with Y/N yesterday.”

“What thing?” inquired Yoongi.

The youngest of the group looked to the man in question to give him a chance to respond, but when Jimin had nothing to say, he continued, “I was with him when we ran into her on our way back from the shoot. Their exchange was kind of weird and timid. Something between them was off.”

The others could definitely see how that would be strange. They’d all witnessed the two of you interact before, and it was always great. You gelled together so well, so effortlessly.

“Oh,” Taehyung took a much more sympathetic approach this time, “Are you guys going through a rough patch?”

He would have panicked that someone had heard that, but he watched the producer leave with his own eyes. It was all clear, “No. As I said to Jungkook yesterday, we are perfectly fine.”

They weren’t buying it. Their disbelieving faces made that painfully clear, but he couldn’t tell them the truth yet. Both of you would need some time to let this sink in and plan some things out. Still, he had to give them something, just to get them off his back.

Jimin sighed, “Okay, fine. I was going to tell you all when it felt like a good time and place, but something has changed between us. Recently, Y/N and I decided that we are going to start taking our relationship more seriously.”

“Soooo, what?” Jin asked, “You’re finally going to call yourselves a couple?”

“Yeah...I also told her I love her.”

Some of the guys hooted, others sighed out of pure relief. They thought this day would never come.

Yoongi chuckled, “That’s wonderful and all, Jiminie, but we all fucking knew it for months.”

“About time,” Taehyung beamed, “So she’s officially a girlfriend?”

Begrudgingly, knowing it would cause another mass tease, Jimin nodded, “Yes, she’s my girlfriend.”

Hoseok smirked, “So you’re exhausted because you’ve been pulling out all the stops, huh? Nice.”

“And he’s not focused because he’s got love on the brain.” Jungkook messed with his hair a bit. Jimin quickly brushed it back into place, rolling his eyes with a soft grin.

Oh, if only they knew what was actually on his brain at the moment, he thought. But it didn’t matter. He did what he needed to do for the time being. Now all he had to do was keep up the facade for a few more weeks, or until you and him mutually decided it was the right time.

All but one began to get their things together in preparation to leave. Namjoon felt another point needed to be made on this topic, but decided to let it go for now. It was getting close to dinnertime and they had made plans to order in at Jin's place. He would bring it up there.

Jin's apartment was so home-like and comfortable, which was why it was a common hangout spot for the group on nights like this. There was a feast of food in front of them to share and fill their stomachs. The soju was flowing, warming them up and loosening some tongues.

Jimin, for one, appreciated some semblance of normal life with his friends. He tried not to dwell on it, but he realized that being a part of nights like this would likely become a scarcity once he had fatherly duties to perform. His career would have to change, but now he was confronted with the possibility, or inevitability, of his friendships changing.

Hoseok, who was sitting next to Jimin, gave him a fraternal arm around his shoulder, tugging him closer, "Hey, now that you and Y/N are official, she should come around us more often. She could spend some time with Yunhee too."

Yunhee was his longtime girlfriend, and by no means the only serious romantic partner in the group. Namjoon and Jin were in relationships as well. It could be good for you to get to know the other women who were dating members of BTS, if anything for the moral support side of it all.

The head of the group heard Hoseok's suggestion and it resurfaced his concern from earlier. His head perked up, thinking now was the right moment. Namjoon consumed another sip of soju first.

"I don't know if that's the best idea, Hobi."

The other conversations at the table simmered down. He didn't intend to get everyone's attention, but there was nothing to do about it now, "Don't get me wrong. I'm happy for you, Jimin. Y/N is a nice person and all, but let's not forget where she's employed."

"So what?" Hoseok's brows were furrowed, "She can't hang out with us or our girlfriends because she's a stylist?"

"Well...yeah," Namjoon sighed. It didn't feel good to administer this dose of reality, "At least not in larger social settings."

"That's a little much." Jungkook remarked.

"No, he's right," Taehyung said, "I think we all trust ourselves and the other girlfriends to keep it quiet, but no one else can know. I don't know what repercussions they would have for you, Jimin, but Y/N would get fired."

"Exactly, thank you Tae," the leader nodded, "It sucks, but we can't treat this like we treat the other relationships. None of us want to see her lose her job over this. That means she can't be invited to parties, or given any special consideration when we run into her at the studio. We have to keep doing what we've always done."

Naturally, eyes began to land on Jimin, who was sitting there quietly until he noticed. He shook his head and swallowed the cut of pork that was in his mouth, "Look, Y/N and I are adults. We know what it means for us if we want to be together. Maybe someday, if things keep getting more serious, we can try to work around the company. But for now, we've talked about it and we can live with it."

There was a short hush at the table, as if everyone was expecting him to make some kind of protest against the notion of continued secrecy. Jimin began to think about what Hoseok said initially. Knowing what he knew, he thought it would be a good idea for those closest to him to get to know you better.

He added, "I do think it would be nice for you guys to spend more time with her, though."

"Sounds good to me," Jungkook grinned, stretching his arms up behind his head, "Besides, I'd like to know the inside scoop on how they plan on dressing me for the tour. Pick her brain a little."

Jimin chuckled, "I think they are in the very beginning stages of that, but go for it."

Namjoon was glad that there was a general agreement among the members. However, if he was honest with himself, his concern wasn't just with outside people having raised suspicions - you were in question too. Plenty of women chased fame through matters of the heart. What if you were capable of leaking the relationship yourself for a bit of notoriety?

He felt slightly disgusted with himself for thinking it, but his protective side was coming out. It had happened to other idols before. Plus, the fact of the matter was that none of them knew you that well. It couldn't be ruled out.

"Well, at least we don't have to keep pretending behind closed doors." Yoongi laughed.

Jimin looked at him, confused, "With who?"

"With you!" Jin guffawed, "You were so reluctant to put any sort of label on this relationship for so long. And you got annoyed whenever one of us would bring it up, so we've all been acting like we didn't notice the obvious."

"I feel like we do a pretty good job of hiding it," Jimin defended himself, "I don't treat her any differently than the other stylists."

Hoseok nudged him lightly, mouth full of ramyeon, "Yes, but in private, you have a certain face when she comes up in conversation. Seriously, we'll have to hold up a mirror for you next time it happens. Your eyes start darting around the room and your jaw gets really tense, the same thing that happens when you're suppressing any emotion."

He laughed at himself, taking another shot of soju, "Then I'm glad I don't have to embarrass myself anymore."

The evening returned to normal after the guys got bored of teasing their friend. All the while, Jimin felt like an imposter in his own body. He was selling it so well, a happy version of himself.

To some extent, he was happy, but he was also in a state a shock and apprehension. Three emotions swirling about within him, all equally strong and combative. He knew the shock portion of it would fade away soon, but could only hope that the nerves would follow suit.

He felt sturdy in his love for you and the desire to go through with the decision - he only wished that he felt confident that he could be a good, present father. His own dad was always there for him, nurturing and guiding him every step of the way. Jimin felt like he could count on him for anything. Would this child feel the same?

The hang-out ran late, giving him plenty of time to stew internally. Contradictory to past behavior, he was the first to call it a night.

The others started trickling out one by one, back to their own apartments. Being the named leader of the group, Namjoon always found himself being the last one out the door. Though he fell in the middle of the rank when it came to age, he tended to act like the oldest sometimes. Always making sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to, or, on nights like this, making sure they were all okay to drive home.

A perceptive and sensitive soul, Jin always noticed this and it made him pity Namjoon. He could let loose every now and then - the leader side of him didn't need to be switched on all the time, certainly not when it was just the seven of them in private.

Once the others were all gone, Namjoon let out a breath. He still had to get his charger and light jacket, and then he'd head out too.

Bending over to unplug his charger from the outlet by the baseboard, he said to the host, "Thanks for having us as always, Jin. Sorry it went so late again."

The oldest waved away the compliment, "Never a problem, Joonie. But you do know this is my apartment, right? You don't have to stand here with me and say goodbyes until they're all gone."

Namjoon chuckled and fiddled with the white cord in his hands, whirling it like a propeller, "Yeah, I know. Old habit, I guess."

He then put on his jacket, fixing the collar and tugging it in a few places. The two men locked palms and brought it in for a hug, patting each other on the back with their free hands.

"Well, I'll see you." the leader smiled tiredly.

"Night." replied Jin.

Namjoon approached the door to make his exit, but he couldn't shake this one thing. He paused, "Hyung?"

"Yeah?"

He turned back around and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, "Do you think this whole Y/N thing is good for Jimin?"

The older appeared unpleasantly surprised that he could pose such a question, "Uh, yeah, I do. She seems really sweet and they've been going pretty steady for a long time without an issue. Why?"

"Nothing, I just...nevermind."

"No," Jin stopped him from leaving, "What is it?"

Namjoon pursed his lips together for a moment, "I don't know. All of the potential issues with the company aside, what if she's just chasing his money or fame?"

Jin smirked, "I could maybe wrap my head around the money concern, but fame? They're a secret. There's no fame to be had. Unless you think she'd blab to the press on her own?"

He shrugged, "I mean yeah, it's possible. It wouldn't be the first time a person dated someone famous for some time in the spotlight. Now that they're serious, is it so strange to worry that she might turn around and use Jimin for some time in the spotlight?"

"Actually yes," Jin laughed in disbelief, "Because her job is on the line."

"I'd argue there would be plenty more for her to gain by publicly associating herself with one of the most famous faces on the planet."

The oldest member became more frank, "I have to say I'm surprised at you, Namjoon. It isn't like you to rush to judgment like this, especially of someone you hardly know."

He defended his consternation, "Well, it's the first time one of us has had this type of risky relationship. I just want to make sure Jimin's thought this through. If she-"

"She won't."

"But if she does, what happens? He'd be crushed. We all know that his last breakup tore him apart, and that was done in private. Imagine what it would do to him if she betrayed him like that."

Jin sighed, "Look, I think you're a good friend for wanting to guard his wellbeing, but no one here has been given any reason to think that Y/N would do anything like that. And Jimin is a full-grown man. He's capable of making his own decisions. It doesn't make you any better of a leader to helicopter over his dating life, even if you have doubts."

Namjoon took a deep breath and closed his eyes, nodding. Jin was right. There was nothing to validate his concerns - it was all mere conjecture.

"Okay," he breathed, "You're right. I guess all we can do is stay out of it and see where it goes."

His older brother gave him an exhausted smile and patted his shoulder, "Exactly. Goodnight, Joonie."

Namjoon turned around, nodding his head, "Night."

As he left the apartment, he still had a nervous feeling planted in his intuition. There was just something about this he didn't like.

*One Week Later*

You went to Jimin's place the Saturday morning before he left for Japan. You hadn't been able to make it the night before, buried in work up to your eyeballs. It had been a rough morning for you so far - the infamous morning sickness had arrived throughout the past few days. It was funny they called it that, you thought, because it wasn't relegated to the morning only. So far, however, it was pretty manageable with the help of a vitamin. More often than not, it was a wave of nausea that would hit you without resulting in actual vomiting.

For the first time, you let yourself into the apartment without knocking. Once inside, you saw his duffle bag by the door, all ready to go, but he was nowhere in sight. The blinds were open, however, so you assumed he was awake.

You set your purse down on the entryway table and removed your shoes. As you padded closer to his bedroom, you picked up on the faint sound of the shower running. Entering the bedroom, you saw that the bathroom door was wide open, the space inside becoming slightly steamy.

You couldn't help but smile a bit as you went in. There was a large corner tub in there, but it was empty. Your eyes went instantly to the feast of Jimin's bare frame on full display in the walk-in shower. No curtains, no glass door. Just him.

His back was facing you, unbeknownst to your presence, letting you get a good view of his toned backside - and that included all of his backside. If only you weren't feeling so shitty, you would have been enticed beyond help.

You crossed your arms and cleared your throat.

Jimin didn’t even turn around, only laughed lowly, “Enjoying the show, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes with a grin, “Only a little, and unfortunately I mean that. I feel terrible this morning.”

He turned around, slicking his fully damp hair back out of his face. Eyes containing a devoted concern, he felt an entrenched need to solve the issue, “What’s wrong?”

You sat down on the closed toilet seat and sighed, hands on your knees, “Mainly queasy, a bit fatigued.”

He smiled sympathetically, extending his hand, “Come on.”

You laughed a little, “In there?”

“Nothing sexual, I promise,” he smirked some more, “Seriously, it will help.”

Reluctantly, you agreed and took off your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. You trusted that his intentions were nothing but authentic. You caught him ogling your body once or twice, but he kept his urges in-check as you took his hand and stepped into the shower.

The warm water pattered on your skin, already giving way to some relaxation in your stirred stomach.

Jimin wrapped his arms around you from behind, kissing the cartilage of your ear, “I used to get horribly nauseous before big performances and interviews. A warm rinse and some deep breathing always helped me ease up. Just focus on breathing, I’ll take care of the rest.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his caring embrace, “Okay.”

You kept your eyes closed as you inhaled and exhaled slowly, concentrating on the drops of water hitting you like a massage. Even better was the feeling of him washing you with a soapy loofa. There was no scent to whatever body wash he was using - just a soothing, sudsy coating on your skin.

Despite him meaning his promise not to take a lewd approach, Jimin couldn’t help but get a semi as he cleansed you, touching and looking at every inch of you. Your breasts were even more pillowy when they were glistening with shower drops.

“Is it helping?” He asked quietly.

You nodded with a soft grin, “Yes, thank you.”

The applied pressure lessened when he got to your stomach. He glided the wash over this area lightly and lovingly. When you realized how much attention he was giving to this part of you, your eyes opened to find him looking down at your abdomen with a lightness on his features.

You wiped some strands of hair out of his face, sticking them on top of his head with the rest, “What are you thinking about?”

He looked up to meet your gaze, “How nervous yet eager I am to watch your belly grow.”

You cupped one of his cheeks in your palm, “We can be nervous yet eager together then.”

He took a gentle hold of the wrist near his face and kissed your hand, “I really am sorry that I’m going to miss the appointment on Thursday.”

“I am too,” you sighed, “But it’s not going to be helpful to us if we dwell on things we really can’t change at the moment. Our experience will be different. We just have to live with that.”

Jimin hummed and turned you around slowly so that he could hug you from behind once more. His chin nestled on top of your shoulder. As he treated you to a couple of affectionate pecks on the neck, you held his arms.

“I just know there’s some way we can do this without having to be so elusive. There has to be. We can’t keep this a secret from the company and the public forever. Neither of us can live like that.” He said.

You continued to breathe deeply, the sickness subsiding bit by bit, “I hope you’re right.”

The two of you remained comfortably silent in the shower for a little while longer, simply existing with one another. It ended far sooner than you would have liked, but he had a flight to catch and would need to leave for the airport in an hour.

Both of you got dressed again and shared a cuddle in the living room while there was still time.

You enjoyed being encased into him while you could, your nausea almost gone now, “I know it’s only eight days but I’ll miss you.”

He felt the same. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been apart for that long before, but things were radically different now. There was something tying you together now on a much deeper level, “I’ll miss you too. I hope this coming week is easier for you.”

You put on a brave face, “I have feeling this won’t let up for a while. I read that some women have sickness their entire pregnancy. I hope I’m not one of them, but I’ll live either way. My workload will be lighter, so that might help.”

Jimin chuckled, rubbing your thigh absentmindedly, “Are you going to save the hottest wardrobe for me?”

You giggled, “You know the final decision isn’t mine. It will take some time, though. We are still in the elementary phases. Once we have all of the fabrics and color palettes finalized, we will move on to the shopping phase.”

“That sounds so fun,” he lamented, “Getting to pick designer clothing for all of us.”

“It can be fun, but it’s a lot of pressure at times to match the concept perfectly. You’d be surprised how many moving parts there are to simply picking out some outfits for the stage. We also take your personalities into account, to some extent, because you pick your own clothes for most interviews and promotional activities. If the clothes you wear on stage match your real style to some degree, then suddenly the whole thing feels like one giant authentic concept.”

He kissed your temple and laughed, “You’re such a little nerd for your job.”

You pushed into him playfully, “Rude.”

“No, it’s cute, baby,” he went on chuckling, “I love that you’re passionate about it.”

You exhaled into his chest, “I am, and I’ve grown to really like the people in the department too, not just the ones who are assigned to BTS. I guess that's why part of me wish we wouldn't have to let this secret out. I wish I'd be able to stay."

Jimin held you tighter, "You don't know that you won't."

"It's a high probability," you said, "It's like you said earlier. We can't keep this from the company forever. Living like that would be hell."

"We'll take it one day at a time. I just don't want to see you give up hope that things will work out."

"I won't," you promised, "I'm just trying to be realistic."

He huffed, "I know you are. I wish I could make reality more comfortable for us."

You shifted your position, propping yourself on your elbows to be able to look him in the eyes, "Speaking of being realistic, when are we going to tell the guys and our families?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he had to mentally prepare himself to comprehend doing either of those things, "I can't wait too much longer without telling the members. Last weekend they noticed something was up. I was able to brush it off by telling them we decided to make things official between us, but they're just too close to me to keep the secret for very long."

You accepted this. It only made sense. These men knew him so intimately and were around him constantly. You adored Jimin but agreed that he probably would fail to conceal the news from them for very long.

"Okay," you said, "Maybe we can tell them together a few weeks after you get back. I'll be starting to show within the next month or so, and I'm sure you want to leave time to tell your family before the members."

He concurred, "I would like to tell my parents sooner rather than later. This just feels too big not to share with them right away. And honestly, as much as I'm dreading their reaction, I would appreciate their advice."

You tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the topic was disconcerting for you too, "I understand. Why don't you wait until after the ultrasound? That way you'll be able to answer the questions they will inevitably have, like what the due date will be."

He mirrored a more pleasant face, "That's reasonable. Do you think you'll do the same?"

You dropped your head and groaned, "I don't know. I love my parents, but I really don't expect a good response from them. And they will hold a grudge..."

Jimin ran his hand through your hair and stared at the ceiling, "I guess I better get ready to meet them, and you should get ready to meet mine."

Your eyes snapped back up, filled with apprehension, "What? H-How soon?"

"I don't know. But again, let's just take it one day at a time sweetheart. This week, all you need to worry about is taking care of yourself, hm?"

You re-centered your nerves and nodded, leaning your forehead against his, "And remembering to call you after the ultrasound."

He broke into a chuckle and tilted his chin upward so he could lock his lips with yours.

"Yes, that too."

Then the alarm on his phone went off. He had set it so that he wouldn't get carried away with holding you and run late for the airport. Both of you sighed. It was time to get up off this couch and say goodbye. You had to leave so he could catch his ride. For the sake of keeping the relationship under wraps, you couldn't exit at the same time. Jimin gave you one last hug by the door.

"Fly safely," you told him, "Have fun. I'm excited to hear about it when you get back."

He grinned, "I will. Keep drinking plenty of water and eat well."

He then released you from the hug and placed his hands on your tummy, "And have a nice time seeing our little...pomegranate seed?"

You giggled, "Good memory. I'll send you whatever photos I get."

You were pulled in for a series of heartfelt, slow kisses. Feeling so close to him made all of the fears seem smaller, even if it was just for a minuscule amount of time. Both of you knew to your cores that your lives would never be the same again, but your strengthening bond made it bearable.

“I love you, Jimin.”

“I love you too.”

It was finally ‘Ultrasound Day’. Your appointment was at two-thirty, and you were filled with the jitters.

So far, no one in the office seemed to notice any of your symptoms. You’d been caught once or twice in the middle of a nausea spell, but were able to chalk it up to stress.

By the time to leave rolled around, you had been collaborating with Chaeyoung, comparing her fashion sketches with your swatch ideas. The goal was to identify some actual outfits that the team would then work towards replicating with various designers. The only thing standing between mere ideas and reality would soon be the finalization of the budget.

When you told your co-worker that you had to head off to another doctor's appointment, she seemed a little confused. You had just gone to one, two weeks prior. You made the excuse that it was only a routine follow-up to the one before. On your way out of the office, you wondered when you'd let them all know. Your belly was going to grow, whether you liked it or not.

You got in your car and put in the directions on your phone. You were going to a different hospital to see an obstetrician recommended by Doctor Baek. According to her, this new care provider had the capacity to give at-home ultrasounds, if you ever requested it. It was important to you to find someone who could if it meant that Jimin would be able to experience at least one of these.

When you were finally called back into the room, your hands had gone cold and clammy. A lovely nurse took down some of the basic information, took your vitals, and drew your blood to run a quick lab.

By the time the doctor came in, you were more than ready. She was in a set of navy blue scrubs with a sunshine smile, "Y/N, I'm Doctor Yoon. It's a pleasure to meet you."

You shook her hand, "Nice to meet you as well."

She sat down at the same computer where the nurse had just logged some information, looking it over, "Alright, so we're looking at about seven weeks. Your symptoms all seem totally normal. So far so good, Y/N. How are you feeling? Ready to see your baby?"

You smiled, "It's been a bit of a whirlwind, honestly. But yeah, I'm ready."

She didn't ask you if a father would be attending, assuming by your demeanor and words that you came alone. Instead, she gloved her hands and scooted closer to the exam table where you were sitting, "Okay then. Lay back there, and you can go ahead and undo your pants a little bit."

You followed her directions.

"Right, so I'm just going to put a little gel on your belly. Be warned, it's a bit cold." Her cadence was so pleasant - you were glad that you were evidently given an excellent recommendation.

The gel was cold, but it warmed up to your skin as she spread it around with the wand. You hadn't looked at the screen yet, frozen and not quite as ready as you said you were. There was a muffled sound that became more pronounced once Doctor Yoon seemed to have honed in on one spot.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

That's when you looked. It was like something in your DNA had been kicked into gear in an instant. This intuition seemed to tell you exactly what it was. The screen was mostly grey, aside from a black zone in the middle. Nestled in that black pouch was a precious little white shape. It wasn't the perfect outline of a human being. In fact, you had no idea what developed parts you were seeing. But that new and profound maternal instinct within you was filling your heart with love and protection over this tiny thing.

"There you are," Doctor Yoon smiled, "And quite a strong heartbeat for your age, little one."

You didn't realize how emotional you were getting until you blinked away a couple tears. You didn't expect anything like this. In an instant, a small yet powerful connection was made, and suddenly your outlook was crystal clear.

This was yours and Jimin’s baby. A new little life that came directly from the love you shared with one another. Yes, the road ahead was bound to be tough, but now you were certain that it was all going to be worth it. Come what may, you were going to be a family. You were joyful, excited.

You began to smile through your tears, “Hi, you…”

Doctor Yoon was glad to see your reaction, “Everything looks great here, Y/N.”

“Oh good.” you beamed, unable to tear your eyes from the image on the monitor next to you.

She made a couple of clicks with a mouse as she continued to check around for another minute or two. Then she paused the screen and removed the wand from your abdomen. The image was still up on the screen for you to enjoy while she wiped the gel from your skin.

The doctor smiled as she peeled the blue latex gloves from her hands, “The measurements look good, all aligned with what we should see at seven weeks. Based on that, I’ll give you a due date of the eighth of January.”

In your soft, enchanted haze, you thought there couldn’t be a more perfect birthday for your child.

Doctor Yoon stepped out of the office for a brief minute or two. In the meantime, you re-fastened your pants and sat up. When she returned, she had printed photos to give you, “I had a feeling you’d want these. Now your second ultrasound should fall somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two weeks. I’d highly recommend scheduling that at the front desk as you head out. Just makes it easier.”

Your happy expression faded slightly as you held the printed scans in your lap, “Oh, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to yet. The father…he travels for work often and would definitely like to be a part of the second one. We haven’t gotten to talk about any dates yet. And we’d like to possibly do it at home, if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” she nodded, “I do home visits all the time. You just call whenever you get it sorted out. In the meantime, just keep pushing through the symptoms and don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions, alright?”

You smiled, “I won’t. Thank you so much, Doctor Yoon.”

“My pleasure.”

When you walked back out into the parking lot, the world looked different to you. You couldn’t stop grinning and looking at the scans.

You couldn’t wait to share it all with Jimin.

He was pacing the floor by the bed, itching for that call to come. He knew your appointment was early in the afternoon, but the sun was setting outside his hotel room and he hadn't heard from you yet.

The other guys went out to a restaurant, at which management had booked a private room, to have dinner. He stayed behind, telling them that you two had plans to FaceTime. It wasn't a lie, but he got teased mercilessly for it.

Finally, it came. His phone started buzzing, presenting a red and green button. He immediately pressed his thumb on the green button and slid it to the side, only to be greeted with the sight of you. Despite all of the not-so-fun symptoms you told him about that week, you looked radiant. It put a grin on his face to see you that way.

"Hi!" you chirped, head falling back onto the pillow on your own bed.

He chuckled, "Hey, baby. You're in a good mood, huh?"

"I am," you smiled, "How are you?"

"Good," he nodded, making himself comfortable by sitting on the all-white hotel bed against the luxe headboard, "We had Vogue today. It was a good shoot, good interview. No complaints. But don't make me talk about my day, I want to hear about the appointment."

You laughed, but then your expression settled into one of simple and pure bliss, "Jimin, I don't know how to describe it. It was quick, but one of the best moments of my life."

There was a huge relief and eagerness to know more, "Try to describe it, please. What did you see?"

The angle of your camera shifted a bit as you leaned forward, reaching for something. When it went back to normal, you were holding some photos up for him to see, "This."

It wasn't the most clear image, but it made his eyes squint with one of his largest smiles. He'd seen ultrasounds before, so he knew where to look. There was his child.

A tight sensation formed in his ribcage, but it wasn't bad - it was his heart swelling, "Oh my God, Y/N..."

"I know." you near whispered.

He experienced a rush of adrenaline, pushing his hair back only because he didn’t know what to do with himself, "Wow, that's incredible."

You were happy to see him have a similar reaction to yours, "That's not even the half of it, though. I heard the heartbeat."

Jimin could see you starting to get emotional and it made him want to leap through his phone and share this beautiful moment in person, "You did?"

You nodded, eyes brimming with tears. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, "It was just the most adorable sound, Jimin. The doctor said it was so strong for it being seven weeks."

"And everything else looks good?"

A content sigh left you as you smiled, "It's all perfect."

Now a new paternal emotion was unlocked for him - pride. He was somehow proud of his little son or daughter for having a good heartbeat and for growing so well, "That's wonderful. God, you have no idea how much I want to be with you right now. And wish I was there to witness it with you.”

“Me too,” you said, placing the printed scans on your wooden nightstand off to the side, “But I’m too excited right now to think of any downsides. It’s like all of the worries I have just evaporate when I look at those pictures. We’re really having a baby.”

Your boyfriend looked so alleviated and pleased to see you this assured. He licked his lips, “We really are, sweetheart. Did you get a due date?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, “January eighth.”

“January eighth,” he repeated with a single nod, “What a great way to start the new year.”

You giggled, “That’s true. A little winter baby.”

Jimin let his head fall back and let out a long, peaceful sigh, “This trip can’t end soon enough. When I get back Sunday night, I need to see you. Will you come over?”

“I’d love that.”

“And please take a picture of one of those scans and send it to me. I want to be able to look at it after we get off the phone.”

“I will.”

He didn’t want to, but he then said, “Okay. I’ll let you go now. Go make yourself some dinner.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “How did you know I haven’t eaten yet?”

“Because I know you,” he grinned cheekily, “We’ve spent a lot of evenings together, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m aware of your nightly habits.”

A blush crept onto your cheeks, “Fine, then I’ll go make myself something. Goodnight.”

“Sleep well tonight, baby. I love you.”

You knew you’d never get bored of hearing that come out of his mouth, “I love you too.”

Your face was then removed from sight. A few seconds later, he received a text from you. Opening it, he was graced once more with the image of the sonogram. A subconscious twinkle came upon his face as he zoomed in on the tiny white form in the middle.

The room was quiet, giving his mind all the space in the world to contemplate the little one yet to come into the world. Without knowing it, he uttered the same words you did:

“Hi, you.”

[kyumisyumi]

would you consider continuing eldritch nikto? (no pressure)

im so curious about him

Honestly yea, I wanted to make it a little longer originally but was battling writer's block and didn't want to push myself too much.

Part 1

It took you a long time to realize your eyes were open and that you were, indeed, awake. There was nothing but black in your vision no matter where your eyes shifted but you were certain your lids were peeled back, pupils dilated in its attempt to take in any available light. There was a constant buzzing in the back of your head that only got worst as you tried to sit up. The sound creeping through your ears as if seeking to fill your skull, it shifted and morphed until you realized it was voices. So many of them. Soft whispers yet they felt so loud, so intrusive against your ears. Your own thoughts lost to theirs as they announced your awakening. Your hands balled against your ears in an attempt to block them out but it barely helped.

"Quiet... please." Your words were soft and pleading, as if instinct had you trying to mimic their tone. Trying to conform. "Please." You begged but they just went on and on, conversing with themselves until finally you could take no more. "QUIET!" you snapped, voice hoarse against your dry throat, sounding more like a petulant screech. You immediately regret it when the sudden silence filled the air. While the voices felt like too much, the quiet felt like too little. Unnatural almost. Ominous. You couldn't see anyone depart, nothing but the writhing black walls endlessly pulse and squirm, but you felt it. Like a crowd dispersing as an event comes to an end. It was only then that you remembered where you were, your memory settling uncomfortably where the voices once filled.

You were in hell.

You curled up, body going defensive as you tried to figure out where to go from here. You looked around, your eyes had adjusted somewhat, the room was black on black on black but at least you could made out the shape of the square room you were in and the weird geometry within. You were a top some rectangular platform, like a bed but devoid of sheets and covers. At least it was soft. You stretched out your legs, they were no longer littered with the cuts and scratches from earlier's fray. At least you think it was earlier, it could've been days since it all happened.

As your mind began to ponder you felt a change in the room. It began with the hairs at the back of your neck standing, an awakened prey instinct warning you of danger. Your eyes darting around in search of the threat but you're unable to pick up its location. Ears straining some unnamed muscle to zone in on any sound but nothing. No one was near. You stayed like that for a while, hyper vigilant in a way that was opposed to your usual carefree nature, but nobody was around.

Nobody.

And yet you didn't feel alone. Your lips parted to speak; a greeting? A warning? You weren't sure. All you could muster up was a quiet "um" before you shut them again. For a long time there was nothing but you and the invisible eyes around you. Discomfort quickly set in and after a moment of weighing your options, you tentatively got up and left the dark room.

Outside the whispers returned. Every now and then a voice would offhandedly acknowledge you. 'The human' or 'It moves', occasionally there would be a reference to food but you'd rather believe it had nothing to do with you.

The structure you roamed was nothing but a series of tunnels. You were unable to find any rooms aside from the one you had woken up in, just dead ends and more passages ways. You'd managed to lose the feeling of being watched but you knew deep down you were never alone down here. The only point of interest you found was the entrance. You'd almost missed it, no beams light could manage to permeate the gloom of the pit but looking up you could see the circular patch of yellow-ish white trying to make it's way through. You had no idea what your next action should be. Was this the game? To have humans mull about until they inevitably died of starvation? Was that how you wanted to go out? No. But looking up at the miles of ick leading towards your only means of escape, you felt helpless. Truly helpless. And that stirred anger inside you. You who always held your life in the palm of your hands. Who walked through the world like it could do nothing to you. You didn't want to die but you'd rather face the creature that would kill you than waste away over time.

You turned away from the entrance, eyes scanning the darkness. You couldn't see the thing that stalked you but you knew it was here. Had always been here, only an arms reach away. For a moment, common sense tried to reach you but your lips were faster.

"If you're gonna eat me, just do it."

Of all the things to say.

Your eyes could barely register the speed at which it's tendrils moved, wrapping around your limbs and pulling you towards a wall. You resisted the best you could but for naught. A hard, gross smack as your back is forced against it. You couldn't see them but you could feel tens of smaller tendrils latch onto you, pulling you further and further into the semipermeable surface. A frightening numbness overtook every inch of you encompassed by its form.

"No, no, no no no no. Wait! Stop! " You begged, tears stinging your eyes as fear becomes terror becomes desperation. Oh, how you hated the feeling of regret."Don't, please don't. I didn't-"

When the panic subsided and you opened your eyes, you realized you were no longer being pulled. A dark, all-too-amused chuckle filled your ears. The sound eerily close to your neck.

It didn't even try to hide the mocking tone. "But you said..." The creatures voice was masculine, low and accented, though you couldn't quite place it. Wouldn't know where to begin since you'd never been outside your village.

"I know what I said! I didn't mean it." You quickly interjected. Numb wasn't even the right word for how half your body felt. The parts of you that was absorbed into him felt... Lost. "Please, please let me go."

"Why would you say words you do not mean?" You weren't sure how to respond and in your silence, his tendrils began pulling again.

"I don't know! I-" you thought. You hate having to do that, having to find reasons for your actions as if they weren't performed at the roll of a mental die. As if your entire existence wasn't one impulsive decision after the next. "I was frustrated." You admitted.

"Hmm... " you could feel the wall vibrate as he thought. His viscous limbs lazily sliding over your body, in a way that felt a little too explorative, but at least he was no longer pulling you in. "I know this emotion."

You almost fell over when he released you. Feeling slowly returned as you shivered, your limbs desperately trying to reacquaint themselves. You turned back to look at him but there was nothing but a wall behind you. He was there though, you felt it.

"What is wro-" You wanted to have an attitude but this time your brain stopped you, pleading with you to be careful. To choose your words and tone properly. "I want to leave."

"That's unfortunate."

I hate to cut this off abruptly but I felt like it was getting too long + brain machine broke (mostly the last one)

[sinsandsweetness]

drunk tank- part 2

cw- vulgar language, drug and alcohol use, slight angst and pining for the reader, references to sexual acts. about 2.6k words that aren’t proofread:/ sorry loves.

notes- i started writing and i don’t know what happened. hopefully you guys don’t hate it? way more plot than i intended but… much smutty goodness to come, i promise (no pun intended)

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! i live for your feedback and love hearing your opinions <3

Fuck.

You don’t even want to look around the house. You already know it’s gonna be a fucking mess. You can hear it. Feel it. Hell, you can smell it. Booze and weed and sex. Sweaty bodies packed into a 3 bedroom trailer on the wrong side of town. Coke on the bathroom counter that’ll have you wishing you’d never let Merle move in in the first place.

You stop at the end of the driveway, wondering whether you should even go in. Or if you should get back in the taxi and tell him to take you away and never come back. Go work at some diner in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. Leave everyone else behind.

But Daryl’s face flashes through your mind. You can’t do that to him. Not after all he’s been through.

Growing up with the Dixons was a bit of a challenge. Merle being well… Merle. You and Daryl always ending up in some kind of dangerous and even disturbing situation. Creeps who smelled of Jack Daniel’s, with wandering hands and no sense of personal space. Having to put on a smile for Merle who desperately needed to finish the deal before you could even think about sneaking off to the truck. You were leverage. Sometimes even Daryl. Though you knew he hated it. Fried hair, rotting teeth, meth head bitches who thought he was trash enough to stoop that low. He wasn’t. Or at least he didn’t want to be.

You should go inside and find him. Get him to drive you to Shane’s to spend the night. It’s not like you’ll get any sleep tonight with this ruckus going on. Not after the shift you just had. And you’ve learned to really love Shane’s middle class, suburban townhouse with a California king and a jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. It was… different. Unfamiliar. A perfect little escape from the chaos of your typical day to day life. Of your piece of shit trailer that’s already falling apart and definitely wouldn’t pass a health inspection no matter what kind of construction worker you were to hook up with.

Besides, Shane was a good fuck. Not that that’s all that matters in a relationship. It’s not. Merle was a good fuck too. You’re not that hard to please. But Shane is sexy. Charismatic. He treats you like a Princess. And honestly… as much as Daryl makes fun of you for it… you’re starting to really like him. He pays for meals. Takes you out. Isn’t afraid to show you off or introduce you to his friends. And, the biggest part; he’s safe. Steady. A fucking cop for Christ sake. So much different than the guys you’ve been with before. You weren’t at risk of any stray needles or guns when you stayed at his place. The only gun he kept at home stayed locked up in his office and is used strictly for emergencies.

And his sheets are clean and his fridge is full and his best friend is a hunk who happens to be going through some minor marital issues that you can’t say you’re not excited about. For once in your life, things are starting to look up.

Well… not from where you’re standing. Dreading the pounding bass and music that you can already hear pouring out of the windows. Praying that Merle had the decency to lock your bedroom door, but it was unlikely. You pulled a blanket over his passed out body on the couch before you left for work, so the likelihood of him remembering what you gently whispered in his ear was extremely slim.

Be safe. Lock my door. Don’t do anything stupid.

He clearly hadn’t heard you. Or if he did, he didn’t listen. Because the sounds and smells coming from the house as you walk barefoot on the gravel with your heels in your hand are proving to be the latter.

The door is open. Coats and purses thrown about. Stares from the girl and the guy flirting away in the front entrance. Red solo cups in their hands presumably filled with whatever the cheapest keg that your ex could find at the value liquor across the diner. At least that’s what you have to assume. Cheap beer. Sticky and sweaty and- holy shit.

It’s Daryl. On the couch, with a girl.

It’s no surprise that he’s over. It’s not like he has any other place to stay.

It’s the girl on his lap that has you stopping in your tracks. Bright blonde hair and fishnets straddling his thigh. Blowing smoke onto his, thankfully, annoyed and unimpressed expression. She’s almost naked. That’s why you’re so shocked. It’s not like Daryl has ever had an issue getting with girls. But the fact that her skirt looks like a belt and there aren’t even any panties under her tights… well It’s just… a bit of an eye sore if you were honest.

He catches your gaze. The sight of you rolling your eyes at the pathetic little show in front of you. Turning down the hallway and knowing he’s probably already shoving her off and jogging to catch up right behind you. Down the hall and to your room where you’re unsurprisingly forced to kick a couple of sleeping stoners out of your bed. At least they still have their clothes on. Most of them anyway.

“Who was that?” You ask, not turning around but hearing the door latch and lock behind you. Daryl’s smokey, leather scent coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

He knows better.

“No one,” he mumbles into your neck, his breath smelling of the rum and coke he chugged and threw to the side before chasing you down the hall.

You can’t help the way you shake him off. He’s drunk for Christ’s sake. Not like he didn’t have a warm and willing body out there on the sofa. Probably desperate to get any of her slutty holes filled and fucked by your childhood best friend.

You slump down onto the bed. Unmade and definitely not from you. The thought makes you wince.

You run a hand over your face and think about the clean smell of pine sol and laundry detergent that now reminds you of the handsome, dark haired officer you’ve recently gotten to know.

Daryl sits down beside you. A nervous tic in his hands as he picks at his cuticle. Unsure of what to say or what to do. It’s not like he should feel bad. He was right, she is no one to him. He won’t even remember her name in the morning. But he still feels a twang of guilt. Wishing you hadn’t seen her string covered cunt grinding on his thigh in the middle of the living room.

“Where are the keys to the Chevy?” You ask, ending the awkward silence brewing between the two of you.

“No way.”

“I’m sober, Dare. There’s no way I can sleep here. Plus I work a double in the morning. Just hand em over.” You turn to face him. He sees the bags under your eyes and knows he should just hand them over. Let you get some beauty rest in officer Walshes big and beautiful bed. Where he’ll be sure to fuck you right tonight and make you a delicious breakfast in the morning before sending you off with a kiss and tap on your perky little ass. But that’s also exactly the reason why he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants to be the one sharing your bed tonight. He wants to make you some scrambled eggs in the morning and drop you off at the diner. Him. Not some asshole cop that fucked you right in front of him at the station a month ago. Hard and fast and really fucking good. By the sounds you were making and the twisted look of pleasure written on your face, it was good. And even Daryl could see that.

“Stay here. Please.” Daryl's hand makes Its way to your thigh.

“Daryl-”

“Don’t. Don’t fuckin- don’t leave.” He’s pleading with you. Can’t stand the thought of you moaning and writhing underneath his burly competition.

“Please.” His voice cracks but you pretend not to hear.

You shake your head. You need a shot. And an Advil.

“I’ll just call Shane.” You reach for your bag, ready to wake the poor guy up to come grab you from the trailer you refuse to let him enter, let alone see. Guess you gotta deal with it tonight.

“Fine- hey-“ he reached for your bag. Stopping you from grabbing the phone you’re rummaging for. “I’ll drive you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I had one drink. Seriously. Look at me.” You do it. Maintaining the heavy eye contact that’s burning into your irises. He’s telling the truth. You can see it. The way he’s holding your leg and the expression on his face. He’s always been a terrible liar.

“Okay. Thank you.” Your voice is quiet, hushed and you know you sound like a bitch. But you’re just really fucking tired.

He pulls you by the hand the whole way out to the door. Dodging the blondie from the couch and pushing your ex out of the way when he sees you, wide eyed and calling your name. Pupils blown and clearly coked out. Part of the reason he’s your ex. Among a plethora of other reasons you’d rather not get in to.

Merle’s truck sounds like shit. Stuttering a few times before it roars to life. A weird clicking from the glove box that you’re just too tired to check out. Smokes and a used condom thrown about the passenger side floor. Unsurprising but still disgusting.

You grab your phone and send Shane a text. Making sure it’s actually ok that you do crash for the night. Not that he’d ever say no. But you want to be polite.

Mind if I swing by? A bit crowded at mine.

It only takes him a few stoplights to answer.

Of course, Princess. You need a ride?

You answer immediately. Thumbs tapping fast on the tiny little buttons of your blackberry.

Nope:) 5 mins away.

Perfect. See you soon gorgeous

You can’t help the smile creeping up on your expression. Curling on your glossy lips and catching the attention of your best friend in the drivers seat.

“Pfft-” he rolls his eyes, turning the corner a little sharper than you’d like.

“Oh, shut it.” You snap back. Daryl has never liked any of your boyfriends. You don’t blame him. Most of them were real pieces of shit. Using you for your body. Your money. Not that you had much to spare.

Merle and you never dated. Just a couple drunk hookups that you didn’t enjoy.

Daryl never liked that either. Knowing his brother had seen the most sacred parts of you. Touched you and held you and watched your eyes screw shut as you came all over his cock.

Daryl wishes he could be the only one who’s ever seen that. The only one who knows the sounds you make when you’re close and the way you’re breath hitches when he kisses that spot on your stomach. It fucking kills him. Thinking about you gripping Shane’s dark hair while he discovers that same exact same spot. Going lower and lower until you’re squirming and writhing and-

“Dare?” You repeat. Grabbing the attention of the scowling young man who’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s about to fly away from him.

“Huh?”

“You missed the turn.”

“Shit, sorry.”

He circles around and shifts into park. Right across the street. The tree in Shane’s yard blocking the light from the front porch.

“Thanks,” you say dryly while reaching for the door handle. Ready to crawl into a warm bed. One where the only sound that enters your ears is the crickets in the backyard and the soft inevitable snoring from the handsome deputy holding you nice and close.

“Wait, just-” Daryl’s hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you pack. Snaking His hand around the back of your neck and crashing his lips against yours. Leaned right over the middle console to pull you in even closer. Tongue tracing your lips and deepening the kiss. The faint taste of tobacco and the familiar warmth of his mouth clouds your judgment. Kissing him back despite your relatively steady and semi-serious fling waiting for you on the other side of the red door across the street.

You pull away, eyes still closed and resting your forehead against his.

“Dare…”

“It’s fine.” He whispers. Nose nudging your own as he connects your lips for one last kiss that lingers just a couple seconds too long. A pained, broken look in his ocean eyes passes through when you finally pull away and scowl.

“Don’t. You can’t- you don’t get to do that.”

His jaw clenches and you’re sure he wants to spit some petty ass insult at you. Years of daddy issues and unresolved anger issues catching up to him with every little argument that crosses his path. But he finds it in himself to bite it back. Well not entirely. Just… a little less vulgar.

“Wear a condom,” he sneers, pulling away and falling back against the headrest. A deep sigh leaving his lungs as he chews on the inside of his lip. Already regretting his comment both due to the sheer cruelty of it but also because of the subtle admission of jealousy that he would fucking kill to have flown right above your head. It doesn’t. But the crimson painting his cheeks tells you he really fucking wishes it would. So for his sake, you ignore it and mutter a goodbye as you hop out and shut the car door. Heels clacking on the cement while you make your way to the front porch. Duffel bag in hand and a flutter of butterflies starting to swarm around in your belly.

You don’t even have to knock before the door opens and you’re met with the scent of a musky cologne and those beautiful brown eyes looking you up and down. Plaid pajama pants and a clean black tee shirt pulling you in for a quick embrace as he eyes the old Chevy still idling across the street, Daryl inside, ensuring you actually made it into the house.

“Hey, beautiful,” Shane kisses your cheek. Eyes still fixed on the man gazing over from the tinted truck window.

With a strong, guiding palm on the small of your back, you brush past the officer and head on in. Giving him a moment to set the alarm and lock the door behind you. Oblivious of the way Shane decides to wave at Daryl. Sending him a silent thank you for dropping you off all safe and sound. And maybe a very slight reminder of what he’s about to do to you as soon as that door closes.

And though he doesn’t see it, whether it’s from the tint of the truck or the clouds blocking the moon in the middle of the night, Daryl waves back. A pained, stomach dropping, shaky little wave that he didn’t even really want to return.

Daryl drives home as it starts to rain. Windshield wipers scraping on the cracked glass in front of him as his mind wanders, thinking about how nice it would be to stay in one of the nice, picket fence, suburban homes you’ve always wanted. Thinking about you in a big backyard, sipping on some white wine with a chunky little toddler on your hip. Your husband flipping some burgers and talking to the neighbors about football or the weather or the preschool you’ve been scouting.

It hurts his heart that in his little daydream, it’s not him who’s standing there barbecuing on that deck. It’s not him making small talk with your coworkers or reaching for the babbling little kid in your arms, asking for his daddy.

It’s Shane.

And for a split second, even though it physically hurts his heart. He knows that Shane can give that to you. And that, that simple little revelation is the whole reason he knows why he needed to wave back.

-

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[grailfinders]

Grailfinders Viewers' Choice #31: Kadoc Zemlupus

today on Grailfinders, it finally happened. that’s right, it’s finally, finally, lupus. Kadoc Zemlupus, that is. the very first crypter we fight is a Monster Slayer Ranger to pick up some anti-beast specialties and his mystic codes, as well as a War Magic Wizard to use his wits more than raw magical power.

check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Ancestry & Background

I know we were making the crypters reborn back when we did Ophelia, but we forgot about that entirely for wodime and honestly going with the lower-power option just works better for Kadoc, so he’s a Human too. that gives him +1 Dexterity & Intelligence, as well as proficiency in Survival to somehow never die and some freebies from the foreign god since he’s Shadow Touched. that bumps up his Wisdom as well, and gives him Invisibility and Cause Fear, both of which can be used once a day for free, or by using spell slots. did you know Kadoc has a stealth spell that he just never uses? it’s true!

he also has the same Foreign God Agent background as Ophelia (which I’m pretty sure is just faction agent), so he gets insight and intimidation proficiency. he was the first crypter we ever saw, so he was pretty scary until we had a frame of reference.

Ability Scores

we’re being a bit goofy this time around and using Point Buy to get the strengths and weaknesses we need, because we’re a little Multi Ability Dependent and spellcasters don’t get a lot of ASIs. so! first up, your Intelligence and Wisdom are all the way up at 15. mages be magin’. next, Dexterity is set at 13. this is both for multiclassing and because you don’t wear platemail and also aren’t dead. after that is Constitution. iirc Kadoc is the one we see walking the length of America in the simulated singularity montage, and while he’s complaining he also has the breath to complain, so he’s not bad. this all means your Strength and Charisma is at 8. Kadoc is a mage, which automatically applies a debuff to those two skills.

Class Levels

1. Wizard 1: I promise we’re not making Kadoc weaker on purpose, but he’s a mage so being a wizard first just makes sense.

as a wizard, you get proficiency in Intelligence and Wisdom saves, as well as Arcana and Investigation to be the mage society info guy for the audience. You also get a ton of Spells you can cast and prepare using your intelligence, all tied up in your handy-dandy spellbook. you get six spells now and two more every time you level up, plus whatever other spells you can copy down as you travel. as such, the spell list in the character sheet is more of a guideline than a a hard rule. mages will always take whatever gives them the best advantage in a situation, and so should you.

your cantrips are more set in stone though, so pick up Create Bonfire to set up camp, Message for the chaldea walkie-talkie, and one other cantrip of your choice.

on top of all that magic, your Arcane Recovery lets you recharge a few spell slots on a short rest up to a combined level total of half your wizard level rounded up. right now that’s 1 first-level slot, but by the time we’re done wizarding you’ll have enough recharge to get a third level spell, three first level spells, or one each of first and second level. say what you want about Kadoc in terms of power, but the man just refuses to die.

2. Wizard 2: second level wizards get their arcane specialty, and as a War Magic wizard you specialize in putting what you know into practice. you can use up your magical power for an Arcane Deflection, adding 2 to your AC or 4 to a saving throw as a reaction to being hit at the cost of not using leveled spells next turn. your Tactical Wit also lets you add your intelligence modifier to your initiative. going second makes people die, have you seen what Tametomo can dish out?

3. Wizard 3: third level wizards get second level spells. again, take what you want, though I will say Enhance Ability feels pretty mage-y. it gives you or an ally advantage on one kind of ability check for a minute, plus some extra bonuses if you pick a physical stat. it’s an all-rounder, and definitely pretty useful.

4. Wizard 4: use your first ASI to bump up your Intelligence. now your spells are stronger and you’re less likely to get ambushed by billy the kid. sorry, too soon?

5. Wizard 5: fifth level wizards get third level spells, and I will insist on you getting Counterspell. a running theme throughout Kadoc’s appearances as a master is that one of his skills blocks or severely weakens noble phantasms, so countering a big spell fits right in.

6. Wizard 6: sixth level war wizards can make a Power Surge. you start off with one surge at the end of each long or short rest, and you can gain extra by countering spells. once per turn, you can use a power surge to add three points of extra damage to one of your spells.

7. Ranger 1: swapping over to ranger gets you some skill with martial equipment, as well as the Survival skill. you also become a Natural Explorer of the Arctic to get around Chaldea and your lostbelt easier. again, I swear I’m not deliberately picking the worse options just to make Kadoc weaker. I wouldn’t blame you for not believing me, especially after we pick up Favored Enemy so he can track beasts better instead of the other thing. but look, favored foe only works on weapon attacks. I’m sure Kadoc’s good with a knife, but he’s still supposed to be a mage.

8. Ranger 2: speaking of being a mage, second level rangers can pick up a Fighting Style, and as a Druidic Warrior you can get two more cantrips from the druid class like Druidcraft and Guidance. this whole build’s just kind of generic good stuff spells until we get stuff from ranger.

speaking of getting spells from ranger, you get Spells from ranger this level! now you can cast Absorb Elements and Hunter’s Mark using your wisdom! just make sure you only use hunter’s mark on beasts.

9. Ranger 3: okay again, I swear I’m not picking up Primeval Awareness just to make Kadoc weaker. most of the primal awareness spells are pro-beast, which entirely defeats the point of anti-beast magic. besides, having one option is way less complicated in the long run.

third level rangers also pick their conclave this level, and as a Monster Slayer you get extra magic as you level up, starting with Protection from Evil and Good. a lot of celestial and demonic enemies are really just beasts with wings and horns when you think about it. you also get a Hunter’s Sense, letting you spend an action up to wisdom modifier times per day to learn a creature’s damage immunities, resistances, and vulnerabilities. most beasts don’t really have any of those, but you never know!

more on-brand, you can mark a creature as your Slayer’s Prey as a bonus action, letting you deal extra damage to that creature with weapon attacks once a turn. again this is kind of getting away from maging, but it has other uses later. there’s no limits on what you can do with this one, aside from only having one prey at a time, and it only lasting until you rest.

also get Goodberry. is berry. is good. what are you, jokester?

10. Ranger 4: use this ASI to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spells. mages like spells, wild.

11. Ranger 5: fifth level rangers get a second attack, but more importantly you can now Find Traps! mechanically this spell is pretty useless, but it’s still something we’ve seen Kadoc do, so it’s gotta go here. you can also use Zone of Truth. we haven’t seen Kadoc use this one but it’s gotta be something mages can do, right?

12. Ranger 6: sixth level rangers get extra stuff from favored enemy and natural explorer. since we’ve already got beasts and your regular home turf we’ll expand with your greatest enemies and further adventures, i.e. the crypters/Guda and areas from lostbelt 7. so now you get a bonus to figuring out stuff about Humans and Dhampir, and have a bonus while traveling in Forests.

13. Ranger 7: seventh level slayers have a Supernatural Defense. whenever a creature marked by slayers prey makes you roll a saving throw, or an ability check to escape a grapple, you add a d6 to the roll. octopi are beasts, fuck octopi.

you can also cast Lesser Restoration, the closest thing D&D has to a debuff cleanse this low-level.

14. Ranger 8: use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity to start sooner and get a higher AC. you also gain Land’s Stride, letting you move through difficult terrain without issue and pretty much ignore dangerous plants. plants are not beasts, but beasts tend to hang out near them so… I guess it helps? you can go full clownfish and hide in a poisonous plant now, which is fun.

15. Ranger 9: ninth level rangers get third level spells, including our most directly offensive spell so far, Conjure Barrage. just so you have something, y’know? you also get Magic Circle, which sadly can’t summon any servants.

16. Ranger 10: tenth level rangers enter the next strata of Mictlan, the Grasslands, giving them all the natural explorer bonuses therein. you can also use Nature’s Veil as a bonus action to become invisible for a turn, proficiency times a day. see, we don’t always take the worse option!

17. Ranger 11: at eleventh level a monster slayer becomes a Magic-User’s Nemesis. when a creature casts a spell or teleports near you, you can react to counter it, forcing them to make a wisdom save against your spell save DC. you can use this once per short rest. sadly this technically doesn’t mingle with your power surges at all, but tbh I’d definitely allow it, it’s good flavor.

also you can use Barkskin now to not die even harder.

18. Ranger 12: use this last ASI to improve your Constitution for more HP and less dying.

19. Ranger 13: thirteenth level rangers get fourth level spells- Dominate Beast is about as anti-beast as one can get, and automatically puts you on PETA’s shitlist. you can also Banish creatures back to the planes they came from. again, save it for the animalistic monstrosities.

20. Ranger 14: at level 14 you can Vanish as a bonus action to hide, and it’s impossible to track you without using magic. everyone you’re fighting is a mage. fuck.

you also get one last boost in favored enemies, so now you can track Reborn and Halflings really well, covering every master build we’ve done so far.

Pros & Cons:

Pros:

Kadoc is pretty dang good at shutting down enemies when they try to do something too cool. he’s got counterspell and a ton of higher-level spell slots just gathering dust, plus his ranger ability if he ever runs out. sure, higher level enemies might just force a success, but that still removes one of their guaranteed saves.

as a ranger, Kadoc comes packed with a ton of out of combat skills that can come in handy during travel. I know a lot of games don’t care for survival elements, but when your party gets in a big chase or has to be somewhere before a deadline you’ll be thankful for that speed boost.

Kadoc ended up weirdly good at saving throws. all of the big three saves are relatively high, and you can boost them further with your slayer’s prey abilities too!

Cons:

Kadoc’s spells don’t do a lot of damage, at least the ones I picked. this one’s borderline since you can choose a lot of them for yourself, but it can still be an issue.

he also ended up being a lot more martial than I was really hoping for. I know rangers are supposed to be martial, but having several of their features only proc on weapon attacks really hurt the build overall. I’m sure Kadoc can use a knife in a pinch, but this was a bit much.

you have minimum Charisma, with almost no proficiencies to help out either aside from scaring people. thank goodness you hang out with Fujimaru all the time.

[iamleesi]

THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x OC! Avenger Reader

Summary: You and Bucky think there’s something the brothers are hiding. You and Dean go to investigate and let’s just say you leave the scene feeling worse than before.

Warnings: Mention of a missing person, mention of an alcoholic, creepy stuff.

Other: English isn’t my first language so I apologize for eventual mistakes. -> 18+ !!

-> Masterlist

-> Part two ; Part four

-> Investigation (03)

As the shrill sound of the alarm pierced silence of the morning, you groaned and reluctantly cracked open your eyes. God, if you were tired. You and Bucky had spent the whole previous night with Sam and Dean, talking about the case and getting to know each other a little better. It had been a bit awkward, though, because Bucky didn’t even try to look interested and you weren’t really the social butterfly either.

But those two? Dean was about as social as a dead snake and Sam… at least Sam tried. But it was kind of hard considering the evident fight the two brothers had going on, whatever the reason was.

Tossing aside the sheets, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet meeting the cold hardwood floor. The sunlight filtered through the curtains and you lazily rubbed your eyes and got up, walking towards the bathroom to take a quick shower.

You didn’t sleep much last night, as your mind kept reminding you of the case you were working on. You had dealt with Hydra-related missions before, but never like this. And for some reason, this time you felt a shiver run down your spine every time you thought about it.

You walked downstairs all refreshed, even if you wouldn’t be opposite to hop into bed once again, and the scent of coffee filled the rooms. You figured it must have been Bucky, since the spot on the couch where he slept on last night was empty. He had refused to sleep in the same bed as you and, honestly, you didn’t comply much. No reason to make the situation more awkward than it already was.

As you walked into the kitchen, your eyes immediately fell on Bucky who was engrossed in the files of the case spread out on the table.

You cleared your throat, breaking the silence as you sat down a few seats away from him. “Morning.”

Bucky glanced up, almost as if he didn’t even hear you walk in. But you know he did, he was just not acknowledging you. “Took you long enough.” He muttered.

You rolled your eyes as you poured yourself some coffee, frowning when you noticed some muffins on the table as well. “Who are those from?”

“I bought them this morning.” He grunted. “As a sweet husband buying breakfast for his wife.”

“Mrs Barnes appreciates.” You mocked him, as you didn’t think twice about eating one of those delicious muffins. You were starving without even realizing. “Anything new?” You asked, referring to the files.

“No.” He simply said. “But I think those two are hiding something.” He admitted, and that made you frown.

“Who? Sam and Dean?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes finding yours. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice their behavior yesterday. They’re also related, Fury never sends siblings on a mission together since it could compromise the whole thing if feelings are involved.”

“I did notice, that’s why I called Fury.” You said. “He told me they’re good in what they do and that he had no other options.”

“Sounds weird.” He muttered.

“Very. But Fury knows what he’s doing, so… let’s just go with the flow.” You shrugged, biting the chocolate muffin. “Mrs Barnes would also love some pizza tonight.” You hinted, smirking at his annoyed expression.

“Eat that quickly because Dean is taking you on a trip today.” He rolled his eyes at you, getting up. “Should be here anytime now, I met him early this morning.”

“Uh?”

“He insisted on taking you to interrogate Cassandra’s family today, the nurse. See if you can find a lead or something.” He explained.

“Wasn’t I supposed to be the stay at home wife?” You raises a brown but didn’t complain. You could never complain if it meant trying to solve this case and go back home as soon as possible.

“Change of plans.”

“And you? What are you doing today?” You inquired. Knowing him, he’d never stay at home doing nothing.

“Sam’s gonna come over. There are a few files of missing people we need to look at.”

* * * *

You and Dean stood in front Cassandra’s parents’ house, both of you dressed formally for this. He gave you a fake badge that you had no idea how he got, but didn’t pry as it wasn’t the right time. He adjusted his tie, before turning to look at you. “Ready?” His voice was low, and he wanted to make sure you both were on the same page before starting.

Your nod was all he needed before he ran the bell, the sound was heard even from the outside.

It didn’t take long for someone to open the door, and soon enough it cracked open revealing Mrs Miller’s tear-streaked face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression a mix of grief and suspicion.

“What do you want?” She snapped looking mostly at you rather than him, her voice full of bitterness.

Dean flashed his badge and the action reminded you to do the same, his expression remained stoic mirroring your own. “Mrs Miller, we’re the with the FBI. We need to ask you a few questions about your daughter.”

“Stepdaughter.” She clarified. The woman’s gaze flickered between the both of you, her demeanor was guarded which was rather suspicious. Or maybe it was just grief and she wanted to be left alone, you didn’t know. “I’ve already told the police everything I know. I don’t have time for this.”

You stepped forward as soon as you understood that she was about to close the door. “We understand this is a difficult time for you, Mrs Miller, but we’re here to know more about Cassandra. We want to bring her home.”

“Just…” The woman hesitated for a moment before reluctantly stepping aside, allowing you and Dean to walk inside. “Be quick.”

As you and him stepped over the threshold, you took your time to see your surrounding which weren’t exactly what you expected. Inside, the atmosphere was stagnant. You could see that all the windows in your sight were locked and dusty, which is something you didn’t notice from the outside.

At each step you took towards the living room, the flower beneath your weight cracked. The furniture was dusty, clearly untouched in a long, long time and the cobwebs hung from the ceiling - they almost occupied every angle of the house. The thing that really made you shiver were those pictures hanged on the walls.

The faces of Cassandra’s family starred back at you, their eyes seemed cold and lifeless. There was something off about the way they were arranged, but you couldn’t wrap your head around what it was.

You and Dean sat down onto the worn couch of the dusty living room, the tension could be cut with a knife. Mrs Miller hovered nearby, her movements seemed stiff and unnatural like a marionette being pulled by invisible strings.

On one side, you could understand. This woman had lost her only daughter just a few days ago - even if there were no proof she was dead, both you and Dean suspected it and maybe she thought so too.

Still, you knew something wasn’t quite right with the oldest woman.

Dean’s voice cut through the silence and the tense atmosphere as he began to ask questions about Cassandra’s whereabouts, his tone firm yet empathetic. “Can you tell us about Cassandra’s routine? Did she mention anything unusual happening to her the days before she went missing?” 

Mrs Miller shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes flickering for the slightest moment towards the staircase. “She - she was always so independent. She didn’t have - she didn’t tell me much about her comings and goings.” Not once she met his eyes. Nor yours. “She - she had - she had an ex boyfriend I think.”

You saw it then. There was a guardedness in her response, as if she was scared to say the wrong thing and spill too much information.

“Can you think of anyone who wanted to harm Cassandra in anyway?” You inquired, your eyes fixed solely on her. “Maybe this ex boyfriend of hers?“

Mrs Miller’s gaze shifted nervously between you and the man at your side, but when you spoke up her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. Nothing ever scared you, but this somehow felt almost supernatural. “Adam was - is - was - an alcoholic. Yes, yes he is an alcoholic.”

“Can you tell us more about their relationship?” You asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Mrs Miller’s lips tightened, her eyes staring into yours - she seemed to despise you. She looked at Dean normally, but whenever she turned to look at you it felt like she wanted to come for your neck. “Why do you want to know about - about Adam? What does he have to do with any of this - leave him alone! Please leave him alone!”

“Mrs Miller, we’re not accusing anyone. We just want to know more about Cassandra.” Dean said softly, trying to calm her down.

Her eyes widened, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “She - she was always so careful. Always looked over her shoulders - oh, he needs to eat, do you mind letting him eat?” She started to ramble incoherent words after wards, which left both you and Dean momentarily speechless. “He needs to eat now - it’s the voices. Always whispering - he needs to eat. Always - I need to feed him… where’s my husband? My husband, where’s my husband?”

“It’s best if we leave, Dean.” You whispered as Mrs Miller’s sanity became thinner by the second.

The look she gave you felt almost threatening, as if you had asked something way too personal. “No. He needs to eat.” She said sternly. “Everyone in this family loved her. Everyone. Everyone.” She started to nervously pinch her arm, and you wondered if perhaps you asked the wrong thing. “Everyone loved her.” She repeated again, as if it was a mantra.

Dean was about to say something when you all heard a sudden noise from upstairs, a sharp bang that reverberated through the quiet house. It happened once, then twice and then it transformed to something that you associated with someone scratching wood.

“We should take a look upstairs.” Dean said, keeping his voice slow and steady considering that woman seemed to be getting worse by the second.

In fact, without any of you two saying another word, her composure began to crack; her breathing became more ragged and erratic. Then, without you could comprehend what the fuck was going on, she erupted into a fit of hysterical laughter, the sound echoing off the walls like a sinister symphony.

Before you or Dean could react, Mrs Miller rose to her feet in an instant, her movements were frenetic and unpredictable. “You can’t help her! No one can!” Her laugh intensified if possible.

You wish to say you never assisted to something like this before, but you’d lie. Your composure in front of her meltdown was something that would leave people questioning whether you were sane yourself or not.

“Mrs Mil-”

The woman cut him off in an instant. “You need to leave! You can’t help her!” She yelled, her voice echoing through the house and the cracks on the walls.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Dean wanting to interviene but you were quick to grab his arm. “Dean.” You warned, your voice low as the woman started to throw things around. “Let’s go.”

With one last glance at the crazy woman before you, Dean nodded - to your surprise, he had that same look on your face. He didn’t seem fazed by what was happening which left you with a few questions. Together you made your way to the door with Mrs Miller hysterical screams echoing in your ears. 

You two stepped out of there closing the door behind you. Without a word you walked towards his car, but you suddenly stopped in your tracks - slowly, almost as if you felt someone watching you, you turned around again. Your eyes drifted to the upstairs window and your blood ran cold.

In the dim light, a shadowy figure loomed from behind the window; it’s form distorted and twisted. It seemed to sway ominously as if taunting you from the darkness. That thing stared back at you with those empty eyes - literally empty eyes, and your legs refused to move.

Dean followed your gaze, his jaw clenched. “It’s not my imagination, is it?” He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No.” You answered, your voice not louder than his.

You felt him grab your arm, and the next thing you knew is that he pulled you inside the car and drove away from the house - and you swore you were still feeling those empty eyes on you even when you were far away from it.

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay Visuals - Christmas Don't Be Late (The Chipmunk Song)

VoicePlay didn't actually release a full-length Christmas song in 2021 (just a couple of Christmas Minis instead), and so we're jumping ahead to the 3rd of December, 2022, when VoicePlay released what may in fact be my favourite Christmas song cover of theirs ever!

As a group, VoicePlay have had quite a lot of experience with performing this song over the years, as it was a regular part of their setlist when they used to perform at Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party at Walt Disney World. If you wanna learn more about that, check out these posts by @jules-has-notes linked HERE and HERE (and I hope Jules doesn't mind me tagging them but seriously their blog has *so much* stuff about old VoicePlay stuff, further back than I go that's for sure!)

Anyway, the original arrangement for this song, i.e. the one VP used for live performances, was done by a guy called Chris Diaz, who is (was?) in an acapella group himself, but Geoff made quite a few alterations to the song/arrangement himself, and so both him and Chris are credited with the arrangement! Geoff was also in charge of the video, he co-directed it with Tony, and yes, he added additional music bits and original lyrics of his own, because of course he did 😄

And of course the song features the amazing DeeJay Young, but enough talking, let's get into this!

First of all, love the way VoicePlay started the song with the kinda "old-timey" effect on the visuals (and the audio too!). They did something similar for the start of Sh-Boom and In The Air Tonight, and did it for a brief moment in We're Good as well.

Second of all, do you recognise the set? You should! It's the same one Geoff used for his Way Down video, just with a bit of added Christmas flair!

Not the most perfect screenshot but I just had to give a shoutout for how Geoff suddenly runs into the shot. Like seriously neither words nor individual screencaps do it justice but I find it very amusing 😝

(Also, Eli is again weaing black sneakers with thick white soles)

Cesar as Alvin is literally perfect casting honestly. Like nobody else could do it better.

(Also Cesar was in fact genuinely filming stuff on his phone during this bit, and that footage got included in the BTS video for this cover, and it's just as entertaining and hilarious as you'd expect)

I want that shirt

DeeJay is looking pretty stylish there too! (And yes Cesar also looks great in his blazer)

Alright so Layne is Dave (the human guy character), Cesar is Alvin, Deejay is Theodore, Eli is Simon, and Geoff is... Geoff? 😂😅

"ALVIIINNNN!!!!!"

(*pfft*)

*ding*

(Yeah this video definitely still makes me laugh 😂)

"Alvin! Stop riffing so much and stick to the music!"

Unfair! DeeJay and Eli do heaps of riffing all the time! (And we love them for it, lol)

Also I don't know what the sheet music "says" in terms of the music notes, but I love that it at least appears to be a legit page of sheet music for the song, complete with VoicePlay logo at the top!

"So listen for those nine reindeer!"

Also it's not a visual thing, but given that quite a few reactors didn't seem to notice/realize it, I gotta point out that the sleigh bell/jingle bell sound here is very much done by Layne! Probably with a little bit of post-production effect, but still, very impressive!

"A brand new bottle of hair gel!"

"A bright green dress like ✨Tinkerbell!✨"

*PFFT*

This line is specifically a reference to the fact that they used to perform this song at Disney World, as I mentioned at the start, but this line has also been used in some of their older performances of it too I believe?

Also whenever I sing this song to myself, I literally can NEVER, sing the "bright green dress like Tinkerbell" line, because I always start laughing every time!

"Dooon't be la-ate!"

(I think he really wants that dress you guys 😉😝)

*sigh* He's so pretty and handsome, I love him (look, about 90% of my Voiceplay Visuals posts involve at least one moment of me pointing out how good Geoff looks! I apologise for nothing!)

(Also it took a decent bit of restraint for me to not include even more Geoff screenshots in this just because)

"So put your sleigh in- (so put your sleigh in its top gear!)"

I don't think I've actually noticed this bit before but damn Cesar ain't messing around! He wants presents NOW! 😂

"A tweet from Musk would make me grin!" (heavy grimacing)

I actually checked the lyrics for this song cover on Spotify (back before Spotify made lyrics available only to Premium users, rip), and this line is actually changed for the audio-only version it seems, to "a gift from mom would make me grin", which is fair, because the very faked sincerity of this line wouldn't convey as easily without the visuals.

"Front row seats to Hamilton!"

VoicePlay are no stranger to including references to modern day media stuff in their Christmas Don't Be Late performances, but this is also a not-super-subtle shoutout to the fact that DeeJay was on tour as a cast member in Hamilton! (And still is performing in Hamilton I believe?) He's been playing the role of Aaron Burr I believe? Which is very very impressive, shoutout to DeeJay!

"We can hardly wait!"

(Also hey is that a little Eli Eyebrow Raise I see?)

And I have to give a shoutout to the bridge section of this cover - another Geoff Castellucci original, it's so good! Fits in perfectly, as all his lyrics do! (Original song WHEN?)

"I've been so wonderful!"

I love how the responses of reactors to this moment have been a mix of "aww yes you have Cesar!" and "hmmm I'm not so sure (light-hearted) but I still love you regardless" 😄😁

Get it Cesar! Love the dancing!

Only just noticed Eli has the Hamilton booklet thing shoved in the back pocket of his jeans, lol

Cesar what are you doing? 😆

"Great job, chipmunks! Even you, Alvin! Now let's try it with some helium!"

*pfft*, what a way to end the video honestly

Geoff looks confused, Eli looks uncertain/doubtful (another Eli Eyebrow Raise!), DeeJay looks like he's either down for it or hasn't fully processed it, and Cesar looks HORRIFIED XD

(Also what would Geoff even sound like on helium when singing bass? Normal? /j 😂)

So that's Christmas Don't Be Late! VoicePlay turned a song that's really quite short, slow, and overall fairly forgettable, into an absolute bop and banger, and the video is super fun as well. Like seriously, this is one song that no one else has done or will do in the same way that VoicePlay has, and that's a big part of what I love about it! Until next time!

[ms-scarletwings]

I am sorry to bother you but I have to say, I feel Dib got treated too harshly most of the time. It's the point of the story yes but at times it just feels flat out sadistic for no reason.

It's why the Gargantis Array comic storyline sucks to me, it was just two issues of buildup to make Dib a gross fat joke and humiliate him across space. Jhonen just really seems to love torturing Dib more than anyone and it's rarely even deserved.

Oh, this is the opposite of a bother, friendo!

I actually have a lot of reading to still do on the topic of the comics. I’m woefully only really up to good knowledge about issues 46-49 and a lot of bits of pieces otherwise. If what you’re saying rings true, that is sad to hear, but pretty interesting still. I’ve always in the back of my head been a little afraid that Dib’s karma could be flanderized to the point of making him a butt monkey. Especially when we all know that’s supposed to be Skoodge’s job! (waka waka)

As for the show, honestly? I think they managed the balance just fine. It’s not so much that the show was specifically cruel to him, but that sadism broadly was one of its central themes and there were no efforts made to exclude Dib from that. And why should they have? He’s not an innocent woobie, and in fact is actually in the seat of a very ambitious antagonist against the real main character’s goals. Arbitrary events of misfortune and pain were the bread and butter of the series back then, and almost no one was spared. Jhonen (who cameoed himself in the show just to choke on a fish and die for a joke) also from what I hear injected a lot of his own qualities into Dib, so I imagine it probably IS very entertaining to him to give the boy the works.

From what I have seen of the comics, that looks like a much finer line to tow. And this more of an off the cuff ramble, but you know what I think??? I think they made Dib a touch way too sympathetic actually. There’s so much more focus on just him and Zim’s side antics, and the more time you take Dib off world and away from the rest of the Earth side characters, the fewer reminders they give you about how many of his problems are majorly self inflicted and how much of a disturbance he can be to society. And, for better or worse, a less dark overall tone in the comics means that the moments of overtly black comedy are going to stand out a little more against the modernized background by contrast.

And there’s another elephant in the room that kind of gets to me, personally. As well as I can put it well, the art style change kind of really affects the lens he can be viewed through. Maybe more than most people want to admit. And I’m not dissing the rounded down, brightened up change, it’s not a better or worse direction from the show… but it is a different one with different strengths and weaknesses.

Like, look at Dib’s early season model sheets for a base of reference.

Now compare him alongside the comic and Florpus interpretation of Dib Membrane. OBVS I am simplifying a ton here, there’s a ton of room for more range than these examples.

I’m not here to say he’s a better or worse Dib visually, he’s still Dib to me! But is notable how comic Dib actually breaks a ton of the “rules” of what kind of character they wanted Dib to be. To put it one way, they sanded down some of his edges and he’s not as apparently “skrungly” as he used to be.

What I like about the change is that it actually gives the better impression of him actually being the lil dorkass kid he’s always been. He’s got a slight aesthetic shift that shows off his unique interests and it definitely sets him apart from Zim, who actually retained most of his own show design. He’s still got some funny lookin’ qualities and he’s so much more endearing

One of the downsides of all that, however, is probably that he’s so damn endearing and as a default.

I dunno if you ever watched Little Shop of Horrors, amazing musical btw, but, it’s supposed to have this whole tragic ending where the main character’s, Seymour’s, long chain of mistakes catch up with him and he meets his demise. In the movie, they casted Rick Moranis for the character, and he played such a puppy-eyed, adorkable Seymour that it made audiences suddenly too bummed out to even appreciate the dark ending. They hated it so much that the crew actually just changed the ending completely so that Seymour gets a consequence-free happy ending with everything he ever wanted. Even though he’s literally a serial murderer of sorts. You were always supposed to feel for him, but not to the point where watching him fail just makes you feel horrible.

I think Dib works kinda like that on a meta level.

If there’s any ruling on what goes over that invisible line when it comes to handling his character, I think Florpus Gaz nailed it right on the head. Dib is never supposed to just utterly break under the weight of his world. Can he sometimes crack? Yeah totally, especially in the “brink of madness” sense. Or if it’s funny. The golden rule is not to give him more than he can handle, and Dib CAN handle a lot of bullshit. He may be a frustrated lil squirt but he’s been at this for a very long time, and it’s hype af watching how he’s not slowing down even in the face of that. Dib and Zim’s biggest POSITIVE shared trait is the strength of their spirits against a world that is ultimately callous and cruel at every turn to them.

Every second you write Dib where he’s wallowing in despair or feeling sorry for himself is a second you come closer to that line and it’s what you need to dish out in wary moderation.

So I guess the TL:DR of what i think I’m getting at here is… it’s all about perspective.

But I really should read more of the comics.

[tails-perhour]

This past weekend was me and my partner's anniversary :) these are our forces characters! I love my partner so much, her wolf and Penny share a similar fashion sense aren't they cute? I bet they'd be besties

I love my partner and I hope we have the rest of our life together. Thanks for always being with me and supporting my terrible cringe

Buddy the cat and Whimsy the wolf ! I'm gonna yap cause that's what I do, plus the characters of screenshots from the game too!

I actually didn't mind forces it was fun to play and I love a character creator, but! I also get the critiques and have my own issues with it

But anywho, Buddy, Whimsy, and Buddy's brother Funky are in their own little story separate from the fankids but I often put them in the background of comics and ect cause I love them, I need to solidify their outfits tho and make them some real reference sheets

The forces au I have plays into the apocalyptic end of things and these two work together a lot in the resistance! Buddy is highly traumatized and Whimsy is the only one he trusts, she helps him feel more alive :) just like my real life partner

These ones are based on the forces game and their actual outfits there, here are the screen shots!

Here they are! And funky bc.... yeah, I have an old comic to an old tiktok sound that I love but could never get to look right as a finished product, it was about buddy and funky and their backstory, why buddy is so traumatized in the first place

Honestly when I pulled up these characters I was shocked at how similar penny and Whimsy's styles are lol I wonder if that was subconsciously on purpose or not, I'm not sure who came first tbh, 🤔 kiks I've had since middle(?) School and the next batch of my sonic ocs are from like 2022 I know the fankids order but don't know where buddy Whimsy and funky fit in that time line,

Like in order kiks was first obv and then penny and then flare about the same time and then later on aria then even later I made minjun, mari, and dusk, :) I feel like the forces characters were before the fankids but idk lmao

But I should stop cause I'll just babble endlessly about nothing

But!!!! I love my wife and I'm so glad to have her in my life ! This is for her! Bye!

[sucrosette]

★— ⋆｡˚ [Simple Things]

For Day 29 of Carry on Countdown 23, Cherry @carryon-countdown

Basil and Simon share a picnic in the park

Rated T for language & vague reference to shit childhoods.

This is the final of the Nurse/Lawyer AU. Enjoy~ 🖤 [Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4]

⋆｡˚

���Why cherry scones?” Basil asks, his head on my lap, my spare hand running through his long, dark hair while the other reaches into our picnic basket and cracks off another bit of scone to feed him, and then myself.

I hum and press a kiss to the point of his widow’s peak. “It’s not that complicated, they’re just good.”

He reaches up to stroke a hand soft over the side of my neck and I lean into the touch instinctively. “No nostalgia?”

He doesn’t say it, but I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s noticed a bit how I’ll get just a tad bit weepy when I’m making them. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s noticed how much it means to me that he always gets ingredients for more of them whenever he does the grocery shopping. “I suppose,” I admit, tugging at a stray strand of his hair, “There’s a little nostalgia.”

Baz’s hands are so soft against my neck, so gentle and soothing, he looks so soft like this. We don’t do this sort of thing often. I work too much, he works too much. Days spent in local parks having picnics and lingering just aren’t exactly in the cards for us, but we’ve been making more time for them. He’s taken me on a beach day recently too, but this one was my idea.

“Tell me about it?” Baz asks as I tug on that stray strand of hair again, soothing over it immediately after. “If you want to.”

I nod, still thinking about the sentiment of the park a little bit. It’s a park I used to frequent with Penny, back when she’d been living in the UK too. Baz knows that part, I’d told him that much when I’d planned our little date. When we’d first gotten here, we’d even snapped a couple of selfies that I could send over her way. Or well, really I’d done the snapping of selfies. Baz just sort of quirked his lips for them. He looked nice though. Baz always looked nice in our photos.

Baz also doesn’t send texts like “our old haunting grounds!! I miss you!!” to anyone, really.

He texts a bit like an old man. No emoji, proper punctuation, very little by way of abbreviations or shorthand. I think he mostly uses voice-to-text, which makes sense. His hands are always busy. I kind of think it’s cute.

“Simon?”

Right, we were talking.

“You know how Pen and I used to come here?” I start, and he nods, not really needing the reminder from just this morning. “We used to come here with stolen scones from the boarding school kitchens. I just used to shovel armfulls into my back and ditch and end up all over with them. It was sort of all I ate back then, but honestly… it was the first food I really liked in my childhood.”

Baz knows about my childhood, about how I bounced from foster to foster, from group home to group home. My non-existent concept of family, my struggle with deep relationships and trustworthy adults. Somehow I kept running into the problematic sort in my childhood. But Baz knows all that already. I don’t need to get into it.

He pokes at my chin gently before leaning up slightly to get his own bit of scone, feeding me another bite back. “Who taught you to make them?”

“Ahh…” I think I can feel myself flushing, “I sort of… shilled together the recipe a little bit at a time. I made a lot of mistakes. I may have destroyed at least three baking sheets in the process.”

“Simon,” Baz sounds utterly disbelieving. He looks it too. I have to laugh about it. He should know by know what a danger I can be to common household objects. “Simon Snow, you did not bullshit together a recipe when google exists.”

“I did,” I nod down at him, as disappointed as he is about it. “I did and I had access to google in the school library and I ignored it in favour of ruining Cook Pritchard’s life.”

“You’re terrible,” Baz snorts out. He also leans up to kiss me again, cupping my cheek soft. He’s so full of affection for me. He doesn’t have to say it when he kisses me like that. He says it anyway. “I love you, menace to society that you are.”

I love how he can say something like that, call me something like that, and sound so impossibly fond. “I know you do,” I answer, grinning back at him and leaning back on my elbows. He chases me down for another soft kiss and I lean back again, avoiding him, making him chase me more, making him chase me all the way down until I’m lying fully on the grass and he’s leaning above me and holding my hands and kissing me silly.

I’m laughing through all of it, twisting our hands together and squeezing my fingers over his. I lean up and chase him down for more kisses before he can pull back, before he can get us water or more sour cherry scones or anything else. I love catching him in fits of kissing like this, dragging him back for more and more until we both forget anything else.

I could live off his smile, I think, when he’s kissing me silly like this. He still makes me so bloody giddy and it’s been well over a year and I spend all my free time with him. Everyone says that’ll change, that I’ll get tired of him around all the time. Coworkers, old classmates, old foster siblings and people I knew from therapy and group homes, basically everyone but Pen, but I think they’re sodding insane. They probably think I’m insane for thinking it’s not going to change, but I know myself. I know all I need is that silly bloody smile, that gorgeous bloody laugh, those sweet, bloody tender kisses…

“Tell me more of your favourite foods,” Baz asks between my laughter and his kisses.

I’m a little caught off guard. I’d forgotten we were talking still again, but I just grin up at him. “Anything you make me is my favourite food.”

“That’s cheating, love,” Baz snorts out another laugh, “You have to give a real answer, or else I’m just going to cook for me forever.”

“I like whatever you cook for you,” I shrug under him, chasing down another soft, silly little kiss, a little giddy-drunk-stupid on his affections, “That’s plenty real enough, I think.”

He hums back at me, nipping soft over my lips. “You’ll have to give a real answer sooner or later, Simon, or else we’ll be serving basilla and fattah at our wedding.”

“Okay but I actually do love your fattah.” And I do. I love all his home cooking, but the casual wedding talk is new. Distracing. I can’t help but drift back to it. “You want to marry me?”

He laughs. Of course he bloody laughs. As if it were obvious.

“More than anything.”

He says it so bloody confidently, and I know one day he’s going to ask, and one day I’m going to say yes. I’m not even going to have time to figure out my own plan. He’s already got it all figured out, but I don’t mind. I like that he’s got our lives planned out like this, I like that I can trust him with me like this.

No, more than like it, I love it. “We’re going to have to have cherries in the cake then. That’s my only demand.”

“As if I wasn’t already planning on it.” Baz’s so bloody smug about it, smirking down at me.

I shove a scone in his mouth and shove him over just to wipe that look off his face. “You’re such a bloody prick.”

Unfortunately, he’s still just as smug. “You love this bloody prick.”

“Unfortunately,” I groan back. I can’t commit though. I’m already kissing him bloody stupid all over again. “Unfortunately, I’m going to marry this bloody prick.”

[aeymii]

Actually there's something goofy I came up with that I sent to theamityelf and Fala in asks that I thought I should share. A Komaedaverse gathering where it's revealed that there's at least one universe for every Nagito ship. And the Nagitos at the gathering form clubs with other Nagitos who are also in a relationship with their respective partner. Where they gush about how much they adore them.

For obvious reasons the joint Komahina + Kamukoma club is the largest. With even some of the other clubs' Nagitos being granted honorary membership (since it's hard to find a Nagito that doesn't crush on a Hajime even just a little). There's nothing that'll make a whole bunch of Nagitos start giggling like schoolgirls like shouting out the word "Octagon". But you've got others like the Komaegi club, the Komanami club, the Matsukoma club, the Komamiki club, clubs dedicated to those three rarepairs I mentioned in the other asks, and many others. And of course Nagitos in other polyships can have their own multi-memberships.

They all like to gush about ways their respective partners will show affection. Take those three when it comes to kissing for example. Fuyuhiko will sometimes shut Nagito up by grabbing him by the collar and pulling him in for a kiss on the lips. It leaves Nagito a blushing mess. Imposter will put him on their lap, wrap their arms around him, and give a comforting kiss on the forehead. Which just makes him melt in Imposter's arms. Mahiru likes to do surprise kisses by approaching from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist, and kissing him on the cheek. Some Nagitos eventually get the courage to return the favor to their Mahiru. After which they get flustered and apologetic, being all like "Oh no, was that too much?". Only for Mahiru to assure him she likes this newfound confidence after getting over the surprise.

Though it's not always peaceful. Occasionally little fights break out between the Nagitos in regards to certain partners. The Komamiki club is made up of fiercely loyal Nagitos who are ready to throw hands with the "Mikan-skeptical" Nagitos of the multiverse, that are all like "What do you see in her, dude?". And of course the Junkomaeda club is super-controversial.

OOOO THIS IS SO SILLY I LOVE IT 😭😭 IT IS HARD TO FIND A NAGITO THAT DOESN'T LIKE HAJIME EVEN A LITTLE, LIKE BRO WAS INLOVE FOR 3 CHAPTERS AND STILL OBSESSED WITH HIM EVEN AFTER HE FOUND OUT HE WAS TALENTLESS HE AIN'T FOOLING NOBODY- hehe the octagon reference, yayyy the Komaegi and Konanami club :0 honestly every Komaeda ship is adorable!! He'd work so well with lots of people, the Matsukoma club!! AHHHHH ohhh the Komamiki club (my two babies, yes I adopted them keep scrolling) YAYY THE POLYSHIPS LESGGOO

AOSKSOSIJS THAT'S SO CUTE I CAN ALREADY IMAGINE IT, AHHHHHH IMPOSTER WOULD BE SO NICE TO HIM, And the way they kiss is just so cute, Twokoma is underated honestly!! Like the way imposter still moved him out of the way under the table and protected him from dying made me close to tears at my playthrough- MAHIRU WITH SURPRISE KISSES AGHHH I LOVE HER SO MUCH, SHE WOULD!! This is giving me diabetes in a good way 🩷🩷 oh sheet the fights hahah, YEAH DEFEND MIKAN WE LOVE HER SHE'S AN ANGEL ( Me the and the Mikan defense squad lol ) ahsjjzjzja the Jnkm's are maybe a bit controversial eheh ( NO OFFENSE TO TYE SHIPPERS ) Thanks for sharing this with me my favourite anon!!!! This is so cute HOW DO YOU GET THE MOST ADORABLE IDEAS- BE A WRITER!!!!<33

[phoenixglacier]

I’m just rambling, okay? There’s no point to this rant. You have been warned.

The thing about being a comics fan (been in DC comics for about six months now) is that unlike any other fandom I have been in, there is no One True Canon as far as I can tell.

No, seriously. Unless you were born in the last few years, your canon has been recooked into so many different recipes by writers and artists and editors who all probably violently disagree with each other. When I started reading and needed to log all of my comics to get some semblance of a reference sheet, I used to include the credits and highlight the names of writers and artists that did really well. And the flipside, you know. My own personal blacklist.

Starting out as primarily a Tim fan and a Damian fan simultaneously means I got used real fast to reading comics that sucked bad for one character but also mind-blowingly nailed it on another. What is a comics reader to do? You know, I come from certain fandoms where the canon was nailed down, and every undoing of it was deliberate, and I do do that. My 232+ epilogue of Percy Jackson isn’t public, but you better bet I combed through the canon with the same devotion that I highlighted every printed line I was going to change. But I’ve come out of comics a desensitized reader. Do I get the urge to edit and redraw every panel of Nightwing 2016 Issue 43 to undo all the truly desperate and honestly failing attempts to portray Roy as stupid (it doesn’t even work because he’s so smart he gives like 90% of the exposition in this chapter and always has an eye on the small child out of fatherly instinct) and to remove Cheshire (because what was even the point of her in this chapter? And if she wasn’t plot-relevant then why would you include her terrible characterisation for the sake of it) but keep a large chunk of the overall premise to preserve what I think was reasonable (if slightly nuked) characterisation of Damian being all huffy that he tsundered some time with Dick only to have Dick’s friend come in and he’s adorably and understandably jealous and yet he succeeds at telling Dick that he wants to spend more time with him at the end and then he and Roy bond over being slave-driven by Dick for the rest of the night… Where was I? Oh. Right. So, I mean, yeah. I do.

This is my way of interacting with media. Sure, I’d like it to be perfect and not have Fabian Nicieza nuke Damian in an attempt to make Tim and Dick more justified (based solely off of Nightwing 1996 #138 of the Resurrection of Ra’s Al Ghul series and honestly I should give him more credit because Damian specifically has a long blacklist and the only reason why I’m this harsh on him is because he wrote Dick and Tim beautifully and a few little tweaks would make me frame this chapter). But there’s a space for me to work with, as a writer.

So, okay. Flash writers are dedicated to the whole Flash cast and brought them back in canon, which is so important and useful honestly. I give the Flash family a big star sticker, formally adopt Wallace and Avery into the family, and set to work giving them daily lives. Everything’s great! (Jai. And his chronic pain. Is so important to me because it draws on my own experiences. I won’t go into it here and you’ll never get to see it unless…)

I timelines ages in the fandoms where it matters. It doesn’t matter in DC. It can’t. Dick has been alive for 84 years + pre-Robin, and he’s like twenty-something. Hitting thirty for the lols. You don’t age until you do. You know how you enter college and everyone graduates at different times depending on the density courses you take? Just me? Anyway that’s how ages work in DC and it’s not concrete and just don’t think about it.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

The Polin Shifter Romance - Chapter 2

Hey, hi, hello. I've put all my other Polin fics on Tumblr, so I guess it's time to put this one on too. The vibe is Bridgerton meets Sharpe with some My Lady Jane undertones, and honestly I'm kind of having a blast with it. In a Bridgerton AU where shifters are illegal, Penelope and Colin's love story is complicated by Penelope's secret and a Lord Provost Marshall who could ruin both of their lives. Will Pen and Colin find their way to each other, and maybe make England a better place for shifters on the way?

This is also cross-posted on Ao3 (I'm SometimesSheWritesLongIntoTheNight there), so if you want this more quickly than a chapter a week, you can find it there. Enjoy!

England - 1813

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Little is so clandestine and seductive during London season parties as the famous royal hedge maze. With its nooks and crannies, twists and turns, heads and hearts can easily be turned about to the point of dizziness! Incautious couples who plunge into the leafy depths like Shakespeare’s famous quartet may find Oberon’s wild pansy potion dripped onto sleeping lids.

Or, in the case of young Philip Cavender, they may find that some mischievous fairies know how to throw a punch. Yes, dear reader, the much-maligned younger son of the Cavender family has been seen about town this morning sporting quite the black eye, and after they and the Poohle family were seen to absquatulate from the queen’s ball in such an undignified manner. Given the shocking vibrance of the bruise, this author deems it unlikely that wedding bells shall follow whatever occurred in the maze—a duel seems far likelier.

Be warned, you men of the ton who would catch your Helenas and Hermias in hedge mazes: Young ladies often have brothers who know your ways, and those brothers are not above teaching their sisters the proper manner in which to dissuade you. Learn from Master Cavender’s mishap, and do nothing that would result in you deservedly sporting the head—or at least the bruised eye—of an ass.

            — Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

“Why does Lady Whistledown always insist on writing in references that nobody could possibly understand?” complained Prudence, from her seat at the small table in the morning room of Featherington House.

“It’s Shakespeare, you goose,” said Philippa, slurping her tea loudly. “She means that play we read, the one with the Forest of Arden.”

“I rather think she meant A Midsum—” Penelope began, before Prudence interrupted.

“It still seems very silly,” said Prudence. “Hedge mazes are not forests.”

“No, but if you were caught unchaperoned with a man in either one, you should surely have to marry him,” giggled Philippa as she reached for a small cake on the serving platter in the middle of the table. She examined it closely before popping it into her mouth.

“There shall be no unchaperoned visits into any types of foliage,” declared Portia. “Miss Poohle is extremely lucky that Lady Whistledown did not name her in this sheet; not another soul at the party could confirm that she was the chit in the maze. And certainly her mother will not allow anyone to examine her knuckles, that would simply be barbaric for anything less than an accusation of shifting.”

Lady Whistledown had indeed protected Miss Poohle as best she could, thought Penelope. The letters to Mary Anne and Fife had been far less artful, however, clearly scolding them for coming so close to being caught shifting on palace grounds, of all things. Fife was so embarrassed to have been seen that he had announced a continental tour to begin within the week—anything to get him out of London until the shifter community had forgotten about his complete lack of discretion. With any luck, there wouldn’t be any more issues with near-caught shifters this season. Truly, Mary Anne and Fife had come closer to being caught than anyone had in over a year.

This was the problem with having secrets. The longer one went successfully hiding it, the more blasé one was about keeping said secret. Near-misses and scares might serve to remind shifters that they had to be cautious, but the cost of getting caught—execution or conscription (merely a slower form of execution, in Penelope’s estimation)—was simply too high. And while Penelope could and did do her best to redirect ton attention and warn her fellow shifters, if ever there was another Miss Euphemia, there would be nothing at all she could do. Nothing, save stand silent and soul-wounded as one of her people was dragged away by Viscount Mowbray.

Every shifter caught and killed was a reminder to the others that they could all-too-easily be next.

“Miss Eloise Bridgerton,” announced a footman whose arrival Penelope had failed to mark.

Eloise barely stopped to curtsey politely and greet Lady Featherington and her elder daughters before grabbing Penelope’s hand and dragging her from the morning room, through the front hall, and out the door into the square. Penelope barely managed to pull one of her gloves on with the uncouth help of her teeth. Eloise would not release her other hand long enough for Penelope to get the other one on; it was hastily shoved in a pocket. She would tug it on once Eloise’s exuberance faded.

“Eloise, slow down!” Penelope had worn a day dress with long sleeves and wrapped a mostly opaque fichu around her exposed neck, so she wasn’t worried about Eloise seeing her bruising, despite her hair being up. That did not alleviate how stiff and sore she was.

“You shall never believe what I’ve heard,” said Eloise, breathless. “You know that my maid has a cousin who works in the palace, but what we did not know is that she was tidying the nooks and crannies of the hedge maze—”

“Why on earth would a maid need to tidy a hedge maze? Oughtn’t a gardener be involved in that task?”

“Gardeners manage the hedges, yes,” replied Eloise, turning to trot backwards across the square to face her friend as they spoke. “But the maids and footmen must check it after balls for lost items or evidence of anyone who overindulged and was ill. The queen apparently cannot stand that kind of mess.”

“Eloise will you watch where you are going?”

“No, you must listen! I think Lady Whistledown knows even more than people think she does. Everyone thinks that Miss Poohle was in a compromising position with Mr. Cavender, but Lady Whistledown said ‘couples’ plural.” A copy of that morning’s Whistledown was waved aggressively under Penelope’s nose, and Eloise sped her pace in excitement.

“I rather think she meant it in a general sense, not as a puzzle or conspiracy,” panted Penelope.

“I thought so too until my maid mentioned that her cousin had found a fragment of a gown in the maze that did not match Miss Poohle’s dress! Between that, ‘couples,’ and ‘Helenas and Hermias,’ I truly believe that Lady Whistledown was trying to tell us that Mr. Cavender was, in fact, meeting more than one—oh!”

The sound of hoofbeats had gone unnoticed by both girls, and trotting along backwards, Eloise had not seen the danger of a barely controlled phaeton heading their way. They would have both been hit had not a large man smoothly swept up both of them and pulled them out of the path of the speeding vehicle.

Even before the danger had fully passed, Eloise had whacked their rescuer on the arm and he released her so she could run a few steps after the phaeton, berating the driver for his recklessness and poor driving skills. She hadn’t looked twice at the man who had very likely saved her and Penelope’s lives.

The phaeton’s driver had quite left Penelope’s mind as soon as she recognized their erstwhile rescuer.

Her owl, generally sleeping or sluggish during the day, came abruptly to alertness and hissed in Penelope’s head. She was controlling her breathing, burying a fear that Miss Penelope Featherington, ordinary debutante, would have no reason to feel. Owl shifter Penelope, however, had every reason to fear the queen’s shifter hunter.

Viscount Mowbray had been very little at court in the five years since Miss Euphemia’s ignominious presentation, and Penelope had not had occasion to see him since that day. He was still hawkish, still dressed unfashionably for society but practically for a man who did hard physical work regularly. The parts of Penelope’s brain that weren’t occupied by a furious owl or frozen in a near-primal fear noted that despite the archaic style, the fabrics and tailoring were high quality.

His incongruously golden hair was still worn in a queue rather than cropped short, but there was a lighter streak in it that almost certainly grew from a scar on his scalp, and there were faint, white scars across the left side of his jawline that would undoubtedly match some poor predatory bird shifter’s claws. More claw scars and bite scars covered his hands, mostly gone white with age—the exception was a puffy, red, clearly recent scar that ran from the divot between his first two knuckles and disappeared beneath his cuff.  

Lifting her gaze, Penelope unexpectedly found herself meeting—and holding—Mowbray’s eyes. Any other gentleman of the ton would be focused on Eloise, both because she was a Bridgerton and because she was animatedly furious. This pattern had played out a few times during the girls’ friendship; gentlemen would flock to Eloise while Penelope was left to quietly manage herself and assess the situation. While Mowbray had an arm out to prevent Eloise from running back into the street and within easy reach should she choose to grasp it, his focus was on Penelope.

The intensity of his level, evaluative gaze was deeply unsettling for a young woman who was both used to being a wallflower and used to hiding herself in shifted form. It was also somehow magnetic; Penelope couldn’t have broken the eye contact if she had wanted to.

“We are not prey,” hissed her owl. Penelope wasn’t sure she agreed. This had to be what a mouse or vole felt when they were firmly in the sights of a predator and knew escape was futile. Even hiding in plain sight might not be enough to save her life when there were mere inches between hunter and hunted.

Was there something of approval in the back of his eyes? Or could he see through her façade to the owl in her head?

“Eloise!” Two similar voices and the sounds of running feet made Penelope’s owl, if not Penelope herself, relax. Mowbray still did not release her gaze.

“Eloise what on earth are you playing at?” Benedict Bridgerton’s normally relaxed, half focused elsewhere voice was highly immediate and a combination of furiously worried and deeply relieved. “You could have been run down, you are too old not to watch what you are about!”

“And to nearly get Pen run down alongside you, for heaven’s sake!” Colin’s voice was harder than Pen was accustomed to hearing, complicated with fury, worry, relief, and something she couldn’t quite place. His face might have given some clue—if she could have turned her head.

Warm hands enveloped Penelope’s, and suddenly Colin’s face was the entirety of her field of view. He was physically bulling Lord Mowbray aside as Benedict continued to berate Eloise.

“Are you all right, Pen?” he asked softly.

Her stomach dropped, and her heart sped up. Then she took a deep breath, gave a small smile, and firmly tugged her hands from Colin’s. He had made it clear that they were friends, and it was hardly appropriate for a male friend to stand that close to her and hold her hands, even if the circumstances offered some excuse.

“No harm done,” she said, stepping back.

“For heaven’s sake we are fine,” exclaimed Eloise, silencing Bendict. “This lord here…” she gestured toward Viscount Mowbray, then cocked her head when he did not immediately offer his name. “This lord ensured we were not struck. We shall thank him and go about our day.”

Benedict’s face had gone carefully neutral when he recognized Lord Mowbray, which seemed politer and more politic than Colin’s barely concealed scowl.

“It seems we owe you thanks, Lord Mowbray.” Benedict’s voice was stiff, but not impolite.

“Oh.” Eloise’s voice was mostly an exhale. She would know the name, but she had even less reason to know who Mowbray was than Penelope, since neither she nor any of the Bridgertons were shifters. Eloise did not have nightmares about Miss Euphemia’s presentation.

Mowbray had taken Colin’s rudeness and Benedict’s stiffness with surprising grace, giving ground without any of the grumbling that young gentlemen tended to engage in. He even offered the Bridgertons a polite bow.

“I was simply lucky to be in the right place to ensure that no harm came to the ladies,” Mowbray responded to Benedict. “Any gentleman would have done the same.”

“Well, you have our thanks,” Benedict reiterated.

“Now if you gentlemen will excuse us,” piped up Eloise. “Penelope and I were going walking.”

“Surely not unaccompanied,” said Mowbray, smoothly. “That seems unwise; you may be more shaken than you are aware. Would you consent to my accompanying you?”

“That is hardly necessary—” began Penelope.

“At least permit me to accompany you across the square, to ensure that no further carriages endanger you?”

“That is entirely unnecessary,” said Eloise, flatly.

“It is in the direction I am going,” Mowbray said. “It shall be far less uncomfortable to proceed together than to proceed as two parties in the same direction. Miss?” He offered his arm to Penelope, eyebrow raised and waiting for her name.

Penelope swallowed briefly, but there was no polite or unobtrusive way to avoid the acquaintance. Steeling herself, Penelope gingerly took Mowbray’s arm.

“Featherington,” she said, softly. “Miss Penelope Featherington.”

“Miss Featherington.” Mowbray nodded politely at her.

“We shall accompany you as well,” announced Colin, wrapping Eloise’s arm around his and studiously ignoring her pointed glare. Benedict rolled his eyes and took his sister’s other arm, dragging the trio over so that Colin was less aggressively invading Penelope and Mowbray’s space. All five set out across the square.

“I am impressed by your composure, Miss Featherington,” Mowbray said. “Many gently reared young women fail to adjust to even the smallest shocks.”

You would know, Penelope thought viciously. How many of them have you given the worst shocks of their lives? Aloud, she said, “I have always been a rather practical sort of person.”

“Yes, indeed. I remember how calm you were at the debutante presentation of the year eight.” He cleared his throat. “Regrettable day, of course.”

“I’m sure you had too much to do to notice a girl who was not even being presented,” Penelope demurred, not wanting to discuss the day.

“Excellent situational awareness is required for a gentleman of my position,” he replied. “I could hardly help but notice you. You were the only young lady not in hysterics. I was impressed that day, Miss Featherington, and I am unaccountably pleased to find that you have maintained that composure to the present day.” They had reached the other side of the square, and the group quite naturally came to a stop.

“We are off to the park,” said Eloise, pointedly.

“Ah,” said Mowbray. “Then it seems this is where I leave you. I have other business in Mayfair that I must attend. Miss Bridgerton,” he gave her a polite bow, and Eloise dropped a halfhearted, shallow curtsey.

“Misters Bridgerton,” he added, nodding politely to both Benedict and Colin. He had yet to release Penelope’s arm. Before Penelope could pull away, however, Mowbray had moved smoothly, not quite twirling himself and Penelope, but the next thing she knew, he was standing before her again, both her hands in his. She suddenly realized that she was still wearing only one glove, and he was wearing no gloves at all—the contact of his skin on hers was suddenly hideously intimate. He gently, carefully lifted her gloved hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.

Had she imagined the subtle squeeze to her bare hand?

Raising his eyes to hers once again, Mowbray said, “Good day, Miss Featherington. Do keep one of your practical, composed eyes out for runaway carriages.” He released both her hands��completely within the bounds of propriety, she distantly noted—before pivoting with military precision and striding away from the group.

Penelope scrabbled frantically in her pocket for her other glove and violently yanked it over her bare hand. She was terrified, which made sense to her. She was also deeply ashamed, which made less sense to her. She fidgeted with her gloves, making sure they fit properly to cover her feelings and buy herself time to let the flush fade from her cheeks.

Benedict sighed deeply. “Well, that was…unexpected. Eloise, if you promise not to almost get yourself killed again, we’ll let you and Penelope continue walking.”

“I promise,” said Eloise, rolling her eyes. “We can finally finish our conversation.”

“Very well. Come along, Colin—”

“I shall stay,” declared Colin.

“You cannot be serious,” said Eloise.

“Let them have their walk,” said Benedict.

“I don’t trust Mowbray,” said Colin. “I shall stay.”

“You shall do no such thing,” insisted Eloise. “Go home.”

“Well, I’m going home,” announced Benedict. “I refuse to get in the middle of this fight.” He turned on his heel and strode back across the square toward Bridgerton House, leaving Colin and Eloise in a glaring match. 

“Go away, Colin. You may not pirate my outing with Penelope to fix whatever it is you broke at the ball.” Eloise yanked her arm from her brother’s. Colin stepped back, red-faced.

“Oh yes, of course, because obviously I cannot be concerned for your well-being, I must have committed some inexcusable social gaffe!”

“We are clearly fine! You weren’t this worried when Gregory misjudged his swing a sent a pall mall ball directly into Francesca’s head, so forgive me for suspecting you of an ulterior motive now.”

“You’re getting to be of an age where an escort is required—”

“Not even Mama has said we need a chaperone to walk in the park. Your excuses are pitiful Colin, and we are leaving. Come on, Pen.” Eloise tugged roughly enough on Penelope’s arm that the redhead had to hide a wince. Unfortunately, the combination of tugging and Penelope twisting unconsciously away from Eloise tugged her fichu askew. This particular fichu was a hand-me-down from Philippa, who was built smaller than Penelope and had a significantly smaller bosom, so the ends were not tucked as securely into the front of Penelope’s dress as they could be, and since Penelope had not expected to be out of the house, she had neglected to pin it. One corner sprung completely free, and the fichu dropped down to swing behind her back.

“Eloise!” exclaimed Penelope and Colin.

“Oh Pen, I do apologize,” said Eloise. Colin stepped to Penelope’s side, catching the loose end of the fichu, and Penelope felt him freeze.

She had used the big mirror on her armoire door and a small hand mirror to review the bruising on her back when she had dressed that morning. The bruising on her neck wasn’t nearly as ugly as the blue-black splotches on her shoulder blades, but it was a rather alarming blue against her skin and clearly continued below the neckline of her dress. Young ladies were not supposed to have even the small greenish-yellow bruises that could result from simply existing in the world. Her bruises defied simple explanations, and it was easiest to simply hide them.

“My God, Pen. What happened?”

There was warmth on the back of her neck; Colin’s hand was hovering over the bruise, as though he could wipe it away with sheer willpower.

“Oh Penelope. I thought Philippa and Prudence had stopped this years ago?” The pity in Eloise’s voice stung, but Penelope was used to it by now. She and Eloise had been friends since childhood, and when Penelope was learning to control her shifting, she had often gotten bruises from ill-advised flights. Well, ill-advised landings, really, and Penelope had not always been able to hide the bruises from her best friend. Fortunately, with older sisters who made no secret of their dislike of her, Penelope had had a ready-made excuse in childhood. She had gotten so adept at hiding things the last few years that she had forgotten how she had explained what she couldn’t hide away to Eloise when they were children.

“Your own sisters did this to you?” The bare rage in Colin’s voice startled Penelope, and she took a step away from him, still connected by his grasp on the end of her fichu.

“Not all families get along as well as the Bridgertons,” she said. Her face was threatening to burn red again.

“There is not getting along and then there is hurting someone,” Colin insisted. “I remember when Daphne and Eloise used to throw hairbrushes at each other. They left the occasional red mark or barely-there yellow bruise. Pen, this looks worse than the bruises rival boxers leave on each other. What happened?”

Penelope felt heat rise, her face was certainly red now. Bafflingly, the words “I am a shifter” rose in her throat, and she had to grit her teeth to keep them from popping out. He might have been a friend, but she did not dare put the shifter community at risk by frankly explaining that she had been foolish and flown into a window. The effort of holding back the confession felt as though it bound her entirely; she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t break this stalemate.

Thankfully, Eloise’s famously small reservoir of patience ran out before Colin could ask again. She snatched the end of the fichu out of her brother’s hand, gave it to her friend, and stood to shield Penelope as she tucked the end back into the front of her gown. She glared at her brother as she said, “Penelope does not owe you an explanation, and your insistence is upsetting her. Go away.”

“You might let her speak for herself, Eloise,” snapped Colin. “For someone so enthusiastic about women having independence, you are certainly quick to rob your best friend of hers.”

“How dare—”

“Colin.” Penelope’s voice was louder and shriller than was ladylike—it came out so like her mother’s that she nearly winced. However, her fichu was back in place, and she simply did not have the energy to let that remark spark the fight it was almost certainly intended to. She was tired, sore, and had just had to politely promenade with a figure from her nightmares. She would have liked nothing more than to go home, but if Eloise had news that would reveal Mary Anne as a shifter, she had to know.

It was harder for women shifters to escape crown notice if so much as a rumor began about them. Gentlemen could simply leave, go off on a grand tour or travel to India or the Mediterranean until everyone forgot the rumors and they could slip quietly back to England. Or they could—and many did—simply leave and not return. The shifters among the ton were predominantly women these days, and then only the ones whose parents had not the resources to leave the country when their daughters shifted for the first time—generally between ages five and seven. It was almost unheard of for parents to turn shifter daughters over to the crown. Parents might turn sons over in the hope that they would receive training and survive their crown-appointed missions, but daughters were generally kept hidden or shipped off to extended family, out of the scrutinizing eyes of society.

Unless, of course, those daughters panicked, shifted in public, and were lost to the crown through unfortunate circumstance.

It was for every little shifter girl and the women they grew into that Penelope swallowed her admission, looked Colin in the eyes and said, “You are upsetting me. I do not wish to speak of it. I would like you to leave.”

Colin’s face fell, and the bewilderment and hurt in his eyes made something in Penelope’s chest clench painfully.

“Pen…I don’t understand. I thought that even if I had made an absolute fool of myself…You said we were friends. I only want to help.”

“You cannot fix this.”

“Surely there is something?”

“No, Colin.”

He seemed to deflate before her eyes. She half expected him to turn and go back to Bridgerton House, but he simply stood there, looking like nothing so much as a kicked puppy. If she was going to finish her conversation with Eloise, she would have to be the one to move.

In Penelope’s head, her owl mantled in distress—although whether at her distress or Colin’s was unclear.

Gently threading her arm through Eloise’s, Penelope turned them both and stepped toward the park. A hand caught her free upper arm, pinching the bruises there, and Penelope gasped in pain. The hand immediately released her, and she turned back again, to see consternation across Colin’s face. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, didn’t know about the bruises her long sleeves were covering, but the look on his face left Penelope in no doubt that he did know he’d hurt her.

“Pen, forgive me. I just…please know that I consider you a friend, and if there is ever anything you wish to tell me, I will listen.”

To hide the tears she wasn’t going to be able to keep from falling and the trembling she could already feel threatening her lower lip, Penelope simply set her sights on the park and pulled Eloise alongside her, leaving Colin on the edge of the square.

Once they were deep in the park on the path alongside the small creek that most ladies preferred to avoid because it tended toward muddy, Eloise stopped politely ignoring Penelope’s intermittent sniffles and the odd tear sliding down her cheek. Stopping and taking her best friend’s hands in hers, Eloise waited until Penelope looked at her to speak.

“For all that my brother can be as indelicate as a bull in a china shop, he isn’t wrong to be worried. What on earth did Prudence do that left that much of a bruise, Pen?”

Sliding back into the pattern of lying to her best friend was painfully simple. Especially since the lie she had decided to tell had more than a grain of truth to it; the lie was largely that Prudence could aim.

“I was leaving a fight. She threw a book after me.”

“What penny-a-word author wrote enough for a book that could leave a mark like that?”

“Shakespeare’s romances. The binding is quite robust.”

With every lie, every little piece of narrative she wove together, Penelope felt herself come more and more under control. There was guilt about lying, yes; there was also a deep sense of…something that was maybe guilt and maybe hurt and definitely shame about how she had spoken to get rid of Colin, but she couldn’t afford to let her own guilt jeopardize other shifters. As wonderful as the Bridgerton family was to her, they were not shifters. She did not think they would turn her and all her community in to the crown, but that was not a choice she could risk making.

Staying silent was becoming more difficult, however. It was straining her non-shifter relationships, especially ones she would be most loathe to lose. Except that she would lose Colin eventually, no matter what he said about being friends. He would marry and move on with his life, leaving her outside of his affections.

Not that she wanted to be in his affections. He was nosey and she had already resigned herself to spinsterhood. She could worry about Colin later, once she knew whether she needed to warn Mary Anne.

“Pen, perhaps you ought to speak to your mama about this.” Eloise hesitated, squeezing Penelope’s hands gently. “I know you said she was unsympathetic, but with such evidence before her—”

“I might prefer a distraction to problem solving,” interrupted Penelope, pulling one of her hands free and gently starting the pair walking again. “I believe that you had something of great import to tell me when you so enthusiastically pulled me from breakfast? Something about a gown scrap in the hedge maze?”

Eloise needed little more encouragement that than to dive back into her theories about the scrap of blush pink silk velvet that had been found in the hedge maze, but Penelope ceased to listen as soon as Eloise shared the color. Mary Anne looked ill in blush pink, and had been wearing green that night. Furthermore, blush pink was one of the most popular colors for court dresses among this year’s debutantes. Replacing a torn panel would be simple and there had been too many girls in the color to narrow down a reasonable suspect from a scrap. This was not something Penelope would need to deal with. As that weight lifted from her mind and her owl finally slid back into sleep, Penelope let Eloise chatter on as her own thoughts turned to Lord Mowbray.

The Lord Provost Marshal was, as far Penelope knew, an extremely hands-on leader. This kept him out of England for long stretches—she hadn’t actually seen him since 1808, although he had been back in the country for brief periods since then. His unit was responsible for the identification, capture or execution, and deployment of shifters in the war against Bonaparte. He was something of an anomaly in the ton, given that he was actually the third son of an earl. He had been named Provost Marshal after capturing a traitorous shifter somewhere on the continent, and valor on the battlefield had earned him the title of Viscount and the Mowbray estates. Since his elevation to Provost Marshal, the number of identified and captured shifters had increased five-fold, and many more shifters were quietly leaving England.

That was the sum total of the factual information that was available about Lord Mowbray. The man was infuriatingly private even when he was in London, and his frequent absences meant that what did circulate about him was wild speculation at best and obviously fantasy at worst. Just last year there had been a ridiculous story that all the tabloid—with the exception of Lady Whistledown—had printed and reprinted to death about Mowbray leading a glorious charge of a light brigade of shifters during the battle of Salamanca that had turned the tide of the battle and led to a hideous defeat for the French forces. One particularly zealous printer had commissioned a woodblock of Mowbray riding a charging centaur into battle, followed by a veritable menagerie of beasts, while the French cowered behind the most ramshackle fortifications Penelope had ever seen depicted in ink. The fanciful dust clouds and pointed sunbeams in the woodblock had given the whole thing such a fantastical air that the queen had gifted a famed print of it to Mowbray. The man made headlines again when another tabloid had intercepted a letter in which Mowbray rather excoriated the artist for not knowing the difference between a centaur and a shifter.

Penelope had appreciated that Mowbray at least knew the difference, but that had not offered a sop to her feelings when the queen had had the writer and printer transported for daring to intercept mail between the army and the crown. It had also hammered home how dangerous it was for Lady Whistledown to be so much as neutral on shifters, but she simply could not bring herself to repeat sentiments that painted them as inherently lesser or traitorous or cowardly. Unfortunately, that was largely how the press viewed shifters, and it had been getting worse lately. Undoubtedly, rumors were feeding that spike in spite, but if there was any substance below those rumors, Penelope and every shifter left in England could be in trouble.

Since the battle of Salamanca, there had been murmurings in parliament and some of the drier ton academic circles about Mowbray lobbying to change the laws about British shifters abroad. Penelope had not been able to get any concrete information about that since the rumors had begun to circulate, but she was keeping a careful ear to the ground. If shifter could not escape by leaving the country, she simply had no idea what they would do.

“And if you would credit it, Anthony has refused to let me listen to Lord Mowbray’s speech to parliament this week!” The name of the figure of her nightmares in her friend’s mouth pulled Penelope out of her reverie.

“What speech to parliament?” she asked.

“You haven’t been listening at all, have you?” responded Eloise.  “Are you quite sure you don’t need to rest and recover from that dreadful bruise?”

“I said I wanted a distraction, El.”

“Oh, very well, but you cannot tell Anthony I told you, this is meant to be private, and I only know because I was eavesdropping. Apparently, Lord Mowbray has been writing to parliament for over a year, insisting that they should change the law about apprehending shifters on the continent. He wasn’t receiving anything like a timely reply, so he finally wrote to the crown—Anthony didn’t say whether to Her Majesty or the Prince Regent—and they have insisted that parliament hears his argument. That’s why he’s back in London for the season. It seems he isn’t scheduled to speak for a couple of months, but he is here to try to gain support from the lords.”

“Will he be at the season’s social events?” It was a struggle for Penelope to ask that question in an airy, nonchalant tone, but she had to know if she was about to spend a season trying to avoid her nightmares at every party.

“I cannot imagine why he would want to be, but if he was looking for allies, that would be the place to find them,” said Eloise. “If Mama were still doing the invitations and parties I would be able to tell you for sure, but Kate is managing them now and she does not force me to be involved in the planning.”

So, she would not know if she had to face Lord Mowbray socially again until she was there. Bile rose in Penelope’s throat as she remembered the hard look in Mowbray’s eyes as he stalked Miss Euphemia and her own inability to break his gaze earlier. She and every other shifter in London would have to be very, very careful this season.

[moonverc3x]

OKAY ARRUGHHH INSANE lore drop here, but I am now like. Fully confident in sharing my thoughts on whats happening here. Points at op. I see you starflung, I know what youre doing here... I think XD

Im going to channel my inner greycoin tonight and Officially Publicly Propose the theory that starstruck was/is one of the heros of yore.

"Oc is/was one of the heros of yore" is something thats present in my own work, so I could totally just be seeing things that arnt actually there here, but I digress. Wawa on the brain. Its also something Ive thought for quite a while, so its going to be a little tricky to get me to change my mind here unless theres damning evidence!

Anyways this got way longer than I thought it would, so: readmore to shield you from my nonsense!

My Main Basis for this theory would have to be starstrucks strong connection to Galacta Knight. Just like. Countless artworks of them together... What is happening there!! Hello!!!?

"give up what you love, before it does you in." in the caption for that first artwork makes me think maybe Galacta Knight did something to turn starstruck into what she is now.

Look at Mr Galacta Knight there, stabbing the poor Innocent Wawa?! What could he possibly want from her!! Why is he beefing with the innocent wiwi!!? What could he want from her, when she knows nothing about him?

I think starstrucks suspicious ability to use heartspears (even though she is totally only a perfectly normal waddle dee!!) is... something that should be taken into consideration!! Galacta Knight is the only other character to have been shown with the ability to use heartspears, so why does a perfectly normal waddle dee somehow also miraculously know how to use such magic?

Also just tossing this ask here, as additional evidence... I think Galacta Knight could also be considered a soldier, is that not what the heros were?? Brave soliders who could protect those who needed their help?

And starstruck isnt like other waddle dees, as we know. Shes smaller than average and uniquely colored, but we do know that there are others like her. Could those others be Galacta Knight and Meta Knight? If not More?

We know that Galacta Knight is not a good person, so I think it wouldnt be too far-fetched to think that the people closest to him wernt the best people either.. Which leads me into starstruck worrying about peoples unfavorable pasts. What if she too was bad- Just like Galacta Knight?

I would also like to cover Morpho Knights relationship with starstruck, seeing as they have apparently met starstruck before? Or, at least engaged with her in some way that left a lasting impression. Morpho is said to "[care] little- if at all- for the comings and goings of others," yet in this post, Morpho Knight essentially says that it recognizes her, and furthermore that it would miss her. Morpho also notes that she is "almost unrecognizable"; Which makes me believe starstruck must have passed through the underworld -or someplace similar- and somehow came back. Something Im sure most waddle dees couldnt normally do!

Morpho talks in a really odd way that my smooth brain has a hard time picking apart, but like. CLEARLY there is something here!! I can at the least say that Morpho Knight has some sort of history with starstruck

Those who have a keen eye may have noticed a reoccurring couple of colors in art that starstruck is in!! these colors are most easily notable on her reference sheet!

Yellow, pink, blue and green, namely from the star allies sparkler!! I would like to think these are respective of starflungs four heros of yore, with Galacta Knight being pink.

Though starstruck is as pink as Galacta Knight, there is apparently only enough room for one hot pink bitch in this town! Leaving starstruck with yellow. And the color is like.. There. On her bow. XD

I could honestly go on and on and on about the little things, microscopic references and one-liners in posts I just dont have the energy to compile; And theres plenty more questions I dont have answers to. Why is starstruck so often drawn with black hole theming? How did she loose her memory, become what she is now, and why a waddle dee?

But anyways,

I have one final statement for tonight, as far fetched as it may seem: Might you consider that this isn't Galacta Knight? Whos to say it isnt- wasnt starstruck?

Hi there, Starstruck! I've heard you're a very very super normal totally average Waddle Dee.

You don't remember much of your life before arriving on Popstar, correct? And I think that's pretty alright- it seems like you've created a wonderful life for yourself! But if you had the choice to decide what sort of past you had, what sort of history do you think you'd choose?

we were all a little cringe in our younger years. ‼️ new mechanic: vote carefully! ‼️ starstruck wants to run!! you'll have to work together on one option if you want her to approach.

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