#i should revisit it though i think i have a fun idea...

[nostalgebraist]

When you finish writing a big story and you became very close the characters, was there a time after where you were like "i kind of want to revisit these characters again, but i should probably just let the story be, they deserve to rest" Im not talking about wanting to write a sequel, is more about still coming up with fun ideas for them, maybe a little scene or something, but choosing not to do anything with it because it'd feel disrespectful to the ending you gave them?

This doesn't happen to me, no.

The reason is that, once I finish the story, my sense of "being close to the characters" suddenly vanishes. And, although there are rare moments where it (briefly) returns, it mostly stays gone.

I can't remember if I've ever talked about this in detail before, but – when I'm in the process of writing a story, especially near the end, the characters feel "real" to me in a very strong and kind of uncanny way.

I don't actually believe that they exist as independent entities from me (much less sentient ones), but it does almost feel like that's true, when I'm in the thick of the writing process.

I have no trouble intellectually distinguishing fiction from reality, even in the state I'm describing. But my emotional and intuitive relationship with my characters, when I'm in that state, is pretty similar to the one I have with real people I know in real life. And there are a bunch of... uh, mental phenomena?... associated with this that I'm slightly afraid to describe because I worry they'll sound like hallucinations or delusions if I don't add a lot of caveats.

For example, when I'm alone in a room writing (especially if I'm writing in the middle of the night), I sometimes feel like it's not just me in the room, that the character I'm writing about is "there with me," in much the same way I'd be aware of someone real person's presence if I knew they were in the room but didn't happen to be looking in their direction. Or: sometimes I feel like the characters' voices are "flowing through me," that I'm merely taking dictation from them – and will sometimes even think to myself: "man, I'm so grateful that the character is helping me write this part, because if I tried to do it all by myself there's no way I would get it right." And it takes a moment before I realize, wait, no, I am writing it by myself – at least in a literal and physical sense.

Basically if you read this post, and then sort of read between the lines of it under the assumption that I'm downplaying how weird the experience actually is because I'm worried an accurate account would make me sound kind of unhinged... then you will have roughly the right impression of what the writing experience is like for me.

Whatever is going on here, it feels like it's probably on some kind of spectrum that also contains stuff like tulpas, multiple systems, and maybe also the way that children can sometimes get really deeply wrapped up in their imaginary play. I don't know how common this stuff is among writers (maybe it is common but rarely talked about?). It's not something I've experienced anywhere else in life; I don't experience it with other people's fictional characters or stories, or with fantasies I have that aren't associated with a work in progress, and I don't remember ever experiencing it before I started writing fiction as an adult.

Anyway, as I said at the top, the moment I finish writing a story, this phenomenon simply turns off, suddenly and completely. The transition is very noticeable when it happens, and makes me feel something akin to grief or loneliness over the brief span between the moment it starts and the moment it is fully completed – like I've just lost a bunch of close friends at once.

With Almost Nowhere, I remember a very specific feeling – on the evening of the day when I finished writing – that the characters were "departing 'into' the finished book," reverting to a lesser existence as "mere words" rather than "real people," as though they had been plastic toys animated by Terra Ignota's Bridger, and were now turning back into toys again. It made me sad, for a little while, but once they'd fully "lost their reality" I no longer cared, because it was that same sense of reality that made me care, and now it was gone.

So, to finish answering your question: I don't feel an urge to return to my old characters, because it feels intuitively obvious that doing this is impossible. That anything else I wrote about them would be inauthentic, somehow, in a way that the original work wasn't. They were "there," before, but they're "gone," now. This difference is very stark, and very hard to ignore.

(As I noted above, they do sometimes "come back" to me – very rarely, and very briefly, but that is enough for a proof of concept. Perhaps, if I were to try, I could find some way to "bring them back" for longer intervals. But I doubt I will ever try that. I feel a bit afraid of the concept for several reasons – for one thing, the "inauthenticity" I just mentioned squicks me out and I'd prefer not to come too close to it, and I also have a baseline wariness of doing stuff that seems too much like messing around with my own mental health. There's also a "catch-22" involved here, where I don't feel motivated about the characters the way I used to, and that means I'm not even motivated to do things that would generate that motivation. The "target" of the effort won't appeal strongly to me until I've already gone to the trouble of obtaining it, which means the effort doesn't feel justified in the first place.)

[smilepebble]

you guys remember olberhardt. those guys are insane

[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[kayentokk]

Hey :) How are you doing?

Okay so, i wanted to request a platonic father Aizawa in which he is out patroling and he finds his teen daughter doing something ilegal with her friends or something like that.

Please and thankss :)

A/N; I’m okay thanks for asking! Love this idea, I’ve gotten many requests somewhat related to this lately actually! I’ll be posting those throughout the week. Also sorry it’s taken me a while to get to this! 🥲 I truly believe Aizawa is a girl dad and a softie parent. 

Pairing; Platonic!Father Aizawa x Fem!Daughter Reader

Contains; a little ooc Aizawa, fluff, soft, drug mentions, reader is about 16-17 like mha characters, quirk-less reader, death mentions, bad friends, comfort

wc; 1,763

You weren’t supposed to get caught. In fact, you didn’t even think you would. It wasn’t a big deal anyways, you only did it because you thought it’d be a way to relax with your friends. Plus, if you guys did get caught your backup plan was your father. It wasn’t like he was going to detain you…right?

Wrong.

You were very wrong to believe that your father wouldn’t take you into custody over a little weed with your friends. You just wanted to have fun! Besides, you didn’t want to be the ‘perfect heroes daughter’ who’s a buzzkill. Why couldn’t he understand that? 

There was just so much pressure that came with being the child to a hero. Your friends already joked about how you were too ‘good’ to do anything remotely illegal. Which is part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place. 

Of course he just happened to be patrolling around the alley you and your friends decided to get a little high in. That was just your luck, he didn’t seem mad though. So you thought he’d just tell you guys not to do it anymore, and move on. Nope. Leave it to Aizawa to want to teach you a ‘lesson’ all of a sudden. He was normally just a “don’t do it again,” kind of parent. Mostly because you had never done anything of this caliber before.

“Did you really have to bring me in?”

Silence.

“I mean come on, none of the other heroes care. They’re too busy thinking about protecting the city, shouldn’t you be too? Nobody cares about a couple of kids getting a little buzzed, besides everyone does it nowadays-“

“That doesn’t make it okay y/n.”

You’ve rarely seen him like this, so tense. He didn’t look angry, but you couldn’t shake the feeling you got that he was. It was almost….scary. 

So you resigned to a simple, “Okay, I’m sorry.” Were you really sorry though? Not that much, you still didn’t see the big deal. 

He let out a low grunt, “This is serious y/n, I know you think I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” well he said it first, “but you could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“Hurt? From getting a little high?”

“Criminals lace that stuff all the time, whether it’s with poison, more drugs, or whatever else they decide-“

“Yeah sure, but we got it from a trusted source-“

“And who’s that?” He said crossing his arms. 

Oops.

You decided it’d be best not to respond right now. Especially since the source wasn’t technically trusted, just another kid who got it from someone else. Who probably got it from someone else too.

Sensing your apprehension he decide to drop it, “we’ll revisit that later,” he said waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll drop you off at home, you’re grounded.” 

You internally groaned at that, grounded? That’s a new one, you were starting to really regret your decision. You should have just told your friends no, even if it meant being the ‘buzzkill.’ Then you remembered, your friends-

“What about my friends?”

“We’re working on calling their parents to come pick them up soon.”

“No!-“ you said sharply, “I-I mean, can’t you just let them off? Or something?”

“You know that’s not how this works, they are already getting off with a minor offense. The worst they’re going to get is their parents’ scolding.”

“Dad! You don’t understand-“

“I understand perfectly fine, a bunch of young kids wanted to ‘have fun’ and thought this was the best way to do it.”

Okay maybe he did understand, but not your side. He didn’t get that now you’d officially be the outcast, the top 10 ranked hero’s daughter who gets everyone in trouble. Does he get how embarrassing that is? 

“Come on, let’s get going.”

You stood from the chair leaving the comfort of being shielded, by the small desk separator, from your friends’ piercing gazes. They thought your dad would let you all off too considering the chaos the city’s currently in. 

You nervously waved and mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to them before rushing out the door trying to follow closely behind Aizawa. 

You guys didn’t speak the whole way home, you opted for silence mostly because it wasn’t that big of a deal and he just didn’t know what to say. You had never done anything like that before, or had he just never caught you? When did that start?

He remembered when you were little and you’d give your vegetables to stray animals so you didn’t have to eat them, or when you tried to sneak out at night and he caught you. But those were all pretty minor things, and he was only always concerned with your safety.

You’d never done anything this bad, and in terms of the worst thing you could do of course this wasn’t horrible but he still didn’t get why. It couldn’t have just been for fun.

He entered the house after unlocking the door and opening it for you. Before you could make it to your room, where you’d probably go to sulk, he decided he’d ask.

“Why did you want to do that y/n?”

You stopped and turned around to face him. He was standing in front of the door, and now that you actually took in his appearance he looked tired. His dark circles more prominent, eyes a light pink most likely from his quirk, and his black pants had small patches of dust that had been hastily patted off on them. 

You replied after a moment, briefly forgetting his question, “For fu-“

“And don’t just say for fun, because I know you and there are plenty of other things you would do for fun.”

You huffed resigning to just come out with it, “it was a bet.”

“A bet?”

“My friends bet me that I wouldn’t get high with them since I’m a hero’s daughter.”

“And you decided to take them up on that?”

“Yes, I know it was stupid okay?”

“I know you know, you’re smarter than that. So why’d you say yes?”

Why’d he have to be so persistent? “Maybe because I thought I’d finally get some friends.”

“What do you mean y/n? You do have friends.”

“No, I don’t. Momo, Tsu, and Uraraka only hang out with me out of pity, since you’re their teacher, if they even have time-“

“Pity? Y/n no they don’t, there’s nothing pitiful about you at all-“

You scoffed, “don’t lie. I get you’re my dad and all but be honest with yourself, truly honest.”

“I am being honest. I’d never lie-“

Guess you’d just have to spell it out for him then. “The only daughter you had killed your wife, was born quirk-less, and there’s nothing special about her!” You were shocked at the admission of your own feelings but kept going, “I don’t have a talent, I’m not exceptionally smart, I’m not breathtakingly pretty, and I can’t even make friends!” You listed raising a finger for each reason, “Now tell me what about that is not pitiful?”

After that question there was silence, and Aizawa was just looking at you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until the first tear slid down your nose crease and hit the corner of your lip. Before touching could even wipe your tear or register the sound of footsteps approaching you, you were being hugged. Fully covered by his arms, your head grazing the bottom of his chin where stubble had began to grow, face buried partially into his scarf. 

You heard high pitched wailing, which you hadn’t even registered was you until his hand began to rub up and down your back with quiet ‘shh’s to try calming you.  

“Don’t cry, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, none of it okay?” He began whispering in your ear.

“Your mom and I both knew the challenges she’d have if she gave birth to you. We were well aware, and she wanted to have you. She didn’t care if she’d die in the process, you are our child.”

He continued comforting you, and when you eventually calmed down he let go and gently pulled your face out of his chest so you could look him in his tired, red eyes. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough okay? It’s my fault I’m sorry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you’re perfect. I mean that, I’d never lie. You don’t need a quirk, to be super smart, or have a special talent. You’re perfect to me, okay? And that’s all that matters. You’re important to me,” he said firmly. 

“Okay?”

You sniffled, reaching a hand to wipe your nose, “okay.”

“Hey,” he said turning your face back to his, “I really mean it, I’d be no where without you. And how could you say you’re not beautiful? I know I’m not the best looking hero, but haven’t you seen the pictures of your mom? You take after her, gorgeous. Nothing I’d ever change about you, I don’t regret anything.”

“Okay,” you said slightly unused to him saying these things, “I’ve never heard you say something so corny dad,” you said chuckling trying to lighten the mood. 

At that, he gave a small grin which faded when he remembered your earlier point, “And Ochaco, Tsuyu, and Yaoyorozu do like being your friend. Not just because I’m their teacher, trust me I’m more of a supervisor if anything. I let them figure most stuff out on their own. They wanted to meet and hang out with you. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, you make friends just fine.” 

“I know, I know, it was just heat of the moment stuff dad.”

He let out a sigh of relief, hugged you once more, and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“I still have about another hour of night patrol, but I’ll stay here if you want me to?”

“No dad, it’s fine go.”

He looked at you once more as if saying, ‘are you sure?’ 

“Yes I’m sure I’m fine, it’s only an hour anyways.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything, I’ll be back soon,” he said headed towards the door.

“Okay,” you said starting to walk to your room. 

But just before he shut the door you dashed for it and started, “Hey! does this mean-“

“No you’re still grounded,” he said. 

And with that the door shut.

@/cafekitsune for the divider!

[darqx]

HEEEY MACARENA (ALRIGHT!)

Here's some long overdue BP and HH asks :) I tend to combine the two since there's not as many as the RADs, so this starts with BP and then moves into HH/Gen qs.

BP

MUAH ~ (I actually doodled this some time last year for fun and whimsy, based on those long mouth kiss meme pics XD)

A very quick overview of these types!

Vescordem: Maneaters/cannibals, excessively tall and strong.

Aleores: Minor dealmakers (goods and services). Jaw can unhinge and has venomous bite.

Sollicio: Major dealmakers - soul stealing ability. Often very good looking, has ichor powers.

Voxter: Ability to project 'thoughts' into someone else's mind - you ever have an intrusive thought? Same concept. All have a unique mark across the top part of their face.

Caumacies: Maneaters/cannibals, very strong. Has a third eye which sees only in heat vision - rarely opened simultaneously with normal eyes.

Hmm M or MA15 i think 🤔

You know, i actually have an idea for a game that has nothing to do with anything I'm currently doing XD One day i'll actually have time to make it, maybe. But anyway currently my actual project is i'm planning on making a comic \o/

I AM PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE that i have thumbnailed like 70 pages of this bloody thing and i'm still only in the first quarter of the planned chapters lol OTL Once i finish thumbing the chapter I'm on I plan to go back and render the pages properly before starting to post them :D

...which should hopefully give me a buffer as i repeat the process for the next chapters |D

You know, the concept of my characs being comfort characs for someone will never get old for me. It just tickles me pink ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ This answer will have two levels to it.

It's fine to RP or ask blog with Rire - he's one of my more "known" characs thanks to BTD so as long as credit is given (and it's made clear I'm not running the blog so it's not canon) then it's cool.

I'd prefer if no ask/RP blogs are created for any of my other BP or HH characs, as they are not as known yet. This may be revisited once i actually get the BP comic out but for now it's a no, sorry! (Though, if you are RPing in like...a private Discord with other friends who know who the characs are then I'm a bit more lenient with that.)

The reason for the BP/HH level is that ages ago when I had started establishing my own characs more, I randomly happened to find a forum where someone was RPing as Izm and .D but no one else knew who the characs were and so they clearly thought the RPer was the original artist and creator. Said RPer was not dissuading anyone of that notion. That has stuck with me for forever because at the time i never anticipated that someone would...actually try and do that with an OC. Like, bro srsly?!

One pet peeve for everyone:

.D: Willfully stupid people

Izm: .D smoking. He could care less if anyone else smokes but .D is not allowed on his watch

Marcus: Having decisions made for him without his input

Zeke: "How's the weather up there?"

Wei Ren: When people think he can't understand English cos he has an accent and so they deliberately speak slower and louder

Geez Caleb why are you damn RUDE

Here's one i prepared earlier! 😌

I'm not sure why you included Marcus as a demon, he's a human lol.

HH/More Gen

There are clubs which are created by students but need approval from the adults to exist.

HH is one of the better boarding schools which generally turn out successful alumni. The "obvious problems" we see are not actually obvious lol.

He doesn't need such manipulations.

Thanks! I hope you are inspired to go forth and create stuff! :D

One of the only perks of being a prefect at HH, really :d

Absolutely not lol

↓

4. These types of qs are always amusing to me only because you guys expect me to know but i absolutely do not XDD. Do normal people actually have a fave animal?? I dont even have a fave animal!! Anyway offshoot aside sorry that i can't even randomly assign anything, but if you are interested here is what they might be AS animals lol.

They actually don't have names because they were randomly designed NPCs i drew as like, placeholders |D;

Not including Rire or Nurse Isla:

.D is asexual, Izm is bisexual, and everyone else is straight probably. Caleb and Desmond are violently straight (as in Des is like very 90s stoner bro adamantly vocal about being straight and Caleb will actually try and break your neck for insinuating anything).

I have some female characs but I dont draw them that often as they are more side characs in BP and HH. The ones ive's drawn at least once are Isla (who looks like this, also doodled above), Tish (Des's sister) and Kenzie and Kelly (Zeke's sisters).

Every once in a blue moon i get an ask saying this but whenever i go to check nothing is wrong, so...nothing is wrong they do work |D; As the age old tech saying goes have you tried turning it off and on again? :d

Aren't those kind of things supposed to be...based on yourself??

[melzula]

Heyaa, when the requests are open can you maybe do a princess x Zuko where the princess is always clinging to Zuko when she's cold? Just a random thought that came into my mind since Zuko is a firebender hehe :)

pairing: zuko x princess!reader

a/n: this is technically part of the fire lilies series but can also be read as a solo piece independently

summary: princess and zuko go penguin sledding

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

The rush of cold wind against your cheeks is exhilarating as you glide down the snow covered hills. Your delighted laughter carries through the air and brings a smile to Zuko’s face as you enjoy a day penguin sledding out in the palace courtyards.

Being kidnapped by Gilak and having your life threatened once again had been a traumatic experience for both you and your boyfriend, so Hakoda and your mother had advised you take a much needed day off for yourself. He could handle the work of drafting plans for an eco friendly oil rig and the foreign embassies while Pakku and Katara took on the school for the time being. Though you were hesitant to take a day off knowing there was so much to be done, Zuko had been the one to finally convince you that you desperately needed a break.

Today would be his last day in the South before he had to return home, and so you figured the best way to spend your time together would be with a trip through memory lane. You hadn’t been penguin sledding together since you were kids, so it seemed like a good idea to both of you to revisit your favorite pastime from when you were children.

You slow to a stop as you reach the end of the hill and land onto the plush snow below you with a laugh. The chill of the ice sends shivers down your spine but you choose to ignore it. All the back and forth traveling you’ve been doing hasn’t allowed your body the chance to acclimate to the weather of your home yet, but you try not to let it bother you.

“Having fun?” Zuko asks with a laugh as he helps you up off the snow. You immediately cling to his figure in an attempt to steal some of his heat, prompting the Fire Lord to raise a brow as he wraps his arms around your frame. “You’re not getting cold, are you?”

“Of course not,” you scoff indignantly, though your subtle trembling says otherwise.

“Maybe we should head inside-“

“No!” You immediately cry out in protest before he can finish his sentence. “We’ve hardly just begun the day. Don’t you want to keep penguin sledding?”

“Of course I do,” he assures you with a comforting kunik, “but I worry the cold might be too much for you.

“Too much?! I’m Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, I don’t get cold.”

“Alright,” Zuko relents with a chuckle at your adamant rebuttal. For a water bender you’re surprisingly stubborn, but he loves your headstrong nature more than anything. “Let’s keep sledding.”

Your face lights up with glee when he finally relents and allows you to carefully pick up your penguin and carry him back up the hill while showering the creature with praises and pets. He’d forgotten just how much you enjoyed the activity, and it was nice to see that same smile from your childhood again. It had been years since you both went sledding, since you both were just two kids unaware of what the future held in store for you, since you both were free of fear and responsibility and hurt. The war had taken a lot from you, forced you both to grow up too fast, so he was grateful for the fact that you both could just be kids again, even if only for a day.

“Y/n,” Zuko calls as the sun begins to set and the day begins to end, “I think it’s time we head inside for dinner. Your mother said she was making five-flavor soup for us.”

“Just one more time down the hill?” You plead with your best pout, though you know it doesn’t take much to convince Zuko to give in to your requests.

“Alright, but that’s it,” he tells you with a chuckle before following you up the hill. The courtyard lanterns begin to glow beautifully below as the moon starts to overtake the sky, and you exchange playful smiles with one another before beginning your decent down the snow.

Zuko’s hair blows wildly away from his face, his grin the biggest you’ve ever seen it, and you’re so caught up in admiring him that you don’t even notice the large pile of snow you’re about to crash into.

“Princess, look out!” Zuko tries to warn you, but it’s too late. You can do nothing but pull the penguin to your chest and shield it from the impact as you collide into the snowy mound. The Fire Lord winces on your behalf before quickly rushing to your aid. The otter penguin emerges after a moment and shakes the snow off its body before waddling away, but you fail to do the same. Zuko has to dig through the slush to pull you out, and as he lifts you up and into his arms he’s able to feel just how cold to the touch you are.

“Th-Thhere’s s-snow e-every-wh-where,” you complain through chattering teeth as you wrap your arms as tightly around his neck as possible in a desperate attempt to feel his warmth.

“Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death,” he comforts while carrying your trembling figure back inside the palace. If not for Zuko’s body heat, you’d surely already be feeling the effects of hypothermia taking place.

Thankfully, your boyfriend is able to swiftly make it back inside the palace and carry you through the halls towards your room. The heat of Zuko’s embrace melts the ice inside your clothes, but the dampness only seems to worsen the feeling of cold. You shiver incessantly, and he can only look on guiltily as he tries his best to ease your discomfort.

Finally, he swings the door to your bedroom open and carefully sets you back on your feet before helping you remove your heavy coat. He sets the wet material aside to dry before coming up to your trembling figure and rubbing his hands up and down your arms in an attempt to spread heat across your limbs.

“I’ll go find your mother and tell her what happened. You stay here and get out of those clothes before you catch a cold,” he advises you with a meek smile, a red blush tinting his cheeks when he realizes he probably should have phrased his sentence more delicately. Zuko presses a tender kiss to your forehead before leaving to give you your privacy and shutting the door behind him.

Your skin feels like ice as you peel off the rest of your ensemble as quickly as you can. You were so used to beach days at Ember Island and swims in the lakes with your friends that you’d forgotten just how cold the water could be. Considering you grew up in the South, you’re a tad embarrassed to know how easily it gets to you now. You’d been away for so long, and even when you returned home you still found yourself venturing out often, so a part of you wondered if maybe you’d never fully readjust to the climate.

“Y/n?” A voice calls from the other side of the door followed by a gentle knock. “Zuko sent me to check on you. I have the warmest blanket I could find. May I come in?”

“Just a second, Mom,” you reply as you scramble to throw on a fresh set out of clothes and make yourself decent for visitors. After slipping into the warmest dress you can find, you open the door and allow her into your room.

“Someone got a little carried away penguin sledding, I hear,” she says with a teasing smile before draping the blanket around your shoulders. “You’re like ice! Thank spirits Zuko has that natural fire bending warmth to him or you might have frozen out there!”

“Yeah,” you murmur in agreement with a dejected frown, one that your mother notices right away.

“My little koala otter, what’s the matter?”

“I’m just a little embarrassed, I guess,” you admit with a sheepish laugh. “I thought I’d gotten over my aversion to the cold.”

“I think anyone who managed to get snow in their clothes would be cold,” she notes with a faint smile before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just happy to see you having fun again. You had to grow up very fast, something your father and I should have worked harder to prevent, so it’s nice to hear your laugh again and see you sledding like you did as a little girl.”

You smile at her words before pulling her into a tight hug, hoping the action conveys all your appreciation for her. Zuko walks in then with a tray of steaming five-flavor soup and tea in the hopes it will return some of your warmth to you.

“I’ll let you both enjoy your dinner alone,” she says after removing herself from your embrace. Exiting the room, she pauses to give Zuko’s arm a light squeeze. “Make sure she stays warm.”

“Yes, Kira,” he replies with a nod before returning his attention to you. “Let’s get you settled in.”

Setting the tray aside, Zuko escorts you back to bed and tucks the blanket around your figure as best as he can with you sitting up. Once you’re comfortable, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead before handing you the cup of tea. It’s the same cup from the set Iroh had gifted you some time ago, and the sight of it brings a faint smile to your face as you take in the smell of jasmine.

“You’re already starting to feel warmer,” Zuko notes pleasantly before trading your cup for the bowl of soup. “I should have warned you about that pile of snow sooner.”

“It’s okay, I don’t regret a thing. I had so much fun today, the most I’ve had in a while. I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry,” Zuko assures you as he uses his bending to reheat your tea before it can grow cold, “the day will come where we’ll never have to be apart ever again.”

“I can’t wait,” you confess with a smile only for it to fall at the sudden sneeze that leaves you.

“I think you might be catching a cold, my love,” Zuko notes with a frown.

“Will you stay and keep me warm?” You ask with a pleading look, one that makes it impossible for him to deny your request. How could he say no to your sweet face?

Climbing into bed with you, Zuko envelops himself around your figure and allows you to steal his warmth. He’ll never get tired of being your personal heater, and he’d be happy to spend the rest of his days like this.

You’ll never reacclimatize to the cold, because no matter where you go, Zuko will always be there to bring warmth to your life.

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy @alexatiu @aerikim246 @heartfully10 @creationcitystreet-em

| fire lilies tags: @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch @rinalsword @cipheress-to-k-pop @potato87123

[nimadjart]

Happy halloweeen. :)

This is the commentary track(?) to my digitober. It's just rambling, so don't expect anything too interesting.

This first picture came out on a whim, I originally didn't intend to do anything for this october. I had just arrived home from helping my mom out with something, and was in a good mood. I think this picture, as sketchy as it looks, reflects that feeling. I'm content with it - and it's halloween themed! All the better.

For the second, I tried to follow the "official inktober" list (something I'd drop quickly in the following days). I'm disastrous at making backgrounds, so I gave it a shot for practice sake. I think it's not a bad result, it almost kinda tells something of a story.

"Boots", hah. It's not terrible, but it's also missing a lot of polish. I think the idea behind it works well for a cute/sexy picture of Angewomon. Maybe some day I'll revisit it? I should put more practice into drawing the human form in the meanwhile lol.

I really dislike the fourth one. I think Lianpunmon deserves better art, so I'll definitely do it again some day. My skills are so undeveloped, it's very obvious seeing this poor hatching.

Speaking of hatching, I bit more than I can chew with this one. The composition isn't interesting enough either, and just like with Lianpunmon there's no story here. At least Angewomon seemed to be interacting with the viewer lol.

The sixth is something I liked better. It's kinda shody, but there's something of an urban fantasy thing going on.

The Vamdemon one I can see the faults: I need better line control, the shapes aren't locked in as well as they should be. Yet, I'm partial to it…

Rapidmon deserves better lol. I still really dig the idea behind this drawing, I just wish I'd have given myself the patience and time needed to render a kickass explosion.

SkullGreymon, I have little to comment. It has zero story, but it's carried by the vibes. It's the first (and arguably last lmao) time I think I was cooking with the halftones.

The tenth is arguably the peak of the entire month. It has some story, a neat composition, and acceptable execution. Strangely enough it was one of the quickest to make: I had an idea, and it came out in a few minutes (compared to some other drawings where I was fighting for my life), and it ultimately was one of the most interacted with drawings in my entire blog. Funny how that goes.

I like a lot the Piemon one, as bland as it is. It's like a design piece, more than a drawing. It helps that the perspective deformation hides my poor linework haha.

I went too hard on the Mephismon X one, to the detriment of the piece. Instead of adding texture, it just looks dirty. Damn.

The thirteenth one was my poor attempt at making a background. Originally, Bakemon was gonna have this devious, whimsical look, but as I finished drawing the stairs I thought "I'd be kinda tired after climbing a few floors", so I changed Bakemon's expression to reflect that. Just a little trivia.

The Jesmon is what I'd argue was my peak. Shapes are locked (as best as my skill lets them), values worked well, it told a story. It's my favourite of the month.

Fiftenth was made, mostly, trying to catch some Adventure buff to the ammount of interactions I'd get. I mean, I had fun drawing the characters, but the reality is that I had petty reasons. I don't dislike it though.

I know exactly what I wanted to do with the sixteenth, and I didn't achieve it. Looking back, I think I should've done it in BW, rather than grayscale, to make it pop more. Fix the composition too. It's too plain. Shame, I really like Lilithmon X's design.

Seventeenth was also one where I just phoned it in. I think the values are all over the place; though I do like the harsh light. Impmon is a lot of fun to draw, all things considered.

Greymon was fun, lots of fun to draw. But this was another piece where I went too crazy trying to use halftones, I ended up making something that lacked impact or presence. I do like, in a self deprecating way, how the background seems okay until you look at it directly and see that it's kinda bad lol.

I made Nefertimon's torso too long! I only realized when I was doing the finishing touches lol. Yet I like the whole thing a lot, I think the texture and lightning kinda sells it as a photo (the white border was an attempt at selling that further). Saw someone refer to it as "the last thing I see before I die", and that comment might stay with me forever lol.

The twentieth is another I had a clear picture in my head as to what I was actually hoping to make, but failed to. Instead of landing some sort of finish, it's on a weird gray (lol) area. Making clouds is hard y'all.

Twenty one is one where I managed to stick the landing to what I had in mind. I think the composition needed a few more minutes of baking, but overall I'm content with the result. Death-X-DORUgoramon is a complex design, so any degree of succesful translation is a win in my book.

I think I needed to draw some more background Kuramon for the twenty second. Y'know, to really sell the swarm thing. It's kinda too clean.

Before twenty three, I had never given myself the time to draw a tree shilouette. It was fun to turn off my brainfor a bit and just draw line, after line, after line, after line. I did the tree first, and then I tried to figure out how to make Shurimon. Originally, I wanted him to be hunched over more dramatically, almost as if he was climbing down the tree, but I was incapable of drawing it in a satisfactory manner. So this is what I got.

Twenty four is so bad! I think Monitamon came out fine, but the background elements are so poorly done! I'm so embarrassed! lol

Kabuterimon was really fun, very dramatic looking. I think it has some serious readability issues with the hands, but I don't dislike the idea I had at all.

Hackmon's drawing was done almost like a sibling piece to the fourteenth, Jesmon's. Like, Huckmon is somehow watching his exhausted future, yet he stands stoic. On it's own, I think it's plain. Like, it has some charm, but it's lacking in impact compared to the fourteenth. But maybe that's for the best of the story?

The Wizarmon sticker came through me realizing I wasn't practicing my lineart! So I did a sticker instead. This was actually version two, but number one was so bad I had to redo it. Despite it being a humble sticker chibi, it's overall the day I spent the most time drawing.

Twenty eight came from me realizing I hadn't done any Alphamon! So I did what I thought would look badass. As much as I like Alphamon, though, his shapes are difficult for me to grasp so it came out shoddy and weak lol.

Twenty nine, Ragna Lordmon vs Ragnamon, was hurt by me recording it. While an exciting thing to do, I felt like I wasn't allowed to do anything but move forward quickly, or to change things (I'd have moved both Ragnamon and the main Ragna Lordmon body closer to the center) that would've made the composition flow better. It's not an abject failure, and the video is fun to watch, but still…

Dorumon is a simple piece that I was a bit surprised to make. My birthday is not information I tell people, but I was just compelled to share a bit of myself. I dunno, it feels weird. I'm weird. It came out cute at least.

And at the last! Noble Pumpmon again. I'd love to tell you that I applied everything I learned throughout the month and it's my best piece and stuff, but that isn't the reality. It's a better show for a similar amount of effort compared to the October 1st drawing, but it's not some crazy good display of betterment. A bit, yes, but less than I had hoped.

If you made it this far into this silly wall of text I wrote, I thank you. I thank everyone who interacted with my drawings, it pleases me a lot to see that someone gave it a like, or a share, or a comment. I learned about myself, and my limits, through this experience. It was tiring, but setting myself the goal of "make a drawing a day" was, paradoxically, liberating. Like, now I had a reason to draw! (despite me having some comission work to do lmfao). It was nice. This was one of the most entertaining octobers in recent years. Thanks again to everyone who participated in some fashion.

[panlight]

I remember seeing a post once about how Bella's only really ~selfless~ when it comes to the Edward/the Cullens and i honestly agree.

even if midnight sun supposedly gave more moments of bella's told ~kindness and selflessness~ in the main books where they're actually from HER pov there are still plenty moments where it comes off otherwise.

She only really gets close to jacob just to have him tell her about the legends, so she can figure out more about edward/his family, to which in MS Edward gets this ✨brilliant✨ idea to use that as a "justification" to slaughter a tribe that already is willing to allow his family in their area despite having EVERY right to not welcome them due to what their kind can do to their people. so that's..fun :) (actually speaking of MS, I can't get over how edward is bitching about billy being rightfully leery of them and hates how he sees them as monsters despite saying the same things to Bella whenever he wants to convince her of how dangerous their relationship/her choice to be a vampire is. lol)

In new moon, she only decides to reconnect with Jessica mainly to "get Charlie off her back" and when Jessica gets rightfully upset that she nearly got into trouble approaching some shady guys in a bar, Bella sees Jessica as "having gone to the dark side". Like?? Bella, your lucky she even still bothered to hang out with you after giving her the cold shoulder for months. And the first time you two hang out, you nearly endangered yourself AND her all because you wanted to see a figment of Edward in your head.

In fact! While I like Jacob's friendship with Bella in new moon (idc if people said it was boring because "no vampires"; the platonic chemistry bella and jacob had was 👌👌) the fact was Bella's original plan to see Jacob was to get him to fix the bikes so she can keep seeing "Edward" in her head.

I remember being irritated at Bella mostly at the end of New Moon, tbh. A moment that stood out was when Charlie was mad at Edward for leaving her behind and what he did to her (as a good father SHOULD) yet Bella threatens him to leave home if he won't ease up on edward as if he's the one who doesn't get it?? Bella sucks in that scene because earlier she LEARNS how hard it was for Charlie, seeing her like that and trying every possible way to help her (only for Bella to reject it each time) and yet he's expected to deal with the same guy who, from his perspective, broke his daughter's heart like nothing happened??

In Eclipse, while Bella's moment with Angela helping her with the letters was nice (wish we got more of these small moments, especially if Angela was supposedly such a good friend to her), it's tainted with how it was mainly so she wouldn't have to confront Edward's anger (yikes) for her seeing Jacob.

Actually, most of Eclipse i really disliked how Bella kinda see's anyone that doesn't kiss ass to the Cullens or are completely okay with her despite how she treated them during her depression period as the "bad guys" (Bella's words on her classmates: "us vs them").

Honestly, Breaking Dawn was such a hot mess (though our little friend group may be revisiting the entire saga (which will unfortunately include BD) next year for it's 20th anniversary, so...godspeed lol) but the main thing that stood out was how she and the Cullens were just...willing to host all the visiting vampires over at Forks, these vampires who DO feed on human blood, and risk all the children of the tribe phasing into wolves. And ALL she has to say about either are "well, them feeding on humans makes me uncomfortable but oh well :( " and "with all these vampires, the explosion of werewolf population was inevitable :0" Tbh it's not just Bella in this situation, the Cullens in here really suck. There was NO reason they couldn't just meet somewhere else. I do partially blame Jacob for it too, because I *think* there was this line where he talks (to Edward iirc?) about how hard it is to be away from Ricochet, but dude! Just go with them! You don't need to endanger the younger people in your tribe! You of ALL people should know what that's like!!

So far that's all i have to say becus that's all I can remember (though that might change once our friend book club get together next year for the saga's 20th, where our memories will be much more fresh XD). it's just,,,UGH, I can't wrap my head with how Edward and Jacob go on about Bella being so ~selfless~ with Jacob even going on about how she's a ~martyr when really, her selflessness is either selective, or mostly just self-serving.

I really enjoy the Jacob and Bella friendship, too, but when you stop and think about it . . . it all started with her using him. The first time she awkwardly attempted to flirt with him to get him to tell her the 'scary stories' on the beach, and then in New Moon she shows up out of nowhere because she wants him to fix the bikes. Bella eventually realizes like "oh hey I genuinely like spending time with Jake," but it started with "what can I get out of him?"

And like, fine! Humans do that kind of stuff! We're flawed! It's just weird the narrative is demonizing Jessica for like, mostly hanging out with Bella to try and get some of Bella's instant popularity to rub off on her, but Bella gets a pass for her treatment of Jacob because Protagonist. Bella's allowed to be flawed, that's great, makes her more interesting, but the overall narrative is still like "omg so SELFLESS" and it's like, um sometimes?

And yeah I will always hate the Breaking Dawn feeding situation. There are so many better ways to resolve it. But I think SM ultimately wasn't really interested in the vegetarian vampire stuff beyond just needing a reason Edward and Bella could be together. There are fun things she could have done here if she like, cared. She's already established that Carlisle is buying blood. Maybe their guests would have found it delightfully amusing to be served blood in wine glasses or Esme could make like 1950s housewife blood Jello molds or something. OR there could have been arguments about it! Carlisle trying to persuade them, Emmett challenging them "bet you can't go a week on our diet plan!" Rosalie sneering in disgust. Siobhan testing her maybe-power by trying to see if she can will everyone to abstain. OR they were literally only there for like two weeks. That's the average length of time between hunting. The book kind of makes it feel like they were there for a long time, but the earliest showed up middle of December and the confrontation is on New Year's Eve. Also I can't get over the idea that all these people KNOW Carlisle. Some have known him longer than the other Cullens have! You don't go visit your devout vegan friend and expect to be served bacon cheeseburgers. You try the tofu stir-fry.

But SM didn't really want to get into it, so Bella doesn't super care. I personally think "it makes me a little uncomfortable" was just the laziest, least satisfying way to handle it. And the shifters just having to stand there and watch because oh well we need them to witness for Nessie and she's Jacob's imprint so she matters more than anyone else is, uh, not good. Especially when earlier in the SAME BOOK Sem straight-up says: "When blood drinkers cross our land, we destroy them, no matter where they plan to hunt. We protect everyone we can." Again, there could be interesting conflict here, but it would shift the focus from the Bella and Nessie stuff, so Bella just feels a little bad and we move on.

But anyway yeah I think Bella's the most selfless when it comes to grand gestures. She'll exile herself to Forks so Renee will be free to travel, she'll sacrifice herself to James to save her mom, she'll consider stabbing herself with a rock to distract Victoria and Riley to save Edward and Seth, she'll risk her life and dreamed-of eternity with Edward to bring Renesmee into the world. But in the day-to-day stuff, she can be just as selfish and manipulative and judgmental as anyone else. She's 'human,' even when she's not human anymore.

[1loer]

my half of my collaboration with @dr2-hell !!!!!!! aaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!! this was so super fun to do I'm so excited with how everything turned out! Their idea was so fun to write! AND THE COMIC HE DID FOR ONE OF THE SCENES IS SO EPIC SO PLEASE LOOK AT IT TOO IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY!!!

Link to AO3 (but also it's under the read-more for tumblrinas ^^ )

Despite all the time he’d spent on this island, this was the first time Komaeda had seen the sunset from the beach. He couldn’t help but think that that was a waste, but he supposed most people would probably argue he’d had other things to worry about. The fading of the bright sun into the ocean was a melancholy experience. A bright hope fading into a deep and endless darkness. But for the sun to rise tomorrow, it must set tonight. 

A thought like that was usually a comfort. Now, something about it made the gaping hole that yawned in his chest moan louder than it usually did. No one else would really understand what he meant by that. Perhaps that was what made this all feel so horribly sad. Instead of hope, the sunset just reminded him that he was alone. This wasn’t a new thought, but something about it felt more final now. As childish as it was, Komaeda had always held a small and quiet hope within himself that something may happen to prove his beliefs wrong. No matter how certain he’d been that he was alone, that hope had remained and wiggled its way to the surface like a worm tricked by a seagull pounding its feet on the ground. Right now he couldn’t help but feel like that small hope had been crushed for good, but he didn’t really know why. 

His loneliness was made all the more potent by the silence him and his audience sat in. He hadn’t seen Hinata approach, hadn’t even heard him sit down. Just one moment he wasn’t there then the next he was, a blurry smudge in the corner of his vision. Komaeda hadn’t questioned it; hadn’t even looked straight at him. He’d been too busy focusing on convincing himself he didn’t want to speak to him. It hadn’t worked. He switched tactics, instead trying to strengthen his resolve so Hinata would have to speak first. This was usually easy, and with the amount of tension that ran between them now, he’d have thought that Hinata would’ve broken after less than a minute of silence. He could already imagine his face, how he’d demand an explanation, or god forbid, an apology, like he deserved either of those things. Or at least, Komaeda was trying really hard to convince himself he didn’t want to give him those things. 

He’d told him once that he’d stoop to begging if that's what it took to have Hinata talk to him. At the time, he could tell from Hinata’s face that he’d thought he was being facetious. If only. Komaeda thought that after everything, that feeling would have changed. It hadn’t. Speaking to Hinata had always been much too easy. This silence was unnatural. He’d rather they argued. Despite what should be, his desperate feelings hadn’t changed, and desperate is as desperate does. 

“You’ve never been this quiet before. You must be really mad.” only the waves responded, crashing against the sand rhythmically, “Or maybe you’re making fun of me. Either would be reasonable. I would do the same if I was in your shoes right now.” the sun shimmered on the ocean’s horizon, and Hinata stayed quiet. It gave him too much space to talk. Without a response, it was easy to forget anyone was there to hear him at all, “Though it’s strange. I usually feel quite reprehensible, but right now, it seems worse. It reminds me of when my parents died…” the sudden vulnerability was all the proof he’d needed that he’d forgotten himself in the silence, “Ah! I told you that was a lie, didn’t I? Do you believe me more, now that I’ve brought it up again so flippantly? Revisiting the topic so out of the blue could only suggest that it’s real, right? Do you feel bad for me yet?” Hinata stayed quiet. Perhaps he really could see through him as clearly as Komaeda always hoped he could. But what right did he really have to wish for something like that when he was always so quick to run away at the first sign of sincerity? Komaeda had always wanted after everything he couldn’t have; an envious creature from birth. Though, perhaps not as envious as most. He smiled into the sand that nearly buried his boots at the thought, “Somehow, even if you did, I don't think it would feel as sweet anymore.”  

Still nothing. The sickly burn of shame gurgled in him. A feeling that quickly turned hot. Maybe before he could’ve settled with the idea that Hinata didn’t care for what he had to say. An Ultimate shouldn’t care for the idle prattle of some commoner like him when it had no use other than to distract them from their goal of furthering the hope of this world. But Hinata wasn’t an Ultimate. Hinata wasn’t anyone worthwhile at all. 

Now, it all seemed obvious, and Komaeda felt more stupid than he had the entire time he’d known him. From the first time he’d seen him he’d known that they were the same. At first it was suspicious. Why out of everyone would Hinata not remember his talent? To Komaeda it could only have meant that he was different from the others. One of the first things he’d thought was that perhaps Hinata didn’t have a talent at all. He certainly didn’t stand out in any particular way. But still, there was something about him that set him apart from others. Something special. The more time had gone on and the more of Hinata’s good traits he’d seen, the opposite seemed more and more likely, and the more the question of what had intrigued him. 

But there was nothing. Whatever Komaeda had sensed must have been a delusion, because someone like Hinata couldn’t be special at all. To think he’d been right all along…Perhaps he could call it a lucky guess. 

And now Hinata sat here, no better than him, perhaps even in some ways worse, and after everything that had happened, he had the audacity to ignore him.

“Do you know why I feel like this, Hinata?” somehow, he managed to keep the vitriol out of his voice, “Something tells me that it’s your fault, so you should own up to it, okay? Take responsibility.” 

Still, Hinata said nothing. Komaeda’s hands tightened their grip on his knees.

“You’re a really stubborn guy, huh? Though, I suppose I always knew that. I’m pretty stubborn too.” he pretended to catch himself on his words, and laughed at his slip up, “Sorry, I know you don't like it when I compare the two of us. I understand it’d be a hard thing to accept. I can't even accept myself. But there’s no doubt you can hide behind now. I was right, we are the same…” he tried not to smile as he said it. He didn’t have to try that hard. Words that usually tasted so temptingly sweet now just felt sad, like a sweet where the only taste came from its sugar coating and now, he’d sucked it clean there was nothing left. 

Maybe less of a sweet and more of a pill, one he still struggled to swallow, and it had nothing to do with how he felt about the Reserve Course and everything to do with who Hinata was. Hinata, who’d been a leader, a friend, a scapegoat, a motivator. A talentless, Reserve Course, second string, nobody and still everything Komaeda wanted to be and more. 

Komaeda had been an envious creature from birth. 

The sun bled red across the sky, an even, deep colour that soaked into the ocean, staining it a dark red. The sun must’ve set further when he wasn’t looking. It drained the idyllic feeling from the view. Now, it only made his apprehension worse and even more difficult to figure out. Hinata still didn’t move. Komaeda still couldn’t look at him. It was more than just stubbornness, that was much too simple an explanation for the sinking dread he had at even the idea of looking at him. It choked him up, a nostalgic nausea overcoming him if he even so much as tilted his head too far in his direction.

“But if we are the same, then shouldn’t I hate you? Reserve course and talentless, and a peer to swine like me. It only makes sense to hate you.” Komaeda ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “So why…” 

Why then could he not be happier that he was here with him? The thought of him leaving was worse. The idea of being alone right now was terrifying. Not the usual fear he’d lived with all his life. Instead, Komaeda was strangely and harrowingly certain that if Hinata left, he’d disappear. He wanted to feel okay about that. Maybe some nights he’d even had the thought that such a thing would be a blessing. But he couldn’t accept it. He hadn’t done what he needed to yet. 

Of course. How strange that he’d forgotten. He had something to do, maybe the most important and meaningful thing he’d ever done in his life. He couldn’t help the tremble of excitement that went through him. Everything he’d built up to his entire life, all his suffering, all the pain, it would finally mean something. Most of all, it would finally come to an end. One final bet on his luck, and one last chance for it to steer him right. Finally, he would become the stepping stone he’d always wanted to be, always knew he could be.

If Hinata could do it, then why couldn’t he? 

The traitor, he was sure it was Nanami. It was the only person that made sense. The only one who hadn’t fallen to despair, or so it seemed with the information he had. Their truest hope, the only one of them left that was worthy of his support. To be the one who destroyed despair, to be the back she jumped off into the future, that person could only be described as Ultimate Hope. 

He wasn’t too big to admit he was scared. It was going to hurt. This would be no Irish goodbye. If he was going out, agent of despair or not, he was getting the exit he deserved. Too long had he shrivelled in the shadows. In that moment, he would be in the spotlight. He was going to make it big, make it messy, make it horrific. Spit in the faces of all his classmates who’d dared to look down on him when they were all Ultimates who’d failed so horribly at their destiny. Komaeda couldn’t contain his disappointment. Disappointment wasn’t a strong enough word for this feeling. It edged against hate. Komaeda may have failed once to do what he needed; he would not make the same mistake again. Now he would set it all right. 

It should’ve been easy. The boy in his peripheral made him second guess it all. 

Hinata had been kind to him in a way no one else had. Even after he failed the first time, and Hinata had found out about the part of him he’d hoped he could hide, Hinata had still sought him out, over and over, no matter what Komaeda revealed about himself. Why the hell had he even ended up with them all in the first place? Now, Komaeda wished he’d never met him. Doing what he needed to do wasn’t supposed to be this hard. 

If Komaeda really wanted his plan to be flawless, he should take Hinata out with him. If he wanted, he could’ve figured out a way to do it. It wouldn’t have been hard. For some reason, despite not trusting him at all, Hinata listened to him. He could use that to his advantage. When it came to the class trial, Hinata was the only one who could stop him. Reserve course, talentless Hinata. Would he be able to understand him the way he’d need to to figure him out? And if he did, would he have the guts to sentence them all? 

Could Hinata understand him that deeply? What would it mean if he did? 

But how could he then say that he’d properly conquered despair if he took away their strongest weapon? How could he claim it to be a fair and unequivocal win? It needed to be a complete sweep, all in one, if he ever wanted to be properly acknowledged as Ultimate Hope. Everything he’d dreamed of, all in the palm of his hands. He wouldn’t spare a single expense to make it right. 

It was a bullshit excuse. The truth was that Komaeda knew he wasn’t strong enough to kill Hinata directly. No amount of twisting his beliefs could hide that. As usual, Hinata, unimportant, unremarkable Hinata, broke through everything he’d spent his life believing in and ruined it all. So now, here he was at the finish line and all he wanted to do was stay with Hinata just a little longer. Even if it was in silence. Even if Hinata hated him. 

Komaeda had always wanted what he couldn’t have, now was no different. 

“I’m sorry.”    

For a second, he didn’t even believe the words were his. But Hinata still didn’t move, a still and unfocused blur at the corner of his vision. He screwed his eyes shut. He thought he should take it back. But he didn’t want to. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure what he was sorry for. Even so, the words came spewing out of some deepening hole in his chest like they could somehow patch it up.

“If you knew, you would understand. It wasn’t about the Reserve Course. Not all of it. If you only knew-” Komaeda shook his head. He dragged his hands through his hair. The silence echoed. Not a sound on the beach other than his own haggard breathing, “You won’t even acknowledge me? Have you finally decided that I’m no good at all? All this and you finally understand.” Komaeda laughed, a weak thing that made his begging all the more pitiful, “Funny, this is all I ever thought I deserved, yet having you completely ignore me is more crushing than anything else I’ve gone through. Isn’t that just silly?

“I don’t know why you mean so much to me, Hinata. If I knew I could try to stop. You shouldn’t mean anything to me at all. You’re nothing. You’re worse than nothing.” He dug his nails into his scalp, overwhelmed with shame at all he’d ever said and all he never could,

Komaeda had never heard a silence like this. If he couldn’t hear himself, he’d worry he’d gone deaf. The red sky darkened. The shadows of the palm trees stretched. 

“Please, can we go back to how it was?” his voice was a cracked whisper through his grit-toothed smile, “I know it’s pathetic to ask, but could you look at me like that again? Like you did before. Like you could learn to care for me. You were the first one who ever did.” 

If he hadn’t dropped his arms at the moment he did, he would’ve missed him. Even in the dead silence of the beach, Komaeda hadn’t heard him get up. All this time spent ignoring him and trying to push him away and all it got him was watching his back as he left. Once more he bared his heart, and once more Hinata dropped it on the floor and left him to pick it up by himself. Before he could accept it. Now, the image of Hinata’s back filled him with a frantic and furious desperation. Hinata didn’t get to walk away from him anymore. He’d lost that privilege before they’d even met. 

He pushed to his feet, his boots slipping in the sand, and chased after him. 

“Don’t ignore me!” he reached out to grab him and

His hand passed through Hinata’s arm. He stumbled forwards, still carrying momentum he’d thought he’d have given away. He looked at his hand, like it could help him comprehend what had just happened. Had he missed? Had his co-ordination deteriorated that far while he wasn’t paying attention? 

Hinata was walking away, further down the beach, through a snow that fell in slow, fuzzy streams. 

The more he stared, the more the snow obscured him, until it was less like snow and more like static. Komaeda hesitated, then ran, ran until he caught up with him, then past him. He turned around and faced him dead on, with shoulders square and feet planted solid- until he faltered.

Hinata didn’t stop walking at his slow and even pace. Hinata walked as if he wasn’t there. Until they were face to face, until he was close enough for Komaeda to wince at the impact he knew was coming. 

Until Hinata passed through him completely. He shivered through Komaeda with a buzzing feeling, like pins and needles tip to toe, until he came out the other side. Now, all Komaeda stared at was the snow as it fell on this dark and shadowy beach with a red ocean so dark it was nearly black. But all of that hadn’t made him falter. In fact, he’d hardly been able to process any of it until after it had happened, because Komaeda had been too stuck on the fact that when he’d finally faced Hinata there was nothing there to see, because Hinata had no face. 

He clutched his chest. Anxiety rushing him so strongly he felt lightheaded. His short breaths quickened, he tried everything he’d practised to slow it. But even breaths seconds deep didn’t touch him at all. He could feel it filling his lungs, chest expanding so wide it hurt, but still he choked, chest hot and tight like he was holding his breath. The air was thick and close and hot . Hotter and hotter. The sun was gone but he was sweating, and the heat was only building, until it was like fog and he could taste it on his tongue, until the thick and empty air he tried to suck in was hot too. A panic attack had never felt like this before. 

He scratched at his throat, some desperate and childish thought telling him that if he could open it he could breathe. He collapsed to the ground, legs shaking, too weak to hold him upright. He clutched at the sand as he tried to cough, tried anything, not even conscious of what his body was doing, everything he was scattering as his brain reverted back to basics, powered only by the thought of survival.

But that felt wrong. Even as he choked, part of him fought the animal in his brain that was thrashing to survive, like this was right, like this was supposed to happen. 

Then he saw his hand. He watched it, dull with something close to fascination, as the hand clutching the sand began to split. A fissure, a hole, that started small in the centre then peeled open, slow enough he could hear it, skin and muscle parting with wet, ripping sound. As he lifted his hand it trembled, shaking so hard he had to let go of his throat to grab his wrist. He turned it over, the wound was worse in his palm, blood running out of the gaping wound, his palm too shallow to hold so much blood. It dripped from his hand, staining the sand black in fat globs. 

Not just his hand, his thighs. Rips blooming open short and sharp yet so deep. Komaeda felt it in his underdeveloped quads, ripping in places that shouldn't rip. An awareness of his body he’d never known before and now he wished he could forget. Still, he couldn’t breathe, not even to scream, his fear constricted inside him. Still his lungs burned as they begged to. 

A force in his stomach like a punch threw him to his side. When he hit the ground, something inside him clicked. The hollow hole in his gut, the one he’d soothed like a wound his whole life, was no longer an overused metaphor. A plunging emptiness tore through him and his blood rushed to fill it. He gagged and choked, the punch winding him and taking the last of his breath with him, and he remembered it all. He tried to laugh; he didn’t have the air for it. He finally remembered he was dead. 

Then he could deal with the pain. Then, the blood and the gore and the ripping and the spaces in his body that were so completely wrong seemed somehow holy to him. For what better reason to suffer so hard and for so long? What better reason to die than hope?  Now, he would be transformed. Maybe they wouldn’t get it at first, but Komaeda knew in the future they’d look back at his sacrifice and feel grateful for him, for being the only one who could, and the only one who did. A culmination of his suffering, and now he would have meaning. 

Why didn’t it feel good? 

Lying here, he could see the edge of the beach where he knew the pavement was. Despite the heat he felt cold. A coldness inside him that made him feel sick. An empty pit that gaped wider that was so much worse than the gutted space under his ribcage that pissed his blood out onto the sand. 

All this work and effort and meaning, and all he wanted to do was be in bed. Not the bed in his cottage, not the bed in his home back in Japan. He wanted his mother’s bed, tucked in tight like all those times he’d gotten sick when he was young. 

He was going to die alone. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was selfish to wish someone was here. The greatest suffering he knew bestowed upon him so that this death could bring a hope even greater. 

There was movement. Through the static of the snow he could see it. A person approaching the beach. A person on the threshold. 

“ Hinata ?” he tried to speak, but no sound came out.

Between its straining, his heart still managed to flutter. A feeling inside him, a scratching and clawing more desperate than his innate drive to live, nearly gave him enough strength to stand. He pushed himself up.

Hinata stopped at the edge of the beach. Komaeda reached out towards him. The static grew heavier. 

“ Hi-na -” he wheezed, only the vowels sounding. 

Hinata backed away, hesitated, then turned and ran away. 

Komaeda stared at the space as long as his body could keep him upright. It only gave him a few more seconds. He lay on his side, curling against the pain in his stomach, a pain he felt was ripping him both ways, quartering him as he choked on a full chest of dead air. He watched the space at the edge of the beach like maybe something would change. Like Hinata would come back and sit with him, his head in his lap, a hand in his hair. The phantom fire didn’t die and did nothing to warm the cold spreading from his chest despite how it burned his skin. He watched the path through the fuzzing static snow until he couldn’t anymore, until his want to breathe took over everything else. Until all he wanted again was for it all to end and for it all to finally mean something.  He’d never wanted to die alone, but he supposed that in the end this all was his own fault. 

Komaeda had always wanted what he couldn’t have. 

[doe-prince]

I love Golden Shrike! I've had my own comic idea for about a decade now, but I'm wondering, for you, how long did it take you to be confident enough with your art to start your comics? had you attempted panels and backgrounds earlier and didn't put them out because you weren't happy with them yet? I'm almost done with my characters and writing but I'm worried I'm not good enough to actually start doing panels

(these are just my views and experiences! there's as many approaches as there's artists)

I was BAD when I started comics, but then I again I was a kid who didn't care if my bunny-cat-digimon comics weren't good enough, it was just fun to do. Which is what it should still be, fun and a fulfillment to you. I think the happiest an artisit can be is when they can draw like they have no audience.

My comics stopped in my teenhood when I actually wanted to make something good. I made so much groundwork but VERY rarely got to the actual page production because I thought everything should be perfect, but we all know there's no such thing. When I noticed all my attempts were doomed, I stopped making them for like ten years until I was zapped with Fuck It We Ball-mentality. And it's the best thing that has happened to me. Childhood whimsy. Make your own toys.

Did I make test pages for Golden Shrike before starting production? Well, the first page of the comic is a test page. And the second page. And the whole first chapter. I just never stopped. Not smart but it's what works for me. Starting these 'test pages' has kickstarted two bigger comics for me, Golden Shrike and Jet and Harley.

Sure I made couple of style tests for GS even though I had a clear visual vision from the start, but Jet and Harley I just started to draw without any real practice pieces, just based on couple of CSP brushes I wanted to use. This isn't very smart as you'll likely find out later that MAN, this style takes too much effort, but if you're unlike me and don't care so much for consistency, you can always simplify it on the fly. And even I've had to change it: I stopped shading after chapter 5, briefly used 3D assets in upcoming pages, now I'm gonna shrink the font a little. They're teeny tiny things for readers, but huge for me.

There's many comic authors who like to plan every little detail before getting to work, but it doesn't work for me so I can't say much about it. I have a skeleton to follow, but I fully flesh out each chapter one by one when I reach them with pages, because I like to revisit my old visions with fresh brains. When you actually get to work, you might realize some scenes aren't needed, or they'd be better changed. Don't be scared to crack some ribs off your story skeleton. Being too loyal to your old vision can often hinder you.

Starting production is the biggest monster in comic making, but after the first step you'll mow over it leaving it in your dust and create a baby you can be so proud of. I wish you, and everyone else on the cusp of their projects GOOD LUCK, HAVE FUN, LOVE YOUR WORK.

[arcane-ish]

Revisiting the season 1 "is Silco a bad parent" discourse

It seems that sometimes people come across my season 1 metas and liking them and it's pretty fun for me to "re-find" some of my old stuff that way.

I like to think I still stand by a lot of if even if a lot of theories about how things get disproven.

Anyway, I think it's very interesting in retrospect how central and heated the "Is Silco a bad father" discourse was in season 1. (It was very much the "is Caitlyn a war criminal" of its day)

One aspect that I think made it differently is that "being a war criminal" is usually a relatively distant concept for most people.

While if you listened deeper you could sense a lot of personal stories and very different takes on what makes a good or bad parent.

Looking back, it does feel like maybe a lot of it was the Vi&Cait side of the fandom versus the Silco&Jinx side of the fandom with a lot of people in the middle weighing in, because it is an interesting question and again ones relationship to a parent being something where everybody can bring something to he table.

In the end season 1 is very structured around Vi. She's by the character by far with the most screentime. And season 1 is pretty much about her quest to retrieve her sister.

Vi has a certain, harsh way of perceiving Silco and Silco and Jinx. And I wonder if at least some of the discourse was a lot about validating Vi and validating Vi's quest. Because if Silco is an awesome parent and Jinx is happy, then Vi's quest is basically useless, right?

For the record, I don't think Vi fans were overall about proving that Silco is evil and Vi has to smite him. Even in season 1 I think there was generally a lot of fandom discourse support for the idea that Vi has to accept that her sister is changed and that she can't just blindly cling to the past. But there's still investment in the idea that she is at least partially right.

On the opposite. To me it does feel like on the Silco&Jinx side (even though people will always say they understand that their charas do bad things) it did feel like there were genuinely people who wanted an edgy "Silco and Jinx never did anything and are perfect and everybody else drools" take by the show. Again, just like with the Vi side, not all. Plenty of Silco fans who also get that he was a flawed father even if he was genuine. Just saying the "Silco and Jinx should burn the world down without resistance as an awesome powercouple and/or father&daughter duo" also existed and who were longing for a portrayal where everybody who opposed Silco turns out to be more evil than him or comes around and sings his praises to validate Silco.

Which brings me to:

I think a big reason why I was less disappointed with season 2 than some others is because I always saw myself squarely in the middle of this discourse.

For me that looked like that: For a lot of the accusations typically levelled against Silco I was usually a lot more on the "Silco side" of things than on the "Vi side".

That a lot of the things that are happening are dark, but dark that make sense for the setting. ie having Jinx be violent, encouraging her to fight, not seeking help for her mental illness, that always seemed like a fairly natural part of the setting to me. And on the whole manipulating front, seeing it more as "Silco projects his own trauma/fear/paranoia, his messed up feelings about Vander onto Vi" rather than he is intentionally manipulating (though I do think there was an element of "Silco is scared of Jinx leaving him and wants to tie her to him at all costs" rather than just a clean mangnanimous "Silco thinks Vi is dangerous and wants to protect Jinx from harm")

But at the same time: I also had genuine bugbears with his parenting.

When I look at my old post one thing that I pointed out was that it feels off to me that Jinx doesn't have peers her age. She interacts mostly with Sevika and Silco. The closes to her age is probably Thieram and he's scared of her. Back then I reserved judgement. Because we don't know for sure how Jinx felt about it. Maybe since she killed her brothers she never wanted to be around friends anymore out of fear of killing them. Though I still think that as a parent Silco should have pushed back on that. Especially since imo the Enemy music video suggests that in the past Powder did like playing with other children, at the very least Ekko. So to me season 2 was extremely validating when we see that as soon as Silco is gone from her influence the first thing Jinx does is attach herself to a young girl and be really playful and kid like with her. And season 2 suggests that having Ekko forgive her did mean something to her. (and depending on whether you consider it canon or not, Jinx writing "home" on top of the firelight base when she has been there like once is just gutting)

There's also the fact "Silco is just projecting his trauma rather than manipulating" to me is a seriously deal. Even if that means that he isn't manipulating "he can't see beyond his trauma enough to be a good parent" is still a serious parenting issue. (for the record: Vander has very similar problems in his parentage) If you had a parent who is a narcissicst or a drug addict or bipolar and that did have an affect on the parenting style, you would still file that under having a bad/less than ideal childhood even if that parent tried.

And the core effect of this trauma/paranoia is that Silco does not respect what Vi means to Jinx and is not really engaging with Jinx about it. And no, he did not know Vi was alive, but he did lie about Vi just being there for the crystal (when from his conversation with Vi in the Shimmer addict scene he KNEW that Vi was there about Jinx). Not to mention he immediately moves to try to get rid of Vi and attacks her rather than even just subtly try to figure out how Jinx feels about it. Again in a perfect parent world, even if he irrationally feels that Vi will hurt Jinx, the good parent thing would have been to talk to Jinx, express his fears and let Jinx choose how she wants to handle the situation. Support her through it, catch her if Vi really does end up hurting her.

But then I generally often feel like I have a very different take on Jinx and Silco's relationship. Like… if you see Silco and Jinx as a pair, a duo… you can see in season 1 that Jinx isn't fully happy with him? Like the underlying message of season 1 is that even though she was with Silco and she cared for him, she was dreaming of being with Vi the entire time. She wanted to abandon Silco and run away with Vi. She kept, remembered and activated the flare when she realizes that Vi is alive/around. She yearned for Vi while she was gone, was always doubtful of Silco's world, completely thought Silco was capable of lying to her. She cares about him, but she does not fully believe the things he's telling her, she clearly thinks of him as somebody to take with a grain of salt, yes even before the Shimmer maker he doubt him even more.

For the record, I don't buy the Silcofan take Jinx and Silco were 100% happy and he a completely reasonable parent till all the stressors of season 1 Act 2 happened. IMO I buy what Jinx says to Vi in the dinner scene in 1x09, the deep tiredness and frustration. And I don't think that Jinx would assume so easily that he would lie even pre Shimmer if he hadn't given her the vibe before. And we see her pushing back and rebelling a little bit not just against his restriction but against the lies he tells himself before all that.

(it probably helps that my fandom of Silco was always more on the "he's this beautiful, chaotic, tragic, compelling, ingenious mess" rather than "he's so cool and badass". Like a lot harder on the "Silco makes a freaked out face during the rat experiments" than just "Silco does sexy sauntering")

Again, if you "ship" Silco and Jinx as a narrative pair, even if just a platonic one, maybe you were rooting for the story to validate Silco fully. Yes, Jinx strayed and tried to "cheat" on Silco with Vi, wanted to leave him, wanted to run off with Vi, but he was right all along, Vi didn't care for her and choose the enforcer over Jinx. And the happy end will be Jinx understands Silco's love for her and knew he as right all along and be gung go, either wanting to kill herself because she loved him so much or dedicate her life to continuing his life's work.

And maybe the Vi side thought that with Silco being dead it would be a "ding dong the witch is dead", yes Jinx is now even further in her darkness but maybe season 2 can be the search to retrieve her and everybody can at least see what horror he has wrought and how he destroyed Jinx's life if it turns out she cannot be saved.

The thing about season 2 is that if refuses to validate either the "Vi side" or the "Silco side"

And my theory that this really frustrated both sides, especially if they fought for fervently post season 1 about whose perspective is right.

While for me, it felt like a natural continuation of what I already saw in season 1. Jinx genuinely cares for Silco, but she wasn't fully happy with him, their relationship was genuine, but also layered and complex.

She grieves for him, but the moment he isn't there she acts very differently. She does tons of things that weren't and maybe couldn't easily have been part of her life when he was still around. Her position towards his goals, towards the fight, towards Zaun,towards violence is mixed. She connects with Isha, with Vi, with Ekko. She doesn't denounce Vi or Vander to praise Silco.

For the frustration of the "Vi side", she never denounces Silco either. And even worse, like, here you could say, okay, maybe Jinx is just strong enough to resist Silco's influence, especially now that he's gone, but he was still bad for her, but the show imo by adding Silco to the AU does take a stand against that Silco was just a bad father and a malignent influence. If Silco was just full on bad, why would he still be part of Jinx's life in the other AU, where it is hinted that Silco is very much part of many things being better in that AU. To me that alone is a strong proof that they don't see Silco as just a bad thing that has to be fought. Heck that episode textually has Ekko saying outright that maybe he wasted his time fighting/hating Silco and Jinx as part of a general message about forgiveness and embracing people.

And about all people being messy and flawed and you should still embrace them.

And from a Jinx fan point of view? That's great actually

Season 1 is being spent with Silco and Vi metaphorically fighting over Jinx. From their point of view, it would be most desirable if she chose one and decried the other.

But from a Jinx point of view? It's actually great that she doesn't have to choose. Because Jinx is a cool and awesome character who can have deep and layered and complex and loving relationships with Silco and with Vi and with Vander (and gain new ones with Isha and Jinx). She doesn't have to give one up to properly love the other. She can love all these people in her own way and at the same time, there can be complexity and flaws in all those relationships too.

Because again, Jinx is a complex character with many sides to her and many relationships to her.

And just like the show in the end refuses to make a hard choice between Powder versus Jinx, it also refuses to choose between these relationships. Doesn't see the need to push any of them to the dirt, just lets her keep and at the same time lose all of them.

I think that ultimately, why, even though I see many flaws on season 2, I can still find something to love about it. Because to me Jinx is the throughline, the emotional core as the journey of a young woman searching her place, figuring herself out, choosing her path.

(please note that I'm a staunch believer in the "Jinx Lives" theory and that clouds every and all reads on season 2 I have)

In the end, imo the juxtaposition of Silco and Vi was a pretty cool move of season 1. Most fandoms fight primarily about romantic shipping, who should date whom, who is whose OTP.

Structurally, in season 1 Vi is the main character and even though she might have flaws (maybe too brash, too narrow minded, too emotional), she comes across as the more traditional heroic character.

At the same time, she is on a quest that is impossible. She wants to retrieve a sister who doesn't exist anymore. She wants things to not change, but that can't be avoided. She has a quest given to her by her dead father figure, but maybe that quest isn't just impossible, maybe it isn't what she should be doing in the first place?

And the fact that Vi is structurally the hero but maybe she's also kind of wrong I think opened up this narrative space of "okay, if Vi is not right, that maybe who or what is?"

I get that the show answering that question with "everybody is flawed, those relationships an co-exist" isn't a satisfying answer for everybody who wanted clarity, but I can just reiterate, from my Jinx fannishness point of view, I think it's pretty great.

[receival]

warrior of darkness starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from shadowbringers, the third expansion of square enix's final fantasy 14. part 1.

sounds like tedious work. but not as tedious as waiting around, i suppose.

look how many people there are!

well, if it isn’t the hero of the hour.

stay with me. focus on my voice.

oh, do not look at me so.

we did everything right, everything that was asked of us, and still - still it came to this.

your time has not yet come.

something vague … yet urgent … calls me to action once more.

every face in this city i know. yours i do not.

pray forgive my less-than-cordial welcome.

come with me. i will answer whatever questions you have when we are somewhere more private.

do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?

i can only beg your forgiveness - matters here forced my hand.

you don’t have that whiff of indolence about you like some folk i’ve met.

we can speak here without fear of being overheard.

what say you? have i earned your trust for the moment, at least?

are you there, my friend?

now, a full and frank discussion in the privacy of my study would seem to be in order …

i’m going to guess you’re new to our fair city?

i see you’re no stranger to honest labor.

should you find yourself confused by the local language or customs, i’ll be here to answer your questions.

i understand it was something of a chore, but ‘twas necessary that you grasp these things before we proceed.

… i am not familiar with that name. is there something i should know?

mayhap we can revisit that mystery another time.

considering the ... circumstances of our meeting, you would be forgiven for doubting my version of events.

i promise i will not rest until i have found a way to help you return home.

you came from beyond, didn’t you? you came from beyond the rift!

what a brave and reckless and marvelous thing you did.

after careful consideration, i have decided to grant you my assistance.

make a pact with me, and the fun can begin.

pray rest and recuperate, and we shall reconvene anon.

we are denied the comforting blanket of night, but may peaceful dreams attend you nonetheless.

i am a shade, cursed to do naught but drift.

this world is beyond saving - like those who try to save it.

do me a favor. be careful out there. this world has had its fill of heroes.

me? i was more worried about you.

i thought i’d lost you.

i may be a stranger to this world, but i will not stand idly by and let innocent people be slaughtered.

what say you, old friend? hungry for another adventure?

thank you again. you saved my life.

there’s naught to be had here but cobwebs and memories.

just look at it … can you imagine a more beautiful city?

disapprove ...? it frustrates me, certainly. that is only part of it, though. the whole situation makes me uneasy.

however unjust this system seems to me, if these people claim to be content with their lot, it is hardly my place to criticize their choices.

i am not so naive as to think there is some miraculous solution to all of this.

there has to be a better way.

'tis fortunate that you arrive when you did, (name).

… is there something i can do for you, friend?

someone must have been eavesdropping on our conversation.

no one here gives a damn about me.

i’m giving you a chance, nothing more. what comes of it is entirely up to you.

i do not regret my decision ... yet i will admit that a part of me wonders if it was for the best.

i thought for certain i was dead.

redemption is beyond us.

‘tis good to see you back. you were taking so long i began to worry something had happened.

what then is a man of mercy to do, but offer the sinner another way to show his contrition?

what in the blazes did you do? they have the entire city looking for you!

i am sorry, (name). there are more important matters to which i must attend.

pray press me no further. i am leaving.

the outrage i witnessed must not go unanswered.

thank you, my friend ... for staying at my side through this whole sordid endeavor.

… (name)? it feels like an age since i last saw you!

i had it under control!

i knew you’d turn up sooner or later, but i had been hoping for sooner.

they either perish … or are warped into mindless abominations.

that’s an exaggeration! and i don’t sound like that, either!

i’ve no doubts she deserves all the admiration she gets. just as you do.

what, and twiddle my thumbs while you work yourself to death?

sooner or later, every single one of them will turn.

i feel just as helpless as before. no matter how hard i fight, it's never enough.

you needn’t have gone through the trouble.

in a place like this, you learn to take what moments of happiness you can get.

it’s never easy, ending a life you’ve cared for.

without a body, we can’t even give her a proper burial.

you weren’t hurt at all, were you?

hurt? there wasn’t even a fight. i was too late. too slow …

you can’t blame yourself for things beyond your control.

forgive me, (name). i couldn’t stay there a moment longer.

(name)? you’ve gone pale …

… i’m fine. we should keep moving.

we were too slow to save them …

there are … things which we can ill afford to lose.

forgive me. i fear the events of the day may have taken their toll.

how quickly you have justified my faith in you.

would you be so kind as to conceal your involvement in this endeavor for the time being?

i expect to be told the whole truth of it one day.

please. i wish to be left alone for awhile.

i promise to find you later, when i feel myself again.

sleep well, (name). i hope untroubled dreams find you.

these are my "private" quarters …

it’s when you charge ahead trying to save someone else that you end up losing those you love.

not that you need telling. i’ll bet you've lost plenty. but i wonder ... what will it cost you this time?

i don't remember when it was that i learned regret wasn’t worth the bother.

you get numb to it all over the years. the lost comrades, the broken promises, the abandoned principles - just more nagging burdens to ignore.

stay your weapon. i am not your enemy.

they tracked me down, and conscripted me to their cause.

i have more questions, but now is not the time.

you are come at a good time. as you may have heard, we have something of a quandary on our hands.

‘twas inevitable they would come knocking. the only question was how soon.

the world is dead, and writhe as we might, like maggots in its rotting corse, it will not be reborn.

i waste my breath. you have made your stance clear.

am i imagining things, or did he just stare straight at us?

while i am grateful for your support, my lord - i cannot in good conscience put your people in harm’s way.

there is, however, much to say, and precious little time in which to say it.

might i trouble you for a word, (name)? outside?

(name)! what brings you here?

i do not wish to show our hand unless absolutely necessary.

so long as hope burns in our hearts, we will fight on regardless.

there may come a day when all hope seems lost. but even should the rest of the world give in to despair - we shall not.

trust you to spoil the moment!

yes? what do you require of me?

there you are, (name)! mayhap you could lend me a hand!

you certainly took your time.

let’s rejoin the others and quit this place.

all this trouble because of me … i’m so sorry …

save your apologies until after we’ve escaped.

it’s quiet. too quiet.

you will regret coming here.

it is for your own protection.

you are made of sterner stuff than the rest. but will it be enough?

as if i didn’t have enough on my hands already …

mayhap there is another way. one which does not require bloodshed.

we should be safe enough here.

it’s good to see you again, my friend. i don't know about you, but it feels like years since last we met.

this is not the sort of place one visits on a whim.

you really have outdone yourself this time.

i’m sorry. thank you for saving me.

why can’t i remember?

we are now, i am sorry to say, entirely at their mercy.

[entomolog-t]

Bitten- Part II

Back to back posting ? Its more likely than you think! Can't keep you guys waiting too long 💕 I've been having so much fun with this AU while trying to actually get ahead with Bite Me

In this part we see that though the dynamic might have changed, these two most certainly have not.

Taglist: @smallsday @ratcatcher0325 @not-a-space-alien @bittykimmy13 @naive-bias

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First Part

Next Part: Tuesday!

Word count: 2030

CW: Nudity (non-explicit), Adult language

Aedes, thought June, was indescribably fucking hot. 

Her heart pounded in her chest as if it were dying to throw itself at him. A wash of emotions swirling in her chest as she stares up at the man in front of her. 

What the fuck is going on? This has to be a dream, right? A wildly vivid dream brought on by a guilty conscience? Her eyes wander, catching sight of his … lack of clothing. 

Perhaps this was a different kind of dream.

“June…” his whisper came as a low rumble. June’s breath caught in her throat, heat rising to her face as if she were a kettle reaching its boiling point- though, thankfully, she refrained from screaming. Since when did he know her name? 

At her non response, his brows knit together, the massive landscape of his face shifting to that of concern. A shiver ran down her spine at his gaze, so overwhelmingly locked on her. It was… stripping in a way, seeming to take so much of her in that it left her feeling bare.

It took her brain an awkward second to realize that the feeling was not exclusive to her mind. June Murphy sat there, in a bed that seemed like it could have hosted a football game, let alone her, completely and utterly bare naked. 

Aedes watches June as her hands, so unfathomably small, grip her blanket and slowly pull it to her chest.

His brain freezes at that last word.

Her… naked chest. 

Heat rising to scorch his cheeks, Aedes turns his head, a muffled noise escaping him as all at once the awe and strangeness of the situation evaporates- like a fog being lifted by the heat of the rising sun, or in his case, the heat of his rising embarrassment. Gaze averted, his mind races. 

Just what exactly was going on? He’d avoided seeing her, let alone speaking to her since… they met… a meeting he certainly wasn’t keen on revisiting… Yet now, in the unprecedented strangeness of whatever the fuck was going on, it was clear he couldn’t just go back to avoiding her.

Aedes swallows, a nervous lump forming in his throat at the thought of just how he was supposed to navigate something like this. 

Should he apologize? 

Did he even have something to apologize for? 

She was the one who defiled his pride. 

She was the one who poisoned his mind with whatever sickness she’d put him through. 

Sure he’d yelled at her, insulted her, but -  His ears perk up at the sound of her voice, far softer than he could have anticipated.

Far softer than he liked.

“Did… did you do this to me?” 

Aedes’ eyes widen, his rising frustrations deflating in an instant. She thinks I've done this? 

Stunned, Aedes slowly shakes his head. 

“No. I…” His voice trails off. Even with her mostly covered by the blanket, Aedes can barely look at her. The sight of her shaking filled him with guilt, seemingly for his very existence. Even as he averts his gaze, he doesn’t miss how her heart hammers in her chest. Aedes grits his teeth. 

He hates this. 

“Here.” His voice nearly cracks, words sticking awkwardly in his throat. Aedes stands, though his heart fills with lead upon hearing June’s gasp. 

God, he hates this so much.  

June Murphy, however bizarre and terrifying the situation, could not say she hated it.  

Perhaps, five minutes from now, when the reality of the situation sunk in… maybe then she would hate it. Maybe then she’d be completely and utterly terrified. 

But at this moment in time her mind was completely and utterly occupied with the very large, very handsome, and very naked vampire man who’d turned to rummage around her room.

Why? She had no idea, and frankly- she wasn’t sure her mind had the capacity to care. 

She would panic later. 

Aedes turned back, seemingly a little more aware of his lack of modesty as he made an awkward attempt to cover himself as he reapproached. Again, he kneels down, his piercing gazing locking June in place for the briefest moment, before he turns his head away, not wanting to look at her like this. Slowly brings his hand to her. In it, his shirt, now embarrassingly small. It was uncanny to see his clothes like this… to imagine what he had looked like in them... What he had looked like to her.  

She doesn’t take it. 

It doesn’t take Aedes long to reason why.

My hands… His throat constricted at the realization of what his hands, blackened and clawed, must look like at her size. Why would she take anything from hands like mine? 

Before he can pull his hand back, June speaks.

“Thank you.” Her voice, far too soft for his liking, is all the warning he has before he’s met with the strangest sensation. A shiver runs down his spine as he feels her touch, warm and feather light, take the shirt from his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Aedes begins, still averting his gaze, his hand moving to hide his teeth as he spoke, “That's the only clothing I have to offer-”

His apology is interrupted by a sound Aedes had not anticipated. 

June laughed. 

“Oh no- You’ll have to forgive me, but I think I have even less I can offer in the clothing department.”

Aedes remained frozen in place- stunned. She was laughing?

How could she be laughing?

His ears twitch, faint sounds of fabric being shifted and slid against soft skin pricking at his senses. Slowly, he turns back, a look of confusion on his face. He wants to ask her why she’s not panicking- Why hasn't she hid from him? He wants to ask her a whole myriad of questions, but at the sight of her sitting there in his shirt, the only sound that manages to escape him is a sharp inhale. 

It was a peculiar sight, seeing his clothes too large for her frame. His shirt hung loosely on her, hanging off her figure in a way that somehow seemed more lewd than her bare form. Ears hot, Aedes swallowed- quickly excusing himself to route through her wardrobe. 

----

“You really don’t know what's happening?”

In lieu of speaking, Aedes, clad in June’s loosest pair of baby blue shorts and what was supposed to be an oversized t-shirt, shook his head. He’d heard smallfolk talk of legends, of human blood giving his kind power but those were… vague superstitions? Or at least, he’d always assumed so- just some overly mystified explanation of his nature. 

Sitting on the floor beside June’s bed, Aedes frowned. He’d been drinking blood all his life and nothing more abnormal than a full stomach and some blood drunk thoughts had ever occurred. 

Just what exactly was going on?

Here he sat a hundred times the height he’d been the night before, and there she sat- magnitudes smaller.

His frown only deepened.

Had he…? He couldn’t have…

Aedes rests his head on the bed, trying desperately to grasp at a situation that, even now, seemed far too big for him to handle. He eyed June, her once imposing frame now dwarfed by her surroundings, the pillow she leaned against threatening to swallow her whole. 

Serves her right. He thought bitterly, his eyes lingering on her hands. Though he couldn’t ignore the itch that persisted at the back of his mind, an itch that gnawed at whatever mental fortitude he’d summoned to banish it from his conscious thought.

You’re lying. 

Aedes sighed, as if he could somehow expel the invasive thought from his mind. He didn’t miss the way his breath ruffled her hair- nor did he like it. 

She has no knowledge of the way my world works… She’ll trust humans-

Worse yet- she trusted him- at least enough to stay put. Once again, Aedes’ scowl deepens. 

How would she live like this?

How would he? 

His size was what allowed him to feed unnoticed. Like taking a sip from a lake- a way for him to hunt without killing. As meager as his stature had been, he’d had his stealth, his ease of access… he'd had plenty- his feedings a relative bounty every time.

Aedes chest tightens, a groan threatening to push past his lips. He runs his hands through his hair, trying and failing to ignore the growing sense of unease. 

How would he feed like this?

Brow furrowed, his ears flicked in agitation.  This was bad. 

This was dangerous. 

He was dangerous. 

Was this his life now? Aedes bites his lip, only to quickly cover his mouth a moment later, lest she see his teeth as she was. So close to being human, to having some shred of humanity- no longer something that could be seen as a pest, yet now someone that could be seen as something far worse. He tries in vain to swallow the growing panic rising in his chest.

He wouldn’t be seen as something worse, because he would be worse. He- 

As he stared daggers into the comforter, Aedes caught movement from the corner of his eye. 

June stood. 

Aedes froze. 

She walked towards him. 

He didn’t even breathe. 

As June moved closer and closer still, Aedes remained motionless, a deer caught in the headlights of a, very small, oncoming car. As she draws mere inches from his face, Aedes moves to pull back, but instead is stopped, the soft hum of her voice anchoring him in place like a leash around his neck. 

“Stay still.”

So he did. 

Ears folded back, he stayed, unmoving, as she brought herself so close to his face his eyes wouldn’t focus. So close he breathed her in on every inhale- sweet cream and carnal spice. So close if he so chose to, he could taste such a luxury. 

“You’re not… afraid of me?” His voice is low- hesitant even. 

Her touch makes him flinch. Gentle, as if he were still mere inches tall, June brushes back the stray hairs his frustrated mussing had garnered. She hums thoughtfully, and he finds himself wishing that sound would once again rattle his bones. 

“Should I be?” Her voice didn’t carry a hint of doubt. Though concerned, her voice felt …warm. 

Aedes hesitates for a moment.

“... yes.”

He wanted to lie- like she did. To tell her she would be safe with him. That he wouldn't hurt her. Yet he couldn’t bear to entertain this sad little fantasy where he pretended not to hear the way her heart raced, or see the way her hands shook- and selfishly, he couldn’t bear waiting for her foolish bravado to run out, lest he start believing he was anything but what nature had made him to be. He knew what he was- A monster.

It was time she learned that too. 

If this illusion had to be broken, it would be on his terms. 

June swallowed, biting her lip as his head, like a monument come to life, rose from where he rested it on the bed and closed the nearly nonexistent distance between them. He tilted his head just so, the way one does when leaning in to steal a kiss. Her knees felt weak, as did her resolve. As he moves closer, his nose brushes past her side, slowly, until it was his lips brushed up her frame. The wash of his breath as his lips part sends a shiver down her spine, a shiver that only grows as very large, very inhumane, teeth were revealed.  

“Don’t be foolish.” He whispered, voice silky and stern, lips brushing intimately against her body as he spoke, “Do you not think I’m tempted?” 

There's a pause, his question hanging heavy in the air before his lips pull back into a sneer, teeth bared as he adds, “I could have you in a single bite.”

June inhales, breath shakey as her thoughts run wild. Before she can even contemplate a response, she's already speaking, the words seeming to fall from her lips as easily as breathing. 

“So bite me then.”

[py-dreamer]

...hi again?

"WHAT IS THIS?!"

"WHERE'S THE MONKIE GANG? OR SHADOWPEACH?"

"HAS PY DROPPED OUT OF THE LMK FANDOM?!?!"

To answer that question: no. No I haven't

Short and concise answer is I do personally feel a little burnt out on lmk but while that doesn't mean I've abandoned it. Not in the slightest

Anyways, very busy time for me rn so updates and any art in particular will be VERY sparse in the coming months I'm afraid.

That being said, gotten back into an oldie of mine I'd never thought I'd revisit: Object Shows!

More specifically: Inanimate insanity

Look I was into this when I was like a preteen and grew out of it then all of a sudden II s2 ep18 dropped. Like hell, I didn't even know that invitational existed (and lowkey still haven't seen it- BUT I KNOW THE LORE, BOT IS MY WEE BABY OK I KNOW THE LORE)

And drawing these gijinkas kinda gave me more flexibility and let me design people again even though I'll admit quite a few ideas are very common in gijinka's used in the fandom

So um I'll see how this goes, I already have the sketches for the other season's cast and will probably post them regardless though.

Let's start with S1's king, the fruitiest lad on the aisle: OJ!

(Btw I think it's HOP rather than HOJP)

I know he's meant to be like a glass of OJ, so theoretically his hair should be more slick/smooth but I decided to go for the flowy juice angle! Something to make his hair look more like flowing liquid.

Orange slice earings! In fact, orange slice accessories everywhere! (it's so marketable srsly don't know why it ain't used more often)

The orange watch was a fun concept ^u^ specially since after getting the hotel, I'd imagine him being a lot more uptight with sh!t and use clocks/watches to keep track of things

TBH, he'd probably also have a pair of rectangular long glass dangly earings to swap out for like the formal events.

Yay! For slacks! Thought they'd look really cute on him and other than Suitcase, wanted to give him something unique rather than just a suit/suitjacket (eg the hosts, Taco)

But oh, look at that he comes with two outfits! Just like a doll...

Bet paper would bu-

(no but srsly I lowkey bet that fan has like mini action figures of the S1 cast in his room or something, maybe even S2 & 3 too.

Also this man might be snazzy but he has the ugliest ties. We're talking about the same person who designed his hotels to have hallways with windows but not bedrooms.

Paper! Such a cutie pie!

Looks like a cinnamon roll, could kill you, what's not to love?

Don't have much to say about him sadly

Though his eyebrows gave me a LOT of issues. I like his stripes though! Seemed like the guy to have freckles like when peeps give him pencil sketch lines in this object form, what do ya'll think about the warm brown eyes though? Wanted to make him seem welcoming but idk.

(Bonus: paperclip earing!)

Gosh, I'm too tired for this rn, I'll elaborate on the designs another time

OH!

And happy new year!

And happy Chinese new year!

[ryuichirou]

Okay I know you made this art like AGES ago but the womb tattoo Idia lives rentfree in my head and I wanted to ask if you had any hcs connected to that, like which character would love it and breed him nonstop, who'd find it hot in theory but not actually want to knock him up, who'd just make him get rid of it to not even risk it... or maybe someone would just make him a public breeding stock?

Hi again, Anon!

I am so happy you liked that one; I randomly remember that idea from time to time as well. We definitely should revisit it, and I should draw it again, but for now I’ll use your ask as an opportunity to talk about it!

First of all, “public breeding stock” is a phrase that feels so wrong yet so right when you apply it to Idia… thank you for putting this image in our heads. Ah, the way he should be treated 😔

As for the boys, I think none of them would want to get rid of the tattoo in an easy non-sexual manner; maybe it’s because of magic, maybe it’s horny monkey brain, but the moment they see it on Idia’s stomach, they’ll go ballistic lol

I also think that the majority of the boys we ship Idia with wouldn’t actually want to knock him up BUUUUT there is some nuance to this whole thing, so let’s go through the list of our main Idia ships…

Azul – this one actually has some hcs, since the original comic is Azul/Idia-centric! The moment Azul learns about the true meaning of the tattoo, he’ll play the “oh how dare you, did you want to use me for your own satisfaction, Idia-san?” card, of course being very obviously fake about this heartbreak and betrayal of trust. And he would completely ignore the fact that Idia wasn’t planning on doing that at all… and he’ll keep talking about it, while having sex with Idia, completely ignoring Idia who is trying to explain that this isn’t the case. The fact that Idia’s mouth starts smiling involuntarily due to how good it feels doesn’t help his case at all.

Azul doesn’t really buy the breeding thing, but he’ll still get overly horny simply due to how much power he has over Idia in this state, especially as the tattoo lights up with his every move and how Idia exhales whenever the dick leaves his body. They’ll break the spell, but Azul will definitely use it in the future. Controlling Idia by having the one thing that he wants sounds like too powerful of an idea to ignore it. Azul is on his way to learn how to cast it! (he’ll also try not to think about how much he genuinely loved seeing Idia looking like this and desiring him…)

Jade and Floyd will get super into in this exciting new thing that Idia did to himself. It’s like a fun toy just got upgraded into the best toy! Idia is already pretty easy to chase and freak out, but when he’s barely running because his body actually wants him to get railed by these two, even though his mind isn’t… it’s perfect. It also feels like when Idia is scared of them, his sexual frustration gets even worse, so by the time they finally get tired of playing around and pin him down, his tattoo would be so bright and hot and his hips would move on their own because he’s desperate. These two would really push the tattoo’s effect to its absolute limits before they even get to touch Idia directly. So of course they’ll comment on how pathetic Idia looks, and of course they’ll play with him for hours!

While they probably won’t be very interested in the breeding part, they would love how Idia begs them to stop but also keeps clinging to them. They’ll also love how his belly is getting filled and stretched as they finish inside for the 5th time both, and Jade would be the one to not only comment on that, and then Floyd would put pressure on the belly to make Idia squirt out everything he’s been storing inside for the past two hours. His tattoo almost started disappearing, too..! But now that Idia is empty, it’s bright and hungry again.

Ortho – Of course he’ll help his niisan/niichan out! Isn’t it for the best that they can do it together and Idia won’t have to embarrass himself in front of other people? Not to mention, they’ve read a hentai manga just like that about a younger brother who helped out his older sister in the exact same way! What do you mean Ortho shouldn’t have access to this type of literature? Too late! Anyways, he’ll ignore Idia moaning about how wrong this it because he’s too busy enjoying how the tattoo colour changes whenever he changes the settings of his robo-dick.

Ironically, I can picture him of all people kind of wishing to knock Idia up, both as AI Ortho and as actual human Ortho. Not only he’ll say it while fucking the living daylights out of Idia, he’ll also make sure that by the time of his third orgasm Idia would start agreeing with him while crying of pleasure. This would’ve instantly became a cringe memory that Idia could’ve easily brushed off (he wasn’t really himself, it was the tattoo’s fault) when the whole thing is over; but Ortho would say that it’s a bummer that actually knocking Idia up is impossible… Ortho, please, you are the one person who SHOULDN’T think about it!

Sebek – no thoughts head empty; after figuring out what kind of curse this tattoo implies and yelling at Idia for being so obscene, he’ll get consumed by the desire to breed him. Maybe fae react to this type of tattoo stronger? Maybe it’s just a Sebek thing. But the moment he stares at the tattoo for longer than 2 seconds, his pupils will dilate and he will get super horny. He might get a vague desire to actually  impregnate Idia, and it’ll keep his hips going like crazy, but it wouldn’t go further than that. Even though for a moment there he really would feel like Idia’s body is capable of handling fae eggs or anything else for that matter… Still, Sebek will fill Idia with to the brim and just keep creampie-ing him until both of them pass out.

Lilia – he is the one guy who is actually aware about the tattoo and what it represents, and he would be very impressed by the fact that Idia managed to do this to himself somehow. This is absolutely the first time Lilia witnessed someone doing it on accident… He’ll scare Idia with stories about how some infertile fae casted this spell on themselves and pumped out like 5 babies that year in one go, and how the tattoo means that Idia won’t go back to normal until his body is properly satiated with thick and potent seed. Idia could just ignore it of course, it won’t kill him, he’ll just feel incredibly horny all the time and start feeling the urge to shove anything even remotely phallic inside his ass—this is where Idia would beg Lilia to stop talking and making everything worse lol

Lilia will fuck Idia alright! And he’ll feel him good, while still talking about how Idia’s body will start changing whether he wants it or not. Idia will be completely terrified but also too horny to think about anything because Lilia would feel way too good.

But ALSO. When Lilia himself is done (grandpa can’t go 10 rounds like he used to…), he could actually do the “making Idia a public breeding stock” thing and just invite all the Diasomnia students to have their way with Idia. He’ll stay there the whole time, holding Idia’s legs and patting his head playfully while Idia completely loses his mind because both his hair and his tattoo would go absolutely crazy because of how overwhelmed and horny he is. He wouldn’t remember just how many guys he took that day, but thankfully, they left plenty of autographs on his body with a marker that Lilia found somewhere.

[nerdieforpedro]

WIP Wednesday

The last one I did may have been in September. 👀 Been a long time. Haven’t really been writing much fanfic. Stuck on different papers for school. I was tagged by @evolnoomym and she shared ideas so I will too! ❤️ @pr3ttynpiink also tagged me and looks to be cooking up some fun new fics. 🥰

I want to write something for Modern Din and Christmas to go in my series: This is the Neighborhood Din, but it will likely need a chapter between that to make sense. (Every so often I care about making sense). Also more Luke doing Jedi yoga on his lawn and Poe & Finn being boyfriends because I want it all!

I need to write a new chapter of Weddings 101 with Dieter. Kinda left on a cliffhanger and a lot happened in my mind that should be posted 🤣

There’s a little over a month until the DMAMC 2025 challenge is due, haven’t written anything. Actually forgot about it, but fear not! I’ll think of something. 👀 My character is Pero Tovar (I doomed myself by picking him 😭 like the level of difficulty). But maybe I’ll revisit a pairing I’ve done.

Random but working on a Baldur’s Gate 3 fic and bugging @perotovar (Erin beta read for me what I have so far), @megamindsecretlair reads the snippets I send her and @soft-persephone looks at the pics I send her and is honest 🤣🤣🤣). Everyone’s favorite moody (for many a legit reason) and murderous pale elf who’s a vampire Astarion and an OFC. Things that happened between these two: a lot of staring, mocking Gale (everyone’s favorite past time- he makes it easy but also the wizard is really nice insane like everyone else but nice), drying some hair, hugs and some tears. Lots of angst, fluff and comfort. Haven’t decided on smut yet, is likely but I’ll see how it reads.

Didn’t realize that A Safe Place for Us was up to chapter 7 on AO3 and only 5 on Tumblr 👀 My bad. I should be able to post one chapter on here before November ends. The formatting and graphics take me the longest. 🤓

I also have a secret Santa fic things I’m supposed to be working on for a discord group but I also have not started. 👀 Unsure of which direction it should go in. I’ll figure it out, eventually I think.

The first paragraph of chapter five of “A Safe Place for Us”:

Waking up to Dieter takes getting used to for Aisha. It’s not unwelcome, she’s just not used to someone clinging to her like he does. Every morning he stays at her apartment is one where he has his arm and head somewhere on her. Chest, stomach, thigh, back, ass one time because he enjoys scissoring her entrance wider and scooping his spend that drips out of her back in before pumping his fingers to stir his cum within her.

Yeah…chapter five is…a ride so to speak. 👀 Forgot we had a strong start.

I found a WIP that contains Marcus Pike angst:

His romantic relationships and come and gone just like yours but you always had each other. Though, you treated yours as ways to work off the need you felt for your friend. To distract yourself, even when you were with your other partners, you’d think of him during the throws of passion, even when having simple meals and they may chew too loudly. You loathed your behavior toward your partners and your friend, biting your lips to not utter his name while under someone else.

“Marcus…”

Is the only name you want to say but can’t.

Hmm….might be a good holiday one or something. 🤔

That’s the ideas for now. Always a lot and never finished. ✅ Would it be Nerdie if they were? 😎

Have a happy Thanksgiving, holiday, days off of work and stay safe!

NPT: @chaithetics @schnarfer @inept-the-magnificent @yopossum @djarinmuse @604to647 @secretelephanttattoo @magpiepills @maggiemayhemnj @murder-wife @sin-djarin @syd-djarin @morallyinept @westside-rot @tinytinymenace @sunshinehaze1 @soft-girl-musings @goodwithcheese @jolapeno @bluestar22x @clawdee @romanarose @beefrobeefcal @bitchesuntitled @bitchwitch1981