#it's difficult for him to parse.

[cannibalisticskittles]

also if/when astarion learns abt who amity previously/most recently had feelings for, i think that he'd be... less than pleased lmao

if it's before he's got feelings for her, he just thinks she's a silly little fool for being so lovelorn and moony over some -- to him -- average, forgettable halfling. and for what? earnestness? ha.

if it's after he's got feelings for her, well. now he's going to agonize a bit over what the fuck the common thread is. like yes, he's worried that perhaps his looks are the biggest/possibly only draw to him. and yes, the previous object of her affection... to him seems to suggest that that's not what she goes for. but what the fuck does she go for then. what is the common denominator.

joke's on you astarion, she's used to traveling with ridiculously hot people. she recognizes it, and recognizes that he's very pretty, but her restraint is fucking god-like at this point. got to bring more to the table to really catch her eye.

[thegreatyin]

important followup:

izzet's leader is a dragon. therefore i am calling dibs on izzet because dragons are awesome.

[vodid]

Jazz and J/P challenge that might help you and everybody in the fandom get unstuck: ask yourself what you like about Jazz, and what you like about his relationship with Prowl. But you can only name things that were in canon stuff or very easy to interpret from canon, no fanon or HCs allowed

ah yes!! one thing that really helped me with my fic was to break down bee and blitz' canon characterization and build upon that a fanon interpretation

its definitely something thats gonna take weeks of planning like that fic and lots of research. probably much much more with how much source material there is for jazz compared to the simplicity of tfa

i'll follow the same process as my fic when i get a more specific idea and see if that takes me anywhere 💪

[roxynugget]

Guys, please, Tango doesn't consider himself a builder in the same way Michelangelo might not consider himself a painter* (see tags). You can accept you're very good at two things, and still consider yourself better at one over the other. It's not negative talk when he calls himself a redstone guy.

[metanarrates]

no thoughts only yoo joonghyuk

[onecooooooolcat]

being a queer with progressive ideas who rejects harmful traditional norms and having (lack of) daddy issues is like how to consolidate the fact that the 'perfect' familial environmental for a child is not forcement the nuclear family with a mother and a father. but also im fucked up bc i was raised without a dad and a child needs a dad ...

[ebitenpura]

it might not be so black and white now but eight really was. super mean back in his IA class story days. if he was still like that i think he would've eaten theron and lana for breakfast. he's unrecognizable to his old crew now. they're like who is this man. where is all the betrayal. the violence. the horror of it all. he's having brunch with them. he never did that with us. that's not playing fair, cipher

vector is most unnerved by alliance-era eight because he did used to want him to become kinder and softer back then but he's so drastically different now that he can't convince himself the person in front of him was the same agent he traveled with, who never let him in, who even kaliyo kept her distance from.

[fluentisonus]

augh,,,

tbh really sad when the narrator is like "anyone who knew javert well would notice that [x subtle characteristic trait] was off indicating he was feeling [y]" (<- e.g. when he goes to arrest madeleine & his stock is askew or when he's suicidal & holding his hands behind his back) but like. there is no such person right. no one knows him that well. none of the other characters really understand or are aware of his motivations or character arc or even the context of his death. & like a lot of that Is his fault! but like I keep thinking. at least his musical self tells valjean about his backstory, I don't think book valjean or almost anyone else (except in an impersonal record keeping capacity maybe) is aware of that despite it being a Major element of his character & why he is the way he is. or like the entire chapter of javert derailed he goes through this whole incredible shift in viewpoint & no one ever knows about it & even his note he leaves which is genuinely a serious moment for him is just completely dismissed out of hand as his being insane by just abt everyone who knew him in life. I think the only little moment we get is when he says he'll wait outside for valjean & valjean pauses before he goes in like "this seems uncharacteristic of him" & that's it! his moment of being known & understood! which like again some of this is his own doing in that the way he lived his life prevented it -- I'm not saying the universe owed him intimacy or understanding or whatever & tbh he probably would have rejected it for a lot of the book if it were extended to him due to his own issues (<- which I'm sympathetic to also!!), but it's just so. idk. devastating that here's this whole guy we've spent so much time with that nobody in-book really knows or remembers correctly

[mrfunnyinthebank]

getting back inside without letting bowie outside is gonna be a tricky needle to thread

[theskyexists]

I would say that bit, the bit where Agatha saves Billy from the road and remains trapped alone, 'no Billy, sometimes, boys just die.'

That was the best bit of the show

[casscainmainly]

A Deep Dive Into Why Cass Threw Dick Out A Window

If you've been here long enough you've probably seen or heard of this moment, which is super hilarious and iconic. It's mostly discussed in reference to Dick and Cass' relationship. However, in my opinion Cass throwing Dick out a window had very little to do with her opinion of him, or even of Barbara; it has more to do with her understanding of romance and love. I briefly touched on this in my gender/sexuality post, but I'm going to explain more in depth my interpretation of how Dick functions in Batgirl (2000) as a whole. (This moment is very open to interpretation though, this is just my opinion!). So let's try to answer Dick's question: what was that all about?

Love, Language, and DickBabs

While Puckett's run is notable for not having Cass date anyone, romantic love does play a role in Cass' early understanding of the world. It's the impetus that spurs her to write: in issue 2, she sees a wife read a letter from her deceased husband, and her reaction affects Cass so strongly she immediately starts trying to write. (She also kisses the husband on the cheek earlier, which may or may not be a crush). Romance, and the ability to communicate your love, is a fundamental part of Cass' desire to learn language.

So we have Cass, who has experienced neither love nor language, living with Babs, who's in a relationship with Dick. This telephone conversation in #4 (the issue where a metahuman changes Cass' brain into understanding language) again links romance to communication. Dick and Babs are talking on the phone, unable to see each other but understanding each other perfectly; Cass and Babs, on the other hand, live together and can't understand each other at all.

"She can't talk, so it's not all that different [to living alone]." Babs is telling an eavesdropping Cass that her inability to speak prevents her from love and connection - a love and connection symbolised by one of the first romantic relationships Cass is consistently around, Dick and Barbara.

Dick as an Ideal

There's a debate whether Cass likes Dick or not because half the time they're friendly, and half the time she's punching him or throwing him out windows. This disparity makes sense if you consider that Cass strongly associates DickBabs with communication, understanding, love - very idealised notions - but she does not associate Dick as a person with them. Her interactions with Dick (sans Babs) are cute and normal - Batgirl #29 and Nightwing #81 feature some very adorable Dick-Cass moments, with no real tension whatsoever.

It's only when Cass sees Dick in a romantic light (as in associated with Babs) that she makes him into a symbol.

Cass often tries to copy Babs, thinking it's the 'correct' thing to do - in DC First: Batgirl/Joker, she goes after Joker because that's what Barbara did; later in Horrocks' run she'll wear Barbara's outfit. In a way, Cass' affairs with Tai'Darshan and Kon - as much as I do think Tai'Darshan was genuine attraction - is another way to 'copy' Barbara. In #42, Cass stares at a picture of Dick and Babs while asking if Babs likes boys. Obviously Cass knows the answer is yes, but see what she asks next, and how Barbara responds:

She shifts from 'like' to 'love', and Babs responds that she 'care[s]' about him. For Cass, whose arc in Horrocks' run is about parsing out the nuances of attraction, understanding the difference between like, love, and care is incredibly difficult. She struggles to separate familial from romantic (Bruce in #50) or romantic from platonic (Kon, and in somewhat the reverse way Steph). In this conversation, Cass comes to associate Dick with like, love, and care - DickBabs becomes not just a symbol of romantic love, but of any connection whatsoever.

The Old Costume

I've discussed elsewhere that Cass wearing Babs' old costume in #45 is a representation of her desire to be 'girly', and how she associates girlhood with someone other than herself, discarding her own costume for Babs'. But putting on a costume is not the only prerequisite for being a 'girl'. In Babs' speech to Cass, she emphasises being sexually attractive to men, with her final comment being about this "particular look Dick used to give [her]". For Cass, visual language is incredibly important; putting on Babs' costume is not about being or feeling like a girl, but about being perceived as one. Dick is symbolic of the perceiver: the one who can essentially 'grant' women their femininity.

But Cass is disgusted when Tim calls her hot, which adds to her confusion - why should Dick being attracted to Babs make Babs happy, but Tim (who's not a sibling at this time) perceiving her like that grosses her out? Cass' inability to feel good - to feel 'feminine' - through the male gaze is another sign, to her, of her failure to be a woman.

Which finally brings us to issue 46...

That Ableist Kon Comment

Cass finds out Dick breaks Babs' heart and then starts hallucinating on a drug. One of the things she hallucinates is Kon saying "who wants to date a cripple? Ain't that right, Nightwing?" and Nightwing responding "not me--at least, not anymore."

For the first time, we get to the heart of why DickBabs mattered to Cass: it was an example of a disabled person in a loving, romantic relationship. It goes back to that phone call in #4, where Babs implies that Cass is hard to care about because she can't speak. The Kon comment suggests Cass has carried that with her all this time, trying to find proof that she can be loved, no matter her disability. DickBabs showed her it could be done - the break-up shows her now that it can't be done.

Dick's hallucination mocks her disability: "look at her--she can't even read!" Attributing this mockery to Dick (whose real-life counterpart, unlike the other hallucinations, has never said anything remotely like this) shows that this 'Dick-as-ideal' is intrinsically tied to Cass' self-worth.

Honestly this whole post stemmed from me thinking about this one panel. There is no real reason, from Cass' view of Dick as a person, for her to think he's brave and noble and kind (more so than anyone else). But it's in the DickBabs context - that Dick seemed to love, wholeheartedly, a disabled woman - that makes Cass think this way. And now that DickBabs is broken up, it shows that she, too, is rotten to the core; that someone like her cannot be loved.

And so when Dick shows up, she throws him out the window.

Conclusion

In this moment, Cass isn't just reacting to Dick breaking up with Barbara, she's reacting to what it means to her. If Dick can't stay with Barbara, then that means Cass, as another disabled woman, is also unable to be loved. This all leads up to #50, which features another Cass punch to Dick's face, but more importantly is when Bruce and Cass reconcile through Cass' first language. It's a confirmation that though her verbal skills may not be fully developed, she still can communicate, and she can love and be loved.

I don't think a lot of the ideas I touched on here are fully developed, or conclude cleanly. For example, how does Cass' 'failure' to be a woman relate to her inability to be loved? Is she able to have a stable romantic relationship? There are lots more questions, but the role Dick specifically plays in Cass' understanding of romance is probably not going to develop further. I just think it's interesting how Horrocks uses the Dick-Babs relationship to explore Cass' identity.

[petrichorium]

the first time you give in and let shanks into your bed—after months and months of very persistent dashing grins and cloying sweet-talk—you don’t realize until he has you pressed against your bedroom door, with his singular hand tucked beneath your skirts to grasp the back of your knee and hook your leg around him, that the vest you’ve chosen today is held together by a row of small buttons at the front.

it’s an issue it seems he’s only just realized too, as he pulls away from your lips and stares down at your bust.

“buttons,” he says with a pout, thumb tapping pensively against the side of your knee. “is this a test?”

“an accident,” you laugh. “i’ll help—“

“no.” shanks nips at your finger playfully before you can touch your neckline. “not proper to make a lady undress herself.”

it shouldn’t be a surprise, you suppose, but he’s more skilled than you anticipate. with teeth and tongue he manages to undo three before the steady unveiling of your cleavage distracts him. letting go of your leg, he reaches up to work at the fourth even as his tongue runs hot over the newly exposed skin of your chest.

then you feel him pause. he blinks; his eyes are dark and stormy, so deep red they might as well be black. though you often find it difficult to parse out what he’s thinking, it hardly takes a genius to gauge the way that big hand catches hold of the side of your vest, teeth grazing the other; preparing to forego any more delay and simply tear the damn thing apart.

“pop them,” you sigh out, somehow unwilling to speak more than a murmur, “rip it off. i won’t stop you. but—“

you pause just as shanks does the same, eyes darting up to meet yours over the heaving swell of your chest and fingers freezing where he’s gripped the fabric of your bodice.

“you won’t do much more than touching tonight,” you finish.

those eyes sharpen. a thrill goes through you, as his fingers flex for half a moment—and then he’s surging up to kiss you again, hard and heavy and biting, drawing a heady giggle from your tongue. his arm slips around your thighs, tightening to lift you from the solid wood you’ve been pressed against before he turns to take a scant few strides and deposit you onto your bed, not once parting from your lips.

only when you’ve settled does he pull back, just slightly, pressing his forehead to yours as he moves his arm to brace himself on his elbow and then giving a surprisingly chaste peck to the tip of your nose as he begins a descent.

he lingers at the edge of your neckline, sucks at your skin, then kisses down your stomach over the fabric that still covers you; his hand is eager but gentle as it slides beneath the hem of your dress again, rough calluses brushing against your foot and ankle and calf until he’s palming your knee and pushing the fabric up over your thighs.

“well.” that look in his eye is more of a glint now, accompanied by a grin and a wink that has you rolling your eyes as shanks disappears from sight. “suppose i’ll find something we can do without taking that damn thing off, eh?”

[niccolites]

sentinel species - iii. caribou

victorian, zombie apocalypse au. kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem!reader. read on ao3 here or masterlist here

You find it strange to be in Mr Garrick’s house without him. You feel like an invasive species, trapped inside and fluttering at the window, desperate to get out.

You sit on the edge of the couch. Perched, nervous as you watch the door. You don’t want to snoop and then get caught snooping. You gnaw on the edge of your thumbnail, watching sunlight drift in through one of the windows, tracking its slow course along the wooden floor. Dust flutters in the air, caught in the sunbeam. Weightless.

There’s a bookcase but there are very few books in it. You decide that you would be allowed to look through these, given that they are on display, an excuse ready on your tongue if Mr Garrick and Mr Evans were to return and catch you.

They’re old books, you remember a few of them with titles that you read as a young girl.

There’s the urge to head up the stairs, maybe find Kyle’s room and have a look at the four walls that he stayed in. Track the progression of his years in each stair.

You ignore the feeling, and pluck a book off of the shelf. There’s dust here as well, caught in the pages. You blow it off and sneeze when it puffs into your face.

You do the same with the armchair in the corner, wafting your hand through the air before any more motes get caught in your nose.

You settle in, rest your hand on your hand and try to focus.

It’s difficult, jumping at any sound that comes from outside. There’s a screech at one point that almost sends you across the room. When you peek outside, there isn’t any sign of life.

You wait to hear it again, eyes intent on any shifting shadow, but nothing further comes.

You wonder if there is anyone else in all of these houses, and they are doing the same as you. Cowering beneath the windowsill and peering back at you. Trying to see if you’re the sick one.

A disconcerting thought. When your eyes start to strain, you force yourself back into your chair and pick your book back up.

You’re startled when Mr Garrick comes back. You almost throw your book into the air when the door slams open. You push yourself up and turn to see Mr Garrick staring back at you with wild eyes.

The facts that your sight is able to confirm is parsed through slowly, as if you cannot comprehend what exactly it is that you are seeing. There’s blood staining the front of his shirt, his collar, his hands. Bright splashes of red, splattered even over his face. His arm, cradled to his chest as if hurt.

“Goodness!” you exclaim, hesitant for a split second before you push through with effort. “What happened - are you alright? Show me -?”

You reach forward, hands hovering as if unsure where to place them but Mr Garrick steps forward into them. They find themselves on his shoulders, a curl of muscle that tenses as your hand curves around it.

A moment and you realise that Mr Evans isn’t there. “What happened?” you ask, eyes darting to the empty space beside Mr Garrick, then to the door. As if you were trying to summon Mr Evans.

“I don’t know,” Mr Garrick admits, head lowered towards yours. His eyes, open and beseeching, catch yours until you return your gaze to him. “It was like - he went mad. He just attacked me, all of a sudden with no warning.”

You gape at him, uncomprehending. “Do you - think he was…one of those things?” you ask, not sure it was even possible. It was one thing to accept those creatures out there, it was another to think of a man that you know becoming one of them.

Mr Garrick shakes his head. “No, those creatures are a different kind of madness. No, Mr Evans was yelling too, but it was words. He wanted me gone.” Mr Garrick eyes dart around your face, grim and serious. “He said that he wanted me away from you.”

“Me?” you ask, disbelieving. “I don’t understand.” Though you and Mr Evans were being set up by your mother, you hadn’t imagined that he had placed much stock in the situation. A passing interest, maybe, but you had always thought that Mr Evans would have settled for anyone. You had always just been the one with the most insistent mother. 

Mr Garrick is still cradling his arm, so you force yourself out of your disbelieving musings and usher him to the armchair that you were in before.

You flutter uncertainly for a moment before you go and fill a shallow bowl with water. “Is your arm alright?” you ask, kneeling on the ground beside him. Your handkerchief is loose in his other hand, bloody and ruined. He lets you take it, and you soak it in water to wash the blood away.

“He scratched me some, but I don’t think it’s that deep,” Kyle says, letting you roll his sleeve up and wipe away the blood staining there. “He had a blade, he tried to slash me with it.” Unfathomable, so you just blink and force yourself to focus on the task at hand.

He’s right, the blood has made it seem worse. There’s a cut diagonal across his forearm, but there isn’t much more than that. His knuckles are burst again, blood oozing out and framing the length of his fingers.

“What did you do?” you ask, clearing your throat when it starts to rasp. You don’t look up, frightened to see the truth there.

“I’m very sorry,” he murmurs, and it’s enough. You swallow, harsh and blow out a deep breath. If Mr Evans wanted to take advantage of a sick world, then you didn’t blame Kyle for saving himself.

“Do you have any bandages here?” you ask, wiping more blood away from his cut. Something to focus your attention on. “We may have to wrap this, I don’t want it to keep bleeding.” Your handkerchief isn’t going to hold up this time. Mournfully, you wring it out and try to assess if it’s beyond saving.

“Have you done this before?” Mr Garrick asks, leaning forward to peer at you over his arm.

“No, our cook used to hurt himself a lot, so he let me learn to bandage up anything small. My mother went ballistic when she found out, said it wasn’t ladylike to deal with such things,” you muse. “Coming in handy now, though, I’ll be sure to remind her.”

You look up with a smile, half-joking even though your heart feels heavy. It falters when you see how close Mr Garrick’s face has gotten to your own. There’s a mole above his eyebrow, something that you haven’t let yourself notice until now. Devastating, to be so close to someone so beautiful.

“Mr Garrick -”

“Kyle,” he murmurs, before his hand cups the back of your head and he presses his lips to yours.

You’ve never been kissed before, but you had always imagined that it would be like in the books that you would read. Something magical, like a change that would take root and transform you into a woman.

It feels grounded. The cradle of his hand in your hair, the faint pressure of each of his fingertips on your scalp. His mouth, faintly parted against yours. You inhale, instinctively and he presses further forward as if to give chase. Your mouth parts against his and there is a moment where you breathe him in. A slick wet, felt in the slight gap between your mouths, so close that distance was rendered obsolete. It’s never occurred to you that kissing could involve a man’s tongue, and the thought sends you red-hot everywhere. Your mouth, unbidden, parts further, ready -

Kyle pulls back and swallows harshly. Noisy, and you feel spit pool on your tongue and want to taste his instead. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he rasps, pupils blown. You’re still held in his hand, arrested and immobile. You feel the flex of tendon against your scalp, before he pulls his hand back. Restraint, in the tremor of his wrist.

You pull yourself back and close your mouth. Gaping wasn’t ladylike, after all.

“No, that was -” you clear your throat, the heat in your face distracting. A fever, sickness pulsing in your temples. “I was also - it’s alright.”

“I didn’t mean to take advantage,” he adds, scrubbing his hand down his face. A resolve taking a hold in the downward turn of his brow. “I apologise,” he tells you.

You know he’s right to apologise, and you should accept and build that careful wall back between the two of you. So, you do, even if it burns your mouth to push those words through your lips now that you know how his feel against them.

“I think we should continue with our plan,” Mr Garrick decides, ripping the rest of his torn sleeve and wrapping it around his cut. “Take the horse and head to my father’s cabin. Could you grab anything that we may need to bring with us? I have a pack in the kitchen that you can use.”

You nod, and shake your head as you stand. You feel guilty, watching as he neatly ties the ends of your handkerchief around the cut on his arm. The lowering of his head, tilted away from you. You feel like a child, caught and scolded. An irrational feeling; you resolve to not slip up again.

You step carefully through Mr Garrick’s home. Scoop up some linens in case there are any further injuries. A few bottles that you can fill with water.

You return with your findings and lay them out on the kitchen table. You had brought a bag with you with a change of clothes for yourself but you don’t have anything for Mr Garrick. “You should bring a change of clothes for yourself, I didn’t want to go through your drawers,” you say as he approaches.

He stops on the other side of the table, a cavern between the two of you. “I’ll go get some,” he murmurs, and you don’t look up this time, head lowered as you diligently set about your task. He leaves before you look up and you feel like a foolish girl for how rotten it makes you feel.

//

The sun is high and beaming down on you when you both set off again. Mr Garrick never did manage to find another horse when he set out with Mr Evans, so you are both on the same saddle. You’re dressed more appropriately, at least, in your riding leathers. Able to sit on the saddle correctly rather than side straddle.

Mr Garrick’s hands sit on either side of your hips, loosely holding the reins as you set down the road. You settle in, let the rocking of the horse sooth you. Brick slides away and makes way for dirt and grass instead. 

It feels strange, without Mr Evans. He had been a pallid, sickly version of himself the last time that you saw him, but you remembered him as he was. Perhaps self-absorbed and boring, but a decent man before the world was upturned.

You looked up at the blue sky and breathed out a soft prayer for him. It floated up and away, caught in the faint wind. You could only hope that it reached him.

“How far is your father’s cabin?” you ask, turning your head back, slightly.

“A day’s journey, I would estimate,” Mr Garrick muses. “Father used to make us camp half-way through when I was young. There was a river, we used to fish there and make camp to cook it before we set off again in the morning.”

“Why did he live so far from it?”

“It was closer to my mother when they first met,” Kyle says. Unbidden, you lean further back into his chest as you listen to the wistful tone of his voice. “He didn’t want to give it up, even after we moved here.”

“That’s very romantic,” you murmur. Kyle hums in agreement, the squeak of leather as he flexes his hands on the reins.

Most of the day passes in relative quiet. You journey through open fields again, and the sunlight beams down and makes everything seem gentle. It’s hard to reconcile how much your life has changed when you are out here. Morning dew glistens on weeds even well into the afternoon and you feel optimistic at the sight of it. Life is continuing, even in the presence of death. Images of blood and violence are chased away. Even the gashes on Mr Garrick’s knuckles seem less severe out here.

“We could stop by a village, see if there’s any news,” you suggest. He doesn’t immediately respond and you resist the urge to retreat into yourself. “There could be people that don’t know about what’s happened yet?”

Mr Garrick hums, thoughtful. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?” It is, so you nod. “You’re right, we could stop by, see if anyone knows anything. Maybe someone might know what’s causing it, so we can avoid it.”

It’s a train of thought that you hadn’t even considered. You imagine it like an infection, a sickness locked in the back of your throat and opening up to bare a second set of teeth. You shiver and Kyle nudges his chin against the crown of your head. Answer and response.

The day slips away as you follow the sun. You ask Kyle about his sisters, listen as he tells you stories to make you laugh. Your own history is left untouched and gathering dust. You start to tell a story of a tea party where you spilled tea all over a gentleman caller and remember that it was Mr Evans halfway through your giggle and choke on it.

You do, finally, come across a village but it’s barren. You both hesitate, on the edge of the path, reluctant to disembark the horse. The sun has been chased across the sky, starting to hide from you on the other side of the world.

The moon is cold and you can feel it start to stretch its fingers out towards you.

“Do you want to stop here?” Kyle asks, voice a low murmur in your ear. You shift, wavering, held back by the firm line of his arm around your waist.

“Maybe?” you respond, gnawing on your lip. Then, force your shoulders into a taut line. “Yes, I think we should. Someone may know something that we don’t.”

“Yes, captain,” Kyle teases and grins when you curl inwards, embarrassed. He deftly slides off of the horse and lifts you up by your waist to lower you to the ground. Even more flustering, to feel his hands sink into the soft flesh of your sides, palms strong. “Y’alright?” he asks when you find your feet, his hands still steadying you.

You nod, shy under his rapt attention. He gives you a squeeze that has you squeaking. His hands a little too firm until you look up at his smile. You replicate it, before you can stop yourself. “Yes, I’m alright,” you say, and he gives you another squeeze, hands much gentler this time and you barely manage to stop yourself from swaying into him.

“Good, alright, shall we?” he says, stepping back but offering you his arm to take.

The village is quiet, which isn’t unusual in itself. It is a bit later in the day, but it feels dead out here. It feels abandoned, and you feel a chill at the idea that every place you encounter will be like this. Your town, this village, the city. On and on, you will be the discoverer of empty worlds.

You take Kyle’s arm and let yourself hide in his shoulder as you venture onto the beaten path. The last people in the world, for all intents and purposes.

You knock on the first door, but there is no answer. The next few cottages yield the same result and you give up. There are a few more cottages, but you feel ill. Where was everyone and more pressing - were they all dead or sick?

“If we travel through the night we could reach the cabin,” Kyle tells you as you wander back to the horse and feed it some oats that you had found, left beside one of the empty houses.

You think about the travel through the woods in the dark last night. That creature and its bloody mouth that seemed to glow in the moonlight. “It feels wrong to stay here, but if there isn’t anyone here...” you say, gazing down at the empty path. “Don’t you think it’s odd that no one is anywhere. At least Mr Evans - he was shouting, he needed help. Everyone else is just - vanished.”

Kyle looks back at you, gaze even. “It is strange, but we can’t help anyone who isn’t here,” he points out. 

You deflate, smoothing your hand down the side of your horse’s neck as it huffs and chews. “I don’t want to travel in the dark again,” you admit, mouth twisting as you feel a little foolish to admit it.

A shift of movement and then Kyle is tucking your hair behind your ear. “Alright, we can stay here overnight, and set off again in the morning,” he agrees and nudges your jaw with his knuckles until you give him a small smile. You keep giving him these allowances, letting yourself feel his bare skin against your own. You can’t seem to bring yourself to step back too much, already that wall that was built back up this morning is gone. Chased away by the close quarters that the two of you are keeping.

It’s easy enough to leave the horse some water and bring your stuff inside one of the cottages. There are a few beds, and though you would baulk at sharing one, sharing a room to sleep seems acceptable under these circumstances. The rain chases you inside, starting slow, but getting steady until it bangs its feet on the roof above you.

You keep the same riding clothes that you’ve had on all day, but use your cloak like a blanket. You settle into bed, watch as Kyle caps a couple candles but keeps a few of them lit. The candlelight flickers across his face, lighting the curve of his cheek, the brown of his eye turned molten, the bolt of his jaw sharper.

This is an insight that you weren’t meant to see, a domestic vision meant for a man and wife. Watching the line of his spine as he twists to place a candle on the counter. The width of his shoulders, broad, the curve of lean muscle that is barely hidden beneath cloth. The sound of his breath, watching the rise of his chest and knowing that his lungs are expanding just there. Right beneath flesh and protected in the round of his ribcage. Nothing at all, to reach out and touch it. Everything separated by the hard press of your fingers. Delicacy hidden beneath hardness and revealed through effort.

There is a strange relaxation that overcomes you. At the end of the world, there are no witnesses.

Kyle lays out on the bed closest to you, and you tell yourself that the separate mattresses are what counts, not the space between them. He turns on his side and you mimic him, blinking at him. He is haloed by candlelight, and you find yourself in awe.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, tucking one hand under his pillow, the other splayed in the gap between you. One finger on your mattress. You don’t say anything.

“I’m thinking about the people who lived here,” you answer, tucking both your hands into your chest. “There are a few beds here, I wonder if they were a big family.”

“Was it just you and your mother in your house?” he asks, fingers tapping a light tune. The makeshift bandage has held up well, though lightly stained with blood across his forearm.

“Yes, us and the cook and sometimes a maid would stay with us, but they mostly had their own families to get to and would just come to work. Father, once, but he’s been gone a while now,” you say, turning your head to the ceiling. Straight planks of wood, layered upon each other and immovable. The rain patters against it, heavier at times before settling into a soothing rhythm instead.

“What was he like?” Kyle says, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair out of your face. Intimate, in the dark, but another allowance that you give him. You don’t want him to look upset like he did after he kissed you.

You open your mouth to answer but are interrupted by a banging at the door. You shoot up but Kyle is already reaching a hand out to catch your shoulder. His gaze, severe, as he looks out.

Terror grips a cold hand around your throat and you can scarcely get a breath in.

Kyle stands, silent, and treads slowly towards the window. You shift to follow, but feel clumsy and loud in comparison. Your heartbeat must be loud enough to alert everyone outside, you feel caught already.

“Hello? Please, we need some help!” a feminine voice calls from outside. There’s a panic in her voice that reverberates into you in kind. The door handle shakes as she rattles it before she bangs on the door again.

You look over at Mr Garrick and find him frowning at the door, a blade suddenly in his hand.

He looks back at you and after a moment of contemplation, gestures for you to stay and reaches for the door.

“What’s the matter?” Kyle says, keeping the door angled so that you are outside of view.

“Please, it’s our son, he’s sick, he needs help,” the woman begs. You don’t know if it’s the sight of Kyle alone that overcomes her but she stumbles inside and Kyle barely catches her. He tries to maneuver himself between the two of you, but it’s too late. You feel the moment her gaze catches you. You must look more sympathetic, because the woman leans towards you, a gravity pull that almost seems to pull her across the room in your direction.

“Ma’am, I don’t think we’ll be of much help, I’m not a medic,” Kyle tries to explain, trying to keep her back, his hands on her upper arms.

“Please, you have to help, there isn’t anybody, they’re all gone or mad,” the woman sobs, stretching her hands out towards you and you feel compelled to reach back and catch them.

Her hands are cold and wet, rain slicking the space between your skin. You can barely keep a hold of her, but her hands skate up, catching on the fabric of your sleeves and clinging.

“Miss -” Kyle starts.

“You have to come, please, come look at him, please, I can’t let him die,” the woman continues to beg, voice getting louder. You flinch with it, almost cowering as the woman starts to tug you towards the door. You yelp when her hands slip down and catch on your wrists. Her skin is slick but her fingernails catch and keep her tethered.

Mr Garrick looks angrier than you’ve seen him but he can’t reach the woman around you and you are tugged out into the rain before either of you can stop her.

Rain batters down on your face, chokes you as you try to open your mouth to speak. There’s a cart that wasn’t there before, the opposite direction to where you left your horse in a makeshift stable. Another person - a man - darts towards the two of you and intercepts Mr Garrick when he reaches out to catch you.

“Let her go,” Mr Garrick barks, but the man holds his hands up and steps between the two of you.

You slip in the mud and almost go down but the woman yanks and you are righted. You yelp, feel her nails dig in further, traction on your arms.

Kyle yells out again and you hear a crack of flesh behind you but you force yourself to keep looking at the woman. “I’m not a nurse, I’m sorry, please,” you plead but the woman only echoes your cries and ignores you.

There was a dirt-beaten path here when you first went inside, but the rain has turned it into a grimy river. There is no grip in your boots and you slide when you try to dig your heels in and the woman yanks you up again and continues to tug you along. “Please, you’re hurting me!” you try to tell her, choking on water as it beats down on your face.

The wind howls, an angry god in the sky. It feels like a horrible nightmare, even as you try to tell yourself that this is a desperate mother and her desperate husband with Kyle. You want to believe that maybe their child has some kind of catarrh, but you find yourself frozen with terror if their child has the mad sickness that you have seen in those creatures.

Could you hurt a child? If it hurtled itself at you, with a growl and sinew stuck between its teeth?

You don’t think you could. You told yourself that you would speak, at the next danger. You’d been quiet with the man in the field, and quiet with Mr Evans. Two different types of violence, and the propriety that had you trying to diffuse the situation has led you wrong each time in this new world.

“Kyle, help me!” you shriek, and manage to yank your head back towards the house that you were staying in to see that Kyle is already sprinting towards the two of you.

The woman yanks you forward again, fingernails scratching into your flesh. You sob, leaning back against her weight, even as that digs her nails in further.

“Please stop, please - ” you start to say, but the woman doesn’t seem able to hear you. Another yank and you slip just as Kyle grabs the woman by the waist and lifts her up and away from you.

He throws the woman back and she thuds into the ground, slips just the same as you. Where you find mud that catches you, she falls back and even over the thunder of rain, you can hear the crack of her skull against stone.

You stare at her in shock, rain battering your face and blinding you. Mr Garrick kneels in front of you and blocks your view but you try to crane your neck to see her.

“Oh, lovely, no,” Kyle says, cradling your bloody wrists in his hands. “C’mon, we can’t stay here, we have to go.” A rough kiss pressed to your forehead, but you barely notice it. The rain has dulled all of your senses, water-logged you and left you out to drown.

He starts to pull you up, hands gentle, but firm. A balm against the stringing of your skin that you’re only just starting to notice. “We have to help that woman, Kyle, she’s not moving,” you whimper, letting him pull you up. You stand there, lost, staring at how still she is. Flat on her back, eyes staring upwards.

“I need to make sure you’re alright,” Kyle counters, and then finished with talking, reaches down and picks you up.

“No, no,” you murmur, but you can only watch over Kyle’s shoulder as he quickly jogs towards your horse, thankfully still where you left it. The woman doesn’t move, laid out like she was asleep on the path. You pass another body on the path, the man that approached you, maybe. He’s slumped in the doorway to the cottage that you were staying in. His head tilted down to his chest, the water running a red stream down his face.

Kyle helps you onto the horse, side straddle and the two of you take off again.

Laid out in Kyle’s arms, you tilt your head back and let the rain wash over your face. With your mouth laid open like the woman’s, water fills your mouth. You turn your head and spit.

//

Kyle finds a large overhanging tree that seems to be sheltered from the rain. You’re soaked and shivering, malleable in Kyle’s hands as he helps you down and sits you on the grass. It’s dry, but you feel exposed, even under the leaves of the tree.

You don’t go to suggest another village, any further words are caught behind the chatter of your teeth. “I think you should change into dry clothes, I’m worried about you getting sick,” Kyle says, frowning as one hand rifles through one of your packs, the other resting on your knee. It’s the only warm spot on you, you hone in on it like a beacon. A lighthouse in a storm.

“Out here?” you ask, words stilted as they catch between your chattering teeth. 

“I don’t want you getting sick,” Kyle repeats, harsher. He pulls out a bundle of clothes and turns his attention to you. It’s always a spotlight, you can feel the heat of it on your face. He reaches up, cups your face in his hands. “Please,” he says, eyes darting between the two of yours. There is blood on his fingers, you can feel it, tacky against your skin.

You nod, too exhausted to argue, and his shoulders lose some of their tension. He leans forward and you wonder if he is going to kiss you again. However, he just presses his forehead against yours and breathes for a moment.

He keeps catching you off guard, at times a severe soldier, and at others you think he is letting you see the vulnerable side of him. “We can wait out the rain here,” you say, voice hushed. The tree shelters you from the rain, creating a distinct cut between yourselves and the outside world. A bubble, just for the two of you. Fragile, if your voice is too loud.

Kyle makes an agreeing sound, smoothing his thumb down the side of your face. A moment passes and he seems to pull himself away with great difficulty. “Here, I think my spare clothes are thicker than the clothes you packed.”

You make an echoing agreeing sound. You have Mr Garrick turn around as you dress. It’s a pair of his trousers and a large white shirt. You look mournfully at his sister’s cloak, drenched and muddy, and hang it over one of the branches to hopefully dry out once the rain stops. “I’m decent,” you say, settling back down on the ground against the tree trunk.

If Kyle has anything to say about how you look wearing his clothes, he doesn’t say anything, but you watch his hand twitch at his side as he comes to sit by you.

You feel numb, thinking of that woman that you left out there. You wonder if it even matters, to not help. Was it kinder to teach others the new natural order? You didn’t know.

You have half a mind to shift further away from Kyle, instil that wall that keeps intimacy out. You’re so tired though, and the life that you had merely 24 hours ago feels like a distant dream. You stare out into the rain, unable to see anything and feel something vital give up.

“Kyle?” you ask and he turns his head down to look at you. “Can you hold me?”

He reaches a hand up to cup the side of your face and you feel caught after a tumble out of the sky. “Of course, c’mere, love.”

You let him pull you in, an unruly kitten by the scruff of your neck. Settled in the cradle of his thighs like you were getting used to on the saddle. Your head tucked into his collarbone, nose to skin.

“You know, we were taught when to quit on someone in the army,” Kyle says, voice like a lullaby.

“How do you mean?” you ask, voice sticky and slow, molasses dragging on your gums.

Your request has relinquished some control in Kyle. One hand is draped around your back to keep you close, the other cradles your neck, long fingers into your hair. You feel the flex of them on your scalp and remember this morning, how he had dug his fingers in as if trying to inhale you.

“We’re taught when to let go,” Kyle hums, his hand pulling back just to smooth hair out of your face, rhythmic. “Men go down in trenches, and sometimes you have to assess if you are actually able to save them or not. You need to make the call, to drag a dying man on your back to save him, or realise if you were already dragging a corpse.”

You frown, eyes focused on the bob of his throat as he talks. This close, you can see the stubble just beneath his jaw. You imagine it would feel rough against your skin, the way his palm is calloused, scratching against your skin in a way that has it humming to life. You are a cold, stone woman, and here is Kyle running his warm palms over you and making you human again.

“Surely it’s always worth it, if you have even a chance of saving someone’s life,” you respond, leaning your head back into his palm.

“Sometimes,” he acquiesces. “But, sometimes spending energy on a dead man could cost someone else their life. It was all about knowing when to cut loose. Knowing when someone is already dead and moving on already.”

You think he might be trying to tell you something, maybe this was a thinly-veiled lesson about your mother. Trying to tell you to give up while you had the time to come to terms with it. You’re too exhausted to parse through his words and pick out the ones that he has left unsaid.

“Not you,” he adds, as if to himself. Voice quiet in confession. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

You think of your dead dog, and its bones buried somewhere in your garden. Kyle’s hand cradles your skull, and you don’t think he would ever bury you and leave you alone like that. 

A comforting thought, you force yourself to sleep and dream of Kyle’s hands on your skin Buried deep until he’s covered in your blood. It’s in your mouth but Kyle is the one to drink it down like water.

[vorestarr]

i love when Astarion is mean, and i mean like genuinely mean, saying shitty things and lashing out specifically to hurt someone or push them away. i think it really says so much about him and about the specific situations when he feels the need to lash out. i love seeing it with Durge/Tav, but i'm playing a Karlach origin to romance him right now and he's so mean during his first romance scene when he can't even kiss Karlach.

after playing it, i went to look at the parsed dialogue for that scene because i wanted to see if there were any dev notes, and oh boy are there dev notes. walk with me here while i go through them all. (i didn't add alt text to the images below, but i did transcribe the lines i'm referencing in the images below, so all the important information is in the text of the post itself.)

it's the typical Astarion scene, but after his "i've been waiting to taste you" line, he diverges with: "Although your condition means tasting you could be a risky proposition. You're quite the forbidden fruit, aren't you?"

the player (as Karlach) has a few choices in reply at that point, but as long as they pick one that progresses the scene (i.e., not the one where you reject him last minute), he goes down the same dialogue tree. this tree starts with:

Astarion: All denied to us because of what Zariel did to you. [devnote: subtext, thinking about Cazador]

so right off the bat he's upset because Karlach's situation is reminding him of his own with Cazador.

but then his next line is:

Astarion: I - you know, I have no idea what to do with you now. [devnote: Astarion's mask as the flippant libertine is cracking a bit here. He's frustrated but vulnerable here. Because he can't physically seduce or touch Karlach, his usual means of interacting with a person is punctured. He's faced with the reality that he might not know how to handle a situation where he can't bite or seduce his way to the finish line.]

wow. that's a lot in that dev note.

at this point, the player has the option of a few responses, but two options to continue the encounter. the choices to continue it are: "You don't have to 'do' anything. We can just be." or "After the life you've led, I'm not surprised."

if you choose the first option, Astarion is frustrated but less mean. he says:

Astarion: 'Just be' what, exactly? Frustrated? Bored? What do we do, if not... that?

if you choose the second option, he's a little meaner. understandably so, since the player just poked at his painful past:

Astarion: You think you know the life I've led? The experiences I've had? You've no idea the stories I could tell, sweet Karlach. But you - you're just -

then, both the paths converge to the same final statement, which is mean no matter what Karlach has said to this point:

Astarion: Urgh! Why is this so difficult? I'd have already bedded you twice if you were normal.

importantly, there are dev notes for all of his lines here, but the notes are all the same:

devnote: Masking defensiveness with offensiveness. In truth he really does want what Karlach is offering (to just hang out without having sex) but now that it's within grasp he's floundering.

again, at this point the player has two choices to continue the encounter, and one to end it. i'll go down each continue path separately, since they can diverge quite a bit.

path 1

the first choice is to say: "Twice in this short space of time? Doesn't sound very satisfying."

he gets mad. and mean.

Astarion: Karlach! You know what I mean. [devnote: Frustrated] Astarion: Or maybe you don't. Astarion: There may be an inferno in you, Karlach, but at the end of the day you've been frigid for a decade, isn't that right? [devnote: Being mean-spirited in an attempt to drive Karlach away, even though he doesn't actually want to do that.]

the player again has two response options to continue the encounter, and one to end it.

the first choice to continue the encounter is: "You want to try that again? Without being a jackass, maybe?"

in response he says:

Astarion: This is impossible - you're impossible! [devnote: Masking defensiveness with offensiveness. In truth he really does want what Karlach is offering (to just hang out without having sex) but now that it's within grasp he's floundering.]

(at this point, the path diverts to merge with the dialogue tree from the previous branch where Astarion complains about Karlach not being normal. so we'll pause here, and continue down that dialogue tree with the path 2 header below.)

the second choice to continue the encounter after Astarion says that Karlach has been frigid for a decade is to say: "What's really going on here, Astarion? Suddenly you're so vicious."

he replies:

Astarion: Suddenly? Darling, you haven't been paying attention. [devnote: Seething and mean.] Astarion: Listen, it's just - ... I'm sorry, all right? Is that what you want?

again, at this point, he diverts to the same shared dialogue tree as the other response option. that merges with path 2, so we'll continue there:

path 2

to go BACK to the previous branch we went down, where Astarion said he would have bedded Karlach twice already if she was just normal, the other response option for the player is: "I am normal. 'Fucked up' is the height of normalcy."

instead of being mean, Astarion immediately apologizes:

Astarion: Oh no - don't you tar me with your 'normal' brush. My demons keep me extraordinary. [devnote: Karlach has punctured Astarion's bad mood with a joke.]

and then he apologizes, like he does in the other paths, saying he doesn't know what to do without being able to touch her.

Astarion: I - ...I'm sorry, Karlach. It's just, not being able to touch you - having to slow down, it's... I'm just not used to it. [devnote: subtext here is on the slowing down. That IS what he wants. But it's hard for him to see that clearly.]

Astarion: So, can you -... I don't know. Help? Show me what to do? [devnote: First breakthrough. He's asking for help knowing what to do when you can't jump into bed with someone.]

again, at this point, the player has two options to continue the encounter or one to end it.

for the first response to continue, the player can say: "We can just talk. As long as we want. Then we can sleep. Near, but not too near."

Astarion responds to this one pretty positively. he's still a little mean, but it's in his fond teasing way, and not his biting, cruel way:

Astarion: Karlach, champion of the Hells, wants to talk and then fall asleep? [devnote: Incredulous] My dear, you're much more boring than I gave you credit for. [devnote: Teasing] All right, Karlach. Let's try it your way. [devnote: Gently. He's feeling vulnerable, but sees that this might be a chance to feel safe.]

the second response option from the player is: "I don't know either. This is all just as new for me as it is for you."

he doesn't respond quite as well to this one, and goes back to being mean:

Astarion: Well. To quote you: 'Fuck.' Astarion: Why don't we put ourselves out of this misery and just sleep? If I can at least look at you, I won't have wasted my whole evening. [devnote: Peak of Astarion sexy toxicity.]

then, the scene fades to black and it transitions to the morning-after scene with Astarion, where the player first sees his scars.

i also think as a whole, this scene is just so representative of Astarion's early-game state of mind. he's following a comfortable script with all his interactions, but when he's confronted with something new, he flounders.

especially when it comes to sex, which is a touchy subject for him, his first reaction to any vulnerability is to lash out and hurt people. in this scene:

if Karlach brings up his past experiences, he lashes out. ("You think you know the life I've led?")

he blames Karlach for the situation because that's easier than addressing that he doesn't know what to do without his script. ("if you were normal")

if Karlach jokes about him ("Doesn't sound very satisfying") he lashes out even further, calling her frigid and impossible and then even doubling down if she calls him out ("you haven't been paying attention").

but if Karlach jokes about HERSELF ("'Fucked up' is the height of normalcy"), it snaps him out of his toxic bullshit and he's able to take a step back and apologize to her.

then regardless, he's also able to recognize that this is an opportunity to get what he wants without having sex, and recognize that he wants that too.

and then to me, Astarion being mean in that last response choice ("I don't know either") makes perfect sense, given the context of his other lashing out earlier in the conversation. even if the player didn't make those previous choices where he lashed out at them, he can still get mean and toxic on this choice.

crucially, with this choice, he's taken that step of hopeful vulnerability where he recognizes that maybe he does want to just spend time with Karlach without having sex, but he doesn't know how to do it. he asks for help.

if the player says they don't know how to do that either, he immediately puts those defensive walls back up. he doesn't want to flounder around, he wants an answer. he wants to know that it's actually possible to have a positive experience with someone without the script he's always used. the player saying they don't have that answer just pisses him off.

wow okay this post got really long, but i really vibed with the dev notes for this scene, and i think you can see exactly these toxic behaviors from Astarion in other scenes and in romances with other characters as well, but it's just so so clear with the Karlach scene and the dev notes just really highlight that.

[scribbledghost]

Hi scribs!

I absolutely ADORE your writing and the inhuman!Vessels hehe

My favorite song off Even In Arcadia is Dangerous, and the line ‘you’ve got me talking in my sleep as if you’re conquering my dreams’ has got me THINKINGGGG

Kind of like what you wrote about reader dreaming about ivy, but perhaps this time they catch Ves saying some ~spicy things~ in his sleep?

Thank you and have a good day!!

Note: This is such a good idea, hopefully this is what you're looking for! I decided to go the route of "you're awake but Vessel isn't" for this one.

It's incredibly rare for Vessel to fall asleep before you do. Ever the protector, he greatly prefers to wait for you to drift off before even thinking about sleeping himself. But today had been difficult for him, and you'd had a feeling as soon as he'd asked you to come lie down with him that it would end with him softly breathing against your collarbone as you wrapped him in your arms.

You continue to lightly pet his hair as he rests, not tired in the slightest yourself but completely unwilling to move and risk disturbing him. His head rests against your skin just beneath your chin, one leg hitched over yours and one arm slung across your middle. Every so often he shifts, mumbling something you can't parse before settling back against you.

However, at some point, the air around you changes.

It starts slowly, with Vessel moving around more in his sleep. It's not drastic, just little motions here and there, coupled with the mumbling. It's mostly his hands, lightly gripping and releasing you where they lay against your body.

Then comes the more intelligible words.

Your name is first, a small sigh of it in a tone you've heard many times - primarily when Vessel is atop you, face buried in your neck while another part of him is... buried elsewhere.

Heat crawls up to your face when he groans a soft "my love" against your skin, and it's now that you notice that his hips are making minute motions against you.

You can't tiptoe into his dreams - your command over the mental connection you share with the vessels hasn't progressed that far just yet, and in order for you to share his dream, you must fall asleep first and have him come to you - but you have a pretty good idea regardless of what he's dreaming of.

Vessel's breathing increases slightly in pace, gentle whines and groans leaving his lips as he slowly begin to grind more forcefully against your hip. You can feel him there, already hard an insistent, but again you are resistant to the idea of waking him.

So, as opposed to jostling him to help relieve him in the waking world, you decide to play into his dreams. Though you can't be there in the way you'd like, you hope he can perhaps hear you if you murmur softly to him.

"Does it feel good, love?" you ask softly.

He groans, a slow "always" slipping from him.

"Want..." he continues, still speaking slowly, "want... all of you..."

"You have me," you respond.

He whines then, continuing to grind against your hip. His arm tightens around you, his moans becoming more pronounced.

"So good," he mumbles. "More... need..."

You can feel your body beginning to respond in kind to Vessel's desire, but you can do little about it with your arms full of him.

Suddenly he whines again.

"Close," he groans, "s'close... can... I... inside..."

"Go ahead," you murmur to him. "It's okay. Come for me, Ves."

A stuttered, heated breath fans across your collarbone as his hips press against you. They still as his entire body tenses, and you feel a warmth against your hip.

Vessel all but deflates, still deep in sleep but now more content and sated. His breathing slows again, though his mumbling hasn't quite stopped yet.

"My love," he whispers. "Thank... you..."

His hips twitch and he softly groans again. You gently press a kiss to the crown of his head, doing your best to ignore your own arousal in order to allow him to get more rest.

You stare at the ceiling for several more minutes, attempting to either will yourself to sleep or back from the edge of desire. After a while, you begin to feel Vessel's lips against your skin. Not in the subconscious manner that he'd done so earlier, but more coherent. His hand grabs you more purposefully where it rests along your stomach, and as he wakes further, he begins to move. He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses up your neck and to your ear before he whispers lowly to you:

"I believe I owe you a favor, my heart."

[bonus-links]

dog days part 1 or 2!

por qué no los dos. I kinda consider it one big update anyway lol. this one might get long, I'll stick a readmore somewhere

i was insane for this. the comic will probably never be this decorated again but I had to do it at least once 😂 I try to give each era it's own subtle stylistic flair, though this is definitely the most overt one. I'm still really proud of this update!! sometimes I think I burnt myself out with this so bad tho that the first half of ch2 is pretty low on ornamentation bc of it. it takes like. a lot of extra mental energy ngl

it's slight but this whole interlude has a paper texture the rest of the updates don't :-)

there's lots of patterns to talk about here. twili patterns for the panel where wolf is zoning out.

the pattern on the sides is kind of an abstract depiction of Ordona, although her light orb is in her hands instead of the horns. I was also riffing off the patterns on a lot of the Ordonian's clothes. The green parts are pumpkin vines! those generally represent wolf himself

this is the dinner I reference at grandma's party in pt. 8

the pumpkin vines change into these kind of gold-leafed vines I often use to refer to zelda. They do this a few times throughout the update.

small detail I should include more often- wolf fidgets with his earring when he's bothered by something or thinking hard.

Lots of people have translated this in the reblogs so I won't do it here, but it's essentially a summons from Zelda to the castle. It's intentionally a little difficult to parse- Wolf is not from Hyrule. I like to imagine a difference between written Ordonian and Formal Hylian. Wolf can read it, but it doesn't come naturally. Also, Wolf is referred to as "Sir Link Goatherd of Ordon" where "Goatherd" could be both an occupation and a surname (that's actually the origins of surnames like Gothard, which I considered using)

Zelda's full name in the letter is Queen Zelda Celestia Nohansen Hyrule (though I think I write it as "Of Hyrule"). Idk if this makes sense actually, but it was meant to be a nod to the fact that TP is a parallel timeline to WW. WW had King Nohansen, so I imagine that as part of TP Zelda's lineage.

Wolf agreed to be a Royal Knight on the basis that it was only a formality, but then Zelda started actually summoning him to things anyway. He basically ignores them all, but they've been coming with increasing frequency. In Zelda's defense, the political situation she's dealing with trying to rebuild the kingdom is pretty tense. She could really use his help.

my favorite part of this update!! I feel like there should be no easy way to use the shadow crystal. if you want that power, you've gotta shove it in your forehead yourself! and yes, it does hurt. His ears flatten a little in anticipation. also sidenote I think this is the best I've ever drawn him lol

I like to think Yeto and Wolf are still buds.

I think whenever Wolf wanders like this, he frequently finds himself in the desert. He's given up on looking for shards of the mirror of twilight, though.

The vines get yellow as they reach the bottom of the page- Wolf's time to hide in wolfmode is running out.

little baby spirits of light hidden in this page, except ordona

who's hiding on this page instead! while Link the Cat reminds Wolf it's probably time to go back to his family in Ordon.

Wolf can't turn back into a human on his own, so he has to return to the sacred grove to reach the master sword. And yes, Skull Kid makes him play hide and seek every time 😂

those are midna's hands on either side.

this pattern has the organic shapes of the world of light, rather than the geometric twili patterns, showing that Wolf has immediately clocked that it's not a portal to the twilight realm. but alas, it's too late to turn back.

In terms of the timeline, while Loft and Slate trek across Hyrule to Hateno, Wolf is lost in the Lost Woods.

I wanted to put Ilia in this update more but this ended up being the only time she showed up lol

and that's all I've got! if you read all of this i love u