#I haven't drawn her in what feels like forever goodness

[captain-astors]

Burn it!

[poppystain]

𝑆𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 ( 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ) dir. emerald fennell  /  feel  free  to  change  pronouns  and  subjects  as  you  see  fit  !

❛ i wasn’t in love with him. ❜

❛ i loved him. of course! it was impossible not to. ❜

❛ everyone loved you. everyone wanted to be around you. ❜

❛ i protected him. i was honest with him. ❜

❛ it's just you and me, mate. and the girl with agoraphobia, but she's in her room. ❜

❛ are you telling me you spent your summer reading the bible? ❜

❛ oh no no. not, uh, friend. more an admirer. from afar. ❜

❛ so you're picking apart the style my essay instead of the substance? ❜

❛ it's not what you argue but how. ❜

❛ fuck, that's kind. are you serious? ❜

❛ i don't smoke. ❜

❛ he’s been expelled from almost every school in england for sucking off the teachers. ❜

❛ there aren’t any pictures of me as a kid. ❜

❛ you look different. ❜

❛ harsh! that is so harsh! you’re such a snob! ❜

❛ only rich people can afford to be this filthy. ❜

❛ do you think he'll be jealous? ❜

❛ no, i'm not like you. this is all i have. ❜

❛ this feels a bit fucking stupid now to be honest. ❜

❛ honestly? i don't think i'll ever go home again. ❜

❛ just be yourself! they'll love you! ❜

❛ everybody just goes to ruin, i suppose. ❜

❛ but darling you're kind about everyone, you can't be trusted. ❜

❛ i have a complete and utter horror of ugliness. ❜

❛ because you're a terrible person? ❜

❛ daddy always said that i'd end up at the bottom of the thames. ❜

❛ fucking hell you gave me a fright. ❜

❛ i wanted to have a look at the moon. it's nearly full. do you know what that means? ❜

❛ i'm cold blooded. we're all cold blooded, haven't you noticed? ❜

❛ because you’re so fucking beautiful. ❜

❛ you're in your see-through nightdress underneath my window. ❜

❛ i could just eat you. ❜

❛ lucky for you i'm a vampire. ❜

❛ bring on the slutty fairies. ❜

❛ it's just fucking cringe, mate. ❜

❛ what a little shit-stirrer. ❜

❛ it’s just so disappointing. you're just another one of his toys. ❜

❛ alright, fuck this. i'm getting a drink. ❜

❛ are you going to behave from now on? ❜

❛ i mean, you’re a fucking liar… why would you lie? ❜

❛ ...i just wanted to be your friend. ❜

❛ you can’t ignore me forever. ❜

❛ can you fuck off and bother somebody else? ❜

❛ you really do notice everything don't you? ❜

❛ you can’t just throw me away. ❜

❛ i just gave you what you wanted. like everyone else does! ❜

❛ everyone puts on a show for you. so i’m sorry if my performance wasn’t good enough. ❜

❛ i just need you to understand how much i fucking love you. ❜

❛ i'm still the same person. ❜

❛ i don't know what you are. but i do know you make my fucking blood run cold. ❜

❛ it was the end of everything. ❜

❛ none of us wants your bloody american feelings! ❜

❛ your politeness is so grating. do you know that? ❜

❛ you're always skulking around. weaving your spider web. ❜

❛ i think you're a moth. quiet. harmless. drawn to shiny things. batting up against the window… just desperate to get in. ❜

❛ you've made your holes in everything. you'll eat us from the inside out. ❜

❛ you ate him right up. and you licked the fucking plate.❜

❛ have you been happy? ❜

❛ i loved you. by god, i loved you. but sometimes i... hated you.❜

[safe-from-sharp-teeth]

Ayo! I haven't answered asks in FOREVER, so it's time for some spring cleaning :) Also answering other stuff, like what I've been up to.

If you sent an ask and it's not here, sorry! I may have deleted it because the prompt required too much work of me and I wasn't feeling it, or I was uncomfortable.

Let's gooooo !

Firstly - where have I been? Work REALLY picked up in a way I wasn't expecting over the last...4 months? I was working double and often triple the hours I was used to. With work, vacations, random illnesses, and many video games I got a bit too obsessed with, this blog took a backseat. Plus, sometimes I get disinterested in vore when obsessed with something else. Sometimes, that lasts months, and it did this time.

But now I can confirm that work will FINALLY chill for a long period of time. I'm free! And more motivated than ever! Wahoo! Thanks for your support ALWAYS.

Next big question - when am I going to do more of my story? The one with Asyr? AHHHHHGHHGHH this story has consumed my life. I think about it daily. I dream about it. And yet I'm not as comfortable writing as I am drawing, so writing is a slow process that my perfectionist ass struggles with. I can assure you that there is a story in the works - and I am working on it at a snail's pace.

Okay, ask time...

@ponyluvesonic09 AYO maybe I'll make a full ghost pred pros/con list for you, because that sounds awesome! Kir//by is one of the silliest canon preds out there. Honestly getting eaten by him would be like getting vored by a vacuum, LOL. Galaxy tummy!! Imagine a prey floating around in one of those item bubbles all grumpy. Thank u for the ask, this is good stuff.

no. ( /・・)ノ

UWAGHHHHH I LIKE HER!!! Never played O/verwat/ch but what a gem!! I have a random fondness for centaur-like preds nowadays. She looks so cozy. THANK U I LOVE HER!!!

@tiger9o0 I have not played r//ain w//orld or know what it's about, LOL. Looks like a platformer? Man, I'm terrrriiiiibblleee at those. But whoever this is on the cover, I LIKE EM. A+. (That might not answer ur question shdjbghkjg SORRY)

@heimkoheimkofan LOVE THAT I GOT THE ROBOT ENJOYERS AFTER THAT ONE POST....YES yall are so right and I'm so wrong for just hard metal robot tums. I will rectify my mistake soon I PROMISE. Also oh! You were the one asking about stomachs other than elemental ones! IVE HAD THAT IN MY DRAFTS FOREVER IM SORRY AHHHH. I REALLY love your imagination with tums and you've inspired me to think of some awesome environments! THANKS

@fastfur07 BWAH?? Ugh I'm all over the place when it comes to art. Some pieces take 30 min (like the zangooc I drew at the top of this post), most take 2 days. Some really hard drawings like my wolf bat creechur from a few months ago and my shrimp from last year took a month. THANK U??

We're going back so far that I think this is about my naga oc (which I'm in the midst of redesigning cough cough). For him, he would never tolerate being prey, extremely unwilling bahaha. In general, I haven't thought much about naga or snake prey! I get the appeal of slurping up a noodle, but I just prefer human prey :)

@fastfur07 you fiend, you always give me the best drawing ideas. UNFORTUNATELY, I didn't have time to draw something for this one. BUTTTT....

(i've had this next one in my drafts for forever)

then i had a silly comic. I'll post the wip here because I won't finish it, so enjoy bahaha.

@blizzaria123-blog THANK U im rapidly melting into a puddle from ur words

@mrpotatomanversionsix relevant. i will continue drawing them 4 u

?!??!!??!?!??!?!?!??!?!? how dare u enter my ask box with this blasphemy

@sfwsillynoms WAH!!! you!!! I'm currently redesigning my naga oc but when I finish I'll tag you, if you're still around! And he can 100% be drawn with ur preysona :)

@mystorl i am SO late to this, but SMART. I like it. I shall give my lil guy this friend. I just want to let u know that I see this and it's wonderful and I will do something abt it.

I remember this ask made me laugh a ton when I first got it. thank u. idk why I find this so funny

@sillylilprey IM CRYING RIGHT BACK AHHHH this is an ancient ask, but thank u! hope you're still enjoying!

@terrytheinsane finally, the last ask in my askbox. I love it. You have been wronged with how long it took me to answer you. I have gained knowledge from your ask. THANKS

AND THAT'S IT!! Thanks guys, I hope to make you proud! Feel free to send more asks, and hopefully I will answer in a TIMELY manner.

Goodnight! And remember: Nice Vore ᕕ༼⌐■-■༽ᕗ

[livingthedragonlife]

i make good playlists too sometimes. listen to it maybe?

explanations for why i chose the songs under the cut because i miss 8tracks. BIG HUGE SPOILER WARNING if you haven’t read/finished the manga!!!

Pure Love by Mother Mother — I always liked this song as a comforting presence but you could also read it as a sinister one. Definitely leaning into the sinister version here. I was also thinking of the innocent beginnings of the Winged Lion, just a little speck granting tiny desires before it was drawn "like a moth to a flame" to bigger ones. And the rest is history.

Remain Nameless by Florence + the Machine —

But know I'll always be around This can remain the same

Call me when you need me Call me anything you want Darling, believe me Nothing I haven't done before

The King by Anjimile — This one just gives me the vibes of how the power of being a dungeon lord drives everyone insane.

The Cage by Vera Sola — Deeply Mithrun

Under A Dome by Of Monsters and Men —

I'm taking over my own throne I’m holding my heart and it's overgrown I'm kicking out and I’m full of life So why should I cry over northern lights? And it's over now and I'm falling

It Will Come Back by Hozier — This WHOLLEE song is just. The Winged Lion in a nutshell. It's the entire premise.

Thousand Eyes by Of Monsters and Men — The dungeon lords can see through all their monster servants. A thousand of them even

Everybody Wants to Rule The World by Lorde — "uh oh shit is getting real"

Moderation by Florence + the Machine — The Winged Lion having absolutely no chill

Never Pleased by Portugal. The Man —

No I'm not Jesus but I'm more than a man I'll never grow old or lonely or sad Still I'm never pleased I'm never pleased

From the corners until I wake up walking as careful can be Careful to miss out on all that I see I'm never pleased

Tethered to the Dark by Anya Marina — The way the Winged Lion can manipulate you in fucked up ways you didn't even know were possible

Dangerous by Son Lux —

Are you dangerous? Carved right into my bed Quick lobotomy Then left me for dead

Mr. Lonely (feat. Fat Lip) by Portugal. The Man — Ultimately, being a dungeon lord leaves you alone and obsessed and with ultimate power that you don't even have full control over.

Forever by Mother Mother — Marcille's motivation but also the Winged Lion's? Marcille essentially never wants to see anyone her loves die ever again, and the Winged Lion wants to feast on desires forever. Unfortunately, entropy.

Guilty Filthy Soul by AWOLNATION — The Winged Lion doing some more crazy manipulation.

Propaganda by Muse — Obviously the dungeon lords are taken in by the Winged Lion's "propaganda," it "eats souls," it "toys with the truth." BUT!! Mortal desire is also something the Winged Lion "can't refuse." It's convinced by its own lies. Did I just blow your mind

Carnivorous by Band of Skulls — Eating yummy desires om nomnomnom

Little Monster by Royal Blood — The Winged Lion wants to eat Laios sooooo bad and this is a song about that.

Animals by Muse — LAIOS IS GONNA ENSURE HIS OWN SURVIVAL!!!!!!!!

Leave My Body by Florence + the Machine — The Winged Lion leaves its own body to steal Laios', for "one grand moment." Laios leaves his own body to be become a monster. But the Winged Lion loses a lot more than its mind in that arrangement! I feel like the "Your history keeps pulling me, pulling me down" part can be interpreted in this context as like... the history of life. Of survival. Finite resources, something the Winged Lion will never understand. Florence Welch did not intend for this to be what her song was about but I don't care it's blorbo time

[lonelylonelyghost]

Re-watch of The Spirealm. Episode 23

Nature in all its ominous glory

As far as the last images you see before you die, this is pretty good actually

RIP girl

Nice picture btw. I wouldn't want it on my bedroom wall, but if it was hanging somewhere near the entrance door, to scare the guests and myself occasionally - that'd be pretty cool.

"You stand on the bridge to view the scenery,

and people who view the scenery look at you upstairs.

The moon decorated your window,

and you decorated someone else's dream."

Nothing quite like a piece of cryptic poetry to start off your day

I need to see more of the Mistress's dress, it seems to look amazing. I want official full-body posters...

The Sun, the Death, the Noble Jester, The Giant and the Ghost

A gang

Jawline.

shut up.

He's so worried for his Lingling...

"You should let me leave this world. Me appearing in the game is equivalent to cheating. If you get caught you'll be punished severely."

"As long as you're here with me, I'm not afraid of any punishment!"

The ride or die!...

"I'm offline now. I'll die if I go out. I'm content to just be here with you. I played this game because I was lonely. But I met you. And now I'm not lonely anymore..."

ಥ_ಥ

The red string!!!

I noticed that the show treats Xiong Qi' and Xiao Ke's story is in some way similar to Nanzhu' and Qiushi's, in that they don't state clearly about the nature of their relationship, but make it as intense as possible. Ready to do anything for each other, literally tied together with a red string of fate, so who cares about the labels? They are each other's person, and that's enough. This is by far my favourite kind of m/f dynamic. GIMME MORE

Not to ruin the moment, but I think this is the only instance when the drama can legitimately show on screen Nanzhu getting on top of Qiushi

The RAGE!

Nice

"We both are women. I know how you feel. Many women have been hurt by love. We are easy to be bullied and mentally controlled. I've acted many eye-candy roles. None of these characters are divorced. I envy you. You're going the wrong way, but you've been looking for a way out."

"Is improper behavior also worth to be envied?"

"Of course! One day, you'll reach your solution. The Twelve Sufferings you drew is dreary. I don't like it. I like this one the best. Art and insights don't matter at all. What really matters is your choice."

Tan Zaozao is terrified but still reaches out to the Mistress with kindness. Have I told already that I love her?

The portrait is beautiful

(It looks a bit like it was drawn by Shen Yi)

And she's starting her life anew 🥲

"See you in the next Door"

😭😭😭😭

"Thank you." "And how exactly are you going to thank me?"

"Tell me, what do you want me to do?" "...I haven't decided yet."

"Have a rest. You can think it over once you've recovered."

Well, Qiushi walked right into that one, didn't he

"Don't leave. Stay with me a little longer." "Alright."

COME ON!

"Tan Zaozao, do you think that I'm too weak now to teach you a lesson?"

"Lingling-ge, calm Ruan-ge down, he wants to beat me!"

"What tool do you want to use? The fruit knife?"

You asked the wrong person to defend your honor, Zaozao! ehehe

OK, alright, ok, so....

[unholy screeching]

First of all, I officially will be reminded of THIS moment every time the lychees are mentioned in ANY context for the rest of my life.

Second of all, WHAT. WAS. THAT. Like seriously. How was that filmed? How was that supposed to have any heterosexual explanation? Just bros being dudes, hand-feeding each other fruits sensually? Like, be for real.

And third of all, Qiushi's face???????? Oh, he knows what he's doing and what kind of effect he has on Nanzhu, the amount of power he wields over him. And he uses this power to just take care of him!...

This one (and the Bite Scene TM) are the most homoerotic moments in the history of forever.

I rest my case.

what the FUCK

"Cheng Yixie? How did you know we were here?"

"I could smell you."

I...😳I did NOT remember this bit of the dialogue...

[dramaqueeenamby]

Easy | T'Challa Udaku

A/N: My god, BP2 was such an emotional ride. This is a product of all of the emotions I'm still reeling from. I have not written for BP in probably a year+, so I apologize for the rustiness.

Warnings: ANGST.

Words: 3K

You can find my other works HERE.

++++++++++++DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN BLACK PANTHER: WAKANDA FOREVER++++++++++++

-----------

Loving him was easy. 

Maybe too easy.

Maybe things would have been easier if he wasn’t so easy. So easy to admire, so easy to be drawn to, so easy to feel an ungodly amount of love and adoration for. 

But maybe that was just T’Challa. With his beautiful smile and brilliant mind, few paths seemed to lead to some place loveless. He was the embodiment of attraction, from the way he spoke, to the way he conducted himself, to the way he loved.

Yeah….easy seemed to be unavoidable. 

A small smile makes its way to your face as you reminisce on your first meeting all those years ago. 

“Would you just tell me already?”

Nakia simply looks over at you with that same bored yet tempted expression. “And ruin the surprise? Never.”

She laughs, clearly amused by your frustration, by the lack of patience for which you’ve still struggled to fully comprehend. 

You’d just completed your War Dog training and had been assigned to Nakia, to shadow her on a few missions and prove that you were ready for your own assignment. It was a perfect partnership, as Nakia matched your wit and sense of humor, both of which had definitely gotten you in trouble more times than you’d like to admit.

“How about a hint?”

“How about no?”

Your eyes narrowed as you nudged her. “You are enjoying this.”

“Somewhat,” she admits. You share another look before giggling together when a firm voice from behind interrupts your moment. 

“Forgive me, ladies.”

“You are not forgiven,” your response is natural and instantaneous, a small smirk playing on your face. “Matter of fact, you should know better than to sneak on two lad–” The smirk drops and your ridicule is cut short by the dark eyes and curious gaze of the crowned prince who stands before you. 

If Nakia was amused before, she was delighted now. You can feel her eyes still focused on you as she bumps you with her hip. “Y/N, you didn’t finish your statement. How rude.”

Your glare could burn two holes into the princess as she shakes her head and returns her focus onto Prince T’Challa. 

“Yes, T’Challa?” It’s in the most random, unexpected moments that you remember while Nakia is your friend, she is also royalty. Perhaps it’s something you should commit to memory, especially given how you’ve just completely disregarded all protocol for the future ruler of Wakanda. 

Finally able to pick your eyeballs off the ground, you find that T’Challa’s gaze is pinpointed on you. “Nakia is correct. It is improper to finish your statement…..”

He trails off, and you realize he’s searching for your name. Slightly dejected and still embarrassed, you answer, hastily adding a “your grace” onto the end. For good measure and respect.

He simply makes a sound before repeating your name. It feels so strange hearing your name on his mouth, strange but also….right. Shifting your stance, you’re thankful when he finally reirects his focus to Nakia. Memory of what was said between them was lost years ago, but the initial butterflies in your stomach upon your first meeting have always stayed with you. 

You pray to Bast they always will. 

Rolling your shoulders, your fingers dance across the fabric on your skin. It’s a piece you’d acquired since moving to Haiti. Your fingertips stroke the intricate pattern, and just like that, you’re hit with memories of laying in bed, naked, a sheen of sweat covering your back while the same fingers dance across his chest.

There are too many times that this occurred, but it’s somewhat easier to recall one of the later moments. 

The silence rattles you, not because you can’t handle it. It’s because you know underneath it lies turmoil, It’s present in the way he entered you, rough, desperate, lost. Lovemaking with T’Challa was always anything but that, maybe the first of them at times, but never the latter two. 

Your hands flatten against his chest, gently curving inward to draw his attention. He doesn’t move to look down, but you know he’s listening. 

“Talk to me,” you implore, licking your lips. “There’s so much more room out here, my love.”

He says nothing but you feel the scoff underneath his strong chest. “There is already too much out here.”

“Nay,” you lean to kiss the underside of his jaw. “You underestimate the space, kumkani.”

Finally, allowing you a glance of his dejected expression, he counters, “and you underestimate the weight, Isithandwa.”

Sighing, your hand travels to his face. “You didn’t know, T’Challa. None of us did.” If you’re being honest with yourself, it’s still nearly incomprehensible to believe that King T’Chaka was responsible for the murder of his own brother as well as the abandonment of his nephew, T’Challa’s cousin, the man who seemed hellbent on revenge. 

But not for poor reasons.

Still, the fact that so much of this falls on T’Challa, who has barely had time to mourn the loss of his father, your heart aches for the pain he refuses to show but you know he feels. 

“And we cannot change the past,” you continue, though vaguely unsure of yourself. T’Challa has always been the better of you two when it came to wording things in a way that was equally beautiful as it was helpful. “But, we can make decisions now that will help us create a better future.”

“Built on what? Lies.”

“No….” Again, your hand movement shifts to his hard abdomen, as your fingers offer comforting, circular movements. “No, my love, the lies stop with you. You will be the change that will usher in a new era for Wakanda, a better era, for us all.”

Instead of the incoherent sounds you usually receive, his hand on your back tugs you just a little closer. “You have such unyielding faith in me.”

You sit on his words for a few seconds before answering thoughtfully. “I’ve questioned many things in my life, T’Challa, but not one of them has ever been you. Not your ability to rule, to protect, not even to love.” A beat. “Now I’ve maybe questioned your fashion choices at one point or another, but Shuri’s influence will hopefully start to rub off on you.”

A small yelp escapes your mouth as he flips positions so that he’s hovering over you. Your gazes lock as he lowers himself, stealing the gentlest of kisses before resting his forehead against yours. Your hands cradle his cheeks as he kisses both of your palms before shifting downward and laying against your chest. Your arms cocoon him, protecting him, offering a solace only found within your safe embrace.

“I love you, T’Challa. Never forget that.”

You once believed that the five years without T’Challa, having lost him to the Snap, was the most difficult thing you’d ever had to endure.

Clearly….clearly you were wrong.

It starts with a cough. 

Nothing persistent or chronic, more inconsistent and light than anything. Probably nothing major enough to raise an eyebrow from anyone else. But you knew T’Challa, and you knew the many benefits of the heart shaped herb.

He didn’t get sick, and more importantly, the black panther didn’t get sick. 

A small part of you pretended that it wasn't an issue. You were comforted by the fact that he’d been ripped away from you for five years and returned. What more heartache could possibly outweigh that?

But then the cough was no longer as infrequent, and along with it came a sort of dullness in his normally bright eyes. He seemed….weary.

You knew the weight of returning after being gone for so long weighed on him, but this….this was different.

It was also concerning, as he would come and visit at least once a month, the two of you no longer able to steal moments in time as often as you once did. You were both older now with even more responsibilities than ever before. So when he came to visit two times in a row and you noticed the same dullness, your concern definitely spiked.

It was late, and the two of you were just getting into bed. He’d only just pulled back the blankets when you finally asked.

“How long do you plan to pretend that everything is alright?”

He stands upright and his jaw ticks. “What are you talking about?”

Deflection. T’Challa never deflects. Your concern increases.

Moving across the room, you stand directly in front, looking up at him. “You know exactly what I am talking about.” When he says nothing, your hand lifts to his cheek. “Please talk to me. I am worried.”

“It’s nothing.”

“What is it, T’Challa?” Moving closer, you lay yourself against his chest, mindful of how he hesitates to reciprocate your embrace. “I need you to be honest with me.” A beat. “Or maybe I just need you to be honest with yourself.”

His body tenses underneath the weight of your own as well as your words. And finally, he answers, “something has been…..plaguing me.” Looking up, he immediately goes into comfort mode. “It is nothing to worry about, Isithandwa.”

His eyes betray him, and you can’t help how your own water. “How close are you to a cure?” His silence is the answer you don’t want to hear. It’s an answer that is not the security of promise and hope that you need in this moment. 

“Y/N–”

“What-what does Shuri think?” More silence. Your eyes naturally widen. “You have not told her?” His lack of an answer adds another layer of panic as she painfully realizes, “you have not told anyone….”

“There is no need to worry anyone, Y/N.”

“But I am worried, T’Challa!” You whisper harshly, mindful of your volume as not to disturb or let alone awake the last person who needs to be hearing this conversation. “Do you not think I have not noticed how long this has lasted? You have been sick for weeks, months maybe, and if there is no cure in sight, then who is to say you will get better?”

He shakes his head, cupping your face. “Aye, listen to me.” The tears are falling, and his thumb goes to brush them away. “You once told me that you have never doubted me. Do you remember this? Hmm?”

Sniffling, you manage to nod and murmur, “yes.”

Relieved, he tucks you into him, his chin resting on the top of your head. “So trust me now, Y/N. Have faith.”

His words still haunt you, still bring the sting of tears to your eyes and the sharp flash of pain in your chest. Realizing that the man you love has limited time left on earth is a pain like none other. But watching him gradually decline, knowing that there’s nothing you can do….that is a hurt too explosive to even describe.

For his sake, you both acted normal. Same smiles, just a little dimmer. Same laughter, just an octave lighter. Same love, not a damn thing different. Some days you wonder if that was for the better or for the worse. Was it staying and operating out a state of denial? Could you have maybe delayed it, prevented it even if there was more of a sense or urgency?

Because even when you both sat him down, when you were finally honest about T’Challa’s condition, about where his path was leading him, it still felt bitterly hopeful. Like it was a maybe instead of a definitely.

Maybe this will happen, instead of this is going to happen.

But you also knew this wasn’t a decision that you could make by yourself. And truth be told, it wasn’t even a decision T’Challa could make, which disgusted you. How could a man like T’Challa, your sweet, kind love be subjected to such a cruel ending? An ending so unbecoming of the majestic man that he was. 

This is when the anger kicks in, the rage at having him taken from you not once, not twice, but three times. Why the hell did you all have to be dealt such a vile card? What travesties could you have done, could he have done to deserve this ending? 

In the final weeks, days even, items were dropped or were thrown, tempers were short, clearly, and interactions felt so much more heavy. You still beat yourself up for being so consumed by your own emotions that maybe you weren’t present enough for him when he needed you the most. 

That also happens a lot, that feeling of it not being enough. Not enough of him. Not enough of you all. Not enough time. 

Not enough of…..anything. 

And then that ceremony, the damn goodbye that he decided would be just for them, that was the moment you realized that T’Challa wouldn’t be returning for another visit. This was the last time, and it broke you. Of that night, you don’t remember much, just the absolute agony and grief that tore through your entire being. It’s such a blur, but the pain felt is a constant. 

That last goodbye…..even reflecting back on it is too much to bear, too much to try to swallow. Maybe someday you’ll be able to dwell on it….but now….now is too soon, much too soon.

What does stand out is the days following the notice you received that he’d passed on to be with the ancestors.

Washing the dishes was the last thing you wanted to do, but the dishwasher was giving an error code, and you couldn’t bring yourself to seek out someone who could fix it. Especially when that someone you would usually call is no longer available. 

Wiping at your face with the back of your hand had become a habit, one that had caused the skin on your face to become tender, harsh even from the constant friction. But the final straw was dropping the glass plate in your hand onto the floor, shattering all over the tile. 

You cursed, leaning down to gather the pieces only to not pay close enough attention, accidentally slicing the palm of your hand.

Hissing loudly, you lifted your arm, observing the blood leave the open wound. You do nothing to stop it, watching it continue to spill, even aiding in the process as you apply pressure around the area. It’s a fruitless effort though, because the physical pain is nothing in comparison to your emotional pain. 

Overcome with that same emotion, you bring yourself to your feet and storm out the door, running toward the beachfront. 

T’Challa always loved the water and wanted you two to be away from everyone else, both for your comfort as well as your privacy and overall safety. 

Falling to your knees, your hands brace against the grainy sand as a loud, guttural, visceral scream erupts from the deepest part of your soul. But, it’s not enough. So you go again. And again. And again. Continuing to scream until your voice breaks, as does your resolve.

Now on your side, sobs rake through your entire body, you wails bouncing off the waves of the water. 

It’s both comforting and suffocating. A release and a limitation. A blessing and a curse.

“How-how could you leave me?” The question is posed to no one, to everyone, to anyone who will listen. “How could you leave us!” The interrogative nature quickly transitions to a demanding tone, a plea, a beg for mercy. “You said-you said to have faith, and I–I did.” You continue to wail, shaking your head. “And where are you now? WHERE ARE YOU, T’CHALLA?”

Stomach throbbing and eyes burning, your vision is blurred by pain, but you manage to twist your body when small but firm arms wrap around you and a body is pressed against yours. The familiar smell of shea and cocoa butter fills your nostrils as you look down and nearly cave again.

“I’m right here, mama,” your son’s words hit you deeper than anything you could have imagined. And another wave of tears overcomes you as he repeats himself and holds you even tighter. “I’m right here.” 

You’re not sure if Challa, as both you and T’Challa took to calling him even when he was still in your womb, will ever be able to fully comprehend the depth and importance of his words. His comfort in that moment pulling you from a darkness you’d never encountered. A darkness you’re not sure you would have been able to save yourself from without him. 

It’s been roughly a year since that night, that evening where your greatest blessing saved you from your greatest battle. And every day is a struggle, there’s always moments where you find yourself encountering a memory, missing a touch, yearning for that love.

But then Challa will smile at you, and you’re reminded that death…is never the end. 

You remember that loving T’Challa was always so easy because it was inevitable. 

“You’re always with me, my love,” you speak upward, smiling softly. “And you always will be.” 

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Amazing!! Ok so I’m not sure how this would work, but maybe for the Mira x reader she could be xaden’s older sister or something who was best friends with Mira when they were younger (and maybe they had mutual secret feelings)

Ofc then the whole traitor thing ruined that and Mira didn’t want to associate with her anymore (friends to enemies to lovers anyone?) - though the canon time line might have to be altered😅

And then say if mira spoiler was somehow actually aware of the rebel base and that her brother was alive and she was aiding the rebels bc she’s cool

And reader just so happens to be stationed at the house etc, and they haven’t seen each other in years but mira’s immediately like damn she just got even more beautiful (in her head bc why would a sorrengail expose weakness)

Anyway I picture them as a kind of opposites attract trope, where reader is badass but in a more femme fatale way, where she takes people down because they don’t expect a pretty girl with good hair and style to be a threat you know? Or even if she is a talented healer or something like that!

Anyway, feel free to ignore all of this, I’m just so excited that you’re writing for fourth wing!!! I can’t wait to see what you come up with☺️

*wipes dust off this request* I apologize for taking so long... needed more pain from Iron Flame apparently to get to this... I hope this will find the person who requested it. ✨🤍

Interlinked

Mira's head was spinning. Too much. It was all too much. Too many things to bring to life... quite literally. She flew fearing for her sister. Only to find a whole rebellion clan squirming right beneath her nose. Then there was her brother who she had wept for years. Who's death had ripped the last bit of Mira's caring heart out. Burnt it with all the things that had belonged to Brennan. She had morn all of it. Over and over again blaming herself for it.

Mira had hit her older brother when she first saw him. She felt his nose brake right beneath her knuckles but nothing had prepared her for what appeared right behind him. Mira had staggered back. Her face paling of last bits of color. She quickly reached for a necklace she never took off. Two iron rings interlinked together. The part of her she had kept hidden away from everyone's praying eyes. "YN", she barely breathed out. Because there was no way. You too have died. Your name was on the scroll. Right after the fight you both had. Right after the next that hunted Mira even now. "No", Mira shook her head. "I'm alright", Brennon said even with the blood dripping through his palm, his good hand squeezing your arm. "Yn", Mira staggered forward but you backed away quickly. An ache in her heart only grew as you spoke, "I'm still dead to you, lieutenant", your words were like poison. Seeping deep into Mira's skin.

That had been a couple of weeks ago. Ever since you had done a marvelous job at avoiding Mira. She only caught a glimpse of you in some of the meetings. Saw you mounting your dragon. Or up in the sky. You were lethal. So graceful one would not expect such power to be rooted in you. But... but that was what had always drawn Mira to you. While you two were little she thought that her job was to protect you. How wrong had she been? It was you who Mira should have listened to. You who she shouldn't have rushed to judge.

Mira's body collided with another person right as she turned the corner. She reached to steady the frame in front of her but the moment her fingers brushed over the skin... Mira blinked as you came into her full vision. Wind-swept hair, rosy cheeks, still in your flying leathers. "Watch where you're going, Sorrengail", you huffed, turned to outstep her but Mira quickly caught your hand, "Y/n, you can't run from me forever", there was a light plea in her tone. One that you knew didn't come easy.

"I have nothing to say to you", you yanked your hand out of her grip. "I do", Mira breathed, "There hasn't been a day that I haven't been thinking of you", she breathed and you couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh, "Oh, please...". You turned to face her, "You said it yourself back then in the courtyard. I don't belong in your world". Guilt rippled through Mira. She had been so naive back then. Eager to play by the books. Knowing only black-and-white truths. Rebellion mark had been a deal breaker then but now...

"Don't bother with it, Sorrengail", you hissed, "Don't call me that, you never called me that", Mira stepped closer to you, her eye's blazing. "That was before you gave up on us", you were inches away from her, nearly reaching for the dagger. "Do it", Mira urged you, "Stab me, slit my throat, jab it into my heart, because it will never come close to the pain I felt when I made the biggest mistake in my life". You took a sharp breath in, you didn't want to show your emotions, but you knew that she had caught that glimpse of emotions that shined in your eyes.

Mira reached for the necklace beneath her flying leathers, "I never took it off", she shook her head, "I never let go of you". You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to not break. To not let the years of anger chip away so easily. But this was Mira. Your Mira. The girl you had fallen in love with slowly even if you two were painfully aware that you might never have a chance to truly be together. Your chest heaved as you two stood there staring at each other. Your hand moved towards your neck, tugging away the same two interlinked loops. A soft cry slipped through Mira's lips as his eyes landed on the familiar metal. One that she had made for you.

But the moment of hope lasted only for a heartbeat as you backed away from her, shaking your head, "This changes nothing", you said quietly. "We can try. Let me prove it to you", Mira pleaded, trying to reach for you. "Prove yourself to my people first", you said bitterly, before turning away and rushing up the stairs.

[orionsstory]

that kind of devotion | anarcia (7)

yayy chapter seven is here :) as always, don't forget to check it out on ao3 !! and leave a comment if you liked it teehee

---

For the next two weeks, Marcia found herself texting Lotus every waking moment. During breaks, during dinner, any free time she had was spent laughing at her jokes or smiling at a picture she sent. She got to find out she loved ducks (through the several pictures she sent of the ones at the nearby park- Marcia didn't mind though) to her favorite song (Boss Bitch by Doja Cat, a song Marcia had found herself listening to nonstop lately). If she was lucky, Lotus would even call her after her patrol, and the two would talk for hours. They mostly talked about their day and the investigation, but sometimes Marcia would slip in a story about her growing up, or Lotus would tell her a story about Sasha. The two had grown much closer in the past two weeks, getting along like a house on fire.

Even now, she was sitting on the couch texting Lotus. She giggled at a text the other girl had sent before she was drawn out of her thoughts by someone nudging her leg. "I need to sit down too, you know." Luxx rolled her eyes as she sat down, handing Marcia her food. "Put your phone down and eat, you've been glued to that thing lately. It's your one day off and you've ignored me the whole morning!"

Marcia takes the food from her, "I'm sorry! It's just so...exciting! We've pretty much gone from talking a few times a month to every day, it's hard not to be so engrossed."

"Aww, she's down bad." Luxx teased her.

"No, I'm not down bad. I'm a lover."

"Marsh, that's the same thing."

"It's totally not! Well...maybe a little. Whatever..." She flushed in embarrassment, rolling her eyes. Luxx chuckled at her,  "Isn't that sweet, you know I haven't seen you this excited over a girl since that one in college...what was her name again?" Marcia cringed at the memory, she had to admit she may have the tendency to fall for people quite easily, but Lotus wasn't the same.

"That's not the same thing. Lotus is different."

Luxx raised her eyebrow, so she continued, "She shows genuine interest in me. She cares about my theatre stuff and how my day is. She texts me pictures of cute dogs she sees because she knows I'll love them. She's...thoughtful. Also, she didn't forget my name after one date, so she's already leagues ahead of Caitlin."

Luxx laughed, "Oh my god, I forgot about that! What did she call you again? Maria?"

"Miriam. She said she knew it was some old lady's name."

"Oh my god, she was awful. I'm so glad that lasted like, two weeks."

"You and me both. Anyways, what were you thinking of doing?"

"Well, since we're all getting together after your show tomorrow, I figured we could just lie low today. We could go to that coffee shop you like and people-watch."

Marcia was sold. "You know me so well, Luxx."

"Of course I do. We've been friends for like 10 years, it'd be sad if I didn't. Now let's go, I want to get a good spot before it gets busy."

-

They arrived at the small shop, setting their items down on the counter facing the biggest window. Marcia took a seat, taking out her drawing supplies as Luxx went to grab their drinks. It had been a while since they had been able to do this- they used to do it all the time in college, watching the people pass by and wonder about their lives while they worked on essays or assignments. They would wonder about their own lives, and what the future would be like. Marcia likes to think her younger self would be proud of where she is now. It makes her smile.

"One tea with honey for you...and an espresso for me!" Luxx hums as she sits the drinks down, sliding onto the seat beside Marcia. She brings out her own drawing materials, peering out the window.

"I missed this. Feels like it's been forever since we've done this."

"I know, it feels like we barely have time anymore. I guess that's what it means to be an adult."

Luxx nodded, her pencil sketching across the page. "Such is capitalism. Ugh, I'm so antsy to get this collection done. We're almost ready to go into production, so my stress is mostly over."

"Oh, I'm excited to see the collection! You're taking me to see the show, right?"

"Who else is going to be my plus one?" She laughs, taking a sip of her drink. "Oh yeah, that's good. Fuck, I've missed good coffee. The office coffee is so shitty, Marsh. Oh my god, it's horrible."

Marcia smiled, opening her own sketchbook as she began sketching some of the people outside. "For a luxury brand, you would think they could afford a better coffee machine." She laughed, scribbling in a woman's dark coat. "Maybe they'll get you a new one for Christmas."

Luxx rolled her eyes, "Please, don't give me hope. Irene keeps saying she's going to fix it and improve it herself but we've been so swamped she hasn't had time yet." She looked up for her next target before selecting a man with a dog. "Look at that dog- isn't it cute? Ugh, I wish I was better at animals. It looks like a rat."

Marcia leaned over to look at the sketch, rolling her eyes. "It looks great, you're being dramatic. That is a cute dog though, what a baby." She cooed, snapping a picture of it before she sent it to Lotus. "How is the collection going anyway? Weren't you guys almost done like, a month ago?"

"Well, we were going through final revisions, but they decided to scrap some of the looks so we had to come up with some new ones. I'm hoping this will be the final round though. I've got some of the early concepts for designs in here though." She answers, flipping through her sketchbook to show Marcia some of the designs. 

She always admired the other girls' aesthetic, Luxx's usual grungy and dark designs had seemed to translate perfectly to spring fashion. Desaturated colors and skirts with purposeful rips and tears turned a skirt into the shape of a flower, an impressive feat. Marcia had seen Luxx make gorgeous designs that weren't her aesthetic, but these ones were special. She always loved it when Luxx could show her passion through her designs.

"Dark forest...what a theme, right?" She softly chuckles, flipping back to the sketch she was working on. "I like it though. I think it'll be our best collection yet."

Marcia proudly smiles, returning to her own sketch of some scenery. They sketched in comfortable silence for some time, Marcia having stopped sketching the people outside and started sketching Lotus. She didn't mean to, it was just sort of a habit at this point.

"That's really good, is that Lotus?" Luxx asks, leaning over. Marcia nods, her face tinged red. "Is she coming to your performance tomorrow?"

"No, but she's coming for my first night as Elle. I'm really excited, I hope she'll like my performance- I've been working so hard on it. God, I hope it goes well, what if I choke?"

"You won't choke. You were like, born for this. You're gonna kill it."

Marcia smiles at her, "Thanks, Luxx."

-

Luxx volunteered for dinner duty that night, allowing Marcia a moment to herself. To debrief, to prepare herself for tomorrow. She felt the nerves creeping up, like they did for every show she had done. She had to remind herself that it was going to go well, that she was going to do well. She focused on the warm water of the shower that was beginning to turn cold- maybe she had been in there longer than she thought.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapping her hair in a soft pink towel before beginning to dry herself off. It was nice, and for a moment she felt calm as she blow-dried her hair, the muffled music of Ariana Grande playing in the background. 7 rings was interrupted by the ringing of her phone, Marcia clicked off the hair dryer as she answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, doll." Lotus' voice came from the other end. "Are you able to talk?"

Marcia hummed, "For a little bit- Luxx will kill me if I miss dinner." She wrapped her soft pink robe around her as she left the bathroom and entered her bedroom across the hall. "I thought you're usually on patrol around this time of day?"

"I am, but it's always a slow start. Thought I'd talk to you until I get a call."

She softly smiled, "Well, I won't complain about that. How's your day been?"

"Pretty standard. I'm hanging out with my coworker soon, but other than that nothing of note. But enough about me- you're gonna be on Broadway tomorrow! How are you feeling?"

"Nervous. Excited. I can't tell- I think it's both." She chuckled, "I know I'll probably do well, but it's just those pre-show nerves, you know?"

"Nah, I know you're gonna crush it."

"But how do you know? What if I...I don't know, trip and break my arm or something."

"I think you'd still perform, even if you had to be in a cast. Don't worry. Besides, isn't the saying break a leg?"

Marcia softly sighed, a smile creeping onto her face as she rummaged through her dresser for her pajamas. "Yeah, it is...and you're probably right. I'm way too excited about this. I just can't believe it's finally happening!"

She heard a faint buzzing on the other line, vaguely recognizing it as the sound of a call.

"Do you have to go?"

Lotus sighed, "Yeah. I do. I'm sorry. Hey- break a leg tomorrow. You're gonna kill it."

Marcia smiled. "Thanks, I will."

She heard Lotus laugh, she could practically see the other girls smile in her head.

"Atta girl."

-

The next morning was a blur. She remembered waking up to a 'break a leg ;)' text from Lotus and eating breakfast with Luxx, but time seemed to fly by after that. Her usual subway ride seemed to take five minutes, and their rehearsal that morning felt like it had happened in a second.

Now, she was in the dressing room with her castmates, all giddy and excited for the show. She applied the last of her blush and made sure her costume was perfect, waiting in the wings with the rest of the ensemble for the first number to start. Many were excitedly whispering to each other, the air in the theatre felt electric.

"Who's here for you tonight, Marcia?" One of her castmates and friends, Plasma, asked her.

"My friends and one of my cousins- we're going out afterward. What about you?"

"Some of my friends- and my mom, she flew in from Texas to be here. I can't believe it's opening night!" She excitedly shook Marcia's arm, causing her to smile.

"I know. Oh! There's the house lights, we're going!" She excitedly whispered, taking her place in preparation. She felt the anxiety returning to her chest, taking a deep breath as the curtains drew open.

They began their first number, which went as perfectly as it could. Marcia hit all the right steps, all the right notes, and stayed in character the entire time. She felt the anxiety in her chest dissipate after the first number, it turning into a feeling of joy. She felt good going into the second number, which turned into feeling great for the entire first act. During intermission, she and Plasma celebrated their success, which meant excitedly talking about the show while they made costume and makeup adjustments for the second act.

The second act also went spectacularly. She could tell the entire cast was bringing their all, and the audience could too. Every time the audience laughed or cheered her drive became stronger, causing her to perform even better. By the time curtain call came, she was exhausted- but proud. As she bowed with the rest of the ensemble, she could hear Luxx's cheers above the rest. She couldn't see her group because of the house lights, but that was enough to put a smile on her face. 

She's able to get out of her costume and makeup fairly quickly, only delayed by her and Plasma geeking out about the show- releasing the remainder of the energy they had for the night. Eventually, she gathered her things and left, signing some things for a few fans at the stage door before spotting her friends.

"MARSHALL!" Luxx squealed, tightly hugging the other girl. Marcia giggled as her friends swarmed her, excitement filling the air. Jan raved on and on about her vocals and dance moves, her cousin was a fellow theatre nerd and they often spent their childhood watching different musicals (and poorly reenacting them). Robin, although less experienced in the theatre world, complimented her performance and gave her a bouquet- which Amethyst almost crushed as she pulled the group in to take a photo.

Marcia feels elated as the group returns to her apartment, giving her time to change into a sparkly mini-dress. She quickly shot a text to Lotus before coming back out, rejoining the girls who had also changed. They took a quick shot of some tequila they had lying around the house before heading to the nearest gay bar.

-

"My girlfriend said she and her friend are a few minutes away," Robin yelled above the noise, trying to keep Amethyst from getting swallowed up by the crowd. "I'm making them get us drinks- what does everyone want?"

The girls shouted out their various drink orders to Robin, drowned out by the club's music. The lights strobed and Marcia could feel her body vibrating from the bass. She danced with Luxx and Amethyst, letting herself go and focusing on having fun- she deserved it, after all. She felt her legs growing sore, but it didn't bother her. She would regret it in the morning, however it wasn't anything she couldn't deal with.

They only stopped dancing when Robin squealed, throwing herself into the arms of a girl who had just walked up. "That's Aura," Amethyst shouted so they could hear, the other girls nodding along. "Who's that beside her?" Marcia asked, referring to the girl who had appeared beside Aura.

She was wearing a short red dress and a leather jacket, and her long light-colored hair was straight and worn down, with some bobby pins to keep her bangs back. She looked like she had some darker streaks in her hair, but she couldn't be too sure with the blaring club lights. From what Marcia could see, she had a pretty athletic build and a scar over her left eye. She felt like she knew the girl, but she couldn't place her finger on why.

"I guess her friend," Amethyst whispered in her ear, "She's hot, right? Is she glaring at us though?" Marcia turned her attention back to the other woman, Amethyst was right- she did seem to be glaring, but she couldn't even clearly see the girl because of the flashing lights.

"Can't tell."

Aura and Robin finally broke apart, allowing Aura to shift her attention to the other girl.

"Oh! This is one of my friends, Anetra!" The other girl nodded her head in greeting. "She doesn't bite, she just has chronic RBF." Aura laughed, Anetra rolled her eyes and playfully elbowed her. Amethyst introduced herself first before Marcia did- she noticed the girl's eyes widen a bit before returning to normal. That was strange, did she recognize her too?

She was going to talk to her more when Aura pulled her away to go get the group's drinks, putting a pin in her plan. That was fine, she'd just talk to her when she returned. However, Anetra didn't return. Aura came back alone, balancing the drinks in her arms.

"Where'd Anetra go?" Luxx asked, taking her drink from Aura.

"She got a call while we were waiting at the bar- came back and said there was an emergency and dashed out. She seemed stressed about it."

"I hope she's okay..." Marcia worried, "Poor girl just got here."

"I'll check up on her later, she's a tough cookie so I'm sure she'll be fine."

That was the last they talked about it, the rest of the night was a blur as they danced and drank until their feet hurt. Marcia tried to tone it down so she wouldn't feel as miserable tomorrow, which worked to some degree. She and Luxx left around 1 am, both deciding to be somewhat responsible. She quickly changed into her pajamas, almost passing out the instant she hit the bed. She shot off a goodnight text to Lotus, who still hadn't answered her last message, which was odd. She worried something may have happened, but she pushed that thought to the back of her mind- she was just paranoid.

[kradogsrats]

Fic: Coins for the Eyes

sfdjksdljfl so I haven't written any Ouroboros-verse (Viren-Harrow bodyswap scenario AU) in forever but I wanted to get this out just in case all my "Claudia finds coined Kpp'Ar and it crumbles the last unstable pillars supporting her worldview" prayer circle manifesting for s6 actually works.

—

The next day, Claudia stayed in bed until after the noon bells, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest and her folded arms resting on top of them.

She’d been only a child when Kpp’Ar disappeared. She barely even remembered those weeks, now—Soren on the edge of death, Kpp’Ar vanishing without a word, their mother dwindling to a speck on the horizon. Then her own first attempt at magic, followed by many, many more as she threw herself into the only thing that had made her feel like the future might hold something besides loss.

They never found out what happened to him. Her father’s duties as high mage seemed to crowd out every chance he had to investigate, and the Puzzle House was sealed by royal decree not long after she and Soren navigated it. After King Harrow was crowned, it seemed like everyone was determined to never speak of Kpp’Ar again. He became just another person who abandoned her without explanation—another ghost haunting her heart.

Ten years later, and she’d finally found a clue. A clue her father may have had that entire time.

He must have still been looking for Kpp’Ar, hoping to work out how to save him. It was the only explanation that made any sense, but it still hurt—he’d never said anything, even knowing how much it ate at her that Kpp’Ar was gone. If he’d told her, they could have worked on the problem together—she could have helped. She was smart and strong and eager, and they could have done so much if only he’d let her—

Like he let you help with saving King Harrow from assassins?

She shook the nasty voice out of her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Stop being such a child,” she said aloud. “Maybe you weren’t strong enough then, but you are now. So fix it.”

It was Kpp’Ar she had first gone to with questions about magic. She had learned not to do the same with her father unless absolutely necessary—even after he started properly teaching her, he had little patience for explanations and tangents. Now they were both gone, but there was still someone who might be able to give her answers.

After finally dressing and coiling her hair into a severe knot at the back of her neck, she stepped out to face what remained of the day. She stopped by the high mage’s office, but Aaravos was nowhere in sight when she pulled the mirror’s cover away. Rather than wait for him, she scribbled a note on a scrap of paper and stuck it face-first to the glass with a blob of half-dried glue.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, prowling the shelves for books on metallurgic magic and elven runes. When she felt like she couldn’t read anymore without screaming, she climbed up to the battlements and watched the sun slowly sink below the western horizon.

Aaravos was waiting when she returned to the office, his sunset-fog eyes and elegantly arched brows visible over the note stuck to the mirror’s face. She pulled the paper off and let it fall to the floor, picking up the slate and chalk.

The pinprick lights dusted over his indigo skin twinkled as he raised a hand, the usual glowing letters trailing behind his fingers to hang in the air. You say you want answers. You need only ask.

“Good evening to you, too,” Claudia muttered under her breath. The chalk squeaked as she wrote on the slate: Have you ever seen something like this? Then she drew the coin from her belt pouch and held both up to the mirror.

He motioned for her to bring the coin closer, leaning in to examine it. She turned it so he could see both sides—Kpp’Ar’s twisted face on one, and the strange, split-wheel symbol on the other—switching between them when he gestured with a twisting motion. His face was so close that his nose seemed like it might brush the glass, close enough that she could see the pale curve of his eyelashes and the stray hairs that fell across his face, all highlighted by the glow from the bright notches of light across his cheekbones. His eyes flicked briefly up to hers, and he slowly straightened.

I have, he wrote. For once, he didn’t wait for her to ask before offering his explanation. The complete essence of a human trapped in gold, body and spirit. A cruel, if effective, punishment for enemies.

Claudia swallowed against the tightness in her throat. She closed her hand around the coin, holding it tightly for a moment before tucking it back into her pouch.

When she looked back to the mirror, Aaravos was watching her. It is someone you care for.

She nodded slightly, then sat down in her chair and rubbed the slate clear. He was like a second father to me, she wrote out. I’m a mage because of him.

It wasn’t something she’d ever admitted aloud—that it had been Kpp’Ar who truly nurtured her love of magic, not her father. She never doubted that her father loved her, but he’d shown no interest in teaching her until she was already getting in trouble for messing up spells she’d learned on her own. When he finally saw she had talent, he’d trained her rigorously in building and using it. Kpp’Ar had spoken of magic as something to love—powerful, but also wonderful and weird and sometimes silly. Something fun, not just a tool to be used for greater ends.

I’m sorry. Aaravos looked at her with sympathy, his face somehow softer and more genuine than ever before. It hurt some, to be looked at that way, but she also felt a little better. Like someone cared.

Rather than continue to meet his eyes, she wiped the words from the slate again and busied herself with writing. Who could have done this? After a moment, she added, Can it be undone?

He can be freed, though it is both difficult and costly. The next part of Aaravos’s reply came slowly, with clear hesitation. As for who: I will say only that the spell cannot be cast without the aid of a powerful relic, of which kind there is only one.

She stared at him, perplexed—was she supposed to somehow know the relic he spoke of? He held her gaze at first, but then his eyes shifted slightly, focusing on something behind her. A shiver ran down her spine, and she turned slowly to scan the room.

Her eyes immediately fell on her father’s staff, propped against the doorframe.

“No,” she said reflexively. She turned back to the mirror, shaking her head. It couldn’t be that. It couldn’t be. It was a mistake—she was tired and upset, and it made her misinterpret things. Aaravos would correct her.

Aaravos only looked back out at her, that same knowing sympathy on his star-speckled face.

“No,” she said again. “No, no, no—that’s impossible. Dad wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.”

She began to shake, her vision swimming. Her chest tightened like a vise until it stopped her breath. The slate and chalk slipped from her numb fingers and hit the floor with a crack she barely heard.

That her father could have done this to Kpp’Ar—not just kept secret from her what had happened to him, but lied to her for more than half her life—she couldn’t even process it. He’d barely investigated Kpp’Ar’s disappearance because he’d known what happened all along. He’d let her think Kpp’Ar had abandoned her. Like her mom had abandoned her.

Like he eventually would, too.

Aaravos was still watching her when she looked up again. More glowing letters drifted in front of him. Are you all right?

Claudia wiped her eyes angrily and nodded. She picked up the slate, making a face at the long crack that had formed across one corner, and one of the larger pieces remaining of the shattered chalk.

How can I free him? she wrote, calm and precise.

I can help you, but not like this. He gestured expansively to the glass and glowing words between them. We must first be able to speak to and hear one another. I know a small ritual that will allow that. After completing it, we can begin.

She rubbed out her words and wrote again. What do I have to do?

Aaravos smiled.

[silentcrowsilentravens]

Could I get Cass killing a monster, only to realize it's her S/O turned?

Ohh, painful. Of course!

Cassandra Dimitrescu killing a monster, only to realize it used to be her s/o.

(Gender neutral).

Warnings: blood, violence, death.

Masterlists here!

"Go away, Dani. I don't want to be bothered right now."

"You haven't let me bother you for forever now!" Daniela whines. She has to raise her voice quite a bit because the maiden Cassandra is torturing won't stop screaming. "Why have you been especially grouchy lately?"

"I haven't been."

Daniela spares a glance at the growing collection of dead maidens and crystalized Moroaice around the cellar. Almost all courtesy of her sister.

"...Right. You know—"

"If you don't leave, I'm going to tell Mother what actually happened to her favorite wine glass."

Daniela gasps, "You wouldn't."

"Care to test me?"

After a moment of consideration, Daniela lets out an overdramatic sigh. "Fine..." She throws her arms up and meanders her way back upstairs.

The screams of the maiden peter out. Her movements still.

"Dead already?" Cassandra mutters, her sulkiness still far from lifted. "I had a feeling you'd be a bore..."

She refuses to admit what has her In such a poor mood.

(It's you).

You stopped writing.

You stopped visiting.

She doesn't understand.

Did you fall out of love with her and decide to cut things off without another word? Like a coward?

What if you never truly cared for her at all? What if you were using her all along? That better not be the case. Cassandra will drain you of your blood if it is.

Could you have gotten yourself injured? Sick?

She's sorely tempted to go down to your house and the village and find out.

Unfortunately, she can't. Her mother will kill her if she finds out she went outside while there's still snow on the ground.

...

Fuck it. Cassandra can't stand another second of this.

In the dead of night, she dons the thickest clothes she owns, puts on a heavy cloak (which you're always so insistent that she wears when you think it's too chilly outside), clips her quiver around her waist, grabs her bow, and sneaks out.

The cold immediately hits her like loads of needles sticking her over and over again. She soldiers through it. Thankfully, the journey isn't a long one.

Your home is dark. The curtains are drawn. At such as late hour, that's to be expected, though.

Your horse is gone, the door to its stable left ajar.

Spots of blood mark your small porch. Your blood. Cassandra would recognize it anywhere. Not a good sign.

After the time that's passed, no other clues remain. A dead end. Hm.

Cassandra marches over to the house across from yours and pounds on the door.

It takes a few minutes, but someone eventually comes and opens it a crack. "Who's there...?" As soon as the villager sees the tall, dark figure on their doorstep, they immediately begin to close it.

Cassandra slams her open palm against the wood, stopping them short and promptly forcing her way inside.

The villager stumbles back. She grabs a fistful of their sweater before they hit the floor. "Tell me about the home across from you. What happened to the human who lives there?"

"A-a monster attacked weeks ago!"

"A Lycan?"

The villager only stares up at Cassandra, eyes wide with fear. She then remembers that villagers don't call them that.

"Was it man-like?" She joggles them. "Describe it!"

"N-no, it had the body of a large wolf and-and the face of a human. I've never seen anything like it before!"

A Vârcolac? Cassandra has yet to encounter one of those. They're a recent (accidental) creation of Moreau's.

Hopefully, it didn't kill you. You can defend yourself. Since you tend to go out in the very late hours of the night (which is how Cassandra met you), she went out of her way to make sure of that.

Perhaps after being injured, you took shelter elsewhere. Perhaps you're still recovering.

"And where did both of them go?"

"Ran off into woods!" The villager points to the area in question.

Cassandra releases them and walks off.

She heads straight for the trees. 

She isn't going home until she finds you.

She's still formulating more theories when she hears rapid, heavy footfalls approaching. 

Cassandra whips around and draws her bow.

The beast coming towards her matches the description that the villager gave her.

She probably shouldn't stick around for this. Not in her current state. The cold has rendered her movements stiff and near clumsy. She can't turn into her swarm. She's setting herself up for a potentially nasty injury.

But she's also setting herself up for her first Vârcolac kill, and this could potentially be the same one that attacked you.

The arrow strikes the Vârcolac.

Its fast. 

Its agile. 

Cassandra tries to keep her distance from its claws and teeth, firing off more arrows whenever there’s a window of opportunity. 

She manages to get a few nasty gashes on her arm and thigh, but she's fine otherwise.

Now reminiscent of a pincushion, the Vârcolac collapses on its side and crystalizes. Dead. Just like that.

Cassandra lowers her bow and approaches the remains. 

In the chunks of crystalized Vârcolac flesh, bones, arrows, and shredded fabric that used to be clothes lies a silver chain. Close to the base of the skull.

Cassandra freezes in her tracks.

She recognizes the pendant attached to it. She made it for you.

Hoping that her eyes are playing tricks on her in the low light, Cassandra drops to her knees and hurriedly picks the item up.

"No."

This is your necklace!

"No, this can't be..."

The chain could have just gotten caught in the beast’s fur. Maybe this isn't you. It can’t be you. 

But, upon closer inspection, although beyond dirty and nearly amorphous, the scraps of fabric are vaguely reminiscent of things Cassandra has seen you wear before.

...This Vârcolac is you. Was you.

And now, Cassandra has...

She...

She tries to control her breathing, which is growing increasingly unsteady.

Keep it together.

Deeps breaths.

With the necklace still in her grasp, Cassandra rises to her feet.

A harsh cry tears its way from her throat, more reminiscent of a wounded animal than anything else.

She hardly remembers half of her trip back to the castle. It’s nothing but a blur. 

She doesn't even feel as though she's piloting her own body anymore.

It's nearly dawn when she finally makes it back inside.

"Where have you been?" Great. Bela noticed her absence. Just what she needs. "It's still winter, Cassandra. You could have died out there!"

"Save it for someone who cares," Cassandra hisses.

"What's your problem?" Ignore her. Ignore her. Keep walking. Keep it together. "What was so important that you had to go out? Will you stop—"

"Don't touch me!" she snaps, throwing her sister's hand off her shoulder. "It doesn't matter where I went, what I did, or what I saw! And even if it did, it's none of your concern!"

There's a tense pause.

This time, when Cassandra continues on, Bela does not follow.

The maid staff is lucky that none of them encounter the middle daughter as she heads for her room, for she would slaughter all of them on the spot.

Upon reaching her destination, she slams the door shut.

She rips her cloak off.

She throws her weapons to the floor.

And then, she gently sets down the makeshift bag she fashioned from the scraps of your clothes. Your bones rattle.

...Cassandra doesn't know why she brought your bones back.

Sure, it's not unusual for her to take them. She has plenty around her room. But those... Those are like trophies and souvenirs.

And this... This is you.

Cassandra supposes she just couldn't find it in herself to leave you. Parts of you, since the crystals and bones are all that remain.

This isn't reversible.

You are gone.

She will never get to see your smile again.

Never get to hear your laugh.

Never get to listen to your stories or dreadful jokes.

Never get to write you another letter or read yours.

Never get to hold you close.

Never get to take in your scent.

Never get to listen to your heartbeat.

Never get to truly spend time in your presence again.

With your necklace still in her grasp, Cassandra slumps back against the door and slides down it until she's on the floor. She draws her knees up to her chest.

It's fine. This is all fine.

You were nothing but a pet. A pet. She has had more than a few of those before.

You were nothing special.

You weren't.

Or at least, that's what Cassandra's going to keep telling herself.

She’s not going to completely breakdown.

She’s not going to cry. 

That’s what she’s going to keep telling herself.

[blackfilmmakers]

Gwiles is not a thing in their respective comics. They never dated and aren't even close friends in them. They had one crossover where Gwen kissed Miles after visiting earth-8, immediately apologized for it, said she didn't want them to feel pressured into anything, and they agreed they rather be friends. Dassit. They hadn't been in each others comics before that and haven't been in each others since. I think what's throwing is in the original atsv preview, Miles had one drawing of Gwen, and that's much more in line with how his comic character views her. He was not pressed. But they scrapped that to make it more awkward.

But Miles looking so gone on Gwen because he's mistaking unresolved trauma for deep interest in her would make sense given his age/everything he's been through/the theme of the films. And taking time to actually face/process his trauma looks like it's been setup to play a huge role in btsv.

Margo and Miles spider senses going off so specifically and having them shook also means something since the creators focus on it. The art book confirms Margo thinks Miles is cute and says she plays a bigger role than expected. Maybe just by being her confident/ brilliant/caring/funny/cute self, she helps Miles see what direct mutual attraction is like when you're talked to and treated like an equal (not a kid), don't have to constantly worry about proving your value, and aren't dealing with mixed signals. Maybe he helps her embrace the possibility of being fully present in a relationship with someone who listens to and values her, and helps her to stop isolating to avoid her trauma as well. Or maybe Miles puts the spider society behind him but he and Margo forge some other specific forever bond.

Either way, the black director knows the weight of the position he is in and is very protective of Miles, Margo and Hobie. There's often only so much we can do at times, but you can see the love for black history and culture in big/small places and interactions all throughout atsv, and places where it's a relief that a black person who cares has been present in the room to say not on my watch to things. While spiderbyte and Hobie weren't written to have a ton of screen time in atsv, every second was made the most of and they're genuinely well written/acted/drawn/animated and authentic. I also think the the writers and directors do really want to get this right, people are in for a surpise and many of the fears around btsv will be proven wrong. But given media's treatment of and white ignorance around handling black main characters, some vigilance probably doesn't hurt.

I don’t go here, so I’ll have to take your word on the comics thing

But I do think your take of Miles’ crush being a result of his trauma is plausible. Regular teen crush moments aside, the idea Miles puts so much focus onto Gwen he forgets about the others doesn’t sound like his character

But at the same time, my bar is low. We’ve had Black creators that still succumb to the stereotypes, despite all the good rep for Black stories they do. So I have to wait and see

[justplainwhump]

"Match, set, and game" for the prompts!

This one sentence prompt has been in my ask box forever, and long before this AU was born. But now, it fits perfectly.

Part of the heartbreaking Dany/bad!Peyton-AU with @wildfae-afterdark ; Geoff and Peyton are their characters.

[Just A Fling Masterlist]

Content / warnings: vaguely implied past noncon (m/f), past noncon drugging, vibes of abusive relationship and date rape, survivor struggling to cope.

"Game, Set and Match."

Grinning, Dany drops her racket, and bumps Dennis' fists.

It's a beautiful day, the sun's shining over the lush grounds of the tennis club, filled with cheers and idle chatter, and both Dennis and her are in great shape.

"Langley/Hammond qualify for the quarter finals."

They do the obligatory handshakes with the losing team, and Dany fixes her ponytail before she grabs their water bottles.

"Watch the other match?" Dennis asks. "Check the competition? They're still at it. Not everyone can win to zero."

Dany takes a swig from the bottle and shrugs. "Sure, why not."

It's not really necessary in a tournament like the Fitzwilliam Memorial Trophy, that's more of a societal summer event than a sports challenge- their only true challenge are Sita and Sanjay and they've been drawn into another bracket entirely.

"Who is it?"

"Kim/Carter vs Cortlandt/Cortlandt."

"Cortlandt?" The water tastes foul somehow, and Dany sets down the bottle. Her stomach feels queasy.

"Yeah." Dennis looks at the names on the draw and then down at the other court with a shrug. "Geoff and Liza. Cousins. They're not horrible, I guess. Not a threat, either."

"I, uh." Dany looks at the players and trails off. Geoff Cortlandt moves with long, measured strides, his game not focused on speed, but rather on a precise strength. It makes her shiver.

She reaches out to steady herself on the railing.

"Dany?"

She doesn't look at Dennis, can't, when Geoff picks up the ball to serve and bounces it once. For a moment, his gaze flits over the audience and settles on her.

His lips twitch into a slim grin, and then he turns back to the court, tosses the ball into the air and slams it over the net with impossible force, unreachable for Stevie Kim.

"Dany?" Dennis repeats. "What was that? You're having history with Cortlandt?"

She forces herself to breathe, slowly shakes her head. "Just an acquaintance. Met him a handful of times. I, uh. I just don't like him."

Dennis chuckles. "Yea, nobody really does. Only ones who can stand him are that weird little cult around him and Peyt-" He trails off and clicks his tongue. "Oh. That's how you know him, huh? You still seeing Montgomery?"

"No." Dany exhales softly, not bothering up to ask him how he knows. Rumours travel fast, in their circles. "It's over." It's over. They haven't seen each other since that gala. Peyton had left the very same night, set off to Georgia.

With Geoff.

Seems they're back.

"But you're good?"

"Sure am." She chuckles darkly, almost in reflex. "I won't let a fling affect my mood."

If she'd look, she knows she'd see that Dennis doesn't believe her. But she doesn't look.

She can't take her eyes off of Geoff. There's something about him, something deeply unsettling, something that makes her sure if she looks away just once he'll show up right in front of her, and he'll grab her head and-

She shakes her head. Ghosts. He's getting into her head, she needs to focus on the tournament, nothing else.

Like Dennis, who's mumbling into her ear about their techniques and weaknesses, about tactics and strategy.

She can't listen. She's trapped.

And she knows that he knows. If anything, it makes him play better. They make the next point, too, and the next.

"Match, set and game."

"Cortlandt/Cortlandt qualify for the quarterfinal."

Before even congratulating his partner, Geoff's gaze locks with Dany's again. He moves his hand, a slow gesture, as if he's holding a champagne glass.

"Showoff," Dennis next to her groans. "He's not even half your level."

Geoff raises his imaginary glass to a toast, and Dany's legs give in.

It's only Dennis' quick reaction that keeps her from falling. Dennis' arm around her waist. Like Peyton's, when Geoff had toasted to her at the gala. Like Peyton's, later, when her mind was foggy and they were somewhere darker, more private.

But not alone.

They hadn't been alone.

Geoff Cortlandt had been there.

"Withdraw." She staggers back to her feet and shoves Dennis' hand off her. "We withdraw. I... No. No. I can't. Not that."

"What?" Dennis steps back to stare at her in disbelief. Behind him, the players leave the court and walk up the stairs.

She spins on her heel and flees towards the bathrooms.

*

She's thrown up twice. It helps, to deal with her body, not her mind. It helps to think about what's real. She cleans up her face, straightens her hair in front of the mirror, trying not to think too much about the other time she's tried to fixed herself up from a messed up state.

At least the shadows have a face now.

I'm sorry, she texts Dennis.

We need to talk, she texts Peyton.

Then, she throws in a breath mint and goes find Geoff Cortlandt.

*

He's seated in the player's lounge at a corner table, scrolling through his phone, his face still a little flushed from the game. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees her, but the short hint of surprise shifts into an easy smirk. "Ms Hammond. Too sick to play, I heard? Still hungover from that gala, where we've run into each other?"

Dany's jaw tightens. "What did you do?"

He laughs a little, leans closer like they're best friends. "What did we do? Nothing you didn't beg for, princess. You still can't remember? I guess the tabloids were right about your partying reputation."

She should've sat down as well. Her knees threaten to give in again. And somehow it's not the pet name, not the insinuation, not the humiliation that hurts her most.

It's the 'we'.

"I had a tox screen made." Her voice is slow, but firm. She's a negotiatior, after all. She can keep her voice steady, even when everything is pulled away from underneath her. "I'm sure you know how it came back. It was you, wasn't it? It was you, who spiked my drink."

He looks at her, hooded eyes flat and suddenly unamused. "Whatever you took that night is none of my business. I had enough to do keeping my friend out of your clutches."

She feels dizzy, and yet, weirdly relieved. The ghosts, the nightmares, the faceless void they've manifested into something real. She's still lost at sea, but she's been drowning before, and now she's broken through the surface, she can breathe again. Breathe, and fight.

"That's why?" She stares at him. "You drugged me and you fucked me and you left me like trash, because you felt threatened?" A wild giggle escapes her throat. "Oh. Wow. What a pathetic little man you are. Go fuck yourself, Mr Cortlandt. Or go fuck Peyton, for all I care. But guess what? I fucked him better."

Anger flares up in his gaze, his muscles tense, his weight shifts to the edge of his seat - but instead of attacking her, his lips bend into a fake, calm smile.

"Who we fuck isn't your business any more, Ms Hammond. My game is up. Gotta win a tournament." He gets up and brushes over the front of his pristinely white shirt. "Have a good day."

Dany stares past him as he leaves, counts her breaths to twenty to calm her racing heartbeat.

Then she calls her driver.

She needs to know.

She needs to see Peyton.

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ how did this hit 1000wd? i'm just so happy for him!!!!!

Hen & Buck celebrate Pride. with a side of Karen my wife

for a kiss on the cheek

also on AO3

-

Mara runs ahead of them in the crowd, with little mesh fairy wings bobbing around on her back matching Jee-Yun who runs along beside her.

“Mom says not too far!” Denny calls after them, then looks back at his moms. “Hey, can we get icecream?”

“Excuse me?”

He pulls a face, exasperated. “Can we get icecream, please?”

Hen and Karen share a look. A your son's fourteen years is showing. But they can't help but smile; he's still their son, and even if he slips up on his ps and qs he still wants to include his sister and baby cousin a good time and that's the more important thing.

“Of course, yes,” Hen agrees, and digs into her bag. “Let me just find the -”

“Icecream?” pipes a voice from behind. “Hey, Uncle Buck's got this one.”

He hands over some notes as he catches back up from where he was lingering at one of the stalls.

“Hey now,” Hen warns, once Denny has said his thank yous and bounded out of ear shot, “they don't dip the stuff in gold, you know.”

“Uncle Buck better slow down now that he's got four kids hitting up his wallet,” Karen adds.

“Eh. Uncle Buck's feeling festive.” He can't wipe the smile off his face. It's like his heart is beating out of his chest with it and he can't stand still. “You know, I've been to Fair Day before, but I haven't been before. It's a lot. It's kinda crazy. All the different names and flags and stuff – how did you guys pick one?”

Hen isn't dressed particularly flag-y today; just dark shorts and a grey tank top with GIRLS printed across it in varying shades of pink. Karen on the other hand, has decked herself out in a brown blouse and a maxi skirt with varying pink rings that scream walking lesbian pride flag. It looks so natural for them, and fun, and well, if Buck's going to be doing this every year as a card carrying Member Of The Community, he'd like to dress the part. So far he's found a button up in thick vertical rainbow stripes that hangs open over his white tee shirt. It's a fun selection. But there's so much here and so many people having fun with it – they're on stilts! they're on enamel pins! they're everywhere! - it makes him want to cover his house and his car and everything he owns in the stuff.

Hen and Karen smile. They remember what it was like and for Buck, finding out older, and when there's more options with more visibility behind them than ever, and especially being Buck, king of the 4am wiki rabbit hole, the feeling must be even more intense.

“Don't overthink it, Buckaroo,” Hen advises. She pulls him over to a nearby stall, advertising face painting to raise money for rural queer mental health outreach. There's a big board of an array of flags, and little buckets with enamel pins and temporary pun-heavy tattoos. “The big secret is: everyone will try and argue about it forever. That's the double edged sword of community. You know what all these mean, right?”

“Most of them, yeah.”

“Yeah. And you know you've always got old reliable.” She gestures toward the top row of the board, which feature the classic Pride flag, the Philidelphia and the Progress flags. “But if you want to get more specific – what does your gut tell you?”

“That one.”

It's the one he has saved at the top of his tabs list. The one his eye has been drawn back to all day. He's been reading definitions on definitions on definitions and each one only seems to fit better than the last. Of course, it's that one.

“But what if it's wrong? What if it changes?”

“Then... you're out ten dollars, some kid in Alturas gets some help, and you know yourself better.”

“It's that easy, huh?”

“Hey.” Hen shrugs. “You're the one who invited your first gay kiss to your sisters wedding. Seems like you're rolling with the punches pretty well. Wanna do it?”

“Okay!” The irrepressible smile is back, and Hen finds herself beaming back at him.

“Okay!” she cheers, and turns to the attendant. “Andrea, hey! Can we get some bi flag paint for my friend here, please?”

“And you owe her for some lesbian hearts for your beautiful wife,” Karen points out, batting her eyelids to show off the trail painted up her cheek.

“Good choice,” Andrea says. She flicks her hair back over her shoulder and it's painfully flirtatious, the way she drags her eyes over him. Andrea has a bi flag of her own painted on one cheek, and gems in the colours of the rainbow on the other, highlighting her wicked cheekbones. She's got long, beautiful mahogany hair and she's tall and toned and yeah, he's most definitely still into women. Buck preens a little as she sets to work – he can't help it; he doesn't maintain this not to show it off just a little. Even if he can feel Hen and Karen rolling their eyes at him just out of sight.

When she's finished, Andrea holds a little mirror up for him to see and yeah, it just feels right. Then she turns him around to present him back to them and they look so goddamn happy for him he might cry. They might cry. Somebody might cry.

They grab each others' hands fiercely instead.

“Can we take a photo?”

Yes, please yes! He nods. Karen pulls out her phone but Hen beats her to it, and at the same time slings her free arm around him and pulls his face down to kiss his empty cheek. She snaps a selfie of the both of them.

She sends it to him later, a link to her Instagram post. It's captioned: Welcome to the family. PROUD of you Buck. And three hearts – pink, purple, blue.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (1/24)

For Chapter 22 of Best-Laid Plans - Miranja and Athis getting better acquainted.

I haven't written much in the last month. Barely picking at this chapter. Haven't drawn anything since Christmas. Long slump. Winter feels like a time for looking inward, coming up with ideas, germinating. I hope to have some things rolling - downhill, with momentum - by spring. In the meantime, here's part of a scene that's taken me weeks to grind out. Tagging my friends, but no obligation to read or share something if you're not inclined. @dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

As they took adjacent seats at the table, Miranja commented, “You know, I’ve been all over Skyrim, and I’ve noticed that there are only a few cities where Dunmer live. Winterhold, where the college was once well populated with Dunmer, but now there are only a few left. Windhelm – ” Here Athis briefly interrupted her with a derisive snort. “ – where the Dunmer live and work but are treated as second-class citizens. Riften, where the Dunmer live and work alongside everyone else, including Argonians, and everyone but Khajiit are accepted with open arms. And here, where you and Irileth are esteemed members of society.”

“So what’s your point?” Athis asked, washing down his bread and cheese with a swig from his bottle of ale.

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just being silly. Please don’t take this as condescending; it’s really not. I just feel rather proud of you for making a name for yourself in this mostly prejudiced province. I mean, I respect you.” She turned to look him directly in the eyes. “Also, you’re the only Dunmer I know, besides Irileth, who’s an actual warrior. It takes a different kind of strength and courage to be a warrior. I didn’t come here to be a warrior; I came here to be a mage. But I’ve felt obligated to become one since learning I was Dragonborn and that Alduin has returned. I’ve always been just a girl, and now everyone sees me as the savior of Skyrim. Of all Tamriel, even.”

She was, to an extent, fishing for sympathy and comfort, but Athis was oblivious to her hinting and was not inclined to coddle her even if he had noticed. “Well,” he said, “you’re in the right place if you’re looking for ‘elp in becoming a better warrior. We all ‘ave our specialties here. Farkas can teach you about two-handed weapons, Vilkas is good wif heavy armor, Njada earned the name Stone-Arm because she’s great wiv a shield – but don’t tell ‘er I said that.”

Miranja smiled wryly, remembering the first time she’d entered Jorrvaskr and witnessed his maybe-not-so-friendly spar with Njada. She’d been humiliated right along with him, but she hadn’t even known his name yet and she hadn’t wanted to say or do anything to embarrass him. Now that she had him talking, though, she had to satisfy her curiosity.

“What is the deal with you and Njada? I don’t know if you remember, but I happened to come in here for the first time just as you and Njada were ‘discussing your differences.’”

“I knew you looked familiar. Yes, now that I think about it… you asked my name, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and you told me. Then it seems you promptly forgot about me,” she ribbed. “But I remembered you.”

“Well, I was a bit preoccupied, if you’ll recall,” Athis replied defensively.

“It’s okay, Athis. I’m just teasing you. So…?”

“So, she’s got this ‘strong Nord woman’ attitude. If you’ve ever ‘eard Olfina Grey-Mane goin’ on about that, it’s because they’re friends. Njada can beat any man at Jorrvaskr in a fight – except Farkas, the big brawny s’wit. And I say that in the most loving o’ ways. Nord or not, he’s treated me like a brother since the day I joined. Anyway, it’s a superiority thing for ‘er. She likes to test everyone - and 'erself - about once a month. You just ‘appened to walk in on me getting my turn.”

“Ahh, so you’re saying that if I hang around here enough, I can expect her to do the same to me.”

“Exactly.”

They ate their fill, Miranja glancing stealthily at Athis every few moments, watching what he chose to eat, how his used his hands, listening to the sounds he made as he ate and replenished his body.

Something about sharing food and eating together seemed intimate to her; not just with Athis, but with anyone. Sometimes, food was scarce and hard-won, and the act of sharing it was generosity at its finest, helping others to survive, stoking their life force. This wasn’t one of those times of scarcity, but Miranja still enjoyed sharing meals with people whether she was on the giving or the receiving end of the deal. She’d shared the idea of the intimacy of sharing food with her parents once. They’d been surprised and intrigued by her point of view, and wondered, as they had many times before about some of her other ideas, how she’d reached that conclusion. She knew she was odd, but she didn’t care, when her ideas were pleasing to her.

[notsogreatpotoo]

my guy my girlboss my mushroom bud what ocs do you have please share them <3

hihihi i love u

this might be long as shit sorry

I will start with my son

Alder Scott is my OC for my hunger games fic (called Written In The Sand by nightjar_writing on ao3) and he is my child. I love him so much. He's a black kid from District 7 and his story starts when he is sixteen. He has a shit relationship with his parents but he absolutely adores his baby sister Ash, and he is really protective over anyone he gets attached to. He has a problem with interpreting or letting himself feel all of his emotions because he's often forced to repress emotions like anger and fear. I made a playlist for him. His only healthy coping mechanism is forcing himself to stop and take a few deep breaths every once in a while. He does embroidery. Reminders of his life and his trauma lurk around every corner. I have drawn him multiple times. Anything he does to escape leads him back down a parallel road. He's good at manipulating the Capitol but also gets manipulated pretty easily. He sucks at remembering names. He has so much trauma.

Emmet and Elliot are my time and dimension hopping self insert OCs. They're the characters I use to figure shit out; if I haven't written about a certain character, time period, fandom, AU, etc before (or in a while), I plop one of them into the world and see how their interactions go. Emmet is current me, hence the name, and tey came first as a way to cope with dysphoria. (Writing in third person about myself being gendered correctly helps bc I can't come out rn.) Elliot is child or teen me.

Dolohar currently lives in my head, but he's a trans man who became a god of irreversible change after being kidnapped and nearly sacrificed by a cult. The goddess the cult tried to summon was mistakenly called the goddess of blood, but she was actually the goddess of war, and she rescued him and gave him his godhood because she rarely has the chance to save innocents and she wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. Dolohar is brown with choppy black hair and eyes that appear orange in his more divine form. He's most commonly interpreted as a god of grief, and so he's associated with funeral flowers and mourning clothes, but he's scarred all over and some of his scars are visible no matter what he wears. A friend he had in his mortal life grows a bit too obsessive and starts a cult in his name, but Dolohar trusts his friend and doesn't realize this isn't normal god worship until after many people have been hurt.

I could make a whole post about a dormant WIP called Runaways and Soldiers, remind me to do that later bc that project has six main characters

Daisy also mostly lives in my head, but she's a trans girl in a coming of age romance story where she comes out to a guy she's been friends with basically forever and the more she starts to act more like herself around him the more he starts to fall for her. She loves blogging and playing video games.

Erch, Krit, and Seki all belong to the same story. Erch is a young human man who grew up in a militaristic organization as a recruiter in a world ravaged by radioactive aftereffects of a nuclear war. Mutations were common, but as someone born underground, Erch only has some adverse affects on his health. The underground was a mess of ongoing war and fortresses containing the super rich, but Erch was raised to believe that the organization was a safe haven that provides resources and work for all. It was only when he was a young teenager that his thoughts changed, because a girl with pointed ears and white freckles is rumored to have survived a white zone- zones that were the epicenter of nuclear impact, named for the blinding white flashes that occurred during detonation. He's sent on a suicide mission to investigate, and the girl presses a hand covered in light (aka, healing magic) to his uniform just before he leaves, which ultimately saves him from breaking down too soon. He discovers a portal in the white zone that leads him to a world in which elves, dwarves, and other mythical peoples are common, and while they are more resistant to radiation poisoning than humans, it is still affecting them to the point where all creatures living near the open portal take health potions or practice healing magic. Erch is then faced with a choice; does he risk condemning the world that he knows but one that is full of warlike, desperate, and corrupt people by closing the portal? or does he risk killing an entirely new world full of magic and people who have only shown kindness to him? It is at this time that he is taken in by Krit, a nonbinary goblin who was raised by a human witch a long time ago. Humans have become rarer and rarer ever since most of the portals between worlds closed, so Krit shields him from those who are too curious or obsessive about humans. Krit lives on the floor above their business (Taproot's Bar and Restaurant), but they're regularly harassed by dwarven customers (due to a series of wars that previously happened in the region called the Goblo-Dwarven Wars) and Erch doesn't want to add more stress to Krit's plate so he stays quiet about the portal situation and basically feels like he has to figure it all out himself until he has a breakdown one night and tells Krit, who reassures him that that's not the type of decision a child should have to make and a council made up of representatives from the surrounding regions eventually decide to close the portal after attempts to communicate with the humans on the other side end in attacks. As Erch grows up, he eventually becomes a vigilante type helper in his town after a corrupt leader is replaced by a pack of lycanthrope women. He's around thirty when he and Krit meet Seki, a young elf girl who was banished for becoming friends with a centaur (elves have hated the centaurs for centuries). Seki is chased into Taproot's after trying to pickpocket a group of dwarves (who also hate her on principle because the elves used to tax the dwarves) and she hides under a table. Krit is accused of hiding her on purpose when she comes out of the kitchen, the dwarves go to find the Guardian (aka, Erch), Erch finds Seki and returns the money to the dwarves, and Krit asks if Seki is hungry. Erch is wary of elves due to having a centaur friend who was killed by one, but once he hears Seki's story he no longer wants to turn her in and he bids them goodbye. Krit basically adopts Seki, and Erch eventually becomes a big brother figure to her and helps them sort out all the paperwork. Krit has never actually paid taxes. Erch is tired. Seki is glad to have a family.

Jasper Broadbank is a serial killer and amateur writer who swore off killing after becoming attached to his last target; he killed his fiance and now is reminded of that fact all the time because William Rexburgs's (his dead fiance's) family practically took him in after William's death (which they did not know he caused). He dies in a car accident after driving on icy roads, and the only ones who come to his funeral are the Rexburgs. He is guilt and manipulation and lying personified, and while his story needs a lot of editing since I wrote it my sophomore year of high school, it's a great example when showing how much better my writing is now.

Maxwell Anderson is a high school theater teacher by day, supervillain with a dramatic flair by night, and after finding out that his vigilante archnemesis is a child, he ends up parenting the boy from the sidelines while trying to execute his own plans and flirting with the boy's superhero mentor.

Nolan Cormier is part of an AU where the Avengers get a YouTube channel in order to control their image a little better and it butterfly effects the way for the Sokovia Accords to be thwarted before they're a big problem. Nolan is a marketing dude who works for Stark and gets caught up in their bullshit because he gets to know them through filming the videos and conducting interviews.

Ophelia Rousseau is a French woman who gets isekaied into the time right before the events of Phantom of the Opera and helps out Erik by writing an opera called cirque de l'éphémère, in which Honoré is a merchant who travels and sells his wares alongside a circus because it brings in the crowds, but falls in love with a beautiful acrobat in the show named Charlotte. Charlotte is the daughter of the strict old ringmaster, and she secretly longs to be away from the circus. When he confesses to her, she pretends to be in love with him to secure her freedom, and so they run away together and get married. Honoré notices that Charlotte has become distant and always wants to go out on trips and explore the world, and his insecurity turns him into a controlling, domineering type of husband. Charlotte, realizing that she has simply fled from one trap to another, tries to smuggle herself away in a chest he’s promised to another merchant, but she’s caught and poisoned to make a statement to her husband by the merchant, who thinks she’s been sent to trick him out of a good deal. Her body is sent back to Honoré, who is horrified to realize how he has driven her away and into more danger and slits his own throat. Basically, the opera forces Erik to confront his controlling attitude when it comes to Christine. Ophelia also is the reason why I know too much about enucleation, because her eye had to be taken out after an accident, and she wears an eye patch. She writes under the name Odin. She's a little pretentious, and a little standoffish, but mostly because she's never known how to act around other people.

thank u so much for this ask, if you ever want to hear more I will tell you, these are literally the OCs I could think of just off the top of my head bc I write a lot more fanfic than I do original fic but I have more lol

if you actually read this far you are the best :]

[kardia-library-official]

I haven't played RF2 in forever, but...

...I'm just spitballin' here. :P

Anyway, I know a lot of us wish there would have been updated character designs after the timeskip in RF2, and we all have our headcanons about what that would look like, but my spicy take is...

...Let gen 2 Max be FAT, you COWARDS! I'm not saying he would be the same size as his dad at that phase of his life, or that he should be drawn the same way (characters should probably remain recognizable as themselves at a glance), but I think even just rounding him out a little would have been a really interesting creative choice.

Like, consider:

-Body diversity is cool! For a lot of reasons, but also just because I write fic and have to describe these people. More body types means less using the same adjectives until my eyeballs fall out.

-It would just be a fun little detail for him to mature into a closer resemblance to some of his other family members? Because it's normal for people to, well, look like people they're related to. (Incidentally, this is also why I interpret Martin as shorter and less bulky than a lot of people seem to. Him and Cecil were dealt slightly different cards, but from the same genetic deck!)

-There's potential for Julia to have some positive character growth? It's either a) Max doesn't give much of a fuck either way and sets a good example by still talking about himself like he's hot shit constantly, or b) (my preference, I need angst to live) he actually struggles with it a lot, and she has this moment of "oh, shit, how I talk about this stuff is really affecting him, and he's already feeling down on himself, I'd better handle my situation." But either way, the end result is Julia being like "okay, he's still a smokeshow, maybe I don't need to put myself through this," and Max at least being on the road back to being way too into himself by the gen 2 era. (Maybe even a little more sincerely so, with less underlying insecurity.)

...Ha, only it wouldn't go like that, because this series has been historically and notoriously weird about this stuff. It would probably just have her being awful to him, which would be a massive bummer and proof that we cannot have nice things.

Forget I said anything! D: