#boo blanche

[spotlightstudios]

Finally posting this Chaos image lmao-

Doing the Portal quest for Halsin, @neonsix67 and I had this line-up: Neon with Yelena (Tav, Tiefling Druid) and Asterion, and me with Blanche (Tav, Dragonborn Cleric) and Gale.

I positioned Blanche on that platform with Spirit Guardians, put Gale a little further up with that one Paradite forcefield spell, and summoned a Spiritual Weapon to fight farther out.

Neon had Asterion in the Spirit Guardian circle and position high up so he could snipe whoever he needed, and had Yelena wildshaped into an OwlBear to absolutely destroy the hordes.

We were a great team, and I'm 90% sure the Portal didn't take a single point of damage that entire time. By the end we had piles of corpses right between Blanche and Gale, then a bloodbath by Yelena's post hehe👍

[widowshill]

what an adventure that was. roger scores a 3/10 on boyfriendism this time. not his worst but much room for improvement.

[thenotsofantasticlifestory]

Bet

Eustass Kid x GN!Reader

Kid's all out of chips, but he finds something else he can wager against you

+++++++++++++++++++++

“Hah! I win again!” you threw down your winning hand amidst the groans and boos of other crew members as they tossed their losing cards back into the center of the table. Taking the chips greedily you snickered, noting the pouty look of displeasure on your captain.

“Looks like you’re out of chips Kid,” you said with a sly grin. Kid scowled further, brow furrowing under his goggles. Killer’s shoulder shook with a silent laugh as he started to deal out the new hand of cards. You all took your hands, and as Kid studied his cards, his expression quickly changed into something more sinister.

You quickly noticed this change, “…Got good cards Captain?”

Kid huffed, placing his hand face down with a smirk, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Your eyes narrowed, “Well it’s too bad your all out of chips then, isn’t it?”

Kid jerked, his mind quickly running as he surveyed the table. Finally, he leaned his arm forward, aiming a cocky grin in your direction.

“Okay then, what do you want? I can bet something other than chips.”

You leaned back in your chair, pondering this before a sly smile pulled at your lips.

“Okay Captain, if I win…I get your jacket.”

This was met with a chorus of ooohs as Kid’s face fell, “Why do you want my jacket?” He subconsciously pulled the textured red coat closer around him.

You shrugged, “It’s cozy.”

Kid studied you hard for a long moment before he finally spoke, “Fine,” he leaned back into his chair with a creak, “But! If I win, I get a kiss from you.”

This brought more ooohs and chuckles from the others around you as you considered this. After a moment you stuck out your hand.

“Deal.”

Kid shook it with a firm pump, his own hand swallowing yours in his grip.

“Just don’t chicken out when you lose,” he sneered.

You laughed, taking back up your hand of cards, “I can read you like a book Captain, you have shit cards.”

Kid smirked, “We’ll see.”

As the round began, the others quickly folded, not wanting to interfere in the bet you and Kid had made and curious to see the outcome. The two of you held your cards close, eyes flicking from your hands to the other’s face, studying for any sign of weakness. After a long moment, you finally broke the tension.

“Four of a kind,” you laid down the field of red diamonds you’d collected with a flourish.

Kid let out a long slow exhale as everyone waited to see his hand, finally he threw them down.

“Straight flush,” he said in a dark voice, smirk pulling at his red lips.

You blanched, shit he actually had you beat. Kid leaned back, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin on his face as the others whooped.

You scowled in response, chugging the remainder of your drink before standing abruptly from the table.

“Aw come on,” Kid called as you left your seat, “Don’t be a sore loser,” you made your way past the others in their seats as Kid continued, “No need to get all shy now-“

He stopped abruptly as you approached him, threading your fingers through his red hair and forcefully tilting his head back up to face you. Before he could even blink, you descended, lips pressing against his, swallowing the surprised little gasp he gave. His eyes were wide as you pressed against him, lips moving gently before teasing your tongue against him. With a throaty groan, Kid felt his eyes flutter shut as he accepted you into his mouth, tongue dancing along his as he thrust his face forward to feel more of you. His skin broke into goosebumps as you devoured him, the tight pull against his hair only making him harder, and then just as suddenly you pulled away releasing him. Kid’s face trailed blindly after yours, already searching for that delicious warmth as he cracked his eyes open.

You swiped a thumb along your lips with a coy smile and heavy-lidded eyes boring into his and Kid felt his breath hitch.

“Well? Are we even now?” you asked.

Kid managed to close his gaping mouth as he swallowed thickly, giving a dumb nod.

“Good, I think I’ll call it a night then,” and with that you left the group.

Kid sat there, feeling the intense heat that was crawling across his face before he shortly rose as well.

“I gotta go,” was all he said as he marched off towards his own quarters to take care of the growing problem that was starting to tent his pants.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tag List: @fanaticsnail

[thisisnotawebsitedotcom-com]

Computer Codes A - F and Numbers

'#

29121239168518 333 SUNDAPPLE LANE, COZY CREEK, IL, 60714-94611 3466554

A

A RAT ABUELITA AD ASTRA PER ASPERA ALEX ALEX HIRSCH ALEXANDER ROBERT HIRSCH ALGEBRA AM I BLANCHIN ANALOG HORROR ANSWER ASSHOLE AXOLOTL

B

BAAAA BABBA BABY BABY BILL BILL BILL CIPHER BITCH BLACK SHEEP BLANCHIN BLANCHING BLENDIN BLENDIN BLANDIN BLENDIN BLENJAMIN BLANDIN BLIND EYE BOO BERRY BOOK OF BILL BOYFRIEND BREAK UP BURNED INSIDE BURNSIDE BUTTERNUBBINS BYE GOLD

C

CAESAR, ATBASH & VIGENERE CARD CARYN CHIP CIA CIPHER CLONE CONSPIRACY CONTRACT CRAY CRAY CRAZ CREEPYPASTA CRYPTO CRYPTOGRAM CODEX CUM CUNT CURSED CURSE WITTEBANE

D

DADDY DEATH DEER TEETH DESTRUCTION IS A FORM OF CREATION DICK DIONARAP DIPPER DIPPY FRESH DISCO GIRL DISNEY DISNEYLAND DISPENSE MY TREAT DIVORCE DOES GOD EXIST DOGE DORITO DUCHESS APPROVES DUCKTECTIVE

E

EASTER EGG EMMALINE BUTTERNUBBINS ELON EPCOT EUCLID EUCLYDIA EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES

F

FACE OF GOD FAMILY MATTERS FBI FIDDLEFORD FIDDLEFORD HADRON MCGUCKET FIDDLEFORD MCGUCKET FILBRICK FIXINIT1 FORD FORDTRAMARINE FORGET THE PAST FORTNITE FRILLIAM FUCK FUCK ALEX FUCK ALEX HIRSCH FUCK YOU FUCK YOU ALEX

[tamas-love]

（ 제목 ） WAIT.

PRESENT.⠀⟡​⠀in which, sunghoon the captain of the school's lacrosse team is inlove with a girl who seems to like his teammate more.

（ 박성훈 ） — pairing = fem!reader x captain!sunghoon ୨୧ warning = angst ୨୧ wc = 1,301

a/n : sorry for not uploading in a bit! here's an angst.. help from @beat0-0 !! reblogs & likes are greatly appreciated as i'm trying to grow my account, so please reblog and like !! <33

click me! ↓

ㅤ𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐄'𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄 sounds over the boos from the bleachers. Sunghoon turns his head toward the noise from where he stands in the midfield. His hair is slick with sweat, falling into his eyes under his helmet. His jersey is no better, it sticks to his back like a second skin.

ㅤAcross the field─near the away team's net─a player in a black jersey is on the floor, surrounded by his teammates. A player from Decellis' Lacrosse team stands over the injured player, staring at the referee who's moving his hands over the scene. Sunghoon recognizes the movements as a penalty. Sunghoon moves closer, spinning his lacrosse stick in his hands.

ㅤTruth be told, he's glad for the pause in the game. His breath is coming out in short pants from all the running and he knows bruises will litter his skin tomorrow from all the hits he's taken. But, then, he sees who's gotten the penalty and he's not so glad. The player's number is obscured by the ref, but Sunghoon recognizes the voice that argues with the ref. The player removes his helmet, allowing Sunghoon to see the anger that twists Lee Chan's face.

ㅤ"How was that a penalty?!" He's shouting, his face inches from the ref's. "I didn't even touch him!"

ㅤThe ref is calm compared to Lee Chan, his mouth moving with words Sunghoon can't hear from how far he still stands. Whatever he does say seems to only encourage Chan's anger. Sunghoon watches Chan's knuckles blanch against his lacrosse stick. Sunghoon walks closer to the scene, poised to intercept. He's a little scared of the way Chan is looking at the ref, as if he'll attack him. He doesn't have to intercept, though, their coach already is.

ㅤChan is pushed away to the sideline, where the team's substitutes sit. As he's pushing one of his best players away, their Coach calls for a timeout. Sunghoon follows his teammates off the field, his eyes searching for jersey 5. It doesn't take him long to zero in on his best friend.

ㅤ"What the hell was that?" Jake asks as he comes up beside Sunghoon. His Australian accent is still thick despite it having been two years since his transfer to Decellis Academy.

ㅤ"Chan got a penalty," Sunghoon tells him, "for unnecessary roughness, I think."

ㅤJake can only respond with a small, "Oh," before they reach the semi-circle around their coach. The tension is palpable as Coach scolds Chan.

ㅤChan's lips are pressed together, his jaw clenched. He doesn't say anything as Coach scolds him, his eyes cast to the side.

ㅤ"Scouts are here today, Chan," Coach is saying, frustration evident in his voice. "I told you not to fuck this up. This is the fucking playoffs, penalties don't look good!"

ㅤChan looks at Coach, his glare is cutting. "I didn't fucking touch him." His voice is low, the words are barely audible through the clench of his jaw.

ㅤSunghoon looks away at Coach's scoff. "It doesn't matter if you did or didn't," Coach replies, "you still got a penalty. So, sit down, you're gonna wait until your minutes are over." Coach sighs, turning to face the rest of the team. "We're close to winning this, boys. Let's finish strong."

ㅤSunghoon raises his stick with the rest of the team, knocking them together with a loud, "Yes, Coach!" He takes a moment as his team begins to go to their positions on the field. His eyes meet Jake's for a brief moment before his gaze shifts to the bleachers. His eyes snag on your figure. He hasn't seen you all game, though he has looked. And now you're here. He can't describe the joy of seeing you watch him play. You're as pretty as you always look.

ㅤBut─Sunghoon pause. There's a frown on your face, and─disappointment flares in Sunghoon's chest. You're wearing the white jersey of Decellis' Lacross Team, with its single blue and yellow strip across the chest. But it's not his number, not the 23 that's printed on the front of his jersey. The number is 13.

ㅤSunghoon's eyes stray to Chan, who sits with his head hung, to that same number that's printed on the front of his jersey. Sunghoon notices how your eyes are on Chan, worry tinging the sweeps of your brows, the press of your lips. He turns away, following the rest of his team onto the field, returning to his midfield position. He should have known. You'd been spending too much time around Chan recently. I should have known, Sunghoon thinks, a frown on his lips.

ㅤBut he can't think about you right now. Can't think about the fact that he was going to make a move after he won the playoffs and finally ask you out.

ㅤHe pushes his disappointment down as the ref blows his whistle and the last minutes of the third quarter approach. The match has a sense of urgency, with both teams playing to push through with the most points. It serves to help Sunghoon forget about his disappointment, postponing the eventual heartbreak he knows is coming.

ㅤHe's glad for the continuous exertion. The burning of his legs from the running, the bruises that are already forming. All he can think about is the hard rubber lacrosse ball and how he can get it past the opposing goalie and into the net.

ㅤHe scores two points during the first half of the last quarter. It brings up the score from 6-8 to 8-8. Sunghoon is panting hard, each goal a qualification for his teammates closest to swarming him. He loves the cheers from the bleachers, his eyes going to you every time. For a little while he can pretend that your cheers are for him. He can pretend that his feelings are returned. That your eyes don't stray to Chan with every goal made even as you cheer.

ㅤAnd pretending is enough. Pretending gets him through the end of the game. Pretending allows him to ignore the twist of his heart as he watches you as your eyes follow Chan back onto the field, switching with the underclassman who wears jersey 10. Pretending allows him to cheer for the point Chan makes. Pretending is enough.

ㅤAnd, selfishly, Sunghoon is glad he's the one who makes the last point just before the fourth quarter ends. His eyes go to you automatically. He wants to share this victory with you. Your cheers are for him this time─Sunghoon stumbles. He can see you just over the teammates. You're running onto the field. For a second, he thinks you're running to him, to congratulate him. He's your friend, after all. But then his eyes catch on Chan. You're . . . you're running to Chan.

ㅤThe disappointment from earlier returns in a wave, drowning him. He watches you smile at Chan, that bright smile Sunghoon's always loved. He watches Chan's face, the softness of his features a contrast to his earlier anger. He watches Chan lean down to you. He watches the two of you share a kiss. He can't look away, even as there's a strange feeling in his chest. A feeling that consumes him and twists his insides. It claws up his throat and burrows itself in his chest.

ㅤ"─hoon? Sunghoon?" He tears his gaze away from you, to Jake. There's concern lining the knit of his brows. "You alright, mate?"

ㅤSunghoon can't manage to force any words out. He opts for a nod. His victory is a bitter one. He never thought you'd have feelings for Chan.

ㅤWalking away from his celebrating team, he casts one last glance toward you and Chan. You look happy with him and Chan does too. Sunghoon looks away, embarrassed by the burning in his eyes. He realizes he waited too long to tell you as he walks to the locker room.

And you didn't wait for him.

© tamas-love on tumblr, © tamas-love on wattpad ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open.

[pupsmailbox]

GHOST ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abir. agnes. ahriman. avira. axar. banshee. bella. blanc. blanche. blanchette. bliss. bones. boo. booelle. booette. boolita. buffy. caden. carrie. casper. caspian. cassie. cheery. claw. cynthia. damien. deathilia. deathphia. desdemona. drauaga. dusk. eidolon. eisa. emmett. esme. espi. esprit. espíritu. eulalia. evelina. evie. exo. exor. expiry. fantasma. fantôme. felis. frightenne. frispirit. geist. ghoest. ghost. ghostelle. ghostette. ghostie. ghostisma. ghosty. ghostyre. ghoul. ghoulesse. ghoulette. ghoulie. ghouline. ghoulita. ghoulity. ginny. grave. grim. grimric. hantu. haunt. hauntelle. haunterly. hauntide. hauntie. hauntoille. haunty. hellgeist. huntesse. huntette. huntus. idony. imp. ivy. jan. klara. knyftes. kotori. lili. lilith. lillith. lorena. lucille. lumia. luna. mary. merry. mon. mona. morrigan. mortimer. nyx. ophelia. ouija. oul. penny. phan. phantom. polter. poltergeist. priscilla. ramona. rascal. reaper. roho. ruin. ruth. ruyu. sable. salem. shen. shy. shyette. shyine. soul. soulesse. soulette. souline. soulphi. specter. spectra. spectral. spectre. spir. spirit. spirited. spite. spook. timid. timida. timido. tomb. trix. twilight. twyla. veil. weep. winona. wisp. wraith. wrath. wynnie. yurei.

PRONOUNS ⌇　agony/agony. avoid/avoid. bone/bone. boo/boo. breeze/breeze. che/cheer. cleanse/cleanse. coffin/coffin. cold/cold. creep/creep. dea/death. dead/dead. dead/death. death/death. dis/embodied. dread/dread. eerie/eerie. entity/entity. ex/expire. fear/fear. fester/fester. flo/float. float/float. fog/fog. freeze/freeze. fri/fright. fright/fright. frolic/frolic. geist/geist. ghast/ghastly. gho/ghost. ghost/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. glee/glee. gra/grave. grae/grave. grave/grave. grave/graveyard. grave/yard. graveyard/graveyard. haunt/haunt. horror/horror. hun/hunt. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ir/ir. ix/ix. joy/joy. kill/kill. kni/knife. light/light. linger/linger. lone/lone. lost/lost. lurk/lurk. mer/merry. mist/mist. murmur/murmur. phan/phantom. psych/psyche. roam/roam. salt/salt. scare/scare. shadow/shadow. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. shy/shy. slash/slash. smoke/smoke. smol/smol. sorry/storie. soul/soul. spec/specter. spec/spectre. spi/spirit. spir/spirit. spire/spire. spirit/spirit. splint/splint. spook/spook. spooky/spooky. sun/sun. thxy/thxm. ti/timid. timid/timid. tomb/stone. tomb/tomb. tomb/tombstone. undead/undead. unknow/unknowing. unknow/unknown. unknown/unknowing. unknown/unknown. veil/veil. victim/victim. wander/wander. wander/wanderer. whi/whisp. whisp/whisp. whisp/whisper. whisper/whisper. wraith/wraith. ⚰️ . ⚱️ . 👻 . 🤍 .

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Three

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity. Word count: ~6.1k

Chapter summary: Daemon leaves King's Landing as quickly as he has arrived. A wedding takes place. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have.

Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

Daemon surveys the spread of tarts, lemon cakes and tea with a sneer.

“I hadn’t realised your wife would be joining us,” Daemon says stiffly, seating himself across from Moryn in the solar.

“She won’t be, Your Grace,” Moryn replies, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion.

Daemon’s eyes widen slightly. He finds the setting oddly feminine. Had the old fool gotten him confused with Laenor? Fuck, this is going to be awful.

“Just call me Daemon. I’m not as jumped up my own arse as the rest of my family.”

The older man shifts uncomfortably in his seat and clears his throat, obviously not used to such vulgarity.

“Tea?” Moryn offers, the serving girl rounding the table to fill his cup in complement to his words.

“No.” Daemon snatches up the jug of wine from the middle of the table, pouring himself a cup.

Shortly after he had left Melessa in the gardens earlier that morning, he had sent word requesting to speak with her father. He’d been surprised to receive an invitation to the solar less than an hour later. Now he sits opposite the portly Lord of Highgarden, not bothering to mask his disgust at the unsightly residue left behind in his moustache as he takes a large bite from a Tyroshi honey finger.

“So,” Moryn begins around a mouthful of pastry, raising his teacup to his lips. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”

Daemon fixes Moryn with a steady gaze. “Your daughter. I’m going to marry her.”

Moryn splutters around his tea, sending the cup clattering back into its saucer. “Melessa?” The colour in his cheeks has blanched.

“Unless you’ve another stashed away somewhere?” Daemon reclines back in his chair with a smirk.

“She is betrothed to your nephew! That cannot simply be undone.”

“It can and it will.” Daemon leans forward, his hand curling around his wine cup. All trace of humour leaves his face. “When my brother dies, my niece will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She will make me her Hand. That is a powerful ally for Highgarden to have, I think you’ll agree.”

“But Prince Aegon is-”

“A drunken, useless cunt,” Daemon spits, cutting Moryn off. “My brother named Rhaenyra as his heir. That has not changed.”

The older man fidgets in his seat. The irritating nervous throat clearing has returned, although he is no longer eating any of the food upon the table. Daemon thinks it would be agreeable for him to be kept in a perpetual state of fear, a means to stop his overeating. He chuckles drily to himself, not caring to share the joke. 

Moryn sighs. “Lord Hightower is the King’s Hand. He says that His Highness is in no fit state to be making decisions regarding succession. Prince Aemond is a good match for Melessa - he is well-educated and he rides the largest dragon in all of Westeros.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow, his tone becoming icy. “That treasonous prick Otto will find himself fed to my dragon once Rhaenyra is crowned. As will you if you do not strongly reconsider.”

Blinking rapidly, Moryn appears to concede. “What would you have me do?”

“The day after tomorrow is when the original betrothal announcement was to be made, yes? That is when we will have the wedding.”

The elderly man balks at the suggestion, his mouth hanging agape for a moment before he speaks. “That is too soon! Aemond and Melessa were to have a year-long courtship.”

“A year-long courtship that your daughter does not want,” Daemon states bluntly. “She has expressed a desire to marry me. I see no reason to wait.”

Moryn bows his head, clearly beaten. “As you wish. Let us make the necessary arrangements.”

As Daemon strides from the solar, a smug sense of satisfaction emanates from every pore of his body. For once, he has been granted something he wants. He is so pleased by this that he is prepared to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him that he is rushing this simply so he doesn’t have time to change his mind.

Daemon confines himself to his chambers for the rest of the day. Tempted as he is to seek out his new wife-to-be and share in their happy news, he knows that Moryn is likely having a conversation with Otto that he would do well to keep out of. Being seen with her would serve only to exacerbate tensions. He longs to put the King’s Hand in his place, but that is a side of him that Melessa has yet to see. He has no desire to frighten her away before they’ve even exchanged vows.

He cannot scare her off before they get to the wedding night. His thoughts drift to how it will finally feel to touch her as he longs to, to kiss her as he wants to, to fuck her as he pleases. The idea of being the first man to undress her, to be inside of her, to spill within her cunny… It’s enough to push him to the brink of spending in his breeches like a green boy. If nothing else, that alone makes all of this worth it. Political alliances be damned - he will pluck his rose so no one else may have her, defile those soft little petals so that they are only his.

He finds himself fisting his cock to the thought of her once again. Gods, this is becoming pathetic. At least there is comfort to be found in the fact that he will not have long to wait until she becomes the vessel for his carnal appetite. 

Just as Daemon suspected, he does not have long to wait to lock horns with the King's Hand. Otto seeks out Daemon the next day as he is preparing to head to the gardens, hoping for a chance to see Melessa again. He has thought of nothing but her since parting ways with her oaf of a father yesterday.

“Are you really so pig-headed that you’d break off your own nephew’s betrothal to sate your lust?” Otto demands, not bothering with pleasantries. Daemon grins at the informality of it.

“Good morning to you, too,” Daemon states with airy indifference.

“This is treason, Daemon! I will not allow it!” Otto retorts coolly, though the anger that bubbles beneath the surface is more than apparent.

“You think that because my brother lays rotting at your mercy that you have the right to decide anything? Your plans to get Highgarden on side are as flimsy and obvious as your attempts to usurp Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne. You will do well to remember who will be named Hand once Viserys passes.”

“Viserys is in no fit state-”

“You will not speak of my brother to me,” Daemon interrupts with enormous irritation. “You have not earned the right. Lord Tyrell has agreed to wed his daughter to me. You will find another match for Aemond easily enough. I’m sure you must be positively overwhelmed by the number of high born ladies all desperate to marry a one-eyed prince.”

Otto clenches his jaw, exhaling heavily through his nose. “You will live to regret your rashness.”

“And you will live to regret your insolence, unless you walk away. Now,” Daemon says darkly, his hand coming to rest upon the pommel of Dark Sister.

With a withering sigh, Otto turns back towards the Red Keep. He halts after a few steps, calling back over his shoulder. “Marry her if you must. However, I’d suggest you seek out an alternative location - the Queen will not allow for your nuptials to take place in the capital.”

You mean you will not allow it, you cunt. Daemon glares at Otto’s retreating form before continuing on towards the gardens. 

His strides are more purposeful, his face hardened by anger. He longs to go after Otto, to run him through with Dark Sister. In his youth, perhaps he would have. However, he is aware that there are larger things at stake than his wounded pride.

He feels his heart rate slow and his mood grow lighter as he thinks of Melessa’s clear blue eyes, the scent of almond oil and rosewater, the grin that is just for him. He knows that seeing her will calm him, so he is at first disappointed when he arrives at the gardens to find her usual bench unoccupied. This quickly escalates to anger.

Emitting a growl of frustration, he settles himself upon the bench, bowing his head and rubbing his temples. It is his first time at ‘home’ in fifteen years and the last few days have been more stressful than all of his time away combined. He is sick of needless politicking, tired of family quarrels, disgusted by the Hightower influence that now permeates every crevice of the Red Keep.

He has made a promise to marry Melessa tomorrow and now faces the humiliation of having to disappoint her. Perhaps it is for the best. She is too delicate for the likes of him. Dragons trample flowers underfoot - they do not nurture them.

“I believe congratulations are in order, Uncle.”

Daemon lifts his gaze to the welcome sight of Rhaenyra, his shoulders relaxing as she approaches and seats herself next to him.

“Not if your father’s Hand has anything to do with it,” Daemon mutters, looking out across the gardens.

Rhaenyra shoots him an amused sideways glance. “You couldn’t possibly expect to take Aemond’s betrothed for yourself and marry her here in the city?”

Daemon says nothing. Truthfully, he hadn’t given much thought to anything beyond having Melessa to himself, and the more he considers his oversight of the finer details the more embarrassed he feels. It is not a feeling that sits right with him.

She scoffs. “That is so typical of you: storming in, causing a scene and not thinking about how it affects anyone besides yourself.”

“I get the distinct impression you’re no longer talking about just Melessa.” He raises his eyebrows, turning to her.

Hurt flashes across Rhaenyra’s face, her voice rising an octave. “Why her?”

“You mean why not you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Rhaenyra, you were a child,” Daemon says gently. “I spared you.”

She laughs bitterly. “Yes, because the life I’ve led since you left has been just wonderful.”

“And you think mine is any better?”

“I know little of it!”

Daemon takes Rhaenyra’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You have three wonderful sons. Does their father not make you happy?”

The implication goes unspoken, though it is clear he is referring to Harwin Strong and not Laenor Velaryon.

“He does,” she admits with a soft smile.

“Then don’t begrudge me for wanting what you have.”

Rhaenyra sighs, regarding Daemon carefully before she speaks.

“If it is her that you truly want, Uncle, then return with her to Dragonstone and marry her there. It will take a day by boat for Melessa and her family. If they were to leave within the hour, then they’d make it in time for you to marry her tomorrow, just as you wanted.”

Daemon considers this for a moment, his eyes lighting up. This is perfect. A final ‘fuck you’ to that Hightower imbecile, his whore of a daughter and her idiotic children.

“Can I count on my niece’s presence?” he asks with a wry smile.

“On dragonback, Laenor, the children and I can be on Dragonstone in less than half a day,” she says softly. “I am reluctant to leave Father, but I suppose you will need someone there for your wedding.”

“Thank you, Rhaenyra. You have no idea what that means to me.”

They remain seated together, hand in hand, for a few moments longer. Daemon has never felt more grateful for his niece than he does at this moment. As much as he hates to admit it, this is not the first time she has saved him from his own folly. It is unlikely it will be the last.

Rhaenyra and Daemon part ways in the garden. Rhaenyra in agreement that she will ready Laenor and her boys to set off for Dragonstone and aid in wedding preparations. Daemon needs to ensure that Melessa and the rest of the Tyrells currently residing within the Red Keep are ready to leave by boat within the hour. Laenor’s seafaring history means he will be able to aid with securing a boat within the Blackwater Rush to provide safe passage. Finally, the pillow biter has a useful purpose.

Daemon knocks at Melessa’s chamber door. It is answered by a flustered handmaiden, and the room is abuzz with activity. Melessa stands in the middle of the room atop a small stool, a gaggle of women crowd around her pinning, sewing and layering white lace fabric.

“You aren’t supposed to be here!” the handmaiden says exasperatedly. Not quite the welcome he’d hoped for, but he has more pressing matters to attend to than this lowly woman’s over-inflated sense of self worth.

“I need to speak with my betrothed,” he says simply.

At the sound of his voice, Melessa turns her head, earning a tut from a fraught looking older woman attempting to pin together a shoulder of the gown.

“Daemon!” she gasps. “You mustn’t see me before I’m ready!”

His eyes travel appreciatively over the cut of the half-finished gown. It is form-fitting and backless, typical of the style in Highgarden, and far more revealing than the modest and rather frumpy dress sense of the ladies of the capital. His excitement at seeing the finished result is almost as great as his excitement to see her out of it entirely. Almost.

“Forgive me, petal,” he says apologetically, though not actually sorry at all. “There has been a change in plans.”

He explains to her the urgency of the situation and what needs to happen next. She listens wide-eyed with excitement and offers no protest, sweet little thing that she is. He leaves her with a soft kiss to her hairline and the promise that they will be reunited soon. For now, he must speak to her father.

Moryn will be harder to persuade. However, the greater problem, Daemon fears, will be getting the bulk of his weight from the Red Keep to the boat in time for when it departs.

Predictably, he is resistant at first - but when Daemon points out that the Tyrells have likely worn out their welcome in the capital, having broken off Melessa’s betrothal to Aemond, Moryn is much more agreeable.

Having made the final preparations, Daemon finds himself readying to leave King’s Landing once more. It has only been a few days, yet he feels he has had more than his fill of this wretched place. He mounts the great, red beast that is Caraxes, preparing for the half-day’s flight back to the place that actually feels like home: Dragonstone.

The wind whips around him as Caraxes glides in to land on the jagged rocks that make up the island. Daemon is taken aback by how much colder it is here than back in the capital. He wonders how Melessa will fare living here. Highgarden and King’s Landing proffer much balmier climes - there is every chance his delicate rose will wilt in the winds that batter the jagged cliff faces here.

His doubts begin to grow as he sets about making preparations for the wedding that is to take place tomorrow. It is too short notice for the castle’s kitchen to order in supplies for the feast - they will simply have to make do with what is already on hand, though with the meagre attendance that this celebration is to have that certainly won’t pose a problem. He cannot shake the feeling that he is not giving Melessa the wedding that she deserves, nor the husband.

Daemon’s mind settles with the arrival of Rhaenyra and Laenor along with their children and respective dragons. Harwin, not being a dragonrider, is notably absent. It is odd, though not unpleasant, for Dragonstone to suddenly have so much noise and life within it.

With the aid of his niece and her husband, the castle is bustling with activity as servants work to prepare the sleeping quarters for the arrival of the Tyrells, while the kitchen staff work in earnest to ensure enough food is cooked. He pushes his doubts away, allowing himself a moment of optimism. He will have his pretty bride, and she will have a Targaryen prince. There has never been a fairer exchange than this one.

Melessa, along with her father and mother, arrive by boat the following morning. She looks sea-sick. It strikes Daemon that this was potentially her first time ever travelling on a boat, and for her maiden voyage she’d sailed non-stop through the night. The poor thing must feel wretched. Lucky for her, she need never sail anywhere again after this, not now she is his.

He looks softly down upon her, taking her hands into his as she disembarks. Her queasy expression is enough to make him laugh, but he bites it back for her sake.

“I trust you had a safe journey, petal?” he asks, ignoring the admonishing look from Moryn at his choice of pet name for his daughter.

“Mm...yes,” Melessa responds, her voice weak.

He gives her hands a soft squeeze, before ushering her forward. “Come, let us get you settled. The hours pass swiftly and there is much to do before we are husband and wife.”

Daemon does not see Melessa again for the rest of the day. She is swept off towards her chambers to be readied for the ceremony, while he returns to his to do the same.

It strikes him as he looks upon the bed that in a few short hours will have Melessa atop it. The thought excites him. It has been a long time since he has indulged in untouched flesh. He can almost picture the pained expression on her sweet little face the first time he pushes inside. The hours may pass swiftly, but not fucking swiftly enough.

It is early evening as Daemon and Melessa stand in front of the Septon in the Hall of Dragonstone. Daemon has always imagined a traditional Valyrian rite with dragon glass and exchanges of blood if he were to ever remarry after his first wife Rhea. He resents having to go through another ceremony under the Seven. However, Melessa is not of Valyrian descent and he has had to agree to this to even get her here in the first place.

The turnout is poor. Servants outnumber actual wedding guests, though Rhaenyra, Laenor, Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey stand to the right and Melessa’s parents to the left. Daemon is almost too ashamed to look at any of them. She absolutely deserves better than this, yet she is looking at him as though she has never been happier. All traces of seasickness are gone and her blue eyes have recovered their beautiful shine.

She looks radiant, a vision of beauty in form fitting white lace, decorated with elegant hand-sewn roses. He can tell from the gooseflesh that prickles across her bare arms and shoulders that she is chilled to the bone. Dragonstone is absolutely going to be an adjustment for her.

Sad as he is to cover such a lovely ensemble, he is also glad to drape the cloak around her shoulders as they chant “I am yours and you are mine.” At least now she has something to keep her warm until he is able to heat her skin with his own later.

The hours may pass swiftly, but not fucking swiftly enough.

When they kiss it is as though he has forgotten how to breathe. He’d known her lips were soft - a quick glance at those rosy red lips was enough to see that - but it could never have prepared him for how they actually feel. They are tender and plump against his own, yet unyielding. It feels like it has ended no sooner than it began. For the sake of propriety they are forced to keep things chaste.

Finally, she is his.

“Husband,” she whispers up at him as they leave the Hall hand in hand. Her look of pure adoration is enough to make him feel as though his cock will slice clean through his breeches from the speed in which it rises to attention.

“Wife,” he murmurs back, fingertips grazing her delicate jaw.

Mercifully, they are spared the indignity of a wedding dance, though the meal that follows is tense and awkward. With only six adults and three children to occupy the table, it is a far cosier affair than Daemon would have liked and conversation does not flow freely. Rhaenyra and Laenor, to their credit, do more than their fair share of the talking, though it is clear that having to marry his only daughter to the Rogue Prince is still very much a bone of contention for Moryn. His wife is far more gracious, commenting on how much of a privilege it is to sup with the heir to the Iron Throne. Daemon sends a silent thanks to the gods that it’s her mother that Melessa takes after.

He is enamoured with her. Her eyes do not seem to move from him at all. She gazes up at him like he has hung the very stars in the sky for her and it makes his chest swell with pride. Feeding her morsels from his own fork, he is captivated by the way her lips move against the prongs. A flash of her wet pink tongue has him stifling a groan. She has kept the wedding cloak wrapped firmly around her. Despite the fireplace having been lit, it does little to keep the chill from the room, especially when it is so sparsely populated. 

Daemon longs to retire to their marital chambers, to unravel her from her layers like a gift. After having felt the softness of her lips against his, he is aching to find out if she feels that way everywhere, to feel the heat of his flesh pressed against hers.

The hours may pass swiftly, but not fucking swiftly enough.

At last, the wedding feast draws to a close and Daemon finds himself alone with Melessa, fighting the urge to leap upon her and stake his claim like a wild animal. He must show restraint, be gentle with her, convince her this is something she wants to do over and over again.

Unlike at the dining table, Melessa’s eyes seem to want to look anywhere but at him. The poor thing is nervous, he can see that from how she shakes.

“You are trembling, petal,” he says softly, taking her hands in his. He steps closer, carefully, a predator stalking its prey. “Are you frightened of me?”

“No,” he murmurs. “Not-not of you, but… of what you are going to - do to me. Will it - will it hurt?”

Daemon chuckles, releasing her hand to gently grip her jaw between his thumb and forefinger.

“Sweet flower. It is not what I am going to do to you; it is what we are going to do together. You will feel pleasure if you allow me to do as I please. Will you allow me?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

He kisses her then. It is not the chaste kiss shared at the altar. His mouth moves against hers, claiming her lips as his own and she lets him. She gasps as his tongue sweeps against her own and he tangles his fingers into her silky hair, holding her in place as he feels her body relax into his. Finally, she is succumbing.

He pulls away, drawing in a steadying breath as he takes in her kiss-swollen lips and dilated pupils. She is perfect. His stones ache at the very sight of her.

“Has anyone ever kissed you like that before, petal?”

“I have never been kissed at all,” she whispers.

Gods, she is going to be the death of him. He inhales sharply through his nose, pushing the cloak from her shoulders and letting it pool to the floor.

“Undress.” His lust filled state gives his voice an edge, and the command is delivered with more sharpness than he intended. He caresses her cheek as her skin flushes with fear and embarrassment. “Trust me, little flower, I will take good care of you.”

“I-I will need you to help me.” Her voice trembles and her cheeks are almost scarlet.

She turns, brushing her long flaxen hair off of her back and over her shoulder to reveal the open back of the dress. It is held together by two fastenings at the back of her neck and lacing at the waist band of the skirt. The open back leaves her creamy white flesh totally exposed and Daemon cannot stop himself from reaching out and trailing his fingertips down the curve of her spine. She shivers beneath his touch and he cannot help the smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

If she shakes at the mere touch of her back, imagine how she will react when I touch between her legs.

He carefully unclasps and unlaces her gown. As it falls away from her body, he turns, allowing her to step out of it as he begins to remove his doublet and undershirt.

The sensation that shoots straight to the tip of his cock as he returns his gaze to her leaves him sure he has just spilled his seed in his breeches. She is completely naked. He feels like he has forgotten to breathe as he drinks in the sight of her. She is small and slight; her breasts are petite, barely a handful with peaks that are the same ruddy shade as her lips. His eyes follow the natural curve of her waist and hips, lingering upon the delicate thatch of blonde curls that sits upon her mound.

“Where are your smallclothes, petal?” he asks, struggling to hold himself back as he battles to regulate his breathing. He is utterly bewildered and delighted in equal measure.

“I...uh… the cut of my wedding gown did not allow for small clothes. I was going to have them specially tailored, but there wasn’t time.”

The flush of her shame has now spread to her chest, a light dusting of pink blooming beneath her collarbones. Daemon now has another reason to be glad of the haste of their nuptials. A most fortunate turn of events indeed. He notices that her eyes linger on the marred flesh of his bare torso, a parting gift from a flaming arrow that punctured his neck during the battle of the Stepstones.

He cocks his head, watching her carefully as she takes him in. “Do my scars bother you?”

His words appear to snap her out of her reverie. She gives him an apologetic look, shaking her head fervently. “N-no… I just… may I touch them? Your scars, I mean.”

Daemon is taken aback by her request. He had expected her to be repulsed. His little flower is full of surprises. 

“You may.”

Her small, delicate hand reaches forward with trepidation. He cannot help but smile at the care with which she touches him as her fingertips trace gently over the ruined flesh.

“I am sorry that that happened to you,” she says softly.

He is touched by her sentiment, capturing her hand in his and pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

“Lay on the bed for me,” he says huskily, not wishing to dwell on the past any longer than he has to.

He lets go of her hand and she turns, climbing onto the bedspread before laying back on the pillows. He crawls on after her, bestowing another searing kiss upon her lips. She responds in kind, matching his passion. She is a fast learner.

She eyes him curiously as they part. “Will you keep your trousers on?”

“Eager to see my cock, little flower?” he smirks down at her.

“N-no! I mean… yes… but - I am naked and you are not...”

“Yes, you are naked,” he muses, trailing a hand down her side. “I need to prepare you, and that is easier for me to accomplish if I keep these on - for now.”

Daemon knows the moment his erection is free he will not be able to resist the urge to bury it inside of her, to make her irrevocably his. It is better to keep the barrier between them, to allow her what she needs to be ready for him. It is going to hurt her, there is no escaping that, but he will do all he can to ensure it doesn’t hurt as much as it could.

“I was right,” he muses, his hand giving her breast a gentle squeeze before his thumb rubs against her hardened peak. “You are soft everywhere. A proper little Highgarden rose that is ready for plucking.”

She gasps as he bows his head, laving the flat of his tongue over her breast and sucking on it. Her back arches, and the dulcet sounds that spill from her mouth indicate that she is enjoying this every bit as much as he is. He releases her with a wet pop, shifting his attention to the other. She is mewling by this point, writhing beneath him like a common whore. He wonders if she could peak from this alone, but he is too eager to taste her cunt to find out.

He shifts down the bed, stopping once his face is level with where her thighs meet. He grips her knees, spreading her legs. She is every bit the perfect little bud he’d envisioned; soft, neat and utterly untouched. The sight of the wetness that has gathered between her velvety folds causes him to groan and he runs his tongue through the length of it.

Melessa lets out a shocked yelp, attempting to push him away. “You cannot do that, it is dirty!”

He smirks, his eyes flitting up to meet hers. “Oh little flower, you have yet to learn what dirty truly is.”

He probes and prods with the tip of his tongue until he finds the pearl that is situated at the apex of her sex. She squeals as he circles it slowly and he has to hold her down by her hips to get her to keep still. She cants desperately against his face, greedy little thing that she is, and he indulges her, sucking messily at her. The noises that fill the room are obscene.

His index finger rests against her entrance. He is to be the first to ever breach her and he longs to savour the moment, but with the way his cock presses painfully against the mattress he knows he will spend before he’s even gotten to fuck her if he does not hurry things along. He pushes inside up to the knuckle, lips parting at how warm and tight she feels around his digit. He fears he may split her in two if he dares to add a second.

Melessa claws desperately at the bedsheets, eyes screwed shut as he crooks his finger, locating the spongy spot deep within her and dragging against it as he allows his tongue to focus its attention on her swollen bud. As her inner walls clench and more wetness seeps from her, he takes the opportunity for his middle finger to join his pointer inside of her. It is a snug fit and he scissors both fingers, an attempt to loosen her for what is to come.

Daemon knows he needs to get her to peak at least once if she is to be relaxed enough to take his cock for the first time. Using both fingers to bully at her, he laps at her cunny with renewed vigour. Melessa wails piteously.

“I-I’m going to piss myself!”sShe cries out.

He balks at the sudden vulgarity. Has she never peaked before?

He raises his head, taking in her panicked expression. “Have you ever touched yourself as I am touching you right now, petal?”

She shakes her head against the pillows. “Never. It is a sin.”

He laughs softly. “You aren’t going to piss yourself. You’re going to come, and you’ll like how it feels.”

He continues to work at her with his mouth and fingers until the clenching of her walls turns to fluttering contractions. The desperate cry that Melessa lets out is like music to Daemon’s ears. He laps greedily at the viscosity that floods out of her until she jerks away, too sensitive to take any more.

He moves back up the bed, chin still coated with her slick and kisses her deeply. If she is shocked by the taste of herself, she does not show it. The poor thing looks utterly dazed, as though he has fucked every coherent thought from her mind with his tongue and fingers.

“I think you are ready now,” he coos to her, working open the lacings of his trousers and pushing them down.

He takes his cock in his hand. Looking at her, he sees fear in her eyes.

“That’s never going to fit,” she whispers.

“It won’t at first,” he admits. “But I’ll make it fit.”

Daemon knows he has to act swiftly, when she is still pliable from the aftermath of her climax. If he allows time for fear to set in, she will tense up and it will be unpleasant for both of them.

He presses the head against her opening, pushing forward. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes and she whimpers in pain. Despite how he has worked to prepare her, she still feels like a vice around him and he’s not even halfway in.

He runs a soothing hand down her side, looking down at her pained expression with sympathy. “You aren’t going to like this, petal, but it will hurt less than if I go slowly.”

Thrusting forward with full force, he sheaths himself fully inside of her. She cries out in agony, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she sobs from the pain of the intrusion and the tearing of her maidenhead. Daemon shushes her with soft kisses to her hairline, gently wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

“It is done now, little flower. The worst part is over.”

She is his. He has done it. She is finally his. He is the first to have her, and will be the only one to have her.

The grip she has on him is so tight he can feel her nails digging crescent moon shapes into his skin. Once she has calmed and her tears turned to sniffles, Daemon allows himself to move. She is so hot, so tight around him that he doesn’t realise he has been holding his breath until he needs to suck in a lungful of air to steady himself. The familiar scent of almond oil and rosewater fills his nostrils as he breathes her in.

His thrusts are slow to start with, dragging his shaft in and out of her at a laggard pace to allow her to adjust to the sensation. Once he feels her grip loosen on him, he senses she is relaxed enough for him to increase the pace.

The movements of his hips speed up and the noises Melessa makes begin to sound less pained and more like she is allowing herself to enjoy the experience. She is enough to drive him to total ruin as she lays beneath him - golden hair spread out across the pillows, eyes wet with tears, cheeks ruddy, and soft, pillowy lips parted in the sounds of pleasure she makes.

“Gods… you are perfect, molded to my cock, mine,” he utters through gritted teeth.

He will not last long. He would have liked to have brought her to peak once more, but he is past the point of no return. She stares up at him with the look of adoration from earlier, the one that places him at the very centre of her world, and he is done for.

“Fuck!” he growls, throwing his head back.

White hot pleasure licks at her lower back, his stones tighten and he falls over the precipice, spilling inside of her as his hips still. His attention lingers on the mixture of blood and his seed that leaks from her as he pulls out with a hiss and collapses next to her.

Eagerly, she seeks him out, laying her head on his chest, doe-eyed and soft. He wraps an arm around her.

“I love you.”

His eyes snap to hers. She means it. Shit.

What the fuck has he just done?

[eulaliasims]

Ok, putting aside that the student fitness center clearly needs some reno, for some reason I didn't think personal training would consist solely of Jayne standing next to her and cheering/booing periodically, lmao.

Jayne: You call that effort, Blanch? Give me five more reps!

Rosalind: Why do I even need this again?

Jayne: How are you gonna become a space pirate with no muscle?

Rosalind: Laser sword.

Jayne: You need muscles to lift a sword.

Rosalind: Laser sword.

Ashley: Don't mind me, just gonna set up over here and--ooof--pump some iron in my casual yet sexy tank top.

Jayne: You can do it, Ros! Two more!

Rosalind: I'm ignoring both of you.

[renard-dartigue]

Nope not the tracer but someone who is done seeing big creators get bullied. Blanche is just an insecure, jealous bully because the artist she's attacking was featured on a tag and not her. Boo hoo

Fam, I'm going to need you to put the clown nose down and go outside.

[comfy-whumpee]

Flightless 3

Whumptober 2023 Day 15 - "I'm Fine." CN: BBU.

@neuro-whump, @rosesareviolentlyread, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question, @highwaywhump, @noirineverysense

They were Boo, now. Blanched skin, round eyes in unremarkable brown. Dirty-blond hair that sat floppy around their head. A slightly wide nose, a slightly wide mouth, and ample cheeks. Eyes that were blue, or grey, depending on the light. All pets were supposed to be beautiful, and Boo could see in their face how they could be made beautiful too. But it had never been their purpose.

Combing their hair with their fingers, they turned their head into the sunlight. Their hair glowed dark gold with the rays on it, and the colour in their eyes lit up. But the moment they turned into the shade, it all vanished. Dull hair and lifeless eyes.

They sat down at their desk, leaving the mirror behind. There was a book, sitting open with a deep crack in its spine to hold it. The crack was already there when they got the book. Boo wouldn't leave a trace as obvious as that. It was a random fantasy story they had taken off the shelf. The open pages were where it had fallen as they'd encouraged it to lie flat.

They let their eyes lose focus. The lamplight was low but persistent, like the last quarter of a sun that would not set. The words swam before them until they were like tadpoles on the page. That didn't count as having read it, though. They weren't supposed to read for fun. Or do anything for recreation, really.

Right on cue, there was a knock at their door. The system the household had come to use was to knock and wait. If Boo opened the door, they were welcome. If they got up and locked it, they weren't. If Boo did nothing, more information was required.

The information came a moment later: "It's Tenten."

Boo eyes focused suddenly on the book. Taught to. They looked away quickly. It was unusual for Tenten to visit them. He was almost always in the kitchen. The only person with as few hobbies as Boo, and all of them household tasks. He had, occasionally, been seen reading, but that was all. It was Tenten that Boo had copied to fit in, borrowing the occasional book from the house library.

When the pause made clear that they were not moved to open the door, Tenten offered, "I made cocoa."

Boo looked at their book. They were on page fifty-eight. It was a short book for developing readers. Boo had always been able to read. It was something they had been allowed to keep in training, and then by Mistress Tara. It made them more useful.

They got up. They could accept cocoa from Tenten if it made him go away. They padded silently across the floor and opened the door. Tenten was there, an inch taller than them and ten times as lively, smiling nervously. Avis stood beside him, carrying the mug. Tenten's hands were behind his back, a clear giveaway that he was hiding either twitching or twisting fingers, too agitated to hold the mug steady.

It had, Boo noted, a whipped cream spiral, dusted with cocoa powder and stabbed through with a chocolate straw. They looked at Tenten. They considered stepping back and closing the door, rejecting this drink that was more like a dessert.

"You – arrived here three mon-nths ago," Tenten said, enunciating so carefully the stammer was almost suppressed. "T-To the day. So, um. A present."

They took a step back, horror rushing over their skin in goose bumps. Then they slammed the door. Avis exclaimed something wordless on the other side, but Boo didn't care, turning away and falling to lie across their bed, dragging the covers over them so they couldn't be seen if the door was opened again. They curled up, tight, tighter, as tightly as they could and stayed still, perfectly still.

Three months. Three months. That wasn't something to celebrate. Tenten was so naïve. Three months and they still hadn't completed their task. Three months of being been paralysed with indecision about what to do. Three months of living in denial with these rescued pets and their keeper, pretending they could be part of it, when they were the reason it would all fall apart in the end. Three months living a lie.

Florence had learned to read almost to the level of the book on Boo's desk. Florence had learned about boundaries, consent, platonic relationships, alongside numbers, time, money, food, shops. Florence knew how to make their own supper. They had glasses. They had opinions.

Paris had none of that. Paris was little more than a doll for their master. Florence never talked about being Paris, and the only reason anyone even knew what they used to be was that it was hard to hide Romantic training, even for someone as seemingly disinterested in it as Florence was. Florence talked about Sir, sometimes longingly, but never, ever expressed the desire to go back. Their Sir would be horrified to see them now. They wore dungarees. They ate white bread. They got injured.

Three months, plus the time it had taken to track them down, and that man had been waiting all the while to crush Florence back into the box they'd arrived in.

It was Boo's job to make it happen.

It was what they were made for. What they had trained for, when Mistress Tara bought them. She had turned them into nothing but the hunter. The scars on their back proved their worth. They would have a dozen more if they failed.

Stay silent. Her voice still screamed in their head, and they clutched their hair, kicked their feet out, rolled over, unable to bear it. If you can't hide pain, you can't hide anything. Control yourself even as you bleed.

Control yourself!

They curled tight again, not wanting to hear her now. She had trusted them with this because they knew never to fail. She had given them everything and they had to be deserving. They could be replaced. They could be destroyed. She was their second chance.

They had failed once already.

They slammed their body into the wall. It was an exterior wall, and it absorbed the impact with barely a sound. They did it again. Control yourself. It released the energy and feeling they could never let go. Each impact was like being shocked back into shape. Control yourself. They could control the pain. They could control everything.

Florence had to go back. It would, maybe it would be different the second time. (It wouldn't.) Maybe the Sir would be kinder, grateful for them to be there. (He wouldn't.) Mistress would be satisfied and wouldn't talk about retiring them. (She always did.) They would get home safe back to their storeroom, safe with their head intact, and blank walls with nothing to think or feel about, letting all of this bizarre experience become nothing.

They were fine.

 -

Avis watched Boo eat at the dinner table, wondering what was different that day.

It was late, the windows ajar to let out the warmth of the oven, and Tenten had brought them all glasses of water and made cucumber and mint cordial to be added to taste. Florence had rejected it after a valiant effort. Kamala and Roman liked it. Avis didn't mind, but she added some just so Tenten would feel valued. Boo had acted as though it wasn't there.

They were eating at a regular pace. That was one of the few signs of improvement she'd seen in them, much as they tried to hide it. They ate quickly when they had arrived, defensive of their plate even without guarding it openly. Now, they seemed to have trust that the food in front of them was theirs. One thing done right.

But even though the pace was normal, and their face didn't show any expression, she was sure there was something off. She'd had this suspicion before with Boo, but it was so hard to tell what might be happening with them. Even though she could glean tiny things like the speed they ate, or the fact they opened up most to the harmless Florence, she was very far from understanding them.

They looked stiff. She felt it was what she was seeing, even though she couldn't be sure. There was an awkwardness to the way their arms moved with each motion of their fork. It went at an angle a bit outside of normal range.

She leaned over to defer to the expert, pitching her voice low. "Kamala, honey. Does it look like Boo's hurt to you?"

Kamala was usually engaged with Florence at dinner, but diligently paused her conversation and looked at Boo. Avis deliberately continued eating, suspecting they knew they were being scrutinised either way.

"Rotation of the shoulder," Kamala murmured. "Most likely to be inflammation of an older injury, unless they did something strenuous recently with that arm, or maybe fell?"

"Hmm, I don't think so. Thank you."

That confirmed things, at least. She continued with her potatoes patiently, as Kamala resumed chatting at Florence, and the others ate peacefully.

Boo was in pain. Easy enough on the surface; she could send them to the doctor. She'd done that before, when they became ill, but this seemed different. If Kamala was right, there could be a bigger injury at play, and she needed to know that so she knew how urgent it was.

She waited until dinner was done. Florence finished last, by which point Roman and Tenten were both bursting to clean up, and they did promptly. Kamala, seemingly aware of Avis's, thoughts, drew Florence away to the living room to watch something. Boo rose, as they always did, prompt without being hurried. They turned to head for the stairs and retreat again to their room

"Boo?" Avis called. There was nothing else to do but try.

There was a moment where they visibly considered continuing on their way. They often had those moments, the closest thing she got to acknowledgement, before they decided to ignore her anyway. It was one of the ways she reassured herself, constantly, that they did understand what was happening in the world around them. It was a choice not to interact with it.

They turned. Today, they stopped and turned to listen.

"I think you're in pain," Avis said. "I asked Kamala, and she thinks your shoulder hurts. I am concerned because I don't know of anything that could have injured you, so it may be an older injury that needs attention. Either way, I do not like for you to be in pain, any of you."

Hazel eyes bored through her as if she was not there. But she kept her wits gathered, impervious to the mournful eyes.

"I'm not asking you to tell me, but it would be welcome, in any way you’re comfortable with. I'd like to book you an appointment with Dr Davies. I'd like you to go, and perhaps he'll be able to help you."

It was like talking to a mannequin. But this was a person, a rescue in her care, so she brushed off the feeling and nodded in reply to herself. "Alright. I'll see when he's next available. Remember, being in pain is nor normal or expected, and we want to prevent or minimise it whenever we can."

They turned away. That was the last straw, it seemed. The idea that they didn't deserve pain.

-

Dr Davies was a friendly, relaxed man with an easy smile and a keen interest in educating his patients. He had short, greying hair and rectangular glasses that contrasted with his round race. He treated the Birdhouse members at the shelter usually, but on occasion he requested that they come out to his clinic. Avis paid for them to have private healthcare, although she happily relied on the NHS for herself.

"Hello, Boo. Good to see you again." The doctor welcomed them inside, smiling at Avis but closing the door on her. The white-and-blue room inside was equal parts busy office and sterile treatment area. Boo was invited to sit on the ragged chair by the desk, to start with. "Avis tells me she's concerned about your shoulder."

Boo nodded.

"She mentioned a suspicion that it is an old injury. Is that so?"

Boo paused, then nodded again. It was, although it wasn’t flaring up on its own.

Dr Davies tapped at the keyboard. "Alright. I'd like to have a feel of the joint, but can you first rate your pain for me? One being so mild you can comfortably go about your day, and ten being severe enough that you can't move it at all."

Boo considered this. They were still functional, but their range of motion was limited and their reaction time was slower. They rated a four, which he noted on the computer.

"Thank you. If that pain increases while I'm examining you, knock on the desk for me."

Control yourself. No, not here. This was different.

Boo wondered, not for the first time, whether Dr Davies had comprehensive notes about them, somewhere. Notes about their need for functional pain scales rather than ones based on feeling. Notes on whether they would nod, point, show numbers, indicate words, depending on the day. They wondered if he knew they communicated more to him than they ever had with Avis.

"Is it alright if I examine you now? I'll feel the joint with my fingers and ask you to indicate any soreness. You can keep your shirt on and stay seated."

Boo nodded.

"Would you like me in front or behind you?"

They pointed to the floor at their feet. Better to have him where they could see him.

"Alright. Up we come." Dr Davies rose, and closed the distance between them. One hand lifted. "I'm going to put my hand to the shoulder now. Avis said it was the left, correct me if I'm wrong."

Boo did nothing, so the hand made contact, lightly probing at the injury.

"Is the scar tissue here affected?" he asked. Dr Davies had never asked where the scars were from. He only checked whether they were causing pain or discomfort.

Boo shook their head.

"I'm glad. I'm just going to feel further down towards the shoulder blades…" His voice was level as his fingers walked down. "Just down to here. I can feel a lot of tension in the muscle. It feels like you're having to compensate for the pain with extra strain here."

That made sense. They couldn't just stop doing things because of pain.

"Alright. I think I understand." Dr Davies stepped back, and then sat down. His face was grave. "It looks like the exit wound on your shoulder is a little inflamed. It may be from activity, or something unavoidable like sleeping at the wrong angle. I'm confident it will ease off again, but I can prescribe you some tablets to take the edge off. You should to take them whenever the pain reaches above a 2 on our scale, but do not go over the maximum dosage."

Boo nodded sharply. They appreciated the clear instruction.

"The entry wound is a little tender, but not to the same extent. Injuries like that take a very long time to finish healing, so we can expect this to happen occasionally. The other thing to take care of is that overcompensating muscle, which needs rest and probably a bit of massage. I can recommend physiotherapy exercises for you to do daily. It should only take about ten to fifteen minutes."

Physiotherapy was something they knew about. They hadn't imagined it would be for them.

"I'll get that printed off for you. I'll also book you in for a return visit in a week so we can see how the inflammation is. If the pain gets worse in the meantime, come see me again and I'll check for underlying causes. I know from the x-ray we had done that you're free of shrapnel, but it may be that something has gone awry in the healing process. Please continue to eat well and rest. A hot bath may relieve the pain too."

Boo had never had a bath. Ice-cold showers were all they'd ever known.

Dr Davies smiled. "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

Boo sat in silence. They thought about all the words they'd never spoken. They thought about Paris-turned-Florence. They thought about the other aches and pains that had escaped notice.

They shook their head. They were fine.

[showmethesneer]

The children yearn for the mines thing but it's just me, yearning for a literary analysis assignment after finishing a book.

So because i have a Film degree, i did the Blake Snyder beat sheet for this novel lol

my Jane Eyre beat sheet

Opening Image - Jane's abusive childhood

Set-Up - Jane is desperate for love and acceptance, desperate to find family and a home where she will feel appreciated.

Theme Stated - Forgiveness is important in love.

Catalyst - Jane is sent to the super religious school where she learns to double down on her people pleasing instincts. Maybe someone will love her and accept her if she is obedient and useful and selfless– this school and its teachings snuff out her sense of self-worth.

Debate - Jane reveals that she wants her abusers to suffer. Helen tells Jane about god and how crucial forgiveness is, even for those who wrong you. 

Break Into Two - Jane takes her future into her own hands, taking out an advertisement and goes to work at Thornfield. She can be useful and find purpose in caring for others.

B Story - Jane meets Rochester– who is not attractive or kind, so it puts her at ease. He puts no effort into being "good" and does not claim or aspire to any virtues her teachings were based on, which is refreshing. He values what she has to say, appreciates her gifts and overall personality, and makes her feel like she is actually worthy of attention.

Fun and Games - As Jane and Rochester develop a rapport, she begins to feel important and useful, and takes pleasure in being of service to him. Even though she worries that he is in love with Blanche Ingram, he proposes to her. She realizes that he appreciates her for who she is because she is worthy of love. She does not have to fade into the background as she was taught.

Midpoint - Rochester is not only already married, he keeps his wife locked in the attic.

Bad Guys Close In - Jane is determined to respect Rochester’s marriage, even at the cost of her own happiness. He loves and accepts her as she is (yay!) but she cannot forgive him for breaking his marriage vow (boo!). Her want/goal was to find people who loved her as she was. Her need is to learn to forgive people so she can be receptive to and reciprocate that love. 

All Is Lost - Jane leaves Thornfield Hall. She rejects Rochester’s love, rejects her job, her home– everything she found and cultivated in this new life she made for herself and winds up starving and cold and penniless and alone. Worse off than when she left the Reed’s house or the school in the beginning. 

Dark Night Of The Soul - The Rivers take Jane in and give her a new family to belong to, a new vocation, a chance to live independently, but without the kind of love she had from Rochester. St. John proposes marriage for the purpose of making her a missionary’s wife. It will be a platonic marriage, at the service of god, where she will have to be selfless and deny her own personal desires. This is the opposite of the life she was leading at Thornfield Hall where her opinion was valued and her appetite for love was well-fed, and her weird little delights in being called an elf and endearingly teased were satisfied. She will not get that as a missionary’s wife, where the emphasis will be on piety and goodness. St. John appreciates her, not for who she is, but for what he can make her. She hears Rochester crying out for her in the night and knows she has to go back to him.

Break Into Three - Jane returns to Thornfield to find it has been burned to the ground and Rochester is badly injured. He is free to marryy her now, he even needs her help so she will definitely be useful if she stays. She has to forgive him if she wants to be with him now. And if she wants to be with him now, she needs to reject being a people pleaser and marrying St. John to live as a selfless missionary’s wife; she knows her worth now. She will not sacrifice her happiness, she wants Rochester and she will have him. 

Closing Image - Jane and Rochester live happily together. They have children. She loves her life. She feels useful and loved and does not have to sacrifice anything to be this content. Additionally, St. John is doing his missionary work and never marries– the epitome of the selfless, people pleasing life she was bound for if she had never learned her worth or how to value herself as she is, which is what Rochester’s love has given her.

[1800duckhotline]

trios thoughts on boo?

blanche: hard to tell whether she really believes that he is a miniature giant space hamster or not but generally entertains minsc's attitude towards him. thinks he's very cute. boo probably can sniff out there's something weird about her and probably tells minsc about it but i can see minsc going but noooo she's so nice :( dont be mean boo :(

poppy: she thinks he's very small and very round and kind of cute. i think her being a ranger also helps with not questioning too many things. she and minsc get along by virtue of him talking a lot and her not talking almost at all

orlande: thinks he's a VERY strange little beast and doesn't know what to make of it... thinks minsc being so attached to him is very strange.... but she has learned not to question TOO much either and mostly has the philosophy of "as long as he doesnt come to bite me we're fine". she also doesn't often get minsc (less due to vocabulary or w/e and more because shes like yo this dude ... is he ok??? has anybody checked on him???? jaheira voice: he's just like that. he's fine)

[charnelhouse]

Do you have any tips/resources to get better at writing? Specifically dialogue? I read the fic you did with Ghost and the reader and the dialogue was PERFECTION. I’d really like to be able to write as good as you one day ❤️

OooO dialogue can be such a bitch and i honestly think it takes practice. im still struggling!

in terms of tips i think these are a few things i follow:

skip small talk

Cynthia Whitcomb has the Three-Beat rule which is that you only have a maximum of three dialogue beats at a time and then you include a dialogue tag, action beat or another character's response. Personally, I've seen long ass monologues and they don't really bother me if they're used sparingly.

action beats are helpful! i love when someone tugs at their collar as they're getting more and more stressed. For example. "What do you mean she isn't there?" Pope asked, visibly blanching. "She was gone, man." Pope turned around, shoving a hand through his curls. "Jesus Christ."

use a variety of both action tags and dialogue tags. don't use only action tags one after the other. it hurts the pacing.

use catchphrases or nicknames sparingly. i always get distracted when someone calls their SO baby/doll/boo bear like every line or there's that movie Mojave where everyone is calling each other "brother".

SUBTEXT. Create dialogue around the things that are not said with action beats and descriptions for example. He leaned against her, his mouth brushing her ear. "Are you alright?" Her hand curled into a fist, her shoulders hunching. "Of course." She's not alright, obvi.

Less is more. You don't need to write really long, drawn out sentences. In real life, people don't speak that way and dialogue should reflect that, but should just lack all the fluff (aka small talk, the ums and likes, etc)

[itsupermanti]

Gingaman Remnant, Ending 1;

(Cue “Don’t Boo (English Cover)” by Esephia, the ending for “Avataro Sentai DonBrothers”)

Don-down we go, Don-down we go, Don-down we go, down the riverbend

The Gingaman are shown dancing in synchronized movements along with their friends

On-on we go, On to our happy end!

The Gingaman are shown without their suits as they perform the same dance JNPR did during the Beacon Dance

Searching far and wide, over border lines, taking part in funny monkey business

Sun is shown smirking at the camera with Neptune and Ilia looking over his shoulders with their own smiles

Adventure’s what we need to shake the ruff past away

Nora is shown laughing as she records Marrow and Zwei barking at each other in an argument

Bonding with all from here to there, even if it gets a little crane-zy

Qrow and Ren are seen covering their ears in annoyance as Tai and Yang tell lame jokes

We’ll smile and laugh through this devil of a time

Jaune carries Adrien on his shoulders, smiling as his nephew laughs in joy

Cause little by little we’re changing, nothing stays the same

Winter is shown placing a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing as Weiss sees Willow flirting with Taiyang

Everybody now, put your hands up in the air

Whitley grabs Weiss and pulls her away before she could freak out

So, let’s get the party started!

Nick, Blanche, Ghira, Kali and Taiyang are shown performing the DonBrothers dance

DON! DON! Don’t be hesitating!

Qrow and Blake look in shock as Klein is shown breakdancing

No holding back now, welcome to our big brotherhood

Sun, Neptune, Ilia, Marrow and Nora are shown performing the Gekiranger ending dance, before it switches to Kiba, Keath, Emerald, Freya and Penny doing the GoBuster dance before clapping their hands

(WOO!)(WOO!)(WOO!)(WOO!)(WOO!)

Live your life and be who you want to be

Whitley and Oscar are shown putting on their new jackets with smiles on their faces

Worry no more and Don’t Boo and enjoy this party time!

Jaune pulls Ruby up and out of her seat and towards the dance floor

Dance on the street, move to the beat, throw your head back with a WA HA HA!

Taiyang, Qrow, Ghira, Willow and Kali are shown doing the Kyoryuger transformation dance, before cutting to Klein letting out a laugh of joy

Young and the old,

Ozpin, Port and Oobleck are shown performing a synchronized dance as Glynda struggles to hold in her laughter.

Meek and the bold,

Yang, Blake and Weiss are shown doing the Ninninger ending dance

you and me, everyone, sing along!

Klein, Winter, Glynda, Robyn, and Maria are shown doing the Magiranger ending dance

Don-down we go, Don-down we go, Don-down we go, down the riverbend

We cut to everyone doing a synchronized dance, with the Gingaman transformed

On-on we go, On with the flow, On to our happy end!

The camera zooms in on the Gingaman as they point at the camera with their suits disappearing to reveal their smiling faces before the camera cuts to black.

(End song)

Author Notes; This is the first ending for the series, featuring gifs of the various dances the characters perform. Kiba, Keath and Freya are characters I came up with for @notmaplemable and I’s “Arc-Noire” series, and I introduce them in Chapter 2, which I’m finishing up and will probably post later today once I finish the GingaiOh mecha battle, so look forward to it!

Here’s the link to the amazing cover I found on YouTube in case you’re interested in hearing it;

[kiribaku-fics-whatever]

Jealously

Aggressive Affection by QuirklessWonder (SouthernSmartAss)

Eijirou didn’t really know if what he was doing right now could be considered heroic or manly, but there he was, hiding in his room, the only sounds breaking the still silence being his pitiful sniffling. He hadn’t cried, but he had wanted to, and the unshed tears still ached in his chest. He was just being so stupid about this; his problem today didn’t deserve his tears.

So what if some girl liked Bakugou?

It wasn’t like Bakugou would like her back . . . right?

u got smthn i want by fruti2flutie

If Kirishima has some background character girlfriend from Class 1-B, some tiny chick with horns and a tail, then that shit is none of Bakugou’s business, best friend or not.

Cut My Heart Open (My Love, It Bleeds) by deviance

It hit Bakugou sometime between late night tutoring sessions, making food for two people instead of one, and after catching himself staring one too many times.

He liked Kirishima. Like, really liked. As more than a friend.

The revelation came without any fanfare, a simple widening of his eyes and a soft 'oh' that earned him a curious look from Kirishima who was currently working on their math homework for the day.

"Bakugou?"

Bakugou waved him off, the concern not bristling him like it did whenever other people checked on him. Kirishima had always been the exception. His touch was welcome, his concern was soothing, his smile was beautiful. Bakugou felt a bit of a blush cross his face, glad that Kirishima had listened and turned back to his homework.

Fuck, he had it bad. How had he missed this?

Worth a Thousand Words by awareoftheconcept

When a rare picture of Bakugou smiling leads Class 3A to believe he is in a relationship with Utsushimi Camie, a contest arises to see who can get the most pictures of the couple together.

***

“Umm,” Midoriya said nervously. “I-it’s Kacchan. There is always a spark.”

With another round of boos from Kaminari and Jirou, Ashido took a page out of Mineta’s playbook and started shaking Midoriya violently. “I mean like a romantic spark!”

Midoriya blanched. “You think Kacchan is interested in Utsushimi?”

He seemed doubtful, so Ashido shoved Kirishima’s phone in his face. “Do you see this smile? That is the smile of boy who is head-over-heels smitten, am I right?”

Midoriya actually took the time to look at the picture critically, though he shot an uneasy look towards Kirishima before he answered. “Umm, y-yeah,” he said as he started to back away, hiding behind Uraraka like a shield. “It definitely looks like Kacchan is in love.”

How could Kirishima have been so stupid?

Up the mountain and down again: A Kiribaku Jealousy Fic by efemerald

Bakugou didn’t think it was possible for anyone to feel more in love than he did in that moment.

“Well?” Kirishima asked. His voice was unusually quiet, and when Bakugou looked up, he saw that his eyes were large with fear and apprehension.

Suddenly, the love he’d felt half a second ago was only a fraction to the love he felt now.

The Perfect Present by Jacksonofabitch

When Kirishima suggested they meet up, Bakugou didn't think it would end up like this.

The Jealous Type by Quinnion

“Fuck no, I don't wanna hang out with you guys,” Bakugou crosses his arms and, just as Kirishima is about to leave, adds, “Why would you even want me there?”

Kirishima stops in his tracks, “Why wouldn’t I?” he laughs, quickly realizing he’s being serious, “O-oh, well you’re my best friend and I want to spend time with you. And I feel like we haven’t really lately so-”

“YEAH, NO SHIT!” Bakugou cuts him off, bolting up off the bed, “YOU’VE BEEN TOO FUCKING DISTRACTED BY YOUR NEW BOYFRIEND!”

Baffled, Kirishima sputters and stares at him with wide eyes, “What?” he exclaims, shocked, “Boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend?” he takes a step forward, closing the door behind him.

Or where Kirishima reconnects with a friend from middle school and Bakugou immediately gets jealous. He struggles with his feelings and Kirishima comes to the rescue.

Chemical Physical Kryptonite by alpha_hydra

"Okay. I'm just gonna say it. What did Midoriya mean when he was saying all of that stuff about my amp output?" Denki finally blurts out halfway through lunch.

Everyone stops what they're talking about and stares at him, Mina and Hanta with twin looks of confusion.

"Are you telling me," Bakugou growls in the tone of voice that means death is imminent. "You don't fucking know your amp output?"

The silence around their little table is deafening. Everyone turns to him and wonders collectively what the fuck has set him off this time; Eijirou's blood is running cold.

(AKA the one where Bakugou tutors Kaminari and Kirishima is not jealous, not even a little bit.)

marketable by eggstasy

Jealous Inner Kirishima has a better vocabulary than Actual Life Kirishima, who just has to open his mouth to make stupid words fall out in the wrong order. Bakugou throws a laundered sweat towel at his face and says, “Quit leaving your shit downstairs,” and Kirishima answers him with, “Thanks for my towel washing it,” which leads to him sinking down in his chair and trying not to die.

People notice.

i couldnt love you more if i tried by borlios

“Right.” Ashido agrees. “It’s different, for sure it’s different. But it’s not bad! It makes you look...softer. Which is funny, ‘cause of your quirk.”

“What happens if that dye washes out too?” Bakugou asks, still squinting in Eijirou’s direction. “Would you be blonde then?”

“Brownish-blonde, probably.” Eijirou knocks his head against Kaminari’s. “Can we go? I really don’t wanna talk about my hair anymore, haha.”

“That’s a first.” Kaminari teases, poking him in the side.

"

or, kirishima and kaminari are very affectionate bros, and bakugou doesnt know what to do with that information

cat-tsuki by cutiekirishima

Bakugou had a secret. A big one. And it was gradually getting harder to hide, and Bakugou knew that one day it would be let out. He'd tried every way he could, but there wasn't anything he could do. His big secret?

Bakugou Katsuki is currently hiding his pet cat in his dorm.

The adventures of Kiribaku and Tsuki, the best wing-cat there is to exist.

Waves Struck a Sea of Bitterness by cherryredriots

When Katsuki and Kirishima run into Kirishima's extremely affectionate childhood friend, Tomo, Katsuki is overcome with jealousy and can only idly stand by as two apparent old flames reignite.

[goodpupsinc]

More Twisted Wonderland OC stuff because I have autism and hyperfixate on my characters

Don't read below the cut if that isn't your cup of tea

☆Fóvos(Fóv) Timeo☆

•Pónos is technically an NPC I made for him oopsie

•He's incredibly asocial to the point that he uploads online and never talks to anyone. Ever. He's the type to be your friend on discord and then go offline or DND forever

•He loves sweet things! Almond cookies are his favorite

•He lives with his father and grandmother and has 2 older brothers(24 and 19 respectively)

•(In our world terms)He's half pakistani/half british(on his mother's side) but because of how he was raised he knows bare minimum about his father's culture and asking his grandmother(who isn't the most talkative and only knows a bit of English) is a dead end

•Back to the Twisted Wonderland, his grandmother is from the Scalding sands and moved to the Queendom in her youth. Her son and grandkids have only been raised(in turn) knowing the Queendoms culture firsthand

• His father is a very busy man who works long days. Fóv was basically raised by his brothers

•His species is classified as "imp"! He's good with extreme temperatures aswell as having a tail(or wings, but his variant has a tail-)

☆Rí Mallaichte☆

•Rí is a cursed beastman! What the curse entails is complex and paradoxical but he is, in essence, unable to die

•He has done terrible things during his long immortal past that he(luckily) never has to discuss.

•He's the last of his clan, aswell as of his time.(for clarity, Lilia is older and therefore from a different time)

☆Blanche Lock☆

•Despite his past as a warrior, he's developed quiet a laissez-faire attitude. Though he's very willing to play guard-dog when needed.

•An absolute menace to beastmen. He has no fear of animals or beastmen.

•This is mostly due to both his mothers being bear beastmen. They're nice, so therefore all animals and beastmen are yeah?

•Despite his scrawny stature he can more than hold his own in a fight(lots of hair pulling and biting)

•He loves bears! If scary, why friendshaped?

☆Oggy Bogh☆

•Entomology enthusiast

•He's a super senior, at first getting held back so he wouldn't have to go home as quickly, but eventually he just stopped caring in classes.

•Has an incredibly strained relationship with his parents, though he will go back to see his younger siblings, Zap(13), Creak(10) and Boo(6)

•He isn't a big fan of games, but he is a big fan of winning. It's a real pickle.

☆Arvik Byrd☆

•Very stoic and not that talkative-

•Wonderful singing voice, terrible stage fright.

•Arvik has a fear of large flighted birds. If it can fly it shouldn't be the size of your cat.

•He overheats very easily due to being from the Frigid Northern sea, aswell as having blubber meant to store heat- it doesn't add together well on land

☆Delona Quinkana☆

•His family is fabulously wealthy, though Delona has no idea how they got it and rarely spends money

•The pocketwatch he carries around has been in his family for 6 generations! It's always 3 hours behind.

•He's accidentally become a bit of a kleptomaniac because of his signature spell needing a physical aspect.

•Him, Arvik and Kahle Gadus(my partner's oc) are in a poly relationship!

•Speaking of Kahle, they've been friends since childhood! He's the only person Kahle can track consistently..because he accidentally ate his prosthetic once when they were kids don't worry about it

•Like a crocodile he has insane lower jaw strength

•He can also jump 4 feet(roughly), he is not part of the Basketball club

•He's also pretty fast from running away from his responsibilities

☆Asterion☆

•No lastname, there aren't enough Asterion's to mistake him for

•He/They pronouns mostly, but gender is a construct

•Astarion is just a little baby, he's only 205

•(in game mechanics) his void magic is white!

•He's about 17 hands high(5'7")

•He's in Track and Field club! He'd be in Equestrian but the concept of riding horses just...felt weird to him. He'd gladly care for them but-

•Showers before heading back to Pomefiore, he'd hate to be walking around all sweaty and gross while sporting his dorm's colors, what would that say about Pomefiore?

•Can't touch iron, much like traditional fae it burns him