#care bears countdown

[what-is-my-aesthetic]

CARE BEARS LORE FEATURING RAINBOTT

[yosoylagato]

Halloween in "mid" June ✨🎃✨

[drarreckyninja]

drarreckyninja’s top 50 ships of Nov 2022 [48. Grumpshine]

Grumpy x Funshine [Care Bears]

image taken from a Kat Kawasime vid on YT

EAD: The Care Bears have ambiguous ages. They seem to be independent, sometimes holding jobs and living alone, but they often behave like children and reference social activities that relate to adolescents. It's easier to go by debut date; both Grumpy and Funshine were indicted in September 1982, making Grumpy and Funshine the same age.

Incorrect Quote:

*Funshine and Grumpy are attempting to conduct a seance*

Funshine: We're not the ghosts, you're the ghost. Unless...

Grumpy: You know, I guess I did get into that car accident a while ago and it was a pretty close call - it is possible that I'm dead right now.

Funshine:

Funshine: One time, I cut up an avocado, and a lot of meat was left in the pit. And I put the avocado pit in my mouth-

Grumpy: The entire pit? You put the whole pit in your mouth?

Funshine: Yeah, and I started to just kind of lick the meat off of it, and at that moment I was like, 'if I sneezed right now, this thing would lodge into my throat, and ever since then I've kind of been terrified of avocadoes.

Funshine: BUT the other thing is, I always thought, what if I did die then?

Grumpy:

Funshine:

Grumpy: Fuck, dude.

Subship(s): N/A

Notes: Generally, when I write Care Bears fics, Funshine drops the 'fun' and goes by Shine. I switch up Grumpy's name; lately, his name is Thunder, and Shine calls him 'Thundercloud' as an affectionate nickname.

[fortunorsa]

Putting care bears countdown in my playlist was probably the worst thing I've ever done

[lymtw]

Aftercare with Toji, where after all the roughness and manhandling is over with, he can't take his eyes off of you. All he cares about is making sure that you're not in excruciating pain, yet he hasn't been able to say a word for the past five minutes. You've pressed so many tender kisses to his face and expressed that you're okay enough times to him, but he can't seem to drop the smallest, lingering coil of guilt he feels at the sight of your scuffed up body. You look like you fought off a bear and ripped octopus tentacles off your skin—simultaneously, with all the scratches, bruises, and hickeys that littered you from your jaw to your ankles.

"Quit staring," you say, bringing your knees up and crossing your arms, your hands gripping your biceps.

"Nah- baby..." he finally says, softly, like he's quickly trying to justify the gaze he had set on you. "Come here."

Toji makes quick work of crushing this wave of insecurity that threatens your peace. He knows what you just endured was not the softest experience, and that you practically let him—a man capable of showing the aggression of a pack of wolves, devour you. Really, he did not hold back at all.

You slide down the bed and pull the covers over your body, laying your head on his chest with an arm thrown over his midsection. He pulls you close with an arm wrapped around your shoulder, and kisses the top of your head. "You know I love you, right, mama?"

"Mhm," you hum. Minutes ago you would have thought those words were a cruel joke being played on you with the way he gripped onto you like he wanted it to hurt.

"Wasn't trying to hurt your feelings by staring at you like that. Just did a lot of damage, this time, and it looks like it hurts... a lot."

"I'm fine," you repeat, for the nth time. You look up at him, briefly, sparing a smile before resting your cheek on his chest again. "A hot shower will melt it all away, I promise," you mumble.

He brushes over one of the many stains he left on the side of your neck. "My little trooper," he sighs, very much relaxed by your side. "You know i'd be proud even if you told me you were hurting." He knows it'll take more than a shower to get all these new semipermanent tattoos off your pretty skin, but for the sake of not making you feel small, again, he shuts up about it.

"I know," you assure. "I just don't wanna burden you. You're probably just as tired, if not more."

"What do you need?"

You lift your head again and look at him, confusion filling out your features. "You heard me, didn't you? I can take care of myself."

"I know that, and I don't doubt it for a second, but you're really gonna reject me?" He hisses, dramatically clutching his chest. "Damn, mama, just like that?"

"Well, no. Of course not-"

"Right. Of course not," he says, with that horrible tendency he has of cutting you off when the situation benefits you. "Gonna ask you one more time, and if you don't answer, i'm just gonna do what I want for you. What do you need?"

You had to think about it for a minute, about how you wanted him to help you. Independence shone through your thoughts. Everything he could help you with, you could also do alone. You didn't want to be needy.

"Five..." He's timing you, now. "Four..." The countdown has your brain scrambling to pick something. Anything, but you're blanking, losing second by second the already little time you were gifted. "Three... it shouldn't be this hard," he teases, a smirk on his face.

"I don't know, um."

"Two... you're gonna lose the option of telling me what to do, doll."

"No- I don't know."

"One." The countdown ends. "Alright," he groans, pulling you up with him as he sits up. "Let's go."

–

Sure enough, once the lukewarm water hit your skin, you gained a burst of energy. You made the washing of your body an amusing, yet tedious task for Toji. With all your little excitement fueled dances and laughter, what should have been a ten minute session turned into a twenty minute one.

"Doll, turn around. Let me get your back," Toji says, holding back a grin at the sight of you trying to soothe the burning sensation you feel in your nose after inhaling water.

You turn your back to him, before jovially turning to face him again. "Joking, joking," you say, when you catch his lidded eyes. You quickly turn your back to him, again, with giggles slipping past your lips.

He sighs, unable to hold back the gentle curl of his lips any longer. "What am I gonna do with you?" He lathers you from the nape of your neck to your lower back, with soap. The contrast of the white foam and the darkened stains on your skin, were enough to have him thinking about what ended just a little over half an hour ago. There wasn't a spot on you that didn't have some mark of his on it. Your shoulder blades and spine were mottled with stains of his lips, and your hips had opaque fingerprints on them.

You winced and took a step forward, away from Toji's touch, successfully pulling him out of his zoned out state. "You're scrubbing the scratches too hard," you say, turning to him while running your hands over the tender skin.

"Shit," he gently pulls you back and turns your back to him again, "sorry, princess." A few soothing kisses are pressed into the strikes, enough of them to make you forget that it even stung in the first place. He makes sure his mind stays out of the gutter, at least until he's done washing you, so that he doesn't hurt you again.

After showering, you stayed in bed while Toji went to the kitchen to make some tea for you. He did this for you after every night of intimacy, to expedite the betterment of your exhausted throat. He also knows of the calming properties that ease you into slumber. He wants nothing more than for you to sleep off the soreness your body retains.

"There you go, baby. I know you don't like it, but it'll make your throat feel better, so you have to drink the whole thing." He settles down next to you, on his side of the bed and watches you sip on the steaming hot drink.

The familiar scrunch of your nose appears at the taste that hits your taste buds, a sight that Toji has started looking forward to. "I hate the flavor just a little more every time I drink it. Oh well," you say, taking another sip, ignoring the scalding heat that embraces your tongue.

"I know. It sucks," he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Hopefully, next time we choose correctly and get something you'll like."

You set the mug down on the nightstand and turn to him. With warm hands, you cup his cheeks and tilt his head up slightly.

"What?" He asks, his eyes directed towards you.

Your smile evolves into a short giggle as you stare at one pinpointed spot on the side of his neck. "I got you, too. Right..." you drag a finger down his neck, gently pressing on the dark spot you left on him. "...here."

His hand tracks your touch and replaces it with his own, feeling the mark. "Damn right, you did. You got me, baby," he says through a grin. "My turn?"

You sigh, with faux irritation. "Fiiine."

"Let's see..." He cups your cheeks the way you did his. "I got this whole area here." His thumb brushes over your jawline, dragging beneath it to where the marks end. "Then there's this entire patch right here." He turns your head, exposing the reddish-purple splotches on the side of your neck to the light. His eyes trace the slope that leads to your shoulder, spotting the marks that remain visible beneath the collar of your shirt. He coordinates his touch with his sight, dragging his fingers over your delicate skin. "Right here," he says, after pulling the collar of your shirt down your shoulder, revealing more of his marks.

"Okay, okay. You win," you say fixing your shirt, covering up again.

"There's one right there," he continues, tapping the column of your neck. "Some more there," his finger glides over your left collarbone.

"Toji, I swear, if you point out one more, i'm gonna bite your finger off."

He stares at you silently, the corners of his lips twitching as you watch him, intently. After a few seconds, he slowly starts directing his finger towards a mark on your chest. Once he makes contact with your skin, he gently presses on the smear of color that marks it, still holding eye contact with you. "Here, too."

You swat his hand away from you, and huff. "Why did I even try to threaten you? You want me to bite your finger off, huh?"

"Not in the slightest. I just knew you weren't actually gonna do it, so I pushed it."

You cross your arms. "Whatever. I'm just gonna put a hoodie on so you can't look at them anymore."

"Woah, baby, put down the knife," he says, hands up in playful surrender. "No need to take drastic measures over this. Don't hide all my hard work."

"Hard work," you mutter, an incredulous scoff following.

Toji's gaze falls on your lips. "You're pouting like you wanna be kissed," he teases.

"And you're... you're being annoying," you say, covering your mouth with your hand, concealing the involuntary lift of your lips.

"Yeah, but you still want me to kiss you," he says, with a sly, knowing smirk on his face. "Look at you. Look at that blush. Even your knuckles are red, doll."

"Oh my god..." you groan with embarrassment. You use both hands to cover your entire face, now.

He chuckles, pulling you into his arms. "You're so pretty, ma. A total work of art." His hands have never gotten lost on you, but for now, in any way he holds you, he'll be able to see the trails his lips left behind.

"Stop..." you mumble, smiling softly at the sweetness poured into his words.

"You look mine, with all these marks," he says, pulling down the collar of your shirt a little, to see the blots of color that appear at the start of your spine.

"Shut up," you say, blushing furiously against his chest.

"Sounds like you still want that kiss, huh?"

"Not anymore," you say, lifting your gaze to meet his. The look in your eyes betrays every ounce of your denial. Toji can very clearly tell that you're lying.

"Those rosy cheeks are saying something else," he says, grinning. "Damn, look at those pretty lips. They're ready for me."

"If you want to kiss me, just say so," you chide, lightheartedly.

"I'm gonna kiss you so hard, doll," he says, cupping your cheeks again. "Your lips lack a little more of me."

[itoshiexx]

words i want to say

synopsis: four times itoshi sae wanted to tell you he loved you, and the one time he finally did.

pairing: itoshi sae x gn!reader | words: 1.6k | warnings: established relationship, fluff

notes: why hello! i'm back with this 4+1 prompt that i absolutely love, i wrote this in like an hour so this is definitely not proofread lol and istg i'm writing the kiss prompts so bear with me :((

masterlist

i. 

it was a game like any other. at a certain point in his life, sae didn’t really felt a huge thrill by entering a stadium, already knowing he would win easily and beautifully destroy his enemies. this time, however, there was electricity dancing through his veins and prickling under his skin — and it was all because of you, who was sitting in the stands, wearing his jersey, for the first time.

and sure, he could swear such a thing did not affect him at all; he was the itoshi sae, after all, and anyone would die to wear his original jersey at one of his games. 

but you weren’t just anyone. you were his partner of three months, and everything about your relationship was still fairly new, and for the first time in forever, sae really, really didn’t want to mess this up. 

you were beautiful, sitting prettily in the special section of the crowd, reserved for family, partners and very rich people. sae could distinguish your smile from miles away, because it shined like nothing he had ever seen. he felt his heart beating faster, and it was not from all the running around the field.

as expected, his team won, with sae scoring a gorgeous final goal that made everyone jump in the stands. though, he didn’t care about the pats in the back from his teammates, the thumbs up from his coach or the shrilling screams of the crowd — all he could focus was on you, hugging his neck and beaming like the sun. 

“you were amazing, sae!”

it was fucking early. he knew it. 

but as he hugged you back and buried his nose in your hair, the words i love you flew through his mind. 

ii.

“this is stupid.”

you giggled at his words. this sound always sounded more like a melody to sae, but he would rather die than admit that. instead, he just glared at you, sitting right beside him at a stupid photobooth. 

“c’mon, baby, it’s gonna be fun!” you said, completely unaware of how the word baby did bad things to his heart. he wasn’t brave enough to call you pet names yet, but you were always more outgoing than he was. 

“don’t wanna.”

“please?” you pouted, your eyes becoming googly like a puppy. he could only mouth a tsk, knowing he couldn’t say no to you even if he tried (he didn’t).

“fine. just do it already.”

you happily bent your body forward to click at the screen, starting the countdown for the pictures. then, returning to your place by his side, you lay your head on his shoulder and smiled for the first picture. sae did a simple peace sign, face still stoic as ever.

on the second pic, you waited until the last second to do fishy lips and cross your eyes, and that caused sae to snicker, which was fortunately caught by the camera. happy by that, you laced your arms around his neck, squishing your cheeks together in a cute pose for the third picture.

on the fourth and last one, you separated slightly, looking sae straight in the eyes with that sparkle that made his stomach churn. 

you smiled, and he kind of stood there, dumbfounded, barely listening to the click of the photobooth. an i love you was the only thing he could hear.

iii. 

seven months in and sae thought he had already seen all of you. despite his busy schedule, you saw each other quite frequently because of your flexible job, meaning you could travel along in his trips around the globe. he was used to your soothing presence and he loved every second of it.

but this — this was something that he wasn’t used to. 

he hated to attend gala parties just to appease sponsors and snobby people, but he had agreed for the first time because you said you wanted to see how it was, and that it would be good for his career. you were always so thoughtful, and that never failed to make his chest fuzzy. but he did not expect to almost have a cardiac arrest seeing you all dressed up. 

“do i look good?” you asked, bashful and uncertain. he wanted to scream. good wasn’t even close to what you were. you were perfect, divine, an angel on earth. 

you were everything he needed. 

“you look beautiful, baby,” he said, smiling ever so slightly in hopes of convincing you of the purest truth. his hands found home on your hips, and he gave you a little peck. 

“thank you.” you smiled. “you look very handsome, too.”

then, you proceeded to fix his tie like it was already muscle memory, despite it being the first time either of you did this. you smiled again, sweetly, once you finished.

“all done. you’re good to go, mr. itoshi.”

the domesticity hit him like a truck. a lump formed in his throat, and it tasted a lot like i love you.

iv.

the beach was his favorite place in the world. being around the calmness of the sea always brought him peace, much like when he was with you. so combining both of his favorites was a bonus sae couldn’t deny. 

the sand was warm and soft beneath his feet, and he sat on top of a towel, observing you standing nearer the ocean. the wind blew in your hair, and he could hear you laughing and squealing every time you tried to feed a seagull and they ran after you and your food.

“sae! help me, baby, they’re gonna kill me!”

“you can do it.”

“what if i can’t?!”

“i’ll cry at your funeral, don’t worry,” he answered simply, snorting when you gasped in pure offense. 

when you finally got tired of running around, you sat next to him, panting a little. though you didn’t stay put for long — you never could. you grabbed a stick and started to draw on the sand, doing little shapes and words. 

sae could only watch, mesmerized, as the orange hue casted a heavenly glow around your frame, almost like a halo. it complimented your skin perfectly, and he cursed himself for not having the guts to take a picture so that he could remember this moment forever. he wasn’t sappy, after all.

he casted his eyes down, only then realizing you drew the letters ILY inside a heart, looking at him with a fond gaze he didn’t deserve. 

i love you, too, was what he wanted to say. but itoshi sae was never good with words, so his hand reached for yours and he gave it a little squeeze, before bringing your knuckles to his lips in a tender kiss. with the way the corners of your eyes crinkled, he knew you understood. 

and he loved you even more for it.

v.

you worked a lot. despite your adjustable routine, you often had to bring your laptop everywhere, just in case your boss needed something more immediate. in sae's penthouse, it was no different, and that specific day happened to be one of those urgent matters. 

sae was grumpy. he wanted your attention for a while, but he would never stoop so low as to ask for cuddles, so he just sat by your side on the couch with his arms crossed. you’d say he was pouting, but that was absurd. itoshi sae didn’t pout. 

you were pretty, he thought, all focused and dedicated like that. you were like a painting that sae could spend a lifetime admiring, without ever getting tired. the slight furrow of your eyebrows, the curve of your nose, the crease of your mouth… oh, he got distracted. you were now facing him and saying something he didn’t catch. 

“what was that?”

“i said, let’s go.”

he grimaced, confusion etched in his face. “where are we going? i thought you had urgent work.”

“to bed, baby. it’s your nap time, isn’t it? i can finish this later. i know you sleep better with me in your arms.”

you grinned in a smug kind of way, but sae could barely register anything besides the three magical words that were hammering inside his heart, coming up to his tongue until all he could do was say…

“i love you.”

fuck, he thought. now the cat is out of the bag. he fucking loves you. 

your eyes widened slightly, as if you weren’t expecting such a declaration, but your expression softened and your hand came up to cup his jaw. your thumb did a small caress at his cheekbones, and sae felt goosebumps rising up his skin.

“i love you,” he said again, because now that the dam had broken, nothing could stop that phrase from flowing. “i love you so much.”

your smile could rival the sun and light up any darkness. he loved you like this. he loved you in all your ways.

“i love you, too,” you answered, all soft and giddy, and sae finally released the breath he didn't even realize he was holding. “so much.”

his hand came to meet with yours, and he interlaced your fingers, standing up and pulling you along. you stumbled a bit, but he steadied you by gripping your waist, as if scared you would let go. his lips met yours almost urgently, but they were still soft nonetheless — because with you, sae knew to be soft, to be gentle. it’s what you deserved, after all. 

when you parted, lips swollen and a little breathless, he showed you one of his rare smiles; the ones that always came easier when you were in the picture. you felt butterflies swirling in your stomach watching itoshi sae beam to you. because he loved you.

your fingers interlaced again, and he started to drag you towards the bedroom, ready for his 3pm nap.

“you’re right, by the way,” he confessed, and you looked at him, puzzled. “i do sleep better with you in my arms.”

© 2023 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

[kikkorii]

🌈do the care bears countdown🌈

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

Forbidden Crown - IV

Summary: Your dreaded twentieth birthday has finally arrived, and you and your parents set off to Tir Asleen for one final time to plan your wedding to Prince Airk. However, at the celebration dinner, Sorsha delivers some shocking news, sending Kit into a spiral and creating conflict within the castle.

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: angst, fighting, kissing, non-explicit mention of vomiting, forced marriage trope, mommy issues

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: this was supposed to be the smut chapter, but I decided to divide the two, since it seemed odd to add sexy time to such a dark chapter. Apologies in advance for all the angst, I promise it won’t last forever!

Ever since your mother’s announcement of your engagement, each birthday after your fifteenth seemed to creep up, startling you out of nowhere and filling your stomach with existential dread. The once joyous celebrations now felt like ticking time bombs, every well-wish serving as a countdown to a life you never wanted.

On the morning of your twentieth birthday, you woke up to nothing but nausea. When your handmaiden entered your room to get you ready for the day, she found you kneeled over your chamberpot, heaving up the shallow remains of your stomach's content. Needless to say, your twentieth birthday was spent hidden under your covers, drinking ginger tea and being waited on hand-and-foot.

Alas, it was only a matter of time before you began to feel better. After several days of sickness, your body had nothing more to heave. The moment some color started to return to your pale cheeks, your parents ushered you into the carriage and set off for Tir Asleen, where you would stay for two months while preparing for your wedding to Prince Airk Tanthalos.

As usual, the road to Tir Asleen was long and slow. You tried to numb yourself to your parents' endless chatter, but your mother decided to fuss over your appearance throughout the entire trip, as if you were a child again.

“This is the first time you’ve seen your fiancé in five years,” she would say. “You’ve grown into a lovely young woman since, it is important for Airk to notice!”

Your cheeks instinctually puffed out at the word ‘fiancé,’ but your stomach was so empty from the long illness that nothing could come up even if it wanted to. Instead, you opted for tucking your head in between your knees, closing your eyes and muffling all unwanted noise from the outside world.

Eventually, the gentle clip-clop of the carriage horse faded as you reached the front of the Tir Asleen castle. You uncovered your head and allowed your parents to exit first, using the extra seconds to let your blood flow redistribute itself.

After hearing the sound of your mother squealing pleasantries from outside, you decided to make your presence known. You stepped out of the carriage to see your mother engulfing Airk in a bear hug, showering him with words of flattery while he chuckled nervously and tried to mask his discomfort. Your father, who had been exchanging formalities with Queen Sorsha, was now gently patting his wife’s back, attempting to subtly pry her off the poor boy.

While you stood watching the amusing display from your family, you didn’t even notice Kit approaching you from behind, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning into your ear.

“Good morrow, beautiful.” She whispered, her warm breath against your neck causing you to shudder involuntarily.

“Beautiful?” You giggled. “Be careful, our parents' eyes could be upon us.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, planting a soft kiss on your jawline. “They’re much too focused on my brother. It’s just one of the benefits of being the black sheep of the family.”

Sure enough, Kit was right. Your father had managed to successfully pry your mother away from Airk, and now both your parents were bombarding him with questions about his life the last five years while Sorsha stood proudly beside him.

With one final squeeze, Kit loosened her grasp until you could turn around to get a good look at her. She had always been pretty, at least in your eyes, but over the years had grown into a stunning young lady. Her hair was no longer a muddy indigo black, but rather restored back to her natural chocolate-brown, and styled akin to the tresses of woodland sprites. She had grown into herself, with her face defined by striking cheekbones and eyes that seemed to get bluer with every visit. The fabric of her tunic clung to her skin, accentuating every new curve as well as the definition on her upper arms, muscular from combat training.

Before you could even begin to speak, Kit placed her hands on either side of your head and ran them through your hair, gazing down at you lovingly. “Truly, beautiful.”

“I do apologize for her appearance, Prince Airk! She doesn’t usually look this dreadful! She’s been terribly ill!”

You turned around to see your mother leading Airk over to you, speaking loudly about your demeanor. Any confidence inspired by Kit vanished at her harsh remarks, and you drew into yourself.

“Good morrow, Princess,” Airk greeted you with an awkward bow and a tight-lipped smile. Ever since you audibly gagged and ran off after taking his first kiss, the two of you hadn’t necessarily spoken.

You cleared your throat, offering back a perfunctory curtsy. “And to you as well.”

“My, my! Someone has grown quite slender!” Sorsha’s voice called out, approaching the four of you with your father in tow.

You looked down at yourself. Sure enough, your ailment had withered you away, making your once perfectly-fitting gown now hang off you like the tendrils of a willow tree. Your mother noticed this too, because she immediately inserted herself between you and Airk to resume nitpicking your appearance.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Airk and Sorsha! My daughter has had an illness. She’s feeling well now, but she still looks absolutely dreadful! I’m sure her gowns will fit right in due time, but…” she turned her attention towards your face. “…darling! Your complexion! You resemble a ghostly wight! Couldn’t you have bothered to apply a touch of rouge?”

“You’ve raised a beautiful daughter, your highness.” Kit stepped to your side and snaked her arm around your waist. Your breath hitched at her touch, and you worried your parents may catch on to your secret with how bold she was being. Still, you tried to hide the blush that crept onto your cheeks after she stood up for you.

Your mother looked between you and Kit, and you could've sworn you saw her eyes flicker with a hint of suspicion. However, she simply grimaced in Kit’s direction, offering pleasantries purely for display. “Yes, well, much obliged, Kit.”

Kit responded with a grin that was polite, yet cocky. Your mother cleared her throat, quickly recomposing herself before taking your hand and joining it with Airk’s.

“I must say, you two, I am absolutely elated for this union! A royal wedding, why I don’t believe I’ve attended one since my own! The two of you make a very attractive pair.”

Airk forced a grin in your direction, looking down at your conjoined hands instead of at you. As your mother continued to ramble on about the party planning, you peered over Airk’s shoulder and noticed a blond girl standing in the distance, carrying a serving tray, and glaring daggers into your soul…

“That would be Muffin Girl,” Kit explained later that day when you asked about the mysterious blond. The two of you had managed to break away from the group long enough to take a leisurely stroll through the Tir Asleen gardens.

“Muffin Girl?” You inquired.

“That or Miss Muffin, whichever you’d prefer.”

You shot her a quizzical expression, causing her to chuckle heartily. “Well it’s not her real name, clearly. She’s one of the kitchen maids, and her signature dish are these buttered muffins she serves at breakfast.”

“She was glaring at me earlier while my mother discussed wedding plans,” you said. “I almost thought she would break her tray in half.”

Kit hummed in agreement. “Jealousy. It makes sense. She is my brother's latest lover.”

“Pardon?” You froze in your tracks, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Kit leaned back against a tree, crossing her arms and gazing at you with a pointed brow. “I hate to inform you, Princess, but my brother has become quite the ladies’ man since your ‘dalliance’ in the courtyard. Muffin Girl is just his latest conquest.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Sure, you didn’t love Airk, or were even remotely attracted to him, but he was still your betrothed.

Kit smirked at your stunned expression. “Surely you’re not jealous, are you?” She moved closer until her face was mere inches from yours. “I can’t imagine it would drive you mad. My brother, your fiancé, rolling around in the grass with a scullion? Cheeks flushed, legs intertwined, her leaving little bruises on his…”

You cut her off with a playful smack on the shoulder. “Hold your tongue, Tanthalos.” She giggled at her lighthearted taunts, causing a smile to spread across your face. “I’m not jealous, rather shocked. He’s engaged… to me… and Queen Sorsha is allowing this affair?”

With another chuckle, Kit teasingly ruffled your hair. “Oh Princess… you really assume my mother is at all aware?”

You gasped, leaning in closer to Kit to whisper. “She doesn’t know?”

“I’m sure she suspects something, what with the aforementioned bruises, but knowing my mother, she’d rather stay with the mindset that her son is still a moralistic virgin.”

Kit pulled you in closer, pressing your body against hers until your noses barely brushed together. “I suppose this is just one more secret between us, don’t you think Princess?”

You giggled, quickly making sure the coast was clear before wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for a sweet kiss.

That evening, the six of you gathered for a hearty supper to celebrate your reunion. Servants bustled about carrying various dishes, including the mysterious ‘muffin girl.’ You couldn’t help but observe the longing glances exchanged between her and Airk, lingering between each course like a seed caught between teeth.

Just as you and Kit were stifling a laugh over their latest lust-filled gaze, Queen Sorsha rose, tapping silverware against her raised glass. The table quieted, all eyes fixed on the regal woman as you awaited her speech.

“Friends, family,” she began. “I am pleased that we’ve all gathered here this evening to begin wedding plans for the Prince of Tir Asleen and the Princess of Azarenth.”

Your parents clapped excitedly. Airk stared down at his lap while you and Kit exchanged vexed glances.

“Even more pleased,” Sorsha continued. “That the forthcoming ceremony will feature an extra element, making it a profoundly rare occasion!”

Her words puzzled you, and a quick look around the table confirmed that the twins seemed just as confused. Your parents however, shared knowing grins, clearly in on the secret.

“The King and Queen of Azarenth have graciously agreed to turn their daughter’s wedding into a double wedding!” Sorsha turned to meet her daughter’s gaze. “Kit…”

You whipped around to face Kit, who stared at her mother, frozen, her expression a mixture of confusion and fear. “You remember when we discussed the Prince of Galladoorn, don’t you?”

Kit nodded. “Sure we discussed him, but then he fell out of a tree and died, right?”

“Kit!” Sorsha scolded before quickly recomposing herself. “It’s true, Dermot Hastur had an untimely death,” she held her glass to her heart solemnly. “However, it appears Galladoorn is still interested in an alliance, and King Hastur has a younger son, Graydon.”

Your heart dropped as you realized what Sorsha was saying. Glancing back at Kit, you saw her face now stricken with terror. “Mother… no…”

Ignoring her daughter, Sorsha simply raised her glass again. “It’s my pleasure to announce the engagement of Prince Graydon Hastur to my daughter, Princess Kit Tanthalos!”

“No!” Kit exclaimed.

“What?” The shriek came from a disembodied voice. Only after you received shocked expressions from each member of the table did you realize the voice was yours.

Your mother squinted at you, the corners of her mouth flickering sardonically. “My dear, I didn’t expect you to be upset at sharing the limelight! After all, you and Kit are such good… friends.”

You glared at your mother head-on, suppressing every urge to lunge at her from across the table. She said nothing more, instead turning away to innocently sip her wine.

Kit was in the midst of her own altercation, arguing her case with pleading eyes. “Mother, please… I cannot marry Prince Graydon!”

“And just why not?” Sorsha demanded. “Prince Graydon is an esteemed young man, his parents speak very highly of him.”

“I’ve never even met him!” Kit’s voice wavered in stifled sobs.

“You will before the wedding, now that is quite enough! It is your duty to your kingdom. I don’t want to hear another word about this until the alliance is signed, and that is final!”

Kit slammed her hands on the table, tears falling as she ran away. Sorsha screamed after her until the sound of her bedchamber door slamming reverberated across the room. The table fell silent, none of you knowing where to look. After a moment, Airk cleared his throat, breaking the tension as he rearranged the silverware on his plate.

“May I be excused, mother?” He muttered.

Sorsha sighed, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. He got up quietly, exiting the room and making a beeline for Kit’s door. The remaining four of you resumed picking at your food, the sound of silverware scratching against glass dishes only deepening the stillness of the room.

As you pushed your food around, you couldn’t help but steal glances in the direction of Kit’s door. You turned to your mother, wanting to speak.

“Let it be a passing thought,” she denied your unspoken request, not bothering to look up from her plate.

Fortunately, dinner didn't drag on much longer after the commotion subsided. Once everyone had hastily departed from the table, you made your way to Kit’s room and positioned yourself outside her door. Kit’s muffled sobs mingled with Airk’s whispered words from the other side of the wooden barrier, causing you to pause before entering, afraid of disrupting them.

Just when you were about to throw caution to the wind and grasp the handle, the door swung open, revealing Airk. He startled at your unexpected presence and closed Kit’s door behind him.

“Uh… hi…” he muttered lamely.

“Hello there,” you replied softly.

The two of you stood silently in front of Kit’s door, a multitude of unanswered questions hanging in the air that neither of you knew how to ask.

“She’s, uh…” Airk broke the silence, jerking his head towards Kit’s door. “…having a difficult time coming to terms… with everything.”

You nodded slowly. “Were you… able to get through to her? At all?”

“Inconsolable,” he admitted regretfully. “I haven’t seen her this distraught since… our father…”

You winced, recalling the initial heartbreak Kit faced when her father’s letters stopped arriving ten years ago.

“I understand…” he continued. “I also know what it’s like to be forced into a loveless marriage.”

His gaze bore into yours, carefully chosen words that riddled you with guilt. You knew you had no right to hurt feelings after that night in the courtyard, but you couldn’t help the sharp pang that hit your chest like a piercing arrow.

“Airk…” you sighed, overwhelmed with remorse. “Please let me apologize for that night…”

“No need,” he interrupted coolly. “It’s really quite alright…”

“It’s not,” you insisted. “My reaction… I assure you… had nothing to do with your character, or your appearance, or anything, really. It wasn’t about you, it was never about you, it…” you took a deep breath, your secret weighed on your shoulders as if it was carved from stone. “Airk… I’m in love with someone else.”

Airk looked taken aback. “Pardon?”

“My hand belongs to you…” your voice trembled. “…but my heart belongs to another.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You shut your eyes tightly, the burden of your secret lifting but replaced with overwhelming fear. Airk stood, silently, his expression cycling through shock, relief, confusion, and finally… sympathy.

“Likewise…” he whispered, causing you to look at him again. “There’s this… local maiden, a quiet beauty who carries herself with the gentle elegance of a dove. She may not have been born into privilege, but she’s captivated me. My heart belongs to her.”

He looked at you, expecting a reaction. You attempted to feign surprise, but ended up failing miserably. He smirked. “Was it that evident?”

You chuckled. “With all of your enticing stares at dinner, it almost felt as if I were intruding on something private!”

He laughed airily along with you, long-standing tension finally broken. You started to relax, feeling a weight lift as you and Airk came to an unspoken forgiveness. He smiled warmly, genuinely at you before his expression turned serious once again.

“I hope you know I would hate for my mother to receive word of this,” he said in a low voice.

You nodded in agreement. “You needn’t worry, my lips are sealed. I understand what it’s like… living with secrets.”

He waited for you to continue, but you simply folded your hands in front of you and smiled, silently refusing to speak further.

Airk departed soon after your conversation ended, leaving you once again face-to-face with Kit’s door. You raised your knuckle to the chestnut wood, giving it two gentle raps.

No response.

With a shaky hand, you turned the handle and opened the door with a slow, steady creak. Kit lay flat on her bed, motionless, staring at the ceiling. She made no indication of noticing your presence, so you stepped inside and carefully closed the door with a click.

No response.

Stars studded the now-blackened night sky through a small window in the corner. The room’s only light source was a flickering candle that cast shadows over Kit’s unmoving body and danced along the wrinkles of her garments. You stood near the entrance, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

“Which is worse?”

The sudden sound of her voice startled you. “Pardon?”

“I’m wondering…” she sat up, dangling her legs over the edge of her bed. “…which is worse? Spending half a decade counting down the seconds until you’re forced into an unwanted marriage, or having it thrust upon you without warning?”

She met your gaze, expecting an answer. You had none. She continued.

“On the one hand, the first option reads torturously, like sitting on death row waiting for execution,” she contemplated, deep in thought. “But on the other hand, it allows for processing time, providing an opportunity to numb yourself to the situation.”

She looked back over to you, her expression stoic. “What do you think?”

“I think I won’t ever be numb to the situation,” you replied with a half-smile.

Kit gave a halfhearted chuckle, staring down at her feet. You moved to sit next to her on the bed, resting a soothing hand on her back. She sighed. “You don’t know how fortunate you are.”

You furrowed your brow. “How do you mean?”

“You’re betrothed to my brother,” she answered. “Someone you grew up with, someone you trust.”

You frowned. “Kit, Airk and I may have history, but I’m still being forced into a loveless marriage. You and I suffer the same plight.”

Kit’s eyes seemed to glaze over as she began to speak in a small voice. “You truly believe our situations are at all similar?”

You removed your hand from her back and leaned slightly away from her. “Kit…”

“Do you?” Her fingers clenched the bedsheets as she finally met your gaze. “I am marrying a man I’ve never met, so I can help form an alliance with a kingdom I’ve never visited! My entire life is conforming to the whims of my mother, do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Have you observed my mother?” You shot back, standing up from the bed. “Sometimes I wonder whether or not she cares if I live or die, just as long as I marry Airk to keep up appearances like a performing minstrel!”

“Cry me a river, Princess!” Kit growled, also abandoning the bed. “My sincerest apologies that you have a mother that gave you fifteen years to become accustomed to her chosen spouse, and a father to give you away at the altar!”

You softened your gaze, realizing a large part of the reason for Kit’s distress. “Kit, I didn’t…”

“I’ll have to walk down the aisle with Airk!” She interrupted, angry tears now streaming down her face. “There was enough prattle when news of my father’s disappearance spread, and now all of Galladoorn and Tir Asleen combined is going to witness me being given away by my own brother. So don’t you dare stand there and claim that you and I ‘suffer the same plight!’”

“Kit!” Your voice wavered, a tightness in your chest threatened to unleash a flood of tears. “That was not my intent, and you know it. You're hurting, and you have my deepest sympathies…”

“I don’t need your sympathy…”

“Then don’t take it!” Your voice cut through the air, sharp and defensive. “All I said is that I share your pain in being forced into a marriage with someone you don’t love. I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”

Kit bit her lip, sniffling and wiping away tears. Her red, puffy eyes struggled to meet yours as she searched for more words to use as a line of defense.

“Because marriage isn’t about love, Princess,” she finally replied. “And frankly, your lack of realization is troubling.”

Her words brought a lump to your throat, like a boulder lodged within a narrow cave. Without another word, you spun on your heel and walked out of Kit’s room, making sure the wooden barrier slammed shut behind you before giving into the tears that had been threatening to fall.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @love4lyn @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sophi4v13 @detmarmalade

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 2 EPISODE 05 || UNTIMELY RESURRECTION ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

He was turning to go through the door when I sprang up from the bed and caught him by the sleeve. “Jamie! For God’s sake, Jamie, listen to me! You can’t kill Jack Randall because I won’t let you!” He stared down at me in utter astonishment. “Because of Frank,” I said. I let go of his sleeve and stepped back. “Frank,” he repeated, shaking his head slightly as though to clear a buzzing in his ears. “Frank.” “Yes,” I said. “If you kill Jack Randall now, then Frank … he won’t exist. He won’t be born. Jamie, you can’t kill an innocent man!” His face, normally a pale, ruddy bronze, had faded to a blotchy white as I spoke. Now the red began to rise again, burning the tips of his ears and flaming in his cheeks. “An innocent man?” “Frank is an innocent man! I don’t care about Jack Randall—” “Well, I do!” He snatched up the bag and strode toward the door, cloak streaming over one arm. “Jesus God, Claire! You’d try to stop me taking my vengeance on the man who made me play whore to him? Who forced me to my knees and made me suck his c*ck, smeared with my own blood? Christ, Claire!” He flung the door open with a crash and was in the hallway by the time I could reach him. It had grown dark by now, but the servants had lit the candles, and the hallway was aglow with soft light. I grasped him by the arm and yanked at him. “Jamie! Please!” He jerked his arm impatiently out of my grasp. I was almost crying, but held back the tears. I caught the bag and pulled it out of his hand. “Please, Jamie! Wait, just for a year! The child—Randall’s—it will be conceived next December. After that, it won’t matter. But please—for my sake, Jamie—wait that long!” The candelabra on the gilt-edged table threw his shadow huge and wavering against the far wall. He stared up at it, hands clenched, as though facing a giant, blank-faced and menacing, that towered above him. “Aye,” he whispered, as though to himself, “I’m a big chap. Big and strong. I can stand a lot. Yes, I can stand it.” He whirled on me, shouting. “I can stand a lot! But just because I can, does that mean I must? Do I have to bear everyone’s weakness? Can I not have my own?” He began to pace up and down the hall, the shadow following in silent frenzy. “You cannot ask it of me! You, you of all people! You, who know what … what …” He choked, speechless with rage.

He hit the stone wall of the passage repeatedly as he walked, smashing the side of his fist viciously into the limestone wall. The stone swallowed each blow in soundless violence. He turned back and came to a halt facing me, breathing heavily. I stood stock-still, afraid to move or speak. He nodded once or twice, rapidly, as though making up his mind about something, then drew the dirk from his belt with a hiss and held it in front of my nose. With a visible effort, he spoke calmly.

“You may have your choice, Claire. Him, or me.” The candle flames danced in the polished metal as he turned the knife slowly. “I cannot live while he lives. If ye wilna have me kill him, then kill me now, yourself!”

He grabbed my hand and forced my fingers around the handle of the dirk. Ripping the lacy jabot open, he bared his throat and yanked my hand upward, fingers hard around my own. I pulled back with all my strength, but he forced the tip of the blade against the soft hollow above the collarbone, just below the livid cicatrice that Randall’s own knife had left there years before. “Jamie! Stop it! Stop it right now!” I brought my other hand down on his wrist as hard as I could, jarring his grip enough to jerk my fingers free. The knife clattered to the floor, bouncing from the stones to a quiet landing on a corner of the leafy Aubusson carpet. With that clarity of vision for small details that afflicts life’s most awful moments, I saw that the blade lay stark across the curling stem of a bunch of fat green grapes, as though about to sever it and cut them free of the weft to roll at our feet. He stood frozen before me, face white as bone, eyes burning. I gripped his arm, hard as wood beneath my fingers. “Please believe me, please. I wouldn’t do this if there were any other way.” I took a deep, quivering breath to quell the leaping pulse beneath my ribs.

“You owe me your life, Jamie. Not once, twice over. I saved you from hanging at Wentworth, and when you had fever at the Abbey. You owe me a life, Jamie!”

He stared down at me for a long moment before answering. When he did, his voice was quiet again, with an edge of bitterness. “I see. And ye’ll claim your debt now?” His eyes burned with the clear, deep blue that burns in the heart of a flame. “I have to! I can’t make you see reason any other way!” “Reason. Ah, reason. No, I canna say that reason is anything I see just now.” He folded his arms behind his back, gripping the stiff fingers of his right hand with the curled ones of his left. He walked slowly away from me, down the endless hall, head bowed. The passage was lined with paintings, some lighted from below by torchere or candelabra, some from above by the gilded sconces; a few less favored, skulked in the darkness between. Jamie walked slowly between them, glancing up now and again as though in converse with the wigged and painted gallery. The hall ran the length of the second floor, carpeted and tapestried, with enormous stained-glass windows set into the walls at either end of the corridor. He walked all the way to the far end, then, wheeling with the precision of a soldier on parade, all the way back, still at a slow and formal pace. Down and back, down and back, again and again. My legs trembling, I subsided into a fauteuil near the end of the passage. Once one of the omnipresent servants approached obsequiously to ask if Madame required wine, or perhaps a biscuit? I waved him away with what politeness I could muster, and waited. At last he came to a halt before me, feet planted wide apart in silver-buckled shoes, hands still clasped behind his back. He waited for me to look up at him before he spoke. His face was set, with no twitch of agitation to betray him, though the lines near his eyes were deep with strain.

“A year, then” was all he said. He turned at once and was several feet away by the time I struggled out of the deep green-velvet chair. I had barely gained my feet when he suddenly whirled back past me, reached the huge stained-glass window in three strides, and smashed his right hand through it. The window was made up of thousands of tiny colored panes, held in place by strips of melted lead. Though the entire window, a mythological scene of the Judgment of Paris, shuddered in its frame, the leading held most of the panes intact; in spite of the crash and tinkle, only a jagged hole at the feet of Aphrodite let in the soft spring air. Jamie stood a moment, pressing both hands tight into his midriff. A dark red stain grew on the frilled cuff, lacy as a bridal shirt. He brushed past me once again as I moved toward him, and stalked away unspeaking. I collapsed once more into the armchair, hard enough to make a small puff of dust rise from the plush. I lay there limp, eyes closed, feeling the cool night breeze wash over me. The hair was damp at my temples, and I could feel my pulse, quick as a bird’s, racing at the base of my throat. Would he ever forgive me? My heart clenched like a fist at the memory of the knowledge of betrayal in his eyes. “How could you ask it?” he had said. “You, you who know …” Yes, I knew, and I thought the knowing might tear me from Jamie as I had been torn from Frank. But whether Jamie could forgive me or not, I could never forgive myself, if I condemned an innocent man—and one I had once loved

“The sins of the fathers,” I murmured to myself. “The sins of the fathers shall not be visited upon the children.���

[spamsmcgee]

Violet!

-> Violet! by Waterparks

Oscar Piastri x an accident prone neurodivergent reader

Essentially the three-ish times that Oscar starts fussing over you, and the one time he got it right.

Groceries, unloading groceries.

Picking up a case of bottled water was enough to have Oscar hovering. Asking if you needed him to take it from you, as he tucked a carton of milk under his arm.

Not that he didn’t try taking the water first. You shoo’d him away from the trunk of your car before he had a chance.

“You really don’t know how this works,” you stated.

“I know that last time you dislocated something it was after you got your finger stuck in a mop bucket,” he opened your apartment door for you to walk in and drop the case of water onto your counter.

“And I had no idea because you don’t express pain.”

You rolled your eyes as he took the couple of steps towards you he needed to be able to rest his hands on your waist. You stared up at his eyes, watching him blink as he stared down at you. He watched your eyes shift from one of his to the other.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asked.

You didn’t answer, just wishing he could read your mind. Though some days it felt like he could, he could never understand the simple phrases that circled your mind when you couldn’t dream to force them out.

“I love you too,” he said, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before turning to start putting your things away.

~~~~

Oscar didn’t hover 24/7.

That would be unrealistic.

it was just when he got back to you after weeks, sometimes months, on the road for work.

He’d wake you up as early as he made it back and hide himself in your apartment until he felt like a normal person again. You’d go on with your life like you had been until he pulled himself up and out of your room like a bear from hibernation.

With an insatiable thirst from well over 24 hours of sleep to combat the jet lag, he started the day watching you cook breakfast.

Not a measuring cup to be seen, you’d drift from one spot in the kitchen to another with the steady destruction of a tornado. Always producing the best waffles and coffee and parfait he’d ever have. Always better than the last, despite your unwavering commitment to your recipe.

You’d reach for your favorite kitchen knife, and he’d make his way over. Your fingers held onto the fruit you cut in an unsettling fashion. He’d offer to cut the fruit for you every once in a while.

Too much of a deviation in your routine. So he settled for watching close as you shifted your hands uncomfortably to account for the knife and it’s ever shrinking victim.

~~~~

In theory, race weekends should be a sensory nightmare.

People rushed around you, stood in the garage next to some mechanics you were probably introduced to more than once. The adrenaline radiating from everyone around you, the yelling back and forth as the countdown to lights out drug on.

Weekends in the garage were the best.

you watched intently the way people dodged each other, racing back and forth to get any loose ends tied up.

As time went on, Oscar and Lando began making their own appearances in the garage as well. The former being sure to make eye contact whenever he could, seeking out a quick shaka to say “right on” and let him know you’re fine.

At that point your headphones hung around your neck. You sat in the busy noise, listening and watching with an intense focus that by the end of the event would make you more tired than anything. It’s fine. It’s more than fine.

You could always sleep better after days in the garage anyways.

~~~~

The end of the day could be a bit harder

Oscar would take extra care after race days, especially when you’ve spent the whole weekend in the garage. He’d tell you to quit overextending yourself, you’d tell him you want to see him drive.

Your head drifted downwards as you stared up over your sunglasses frames. Your AirPods tucked under your headphones blasting a playlist of the day. Both tale-tale signs of being checked out.

Oscar sat himself next to you as soon as his time in the media pen was done. He reached for your hand, which you offered without a second thought. He squeezed twice, his own signal to you asking if you’re ready.

You nodded and the two of you stood. Maybe a little quick, as you stumbled into his side. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders as the two of you made your way out and to wherever he had his car parked.

He chattered on to you about the race, and whatever drama it was that happened between Carlos and Pierre during the post race interviews. You nodded along, asking questions that would take him into a different area of whatever he could be excited about.

The path the two of you walked was pavement, for the most part it was very even. Not even a rock out of place. Staring down into the pavement as you walked and listened was an experience. The grey concrete shined in the sun overhead.

You let Oscar pull you to the side, away from the edge of the sidewalk. Your foot nearly slipping into the grass beside it, had your boyfriend not urged you away.

“wow I could almost feel that one,” you looked back to the edge of the sidewalk you had been walking on.

Oscar only laughed, squeezing your shoulder as the two of you continued your walk, “that’s what I’m here for, hm?”

[kelin-is-writing]

kelin may i hear more about rockstar touya \(★ω★)/

I was planning to post other headcanons before going for these, BUT I’ve got some for Rockstar!Touya that are pestering my mind these days and your asks come in the right moment, so bear with me please 🤧

࣪𖤐… ROCKSTAR!TOUYA

The first time Touya knew that he wanted to become a rockstar was in middle school, right at the age of thirteen, his influent CEO of a father was trying to mold him into a carbon copy of himself to rival Yagi Toshinori’s Enterprise. While taking a break from studies, he saw his sister watch on TV a rock concert of “Loudness” and to say Akira Takasaki is his role model is the least. That’s a true legend to him.

After “Loudness” and Akira Takasaki, he discovered “Metallica” and Kirk Hammett which made him go like “HOW??? HAVE??? I??? MISSED??? ALL??? THIS???”, scolding himself for taking so long to fall in love with the electric guitar and its sound. The next week he’s blasting full volume “The Final Countdown” by Europe inside the Todoroki Mansion like the good old stamp rock fanatic he is, getting himself scolded and grounded by Enji who is a fan of traditional Japanese music so yeah…

At one of the Todoroki family gatherings during the weekend, he was scrolling down his phone looking first of all where to take guitar lessons and second for a guitar to buy, but he knew his father would never agree to get him one. That’s when his grandfather, peeking at his grandson’s phone, butted in and asked Touya if he’s interested in music. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing to answer that question, since he’s the father of his father, but he did and hell has it been the best thing he did!

On his fourteenth birthday, Enji’s father bought Touya his very first electric guitar, a good old Fender Stratocaster CUSTOM MADE for him. It’s snow white like his hair and has a his name engraved on the bottom left side of the guitar, while on the other side there were engraved tiger’s fangs, all in turquoise… The color of his eyes. And this has been by far Touya’s best birthday ever.

After finishing Middle School he choose to attend an Art School, taking the music classes as main classes of course; he may or not have done it to piss off and raise Enji’s blood pressure from how mad he got for choosing something different from Finances and Management. Oh his father was livid and Touya was so proud of himself for that.

He has formed a rock band, of which he’s the guitarist and vocalist, with Tenko Shimura (Bassist&Vocalist) and Shuichi Iguchi (Drummer) called “The Villains”… Are we even surprised about this name? Really? Because I am not. Tenko suggested, Iguchi supported strongly and Touya just went with it because complaining and thinking about another name was “Too much effort”. He likes it a lot but will never admit it.

At the age of nineteen, Touya owns a Fender Stratocaster (Custom Made), an Elite Stratocaster, an ST-83-80 Japan (1983) black, Lone Star Strat, IC350 black, IC50 black, ICHI00 white, Gibson SG Standard mahogany and a Jackson Pro Series DK Modern HT6 MS. He also owns four acoustic guitars for songwriting, like a Martin GPC-X1E, Martin 000-28 Modern Deluxe, Taylor GS Mini-e Rosewood SN LTD and a Taylor AD22e. Did he pay all them with Enji’s credit card? Hell yeah. Did he do it out of spite? Absolutely. Did he care about his father’s blood pressure rising even more? Not even remotely.

His favorite groups are Loudness, Metallica, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Europe, Scorpions, Slipknot, Three Days Grace, Green Day, Skillet, Linkin Park, The Rasmus, L’Arc-En-Ciel, UVERworld, Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses and Evanescence to list some, because there are many more he adores honestly. He isn’t a picky ear as long as the song gives him chills and inspires him, being someone who’s driven by emotions that’s what makes him likes something he hears.

Atsuhiro is their homeroom teacher, at the Art University they attend, who introduces them to Giran, a friend of his, who has an agency for new talents and after they sent him six of their songs wants to launch their very first album by August to make them debut at the “Rock In Japan Fes.”

Touya, being the emotional driven type of musician, is the one put to write the lyrics for the band’s songs and most of the times are hits, especially because his and Tenko’s voice brings to life the emotions of the lyrics in a way that it reaches the listeners right into the heart and soul.

You will never catch Touya’s fingers empty, there’s always rings decorating them and some rings are even custom made by his cousin Geten, who owns a Jewelry shop that he promotes a lot on his social media. One of his most precious rings is the one that he got made for him, with his birthstone carved in it, when he turned eighteen.

He has three earrings on his right ear: an helix, mid helix, conch and low helix. Four on his left one: two helix, a low helix and one on the lobe, plus three nostril piercings on the right side of his nose.

After “The Villains” debuts and proving his father that he could succeed through music without his help nor his name, Touya owns now a black card that he lets Fuyumi and Shoto use to their heart content.

Last, but not least, be ready to be the muse of Touya’s songs the instant he falls head over heels for you. The moment it happens everything, and I mean everything, to him becomes about you driving Tenko and Iguchi to pure exasperation.

[yosoylagato]

Yes, I'm a care bears collector 🤭

[cowboydisaster]

welcome back! if you are still taking requests for your christmas countdown, maybe a lil fic about reader and arthur’s first christmas together after leaving the gang? this could be fluffy, spicy, or both. whatever you’re feeling!

* ˚ ✦ Snowblind * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f! reader

word count: 2.2k

a/n: I loved this prompt! I kinda took it in my own direction so I hope that's ok!!

tw: pregnancy

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: FIVE days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

The kitchen appears as if a bomb of flour has exploded, sending white dust across the countertops, sprinkled onto the floor and spattered on the walls. As much as the mess is stressing you out, you can’t find it within you to care too much. The phonograph situated under the living room window is playing a classical christmas record. You’d picked it up in town, finding that it’s helpful in drowning out the sound of the cold wind outside. 

“Oh, baby, let me help.” You cringe at the sight of your daughter spilling dribbles of milk onto the counter instead of into the mixing bowl. 

“I do it, Momma.” Aspen says, her little fingers trying to steady the jar. You wipe your hands on your apron, coming up behind her and holding your hands over hers to help. 

“You’re doing a very good job. Momma’s just gonna help, is all.” You reassure, smiling as Aspen helps you add the ingredients. Once the milk is all poured in, she takes the spoon and begins to stir the ingredients together. You glance up at the window by the front door, noting that the blue hills in the distance are no longer visible. In fact nothing is visible. All that you can see is white. Snowblind. It’s far below freezing outside, and you worry for anyone left out in the hellstorm. Your heart seizes in your chest, but when your daughter's worried eyes land on you, you smile. Pushing down any worry. 

“Daddy?” Aspen asks, her sad, worried, little blue eyes glancing towards the door. You curse yourself for putting your worry onto her. Her little heart is far too innocent for such troubles. 

“Daddy will be home from work soon, baby. Why don't we get these cookies done so we can surprise him, okay?” 

“Okay.” She smiles again. That perfect little smile, identical to Arthur's. 

Aspen helps you roll the dough out and cut it into her requested little shapes. She had wanted to make her daddy a deer, but when that proved to be too difficult for even you, she had settled on snowflakes, horses, crosses, and stars. 

Once all the cookies are cut, you send Aspen into the living room with Bear. She’s within eyeshot, and you smile at the sight of her sitting on the floor with the black newfoundland. She’s trying to read him her favorite storybook. Her legs are crossed, with Bear’s head resting in her lap as she tries to recall the story. She can’t read yet, but by God, your little girl is trying. 

You place the raw cookies down into the Dutch oven before covering it in glowing red coals. A quick glance at your pocket watch, and your gut sinks. It's a quarter ‘till five already, and your husband was supposed to be home at four. The light from the window is fading, the white light going dull as day turns to dusk. 

This is your first Christmas here. Your first Christmas away from the gang, from that life. Aspen has a chance at a normal life now, you all do, and you’ll be damned if some hellish forces try to take that from your family. 

All that you can do now is keep yourself distracted. Years ago you would have run out into the storm, leaped onto Sugar and galloped towards town looking for him, but you have more than Arthur to worry about now. As much as it kills you to sit here, you can’t leave her, and you surely can’t take her. 

To distract yourself from the sticky black cloud of thoughts, you clean the kitchen, wiping up all of the flour and washing all of the dishes in the dish bin. The phonogram switches to the next song as you finish up, and you check your watch to confirm that the cookies are done. 

“Aspen, wanna help?” You call towards the living room. Her brown curls bounce as she turns her head towards you, blue eyes filled with excitement.

“Uh-huh!” Aspen hums, flipping her book to the next page and placing it in front of Bear’s paws, “You read now, puppy.” She whispers, offering him a sweet pat to the head before she’s running back into the kitchen. 

You pull the Dutch oven out of the fire, removing the lid with potholders so you can peek inside. 

“Remember, don’t touch. This is hot.” You tell her, and Aspen nods her head, taking your instruction with the utmost seriousness. 

“Hot.” She repeats, keeping her little hands far away. When you pull the cookies out, she gasps with wonder. 

“Wow!” She smiles, eyes going wide with joy. Her little hands clasp together, “Cookies for Daddy! Them are so pretty, huh, Momma?”

“Very pretty.” You struggle to contain your smile, placing the cookies onto glassware to set out for when Arthur returns home. Of course, you set a few out for Santa Claus, too. 

As Aspen drools over the cookies (and sneaks one to Bear), you check on the roast. You purposely hold your breath as you lift the lid, knowing that the smell will make you sick. You deem it done, and then return to the cookies. Just as you’re about to take one for yourself, Bear barks. 

“Daddy’s home!” Aspen’s eyes light up, and your eyes flicker to the door hopefully. The door opens quickly, and in emerges your husband, wrapped in his ancient, blue winter coat. The hat on his head is covered in snow, and when he pulls it away from his head, you see how pink his cheeks are. As miserable as he must be, he shows nothing but happiness. 

“There’s my girls! C’mere.” Arthur says as Aspen erupts into giggles, nearly tripping over her dress as she runs into his arms. He shrugs his coat off just in time to scoop her wiggly little body up. He sits Aspen on his waist, and as she wraps her arms around his neck, he looks to you. 

“Oh, Arthur, I was so worried. You must be frozen.” You whisper, eyebrows drawing together in concern. 

“I’m just fine now, sweetheart.” He smiles, extending his arm to pull you into his open side. His eyes look to yours, melting away any trace of worry that you’re clinging to from the day. Your eyes slip shut, and you let out a long breath as Arthur holds you and Aspen against him. Aspen wraps her hands around you both, effectively creating a hug between all three of you. 

“Love you, darlin’.” Arthur whispers to you, and you look up, placing a small kiss to his lips. 

“S’ Christmas Eve.” Arthur smirks, “Santa comin’ tonight?” 

You pull away from Arthur, keeping your hands intertwined as you bring him towards the kitchen. Aspen nods profusely, small fingers twirling her curls nervously, “Mhm! I listened to Momma and you, I'm on the good list, Daddy.”

“I know you are, baby. I’m sure he’ll be comin’ tonight.” You reassure, “Well,” You divert your attention to Arthur who must be starving, “We have been very busy today.” 

— — — 

“She’s asleep.” Arthur whispers, closing Aspen’s bedroom door, being extra careful to not let the door creak, “Bear’s up in bed with her.” He cracks a smile, momentarily glancing to the Christmas tree, and under it, where a few presents signed from Santa sit for Aspen. You look up from your seat on the couch, putting down your embroidery to extend your hand to Arthur. 

“Come here.” You request. His much larger, rough hand slips into yours effortlessly, and he sits beside you on the couch. Naturally, you curl up against him, cherishing his warmth, his love. 

The fireplace holds a decent sized fire, and flames lick the mantle, emitting a steady warmth onto the two of you. The crackle and pop of embers is soothing, and your eyes slip closed as you fall into a comfortable quiet. 

“Thanks for puttin’ her to sleep.” You whisper. 

“‘Course. I missed her. I hate bein’ away from you both.” Arthur shakes his head, “I don’t like leavin’ you out here. And trust me– I know you can handle your own, I just… don't like bein’ away.” Arthur admits, and you rest your head against him. 

“I know. It’s not forever, though. We’ll be okay.” 

Arthur hums, and then raises an eyebrow, as if remembering something. 

“I got you somethin’ for Christmas. S’just little.” 

Your interest is piqued, and you scoot forward on the couch to peek as he reaches into his leather satchel on the floor. 

“Arthur, you didn’t have to–” You start, your voice quickly dying as you see what he’s pulling out. 

A little leather-bound journal is extended to you. Your eyebrows furrow, and you hesitate to take it, but Arthur nods. 

“Is this…? How did you– Where?” You struggle to organize your thoughts, words failing as you take the book, as you flip through the pages. Your questions become more muddled as you realize that this is Arthur’s journal. The one that he’d documented everything in. The one that he’d lost in the escape from Beaver Hollow. Your jaw falls slack, confusion and nostalgia, loss and love swirling together in your head, “How…?” You whisper, tears filling your eyes as you glance to Arthur, then down to the page where he’d documented the day Aspen was born. 

“Called in a favor from an old friend.” Arthur smirks, but turns serious, tapping the book page, “I want you to have this, considerin’ most of these entries are about you.”

Your heart swells, tears dripping down your cheeks as you hold his journal close to your heart. 

“I love it, Arthur. I- I love you.” You whimper, emotionally. He smiles, warm and loving, his thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. 

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

He holds you against him for a long while, the two of you flipping through old memories, good and bad. You recount the day you got married, the day Aspen was born. The most haunting entry is the last one. The day Arthur had begged you, forced you to take Aspen and Sugar, to flee Beaver Hollow and get as far away as possible. You’ll never forget turning around and seeing the place go up in flames, not knowing if you’d ever see your husband again. When Arthur made it out that day, he had left nearly everything– including his journal. You both had assumed it burned in the fire, and any hope that it didn’t was crushed by the fact that you can’t go back there.

After a while of flipping, the anxiety in your stomach finally quells, and you speak up, “I have a little surprise for you too.” You whisper, closing the journal and setting it on the coffee table. Arthur’s eyebrows draw together, and he sits up straighter on the couch as you turn to face him. Your hands toy with each other, and Arthur takes them in his own to quell the bad habit. 

“You didn’t have to–” He begins. 

“No, no,” You huff a laugh, “I didn’t spend any money.” 

His eyebrows draw further together as you bite your lip nervously. 

“Darlin? What is it?” Arthur asks, and you smile sheepishly. 

One deep breath, in and out, and you’ll tell him. He won’t be mad surely? Right? He couldn’t be… not your Arthur.

You take a breath, “I’m pregnant again.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide in surprise, and he stutters over his words for a moment. You search his eyes, his face for any sort of reaction, and in a moment his lips crack into a smile. 

“We’re– we’re havin’ another baby? You’re sure?” Arthur asks hopefully, hands squeezing yours. You nod. 

“I didn’t wanna tell you until I was sure, and… well, I’m sure now, Arthur. I'm pregnant.”

Arthur laughs, eyes locked onto yours, heart soaring with more emotion than he ever thought possible. He never thought he would love anyone again… and then he met you, and then he was sure he'd never love anyone as much as he loves you– and then you made him a father, twice now. Arthur's hands tighten around yours, and you finally break into a teary eyed smile, the anxiety gone now that you've managed to get the words out.

"We're havin’ another baby.” You repeat, smiling up at him with blurred vision.

Before you can say much else, Arthur’s hand gently grips your jaw, and he pulls you against his lips. Your hand still squeezes his as he moves against you, only pulling away to breathe. 

“You’re givin’ me everything I’ve ever wanted.” Arthur smiles, the deep kind, the kind that wrinkles the crows feet in the corners of his eyes. 

Arthur's hand snakes down to your stomach, and although there is no noticeable bump, it brings him comfort to rest his palm against it. He knows his baby is in there, your baby, and he wants to be close by. It’s a small habit he’d done when you were pregnant with Aspen too. 

“We made it, darlin’, we–” Arthur huffs, a smile on his lips, “I've got you here, in our home. Our daughter sleepin’ in her bed. Our dog. You're carryin' my baby again."

Arthur's tone grows serious, and he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing the top, “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Arthur.” 

The snowstorm rages on outside, but it is far from able to outshine the joy and the warmth that is projecting from your four little walls this Christmas Eve.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

[ofstoriesandstardust]

new year's day (b.r.b.)

a/n: i wasn't sure if i'd actually be able to get this written and posted in time for new year's but it seem the inspiration bug struck! this is a sequel of sorts to a fic i'm working on called operation: boyfriend. this is shorter than i anticipated and it's definitely evident midnights is my favorite album, but oh well.

word count: 1k

warnings: alcohol mentions

“Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you”

It’s not just the alcohol you’ve consumed over the course of the night that is making you feel warm and fuzzy, pulling in closer to your boyfriend as the two of you wait for the Uber turning the corner. 

Bradley lets you slip in before him, never letting your hand go. He shuts the door behind him before reaching out for the heels you’d pulled off as you’d stood outside in the crisp San Diego night, complete with a salty sea breeze. You hand them over with a soft smile as he adjusts, moving to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you back close to him. 

The warm, fuzzy feeling stays as you lean into your boyfriend, his breath ghosting over your cheek as he presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. 

“I love you.” Bradley whispers. 

The countdown, a minute from midnight, echoes in the background as you stand out on the second-floor balcony of Penny and Mav’s that overlooked the dark ocean below. 

“I love you.” Bradley whispers, moving some hair behind your ear. 

“You’re being what I believe Fanboy would call a simp, Bradshaw.” 

Bradley huffs, a little laughter escaping him. “Careful now, or I won’t be kissing you at midnight.” 

You pout your lips at him. “You wouldn’t dare do that to me.” 

The smile he gives you in return is gentle, soft. “You’re right. I could never.” 

“You’d kiss me any time. Even at midnight.” 

“Especially at midnight.” 

“Can we spend every New Year’s like this?” 

He hums, rubbing circles into your shoulder. “Like how? At Mav’s?” 

While the party at Penny and Mav’s had been fun, full of light and laughter, glitter and alcohol getting stuck to their already sandy wood floors, that hadn’t been what you meant. 

“Just… together. You and me. I don’t care where or how we spend it, just as long as we’re always together at midnight.” 

The thought of having Bradley, every year, being the one he kissed at the end of the countdown at midnight, was almost too much for your heart to bear. 

The thought that you could spend every year kissing him like how he’d kissed you tonight, deep and dizzying, full of love, made your heart flutter. 

He squeezes your upper arm, before letting his hand travel down to your hand. He takes your fingers, intertwining them. 

He knows he can’t promise he’ll be able to spend every New Year’s here with you, kiss you like he had tonight when that clock finally struck midnight. He knows that sooner or later his deployments will take him oceans away from you over this favorite holiday of yours. 

But he understands what you mean, what you’re saying. 

He squeezes your hand three times, pausing as you squeeze it back. 

I love you. 

A gesture he’d so often gotten from his Mom, throughout his childhood after the loss of his Dad, through his tween years when affection from his Mom was seen as embarrassing, to when he was a teenager and her chemo had made her too sick for words. In those final days, when all he wanted her to know was that he loved her. 

The thought of his Mom not being here, another year gone, makes a lump rise in his throat. 

And yet, for the first time in a long time, that ache was soothed. Not entirely gone but less. 

She may not be here anymore, but she was here. And she would have been so happy and excited for him at the year to come. 

He was too. 

This could be the year the two of you moved in together, maybe even got a dog. Maybe the two of you would move to a house closer to the beach, so you could go surf on early weekend mornings and then get breakfast burritos together, like you had when this had all started between the two of you. 

You’d stayed with him, through the awards ceremonies and the galas. You’d stayed with him through the days when he didn’t feel worthy of the title of top one percent or when it had become too much weight to bear. You’d stayed with him through late night dances under the kitchen moonlight and midnight rain against the roof of the house. You’d stayed with him, through every moment and would continue to stay with him for every New Year’s to come. 

At least, he hoped that you’d stay. He hoped that you’d never become a stranger, someone whose light and laughter he’d recognize anywhere in the world. 

“Do you think we should’ve helped Mav clean up more?” 

The two of you had stayed an hour later than everyone else had after the party had winded down, helping them clean up the stray beer and champagne bottles. There’d been glitter all over the floor, something you’re sure would become as much of a permanent fixture as the stray sand from the nearby beach was. 

Mav had all but practically shooed you and Bradley out of the house, insisting that the two of you get home and get some sleep. Bradley even offered to come back over the next morning and help them clean and Mav had just sighed, telling him he’d see his godson for dinner the next day. 

Blinking, he belatedly realizes he’d never answered your first question. 

“Baby?” He whispers. You hum, almost asleep on his shoulder. 

“Yeah?” 

“You and me. At midnight, every New Year’s. Together.” 

You crack open an eye, a soft smile gracing your features. The gleam of the moonlight bounces off the ribbon in your hair, matching the velvet bow straps of your dress adorning your shoulder. 

“You mean it?” 

“I’ll be here. For as many New Year’s that you want to spend with me, I’ll be here.” 

You snuggle back into his chest. “Good.” You say, after a minute. 

He smiles, leaning to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

He’d hold on to you for as long as you’d let him.

[bellasmumblingsandmusings]

What Could Have Been

Chapter One

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 6.6K

Status: Ongoing

Author's note: A story about two broken people making mistakes, not being heroes and yet trying to find a way to love  themselves and each other.

Song for this Chapter: Yearning Hearts - Forgotten Odes - Eternal Eclipse : Spotify Link

A03

Entire Story Link on AO3

Spotify Playlist

Chapter One: Shall We Dance?

The Ancunín Estate played host to a lavish ball, its opulent halls filled with the elite of Baldur's Gate and beyond. Astarion, draped in his most resplendent attire—a meticulously tailored white brocade shirt, its fabric whispering against his skin, embellished with intricate gold embroidery that seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight. Long sleeves adorned with delicate ruffles gently caressed his wrists, while his trousers, fashioned from the darkest of cloths, hugged his form with a sleek elegance that bespoke his aristocratic bearing. His polished boots clicked softly against the marble floors as he moved through the throng, every step a silent proclamation of his presence.

Radiating an air of amusement and aloof confidence, Astarion surveyed the festivities from the fringes of the ballroom. Though surrounded by a sea of faces, he stood apart by choice, his demeanor a careful blend of poise and concealed intensity. In the depths of his crimson eyes, a faint glimmer of darkness flickered, a silent promise of the secrets he held close to his heart.

As his gaze swept over the transformed Ancunín Estate—a place once shrouded in shadows and despair under the cruel gaze of his sire’s control, now bathed in the soft glow of candlelight and laughter—Astarion's thoughts turned inexorably to his beloved, Sima. In the midst of the glittering crowd, he longed for her presence, a beacon of light in a sea of pretense and artifice. Yet, beneath his suave exterior, a torrent of emotions churned—a potent mix of desire and determination, longing and regret.

With each polite exchange and forced smile, Astarion concealed not only his emotions, but also the true purpose of this grand affair: to reclaim Sima's heart and soul, to draw her back into his embrace. As he navigated the intricacies of courtly conversation, his mind whirled with plans and strategies, each one crafted with meticulous care to ensnare her in his web of desire and control.

While his desire to reunite with her burned fiercely, he acknowledged the potential necessity of prolonged seduction. Should his former companions dare to impede his designs, he would confront them head-on, employing any means necessary to remove the obstacles obstructing his path. Their tacit acceptance of his ascendancy, coupled with his consummate manipulation and surveillance skills, rendered their opposition insignificant.

The decision to initiate her into full vampirehood weighed heavily on his soul, a testament to the depth of his commitment and the gravity of his desires. Though he recognized the looming shift in their power dynamic, he remained steadfast in his conviction as her eventual master and sire, his resolve unyielding in the face of uncertainty.

Amidst the façade of polite society, Astarion’s now-warmed veins filled with fierce longing, his every thought consumed by the woman who held his heart in her hands. With each passing moment, his anticipation grew, a silent countdown to the moment when he could finally claim his desired prize—Sima, once and for all, by his side.

In these quiet moments between dull conversations and cutting dressing downs, Astarion's mind wandered to the past, a haunting echo overshadowed memories. For all he had gained, the absence of Sima made his triumph incomplete, a bitter reminder of the one thing he desired most but could not yet possess.

The downfall of the Nether Brain marked Astarion's ascension to prominence in Baldur's Gate, a victory that solidified his dominion over the city's underbelly. Freed from the shackles of his former master's influence, he now reigned supreme, his authority unassailable by mortal standards. Through a web of bribery, blackmail, and subterfuge, he exerted his control over the city's key figures, safeguarding his domain and advancing his clandestine agenda. Though the city's rulers tread cautiously around him, recognizing the peril of antagonizing the enigmatic vampire lord, Astarion's pact with Duke Wyll Ravengard ensured his continued autonomy, provided he operated from the shadows.

Astarion was only broken out of his reverie by the announcement of the chamberlain noting the arrivals of heroes of the realm. As the companions made their grand entrance into the hallowed halls of the Ancunín Palace, their camaraderie palpable, Astarion's gaze lingered on Karlach, Gale, and Shadowheart. Intrigued by their seamless bond, he couldn't help but marvel at their unique talents and indispensable roles within the team. Despite his confidence in his ability to best them, the courage and loyalty they displayed to one another was undeniable.

The music swelled in the grand foyer, amplifying Astarion's impatience with every passing moment of delay. In a darkened corner, he found himself pinching the bridge of his nose. Though surrounded by the opulent crowd, he watched the clock with a silent urgency, his eyes scanning for Sima's familiar figure amidst the throng. Frustration mounted with each fruitless glance, uncertainty clouding his mind as the night stretched on. Leaning against a wall, he engaged in conversation with an elder spawn, detailing Sima's appearance in hopes of spotting her. Disappointment gnawed at him as the minutes stretched into hours, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. With the looming threat of losing his prize, he sipped from his wine goblet through pursed lips, and his mind turned to prior failures.

Since assuming mastery of the palace, his spawn had multiplied under Astarion's command, a reminder of his past and a reflection of his power. Despite his efforts to train them, each encounter served as a painful reminder of his abuse under Cazador's rule, deepening his unease.

Despite his efforts, Astarion had not succeeded in erasing Sima from his thoughts over the past year. Not even close. He had tried with various lovers, both men and women, and had even attempted in some desperate moments to find solace in the company of his spawn, but they only served as painful reminders of his past abuse at his sire's hand. Each entanglement and empty carnal release deepened his sense of longing for Sima, intensifying the void she had left behind. None could match her beauty, her wit, or her intelligence—none could hold his interest as she had. His frustration and self-disgust clawed at him, his inability to replace her driving him to lash out cruelly at those who sought to fill her void. He was even disgusted with himself for not being able to find anyone better.

The spawn he had sent out to survey slinked back to Astarion, its demeanor anxious. Frustration and worry gnawed at the vampire lord, his jaw gritted and tense as the possibility of her non-arrival cast a dark cloud over his thoughts.

"What now?" Astarion snapped, his annoyance thinly veiled. "She still hasn't shown up?"

The spawn shifted nervously. "No sign of her, Master. We've looked everywhere."

Astarion rolled his eyes, a sneer playing on his lips. "Of course not. Why would she make things easy?"

The spawn swallowed hard, clearly fearful. "Sorry, Master. We've tried our best."

"Clearly not hard enough," Astarion muttered under his breath, a derisive chuckle escaping him. Louder, he said, "Keep looking. And if anyone gets in your way, deal with them. I don't care how."

The spawn nodded frantically. "Yes, Master. We'll find her, I promise."

Astarion waved a dismissive hand. "Just go. I've got better things to do than deal with your incompetence."

As the spawn hurried off to resume its search, Astarion's irritation simmered beneath the surface. The thought of Sima's continued absence grated on his nerves, threatening to ruin his plans. But he refused to let it derail him. Not when he was so close to getting what he wanted.

As the chamberlain's booming voice once again filled the grand hall with its announcement, Astarion's attention snapped away from his swirling frustrations. "The heroes of Baldur's Gate have arrived!" The words echoed through the opulent chamber, drawing everyone's gaze toward the entrance.

His heart lurched as Sima glided into view, her graceful presence accompanied by the towering figure of Wyll, now Duke Ravengard. Astarion's breath caught in his throat, caught off guard by their unexpected arrival. The sight of them together stirred a tempest within him, threatening to engulf him whole.

Surprise gave way to a surge of jealousy and resentment as he watched them approach. The image of Sima by Wyll's side fueled the flames of insecurity that smoldered within him. Despite their truce, Astarion couldn't shake the gnawing suspicion that lingered in the depths of his mind. Was this mere coincidence, or had Wyll orchestrated this meeting deliberately to rattle him?

Standing by the grand staircase, Astarion's grip tightened on the polished railing, his knuckles turning white against the ornate gold and white finery he wore. His narrowed gaze followed Sima and Wyll, his chest tight with the fever of rage which made him feel choked. The thought of them together, of Wyll stealing her away from him, ignited a fierce blaze so profound that he etched its evidence into the wood beneath his nails.

But Astarion was a master of disguise, a performer on life's grand stage. With practiced ease, he forced a mask of indifference onto his features, concealing the storm raging beneath the surface. His jaw clenched with determination, refusing to let his vulnerability show, even as the weight of his emotions threatened to crush him.

This would not be his moment of weakness, not in front of the elite of the Upper City. Astarion straightened his posture, as he suppressed the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He tightened his grip on the goblet in his hand, the nails clinking hard against the delicate crystal. He would not allow Sima, Wyll, or anyone else to see him falter. Not now, not ever.

Across the mass of the prestigious assemblage, Sima battled down her surging fear.

Her heart raced as she descended the ballroom steps, Wyll's reassuring presence by her side. Despite the ornate decor disguising the past, the echoes of betrayal lingered, too close for comfort. Her ebony curls shone like polished silk, and her dark brown eyes betrayed no hint of intrigue. Her mahogany fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against the intricate fabric of her black gown, the memories of past pain still haunting her every step. Yet, she had made a promise to Shadowheart, a promise that compelled her to confront the past, no matter how painful.

As they descended onto the ballroom floor, Sima glanced at Wyll, his steadfast support bolstering her resolve. She offered him a grateful smile, her eyes reflecting a mixture of uncertainty and determination. His reassuring squeeze on her hand sent a wave of comfort through her, easing the tension coiled in her chest.

"So, still up for being my buffer tonight?" Sima asked Wyll, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness beneath the determined facade.

Wyll nodded, his expression filled with concern. "Of course. Whatever awaits us, Sima, I'll stand by your side. I'll shield you from harm, even if it means bearing it myself."

Sima's shoulders relaxed slightly at his words, a brief moment of solace amidst the swirling chaos of emotions. She leaned into Shadowheart's embrace, exchanging pleasantries with the rest of their companions. Each hug, each shared glance, served as a silent reassurance, a reminder that she was not alone in this battle.

Across the room, Astarion's eyes followed Sima's every move, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. She felt his gaze like a physical caress, stirring a heady concoction within her—anger, longing, and a hint of fear.

When Lord Crane, a tiefling nobleman, approached her, Sima accepted his invitation to dance with a bright smile. As they glided across the floor, her movements graceful and fluid, Astarion's gaze bore into them with palpable fury.

As Sima danced with Lord Crane, she exchanged playful banter with him, her movements fluid yet guarded. She chuckled inwardly, desperately hoping that Astarion's attention was diverted elsewhere, perhaps with a newfound companion. His cutting words echoed in her mind, a painful reminder of her perceived expendability. Reflecting on her journey from Amn to Calimport, where she’d honed her skills as a bard while delving deeper into witchcraft and sorcery, she considered offering Lord Crane a tarot card reading. The occult intrigued him, but she remained cautious despite his seemingly benign demeanor.

As Sima exchanged pleasantries, even briefly with Lord Crane, the rampant indignation  caused Astarion’s veins on his neck to spike, and he couldn't bear to watch any longer. With a surge of jealousy burning in his chest, he glided through the throng of ball attendees, cutting off Lord Crane and placing a possessive hand on Sima's arm.

"Sima. Might I steal this dance from you?"

Sima felt the sudden warmth of his touch, a stark contrast to the chill of his former embrace as a spawn. She tensed instinctively, her body stiffening under his grasp. Meeting his crimson eyes, she saw a hardness that hadn't been there before, a distant glimmer of something she couldn't quite place. Sima managed a thin smile. "If the Lord Ancunín insists."

As Astarion led her onto the dance floor, she couldn't shake the feeling of being ensnared in a trap of his making.

Astarion responded with a thin smile, his eyes betraying only the briefest hint of hunger. Every word he spoke felt like a half-truth. Despite the changes in him, he still felt an unexplainable pull towards her, a magnetic force that defied logic. "You honor me with your grace," Astarion replied, his voice smooth but strained slightly on the edges. 

He guided her into the dance, his touch firm yet oddly chilly. Despite his efforts to maintain a façade of civility, there was an unmistakable edge to his movements, a hint of restraint that belied the intensity of will to possess his former love.

Astarion understood that their bodies could tell a story of their own; their dance held an undercurrent of something darker beneath the surface—a predator sizing up their prey. He drew Sima closer with effortless grace, dancing as he always had, yet there was a subtle shift in his demeanor that felt like a hunter poised to strike.

As Sima danced with Astarion, she felt a broiling fever across her skin—a mixture of rage, betrayal and anxiety. With each step, she fought to maintain a semblance of composure, her movements fluid yet guarded. She glanced at him briefly, then looked over his shoulder, carefully considering her next move. She tried to maintain a distance between them in the dance, but with every subtle attempt to pull away, he gracefully and unwaveringly drew her closer, his grip allowing no refusal.

Astarion pulled her in again, drawing her closer until they seemed to share breath. He could feel her resistance, but he kept his grip, remembering her penchant for these little games. He offered her a half-grin, his eyes glinting with a hungering gleam as they locked onto hers. Despite her attempts to hide it, he could see the fear lurking in the depths of her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the power he held over her.

As if she could ever forget how his body made her feel. Sima considered that the sheer proximity of him made her recoil and mourn in equal measure. But fancy footwork couldn't mask cruelty, malice, or arrogance. She reminded herself of this, realizing she had to be extremely cautious. He wasn't a spawn anymore; even her thoughts were not safe from his reach. While Shadowheart may have cast Protection from Evil and Good on her, shielding her from compulsion and charm, she understood she had to guard herself vigilantly tonight.

She remained deliberately silent, recognizing that the stakes of this perilous game had escalated. In this delicate waltz, speaking first meant relinquishing the upper hand.

Astarion took another step, drawing them even closer, his hand clutching her waist. His movements became subtly more aggressive, reminiscent of the deliberate strides of a stalking wolf. His gaze remained fixed on her, and in the lingering silence, she felt his lips caress her neck, his voice barely a whisper.

"Careful , darling. I could be tempted to mistake your silence for acceptance and think you enjoy being this close to me," Astarion warned, his tone laced with amusement.

Sima sharply turned, resisting his lead but managing the step gracefully. Only a master dancer could discern her attitude from the footwork.

"Oh yes, I forgot; deference is your preferred state for all your interactions now, my lord, " she retorted, her tone sharp with sarcasm.

Astarion's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at her comment, his grip tightening on her abdomen. He knew her defiance was just a game, a part of their twisted foreplay.

He smiled at her, his darkening red eyes dangerously glinting. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Would it bother you so much if you found yourself in a state of deference to me, little love?"

Sima practically clawed his shoulder and locked eyes with him as she hissed the words, "I'd rather die, my lord ."

As he’d expected. Disobedience was the essence of Sima; without it, she wouldn't be herself. He could already see she would be an intriguing mate, and her challenge promised to delight him in every way.

Astarion chuckled at her words, squeezing her the curve of her waist harder and pulling her closer to him. He felt the heat of her anger fueling those words. There was a fine line between genuine rebellion and play, and he relished dancing on that edge. Despite her anger, she seemed so vulnerable in his arms. How could he resist playing with her?

He responded with a seductive smirk on his lips, his body tightening against hers.

"And what if I were to command you?"

Sima turned with him hip to hip in a circle, her eyes burning into his, her body graceful and yet cold towards him. "I'd like to see you try your tricks on me. Perhaps I have a few tricks of my own now, my lord ," she growled back.

Every word of dissent from Sima was a powerful turn-on for Astarion. He enjoyed the tension that came with her fighting back so fiercely.

Astarion pulled her into his hips hard for a moment, then pressed his stiff cock against her, as  from his lips danced hair's breadth away from her pointed ear. He crooned the next words.

"What if I were to pin you against the wall, my sweet darling? My powerful hands holding you against it, my chest pressed against yours, while I whispered sweet nothings of domination and punishment. That must sound enticing." His voice softened, and his eyes were full of promised intent, yet there was an underlying tenderness to his words. He was enjoying this.

Sima's sigh spoke volumes, her eyes locking onto Astarion's with a mix of boredom and disgust, her body language radiating a sense of readiness. "The greatest mistake you made was thinking I was beneath you. So no, it is decidedly not."

Astarion paused for a moment, genuinely considering her words; his eyes turning into brief slits as he did so. She was not in the slightest below him, and yet the act of her being so defiant made him feel as though she were. At the same time, he was genuinely thrilled to have someone he could play with who was really playing back for once.

"I should hope you don't think I was underestimating you. But very well. Challenge accepted. I look forward to finding out just what your tricks are, sweetheart ."

As Sima continued to follow his lead, her brown eyes glinted with veiled intent. She had a plan, unlike him, and she had no intention of waxing poetic about it. That ridiculous soliloquy after he ascended still lingered in her memory. Perhaps he was intoxicated by power at the time, but who could tell? She smiled, sharp and cold, like a dagger concealed beneath silk.

"Be ready for disappointment."

Astarion's response was immediate. He erased the distance between them, his presence enveloping her. His eyes held hers with an unwavering stare, his breath ghosted against her skin. 

As the dance came to an end, Sima's gaze met his, the promise of a contest passing between them. "What is it you used to say during battle? Your rapiers held high, right… Shall we dance ?"

Astarion's eyes flickered with recognition. This was more than just a dance—it was a battle of wills. He no longer sought to woo her; his desire was to possess her, to see her submit to him. His words carried a hint of threat, his arousal fueled by her defiance.

With a wolfish grin, he replied, "With pleasure."

As he pulled her back into his arms, leading her into another dance, this time the intense volta, Sima countered with, "Terms of engagement?"

"My terms: Sima Shoker must submit to Astarion Ancunín and accept his terms of complete submission. If she wishes to be my equal after such a state of complete submission, she will earn it by proving her devotion to me as such. All other terms are non-negotiable at this stage in our relationship."

Sima scoffed as he tightly held her by the waist, guiding her through another turn to maintain appearances. "Spoken like a true former magistrate. Tell me, is there an acre of land, or is there a allotment of chattel? How boring. Let's make it interesting, shall we? You show me all your cards, and I'll show you mine."

Astarion snickered. "If you wish us to be upfront about our intentions, so be it. But if you have no chance to win, don't play at a game . You are mine in every way, my love. A mere mortal with a pathetic few levels of arcane study has no chance against a centuries-old, experienced vampire. You have only two cards to play: to submit or run. Which will it be?"

Sima's smile was sharper than ever before. She had been very busy this year. Very...very busy. She leaned in close to his ear, her lips barely brushing it. "I choose to fight."

Astarion let out a dark chortle.

"Oh, darling... You've made a truly fatal mistake, haven't you? You think, maybe in your hubris, that you can fight me ? I would drink you like milk from a chalice . Your little tricks won't work on me. I know far more secrets and have experienced far worse than you ever could. I know how to fight dirtier than you ever could. Now..."

He whispered with a drawl in her ear, the promise of pleasure hinted.

"Come on. Submit."

As he turned her and dipped her, Sima retorted again, "Now, you played your cards. Let's go back to the terms. Compulsion? Command? Old hat really , but whatever you like. Ahh..one question..very important..your misguided calls for me to submit are what? Prelude to a turn? Is that it?" She leaned into Astarion's pointed ear, each word laced with venom and anger.

"Old hat?! " Astarion replied, the mask of charm falling from his features and anger flashing in his crimson eyes. For the briefest moment, Astarion's fangs revealed themselves before disappearing again behind his lips.

"My terms have not changed, mortal . You will submit to me utterly and completely. And yes, in time, I would turn you into my equal. My beloved. My beautiful, sweet, and powerful vampire consort. But right now...

Astarion leaned close to Sima's ear.

"...You submit. Then you earn it ."

Sima nodded, his words a testament to his changed nature. "So, the same lies as before. Let me guess: I submit, and you turn me into a spawn and then a true vampire. So much for learning from your mistakes. So much for loving me. But that was the real lie, wasn't it?" As she seared the words through pursed lips, he spun and pulled her in, facing him with their arms entangled.

"Let me be clear: I will turn you into a vampire . You will be equal to me. I truly and deeply loved you." Astarion leaned close to Sima's face, his features softening just slightly as his eyes trailed to her lips.

"But I will not let you take advantage of my feelings for you. I need to know I can trust you, Sima. You also need to be able to trust me. And so, we have the terms. You submit first, and then we earn each other. Fair, no ?"

Sima pulled up her chin, defiant and proud. "My, my , you really have everything figured out, don't you?"

Astarion pulled her closer and whispered directly in her ear. His tone was a sensual hiss. " My love, you've no idea ."

Sima grasped Astarion's hand harder as they continued to dance in the ballroom, their tête-à-tête as masterful as any dancer's footwork. "So then, let the games begin. You try to use your tricks on me, your spells, and your vampiric charms. And if I lose, I suppose I lose. Now, let's discuss when I win . I've heard your terms; now hear mine."

Astarion smiled as he spun her into another dip, his eyes flashing with amusement as he trailed his nose over her cleavage, inhaling her jasmine scent. His demeanor was flirtatious, and his grin was devilish. He spoke with a breathy murmur, leaning down to whisper into her ear. "And what terms would those be, my darling?"

As he pulled her back up with a snap, a smile that would shame any devil and wither any cleric was on Sima's lips as she whispered in retaliation, "If I win, you'll let me change you back into a spawn."

Her eyes locked with his, and Astarion could tell behind those chestnut eyes she was completely and brazenly honest.

Astarion's lips parted in a cruel, mocking smile. The challenge was accepted, and the terms were set. There were nothing but the slightest of pauses in between, just long enough to savor the moment.

"Then it would appear that we have ourselves a little bet, my darling . If you manage to truly best me and take all my tricks off the table, then you may try to make me a spawn again, and I will abide by your terms."

Sima smirked. "And if you win, then you can expect me to, in time, accept true vampirism. You did say I get an adjustment period. How merciful of you ."

"My mercy knows no bounds, love." Astarion dipped her once more, only wanting to inhale that sweet scent again, his lips trailing over the swell of her bosom that he desired to devour. The game had begun.

As he raised her up, Sima let out a haughty breath and looked out to the garden. "How about the hedge maze? See if your charms are up to snuff there. As good a place as any and away from prying eyes."

Astarion nodded, a faint, secretive grin tugging at his lips. His eyes gleamed with wicked fervor. "That is indeed a lovely idea. Come, we'll take a stroll, and then we'll see just how powerful a witch you are."

Sima recoiled from Astarion's touch the moment the dance concluded, as though his grasp had scorched her flesh. She had to bite back on the wrath that welled in her. No, no, she had to be calm . So she smiled slyly and picked up the skirt of her gown.

"After you."

Astarion's smile held firm, a veneer of charm masking the tumultuous sea of emotions churning within him. His grip on her hand tightened, a subtle yet unmistakable assertion of possession as he led her beyond the ornate doors, onto the expansive, well-tended lawn that stretched before them. Bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, the manicured grounds of the estate unfolded like a canvas of natural splendor.

In every direction, the gardens sprawled in a tapestry of colors and scents, each bloom murmuring secrets of forgotten romance and whispered promises. Flowerbeds burst with vibrant hues, their petals unfurling in delicate homage to the night. Pathways meandered through the verdant expanse, inviting exploration beneath the starlit sky.

Towering trees stood sentinel along the perimeter, their branches reaching skyward in silent supplication. The gentle rustle of leaves overhead provided a soothing backdrop to their clandestine journey, yet beneath the tranquil facade, a sense of latent danger lingered in the air.

Amidst the evergreen beauty, the maze beckoned from its corner of the estate, a labyrinth of greenery waiting to ensnare the unwary. Though they had yet to enter its twisting passages, its presence loomed large in the moonlit night, a testament to the intrigue that awaited within—a dangerous game of wits and wills, where every step held the potential for betrayal or triumph.

Sima surveyed their pending battlefield, then turned her gaze to Astarion as she retrieved her bag of holding.

"I do hope you don't mind. I'll be ducking behind that hedge to make a change. Running in a gown is l ess than a fair sport ."

In response, Astarion smiled at Sima and spoke with a taunting murmur. "A woman after my own heart."

He released Sima's hand as she dove behind the hedge to change. Astarion leaned against a tree and crossed his legs, his expression relaxed and confident, seemingly content to allow Sima the chance to prepare for their game.

Shortly thereafter, Sima emerged again, the faint rustle of her attire marking her return. Clad in sleek black leathers that hugged her frame snugly, she appeared with an air of quiet confidence. Her laced boots and gloves matched the dark ensemble, while her long, loose black curls danced gently in the breeze. Astarion recognized the outfit immediately—the one she wore on the night they defeated Cazador during his Ascension. Sima raised an eyebrow, a silent gesture of challenge.

Astarion smiled with a hint of amusement at the outfit. The familiar pang of memory from the ritual was unmistakable, but that did not dim the spark of desire that flared in his eyes at her body. He glanced away and spoke with an air of detachment. "I must admit, darling, that I have missed the sight of you in this outfit."

Sima gave him a sharp smile. "Fitting, don't you think? I find it poetic, considering once I win, you'll be going through another change tonight by my magic, per our terms."

"A fitting bit of theater, in truth. One to show how the tables have turned and how the mighty have fallen, " Astarion quipped with unveiled snark as he approached her and cupped her chin, tilting her head up towards his own. His dark red eyes glinted with a certain cruel amusement, as well as lust.

Then his hungry gaze traced the contours of her body, his fingertips lingering tantalizingly close to her skin, as if savoring the anticipation of touch. With a hesitant caress, his hand followed the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, and the line of her arm until it hovered just shy of her elbow, before gently cupping her cheek.

Sima recoiled from his touch once more, as though acid poured from his fingertip, a palpable tension simmering between them. "Shall we? Use your powers to try to ensnare me as I run through the maze. If I resist and make it through the maze, I win. Understood?"

"As you wish, darling." Astarion's gaze burned with a volatile mixture of malice and desire, undeterred by her evasive maneuvers. His confidence radiated in his stance, an aura of arrogance underscored by the promise of challenge.

"Ready yourself. I shall give you a fair warning; I shall not go easy on you."

Sima met his gaze with unyielding resolve, her eyes reflecting a steely determination. "Five-minute head start?"

"Five minutes is fair, I suppose. A sporting headstart for my bride-to-be. I'd suggest using your time constructively" Astarion quipped, his arrogance and pettiness unwavering in the moment. 

Sima turned without a word, but as she reached the frame entrance of the maze, an unusual sincerity colored her tone. "Do you remember when I told you that you deserved better after 200 years of torment? Do you remember when I told you to do the ritual, thinking that was freedom?"

A hint of tenderness softened Astarion's expression as he listened to her words. "I do remember, yes. What of it?"

Sima's gaze softened, revealing a depth of emotion. "I was wrong."

A flicker of surprise crossed Astarion's features. "Wrong how, darling?"

Sima's eyes seemed to penetrate his soul. "You're not free; you're not even trapped. The ritual destroyed you. So, I was wrong."

Astarion's expression contorted with scorn and frustration, the weight of her words bearing down on him. Despite knowing the truth in her words, he couldn't afford to falter now. Amidst the tempest of emotions, the ember of his resolve burned brighter. "So...how do you solve this paradox of logic, darling? What would make me whole? What would solve the mystery of me, oh wise and powerful witch ?"

"What I promised, once I win, of course. I could even bring you mortality, or just reverse this mess. Like I said, it's been a very long and busy year." Sima adjusted a glove, as if the answer was more than evident, even with an air of nonchalance.

"And when you lose, will you allow me the same opportunity to fix you ?" A glint of defiance flashed in Astarion's eyes as he spoke, his tone laced with determination. The prospect of defeat was one he couldn’t allow in his mind.

"You wanted a true vampire and an equal. The terms are set... Not having second thoughts, are we ?" Sima cooed, the words a reminder of that fateful night, so long ago when he had tried to coerce her into becoming his spawn. Stung by the memory, Sima gritted her teeth.

"Absolutely not. And I have a feeling that neither of us is bluffing, are we?" A wry smile played on Astarion's lips as he watched Sima disappear into the maze's depths.

"I'll see you in 5 minutes."

With a determined stride, Sima silently ventured into the darkness of the hedge maze.

[cattimeswithjellie]

Stream Recap DocM77, 6/23/24

((A quick content advisory on this stream, Doc and his chat get into an involved and sometimes contentious discussion on the "Man or Bear" thought experiment between 1:11:00 and 1:35:00. I have omitted nearly all of it from this recap because it is literally impossible to fairly and fully recap that kind of discussion in this kind of format and also I didn't want to. Timestamps made during the discussion discuss what Doc was doing, but not what was being talked about.))

9:22 Doc brings his stream live with 52 seconds left on his 10 minute stream-start countdown clock. He is in his studio view and comments that the light appears to be getting pinker than ever. He doesn’t think it used to be quite this pink. Chat agrees that it is very pink. Doc thanks subs and donos from the countdown. Doc’s studio really is exceptionally pink. He makes an adjustment that might help a small amount. Chat is skeptical that anything changed. Doc is streaming on a Sunday today and that’s good, gives a chance to some viewers who might not be available on Saturday. He explains that he had thought the birthday party Doccy was invited to was today, but in fact it was yesterday. It was a good time except a kid almost broke Doc’s nose while playing on the playground with water. He got smacked in the face with a bucket. Chat is sympathetic but also laughing. Today Doccy is off visiting Grandma.

13:30 A chatter asks what happened to the rainbow beacon. Doc reveals that he eventually got tired of fixing it ((Something about the daily server reset was killing the beacon every day, Doc and Xisuma had been working on a way to fix it.)) and Bdubs eventually landscaped over it when he built the courthouse. The beacon is there in spirit, and may be rebuilt somewhere else later.

14:20 Doc brings up Hermitcraft, or tries to. It is a black screen. Things are working great in this professional stream environment, says Doc. He restarts Minecraft, saying this is a problem that happens occasionally. Today, he tells Chat, they get to share Doc’s daily experience of logging on and wondering if anything has been stolen. The alarm system is good, but not foolproof. The Ore Snatcher could use tools like chorus fruit and wool blocks in a risky ploy to steal another block. Doc’s paranoia has reached new heights, but he is also distracted because OBS is still not detecting Minecraft. He troubleshoots it.

17:10 Minecraft appears, but Doc has to fiddle with it some more before it will display properly with facecam and overlay. He logs on, telling Chat more about his daily fear. He logged out above the shop and cannot hear an alarm, so that’s good! He checks for a released warden and finds it in its place, then checks for newly missing blocks. Doc and Chat agree that there are no new missing blocks. Doc sings a smug song of satisfaction and dances on the grave of the Ore Snatcher. He is happy, but commenters have made him paranoid that maybe the Ore Snatcher hit the redstone in Big Wood. He will not feel okay until he checks.

21:00 Doc conducts a thorough survey of the Big Wood redstone. He has gotten a lot more sand paid into the shop and does not find any missing ore blocks, so is in a very good mood. He tells Chat that he has a new, lower sub goal that reflects the fact that the high rollers in Chat can’t keep making huge sub drops. As Doc returns to the trim shop, he responds to chat’s concerns that if the Ore Snatcher stops, nobody might ever know who it was. Doc tells Chat that he specifically designed the alarm system to be not-quite-impenetrable, that someone who is really dedicated… He trails off when the overlay does a strange thing, then takes a moment to thank more subs and his favorite of the Single Ladies. He picks up the thread and tells chat there are ways someone smart and dedicated (Cub, he is pretty sure) could get into the system. Doc is 60% sure at this point that it is Cub. Not many people could be so dedicated, careful and tricky just to piss Doc off, but Cub is just that kind of guy.

25:20 The Bdubs-shrieking phantoms are starting to come out now, so it is time to go inside. Doc switches back to studio view so Chat cannot see the Secrets of the Sand Pile. Chat is pretty on board with the Cub thing, they agree that Cub is the type to keep his pranks quiet and incredibly annoying. Doc disables the Warden alarm and enters into his redstone, only to discover that his secret door is not working. He does some yelling. He freecams around to see if that tricky Ore Snatcher has been at it again, but the cause is benign, a simple mistake probably caused by all the sleep Doc is losing lately. He breathes a sigh of relief but is still annoyed on principle. With the alarms disabled he can break the wall of his shop and access the bed he’s got hidden in the unfinished alcove back there.

27:50 Today Doc must, absolutely must, finish the interior decoration of the shop. He wants to have more armor pieces laying around like T-shirts set out for sale in a clothing shop, but he can’t figure out how to make it work. A chatter activates text-to-speech. Doc is pleased that it is working again. He tells Chat that next week he will be recording the Imp and Skizz podcast, something he’s really looking forward to. He tells Chat that Impulse has asked him what sorts of things he wants to talk about and asks for ideas. Chat thinks they should talk about who the Ore Snatcher is, and suggests that Doc should be as unhinged as possible. Doc asks if he’s allowed to swear, Chat says not much. They suggest no politics or talk about Elon Musk, so as to avoid a podcast that is a hundred hours of Doc ranting, and they want to hear Doc’s dad lore and stories about his basketball career. It could also be an opportunity for Doc to plug his interest in trying out the Life Series. Doc agrees that’s worth thinking about, then gets distracted talking about soccer/football with Chat.

31:20 Chat reminds Doc that his mic is hot. Doc says he likes the hot mic, but he turns it off so Chat will calm down about it. The shopping district is not exactly buzzing on a Sunday morning anyway. Doc points out that this is his area on the server and if people come near him they will hear him speak, just like in real life. This is apparently enough to convince himself and he turns the mic right back on again and goes back to talking sports. He once again declares victory over the Ore Snatcher, but says that the worst outcome would indeed be if the shenanigans stop and they never find out who did it. That would drive Doc and Chat extra crazy. Chat points out that if it is Cub, he has been known not to fess up to pranks for years.

33:20 Chat brings up the problem of shulker boxes to Doc. If a Hermit is using a wallet box and places it down to pay, how would they pick it up again without setting off the alarm. Doc is not worried because the alarm’s not going to be on all the time, and it’ll only be there for as long as the Ore Snatcher is active. So yes, basically anyone who tries to pay will set off the alarm. Doc is distracted by voice-to-text again, then decides what he really needs to do is talk to Xisuma. He searches up Xisuma’s coordinates and heads over there. Doc had ruled out Xisuma from the get-go because X is generally a peaceable guy, but now he has to investigate everyone. He flies down to land at X’s base, singing the “X gonna give it to you” song but replacing X with “Goat.”

34:50 Doc goes into the base and looks around. X is not visible but does tell Doc in chat that he made him jump with the singing. Doc continues searching and calling out, acknowledging that he can be really annoying when he wants to be. He finally spots Xisuma, on the path outside his base and begins a friendly and unsubtle interrogation. X says he has a great alibi, he hasn’t been on the server for the whole past week! Doc asks if he’s heard anybody talking about it, but X says only people in his chat speculating. Doc’s chat speculates that it could be Xisuma with the spelling errors, given that he could not remember how to spell “Field” during Wordle. Doc tells X about the alarm system, brags about his success, and worries that he’ll never learn the truth. Doc lays it on thick how much he trusts Xisuma and how he knows X would never-ever-ever do something like this because he’s such a nice and trustworthy guy. X agrees with this assessment and says it’s more likely that he would fix something he noticed off than break something, but does not come out and say that he is not the Ore Snatcher.

37:40 Doc agrees about X’s penchant for fixing things, but what about Evil X? Xisuma really can’t vouch for that guy, he’s liable to do anything. “But he’s not in the picture right now, right?” Doc asks. Xisuma is not sure, he doesn’t know what that guy gets up to while X is away, and he’s just mentioned being gone all week. Doc tells X that he’s pretty sure Ren is innocent. Ren is too busy; when he’s deep into the lore he can’t think about pranks. Scar is the police and the police can be corrupt, but Doc has interviewed him several times now and either Scar is innocent or Doc has vastly underestimated his skills as a smooth and plausible liar. Xisuma suggests maybe it could be someone who wants to earn Doc’s business… someone who has just built a courthouse and needs cases to be moving through it. Neither X nor Doc can really take Bdubs seriously as the Ore Snatcher. Doc points out that unlike some bored people (cough GRIAN cough), Bdubs is pretty much always grinding and building when he is online. But Grian is actually very busy right now and was on vacation, plus he is already involved in a whole snail-prank situation that neither he nor X are very familiar with. Doc says it sounds like money laundering to him.

40:00 X admits to Doc that he himself has been accused of some shady financial behavior in relation to his trophy scheme, where the Hermits sell things in their shop, earn diamonds, and then send their diamonds straight to Xisuma in exchange for a trophy saying how many diamonds they earned. Doc says that sounds like a Bitcoin scam to him. Chat is debating with itself about options like Grian, Gem and Etho for Ore Snatcher. X admits it may sound like NFTs, but the Hermits like it! Doc’s current suspicion list is Gem, Cub, and Joel, though Doc doesn’t really know him well enough for a real assessment yet. They had that interaction where Joel was clearly annoyed about having to shovel sand, and in Doc’s book that means motive. Honestly though, he has no real hints or clues to go on. He asks X to keep an ear out for the alarm in the shopping district and asks if there is a plug in they can add so Doc can get a cell phone ping if anyone comes near the shop. X reminds him that they try to do things the vanilla way on Hermitcraft. Doc walks off grumbling about “no sand duping, no phone monitoring, can’t do anything… this sucks.” Xisuma wishes him good luck.

42:00 Doc walks away and tells Chat that Xisuma is innocent and they all know it. Chat is batting around Jevin as a possible suspect. Doc insists he and Jevin are tight. He thanks subs and donos, then takes Chat over for a look at the new Poe Poe HQ that Scar just built. The new searchlight looks really cool at night. Doc still thinks it was almost certainly Cub. Chat suggests Impulse and Big Salmon, as well as Iskall, Joe Hills, Mumbo, Stress, Cleo, and the snails. Chat is not being super helpful at the moment, but they are full of enthusiasm and ideas. Doc says it’s not Beef and Chat will know why soon. ((This is one day before Beef makes the public announcement that he and his partner are expecting their first baby and he’s going to be very, very, very busy for the next little while!))

43:30 Doc forgets the inherent peril of every GoodTimesWithScar build and gets severely jumpscared by the creeper that sneaks up behind him. He’s not hurt but the front yard of Poe Poe HQ has lost some landscaping. Doc thinks that vandalizing Poe Poe HQ might not be the best move for a guy in his legal position, and it seems like the “SUE TODAY” banner on the courthouse might just be mocking him. He remembers that Scar’s building supplies chest monster hasn’t been picked up yet and goes to rummage through it for extra booshes. He finds some, but comes very, very, very close to blowing up Scar’s entire chest monster when another creeper pays a visit.

44:40 Doc uses freecam to show the now-underground broken rainbow beacon, buried under the road between the courthouse and the police station. The metaphor would be unbearably heavy-handed if it weren’t also obviously accidental. Doc replaces the destroyed bushes and takes a look at Poe Poe HQ by daylight, declaring it a really cool build. He laughs at the enormous POE sign and is confused by the sand countdown clock. Chat tells him it is counting down to the enforcement of the rule against popup shops in the shopping district. Doc wonders who made this, even as he finds a trapdoor with a sign reading “Ultra Redstoners Only.” Deciding he is definitely in that club, he enters without hesitation to check out the guts of the countdown machinery. He studies it for a moment and asks in complete befuddlement “Who _made_ this?” Hearing from Chat that it was Scar does explain a lot. Doc decides he had better leave before the redstone drives him insane.

46:40 Time to go back and work on interior design again. Doc does not want to do his interior design. He bemoans the fact that he got himself into a quarrel with Cleo, who would’ve been the perfect Hermit to tap for all the armor stand work he needs done but is now mad at him. He decides he should wander around and look for design ideas from other shops, because he is so uninspired. Chat suggests Joel has great interiors, so does Pearl. Doc admires Joel’s octopus but does not want one in his armor trim boutique. Chat thinks the octopus is amazing. Doc tells Chat they are useless. Chat doesn’t care; they want to go look at the Lizzie statue at Joel’s base. A chatter says they heard Doc was going to play Stardew Valley and is excited about it; Doc tells them he has played Stardew Valley through three times already. He’s exploited everything exploitable in that game and even made a tutorial for finding rare fish; Stardew Valley has nothing left for him.

49:00 Doc looks around in the honey shop for decoration ideas, but is disappointed to find no armor stand work to get inspired by. Chat wants to hear the song. Doc is unenthusiastic but plays the song. He goes on an entire facial journey as Chat grooves to the “Honey, Honey, Honey” song. “Jesus Christ,” Doc says. This puts Joel at the top of the suspect list as far as Doc is concerned. Anyone who could come up with that song is clearly capable of anything.

51:00 Further evidence of Joel’s potential villainy, putting his tree-trunk honey shop very close to the hourglass. Why would Joel put his wood thing next to Doc’s wood thing? Are they doing a wood comparison? Doc asserts that everyone knows Joel has small wood. Chat has a lot of feelings about this line of reasoning, most of which can only be expressed by emoji. Doc dismisses Joel’s wood shop as thicker, maybe, but stumpy, and then abandons all pretense and just mutters “smallishballs.” Chat is so upset.

52:10 Really though, at the end of the day Doc thinks it is Cub. And now it is time to hang up clothes in the armor trim shop. Chat reels momentarily from the quick change of topic, but gamely tries to help Doc decide what goes in a typical clothing shop. They suggest caps, a netherite chest plate, and a mapart of Karl Lagerfeld. Doc remembers he also wants to hang up his permit. He puts it up on his cash register and declares it good. Doc also has the dirt and rails permits he is not using just yet. One of the “single ladies” in chat demands shoes, Doc caters to the single ladies and adds a rack of shoes behind the counter.

57:00 Chat begins debating which types of shoes are best for the single ladies to wear. Doc places a pair of black boots, per chat request, and says he does not have a favorite type of shoe. Chat’s opinion on heels are divided, they don’t like how they feel but a short chatter points out that it is nice to be tall. Doc admits there are probably not any high heels available in his size, so he has never tried them. Chat could recommend him some places if he is interested. Chat says that for women, beauty is suffering. Doc agrees and says that is true for men as well! He recounts a time where he used waxing strips as part of a charity event; it has been four years and the hair has not fully regrown. He has to shave his legs now if he doesn’t want them to look patchy. Chat is sympathetic and also grateful that he specified legs. Doc says he was recently clocked as a waxer by another child’s mom at the swimming pool and could only defend himself with “It was for a good cause.”

1:00:00 Doc reads Chat and decides it is definitely time to stop talking about leg hair. He begins working on the armor stand boots again. He positions them on the rack and thanks subs again. Doc decides that the shoes will look better as high heels, but that requires quite a bit more manipulation. Chat provides advice and critique. They want red trim, so Doc pulls the boots off the armor stand and goes to the trim machine. Chat wants Dune trim in red, with red candles for heels. Doc wants to give Chat what they want, because it is important to make the ladies happy. Chat begins arguing amongst themselves over whether Hermitcraft-style Louboutins would have red candle heels or black candle heels. Doc wonders if there is a candle shop.

1:09:00 Chat finally starts trending in the black candle direction, so Doc heads for Papa Keralis’ shop. Doc likes that Keralis has the candle shop, he’d probably have one of those if he weren’t a YouTuber. He may look clueless but he is a very, very good businessman. Doc finds the disco at Keralis’ base and busts a few moves. He obliquely mentions some of the grooming controversies on YouTube lately and deflects any talk in that direction. A chatter says they would trust Doc with their drink. Doc and the rest of Chat agree that Doc would drink it. Doc cannot find the candle shop.

1:11:30 A chatter says they would pick Doc over the bear. This leads to a lengthy discussion with Chat over the man vs bear thought experiment. (“You are alone in the woods. Would you rather see a strange man or a bear?”) It is the sort of discussion that covers several controversial topics and is very difficult to recap accurately and with nuance by a recapper who is mostly interested in making funny jokes. For that reason (and because a detailed recap including Chat commentary might be triggering for some readers), it will not be covered here but can be viewed on the VOD.

1:19:00 Doc’s mod asks if Doc would still love them if they were a worm. Doc makes an unflattering “ehhhhhhhh” sound and then says he would still love their soul. He might also love them if they helped create good soil for the tomatoes. Doc remembers he was supposed to be finding the candle shop and making high heels for shoes. A chatter gives him directions to the candle shop. He is still distracted by his discussion, but purchases black candles and heads back to the armor trim shop.

1:25:00 Doc resumes work on the black and red high heels. He is not sure about the candle heel, it’s actually pretty big when he puts it on the armor stand, and not quite the same color. Chat reminds him that the stand can be made smaller, but the color is a tougher nut to crack. Doc wonders if a blackstone stair or a block of coal might do the job better. He might need to mine some blackstone.

1:30:00 A chatter asks if Doc is going to be collaborating with other streamers or Hermits to play other games on stream. Doc says Hermitcraft takes up all his time and energy, so probably not. He heads for the Nether and finds a patch of blackstone to mine. He comes back and makes some blackstone walls and tries on on the armor stand. It is not quite right either.

1:35:30 Doc tries a blackstone button instead, it seems better. Chat agrees that it seems good. A chatter comments on the ground that the conversation has covered today. Doc makes a joke about Brazilian Wax being the opposite of Big Bear. Chat misses the joke, but Doc knows he is funny. He has to get out his calculator to adjust the angles on the armor stand. Chat makes semi-helpful commentary on the angle of the shoe and the heel. The original chatter who requested the black high heels gifts two more subs and says they look great. Doc regrets his life choices in agreeing to make heels. They are not turning out the way he’d hoped. He swears a little and keeps manipulating the angle of the heel, then realizes he also doesn’t like the color. He blames the single moms.

1:43:10 A chatter asks if Doc would consider going to Twitchcon. Doc says the only good thing about cons like that is meeting the audience. He’s not interested in meeting other content creators except Hermits. He’s been to lots of events and mostly finds content creators loud and obnoxious. He tries an anvil, which is the wrong color. Chat suggests black glazed terracotta, end rods, coal blocks, and making the boots into Crocs instead of high heels. Doc tells them that if he tries the coal block and it works, then Chat is to blame for forty wasted minutes. He tries a piece of black dye and says it could be a beard, but not a heel. The question arises whether Chat would rather go to the woods with a spider or a bear. Doc is outraged when Chat continues to choose bear, though some savvy chatters are asking how big the spider is. It is an Australian spider, so probably pretty big.

1:46:50 Doc tries a blackstone block as a heel and continues regretting everything. He accidentally gives the armorstand his sword and destroys the thing in a fit of pique. He is about ready to give up on high heels. A chatter suggests it might be time to beg Cleo for forgiveness, but Doc will NEVER. A chatter suggests leaving the heels imaginary. A chatter suggests making the shoes roller skates.

1:49:20 Doc puts an Enderman head on the armor stand, then puts it in the stand’s hand. He can’t place it properly because of armor stand interference. He is doing a lot of under-the-breath muttering, but the only clear word is “stupid.” The heels are fine without actual heels on them. He remembers he has some mini diamond ore blocks and wants to put some around for decoration. Even this is much harder than anticipated because there are invisble armor stands everywhere. Doc has so many regrets. He does not seem to know the scroll-wheel trick for the armor stand mod. He successfully places the miniblock on a shelf.

1:53:40 Doc steps back and looks at the display. It looks all right. He decides to make some more leather armor and talks about how happy he’s going to be when he’s done with this interior. His next shop is going to be a hole in the ground. Chat suggests that maybe Cleo will feel bad for the heels and fix them. Doc doesn’t know if Cleo is a heel person or not. And he doesn’t know if he can trust Cleo in this shop, who knows what they might do! ((In Cleo’s stream a few hours later, they do notice and fix a number of armor stand problems, but not the heels in particular.)) Doc makes another hanging chestpiece to look like a shirt.

1:56:30 A chatter says the court case is going to be entertaining. Doc says it’s going to be crazy. He talks with a chatter about subs and donos. A chatter surprises Doc with voice-to-text. Doc talks about which chatters are “sugar daddy” or “sugar mama.” He does more hanging clothes along the back wall, using the copy-paste function on the armor stand mod. Several chatters make gifts of subs. Doc thanks them but reminds them that big donos are never required or expected, just appreciated. Doc notices one DCP chatter is not around anymore after the discussion earlier. A chatter tells him that the DCP are all busy drawing him waxing his legs.

2:02:00 A chatter asks what the DCP is, Doc explains it is the Doc Collaboration Project, the fanartists who originally came together to create the murals on the Perimeter but who also do a lot of Doc fanart and amplify and support one anothers’ art. He creates another hanging shirt.

2:05:30 Doc tells a story about Doccy learning to make rhymes in German. Doc told Doccy to take a bath, but Doccy would rather eat chocolate. Chat asks about the time when Doc used to have long hair. Doc says yes, it used to be over his shoulders in finger-thick dreadlocks. He has no pictures of this era, but his mother might. Back when Doc was young, people didn’t take pictures all the time like the kids these days. Doc has a picture of himself at a religious milestone ((He is not sure of the name in English, calls it communion but it sounds like it might be confirmation)) wearing tight leather pants and a blazer with enormous shoulder pads, plus steel-toed safety sole boots and dreadlocks. Eventually his beard started to grow in too, but only a soul patch. Chat is overwhelmed by this mental picture.

2:09:30 A chatter asks what the deal is in Germany with sparkling water. Doc doesn’t know, Europeans just love sparkling water. There’s lots of different kinds, and they prefer juice mixed with sparkling water to most soda. Doc likes apple juice and sparkling water. Chat is not sold on the merits of sparkling water and Doc can sympathize. A chatter mentions Twitter, Doc warns them not to mention anything about “Elmo” Musk, because that is worse than mentioning Disney to Scar. There will be ranting. A chatter talks about the Sodastream carbonation machine. Doc has one, he and Doccy both like it.

2:13:30 Doc starts organizing some of his strewn shulkers. He talks about his own drink, vitamin juice and sparkling water. Chat admires his glass. He puts diamond pants on the last armor stand, turns them into shorts and hangs them up. Doc and Chat talk about what kinds of fruit juices they like best. A chatter wants trims on the leather chestpieces, Doc doesn’t know about that. That wastes a lot of trims, but this is the trim shop.

2:17:00 Doc fancies up the hanging tunics. Chat provides suggestions for trims and materials. A chatter asks what will happen if the Ore Snatcher replaces the diamond ore miniblock with a deepslate miniblock. Doc tells Chat not to give the Ore Snatcher ideas. Chat and Doc both like the look of the trimmed outfits he is creating. Chainmail pants with redstone trim looks a lot like a neat skirt. A chatter suggests making the tops actually match the bottoms of the hanging outfits, but Doc is not very concerned about that.

2:24:00 Doc is getting into it now and begins trimming the outfits on the sculptures he created earlier. It’s something Louis Vuitton would do, he declares. He really likes the way trimmed chainmail looks. He makes a chainmail helmet and sets it on the shelf of the back wall.

2:29:20 The shop is good, but could use some paintings. Doc can’t remember how to make paintings. Chat reminds him of the recipe, but he has no wool. He has to go visit the Wolves of Wool Street. Chat awoos. Doc realizes that wool is sold by the four-stack and decides to go buy string instead. He only needs one wool block! Doc declares Bdubs’ 1 diamond per string stack a much superior deal to WoWS’s diamond block per four stacks of wool and hopes they don’t find out Bdubs is undercutting them.

2:32:00 A chatter asks if anyone is surprised that Doc hasn’t sworn yet. Doc asks what the fuck they are talking about, then covers his mouth. Chat is amused. A chatter does the math and points out that Bdubs is basically selling seven wool blocks worth of string for a diamond, making WoWS a consderably better deal. Doc manages to get the walking man painting in his shop and says it looks like it belongs in a clothes shop. He says Bdubs is still a better deal if you only want one block of wool. He hangs several more posters.

2:35:30 Doc declares that this is enough detail and the shop is finished. Chat agrees, this is enough. He notices two armor stands that still need clothes, but after that he is calling it done. But the shop should have some music, so it’s time to pick some! He starts testing songs. They are VERY LOUD. Doc and Chat bop along with the music. A chatter demands CBAT. A chatter suggests Soulside Eclipse. Doc finds a song called Top Ten (or Chop Ten?) and Chat agrees it is the best shopping vibe music yet. He goes out and comes into the store to see what it would be like to shop to this music, and immediately starts yelling at the imaginary shopkeeper to turn down the music, it’s way too loud and he just wants to buy some pants!

2:41:00 A chatter has a birthday. Doc sings an unintelligible version of Happy Birthday and tells them now they can feel like Pearl. He says he might hit Jono up for shop beats, or says anyone who wants to can hit him up on Twitter with some beats. Music is always a problem because there are lots of talented musicians and he’d like to feature more of them, but DMCA makes things really hard. Doc puts the music back on. It is still quite loud. The headphone chatters have feelings about it. Doc comes across a song that sounds like the guitar beginning to an early 2000s pop ballad and begins improvising words to it, seconds before a vocalist actually starts up with a not dissimilar theme. Doc is pleased to have been proven right; Chat thinks it’s hilarious.

2:45:00 Doc goes through more varieties of music, none of which are quite right. He tries “A Sitar Story” and likes it. Chat likes it too. Doc improvises an armor trim song to go with the music. It’s nice but very much in conflict with the visual theme of the shop. He tries a few more. A song with a strong beat comes on, he and chat all jam along. A lounge jazz song comes on, it is too sophisticated. Doc finds a song called Emotional Mess and calls it relatable, but not what they are looking for. “Classic 1985 Music Soundtrack” is aptly named, but also not quite the thing. Chat suggests using the permit office music. Doc insists that when they hear the song, they will all know.

2:50:00 More music browsing. The lead mod asks Chat to watch their boss, because they have to pee. Chat will not make any promises. Doc is currently telling an epic tale of a Goat in a swamp who crushed everyone to the tune of an epic prologue. He switches channels again and asks why everything is so lame or too pushy. Chat is starting to wonder if CBAT is actually the best option. Doc finds a song called Snowfall Butterflies and wonders if someone was trying to find the cutest words they knew for a name. He jams to another song, then keeps scrolling. Chat has given up and are just grooving along. Doc finds music that is perfect for a shop he would hate, where no one will tell you whether your pants fit.

2:54:30 Doc finds some music he likes and improvises armor trim-related lyrics for it. The mod comes back and asks if Doc was good. Chat doesn’t know. More music, more grooving. Doc finds a song he would enjoy if it were the early 80s and he liked cocaine. Especially if his name was Falco. The music becomes increasingly baffling to Doc’s sensibilities. He decides there is nothing good in the YouTube Audio Library and wonders if YouTube asked musicians especially for their shittiest songs. Chat suggests it’s copyright-free for a reason.

2:59:00 Doc has been streaming for hours and has just heard Doccy and Karin come home, which means it is time for him to return to the real world. He asks for an up-down vote on whether the shop is done. Chat says yes, it’s done. That means next week will be the grand opening! After that the dirt shop, then the rails shop. Also, Doc has found a loophole regarding concrete farms, but does not elaborate. A chatter reminds him to activate the alarm before he goes. Doc pops into studio view so chat can’t see the secret switch. He looks for someone to raid. Martyn IntheLittleWood is on, but Doc raided him last week and Martyn got very jealous over the whole Ren marriage thing. Doc saw it on Twitter! He decides to raid Martyn anyway, thanks subs and donos, reminds Chat to ask Martyn why he has little wood, and ends his stream.