#i also fixed some dialogue that had been bothering me

[camellia-thea]

went back through and added and changed some stuff with anatomy because i reread it last night and found some inconsistencies

[luludeluluramblings]

Conner Kent's Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: I saw a few people liking the Superfam stuff and finally went nuts attempting this Conner bit. I tried. I tried so hard. I added dialogue. I'm used to the YJ Conner, but this is my attempt at Comic Conner. If he's OOC, oops. Yeet. (I attempted to research, I swear.) Might edit this some later.

A/N: I write Reader with an accent. One, cause that's how I talk. Two, cause I like it like 'dat.

A/N: I'm also almost done with Part Seven, but I'm adding dialogue to that too to make the breaking point a tad bit more impactful. I've never really written dialogue before.

Warnings: Slight Yandere themes. Romantic Yandere. (Very subtle.)

Conner’s run-ins with Reader always seemed to piss Tim off. Especially after Tim started researching into Reader. He would occasionally always beg Tim to invite Reader to hang out. And, he would find himself rejected every single time. Before it was probably due to Tim being dramatic. Now, he certain of this, it's because Tim dramatic and jealous overprotective.

On other occasions, he'd just by pass Tim, leaving him to his cases (and creeping) so hecould sneak and bother reader. They’re kinda cute, in his opinion. Of course they call him a big city boy and said he clearly lived off of his daddy’s money. Which was only kind of wrong. But, they way they said it made his a trail of heat crawl down his spine.

After some time had passed, he knew that Tim and the other members of the family were suspicious about him coming to the manor so much. He never tried to hide his reasons There was no point in hiding behind weak excuses. He respected the Bats too much to even think he could fool them. Plus, lying to the Bats was a good way to get stabbed with a kryptonite knife. Even though they had made it pretty clear that they disapproved of him coming around so often, He was still going to keep visiting. Could they really blame him? It wasn’t his fault he was enamored so easily. 

He kept his distance just a bit. Like he was silently (commanded) requested. He could tell he made the newest addition to the family a bit uncomfortable. And, he understood. The clone thing was kinda freaky after all.

Well, at first he had assumed it was because he was a clone. That would make any normal person feel a bit weird. But, then he heard them keep call him that nickname. City boy. The way it rolled off their tongue and how often it was said was clearly a sign. They weren’t bothered by the clone thing. They just didn’t like his personality. He could fix that. That wasn’t that hard. He was adaptable.

So when he approached them again, for the million time, he tried to play up the cool and collected act. Going as far as to emulate the Batman. Which, surprising made the ice break. When they laughed at him.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"No, seriously why are you acting like that?" You're still giggling at how hard he was trying to play up the serious act. Cause that's all it was. You don't doubt he could genuinely be serious for a moment, but this wasn't one of those moments.

"I'm just letting you see a different side of me, is all." Conner replies, trying to keep it up even though he had been quickly caught.

"You mean the imaginary side, city boy? I didn't realize you liked to play pretend." Another teasing snort. God, how you needed that laugh.

"I'm not pretending."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah."

"No."

"Yes, you are. Don't be lyin' to me now. Or, Imma start gettin' upset."

"Okay, okay... How could you tell?" He conceded after a moment. The way he scratched the back of his head suited him much more than that little Oscar performance he was putting on a few seconds prior.

"I'm observant." Comes the mock arrogant reply. It was hard to give him a cold shoulder when he just made you laugh so genuinely in the last few weeks.

"Oh, look who's playing pretend now." The snark on his tongue doesn't have any heat, but it does bring you some relief. A bit of much needed normalcy.

Maybe it's the fact that the loneliness has slowly crawled into your chest and burrowed it's self deep in that hollow part of you, but it's easy to let your guard down around him for once. You had noticed his efforts to get to know you before, and maybe you let those preconceived notions cloud your little head. But, there was no need for them anymore. The twinge of glee he sparked was enough to burn them away and make you pause before you would rebuild those walls of yours.

"Are you saying I'm not observant?"

"Yep."

"The audacity!" The outrage nothing more than a sham. A simple way to fill the air between them. Cause even if the talk was small, just the hint of it filled something in you. That didn't make your curiosity fade, however. "But, seriously, why are you impersonating Bruce? And in his own house, no less."

The brief silence that washes over you both has you already regretting this. Had it really so long since you've had a proper conversation that you were this out of practice?

When he finally speaks again, it is gives you relief and more regret.

"I just wanted to finally get your attention."

Well, doesn't that make you finally fit in with the rest of your family?

Your tongue brushes over your teeth in an attempt to get the lead coating that made your words weigh heavy in your mouth off of it.

"I'm sorry, Conner. I- I've been smallminded haven’t I?"

"No, I get it. The whole clone thing is freaky." He starts, a light flush on his cheeks. He wasn't expecting an apology, and especially one so soon and so heartfelt.

"Oh, yeah, that... Really it didn't have anything to do with it. I kinda just thought you were a typical concrete jungle flirt. Momma warned me about men like you." You try to hide your sheepishness by adding humor to your voice, praying he catches your sincerity under all the different layers.

He catches something, judging by the beaming smile Conner gives you.

"Really? I had hoped it wasn't, ya know, that."

"Nah, nah. It wasn't. Still, I am sorry." You assume silence is about to befall the pair of you again, but he doesn't let it happen.

"My family owns a farm out in Kansas, you know?" The cheeky grin on his face screams that he's going to be getting his revenge in the form of mild bullying.

"No!" The resounding smack of your palm hitting your forehead nearly echoes in the halls. "I feel even worse now."

"So much for being observant, little detective."

"I never claimed to be no detective. But, I might be more... oblivious then I initially implied..."

Now, it's Conner's turn to guffaw at you.

"The audacity."

"Don't you throw my words back at my. I can't handle it." You can't help by click your tongue. There's hardly any annoyance from your words. "I really misjudged you."

"It's fine! I figured you might still be adjusting to Gotham and the whole Wayne lifestyle. Tim mentioned you're from a pretty small town when I started bugging him about you." He's clearly playing up the charm, but you let it work on you.

"More like I'm still suffering from culture shock." Slowly, you can feel this conversation starting to shift to something deeper than surface level. Things that haven't been allowed into the open air start to ripple underneath.

And, he takes that chance to draw it out.

"Still?" Empathy mixing into his tone. Those icy blue eyes looking incredibly warm. You'd never really taken the time to look at him. Sure, you knew he was attractive. Hell, everyone that seemed to show up at the manor was attractive. But, now you were finally looking at him. Too focused were you in taking in his appearance for the first time, that you completely missed the way those eyes shined with opportunity and desperate want.

"Yeah, still. It's... different."

"Different as in the food's a little weird or different as in the people are a little weird?"

"It's all a little weird, and it's... kinda... lonely?" You can't help the wince. You really don't wanna trauma dump on someone who you had initially misjudged. He didn't deserve that.

But, as he moves closer you can't help it. That desolate part of you longing for comfort when you haven't had it in such a long time and the way he's giving you all this undivided attention when you can barely catch Alfred in the halls these days fills that acute craving in your gut.

"Lonely?" God, the concern in his voice doesn't make you want to cry, but it does make you want to choke

"I... I think it's not here that's different. I think it's me that's too different." The way he sucks a breath in after the words leave your mouth makes you want to backtrack immediately. "I'm so sorry. God damn, am I mess right now."

"No. No. No. You are fine." The reassuring words oddly sound more like a purr, but they capture your attention all the same. "I get it. I really really do."

Why does he have to give you such a disarming smile. He's practically beaming at you now. There's a festering tension blooming around them like spores.

"You are really not helping me fell less like a jerk to you now." The click of your tongue attempting to defuse the budding blooms.

"Hey, if you're feeling guilt... you could, maybe... let me take you out for dinner sometime? Just to make it up to me."

After a stunned moment of thought, you finally find the words to reply.

" Honestly, I'd-"

"CONNER!" Tim's sudden interruption sends the words crawling back down your throat.

"Tim." He calls back in a cool greeting, but he strangely doesn't step back from you. Which is nice. You haven't had anyone close to you other than Dick and a few of your remaining friends at Gotham Academy. And Damian, Cassandra, and Duke get a bit huffy, or in Damian's case murdery, when they are within an arms reach of you.

"Sorry, am I interrupting anything? Conner and I had plans for the day." Tim's pleasant voice sends a wave of unease over you. He's not staring at you when he speaks. Just Conner. It's annoying how he's ignoring you despite you being right. In. Front. Of. Him.

But, then he does finally look at you and his dark grey eyes soften ever so slightly. You're not too mad. Clearly he's exhausted, judging by the bruises under his eyes. There's still a slight reflection in them as he's gaze meets yours, despite how dry the appear. Probably from looking at a computer too much.

"You really shouldn't bother with this guy. He's not worth it." The words are clearly meant to be joking. Casual banter between two close friends. But, you can't help thinking they come off a bit strong.

Conner seems to bristle at them, but he does brush them off.

"That's right, we are hanging out today. Can you blame me for getting distracted, though?" That cocky smirk of his is back, and he actually touches your shoulder. It makes you feels warm, but like a prize at the same time.

All Tim seems to do in response is twitch, but giving nothing away. His grey eyes going steely as they drift to Conner's hand.

When the moment finally passes, Conner lets his hand fall. You can feel it grazing down your back as he pulls away. Slow, like he's trying to strike a match and light something inside you.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Just think about my offer and get back to me on it!" Conner calls out as Tim storms behind him. Both heading in the direction of the library.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As soon as their in the Batcave, Conner can tell he probably pushed it too far. Not that he has any regrets. He finally got somewhere and confirmed all of his previous theories about Reader. They were so adorable apologizing to him, and so deliciously sweet about it too.

He should've realized Tim was watching them, though. Dude was a creep. He maybe his best friend, but he's still a damn creep.

As expected, the rest of the family is also giving him the patented Bat-glare when he sees them. But, as he stated, he has no regrets. He's not stupid enough to stick around, though. He saw Jason loading a suspicious looking green bullet into the chamber of his gun. And, while he knows Tim wouldn't kill him, he's not so sure about the rest of them.

He's confirmed what he's wanted, what he's already suspected. They're absolutely perfect for him and ripe and raw.

[moonydustx]

giving them a hickey headcanon (Law,Zoro,Luffy and Mihawk)

Hi Hi! All good? I'll start with a small warning: I know it should have been hc but I think I got mixed up in the format (each story actually came out differently). And each one looked a little NSFW, but I swear there's nothing explicit or very detailed. I hope you enjoy!

Some came out with more dialogue, others with much less. Yeah, I really got lost in the format.

requests here | rules and guides | masterlist

Luffy

warnings: Luffy isn't so innocent in this one. Pre-established relationship. Amor is the equivalent of love in Portuguese-BR.

Not that Luffy was innocent, but he had never paid attention to the fact that hickeys existed and how carnal they could be. And regarding your relationship, things used to be lighter and calmer between the two of you.

The first time he saw it wasn't in you. He was walking around the Sunny's deck and saw Zoro sleeping, as usual. He approached slowly and saw the stain on his neck.

"Who did you fight with that hurt you like that?"

"Don't bother me Luffy." Zoro grumbled, pushing the captain away with his hand.

"Did Zoro get hurt?" Usopp leaned into Luffy's side, as did Chopper. "That's not a bruise."

"It's a bruise, but it's light." Chopper concluded.

"You idiots, have you never seen a hickey in your life?" Nami grumbled.

"I already knew! The great captain Usopp already won one..."

"A hickey?" Luffy asked himself more than the others.

The matter remained forgotten in his mind, until you appeared in front of him later that day. The sun was already setting when you found him sitting on top of the Sunny's bow. With little effort and using his help and elasticity, you soon found yourself sitting between your boyfriend's legs, both of you facing the sea in front of you.

"Amor?" his voice pulled you out of the comfortable silence between you.

"Yes Lu?"

"Can you give me a hickey?" he asked, forcing you to turn over your shoulder and face him. "I don't think you've ever given me a hickey."

“That’s not exactly how it works, but…” you let the words trail off in the air.

Your lips placed a small kiss on his cheek, then on his jaw and finally, a chaste kiss just below his ear. At the same point, you placed another wet kiss and finally gave a strong hickey. As soon as the pressure on your lips was released, you placed another quick kiss.

"Well, you're made of rubber, I don't think you'll get marked." You explained and snuggled back against his chest.

"But it felt good." you felt his hand fix your hair and create a space for him on the back of your neck.

Soon after, one of his hands slid down your thigh while his lips repeated almost the same path you had taken and unlike him, you were sure it would be at least painful to the touch, let alone marked.

"Did you like it?" he asked, still leaning against your shoulder.

"Yes." your slightly shaky voice said more than he could ask. It was supposed to be a simple hickey, but Luffy knew how to mess with you.

"Can I have another one?"

"Later, when everyone is asleep."

That meant that in some hidden corner of the ship, you took part of the night to explore each other. It also meant that the next morning, you had hickeys all over your body.

--

Law

warnings: pre-established relationship, jealous Law in this one.

He truly believes in that thesis that a strong hickey in the wrong place can be the cause of death, so he will always use small bites, the kind that only serve to make every part of your body shiver - and generate some other reactions too. Except when someone makes him jealous.

Don't misunderstand, Law is a reserved guy, not very interested in public displays of affection, but when you are alone, he is a clingy and extremely affectionate person - after time and time of you trying to win him over to transform the relationship into something more.

He had already shared the fighting field with Kid, victory with Kid, he would never share you, but the pirate seemed insistent on discussing things with you and your laughter echoed anything Kid said. Law already saw red at that moment.

After that, you ended the night in the arms of a version of Law that wasn't so common: jealous, unstoppable and delicious. You were just supposed to take some time and talk in his room. You ended up with all the things from the table on the floor, your panties lost - and probably torn, a trail of hickeys going down to your breasts.

"Trafalgar D. Law..." your voice came out like a scolding as you looked at yourself in the mirror already in his room. "What is that?"

"Just a few marks." he hugged you from behind, kissing one of the purple spots. "Sorry babe, I think I got carried away."

"Don't apologize, other than that, your jealous version brings good results."

"I hope that doesn't mean you're going to let that idiot bother you." he grumbled, placing another kiss on one of the hickeys. "Stay here, I'll get some ointment to ease this."

As soon as he returned, he carefully applied the medicine to each point you pointed out, but with a cynical smile on his lips. He knew the hickeys wouldn't go away fast enough until his next date that day with Kid.

Zoro

warnings: pre-established relationship, some broader mentions of NSFW content, but nothing explicit. Two uncontrollable drunks.

He liked to see the effect he had on you, whether it was the slurred speech when he pinned you against the wall, trying not to get lost between the way he looked at you and the proximity of the two of you, or you getting up with the wobbly legs of his bed and spending the next few hours grumbling about being sore - and you always whispered to him that that wasn't a complaint or when he saw you wearing scarves on hot days, or some accessory that disguised the mark on your skin.

Despite this, he didn't like it or used to leave marks on purpose. Even though he enjoyed seeing his love for you embedded in your skin, he knew that hickeys would only attract more questions about what that was, who did that and lots of jokes about the two of you.

However, on the nights lost between shots of sake, hidden in a dark corner and with the two of you numb from the alcohol in your blood, Zoro didn't worry about it. Or with almost nothing.

"Zo, control yourself, this is going to be marked." you lost it in a moan when you felt him capture your skin between his lips.

"Don't tell me you don't like it." he whispered, his lips running down your neck and leaving another mark. "You're mine, aren't you? Let me make that clear to everyone."

The next morning, in addition to the hangover that took over you, you could see the hickeys on your skin. However, this time, you could see the same hickeys in Zoro's.

Mihawk

warnings: brief mentions of NSFW here, this time F!Reader is the "jealous" one in the relationship. In my hc, Mihawk continues to speak Spanish/being Latino.

He could see your sullen face from meters away and couldn't contain a brief laugh. He knew you hated it when he had to be away to take care of his responsibilities as a shichibukai, but it was a necessary. Knowing it was just a small tantrum from you, he approached slowly, stopping at the edge of the bed and looking at you.

"Still mad that I have to go?"

"Of course! You barely stayed home for two weeks before you had to leave again. They really can't pick another guy?" you grumbled, seeing him shake his head. "I'm sorry I seem frustrated about this."

"Please don't apologize for this." he asked, seeing you drop your sullen expression and crawl over the bed, to where he was standing. "However, it seems my dear wife has some plan."

"Is that pretty girl going to be there?" you asked referring to Boa Hancock and he nodded. "I know there's nothing to be jealous of, but lately you've been spending more time with her than with me."

"And you're right not to be jealous." As soon as you knelt in front of him, your arms hung on his shoulder, sliding through the lined fabric of his white shirt. "No other woman interests me other than you, cariña."

"I know, like I said, I'm just letting my frustrations get louder." your lips began to distribute kisses along his jaw, going down to the back of his neck with white skin. Almost automatically, you sucked, seeing a small hickey appear. "I'm sorry." You pulled away, a cynical smile on your lips.

"If you plan to leave me marked with your love..."

Mihawk began to slowly unbutton his shirt, knowing how much it would excite you. Your hands soon helped him finish the job and your nails slid down his defined abdomen, stopping near the waistband of his pants.

"Make a mess, leave your hickeys on me and I will use them as a reminder of the incredible woman waiting for me at home." He bent down, finding the sensitive spot on your neck and placing a kiss. Soon, his mouth stopped immediately next to your ear, whispering in an almost tasteful way. "And when I come back, it will be my turn to mark you."

--

a/n: that's it, now my mind will be stuck on Mihawk walking around with his clothes open and hitting everyone's vision with scratches and hickeys.

[thebibliosphere]

Hi! How are you doing? Sorry to bother you, but i dont know many scottish people and idk who to talk to about this book I found on audible. It's called Imogène, by french author Charles Exbrayat. Do you know him /the book? I've started reading it but I had to pause because, while being sold as a "humorous spy story" I find the protagonist, a "very proudly scottish" woman, to be... an offensive caricature? Like she acts like a fool, honestly. This book contains some interesting points about sexism (it was published in 1959), and ridiculous british habits (such as employees forced to give money for princess anna's birthday or being socially scorned). I'm sure the shared dislike / distrust the protagonist and her british colleagues feel are (were?) realistic. But she is so extra, and the story keeps telling how lonely she is, even after working 20 years in london. She has No friends, most acquitances dont talk to her for various motivations, her bosses hates her ... idk I feel this book is actually mocking scottish people? Or scottish women??? I was SO there for a "strong woman protagonist who gives cutting remarks to her boss or peers", but this looks wrong. Idk. I didnt know whom ask for inputs. Maybe i'm reading too much into it. Feel free to ignore this mega rant. Have a good day!

I think cultural and historical context and time of publication-- which was almost 70 years ago --are important factors to take into consideration when we look at fiction through our current expectations.

I can’t speak to the book as I’ve never read it, but speaking as a Scots woman who worked for an English publishing house for a while, being made to feel alienated by my boss and others due to being Scottish was unfortunately still something going on in 2011.

I’d get lots of “Oh but you sound so eloquent” remarks regarding my thinned-out accent (something I did on purpose to avoid being told to “speak properly” which was also something I heard a lot in school if I ever used my native Scots language instead of “Queen’s English.”) and one time my boss referred to me as “their civilized Scot” to an American author, whose Scottish romance book I was supposed to be fixing the dialogue on.

The phrasing was along the lines of, “Don’t worry, you’ll be able to understand her. Joy is our civilized Scot.”

The author laughed and made another derogatory comment about how they just loved Scottish accents even if it was unintelligible a lot of the time. I kept my mouth shut because I didn't want to lose my first career job.

I kept my mouth shut a lot in that job.

In that regard I could very well empathize with the character being lonely and not engaging with anyone, even after 20 years.

The proud Scottish woman can be a bit of a caricature, but that doesn't necessarily mean it is intended as mocking.

Again, cultural/historical context matters.

I wasn’t alive in 1959, but I know there was a lot of Scottish media about the time that leaned into the stubbornness and pride of Scots women both for humor and to make societal commentary on the fact that women were strong and more independent than they’d ever been following two world two and a lot of men weren’t happy about it and wanted them to go back into their boxes. As a result the mouthy, proud Scots woman became a mockable caricature that turned women into shrill, over proud scolds.

Get back in your box or we’ll make fun of you, basically.

So is this book being mocking, or is it employing popular tropes of the time, knowing that audience will understand what it means and that the female protagonist is being subversive despite what others expect from her?

I can’t say. Again, haven’t read it. It could be utter dogshit and making total fun of my culture. But I do think when looking at older media we need to put our thinking caps on and think, “How would the audience of the time, 1959, have viewed and engaged with this?”

Expecting a “strong female protagonist” as we know it from media today isn’t going to work with media that’s almost 70 years old.

Hell, the “strong woman protagonist” wasn’t even something any piece of media could agree on when I was growing up in the 90s.

Times change. Literary tropes and preferences change. It helps to keep that in mind.

[autistichalsin]

Two questions because I like hearing your thoughts:

What do you think Halsin's biggest flaw is?

And

Is there anything in his writing that you just don't vibe with / would like to see changed?

So, I am going to put two here for his flaws, just because what I perceive to be Halsin's biggest flaw is something a lot of people don't like being stated as such, because it's an extension of something that can actually be a good thing.

Halsin's biggest overall flaw: he is self-sacrificing to his own detriment, which also results in him brushing off his own pain/trauma. As a result of this, he also has a habit of developing hero-worship for those care for him the way he cares for others, I.E. the player.

Halsin's biggest flaw that can't be seen as an extension of a good trait: He can't control his basal instincts/urges very well. Not only can he not control his bear (the transformation into it and his actions in that shape) very well, but he also has lines in combat that rival the Dark Urge's in bloodlust; "let our enemies' corpses nourish the ground!" "May the carrion birds grow fat on you!"

Things I would change about his writing:

So... Most of the things I would change, I would not because I have a problem with them, but because I'm tired of others complaining about them (I.E. make his flirting banter with SH in act 3 only trigger if you're polymanced, make the Drow orgy start only at your invitation instead of his suggestion, etc). The highest on this list for me is the Minthara ultimatum (which still hasn't been implemented). I would like to see them make Halsin's case stronger; point out the Absolute still hunts him, make it clear how much Minthara triggers his trauma, let him talk more about things that happened to him in the goblin camp because of her- with her continued lack of remorse (she never even as much as says she sympathizes with what happened to the Grove) helping make his case. Also, make it more clear that what happened to the Tieflings was the result of this (because this scene was written to only trigger if the Rite of Thorns happened); show how haunted by their deaths Halsin is. People wrongly think Halsin had no stakes in this argument, when the truth is that they just didn't remind the audience what they were.

For things I actually would want changed... well, I'll put that in two categories, the things that could be changed while keeping the game mostly the same, and then my "pie in the sky" things.

Realistic changes:

-Halsin's post-Drow dialogue is tweaked just a bit more to fix a line from Tav that comes off as condescending, and to clarify some things (did Halsin's captors' house fall out of favor, or were they attacked by a lower house that wanted to unseat them? Halsin says both, but these are two different things in Drow culture). Maybe the house and the house that wiped them out get named, as well.

-While Halsin's act 3 arc was good considering how little time there was, I feel that there needed to be more highlighting his transition from nature-focused to people-focused. We see his anguish at the failures of the city, and the early stages of him dreaming for better, but I wish we could have had more of a bridge to him deciding his commune is the answer. I'd like to see a scene with Halsin adopting Yenna/inviting her to the commune once he starts it, a scene with Halsin's decision to found his commune and inviting the first group of refugees, that sort of thing.

-Make a quick tweak to That infamous party banter that makes it clear chimeras pass the Harkness Test in this setting so that people stop using it as justification to claim Halsin fucked the boar at the Grove (yes this is a thing). Or cut it entirely, I guess.

-Go back to the planned concept where Halsin's scar was in fact from a battle. It being from a shebear doesn't inherently bother me, but I liked the idea of it being a reminder of how badass Halsin is.

-I wish we had more lines reminding us what an amazing healer Halsin is past act 1.

-Fix a few of Halsin's lines so that he sounds as concerned about the Shadow Druids' influence as he should. He brushes them off a bit too easily, especially in the line patch 6 added where you could show him the note sent to Kagha.

-For the love of God, let Halsin get pissed off if you as a Drow Tav/Durge threaten to sell him back into slavery. Make him break up with you on the spot, maybe even leave the party- and if not, lose a huge chunk of approval at least. Players who make Astarion bite Araj rightfully get chewed out- Halsin deserves the same. It doesn't have to be rage, either; it could be hurt, or fear, or some combination of the above. But please, a line that evil deserves something more. They would never pull that on any other character.

Pie in the sky things that would probably never happen but I wish they would:

-After Halsin's Drow confession, we get a chance to suggest to him he might want a turn as a consensual submissive, complete with a sex scene of the player dominating Halsin.

-A scene with Astarion and Halsin bonding over their shared trauma.

-Reintroduce parts of the original concept for the Shadow Curse plot. I don't have to have the Halsin accidentally killing Isobel bit, but I liked the plot with the Promise dagger and him using you as a beacon to find you once he goes in the portal. It was so romance-coded; I'd argue it was even more romantic than Halsin's actual romance plot!

-Let us watch Halsin win over the orphans going to his commune. For pure self-indulgence reasons, make at least one of them a baby.

-A resist scene for Durges. I don't care if it would always be platonic, and yes, go ahead and give Minthara one too. Just please?

-MOST OF ALL, Origin Halsin.

[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

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Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood. 

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye.  The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees.  The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane. 

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you  realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later. 

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead. 

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?” 

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how  incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them. 

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks. 

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.” 

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide. 

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now. 

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her.  “How could you?” 

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips. 

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.  

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life. 

“Bebita.” He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself. 

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes. 

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it. 

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to? 

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends. 

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence. 

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him? 

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

[meadow-hearthfire]

[Insert dialogue of a ten-year-old ranting to his previously-unknown Pop dad about the mistreatment he and his sister endured in the Techno foster system just for being half-Pop.]

--We didn’t ask for any of that! We never asked to be made!! Where was all that love and care these past ten years? Where was that these past FIVE YEARS?!!

I have no excuse… I’m sorry I wasn’t there.

No kid should ever have to go through such hardship, especially not at such a young age as you were…

Despite how angry and upset they are, they’re still kids and they’re hurting and they need a hug. Also, you gotta let them get it outta their system.

---

I love @zivazivc's OCs Eddy M and Ravin! (Oh, and their Techno dad is confirmed to have been in his twenties when he had them.)

Some songs I listened to while working on those pics:

This takes place in a universe in which Floyd mans up and takes those kids in after being reminded of their existence and informed of their situation. There are some other things that sets this AU apart from Ziva’s but I’m not gonna spoil any more than I probably already am. Plus, the AU is still a work-in-progress.

The kids are sent straight to Pop Village after the events of Trolls World Tour, and all of BroZone is informed of the kids’ existence after ancestry test results come out.

Why’s Eddy M pissed at Floyd, you may wonder? It’s because Eddy M knows Floyd knew of his and Ravin’s existence from the start and didn’t bother being part of their lives until Floyd was reminded of their existence and informed about their situation. Ravin knows that too, but she’s more upset that she’s reliving the trauma she and her brother underwent.

In the Mirverse, Eddy M and Ravin’s Techno dad died when they were five, and their Techno grandparents, whom they thought loved them, shunted them off to the Techno foster system where they were mistreated for being half-Pop.

The kids are supposed to be ten years old in this. If Floyd is thirteen when BroZone split, in his mid-twenties when he had those two eggs with that Techno troll, then he should be in his mid-thirties in this (at least in the Mirverse and according to my headcanons). If you notice the kids’ heights are possibly inconsistent for a ten-year-old, please ignore this error because I was too late to fix it. Maybe their time in the shitty-ass Techno foster system stunted their growth?

Wondering about Eddy M’s bandages? Well, all I’m gonna say is that Eddy M ran into trouble and got hurt. And nope, it wasn’t during his and Ravin’s time in the Techno foster system.

As for the clothes the kids are wearing? They were gifted those clothes when they were in the much nicer Pop Village foster home/orphanage.

Notice Floyd’s tattoo? The flowers are forget-me-nots, which I picked for a symbolic meaning that's literally in the name. I’m gonna let you try to figure out the rest (; btw the tattoo design isn't finalized, so it's subject to change.

Oh, and I hope you don’t mind the alterations and errors in Eddy M and Ravin’s designs. I was almost done with the pic so it was too late to fix those errors (the bangs and eyebrows), I’ll try to rectify that and see if I can make those details work next time I draw those two. As for the alterations, I wanted to simplify Ravin’s skin for ease of drawing and I struggled to make Eddy M’s Techno troll teeth work.

[lilac--sugar]

The Epitome of Spring

Summary: It was more of a joke than anything when Astarion suggested a bathhouse. Even more so when Karlach tacked on a nice meal and a large round of beer at a nearby tavern. Yet, after a long and rough few days it was all the gang wanted. (Late act 3. Spoilers in general but specifically: Spoilers for Astarion's Quest, Gale's Quest, and Wyll's Quest.) Pairing: Unascended Astarion/Tav!Reader (gn!Tav) (Tav race with a shorter lifespan in mind) I also wrote it with my Tav, Kieran, in mind (pictured above). If there are any mentions that contradict this being gender-neutral please point it out and I will gladly adjust it! 💜 Rating: E (18+ Minors Do Not Interact!) Content Warnings: (In order of appearance) Cussing Throughout, Near Death Experience Trauma, Heavy Angst (that gets solved rather quickly), Smut (starts halfway through 2.4k mark), Blood (Astarion feeding from Tav) (not a warning but it does end in fluff). (If I missed any please let me know!) Word Count: 4.8k Author's Note: Not betaed. I did my best to comb it over. If you see any mistakes please feel free to point it out! But do so kindly, please.💜 Also, there is some dialogue used that came from the game (iykyk). (Also this was posted last night but I just woke up and checked and it wasn't on the feeds I tagged it in. If the post does exsist please let me know and I'll fix it!)

The last few days had been incredibly harrowing. You’d thought that once you’d entered Baldur’s Gate things would have settled down some. Of course, there were loose ends that needed to be tied but the stakes kept getting higher. Almost impossibly high. Just about literally knocking on Death’s door. You can still hear the loud clanking, hand grasped tight to the metal rung of the ladder, body numb from adrenaline. All wrapped up in the fear that this was it, that you’d be snuffed out of existence, topped with the bow of worry about one man and what might become of him should you not make it.

“Darling?” Astarion’s hand waves in front of your face and you blink back to reality, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just,” you take in a deep breath, your lungs aching for air and you didn’t even realize, “zoned out.”

His brow knits together in concern, but you don’t bother to look up at him. Can’t stand it. Don’t want to think of that face he made, still just a few hours fresh in your memory.

It all seems rather silly now, being stood in the middle of Baldur’s Gate’s finest bathhouse all awash in melancholy. It was more of a joke than anything when Astarion suggested a bathhouse. Even more so when Karlach tacked on a nice meal and a large round of beer at a nearby tavern.

Yet here you were in a building the size of a palace. The House of Relaxation. Every last inch of it was gilded in luxury. Built with warm sandstone polished to perfection, flex of copper glittering throughout. Etched into the stone were runes of all kind. Upon closer inspection you’d realized they were invocations of relaxation and healing. There were pamphlets left on the counter explaining all of their services. From massages to solitary baths down to more extravagant options that included happier endings. Not one for too much pomp, you opt for something more humble, something that sounded a bit enchanting.

“Uh,” Astarion was there at your shoulder as you paid the attendant and gathered your bathing token, robe, and towel, “Which one did you go for?” he asks, trying to catch a glimpse of your token.

“Something basic,” you say, tucking it between the folds of the towel.

“I rather hoped we could do something together,” his voice is soft, cracking just slightly with something. Disappointment? Sadness? Your heart sinks but you don’t turn around, don’t know what to say really. Frozen in place, mouth suddenly dry.

You can see from the corner of your eye Gale eyeballing the two of you as he often does. With him and Astarion sharing a little corner at camp it made things too easy for him to eavesdrop, feigning like he was lost in thought.

“Oh, go on Fangs!” Karlach lands a rather impactful slap across Astarion’s back, “we all know you don’t do basic! Go ahead and get one of those fancy package deals!” She plops a pamphlet in his hands, “There ya go!” She points down to it, “The Goodberry trio! Facial, massage, and luxury honey bath! Sounds like your deal!”

“Uh, yes, I suppose it does,” he still sounds rather dejected, another pang to your heart.

“When we’re all done we’ll go to the tavern down the street, get something cheap and cheerful!” She ruffles at his hair, “You’ll see your sweet Tav there! And we can head to camp all refreshed and our bellies full!” She smiles wide at him, “Besides! Me and them got the same thing so I’ll keep an eye on them. No worries, Fangs!” As she says the last part she moves to you, tossing her arm over your shoulder.

“Right,” he turns to the counter with a deep sigh. You turn to dare a glance. He looks dejected just like you thought. You feel ill at the sight. Karlach hastily herds you away.

“Karlach,” you say in a hushed tone, “I don’t-“

“I know, doll,” She winks at you, pressing a finger to the side of her nose, “We all need our time alone. I don’t blame Astarion for wanting to be with you after what happened last night. But I also understand that you need your time to process it. I just wanted to help in some way,” she pulls away once the two of you enter the public showers, “If ya need someone, I’ll be in the,” She pulls her token out to read it, “Drunken beer bath falls!” She gives you a warm smile before disappearing into a section of the showers.

Public as the showers were, they were still individual stalls, marble walls and black silken curtains for privacy. You slide into one and turn the water on. The shower hisses to life, coming out shockingly cold. The noise, the feeling of the cold water against your skin- you gasp and press back against the cool marble wall.

A flash of The Iron Throne flitters behind your eyelids. You press a hand to your chest. You and your party had decided to split up. Wyll would get his father, Astarion would get Omeluum. You’d get some prisoners down another corridor and Karlach stayed in the main chamber to take down Sahuagin warriors as much as she could. In your stupidity you’d gone back to help a cell you’d mistakenly walked away from. Determined to help them it cost you so much time. You’d barely made it out. The hatch to the submersible was closing on you. Survivors shouting to go. Astarion, Wyll, and Karlach screaming to wait just a second longer.

That’s when you knocked on the hatch with all your might. Hand holding onto the rung with some strength you can’t even fathom now. Your body goes weak thinking about that moment.

Astarion was the one that pulled you up, looked as though he had been ready to dive back down in there after you. His wide eyes full of tears, the fear. The fear in those eyes.

You’d launched yourself up with your legs at the same time he pulled you. The two of you becoming a mess on the floor of the ship. Silence fell over everyone as Astarion held you against his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. He’d shushed you, told you to let it out as you sobbed into him. You weren’t one to cry but that moment made you realize something about you and your relationship with him. An undeniable truth that couldn’t be ignored forever. Forever. The word hurts.

You seem to phase back into yourself. Pressed back against the wall, the water has gone scalding. How long had you let it run? How long had it been burning your feet? You’re quick to turn the temperature down, wincing as your feet burn. You press a hand to one of the healing runes and little to your surprise the burning goes away. Healed. Feet normal again.

With a sigh you carry on with your shower, using the milk and honey toiletries they’d provided.

You slip out of the showers, realizing they’d only given you one towel.

Knowing you were moments from getting wet again anyway, you slip on your silk robe. The smooth fabric clinging to your wet form. You shrug as you grab up your towel and head down to the ‘Nymph Forest’ room. There had been many themed rooms but that one sounded the most whimsical to you.

You turn the corner into the room, body instantly welcomed with the gentle caress of damped leaves. A small pathway into the room opens up into a clearing. Golden sunlight shines down from a lush canopy above, casts the room in shadows and sunbeams. You can’t help but notice dew drops on the leaves act like prisms, a dance of rainbows swirl around you as you walk through. The ground beneath your feet is a soft lush moss, smooth stepping stones placed here and there. Bakers fern brushes at your ankles, sprinkled through them are different wild flowers in an array of colors. Purple foxglove, lily of the valley, pink bleeding-hearts. There are magnolia trees framing the edge of the crystal clear water. The bed of the faux pond is smooth stone like the rest of the building but the copper dances and glitters as the water ripples above.

How this was one of the more basic options you really weren’t sure.

You place your towel to the side over a rather conveniently placed overgrown root, designed to look natural but definitely a bench. No one else is around. Perhaps not many people prefer an overgrown forest like yourself. With a satisfied sigh you dip a toe into the water. Perfect if not just the tiniest bit too warm.

You undo the tie of your robe, let it fall down your shoulders.

“Tav?” Astarion’s voice is soft, tapering off in a wavering sense of unsurety.

You nearly jump out of your skin, quick to pull your robe up, doing the tie once again. You glance over your shoulder but there’s no one to be found.

“I’m sorry. I feel like you wanted some time alone, and trust me I plan to give you that,” he says. You turn your eyes away, focusing on the way the sunlight glitters off the water, “I just want to make sure you’re alright. Ever since last night you’ve been distant. It was horrible, the whole situation, but I’m worried that you’re not so much,” there’s a pause, he’s swallowing a lump in his throat, “in need of alone time but more pushing m- us- away.”

The sound of water lapping at marble fills the air in the wake of conversation.

“I know I’m just being insecure and darling, please, take all the time that you need, but, know that I’m here and as long as you’ll have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

You turn back again, look around the corner and can see him pressed back against the wall of the hallway, facing away from you.

“Astarion,” you can’t help how tenderly his name falls from your lips. You’re scared you’re giving false hope as he blinks, surprised. He turns himself to look at you, you’ve never seen him look more like a lost puppy.

“How did you know which room I’d be in?”

“Well,” he twirls a hand through the air, “I might have taken a peek at the attendant’s ledger when he turned away,” he shrugs trying to hide his sheepishness, “But, uh- I don’t want to intrude, darling, I just wanted to let you know.”

“I know. And I want you here. Please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to cross over to you. Adorned in his own silken robe, towel clutched in his hands. You gently take it from him, toss it onto the bench next to yours.

“We’ve always been honest with each other,” you start, “well, at least since you confessed to me back in the Shadow Cursed Lands anyway,” you follow up, causing him to purse his lips. It was something he still felt the faintest amount of guilt over.

You reach out and take his hands in your own.

“I think,” you take a deep breath, look up at the canopy of leaves, trying to gather yourself, “we should end this,” you say, finally looking back at him, knowing you owe him at least that.

“Oh shit,“ heartbreak and shock spread across his face and your heart cracks in half. Your words, his face, you feel like you’re going to be violently ill, “I- Did I do something wrong? Why? What’s changed?”

“I’m just scared of hurting you. I’m scared that one day I’ll die and leave you alone. I saw the look on your face when you pulled me up on the submersible. I can’t stand the thought…” Your eyes start to water. You close them in an attempt to stop from crying but it’s all feeble as the tears fall down your cheeks. With a thick swallow you nod your head, “It’s easier now when you don’t love me too much, while you aren’t so attached.”

You hear him let out a small laugh, open your eyes to find him with a sad smile, “Too late for that, my love. This little adventure of ours has taught me that we can’t let our lives be ruled by fear or else we never really live. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of our future. When I said I wanted you, I knew what I was getting into. And when I said I didn’t want to lose that, I meant it. Now, if you have an issue with committing to an immortal,” pain spreads over his face, “I understand that and I won’t hold you back from what you truly want.”

“I have no issue in the slightest,” you say, stepping closer to him, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

“Good, darling, besides, there’s plenty of things that can be done,” he rests his chin on your shoulder, melting into the embrace, “we can try to find me a cure and you can learn Timeless Body at some point. That’d put us on level playing fields. Or perhaps make you immortal somehow? If that’s something you want?”

“Anything,” you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, “anything. I don’t care. As long as I’m with you.”

The two of you rest in easy silence, just enjoying the closeness of the other. After a moment he hesitantly pulls back from you.

“Are you ok aside from that? I know how terrifying it is, standing on the brink, looking out and seeing nothing but the dark void of death,” He cups your face, kisses you softly over your eyes. His thumb swiping away the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “Are you going to be ok?”

“In time,” you say, pressing a kiss to his lips, “Doesn’t help my fear of krakens much,” you’re trying to lighten the mood.

“Well, there were hardly any there,” he grins at you.

“No, but it’s just another layer to it all. Didn’t care much for the sea because of it before and now, kraken, being swept into the sea and drowning,” you shrug, “I think I’ll just carry a general fear of it from now on.”

“Fair enough, reminder, no dates out on a boat. Though, yachts are so nice,” he sees you shake your head, smile on your face, “oh well, Siilen's faen*. There’s plenty of other things I can treat you to. Right now, though, my sweet, I’ll leave you to it. I don’t want to impose.”

“Impose, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Deadly.”

“Well, then,” his grin grows.

“Astarion,” you pull away from him. He tilts his head, watching your form as you walk backwards from him, “If I’m going to try living again. I’d like to do so with everything life has to offer.”

“Are you sure? Are you in the right headspace?” he asks, following you like a moth to flame.

“Oh yes. If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded,” you say, being coy with his own words. You lean back against the tree, tilting your head to expose your neck.

“Darling,” he comes to you, presses his index finger under your jaw, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip, “let me see what I can do,” his fingertip traces down the expanse of your neck, circling down and over your collar bone, pushing your robe open just a bit.

You sigh softly, watching him through heavily lidded eyes. His fingers slide under the lapel of your robe, cool knuckles brushing over your chest, over sensitive skin that prickles under his touch.

He leans over you, his other arm resting next to your head against the tree. With his nose he nudges your cheek, causing you to tilt your head the other way.

You lean into him, go to kiss him but he pulls back slightly with a ‘tut’, shaking his head. With a soft, nearly frustrated, sigh you press your head back against the tree again.

Pleased, he leans back in, running his tongue over your bottom lip, then the top. Your lips part in anticipation for his but he remains a hairsbreadth away. His knuckles brush lower, leaving your chest and going lower, and lower. Your stomach flutters and a choked noise escapes you. He breathes it in, cool air flowing over your wet lips.

“Astarion,“ you say his name as a whispered prayer, sacred worship.

“Tav? Oh! I’-” your own name but not from Astarion’s lips. You don’t care, as you open your eyes, you only look to Astarion. You keep eye contact with him. His hand drops from you, eyebrows twitching in annoyance.

“Gale,” He pulls back just enough to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, “hold on, darling,” he whispers to you. His eyes fall on Gale, aiming a glare at him so finely honed from years of brooding it could level a small village, “My friend, my pal, my,” he grimaces just slightly, “buddy,” for what it was worth, Astarion, and you for that matter, did rather like Gale. It was just his persistency in the face of the two of you being an item that really got Astarion’s metaphorical blood, boiling.

“As you can see, sweet Tav here is rather occupied at the moment. With me. Their partner. Darling?” He turns to you and it takes you a second to pull your eyes from him, transfixed by him still.

“I’m sorry Gale,” you say, finally managing to look over at him, “I’ve tried to tell you so many times.”

“No, it’s me. I just, sorry, I just wanted someone to talk to. I’m seeing Mystra tomorrow-“ he sighs deeply, “I had hoped.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Gale only waves you off, shaking his head, “Karlach is in the,” you pause trying to remember, “Drunken falls? She’s a great ear.”

“Right, I’ll go do that. Thank you,” awkwardly he slips out of the room.

You look back to Astarion who has a mix of adoration and contemplation on his face.

“What?” you ask softly.

“You’ve got a tender heart,” he says finally.

“Do not,” you protest, scoffing out a laugh.

“You do. I can feel it when we kiss,” his fingers move, come up to press under your jaw, right at your pulse, “I can feel it fluttering under my hand. Delicate like a little bird. You’re so sweet to everyone, even when they deserve to be told off.”

“He’s lonely, confused, hurt.”

“He’s bullheaded and taking advantage. He saw how you went off without me earlier,” he shakes his head, “an opportunist. I don’t blame him for trying but I do wish he’d stop. We’re together and everyone has recognized that but him.”

“I don’t want to think about Gale right now,” you say, taking hold of his arm, moving his hand up to cup your cheek, “kiss me, for Gods sakes, kiss me.”

He does. Softly at first, but you reach out, curl your fingers into his robe, pull him closer to you. Pleasure. One of the greatest highlights of life. Pleasure with the one you love, even more so. Hands move with expert precision, robes pushed off forms, bodies exposed.

The contrast of his cool body against your warm one causes you to hiss. He reaches under you, scoops you up under your ass and wraps your legs around him. You push back against the tree and cause the two of you to fall back into the open bath.

He gasps. You laugh. As if on cue the magnolia trees that line the bath release themselves of their flowers. Hundreds of pink and white petals falling all around you.

“You wild thing,” he says, coming up for air, “give a man a warning next time,” he scolds, and you grin across the water at him.

“Come here,” you say, taking perch on the smooth steps of the bath. Your body open for him, legs parted, arms resting back against the edge, “let me kiss you better.”

“Brat,” he mumbles. However, he can’t stay mad, not when there are petals adorning your hair and shoulders. His sweet, tender Tav. You look like the epitome of Spring. He knows you are with how you‘ve blossomed life back into the Winter of his own. He thinks Spring used to be his favorite, in a life long ago, knows it will be again.

“Takes one to know one,” you tease as he crosses over to you. He brushes petals off your shoulder and kisses you once more, tongue swiping across your bottom lip, asking permission. You tilt your head and grant it.

You press up against him, hips grinding. He moves a hand down, working it against you, his thumb swirling softly. You moan against his lips.

“Taste me,” you breathe out. Astarion nudges your head with his own, causes you to expose your neck for him once more. He presses his lips to the delicate expanse, “please,” you just about beg and he licks up the side of it, the cool air of his breath causes you to shiver under him. His thumb applies more pressure, wrist twisting just right, and shivers turn to writhing, “fuck!”

“That’s it, darling, I do love your little trembles of pleasure,” he coaxes. His other hand comes down, the pads of his finger pressing against your entrance.

“Fuck, yes, please,” you manage to say through a moan and he slips a finger in, eases in and out, rocking ever so slightly, down right teasing. You push back against his hand, your fingers going into his hair, you curl them, gently tug.

“No foreplay tonight?” he teases and you honestly adore it any other time but right now you need him. You need to feel this connection, to feel alive with him.

Gently, he eases his other finger in, rocks them in and out of you. His lips are at your neck and you tug again.

“Ask nicely, nibblet,” he murmurs, gliding his lips across the delicate skin there, dotting it with the slightest graze of his teeth.

“Please,” you whimper and he obliges, fangs sinking deep into your neck. Ice cold and yet the edge of pain mixed into your pleasure is delicious. You let out a cry, his name is a song from your lips. He curls his fingers up and hits that spot deep inside of you. His hands now working in unison. He goes to pull away from your neck, not wanting to be too greedy, “No, don’t stop. Oh Gods, fuck me, please,” you beg but he knows his limits with this. Just when he’s about to stop, the water around you charges up in a golden glow, and a rush runs through you. You’ve been restored and fresh blood comes pooling out of you, running down your neck, your chest, twisting through the water and white petals like smoke.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps and you press down against his hand again. He removes his fingers, realizing just how ok you are going to be. Limits be damned here. His free hand goes to your hip, his cock pushing lightly at your entrance. You meet him half way, surprising him a bit. He groans against your neck as he sinks deep inside you. Hotter than the bath and ten times more pleasurable. You are his favorite thing to sink into.

With free reign he drinks more deeply than he’s ever done before. The two of you rock your hips in unison, him hitting that spot inside you so perfectly. His other hand working you, never ceasing, thumb switching up in pressure here and there but still swirling perfectly over you.

You are brought to the precipice of darkness, warm numbness spreading over you before the water glows and restores you again. It’s on the third time that you feel the insurmountable heat pool up in the pit of your stomach. You’ve become a mess under him. Moaning and crying out his name. Damn the Gods his was the only name you need remember. The only name you needed to pray to. Your body trembles, the waves of hot pleasure building higher and higher until they crash down over you. You finish under him. You feel him pull back to look at you. You open your eyes, knowing he wants to see you, all of you, see your soul as you reach your release. He wants to see you blossom under him, finds you absolutely gorgeous as you do. It takes a minute later, before he tenses up over you, finding his own release in you. His head falls, forehead pressing to yours. Your breath mingles and you kiss softly, coming down off both your highs.

“Astarion,” your voice is almost weak as if all of this has made you lose it. He pulls back from you, softly licks your neck and down your chest. He doesn’t want to waste a drop of your precious life that you’ve given to fill his. He’s fuller than he’s ever been, the happiest too, he’s sure. It takes the two of you another moment before he slips away from you completely, the two of you wanting to keep that connection for as long as you could. Not willing to leave the other’s touch he turns around in your arms. His back to your front. You wrap your legs around his waist.

The water shimmers silver now and all traces of blood and whatever else have been cleaned from the water. The petals and flowers remain, drifting in the gentle current of the water around you.

“Do you think it’ll be a shock to you?” you ask after a moment.

“What?” he asks in turn, resting his head back over your shoulder.

“When you see your face again. You know, if we find a cure,” You rest your own head against his shoulder. The two of you becoming an amorphous blob, “And I know we’ve gotten you a statue from Stoney and Oskar painted you. But I suspect it’s not the same.”

“Ah,” he watches the sunbeams shimmer through the canopy of leaves above, “No, not quite. They’re great, don’t get me wrong. But they still feel a little separated. Not quite… me.”

“I’ve been thinking,” you say.

He hums in response.

“The courthouse.”

“What about it?”

“Well, they must have paintings of previous magistrates hanging up, no?”

“I-“ He turns his head, attempts to look at you, “I suppose.”

“You think maybe they have one of you? Would that feel less surreal or maybe more so?”

“I don’t know,” he looks off in thought now, certain that what you suggested might just be right.

“You could be in the library’s archives, too.”

“Gods, you really are something, aren’t you?” he sounds astounded and you duck your head into his shoulder, feel your cheeks burn at his praise.

“I wonder what color your eyes were,” you try to change the subject, can’t stand being complimented for long, even from him like you so adore.

“Perhaps a vibrant green. Something distinguished,” he turns his head, kissing the top of yours from your hiding spot.

“Nah, Astarion,” you lift your head, kissing the corner of his lips, “your parents probably named you for how you looked but also what they’d hoped you’d be. Hair like starlight, eyes strikingly blue, perhaps with flex of gold. All together they thought you’d be a beacon to bring hope and guide those who are lost.”

He huffs out a laugh, “A beacon of hope? Guiding those who are lost?”

He’s laughing in your arms, finding it absurd. Still, the thought causes trembles of happiness to spill out from him and you smile, pressing it against the crook of his neck.

“You could be. Maybe we’ll help the spawn once this is all over? You could be just that for them.”

He’s still giggling, wiping at his eyes as tears had started to fill in them, all happy you’re assured, “We could do that. Those pour souls need a leader. All of them are so tragic without one.”

“I take it back.”

“What? That I’m a beautiful beacon of hope?”

“I didn’t say beautiful.”

“Oh, it was heavily implied. We both know you meant to say it anyway.”

“Ok, yes, you’re beautiful. Gorgeous. No, the most divine thing to walk this planet.”

“Good, glad we agree,” He nestles back into you, content smile across his lips, “but really, what do you take back?”

“I think your eyes were brown. Deep and warm like rich dark honey in sunlight,” you press kisses over his shoulder and up his neck, just behind his ear.

“Mmm, that does sound alluring, tell me more.”

You press your lips to the shell of his ear, whisper, “How about, I love you? Is that good for more?”

“That’ll do,” he smiles.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he turns in your arms, kisses you softly once again. The two of you lost to one another. The rest of the gang long gone to the tavern before the two of you emerge.

You spend the night delighting in one another. Making the other laugh, giving a gentle touch, and kissing. So many kisses. You forget your fears of the future. For you know, without a doubt, he will be there and there will be love.

(* Elvish Translation: C'est la vie or That's life. I used a Common to Elvish translator so I'm not even sure it's accurate 😂 Hopefully it is though!) Last little note here! Gale is portrayed the way he is here because, personally, in my playthroughs he's been VERY persistent. I know he's just bugged and he's a darling really, but I just found it funny how often he tries to shoot his shot with my Tav.

My masterlist

[sokkastyles]

What are your thoughts on Pakku going to the SWT and he and Kanna becoming a couple again? Personally, it always felt really rushed/out of nowhere to me. Not that Pakku would go to the South to help rebuild, but that Kanna would accept him back into her life romantically or that it would take so little time for her to decide to do so.

It is rushed, and pretty questionable storytelling wise, and there's no real reason for it to happen. What is especially jarring about it, though, is how little Kanna gets a voice in this storyline.

I mean, forget for a minute the questionable choice of having a woman who went across a continent to flee an arranged marriage just get back together with that person after decades. Even if we accepted this as a choice the writers made, the problem is that we have no idea how Kanna felt at any time about any of it.

It seems like there was an attempt at character development there, but a lot of it is actually assumed by the fandom to fill in the gaps. All we're actually told in the series is that Kanna left because she didn't want to marry Pakku. I have seen some fans extrapolate that Kanna did love Pakku, but that what she wanted was a choice, and that's why she agrees to marry Pakku in the end, after Katara taught him How to Respect Women (another problematic trope that this series has a problem with in general). But even if we assume those things, all of that is still fanon. We aren't told any of this, how Kanna felt or why her feelings changed. Katara actually says that Kanna didn't love Pakku, and while Katara could have been incorrect, the problem is that we never actually get to hear from Kanna about it, at any point. Even when they get back together, we don't know why. All we hear is that Pakku says he made a new betrothal necklace for her.

It would have been very easy to fix this problem by just adding a few lines of dialogue to make Kanna's feelings more clear and present in the story. Maybe Pakku tells Katara how Kanna gave him an ultimatum and said that she would not be another man's prize. And then when the group sees Pakku again with the White Lotus, Pakku tells Katara how her bravery in standing up to him made him realize how he had lost Kanna through his own pigheadedness, and he proposed to her anew if only she would have him. In just a few lines of dialogue, we get a lot more of Kanna's agency and we see that Pakku has actually changed as a person. It's still problematic, but a lot more palatable.

Hell, you could even add in a line of dialogue about how Kanna is helping Pakku open up a school for female waterbenders now, and that would give us some sense of character development that would have helped us understand how their relationship developed. It also brings things nicely full circle from Kanna watching Hama and the other waterbenders from her village being taken away, and solves the exceptionalism issue that is part of the problem with that whole subplot, because we don't get so much of a sense that Pakku has actually learned to respect women vs learning to respect Katara because she is tough or because she is Kanna's granddaughter.

What's even more confusing is how the necklace came to symbolize what it does for Katara, and how that fits with the Pakku thing. It's my personal headcanon that Kanna passed it on to her daughter as a symbol of what she had overcome, of her own determination to be free, and Kya did the same thing with her daughter. Katara had to get her feminism from somewhere. But then that's hard to reconcile with a Kanna who was secretly pining for her lost love all these years and who would accept another necklace from the same dude.

The show just didn't bother to give Kanna a voice here, and that's the biggest problem.

[victor-veloci-simp-69]

Episode 1:

I've always loved the intro song ngl. A good intro song makes me love a cartoon. That's how W.I.T.C.H and Huntik got me

Fiona gets to class. Ms Moynihan says she broke three rules. She says this before Fiona bites her apple. Fiona then says that's only two and then misses her shot, making three. This inplies that Fiona either does this regularly, or that Ms Moynihan has some form of clairvoyance.

(The clairvoyance thing could make some absolutely fantastic fanfiction ngl. *writes that down* oooh, I have IDEAS now) anyway, back to episode

The fact that Fiona only took one bite of that apple bothers me

Oh man, that bio class room looks almost exactly like the one I had in high school.

Oooooh yaayyyy! Mah Boi is here!!! Stripey gay boi

Okay, first off:

This place looks like a giant OSHA violation.

Regardless of that (Peter, go fix this giant OSHA violation. Hey, maybe that's why we never see him again, he's too busy fixing the questionable workplace) those scientists look properly enriched.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE THINGS IN THE TUBES THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'RE FROM BEN 10 I SWEAR TO GOD THAT LOOKS LIKE SWAMPFIRE.

On that note, why do we never see Veloci's creepy test tube creatures??? His scientists worked hard on The Horrors

The one on the pink test tube looks like the rose from beauty and the beast

Is that a fucking rail track. I think I remember that one featuring in an ep, but I could be wrong. If I'm right then why was the continuity placed here and not on anything else???

"I got into business to swim with the sharks, not be eaten by them"

Me: Oh, you're declining it? Unexpected.

Peter: I'm in!

Me: ???

That bit of dialogue has always thrown me off. Its the clunkiness.

Bye Peter. It was nice to meet you.

"Break into your usual groups". The dinosquad comes together but kinda acts like they've never interacted before.

Max and Roger seem like they've teamed up before tho.

Caruso at 4:21 is barefoot. He has shoes on at 4:26. We know he had no time to put shoes on and off and on because he's barefoot when he leans over and drops his jacket. When he picks it up he has shoes on again.

...why did they all (I understand Caruso getting his jacket and Buzz getting thrown in) go into the water????

Roger says "nah, I ain't getting in" and then not only gets in the water but throws buzz in.

(The fact that Roger throws Buzz in the water which later results in him becoming a Dino is a great angst fic waiting to happen. If Roger hadn't thrown him in, he would still have been living a normal life)

Ms Moynihan shows up and goes " I thought I made it clear no one was to go in the water"

First off, that was never shown on screen and I don't like that

With the context of dinosquad as a whole, this kind of implies she knows Veloci is dumping his nuclear jizz in the water

I guess it could also be because she didn't want wet students on the bus, but still.

Wait. If no one was suppose to go in the water, and there doesn't seem to be an area with tide pools, then Caruso's stupid sushi list is even more useless since fish don't count.

Anyway, MY BABY RUMP!!! BOOBOO! I LOVE YOU BABY! MY BABY!!!

Hnnngg sexy library I wants please I will crawl into my computer just let me at that library I can live with dinosaur shenanigans. (But can I live with redoing high school? No.)

"Young man, if you don't remember, this is a library 😡 "

My brother in christ, what horrors have you been through that you hear a dinosaur roar and conclude that that is the sound a normal teenager makes naturally.

Caruso's jacket gets shredded. He immidiately blames the dry cleaners. Bro, it was whole when you put it in your locker. What

Fiona gets a tail and it sticks out her truck window. My good bitch, how did you not feel the cold air on your tail???

The fact that Buzz waves his arms while playing video games is kinda adorable

The fact that Ms Moynihan showed them what happened telepathically leaves a lot of possibility for her to leave certain things out and show them only what she wants them to see and think.

And besides that, its also kinda fucked up. There are implications here. My brain is a little fried to parse them all, but there are implications. I know it.

Ohhh!! The cave has a light source! That implies that there are two entrances, which solves my age old question of how tf did they get out of that cave.

Oh holy shit. Young Ms Moynihan is HOT

...she looks a lot like Caruso. Hmmm. Formulating THOUGHTS tm

You think that (if the story she tells is actually true and not her lying to hide a bigger truth that she doesn't want them to know about) Ms Moynihan and Veloci gained the ability to transform because of. Idk. Space radiation or something?

Cuz your genes don't just. Mutate. For no reason. This backstory feels fake af. I think she just lied bc she knew her students knew fuck all about biology and would believe anything

Why did ms Moynihan change foreheads. Did she want to be inclusive and touch everyone's forehead or is she afraid their brains can only handle so much... or did they refuse to hold hands like she asked and now she has to switch foreheads?

"You're a vicious Carnivore!"

"I've moved past that but there is one who hasn't: Victor Veloci"

Might be because I'm getting back into twilight, but this gives off major Vegetarian Vampires vs Normal Vampires vibes.

In this case, Ms Moynihan is Dr Carlisle Cullen and Victor Veloci is Aro Volturi.

"What do you believe?"

Ms Moynihan: "Humans gained dominance because brute force lost out to reason...and love. That's why I parted ways with Veloci long ago."

I smell a Secret. I smell Tea. Spill. I can practically hear tragic dramatic backstory. Was this a "I fell in love story" or a "Veloci didn't care about me" story. Ms Moynihan sounds bitter.

Also, the sheer contempt in her voice when she talks about Victor Veloci. Say what you will about Dinosquad, but it has some pretty good voice acting sometimes.

Max: "I don't want to be a dinosaur"

Ms Moynihan: this is bigger than you, this is about saving the world.

"Can you cure us?"

"Yeah"

Roger: "But I want to stop Victor Veloci :( "

Ms Moynihan mentally: *nevermind, ya'll are too stupid to help me save the world. What was I thinking*

(Genuinely a very confusing arguement. People changed opinions so quickly damn. Not even a line space in between)

"I can't afford all the fancy tech Veloci has" <takes them to her lighthouse filled with huge computers and monitoring equiptment> hmmm. Ms M, I'mma assume you banged some rich bitches in your time and inherited, because no way can you affort a lighthouse on a teacher's salary.

Conclusion: Ms M is loaded.

"The cold forces the Dino DNA to the skin as it seeks warmth" um. That's ominous. It makes the DNA sound like a living parasite. Ugh

Ms Moynihan definitely faked "curing them". She is way too calm about the situation. She was very insistent on them helping her fight Veloci before. And the fact that she could cure literally everything else except for them is sus.

That Megalodon shark was trolling ngl

Veloci sees Fiona as dino: this can only be bc of my experimental dna...or....

That 'or' implies things. Ms Moynihan things.

The fact that Veloci sees the Dinosaurs but not the squad turning into dinosaurs the dinosaurs. Like, by the time Ms Moynihan jammed the feed several transformations have already taken place

Veloci ending with his ominous ass "can't wait to find out more about my new dinosaur friends" is so fun. Love him. Dramatic ass fuck. Ominous. Very sexy.

[queer-whatchamacallit]

So I decided I was going to rewatch The Bear and take notes, partly bc autism and partly bc I want more interesting details for fics and just to get to know the characters even better

(Also, I’ve been curious about what makes Carmy blow up vs what makes him dissociate)

So here’s some things I noticed that you could also pick apart like I have here

Carmy has his apron on in the dream, maybe it’s just because that’s what he’s been wearing pretty much all the time for the past couple weeks or because his work is so tied with his family (w/ bears as symbolism for that) but idk

Him waking up on a random counter in The Beef confirms my headcanon that he falls asleep in weird places OR he fell asleep in the office and sleepwalked there

In this ep, any imagery or mention of Michael is pretty much always tied to religious imagery

Carmy calls her Sugar and him Mike, I’m always inclined to have him say Mikey instead but I don’t think he ever does. Also, Fak calls Carm Bear :]

“What’s UPS?” Is the first in a long string of times where someone tries to talk about something other than the kitchen, and it just doesn’t click with Carm

Syd’s “I know who you are” and Carmy’s “Yeah?” and he just listens to her completely riveted is so funny to me. Tell this man you know he was the CDC at one of the best restaurants in the United States of America and it’s like saying “walk” to a dog

Carm’s “I’m saying something >:[,” starts the classic Berzatto dilemma of no one listening to each other but wanting to be listened to

Reminder that Syd can speak Spanish :D

Richie talks about their “Italian heritage” and later says abt the labels “this is the most Polish shit ever,” which show how close he fits in with the Berzattos and his dislike of his bio family (Jerimovich is Polish right.?)

Richie talks about putting his family back together and him not coming home, and Carmy instantly dissociates

Him asking “Why didn’t he leave it to you then?” Not like a comeback, but a genuine question gets me every time

Carmy’s not good with words, so while this is something that just makes fun dialogue, in universe, it’s interesting to see how often his responses are parroted (ex: Marcus’ “that shit was straight up fire” and Carm’s “Straight up done now Chef”)

When it’s work time, it’s work time. When Fak stops looking at Ballbreaker to mention that he wasn’t able to go to the funeral but he sent flowers, Carm just says he wasn’t there either and swiftly changes the subject back to work

The three siblings and Richie all have gold necklaces. When Sugar shows up, I don’t know if hers was one of the matching ones, and I couldn’t figure out what the charm was on it

Tina says “Why doesn’t your sister come around here anymore?” Implying that she used to. I also feel like T wouldn’t have asked if Sugar stopped coming when she moved out and didn’t have to do what her mom told her to. Maybe Mikey kicked Sugar out of the restaurant too, but she wasn’t too bothered by it

Unlike with Richie, when Nat calls him out on not saying hello, just trying to get work done, he listens, and he slows down. Richie feels like his space in the family is shaky, so he’ll take a lot more shit from them while Nat won’t. She inherited a temper, just like her brothers, I feel like she’s in therapy and likely tackled how to stand up for herself when her family was treating her like shit, and she’s the “normal” middle child between a loud older brother and a worrying little brother, so she probably had to fight for her family’s attention at every turn

Nat mentions their mom and Carm’s eye contact instantly breaks, and it seems like he has to remind himself to breathe

His stutter shows up when arguing that he doesn’t want Jimmy to buy it

Carm’s “I’m gonna fix this place” vs Sug’s “No one’s asking you to” just hits so hard for some reason

When Carm tries to flee back inside, she uses “I love you,” like it’s an argument to keep him from throwing himself back into the restaurant or as a reminder that there’s people out there who want him to be doing well when she thinks the restaurant is hurting him

Sweeps is more of a background character but omg he just quietly looks out for everyone :] (he made sure Syd got to try Carm’s beef recipe :]]]])

Fak was also close with Mikey. I don’t know why I imagine Fak as being not quite as close with everyone as Richie, but they came to Christmas too, edit: Fak’s “but it got fuckin dark at the end” showed that he too knew something was up when Carm didn’t

Carm very much gives off the vibe of being allergic to cats, but I’m going to ignore that and squeeze in my headcanon that he loves Fak’s cats, Ralph and they love him

Richie’s dialogue is such a fun juxtaposition of him trying to feel superior to whoever he’s arguing with with large vocabulary and overconfidence but often falling back into vulgar insults because that’s what he knows best. Also, later in the ep he talks about “up in Napa” with the foie gras and shit to mock Carmy, but Napa isn’t up from them, it’s in California

Richie says “You have no fuckin idea what you’re doing here” and it’s like a switch, Carmy’s comebacks and annoyance with Richie stop, and he’s completely dissociated again. Richie shoves cans of spaghetti sauce into his arms and slaps at his face to steady him because he can probably tell something’s not right with him, but he just ends up leaving him to it

One of the Berzattos main love languages is physical touch via back and shoulder pats

And finally, Carm tosses the can of spaghetti sauce which I’m saying is because he just needs them to fucking listen and trust him when he’s saying no more spaghetti but there’s probably also some kind of Michael significance there too

Edit: I think I just had the realization that family stuff is what makes him dissociate while work stuff tends to make him panic and snap at people. It makes sense, snapping at his family would only escalate things and dissociating separates him from something he’s expected to fix. And Claire is kinda off in her category but falls under the panic response

So yeah!!

That’s pretty much what I got from 1x01 - System

I don’t know when or if I’ll do more of these, but this was so much fun, literally love dissecting these sad little goobers

[eldritchtouched]

I don't trust that new character.

So, minor-ish Shadow of the Erdtree spoilers, though Elden Ring's Twitter itself officially posted the art.

Talking about this person here.

Their whole everything is very, very off.

Now, I will first note that a lot of their design elements are very specifically stuff associated with Miquella and Trina. Helixes and lilies and growing plants, along with the colors. (I should know. I spent way too much time screenshotting and looking at stuff in Elphael and the Haligtree lol.)

But it's the how that first set off alarm bells.

So, you see, Miquella's own outfits tend to be very simple when we've seen him depicted in statues, and in the other pieces of artwork. His followers wear some more complicated designs, along with certain items associated with him/implied to be his creations, such as the Pulley Bow and Malenia's prosthetics.

This design is far too overdesigned. It's so over the top and that's what's bothering me. Miquella's following and Malenia wear nicer stuff than Miquella himself, true, but it never is to this point. Mohg himself, while he has his ostentatious mantle, has some much simpler clothing underneath.

(Mohg seemed to key in on Miquella's distaste with showy stuff, too. He's the only logical person to have made the ring that the giant Miquella body is wearing. It's notably subdued compared to Mohg's taste for ostentatious clothing and seems more akin to the little flower buttons on Mohg's undershirt in its relative simplicity.)

There's also some oddities in terms of the details as well. The white cloak isn't pure white and has some almost purple undertones (more of a pink). We've seen this before, though- Dolores the Sleeping Arrow, wearing the page's armor, and it is similar in that it's almost a pinkish color instead of purple. (Who, mind you, is tied to St. Trina.) The sword itself has a crisscrossing pattern that is reminiscent of Radagon's seal.

There's also the implication that they are the one giving the dialogue to tell the player to go to the Land of Shadow, and narrating about what Miquella told them. Along with the implication that they're some kind of knight of Miquella.

First thing's first. Miquella never had any knights sworn to him specifically. All of the people in Elphael are specifically Haligtree knights and soldiers, not Miquellan. We do encounter a Miquellan Knight Sword, but it is explicitly labeled as not having a master. It seems awfully suspicious that someone shows up as what is clearly supposed to be a knight of Miquella.

Miquella also departed for the Land of Shadow alone. And everything in the world design seems to imply that he wanted to keep both his following safe (and probably the Mohgwyn dynasty, too, considering all the design overlaps in security), and to make sure nobody would actually follow him.

So this person miraculously shows up, knowing how to get to Miquella despite Miquella deliberately leaving alone, when everyone Miquella clearly cared for doesn't seem to know what's going on.

Second is how they know what they know. They talk as if they've spoken to Miquella, but that seems really fucking weird, doesn't it? If Miquella deliberately left the way he did, why would he just tell random people he met that kind of stuff? Too much of it is raising red flags for that reason. He seems to have been very secretive in what he knew, like he wanted to fix it all without getting others involved unless necessary. He compartmentalized information quite a bit.

This makes sense, though, if it isn't something they needed to be told because they already knew it.

I think it's St. Trina, searching for Miquella, to get him to go back to his fate. A fate Miquella deliberately wished to abandon.

[cosmos-dot-semicolon]

(⭐fanfic writers' commentary)

@plutosoda hi

Ooh, time to reread my old writing, huh? Always a fun trip, especially given I'd totally forgotten like half of it including that repetition trick you'd mentioned…

fair warning, i only got like 3 asks for this thing so I'm gonna commentate on pretty much the entire fic here. This post never ends.

Here's an entire director's commentary on All-Nighter! Enjoy!

"The covers were warm… But at least it'd get something done before passing out again."

I'm still fond of this intro. I'm terrible with being succinct, but this is somewhere where my rambling writing style really works; this section is written from experience of many a 'stayed up too anxious now you can't sleep' nights, and someone who has read a lot of the techniques to fix that problem, then didn't (ADHD lol). That is in fact what my internal monologue tends to be like at night - a mix between recalling every single way you've ever learnt to pass out, worrying about what happens tomorrow, 'why is life like that. what did i do,' and just a pinch of 3am self loathing.

I never really thought of it until an AO3 commenter pointed it out, but it was a fairly natural way of worldbuilding/expositing/characterisation all in one go. Establish the premise of the fic, Robot only bothering to process things when it's on the brink of exhaustion, the way it's kinda obsessed with productivity and efficiency and self-improvement.

I'm proud of it!

Also I like to think Lady Luck only does the weird scheduling thing for Robot. She'd be the type of person to try and make the Dungeons a personalised hell for everybody.

“Hey, could I get a coffee, do you think? …I’ve been sleeping so badly down here.”

I'm quite happy with the intro to the next bit too. My goal going into most fanworks (still) is to emulate what drew me to the original story. In this case, that's Dicey's tone and dialogue, with a bit more direct focus on the characterisation of everyone. So this is sort of a meta plot device that signals all that to the reader. I love how efficient that is. also I just like throwbacks and references okay

"The canteen was a dense jumble of kichen counters…"

I could've been a little faster with this scene and Robot subsequently making the coffee. One of my weaknesses as a writer is that I hallucinate some of the scenes in my head, and try to write down everything in that instead of just drawing a comic (cough that one unpublished Ninjago fic). I'm a sucker for describing scenery for days on end.

That said, I'm really glad I got the vibe of 'light-blue-grey' morning over to you in your fanart. It was exactly what I was imagining as I was writing this.

"Pre-ground. …But this was just evil."

I think I'm funny. Anxiety cube can put up with a lot, but terrible coffee isn't it.

"They taste horrible compared to freshly ground beans. It’s not worth the convenience."

haha. because you see. that's its heart's desire *gets turned into a dice*

"Pouring a generous portion for its new friend, Robot masked its complaints with a long sigh." "…But thanks to the innovations of modern day life-” An overhead swig downed half the mug."

A commenter pointed out that some of my lines have really good flow in them between actions and characterisation. I didn't notice that until then, but I'm inclined to agree. Some of these drive in the point really well.

"At least its fellow patron was enjoying themselves – not even flinching at the concoction and savouring the coffee raw. It was tempted to start a commentary on how dark roasts were overrated, but soon became a little more concerned about them drinking through the 100 centigrade burns. This place had quite the collection of creatures, it seemed."

I like to think Robot's a little snobby about the things it enjoys. I like to think Lady Luck tries to throw people off as much as possible.

"So, how’s the self-improvement going?" they started. "I only want top quality minions in my dungeons."

Very fun fact is that I was worried about spoiling the twist in this fic because of this line being so blatant, but I wanted to put it in anyway because it's a good character-establishing moment, and a good… re-interpretation of the line in another context? I love recontextualising canon in a slightly different way that still works for the characters in question. it's so fun

Anyways. Turns out I didn't need to worry about that because at least one reader totally missed this too so got hit with the full twist anyways. Isn't writing great?

"So, what’s keeping you up this late?” they asked. “Nightmares? A looming sense of regret and existential dread? Unfinished essays due tomorrow morning?"

essays due tomorrow morning. haha so true. i'm glad I don't take much coursework nowadays.

"You know, as useless as it looks, sleep’s rather important for you folks. It’s how you deal with all the terrible things that happen during the day, since your brain can just wipe the slate clean and try again. But funnily enough, it’s always the first thing that’s left behind whenever someone wants to better themself." "Life’s painful enough as it is. Why not change things up if your current routines aren’t working?" "Nobody ever plays the cards they’re dealt perfectly, dear… Time always slips you by when you’re not paying attention. And nobody ever knows what’s coming next. You’ve just got to learn when to raise and fold them." "Well, part of being human is never being a hundred-and-one percent efficient. If you folks still count yourself as that. I’d apologise but I remember you were quite nonchalant about your little transformation anyways."

One of the main points of this fic was that while Lady Luck is blatantly on the offensive and absolutely insulting Robot to its core, she's not technically… wrong?

It's not bad advice. Lady Luck, in-game, seems very perceptive of the various insecurities mortals go through. And I like to think she does start this conversation just for genuine fun, to pick someone apart. See if they bounce back against it or just crumble. It's just a bonus that the recipient finds it harder to refute her offers afterwards.

"It might!" it snapped back, getting them to at least try and contain their mockery under a silent, wavering smirk. "You know what? I think it will be, I can feel it!"

Robot sort of does both. It's definitely very very anxious. But it's stubborn. I really like that about its character: how there's a contrast between its organised and disorganised sides? How robots are usually associated with hard numbers and calculations, but Robot's mechanic is blackjack. also it's SO autism/adhd coded. listen. in this

I don't know if there's a trope to call either of these, but they're my favourite things about both characters, and they're surprisingly introspective for a game so short on story. (I will write more about that in another post. lol).

It's a bit indulgent in how long it goes on in some areas, but eh. It works for the fic's pacing.

"The figure leaned forward to highlight its obvious obliviousness…" "I thought you were supposed to be the overly organisational optimist."

I love alliteration. yippee!

"A gentle chuckle filled the air, restrained from its usual projecting echo. "You wound me, Robot. Games are always more fun when your players at least get the chance to try and fight back."

I like to think Lady Luck's main motivation is entertainment. Which mostly involves watching people suffer. But I think it's in the spirit of luck to have it so that someone's downfall was their choice. Determinism versus free will and whatever.

The chance that somebody could escape makes things spicier. And makes it sting all the more for all those that didn't. Hooray!!

Also given Lady Luck's usual loud persona, I planned (plan) on giving her quite a few more subtle but equally threatening moments in this series. It's a thing that wouldn't really work well in the actual game, but it does in a slower medium like writing, and I fucking love that trope.

"Statistically unlikely, but I’ll humour it," she commented to an invisible aside."

You should picture this scene as her directly staring at you through the fourth wall. Like in a sitcom.

"But it’s not so bad, being a minion… I’ve heard that’s about as stable as a job as you can get these days." "…though surprisingly she was not the worst boss it had had to deal with."

I always thought this line, used on Thief in-game, would've been an absolute killer on Robot. The job market is pretty fucking shit these days under capitalism and you would be lying if you said there aren't at least some parts of the Dungeons that seem better work-wise. Inclusivity, stable employment, accommodation.

Yeah, you have no freedom, but that's also the goal of capitalism up here as well. At least in Dicey it's ridculous and ironic. And you'd get to use your degree in maths/statistics/acounting etc to its full extent! Can you fucking imagine the paperwork for a game-show/dungeon hybrid business.

"But then again, I think you’re plenty used to the grind."

I believe this was an unintentional-turned-intentional coffee pun. Boooooo

"Funny how they think that’ll discourage anybody. …Folks hear that the house always wins and immediately think they’ll be the exception."

She would be the one to know that. This was intended as a followup to Robot's entire argument before. I'm very happy that at least one person picked up on that :D

"So whatever you pick, it'll be a decision from Robot alone, no matter what your mind or body drags you into afterward.”

I believe this was also supposed to be a callback, but the wording got changed slightly. I think it was the "It feels like my mind and body won’t stop working against me" bit.

"Normally, Robot would’ve stayed to socialise and make new friends, and in all likelihood, skipping breakfast would leave it starving later on in the day. But right now, it needed some time to itself: to think and recover and remember where it was going with this."

This was another callback (that actually made it into the story). Robot immediately making another bad decision after the first, with the exact same words echoing it coming.

"Just another day in the dungeons. It could handle this."

I wanted the ending to be very short and open-ended, in that it was up to you to interpret whether Robot took the offer or not, and when. But regardless I wanted it to be like a regular intro to an episode, but with the hint something definitely fucking changed that the audience can only speculate on.

…oof. 80 minutes on this essay. My poor neck. I think that's it for now, though.

Overall I'm really happy with this piece - hence why it's one of the few things I actually put online. It's three years old, and I could've fixed the flow in some bits (there's one part where I think Robot answers a different question than was asked).

But I achieved pretty much everything I wanted to say in this piece of fanwork, it pushed me to think about characterisation a lot and my writing and editing techniques. There's a lot of neat little things I put into it, and it really got me to grips with what I liked about my inspiration in the first place.

I think that's an exercise worth trying for every fan-work creator. Stretches you brain. Almost lets you re-experience what you loved about a thing years later. Points you towards your possible future diagnoses. It's a fun time!

[honeyjars-sims]

2.7 Opening Up

Lexie: It’s too bad we got assigned to set design for the first production, but at least we’ll be able to hang out together. 

Johnny: Yeah, it looks like most of the acting roles went to the juniors and seniors. Maybe next year we’ll have better luck.

Lexie: Well, the semester’s just getting started. Who knows what will happen. We could impress them with our sick acting skills and get the leads next time. 

Johnny: [laughing] I support your delusional optimism! Oh, I almost forgot…my mom wanted me to tell you hi and that she enjoyed meeting you.

Lexie: Hmm, that’s nice of her. I guess let her know I said hi as well.

Johnny: [teasingly] You’re not going to say it was nice to meet her too?

Lexie: No comment.

Johnny: I don’t blame you! Honestly, it went better than I was expecting.

Lexie: Really? That's kind of sad.

Johnny: Yeah, unfortunately, that was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my mom. 

Lexie: Well, it really bothered me how she was speaking about you. I kept trying to change the subject, but she’d always end up making some snarky little comment. 

Johnny: I’m used to it, I guess. The thing is, if I’d called her out she’d say I was overreacting. In the past, I would’ve believed her, but now…not so much.

Lexie: Good, because she’s wrong about you. I can’t imagine how it affected you to hear that as a child, or even now.

Johnny: [sighs] I wish I could say that was the worst thing I had to deal with as a kid, but it wasn’t by a long shot. If you don’t mind, I think I’m ready to talk to you about it.

Lexie: Of course. You can tell me anything. Let's go somewhere more private.

TW: The dialogue below includes discussion of child abuse and drug abuse (not graphic but please use your own discretion if this topic is triggering to you).

Johnny: It wasn’t just my mom who treated me badly. It was also her husband, Jimmy. I refuse to call him my stepdad because he wasn’t any kind of parent to me. He was way worse, though. With my mom it’s this kind of passive aggressive backhanded shit, but Jimmy? He was full-on aggressive. Not just with his words, either. 

Lexie: Oh my God, he hurt you? Johnny, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was that bad.

Johnny: Yeah, it was pretty awful. I started having nightmares and I was anxious all the time. I tried to talk to my mom about it, but I was too scared to tell her what was really going on so she thought I was just being dramatic. 

Lexie: Geez, I can’t imagine my parents just brushing me off like that. You must have been terrified.

Johnny: I was. It only got worse when my mom started doing drugs. By that time I was old enough to start fighting back and all the blame fell on me. Jimmy almost convinced mom to send me to military school but then my dads got custody of me and Chantal.

Lexie: Thank God for your dads! 

Johnny: For real, I’m so grateful for them. It’s weird, though…whenever a kid gets away from their abusive family, everyone expects them to be happy about it. No one ever talks about all the mixed emotions. I knew I was better off with my dads, but I still thought about the good times I had with my mom. It was hard to leave her.

Lexie: I think I understand more why you’re still trying to work things out with her. It sounds like the whole situation was really traumatic for you.

Johnny: Yeah, even when I wasn’t talking to her I always had this feeling of “what if?” Like maybe there is a way to fix everything and make it go away.

Lexie: Some things can’t be fixed, no matter how hard you try. I don’t know if your relationship with your mom is one of them, but I hope you’ll recognize when it’s time to let go if it comes to that.

Johnny: I think I will. I’m going to give it more time, but I’m starting to feel like…like I deserve better. I didn’t feel that way before.

Lexie: You deserve so much better, Johnny. You’re so much more than what your mom sees you as. And Jimmy. He better hope I never see him ‘cause I’ll kick him right in the balls!

Johnny: [laughing] Lexie! I’ve never heard you so angry before. I can’t see you doing something like that, you’re too sweet.

Lexie: I’d do it to him! And I’d enjoy watching him suffer. Oh, sorry, I probably shouldn’t be so violent about it. It just really got me worked up. 

Johnny: It’s ok. You’re cute when you’re protective.

Lexie: Well, consider me your bodyguard, then.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[literary-motif]

how do you write so much? i marvel at you. answering requests, writing your own, + the xanthus novel? tips pls

Truthfully, I have slacked off on writing during the exam period. Now that I am done, I am in a sort of in-between time where I have no school and not too many responsibilities, which is why I have the possibility to indulge myself and just sit down and write.

I tackled the bulk of the requests that piled up in March-April in a week or so because I was itching to return to creative writing after being stuck in the academic sphere for weeks.

The titles in my master list without links -- the yet unpublished fics -- are done and ready in my drafts, so they are all already written. For the last few days I have only been writing the novella and a little something here and there. I have only been able to keep up this rigorous schedule of posting a fic (or drabble, not to overwhelm you too much) per day because of all the requests I had had pilled up for too long and the guilt I felt for keeping you all waiting for months. This is my way of making up for lost time, I suppose.

As for tips, I am not sure. It sounds easy but I just sit down and write, even when I don't feel like it. There was a quote I read a while ago that went something like "if you only write when you feel inspired you might be good at writing poems but not novels" and it has stuck with me ever since.

The most important thing I keep in mind when writing is that it does not have to be perfect. I allow myself to write absolute garbage because a first draft is better than no draft, and I find it easier to return to it later and fix the dialogue or paragraph or chapter/story as a whole. Taking the time and having the patience to revise your work later, on a different day perhaps, has worked wonders for me.

I also always listen to music when writing. I know it can be distracting for some people, but I have a way of tuning out the lyrics so it does not bother me. I've been listening to the same dark romance playlist on Spotify for days in order to write the Xanthus novella, and I find it helps to keep me motivated.

Thank you for the ask and happy writing! Take your time with it and remember to have fun with whatever you create.

[allandoflimbo]

My second announcement is kind of longer, but here goes.

There’s been a couple of factors that’s kept me from continuing to write aside from just my time, or lack thereof, and health complications that seem to always get in the way. Not complaints but relevant factors to those waiting on updates.

1. Getting hacked twice in a row sucked ASS.

2. I’ve started to drift a bit from Bucky in general. I still love him but the lack of content of him the MCU since Endgame, or even TFATWS, has been killer. No inspiration anymore. The fandom has changed.

3. This is one that has silently bothered me the most for quite some time even though it’s been so long but it mattered to me.

Something that has also been getting in the way of me updating Take It Back 2 has been the issues I had with the first one that I never got around to fixing or acknowledging.

If you’ve read book 2 at all you might understand this a little bit better.

Granted, I was younger when I wrote the first book and i’ve grown since then, and maybe that’s why I felt the need over time to make some certain changes or explain things in the story better. Who knows. But…

* I never liked how I made it seem like the reader (Or Riley Grace, if you’ve read the OC version) was very anti money, anti having anything material. That was never my intention. And I noticed that I made her seem that way. Yes, I wanted her to be concerned that her sister was putting those things first before everything else and also concerned that something was wrong, but not that Riley/Reader was against money or life in general. She isn’t by any means frugal or cheap.

* I didn’t make it clear enough in Book 1 that there was underlying things happening to Ashlyn that was pushing her “gold digger” tendencies, or for that to appear as so, to the forefront. There was more things happening to her.

* I didn’t like how little I let it show that her and Bucky do share this love and respect that Reader, and the actual readers themselves, haven’t seen. I feel like I made Ashlyn too cold and not as much mysterious.

* I always found Bucky and Reader a bit too self centered and conceited to themselves and what they thought was an issue and making their problems seem bigger than everyone else’s. As well as making what they thought what they thought was more important than Ashlyn herself or without considering her own life and her own emotions.

* Despite Ashlyn doing what she did and behaving the way she did, something always rubbed me the wrong way about how I made the girls view her in the story. Ashlyn might not be innocent, but I did not like how I made Reader/Riley appear like she was more supported by the other girls in the story when what she had done was also not good.

* How people let what Bucky and Reader did “let it slide.”

So they were little things, but things that always bothered me and was honestly getting in the way of me continuing the sequel. It was mostly my distaste I had on the Bucky/Reader front. I wanted them to love and love deeply, but not while disregarding Ashlyn as a human being and as a woman.

So the last few weeks, i’ve gone back and i’ve corrected some major grammatical issues in the first book, but i’ve also added some sentences here and there. I’ve also added on some dialogue to correct some of the issues I had that were listed above. So I didn’t remove anything, the story is still the same, but I did add onto it.

I’m much happier with the outcome and I think it will making going forward easier for me as a story teller.

The updated one is updated on Wattpad and AO3, the Bucky/Reader version. I haven’t posted the corrected one on Tumblr yet.