#i do remember this era very faintly

[altocat]

thank you for the answer. i am looking for someone who would be willing to write a quick scene of sephiroth visiting angeal’s grave. i have agreed with the theory that angeal was cremated but i still think he had a grave marked somewhere because the young soldiers all loved him. i keep seeing a picture of snowfall and sephiroth seeing the grave for the first time. you don’t have to but i know sad writings are your forte. just a thought 👉👈

I got you! Sorry for the wait! I have put this on AO3 as well. I hope you enjoy!

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Modeoheim was cold. Gray trees in the mid-afternoon, pale sunlight dancing against windswept brick and brush. Black earth at his feet. Abandoned buildings that rusted forlornly in the far distance, forsaken to the elements, slowly rotting where they stood. A crow called in the far distance, the noise echoing off the frigid hills and peaks.

Sephiroth's breath was steaming, gusty plumes that clouded the thick winter air. He lifted his head to the sky, speculative emerald eyes studying the rolling clouds, tracing the hazy patterns of movement. Foreign gray gods above him. Oppressive. Looming. A storm would be rolling in soon. He could feel it on the wind, taste it on the breeze.

It didn't matter.

Nothing really mattered anymore.

The marker was exactly where Zack had mentioned, a modest slant of rock that overlooked the hillside. Sephiroth watched the scattered collection of open wilderness below, his fists clenched, teeth gritted. He'd always hated this landscape. Barren land. Shadowland. Desolate and lonely. Terribly austere.

An equally terrible place to die.

"You'd be so proud of him."

Low murmur against the wind, alien in his own throat. He brushed the thick tangle of silver hair from his eyes, chin lifted, breath smoking the air.

"Zack. He's changed since you left."

The clouds rumbled faintly somewhere beyond the mountains. Sephiroth wet his lips.

"He's grown tremendously as a First. We do excellent work together. I truly could not ask for a more capable colleague. He'll be the very best of us someday. SOLDIER's finest."

Silence. Cold as bone. Hollow. Sephiroth hadn't expected anything, really. He didn't remember the last time he ever had. Expectation was a loose luxury he'd long since discarded. The others were different, of course. Genesis had always adhered to the principle of reckless ambition, pushing himself, charging blindly ahead through every obstacle, menacing the competition with ruthless abandon. Glenn had viewed the world with more innocent eyes, convinced of some higher morality beneath the ugliness. Some grand duty of atonement, braving the harsh realities of the world with a sense of hope, resolution.

But they were gone now. Genesis was sick. And Glenn...well, Glenn couldn't help him anymore. Not at all.

Sephiroth closed his eyes, felt the shape of the wind. It rattled against the heavy weight of his armor, the great pauldrons slumping, calloused hands opening and closing again.

He stroked the marker. He withered. He wondered.

"You were different."

Zack had clipped the words together in the stone, etched the scraggly shape of a name through the craggy surface. Sephiroth could feel it against his palm.

"You were different from them. You were content where you were."

Black feathers at his feet.

"You knew yourself. You knew what you wanted. You worked for it on your own terms. On your own time. I respected that."

The crow called again. Louder.

"You...you always knew what you were doing. You understood the world. You understood people. You were always there, always present in the moment. That's what I always admired about you."

Louder. He shut his eyes and went away. It always made things easier. Especially now. There were better places. Better eras. Fragments. Better views and footfalls.

"I don't understand why this happened."

Any place but here. He could go. He could let his mind vanish. He could fall away.

Or apart.

"I don't understand..."

He was going, yes. Going away. Far away. Far back. Tumbling down. He was somewhere else now. And there was solace. Recollection. Warm hands. Foggy lamplight. The comforting press of bodies in a crowded booth, the smell of cheap beer and smoke. Sephiroth had met those dark blue Mako eyes once, met the golden moment between laughter and shy awareness. A timid duck of the head. Finger against his cheek, brushing away the faint wisp of a stray eyelash, murmur mild, yet perplexingly resolute.

And ghosts.

Pearly ghosts that shimmered like tears.

"Life's too short for regrets, Seph."

And a heaviness in his chest. A heaviness that clung. A heaviness that claimed him. A heaviness that brought him back just as quickly. Sephiroth's fingers rooted, scraped the rock. He bit his lip, fought the urge to strike, to break away.

"I don't understand."

His nails were bleeding. He didn't notice.

"I didn't want...this, Angeal. You know I didn't."

The wind rose and fell, collecting on the mountaintop, stirring through the trees.

"Don't you see...I have nothing but regrets."

Birdsong in the fields, small black specks that darted and circled through the brush, the shadowed ridges.

"What am I supposed to do now? Angeal. Tell me. What am I supposed to do?"

Hojo would have mocked him, subjected him to a litany of petty insults for his weakness. Strong soldiers did not break. Strong soldiers did not fall to their knees in the ice, cradle the cold stone with their bare hands. Sephiroth felt the angry rush of vertigo hitting him, his head spinning, the unpleasant lurch of his stomach rising as he clenched his teeth and counted. There was acid in his throat, the words threatening to spill, blame and hurt and broken admission. And all around him, the hills and mountains seemed to tilt and sway; arching black claws that scraped the clouds. He watched them spiraling all around them, watched the jagged, looming lines converging, splitting the sky. Could they cut the world? Could they tear into that listless gray void, rip apart the sun and stars and the cramping confines of space and time? Could they revive the dead? Could they even hear him?

Sephiroth didn't want to guess. The noise that arose was not entirely human. He wasn't even sure if it was completely his own. He did not initially register the first speck of white that flecked against his cheek, the tiny sprinkling shower making its gradual descent, painting the sterile earth like ash. Pale dots that drifted across the stone, working through the grooves, the grainy, half-scrawled markings that composed the dead man's crude, weather-worn epitaph.

It was snowing.

Sephiroth coughed. He wiped his mouth. He lifted his head back to the sky, icy flakes dusting the thick black slant of his eyelashes. He watched the spectacle, counted every steady, starlit trail, caught them on his palm, his fingertips. They coated his shoulders, his hair, his cheeks. Bitter water on his tongue. Bitter words farther beneath.

"Angeal."

It felt like rain.

"Angeal."

It wasn't.

"Angeal, are you crying?"

And that was somehow worse.

[whyareyouhere66]

Ok im back in my JJ Maybank era 🧎🏻

Could you do a JJ Maybank x male reader with them being in an established relationship, and the pouges (+reader obvs) are having a bonfire party and reader maybe drinks a little more than the others. Everyone is talking and just mingling with each other when out of no where reader comes out with a microphone/mini karaoke machine (?) and starts singing 'That should be me' by Justin Bieber to JJ in front of everyone. Reader being too drunk to remember that they're literally already in a relationship and wants to 'win him over'. And probably ends up with JJ having to pick up reader and dragging him away to get him to stop 'declaring his love' in front of an audience lmao (All light hearted and fluffy ofc <3).

I would like to firstly apologize for such a long wait 😭 this request was sent in before I closed my requests, making it basically one of if not the last one I accepted so felt the need to make it good for you. It’s been in the process of being made for months now, so. It is very much possible you are no longer in said JJ Maybank era but nonetheless I hope you enjoy this Anon despite it not being perfect, and anyone else who is reading. Thank you for the request and anyone reading, enjoy. (It was actually kinda fun to write this when I got into it again)

JJ Maybank x Male! Reader

“Love You Like a (drunk) Love Song”

cw: alcohol, one mention of weed. Possibly a little ooc? I haven’t watched the show in a while. Loosely edited. Silly. Mid ending. Kinda long.

x

The world is spinning.

Just a little bit, though.

Or maybe more.

Hold on.

Bumps and valleys from peoples footprints indent the sand, grains of tiny rocks flying behind their dancing shoes. 

In the middle of the drunk crowds, teenagers stumbling about with bottles in their hands, is you, with your own bottle tucked between curled fingers. Number 3 maybe? You’re not sure anymore.

Through blurry vision, you stumble around with a lopsided grin, drunken laughs falling from it at every bump and nudge. Music pumps through the Boneyard, ringing in your ears from some indie-pop song you don’t know the name of. 

People begin to blur together, just bodies you push through as you and Pope jog through the crowd, whooping with each beat. It’s one of the few moments when Pope’s awkward smile has faded and all that’s left is a stumbling, giggling mess. And of course, sand. Lots of sand. 

Tiny rocks prod at your heels, filling the bottom of your shoes as you run. Your eyes dart to them- the roughed up converse that could probably fall apart at any given moment. Without thinking, you reach for your shoes.

“Wait-waitwaitwait-“ 

Pope doesnt slow down until your hand is clapped over his shoulder, eyes snapping from the Touron next to him, as suddenly he’s supporting all your weight on one arm.

“What- what are you doing?”

You don’t answer immediately, coming to a stop just outside the crowd of dancers. 

“Sand.”

Pope watches you with a dazed stare, the somewhat distant light from the bonfire all there is to light up his face, casting shadows across his nose and jawline. 

“Deal with it.” He says it like it’s obvious, though doesn’t try to move as you wriggle around to get your shoe off your foot- much harder than it should be. You click your tongue and grunt.

“Gotta sit-“

Like two mangled cats- you and Pope fall to the ground, bracing yourselves on your arms and elbows. Landing right on your ass- you begin to struggle with your shoe once more. Pope groans, brushing sand from his arm and his lap. A mumble falls from his lips, muttering curses at you for bringing him to the ground with you. However, you pay him no mind, tugging the sneaker off your foot, sand draining out through the hole as you flip it upside down. 

The distant reflection of the fire is all you have as you play with the ties of your shoes, shining faintly across the two wobbly figures you and Pope have become. He begins scooping handfuls of sand into his palm, letting it slip through his fingers as he waits for you to finish. For a second, he brings his hand towards your shoe- sand threatening to slip into the sole of your just emptied sneakers. You slap his arm away before he can succeed. 

“That fire is so hot.” Pope complains out of nowhere, wiping his forehead for some imaginary sweat. You twist your head to look at it, palm weakly slapping the bottom of your shoe. 

“Dude, it’s like….” You squint, unsure, “100 feet away. You’re just drunk.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Alcohol doesn’t make you hot.”

At that, you scoff, though it comes through your nose like a snort. “Speak for yourself.”

Pope’s head slowly turns to you, eyes narrowed and mouth popped open like a fish. He looks like he’s trying to jam the logic of that sentence into his brain, but failing. 

“I have no idea what to say to that.” He concludes. 

In all fairness, you only sort of know what you meant by it in the first place. 

The topic quickly loses relevance as you finish dumping your shoes, tugging them back onto your feet and jumping up. He stumbles to join you, and soon enough, you’re at it again. 

Walking through the sand, there’s less people to weave around now that you’re out of the crowd that’s formed around the speakers. Some Kook has jumped on to a log, taking over the mic from the cheap karaoke machine and is currently belting the words to Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night”- except her version has a drunken slur thrown in with the melody. The sound is…amusing at most, but no one cares enough to complain, watching and some even dancing around her log. 

You and Pope stagger right past it, your arm now slung around his shoulder. 

You both stumble and laugh until you catch a familiar face in the crowd- JJ. 

You grin.

JJ.

The blonde sits on the edge of another log, sitting with a few others around the ring of the bonfire. John B and Kiara are on the log next to him, while other Pogues and the occasional Touron fill in the remaining space. Some redhead leans into Kiara’s shoulder, choking on her own laugh while being completely oblivious to the side eye Kiara gives her in return. Two Pogues pass a blunt back and forth over John B’s shoulder, grinning wickedly when he comments on it.

In Pope’s eyes, he sees the group, and without thinking points his next few steps in that direction. Not you, though. 

Your eyes become still, tuning everyone else out, not even seeing the giggling redhead, or John B’s easy smile. All you see, is JJ.

The crackling fire casts an orange shadow over his features, creating a shadow on his cheekbone, next to his nose. It contrasts perfectly with the blue of his eyes, the usual mischievous glint behind them showing through with his laugh as he makes yet another stupid joke. 

He’s so pretty. 

Dilated eyes follow his every move, the twitch of his smile- and you’re completely oblivious as Pope leaves you behind, moving up towards the group without another thought.

“What’s up, guys.” Pope reaches his hand out for a greeting as he makes it to the group sitting around the fire- JJ’s hand meeting his as their palms “clap” in unison. 

“There he is!” JJ loudly greets, watching the boy make his way to a seat on the log. The others say their own hello’s, as Pope easily molds into the atmosphere of the smaller group. And still, he hasn’t noticed that the your drunk (far more drunk than him, at least) self is still standing in the sand with parted lips and heart eyes. 

Your eyes flicker across his figure again, wishing through alcohol-tainted thoughts that you could capture the sight with a picture. From his nose, to his lips, to the muscles in his shoulders to the wave of his hair falling across his forehead. Your vision is starting to blur around the edges when you stare too long, but you can’t look away just yet. 

‘Is he single?’

Suddenly, you can’t remember anymore. 

Your eyes trace over every feature you can catch with the orange light, hand twitching with an empty warmth. You wonder what it would be like to hold his hand. 

JJ is oblivious to your stare, downing half his cup between conversations as Pope and John B joke about something next to him. In your mind, despite the influences making your thoughts sway back and forth- you come to a conclusion.

‘I should flirt with him…’

A simple task, just a small goal. Anything to make the pretty boy look your way.

However instead of walking up to him like a normal person, you turn around- stumbling to the crowd behind you with nothing but the makes for a headache and a plan. 

Pope, back at the bonfire, whispers into JJ’s ear, “Your boyfriend is drunk as hell, by the way.” 

The blonde seems completely unfazed, shrugging his shoulders and stretching out like a cat, cup teetering in his hand slightly.

“No surprise there,” he responds nonchalantly.

“He gets it from you.”

John B’s words are met with nothing but an eye roll from JJ, and a small grin from Kiara.

“Speaking of- where is he?” Kiara asks, brushing some hair out of her face as she’s finally released from the redhead’s grasp, as the random girl turns to talk to some pogues next to her. This catches everyone else’s attention, Pope speaking up first.

“Oh uh- he was just over-“ he goes to point to where you had stood a minute ago- only to pause when he sees the spot empty. His eyebrows furrow, “…there.” 

The other three turn their heads to follow the point of Pope’s finger, looking around for your missing figure. 

“Uh oh.” John B deadpans, and in seconds JJ is on his feet.

“Where’d he go?” His blue eyes scan the crowd, now searching for you in the mass of sweaty teenagers. 

“He was just there a second ago.”

Kiara stands up, doing the same as JJ. There’s too many bodies huddled in one spot to pick you out easily, everyone still gathered around the speakers, red solo cups littered about. It’s like “Where’s Waldo”, except not really. Her brown eyes shift from group to group, skimming over everyone, when she catches a glimpse of your figure.

“Guys, he’s right there.” she deadpans, now watching you as you seem to be making your way to the center of the crowd.

Her eyebrows furrow, and the others follow her gaze.

“Ok, and…what is he doing?”

No answer can be found, as all 4 now watch as you squeeze through the rowdy teens around you. 

Your mind is caught in a rush. Everything in your surroundings seems to blur, the music turning into a thrumming against your ears as you shove your way to the front. You know what you’re gonna do, impulsive plans fueling every step. All you want is to impress that hot blonde painting back at the campfire, make sure you’re the only one he’s looking at.

You know JJ, you know how he’s quite a magnet for the wandering eye. In your drunken state, you find yourself desperate to be his only focus. 

You make a quick stop at the computer connected to the speaker, changing the song cue, before continuing on your way. Some girl, who you vaguely remember from your science class, is currently barely getting out the words to “Call Me Maybe” through fits of giggles, karaoke microphone seconds from slipping out of her hand. Without a moment of hesitance, you stumble right up to the make-shift stage and reach for the microphone. 

“That’s real nice, Katy,” you murmur, putting your hand on her shoulder as she looks at you slightly confused, her poor rhythm suddenly interrupted, “‘s my turn now.”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, but makes no argument as you nudge her off the stage, stumbling back to her friends who only laugh. The sleek surface of the microphone is slippery on your sweaty palms, but you hold it firmly, spinning around and puffing your chest. 

The log isn’t exactly a perfect stage, but it’s just big enough so you can see through the crowd from a higher angle- and across the way, you catch the gazes of your friends, a variety of expressions on each of their faces. 

Pope has his eyebrows furrowed down in that classic Pope stare, his thoughts loud. “What the fuck”, would be your guess. Kiara seems to have the same thoughts running through her head, but her eyes hold more amusement. John B and JJ both sit here with open mouths. 

You don’t really process any of the confusion in their gazes, though, because the second you meet eyes with the blonde boy, your heart is racing. The beat, begins to play, and you bring the microphone to your lips.

“What the fuck is he doing?” John B asks, but again, no one has an answer. 

“This can’t be real.”

“Oh my god.”

The familiar tune of Justin Bieber starts to flow from the speakers, and Pope slaps a hand over his mouth. This is too good. 

“Everybody’s laughin’ in my mind…”

“We gotta get him off that stage-“ John B starts to stand up, only for a hand to get in his way. It’s JJ’s. 

“Nah bro” he doesn’t dare look away from you, “one more minute.”

A few cheers and shouts come from the front row, the crowd pretty divided between “invested” and “pays no mind”. You continue to sing, your voice wobbly at first, before you start to really get into it. 

“Did you forget all the plans that you made with me? Cause baby I didn’t-“ 

JJ cracks a small grin, looking back at the others as if in confirmation, before turning back, still completely lost as to what you are doing. 

“Cause that should be ME-“

Oh!

“Holding your hand!”

Kiara bursts out laughing. 

“That should be me, making you laugh! That should be me, this is so sad-“

“That’s one way to say it.” John B smirks, earning a prompt nudge from JJ.

You’re shamelessly making eye contact with him, losing your balance on the log as you make up for every crack in your voice with devoted theatrics. He might not make it through this. 

“Y’think we should go get him?” Pope asks, hiding his grin with his fingers. You start to finish up the chorus, completely invested.

The rowdy crowd has become blurry faces, a swarm of bodies dancing around you while you stumble on the log. Halfway through the second verse and it becomes clear you don’t really know most of the words to this song, glancing over to the computer and trying to read the poorly-animated lyrics off the 8 year old YouTube video you found. But finally, the chorus comes back around, and you’re coming in strong again. 

“That should be me, holdin’ your hand-“ you stare into his eyes and thrust your finger into his direction, turning heads.

“Ok we gotta get him off that log.”

“Yep, that’s enough.”

JJ stands up and quickly makes his way to where you stand- or perform, rather. Shoving through the various bodies, he pushes his way to the front, and the whole time you follow his figure with your eyes.

“This is so wrong, I can’t go on-“ you point at him, wobbling on the log, “-till you believe that that should be me, that should be m-“

“Y/n,” JJ stands in front of the log, gesturing for you to join him. You don’t, instead moving your finger to continue to wag it in front of his face. He sighs, looking at the ground to hide his smile. When he looks back up, you’ve launched into a high note that definitely is not in the original recording. 

“-meeeeEeEEEee-“ 

“Oh god,” he mumbles to himself, not entirely sure what to do. You’ve never been this wasted before- and even more, he’s not used to being the designated caretaker friend. The roles are completely switched, yet he’s not even sober! He does the first thing that comes to mind- reaching for you and tugging you into his arms. You fall with a small gasp, dropping the microphone into the sand, slight feedback echoing through the shitty speaker as he literally drags you away from the crowd. 

“What’re you doing-?” you demand, though blushing slightly at how close you now are to his chest. There’s a few snickers and curious remarks within the group behind you, not that you really pay attention. And they quickly go back to their own business anyways, leaving you to be dragged away to the side of the party.

JJ is supporting your body with his, as if you’re injured instead of just wasted, but with your uneven steps and his own tipsiness you both end up just stumbling off. Your arm slung around his shoulder and his hand keeping you close to his side. He’s even prettier up close. 

“Man, how drunk are you, babe?” He asks as you come to a stop, moving to stand in front of you, your hands now on his shoulders. 

This scrambles your mind a little bit. “Man” and “babe” used in the same sentence? Wild. 

“‘M not that drunk.” You retort, eyes peeking up to take in his features once more. You don’t even think about how obvious you’re being- dazed eyes raking over his face, morphing into an expression with so much awe you’d think his face was made up of the stars above. 

He notices the look, just as your eyes not-so-subtly flicker from his eyes to his lips. It makes him flush slightly. 

“Mhm- and that talent show, huh?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone this time, you can tell, “what about that?”

“Why, did you think it was hot?”

JJ’s grin starts to grow, the cogs in his brain turning. Was this really all for him?

“…were you trying to impress me, baby?”

That one sends a small rush of butterflies through the pit of your stomach- not really mixing well with the alcohol. 

You feel as a grin starts to spread on your lips, cheeks hot. 

He called you baby. 

“Maybe. Are you single?”

It’s really ‘no think, just do’ at this point, your thoughts becoming words in a matter of seconds. This visibly catches JJ off guard- that was not where he thought that was going. He pauses, and if you were to look hard enough you could see the throbber of a loading screen on his forehead. 

“What?”

You’re starting to lean into him a little bit, subconsciously. 

“Do you have a boyfriend.” You restate the question, and it all starts to click in his head. The singing, the pointing. 

‘My boyfriend just drunkenly sang Justin Bieber to me as a way of flirting.’

A giant smirk takes over his lips. 

“Wait wait wait,” he starts, looking down for a second, “let me get this straight- you went up there and sang that whole song as a way of…as a way of flirting?” He looks back up at you, finding this whole thing quite humorous. 

“Maybe,” you say again, “did it work?”

JJ cant stop the chuckle that escapes his lips, the laugh rumbling in his throat. You furrow your eyebrows, “what’s so funny-“

He shakes his head, “nothing, nothing, don’t worry about it.” He looks you up and down, a glimmer in his eyes that you notice but can’t name in this moment. But it doesn’t answer your question. 

“JayJayyyyy-“ you groan, and it just makes his smile grow. It becomes clear he’s just gonna play into this. He places his hands on your hip, leaning into you, so now you’re both close enough to smell the alcohol lingering on both of your tongues. He chuckles again, swaying slightly.

“Do I got news for you.” Is all he says, and it’s clear he’s gonna have a field day with this one. 

[minty-mumbles]

Whumptober Day 3: “Make it stop”

TW: Blood and injury, medical aid without painkillers, restraints, unreliable narrator (kind of)

A/N: Yeah I know it's the 5th and this is late. I forgot I was doing whumptober to be totally honest, I'm so sorry lol

(Read on AO3)

~~~

Let it be known that Wind hated Wild’s era. He really did. 

Wind hated Wild’s stupid era because it had stupid moblins who had stupid bomb barrels that they liked to pick up and throw. 

To be frank, Wind was used to explosions. Many members of their group didn’t hesitate to use bombs for their own benefit. But the heroes’ habit of exploding things was only fun and exciting when it was them who were the ones doing the exploding. When it was a moblin in Wild’s era with a bomb barrel, it was decidedly less fun.

Fuck.

Wind winced as he was jostled slightly, the movement sending shooting pain through his back

Damn Wild’s era. Damn it all to Demise. 

Wind was jostled again, and a strangled wheeze forced itself from his mouth. Distantly, Wind could hear the heavy drawl of Twilight’s accent. The rancher was probably apologizing. 

Wind hummed in acknowledgment, but didn’t pick his head up from the shoulder it was resting on. He tightened his hold around Twilight’s neck the best he could without strangling him. As hard as he tried, though, it was difficult to keep a grip on someone when you were bleeding out. Twilight’s arms hooked under Wind’s legs were really the only thing keeping Wind from falling to the ground at this point.

Every step Twilight took was agony, making what was left of his tunic rub against the open wounds on his back. They'd been walking for at least ten minutes now, and Wind’s world had narrowed down to the repetitive movement and corresponding spikes of pain that came with it. 

He was broken out of his daze when Twilight's gate slowed down. Wind lifted his head ever so slightly, and found that they had arrived at their destination.

A stable. Wind couldn't remember which one it was.

Wind barely had time to send up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god allowed them to finally arrive before people were swarming out of the strangely shaped tent and surrounding Twilight and Wind.

Wind only tucked his head back into the crook of Twilight’s neck, trying his best to ignore both the loud conversation happening around him and the blood he could feel trickling down his back.

What he wouldn’t give to be wrapped up in a warm blanket in front of a fire right now. Maybe with a cup of hot apple cider, cuddled up against one of the other heroes. Maybe Sky…. Sky was the best at cuddles, even if he had a tendency to fall asleep and then not let you go until he woke. But Wind wouldn’t mind that right now, to be honest.

He would love to be able to cuddle someone and have their arms wrapped around his back without any pain. Wind knew that was a wistful thought. No one would be touching his back without it causing pain anytime soon. 

That stupid moblin had made sure of that. 

Wind hoped one of the other heroes had killed it in a very painful way. He scowled into Twilight's neck at the thought of what had happened, and- 

Oh, Twilight was moving again. 

Great.

Wind sighed, and fought back tears. He was in pain and this whole situation sucked, but he was not going to cry.

He wasn’t.

He just felt dizzy. His thoughts were swimming and his muscles were too weak to support himself. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t convince himself to raise his head from where it was buried in Twilight’s pelt and try to focus on his surroundings. That was probably the effect of the blood loss and shock setting in, Wind thought faintly.

But then he had no choice but to move because Twilight was releasing Wind’s legs. Wind had half a second to panic, thinking he would hit the ground. 

He didn’t. Instead, he found himself sitting on the edge of one of the beds inside the stables. Wind wondered briefly when they had moved inside, but decided it wasn’t the most important thing at the moment. 

Suddenly, hands were touching him. For a few seconds, he resisted the touch. He didn’t know who was touching him and he did not appreciate it. But he was too weak to do anything about it and found himself being maneuvered anyways. 

He found himself laying face down in the bed. His face rubbed into the fabric beneath him, and it took him a second to realize that it wasn’t the blankets he was feeling. It was a towel, spread out over the bed. 

That was good. Wind was glad someone had thought to do that. He wouldn’t want to get blood on the stable’s bed. That would be pretty rude. But! With the towel under him, Wind could take a nap here and not get any blood on the bed! That sounded like a really good idea, in Wind’s humble opinion.

And now that he wasn’t constantly being jostled around by Twilight, the pain was actually starting to fade! It still hurt, but it was a dull background pain that he could ignore. 

Wind didn’t know how long he lay there, content to drift in and out of awareness. He could hear people talking around him, and something that maybe sounded like an argument, but he didn’t worry about that. He was sure it would sort itself out without his help…

He gave a little sigh, rubbing his face against the rough fabric of the towel. It felt nice- a sensation to focus on other than the pain in his back.

He continued to drift for what felt like a long, long time. He wondered if the others had left so he could take a nap. That was nice of them… 

A touch to his neck startled Wind out of his daze. He let out a startled breath, feeling too tired to try and say anything. Fingers pressed at Wind’s neck for a moment- feeling for a pulse, Wind realized- before they withdrew.

There was more talking, and then an expectant pause. Wind said nothing. If they wanted him to talk, they were out of luck. He couldn't summon up the energy to go wading through the fog that clouded his brain to pay attention to whoever was talking to him. He couldn't summon up the energy to anything,

After a few moments of silence, the voices picked up again, and then Wind felt a touch on his back.

His torn up back which was covered in open wounds and pierced by pieces of debris 

Wind decided that he didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all. 

Then the touch was moving and tugging something out of Wind’s skin, and Wind discovered that he did have the energy to scream and thrash, after all.

For one blissful moment, the touch was gone, and Wind was hopeful it would stay away. Then hands wrapped around his legs and his upper arms, and were pressing him down onto the bed, and Wind felt all his hope flickers away.

The torture seemed to go on forever. Every so often there would be a pause in the pain as the touch on his back drew away, and Wind would hope that it would be over. But all too soon, the touch would be back.

He couldn’t get away from it.

The hands clasped around his limbs were gentle but firm and unyielding. Wind hated that. He hated everything. Everything hurt, nothing was good, and the pain was never going to end.

There was another spike of pain from his back, like someone was digging their fingers into his existing wounds and tearing the cuts further open. Wind twisted, still trying to get away, but the hands stopped him again.

He gave a strangled grunt, his voice finally being pushed past the breaking point. He couldn’t scream anymore, but he could still move. His shoulders were still being held down by the hands pressing on his upper arms, but he could still move his arms. He reached out blindly, trying to find something to grasp onto, some bit of leverage that could get him away from this torture,

What he found instead was more fabric. Part of the towel, maybe? 

No, it felt different. 

Not caring what it might be, Wind gripped it hard, and used it to pull himself forward. To his surprise, the hands didn’t seem as prepared for this, and he was able to drag himself forward. There was a swell of noise around him that he ignored. The new fabric beneath him was soft, and the worry of staining the sheets was long gone from Wind’s mind, so he buried his head into it.

Apparently, the hands had decided Wind could stay where he had dragged himself. They didn’t shove him back to his previous position, but the torturous touch on his back returned.

Wind whimpered, not knowing what to do anymore. 

Why was this happening?

Slowly, though, something trickled into his mind. He was hyper-aware of any and all sensations that weren’t pain in hopes of finding something to latch onto, something else to focus on. Slowly, ever so slowly, Wind realized the new fabric was warm under his touch.

He sucked in a shuddery breath, and before he registered what he was doing, Wind was lifting his head up to stare straight into a familiar face.

It took his brain a few seconds to register safety and comfort at the sight, and a few seconds more to register that the face belonged to Time.

Oh.

Wind was clinging onto Time’s pants, and he’d just had his face buried in Time’s lap.

Okay. 

Wind knew in normal circumstances, he’d be embarrassed, but he didn’t care.

Time was here.

One of his brothers was here.

That meant everything would be okay, right?

Wind blinked up at Time, and the man looked down at Wind with an odd look on his face. 

Wind wanted it all to stop, and Time was good at making painful things stop. When the teasing from the other heroes got to be too much, Time would step in. When Wind had been injured before, Time had stitched him up with gentle, steady hands. When Wind had been kept up with nightmares, Time had made him a cup of tea over the campfire, and let Wind lean against him without any questions.

Time had never failed to offer comfort before.

“Time,” Wind croaked, his voice ruined, “make it stop. Please, make it stop.”

But Time didn’t help. He was looking up, away from where Wind was being pinned down by his hands. Wind thought Time’s mouth might have been moving, but he couldn’t tell what Time was saying, let alone if the old man was speaking to Wind or someone else. 

No matter what Time was saying, he wasn’t letting Wind go, so it didn’t matter. 

Time wasn’t helping Wind, it wasn't making the pain stop. 

Time was hurting him.

Wind was shaking now, unable to stop himself. He was too tired to cry, in too much pain the thrash anymore. Everything was getting worse, and no one was helping him.

It was a relief, really, when he finally slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

[sitp-recs]

Hey, Are you aware of any secret relationship fics that are angsty, like people flirting with either or not able to stake your claim. Does that make sense?

Hi, anon! It’s been a while since I last read secret relationship fics so I can’t remember if all of these have the flirting element you’re looking for, but I think you might enjoy these:

Mad Blood Stirring by provocative_envy (E, 3k) - Hockey AU

It's not like they've been angrily hooking up on the sly since meeting at a Juniors skills camp in fucking Manitoba four years ago, except that's exactly what they've been doing.

Intention by The_Sinking_Ship (E, 7k)

Harry really ought to listen to whatever Ron is saying, but it becomes impossible to focus when a familiar figure across the pub curls his fingers around another man’s tie. And when that man leans in with a wolfish smile, Harry sees red, and all he can think is mine.

Kiss by xErised (T, 10k)

For the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, it's not Ron that Harry rescues from the Great Lake, but Draco Malfoy. Hogwarts-era.

And Back Again (Where You Belong) by eidheann (E, 16k)

He thought back on their previous handshakes, and smiled faintly at the fact they always seemed to mean so much more to him than they did to Potter.

This is Never Happening Again by hpleems (M, 32k)

“Potter,” Malfoy said, shaking his head. “Do I look like I care about your holiday plans? Trust me: this is *never* happening again.”

Red Thread (that will lead me home to you) by xErised (E, 35k)

It takes four years of travelling and mutual pining for Harry to realise that Malfoy is the only one for him. Of course, he has to express his feelings in the most scandalous way possible—by stopping Malfoy's very proper, very pureblood wedding.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (T, 300k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

[doubleddenden]

Okay so like... anyone else have some insane theories about wtf happened in the Great Crater? I'm sitting here like

and i saw really good theories, but i had my own takes on how certain things went down. Mind you I'm playing from the perspective of someone that beat Violet, so if there's something slightly different in Scarlet (which I doubt its all that different), i might be a tad off.

But if you want to fall down into this rabbit hole with me, read on what I basically copied from my insane ramblings at my friends and slightly expanded on. BUT, be warned, do not read unless you have beaten all the stories of the game. All of them. There's major spoilers if you do, and I strongly recommend you experience the ending for how powerful it is, and read the Violet book contents for yourself in the Entrance Hall.

There's a book called the Violet/Scarlet book depending on the version, and it was written by a man named Heath from the Area Zero expedition team that explored this huge, unmapped and perilous Great Crater at the center of Paldea/PokeSpain. Heath wrote about a lot of crazy things that the public thought was nothing more than fantasy roughly… I think 200 years ago? Until the professor half proves it true about 10 years ago by discovering the "jewels" that the book talked about that would make Pokemon all sparkly- Terrastilizing basically- and made them a pretty common phenomena in the rest of Paldea. This same book also mentions various weird monsters that look like either ancient versions of Pokemon or futuristic robot versions of Pokemon- again, this is HUNDREDS of years ago written down- and these Pokemon do exist.

Further into the Violet book, Heath talks about a particular… Thing he saw- He's unsure of whether its a Pokemon at all and the text is all garbled, and the picture is hardly any help because it kinda looks about as abstract as an Evangeleon angel. BUT, the Pokemon is said to be comprised of a LOT of hexagonal shapes basically, and since it's heavily hinted like this, it's most likely another legendary Pokemon not covered in base Scarlet or Violet at this point. Here's the creepy part about the hexagons: Professor Turo/Sada- although not really them and more like their AI counterpart- basically gets the player to come down to Area Zero/The Great Crater's very bottom to turn off a time machine that is uncontrollable, following a strict program by the ORIGINAL Professor that is long since dead, and is bringing past/future Pokemon to the present in ways that would destroy or endanger our ecosystems. GUESS WHAT FUCKING SHAPES ARE COMPRISED OF THE TIME MACHINE ROOM??? well, triangles, but also HEXAGONS!!!! LOTS OF MULTICOLOR HEXAGONS!!!

it gets even weirder. Heath wrote an entry about how he and his team found these weird carvings and symbols in Area Zero that cannot be deciphered. He also writes about how he woke up someplace random one night, faintly remembering having a conversation with something or someone but not having the foggiest clue what, and he had notes and shit scribbled down after that. Separate from that, the Time Machine Turo/Sada built is able to send pokeballs to distant eras to capture and bring back those creatures to the present- but they didn't invent it until about 10 years prior to the present day- AND YET Heath still saw Paradox Pokemon. It'd be a simple thing to say the Great Crater acts as a nature preserve to super ancient Pokemon if it were just that- but 200 years ago in VIOLET Specifically, a robot Donphan mortally wounded a team member- same as the ancient Donphan does in Scarlet. That should be impossible because Iron Treads/Robot Donphan is from the FUTURE, not the past.

BUT for some fucking reason, for some DANG OL REASON, despite us going through several fail safes to turn it off, more and more fail safes come back online despite the AI wanting us to turn it off- because the AI saw that this was dangerous, but Turo for some reason wanted DESPERATELY to keep the Time Machine running. The desperation is so intense that the fail safes are able to overwrite AI Turo's will in order to protect the time machine.

Basically it seems fated that Turo/Sada obtains the Violet/Scarlet book somehow, because it ends up being their favorite childhood book and eventually brings them to the crater where they set up a lab and eventually succeed in building their time machine and proving Terrastilization is real. Turo, from my end anyway because Violet, seems obsessed with making "Paradise" in which Future Pokemon can coexist with present Pokemon- In fact, he seems to be driven somewhat mad by it, because his fellow scientists- including the woman that would become his son/Arven's mother even abandoned him. Turo would eventually create an AI that is a perfect replica of his personality and memories to a certain extent, made only possible due to the energy that is available down there. Turo would eventually be killed by a second Miraidon that he brings back from the future- I assume Sada is killed by a second Koraidon- either way, the robot is now all that's left of the Professor, and it asks us to come down to turn it off.

I believe Turo had some sort of… connection to some sort of entity- probably the same one that conversed with Heath- and the entity basically laid out seeds that would lead to Turo creating the time machine- including having Turo send future Pokemon back to the exact point the Zero Expedition was happening, ensuring the Violet Book would be written and bring him there. But now the issue is this: Why? Why was he so desperate? Why was it so important to keep the portal open? p2

The hexagons play another role in this: In Area Zero, crystals grow rampantly and even swallows technology whole, even trees aren't spared, but it was able to swallow WHOLE BUILDINGS. The mysterious Hexagon thingy Heath found is most likely the progenitor to Terrastilizing- and this is where it gets weirder and weirder- Terrastilized crowns that EVERY POKEMON WEARS all have tiny faces in the crowns. The orb that allows us to Terrastilize is also conveniently shaped like a Pokeball, imo.

Theory time: Terrastilizing is a sort of soft fusion between a regular Pokemon and this hexagonal entity that can alter its types- Which probably means it can be any type like Arceus. And again, the entire room the time machine is in is COVERED in hexagons- rainbow prism hexagons that constantly change and refract colors. Crazy time: The original Turo/Sada was lured into the Crater by some being- maybe from the ancient past or from the far future- so that it could make some sort of bridge to our time from when its most powerful, because as of now, its power barely escapes the crater in the form of Terra crowns. They were sort of driven mad by the same thing that visited Heath until they died. THIS THING IS AN ELDRITCH BEING OF SOME SORT. Maybe it has access to ancient records if its from the future after assimilating with technology, maybe it has clairvoyance about the far future due to being in its prime back in the ancient past- either way, there's something it wants in the present, and it NEEDED the time machine to be open.

And I don't wanna point fingers, but I think Glimmora has something to do with this. Glimmora is relatively... weak? Maybe not quite as imposing Pokemon as something like Garchomp or something to be the ace of a "Top" Champion. BUT, in Violet, this is its dex entry:

Violet: Glimmora's petals are made of crystallized poison energy. It has recently become evident that these petals resemble Tera Jewels. 

Its face also resembles the face in the crowns of each terra crown as well.

Now I'm not saying Glimmora is exactly evil- no no no, I'm merely putting it in the same boat as Cyclizard and Carbink specifically. Cyclizard, as we know, is either the descendant or ancestor to Koraidon and Miraidon, and Diancie is said to have evolved from a Carbink and then created Mega Stones. GUESS WHAT POKEMON IS SUPER FUCKING COMMON DOWN IN THE DEEPEST PITS OF AREA ZERO??? Glimmora! Where all of those crystals grow! What if this super ancient or super future hexoganal Pokemon is some sort of relative to it? Glimmora in the present just being a regular Pokemon or perhaps innocent seeming eyes for it- either way, like Cyclizard, it would become a future evolved from a past variant.

Let's go deeper. Glimmora and Glimmet have 6 flower petals- the Terra jewels are hexagonal. The petals for both are a toxic mineral- Whenever a Trainer Terrastilizes, it seems like it might be slightly painful for them or hard to control- most wince. Geeta... doesn't. She reacts to it, but not like others do, merely glancing at the Terra Orb. The player has no issues with this and seems to do it with zero discomfort.

When Geeta Terrastilizes, she says "Be the light of all trainers, Glimmora." Which... Could just be flavor text, but I feel like there could be more as well.

So now my theory is that this Hexagon Pokemon is likely some sort of eldritch being that can communicate with people via their minds- And mind you, another Rock/Poison type also could poison the minds of someone it possesses, that Pokemon being Nihilego. It could be that this Pokemon is brainwashing or sort of making people do its bidding- all to get the time machine built.

So now we're left with "Why?" and "How."

And I think we have a perhaps even bigger question

What the actual hell made that fucking crater?

and two scarier ones:

What does it want?

Could something turn the machine back on? Because we know things other than Pokeballs can travel through time thanks to AI Turo.

I think future DLC is going to be fucking WILD because holy shit, the story in this game is already freaking fantastic, and now we might havve some major eldritch conspiracy shit going on.

Or I'm probably wrong, reading way too deep into this, and GF is just gonna be like "lol who knows" like they usually do. They tend to do that a lot and just... never elaborate on things. This time just feels way too detailed and interwoven to just be left alone, though.

end Pepe Silvia time

[astarionfreak]

You're mine, remember?

// Ascended Astarion x Named Fem!Tav (Spawn)

Reuniting with Gale was a surprise. The Vampire Ascendant's reaction to Cassie returning home smelling like Gale . . . Well, that was to be expected.

18+ • NSFW • 3.4K words • Read on AO3 (or below)

Tags: Fingering as a polygraph test, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Possessive Astarion, Porn With Plot, Vampire Bites, Blood

Chapter One

Gale pulled Cassowary into a warm embrace, the likes of which she had not experienced since her transformation. She breathed him in — allowed the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins, and his scent to overwhelm her senses. Gods. His scent — he smelled of old books bound in leather, and the subtle smokey aroma of amber.

It returned her to a bygone era. Memories of sleeping in the dirt. When she believed each day could be her last. Their little group. Her found family. When Astarion was still that sweet, uncertain boy who wanted to make a new life for himself.

He did make that new life. Cassowary made the choice to follow him, and she would live with that choice. For eternity. No matter the cost.

Gale cleared his throat. “You must know it is no accident that we happened upon each other here.”

Cassowary stepped out of the embrace, her hand lingering just a little too long on his arm. “Happened upon each other at the Elfsong, Gale Dekarios? I didn’t think you took me for a fool,” Cassowary smiled faintly. “You came here looking for me.”

“Ah, well, yes. There is an urgent matter I wish to discuss with you.” A patron bumped into him and Gale stumbled toward Cassowary. She took his arm and steadied him.

“However, it would be better suited for a . . .” Gale paused and gestured to the bustling tavern. “. . . Less populated venue.”

Cassowary took his hand. “Very well. Whisk me away, if you must.”

Gale nodded curtly.

She could no longer hear clinking tankards or patrons shouting at the other drunkards. Instead, she was standing in a quiet and familiar library — one she’d only experienced in the weave. On her final night with Gale.

“Strange. Seeing this now,” Cassowary said. She dropped Gale’s hand and stepped away from him. She walked alongside the rows of books, gently tracing their spines with two fingers. “The life I could have had. If I’d chosen a different path.”

“If you’d chosen me, you mean,” Gale said.

Cassowary stiffened and turned to meet Gale’s eyes. “Gale. I —”

“That’s why I brought you here, Cassie —”

Her stomach lurched.

“No, Gale. If that were true, you would have come for me ages ago.”

Maybe, just maybe, some small part of her wished he had. She still loved Astarion, but their love had been twisted into something darker after he ascended. They were now locked in a perpetual battle for the upper hand.

Gale’s expression faltered. She could still hear his heart — it beat steadily in his chest. There was something in his eyes, a secret he was holding. “Letting you go may be the greatest regret of my life.”

“You didn’t let me go, Gale. I made my choice.” Cassowary closed the distance between them. “Now, speak plainly. Why am I here?”

“I care deeply for you, Cassie. Surely you know this?”

The ache in her chest was unrelenting. She cared for him too, but she wouldn’t say it — she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. It would be a betrayal. Something her lover would simply not allow.

Gale cleared his throat. “Are you safe with him?”

Cassowary laughed, baring her fangs. A show of power to convince both of them of her next lie. “I can take care of myself.”

“I need to hear you say it,” Gale said.

“We all need a lot of things,” Cassowary retorted, avoiding the question. She looked away from him, unable to handle the pain in his eyes.

Gale sighed. “He’s dangerous.”

“I’m a dangerous thing too, Gale. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Yes, your fangs are a stark reminder of how you’ve changed,” Gale chided. “I was prepared to be more subtle, but perhaps that is not the way.”

Cassowary turned to face him, a predatory glint in her eyes. She tilted her head, holding his gaze. She remained silent.

“Cassie,” Gale said her name with a sigh. “I am deeply concerned for your safety. I fear — no, I know, that Astarion is not the same man you fell in love with,” Gale said.

Cassowary held impossibly still. There was no rise and fall of her chest. She waited for him to finish.

“I believe I have discovered a way to return Astarion to his former status. However, it would revoke his — and your — ability to walk in the sun.”

Cassowary’s hand was on Gale’s throat the moment he finished his sentence. She kept her grip on him light, and delicate, but the threat was clear. His pulse was strong, his heartbeat quickened.

“You should know better than to suggest such a thing,” she spat.

Her stomach twisted, reminding her of a hunger she’d been neglecting. How sweet would he taste? Every other meal had been procured for her. She fed on only who Astarion would allow. Often, it was his scraps.

Gale could be hers. Only hers. She wouldn’t share. If Astarion found out, which, he would — she could write it off as punishment for Gale’s blasphemous tongue.

“Remove your hand or I will incinerate you,” Gale said.

His voice snapped her out of her fantasy. She released her grip on his throat and took a step back. Her stomach turned again, but this time it was nausea.

“If you value your life you will return me to the Elfsong with no memory of this interaction,” Cassowary said.

“No,” Gale replied.

“Gale . . .”

“Cassie. This is not the first time we’ve had this conversation. Fortunately, this time, I come prepared.”

Gale took a few steps back, keeping his eyes fixed on Cassowary. Good, he was wise enough to fear her. He reached for a small, rather unimpressive potion bottle sitting on a table.

“What is that?” Cassowary asked.

“As a spawn, Astarion controls you. Your words, not mine,” Gale said. “He has exerted his control over you to ensure that you lie for him, but never to him. This potion should free you of those chains. Permanently. What you choose to do after that, well, that is up to you.”

Gale stepped forward and held out the potion. He promised freedom, and yet, she hesitated.

“And if you’re wrong? If it doesn’t work? When I return home he will smell you on me. He will compel me to tell him everything.”

“It will work.” Gale kept his hand outstretched.

“And if it works but I choose to betray you of my own free will?” Cassowary asked.

“Then he — or both of you are free to try and kill me. I will sleep peacefully knowing your choices are once again yours to make. Be it by Astarion’s side or against him,” Gale said.

“Why should I believe you?” Cassowary asked.

Gale took Cassowary’s hand and pressed the bottle into her palm. “Take it, you’ll feel better,” he said.

Her own words echoed back to her. The same thing she told him as she pressed a magical ring into his hand.

That was enough for Cassowary. She snatched the potion from his hand, ripped the stopper off with her teeth, and downed it in one swift motion. It was flavorless but felt familiar. “Gods, it burns, what is in that?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Cassowary handed Gale the empty potion bottle. “I’d rather you did.”

“Something . . . Illithid. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe.”

A pain started to build in the back of Cassowary’s head. She winced.

“Do you feel anything?”

“Just a headache,” she said. “How will I know if it worked?”

“I am confident that it will work,” Gale said. “But if you’re unsure, perhaps there is a way we can test it?”

Cassowary took a deep, unnecessary breath. “There is a way.” She closed the distance between them. Her cold body drank up the heat radiating from his. “I’m going to tell you something that may cause you pain. I’m sorry.”

Gale had been a rather contentious point during one of her many fights with Astarion. Cassowary confessed to still caring for him — Astarion had forbidden her from ever admitting that out loud ever again.

She felt the words form on her tongue. The pain in her head shrank to a sharp point, like a needle driving through her skull.

“I still care for you, Gale. I always have and I always will. I love you.” She felt something snap inside her as the words tumbled from her mouth. A thread had been broken.

The sharp pain in her head grew and expanded to a dull ache.

“Oh.”

That’s all Gale said. Oh.

“You were right. It worked,” Cassowary said. “I feel different — stronger.”

“So that was . . .?”

Cassowary stepped back. She had meant what she said. But for his sake, Gale couldn’t know that. “It was nothing. Just testing my ability to betray him — and you were right, it worked.”

Gale seemed distant now. “Ah, yes, well . . .”

He cleared his throat. “You’ll probably be wanting to get back.”

“That would be for the best, yes,” Cassowary said.

A moment passed in silence. Finally, Cassowary spoke once more. “What you mentioned before — about revoking Mephistopheles gifts . . .”

“Just, consider it,” Gale said. “I know he and I had our differences, but Astarion was my friend too.”

“I am not prepared for this discussion. Do not breathe a word of it to anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

“Clear as crystal,” Gale said.

Silence fell between them once more. Cassowary took the first step. She pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Gale’s lips.

“You’ve given me a gift, Gale. Now send me back.” She closed her eyes and when she opened them she was back in the Elfsong.

Chapter Two

The walk back to the palace was exhilarating. The dull ache in Cassowary’s head was something to be celebrated. Gale delivered on his promise of freedom, and now she had the upper hand.

Cassowary strode confidently through the palace halls. With one strong push, she swung the double doors open to the throne room and stepped inside.

Her confidence faltered when she saw Astarion sitting comfortably on his throne. A brutal reminder that the hold he had over her did not require compulsion.

“Welcome home, my treasure,” he purred.

Her dead heart fluttered. Had she forgotten how perfect he was? It was as though the gods had sculpted him just to ruin her. Ascension had only enhanced his allure. There was no denying her love for him.

Cassowary approached the throne. Astarion’s smile faded — briefly — then returned. He knew. He smelled Gale on her.

Let the games begin.

“How was your little adventure? Didn’t get into any trouble now, did we?” Astarion leaned forward, his red eyes searching Cassowary’s face.

She placed a hand on his firm chest and pushed until he was leaning back against the throne. Cassowary carefully hitched her dress up and placed a knee on either side of his thighs, settling onto his lap.

She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his. He growled into her mouth, a frustrated, and needy sound.

Astarion pushed her dress up further and settled his hands on her hips. She pressed her tongue against her own fang, hard enough to draw blood. Astarion’s growl was reduced to a moan as the metallic tang of her blood reached his mouth.

Finally, Cassowary pulled away. She licked her lips, smearing blood as she did so. “No trouble at all,” she said with a smile. “I did run into an old friend of ours.”

Astarion ran his tongue over her lips, licking up the blood. “Oh, and who would that be?”

“Shadowheart.” A simple lie. Cassowary pressed a kiss to Astarion’s jawline.

“Just Shadowheart?” His fingers dug into her hips, hard enough to bruise.

Cassowary moaned softly at the pain and nibbled at his jaw. “Just Shadowheart,” she said between kisses.

Astarion pressed his forehead against hers. “I know you’re lying, little love.”

She felt that tug in her mind as he tried to compel her.

“Tell me the truth. Now,” he purred.

Gale’s name was stuck in her throat. It threatened to escape. It took some effort, but she managed to force it down — and lie to Astarion for the first time since he turned her. “I only saw Shadowheart.”

“What? Lying. Really? How?” Astarion punctuated each word with a pause.

He pulled his forehead away and looked past her. “Leave.” The several other thralls milling about the throne room exited swiftly.

Astarion pressed his face into the crook of her neck and then between her breasts — taking a deep breath each time. “I can smell him on you, darling,” he growled. “So, I’ll ask one more time. Who were you with?”

“Oh,” Cassowary said with a laugh.

“Oh?” Astarion leaned back, shooting her a piercing glare.

“Yes. Silly me. I must have forgotten. I did see Gale today,” she said.

Astarion’s already bruising grip tightened. Heat pooled between Cassowary’s legs.

“Hm. Is that so?”

Cassowary inched forward on his lap and kissed her way up his jawline to his ear. She nibbled at his earlobe.

“You didn’t forget. Tell me the truth.” Cassowary felt Astarion try to exert his power over her once more. Her head ached.

“I forgot. That is the truth,” she said through labored breaths.

“You can lie to me now. Isn’t that a fun little turn of events,” Astarion said. “I suppose this has nothing to do with your little wizard friend.”

He grabbed her dress and slid it up her body. Cassowary leaned back and allowed him to remove it completely, exposing her breasts.

Astarion tossed the dress onto the floor. “Not conspiring against me now, are we?” His hands continued to wander across her body — sending electric sparks over her skin.

He pressed a kiss to the top of each of her breasts, breathing her in. Checking for Gale.

“No, my love. Nothing like that,” Cassowary said.

He grabbed her underwear with two hands and ripped it, tearing it off her body, and tossing it to the floor as well.

“It seems I’ll have to resort to other methods to ensure you’re being completely honest with me,” Astarion growled.

He shifted Cassowary in his lap and slid a hand up to her throat, keeping a firm grip on her. He shoved his other hand between her legs. She gasped as he slipped two fingers inside her without warning.

“You’re already so wet. Naughty girl,” he said.

Cassowary held onto his shoulders and squirmed. She found the most delicious pleasure in the unexpected intrusion.

She pressed her throat against his hand, almost as if asking him to squeeze. Astarion did not oblige.

He pulled his fingers out of her, and she whimpered. Her body already missed the contact. Cassowary may have gained her freedom, but she was right where she wanted to be — beholden to his whims and desires.

Astarion raised those fingers to his mouth. They glistened, sticky with her desire. He sucked on them. After a moment, he removed them with a lewd popping noise. “You’re lucky you don’t taste like him,” he whispered.

Cassowary shivered. What would he have done if she tasted like Gale? A sinful part of her wanted to know.

Astarion shifted. The hand that was around her throat moved and his thumb pressed against her lips, demanding she open her mouth. Cassowary did as she was instructed, melting into his touch as his thumb slipped into her mouth and pressed against her tongue. She began to suck, holding eye contact with Astarion.

Again, without warning, his fingers were back inside her cunt. Cassowary choked out a soft moan around his thumb.

“I know you didn’t drink his blood,” Astarion said. “But, did you want to?”

He pulled his thumb out of her mouth and returned his grip on her throat. Astarion’s other two fingers inside her did not move.

She remembered the sound of Gale’s blood rushing through his veins, his strong heartbeat.

“Yes,” Cassowary confessed.

Astarion held her in place. “Naturally. Good girl. Now I have my baseline.” He pushed his fingers further into her. “Did you touch him?”

Cassowary’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to sink further down on his fingers, but he wouldn’t let her. “Yes.”

“Where?” Astarion asked.

“We hugged,” she whimpered.

Cassowary slid a hand between her thighs and began rubbing small circles around her clit.

Astarion growled, released her neck, and grabbed her wrist. “No.”

She met his eyes, pleading.

“You ask for permission before you touch yourself,” he said.

“Please, Astarion.” She threw her head back, frustrated with the lack of contact.

“No,” he said. “Look at me.”

She met his eyes. There was something predatory in his gaze now, it sent a jolt of desire straight to her core. She would do anything for him.

“Did you kiss him?” Astarion asked, his voice low.

Her walls clenched around his fingers, just for a moment. “No.”

“Liar,” he hissed. Astarion curled his fingers, brushing her g spot. “Touch yourself now.”

Cassowary needed no further instruction. She found her clit and began to work quick, sinful circles. Astarion slid his dexterous fingers in and out of her so slowly.

“I’ll ask again,” he said. “Did you kiss him?”

Fuck he felt so good. The only thing that would have felt better was his cock. She rolled her hips, pressing his fingers deeper into her. “Once. Mm — just once. N-nothing —”

Gods. This shouldn’t work. She should be able to lie to him.

“Show me,” he demanded.

Cassowary stopped touching herself to reenact the kiss. Chaste. Simple. Something common between friends. The truth.

Astarion growled. His fingers stopped moving. He grabbed her wrist again to stop her from touching herself. “Did you fuck him?”

“No,” Cassowary said, breathless.

“Did he want to fuck you?”

“I — I don’t know,” Cassowary shifted in his lap enough to feel his erection.

Astarion growled again, low, and angry. “Did you want him to fuck you?”

The memory of her only night with Gale rose to the surface. It had been ethereal.

Did she want Gale to fuck her again? Her walls fluttered and clenched around Astarion’s fingers.

“No,” she said. She wasn’t sure if that was the truth or not. What she did know, was that right now, she wanted Astarion more than anything else. “I only w-want you.”

“Good girl,” Astarion purred. He released his grip on her wrist and Cassowary began to touch herself again.

“Who do you belong to?” Astarion looked down at the wet mess between her legs. He curled his fingers and began fucking her slowly.

“F-fuck,” Cassowary whimpered. “Mm. You.”

“Say it.” His free hand slid up her back to pull her closer to him. He pressed his face into her neck, lips ghosting over her skin.

“I b- belong to you,” she whimpered.

“Again,” he demanded. The sharp edge of his fangs teased her neck.

“I- I belong to you, Astarion,” Cassowary managed to choke out between moans.

“That’s right, little bird. You’re mine, remember? I don’t need to compel you to know that your future is mine to decide.”

“Yours. All yours.” Gods, she was so close. Her desire was building to a crescendo and one little push would send her over the edge.

“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered against her neck.

“Forever,” Cassowary moaned. “I’m yours forever, Astarion.” That one little thing that would send her over the edge, she knew what it was now. “B-bite me. Please.”

“My pleasure.” Astarion sank his fangs into her neck. A pain she knew all too well. Exactly what she needed.

She saw stars behind her closed eyes. Her body shook and her walls pulsed as she came around his fingers, crying his name. She could feel him smile against her skin as he greedily gulped down her blood.

Cassowary went limp, melting into him. Astarion slipped his fingers out of her overly-sensitive cunt. He tore himself away from her neck and pulled her flush against his chest.

“You know I adore you,” Astarion said.

She collapsed, her own face nestling against his neck. She breathed him in — bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy. Home. Hers, all hers.

Then, for the first time, it occurred to her that she could bite him. When he turned her she was granted one drop of his blood. Now, with his power over her gone — she could take more power all for herself. Level the playing field.

But he was stroking her back so lovingly. She felt so happy right here, on his lap. His. She sighed against his neck. There would be another chance to take what she deserved. For now, she was fuck drunk and satisfied.

[chartreuseian]

For the fic writer ask❤️

1 Mr & Mrs, 9, 10, 17

Hi hi ❤️

1. Share a song that makes you think of [fic title]

Wonder by Shaun Mendes because I recently wrote the very last chapter for the story and that was the song that inspired the vibes (and I am so totally in love with the vibes... like, I can't even explain...)

9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written!

Yes! Well, I try to. My goal is 1k a day, which, with the exception of this week because I am gross and sick, I can generally acheive.

Just one sentence? Hehehe...

Nikola dropped to his knees in an instant and Helen spent the rest of the day replaying sight of it in her mind.

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Hmm... Not recently. I feel like I've been at this for long enough now that I can tell who will like different things (and we're such a small little fandom that I can probably even tell you the usernames of who will read the different stuff I post). I do remember being faintly shocked by how much people enjoyed the 'Should Have' series way back when. It started as something small and stupid and fun and it spiralled because people seemed to feel just as passionately as I did about the missed opportunities from the show...

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

Ha! Well, I did buy a copy of the kama sutra so that was kind of eye opening 😅

That it wasn't uncommon for women to go without 'underwear' in the traditional sense in the Victorian era? I knew that split seams were a big thing, but I read some articles that suggested it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that a woman might go without, particularly if it was hot.

[youredreamingofroo]

📩 Simblr question of the day: Choose as many sims/ocs as you'd like for this question, What's something INCREDIBLY obscure and/or out-of-pocket about your sim/oc? Something that nobody (fellow sims and/or your followers and mutuals) knows 👀 (This could be things about their social skills, physicality and/or birth defects, or it could be something they vaguely remember, a dream they had that actually predicted the future, etc etc... whatever you come up with)

( p.s I'm [the SQOTD anon] planning on starting a separate SQOTD blog for these asks/questions, and I'm open for input on this :) ) ( p.p.s freely share this SQOTD around, anon or not, and use the # SQOTD ~ 💛 )

HI SQOTD ANON!! I hope you are so well, you are amazing

I'm gonna sorta blast out obscure facts for multiple OCs/Sims, when I say obscure facts, I'm gonna prolly do more behind the scenes facts and less actual character facts 😭 I'll try to squeeze some in tho

Under the cut cuz this gets LONGGG (I have so many behind the scenes facts LMAO)

For Roo: Here's a couple Behind-The-Scenes facts, I have SOO many of these for early-days roo so get ready:

[ Prior to a settled design for Roo, Roo was gonna be a Succubus woman with white fading to black hair! I still have the only drawing I made of her, but it's bad and embarrassing (mind you its like 6 years old so) LMFAOO [ Adding onto the last one, I used to go by "The Unfortunate Roo" before Roo was a separate character and when I used to call myself Roo, I also went by "The UnRootunate" which you can imagine 12 year old me was SOO proud of that... 💀 (it is clever tho so 🤷‍♂️) [ After making Roo's first design, I intended Roo to be trans! FtM- This ended up changing because I designed his younger versions and they weren't pre-transition, and instead ended up making his gender be very apparently open-ended (which you can see through his different eras where his hair progressively gets longer :P) [ I never really shared what Roo's middle name is! But to be honest, I completely forgot about the existence of his middle name LMAO Initially his middle names were "Ivory-Roland" and the idea of "Roo" for a name came from "Roland"! [ This will come as a shock... but a while ago (~1 year ago), I was actually gonna give Roo a child 👀👀 Not biological, but just a kid he adopted or something, I don't remember anything about the kid cuz I never wrote anything down

And Here's a couple "other people/sims don't know/notice this" facts:

[ This is INCREDIBLY unnoticeable, but Roo's freckles would very faintly change through the years alongside his hair and eyes changing due to Piametia!

For Virginia (Roo's mother): I've only got one Behind-The-Scenes fact for her:

[ My first name choice for her was gonna be Persephone! But I felt that it didn't fit her <:)

Putting these together but here's two name facts for Virginia (besides the persephone part) and Reese:

[ Virginia's last name was supposed to be Keith-Norman when I first made her, but have since realized it wouldn't make sense for one reason that you'll see in the next fact- Her middle name was supposed to be Jillian and... it stuck! (Virginia Jillian Norman) [ Reese's name was COMPLETELY different when I made him... "Stephen-Elijah [Eli] Jackle Florence"... Yea LMAO, this is why Keith for Virginia wouldn't make sense, and overall his name was just a chaotic mess... I decided to actually make him have no middle name! And his birth last name is Arnett, but he changed it to Norman :) (Reese Arnett -> Reese Norman)

For Jordynn (Roo's oldest sister): Once again, behind-the-scene fact :):

[ One of the first iterations of Jordynn was that she looked nothing like her parents (Virginia and Reese) and because of this, Reese got upset with Virginia and almost divorced her bec he assumed the kid wasn't his! They had a much more toxic relationship when they were being baked in the OC oven

and here's an in-universe fact:

[ She doesn't tell a lot of people this because it's not necessarily an issue, but she's deathly allergic to lavender, one whiff could put her out of commission for a LONGGG while

For Devan (Roo's only brother): behind-the-scenes fact:

[ Devan used to have british origins, and would have a very confusing accent crossed with heavy Swedish and a heavy British accent, making it very difficult for people to understand him no matter what language he spoke, I ended up changing this simply cuz I forgot :)

in-universe fact:

[ He has pierced ears! But he tends to forget to put earrings in and has had to re-pierce his ears once before

For Deliahna (Roo's second youngest sister): in-universe fact:

[ Her birthday is on Valentines Day!! <:)

And finally, Juniper (Roo's youngest sister): in-universe fact:

[ Juni is mixed! She's Hispanic and Scandinavian, and has an accent that actually ping-pongs in terms of which half is stronger, which depends on which parent she's with, if she's with Virginia, her light Swedish accent comes out, but if she's with Mateo (Her Father and Roo's step/half(?) father), her thick hispanic accent comes out, she's also fluent in Spanish and English, and knows little-to-no Swedish

- -

And here's a random fact about an OC that never really saw the light of day (keep in mind I was like 12-14 when I made this OC LMAO):

[ This oc's name is "Bashful", is a clown and is a quintuplet! (The other names are just [insert verb] - ful 💀)

AND last fact (sorry I keep saying and LMAO) about an OC that I plan to... eventually share 😭:

[ I have an OC named 1504 and she's made of Clay! She's one of my oldest OCs that has actually survived the OC-purge (by OC purge I just mean completely dropping all my old OCs for new ones)

[doctornolonger]

Since I mentioned The House in the Ocean I couldn’t help but ask, what are your thoughts on analog horror in general? Assuming you are familiar with it? To me it’s a mixed bag, I love Alex/Manticore’s stuff (House in the Ocean, Trinity Desk Project, Cornerfolk, etc), but the rest of it is either terribly derivative shit or just okay. As I said you’ll LOVE The House in the Ocean, it gave me major Faction Paradox vibes. Very few things do that.

I like analog horror. It started with storytellers trying to immerse their audiences by using technologies they were familiar with. But as time has passed, fewer and fewer young people are able to relate to the VCR/camcorder era – as someone born at the tail end of the 90s, I myself remember it only faintly! – and "VCR static" has evolved into an aesthetic for its own sake rather than a means to an end. What's the equivalent of analog horror for today's audiences? Can there be a modern equivalent? What does horror look like when everything is captured in iPhone Auto HDR?

I had a really profound and enjoyable experience last week at "Convergence Station", the Meow Wolf exhibit/installation/experience in Denver. Trip report enclosed below the cut – I wanted to illustrate with a single image, but there's no one that does it justice, so this is going to be a longer than usual AMA answer.

On a purely superficial level, Convergence Station is a big building with hundreds of interactive art installations. There's a distressing trend of "museums" designed solely for the Instagram audience – the Museum of Ice Cream™, The FRIENDS™ Experience, the Van Gogh Exhibition: The Immersive Experience™. When friends would visit me in New York, I was dragged along to a number of these, and I found them frankly draining. It would be perfectly possible to engage with Convergence Station along these lines: it contains hundreds of photoshoot opportunities, whole rooms designed and decorated by local artists.

But everything else about Convergence Station subverts and transcends that boring format. Firstly, these exhibits are arranged in a way that encourages exploration – literal, physical exploration. One room looks like a laundromat; pull some handles and the dryers will start spinning, not with laundry but with miniature worlds. Tug on the handle of the coin machine on the opposite wall and you'll open the secret door to the shrine of the Laundry Cult.

And then there's the story. The exhibits are split across three distinct alien worlds with their own aesthetics, history, and social factions, which you can discover through the books, phone lines, and computer terminals scattered throughout many rooms. Dig deep enough, and you learn that all three worlds of the "Convergence" – four, if you count Denver – are tied together by a single overarching plotline, with you at the center.

The result is a nearly total level of immersion. Many of the building's silly interactive elements unlock new functions with deeper importance as you progress through the plotline. Mrs Bumber and I didn't complete the story, but I saved our Quantum Department of Transportation "QPASS" card so we can continue on our next visit(s) to Colorado.

I've experienced some of the "imagineering" industry through my wife, and what Meow Wolf is doing is truly innovative. This was far and away the best actualization I've seen yet of what Galaxy's Edge was supposed to be like (in contrast with what Galaxy's Edge actually is). Hopefully the industry titans are on watch, because Meow Wolf is presenting a clear vision of the next big thing.

… uhh, what was this question about? Oh yeah, analog horror!

[clown-moss]

This is a small fic about the ending of the 3DS era with N included, and since I'm sad you all have to be sad too. TW: Major/Referenced Character Death

He sits, perched up in his icon. It's a Pokemon Black icon, the first one, the game the owner had longer forgotten within the cartridge slot. The screen was flipped on and up, but the screen was dull and darkened. But just over the screen horizon, he could see them.

The owner of the 3DS he lives within, and the kid he grew up along side. Oh did he miss those fun days when you were merely just a small child, the way your Pokemon would have god awful movesets, the way you struggled so hard against the elite four, and then him. What he would give to go back and experience it all over again, but he's already long forgotten.

Dust has already pulled up on his hair, stiff and forgotten. His normally white shirt now a full grey colour due to how much dust he has collected over these years, there's even dust piling up onto his lashes. It's times like these that he wonders that if he'll even be remembered for the years to come, not that he'll be around to know.

He looks up, humming to the theme of your custom 3DS wallpaper. He remembers how happy you were when you got it, the way your eyes lit up and your childish smile rose, it was such a long time ago....

If he stretches just that tiny bit further, he can see what you are doing, but just faintly. You're playing on the new console, the switch if he remembers correctly? Maybe you're playing the new Pokemon games like sword and shield, or the new one that just came out, or maybe you're playing a different game as a whole! He wouldn't know, he can't look that far.

He looks to his side, the other discarded and forgotten games. The demos of the games you used to play all sitting there, untouched, covered with a thick layer of dust.... Forgotten just as he was.

It's times like these he wishes he wasn't just a video game character made for your enjoy, to challenge your abilities, but a human. A human with a fully fleshed life, one not predicted out for him, choices he could make on his own, and maybe if he reached out just that little bit further maybe he could-

He retracted his hand, bringing up to his face. He didn't notice the waterfall of tears pouring out of his face unnaturally, he was never a pretty crier, but he expression of solitude and monochrome never faded. He doesn't have the energy to be expressionate anymore, he hasn't in years.

His throat was sore and coarse, just sandpaper rubbing against each other, he stopped speaking to himself years ago because of it. Now only the littlest of words would cause him great pain.

He looks behind himself, the old icons you so very much disregarded, well all but the Eshop. But as he can see with his very own eyes, it was dying.

He knew that once that had died, he'll follow suit. He knows he should be upset, he should be screaming and banging on that screen to let him out, to let him be a real person again. But he already did that the first time around, it didn't change his outcome.

He counts.

3

2

.....1

It's gone, the shop he watched you search and search for fun free games is now gone, forever. He looks back to the screen, hoping just this one last time that you'd even slightly turn your way to the screen and be sad that it's now permanently gone.

But you showed nothing.

For the first time, in such a long while, he showed pure emotion on his face. His face contorted, eyebrows fluxed and mouth slightly agape, he was in complete and utter sorrow.

"Please! I don't want to do this anymore please!"

His throat hurt, it scratched like all hell, it felt like it was bleeding, but he didn't care.

The sound of beeping tore a gasp from his ruined throat, he looks over in shock, the battery is finally dying after all this time. No, no, no, not now! He couldn't let this happen! He can't just die like this!

"PLEASE! IM SORRY! I'LL DO ANYTHING! I DON'T WANT TO GO!"

The beeping got loud, his breathes were laboured as he struggled to breathe.

"𝙋𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙎𝙀!-"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The screen snaps to black, it's dawn of a new era for consoles.

[illumiera]

For the ask game, take 🪞 and 👀 for Ellie, and ✋ and 🪞 for Miraak! I love that question about self-image! 😍😍

thank you so much for the ask! I hope you're prepared for an essay... 💖

from this ask game!

Elentari:

🪞 How does your OC perceive themself? Do they believe themself to be attractive, unattractive, or average? Does their view of themself affect their self-esteem, or are they unbothered by their physical appearance? (If your OC does have things they’re confident or insecure about, what are they?)

Ellie grew up in Daggerfall's noble circles, where physical beauty was upheld as the most desirable quality for a young lady to possess, but her parents took great care to remind their daughters that there were far more important things for a person to be than attractive. as a result, she's always had very healthy self-esteem! she's aware that she's what would be considered beautiful by Breton standards, but she generally pays no mind to it. she likes to make herself feel pretty with her relaxing beauty rituals, fine gowns, jewellery, and flowers in her hair, but it doesn't particularly matter to her whether someone thinks she is or not... unless that someone were a certain someone, and then I think the knowledge that they find her stunning beyond words would make her go so pink she'd be luminous. 🥰

👀 What is the first physical feature people notice when they see your OC? Why?

the first thing anyone will notice about Ellie is just how small she is, both in height and in build! you hear the songs composed in honour of the Last Dragonborn, the slayer of the World-Eater... and then you meet her in person and she's a slip of a woman not quite five feet tall. at this point in her journey, she's grown used to (and even amused by) the double-takes and the doubt that flashes in peoples' eyes, but she won't deny how strange it was to look upon Alduin's Wall for the first time, see the carving made to represent her, and know how much she differed in every conceivable way.

Miraak:

✋ Are your OC’s hands smooth, rough, or average? Why? How do they keep their nails? Do they bite them, paint them, neatly trim them, et cetera?

contrary to what his strong physique and skill in battle would suggest, Miraak has very soft, smooth hands only faintly callused between the fingers—though this wasn't always the case. he was once no stranger to manual labour, both during his early life and after being taken by the dragon cult as a boy (I have much more to say about his life prior to the priesthood in i fear no fate!), and only his growing skill with Restoration magic allowed him to mend the cracks and cuts that would often form on his palms. his time in Apocrypha has corrupted what were once neat nails tipping long, slender fingers—lute-player's fingers—into claws that shine like spilled ink, and while they and the staining that reaches his knuckles might appear black at first, it's actually a mixture of dark blues, purples, greens, and greys.

🪞: oh, boy, these days Miraak's self-image is not great. as a dragon priest, it would have been forbidden for anyone save the dov and other priests to look upon his face, but he still took good care of his appearance even if no one (except for, say, a Last Dragonborn who could cross through the many eras between them so that they could meet in their dreams) could see it. once, he prided himself on his long golden hair braided according to Atmoran tradition, his strength in physical and magical combat, and the powerful presence of his dragon soul... and now when he looks at himself, all he sees is what Apocrypha has done to him. he doesn't quite understand it, how Ellie can look at him as though she cares nothing for the marks of Daedric corruption, but he's beyond touched by it all the same. you could say that's when he truly fell for her for the second time, even without remembering her: when she saw his hand and, though he was half expecting her to back away, she still held it gently within hers. 🥲

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Hey! Your Eleutherophobia series is perhaps the best fanfic series I’ve ever read, which surprised me because I usually dislike first person narration. Do you have any tips on writing in that style?

Thank you!  What's worked for me: find an author whose first-person narration you like, and copy their homework. Think of it like those art students who go to museums and make sketches of Starry Night or Raft of the Medusa. By imitating what Van Gogh and Géricault did, you figure out how they did it.

A few of the first-person narrative styles that I’ve enjoyed imitating: Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro), The Blind Assassin (Margaret Atwood), When the Wind Blows (James Patterson), Pendragon (D.J. McHale), “Drinking Coffee Elsewhere” (ZZ Packer), Christine (Stephen King), Lullaby (Chuck Palahnuik), “How to Become a Writer” (Lorrie Moore), Woman on the Edge of Time (Marge Piercy), We Have Always Lived in the Castle (Shirley Jackson), Screwtape Letters (C.S. Lewis), The Martian (Andy Weir), and obviously Animorphs (K.A. Applegate).  Anyone else’s list probably looks different from mine, since I’m mostly a sci-fi/horror fan, but those are some of my favorite narrators.

Anyway, read a book in first person, and when something cool happens, notice it.  Then stop and do your best to imitate the cool thing, using your own characters.  For example, The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold) opens with this narration about a snow globe.  The entire first chapter, in full:

Inside the snow globe on my father’s desk, there was a penguin wearing a red-and-white striped scarf. When I was little my father would pull me into his lap and reach for the snow globe. He would turn it over, letting all the snow collect on the top, and then invert it. The two of us watched the snow fall gently around the penguin. The penguin was alone in there, I thought, and I worried for him. When I told my father this, he said, “Don’t worry, Susie; he has a nice life. He’s trapped in a perfect world.”

I love that opening.  So I’ll try to imitate it, using a character of my own, Sia.  First of all, I have to choose an object: what means as much to Sia as that snow globe does to Susie?  I’m thinking a camera, since Sia later works as a photographer.  But Susie seems to feel an ambivalence about the snow globe, since the penguin is “trapped” and she’s “worried” about it.  Okay, so Sia’s not just remembering a camera; she’s remembering specifically the digital camera that’s faintly embarrassing to own at all, since she bought it right in the era when personal cameras were dying out in favor of smart phones but she still took years to stop carrying it around.  So that’s what I’m writing about.  How do I imitate Sebold’s style?

Well, there are the long sentences.  I can write long sentences — I love long sentences!  But the long sentences seem to be carefully constructed to lead up to that last zinger (“He’s trapped in a perfect world”) because the sentence before that last one is a run-on that uses a semicolon.  So I need a final sentence that speaks to a broader point about Sia as a person, just like that penguin hints at Susie’s perspective throughout The Lovely Bones (she’s trapped in heaven).

There’s also the relative formality.  “My father,” not “Daddy,” as he’ll be through the rest of the novel.  This feels like a story Susie is telling to a near-stranger she just met on the bus or at orientation.  Why does it feel like Susie’s half-remembering this?  It must be both how “would pull me into his lap and reach for the snow globe” feels like it’s through the eyes of someone very small, and the fact that the word “invert” isn’t one a toddler would use, suggesting this is an adult describing the scene.  There’s only the one line of dialogue, which also gives the impression that most of this memory is in images (“red-and-white striped scarf”) rather than words.  There’s the back-and-forth between past participle “he would turn” and the past perfect “he said,” again imitating the voice of someone telling a childhood story as an adult.

So how does Sia sound semi-formal?  Given her complicated family history, she’d just say “Patrick” rather than “my foster-father” or “my father” or “my uncle who adopted me.”  Sia would latch onto visual details like Susie does, but probably wouldn’t worry about an inanimate object being “lonely;” she’d be scared of it getting tarnished or broken somehow. 

If Sia’s telling an anecdote about sitting on her dad’s lap looking at an object with him, one that hints at her whole life story, it’ll be something mechanical.  I could keep the theme of being “trapped” if the camera “captures” the room... but honestly that doesn’t fit Sia either.  Okay, what if I made it not a digital but a film camera, and I had her open the canister only to destroy all her own work in a flash?  Yeah, that fits her a lot better — it’s a running thread of Sia’s story that she has to be careful not to destroy things, specifically by burning them, and it also fits with Patrick’s characterization to let her make that mistake so that she can learn from it.  Okay, so let’s try this...

The camera on Patrick’s desk was the classic kind, one with a rainbow-hued lozenge of lens peering from a heavy black body.  As a kid I would draw taut its dial just to watch the lever purr back into position.  Patrick would hold it to my eye, letting me choose where to point before together his blunt finger and my tiny one pressed the shutter.  The first time, I pried open the door and pulled the canister into the light, not knowing what I’d done until I asked to see our photo.  Patrick explained, holding the ribbon of film so we could watch it bleach: “That will happen if you remove it, Sia.  If you’re not careful, it’ll burn up in the light.”

There we go.  Not a perfect vignette, but I learned a lot from Sebold while trying.  Repeat that process as often as you’d like.  Keep the parts you want to keep from each author’s style, and discard the rest.

[ckret2]

tbh aren't we all haunting our own corpses

“So, do you haunt this building? Was it something else before it was a night club? I didn’t think it was that old...”

The ghost shakes her head. She’s a murky shadow hanging in the air whenever the strobe lights flash on, but under the black light she glows clearly, like a glass statue faintly dusted in glow-in-the-dark paint. “No, I’m just a guest too.” Her voice is incredibly quiet; and yet whether in deafening music or in the near-silent lulls between songs, her words are always faintly but clearly audible.

“Oh, my bad,” the man says. “I’ve never seen a wandering ghost as old as you?” He glances down at her Regency era gown. “I thought only haunting ghosts can communicate and shit. Since they like, absorb energy from the thing they’re haunting?”

“I’m a haunting ghost,” she confirms. “An object, not a place. I haunt my corpse.”

The man blinks, taken aback. “Oh, what! You buried in the floorboards or something?”

She turns toward the dance floor, craning her head to peer through the crowd. “There.” She points. “Near the restrooms, in the tacky purple pleather jacket.”

He follows her spectral arm to peer across the room at another woman, who’s currently swirling an untouched drink and flirting with another club goer. The other woman looks like she could be the ghost’s sister. “What, is she carrying your urn or something? Is she your descendant?”

“That’s my corpse.”

The man stares at the woman, eyes bugged out; then at the ghost again, comparing the very-not-dead woman’s face to the ghost’s. After a moment, he manages to stammer, “It—uh—looks... pretty good?”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of the ghost’s mouth, vanishing when the lights flash on and reduce her again to a floating shadow. “Do you know what makes a body ‘undead’ instead of just dead?”

He turns to stare at the woman again, this time trying to see her teeth from across the room. “Uhh... shit, this was in Dracula wasn’t it. I don’t remember any high school assigned readings.”

“It’s what you get when a body loses a soul but is otherwise still alive.”

“Right! Right. Knew that.”

“And a ghost is...” she prompts.

“A... soul without a body?” He laces his hands and plops them on top of his head, as if he’s trying to protect his mind from being blown. “Is that allowed? Can you—Can—Do a vampire and a ghost made out of the same person get to exist at the same time?”

The ghost shrugs.

“Which one of you is, like... actually you?”

The ghost shrugs more expressively. “We spent most of Queen Victoria’s reign arguing about it.”

“So you’re the same person?”

The ghost makes a so-so gesture.

The man turns to look at the vampire across the club, who’s wearing a wicked smirk and tugging a thoroughly seduced-looking club goer into the privacy of the restroom. “Huh,” he says. “Weird.”

[pxperplxnets]

meetings and butterflies.

summary: alana finally goes to visit sebastian in italy. she meets conrad and immediately develops a crush on him.

pairing: conrad laursen x alana diaz.

conrad and alana character descriptions

word count: 884

warnings: none.

lowercase intended!

part two.

--------------------------------------------------

alana had known sebastian for as long as she had memory, and she was finally going to one of his races. she was at a family trip fairly close to monza, so when sebastian invited her to an all included prema experience she couldn't say no.

she got to the colombian’s apartment three days before the race, where she was warmly welcomed by sebastian. after a well deserved long hug, the boy informed her that they would be going to the prema headquarters where she would meet the other drivers.

   as the building came to view, the girl grew more and more nervous. there were some hot and talented people out there, but she was just herself. boring old alana.

she shrugged those feelings off as she remembered her mothers words “you might not know how to drive a race car, but just remember the time we took sebas surfing.” the memory made her giggle softly as they both hopped off the car and started walking over to the building.

“¿y tú de que te ries?” (what are you laughing at?) he asked, a smile creeping off his lips “me acordé de cuando te lleve a surfear” (i remembered the time i took you surfing) she laughed harder when she saw the smile fall off of his face, making him roll his eyes before entering the building.

they walked around for a while, introducing her to different people, all of whom were very welcoming to her.

when they got into the driver's trailer, there were three people already there. a short girl -who she recognized as hamda- and two boys who she didn't immediately recognize.

one of them caught her eye. he was blonde and really tall. ‘pretty’ was her first though. sebastian introduced her briefly, and as the pretty guy -conrad- went to greet her first, the latina in alana got the best of her as she leaned in to kiss his cheek, something that she was used to but he definitely wasn't. at least judging for how red his face was when he moved back.

the other two introduced themselves as kirill and hamda, the latter expressing how happy she was to have another girl with her, even if it was only for a few days.

as everyone moved on to do their respective tasks, alana stood by sebastian.

“no me habías dicho que el danés era tan guapo” (you hadn’t told me that the danish one was so handsome) she joked, speaking in spanish so no one but her friend would understand “con lo rojo que se puso hace rato me parece que piensa lo mismo de ti, pero hey, no me lo robes” (judging of how red he went earlier i would think he thinks the same about you, but hey, don’t steal him from me) sebastian said with a mocking tone in his voice, glaring at her playfully.

alana laughed faintly, her eyes drifting to the tall danish as he laughed next to kirill. conrad noticed her staring and looked back at her with a smile. with the little confidence he could gather, he winked in her direction before turning back to his conversation.

the day passed and she got more and more comfortable with everyone. she quickly got close to hamda, since they were the only young women there.

she shared multiple conversations with conrad, who seemed to only gain confidence with her every stutter and blush. at one point, he even looked like he was enjoying how nervous she seemed to get when he would look directly into her eyes. since when did pretty girls get nervous about him? it was always the older guys, never him. but there alana was, made a stuttering mess with just a smile. he liked it. a lot.

at the end of the day, when sebastian and her were walking towards the car that would take them back home, she had to stop as she heard her name being called.

“alana!” her heart skipped a beat at the sound of conrad’s voice calling her name. she turned to his direction, seeing him jogging slightly towards her “conrad?” she questioned, feeling light butterflies in her stomach

“yeah, sorry to get you like this, but could i have your number?” her cheeks stinged with colour for a moment before answering “uhm, yeah, for sure” he smiled before giving her his phone, ready to put the number in a contact that she read as ‘alana<3’. she put her phone number in before giving the object back to him.

“there you go” she smiled “thanks, uhm, would you-” he took a deep breath before looking at her eyes again “would you like to hangout tomorrow after prema? like, just you and me?” he sounded so nervous alana almost let out an audible awe “yeah, of course. text me the details?”

just as he was about to speak, he got interrupted by a screaming sebastian “conrad, mate, hurry up, i'm hungry and i have to take her with me!” conrad laughed a little before turning to the other boy “sorry! i had to take my chance with the pretty girl!” with that said, he bent down and kissed her cheek “bye, i'll see you tomorrow” he smiled before turning away, leaving her to walk to the car with butterflies flying around her stomach.

as soon as the car started moving, she got a text from an unknown number that made her smile like an idiot.

                              +## #########

you’re insanely pretty

oh, its conrad btw

——————————————————————————

author’s note:

this is the first one shot i’ve written, i hope you liked it!

any feedback would be appreciated<3

[spagheddiesquash]

okay actually im gonna go on a little ramble about the later half of the 2010s (2016-2019, commonly referred to as just 2016 if I remember correctly because everybody lumps the years together. not saying im not guilty of doing that too sometimes though!) alr so I actually really liked it back then??? though thats probably because I hardly had anyone to talk about Undertale with irl and I was just super happy that somewhere out there in the world there were people who wouldn’t think I was weird for liking that stuff 💀💀💀

anyway back then I was unto Undertale, cuphead, BATIM, baldi’s basics, ddlc, hello neighbor, you get the idea, but mostly UT. I also was really into gravity falls!! I would make gacha life stories all the time and id listen to those stronger than you Undertale things, which by the way I honestly think we should just call what it is, that being an Undertale song because imo it got made a lot more popular from Undertale parodies, but thats just from my perspective because I could never really get into SU lmao

this is what my phone looked like in I think 2019?? the last year in the era but it still says something about me back then. I had a dinky lil iPhone 6S I believe?? I remember getting it for Christmas I think. I also had an iPad mini for pretty much this whole era, but i dont think I have any good screenshots of the Home Screen.

(the reason I even have these us because I screen recorded myself playing Minecraft and also was getting receipts that I was being picked on relentlessly via Snapchat)

as you may have noticed, I had framecast! (I was UTforever67 if any other former framecast users find this) and I was on it frequently back then! I continued using it until the shutdown last year but less frequently. anyway, another sorta interesting thing I guess?? I used to use ÚwÙ and OwO unironically. As well as aua, eue, qwq, ;-;, UnU, OnO, :3, :P and just about any other sort of those emoticons you can think of, and id say stuff like “im a smol kawaii potato :3 dont touch mah cookies ÒwÓ”

another sorta interesting detail! so I had this 2DS, which I still have, I just need to buy a charger for.

and now, on this 2DS I had YouTube. I would plug my headphones in and watch some Undertale videos, top 10 videos (not like watchmojo, think trendcrave and planet Dolan), and the one that I think of the most looking back on this time; gravity falls amvs to edgy music.

the one I remember watching the most was to a song called my demons by a band called starset. I loved the song so much that I would plug in my headphones, make my 2DS screen face down on my bed so no light peeked out, and I would go to sleep to the amv. if you were to travel back in time to then and find me sleeping, chances are you’d very faintly hear that song playing.

sometimes I would also look for 10 hour versions of Undertale songs on YouTube and put them on my tv in my room. I would always wake up to the video still playing obviously, since I sleep for like seven hours, not ten. man, that was always fun waking up to a song like Undertale, home or quiet water. I would always watch Undertale as vines on that tv too, since I liked vines and Undertale and I always thought it was funny to see what vines people thought the characters were most like.

I know animation memes were a super big thing back then, and I remember making three of them: higher, wonderland and close up. besides that I didn’t watch too many of them actually, apart from the occasional compilation.

another thing that I talked about before like a year ago, there was a short period of time where all I listened to was Undertale music and royalty free music. yknow, like the stuff they play in YouTube outros. and I used to save as many monstercat albums as I could to piece together the lore (for those who dont know, there were 30 monstercat albums that had pictures on the covers that told a story of sorts. I only made full sense of the lore just a few weeks ago actually! Id be happy to explain if anyone wants). I loved the Undertale fan songs and lyric covers and remixes a lot! I would always sing the tokyovania control lyric cover whenever I was outside in my backyard. so cool that tokyovania is apparently a mashup of megalovania and Tokyo teddy bear. had no idea sharax was a vocaloid fan!

ok so that was kind of a lot I think. ramble over lmao. if anyone has questions about anything I mentioned ask away! I know a lot about everything I mentioned heheh 😅

[cryptidofthekeys]

Still thinking about the weak link connections for Kane, X-Pac, and Daniel so fucking heavily y’all

bc like, holy shit it makes me scream, yell and s OB with just how similar it is- First it was X-Pac saying he had to prove himself, prove he wasn’t the weak link and didn’t want Kane’s help, etc- And eventually I mean granted with X-Pac he turned on him differently obviously but like,, just-

Daniel going down a very similar path, trying so hard and p much tryna go on his own to prove he’s not the weak link fucks with me bc I can only imagine Kane listening to him complain about the weak link, telling Kane he doesn’t need his help, needs him to back off, etc- I can imagine Kane just starts getting a sense of pure deja vu

--------------------------

This feels all too familiar for him and I wish faintly that coulda been incorporated into the storyline- Like Kane just getting more n more worried Daniel is going to wind up doing the same thing his old best friend did, getting more worried, paranoid and even s c a r e d that he’s going to lose Daniel, that the other is going to betray him just like his former friend did, like just the heartwrenching angst of that really hits me hard and I cannot for the life of me stop thinking about the similarities in the weak link connections

I’m still going through the THN era, I can’t remember if eventually Daniel DOES betray him or not or if they just,, kinda go their own separate ways, but I’ll get to that and more will probs be added onto this but god damn, I can only imagine the deep lingering fear and anxiety Kane probs felt when he first heard even the MENTIONS of the word ‘weak link’ ...probs got worse when Daniel said he needed to prove himself, he didn’t want/need Kane’s help, etc