#i wrote this with a saturated brain

[chaos-smh]

Messy eater

a/n: i wrote this in like an hour but the astarion brain rot is real. dedicated to the lovely discord server <3

pairing/s: astarion x fem!reader

content: smut, cunnilingus, light d/s dynamics, biting?, established relationship, oral sex, female orgasm

word count: 578 words

minors dni!! 🔞

Messy. Filthy. Obscene. You had tumbled to the depths of depravity with your mind muddled and unable to focus on anything except for the pleasure that crashed through your body like the violent waves of the coast. Moans slipped from your swollen lips like the lyrics of a cherished ballad with your hand wading through the silver locks of the vampire spawn that was buried between your trembling legs. Your gentle grasp contrasted the way his silver tongue lapped at your weeping core with the dedicated movements of his mouth a practiced ritual which you had grown to adore. You couldn’t even recall how long it had been since he had crept into the darkness of your tent with his words dripping with the sultry promise of pleasure but you had grown too besotted with him to refuse his advances. You had made a silent vow to yourself to help him and you were willing to do anything to provide him with the control that had been stripped from him.

A sharp cry expanded your aching lungs as his fangs grazed your throbbing clit and you could almost feel the satisfied grin that curled at his lips as he once again elicited the reaction he craved from you. “C-careful…” Your voice was raw from pleasure but you were unsure whether you were frightened by the danger of his sharpened canines or intrigued by the delight he could offer you. Astarion’s slender hands curled into the plush fat of your marked thighs at your strangled warning with his blunt nails pressing into the shallow bites that were scattered across your skin; it was a tantalizing sting.

Heat burned through the depths of your core with your head falling down to witness the display of debauchery and you could feel your quivering hole clench at the sight. A crimson blush that mimicked the hue of his lustful eyes smothered your cheeks once you noticed that he had been observing the contortions of your face and you whimpered as his wet muscle delved further through your drenched folds. Astarion’s chiseled face was drenched with the evidence of your arousal with his tongue venturing through your inner walls with ease and caressing the cherished spot inside of you that made your toes curl with desperation and need. “I’m… gonna’ come!”

Astarion was a valued gentlemen when he wanted to be and so his pace remained consistent as he continued to coax you closer to that edge, yet amidst the skilled strokes of his tongue he muttered out a string of sinful praise. “Such a sweet mess.”

The primal drawl of his voice vibrated against your sensitive core with your pulsing clit bumping against the edge of his fangs once again and sending bolts of carnal delight through your trembling form. White hot pleasure cascaded through your body with your soaking hole desperately clenching around his tongue and saturating his face with your dramatic release. Astarion’s name tumbled from your lips like a prayer and in the moment, the only God in your life was him. Every time with the vampire spawn felt like that first night you had fully relinquished your control and you relished in his dedication to fill your mind with only thoughts of him.  

Heavy breaths eventually replaced your vibrant cries with your body and mind struggling to recoil from the intensity of your release yet after a few moments you could only mutter a single thing. “Your turn.”

[shepscapades]

giggling kickimg my feet

I'm sorry I just love these two in your artstyle and in your au (dbhc docsuma save me, save me dbhc docsuma,,,)

Also I'm such a big fan of body language in your comics so--

uh

closed position! It's a sign of anger, discomfort and overall it can be seen as creating a barrier which well happens here, Xisuma was leaving when Doc stopped him, X doesn't want to talk to him but he still pretends like it's completely fine, the "Sure! What's up?" is bolder than his previous talking because it's clearly forced here, he really doesn't want to stay here any longer but on the other hand he also doesn't want to upset Doc (trying to please everyone huh)

it shows in how his speech is constructed here, he wants the conversation to end as fast as possible, he's not hesitant he just flatly anwers everything as if he didn't care about the outcome or about Doc's concerns, just dismissing him, shoving him away , trying to hide his nervousness from Doc but well.. failing as we can see in the next pages

Doc starts feeling uncomfortable and unsure, he's overwhelmed by the flat response because he knows Xisuma never talks like that, he knows him, he knows X would at least reconsider what he's saying

Xisuma's response really worries Doc here (love the visual of a shadow behind the speech bubble indicating that it's in fact supposed to be a bit worrying as a response) Doc is certain now that something isn't right, he talks about his concerns and once again rubs his neck which shows he's really uncomfortable right now.

Xisuma's tail stills and his speech bubbles become loose and foggy, as if he just started wondering about something, as if he started slowly coming back to his senses because of Doc's reaction, he's busy and doesn't want to talk with Doc but still he doesn't want to upset his friend and it's exactly what he just did. X becomes unsure he's unsure of himself 'what am I doing?' (also just a quick thought, I love his shoes, like what even are they)

it continues on the next page, his speech bubbles still loose and foggy, he's rubbing the back of his neck - he's unsure, he shouldn't act like that, he maybe even feels a bit bad about himself: how could he just dismiss Doc and his concerns like that? He's not himself and he knows it, his fins also drop which indicates his unsureness even more, he's afraid of himself (also his style of speech changes, he's not speaking flatly like before but actually hesitates a bit before saying anything)

Xisuma's concerns disappear instantly as if something took over him the moment he started getting close to thinking something isn't right (Evil X heheheheh <3) it's visible in his eyes (they deifinetely weren't pink before, it's kinda cool it's the only time we see them in this comic tho) speech bubbles: the lines are bolder as if they were forcing his thoughts to stay in them, to not wander around, to not overthink anything, to not think about anything else in contrast to the loose foggy speech bubbles. Also colour of the text changed, from Xisuma's normal toned purplish pink to very saturated pink, which could be a sign of control (this control doesn't last very long because in the next page it changes back to a bit more toned purplish pink but still a bit bolder than the one from the loose bubbles from before

the concerning thing is that X isn't as nervous as he was at the start, now he doesn't dismiss Doc with ending all of his statements with "." but with "!" (+the tail swishing) as if he was more cheerful now, as if he forgot about anything that just happened. Doc is ofc concerned about that (his eye glowing yellow, him standing in a closed position in the last panel, still unsure and unconvinced. Worried about his friend too, he knows something isn't right,,,

aye uh, I just wrote this in one sitting, sorry if this is nonsense but dbhc docsuma is doing things to my brain

I could ramble about this even more but I think it would lose sense after some time so tee hee

I could talk about manipulation and it's victims so much more but uhhh too much writing already, also love body language with all my heart so this is a treat for me

MAYYYY THIS BREAKDOWN IS INSANENNEEEEE I’m gonna clear up some of the emotions that are being traded here (like, I think X’s standoffishness might be more of a restless kind of thing than anger or annoyance) when I make the explanation/breakdown post, but MAN I just wanted to post this so I can thank u for your insanity and let you know it goes SUPER seen and I’m kicking my feet like a crazy person (there are a LOT of really really good theory posts and asks that I can’t/don’t want to answer yet so this is also me saying I read/see everything please know this) but i hated to let this sit in my ask box HEHE

It’s SOOO gratifying to see someone pick through all of the details :D and i can’t wait to explain everything in more detail!!! >:D

[sunnie-writes]

cupid's chokehold.

pairing: jax x cupid!gn!reader

tags & tropes: fluff, shameless flirting, fell first/fell harder

summary: you were absolutely confused because of two things: one, you got transported to a random dimension and became a totally different person, gaining the title of a cupid, and two, you had fallen in love at first sight with the most sarcastic purple rabbit man ever. well, at least you didn't felt like complaining on the second part.

tell me, sunnie!!: AAAAAAAAAAAAAA... anyways, hiiiii:3 i got a new fandom added to my brain, injected it into my veins and now i am addicted. so, this funky little guy didn't actually catch my attention at first but then i watched some edits and was like "HMMMMMM i mean yeah sure" and then i decided to check tumblr, stumbled on a fic of him and went "OH. OH." yk?? anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this bc i wrote it instead of sleeping and i have to wake up early tomorrow el oh el!!1!1!1!1

warnings?: kissing, suggestive(?) i mean it's just neck biting but idk........

first of all, you don't know how the hell you are... here, nor why you've been stuck in this place for two weeks already.

it's a colorful world, saturated to the maximum amount possible. you know, the type to burn your eyes if you stare at a specific spot for too long. it also looked like some kind of fever dream, with all the toys scattered and the way different people? characters? looked like.

not like you can say much, you have heart shaped pupils and you're wearing something that looks like an ancient greece tunic. also, sandals. you have these big feathered white wings that are a pinkish hue at the tip of every single feather. you tried pulling one out to see if it was actually real, resulting in a yelp from your mouth. it kinda hurts.

and that reaction caused a chuckle to come from someone who has your eyes dedicated to just admiring them.

frankly speaking, if you went back and told your past self that by putting those weird vr headset glasses on you would be signing up to falling for a tall and lanky purple rabbit with a yellow smile, you would probably just chuckle and still do it, but with even more determination than before. eh, what can you say? you've always been attracted to the weirdest characters anyways.

but this... this was real, he was real and he was talking to other real weird animated people. ragatha rambled next to you about... honestly, you didn't even know, too busy watching from afar a certain rabbit. this was the start to possibly one of your most frustrating crushes ever.

"[name]? are you okay? you seem more distracted today?" she worriedly asked, putting her hand on your shoulder, "you shouldn't think too much about trying to find an exit if that's what you're thinking about, you might get abs-"

"huh? no, i wasn't thinking about that!" you quickly hurried to give an explanation, trying to dismiss that idea from her, but your eyes darted again to the overall wearing guy and she followed your gaze.

she slowly moved her head back at you after seeing what you were so... distracted about. a smirk broke in her face.

"oooh, little [nickname] has a cruuush?" ragatha teased you.

"wha- no- that's not-" before you could continue, your flushed cheeks got even more red as you saw him approaching. you immediately shut your mouth and just looked at the floor, trying to quickly hide your face

"sup', what are you two gossiping about today?" jax spoke in a mocking, sultry tone that had melting down a drain... not literally though.

"oh, nothing. you know, just the usual!" ragatha quickly tried to hide that topic from him, trying to distract or something. play it cool!

"uh-huh, and why is little cupid over here heating up like a preheated oven?" you almost choked on spit before looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and slightly flushed cheeks.

"none of your business, jax, don't bring your teasing and mocking over to [name]!"

"aww, why not?" jax dropped his hand on your shoulder, "say, little cupid, i heard doll face over here mentioning a crush, who do ya' have the hots for?"

your mind instantly went to answer "you" internally z meanwhile, your lips just answered in an almost quiet sound.

"i'm not telling you."

"huh, and why is that?" he leaned in close, and suddenly you felt absurdly claustrophobic.

he looks so... absurdly attractive with that smirk. you wish you could wipe it off of his face.

"because..." it doesn't take too long to come up with an excuse, you're an overthinker who is always prepared for this kind of situation, "you would mock me for it, and i don't feel like getting bullied by a purple beanpole."

"gasp, you wound me with your hateful words!" he dramatically posed, meanwhile ragatha chuckled in the background. "how can a cupid, made of pure love, be this mean?"

you just lightly punched him in the arm at that.

---

night time seemed like a blur to you in this world. sleep? never heard of that.

it's been a month already and your crush hasn't faltered. instead, it got bigger each day, but to be fair, it was impossible for it to not grow. jax decided that, for some reason, he liked teasing you a bit too much since he found out you might have a crush on someone.

playful flirting seemed to be his favorite to use on you, since you just tried your best to not show how it actually affected you. honestly, you felt like some kind of cliche teenager movie where you're about to write his name on a notebook with hearts all around it.

and that felt too cheesy, even for a cupid.

---

oh my stars, he wishes it's him.

you know, at first when you arrived at the digital circus, jax paid no mind to you. i mean, yeah, you were probably the cutest person in this digital purgatory, but he didn't think that he could fall for anyone in here, this isn't some weird sitcom episode. but it was starting to get difficult to not let him lose himself in a romantic trance when you were around.

he wonders if you used anything on him that could've possibly made him slowly fall for you, hard.

in the second week, he began noticing things about you. for example, you laughed at his jokes and sarcastic personality, got irritated for his pranks but never screamed at him, just shrugging it off like normally, you didn't even care when he stole something from your room.

it was mind breaking to just try and see what could get a reaction out of you towards him. until it was revealed that you had a crush on someone in that place.

jax isn't dumb, he already caught you looking at him from afar just to fastly change your gaze and get flustered, how your hands trembled when you were near him, heart eyes expanding when he talked to you. so, just to test if his theory was real, he decided to leave a subtle flirt for you. and that was checkmate.

he thought at first that it was weird, that maybe he could just play with you a little bit and entertain your little crush on him. but then, the spell turned against him. you flirted back once, and that made him feel awfully fuzzy minded. now, he was the one staring at you from afar sometimes.

that wasn't in his plans, falling for you even harder than you fell for him wasn't supposed to happen. yet, it did anyway.

and now the realization dawned on him that, at some point, he's going to have to either confess or simply hide that for forever, since that's the time they're gonna be stuck in the same dimension together. how fun, isn't it?

---

your feet took you outside of the tent, as everybody was now sleeping comfortably in their own rooms. well, at least you thought they were. stepping onto the grass and breathing in some fresh air, you looked up, waved at the sun and the moon, who smiled back at you contently. then you finally sat down and layed on the saturated green ground, looking up at the fake stars.

you sighed heavily, trying to distract your worried mind that screamed about wanting to get out and at the same time never wanting to leave. it was downright confusing, and left you with pent up energy that made your brain go 100/mph.

you heard footsteps behind you, looking up just to meet with a yellow smile and cartoonish eyes. you immediately gulped as his smirk grew.

"heyyy little cupid, what are you doing here so late?" he questioned you with a lower tone of voice before sitting down by your side. you immediately sat up too.

"just... thinking about some stuff." not losing any chance, you tried to start a conversation. "what about you?"

"meh, just bored and couldn't sleep." jax then looked at you in the eyes. "what could you possibly be thinking about?"

"ah, you know... just the usual!" you tried to quickly change topics, you didn't feel like traumadumping on anyone today nor did you feel like telling him that he's the reason you didn't abstract yet.

"and, does the usual involve your secret little crush?"

your breathe hitches, "why are you so curious about who i like?"

"i just am, it's interesting to see your reactions when i mention them." he leaned down, holding his head with his hand as he still stared at you. "why don't you tell me who it is? i'm starting to get the wrong idea that it's me since you refuse to speak about the mystery person to me."

you think you just felt your heart stop. your eyes go wide and you can feel the heat coursing through your body, blood rushing and flushing your cheeks. you know what? okay then, since there is no escape from this situation, might as well finish the night with a bang before you leave to sleep.

"that's... not the wrong idea at all." you confessed, watching as his eyes went wide in a millisecond.

"what." he spoke before sitting up and grabbing your shoulders. "you're not fucking with me, are ya?"

you shook your head while embarrassingly looking to the floor, feeling frustration pooling in your head.

"no, i'm not. i like you jax, i like your stupid pranks, your stupid jokes, your mischievous smile, your ey-" you were cut off by lips meeting with yours.

as your current situation settled in your mind, you got yourself comfortable and closes your eyes, lacing your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer before you two fell back again, you under him. your stomach was doing backflips, breaking down at the feeling of being reciprocated.

when you finally broke apart, your heart eyes were absurdly big, staring at him while you panted for air. he chuckled at your face, giving a big smile while himself was actually melting at finally having you in his arms. jax laid his head on between your neck and your shoulder. you petted his head, until you felt something.

he was biting your neck, leaving love bites and hickeys behind.

first of all, you didn't even knew if he could open his mouth, but apparently he could (?). you couldn't think much of it, too busy holding back an embarrassing whimper. you held his head and tried not to close your legs around his waist as he continued to bite.

he pulled back, looking at you with a smirk and raised eyebrows.

"well, look what a mess i've done, darlin'. how do ya' feel?"

you couldn't even answer, feeling absolutely overwhelmed by his hand on your waist, the knee resting between your legs and your mind slowly losing it's control. instead of an answer, you just pulled him down for another kiss.

yeah, you probably were enjoying that, but jax? ha! in his mind, he was melting down a drain, patting himself in the back for the idea of deciding to take a night walk and accidentally seeing you. he grinned into the french kiss, feeling absurdly high at the moment.

he wasn't sure how everyone would react to you finally being his, not that he cared about their opinion, but he thinks if would be funny to see their faces. he can't wait for it to happen, but now it's not time to think about that.

it's time for him to think on how to calm his rapidly beating heart that might give you the hint that he loves you way more than you love him.

tell me, sunnie!!: AAAAA i finished writing this only the next day, sorry if it's too short btw!! i know it missed a lot and should have more things but it was rlly rushed bc i want to write more of him <\33 but yeah, thank you for reading sunshine!!

[lynnlovesthestars]

Could you do a Astarion x Tiefling Reader were they are sitting alone underneath there tents canopy in and they are sewing to pass the time humming and doesn't notice Astarion walk up after he was looking for them . ( they could be making something for him maybe for his 'birthday' after learning that it was that day ) .

omg sorry i took so long but my creativity juices flow in funny ways ahah.. to make it a little easier for me, since my tiny brain has been having a hard time in putting words down, i thought it would have been nice to tie this up with a oneshot i wrote a few weeks ago.. i wish i followed better your prompt- though i hope you'll like it.

Ofc reading the part before this won't change the experience, but it was nice to tie them together cause it gave a little continuity and idk anyways i hope you'll like it though it's mostly introspective and a lil angsty when astarion shows up..

----

Masterlist.

Part 1. (the one shot i tied this to)

My prompt list for requests.

Taglist: @sessils @spacebarbarianweird (i forgot to add it yesterday cause im an idiot, but better late than never ahah)

----

Golden.

Pairing: astarion x GN!tiefling!reader

Summary: the huge tear in his shirt caught your eye again, and you decided to give him a reminder that someone cared about him.

Genre: angsty?, lots of thinking, self-doubt, avoidance✨

You never noticed the tears carefully patched up on Astarion’s shirt until you were retrieving your dried clothes from the fire.

His button up sat up ripped on the stone like you left it on the night before, yet you still couldn’t help but focus on the smaller sewn tears already covering the fabric. It was such a precise job, that you wouldn’t have been able to tell that the fabric was ever broken until you looked closely and the places where the thread was tightly pulled became clearer.

You made a mental note of it as you walked back to your tent, holding up the bundle of yours and Astarion’s clothes.

The camp was lively that morning: yelling, singing, clattering of bottles and pans, along with rustling of the leaves had saturated the air, charging it with an electrifying energy.

In the middle of the chaos, your brain still stirred towards Astarion and the way you woke up curled up in his side, while he was meditating.

The tension that filled the tent the night before was gone. The only thing left from the night before was the ghost of his bite on your neck, and his body holding you to him.

When he broke his trance, he acted like nothing ever happened. Like you didn’t sleep twisted with him, or the way he drove you insane the night before.

You could still feel his lips on your neck as you collected your sewing kit from the tent, which still smelled like him, blood and bergamot.

As you spread the shirt on your lap, you could relive the events of the night before like a bard stuck on encore after encore.

You could feel the warmth of your bodies pressed to each other still spreading over your skin as you carefully prepared the essential to fix the tear.

You studied the tear that spread over the back, you knew it was going to be hard to make it seem flawless like the rest of them, but you wanted to attempt for him.

Worst case scenario, it was gonna stay broken anyways.

As you started to work on the tear, and you noticed how the uneven edges were not coming out nicely, an idea spurred in your mind.

At worst you were already planning on buying him a new one when you reached Baldur’s Gate. You had connections in the lower city, and you knew you could get a tailor to make the same button up if you brought a reference.

You worked on the shirt for what felt like hours, while everyone was enjoying their day, whether they took care of chores around camp or disappeared for walks, but as everyone came and left, the only one you had not seen was Astarion.

It was only when the sun was starting to set that you finally spotted him near his tent as he was looking for something in his bag.

You were just done with the shirt, and you couldn't help but hope he liked it.

You folded the shirt carefully along with the rest of his clothes, and as you were ready to head towards Astarion, he already stood in front of you.

His face was unreadable like he wanted to convey a specific emotion, but couldn't figure out how to. He was tense, his arms were frozen at his sides, so you decided to break the ice.

“I did this for you” You carefully showed him the pile of his neatly folded clothes, and his shirt on top.

“I wanted to fix your shirt, but the tear was too-” You started but before you could explain, Astarion had stopped you almost harshly.

“You didn't have to”He said briefly, it sounded mostly like an admonishment, yet you could have sworn there was some sort of softness to it. 

“I know, but I wanted to” 

“Why?” His furrowed brows were inquisitive, trying to gauge your intentions as he wetted his lips. 

“Cause I care about you, I literally told you yesterday” The words slipped out of your lips just as quickly as your tail was swishing nervously.

He scoffed, folding his arms and turning his eyes away from you. “No one does things for free” You could tell there was something odd from him, as if he was trying to bury something under this indifference he was trying to put up now.

“Count this as a gift then” You jutted your chin towards him and invited him to take the clothes still in your arms.

He was taken aback by the simplicity with which you said those words, almost carelessly, and most of all to the person that deserved them the least, especially how hard he was being with you.

He wanted to quip back but you resumed your explanation before he could even think of a response and he wanted to hate it so much. 

“As I was saying, I tried to fix the tear, but it didn't want to look nice, so I embroidered the shirt with a gold pattern” You explained as you pointed at the button up. Astarion was so focused on shielding himself that he didn’t even look at his clothes, she could have gave him one of her shirts for what he knew and he would have not realized it until he would be in his tent. 

His eyes finally fell on the piece of clothing his mouth fell slightly open. He traced the golden thread carefully, as if it was a creation of his sick mind. “I hope it’s not too much.”You trailed off, your words were warm, almost sticking to his skin like glue. He wanted to shake them off himself, he wanted to yell that he didn’t deserve such attentions, that you were an idiot to do all of this for someone that had planned to use you, but it was like something in his body stopped him from screaming and lashing out at you, the only thing he could manage to do was the simple task he gave himself in the morning.

“I came here to thank you for last night, and for your kindness” He started with a honeyed voice. “But I suppose I have one more thing to add to the list” He clutched the bundle of clothes to his chest, tipping his head forward in thank you.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

will you write a fanfic about hunter from the bad batch and a female character who is maybe a nurse in pabu involving falling in love? Love love love your work

thanks so much for your patience, nonny! I hope you like this one <3

Nervous Love

Summary: You're nervous about telling Hunter how you feel; turns out, so is he.

Warnings: this isn't 18+ but my blog is so minors scram as usual; can be read as f!reader but I wrote it as gn; medic!reader, anxiety, fluff, confessions, post-season 3

Word Count: ~1.9k

A/N: apparently the muse likes Hunter right now. that, and I hacked my brain by changing the document font to Courier. Dividers by me, @/saradika, and @/dystopicjumpsuit

Falling in love with Hunter was the easy part. Telling him is proving to be far more difficult than you anticipated.

The rhythmic, ceaseless crashing of waves against the shore counts out the hours of your life on Pabu. Lungs full of brine and fresh-baked bread and bacta, you pass your days in your small clinic. You’re one of a handful of refugees on the island with any real medical training; between the younglings’ usual bumps and bruises, and the more complicated injuries that come from fishing for the islanders’ meals, or building new abodes, or just generally existing in the galaxy, you and your fellow doctors keep busy. Busy, but not overwhelmed. Not like you had been on the ship fleeing your home.

Pushing away the unwelcome dark cloud of memories, you glance out the small window of the medical exam room. Between patients, you’ve taken to inventorying the supplies at your disposal, making notes on your comlink about what you need to restock, what’s missing, what could work better. It keeps you occupied, at least.

Because if you’re not occupied or busy, your thoughts turn to him.

Not that you’re complaining. Not really. Hunter saturates your thoughts, soaks into your marrow and makes a home there. In the short few months that he and his siblings have finally found peace on Pabu, you’ve grown quite close to him. No, the reason you want to avoid thinking about the handsome eldest brother isn’t for any bad reason; it’s because thinking of him requires thinking about telling him how you feel, how you truly feel. And that, more than anything, sets off flurries of anxious butterflies in your stomach. You’ve never loved anyone before—not like this. Part of that newness scares you. 

As if summoned by your not-thoughts, there comes a familiar knock on your exam room door, a simple ascending pattern that no one else could know. Hot and cold rush through you in equal measures. Goosebumps prickle along your skin. 

“It’s open,” you call.

You keep your back to the door as you finish cataloging the small bin of medical supplies. Yet you don’t need to see Hunter for your body to respond to his presence. You’d know him anywhere. He carries with him the faintest scent of aftershave and carbon residue; every nerve in your body aligns to him like a compass pointing north. 

“Cyare.” 

His husky voice sends a shiver zipping up your spine. Despite your anxiety, the smile that spreads over your face feels natural and as easy as breathing.

“Hunter,” you sigh. 

Turning, you find his gray eyes already watching you. His hair’s started to grow out a little, and unless he cuts it soon, he’ll need to start tying it back. Today’s bandana is a deep cerulean that accentuates the glow of his skin and throws his skull tattoo into sharp relief. Part of you wants to tease him for abandoning his signature red; part of you wants to capture a holo of him in every color bandana he owns, each one better than the last.

One skeletal hand reaches for you. A furrow creases between his brows. “What’s wrong?” 

Blinking at him, you take his hand. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

If being nervous about telling your boyfriend you love him qualifies as ‘something wrong,’ then you’re a droid.

Hunter doesn’t seem satisfied, however. His palm is warm against yours, and he threads your fingers together, but his frown continues to tug on his features. In contrast, your smile widens at the additional contact. 

“You feel...off,” he murmurs. His gaze searches your expression as if he can find the details of your woes in the lines of your face. “Heart rate is elevated. You haven’t been nervous like this since our third date, cyare.” 

“Was there a question in there?” you ask. You should know better by now than to think you could hide everything from him. Doesn’t mean you won’t keep trying.

He gives you an aggrieved look. “No. Will you answer honestly if I ask?”

“Maybe,” you respond after a moment. Even you can feel how your heartbeat skips a beat or three, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Depends on the question.” 

Shaking his head, he sighs. “Very funny. You’re off in an hour. Would you meet me at our beach?”

‘Your’ beach probably is the same beach as many other lovers on this isolated island, but you’ve never seen anyone else there at the same time. Tucked away by a line of cave-pocked cliffs on the eastern side of the island, the powdery sand and warm water is where you and Hunter shared many of your firsts. First date, first kiss, first time.

“Of course.” Stepping closer, you nudge his nose with yours. His heady musk fills your head. “If I ask a question, will you answer honestly?”

The smug little smirk that tugs at his lips makes your thighs press together. “Maybe. Depends on the question.” 

Rolling your eyes, you lean more of your weight against him, bringing your faces ever closer. “What should I wear?”

“You could show up in these scrubs and it’d make no difference to me.”

“I’m not getting sand in my scrubs again.” 

“Then wear whatever makes you happy, cyare.” 

He finally closes the gap between you. Mouths slanting together, you both sigh into the kiss. It’s familiar, this give and take. Kissing Hunter makes your entire world come to a standstill, just for him. When his arm slides around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, you hum low in your throat, heat beginning to swirl through your veins. 

“Hunter,” you warn, though there’s no real heat behind it. “I have a patient in five.”

“Mm, alright.” He pulls back, but doesn’t go very far. Cradling your face in both hands, his thumbs stroke slow arcs over your cheekbones. “I’ll see you at our beach.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the galaxy,” you say. Pecking his lips one more time, you reluctantly step out of his embrace to begin packing away your inventory project before your last patient of the day arrives. The anticipation of experiencing whatever it is he has planned at your beach makes the appointment go quickly.

Just over an hour later, changed into fresh, comfortable clothes, you wind your way down the final few walkways to the eastern part of the island. On the opposite shore, the sunset paints the sky a vivid orange, the ocean turned to liquid gold. But here, in the gathering darkness, you can’t help but beam up at the stars twinkling into existence above the horizon. The warm ocean breeze dances across your skin and invites you to play. Toeing out of your shoes as soon as you reach the beach proper, you dig your feet into the sand with a long, relaxed sigh. 

You never expected to find a home quite like Pabu. Nor a partner quite like Hunter. But you can’t imagine life without either, now.

That same anxiety from earlier, about how to tell Hunter your feelings, returns, but it’s muted here. It’s almost like the island itself is trying to lull you into a state of calmness, trying to help you believe that love isn’t something to be feared.

You hope the island is right.

Bringing your gaze back down to Pabu firma, a delighted gasp gets drowned out in the rushing of the waves. Spread out on a dark blanket, lit by a few small electric lamps wired to flicker like fickle candles, reclines Hunter. Like you, he seems to have changed into far more comfortable clothes: loose-fitting cotton pants and flowy white shirt that gives just the slightest peek of his inked-in sternum. As you approach, he looks up with a smile.

“Mesh’la,” he says, just loud enough for your ears before the wind snatches the compliment away.

Lowering yourself onto the blanket, your teeth catch at your bottom lip. Hunter pushes up to sit cross-legged in front of you. In the low, unsteady light, sea salt and sand rimed along his ankles, he looks so... different from the soldier you first encountered all those months ago. Slowly, Pabu has changed Hunter. He’s gained necessary weight; the bags under his eyes aren’t quite so deep anymore. And you can feel how living here has changed you, too: no longer living just for yourself, just to see another day, but living for someone else, too. Someone else’s happiness. The realization makes your throat tighten with unexpected tears. 

“Why’d you bring me here, Hunter?” you whisper.

He scoots closer. Your knees touch, warmth spreading through your body at those two points of contact. His gaze cuts away, over your shoulder, but you don’t follow it. He’s not looking at anything, not seeing anything, but searching nonetheless. Worry twists your stomach.

He ignores your question in favor of asking one himself. “If I ask you another question, mesh’la, will you be honest again?” 

Heart thudding in your throat, you nod.

Those eyes you adore so much drift back to yours. “If- If I were to say that I love you, what would you say?”

Lashes fluttering, your lips part in surprise. Shocked into paying closer attention, you realize belatedly that the skin around his eyes is tight with anxiety, and that he holds himself straight-backed and stiff. He’s been just as worried about this as you have.

“I’d say that I love you too,” you answer. Even with his enhanced senses, he must struggle to hear you over the waves crashing just a few dozen feet away. “I’d say that I’ve loved you for a long time.”

He swallows. “I’d say I’ve loved you since you first smiled at me. Maybe I didn’t know it then, but my heart did. I’d say I asked you to come here, because telling you how I feel anywhere else would feel wrong.”

Warmth tingles in your fingertips. Shuffling closer, you lean forward just enough to cup his cheek in one hand, your other seeking out his touch. Though his eyes seem to have trouble remaining on yours, you wait patiently for him to meet your gaze again.

“Is that what you’re saying right now, Hunter?” You don’t dare speak any louder now. No one’s around, but you don’t want this to find any ears except his. 

“Yes,” he gasps out. 

Clambering into his lap a little clumsily, you wrap yourself around him in a tight hug. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and inhale his scent, inhale everything he is and make space for this new part of him he’s shared with you. It fits into the same space you’ve just given him.

“I love you,” you whisper against his heated skin.

“I love you,” he rumbles against your ear. 

A shiver cascades over your body that has nothing to do with the way the ocean breeze has begun to cool off with the disappearance of the sun. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” he repeats, stronger this time. “With everything I am. With everything I ever will be.”

And as his admission settles into your bones and integrates into your DNA, for the life of you, you can’t figure out why you were so nervous about this.

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[wordbunch]

a little secret (Bilbo x f!reader)

a/n: my brain wrote this on its own while i re-watched the hobbit trilogy twice within like, a week, so... there is that!! it's been sitting in my drafts for months??? anyway it's just a fluffy little piece cause he is an absolute cinnamon roll (i've been neglecting him too much and i'm gonna fix it) 💖 let me know ur thoughts and opinions, and please be so kind to reblog? 🥺 i'm exciteddd to be back and figuring out new things to post!

Yet another all-day-long march was behind them, and the setting sun signaled that it was time to set up camp for the night, and rest, as much as it was possible by sleeping on the ground and eating tiny portions of anything that was at all edible.

[y/n] let her weighty bag plop down onto the rough forest terrain and she let out a weary sigh, stretching her back and arms as much as it was humanly possible, wishing she could stretch away the negative feelings and thoughts that plagued her mind on that particular day.

As soon as Bilbo neatly stored his belongings near the bark of a tree, which seemed like a moderately comfortable spot to take a break in, his eyes keenly followed the movements and expressions of his beloved, who was uncharacteristically quiet and perhaps even sorrowful during the day. Normally she would put her things next to his and enjoy the few short hours of peace, but this time she just tossed them onto a random patch of grass and turned her back to him and the rest of the company, who were already discussing dinner. Before anyone asked her to weigh in with her opinion, she took the chance to walk away and among the trees, away from the commotion of the dwarves. 

Bilbo's curious eyes followed the shape of her in the shadows as long as they could, but soon enough she was out of sight and, inevitably, he began to worry immediately. As much as he wanted to let her have a few minutes of silence and contemplation, it was too dangerous for any of them to go wandering around alone, especially while exhausted in every way; so his anxiety got the best of him, and even though it was nice to finally sit down for a moment, he had to make sure she was alright.

She was expecting he would follow after her shortly, as she stood among the trees and hugged her own arms for extra warmth; trees were swaying in a chilly breeze as the last rays of sun painted them in saturated hues. The moment she heard some shuffling she turned around cautiously, but sighed in relief at the sight of her favorite (as a matter of fact, the only one she knew) hobbit. A small smile stretched her lips, without quite reaching her eyes, and that’s all it took for Bilbo to all but run to her and pull her close.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he spoke, albeit a little bit breathlessly, as soon as he reached the taller woman. “All day you have been acting…differently.” He murmured with caution, hoping not to offend her with his probing.

[y/n] released a shaky breath and shook her head slightly, looking down at his hands on her waist. Even though she felt like she would start crying if she spoke up, she didn’t want Bilbo to think she was keeping something from him; she knew him well enough to know he would surely overthink it later in the night, instead of sleeping.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he urged her in a soft voice, reaching up to her cheek and stroking it with the back of his hand. “Even if it’s about something that i’ve done,” he added, half-jokingly.

After a string of rough days packed with danger and uncertainty, she was rather moved by the display of tenderness, and she felt her lower lip quiver. At last her eyes, that were brimming with tears and exhaustion, met his, and he let out a quiet gasp. [y/n] could swear he looked like he could start crying only at seeing her like that.

“i just- I cannot,” she confessed shakily, while he pulled her as close to him as possible, “I cannot really handle all of this right now. I’m so tired, a-and there are so many terrifying things going on all the time, and it seems like this whole undertaking might never end, and I just can’t,” she rambled on, trying her best to fight the tears that wanted to spill. The grip she had on the hobbit’s shoulders was so strong, as if he was going to evaporate if she let him go. It was terrible for him to see her feeling that way, and for a second he felt a stab of guilt - maybe he was failing her - but he had to fix it as soon as he could. Both of his hands found a way to her tear stained face, and he gazed at her with so much love and understanding that she could have melted right in that moment. [y/n] wrapped her fingers around one of his wrists to ground herself in reality.

“My beautiful flower, most beautiful in all the world,” Bilbo began, speaking so lowly that only she could hear him, “do you want to know a little secret?” he raised his eyebrows with a playful glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. If he couldn’t make her smile, then what was the point of anything at all? She immediately recognized a small attempt at cheering her up, and her heart fluttered in her chest. she really considered herself lucky amid all the chaos.

“Yes, dearest,” she sniffed, but the beginning of a smile was playing on her lips too.

"I can’t either,” he chuckled airily, with a small shake of his head, “but with you by my side, maybe I can. And all of this has been… well, insane, to say the least, but it won’t last forever. I mean, I really hope so.” [y/n] finally laughed, and a tremendous weight was lifted off of his chest. Bilbo stood a little taller as he looked up at her with more hopeful eyes.

“But sometimes insane things lead to beautiful things, I suppose,” he continued, still cradling her face as if it was made of the finest glass, and his smile was contagious as she let those words sink in. “Trust me, I would love nothing more than to be at home with you right now, holding you close, wrapping you in blankets when you get cold, bringing you breakfast every. single. morning,” he accentuated his words with three taps of his finger to the tip of her nose, and her giggle warmed him up from his curls to his toes. “And look at the stars with you on every clear night, and read by the fire together, and chase away visitors because I want you only to myself…” he trailed off, suddenly very aware that she was looking at him with such open love that he needed to remind himself to breathe before continuing. “And, petal, I promise you, very soon we will be doing exactly that, we just need to finish up this-this little dwarven errand.” 

[y/n] all but threw herself over him in a haphazard hug, drawing out a startled laugh from the hobbit.

“Thank you,” she muttered into his hair. “I cannot wait to do all those things with you.”

“Anything for you, my love,” he replied, “and until then… even if we can’t, we can’t together.”

-

✨

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[berryicet]

Bored, so I wrote some stickman speculative biology becus I'm a nerd

SKIN

The skin is the thickest layer on a stickman's body. It's tough, elastic, and more akin to tire rubber. It can absorb huge amounts of impact, which is why stickmen can survive seemingly devastating blows to their body.

Cuts and jabs, on the other hand, are way more destructive, as their skin regenerates very slowly. It can take up to years for a cut to fully close up (if it's a deep one) and shallow cuts can very easily open back up.

After a period of time, the skin can become stiff if not exercised. Fighting is like stretching, or a healthy exercise to prevent the skin from hardening and let blood flow through it. Of course, stickmen can fight for other reasons too, but it also has its health benefits for them.

Their pain receptors are dulled out and their nerves reserve under the skin. Pain shouldn't be registered until it starts reaching more critical tissues like muscles, organs or cartilages.

MUSCLES

The muscles are the second layer of the body. It's about half the thickness of the skin. However, the muscles are very strong and tough, since they need to constantly pull the skin when moving.

There's three types of muscles in the body: those connected to the skin, those connected to the cartilages, and intermediary.

Instead of having long stretched muscles connecting joints, they have many small, compact muscles all over their body. It lets them both bend their limbs and curl them like an octopus would (although not to the same extreme, as they could snap their cartilages like that)

Their shoulder and hip joints are very loose and lets them rotate their limbs in almost every direction in every way possible. Though it can still snap if strained too much.

CARTILAGES

So instead of bones, stickmen have cartilages (perhaps it could be said that stickmen are the result of cartilaginous fish evolving on land rather than bony fish). Again, this allows them a very large range of motion and flexibility and aids in absorbing shock and blows.

The cartilages are flatter; more like plates than cylindrical like bones. They can also wrap around organs to shield them.

FAT

They don't have any.

Stickmen have no way to store fat on their body, it all goes to the other organs or gets expelled. This is also a reason why stickmen have a much harder time dealing with hunger or going long periods of time without food.

Their body can start extracting fat from the stomach or skin, but with the consequences of making those organs start slowly shriveling up.

It does take a while to reach that state, since generally their bodies are pretty adept at conserving energy, but once it does, it can cause irreparable damage and lifelong digestive problems.

ORGANS

The most crucial organ is their brain. Besides sending impulses, controlling the muscles – everything a human brain already does, it also takes the role of the heart – pumping out blood. Essentially their heart and brain are conjoined, and the most effective way to kill a stickman is decapitation.

The rest of their organs are small and compressed, so as to conserve as much energy as possible when they work.

COLOUR

Stickmen's colouring is crucial to them. They have special cells that give them their skin colour. These cells also contain all their genetic information (essentially their DNA)

Usually, the offspring of two stickmen will have a combination of their parents colours, though brighter/more saturated colours will have dominance over other more neutral/toned down colours. It's a way to prevent all sticks' colours from becoming the same muddled tones of brown/gray a few generations down the line.

Sometimes the child can have the same colour as one of their parents (usually the dominant) when born, then grow into their true colour later in life.

The child can also inherit one of their grandparents colour instead.

There are also illnesses regarding their colours, such as mutations in the cells that turns them completely black or white (basically melanism/albinism). Terminal illnesses can also cause the cells to become discoloured.

Uhbb yeah that's all for now

Might add more later if it comes to me

[bellysoupset]

I love the carsickness story! Dizzy Leo and concerned Jonah is EVERYTHING!!!!!

If you do decide to do a part 2, I have an idea. You don't have to use it, but hear me out:

So, most of the time carsickness can last for a few hours, but sometimes it can take MUCH longer. Same night in the motel, Jon wakes up to the sound of Leo vomiting in the bathroom. They're both confused because they thought Leo would be better by then, and Leo is just so upset about being sick that he's an adorably pathetic combination of sick, emotional, and grumpy, and as concerned as Jon is he can't help but find it a little adorable.

Also, maybe Bella has a horrible headache that makes her nauseous in the middle of the night and Luke is super worried about her.

Suddenly, Wendy and Vince are woken up and are transitioning between helping Leo and Jon to helping Luke and Bell, and they're both just so tired but neither of them are gonna stop helping until Leo's and Bell's auditions for the freaking Exorcist are over.

P.S. I started cackling as I wrote that last sentence. I'm so effing sleep deprived!!😭😭😭

Double whammy of Leo&Bell in pain! Just changing the timing because since they left Maine at 8 AM and the trip lasted only 2 hours, there's no way part two would take place in the middle of the night.

----------

Jonah wasn't trying to be an asshole. Not really, he didn't slip out of the room, once Leo was finally asleep for good and no longer dry heaving every thirty minutes in the ice bucket, just to be a dick to his friends.

However, he couldn't pretend to be happy about the situation. Anyone with more than three working neurons would've been able to tell that putting Leo in a van, a vehicle famous for setting off motion sickness, for four hours, had a very high chance of ending up with him hurling. Jon couldn't understand how he was supposed to act like this wasn't Bella's fault, when she could've easily prevented this by not puppy eyeing her way into going to a fucking music festival when she could barely stay awake more than a couple of hours and wouldn't even enjoy the bloody thing!

So yeah, he wasn't trying to be a dick but it was really hard not to be one right now.

There was a small diner, adjacent to the motel, and Jonah slipped in, stomach growling painfully since it was well past midday and he was so used to having an early lunch thanks to work. He didn't expect to find Bella, Luke, Wendy and Vince inside, but that was on him, he should've guessed they were hungry too.

If Jonah could turn around and pretend he didn't know them, he would have, because right now he was far too angry to be able to keep a pleasant conversation. Instead, Vince spotted him from across the diner and waved, smiling brightly.

"Come sit down, we're just about to order!"

Bless his soul, Jonah thought bitterly, stepping closer and avoiding looking at Bella, lest the nastiest part of him snapped at her.

"What are you ordering?" he asked, sitting next to Wendy and glaring at the plastic menu in front of him.

"How's Leo?" Bella asked, causing Jonah to grit his teeth.

"Asleep," he said, roughly, before turning to Vince, "so? What are you ordering?

"I got a greek salad," Wendy replied, raising an eyebrow, "did he take the dramamine?"

"Yes," Jonah squeezed the menu in his hands, trying to focus on the goodies that were probably filled with saturated fat, "I'm gonna get the chicken salad."

"I'm really sorry, Jon," Bella said, reaching over the table to grab his hand, "really, I didn't think-"

"Clearly," he interrupted her, then before he could take the words back, Lucas let out a scoff.

"Don't be such a prick, it's no one's fault," he said strongly. If Jonah had ever considered letting go of the matter with Bell's apology, he immediately changed his mind, zeroing Luke's face with a cold glare.

"It absolutely is her fault Leo just got so sick he can't get up from the bed! Anyone with a brain could realize he'd get carsick in a trip like this and we're only here because none of you can tell her no!"

"Jonah, calm do-" Wendy started, but he jerked away from her hand when it came to rest on his bicep, face burning, still glaring at Lucas, who seemed to inflate with just as much anger.

"Leo is a fucking adult who could've said no himself," Luke spat, "you treat him like a child, he's a grown man and if he's sick that sucks, but it's not Bell's fault-"

"So it's fine to push him around to make her happy, but Bella can't take any fucking responsibility!?" Jonah slammed his hand on the table and he was aware he was causing a scene, aware he wasn't that furious at Bella and this was all just exacerbated by the fact that Luke got on his nerves like no one else could. Still, that did not stop him.

"Push him around!?" Lucas stood up too, raising his voice, "who pushed him around!? We asked a simple question and he could've said no! You're acting like a dick because things didn't go your way, just grow the fuck up-"

"Luke, stop," Bella grabbed at his sleeve, trying to pull him down, "Jon's right, it's my-"

"Nice to know just how much you care about him or literally anyone who's not Bella," Jonah cut her off, "you selfish prick."

"You're such a fucking asshole, Jonah! He's carsick! He's not dying!"

"And Bella has four stitches, so we have to go on a fucking road trip to keep her happy! Hypocrite much?"

"Could you two stop?" Vince interrupted them, yanking at Lucas' arm and forcing him to sit back down, "I don't care if you want to squabble like two teenagers, but this is a family dinner, so show some fucking respect. Shut up, Jonah," he snapped as Jon opened his mouth, "either solve this outside or you both shut the fuck up."

"Fine," Jonah scoffed, getting up and power walking outside, "as soon as Leo is better we're getting the fuck out of here."

He was still seething as he entered their room back again, almost trembling with rage to quell the desire to slam the door shut, but not wanting to wake Leo up...

"Leo?" Jonah frowned, his voice coming out at least an octave deeper with how angry he was. The bed was empty, "Leo?"

"Here..." Leo croaked from the bathroom and Jonah took a deep breath to calm himself down, before walking to his boyfriend.

He was expecting to find Leo looking like death, but still he wasn't prepared. His hair was matted down and he was shirtless, lying against the bathtub while his chest heaved with a tired panting.

"Why are you shirtless?" Jonah frowned, crouching down and Leo let out a tired scoff, his head lolling a little as if his neck couldn't support it.

"Puked on my shirt."

"Fuck," Jonah cupped his cheeks, "the meds did nothing?"

"Made my puke pink," Leo said playfully, before pushing Jon's hand off his cheek so he could pitch forward with a gag, hastily pushing the toilet lid up. He coughed and gagged, bringing up frothy bile and then letting out a whimper, resting his forehead to the cold ceramic.

"My stomach hurts," he whined, shoulders shaking as he gulped down the tears, "Jon, I feel like shit..."

"I know, I know," Jonah bit down his lip, rubbing his naked back. He wanted Leo in a hospital, with a nice IV hooked to his arm, zofran knocking him out. Instead they were in the middle of nowhere and he could clearly tell Leo was starting to get dehydrated.

"Please do something," Leo whimpered, hugging his stomach with both arms, "I don't understand how I'm-" he gulped down, "still sick..."

Jonah felt helpless as he said, "you gotta drink water, Leo."

"It's just gonna come back up," the blonde groaned, curling up as much as he could, "everything else did..."

"I know, but at least it won't hurt your throat as much and you won't be super dehydrated..."

Leo groaned and moaned as Jonah stepped outside the bathroom, returning with a bottle of water, "do I really have to?"

"Yes," he turned the cap, holding it to his lips, "c'mon baby, little gulps."

If Jonah ever entertained the idea the water was staying down, Leo got rid of that notion by burping against his hand, then mumbling "shit-" and turning to the toilet as the water came back up, just as transparent, practically ready to be bottled up again.

He panted heavily over the toilet, squeezing his eyes shut, "my head hurts..."

"It's because you're dehydrated," Jonah said, his heart squeezing, "let's try the water again, just a little sip."

Two hours later and a whole water bottle completely wasted and Jonah was at his wits end. Leo had long given up leaning over the toilet, since he had nothing to bring up, and was lying on the bathroom floor, his cheek pressed to Jonah's thigh, crying.

Or at least Jon thought he was crying, he wasn't exactly sure since the tears were few and scarce.

"Shhh, close your eyes," Jon combed his fingers through his hair, "your brain should make sense we're not moving soon..."

"Is this..." Leo sniffled, muffling a sick belch against his jeans, "is this how your vertigo feels?"

Jonah raised an eyebrow, "I wouldn't know," he said, instead of answering worse, since he didn't want Leo to think he was being a baby. He wasn't being a baby, he was in pain.

"I'm so hungry," Leo groaned, rubbing his own stomach, "but just thinking about food..." he gagged and Jonah tensed up, wondering if he was about to get another splash of acid on his jeans. He was incredibly glad he hadn't eaten anything either, otherwise he'd have puked by now.

There was a knock on the door and Jonah let out a scoff, thumping his head back softly against the tiles. If it was Lucas acting like a kicked puppy, he didn't want to hear.

"Jon, the door..."

"I don't care," Jonah rubbed Leo's arm up and down, noticing he was covered in goosebumps from lying on the cold ground, "baby, let's go back to the bed?"

"I don't feel... Jon, I'm gonna puke again..."

"Right now?" Jonah grabbed his bicep, ready to hoist him up, but Leo shook his head, gulping down as acid reflux hit his throat.

"Soon..."

"Yeah, no," Jon decided, grabbing Leo and pulling him sitting up, "you're gonna catch fucking pneumonia lying on this cold ground, you can puke in the bucket by the bed, c'mon."

It was a hassle to bring Leo back to the bed when he was so unsteady on his feet and once they fell on the mattress, Jonah considered just lying there, with his boyfriend starfished on top of him, before there was yet another knock on the door.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, causing Leo to whine against his neck.

"Don't yell, my head is killing me..."

"Sorry," Jonah rolled them on the bed, fixing Leo's head on the pillow, "give me a second..." he walked to the door, deciding that he would punch Luke if he said yet another stupidity.

It was much to his surprise when he opened the door and his visitor was nearly an entire foot shorter than he was expecting.

Wendy was holding a little to-go box of food and she was pouting, "peace offering?"

Jonah raised his eyebrows, unsure if he accepted the peace offering when he knew damn well Wendy never let anything go, "what do you want?"

"I brought you food, since you're probably starving," she answered instead, holding the box before his face. He let out a sigh, stepping to the side in a wordless acceptance of her white flag and she entered the room, immediately gasping.

"Leo?!"

"Yeah, he's still throwing up, I don't know what to do..." Jonah said, while Wendy abandoned the box in the tiny table next to the frigobar and rushed to the bed, touching Leo's clammy cheeks.

"Hey, blondie, open your eyes for me..."

"He's awake, he's just weak," Jonah vouched, opening the box and immediately stuffing his mouth with the fried chicken she had brought. His stomach was hurting from hunger.

"Leo?" Wendy patted his cheeks, "honey, hey... Can you hear me?"

"Why are you in my room?" Leo answered and Jonah snorted at the bitchy type of comment that was normally reserved for his ears only. Wendy let out a relieved sigh.

"You look like death."

"Thanks, I feel like death too," Leo croaked, turning his face away from her touch, "stop pinching me."

"He's dehydrated," Wendy said, squeezing the skin between her index and thumb.

Jonah rolled his eyes, "I know, but he stopped puking for twenty minutes now. I'm gonna try water again."

"Water won't do," Wendy scoffed, getting up, "I still have the sublingual zofran I got for the Sicily trip..."

"You do?" Jon raised his eyebrows and Wendy glared at him.

"You'd know if you weren't sulking in your room."

"Stop being mean to him," Leo groaned, shoving Wendy's knee and she slapped his hand away, unbothered by the fact he was sick or not.

"I'm gonna be mean to him all I want. Ask your boyfriend why he made Bella cry," she said, before getting up and barging out to grab the medicine. Leo groaned, taking a second to be able to look at Jonah with glassy, unfocused eyes.

"You didn't."

"I didn't," Jonah agreed, but he wasn't sure of it. He had been so furious at Luke, he hadn't actually spared Bell a glance. Guilt made his stomach churn, "I don't think I did."

"Jon..." Leo groaned, then grimaced, planting a hand on his chest, his throat bobbing up and down. Jonah sighed, crossing the room in two steps and grabbing the ice bucket, holding it under Leo's chin to catch a thin dribble of water and bile.

The blonde groaned loudly, forcing up a sick belch and then collapsing against the pillows, struggling to catch his breath. He closed his eyes again, a pained frown on, then rasped, "go apologize..."

"You're out of your mind, poor thing," Jonah rolled his eyes, rubbing his back, "take a breath, baby, Wendy's got the good drugs. They'll knock you right out."

"Uhm..." Leo winced as a cramp hit his stomach, "apologize, Jon."

"Nope," Jonah leaned in, kissing his temple, "shhhh, stop talking."

Wendy walked back in the room, holding a paper box with tiny pink meds and now with a bottle of gatorade in her other hand. Jonah felt incredibly grateful, his cheeks burning with a guilty blush.

Surely Wendy was just exaggerating it, right?

"Open up," she bossed and Jonah gently forced Leo to open his mouth, the blonde frowning with indignance, but far too weak to fight him. Once the little pill was put on his tongue, Wendy glanced at her phone, checking the time.

"We need to wait fifteen minutes," she said, as if Jon didn't know that already. He stared at Leo, who was not asleep, but seemed to be, face all slack, slumped over the pillow.

"I didn't make her cry, did I?" he asked in a low voice, brushing Leo's sweaty bangs away from his forehead.

Wendy scoffed, "yes, you did."

"Bella doesn't cry," he argued weakly and Wendy glared at him, moving so he couldn't avoid her eyes.

"She does when she's got brain surgery literally fifteen days ago and some jackass decides to yell at her for wanting to get out of the house."

"I didn't yell at her," Jonah pouted and Wendy leveled him with a cold glare.

"Lucas is going to punch your teeth in," she warned him, "and I'm not lifting a finger to help."

"You are terrible to me," Jonah groaned, moving his hand down to Leo's cheeks, "baby? Are you still awake?"

"Unfortunately," Leo whined, but he sounded much more at ease, "I think the meds are kicking in..."

Wendy glanced at her phone, lifting it up so Jonah could see only seven minutes had passed. It wasn't time enough for the medication to be really acting, but regardless Jonah stroked Leo's cheek, whispering, "good, let's wait just a little bit more, love."

"Uhm, kay..." Leo yawned, slumping even more against the pillows.

Wendy gestured to the door with her head, mouthing the words "go apologize" and Jonah frowned, glaring at Leo, as if to say he couldn't just leave him alone. She rolled her eyes in response and gestured at herself, "I'm here."

Realizing he'd have no choice but to apologize, Jonah got up from the bed with a groan of his own, "if Luke punches me, I'm punching right back."

"He's not gonna punch you..." Leo mumbled, sleepily and Jon rolled his eyes at his little reassurance.

"I'll be right back."

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

As far as Luke was concerned, they should all just go and leave Jonah and Leo stranded behind. That'd teach him to not be a fucking asshole all the time.

Bella had started to openly cry in the diner and while Luke knew that the emotional fluctuations were a direct result of the head wound, that didn't stop him from seeing in red as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

"Shhh, Bell, calm down, calm down," he chanted, almost rocking her on the seat. Bella crying was out of character enough, but her crying in public and not minding it? He felt like he was the one with the head injury.

Vince let out a pitiful noise, moving closer, "beautiful, Jonah is just being a prick because he's worried about Leo, he doesn't mean that..." he reassured her, but Bella shook her head, her whole face all red.

"He-he-hessright," she sobbed, causing Luke to squeeze her just a little tighter.

"Jon hasn't been right about a thing in his entire life," he scoffed, kissing the top of her head, "don't listen to him, baby."

She wasn't listening, Jonah had successfully reduced Bella to a mess of nothing but tears and eventually they decided that having lunch there, where all the other patrons were still watching, wasn't gonna happen and they got their to-go boxes, Luke almost carrying Bell out of the seat as she still shook with sobs.

He was going to kill Jonah, he thought darkly, helping her into their room and trying, once again, to wipe the tears away, "babe, shhh, it's not that big of a deal, I promise you..."

"It - its though!" She curled up on the bed, hugging her knees, "he's right, it's my fault, I pro-proposed the trip, I-" her shoulders shook as she forced the words out, "I got Le-Leo sick and now Jon hates me and- I wish we had never gone in this st-stupid trip."

Lucas let out a scoff, rubbing her back, "no, Leo got sick, shit happens, it's got nothing to do with you..."

"You-you don't understand," Bella huffed, squirming away from him, "stop touching me."

"Bell..."

"S-stop!" She pushed him away, rolling on her side and curling up on fetal position on the bed, "just-just leave me alone."

Lucas moved away from her on the bed, but he didn't get up, watching her like a hawk. Eventually, the sobs stopped as Bella got knocked back, exhaustion taking her under.

There was a knock on the door and Lucas got up stiffly, cracking his neck. If it was Jon, he was going to wring his neck.

Except it wasn't, it was just Vin, holding a little cupcake, "I brought Bella her favorite."

"She's asleep," Lucas scoffed, moving away from the door to let his best friend in, "can you believe he called me selfish? That idiot?"

Vince shrugged, unbothered as he circled the bed to plant the cupcake near the bedside table on Bella's side and pushed a curl away from her face, "you're gonna wake her up, calm down."

"I'm going to kill him, that's what I'm gonna do," Luke decided, barging for the door, only for Vince to run after him and grab him by the back of his shirt.

"No, you're not. Leo's still sick, you're gonna stop being a prick yourself and sit the fuck down," Vin scoffed, dragging him back inside.

"He made her cry!"

"You helped!" Vince whisper yelled, shutting the door, pinching his nose bridge, "look, I know you're angry. I'd be too if I were in your shoes, but you can't just go deck Jon down. You're an adult, stop that, dude."

Lucas grumbled, crossing his arms and refusing to listen to reason, throwing Bella another anxious and guilty glare, "it's not fair she thinks it's her fault, Vince."

"I know, Luke, but punching Jon isn't gonna change that, it'll just make her feel worse," Vince sighed, sitting on the bed and tucking the blankets tighter around Bella. It caused Lucas' shoulder to drop, the gentle act of affection that Vince clearly wasn't thinking about.

They were his family, he didn't want to punch Jonah, even if he was furious at him. He certainly wasn't happy about Leo feeling sick either.

He settled back down on the chair, picking at to-go box of food, while Vince relaxed, now confident Luke wasn't about barge in the room two doors down.

Lucas was just about to calm down, when Bella stirred on the bed, fifteen minutes later. Vince moved as she lightly kicked him, letting out a groan and rolling on the bed, with a frown on.

"Bell?" Vin called, touching her arm, "you awake?"

She opened her eyes, confused, her brows meeting in a harsh frown, before sitting up suddenly and making a horrible choking noise... And throwing up all over her band t-shirt and the blankets on her lap.

"Fuck!" Vince lurched back, narrowly avoiding getting his arm covered in vomit since he was reaching to thump on her back. Lucas jumped up, circling the bed to grab the waste basket, but it was too late, the mess was made and chaos installed in the room.

"Shit," Luke cursed, holding the paper waste basket under her chin, while Vince moved on the bed to hold her hair back, tears starting to run down her cheek as Bella continued to heave.

"m'sorry-" she slurred, spitting a mouthful of acidic vomit inside the bin, wincing, "my head- my head'hurts..."

"Shhh, it's okay," Lucas whispered, rubbing her back, "it's alright, baby, don't worry about this."

"I made- made a mess," Bella coughed and Vince let out a little noise, bunching up her curls in one hand of his, twisting it in a knot.

"Don't worry about that, I'll take the blankets to the motel's laundry," he whispered, meeting Lucas concerned glare over her head.

"Yeah, I'm gonna help you out of this shirt, baby-" He glanced at Vince who nodded, getting up from the bed and moving to where Luke had unceremoniously dumped their bag hours before.

"Can it be one of yours?" he whispered, crouching down before the clothes and heard Luke's little "sure" as response.

Vince cringed as he fished out the shirt and could hear Bella whimpering and getting sick again, crying about how her head was exploding.

"Is this normal?" he asked, passing Luke the shirt and starting to peel off the ruined blankets from her lap, trying to avoid making a bigger mess.

"Yes... I don't know, I think so. The doctor wasn't very specific," Lucas said, still rubbing her back, "Bell, are you done?"

"I don't know," she groaned, voice echoing inside the bucket, "my stomach hurts."

"You don't think its a bug, is it?" he asked and she shook her head.

"No, everything... Everything just hurts, Luke..."

Vince successfully managed to get the blanket folded up and lifted it up, away from his body, "I'll be right back."

"C'mon, baby, let's get you cleaned up," Luke said, nodding to Vince and wrapping his wife's arms around his neck, lifting her up easily. He planted her sitting on the closed toilet, leaving the new shirt on top of the sink and carefully maneuvering the destroyed one off of her.

"This is so humiliating," Bella whimpered, curling up as Luke wiped her chin and mouth with a wad of toilet paper, "I'm tired, Luke..."

"You can slee-"

"No, I'm tired of this," Bella shook her head, "I'm tired of being sick and in pain, I'm- I'm tired. Please, make it stop..."

His heart squeezed and his eyes stung, causing Lucas to gulp against the knot in his throat, "babe, you're getting better, I promise you... "

"No, I can't, I can't do this anymore," Bella teared up all over again, "I'm so fucking exhausted and everything hurts and I- I made Leo sick and I hate this stupid trip and my stupid brain and-"

"Shhh, you're gonna make yourself sicker," Lucas interrupted, kissing her brow and carefully putting the new shirt over her head, "I know you're in pain, baby, but you have to know Leo wasn't your fault. None of this..."

"Except it fucking was," Bella scoffed, curling up on top of the toilet, hugging her knees to her chest, "I feel awful, Luke..."

There was a knock on the door, so Lucas rolled his eyes, jerking his head so he could yell "It's open!" to Vince, before looking back at her.

"No, it wasn't, Bell-"

"It was though," Bella insisted, a fresh new batch of tears running down her face, "Leo is sick and everything fucking hurts and I- I don't know what to do, I wish we were home..." she whimpered, clutching her head and Lucas flinched as he saw a thin line of blood start to run down her nose.

"We'll be home soon, baby," he said, while frantically rolling up more toilet paper, wiping the blood from under her nose, only for even more to continue to gush down.

"I don't... I don't feel well..." Bella mumbled, paling considerably and Lucas lurched, grabbing her by the shoulders before she could hit her head back against the metal flush.

"I got you, I got you-" except that he didn't. He was in way over his head, worried beyond logic and unsure of what to even do first. Bell's face white and clammy, her throat bobbing nervously as it looked she was about to throw up again, blood still gushing down her nose, covering her lip and her neck-

"Here," Jonah said, sidestepping him and holding a bunch of toilet paper under her nose, grabbing Bella's nose and squeezing the tip, while leaning her forward.

"Get the fuck out of here," Lucas scoffed, but there was no heat, he was too worried and too relieved it was Jon to give a shit.

"Shut up," Jonah kicked his thigh, then gestured for the trashcan, "get the bin, she's gonna be sick."

Lucas scrambled for it, holding it open just in time for Bella to let out yet another stream of vomit, barely gagging, sounding and looking out of it.

Jonah gagged, ducking his face in his shoulder and Luke ignored him, holding Bella's forehead.

"Shhh, get it up, baby..."

"I'mreally-" she burped again, choking in the sick, "m'reallyry-sorry..."

"I know, I know," he whispered, while Jonah let out a guilty whine above her head, rubbing her back.

"It's fine, don't think about it," he said, his voice a notch softer and Bella let out a groan, clutching the bin's edges until her knuckles turned white.

"Everything is spinning..."

"Bella, hey-" Lucas patted her cheek, "don't pass out, baby, open your eyes-"

"Luke," Jonah shook his head, his voice a whisper, "it's okay, she's okay," he said calmly, "I got her."

And he really did, because a second later Bella's spine gave up on her and her whole weight collapsed against Jon's leg. He cupped her head, crouching down to steady her on the seat and shoving Lucas out of the way.

"Let's get her lying down, feet up, it's probably just a blood pressure drop because of the nose bleed..."

If Lucas noticed just how his voice trembled, he didn't say anything. Together they managed to get Bella back in the bedroom, piling some pillows her under her legs to make the blood flow back up and then...

Then there was nothing to do.

Jonah moved uneasily, eyes darting from Bell to Luke and then back again, "I... I shouldn't have said that."

"I care about Leo," Lucas scoffed, at the same time as Jon spoke up.

Jonah let out a groan, rubbing his face, "yeah, I know, I'm just pissed off-"

"And I'm just pissed because you're not being fair with her," Lucas pouted, "if it's on anyone, it's on me. You know I was the one who asked Leo to tag along, not Bell."

"Because of Bella."

"I'm still the one who said it, so at least be pissed at me, not her."

Jonah let out a scoff, rolling his eyes, "I'm always pissed at you, Lucas, there's no difference there."

Luke snorted, carefully combing his fingers through Bella's hair, avoiding the stitches, "how's Leo?"

"Knocked out, still sick, dehydrated. Wendy got him some good drugs though, so I'm hopeful he'll feel better soon..."

An awkward silence followed and they both avoided each other's eyes, before Lucas huffed, "I'm sorry, this trip was a stupid idea."

"It wasn't," Jonah shook his head, "but bad fucking timing..." he sat on the edge of the bed, "I didn't mean to make her cry, I swear I didn't."

Luke raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, "well, you did."

"I'll apologize to her," Jonah promised, his pride be damned. Luke sighed, nodding.

"Fine, if you apologize to her."

"If you apologize to Leo for making him come."

"I didn't make him come."

"Lucas," Jonah glared at him and the other man pouted, nodding again.

"Fine, I'll apologize."

[polutrope]

hello, I read your amrod and amras post with interest (I actually did have it the wrong way around in my head…), but now I’m wondering which one of the two is the one with darker red hair? I remember reading somewhere that one of the twins’ hair darkened as he aged, but I don’t have the shibboleth (which I’m guessing this is from), and would like to get this correct in the future.

re:

Amras!

The twins remained alike, but the elder grew darker in hair, and was more dear to his father. After childhood they [?were not be] confused.

And yes, it's from the Shibboleth of Feanor, in Christopher's commentary on the legend of Amrod -- where (as you now know!) Amras is the elder.

Now, I got this detail about the hair wrong in my own fic about Lightly Toasted Amrod. Oops.

I should emphasise that I don't think there's an objectively "wrong" version here because we're mixing up canons. In your and others' defense, Tolkien Gateway for a while had Amras as Telufinwe, etc. -- but I see someone has updated that! There's now a great breakdown of their names there. Thank you to whoever heroically submitted that edit. (Alas my brain is too saturated to figure out how to edit the wiki. I really should learn.)

In revisiting this passage, I've been reminded that it seems Tolkien reversed their birth order specifically because of this story that he invented to explain the name Ambarto/Amrod. So it was clearly meaningful to him that Amrod was the baby in this version. I assume Christopher chose to keep the previous birth order (Amrod, Amras) because he did not choose to integrate the ship-burning death of Amrod in the Silmarillion (a choice I applaud - wrote a bit about how hard that would have been here).

Thanks for the ask!

[weavewithshadow]

like a stubborn sword from stone.

link to ao3 will come! a piece of my fic-ified game, in which i headcanon that gale of waterdeep was not in some unseen room on the nautiloid, but in the same that shadowheart was held — and he saw her, but said nothing.

i wrote it in a rush, it will be edited, it is nigh incoherent but at least it is out of my brain

gale/shadowheart, rated T.

content warnings: mentions of suicidal ideation, mentions of death, vague mentions of illithid technology and mindflayer transformation.

Long had Gale of Waterdeep held fantasies of his own one-day heroics. In youth, he conjured them with rapt enthusiasm: that he, a creature of boundless ambition and baffling talent, would surely take the world’s fate in hand, capable hand, and find a Weaving of words none had crossed before. His incantations, unwinding the knots of the world's greatest ills.

But when the time came for such valor, when indeed he was thrust into peril, heart thundering in his ears, he was not swept up from one admirable pursuit into another.

No. He’d been reading. Hadn’t he always, of late? A great wizard, fallen into utter disrepair — reduced to a shadow of his prowess, and forced out of the light. Her light. After all he's devoured in her absence, there's nothing left to cower behind but pages.

To land aboard a nautiloid, in the firm clutches of one of its pods as it enters Avernus under duress, should have been the introductory sentence to a sweeping tale, spun with anecdotes of glittering grandeur. But it isn’t.

Instead, he thinks it the last notes in his song: a tale bound to decrescendo, then end in a whisper of its former glory. The pod has no interior latch, and not nearly enough room to attempt any spell's somatic component. Outside it, this chamber is bereft of illithids: only their victims are left behind, hopeless. There is nothing to do now but rest, his surrender given long before his capture. His end is a foregone conclusion. This is not new.

But he isn’t alone. Not technically, anyway. This room contains a litany of occupied bodies, connected to the illithids’ wretched contraptions, but one remains vibrantly alive.

There is not much to note of her — a smudge of a person’s form, trapped behind another pod’s murky glass on the opposite end of the room. The only detail he can make out is that a silver bauble rests in her hair, moving as she does, catching the saturated light.

He sees her only because she wakes him from a haze: her palm, striking the glass; her screams, muffled, but carrying all the way to him. Every one of her muscles engaged; her voice raw. If he squints, he can almost see the whites of her eyes, wide with fear and rage.

She is fighting — even here, at the end of all things — to live.

And what had he just been doing? Trying to close his eyes, to lie back and feel a moment’s peace. Perhaps he’d have prayed for forgiveness, just the once more.

Gale of Waterdeep does not have to fight the mind flayers aboard, after all. There needs be no heroism here, no courage roaring in his heart. He could almost laugh.

They’d made an error in capturing him at all.

Before ceremophosis takes him, the scratching hunger in his chest — the orb resting oppressively above his heart, leeching from his marrow — will take them all. The mind flayers. The ship. It’s a perfect solution: a blast so high in the sky that the only casualties are those damned to a gruesome transformation and the monsters who damned them.

There’s only one blemish upon this immaculate scheme: this blur, a smudge of shadow across the room who battles with all she has for hope, will have to die, too.

Is that not the cost of heroism, though? Is one life — one beating heart, one will refusing to succumb to the inevitable — worth doubting the many that will ostensibly be saved by his inaction? He could weigh it, again and again, balancing the measure of one life against thousands. The trouble is, he’s circled this problem too often. Its conclusion is too easy to find. Both are infinites unto themselves. There are no winners where even one innocent life is lost.

His is far from that claim. That’s the only outcome he’s ever found. His folly, his doom.

So when this impossible blur of indomitable strength is found by not one, but two others, he only considers calling out to them for a fraction of a moment. He’s had this argument with himself — and with a livid tressym — before.

There is no use. He hasn’t found a scrap of reason to suggest otherwise. To inflict himself upon others’ lives would only kill them later, or doom them even worse than they are now.

No: he’s mapped out the possibilities. Better for everyone that he stays.

Rests.

Dies.

But he doesn’t: what might be moments after her rescue, the nautiloid pitches right, then left, then down, in a cacophony of explosions and terror that have nothing to do at all with his many misdeeds.

It is still not heroism when he is cast through the starry sky — nor when he finds a pinprick of light from an old and disused waypoint and finds his mouth moving heedless of his will. When a Weaving of words, of all things, prevents him from shattering against the ground in a gruesome pile of viscera.

He barely means to live. He supposes he’s asked, in a grim and cosmic sense, for the spell to misfire, for most of his body to be trapped in limbo. To be forced, once again, to rest until disaster bursts from his ribcage.

How poetic that it is her hand — warmer than he thought it might be, though perhaps his exposed fingers might have chilled while he called out for rescue — that pulls him from that fate like a stubborn sword from stone. Without the silver bauble, it’s hard to recognize her at first, especially considering how charred most of her ink-dark hair has become.

But it is her: that shadowed blur from a pod opposite his. It has to be, by the sheen of sweat on her skin, the flush in her cheeks, and the fight still left in her eyes. Even now; even doomed.

Of course it is she that fought for him to live, in the end.

Whether the deed is heroic or woefully ill-informed remains to be seen.

[cedar-sunshine]

Star Excerpt

I've been going back and forth on posting this for a while, but here it is! Feat: Tristan being depressed, Ori being a little off-putting. This is the VERY beginning of star, the opening words. Comment if you want me to post more anytime/if you liked it!

TWs- internalized transphobia (not incredibly overt), discussion of SI, discussion of death, discussion and minor representation of visual hallucinations.

I wrote this when I was dealing with REALLY severe depression and it hasn't been seriously edited since, so I can't vouch for it being great. Hope you enjoy it!

Tristan

It's getting cold faster than usual this year.

It feels like just yesterday that the first couple of leaves fell from the maples, but now I'm walking over ground that cracks and snaps with frost, and my breath hangs in the air like fog.

With hope, the coming winter will pass just as quickly as fall has been, collapsing in on itself in what remains of my mind. Realistically, I'll probably die before that can happen. The main question now is whether I'll die from the sickness, starvation, hypothermia, murder, or the other option. Guessing which one is going to finally take me out is the only thing left in my life that I could call entertaining, in a twisted, fucked up way. There's also a chance I eat the wrong plant and die from poisoning, but I'd argue that that falls under the last option, especially as I've practically memorized the plants in the northwest. It's been my only pastime for the past year and a half, if you don't count vivid fantasies of my own impending death.

You're never really aware of all the interesting ways one can die until you are, aren't you?

As it is, I've decided that my most likely fate will be turning back on my trail, finding the people who I've been running from with less and less conviction for the past eight months, and letting myself be ripped to pieces in whatever horrifying fashion they desire. It wouldn't be much worse than what's going on in my head already, I'd guess. And they'd be right in whatever gruesome thing they have planned for me. It's not like I haven't been asking for this since I ran.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going, other than a vague idea of 'east'. If I even have the direction right. For all I know, I've been going in circles for months. I can see the mountains in the distance, though, so I can't be too far off. I know the silhouette of the rockies.

My half-formed plan when I first fled was to get to the rockies and find refuge in a cave, gathering food like a bear in the fall, and then count on my pursuers not being able to survive in the mountains. I'm not sure why I had thought that a half-dead, psychotic fifteen year old with identity confusion would survive out there any better than they would, but it's the only plan I have, and without a plan, I don't really have much to do other than sit down and die.

Honestly, that option has been sounding pretty nice lately.

Still, I'm nothing if not a creature of inertia. Every step, every breath, every heartbeat, only exists because I've lost the energy to do anything other than stay the same. What is in motion stays in motion, even as the friction of my brain tears at me to just stop.

I'm not sure why I don't.

The sun is bleeding up from the horizon, lighting the clouds near it a pinkish golden color, bringing color to a gray sky. The mountains are saturated with dark, vivid blue shadows and patches of gleaming white snow that hurts to look at.

The light burns my eyes, and I refocus my gaze on the ground in front of me where brown and orange leaves are encased in frost, crunching under my footsteps. With the frost, I'll be leaving pretty clear footsteps until the sun fully rises, but I can't bring myself to care. A brutal, ritualistic death, no matter how gory and painful, seems no worse than the other option.

I try to avoid thinking about the future. Whenever I do, the pull to just stop gets almost overwhelming, and the panic that causes makes everything around it worse. The stability of my mind is nothing but a coin flip, and when it's landed on heads, I try to do all I can to avoid flipping it again.

Still, the future isn't the most avoidable thing.

As I watch my worn-out shoes leave a trail in the frost and leaves, my thoughts can't help but drift towards one of my many taboo subjects.

What happens next is perhaps the scariest question I can pose to myself, mostly because I don't actually know the answer.

I can feel my pulse lift and the fog of my mind start to thicken and creep towards the lucidity I've held for almost a week now, if you ignore the flashes of blood and corpses that don't exist hanging from trees in the edges of my vision. My hands clench and unclench, fingers racing along my palms, ruined nails scratching at my rough skin.

It's not proper for a girl to have such un-ladylike hands.

It's not proper for a girl to cut her hair and hide in the woods on her own, either, is it?

Perhaps the question of what's proper for a girl isn't the most important thing right now.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my burning mind. This part of the forest doesn't have as much undergrowth as usual- notably, it's missing the rampant salal and huckleberries that I've been seeing around here, along with the old growth trees and logs that scaffold the way for smaller plants. I'd guess that it was clear-cut before the disaster, and is maybe five years out from it.

I wonder if the forest knows that it's safe now, that the power tools are dead and the constant consumerist demand has died with most of the world's population. I wonder if its trauma will live on in its occupants, teaching its deer to flee at any movement and its flowers to hide in the deepest, thickest tangles of plants. I wonder if it knows that the world has changed. Maybe it can feel that the human feet that used to trample it have lessened, and maybe it feeds on the corpses and can taste their disease and fear. Perhaps it remains unaware, always living in fear of the next hunting season or the return of the lumber companies and hikers who tear up the native plants and bring with them grasses and Himalayan blackberries. Perhaps it can see me walking through its trees and it wonders what a child so clearly unfit for this life is doing. Perhaps it waits for me to give up and die, so it can welcome me to its soil and bring me home. Perhaps it sees me as only another of the ones that have torn it from its roots and killed its children and brothers, and it only feels distrust and hatred. Perhaps it still wishes I would give up and die, but only so my threatening existence ends.

Perhaps it's just wood and leaves, and I've truly lost what's left of my mind.

I wonder what it thinks of me, if it looks beyond my humanness and sees that the blood running through my veins is the same as what pulses in its children, a cousin of the golden sap that bleeds from its bark. I wonder who it sees.

A girl with rough hands and a shattered mind, maybe. Or a boy who's met death and come back, rather unwillingly. Maybe it only sees a scared child running blindly, or an animal that sacrificed its humanity to keep its straining, breaking heart beating in its chest. Maybe something else entirely, something that's fading away from the inside out and barely even still going.

I wonder who I would see, if I was brave enough to look.

Orion

I go over the bear trap one last time, making sure that it's not being blocked by anything. It's on its last legs, rusty and creaky. It's not a pretty beast, but it does the job, even if the job might give me tetanus one day. I don't really have another option right now, so I choose to remain positive. I have it set on a rough game trail, with the jaws and trigger covered in vines and leaves. I've got a camp set up in a small cave by a cliff less than a mile from the trap, so I can check it every evening, along with the rope ones that I have on other trails. With luck, I'll get something in a couple days, hopefully big enough to last me through the winter. I dream of the day when I get a moose in my traps.

Once I get a catch, I can dry the meat for the winter, and then next spring I'll keep going east and get over the mountains. The east of the mountains is more habitable than the west, so I'll keep looking for a town of survivors there.

I know that there are people out there, and I know that those people have probably grouped up and started rebuilding societies. It'll take a bit to convince them that I'm not sick, and that I'm not there to steal their resources, but I know I can do it. People like me. I like to think that I've held on to most of my charm through what I can only really describe as the apocalypse. Maybe I'll start a family, if I meet someone there who's sweet and pretty, someone who thinks I am too. Maybe we can find a stray dog and live a small, nice life. I just need to take it step by step, and the next step is finding food.

I've always wished that I knew a bit more about plants, especially since the sickness hit and I've been doing this all on my own. I know the basics- thimbleberries, chanterelles, cedar- but not much more than that. I think it'd be helpful to be one of those people who can dig food from the ground during winter. I'm dealing, though. Perhaps a diet consisting mainly of meat isn't the healthiest thing, but I'd say that I'm actually doing pretty well, given the whole apocalypse situation.

The cliff that I've made my temporary home in is only maybe ten or fifteen feet tall, on the base of a relatively steep hill. The cave's entrance is much shorter than me, but if I crouch, I can get in and into the more sizable inner part, where I still can't really stand up. I have coils of rope shoved into a corner, and I toss my beat-up backpack on top of them before sitting on my equally used sleeping bag. It's developed rips and holes that make it not much more useful than a warm blanket, but a warm blanket is still something.

I've adopted a crepuscular lifestyle more recently, altering my waking time to match that of the wildlife. I set my traps early in the morning and check them long after the sun sets. It took me a bit, but I get around five hours of sleep every time I try, amounting to maybe ten every day. I spend the rest of my time either maintaining my body or fantasizing about the town I'll find in eastern Washington. It's not the most exciting life, but it's nice to have some routine in a world like this.

I don't feel very tired yet, so I pull over my backpack and dump its contents on the base of the cave, searching through them. My two extra knives are tied together with a worn out length of twine, along with my flint in its' case, and my bunched-up, too-large raincoat unfolds on the ground, along with a medley of other things, but it only takes me a few moments to find what I was looking for.

When I was a kid, I got three journals for one of my birthdays. I wrote through one of them before the virus hit, and the second one was finished frantically in the first few months. Those two will be burnt to ashes when I have the time, kindling soaked with things that aren't worth remembering. The one I've been using for the past year or so is about halfway through, with my ideas and feelings journaled about once a week. Most of it is plans, maps, paths over the mountains, dotted with records of where I set traps. I'm no artist, but I've sketched out ideas of what a surviving society might look like. Abstract maps are my strength.

I flip to a new page and pull my pencil out of the inner pocket on my backpack, and begin writing.

When I wake in the evening, my head rests uncomfortably on my open journal, with a messy, half finished list of the steps I'll need to take to get over the rockies. My spine aches from being curled up like a dead shrimp for hours, and when I stretch it cracks more than I think should be healthy. It's colder than it was in the morning, but I push myself to get up and shove my stuff back into my bag.

The sky is gray outside, and the air is that sort of sharp cold that hurts a bit to breathe. Every inhale reminds me that winter is soon, and that I'll be over the rockies by this time next year. Maybe I'll even have found my survivors by then, and I'll have my little life set up. I'm sure any little budding village would be happy to have a young member with trapping knowledge, someone who can contribute and still has his whole life ahead of him.

The trail I've set my traps on takes about two hours to fully complete, and a bit more with my care to avoid my own traps. I've made that mistake once, and I never plan to make it again.

The bear trap is surprisingly well hidden for a metal jaw in the leaves- its rust blends in with the leaves scattered over it, and if I wasn't aware of its existence and studying every step I take, there's a good chance I'd lose a leg to it. I feel a twinge of apology for whatever poor thing gets caught in my trap, but we all need to eat. Anyways, it's probably no more violent than any of the other ways a thing could die out here.

I return to my little cave as the first couple of raindrops start hitting the leaves, and I curl up in my sleeping bag to stay warm as I watch the rain fall.

It's hypnotizing, in a way. The quiet roar is the loudest thing in the woods, and it drowns out any other sound. Within half an hour, the rain has turned from a gentle patter to a downpour, turning the world gray outside of the cave. The cave has a helpful slant that keeps the water from running down to where I'm sitting, but the cold still ends up saturating my skin, soaking through me just as quickly as the rain would.

I lie down and turn away from the cave entrance. There's no better time to sleep than during a rainstorm.

☆☆☆

That's chapter one of star! Thanks for reading (:

[punk-raphaelite]

In relation to the the blue/green colour quiz that’s floating around, I wrote this in the tags but it deserves to be a post of its own so I screenshotted it:

I adore colour theory, the history of different hues, their cultural contexts across time and place, the story of how different pigments were discovered and developed. And how physical perception affects how we see colour: not just the structure of the eye but how much is actually left up to the brain to decipher.

I’ve studied colour theory as a painter who makes her own paints and used it to relate to the metaphysical in an installation piece I did as my graduating work last year. It’s why my header on this blog is what it is. Colour is never static, put a paint chip up to one wall and it’ll look washed out where against another (in a different room, with different light, painted a different shade) it’ll be blindingly bright and over saturated. Colour always always changes. The only constant is change, and there’s always more to a shade than what you see

[lolulala]

Manifesting a Celebrity SP: An Ongoing Tumblr Post

Hey there you guys, so I have a specific SP in mind who is quite famous and I just want to make this post where it can be interactive and let you know my progress.

I think it's my brain's way of having a place to feel like 'it's possible' for me to manifest my SP because there's this resistance of "I can't manifest my SP because she doesn't know me and she is quite famous" but also a part of me knows I can manifest someone like her 🌈❤🤍

First Update: I did the 3-6-9 method and wrote her name (3×), gratitude (6x).. and so on, I've been robotically affirming, i'm now in 2740 affirmations in my counter app..

I feel very positive :3 i know it has already existed in the 4D and the 3D is catching up quick!!

08/25: 3055 in the counter app! I'm literally smiling everytime i do my affirmations and it's easy for me to visualize my SP with me. I always remind myself that it's easy for me to manifest celebrities and i'm in a constant state of abundance.

08/26: i saturated my mind today and saw myself in the wish fulfilled. My wish fulfilled look like I was resting with her.. it was nice because I had this moment where I thought SP was just another human being, with their own challenges. I was rampaging my affirmations, I reached 4000, and I spoke how it is possible to be with my SP. It was easy for me to feel that I am in the wish fulfilled.

08/28: 4254 affs, and honestly... im in persisting mode. It's starting to feel like a 'what the heck am i doing' kind of thing. Why am I manifesting someone who lives miles away from me, from a different culture? Like my 3d brain can't comprehend how it is going to be possible. Also note, a lot of girls are into my SP, like the tiktok edits of her are insane haha. While doing my usual SP affs, i also do blanket affirmations and just affirming that everything in my life is perfect and yes it is possible.

But it's nice to think that my desire has already existed in the 4D, that there is a reality that I do get to be with my SP. And it already manifested in the most perfect, magical, and safest way.

I honestly like affirming for 'big' manifestations because I love proving to myself that Universe is always in my favor and I am worthy of my desires.

[jeffbiblesupremacy]

GQ Thailand Interview (x)

Translation ->

Jeff Satur is a 28 years old Thai-English-Chinese artist, who's enjoying his non-boundaries work with Wayfer Records, under Warner Music Thailand. He released the song "Dum Dum" at the beginning of the year.

This time while talking with GQ Thailand he said he's going to release a new single called "ก่อนเธอจะลืมฝัน (Lucid)" and he shared his feelings towards his first solo album. In addition, we talked about his music and acting works, including his fashion opinions and the importance of the accessories to complement the look.

GQ: Give us an update about your work. What are you working on lately?

Jeff: I'm filming Wuju Bakery. It's been filmed in Korea and I'm having the opportunity to work with Korean and Philippines artists. The series should be aired at the end of the year or the beginning of next year. And for music, I'm working on my solo album and going to release a new single "ก่อนเธอจะลืมฝัน (Lucid) ". I already filmed the music video and will be released on June 22.

GQ: Your music speaks about dreams, forgetting, and remembering moments quite a lot. Was it your intention?

Jeff: (smiles) I don't know. It's according to the feeling of the moment. Like when I have an idea or concept, I would write a song about it. Otherwise I might regret not using those raw resources.

GQ: Is your method of creating each song always the same?

Jeff: Not quite. It depends of what I get first. For example, in the song "Dum Dum", I had the melody and the chords first. For "วันนี้คือพรุ่งนี้ของเมื่อวาน" (Loop Thai Version), I had the melody, chords and lyrics at the same time. Or for "Highway", I had the music style first and then I worked on the melody. The idea for each song suddenly appears no matter what time or place I am. It's like I already have the ingredients in my head and once they're settled down, they're ready to be served. I have a lot of ideas recorded on my phone (smiles)

GQ: What inspired "ก่อนเธอจะลืมฝัน (Lucid)?"

Jeff: I was in the toilet, and the melody hit me, so I had to pick up my phone and record the melody and the ideas that came to my mind before I forgot (laughs). It was a new and strange experience. When I got home, I started working on music keys and other parts of the song. The lyrics are about the question of how people always forget their night dreams. It's because the human brain has a mechanism to delete the unnecessary things. And then we'll have a new dream the next night, which could be a good or a bad dream. I would like to be a representative of the good dreams to help you to release all the burdens you're having, and to have good memories together in the dreams. And I want you to keep the feeling after waking up even if you don't remember the dream.

GQ: You wrote the lyrics, produced the song, and sang it. All by yourself. What's the most difficult/challenging part?

Jeff: For me is the lyrics, because of the characteristics of the Thai language. Sometimes I can't use some words because of their tone. So I spent most of the time working on the lyrics and telling the story without losing the meaning because of the limitation of words. Another challenge for me is that I want my songs to be different from the previous ones. So I try to write new stories, both in terms of lyrics and music. But sometimes I get used to write the same words often or there are moments when life experiences are no different, so I need to challenge myself on this aspect.

GQ: As you said, you express your feelings through your songs. Is there any feeling remain in your work that haven't been made into a song yet?

Jeff: I still miss love songs, but I've already made one (smiles). Also, there's still a lack of songs that talk about my experience and feelings throughout my 10-year journey in the music industry. And a releasing song, expressing happiness and fun. Another one is a song full of beats, like metal music (laughs). I'd love to do one but it would be more of a punk-ish style.

GQ: Definition of the artist called Jeff Satur.

Jeff: It's the same. In my first interview (with GQ), I mentioned it's "No boundaries", and I still think it's the best definition. Because when I'm going to do something, I rarely think if it fits me. I just think if it comes from myself, then it's ME.

GQ: What about as an actor? How do you see yourself as a person who has done acting roles?

Jeff: Acting is a really fun and interesting artwork and it's quite different from being a singer. I talked about this with Thanapob Leeratanakajon, and he said "being a singer is being yourself as much as possible, but being an actor is being someone else as much as possible". But, at the same time, there is a connection. You need to tell your story as best as you can without missing details. I enjoy being someone else because it helps me to expand my ideas for my songs. For example "Stranger" came from my experience playing a character in a musical play for six months. Even if the story of the song never happened to me in real life, I could use the experience and mindset of the character to tell the story.

GQ: Looking ahead, what are you most excited about?

Jeff: In the past 1-2 years, there were a lot of tours, both KinnPorsche and my own. I barely had time to rest but I wasn't exhausted (it was fun). I considered it as a compensation for having nothing for 8 years in the music industry (laughs). But If you ask what I'm most excited about, would be difficult to answer because I'm excited about everything. The upcoming series is a romantic comedy, and it includes my first CG part. It's a new experience for me. I'm also excited about traveling to work in different places. But the part I'm more excited and it means a lot to me is my first album. Besides the music, I'm working on one more thing which I can't spoil it now, but it would be included in my album (smiles).

GQ: I saw that you dad loved to tell you stories. Is there any story or lesson that you have listened and you didn't understand but you get them now?

Jeff: There is a thing he mentioned 2-3 years ago: "Everything that happens is always good. You just have to find out how is good". In the past, I used to wonder why this happened to me, but as time passed, I understood why it happened and what I got from that.

GQ: Tell us about your history blog.

Jeff: At first, I planned to create a website with my friends for an advertising agency. The problem was that we weren't into the business. I was into history and inspiration. I remember writing my first blog about the founder of a fashion brand and how he started it. That piece was shared by approximately 80 people. After that, I found my own writing style and kept publishing. The number of sharing increased to hundreds and thousands. There was one entry I made, it was a video telling my point of view about the inspiration I had from my history research. It was shared more than 60.000 times, and it had more than 3M views. I was very happy because some teachers used the video for their classes at the university. I even received a message from a person who had read my entry about suicide telling me that it saved their life.

GQ: Let's talk about your fashion since you were a new artist to the present. How has your style changed?

Jeff: It has changed a lot. In the past, I only wore t-shirts, polo shirts, or anything safe. I used to wear the same pair of shoes every day, but now I feel like I want to try things. It's fun to dress up because each designer has their own signature. So how can we play with it? (smile)

GQ: You said to GQ Thailand before that you've been inspired to write songs while playing ROV games, but what about your style? Who are the artist who inspire your style or fashion?

Jeff: I like Yoshiki Hayashi from X-Japan, Kurt Cobain from Nirvana, G-Dragon and Pharrell Williams because they look confident. Wear whatever you want to wear, but wear it well (laughs).

GQ: Before getting dressed and going out of the house, which step do you spend the longest time on, such as showering, choosing your outfit, setting your hair?

Jeff: Choose an outfit. Sometimes I go out and come back to change it. The housewives always look at me confused and say "so which one should I iron?" (laughs)

GQ: You've work with GQ Thailand a few times before, how do you feel?

Jeff: It's fun. Actually, I already followed GQ Thailand, both fashion and the opening columns. When it's time to work together I trust that the work will definitely come out well. And since I went to the GQ Man Search contest in 2021, there's always something new when we collaborate, so let's do it again.

GQ: How was today's fashion shooting with GQ Hype?

Jeff: It felt new because we filmed in a studio. But i can feel the innovations in the fashion set shootings. Also posing with the clock make me want to create new poses so I can show the clock.

GQ: Can you talk about the Frank Muller watch that you're wearing today? How do you feel?

Jeff: It's the Flash Grand Central Tourbillon watch. The first detail I noticed was that my hand looked sporty. But there is a classy middle part of the dial that it's very retro mixed with modern. And with Frank Muller's signature dial, I think it's a watch very easy to match. You can wear it to the gym, you don't have to wear a suit. Just wear a shirt and the watch fits.

[afrenchaugurey]

I have ZERO self control... So I wrote this one this morning, and made a quick and incomplete translation...

It's supposed to be in a modern and non magical AU, but this snippet can be read as magical too, I guess...

Unlike the oppressing atmosphere that had made Newt leave the house, the estate’s park garnered him softly.

The passerines interpreted their most magnificent symphony, embellished with the solos performed by turtledoves, foxes, squirrels and cuckoos; punctuated by the delicate percusion of the drizzle on the foliage. All the sounds seemed hung, put in a tenuous mute by the moisture bubble he just entered (almost by effraction, he had the feeling). His senses got carried away : by the humus’ smells that saturated them, by the scent of the roses revealed by the diamonds fell from the sky on their petals and their leaves, by the fragrance of the grass bent under the drops’ burden, or, at a distance in the glasshouse, by the blossoming orange trees’ perfume which flowers opened as many stars, offering an unrivaled spectacle for his nose as much as for his eyes. How could he choose just one ?

Alone, in the middle of this effervescent nature, he surprisingly enjoyed a break, a suspended moment during the storm happening in his brain, in the raging ocean of his contradictory feelings. The thin droplet that bounced on the leaves before quietly landing on his skin, or in a gentle lapping on his cheekbones, offered him a pure bliss moment, a welcomed rest. Newt raised his eyes to the sky, where the day just started to show up, revealing beautiful grey shades. The soft textures from the fluffy clouds danced on the heavens’ canva as much as on his skin, offering him even more comfort than his beloved thick cover Nan Miriam had knitted. On the ground, another ballet was coordinating. Snails exited their mother-of-pearl house to enjoy the wetness day, feasting in the greenish sea decorated with a thousand watery lanterns the garden had draped itself with to celebrate their springtime banquet. 

In the distance, the rain drew an abstract ephemeral painting on the familial house’s walls, a map to fantastic and unknown lands, maybe, that only the instant’s magic would have the power to reveal, before the inevitable sunny spell made it disappear. 

Overwhelmed with sensations, flooded by his own emotions, Newt sat against a tree, directly on the ground, and contacted Mother Earth. He let himself get carried inside this calming whirlwind, eyelids closed, lips half opened, his fingers wandering through the soaked grass that allowed water dribbles and insects to jump on his naked arms.

As his inside dragon stepped back, pacifiated, renouncing to burst Newt’s skin and ravage everything with his destructing flames, the man breath modeled on the reflux’s rhythm, became more and more slow and wide, a new voice to the current concert, given just for himself (he believed) that morning. 

(well the clothes don't fit at all, but I love these pictures too much)

[darkkpastels]

6, 10, 52, 57!

AAAAHHHH!! Thanks so much @good-wine-and-cheese I just finished finals! this is an awesome way to start summer break!

Answering questions for this game: https://www.tumblr.com/allsassnoclass/682696593093345280/fanfiction-writing-asks?source=share

6.What’s the last line you wrote?

" --To which the raven left out the window as quickly as it arrived, leaving a chalky mess on the window pane. The rain saturated and formed a growing whitish pool as Dudley closed the window.

“Well…I guess I have something of an answer” moving the nut crumbles to a waste bin before bed. ---" Chapter 5, Modern Galatea

10.Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?

I tried doing one story at a time when I started writing fanfiction again. But, I learned that, ultimately it doesn't matter how many stories you do, its if you're consistent about writing anything. I also let the gremlins in my head win because I'm not always thinking about one story, but,

52. What’s the average word count of your fics?

Stardust has an average word count of 3200 (23 chapters as of rn)

Modern Galatea is 2300 words

I'm not very worried about word count as I am about pages per chapter. Keeping to a 5-6 minimum to a near 9-10 page max. Entirely to do with preference.

57. How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?

I am incredibly conscious, I like to think I am anyway. I re-read my stories to make sure they make sense and make sure new stuff tracks. Poor Hoshi has been on a bit of a wild ride in my head. There is plenty of foreshadowing, which is how the other brain child began.

Modern Galatea will have ALOT of foreshadowing. Its symbolism stems from that its a follow up from Metropolis Manga (goofy manga but loads of stuff to follow up) and building up to what will be the base (for what I think, is the set up for the 2001 film).

I would be lying if writing for a prequel and a current story isn't easy, but, its sometimes helpful!