#nah but seriously thank you

[peachyhellaverse]

Your art of the A/V² kicked my brain back into “Able To Draw” mode, so here’s a little Vox as a thx💞✨⚡️

UAGIAGIAGIAGAGUGA I LOVE IT THANK YOU SO MUCH 🥺🥺🥺??? ive never had smthn hh related drawn for me b4 that wasnt a request what do i say how do I react besides sayin ty a billion times

well i CAN say i will now be drawing a/v^2 EVEN MORE NOW. HA. like i wasn't going to already anyways lmao

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A fierce duel commences!

[shevr]

in an unlikely turn of events i have doodled things today most of it goat

[haaam-guuuurl]

Little Women Amy x Laurie Fake Dating Modern AU

Theodore Laurence and Amy March run into each other in France, after years of not speaking.

The not speaking thing wasn’t their fault, though, not really. But Laurie and Amy’s sister Jo, who’d been his best friend, had a big falling out a couple of years before, after he told her he loved her and she told him she didn’t. Consequently, Laurie took upon himself a March embargo, determined to completely forget about Jo and anything that could remind him of her, which included her family.

Which is a shame, since he’d been quite close with the March sisters, and came to regret not keeping in touch with Meg and her husband, his good friend John, and their new babies, as well as not being there as Beth got sick, and no longer seeing Amy, whom he’d started to be real friends with as well.

So, the contrast of denying himself their presence and suddenly being completely surrounded by Amy almost overwhelms Laurie, but as it turns out, he’s nothing but happy upon seeing her, as well as relieved.

Amy March is as bubbly as he remembers, even though she’s older, and accordingly more mature. She’s not as dramatic, he thinks, and seems to be more careful of what she says and how she moves. For a second, he reflects on how the innocence and freedom of childhood is truly gone, if Amy, the youngest among them, is now a grown woman, but mostly he marvels at the adult she’s become.

Amy, for one, is ecstatic at seeing Laurie again – he’d been severely missed in the March household, and while Jo had been annoyingly vague about what had happened between them, they got the gist of it, and gave them the room they needed to process it all.

Amy always thought it was unfair, though. That just because he and Jo had a fight, that no one else could be in contact with him either. Sure, they’d been best friends (which they’d never missed a chance to remind the others of, always going off on their own lone adventures), but Laurie had at least been friends with them, too. But they weren’t allowed to say anything, and Laurie became a ghost, vaguely somewhere across Europe, but as good as dead for Jo March, and so as well for the rest of them.

Finding him in France, though, leaves no room for Amy’s grievances, or her insecurities. They were friends, it’s clear now. They are friends. They can have their own relationship, independent of Jo, and she’s so happy to have her friend back, to have back a piece of home that’d been missing for long.

They become almost lifelines for each other in the foreign country. Laurie has his contacts, and Amy has made friends in the art course she’s taking there, but the two quickly become inseparable, almost as if making up for all the time they lost not talking - she fills him in in all things March; he regales her with tales of his gap year misadventures. And a misplaced piece of the universe rights itself a little bit.

So, when Amy needs an reason to refuse a date with Fred Vaugh – an old acquaintance, here on business, whom yes, she’s admittedly been flirting with for the past few weeks, but whom she can’t, in good conscience, actually go out with, because while he’s perfectly nice and respectable, he doesn’t actually do anything for her romantically, and wouldn’t that be leading him on? – Laurie’s is the first name to pop into her head, and is, she thinks, a perfectly valid excuse. Well, valid, with a few tweaks. Namely, saying that he’s her boyfriend, as opposed to the far truer, yet less usable, boy friend.

When she explains the situation, Laurie finds it weird. Then funny. Then, given the opportunity to act out the role at a party she knows Fred will be at, downright hilarious. Amy would be furious at him for making fun of her situation, if he didn’t manage to, at the same time, make a convincing enough showing that Fred leaves her alone. And, she has to admit, it is pretty funny.

It hadn’t been anything more than that, really. Shortly after, Fred went back to London, and the whole thing was simply a lark between the two friends, notable only because Laurie starts referring to Amy as a heartbreaker.

It only becomes a thing a couple of months later.

Amy has since returned home, her summer course over, and spends the first weeks of Autumn in Massachusetts, prepping for her final school year, looking after Beth as she waits for test results about her remission, babysitting the twins for Meg, and avoiding telling Jo about her summer, since she’s not quite sure how her stance on Laurie has shifted (or not) in the past few years.

This becomes apparent when Laurie calls her, a few weeks into the semester, to cash in.

Apparently, Amy has inspired him, and Laurie is returning to the US as well. Seeing her has made him realize he misses home, and, admittedly, his grandfather has been on him about what is an acceptable amount of time for a gap year. This decision prompted him to reach out to Jo. They talked, for a bit, and mostly everything was fine. Great even, and signs pointed to them being able to return to their friendship after all! Until Laurie had the brilliant idea to tell her he’s dating her sister.

Amy, which she feels he deserves, promptly laughs in his face when he tells her.

He says he’s completely and totally over Jo, he is! (Amy maintains a healthy skepticism about this, but lets him go on) It seems that Jo had been looking forward to seeing him again, but adamant that her feelings hadn’t changed, and hoped he’d finally moved on. He’d made assurance after assurance, but the only way he could think of to truly prove it was to tell her he was seeing someone – which isn’t completely a lie, as he had dated other people in the meantime – only to then pop out Amy’s name when Jo asked about it – which is completely a lie.

Here is where Amy questions his reasoning, since he could have said literally any other name beyond Jo’s baby sister’s, and how could he think she’d take that well, and Jo was going to think she’d kept it from her, Laurie, did he have any idea how furious she will be when she sees her at Christmas??

But Laurie maintains that Amy owes him for Fred Vaughn – which has her rolling her eyes every time he mentions it, because c’mon, that was nothing like this – and that she’d been the first person he’d thought of – which does warm her heart a little – and who else could he rope into a fake relationship who could understand the whole thing with Jo?

“Fake relationship” stops Amy in her tracks.

Apparently, Laurie has a plan. A whole plan.

Amy tries to explain that all her lie had demanded of him was going to cool party. Laurie doesn’t see the relevance. Amy wants to yell at him through the phone.

Laurie will be arriving in Massachusetts shortly before Amy’s winter break, giving him only a while to face Jo on his own (and hopefully mend some bridges), at which point Amy will return home, spend her break cuddling with him by the fire – “Is that really so bad, Ames?” – convincingly enough that Jo sees he has completely moved on. Come the New Year, Amy will return to school, and eventually they’ll break the news of their uncoupling, stating how they’re better as friends, and everything will go back to normal.

It’s so easy!

Sure.

It starts off not easy at all, when the very next call Amy receives is from Jo, demanding to know every single detail of her relationship with Laurie.

For all intents and purposes, Amy is pretty proud of her performance, actually, given how little time she had to prepare. She thinks she manages to sound convincing yet apologetic, explaining how they’d gotten close in Paris and had been keeping it low-key because they weren’t sure where it was going yet, plus the long-distance while Amy went back to the States and Laurie stayed in Europe, not to mention his previously chilly relationship with the rest of the family (a not-intentional, but also not-untrue dig at Jo, there, which Amy isn’t sure she gets or not). She talks about how she totally intended on telling her when they knew it was serious, but Laurie totally blindsided her by telling Jo so soon. The best lies, Amy finds, have a little bit of the truth.

“So it’s serious?” Jo asks, and Amy hesitates for a second. A serious relationship. With Laurie. Faking a serious relationship with Laurie.

Her heart does a weird little twist she isn’t sure comes from lying to her sister, the anticipation of the scale of the performance she’ll have to give when they’re all together, or something else entirely.

“I guess.” she settles on, and promptly puts it out of her mind. There’s no point in spiraling for the intervening weeks, she tells herself, even if she does get progressively more stressed out as the semester ends.

When she does get home, though, it’s all so familiar, her anxiety just vanishes.

She’s missed her family. As close as they’ve always been, it’s always been tough being away from them all for months at a time. As soon as she walks through the door, it’s all hugs and smiles, and she feels nothing but welcomed.

And, admittedly, despite everything else, she’s missed Laurie, too. He’s already there when she arrives, like he’d told her he’d be, and Amy doesn’t even think about it before hugging him tightly when she sees him. It’s been ages since they’ve been together in person, after all, and this after months of spending every day together. No matter what else is going on, she just missed him.

It’s only when Jo chides at them to “break it off, lovebirds” that Amy remembers, and hopes her resulting awkward smile/grimace is seen as embarrassment for being with her “boyfriend” in front of her family, instead of regret over her every decision of the past few months.

Other than that, though, it ends up being not too bad. As much as Amy is loath to admit it, Laurie wasn’t too far off in his plan. They don’t have to act that lovey-dovey, just sit together at gatherings, hold hands once in a while, talk amongst themselves for a bit. It’s actually remarkably similar to how they’d behaved nearly every day in Paris. Amy hadn’t even thought of it as romantic, though, not until now, when the contrast of how they used to be, in their childhoods, is so apparent.

Her family’s reactions aren’t so bad either. Dad makes a joke about Laurie having to watch himself from now on, but since it’s been well established how much he loves him and the Laurences, it’s never meant as nor taken seriously. Marmee attempts to have a talk with her about their relationship, but Amy manages to abort that pretty quickly. Meg looks at them like she wants to say something, but doesn’t ever actually do it. Beth, bless her, just tells her she’s happy for them. And Jo makes a few comments here and there, which almost get to Amy, until she reminds herself that the whole purpose of this thing was for Jo and Laurie to get their friendship back.

And it even seems to be working. Since she’s been home, Amy’s watched Jo and Laurie joke around, argue and play off each other almost exactly like they did when they were kids. She can’t bring herself to talk about it with Laurie, but he hasn’t said anything to indicate otherwise, either, not that it was going poorly between them, nor that it was going in any other direction at all.

She’ll admit she was skeptical, when Laurie explained his plan to her, and that a large part of it was because she wasn’t ever truly sure if Laurie was really over her sister, as he claimed. He’d seemed so in love with her, before. And he’d been so heartbroken, when she’d rejected him. A small part of Amy wondered if he wasn’t just saying all of this for show, and if, once he saw Jo again, his feelings wouldn’t come rushing back. Amy does hope not. Even if she had her doubts, she wants for Laurie to be over Jo, really. She never did think they be very good together, is all. And she doesn’t want them to go through that heartbreak again.

If she watches them closely, just to try and see if there’s anything in Laurie’s eyes beyond friendly affection… Well, she’s just looking out for him, isn’t she? For both of them, really, or even for all of them, because everyone’s been excited to have the March and Laurence families together again, and another big emotional fight is the last thing they need.

And if she’s a little relieved every time Laurie notices her there and comes over, slinging his arm over her shoulders, or giving her a peck on the cheek… Well, that’s not really anyone’s business, is it?

It all goes fine, though. Jo and Laurie are perfectly friendly, not a hint of romantic drama nor icy coolness between them, and everyone’s happy through the holidays, and no one’s seemed suspicious of Amy and Laurie at all.

Amy’s all but forgotten about the plan and her anxieties over it, until it becomes all too real right on top of her.

Literally.

On Christmas morning, after they’ve opened their presents, and once Laurie and his grandfather have joined them for breakfast, Amy’s just greeting him, like she’s done every day, when Beth pipes up.

Amy hadn’t realized. She hadn’t been there when they decorated the house this year, even though their decorations haven’t changed in years.

As it always has been, right in the middle of the archway that separates the kitchen from the dining room, and right on top of where Amy and Laurie are standing, is a sprig of mistletoe.

It’s not even a big deal. Beth is the only one who noticed, and then Jo, who turned to look at them when she said it, but everyone else is busy, no one is really paying attention to them.

Yet, in Amy’s mind, this is maybe the worst thing that could’ve happen.

Mistletoe. Of course there’s mistletoe. How could she not have remembered the mistletoe?

Laurie seems as dumbstruck as she is, but he recovers quickly. They’re supposed to be a couple, after all. Couples aren’t supposed to be completely terrified by the mere notion that they kiss.

Amy only has time to register that it’s happening before it happens. Laurie inches his face closer to hers, and Amy doesn’t move away, doesn’t say anything. She meets him when he reaches her, and they kiss.

Laurie only intended it to be a chaste kiss, anyways. Something tangible enough for the others to not get suspicious, but light enough as to not make things uncomfortable, threading the needle to slip under the guise of them not wanting to kiss in front of their families.

It was supposed to be a chaste kiss.

It’s not that.

It’s something else entirely.

Before he knows it, not only has Laurie stepped closer into Amy’s space, but his hands have come up to her cheeks, and Amy has responded by placing hers on his waist. His eyes are closed, yes, he can’t see the room surrounding them, but all of a sudden he isn’t even aware of it. The only thing he’s aware of is Amy.

It’s so familiar. She’s Amy. He’s known her almost all their lives. They’ve been close for most of that time, have seen each other in all sorts of ways, have touched each other numerous times, they’ve shared friendly kisses and teasing ones, they’ve even kissed under the mistletoe before, a simple kiss on the cheek, when they were very little, after which Amy had blushed furiously, and Jo mercilessly made fun of them for the rest of the day.

But it’s also so new. He’s never been this close to Amy. Has never touched her like this, has never known what her lips tasted like before now. Peach chapstick. It should all be so simple and familiar, and Laurie should just let go and pretend it was nothing, but it isn’t and he can’t.

He has no idea how long they’ve been kissing, when Meg and John’s twins barge into the kitchen, crashing into Amy and Laurie and sending them almost flying apart. Jo “oooh”s at them teasingly, but it’s quickly forgotten about, in the bustle of the twins’ arrival, and the adults trying to get everyone to sit down and have breakfast.

Except that Laurie can’t forget about it. He can’t stop thinking about it, in fact. He can’t even make sense of it. He tries to catch Amy’s eye, to try and see how she’s feeling, but she won’t meet his. Is she being glib? Did it really mean nothing to her at all, just a fake kiss for their fake courtship? Or is she totally weirded out, unable to meet his eye? Could she be just as lost as he is?

The rest of the day passes by quickly, almost in a blur, and before he knows it, goodbyes are being exchanged, everyone headed back home for the night.

Amy’s barely looked at him since the kiss, but he tries one more time to talk to her before they leave.

And though she does look at him, this time, and smiles, gives him a quick hug goodbye, even, she’s gone before he can barely say anything.

She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, then, so Laurie decides to try his best at putting it out of his mind. It was a kiss. So what? A great kiss, yes, but that was that. It was part of a plan. His plan. A plan that went great, even. Him and Jo are friends again, the Marches don’t hate him, and all they have left to do is explain they decided to break it off, in a few weeks. That they tried, but determined they were better of as friends. Him and Amy. Friends. Because that’s what they are.

Except that friends don’t think about each other for as long as Laurie starts finding himself thinking about Amy that week. Friends don’t wonder what it would have been like if they’d kissed any other time in the past couple of days, or if they’d been alone when they had, or wondering about any scenario where Laurie could have kissed Amy again, or for longer. And friends probably take each other’s calls, too. Which Amy hasn’t done since Christmas Day.

While Laurie understands she could perfectly well be busy, which would be a logic assumption from her curt text responses saying just that, Laurie also knows how it feels like to be brushed off, and it quickly becomes obvious she’s just avoiding him.

He wants nothing more than to talk to her, be near her again, something in the back of his mind desperate to be with her. It’s like seeing her in Paris after all those years set something off in him that can’t be satisfied, and it was only made stronger by that goddamn kiss.

But he won’t push her. He hopes she isn’t mad at him for the whole scheme, it is possible it was more taxing than he’d anticipated, after all. She’s probably weirded out by the kiss and needs some space. Okay. Space. He can do that. He won’t push.

He does count down the days until he sees her again, though.

Namely, at the Laurence’s New Year’s party, a week later.

Though Amy hasn’t explicitly stated she’ll come, the Marches have all been attending for years, and while there have been exceptions granted for illness, or work, Laurie sees (hopes for) no reason for Amy not to attend.

He’s already planned out what he wants to say, how he’s sorry for the whole thing, how he understands if she feels put off by him, how he just wants the two of them to be okay, and they never have to mention anything about the whole mess ever again.

Of course, though, as soon as he sees her, walking through the door after her sisters, the first thought that comes into his mind is how he wants to kiss her again.

Instead, he turns right back around and gets a drink.

He spends the next hour telling himself to get it together, that it’s just Amy, and he’s being ridiculous, and only then goes to talk to her.

Amy is reticent about being alone with Laurie, but also knows she’s avoided it for as long as she can, and they really should talk.

It’s not like anything will happen, right? Just because they’re alone, and Amy’s been thinking about the kiss, as well as basically everything that happened over Christmas ever since then, it doesn’t mean anything will happen when she actually talks to Laurie, other than just that. Talking.

Aware she’s trying way too hard to convince herself of this, Amy follows Laurie, becoming determined to push all of her internal doubts and bubbling feelings to the side and just have a talk with her friend. They’ll clear the air, he’ll tell her how the kiss meant nothing and will never happen again, and they’ll be back to normal. Friends. As it should be. And anything Amy might be feeling that’s clearly been brought on by the nostalgia of being home and not having been in a relationship in a while and not at all by this new-found closeness with Laurie and inability to pay attention to anything else when he’s near, it will all just fade away.

When they’re alone, he does apologize for his scheme and how maybe it went too far. He thanks her for going along with it, but that he never meant to make her uncomfortable, and he probably didn’t think it through as he should have, and if she wants, they can just come clean to their families right now.

Something in Amy melts a little. She’s not mad at him, not really. The fake relationship thing was weird, sure, but in the end, she gets it, and if things can be good between all of them in the end, then it was worth it. It was all maybe a bit more than she’d bargained for, but that doesn’t really matter does it? It’ll all just go away.

She also predicts that telling everyone they were lying now will just make things worse and more confusing, so Amy tells him she appreciates it, but there’s no need, they’ll just lay low and stick to the original timeline.

They both leave the room feeling better for having hashed it out, but still a little disappointed. It’s been agreed. They’ll just let the next few weeks go by, and that’ll be that. Back to normal, and no possibility for anything else. Great.

The rest of the party goes well, as light and fun as it can be. And if Amy and Laurie barely leave the other’s side during it, well, to anyone else, they’re supposed to be in a relationship, right? That’s normal. Beyond even that, they’re friends, it’s totally okay! Just like before, Amy squashes any feelings, even part of her is telling herself to enjoy it while it lasts.

Either way, when Mr. Laurence announces to the party that it’s only a couple of minutes till midnight, of course Amy and Laurie find themselves next to each other.

The panic from their first kiss is gone, and a certain inevitability remains over them. Well, of course this would happen. Of course, as a couple they’ll be expected to kiss at the stroke of midnight. When they turn to each other, Amy’s prepared to shrug it off like just something else they’ll have to do – she does not want to be caught off guard again – but finds Laurie already looking at her, a slight smile on his lips, and she can’t help but mirror him.

When the clock strikes midnight, cheers go up around them, but Amy and Laurie are oblivious. This one doesn’t even start as a peck. For all her distancing herself from it, Amy leans into the kiss fully intending to savor it this time. And for all his denial over it, Laurie does the same.

Before long, Amy’s hands are reaching up into Laurie’s hair, and his arms are circling her waist. One kiss turns into two, then three, as they slowly disentangle themselves to get some air.

Amy feels lightheaded, her body against Laurie’s, their foreheads pressed together and her eyes still closed. She can’t push it away this time. She wants to do that again. She wants to kiss Laurie forever, if that’s even possible. She just wants Laurie.

She doesn’t feel able to say anything right now, but Laurie beats her to it.

He says he’s been wanting to do that again since the last time, and Amy can’t help but agree.

She opens her eyes, sees Laurie, looking at her like he’s just had some revelation of his own, and Amy wonders just how long they’ve been headed here without realizing it. Before Christmas? Since Paris? Maybe even before that? Either way, standing here now, it feels inevitable. Her and Laurie, it’s just… It’s fitting. She doesn’t want to let go.

Amy drops the pretense.

“What are we doing, Laurie?” she asks, softly,

“I don’t know” he answers. “Do you want to stop?”

She shakes her head no, and he smiles.

“Can you just…” Amy adds. She needs to make sure. “This isn’t… It’s not the plan, right? It feels, different, at least for me, so just tell me, Laurie, is this still about that? Is it still about Jo, about getting things back to how they were?”

Laurie shakes his head, already interjecting as soon as Amy finishes speaking “No! No, it’s different for me too. It’s not… It’s certainly not about Jo. Amy, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you in days. Actually, probably years. I don’t want things to go back to how they were. Not if they can be better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Amy can’t help but smile brightly. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either. This feels… I don’t know what it is, but… Better, yeah. Better’s good.”

Laurie’s grinning right along with her, and he has, frankly, waited long enough, and dips his head to kiss her again.

When they finally separate, Amy asks “So, you still think we should go tell our families we’ve broken up?”

Laurie laughs, the whole plan he’d concocted feeling like a lifetime ago. “Well, maybe not right now. Or in the next few weeks. Or years. I don’t know, how about we just see where this goes?”

Amy grins. “That sounds good, yes.”

The two kiss one more time, blissfully unaware of the party going on around them, the Marches and Laurences and other guests toasting, and celebrating, and awaiting the New Year unfolding in front of them all.

[unluckywisher]

It's really fun when people like my posts in this sideblog and then they go to my other sideblog and like those too (they don't know that's me too). You think my silly little L&DS posts are nice, huh. Do you have a crush on me. I see you. I see you in my notifs. 👀

[whollyjoly]

Hi Em!! Thank you so much for putting together such an amazing ask game 🩵 I hope you’re doing well. Would you mind answering 1, 4, 17 and 25? Take care 🩵

hello hello my dear!! its been my absolute pleasure seeing everyone spread the good vibes, so im glad people are enjoying this 🥰

im sorry its so late, but here are my answers!

1 - what is your fav part about being in the fandom?

i wrote a super sappy and long answer here, but basically all of YOU is what makes this fandom the most fun to be a part of!

4 - whats a moodboard that you just want to live inside of?

ohhhhhhhh so many?? the moodboard creators in this fandom are fucking TOP TIER and i love all of them so much!! but here's a few that come to mind:

this christmas babe and gene moodboard by @footprintsinthesxnd is so comfy and so cozy and they deserve nice christmases okay!!

speaking of christmas moodboards, @onlyyouexisthere has this incredibly aesthetic board for some of our fav boys around christmas time, and i just want to live inside every single one okay??

this speirs moodboard by the one and only @xxluckystrike is so beautiful? like i love the combo of hard and soft edges (the bandage + the smoke + the chess), since i feel like that dichotomy isnt something thats always shown with speirs, but feels so true with his character. anyways i want to walk through a museum with blood on my knuckles and smoke in my lungs after looking at this okay

and of course, this chuck grant moodboard by the incredible the amazing YOU @sweetxvanixlla was one of the first things i saw and loved in the fandom for grant?? the beach vibes, the light blues, the carefree energy, it all is so perfect. and i was like "holy SHIT this is good also now i too love grant" so i can thank you for that 🥰

bonus from @the-cinnamontography-is-amazing that i cant stop laughing at it

17 - your fav fanwork about an underrated character?

oh i was HOPING to get this because there's this one fic i love SO MUCH and i just!! want to scream about it from the rooftops!!

Come In From The Cold by rebelsquad (T, 24k) is a Smokey-centric Coffee Shop AU, and it just warms my heart in all the best ways. First of all, Smokey is an incredible narrator, and I love how the author captures his voice in this so hard!! I also just love that it centers around some of the more underrated characters (Smokey, Alley, Shifty, Tab, Skinny, and Popeye), but also has great interactions with the regulars as well! The found family vibes are just *chefs kiss*, and it is also the perfect mood for winter ✨ I cannot recommend it enough!!

25 - what colors do your mutuals most remind you of?

i dont even know why this turned out like this? but i went full vibes ✨

@sweetxvanixlla - midnight blue feels so right for you, my dear. starry nights and deep blue velvet cushions, something steady and calm but sparkles in just the right light. a cup of herbal tea on a tuesday night, and the thrum of a quiet city hums beneath your tongue. theres something so quiet and still about the night, that moment when people are talking and you dont have to participate, you just sit and let their words flow over you, enjoy their presence and energy and that feeling is midnight blue.

@xxluckystrike - girl, you are golden. warmth and positivity and laughter that itself is a kind of music, just as much as the songs you love and share and make art for. its the type of gold you feel on a late summer day, echoing up from the passenger seat of a convertible as you drive with your friend across a rolling field of wheat, of corn, of wildflowers. there's soda in the cupholders, and the carbonation matches the bubbles springing from the bottom of your lungs. sunny, summery, golden.

@malarkgirlypop - pink. the snap of a piece of bubble gum, the sugar rush from a strawberry lollipop, the pop of a bright shade of lipstick, quirked up into a smirk. your presence is loud and beautiful like the sound of a boombox atop a vespa, zipping through a busy beachside pier and delighting everyone who hears. pink is the feeling of just being yourself, unashamedly and wildly, and reveling in the wake of your energy.

@panzershrike-pretz - green, but that vibrant green of the sun hitting a park just right, and there's almost a glow, or a halo, across the field. it's the kind of green reserved for grass stains, made after the first spring day that's warm enough to go and spend time outside. it's the color of collapsing in a cackling heap after goofing around with your friends, and they're laughing because you're laughing because they're laughing. what are you laughing about? it doesnt matter, maybe its nothing, maybe its the cow chewing away on the green grass in the distance. no matter, because it is joy.

@footprintsinthesxnd - idk why but lavender is the immediate thing that comes to mind? something calm and soothing and steady, a breath of fresh air, walking through a field with the sun on your neck and the smell of the purple flowers filling the air. a gentle breeze ripples across your fingertips. it's quiet, but not silent, and the lavender doesnt break in the wind - it bends, and the flower seems to brighten in response. your energy is the deep breath that is taken after that moment - content and at ease.

@blood-mocha-latte - so this might not make sense outside my head but...that color a candle flame gives when reflected off a marble statue. something in the liminal space between warmth and cool, between hard and soft, between cold creams and whites and bright oranges and yellows. the ethereal quality of walking through a gallery alone, silent save for the feeling welling up from each piece of art you pass. the tiles echo this soft color, the flickering candle makes the shadows across the paintings dance, and one can't help but want to explore further, to linger with the treasures you've created.

@ronsparky - sky blue, but not the crayola sky blue. the sky blue of an early morning on the top of a mountain, mist obscuring pieces of the horizon and you could convince yourself you are the only human on the planet. a sky blue that rivals on being crisp and soft, that suggests unlimited possibility if you just reached your hand out a little farther. one can't help but feel that every small, new thing from this view is a joy - and its a feeling so wondrous and contagious that you cant help but spread it to those you interact with. the sky shifts, ever so slightly, but the color follows you down the mountain.

@georgieluz - red, but not quite. a bird flitters into view from where you sit on a bench in a forested park. its winter, and the trees feel bare and lonely. surprisingly, the bird isnt a pigeon - it's a vermillion flycatcher. the bird stands out triumphantly against the monochrome sky as if a beacon, or a challenge to some higher power that says i am here. its bold, its singular, and one cant help but admire the sheer presence of this small vermillion creature. but when it opens its beak and sings, the trees dont look so lonely any more.

@next-autopsy - you know that color when a fire burns down, and the embers are glowing with a deep mahogany? the edges of smoke dont obscure the color or heat from the coals, it only seems to make them more ephemeral. its a mesmerizing color, its the feeling where you want so desperately to stretch out your fingers and know what that heartbeat of fire feels like, and although the burn doesnt completely dissuade you, you still pull your hand back. the dancing mahogany glows a little brighter, then dimmer, as if in time with your breathing.

@onlyyouexisthere - the words "pale green" dont quite do justice to the vibes your presence gives off. the softest pale green? cashmere, the color of mint leaves reflecting morning dew? maybe that's the closest, the feeling of looking out over a snow-brushed hill, hands warmed by a mug of silver needle tea, wrapped in a cozy cashmere sweater. something comforting but crisp, familiar but fresh, nostalgic but new. something pale green.

@land-sh - one time, i was on an airplane flying across the arctic. it was the middle of the night, and i looked out the window and slowly, over the course of two hours, watched the sun rise. the sky started as a pitch black, stars breaking up the endless void, and slowly, one color at a time it lightened into a blindingly bright day. but there was a moment, about 37 minutes in, and im pretty sure everyone on the plane was asleep. outside, all i could see was this deep, vast purple. it felt like there could be anything and everything beyond that color, and i was the only in the universe who would ever see it. idk why, but thats the color and vibe that comes to mind when i think of you.

@coco-bean-1218 - see, i thought about chocolate brown for you before i even realized that its just your username. but maybe its more than chocolate, maybe something closer to chestnut. you're that feeling when you walk through an orchard, it's november, and although the sun is shining its the kind of sun that seems to make everything more crisp than warm. as you walk through, there's a small crunch under your shoe - a chestnut. there's a deeply satisfying smell in the air, something woody and comforting, and you just want to get lost in the rows upon rows of chestnut brown dotting the branches and littering ground.

@samwinchesterslostshoe - okay so bear with me on this one - slate gray. the slate gray of a city on a rainy day, clouds and sky and sidewalk almost blending together into one entity. you duck into a coffee shop you never would have noticed if not for the weather. at first, you think the walls are just reflecting the color from the outside, and you feel a lonely pang. but then, you notice it - art, stickers, little notes of love written in sharpie and tucked in the space between tables. they stand out among the walls, and the absence of color makes their presence even brighter. and the coffee? so good. it's the best you've ever had, and you realize the coffee shop is just like the walls - you find beauty you never would have noticed without the slate gray of the sky.

....so i have no idea if any of this makes sense outside of my head, but here we are. if i missed you i am so sorry!!!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

okay okay i am sorry this is so long-winded. i am in fact, a long-winded bitch.

but thank you so much for asking this, and for just being such a wonderful part of our community! i hope your day goes super well!! 💕💕

[miusato]

I dont have a clear idea in my mind but ever since I sketched that dumb AU of Shinjiham in HS i have the feminine urge to make up a HC of them lmao i doubt anybody be reading this but i like talking to myself and reread this the next morning so ima just write this down lol

Like I said I dont have a clear idea but basically Shinji extended his study and ended up in the same year as Kotone (11th grade) because he actually got into a coma. Im playing around the idea that the story revolves around why is he in the same year as she is? Why did he fell into coma and how did he get into coma in the first place? This also means that Kotone didn't meet him until he enrolled into her class. Aki is still her senior and they're friends because idk I havent think of this yet lol but anyway one day Aki asked if she can help him keep an eye on Shinji and told her about him going to enroll in her class soon and he knows Shinji will struggle because he's pretty much an outcast and some people speculates and make rumors about his reasoning for his extension and Aki really cares for him and doesnt want him to fall behind or fail so he asked her a favor to help him out.

Shinji is hard to befriend at first and tell her to buzz off but when she mentioned Aki asked her to keep an eye on him and she won't take no for an answer, he sighed and said how annoying he is for setting him up like that lol At first he is kinda frustrated at how persistent she is on trying to help him and how she gets into everyone's business in class but he's aware of how contagious her presence can be and knows how people around her always be at ease when she's in class so he slowly opened up to her and accepts her kindness.

I dont really want him to be as depressive and suicidal as canon but I can see him having a self-worth issue and having a hard time accepting goodness around him. I kinda imagine at one point Shinji and Aki had a huge fight about him pushing everyone away and screaming at him that he's not as mysterious as he thinks he is and he's too blind by his own pity party to see how people still loves him and it took him a fist on the face and Aki crying to get that through his thick skull.

After the fight, he didn't come to school for a few days which actually worries Kotone because despite how uninterested Shinji always be in class, he never delibrately skip class and oddly enough he always pass his homework on time so she visited his place with his homework packets (and after bribing the office clerk for his address) and when she sees him all bruised up in his face she was like SHINJI WHAT HAPPENED WHY YOURE ALL FUCKED UP WHO DID THIS TO YOU AWAFSJQGRAJALA and he hissed at her to shut up and after she apologised, he admits that Aki punched him and after reassuring her it's technically his fault, he asked if she actually liked him and just as she's about to stammer with red on her cheeks, he quickly corrected himself that what he meant is if she likes being friends with him because he is such an ass to her and opens up about what he fought about with Aki and it's not until he sees tears in Aki's face that he's not the only one hurting and him pushing people away to not hurt them actually hurts other people too. Kotone assured him that if he realized that, its not too late to change and he has friends to help him get back on his feet. When she mentioned "friends", he looked at her and asked "Kotone, are we friends?" And she beamed at him and hook his pinky around her and whispered "Always been." and that's when he really accepts her and sees her as a genuine friend and not some annoying girl in class.

Idk how do I make them ended up dating but I just like the idea of a slow burn relationship so in the meantime they're just friends with budding feelings towards each other hsksksksksk

[notoriousturnip]

You guys really love my silly Harry doodles huh

[mebis-reblogs]

According to quirrel fans, all three dreamers are either on vacation or at the bottom of the blue lake

No other option

[livingincolorsagain]

Hello dear! I'm guessing from some of your recent posts that you're working on a new chapter, and it's being really difficult. I just wanted to remind you to take a break if you need to, make sure you've got water and a snack, and remember not to stress about it too hard. You'll figure this out, and you will write the chapter. I believe in you <3

Oh honey, you’re so sweet. Thank you, this means so much to me :’) 💖💖💖

[honnelander]

I might I a masochist for how much I love your Go Fish series

I- thank you, I think ?

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Hi I'm on a road trip (not currently driving, don't worry), what's up with you?

Ohhh roadtrip!!! Sounds fun!!!

And I'm sat with energy to talk but nothing to talk about, nothing out of the ordinary here. Eating jazzies though which is nice.

How's your trip going so far?

[dunmertwink]

Songbird

Word Count: 4,446 (17-20min read)

Baldur's Gate 3

Summary: (Part I of II) --ACT I SPOILERS-- Basically how I imagined Mizora's arrival at camp after sparing Karlach to have gone. After she leaves, it becomes a re-write of the conversation you can have with Wyll. I wanted to characterize my Tav more as well as show his and Wyll's close relationship (and history).

I don't think I've ever posted my writing here - so y'all are in for a real treat (sarcasm). I'm not the best writer so, if you make it thru this, you are a saint. And thank you!

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, physical, and sexual abuse

The camp was thrust into utter chaos at Mizora's sudden arrival; Gale may have lost his knickers for how high he jumped. There was much shouting and bumping into one another as weapons were drawn (weapons a la pots and pans), and the dog, for the moment, had gone barking mad.

The devil's business was simple: she'd come to collect. Her cheeky, nonchalant grin soured when she looked upon her charge and his living, breathing target, whose head was still attached. Interesting.

"Tsk. Naughty, naughty," Mizora hummed.

Wyll's bronze complexion paled, and his stomach launched into his chest. His uneasy gaze drifted between Mizora and Karlach, the tiefling woman he was contracted to kill. He pursued her into Avernus, the first layer of the Hells, then onto the Mind Flayer vessel that planted this lovely little parasite into his one good eye. This, of course, was under the pretense that she was a devil; Archdevil Zariel's attack dog, not the mortal she turned out to be.

Amidst all the chaos, the entire camp watched in horror as Wyll appeared to exit his body at Mizora's command. He was anguished, grunting and gasping for air. Searing flames and a thick, blackest black abyss engulfed him, and the camp lost sight of him for a moment. The group's clamoring to pull Wyll from this abyss was futile. He returned a moment later, but he was… different.

"There," Mizora said, pleased with herself.

Wyll's head ached as heavy horns sprouted from his forehead. His body changed—angles sharper, and his once deep brown eye glowed a demonic red. There was a soreness about his whole body, and the last remnants of sweltering heat could be felt in his extremities.

The devil was saying something to him, but he couldn't make out her words. His head was buzzing with a mighty headache, new from the weight of his infernal horns. A loud ringing blocked out any hope of a thought. He could make out the shapes of Kestrel, the tiefling bard, Karlach, Shadowheart, the Sharran cleric, and Gale, the awkward, bumbling wizard, all fussing over him, but their words, too, were muffled by this awful din.

Mizora took in the scene. Satisfied, she opened up a portal to her domain. She would not leave, though, without uttering the final remark.

"I do hope you enjoy your new body, Wyll. There is magic that even I can't change," with a chuckle and a snap of her fingers, her demonic wings curled around her, and the blackest black abyss of her portal enveloped her, "Hmph, Ta-ta."

There and gone in an instant, Mizora's departure allowed the camp to finally settle into the quiet rhythm of before.

All had retired to their tents a bit more relaxed; the danger had passed, at least for the moment. Even the dog, Scratch, settled down and, as usual, selected his sleeping arrangements for the night. He chose Lae'zel, the stern, fearsome Githyanki warrior, and followed her to her tent, much to her chagrin.

"Well. That was… something," Gale scratched his head and sighed, visibly dispelling the anxiety of the moment, "Best to get some rest, if such a thing can be achieved. I do hope Wyll is all right. That can't be easy.

"But, I also wish he had mentioned being a warlock—pacted to a devil. Might have been a pertinent detail…"

The group still, of course, had these grotesque little brain worms to contend with: a "gift" from a fanatical, power-obsessed god with ambitions to usurp the known realms.

"If I find this creature's slobber on my greaves, I will skin it," she grumbled.

Everyone knew she loved the dog but stubbornly refused to admit it. This world was new to her after all, and she may have taken a liking to it, much to her dismay.

Unnerved, Kestrel remained by the campfire, his gaze drifted between the flames' graceful ballet and the dirt once blackened by the devil's portal. The ebbing heat warmed his skin, engulfing him like a cozy blanket.

He leaned back, his gaze following the swirling smoke rising into the dark expanse, illuminated by the silver moon. The night sky was awash with stars—thousands of tiny, sparkling, white jewels embroidered into the black velvet firmament. He could hear the soft lapping of the river Chionthar's waves against the rocky shore and its bubbling current surrounding the camp.

Fireflies bumbled about, little candles floating through the air, blissfully unaware of the world around them. Peepers and crickets composed a peaceful symphony in time with the crashing waves of the river.

Wyll—where was he? Kestrel didn't see him return to his tent like the others. Understandable after what had just happened.

He imagined it was agony; having every piece of one's soul violently ripped through each layer of the Hells. And coming back… transformed. He also knew from experience how much horns hurt. At least he'd had the benefit of time. Wyll's just… popped out, fully formed. In an instant. Kestrel found himself idly rubbing the base of his horns, remembering their dull pain as they slowly broke through his skin, growing up. And—gods—the headaches.

Aside from that gruesome transformation - how was he feeling? Lost, maybe. The once proud "Blade of Frontiers," hero of the people, now a devil. A prolific monster-hunter, now a monster himself. Hmph, Astarion was probably giddy from the irony of that. Maybe Wyll saw it, too, and had a chuckle to himself. But still, Kestrel knew it had to, on some level, sting.

There, Kestrel convinced everyone that his wild coughing fit was simply from the choking smoke of the inn's fire—not a panic attack sending saliva down the wrong pipe.

His gaze drifted upwards toward the soft, ghostly glow of the moon. A painful memory pricked the back of his skull—the same memory that had plagued him in Waukeen's Rest earlier that day.

The elven woman they'd rescued from the inferno, Counsellor Florrick of Baldur's Gate, had dusted off her purple gown. The gesture wasn't much use - she was covered head to toe in ash. Nevertheless, she stood tall and informed her saviors that Goblins and Drow had attacked the inn—set fire to everything… and taken the duke, Grand Duke Uldar Ravenguard, Wyll's father.

Kestrel suddenly realized why Wyll seemed so familiar. His heart seized then. With lungs burning, panic overtook him as he began to vividly picture a baby-faced knight in shining armor, storming through golden gates, his wooden practice sword in a sheath meant for an iron one.

No matter how hard he tried to shake it then—in front of this stately official from Baldur's Gate and her contingent of Flaming Fists, the memory persisted. He doubled over, coughing wildly between desperate gasps for air.

He chuckled about it; what a fool he must have looked like. After that display, he had doubts that the counselor had put much faith in him. But even now, as he sat idly by the fire's warmth, in the night's stillness, his breath hitched.

~

"Ah, young master Ravenguard, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

That voice. It tore at the recesses of Kestrel's mind like a gnoll from its host. Ripping. Visceral. Gnawing.

A fourteen-year-old boy stood tall in the grand foyer of the manor, stoic and determined, his warm brown face still plump from baby fat.

The symbol of the Flaming Fists was emblazoned on his leather jerkin. His small, iron pauldrons glistened in the fire-light of the manor hall. He clutched at the hilt of a sword concealed by its sheath. The sword was wooden—but maybe the boy hoped no one would call his bluff.

"I wish to speak to the Lady Zamura," his voice cracked, still in the throes of puberty.

"Would you? Well, far be it from me to refuse the son of the Grand Duke," the voice slithered and snaked its way through Kestrel's memory.

At the top of the angled stairs stood a shaking, tiefling girl of seventeen years. She wore a royal-blue brocade gown with intricate gold embroidery dotted with pearls. A large sapphire of the deepest blue was the centerpiece of a golden circlet upon her forehead. Her curly, raven-black hair was neatly tied by golden cuffs into two long braids over either shoulder, reaching her waist. There was a faint, purple handprint across her blue-gray cheek.

The man turned from young Wyll Ravenguard and beckoned the girl to his side. Like a herded sheep, she obeyed. He towered over the girl—a hulking mass of fine silk and furs. His thick, pale pink hand adorned with a sharp onyx ring clutched her shoulder like a monster's claw around its prey. She did not make eye contact with either of the two humans.

"My sweet, the son of the Duke is here to see you," the man's grip on her shoulder tightened.

Her gaze slowly rose to meet the boy's. A shaky, feigned smile began to cross her meek countenance.

"Hello," she uttered, her voice barely audible.

The boy bowed curtly to the girl and spoke in a dignified manner, "Hello, Lady Zamura." He cleared his throat and continued,

Every fiber of the girl's being urged her to run to the boy, jump into his arms, and escape from this gilded, marble-encrusted hell. Every ounce of her body wanted nothing more than to scream, "Help me!"

"A few townsfolk came to my father on your behalf—earlier this evening, you were seen in the lower city.

"They said that you must have run away… trying to escape this place.

"That my father's Flaming Fists were contracted to bring you back here.

"I need to know that you are here of your own volition."

The man's grip on her shoulder tightened immensely. Fear smothered her heart and silenced her inner screams.

"Well, my love, tell him how happy you are here," there was so much venom in his tone that Kestrel was sure Wyll heard it then.

But this fourteen-year-old boy with a wooden sword could do nothing to save this girl. He knew it; his defeated posture said as much. The vile, festering pustule of a man holding her hostage knew it. Even she knew it.

A lump grew in her throat, threatening to break her demure facade. She swallowed it as best she could, feeling the man's grip constrict evermore. It hurt.

"I'm very happy here. I'm to be married soon."

~

Those words felt like a cold blade in Kestrel's heart, even ten years later. The one thing that horrid nightmare revealed to him now—is that Wyll was good. He was always good; with him, he carried a heart of gold. He didn't deserve to feel like a monster—he could never be one.

He chose to spare Karlach's life at great cost to his own, a woman he never met and was under contract to kill. Likewise, all those years ago, he decided to march into that manor and confront a great beast for a girl he'd likely only heard stories of.

Kestrel's guilt panged in his chest. After Wyll's transformation, he accosted him, hollering about how he hypocritically waxed poetic about steering clear of the devil Raphael, yet there he was, pacted to Mizora. The brave, baby-faced fourteen-year-old Wyll rushed back into Kestrel's memory. He had to find Wyll, if anything, to apologize.

Wyll sat in the rocky sand; his knees pulled up to his chest. He sullenly watched the small waves lap at the shore beneath his bare feet. The water was icy-cold against his skin—a relief from the searing, skin-melting heat he'd felt during his harrowing experience not moments ago.

His mind wandered to dark places. What's the use in doing the right thing, if it means being punished? Who was he kidding, he would never change his ways. Couldn't. Somehow, though, he knew those ways would be his end.

"There you are," a chocolatey voice pulled Wyll back from his sea of bleak thoughts.

The bard definitely put on airs. Hells, he even gave Astarion a run for his money. Beneath all the layers of bullshit, though, his heart was kind. Wyll hadn't known him long, but that much was plain to see—no matter how hard the bastard tried to hide it.

He looked out for this rag-tag group of misfits. Helped the grieving bard Alfira finish her song. His camaraderie with the tiefling children was impressive. Saved one of them from harpies and another from a venomous snake.

He even gave of himself to keep the vampire fed. Sure, there may have been a less noble motive behind this one (surely, those two didn't believe that the camp was unaware of their late-night trysts in the woods). Nonetheless, Kestrel Everdusk was a good friend to have.

They'd gotten into a spat when Mizora arrived—Wyll could remember that much over the ringing. It was faint now, and he could finally think. Wyll couldn't blame the bard; he'd put everyone in danger by keeping such a secret as Mizora. He wondered what the others thought of his devilish appearance now—wondered what Kestrel thought of him.

"Wyll, I'm sorry I was short with you earlier. I—"

"No. You were right."

"Hm?"

"Wyll, ugh. Look, we all have our secrets. I can understand why the Blade of Frontiers would want to keep the true font of his power under lock and key."

"I should have told you about it—it was reckless of me not to. There's too much on the line."

He sighed, "Mizora is a fickle creature, even as devils go. I put you all in danger."

There was a brief pause between them—both mesmerized by the soft waves cast by the river's current.

"Pah. The Blade of Frontiers. Look at him now. Hideous. A horned devil—a gods-damned monster," Wyll stared down into his rippling reflection below.

His demonic red eye glowed faintly on the water's surface, his prominent horns protruding from his forehead, then curling up and back over his neatly-rowed locs.

Kestrel smiled cheekily, "Am I a monster?"

Wyll recoiled, stammering, "Shit, n—no! I uh…"

That made Wyll smile. Maybe even like a fool. There was a quiet warmth around them now despite the cold water.

A gentle giggle escaped Kestrel's plump lips, "Easy, Tiger, I'm teasing. I'd say you're quite the handsome devil.

"People will see what they want to.

"You can save all the cats from trees and help all the old ladies cross the street that you want, and they'll still see a devil.

"You are the only one who truly knows your heart. You know that you are no monster. I know. We all do. Those that love you will see you.

"You're still the Blade of Frontiers. And whatever else you want to be."

Wyll looked down at their reflections. Kestrel's red-tipped horns gracefully curved back from his forehead in an elegant twisting pattern. His eyes glowed white as the moon with a bright, red ring around his sharp, feline-esque pupils. He was downright pretty if Wyll was honest. He felt his cheeks grow hot, flushing red. He thanked the gods for the darkness. Now, Kestrel seemed so very familiar—yet he couldn't place why.

"Was your pact what drove a wedge between you and your father?" Kestrel asked, recalling the conversation at Waukeen's Rest regarding Wyll and his father's estrangement.

"Ah, it certainly didn't help, but a rift had been growing there for a while."

"Oh?"

Wyll chuckled, his gaze falling from the water into his lap, "Aye, I'd say the first time I saw him differently was when I was fourteen."

Kestrel's expression sank. A pang of fear struck him, and he tried to fight the rising tide of panic. Fourteen? I knew you then, if you remember.

Wyll continued, "You see, there was this girl—"

Gods.

"A bard, like you. Tiefling, too. I never heard her play, but I'm told she was a legend. One of those—ah, what's the word—prodigies. They called her The Siren of the Wide."

Shit.

"Some noble took a liking to her and snatched her off the streets one day. Folks from the lower city came to petition my father for her rescue."

Kestrel tried to steady his breathing, but the memory trickled back as Wyll spoke.

"My father refused—that noble's family, the Vels, was in too many pockets. Highly influential in the upper city. Political suicide if he crossed them.

"So, I took it upon myself."

He laughed, "I brought my wooden practice sword. Hid it in an iron sheath. Can you imagine?"

Kestrel let out a nervous chuckle. Wyll continued with his tale.

Kestrel froze—a flash of an intricate illusion he set in his favorite hiding spot played in his mind. A disturbing scene of himself hanging with a blank, deathly stare and his head cocked to one side. The illusion was deep - it even had a touch component that would rely on the finder's memory of how his body felt. It took quite a bit of concentration. A shudder ran through his body, and nausea churned in his stomach.

"The bastard had a troll's grip on her shoulder. Made her say that she was fine. I knew she wasn't.

"A ten-day or so later, all of Baldur's Gate found out that she'd died. Suicide. The night before that sham of a wedding.

"I was so angry with my father—we could have saved her—"

Wyll must have noticed, "Ah, are you alright?"

"Oh, the water's cold, is all," Kestrel deflected again as he had at Waukeen's Rest. No. Nore more. Wyll deserves the truth.

He shifted nervously, pulling his feet from the water and his knees up to his chest.

"There's something I should tell you," he spoke slowly, each word becoming shakier than the last, "I… struggle to talk about it but—"

"You don't have to—"

"No, I need to. But, erm, I can't—"

Wyll didn't think he'd ever see the bard fumble over his words. But here he was, struggling to string together a sentence. Unsure. He watched as the tiefling squinted his eyes shut and exhaled deeply, grounding himself.

"I'm not good at talking about this, so, erm, if you don't mind, I'd—" the tiefling fidgeted, "I'd like to tell you a story."

To Wyll, that last bit sounded more like a question than a statement. He laughed, jokingly scandalized: a bard who's lost his eloquence? Absurd.

"I'd love a story," he smiled cooly.

Kestrel let out another shaky breath before he spoke. His shoulders sank as he collected his legs in an embrace, resting his chin over his knees. He turned to face Wyll, letting an arm dangle to draw shapes in the sand beside him.

"Bear with me here—it may be a bit… juvenile. I'm, erm, not in my right mind."

"Of course."

He cleared his throat and began slowly:

There once was a bird who sat in her mother's nest, Feathers plain and dull like rags on her breast. She longed for plumes of beautiful color— "Those you shall never have," said her tawny mother.

A sorrowful song she sang, and a crowd did gather. "But, little bird, you're so lovely; what's the matter? Your bosom is full, and your song is true, Nay, there isn't a man who does not covet you."

T'was not love that the bird lamented in her art; But a plumage to mirror that within her heart. Handsome, billowing feathers of all hues, Maybe the deep reds of roses, or perhaps ocean blues.

The crowd did not understand but loved her song, did they, For the crowd grew like wildflowers on that day. So big was the gathering around the little bird That her father flew in, astonished at what he'd heard.

"We are not songbirds!" He snarled, all fire and rage, "For songbirds are scandalous, impure, and depraved! You would be proper, and I'll see it true!" Off her father did fly, all feathers of brightest blue.

Wyll heard Kestrel's voice waver, and his words came slower. It was clear to Wyll that he was stringing this story together on the fly, impressive for not being in his right mind.

The tiefling paused for a moment before steeling himself to continue. Though shaky, he found his momentum and a certainty ran through his words:

Lament did the sorrowful little bird once more. Larger a crowd, she beckoned than ever before. "A siren song," said they, all cheers and fanfare— But wretched was her heart, so full of despair.

Her father returned, on a man's shoulder he perched. "No longer will I see our hard-won esteem besmirched. A lady you will be—proper and demure. This man will see to that—of this, I am sure."

The man smiled with the teeth of a lion Dressed in fine silks, gold jewelry, and diamonds. From under his velvet cape, he did lift A shining, gilded cage—"A Gift!"

The man clipped the little bird's tawny brown wings. He placed her head in a bridle so she could not sing. He tried to break her bones and her spirit, too. Nay, there wasn't a thing the wildflower crowd could do.

With broken bones but an iron-clad spirit, she cried "No more will I be forced to live in this lie!" From the gilded cage, she set herself free. But her wings were broken, and she could not flee.

Again and again, she escaped her cage, But the lion-man grabbed the little bird in a rage. "Retreat from me, you will not, foolish bird. For I am your master, and you will heed my word."

Kestrel paused, memories of the man's grotesque rage resurfacing. "You are to be my wife—and you will do as I say!" the man shouted and spat, hot with a fiery rage over Kestrel's refusal to pleasure him. Those vile words echoed in his mind. The man struck him that night. So deep was the gash across his lip from the man's onyx ring that it left an indented scar.

The man had Kestrel's arm in a vice grip, one that left a nasty bruise behind. He took what he wanted that night, anyway. The tiefling tried to push back the memory of the pain and fear resurfacing.

Shutting his eyes tight, his breath quickened - the panic ever rising in his chest. He felt a warm hand gently brush his shoulder and flinched —it was only Wyll, who drew back his hand apologetically.

"Gah. I'm sorry—" Kestrel gasped. He dug his hand deeper into the sand, feeling each rocky granule rake against his skin.

"Breathe. Take your time. I quite like your story," Wyll beamed a comforting smile.

Kestrel nodded and took a moment to regain himself. He wanted to tell this story more than anything. He exhaled deeply and continued,

Her spirit now broken, the little bird despaired No more pain could she suffer; no more evil could she bear. The flame of the hearth by her cage serenely burned. For the sun-yellow fire to engulf her, she yearned.

Snapped were her bones, and clipped were her wings, An end to her strife, true peace this blaze could bring. Out from her cage, one last time, steadfast did she leap. "No more can the lion-man hurt me," with joy she did weep.

The blaze overtook her, her tawny wings brightest red Sun-yellow was her belly; fiery crimson was her head. The fire consumed her and thus was the little bird's end. But joyously, her last moments in color she did spend.

No more did she suffer, no more did she cry. So serene in silent death did she lie. She wished only to live a life in vivid color, To live as her true self and not as a caged other.

From the little bird's ashes, the fire yet burned, From these flames, a vivid new life was earned. A songbird of steel-blue, copper, and white, Strong of spirit and unbroken wings took flight.

Over fields of wildflowers, the songbird did fly, He flew over deep seas and hills that kissed the sky. His song was beautiful—his call, proud and sincere. His powerful song was sung loud for all to hear.

He sang of a little tawny bird who suffered much; Her father's betrayal and the lion-man's clutch. "I sing for the little bird, for a songbird was she. I sing for the little bird, for the little bird is me."

The only sounds that remained as Kestrel finished his tale were the soft, lapping waves of the Chionthar and the peepers among the cattails. He felt that a weight had been lifted off of him. That somehow, his tormentor's grip on his mind loosened ever so slightly. His idle gaze returned to Wyll, who seemed far away. Oh no.

Wyll's mind wandered. The river's gentle waters still lapped at his feet, which now felt bitterly cold. He stared blankly into the rippling tide. Kestrel is the Siren of the Wide—the damsel he wished so badly he could have saved ten years ago! The damsel that he, and all of Baldur's Gate, had thought dead. The reason, at least in part, for the sowing of his and his father's difficulties.

But how could this be? There was a body—a massive, city-wide funeral. The Vel family was disgraced; they lost everything and were run out of the city as pariahs—the Siren's murderers. Good riddance. But... how? It's impossible!

"You're… her," Wyll breathed in astonishment, "But—how? They found your body—there was a funeral—all of Baldur's Gate mourned!"

Kestrel shifted where he sat, taken aback, "Really?"

A funeral? People... mourned him? He figured the Vel family would simply toss the duplicity into the Chionthar. Then... who found him, if not the Fists?

A snapping sound cut through Kestrel's thoughts. He followed the sound to Wyll, snapping his fingers, trying to get his attention.

"Kestrel! How did you do it?"

"An illusion," Kestrel hummed, eyes distant, "I altered the 'Invoke Duplicity' spell."

He spoke plainly; it was clear his mind was elsewhere—lost in the night of his brilliant escape from Baldur's Gate.

END PART I

[anotherferalrat]

So we all remember Getou's muscle memory or whatever still exists despite Kenjaku being in control right? Yea, how could we forget? My bad :')

And when Getou dies in JJK 0, his outfit is torn, bloodied, and likely changed for something else when he was buried so it's not reasonable for him to have the same outfit post-Kenjaku-ification right...?

So do you think Kenjaku was tryna get a bad bitch outfit for their takeover but Getou would physically tear off everything until they settled on a gojo-kesa?

[asktotallyhuman]

Maybe you should go ask the Illager why she is the way she is... Or ask her Villager friends why she is different...

"Perhaps they can shed some light on this predicament."

[gregmarriage]

there's no one like you around

batshit crazy lesbians?