#but i changed it so now she goes on the journey with him which naturally makes the story recenter from 'just pupet'

[squeakadeeks]

dont talk to Singer or her son ever again

#my art #oc art #i made several changes to stitch in the ditch and i like the story so much better now #originally singer made pupet to fix the tear in reality and she sent him off into the world on his own immediately #while she just stayed behind in her house to be a stock model 2D 'nice old lady' #but i changed it so now she goes on the journey with him which naturally makes the story recenter from 'just pupet' #to 'wild parent/child relationship' which is already more fun to write and much more interesting than just some guy on his own #AND since singer is now main character number two i had to develop her a lot more and shes no longer a generic grandma but much more flawed #old ladies can have a god complex and complicated feelings of resentment towards things they love. as a treat.

[soupthatistohot]

BSD 109 Spoilers!!!

I will always always ALWAYS come back to this panel when talking about Asagiri’s storytelling.

At its very core, BSD is an absurdist text, Kafka Asagiri having been inspired by many absurdist authors. Franz Kafka, who he took his pseudonym from is one of them. Albert Camus, basically the most well-known absurdist is referenced with the Mersault prison, the name of which comes from a character in his most famous absurdist work, The Stranger. 

Absurdism is the belief that the world around us is irrational and inherently absurd and that explicitly seeking meaning is pointless. In his essay The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus explains, that there is value in the act of rebellion, though. Sisyphus, who has been doomed to roll a boulder up a mountain only for the boulder to tumble back down each time he reaches the peak, finds meaning in the act of continuing to push the boulder. Even though he will continue this cycle for all of eternity, he doesn’t just lay down and give up, he rebels against the absurdity of his situation by continuing to push the boulder, despite the seemingly futile nature of the act. 

As I said earlier, BSD is an absurdist text. All of the animanga’s main characters are on a journey of discovering their meaning in life, and their place in the world, and they do this by rebelling against its absurdity — especially Dazai. 

Dazai sees the absurd world for what it is, and when he was in the PM, he hated it. Thus, he sought suicide as a solution. I will note here that absurdists generally view suicide as a failure to rebel against the absurd, just giving up and giving into hopelessness. But ever since Dazai left the PM and took Oda’s advice, he’s been rebelling against this, doing good despite his inherent beliefs about morality and the world, and he’s absolutely gotten better for it. 

Other characters embody this idea of rebelling against the absurd, hell, that’s kinda what this whole arc is about. The world is literally ending, and things seem to be at their absolute worst, but someone like Atsushi still has hope that he can change the minds of the hunting dogs and save reality as we know it. He even has hope that he can get through to a vampiric Akutagawa when the guy is literally brainwashed and attacking him. Aya as the “last hope” right now embodies this, too, deciding that she can’t just sit around and do nothing and then trying to remove the sword from Bram even though the effort appears futile. 

But everything is going wrong right now. Fukuzawa is bleeding out, Dazai has just been shot through the forehead and appears to have died, Atsushi’s had his limbs ripped off and is at Akutagawa’s mercy, and Fukuchi is literally going to end the world! How can we have hope?!

Think about BSD. Think about the story that’s been told so far. Surely Asagiri isn’t killing everyone right now, surely the world isn’t gonna actually end. I’m not entirely convinced Aya’s plan is gonna work— but please consider that the point of absurdist storytelling is that even when everything seems to be at its worst, even when life seems completely meaningless, there is inherent meaning in still continuing to fight against this. 

BSD has never been a story where the villains win, and I don’t think it’s gonna start being one. I think, as usual, Asagiri wants to scare us, to make us feel hopeless about the situation, only for someone to pull through and completely turn the tides.

Dazai laying down and accepting his death at Chuuya’s hands is not going to be the end of his story, because it goes against everything Asagiri seems to stand for. Dazai wouldn’t just give up in his fight against Fyodor, because he needs to prove he’s right about what he says in this panel:

"The ones who actually make the world turn are those who scream within the storm of uncertainty and run with flowing blood."

I think this reflects Asagiri's own beliefs and is also the reason why he is not going to let Dazai die like this, because in a way, that would be proving that Fyodor is right. From a storytelling perspective, it’d be saying “everything I’ve communicated up to this point actually means nothing and life is truly hopeless!” 

Dazai has cheated death before, as has basically everyone else in danger right now. I promise you, something is going to happen and they’re all going to survive, because BSD is not trauma porn, for lack of a better term. It’s a story about how a group of people fight against the absurdity of their reality, even when everything seems completely and utterly hopeless. 

There’s a lot of theories circulating about how things could work out, especially Dazai’s “death,” and I’m not here to repeat all of them, but I will say that a lot of them have credence, especially because Asagiri isn’t the type of author to make mistakes, every single detail has a distinct reason. 

So even though I don't know how things are going to work out, I have full faith that they will, including Dazai's current situation. None of these characters are done just yet, they've got too much fight left in them to just give up.

[original twt thread]

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd 109 #bsd spoilers #bsd manga spoilers #bsd meta #kafka asagiri #asagiri kafka #soup rants #being a hashtag camus girlie has its merits!!! #bsd absurdism analysis

[ebonyslasher]

Hello! Hru? I love ur blog soo muchh♡ may I request human! Reader (from Kagome's world) who's really strong? Like the reader surprised the Inuyasha men (inuyasha, naraku and sesshomaru:> if you're not comfortable with these you can always change!) When a demon tried to attack her & the men tried to save reader but stop when they see her beating the demon up with bare hands or with a weapon she found brutally💀😭 And they just stood there dumbfounded like how tf🧍‍♂️? And when they ask how is she so strong, reader just shrugs and goes like "martial arts?"

Thank you and feel free to use any pronounces! I just wanna read sumn for once that doesn't have weak reader pls I'm so tired 💀💀

Hey anon! Sorry this is so late. I do agree with you on the last part. I'm tired of the weak reader all the time too. People gotta switch it up you know?

Strong ass Human!Reader in the Feudal Era with Inuyasha, Sesshomaru, and Naraku:

Inuyasha:

Reveling in the heroism of saving a nearby village, the group started their journey elsewhere. Trekking through the forest, your rag-tag group ran into a boisterous pig yokai. Who, unfortunately, became smitten with your looks.

"I will have you as my bride. And we can make all the hanyou I want!"

Ew. The initial response was to ignore the pig. There've been many demons who would bother the group. And, after the fight you all came from, you just wanted to make camp. Inuyasha grumbled a quick, "Piss off," as the group passes by.

But, it seemed that the Pig was serious about his stupid claim. He bares his teeth and shoots forward at you, grabbing your legs. World tipping over, your head thumps against a patch of lush grass. How lucky. However, you felt a strong pull on your leg, dragging your body away from your friends.

Hell fuck no! In the midst of the dragging, your bag was in the perfect position to grab easily. With how quickly things happened, Inuyasha jumpstarts to save you. You grab the bulky hammer in your bag, hiding it from view.

The pig yokai guffaws and throws you over his shoulder. "When I see someone worthy of being a bride, it's my right to claim-OOUGH"

One hit to the dome scratched some skin off and left his brain to rattle. "WHAT THE-." The next swing made contact with his cheek, sending sanguine liquid onto the ground. The pig stood there shocked, with blood leaking from his mouth.

He gets angry and charges at you, again. This time, he wouldn't get you. Grounding yourself, you kick him back, which sends him flying back a few feet. Taking charge, you jump and start to gruesomely work on his head with the hammer.

"What da HELL!!! Y/N!!!" Inuyasha yells. He's totally flabbergasted. His eyes and mouth are so wide, it's comical. There's the desire to step in and protect you, but it's so impressed how strong and ferocious those swings were. Inuyasha didn't want to interrupt. It was kind of hot.

Although, Inuyasha is a little peeved that you didn't let him know how strong you were. The way you sent him back with that kick was unexpected. He starts cheering you on.

"Way to go Y/N!" He's standing there smiling with his hands on his hips. Once the beast was knocked out (or dead, who cares). You turn back to head to the group.

"Y/n that was so cool! When the hell did you get so strong?"

"Uhhhh....fighting with my cousins growing up?" You shrugged. "I just want to go lay down, can we hurry up and make camp somewhere?"

Now, he's wondering what type of humans your cousins are.

2. Sesshomaru

This is one of the worst fears you had. Spiders. In your time, you could easily avoid an encounter with one of these wretched creatures. Modern houses and bug repellents helped tremendously. Not going out into nature and definitely NOT living in Australia did too. Since you've traveled back to the feudal era and were forced to interact with nature, your luck has been tested. And it just ran out today.

A fucking spider demon appeared. It was grotesque, smelly, and an abomination. And it was big too. It wanted to attempt to best Lord Sesshomaru in battle. Sesshomaru, of course, refuses. So, the dumb thing tries to shoot webs at you. Thankfully you dodged.

The hate for spiders took over your body. The fear you had compounded on top of that, making you scarier than the demon. It tries to stick its hairy and pointy leg through you, but you were quicker. With desperate and angered bare hands, you tore off its leg.

The spider yokai shouts in pain. Taking advantage of it's pause, you quickly tear off each limb. One by one.

Sesshomaru, in all his glory, stands there and says nothing. Does nothing. It really doesn't look like he's reacting but he is. The Demon Lord is extremely surprised that he's tense. His eyes are wide. Only thing that's slack is his hands.

The dagger in your side pouch begs to be utilized. It's appeased by you yanking it out and stabbing the yokai in one of it's many eyes. The screams, the power, and the needed imagery of you decimating this spider was iconic.

To Sesshomaru, it was obvious you were untrained. The ferocity of your actions cover it well. He's impressed and takes mental note to start training you. Maybe, have you be a little more graceful with your movements.

"This one had no indication of the strength you hold." Sesshomaru states.

".......I just really fucking hate spiders." you sardonically reply.

"...Hn. Noted. This one concurs with your sentiment."

Silently, he is pleased with this discovery. A small smile graces his face after you turn away

3. Naraku

Narakus' lower demons were soooo annoying. Their existence was one that irritated you. Irritating when they sucked dick to Naraku and when they tried to be condescending towards you. Just because you were human. The audacity sent you over the edge.

The edge it sent you over was one close by. One of those things became unruly in your presence. Acting as it was better than you, the ugliness of it all. The decision to put it back in its place was swift and malicious. An example to others who felt the same.

Precise, your hand shoots out to grab the lowly yokai. Chucking it, the demon bashes against a nearby rock. It's body twitches on the ground, confused on what just occurred. Slowly, you walk over. With no urgency or care. It felt like you were Michael Myers in that moment. Once you made it over, you stare before stomping it. One more. And again. Again. Again. AGAIN. AGAIN. Until there was a crater in the dirt it crumpled in.

Naraku, some distance away, observed the scene with shocked eyes, his mouth slightly open. "This human...!"

He is pissed that you hid this information from him. And how did he miss this? He frequently spied on you, sent his wasps when he couldn't make a puppet! But now that he knows....you can be of use for him. You're a bit too....alluring to be considered a lackey, but he needed to have control over you somehow. A sly grin graces his face upon observing the aftermath. The squished gruel of guts and blood staining the ground and your shoes.

He approaches, with a questioning stare. "Y/n...pray tell, how did you aquire this power?"

"Oh, my parents had me do martial arts since I was a kid. Plus, I was angry."

All Naraku can think is how nice it was of your parents to prepare you for him and his deeds.

#black reader #inuyasha #sesshoumaru #naraku #inuyasha x reader #sesshoumaru x reader #naraku x reader

[arioloyal]

Yayy you're taking requests now!! If I may, can you write one where Baldwin's health improves and every woman wants to try their luck with him. But he remains loyal to the one who was with him all the time.

I love it that the fandom is growing have more talented writers so thanks in advance 💕💕

Hi!. Thank you for your words♡. To be honest, the fandom activity has decreased recently, so I decided to start writing by myself. Although it doesn't get enough notice, I will try my best. I hope you like it💖

(King baldwin iv x reader oneshot)

Warning: mention of d×eath and blood, leprosy

[Persia empire- 1181]

...About 3 months had passed since my father's death and the time did not help. Millions of thoughts passed through my head every day. Did he die because of the heavy burden of my sins? Is this God's punishment?

This morning at sunrise I kissed my mother's hand and set off. I always heard from pilgrims who had returned that Jerusalem is the best place to ask for forgiveness.

I jumped on my black horse and galloped forward. My mother's tired face flashed in my mind like lightning for a moment and then went off. I knew she was worried about me, but honestly, I didn't saw any reason for her to worry. As far as I know, we should worry about those who are moving away from God and love, not those who are always moving quickly towards love and destiny.

I didn't know what was waiting for me in Jerusalem. But I was ready to embrace any destiny the holy land had for me. Even with all the difficulties and sorrows.

...the night before leaving home, I opened the windows of my room all the way. The smell of darkness filled the room. I sat under the flickering light of the candles while looking at a large mirror. I braided my hair, cleaning my skin and put the red robe and turban by my bed.

When I was done, I checked my face. It had become more tender and beautiful. I had nothing left from the past. Just for now, I was ready forever.

I went to my mother's room and asked her to pray for me. When she saw my new face, she said: "I see that your journey has changed you, even though it hasn't started yet.

I said: "Love is a journey. The traveler of this journey, whether she wants it or not, will change from head to toe. There is no one who goes this way and doesn't change."

My mother smiled faintly and called me. Then she gave me a wooden box. Inside the box were three things: a mirror with a silver frame, an embroidered silk handkerchief, and a crystal little glass.

:"These will help you on your journey. Whenever you need, use these. If you ever feel ugly and lose your self-confidence, this mirror will show you the beauty inside you. whenever You feel that have no credibility and you are alone, this silk handkerchief reminds you that the most important thing is the purity of heart and soul and that medicine inside the glass, which is very rare, can heal any wounds."

After I caressed these three things. I thanked my mother, kissed her hand and walked towards destiny...

[Jerusalem- 1183]

About two years have passed since I arrived in the Holy Land. I didn't even imagine that I would be able to stay here for so long, and that was thanks to the royal court, who let me in as an advisor and mentor. I would be lying if I said that all of them liked me. Lord Lusignan and his followers looked at me as a witch who has bewitched and trapped the king.

I talked day and night with the leper king, that wandering ghost of the palace who has not sat at the dinner table with his knights for years. He always challenged me mentally, which of course was not easy, but his peaceful nature was always behind his beautiful calming voice, which made me more fascinated by him day by day.

But I only came here to seek forgiveness from God, not anything else...

Fate took me to another place that I did not even imagine. I gave him all the contents of the box. Those three valuable things. I used that ointment in the glass for his wounds. That box was destined to have another owner.

it worked...

After weeks, the purulent wounds and infections dried up. i think he was feeling better

:"Gather all your strength. God will make better things for you," I said as I bandaged his arms.

:"God, doesn't know me." His eyes never stopped staring at me and even penetrated to my bones.

- : "Yes, but I do."...

The news of the King's recovery spread across borders and seas and reached Damascus, Syria, France and England. Almost every day, the nobles and their daughters came from far away to congratulate the king and presented him with all kinds of gifts. But they were surprisingly rejected by Baldwin iv.

:"... Right now, all these gifts should be sold to the merchants, only that small fund will remain. From the cost of selling these, grains should be prepared for the people."

Tiberias asked with a surprised expression: "Is there any problem, my lord?"

:"No...by the way, where is lady y/n?"

....

Tiberias's face closed like an iron door. The question that he was afraid of was finally asked...

:"Tiberias?!

- :"Lady y/n ...honestly.. she's not here anymore. She's gone." Words tumbled out of his mouth like incoherent puzzles.

:"What do you mean she's gone?"

Baldwin's breathing became heavier and his voice more frightening. After staring at the box for a few moments, he broke the silence again.

:"Take the letter that I'm writing to her and bring y/n back to me anyway. If necessary, search this land from stone to stone. Bring her to me. I'm begging you..."

...I had reached Damascus and decided to stay in the caravanserai temporarily tonight. I shouldn't have forgotten my goal and stayed in a place where I don't belong. But I am nervous at the thought of Baldwin's concern, but I don't think that there is any need for my presence, while those beautiful and noble girls are hanging around him.

:" Please don't forget your turn y/n!"

- :" Oh, I'm sorry. Yes..." I looked at the chess board. I used to play chess there with one of my old friends. The more I looked, the more I saw that I had no choice but to get closer to Checkmate. With a bold move, I moved my queen forward.

It was at that moment that I felt a shadow above me. I recognized him.

:"it's Nice to see you again, Tiberias.

I said without looking up from the chess board. He wasn't a man who wanted to talk indirectly or make excuses, but I honestly didn't expect him to find me so soon.

:"Please come back. He makes so many excuses. He asked me to look for you everywhere. I couldn't lie to him that you were gone forever and I couldn't find you. But anyway...

He asked me to give you this letter."

I glanced at the scroll that Tiberias had pulled out from under his black cloak and handed to me. I accepted it and started reading:

"...the beauty of Jerusalem, my ruler, my padishah, my sultana, my y/n.

I wish now that instead of the smell of blood and dirt, I could smell your beautiful hair to revive this half-dead body. You are the light of my dark nights. I desperately ask you to come back to me for the last time.

I inevitably marched to the border of Kerak to prevent a w*ar. I am alone and the fear of losing Jerusalem does not leave me, but the fear of losing you is much worse than that. I still hope that you will come back and heal the wounds of my heart and soul like before."

("Baldwin iv of Jerusalem")

#king baldwin iv #baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven 2005 #kingdom of heaven #fandom #the leper king #art #artists on tumblr #movies #fanfic #fan fiction #imagine #pov #warm #x reader #fantasy #female reader

[lai-mar]

Re: Winged Lion fulfilling Laios' desires + "Marcille will no longer have to be alone"

Throughout the lion's persuasion, Laios has been acting reluctant / defensive / angry / embarrassed. He tells the lion that his desires of having monsters attack a village was a foolish childhood fantasy. Concerning Falin, the lion tells him he's being a hypocrite because he's wishing for a peaceful world and they can't revive Falin without magic, then the lion says they'll move onto more cheerful topics and digs into Laios' "true" subconscious desire to become a monster (reflected in the succubus chapter).

Laios is clearly uncomfortable but the lion continues digging in. The lion mentions Laios' own desires of becoming a monster, loving monsters, desires that define Laios as a person, and almost glosses over his will to revive Falin? Because we all know he loves his sister and wants to save her. It's a noble and sympathetic act. But turning in a monster and potentially terrorizing or at least scaring people? Just because he wants to? To make up for his lack of social tact and his seeming distaste for humankind? That's not noble. So naturally Laios clings onto his goal of saving Falin (evident in the scene when the lion curses him and Laios immediately thinks of Falin), and just as naturally, the lion wants to uncover that and make him confront his "true" desire.

Laios loves his friends and his party, but I think the lion isn't granting them full livelihoods out of pure selflessness on Laios' behalf. Because his party, despite everything, accepts him. They cook with him, they journey with him to save Falin, they trust him, they support him. In the dungeon, Laios' monster knowledge is respected and valued by his friends. Right before the confrontation with the lion, Laios gives each of his party members something to do, in particular telling Izutsumi to kill him. This is probably because of her skills and the fact that he's known Izutsumi the least (and they're less close compared to, let's say, Izutsumi and Marcille). But regardless of how long he's known them, he trusts them. He feels comfortable and confident around them. He feels supported. He knows his friends will do what he told them to do. And in a world in which Laios struggles to navigate due to his social skills, his companions are very precious to him. The party is aware of Laios' shortcomings but they follow and love him anyway. Keeping them unharmed is a noble act, but also selfish, because Laios likes being accepted and cared for.

Keeping the party safe is a vague concept, but then the lion goes for the kill— Marcille's lifespan.

And you can see Laios' expression instantly changes. There's a whole panel of his face. Previously, he's been uncomfortable and defensive. Even when the lion points out his "embarrassing" and "selfish" desire to be a monster, he's not as affected as he is. Now, he's shaken. He twitches. He knows something inside him just wavered. And the lion pounces on it.

Regarding why Laios wants Marcille to not be lonely, I have some thoughts:

Sympathy

Laios is the one who saw Marcille's nightmare and knows acutely what she fears. She lost Falin and was traumatised because of it. The whole party got killed and she was also traumatised. And Laios probably thinks it's his duty as a friend, party leader, and someone who saw into her nightmare to protect her and make her happy. Falin might never come back and maybe Marcille's already lost a loved one, and Laios doesn't want that to happen again even though it inevitably will.

2. Marcille's time as a dungeon lord

Laios' argument against lord Marcille is that she can't force everyone to eat from the same menu and not everyone wants to live that long. This might be a translation issue, but the lion doesn't say it's going to extend everyone's lifespans. No, it focuses on Marcille herself and says "Marcille will no longer have to be alone". Not "everyone will live as long as Marcille" or "Marcille will live as long as everyone else". It's not about ages, it's how Marcille feels. Which is something Laios obviously cares about.

Lord Marcille was unable to fulfill her desires. What if Laios does it for her, in a kind of "two in one" demon deal? Logistically, in order for the party to keep Marcille company, they'll have to live as long as she does (note the 999 years), or as the lion says, make up a fake version of themselves to keep her company. It might not be real, and with a bit of thinking, this dream crumbles, but the lion deviously targets the emotions and it overshadows rational thought. What if it's impossible to keep Marcille company for as long as she lives? Maybe the lion will magically make it work. Just maybe. And Laios holds onto this shred of hope.

3. Solidarity of being alone

Marcille, Laios, and Falin all experienced loneliness / feeling outcasted growing up. During the nightmare sequence, Laios says Marcille is different from him because her dream takes place in a library to show how hardworking she is. But ultimately, they are people who don't like being alone. Marcille warms up to eating monsters and accepts Laios for who he is. Laios rescues Marcille from the nightmare and the lion. They are each other's comfort zones and they keep each other company.

Laios doesn't want to be alone, hence the lion offering to save his friends. And he doesn't want Marcille to be alone, because he cares for her, and she's just like him in that regard.

Mentioning Marcille's feelings is what tips Laios over the edge. He isn't embarrassed or angry, he's frozen to the ground, shaken and persuaded. Arguably, saving Marcille is also a "noble" goal in the way saving Falin is a noble goal, but I think L+M has developed so far that saving her will feel like saving him because they both just want someone to keep them company (especially with the context of having lost Falin, who keeps them company and loves them for who they are).

Before all of this, Laios trusts Marcille with his precious gourmet guide. It's his hint that he's turned into his ideal monster, but the fact that he's given the embodiment of his dreams and desires to her shows how much he trusts her and feels comfortable around her. And it's Marcille who passes the guide around their friends as they all realise the monster is Laios. Even as a monster, Laios is recognised, his friends cheer for him, they want to save him.

I don't think I've seen anyone talk about this before, but later, Marcille tries using her summoned serpent / monster to eat monster Laios. (Like how she used it to eat her friends when she was a lord.) And Marcille's monster actually swallows Laios. But then Laios claws open its stomach and breaks free. Consumption is a form of love and salvation. I liked seeing their different monsters: Marcille's being a sleek serpent with flower motifs, kind of resembling her sky fish familiar that she used to rescue Senshi and Laios' almost chaotic chimera full of bits and pieces he picked up and carefully selected (including the scylla head he picked from the succubus). Marcille tries to save Laios by using her monster to eat him. They all save Falin by eating her monster parts. Even though initially Marcille was the one most picky about eating monsters, in the end she summons her own familiars and monsters and engages in her own way of creation / consumption.

And after all of this, it's Marcille who finds human Laios first. She doesn't berate him or anything, just treats him normally, tells him everyone is waiting for him. Because they accept each other and keep each other company. That's one of their core desires. Their character arcs intertwine and in the end they live together. Neither of them will have to be alone.

<3

#laios touden #marcille donato #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #mine #meta #hope this is coherent #laimar #<- not a shippy analysis but i want to fill up the tag with something that could be relevant and not ship bashy at least lol #long post

[jellyvibes710]

Little Baby Blue AU (Character + position)

I gave up on the character sheet so I'll just give you all what I got and tell you who's gonna be all in the comic and their positions

The first chapter of this au will mainly be focused on Donnie and his journey of saving his brother Leo, in the first part(s) he'll be with leo and his brother's as he tries to help him recover, sitting in the medbay and being the only two awake they share some words, tips, worries all of that stuff.

Once Donnie notices that Leo's conditions are just getting worse he pushes his family out so he can focus on saving him, then just a few hours later Leo falls into a coma then his first flatline happens.

After the first flatline Dee changes his course of action, we'll follow Dee and his struggles to convince draxum to let him use his last remaining clone products and his struggles to receiving a device he needs to collect, safely confine, and transfer Leo's soul from big mama It takes multiple nights of no sleep, no eating, and constantly working to finally bring his brother back, although not quite the way he wants, It was his only chance he had though thus little baby blue is born.

Although being in an undamaged body is great, the events leo went through were still very traumatic. The second chapter will be focused on leo recovering from his traumatic experiences and finding ways to work with what he's got. Once being brought back he heavily relys on his twin senses and discovers that despite hearing Dee's thoughts, he can't hear Leo's. So he finds a way through communicating with chirps and body language. Dee also relys on their twin senses and thanks to this their twin sense basically gets an upgrade from constantly being used, they can sense when the other is hungry, sad, happy, the basics, but they can also sense when the other is in danger, when they use their ninpo, they can even feel the others presents

Example: dee can sense when leo is safe and when he's in need of saving, leo can sense if dee can save him or if he needs to portal or land safely.

There is going to be a lot of disaster twin comfort in chapter two haha

Admittedly, Donnie becomes very, VERY protective of leo for the first few parts of second chapter. Even going as far to hiss at April when she tries to pick Leo up to which she responds "Oh, you did not just hiss at me." At first he only trusts his brother's and splinter to handle leo because they know just as well as he does that leo is not only smaller but now much more vulnerable. He does warm up though and goes back to his normal, not super protective self.

If leo feels unsafe or threatened he chirps as loud as he can and in a matter a moments his brother's will be on the scene, especially Donnie, who if he sees leo is safe, you'll be safe

But in his defense he sacrificed so much just to have leo back and he is just scared if anything goes wrong he won't be able to get him back and will lose his twin forever.

If you can't find leo in any of the panels, check everyone's neck/shoulders. It's his favorite spot to perch and relax because the heartbeat and steady breathing from his brother's calms his frantic mind and helps him relax, in the previous picture when donnie comes to the rescue the first place he goes is to his neck, not only to calm down but to also let donnie know that he feels and is safe.

Despite being the biggest and spikiest turtle, raph is the most gentle with leo, if you can't find leo on anyone's neck or shoulders check raphs hands, leo feels secure in raphs hands and if raph needs to add extra protection he cups his hands over leo and is sure to leave his fingers cracked so he's not left in the dark but is safely secured

Whenever his brother's will pick Leo up they'll naturally set leo in his favorite spot because they'll get a bit of comfort feeling him curled up there or holding onto them, so not only is it comfortable for leo it's comfortable for his brother's too, donnie will never admit that though.

I am very excited to share this with everyone (I had to remake this because I accidentally deleted it so I'm sorry if some parts seemed rushed ^-^')

Leo (Little baby blue, figuring out his challenges and finding ways to pull through them while being there for his brother's)

Donnie (has to make a deal with draxum and big mama, saves his brother, never stops working till Leo is back, sacrifices his tech for leos sake)

Mikey+Raph (are there for leo through his battles and have each other's backs while overcoming their own battles)

April (the older sister, knows when to put her turtles brothers in their place when they act out, sass God, has a huge crush on Cassandra)

Splinter (is there for his sons, allows hugs at any time, will drop his life for his boys safety, helps treats mikeys and raphs injuries after donnie kicks them all out, always brings food to Dee's door and is happy the few times dee does eat)

Cassandra (is the backbone when fighting kraang zombies, confidence that helps boost everyone else's confidence, doesn't know when to quit, has a huge crush on April, will break things because April is being too cute, is Jr's adopted mom and proudly holds that title)

Casey Jr (has the knowledge of kraang weakness and strengths, handles himself very well, always feels like he's being watched, is Cassandra's son, helps gets supplies)

Hypno + Warren (are the babysitters of leo, helped the turtles after the events of the movie, have cut back on crime since helping almost end the world, still have a tendency to blow things up sometimes, may or may not be dating, no one really knows)

Draxum (helps supply donnie with the tools and knowledge needed for cloning ones brother, helps donnie through the failed subjects, helps him through his journey and always suggesting ideas for dee)

Big mama (makes the trade for donnies tech, tries to cross dee, learns why you never try to cross him on his final straw)

Kraang

Thank you guys so much for your patience!! The next update will be Part one of the actual comic!! I even got my own tablet so I don't have to wait till I see my sister, yes the comic series itself will be colored and outlined, sketches are faster for stuff like this though. Anyways I'd like to tag @ilivelikeimtrying @skylabrea @wandering-ghost (I hope I didn't mix any of you guys up if I did I'm sorry haha) you all seemed super excited to read this series and that makes me over the wall happy! You have no idea ahhh! I swear I won't let you guys down :D

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MORE LITTLE BABY BLUE

Here

Here

Over there

And here

Oops and here?

#save rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #unpause rottmnt #rise movie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt angst #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt cassandra jones #rottmnt casey jr #rottmnt splinter #rottmnt april #little baby blue au

[lowkeyed1]

great interview, definitely some info i haven't seen anywhere else... ----- ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: I don't think you could end the show without losing someone, but how did you decide it would be Graydon as opposed to Airk, Boorman, or anyone else who's life was in imminent danger?

JONATHAN KASDAN: There was some conversation about that. But we all felt that there was something beautifully tragic about Graydon, and as a character, he is our Dark Prince. We always called him the Dark Prince in our construction of the show. One of the questions we always had and hoped to keep alive to some extent throughout the season was, "Is he good or is he evil?" As the show progressed, he's pretty definitively good. His devotion to Elora was so pure, and the way he played those scenes was so lovely and tender. It felt like the thing that would most impel Elora into this final stage of her development was the loss of this completely devoted person. As is often the case with these decisions, and they're sometimes unpopular, sometimes you want the most devastating possible thing. And for her, he felt like that.

Now that Airk has come back to himself, is there any chance he and Elora would reconnect? Or is her heart fully with Graydon at this point?

She's not with either of them, frankly, at the moment. She's intent on taking a little break from the dating world entirely, and we'll see how she does with that. But conversely, Airk is not at all over her. In fact, she's only more attractive to him now that she's empress of the world and the most powerful sorcerer ever and has come into her power so fully. But I definitely think the bloom is off the rose for Elora.

If Elora hadn't changed her mind during that wedding ceremony, how bad would that have been for everyone else?

It would've been bad. One of the things that the movie set up that is a helpful bit of storytelling is this idea that this baby, they couldn't just like chuck her out the window and kill her, and that would be the end of it. There was something about her spirit that needed to be either extinguished or transported or moved in some way that made killing her not a good option, which is convenient as a storytelling device for the movie. They've got to get her back to the castle. She's going to be okay a little longer. But it's really helpful for us here in the series that there's something more at stake than simply, "Will she live or die?" There's something about her that is spirit. It's in line with George Lucas' philosophical, quasi-religious stuff about the Force. There's a great speech in Empire Strikes Back that I was just thinking about last night — that I'm sure my father wrote — which is that we're more than just this crude matter. We're celestial beings. There's something of Elora that is pure light, and it would've been really bad if he'd been able to suck that light out of her mouth.

Boorman gives his own reasoning for it, but why is Kit finally able to use the armor?

Kit's journey is about embracing responsibility. It's a very personal idea to me because I myself struggle with this very question of, "How much responsibility do I want to have? And family and who do I take responsibility for?" She's running away from that responsibility all season. In the end of the season, she finds herself moved by Elora and devoted to her, and above all the other characters, she is the one most equipped to protect her, spiritually and emotionally. Metaphorically, Elora represents the natural spirit of the world, and Kit represents our human role in that. She goes from being very selfish to very generous. It's that journey that makes her worthy of the armor.

We do see Willow and Elora defeat the Crone, but I take it, if you have your druthers that their fight is far from over?

Absolutely. It was always designed to be a three-act story. These things have to have a finite end to them. Because as a fan of these stories, I don't want to think that creators are just continuing it as long as they can to make a buck. It's nice in this day and age where there's an appetite from these streaming services for stories that do continue but aren't endless. This was very much designed and intended that this would be the first part of the story about Elora coming into her power, and then she would have to contend with darker forces beyond that.

They do end this with the charred remnants of Willow's staff and Elora's wand broken. How much is that going to be an obstacle to them? Will they need to repair those things?

You really hit on something with the staff question, and it's been something we've talked about a lot in the writer's room. It was a very intentional decision for Willow to sacrifice the conduit for his power to save Airk. We wanted him to give something up that was meaningful. It felt like a fun way to enter potentially future stories where he doesn't have that way of expressing the magic in himself and to have that be a challenge that he has to overcome.

Early in the show, we see Willow say a prophecy claims Elora Danan has to die. We saw her make it through this time, but should we still be worried about that?

Absolutely. The Crone is the Wyrm's agent. She's this talent agent, she goes out, she makes the deals, she tries to recruit the people. She's the producer, but she's not the talent herself. The Wyrm is the thing. And that dark force that presses against the light is still very much out there in the world to be contended with.

When we get to those final moments of the season, Graydon seems to be waking up on this battlefield that we've seen in Willow's nightmares. Is that accurate?

It's so accurate that the moment we finished shooting Warwick standing up in that battlefield, we were like, "Okay, get Warrick out of there, throw Tony in." We were racing the clock to do it. And Tony was in position not 10 seconds after Warwick had vacated it.

The final battle really reminded me visually of the Harry Potter wand duels. How much of a visual reference point was that for you?

Huge. There's the promise of a lot of things in that final scene. But the big one for me is that in a character like Elora, much like Luke Skywalker or Harry Potter, there is the potential for incredible good and incredible darkness. We wanted to complicate the meaning of that a little bit over the course of the season and not have such hard and fast concepts of good and evil. Particularly Star Wars has a very clear bad guys-good guys thing, and we've made it much more in our series about desires versus ideals and the conflict between those two forces within ourselves. Certainly, that conflict is alive in Elora. The temptation of what the Wyrm represents is powerful. Ellie communicates it in this almost ecstatic way that she plays out the battle with the Crone. It's terrifying and hard, but it's also clearly getting her off a little bit (laughs). We really wanted to play on that and unequivocally with that final scene, stay with the fact that the potential for something really bad is in her too. Something really rather destructive is in her too.

Should we interpret that final version of Elora that Graydon sees as her potential alternate path?

Yes. And as the clear statement of intention by the bad guy.

You said before you'd like to have Val Kilmer appear in a second season.

There's nothing I would like more. The world is unpredictable, but certainly the runway has been laid for him, and we'd love it.

But you did have Christian Slater as a guest star. Is there another 1980s heartthrob you'd love to have on the show?

I'm a huge Billy Zane fan. If I could find a way to use that man in Willow, I would be very pleased. He's under-appreciated, under-loved and brilliant. I'm not the only one who feels this way. He's done some great stuff lately. So I'm hopeful that he's someone we could use someday.

Hulu and Disney+ are a package deal, and with Reservation Dogs, there are now two Elora Danans in the Disney family. Is there some crossover potential there?

(Laughs) No, but we invited them all to the premiere. They weren't able to make it, but we are still fighting for an opportunity to have a coffee between our two Elora Danans. They need to sit and do a photo shoot together or something. It's too perfect. That show is unbelievably great. I would love to have Devery Jacobs guest star on the show. That would be a really fun idea.

Is there any news you could share on a potential season 2?

Only that I'm sitting in my office and continuing to plan and scheme. It's a strange time in the business. It's a transformative time for Disney. So, I couldn't tell you anything that felt certain, except that we're continuing to work on this with every intention of doing more.

Can you tease where you envision it going from here?

The events of the finale have to be dealt with in a meaningful way at the top of wherever the story goes and the implications of the trauma those events caused to our characters and where it lands each of them. I'd love to get these characters out of that desert. Beyond that, they're all looking at very clear conflicts that were deeply positioned in season 1. Specifically, with Jade, the question of her loyalties and where her politics are going to land her is at the forefront in our minds in terms of where that character can go and, and how she's torn between love and country a little bit. There's no shortage of directions that we'd love to explore, but at its core, it is about this conflict between this otherworldly entity and our heroes. And that's far from over.

#willow 2022

[thedomesticanthropologist]

Does anyone else over analyze the companions not just by their romance, but by what a life with them would really look like?

Not in context of the game, but just putting yourself in the fantasy of what a life with them would be.

Karlach for example, during the love test. If you say something like "ah she would love window shopping in the city" she gags. Shes a barbarian. She loves what she does. If you were her partner, even after the events of BG3 this woman would not be the settle down and go domestic type, nor should she be. (For the sake of this, I'm ignoring Avernus and Epiolgues it's just a fun character thing, so like assume her engine isn't a problem otherwise the only option is to fight in hell anyway)

But GALE! this man is already planning the wedding, he is housewife coded, he is cooking and cleaning and dreaming of dates with you out in the city. Surely he is also up for adventure, he says in Act 3 he has a taste for it now, and I think he'd honestly "make a home" out of *being with you* whether that is on the road cooking at camp or in his tower at Waterdeep. He's flexible.

Astarion (spawn) wants HIS freedom. Anyone who chooses Asty as a partner has to be willing to let him take the lead, and I firmly believe this. He's free for the first time, and now he's also free from all but the vampirism. It's hinted that pursuing a cure is likely his next step if Tav is with him, or that he'd follow on Tav's next adventure, (and like karlach im setting that hiccup aside for more personality based life choices instead of insurmountable hiccups) but I can see him eventually wanting to make choices like staying in fancy places, being in the upper cities, indulging. Insisting on stopping at the good taverns before going on adventures where "THIS TIME JUST FOR US, TAV. NOT SAVING THE WORLD FOR A GODS DAMN MINUTE" that's the vibe I get anyway

Wyll wants you by his side as Duke, so that could look like you settling into a life of nobility. Dances and functions, politics, schedules, meetings, large house. However he also could follow Karlach to Avernus, and he's always up for saving the world, so I feel like you guys COULD ditch at any moment to go do a Thing

Laezel... I don't know. I can't see her staying on Faerun. I think you'd have to follow her on her journey this time, and not the other way around. I haven't done her romance yet

Haven't done shadowhearts yet so I'll need ya'll to fill me in on your thoughts there too!

Halsin: nature. He can't do cities. If you are with him, visits to the city would be short together or you guys would spend time apart and then meet up later. He would be super chill with that. In fact, I feel like he'd support anything you choose to do and anywhere you choose to go and he'd just be thrilled to see you when you came back. He would not, however, change who or what he is to make himself fit into a life that doesn't suit him. He is too old for that stuff, he's got healthy boundaries, he knows what he likes and he's not ashamed to persue it. He is also polyamorous and if his heart stirs for another as it stirs for you which may or may not happen Tav would have to be prepared to recognize that polyamory goes both ways, but also he's a great communicator and would talk to you about it first and get your consent.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 companions #bg3 romance #halsin #astarion #gale #wyll #karlach

[kaiso-woo]

Sunshine to the Moon

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> Masterlist　

PART 4 of my ‘Stay Series’ - a long hypothesised journey of a relationship between Bang Chan and Reader.

WC: 4.2k | Synopsis: Slice of Life, another night after closing shop. Your Café has gotten busier thanks to that Skz-Code Episode filmed there finally being released. Tonight however, Chris is here to brighten the night. This is the first time you both admit to loving each other by the way - but it’s cute I promise.

Notes: FLUFF, Angst (if you squint, and I mean really squint), Second Person Narration, Skz Fluent in English, Swearing, Idol!Chan, Barista!Chan, CaféOwner!Reader, Fem!Reader, Cringe Cringe-Cheesy-Corny-Slight Suggestiveness-Insufferable Flirt (Thanks Chris), Shirtless!Chan (IT’S BED TIME), Swearing, Pet Names Used (Jagiya, Jagi, Baby, Sweetie, Love), Kisses (Duh)

Here for a reading marathon? Head right back to the start!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Overall ‘Stay Series’ Synopsis: Bang Chan experiences the suic!des of Stays, so when you lot choose to die, he dies right along with you. Reader is the “antidote” to this condition - NOT MENTIONED IN THIS PARTICULAR FIC

PART 4

!!Casual reminder this is entirely fictitious - Chris/Christopher in my work does not represent the actual Bang Chan - this is purely my imagination and nothing more - this goes for all other SKZ-Members too!!

—

It’s been another tiring day. Perhaps even more chaotic than ever before. Chris had given you warning, but JYPE had only just released the Skz Code Episode that they filmed ages ago here. Chris had argued to have it released at a later date, to protect your privacy and give you more time to live normally before things suddenly changed.

He was right of course, with Stay’s being the detectives they are, and Stray Kids being the famous idols they are, your Café was soon discovered, and before long you had a stream of customers flowing in and out practically around the clock. They’d take photos where the members sat, ask if they left messages around the place, ask you so many questions about them that you didn’t feel you had the right to answer.

Even with Ashley by your side, doing her best to help keep the business afloat on a daily basis things were strained. You’ve just recently set up an application process for new employees because dear lord, you needed them. Ashley even suggested adjusting your usual policy, which you were hesitant to do at first, but eventually caved at the exhaustion evident in your poor, younger friend and employee. 

Customers were no longer allowed to stay overnight, and you closed at 11pm rather than 1am now. It was perhaps your least favourite thing to do – going around to wake up sleeping customers when it was time to close shop. Chris was right, Ashley is bright… and awfully considerate. She even considered that it’d be beneficial for your relationship with Chris, closing shop early, so you can spend more time together when he’s here.

Naturally, Chris can no longer help you at the coffee machine, even if he wears a full disguise, Stay’s would recognise him immediately. Whenever he visits, he can’t do much except lounge around in your upstairs apartment. It pains you to have to lock him up, but both of you know you can’t risk a scandal. Previously, Ashley would be able to hold the fort, allowing you and Chris to escape out on a little date, but not now… now you’re too busy to leave Ash by herself. You really really need new employees. Preferably people who aren’t Stay’s… so you can explain your relationship with Chris and not have them leak any information. 

This… this is too much.

–

You sigh and rest your forehead on the cold glass of the window. You’re meant to be pulling down the shutters, having finally kicked James out of your Café. As per usual, he was asking too many questions, wondering why you’re suddenly so busy. He asked you out again the other day, and you finally snapped. You told him, straight and clear, that you were taken. In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best idea, because he now spends a lot of his time asking you who you’re dating; of course, you can’t tell him.

A pitiful groan rumbles through your throat, and you try to quell the hurricane of thoughts swirling incessantly in your mind. The chill of the glass is a small reprieve, but it still hurts to think.

“Jagiya… baby, are you okay?” someone calls out to you. Your heart leaps into your throat at the endearment, and you muster the energy to spin yourself around, eyes lazily falling onto the man standing at the bottom of the staircase, his face distorted in concern.

“Another boring day for you, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, Chris,” you murmur, dragging yourself towards him with your head drooping. He meets you halfway, immediately pulling you into a tight embrace and placing an affectionate kiss on the top of your head, “Sweetie it’s okay. I’m perfectly happy to work on our songs all day.”

You sigh into his shirt and twist the fabric in your hands desperately, your heart aching, “You might be but I’m not…” you pull away so you can see his face and pout sadly, “You’re meant to be here on break, not working away.”

His soft smile causes your heart to melt, the ache only intensifying after he pecks your nose with a delicate kiss, “Jagi. You’re working, so why can’t I?”

You frown at him and lightly thump your forehead into his chest several times, frustrated, “We both shouldn’t be working.” His hand drifts up to knot itself in your hair, stopping your actions, “Shhh shh, don’t be like that baby.” You grumble and pull away from him properly, but not before he swoops in to kiss your cheek. 

“It isn’t so bad… once you finish closing up we can hang out, yeah?” his eyes are sparkling mischievously, and you sigh in resignation, knowing that he’s right. You turn to finish closing the shutters, and Chris continues to talk, “Besides, I’m the one who should be apologising…” The shutter hits the ground with a little click, “Why?”

“If I hadn’t asked to film that episode here your business would never have gotten this busy,” he frowns, absently fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie. You swivel on your heel and stalk up to him, “Don’t-” you lightly pinch his arm, “-you say that. Ever.”

Chris smiles shyly down at you, his gaze sorrowful, guilty. You shake your head at him, grab his wrist and tug him along up the stairs, “Come on, you go wash up and I’ll whip up a late dinner, if you haven’t eaten already.” 

Chris pushes ahead of you suddenly, opening your apartment door with an elegant twist of the door handle, “There’s no need baby, dinner’s in the fridge. I’ll heat your share up for you.”  You blink at him in confusion, but he merely grins back at you. “You… cooked me dinner?”

Chris snatches at your waist and pulls you in for a swift kiss, stunning you, “Anything to make your life easier.”

–

After half an hour of arguing with Chris about why he shouldn’t have cooked dinner for you (in which you only shut up after he physically shoved food into your mouth), you’re now sitting comfortably in your bed, blankets pulled over your knees, as your eyes skim the page of the book you’re reading. Chris insisted you wash up first, so you’re currently waiting for him to finish up in the bathroom.

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday isn’t it?” He asks, emerging from the bathroom in only his boxers. Your eyes briefly flicker from your book to the defined lines of his abs, before you return to nonchalantly reading, “Yeah. Café’s closed tomorrow.” “You can look longer you know,” Chris grins, his arms crossed over his chest. “Shut up,” you grumble back, turning to the next page of your book.

Chris giggles happily and crawls into the bed next to you, his arms immediately taking residence around your waist despite you sitting upright. “Mmh you smell good,” he mumbles, and you spare him a glance. His nose is buried in your shirt, his hair askew over his eyes. Carefully, you brush the curls away, and he snuggles even closer, “I just showered.” 

Chris’ voice comes out muffled, “Okay and? I just showered and I don’t smell as good as you.”  This elicits a small chuckle from you, “Maybe you should start using my products then.” He inhales obnoxiously and then sighs in content, “I think I will.”

“Chris, I’ll be back, I've got to turn the lights off,” you murmur, massaging his scalp briefly. He only tightens his hold on you, a little whine escaping, “No. You stay.” “Baby let me go please.” “No.” “You literally left them on.”  Chris sighs and rolls away from you, his displeasure evident on his face, “Fineeee.”

You roll your eyes at him and pad over to the bathroom, hyper aware of your boyfriend watching your every movement. He sits up as you amble over to turn off the light for the bedroom, your thumb holding the current page in the book you’re reading. Finally, in the darkness, you fumble around for the lamp beside your bed so you can continue reading for a little longer. Its warm glow reveals Chris still watching you, a half-smile, half-smirk plastered on his face.

As you crawl back into bed and try to get comfortable, Chris chuckles and leans his head back onto the headboard, “You might as well call me that lamp,” he begins, eyes boring into the ceiling as though something fascinating was up there.

“Why…?” you pause, preparing yourself for the inevitable joke you’re about to hear. Chris grins evilly, and tilts his head towards you lazily, “Because you turn me on.” You hiss and make to whack him on the head with your book, but his reflexes kick in and he swiftly grabs your wrist.

“Oh I knew you were going to do that,” he laughs, leaning over so he can kiss a trail of warmth down your trapped arm. Your eyes are wide as he grins sinfully up at you, his tongue poking his cheek playfully. “Go to bed you little shit,” you gripe, yanking your wrist away from him and turning the lamp off in a rash decision. 

At least he can’t see the crimson blush on your face now.

“Awh… you don’t want to read anymore?” he mocks, his arms finding home around your waist again, pulling you in close so he’s spooning you, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “Nope. We’re sleeping now,” you demand, linking one of your hands with one of his that’s on your stomach.

The pair of you settle into silence, your mind drifting off into haze at the steady sound of Chris’ breathing, the rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back. You’ve been absently tracing his knuckles, trying to memorise the specific rise and fall of each, and the spacing between them. After a while, you stop, not because you want to, but because your mind has fallen deep into that state of fuzziness between almost falling asleep and being barely conscious.

“Is it possible to get… water hungry?” Chris murmurs, dragging you out of your semi-slumber. “Hmm?” you croak, as Chris adoringly rubs his nose on the back of your neck, making you shiver. You can feel him grin at your reaction, and you’re half tempted to shove him away from you so you can sleep in peace.

“Water hungry. Is that a thing?” he repeats, and the question properly registers in your brain.  You frown and shimmy yourself around, so your noses are now touching. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you squint to try and see his eyes in the darkness, “Do you mean thirsty?” 

A small smile cracks onto your face when Chris inhales sharply and stops breathing. After a loud silence, he makes a noise of embarrassment, and you giggle lightly. “I think I’m tired,” he whispers, trying to inch himself even closer to you. “Then go to sleep,” you scoff, closing your eyes again. “Can’t,” he bites back. “Why not?”

“You’re not hugging me,” Chris’ leg shifts to tangle itself in between yours, and after another little giggle, you wrap your arms around his waist, resuming your soothing rubs on his back this time. “Your hands are cold,” he complains against your lips.

“Then put on a damn shirt.”  “Awh but you like it when I’m not wearing one.” Stomach swooping, you blow sharply on his face in feigned annoyance, causing him to draw back slightly with a laugh. “Go to fucking sleep,” you say once more, because clearly he didn’t understand you the first time.

–

Later on in the night, the bathroom summons you, and with a quiet grumble, you roll yourself out of bed. Thankfully, Chris has drifted over to his side of the bed in his sleep and doesn’t have himself tangled around you. Carefully, you click on your lamp and tiptoe to use the toilet. 

When you’re done, you decide you don’t really want to go back to bed yet. Instead, you crawl over to sit cross-legged on the floor, analysing your boyfriend’s face in the half-light of the room. He’s snoring gently, his lips slightly parted. Your heart softens at the way his cheek is squished up against his arm, strands of his curly hair clinging adorably to his forehead.

You hoist yourself up onto your knees and brush the strands back, heart swelling as your gratitude for his existence threatens to tumble out of your mouth. No, you must stay quiet. Don’t wake him, he needs to sleep. You’re still stroking his hair back softly, your thumb brushing his forehead delicately when his snoring stops.

You gulp and pull away from him, hurrying back around the bed so you can crawl back under the covers, Chris’ back to you. Still, you don’t turn the lamp off, not entirely finished with admiring him, even from behind. His back is slightly exposed to you after you had pulled the covers down to get out of bed, and you make no move to hide it again. 

It’s in this moment, smiling gently at his figure, your heart full to the brim, that you realise it all over again. He’s yours. You’re his. You’d die for this man. You’d play limbo with the devil just to crawl your way back up to him. You’d pledge your life to counting the stars if he so asked. It doesn’t matter that it would take forever, because your forever lies within him.

You shuffle closer, and after a brief hesitation, begin to happily trace the lines of his back muscles, relishing in the softness of his skin. You pause, checking to make sure he’s still sleeping, and then continue your drawing motions. You’re lost in thought, thinking about where you could possibly take him out to tomorrow because you’re finally free. Your gaze is watching your fingers absently move, but you’re not really paying attention. It’s after a minute of repeating the same action that you realise what you’ve done.

Subconsciously, you’ve been writing the same words over and over on his back. You stop, fingers ghosting his skin, and swallow. Then one more time, confirming it for yourself, you rewrite the same words.

I Love You

You do. You love him. You love- you love him. This sudden understanding causes you to gasp slightly, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. You trace the lines again, a little faster this time, fully picturing the words on his back. 

Chris abruptly rolls over, his eyes immediately boring into yours, and your hand snaps up to your mouth in an attempt to stifle your surprise. He’s smiling softly, eyes crinkling in delight.vSlowly, he reaches for the hand covering your mouth, opening your palm out to him. With a single finger, he lightly traces your palm, and you realise almost instantly that he’s writing letters, one by one. 

He's nibbling his bottom lip slightly in concentration, and when he finishes, his eyes flicker back up to you. You know of course, exactly what he’s written there, each stroke of his finger sending the letters jolting towards your heart. You had just spent the past few minutes writing the exact same thing on his back. You’re still silent though, trying to process, mind whirring faster than it ever has before. Chris takes your silence as confusion and begins to write the words again, as gentle as the first time.

He's halfway through writing “love” when you slip your wrist out from his hand and promptly bury your face into his chest, hands snaking around his back tightly.

“Are you serious?” you whisper, curling up on yourself, face burning. “Are you?” he whispers back, caressing the back of your head. You pull away from him and sit up, eyes wide with shock. He stares right back at you, waiting for your answer, his dark eyes searching yours. You lean down and peck his forehead, “I love you,” then his right cheek, “I love you,” his nose, “I love you,” his chin. 

You kiss him everywhere you can possibly reach from his shoulders up, avoiding his lips for whatever instinctive reason, repeating those same words over and over again, a mantra.  Your actions reduce Chris to a mess of giggles and happy laughs, “Okay, okay, okay!”

He grabs the back of your head and roughly pulls you in for a real kiss, but his lips are soft against yours, tender. When you pull away, your lips still linger, and it is like this that you feel and hear him say the disastrous words back, “I love you too.” Your laugh comes out as a breathy giggle, and suddenly you’re kissing him again, everywhere you can. “Baby, baby,” he laughs, “Stop it.”

But you can’t. You literally, physically can’t. Somehow you’ve managed to crawl on top of him, straddling his bare chest. Chris grabs your shoulders and pushes you up, grinning at you from below, “Since when were you this affectionate?” he coos, hands sliding over to cup your face and squish your cheeks. You roll your eyes at him and press on his chest lightly, again, feigning annoyance.

“You’re adorable,” he murmurs with a dopey expression, “My love is adorable.” “Shut up,” you whine, collapsing on top of him and hiding in his neck. My love. My love. My fucking love. “I love you. So much. And you love me back,” Chris laughs, wrapping his arms securely around you, “Wow! You love me back. Wow… This is the best day of my life.” “I said shut up,” you grumble.

–

You wake in the darkness, mind immediately tracking back to your moment of “I love you’s” earlier, butterflies swirling intensely in your stomach. Then you realise the reason you’ve woken up in the dead of night again, is because Chris isn’t sleeping with his arms around you. You roll over and find him sitting up in bed, his headphones snug around his ears, forehead creased in concentration as he clicks away on his laptop. You sit up and place your chin on his shoulder, staring at him with googly eyes. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Chris mumbles, turning his head slightly. “What’re you doing awake?” you ask, carefully slipping the headphones off his head to rest around his neck. “Mmh… inspiration struck me, so I wrote a new song,” his eyes haven’t left his computer screen, even without his headphones on he continues to work.

“Chris it’s 2am,” you sigh, taking over the touchpad to check the time in the top right hand corner, “go back to sleep, love.”  He inhales sharply and fully turns towards you, a slow grin emerging, “You see, that is exactly why I cannot sleep.” You blink at him in confusion, and he elaborates, “You can’t just brush my hair out of my face, spend the next five minutes writing ‘I love you’ over and over again on my back, pepper me with a billion kisses, and then expect me to sleep.”

You grin shyly at him, your head drooping, “Now you’re just making me feel bad because I fell asleep.” “No. No that is not what I-” You interrupt him by reaching over and sliding his computer out of his hands. Carefully, you hit the command to save his work, eyes briefly skimming over the saved title ‘For My Love’. 

“You were inspired to write a song for me?” you chuckle, closing the laptop and removing his headphones from his neck.  Carefully, you place them both on your bedside table, and grope around to pull him down into the bed. You can tell by how warm his face is when you press close that he’s blushing.

“So what if I was?” he asks. “So… I think you’re really cute, but your love wants you to get more sleep,” you giggle, pulling his head underneath your chin.  “Okay…” he mumbles, breath growing laboured with sleep.

–

Chris wakes with his nose buried in your hair, and he immediately grins. He abandons your warmth to grab his phone and check the time. It’s just past 9am, you both should really get up and get going, but he doesn’t particularly feel like it. You roll onto your back in your sleep, and a mischievous glint catches his eye when he notices your shirt hike up a little, revealing your bare stomach.

Chris swiftly scampers into the adjacent office, plucks a random marker from your desk, and then carefully crawls back onto the bed, doing his best to not wake you. He lifts your shirt up a little higher, then with his tongue sticking out, uncaps the marker and writes the message ‘Chris was here!!’ on your stomach, complete with his little dino-worm drawing.

Just as he’s finishing up, you groan and your eyes flutter open, noting the sharp prod of something on your stomach. In a second however, it disappears, and Chris has crawled on top of you. He moves to kiss your cheek, but still hazy with sleep, you don’t register what he’s doing and accidentally move your head.

What was meant to be a wholesome good morning peck turns into a surprising peck on the lips. You stare at him with wide eyes, and his cheeks immediately bloom red. You grin at how embarrassed he is and lean up to give him a legitimate kiss good morning. You’re both grinning like idiots now, and you’ve completely forgotten about whatever it was that Chris was doing on your stomach earlier.

Exactly Chris’ plan. Distraction… successful.

“Good morning sunshine…” he happily chirps, the familiar endearment causing you to smile happily. This time though, you have an idea. “Good morning moonlight,” your smile intensifies as Chris pauses, stunned, and you wriggle your way into a seated position, forcing him to do the same.

“Moonlight?” he questions, his voice cracking slightly in the early morning. “Yeah. Moonlight. ‘Cause even in the darkness you still shine.” Chris blinks at you, then after a second, grabs your arm to pull you into his lap, “Okay sure,” he pecks the top of your head, a favourite action of his, “but you got one thing wrong. If you’re my sunshine and I’m your moonlight… then I shine because you do.”

You laugh and let Chris drag you both under the blankets again, hugging you tightly as if his life depended on it. After a minute of tranquil silence, you yawn, stretch and move to get up and out of bed. Chris doesn't crack open an eye as he grabs your head and forces you back down into the pillow, causing you to yelp.

“Chris! We’ve got to get up now,” you chide, pushing yourself back up and glaring at him. He’s smirking cheekily but his eyes are still closed, and you shake your head at him, “C’mon.” "Who says we have to get up?” he asks, finally staring back at you.

“I do.” You demand, and a little staring contest is initiated, neither of you blinking. Chris begins to pull faces and tease you, but you refuse to give in to his antics. “Okay fine fine,” he relents, “I’m getting up. But come here first.” You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Please,” he adds with a tiny nod. Bewildered, you shuffle over to him, only to scream in shock when he swiftly grabs your shirt and pulls it up over your head. The act is so out of the blue, and he’s unnecessarily strong that you can’t do anything about it. He runs off with your shirt and you curse, chasing him out of the bedroom and into the lounge room.

Chris grins like a mad man, sticking his tongue out at you from the other side of the couch. “Give me my shirt you fucking rascal,” you spit, but you’re grinning just as hard.

“Come and get it,” he teases, waving it around like it’s a flag. You move to one side of the couch, and he moves to the other. You both run in circles around the couch, giggling and yelling. Eventually, out of breath and panting, Chris laughing his heart out with his hands resting on his knees, you decide that this game should come to an end. While he’s occupied, you leap over the top of the couch and tackle him to the ground.

“Oh shit-” Chris wheezes as you wrangle your shirt out of his fist. You’re about to put it back on, when Chris sits up and stops you, struggling to talk properly through his laughter, “Hang on, babe wait. Look down.”

You do, your arms up in the air, halfway through the sleeves of your shirt. It takes you a moment to read his little message, and then with a yell, you use your shirt to whack him repeatedly.

His laughter doesn’t cease even after he’s pulled you on top of him to stop your playful, indignant hits. “God I love you,” he chokes out, resting his head back onto the floor, “Don’t rub it off, leave it there for the rest of today.” “I love you too, but I can’t leave it there, what if people see?” “Who’s going to see it underneath your shirt?” “What if I wanted to wear something cropped today?” “Then wear something cropped. Let the whole world know who you belong to.” “Chris. You know I can’t do that.” “Mmh but I want the whole world to know.” “Christopher.” “Fine fineeeee, okayyyyy. Just don’t wear anything cropped then. Want one of my hoodies?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> PART 5 　 -> Masterlist

A/N: Yay! Milestone Event 4 Check!

Feedback is always appreciated, negative and positive alike. I apologise for any editing errors, I’m forever learning.

Until next read! - Kaisowoo

#bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids #bang chan #bang chan imagines #fluff #skz fluff #christopher chan bang #christopher bang #skz #toomuchflufflimactuallygonnadie #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader

[ficbrish]

Part of my Kinktober 2023 one shot collection

"You were my first."

[Ao3] | [Tumblr]

cw: Blood, cptsd, self-hate, alcohol

Tav Vistri, Act I, right after Bite Night

Big moment, that following morning was. Pleasantly enough, none of the others tried to drive a stake through Astarion’s heart upon learning his true nature. Nor did Vistri suddenly change her mind and call for a mob. She even stood up for him. Showed a suspicious amount of understanding.

But that’s how she’d always survived.

A bit of kindness tinged with charm, and lying back, goes a long way.

Astarion seemed the happiest that Vistri had ever seen him. Although, to be fair, they’d journeyed together less than a tenday, and not under the most pleasant circumstances. She’d seen him smile, but not like that. Not like the way he’d been smiling since—

His lips on her neck…

“Augh!” Vistri exclaimed, walking unannounced into Shadowheart’s tent, “I feel like a ripe pile of shit!”

“Were you raised in a barn?!” Shadowheart cried, startled and put out by her new friend’s sudden appearance.

“No, the Underdark—But that’s not important right now,” Vistri answered, too obsessed at the moment to exchange a bit of back and forth, “We don’t have time for an ethics debate.”

“An ethics debate? You just barged into my tent!”

“Because I needed to talk to you!” she explained, as if that answered everything sufficiently.

“I swear, if you hadn’t saved my life…”

“I know, I know! I’m insufferable. Do you have wine?”

“It is just passed sunrise.”

“Yes, and I’m very thirsty.”

Somehow, Shadowheart’s exasperated refusal to indulge her self-destructive habits prompted Vistri to spill everything. How she never felt anything.

How much she felt last night.

“You like the vampire?”

Vistri looked as if Shadow had just spat in her face, and protested, “I do not!”

While she had her crisis at Shadowheart, Astarion was literally skipping through the woods. He couldn’t remember a day where he felt better than he did this morning. With her blood flowing through him, giving back life.

Was this what it felt like to be Vistri? he found himself musing, watching the dapple of shadows dance across his hands as the sunlight trickled through the trees.

Which was a very ironic conclusion for him to draw, considering that she was just now sobbing wildly on Shadowheart’s awkward shoulder.

But Vistri never let him inside her mind despite pushing into his, not after that first initial taste; when they met on the ground in his arms, while his blade pressed into her. Too much was happening then for Astarion to really notice anything, and he only felt a hint of someone else before she instinctually shut her mind off from his. They’d shared a memory, but it was like the directions of a play read aloud, not the feelings of an actor emoted through their eyes.

It piqued his curiosity now that he spent a little time in her company. Had a taste of her.

And like a cat discovering a closed door, he was suddenly possessed by the need to pry it open.

Turns out, things were working out for Astarion better than he could have ever imagined. He could get used to his luck turning around like this. Not only did the rest of his companions accept that he was a vampire without much complaint, Vistri offered to let him feed again.

Before he accepted, it was important for Astarion to make clear that nothing would ever happen again without her say so. He could be better than Cazador ever was—wanted to be better.

“I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together.”

Vistri could feel heat rising in her face. Cheesy little comments of his like that previously grated on her nerves, and now she wanted to giggle.

What the fuck was wrong with her? Did she really want him? Could she really… imagine that as a possibility?

“But until then: No more late-night surprises, you have my word on that,” he promised. Rather sincerely, actually.

It was probably due to some vampiric thrall she must be under, but Vistri decided to trust his words. Every night could be its own test, and a sick part of her hoped he’d break his vow. That he’d prove it was all good to be true; show her who she really was. Prove that neither of them were worth it.

“Thank you,” she said, biting her lip, “And if you don’t mind, I have a vow of my own to exchange.”

“Oh?”

“Pushing into your mind… I wasn’t sure if you were going to kill me, but in finding out, I also… That was for you to save or tell. Not for me to find out. Not like that. I swear I’ll never do it again. Not without asking first.”

Astarion looked a bit devastated; shook it off with a smirk, and then said, “We’re even.”

Vistri was taken aback, “Even?”

“I've only tried to stab you when we first met, and bite you while you’ve slept. A little wriggling around with my mind worm… Well, you’re not better than me after all! In fact, you’re just like me.”

She smiled and looked at her feet, “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”

Even the teasing mention of closeness was too much for Vistri to endure, and she hated him for it.

So of course she didn’t want to appear too eager! She waited a whole other day before proposing another late-night snack. Astarion took it to be a reward for his good behavior; not coming back for seconds before he was asked.

The anticipation ate at them even worse after they agreed it would happen that night, and it itched at them all day. Unfortunately, Astarion was a bit of a stress-eater, and quite literally bit off more than he could chew with a large bear that evening before they met up. Draining it just barely replaced what he'd lost, which left him punch drunk and dizzy from his own bloodlessness. Their fun was put off for another night.

Much to the vexation of both.

He didn’t want to wake her that second time, not because he didn’t want her to be present, but because he was doing his best not to be an inconvenience. Vistri wasn’t offended either; he was so obviously sure he was doing her a favor. Oh, but she wanted to be awake for it! Not asleep, not in trance, but there feeling his—

Shit. Bad thoughts! No, no, no.

It was nothing. He meant nothing. She was nothing but a source of sustenance. Vistri had a purpose, and that was that.

She was food.

But then… So was that bandit earlier. Now he was food. Astarion drunk him dry with little grace. Ripped his screaming throat from out of his neck, and the spray went everywhere! Tonight he would gently creep up to her in the dark, at her behest, and take only a little while trying his best not to cause her to stir. It was quite the contrast.

That bandit was a meal. Vistri was a treat.

Then what was this even all for?

Vistri shooed away her curiosity before it meant she had to answer that question herself.

Waiting impatiently in her bedroll, eyes shut tight, Vistri could feel her heart pounding as if it was berating her for their present circumstances.

Oh, hush! she thought, arguing back.

This wasn’t her best performance, pretending to be in the midst of trance as she was. Her focus was elsewhere, searching for his presence through her pores. Her mind froze when Astarion finally began to approach. Even without seeing, she knew he was there; could feel his proximity before he touched her. The very air changed around him, like a storm cloud. Her senses filled with something herbal and sweet, then brandy and heat as his chest crept over hers.

She held her breath, even though deep breathing was the telltale sign of trance. Vistri thought he caught her, sensing him pause for a moment. Then she reasoned she was probably making that up.

But she didn’t. He did pause. Not because he noticed she wasn’t breathing, but because he still wasn’t quite sure this was all really happening. Not just some mad trick of the tadpole.

He swallowed and let himself lean carefully down, until his body pressed into hers. He could feel her heart beating frantically, but in his distraction, it didn’t give her away. Astarion just took it as a sign she was alive. That this really was all real.

His lips met her neck before his fangs. Vistri held back a shiver, taking a deep breath against it. She stifled a moan as one hummed quietly in Astarion’s throat. She could feel it vibrate on hers, neck to neck. Feel her life and power flow into him and through him. Power. Pleasure.

It was palpable.

Astarion’s tongue moved against her skin, swallowing her.

She even lost herself for a moment. As her mind flew blissfully away, her fingers, those sluts, found their way up into his curls.

Her hands grasped the sides of his head. Vistri wasn’t trying to push him away, she just needed to brace herself against the loss of gravity. Astarion didn’t even notice at first. It just felt like part of the whole thing. It was her sudden movement as she jerked them back that brought his attention to her wakefulness.

“Are you not in your trance?” he asked in the crook of her neck.

“No,” she answered with her eyes still closed, “Do you want me to be?”

She was truly the most curious thing to him. Was she pretending to be in a trance to please him? While allowing him to drink from her? Who does that? Astarion smirked, shaking his head, “I thought you’d prefer…”

Vistri opened her eyes and looked into his. She’d been warned her whole life about elves with red eyes.

“No, I—” she blushed, “I mean, it’s quite fun. Is it not?”

“It is?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

She nodded.

“Well, that’s nice to hear.”

“Do you want to-?” Vistri gestured to her neck.

“Right, yes,” Astarion said, clearing his throat. Regaining his cool, he slyly suggested, “Why don’t you crawl into my lap?”

Vistri couldn’t breathe.

Her non-answer was a glorious victory. Astarion could tell he had an effect, a sway over her somehow. He tilted his head back, smiling with confidence, “You do want it, don’t you?”

Lightheaded, Vistri gave in and sat across his knees. Grinning, Astarion grabbed her up into his arms and dipped her dramatically with a slight growl. Vistri giggled, too loudly, and he cupped a hand over her mouth.

He shushed her, “Be still now.”

First, he brought his lips back to her throat. Then his tongue. Then his fangs.

A moan escaped Vistri this time. One, warm hand cradled the back of her neck as he drank from the front of it.

He promised it would be just a taste, and it was just a taste. She didn’t even have to hold him back this time. Astarion stopped on his own accord, before she was ever in any real danger.

When she opened her eyes, Astarion had stars in his. Just a little bit of her, and he was an entirely new person.

Self-satisfied, Vistri grinned, “You’re welcome.”

Sitting up, her head swayed forward like a drunkard and almost smashed into his skull.

“Oh, there you go,” he muttered, steadying her.

Vistri looked up at him, her face so close to his. “I’m okay,” she answered before he could ask.

“Don’t try to get up just yet. You’ll take another tumble, and who knows if I’m feeling generous enough to catch you again.”

“Bastard,” she laughed weakly.

Vistri could smell her blood on his breath. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes so the only thing in existence was the scent lingering between them. She couldn’t imagine liking this so much with anyone el—She shot up so fast, suddenly standing to escape those thoughts.

“Careful!”

Astarion must have been feeling generous because he caught her a second time.

“Oops,” she said, embarrassed.

“You ought to take better care of yourself, darling. I’m invested now.” Funny thing, that wasn't even a lie. He'd never met someone like her before.

Vistri met his grin with performative suspicion, “How heartening.”

Astarion's eyes followed the words as they bounced off her lips. He smiled realizing they were perfectly painted instead of washed clean.

She either swayed or leaned closer. Even Vistri couldn't tell if it was blood loss or an intentional inching of her feet.

“You look a bit peaked,” Astarion said nervously.

“Yes,” Vistri sighed, standing so near, “Off to bed I go.”

Even the air between them pounded. They stayed very still. His breath turned into her breath.

Then Astarion broke the spell, stepping back with narrowed eyes, “Sweet dreams, then.”

“Sweet dreams.”

But there were no dreams.

Just forbidden thoughts that ran endlessly through their minds, until even their muscles ached.

#vistarion #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #snippet saturday #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #BrishFics #astarion #astarion ancunin

[abundantchewtoys]

HS^2 reread till p407 - reaction post

So, in preparation of Homestuck 2 restarting, I’ve reread the whole first few pages.

First I reread the epilogues recap page, then the story proper up until page 407.

It was a good refreshener, because a lot of events were already gone from my memory or very vague.

Which, given the nature of Candy Earth C, is rather appropriate, heh.

Reactions under the cut!

That Dirk called his ship Theseus may say something on how he views his mission.

Then again, he declared himself the villain of the story.

page 4: he called authors alliterative, I wouldn't really call 'AH' that, nor his full name.

Rose really goes hard on the 'being a robot' thing. I guess between Aradiabot, Jadebot, and AR, it was time for someone to unequivocally enjoy the state.

p5 : Cool to see his 'omniscience' is only pseudo, like Doc Scratch' was. He didn't know about the missing landing gear.

Hah, and Rose still sees Dirk as heroic. Pretty blind for a Seer of Light.

p6 : OOh, I still had dark mode on, I realize. Let's change that 'n return to the old format, it influences the feel of the story, especially Dirk' bright text.

p9 : You know, it feels like a missed opportunity not to command him to shit his desk.

p12 : Okay, pretty sure I didn't spot Jade's mug on the well, flower mug on my initial read. I own that mug, actually.

And oh yeah, it was a three-year journey to the new planet, nice parallel to the travel time between Universe B1 and B2.

p13 : So, uh, Bro had a relationship with Barack Obama, I'm reading this right, right?

p15 : Dirk claims to have researched his trollsona extensively, yet doesn't display their blood colour on his shirt, smh.

p17: Riiiight, Terezi was aware of Dirk's narration, as a Mind player, right?  

And hah, as a troll, with Alternia's awkward synonyms, her roasting Dirk for his verbose prose? Gold.  

Pff, and I forgot Dirk was tired of Rose's psychoanalysis, too.  

p33: Right, both paths were distinguished by the arrows.  

p34: It's heartwarming to see Jake actually having mastered the supposedly basic (yet oft neglected) skill of housekeeping.

p38: We never really saw Jake have Skaian dreams, did we? His Prospit self never woke up on account of a peanut allergy.

I wonder if the dreams of a non-awoken dreamself could have ever been prophetic...

And anyway, he's his ascended self now.

Hmm, but right, his dreambubbleself did have a rather prescient twist to it, in the form of Brain Ghost Dirk...

p41: Speak of the devil, I forgot about this part here, heheh.

Soooo, wait, we're getting back in muddy waters.

Jake is from the post-retcon timeline, where Vriska was on the meteor.

But the ghosts in the Furthest Ring weren't duplicated by the retcon.

If we assume they only met the post-retcon kids chronologically (for them) afterwards, there were a bunch of conversations that happened twice.

And Aranea's ghost 'survived' the Game Over timeline aka got thrown back to the Furthest Ring.

Still, it's gold to have Brain Ghost Dirk be his own self, distinct from ascended Dirk.

p47: "DIRK: You’ve spent years feeling sorry for yourself, totally convinced you made the wrong choices and that it’s all over. And it’s easier that way, isn’t it? If you’re a lost cause you don’t have to try to be better."

That's the challenge for the Candy timeline people isn't it? Continuing to try even if it feels like nothing matters.

Brain Ghost Dirk stopped correcting Jake there that he didn't actually was Jane's running mate, since he wasn't that Dirk.

Well, 'I' and 'you' could be seen as located between air-quotes, of course...

P54: Jake being hopeful again probably triggered the return of Brain Ghost Dirk  

P59, 60: The new kids’ quirks are something to get used to again  

P64: Almost seems like a Hope glow, around the car  

P70 : By shedding his purple sweater, we now see Tavros is dressed in layers similarly to Calliope & Caliborn.  

P90 : Note how she doesn't even really counted Jake as part of her family, there.

P95 : Gotta love cross-culture influences on Earth C, like the carapace derp face.

P96 : Introducing the world's most pollutive missile.  

P97 : You'd think once it reached critical speed it wouldn't need the propulsion anymore. Maybe the sails actually serve as (stellar) wind breakers, hahah, and the giant pipe is a countermeasure.

p101 : Showing Karkat has started living at human hours since he's asleep at 5 AM, n'aww.

p105 : Meat timeline folks just keep on being couped up in small spaces for extended periods, don't they?

Meat timeline just really focuses on the cabin fever side of things.

p108 : I swear I forgot Dave pointing this out :p101

p109 : In the story people & the appearance of them in other's minds is important. It's the same for the old Homestuck kids.

Who they are and who they were to us are two separate things.

At the same time, in story, who they are to each other is also very important. Brain Ghost Dirk's a culmination of that.

p114 : Dave really just drew the short stick there w/r his best friends' fates, didn't he.

And Bro still casts a long shadow.

At least it's good to see Dave is in a somewhat good place. Just a little sad he has to basically be a hermit apart from some close friends to achieve it.

p115 : So Karkat never really was close with Rose, interesting.

p130 : I wonder if Dirk started discarding things "pointlessly difficult and irritating" as a way to cope with his isolation growing up.

Roxy had the carapaces around, he only had seagulls...

And eesh, being your ascended self, as in, knowing full well what you'd do in any situation... Really kind of sucks, doesn't it? Not seeing room for growth for yourself.

p131 : So, recap: A2 was coded blue and had a purple game design. A1 probably had the reverse.

B1 was coded red and had a lime green game design, B2 was the reverse.

The C universe is coded white (see: the door they went through) and the game design will be cyan.

Meanwhile, Dirk and Rose's species might be associated with the color purple & orange.

Kind of makes you think of Prospit & Derse, doesn't it?

Makes you wonder if the trolls in A1 were also guided by their universe's gods, or not.

p133 : 10:25 hours ago

p135 : "ROSE: It's amazing what pieces of inconsequential information your mind can recall at a moment's notice, a whole decade after they were last relevant or interesting to anyone.

ROSE: ...

ROSE: I think I missed this."

Appropriate, given that it's been so long since Homestuck ended.

p141 : Basically, Dirk's DNA was used to animate the result of the alchemization. Not ecto-alchemologization, but more like... alchemogenesis?

p144 : Trial 'n error creation of species, with of course, Dirk focusing on the equine & Rose on the cephaloid. (Is that the right Latin word for tentacle-y?)

Right, Rosebot was only a projection of Rose's consciousness.

Weird to think stories about the Psionic survived two squashed rebellions. Then again, he was )(IC's Helmsman for the remainder of Alternian history.

"ROSE: Now [Earth] is protected, in the steady hands of a duly-elected ruler, sure to have a boring and uneventful perpetual term in office."

Ah, if only Rose could see into the bonus stories :P Guess they don't count as part of her domain. ;)

"ROSE: What value is a marriage, temporary domestic bliss, if all is lost?

ROSE: You understand this bargain.

ROSE: At least, you should. It's one that was made to leave you alone.

ROSE: Is your resentment towards my choice about Kanaya, or about V–"

Not sure I understand this fully. Does Rose feel like she had to leave Kanaya because Terezi didn't give up on Vriska?

p146: Calliope embraces irrelevance as Dirk embraces the opposite

P150: Forgot about this part. Good for Jade, not being kept down.

P160: Guess Caaliope has a preference for orsnge juice’s strings because it’s a bit like tendons from red meat? Maybe?

Trials and errors like Dirk’s with DNA, but for food. Wouldn’t Dave have still have codes from the meteor trip?

P171: Getting insight into how red & black romance works for Vrissy, might help us understand where it all went wrong for Vriska.

P172: Vriska trolling herself there

P194: Vrissy - Harry - Tavvy - Yiffy?

P215 : Oh right, Roxy lived in the Carapacian Kingdom? So then Harry just went to and from the human kingdom for school? And the human reporters have crossed the border to report?

P222: Derpy black-haired kid hiding a surprising amount of brawn. Truly, Tavros fits right in with Jake, Jade & John.

P223: Gotta love John was waiting on the "highest point of the building there", while they had to "ascend".

P232: "from somewhere out of a half-remembered dream, comes the sensation of falling. A burning golden city. A girl's screaming." Oooh, [S] Descend reference!

P234: Ohhhh, their naming their daughter like so wasn't 'really' serious, but a result of a a game between them taken too far, I really forgot that!

P240: Forgot that Jane really did <3< Gamzee.

P268: And that the trees walked

P286: Got to say, Aradia and Dave’s unruliness reaaly meshes well with the narrative device of Alt!Calliope’s speech+captions

P339: Maintainer of Peace and Plenty is sure one way to fill in the role of Maid of Life!

P401: Candy John crammed himself into a house-shaped box in a spiritual sense, Meat John got crammed in one literally.

Got to say, I wonder if the June Egbert crowd will get theirs in the end or not, with what John was not saying here. Mostly it might be the topic of masculinity and how to fill that in, I personally think.

P404 : Don’t tell me Dirk & Roxy have the Hiveswap portals under their respective curtains

P405: Didn’t we visit the meteor on Candy Earth before?

Or was that in the Epilogues/bonus stories?

P406: “the natUre of space and time is a little finicky in here” as in, time flows faster? Or geography & history are just weird and inconsistent?

See: Jake having gotten send divorce papers according to the epilogues, or The Felt, Ms Paint & Spades Slick ending up on Earth C according to the snapchat logs...

"CALLIOPE: [...] as far as i can see, there's simply no way for Us to commUnicate with the world oUtside the black hole.  

CALLIOPE: i woUld certainly be very sUrprised to find oUt that anyone had managed sUch a thing!

JOHN: ...right."

Terezi & John communicated just fine through John's Dad's PDA. Is there anything the device is not capable of?!

Ooh boy, and now I'm caught up again!

Seems like the "prelude" to Beyond Canon is done now!  

Wow, feels oddly comforting to be in the thick of it again.

I'm just going to buckle myself to this ride again.

The idea is to not go too deep into analysis this time around, but hahah yeah, that boat'll float till it sinks.

#homestuck #homestuck^2 #reaction #upd8 #john egbert #terezi pyrope #homestuck 2 #dirk strider #alt calliope #davebot #tavros crocker english #vriska serket

[scifrey]

Cling Fast: Chapter Two

by Loysark The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon and Gaimanverse) Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus) Unfinished PG-13 (for now) Unbeta’d

*

“Remarkable,” Doctor Henrietta Butler says, freezing mid-handshake when she meets Hob’s eyes. “Just remarkable, the resemblance–”

“I’ve heard that a lot today,” Hob tries to interrupt, embarrassed by how much two separate BBC Historics production assistants have already gushed over him in the short walk from the Broadcast House lobby to this back office. 

“I imagine so,” Henrietta laughs. She’s a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties, hair long and steel-grey, shot through with the last clinging vestiges of the mouse-brown. Her hands are at least as calloused as his, from so many years of demonstrating cheese presses, and butter churns, and laundry manglers. The smile lines around her eyes are deep, her laughter comes often and easy, and Hob likes her immediately.

She reminds him of his older sister Matilda.

The memory comes with a sudden hankering for Matty’s rabbit stewed in verjuice. He wonders, if he remembers it in enough detail, would Henrietta be able to recreate it for him? Her years of study overlap with Hob’s. Or maybe Morpheus could, in the Dreaming.

“Sit, sit, please,” Henrietta says, waving him toward one of the cushy office chairs. They’re in a well-appointed meeting room, not much larger than Hob’s office at the university, but significantly tidier. It’s staged to look a bit like a gentleman’s study, and Hob vaguely recalls a chat show from the sixties that used similar furniture. He wonders if it’s been repurposed.

It’s the BBC and they never seem to have enough money, so yeah, likely.

Henrietta goes through the deeply British ritual of pouring out the tea that some assistant has left on a spindly little table in the middle of the hodgepodge of leather chairs.

Oh Christ in his Heaven, Hob realizes as he accepts his mug from Henrietta. I’m going to have to live without tea for months. I don’t know if I can go back to posset.

They chat aimlessly about Hob’s journey to Broadcasting House that morning. Henrietta is delighted to learn that Hob walked in from Wapping rather than take the tube. While motorcars and handsom cabs are handy when you want to go far, Hob’s still got enough of the sellsword peasant soldier in him to prefer a good long march to clear his head over a stuffy, cramped, loud journey shoved into a metal can with a thousand other people.

The hour and half’s stroll along the water, through the oldest part of the city, had reminded Hob of what had changed since his time as Robert Gadlen the Third. He’d made it a game with Matthew, who had joined him for part of the walk, to describe what had been there before the Great Fire. 

Hob remembers when Chalk Fields was still a field, Forest Gate had a gate one passed through to leave the city and enter a forest, and Haymarket was a place to purchase hay.

Gadlen House had survived the inferno simply by virtue of not being in the fashionable part of town. It’s across the river in what is now the Hither Green neighborhood, overlooking what the National Trust had named Manor Park after the House itself when they’d taken control of the estate. At the time, Hob didn’t care about fashionable neighborhoods, or that it was outside the Walls. It was close to Greenwich and the Depford docks, through which much of Hob’s wealth had passed back then, and that’s what mattered. 

And he’d wanted space for his paradise-on-earth. He’d predicted, and predicted right, that the city would one day consume the south bank. He’d wanted to carve out his piece of it before that happened. He’d ensured that there was plenty of room for parkland, orchards, and gardens. Hob had grown up in green and hilly Essex back when his village was so small that everyone could fit inside the church. He preferred space and verdant nature where he could get it, even when he had to live in a city.

He’d done the same when he’d bought the White Horse and as much of the land surrounding it in Wapping as he could winkle out of the estate agents. His current little patch of city has a fine view of the Pool of London (and the Bridge and Tower, if you crane your head up river), but is nowhere near as dominated by buildings and rushing pedestrians and racing cars as the rest of old London Town. On purpose, of course. And despite all the development real estate offers he’d received and turned down (some less politely than others, and one with a baseball bat and a bloody grin when they’d foolishly sent a pack of hooligans to try to intimidate Hob), he intends to keep it that way.

Hob’s walked past Broadcasting House before, too, of course. He's wandered every road in London at one time or another, but its place on Regent's Street between the Thames and Marleboyne means he's walked the Cambridge borough more times than he can count.

Once Henrietta is settled with her own cuppa, Hob jumps straight to his first question: "So where did the historians dig me up? How?"

Henrietta laughs again, easy and generous. “Nothing so difficult–Google, just like everything else in this day and age, I’m afraid. We’d already gotten permission from the National Trust to film at Gadlen House–”

It’s my home, you should have asked my permission, Hob thinks, but the possessiveness flits away as quickly as it had appeared. It’s not his home any more, and that’s something he’s had to come to grips with more than once in his long, long life.

“--and as Glenn and are focused on the downstairs manner of things, we had thought it might be fun to have an actor or two play the upstairs folks, you know.”

“Downtown Abbey-like,” Hob surmises.

“Precisely. But then of course a research assistant was looking into the last owner, Robert Gadlen the Third, sending the portrait to casting directors, and your name popped up in an internet search. Historian at the University of York, same name, remarkable family resemblance…”

Hob tugs on his ear, annoyed again, and aware that there’s no one to blame but himself on this one. “But how did you trace the lineage?” he asks, because that’s the real issue here. The lesson he has to learn from, and the mistake he has to make sure he doesn’t accidentally repeat next time.

“One of the privileges of the show,” Henrietta allows. “They let us get into all sorts of archives and records that the public can’t access. Looks like there was a brother, some years back. Probably estranged, for as little he’s talked of in the surviving correspondence. But he claimed what little fortune there was left of the Gadlen Estate in 1703 and parlayed it into the triangle trade–”

"You mean the kidnapping, murder, and enslavement of other human beings," Hob says flatly. "It's alright—call it what it was. I'm sure my ancestor is as ashamed of it as I am."

Henrietta offers him a thoughtful glance at his bluntness. “I wonder. At any rate, from there it was a matter of following the line of inheritance, and once the researchers realized that your ancestors had a fondness for ‘Robert’ or some variation thereof for their eldest sons, and a chronic inability to spell their own surnames in any sort of consistent manner, it led us to you. Robert Gadlen the Sixth, or thereabouts.”

“And of course, what with my area of expertise being what it is…” Hob finishes that thought with a shrug and a gesture at himself. 

“It’s almost too perfect,” Henrietta agrees. 

“But who’s to say I’m the right choice of presenter?” Hob pushes. “What if I’m terrible at it? It’d be a huge waste of time and money.”

“I’ve seen videos of your lectures,” Henrietta replies with a cheeky twinkle in her eye. “You’ll do fine.”

“The Everyday Histories series?” Hob groans. “I thought they replaced those videos with this year’s speakers.”

“Nothing ever truly goes away on the internet,” Henrietta reminds him, which is part of the problem. But that's Future Hob's concern. “So what do you say, Doctor Gadlen? Three experts instead of two this time around, and an actual descendant of the original Master of the House to boot. Feels like destiny, wouldn’t you say?”

It bloody well better not be, Hob thinks. He makes a mental note to tell Morpheus to pass on a polite request to Destiny to butt out of his life. He’s already had enough of Despair’s fish hook in the last few centuries. And, though he��s still reluctant to admit it to his Stranger, Hob thinks he’s been the center of Desire’s attention a little too often lately, as well. All that hand-holding is giving Hob ideas that he has to be very careful not to allow to become daydreams around his friend. The last thing Hob needs is the eldest Endless ganging up on him, too.

“If I agree to this,” Hob says, “what would be expected? I mean, I love your work, and my friends Matthew and Morph… Murphy are big fans of what you do, but just because I look like the guy,” here he enjoys the irony of gesturing at the color print-out on the table between them of the portrait of his own face. “It doesn’t mean I have to pretend to actually be him, right? I’m no actor.”

“No,” Henrietta assures him. “We’re not going to write scenes and have you speak as Robert Gadlen. It’ll be the same as Glenn and I, the assumption of a general role and class in society–you as the patriarch and master of the household, Glenn will be the gamekeeper and groundsman, do the gardens, and the orchards, and the shooting, and the like. I’ll be juggling the roles of head cook and housekeeper this time.”

“The cook was an Italian man,” Hob corrects before his brain catches up with his mouth.

“Was he?” Henrietta says, delighted. She sits forward. “Done a lot of research into the Witch Knight then, have you?”

Hob winces at the unkind nickname. "I mean, I know who Robert Gadlen the Third was, of course I do. It's like Anne Hathaway not knowing Shakespeare, even though she's an actor, when she has the same name as his wife. You can't not be aware when it's your field. I just… I guess I never thought that I was actually related to the guy."

Henrietta nods. “Makes sense. I’ll admit I haven’t done the deep dive yet, so I’ll defer to you on that detail.”

I’m going to have to figure out how to back myself up if I’m going to get my way as much as I want, Hob realizes. Any documents or paperwork he’d had in his study the night he'd been dragged away had likely been long ago pilfered or burned up. And Hob hadn’t been in the habit of maintaining a daily journal any more. He’d started one under Caxton, to help learn his letters, but realized fairly quickly that putting proof of his immortality on paper might invite the very accusations and executions that he’d actually suffered.

“I don’t think Glenn wouldn’t mind being the head cook this time, then,” Henrietta says over Hob’s musing. “I can manage the gardens. For the game, maybe we could–”

“I can hunt,” Hob says. “I can ride, too. Though it’s been a while. And I haven’t held a bow since–” –firearms became more ubiquitous in the late seventeenth century– “undergrad.”

Henrietta laughs again, clearly beyond pleased. “And how’s your late Middle English?”

“Impeccable,” Hob says, because you know what? Hob still has an ego, and if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right.

*

Once they’ve finished their tea, signed a few non-disclosure agreements, and collected up the folder of reference photos, Henrietta leads Hob further into the bowels of Broadcast House.

Hob feels like a minor celebrity when they walk between the rows of cubicles belonging to the Historics research team. They pop up, one after the other, like meerkats to get a good look at him, then drop back into their seats and whisper about how handsome and uncanny he is in much louder tones than he thinks they realize. Hob wishes Matthew could be here for this, he’d find it hilarious. 

Maybe Hob can convince Henrietta that he used to keep a massive, mouthy raven as a pet so Matthew could ride his shoulder around the set.

Hob is led to a back wall absolutely smothered in fabric swatches, photocopies of old hand-written recipes, food lists, architectural drawings, gardening layouts, sketches of Manor Park, lighting references, plans for riding tack, and a multitude of other documents that Hob hasn’t got the experience or time to parse. Dead centre of the board are life-size copies of the three extant portraits of Robert Gadlen the Third. 

The first is of Hob alone. He doesn’t remember which year it was or the name of the artist. But he remembers that it was pig-hot in the artist’s salon and that he’d damn near keeled over from heatstroke on the first sitting. That had been before he’d met Eleanor, and the painter had been some former apprentice of Hans Holbien the Younger, and very much in demand. Hob had wanted to wear his Stranger’s colors, for the portrait. He wanted to proclaim his gratitude and allegiance to the creature he’d thought of then as his patron. But the black velvet had been smothering, and the scarlet embroidered trim had crumpled unappealingly, and the starched ruff had scratched so appallingly that Hob had begged the artist to let him take it off if it wasn’t being painted in that exact moment.

The second portrait was of Hob and Eleanor. Hob ignores the scarecrowish figure of himself hovering at Eleanor’s side, in a stately parlor. He holds a glove in one hand to indicate that he is master of his estate, a sword on his hip along with his heraldic badge on his breast to indicate his knighthood, and a view of the shipyards where he’d made his fortune out the arched window behind him. Instead, he focuses on his wife.

Eleanor is plump and buxom, cheeks filled with roses and hair the deep gold color of flax. She looks young, God's wounds, she looks no older than his students. How old was she when they married? Twenty? Twenty-two? And he an eternal thirty-three. But Lord Above in All His Splendor, had he loved her on first sight. Maid-of-a-maid in Elizabeth's court, low-down daughter of a low-down courier, nobody of import. She professional enough to remain quiet and bold enough to openly drink the leftover wine that her mistress had abandoned.

She'd met his eyes over the rim of the goblet, launched a challenging eyebrow in his direction, and that was that for Hob Gadling and his heart.

She’d had a little dog when they married, a dumb fluffy white thing with a heart as generous as El’s but breath like a week-old fish pie. She’d loved the bloody thing like a child. It was sitting by her feet in the portrait, pink tongue lolling, staring up lovingly at its mistress, sporting a ridiculous flax-yellow bow. In her lap, Eleanor cradles the lute Hob had given her as his first courting gift. She'd loved music, but hadn't an instrument of her own, and Hob hated how she'd sighed over how lovely the queen's was.

In the portrait Eleanor's dress is the color of a robin’s egg, and so are her eyes.

(Morpheus' eyes too, Hob realizes with a start as he studies the portrait.)

Hob remembers the almighty row they’d had over the dress, when he’d been handed the mantua-makers’ bill. How it was the first time he’d yelled at El, the first time he’d seen the tears well up in her eyes and the mottled, shamed flush creep up her bosom and neck. And how it had made him feel like an absolute monster.

He’d thrown himself at her feet, literally, right there in the solar, and kissed her slippers and apologized. Then he’d kissed her ankles. Then her calves, and her knees. By the time he’d kissed all the way up, and spent a dozen humid moments with her thighs clamped hard around his ears, she was happy to forgive him on the understanding that he was to never again raise his voice to her. It was a promise Hob had kept, because honor was something he clung to, as well.

If your life was such that sometimes all you could call your own as you moved onto a new life was your name and your word, then you didn't break the latter easily.

And the final portrait was the one from the National Gallery, commissioned just months before his son died. This time, Hob is the one seated, taking his ease with a pair of hunting hounds sprawling at his feet and whose names, he is utterly ashamed to realize, he's forgotten. They are outside, Hob on a park bench, under the great wide apple tree Hob had planted in the Park in private memory of his brother John, and the rest of his lost family. Hob is dressed for leisure, as if he's just walked out of the doors of his study and into the garden, still in his wrapper and cap. 

Robyn is the real star of the portrait, as Hob meant him to be.

Standing beside him, leaning on a long, skinny matchlock musket, Robyn looks exactly like he had the day he'd died. He's wearing different clothes of course—fine hunting kit, decorated with more lace and embroidery than would ever be practical in real life. But the rest is just as Hob remembers. The cheekbones finally emerging from the last of his baby fat, the cowl's lick in the swoop of golden-brown hair at the center of his forehead, which he'd inherited from El, the cleft chin, the start of laughter lines around his sparking- dark eyes.

The only difference is that on the night he'd died, Robyn had been sporting his first atrocious, patchy goatee. Attempting to look like his father.

Hob gives in to the urge to run his fingers along the edges of their faces, first El’s then Rob’s. The photo paper is glossy to the touch, but he can remember the smoothness of her cheek, and the peach-fuzz prickle of his. He swallows hard, determined not to allow the emotions throttling him.

"And there he is, our Witch Knight and his tragic family."  Henrietta lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It must be very moving, to see them now that you know that they are your tragic family."

Tragic family, Hob repeats to himself. He had sometimes wondered if El, and Robyn, and wee John had died so young in payment for his everlasting life. He had not passed on his immortality. The thought that he had inadvertently stolen their years for himself had been hard on his mind in the many decades he'd begged and starved on the streets.

His Stranger had reassured him in 1689 that it had not been the case. Hob, who had not tasted ale or wine in over a decade, and as a result had no longer been in practice being intoxicated, had burst into tears of relief at the table.

His Stranger had let him cry, without mocking or abandoning him. When the proprietor made noises about closing up for the night, Hob had found a purse heavy with enough fantastical coins ("Pulled from the dreams of children on a pirate adventure," Morpheus had explained centuries later) that Hob could pay the evening's tab, as well as for a room and a wash.

Hob had disdained the tub the proprietor's wife had dragged in, with no desire submerged again any time soon, but he'd scrubbed himself and his clothes as best he could. In the morning, he had appealed to the proprietor for work, and when the man had learned that Hob knew his letters, sent him to his brother's vegetable stall in the nearby market. Hob was too old to be a proper delivery boy, but he could read the lists, and assemble the orders, and knew the city like nobody else.

With his feet back under him, and his belly not eternally consuming itself, Hob was able to make himself decent enough to pursue what little wealth may still be in banking for him (or in the little caches he'd buried all over his hometown), and start again.

And look how that turned out, Hob remembers, tugging his ear.

"Must we call him the Witch Knight?" Hob asks, as Henrietta moves off to point out the bits of fabric pinned to the board all around the portraits. "Only, it doesn't seem like a very kind nickname. He wasn't a witch."

"You sound sure of that," Henrietta says, with a little chuckle. "While of course we can debunk it in the show, it is the most commonly known moniker for your semi-famous ancestor. People know it. It's on all the Gadlen House tourist pamphlets."

Uhg, Hob thinks. He should have visited the house at least once since it was handed over to the National Trust. Maybe he could have stopped the nickname before it got popular.

Instead he'd stayed away completely, certain that his heart couldn't take seeing what the courtiers who had been gifted the estate had done to the place. Nor what 'improvements' their own ancestors may have torturously imposed on his paradise-on-earth.

"Witch Knight," Hob mutters, shaking his head.

*

One of the most important things that Hob has learned about his Stranger in the last year is that Morpheus is an absolute sucker for a bet.

Maybe it’s part of being… whatever it is, actually that An Endless is. Immutable, bound to the laws of the universe, and unable to turn down a wager on a cellular level. It seems that all the Endless were like that, based on Morpheus’ sparse stories. As Hob understands it, once an Endless shakes on it, they are pathologically compelled to see their little bets through, no matter how inane or ridiculous, or what harm it may cause one another. Or what regret and rifts in the love between siblings.

So of course the first thing Hob says when he falls asleep that night is: "If you're so keen for me to do this show, I bet you can't find me a book that still exists that I can use a primary source."

"Oh-ho-ho!" Merv had shouts, from where he's trying to shove a massive potted arrangement  of red carnations, blue cornflowers, and poppies into a corner of the throne room. It's an unusual combination. Hob doesn't know the language of flowers, but the sharp juxtaposition of the blooms looked a little violent to him. "You're betting the boss?"

"Decorum," Morpheus scolds the pumpkinhead waspishly, but without any real heat. He stands from where he was lounging on the bottom steps of his dias, clearly waiting for Hob to enter the Dreaming. "Your wager is accepted. What do you forfeit if I locate the necessary texts in the Waking world for you?"

Morpheus strides towards the Library, and Hob trots after him, his slippers a whisper against the blackhole-dark marble. "I'll put that homemade spanakopita and saganaki you like on the menu at The New Inn."

Hob's been trying to get Dennis to agree to it for months, anyway, but his co-manager is extremely opposed to dishes that a) take literal hours of laminating and metric tons of butter to create and b) are brought to the table on fire. If Morpheus provides him with government documents, or a servant's old journal, or even letters that Hob or Eleanor had written, though, Hob's willing to throw down with Dennis over his sudden desire to shift the menu from Upscale Pub Grub to Classical Greek in the most literal sense.

Morpheus gets that little starry-eyed (also literally) far-away look he sometimes sports when thinking of his originating culture. Morpheus had, after all, been thought into being when humans were still doing the OG version of the Mediterranean diet. Though he didn't eat, the sorts of foods that might have appeared on his altars—warm olives and flatbread, oil and vinegar, tart goat's cheese and yogurt, grapes and sugared nuts—could always entice him into a nibble or five.

"Hmm, agreed," Morpheus says, holding open the Library door for Hob. "And should the task prove fruitless, what do you ask in recompense?"

A kiss, Hob thinks, and then swiftly squashes it down.

"You invite Death to our next Tuesday hang. I haven't had the chance to thank her properly yet."

Morpheus looks sour about that, the possessive prat, which is why Hob had picked it. He's been hinting that he wanted to meet at least this mysterious sister who whom he owes his immortality for a while now.

"Very well," Morpheus agrees mulishly. "This way."

He leads them towards The Shelves of Books That Are, which is where Hob would have started, too. The Shelves of Books that Were might help too, if Hob could convince Morpheus to allow him to bring a physical copy into the Waking. Regrettably the Shelves of Books That Have Yet To Come and the Shelves of Books That Never Will Be would be off-limits for this little project.

Maybe, if they do have to magick a book back into existence, the Bookseller of Soho could see fit to help him with the little ruse. He’d always seemed the sort of a nice spot of drama, and the Bently Snake was always down for a bit of heist when needed.

They chat a bit about their days—Morpheus about the section of the Dreaming he's building to celebrate the many vivid and creative imaginings of the growing legions of fan writers and artists, and Hob about his first meeting with Henrietta.

"Witch knight!" Hob repeats in disgust as he relays the conversation. "As if I was—" he gestures at himself, and his scarlet silk pajamas darken and spread, like ink in water, until he's wearing the most ridiculous anime-esque spiky gothic armor he can think up.

He's getting better and better at this lucid dreaming schtick.

"Peace, Hob," Morpheus entreats, waving away his nightmarish outfit. His clothes become pajamas once more, though the King of the Dreaming has added a cozy, blowsy banyan in cloth-of-gold. Hob rather likes it—it billows and trails behind him just like Morpheus's own cloak of galaxies. "It was not meant as an insult. It is merely another story."

"But stories hold power, you said so," Hob says, jogging along to catch up with his friend. "And I'd like to find something else to outshine that one."

Morpheus is always taller than Hob in the Dreaming, and far more eldritch too. His pale eyes are instead the deep velvet black of space, filled with a field of stars. He is skinnier, sharper, arms and fingers just slightly too long, hair more wild and clothing always moving as if he has his own private breeze to make sure his cloak is always shown to best advantage.

He probably does, the vain ponce.

He's a gorgeous nightmare, and he knows it.

And so he peers down at Hob from his lofty snobbish height. Then with a dramatic flourish, he plucks a book down off a shelf that's definitely too high up for Hob to reach.

"I win," Morpheus says smugly.

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#hob x dream #dreamling fic #dream #dreamling #dream x hob #dream of the endless #hob gadling #hob x morpheus #morpheus x hob #morpheus #Cling Fast #Losyark #the sandman #sandman fanfic #fanfiction #sandman #merv pumpkinhead #matthew the raven #eleanor gadling #robyn gadling #centennial boyfriends #centennial husbands

[semi-good-artist]

tell me about ur worldbuilding. what species are there. are there any pantheons? any magic systems? have u figured out the geography of the world yet?

Thanks for asking :D

So, there is a pantheon, it consists of six gods

Aglaisia (She/Her), The Mistress of Memory and the Head of the Archive

Archetheteus (They/Them), The Tide and the One who receives many gifts

Coros (He/Him), The Dragonforge and the first musician

The Veiled Lady (They/Her), Keeper of the Starveil and Protector of Souls

Pecora (She/Him), Horned Huntsman and custodian of the wilds

Lugh (He/Him), father of the pack and He in Pieces

There's one major trio; Aglaisia, Coros and the Veiled Lady. Or Start, Change and End, the gods of sequence. Everything that goes on has the tacid approval of them or else it couldn't happen.

But, like every group of people, there are rifts between them. The most obvious divide is between Pecora and Archetheteus, The Hunt, the conflict between people and the forests against Hospitality, Gifts and the Occean is one noone can mend

a smaller rift is between the Veiled Lady and Coros as the Dragonforge tries to wriggle out of the barries the Fog imposes, this can be seen in his Inventions like the Crystal Organon or the Mist-Lantern. This is contrasted by the romance between the End and the Start, who own a small flat just to spite the grandure of the other gods.

The last god I want to talk about here is He in Pieces, who is the one least known about, other that he's shattered, simply because his state makes it nearly impossible to invoke his will. But there are rumours that he has something in the works.

The magic system is mainly worship based

The Gods may bestow lesser powers on their worshippers or just favourite little guys.

Aglaisia gifts the people with the point to begin their journey to greatness or the required knowledge

Archetheteus returns some of the gifts he received long ago, or sends some of his arms to help those who were kind

Coros imbues your creations with life or special properties though the last one is just to spite the Veiled Lady

The Veiled Lady doesn't give her magic for free, She may release a soul from the Mist of you've proven against a moonlight servant that you can protect it like her. This soul returns to their favourite object in life, giving it magic properties

Pecora helps those who hunt beside her fight and more enduring, he may even send one of her Hounds to your advantage

Lugh, even in his forced absence, sends his arms and armor to help defend those who keep his ideals

But yet, there's still magic outside of their control, the most prominent kind is Vaeheomancy, it teaches how to make objects follow natural flows, like the wind or water. yet there is still magic out there which are not known of yet.

But there's still something you need to know of in this world

The Fabric which makes of this world is more like a glassy substance, called the Vitreum, yet it only grows transparent with wear and tear, which reveals the world beyond. Now the question grows what causes the tear in the glass and if there's a world beyond why not go there. Both these questions can be answered by the existence of the Mirrorbeasts, ferocious creatures that hunger for the life inside the glass baubles, so if the life spills out they will take advantage of this.

Yet, why isn't this world shattered and a feast for the beasts? There is second kind of creature out there, The Fey, a second assortment of gods who's only role is to seal the shatters in the glass. Like other gods they also bestow their boons, but unlike the other gods their boons trigger something akin to monstrous transformations. Scholars are still debating if this can be considered a boon or a curse.

I don't have a set in stone geography yet, but there is a set of towns, Lexdale, a harbour town dedicated to the Tide, the Grave-walled city, who's defensive structure leads to an increased density of the Fog, and the Archive, which in it's former glory may have been considered as one of them, but now the decay has set in, resulting in locking the high arched doors. There have been rumours though, about new light flowing through the western windows

#vitreum #Sorry for the wall of text #even if that is kinda what you asked for #writing #worldbuilding

[uptoolateart]

I know it's been forever since I updated my Miraculous tarot deck. I've just been so busy writing fics instead! Then I saw the S5 finale and I decided to replace one of the cards I'd already done. So, this is Reality, which is a replacement for The World. An explanation is below the image. It turns into a bit of an analysis of 'Re-Creation'.

My previous image for The World was Marinette/Ladybug and Adrien/Cat Noir, i.e. their dual images. Then I got stuck because actually, that image would be perfect for the 2 of Yo-Yos...but I want to update it because I can draw better now, so that's on its way.

So, why did I go with Gimmi / Reality for this card?

The World is the end of the Major Arcana, or the archetypal cards at the head of the deck. Therefore, it speaks of fulfilment, completion, harmony, and the end of a certain cycle or phase of life. One journey has ended and a new one begins. From this point, we return to The Fool and start the sequence all over again.

The traditional Rider-Waite-Smith image shows a dancing figure, showing that fulfilment is ever-changing and dynamic. He/she is surrounded by a wreath of success / the achievement of a goal. This circle shows the cyclical nature of life. To quote an old Smashing Pumpkins song, the end is the beginning is the end….

In the corners are four figures who also appear in The Wheel of Fortune, symbolising the elements in harmony.

The central figure has one leg up in the air, reminding me of Lord Shiva in ancient Indian stories. Also referred to as the Lord of Dance (not to be confused with the Lord of the Dance, i.e. Michael Flatley), Shiva is a classic symbol of balance, walking the two paths between spiritual life and material life / desires. I thought of him the instant I saw Gimmi in 'Re-Creation', which I'll discuss that below. (I mean, look at all those arms...but even besides that....)

Ancient Indian traditions have this idea of different yugas, or eras. There are four of them, each one shorter than the last. When all four come to an end, Shiva does a special dance so powerful that it shatters the material universe...clearing a path for the universe to be created anew and the whole cycle to begin again. This process goes on eternally.

(Incidentally, we are currently said to be living through the last yuga in the cycle, the Kali yuga, when people are at their weakest and live shorter lives. But don't worry - there are about 427,000 years left of this yuga.)

Many traditions say Brahma is the creator god, after Shiva cleans the slate. Others, though, give Shiva the role of creator, too - specifically describing him as destroying in order to create again.

Hence in 'Deflagration' Plagg reminds Tikki that 'you and I are one', and in 'Re-Creation', when we see Plagg and Tikki in their ultimate forms, they make similar statements. Gimmi is not one or the other - Gimmi is their unified state. Reality = the constant ebb and flow of life and death, creation and destruction...like when Gabriel makes his wish and reality is collapsed and recreated. His wish is Shiva's dance. Constance is an illusion.

I think it's really interesting how when Gabriel 'dies', we never actually see a body. 'That's just because it's a children's show!' Yeah, maybe...but it's a children's show full of esoteric imagery, too. When Gabriel 'dies' he simply floats up and becomes a bunch of glowing light, returning to the energetic source of everything. Even basic physics tells us that energy never goes away. It simply...transforms. In a weird way...Gabriel's still floating around in some form, in the end. (Now there's a creepy thought.)

By the way, if you've noticed the placement of the Gabriel figure on my card...yeah. I didn't choose that. My reference image was a screenshot from 'Re-Creation'. I'm certain Gabriel's positioning was on purpose, to illustrate that is he but one humble emanation of the Creatrix (a feminine source of life - and with all that pink, I'm sure Gimmi is meant to be something like this, too).

And can I just note that I love the way Gimmi's head is surrounded by the atomic model. You may have gathered from other posts that I was less than satisfied with that S5 finale...but everything about Plagg, Tikki and Gimmi was fantastic.

#ml tarot deck #ml recreation #ml meta #ml analysis #ml s5 finale #ml gimmi #miraculous ladybug #mlb #ml fandom #ml fanart #tarot deck #tarot cards #ml theory #ml plagg #ml tikki #ml plikki #ml gabriel #gabriel agreste #fanart

[alexa-crowe]

mulder being a stay at home dad and actually raising william would have healed him

Literally! The heart of The X-Files was always family. Mulder’s whole journey in the show was accepting that Sam’s disappearance wasn’t his fault. Not that he ever believed that Sam being abducted was his fault, but he believed that he was guilty of not doing his duty as her older brother to protect her. He does the same thing with Scully’s abduction and the painful events thereafter, blaming himself for not saving her from Duane Barry, for not preventing her cancer, for not finding a cure for Emily.

Scully becomes his family, and he protects her with the same zeal as he does Sam: “Nothing else matters to me,” from the pilot when he’s saying it about uncovering government secrets to find Sam; and then, “Nothing else matters to me now,” from that deleted scene from “The Red and the Black” when he’s telling Scully that his priority is figuring out why abductees are being summoned places by their chips—to protect Scully.

He intended to spend his whole life looking for what happened to Sam, would martyr himself for the cause if he had to because the only thing that ever mattered to him after her abduction was being an older brother. He shifts his commitments to be tied between Sam and Scully, because they’re partners in the professional, platonic, and romantic sense of the word.

Becoming a father was the most natural conclusion of his character arc. I believe that’s why it works so well for Scully to end up wanting kids, too. In Mulder’s quest to “make up” for failing as an older brother, he punished himself with shallow relationships like with Diana, Phoebe, and Kristen. His parents were already wallowing in their own misery and self-pity/self-flagellation, so they were of no help. Scully was the first person to tell him that his wants and desires mattered, that he deserved happiness—getting out of the car. She doesn’t just say that because it’s what she wants, of course; she wouldn’t keep begging him if she didn’t understand that Mulder wanted it, too.

And when he finally accepts that he needs to let Sam go, stop focusing on walking into that room every day—let Scully hold his hand as she goes there with him and guide him back out—he’s free to enjoy the bond he’s forged with her. Free to want a family and want an end to their work, which by necessity requires self-sacrifice. Mulder was never really married to the work, he was sacrificing himself on the blade of it, waiting either for the truth to come to him through all the pain or to die first.

He doesn’t want a kid to come between them, doesn’t want them to forget each other and stop caring enough about each other, because he knows what it’s like to have a dysfunctional family—to have a mother that’s not there for you like you need them to be and a father that’s not there for you like you need them to be. He doesn’t want a baby to be the thing that finally breaks them, makes her leave him behind so he’s all alone again like he was at twelve in the room he spent so much of his life walking into over and over.

He would’ve loved to be a stay-at-home dad, reveling in the normalcy of domestic life. Staying up with Will to feed him at two in the morning with the TV on low, knowing that it wasn’t all in vain—that better things will come if you have the strength to believe in them. Strapping Will to his chest to surprise Scully at work, dressing him up as Spock for his first Halloween, celebrating New Year’s at the volume of a mouse with the TV all the way down so they don’t wake him up…

It’s so painful to watch him lose people over and over again because what is he if not a brother? A son? A father? A partner? Scully made him whole because she tells him that no matter how his life changes—no matter the people that he loses and the relationships that fall apart—he will always be his sister’s brother and his parents’ son and their son’s father and her partner. He will always matter. He doesn’t have to prove himself, he can just be.

When all the dressings of the show are stripped away, Fox Mulder is a family man. He would’ve been so happy to stay home with William and live a fulfilling life that way. Really fucking sucks that the show never so much as acknowledged that. But that’s what the fic is for!

#txf #txf meta #ask

[somuchyoudontknow]

Part 2 from me:

With regards to his family and friends using him or taking advantage, I believe it is also partly due to his people-pleasing habits. He has not set proper boundaries.

Also, people do to you what you allow. People make you feel how you allow them to make you feel. I feel that this is the lesson that Chris has yet to fully learn.

And lets examine human nature: if you have a friend who insists on paying for everything every time you all go out, and wont take no for an answer, then what will you do after a while? Many will just enjoy the perk, what more those who do this under the guise of “Oh we are family/bros/childhood friends”.

He has the desire to take care of the people he loves most, and this speaks to his golden heart, but he also does too much. So there is no balance. And when this goes on for too long, it can start to feel like people are using him.

Now, there is nothing wrong with helping or paying for things every now and then, but the only person who can put a stop to it is Chris himself. The only reason he feels used is because he has allowed the people around him to do so without setting healthy boundaries.

And he may have had a good reason to do so in the past, but my intuition tells me he will need to change this and really learn how to build healthy relationships if he wants the kind of love and family life he supposedly seems to be fantasising about.

He can have the life he dreams about, but that ability to build it lies only within himself.

I just hope he sees it, because while things may happen in divine timing for him, a human’s time on earth is finite, and he should not waste anymore time repeating cycles and behavioural patterns that do not align him to his highest path.

Again I say, he may not be fully healed before he meets his FS. My guides say that true, full healing is also a journey for them as a couple.

But he needs to do some of the work before her guides will ever allow him to cross her orbit romantically.

Now Sophia, you may be right that they are currently friends or in contact, but allow me to say that I am not too sure about this. My guides say they have not yet crossed paths. She is too well-protected, which is her blessing for what she has endured in her dark past.

Again, I may be wrong, because only the divine has all the answers.

But whatever that journey for him is, I sincerely hope he makes it. The light at the end of the tunnel is really not as far away as he thinks it is. It is already within grasp, but he must put in the work to heal and grow first, and to align himself.

❤️ StarStruck 💫

I don't think his family is taking advantage of him. If he wants to take care of them, it means he is doing it on his own. It is also my nature as well lollll I hate if someone says "no" to me because I want to be there for my "loved ones" I think in his friends' circle, the person who gives me weird vibes is Tara. She seems to come off thirsty and I think he needs to put up boundaries for these kinds of people. People like Tara seem to take advantage of you and take you for granted and at one point you start feeling as being used.

As far as my prediction about his FS goes, I always say I can be wrong :) and I am going to say it :) Please, feel free to share your opinions with me even if you don't agree with me :) I love to hear everyone's opinions.

And thanks again for being here and sharing your reading and your opinions. We would love to hear more from you 🤗❤💙

#chris evans pr #chris-evans #alba-baptista #intuition #intuitive reading #❤️ StarStruck 💫