#HIS ACTIONS ARE NOT A REFLECTION ON YOU...

[izelascendant]

Sportsmanlike

Chapter 4 - Stanford

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Rating | Mature Summary | Art attends the event with his plus one. Pairing | f!Original Character x Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig Tags | Tennis, Competition, Love Triangles (Squares?), Jealousy, Plot, Emotional Infidelity, Eventual smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Relationships Word Count | 2.2K Author's note | I'm gonna be honest this is pretty much just a smut chapter. SMUT warning.

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Sportsmanlike on AO3 | Chapter 1 - US Open 2006, Chapter 2 - Finalist Fusion, Chapter 3 - Aftermath and Accolades, Chapter 4 - Stanford, Chapter 5 - Stanford, Part 2 | Sportsmanlike PART 2 - soon

Art

As Art digs through his closet, scanning his limited options, he holds a tie up to his neck, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The sudden sound of his door opening startles him, and he turns to find Patrick casually inviting himself into the room.

With a mix of frustration and amusement, Art turns to face Patrick. "You do know you can knock before coming in, right?"

“When have I ever?” Patrick breezes into the room, his hands casually placed on his hips. He arches an eyebrow and pauses, taking a good look at Art before letting out a small whistle. "Hot date tonight?” he teases with a sly smirk on his face.

Art lets out a snicker, amused by the situation. "Nah, it's just this fancy event I gotta attend," he explains. "You know my dad's friend, the tall academic guy? He's hosting it, so I can't really skip it."

Patrick moves about Art's cramped dorm room, his movements aimless as he pretends to survey his surroundings. "Not bringing me as your plus one?"

A momentary silence hangs between them, Patrick’s words seemingly hanging in the air. Art turns to face him, tossing the tie onto his desk. "Well, you're leaving," Art simply states.

"That I am," Patrick replies with a sigh as he gazes at his friend, a tender smile gracing his lips. 

The moment between them stretches, filled with a silent understanding. Then, Patrick steps towards Art's closet, breaking the silence. "Alright," he says, a sense of determination in his tone as he begins to rummage through Art's clothes. "Let's see what we're working with."

Art's chuckle fills the air as he playfully questions Patrick's determination. "Since when have you become the fashion expert?" he asks as he peels off his t-shirt, tossing it aside to try on one of his shirts.

Instead of a verbal response, Art hears Patrick murmur from behind the closet door. "You sneaky little fuck."

"What?" Art’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he turns to face him, genuinely puzzled by Patrick's sudden comment. 

Art's heart skips a beat as he spots the lace panties clutched in Patrick's hand—the same ones she had forgotten on the hotel floor the night she left with Tashi in a rush after their encounter —Patrick had discovered a secret Art didn’t even think to mention to him.

Patrick breaks into a hearty laugh, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You son of a bitch, I can’t believe you," he exclaims, a sense of teasing in his voice. "Just how long have you had these?"

"It's not like that—" Art quickly defends himself, trying to maintain his composure. "What was I supposed to do, give them back? That would've made me seem creepy." He takes a deep breath, his flustered tone betraying his attempt to rationalize his actions.

"And keeping them in your sock drawer for months isn’t?” Patrick's teasing laughter fills the room as he continues to poke fun at Art's secret.

"Hey—you recognized them," Art scoffs, his embarrassment still palpable in his voice.

Patrick's eyes sparkle with mischief as he holds up the panties, examining them intently. "I can't even blame you," he teases, his tone filled with playful admiration. "I would've done the same if I had gotten dibs.”

"You have a girlfriend!" Art retorts, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and affectionate exasperation.

“Relax.” Patrick flashes a smug grin, tossing the panties back into the drawer before giving Art a firm pat on the shoulder. "I'm just messing with you." He saunters towards Art's desk chair, making himself comfortable as he sits down. "You should take her to this event with you, though.”

Art chooses to keep the truth that she is indeed his plus one to himself—for fear of the relentless teasing that would undoubtedly follow—he knows his friend all too well and can already anticipate the relentless jokes that would follow.

Patrick continues to tease Art, leaning forward in his seat. "You know she totally wants to fuck you, right?”

"Are you leaving or not?" Art rolls his eyes, his tone only half-joking.

Patrick stands up and ruffles Art's hair affectionately, pulling him into a warm hug. "Wear protection when you do finally fuck her, yeah?" Patrick teases.

"Fuck off," Art replies with a grin, embracing the hug they share. After a brief moment, he pulls away and asks, "When will you be back?"

"Two weeks or so," Patrick replies casually, strolling towards the doorway.

In the silence that follows Patrick's departure, Art's mind is left thinking about his words— "You know she totally wants to fuck you, right?" —the thought echoes through his mind. He takes a deep breath before returning to his closet.

Her

"I don't get it; he's so obviously into you," Tashi insists, her tone tinged with a hint of frustration as she assists with the zipper on her dress. "Give him a chance."

She raises an eyebrow at Tashi's suggestion, her voice tinged with a touch of amusement. "You're saying that as if I'm actively rejecting him," she says, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her words. "We both want to be friends—what's so wrong with that?—we're not ruining what we have."

Tashi lets out a sigh as she finishes zipping up her dress, her gaze lingering for a moment before she meets her eyes. "Don't you think you deserve a good fuck?" she says, her tone filled with amusement and suggestion. "And it's Art, c'mon."

She raises her eyebrow in response with a hint of humor, "You sound like you want to fuck him."

Tashi scoffs at her remark and instructs, "Turn around."

She turns to the side and takes a moment to analyze her reflection, a hint of uncertainty flickering across her face. "Please tell me you like this one, Tash," she implores, her voice tinged with a touch of vulnerability. "It's like the fifth one I've tried on."

Tashi takes a moment to admire her, humming appreciatively at the sight. "The baby pink flatters you. Give me a twirl." She commands.

"Tashi—" she begins, her tone laced with a hint of complaint, but her words are cut short as she sees the serious expression on Tashi's face. With a slight sigh, she complies, giving a quick spin and awaiting Tashi's evaluation.

Tashi's firm nod provides reassurance as she agrees, "This is the one." The decision is final—giving her stamp of approval.

The party takes place in the host’s luxurious estate, just a short distance from the university campus. Surrounded by a sea of middle-aged guests composed of friends, business associates, and others, Art deduces that they will probably be the youngest people at the event.

As she approaches, her eyes meet Art's as he stands in front of the house, his signature endearing grin widening when he notices her presence. A sense of warmth washes over her, the familiar crooked smile drawing her in—a gentle blush tints her cheeks.

"Look at you, Donaldson," she chuckles, her tone tinged with an affectionate sort of teasing.

“You look amazing in that dress,” Art replies, his sincerity shining through as his eyes practically twinkle, captivated by her beauty.

"Thanks, it was actually—" She stops herself, realizing she was about to mention that it was Tashi’s suggestion. Enough about Tashi—she’s here to spend the night with him . With a soft smile, she fixes her statement, "I chose it myself." 

Art chuckles softly, expressing a tinge of regret. "You know, I feel kind of bad for dragging you here," he admits, acknowledging the lack of young people at the event. They look around, both recognizing the significant contrast in age among the guests.

"Don't feel bad, I'm the one who accepted the invitation," she replies, returning Art's smile. She then gestures towards the house, suggesting, "C'mon, let's grab a drink."

She wonders about Art's upbringing as they navigate the gathering, surrounded by  guests of clearly wealthy backgrounds. Despite feeling somewhat out of place, she clings tightly to Art's side while politely greeting the various individuals who approach to greet them.

The first person to greet them is the host of the party. The older gentleman warmly approaches Art, his voice filled with fondness as he greets him. "Art Donaldson, my boy!" he exclaims, shaking Art's hand with a broad smile. "I am so glad you could make it."

Art responds with a warm smile before turning to introduce her. She offers a polite nod and a handshake as the host adds, "You're very lucky to be with him. He's an exceptional young man." There's a glint of pride in the host's eyes, emphasizing his admiration for Art.

A brief pause settles between them.

Art clears his throat and follows up with a nervous chuckle, gesturing between himself and her. “Oh, no—We’re not,” he clarifies, emphasizing their friendship. She chimes in, adding, "We're just friends." 

The host responds with a chuckle and raises his glass, a suggestive smile playing on his lips. "Well, you're missing out." He then adds, "I grew up with his father, and I can tell you—marrying a Donaldson is the way to go.” Art can't help but feel himself cringe at the remark, silently wishing the conversation could end. 

She exchanges a quick glance with Art, her amusement breaking through in the form of a small chuckle. 

Art politely excuses himself from the conversation "It was great talking to you, Ron." He gestures towards her to subtly transition away from their interaction. "We're gonna go get ourselves a drink."

He turns to face her fully after stepping away. "That was embarrassing," he admits, his voice filled with a hint of nervousness.

She places her hand on Art's shoulder with a reassuring touch and laughs, "Art, I don't care." Her tone takes on a hint of lightheartedness. "If anything, it just made me curious." Her words are followed by a slightly mischievous smile as she jokes, "Maybe I’ll ditch tennis, work on my kitchen skills and try to inherit some of that Donaldson money ."

Art lets out a quick laugh as he reminiscences, his voice filled with nostalgia. "You know, you say that, but the real rich one is Patrick," he says. "You should see the estate he grew up in. It was like a castle."

"Is he really?" She turns to Art with a surprised expression. "He doesn't give off that energy," she remarks, still processing the new information.

As they walk side by side through the house, his smile widens as he continues, "Yeah, no, he's the real one you'd wanna marry."

She shakes her head with a soft scoff, a gentle chuckle escaping her lips. "I don't, though—thank god," she says, her tone light-hearted. But then she adds, "But whoever marries you will be one lucky girl." The sincerity in her voice is unmistakable as she turns her gaze away from Art for a brief moment, allowing the weight of her words to settle between them.

Art responds with a confident tone. "Whoever marries you will be just as lucky," he assures her. He maintains a casual demeanor, his hands casually placed with one in his pocket and the other holding his drink.

She responds with a disbelieving "yeah right" kind of smile, shaking her head slightly.

"I’m serious," he assures her, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

"What, you're making a promise to me? That I'll become a millionaire?" she says, a mix of amusement and disbelief on her face. Art's seriousness only adds to her amusement, but there's a softer quality to her laughter—a subtle appreciation for his sincerity.

Art smiles with an endearing smirk, confidently asserting, "Damn straight." There's a boyish charm in his expression as he speaks, his words carrying a hint of sweetness. "And—you know I keep my promises. You'll see."

Their eyes connect as she raises her glass—a hint of determination in her gaze. 

"I guess I'll drink to that." Her words hang in the air, full of potential. 

"Cheers." Art responds, a smile ghosting the corners of his lips as he clinks his glass against hers.

The night carries on with a familiar pattern—a guest would approach them both and express how lovely they look together, only for her to correct the assumption that they're a couple. Each time it happens, a mixture of awkwardness and lightheartedness fills the air, as they gently assert the truth about their friendship, finding humor in their inability to convince people otherwise.

The repetition starts to set in, and she decides to switch things up a bit, joining in on the playful act. An elderly woman approaches them with the customary question, "So, are you two together?"

Before Art can respond, she jumps in, her smile growing wider as she confidently replies, "Yes, yes we are." She locks eyes with Art, enjoying the playfulness of the moment.

"Oh, bless you two," The elderly woman's words wash over them, her voice laced with genuine joy. "What a beautiful pair," she continues, her words resonating with both of them. As Art listens, a new and unfamiliar feeling begins to emerge within him.

Art's gaze remains fixed on her as they make their way through the event, captivated by her every move. He watches as she interacts with other guests, her reserved demeanor adding to the allure of her presence. With each glance—Art finds himself lost in admiration as she graciously navigates the party—her charm and grace radiating softly.

Art is pulled out of his entranced state as she approaches, and he feels her whisper against his ear. "C’mon, I need a break from these people," she murmurs, her touch sending a jolt through him.

As they retreat into a quieter area of the house, Art walks along her side, his footsteps matching hers as they make their way down a calmer corridor. Upon reaching a quieter corner, he turns to her, "You okay?" His eyes meet hers, searching for any sign of discomfort.

She reassures him with a steady, "Yeah," her tone filled with a hint of playfulness. "I just wanted to escape for a moment." A subtle smile plays at the corners of her lips as she takes in their isolated surroundings. "I'm sure we won't be missed too much."

Art's amused huff turns into a soft smile as he watches her glance at the wide oval staircase, her hand reaching out to gather the delicate material of her dress. She walks up a few steps and takes a seat at an angle that offers some privacy from the area below. 

Looking up, he spots her waiting for him, her head peeking over the railing, gesturing for him to join her. Without hesitation, he slowly makes his way up and moves to sit beside her, his eyes meeting hers.

Art feels his heart flutter as he struggles to find the right words to continue the conversation, but the coy smile on her face eases his anxiety. He swallows nervously before confessing, "I really want to kiss you right now." His voice comes out only barely about a whisper, a slight shakiness to it.

"I can tell." Her gentle reply comes in a whisper, as she brings her hand up to tenderly cup his face—a small curve in her lips forming at his confession. 

Art holds his breath as she leans in, the closeness of her face and the anticipation building between them. He feels her approach, her lips parting slightly, and his breath catches in his chest, the tension growing. She teases him—letting her lips hover just millimeters away—her eyes glinting with mischief. Unable to resist any longer, she finally closes the gap between them, her lips gently brushing against his in a soft, tender kiss.

Art feels his heart race as his senses come alive, his body reacting to her touch, and he reaches out instinctively, his hands finding purchase on her waist. The kiss grows more desperate, yet the pace remains unhurried as they take their time to savor the moment. Their breaths intertwine as their lips meet again and again—creating a sweet symphony of open-mouthed kisses. 

Art's mind reels as she tangles her fingers into his curls, keeping his head in place as their tongues seek one another's. His hands wander with a mind of their own, slipping from her waist to her hips and back again—his movements are gentle but indicative of his growing desire.

As their lips part, they both take a moment to catch their breath, breathing unevenly. Art gazes at her, his eyes filled with an adoration that borders on pitiful. The expression on his face makes her laugh softly, brushing a curl away from his face before pressing tender kisses along his jawline. He lets out a gentle sigh as she continues, her lips tracing their way down the sensitive skin of his neck.

Art's heart races as she moves her hands towards his belt, her coy smirk sending his senses into overdrive. "Is this okay?" she asks in a hushed tone, and his breath hitches in his chest. It’s clear that she’s enjoying the effect she has on him—how flustered she can make him.

“Here?” He swallows hard and glances over the railing to ensure nobody else is around. The thrill of the moment combines with the uncertainty, leaving him both nervous and eager at the same time.

"No one can see us from here," she whispers, the corners of her lips curled into the same little smirk.

Art's hand cradles her face—his expression is one of awe and almost disbelief as he gazes upon her—his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "You're gonna kill me," he murmurs, his words a fervent whisper, his cheeks flushed a rosy shade of pink.

Her teeth graze across her bottom lip for a quick moment as she unbuckles his belt, reaching down to stroke his length, pumping him slowly in her hand. Art's head tips back momentarily as a quick huff escapes his parted lips, his attempt to maintain his composure failing yet again. Before he can regain his self-control, she leans in and seals their lips together in a sweet, tender kiss.

In a swift movement, Art finds himself leaning back, his body supported by the step behind him as he tries to suppress the sounds of his heavy breathing—her lips move up and down his hard length, stopping at his tip to shower it with small kisses and tentative licks—causing him to bite down on the inside of his cheek.

A soft moan escapes Art's lips, her name on his tongue like a sweet, desperate prayer. "Please," he begs, struggling from her teasing.

She listens to his sounds intensify as she fully wraps her mouth around him, her hands resting at the base of his crotch as she moves her head up and down in a rhythmic motion—his whimpers and grunts sound sweet and almost submissive—each sound fuels her determination to push him further.

"I'm not gonna last—" he warns her, his body growing warmer by the second, his skin flushed with a fiery shade of pink. He clings desperately to the railing, his grip tightening.

She swirls her tongue continuously as she gently takes his hand and guides it to her head, giving him permission to let go of his inhibitions. Art can't resist the pull, his fingers eagerly tangling through the fiery strands of her hair.

A string of cuss words escape Art’s lips as his breathing picks up and his grip around her hair tightens as he reaches his climax, his head hanging back and his eyes closing. She keeps her mouth sealed around his tip, swallowing every last drop before sitting back up straight and wiping her mouth with a blushed smirk.

Art's eyes flutter open, and a small chuckle escapes his lips—a hint of embarrassment mixing with the lingering heat of their encounter. He takes a moment to collect himself, tucking himself back into his pants with a slight hint of nervousness. His mind whirls for a moment, unsure of what to say or do next.

Her smile melts into a contented expression, her hand resting gently on top of Art's. Just as she stands up to take a step further, Art's soft plea stops her in her tracks. "Wait—" his voice resonates with a gentle urgency, his eyes fixating on her. "I want to do something for you." he whispers, his gaze locking onto hers.

“You don’t have to.” Her humble response hangs in the air, her voice soft and warm. 

Art's eyes remain committed, his voice firm but affectionate. "I want to. Please?” Pulling gently on her hand, he brings her back to where he's sitting, his gesture filled with a quiet assertiveness.

Her eyes reflect in a loving manner as she nods in agreement, her gaze wandering across his face. Art leans in closer, his hand moving smoothly, gliding up to her inner thigh. The touch of his hand sends a shiver through her body, and she meets his advance by pressing her lips to his once again.

She assists by gathering the fabric of her dress, pulling it up a little further to allow him full access. Hesitantly, he trails his fingers along the fabric of her panties—his touch very light as he brushes across her soft spot.

"I'm not made of porcelain," She teases, amused by his shy touch. Her words carry a hint of reassurance, “I won’t break.” She takes his hand and presses it firmly against her, encouraging him to touch her with more pressure.

Art's hand reluctantly withdraws, and she quickly readjusts her dress back into place, just as the sound of footsteps reaches their ears. In a flash, they dart towards another secluded corner, Art's hand tightly held in hers. A sense of relief washes over them, and she lets out a soft chuckle. 

Art's eyes meet hers, his gaze filled with longing—a silent plea of sorts.

“Listen, I should probably head back now.” She begins, still holding his hand in hers as she speaks. “We should probably keep this between us, I wouldn't want—”

“—Tashi to find out. I get it.” Art nods in agreement, a knowing smile playing on his lips, his tone understanding. “I’m glad you could be my plus one tonight.” He chuckles lightly.

"No regrets." She echoes his sentiment, adding her own affirmation to his words.

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[meownotgood]

don't go, not yet. / gale dekarios x gn!reader, fluff, light angst, hurt / comfort, you bring gale back to life with the scroll of true resurrection, and gale gets a glimpse of your true feelings for him. word count: 3.8k

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T'i n'uthrantha m'ahthra Gale. 

The letter held between your thumb and forefinger burns with sudden light, growing hot underneath your fingertips. Fire sears a scrawl of new script onto the parchment's surface. In a puff of ash and molten rock, wings closed around itself, the magma mephit disappears. Its wake scorches the grass, stray dustings constricting your throat. You wave a palm in front of your face, forcing yourself to hold in your coughs, your throat constricted and eyes threatening to water. 

Newly formed, the Scroll of True Resurrection curls in your palm. It gives off a faint, promising glow. A gleam that almost seems to exude its own sense of vibrant heat. Your jaw clenches, your hands shake. Your fingers press into the wrinkled parchment, and your heartbeat struggles to keep steady. The thick, mushroom-laden air of the Underdark has never felt more stifling. 

You take a slow breath — although it does little to calm you, in the grand scheme of things — before you quietly utter the necessary incantation. Instantly, the scroll blazes brightly, then crumbles into stardust. In its place, your palms radiate with the same sort of incandescent power. Beams of pure energy drift skyward, strands of blue encircling you. Magic flows through your veins; it fills your lungs with a soft, familiar scent, a lingering reverie brushing over your arms, like the crisp air of a rustling breeze. 

Shudders traverse over your body. You're hardly comforted, but the forming of the spell between your palms, pressed together and then guided up, does finally provide you with the smallest amount of relief. 

Your entire system buzzes as you feel the spell's power. Your head grows heavy, magic swiftly leaving your body to flow through another — and over the ringing in your ears, you still manage to hear the moment Gale takes an initial, irrevocable breath. 

With a huff, he begins to rise to unsteady feet. Lingering, floaty spell threads seem to make every movement easier. When they dissipate, leaving him to support his own full weight, he wobbles for a moment, a palm pressed to his chest. At last, you let go of the breath you were holding. 

Gale blinks, vision returning from darkness, then blurriness. Vitality crashes through him, blissfully effortless; a waterfall of stamina he'd since taken for granted. He stares down at his feet first, at the flattened grass around where he once collapsed, and he tries to keep from growing dizzy. He looks at his hands. The front, then the back. Dirt and blood are caked into his skin — his blood, clearly. Dried, dark red traces cling to the crevices in his palms, they smudge over the ends of his knuckles. Such a grim implication, he muses. 

Still catching his breath, those thoughts are forced to the back of his mind. Instead, he's letting a smile break over his features. As if the very action is remarkable, he closes and opens his hands again, he watches the way they move with amazement. He's alive. Gods, he's actually alive. The precautions he put in place worked. He won't condemn himself, or reduce the lonely depths of the Underdark to smithereens; nor will his demise wind up hurting his unlikely band of companions. And you, you're just fine. He kept you safe, he truly did. You brought him back, he'll see you again — 

With a spark in his gaze you find almost gleeful, almost adoring, Gale finally looks towards you. 

"My word, you did it!" He's gasping, laughing slightly, disbelief reflected on his face as well as in his voice. He briefly wobbles, further getting used to his weight on his heels. Without looking away from you, he absently continues to flex his fingers, feeling the blood rushing back to them, and he forces himself to take a much slower exhale. "Oh, it's good to be alive!" 

You're glancing him up and down once, twice, with an expression on your face he can't make sense of — and he doesn't yet try. If you're angry with him, he's sure he deserves it. All he knows is he's glad to see you. Unbelievably glad. 

His chest heaves. Breathing feels startingly simple, especially when the last thing he remembers is how viciously he struggled for breath. The sudden thrum of the orb comes back to greet him, constricting him as it always does, whispering a bitter promise into his ears that it is still here. He could've lost you. It's a realization that pains him far worse than the returning demand to devour within him. As warmth returns to his numb limbs, and as he's silently cursing himself for ever being so foolish, he realizes he almost did. He almost let himself disappear. 

"My hands are still cold so that handshake will have to wait," Gale swallows, brushing his palms onto his pants to hopefully be rid of the dirt. His tone remains upbeat. For a moment though, his smile seems to waver, in a way only you could manage to pick up. Only you, given how terribly close you and him have quickly become. You're more important to him than you might realize. 

"But in the meantime," He murmurs, standing up straight. "Tha-" 

Words left unfinished, Gale is interrupted when you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a tight, fierce hug. 

You bury your face in his chest, barely noticing the blood smeared onto your cheek from his filthy clothes. You squeeze him tightly. Your hands grab fistfuls of the back of his robe, nails practically digging into him. Your body presses so close to his, it's as though you were both meant to encompass the same shape. 

Gale exhales, deeply, steadily, and he relaxes into your touch. Your arms around him feel right. His heart thumps, skipping to a slightly eager, very real rhythm. Silently, you focus on the soothing sound while it echoes through you. It is calming, grounding. His heartbeat becomes a comfort you wish to memorize. 

At first, Gale hesitates, melting into your touch and glancing down at you, his hands hovering in the air awkwardly, mere inches away. In the end, slowly but surely, he returns your embrace. 

He hugs you with careful arms, and you slump, shoulders untensing. You breathe a sigh, pressing further into him, attempting to hide a muffled sniffle. His clothes linger with the sharp scent of blood, and the heavy undertone of ruin. When his palm settles onto the back of your head — so delicate, like you could be made of porcelain — you swear you can feel him shake. He grips just barely, keeping you close to him. Guilt roots into his chest and his heart as a gnawing ache. Tired eyes fluttering shut, weak arms embracing you with a tenderness more intense than you've ever known, he holds you close enough to interweave you. 

Your heart pounds along to the same eager rhythm as his. Gods, there's too many things you need to say to him; but your lips tremble, and you aren't sure where to start. You want to curse at him, vent your frustrations through the anger and sorrow you've since bottled up. You want to cry, but at the same time, you want to scold him for leaving you scared. For standing in front to take one too many blows meant for you. 

You need to tell him what you just can't put into words — Hopelessness, you felt utterly hopeless when you first watched Gale crumple and collapse. Your breath grew caught in your lungs. Swirling emotions you've never felt before clawed at your chest, resounding louder the longer you fixated on him: motionless, his blood pooling onto the cold ground. Try as you might, your mind was so muddled, you could barely make sense of anything in your view. 

Back then, with messily-cast spells and clumsy swings of your weapon, you finished the fight mostly unscathed. You scrambled over to him, your boots stained from the blood-soaked grass. As Gale's projection appeared in front of you, framed with a shimmering aura of purple light, you tried not to stiffen at the sound of his voice. You focused on his instructions as best you could, despite the tremble in your hands as you searched for the pouch he kept on him, or the clumsiness to your fingers as you pressed them to the holes in the flute. 

Some part of you wonders if there was an aspect of humanity to his projection. If it wasn't just a lifeless messenger, but rather, an extension of himself. 

Because you swear, when it — when he — spoke to you, his tone was filled with a familiar softness. The same softness Gale would embody when he asked you, Are you alright? after a fearsome confrontation. A confrontation you both got out of, unlike this one. You felt the same fondness radiating from him as the kind he'd have for you in life, when you talked over a nighttime campfire, his eyes seeming to linger on you for much longer than they needed to. 

Gale's shimmering projection gave you an earnest smile, and spoke a little softer, a little more careful. Practice will surely make perfect, He hummed, his warm voice reverberating through your head and your eardrums. Do not fret. It is my utmost belief that you will most undoubtedly emerge successful. I will see you once more soon. 

Or maybe, you'd already grown to miss his gentle smile, his tender words. You didn't want to imagine a world where you had truly, irreversibly lost him. Perhaps the familiar softness you thought you felt, his projection's lingering humanity — Ultimately, it was merely your imagination. 

You've grown to care for him more than you should. You have known this, regardless of your attempts to deny it. Either of you could die at any time, yet becoming close was effortless, almost as if it was meant to happen. Dire circumstances or not, you were meant to collide; it was only a matter of time. 

In the midst of turmoil and shadows of death, Gale has been your soft place to land. You aren't sure what to do with everything you feel. You don't know what you'd do if you lost him. 

As Gale lets go of a held breath, his arms pulling you in, your mind becomes calm like still water, yet your heart continues to race. This time, his voice is as warm as the sun; unmistakably devoted. He is your sun, an imprint of warmth in a sea of moonlit darkness. 

"Ha, I wasn't- uhm," He starts, stammering, speaking in a quiet tone. You lean further into his shoulder, and Gale rubs the back of your head, brushing his palm up and down with slow, barely-there movements. "I wasn't expecting… such a warm welcome, but Gods, is it good to see you. Even better than good, in fact. For a brief moment, I thought-" 

Trailing off with a slow, steady exhale, he doesn't allow those words to come into fruition. Instead, he pulls you a little bit closer, and hugs you a little bit tighter. 

"Well, I won't dwell on the outcomes yet to befall us. My mistakes have been righted. By someone very important to me, in fact. No sense in letting such regrets continue to drag us down. We have a rather important mission yet to be accomplished." He hums, his voice returning to its usual air of optimism. "Besides, I believe I still have you to thank for doing the honors to drag me back, isn't that right?" 

When you pull away, he's smiling, the glow of the nearby Sussur Tree illuminating his face in hues of soft blue. His hair is a mess, stray strands tickling his forehead. Bruises cling to his skin, still slightly pale, and dark circles are set underneath his tired eyes. But he's here. Finally, your head tipped in his direction to glance at him, Gale gets to have a good look at you. 

Your shoulders are tense, shuddery. He feels the subtle shake of your body in his arms. Your face is a blessing to see once more, but your cheeks are tear-stained, your brows are furrowed with some mix of frustration and dejection. And as he moves an instinctual hand to cup your face in his palm, you not-so subtly lean into his touch. Your eyes flutter closed, leaving the faintest sorrowful droplet to fall from your lashes. 

Oh. Gale's heart pangs in his chest, heavy and forceful. The unforgiving Underdark might have already gone and punished him for his oversights, but clearly, he misstepped far more than he might've imagined. 

"Oh, oh no- I didn't-" Gale nervously brushes the tears from your eyes with his thumb, his entire world instantly sent off-kilter. His words ache when they leave his throat, his vision threatens to grow misty. "Don't cry. I've got you, it's alright- I promise you, everything is and will be alright. I'm here. But I… must have brought you an awful heap of worry. If I had paid more attention, if I hadn't squandered so many chances to attain the upper hand-" 

As your eyes finally meet his own again, they enthrall him, capturing all of his attention. He half-expects you to crumble. And he would let you, he would keep you in his arms for as long as you'd allow him, holding you tight, with all the conviction of someone who would do anything to keep from vanishing. Nonetheless, you don't. Not any more than you already have. 

You push him away and stand up straight, although there's little force behind the press and shove of your palm to his chest. Glancing down, your weary gaze is now kept on your shoes. You count the specks of blood dotting each boot. Hastily, you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, and Gale flinches, your warmth leaving him once you've separated. 

"It's fine." You shake your head, and you swallow, willing your dry throat and tired voice to function. "I'm glad to see you're well. We can head back to camp whenever you're ready." 

Gale frowns. "No, it is not- and you, you are most definitely not fine. Come here." 

When his hand grips your wrist firmly to stop you from walking away, when his arms wrap around you once more, and you're confidently pulled into another embrace, you don't protest. You allow him to hold you, until your arms are weakly returning the hug. Until every blooming skip of your heart battles the fading ache of worry. Until Gale is exhaling, his breath warm on the shell of your ear, the feeling of his arms around you more than comforting. One arm is kept around your waist, while his other palm presses flat to your back. He holds you with an intensity you doubt you'll be able to forget. 

Damn him. You'll be craving this. Craving to feel his touch just one more time. 

"I'm sorry. I am so very sorry," Gale murmurs; stupid wizard, with his stupidly soft touch and his terribly soft words. His voice has shivers tracing up your spine, your every nerve glowing from the inside out. Of course you shouldn't be this attached to him. If only he didn't make it so damn easy. "You are important to me. Much more than you may know. I assure you, I will do all I can to make things right." 

Your eyes close, your shoulders slump, and you let yourself melt against him. The heavy scent of ash lingering on his clothes envelops you each time you breathe in deeply. There's no need to admit how you feel. Somehow, you sense he just knows, because the pure tenderness found in his every touch screams: You'll never have to let me go. 

Time becomes a slow, gradual thing. You aren't quite sure how many minutes have passed since he first held you, until Gale speaks, finally bringing you back to the present once more. 

"I'm sure you have questions." His voice is quiet, smooth, and effortlessly calming. He brushes his palm over your back, reassuring you. "I know I would, if I ever found myself in your position. After what you've done for me, I suppose it's only fair that I answer anything and everything I am capable of. No more secrets. You, out of everyone, deserve to know."  

"Later," You grumble, pressing closer. He breathes a faint laugh, then a slight sigh, and listens intently to your muffled words. "Tell me what you need to later. Or keep it to yourself, if you must. I wasn't worried about whether or not you'd give me answers, Gale. Just about you." 

"Were you concerned I wouldn't return?" 

"I…" You can't help but hesitate. "I don't know." 

At last, you pull away from him, just enough to meet his eyes. His hands grasp your forearms to keep you close. The way he looks at you is gentle enough to nearly pull all of the air from your lungs. 

"I wasn't sure, with your condition and all," You're explaining, looking away. He doesn't fail to notice the flash of fear in your eyes. He's never seen you so shaken. "I know you haven't told me much, but I really didn't know what would happen to you. My mind went to the worst possible outcome, and… It was frightening, for a moment. I didn't want to lose you." 

Gale takes a slow breath, gripping your arms tightly, until you're finally led to look at him again. "Sweetheart," He coos; the term of endearment tumbles from his lips before he can stop it, tender on his tongue, even more pleasant in your ears. "I do not wish to lose you either." 

You pause, your eyes wide, your breath quick. You almost speak again — perhaps about to accidentally admit more than you should, your heart busy strumming the notes of his name — but before you can, Gale is continuing first. 

"I won't leave you." He moves a hand to hold your cheek, subtly tilting you towards him. "I'll fight alongside you for as long as I remain standing. We won't perish, nor let ourselves become mindflayers. We will see this journey through- and, we will do so together, no matter what perils come after us. There's no need to worry about me. I do not plan on letting you down." 

"Gale-" You breathe in sharply, then slowly. You're offering him a genuine smile, one that makes a feeling he can't pinpoint flutter over him — something holy, surely. You were sculpted for worship. "Thank you." 

"You're the one I should be thanking, if we're being honest." His voice becomes a bit softer, as he murmurs, "And I do thank you. If we had the time, I'd thank you a thousand times over. It is good to be back. Truly. Perhaps I haven't shown the extent of my gratitude enough. You were there for me, in a way few ever have. I won't forget that." 

He begins to ramble, seeming lost in thought for only a second before he speaks once more: "The Fugue Plane is… depressing, to put it bluntly. It is a stretch of endless gray darkness as far as the eye can see, every shadow drawing in to swallow you whole. There is no warmth, no light. Compared to that fate, finally seeing your face again after you helped my eyes to reopen-" He breathes a quiet, tender-sounding chuckle. "What a beautiful sight indeed." 

You're silent, before the extent of his words finally dawns on you, leaving you to stare at him with a grin and an eyebrow raised. "Beautiful?" 

Gale holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "There's that smile. Beautiful is hardly grand enough a word, but yes. I want to see no shortage of smiles from here on out, understand? As many as such an adventure allows us, in any case." Briefly, he trails off, hesitating temporarily, his expression growing in resolve. "I'm sorry for upsetting you. I'll be better. Do better. I couldn't forgive myself if- if somehow-" 

This time, you're the one interrupting him. "Gale?" 

"Yes?" 

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you." 

It's strange. Right now, your futures are hardly assured. He can promise not to leave you with his entire chest, he can fight to live even as he's slowly dying, and it wouldn't matter, if the universe willed your efforts to save yourselves for naught. Yet, when you speak, when you're the one looking into his eyes, no matter how outlandish it might seem, no matter what is left of the fading hope he's been clinging to — In the end, he can't help but believe you. 

Your gaze is brimming with such conviction. He's doomed. He's so, terribly ruined, and it isn't because of the threat of the tadpole, or because of whatever pain is brought on by the rot inside of him. Gale is completely done in, because when he looks at you, he feels longing settle in his chest, a present devotion that overshadows every prayer he's ever called upon, and he knows the only thing he has to fear is eventually falling in love with you. 

If loving you is to be his fate, he thinks even in death, he might finally feel alive. 

He swallows thickly, his gaze never leaving yours once you've finally pulled apart. He watches you stand up straight and clear your throat, although your expression still softens with a telltale hint of nervousness. You're precious. 

"Stay behind me next time," You scold, "There's no way I'm going through those stupidly elaborate instructions again." 

"Oh, come on," Gale huffs. He's composed, but his face is flushed. He can feel the warmth pooling in his cheeks and the ends of his ears. The blood is just rushing back to his head, that's all. "You performed them excellently! I'd say you're already a natural at problem-solving and flute-playing. But I promise, next time, I won't fall so easily. You have no reason to fret. There will be no elaborate instructions, no flutes, and no more magma mephits in your future." 

"You better not," You're laughing, and his grin only grows wider when you push at his shoulder playfully. "Die on me again, and I might have to bring you back just to kill you myself." 

"Ha. I better not draw your ire, then." 

Gale watches you turn on your heels, while he's still awkwardly stuck in place like some invisible, adoring force is holding him there. His palm presses to his chest; bizarrely, the orb is silent, but his heart is pounding way too fast. You're turning back before you've gotten far, glancing at him to make sure he's following. 

"You coming? Everyone's waiting for us back at camp." 

Gale nods. He exhales slowly to clear his head, he catches up with you, and he ushers you forwards with an arm around your lower back. "Of course. Let us continue on. Lead the way." 

#gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #gale dekarios #gale dekarios x tav #gale x tav

[ghostlyferrettarot]

✨️🫧📀The 12th House in the

Signs📀🫧✨️

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

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🫧Masterlist🫧

🫧It is considered a house of introspection, subconscious and ending cycles. This house is associated with the sign of Pisces and is considered the most spiritual and mystical of all astrological houses🫧

📀Aries in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your own spirituality and do things your way. They may feel the need to distance themselves from the world and seek their own direction. They use much of their energy to confront their inner struggles, to which they never give up. In some cases you may be on the verge of losing the battle, but your perseverance will ensure that in the end you will be able to overcome your intimate problems.

📀Taurus in the 12th House: may indicate a need for connection with nature and the need for emotional security. They can be very intuitive and feel most comfortable in a calm and relaxed environment. They long for security. They like to have everything under control regarding their lives and that unforeseen events do not occur that alter their daily lives. Taurus natives in the 12th house are happy and self-confident and are willing to work hard so that they lack for nothing. .

📀Gemini in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your own truth and connect with the subconscious world. They can be very imaginative and creative. They relate more to their spirituality, some seek time for seclusion, introspection, and reflection. Individuals have difficulty learning rigorously, mechanically, but they still acquire knowledge by paying attention, capturing the deeper messages.

📀Cancer in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find a spiritual home and connect with your family and your past. They can be very intuitive and sensitive, and may feel the need to work through their emotional problems through therapy and meditation. Their projects are linked to the affectivity they receive in the environments they frequent, it being important that these do not clash. with his own emotionality.

📀Leo in the 12th House: may indicate a need to find your own spirituality and connect with your creative and artistic side. They can be very creative and passionate, and may feel the need to work on their self-esteem and confidence. allows you to act with great independence. Enjoy being alone, reflecting calmly. He lacks that fear of loneliness that terrifies many people. For Leo it is more of a blessing. He knows how to fill space and time without needing to turn to anyone else.

📀Virgo in the 12th House: May indicate a need to work on your own personal development and connect with your spiritual side. They can be very analytical and perfectionist. Being interested in even the smallest detail in each project or action they undertake is a typical trait of Virgo in the 12th house. However, although at first glance it can be considered something effective and advisable, the truth is which can also have its dark side. Of course, as long as it is taken to the extreme.

📀Libra in the 12th House: May indicate a need for balance and harmony in your spiritual life. They can be very intuitive and balanced. They want to have tranquility and peace in their lives, it is a period of retreat and without much social interaction. They have a sense of justice and a desire for equality that is not manifested very visibly in their environments. Furthermore, when Libra is in the 12th house, the fantasies and dreams of the natives are awakened.

📀Scorpio in the 12th House: May indicate a need to work through your emotional issues and connect with the subconscious world. They can be very intuitive and sensitive, and may feel the need to work through their emotional problems through therapy and meditation. They are strongly drawn to mysteries. Everything that is hidden before the eyes of ordinary mortals is most interesting to them. They do not hesitate to immerse themselves in the enigmas they encounter, eagerly trying to reveal what they hide.

📀 Sagittarius in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your own spirituality and connect with nature and the subconscious world. They can be very adventurous. Sagittarius natives in this house go through times when their religious beliefs are shaken. They discover that there are other points of view from which to see life in a different way. Sometimes open-mindedness will come from the recommendations of the most unexpected people. But he knows that he must always be attentive to be able to listen, think about what he has learned and act later.

📀Capricorn in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your purpose in life and connect with your spiritual side. They can be very disciplined and ambitious. The conception of Spirituality of individuals in this phase can be confused with social justice, with the existence of opportunities for everyone to have a dignified life. However, they are more driven by values of the practical life, to the satisfaction of the needs of employment, home, decent conditions for the development of the family, rather than with realities transcending the material world.

📀Aquarius in the 12th House: may indicate a need to find your own spirituality and connect with the subconscious world. They can be very innovative and creative. In this positioning, people can fulfill themselves through humanitarian activities of a spiritual nature. The concepts of harmony and wisdom develop. They feel a universal responsibility that involves spirituality, compassion and humility.

📀Pisces in the 12th House: May indicate a natural connection to the subconscious world and a need to explore your own spirituality. They can be very sensitive and empathetic. They are a compassionate person, although they do not usually show it externally. You have to dive a little inside yourself to discover someone who does care about others and always tries to do as little damage as possible in their discussions. You must let yourself be carried away by your sensitivity to know the different options through which you can channel your creativity.

#astrology placements #zodiac #astro community #astrology #astro blog #astro notes #astro news #astro observations #tarot reading #tarot cards #zodiac astrology #astrology tumblr #astro content #12 house #12th house #zodiac houses #12th house astrology #signs in the houses #zodiac observations #zodiac notes #zodiac sings #natal chart analysis #paid natal chart reading #natal chart #tarot and astrology #tarot kpop #kpop astrology #tarot spread #tarot #pac readings

[milkypompon]

Chapter 3 | Pick Up

pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader, implied Jake Lockley x Reader)

summary: Even after a year living with Steven and Jake in the headspace, Marc struggles to quiet the buzzing chatter. He finds himself frequenting Coffee for Two, a place where brewing roasts fill the air and the cookies are as sweet as the barista.

this chapter: you finally receive a phone call...?

content: Mentions of Marc's past, plotty plot plot

wc: 2k+

a/n: I'm exploring the dynamic between the moon boys! Specifically on Steven and Jake's understanding of the system.

Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Coffee Doodles Masterlist

< Previous || Next >

–

Take it out of that pile of shit, Stevie. 

“I won’t.”

Ay, do it before I sit your ass to the back. 

Steven stares into the rubbish, listening to Jake’s half-hearted threats. 

It didn’t matter if he tossed it into a trash compactor and cast it into the open sea, they both memorized the number on the cup. 

How else could they have survived as Khonshu’s avatar? 

The god spouted astronomical coordinate systems during missions, instead of cardinal directions. It was disrespectful of his domain to merely water down the night sky into four words or their combinations, according to the squawking bird. 

Regardless, no point of direction from his alter or the moon god could shift his moral compass. 

“I dare you, mate.” 

Jake grumbles under his breath. 

Neither of them liked to tug on the string that forced control over the body. They wouldn’t be any better than Khonshu rattling his wrapped talons over their lifeforce — a puppet at the hands of its master. 

We’re allowed to live our own lives. Isn’t that what you wanted?

“This isn’t just about me anymore. Or just you for that matter.”

Once, Steven wanted nothing more than to free himself of the sleep-deprived nights and taste a drip of normalcy. He thought the only way to do that was to overcome whatever was going on in his head.

Egypt.

Khonshu.

The happenings in the Duat with Marc and Jake.

But now, his life, their life was more than that.

Steven was more than elated to discover support from a place he couldn’t even begin to fathom. 

Finding a way for each of them to front was a balancing act through understanding. It isn’t created by compartmentalizing the week into color-coded days or agreeing to a first come first serve basis. Their system was far from perfect, but it was their’s. 

Restraint was the seed of their problems, among other things, but the anxiousness of being confined (like they were in the sarcophagus) was something they couldn’t stomach. 

An attempt to claw himself out would forego the delicate trust built on an unsteady foundation.

No more lies.

No more secrets. 

And definitely, no more double duties.

“Besides, you said it yourself. We should live our own life. If either of us rings up the barista, despite all her loveliness, you’d be pretending to be Marc.”

Jake knew what was coming next. Don’t tell that story again–

Steven turns up his nose toward the reflection on the toaster. “Need I remind you, the last time you filled in my shoes, I ended up at a steakhouse for a date?”

You’re never gonna let me live that down, eh? At least it got you outta the stuffy museum for the night. 

“Hmph, I’m never take dating advice from you, no matter how desperate I get.”

Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. 

How about you take those pretty little fingers and pick up that damn cup! And use your other set of five to press the numbers into your phone. 

Jake tended to spear-head ways to bring the out of their shell, it stemmed from years of hiding away. His actions came from good intentions, though the sentiments among the three weren’t always shared. 

“Not gonna be late for my first day, you twat.”

Steven tugs the handles of the trash bag into a neat bow, double-knotting it to emphasize the point. 

He chews the inside of his cheek. It’s been a day, but he still couldn’t feel Marc’s presence after retreating into the recesses of their mind. He’d be lying to himself if he said that things were a little easier this time around.

Despite going through hell and back (almost quite literally), maybe there would be a shared bonding experience that would lead them on the right track. But it always seemed like something veered them a little bit off-center. This time it wasn't a life-threatening mission...

Steven shrugs on his jacket and tinkers with the doorknob.

–

Since the last time Steven worked at the gift shop, he swears the British Museum didn’t sell the stone statues of the Ennead. (He wonders what else popped up during his absence). At least nine deities are behind the display case, instead of the misprinted eight on the poster.

How the toymakers laid their hands on strangely accurate models of the ushabtis is beyond him. It isn’t his problem anymore, the days of working inventory are over.

Whoever is responsible for the new figurines must be the same person who sorted out his new job. After the loo and jackal incident, he swore up and down that he blew the opportunity to become a tour guide.

He shoulders his bag and heads to the information desk, where a familiar blond sifts through papers.

Steven clears his throat. “Morning, Donna!”

“Stevie.” She peers up, a strained smile splitting her face, and hands him his nametag. 

It doesn’t matter if she calls him the wrong name, nothing could take away the bubbling joy in his heart. He holds it in his two hands as if cradling a duckling. 

Steven marvels at it briefly and smiles, noticing the engraved designs. He runs his thumb over it.

A scarab and a moon. 

Layla must’ve put a good word in for him before she left for Egypt.

He clips it onto his breast pocket.

Steven Grant Tour Guide

Donna pipes up, “After you’re done ogling, group A is waiting up front. Speak up a bit for that bunch. Mostly grandparents looking for a day out.”

Steven weaves between visitors meandering through the halls before standing in front of about ten people. A few wandering eyes behind a pair of thick glasses are already looking past him and at the exhibit. Others are fidgeting with their canes. 

“Hiya, there everyone! I’m Steven with V and’ll be your tour guide for the day.” He claps his hands with a bright smile. 

Steven walks backward to face the group while explaining each artifact with animated hand gestures and fluctuating voice impressions. There are tidbits of information he sprinkles in pulled from personal encounters with the gods. But, he skirts around how the unfriendly croc wanted to consume the souls of the living. 

The tour ends in a little under an hour, leaving enough wiggle room for a q and a portion. He rounds them up in front of a sectioned-off hall where they are free to discuss the pieces without the usual prattling of sugar-infested children. 

“Anything you’d like to know more about off the top of your noggin?” 

A shaky hand raises, a paper bracelet decorating the granny’s wrist. 

People rarely asked questions, so Steven beams at the prospect of going off into another tangent with someone as captivated as he is in Egyptology. 

“Yes, please! Go ahead.”

She smiles curiously and points to the unopened area of the museum. “What’s in there?”

“Ah, your guess is as good as mine. It’s my first day here so the curators haven’t filled me in on what’s going.”

“Could we take a peek?”

The hall isn’t open to the public for various reasons – there are fragile steles, brittle canopic jars, and parchment that resemble closer to dust than paper. Still, it tickled his fancy to be one of the first few people to check out the unearthed pieces.  

He scratches the back of his neck. “The guided tour has ended, but feel free to stick around with me and the missus here if you’d like to look in.”

The group is seemingly uninterested, except for her. They disperse with an appreciative nod and head toward the exit. 

“Well, aren’t you a sponge for knowledge!” Steven unclips the rope from the pole and ushers her inside. “Watch your step, might be bits and pieces of packing stuffs.”

Wooden crates line the walls along the respective categories of tools, ceremonial weapons, and non-utilitarian objects. The last are Steven’s particular favorite.

His eyes land on a slab of stone with carefully carved hieroglyphs. “This poem is dedicated to Hathor, the Goddess of Love. How lovely!”

It’s set inside a glass case, Marc stares back at him on the reflection with a slight frown, but it isn’t directed toward him. 

Her hand sidles up to the barrier, Steven glances at the strip of paper around her wrist… it’s a hospital bracelet. 

“Can the other two read this like you can?” 

Steven’s mouth gapes open and before he can reply she recites the hieroglyphs to his (and Marc’s) surprise. 

One plus one Equals two One for me And one for you 

Frantic footsteps near them, J.B. sets the rope back in place and tuts. “Oy! That’s where you went off to. I couldn’t find you on the cams. Off you go, you two.”

Steven tucks his chin down, voice going into a low whisper. “Think the missus here got lost.” 

“What’re you going on about–” J.B.’s gaze flits over to her. 

He rolls his wrist to emphasize his point.

“Gotcha, I’ll call security. Can’t believe she’s back.”

“Back?” He whispers to himself, just barely catching J.B.’s last sentence. 

Steven adds, “Heya, no need for a big fiasco. She’s a nice one.”

–

The chime of the entrance bell hasn’t rung all morning at Coffee for Two.

You gnaw at the end of your pencil in deep contemplation. Your decision darts between opening the shop to kill the boredom or listening to Nan about joining her for a break after she was given strict doctor’s orders for bed rest. Years of baking sweets and brewing coffee weren’t easy on her knees or head for that matter. 

Either way, you were supposed to be on vacation, yet here you were working on a new bread recipe. 

You worked around the clock before she practically forced you to hit the pause button. Even with the help of your part-timer, she couldn’t hold a candle to Nan’s experience with folding dough, piping frosting, and roasting beans. 

Though sitting behind the counter were moments few and far between, you missed the daily hustle and bustle of serving the regulars who were often in pairs.

The gray hairs of a Mister and Missus would peek from the velvet couch as they dipped a biscotti into a dark roast. Or a budding romance between a young couple would lead to sharing an affogato by the wooden stools. You’d smile to yourself and throw in extra cookies for them, claiming that you miscalculated the measurements and made more than usual.

You aren’t a stranger to the coffee shop meet-cute. It happens often enough to warrant the thought of writing a collection of romance novels. 

Between work… and work, there wasn’t much time to do anything else.

The tangents meet when Marc showed up. 

At the right moment and time.

You flinch when your phone plays a jingle, fumbling to grab it and pressing the green button.

“Hello?”

– 

When you prayed to any god listening about receiving a call out of sheer boredom, you didn’t expect a call from the Royal London Hospital. You gripped your phone waiting for the nurse’s message.

“This is the number we had on file in case of emergencies.”

“Yeah, yes. That’s me, I’m her granddaughter.”

“We’d like to inform you that she’s left the premises… again”

“Left the– Bloody hell! You could’ve started with that! You would think after the first time, you’d keep a closer eye on her, eh?” You accidentally bite your tongue after hurtling word after word at the nurse. 

“We’re not responsible for the patient who’s left the area. But, we–” 

“Tried?” You make your way out of the coffee shop, nudging the door close with your hip. “Yeah, like the first two times? Third time’s a fucking charm. You better hope she’s at the same place as last time.”

A call from another line intercepts your current one.

“Uh, hello, Miss!” A light voice chirps from the other side. “We’ve got a bit of a situation at the British Museum.”

You groan inwardly, she was there again. No wonder why the incoming number was familiar. (Not that you were expecting an unknown one from a particular curly-haired regular...)

“Did you find Nan?”

“If you mean the nice granny with the dangly bracelet, then it’s safe to say, yes.” 

“Did she– Is she okay?”

He chirps, “Oh yes, mhm! No need to worry, we’re sat down together.”

“Good, okay. Thank you, by the way, uh…”

“Oh bollocks, forgot to introduce myself. It’s Steven. Steven Grant.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

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@here4dragons, this is for you, sweetheart <3

(mood music - "Motion" by Peter Sandberg)

Abel sighed tiredly. He'd lost track of the time again. But honestly, this time alone was the only part of the day he could relax, in a sense. Ever since his promotion to being captain of the royal guard, he'd been running around nonstop. He'd never really contemplated how much work went into just being in charge, but he absolutely despised it.

It wasn't as if he weren't grateful, honored for this position, of course. He still wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to get it. A small, insecure part of him wondered if it was simply because the king had found out that the princess' appointed knight was his son. Link's fame was certainly growing ever since he'd rescued Princess Zelda from that rogue guardian. Abel still felt his stomach squirm uncomfortably, his heart swell with pride but shrivel in fear at the sight of his boy cradling his broken arm after deflecting the shot.

It had been entirely too chilling a reminder of the dangers Link was going to face.

But the boy had been fine. He would be fine. He was an amazing warrior, a better swordfighter than anyone, and he was only sixteen. He'd be seventeen soon, and he would continue to grow and improve. It would be all right. He would be alright.

Abel paced his quarters. The private room was one of the few wonderful benefits of his promotion. It gave him time to himself, something he felt like he never really had anymore.

But sometimes, even the quiet of his room wasn't enough. He had his window open, letting a cool breeze inside, listening to the crickets chirp, watching the fireflies lazily float by, but it wasn't enough. So he sighed again and took a candle, heading outside.

It was amazing how quiet the castle could be at night, given how lively it was during the day. There was usually a constant hustle, royal scientists scrambling about with notes, servants moving quickly to ensure everything ran smoothly, soldiers patrolling, guardians' gears whirring as the large metallic beasts tested their legs, nobles tutting about trying to get the attention of the king, citizens from near and far coming with petitions and pleas.

It was tedious. It was exhausting.

Abel was a man of action. He'd always preferred just being a knight. When he'd been assigned to the castle, he'd viewed it as a great honor, but also...

He'd never wanted it. He'd seen enough politics in the Domain, but even there he was happier. An assignment like this, being captain of the royal guard... he imagined it would have made his father proud.

His father. He couldn't even remember what the man looked like anymore. Just what his rotting body had smelled like. Just how his mother's cries had sounded.

Abel swallowed, his throat dry as he made his way outside. His candle attracted the attention of the fireflies, and they flitted about slowly, reflecting its light on their bellies, winking at the man. Abel smiled at them, smiled at the gentle trickle of water from the nearby fountain, smiled at the cool breeze that brushed the warm flush of worry from his cheeks.

He took a deep breath in, trying to soak in the moment, grateful for little occasions like this.

His promotion was so new, so strange, so different. He wasn't just a knight alongside everyone else anymore. It was freeing, it was terrifying. He had so much riding on him now, had others looking to him for guidance and help. The king sometimes asked for his advice. The blasted King of Hyrule.

Abel sighed a little, pulling a letter out from where he'd tucked it into his belt. He'd received it this morning, but hadn't had a chance to read it all day, as busy as he'd been. Finding a bench, he settled down and opened it, reading its contents in the moonlight as the fireflies made daring little dashes for his candle beside him.

My love,

I received your letter a little while ago and only just now had the chance to reply! Oh, you wouldn't believe how busy it's been in Hateno lately! So many people have been passing through. I think that new dye shop is really doing something for the village, it's pretty amazing!

Lyra is doing great. She found a stray cucco and adopted it, so now I have to constantly clean up after it, but she loves it very much. She named her Mipha, and I have to laugh every time I hear it, because somehow I think the princess would be fine with it but Link would not haha! Lyra is so free spirited, it's such a joy spending time with her. I know she misses you very much, and I've got her working on her very own letter to send you as well.

Speaking of princesses, though, can you tell me how Link is doing with his new assignment? I haven't heard from him in a while, and I know I shouldn't worry, but well. I do sometimes. And I know you do too. But I pray for you both every day. I know Hylia is looking out for you, beloved.

I just wanted to say again how proud I am of you, Abel. You have one of the highest ranks in all of Hyrule! Can you believe that? I knew you could reach such heights, but I still have to wrap my head around it sometimes! You and Link are so magnificent, I'm sometimes just baffled that I even know you two, that you're my husband and he's my baby boy. I am so blessed to have you two in my life.

I love you so much, Abel. I hope to hear from you soon.

Love, Tilieth

Abel read the words again and again, bringing the letter to his chest and closing his eyes. The parchment crinkled in his gentle grip as he tried to hug his wife through the words, as he could feel her hugging him in return. Then he smiled in anticipation, pulling out the second letter, seeing the far clumsier handwriting and feeling his heart flutter with joy and excitement at it.

Dear Papa,

Mama let me actually write my own letter this time, and I wanted to include some feathers from Mipha so she could say hi to you too! Anyway, I wanted to say hi and I love you. Mama's food is really good and I can't wait for you to come home and have it and so you can see Mipha. Also it's really hot right now, so I hope it isn't hot where you are. Because it's to hot I feel like a carrot in Mama's cooking pot. But not a tomato because those are gross. And I'm not that red.

Mama talks about you getting some new job, so I wanted to say good job. But I don't think it's as hard as Mama's job because she's always working. So you should send her flowers.

Papa, I was wondering when you were coming home? Do I need to write to the king? Mama says he's why you and Link are still gone. And I know you guys leave a lot for knight duty but you didn't used to be gone for this long. It's been like over a year since I saw you, and I think the king doesn't know that, so you should tell him. If you can't because you're busy, that's ok. I can tell him too.

Anyway there's this new die shop that Mama loves and I think you should take her to it. She took me to it and it was really cool. Lots of people like it! We should get Link and make him splash in it. Blue is the best color, so he should swim in blue paint. I don't know why they call it die because that seems like a bad word for it. The clothes don't die or anything. But I guess they look different, so they die to how they used to be. Something like that.

Papa, I love you. I miss you. I want to hug you, so please come home soon!

Love, Lyra

Abel found himself chuckling as he finished the letter. Goddess, he missed his daughter. Lyra was just as quirky and silly as Tilieth, and she encompassed Tilieth's social boldness with Abel's force of will. That girl was going to be a menace when she became a teenager.

She was right, though. It had been a long time since Abel had gone home. His longest assignment had been at Zora's Domain, spanning years, but that was before Lyra had been born. He'd always been able to see his family at least once a year since then. Now...

He couldn't complain, honestly. He shouldn't. He was proud to serve his country, honored to be able to have such freedom to help others in this new position. And he could see Link so often. It was a blessing.

He smiled again at the letters, holding them to his heart. He would see his wife and daughter again soon someday. He would bring Tilieth flowers. He would play with Lyra and her little pet. He would go to the dye shop (and teach his daughter how to spell dye). And he would take Link with him.

Someday. Perhaps when this crisis was over, when Princess Zelda discovered her powers.

In the meantime, he would treasure these letters. He would write whenever he could. And he would fully utilize the honors given to him so that he could help Hyrule as much as possible, whether he deserved this prestige or not.

I love you too, he whispered in his heart to his beloveds. And then he looked up at the sky, face glowing in the moonlight, heart lighter, and he prayed in thanks to Hylia.

They'd be alright, in the end. They'd be alright.

#EVERYONE SAY CONGRATULATIONS TO DRAGON SHE JUST GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL #CONGRATS MY DEAR #SO PROUD OF YOU #writing #abel #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #this counts as comfort right #Abel takes comfort from the letters #he loves his family so much #he finds peace outside and prays #it's comfort dang it this counts

[nina-ya]

Heya, Nina~! I really like how you capture Law's character so well. I was wondering what do you think he'd be like with a gf with a tiny/curvy/athletic body type? I included all body types because maybe others would also be curious so there's something for everyone.

Hope you have a happy Wednesday! 🐸

HI FROGGIE ANON HAPPY THURDSAY NOW!!! thank you for the complement ill sob right here right now!! Ive gotten a few asks regarding law with partners of diff body types and all that so i thought i would just answer them all here since you captured a lot of them in one ask!

With a partner who has a smaller body type, the first thing that comes to mind is the teasing. I see him as the type to crack jokes when you cant reach something that's a bit too high or to make a remark when you have to get on your tiptoes to look over a ledge. He loves loves loves when you borrow his clothes. The way that the oversized shirts drape over your body makes you look absolutely irresistible to him. If you guys were to find yourselves in a crowd, I can see him having some sort of physical contact with you at all times so that he doesnt turn away and suddenly lose you in the sea of people. Cuddles would involve him just enveloping you completely in his arms. He would absolutely suffocate you and make sure you can't even move an inch

For a partner who's on the curvier side, Law would be more tactile with you. His hands would find the natural curves of your waist and your hips and they would constantly rest there, giving them a squeeze every so often. While he wouldn't be the most vocal about his love for your body, you would certainly feel and notice his love for it in those lingering gazes.

With an athletic body type, Law seems like the guy who would admire the hard work you put into your body. Joint workouts would become a regular part of your routine, with Law by your side, pushing you to reach beyond your limits. He would love love love watching you do the activities that got you that body in the first place- eyes glued to you as he watches on the sidelines of whatever you were doing.

No matter your body type, Law would find you extremely attractive. His actions would always reflect the deep physical attraction he has for you and he would make sure that you feel cherished and love in his own little ways. It doesnt matter what you look like, he still would wake up everyday and stare at you with utter infatuation, grateful that he gets to see your perfect self everyday

#nina responds~✦ #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

[tillyysaturn]

Fireworks

Your discussing your complicated relationship with Rafe when something unexpected happens. Warnings: non!? Just pure fluff ;) Maybe a teensy bit of angst at the start.

The breeze from the sea was hitting your face, making your cheeks turn rosy as you walked barefoot in the sand. Your worn flip flops in hand, momentarily distracted by the nights sky and the way the moon reflected the light and casted a blue glow across the horizon.

“Are you listening to me?” Rafe scoffed, bending down to look directly into your eyes, quickly snapping you out of your momentary daze. “Yes.” You snap back as he huffed, continuing his previous rant about what it was exactly that the two of you were doing. You quite liked Rafe but he always seemed to be too busy running around the island doing god knows what or getting high at parties surrounding himself with girls. You wanted him to be serious about the two of you but it seemed impossible for him.

“I’m really trying. I really am. It’s difficult with my dad and…” He looks off into the distance, clearly stressed and distracted as he runs his hands through his hair and sighs once more. Rafe had promised you many times that he was going to get clean, get his act together and it seemed like you were beginning to get deja vu. He never did. Somehow every time you managed to fall for his lies. Maybe he himself believed them too.

“Rafe-” You started but were cut off by a loud whistle in the sky soon followed by an even louder boom that seemed to shake the ground. The sky erupted in bright warm sparks as they fell like stardust towards the ground. The sudden eruption scared you as you found yourself latched onto Rafe’s arm as he stared at the sky almost angrily as if he was about to yell at the firework for scaring him. It was quite funny. So funny that you started laughing just as the second firework erupted into the nights sky, Rafe turning to you in an attempt to see what you were finding so funny.

He couldn’t help himself but laugh as he looked at your face, your smile was infectious. “I think it’s a sign.” You say, looking up at the sky in awe as it rained with colour. Rafe followed your eyesight and then looked back towards you, something in his gaze shifting. His eyes softer than they were before, than they ever had been. “I promise. I promise you right now I’m going to fix everything. I won’t let you down. Not this time.” He said, putting his heart into every word. This was something you’d never heard from Rafe before, he’d pulled this stunt so many times and never sounded as genuine as this.

“I think I believe you.” You say softly, almost drowned out by the sound of the fireworks in the distance. “They’re so beautiful.” You say, looking behind Rafe at the fireworks again. It was breathtaking how they lit up the nights sky. “Your beautiful.” Rafe said bluntly, not even looking at the fireworks for a second. A small smile spread across your face, you never wanted this moment to end. Ever.

“You promise?” You ask, wanting him to say it again. To mean it this time.

“I promise. I don’t want to risk loosing you anymore. That’s clear now.” In this moment, it felt like everything was clicking into place and you couldn’t help the beaming smile that infected your face. Since it was only getting later, the tide was drawing closer and closer in. You only realised this when the cold sea tickled your feet, making you squeal unexpectedly as you jumped back instinctively. Rafe chucked at your actions and grabbed your arm, trying to pull you back into the sea.

“Come on, who doesn’t like a midnight swim.” Rafe tries to pull you with him but you resist, small waves crashing on your feet as you gasp at the cold water against your sandy feet. Rafe only smiled more at your actions before picking you up and carrying you further into the sea. You yelled at him to put you down but this only encourages him more, fireworks still erupting in the distance. Rafe was now almost ankle deep in the water, you now clutched onto him for deer life.

“Don’t let me go! Don’t you dare!” You yelled as he pretended to drop you, making your heart race. “I thought you wanted me to put you down?” He said, pretending to let go of you again, he found this rather amusing. “No Rafe please!” You say, the water only rising further. “You need to relax princess.” Rafe said, smirking slightly as he looked into your eyes, the light from the fireworks catching in them.

“I won’t until you put me do-” You tried to say but were cut off as his lips connected with yours momentarily. It wasn’t a long kiss or a deep kiss but it was a meaningful one. It said things that Rafe’s words never could. You were immediately silenced and left staring into his eyes. You weren’t sure if all these promises were for real this time but in this moment, they sure felt like they were.

“Lets get you back missy.” He said, walking back into the sand before placing you down gently. You didn’t want the moment to end, you didn’t want things to go back to how they usually were because in this moment everything was perfect. As the last firework fizzled into the dark night, you wondered if you would ever feel like this again. You could only hope.

#rafe obx #rafe cameron #obx #outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #fluff #drew starkey

[dndfantasygirl]

Little Red Rogue (Chapter 17: i love you)

Rating: Mature Word count: 2k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, brief mentions of Astarion's backstory

Summary: Ruby accidentally says the big three to Astarion.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

Maybe won't you take it back? Say you were tryna make me laugh And nothing has to change today You didn't mean to say "I love you" I love you and I don't want to, ooh

~i love you, Billie Eilish

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

In the wake of Ruby's close brush with death, Astarion found himself grappling with emotions he had long kept at bay. The incident had stirred something within him, a protective instinct that he couldn't quite shake off. Despite his best efforts to maintain his detached facade, the truth remained undeniable – her safety had become a paramount concern to him.

But such vulnerabilities were not something he would readily admit to. Astarion was adept at concealing his true feelings behind a veil of nonchalance and indifference. Yet, in the quiet depths of his mind, he couldn't deny the unsettling reality of caring for another. It was like navigating through the flickering flames of uncertainty, simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying, yet undeniably compelling.

The recent trial orchestrated by Shar had only served to underscore the depth of Astarion's newfound attachment. Confronted with mirror versions of themselves, each step laden with perilous consequences, he found himself teetering on the edge of recklessness. When Ruby's mirrored reflection threatened her with a malevolent grin and a gleaming blade poised at her throat, all semblance of rationality fled. In that moment, there was only the instinctive need to protect, to ensure her safety at any cost.

Without a second thought, he drew an arrow from his quiver, the tension coiling in his muscles as he took aim. The reflection shattered into a thousand fractured shards.

As their eyes locked in a tense gaze, Astarion braced himself for the inevitable torrent of words that would surely follow. The sharp pang that lanced through his abdomen served as a grim reminder of the repercussions of his impulsive actions. Ignoring the searing pain, he pressed on, engaging his mirrored counterpart in a half-assed duel, his movements hampered by the throbbing ache in his gut.

With each clash of steel against steel, he felt the weight of his own folly bearing down upon him. The fight was a precarious dance of survival, teetering on the edge of disaster with every misstep. Despite his best efforts to maintain the upper hand, the odds seemed stacked against him, each close call a stark reminder of his own mortality.

Yet, through sheer determination and a measure of luck, Astarion eventually gained the advantage, delivering the decisive blow that shattered his reflection into a myriad of fragmented pieces. As the echoes of the clash faded into the ether, he found himself gasping for breath, his body aching from the exertion.

It was then that Shadowheart, ever the vigilant healer, rushed to his side, her hands glowing with the soft radiance of restorative magic. With a whispered incantation, she began to mend his wounds.

But any respite was short-lived as Ruby stormed towards them, her expression a tempest of fury and concern. Sensing the impending storm, the cleric swiftly retreated, leaving Astarion to face the brunt of Ruby's wrath alone. With a resigned sigh, he prepared himself for the inevitable onslaught of words, knowing all too well that he had brought this upon himself.

Despite the adorable sight of the petite rogue's pouting expression and crossed arms, there was an undeniable fierceness in the glint of her violet drow-like eyes. Astarion couldn't help but admire the fire that flickered in them.

"I had it under control," she muttered under her breath, barely audible once Shadowheart had retreated out of earshot.

The vampire spawn couldn't suppress the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. "Oh, really? Darling, I hardly count having a dagger pressed to your throat as having it under control."

The playful banter faded as quickly as it had emerged, replaced by the weight of the situation at hand. Ruby's expression hardened, her gaze boring into his with unwavering intensity.

"This isn't a joke, Astarion," she retorted, her tone edged with frustration. "Shadowheart made it very clear – to attack our own reflections and that's it."

Astarion's smile faltered, his facade slipping to reveal the vulnerability that lurked beneath the surface. He ran a hand through his tousled hair.

"After you shattered my reflection, you were in pain. It hurt you-"

A bitter chuckle escaped Astarion's lips at Ruby's observation, the sound carrying the weight of two centuries of pain and suffering. "I'm used to it," he replied curtly, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. Without waiting for a response, he turned away from her, the distance between them widening with each measured step.

But Ruby was not one to let things lie. With determination etched into every line of her face, she quickened her pace, her hand shooting out to grasp his arm in a vice-like grip. "That's not an excuse," she insisted, her voice rising in volume with each word. "You should've listened to Shadowheart! You could've died-"

A surge of frustration welled up within Astarion, his patience wearing thin beneath the weight of her relentless admonishments. "What the hells do you want me to say, Ruby?!" he erupted, the words tumbling from his lips in a torrent of emotion. He watched as her features softened, the fire in her eyes giving way to a flicker of concern.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, the vampire spawn attempted to collect his thoughts amidst the chaos of his roiling emotions. "I don't know what this is between us," he admitted, his voice quieter now, laced with an undercurrent of vulnerability. "But I do know that you are quite possibly the first person I've ever truly cared for. I watched you die once. I won't let it happen again."

Tears welled in the dhampir's eyes, glistening like diamonds as she struggled to contain the overwhelming surge of emotion that threatened to engulf her.

"How do you think I'd feel if something happened to you?!" she shouted, her voice trembling with raw intensity. It was a question borne of desperation.

But Astarion's response was not one of comfort or reassurance. Instead, it was a guttural growl of frustration, a reflection of the turmoil that churned within him. "Why do you care so deeply for me, Ruby?" he demanded. "I'm nothing more than a mere speck of dust. Yet, you act as though your entire world would crumble if I were to perish."

The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the vast expanse that separated them – not just in terms of their origins, but in the depths of their own self-worth. For Astarion, centuries of existence had left him hollow and jaded, his heart encased in layers of icy indifference. To him, Ruby's concern remained a foreign concept, an anomaly that defied all logic and reason.

"Because I love you." Her words came out before she thought about what she was saying.

For a moment, Astarion froze, his features a mask of disbelief and uncertainty. Love? The word echoed in the recesses of his mind, a concept that clashed with everything he had been taught. Love was a weakness, a vulnerability to be exploited by those who sought to manipulate and control. A pretty little lie.

And yet, as he looked into Ruby's eyes, he couldn't shake the gnawing sense of doubt that crept into his heart. Why did this feel different? Why did her words stir something within him that he had long sought to bury?

Uncomfortable with the intensity of her confession, Astarion shifted uneasily. "No, don't say that," he pleaded, his voice tinged with a note of desperation. It was a reflexive response, born out of years of conditioning and self-preservation.

But even as the words left his lips, a part of him couldn't help but wonder – what if? What if love wasn't the weakness he had always believed it to be? What if, against all odds, he allowed himself to embrace the possibility of something more?

Ruby tugged at her hair in frustration, the golden strands slipping through her fingers like strands of silk. "Gods, why did I say that?" she muttered to herself. "I'm so stupid."

Turning back towards Astarion, she caught the flicker of fear in his eyes, a mirror reflecting her own uncertainty and vulnerability. It was a stark reminder of the weight of her words, of the power they held to unravel the delicate balance between them.

"Just forget I said anything," she implored, her voice softening with resignation. "I didn't mean it." She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her body tightly as if seeking solace in the warmth of her own embrace.

But as Astarion watched her retreat into herself, a pang of empathy pierced through the armor of indifference he had spent centuries constructing. It almost hurt him to see her this way – curled into herself in embarrassment, her spirit dampened by the weight of her own insecurities.

In that moment, he longed to reach out to her, to offer her the comfort and reassurance she so desperately needed. But he hesitated, the fear of vulnerability clawing at the edges of his consciousness. For to acknowledge her confession was to confront the unsettling truth that perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn't as immune to love as he had once believed.

"Yes, you did," he finally admitted softly. "I can hear it, you know. The way your usually quiet heart is now pounding against your chest." As he approached her, Ruby found herself unable to tear her gaze away from him, her eyes locking with his in a silent exchange of understanding and unspoken truths. "I just don't understand why."

For a moment, the dhampir hesitated, her own emotions pressing down upon her like a leaden weight. But as she met his gaze, she found the courage to speak the words that had long lingered unspoken in the recesses of her heart.

"You're not as bad of a person as you think you are, Astarion," she murmured, her voice filled with a quiet conviction. "You deserve happiness. You deserve to be loved. You are loved by everyone here."

Their gazes remained locked in a silent exchange. And in that fleeting moment, Ruby saw beyond the facade of the vampire spawn before her, glimpsing the fragile heart that beat beneath the surface.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she extended a shaky hand towards him, an offering of solidarity and support. He hesitated, his reluctance palpable in the air between them, before finally yielding to her touch.

"You're bruised, but you're not broken," she reassured him, her voice a whisper against the backdrop of the night.

In the stillness of the moment, Astarion found himself acutely aware of the proximity between them, the space between their bodies narrowing until it seemed to vanish altogether. Her shaky breaths brushed against his lips like a whispered caress, each exhale stirring something primal within him that he struggled to contain.

As the tension crackled in the air between them, a single tear traced a silent path down Ruby's cheek, glistening like a diamond in the moonlight. It was a tangible reminder of the fragility of their shared moment, a testament to the depth of emotion that simmered beneath the surface.

Without conscious thought, Astarion moved closer, his undead heart pounding in rhythm with the rapid beat of hers. And then, in one swift movement, he closed the distance between them, capturing her trembling lips with his own.

In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, the world around them fading into obscurity as they surrendered to the intoxicating pull of desire. Their lips moved in a dance as old as time itself, a symphony of passion and longing that echoed through the depths of their souls.

And as a tear fell from Ruby's eye, slipping between their parted lips like a bittersweet confession, Astarion felt something within him shift. It was as if the barriers he had spent centuries constructing had finally crumbled, leaving him vulnerable and exposed before her.

In the quiet depths of the night, as he surrendered himself to the tender embrace of her kiss, he knew that he would never be the same again.

#astarion x tav #astarion #astarion and tav #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #astarion x oc

[gingebreadbeetle]

There’s no way Hazbin fans (more so Stans) and Viv herself genuinely believe Hazbin hotel is anything like Bojack? Where does Hazbin even take inspiration from Bojack?? Bojack horseman is such a good show, with complex thoughts and ideas expressed in its writing and characters.

Vivziepop is not a curious writer. She doesn’t care about representing people, she has a limited creative mind because she cannot understand politics nor philosophy beyond a highschool level. Her progressive ideology is built of hate for women and the fetishization of gay men. She has nothing interesting to say, nothing new to add and no substance to her works.

There are so many reasons bojack horseman works where Hazbin doesn’t, and I’m tired of pretending a ‘adult show’ that brings up ‘adult themes seriously’ is on the same level as bojack horseman.

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel #anti vivziepop #anti spindlehorse #hazbin hotel critique #anti hazbin hotel #seriously Bojack is better #I need to rewatch Bojack for the 900th time #like the writing is so vulnerable #if you cannot reflect on your actions and take responsibility for them then you cannot produce good writing about redemption or assholes #Viv is bojack when he tried to write his own book without Diane’s help. #fuck vivziepop

[bonefall]

⭕️Hey Bones! Is it ok if you explain and/or elaborate how Crowfeather is abusive to Breezepelt if please?⭕️

I do KNOW that crowfeather is indeed, abusive to Breezepelt, due to the fact that he emotionally and/or physically neglected him - with child neglect being known to BE a form of child abuse - and I also heard that he slashed and/or hit him within one of the books, which I believe is in the book Outcast, in chapter 16.

But I also wish people would talk and be informed about it more within the fandom, because in the parts of the fandom I’ve known portrayed Crowfeather’s neglect on Breezepelt as negative and bad, but not in a way that made me think and/or feel: “Wow, that’s pretty bad. That’s…actually abusive.” I suppose? So I hope more people will talk about it more in that type of way.

Also, please be aware that I have NOT read PoT, OoTS, etc. or barely any warrior cats books, since the majority of the information I got from the series is from the wiki and the fandom, so that probably explains why I didn’t know this part of Crowfeather’s character is as bad as it actually is until now. Also, feel free to talk about Crowfeather’s abuse on Breezepelt I haven’t mentioned and/or don’t know right now as well if you want.

I’m SO sorry that if this ask is unintentionally quite long, and feel free to make sure to take all the time you need to answer it. Thank you!

OH LET'S GOOOO

Breezepelt is both physically and emotionally abused by Crowfeather. I'm not talking about only child neglect; he is screamed at, belittled, and even once hit on-screen.

The fact that Crowfeather both neglected and abused him is very important to the canonical story of Breezepaw. There's actually a lot more to this character than people remember! Even from his first appearances he displays good qualities, a strained relationship with his father and adult clanmates, and is clearly shown to be troubled before we understand why.

As many problems as I have with the direction of Breezepelt's arc (especially Crowfeather's Trial), his setup is legitimately a praiseworthy bit of writing from Po3 which carries over into OotS. To say that Breezepelt was not abused is to completely miss two arcs worth of books SCREAMING it.

BIG POST. Glossary;

INTRO TO BREEZEPELT: The Sight and Dark River

ABUSE: Outcast, Social Alienation, the Tribe Journey.

DARK FOREST: How these factors push him towards radicalization.

For "brevity," I'm not getting into anything post-OotS. I'm just showing that Breezepelt was abused, the narrative wants you to know that he was abused, and that his status as a victim of child abuse is CENTRAL to understanding why he is training in the Dark Forest.

INTRO TO BREEZEPELT: The Sight and Dark River

Our very first introduction to Breeze is when Jaypaw walks off a cliff in the first book of Po3 and is rescued by a WindClan patrol. He's making snarky remarks, and Whitetail and Crowfeather are not happy about it. Whitetail snaps for Crow to teach his son some manners, and Crow growls for Breezepaw to be quiet.

But our proper introduction to him is at his announcement gathering, when Heatherpaw playfully introduces him as a friend,

From the offset something's not entirely right here between Breezepaw and his father. He's cut off by Heatherpaw here, but he's touchy whenever his father is involved, and we're not entirely sure why.

Throughout Book 1, he's just rude, with a notable xenophobic streak. He's a bit of a mean rival character for Lionpaw, as they're both interested in the affections of Heatherpaw and make bids to get her attention, but nothing particularly violent yet.

He participates in the beloved Kitty Olympics and gets buried in liquid dirt with Lionpaw, basically a rite of passage for any arc.

(And Nightcloud has a cute moment where she watches over them until they fall asleep)

As the books progress, the relationship between Crow and Breeze visibly deteriorates. They start from being simply tense with each other in The Sight, to the open shouting and hitting we see in Outcast.

In the very first chapter of Dark River, we learn where his behavioral issues are really coming from;

Crowfeather.

Breezepelt is getting xenophobia from his father. Occasionally he says something bigoted and his dad will agree and chime in, and those are the only positive moments they have together.

(Note: In contrast, Nightcloud explicitly pushes back against xenophobia, chiding Breezepelt for his rudeness to Lionpaw in back in The Sight, Chapter 21. The Sight is the book where a lot of "evidence" that the Evil Overbearing Woman is actually responsible for the rift between father and son but. No. She's not. Though she can be overprotective; Crow and Breeze have a bad relationship when she's not even around in Breeze's first appearance and even his Crowfeather's Trial Epiphany refutes it. Anyway this post isn't about Nightcloud.)

So he starts acting on his bigotry, accusing cats in other Clans of stealing, running really close to the border. What's interesting though, is that this is not entirely his doing. The first time we get physical trouble from Breezepaw, DUSTPELT aggressed it. Breezepaw and Harepaw were just chasing a squirrel and hadn't yet gone over the border at all.

We learn that WindClan is teaching its apprentices how to hunt in woodland, and tensions between the two Clans is starting to escalate as ThunderClan isn't entirely trusting of their intentions.

The second time, fighting breaks out over him and Harepaw actually crossing the border and catching a squirrel. WindClan is adamant that because it came from their land, it's their squirrel. So it's as if Breezepaw is modelling the aggression around him, learning how to behave from the older warriors and his father.

When he joins Heatherpaw and The Three to go find Gorsetail's kits in the tunnels, he's grouchy towards the ThunderClan cats, but very gentle with the kittens. Notably so. When Thistlekit is dangerously cold, he cuddles up next to her, and even assures Swallowkit when she's scared,

Through this entire excursion, he's the one in the comforting roles for the kittens. Breezepaw is the one who is taking time to tell the kits they'll be okay, that he'll protect them, and physically supporting them when they're weak, even when he's terrified.

And it's always contrasted to Heatherpaw who's way more 'disciplined,' as a side note. It's a detail I'm just fond of.

All this to point out,

Breezepelt displays his best qualities when he's away from the older warriors of WindClan, and he's at his worst whenever he's near Crowfeather. Even while he's essentially just a bully character for The Three to deal with. He's gruff but cooperative when it's just him and Heatherpaw interacting with The Three, but mean when there is an adult to please.

We're getting to the on-screen abuse now, but Po3 actually sets up Breezepaw's troubles and dynamics well before it's finally confirmed that he is a victim of child abuse.

ABUSE: Outcast, the Tribe Journey.

In Outcast, Breezepaw's problems have escalated into open aggression towards cats of other Clans, and is now a legitimate concern for his own safety. Yet, he's spoken over by older warriors, and reprimanded at nearly every opportunity, right in front of the warrior of another Clan.

Squilf just asked the poor kid how his training was going, and then Whitetail JUMPS to talk over him so she can complain, RIGHT in front of his face.

They can't even wait until they're alone to grumble something rude about Breezepaw, who is still just a teenager here;

They taught him already that a bit of prey that runs off their own territory still belongs to WindClan, encourage him to blow past borders in pursuit, and started a battle with ThunderClan over this. And then they're pissed off at him for being aggressive, thinking it's deserved to scold him in public.

When Onestar announces that he wants Breezepaw to go on the Tribe Journey, he's devastated by it...

Because he thinks WindClan doesn't like him, and he's right. He's gossiped about, torn into in front of a ThunderClan warrior, and even his own dad doesn't want to be around him. It's clear that Breezepaw's impulsive "codebreaking" behaviors are a desire to prove himself, and once you realize that, the way that he's being alienated is heartbreaking.

But Wait!! Hold on a minute! Where did he get a "patrol of apprentices" from to confront the dogs with, exactly?

Simple. Breezepaw CAN make friends! He actually values them a lot! So much that it's the first thing Crowfeather snaps at him over, out of frustration that his son is also being forced on this journey with him. It's an angry response to his child having emotional and physical needs, resentment that will continue all journey long.

Note that it's plural, friends. Breezepelt has multiple friends, at least one who is not Heatherpaw, and she promises to say goodbye to them.

Up next, they state over and over, Crowfeather and Breezepaw do not like each other. Crowfeather resents being around him and dealing with his rudeness, embarrassed and angry, and Breezepaw is absolutely miserable being sent on a journey to the mountains with a man who hates his guts.

The whole while, Crowfeather is brooding longingly about Feathertail, already thinking about her as soon as he kitty-kisses Nightcloud goodbye, his eyes looking somewhere distant. He makes a jab about loyalty when Breezepaw doesn't understand why they're helping the Tribe.

Breezepaw gets smacked after he's "shoved" at Purdy and acts rude to him, while the other three manage to be polite (while still having internal dialogue about how stinky he is).

Without so much as a, "cut that out," Crowfeather raises his paw and hits him. Breeze is quiet after that.

I don't give a shit how rude your teenager is being. Do not hit kids. Being throttled on the head is not okay.

In spite of the Three not liking Breezepaw, or even Crowfeather, they're constantly noting that their arguments are not normal, and that Crow is a cold, unsupportive father who digs into his kid constantly, and the only time he ever DOES "discipline" his child it's through immediately smacking him.

At one point, the apprentices get hungry, and decide to foolishly hunt in a barn that they know has dogs in it against Purdy's warnings. Once again, JUST like the first two books, Breezepaw is more friendly when Crowfeather is not around.

EVERY time he is alone with cats his own age, he's grumpy but cooperative. Even enthusiastic at times! The minute Crowfeather is in the picture, he's nasty.

Naturally, the dogs show up, but Purdy rescues them. Though Brambleclaw also chews his kids out (and i have strong opinions about bramble's parenting style for another time), Hollypaw is taken aback by the contrast of what a scolding from Brambleclaw looks like vs how Crowfeather reacts.

The narrative is desperately trying to tell you that the way Crowfeather treats his son is not normal.

And then Crowfeather is pissed off that Breezepaw is exhausted from running for his life from hungry dogs,

And he's constantly losing his shit whenever Breezepaw says something as innocuous as "dad im hungry"

Then, Breezepaw is made to watch his dad pine over the grave of a woman who died long before Crowfeather was even considering his mother for a mate. What he feels is jealousy, because he knows his own father doesn't love him anywhere near as much as he loves the memory of Feathertail.

This really goes on and on and on. The ENTIRE trip is like this, with Crowfeather treating Breezepelt poorly, giving him a smack before even verbally warning him, pushing him past his limits and blowing up on him when he asks simple questions about eating or resting.

It all comes to a head in this one exchange, towards the end. Hollypaw ends up snapping at Breezepaw for his rudeness, before having an epiphany.

It's explicit. Crowfeather's emotional abuse, his "scorn" for Breezepelt, is what is driving a wedge between him and all of his older Clanmates. Between EVERYONE in Breezepelt's life who wasn't already his friend. This awful treatment is only making him worse and worse.

Realizing this, she has more sympathy for him, but it's too late. He continues to be rude to her because he feels insulted, and her patience completely runs out. She's just a kid. They're both just kids. She's not responsible for fixing him when he's pushing everyone away at this point.

That's the end of Breezepelt in Outcast. It can't be helped anymore. Any spark of friendship they had together in the barn, or in the tunnels, is gone.

As the series progresses, Crowfeather continues to refuse any personal responsibility for the mistreatment of his son, even pinning all of Breezepelt's behavioral problems on Nightcloud. He is a cold, selfish father who only ever thinks about his own pain and reputation.

DARK FOREST: How these factors push him towards radicalization.

Everyone talks about the Attack on Poppyfrost, which happens in the first book of OotS, in oversimplified terms. YES he is going after a nun and a pregnant woman. I've never said that's not Bad.

But no one talks about "WHY", and that reason is NOT just that he desires power like so many other WC villains. Breezepelt makes his motivation very clear on the page.

Escalating to violence was about making Jayfeather feel the way that he does.

When Breezepelt says that he wants Jay to be surrounded by "lies, hatred, and things that should never have happened," he's talking about the way HE grew up, knowing his father never wanted him, and that his Clan HATES him as a result. Killing Poppyfrost is about trying to frame Jayfeather for her murder, so ThunderClan won't trust him anymore.

When Jayfeather points out the simple truth that what Breezepelt is saying doesn't make any goddamn sense, his hatred "falters." He's blaming his half-clan half-brother for his own treatment because of the reveal, but totally failed to consider that JAYFEATHER'S ALREADY GOING THROUGH IT... so his response is just this pitiful, "s-shut up, man."

Then the ghost of Brokenstar and Breezepelt bounce him back and forth between them like a beach ball for a bit until Honeyfern's spirit shows up.

Breezepelt's childhood abuse and social alienation was a hook that the Dark Forest latched onto, to reel him in. His anger at his half-brother is so obviously misplaced that its absurdity was something Jayfeather pointed out.

We soon learn that it's the Dark Forest who's planting that ridiculous idea in his head;

The narration is SCREAMING, "The Dark Forest is validating the anger he feels towards his father, and redirecting it towards The Three." He's described as 'kitlike,' Tigerstar's eyes are compared to a hypnotizing snake.

This prose could not make it more obvious if it drove to your house, beat you with it, and then spoon fed you the point while you were hospitalized.

At the end of this scene, Tigerstar sends Hawkfrost to recruit Ivypaw. This scene where Breezepelt is being lovebombed, and the command to start grooming Ivypaw, ARE LINKED. That was a choice.

A VERY GOOD choice! Again, as many issues as I have with OotS, its handling of indoctrination is unironically fantastic, and it owes a good amount of that to the outstanding setup of Breezepelt that was done back in Po3. And that setup doesn't work if Crowfeather was merely distant.

Breezepelt was abused by his father, both verbally and physically. It drove him to be more aggressive to prove himself, modeling the battle culture around him. The adults of WindClan judged him based off Crowfeather's responses, shunning and belittling the 'problem' teenager, which eventually drove Breezepelt to the only group that he felt "understood" him.

In a book series that is RIFE with abuse apologia, this is one of the few times that there's any behavioral consequences for abuse and the narrative holds the perpetrator accountable for it.

But people hear Crowfeather's deflective excuse in The Last Hope where he says he never hated him, blames Nightcloud for everything, and just lick it up uncritically.

Gee whiz, I wonder why the guy who never blames himself for any of his problems would suddenly say it was his ex-wife's fault. Real headscratcher!

(Crowfeather's Trial then goes onto, for all my own problems with it, also hold Crow accountable as the reason why Breezepelt turned out like he did. But that's a topic for another day.)

#This is headcanon territory here. But one day I realized I can read Breezy-P with BPD and he became a blorbo. #Never been able to unsee it and it massively endears him to me... Breeze Pelt Disorder... #I actually REALLY hate how his arc was resolved and strongly feel that he should have progressed into a bigger problem #But I equally strongly feel that being redeemed is the ideal ending for him #so if it was between him being pure evil/redemption death or the awful halting we got at the end of oots.... #I'd pick the halting over him being pure evil or a redemption death. #I think BB made me REALLY fall in love with him. He's my sweet cheese. My good time boy. #Bones when he sees an angry black cat: ''i can fix you. first i must break you. but then i can fix you'' #Like. what i dislike about where he went is that even if your anger issues came from abuse. you STILL are responsible for your actions #but in the end getting that Shitty Dad Approval fixes him. Not his own growth or self-reflection. #it feels like BREEZE gets his agency stripped away for HIS ABUSIVE DAD'S character arc #It retcons in a reason why Breezepelt is not still a problem and then he faded into the background. #while Crowfeather continues to get supporting roles and every now and then Breeze now looks at him fondly #BLECH. #Crowfeather #Breezepelt #Abuse #Child Abuse #Warrior Cats Analysis #And now you know anon!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Up High!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #'I'm going to truncate this episode' -> immediately draws a second comic about Xue Yang's arm getting ripped off #This was the original no.88 and i think i COULD have merged them but I rather reflect then fully re-do it. #The crushed up candy in XY's hand makes me miserable and melancholic. So I need to make it funny. #The callousness at the candy is so interesting to me. I think on some level he understands why #but he's equally disgusted by Xue Yang's actions at this point #WWX in general has *no* tolerance for twisted affections. 'Don't care if you fell in love. Get Better Asshole.' #Kind of a consistent motif in how he reacts to other peoples feelings of affection #maybe his own too? Later in this episode and ep4 we see him very conflicted about his own affections #god maybe he earnestly doesn't really understand affection in any form. This....this makes sense. #not even going to get into the yumeng sibling drama. That's prob the most affection he allows and even then....its a mess.

[kaeyachi]

Kaeya had always been an efficient and hard-working individual (he had to be to support Diluc in the background as his brother rose thru the ranks after all).

He has so much free time because he completes all his work way ahead of schedule. And if he still has enough time, he adds more to the workload in secret.

And once all of that was done and over with, he makes time for everyone. He has to. He feels as if every moment has to be given to someone else.

No one knows how he does it. No one has to know.

Every mission has a dozen strategies in line, and every battle plan is made with efficiency in mind. His perfect record will not be tarnished. He can't risk it (even if it baffles others that he would willingly activate a ruin guard just to prevent a failed mission. Jean disagrees with his methods, but Kaeya can say that the results say otherwise)

He needs to be quick.

Efficient.

Perfect.

And so he comes and goes like the wind.

Kaeya values time because he knew every second counted. He can't just stand there as if he were frozen. Time could run out in an instant.

Kaeya had only been late once his entire life.

He'd rather he never be late ever again.

It took one day of being of being imperfect for everything to fall apart. On that tragic day...had he gotten there on time... then maybe...

.

.

.

" Come on, let's get moving, traveler. We're not frozen in place after all. " Kaeya teasingly says. He stiffles a giggle at the traveler's exhasperated sigh.

"Yeah yeah, we've heard enough of you calling us a slacker. Can't you be a bit more patient?" Paimon whines at him.

Kaeya snorts, but acquiesces, hiding the shaking of his hands at the thought of being idle.

He imagines hearing a clock ticking.

Kaeya knows that that is his own problem. He tries his hardest to relax as he waits for the traveler to finish whatever they're making on the alchemy table because, seriously, it is supposed to be a relaxing day. There's nothing major going on, and his schedule is once again empty as intended. What's the hurry?

Kaeya taps his foot on the ground as he waits. He wishes he could take his own damn advice when he tells others to relax.

#kaeyachi randoms #kaeya #kaeya alberich #this is actually shorter than it originally was can yall believe? #kaeya with anxiety truther there i said it #kaeya cant stand being IDLE #get it? get it? #you see that is a play of words in reference to when he is stood idle on our screens. he is one of the more verbally impatient characters #and we also see it reflected on his actions both in fighting and at work. he has a speed boost bonus and if he isnt teleporting he is #actually moving so fast that he seems like it. this is what i also concluded that results him in large amounts of free time that only amber #seemed to be hardpressed about. the people of mondstadt find him reliable and approachable despite the lax attitude and frequent nights at #angels share. we also had lore tidbits before of kaeya straight up saying he finished all his work and jean saying that he also did the #backlogged ones. It is actually insane that we hear him relaxing frequently and i bet its not because of the lack of horses COZ LOOK AT HOW #BUSY THE OTHER CAPTAINS ARE. Also id like to think that he is a toned down noelle and that is why jean told him to watch over her training #give us noelle and kaeya interactions pls i kinda need it tbh #to all those that reached this far into the notes i actually have more to say so get ready #if it wasnt clear the only day he was late was when crepus died. everything fell apart for him that day so i can see some obsessive need to #just keep running around and doing things as efficient as possible. I also think that he found the knights slow and inefficient in several #occasions and he is willing to put them in the line of fire just to get their hearts pumping with adrenaline (and fear lol). idk kaeya is #just so anxiety-coded. impatience-core. Mr. dont waste my time type of guy. and also wow look i found a way to make his idles become angst #silly me ehe #oh youre still here? how about i tell you that kaeya-efficiency-alberich probably knows where everyone is at any time of the day? #can we honestly please give him more free time i need more of him tbh #fun reminder that bro is working around 3-4 jobs casually lmao #i also just realized that the notes is a whole nother post on its own #AND THE ACTUAL FUNNY PART IS I CAN STILL ELABORATE MORE ON THIS LMAO #wait let me add this one tiny idea too but he thinks time is so valuable. bro lost 2 dads and lost time with his bro + he significantly #lessened his time at dawn winery for quite some time. i can see why he is extroverted now.

[puppyeared]

Atla live action 😐

#thats my honest reaction 😐 #to be fair ive only seen 20 minutes of the s1 finale bc my parents are watching it but. mmmmm kinda mid #like. the casting is definitely an improvement since the last time they tried a live action but it feels like the writing falls flat #or maybe im being harsh bc ive only heard negative criticism on it beforehand. but fr anytime u bring up the original its already #good and not just because its the original. so much fucking detail went into it to the point of someone noticing azula wielding mai's knive #to how well thought out irohs character is used as a way of uniting the cast especially as zukos foil #i heard that sokkas sexism was toned down and i have to agree that feels like a cheap move. like i get WHY they think it would be better #but its not about how that reflects on real world its about how it affects the story. sokka starts out as a misogynistic asshole because #it makes it that much more impactful when he changes. toning that down makes it flatter and makes his character development weak #and someone pointed out they didnt even make him wear the kyoshi warrior uniform and i know it feels like such a small detail but #come on man. they did that in the original because not only does it help him really walk in their shoes - wearing 'feminine' clothing and #makeup and having suki explain its significance but it also ties in with the shows theme of harmony and intersectionality #i was also disappointed when they had the fire sages explain how the water tribe draws power from the moon because in the original it was #IROH who explained it to aang and everyone else BECAUSE we as the audience is under the impression hes with the 'bad guys' #and it builds up to how he learned from the other nations which reconciles his past as a war general and his character overall #AND its an excellent starting point for the cast and audience to understand how the nations arent as closed off as you would think #plus you would think its only fire nation doing propaganda but they expanded on that with earth kingdom censorship and it WORKS #a lot of things in the live action also feel arbitrary like. they gave momo a near death experience for 5 minutes for no reason #im firmly on the stance of bringing back filler moments instead of putting major events right after each other so that u give your #audience a sense of time passing and to really absorb the story. but i think thats more like shock value than filler and yeah its a small #thing to gripe about but those things build up and its really annoying. the thing abt avatar filler moments is that however small #its at least meaningful. hell even the beach episode emphasizes how isolated zuko and his friends are as child soldiers #i also swore to never watch the first live action since it was that bad but i really liked the stylized tattoos they used for aang #anyway. those arejust my thoughts. im not gonna watch the rest because im a ride or die for the original aftr growing up and #rewatching it at least 20 times as a kid. but theres definitely room for improvement and i wish ppl wouldnt take it as 'better' just cuz #netflix is adapting it. i wouldve killed for them to just reanimate the entire avatar series and touch NOTHING ELSE no redub #no changes to the story. just reanimate the thing and leave the rest alone and youd make easy money just the same #ALSO its very jarring not hearing jack desena and dante basco voicing sokka and zuko cause their voices were the most recognizable to me #i get that its because its live action but im allowed to feel a little sad abt that. and uncle irohs accent was really soothing #yapping

[commsroom]

eiffel's problem is that he sees every injustice as an interpersonal issue. he doesn't understand how his flippancy or apparent leniency towards hilbert might look to hera; in his mind, it doesn't contradict his support for her. to eiffel, it seems obvious - he is also one of hilbert's victims, hera is his friend, of course he's completely on her side - but he fails to fully grasp how the stakes are different for her.

ep 19: "you need to stop treating this like a joke, officer eiffel." / "hey, i'm the person for whom the joke tolls." / "i get you're scared he put something inside you. but i hope you haven't forgotten emergency code alpha victor. he put that in me." and ep 51: "they're just jokes! they don't really mean anything." / "see, eiffel, you get to have that. they can be 'just jokes' for you because you're... well, you. but we don't get that."

the issue in shut up and listen is eiffel's repeated, if unintentional, microaggressions, but it's also his general use of dark humor as a coping mechanism - jokes he feels justified in making because of how the subjects of those jokes have impacted him. eiffel sincerely believes in treating people equally, but his idea of 'equal treatment' can be idealistic and naive. he has an awareness of interpersonal harm, but he's lived most of his life without ever being confronted with the reality of structural harm - being pre-judged and othered and having his life devalued on the basis of outside categorization.

but the thing about that is that it has happened to him, too. eiffel is an addict, and a convict, and marked as from a lower socioeconomic class than minkowski or lovelace, and those things are the reasons goddard futuristics was able to buy him as prison labor and - without his consent - consider him expendable for medical experimentation. none of that is a coincidence, but he doesn't see the systems at work, only his own actions and regrets. which he then equivocates to the worst actions of people who don't share his sense of morality or guilt.

eiffel's ability to recognize and bring out the humanity in the people around him is one of his best qualities, but... on the basis of his identity, he's been able to live a life where he conceptualizes himself as the default person, and that's been reinforced by the pop culture he loves so much. that's a massive blind spot. he assumes everyone navigates the world in a similar way, and so, on some level, he sees everyone around him as an extension of or a reflection of himself. if evil is always personal, then it can always be reasoned with.

#wolf 359 #w359 #doug eiffel #like. his answer for 'what is your worst quality?' #is a very tongue in cheek job interview answer: 'i empathize too much with others.' but from a certain angle... #i just think it's interesting. he has such believable faults and biases and assumptions about the world. #and the other thing is. eiffel's values are the show's values!! in some way he is also correct!! #but it's the line between diplomacy and centrism. #and the understanding that inaction is still an action that can hurt people. and that there's often not a right answer. #eiffel values the right things as far as the show is concerned #and as far as i'm concerned #but he lacks necessary perspective to really enact those values. decentering himself enough to really listen #while still keeping that personal focus. #i love that line where he says he's going to 'keep debugging his code' because it's so deferential like #'sorry for talking about you like this' and also 'i'm trying to see myself through your eyes.' means a lot to me. #and of course. the dear listeners literally reflecting eiffel while viewing him as the representative of humanity. there's something there #especially with the way eiffel externalizes both his good and bad qualities and projects them onto others #really good show. really good character writing. you know.

[squorttle-pox]

I would just like to aggressively kindly remind fans that harassing other fans, cosplayers, or actors in ANY WAY is totally uncool.

#hazbin hotel #but it applies to all fandoms!! #in this case tho im referencing how ppl go after anyone #mentioning or liking the character (not personality or actions of) or taking part in the creation of the character #valentino #as in #hazbin hotel valentino #HE IS A SHITTY PERSON #HE IS IN HELL FOR A REASON #but that is fiction #you mustnt harp on people who enjoy his character in a meta sense #and you CERTAINLY mustnt harp on all the wonderful talents who worked so hard to bring him to life #enjoying ≠ condoning #yes im referring to everyone harassing the valentino cosplayers at cons #juat stop it #please get a grip #and learn to differentiate between fiction and reality #if you refuse to even mention him or have a conversation about him because youre so scared of the idea of liking/accidentally supporting him #then please do some internal reflecting #because its characters like valentino who allow us to explore these VERY REAL VERY MUCH EXISTING IN OUR WORLD peopl #and avoiding the topic entirely is not how anyone should approach it #dont bury your head in the sand #and dont assume anyone who doesnt bury their head or calls themself a valentino fan/says hes their fav character #is at all condoning what these characters do in-universe #theres a difference #please learn it #thank you for coming to my ted talk #fandom etiquette #anti harassment

[vaguely-concerned]

I love Malcolm Hawke's first dialogue in Legacy (the one you get if you unbind the shade kept trapped by two seals in a little cell). clearly this whole business was the darkest shittiest time of his life and he's selling his soul and betraying every single one of his principles and everything, but he sounds so endearingly... snippy and exasperated about the wardens using demons willy nilly. the "listen I know I'm up to some shady stuff here and everything but let it not be said I was untidy. I'm fixing your shit as far as I'm able here. you will not be able to pin this one on me. these demons were here before I arrived, this is on the record now" energy. the way he's taking time out of his day to be responsible and enforce mage OSHA regulations in the middle of maybe the most hilariously irresponsible thing anyone's ever done after the magisters tried to break into the golden city. exquisite. the real Hawke family curse is having to specify that actually not all of the catastrophe was your fault okay this is at least like... 30% not on me this time. I. I tried. everything was on fire and I had a children's toy bucket and a bottle of rum on hand

#I've never played Legacy (or Mark of the Assassin) before so I'm having a ball lol #I love snarky!hawke in MotA in that he's such a callous asshole in a very specific and endearing way #it's the *shrug* all of my friends are crazy and most of them are killers what do you want from me here blaséness that does me in #bitch if you want my genuine emotional engagement you're going to have to do much much wilder than this #that and the hilarity of ignoring the call towards noble action tallis tries to pull on you and going 'no. fuck this' and just leaving #brilliant #dragon age #dragon age 2 #I have so many thoughts about malcolm as the ghost who is always hovering over the narrative #especially since it's very much implied your hawke takes after him no matter which personality type you chose #(right down to sharing a voice actor with male hawke -- do you think the twins look over at their brother and almost think #that it's their dad for a moment sometimes? I have feelings and thoughts all over the place) #a ghost varric has only ever met through the reflection he left behind in his children and especially hawke #the ghost of a ghost through the story. so interesting