#when they know their paths are diametrically opposed

[autistichalsin]

Astarion and Halsin's traumas were meant to be foils

When characters are foils, there are two components: first, there's a shared background, event, personality trait, etc. But how the characters act from then on are diametrically opposed, allowing us an insight into the various ways people can act or respond to one core "element". In this case, I would argue that Halsin and Astarion are meant to be foils in their responses to sexual slavery.

Both Astarion and Halsin were denied their freedom and agency, raped and abused. Both were very young when this happened; Astarion was in his 30s, which is before elves are considered to reach their majority, while Halsin's age wasn't specified, but he goes out of his way to mention "youth" many times. In other words- both were young enough for this to be a formative memory for them. Both carry deep traumas from their experiences. Both are incredibly physically attractive, and allude to or outright say that their looks played a part in their captivity; Astarion was used to seduce others for Cazador, while Halsin notes that his Drow captors "took an interest in him" and saw him "as a novelty"- most likely for his looks as much as for his race. Both were raped by people of high social status- Cazador a wealthy influential figure in Baldur's Gate, and Halsin's captors high-ranking Drow nobles. That is what they have in common.

But their responses to their traumas are complete opposites.

First, just the nature of how they express their traumas. Astarion is LOUD about it. He expresses it all openly; he is traumatized. And he knows he didn't deserve what happened to him.

Halsin buries it. He pretends it was no big deal. He victim-blames himself, saying it was his fault for being a "foolhardy young Druid" intent on seeing the Underdark.

Astarion despises Cazador; he wants revenge. He will do anything to get revenge on his abuser. This need for closure is the core of Astarion's entire arc, to the point that of all the scenarios I can think of where Astarion leaves the party, most of them involve his journey to kill Cazador.

Halsin has trauma bonds (also known as Stockholm Syndrome.) He speaks kindly of his captors even when describing their abuse. He says he feared for his life, but he "did some things that were less than necessary," making it sound like he was complicit in his own rape. He can't even bring himself to call them captors (except for one option in the new datamined dialogue), nor himself a sex slave; instead, he was something "between a guest, prisoner, and consort."

Astarion is (in most cases) ultimately allowed closure; he kills Cazador. In the bad path, he then joins the cycle of abuse by killing the other vampires; in good scenarios, he only kills Cazador, and then has a cathartic, tearful breakdown after.

Halsin never had (or seemed to want) that closure; he escaped while his captors were fighting another noble house, and his freedom was all he wanted. Whether his captors lived or not, he doesn't care.

Astarion is younger, and his trauma a shorter time ago, yet he has processed what happened more; he is both further ahead and further behind on his healing journey than Halsin.

Halsin is older, and his trauma longer ago, but he hasn't processed what happened to him; bouncing from trauma to trauma and being forced into a leadership role caused him to have to bury it. He is both further behind and further ahead on his healing journey than Astarion.

Astarion makes a point of avoiding intimacy; he only has a few exceptions with the player. (Ascended Astarion becomes much more confident, but that's a bit different.)

Halsin is incredibly sexually open. He enjoys sex of all kinds; he finds it comforting, the only way he can openly express his emotions after having to stay in control as Archdruid all the time.

Astarion dissociates during the Drow brothel orgy. He is miserable and uncomfortable, but doesn't regret it; he needed to take the step to explore his sexuality on his terms. Even if it triggered him, he still wanted the experience, and indeed, finding what one's triggers are is an important step for many survivors.

Halsin enjoys himself during the orgy, and even seems pleased after, but then he lets the cracks show, talking about how he was held as a slave. He enjoyed it during, but after, the thoughts started creeping in, as he was reminded of his captivity.

Astarion will respond to cruel player comments about Cazador with a massive hit in approval, and possibly breaking up with a romanced player, like when they say they have a kidnapping fantasy about him if he's kidnapped by the spawn.

Halsin, in the new dialogue options, doesn't seem to react that much even to cruel comments; when the player threatens to sell him back into slavery, all he has to say is, "you would be unwise to attempt it, trust me. In any case, the house of my captors is long-extinct." (Followed by him having an epiphany that they WERE his captors) He never gets angry at the player despite the absolute evil of this option; as with nearly every other mean thing the player says to him, he simply shrugs it off, clearly sad but brushing it off as always. Being the "bigger person", literally and metaphorically.

Astarion was left with scars all over his back, symbolizing how this is something he'll never break free from entirely.

Halsin was left with no scars, his only prominent one being from an unrelated incident, symbolizing how much work he puts in to hide his traumas.

It's understated, so a lot of players aren't going to think about it much because of this, but I think it's worth bringing up as a note on characterization!

#astarion #halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate #halstarion #should i tag it as that? it's not explicitly shippy but it kind of counts

[sordidmusings]

Tender Love and Care - Massage 1/3 (Buggy x Reader)

Art by Capitanpoops!

A/N: More love for our beloved fool! This one with a dash of idiots in love and a heaping scoop of yearning. The next half of this installment is mostly done as wel,l but I needed to get this out and I think it'll be digested better in these chunks. Gotta pace yourself on the clown content (Do as I say and not as I do 💀) I trimmed it down to the necessary events and the important (read: indulgent) interactions with Buggy and she still somehow got long whoopsy

Word Count: ~4.4k

Warnings: afab!reader (no pronouns or gendered terms), brief suggestive allusions, reader is oblivious and Buggy is delusional, Buggy continues his inner married life fantasy world, you feed him tangerines and he’s kind of a freak about it 💀

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~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You weren’t there.

Why weren’t you there? 

Buggy found himself alone in sheets, which barely held the remnants of body heat. Your body heat; the only proof you left behind of your night together. Or was he imagining it? Wishing it into existence so hard that his brain took pity on him and let him feel warmth that wasn't truly there. He turned his face further into the hammock, deeper into the bedding, seeking more pieces of you. All he was able to get was some of your elegant smell from a lukewarm pillow and it ached. It ached that he was here begging for scraps of you and all he got were vestiges of your presence.

He tried to comfort himself with the memory of your cheek on his head and your hands in his hair and your skin under his lips. That sweet, blissful second of contact only made his chest feel tighter wherever it was leagues away. It may as well have joined him, burrowed in your hammock, with how potent the sensation felt. He felt bitter that you would be so kind and then leave him as an afterthought. Was it a trick after all? Buggy found himself switching back and forth between distrusting your intentions and accepting them as genuine. It would've taken a pro for all of that to be an act, but then again he didn’t really know you. You could’ve had a history in intel gathering. Or honeypotting. On top of that, what reason could you have to treat him so tenderly? Not only was he an enemy of your crew, he was already assisting you all. Beyond even that, you were, well, you.

Buggy hadn’t had much time to watch you in Orange Town, as he had simply put you away with the other two for Cabaji to handle. Now that he was diminished to a head, though, the only thing he could do was watch. And talk. He made sure to do both in abundance, half for boredom and half to piss off your crewmates. He especially liked messing with the skittish one. 

You, however, he would mostly watch. Yeah, he couldn’t keep his big trap shut, but it was more to fill silence if he felt uncomfortable or to prod you mildly to test your reaction and learn more about you. He had learned a lot. Your interests were broad but not without depth, and they spanned so many disconnected topics that it spoke to an inherent love of learning and engaging. You liked to play back with those around you, making them feel included. You were kind; understanding and nurturing were clearly in your nature with how you’d tend to others. You always noticed and cared for the details of a person - how they embody their feelings, how they like to be cared for, pieces of their tasks that could be eased, habits that kept them from caring for themselves, any act or item that made them smile. He saw it as so diametrically opposed to the destructive path he left behind him. Why would you bother yourself with tending to him and his messes?

His thoughts made the physical distance between you two feel even greater. Buggy allowed himself the comfort of snuggling fully into your pillow and breathing deep the scent of vanilla and spice from the cushion and his wild hair. He had begun to slip back into sleep when gentle fingers brushed his hair back across his temple, pulling a small gasp from him.

“Bugs?” you whispered, checking if he was awake or needed more prompting. You caught his eye and were distracted by the way his lashes brushed your pillowcase with each blink.

“Oh so you decided to come back,” Buggy grumbled into the bedding.

“Of course I did,” you soothed. You didn’t want him to start out the day on a bad note, but you had duties to take care of around the ship. “I wanted to let you get some rest. I doubt you were able to get much in a sack or a barrel.”

Buggy took in the way you grimaced at the thought and some of the ache in his chest lessened. You helped him turn over before placing your hands on his cheeks. Finally, the warmth on his skin was fresh.

“C’mon, let’s get you some breakfast,” you chirped. Buggy didn’t care if he imagined how fond the shine in your eyes was.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“You just had to poke the bear huh?” you admonished. You nudged the door to Nojiko’s hut closed with your foot and looked down at Buggy’s face in your hands. You didn’t think you’d be seeing him gagged and glaring again, especially so soon. At least this time he was more angry at the situation than being purely upset with you. Meeting his eyes with a sympathetic smile, you settled the both of you to sit on the edge of the deck. 

“Can’t say I blame you, though,” you said, pulling the tangerine out of Buggy’s mouth, placing it higher on your legs than where he rested. He chased it with some choice curses and moved his jaw around to rid himself of the stretched discomfort. You helped him by rubbing your thumbs into the muscles above the sharp angle of his jaw. With each circling motion, some of his bitterness followed the tension out of his face. “They barely let me give you anything for breakfast, no lunch, and now you can’t have dinner? I dont…” you trailed off, looking for the right words. Coming up short you sighed and finished, “I don’t like it.”

“Join the club,” Buggy spat.

Your eyes fell to your hands, which now fiddled with the tangerine. “Well, we do have a little food.”

“I guess it’s better than nothing,” he relented, and you began peeling. While he mostly just looked grumpy, there was a despondency in the glaze of his eyes and the twitch of his lip. Your heart ached for him despite the fact that you knew at least some of this was his own doing. It was definitely his own mistakes that led his path to being held captive and at the whims of others, but you were really stuck on things like the lack of food. You decided you were probably too soft for piracy with the way his head being thrown around made you wince. Maybe you’d have to find out how to be a different kind of pirate. Like Luffy. A smile began to soften your face at the comfort that idea brought you. It felt right.

Meanwhile, Buggy’s mood was sullen at best, fueled by his distant howling stomach. The pretty smile decorating your face, however, began distracting him enough to start calming down. Focusing on how beautiful you looked, wearing a tender smile in the moonlight, he began to feel distant from you. You looked natural - like you belonged right here amongst quiet air, sleeping sky, and things that grow. He was a naturally disruptive force; he belonged here as an observer, an audience member, and not a part of the scene.

Buggy was broken from his musings when you offered him a piece of tangerine. He truly did wish for something more substantial, but he couldn’t deny that at the first bite all other thoughts stopped except the pungent flavor refreshing him. On the second, he nearly took your finger off when he lunged for more.

“Easy, easy,” you soothed, “I can always pick another one.”

He didn’t apologize but he did take the next few pieces more delicately. You’d give the segments to him in two bites so that it would draw the process out and hopefully make him feel a bit more sated. The next time he bit into a piece of tangerine, the juice burst back onto your fingers. After pushing the other half into his mouth, you brought your hand up to your mouth and sucked off the juice. The refreshingly bright flavor distracted you from the way Buggy stared at the action. You presented him with another slice, which he bit hard to make sure it would splash again. He wanted a repeat showing.

“You’re so messy,” you chastised. Again, your fingers were cleaned by lips and tongue. Again, Buggy was absolutely enraptured. Again, you did not notice.

This time when you fed him a piece, you put the whole thing in his mouth to avoid splashing. A new problem replaced the old one; Buggy’s lips closed against the tips of your fingers. Those fingers felt so soft on his lips and he promised himself to move slowly next time. Your mind kicked into gear when the way his lips pressed at you felt more like a caress - like a kiss - than an accidental brush. Your eyes snapped to his face to see what he was thinking, but his eyes were closed and his face relaxed and gave you absolutely nothing to go on. You wrote it off as taking time to savor fresh food after having been mostly starved and fed scraps. Even so, your hand was more hesitant this time.

Buggy kept his eyes closed and opened his mouth at the feeling of tangerine prodding his lips. It only made it halfway into his mouth this time. He chomped down creating a spray. You huffed but he didn’t care when the second half was given to him and he pushed forward to take it all and to taste the juice on your fingertips. He didn’t linger for fear of rejection but he couldn’t deny himself the chance to lick juice from your skin. Your fingers were soft and the tangerine was sweet and he was giddy that you’d shared a transferred kiss.

You had a lot more trouble explaining away the swipe of his tongue than the purse of his lips. The urge to ask him what the hell he was doing almost overcame you, but you were stopped by how peaceful he looked. You didn’t want to take that from him. Besides, the touch didn’t bother you. It was quite the opposite actually; you were immediately addicted to the buzzing sensation it shot from your fingertips through to your chest and stomach, where it stayed to flutter.

Buggy didn’t venture to be so bold through the remainder of the fruit, though your fingers received an almost-kiss with each piece. Your yearning to feel his lips with your own grew each time, pressing at your heart until each beat kicked back strongly. You take a handkerchief from your back pocket to wipe your hands and dab at his lips. Buggy was placid through the whole thing. You wanted to bask in that a bit longer, so you tried to think up a reason to stay outside. Placing your hands on the sides of his face with care, you tilted his face up to look directly at you.

“I wanna stay out in the fresh air; the hut’s still hot from cooking. Wanna stay with?” you asked. Buggy didn’t respond. Instead, he was eyeing you like you’d asked a trick question. “Of course you could always go back to the bag.”

“Out here.” That was much quicker.

“Good!” You were already placing him to the side to stand up and set up. You grabbed a cushion from a chair on the porch and placed it on the large rim in front of the porch’s support beam. After carefully picking Buggy back up, you settled into the surprisingly comfortable cushion and leaned back on the beam. Buggy was placed in your lap, tilted and facing out so that he could take in the bucolic scene with you. Neither of you spoke for the remainder of the night, even when you settled in for bed. It felt unnecessary to say anything to add to the atmosphere that had fallen around the two of you. There was more than enough filling it between the patterns of endless stars, moonlight on waxy leaves, and crisp breeze over earthen ground. The main reason for the silence, though, was that you already felt connected from the way that your body warmed the back of his head, the way his weight settled in your lap, and the way your fingers never stopped stroking his jaw, cheeks, and temple.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

The whole Arlong thing was going to shit. You were separated out with Usopp, trying desperately to get back to your crew and help with any remaining fishmen. Each pounding stride sent vibrations up your legs, rattling your bones and joints. Your ragged breaths and pumping arms helped carry you further from the smoldering corpse and closer to more enemy bodies, these ones still able to snap their teeth at you. You could distantly recognize that you were afraid, but there was no room for it to exist inside you with your heart pumping in every spec of your body.

Breaking your tunnel vision was a call of your name from behind you.

It echoed through your body and made you freeze because you knew that voice. In front of you, Usopp was staring confused over your shoulder. You were too nervous to turn and look with him. Your every muscle was gripped tight with indecision. His eyes moved to meet your wild look and the scrunch of his brow asked the question.

“Tell everyone thank you and I’m sorry.” The words were simple but the quaver in your voice carried all the meaning you had no time to speak out.

You wrenched yourself around, not even waiting to see Usopp’s nod, and began sprinting away from the weight of your decision.

Buggy’s heart was in his throat. At first it was fear that had it jackhammering, but then you turned and happy disbelief kept it pumping. Holy shit, you’re really running to him - literally running to him - hitting him like a freight train and yanking him with you. Even though he had watched you for every second of your charge toward him, it was a surprise when you got to him, so much so that when you grabbed him, he separated from the waist up. His legs had to rev like a wind-up toy to try and catch up. Your hand fisting tight around his wrist was edging on painful but he loved it because it was real and you were real and you really chose him.

~ ~ ~••• ✦✦✦•••~ ~ ~

When you close yourselves off in the inn room you feel like you can relax for the first time in a long while. There’s warm food in your bellies and a roof over your heads. The room was a fair price and any of the shabby touches just added to the charm. It felt like being tucked into the guest room of a distant relative; there was an air of home even though you knew none of the stories this place has seen. While you were taking your time to look around the room, Buggy made a beeline for the bed and toppled onto it with a theatrical groan. You gave him a minute to breathe before you decided to touch base on the run in at dinner.

“She’s definitely trying to use us,” you cautioned.

“Well the feeling’s mutual,” Buggy responded, slowly getting himself upright. You snorted.

“I guess you’re right. Just gotta keep on our toes; there’s been enough bullshit recently,” you said, plopping next to him on the bed. He ate up the way your arm pressed into his. He sat stone still, hoping that if he didn’t move then you’d never realize you were touching him and move away. Fuck, having his body back was euphoric with how he got to experience more of you and your touch, but it was also overwhelming. Normally, he’d have no trouble asserting himself or stealing into someone's personal space but this felt so different. Every move closer to you felt like crossing an ancient rope and plank bridge; he was swaying and unsteady and every new piece of wood may give to let him plunge away into a rabid river, far away from the safety at the other side. You felt how he froze up like a rabbit before a wolf and worried you’d said something wrong.

“I’ll keep like the daintiest of my dancers, Toni Twinkle-Toes,” he promised, trying to appear normal by giving you a cheeky look.

“Oh yeah,” you laughed. “Better swap out your clunky ass boots for some slippers.” You nudged his boot with your own and kept your leg pressed tight to his. You were proud of yourself for finding a casual way to feel more of him. 

“Got any on hand?” he asked after pausing just a touch too long.

“Nah, left my ballet get up on the ship.” You waved a hand to gesture at the bag you’d overstuffed between your run from Usopp and escape from Conomi Island. It was easy to convince your companion to go with you to gather your things. It was much harder to convince him that, no, you would not help him steal the whole ship.

“That's too bad,” he sighed. “I would’ve loved to see you in a tiny leotard, sweetcheeks.”

Buggy happily received your shove, though he still fell to his side, holding it like you’d broken him. Through laughter you said, “Well when you get me one, you better make sure it’s over the top and flashy.”

Oh no, he’s a goner. 

You stand up and walk to your bag, missing the love-struck look set on you. A shame, really, because those eyes you loved so much had never looked shinier or softer.

“Okay, so since we’re sharing a bed, your ass is taking a bath.” Way to ruin the moment for him.

“But I’m tired and want to sleep,” he whined. A few moments passed where he fully registered your words and had to reboot. He popped back up to sit straight and rushed out, “We’re sharing a bed?”

His eagerness absolutely melted you and you turned to look at him with affectionate eyes. It felt nice to have someone so excited to be near you. You felt valuable. “Yes, we’ve done it before.”

“But I was just a head,” he pressed. You raised a brow.

“I mean we can figure something out if you don’t want to.”

Fuck, no, back track! Back track!

“It’s fine,” Buggy said, a little too loudly. “I mean - I don’t care. Well, it doesn’t bother me.” He took a breath and tried again, while you tried to stifle your laughter. “Since you want to be in my bed so bad, you’re more than welcome to it, toots.”

“How sweet,” you cooed sarcastically. Your walk over to him had a predatory sway. He stayed enraptured as you grabbed his scarf and leaned in close to his face. He shivered as the material pulled gently at the back of his neck. His rounded eyes did their best to take in every fleck of color in your own. “After you take a bath.” You let him go quickly and moved back to finish gathering your things.

“Fine,” Buggy groaned. He felt much too flustered so he compulsively added one more joke. “Sure is one way to get me naked.” He waggled his brows and winked when you gave him an unimpressed look. You wouldn’t let him see how much the thought got to you. The image of him spread out in a tub, skin pink through the steam and long hair sweeping down his shoulders to cling to his chest then float lazily in the water, had you blushing. You imagined him opening droopy eyes, darkened by those pretty lashes, to invite you in with a reaching hand and a devilish smirk. You had to make that a reality. But for now, whatever was happening between you two was too new and unstable.

“I’m sorry to say your nudity will be between you and the room; I’ve bartered with Alvida to use her room’s tub tonight,” you explained.

Buggy was torn evenly between relief and disappointment. On the one hand, he was hurt from what felt like a polite rejection, but on the other, he had more time to prepare before he tried presenting himself to you. When you see more of him, he wants to look his absolute best. He wanted to stand up to your looks and prove he was worth looking at. He needed you to feel he was worth touching and especially holding. He desperately needed it to be perfect so that if anyone was making a fool of themselves with nervousness and desire it would be you.

He refocused himself by continuing your banter. “Oh, sweets, what’d that cost ya?”

“A future favor to hold over my head,” you answered. A grimace tugged at your lips for a moment at the memory of Alvida’s predatory smile at the terms.

He let out a low whistle. “Sure is a high price for a tub.”

“You have no idea how desperate I am for a soak,” you moaned in a way that sounded exhausted to you but sinful to Buggy. You needed to get away from him before he said or did something stupid.

“Then go already and be quick; we paid for a nice bed and I’m getting my money’s worth,” he said, flicking his hands to shoo you. With a roll of your eyes, a shakedown of your bag, and a sarcastic salute, you left the room to give yourself the scrub down of a lifetime (and then that relaxation soak for your aching bones - Buggy will survive some waiting).

A very small piece of Buggy wished that he had asked you to share the tub, but a very large part of Buggy was a chicken. Besides, he wanted to see you on the ‘after’ side of clean; not ‘before’. He gathered his supplies, mostly shaved and siphoned from yours, while the tub filled. After the water reached high enough, Buggy stared at it with a sour frown. He was monologuing to himself about the tedious endeavor you’ve trapped him in, only to change his mind the moment he settled into the bath. Though he’d never admit it to you, the relief he felt at the warm water loosening him and washing the stale feeling off of his skin made the effort and delay of a bath well worth it. Before he moved to start however, Buggy closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling and release his imagination.

His mind was kind and supplied him with images of you sitting beside the tub, preparing your tools and tinctures to take care of him. The smile he gave you was the one he admired on the tangerine night, and even though it was conjured by his own mind, it made his heart stutter. He made his plight worse when he imagined overflowing love in your eyes and sweet words on your tongue. You were helping him after a long day at sea - no, no, after a successful raid for treasure. You sang his praises and called him things like “sweetheart” and “my love”. Your body was dripping with the priceless gems and precious metals that he’d placed on you the moment he had gotten back to his cabin, and he told you you looked like a queen. You blushed and smiled and hugged and kissed and pulled him over to the tub to show your gratitude with loving service.

The fact that he was able to use your shampoo and conditioner again made the illusion better but his fingers were no match for yours. They pulled no sighs nor tingles from him. They didn’t ease him into liquid contentment. Even though he was able to mostly replicate the soothing and intentional way you had worked the products into his scalp, he gave up the effort quickly. It wouldn’t feel nearly as good because it wasn’t you doing it. He instead set about going through the process as quickly as possible.

Buggy had hoped that moving on to washing his body would give him a reprieve from his yearning, but it simply continued on. Each swipe of the soaped cloth across his skin has him daydreaming of your hand behind it instead. He wondered what bliss you would be able to bring his aching muscles if he had turned to putty after only a scalp massage. He wondered what details you would notice and add to like you had when washing his hair. Which surfaces would you soften? Which senses would you guide? Which hidden knots would you free him of? Which pieces of himself would you have him learning new joys from?

He wrenched himself back into the present, realizing he had stood still in his thoughts for much too long. Setting back to his work, Buggy gave himself a painstakingly thorough washing and rinsing, finishing it off with a long brushing of his teeth. He felt very ridiculous going about the whole process, but the thought of being so close to you and having or doing anything that disgusts you. He’s positive it would crush him.

That very feeling had him washing every spec of sand, dirt, sweat, and makeup off of his face so he could build the whole look back up fresh. He gave his past self one drop of gratitude for keeping makeup in his coat. Though it was usually for touch-ups, there was plenty to make almost any of his looks. He was meticulous with his application, especially around his eyes. There was not a line or lash or spec of glitter out of place. He kept to the same crossbones and blue diamonds you had first seen him in, hoping that they’d continue to keep your attention. He remembered that you noticed his eyes only second to his hair, so he darkened the smudged liner around them in hopes you would stare longer. 

Next, the wild red smile was painted across his face. It made him feel more comfortable, like his nose stood out less, but something was missing. Buggy stared too long at his reflection, picking at every detail until all of it was ugly and distorted and unfixable. With a sigh, he settled on blending his painted smile to be a deeper blood red at his lips and turned away from the mirror. Though he was saved from seeing himself any longer, he didn’t feel any better. That was precisely when you knocked on the bedroom door.

~ ~ ~••• ✦✦✦•••~ ~ ~

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Taglist: @fanaticsnail @youreinthewind @snippychicke

#buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #opla buggy x reader #opla x reader #buggy the clown #one piece #opla buggy #afab reader #one piece x reader #opla #my writing #x reader

[zvaigzdelasas]

Regrettably history for some media and politicians start when Israelis are killed. Our people have endured one deadly year after another, we came to the security council month after month warning of the consequences of Israeli impunity and international inaction. Last october, about a year ago, we stated before the security council the Palestinian people will be free one day or another - one way or another. We chose the peaceful way, the one the international community advocates for. Do not let Israel prove us wrong - for our sake and theirs. This is not a time to let Israel double down on its terrible choices; this is a time to tell Israel it needs to change course - that there is a path to peace where neither Palestinians nor Israelis are killed - and it is the one diametrically opposed to the one Israel is embarked on.

Israel keeps saying the blockade and repeated assaults on gaza are to destroy Hamas military capabilities and ensure security - clearly and expectedly its blockade and assaults accomplished neither. The only thing they did accomplish was inflicting terrible suffering on an entire civilian population. It is time for an immediate end to the violence and the bloodshed, and it is time to end this blockade and to open a political horizon. When Israel now tries to justify yet another assault by the same faulty premise, no one should say or do anything to encourage it down this path - we know only too well that the messages about Israel's right to defend itself will be interpreted by Israel as licensed to kill - to pursue on the very path that led us here: 370 and the number is rising by the moment of Palestinians that have been killed already in one day - including children, some barely a few months old - entire families were killed in their sleep. Will this bring security? will this advance peace?

Where is the international protection the Palestinian people is entitled to when the occupying power violates international law and harms those it is obliged to protect? are Palestinians lives worth saving? the Palestinian civilians killed - the Palestinian children killed - in occupied Palestine could have been spared. Isnt` that a moral and legal obligation and a contribution to peace? why nothing is done when those killed are Palestinians? we need to think hard of what logic we want to see prevail here. If this is about vengeance then many Palestinians will feel they have much to avenge. If this is about peace then the way to it is not through further entrenching oppression and occupation but by ending it. You cannot say nothing justifies killing Israelis and then provide justification for killing Palestinians. We are not subhumans. Let me repeat: we are not subhumans. We will never accept a rhetoric that denigrates our humanity and reneges our rights. A rhetoric that ignores the occupation of our land and oppression of our people. There is no right to security that trumps the right of a nation to self-determination. The fulfillment of our right to self-determination is the only path towards shared peace and security. We chose the peaceful path to achieve our rights, but Israel continued using blunt force against Palestinian lives and Palestinian rights. Israel cannot wage a full scale war on a nation - its people, its land, its holy sites - and expect peace in exchange. One needs to address the root causes of the conflict and by doing so we will be addressing its consequences. We have been calling for a different rationale, a different approach - justice not vengeance, freedom not occupation, peace not war. Our calls should be heeded. The alternative is playing out under our very eyes.

Israel has announced dozens of times that it had handled the Palestinian problem by war against our people, or peace with others - since 1948 till a few days ago in the statement of netanyahu in front of the general assembly. Netanyahu held during that speech in these United Nations a map denying the existence of Palestine - a map of aggression and annexation. To all the peacemakers to all those who believe in the un charter and international law: one cannot lose sight of the bigger picture. We need to stand up for the vision enshrined in the resolution of the security council and the general assembly, and to take the necessary measures to ensure compliance with their provisions. We need to uphold international law not abandon it.

Everybody in the room behind me who will be meeting in few minutes agree on the end end game. Israel expects and demands political and military support while advancing goals that are fundamentally at odds with international legitimacy and consensus. Its policies are an assault on our humanity, on international law, on peace, and are a threat for its own people. Can those supporting Israel ignore its colonialist and racist agenda? that would be self-defeating.

A different path is possible - I repeat, a different path is possible - but it cannot ignore the lives and rights of the Palestinian people. It must guarantee them equal measures of freedom and security. You cannot stand for peace if you do not stand up to occupation. Do it because it is the right thing to do - morally, legally, politically, and because it will save lives. Peace will save lives because it is the only way forward. I thank you very much.

#Youtube

[houndsclaw]

moon bend the knife

pairing: ieiri shoko/reader word count: 3181 rating: explicit warnings/tags: smut, established relationship, canon-typical discussions of violence, masturbation, strap-ons, tender sex, some emotional hurt/comfort. notes: for the end of 2023, have some tender shoko! title from perfume genius, some superficial references to the heart sutra and other buddhist recollections. this is diametrically opposed to my other shoko fic (or is it?). mostly unedited, completely not beta-read. There’s no rush here, you remind yourself. You don’t have infinite moments with Shoko— you may not even have tomorrow, the luxury of long life not the path you walk— but you have this time right now. There is more love here than curse. read on ao3

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So don’t,” Shoko says. She’s standing between your knees, toweling your hair dry for you.

It had been a bad mission. The way that leads to short life makes you yourself short-lived. With curses, survival was dumb luck as much as innate skill. Sometimes, you were standing a foot in the wrong direction. Today, it had been the right direction. You’d gotten out with nothing worse than bruised ribs. Your partner had not been as fortunate.

In the aftermath, Nanami had driven you to Shoko’s apartment. He had helped you get into the passenger seat of his car and fastened the seat belt around you when you couldn’t coordinate the movement. All you can remember from the drive is the rain sheeting down the windows, washing the smears of blood left from your hands. Nanami hadn’t even complained about the puddles of bloody water you had left in his car, or smeared across his nice shirt from your impromptu embrace.

You clear your throat, shake the thoughts out of your head. “Tell me about your day.”

“Corpses, mostly, but none of them were yours.”

Shoko whips the towel off of your head, leaving you blinking with your hair in your face. When you push the damp hair back from your eyes, she’s already turned away from you to inspect her face in the mirror.

You both know the state of the world you live in. The list of Tokyo veterans dwindles with every month that passed. It is human to hold pain close to the chest, and only more expected for jujutsu sorcerers. You see it in the way the lines drew tighter and tighter on Nanami’s face, the false cadence of Satoru’s laughter, Utahime’s dry eyes at every funeral, the deepening purple bags under Shoko’s eyes. Today, it hadn’t been you.

Grief is the most constant companion a sorcerer has. By nature, it makes you all a tricky breed. There’s a reason it’s easier for sorcerers to be solitary, distant, isolated— or, at least, to hold anything else closer than you held others. Satoru feels the emptiness of Suguru so keenly that he holds it even closer than Shoko. You had worked with your partner for a little over a year before today; there will be someone else waiting for you with the next curse. Maybe a student, maybe an auxiliary manager, maybe someone from Kyoto. Nature and jujutsu society abhor a vacuum. The empty space will be filled; it will never be full again. It never is full to start with.

As the sutra went: form is emptiness, emptiness is form.

Let me know when you get inside, Nanami had told you. Shoko had met you at the door, still in her wrinkled scrubs from the morgue. You were certain that if she hadn’t, his car would still be idling below until he received an all-clear. As soon as you had gotten into the apartment, Shoko had stripped you down in the kitchen and examined your wounds herself right then and there. Then, she had whisked you into the shower with her. All of the mud and blood had been scrubbed from your skin, leaving only the bruises as physical evidence of what you had survived.

You put your arms around Shoko, making eye contact with her in the mirror. “None of them were me,” you agree, voice soft.

After a second, Shoko turns in your arms, presses her face into your neck. Her sigh is warm against your jaw. You both smell like the expensive soap she buys, cypress and balsam. It feels good to stand like this, belly to belly, the sensation of her skin against yours a comfort.

It is a careful practice to think to yourself: I must be parted from whatever I hold dear.

Shoko maps her hands down the sides of your ribs, over your soft belly. It would feel clinical if you didn’t know her better. You know she’s tracing up the line of a laceration that would have killed you if she hadn’t gotten to you in time. The scar is old and silver now, thanks to her reverse cursed technique, but every now and then you wake up convinced your guts are spilling into your lap.

You wince as her touch moves towards the edges of your bruised ribs. A frown touches Shoko’s lips. Her eyes are fixed on your injured body, but she looks as though she’s far away. You could pass your hand in front of her eyes and you’re not sure she would blink. You think to yourself again: pain held close and dear.

“What’s the diagnosis, doc? How long do I have to live?”

To your relief, Shoko’s lips twist up into a wry smile even as she rolls her eyes at you. “You’re not very funny.”

You allow yourself a giggle, mostly of relief and dizzy exhaustion. “I’m a little funny.”

She pokes her finger into your bruised ribs. You squeak and jerk back. Point taken. “Jerk,” you tell her.

Her smile softens. This time, when she passes her hand over your ribs, heat fizzes out from her fingers. The edges of the bruising spread and fade: purple-black, green, yellow. She leaves them in that middle stage, an ugly green-yellow like a cat’s eye, but the worst of the tenderness is gone when you shift and twist to see.

This gift is greater than it appears. Shoko’s cursed energy is precious. She’s always on call, always ready for her phone to go off with the next horror story that will need to be triaged. It’s why the higher-ups keep her on campus and not in the field; she’s too valuable to lose in this war. When all else fails, she must remain. All sorcerers relive their grief, but Shoko has to dissect it. It’s easy for the jujutsu world to denounce Ieiri Shoko as cold, yet another special grade as distant as the stars, but you know that she is just another mortal woman.

You catch her wrist, press a kiss into her palm. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

Shoko touches your cheek. “Let me take care of you,” she says.

Some nights, you think you would say no. She works too hard, your Shoko, and it’s your honor to take care of her in a way that she doesn’t let anyone else. Tonight, there’s something in the way she’s looking at you, expressed in the way that she washed your hair and healed your ribs. This desire is something that would be cruel to deny her.

“Okay,” you say, leaning in for another kiss. “I’m at your mercy, then.”

That earns you another eye-roll and a nip to your bottom lip. As lucky as you are to be on Shoko’s leash when she deigns fit, that’s clearly not the mood she’s in tonight. That’s more than okay with you. You crave her touch, her warmth, more than anything. You’ve sat up with that desire many a night, let it scald you. Some of those nights, you think the only thing that burns bright within you is that want, that attachment.

Shoko’s apartment is replete with shadows at this hour. Only the kitchen light is on, banishing the darkness to the margins of the apartment. When you take a breath, you can smell the faint spice of incense. Shoko often burns tiny cones of incense or the fancy candles that Satoru furnishes her with. The scent marks her home like her cigarettes. The thought flashes to you with the smoke, tears stinging your eyes: there would hardly be enough left of your mission partner to cremate.

Shoko squeezes your hand. You blink, remember to let the air leave your lungs. Let it pass through you like the blood spiraling down the shower drain. You let her lead you to her bed.

It’s most likely a doctor’s consideration for her lover’s wounds, but at first, she lets you straddle her lap and bury her in kisses. You kiss down her neck, relishing the way she leans her head to give you more room, the soft sigh when you let your teeth close around her throat. Run your fingers through her damp hair, cup the weight of her breast in your palm, hold the gentle curve of her waist. You let yourself rest your tired head in the crook of her shoulder, breathing in the soapy, salty musk of her skin.

The rain pours down the windows of the apartment. There’s no rush here, you remind yourself. You don’t have infinite moments with Shoko— you may not even have tomorrow, the luxury of long life not the path you walk— but you have this time right now. There is more love here than curse. It’s hard to think of the woman cradled in your arms as anything but yours. You pause, let the desire wash over you, let it strip you bare.

Shoko steers you down against the pillows with a touch to your arm. She lets you situate yourself again her pillows— luxuriously plump, the silky sheets cool against your hot skin— before crawling back over you. She straddles one of your thighs, careful to keep her weight off of you, which is as frustrating as it is practically appreciated. You wouldn’t mind a little soreness if it meant being even closer to her.

Shoko kisses you until you’re breathless and pliant under her. Her tongue tastes like mint toothpaste. All of the tobacco has been scrubbed out of her teeth, her nails, her hair. Clean, stripped of armor and title and distance, starlight made heavy for you to hold.

You skim your hands across her shoulders, tucking her loose hair over her shoulder as her mouth moves to your chest. She sucks a kiss into the sensitive underside of your breast, her other hand coming up to cup the other. Shoko has always had a possessive streak when it comes to you. She grazes her teeth over your nipple and you whimper without meaning to, arching up to encourage her touch. Your ribs protest the movement with a sharp pulse, and then you’re whimpering for a different reason.

Shoko is quick to check: “Did that hurt?”

“I’m fine. But you might need to take care of me a little faster.” You affect a little yawn that turns jaw-cracking without your permission, your ribs twinging again with the great inhale.

Shoko shoots you a blazing look; you have the grace to be a little sheepish in return. There will be another time where she’ll let you push all of her buttons, admit to liking your teasing. Maybe tomorrow, when the violence of the day has worn its teeth on time. Shoko knows what you need; this is for her as much as it is intended for you. She needs to feel you here, hale and whole under her palms. There are many corpses in this time of wars, but you are not one of them.

When you give her shoulder a gentle tug, she comes up easily. You cup her neck with one hand, lean in to kiss the mole under her eye. “I’ll be good,” you promise, sweet and earnest, and press the same promise against her lips. “Take care of me, Shoko.”

Shoko lets you lick her mouth open. Sighs when you move your thigh just so against her bare cunt. You can feel that she’s already wet, which sends arousal zipping up your own spine. “You’re incorrigible,” she murmurs, but she makes it sound so fond you can’t help but smile.

Your breath catches as she takes your fingers into her mouth. Shoko sucks on your fingers as she rubs herself against your thigh, her thigh flexing against you in turn. Pleasure thrums through you like a well-struck chord, the pluck of a shamisen string. If this is what she wants, you are well-enough cared for. Then, to your chagrin, she moves back to sit on her heels. The hot weight of her gaze keeps you pinned in place, sprawled out in her bed. Her naked appreciation almost makes you want to hide, but you know better. You wonder what she sees hidden in the curves and lines of your body.

Shoko swings her legs off the side of the bed with a leisurely stretch, and then leans over you again. “Keep yourself occupied for me,” she says, emphasizing her words with her thumb tracing over your bottom lip. She drags your wet fingers over your cunt to underscore the command. Your touch is pale fire compared to hers, but you still moan as you roll your fingers over your clit. That intense urge for closeness, for touch, has your breath quickening, your cunt pulsing heavy with your own touch and the promise of hers.

You bite your lip as you watch her slip her long legs into the simple leather harness and tighten the straps against her hips. Shoko has always been beautiful, even tucked into her stark, shapeless white coat. She’s backlit from the warm light spilling in from the kitchen, she looks even more like a dream, built like a bough of a willow. Her dark hair hangs over her shoulder, cheek limned in light.

When she looks at you, you spread your legs a little wider for her. You hope she can see you wet and wanting for her. As she approaches, her shadow spills over you. She passes her hand over her cock, wet and shiny with lube. You know part of her choice slips inside of her, so she can feel what you feel mirrored.

“C’mon, Sho,” you urge her. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

You lay on your good side, arms open for her. When she settles next to you, you stretch your leg over her hip, wiggling to get the hard line of her dildo to rub just right against your clit. Shoko grunts at the pressure it puts on her, lips parting. You breathe in. Cypress and balsam soap, the salt and musk of her skin. She pushes inside you and you exhale against her jaw. There’s nothing but her.

You lay like that for a second, together, just breathing. The impatience has fallen out of you, just like that. Nothing but the two of you; nothing but form; nothing but that nothing. Her breath on your mouth tastes like a koan. You have never felt more alive than you do with her hands on you. Shoko shifts her hips, adjusts the strap; you knot your fingers in her hair, wait for her to move. She knows what you like, what you need. It’s a slow, tender rhythm, an undulation of her hips that builds pleasure in you like a wave.

You make no effort to muffle your moans. You clench against her cock inside of you, bumping your hips closer. Shoko kisses your jaw, runs her tongue along the shell of your ear, ducks down to nuzzle your shoulder. Then, she presses her forehead against yours. You’re pressed together, fitting all the way along your bodies. If you as much as twitch, the other feels it.

“Tell me how it feels,” Shoko says. It’s an order, if only a soft one.

“So good,” you tell her, arching into her and not minding the ache. “You’re so good, Shoko, treating me so well.”

Shoko kisses you again, teeth clinking together, unexpectedly desperate. You whimper into her mouth, clit grinding against the leather knots of her harness. It’s building up fast at this angle, cresting over you.

“Shoko, ‘m so close—“

“I know,” Shoko whispers, grinding her hips at that dizzying angle. Pressed this close, you can feel her heart pounding in her chest as if it were your own. “I know, let go for me. I want to see my pretty girl come for me.”

You had lied before: you do want to talk about it. You want to tell Shoko everything. You want to hold her closer than you’ve ever held anyone, keep her all to yourself. You hold the desire deep inside yourself, roll it smooth like a pebble in a river as you shake with her pleasure. Is it too much to tell her you fantasize of running away from it all with her? If you offered your hand, would Shoko take it?

You know it’s a moot point, at most another pipe dream that sorcerers hold in the privacy of their souls next to all of the grief. Attachment is the root of all suffering. I must be parted from whatever I hold dear. In the car, Nanami had told you he thought of retiring to a beach on Kuantan where there would be no such thing as curses. Neither of you can abandon your duties like that. What matters is that you’re here with her. The moment will pass like the rain, but you will share it nonetheless.

You must have been a saint in your last life to end up here with her.

Shoko fucks you through your orgasm, her breath stuttering as she presses her forehead against yours. You keep your thigh stretched up over her hip, whispering incoherent encouragement into her mouth, take what you need, I’m here. When Shoko comes, it is with a sound that is nearly a sob.

You stay curled together, slick with sweat, listening to each other’s breathing slow. Finally, she rolls away from you, tugs the harness and strap down her legs and kicks it to the end of the bed with an uncharacteristic lack of care. She tosses a delicate wrist over her flushed face, her other hand wrapped around yours.

The rain is still pouring outside, stained-blue pattering down the window. It will rain through the night, through the next day. There is a pile of bloodied clothes in the kitchen that will need to be dealt with come morning. At some point, your phone or hers will ring and bring you back to your duties and promises. Emptiness and form. Shoko’s apartment may not be Malaysia, is certainly not free from the ravages of the cursed world, but you can stay here a while.

Golden light pours over Shoko’s shoulders as she leans in to press one last kiss to your lips. Then, she’s twisting away from you to open her bedside drawer. There’s the click of a lighter, and an exhale. Smoke swirls up in the light; sweet, haylike tobacco eclipses the cypress soap. With her shoulders set against the darkness from the window, Shoko looks very far away. You reach over, tracing your fingers down her spine. She shivers. Then, she falls back with a gentle thump against the mattress, cigarette still caught between her lips.

When her eyes meet yours, you think that to her, there is never any distance between you. You don’t need any words. 

“If you set the bed on fire, I’m breaking up with you,” you threaten.

Shoko chuckles, voice raspy. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “I love you too.”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko x reader #ieiri shoko #smut #jjk #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen #shoko ieiri #nanami kento #f/f fanfic

[fluffleforce-mysdrym]

I like to think the boar scene went something like this:

Astarion: The pig's dead, my friend. Staring at it won't bring it back.

Tav: *leaning in to inspect it, wondering what fresh hell they've stumbled into*

Astarion: And? Is it dead enough for you?

Tav: These marks are strange. Do you recognize them?

Lae'zel: No.

Gale: That's it? No signs of illness or... Anything?

Tav: It's otherwise in perfect health.

Gale: *now also inspecting the boar more closely*

Lae'zel: *if she cared less, she'd be as dead as the boar*

Astarion: *getting nervous as the wizard and cleric murmur amongst themselves* I-- It's been drained of blood from the wounds in its neck. It's been killed by a vampire.

Tav/Gale:

Tav: A vampire.

Astarion: I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to worry you.

Tav: You're saying a vampire did this.

Astarion: They are ferocious creatures. But don't wo--

Tav: I thought vampires went after people. Is this one defective?

Astarion:

Gale: Maybe it's one of the druids.

Tav: Wouldn't that be...impossible? For a druid to be a vampire? Aren't they diametrically opposed and all that?

Gale: It's no more impossible than what we currently carry in our heads, I'd imagine.

Tav: But wouldn't it be more inclined to not hurt animals if it were a druid?

Astarion: Yes, well. Muse as you like, but I doubt we will ever--

Lae'zel: Perhaps it is weak, and sought easy prey.

Tav: And it went after a wild boar?

Astarion: *growing agitated* What of it?

Tav: Do you know how much of a pain it is to fight a wild boar? Now there's a ferocious beast.

Astarion: *not arguing there, rubbing a bruise on his arm that was not there the day before*

Gale: I'm not so sure the boar's ferocity would matter much. From what I've read, vampires are more ambush predators, avoiding fights when they can and--

Lae'zel: We did not ask, wizard.

Gale: :/

Astarion: Yes, there certainly are more pressing matters to consider.

Tav: You still have to wonder--

Lae'zel: No, I do not. Whatever ended that boar's life is of no consequence to us, unless it crosses our path. Should it, we will cut it down the same as any other obstacle. We must not get distracted from the search for a creche and a cure.

Astarion: Now there is something we can agree on.

5 min later...

Tav: I'm just saying, if that was done by a vampire, then that vampire is just plain stupid.

Gale: I see we are not letting dead boars lie.

Tav: I just...was it challenging itself?

Astarion: What?

Tav: It'd be better off going after a person. I mean, the druids might put up a good fight, but the refugees? The children? Hells, it'd be easier to take me down than a wild boar.

Astarion: Noted.

Tav: What?

Astarion: Hmm?

#bg3 #astarion #gale #lae'zel #the boar scene

[swordfright]

Since we're talking c!Quackity...one of the interactions that fascinates me is the conversation between him, c!Wilbur, and c!Tommy when crimeboys visit Las Nevadas, because it contains this snippet of conversation:

This snippet comes in the middle of a larger conversation wherein Wilbur, more or less freshly revived, is grilling both Tommy and Q for details about how to get into the prison to see Dream. After this, the conversation moves on to navigating the visitation system. This snippet is framed within the context of Wilbur wanting to visit Dream, Tommy trying to convince him not to, and Quackity...? Well, okay, what is Quackity trying to do here? What's his goal in this conversation? He readily supplies Wilbur with info about the visitation and security systems (while Tommy actively withholds and obfuscates this info), so does that mean Q is trying to normalize his own visits by encouraging other people to visit? That's possible, but what interests me more is the question of, like, what the hell is going on here in a broader sense.

The simplest view of this conversation is that it's an argument between two people who are diametrically opposed, and Quackity is the third party here, a guy who doesn't seem particularly invested in either outcome. Which begs the question, why does he bring his own visits up at all? Q is the one who cuts in and mentions that he's been visiting Dream, which at this point isn't a secret on the server but it's also not something Q seems interested in discussing at length. The torture visits are something to be flaunted, not talked about. My assumption, given what we know about Q as a character, is that he's leveraging his experience with navigating Pandora in order to impress Wilbur. Information is something that can be negotiated, brokered, sold - so he's letting Wilbur know he has something Wilbur wants.

This is classic Q behavior right up until the end, where he gets oddly touchy about the torture being brought up. This moment has always struck me as weird, especially considering the handful of other times Quackity doesn't care whether people know (the conversation he has with George comes to mind, as well as the path he asks Foolish to build.) So there are three possibilities here:

that Q is bothered by Tommy saying the quiet part out loud;

that Q has only just found out about Wilbur's gratitude to Dream in the last 5 minutes (literally) and doesn't want to give Wilbur a reason to oppose him right now;

there's something about Tommy specifically knowing about and acknowledging the torture that rubs Q the wrong way.

Personally, I don't see option #2 as viable, given that Wilbur and Quackity are already beefing over how close to Las Nevadas Wilbur can build stuff. That's part of the reason Wilbur is here in the first place: to execute some chernobyl-grade negging. It's not world-ending beef, but given the propensity for mid-tier beef to turn into world-ending beef on this server, it's not nothing. Point is, Quackity and Wilbur have already been at odds with each other for this entire episode. Is Quackity less likely to tolerate conflict involving Dream? Absolutely, but I don't think avoiding such a conflict is his primary reason for acting the way he does here.

My current theory is that it's a combination of #1 and #3 - Quackity seemingly enjoys implying that he's been torturing Dream, but rarely talks about it outright unless it's with Sam. I can't think of many examples of him discussing the torture openly with other characters. I think it's not a stretch to say he enjoys the power of suggestion, he likes making people wonder, he likes making people scared, but he's not really prepared for someone to bring it up so boldly and directly the way Tommy does here. As for why this bothers him, my best guess is that the torture is actually kind of...difficult to talk about with people who aren't directly involved (i.e. Sam and Dream.) It's an incredibly demanding habit that takes up much of Quackity's time and energy, not to mention it's insanely intimate. Like I just don't think it's a stretch to say that Q probably just straight-up doesn't know how to talk about it in a way that's upfront, rather than gloating or flaunting or vaguely implying. Another reason it's likely difficult is that, based on the interactions we've seen, Q probably isn't used to other people bringing it up at all. Tommy's remark catches him off-guard in a very literal way.

The "Don't say that, not even as a joke," really gets me though, because it's such a defensive thing to say, coming from a guy who up until now has been very clear about how little interest he has in defending the indefensible. Is this comment a sign of remorse on Quackity's part? Fuck no, but I do think it's an admission of something. Keep in mind that Quackity's mannerisms when speaking to Tommy are almost identical to the way he speaks to c!Slime. This is evident in a number of streams from the Las Nevadas era, but especially this one: Quackity's tone of voice, language, demeanor, all of it is calculated to evoke the same kind of mentor-mentee relationship he has with Slime. And it makes sense - at this junction in the story, Q views Tommy as someone who's young and impressionable and fucks up a lot, someone who could use Q's advice, someone who's easy to manipulate.

If I were to hedge a bet, I'd say the primary reason Quackity reacts to the torture comment with defensiveness in this scene is because Tommy's remark reminds him that he needs to stay in control of the narrative. I think this is why Q brings up his visits (not the torture, but the visits) earlier in the conversation: "Tommy, you know about this, right?" He's testing Tommy to see how much he knows, and is taken aback when Tommy is prepared to bring up the nasty stuff. Q can walk around with Dream's blood on his shirt all he likes, but once the story's out, it's out - Quackity will no longer have control over who knows and, more importantly, what they think. If anything, this moment is a fleeting but noticeable admission of Quackity's insecurities surrounding the torture in specific. If he's going to properly manage his alliances, he would do well to maintain control of info surrounding, uh, how he spends his time.

#c!quackity #dream smp #dsmp meta #c!tommy #long post

[kimbureh]

Guidance vs Leadership, and why Crosshair is a Dad now (cuz he's not a Soldier anymore)

let's talk about Crosshair and Omega seeing eye to eye, forming a relationship beyond militarism and Crosshair being a better father than Hunter (oh noo, whoopsie).

In S03 E03 of TBB, Omega is in charge of the first part of their escape because knowing her way around in the facility is *her* expertise. Once they are outside and have to resort to violence, Crosshair is taking over cuz fighting is *his* expertise. First, Crosshair follows Omega's lead, then Omega follows Crosshair's lead; they are able to pass the torch of leadership between each other seamlessly because there is no hierarchy separating them. The way they acknowledge each other's skills shows that they don't see "leader" as something that you *are* but something that you *do*. "Leader" is not an immutable identity that you're assigned (or assign yourself), but an action that anybody who has the needed expertise can perform.

Hunter is a leader not because his actions justify this role, but because he sees it as his identity. (I've talked about Hunter & Leadership before). Now, if you self-identify as a leader, you inevitably establish a hierarchy. Leadership draws a line between the leader and those who follow. All of the Batchers still cling to military hierachy even though there is no external need; they could self-organize their group differently, but they don't cuz old habits die hard and the galaxy has changed so drastically, they cling to the familiar. (more on leaderhip here and here).

Crosshair manages to do what Hunter didn't so far: Crosshair follows Omega's lead not because she's his commander (or because she begs like a child), but because she has the needed knowledge to guide them. Once Omega is out of her depth, Crosshair takes over. As an adult, he has more knowledge about the (literal) outside world, as shown in details like him tracking the flight path of the shuttle.

At this point, I think Crosshair is one step ahead of Hunter in his arc. They both start at diametrically opposed extremes of the same spectrum. Hunter is willing to form a family, Crosshair rejects this idea. Hunter trusts Omega very fast, Crosshair trusts Omega very slowly. These characteristics also become their "tragic flaws" that heros of a story often have. Hunter is *too* willing to accept Omega as family, he even sacrifices one of his teammates for it. Crosshair is *too* reluctant to trust anybody, his isolation makes him vulnerable towards the Empire's ideology. They both have to meet in the middle and solve the Hedgehog's Dilemma in order to become a family.

In order to do that, the squad of soldiers has to evolve into a group of people connected by love, not duty. Crosshair took that step in a leap in S03E03, Hunter got a taste of it in S03E02 when he tried to steer the young cadets away from militarism towards something new.

[read all my TBB meta here]

#tbb meta #star wars the bad batch #clone force 99 #tbb #tbb spoilers #sw tbb #sw tbb spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #the bad batch hunter #star wars #sw the bad batch #the bad batch #bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #clone trooper hunter #crosshair tbb #hunter tbb #the bad batch crosshair #tbb omega #season 3 spoilers #bad batch season 3 #spoilers #the bad batch s3

[tarmac-rat]

I like the fact that if you really look closely at the lifepath choices in Cyberpunk 2077, you can see that there's parts about all three of them that really allows V to diametrically oppose Johnny. Like I think some are more obvious than others, but each path, in my opinion, does have a core element that directly opposes who Johnny is and the things that he stands for:

Corpo is reflective of their differences on a background level. I think that this one is the most blatant: the man who despises the machine being forced to team up with a former cog in the machine. The corporate-raised wunderkind versus the man who dedicated his life to tearing down everything they stood for. Even if they aren't working for Arasaka anymore, that influence is still there. How many times does V rely on their counter-intelligence training as a merc? Or gain a valuable piece of knowledge thanks to their experience working with, or even against, cutthroat corporate types? A Corpo!V and Johnny would spend their entire time together walking that thin edge of trust. V has to wonder if Johnny intends to screw them over because of their past employment for Arasaka, because you can take a rat out of the corpo but you can never take the corpo out of the rat, while Johnny has to worry if V actually does still have some underlying loyalty to their old company, at least enough to sell him out if they're pushed far enough. You can't build trust when all you can think about is if the other person is hiding a knife behind their back.

Nomad is reflective of their differences on a value level. Nomads represent many of the things that Johnny aspires to have: freedom, camaraderie, and a no-exception hatred of corps. But nomad values differ so greatly from who Johnny is as a person. They're honest; they keep their promises; they hold each other accountable for their mistakes yet always welcome each other back with open arms and unconditional support. All of those things are core flaws of Johnny's character. Nomads are honest, and Johnny is a pathological liar. Nomads keep their promises, and Johnny does nothing but break his. Nomads have unshakable bonds, and Johnny has never had a relationship with someone that he hadn't completely fucked up in some way or another. A Nomad!V carries many of these qualities with them into a new city, and Johnny right off the bat proves that he doesn't possess any of values they're trying so hard to hold on to. What's the point in putting your faith in someone who has done nothing but prove that they don't even want it, never mind deserve it?

Streetkid is reflective of their differences on a societal level. Johnny, for all of his swagger and postering, is not a true man of the people. He might know and empathize with the struggles of Night City but he didn't grow up in those neighborhoods, and in the 2010s and 20s definitely enjoys a greater amount of wealth and security compared to the average person that lived there (which is more pronounced in the TTRPG I think). Streetkid!V has been searching for that happiness and security and comes crawling back to Night City at the start of the game with their tail between their legs. It had to have been difficult for someone who spent their whole life in squalor being told by some terrorist from who knows where and way gone by-- a terrorist who dropped a bomb on their home so many years ago-- that they're weak, they're worthless, they're wrong. Johnny Silverhand doesn't care about the people. Johnny Silverhand only cares about himself, and when you grow up in a community who endure those struggles with you, that's something V can't dare look past.

#Cyberpunk 2077 #CP2077 #Long Post #V #Johnny Silverhand #I do think that corpo!V is the way to go if you want that juicy diametric opposition but honestly? They kinda all do if you look closely #Writing this out also made me realize that no duh Rogue hooked up with Santiago-- he literally stands for everything Johnny opposes #No wonder they hit it off and maybe had a kid together #Anyway thanks for appreciating my ramblings adios and good day #Aldi speaks

[son1c]

So what you're saying is you're gonna cause irreperable damage to all four Shadow variants. Geez this guy can't catch a break no matter which version of him it is lol

eh i mean bermuda's kinda dug his own grave at this point. he's been living in a "bury them all, and then myself" mindset for as long as he can remember. so a heroic sacrifice is kinda the best ending he could hope for... only to be found adrift at sea later by... the chaotix? or maybe vanilla, i still haven't decided tbh... as a blank slate. it's a fresh start he doesn't deserve but will come to earn.

then, halcyon... idk, i was just thinking, his whole life he's been told to destroy the megaflora, you know? it's his capital "p" Purpose. he was literally created for it, and he was groomed to believe that it's the only right thing to do. but... is it? what if there's another way? what if he can choose his own destiny, carve his own path? something like that would be more impactful than just following orders, i think... especially since he's come to know windthrow and the rest of the surface dwellers and his world has opened up massively since his early days sequestered on the ark space colony.

so yeah, good ol' hal winds up fused with the megaflora. oops! of course, initially it seems like things will go very badly. after all, they're two diametrically opposed forces. the megaflora wants to destroy halcyon, and halcyon wants to destroy them. but what do they both have in common? the planet. earth. the megaflora love it in a ravenous sense, as something to be consumed. meanwhile, halcyon loves it as something to be protected.

but if it's destroyed, what will there be left to consume? nothing. and eventually the megaflora will die with it.

it's already kind of happening, i think. in areas where the flora has choked out too much of the original life on earth. vast patches of deadness... where nothing remains. not even the flora can survive, as they've starved the earth of all her nutrients, and they suffocate in the space left behind.

they'd be able to see halcyon's logic. and halcyon would be able to see the pain they've suffered at the hands of his creator... and maybe he'd be mad, too. i doubt he would've been told the whole story, anyways. about how gerald abandoned the flora when he realized he couldn't control it and left it to die. but it didn't die. and now they're both here. together. on a planet that they need to learn how to share.

and callisto... well, after The Worst 48 Hours Of His Life, he gets a happy ending. i'll explain it eventually <3

#tflora04

[porterdavis]

Defending the indefensible

I almost feel sorry for the GQP candidates who have to stand up and defend their party's principles (I use that word loosely). It is truly difficult to dance around the fact that on the major issues they are on the wrong side of morality, history, and the will of the people.

Abortion: Their position ranges from punitive to draconian. The state has no business regulating a woman's personal decisions. If forced pregnancies for women are allowed, the men responsible must be held to equal consequences. Full co-responsibility until the child is an adult. No questions.

Contraception: This is the next battleground for conservative fanatics. If one is truly pro-life then abortion should be safe, legal, and rare. The government should provide free birth control to any woman on demand.

Gun control: The current level of carnage due to unfettered access to assault weapons is unconscionable and largely preventable. Ban them and add the use of any firearm in a crime punishable by an additional 5 years of incarceration, no exceptions.

Immigration: If you're not Black or Red, you are descendant from immigrants. You can't pull up the ladder to prevent future generations of immigrants from following the same path. Immigrants built the country and will be needed in the future. Make it safe and legal for them to come in a regulated, orderly process.

LGBTQ+: Love is love. The government has no business in the bedrooms of its citizens. Full stop.

Climate change: Man has hastened the progression of global warming (and cooling in other areas). The US Navy, hardly a hair-on-fire environmentalist organization, is making plans for where to position its ships when current ports are underwater. Look out the window. Enough said.

I think it's fair to say the GQP's positions on these and many other issues are diametrically opposed. They can count, and know that they cannot win by running on these issues so they have a three-pronged response: change the conversation by starting culture wars. Transgenders! Baby-blood drinking zombies! Stolen elections!

Secondly they want to disenfranchise those who would vote against them. Purge the voter rolls of young voters or people of colour. Make it difficult to vote (criminalize providing water to people in line!!).

Third is to attack democracy by taking over local elections -- school boards, state legislatures, and enacting draconian policies in the dark of night. People who burn books are never on the winning side of history.

The future is at stake. Fascism must be stamped out root and stem.

There's one thing I agree with Barry Goldwater on -- the price of freedom is eternal vigilance.

[xerith-42]

Kul'Zak and Esmund or Kul'Zak and Irene?

If you're asking in the sense of shipping then the answer is both and neither.

Fun little thing about Kul'zak, he's the only member of the Divine Warriors who actually thinks about the polamory option. He's the one who spends all his time with wanderers and freaks of society who are all about that shit and not just to ruin royal succession, but because these more open relationship dynamics do them a lot of good both on the move and in their bouts of downtime.

So, Kul'zak. A little goober. A little sexually ambiguous goober. Kul'zak is one of those characters where putting a label on their sexuality just feels wrong to me. Most of the people Kul'zak shows open attraction for are men, and he's got a distinctly platonic situation with Menphia. In fact the only woman he could be recorded as being attracted to in any manner was Irene.

But that's not what the public knows. Kul'zak may have been a flirt, and a misanthrope, and a man whore, but not openly. Not in a way that generations to come will remember unless they are a scholar of Kul'zak. Unless they seek out his private writings and manage to get past his booby traps, magical locks, and encrypted writing in a different language, nobody knows what Kul'zak was really thinking.

What he was thinking was "Fuck I wanna kiss Enki and Esmund real bad." Enki and Kul'zak is an entire other post, but Kul'zak and Esmund are like. So silly. To me. Because Esmund is a protector, he's the guard to end all guards only succeeded 900 years later by some fuckin loser. He's traditional, headstrong, and fiercly loyal to the causes he allies himself with.

And then there's Kul'zak. Wistful, wandering, warbling Kul'zak. He's not one for commitment, or settling down, or even adhering to the legal system or whatever town he just wandered into. No need for it since he won't be there long. But when these two unlikely friends cross paths due to Irene's search for relic holders, things get a little wacky. Because Kul'zak has been attracted to a guard before, this is nothing new, but Esmund getting his noble heart possibly stolen by a wandering wench of a man? Absolutely not.

Kul'zak flirts with damn near every member of the Divine, and Esmund is the only one who actively tries to push him away in response. Kul'zak's teasing remarks are often met with an even expression, romantic gestures met with disinterest. This is far from the truth. Esmund just isn't willing to admit he wants to love Kul'zak in the same way he loves Irene, largely because he's so dedicated to Irene he doesn't know if he has the energy to love Kul'zak.

Even if that's never what Kul'zak wanted. All he really wants is the ability to give Esmund a cheeky comment first thing in the morning, pull him into a kiss, and then go about his day as he usually would. He doesn't want an honorable protector ready to lay down their lives at his every step, he just wants to be able to relax in the arms of a man who is always carrying so much.

Kul'zak understands the difference between romantic, platonic, and sexual attraction, even if he doesn't use those words to describe it. He understands that his attraction to Irene is one that he'll act out when he needs to, on the rare occasion that he and Irene get wasted and come stumbling back into his bed as she tries to rip off his shirt. He has this arrangement with her and it's healthy and it's fine. It doesn't particularly strain either of them.

Okay it does strain Irene but that's because Araphel and Esmund don't know how not to be jealous little losers about everything.

Esmund is a jealous little loser about Irene and Kul'zak, but still turns Kul'zak down when he offers something similar to him. Kul'zak and Esmund are diametrically opposed characters, a traditionalist and a free spirit, a loyal guard and a flighty wanderer. Doesn't seem like a relationship that'll work well in the long term, and that's how Esmund thinks. He and Kul'zak are never able to see eye to eye, even if they get frustratingly close sometimes.

It just wasn't meant to be.

#I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THE DIVINE WARRIORS #MY FAVORITE TOXIC SHOULD'VE BEEN A POLYCULE #aphblr #minecraft diaries #text post #divine warriors #the divine warriors #irene the matron #esmund the protector #kul'zak the wanderer #menphia the fury #enki the keeper #answering asks

[clrakeandjosh]

a joy (hard learned in winter)

“This is incredible,” Doc breathed, eyes darting around as falling snowflakes caressed their features. Hush murmured his agreement, but he wasn’t sure if he was referring to the snow.

hush/doc fluff 2k words Read on AO3

fluffy touch-starved hush/doc for @autisticempathydaemon part of @angelicaether's Christmas exchange 💕

“To be honest, I'm thankful,” Doc confessed. “Sure, maybe a white Christmas would be magical, or whatever, but the snow and cold would make getting around a lot more inconvenient.”

Hush kept pace dutifully next to Doc as they cut a path across the city park, considering their words carefully. This had become part of their routine. Since Doc’s latest run-in with a particularly aggressive Demon Articulate, Hush had taken it upon himself to keep a vigilant guard at their side as often as possible. Lately he’d been foregoing more magical means of transportation, and instead kept them company walking with them while they ran errands. Ever curious, Hush often filled the silence, peppering them with questions about the idiosyncrasies of human nature. The subject matter on today’s docket was snow. 

“It seems that snow is a big part of the winter season for a lot of humans,” Hush assessed the park around him. So far, this year’s winter had been especially forgiving on its lush foliage, to an unusual degree, even for a climate with minimal seasonal variation. “Have you ever seen snow, Doc?” 

“I mean, I’ve been to the mountains once or twice when I was in college,” Doc mused. “Ski trip with a few friends…I’m not much of a skier though.” They kicked a rock on the ground sending it skittering off the path into the grass. “Besides, the real magic is in all the things you see on TV - like snow angels and snowball fights. We didn’t really do any of that”

“Would you like it if it snowed?” Hush asked

“I suppose I don’t really need it to enjoy winter. It’s not something I grew up with here in Dahlia, I can’t miss magic I’ve never experienced before” Hush slowed to a stop, compelled as always to find some way to impress and appeal to this wary, level-headed human. He wasn’t sure why they made him feel this way. 

Hush had never felt this way about another being before. In fact, he couldn’t recall a time where he felt much of anything at all. He was, on a fundamental level, simply a set of goals given form, ceasing to exist once the boxes had been checked off. Feeling did not make the to-do list.

Conversely, those around him seemed to feel quite deeply. About him in particular. 

He was the Silence in the Spellsong - an innately scary thing to any human or daemon, diametrically opposed to the steady raucous rhythm keeping time for the users of Aria’s magic. The Chorus saw Hush as something of a void, his magic merciless and anechoic, absorbing all life which dared cross its path. Hush never had a problem with this, or gave it much consideration, really. He was purpose made manifest. He’d no need for connection, thus no need to justify or contextualize his powers within the limited confines of the human experience. 

That is, until Doc.

His Doc, who perplexed him so. They’d thrown themselves recklessly, willingly between him and his otherwise certain end, yet caution and reserve punctuated their every step. For Doc, Hush wanted to be more than the Chorus believed him to be. For Doc, he didn’t want them to see his silence as the absence of life, he wanted to be the potential for it. 

So to create magic for them where there was none? The urge was practically in his bones, he hummed with excitement to try.

“I didn’t ask if you needed it. Would you like there to be snow?”

Doc stopped a few paces ahead, not immediately noticing his sudden stop. “I guess I’ve just never thought about it before, Hush. I mean, it’s 60 degrees. It’s not like I know how to just pull snow out of thin air.”

“No, a human would probably struggle with elemental command to that scale. But I’m not human.”

The world seemed to fall still around them, heavy as the first snowflake whirred through the air and landed gently on Hush’s nose. It melted quickly, no match for the above-freezing temperatures of Dahlia’s mild winter, or for the way Hush’s usually tepid skin now warmed steadily at Doc’s now bewildered stare.

“Hush?” Doc whispered, incredulous. They didn’t move a muscle, as though any sudden movement or too sharp a breath might cause the illusion to shatter, taking with it the snow that was quickly, supernaturally beginning to accumulate at their feet. Hush noted the way they seemed to say his name a lot. It was such an offhand thing, “Hush.” It was practical in its conception and apt enough to describe him, but somehow when they said it, he felt the unfamiliar pull of human connection. He’d never had a name until they had asked for it. Maybe, he thought, his name belonged to them just as much as it did to him.

“I’ve met contra-elementals who could do some pretty amazing things,” they awed, “but I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“I'm sorry I can't hold it forever. Well, I can. It's not a measure of ability, but rather, I don't suppose the local ecosystem would fare too well if I did.”

Doc barked a laugh, turning their attention away to their outstretched hands as delicate snowflakes landed in their palm before dissolving into flecks of water. 

Hush admired Doc as they twirled in the falling snow, embodying a childlike joy that he’d never seen in them before. He wondered how often that side of them had the chance to come out, or if another person had brought it out of them before. He liked being the person to make them feel that way. Selfishly, he wanted to be the only person to make them feel that way, but he wasn’t sure what that meant.

Eager to understand his proclivity for closeness with them, he catalogued the moment in his mind for later. He took stock of the way his eyes dragged down to their mouth, mesmerized as their tongue snaked out to taste the snowflakes that kissed their lips and proceeded to catch more out of the air. He liked thinking about their lips. He liked thinking about the way they curved when he revealed his latest findings on the things that humans enjoy - things he hoped Doc would enjoy from him. He liked the shape they took when they said his name. He was imagining all the ways he might enjoy their lips when Doc looked at him suddenly, eyes bright and sharp.

“Will you make a snow angel with me?” Hush tilted his head inquisitively, pulling another laugh from Doc. “A snow angel - Here,” Doc took his hand, guiding him to the ground by their side, laying on their back. They demonstrated their snow angel for him, their arms and legs arcing smoothly through the patch of freshly fallen snow. Hush watched as the snow parted, leaving his Doc cradled in the wings of a crisp, clean angel. 

“Now it’s your turn,” They said, sitting up to watch him. He replicated their motions, skin tingling under their assessing eye. When he was done, Doc pulled him by the hand eagerly, their excitement giving way to unease on the unfamiliarly slippery terrain. They lost their footing, crashing sharply into Hush, sending them both toppling to the ground, scattering fresh delicate angels in the process. 

Steadying them by the waist, Hush felt the way their stomach heaved under his fingertips, breath leaving them in a surprised laugh. He recalled the way their hands felt on his chest all those weeks ago. Gentle, timid, exploratory. At the time, it had felt so foreign to him - he’d never known a touch that was kind, meant only for sender and recipient; touch that wasn’t administered by the fearful, contemptuous hand of the Chorus. Doc’s hands were warm, and the limited contact seemed to easily warm him from within in response. Now, with the weight of their chest bearing down on him from above and his fingers digging into the warmth of their sweater, Hush burned with wonder at how their hands could ever have felt so significant in comparison.

“Are you alright?” Breathless, Doc steadied themselves in a kneel next to him. Hush felt a million miles away. “Do you want to try again?”

They spent the next few minutes adjusting their form with each newly disrupted patch of snow until they were facing down two crisp, perfect snow angels. Satisfied, Doc plopped back down into the snow, finding stillness once more to admire the gentle blizzard cascading down on them. Hush laid next to them, settling easy into the snow and the comfortable silence that fell between them.

The human form had a number of weaknesses, Hush thought. Though he’d never been held back by much of anything, the vulnerabilities of the body he’d been forced to occupy on Elegy had been…an adjustment. The breakneck speed at which his life seemed to throw danger at him from all directions had forced him to dull his senses, blinding himself to the physical sensations that otherwise accompanied flesh and bone and muscle. Now, in this moment of peace, brimming with curiosity and an urge for closeness he couldn’t explain, he wanted to feel what Doc was feeling. He wanted to understand them.

He shifted his awareness inwards, sharpening his focus to the way his skin was bitten by the snow at his back and the brisk wind at his face. His mind felt heavy, limbs weighed down by cold like a thick blanket, the feeling equal parts comforting and disquieting. 

He glanced at Doc, who lay next to him in the snow. The rising chill around them had flushed their cheeks, and their chest heaved, the cause alternating between fits of gleeful laughter and physical exertion. He found his eyes drawn once again to their lips, hyper-aware of the way a smile seemed permanently fixed at the corners of their mouth. He counted the soft puffs of breath that slipped across their parted lips, clouding in the air above them, and needlessly mirrored the rise and fall of their chest with his own. A subconscious, human action, to him somehow more and less.

“This is incredible,” Doc breathed, eyes darting around as falling snowflakes caressed their features. Hush murmured his agreement, but he wasn’t sure if he was referring to the snow.

A few more moments passed in easy silence.

When Doc finally rose from the bed of snow beneath them, they longingly scanned the snow-covered park around them, eyes eventually landing on Hush as he followed them to an upright position. Clumps of soft snow clung to his hair and shoulders, dampening his clothes. 

“May I?” without waiting for a response, they leaned in slowly to brush snow from his shoulder and hair. In a subconscious motion, Hush leaned in to their warmth, turning his face towards their hand. Doc considered him for a moment, taking their turn to dissect him.

“It’s starting to get cold. You know, there are plenty of things humans do to enjoy winter indoors.” Hush looked away from them now, the flurries clearing in his mind as the gears began turning once more.

“Hmm...I’ve read that for some humans, a warm drink can be comforting during the winter months.” Hush began to stand, extending a hand to Doc to help them up. “I think I can remember a recipe for hot cocoa, which humans seem to like a lot. Do you like hot cocoa, Doc?” 

They nodded, allowing him to guide them from the ground. Returning the favor, he brushed the snow off their back. He liked learning what it took to take care of them.

“I’d really like to make some for you, if you’d like that.” Doc gingerly grabbed his arm, nestling close, cold finally settling into their bones as their damp clothes began to chill. As Doc led them back to their original path towards their apartment, Hush fell into a quiet match step beside them. The best part about silence, he thought, was perhaps the drop of a pin to set off a tidal wave of sonic vibration, upending everything in its wake. He replayed the events of Doc’s magical winter wonderland in his mind, the magic he’d created for them. Maybe they wouldn’t mind if he kept just a small piece of that magic tucked away in his mind for himself.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse

[breelandwalker]

Hello! How are you doing? Hope everything is fine.

I saw your post about not being a pick me witch and I felt called in. Could you recommend me podcasts, videos or books that show how to imrpove this part of the practice?

I find myself always comparing and shiting on the religion I was born in, would like to see any work that could help me through this vice.

Thank you!!

(In reference to this post. Recommendation linked below. Personal experience ahead.)

I'll be honest with you - I used to have the same problem. I made that post because I used to BE one of those witches. It took years of self-work and really examining my motivations to be able to move past my trauma and my anger enough to talk about my craft and my beliefs without leaning on the crutch of I Have Beef With The Church.

And for a long time, it WAS a crutch. I WAS going full-speed down the pagan path partly as a fuck-you to my conservative religious relatives and the faith I was raised in, and I leaned into that because the rebellion felt GOOD. Moreover, it was reinforced by some of the books I was reading and certain portions of the online witch community.

But eventually that momentum faltered and I found that once I looked past the anger and the rebellion, I really didn't properly understand what I believed or what I felt. And I noticed the same thing in a lot of the witches I was associating with at the time, who came from similar religious backgrounds and had similar issues. I also started branching out in my research and found some sources that did not rely on the assumption that witchcraft/paganism and Christianity must be diametrically opposed.

So there I was, tired of being angry, stuck in a rut, processing this new information, and wondering how to make a change. And I finally realized that I had to do it myself.

I fully realize and acknowledge that my experience is NOT everyone's experience, and that we all need different things in order to grow, and that some wounds take longer to heal than others. But I do think it's still important to be able to talk about what we believe in without the reasoning behind it being anger or hate.

I don't know of any resources that deal specifically with this issue for witches (I know they must exist, I just can't point to any specific titles), but what really helped me was quantifying my craft. I made a journaling exercise of sitting down and identifying what I knew, what I believed, what I was learning, what I wanted to learn, and what questions I wanted answered. When I found myself straying into that old anger, I was able to consciously correct the trajectory and refocus on my craft.

Dealing with the emotional side of the problem was its' own struggle, but even the exercise of separating my craft from my anger helped me to grow as a person and as a witch, and to get past the roadblocks I hadn't realized I'd put in my own path.

If you'd like to give this a try, I'd recommend it for any witch as a thought exercise, a method for tracking progress, and a way of clarifying those sometimes-nebulous ideas we have about our craft. It's also very satisfying when you think you don't know all that much, then suddenly you find you've filled pages and pages with the things you've already learned and the ideas you have.

Best of luck on this part of your journey and I hope that you find the peace and clarity you're searching for. Self-reflection and self-improvement is an ongoing process and it's not easy, but good on you for making a start. Hope this helps! 💜

#theonefairygodmother #witch community #witchcraft #witchblr #pagan #Advise for Beginner Witches #witchcraft exercises #journaling prompts #religious trauma #Bree answers your inquiries

[thelighthousestale]

Faithful friends are hard to find

"Dear Sev," she wrote, the dark ink of her quill flowing across the parchment as she paused and took a deep breath

"I wish things were different. I miss our talks, your advice. I can't believe how long it has been since we properly talked."

Lily sat at her new kitchen table, pausing in her letter writing once again. She stared out the window, through the flicker of the candle flame that was projecting soft light in the room and across the yard to the line of trees that marked the end of their property. The table wasn't really new but it was new to her. It had belonged to her soon-to-be in-laws previously but they had recently downsized and generously gave Lily and James furnishings for their new home in Godrics Hollow.

Effie and Monty, James' kind and elderly parents, were wonderful people. But their generous nature left a gnawing feeling in Lily. A feeling she couldn't quite put a name to yet. She was so grateful for their love but the weight of the loss of Lily's own parents lay so heavy inside her heart that sometimes the Potters' affection felt like a tremendous hurricane inside her gut. She felt like she was fighting a battle inside herself between grief and love as well as comfort and loneliness. And perhaps, Lily thought as she tapped her finger against the wooden table top, those feelings weren't as diametrically opposed as she once thought.

"My parents died. Don't know if you would have heard."

While the sudden death of her parents in a tragic car crash left an aching void in her life, Lily had hopes that the tragedy would bring her and her sister back together. The thought that Petunia would put aside her competitive jealousy and they could comfort each other had been a tiny hope for Lily. But Petunia's refusal to attend her upcoming wedding added another layer of sorrow and frustration.

"I want you to be at my wedding, to witness a moment I thought we'd share as friends. Remember when the Twickys got married, the couple who owns the bookstore in Cokeworth? We snuck into the tent at the reception and nicked some cake. We ate it in the park while sitting on the swings. The cake had coconut on it and we were both disgusted. Who has coconut on their wedding cake?"

The quill trembled in her hand as she drafted a letter to her former childhood friend. Best friends they once referred to each other as.

"I wish life stayed that simple for us. "

Memories flooded back, a mixture of warmth and pain. She missed their late-night conversations in the park between their homes, his quick wit, and the way he seemed to have an answer for everything. But their paths had diverged irreparably. She hadn't spoken to him in years.

Her father had fought in a war before she was born. Risking his life to fly planes over the channel into occupied territory. Her dad was brave. Her dad was her hero. Her dad taught her to do the right thing even if it is hard. Even if it risks your life.

He also taught her that forgiveness is a powerful message of love. And sometimes in order for a person to apologize to you and start to make amends you must reach out to them first and offer them a branch of redemption to hang onto.

"I've been having dreams recently that you show up at my house. Sometimes it's in the middle of the night in the rain. Sometimes it's bright and sunny. But you are always there. And you tell me you don't know what you were thinking. That you've seen the errors in your ways and you no longer want to follow Him. And I apologize to you too. For cutting you out. For not listening to you. For hurting you.

But I wake up and -"

And nothing has changed. He still supports a group of blood supremacists. She is still a muggle born. She still knows what's right and what's wrong. She needs to protect herself and her new family. She needs to be brave. To fight.

Tears attempted to fill the edges of her vision as she looked at the unfinished letter, a silent testament to the fracture in their relationship. The parchment felt heavy with the unspoken truths that lay as a barrier between them.

She folded the unfinished letter and held it over the candle on the table, watching the edges of parchment blacken and curl, the words disappearing into the smoke. The pain of letting go mingled with a sense of closure. The letter, like their severed bond, was reduced to ashes.

In the warm light of the flame, Lily found a moment of solace.

Some ties, no matter how cherished, were destined to be extinguished for the sake of safety and principles.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #lily evans #lily potter #jily #severus snape #snape

[cebwrites]

hey!! I could have a reaction on the monster trio and ace (+ the reaction of their crew, if possible..) with an admiral s/o, and they have a secret relationship (because they are a pirate and she an admiral.. ) They call and send each other letters, of course their crew knows nothing! and one day their crew finds out everything, the letters and their relationship and their teammate is against their relationship!

hi anon, thank you for your request!! i had to rattle my brain a little for these headcanons but i had fun writing them nonetheless, i hope you enjoy them either way ^^ (i left luffy out because i tend to only view him as aroace, but also because 4 characters is a bit much for a prompt like this, sorry for the inconvenience </3)

being caught with an admiral for a S/O (Ace, Zoro, Sanji)

gn reader, mostly angst, childhood friend (Sanji) word count: 1.4k

Ace

It comes as a surprise to him too, honestly

Ace is diametrically opposed to everything the navy and World Government stands for, and to find that the person he's been sharing notes, feelings, dreams - hell, plans for a life - with, for months, is a marine? Especially someone so high up the chain of command?

Well shit, he's kind of heartbroken

It takes Ace a while to adjust, but eventually his letters come flitting into the agreed upon address again, talking about how he wants to make this work

The two of you meet in secrecy when you can; you throw yourself into his arms the first time you see him since new of your occupation comes to light and apologize for keeping it from him - Ace's expression is strained but he kisses your forehead anyway and tells you that he would have found out anyway

From then you spend the day or what little time the two of you can manage doing absolutely fuck all, just laying in the shade of a tree together, enjoying lunch that Ace swindled from a nearby restaurant and you chastise him for it, counting the stars on the roof of someone's house together as you slowly drift off

You hardly ever get the chance to spend the night with your secret boyfriend, it's too risky, so the two of you are back to your respective posts just before midnight

He's instructed you to burn every one of them for the sake of your position, you're more aware of this than anyone, but Ace himself is a hypocrite because it's those letters from you that someone nosey finds stashed away in his quarters that outs him to the Moby Dick's crew

A chorus of WB pirates are immediately up in arms about it, more than a few of them bring up (justifiable) discretions with these arrangements and Ace gets sent to Pops for the verdict

Deep down Ace knows he can’t continue like this, he felt it from the moment it was revealed to he himself, about your position, and the pangs in the far reaches of his heart that followed

So uncharacteristic of him to simply bow to other’s whims, Ace takes Whitebeard’s decision to annul his relationship with you with a surprising amount of grace - his peers are sympathetic but they know it’ll be more trouble than less to let him go on like this, maybe Ace too was looking for a reason to end it on amicable terms

Zoro

He never expected to fall for a marine, especially not an admiral, but life kind of hits you hard and fast sometimes - he's in far too deep and calling it quits now just isn't in the cards for someone like him

Zoro's handwriting is dogshit, for sure, but you make do; not without teasing him about it every chance you get to talk over the phone, though, absolutely not

It’s difficult to keep things from a crew like his with perceptive folk like Sanji, Nami, and Robin on board - he’s never been one for subtlety but this is important, so Zoro tries his hardest 

You clash with him on the occasion that your ships cross paths, acting like sworn enemies in the face of your starry-eyed subordinates watching their superior trade blows with the Demon Of the East

If you’re lucky, he gets to sneak away from the Sunny to spend a brief evening with you; sharing drinks, kisses, not wanting to part for what little time you have with each other

Before either of you know it Zoro has to wander back to his camp, using the age old excuse of vehemently denying the fact that he may or may not be directionally challenged when Usopp teases him for losing his way on a seemingly straight path

Eventually, though, he’s found out - there’s no way that he wouldn’t be

It’s Luffy who points out that it doesn’t seem like Zoro’s giving his all whenever he and you go against one another, confirming suspicions in some and raising questions in others

Zoro’s forthright with his crew and immediately comes clean; keeping secrets and tip-toeing around things was never really his style to begin with, anyway

Sanji’s the first to air his grievances, pointing out the logistical issues with a situation like this and the multiple people on board with, putting it lightly, sour relationships with the World Government at large - this almost turns into a fight if it weren’t for Chopper trying to diffuse the tension

Zoro’s adamant on staying with you, though, despite all odds and turning to Luffy his captain’s approval or denial; Luffy’s Luffy, so he says that Zoro should go after what makes him happy, but there’s an undercurrent of ‘not at the expense of our own’

Zoro writes to you that night, explaining the state of affairs the best he can in his chicken scratch, about how his cover’s been blown but how he’d like to set up a meeting - between you, his lover, and the rest of his nakama, family

Sanji

Never did Sanji think that the scrawny kid on some no-name island in the East Blue helping their parents load cargo supplies onto the Baratie years ago would turn out to be one of his crew's biggest enemies

You meet him again for the first time in years on a quaint little island that the Sunny’s docked at to restock from, surrounded by the waft of fresh bread from the bakery you work part-time at

He doesn’t recognize you immediately, but you’d be able to distinguish that swirl in his brow from a mile away; once he recovers from the instinctual offense taken from that remark, a bright smile breaks across his features, too

It’s not often Sanji gets to see familiar faces from his past, frankly he would like to keep it that way, but with you, and the memories so sweetly connected to it, he doesn’t mind

Sanji joyfully introduces you to his crew as an old friend, you explain over lunch about how long it’ll take their log pose quite a while to set on this island (at least a few months) but seem to get along swimmingly with the rest of the Strawhats

Over the course of the next few weeks, you’d see the Strawhats flitting through town every now and again from the window where you worked, sometimes even being brought lunches by their resident cook

You enjoyed spending afternoons with him again, walking along the beachside after your shift, seeing how vast the differences were in comparison to when the two of you were just kids and admiring the man Sanji had become

It wasn’t long until the reignited spark you found with him flickered and flared into something more, culminating in the love cook’s confession to you over candlelit dinner just over a month into the Strawhat’s stay on this peaceful spring island

You bit your lip, unsure about how to move forward since there was still one rather large elephant in the room that you weren’t addressing with Sanji that you’d been avoiding this whole time - the true nature of your occupation, and that this nice little side job had just been something to fill your time while Sengoku had placed you on probation

You accept though, rationalizing that the Strawhats will be gone in a matter of months and you can make up some excuse for Sanji about how this was never really going to work out

Your time with him after this point is especially sweet, he fawns and coos over you between twirling over the girls on the ship, fighting local algae to near death (or at least until Franky yells at them not to damage any more of the ship), and keeping his captain’s ravenous appetite satiated

The man is on cloud nine, happier than ever

What you do notice, though, is a distinct coldness from certain members of the crew, something you can’t really pinpoint or put your finger on and it makes you feel like you’re hallucinating until one night where you’re confronted

Everyone else had gone to bed but it was just you and the navigator, poring over routes for Luffy’s next adventure

Nami asks what you plan to do once they leave and you smile at her, saying that long distance would be tedious but so long as you can keep in contact with your beloved, you’re happy

Nami doesn’t look as much though, snuffing as she drops a folder of newspaper clippings in front of you - they’re all articles... of you, the navy’s newest and youngest admiral to date

You straighten up to explain, but Nami isn’t having any of it, she patiently and calmly gives you the option to either come clean about your title, or leave Sanji now before things get too messy and someone inevitably gets hurt

#cebwrites #portgas d. ace #portgas ace x reader #ace one piece #fire fist ace #ace x reader #ace x you #ace #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #black leg sanji #kuroashi no sanji #sanjionepiece #sanji x you #sanji #sanji x reader #angst #ace's wordcount is 420 tho ayyy

[felixcloud6288]

Fullmetal Alchemist Chapter 98

What's most wild to me about Wrath and Greed is they are two fragments of the same soul and they hate each other.

Greed admittedly has beef with Wrath because of the Devil's Nest, but I wonder if they'd be at each other's throats even without something like that. They are just so diametrically opposed that them fighting just seems natural.

And what would that say about Father when his soul still had those fragments of himself? Did he desire everything there is to desire, but he also believed such things were pointless? Did his own greed and wrath fight each other within his soul as well?

Greed and Lin are becoming more symbiotic with each other. Greed willingly gave control to Lin so Lin could thank Falman for earlier, and Lin willingly gave control to Greed so he could fight Wrath.

And Greed called Lin his buddy.

The last time Foo was in a fight was when he fought Al in chapter 33.

When speaking to Wrath, Greed refers to him with that name. When speaking of Wrath, he calls him King Bradley. Just interesting that Greed called him King Bradley when Foo asked who he was.

The North-East Alliance is getting a little shaky since Major General Armstrong has to get thrown under the bus to keep up the charade. Granted, they could argue she and Buccaneer were rogue and the rest of Briggs who are currently with Graman can feign ignorance of her "plot".

Izumi has the exact reaction and does exactly what every scientist wants to do whenever a politician twists their terms and research to justify themselves.

She snapped the moment he talked about All is One and One is All. That is the very center of her own Alchemy philosophy so it really pisses her off that he would use that phrase to justify why he in the moral right.

And following from that discussion I made about the soldiers fighting Sloth, they just had their crossroads moment. They are choosing the hard path of doing what they think is right and deciding for themselves rather than just following orders.

Major General Armstrong's role in the operation was likely to destabilize Central Command from within by killing and capturing as many of the people in High-Command as possible. But the mannequins arrival changed the priority to eliminating all of them while Buccaneer's forces put Central HQ under siege.

With Wrath on the field and making a public display of fighting Briggs forces, Armstrong likely knows that she will be branded a traitor when this is all over. There's no point in trying to keep Central HQ under control. All that's left is to descend into Father's lair to join Ed and Roy in the battle to save Amestris.

May kind of was their only guide to navigating the tunnels since she could detect where Father was.

But what kind of wandering did Ed's group do? The ceiling was originally brick but now it's a mass of pipes.

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#fullmetal alchemist reread #fullmetal alchemist