#// thanks for sending sara!

[lyr-caelum]

Happy birthday to sirius 💫

In my mind they are always like this. 🫠

[amoscontorta]

hello so i was checking my notifications and uh

HELLO??? ngl u got me shooketh this fine sunday afternoon haha hope you're having a nice day!

hehe thank you for your kind thoughts, i hope you're having a really good day too! and pfft, clearly other people also really liked reading your stuff, you shouldn't be so surprised!!

i really love seeing how the fandom thinks about mc spending sylus's money, and your fic is a really sweet and heartfelt take. like, turning his generosity back on him and just spending it lovingly on him and the people he cares about is a beautiful thought.

i've also seen other people say their mc or they would take the money and enjoy spending it, because he clearly enjoys sharing it with you and having your life eased by what he can do for you and obviously the association is Not Paying You Enough for what bullshit you have to put up with 😭

i can definitely see mc or reader approaching sylus's generosity depending on sylus's behavior on any given day: is he being a sweet, well-behaved gentleman who respects your boundaries and refrains from exploding anyone? you shower him with gifts bought with his own money, things you have noticed he hasn't thought to give to himself. if he's dragged you into a mess or obnoxiously manipulated you into a situation you otherwise wouldn't have said yes to just to get his way, then you donate a huge amount to a rehabilitation and job training fund for people convicted of grand theft auto... specifically, the one that poor bastard who stole sylus's motorcycle could use after you prevent sylus from straight up murdering him for stealing the wrong asshole's bike.

reading your writing gave me all sorts of ideas and was really fun to read. i think that's what's really nice about being in an active and creative fandom!

[laslow]

[ 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 ] : sender is helping the receiver through a panic attack / severe anxiety. bro what if we were each others rocks during these troubling times

For you, I would

His hands won't stop shaking.

Inigo stares at them as if in a trance, fixated on the staccato rhythm. Battle aftermath is never easy in the best of scenarios; now, after facing near defeat at the claws of a seemingly endless horde of Risen, reality has settled in his chest like a stone.

How can they fight against creatures made from fell magic? How can they possibly avenge their parents when they can't be sure of surviving the next hour?

A band tightens around his ribcage. He can't get a full breath, can't hear past the blood pounding in his ears--

Movement catches in his peripheral. Inigo starts, hands scrabbling for the sword laying discarded in the dirt next to him. Foolish, stupid idea to disappear into the treeline alone. But he needed the space, needed to panic in peace, where no one else could see Inigo the Invincible crumble.

Fingers curl around the blade's hilt, soil gathering underneath his nails. Rising onto his knees, he whirls, weapon half-leveled at the approaching, blurred figure. He doesn't remember starting to cry, but he blinks his tears away regardless, relaxing only fractionally when his vision settles, revealing not another opponent, but Owain.

Inigo's hand spasms, sword dropping unceremoniously back to earth. "H-hey, Owain." His voice cracks and he curls further in on himself, chin touching his chest, shoulders caved.

Of course it's Owain who finds him at his lowest. There's a joke in there somewhere, one Inigo would make in happier circumstances. But right now he can only tremble, and cry, and nearly buckle under the weight of his own fears.

There's a rustle, followed by a sudden presence at his side. Owain's quiet, for once, perhaps feeling some of the same dread coursing through Inigo's veins. A heartbeat passes, then a new weight settles on his shoulders.

Pink head lifts just enough. No trace of mockery lines the other boy's face; instead, his brows are pinched in concern. It's enough of a reassurance that Inigo can feel the crushing despair lighten, breath by breath.

"Thank you, my friend."

[cotharach]

"that wall’s an illusion ! hiding what, i wonder …" ( hiii miss flayn 😌 )

bg3 starters (accepting!)

"Is it really so?"

Flayn, raised on fables and the dreams borne of a long slumber, is eager to believe whatever mythos might emerge from this age's folk. She enjoys, particularly, the stories they've constructed of the saints—though this tale that Dorothea whispers to her with a grin... this one is also quite good. Of course, Flayn would never admit to believing in such things as wonders hidden within walls (stories are but that: stories!), but... there always was a chance, was there not? Indulging in that chance seems like the natural course of action anyone would take!

Fingers go to trace the walls, pale digits running over brick and grout like a stone skipping across water. Flayn leans closer towards it, feeling for a heartbeat. She turns back to Dorothea, eyes agleam with a small helping of whimsy—that childlike belief that the world is more special than it truly is, or that the walls have secrets they wish to share.

"I must admit, your words have fascinated me. If this is true... then we must break through this illusion and take hold of the truth!"

[swiftlance]

[ 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 ] ― sender lights a scented candle for receiver

"believe it or not, this came with a proposal attached." dorothea gestures lazily toward the cream-colored candle encased in rich, purple glass—intricately designed, with foreign flowers etched into its surface. she lights it with a casual flick of her wrist, and watches as the dancing flame brings about the scent of smoked spices, mingled with strange blossoms from a distant land. "a letter and a candle. imagine that. and the real punchline? he didn’t even know my name. it makes you wonder what goes on in the minds of these rich men."

and now she adjusts herself in her seat, nodding encouragingly at nephenee. "well then? have any stories of your own to share? a woman as pretty as you must have her fair share of them."

Five Senses

Nephenee stares at the ornate candle, wonderin' how long all that glass etchin' must have taken. What is it like, bein' able to afford pretty things like that just because?

The wick flares to life. Smoke and spices fill the air. Her attention goes from the candle to Dorothea, who wields magic as easily as birds fly.

Nephenee exhales a surprised laugh. "A proposal without yer name? That's downright insultin.'" Privately, some small part of her is relieved to know rich folk can treat their own kind with the same dismissiveness they treat farmers like Nephenee. It's mean, and cruel ta think such a way, but it makes her feel less like she's the root of the issue. "Not much beyond how to get what they want, that's fer sure."

With another laugh, she waves away the question, then stops once the candle flame gives a dangerous flicker. "Nah. Most'a the boys in my village ain't interested in a girl they've known since childhood. Then there was this fella in the army who tried askin' me out, but he went after every girl he came across."

She pauses, thinkin' back to her trips inta town. Back then, she didn't talk to strangers much, too worried 'bout soundin' way outta her depth. But it's true most men paid her a little more attention when she smiled.

'Course, she wasn't too keen on recievin' all that attention, anyhow. "...I don't have time for that kinda thing."

[boundlesshart]

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 ] ― sender and receiver see each other again after a period of being apart

As casually as noting the weather outside, she states, "You've changed since I arrived in Fodlan."

It's not said unkindly, but Sara also doesn't show any signs of explaining herself anytime soon. She looks him up and down, confirming some invisible truth that makes sense only to her. Finally, Sara's gaze catches on the gleam of gold fabric draped across one shoulder.

"Do you still see me as family even though we are no longer members of the same house?" She doesn't mind either way, she thinks. Life demands that people go their separate ways sometimes and Sara has no regrets about the decision.

Before he can answer though, her expression takes on a certain playfulness, lips tugged into an unapologetic smile conveying there is no ill-will. In truth, Sara has grown rather comfortable here over the years. Inured to people and places and unforgettable experiences in her time at the academy. It may be as close to family as she will ever know, so she hopes he finds what he is looking for too.

"Nice to see you too, stranger," Claude replies, smiling playfully. As for her question... thankfully, it's one that's easy to answer.

"Family goes their own way, eventually." It's in his nature and in his blood to venture into the unknown to seek what he desires. Even so, it's never easy to break old, familiar routines and take on something new. Perhaps in the past Claude would have taken the departure more personally, as a result of a personal failing. It was difficult to accept his lack of control. "And let's be honest, I'd be a shitty house leader for holding you back!" he laughs. "You were always an incredible mage, but after joining the Eagles you really became a force of nature. You may not be among the Golden Deer anymore, but I'm definitely still proud of you."

A pause. "I do miss you in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, though. It was amazing to see you plow through the competition, but not so fun when you're on the receiving end..."

[dukemeropide]

30. What is their preferred level of activity and stimulation? How do they cope if they get either too little or too much?

Character Dev Questions | still accepting

This answer, unlike the last ones, is mostly headcanon. By and large, I think Wriothesley prefers mental stimulation over physical, contrary to how he may appear (I think back to all the impressions that came out around the time that his designs were leaked, most of which tended to lean more on Big Tough Guy Who Lets His Fists Do The Talking which, while different from canon, is still valuable in conveying how he might come across at a glance, and what kind of assumptions a stranger might make about him). I pull this idea from the fact that he has multiple lines about picnicking in the sun, or lying in the grass, and that his favorite time of day seems to be when he can have his afternoon tea. All of this portrays a character who enjoys physical leisure.

Where does boxing fit in? Wriothesley says it himself: it's not a hobby. From his character stories, we're told that boxing has always been a means to an end for him, first to gather strength and tools to kill his foster parents, and then later to win the credit coupons needed to survive in the Fortress of Meropide. We're also told that after becoming the prison's administrator, he doesn't fight in the Pankration ring much anymore. He's earned himself a comfortable life at this point, and no longer needs to rely on this to make a living. His line about the imitation Pankration ring for the teapot also has him declining the offer to fight in it.

All that is to say: I think if given the choice, in terms of physical activity, Wriothesley would prefer lazing in the sun all day. Obviously, he's muscular and fit, but like with boxing, this is probably borne from necessity.

Mental stimulation, on the other hand... his office is full of books. He talks about how he'd sought out the long lost history of Remuria and read history texts on it just out of his own curiosity. His character stories say that he has "always seemed to be preparing for something," whether that be learning to build meka to defend himself with, amassing credit coupons to take down the last administrator, or building a flying ship for some vague disaster in the uncertain future. Wriothesley comes across as the kind of person who needs projects, and planning for and building toward those projects is rewarding for him. Likewise, his drive to learn appears to be at least partly driven by the possibility that such information might be useful one day, which also seems to be what drives his interest in listening to other people's stories (i.e. finding people he might be able to hire for projects later on).

Overall, I think he has a high tolerance for both mental and physical stimulation (I imagine you'd need to, to run a prison), but to cope with having too much of either, from these two lines --

(Teapot: Nighttime) Wriothesley: The daytime hours are always full of sound and fury, so I've developed a habit of saving work that requires more considered thinking for the evening. Wriothesley: However… I'll pass on that while I'm here. Allow me to space out for a little longer.

(Good Night voice line) "Good night. I'll be staying up for a little while yet — want to run some numbers while everything's nice and quiet."

-- it sounds like he seeks quiet solitude after the bustle of the day, whether to work or to simply unwind and space out for a bit.

[rafent]

9. Is your muse attracted to any features in particular?

9. Is your muse attracted to any features in particular?

Broad but still relevant answer: Rafal once he's romantically invested in someone, everything about them becomes attractive to him. Definitely a bit of a rose tinted lens; an unconditionally loving perspective along the lines of "you're beautiful/handsome because you're mine", analogous to how parents will find their children cute and charming because they're their children.

Despite his arrogance, he isn't a person who focuses on appearance. He's dependent on close connections to feel attraction. As someone who used to be very lonely and miserable and developed few standards his attractiveness parameters are definitely different. Assuming there is a connection though, he finds himself attracted to eyes. Eyes are the window to the soul and the most emotive part of the face. He enjoys when he's gazed at with adoration. In one of his Pact Ring wake up events, he says that he likes it when he's the first person to be reflected across your eyes in the morning. It's a pride thing, for sure, but it's also an affirmation thing.

The way an individual looks at you says a lot. To Rafal who was born twinless and incomplete in a world where Fell Dragons are born in sets of twins, who later believes himself to be an imposter unworthy of his bonds, that manner of looking at him is invaluable. It proves that the love had is real, that it's unadulterated and totally for him. Not for anyone else.

[aubins]

[ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 ] : sender drapes a coat / cape / etc. around receiver's shoulders. ( can't have you catching a cold yurikins! )

[ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 ] : sender drapes a coat / cape / etc. around receiver's shoulders.　╱　for you i would

It’s an exceptionally boring party, as far as ones that Yuri has attended go. Leering gazes and wicked smiles, every conversation overshadowed by the expectation of more. But they are not here to give, merely listen. When secrets are the name of your trade, one becomes quite used to slinking through the shadows. Though keener eyes will of course spot them splayed out on the sofa in the corner, the wine glass dangling from their hand empty.

Keen eyes like Dorothea’s.

“My, my.” Head tips back against their sofa’s headrest, lilacs finding the ladybird’s gaze. A dry smile creases the mockingbird’s lips. “I must be the envy of men and women across Fódlan to have the Dorothea Arnault looking after my well-being.”

As though there had not been a purpose to the sheer clothing, in what parts of their body had been concealed, and what parts had been laid bare. They know that Dorothea understands that more than most. “I grew up in Faerghus, you know,” they drawl, picking at her shawl with two fingers. Faerghus, where even the mildest winters are unkind. “It will take more than some exposed skin to get me sick.”

“Well, come on then, ladybird.” They drag the shawl across their shoulders until there space for another to fit underneath it. There is no suggestion in the offer, no implication of sharing warmth beyond sitting side-by-side with a drink or two and some conversation. “Can’t have you catching a cold either, can we? Now that would just be tragic.”

[avcnturine]

does aventurine's personality reflect more of his innate traits or the environment he's been exposed to? how have these factors played a role in shaping his character?

〈　　　from　　∶　　　　𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐂　/　🇦​🇨​🇨​🇪​🇵​🇹​🇮​🇳​🇬​　　〉

this is a tough question to answer i think because we don't really get much sense of what is aventurine's " innate personality ". we don't know what he was like as an infant or toddler to try and make an argument ; the earliest we see him, he's already likely around age 7 or 8, which is more than enough time for beliefs and behavior to be shaped by his surroundings.

i think one of the things we do see is that a lot of his worldview is shaped by the tenets he was taught growing up :

—　aventurine himself tells us that before his parents ( mother, specifically, since his father died before he was born ) passed, they taught him that " friends are the weapons of the avgin people " — an " us vs. them " worldview that condones and encourages the necessary leveraging of people in the out-group to ensure one's own survival.

even though, frankly, i think his flashback scenes give us too much of a watered-down view of the avgins ( in a very black and white ' jrpg ' kind of way to make the player feel sympathetic for aventurine ), i don't think aventurine is lying about where he picked up this worldview thanks to other texts giving us hints that the avgins do appear to value deception, cleverness, and theft. their prayer to gaiathra triclops makes this apparent, as well as the avgins' worship of gaiathra triclops herself being as, among others, a deity of trickery.

it's clear that despite how far behind him aventurine has left his former life on sigonia, and the various other environments that've impacted him since ( his enslavement, the ipc, becoming a stoneheart ), he still roots a lot of his core beliefs in that early formative culture taught by his family and his tribe. but that doesn't mean all of his present personality is shaped by it.

—　the other thing i do want to talk about in terms of how aventurine shapes himself is the self-fashioning he does ; and in particular, the way he fashions himself after identities and events that should be heavily traumatic. did you ever notice that so much of aventurine's current persona comes directly from his former slavemaster that he himself brutally killed in order to end his own imprisonment?

from his character teaser, we see that said former master wore a thumb, middle finger, and pinky ring, and a wristwatch, on his left hand.

aventurine wears middle finger and pinky rings, and a ( fancier ) wristwatch on his right hand in an almost perfect mirror.

indifferent male: sorry, but that won't do. don't forget your place, slave. you're not qualified to be at the table. indifferent male: you're just a chip, a life thrown away in someone else's hands. either you come back with more chips for your master, or... you never come back. indifferent male: it's all or nothing. don't embarrass me, my lucky hound.

using gambling metaphors and terminology, referring to people or knowledge as chips to be leveraged, and even his signature motto also all were part of his former master's vernacular. i don't think it's a coincidence that this language was used identically by the first individual who shaped and defined his sense of self-worth outside of the tiny pond that was sigonia.

for the first time, aventurine saw what he was worth in the scope of the whole ocean — and we see this continue to bind him mentally even after he's physically free ( he continues to seek the remaining thirty tanbas of his purchase cost from jade, to the point that he set up an entire enterprise to deceive the ipc in order to get in front of her to ask for just that ), and long past that as well, as i'd argue that he still struggles to wash out the sense of that stain.

taking up his former master's outward flaunting of wealth was a conscious decision — it was a way for aventurine not only to demonstrate that he could match and surpass the person who'd been above him, but also for him to compartmentalize and exert control over a situation in which he had none and was subject to others' whims. the only other option is to continue living in the shadow of that time. but possessing those trademarks of his master allows him to do just the opposite: he reclaims a situation in which he had no agency and turns it into something that belongs to him. i would argue this is a form of ptsd.

taking up his former master's way of talking was less conscious, and instead more an indication of just how deeply the man's treatment of him, as well as the culture and mindset of his slave holdings ( since he does mention being a prolific slave buyer who pimps out his possessions to rake in money rather than using the slaves himself, so i'm assuming he had numerous at any time ), embedded a certain view of self, view of others, and view of the world in aventurine subconsciously. this is more indication of how deep of a psychic impact that period of time had on him.

[blaiddllodi]

[ 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 ] : sender takes a hold of receiver's both hands. ( twirling my hair hiiiii prince dimitriiiii )

??

He'd heard her approach - she'd announced it, after all, and it was difficult not to be aware of when Dorothea was in a room - but he had not expected immediately for both of his hands to be scooped up, turned this way and that, handled so.

"Er...hello, Dorothea." It wasn't uncomfortable, quite, in rather the same way he imagined that an elk felt when a bird nestled in its rack - her hands were so much smaller than his, but the fingers fluttered nimbly over his palms, each of his own gauntleted digits, and the more enchanted she seemed to become, in turn he allowed himself to become enraptured.

After a moment, she raised his hands and pressed her palm against his, remarking with some breathless astonishment, "Oh, look at how much bigger your hands are, Dimitri!" and he, indeed, looked on, cocking his head, willing the warmth of her palm to reach his skin.

"Er, yes, I suppose that's true, I had not put much thought into it," but now he was, and now it took every ounce of his restraint not to linger on his monstrous strength, at how frailer things had crumbled to dust in his grip.

[rotisseries]

RORI ROTISSERIES BIRTHDAY REAL?!?!?!?!??!!!!!!??!!!! happy birthday to the bane of my existence who convinces me that humanity was a mistake and also simultaneously berates me for my cringe interests in every single conversation <3 hope ur drama-loving, bakugo-coded, cannibalism-obsessed (can i even talk), iconic being has a good day 💟💟💟 love u or whatever 🙄 sending u 393739383 that branch from trolls thirst traps in spirit

tumblr user cannibalismyuri accuses me of having a cannibalism obsession real not clickbait

[banannabethchase]

Writing a college choice chapter and I just got walloped with the memory of my dad making an absurdly detailed spreadsheet with like 4 separate sheets to help me choose which college to go to. The apple does not fall far from the tree.

...but this apple still managed to choose the wrong college.

[laslow]

"We are bound for the land I was born in," Sara shares in a particularly quiet voice, wistful as she looks on the horizon. It will be days before they come close to approaching land, but her eyes remain fixated towards the distance like she can clearly see Jugdral's shores already.

"You should be careful. Though there is no questioning your skill with a blade, those we will soon face avoid direct confrontations when they can. Our adversaries will employ tactics that could be considered underhanded. The laws of the Church can be unforgiving. Dissent is punishable, traitors are executed. They do not value their lives or rather, they were taught not to by those higher in the chain of command." Light vanishes from Sara's eyes, expression growing increasingly listless until her whole face has become devoid of emotion.

"Your life belongs to the Lord. Your soul never truly vanishes from this world. You may suffer an unpleasant earthly death, but you live on through Loptous". An agonizing melancholy washes over her, one that takes Sara back to childhood. She laughs and does not know why. "It went something like that. I do not recall it anymore. I am telling you because I do not wish for you to die."

He'd been humming a sea shanty under his breath, coiling rope and generally staying out of the way by the bow when she appeared. The sun sinks lower, staining the sky shades of orange and gold. Laslow glances up at Sara, finishing the last coil before bracing his hands against the railing.

Mouth remains shut while she speaks. Interrupting now feels rude, almost dismissive of the trust she's placing in him by voicing her thoughts and concerns aloud. He's honored by her trust.

Gaze flicks over to her, side profile outlined in radiant yellow against the deepening blue sky. A shiver trips down his spine that has little to do with the fair breeze keeping their sails full. Her recitation of such an ugly vow followed by her laugh makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Laslow swallows, attention returning to the sea.

"Thank you, Sara. It feels right, somehow, that I should return to your homeland with you." After everything they've endured together, this feels like the natural course of things. Not quite an ending; he's said enough goodbyes for two lifetimes to ever rush along another. A new beginning instead, perhaps, or at the very least yet a wider understanding of the world.

He's careful when choosing his next words. "The Church sounds a lot like a religious sect I once fought. Perhaps it is a good thing you no longer remember their teachings with stark clarity. It means you not only survived, but found the will to move forward."

A tiny smile graces his lips. "But I will keep your words in mind. I'd rather not die so far away from my family. The same goes for you--I've always got your back, Sara. And if...if I don't get the chance," he starts, once more facing her, "I'm elated our paths crossed for this long. Promise me you'll keep smiling, yeah?"

[opportunity-strikes]

me encountering a post with a picture of a big high res spider in it: i must not fear. fear is the mind killer. fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. i will face my fear. i will permit it to pass over me and through me. and when it has gone past i will turn the inner eye to see its path. where the fear has gone there will be nothing. only i will remain

[cryingforcrocodiles]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CqEBMTLumOp/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

This one of your kind....? 👀😭💀😻

... idk who that is man ... or those flags.. I'm colorblind they look Blue to me.. and my team is Red... ☺️

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