#but this tag is more suitable for criticism ]

[bietrofastimoff23]

it's crazy how in 2s the most pleasant character of the team becomes the most repulsive when the first one jump "ship" that she herself led, and how the most disgusting character of the team turns into the one you root for, cause he accepts his new role, which was imposed on him, and participates in a war that he initially did not want.

[goosewriting]

hi! saw that you are taking requests, can you do a cal kestis one where him and reader go to some nice planet after a mission and reader asks Cal to dance under the stars. then reader remarks about the planet or view being beautiful, and cal says something like "but you are more so" and then they both get shy for a bit and one of them confesses, ending with a sweet kiss?

thank you love your work sm ♥️

Constant

summary: after a mission, Cal and reader get separated from the rest and have a sweet moment together.

relationship: Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: none, fluff!

word count: 4k

A/N: it has been a while since i’ve written Cal and it shows omg i feel so rusty. also i may have gone a bit off topic with the intro/setting sdfsdf i really hope this works for you anon, thank you sm for requesting :D 

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

Despite the mission ending successfully, you got found by an angry squad of troopers, and in your escape, you got separated from the team. Cere and Greez made a hasty escape on the Mantis; Merrin disappeared from sight in a green cloud, so you knew she was hidden somewhere, and she’d be fine. You and Cal however had to run through the maze that was the village, hearing the many boots behind you. Luckily you encountered a ship with a hyperdrive, so while in your mind you apologised to the owners for “borrowing” their ship (they’re not getting it back), you made quick work of hijacking it, kickstarting the engines and making a swift exit into the atmosphere, then jumping into hyperspace.

It wasn’t usual for the crew to have to steal a transport, but when you did, all of you knew the drill: access the computer, scramble the signal, and send out an encrypted message to the Mantis so the others knew you were safe. 

After you mentally tick off every item in the to-do list, you let yourself fall into the co-pilot seat with a sigh.  Next to you, Cal checks the scanner one last time, and is about to punch in some coordinates into the navigation system, but his hand stops mid-air.

“So, where are we going exactly?” he asks.

“We need to lay low,” you think aloud and take the holopad out of your backpack, bringing up a galactic map of the region you’re currently in. You scroll back and forth for a minute, until you find a suitable goal. Stretching your arm over to Cal so he can see your screen, you point to the pin you just set. The little ship is decently shaken by the speed, so Cal gently places his hand over yours to stabilise the device to be able to read the tag. Even though you’re both wearing gloves, and physical contact isn’t exactly rare between the two of you, you can still feel the slight prickle of heat on your cheeks. You mentally curse at yourself for being this affected by such small gestures. Your thoughts are quickly interrupted however as Cal lets go of your hand, fully leaning back into the seat with a huff.

“Is there really no other choice?” he asks.

“All things considered, it’s a good one,” you offer. “We need to land to properly dismantle the transponder before the ship gets reported as stolen.”

“Right,” he sighs and punches in the coordinates. The computer shows a loading bar quickly reaching the end as it finishes calculating when to leave hyperspace. It’s actually in just a couple of minutes.

You lean back into the seat as well, placing the holopad on your lap. You turn your face to Cal with a silly grin.

“Besides, I hear they have wonderful weather this time of year.”

The Jedi doesn’t answer but you can hear his light huff as he playfully rolls his eyes. BD, sitting on the seat behind Cal’s, beeps amusedly as well.

You smile to yourself, your eyes lingering on Cal’s profile perhaps a second too long. He seems to feel you looking, and just as he turns his face to you, you quickly look the other way. Before you can give in to the embarrassment of having been caught staring, the computer signals it’s time to drop from hyperspace.

Cal’s focus goes back to the front, and he places his hand on the lever, pulling it down. Adjusting your position on your seat, you can’t help but crane your neck a little as the flurry of lights in front of you comes to a halt, replaced by the image of a green planet: Takodana. As you approach the surface, you take in the sights, the mountains, the lakes. Everything looks so… lush, and alive. It's a nice change of pace after the multitude of arid, dusty planets you seem to have been limited to lately. You swear you still have sand in your boots from a mission weeks ago. 

Picking your holopad back up, you zoom into the map, giving Cal instructions on what route to take and what altitude to maintain. There’s a clearing in the forest that seems big enough to fit the ship, so you decide to land there. Once the engines are turned off, you three get to work: Cal walks out the short ramp to start working on the transponder to fry it, while BD stays in the cockpit to wipe the travel logs. You check the small cargo hold, opening all storage containers, looking for anything useful, be it rations, equipment or medical supplies.

After a while, you find that there are some tools and miscellaneous things that could be useful. Those you put in one of the bigger storage boxes and leave it near the door so it’s easy to reach; the rest you just put away again where it was. Giving yourself a nod of approval, you stand up and dust off your legs, as you’ve been kneeling on the metallic floor which apparently did not get mopped very often. You exit the ship, walking around to the other side, where you see that Cal has removed a panel from the outer hull to essentially start taking the ship apart to access the parts he needs. Several ship modules now lie freely on the soft grass, and Cal’s upper body is hidden from sight as he’s leaning far into the machinery. You hear him grunt and curse under his breath as he struggles with particularly stubborn bolt.

“Can I help?” you ask as you approach him.

He evidently did not hear nor feel you coming, as he was too focused, so your presence takes him by surprise. You see him flinch at being startled, his head hitting on something to which he flinches again, now from the sharp pain on his temple, and he crawls out completely, a hand shooting up to where you could see a reddening spot on his skin. You can’t help the little snort that escapes you at his antics, and he looks at you in mock offence that you are amused at his expense.

“You good?” you ask, taking a step closer towards him. Your hand instinctively reaches up to his face, gingerly brushing away his own so you can check for any injury. 

“Yeah, just didn’t hear you…” he mumbles, not pulling away from you, and letting you inspect his face closely. 

“I thought Jedis could feel someone’s presence,” you tease him, and only then do you realise how close your faces are. Cal doesn’t give you any snark back, instead he just holds your gaze. With a sudden strong gust of wind, the late afternoon sun manages to peer through the thick tree canopies, and you’re like hypnotised. The warm sunlight catches on his copper eyelashes, and you catch a glimpse of the specks of gold that swim in his ocean eyes. If they’re green or blue, you never quite settled on, as they seemed to change depending on the light. This is by far one of the more beautiful versions you’ve had the pleasure to see, though. 

His eyes are just as focused on yours, and for a split second, they dart down a bit, then back up to hold your gaze again, and your breath hitches. Did he just–?

BD’s beeping breaks the spell, and you take a step back from him, clearing your throat. 

“Yeah, no. Uhm, you might get a bruise but uh, other than that you’re fine,” you give him your diagnosis, fidgeting with your sleeve. “Sorry again for startling you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You stand there in silence for a second, rather awkwardly, when BD beeps again, a little more insistent this time. 

“Huh? Yeah,” Cal turns to the droid. “I’m almost done here. You’re gonna fit into the opening far better than me though, mind giving me a hand?”

BD agrees, quickly hopping over to where the hull still stays open and exposed. As the two get back to work, you take out your holopad again, looking at the other pins you had marked on the map earlier.

“While you work on the transponder, I’m going into the ‘city’–” You use your free hand to gesture quotation marks in the air. “–to get us some food.”

“It won’t take long though,” Cal says, peeking back out from the ship. “If you wait for a bit we can go together.”

You tilt your head at him with an apologetic smile.

“No offence, but we’ve seen your face and name plastered on multiple wanted notices across several systems now,” you point out. Cal opens his mouth to retort something, but you don’t let him. “I’m still unknown, all in all. There’s going to be bounty hunters, mercenaries and who knows what else that might recognise you.”

Cal hesitates for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek, until he has to admit to himself that you’re right. Especially with a ship currently out of commission and as such unable to make another quick escape, you really want to make an effort to stay hidden until you can meet with the rest of the Mantis crew again. He sighs deeply, making it evident that he’s not really entirely on board. 

“Just… be careful?” he pleads.

You pat the blaster on your thigh holster twice and give him a winner smile.

“When am I not?”

Before he can reply (and you’re sure he has a carefully curated list of shenanigans of yours spanning over several years), you turn on your heels to grab your things and head out into the forest. Using your holopad, you navigate through the thick vegetation. You take a little detour to check out the lake though, and find an overhang at the cliffs which is decently hidden, but has a wonderful view of the water and the mountains on the other side. You take in the sight for a few moments, then continue your trek to your goal, the Takodana castle. Also known as Maz’s castle, since it’s run by the so-called queen of the pirates, Maz Kanata. You’ve heard stories about her exploits, and while you don’t necessarily have any emotional attachment or feeling of belonging to pirates and certain groups of outlaws, you do appreciate what she’s done here, making a place for people to take a respite. As long as things are kept civil, anyone is welcome. 

The clearing you chose to park the ship at was a really good decision; despite being quite far away from a castle, as it took you nearly an hour to get here, you notice that the closer you got, the more movement there is. And the less people know you’re here, the better. As you walk up to the entrance of the tavern in the central hall of the castle, you wish you had worn some sort of cloak or hooded cape. You’re pretty sure no one has any means to recognise you, but you can’t help feeling a little exposed. 

Taking a focusing breath, you push the heavy entrance door open, and enter the space. Some faces turn to look at you, but most customers ignore you, keeping their focus on their conversations and games. 

You beeline towards the bar, and the bartender gives you a hard once-over, raising a brow as you take a seat on a stool. You order food and drinks to go, placing some credits on the slightly greasy surface. He merely grunts in response, taking your payment and disappearing into the kitchen.

While you wait, you take a moment to look around. You see all sorts of people and creatures. Most of them seem relaxed, just trying to have a good time before they continue their journey to wherever they’re headed next. There’s some more… suspicious individuals in the darker corners of the establishment, hiding their faces under hats, masks or large hoods pulled down to their noses. You take mental note of a Nautolan to your left, who hasn’t let you out of her sights ever since you came in. She doesn’t look particularly suspicious, but the contrast of ther white outfit against the deep green skin caught your attention. From under the wide brim of her hat, her staring is starting to make you a little uneasy, but before you can glare back, a kitchen worker comes out from the back, handing you two bags of greasy food which to be quite honest, smells better than expected. 

You thank them with a smile, stuffing everything into your backpack, then take your leave. It’s a shame you won’t make it back in time for Cal to have his food while it’s warm, but beggars can’t be choosers, you suppose. 

The trek back is uneventful, but you take a different route than the one from before, just in case. Every now and then you look over your shoulder, listening carefully to check if anyone is following you. But other than your somewhat laboured breathing, the buzzing of insects and a raspy bird call somewhere above you, you hear nothing. 

By the time you’re back at the ship, the sun is starting to set, and you find that Cal has set up a makeshift camping site next to the now reassembled ship, consisting of a tarp hanging from one of the wings and held down on the ground by carefully laid out rocks of appropriate size and weight. It creates a canopy of sorts, under which the Jedi is sitting on one of the storage boxes you left within reach behind the cockpit. Two more boxes serve as improvised seating around a lantern set to a dim, warm light that projects Cal’s shadow onto the greenish-beige tarp. 

This time, he feels your presence before he sees you, so even though you approach without making a sound, his head is already turned in your direction by the time you see him. You meet his gaze and greet him with a smile. Making your way to where he’s sitting, you set your backpack on the ground, kneeling down to get everything out.

“Room service has arrived,” you announce, handing him the now cold food. “Wish we had a microwave though.”

He chuckles, taking his portion from your hands, opening the packaging rather eagerly. 

“Lighting a fire would also work, but that would make the whole ‘stay hidden’ thing redundant.”

“Yeah,” you sigh as you sit down across from him. “Oh well. Let’s dig in.”

“You could have had your food while it was hot though,” he remarks and takes a bite. He hums in pleasant surprise; it’s not too shabby. 

“I could have,” you respond, inspecting the food in your hands, looking for the best angle to bite into. “But I wanted to eat with you.”

He just looks at you for a moment while he chews.

“Why?” he asks after he swallows.

“Because it gives me a sense of–” domesticity, is what you want to say, but you stop yourself just in time, trying to find an alternate answer while willing the heat creeping onto your cheeks to go away. “A sense of normalcy. Across species, planets and time, sharing meals with your loved ones has always been a constant.”

You hope he doesn’t take the “loved ones” too literally. Then again, there’s no denying that you do feel rather strongly towards him. 

“And given what we do,” you continue. “I appreciate little moments like these even more, I suppose.”

Cal gives you a look that you can’t quite read, so to stop yourself from saying anything else, you take a big bite of your food, your gaze falling to the ground. He seems to be thinking over your words, his eyes drifting to the side.

“I do too, by the way,” he says after a few moments of silence.

“Hm?”

“Appreciate these moments, I mean,” he clarifies. “Up until now, I never found the words to describe it, but the way you put it, that’s exactly it. The crew, you and the guys. Despite everything that’s going on right now, you’re my constant as well. And the little moments of normalcy we get, as you said, I cling onto them too.”

You shoot him a genuine smile. It warms your heart to know he feels the same about the little patchwork family you find yourself in. People you trust your life with, and people you can’t imagine a life without. Especially without Cal. 

You both continue eating in silence, surrounded by nothing but the gentle breeze blowing against the tarp, swaying it slightly, and the sounds of the forest. 

“Did you contact Cere yet?” you ask after a while, remembering that you aren’t here on vacation, but you actually have to properly regroup with your crew soon. 

“I did. And yes; I used the encryption you showed me,” he adds with a chuckle before you can ask. “They’re currently waiting for an opening to pick up Merrin, and after that they’re headed here.”

“Any idea on how long that might take?”

He hums to signal he’s unsure, while crumpling up the foil wrapper now that he’s done eating and throwing it into a trash bag. 

“Not sure, could be anything between a couple of hours and a rotation. Two at most, I think.”

“Huh.” You tilt your head at his response, and realise that for a relatively short but still undetermined amount of time, you’ll be stuck here. Alone. With Cal. Your heart quickens ever so slightly, and you clear your throat as you also throw away the waste. 

Standing up, you clasp your hands together with a clap.

“Let’s make the most of it then, shall we? C’mon,” you gesture for him to follow you. 

“Where are we going?” he asks, giving you a suspicious look, but he can’t stop the boyish smile spreading on his face either way. 

“Just follow me.” 

You bend down to turn off the lantern, and in an instant you’re both surrounded by darkness. It takes a couple of seconds for your eyes to get used to it, and in a sudden moment of confidence, you take his hand in yours. He doesn’t say anything nor does he pull back, letting you guide him through the forest to that one spot at the cliff you had found earlier. 

“I hope you know where you’re going,” he says with a chuckle.

“Oh please, when have my orientation skills ever let us down.”

“Well,” he starts.” There was that one time on Kashyyyk. And in the Zeffo underground. Oh and let’s not forget about–”

“Alright, alright. I get it,” you laugh. He still hasn’t let go of your hand, so you use your free one to push away a branch to pass through a thick bush. “But trust me this time, you’ll like it.”

“I trust you,” he replies, so truthfully and genuinely, without a second of hesitation nor a drop of sass. It almost makes you stop in your tracks, but you continue walking, and you wonder if he can feel the way your heart is beating against your ribcage through the Force. 

Just a moment later, you arrive at your goal. Letting go of his hand, you turn to face him, stretching your arms out to the sides.

“Ta-da,” you announce in a sing-song voice. “I think it’s better in the daylight when you can see the landscape, but–”

“Look,” he interrupts, grabbing you by the shoulders and turning you back around to face the open space in front of you. “It’s not bad at all like this either.”

You can’t help the light gasp escaping your lips at the sight: there’s a short trail of lights along the shore on the other side of the lake, their reflections dancing in the water, but the rest of the forest is dark, allowing the starred sky to fully shine. There are no clouds obscuring the view, and the moons hang low in the sky, covering everything in a silvery hue. The stars seem to sparkle up above, and your eyes are mesmerised by them.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

Cal hums in response, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest both in surprise and anticipation at how close he is to you. Standing behind you, Cal essentially speaks into your ear and it sends a tingle down your spine.

“But you are more so.”

Your brain all but short circuits at those words, and you react only when you feel him gently turning you around to face him. Your hands shoot up to his biceps while he hesitantly places his on your waist. Is this really happening? 

You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out. you're once again completely lost in Cal’s eyes, now reflecting the map of stars in them, the usual blue turned a dark petrol in such little light, deep and rich and threatening to drown you. A threat you’ll gladly accept as a promise.

“I, uh,” Cal swallows hard, trying to gauge your reaction in the dark. “I hope I'm not crossing a line here.” 

“You are,” you reply, and for a split second you can see the panic wash over his face. “But I want you to.”

“Okay,” he says with a shaky breath, one hand coming up to gently stroke over your jaw with his knuckles. He looks away with a light scoff at himself. “I don’t actually know where to go from here.”

Your hands slowly inch upwards until you're holding Cal’s face, and he leans into the touch, momentarily closing his eyes, relishing the moment. 

“Wherever it is, let’s go together,” you say, and he smiles at you, which you mirror. 

He starts swaying you softly from side to side, and you chuckle, but follow his movements. For a few moments, you two dance under the stars to the symphony of the forest.

“I was so worried earlier today when you left alone,” he admits after a while, coming to a stop. “Not because I don’t think you can’t take care of yourself – I know how capable you are first hand. But the thought of something happening to you… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I feel the same, Cal. You’re so important to me. In this mess of a galaxy, you are my constant.”

Instead of replying, he finally closes the already small gap separating you, and captures your lips with his in a short but sweet peck. He pulls back just barely to tilt his head to the side slightly, kissing you again, his arms now properly snaking around your lower back to pull you closer. 

After breaking the kiss, you pepper some more all across his face wherever you can reach, just for good measure, ending with one to the tip of his nose, exaggerating the ‘mwah!’ sound. His chuckle is more akin to a giggle, and the sound is heavenly. He leans in again, this time to touch his forehead to yours.

For a moment longer, you just stand there in each other’s embrace, breathing in one another. Then Cal breaks the silence. 

“We should do this more often.”

You pull back to look at him.

“Which part?”

“Spending time together, just the two of us,” he says, holding both your hands in his as he sits down and pulls you down with him, and you lean your head on his shoulder.

"Hmm, I agree."

“Let’s message the Mantis again and tell them to take their time.”

You laugh, playfully pushing your body into his, and he laughs as well. 

And as you both look at the stars, you know in your heart that things will be okay. Everything will work out just fine. The Empire, Jedis, inquisitors. Right now, nothing of that matters. All you need is here beside you, and as long as you have Cal, you know you can take on whatever the universe has in tow for you next.

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!]

@DyByNyght, @galaxtic-writings, @kalea-bane, @soka-writes-things, @Padawancat97, @Riddikulus-Obsessions, @optimisticprime3, @starilicious, @ivelostmyabilitytoeven, @alternatescififandomelover, @lovelyygirl8, @Cathyket, @wildefire

[ask-tfone-megatron]

Decepticons, assembled! Today, I, Megatron, shall address a critical aspect of our conquest: open communication.

I don't wish to begin my regime with shrouded mystery, fostering skepticism. No more! I invite all to query me directly.

Fear not, for your curiosity will be rewarded, not punished. If I find your inquiry to be worthy of an answer I might also entertain you over my past as d-16.

Step forward, Decepticons, and inquire. Together, we'll forge an unstoppable force.

RP rules:

Yes rp is allowed in DM!! But in chat form and mostly in drama style! (I can't write paragraphs in chats)

I am paired with @ask-tfa-optimus so no romance or NSFW is allowed (even in chat as Megatron is a loyal bot)

Self and oc are allowed.

Whatever is in the DM .. will remain in the DM!!

If you wish for literature rp (not my best suit but you have to tag me in that post and if the scene is suitable for "TFO" Megatron to answer, he will)

Except a mixture of tfo and tfp Megatron while rp

(I will add more rules as I see suitable in future and if you wish to chat with the admin @i-am-here-to-interact you are more than welcome to do so as I won't mind it much)

How Megatron speaks:

Normal

RAISED VOICE

Yelling

*action*

How admin speaks:

(hello)

A little bit about Admin (me):

Mun is an adult.. for technical issues I had to restart my account again (sad I know) but rules are the same.

This is a sfw Blog so minors feel free to interact and ask!!

Muse will not answer any questions regarding politics, hate, abuse and anything negative. Those questions will be deleted without hesitation.

About muse:

Megatron is freshly after the tfo movie so the questions over d-16 are acceptable and welcome!!(Poor megs is sad and hurt)

This Megatron prefers to interact with intake before aiming his canon but do not mistake that as his weakness. He is still learning the curves of becoming a ruthless leader.

But he is soft for his lover and any sparkling in question

Muse and Mun's opinion will not always be aligned (mind it)

He is comfortable with the idea of multiverse as well.

Expect him to sometimes mess around and act more like d-16 and shit posting with other characters!(Whom he considers friends)

That gif is created by @naeella please follow them!

[emmitaaa4]

Addressing some fandom BS inconsistencies

Gwyn was shadow mommy, Az was shadow daddy, they were gonna have shadow babies with her extra super pliable bones.

I audibly chocked when I read this @nikethestatue (btw everything said in this post was on point). No but seriously this is how they sound, too many of them insisting that there is nothing wrong with basing the likelihood of a ship on who has the more suitable uterus to be with a man... cause supposedly they're just picking up on the hints SJM wrote for them? She likes babies for HEAs so ofc children are the end all be all of a relationship, plus there's absolutely no way that she could ever write an adoption plot SJM is literally adopted and has done it in other series. Selective reading strikes again.

A minimum amount of critical thinking would tell you that 1) the infamous *magical uterus change* scene was about nessian (& feysand), not about any ship; 2) if SJM had written Nesta changing Elain's uterus, it would have given too much away, not to mention 3) how disturbing/violating it would have been for Nesta to change her sister's reproductive anatomy WITHOUT HER CONSENT?! None of it makes sense narratively; my girl Nes would never, especially given the trauma they both suffered from having their bodily autonomy--and so much more--ripped away by the Cauldron.

This argument is so trivialized that I see it every other day on reddit/tiktok/*insert media app*, and yet elriels are the toxic side of the fandom? The ones whom people are allowed to insult, to ridicule for theories all made in good fun, the women that are villainized over a difference of opinion? Don't get me wrong, there's assholes on both sides and people keep calling one another variations of delulu (and the nastier personal attacks). But by painting this fandom-wide villain there is such a lack of accountability for the plethora of harmful talking points spread by other portions of the fandom. (I've been silently reading the anti-elain & anti-elriel tags for like a year, and I'm on tiktok. Yes, I have self-destructive tendencies).

Anyways.

I never understood either how people ever actually thought (or well still think) that gwynriel would happen BEFORE elucien?? It makes no sense logically, narratively, or in terms of characterization & the arc she's set up for Elain, Azriel, and Lucien. Yet it took one controversial bonus chapter for people to decenter Elain in her own story, that is make her choice of romantic partner--which SJM spent 3+ books setting up--Azriel's. It took one bonus chapter that soo many readers are still unaware of, to brush Elain off as a "sexual object" Az is using to distract himself until his therapist-extraordinaire Gwyn comes in and heals him all up. Because ofc she will: she's badass and not the "passive and weak and boring" Eplain (aka "Plant" or "brain dead gardener"), she fits the YA archetype of the spunky warrior-girl so she can handle his darkness, and SJM supposedly spent time fleshing her out because she wrote her as a LI for Azriel; she's made for him, she is what he needs to grow (I actually enjoyed Gwyn's character btw, just pointing out how silly it all sounds). “Next book is a love triangle between Elain/Az/Gwyn” “Elain will turn evil or is secretly evil”. So you're telling me that SJM would pit Elain & Gwyn against each other in a love triangle over a man... all because of a necklace that was not even mentioned once in the actual books? Please, let's be logical for a second.

All this because instead of reading the bonus chapter in the context of the books, some people are reading the books in the context of the bonus chapter. Which now that I think of it is probably why so many people mischaracterize Az the way they do--because yes we know enough of his character to know half of the stuff the fandom diagnoses him with is questionable. Azriel? Entitled incel x fuckboy hybrid (gotta be the first of his kind, minute slay ig)? Interesting tell me more. No joke I saw a semi-popular post on here where a gwynriel said they read the bonus WITHOUT HAVING READ ANY OF THE BOOKS. I'm sorry, ship wars are silly and believe it or not idc who ppl ship, but it makes it hard to take some of the things they say seriously.

All this to say that the fandom isn't even debating the right thing. If you consider everything SJM has said in her interviews:

(she's been planting seeds for Nesta & Elain's book since acomaf; she knows who she is writing the first 2 books about + is keeping things open for the 3rd one--with 5 different ship options--which automatically rules out "Elain will close the series"; she said she's doing research for Elain's book in the ACOFAS bonus & there's seeds for future bookS in acofas; all she said recently about her beloved *heroines* and the themes of fate/true love/choice she finds *very* interesting & wants to discuss)

and if you also consider all she's written in the actual books (elain's characterization + the overarching plot in general & how she fits into it), then it's pretty evident that Elain's book is next.

The question then would be who is the MMC / 2nd PoV in her book, aka would acotar 5 be an elucien or an elriel story? Because logically, gwynriel was always a consequence of elucien. I honestly do not understand how people don't see that.

Oh and they always think they're gagging elriels with the "obviously Azriel is the next MC" as if elriels aren't saying the same thing? And we're the ones twisting info and not making sense. It's just funny at this point.

---sidenote: I realize that this post generalizes some things, and I just wanted to say that I have interacted with lovely eluciens / people on either side of this headache of a ship war. My hard limit is Elain haters though... back off I say 🤺 BACK OFF 🤺

---sidenote 2: I would have written this as a reblog except im not entirely sure how tumblr works and I get no visibility from them rip.

[spockiguess]

The Evangelical Counsels || Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader || Chapter 1 - Introduction

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune / Chapter 2

Summary: After turning away another child from the orphanage her convent runs, the reader finds help in the one person considered irredeemable by the Church, Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse Regarding Minors, Mentions of Poverty, Homelessness, and Starvation Regarding Minors, Mentions of Violence Against Homeless People (including children), Period-Typical Depictions of Homelessness, Criticisms of Organized Religion, Romance Involving Nuns, Age Gap (~20s/~40s), Eventual Smut

Pairing: Fem!Nun!Reader x Laszlo Kreizler

A/N: Hello everybody! Sorry for disappearing for over a year, but as per usual, life gets in the way of very necessary fanfic-writing. Anyway, I hope to post more often, especially with this story, which I have already prepared this chapter and another chapter for. Warning: the tags stated in the warnings are an explanation for things that happen in the plot, they are not a "factor" in the romance between the reader and Kreizler.

New York City has always seemed to exist within a perpetual dichotomy of exuberant wealth that can flood the streets with ornate marble statues at a whim, whereas walking a few blocks in any direction might lead you to slums teeming with sickness and desperation. The rich that infest the country’s epicenter for culture and progress never notice this disturbing contrast, even when the hand of a small child reaches out, begging for help. This shameless apathy has always disturbed you, and that distinct, gnawing feeling of injustice only grows more unruly inside of the pits of your gut as you see the affluent dregs of society continue to live in purposeful ignorance.

Luckily, you're not completely powerless to the rich that practically rule the city. Being a devoted Sister at St. Vincent’s Orphanage has allowed you to help ease the struggle the children here suffer on a daily basis, albeit, it's not exactly to your standards. The convent you're aligned with is small, and St. Vincent’s Orphanage is even smaller. At this point, you've lost count of how many children you've had to cruelly turn away, the cramped space you serve already brimming at max capacity. Every time you have to look a child in the eyes and tell them that they can't get the help they truly deserve because of reasons out of your control, your resolve crumbles.

Almost always, a voice in the back of your mind tells you to wipe the child’s tears and take them home, give them the life they deserve–take them away from this overwhelming helplessness. But the vows you swore to years ago keep you as a bride of God, serving Him–and only Him–with the idea of rearing children on your own absolutely unacceptable. Your sole duty is to help these children survive until they ultimately find a suitable home.

And that's where you struggle to reconcile the issues of your faith. If you're to protect the children of this city at any cost and show them the unending kindness of the Lord, why are you having to carry a starved child on your hip while you march through the streets in search of the only place that can take them in–the one place your Sisters dare not go?

To ruminate on such a question, especially at this time, is a waste of precious energy. The young child you carry needs your attention, so you push aside your own deep-seated frustration and attempt to temporarily relieve them of their worries.

“The Kreizler Institute is an excellent place, Mona. Although they act in the absence of the Lord, their facility is magnificent, according to Mother Superior Ida,” you consoled, brushing locks of tangled hair from the child's face while deftly weaving past the crowds that surrounded you on all sides.

The child, whose name you found on the note she carried with her at St. Vincent’s doorstep, solemnly nodded against your shoulder, teardrops beginning to wet through the thick fabric of your veil. Once again, your resolve crumbled.

Having to bite your tongue due to the innate frustration of the situation, you hugged Mona tighter, believing that if she were close enough, you could imbue her with the strength and bravery to take on this unfamiliar place alone.

At the same time, you whispered to the girl in an attempt to empathize with her, “Oh, Mona. I know. I can't imagine how scared you are right now.”

That statement alone was too much for Mona, causing her to burst into blistering wails while her small hands balled into tight fists, grabbing at your garb as if she were bound to be taken from you at any moment. And that wasn't necessarily wrong. As of now, you were the only person she could fully trust, and in just one more block, you'd be disposing of her at another doorstep. All you could do was pray, and pray you did. Your hands shielded Mona, holding her close to your heart and soul while a litany of prayers flowed from your mouth like rushing rivers, perhaps drowning out the fears you both shared.

Mona only cried more, beginning to plead with you as your pace quickened, “Please don't leave me! Take me home with you! Please!”

It was all becoming far too much, and having ultimately arrived at the front steps of the Kreizler Institute, you fell to your knees and enveloped the girl’s body in yours. You didn't care how you might look to the cacophonous onslaught of strangers that filled the city’s sidewalks, the only thought in your mind was about Mona’s wellbeing. You barely knew this child, but your peers and superiors always chastised you for having too big a heart.

“I’m so sorry, my love, but you must be strong for me. They'll take good care of you here. You'll have whatever you could possibly need.” The sentiment was mostly to calm yourself as Mona’s arms just barely wrapped around your neck, but even then you could feel her hands clawing at the back of your veil, a desolate attempt to stave off the inevitable.

Your entire being ached; you had no idea how to soothe the girl, much less promise her safety. Just then did the idea enter your mind: you could lie to Mona. The situation showed no signs of getting better and you were at an absolute loss. Any other option you had would directly conflict with your faith, your future. Immediately, you fought off the preposterous notion of such a thing. Lying was a wicked sin, and most importantly, how could you betray a helpless child’s trust if this institute were to harm her in any way?

The only thing you could tell Mona was fickle in nature. It held no real promise and there was no way for you to tell if it would be true. Despite that, you were at your wits end. You couldn't let Mona back onto the streets of this city, not when she was so young–so frail.

You cautioned a deep breath and spoke as steadily as you could muster, “When more beds open at St. Vincent’s, I can come back for you. This doesn't have to be forever.”

There was no telling if and when more beds would free up, moreover, the rules regarding switching such care between temporary housing were complicated and strict. Mona could only be brought back to St. Vincent’s if serious evidence of wrongdoing were to be found at the Kreizler Institute, and to open such an investigation, especially if it were to be found pointless, would draw endless ridicule for not only the orphanage, but for your convent. In any case, your statement wasn't a complete falsehood. In the event of possible abuse, which you loathed to even consider, St. Vincent’s would seem much more appealing as an option for relocation. Much of the governing power in New York City still identified with any given denomination of the Christian faith. That being said, you prayed that Mona wouldn't have to experience such terror.

In spite of your worries, your reassurance seemed to calm Mona down, and her broken sobs ebbed into quiet sniffles. Carefully, the girl reared her head back just enough to look at you, her beautiful brown eyes shiny with tears.

“Do you mean it?” Mona asked, her voice raspy and barely a whisper. Dread sunk through your chest like a lead weight, but you forced a plaintive smile to further reassure the girl.

“As much as one can.” The words sounded bitter coming out of your mouth, and for good reason.

Mona’s head bowed before you brought her to your chest once more. Grimly, you swaddled the child and walked up the impressive steps of the Kreizler Institute for Wayward & Abandoned Children.

Once inside, your fears were somewhat quelled when faced with the sight of playing children racing around the elaborate halls of the Institute. A child’s laughter was one of the sure-fire ways to lighten your mood, and on such a day as this one, you needed the resolve to ensure Mona’s safety.

At first, your steps were careful and measured, the short heels of your boots clacking against the expensive marble flooring beneath you. In a couple more steps, you began to walk with a renewed confidence, especially once Mona’s head lifted from the safety of your veil to survey the interior. Eventually, you began to sport a slight smile when some of the children recognized you, ushering you over to their game of hopscotch, the bounds of the squares made up of colored string.

“Hey, it’s the nun from St. Vincent’s!” one of the children called. After that, the rest of the children recognized you as well and offered cheerful greetings, your presence a familiar sight from the dozens of soup kitchens New York City was home to.

“Nunny!” called one of the girls. She looked to be a year or two older than Mona, and after a pause, you finally placed where you’ve seen her before.

If your memory serves, the girl’s name is Alice, and she was just about the kindest person you had ever met. On multiple occasions when you had been volunteering your services at the kitchen closest to St. Vincent’s, she selflessly gave her food to people who had already been served, therefore barring them from officially receiving more that day. Alice had a particular knack for spotting those who needed it most, and was always eager to be of service. You recalled having to restrain yourself from encouraging Alice to join St. Vincent’s convent once she reached an appropriate age. You were firm on the choice that women had when it came to reciting the vows or not, and you wouldn’t use your position of authority to dictate otherwise.

A wide grin spread across your face as you began to rock Mona on your hip, earning a rewarding laugh from the girl, “Good morning, Alice. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time.”

Alice giggled, inching closer to you, “It’s nice to see you, too, Nunny.” Nunny was the lighthearted title the children you worked with decided on, explaining it was easier to remember than your true name.

Her mere presence made you feel better about the Institute–she wouldn’t be so giddy if the staff here weren’t fulfilling their duties.

“I was beginning to worry after not noticing your presence at the kitchen anymore,” you playfully remarked, chuckling at Alice’s nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry, Nunny. My friends told me about here and I sorta forgot to say anything,” Alice paused, quickly interjecting her own sentence, “but I would’ve sent you a letter if I knew your address!”

Barely able to contain your smile, you added, “Well, luckily St. Vincent’s will do. Do let me know if you’re allowed to send letters here so I can make sure to give you the proper address.”

Suddenly, you felt a menacing presence materialize behind you as Alice waved at the intrusion, “Hello, Mr. Kreizler!”

Turning to face the person Alice greeted, you were met with a stern-looking man dressed in exquisite textiles, no doubt imported from some far off land.

“It’s Dr. Kreizler, Alice. It’s best not to forget a person’s proper titles,” the man, presumably Dr. Kreizler, kindly instructed. Despite his intimidating appearance, he was gentle with the girl.

You were about to speak when Dr. Kreizler requested the children leave before returning to the daunting demeanor befitting a man of his stature, “I believe it’s well-known that servants of the Church aren’t allowed within these walls. Your kind has a habit of imposing nonsensical beliefs on the children.”

A feeling of hot shame washed over you, warmth tinging your cheeks, “I’ve been warned, Dr. Kreizler, but I’m not here to spread His word.”

Dr. Kreizler stiffened further, his mouth straightening into a thin line, “Then what is the purpose of your visit, Sister?”

Just as Dr. Kreizler cautioned, the Institute had a reputation for vehemently prohibiting the presence of any religious figures to prevent conflict amongst himself and the children. The wealthy alienist was unafraid of the feathers his atheism might ruffle, and he made sure to shield the children from what he called “propagandist doctrine.” Regardless of his blatant vitriol for religion, you hesitantly agreed with him on that particular stance. In your mind, religion was a choice for most people, nothing more. Even though you have devoted your life to His teachings, you hardly expected anyone else to do the same.

Slightly shaken, you pressed Mona closer to you, foolishly hiding her face from the man who might offer her asylum as you voiced your plea, “St. Vincent’s has been full for quite some time now, and I can’t turn away another child in need, Doctor. My superiors have spoken highly of your institute and I have no other options for her.” You motioned to the girl you still held, gently rubbing her back.

Dr. Kreizler softened at this, taking notice of the small girl you cradled. Prudently, he stepped closer, tilting his head to get a better look at Mona.

You continued, speaking more to Mona than to him, “I would personally care for her if I could. I don’t trust anywhere else in the city.”

Nodding, Dr. Kreizler spoke in a hushed tone, his focus entirely on Mona, “I understand,” the man paused before resuming, “it’s fortunate you see only the severity of the situation; I can’t recall a time when someone of your faith entered my facility with good intentions.”

Willing yourself to lighten the situation, if not for your sake, then Mona’s, you quipped, “A certain saying involving good intentions comes to mind, Doctor.”

The alienist smiled, the line narrow and somewhat forced, “Your humility is appreciated, Sister.”

“One can only have humility in a situation like this. I just hope that Mona will be able to stay here for the time being, at least until a bed at St. Vincent’s opens.” Your voice was light, hopefully soothing to the girl you aimed to protect.

At this, Dr. Kreizler attempted a joke himself, his accent making it decidedly sharper than yours, “Ah, I assume my institute still isn’t to your standards, then?”

“I don’t want to be here. I want to be with you,” Mona harshly stated, snuggling further under your veil. Dr. Kreizler stiffened, caught off guard by the confident proclamation.

You sighed somewhat, speaking to Mona first, “I know, my love, but Dr. Kreizler is a good man. He knows how to help,” then, turning to Kreizler, you whispered, “You can help her, Doctor?”

It was obvious to you that Dr. Kreizler had a weakness for children, if his facility dedicated to their health and safety wasn’t proof enough.

“I can help,” he said mostly to Mona before addressing you, “However, it seems the child has an attachment to you. It might prove helpful if you offered your assistance while I go over the necessary paperwork.” The last part was strained, almost as if he abhorred the idea of someone of the cloth helping him in any way.

After your tentative agreement, Kreizler swiftly led you to his office to begin Mona’s processing. Once inside, you took note of how the space was simultaneously tidy and luxurious, the walls and any available surface decorated with artifacts and hefty textbooks that featured gold lettering on the spines. The chairs you and Mona sat in were similarly fine, made with plush velvet and hand-carved mahogany that was the bulk of their appearance. Now that Mona had separated from your hip with much resistance, she allowed herself to be swept up in the opulence of the Institute. You couldn’t deny the finery of such a place, either. St. Vincent’s was noticeably barren, only housing the absolute necessities that fell in line with the ordinance of your faith and what orphanages require. It had been some time since you visited a place like this, and you weren’t sure whether to include Dr. Kreizler in the group of New York moguls that flaunted their wealth so readily, or if this was a sign that he took pride in the conditions the children here lived in.

The latter seemed to be the obvious choice given Dr. Kreizler’s treatment of the children so far, and his mission with the facility in general. The ostentatious socialites you encountered wouldn’t deign to entertain such a venture, especially if it involved the downtrodden youth of the city.

Dr. Kreizler’s voice startled you out of your stupor, “Did any adults accompany Ms. Walker when you found her outside of St. Vincent’s Orphanage?”

“No. Mona was alone,” you quickly supplied. Dr. Kreizler scribbled the information on a sheet of paper, the sound of his fountain pen filling the nearly silent room.

“Other than a last name, does Ms. Walker know any other identifying details about her parents?” Kreizler asked.

You faced Mona, watching her run the pad of her pointer finger against the raised engravings of the chair’s arm, “I’m afraid not, Doctor. The only information I have regarding her parents is vague. She says they were never around much, to begin with.” Dr. Kreizler gave a curt nod and returned to his form while you reached out and smoothed Mona’s hair.

After a brief moment, Kreizler returned his attention to you, “You’re sure that Ms. Walker hasn’t run away?”

Mona’s head snapped up and you clarified before any upset could be caused, “The only thing Mona had with her was a short note from her mother. It says that neither her mother, nor her father, can afford to take care of her anymore, hence her appearance at St. Vincent’s.”

“And this isn’t a note Ms. Walker crafted herself?” You knew the reasoning behind Dr. Kreizler’s questions, but couldn’t help but feel offense on Mona’s behalf at the coldness of his tone. You had to reassure yourself he was only ruling out any possibility of Mona’s parents returning and claiming her.

Drawing the note from a pocket hidden on the underside of your apron, you reached across the expanse separating you from the doctor, “I’ve saved it–just in case.”

Dr. Kreizler took the piece of dirtied paper from your hand before sitting back in his chair, carefully unfolding the note and analyzing the contents.

As he did this, you allowed yourself to express your thoughts on the matter, “The handwriting is too legible to be from a child this young, especially from one whose had no formal education so far,” suddenly feeling another wave of sorrow take control of your heart, you continued, “I’m not sure Mona can even write.”

Kreizler clicked his tongue before folding the note and placing it into a fresh file he had procured at the beginning of this meeting, “I would have to agree with you.”

Some time passed as you helped Dr. Kreizler finish the paperwork that would allow Mona to stay at the Institute, and before long, the young girl would drift off to sleep in the chair beside you. You figured this was the first time in a while that she had been able to fall asleep easily, and a spring of hope flourished within you at the thought of Mona having a warm bed from now on.

Finally, Dr. Kreizler realized Mona’s lack of response and watched her sleeping form contemplatively, carefully setting his pen down and rising from his seat. The action caused you to rise, too, stepping closer to Mona’s chair and gently patting the top of her head.

Allowing yourself to smile at the sight, you began to speak before matching Dr. Kreizler’s gaze, “Might I help bring Mona to a bed?”

Kreizler smiled, too, this time being more genuine and warm than before, no doubt a symptom of Mona’s peaceful slumber, “I think Ms. Walker would greatly appreciate that.”

With great care, you brought Mona into your arms once again and rested her head on your shoulder, happily listening to the sound of her snoring.

Looking back at Dr. Kreizler, you nodded once, smiling as you spoke, “Thank you for your help, Doctor. I hope you can forgive me for my sudden appearance today, I’ll make sure to keep a great distance between myself and here when possible.” Kreizler softly laughed at your humorous comment, closing the distance between you and him.

“I give you permission to access these premises if another situation like this occurs in the future,” Kreizler paused, his smile widening, “Do take note that that only applies to you.”

Suppressing a laugh, you shook your head in understanding, “Of course, Doctor. Although, I don’t think my Sisters would care to come here. Some admit to being afraid of your kind.” You mirrored the doctor’s earlier comment, teasing him slightly.

For a moment, Dr. Kreizler stared into your eyes, squinting as if he were searching for something within them, before questioning you with a mischievous tone, “My kind?”

An even brighter smile spread across your features, a playful twinge in your words, “Atheists.”

At last, the serious man in front of you laughed without restraint, and you felt a foreign heat rise in your chest, “I should’ve known. A being worse than the criminals that populate this city.”

Shrugging, you teased again, “Their apprehension is unfortunate. If they’d take the time to know someone like you, they’d realize how good natured you all can be, sans religious obligation.”

Dr. Kreizler hummed in agreement and took a longing glance at you before making his way to the entrance of the office, “The threat of eternal damnation has never been a driving factor in my operations, Sister. I believe more people are like that than some would care to admit.”

Thoughtfully, you considered his statement while walking to the door, softly rocking the girl in your arms, “It is a grievous assumption of the human condition, one I hope isn’t true.” Kreizler met your gaze as he absently opened the door, his dark eyes stoking the flames you felt stir within you.

Not sure how to continue, and thoroughly scared of the strange feelings that were beginning to take root in your being, you bowed your head and walked through the door, Dr. Kreizler not far behind.

The journey to one of the many dormitories that the Kreizler Institute housed was long, but not without interest. Children and staff alike were all around you, contributing to the comfortable nature of the space with their rambunctious chatter and lively games. While Mona comfortably rested against the surface of your coif, you surveyed the massive paintings that lined the intricate halls, all pieces of fine art that could easily belong in a museum. The pictures mainly depicted positive scenes, like meditative studies of lush landscapes, or vibrant portraits of greatly important figures.

Kreizler noticed your intrigue and began to comment on the decorations that marked your path, “It’s important that the children here are given just as much access to the arts as anyone else might have. Multiple studies have shown that exposure to art and music drastically improve the quality of life for people of all ages, especially those suffering from mental or physical ailments.”

You hummed, pleased by the new information, “Which is your specialty–the minds of children?”

“That would be correct, Sister. I dedicate my time to helping those who society deems unworthy of such kindness,” Dr. Kreizler informed, curtly waving to the swaths of youth who soared past with beaming grins and loud hellos.

“Then a noble man, you are, Dr. Kreizler. I don’t know many people–rich or poor–who would carry out the necessary work you do on a daily basis,” you bleakly commented. You were all too familiar with the spiteful indifference the country suffered from nowadays.

Kreizler turned to face you, not losing a step in the process, “Not even members of the faith?”

A gnarled guilt churned in your stomach; Dr. Kreizler wasn’t wrong. In fact, most people who proclaimed their allegiance to any branch of Christianity had not only become attached to the pervasive apathy that threatened to consume all, but were, in most instances, the reasons behind it. Many of the folk who attended church regularly looked down on the work you did, citing that it was unbecoming for a woman of your calling to share a space with the sinful and uncleanly. To them, the “beggars” of the city didn’t deserve charity, no matter how helpless.

“Unfortunately, no,” drawing a tentative breath, you explained, “A startling number of them are of the mindset that the impoverished somehow deserve the dismal circumstances they’re often forced under. No matter how hard I, or my Sisters, might try to teach them otherwise, they’d rather have some claim at superiority than help their fellow man.”

Dr. Kreizler questioned further, “And why do you think that is?”

Readjusting the girl on your side, memories of the mistreatment children like Mona face from such a lot consumed your thinking. Supposed Christians would go out of their way to abuse the young and homeless, either through stealing their clothes, food, or makeshift homes, or by pelting them with stones picked up off the streets. Seeing the reactions they could garner, it would only spur them to escalate, for no other reason than abject cruelty. Their only defense was that it was their duty as followers of Christ to punish those who didn’t seek to cleanse themselves of sin. It was a strong enough argument as not many people, Christian or otherwise, would find the bravery to speak out against these actions disguised as a shared religious responsibility.

Finally, you came to an answer, and it wasn’t one you were proud of, “Because it is easier to hide behind an all-powerful God than it is to do what is objectively right, even if the Lord urges His followers to sacrifice for others at all costs. They think that because they attend church and give donations to the congregation that they are guaranteed a spot in Heaven.” The anger was palpable in your voice, and your cheeks burned at the realization.

Quickly, you supplied an apology, “Forgive me, Doctor. I forget myself.”

“Don’t apologize, Sister. Your honesty is refreshing. I haven’t met a nun so critical of her own faith before,” Dr. Kreizler remarked.

Appalled, you defended yourself as the three of you rounded a corner, “I am simply critical of the people who claim to share my faith. I do not renounce His word.”

Kreizler led you to a door marked with a golden plaque that read: Girl’s Dormitory 1. The alienist ushered you and Mona through, a vexing grin on his face.

“You do not find yourself questioning His teachings, Sister?” Kreizler asked, his amusement plain.

Entering the dormitory, you found two rows of beds situated on opposite sides of the room with hefty chests at the foot of each one. Drawings made up most of the decorations in the room, besides the toys that had been left out on each girls’ bed. Beside each cot sat a nightstand with an oil lamp adorning the wooden surfaces, giving the room a warm glow. On the chests were small name cards, written by the owner of the bed. Quickly, you picked one without a name and walked ahead of the doctor, cheeks heating once again.

Dr. Kreizler pushed further, following you in stride, “Your silence is quite the answer.”

Deciding to avoid the question for now, you proposed another instead, “I presume this would be Mona’s?” The Good Doctor nodded and you sunk down to lay Mona on the comfortable mattress that engulfed the girl’s slight frame.

Heaving a hearty sigh, you knelt beside her, pushing hair from her delicate, auburn face. Quietly, you spoke to the alienist while keeping your focus on Mona, “May I say goodbye to her, Dr. Kreizler?”

Deciding to ignore your deflection of the previous subject, Dr. Kreizler responded, “That would be best.”

You whispered a faint thank-you before rousing Mona. The girl’s eyes struggled to open at first and there was no doubt this has been the longest stretch of sleep she’s been able to secure.

Mona took in her new surroundings as she reached for your hand, “Do I get to stay?”

Smiling, you affirmed her question, “Yes, my love,” you paused, remembering another critical piece of information that came during the walk to the dormitory, “Dr. Kreizler also gave you permission to come back to St. Vincent’s whenever there’s space.”

Mona’s face brimmed with unadulterated joy, “Really?”

Dr. Kreizler chimed in to quell any of Mona’s doubts, relaying that she would be able to request visits with you whenever she pleased.

“Well, what if I want to stay here and only visit with Nunny?” Mona had picked up the silly nickname during your brief exchange with Alice, who you hoped would look after her in your absence.

The alienist laughed, “That works just as fine, Ms. Walker.” Only then did you sneak a glance at Dr. Kreizler, just in this instance beginning to appreciate his handsome features now that you were able to see more of his good nature.

Kreizler noticed your staring, however the grin that surfaced while interacting with Mona hadn’t ceased, instead only growing in intensity. The tips of your ears began to grow balmy, forcing you to tear away from his knowing stare in order to rebalance yourself.

“Just make sure to give Dr. Kreizler ample time to prepare for my visits, Mona. You’ll have weekly meetings where this can be negotiated,” you instructed. Mona giggled, nodding earnestly before leaping up to wrap her hands around your neck again.

You leaned forward and rubbed soothing patterns into her back, grateful that her care was finally secured.

The embrace lasted sometime, causing Kreizler to point out Mona’s silence, “It seems Ms. Walker has fallen asleep again. We should allow her time to rest.”

Taking your cue, you rose and followed Dr. Kreizler as he left the dormitory, both of you stopping just in front of the now closed entryway.

Even after sharing a sweet moment, Kreizler didn’t allow you to escape his interrogating so easily, and scratched the scruff of his thick beard while pressing you for answers once again, “If I recall correctly, you hadn’t answered my last question.”

The space between you and Dr. Kreizler had become dangerously small, and in such close quarters, you could smell the heady scent of his expensive cologne. Your brain fogged, an overwhelming combination of feelings still unknown plaguing your body and mind.

“That is because I have never thought to question His teachings before, Doctor,” as you resumed the subject, words tumbled from your mouth without much control, creating quite the mess.

Your eyes widened when you heard the statement slip from you so easily, drawing a deep laughter from the man in front of you. If not caught up in the whirlwind of what you had just implied, you would have noticed how the honeyed sound made your heart squeeze deliciously.

Dr. Kreizler’s already overpowering confidence increased tenfold, and you could hear it in his voice as he remarked, “That’s right. One of the few things they don’t cover during your novitiate. It’s quite interesting.”

Too many emotions were beginning to flood your mind, and that was as much a danger as what Dr. Kreizler was proposing in the first place. You needed to leave immediately and right yourself before something inexcusable happened.

Bowing your head in submission, you eked out an apology that came out faster than what you were apologizing for, “Forgive me, Doctor, but I must leave. I am forever indebted to you.”

You left before Kreizler could answer, unwilling–or more accurately, unable–to handle whatever else could come out of that sly mouth of his.

[kociamieta]

oh my god ph my god

i love thirteen flowers bloom s much jaga what are you doing

BROS is silly too. the bnuuy

whats their relationship? is there anything more about either of them you can share…

ha... fell right into my trap... so sorry

they're good friends - i mean, all four of them are friends, VOS not included for obvious reasons - but TFB and BROS' interactions are quite chill. BROS is probably the only one willing to actually listen to her visions of the world rebuilding itself after the ancients' influence diminishes (HS doesn't want to acknowledge it due to "respect for their creators"; SDA would probably enter a critical state upon hearing it). they both express disappointment in the limitations of their superstructure (puppet included) bodies - experiencing things via overseers isn't enough. BROS probably knows TFB's slugcat friends the best, after her, of course - she'll often send them any data she finds interesting, and sometimes they'll send something in return, too.

fun facts:

TFB's slugcat "army" wasn't created by her - a wild colony found her can a suitable place to live, which she's delighted by. there are many creatures near her structure that she befriended, as much as possible, but none have gotten to that level before. she's hoping to befriend scavengers someday. it's not going very well for now.

BROS is indeed silly . never having treated their purpose too seriously, they now spend their remaining days listening to whatever their friends have to say and attempting to become the world's first iterator acrobat, as you might've seen in like. every other post in which they are spinning around. at this point, their data storage could serve as a backup for each of their friends.

I now wish i had tagged all the rw oc asks i answered a while back properly, there's some more information in there . somewhere </3

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Fluffuly 2024, #26 'Catch me if you can' for Thunderbirds, TOS or TAG, Jeff and Lucille please

Catch Me If You Can

“I got you.”

Jeff’s unplanned downward trajectory was arrested by arms wrapped around his chest. As his wife hauled him back upright, he felt his cheeks warm with the familiar frustration of his newly discovered war with gravity.

“Thanks.” His embarrassment made the word gruffer than he intended, and his wife turned him around to face her and held him at arms length as she looked at him critically.

She grinned. “Aww, you’re embarrassed. That’s so cute!”

Jeff sniffed. “I am not ‘cute’. Puppies are ‘cute’. Kittens are ‘cute’. Babies are ‘cute’. Teenage girls think teenage boys are ‘cute’. I am a fully grown man. I am ‘handsome’. I am not ‘cute’.”

Lucy grinned. “You may be a fully grown man, but you’re a fully grown man two weeks back from an extended space mission. You’re galumphing about and tripping over your own shadow like a baby giraffe. Hence, ‘cute’.”

Jeff scowled, displeased by the comparison, and by his own weakness.

Lucy stepped closer, and wrapped him in a hug, which, after a moment’s hesitation, he reciprocated.

“You’ll get your balance back, Jeff,” she murmured into his chest. “You were warned about this. You just need to take your time, stick to the exercise schedule they gave you, and you’ll be back to your old self in no time.”

Jeff sighed. Yes, he had been warned, but – like all the rookie astronauts – he had paid it little mind. Some things, it seemed, had to be learned for yourself. “Yeah,” he mumbled back.

Lucy tightened her grip, and started rubbing patterns onto his back. Knuckles digging into tight muscles. “So what’s on your exercise programme for today?”

Jeff ran through the schedule in his mind. “Cardio,” he groaned, the thought of spending time on the treadmill or cross-trainer installed in the new enclosed patio room had little appeal.

Lucy didn’t stop her ministrations. “Treadmill or cross-trainer?”

“Free session. Forty-five minutes of elevated heart rate.”

“Uh-huh.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes, before Jeff slowly smiled. “You know, I can think of something more fun than the treadmill or cross-trainer than results in an elevated heart rate.”

“Oh?” Lucy didn’t look up at him, but he could feel his wife’s arched eyebrow and smirk.

“Yes. And, you know, because they brought that mission forward, we didn’t get to go on our honeymoon…” Jeff’s hands started moving down his wife’s back.

Lucy pulled back then, to look up at him. “Oh, yes?”

“Uh, huh,” Jeff loosened his embrace, intending to explore what was, while not a new frontier, one that he was still in the process of mapping adequately.

He was startled when Lucy caught his wrists, stilling his hands before they could reach their intended destination, and holding them in the space between them.

“Somehow, I don’t think that meets the Space Agency’s parameters for ‘cardio’,” she said, mock sternly.

He deflated. “Oh.”

She shifted her grip so one hand held both his wrists, before ‘walking’ her other hand up his chest, in tempo as she spoke slowly and deliberately. “But I think that if you do your exercise like a good boy, it could be considered a suitable reward for good behaviour.”

That got his interest. “And what exercise might be considered ‘good behaviour’’?”

Lucy considered, her head tilting just so as though she was critiquing one of her paintings. “Well …” she reached over to the sideboard and picked up the stopwatch that had been discarded there after Jeff’s last exercise session. “… how about … running?”

She clicked the stopwatch on and darted for the door. “Catch me if you can!”

A few seconds of disbelief, and Jeff shook his head, and took off after his wife.

This promised to be much more fun than the treadmill.

Notes:

The original request was for “TOS or TAG”, so of course I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try and make it work for both...

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕦𝕥𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕣 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴛᴇᴄʜ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʜᴇʟʟᴀ ᴀᴅʜᴅ (ɪᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ ꜰʀꜰʀ)

⋆ ★ ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ᴍᴀꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴇᴄʜ ʙʀᴀɪɴ ʀᴏᴛ 24/7 ꜱᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ? ᴍᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʜ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ!

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Tech is a hardcore nail-biter. 

A fiddler too.

If his other hand isn't preoccupied while one curls around his datapad or the wheel of the ship, it's by his mouth, absentmindedly tearing at his nails and the skin surrounding it.

The habit isn't due to anxiety; perhaps it did come to be from it when he was a young cadet still trying to navigate his role and purpose as a defective clone, but now it is just a simple habit he isn’t able to break.

You fuss about it all the time, the second you see him raise his fingers to his lips you slap them away.

“What was that for?” He asks softly yet critically. 

You click your tongue, flashing him a look of mutual understanding, but he still feigns confusion. You roll your eyes.

“You know damn well it’s bad for you,” you say. “You gotta break this habit."

He turns away, looking down at his datapad again, and responds rather nonchalantly,

“What else am I supposed to do while I work?”

You pout, shrugging as you lean in closer to his side where you both lie on the couch.

“I can get you some sort of toy to fiddle with. One of those little stress balls, magnets…”

“Hm…” Tech hums, interrupting your train of thought. You gaze up at him in curiosity; his eyes still haven't strayed from his datapad. “Perhaps you could be my fiddle toy," he continues.

You're almost completely taken aback; your eyebrows raise and smile bewildered. What does he even mean by that?

“What?” You say under your breath.

“Here,” He says.

Quickly, the hand not holding his datapad wraps around your wrist, gently holding it up. While he’s still completely transfixed on whatever was so fascinating to him on the blue screen, you watch as he maneuvers the two of your hands around until they interlock softly.

"Like this," Tech tells you. His finger grazes offer the soft skin of your knuckles, softly rubbing patterns over it. Your heart swells and you lean into him closer, squirming in your spot ever-so-slightly as you're unable to contain your giddiness; you can't take your eyes off of the view. You really do have the cutest boyfriend.

"Now, is this more suitable?" He then asks you. You giggle into his solid arm and lower your hand to rest on your lap. As his head finally turns to look in your direction, you lean up and leave a soft kiss on his cheek, biting back a grin.

"Definitely."

tags: @pb-jellybeans

[its-jaytothemee]

A Burden Shared - Part I: The Fight (1/2)

Pairings: Astarion x Tav, Halsin x Tav, Astarion x Tav x Halsin

Word count: 2,645; Tav and Astarion POVs

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Read on AO3

Next

Summary: A group sparring session turns sour, and Astarion becomes very protective of Tav. Halsin goes to comfort Tav afterwards and ends up confessing some feelings he's had for a while now.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Feelings Confessions, Spoilers for Act 3, Sparring, Protective Astarion, Soft Halsin, Tav needs a fucking hug.

Author's Note: The tadfools get a filler episode. No explicit material yet, but will be present in a later chapter. Part 1 is finished, hopefully part 2 can be uploaded sometime in the next week or so. Will switch between a few character POVs, for now I only have Tav and Astarion. Enjoy! :)

The city was in far worse shape than Tav could have imagined. They arrived in Rivington to find the town overflowing with refugees, learned of Gortash’s impending coronation, and learned that Duke Belynne Stelmane had been murdered. They also found out that Orin was a shapeshifter, capable of taking on the appearance of anyone she wished. Doppelgangers had infiltrated Jaheira’s squad of Harpers, and to add salt to their wounds, Raphael was lurking around Wyrm’s Crossing trying to tempt them into a deal for the Orphic Hammer. They had arrived at the city gates a day and a half ago, and still had no suitable way to get into the lower city.

At the Emperor’s insistence, they all headed to camp early even though it was barely midday. Given the state of the city, they realized that they needed time to re-evaluate their plan of attack. Tav was still unsure of how much trust they could place in the Emperor, but she could feel it mirroring her own anxiety around their surroundings. They trudged back through the muddy roads of Rivington, making their way to their camp on the outskirts of town. An ethereal voice glided into their thoughts.

“I need time to reconsider our approach. Stelmane’s death does not…bode well. Take the time to rest, it is hard to tell when you will be afforded another opportunity to do so.” The Emperor’s voice disappeared from their minds as quickly as it came.

“So, what now? We just go lounge around at camp? Drink wine and not kill anything?” Astarion asked with his typical melodramatic flair.

“We could go back to the circus!” Karlach yelled, running up and throwing an arm around Tav’s shoulders.

“I am not taking any chances of running into more murderous clowns, Karlach.” Astarion shot back, jumping to the other side of Tav and looping his arm through hers.

“I never even got to get my face painted.” Karlach pouted.

“Chk.” Lae’zel was trailing behind the three of them, a sour look on her face “We waste time ‘resting’ when we have no wounds that need healing and our minds are still sharp. We should press on into the city.” She had been particularly critical of Tav lately, their time in the Astral Prism didn’t help with that.

“Easy Lae’zel,” Jaheira chimed in, “if we try to force our way into the city right now, we could attract the wrong kind of attention. I recommend caution.”

“Let’s just head back to camp. We should catch the others up on what we’ve found, and I don’t think we’ll be getting into the lower city right now with Gortash’s coronation so close.” Tav decided.

She was still unsure why they all looked to her for these types of decisions. Ever since they crashed on that beach, she was assumed to be the default leader. Tav had been doing her best to keep this unlikely group of companions together. It helped that they were all really quite fond of one another now. Only a few real fights had broken out amongst their ranks, most of them stemming from varying states of exhaustion and were fixed by a good night’s sleep. With each new ally they recruited, her imaginary authority grew. Even with the addition of Halsin and Jaheira, two wise leaders experienced years beyond Tav, they still looked to her for guidance. To make things worse, it wasn’t even just her camp of companions that was looking up to her. So many of those they had met on their journey here talked about how she was the hero who would save Baldur’s Gate, the hero who would save them all.

But now they had finally reached their destination. Home. Tav was trying to maintain her composure, but she was starting to panic. This was a big city, and they had ticking time bombs in their heads threatening them more and more each day. If they didn’t find out how to take out Orin and Gortash, she doubted the small artefact she carried would still be enough to protect them when an elder brain was unleashed onto the city.

Her brow furrowed as she concentrated, trying to piece together any plan that could get them closer to getting these tadpoles out of their heads. She had some old friends in the City Watch, maybe they could tell her if anything strange had been happening. But there was always a chance that they were loyal to the Absolute as well. She had a contact in the Thieves Guild but would prefer to use them as a last resort only.

“Tav? Tav?”

Astarion’s voice startled her out of her thoughts.

“Hm? Sorry, what were you saying?” She shook her head slightly, trying to bring herself back to the present.

“Just making sure you were still there, darling. You seem…distracted lately.” He smiled softly at her.

“Ah, just the fatigue of a hero. I guess.” She joked, trying to keep the mood light. If they needed her to be a leader, she didn’t want to burden anyone with her worries.

“Now you see why I prefer skulking in the shadows over basking in the spotlight.” He still had his arm looped around hers.

“Well, it’s not like you had much of a choice between shadows and light before, my love.” She teased, leaning into him.

Astarion was about to make a quip in response when they were spotted by Gale at the edge of their new camp.

“You’re all back rather early, that’s not usually a good sign.” Gale’s chipper voice called to them.

“We ran into some unexpected complications.” Tav replied. “We may need a new plan for getting into the city. Wyrm’s Crossing is crawling with Flaming Fist loyal to Gortash. Not to mention all of the murders and the fact that the cult of Bhaal has apparently recruited every shapeshifter in the godsdamned realms.” Her frustration was creeping into her tone. When she looked around, everyone was looking at her again. She let out a small sigh.

“Let’s get everyone gathered, see what we can come up with.”

As everyone gathered in the middle of the camp, Tav debriefed the rest of the group on what they saw in Rivington and Wyrm’s Crossing. Jaheira detailed the encounter at the Harper safehouse, also telling everyone about her search for Minsc of Rashemar. They discussed the multiple murders that included Duke Stelmane. The topic of Raphael was a short one, as pretty much everyone agreed that they should have no dealings with the devil. Finally, Orin was the point of discussion. Bhaal’s bloodthirsty chosen had already proven to be a complication. She could change shape in the blink of an eye, which meant she could be anywhere. Tav tried to listen as everyone talked around her and over each other. She rubbed her heavy eyes, trying to convince the headache she felt coming on to stay away.

“So then, what’s our next step?” Wyll’s voice piped up as everyone finally started to quiet down.

When Tav looked up, she realized all eyes were on her again. She looked around the camp at the tired faces, all waiting for her to tell them what to do. And she had absolutely no idea what that was.

“We uh,” She started, trying to search through the fog clouding her brain, “we need to find a way into the lower city first and foremost. Maybe we can con our way into Gortash’s coronation.”

“What good will it do us to attend a ceremony that is so obviously a farce?” Lae’zel’s commanding voice countered. “We don’t have time to play the political games of your realm. We must press forward into the city as soon as possible.” Her yellow eyes were fixed on Tav.

“The Emperor needs time to figure out how we can get the other two Netherstones. If we just – ” Tav was cut off by Lae’zel.

“I will not wait around to be given orders by a ghaik.” Her tone told Tav that this was not a topic she was willing to discuss.

“What would you have us do Lae’zel? Fight our way through the entire city?” She could hear the exhaustion seeping into her voice. “You saw one of those Steel Watchers, the city is supposedly crawling with them. We’d be lucky if we made it to the Elfsong Tavern."

“Tav is right.” Jaheira spoke up next. “We need to find our way into the city…quietly.” She looked at Lae’zel.

“Chk” Is the only sound they heard in response.

“Why don’t we all just take a rest today?” Tav suggested. “Gods know it’s been long enough since we’ve had more than an hour to relax.”

There were some mumbled sounds of approval, and everyone sort of shuffled off towards different areas of camp. With her small crowd dispersing, Tav finally felt like she could breathe.

“You should take your own advice.” A deep voice called from behind her.

Tav looked over her shoulder to see Halsin leaning against a barrel. She smiled weakly and walked over to him.

“That’s funny, I could have sworn I told you the same thing all those nights ago after the goblin camp.” She teased. He smiled at that, causing her heart rate to pick up a bit.

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid my mind was still rather clouded back then.” He looked back out over the camp. “You’re exhausted, Tav. I see the fatigue in your eyes, I hear the strain in your voice.” His voice was much softer now.

“I don’t have much of a choice, Halsin. Everyone here is looking to me for answers. Answers that I just don’t have.” She was once again aware of the headache trying to force its way into her eyes.

“Here, I have something for you.” He held out a small potion vial. “This will help keep those headaches away.”

She took the vial and immediately downed the whole thing. It had a very strong herbal flavor, the initial bitter notes faded into a sweet aftertaste. She could already feel the small ache starting to fade causing her to let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks.” She smiled at him.

“Anytime.” He said with a nod of his head. Before he turned to leave, he gave her one last lingering look, causing her to blush slightly.

Tav watched him walk away, the soft breeze was blowing his hair around his ears. She admired the shape of his arms, suddenly finding herself wondering what it would feel like to be caught between them. Her eyes continued to wander further down his body, taking in the shape of his hips and thighs. Another thought took over her mind as she imagined digging her hands into his thighs, slowly making their way back to his backside, how it would feel to be pressed against his–

She felt her face redden at the thought and snapped herself out of her fantasy. A huge wave of guilt crashed into her as her eyes landed on Astarion. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t feeling a little…pent up since their time around Moonrise. For the most part, it didn’t bother her much, just in moments like this when she was feeling particularly overwhelmed. Regardless, it was worth the frustration if it made him feel comfortable. She had noticed such a change in him over the last tenday or so. He seemed so much more relaxed than when she first met him, actually taking the time to rest at night rather than prowling around the camp. His nightmares seemed to be fewer and further in between. Her desires were nothing compared to watching him peacefully enter a trance while laying in her arms each night.

He caught her staring and flashed his devious little grin at her, not helping her contain herself. All she was able to manage in return was a tired smile. She walked over to him and slowly slid her arms around his waist, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Hello, darling. What was that for?” He hugged her to his side.

“Do I need a reason?” She responded, trying to hide the shame still swirling around inside of her.

She stood there holding him for a few moments, listening to his soft breathing.

“Are you…alright?” He asked her, concern apparent in his voice.

“Of course.” She lied. “Seeing the city in this state is just…overwhelming.” She looked up at him and tried to flash a reassuring smile.

He eyed her in return, obviously suspicious.

“I’m fine, love. Really.” She was trying to convince herself as she said the words.

“I…I want to be here for you, my dear. Like you have been for me.” His voice softened.

“I know…” She whispered back. “And you have been.” She was telling the truth. Just having Astarion around her did make her feel better. She just couldn’t bring herself to admit to him that she was struggling. And she definitely didn’t want him to know about her…other frustrations. He was just starting to open up and trust her, she couldn’t bear the thought of him pushing himself too far on her behalf.

“Hey! Lovebirds!” Karlach yelled at them. “Those weapons looks like they could use a good sharpening.” She was holding her own weapon over her head to show them.

Tav let go of Astarion’s waist and picked up her sword.

“Come on, let’s at least take a chance to fix up some of our gear.” She helped Astarion gather up some other weapons and brought them over by the rest of their group.

***

Astarion had come to enjoy the smell of the oils they used to condition their armor. The sound of scraping whetstones filled the air around them, an oddly comforting sound now. Everyone in camp was sitting in a circle of sorts, tending to their weapons and other equipment. Tav was sitting next to him, cleaning dried blood and Gods know what else off of her large sword. Astarion knew something had Tav feeling down, but she wouldn’t way what it was. He didn’t want to push her, he knew that she would talk to him when she was ready. But he wanted to at least try to cheer her up a little bit. Give her a small confidence boost, maybe.

“Tell me, darling,” Astarion started, taking on a flirty tone, “are you really proficient with any type of weapon?”

“Ewww. Keep it in your pants, Fangs.” Karlach called from the other side of the circle.

Tav laughed in response. “Maybe not any weapon. I definitely favor my greatswords and greataxes, but I suppose I can make do with just about anything. My instructor was adamant that a true fighter shouldn’t rely on only one skill. You never know when you’ll be disarmed in a fight.” She shot a teasing look back at him.

“Ugh, it was one time. Honestly Tav, you act as if no one has ever made you drop a weapon.” He had his hand on his chest, feigning offense. 

“Hard to disarm me when they’re knocked to the ground.” She smirked.

“Feeling cocky today, are we?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she gave him a playful grin. “Maybe the others would be interested in a little sparring session then?” She was still smiling back at him, but before she could respond, Karlach leaped from her seat.

“Fuck yeah!” She yelled. The others joined in, already starting to argue about who would go first.

“Let’s see if you can hold on to your weapons against us, darling.” He looked back to Tav and winked. He knew it was unlikely anyone in this camp could actually beat her in a one on one fight. Surely an afternoon of showing off her combat prowess would lift her spirits a little bit.

[protectoroffaeries]

thinking more about my reply to this post (in the tags) & coming to the conclusion that a lot of pro-jedi & anti-jedi discourse that i've seen on tumblr seems to come from this idea that the jedi being well-meaning & theoretically correct AND their delivery being so botched that it is harmful & practically wrong for anakin skywalker are mutually exclusive rather than a critical aspect of the prequel's story.

& while i was thinking about this, i was pondering a real-world example to help demonstrate that these things are not only both present in the prequels but integral to the story it tells. so uh. tw for discussions of self-harm & obligatory i am not a mental health professional disclaimer - but i am someone who has self-harmed & who loves many people who self-harm.

most people are familiar with the trope of someone - usually a loved one - seeing someone else's self-harm scars & saying "oh please stop doing that, stop for me if you can't stop for yourself" & i can confirm that people do say things like this in real life, which is understandable - it's shocking, worrisome, hard to comprehend if you've not done it yourself. & i think we can agree that this sentiment is 1) theoretically correct, in the sense that self-harm is dangerous & can kill you pretty easily, and that, because of the danger it posses both physically & mentally, it should be stopped as soon as possible (likewise, anakin's lack of emotional control & especially his deep fear of his loved ones dying is pretty obviously harmful to himself & his relationships with them, so it makes sense that he should be encouraged to find a healthy way to cope) & 2) that this sentiment is well-meaning - this person doesn't want you to hurt or to be in danger (& i come down on the side that the jedi council at large does genuinely want what's best for anakin - i doubt they would tolerate his outbursts if they didn't).

however, it's also at best an unhelpful thing to say & at worst a motivator for the person to hurt themselves further. 1) it fails to acknowledge that people generally have a reason as to why the self-harm - for me, it provides relief from overwhelming stress & it allows me a semblance of control. i wouldn't rid myself of that much-needed outlet without an alternative for anyone, not even the people who love & care about me the most. (likewise anakin skywalker is not going develop any sort of emotional control or peace without some sort of real world assurance that his fears are both valid AND managable) which brings me to 2) it doesn't provide any tangible alternative or differing course of action. (i find the directive that anakin simply give his emotional overflow to the force similarly wanting - he finds his own passions to be his primary drive & telling them to give them up without a suitable replacement is gonna be nigh impossible). 3) this approach centers the feelings & perspective of the person speaking, not of the person who is self-harming. it reenforces the idea in #1 that not only do they not understand, but they don't care to. (likewise the jedi council by & large does not understand anakin's perspective nor do they care to, they just want him to adapt to what they think the best course is bc his emotions make them uncomfortable/don't align with their teachings. to extend the self-harm comparison, think about how many christian clergy react to confessions of self-harm from their congregants).

[cjaus]

╰┈➤ updated: 11/03/24

☁️ : 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒 ִ࣪𖤐

꒰ঌ𓁺໒꒱ ˚｡⋆ about me !🕸₊˚⊹⋆

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𖤐: Pronouns : he/him

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𖤐: Current interests: Mother/Earthbound, hfjONE, Inanimate Insanity, Sonic, Pokémon, Psychonauts, Nintendo

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[scienceoftheidiot]

@littlewitchbee I hope you don't mind that I take your tags as a prompt to make a post 😅😅

Long story short Hayate is not a suitable breed (overall what is used is Labs, Golden Retrievers, various Shepherds like German, Swiss, and a number of collie mixes, and Poodles (the big type)). Shibas are too short (Roy would break his poor back lol) and too independant and strong minded.

Hayate is also not trained for this as a puppy and idk about other countries but here guide dogs are very reglemented and they have to be trained starting very early or they are deemed dangerous. They can only be trained by professionals and this is only and entirely done by non profit organisation.

Also judging from manga, animes and side stories, Hayate isn't particularly fond of Roy and vice versa even if he tries lol. (Shameless advertising for my own fic where Hayate bullies Roy for four chapters)

Now we're going more into interpretation here but , if you'll allow me, I see Roy as more of a cane + sighted guide dude, ie being guided by people who can fill him in with information about the people and stuff around that he can work with, and being somewhat used to ask all kind of stuff to be done by his subordinates and relying on them I think he would go this way (his subordinate and sighted guide being RIZA I mean who else). Not everyone is fit or even wants to use a guide dog, and that's okay.

Second, I don't see him being into caring for a dog, and guide dog or not, a dog is a dog, and you have to take care of it, walk it, brush it, play with it, etc. And like. We're talking about a man who survives on coffee, who works overtime 24/7, who is a damned Colonel (VERY high rank) who still sleeps in the break room (when not at his desk) cleans up in the common bathroom, and doesn't own furniture in his own flat. (You also probably know that I don't think the Amestrian army would allow him to keep his job, but that's another story 😅).

TL;DR Roy is not really a dog person, obvs. And Riza could benefit from an emotional support service dog and this would fit Hayate better.

(this is only my opinion and shared in good humour, because I did research guide dogs for my main OC. Don't take this as criticism, I'm just sharing thoughts ^^)

[sineala]

WIP excerpt meme

So @kiyaar tagged me in one of those "post an excerpt of one of your WIPs" memes approximately two weeks ago and I have been sitting on this meme not answering it because it was Ki tagging me so I wasn't just going to post fluff, and then over this past weekend I wrote some current-canon Steve/Tony angst that I figured would be suitable to use to answer this meme and now of course Ki has already seen it and is betaing it and I still have to read through the beta comments, lol.

I somehow wrote an entire 5000-word story in about 14 hours, eight of which in the middle there I spent sleeping. Current comics canon continues to be very, very good to me; I have A Lot Of Feelings about Tony currently pretending to be drunk so the villains will think he's not a threat to them. Also I had some constructive criticism about his plan, so I gave it to Steve.

"You're undercover," Steve says, flatly. "You're staggering around, pretending to be drunk. When you leave here, you're going to go to the Hellfire Club and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with every single one of those amoral bastards. You're going to down drink after drink. And you're going to act your heart out. And everyone who sees you will believe you're absolutely wasted. But, in reality, you'll still only be drinking ginger ale. That's the plan, right?" Tony licks his lips. He's still pale. "Yes?" he says, uncertainly. His voice cracks. He's clearly not thinking straight. Which is understandable, because Steve's scaring the life out of him. "That's-- that's the plan." "Right," Steve says. "So have you considered the fact that anyone who gets within three feet of you is going to notice that they don't smell liquor on your breath?" Tony's eyelashes flutter in the dimness. He blinks rapidly. There's a little more color in his face now. His lips round. "Oh," he says, so softly that it's nearly soundless. "Yeah," Steve agrees. "Oh."

Not tagging anyone because at this point I have no idea who has a WIP, but feel free to say I tagged you if you would like to share your WIP.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 22

"What's the bad news?" / Poison / Bedridden / Cauterization

Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1500

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: naval battle, arrow wounds, leg injury, cauterization, fire powers, blood, screaming, medical whump, caretaker POV

A/N: A bit of pre-canon whump for Trials of the Six that dives into Raiann, Aquilar, and Elya's friendship before the Plot.

----------

Raiann was lucky enough to be below decks when the other ship was spotted. She was hidden away in her tiny cabin, doing her best to repair a shortsword with the limited materials she had at her disposal. Cursing the blade's smith, her hands moved methodically, back and forth, back and forth, buffing away the dents and scratches in the edge with a whetstone. Not for the first time, she wished she could melt the blade and start from scratch, creating a better sword than the talentless fop who had clearly scammed his way into becoming a smithy.

Inspecting the blade, Raiann finally determined it would be suitable for its purpose and put away the whetstone. Stretching, she absently wiped her hands onto her skirts before realizing her mistake as her fingers left gray streaks on the colorful material. Hissing through her teeth in frustration, she sheathed the sword and rose, stalking out of her quarters and through the passageway in search of the blade’s owner.

Raiann was, unfortunately, unlucky enough to be on deck when the crew discovered that the other ship was flying pirate colors. By then, of course, it was too late.

An arrow thunked into the deck inches from Raiann’s foot. She jumped and whirled about, searching for the source as sailors around her shouted and ran about the deck. On the quarterdeck, Aquilar spun the ship’s wheel, expression focused. The water churned around the ship, propelling it forward and advancing on the enemy at an incredible speed.

Raiann spied the sword’s owner, the captain, standing near Aquilar, shouting orders in Tectuma and gesturing wildly to the enemy ship. Raiann closed the distance between them, climbing onto the quarterdeck and thrusting the sword at her. “It’s ready.”

“Ah!” She slid the blade out of the sheath and gave it a cursory glance before buckling the sheath onto her belt. She nodded before turning away and resuming her shouts. Raiann’s Tectuma was spotty, but she’d picked up enough to gleam that she was urging the crew to prepare to board.

She wasn’t sure who had called out the warning for the next volley of arrows.

What she did know was that the shout came too late.

Thunk.

Aquilar stumbled back with a cry as an arrow slammed into his thigh. The water went still, the ship drifting, his concentration disrupted. He hit the ground with a thud, hands grasping helplessly at the arrow. Raiann was at his side in an instant, dragging him away from the helm at the captain’s gesture.

The captain took hold of the wheel, and the water began to churn again, keeping their ship on course as cannonballs hit the water nearby, the waves this time under her command. “Get him to Elya!” she ordered, intent on the enemy ship.

“Of course!” Raiann pulled Aquilar to his feet, wincing as he cried out again, heavily favoring the injured leg. She supported his weight, helping him down from the quarterdeck and belowdecks, not wanting to push too far and injure him more but also not daring to linger too long.

When they finally stumbled into the infirmary, Elya immediately took over, grasping his arm and taking on his weight as she lowered him to the floor. All the color had drained from his face, and his skin was slick from sweat. She crouched beside him and tore away the fabric surrounding the arrow wound, inspecting it with a critical eye. 

Aquilar hissed through his teeth at her touch. “What’s the bad news?” he asked, a wane smile breaking the pained expression on his face. 

Elya ignored him as she continued to study his leg. “Raiann,” she finally said, “When I pull the arrow out, I’m going to need you to cauterize the wound immediately.”

Raiann blinked. “You want me to what?!”

Elya rose and crossed the room, rummaging through the cabinets full of various glass bottles until she found a short, round one with a dark liquid inside and a taller square bottle holding clear liquid. “Cauterize the wound, yes. Burn the flesh around it to seal the blood vessels. Keep him from bleeding out. You are a Fire Mage, are you not?”

“I am…” Raiann hesitantly said, eyes flicking back to Aquilar, who slumped against the bulkhead, his breathing labored. “But I’ve… I’ve never done anything like that….”

“That’s okay,” Elya said reassuringly, returning to Aquilar’s side and pressing the round bottle into his hand. “Drink. It’ll help the pain.”

He did so without protest, and she carefully set the empty container aside, looking back to Raiann. “You see that small knife there, on the table?”

Raiann located the indicated tool and grabbed it. The knife was thin, the blade about as long as her hand. She noticed faint black streaks close to the handle, where cleaning was more difficult. Scorch marks, she guessed, or perhaps soot from a flame.

Elya smiled reassuringly. “Good. Now I need you to heat the blade as you would a piece of metal in the forge.”

Raiann hesitated but obeyed, reaching out to her Mage energy and allowing its familiar warmth to roll through her. She let the heat rage through her mind, breathing deeply to maintain control of its natural hunger. The flames tamed, Raiann stretched out her free hand and directed the energy down the limb, collecting in her palm like how water would drip down an angled surface.

She snapped her fingers.

Flames burst to life, brought into being by the friction of her fingers and the intense desire of the fire to be free of her. But even as they swelled out from the source, Raiann reined them in, confining them, guiding them. Forcing them to grow hotter and hotter until the flames turned blue.

Satisfied, Raiann passed the knife through the flames, holding it in the heat as the fire begged to be released, as it fought against her mental restraints. She’d never had to hold it so tightly, for fear of what would happen to the wooden ship should her hold break, and it sensed that fear, tried to attack that weak point.

The blade glowed red. Her work was done.

Raiann drew the flames back into herself, smothering the Mage energy as it roiled and fought, furious that it would not consume. The flames were strong, that much was true. 

But Raiann was stronger.

The moment the fire was gone, Raiann shivered. The infirmary was suddenly freezing in comparison to the heat that had flowed through her moments before. She shook her head. She had a job to do.

Elya grasped the shaft of the arrow, close to where the arrowhead pierced Aquilar’s flesh. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hands curled into fists. The healer made eye contact with Raiann, who nodded and knelt on Aquilar’s other side.

When Elya removed the arrow, she didn’t yank it. No, she moved slowly and methodically, careful not to hurt her charge any more than necessary. A low groan escaped Aquilar’s lips as the arrow slid out, the foreign object free from his leg. As blood began to pour from the wound, Elya took the square bottle and dripped some of its contents onto the wound. If the liquid pained Aquilar, he didn’t show it.

“Press the knife into the wound,” Elya directed.

Raiann gritted her teeth and acted as ordered, wanting to look away but all too aware that she could not. The blood hissed as it came into contact with the hot metal, followed by a sizzling sound that set her hair on end.

Aquilar gasped softly, eyes widening as he registered the action.

And he screamed.

His hands went up, trying to push her away, but Elya held him down, an unreadable expression on her face. Raiann wanted to cover her ears, to block out the sound betraying the incredible agony he was experiencing, but she could not. 

She wanted to close her eyes, to not see the evidence in front of her, but she could not.

She wanted to pull away her hands, the hands that were hurting him, burning him, making the wound worse, but she could not.

Elya was the one to pull away the blade. The healer would know, after all, when the wound was properly cauterized. Raiann scrambled away, almost tossing the knife aside before her sense of logic caught up with her and she carefully set it back on the table.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and looked back at Aquilar.

She couldn't tell if he was still conscious. His eyes were shut, his body motionless as Elya cleaned the blood away and began to dress the wound. Sensing the Fire Mage’s eyes on her, Elya glanced up and nodded. “He’ll live,” she said in reassurance as she continued to wrap the bandages around his leg, “It’ll be a while before he can walk properly, but that won’t affect his role. You did well, Raiann.”

Raiann’s face heated, almost as if she had accidentally touched her Mage energy. “I… thank you, doctor.”

Elya shook her head. “Please, just call me Elya.”

“Oh… thank you, Elya.” She shifted uneasily, glancing toward the door. “I should… I should check in with the captain.” With those words, she turned on her heel and fled the infirmary.

He would be fine.

The wound will heal.

She did well.

And she didn’t set the ship on fire.

Raiann smiled to herself. Perhaps she was good for more than just a forge.

[lothli]

About Tumblr, My Writing, and Finding Home

This is a personal post unrelated to news about my writings, and as such, is quite possibly dreary and uninteresting. I do apologize. As a courtesy, I've included a Keep Reading.

I spent around a month on Tumblr, from the end of September to the start of October, and I've observed many interesting posts from many people. I've also learned new things, such as what a whump is and other such writblr-exclusive terms.

But in a way, the more I learn, the more I understand the differences between myself and the wider community.

Most of the time, I do not write romance, especially regarding shipping of existing characters. I understand that this is quite an important part of the Tumblr community, what with the "antis" and the "pro-shippers" all running amok. For the record, I still consider myself a pro-shipper; what other writers wish to write is none of my business. It's just something I find little interest in doing.

I am a queer writer, but I feel like my work is not "queer" in the same way as many other very talented queer writers have. This kind of leans into the lack of romance; for my original characters, you'll never know if they're gay or ace or bi or het, simply because it's just not something I ever have them think about.

I find myself lost, unable to find a real home for my original works. Tumblr and Ao3 are suitable places for An Unmaking to live, and I am glad that the folks here seem to enjoy them somewhat. However, long posts don't seem to be in vogue on Tumblr, which makes some sense. This is a blogging site, not a writing site.

My one-shots fit in alright, but I also have short stories that simply don't fit here. Serialization is something I find great difficulty with on Tumblr; it's why I've given up posting An Unmaking here.

Ao3 and FF.net are both fan-fiction-dominated pages. Sure, I could probably post original works on both, but it doesn't feel quite right. It's not a home.

I've looked into other websites, but Wattpad seems unappealing in general, and I've never heard anyone say good things about the site outside of nostalgia.

RoyalRoad makes sense, but the demographics feel strange as well. I am not a LitRPG or Portal Fantasy writer, and the works feel pretty skewed toward a straight male-leaning audience. This isn't criticism; it's simply that I am not straight or male. In the same way that I do not fit in Tumblr's shipping and romance, I do not fit in RoyalRoad's power fantasies.

I'm not someone who chases stats or engagement. I simply want a place where my original works feel at home, where it feels like my work is something that belongs, instead of a strange hanger-off that does not quite fit in with the rest.

For my Secret History readers, an analogy: A creature of Winter and Sky is looking to settle. But the first is a place that is too full of yearning, too dappled for it to truly rest. The next is warm and comforting but also sharp in a way it is not. From place to place, it flits, looking for somewhere to make its home but never truly finding it.

If you've read this far, thank you for indulging in a painfully conspicuous and inexperienced outsider in her ramblings. If you have any suggestions for where my works may roost, please let me know in all the myriad of ways that Tumblr lets you interact with me. Frankly, I've probably missed some. Maybe there's some tag that fits me that I'm unaware of, too.

None of this will affect An Unmaking, not that I've been consistent with its upload schedule. Thank you for reading.

-- Lothli

[power-chords]

“If you have to turn your brain off to like something it’s probably not good for you” (set of tags I just saw on a mostly Whatever post about escapist fiction that I take issue with the framing of more so than the general animating sentiment) — OK first of all this is not a suitable metaphor because it presumes that “enjoying a thing” and “being fully, consciously, deliciously aware that it’s dumb as bricks” are binary and incompatible states. Like. Again. Here we are at “you have reducible complexity.” Second of all, why does art need to be my vitamins or my health food or whatever. Can’t you trust me to indulge in Culturally Dominant Narratives responsibly?

Forget for a moment that “escapist literature,” at least as the English term applies in western literary studies, is a category spanning multiple fictional genres with historical patterns of use that are already resoundingly negative; that science fiction, fantasy, horror, and folklore of all stripes have all fallen under its banner; that certain forms of escapist literature like dime novels and comic books were the purview of marginalized writers whose race or gender made them persona non grata in more “respectable” publishing circles; that the claim that “escapist literature” is inherently unchallenging and has nothing to offer but comfort is itself a flawed assumption that various theorists have been railing against for decades. It’s the sanctimonious, alarmist TONE of these posts which even in their most benevolent expressions (I.E. no one is being instructed to kill themselves for reading stuff) manage to overstate the threat of…………. reading entertaining stuff. This is not to say that escapist fiction should be free from criticism (on the contrary!), but I sometimes get the impression that Tumblr users are inventing literary boogeymen out of some pretty insular AO3 and Booktok anxieties. And inventing hypothetical readers who intake narrative information like passive receptacles for Problematic Suggestion, who lack any capacity for more active, sophisticated synthesis. Skill issue!!!