#can be interpreted as a different thing though

[doctorho]

dripping velvet, purring dark

Academy era Viktor x fem! curvy reader, 4.5k, no warnings only love in this house (ok there is a conversation about some people being idiots which can be interpreted as the reader getting unwanted attention at a party but it's nothing graphic or anything i promise and no-one is mean to her) also i made viktor horny and slightly subby because that's what the gremlins in my brain wanted. you're welcome. yeah! hi! not sure what this is, but here you go. the reader is described as she/her here (and curvy, and soft, and she is wearing an evening gown, because i wanted to think about pretty dresses). idk. have a thing. happy friday.

Viktor likes to think of himself as a person who's usually capable of focusing on things pretty well. On the task at hand. Give him a faulty circuit and he'll poke at it long enough to find the broken component, no problem. An error in the calculations? He'll find that missing minus sign or forgotten exponent, easy. He'll strip a wire in his sleep.

The task at hand now, though? The problem?

He had to sit through a whole evening of presentations at the academy end-of-year party, put on a polite face for the investors, and pretend not to care that one idiot after another was lining up to flirt with you while he was watching from the sidelines. You were wearing a dress that felt sinful to look at, and there was something primitive gnawing at the inside of his chest begging to be let out, and he had to just stand there and nod through the conversations, pretend he wasn't slowly boiling from the inside out.

And he was failing miserably. 

He’d known he was in trouble from the moment he saw you that night – all expensive fabric covering smooth curves and soft-looking skin, sparkling eyes and easy smiles, and he’d been done for. Before this, it’d been much easier to compartmentalize his feelings; before this, it'd been easier to ignore them. 

Before he’d kept his distance, emotionally and physically speaking, because, well, it’d been easier. He'd seen you around the Academy, all bubbling laughs and raw-honest radiant smiles and confident solutions, and he'd known that you looked…appealing, but he wasn't in the habit of holding up any illusions about what you might think of him in return. His place was in the dark dusty corner of the lab, turning over the ever-ticking problems, while you were out there shining like the sun. And sometimes you came by the lab, with new ideas or suggestions or just to borrow some equipment or ask about a shipment, and he had resigned to his role of staying at his desk pretending he wasn't burning to be closer to your orbit. 

But when he sees you in the low lighting of the party, leaning to the bar and laughing, something just breaks in him. And then he can’t pretend to ignore it any longer. And sure, maybe he’s a little bit drunk, it was easier to stand these events that way, but it still feels like a solid-honest truth in his bones that he wanted to get closer to you, and suddenly he couldn’t stand the conversation he was in the middle of. Because one of them – the sour idiots he’d catalogued in his head for the whole night, the stupid people trying to impress you with their embellished stories and inherited wealth who weren’t worth your time – one of them was circling you like a hyena again, smiling.

You were wearing a dark, floor-length gown that wasn’t, on a purely technical level, much different from what about 50% of the other guests were wearing. However, it seemed to create a significant caveat that even though there wasn’t anything indecent in the dress itself, seeing it on you made him feel like maybe he shouldn’t look at you for too long or he might spontaneously combust. There was a slit on the side that revealed a more than generous amount of leg when you walked, and his focus kept wandering from that to your silhouette, the soft curve of your hips, your chest, your face – no, that’s worse, don’t stare, she'll notice – and truly, he had to force himself to keep his eyes at least vaguely on the vicinity of the person who was currently talking to him. Something about statistics and return investment. Yes. 

He nods, pretending to look interested.

The dress drapes over your hips in soft little cascades, the fabric shimmering lightly as you moved, and something in his brain was itching, begging to run his fingers over it, to know what it feels like, to know what you feel like under it, all soft and warm and pliable under his fingers, and preferably sighing something into the crook of his neck, and–

“We'd like to get our investment back within a year,” the guy that's talking to him says – Viktor can't even remember his name, and he doesn’t really even care – and he just shifts his eyes back to the guy slowly. 

“A year?” he repeats, with the barest amount of feigned interest, and the guy goes off in a whole new tangent. Viktor shifts his posture, and lets his eyes glide over to where you were again. 

One of those idiots, one he thankfully doesn’t have the displeasure of knowing personally but who must be the son of some crooked diplomat, says something to you and you scoff through a smile, roll your eyes, and lean further into the counter at the bar. Viktor has to pretend to be present for his own conversation – yes, the new coating material for the wires was more heat-resistant, no, there was still the issue of mechanical stress, they were working on it – and you say something in answer to the current idiot (third of the night, he’d counted), and it is killing him that he doesn’t know what it is. 

You’d turned down the first two, from what he could tell. But this latest idiot was still talking to you, like he was in any way entitled to your company. And it's making something inside Viktor raise its hackles, and he doesn’t especially like feeling like that, because he couldn't justify feeling like that to himself in any tangible way, and then it all just boiled down to a resigned even if she deserves better than that i have no business dictating that for her. 

He's just about to focus on the conversation he was supposedly participating in again when something happens. He can't make out the details, but imbecile number three seems to lean way too close to you, says something, and smiles in a way that makes something cold creep down the back of Viktor's neck. And your expression coldens, too, and you say something to him, and turn away, more rigid than you'd been the whole evening. 

“Excuse me,” Viktor is saying to the Investment Guy before he can fully think it through, his own voice feeling distant in his ears, and then he's walking to the bar. 

You're alone – the idiot had had the sense to leave you alone quickly, at least. That's good. Viktor isn't sure what he's doing, but then he's leaning to the bar next to you and ordering another drink and trying to look like he isn't thinking too hard about what to do next. 

“Whatever he just proposed to you,” Viktor says slowly, looking over the bar instead of directly at you, “I assure you you can do better.”

He can hear you take a deep breath, shift a little, and sigh it out with what sounded like almost a laugh. 

“Yeah,” you agree, “I don't know what it is about people like that that makes them think they can just…” You sigh again, and make a hand gesture towards the room. ”You know.”

“Unfortunately,” he answers, resigned, “yes. I do.” 

He gets his drink and thanks the bartender, and then leans to the counter too, mimicking your posture, holding the drink and letting it swirl around in his glass. “Have you talked with anyone actually worth your time tonight?” 

You hmm. Then, “there was a little girl earlier that told me some fascinating things about insect metamorphosis.” You say casually. 

And Viktor laughs. Without meaning to, he laughs, and you smile in response, visibly relaxing a little.

“I don't think she was on the guest list though.” You continue. 

He hums in response, and rearranges his grip on the handle of his cane. “Sounds much more interesting than the conversations I've been in tonight.”

“I know,” you answer, and he can hear the smile in your voice, “you think we could swap out one of the main speakers with her?” 

He hmms again, looking over the stage thoughtfully. “I think it would count as a public service,” he nods a little, considering the list of speakers yet to come, “what do you think, who'd be a good target?”

You shift in your place, looking over the same list of speakers, plastered over the walls on both sides of the stage. “The financial talk,” you answer, “Mr. Ross. I'd much rather listen to insect facts than another boring talk about investing.”

Viktor nods. “You distract him, I'll whack him unconscious?” he offers, and you laugh. You laugh, and it warms something in him. 

“And then what?” you continue, still smiling, and he has to look away to keep his composure. 

He shrugs. “Eh,” he answers, “we drag him to a bathtub somewhere and act like he just passed out there?" He shrugs, "I happen to know three ways to get out of this room that I'm pretty sure we could use unnoticed.”

“Uh-huh,” you answer, “and then we just find the girl and ask her if she wants to talk about bugs for half an hour. Easy.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, “and then we congratulate ourselves for making the evening better for everybody.”

"Except maybe Mr. Ross."

"No," he counters, looking over the crowd, "I think he would prefer a nice little nap. Surely not even he wants to hear himself talk all the time." He takes a sip of his drink, "and I think waking up in a bathtub would be a nice change of pace to the rumors of other places he seems to have a habit of waking up in after events such as these."

“Good point,” you shift in your place, settling to lean to the counter a bit closer to him. “Perfect plan. But why'd you get to whack him unconscious and not me?”

Viktor blinks. Lifts one eyebrow. “Because you are by far more distracting than I am,” he answers, “and I thought the plan could use the distraction.”

“I don't think that's true,” you answer, “I think you're plenty distracting on your own.”

Now, he lets himself look at you. Really, properly look at you, and not even half-trying to hide it. You're smiling now, shoulders relaxed, holding your drink with fingers wrapped loosely around it, and in the warm lights of the bar there's a golden glow on your skin, and something breathless at the bottom of his stomach is aching to get closer to you, to touch you, to see if his hand would fit on your waist as well as he thinks it would, to see how you would react to that, if he could make you smile in a different way, what sounds he could get you to make for him–

“Agree to disagree,” he says, averts his eyes, and takes a sip of his drink. 

Tries to tell that wild-hungry purring thing in him to behave. 

Someone reasonable comes to talk to you – and it's about work, which is…something, probably, he has to stop himself from thinking it's better than those earlier idiots, because who's he to decide that for you? He gives you a casual wave and a nod as you depart with a smile and get swept up in the conversation about new ideas and solutions and this-new-thing you've been looking at. And he watches as you start talking excitedly, all golden and glittering, easy conversation and confident smiles, and quietly (not-so quietly) he concludes that maybe you hadn't had many worthwhile conversations with any of the guests that night because you were the most worthwhile person in there to talk to. 

He stays there sipping his drink and wondering what would be the closest appropriate time to slip out. He'd made an appearance, and technically nothing could be expected from him beyond that point. Sure, Jayce might tell him he could've stayed a bit longer, he could use the support, but nothing dramatic would happen. 

The party drones on, and he makes no effort to move – and really, he tries not to think about it too much, but that was at least in part because he wanted to keep looking at you. He promptly ignores this, even when you're laughing at something someone else said and that heavy-dark-purring something at the bottom of his stomach doesn't like it very much. 

Someone comes to ask for his opinion on something, and with a tiny sigh, he lets them pull him into the loop of conversations again. Yes, we are trying to simplify the design, no we can't cut back from the materials, they are what they are for a reason. 

Somewhere around his third ‘Why would you think that?’ of that particular conversation, he's had enough. People were stupid, and he's had enough. He's just trying to come up with ways to get out of the conversation preferably without starting a scandal of some sort, when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turns around to look at who it belongs to, and then everything in his head is quiet for a moment. 

“Hey,” you say, smiling, “sorry to interrupt, but can I steal you away for a moment?” you ask, slipping your hand feather-light down his arm, and he has to suppress a shiver. 

Viktor furrows his brows and opens his mouth, and then, like an idiot, says nothing. But he turns to leave, thankful for the window of opportunity.  

“You remember that thing we talked about before?” you continue as you steer him away from the earlier group smoothly, “I found someone who's interested in those three escape routes you had up your sleeve.” 

“Who?” he asks, because that's the only thing he can think of. You've linked your arm with his, and you're leaning on him, and you're soft and warm and you smell good, and he doesn’t trust his ability to form a full sentence. 

“Me,” you answer, “and judging by how you just looked out there,” you continue, “you.”

Viktor swallows, and something in his brain purrs at the idea. 

“This way,” he says, nodding towards an old stage exit, and honestly, he doesn’t even care why you want to leave, he's just grateful for the distraction and the company and drinking in every warm square inch of skin contact that you're willing to give him, even if it is just walking with your shoulder pressed against his. 

If it turned out to be a plot where you actually wanted to whack someone unconscious, he'd worry about that later. For now he was just happy to leave, and happier that you were leaving with him. 

It's easy to slip away from the crowd, and into the space between the stage curtain and the wall, if you know where you're going. You effortlessly fall a bit further from his side but keep his hand on yours, letting him pull you along, and quietly he wonders how and why and holy shit. He decides not to question it though, and keeps walking through the dim space between the cold old wall and the cascades of warm heavy velvet curtains. 

“Do you want to leave the party,” he asks, voice quiet now that the background buzz of people was muffled by the curtain, “or just get away from it?” 

You hmm behind him, clearly through a smile, and he makes the mistake of looking back at you. Surrounded by the dark red velvet curtains and only slivers of light from each side, his head – and the rest of his body – get entirely the wrong idea of what you're doing in there, because you look like a goddess in the small dim space, and he might crumble into ashes if he keeps looking at you, or he might do something stupid like pull you closer and press you into the wall, to see if your eyes would widen, if you'd gasp from the cold wall, if he could find other ways to make you gasp–

so he turns his eyes away and keeps talking. 

He quickly finds he has to clear his throat before he can do that. “There is a staff entrance that goes past the kitchen a little ways further,” he says, and motions forwards, “or there is a disused indoor balcony surrounding the stage. You would be able to see the party, but it'd feel…removed.”

You lean closer, close enough that when your voice is muffled by the surrounding velvet, it feels like you're speaking right in his ear, and he has to swallow and remind himself that that's just situational coincidence, nothing more. 

“Why do you know so many ways to get out of here?” you ask, “You sneak out a lot?” 

“I am a fan of interesting architecture,” he answers, “and not as much a fan of pretentious social gatherings.” 

“Fair,” you answer, then lean your chin on his shoulder, and he feels like his spine might spontaneously melt. “In your expertise, what would you recommend?”

“Well,” he says, trying to make it sound casual and like he wasn't breathless at all, “I think the balcony has some fairly interesting architecture.” And the lights of the party would look pretty from there. And you'd both get a breather away from the crowd. And he'd get to keep talking to you a little bit longer. And, as selfish as the thought felt, he couldn't deny it; he'd get to keep having you to himself for a little bit longer. 

“Show me the balcony,” you smile, and he obliges. Happily, he obliges. So he pulls you into a narrow staircase, and then, up. 

At the end of it there is a room that could, only by technical definition alone, be called a balcony – it was more like a hole carved into the wall, having at some point been used for seating or equipment space at events and concerts, and now just served as half-forgotten extra storage. It had, he supposed, once upon a time looked like the banquet hall did, all smooth surfaces and warm lights and thematically switched-out decorations, but now it was mostly the standard red velvet and dark wood and light marble, forgotten by the party and some of the golden light from the hall spilling into it by pure coincidence. There were velvet curtains on each side of the room, and you drop his hand to go look over the railing, and down at the party. 

His hand instantly feels cold without yours in it, but he tries his best to ignore this, and follows you to look down at the party, too. 

It looks much smaller from up there. Less chaotic. 

“I didn't know there was a space like this here.” You say quietly, “can they see us?” 

“Part of the design,” he answers, “you're not supposed to notice these spaces unless people want you to. Good place to hide extra orchestra pieces and make it feel like the sound is coming from nowhere. And–” he looks over at the people, colorful and mingling, “no, they can't. Not unless you want them to.” Then, he smiles, just a little. “But they'll be able to hear us, if we direct our voices upwards and wait for things to quiet down there first.”

You turn to look at him. 

“Sloped ceilings,” he explains with a shrug, “again, good for a hidden orchestra accompaniment.” 

“But they can't hear us talking?*

“Not over themselves,” he answers, “ironic, I know.”

You hum thoughtfully and turn around, with your back to the railing, and then you look at him and he needs to kick his brain back in line. You were gorgeous in the dim lighting, all relaxed and smiling, and–

He grips the handle of his cane a little tighter. 

“Good,” you say, and the way you say it – all quiet and warm and liquid – makes something in him purr again, entirely against his better judgement. 

“Why is it good?” he asks, because he has to hold on to some semblance of logic here, because otherwise he might just vaporize out into the atmosphere. 

“Why do you think?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, and oh that just isn't fair. You're just there, just a warm breath of space away, all soft and pretty and languid–

He doesn’t know what to say, so he goes with what feels like the safest course of action. 

“In case we want to plot any more ways to violently derail the evening's program?”

You exhale a small laugh and lean back. 

And then you lift a hand on his chest, and he's pretty sure his heart might be overheating soon. 

“Sure,” you answer, “that.” You inch closer, and Viktor is having a hard time remembering how to breathe. “Or anything else we might not want them overhearing.”

“Like?” He exhales, careful not to break the moment, and then you smile, warm and private and for him, and his insides liquify into warm, honey-thick goo, and oh, he’s not going to recover from this. 

“Like,” you repeat slowly, and then you push yourself away from the balcony railing, just slightly, into the side of the wall covered by the velvet curtain, and he lets you pull him with you, he's not stupid. His brain – along with the rest of his body – might be in the process of actively melting, but he's not stupid. If you wanted to pull him into a shadowed, velvet-covered corner, he would follow no questions asked, especially on a night like this when his insides were buzzing and you looked like that. When you looked at him like that. You smile again, and stop moving when your back hits a wall, and then you pull him just close enough to whisper into his ear. “...Anything else we might not want them overhearing.” you repeat, and, yeah, Viktor is close to becoming the best documented case of human combustion in recorded history. 

In the dim lighting, he searches your eyes into his, and you watch him, waiting, radiating heat between him and the velvet-covered wall. He's not sure why you were acting like this, but all signs were pointing towards you wanting the same thing he did, and he's not sure what he did to get this lucky, but with his every cell buzzing and vibrating and keening over to get closer, he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass. 

He wants to ask ‘why me’ or ‘are you sure’ but what comes out is a broken, desperate whisper of a “can I touch you?”, and you answer with a grin and with your fingers tangled to the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Yes,” you breathe, “please.”

And really, he wouldn't have thought it would be so simple, but it's the please that does him in – just one whispered word and his brain short-circuits in an overflowing flash of white-hot need. Need to trigger that again, need to please, and need to finally give in to the pleasure waiting to boil. And then it all comes rushing out; the hunger. 

His hands are on your waist in an instant, and his cane clatters to the ground as he leans his weight on you and the wall and for a moment, he has the sense to hope the curtains don't come tumbling down, and they don't, which is good enough for him, because then he can let go of that particular worry and focus solely on finding your lips to his and making the most of every second of this that you're willing to give him. 

The sensations hit his brain like flashes of bright light; how soft you are under his fingers, like he'd hoped, the fabric smooth and silky, giving away easily under his touch. How warm you are, warm and breathing in a fluttered little gasp, the dusty old velvet mixing in with your sweet scent, and then when he gets his lips on you–

After that it's just golden-dark-velvet-honey-thick bliss. You breathe out a small sound that drips down his spinal cord and goes straight to the purring pit at the bottom of his stomach, and he swallows it with a hungry, greedy, desperate groan that comes from somewhere deep inside his chest, and his head is swimming with warm and real and soft and for me–

He is happily overloading his brain with this, and he doesn’t even care. He presses closer to you and you exhale another sweet little sound that makes him bare his teeth, and then his lips are on your neck and he doesn’t know anything except that he wants you to keep making those sounds and he likes the way your hands tangle in his hair and tug. 

“Tell me what you want,” he mutters to the skin of your neck, pulling you closer by the waist, and absolutely relishing in the way your chest rises and falls with short little pants he can hear you take in and out. In and out, and as he tugs at your waist again, just a bit closer, and drags his teeth against your pulse lightly, one of those exhales turns into a sweet little whine. 

He grins against your skin. 

He doesn’t waste the time or energy pretending he isn't an absolute mess over you, right now – his own breathing ragged and fast and his heart hammering in his ears, his whole body buzzing with want – but that didn't mean seeing you react that way didn't make him want to purr. 

Didn't make his insides heat up with I did that. I got her like this. She made that sound for me. For me. It's mine. 

You take a breath, slow and rugged, and then you tug him towards one of the velvet-covered seats. And he moves like he's floating, letting you guide him, because what else is he going to do? You tug him into the seat and he sits on it, gladly, and stays there looking up at you with his eyes wide and only half-lidded and his heart hammering, waiting for more. 

You give him another one of those small, private, knowing smiles, your eyes hazy, and then you step to stand right in front of him. 

And then you hover over him, just waiting for him to pull you into his lap. He does, because he is selfish and greedy and burning, and he's pretty sure he's going to implode if he doesn’t get that delicious pressure on him soon, and his hand fits your waist perfectly, and then when when you do straddle him, your hips pressing down on his, he whines. He lets out a breathless little whine, he can feel it in the base of his spine, and it makes that hunger in him want more. 

“Only the voices directed upwards travel down there, right?” you ask, voice quiet and dripping right into his ear and pooling at the bottom of his stomach. 

He swallows. “Yes.” 

You hum thoughtfully, and press your body closer to his, all soft and warm and perfect, sinking your lips down to his neck and he shivers, instinctually tilting back his head with a sigh, exposing more of his neck to you. 

“Better keep quiet, then.” 

[bdafic]

Ghilan'naelvish II

(This took me much longer than expected, sorry guys)

Once Rook & friends hack Razikale down to a sliver of health, Ghilan’nain snarls, “They take too much,” and commands her to return. Razikale is melted down, reformed, then returned to the moat, emerging as the Eborsisk from [ the 1988 movie, “Willow”. ]

Again, Ghilan’nain has two lines here:

"Essana ellath vallan."

(Spoken as Razikale’s previous form is manipulated into something else)

This one took me forever, not only because the phonemes are so common but also because of how little sense it makes. This line reads more like ‘words’ than ’dialogue’. Eventually I realised that may actually be the point: it's an incantation.

Essana = change/reform

This one I'm pretty confident of. I found multiple, completely different, ways of translating it that all break down to some variation of “become something else”.

e (v. inf. be) + sa (another, again) + nas (soul, self ; from) literally: from (you/yourself) become again

Ellath = Requirement ; force

This sounds like it’s being pronounced with a soft 's' (/s/ = simple, sun) rather than the ‘th’ (/θ/  = thing, thought) that’s shown. That might make more sense, as 'lath' is almost always used for love, lovers, and intimacy. I did find a (canonical, if archaic) reference of 'lath' as “need”, not necessarily romantic or sexual, and if that’s the case, ‘El’ could be the article or superlative rather than a possessive "our".

90% of my time was swapping out various interpretations of this word. Here's a few:

El + lath = The need (as in, ‘there is need for’) ; our needs ; requirement El + ath = piece, small amount (superlative + divide, part, fraction) El + lath = the love ; our love ; obsession ; devotion El + las = force (superlative + give, grant) ; bestow ; gift Elas = can/may, conjugated E + las = become hope ; memory ; ambition e + la + ath = being / become (v. to be + intensifier + noun from verb action - though this is kind of like making a word out of “ing”, “epic” and “ish”).

I trust you see the issue.

In context, “need/requirement” makes the most sense, but doesn't scan as well. As an incantation, the words stand on their own as commands.

Vallan = summon / invite

vall (v. bid/invite/order/summon) + an (suff. location/place) ; an (posessive) vall (same, but conjugated)

Without the ’s’ this is probably val/valla, as it was used by the guardian spirits in Trespasser. If the Inquisitor knows the passphrase, they stand down and invite you through with, “vallem (vall + em “[I] welcome/invite/bid”) as part of the phrase, "atish'all vallem". Somehow I can't imagine Ghilan'nain politely asking Raz to go stand on their marker, pretty please with a cherry on top, but if paired with ellath, it may tie together as "demand" or "order".

I can't say with 100% confidence what each word in this line means -- the context is doing most of the heavy lifting -- but there's enough to get what it's trying to say conceptually.

~ "Reconstruction is necessary, heed my order"

“Vallasan inall lasa!“

(Spoken authoritatively as Razikale reappears on the battlefield)

Vallasan = place of life ; body

vallas (life) + an (location suffix; possessive suffix)

Vallas as a root word has multiple meanings. We’ve even seen “vallasan” in canon — it’s the name of a unique bow in Jaws of Hakkon — though we have to infer its meaning. What’s weird about Ghilan’nain’s use of it here is that's [ very clearly not what she's saying ]. Whatever word she's using has two syllables; the "lla” has been dropped. That said, I think this is a line read error rather than a captioning error -- the translation makes more sense as shown.

Inall = dwellers / lives

ina (v. to live, to dwell - conjugated) ; + al (may indicate collective grouping)

Lasa = grant/allow/give

= "Bring me the bodies (of the living)"

Ghilan’nain’s Elvish

People seemed to enjoy the psychic bitchfight post so I figured I’d do one for Ghilan’nain’s lines in the ‘Siege of Weisshaupt’, too. Once again, I'm no expert, all glory goes to to [ FenXshiral ], and remember this is a vibe-based language so results vary with context, inflection, speaker and so on.

In the lead-up to the boss battle, First Warden Jowin will show up to take Davrin’s place as final sacrifice, only to be snatched up by Ghilan’nain before he can deliver the blow. After remarking on the quality of his blood, Ghil rips out his heart, turns it into an archdemon strength buff, then drops the used-up Warden like hot garbage. A moment later Wyrm!Razikale emerges from the moat to start the fight.

Ghilan’nain has two lines in this cutscene:

“Lasa hedallin ghellara”

(Spoken either to or about the First Warden as she manipulates his blood/heart).

Lasa = grant/allow/give

hedallin = blood of a noble kill/sacrifice; blood of [your] defeat

1. hel/hell (adj. noble, moral, just) + dala (v. kill, destroy) + lin (n. blood, person m.)

or 2. [hela (v. contest, oppose, fight) + dala (v. kill, destroy)] + lin (n. blood, person m.)

The use of ‘noble kill’/‘blood of your defeat’/‘sacrificial blood’ feels very deliberate here. Just before Ghilan’nain grabs him, Jowin recites the Grey Warden motto, “In war, victory! In peace, vigilance! In death, sacrifice!” . She’s throwing his words back at him, saying his ‘sacrifice’ would’ve been a waste... she'll put it to better use. She even taunts Rook with this later in the fight: “Witness! A Warden’s blood to birth your own destruction.”

ghellara = [my] beast more strong

ghe (n. monster, beast, creature) + elvara (v. to make difficult, hardy, sturdy, complex; from adj. elvar) + el (more, much, many. Used as a superlative) + ara (pron. sb. poss. my)

= “The blood from your sacrifice will strengthen my beast.”

"fenathra mellas”

(Spoken as Razikale’s transformation completes)

The natural assumption is fen = wolf, which would result in: fen (wolf) + ath (embodiment of) + ra (prn. it) or ara (my, possessive), making it, ‘the wolf’ in a kinda roundabout way. More like, “that wolf guy” or even, "my wolf guy" instead of a name or title. But I don’t think Ghilan’nain is invoking Solas or "the wolf” here. He isn’t an opponent at this point in the game, and neither her nor Elgar’nan see him as a real threat anyway. Additionally, the way she says the word ‘fenathra’ is quite soft — almost wistful — especially by comparison to the deep, guttural, delivery of, “mellas”. I think the root word she’s using here is actually ‘fenor’.

She calls Razikale her greatest creation. She mourns her death; pitifully telling Elgar’nan that Rook took her away. Razikale is more than just important to her — she is the very embodiment of the word 'precious'.

fenathra = My Precious One

fenor (precious) + athe (used to change the meaning of an existing word into, ‘physical manifestation of’, or ‘embodiment of’, eg. “the dead” from death) + ara (my)

Mellas = Allow now / Go!

melana (adv. now, in relation to ‘time’ or ‘when’) + lasa (v. grant, allow, give, let - imperative verb form)

= “Go, My Precious One!”

I've been working on her remaining lines for several days now and am currently tearing my hair out about it, but I will add them to this post as a reblog once I finish!

As a bonus I'll throw in Solas' dialogue to Davrin when he briefly joins your party at the end of the game.

Dialogue source: Solas Interaction with All Companions [ x ]

"Mala shivanas ar athim"

mala (your) shivana (to do one’s duty, conjugated) ar (I) athim (humble, humility)

The Elvish scans in Solas’ Hallelujah cadence, so I preserved it for the translation.

= “I am humbled by your duty," or, "Your sense of duty humbles me"

[crimson-kisses]

Duetsche Zunge

Characters/Fandoms/Pairings: Yandere! Gilbert Beilschmeidt || Prussia [Hetalia] x Fem!reader Warning: This story will contain xplicit yandere themes, proceed with caution [includes non consensual acts, toxic relationship, physical violence & the like] Author's notes: I honestly took some inspiration from @shini--chan 's works. Her every piece is marvellous, especially Gilbert's character. She has made me mad and intrigued over that man, I say. Also, remember that lot has been going around the world lately, and try to educate yourself and contribute as much as you can.

Gilbert would be absolutely thrilled and intrigued if his darling already knew German—it would spare him the frustration of teaching her everything from scratch. He would be amused and think the way she spoke. Her pronunciation or tone was absolutely adorable.

But of course, being who he is, that wouldn’t necessarily stop him from challenging her, testing the level of her knowledge and fluency. He’d be curious to know what her taste would be in German literature, music, or cinema. Would she favour Goethe’s romanticism, or perhaps the darker allure of Kafka’s surrealism? Would she hum along to Beethoven or lose herself in the melancholic strains of Schubert?

He would likely discover these preferences by observing (read: stalking) her, a brow arched up elegantly as he leaned back on the walls of the library. There, he would watch her conversing with others academically, seeming more like a statue of a scholar or a professor with his disguise of black-rimmed glasses and dark eyes, watching the way her lips curved around sweetly spoken words.

However, being a perfectionist, he could quickly identify any gaps in her knowledge—a slip of grammar, a wrong word here and there, or even a misstep in interpretation. Perhaps she’d confuse a complex construction for a simpler one or misuse an idiomatic expression.

Noting down the mistakes with a stern frown and a disappointed click of his tongue, Gilbert would sigh, unable to tolerate even the smallest errors. He’d push her relentlessly, unwilling to accept anything less than perfection. Papers, after papers, books after books, would pile up around her as he corrected her trembling attempts, his calligraphic writing starkly perfect beside her shaky efforts.

For someone who appeared so rugged, he was surprisingly methodical, almost reverent, when it came to written words, as evidenced by the piles of his ancient diaries filled with neat, precise entries.

It was definitely a cruel mixture of his ego and intense love toward her that drove him to hone her fluency to a level of perfection he alone could crave. Writing, reading, speaking, and even singing—he demanded mastery in every form of expression, shaping her abilities into something he could both admire and control.

But he wouldn’t stop at just German. This rigorous approach extended to other languages in which he excelled, such as French, Italian, and even Russian (though his dislike for a certain Russian man might make things a bit more complicated).

Each session would become a gruelling trial that demanded discipline, focus, and sheer willpower. He’d test her French with its elegant nuances, pushing her to appreciate the subtleties of verb conjugations and melodic flow. Italian, with its passionate rhythm, would become another challenge, the sharp sounds of “c” and “g” perfectly flowing from her lips, just as he demanded. And then, of course, there was Russian—harsh, guttural, and complex—he would revel in hearing her stumble over its sharp consonants, unable to help himself as he smirked with a mix of ego and possessiveness.

Whether it was the elegance of French, the flow of Italian, or the intensity of Russian, Gilbert would make sure she mastered every word, every subtle difference in accent, every cultural nuance, until she spoke each language with an expertise that reflected his possessive influence.

Gilbert would also push her to master ancient languages like Latin and Greek. His admiration for the roots of Western civilization would bleed into his obsessive teaching, as he demanded perfect fluency in these classical tongues.

He’d make her translate passages from Cicero or Horace, test her knowledge of Homer’s epics, and measure her understanding of Plato’s philosophy. Every misstep in conjugation or syntax would be met with sharp reprimands. Yet, at the same time, he would find immense satisfaction in hearing her articulate the beauty of ancient prose, especially when she finally grasped the elegance of Latin’s rhythm or the precision of Greek’s structure.

It would be a sight to watch the man who seemed so restless—always planning, calculating, and never stopping—suddenly appear like a scholar carved from marble. His focus was unwavering, his attention to detail sharp as a blade, whether it was through his quiet admiration or relentless demands, Gilbert made it clear that he wouldn’t stop until she was flawless—not just in language but as a reflection of his obsession with her.

The words on the paper danced as your eyes blurred, hesitant gasps escaping your quivering lips. Each tap of the thick ruler against the desk matched the frantic rhythm of your racing heartbeat. A deep sigh reached your ears, making you tense as a tear dropped, blotting the writing beneath it.

“Wrong. Do it again,” he said, his voice steady but firm, just above a whisper. You could feel the heat of his breath against your ear as he leaned in closer, his words curling into your senses like a soft yet dangerous caress. His forearms, toned and defined, flexed with each controlled motion as he tapped the ruler once more against the wood.

The veins on his arms stood out, a clear testament to the power that lay beneath his skin. His shirt, rolled up to his elbows, emphasized the muscular tone of his arms, the fabric taut as he moved with practiced precision.

“Your knuckles must be throbbing, don’t you think so?” His voice was low, almost velvety, though the slight edge in it made your skin prickle with a sense of haunting despair.

Of course, German would always be Gilbert's top priority. Whether it was the ancient words from his old Teutonic Knight days, the forgotten Prussian of his youth, or the more modern German that had evolved, he would be relentless in teaching you.

He would smirk, watching your hesitant expression, those furrowed brows and strands of hair sticking to your flushed face as you tried to keep up with his rapid-fire lessons. Every time you stumbled, he’d feel a rush of satisfaction, knowing he was pushing you—testing your limits.

And just as you began to feel like you might grasp it, he would pull you further, introducing an even more archaic form of the language. You'd be faced with Prussian words, forgotten phrases from the past, or the formal German of his time as a powerful state, and he'd watch as you struggled to keep up.

But Gilbert never took pity. To him, this wasn’t just about learning words—it was about learning what they meant, what they represented, about becoming part of a deeper history that only he understood intimately.

Naturally, he expected you to speak German at all times when addressing him. After all, he was Prussia—the proud embodiment of his nation's strength and culture, and to him, the language was not merely a means of communication, but a symbol of power, authority, and legacy. He found the way you spoke it utterly captivating—the way your lips shaped the words, how your expression would soften or harden depending on the tone.

Every mistake, every mispronunciation, only seemed to drive him further. He would often reply to you in German despite your slipping into another language— he would become cold, refusing to acknowledge you fully. His childish spite would rise, and he'd deliberately turn his back, offering you nothing but a sharp glance.

"Are you even listening to me?" you snapped, frustration mounting as you tugged at your hair, your words coming out in a burst. The tension in your chest was unbearable, and yet, Gilbert didn’t even flinch. He leaned back in his plush leather chair, the soft creak of the leather under his weight barely audible. The corners of his lips twitched upwards, curling into a satisfied smirk. His eyes, gleaming with amusement, never left you as he observed your growing frustration, watching you unravel with quiet delight. He loved seeing you like this—on the edge, teetering between control and chaos, and utterly at his mercy.

He didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between you. It was as if your words were meaningless to him. He had no intention of addressing your frustration, no intention of actually listening to what you were saying. He was too busy savoring the sight of you. The sharp tone in his voice, when he finally spoke, was smooth, effortless—teasing, almost mocking, a rhythm he knew all too well. Of an ancient German dialect that almost made his words hard to understand.

"Careful with the bread," he murmured, his voice low and cutting through the silence like a blade. "Don’t make it too tough."

You froze for a moment, the absurdity of his words washing over you. He wasn’t listening. Not to you. Not to the frustration in your voice, not to the growing anger burning in your chest. His gaze never wavered, still fixed on you with that predatory calm, like a cat watching its prey squirm. And all the while, you could feel the weight of his attention, suffocating and demanding, making your blood boil even hotter.

Your hands, already trembling from the intensity of the situation, clenched into fists. You turned away quickly, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was too late. Your mind raced, and you felt the overwhelming need to take out your frustration on something—anything. The dough in front of you.

You slammed your hands into it, pressing harder than necessary, your fingers digging into the soft dough with surprising force. It was as though you could feel his presence behind you, even though he said nothing more, watching you knead the dough with a strange, mocking stillness in the air. You wished it was his neck beneath your hands instead, the pressure of your palms imagining the crushing sensation of him being the one to break under the weight. The thought alone made you grit your teeth.

Gilbert’s smirk never faltered, his eyes still on you, studying every move you made. He had already won, and you both knew it. You were powerless against his presence, against his control. His lessons weren’t games. They were training. And you were exactly where he wanted you.

Though he often found amusement in the banter between you, even encouraging it at times, Gilbert wouldn’t take kindly to any attempts to push things beyond their limits. Swear words or throwing personalized insults his way would undoubtedly irritate him. He thrived on the playful back-and-forth, enjoying the challenge of testing boundaries, seeing just how far he could push you before you snapped.

But as much as he revelled in this dynamic, there were unspoken rules that, if broken, would have severe consequences. Gilbert was not one to tolerate disrespect, not even in jest. His pride, especially when it came to how others viewed his authority, was something you learned to tread lightly around.

He had a way of making you feel small when you crossed that invisible line. It wasn’t outright aggression, no—it was more subtle, calculated. His silence, his smirk, the way he’d cock his head and stare at you with those piercing eyes—each glance felt like a silent reprimand. His lessons weren’t games. This was training. And training wasn’t just about learning skills or techniques—it was about understanding power dynamics, submission, and control. For Gilbert, discipline was an art. You had to earn his approval, prove you were worthy of the lessons he would give. Disrupting that delicate balance, however, meant harsh consequences.

The playful back-and-forth, while it could go on for hours, was never just for fun. He was sharpening you, moulding you into something he could admire, something that would never question his authority again. When you got too comfortable, too confident, Gilbert would make sure to remind you that this was his world and you were merely a participant in it. A slip of the tongue, a crass word, a sharp insult—that was all it took for him to remind you who was truly in charge.

And when you crossed that line? He’d make sure you knew it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Gilbert would drop his usual teasing tone and replace it with something colder, something darker. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to raise his voice. The shift in his demeanor alone was enough to make the air feel thick with tension. You’d find yourself walking the thin line between fear and desire, unsure of where one ended and the other began, but knowing that if you made the wrong move, there would be consequences.

The toothbrush and the mouthful of toothpaste threatened to choke you, your mouth wide open as a strong grip held your head in place by the hair. Gilbert probed the depths of your mouth with firm, deliberate strokes, bringing you to the brink of nausea. Foamy spit dripped from your lips, guttural moans of pain echoing through the washroom as tears framed your face. Your attempts to reason with Gilbert fell on deaf ears. All it took was one bad day for him (you couldn’t really tell with the man), and your profanity-laced outburst had earned you this punishment. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slightly relaxed his grip on your hair, allowing you to violently spit out the bitter toothpaste that had been building up in your mouth. You instinctively reached for the tap, desperate to rinse the foul taste away, but were met with a firm hand that stopped you short. “No water for that filthy mouth of yours,” Gilbert sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to feed you a bar of soap and using the toilet brush.” You almost threw up.

While he didn’t outright disdain other languages, Gilbert was quick to show his disapproval if you focused on them too much. A subtle sneer or dismissive remark would betray his jealousy. In his eyes, your enthusiasm or preference for another tongue was a challenge to his authority, a dilution of the bond he sought to forge.

He wanted German to be your priority because it was his, and he needed to hear it from your lips as proof of your connection. It wasn’t just about teaching—it was about domination, ensuring that his influence extended into every word you spoke and every thought you had. And, of course, his pride demanded it. After all, why would you need anything else when you had him?

Nonetheless, he adored your voice, no matter what language you spoke. Whether stumbling over unfamiliar words or weaving through proses, there was a softness in the way you sounded that captivated him. It wasn’t something he’d admit easily, but your voice was his favourite melody, one he could listen to for hours without growing tired.

Of course, German is sacred to him—a reflection of his very being. It wasn’t just a language; it was his legacy, his culture, and the soul of the people he had once represented. The language of warriors and poets, of triumph and despair, it was a thread connecting him to his past. He expected you to embrace it—not out of mere interest, but as a testament to your devotion to him. And he always cherished it hearing from you.

You sat beside Gilbert, stiff and uneasy, as he delved into a thick book titled 'Geodesics in Curved Spacetime'. The topic was so far beyond your comprehension that you couldn’t help but think, What the fuck even is this?

It was one of those days when he insisted you sit close, your hands folded on his thigh, while one of his palms gripped it firmly, the other flipping through the velvet pages of the Russian text. His hold on you was both grounding and possessive, the weight of it reminding you that there was no escape from his whims.

The subject seemed to irritate him more than intrigue him; his brows furrowed, and the occasional sharp exhale signaled his growing frustration. He’d call you over at times like this, either to steady his nerves or to force you into reading it aloud, despite your stumbling attempts.

Sometimes, he would pause to explain a concept in German, his voice steady and commanding, expecting you to follow his train of thought no matter how lost you felt. On other occasions, his enthusiasm would bubble over, and he would yip and yap, his words spilling in rapid, fervent analysis that left your head spinning. You could only nod along, hoping he didn’t notice your bewilderment.

Most often, though, his focus shifted to something more intimate. He would pass you a well-loved novel—its pages slightly worn, its binding soft to the touch—and order you to read aloud. His fingers would trail lazily along your arm as he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, the tension leaving his features with every word that left your lips. In those moments, you felt like an extension of him, your voice the tool that brought his favorite stories to life. His grip on you would loosen, his breaths growing deeper and steadier.

Those were his calmest days, and your beautiful voice, the rhythm to his immortal heartbeat, seemed to be the only thing capable of soothing his restless spirit.

Refusal—or any form of misbehavior—when he asks you to speak his language would never be tolerated. Utter refusal would be met with the coldest of glares, a silent warning that would send a shiver down your spine. Testing him with silent treatment or petty acts of defiance would only irritate him more.

His expectations are simple but non-negotiable: learn the proper German etiquette. Speak clearly, directly, and without hesitation. Your words must be precise—no unnecessary embellishments or mindless chatter. He values sincerity, respect, and most of all, discipline.

When spoken to, you are expected to answer promptly, politely, and with the right tone. You must use Bitte (please) and Danke (thank you) when appropriate— if you don’t, he’ll remind you, and the lesson will be harder than you anticipate. There is no room for laziness in his world, especially when it comes to how you communicate.

Gilbert tapped his fingers on his forearms as he stared at you from across the table, his piercing gaze unwavering. You sat with an unsightly scowl, arms crossed tightly, eyes fixed on the food in front of you. The tension in the air was thick—your earlier attempt to escape had been swiftly thwarted by his firm grip on your arm.

"And what do we say?" he asked, his voice smooth but laced with impatience.

You shot him a defiant glare, the sting of your pride burning brighter than your hunger. Your teeth gound together as you glared at the plate of Sauerbraten, the tender beef marinated in rich spices paired with the tang of red cabbage and potato dumplings. The smell alone made your stomach growl, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

"D..." You grit your teeth, barely able to utter the word. His unblinking stare burned into you as if daring you to try him. "Danke."

"Ah ah," Gilbert bent forward, the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "Full sentence."

You clenched your fists, the taste of defeat sour in your mouth. There was no escaping him now. "Danke... für das Essen."

"Good girl." Gilbert’s voice was soft, but the approval in it was unmistakable. He straightened in his chair, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Jetzt können wir essen!"

Of course, being the rather egoistical individual he is, Gilbert would revel in hearing you address him with titles in German. Whether it was Herr or Mein König, the words rolled off your tongue like honey, fueling his insatiable desire for your complete submission. He would demand such titles not merely out of tradition but as a way to solidify his dominance over you-reminding you that he was the one in control, always.

And if you hesitated or refused, you'd soon find yourself either kneeling at his feet or bent over his knees, forced to beg in the very language he adored.

The sight of you, voice trembling and face flushed, was intoxicating to him. He couldn't help but feel a massive thrill corroding his bones as your tone wavered with such an adorable desperation, the words escaping your pretty lips like a melody crafted just for him. Gilbert always loved the way you sounded, gasps, grunts or so, your voice like a finely tuned instrument only he could master.

You were his little songbird, and sometimes he liked to take that metaphor literally. He wouldn't mind having you sing as he played his flute, guiding you with gentle nods or sharp corrections if you didn't get it quite right. On calmer evenings, he'd rest his head on your lap, your soft hands threading through his silver hair as you hummed or sang him a lullaby. Those moments of quiet surrender were his personal heaven.

Every word you spoke in German was a delicacy he devoured straight from your lips. He also expected your words to reflect affection and politeness. Loving phrases, respectful tones, and perhaps even a few nicknames of your own design.

Nothing overly cheesy, of course, but Gilbert wouldn't hide his cheeky grin if you hyly called him something intimate. A soft Liebling (darling) murmured in the warmth of your shared bed would earn you a teasing remark right before he captured your lips in a sealing kiss.

In the bedroom, his expectations only deepened. He wanted to hear you whisper his name like a promise, gasping out mein Schatz as he thoroughly claimed you. Every word, every sound you made was proof of his hold over you, a mark of the loyalty he craved so desperately.

And in those moments, he'd remind you just how much he loved your voice - the voices that only he could truly bring out of you, the ones he wants to hear from you, the one thing that could ever bring peace to the storm within him.

Your dress spread around you like the petals of a flower, delicate yet trapping, as gilbert’s hands—rough and unyielding—skimmed over the bare skin of your legs. you shivered beneath his touch, every nerve on fire as you tried to suppress the sob rising in your throat.

“Was ist los, Maus?” (what's the matter, mouse?), his voice coiled around you like smoke, soft yet suffocating. his body leaned in, the weight of his presence making it impossible to move, let alone think. “Hast du etwa vergessen, wie man schön bittet?” (have you perhaps forgotten to ask nicely?).

your mind swirled, thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. had he done something? the strange heaviness in your limbs, the faint haze clouding your senses—was this another one of his games?

“B-bitte,” you rasped, voice trembling as you fought to form the word, “bitte, G-Gilbert, ich—”

his grip on your hips tightened abruptly, the sharp press of his fingers stealing the rest of your sentence. his crimson eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a twisted mix of hunger and amusement.

“Das ist besser,” (That is better) he murmured, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “Nicht perfekt, aber es wird reichen.” (Not perfect, but it will do)

tears pricked at your eyes, your chest heaving as you forced out another plea, desperate to appease him. “gilbert… bitte… verzeih mir,” you choked out, your voice breaking as his thumb brushed against the curve of your waist, deceptively gentle.

“ah, Liebling,” he said, his tone laced with dark satisfaction. “Das ist mein gutes Mädchen.”

he pulled you closer then, his control as unrelenting as the heat radiating from him, leaving no room for escape. you were his—mind, body, and voice—and he made sure you understood it.

With every searing touch and word.

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 21st of December, 2024

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 21st of December, 2024

Question: Is Queen Camilla envious and/or jealous of Princess Catherine?

Interpretation: Yes. Kind of. Queen Camilla resents anyone who gets attention and praise from the public that she (Queen Camilla) sees as attention and praise that should be going to herself.

I'm going to start this reading with the underlying energy, because everything in the reading springs from that.

Underlying Energy: The Empress in reverse

The Empress is the card for Queen Camilla in her role as queen. It is also a card that represents beauty, abundance, fertility, charm, creativity, the mother, the divine feminine etc. In represents the planet Venus, the planet of love, female beauty, charm, attractiveness, generosity etc.

Here, the Empress is in reverse. This tells me that Queen Camilla is feeling overshadowed and /or she is acting out of her shadow side. No one is praising her looks, her charm, her generosity, her way with children etc (apart from obvious PR pieces) and she is upset about it. The energy from this card is one of 'I am The Queen, I expect to be praised to the skies' and of someone being very, very upset that this is not happening and that being The Queen has not magically erased her past from people's memories or changed how they see her. Along with this feeling of outrage at not getting the praise and attention that she thinks she deserves, there is a nasty, sulky, spiteful energy that is hidden behind a layer of 'being nice', and that energy is directed at people that Queen Camilla thinks are getting the praise and attention that she herself deserves.

On top of this energy and powered by this energy is the reading itself, as follows:

Card One: The Ten of Swords

This is a card of despair, betrayal, hitting rock bottom, and the energy from this card is a very strong energy of betrayal. Queen Camilla is feeling betrayed. She expected something different from when she was queen, and whatever it was that she expected, she is not getting it. She is disappointed and upset and feels betrayed - the energy is of someone who felt they were promised a lot of things that have not been delivered (It's almost as though she thought she could walk straight into the place that Her Late Majesty left vacant when she died, and just give it a few little tweaks so it fit her perfectly).

Fair enough, a lot of us have had the experience of wanting something and working for it and then when we get it, finding out that it is not what we imagined and in fact it was not worth the effort we put into gaining it.

However, there is a nasty, 'scorched earth' energy to this card as well as the betrayal energy. It feels like that Queen Camilla is reacting to her sense of betrayal by lashing out and cutting down anyone that she sees has having more than her, i.e. as 'taking' what is 'rightfully' hers as Queen (i.e. all the attention, all the praise, all the flattery and grovelling etc). There are many other ways to deal with a sense of betrayal, but it appears that this is the way that Queen Camilla has chosen to deal with it - basically to throw a tantrum and hit out at everyone around her because what she has is not what she thought it would be like.

Card Two: The King of Swords in Reverse

This is a continuation of the nasty energy I felt in the Ten of Swords

The King of Swords in reverse represents being a dictator, being irrational, being cold and inhumane, someone who is controlling, oppressive, ruthless and dishonest.

This card tells me that Queen Camilla is out to destroy people that she thinks are taking what belongs to her. Queen Camilla is being manipulative, controlling, cold, and ruthless in her attempts to regain what she thinks should go to her because she is Queen. She is being dishonest in what she is saying and doing. The aim seems to be to tear the other person down so then she can shine brighter and have all the attention and admiration that is going to that other person (or so Queen Camilla thinks). It won't work - the card in reverse tells me that this is not going to work - but Queen Camilla can not see that. She thinks that if she gets rid of the other person by ruining their reputation etc, then all the attention that the other person gets will automatically go to her.

This is giving me Princess Diana marriage flashbacks. I think that Camilla behaved in a similar way then, and what that behaviour got her was the place of the most hated woman in the UK, but for some reason she thinks that it will work this time around. There is very much an energy of repeating the past here, of doing things that didn't work in the past but somehow expecting them to work now).

Card Three: The Three of Cups in reverse

This is what Queen Camilla wants and is not getting.

The Three of Cups is a card of friendship, gatherings, community, celebrations, being a part of the festivities, having people glad that you showed up, having a warm welcome at events, being an integral part of the community, etc. It's about celebrating the good times together in an atmosphere of joy, getting a success of some sorts (graduation, work promotion, finishing a project etc) and throwing a party to share your joy with others. In this deck it is also my card for weddings, as the picture shown on it is a wedding.

This is what Camilla wanted - a big wedding, a big celebration, all the attention focused on her, for everyone to look at her when she goes into a room, to be the centre of events, the centre of attention, everyone overjoyed to have her at an event, etc.

It is not what she got.

The card is in the reverse. Instead of the big wedding, warm welcome, people delighted to see her where ever she went, being the centre of attention at events, what Queen Camilla got was more along the lines of what the Three of Cups in reverse represents: isolation, failure (nothing to celebrate), gossip, scandal, not being welcome, not being part of the community, getting little to no attention, and/or not having the time to have a social life because of your work commitments, and/or doing things to excess because you feel isolated and alone.

Queen Camilla expected that people would be far happier to see her than what they are, she expected all the scandal of her past to somehow vanish once she was queen, she wanted a big wedding (and turned the coronation into her second wedding imo), she expected every event to pivot around her and to be the centre of attention where ever she went, and she did not expect to have to work as much as she does or to have so little time for her private pursuits. What she got was something very different - more work, more expectations and making nice to people in social situations, continued gossip about her past, less time for her own pursuits, and less attention and praise than she wanted.

Conclusion

Queen Camilla expected to have a very different life as Queen - more time for her own pursuits, more praise and admiration, the scandals of her past to vanish, people to make her the centre of attention etc (I'm getting the impression that she expected the public to give her both what they gave to Her Late Majesty and what they gave to Princess Diana). When this did not happen, she felt betrayed. Instead of e.g. accepting what she had, or doing what she could to change the situation, she decided to lash out and destroy any other person that she saw as having the admiration, attention etc that 'rightfully' belonged to her.

So far, The Princess of Wales has been retired from the public eye this year and Queen Camilla has had the stage all to herself. In that time we have seen articles come out that actively put down The Princess of Wales to elevate Queen Camilla, indicating that Queen Camilla sees Princess Catherine as someone who has the attention, admiration etc that Queen Camilla thinks belongs to her. Once the Princess of Wales is back in her public life, if Queen Camilla continues this behaviour, then I would expect to see both covert and overt undermining of The Princess of Wales as well as using her to boost Queen Camilla's popularity and to present a public image of 'close friends'.

This may not happen. Queen Camilla may change her behaviour. However, if Queen Camilla continues along this path, especially with the King of Swords in reverse as as indicator of her behaviour, then I would expect to see malicious, underhanded, deceptive, back biting behaviour towards Princess Catherine as Queen Camilla tries to 'reclaim' what she sees as 'rightfully hers' in terms of the public reaction to the two women. This would include things like deliberately setting up the Princess of Wales to look bad, lying about incidents to make herself look better when talking to the press, giving the Princess of Wales the wrong information about things and then denying that she had done so, etc. It's going to be Camilla versus Diana all over again.

I hope this does not come to pass, but that depends on how Queen Camilla choses to act in the future - whether she decides to indulge her nasty streak or to rise above it and be a better person.

Edit: This is not a personal vendetta against Princess Catherine. It's how Queen Camilla seems to be reacting to anyone who gets attention or praise that Queen Camilla sees as belonging to her. If Princess Beatrice got the attention and praise, the spite and malice I feel would be directed as Princess Beatrice. If Princess Anne got the attention and praise, the spite and malice would be directed at her. It's not any attention and praise, either - the spite and malice is directed towards people who Queen Camilla sees as getting attention and praise that belong to her as the Queen (i.e. what she expects to be given to her because she is the Queen). She doesn't care about people getting other kids of praise and attention. She only cares about the praise and attention that she thinks belongs to her because she is the Queen. I hope that makes sense.

[vinjinssunglasses]

Haii i saw the commotion over the white haired shark guy :D can you write some hcs about him? I have a feeling he is very stotic and loyal on the outside but type to gush out in secret or on the inside when liking someone...plans dates in their heads and everything but won't say anything of it when meeting..do you get the ✨️V I S I O N✨️?

But ofc id LOVEEEE to see your interpretation!

Thank uuu!🤍

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♯┆character shark guy x reader ♯┆summary: his feelings for you are too much, and it’s painfully biting at him piece by piece. ♯┆w/c 1.5k ♯┆genre hurt/no comfort, angst, unrequited love, fluff (?) ♯┆a/n tysm for requesting!! got to work as soon as i saw it!! also the first person to write ab him!! ^o^ made at 3am..

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You enter his aquarium, shutting the door behind you gently. Each step you take keeps you on your toes for a reason you cannot describe, as you let your eyes rest on the sharks and tiny fishes swim in the confinements of this private aquarium. They look so emotionless, deprived of the freedom they once had.

He was staring at his reflection in the transparent glass, his tongue flicking over his metal, sharp teeth as he weighed his own beauty. No doubt he felt incomplete, as if something missing from himself. Running his fingers through his straight, angelic strands, he didn’t take his eyes off of himself for a second. In a fit of rage, he banged his fist against the mirror, dissatisfied from what it was portraying. No, he didn’t want to be what he was at all. No, he wasn’t satisfied being in this body nor was he happy being the one in front of his transparent glass. He opened his mouth wide, inspecting his shark-like teeth once more. Remembering what happened to him made him wince, the pain aching through his body like it did at that day.

A familiar call of his name brings him back to reality as he turns his painstaking gaze to your own more mundane one which showed a hint of concern for him. The white haired man immediately closed his mouth, covering it with his hand. Although it were the worst timing, he didn’t attempt to hide a soft smirk at your presence underneath his hands protection.

“James Lee.” Those two words echoed throughout the wide area, and even the fishes paused their natural instinct to swim and interact, the air becoming still. Perhaps he was slightly betrayed that you didn’t dare ask about his own mental distress, or just glad that you were here in the first place. He missed your voice, even though it was dull and held such authority, and your face he wished he could just pathetically make out with. James Lee is an individual he has been waiting for, put in simple terms. And he’d hate to see that cursed name passing your sweet lips.

“It’s all under control.” He spoke solemnly, matching your professional demeanour despite his racing thoughts. You looked so pretty in those straight leg trousers, and that shirt which sat so flattering upon your body. He wished you’d look at him, even once, in a way that didn’t meant business in this gang. Is that so selfish to ask for?

Your gaze switched to the dark tiles, yet you sighed before saying anything else.

“Perfect. Things are going as planned, I presume?”

“One more time?” He asks, but knew damn well he heard you well enough the first time. Just one little snippet of your voice that’ll keep him awake all night, one more.

“Things are going as planned?” You repeated and he nodded like a wet puppy. Finished with this conversation, you turned around, getting ready to leave. Everyday the damn same, if only he’d try something different—!

As you walked off, he desperately reached out his hand towards your body, the sharks rushing through the water at impressive speeds, yet their pace slows down frantically as he misses, and your able to walk away before his hand even comes close to you. Falling to his knees, he felt so pathetic. It’s always the same with him and these stupid emotions he can never seem to regulats. No, he didn’t want to be what he was at all. No, he wasn’t satisfied being in this body. If he were somebody else, would he have been the once to break this depressing cycle? I want you to tell me. Can he break this somber sequence of events if he could let go of these chains of obsessive love?

Times up — the answer is no. In this world, in this universe he’ll stay the being he hated most. One that never changed what they disliked, one that had no courage to do anything they pleased. Is this why he was stuck at second in command? His hands travel up to his locks, squeezing them tightly and messing their order up, each hair flinging to the sides as he tilted his head to to the dull ceiling, a harsh reminder of himself.

My world, won’t you be here for me? Am I really what I think I am? Am I really what I think I am? Am I really what I think I am?

Anything to cope. Would you let me take you out on dates where I can hold you, place kisses on your cheeks and make you laugh like they do on television? He shakily lifted himself up, watching the door that you just left from. Each step felt like a new type of torment, and he rested his head upon the door, his hands gripping and loosening on the doorknob. Before he knew it, tears were running down his face, eyes reddening as his breathes began to become hasty.

Again, he weeps, for hours at a time.

The next day, he’s sat opposite you in a semi-important meeting. As third in command, you strive to be like your leader and do not wish for distractions. But you can’t help but feel, not disturbed, yet intrigued at the white haired man a rank above you who cannot take his eyes off of you. Ever so often, his gaze lingers upon your fingers, travelling to your hands which scribble notes upon the paper. As soon as you lift your eyes, he quickly begins to pay attention, click his pen and start writing. What they all have in common is that it shows he’s ashamed to be staring at you. Was there something on your face?

You pulled up your glasses, tapping your foot as they ramble on. Is this a problem, or something that’ll walk out of your life soon? It’s crazy to think anybody could have a crush on you, as you’ve been known to have a bad temperament and a bossy attitude that keeps people within a five meter radius of you. Then why does he come in between the lines yet keep it of them at the same time? — staring from a distance, lips parting when he notices you and the sort.

After the meeting, he walks towards his office, and that esteemed aquarium he holds to value so much. Humming along the way, he keeps his chin up and his stride confident — and that is until he finds you’re tagging along. His demeanour suddenly changes from his dual authoritative one to his cute, scaredy cat look. A hint of pink lingers upon his pale cheeks, as his lips seal shut.

“I was wondering..” You started, studying his flustered reaction. “If I can skim over your notes. Just in case I missed something, second in command.”

His lips part and tremble as he begins to talk, stiffening his shoulders to appear more collected and relaxed (yet it backfires).

“Of course.” He hands his notebook over, and you open at the bookmark. His eyes lock on how you spread the pages, lift the bookmark and swipe over pages. Suddenly the new lights that have been installed, the floor and his shoes seem so interesting, as he tries to invest his attention elsewhere from your hands and face. Subtly, you’d lift your eyes from reading his neat handwriting to his panicky expression, softly smirking.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to write it down.” You softly spoke, a contrast to what people really think of you. Before he’s even able to get a word out, you walk away, and he can only watch the hypnotic sway of your hips. He wanted nobody to see this embarrassing interaction, therefore he instantly opened and shut the door behind him, covering his face with shame.

This was the first time he couldn’t hold himself from wearing his heart on his sleeves, and he wished that you didn’t notice his humiliating display. One thing he didn’t want to admit is that’s he always try and look his best in front of you, caring about what you thought most., even though you’d never notice him anyway Looking down at the notebook before him, he could only reminisce on your gentle touch on the pages, only resulting in his heart fluttering more. Only if you could gently swerve your fingers in between his, interlocking them with such tenderness. Only if you place a delicate kiss upon his lips, so he can reciprocate with all the feelings that have been building up for years.

Lilies represent the purity and innocence of new beginnings. Like everything in this world, they possess a deeper nature that represent their delicacy and fleeting beauty evoke unspoken sorrow and heartbreak beyond repair. A unsettling, unavoidable reminder that love is double sided — both sacred, precious and eternal and hateful, selfish and bittersweet. They embody the fragile balance of sweet and bitter emotions, and they choose upon their own will what you will recieve.

Love is like a dice. Unpredictable. Life-changing.

How come he keeps getting a one? Only able to move one space on a board game, while you keep receiving sixes, able to move on as you please. It is only him whom is stuck in the constant state of pathetic mess and corruptive emotion.

[inksandpensblog]

The way Dark's virabands work has always intrigued me. Chiefly because, as you said, he never uses his innate fire-powers again once he's equipped them. But another reason is because he moves so differently.

Compare him flying with fire to him flying with the virabands. With fire, he's relying on propulsion to hold him up; meaning that his arms are taking all his weight, and you can see this in how he moves.

Once he equips the virabands though, it's like he becomes...not weightless, exactly, because he's not floating unchecked or being moved by the slightest force; but it's not taking any effort for him to stay in the air, it's not taking and effort for him to move through the air, and it's not taking any effort for him to remain stationary in the air. It's like normal rules of physics just...stopped applying to him.

And then there's the fact that when he first equips one, we see it in his eyes.

In animated media, changes to a character's eyes are often used to indicate some sort of (often unnatural) shift in the character's state of being. Maybe their eyes begin glowing, or turn a different color, or their anatomy changes, or what have you.

Now, we don't usually see the stickfigures' eyes, so it always stands out when we do. Given that, once Dark equips the viraband, we immediately see it in his eyes...it seems telling.

These two factors, the eye symbolism and the change in how Dark physically interacts with the environment, combined with the fact that we don't see him using his innate fire-powers after he's equipped the viraband, have led me to interpret Dark's virabands as being almost sort of a mod-pack.

Yes, they give him some new abilities and weapons. But I wonder if these aren't things the virabands do, so much as they are things that Dark can do because of the virabands.

He can summon spikes, he can wied katars, he can remote-control his swarm. He can use laser-eyes. He can move in whatever direction he wants without resistance. All things he couldn't do before.

But I see him throwing those black energy-blasts and I wonder if maybe he is still using his fire, and the virabands just...changed it.

I think it's not as simple as the virabands themselves having all these abilities. I think having the virabands equipped fundamentally changes Dark himself and what he is capable of. They don't just give him stat-boosts and weapons, they alter his state of being.

At least that's how I interpret them.

I've noticed some misconceptions about how Dark's powers work in my time in the fandom, some of which I believed myself, so I thought I'd make a post going over their powers and how they seem to work within AvA canon. I'm mostly just making this for my own reference, but hopefully this will be useful for other people too 👍

(For the record, I'm not trying to call out or criticize anyone by making this, it's purely for reference purposes. You do whatever you want when writing/drawing stuff)

Without Wristbands

Without the wristbands introduced in The Showdown, Dark only has three* powers that we're ever shown, compared to the four+ that Chosen has, which I will describe below.

The power they use the most is pyrokinesis, much like Chosen has. They can create fire, and use fire to fly.

They're also shown to be able to breathe fire like Chosen does, despite not having a visible mouth (ie. A pac man mouth).

Dark can also create what I can only think to call fire bombs, and has done so in every episode they've appeared in. These are unique to them and Firefox, and Chosen is not shown to share this ability, (which leads me to believe that this is not directly linked to their shared pyrokinesis abilities).

*I'm not sure if this counts as one power or two, but I'm going to talk about them as two facets of one power.

Dark and Chosen both seem to possess some sort of heightened physical resilience, as well as super strength. Being thrown through walls, and throwing others through walls, with little to no actual damage being sustained.

(It's difficult to get proper screenshots of this, but you can see it in just about every scene the two are part of.)

There's also. whatever the hell this attack was. which I can only think to put under this section, because they never do anything like this again.

At no point is Dark shown to have laser eyes as part of their normal powers.

With Wristbands

With the wristbands, Dark's power set completely changes. They're never shown using their normal powers again after this point, which leads me to think they may not be able to, though that's 100% speculation on my part.

They gain a number of new abilities, as well as a boost to their physical strength and resilience, seeming to surpass Chosen's abilities. Specific powers and abilities are described below.

They gain multiple abilities previously used by the Virabots, including the ability to fly/levitate without the use of fire (which they could not do previously), and summon spikes that delete things they hit.

There's also some things that seem to be unique to them in this state, namely being some sort of black energy balls they can throw, laser eyes of their own, and, most iconically, the ability to summon the V blade.

The exact properties of these abilities (minus the blade) are unclear.

The V blade, however, is a sharp, sword-like weapon, which has the ability to cut through and instantly destroy normal stick figures, reducing them to code. It, alongside the Virabots themselves, also seems to severely weaken both Chosen and Alan's cursor, ultimately destroying the latter and kicking Alan out of the battle.

Dark seems to be able to easily outpace Chosen with the wristbands on, throwing them around and eventually pinning them down with the help of the Virabots.

It also appears that they may have gained an immunity/resistance to Chosen's laser eyes, or at least they're less concerned about them. Previously in both AvA 3 and The Showdown, they're shown to run away and avoid being hit by the lasers, but after putting on the wristbands, they tank laser beams with no hesitation.

I don't really have much of a conclusion to this post, so I'll leave it here for now. Hopefully this is useful, or at least interesting, to others! ✌

[koko-canie]

❥⠀Orin Ayo Headcannons　｡｡｡

Warnings　𓎟𓎟　 Mentions of Death regarding Drug use , Gun Violence , Body horror , Mentions of abuse , Cult mention ( obv ) , Kidnapping , Trauma etc

NOTES : Nothing is explained in super graphic detail of course but there's alot of dark themes here , its a horror mod so yeah. also some of these headcannons are personal !! don't take these seriously its just my interpretation

DREAM / LIE :

Lie isn't an exact "personification" of someone's trauma , but really an unnamed corpse who like the others is a victim of Tab's cult.

He's called "Lie" by the others as they do no know his actual name nor origins.

he has no memories of his past life

Lie also doesn't talk either , not that he isnt able to but he simply remains quiet for the most part.

Nonbinary , but only bc they cant tell what his gender is ( however he still uses he / him )

HART :

Her and James ( along with Kurt ) have a sibling like bond , James lets her sit around him

is able to remember her past but often doesn't like to.

Before Death she used to be a dancer ( ballet dancer )

while she cant speak very well she does whisper , you can hear her when its very quiet

BAYLEE :

He's very sarcastic but given he's a statue head bust its not surprising

While he isn't chatty , Baylee may make one-off comments or remarks to anyone he happens to see

he cannot move at all , others have to help him move

he has no memory of how he died , nor why he's even in a the cult in the first place

his face being covered in clay prevents him from making expressions but he can change his tone of voice

HUE :

in my mind , his design is different ( /glowingparasite's design of hue is what he looks like in my mind bc his actual design sucks poo poo )

Like a Tiger , he makes a "chuff" sound when pleased or content

he also knocks a lot of stuff over just because ( dudes a huge house cat tbh )

When he talks it sounds more like growling

James sometimes tries to pet hue when he isn't looking ( James is a softy for animals )

PROTOTYPE 3 :

legit cannot speak , only uses sound effects to communicate

i don't have much for her sadly

ETHAN :

He could play just about any instrument

He has a tenancy to move his fingers around when standing ( he's got the tism )

Despite being blind , he still remembers how to play most instruments by memory

Type of dude to say "Wowzers" and "Aw shucks" unironically

has a lisp

HETY :

was originally a pretty devoted followers of the cult , when she died Tab decided to bring her back to life.

very mentally unstable

She does have a body under the mass of ferrofluid and wires , but its very hard to notice and see

she is able to use these wires to grab things and attack ( she attacked lilac so yeah )

Reasoning for attacking iliac was due to her being a big fan but lilac ultimately rejected seeing her because of her sneaking back stage without permission. this lead to Hety attacking lilac.

DOUGG :

His inclusion to the cult was simply because Tab didn't like him. Dougg didnt actually do anything.

before death he was a gambler

he's a pretty sneaky dude though , sometimes playing pranks on the others for the hell of it

Likes to mess with James because of his reactions

AZ-TF :

When they talk it sounds like two people speaking at once

AZ has the deeper voice and TF has the higher one

they have no memories of their past

They often bicker about small things

STANLEE :

Before his death , he was actually friends with Andrew ( and even lived with him for a while )

When Stanlee is sober he is surprisingly well spoken and actually pretty smart

His addiction developed at 21

Due to his now ferrofluid blood , he cannot become sober and is forever high

he struggles with his memory

ACHETURE ( FLICKERR ) :

Can communicate though words on its screen

despite being a TV , its still sentient

Acheture still retains its memories before death

KURT :

He's often around James or Hart as he doesn't trust the others. ( its like a sibling dynamic )

Originally he was very scared of James , this changed over time

He also likes to keep the duck around for comfort

Kurt likes to draw to show how he's feeling

His vision is very blurry

CRATZ PURR :

Oldest within the cult in terms of age

he's just everyone's grandpa

he's a nervous wreck however and tends to get overly worried about the others

his voice sounds sorta autotuned with an organ

LILAC :

She's a lesbian ( sorry but i cannot see her dating a man , i don't ship her with neester at all :/ )

she still has her guitar but she cant play it

She considers Ethan to be a little brother

she frequently argues with James due to him being rude to everyone

Before her death she was very influential in the goth rock scene

JAMES :

I already wrote some headcannons for him in this post but ill add more

he struggles with empathy and often disregards others alot

despite this however he is very nice to Kurt and Hart

he also likes the duck

DERICK :

He isn't able to speak , like at all

i don't have anything for him srry

DUCK :

She's basically the cults pet

James is responsible for feeding her

KASKI :

Bi disaster

Often makes internet references that nobody understand ( aside from Baylee and Ethan )

Meows at people ( vocal stim )

has attempted to plat games on prototype 3 before

The hands on her body are tattoos but they can move

ANDREW :

He's a very slow talker , his voice is also very low

He often sings sea shanties to himself

when alive , he lived along the coast. from there he sailed off for fun.

at some point he met Stanlee when he was alive and even let him live with him. the two were very very close. however one say Andrew would get high and fall off his boat , resulting in his death. this had lead Stanlee's addiction to worsen and lead to his death too.

Andrew often stays around Stanlee within the cult , even if Stanlee cant quite remember him. ( doomed yaoi oops )

[20001541]

There's a small theory that I've had for a while but recently felt more validated after seeing what Hori said on the popularity poll livestream

The thing he said being this:

Which is interesting because we all know he infamously said back in 2018 that he planned on revealing Hisashi at some point in the story. Which as we know today never happens. So, it leaves us with the question, what happened?

Because in order for him to say this he must've had something in mind at the time for what he wanted to do with Hisashi. The first time we learn his name is in the BNHA Ultra Archive book that came out in 2016. Never officially translated into English btw so this is all we got.

Anyways this means he had something in mind for Hisashi for a while then, but then he changed his mind and kept him out of the story. He feels he put everyone and he wanted to put in the story and wouldn't change anything.

My theory is that he might've planned to make DFO a thing initially but decided it would be best if the story goes a different route and kept it out.

Because why else would you say you plan to reveal who is Hisashi is at some point only for your story to end with no sight of him? Not even a tiny mention. Let us not also forget how people pointed out that Inko's birthday 07/04 spells out nana shi in Japanese which is like Nana's name. It's also canon that All Might pointed out how her hair reminds him of Nana. So I wonder if he also planned on her being Nana's daughter and had AFO target her as a result. This was also something I found to be rumored among some Japanese fan forums. Even though the translations I got weren't great the little I could understand suggested it.

And even though I lost interest in DFO and stopped believing before the story ended this one panel has always stuck out to me.

Hori is insanely detailed oriented, like during Dabi's first appearance he's in front of a hair salon which foreshadowed that the hair colour he has now isn't his real one and was used as proof in Dabi is a Todoroki theory. So the fact that Hori chose to place the "my only family" bubble over a shot where Izuku is watching everything unfold stands out to me even now. Keep in mind this chapter released in 2018 which was the same year Hori said he planned to reveal Hisashi. Maybe could be me reaching, but still something to consider.

I'm not entirely sure of all of this actually and could be wrong. But it's an interesting theory as to what could've happened behind the scenes.

Another theory that I'm less sure of but can see it being possible is that the elements of the reveal he intended for DFO ended up being used for the reveal with Tomura.

Think about. It's actually crazy how similar the Tomura reveal in 419 was similar to what a lot of DFO fans were hoping for all these years.

AFO took on a whole new identity to get close to a civilian, he helped build the home Tomura would live in, played a part in Tomura's conception, he took away his original quirk, set Tomura up as a successor, and AFO had a big reveal moment that left Tomura devastated... like I remember several posts that theorized things like this about Izuku. The reason why AFO targeted Kotaro in the first place was because he was Nana's son and I remember that Inko being targeted for being Nana's daughter was a big part of the Inko Shimura theory.

I don't know for sure if this reveal was built off of his ideas for a DFO reveal he had initially planned. Really it depends on when he first created the idea of AFO being behind all the terrible things in Tomura's life and if he even had DFO in mind in the first place at some point.

But it's fascinating either way. Either DFO fans were right in how they interpreted some aspects of the story to suggest DFO were true and correctly guessed some aspects of the story that were recycled for a different reveal later on, or they were completely off the mark and by coincidence some of their theories for DFO ended up being eerily similar to how the 419 reveal ended up being.

[5-htagonist]

2, 7, 18 for kabru plz 🥺

i will apologize in advance i got like 5 of the most inconsistent hours of sleep so i dont know if i even make sense. More than i usually dont know LOL

2: favorite canon thing about this character

tldr: his trauma complexes and the way that drives his character

obligatory "autism" answer to be honest. no but in all seriousness kui is really really good at portraying people in accordance to their trauma/background and kabru is no different... being intimately familiar (married) to someone with ptsd, it makes kabru hit home in a lot of ways. i LOVE that he comes off as creepy to those that are close to him! i love his dissociative symptoms and his panicking. ive been doing (loose spare time) research on the correlations/potential causations of personality disorders and other trauma complexes (dissociative identity, ptsd, sometimes ocd, etc etc etc) that can arise specifically from the way people who are neurodivergent from birth are treated by others. i love the clear line from utaya (caused kabrus ptsd), his adoption (perfect circumstance for a knowledge seeker), his special interest, and his cluster b tendencies ("i have to mask, lie, or otherwise be dishonest to meet my physical/psychological needs. i have to yell to be heard by myself and others."). i think you can see from the way he reacts to going to milsirils family reunion that his interest in people isnt solely due to trauma-- that gathering has nothing to do with taking down dungeons. but it takes that path because the hole caused by kabrus trauma is a need that milsiril cant fulfill. so he has to do it himself. it is uniquely traumatizing to suffer from survivors guilt, specifically. HES JUST SO COOL!!!! <3 <3

of course im not saying like. Kabru Specifically Being Diagnosed With PTSD Is Canon because the term ptsd is a collection of traits that weve lumped together with one term that typically responds to the same set of treatment, but trauma is universal and ptsd is excellent shorthand for kabrus trauma responses!

7: something the fandom does with this character that you like

i love when he isnt portrayed as Knowing Everything. i love when hes portrayed like a little bit of a dumbass sometimes. i also really love the way a lot of people portray his dynamic with laios, especially when its kabru getting to experience his emotions in a relatively stable environment and laios is there to support him. ALSO i love that Kabru Marcille Friendship seems to be agreed upon

18: relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire

... i Mean. i dont mean to be TOO obvious but his relationship with laios... ouuughhhhhhh!!!!!!!!! FUN FACT! exposure therapy is actually like. HIGHLY effective for people with obsessive-compulsions, phobias, or other aversions!! this is not due to the simple fact of being exposed to it, however. kabru retraumatizes himself this way-- he risks his life for the uncontrolled exposure to the familiarity of his trauma. a big motivator for him is his survivors guilt. this isnt exposure therapy, its just exposure.

what makes exposure therapy effective is understanding. its understanding you wont get every disease if you dont wash your hands when youre compelled to, understanding not all spiders are dangerous and that we have an evolutionary fear response.

kabru is bad at recognizing his needs. he chases the need to understand monsters by resolving to adventure dungeons. he makes this decision as a kid. its like he knows he needs to understand monsters on some level, but no one else sees monsters as complex beings, no one gives the time of day to understanding them. so instead he interprets this motivation solely as a desire to end monsters and dungeons. upon his observation of laios though, seeing someone who doesnt act like everyone else, who is a really good leader regarding progress in the dungeon, its like he subconsciously chases his need to understand, while consciously seeing laios as concerning.

all this to say, i admire so much that laios can provide kabru a safe, human place to understand monsters, when hes ready. laios can expose him to the monstrous while preventing reckless, unprepared exposure. this story is so damn cool through my psychology special interest goggles lol...

honorary mentions: his relationship with rin. i admire rin, because dear fuck how do you make it through what she did and still speak at all let alone leave your room?? and their relationship i admire not because its crazy healthy or good for either of them but because it is a testament to their strength as people. i dont remember rn if any of their interactions as kids are shown but i presume kabru was just insanely kind and patient. you have to be to befriend someone so traumatized. their relationship kills me, because they clearly have a deep respect for each other, but rin probably has more emotional problems than kabru does regarding forging relationships. gwohhhh...

lastly, i like his minor relationship with toshiro lol its interesting how they seem to gravitate to each other if theyre both in a scene! and i really enjoy when kabru brutally talks sense into toshiro regarding falins revival. obviously, they dont have much interaction to go off of, but i like to think the combo of kabru being able to empathize so strongly with toshiro AND be honest about the situation at the same time are probably pretty refreshing for him, where he typically either gets minimal empathy and intense honesty from laios, or intense cognitive empathy-driven assumptions about what he wants or needs or how to interact with him. having someone who is genuinely adept at the mask and cognitive empathy out of his own choice, rather than social pressure, but also isnt scared to say it like it is... well itd do toshiro some good if they stay friends post canon imo!

[arcadianmoonshadowjedi]

Hey so. I'm not up to date, still watching. Didn't see any fandom reactions so far. What do we think about Callum choosing Rayla over Ezran?

Right now, I'm torn. Part of me is super happy that Callum and Rayla pledged themselves to one another, for it to then immediately be tried, tested, and won. (I'm happy that their relationship won.) I love that the situation has them suddenly face a loyalty conflict that they didn't think they'd have to solve. I'm happy that it comes unexpected, catches them off guard, and that they have to decide on the spot. It's messy, puts them on edge, and I love it.

Callum also seems to initially give a really smart answer by differentiating between his role as High Mage and his role as a brother. However, depriving Katolis of its High Mage in a time of great need such as the one they're in?? really is a special kind of treason, and the King's brother abandoning the King NEVER looks good either, especially in that time of need! The show treats it like a private conflict, but Callum has a function in the royal court. He just signaled to all of Katolis that the King's family quit supporting Ezran. So although Ezran isn't in a good personal place in that episode, if he chose to interpret Callum's actions as high treason, I'd be with him.

I think the scene lacked certain tensions of unspoken things though. It still happened all too quickly. Ezran didn't know that Rayllum swore to never get separated again. Callum should have forced a different kind of magical time-out than the ice thingy (which directly attacked Ezran and his personal bodyguards), he should have played for time to explain. I'd have made him send Rayla and Runaan away, stay behind to explain to Ezran, then catch back up with the elves.

Then, if there was still some hurt between the brothers, at least Ezran would know the full story and would know where to place his priorities. The brothers could work to at least stay out of each other's way, instead of clashing again like when Callum sent the letter to suggest imprisoning Aaravos again. That wasn't Callum's place, he was out of touch with Ezran's warfare strategy by this point, and he was endangering his little bro's kingship by messing with his authority.

I wouldn't say it was out of character, but it certainly was more messy than necessary and lacked one of Callum's better ideas to resolve it.

I'm at the third-to-last episode rn, Ezran and Callum haven't yet met again, but Ezran did receive Callum's letter. No spoilers pls, but I'd love to hear your genuine reaction!

Hey so I personally think this situation was a lot more complicated than Callum just choosing Rayla over Ezran for loves sake. The way I saw it, Callum was torn between two people he loves. On one hand he was trying to tell Rayla to be patient and kept trying to tell her Ezran will eventually come around, to which Rayla after clashing with Ezran at the council meeting, she no longer felt she can wait. On the other hand, he did try to talk to Ezran esp about how he shouldn’t keep blaming Runaan for the kingdom being destroyed and how he’s playing into the cycle of violence he pledges to stop. While Ezran’s hurt and anger towards Runaan were completely justified, I felt like his actions came more from a place of vengeance rather than being right. Callum even called out Ezran for forgiving Zubeia who was the one who sent the assassins in the first place.

Callum only fully took Rayla’s side once Ezran showed up with an entire army to confront Rayla and Runaan which then resulted in Callum taking action against them to prevent Rayla and Runaan from being harmed. He did end up leaving with them not only because he ended up committing treason but also because he felt like Ezran was too vengeful and angry to listen even after trying to talk to him earlier.

As for the letter, unlike Ezran, Callum knew that Aaravos couldn’t be permanently killed which was why he was proposing the prison plan, which could’ve been a more permanent solution if no one were to find the prison again. The problem with Ezran was that he was falling into Aaravos’s trap not knowing that using the novablade to kill him would bring him back the next time the stars align and even potentially kill everyone around them.

While I do think that arc 2 shows some complications between the two brothers esp because both Callum is the older brother but Ezran is the king, which does cause a power imbalance between them, at the end of the day they’re still brothers first and foremost. I won’t spoil the last few eps, but I will tell you I loved and was very satisfied by how things went, including with Callum and Ezran. 😍😊

Hope this answered your question 🙌🏽

[kittymoonclover]

Blossick was the first ship I liked as a kid. And it also introduced me to whole "enemies to lovers" and the whole opposite attract streets mart x Booksmart debacle. I personally like them but as teenagers.

It kind of sucks that Majority of the Fandom's interpretation of Brick is him being booksmart and not streetsmart. Because Blossick gives me such "English please?" Energy. (The joke where the smart character says something and the dumb character doesn't get it so they ask the smart character to speak "english". To dumb it down in a way they can understand.

Playing Devil's Advocate:

The Fandom tend to think that RRB have the same personalities as their counterparts even though they Don't. If anything they are opposites personality wise.

Brick is rude, aggressive and Brash while Blossom is more cool headed and calm and polite, but Brick still the leader of the rowdyruff boys. He is just a different type of leader. Canon wise, Brick is the most self aware than Boomer and Butch. And Brick is probably in a lot of pressure Just like How Blossom is in alot of pressure in protecting the city.

Brick and Blossom maybe different people but their experiences can be similar to each other. (I mean who says that Boomer and Butch won't cut off Brick's hair one day.)

The most obvious example is Boomubbles. Boomer is airhead but he is also very aggressive, Snippy and considers Bubbles to be weak. He isn't the type to like Cuteness at all. He often times overcompensates for manly. While Bubbles is Sweet and Sugary, Boomer is a lil mean and snippy.

He may be airhead but doesn't mean he is the nicest (if anything he is shown to be the opposites.) But both him Bubbles are in the same roles. Being "youngest" and getting teased by their siblings. Boomer isn't a crybaby, He Broods more than cries.

(But the Fandom just interprets him as bubbles no.2.)

And Butch For some reason people cannot accept the fact he is the least aggressive out of 3. Like come on, Butch is literally only who doesn't hit his brothers. (Muiltiverse doesn't count because it's a mix of canon and headcanon). But if go buy the comics and Episodes from the Canon, You clearly that he isn't aggressive. Him being Buttercup's counterpart does not imply that he is. He is just a goofball who chooses to blindly follow and trust Brick rather than disagree with him like Buttercup does with Blossom.

Butch is a yes man, There isn't much evidence proving otherwise and Butch doesn't hit his brothers. He is actually just chill kid who enjoys the simpler things in life and is a goofball when Brick cues him to be one. (But the Fandom categorize him as unstable because he twitches.)

And it sucks because I think canon Butch and Buttercup would have interesting dynamic. They could learn from each other. But they still have same roles. (Butch is second in command).

They have both differences and similarities to their counterparts.

Brick/Blossom (Personality wise: Opposites) but they are both leaders and smart. I can't believe I'm saying this, But Compare to Boomer and Butch, Brick is the smartest one.

He may not be Booksmart level like Blossom but Brick is very good at reading people hence why he is the only who could tell that Blossom was being sarcastic in episode TBAIT, while Butch and Boomer took the hair comment as a compliment. He was angry because he is the only who could tell they didn't mean it. (Plus he remembered Boomer isn't afraid roaches.)

In the Octi, Episodes, Buttercup was trying to tell Blossom that her plan wasn't working and Blossom just straight up ignores her and suggested new plans. I honestly think Brick would be the opposite of that because there are moments where Brick genuinely compliments Boomer when he has good idea.(one was in bubble boy and the other is in one of the Action Pack comics) showing that Brick may not be as a commanding as he looks.

Bubbles/Boomer - (personality wise: Opposites) Like I said he is just as mean and Aggressive as Brick. And he isn't afraid to speak up. Even though it will get him hit by Brick. Yes, He is airhead but that doesn't mean he is sweet. (But he also gets picked on by his siblings)

Butch/Buttercup - (personality wise : Opposites) Butch is energetic and complains when he is bored. But, He isn't physically aggressive as Buttercup. Butch isn't Buttercup. He is just goofball, Who is more of a yesman to Brick who likes and enjoys the simple things in life. (If anything he is more of a go with flow type guy) . (And is also the second in command)

And that makes color code interesting. Both PPG and RRB are very different in terms of personality. But they have the same roles and experiences. That's the common ground.

They are on the same boat but with different flags.

(Also, I am not trying to convince OP otherwise. I just wanted to share my own opinion of them.

Tbh, When I rejoined the Fandom, I was surprised to find out that Blossick was the most popular. I always they thought they were the least popular XD)

i don’t like blossick

that ship is overrated

[mellybabbles]

May I ask for the one and only Killer Sans?

"We're gonna have a great time~"

So I totally decided "why not animate it rq" real quick was a lie, this took hours and it was totally fuckin worth it @swiftmitsu he's at your door bro, let him in (don't rip off the door on accident-)

Killer belongs to Rahafwabas Please do not repost my animations

[valtsv]

[wyvernity]

wip posting just to get something out there, and it's def a mixed bag!! the only thing more inconsistent than my posting schedule is my art style RIP

[vaspider]

I told you that I'm not going to fight with you.

You keep saying that my emails are posted verbatim, and yes, they are, but with your commentary on them, interpreting me saying "I'm confused" and "I'm baffled" and "I'm not in the habit of sending people things they don't order" as me saying "you're stupid." This response makes me quite certain that you are, indeed, just looking to make bad faith arguments - you must be aware that this is what I'm referring to when I talk about projection and adding words I didn't say. I'm well aware that my emails are posted verbatim. I know what I said.

The high irony of snarking at me about disability & then assuming someone whose header says he's autistic is being a big meanie and not ... you know... super precise and meaning only exactly what he actually says... that's not lost on me. But. I don't hold you responsible for that, even though that's information about me that you had very easy access to. I get that people are often not very careful about these things when they're as angry as you seem to be.

That said, I'm not going to apologize that your friend didn't understand how one of the most common sales in the world works? That is not actually something I'm responsible for in this situation. Yes, you have to put something in your cart to receive it. You have to check out with it to tell the company you want to get it. That's how buying things works. Do you pick up one can and go to the front of the store and assume someone will just put a random second can in your cart if the grocery store says "buy one can of vegetables and get a second can from this selection free"? Or do you pick up the second can and put it in your cart? Like. I'm truly, deeply baffled by this argument. This seems like pretty basic "dealing with the world" shit to me, but as I said, I'll be sure to put a note in future emails saying, "You have to actually pick out the second item." That still does not make me responsible for explaining basic e-commerce; that's just me saying I'll do people a favor and explain more than has ever been necessary before now.

The difference between the conversation I'm having and the one you're having is that you seem to think there's a problem that still needs to be solved by me. There is not. Your friend made a purchase from me and got exactly what they ordered. I'm not going to spend more money than I made on the transaction to send them a free product because they expected to receive something they did not actually ever order. If I had made the mistake, I would feel obliged to go into the negative on the transaction to fix it, and I have, many times, and will again.

You can try to make as many snide comments as you want about assuming that this is how I handle everything, but that still doesn't change that your friend placed an order with my shop & received exactly what was on the order they placed. There is no error here on our part, and no amount of trying to blame our site or me or anybody else is going to change the fact that an order was placed and an order was received as placed. Your friend even helpfully sent me a picture of what they received - and it's exactly what they actually ordered.

And if this was some sort of white-knight attempt to, like, resolve stuff for your friend, IDK, maybe don't lunge to Tumblr with a bunch of nastily annotated emails in the middle of the night & without me actually ever seeing or responding to the emails you seem to think are most damning. You keep acting in incredibly bad faith and then reacting with shock when that doesn't get you what you seem to want. I'm not going to fight with you, and all of this isn't going to get you anything but this thread muted.

So... yeah. I mean. You can try and fight with me, but there's nothing to fight about here, so.

Reminder to all: don't fight with this person. This is where I end this conversation.

Couple weeks ago my friend sent me a link to @vaspider shop with their promotion for a buy one get one free on hot/cold packs:

Razz loves to spread the word about shops they buy from, especially small businesses or shops owned and operated by queer people. I did not need a popcorn scented heat pack, so I did not buy anything, but they did.

Tonight I got these messages: 



Emails, you say? Let’s see…

I just want you guys to know that this last line, “after this interaction I can no longer in good conscience promote your work or buy from you,” is akin to burning your crops and salting your fields coming from Razz. They are the most polite person I know. They do not want to stir up trouble. Part of it is because, as a blind person, they have had to learn to be non-confrontational in order to protect themselves, but it’s also because Razz is just genuinely a kind hearted and understanding person.

They live off of disability and occasional commissions, but they use what little money they have to support small businesses and independent artists because they appreciate the quality as well as the work that goes into each item. You can see here that Raz was trying to figure out if it was a genuine misunderstanding on their part because they hadn’t read the site correctly.

They were not able to read the site correctly because they’re blind.

This isn’t really about a misunderstanding, or Razz wanting to get the other item. It’s about Vaspider immediately treating them with contempt when Razz sent an email asking what had gone wrong. Is it the businesses responsibility to eat the cost of shipping due to someone not being able to understand the terms of the sale? It’s certainly good business practice, but I think Razz would have understood if they had been told that it would cost the store too much for another item to be sent if Vaspider hadn’t been such an asshole about it.

Razz is, unfortunately, used to disappointment. They are used to having to struggle to navigate websites that are not made with people like them in mind. They are even, at this point, used to having to lose money on things due to brain damage suffered from being forced into a botched medical procedure last year. But that isn’t how they opened this conversation. They opened with, “I think something may have gone wrong, can you help me understand what happened? “

The way Vaspider treated my friend is disgusting. I hope that those of you reading this will take Vaspiders behavior in this exchange into account when you’re deciding where to spend your money. The next time that you see one of their posts, a link to their store, or receive an email about a sale, I hope that you remember these emails and recall how Vaspider treats people that they don’t think are important. I want you to think about whether the group of people that Vaspider considers to be worthless might include you. 

I know that there are a lot of people willing to come to Vaspiders defense because they’re well-known and popular. They are so well-known and popular that they’re willing to treat one of their customers like garbage over $10 in shipping, and they’re willing to do it right out in the open for everyone to see.

Happy holidays, and eat a big old bag of dicks. 

Let’s fucking go.

[neunhofferart]

Howdy, Heidi! You said that some fans picked up things that were done on accident… Were there more scenes like that? Also, were there scenes that you guys made on purpose but fans didn’t pick up / were aware of them? In shipping terms (hihi) and in general terms. Thanks!

I think in every type of media you will inevitably see versions of 'authorial' intent vs audience interpretation that overlap and differ from each other in many ways. (Authorial intent in quotes because in collaborative mediums like film and animation every single person on the pipeline who touches the work probably has a slightly different personal interpretation they're contributing to the final work, even under someone like a showrunner or a director).

Humans are smart and it's in our nature to look for connections and find explainations to questions, so most of the time if someone is putting something down, someone is going to pick it up, so to speak, and a lot of things ARE on purpose.

But this same phenomenon can also lead to us seeing connections in places that even the 'authors' might not have originally thought of while creating the work, and I think that can be pretty neat actually! I don't necessarily think reading alternate interpretations of works is wrong-- it can be very healthy to explore multiple reads of a narrative or a character/character dynamic. On Chaos Theory there were definitely times when we were like 'fans are probably gonna ship this even if it's not the text' haha. Sometimes fans latch onto headcanons you really have no control over. Sometimes things were animated slightly differently from how they were conceived (which is also a natural part of things).

But yes, sometimes I have seen a few other things that were interpreted in slightly different ways from how they were directed or written verbally, but I'm personally of the opinion that it's more fun to leave some things visual and open to a little interpretation rather than beating the words over the audience's head and having the characters constantly announcing 'I'm feeling this because of this!' And going 'this is the only way to interpret the show and the characters and if you don't you're wrong!'

It's usually not a huge deal. I think even as we were working sometimes I'd make connections to myself that weren't necessarily spelled out to us and go 'oh, this is a throughline for this character actually!'

Like for example- if I remember correctly, the original direction behind how Kenji reacted to Ben's apparent death was that it was supposed to the first time he'd ever seen someone he really KNEW seemingly die right front of him, and being unable to do anything about it deeply affected him. Ben is a very important turning point in his character development regardless of which way you read it.

And I think this is actually something that just continued to stack onto his character throughout both shows whenever any of his friends lives are seriously in danger. In Camp when he's still unable to do anything but comfort Sammy while she's poisoned, to deciding it's too dangerous not to trade Wu's laptop for Brooklynn, to eventually throwing himself between the spinosaurus his dad is about to kill Darius with and choosing his friends over his own father and being willing to die with/for them... and then in Chaos Theory it kind of reboots all over again with Brooklynn dying and then his dad dying right in front of him, and his complex of not wanting to be useless and trying to do whatever he can at the expense of even himself to keep the loved ones he has left safe is kicked into overdrive.

I think there are a lot of things like that where the intent is not always verbally spelled out, but the more important thing is that it's still (hopefully) making you feel something.