#figgy's story

[figgyblossom]

~fin~

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭😭😭🍾🍾🍾🍾🍾

Yoooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!

WHAT A GOOD FUCKING STORY. THAT WAS SO MUCH FUN. THANK U CHUCK TINGLE. HIGHLY RECOMMEND 10/10.

[scare-ard--sleigh]

okay so speaking of the finale i didn't have time to finish anything new but i rounded up my favorite archer fics for your viewing pleasure, all are rated E <3

💥 no light, no light / 8.8k / While Archer's in a coma, Cyril builds himself a whole new life (for better and for worse.) Messiness predictably ensues when Archer returns. / cyrling

💥 you are everything i want (cause you are everything i'm not) / 4.5k / Archer and Cyril hate each other and are stuck sharing a hotel suite. There's only one bed. / cyrling (vicious hatesex edition)

💥 part of that dream / 7k / There’s an aspect of Fabian’s life that he keeps very secret. / fabicyril, dilf fabian cinematic universe

💥 out of network / 5.9k / Takes place right after 'out of network' (13x05). Cyril has some things to say about Archer's relationship with his therapist. They talk about their feelings later that night. / cyrling (feelies hours)

💥 Prelude, Fugue and Riffs / 3.9k / Takes place before 'fugue and riffs' (04x01), though it's slightly au. Bob and Linda take Archer in after he discloses that he needs a new identity and a place to stay. Tension develops between Bob and Archer, which they happily explore. / insert bob/archer portmanteau here

💥 best friends / 4.3k / Takes place right after 11x05 ("Best Friends.") Cyril helps Archer with his post-coma dry spell. Aleister may have had a point. / cyrling (h/c edition)

💥 like a heathen clung to the homily / 5k / Sterling dresses as a priest for the gang's latest mission. Cyril has some feelings about it, which they explore. / cyrling (priest kink edition)

💥 nothing will feel the same (because nothing will be the same) / 16.5k / This takes place during and then immediately after mission: difficult (12x08.) Life after the Agency takes a toll on Archer. He finds comfort in places that are both novel and very familiar. / cyrilanarcher

[countesspetofi]

ARCHER: DREAMLAND S08E08, "Auflösung"

[shortnasties]

2968. No Answers, No Sympathy

This is called "No Answers, No Sympathy." Sure will be cool to not.

When I was younger, Alf would terrify me. He would come to my house and terrify me, on purpose!

If I went to get a snack from the kitchen, there he would be. Alf!

If I went to go do a Number Two, there he would be, behind the shower curtain. Insidious!

What could I do? He was stalking me. Not trying to be my friend. Terrifying me. Just not good at all!

Alf!

My mother and father wouldn't believe me. They said Alf is not real, so Alf does not terrify you. It's that simple!

Okay, I said. But in some strange way, it didn't feel true. Alf was terrifying me, which made him very real.

But Alf isn't real, said my father again, even though I hadn't said any of that out loud.

I said okay again, hoping this would stop his assurances of Alf's fictionality.

That night, Alf appeared in the darkness of my room. One could recognize the shadow of that hideous hairdo!

What do you want from me? I screamed. Why do you terrify me?

But the villain said nothing—he merely retreated back into the corner of the room, disappearing into the darkness there.

It's been like that for years. Alf has not ceased to terrify me. Which itself seems strange—how come I am still terrified when I know, without fail, he will be there to terrify me if I enter a room, turn the corner, go to sleep, etc.?

Alf! What can I say? I write this not for any answer or sympathy, but as an artifact that it happened, and continues to happen.

[take-me-on-a-picnic]

✧༺ ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔴𝔞𝔶 ℜ𝔬𝔟𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔶 ~ ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔒𝔫𝔢 ༻✧

This is my first fic so please ignore any grammar or formatting problems 😭. If yall like this concept I would love to keep writing highwayman Ghost. Lots of love, Picnic ❤️❤️

The day had gotten away from her, she didn't notice the orange hue in the sky as the sun set, or the birds settling in the trees to roost. She was too wrapped up in preparing the dough for tomorrow's batch of bread. By the time she left her humble bakery in the village, the only light that paved her way was that of the waxing moon. 

The ride down the dirt track to her cottage was an anxious one. She had never been down the trail alone at night and every rustle in the trees made her heart leap, her eyes stayed trained on the woods that surrounded the track. Her mother used to tell her stories of werewolves, banshees and other beasts. But they don't scare her anymore. A very real fear stalks the woods at night now. Every week more and more posters are pasted up on the windows of the town constables office. Wanted posters of dangerous highwaymen, each one more vicious than the last. Many highwaymen are seen as Robin Hoods, men who take it upon themselves to balance the scales of rich and poor, never stealing from the working class. Others aren't picky, taking from anyone who has the misfortune of crossing their paths, sometimes taking more than the coin in their pocket and leaving a lifeless body in their wake. People love the stories, they clamber into taverns to hear of victims' encounters, but no one wants to be the person who runs into one.

~ ✭・.・✫ ~

She strokes her horse’s white mane.

“It’s okay Figgy, it’s okay,” she says out loud more so for her own nerves than that of her horse’s. 

Figgy pauses on her own accord, her ears twitch. Fear bubbles up in her not wanting to be stationary for longer than she has to be in the dark wood. 

“Come on Figgy… please.” she pleads gently tapping her heels on the abdomen of her normally well-behaved horse.

Figgy continues hesitantly. 

Suddenly from the brush, there's a commotion and before she can see what caused it, she is being thrown from Figgy’s back onto the hard stony ground. She can hear Figgy galloping off in the direction of her cottage.

In front of her stands a huge black horse, the rider is what scares her though. A large man, tall and muscled shrouded in dark fabrics, a pistol in hand and a mask covering his face.

She cowers as he dismounts from his horse. 

“Please don’t hurt me” she wheezes out, the fall causing her to be winded. She hurriedly digs out her pink satin purse throwing it to his feet, the few coins within it clinking together.

He picks it up as he stalks closer. Her fear of the man in front of her clouds her mind so much that she doesn't realise how her head bleeds. She expects a rough touch, to be held at gunpoint and to have her jewellery ripped from her neck. Instead, what she feels is a large hand placing gentle pressure on her head and a gravelly voice softly saying, “It’s alrigh’ love, not gonna hurt you any more than I already ‘ave. Thought you were one of ‘em wealthy folk, caught wind they'd be comin’ down this way.” 

“Why are you helping me?” she whimpers out, her voice filled with uncertainty. As she looks into the brown eyes behind the mask. 

“I never go after the lower class, I made a mistake, saw your pretty green dress ‘n thought you were wealthy, realised too late is all, already spooked ya horse.”

The man softly swipes his large gloved hands over her face wiping her tears away as she settles in his grip.

“You’re Ghost, I’ve seen your bounty in the constable's window,” she says recognising his mask from the description on his wanted poster. 

Ghost looks at her, his eyes squinting slightly behind the mask. “Tha’ I am Dolly, you gonna tell the law you saw me?” he asks amused yet untrusting.

The bleeding has stemmed, so he goes on to clean the drying blood from her hairline with his handkerchief.

“Depends on whether you end up taking my purse or not,” she says, hesitantly playful.

He chuckles deeply at her confidence, throwing the small purse back to her. 

“You shouldn’ be out on these roads at nigh’, there’s worse men than me Dolly.”

“If you're one of the better ones I would hate to meet the worst,” she says clutching her throbbing head.

Ghost helps her up ensuring she’s not too dizzy to walk the rest of the way to her home.

“Are you gonna be alrigh’ without your horse love?” he asks.

She nods in response “My cottage is just up the track and my horse is well trained she would have run home. Thank you, for you know…not hurting me,” she says softly, taking one last look at the illusive highwayman before starting her walk home.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Raphael makes an unwelcomed appearance and Tav spends time with Astarion.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 5: Devils

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5.2k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Emotional Abuse, Sexual Language, Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Devils are not to be trusted. There is always a price to pay if you accept their offer of aid. With brimstone and lies they feed. When all faith in dreams is lost is when they appear. The temptation of contracts because of tumbling stones. Ah, but this isn’t only about our fiery constituents in hell. Man can also be the devil you never wanted to know.

— Wyll Ravengard, journal entry 666

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

She was to blame.

In the second year of their relationship, when Tav resolutely disagreed with Algos over a few subjects of discussion, he punched one of the wooden shelves hanging in their cottage.

The apologies spilled, but it was too late.

I hate myself. I have nothing to offer him. He’s better off without me. If only I had better reactions to him.

As she cried and asked him to please stop, he told her to ‘shut up’ and threw a figurine her father gifted her at the wall.

While she was huddled over, shaking with sobs, silently picking up the broken pieces of ceramic, he yelled at her for being selfish. He exclaimed that his opinions and declarations of love he showed her weren't important enough to her.

He’s right. He’s right. He’s right.

In the evening, Tav prayed to the revolving constellations in the sky wishing she could be someone else. To be pleasant and lovely always. That her negative qualities be erased, so she would no longer cause anymore pain to those she loved. She begged and pleaded to the listless stars until Algos placed a hand on her shoulder and coaxed her to bed.

That night, as he entered her to the hilt—telling her how good she felt wrapped around his cock—she held onto him closely, moaning his name loudly, grateful that he still wanted to be with someone like her.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“The mouse smiled brightly; it outfoxed the cat! Then down came the claw, and that, love, was that,” Raphael smirked slyly as he mimicked a claw with his hand. “They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they? I’m sure you’re familiar with some of their writings, aren’t you bard of Deepingdale?”

“And which are you? The cat or the mouse?” Tav inquired cautiously.

She noticed Raphael spoke in sonnets: euphemisms laced within the speech of his gentlemanly demeanor. He was all outwardly middle-aged extravagance, with a lullaby for his voice, wrapped tautly over the cambion he hid. “Neither. I’m the fox, a silent observer—if you will. Always listening, ready to break the silence with a pounce. Shall we speak somewhere more private?”

The companions were instantly whisked away to a lavish room, eerily prepared for their arrival. A large table sat with a feast that would typically suit the upper crust of Baldur’s Gate. Pigs heads, roasted chicken, and smoked venison was spread in various spots throughout. In the middle, there was a tier of platters: figgy pudding, beignets, tarts, and freshly baked rolls.

With a courteous bow and arms wide open, Raphael greeted the group cordially. “Welcome to my House of Hope. Please, indulge yourselves with an invigorating meal. What kind of host would I be, after all, to not offer such luxuries to those I have personally brought to my abode?”

Tav could smell a foul scent in the air, covered suspiciously by the fragrance of the banquet. Sulfur. Ashes. Singed hair. The heaviness of discord.

Raphael was already regaling himself as their savior. He wanted to give them hope, to provide another way for the removal of their tadpoles. And the price? Well, he was withholding such a disclosure until the moment was ripe. A contract forged in blood and the licking flames of Avernus—something to mull over.

Then, a flash and his appearance was changed! Standing taller, red, and winged, he transformed into a devil. His eyes were fit for their environment with an unsettling flame set in black pools, but they did not change the seductive entreaty that bored into each of their minds. A devil they now know.

Through the Devil’s jargon, you’re offered a golden brain through a Faustian bargain.

“Tell me bard, how beautifully do you think you’ll sing once your skin rends and your lamprey teeth craves the brain?”

Tav stepped forward, a quiet anger in her eyes. She cannot ignore that his proposition seemed to exhibit the fullest amount of truth they’d come across thus far, but where Raphael’s deceit lay was in the way he presented ”hope”. How he had managed to twist it into one of perversion, could dazzle even the most gods-fearing of men. His game was wicked, with a promise to quench the parch they have yet to answer.

She was aware of the folly they may face. Should any of them decide to want the feel of his jagged onyx nails scratching pleasurably down their sides, the cost will most likely be what they are least ready to part with—possibly more than that.

“Ah, and let us not forget the worshiper of the Lady of Loss herself! Do you think your dark goddess will save you when you are writhing in pain on the ground as tentacles sprout from your head begging for release?” Raphael clicked his tongue in what could only be described as blight amusement to Shadowheart.

The cleric’s fists clenched at her sides as she stepped towards the devil. ”Bite your tongue about my Lady you…” Tav held out her arm to the side, abruptly stopping Shadowheart in her tracks. Her head shook in a subtle no.

Raphael chuckled. “Such a formidable leader you have found to silence you with a mere gesture of her head. Though, let us move on, hmm?” His field of fiery vision landed on Wyll. “Yes. The one in an infernal pact with a fellow member of my race. Where once you had a choice on what to do with your soul, becoming an illithid will surely blot out the worry of the decision.”

Wyll remained silent. Like the others, the warlock had ordained himself to withhold his past. Tav had the notion the topic could be a sensitive breach, but she didn't want to push him about information concerning his pact with the nine hells fiend.

Everyone in their crew were eccentric misfits with lives that were uprooted by the mind flayers. For better or worse they all shared the knowledge that the monsters entrenched in the marrow of their bones, would have to either be bathed clean or drenched in blood with malevolence.

But, then the enigmatic cambion set his sights on Astarion. His grin was wide, teeth sharp, a taste of brimstone nectar thick in his timbre.

The songbird’s body suddenly became rigid. Her and Astarion hadn’t been on speaking terms for a couple of days—that much was apparent during their excursions to scout the outer regions of the Goblin Camp. His cantankerous attitude left her without a proper apology from their exchange at the Grove, instead relying on his usual quips of skepticism about the mandates of their journey to the whole of their camp. She oft felt his brooding pierce her back, until she would turn to him and his narrowed scarlet eyes would refocus on a random subject. However, her heart sped up considerably knowing Raphael meant to spell despair for the vampire to hear. The desperation to connect with Astarion’s tadpole was profound.

Holding her fingers against her temple, she tried to enter his mind. Protect him. Protect him. Protect him, Tav recited.

It was a fruitless effort. As they connected, the force of his worm severed it. She tried to weave her way through several more times, beads of sweat on her forehead, but she was pushed out harshly with a sharp pain of warning in her frontal lobe.

“And you, young beautiful vampling. So very far from the bonds of your master. While you may lose the powers you’ve gained with the worm should it be removed, if it were to remain as an inhabitant, I wonder as you lose the control of your body that has recently been gifted to you—with the slithering of mucus and the fading of your mind—if one of your last thoughts will be memories from inside the dungeon he so graciously kept you," Raphael sing-songed.

Tav decried the horror on Astarion’s face as the missive from the devil’s maw was discharged among the liturgy of his halls. The threads around her heart split as it ached for him. There was a deepened torture that ran as a black river inside him that he had been continuously drowning in and she beheld only one of the thousands of quills—that had entered his soul one millimeter per second—the night he allowed her to see a vision of his involuntary dinner of squealing rats. And Raphael was perceptive enough to be his redeemer, dipping his hands into the icy flow with deliverance for him.

She flinched combatively, leaning forward with her jaw thrust forward ready to hiss. “That’s enough Raphael; return us immediately!”

The devil bore a scheming grin as he glimpsed back and forth between Tav and Astarion, as if he just discovered a precious artifact that he could fortuitously collect.

With forked tongues slick in worship at their feet, the payment could be steep for pleasures above. For what is the most expensive thing to part with, if not the promise of love.

“I’ll be there when your luck runs out. May hope ever find you when you require it most.”

And with a snap of his fingers, they were returned.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Karlach was a breath of fresh air.

As an impassioned barbarian with an unmatchable gratitude for her life after cheating her imprisonment from the archdevil, Zariel, she still remained brazenly good humored.

“You have a dog?! Gods, I haven’t seen a fucking dog in ages—10 years at least! Wish to hells I could scruff ya, but here!” Karlach loudly aired, cheerfully throwing the mutt’s ball.

“We found him starving near his deceased master. Scratch has been a welcome addition to our quaint family ever since," Tav laughed as the dog came trotting back to them, ball in his mouth, proud of his achievement. She squatted down to pet him, placing a kiss on his furry head.

“Aww! You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you? I can tell. I may not be able to touch him, but it does my ole ticker a hearth of warmth knowing I’ve come across you lot.”

Tav ruffed his fur a final time before throwing his ball once more. She peered up into the tiefling’s face, watching as the infernal lights glowed on and off. “You can't touch anyone?”

Karlach sighed mournfully. “Part of Zariel’s fucked up experiments. Infernal engine or ‘The Hellion’s Heart’ where my blood pumper should be. I burn hot—always. Let me tell you how bored I’ve gotten using my hands to take care of myself, soldier! I mean, sure, I have fun if I conjure up a fantasy of me riding a beautiful person until I see stars, but gods, I’d settle for a hug at this point!”

Tav stood, shielding beams of the setting sun with her hand as a visor over her brows. She found herself casting a pensive look in the direction of Astarion’s tent. He hadn’t been present since they returned from Raphael’s intrusion.

Why had she gone through such lengths to try and shield him earlier? She didn’t even lift a finger for the others when the devil laid bare the raw meat of their inner selves. But, when it came to this pale man, she felt compelled to battle for him. To keep him by her side when there was no light in the claret swirl of his eyes, wrapping her hands around his head to blind him from all that would try to desecrate him.

Karlach smirked. “He’ll be back. Something tells me he needs us—even though that toff would hate to admit it. I know I’m the greenhorn of our company, but Astarion lives behind a handsome face of pain. It’s similar to how I looked being in Zariel’s clutches. I’d know that hallmark anywhere.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

The fragrance of lavender and vanilla seeped diligently into the hollow of her décolletage and the sanctity of her pulse points.

It had been the first time in over a week—since the crash—that she felt like herself as she fit a long linen skirt around her waist. She paired it with an off the shoulder chemise that ended halfway down her elbows, revealing all of the stunning ink work on her left arm. Then, she laced up a navy blue corset bodice over her torso, giving a tantalizing view of the top heap of her bosom. With the final accessory of a black velvet ribbon tied into a bow around her neck, she picked up her lute—donated to her by Alfira—and promenaded confidently out of her tent. Tav exhaled blissfully. It was remarkable just how a simple bar of soap and a washcloth could mollify the rifts of her plights.

Her companions had long settled for the night. Wyll and Karlach were exchanging tales of the Blood War by his tent as they sipped from oversized cups of wine. Shadowheart was offering prayers to her goddess, pleading to steadfastly stick to her mission. Lae’zel stood in front of their local grinding stone, sharpening the blade of her longsword in silence. Finally, Gale was fiddling with a mirror image duplication spell that summoned illusionary doppelgängers.

Ah, but then there was him—the vampire still estranged from their camp. She wondered where he ventured off to, if he would return to them soon. The phantom noise of his voice and laughter rooted itself in her mind and she grinned. She envisioned him biting down on the neck of another and then she frowned.

Still, this man was no hero. Far from it. He was the seductive dastard that placed fingertips against his lips to kiss while pickpocketing their purses. He was the exact type of man that holy temples would lock their doors around. With his tongue so derisive and his touch a tender elegy, Astarion was the nephilim of fanged little deaths.

Hells, did she miss him? She felt a troubled heat within her chest at the mere thought of crawling to him, touching his palms, offering a truce betwixt them.

Tav heard a long howl of a whistle. “Fucking hells, soldier. You didn’t tell us how well you could clean up!”

Her skin flushed into the deepest shade of red as she performed her signature bow that resembled the outstretched wings of a bird.

The entirety of the camp gaped at her as Karlach whistled again with a slow clap of her strong hands. Compliments on her radiance or questions of her plans for the night circled around the flock all at once, but Tav only flashed a beguiling smile in silence.

“If you’ll excuse me, I am going to take a walk along the river while the moon is still high.” She regarded them with a downward stroke on the strings of her lute and headed towards the sound of the currents.

Tav’s feet carried her on the warm dark earth with a predestination in mind towards the weeping tree she saw midday, branches sweeping in the water, slender leaves dancing wrinkles on the surface. When she reached it, her throat widened like the peaceful openness in a forest clearing. She cadenced her fingers to pluck at her instrument as she breathed in, belting out an innocent tune of yearning.

♫ The moon’s streams wandered into my eyes, Leading me to you, But from the dusk of your soul, I can hear your heartbeat.

I’ll stay here with you, In this starry canopy of twilight, Because darkness can bring unholy things, But the sharpness of our blades will shine.

And I’ll sing to you, Telling you about the sun and orchards, Because lover, we can bury our pasts in the ground, And embrace in the beam of the lune as we restart.♫

There was complete silence as she ended her tune. Mirages of lights reflected off the waterfront as Tav sighed longingly, allowing herself a few moments to fondly think about the vampire that managed to capture her attentions. After all this time, someone like him was the one prying open the rusted chambers of her heart. It bothered her immensely and she wanted to drown the first niggling movements of butterflies crawling out of their cocoons in her stomach.

But, then an interruption of parchment pages turning in a book distracted her.

She peered around the large trunk of the tree, her fingers holding onto the bark. “As— Astarion?”

Astarion lounged against the tree, reading one of the many books he tended to during the more subdued moments of their voyage. The silver of the moon illuminated his curls, much like fallen stardust.

“Evening, darling.”

The bard rounded the rest of her body around the tree, trying to stop her smile from growing wider. She was supposed to still be upset with him—after all. “You’ve been here the entire time?”

“Ohh, something like that! And what about you dearest, songbird? Did you come out here to sing especially for me or to form your own search party because you missed my striking..." he trailed off as he tilted his head upwards, examining Tav with novel attention to her appearance.

She caught his eyes lining her curves up and down. “Now which poor bastard did you save in my absence that paid you in clothes?" he asked.

Tav playfully snarked. “None! In fact, I sold some of those ornate pillows you have insisted on carrying around for your splendid arse to sit upon.”

He unceremoniously shut his book, staring wide in feigned shock. “What?! You wouldn’t dare!”

Tav nodded her head quickly. “Fetched quite a bit of coin too! I even managed to buy a whole new wardrobe for Karlach before it suddenly burned to a crisp from her excitement.”

And then Astarion chuckled. Fangs glinting in the light with a bellowing hearty rumble from his chest she couldn’t stop herself but to admire. As it tapered off, he tucked the tome underneath his armpit.

His expression was abruptly strained. “Back at camp, when we were leaving the grove, I—you’re a wretch, you know that?”

Tav was initially confused by his sudden change in demeanor, but then realized he was referring to their recent spat and was trying to express regret. Ignoring her better judgement—and the undefined hold her had over her—she decided to forgive him.

She propped the lute against the tree and stood tall with her hands on her hips, a tease trickling in her voice. “And you’re a scoundrel.”

He attempted to snicker despite the subtle underlying concern in his tone. “One of my many lovable qualities, my dear.”

A few sleepy minutes passed between them—the only noises being the stream and a solemn breeze. Tav noticed he was struggling to speak. There seemed to be a lot he had reflected on since they last saw one another. She had half a mind to inquire about the use of their worms to ease him, but there was a recognition that he probably needed to use his voice. The elf wondered when was the last time Astarion was able to speak so freely without consequences floating over his head like a hailstorm.

Astarion shifted uncomfortably. “That devil, Raphael, he has a plan for us. If we’re not careful, we’ll collapse along with the bridge we stand on. He’s toying with us, knocking on our door as if we are important patriars.” His eyes were dilated. Serious. “My old master, Cazador, enjoyed toying with people too. Let them think there was hope until he snatched it away at the last moment.”

“Your old master? You know you don’t have to tell me about him if you don’t want to,” she replied with an equally serious low inflection.

He was suddenly defensive. “I don’t want to say a damned thing, but it won’t help anyone, especially me.” Then, he calmed himself enough to explain. “Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord and patriarch of his coven in Baldur’s Gate. He’s a monster obsessed with power. Power over people—to control them completely. Nearly two hundred years ago, I became his slave, a spawn, and he became my tormenter.”

Tav was revulsed. She glowered inwardly thinking about what kind of torture Astarion may have encountered unwillingly. “He attacked you to turn you then?”

“No. A gang of thugs beat me up, angry about a ruling I handed down as magistrate. As I wavered between death’s door and the life that was fading out of my grasp—Cazador appeared. It wasn’t until later I realized how long ‘eternal life’ could actually be.”

Astarion’s hand waved showily in the air, his voice lifting like a dramatization of a play. “Ah, and the little ritual he played. I would bring him back the most beautiful of souls and he would ask if I wanted to dine with him. If I said yes, he’d feed me a dead rat. If I said no, well, let’s just say the flay is no stranger to me.”

He held his hand in front of her to shush her from speaking as the stickiness of her mouth detached itself to talk. “There is no need for your sympathies. Just be aware that there are other monsters than mind flayers lurking in the shadows.”

With no color left in your skin, you can’t escape your master’s blood.

Tav closed her mouth respectfully. Of all the things Astarion could have confided in her, she could not have prophesied this tale. Her guts churned unpleasantly, ruminating over the abuse he had encountered for that length of time. She felt like she now understood his personality and behavior. Every disagreement, deflection, sarcastic joke—it all made sense. He was trying to survive, just like her.

Attempting to change the subject to allow him proper space with his thoughts, she reached out to grab the hand floating in front of her, flipping it over to examine his nails. “Forgive me for saying so, but your nails are a mess.”

He cocked his eyebrow, narrowing his puzzled eyes. When she applied a bit of pressure on his nail beds, he winced. “Ouch! All that lock-picking and murdering—as fun as it's been—surely has me ruined. You can clearly see the state of them.”

“I know you deplore my insistence on helping, but I do have something that could soothe the soreness and heal your split cuticles.”

“Oh, do indulge me darling! What did you have in mind?" he grinned with a deviant twist on his mouth.

Tav removed a vial of cuticle oil and hand lotion from the satchel hanging on the looped belt around her hips. “I was pleasantly surprised to find these at one of the vendors, though, I suppose it makes sense the druids make all sorts of concoctions. When I traveled the roads, I used to carry these with me frequently while I played music. They helped a great deal in keeping my hands softened so they wouldn’t crack open and bleed. A dreadful thing to happen if you play a stringed instrument—I might add.”

Astarion presented both of his appendages to her. “At least someone around here recognizes how handsome I am and wishes for me to maintain it! Oh, benevolent bard that wants to save even the foulest of souls, aid me in this fretfulness."

She rolled her eyes as she uncorked the bottle of oil. On each of his nails, she deposited a drop of the liquid. “I’m going to rub this into your cuticles and nail folds now, is that okay?”

He nodded his permission.

With the tips of her fingers, she meticulously rubbed the yellowish substance into his nails, focusing on the splits. The chill of his shuddery breath exhaled, splaying out against her forehead while she had her head slanted down. After she finished with the oil, she plopped a spoonful of lavender scented lotion into her palm and massaged his hands.

Astarion startled her with a groan. Her head moved upwards seeing his eyes had fluttered closed.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked timidly.

The Adam's apple of his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No. It feels good. Gods.”

The way the cream permeated his pale skin, like pearls being dropped into the finest white wine, fascinated her. She burrowed her fingers deeper into his hands, skimming them across slowly, relishing that she was able to nourish this horrible angel of a man in such a way. When her thumb slid from his inner palm near his wrist, up towards his middle finger, another whimper of pleasure hissed from his plush lips.

As if fathoming the effect her touch was having on him, his eyes flew open and he spun her around, pinning her between the tree and his body. The scent of the lavender heavily wafted from him. He firmly held onto her elbows, garnet unflinching in the wake of her steely blue.

“What are you doing to me,” he fanned out. "Don't touch—"

But, there would be no time to respond because the gods were in mourning and the rain began to pour. While the onslaught of droplets soaked them completely, Tav observed him, watching watery beads dripping from his mussed curls down the length of his nose. Astarion continued staring at her, almost daring the bard to hammer away at the crack he showed her. A proposition her gut was churning over.

Tav hurriedly gathered up their objects, breaking the awkward silence. “I think my tent is closer. I have some towels we can dry off with. if you'd like to come along.”

He puffed out a spurt of air, holding out his arm for her to grab onto. “It never ceases to amaze me how perilous events are always around the corner with you. On the count of three, we run.”

She reached out gracefully, tightly holding onto his bicep. With a loud giggle she boomed, ”Three!”

They ran back to camp, passing by each of the tents, their boots now soaked and soiled with mud. When they reached Tav’s, they huddled inside with quickened breaths still rising from their chests. She deposited her items into the corner and motioned for both of them to remove their shoes, leaving them isolated near the tent’s flap.

Astarion lifted up his book by the cover; it flew open with a splash of water falling from the pages into his lap. “Guess I won’t be finishing this story up anytime soon.” He tossed it to his side.

Tav grabbed a couple of towels from an unraveling basket. She unpinned her hair brooch, rubbing her lengthy strands and face in the towel all at once. Astarion followed suit, soaking up the water on his arms and chest before moving towards his scalp. His curls were deliciously wild as he shook the friction of the towel over them.

“Wait, let me. Before you frizz yourself to death.”

“I’m already dead, darling, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

She pursed her lips pretending to be annoyed. “You know what I mean, rouge.”

He conceded, passing the towel to her. Tav stood on her knees and scooted closer in between his legs, lifting herself to tower over him. Holding the towel near his head, she wrung out the water into it while she scrunched his hoary strands.

“Much better,” she whispered above him.

However, the air had begun to alter rapidly. There was an unformed spell that was pulling them together: a combination of untolds, hesitations, and growing affections. This time, unlike near the weeping willow, it refused to be disturbed.

Tav knew she was in trouble.

Astarion peered up into her face as if he were admiring the exquisiteness of a goddess forever captured in marble. Daintily, he placed his hands on either side of her hips, bidding her closer to him with a compress of his digits digging into her plumpness.

Tav lowered herself to sit back onto her heels, refusing to break eye contact with him. Her hands regretfully left the entangled mess of his snowy curls and settled in her lap, fervently hanging onto the towel tightly, out of concern she had gone too far in her succor.

Astarion traced the outline of her lips with a bewitching gaze. He lightly curved his spine forward and pressed a tiny peck at the corner of her mouth causing Tav’s stomach to morph into millions of wings flapping within her. His breath smelled of wild mint and a trace of gamey blood. The half-lidded look of consent she bestowed to him was followed by the eagerness of her chest inflating and deflating.

Then, his lips were ghosting along the flush of her skin towards her neck. She could feel the cool touch of his fingers combing her soaked hair out of the way, giving him access to the full expanse of her opulent flesh. Tav prepared to hold her breath, believing he would sink his teeth into her at any moment. Instead, he moved to place a firmer chaste kiss along the side of her neck, right behind and just below her ear lobe. She sighed heavenly into the pointed shell of his ear.

Finally, he glided his nose across her flushed skin, pursuing a trail from her neck to her forehead. The habit of his breathing from his former mortal life, was now motionless. He placed a longer peck in the middle of her brow, watching her calmly with such reverence, that her heart palpitated alongside the action.

“You’re breathtaking,” Astarion complimented her with a deep bass of his tone.

The knight has arrived. Daggers to anoint foes skin with a sweep of its cold metal. He will shatter your kingdom and you will beg him to continue.

“Tav?”

“Yes?” she nearly gasped.

He slid his hand onto her arm, caressing it lightly. “Back at the ruins, you said you couldn’t do this. Has that changed?”

Tav was nearly tense with shock. She was unsure what to do, where to touch, how to react. If she should even respond with the bustling elation that was overtaking her with each surge of blood pumping through her veins. But, with the way his fingers were tingling over her arms like an architect measuring lines, she could not control herself any longer.

She leaned forward in turn, pressing her lips to his jawline. Delighted when the cool of his breath was back to deliver its own chorus into her ear. Then, she warily moved to push her mouth onto one of the bones of his clavicle, feeling him clasp onto her tighter.

As the night took on a mystical flare of secret romance, the raging vestibules of warring beasts and luminaries leading to Tav’s heart, made her question if she was ready to belong to another. For another to belong to her. If he could be the one to peel these crosses from her body that sealed in every piece of herself like those that seal forces within stones.

The bard leaned slightly away from him, positioning her hands to repose flatly against his frigid chest. She searched his eyes for an inkling of intimate fondness for her. Any bit of affection to attest to the vows tugging within her breast that this was right.

“Astarion? Please don’t hurt me.”

But, as he gripped her hip again to pull her gently towards him—his other hand falling to the back of her head to angle her face—she could not see that his eyes were devoid of the same euphoric light she felt, when he kissed her lips in a passionate mingling of their temperatures.

There would be no salvation for these lovers.

[inonibird]

Whoa, it’s my birthday?! Nifty! Leveling up! So old! Wow!

You know what would be a fun present? Telling someone you know about my fic Sahuldeem, or leaving a comment or kudos, or heck, reading it at all if you haven’t! Now is a great time to catch up, as the story is paused between Parts Four and Five, and, now that I’ve moved into my new house, I’ll be getting back into the swing of writing and drawing and creating in general (so more updates soon!) There’s a handy master post to get folks started, as well!

No but seriously, buying a house is an exhausting experience and I crave a diversion from Real Life, so since I derive great joy from sharing my massive fanfic about General kriffing Grievous with the internet, knowing there’s anyone out there discovering and liking it is indeed a gift~

At any rate, thank you for hanging out here and following my various projects, whoever you may be—whether you’re a relatively new follower for Sahuldeem, or a fan of Stick-Gods, or someone who knows what TCD or CLM stands for—I appreciate you all. :3

Uhhh, no art and my house is still too much of a mess for pics, so here’s me with a cuddly Figgy!

[popculturebuffet]

Uncle Scrooge: The Secret Santa Spell Review (comission by WeirdKev27)

Happy Holidays all you Happy People. It's that time of year again, time to haul out the holly and the breadcrumbs because we're talking about ducks again. Yes while I haven't talked about ducks nearly enough on this blog as of late, finding a Ducktale for christmas has always been a priority.

This year though Kev took the reigns on this one after realizing this was a tradition, and found me TWO. We were originally going to do the darkwing duck christmas special, something I didn't know existed and still know little about on purpose and still plan to next year.. but then... he found this. See back in 2021 I reviewed the Carl Barks comic a letter to santa. You can find the review here.

But the main takeaway is it features THIS iconic scene

Look saying i'm a simple man would be a boldfaced lie, but sometimes it's the simple things like an absurdly rich duck and his nephew fighting to the death with heavy machinery so one of them can give their nephew's the remaining machine as a christmas present that bring me joy on this holiday season.

That said after years of basking in the warm glow of having randomly found a comic about Scrooge and Donald battling to the death with steam shovels, I found something just as holly jolly.. and just as gloriously, wonderfully nuts. My friends it's time I introduced you to the Secret Santa spell.

Again Kev, my producer of sorts, deserves the credit here: he found this in Disney Christmas Parade, IDW's christmas anthology they printed every year for a while, and god bless him for it as this story is gold. It's a genuinely good, well done Magica story that thanks to taking place on christmas and involving a claus somehow less thought out than the one where if you kill Santa you become Santa, figgy pudding, a murder tree, and a volcano finale, is also completely bonkers and I love every second of it. This is a geninely fantastic scrooge story and one worth taking a look for yourself if you can find it online since it's out of print. For those of you who can't or simply don't wanna, come with me under the cut as we explore the hap happiest christmas since bing crosby tap danced with danny fucking kaye while Donald and Scrooge tried to pummel each other with steam shovels.

This story comes to us from writers Fransico Artibani, Lello Arena and artest Silvio Cambolli. I hadn't heard of any of these people before this as i'm not really up on my itallian duck comics but they do an excellent job here and I certainly will be looking out for more of their stories.

For this story we open at the bin a few days before christmas as everything's winding down for the holiday and Donald's doing one of his last bits of slave labor for Scrooge when two Scottish obviously suspcious carollers show up. Scrooge apparently gets so many that both are and aren't villians in disguise he's worked up a bit of an extreme solution.. granted he wanted to just pour oil on them but then legal got involved.

So he has to go with the Virtuetron 3000, an elaborate setup he had gyro work up that puts MIND READING HELMETS

Yup i'ts magica.. I mean I can't blame Scrooge for being suspcious, turning her shadow into a teenager to sneak into the mansion only for said teenager to fall in love with scrooge's daughter, this ain't, but i'm less concered with Magica and Co's half baked scheme and more concered a man who underpays his employees, quite literally owns the town, and already has a fairly sketchy moral compass has MIND CONTROL technology.. and giant killer robots

You'd think this would be an out of character expendature... but he got it from a reliable presidental source

Scrooge did all this so he could have a restful christmas. Magica.. isn't having the same as she has some uninvited guests.

Okay so some introductions are in order as i'm sure some of you had the same reaction I did

Thankfully Inducks also indexed who they are. Starting with the one I DID recognize, the little tyke is Magica's niece Minima, the basis for Lena and Magica's exact oppisite: kind, selfless, cheery. The only thing she isn't inverted on is magical talent, as Minima has a knack for it.

The two strangers are Rosolio and Gramma DeSpell. Yes GRAMMA, that's magica's grandma. What's intresting is there's two distinct versions of the character that don't really contradict each other, with this one in the 90's becoming a bigger fixture, and there being nothing to say this isn't the same character given a Sabrina the Teenage Witch style makeover, just a few years BEFORE Zelda and Hilda's got there's in fact. Go figure. She's a bit of a hippie and tries to talk down Magica from her schemes.

Her sidekick here, and sexual harasser, is Rosolio, a mildly inepet magician who followed her from italy to hit on her.

So Magica's about ready to just abandon her magic shop and go.. fuck off or whatever when Minima innocently brings up something...

Yes folks, this is indeed our premise: Santa put in a clause in his magic that's somehow weirder than "If tim allen shoves you off a room tim allen become santa claus" or "If tim allen dosen't find a wife in time he ceases to be santa claus" or.. let's just say anything tim allen adjacent. If you wish for something seven times and happen to be some sort of spellcaster, you get it, regardless of morality, intent or what it actually is. Which DOES mean good news for one little boy man robot

But still raises a LOT of questions. It's not a bad concept, that asking for something enough means santa will take pity but why isn't their restraints? Why has Magica, someone Santa would objectively not liked asked 7 times? why have we only heard about a magic version of the junior woodchuck guidebook this once? why didn't we get a fourth season of ducktales so Frank could adapt this? These are the things that keep me up at night. This is also a thing that keeps me up at night.

Donald just admit you need glasses instead of taking it out on your children, for all our sakes!

So Magica goes to the north poll to deliver letter 7 personally while Gramma.. only stops Rogoilo from going with her then hopes she'll be okay.

Magicia isn't as an elf being pulled by a sleigh full of pengys and getting there late notices her. Honestly we wouldn't have this plot at all if the best boy pengy wasn't busy.

Magica is frozen solid and is revived by 30 cc's of hot chocolate. I don't know if Tom Hanks sang to her, he was also busy that christmas

Magcia repays this kindness by busting up the north poll, going on a rampage to find Santa since the elves handle letters. Keep in mind this ENTIRE act of the story, her getting frozen, her going on a rampage, her bringing an evil dead tree to life before fighting an army of teddy bears and snowman

YUP. You didn't think the insanity stopped at mind policing, killer robots, santa clauses and improperly placed penguins did you? Nope we get a full on offscreen lord of the rings battle complete with ents simply because Magicia wants to gloat in person. And despite this section being padding.. it works. of COURSE magicia would want to gloat to santa, of COURSE she coudln't wait for Christmas day. It's totlaly in character and her singing oh christmas tree or spitting out hot chocolate are just.. such nice character touches. Of course she's so dedicated to being evil she hates something sweet. OF COURSE.

It's something neat about this comic: i'ts bonkers, no question.. but it's also simply fantastic on it's own merit. The idea of Magica getting a santa wish is neat on it's own, but the story then uses Minima to anchor it: she's frustrated it seems her aunt will never be happy and always obess over the dime, and thus teleports to the bin to take it from her, not understanding WHY it's precious to scrooge or WHY her aunt wants it, simply wanting to make her aunt happy. No one even knows; the thought police helmet's don't scan ill intent.. because there isn't none. It's just an innocent child wanting to bring her Aunt christmas. This version of Minima reminds me a LOT of 87 webby, and it's in the best way: innocent , kind, selfless.. all the good things.

Anyways Santa finally goes to confront magica, wondering why she's doing this the answers no.. and forgetting his own stupid policy until it's too late, with her asking for the dime and him entering a trance to go get it.

It's christmas eve and Scrooge is bored as nothing's going on. Disturbingly he wants to know how litigatoins are going. Those orphans aren't going to be forced out into the snow themsleves, ghosts of past buisness partners be dammned!

Scrooge is interuptted from taling to Mrs. Quackfaster byt he arrival of santa. Thinking it's magica in a disguise , he sicks a robot guard dog on her he turns into a sheep.

But then we get the crowner, the weirdest, best, and most wonderful thing in this story.. I present...

I"ll level with you all, while holiday shopping was easy this year, i've still been dealing with a lot of seasonal depression and regular ole depression. It's been a long month with loved ones in the hosptial (nothing serious but also nothing you need to know about in full), work piling up and me not even taking the time to enjoy some of my gifts. I've had plenty of kind people, thoughtful gifts, and wonderful friends but sometimes the stress of this job, as much as I love it, and the world can get to you. So getting to just relax and review a comic where Santa turns Scrooge's bin into a giant figgy pudding while under hypnosis.. it helps> it warms the spirit and reminds me why I do this. For the joy of good stories.. and for the wonder of nonsense.

For those who like me wondered what Figgy Pudding actually even is, wonmder no more: it's a traditional british pudding made out of animal fat. You no doubt have more questions but we have more story

So Santa snaps out of it once he gives Magica the time and she teleports out. Scrooge asks santa to go get it.. but despite you know having TURNED SCROOGE'S BIN INTO PUDDING and stolen his prized possesion, he's .. less than helpful.

I just.. dude... man.. santa dude man claus... Christmas is important. It brigns joy to children and it's why youd o this. I get that. But how does "I need to return the dime I stole while BRAINWASHED due to a stupid bit of magic I never bothered to undo or work up a backup plan for", equate to "greed begats greed'.

For starters the Dime.. isn't just a dime.. and you should know this. Your santa. You know everything about a person, it's your deal. This dime was the first bit of honest money Scrooge ever earned, a reminder of what he started, something he dearly loves and treasures not because it's MONEY but because of what it means. And even not knowing that Scrooge didn't start any of this shit. Scrooge has to constantly ward off Magicia's crap, something you DO for a fact know as you rejected her wish till your dumbass magic kicked in. She's not trying to steal his hoarded gross amount of money, she's trying to take the dime and she's trying to do it for an evil plan. YOU KNOW BETTER SANTA.

Granted this could be a christmastime grift as Santa gets Scrooge to promise a big dinner and bonuses for everyone in duckburg, so he could've simply been fleecing scooge.. and I prefer that interprtation as it fits santa better: Santa would WANT to make up for what he did with magica and WANT to stop her because Santa is a kind, caring person. And even if she hadn't used the santa spell against him, she still attacked his elves out of spite. I prefer to think he would've helped anyway but knew Scrooge deserved to be taught a lesson which, fair play to the big guy.. Scrooge ABSOLUTELY did.

So they go to stop him while Magica goes to show off her dime.. and minima realizes Magica didn't open her present and thus dosen'jt know and is about to make an oopsie.

So Scrooge and Santa go to stop her, but can't... luckily thanks to Minima giving Scrooge a chocolate coin instead of giving her the midas touch, the spell gives her...

It's an excellent brick joke on Magicia hating chocolate, and a great visual. it temproarily makes her the sweetst duck in the world.. which leads to some shipping bait

But a genuinely sweet ending for Minima who, if for one moment and only thanks to magic.. gets to enjoy her aunt. I mean Magica becoming sweet thanks to choclate magic is KINDA Messed up.. but it's hard to not enjoy a child who simply wanted her aunt to be happy.. getting that for one breif moment.

I still feel bad for her as this won't lass, Magicia will be back to her abuse hateful self.. but I can't begrudge a kind, innocent little witch her happy ending. I just don't have it in me. It's not forever, Magicia gets herself back.. but for one day.. she'll treat her family how they deserve. And Rogilo how he really dosen't but you can't have everything now can you?

So because we can't just end on the sweet moment, Santa assures Scrooge the figgy pudding bin will turn back after christmas.. but until then.. he has a promise to fufill.

Every christmas story should end with the whole town eating a rich man's property. Hell EVERY christmas should. Eat the rich's buildings kids!

This story is excellent. Really werid? yes. Having a pretty bonkers ending for no reason? Yes. Is said ending hilarious, the throughline of Minima heartfelt, and the zanier stuff also really funny? Entirely. It's a well done Scrooge story set around christmas with santa's indgiance at helping scrooge being the only thing I really don't like. Had he phrased it less as "you brought this on yourself" and more "you don't deserve it after how you've treated your employees" it'd make more sense. Still one little bump dosen't ruin the figgy pudding.. I think. I don't know how figgy pudding works. I do like this story though and highly recommend it. Thanks for reading.

[figgymoto]

Bestie, no. You can make him worse.

Actually, scratch that – that boy needs no help being worse. He can do bad life decisions on his own. Ash Ketchum needs no help in being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He's the equivalent of one of those haunted dolls your grandmother buys at a garage sale – the one that haunts your home for generations to come and looks smug as fuck while doing it.

But this isn't about him, not right now. I'll get to him. I'll be living up to my equal opportunity hater M.O. don't worry. His time will come — depending on who you ask, his time has already happened. Cough cough -- learn how to write your character's journeys linearly pokeani -- cough cough

No, this is about Serena and how she got jipped by the anime. I'm not much of an anime watcher, haven't really seen much beyond the first ten episodes of DP – before you come here with, "oh, figgy, you don't know anything about XY."

Listen, figgy knows shit. Maybe not a lot of shit about the anime, but figgy knows their shit about the games. And XY are still some of my favorite games in the series. I like the story, the villain, the ending. And I fucking love Serena in these games.

She's a strong female character. Not much unlike Misty in the os. She has a path already set up for her – mother a Ryhorn racer – she has a PATH. And yet, she defies it. She doesn't want to be a Ryborn racer, she doesn't know what she wants to be.

But, she learns.

Game Serena has her friends to help, her friends to be her rivals -- she has growth. She grows. Sure, anime Serena has growth in the Pokémon Showcases, those are sexist af and make the horrors that are Hoenn look like a fucking sanctuary.

And then pokespe Serena. Oh, Yvonne Gabena. My dear.

Yvonne would have kicked Ash's ass if he ever made her feel like a glorified coat rack. She chooses violence. As she should, honestly.

Yvonne outright goes against her mother's wish for her to follow in her footsteps — she becomes a flying trainer on her own, of her own volition. She makes and carves her own path without the pressure of outside forces. Does she have her friends by her side? Yeah. Do they help her to see her wishes come to life? Yes. Do they outright change her trajectory or make her be something Yvonne is not? No.

And that is how a strong, female heroine should be. This is the Serena that we should have seen in the XY anime — the strong, female lead who makes her own story.

Also.

If the drug dealer knows you fucked up, you know you fucked up.

Serena should have thrown that backpack and jacket right back at Ash, then gone to kick that trainer's ass just to prove a fucking point.

Listen, all I'm saying is that if pokeani weren't such fucking COWARDS, we could've had another badass female character who was in control of her own story – not just a stepping stone for the haunted victorian child to get another notch in his uber haunted belt.

XY should've been a series that looked at Serena, even Clemont or Bonnie, and said – haha, get haunted, idiot. It's a massive disservice to both the Pokémon company and to the fans who have gotten them this far.

Anyway, that's all for now. Figgy out.

[figgyblossom]

ok so I decided I wanted to watch a movie tonight and I chose dungeons & dragons (honor among thieves) and.. im not saying this is gonna be a live-blog cuz probs not (but who's to say) but there will be spoiler so if u haven't seen/u don't wanna know.. I'll tag it #d&d honor among thieves, and #figgy does dungeons so you can blacklist it 👌

BUT ANYWAY

I'm abt 15 min, so far enjoying how it looks, the characters, the little backstory, etc.. HOWEVER

like it's kinda funny and I guess, potentially, watching it and learning their chars better will maybe just make me appreciate how they're a disaster duo

But the council fucking approved their pardon y'all 😩 maybe it's cuz I gen hate miscommunication plot devices but like c'mon... (I hear my dad in my head saying "but then they wouldn't have the story!")

anyway.... im gonna hit play again. Maybe I'll be back.

[figitorynonsense]

I'm back in the house! https://www.wattpad.com/1420511980-treat-us-like-animals-rcp-poli-1 guhhhh

harass me for updates every few days or something

[countesspetofi]

ARCHER: DREAMLAND - S08E01, "No Good Deed"

I know the coma seasons aren't everybody's cup of tea, but I love 'em.

[shortnasties]

2742. Dictator In His Garden

This is called "Dictator In His Garden." It's all frozen.

The dictator sits in the garden like a fat pigeon with a fry in its mouth. The butler, Zanders, brings him more Diet Coke each hour.

Tell me Zanders, is it still illegal to kill a preying mantis? asks the dictator of Zanders.

I'm unsure, Sir, says Zanders.

The dictator sips from his chalice of Diet Coke and says, Better to make it so. I just sat on one and don't want another strike against me!

I will notify the proper justices, Sir, says Zanders.

The dictator, froggishly satisfied, burps. A butterfly flutters its way near him and he squeals in shock.

[clochanamarc]

okay, so i have to admit, i suck when it comes to cars, like i don't know a whole pile about them, i'm not a mechanic, i can deal with the colour and that's it. THAT SAID!!! this is aisling's car, bc it took me nearly nine years to pick it out:

this is a 1991 nissan figaro, according to the internet. and the story behind it is that stanley used to own it, and honestly credits it with his entire life, because the original owner of the land that the diner is built on only sold him the land because the car was the same colour as his wife's favorite dress, the same dress she wore when he first fell in love with her. then, he drove that same car to the pub where he met richard for the first time, and drove richard home in it, and richard found him again because of this car.

fast forward to 2012: aliens attack, richard's trapped beneath a pile of rubble, stanley refuses to leave his husband behind. they're prepared for what's about to happen, when a young woman shows up and destroys six aliens with a surge of orange energy. they proceed to hire and adopt her, unofficially speaking.

fast forward to 2016: the sokovia accords are already falling apart, but so have the avengers. aisling is worried about these events and so much more, but minus one thing: she just passed her driving test! proud as punch, stanley decides to give her the keys to his beloved figgy. seven years later, figgy remains a firm favorite of the family, a chariot, a shining knight that fetches people from ill-advised nights out and investigations, and guides them safely home for milkshakes and a basket of french fries.

[weirdchristmas]

So.......... I have been interviewed. I didn’t embarrass myself completely. And the Ghostly Talk folk were really cool to get to know. Please take a listen!

[2004joker]

Tuca and Bertie an Analysis = The Fig tree theory

CONTENT WARNING: Anyone mentioned in the show Tuca and Bertie are FICTIONAL CHARACTERS and is used for Analyzation purposes ONLY.

Anyways heres an appreciation post for our boy Figgy:

What do Fig trees symbolize:

"The fig tree is an ancient symbol of fertility, wisdom, and strength. The fig fruit was considered a sacred food by many cultures, including the Egyptians, who believed that it was the Goddess Isis herself who taught humans how to grow and enjoy figs."

I kind of wished in the show that they elaborated more on Figgy's backstory on well he is someone that sees sexual harassment as an issue that must be addressed, but no one else besides Tuca comes to the classroom to learn more about it, either because it's a "taboo" topic to address in person, or it's not taken seriously. (I prefer the ladder response.) We also see Tuca's response to this which shows her making her moves on Figgy, (season 3 leveling up) which Figgy is kind of reluctant to reciprocate, before finalizing the decision of Tuca's advancements towards him:

Time stamp: 4:53 - 5:27

After the flashback Tuca claims that she "had learned nothing" which Bertie describes as "Hot" This gives the audience the first impression that if you are a man, you are expected to reciprocate an action when a woman makes a sexual advance towards you. However, the episode the new bird season 2 episode 8 which you also find on YouTube:

Dakota (on the left) discovers who Pastry Pete really is and Bertie (on the right) "defends" him which Dakota points out, Time stamp: 0:50 - 1:92.

Considering how much younger Dakota is both mentally and psychologically, in contrast to Bertie who is much older than she is. It's a sad parallel to see that Bertie is used to mistreatment while Dakota is not. and all of this ties back to Figgy and her reaction to Tuca "learning nothing" about the sexual harassment course that Figgy was trying to teach to an almost empty classroom or the affects it can have on someone's mental state.

Time Stamp: 0:00 - 0:51

Season 3: the one where Bertie gets eaten by a snake.

The one rule that Figgy implements to Tuca is for Tuca to not stop him from drinking.

Timestamp: 19:58 - 21:29

Quote: "I don't want to lie to you and say that I am ok with this, I know nothing that I say is going to change you, but I can't care about you and know that you are hurting yourself. I just can't...I'm sorry." - Tuca from Tuca Bertie Season 3: the one where Bertie gets eaten by a snake.

Conclusion: Dakota, Bertie, Figgy, Tuca and Speckle. Are all sides of the same Dice mechanics when playing DND. Because even though they are different in severity of issues that they face, they are still important to how each of their story unfolds. And how each mechanic influences the way that the “game” operates.