#hes an important character. trust

[zedif-y]

“So,” Joel says. “D’you think Tango would talk to me if I broke the bow again?”

Which, obviously, is a joke. Obviously. He’s a blummin’ actor, for goodness sake. He can handle an audience of one.

Even if that audience is Tango. And also– not quite an audience, is it, when you’re just two people having a conversation–

Grian pauses, looking up from where he's been checking Joel’s outfit, one hand tracing a seam. "Joel," He replies, deadpan. "You are not breaking another prop just ‘cuz you're bad at talking to people." 

Joel bristles, oi! “I’m not bad at–!”

"Then talk to him like a normal person!" Grian retorts, rolling his eyes. He focuses his attention back on the costume, "Pretty sure he'll notice and chew you out for it anyway. I'm doing you a favor by telling you this, really." Joel scoffs.

He’s choosing not to reply to that, by the way. It’s a choice.

Joel lets Grian do his thing, double-checking his costume until Joel’s arms grow tired of staying up, pinning stuff into place and calling Cleo over for makeup stuff. Joel lets his mind drift, letting Grian lead him in front of a vanity mirror– Ah, look. His handsome face.

Joel studies his reflection for a moment, turning his head this way and that. And just before Grian leaves–

“…Would he really get mad?”

Grian pauses in the doorway, “Huh?” He frowns for a moment, squinting, then sighs. “Yes, Joel. You’re not that cute.”

“Oi!”

Grian lets the door shut with a click, his cackling muffled as he goes. That little…

Joel huffs, glowering at his reflection.

“Not that cute,” He grumbles. “I’m plenty cute. The cutest.”

Someone knocks on the door. Cleo pokes their head in, “Hey, Joel.”

“Hey,” He hasn’t stopped glaring at his reflection. “Don’t ask about Grian.”

Cleo lets herself in, “Wasn’t going to,” She says simply. “Now stop sulking and let me do your makeup.”

With great effort, (not really) Joel relaxes his face, his features smoothing out.

He looks good, is the thing. No matter what Grian has to say. Joel looks– good. Attractive. Drop-dead gor– whatever. The point is, he’s handsome, and he could woo whoever he wanted. Definitely.

(He thinks of Tango, gold-spun hair catching the stage lights, red eyes dark as wine.)

…Probably.

Joel bites the inside of his cheek. Ugh, he’s gonna be thinking about that all day, won’t he?

Stupid Grian. 

—

(“Cleo,” Joel starts. “Am I hot?”

The brush on his face stops.

“The fuck?”)

—

He breaks the prop again.

In his defense, it was still mostly an accident. Mostly.

"How."

Joel squirms a little under Tango's gaze, hoo boy. 

He holds up the broken prop bow, "Ehh, the uh. The thing is, I keep, like, using too much strength on it?" He grins, straightening his back. "You know, 'cuz I'm so strong and stuff. Happens uh, all the time, you know?” At Tango’s silence, he tacks on, “…It's annoying."

Tango raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Joel's grin goes lopsided, withering under the look.

"I– uh," He thins his lips, runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. "...Sorry?"

Tango’s tail sways a little behind him, His arms are crossed, just. Looking at him.

Okay, Joel thinks, palms starting to sweat. Maybe Grian was right.

“You realize I’m not even a props guy, right?” Tango asks. Joel swallows. “Official title’s set designer.”

Joel is so fucked.

“I knew that,” Joel manages, still clutching the damn prop. “Just– you helped me fix it last time.”

And the time before that. And, also, the time before that.

…Joel’s sweating up a damn storm over here.

Eventually, Tango sighs.

"C'mere, I've got something for ya."

Joel's eyebrows leap up. He follows Tango as he leads him deeper backstage, past costume racks and other stage tech-y stuff– none of which Joel can make heads or tails of.

His mind races with questions, half of his brain going why is he leading me all the way back here while the other half is really trying not to ogle at Tango’s–

"There it is," Tango says, jolting him out of his thoughts. He scoops up what looks like a small toolkit, holds it out to Joel. "Here, for the next time you manage to break that poor bow again."

Joel opens his mouth, closes it again. He just stands there, dumbfounded and cheeks burning with shame, "I don't know how to–"

"You've seen me do it like five times, haven't you?" Tango asks, teasing. Joel's going to die. "You're a big boy, you can do it."

What'd he just call me, "Right," Joel squeaks, "That's– Right. Yeah."

He reaches out to grab it–

But Tango pulls it back, his grin growing wider.

"Wha–?"

Tango tilts his head, "There are better ways to get my attention, you know."

Joel's heart leaps into his throat.

He’s so fucked–!

It must show on his face, too, because then Tango laughs and it would've been a win if it weren't at him– "I'm serious, man! You didn't have to do all that stuff– You thought I wouldn’t notice?"

Tango shakes his head, gives Joel the toolkit. He closes Joel’s hand around it with his own.

Joel's breath hitches in his throat– Tango’s touch burns but in a good way, like sunlight on skin, like– 

"It's not like you needed help getting my attention, anyway."

If this were a movie, Joel thinks this is where he’d hear a record scratch.

Hold on. Rewind. What?

Tango looks surprised, “Did you really not know?” 

“I–” Joel closes his mouth. He’s trying to form words, honest, Tango’s hand is just so warm– “Would you believe me if I said I knew?”

Tango laughs, (Again! Joel’s mind crows.) “It wouldn’t be your best performance, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Answer’s no, then,” Joel replies, strangled. A pause. “No as in, I didn’t know– oh gosh, I hope I’m reading this right–”

Tango’s hand falls away, amusement twinkling in his red eyes. Joel tries to remember how to breath.

Tango’s lips pull up into a smile, “You know, you’re way different off-stage.”

Ouch. “Sorry to disappoint,” Joel blurts out, a faint sting in his chest. Tango’s eyes go wide.

“That’s not what I meant!” His tail lashes in panic, “You’re– you’re a completely different person on-stage, you know? Which I get is the point, you’re amazing, just…”

Joel blinks. Is his brain melting out of his ears? It feels like his brain is melting out of his ears.

It echoes in his head, you’re amazing.

A faint red dusts Tango’s cheeks, “…I think I kind of prefer the real deal.”

“Oh,” Joel says, voice faint. Tango’s blush deepens.

“I just made this weird, didn’t I–”

Joel’s brain kicks into gear, finally, “D’you wanna go out some time?” He asks. His hands shake, just a little. “Cuz I think you’re bloody brilliant, Tango, so if you’re gonna be saying stuff like that,” He swallows. “You better at least let me take you out to coffee.”

Tango’s grin is blinding, “Only if you promise to stop breaking props.”

Joel laughs, a giddy rush in his chest.

“I promise.”

(At the back of his mind– Take that, Grian!)

—

Somehow, somewhere, Grian just sneezed.

[caramellody]

Yall i dont think im gonna be able to stop thinking about usha and g13, actually.

Ushas an old old woman, clueless with tech. Lived long enough to develop various bonds with a LOT of people and relies on them a lot for help. In turn, shes VERY loyal to her close conpanions (a great example would be how she tends to back paula up a LOT, the way she sets up russel and paula to 'fake date' wink and all). She's very warm and very emotionally intelligent even if she's a bit clueless sometimes. Her logic is borderline incomprehensible, but it has heart.

G13 on the other hand, is a hacking prodigy. Hes young, hes sought after for his skills for better and for worse. But in turn, he's essentially lost himself in the process. He may be able to scrape nuke codes, but he'll never make a friend. He lacks any loyalty for anyone and anything except for himself and his interests, and if they dont satisfy those two points, then its worth nothing to him. His logic may be sound, but its cold.

[estie-posts]

reminder canon grantaire is bourgeoisie. He lives in furnished quarters near the musain, has a specific waist coat for revolutionary occasions, and enough money to drink two (three?) bottles of wine in one afternoon.

[canisalbus]

grrr

.

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

guy who so desperately tries to find god. who wants to have faith in a higher authority to guide him out of the hole he's in. from the weight of guilt from simply existing, as the person he is. but every time he thinks he's answered his higher calling it turns out he's made the Morally Incorrect choice and his path to goodness and holiness was the road to the devil all along

[crookedfivefingers]

3.13 | ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅꜱ

link to the post I accidentally wound up prattling endlessly about in the tags 💀

[deadchannelradio]

my fanfiction abortion morgue is gaining another jayroy victim that is not long enough to clean up for ao3. this was going to be a very long and meandering noodle about in the river that is jason's mental health and trauma and relationships of all types and healing and the asexual/aromantic spectrum (not that that's the verbage jason would use or language hes even aware of) and low sex drives all that beautiful muck and mire but i have not put a single word on it in well over a year now. so i'm letting her go. be free little fish.

-

They’re better now, anyways, better than they ever were before. Jason had a crisis a few months back, stopping himself from reaching reflexively for his phone to give Dick a call about- nothing important. And then he had realized that he had reflexively gone to call Dick about nothing important, and had gone and stared out the window for 15 minutes, trying to work himself into a different, less horrifying conclusion than the one gathering in his brain like an avalanche. Roy had come home in the middle of it, taken one look at his face and dropped his bag on the floor with a thunk.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Who died?”

“I like him,” Jason said, somewhere between incredulous and horrified. “That cunt, that motherfucker- he made me actually like him-,”

“Who?”

“Dick!” Jason had shouted. “That piece of shit, I want to spend time with him, hours out of my actual human life that I can’t get back-,”

Roy had proceeded to laugh in his face for a solid ten minutes, positively gleeful about Jason’s horrible emotional crisis. “He does that to you, man,” he said once they’d settled in, still chuckling as he cracked open a can of soda, posted up on their couch with Ethiopian takeout in his lap. “One minute you’re sitting there thinking oh my god, this guy, he’s so loud and annoying-,”

“And he never fuckin’ stops moving,” Jason groaned from his spot laying on the floor below him. “His body or his mouth. And he chews loud, he’s obnoxious on purpose, and he’s a model and dated Kory but half the time he dresses like something a goodwill dumpster threw up-,”

“Have you seen his new shoes?” Roy asked. “I dress like dogshit, man, but those things-,”

“Wally got them for him,” Jason said, and then immediately slapped his hands over his face, horrified that he knew that. Roy laughed again. “He’s constantly in your fuckin’ business! Constantly! Last time I saw him he knew the social security numbers of the baristas in the coffee shop I’d been going to-,”

“He gets enabled,” Roy muttered, shoveling injera into his mouth.

“He gets enabled!” Jason said. “Everyone enables him! I enable him! And god, his fucking- puns, man, his quips, we’re all guilty of it but this is a fight, not comedy hour, and even if it was you’d get booed off the stage-,”

“He texted me what he said to Mr. Freeze two weeks ago and I wanted to eat my phone,” Roy said. “It’s amazing no villains kill themselves after he hands their asses to them, I would be humiliated.”

“He sucks!” Jason snapped. 

“He sucks,” Roy agreed. “And then you look around one day at your life-,”

“And you go oh shit, I think this motherfucker’s alright!” Jason mimed hitting himself in the face with Roy’s abandoned house slipper. “Fuck! What’s fucking wrong with me?”

Roy laughed at him, again. “Dick Grayson Derangement Syndrome gets us all in the end,” he said. Jason curled a hand around his bare ankle, and Roy looked down to smile at him, the smallest touch making his whole face bloom open like a rose. Jason had to look away from it, wanting to say: stop. No. You know I’m not enough. You know I’m not like you. You know I can’t give you enough.

He’s been wanting to say that a lot, these days. Toss Roy off the sinking ship with a lifeboat before he has to wake up one day, years on, and realize he’s wasted years with Jason, who can’t love that loud.

He wanted to call Dick about it, which was another horrible realization. Hi big bird, I’m having boy problems. Dick would probably tell him that it means more that Jason has to try, that wanting to try for it is selfless, makes it more significant, which is the kind of thinking that lands a motherfucker in bed with Barbara Gordon, who is enough like Jason to warrant a comparison, but not enough to call her and ask what he should do. Babs loves like the Bolton Strid, and sometimes Jason isn’t sure he loves at all. Not like that.

Jason isn’t nearly as selfless as Dick is convinced he is, not deep down. Because he doesn’t want to let Roy go at all.

It’s late, well into the witching hours, and they’re laying in bed in what was formerly Roy’s bedroom but now holds them both, blinds cracked to let the streetlights through. Jason doesn’t like the dark. Roy’s threatening to buy an eyemask. Jason thinks it’s stupid to blind yourself to potential attackers. Neither of them have brought up going back to sleeping separately. Roy’s nose is pressed between Jason’s shoulder blades, breath humid through his shirt. Not asleep yet, but close. Jason’s books are proliferating on Roy’s shelves, his boxers in Roy’s laundry basket, garrotte wires coiled next to bow strings on the desk that has framed photos, past-Jason’s mouth a little white slash in the bar of orange streetlamp.

Something is clawing at the inside of Jason’s chest, scrabbling like a wild little animal. Trying to dig its way through his spine, into Roy. It hurts.

He shifts, turns over, pushes Roy over onto his back and rolls on top of him, propped up on his elbows to look down at him. Roy grunts, half-awake and confused, but takes his weight. He blinks blearily up at Jason, a crease between his eyebrows- Jason must look intense right now. “Jaybird?” he starts, quiet.

Jason knows this feeling- as all-consuming as it is- is fleeting. It’ll be gone in the morning, and he’ll forget it was ever here. He won’t be able to recall its bite until it comes back around again, like Halley’s comet. He should say something now, while he has it. While he feels it. So Roy can know it’s real. He just doesn’t know how to describe it.

“Jase,” Roy says, sounding more concerned, “Jason, what’s-,”

“Something in here,” Jason interrupts, putting a hand on his own chest, a thudding sound of muscle on muscle, “Wants to eat you.” God, he feels dumb. He’s not good at this, he sounds so much better in his head. His words come out of his mouth sour and curdled and stupid, there’s a reason he doesn’t try to talk about this shit-

Roy lights up, slow at first, then all at once, his face creasing up in his smile like old paper, following familiar folds. Jason feels his toes curl next to his calves, his feet pointing and flexing in excitement. Jason wishes he could make himself smile back, anything other than the dead-eyed concentration he knows he’s wearing right now, but the weight in his ribs is too real and too wild for that- if his teeth come out this might get literal. He wants to crack open Roy’s sternum with his bare hands, climb in like a contortionist and slam it shut behind him.

“Really?” Roy asks, small and soft and giddy. Jason nods, serious. Roy’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, smiling so wide his nose is wrinkling up, little inky lines in the artificial twilight. “Cool,” he says. 

Jason’s hands spasm in the sheets next to Roy’s head. “Roy,” he starts, “Can I-,” stops. Doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe just to look at him until the sun comes up, just to watch the light turn his freckles from a smear in the dim to pinprick-sized marigolds. Maybe to go to sleep on him like this, the thunder of his heart under Jason’s cheek. Maybe he wants everything. Maybe he wants to be the greediest son of a bitch in Gotham. 

“You can do anything,” Roy promises, and the sincerity in his voice makes the thing chewing on Jason’s lungs shake. “Anything you want. I’ll let you do everything.”

Jason drops his head against Roy’s chest with a grunt like he’s just been punched, unable to choke it back. He pushes himself up- Roy makes a quiet, sad noise, grabbing for him- and fumbles the bedside lamp on. He wants to see everything. Roy’s pupils are huge, even in the light he’s flinching from, irises that strange half-color, too dark for blue or green and too flat for hazel and too light to be brown. His cowlick’s sending his hair in every direction at the left temple, and he’s still smiling at Jason, like he can’t help it. Jason doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s here. A restaurant with an infinite menu. What he wants is strange, probably. Not how normal people want things, not what they want. Jason is off-putting, sometimes on purpose, frequently not, and he doesn’t know how this will come across. But Roy said he could have anything. Whatever he wanted. Giving up all of himself, for nothing. For free. 

Jason should take it. Roy will stop him, if he needs it. He puts his mouth on the cowlick, not a kiss, tucks his nose into Roy’s hair and breathes in deep. The nothing-smell of hair that’s not clean but not dirty. Roy’s hands are pressing into his lats, his legs spreading and crossing behind Jason’s thighs, holding him there. Jason curls both his hands around Roy’s skull, presses gently, cradling his head- all of Roy is in there, somehow, and he needs to be careful with it. His skull feels too small to hold something so important, too fragile. 

Jason drags his thumbs over his eyebrows, presses a thumbnail into the scar bisecting the left one- string snap, Roy told him, nearly took that eye out. Roy’s looking up at him still, and they’re close enough that Jason could count his eyelashes, if he wanted. He runs his fingers over Roy’s ears, feeling the cartilage, gently pinches the flesh of his earlobe, over the hole where he used to have gauges. He moves down to Roy’s neck, puts his hands around his throat, doesn’t squeeze. He feels it when Roy’s breath hitches. Roy shuts his eyes, swallows, his Adam's apple moving under Jason’s palms. 

Jason bites him where his neck meets his shoulder, hard. He thinks about being normal, trying to make it a hickey- but Roy jerks hard beneath him with a strangled noise and that thing in Jason’s chest makes him hold that position until Roy stops moving, until the bolt of his jaw aches. He lets go, spit shining around the deep purple indents in Roy’s skin. Roy lets out a shaking breath, eyes still shut.

Roy already knows he’s an inscrutable freak, Jason decides. He’s going to do everything he’s ever looked at Roy and thought about doing, everything he thought might be weird that he’s ever refrained from. Roy won’t run.

If he does, well. Jason will chase him. Roy is the one who said he was locking Jason down, said nobody in or out. He can’t get too mad if Jason takes him up on it.

He presses his nose near Roy’s armpit. The sharp, live smell of his sweat in Jason’s lungs, muted by whatever axe deodorant he uses that always makes Jason think of a cold wet morning. He rubs his mouth over Roy’s deltoid, teeth dragging. Jason pushes up and kneels with his thighs on either side of Roy’s torso, picks up an arm, runs his hands over Roy’s bicep, digs his thumbs into his elbow. Puts Roy’s thumb in his mouth, tastes skin and salt, bites the draw calluses on his fingers, gentle. Does the other arm too, to keep it even. Roy’s breathing slow and even, looking at Jason again as he shoves his mouth into Roy’s wrist until he can feel the pulse against his lower lip. Roy’s trying to caress his face with that hand, can’t quite manage more than a brush of his fingertips against Jason’s ear. 

Jason knows what he should say here. What he hasn’t been saying, because he knows it’s not the same as how Roy will say it, thinking that it will somehow be a lie because the meaning’s different. But it’s words, which are only stories. There is nothing in a story that is a lie, and no analysis that is wrong, with supporting evidence. Which Jason has, which Jason has always had. Roy at his right shoulder. Never wanting anyone else at his back. Saying to Dick: if there wasn’t Roy, there wouldn’t be anybody. The way they keep finding each other at the lowest of lows, facedown in bottles or looking down barrels of guns to see if they can spot the bullet. Standing there feeling stupid in the holes they’ve dug, pickaxes in hand, before turning and finding the other, just as deep as they are. Saying: gimme a boost and I’ll give you a hand.

Even if he doesn’t mean it in the same way, he means it. I want you, I want you, I want you. The inflection changes the meaning, but only by the barest degrees. 

“I love you,” Jason says, and he’s not lying, because he means them, even if it’s not always how he thinks he should.

[lotus-pear]

bsd fic authors i understand yalls pain SO well right now why is it so fucking HARD to write dazai. like i have a whole fucking spreadsheet dedicated to tireless analysis i have done on my part so i can accurately characterize him but he is such an unpredictable and morally gray character that it's hard knowing his limits and boundaries and where he draws the line for himself.

[charmac]

How are you feeling about S17? I'm getting reaaal worried that it's going to be terrible. No Glenn in the writers room? A crossover episode?? Rob's gradual transformation into pondslime??? Help

Pondslime 😭Lmfao

I'm feeling more than fine about 17, really truly. I don't think anyone should be worried at all.

I think sometimes my interactions with Glenn come off a little more serious or abrasive than they really happened in real life (because we have to shout due to how loud it is in the bars), and my immediate transcription is just to get people *information*, which really doesn't convey tone.

For example, reporting that Glenn said "you don't want to know" in response to me asking for any teasers (as to plots this season) was met with a lot of "oh so this season is gonna suck" on Twitter, and that could not be further than the truth (sorry to the people I split-react blocked for saying that lol). In hindsight I get the reaction, because written out it's a response that can be easily misinterpreted and reads as potentially concerning, but know that when Glenn said "you don't want to know" he looked like this:

And when I was genuinely just asking for script information (regarding writers of individual scripts after he mentioned they had broken already) and mentioned Nina (Inflates) and Ross (DTAMHD), he gushed about both of them and then said, transcribed word for word, "It's been a good room, I'll say this it's been a great room. It's been an all-star room, it's been...like, breaking the stories this year has been really fun. [Me: Yeah?] Yeah. [That's great, that is great to hear.] It's been really fun."

So the idea of "no Glenn in the writers room" is really much more akin to Season 16 than 13/14. He was there to break stories (meaning he was in the room when they were brainstorming plot ideas and when they settled on which plots would be turned into scripts) but Rob and Charlie are taking the brunt of writing their (RCG's) scripts because of Sirens. This is the same thing that happened with The Gang Goes Bowling. Glenn's name is on the script, but Rob and Charlie wrote the majority of it while Glenn was shooting Blackberry. (I remember originally being convinced it was a mistake Glenn was listed as a writer for Bowling, lmfao). And Glenn is definitely still contributing, will be on revisions for the non-RCG scripts, and will classically change or improv whatever he thinks is best for Dennis when he's on set (see: the Risk E. Rats script).

Also, I know the crossover is concerning to a lot of people just given the nature of it, but as of what we know right now it's only on Abbott, so it's really just as if this season's The Gang Cracks the Liberty Bell or The Janitor Always Mops Twice took place on a different show instead of ours...

I promise promise promise Glenn was clearly holding his tongue for good things coming up, and Friday night very much restored my confidence that Season 17 will be good. (But..if you don't think Glenn has good contributions to Sunny or understands the agenda, then sorry this response probably sucks lmfao)

[shepscapades]

shep I was talking to my brother about dbhc xisuma as one does and mentioned that ask about not being able to puzzle xisuma's face together mentally and my brother joked that the reason you put the spoiler bars and such on his face is cause you cant draw his whole face yet 😂

anyway I might have talked his ear off about dbhc idk tho lmao

LMAOO NOOOO!!! MY SECRET FINALLY IS OUT!!! /silly

[simptasia]

LOST: Season One

[coladaminx]

At this point all I'm asking (with absolute trust in hori) that before this all ends is that izuku and kacchan FINALLY talk and hold hands because this has been building up long enough it's fully marinated lol it can't soak up or cook anymore and that we get izukus introspection back ALL his thoughts other wise I'm going to be very very confused about this whole manga

[warlenys]

the glenn macdennis comment hurt obviously but also so necessarily cause i’d gotten too delusional i was too obsessed with the potential final prize instead of fully enjoying what i love about what macden is rn which is the saddest awfulest gay tragedy ever written this is such a good catalyst for lowering my expectations and just living laughing loving in the doomed queerbait this is what shipping’s about what fandom’s about what life is about let us rest peacefully knowing that we absolutely will still get shit and it’ll be crazy and funny and sad but ultimately the power to make it beautiful lies with us. as the queerbait gods intended

[gz-missfit]

So with Phil ending stream and that event dying down I wanna talk about him.

And especially with how good of a decision it was from Cellbit to make him a fellow head of ther order.

Let me explain

So I'm gonna try and string this along but the basis I'm building on is that Phil is a center. Not just figuratively but also literally! Remember before the Favela and Spawn become the meeting places? Yeah his home was the point people would meet at, his doors were always open and his waystone was the one ingrained in people's muscle memory when a meeting or communal location was mentioned.

But Phil's also been a communicative center, he's a loner usually, mostly getting dragged along by tubbo or fit for some events.

But he's reliable! And people know this about him. They hear how a single father of 2 has carried the life of these 2 kids in his own, they've heard how Tallulah and Chayanne are the best behaved eggs due to him, they see him casual help people out etc. Phil's known for kindness and help when needed but people who don't know him don't realize there's so much more to him! Fit and Tubbo for example are the first 2 who are aware of this. Fit trusting Phil with literally everything because he knows how capable he is and Tubbo knowing Phil's capabilities in a way where he respects him heavily. And I don't even need to mention how Etoiles is aware of Phil's combat abilities.

Now why did I say that he was the perfect addition as a head of the order? Because he proved today that he is behind everything the order is about. He is a much needed cog in its machine, he's not a head investigator or strategist but he's someone they need to allow this.

Baghera wanted to investigate? Phil stopped trying to look around, focused on helping her clear mobs, gave her all his paper and kept an eye on her while calling to her to make sure she could collect evident when her inventory got filled. He's ready to put his own curiosity and knowledge aside to let others thrive.

Pierre needed a fighter when mobs swarmed him? Phil stood between him and the mobs, being a calm voice amongst panic, standing in Etoiles footsteps as protector and filling them well.

Roier wanted to stay and risk his life because he wanted more information? Phil will stay too, he's not leaving anyone behind even if it could cost his own life and he'd do it again.

Forever is acting weird and trying to brush worries off? Then Phil will worry even more and make sure he knows that Phil's someone who will be there whenever he's needed.

There's so many moments like this, Phil putting himself aside to let others thrive, becoming a support fighter for Etoiles, a teacher for tallulah, an investigator for Cellbit.

He's someone that island needs without them realizing it because he's a quiet constant hum but important! Like a humming of well working machines in a busy factory. Or the humming of bees in a thriving garden full of animals. He's quiet and not always noticeable but he's proof that things are working and okay, the backbone of it.

This is why this trust of Cellbit in him to call him a head of the order is so important for me, and especially Phil promising loyalty and trust to Cellbit cause it may sound basic but those who don't know Phil don't know how much Phil's loyalty truly means. How much his promise of it is an honor to someone because Phil's whole moral compass and trust is based on proof. If you can proof to Phil you're capable and put your money where your mouth is then he'll go through fire for you, and he's promised that to Cellbit, knowing fully well it's a promise he'll keep.

Phil's factual and logical, he's a grounding force when needed and someone who will fit himself into a role that needs to be filled. He's a support, a warrior, a investigator, a distraction etc. He's not focused on his own goals even if it hurts him to put those aside, if he sees potential in supporting or letting someone lead he'll do just that. He's so fucking observant and it's such an important trait not many islanders have to the same level he does. He watches with protective eyes and sees things most people don't. Ironically enough you can see this in his photographs a lot! He's a watcher an observer and acts based on what he sees.

Basically today, that little bit where they went into the new office where forever was taken, was proof of what Phil is needed for. He's not required, he knows that much, but he's important for the community of that island. He's important for letting others thrive. He's what the head of the order is, what they represent. Trust in eachother and letting people thrive in what they're good at while helping them in any way he can.

[bittasol]

clarazz are so strong if i was (vaguely in love with and) slightly possessive of my best friend and the whole world was obsessed with him (like i was) id crash out 😭

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

Hot Take:

Of the Bats, Dick is the best at being liked, Jason is the best at being loved.