#i said my piece and posted/admitted to the mistakes i made

[cxncrie-a]

.

[applejuicinator]

The LADS men and your jealousy

Word count: 4.2K

A/N: This is a whole bunch of word vomit that I have compiled in about five hours, so I haven’t properly looked through it. Just needed to post something, make sure I keep writing so I don’t get all lazy.

TW: Slight NSWF themes – very subtle. Rafayel being engrossed in his work, he neglects you a little bit, but he makes up for it, he loves you to the ends of the earth.

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Green isn’t your best colour

Whilst jealousy isn’t something completely unknown to you, the situation in front of you seemed to stir an unbridled fury deep within your gut.

🐡 Rafayel 🐡

To say that you and Rafayel never fought would be a big fat lie.

You argued about who spent the most time getting ready in the morning, it was definitely him and his perfectly ‘messy’ locks by the way, or who spent more money on who… which was also probably him. The man drove a Mercedes Benz Gran turismo, he wasn’t letting you spend a single damn penny no matter how much you protested. You had to admit, it did make your heart flutter and legs quiver when he whipped out his gold card like it was something mundane. The top few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, lazy smirk and arm resting over the back of his seat.

‘My wife is my life” He would say whilst staring into your eyes like you had hung the stars in the sky, until you eventually gave in and he’d kiss the tip of your nose as if to seal the deal.

All this to say, you argued, but not about things that deeply lingered or at the expense of the sanctity of your relationship. You both made sure that problems were aired the moment they began to grow, nip them in the bud cleanly and swiftly.

But this damn upcoming exhibition had grown into something monstrous, the roots clawing at your ankles with long spindly tendrils, grounding you in the most exasperated uncertainty you had ever experienced. And you fought wanderers for a living.

The show was all he thought about.

Rafayel being all-consumed by his art wasn’t anything new or surprising, sometimes when he was truly inspired, normally by you, he’d spend hours relentlessly hunched over a canvas watching the weight of his brush strokes until they were ‘perfect.’ But that was when it was personal, the art was for his pleasure, seeing beauty translated into colours and soft hues. Multiple portraits, every single one in a different medium, context or style, depicted you. Some were just of your eyes and the depth of your adoration for him, some of you posing or modelling, some of you in the mundanity of life.

You drove his paintbrush, he said as much when night tipped the scales and you both laid in a tangled mess, bedsheets cocooning you from the harshness that reality brought with it. He whispered love and adoration into the crown of your head, kissing your temples with keen devotion.

He normally never gave much thought to gallery shows if it didn’t involve you, because you were his muse. Who wanted to portray art without feeling.

When he was forced to put on shows to appease rich donors and clients he actively went out of his way to cause as much shit as he could within reason. It’s the reason why Thomas was going prematurely bald.

However, there was another reason why this exhibition felt different, arguably the reason that was weighing heavily on your mind the most.

Rafayel was an ardent fan of one of the other artists collaborating. She was a beautiful, older woman who moved like calm ripples on normally still water. She was the embodiment of depth, grace, and elegance. Her works centred on fluidity and liquid, made only with water colours. Rafayel even had a piece of her art in his studio, the only one permitted which he hadn’t painted, it was an incredible compliment to her skill.

When you had first laid eyes upon her, walking through the communal art space for the exhibition, you experienced a cold flush. It’s like when you make a mistake, and a chilly realisation flushes through your veins to the tips of your fingers. Something felt wrong.

Jealously wasn’t something new to either of you, mostly it was just empty banter though, you know the type - ‘cutie he was trying for your number,’ or ‘Rafayel she wasn’t after just an autograph you know.’

Rafayel had lots of women who he was friends or acquaintances with, after all he did have a life before you, filled to the brim of the unknown. But it never bothered you before, in fact it was actually lovely to see that your husband was a genuinely accepting and open person who people were drawn to. But this artist itched at your skin, unease crawling up your spine whenever she was near.

She was so kind and warm, which made you feel ten times worse.

The exhibition wasn’t forever; you could endure you told yourself.

But as month three rolled round, the preparation was nowhere near over and your patience was beginning to crumble like bitter ash.

You knocked softly on the door to Rafayel’s private studio, ears straining to hear a response or if there was any movement inside. You couldn’t hear his light teasing tone or the soft padding of feet running to the door, so you assumed he was at the exhibition space again.

You could count on one hand the number of times your husband had been home before 9pm for the whole month. He was fast to respond to your texts and phone calls, his jovial voice telling you all about what he was doing and how he was discussing more subliminal art theory with Rachel.

You appreciated art, you knew how beautiful it was and what messages a piece was trying to convey. But you didn’t understand it in the same way that an artist might. A fact that you weren’t wary of before now.

The TV hummed in the background, a show about the upcoming exhibition sounding like nothing but static in your ears. The house that usually smelled like a weird mixture of your scented candles and paint, laughter and low-fi playing as you both chattered away, was instead empty.

You glanced down at your phone, finger hovering above his name, you could call him and ask him to come home. You could sit him down, tell him how you feel, how this was starting to take a toll on you, how you felt a cold snap whenever Rachel ruffled his hair.

An urge to see him in person stopped you, it wasn’t often you bothered him at night because that’s when his productivity was best, but the anxiety was eating away at you tonight.

Thoughts flitted through your mind like a fast-paced movie reel, gathering your keys, you packed a few snacks and the meal that had gone cold before hopping into your car and making the short journey to the gallery. It wasn’t long before you were calling his name into the empty space, still bare, the floor covered in positioning tape to map out the art pieces and theming.

The art space was hidden upstairs away from prying eyes, people went meandering off into restricted zones too often at these events, so the artists had a dedicated space for relaxing and touch ups for their work.

You called again as your jogged up the steps, the bag holding his pick-me ups jostling against your legs. At the end of the day, above all of this jealousy and bitterness, you were more concerned for Rafayel’s health. He was overworking himself, despite how happy he sounded, the puffiness and dark circles to his eyes only seemed to get worse with each passing day.

“Rafayel! You there?” You called out again, heading towards the door where you could faintly hear muffled music.

“In here baby!” Your heart melted at just the sound of his voice; you missed him dearly. When was the last time the two of you just laid on the couch watching a shitty movie, his beautiful light tenor critiquing every ridiculous discrepancy or loophole, you loved it, watching him get so animated. No one made you laugh like him.

The feelings of love and hope shattered when you entered the art room, holding the bag high, smile on your face as you were about announce how amazing you were for bringing him food like a personal chef. Instead, your smile immediately dropped, bag of food loosely hanging by your side.

He didn’t even turn around to greet you, back to you as you watched Rachel rest her head on his shoulder. They were looking at the gargantuan painting pinned to the back wall, the canvas taking up the whole height and width of the space.

It was a masterpiece.

It depicted a luscious underwater scene, vibrant colours and corals encompassing old derelict architecture, creatures of all kinds flourishing in the absence of humans. The intricacies were breathtaking even to your untrained eye, multiple mediums and techniques rendering the painting almost 3D, the textured surface appearing like moving water.

Something so harmonious, so genius, should have struck at your heart, made you feel emotion and intrigue about the painting. However, all you could feel is the guttural sadness as Rachel lifted her head from your husbands toned shoulder. She was only getting a better feel for the art, trying to see it from a different angle, but it was intimate. The contact was crossing an invisible boundary, one that was obvious to you. But obviously wasn’t to Rafayel. And. Rachel.

Fuck, Rafayel and Rachel. Their names even sounded cute together. What sort of shit is that.

Thomas was in the adjoining office, you heard him talking loudly, so they hadn’t been all alone. Your fingernails dug deep into the skin of your palm, the pain bringing back a sliver of reality.

Rafayel looked over his shoulder finally, nodding to himself in pride. He looked so happy, eyes crinkling when he looked at you, gaze meeting yours.

But you just couldn’t do it. You should be so proud of him, look at the masterpiece he had created, his time and dedication spawning something so ethereal it looked as though you could reach in and feel the cold depths of the ocean.

Feelings swarmed your thoughts, no doubt translating to your face, because Rafayel was soon stood in front of you, a worried scrunch to his cute brows. His hands, still covered in dried paint, a mish mash of blues and whites, cupped your cheeks. His thumbs smoothed over your skin comfortingly; it made bile rise at the back of your throat.

“Baby?” He asked again, and you could see Rachel turn to look too, Rafayel’s worried tone catching her attention.

No no no. You didn’t want her, exquisite, charming Rachel to see you like this, a bitter wife. You began questioning how you looked, still in comfy sweats and hair tousled from lounging in bed. Hanging your head low, as if that would make you disappear from her view, you pushed the bag of food to his chest. He looked down at it flabbergasted, hands suddenly scrambling at the handle, so it didn’t fall.

“Here’s dinner, five hours late and cold, thanks for telling me”

In retrospect, without adoration clouding your judgment, it wasn’t really okay that Rafayel was allowing another woman to lay her head on his shoulder, no matter how close they were, without discussing it with you first. You supposed you’d never had a conversation about lines and boundaries in your relationship, this situation was new to you.

Rafayel looked between you and the bag bewildered, his mind trying to process what was happening, what had he missed. Rising panic swelled in his chest as he watched you turn on your heel and slam the door behind you, your footsteps fading quickly as though you were rushing.

“Is everything okay?” Rachel asked as a tender hand came to rest on his shoulder, but he didn’t hear or even notice it.

He looked inside the bag, his favourite bottles of pop and cute candies bundled together, and a container filled with some sort of veggie filled stew. You had brought him a care package, something so loving would usually make him feel so blessed, but your pained expression was stuck in his mind on loop.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, the hand way past 11pm.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck”

He pictured you sat at home, food in front of you, fingers tapping at the table and eyes shifting to the wall clock.

He pulled his phone out, messages with your name popping up, time stamps showing how long you’d been waiting.

17:05

‘Sweetheart I’m making stew! It’s cold and you’re going to make yourself sick by not eating anything proper’

18:17

‘You are coming home tonight??????’

19:42

‘I’m assuming you’ll still be at the gallery. I’ll package this up for you to eat later’

19:55

‘Love you lots and lots!!!!! Xx’

“I’ve… I need to go” He murmured, feet hitting the floor loudly as he chased after you, jumping down the last two steps.

You slammed the car door shut, not caring if it rattled the expensive vintage frame, his aftershave thick and heavy was embedded in the leather seats. If you closed your eyes, you could picture him next to you, surrounded by his warmth.

Sitting there, in the dark, staring at nothing in particular, you began to cry.

It wasn’t silent or pretty; it was a guttural moan and fat salty tears streamed down your reddening face. Your hands came to wipe at tears, but it was like trying to mop up a burst dam, fruitless.

Why did this hurt so much? You know your husband probably didn’t even realise Rachel had her head on his shoulder, in the past you’d managed to stack plastic cups on top of his head as he stared at the same sculpture for thirty minutes straight. The memory made a small chuckle interrupt your sobs, allowing you to breathe and compose yourself. He looked so goofy when he caught on, the cups collapsing around him as he chased you round the kitchen counter, laughter bouncing off the walls.

It was a culmination of things.

The late nights, forgotten dinners, your art inability, your husband's slight obliviousness… Drop dead gorgeous, amiable Rachel.

In his defence you hadn’t told him ANY of this, too scared of ruining the exhibition which he was excited about for once. And you know how he was when he was completely enraptured in a project.

Resting against the back of the seat, you exhaled a long-withered sigh.

He looked so confused, his brain whirring away like an old shitty laptop, if you imagined hard enough you could even hear the fans blowing off steam. He didn’t follow you out, the door to the building devoid of any Rafayel figure bursting through it.

The thought that he stayed behind even despite you obviously being angry at him drove a pin further into your heart. Your fingers grasped the wheel tight, pulling out of the car park with the expertise of a Linkon One Racer, the trees and city illuminations blurring together into a sporadic light show.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you finally crossed the threshold of your home, haphazardly throwing your stuff onto the coffee table, you collapsed face first into the velvety pillows of the couch. A subtle throb singed your temples, no doubt a dull headache looming.

You let your body sag deeper into the cushions, contemplating what you were going to do and how to properly have a conversation with your husband without it descending into something more devastating like escaping to the beach house for a few days. The last serious argument had ended in Rafayel sulking for a week straight, essentially barricading himself, in the rarely used holiday get away. But that was years ago, when things were still fresh and the relationship was full of love, but equal amounts of trepidation.

You shot up straight, knees unsteady, as the front door clattered open. Sounds of shoes being flung off and harsh breathing permeating the silence, your husband appeared from round the corner seconds later, his chest heaving with exertion and beads of sweat dotting his brows.

He looked panicked.

“Sweetheart” Rafayel hunched over slightly to regain his breath.

He was usually so suave and composed that seeing him like this, sweaty with hair plastered to his forehead and the collar of his normally crisp shirt stuck up, was weirdly therapeutic. You didn’t say anything, watching and waiting.

“I’m sorry, I just...” Deep inhale. “Lost track of time, my phone was on silent” He trailed off softly, as though he realised how lame his excuses sounded. You glared at him, letting the cold silence stifle the air.

“Yeah, I can tell you and Rachel were in your own little world” It came out harsher than intended, her name foul on your tongue, though regret pricked at your conscience at being so mean spirited about her.

“What? Well, she was helping me with the composition” You hummed absentmindedly. It was a strange way of helping somebody. If you didn’t know Rafayel better than you knew yourself, it would be hard to not jump to conclusions. You thumbed at the fabric of a throw pillow, the velvet fabric giving your antsy fingers something to do.

The room was awash with the white glow of the moon, the floor to ceiling windows opening up to the wide expanse of the sky and the calm inky sea. You couldn’t tell where the sea ended and where the sky began, if not for the distorted moon reflection on the water, it would just look like an endless abyss. Ready to swallow you up whole.

“You’ve ran all this way after me Rafayel” he flinched at the mention of his name, like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t baby or sweetheart or darling, the distance between you stretched on. “You know you’ve fucked up on some level”

“I know, it's not an excuse, it's just I turned round, and hours had gone by” he sat down next to you, knocking your knees together, he craved that contact no matter how small.

“It’s not just the time thing ugh” You pinched the bridge of your nose, that dull ache from earlier intensifying with each passing second. “Look it wasn’t okay Rafayel, no matter how entranced you are, I expect the decency of a reply to my texts. You’re usually so good with it”

You got up to grab some water from the kitchen, ignoring the forlorn look as you moved away from him.

“I bet you didn’t even notice Rachel had her head leant on your shoulder” you spoke clearly, slamming the glass a bit too harshly against the marble countertops. His mouth open and closed like a goldfish, expression befuddled. He was thinking back, trying to pinpoint what the fuck you were talking about.

“What? When did she have her head on my shoulder?!” He sat up straighter, suddenly the sweat very uncomfortable and itchy as it cooled on his skin. A big question on your mind was whether Rachel was just extremely friendly and touchy feely, or whether there was something a bit more personal to her lingering touches. You had seen her interact with other artists in a same manner so you’re guessing the former, but it didn’t sting any less. Even though the intentions behind it were pure, you couldn’t help the bubbling anxiety in the pit of your tummy, especially when Rafayel was NOT a touchy feel person. It felt like he was allowing something that was reserved for you, and you only. If she was a close friend, someone that Rafayel trusted, the situation would be different because there wasn’t an element of the unknown. But she was effectively a stranger who you had spoken to a handful of times.

“When I first walked in. Her head was leant on your shoulder.” You can replay the scene in your head even now “That was a boundary Rafayel. It makes me question how many times has she done that? How many times has she touched you?” Each word was dripping with insecurity and jealousy, a possessive bite that might as well scream ‘MINE.’

“Just… what am I supposed to do or think? Am I being selfish? But leaving me alone, days on end, I feel so alone.”

At the root of everything, you just missed him.

You didn’t even realise you were crying until you felt little droplets landing on your hands, still tightly clasped around your drink. And once one tear fell, an avalanche of tears followed soon after, accompanied by the trembling lip and frown that usually happened when you were trying to keep your emotions in check.

Rafayel was by your side in seconds, strong hands pulling you into a tight embrace with your head nestled securely against his collarbone. The beautiful scent of his floral aftershave washed over you, like the worlds most soothing blanket.

You couldn’t see his face, but there was a watery timbre as he spoke.

“I’m really sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise… how can I make it up to you? I’m sorry” He rambled on, words tumbling out faster and faster, nuzzling his face into the crown of your head, he just needed to be as close to you as physically possible. You pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes, face blotched with tears, beautiful eyes clouded with terror. Taking his face in your gentle hands, he leant into the touch like a starved animal.

Anger evaporated in seconds, the fear in his tense body made you pause the argument, instead only to wanting to comfort your husband. You were a sucker for his pearlescent tears.

“Sh sh darling” You wiped his tears away, tracing his nose and cheekbones with delicate fingers. He was beautiful, inside and out. This man would never ever intentionally hurt you.

“I know, you would never do anything like that. I know what you’re like, off in your own world” You laughed, which earned a timid smile in return. The swirling tornado of jealousy dwindled, in its wake a sense of calm, with the backing of the ocean waves crashing against rock, it lulled you into peace. Time slowly ticked on, but neither spoke, just contemplative silence.

“I think we need to talk about what happened, what we expect from one another, boundaries” You listed each point off. Perhaps if you had voiced concerns earlier, this build up of anxiety could have been avoided, communication was such an important factor of any relationship. Not to say that Rafayel was completely blameless, because he definitely wasn’t. “But why don’t we save that for tomorrow?” You were tired, it was late, and whilst the issue still subtly lingered, you needed a clear head.

Rafayel sniffled, his grip on you tightening, not yet ready to let you move. You raised an eyebrow, as he cleared his throat.

“I just want to… properly apologise. Without blubbering” He murmered quietly. “This exhibition is no excuse to how I’ve been acting, all the late nights and not even messaging you properly.” When he’d seen your messages about dinner, happy and caring, he felt like the biggest fucking asshole to exist. And he was an asshole, he knew that, and Thomas called him that on the daily. But not to you, his reason for breathing, the holder of his heart.

“Rachel is someone I look up to, but nothing more than that, I won’t let anything like that happen again.” If he was honest with himself, imagining you with someone else’s head resting in the crook of your neck… he could feel the pangs of hurt at just the hypothetical. But he truly did not even realise she was talking to him, never mind in his personal space.

“I accept your apology, and on my part. I won’t let things build up till I pop. Your poor Ferrari door…” you did slam it pretty hard… Rafayel didn’t seem to be listening though, mind wandering. Another problem for tomorrow.

You laid your head against his chest again, seeking out his warmth and the beat of his heart. A comfortable silence settled over the house; the cold nipped at your bare feet.

“I won’t do the exhibition” he spoke into the quiet, it felt like he was talking more to himself than you. He kissed your forehead, you know full well he’d quit on Thomas and burn the painting in the gallery if you asked him to, his pure devotion to you was unquestioned even with this little blip. But not only did you not want that, it wasn’t fair of you to ask him to pull out of something he had worked so hard for.

“My love, the other half of my soul” his eyes gleamed with adoration. “I want you to do this exhibition, show the world how fucking incredible you are. Not that they don’t know that already” You kissed his damp cheek. “We’re in this together. Forever”

“And beyond” He added, the statement ringing true and final. He’d wait for you in every timeline, every universe, every reincarnation.

“Just make sure you talk to me, let me know what’s going on, so I feel less alone” His hands rested on your hips, his head nodding like an enthusiastic puppy. “Also. I like Rachel, but please no more romantic head holding thank you”

He spluttered as you laughed, rocking into his body, the two of you spinning around, weightless on euphoria. He pushed you back, your knees folding against the arm of the couch as your back hit soft cushions. You looked up at him with fluttering lashes, his toned arms resting on either side of your head, caged in his protective bubble. A triumphant little smile graced his lips as you giggled, happiness radiating from you like a beacon, fuelled by relief.

“I know this goes without saying” he kissed your forehead, lips soft as your heart flip flopped in your chest, the intensity of his gaze pinned you in place.

“I love you” Kisses peppered your face soft and delicate; you were the most exquisite work of art he had the privilege of gazing upon. You gasped as he trailed from your cheek to your jaw, slowly moving down the sensitive flesh of your neck, teeth grazing against your collarbone. Fast fingers moved further down, skirting under your loose shirt featherlight. He caressed your body as though you were the most precious canvas, gliding over soft curves and bare skin, goosebumps following his delicate fingertips. He thrived on the little shudders and pants, heat and excitement building as he became more desperate, more fervent.

You gripped his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, pulling his head up to face you. His cheeks were flushed pink, eyes unfocused.

“I love you too, more than you can ever know” he grinned, surging up to capture your lips, still smiling into the kiss.

🐡

I don’t think I did Rafayel justice in this fic, sometimes my writing carries me away from the character. Not to mention I don’t like how this one is written, it feels disjointed, like it doesn’t flow. But I need to practise practise practise!!!!! Practise makes perfect.

I’m thinking of posting the professional motorbike racer Caleb fic next whilst I work on the other jealousy shorts.

[kirain]

Wall of the faithless isn't canon in bg3. They changed alot of things actually. So no Gale isn't "scared" he's just an obsessed asshole who doesn't learn from his mistakes.

Oof...

There's really nothing I can say except: you're wrong. The City of Judgement and the Wall of the Faithless are canon to BG3. If you don't like Gale, that's fine, but you don't have to make things up or completely disregard the lore to do it. Larian Studios literally hired people from Wizards of the Coast—the company responsible for all the canon lore, characters, and campaigns in D&D—to help them with the story. It took them five years, I believe, to fully study and understand the lore. They constantly conferred with the team to double, triple, and quadruple check every slice of content they added to the game, and parts of the game are now considered canon to D&D 5E.

As for Gale "not learning" from his mistakes ... when you first meet him, he literally admits he made a mistake with Mystra. Though personally I don't see it as the "power-hungry" move people seem to think it is. Gale simply wanted to be considered an equal to his partner (really his groomer), which is a perfectly healthy and normal desire for anyone in a relationship. Your partner should treat you like an equal, but Mystra very clearly saw Gale as a pet. A trophy. A worshipper. Subservient. Beneath her. A silly mortal with delusions of grandeur (which she cultivated), which is really rich when you learn she was once mortal herself. Mystra is a hypocrite.

Gale tried to prove himself worthy of equality by trying to bring Mystra what he thought was a piece of her missing Weave. For anyone who doesn't know, the current Mystra was torn to pieces by Cyric and Shar, then put back together by her Chosen. Though back to full power by the events of BG3, she's still technically missing pieces of herself, and Gale mistook the Karsite Weave for one of those pieces. Instead of simply telling Gale it was corrupted Weave, she let him go on believing it was hers. Personally I think that's because she was tired of him (maybe he got too old for her 😒) and was hoping he would do something that, in her mind, would justify abandoning him—but I admit that's full conjecture on my part. What is true is that she knew the orb wasn't hers, but for some reason she let Gale think it was. Even after she abandoned him and left him to die, she never told him. Not until she realised she could use him.

In Act 3, while the argument can certainty be made that he's thirsty for power, Gale ultimately becomes fed up with the gods because, as he knows better than anyone, they treat people like commodities. While I have no intention of ever ascending him myself, it looks like he actually makes good on his word. He doesn't threaten or toy with his followers, he inspires people to walk their own path, he only asks for prayers as payment (as without some form of devotion, gods in D&D cease to be), and if you romance him ... he ascends you into godhood as his equal. Mystra could have done this for him, she just didn't want to. And if you don't want him to ascend, it's genuinely so easy. I don't understand what people are complaining about. It takes one conversation with zero checks to convince him to completely abandon his ambitions. One. If he was truly "power hungry", it wouldn't be that easy.

Again, I would argue that Gale's true goal isn't really power, it's freedom, and divinity gives him that freedom. He has many conversations where he makes it clear he doesn't want to live under the gods' thumbs anymore; which, in a world like Faerûn, is extremely understandable. As I said in my Wall of the Faithless post, he's scared. Eternal torment for a simple mistake, one of which could've been avoided if Mystra told him the truth or treated him like an equal? When your partner is a goddess, how can you not feel inadequate? And if you convince him to give up the crown, he's perfectly content with Mystra's forgiveness. Even in the Early Access, that's all he really wanted.

Gale's far from perfect. He's arrogant and overconfident and insecure and he can be prone to emotional outbursts (most of which he apologises for, however), but he's nowhere near the heartless, power-hungry monster the haters seem to think he is. He is, in fact, one of the most compassionate companions in the entire camp, to the point that he accepts everyone, including Minthara. He votes for Astarion to stay when you find out he's a vampire. He gets mad at you if you surrender him to the Gur. He's one of the only companions who will openly marry/stay with you if you become a mindflayer. He's willing to sacrifice himself to save the world, and willing to damn himself to be with you. He loves every act of kindness, while hating every act of cruelty. I understand that the bugs from launch ruined a lot of people's perception of him ... and unfortunately some of those glitches are still present even now, but he is a good man.

[lyrefromthesea]

Hello! I was wondering if I could please request the Hashiras taking reader to a summer festival? I love a good fluffy seasonal scenario lol thank you🫶❤️ I love your writing style and can’t wait to see what you come up with!!

Hashira x Reader - Summer Festival

author's note: sadly i did not manage to imagine Shinobu in this scenario, for the sake of not misinterpreting her character, i decided to leave her out of my post. i apologize and hope you'll get to enjoy the other pillars.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader, Mitsuri x reader

content warning: none

Tengen:

you cocked your eyebrow at Tengen when he made a loud noise, imitating the sound of a buzzer telling you that you're in the wrong.

"what is it?" you ask, more than confused and mildly annoyed. he wore his hair down today, multiple pieces of jewelry making him stand out more than the other visitors.

"your outfit, it's good, but it could be better!" he claimed, pointing at the yukata you were wearing. you looked down at yourself, almost feeling a bit insulted by his words. it was rather simple, but you thought it would be enough.

"you need something more flashy!" he said, making you sigh. now you understood what he meant, his hands already on your shoulders, leading you to the next accessory stand.

"and what would that be?" you asked back, watching the people around you look confused by the man dragging you around.

"we need something showing off your beauty even more, beautiful." he deducted, stopping when you finally looked down on the beautiful jewelry.

this wasn't how you planned to start the festival, but you couldn't complain when he managed to fluster you once again.

Obanai:

"i'm sure we were supposed to meet here.." you mumbled, looking around the area. when Obanai invited you to the summer festival, he had explicitly asked for a spot without many people.

now you felt lost, you were sure he should've been here by now. it wasn't like he was late, but he usually came earlier than planned when you two wanted to meet somewhere.

before you could worry about his wellbeing, you saw something slither near your foot - Kaburamaru. the snake made it's way around your ankle, making you shiver.

"Obanai!" you scolded, looking around until your eyes stopped on a tree. you marched towards it, not surprised when you saw Obanai sitting on a thick branch.

"you could've said you were already here!" you said, watching him jump down the tree and land on his feet without much trouble.

"i'm sorry, i got distracted.." he admitted, your features slowly relaxing. he had been distracted? you found yourself asking him for more information. "for what?"

he looked at you, his eyes drifting to your outfit and then back to your face. his gaze softened, looking towards the festival's lights.

"nothing important.." if only you would've known he had been occupied watching your beautiful body, soft eyes trying to spot your lover.

Rengoku:

"excuse me?" another man said, his eyes fixed on you. naturally, you turned to face him, wondering if he needed help.

you had been walking through the crowds with Rengoku a moment prior, watching the different people interact with each other.

"i just wanted to say that your yukata fits you extremely well." the man said, almost appearing a bit bashful. and suddenly you weren't surprised anymore, realizing he didn't need help.

did it not look like Rengoku was your boyfriend? you wondered whether the man not knew or was bold enough to ask despite the obvious.

"you are right, my love is indeed beautiful in every way! it's not the festival alone, but every other day as well!" Rengoku answered, as if he didn't realize what kind of situation this was.

the man's face fell, realizing he had probably made a mistake by approaching you - at least while Rengoku was near. he soon turned away with a grumble, leaving the two of you alone.

"what a nice man!" Rengoku concluded, making you chuckle, looking away from him.

he really didn't know what the man's goal was. however, that somehow made Rengoku's compliment even sweeter.

Sanemi:

you were walking past the different stands with Sanemi, chatting about random topics that came to your mind, when he turned away from you, seemingly having spotted something interesting.

"wait here." he said, marching off before you even managed to ask what happened. you tried looking over the crowd, wondering where he had wandered off to.

not able to see him, you decided to do as he said, patiently waiting for him to return, yet you wondered what must've happened.

you didn't expect him to come back with something in hand, almost looking a bit flustered now. he moved past the crowd until he finally stood next to you again.

"i remembered you like them." he told you, extending his hand. you looked at the cut pieces of watermelon in his hand, neatly placed on a small rectangular plate.

he had gone out of his way to buy something you like from one of the booths.

"Sanemi.." you mumbled, slowly taking the plate out of his hand. your eyes stayed on the watermelon for a moment, glancing at him when you managed to answer.

"let's search for a nice spot and eat them there." you said, smiling at him in content. he nodded silently, wrapping an arm around your waist as you walked off.

Giyuu:

"damn it..!" you complained, seeing the small plastic fish fall off your miniature fishing rod. you gave up the small festival game, standing up again.

Giyuu looked at your sulking form, his eyes glancing at the prize sat in the festival booth. you had looked really happy when you saw it earlier, it hurt him to see that you weren't able to win it.

"let me try." he quietly said, giving the salesman another 500 yen. neither you nor the salesman would've expected Giyuu to be so good at the game though.

"you can stop now!" the man whined, seeing Giyuu get the last fish. there had probably been a dozen in total, but he didn't mess up once.

Giyuu looked at the man, standing up from his kneeling position to claim his reward. "my prize?"

"you can have it.." the man sobbed, handing Giyuu the prize you had grown so fond of earlier. without another word, Giyuu turned around to hand you the small gift.

"for you." he merely said, putting the small object into your hands. you awed at his actions, immediately throwing yourself against him.

"thank you, Giyuu!" you cheered, watching him hold you in surprise. he couldn't possibly ignore the little things that made you happy when he was rewarded with this kind of reaction.

Gyomei:

"are you sure? i'm not good with words." you told him, looking down at your hands. the two of you sat on the meadow, other couples sitting in the distance.

"you'll do good." he answered, placing a supporting hand on top of yours. you silently nodded, his encouragement always working wonders on you.

when you watched the first firework shooting into the air, exploding with a loud bang, you stared in fascination, eventually shaking your head to snap out of it.

you thought of a fitting way to describe it, knowing that colors wouldn't do for him. you decided to try a different approach, looking at the man you adored.

"it looked exactly the way a summer breeze felt. warm and somehow familiar." you told him, watching his lips pull up into a smile. you felt your heart beat harder than before.

you would've liked to comment on it, but the next firework was too fast for you. you watched the sky light up in a refreshing green color, feeling Gyomei scoot closer.

"and this one?"

Mitsuri:

"the sakura mochi here is so good!" Mitsuri cheered, pushing another one of the treats past her lips. she munched on the sweet food, swallowing it down in satisfaction.

you chuckled at her words and actions, taking one of the mochis and biting into it. "it is, the flavor is really good."

"another bowl please!" Mitsuri called out, turning your head to see the chef nod at the two of you. she had even stood up, waving her arm at the woman making her favorite food.

you looked at Mitsuri's clothes, the pink cloth she was wearing matching her hair and the sakura mochi perfectly. somehow she was fitting for this place.

you placed the empty bowl of sakura mochi on the other bowls, watching the stack grow. she had already eaten 7 bowls, but you guessed she was long from finished.

you two chatted as the chef brought you another portion, smiling at the two of you and walking away again.

"i'm full, you can eat that portion alone." you answered, a small smile on your face. Mitsuri looked surpised, putting the treat down again.

"we can go too, i don't mind..!" she said, wanting to show you that she wouldn't keep you here. you could only laugh in response, shaking your head.

"i really don't mind either, if you want, we can even get you another bowl." you answered, watching her eyes light up. a bright smile formed on her face, nodding in agreement.

you smiled back, after all, the festival felt better this way.

[project-sekai-facts]

What grinds my gears is what when people say that the reason Kana5 is bad due to it trying to make Mafumon sympathetic.

A couple have even gone as far as saying that Kana5 is as bad as Toya5 for the same reason and I-

Look. I deeply understand the idea of abusers being more complicated than simply “evil trash” is hard to comprehend. And I may sound insensitive but,

They need to grow up. They should not let their biases cloud their judgement and assume something is bad just because a piece of media has something they personally don’t like

the difference between harumichi and mafuyumum is their awareness.

harumichi - fully aware of what he is doing, fully aware his son is his own person and does not stop him despite heavy disapproval

mafumum - completely oblivious to what she is doing to mafuyu, projecting an idealised version of mafuyu onto her (and possibly an idealised version of herself)

harumichi working toya to the bone is him applying how he learnt to toya. the intent was not to physically/emotionally harm toya but that is what ended up happening (physical exhaustion is to be expected, he should not have forced toya to keep working but he deals with the same so he probably doesn't think it's a big deal). that said, he is fully aware of the fact he is taking away from toya's childhood, and admits this in concerto that toya's life was not "normal".

mafumum is entirely unaware of her abuse to mafuyu. this is repeatedly made clear in events post sayonara persona. mafudad relays to her what mafuyu tells him and she's incredibly distressed to learn that she'd been hurting mafuyu and she doesn't know what she did wrong. she can be manipulative, but she's not aware that she's being malicious, she thinks she's genuinely doing what's best for her child who she loves. there's also some context clues such as her young age compared to other parents, the fact she doesn't have a job and the fact she's at a lower social standing to her husband that suggest she may also be projecting the life she didn't get onto mafuyu.

harumichi being given the attempted sympathetic backstory doesn't work. he is neglectful towards his son, but is slowly easing out of these ways a little bit. toya has already begun to make ammends without the need for making harumichi sympathetic. he's a bad parent who did a bad thing knowingly.

with mafumum it is justified. in her first appearance, we see her from the biased viewpoint of kanade, who sees her as a cold and neglectful parent towards mafuyu. however from mafuyu's pov, she is a loving mother who is misguided in how she shows this love. this is what unreliable notes is about. mafumum is a bad parent who did a bad thing unknowingly. she is sympathetic because she is a troubled mother coming to terms with the fact she ruined her child's life.

both characters are loved by their children by virtue of them being their parents. the story is going to convey that no matter how bad they are as people. yes, forgiving abusers in fiction is overdone and to some degree unrealistic, however we do not yet know if that is where the story will go. all we know is that there will be a reconciliation. but even if mafumum specifically gets forgiven, it would not be unjustified. i feel like the first impression we get of mafumum from Kanade POV left a strong impact on a lot of people that they can't let go of. the whole point of the current arc is to let that go. the game builds her up as this malicious antagonistic force so that it can deconstruct that when we get to see her from an unbiased POV. she's not a villain like many people make her out to be, she's a human who made a mistake. a very bad and very big mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. she is a loving mother who fucked up really badly because she was too obsessed over perfection to actually see her daughter for who she is.

if the writers try and make us forgive harumichi though fuck them he fucking sucks. like i feel like toya will because he's like that yknow but i don't think the audience should feel sympathetic towards him.

[icanbringyouinhot]

Take something bad and make it into something good - Chapter 1

Paring: retired!Javier Peña x F!reader

Summary: After leaving Colombia, Javier slowly but surely slides into a post-burnout depression that he tries to self-medicate with alcohol and self-imposed exile. However, his friend Steve Murphy and his wife Connie are not having it. Turns out, their endless nagging got him in a very interesting situation that turned out to be exactly what he needed. (Though, he’ll never admit they were right.)

Here’s the song that inspired me: Something Good by Paul Haig (spotify link)

Warnings: I don’t think there are that many, honestly. There’s no smut (boo-hoo, this is my first fanfic ever posted in here, I’m shy ok?..). No physical description of the reader, though I did describe her clothes because we love a well dressed diva. Vague mentions of alcohol abuse. Mentions of blood, wounds, guns, and depression because our boy is traumatized by what went down in Colombia. The reader has one small tattoo on her forearm. Let me know if I forgot anything, this is my first fanfic, idk what the hell I’m doing.

Word count: Roughly 2k.

A/N: Ok so there’s a few things, PLEASE READ: (1) As I said two times already, this is my first fanfic, I’m nervous and insecure about my writing, so please, please, please, give me any advice you have, criticism, words of encouragement, anything that could help me grow. I ain’t no pussy, you can tell me this is shit and I won’t start crying (as far as you know teehee). (2) The story the reader is talking about is my latest hyper fixation, however, i couldn’t find the source. There’s an article that says it belongs to the Chumash Tribe, but there are also other articles and reddit posts that say the otherwise. I have no idea were I know this story from, it just spawned into my smooth brain. For safety measures I chose not to associate it to any Native American tribe and let the reader’s granny take the blow, because I don’t want to offend anyone and because I am from Europe, so idk what the hell I’m talking about and it would be disrespectful to pretend that I do. (3) The art pieces and the artist that are featured in this fanfic are real (they are also present in the little collage that I’ve made, there in the middle, for visual reference)!!! But i don’t have a clue when he did his work and I was too lazy to google it so i have no idea if they existed by the time Javier Peña left Colombia (or if the art pieces ever touched the American land). Once again this fanfic was a last minute thing I didn’t put that much thought into it. (4) Once again i pulled this story from my bum bum and i don’t know if there’s a Modern Art Gallery in Houston, but I don’t care, I take my artistic liberties to invent one on the spot. (5) English is not my first language!!!!!! I tried really hard to make my sentences beautiful and clear, because sometimes in my head everything is an absolute mess. Once again, Idk what the hell I’m talking about. This fanfic is 100% the concept of raw dogging life and see where it gets you.

Okay!!!!! I think that was it. I think we are ready for our first flight together. I have to inform you that I don’t have any right, license or experience into flying the FanFic Aircraft. Too late, you can’t get off now, I shut the doors. Thank you for choosing our company to fly towards your next destination: JAVI LAND!!!! (play national anthem.)

(Also if someone knows how to add those colorful spacers on a post, I also forgot how it’s called, please send me a message and explain to me like I’m your grandma, thank you!!!!!)

Okay here we go. I’m nervous.

Chapter 2 >>

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Javier Peña had a lot of sins he had to try to pay for, but never in his life did he imagine this would be the price.

Four months. That’s how long’s been since he’d left Colombia for good, leaving behind all the bullshit he had to endure, the mistakes he made, the deaths he’d witnessed.

In all fairness, he thought that going back to the states would motivate him to rebuild his life and start anew. That was his honest to God intention. However, once back in the good ol’ Merica, he realized it no longer felt like home, not in his dad’s old house, not in his new apartment, in a different city, nowhere. He became almost a recluse, filled with rage, resentment and frustrations, never leaving his house much, except for runs to the closest liquor store or the bar down the street.

The first few weeks, Murphy gave him space to sort out his thoughts, drink himself into oblivion, chain-smoke through the night and avoid human interaction like the goddamn plague, only checking on every now and then but never pushing.

Then, they started showing up.

First it was just Murphy, with beer and bad jokes, watching football games, doing anything but talk about Colombia or feelings. Then, Connie started showing up too, with thinly vailed concern and always bringing something for him to eat, all while trying to pull words out of him with pliers. They even had their daughter have a try at him, convinced that no one could resist the innocence of a small, bright-eyed child, especially one that loved her ‘uncle Javi’ like he hung the moon just for her. Yes, Javier loved his niece and would do anything for her, but that was the one thing that he couldn’t do, mostly because he didn’t know how.

No matter how many times he tried to turn them down, they were relentless. They’d pestered, prodded, and outright bullied him into getting out of the house ­– something about fresh air, new experiences, maybe even fun, as if he had any patience for that word anymore. They started up with the occasional dinner invitation, then it was offers to take him out for drinks – somewhere nice instead of the dingy, dimly lit bar where Javi spent his weekends. He never wanted to go anywhere, but Murphy and Connie always insisted until he gave in just to shut them the hell up. Well, more Connie than Murphy, really – she was the one planning every intervention, though she’d been sweet enough not to say that word out loud.

And now… this.

This one – Oh, this one took the cake.

A fucking art gallery.

Connie got her grabby hands on some invitations from an old patient lady that actually owned the fancy Modern Art Gallery in Houston, and Murphy, as the good husband that he was, just went along with it.

But Javier Peña didn’t belong here. That much was obvious from the moment he stepped through the doors of the establishment, wearing a scowl and the same old leather jacked that had seen more blood and dust than it had high society.

The walls were lined with massive canvases – some monochrome, others smeared in chaotic swirls of color – but what stood out the most were the ones that had been slashed and punctured, riddled with holes like someone had taken a knife to them in a drunken rage.

Murphy, the bastard, was actually trying to appreciate it. He stood next to Connie, nodding along as she pointed to different pieces. Javi had no doubt Steve didn’t understand a damn thing either, but unlike Javier, he was at least pretending.

He took a long sip of his whiskey – at least the open bar made this bearable.

At one point during the night, Connie leaned in and, in a hushed, reverent tone, explained that the artist, Lucio Fontana, had created these pieces with great precision to “explore spatial concepts beyond the canvases”, emphasizing “the interplay of light, shadow and space.” He just rolled his eyes and moved further away from her in a corner, plotting his escape.

What a load of bullshit.

All he could see were stab wounds. Bullet holes. Scars carved into the fabric of the country he had spent too many years fighting in. If he looked long enough, he swore he could see blood seeping through, hear the gunshots echoing in his skull.

And maybe that said more about him than the art itself.

He exhaled, running a hand over his face. He needed another drink.

He turned to leave – and walked straight into someone.

“Shit, sorry.” He muttered taking a step back, but the woman in front of him didn’t seem bothered.

You were standing close to one of the mutilated canvases, your back straight, hands folded in front of you as you studied it. You wore a calf-length silk skirt that shimmered under the lights and a lacy top that showed just enough skin to be distracting. But what struck him the most was the way you were looking at the canvas in front of you – not with the pretentious admiration of the other guests but with quiet, genuine thoughtfulness.

You waved off his apology with a small smile before turning your gaze back to the painting – a deep navy-blue canvas punctured with what looked like a thousand tiny holes.

Javier should’ve walked away, but instead he looked at you looking at the painting, and the curiosity got the better of him.

“You actually like this shit?”

You smiled, slow and knowing, like you were expecting that reaction. “Maybe.”

Javier huffed incredulous, crossing his arms. “Really?”

You gestured to the navy punctured canvas, “It reminds me of an old story my grandmother used to tell me when I was little.”

Javier pulled his eyebrows together, puzzled. The only thing it reminded him of was the dark colored government van that got ambushed and was completely obliterated along with the agents inside. But he couldn’t say that, and before he could open up his mouth to say anything else, you already started telling your story.

“Before the humans appeared on the planet, the rocks, animals and plants lived in harmony. They were the people of the world. They lived in harmony and peace, appreciating and taking care of the nature and of one another. They woke up every morning greeting the Sun, and went to sleep waving goodbye to the Moon, thanking her for looking over them.”

Javi found himself listening despite himself, watching you as you talked, tilting you head in his direction, gaze lost, but a small smile creeping on your lips as you continued to narrate the story.

“As time passed, they started to forget. They didn’t greet the Sun anymore or show any appreciation, and the Moon was completely forgotten. They became jealous of each other, thinking others possessed more than them, greed taking over their hearts. They started to take more than they needed, either to consume or to sell away. They didn’t help each other, cooperation didn’t exist anymore. They separated more and more, arguing, hating, fighting, hurting each other.”

His eyes darted between you and the painting, his mind running a thousand miles per hour, but knew better than to try to interrupt you.

“The Creator had been watching and said ‘Enough’, throwing a blanket over the whole world. Now the world was in darkness, people frightened. Each of them tried individually to take off the blanket, but no one was able to reach that far. Desperate, they formed a council, to discuss what they should do. After endless meetings and failed attempts, a hummingbird came with a plan that demanded everyone to cooperate. The hummingbird got on top of the crow, the crow got on top of the owl, and the owl on the eagle. The idea was simple, the eagle was supposed to fly as high as he could, then when his energy ran out, the owl took over, then the crow, until finally the hummingbird got close enough to puncture the blanket with its beak. Light seeped through, and everyone got their hope back. They started working together until they punctured enough holes in the blanket for them to have light and warmth again. The animals that couldn’t fly helped from the ground, preparing water, food and shelter for everyone. The Creator was so pleased to see that the people were living again in harmony that he lifted off the blanket, and the people never took what they had for granted anymore.” You seemed to finish your story the moment your eyes were focused on again, this time shifting your gaze towards Javier. His face was an amalgamation of emotions – confusion, admiration, concentration. “Anyway, it’s said that after they lived again in harmony and peace for many, many years, the people started to forget again.” You added with a shrug, this time with a knowing look into your eyes.

Javier looked at the canvas again. He still saw violence – still saw the wounds, the tearing, the things he couldn’t erase from his mind. But for the first time, he also saw what you did. Something else. Hopeful.

“You got all that from a couple stab marks on a painting?

You turned to him fully, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Art is what you make of it.”

Javier tilted his head, watching you. “So, what do you make of that one?” he said pointing to a different canvas – one with a long, deep cut right in the middle of it, like a wound.

You studied it for a moment, pursing your lips, then said, “Loneliness.”

“Loneliness?”

“Yes, the loneliness we all feel sometimes, almost like a wound right in the middle.” You said tracing absentmindedly a finger over your chest. “Separation. The way we carve ourselves apart from others, whether by choice or by force.”

Javier’s smirk faded slightly. He wasn’t used to conversations like this. Usually, when he talked to women, it was all surface-level-flirting, small talk, nothing deeper than what was necessary. But this? This was different.

If your words affected him, he didn’t let it show, but truth be told, a bitch slap would’ve stung him less than this.

He scoffed giving a skeptical look, “Alright smartass, and that one?” he pointed to another, where multiple slashes ran parallel, like scars.

After another pause for consideration, you said, “Community. We crave connection, we need it. No one survives alone. Even if we are wounded, we heal better when we are surrounded by others. Pain shared is pain halved.”

He almost wanted to ask if you knew Steve and Connie and if they put you up to this, but something in your expression made him reconsider, because when you spoke, when you came up with these awful, soul barring interpretations, you seemed lost in thoughts for a second.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?”

You grinned, “Pulled it out of my ass, mostly.”

He barked out a laugh, “Figures.”

You leaned in slightly, voice conspiratorial, “Truth is, I think this whole thing is bullshit.”

Now that was something he could get behind. “Then how the hell does a smart woman like you end up stuck at an art gallery she doesn’t even like?”

“My grandmother owns the gallery.”

Javier blinked. “Shit.”

You smiled slyly, “Yeah, so don’t tell her I said that.”

“No promises.” He said, “I’m Javier, by the way.” he added, and you shook his hand telling him your own name.

After a beat, you cleared the air, “The only one I’ve actually meant was the first one. The story kind of stuck with me.” You said as you rotated your forearm, letting him see the tiny hummingbird tattoo you had, so small, fragile and beautiful. He wanted to kiss it, honestly,

“So, you really believe in that?” he asked with his characteristic smile plastered on his face.

You glanced at him. ‘Believe in what? That the sky is a blanket and the stars are holes?” you asked amused.

Javier shrugged, “I mean, the whole idea. That there’s a way out, that people could actually find a way to fix their world at some point.” He explained his question, because it sure like hell never felt like that when he tried to lift the proverbial blanket that the cartels threw over Colombia.

You smiled, but there was something wistful in it. “I think stories like that exist because people need them to. To make sense of things, to find hope. The world’s a little less lonely when you see that there are others with the same way of thinking. Maybe if more people knew the story and they’d believe in it, things would change too.”

Javi studied you. You weren’t like the rest of the people here – weren’t fawning over the art just to seem cultured, weren’t talking in circles to sound impressive. You were just… real.

And that was a dangerous thing for him to be around.

You two stood there, quiet for a moment, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space between you. It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t.

Javi wasn’t sure when was the last time he’d met someone who actually entertained him, let alone someone who made him forget the shitstorm in his head. You had that way of carrying yourself – calm, amused, like the world was something to be studied but never taken too seriously.

“So, what about you?” you said after a moment, “If you hate this so much, why are you here?”

Javier sighed, glancing across the room where Steve was balancing a glass of wine while his wife animatedly discussed another piece. “Some friends dragged me.” He muttered.

You nodded in consideration, then looked around for your own dear grandmother. She was way over her head discussing with a circle of quests just like she did the whole night. Aside from knowing that you came, she didn’t get the chance to check in on you or chat at any point during the event, and you took a wild guess that it wouldn’t be happening anytime soon either.

You grinned, tilting your head slightly. “Tell you what – I’ll make you a deal.”

Javier arched a brow. “Yeah?”

You leaned in, lowering your voice. “There’s a bar two blocks from here. No abstract art, no bullshit. Just whiskey and decent company. Maybe some food too. You in?”

Javier hadn’t expected the night to be anything other than a painful endurance test, something he did mostly for his friends than for himself. He sure hadn’t expected to meet someone like you. And for the first time in a long time, he thought – why the hell not?

His lips curved into a genuine smile – he couldn’t remember when was the last time he smiled as much as he did ever since he started talking to you.

“Hell yeah, lead the way.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[httpsserene]

hi lovely, prompt 9 or 21 from hurt/comfort prompt list with daniel ricciardo please!!

🛞  tread’s uneven: time for a tire rotation! — send me a driver and a prompt from this list of pre-relationship prompts, or these established relationship prompts, or these hurt/comfort prompts, and i’ll write a blurb or drabble for you xxx (prompt lists are made by me!)

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. yeahhh, i know y'all that i was lying about posting tonight!!! don't worry, i'm staying up all night for qualifying so i have no other choice but to spam y'all with the last requests. happy 3k🤍 my love < 3 thank u for requesting :p

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

#𝟐𝟏. showing up to your place to perform a wellness check when you haven't responded to their texts/calls in days. fem!bipoc!reader x daniel ricciardo.

You can’t precisely pinpoint which night shift, out of the six you worked, that your phone died on.

Every time you agree to cover your co-workers’ shifts, you swear that it’s a mistake you’ll never make again—regardless of how nice the overtime pay is. You wouldn’t be surprised to see if your sleep deprivation admits you into the very hospital that employs you. After your final shift of the week and subsequent two-hour nap in the parking lot at sunrise, you drove home, carefully cruising at ten under the speed limit. 

You don’t remember the drive, or making your way inside, or passing out on your couch—which must be why you end up falling to the floor in surprise after being abruptly woken by the sound of the doorbell being rapidly rung.

Groggily, you shuffle toward the front door—aching from head to toe, your eyes and cheeks swollen, cotton-mouthed, uncomfortably sweaty, and your hair barely contained within the hair tie—you swing the door wide open, ready to ruin this person’s day for disturbing your slumber.

“Oh. —My God! Are you okay?” Daniel asked, his alarmed eyes wide with worry.

It’s a dumb question, considering that you look like an antonym of the word okay.

He must see that you’re close to snapping, so he doesn’t give you a chance to break, ushering his way past you inside and guiding you back to the couch to have a seat.

Daniel tenderly untagles your hair from the tie as he rambles, “I knew I should’ve flown the minute you stopped responding. You haven’t answered my calls or texts in two days! I called all of your friends, and they said the same—don’t scare me like that ever again! I called your station, and I thought they were going to tell me you were there as a patient instead of a nurse!”

You lean heavily into the Australian, sniffling softly, “My phone died on Friday? I think? I dunno—‘m sorry.”

His palm lowers to squeeze the nape of your neck softly, he directs your face out from hiding in his shoulder to look into your eyes. Swiping his thumb underneath your swollen eyes, he murmurs, concerned, “Babe…It’s Sunday morning. You finished work early Saturday morning. Have you been sleeping the entire time?”

Daniel helps you piece together blurry memories, and it turns out that you managed to sleep for almost twenty-four hours straight. You almost slept for an entire day.

“Alright!” Daniel claps, and you flinch at the volume of it, your head beginning to pound with tension. He apologizes quietly, continuing in a hushed tone, “No more six-in-a-row night shifts, please? I don’t think falling comatose after that is a particularly good sign, but you would know better since you’re the nurse between the two of us.”

You blink slowly for a few beats, and your stomach grumbles ravenously. Daniel purses his lips, looking increasingly concerned for your health, and you clear your throat dryly, “No more six-in-a-row’s.” “Great, I’m glad we agree!” Daniel smiles widely, patting his knees before he stands, “Now, I was going to have you take a bath because you are a little stinky. Don’t look at me like that; it’s true. I don’t know if it’s you or your scrubs that smell—I’m still not sure, but I hope it’s just you—however, I think it’s better if we get a meal inside of you first. Checking in on you would be meaningless if I let you pass out and drown in the shower.”

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[rouge-fauna]

Some ironic/idiotic points I’ve seen way too many people say:

Tommy and Dream should have worked things out privately

How? Did you miss the part that Tommy literally blocked Dream on everything and refused to talk to Dream? How is he meant to handle it privately? Besides I’m pretty sure Tubbo in his first stream is the one that brought up things like the messages to Tommy’s mom in the first place, so if anything Tubbo is the one who brought up things to the public and made things bigger than they needed to be. Remember, his hour long stream about the meme and reasons why he dislikes Dream and how this is Dream’s “death by a thousand cuts” came first before Dream’s first stream where he reacted to parts of Tubbo’s stream.

Dream takes no accountability

He apologized for something he’s not even done, he literally took down the meme, admitted it was a bad thing to do, apologized multiple times for it, apologized for not doing a proper apology the first time and explained his reasoning. That’s literally the definition of taking accountability. Like what more do you want? Want him to beg on his knees for the internet (who called him every slur in the book) to forgive him? He made a mistake, we all do, he apologized, let’s move on, because there are parties in this drama who haven’t taken accountability or apologized so maybe we should be focused on that.

Dream and Dream Team are sexist and misogynists

Says the people who formed a nation on a role play server called L’MANberg because it didn’t allow woman (or non-Europeans). Says the guy who I get frustrated to watch because of all his sexists and inappropriate jokes (I still don’t understand how the majority of his fans are woman like heh?). Says the people who when asked why they think this only bring up recent public examples, despite a - they have always been sexists behind the scenes implication, all but one of which are bogus anyways.

Well they didn’t handle the Caiti situation properly.

What do you mean? They all responded, I’m pretty sure apologized and owned up and took Caiti’s side and made sure to tell their fandom to not go after her. Meanwhile, you think Dream should have brought her up, when she has specifically asked to not be talked about anymore. Pretty sure if he never responded he’d be bashed for not taking accountability and if he did mention her in the recent video then he’d be bashed for not respecting her wishes.

Dream’s neurodivergence (Autism and ADHD) is not important here why is it being used as an excuse.

It ain’t. I don’t think I’ve seen a single person excuse his behavior or whatever, in fact the same people pointing out the autism piece are also mostly the same neurodivergent people who are the ones upset by the use of the word. But this all blew up with the r word which Dream was told by people using it against him that it can be used by someone who’s autistic. So from the get go it’s kinda important. Then you look at the pieces, at the comments people make about Dream being weird or doing things that are socially unacceptable, is inappropriate, ridiculous…etc and then you get to a 3 hour stream of talking in circles as they can’t seem to understand eachother or at least Tubbo not understanding Dream, which afterwards Tubbo labels his Audhd way of communicating as manipulative. So yea I’d say autism, adhd and neurodivergence are pretty damn relevant and important.

Just ahhhhhsbhfnnabdnnand… I still see people condemning him for the damn r word and it’s like bruh… move on. We are way past that damn meme he apologized multiple times for at this point. Especially from the moment Tommy posted his video and weaponized his fandom against Dream. And good god, and if you didn’t watch the streams then don’t be acting like you have this hot take and posting essays and shit because damn, maybe the reason no one’s said that is because it isn’t true, something you’d known if you watched all of the streams!………….. sorry just had to get that off my chest…

[bitchinbarzal]

One More Chance | M Rossi

summary: he put hockey first and had to deal with the consequences. Now, he wants you back.

-

You never thought you’d find yourself here again, standing outside Marco’s apartment, heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to escape. It was late, the Minnesota cold biting through your jacket, but the real chill sat in your bones, in the way your fingers trembled as you hesitated before knocking.

It had been months since you last saw him. Months since the fight that ended everything.

It started over something stupid—a missed dinner, a forgotten promise. But the real problem had been deeper than that, festering in the cracks of your relationship. He was consumed by hockey, and you felt like an afterthought.

He said you didn’t understand.

You said he didn’t care.

And then it was over.

You’d told yourself you wouldn’t look back. That you were done waiting for him to realise you were worth more than the leftover pieces of him after practice, after games, after the Wild took everything he had to give.

But when you saw him at the game tonight, you saw the way his eyes searched the crowd even when he was supposed to be focused, the way he lingered near the family section as if he was waiting for something that never came, you couldn’t stop yourself.

So here you were, fists clenched at your sides, breathing in sharp, shallow gasps as you finally forced yourself to knock.

The door opened faster than you expected.

Marco stood there, hair damp from a post-game shower, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, like he’d been trying to wind down but couldn’t. His eyes widened when he saw you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, hesitant.

You swallowed “Hi”

His grip on the door tightened, like he needed something to hold onto “What… what are you doing here?”

You almost backed out then. Almost told him it was a mistake, that you’d had too much to drink, that you’d come here on autopilot.

But that wasn’t the truth, and you were tired of running from it.

“I saw you at the game” you admitted “And I—” You exhaled, shaking your head “I don’t know! I just, I had to see you”

His brows pulled together, and for the first time in months, you saw it—the way he still looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world.

“Come in” he said softly, stepping aside.

You hesitated, but the pull of him was too strong. You stepped over the threshold, the scent of him; clean, familiar, heartbreakingly the same wrapping around you.

He closed the door behind you, then stood there, like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“You looked good out there” you offered, arms wrapping around yourself like a shield.

He let out a short, almost bitter laugh “Did I?”

You nodded “Yeah”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face “Did you—” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat “Did you come just to tell me that?”

You looked down, feeling suddenly small under the weight of his gaze “No”

Silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid.

“I miss you” Marco finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught “Marco…”

“I do” He took a step closer “I know I screwed up. I know I made you feel like you weren’t important to me, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted. But I never stopped thinking about you. Not for a second”

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache of his words settle “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

He let out a slow breath. “Because I didn’t think I deserved another chance”

Your heart clenched.

“But when I thought I saw you tonight, at the game…” His voice was rough with emotion “I couldn’t stop looking for you. And when I didn’t see you again, I thought maybe you’d moved on, i was making it up in my head. That I’d lost you for good”

You wanted to say you had tried to move on. That you’d gone on dates, let other people hold your hand, kiss your lips but none of them were him.

“I haven’t” you admitted “I tried, But I…” You took a shaky breath “I still love you”

His eyes squeezed shut for a brief moment, like he needed to physically brace himself against the weight of your words. Then, before you could second-guess it, his arms were around you, pulling you in, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to make up for every second you’d been apart.

You buried your face in his chest, inhaling him, feeling the warmth of him seep into your frozen bones.

“I won’t mess this up again” he whispered against your hair “I swear to you, I won’t”

And for the first time in months, you let yourself believe him.

[antler-queen1996]

Can you do adult taivan deciding to get married before Van dies 🥺

•I can Hear the Bells

cw-none, just taivan experience happiness instead of the horrors

A/n- I actually loved this idea and all I could think of was I can hear the bells from hairspray so you guys have to deal with the title but I hope you guys like it also sorry for in inaccuracy I only did I quick search on courthouse weddings 😭😭

Border creds on pinned post

Van held onto Tai’s hand, leaning really she could barely hold herself up; but she it was a mutual thing in here mind.

She was dressed up in her best suit: a white button up with only a few stains in it and black pants. Not the best wedding attire.

That’s right. Wedding. After all these years she found her way back. Taissa Turner. Even if it’s just for a week. A week to live a lie, to hold the wilderness that is one another, in the palm of one’s hand once more, away from the judgmental eyes.

She didn’t care if it was real Tai or her, all she knows is, even if it’s just for a split scene in her life. She had Taissa Turner, the love of her life. The one that in every life time, in every universe would find some irrevocably, unconceivable way to find her.

So they made their way to the justice building, she was hesitant to ask Tai how she got all the right licenses and certificates but she was too, too tired. She finally admitted to herself she was tired. And she needed this.

Vans heart beats rapidly against her chest as she makes her way up the steps, so fast she was sure it would break through.

Tai holds the door open for her, staring longingly; as if she wanted to take a bite out of the red head. They joined hands once more, Tai leading the way.

It was all a blur to Van, as if she was just fast forwarding an old VHS tape, just skipping through the scenes. Until she gets to the most important part.

She had found herself in a room a man in a suit stands next to the two of them. Tia held both her hands now, standing in front of her, brown eyes wide staring at her as hard as she did the first time they met. Her mind wanders back to those memories, the early memories of them, when things were good; as the judge read off something unimportant opposed to her girl. Her Tiassa Turner.

“Now, if you would like to exchange vows?” The judge says looking between the two woman. Tia grips Vans hands harder, clearing her throat; “Vanessa Palmer,” Van cringes at the sound of her whole name, like she’s getting in trouble at schools again. “I’ll never forget the first time I laid my eyes on you, 9th grade Bio class. You were getting into an argument with Jesse Nears who was the better character on some show I couldn’t care less about;” Van smiles at the distinct memory, feigning offense to what her brown-eyed girl had said about her favorite tv show.

“But, all I could think was. Wow, that is one beautiful girl. With hair like fire and eyes like the forest; And that’s all I’ve ever thought since then. I know I’ve made some mistakes.” Tai’s eyes glass over with the glaze of tears, she was right she hurt Van, so much.

Her voice cracks when she tries to speak again, clearing her throat her voice small as whistle. “But I promise, nothing and no one will harm you ever again. Even me.” Her voice trails off her vows ended and Van knows she’s expected to say her piece now. She was worried that when it was her turn she would black out, or worse nothing would come out. Turns out what they said was true at least for her; once you start you can’t stop.

“I have loved you from the very moment I met you, every single part of you, parts. It’s been hard, being without you.” Van chokes up clutching onto Tai who looks into her very soul. Her voice cracks when she speaks up.

“But you’re here now and every step I get closer to death but I’m glad because at least I’m taking them with you. Taissa Turner you are the only woman I have ever truly loved.”

And with that the officiate reads the rest of the marriage contract finally getting to the big moment were he says:

“I may pronounce you, Mrs. And Mrs. Turner-Palmer.”

The sweaty, bald man smiled happily watching the two woman kiss; or more like Tai devouring Van’s face.

Unapologetically Van kisses her back, they’ve had to hide for far too long.

[socksorstockingz]

I don’t really post much on here, but as someone who’s been in the Nevermore fandom for a while (following some tags on tumblr and being on the discord, though my activity there has significantly dwindled after it became bigger), but in light of the drama that’s gone on I feel like I’d like to give my opinion, if only for my own peace on the matter.

As a response to the whole situation and in context with other stuff I have heard of going down on the discord, I think Red’s long post was kind of a necessity, as only addressing the current biggest drama (that related to Crimson) would likely stir up people into saying in bad faith that she’s ignoring other issues that have gone on in the discord, and you can tell from Red’s standpoint that all of this has kind of been an accumulation of months and months of shit, on a scale she, Flynn and the mods have admitted to not being entirely prepared for, as their prior experience in discord moderation was on the Shiloh discord, which is significantly smaller, and thus more tight-knit. I’ve seen some people claiming that 95% of the post is calling out others rather than apologizing, but, having read most of the post thoroughly, Red seems quite apologetic and guilty throughout, thought their frustration is also noticeable. I understand why some people are unhappy with the fact that she namedropped some people she believed were involved in particularly toxic situations within the discord — which, I might add, was likely used as better context for her thought process and decision making throughout this whole mess, rather than her intentionally trying to throw in non-sequitors and victim blame, as I’ve seen thrown around. Admittedly, showing the discord/tumblr names of users — some of whom are apparently minors — is somewhat immature, as it could risk them being targeted by harassment (though Red did state in post not to pursue these people, and, in context, was likely airing out the names to ensure people didn’t throw around accusations and assumptions at random users). In that area, I believe Red could’ve been more careful.

As an apology for what she and the mods have been accused of recently, I think the post worked well, with her kind of structuring the piece like an apology sandwich: providing an upfront apology to a group she unintentionally harmed in her initial discord response, stating the full context of the situation, then reiterating her apology at the end. Some may call it tactless or manipulative, but, in my personal opinion, the long “filling” of the apology sandwich was necessary to provide an explanation, but not an excuse for her mistakes. You can tell a lot of this has been boiling in the background for a long time, and, though this extra information has provided more fuel to the Red-hate-train fire, it also helps inform people who may have been on the outskirts of the situation of some of her observations while moderating, which ultimately led to the mistakes made in the most recent situation.

Do I think Red made mistakes? Yes, absolutely. Do I think Red could have worded things better or tried to tackle the situation differently? Yes, as well. But, despite its flaws, I think what Red has done to address this situation and try to atone for/improve from it demonstrates greater humility than a lot of other creators I have heard of and known. When she said she and Flynn would step back from the community and find new mods to hopefully rebuild the community’s trust in both them and eachother, she Meant it, as, if you look on the discord, Red and Flynn have tags under their profiles indicating that they have banned themselves from the space. Some may see this as them running away from the mess, but, as I see it, they have said their piece here, and are, as Red has stated, trying to focus on themselves and the development of Nevermore, rather than digging themselves deeper into the trenches of everything that has gone down, which I find quite admirable, even if some of their actions during this whole debacle were questionable. I’m not saying there is no criticism to be had, but I think the sheer dogpiling that has gone on in the past few days (even before Red had posted either of her responses) is utterly baffling. I get wanting to hold creators accountable, but you’ve gotta remember they’re humans too, and immediately spouting some of the most heinous shit about them isn’t going to help them improve, you improve, or help the victims find peace in the situation. And, based on some of the posts I’ve seen, it seems like some people were holding onto a lot of information until after the first big post about the drama hit tumblr, then suddenly started unloading that onto their blogs to continue stirring the pot and adding to the dog pile. It kind of feels parasocial, and like they were just Waiting for this opportunity to drag the creators down. Maybe I’m misinterpreting the posts, and maybe more things are coming out now that people feel more validated in their opinion by having other peoples’ anger on their side, but it just feels kind of… disturbing.

I’ve heard of this happening in other communities before, and I guess, considering its size, something like this was bound to happen to the Nevermore community at some point. Maybe I was just naive to think that we could avoid shit like this, but it’s happened, and people are hurting, and things are confusing and scary. But, if there’s any advice I’d give to people who have been doomscrolling through this (like I have lmao :’) ), it’s important to take a step back from this situation, and take a step back from your keyboards, and just collect your thoughts for a second. Because, after a while, it’s just hurting yourself over and over because you feel betrayed that something like this could happen in a community surrounding a piece of media you love. Perhaps I’m being hypocritical in saying this, but… I really think it’s important to distance yourself if you need to, and take some time to yourself to process everything.

[nekoannie-chan]

First & last: Kiss

Title: Kiss.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 440 words. 

Square: 1 “Kiss”.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Steve's first and last kiss.

Major Tags: Fluff.

Additional tags: This is my entry for the @sweetspicybingo, Beginning's Bingo. 

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish, so I wanna improve my writing skills in English. Please let me know if you notice any mistakes, and I will correct them.

I don’t grant permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or in other languages (I translate my work) or for using my graphics (my dividers are included).  I created them exclusively for my fics; please respect my work and refrain from stealing it. Some people here make dividers that anyone can use; mine is not this type, so please look for the other people’s dividers. The only exceptions are those I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.  

If you like it, please vote, comment, give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @real-fbi @caplanbuckybarnes @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @azulatodoryuga @endlesstwanted @patzammit @kmc1989

The first kiss

That night, everyone was scattered, some asleep, others eating. And that's when you heard the door open.

He.

“Are you still here?" Steve asked, coming in.

“Yes... I wanted to leave everything in order.

You approached the table to put away the last papers, and he approached as well.

“You don't have to do it all by yourself," he said, just a few steps away from you. You felt a tingling run down your back. 

“Are you all right?” you asked, in a quieter voice. He nodded. But then he shook his head softly.

“I don't know... not quite. But I feel better when I see you.”

And then, Steve moved closer. His fingers brushed your chin, slowly, and his lips came closer, and his breath collided with yours.

“May I?” he whispered.

You closed your eyes and nodded. And he kissed you. It was slow and sweet; his hand slid down your neck. That kiss was not a movie kiss.

It was real.

It was yours.

It was his.

And it was perfect.

The last kiss

The war was over. Or so they said.

Years had passed. So many missions, so many conversations in the dark, so many moments between you that no longer fit in a single memory.

But he had to go.

He had made the decision.

It was not a betrayal. It was a necessity. A search. A closure.

You were alone, at the foot of the hangar, when the ship was ready. He looked exactly the same as the day you met him. You stood your ground. On the outside. Inside, you were in pieces.

“Will you come back?” you asked, knowing it wasn't fair to ask that question. Steve didn't answer right away. He looked at you. As he did every time he needed to memorize, you.

“I can't promise you that," he admitted in a low voice.

You moved closer, swallowing your tears, and grabbed him by the jacket, right at chest level. You felt his heart.

“Then kiss me," you said. “For the last time.” 

And he did.

But not like the first one. This kiss hurt.

His hands wrapped around you tightly, as if he wanted to take you with him without moving from the spot.

Your body surrendered to that kiss as one surrenders, knowing there is no more. It was long, silent, and eternal.

When you parted, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I loved you in every version of me," he said. “And if time permits... I'll come back for the next one.”

And he left. 

And that kiss... that last kiss.

[allurenamin-moved]

⏤ 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐞 ; 𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐚 𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨

tags ⇢ roronoa zoro x reader, nsfw content, not much just pure self indulgence, sub!zoro who refuses to admit it, bondage, dirty talk, bit of a good boy kink

word count ⇢ 0.5k

author’s note ⇢ here's a little something that's been sitting in my drafts that i'm now posting because...why not, lol. i'm honestly not even sure if i like this but i thought i might as well take it slow in terms of getting back in the swing of writing. also... first one piece fic! let me know what you all think!

“Say it then. Tell me what you’ll do to me. At least I’ll have proof that you can use your words like a good boy.” 

Zoro’s ongoing proclivity towards denial was thoroughly challenged this time. 

Of course he’d anticipated the divine defeat. Perhaps the issue lay in how long he’d actually thought it would take for you to crack. The deceitful solace of “eventually” had run its course; nothing in this world had made him feel more naive. 

But he refused to show you that, unbeknownst to him how privy you were to the ego that only rivaled the size of his mouth watering thighs, reverently spread apart for your whims. 

Here and there were brutal attacks on his self-esteem that weren’t foreign. The confinement of your handcuffs was always a handy guard against his deliciously rough response to your teasing; the coos, the giggles, and the friction of your clothed cunt against his desperate, throbbing cock. Naturally, you were much, much braver. Naturally, he was much, much smaller. 

It was just time for him to admit it. And you’ll do everything in your power to make him. 

“You’re bluffing. Acting so bold as if you don’t know how this is gonna end.” He spits, almost as if his arms weren’t above his head, restricting the methods in which he would’ve ended this.

Challenging the knowledge of your capabilities was a big mistake, he’d learned from the discernable lift of the corner of your mouth. The real Zoro had made way for chills to run down his spine as he’d failed to keep his rocky exterior intact. Boy, did he fucking hate the real Zoro. 

“I don’t even know what’s gotten you so mad, baby. I’ve barely touched you.” You purr, successfully prefacing your first round of silky touches; starting at his wrists, your manicured fingertips make trails down his toned arms as a modus of appreciation. 

Zoro despised the discernibility of his shudders, enhanced by the contact of your acrylics now on the soft, sensitive skin of his biceps. For what it was worth, paranoia had been dismissed from his vocabulary, having always known that your overt affinity for pointy nails is not to be taken lightly. Further validation of this statement was in the form of your fingers now trailing towards his chest. 

“You’re shy now, aren’t you?” A brave murmur slyly responds to your hands, cautious in their act of toying with his taut pecs. His famous smirk makes its way through, regardless. Regardless of his foiling conscience. Regardless of his failure to deter you. Regardless of the fact that it was going to disappear pretty soon. 

“Who said I was shy?” You muse, hands beginning to massage the area. The twitch of his cock was impossible to miss. But he isn’t giving up just yet. 

Inwardly grimacing at his shortage of witty comebacks, he’d decided that the best idea is seeing where the sly night could take him… you’ve made it clear that it won’t be an easy stroll. 

[thechaoticdruid]

[The Spawn Vs The Ascendant] (4)

Astarion(s) x Tav

Plot: The conclusion of the sad tale of the Vampire Ascendant and his Fair Consort and the beginning of the showdown between the Spawn and the Ascendant.

Content/Warnings: No F!Tav this chapter, Major Angst, gore, blood, slight suggestive themes, toxic master and slave relationship, depressed M!Tav, Ascended Astarion should be his own warning, death, like a lot of people die...

Previous

Next???

[Save Game 2:Crimson Palace, 5 years post game.]

Tav sat upon his master's lap, trying to remain as still as possible as the artist captured their likenesses with a skilled, but clearly nervous hand. The human man held his paintbrush shaking as he glanced back to see the vampire lord staring right at him. His eyes were practically glowing red as he smiled at him maliciously, almost daring him to make a mistake. The lord’s consort glanced over at the mortal man with pity in his red orbs. He knew his master was completely reveling in the artist’s fear. Astarion kept an arm wrapped possessively around Tav, his hand slipping under the back of his waist coat and gently caressing the cool skin of his back. 

Tav huffed a bit, trying to keep his gaze focused on the poor artist and ignore the hand that was oh so close to sliding down the back of his pants. His master's hedonistic ways were honestly getting tiresome for Tav to indulge. Using sex as a way to make peace with his master was getting more and more tedious. Pleasurable as it was, it just made Tav feel empty afterwards. Unloved. 

Tav grit his teeth as he suddenly felt a hand slide down the back of his pants to grope him. A hand he immediately yanked away. 

“Stop it, please.” Tav said, pulling his master's hand away from his ass. “I really don't want you doing this when Abby could walk in at any moment.” He huffed. 

“She’s studying right now, darling. No one will notice anything as long as you stay quiet about it, pet.” Astarion gripped Tav's chin and made him meet his eyes.  The poor artist was struggling to keep up with the two lords moving while he was trying to capture their likenesses. Thankfully he was close enough to finishing. 

“My lords, it is finished.” He said before stepping to the side of his canvas. Astarion looked over to the artist’s work before guesting for Tav to get off his lap. Tav did so almost immediately before looking over at the portrait with interest. It was memorizing, very life-like and so utterly exquisite! 

“It's beautiful, Oskar.” Tav complimented as he looked over at the mortal man with a kind smile, “truly, no one could have done it better.” The spawn praised. 

“T-Thank you my lord!” The artist replied, his nervous gaze was kept on Astarion who looked the painting up and down with an unimpressed grimace. 

“I will admit, you are far better than the last pathetic whelp I hired to paint us, but the piece is missing something…” Astarion grinned before taking a few steps towards his canvas. 

“Is it!? I was sure I captured an exact recreation of your likenesses. What's missing?” Oskar looked over the canvas in worry, eyes scanning the painting frantically. Astarion tapped a claw-like nail against the center of the painting.

“Just a bit of red…..Right here!” The vampire lord suddenly smashed Oskar’s head right through the painting and onto the ground, splattering blood everywhere. 

“Astarion! What the hells!?” Tav screamed, shaking in shock and anger, “he was just a scared innocent man!”

“He got on my nerves. And he kept painting my face incorrectly,” Astarion said, gesturing to the area around his cheek and mouth.

“You killed him because he painted your laugh lines!? I cannot fucking believe you! You’re a godsdamned psychopath!” Tav gritted his teeth with snarl, fist clenched as he prepared to strike at his master but then he stopped and stormed off.

Tav ran to their shared bedroom and sobbed into his pillow. He was doing this just to get rise out of Tav now. Ever since Tav stopped being his sweet obedient little love Astarion seemed almost spiteful at times. Killing for no other reason than the fact he could and always wanting Tav to watch. Sometimes Astarion had a reason and sometimes he did it just for sick pleasure. Albeit his reasons weren't exactly justified by any means.

Tav remembered a kind adventurer he met at The Blushing Mermaid one night, not too long after the Elder Brain had been defeated. He was a half-elf cleric, handsome and chivalrous. Tav and the half-elf man drank and had a long talk about all the ways Baldur's Gate could be made better for everyone.  He wanted to open his own hospital and heal those in need, those who could barely afford to care for themselves.The cleric made Tav laugh and blush, and even offered to meet him again for a drink sometime. Tav was tempted, but he turned him down saying he wasn't sure how his fiancé would feel about it and told him he probably wouldn't be happy.  And he was right…

Tav awoke later that night to screams in the palace and quickly ran to the source. Astarion was bending the poor half-elf cleric’s arm backwards, dislocating it from his socket with a sickening sounding crunch.

“Astarion!? What are you doing!?” Tav cried out, red eyes full of horror.

“I was just entertaining your lovely little friend here. I must say he is rather handsome, quite the fine specimen you found. You will come and join us, won't you, my treasure?” Astarion purred, acting completely indifferent to what he had just done to the poor helpless man. Tav frowned and stepped forward shakily.  “Good boy~. Now stand perfectly still and do not move from that spot, no matter what.” Astarion said with a glow of red eyes. 

“My love please!” Tav begged as a red aura surrounded his body, forbidding from moving from where he stood.

“Ah, ah, ah, no means no, my darling.” Astarion shook a finger at him before turning his attention to the terrified cleric.

“Tav! What's going on!? Why can't you move!?” He asked in a pleading voice, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

“I'm sorry….” Was all Tav could say before Astarion sank his fangs into the poor man's neck. 

The vampire spawn grit his teeth, watching as his master drained the sweet fool dry. The vampire lord held the mortal’s head tightly, gorging himself on the young man's precious ichor as all he could do was shake and twitch in pain as his heart slowed to a stop.

Within minutes the half elf’s body fell to the ground with a thud. Eyes wide and mouth agape as he laid there lifelessly.  Astarion wiped the blood from his lips and licked it off his fingers.

“You didn't tell me you were going out tonight.” Astarion said coldly. 

“I didn't think I had to!” Tav snapped.

“You are mine. You will not go anywhere without me knowing and you will certainly not bed anyone without my say so!” He snarled, jealous venom dripping from every word.

“Bed him!? Is that what this is about!? I never even touched him! I told him I was going back to you for fucks sake!” Tav shouted, tears beginning to fall. Astarion's gaze softened, and he dropped his compulsion over Tav before watching as the spawn fell to his knees sobbing. 

Tav sniffled into his pillow, the whites of his eyes beginning to turn pink as his eyes got puffy. Suddenly the door creaked open.

“Daddy?” Abigail’s small voice called out as the little half-elf girl peeked her head in. “Daddy!” She smiled before scampering over towards Tav as he rubbed his eyes and sat up. 

“I made this for you!” The seven-year-old took out a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it, revealing a picture of a red dragon.  Tav rubbed his eyes and smiled softly at the little girl.

“Thank you, sweetie.” He said taking the drawing from her as she sat on the side of the bed with him. 

“I'm glad you like it!” She smiled and leaned in to hug him, he returned the hug and ruffled her blonde curls. “I finished my studies, teacher said I'm getting really good at magic! Do you think Papa will be proud of me?” Abby asked, tilting her small head as her elven ears twitched. Tav hesitated. He still wasn't fully comfortable with the young girl calling him and Astarion Daddy and Papa, considering he never wanted to bring her into their home in the first place. But Astarion's word was law and somehow the vampire Ascendant had convinced himself that this would somehow salvage their relationship.

“I'm sure he will, darling.” Tav patted her head, wanting to kick himself for the sweet lie he just told her. Astarion, despite thinking this was the solution to his and Tav’s problems, wasn't a very attentive parent. He tended to ignore the poor girl most of the time, unless she actually showed an impressive display of power with her magical talents she'd slowly began to develop after being brought to live with them.  He often joked about training her to be an adorable little weapon before turning her when she became of age. Two ideas that Tav utterly despised and frequently voiced his disapproval of only to be brushed off by the Vampire Ascendant. 

But other than an occasional praise or pat on the head for whenever she did something that impressed him, Astarion didn't pay much attention to Abby. Tav was thankful that he also didn't ever harm her and kept his sadistic and murderous tendencies to a minimum in her presence, but it was also sad that she lacked the connection that she craves from him.

“The servants won't let me in the ballroom to show him what I learned today though. They're mean.” Abigail huffed. Tav chuckled nervously, internally grimacing at the memory of the poor painter’s head splattered all over the floor.

“They probably are just cleaning it up, my dear. The floors were beginning to get messy.” Tav said, feeling a nervous lump in his throat.

“Daddy, you look scared…Are you okay? Should we go find Papa?” Abigail asked.

“No! I-I…..” Tav began before suddenly being interrupted.

“I'm here, my darlings.” Astarion suddenly opened the door and stepped inside. 

“Papa!” Abby jumped up from where she sat, running over to the vampire lord like an excited little pup. “I learned something new today! Watch! Watch!” She cheered. Astarion stared down at her with an unamused expression but allowed the girl to continue. Abby waved her arms, concentrating before suddenly pushing a chair slightly across the room with her magic.

“Hmm…Perhaps there's hope for you yet.” Astarion gave the girl a slight rub on the head, causing her eyes to light up before he turned his attention to Tav. “Did I hear that my precious treasure was frightened?” 

“Daddy was scared, Papa! I think he needs a hug!” Abigail chimed in. 

“Indeed, I think you're right, darling.” Astarion said before approaching Tav. Tav bit his lip, a sickening feeling bubbling within his belly, the urge to move away from Astarion’s touch was increasing by the moment.

Astarion sat beside him, allowing Abby to climb in his lap. “Is something the matter, my sweet little husband?” Astarion asked. His voice sounded sickeningly sweet and so fake, but Tav needed to keep his calm, especially since Abby was right here. 

“I…um…. No, my love…I just…. I was napping and had a bad dream…” Tav said before feeling Astarion slink an arm around him and pull him close. Abby leaned over and hugged Tav once more. The male spawn but his lip as he glared slightly at Astarion. What was his game today?  He acts like a complete monster and then pretends nothing happened, like he didn't just slaughter an innocent man in their own home! He literally murders someone right in front of him and then wants to play house like they're one big happy family! It was utterly infuriating!

“Abby, my love. I need to speak with Daddy alone.” Astarion said as he moved one of Abby's stray curls over. 

“Okay Papa…” Abby said sadly before getting up and scampering out of the bedroom. 

“Perhaps my little outburst earlier was a bit unnecessary…” Astarion said with a sigh, though his tone didn't sound sorry in the slightest. Tav remained silent, refusing to speak because he knew if he did, nothing would stop him from screaming his head off at the man next to him. 

“I…I didn't like how you were praising him. How you smiled so warmly at him. You never do the same for me. Not anymore.” 

“And why in the nine hells do you think that is, hm?” Tav finally spoke, trying his damndest to suppress a growl. “I gave you everything, Astarion. I fought for you, I killed for you, I even fucking died for you, but nothing is ever enough, is it? You just take and take and expect me to believe that you still fucking love me! That you actually give a damn about me after everything you've done!” 

“I do love you!” Astarion suddenly grabbed Tav's wrists. “Can't you understand everything I've done is for us!?” Astarion hissed out. 

“And murdering innocent people in front of me is for my own good is that what you're saying?” Tav almost laughed at the absurdity.

“You knew exactly what I was the moment we met! Don't act like this is a shock! This is what I am! This is what we are….” 

“I would never harm an innocent…” Tav spat.

“What about all the souls we sacrificed in the ritual? They weren't all corrupt villains you know…Your hands are just as bloody as mine, my dear…” Astarion growled through gritted teeth.

Tav bit his lip, tears welling up in his eyes once again.  “I didn't want to do it…. I just…. I thought you'd leave me….” Astarion frowned, gaze softening as he watched Tav break down and sob into his hands. Astarion let out a sigh before he scooted closer to Tav and pulled the smaller male against his body.  

“You have me forever now, is this not what you wanted?” Astarion asked, holding Tav against his chest in a gentle, but possessive grip.

“I-I…. I don't know…. I just want things to be like they were between us…Before everything…” Tav stuttered.

“They can, my love. They can.” Astarion whispered before kissing Tav’s tears away, “I will give you whatever you want, all you need to do is stay by my side….” He pressed his forehead against Tav's, crimson eyes both locked together.

Tav buried his face into Astarion's chest and the two of them stayed like that for a while, until Astarion noticed his lover’s hands shaking a little.

“You haven't fed for days, have you?” He hummed. 

“I don't like it.” Tav muttered.

“My stubborn little love, you're going to end up driving yourself mad with hunger.” Astarion huffed.

“I don't care.” Tav grumbled, face pressed into his master's chest. 

“You will if Abigail is harmed because of it.” That statement alone caused Tav to go quiet. Astarion simply proceeds to undo the strings of his shirt, pulling it down and exposing his neck and shoulder to the spawn. “Feed, my pet.” 

Tav doesn't even hesitate, the insatiable hunger roaring within forces him to bite down onto his master’s neck in seconds. The blood of his sire was absolutely divine, each drop delighting his senses. Astarion smiled as he felt Tav begin to drink from him. 

“Ahh…Yes, good boy…” The Vampire Ascendant moaned, cupping the back of his consort’s head gently as Tav continued to suckle upon his skin. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Save Game 2: Crimson Palace 15 years post-game.]

“I told you this would happen Astarion!” Tav snapped, fangs bared. “You just couldn't just stop with Baldur's Gate, couldn't you!? Now you've gone and endangered us all!” 

“We're not in any danger, my sweet. These monster hunters are no threat, we'll just crush them like we always do.”

“Papa is right, Dad!  And I can help too now that I'm strong enough!” Abigail said with a smirk, an ominous black and purple magic, swirled around her hands. “We’ll crush them together!” 

“That's my girl, come on then!” Astarion smiled maliciously. Tav frowned, watching his husband and daughter rush head on into the conflict like complete fools. Astarion was strong, but the monster hunters had more numbers this time. They surrounded the manor, ramming their way in through the front door and cutting down the charmed servants first. Tav took the form of a black panther and prepared himself for a fight. 

Astarion’s plans for world conquest were beginning to spread across the Sword Coast. He had a decent number of spawns now to do his bidding, but despite this many of them had been cut down by these hunters who traced his children back to him. Now they were invading his home, hoping to snuff out this vampiric infestation at its source. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was supposed to be simple, build an army, take over the world. At least that's how Astarion himself always put it. Tav had always told him it would be foolish to think that the world would just let him do so, but he was THE VAMPIRE ASCENDANT as he oh so very often said. He was invincible! In his own mind anyway.

The hunters stormed the crimson palace, killing everyone in sight. Abigail stayed with Astarion, watching his back as they tore right through the hunters together, scattering bloody severed limbs all over the castle. Astarion had a bliss filled sadistic smile upon his face which never faltered even a little as he sliced through his mortal foes with Cazador's old blade. The same one he used to carve the infernal runes into his old master’s back. 

Abigail was less messy than her vampiric father. She summoned elementals to join the fray, shot lightning bolts and fireballs, she even had a wicked where she could make someone's body inflate until they exploded. 

Tav used his claws and teeth to defend himself, tearing apart any hunter's who got too close. The battle was quick and bloody, turning a good portion of their home into a warzone. As the fight came to a close Tav was suddenly pierced through the head by a crossbow bolt, doing considerable damage and forcing him out of his wildshape.  The bolt dropped to the ground as he transformed, his wound now gone as if it had never happened. He looked around frantically for the source of the attack before seeing a familiar figure stepping towards him. An elven woman approached him, holding a crossbow in one hand and a wooden stake in the other.  Tav wasn't sure why he froze, perhaps it was just fear? No, that wasn't right. There was a click sound from the stake being loaded into the crossbow though it barely even registered as memories began to flood into Tav's mind. 

That day at the beach when Astarion had a dagger to his throat. 

The night at camp when Astarion had fed from him for the first time. 

After the tiefling party when the two of them first made love. 

And Astarion’s confession at Moonrise. 

It all came back before suddenly there was a piercing pain in his chest as he suddenly coughed up blood. His legs gave way and he fell to the ground with a stake through his heart. The last thing to ever grace his ears were screams of his lover.

“TAV!” Astarion rushed over to his spawn in an instant and grabbed his shoulders. “Wake up, damn you!” Astarion cupped Tav's face in his hand as tears began to stream down his face as Tav’s lifeless eyes stared back at him.

“T-Tav, my sweet, my heart, I forbid you to die!” He sobbed, grabbing hold of the stake and tearing it out. “You are mine and I am yours…And if we die, we die together…Do you not understand!? Answer me!!” Astarion’s eyes flashed red, but nothing happened to the body. It was far too late.

The elven huntress prepared her crossbow to take another aim, this time at The Vampire Ascendant now that he was grief stricken with the loss of his beloved consort. She loaded a second stake, but before she could fire it a vine lasso snatched the weapon from her hand before yanking it away. Abigail glared back at the elf; her face full of rage as stomped across the sea of corpses that littered the floor. In no more than a moment she casts hold person on the hunter. 

The Vampire Ascendant held Tav in his arms, his face buried into his neck as he murmured to him in elvish.  From what Abigail could hear he was repeating a declaration of love to Tav over and over. 

~•~•~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Astarion had Tav’s body sealed away in a coffin, deep under the Palace. Abigail was ordered to place a magical spell on the body to keep it preserved. The elven hunter was now chained up within the kennels, glaring back at the vampire lord as he paced the room.  “My husband was better than I ever was. He was too kind for his own good. He even protected those filthy peasants you begged your lover to spare and you killed him for it.” 

“You killed my husband so I killed yours. Is that not a fair trade-” Astarion quickly wrapped his hand around her throat, squeezing hard and making her gasp.

“Tav’s life was 1000 times more valuable than any pathetic excuse of a spouse you ever had!” Astarion snapped, nearly crushing the woman's windpipe and making her face turn purple. But he soon stopped before any permanent damage was done. Osha gasped, breathing in and out slowly as Astarion began to think. He glanced over at Abigail who looked through her books. Her eyes scan through them in hopes of finding some way to fix this mess or at least ensure Osha suffered immensely. She came across a ritual that would give someone the ability to manipulate time itself, though it would likely require an entire city’s worth of mortal souls.   

“Papa I-......”

“Do not call me that anymore!” Astarion snapped at her. “Tav is gone…I'm done playing house…” Astarion said coldly, but Abigail could see a flicker of sadness in his eyes. 

“Yes…. Forgive me Master ....” The half-elf said, head hanging low. 

“Now, what to do with you….?” Astarion sighed and glared over into Osha’s eyes, his nose crinkling in disgust.

“Do what you must! I am ready to join Magnus in the next life!” Osha huffed out.

“Oh, you precious little thing…. You're not going to die today……You're not going die for a very long time yet….” A sadistic smirk spread over Astarion's face before he approached her slowly, gripping her chin and turning her head. “From this day on you are mine to torment….” He whispered into her ear before sinking his fangs down into her neck. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Save Game 1: Act 3, Crimson Palace.]

The Vampire Ascendant huffed in pain as he composed himself. He needed to find her. He needed to make sure she couldn't escape. 

His red eyes glanced over to the gith and the half elf as they stood side by side. 

“Find Tav quickly and bring her to me.” He ordered. The two female spawn nodded before turning on their heels and beginning their search. Astarion bit his lip with worry, he came so far, went through all this trouble just to get Tav back.

After the scribe of the dead denied his demand to return his beloved to him, stating that “his fate was sealed the moment thou sired him,” he had only one choice left. To tear time itself apart. The price to get here was far too great to turn back now.  The Ascendant paced through his ballroom, his eyes glancing up at a painting of his old master. 

You failed him. He's dead because of your weakness. You were never meant for love, foolish boy.

He could almost hear his old master's voice taunting him as he glared at the portrait. Astarion pulled out his blade before slicing it in half with a grunt of frustration. 

“Heh, I never cared for that painting either. It was always taunting me with that stupid grin of his.” A voice piped up from behind the Ascendant. 

“What are you doing here?” The Lord questioned, not bothering to look back. The stranger's voice which mirrored his own was all he needed to hear to know who it was. The Spawn.

“You know exactly why I'm here.” The Spawn hummed. “Now where is she?”

“Honestly I don't know. She slipped right through my fingers…I'll get her back of course. I won't give up what is mine.” 

“She's not yours, don't you understand? Tav doesn't belong to anyone! Have you forgotten what it was like to be owned and kept like a pet!?” The spawn hissed out. 

“I would never treat her the way Cazador treated me! I would…I will give her everything.” The Ascendant finally turned around to face his counterpart, blade drawn and pointed towards him.

“Darling, you can lie to everyone else in this wretched world except me.” The spawn said with a frown. “Let it go. Chasing Cazador's shadow has clearly cost you your Tav. I won't stand by and let the same happen to mine.” 

“And what would you have me do? Just give up? Say sorry and leave with my tail between my legs? Pft!” The Ascendant scoffed.

“Return home and find a new path. One that's yours to choose.” The spawn said, “We don't have to be the monsters that Cazador made us…We can be more…” He smiled slightly, lifting up his hand to the Ascendant as if to call a truce.  The Ascendant hesitated, looking at the hand cautiously as if it was some kind of trap before slowly reaching out, his own lips forming a grin.

“I am more than any of you will ever be….” Suddenly the Ascendant rammed his blade right through the Spawn's stomach.

“ASTARION!!!” A voice screamed out.

To be continued.....

Taglist: @paganwitchisis , @linllewellyn, @bg3obsessedsideblog , @prudent-nerd , @acehyacinth , @ravenswritingroom

Sorry if some of y'all don't get tagged, might wanna check your visibility settings or something.

~Druid

[nihilnovisubsole]

Because of your latest post: not sure if you’ve answered this before, but how does someone even entertain the idea of writing for the game dev industry? Did you start out on indie games or just write before and show them your work? Since it’s such a subjective field etc

if i have, it bears repeating! here's a rough timeline of what i did. never discount the value of luck and the kindness of friends

2016: i was doing a random freelance transcription job when i saw @theivorytowercrumbles post about writing for voltage. they reblogged the studio's open casting call for new writers. since it was so lenient - no experience, fanfic samples allowed - i applied. they hired me for their new project, but let me go after a trial period, citing that the tone of my writing was a bad fit for that game. i foundered for a while after that. i don't take rejection well. i started dangerous crowns to try to make money from writing some other way.

2017: one of voltage's producers reached out to me and said they'd started another project that i was a good fit for. she felt letting me go was a mistake and wanted to snap me back up. i said yes, i mean, are you kidding? so i started on reiner's route.

2018-2019: i kept at it. i took on diego's route. it occurred to me that i wasn't making very much money, but i liked my coworkers, and i was building my portfolio, so who cared? i also finished dangerous crowns, and a handful of people bought it, but certainly not enough to support myself or anything.

early 2020: between the pay and creative differences with voltage's team, it started to sink in that i needed to find other work. i applied to the few open game writer jobs i could find, but with only mobile romance in my portfolio, i got nowhere. i threw in dangerous crowns samples. i tried to network on twitter. i still never made it to the interview phase. i foundered for a while again.

late 2020: the voltage writers went on strike. i gave a statement to a journalist that one of obsidian's narrative designers noticed. we became acquaintances over it. another old friend of mine threw me a life raft in the form of a different contract, better paying, on a non-romance indie game. i took it gladly. i added a twine game to my portfolio, too. i kept applying. i got a few interviews, but something still didn't click.

2021: i finally accepted that i needed formal help. i did a portfolio workshop. i got resume coaching. the coach passed my name to a writer on the company of heroes team. they liked me! they also paid me more money than i'd ever seen in my life. at the same time, obsidian advertised a narrative job opening. i applied on a lark and let my ND pal know i was doing so. why not, right? college-new-vegas-fan me would want me to. they rejected me, but not before i passed their writing test and two interviews. i had nothing to lose at that point, so i told my ND pal that i was bummed. she gave me a golden piece of advice: "you came really close. try again."

2022: obsidian had another narrative opening. i threw myself at it. i was now going to annoy them into hiring me. since i was a known quantity from applying six months before, they had no qualms about interviewing me again. this time, it worked out, and i've been there ever since.

what's the common denominator here? i met people who thought i was all right and gave me a hand up when i needed it. the standard advice is to work with a community of your peers instead of trying to get your heroes to senpai-notice you. it's not that they don't care - they just have their own thing going on, and your peers could be the heroes of tomorrow if the right project comes along. i also found the portfolio was the end-all-be-all when it came to job hunting. i went through a grieving process with that! i'm not afraid to admit it. i wish studios had held my degree or dangerous crowns in higher regard, but i just had to make games in a wider variety of genres, and that was that.

one caveat: narrative is a really saturated field right now. a lot of people want to write, and there aren't many openings. it's not uncommon for big studios to get hundreds of applicants. larian probably got over a thousand for the job they posted recently. i feel awful saying that, because i don't want to discourage you, but i'd feel worse if i didn't let you know what you were getting into. if it's something you want, you should try! keep an open mind about the random projects you may find. you never know where they'll take you.

[cass-danny-weekend]

Cass/Danny Weekend - Fun Fact! Day 5

These next two posts are going to look a little different. We're going to focus on Cass and Danny's relationships with their families. However, with topics like these, there are a lot of mixed feelings and different interpretations amongst fans about these relationships. For the purpose of these posts, I will try to be as objective as possible and present the information as it is.

Before we start, I do want to begin with some trigger warnings. In today's discussion about Cass we will be discussing child abuse, character death, some very heavily implied suicidal ideation, canon-typical violence, blood, and graphic injury. Please proceed with caution.

We will be focusing on Cass and her relationship with her birth parents in particular, because while I would love to rant about Cass and Bruce's dynamic, I do want to focus on aspects from canon that may not be as well known. Because that's what we're here for! We know how hard it can be to find comic books, so we'll bring the comics to you.

Let's begin with David Cain. As mentioned in Day 1, David raised Cass from birth to be the perfect living weapon. We know from Batgirl (2000) (and actually, pretty much our entire discussion about David will come from this comic series) that David had previously trained infants to fight, honed for violence at a young age, but Cass had been the first (and quite possibly only) student taught since birth. He did not allow her to speak or read, so instead she would have to interpret the world through muscle movement. He trained her through brutal exercises to hone her reflexes and instincts. One memorable example is showcased in issue #65 of Batgirl, where Cass tells Tim about a "game" she used to play with her father, where he would shoot at her (and at times injuring her), to train her not to flinch.

And like many abusive relationships, there were… softer moments too. When she was young, Cass would watch the stars with her father. Though it does get a little confusing when we consider Issue #50, where Cass tells Bruce how her father "never let me touch him… hold him… just fighting… and hurting". Though we can contribute this to unreliable narrator and their twisted perspective abusive relationships bring. For example, in Issue #65, Cass returns to visit her father in prison to ask about her mother. After a rather violent, rather bloody, fight where David refuses to reveal the truth about her mother due to a promise he'd made in the past, Cass leaves his cell disappointed but not before tossing him the gift she'd brought for him, a little note that simply said "Dad" along with a flower. As she departs, he says he loves it.

And that's the thing about David Cain. Despite his absolute brutality, he seemed to really love Cass. His own, horrible version of love, that is. He kept a scrapbook of her accomplishments, recorded footage of her fights including her first kill. And also stole the autopsy report of her kill to put in said scrapbook. He admits in Issue #5 that his decision to have her kill Faizul was a mistake, saying, "Too young. Too soon. My fault." (I believe he also breaks out of prison later on just to give Cass a birthday present, but since I can't figure out the comic issue, I'll just give it a passing mention here.)

Of course all of this does not negate or subtract from the abuse and horror from her childhood. There's a lot more that can be said about their relationship, but we do need to move on. If you want to learn more, please do pick up a copy of Batgirl (2000) if you ever have the chance. It's been a very enlightening read on her character. However, in the meantime, you can always take a look at this poetic piece that blends various written works with comic panels.

Now let's talk about Lady Shiva. Sandra Wu San. Fun fact: it's heavily implied in Issue #65 of Batgirl that Cass was actually named after her mother. Cassandra. Sandra. It's a moment of clarity for Cass in the comic, don't come at me about it.

So this is where it gets tricky~ because there have been so many pieces of media that cover their relationship, I wouldn't even know where to begin. First, we should establish that Shiva had Cass after David murdered her sister, lured her into a trap with the League of Assassins, fought and defeated her, and offered to spare her life if she birthed him a child. She had little to no say or control about what would become of Cass.

If we went to the most basic display of their dynamic, Cass briefly leaves Barbara and Bruce intending to fight Shiva to the death (it's also heavily implied she believed she would die in this fight, leaving videos for Babs and Bruce to watch later). And for the record she does die, when Shiva stops her heart through a special martial arts technique, though Shiva does restart her heart. She believed that death would bring Cass clarity. After that, Cass attacks her again when Shiva proudly displays her "trophies" (read: kills). In the end she is victorious, but refuses to give Shiva the satisfaction of death. This will be a common theme between their characters.

What I find more fascinating, though, is how this exchange happens before Cass finds out Shiva is her mother. You see their fight happens in Issue #25, but she learns about her mother 40 issues later. (For all you wider Batfam fans, this comic series also brings back how Shiva had previously been a possible candidate for Jason's birth mother.) For context, Cass also fights Shiva before Issue #25, but due to Cass just recently losing her sharp, fighting edge after a meta with psychic powers tries to help reorient or "fix" her mind, that exchange doesn't last very long.

While there are many explorations of Cass and Shiva's relationship, there is one memorable deviation. The Young Justice cartoon. In the series, rather than be raised by David, Cass is instead raised by Shiva. Rather than prevented from learning how to read or speak, Shiva damaged her vocal cords so she would never be able to speak at all. It's a very large divergence from main or common continuity, which is pretty par for the course when it comes to Young Justice.

If you would like some quicker reads, I would suggest Batgirl (2024) as it specifically focuses on Cass and Shiva as they are targeted by a mysterious, deadly group of assassins who hold special abilities. It's six issues long, I've only been able to get through the first half due to irl obligations but the art is stunning, and includes a glimpse and something of a character study into Shiva's complex morals. Read it for the angst implied in this scene if nothing else.

If you want a bit of a longer read, Batman and the Outsiders Vol 3. is 17 issues long, which allows it to have a more dynamic story. While Cass and Shiva's relationship does hold its weight on the narrative, it is a very busy plot so if you don't want all that noise, then I won't hold it against you. I will leave you with this parting panel, though.

Because I had to. We hope you enjoy~

- Mod Halfa