#in barely two years

[fishluring]

oc posting continues

[deoidesign]

Doing master studies the only way I know how: Stealing them and making them my guys.

(Barberini Faun)

(The Fallen Angel - Alexandre Cabanel)

(Covent Garden - William Bruce Ellis Rankin)

[thevoidcircus]

Ready to dance?

bonus below the cut

this stage of the WIP actually looked really cool and I couldn't just not use it

Also the coattails and lapels are my own addition i hope you like them

[dragonbabes]

Imagine Solas and Lavellan accidentally bumping into each other during those eight years between Trespasser and Veilguard.

Just so you know, I wanted this to be like two paragraphs max. Wanted to sprinkle a little angst dust on your head, but ended up pouring the whole jar (sorry, but also not sorry?) I hope you enjoy spiraling with me… <3

She sits on a fine couch tucked in a corner, behind sheer curtains that obscure her from most of the prying eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the elvish woman that wielded the very power of the fade; or the hand that had housed it. She isn’t blind to the disappointment that flitters across faces when her hand is found void of any milky glow, and only a shiny white gold prosthetic clinking against her glass of wine.

Wine. She hates it. Most the time. She’ll drink it at events, if only to make the night pass by a little smoother. The wine, however bitter it is, makes every minute packed with questions poking and prodding at her most painful scars sound a little less like stone grating against itself. Usually, Dorian sticks close to her side to fend off the especially insensitive and the racist assholes that like to hover around her as flies hang around shit.

Lavellan grew up among trees and flowers and sweet silence. The petticoats, snide remarks, and hidden meanings that stink up the air here gives her a headache. It's hot, it's crowded, and she feels like a tiger chained and locked in a cage. Despite hiding - or trying to, at least - Lavellan still catches people looking her way and then whispering behind their hand. Someone is always talking here. The one thing that she and Solas disagreed on is the 'pleasure' of court intrigue. The court makes her feel like a pretty little piece to be won by the highest bidder. When she attends, she’s surrounded by men with one drink too many in their bellies, saying things like—

“I’ve lost you to your thoughts again, Herald.” His words roll off his tongue thickly; he’s Orlesian, that much she’s gathered from his accent. He, who is a scholar and wiseman, ever searching for answers of the fade. And she — oh, joy — is an object of curiosity to him (those were his exact words). “I’ve heard such talk always clams you up. These are the things the others who have sought you have said. You are from the Free Marches, a Dalish, so I imagine you are hesitant to leave your people.” Lavellan hides her snort with her glass by taking another drink. Is he going to pretend that she hadn’t left her clan to travel across Thedas and attend the Conclave? Has this scholar yet asked himself, 'How can she fear leaving her people, yet be here, in Tevinter, at this ball?'

Her eyes, now housing unnatural specks of green that really fascinates the pompous magisters roving about, trail away from the human, along with her thoughts, to meet with the eyes of an elven servant just entering the room.

In his hands is a tray of balanced glasses of champagne — a drink much kinder to her tastebuds — that shine the same shade of gold as the servants' widening eyes. She blinks at the panic that washes through them. He spins around (not losing a drop of the champagne, she notes), shoves at the other servant entering just behind him - who bears a tray of yummy little sandwiches in their hand - back into the shroud of the hall and begins hissing at them.

Her gaze falls down to her hands, clasping her drink in her lap. Since the events of the Inquisition, she’s been held above most everyone. Revered as untouchable, someone to be worshipped. To be bowed to. Even by her own people.

She is lonely.

“Surely, I cannot be so unworthy of your company, Inquisitor.” The man concludes his rant at her side. A rant full of reasons of why she should stay at his estate and become his mistress, to put it bluntly. It's all wrapped up in passionate and poetic words he wants to use to tie her up. Like a dog, not like a lover. For she is an elf, she is a trophy to be won! The Inquisitor! Herald of Andraste, she has been touched by the Maker and sent to them. For them. But... She is an elf, and they'll do everything they can to gloss over it. Sometimes she wonders, hundreds - thousands, maybe - of years from now, will she still be remembered as the elven woman she is? Or will they remake her into what they want?

“My lord, my silence is not an insult to your character.” Lavellan watches as the elven servants fully enter the room now, the taller one behind now with a covered face and lowered eyes. Curious... They move around the room, offering refreshments with lowered heads and sagged shoulders; it makes her tongue thick in her mouth. She trails their movements. “I am flattered by your… Fascination with me.”

Glass empty, she sets it down and turns her hand over, eying the pretty designs etched into the prosthetic. Dagna designed it for her, with the help of Dorian; she wasn't surprised when they gave it to her to be blinded by the sunlight reflecting off the gold, but she was also surprised to love it so much. A simple thing, with the eye of the inquisition on her palm - where the mark was - and vines with small, intricate leaves twisting out from it... “The magic I wielded is a curious phenomenon, no?”

“Absolutely! No one has had such a close connection to the fade! Imagine what we could achieve with your ability, and my intelligence.” She grinds her teeth, jaw flexing; of course, she’s not intelligent enough to understand it on her own.

The vines, Dorian explained, wasn't just because she's Dalish or loves botany, but rather because she 'has a habit of making even the most desolate places blossom.' She closes her palm and holds it over her heart. This human next to her is ignorant to that; she shouldn't let it bother her...

“I’m sure it would’ve been extraordinary.” She lowly replies, her irritation barely covered by the smile she forces into her lips, “Unfortunately, I cannot wield it anymore.”

“Ah, yes, your adversary.” The man leans back in his chair, one arm resting on the couch behind her. Lavellan slowly inches away. “What was his name?” The lord taps his chin as he hums to himself. Lavellan doesn’t bother to offer him the answer, though it’s blanketed over her tongue, drying her mouth and casting her eyes out the window. “The Dread Wolf?” The elven servants stop in front of them.

“My lord.” He offers out the tray to them and lowers his honeyed eyes. Lavellan watches him steadily, the taught lines between her brow melting off her unnaturally sharp features. “Inquisitor.” He dares a glance at her, and she takes that second to smile at him. The lord grabs a glass and continues. As if they don’t exist.

“That is how your people refer to him, yes? The Dread Wolf. Fen’Harel.” There’s cheer flashing through the lord's eyes. He takes a taste of his drink and swishes it around his mouth with a smile barely contained. Her eyes sharpen, but she forces herself to look away before the look kills him. It would’ve, she imagines, and she’s almost ashamed to say it would bring her joy. Just a tad. But that’s not very Inquisitorial of her…

“Thank you.” She quietly says as she removes the last glass from the tray. “Yes, my lord. That’s what they call him.” He cackles, head thrown back, and drawing the rooms attention. Lavellan doesn’t share his elation.

“To think that you had one of your own gods under your nose for the better part of the year!” He puts his hand to his stomach and laughs some more. The Inquisitor rolls her eyes and takes a large gulp of her champagne. “And you never noticed, m’lady? That your feared Dread Wolf dined at the same table as you?” Lavellan’s hand tightens over her drink.

“His name…” Lavellan flinches at the break in her voice and takes a deep breath to steady herself. There’s a burning to her eye. One that tells her she may be one drink too deep herself. She downs what's left in her glass and clears her throat. “His name is Solas.” She flicks her eyes, newly hardened, back to the lord. “And he was there to help. Just like the rest of us. He is a good man… I had no reason to doubt him. Ever.”

“You sound rather affectionate in your address.” He comments.

“Yes.” Her words are quiet as a smile ghosts over her lips. “So, you will understand me when I say I cannot accept your offer.”

“Come, I can change your mind. You can merely visit for a while, things may progress naturally.”

“They will not, my lord.”

“You cannot know that.” He leans in closer to her, drawing a nervous laugh from her.

“I know myself well enough. It will not happen.”

“Surely you will not waste yourself on-“

“Would you like a treat, my lord?” The unmasked servants question is sudden and frantic at first but falling quiet toward the end. Lavellan raises her eye at the nervous shift of his feet, and glances to his friend behind him; what has them so on edge? She catches grey-blue eyes for merely a second before they’re obscured by his brunette hair as he bowed and offered the tray with steady hands. Familiarity instantly breathes down her neck at the shade of blue she saw. Then it begins to burn in her gut.

She cannot seem to escape him no matter where she is...

It’s quiet, Lavellan realizes, and she begins to blink herself back to the present. All humor leaves the lord as he finally turns to acknowledge the two standing before them. His eyes have somehow become a darker shade of black, and his lips turned down with a silent snarl. Lavellan shudders at the sudden change, goosebumps rising into her arms. She watches the look in his eye sharpen into a knife, and her heart jumps into a throat. Inhuman. He’s inhuman, she thinks.

“You can see that the Inquisitor and I are having a conversation, yet you would interrupt us?” Lavellan straightens. This will go badly, and quickly. She places her hand atop the lords, and levels him with a stare that she had been masking all night; pupils blown a little wide, hard, and a slight sense of bloodlust. It was men like this that took her clan from her. She can barely conceal the shake numbing her limbs.

She has to reel it in. For Dorian's sake.

“He has done nothing wrong, my lord. Please, there is no need to use such a tone.” His hand grasps back at her own, and he plants a slobbery kiss to the back of it. Horror parts her lips.

“You jump even to the defense of those who are below you. You are exquisite.” Her skin runs cold, as if she stepped out into a winter night with no cloak. Below her? Below her?

“You would sit next to me on this couch and say such a thing?”

“Ah, Inquisitor. You must be upset with my scolding. Forgive me for such unsightly behavior. I do not make a habit of disciplining the help in front of my guests, be sure. But sometimes you must act immediately, to teach them that some behaviors simply will not be tole-“

“Enough. You misunderstand me.” Her voice is low. Her tone is that of the Inquisitor, not Lavellan, and it makes her heart shiver and ache a little. “They are my people.” Her words are, despite being quiet, heavy, hard, and final. “They are not below me. They are my people.” Gods, she’s had too much to drink. She should hold her tongue. Dorian will have another mess to clean up if she loses her cool again. “Do not think that I have been blind to the disrespect you pay to me and my people. You think you have hidden them so cleverly them behind your little compliments. You have crossed the line. You disgust me, and you will never lay a finger on me, my lord.”

The lord is silent. So are the servants. She removes her tight grip from his hand and scoots herself to the other side of the couch. “Leave me. Before I lose the rest of my patience and become the savage you expect me to be.”

Joy, her first taste of it tonight, blankets over her chest at the wide-eyed, open-mouthed look that's taken up his paling face. Without a word, he scurries away. The Inquisitor steadies herself with a deep breath.

“I’m sorry to provoke him. I know my place.” Lavellan’s brow pinches, and her attention is back on the two before her. The other servant remains with his head bowed and tray outstretched.

“Thank you.” She gingerly removes a sandwich. “You must not apologize to me. And,” her eyes trace the lines of his pale face, and the messy curl of his blond locks… She stops herself. He knows his place, he says… But she fears he doesn’t. He is not below the nobles here, not below the human servants, but how can she convince him. In a room full of people that see him as a mouse scurrying between their boots. “Truly, you’ve nothing to apologize for.”

A sense of shame burrows in her cheeks as she looks away from them. She should help them. There won't be any consquences to her, but the lord will run and tattle, and these two will still be to blame. She should help them escape. But… How? Perhaps Dorian will know.

“You’re as kind as they say.” He bows his head to her, and she shifts in her seat. “We are in your debt.” Her eyes dart to the other elf, but his eyes remain downturned.

“Is your friend okay?” She asks. He jumps as his attention returns to the quiet form at his side.

“Oh, yes. He’s mute.”

“Oh?” She takes in the tall, masked man before her. “Why do you wear…” She catches herself, “Why the mask?”

“He has a nasty scar. Wouldn’t want to offend you, my lady.” Her brows pinch, but a laugh plays on her lips.

“People say I’m kind, yet you fear showing me your scars?” She looks to the other, wishing he’d bring his eyes to hers, but he doesn’t. She wants to see that blue again. “Well… I take no offense to yours. I’ve my own to hide as well.” She addresses him, and his eyes return to meet her own. Again, her stomach churns and her heart flutters. She wishes she could see Solas again, to know if she truly remembers his face, or how he looked at her. If the blue of his eye truly is so similar to the ones staring back at her.

Lavellan takes in the straight brow above the masked elf's eye and returns to searching the depths of them. They seem to suck her in, and she's helpless to pull herself away; they felt like wells full of an emotion she couldn’t place. She leans forward before she can think better of it. Why is her heart stirring so much? She felt she could drown in the warmth radiating out of those blue orbs.

Why is he looking at her like that? As if she were the only thing in this room? As if he knew her, as if he understood-

“Lady Inquisitor?” The servant asks quickly, another nervous shift in his stance.

“Ah, sorry.” A sheepish smile plays on her lips as she leans back against the couch. “Your eyes are quite beautiful. They remind me of a friend.” Her own gaze falls, returning to watch the city splayed out before her, and dulls to a melancholy glisten. “Thank you for the sandwich. Take care.” They bow to her, and stalk off.

She’s foolish. She wanted him back so badly she can see him in any set of pretty blue eyes, it seems. Her eyes redden, tears building until they threatened to fall, and all the drinks she’s had begins to burn in her stomach. She’d like to leave soon.

She hates the court. He loved it.

And that’s all she can think about when she comes to these things.

XXX

She hates the court.

Why is she even here?

Where is Dorian? Why would he ever leave her side in a place like this?

Those are the sort of things whirring around Solas’ head. He stares severely at the marble floor and takes deep breaths to ground the uproar within him. His body is buzzing, like every nerve within him is coming to life simply by being so near her. Years have passed, yet she is as beautiful as ever. More so.

Perched on a couch just behind the shifting curtains, the mage casts her several glances as they work their way around the room, and shudders each time she’s revealed to him. Beautiful. Ethereal. Her hair shifting with the breeze, tapping against her jaw, and plump, painted lips caressing the curve of her wine glass.

She hates wine.

He just needs information of who the idol was sold to. It’s a simple mission that any agent could carry out. Therin wasted no time trying to dissuade him. He even suggested Solas take a walk in Treviso, visit a cafe, and take a day to himself. But the mage didn't want to wander, he wanted to focus. There's a reason he insisted to come himself...

That reason is on the couch a few paces behind him. Solas hadn’t wanted to be haunted with the thought of her, torturing himself over the words she would say to him if she knew that he is one step closer to finishing the ritual… A ritual that would ruin the world she fought and bled for…

Therin insisted that he doesn’t follow him in, but she’d already seen Solas following him and she would have questions; the observant, smart, curious creature she is. So here he is, heart hammering so hard in his chest the closer he steps to her that he worries he might pass out.

When her voice finally reaches his ear, he almost let's out an audible whimper, but manages to strangle it with a quiet cough. How he missed hearing her voice. If he could, he’d give everything to spend another night pouring over books with her in the Skyhold library. What wouldn’t he do to hear her voice free of the weight of his betrayal and back to the warm, lilting cadence she used only with him.

“The Dread Wolf?” Solas stills at that name. The lord who is draped across the couch with Lavellan, leaning closer to her, as she leans farther away, hums with amusement. "Fen'Harel..." Solas can barely breathe, this close to her; yet unable to speak to her, to touch or hold her…

It’s nearly more painful to him to be unknown to her, as he is now, than to bare himself before her again.

His tongue swells after he steps past the curtain and beholds her entirely. Clad in a detailed dress clinging to her waist, pushing up her breasts, and resting happily on her wide hips. Solas burns her image into his mind, noting every little detail of her that has changed. His eyes linger on the golden hand that reaches out and plucks a drink from Therin's tray.

He could fall to his knees now and beg her forgiveness. She could tell him he is nothing and he would be grateful she even allowed him to kneel before her… His chest constricts painfully.

“Thank you.” Her voice is warm, softened. “Yes, my lord. That’s what they call him.” Her civility is forced, he can hear it in the flatness of her words. The human begins to cackle, and Solas’ eyes narrow dangerously onto him.

“To think that you had one of your own gods under your nose for the better part of the year!” The mage's hands tighten over the silver tray until they are white knuckled. He would laugh at Lavellan? The woman who saved his sorry ass from the tyranny of Corypheus? “And you never noticed, m’lady? That your feared Dread Wolf dined at the same table as you?”

And he would ignore vhenan's clear discomfort? The shade cast over her eye, the frown on her lips, and her hand tightening over her glass. The expression on her face, sure to fall unnoticed by everyone else, is one of desolation while she looks out to the city. He wanted to reach out and touch her temple, relieve her of what he knows is banging around in her chest; the exact thing that is trying to claw its own way out of his chest and to her. Solas’ mind is narrowing, his willpower dwindling; he’d damn all of his efforts soon if he didn’t leave. He needs to back away or he will blow their cover. The elf manages a weak step backwards.

“His name…” Her voice breaks, and he does the same. Her eyes are slightly irritated, a redness climbing up into her cheeks, and he can see her collecting herself with deep breaths. She’s always been in control of herself. He admires her for it. “His name is Solas.” She brings her eyes back to the lord, keeping them steadily on the shifting fool. “And he was there to help. Just like the restof us. He is a good man… I had no reason to doubt him. Ever.”

Solas’ heart falls into his stomach, where it begins to churn into a nausea that threatened to bring him to his knees. Her words are lodged in his chest.

“You sound rather affectionate in your address.”

“Yes.” It comes from her in a whisper. It comes with a smile. “So you will understand me when I say I cannot accept your offer.” Offer? His eyes flick back up to the two on the couch, trying to decipher the look shared between the two.

“Come, I can change your mind. You can merely visit for a while, things may progress naturally.” Is he asking her to, what, marry him? Be his mistress? Her unease and his insistence leads Solas to believe it’s exactly that; likely the latter, considering. There’s a pang in his chest.

Of course others will want her. Look at her. More than that, she is good. She’s kind, strong, intelligent- he could go on forever. She is everything. What creature could not crave her?

“They will not, my lord.”

“You cannot know that.” The bastard begins to lean closer to vhenan. The panic that shuddered over her expression is enough to send the elven god over the edge. She moves away with a nervous laugh. Solas stiffens, and he hears a sharp breath from Therin; the agent could tell when the Dread Wolf was getting prickly.

“I know myself well enough. It will not happen.” Solas’ eyes are smoldering.

“Surely you will not waste yourself on-“ That’s it. He can take it no more. He takes a step forward, the tray beginning to loosen in his hands.

“Would you like a treat, my lord?” Therin’s voice calls him back to himself. The mage swallows thickly. His eyes instinctively return to Lavellan. She locks him in his place with her gaze, every muscle in his body tensing, and his heart flopping from his stomach up into his throat. He could not get control over himself.

His eyes lower, and he holds out the tray. She would know his voice if he made even a noise, that he was sure of. So he’s silent in his regard to her and the piece of shit next to her. There’s an uncomfortable silence, but Solas doesn’t bother to ascertain why it’s fallen over the four of them.

“You can see that the Inquisitor and I are having a conversation, yet you would interrupt us?” Solas clenches his jaw. Would that the lord knew what beast was barely keeping himself in check a feet away… What would his words be if he knew that the Dread Wolf — the wolf that loved the woman he is so blatantly propositioning — had his fangs positioned at his throat; how Solas salivates at the thought of crushing the man’s windpipe.

“He has done nothing wrong, my lord. Please, there is no need to use such a tone.” The Dread Wolf’s blue eyes cool even further as he watches her hand fall atop the humans. Her skin has paled, her eyes darting between Therin and the lord with a disarming smile trying to stick on her lips.

“You jump even to the defense of those who are below you. You are exquisite.” She is exquis-

He will kill him. Before Solas leaves this ball tonight, he’ll see this man’s heart removed from his chest. The lord thinks he deserves to press his lips to her skin? Skin that Solas himself did not have the pleasure of tasting? This little human believes himself worthy of vhenan? His vhenan?

The lord even pays no mind to the look of terror that breaks through her mask for a second. He would ignore her rejections, belittle her, and touch her so carelessly? Death is almost too good for him.

“You would sit next to me on this couch and say such a thing?”

“Ah, Inquisitor. Forgive me for such unsightly behavior. I do not make a habit of disciplining the help in front of my guests, be sure. But sometimes you must act immediately, to teach them that some behaviors simply will not be tole-“

“Enough. You misunderstand me.” Lavellan’s voice is unnaturally hard and low. He imagines he’d die right then and there if she were to ever addresses him with such a cold voice. Solas waits impatiently for the lord to do the same. “They are my people.” She keeps her voice low so that the others in the room wouldn’t catch whiff of the commotion. “They are not below me. They are my people.” She has not changed so much, it seems. To endure the insults he wrapped up in his compliments, until they were directed at others. Often, she didn’t bother to defend herself from the sharp words of others, but the moment she heard someone mumble under their breath after him — or anyone, really — she was nearly feral. He would pull her away with a smile playing on his lips, and wrap his hand around her waist, plant a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s ok, vhenan.” He’d say. “Their words do not bother me.”

“But they bother me!” She’d cry back with this same look in her eyes. A direct stare, sparkling with ire, and a promise to fulfill every warning coming off her lips. His hands threatened to tremble knowing that they could not soothe her as they did before...

“Do not think that I have been blind to the disrespect you pay to me and my people. You think you have so cleverly hidden them behind your compliments. You have crossed the line. You disgust me, and you will never lay a finger on me, my lord.”

What is it raging about in his chest? Dying jealousy clashing with his ire, now being smothered by a cool wave of pride.

“Leave me. Before I loose the rest of my patience and become the savage you expect me to be.” The lord scurries away. Lavellan’s chest rises with a deep breath, and falls with her steadying exhale.

“I’m sorry to provoke him. I know my place.”

“Thank you. You must not apologize to me. And,” She bites her lip as she catches her words. His eyes return to her as soon as he feels her gaze slip to her hands. The crease between her brow, and the worry of her lip; she has something she wants to tell them… She returns with only a warm smile and, “Truly, you’ve nothing to apologize for.”

“You’re as kind as they say.” Lavellan shuffles as Therin bows his head to her, and Solas does the same. “We are in your debt.”

“Is your friend okay?” He’s suffocating under her gaze. He’s nearly forgotten how thrilling her attention was.

“Oh, yes. He’s mute.” She hums back a response, and asks about his mask. Maybe he should’ve just turned around and let Therin handle it all. Of course she’d be suspicious of the one elven servant wearing a mask. “He has a nasty scar. Wouldn’t want to offend you, my lady.” She laughs.

Gods his knees are weak. A smile blossoms into his own lips before he can think. Then his brow pinches; he’s smiling, while feeling like he might throw up, or worse, start sobbing in her lap.

“People say I’m kind yet you fear showing me your scars? Well… I take no offense to yours. I’ve my own to hide as well.” In a moment of weakness — pure stupidity —, despite the whispers in his mind that doing it is a terrible mistake, he trails his eyes up to her own. He is all too aware of the love she has for him.

She will know him. Even if it’s just from a short meeting of their eyes. What’s worse is he almost wants her to recognize him.

If she did, what would she do? His eyes search hers for an answer. Would she allow him to apologize? Would she forgive him? Would she run into his arms? Or would she give him that same icy stare that she gave the lord? Could there be even the slightest hope that someday he could hold her again?

But hope is all he’s ever seen in her eyes. This time is no different. He sucks in an audible breath as vhenan leans forward; he sees the familiarity sparking in her beautiful eye, in the part of her lips.

“Lady Inquisitor?” Solas lowers his gaze as her attention is pulled away from him again. He lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Ah, sorry.” She gives a short smile. “Your eyes are quite beautiful. They remind me of a friend.” The world is spinning, until he catches sight of how her eyes have fallen. “Thank you for the sandwich. Take care.”

He bows again, trying to somehow say “I love you eternally, vhenan” with the gesture, but he knows it won’t reach her. He knows it by the far off look taking over the shine in her eye.

His own heart shudders as he gives her one last glance from the shadows of the hall, pulling his mask down and revealing the heavy frown over his lips. The redness of her eye a warning of the tears brimming them, is a cool reminder to the chaos that she’d stirred up in his chest.

All those smoldering emotions that had been warring in his chest, cooled by his pride, are now extinguished with his regret. Regret that he’s ever made her wear such an expression. Regret that he cannot kiss it off of her.

“Let’s continue.” Solas says with a hardened jaw and furrowed brow, turning and walking away with his hands clasped behind his back. “Oh, and try to figure out that lords name.”

“You cant be serious!” Therin exclaims. Solas merely turns to him with a raised brow. “Right… On it.”

[surreal-duck]

I'll make myself look even cuter, so come find me, okay?

[robby-bobby-tommy]

The parallels that hurt so much

They both jinxed the most important event in their lives trying to help...

They both lost their closest friends to this....

And both were abandoned and hurt in the worst way possible by the sibling they've looked up to....

They had good intentions, they were so young......

And they're the monsters others have created.

[heyhowdyheythatsmeimonayoyo]

thinking about irep and his complex. he only hates poof bc he feels like he lives in the man's shadow as his anti-fairy and for good fucking reason. he is constantly overlooked bc poof is the first fairy baby in thousands of years and is uber powerful, and as his counterpart it's assumed that means he's none of those things. peri can try to encourage him that he's more than just a counterpart and that he can have his own identity but irep will just constantly be scrutinizing every way in which they differ or even the ways they are the same. i think this would be interesting to explore in an enemies to friends to lovers dynamic bc throughout the entire thing irep is going to have this complex and it will arguably lead to an unhealthy relationship. anything positive he thinks about peri he can easily believe he is the opposite since its always been that way. if we dont get more anti-fairy lore i am going to make it myself and it will be for a yaoi plot mark my words

[garyfiddlesticksdammit]

Maddie !!!!!!!!

yay

[little-mouse-adventures]

Currently thinking about Artemis's will in the code at the bottom of TLG and how it really kinda shows how strained his relationship with his dad still is. Everyone else gets something they're interested in or that Arty thinks they'd like (sound system for Juliet, frozen chicken for Mulch, ethical investments for his mother, etc) and yet for his father he leaves only bearer bonds, despite Artemis I trying to move away from a money-focused enterprise and lifestyle as of TEC. Not to mention it's Butler who would know how to disengage all the booby traps protecting said bearer bonds, further highlighting the difference in trust & familiarity Artemis has with everyone but his father.

[brat-pack-it-up-boys]

The parentification of Darry is bad and I understand that but then there’s the undiscussed parentification of sodapop, and it just gets worse if it’s age accurate

he calls his little brother “baby”??

HIM????

[ibetittering]

No matter what this man apparently always has to have an annoying orange

[bisexualmikisayaka]

if we go by the theory that some number of the people who come to fromville are reincarnations of the original townspeople who are destined to come back again and again until the children are saved (jade, tabitha) and others are basically unlucky bystanders in their current life who get trapped with them (jim) then let’s think about other characters. namely, i agree with the theory that abby was maybe someone who was reincarnated. it’s implied she dreamed of the town when she was a child, and what was her final act? she was about to kill her son, believing she was doing the right thing (an echo of the event that kicked all of this off, something that would have ensured everyone was doomed until the next cycle because no one is free until the children are saved) but she couldn’t. because boyd, someone outside of the cycle, stopped her.

i’m quite enamored with boyd as a character who fights desperately against fate. he is adamant about how he refuses to be broken by the town, and although he knows some things like his Parkinson’s are inevitable, others he feels compelled to change. but the thing is, if my theory holds, he never should have been there at all. he was a total rando who got sucked up into this cycle of death and reincarnation and horror but he started to make things different. he made a difference in people’s lives, and most significantly, he stopped the story from repeating itself. what if jade and tabitha need someone like him to truly end the cycle - someone who was never involved in the first place but tries so fucking hard now that he’s a genuine threat to whatever controls fromville? i mean, why else would this place try so hard to break him if he didn’t pose a danger to the evil there? sure, it’s a very petty evil, who likes a cheap shot, and he did directly challenge them. but i think boyd needs to find tabitha and jade asap because i really believe he might be the key they’ve been missing in each round

[kookidough]

analysing vance hopper because he lives in my head 24/7 !

tw for like. literally everything the black phone covers!!!!!!

also there's some special effects gore rather far down in the post idk just i feel like i should warn you just in case

okay so before anyones like "but bee!!!! he only had 6 minutes of screen time in a 102 minute long movie!!!!! he was only on screen for 5.8% of the movie!!!!!" and to that i say i Know it was a real tragedy so a lot of this will be built on personal interpretation and subtext and stuff said behind the scenes and whatnot

so firstly i wanna rot about what his childhood/upbringing might've been like..... i havent quite decided on something definitive but i think we can take one look at his character and realise that is glaringly obvious he had a bad childhood, in one interview the actor that plays him (brady hepner) says "the background i had set up for vance is that the reason he was the way he was is his home life was fairly difficult, you know maybe his dad was either not there for him or he wasn't supportive, maybe he was fairly abusive, and so that creates a hair trigger sense of rage in vance" hair trigger meaning his patience is literally as thin as a strand of hair it does Not take a lot for him to snap

there more to it after that which i'll get into soon but yea thats the gist of it it's clear he had absent/neglectful/abusive parents and that would certainly contribute to why he's so angry all the time, maybe acting so explosive was the only way to get his parents' attention, either good or bad, so he just internalised that. obviously rage and anger issues like vance's lead to violence (not in all cases but in his case it does) and i think a neglectful and abusive upbringing would obviously expose him to more violence than a normal childhood would, therefore normalising it and desensitising him to it, whether he's seeing it play out in his own home and/or on television or something like that (because i doubt his parents would be the kind to monitor what content he's viewing)

i feel like he has little control over his life and that only adds to his anger, which in his case leads to a fight when his buttons are pushed too many times. i think he probably takes great pride in being the toughest in town and whatnot and winning fights and being perceived as strong and scary is good to him and helps him regain control/power, something he doesnt have at home. the rest of the quote from the interview i mentioned earlier states "this pinball machine could have been the only thing that he has in his heart that's like, good, like 'holy cow i did this, i set the score,' so when someone comes along and messes it up for him, it takes away the only thing that he has. i think that that's when he switches to a 'now you're gonna pay for that'"

similar to what i said about fighting, the pinball machine and his high score is something he has control over and its an important part of his reputation/image like. hes literally pinball vance ! and the whole thing about that high score being the "only thing he has in his heart that's good" implies that hes. well. pretty shit at everything else, which is pretty much canon if you remember that gwen said vance was held back twice in school. makes me think that while he's not the brightest in school he's certainly street smart

moving onto ermmmmm him getting kidnapped era because im sure youre wondering "well bee if he's so street smart then why did he get kidnapped" so may i raise two theories (this is. literally all i got and its not even concrete, me and my friend gray (@staggersz) tried to figure out how this could even happen and this is the most plausible thing we've got. so shoutout to him real quick he has had to deal with me being unnormal about vance for like a year and a half thanks king couldnt have done all this without my rotting buddy)

so either he got taken by surprise (most likely option) or vance's trust was gained first via getting given quarters at the pinball machine and small talk and shit like that but this is unlikely because i feel like it'd take a loooooong time for someone like vance to trust a some random stranger adult man when he clearly has issues with trusting and respecting people older than him and people with authority (e.g. cops, his parents, or school officials) so yea being taken by surprise would probably be the most realistic option, i always see people on tiktok being like "how did the grabber kidnap vance hes so strong!!!!" dude its a 15 year old boy against like. a 45 year old man who's already claimed two lives its really not gonna be a fair fight here

before i get into the next part i wanna quickly address a theory i absolutely Hate and it is so easily disproven and that is the theory that vance is the grabber's son or is related to him in some other way and i see it Far too often on tiktok and i HATE it. from what ive seen this all stems from his dream sequence where he kicks open the fence to albert's house and, presumably, goes inside after being dropped off by the police after the grab n go fight. idk if some people just straight up didnt realise this but clearly in real life he is going to his Own House??? in the dream it's only albert's house because this is how he chooses to show gwen the house she's trying to find her brother in, the house that he himself was killed in??? i hate the theory i hate it sm

the dream sequence itself is interesting though as the ghosts seem to only be able to conjure up what theyve seen in real life (like how bruce can picture the outside of the house and show that to gwen but the house number is all flipped and not right beause he doesnt know it) so vance being able to picture the house and the number and the gate and every detail would imply that hes seen it before, but im going to explain that away as either he got out once before like with finney's failed escape attempt, or the house is most likely on the route he walks to school or the grab n go or something and he hasnt actually been there prior to being kidnapped

mini rant over now onto being kidnapped i guess, so i used the missing posters to try and estimate a timeline of how long each ghost boy would've been in the basement for (although the missing posters are notoriously unreliable for details such as looks/height/age/etc, the dates seem to all line up). so we know the order is griffin, billy, vance, bruce, robin, finney, right?? if we use the poster date then billy was taken on may 4th, 1976, a month and two days after griffin was taken (april 2nd 1976). vance was taken on september 23rd 1977, almost a full year later (stay with me im going somewhere with this), and after that bruce was taken on july 18th 1978, again almost a full year later

its established in the movie that the grabber stalks his victims before he takes them (canon because we literally see the van watching finney and gwen as they walk home from school early on in the movie) but we dont know how long he does this for since griffin/billy and robin/finney were taken such short distances apart and then the others were taken such long distances apart, also it's possible he could stalk his next victim while the previous one is still alive, etc etc lots of confusing factors, but if i've done the maths right then the absolute maximum time vance could've spent down there is 9 months and 25 days, or 298 days, so erm . let that sink in !

howeverrrr in the movie gwen states that vance went missing "last spring" and september is definitely not in spring, meaning he could've been down there for a year or even longer. an explanation or excuse i could think of for the movie and the missing poster saying different things (other than the missing posters being known for some areas being wildly inaccurate) is that maybe he was taken in spring but wasnt labelled as officially missing until september, when he was properly linked to griffin and billy's similar disappearances and the mysterious grabber? i can imagine it'd be very easy for law enforcement, especially in the 70s, to dismiss someone like vance as a runaway until they get solid evidence that he was taken. idk though thats just my personal excuse / angsty headcanon for the difference in information

not sure what exactly killed him but we do hear from vance himself that "he took his time with me" so it was probably blood loss from a variety of injuries, if we look at him in his ghost scenes we can see his hair is absolutely covered in blood which indicates head injury, he clearly has a broken nose and bruising around his eyes as a result of it, he has these deep cuts on his abdomen area (apologies for the image quality but i believe they're like. sfx pieces you would wear under clothing)

and he also has just like. minor bruising (like the fingerprints on his arm) and other random blood splatters on his face and neck (assuming the blood down his neck comes from wherever he was bleeding on his head) so Yeah overall very unpleasant way to die obviously

okay now the part thats actually in the movie and it only took me 13 paragraphs to get here: vance as a ghost!! first thing i wanna point out is appearance wise i just want to say that when he's a ghost he's missing his choker and that fact Pains me. anyway personality-wise i feel like being violently murdered has, understandably, kicked his rage up to like. the highest level it could possibly go. he's insanely snarky and downright rude to finney on the phone, showing no empathy to the fact that finney is literally in the exact situation he was in

i feel like the whole "this is the nightmare end of your pathetic little life" and "if you knew what you had coming, you'd be fucking terrified" thing is definitely to scare finney on purpose and to get him to do something, vance might as well have just told him he's never going home cuz thats how it came across LMAOO, it is startling though because vance is clearly speaking from experience, that he was literally fucking terrified, and he is warning finney in his own weird way

the thing i think sets vance apart from the other ghosts is that while he does help finney, he does it for a different reason than they do. the other ghosts want finney to escape, to get out, to be free, to live, but personally i dont think vance cares about that. the only thing he wants is for albert shaw to be dead, for someone to seek vengeance, to do what vance couldn't. vance doesn't care if it's bruce or robin or finney or whatever boy could've come after that, he doesnt care as long as that man gets what he deserves after what he put vance through, and i see this through the scene at the end of vance's call where finney thanks him for his help and vance says, and i quote, "helping you? this isn't about you, fuck him! and apologies for being repetitive but to me it just literally proves that to vance, this isnt about finney or his escape, its just about revenge

we dont get to find out what happens to the ghosts once the credits have rolled, and i dont think we quite know enough about tbp's version of ghosts to guess what theyre up to, but i have a few theories :3 maybe theyre no longer bound to those two houses and they can now go anywhere they want in town? or maybe since their shared goal of stopping albert has been achieved, the ghosts can finally pass on to whatever is waiting for them next. i dont think vance would be content to pass on that quickly or easily as anger lingers, but i hope he'd be able to let go of it eventually, and hey we might find out in the sequel. i pray it mentions him cuz i will just die if it doesnt

sometimes, ok thats a lie, frequently i think about an au where he survived or escaped or whatever but ohhhh boy this post is already a train wreck so that au would deserve its own essay of a post :3 if u actually genuinely read this far then Wtf thanks for reading the ramblings of an absolute madman, only pure delusion could get like 20 paragraphs about a guy with 6 minutes screentime but hey thats how i roll, thanks again to my pal gray for letting me rot and thank u to my other pal ana for also enduring all this rot

hope u enjoyed my interpretation of vance hopper im going to crawl in a hole now and probably brainrot some more, thanks again for ur time :3

[frc-ambaradan]

THAT pause. THAT smile. Thrawn in essence.

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[flovoid]

THE GUMBALL ROOMMATES VS THE TIGER SANCTUARY?💥