#sometimes you just need a little meme joke drawing break of something less important to let those juices continue to flow and lube up those

[goblin-enjoyer]

Ok can't quite think up anything for Jake English, but I still wanted to draw some homestuck gits, so here is Magnus using Vriska as a paddle ball.

I don't know why I drew this specifically, I just thought it would be funny and also a neat little way to try and find what "my way" of drawing these characters consistently is. Other than that, It's just me drawing vriska and magnus interacting, I love drawing that crabp.

[uwua3]

Hi Bunnie! Your Misumi jealousy headcanon was so so amazing! Would it be okay to request the same hc but for Kazu, Tenma + Taichi? Ty and can't wait to see more from you! 🐰

oh my gosh! thank you so much!!! that makes me so happy to hear you enjoyed it; tbh i was a bit nervous due to the different take on misumi’s more thoughtful, erratic side so i’m glad it wasn’t too ooc! for you, i’d love to do a jealous hc for kazunari, tenma, and taichi! let’s GOOO !!!

summary: everyone gets their heart broken, and you were the cause of their broken hearts

warnings: anxiety, cheating, fake/toxic relationships, heartbreak, unrequited love

author’s note: i hope you enjoy it! thank you so much for your support ♡ this is definitely on the longer side for sure, i hope it’s worth the read!!!

i explored different types of jealousy for each person and how it would affect their daily lives! sometimes, the best thing to do is not act on your impulses. is it really worth losing a relationship with someone over? arguably, the only person with a “happy ending” would be taichi~ fair warning!

word count: 4,799 (total) — 2,078 (kazunari), 1,616 (tenma), 1,105 (taichi)

music: ghost heart – closure (kazunari), shouldn’t couldn’t wouldn’t – niki, rich brian (tenma), needs – verzache (taichi)

jealousy (pt.1)

🌻🎨 miyoshi kazunari

it was so hard to always thrive off the attention of others when it was exhausting keeping a smile up

sure, kazunari was a burden when he was excited with his nonstop, loud rant about whatever he learned in his liberal arts university... but people seemed to like him even less when he was quiet and contemplative. he was the butt of the joke, so he had to fake it until he made it

he’d rather be the funny jokester of the group and be remembered as the tolerated clown than forgotten completely

kazunari wanted people to come to him, be his friend, and find him important in their life. kazunari wanted to be everyone’s favorite, the #1, the name you’d say when asked who your best friend was

but no one liked him like that. no one looked to him first when a joke was made to check if he was laughing, everyone assumed he was. but it was so much energy to keep this happy go lucky act and it began taking away from his art

envy made up every cell of his being as he saw groups of supportive friends, students congratulated in front of the class, and just happiness in general. kazunari was always jealous, he wanted so much. he wanted someone to be his best friend

and then, you aced the role with no auditions needed. you made the cut, you entered his life as kazunari’s best friend

you made an effort to include him in group activities, responded to his over–the–top DMs with too many emojis, and even amused him with his spontaneous ideas like road trips to the next town over for the hell of it

it didn’t matter if he called you at the crack of dawn, you picked up before the last ring with just as much enthusiasm to go wherever to make lifelong memories

kazunari didn’t have to pretend like he was full of energy around you, because he was! you charged him up to his full battery and he wouldn’t stop moving until he had you to himself for a few hours

at first, it started out by staying a little bit longer after group project meetings, offering to get absolutely buzzed on overpriced hipster coffee he had to perfect as a barista, and exchanging obvious notes in class while getting in trouble for snickering way too loud

then it became seeing premieres of movies kazunari honestly didn’t care about, he just wanted to do the yawn trick without getting made fun of. he liked dramatically fighting over the popcorn with you before pretending to give up, knowing damn well at the end he’d let you have all his snacks. movies became any event possible: single mixers that were just them huddling in a corner planning to make the most memorable exit ever, mall trips that had inappropiate fashion shows in the dressing rooms before getting kicked out, even beach visits year–round and complaining when the temperatures were too extreme but still having the sickest bonfire

all these moments were posted on his private, more personal instagram where his feed would have your face in every row (he also posted the extremely candid shots of you, he was sneaky with his camerawork). everyone with a social media account knew you guys were platonic soulmates, people destined to meet each other and be by their side for every lifetime

it moved into territory like bringing you to his favorite secret hideouts. eventually, it came down to places he knew his other friends would trash and poke fun at. he began trusting you with his most prized places. his safe space that became yours as well

even his art studio rented out at the border of the urban city with a water–damaged wooden floor. you would drop by everytime he didn’t respond to your text within 10 minutes, with plenty of food because you knew kazunari gets into an obsessive state with completing a project in one sitting. he let you in without a second thought even though you had the spare key; now you were lounging upon a thrifted sofa staring at the sunset

golden hour was gorgeous on you, kazunari thought out of no where, shocking him to the core when he nearly dropped his paintbrush onto the plastic covers. get a hold of yourself man! whatever, he always hyped you up, it wasn’t a big deal. it was just usually, intentional

you didn’t seem to notice, scrolling through your phone as your shadow giggled at something on screen. kazunari felt sick (and it wasn’t the cheap takeout), he hated not being in on the joke and getting left out. jealousy brewed at the pit of his stomach as he faked a childish huff to get your attention. you didn’t look over, too busy sending a meme to someone

“whatchu laughing at?” kazunari asked curiously as he resumed painting, to which you fidgeted under his gaze. shrugging nonchalantly, you pocketed your phone that pinged with a notification. the vibration caused you to read the screen immediately without a second thought. huh...

“just some guy.” you offhandedly mentioned, opening some dating app kazunari could pinpoint. he didn’t know you even liked those types of meet–ups, he dropped his brush this time before fumbling to pick it up as cool as possible

pretending to pay attention to the painting, he lost focus as he glanced at your frame. you looked so relaxed, so casual, who were you so close to? you always told him about the few partners you had, this one threw him for a loop

“guy? don’t tell me my best friend is falling in love~!” kazunari quipped, feigning a pose of shock like it was the worst thing he’s ever heard. honestly, maybe it was, or he was a damn good actor and those hours of practice were working. maybe they were if his best friend couldn’t even see past his facade

you blushed at the implication, but didn’t deny it. you just muttered something about having privacy and rolling over to your side, continuing to text at an inhuman speed

kazunari frowned slightly, drawing his eyebrows together as he couldn’t help but steal glances at your backside. usually he got a joke, a confirmation he was basically your boyfriend, and they both hysterically laughed about it at the end of the day. not this time, apparently

this time, it was different. next time he saw you wasn’t sitting next to him in class, or beneath his arm hiding from the scary film on the projector, it was at the café you frequented to see him. except, you were with someone else. kazunari hadn’t seen you in so long, ever since you were caught messaging someone else

you ordered the same thing as always, you didn’t even have to ask before kazunari had it ready for you. but his whole personality was jittery, like he accidentally ate the entire stock of cacao beans raw. he stammered and his tone fell flat, contrasting his lively speech and flair for drama. he looked... overwhelmed

kazunari spilt your date’s drink last second, his chaotic mind barely controlling his limbs as he knocked over the order. as you tried helping him, every customer saw kazunari hide back in the shell he tried so hard to break. he simply shook his head and delivered his customer service monologue about being very sorry and the next one was on the house

there was at least in attempt in sounding cheerful, but coach would’ve definitely cursed him out for his terrible performance. he knew he was showing too much teeth right now and his eyes were too big to be genuine, but he couldn’t do anything else without his foot tapping repetitively

when you shot him concerned side–eyes from their usual table by the window, you looked different in the orange–hued sky. you were gorgeous in golden hour, kazunari bitterly thought as he wiped down the surfaces until he could see his teary eyes staring back with disgust. he was letting his guard down in front of everyone, how lame

he could hear your walls coming down, you becoming attached to the hip with that date of yours as you two became the only customers left. he heard it all, the flirting, the conversations that would definitely lead to you going back to their place with them. he excused himself to his indifferent manager before hiding in the employee stall, sliding his back down against the wall to sit down on the cold tile floor

kazunari found dates boring. all they led to was him getting his unfinished meal in styrofoam boxes and taking an uber to your place to spill what happened like it was a daily struggle. you laughed and laughed, never having stories of your own since kazunari lived through a lifetime of them for the tall tales

kazunari wanted to go back to that, when both of you were single and laughing together about how absolutely dumb committed relationships were. who else would they need besides each other? kazunari remembered asking, knowing all they could trust in was each other forever

but more importantly, maybe kazunari wanted to be more than your best friend. you were the one who cured his constant artist’s blocks with just words of affirmation, the heartfelt gestures making his serotonin levels skyrocket to oblivion before maxing out on the motivation to create anything that would make your efforts worth it

kazunari thought he just did his best with his friends by his side. but, was it normal for friends to feel like this? kazunari began imagining a painting of a figure, of someone that looked like you, except they were so far away and out of his reach. he wanted to jump through the frame and find you, manifest you for him only

no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the face to resemble anything like yours, like you weren’t his to claim creative rights over anymore

kazunari was jealous. jealous of how easily passerbys fell in love with the way you made anyone feel like they were the main character of their own story. kazunari felt stupid, like he was your comic relief sidekick who so desperately would do anything to be your final love interest

alone, kazunari laughed pitifully to himself as he picked his head up to hear your voice through the thin walls. whatever elaborate joke you were playing on him, it wasn’t funny in the slightest

he only wanted you to laugh with him, hell, he’d go make a fool of himself at any time even if meant you laughed at him

you weren’t one of his artworks, yet you were a masterpiece compared to any canvas he could have made in his entire career

kazunari wanted to paint you in all the colors possible, make you see how you were the rainbow after his rainy life

pushing himself up, kazunari stumbled out of the bathroom before shaking his head. it wasn’t worth it, he got what he wanted, didn’t he? you’re still his best friend, you just loved someone else, that’s all. all he ever wanted was a best friend, why wasn’t he satisfied with that?

when would he stop being jealous? (when would he be your #1 boy? he thought against his will)

taking a deep breath to compose himself, kazunari smiled and waved at the new couple. he saw the relief on your face before you resumed the discussion with the most animated expression he hadn’t seen in a long time. he couldn’t even recall when

everything would go back to normal before you became kazunari’s best friend. you would begin hanging out with the other person more, taking them to all kazunari’s best events. you would eventually stop answering his calls because it interfered with the other person’s schedule. you’d have plans outside of him, and kazunari would go back to being by himself. he’d keep going on dates and stay till the end this time, searching for his #1

(he would have to mute your account after seeing your posts with them, but he never told you that)

kazunari heard something other than you. he looked towards the window: it was raining again, again, and again. he opened his smartphone to take a picture:

kaz–PIKO [new post!]: i hope this rain ends soon!!!

it didn’t, at least, not for a very long time

🌻☀️ sumeragi tenma

tenma was what you would call, gifted. grew up with successful, charistmatic parents who watched his every move like a hawk, never giving him the time to improve from his mistakes

so every time he didn’t immediately get something, he’d give up and find other things to beat others at

the only thing he did that was acceptable to his father was acting, so he never looked back

tenma became a headliner of countless blockbuster movies and walked the red carpet as a fabricated actor with no authenticity

magazines labelled tenma as the playboy with on & off again relationships, although they were staged by his label to make him appear like some heartbreaker

truth was, he’s just like every other high school student who was really bad at focusing on academics (and had definitely not been in a real relationship)

but tenma was famous, fake friends came and went every time his popularity rose, hitting him up for favors. it was okay, he was famous, anyways. it’s not like he needed a bunch of no–bodies

at least, that’s what he told himself every time he sat with his parents at awards banquets with no one to share his success

(tenma was not jealous at all of stars with full rows of people of their friends who were always so loud and supportive)

(it wasn’t awkward going up on stage to receive a trophy with only polite clapping in the background)

you got cast as tenma’s next love interest

you were supposed to be a fake relationship that lasted longer than every other person he’s been with before

you were an up and coming actress full of potential and enthusiasm to boot, ready to take on in the industry like you were the biggest threat around

but it was clear, you loved acting

you loved playing different characters like they were an extension of yourself, paying close attention to other people’s habits so you could incorporate it in your own persona

it was strange—meeting someone who loved acting at its core and didn’t do it for the money. most people wanted their name in lights, drama with them in the middle, to have an adoring fanbase. who actually liked acting as an art form?

tenma was sure you were just hiding something, lying about your sweetheart public image to gain fans

you and tenma became public by having a public brunch date (tenma hated brunch, it was so pointless!) where photographers hid in bushes to take expensive pictures of tenma’s newest girl

tenma at first put on a facade, pretending to be the cocky star everyone made him out to be by flexing his muscles with a charming but practiced wink. why not, right? every girl loved that!

all of a sudden, you were gripping the tablecloth, dying laughing as you tried your best to stifle your outrageous response. tenma grew hot under the collar when it was clear you were very much a real, hard to hide your feelings type person off screen

immediately, he told you off in an aggressive manner but before he could apologize for being so suddenly boyish, you retorted back just as quickly. the friendly banter between you two sent sparks flying from the electric energy

those staged acts didn’t have any effect on you (unless he was in the mood for some serious jokes which he gladly fought back) so a genuine friendship formed

due to you both being competitive at heart, you guys were always caught in a friendly rivalry where you two shared real bonding moments together

your chemistry was off the charts (your managers were both very pleased with the outcome, oblivious to tenma’s defensive no ways!)

tenma’s favorite memory was ditching a panel interview without his parent’s permission to go blow his money on a popular chain arcade im the mall he could most definitely afford with his credit card. it was impulse but he texted you the address and miracously, you showed up on your own

both of you wore the worst disguises possible: snapbacks and funky graphic tee shirts as if you two were just regular students. tenma tried everything that even caught his eye, and you knew he wasn’t entirely happy with anything he got despite winning ten games already

clearly he wasn’t getting distracted enough, something must have happened on set

so you made a bet, whoever won the basketball hoops game would take all the tickets. you knew this would ignite the competitive flame within tenma

“you’re on!” tenma declared, shaking your hand with a firm grip and wolfish grin. that would be one of the last times tenma saw you as “one of the boys”

it was when you finally won against his bruised ego but chose a prize for him that tenma realized, he liked you for you. normally, he’d be showering his fake partner with stuffed animals before being ditched on the street corner, the plastered smiles gone and replaced with nasty annoyance

(he’d never admit it, but even the fake affection was nice while it lasted)

no one really liked him for him, he was just another famous teen actor with passable looks to be the side boyfriend

yet, you still got him something despite winning, giving him the plant and ignoring his surprised face

it wasn’t expensive, but it was the most meaningful gift he’s ever received

it was the first time tenma was given a present like that: a tiny bonsai tree

“maybe that’ll teach you some responsibility!” you joked, pushing him teasingly as he just stared at the little tree, feeling like something inside grew as well

he ignored it by challenging you to a DDR tournament (you won, again)

tenma began seeing the bonsai as a symbol of your friendship with him, and it felt good to finally have someone who would go out of their way to be his friend

(as a result, the bonsai was as healthy as ever)

but maybe, his macho–man act turned you off the wrong way and made him seem like a spoiled rich kid. you never could open up seriously about problems you had without laughing at tenma’s serious face, always messing up his bright orange hair and calling him a loser

tenma was tired of being a kid in your eyes, he wanted to be your manly boyfriend that wasn’t just a legacy actor

he was jealous every time you talked about your actual friends from home, who you shared everything with and made them out like they were the best people on the planet

it was silly, but did you think about him like that? did your friends even know you were with him?

tenma, for the first time, wanted a relationship that was more than just a publicity stunt. he wanted to be your boyfriend, more than just the faker

he wanted to meet your friends, then your family, and learn more about who you actually were. know what you were made up of, past the glamarous movie lifestyle he knew too well

tenma wanted to stop lying to the media because you deserved the truth

tenma wanted to recite his script about love but mean it, pretending like he was staring into your eyes and delivering the best performance of his life (if you ignore the fact he almost said your name)

but every time you guys went out, you acted like you were a babysitter and tenma was a child. you never could see him as a potential partner, just a rival who reacted like a brother would

but you read his behavior all wrong

(though honestly, tenma took every opportunity possible to have you close, because he knew you’d never be his again)

by the time the contract was up, tenma was too late. you were ruffling his hair and smiling like a sibling would, commenting on how fun it was to be with him and he could call you up anytime for tutoring. to you, he was just some high schooler who needed you to study with

but to tenma, he had caught feelings and there was nothing he could do about it

tenma would soon see the tragic news titles of how japan’s favorite it–couple split and you moved onto someone else

(someone much more serious and cool than he was, unfortunately)

tenma began booking roles in much more different films, ones with much more somber tones and melancholy scenes that fit his jealousy perfectly (he was often reviewed as having a “real connection” to his character, like he lived through the pain)

tenma noticed the way you were around the same age as your idol partner, how you actually held his hand while blushing for once. you even kissed them and hugged them in front of the cameras, which you refused to do with tenma, saying it would be weird to kiss a kid

tenma was jealous. jealous how he wasn’t as grown up as you wanted him to be. how he wasn’t mature and had a fiery temper and didn’t think things through. but his next partner was assigned and he had an outing with them soon

as soon as tenma met up with them, he flashed a picture perfect smile and heard the cameras flash behind him. they seemed to like that

his new partner didn’t question a thing as tenma addressed them by your name without noticing

that day, tenma came home to his bonsai dying, despite watering it properly

tenma gave up on you, despite the jealousy. if he wasn’t good at this dating game, there was no need to try anymore

he didn’t return back to that arcade for a while

🍁🛹 nanao taichi

the moment taichi saw you, he was convinced you were the one like every hopeless romantic out there

he was literally blown away. the wind picked up stronger when he saw you and he swore he saw red hearts around you

pretending to skateboard like he was just passing by, he bumped into you on veludo way and pretended like he had no idea where he was going

“sorry! i’m a bit lost... could you help me?” taichi paired it with his puppy eyes and tragic pout, unaware he was a bunny face to face with a wolf in sheep’s clothing

but you recognized him, the famous actor from mankai’s autumn troupe

yet, you pretended to follow his plan, knowing how quickly mankai was regaining its popularity status in theatre

(hey, maybe you’d even get free stuff if you played your cards right)

then began your relationship with taichi, where he was head over skates for you and did everything in his power to make you stay

taichi rearranged his schedule for you, staying up countless hours into the next day just to text you and have every possible moment with you

taichi always reserved you front row seats for every mankai production, sometimes even bringing you backstages despite the warnings from his other members

(they never really liked you, especially not the way you had so much control over taichi)

“taichi... you look tired. are you okay?” omi asked one day, when taichi had been on his phone the entire meal and anxiously fidgeted for a reply

(you sometimes did that just to mess with him a little, by leaving his multiple messages on read) (he hated it)

“me? i’m doing the best i could be!” taichi exclaimed, sneaking a glance at his screen to still see it dark

when omi carefully nodded and turned around, taichi’s posture slouched and the insomnia he was developing just to talk began catching up to his performance

taichi did everything a perfect boyfriend did in plays: wrote you love letters (you never read them), created thoughtful playlists that flowed well (you never listened), even learning new fun talents just to impress you (you never paid attention)

it was never enough to make you see him as more than a key to the theatre industry

to you, taichi was nothing more than a loyal puppy on a leash

taichi didn’t realize how tight his collar was until he was confronted by his troupe members, all who were as serious as it got with them

“what’s up?” taichi offered, faking a grin and suppressing the yawn building in his throat. the bags under his eyes were dark, and his blue eyes were dull. he hadn’t slept in so long. he was low on money for buying too many things. he couldn’t remember the last time he finished a meal

omi exchanged looks with the others, knowing he had to be the one to deliver the news because well, maybe he’d soften the blow a bit better

it must be bad if even juza and banri are not fighting, taichi mused, not really listening until he heard:

“—they’re cheating on you, taichi.”

taichi’s head snapped up, his body becoming rigid from the accusation. his sight landed on a digital image on banri’s phone screen, where you were clearly all over another person

(taichi remebered them, they were your lockscreen. he never questioned it)

(even if he was always jealous of how you hung out with every other friend much more than him, you own boyfriend!)

there was nothing to justify. banri explained how he and juza came upon them at the mall, and he was sorry

(it wasn’t banri’s fault, but he apologized because he was genuinely sorry for all taichi went through)

it’s not like he could say anything, the photo was clear as day! but taichi’s fists were tight by his side and he stood up defiantly

“that’s not true! maybe, that’s just their friend! or family member! i trust them, stop making baseless claims against them!” taichi knew he was making a scene, but it gave him a window to storm out of the front door and run down the sidewalk

“taichi!” he heard, but no one dared followed him. maybe he needed to face it by himself and open his eyes

they’d be back waiting for him at the end of the day when he finally realized he didn’t deserve to be in a toxic situation like this

(taichi did so much to become even better, just so you would like him more... it never worked)

taichi stopped at the park, panting deeply and leaning forward to catch his breath

this couldn’t be possible! he was the perfect boyfriend, right? he did everything for you... what wasn’t enough? when would he be enough?

but the proof was right there. taichi could see you with the same person in the image right in front of him

that’s when it hit. you knew taichi had acting practice right now, he wouldn’t know any better

all the pent–up anger within him exploded, his desperation masking a much more weak, unstable truth: fear of abandonment and the unrequited jealousy of the other person, no matter how much he hated to admit it

taichi was jealous. jealous of how you liked everyone else so much better than him, taichi wanted to be better, for you

but you were gonna leave him, toss him aside like your time together was nothing, like he was nothing

you never loved him, you liked the attention

taichi finally saw the signs, the red flags you were manipulative and knew he was easy enough to twist and break. he opened his eyes and you hadn’t even noticed him

but then, he tried to tell himself maybe he actually liked that, but it sounded hollow and fake even to him

taichi had to say no now

taichi was hurt, but he couldn’t show that to you anymore. you didn’t deserve the privilege having a say in his feelings anymore

walking by and pretending to bump into you, your face didn’t change as you saw him, simply raising an eyebrow in question

“just leave me for somebody else,” taichi humorlessly laughed, staring at the way you felt nothing for him

you stepped onto his heart and broke it, there was nothing else to say. even then, he wish he was the person you loved, even if it killed him

“enjoy yourself.” taichi finished, knowing these would be the last words he would ever say to you before returning back to the dorms

he didn’t look back, not anymore

[tandytoaster]

I’m gonna be a fuckin bitch for this post and i’m not really sorry i don’t think.

So i’m in college. For social work. To help people. You know. Getting my life together. And in the beginning I made a friend who likes nintendo games and i was like OH BOY, MAYBE THEY LIKE METROID. they did not and i have continuously made the mistake of associating with this kid. Like almost every day he does something that makes my skin crawl with the feeling of “oh my god i canNOT relate to this kid at all”. 

At first my issue with him was that he reminded me exactly of Tristan except not evil. My second issue was just that he gave me wicked secondhand embarrassment. My third issue is that I have not the slightest idea why he’s still in this course, he has proved time and time again that he has learned nothing. 

The first red flag that went up for me was personal because he reminded me of Tristan. The second one went up when he said that he felt gay people were shoving their gayness down people’s throats and that he was sick of the rainbow flag. When he first said that I was like, are you fucking kidding me? I told him about the ratio how many straight movies there are compared to gay ones, I told him about how the rainbow flag is a symbol of safety and acceptance, WE HAVE ONE IN OUR GODDAMN CLASSROOM. He told me that in highschool almost every classroom had a gay flag in it and almost everyday there was a class discussion about it. I asked him if it was the students or teachers who brought it up and he said “mehhhh it was the students” SO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT TELLS ME? THAT THOSE WERE GAY OR TRANS STUDENTS NEEDING ACCEPTANCE. AND YOU’RE HERE IN FRONT OF ME, IN FRONT OF THIS RAINBOW FLAG, COMPLAINING ABOUT THEM. He wanted to “agree to disagree” about it but I was like “no man your views are potentially harmful”. People overheard us arguing and they sided with me, the student council president i think it was spoke to us and said (in response too “theres too much gay stuff”) “I’m actually trying to get them to paint the crosswalks here rainbow”, so like, take that.

And we talk about this stuff in class fairly often. We’ve spoken about the importance of symbols, identity, flags, safe spaces, we get DEEP into it. But you know what this kid does all class? He looks at memes or plays fire emblem heroes on his phone, sometimes he plays his whole ass switch in class. OR! or or or, he gets up and leaves in the middle of a lesson that holds CRITICAL information that would help him become less ignorant and prejudiced. Just the other week we were talking about how straight people will never know the struggle, the oppression, that nonstraight people face, and of course this kid was just playing on his phone, and ohohoho the instructor called him on it and got mad and it was honestly? So satisfying. 

So I had to be the one to explain to him what oppression is and how fuckign serious it is. People fucking die man. This was around the time the whole “gays own splatoon” thing happened and the dude was SO upset about it. I was like “.... you realize those are all jokes right? Nobody means anything by it”. He sort of got it but one thing he said is like, big fuckin yikes. He said he seen a meme on the drawing feature or whatever that said “straight people suck at splatoon” or something and he said he was actually offended by that and if it wasn’t for the fact that his best friend is a lesbian, these jokes that he’s seeing would probably turn him into a little bit of a homophobe. And because I had to be civil and he did want my help I was like “you have to work on that, you NEED to do something about that”. Because you can’t be like that in general and you ABSOLUTELY CANNOT be like that going into the field we’re going into. 

I wish he paid attention in class so then he wouldn’t come to me to ask “hey how do i not be homophobic” and get me all mad but then i cant get mad because that doesnt help either of us. at least its good practice for the future and any weirdos i get in my career. 

ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh “at least”. That’s one of his favourite things to say :))))))))) at least at least at least AT LEEAST. We’ve been through a semester and a half of counselling skills and you still have not learned how to properly console people. “At least” belongs in a pity pile, “At least” is you saying “youre problems arent THAT bad :)” you think it sounds nice but really youre just belittling the person and their issues. oh my fuck he SMOTHERS people if they’re having problems. Last week I guess I was “off” or some shit idk! something i didnt wanna talk to him about, AND HE KEPT GOING ON  “whats wrong. do you wanna talk about it. you seem upset. you seem upset. whats wrong. im here”, SO I TURNED TO THE DUDE AND WAS LIKE “You’re going to make me a lot worse if you keep asking, and you and I both know you hate it when I get angry :)” like im ready to verbally rip this kid a new one i am SO ready. 

Today he was smothering one of our friends because they went through a break up and oh my god even the tone of voice he uses sets off my shut-the-fuck-up reflexes ?? He was like “do you need anything, do you need snacks, do you need a hug, do you want me to buy you something, do you want me to rough him up, do you want me to send him a message, please dont cry crying is bad, do you want a hug” and our poor friend just sat their sulking not saying anything PROBABLY BECAUSE HE WAS SMOTHERING THEM. They got up and went somewhere so i turned to him and said “YOU ARE SMOTHERING THEM (awkward laugh to attempt to hide my anger) you are smothering them you cant do that. So he said “Hey you know word of advice you need to word things better because you might hurt someone’s feelings” and all i said was “right”. Then later in the day I’m talking to our heartbroken friend and I’m using actual skills we learned in class and WHAT DO YOU KNOW, we’re making progress and they’re talking about it to me. 

I’m so aggressive with this dude because 1, i cant stand him, and 2, he hasnt gotten it through our non aggressive talks in class. I wanna kick this into him, like 2013 tumblr style LISTEN UP FUCKER type of shit. 

When i explained to him a few weeks ago that Homophobia Is Bad, do you know how he thanked me????????? He gave me his copy of ssb melee. That game is like his pride and joy and it sells for 80 fucking dollars and he gave it to some bitch that doesnt even like him. I don’t even want a thank you for telling you to not be a homophobic piece of shit. So now I have this copy of melee that i feel horrendous about having because I don’t even like this kid anymore i’m sick of him.

and the week after he gave me that guess what i found out haha???? HE HAS A CRUSH ON ME!!!!!!!!!! AWFUL!!!!!!!!! WHY DO YOU LIKE ME!!!!!! I HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT CONTINUOUSLY HURT YOUR FEELINGS I DO NOT GET IT.

Last week he left a bag of those hersheys clusters on my part of the table and when i seen them a wave of defeat and anger washed over me, i dont want your fuckin gifts, i dont want your money, i dont want you to give me things because you like me. i do not appreciate it. it feels wrong. I think he cried because i didn’t acknowledge the bag. after class he said he got them for me and i told him i didnt feel right taking them, so he said “just pretend that they came out of nowhere” and i shook my head and said no and i left them there. idk what happened to that bag. 

twice back in september he commented on my eating habits, said i had a sweet tooth WHEN I WAS EATING HEALTH FRUIT GUMMIES???? so now i cant eat in front of him or else i panic. 

we’re fine texting each other but i really do not enjoy being around him irl. and today i came to the realization that I’m not gonna get along and vibe with everybody, he just happens to be one of those people. 

so now i’m like, angry a lot of the time again because i have to deal with him and his terrible work ethics and tristan transference 

I should’ve known he didn’t like metroid.

[velkynkarma]

Oooh for the ask meme how about all for Routine Maintenance??

All? Right, then. *cracks knuckles* Routine Maintenance it is! There’s a lot of questions, so most answers will be under the cut. Got a question about a fic? Ask!

1. What inspired this fic?I had just gotten into the Voltron fandom the month before and spent most of that time greedily digging through the archive for anything gen (there wasn’t a lot of it). I found some good gems, but the one thing I really wanted to see and hadn’t was a story about Shiro dealing with his prosthetic arm. There were plenty that covered the “mind control” style story-line, or dug into the angsty flashbacks of how he got it in the first place, but none of them went into ongoing day-to-day life of just...having an alien prosthetic forcibly attached to you. You know what they say--if it doesn’t exist, make it yourself! So that’s what I did.

2. Where did the title come from?It came specifically from Hunk’s part of the story (which was first), all about literally maintaining Shiro’s arm and teaching him routines for it. It’s also a phrase. And it seemed to fit!3. What part was most difficult?Probably any emotional moment in the fic (most notably in chapter 6). I can do medical research, I can write action, but bringing in feelings is just hard.4. What are you most proud of?A lot of little things, really. I like the painterly descriptions of Lance’s chapter. I like how I managed to convey phantom pains in Pidge’s chapter. That entire last chapter was just a behemoth to organize but I think it came out really well. 5. What do you like best about this fic?I like the overall concept. Even as far back as S1 we knew Shiro was a character with a disability, who lives with it but doesn’t let it stop him, but nobody ever really explored it. I’ve had people thank me since writing it because they had something to relate to, and I’m glad I was able to do the theme justice.

6. What do you like least about this fic?That it’s still the one I’m known for the most. Routine Maintenance was my first foray into the fandom and was written almost 2 years ago now. I’ve learned a lot since about both the characters and about writing, and on a reread there are parts of it that feel weak. I have much stronger fics that have much better defined themes since, but Routine Maintenance is still usually they one I’m known for.7. What’s a reference you’ve made that no one has picked up on yet?Honestly, I don’t think there are any, if we’re talking non-Voltron media references. I tend to avoid things like calling out movies, books, comics, etc when writing fanfiction, since it can sometimes alienate viewers who haven’t engaged with that other material. 8. What’s a bit that sums up your take on a character?From the last chapter of Routine Maintenance:

He’s never been more proud of any of them. And he’s not going to let them down, not now. As frayed and on edge and exhausted and in pain as he is for all the same reasons, they’re looking to him now more than ever for stability and support. Their entire world has just been violently smashed into the ground and thrown upside down like the shipwreck that had taken them there, and Shiro is just about the only thing they have left to cling to so they can try and stay standing. He’ll hold on for their sakes until they’ve regained their own footing. He owes them that much. So he stands guard over them, in a very literal sense. What’s left of his right arm his throbbing, his ribs protest, his head hurts, and his whole body aches with soreness and fatigue, but he refuses to sit, not even when Hunk begs him to take a break. He stands guard over his fallen crew members, ever vigilant, keeping an eye on the odd colored trees and the Galra wreckage. If an enemy comes he is their only real line of defense, and he does not intend to let anything hurt his crew further than they’ve already been hurt. Most important of all, no matter how scared he is for all of them, he maintains his outwardly calm and controlled appearance. He talks as normally as possible to Hunk and Lance, repeatedly reassuring them every time they start to look more nervous or afraid. He checks on Keith and Pidge regularly, and despite his growing concerns when neither wakes, and when Keith grows steadily paler, he keeps his expression neutral. And inwardly, the entire time, he begs, please let them live. Please let them all make it out of here okay. Please don’t let me lose one of them again.

Honestly, I feel this sums up Shiro in a nutshell, even now several seasons later. Shiro’s exactly the type to hold himself together and project outward confidence and control no matter how badly he’s falling apart inside. Most of the actual fic is about him getting caught in this and the others helping him, but when they need that support, he’s going to give it. 9. Favorite line(s) of dialogue? Two years later I’m still stupidly pleased with the pun I slipped into the middle of a dramatic situation in the last chapter:

Lance shudders at the words, and his hand tightens on Shiro’s. “But if…if it isn’t—I can’t—I can’t be a paladin without—I can’t even go home like this—““Shhh. Lance, calm down. Listen, even if it does come to that, and I’m not saying it has, it’s going to be okay. There’s no way in hell any of us would leave the leg of Voltron without a leg to stand on, okay?”Lance’s lips actually twitch slightly at the wordplay that he might have enjoyed more in any other circumstance. Shiro suspects it’s a shock-fueled, scared smile more than anything else. “R…right.”

Honestly it’s always the first line I think of, even if I know there’s more serious conversations and good dialogue elsewhere in the fic. I still just think of Shiro making a dumb joke to calm Lance down about the horrible thought that he may have just lost a leg.10. Favorite line(s) of prose?Lance wins out on this one too. My favorite descriptions happen in chapter 2:

But the bitter end’s getting closer. It’s already dark and difficult to see, and his eyes are still stinging in the mineral-crusted water, but he can tell his vision is starting to get blurrier and grayer around the edges. His body tries to force him to breathe again, and he chokes slightly with the effort of not. His right arm is starting to throb at the port from the tugging strain the prosthetic puts on the connection point of his flesh. Spots start to dance in front of his vision, bright streaks that seem to bob through the gloom as they get steadily bigger before his eyes…No, he realizes after a moment. It’s getting harder to think, harder to focus, due to the lack of air, but he comes to the baffling realization that those spots aren’t actually spots at all. It’s not his vision failing due to a lack of oxygen; there’s really something moving through the water, coming towards him from above, trailing teal streaks through the gloom. At first his thoughts conjure hazy visions of phosphorescent fish he’s seen in documentaries and aquariums, and it takes his weakening mind a precious long time to remember he’s not on Earth anymore, and he doesn’t remember seeing any wildlife like that so far. It takes him even longer to make out the white patches through the murky darkness of the ocean, dulled to a more grayish color in the near lightless water, but after a moment he’s able to make the connection—teal light strips and white patches. Paladin armor. It takes him longer to make out the color, because the blue melds so well into the ocean. Lance is only a few feet away before Shiro recognizes him, largely in part due to the way the helmet’s mask lights up his face just slightly in the darkness. 

I honestly just loved the entire description of Lance just appearing out of the gloom of the dark water and Shiro taking a while to realize what he’s seeing because he’s so close to passing out. This entire scene had a very painterly feel in my head and I loved trying to transition that to prose. 11. Where there any points where you were trying to do something specific with sound, vocabulary, or rhythm? I’m basically always doing this--that’s my writing style. I did have fun with vocab/rhythm in Pidge’s chapter, though, specifically with the phantom pains. Shiro describes trying to clench and unclench his hand a lot, but I deliberately kept from making it clear it’s due to phantom pains at first. I wanted to make it confusing on purpose, since by all accounts it’s confusing in real life, so I didn’t want to draw a distinct line between Shiro recognizing his metal hand was different than the phantom hand that’s all in his head. The reader should end up understanding what’s really happening at the same time that Pidge does as a result, even though the story is from Shiro’s PoV. The same thing later too, when trying to describe the sensation of fixing the problem.12. Imagery that is important to the fic, either while composing or in the fic itself? Again, imagery is always big for my writing style, and there’s too much in the fic to go into the details. How about we talk imagery themes instead? Several readers have noticed that Shiro rescues everyone in chapter 6 in the same order they help him in chapters 1-5. What less people notice is how each of the ways they help Shiro are also reflected in counter-point in the way he saves them:

Hunk helps him with a non-functional arm that was full of sand and grit while Shiro can barely move it. Shiro later frees Hunk with an arm that is still able to function despite having been impaled, while Hunk himself can’t move.

Lance reaches out to Shiro in an unreachable location and the first way Shiro recognizes him is by the lights on his armor. Shiro later finds Lance by the same lights, and reaches him in an unreachable location in turn. The arm that dragged him down is now the only thing that can lift up the weights now dragging Lance down.

Pidge helps Shiro with his phantom pains, by providing a solution that’s so simple and so close, and yet so far away. Later on, Shiro has the same problem rescuing her: she’s just out of reach, and just beyond his range of senses to be able to tell if she’s alive or not. He even tries to use a different arm (in this case, directing Lance’s) to solve the problem, to no avail.

Pidge actually has a second subtler one too: during her chapter Shiro recognizes he can’t actually feel or register his Galra arm as ‘his’ and tends to think of it as an object. At the time, it’s disappointing. During the very start of chapter 6, Shiro’s Galra arm is impaled, but he finds it doesn’t really bother him (or hurt him), since it’s just an object, it’s not really his.

Shiro tries to warm both himself and Keith with his Galra arm and warns Keith not to touch it as it will burn him badly, although this doesn’t work. Keith has to help keep him from freezing to death. Shiro later rescues him by using that exact thing he warned Keith about to save him, and it’s an exact parallel from freezing to burning.

13. How many drafts did the work go through?It’s hard to say. I don’t really have separate drafts in the traditional sense. I reworked the outline at least 1-2 times because that’s standard for me, and I probably spent a week editing the final results. But for the most part nothing too much changed. 14. Where you listening to anything while writing the fic? If so, what?Hah, I was listening to the Voltron soundtrack, actually. On repeat. 15. What were you most worried about during the composition? If I was handling disabilities right, and if chapter 6 in particular was a little too bloody for the fandom. With the former, I did plenty of research of course. But since I’m not an amputee nor do I have PTSD, there was always that little voice in the back of my head muttering, “You better hope you’re doing this right.” With the latter....it’s always hard to tell when going into new fandoms how well they’ll handle extreme injuries or wounds. Some fandoms eat it up, and in others it will get your fic basically ignored. I wasn’t really sure where Voltron fell, and chapter 6 does get pretty brutal, between Lance and Pidge being crushed, Lance’s compound fractures, and Keith needing to be cauterized. Keith’s scene in particular I wrote and re-wrote half a dozen times and I was extremely picky about the vocabulary used, because it was a very tricky line to write it in such a way that I was conveying Keith was suffering, but that Shiro wasn’t torturing him and wasn’t happy with the situation either. That meant adding some more emotional comfort aspects, which I am bad at. The whole thing was just a difficult mess and I basically wasn’t sure about it right up until the point I actually got comments talking about those scenes specifically. 16. If you used a beta, what did you agree or disagree on?I don’t use a beta, so nothing!17. Did anything surprise you during the writing?It got a lot longer than I initially planned on. Especially that last chapter. This really shouldn’t have come as a surprise though.18. Were there any alternate versions of this fic?Not really alternate, but Parasite Knight was a scrapped concept for the +1 part of the 5+1 idea (originally, with the whole team helping Shiro). But it didn’t seem to fit the theme of the 5+1, since the +1 tends to turn the theme on its head, so I went with the current version and recycled the idea of a soul-eating arm for another fic. Turns out that was a good idea since Parasite Knight turned into a beast of a fic in its own right lol. I did also shuffle a few characters around from their original plans. Before I’d decided a chapter about sinking due to Shiro’s heavy arm was going to be a thing, Lance was actually slated to be the one helping Shiro with frostbite (since his Lion has the whole water/ice connection). But Lance fit better for a drowning theme, and Keith ended up taking over the frostbite theme instead. That never actually started to get written, though.19. Were any parts written under the influence?I don’t drink or do any kind of drugs, so nope. 20. What did you learn from writing this fic?No real writing technicalities. I was able to verify I was handling disabilities well, based on readers’ feedback (something I’m always cautious about if I don’t have any background in the disability in question--I like to treat these situations as respectfully as possible, but sometimes it’s just hard to know if you really are without any scope of understanding). Honestly what I learned the most was that there was a niche in this fandom that I was actually welcome in. Many times I’ll write 1-2 fics in a fandom and that scratches the personal itch. But there’s never really any response from the fandom itself, so I move on to the next interesting thing. But Routine Maintenance had such overwhelming feedback, in a couple cases from some big names in the gen corner of the fandom, that it was encouraging enough to actually make me stick around. And in sticking around, THAT’S where I really learned more technical writing skills. So I guess RM didn’t teach me anything specifically, but it made sure I stuck around enough to learn things anyway. PHEW! That’s a lot of questions! Got a question about a fic? Ask!

[cavalier-life]

Questions Meme

@cinlat tagged me and I’m going to be lazy af and break the rules and just answer her questions because it’s nearly six am and I’m tired. 

Why didn’t I do this earlier, you ask? That’s a great question that I have no satisfactory answer for at all! (Which surprises no one)

Part of the responses are under the read-more link. I didn’t want to spam you all.

1: When you are old, what do you think children will ask you to tell stories about?

- Probably how embarrassing it was watching our country get run into the ground by an incompetent orange man-child with his stubby sexist and racist finger on the nuclear button. 

I will tell them to be silent and bring me another vodka, because I’ll be old and I don’t need to answer their questions or talk about these dark days. #the get off my lawn defense

2: What is your dream job?

- I usually make flippant answers to this but.. I always wanted to be a rider at the Vienna Riding School, and I was unutterably bitter when I discovered I couldn’t because I was a girl. By the time they decided to let women in, I was not of an ideal age to move to Europe and become a full time horsewoman at a prestigious dressage school anymore.

I’m bitter about that, too. ;)

3: Where do you get your news?

- The Root. I largely ignore everything else because most of it ignores black people, so why should I read it? Jk, I read a lot of news in different places, but I really do prefer the Root to everything else.They actually cover minority stories, for one. And at least they sometimes make me laugh despite the dystopian nightmare we’re descending rapidly into. (I’ve clearly had one.. or more.. too many glasses of wine tonight)

4: What movie can you watch over and over without ever getting tired of?

-I have three main favorites. 

Legend

Ladyhawke

and Labyrinth. 

There’s a lot of movies that I love though and I have actually watched Dirty Dancing well over 200 separate times and I’m not even slightly ashamed to admit that. (The first 100 was a summer bet when I was about 14.)

5: What’s the best / worst practical joke that you’ve played on someone or that was played on you?

- Tbh, no one ever plays jokes on me because I am notoriously bad tempered about it and I have the longest memory imaginable. 

It’s pretty much a first class ticket to hell if you mess with me. People seem to realize that quickly. I do have a good sense of humor, but.. I don’t like to be tricked or fooled. 

6: Where are some unusual places you’ve been?

- We used to travel a lot when I was a kid. Salem Witch Museum was a favorite for me. 

I had the misfortune of staying in a truly horrible motel once in St Augustine, FL... it was a nightmare. There were flying roaches. I slept in the car and my dad got reamed out by my mom and we moved the next day to a Holiday Inn. Lol. 

I’ve been to Oregon and when I was there, no less than four random strangers on the street asked me if I was Persian. (I am not) I found that unusual. ;)

7: What’s the spiciest thing you’ve ever eaten?

- I have no idea. Probably something at one of the Tex-Mex restaurants here, or some Thai food years ago. I like spicy food, but it does not like me, so I don’t indulge often, and I usually instantly regret it.

8: How did you get started in fanfiction, whether it’s reading, writing, or drawing? (I’m stealing this one from @mandojedi23 because it’s a really good question)

- I’m one of those people who just.. makes up their mind to do something and then does it. If it doesn’t work out, I try something else. 

I’ve always liked writing the in between scenes after or before a particular RP scenario for my rp characters.. I did it for years with my main Night Elf character on WoW and her RP partners. I’d been wanting to write something for my Sith Warrior on SWTOR, and so I finally started on what I planned to be a little story arc for her and joined AO3 so I could post a few chapters there and finish the story.

Now the story is like.. War & Peace in space, and I have five other works, and more in my brain waiting to be written. 

I’ve met a lot of great people from that whim to post a story (including Cinlat, and @melissagt and @tishinada and @starrealis and @salaciouscrumpet and @inyri and @tweedpawn and so many more) , and I’m really glad that I did it. Even if I never wrote another word, I’d be happy that I got to know you all. There are a lot of amazingly talented writers and artists here on Tumblr and AO3 and I’d be writing names all day if I tried to name you all, but I love your works and hope you all keep writing and arting and creating.

I especially thank Melissa, Cinlat, Tish, and Crumpet for bouncing ideas off me and with me, and helping me with plot problems when I was struggling and letting me do the same for them. Y’all the real MVPs. :)

(Disclaimer: I am in no way saying I’m never writing another word, don’t @ me)

9: What was your original fandom?  What drew you to it? (This one too)

- I don’t know if I even qualify as someone IN fandom so much as someone who is a fan. I don’t get very enmeshed in theorycrafting or headcanons or anything.. I just like a thing. 

But I was born when Star Wars was starting up, and so in a lot of ways, this really was my original fandom. At least my biggest one. I have never been a big sci-fi fan on the whole, though I do read it recreationally and watch movies about it.. I’m definitely more of a fantasy person. Elves, dragons. All that. But I love Star Wars. I love lightsabers, and the force. I love Sith. I love the Empire. I love red and black. *laughs* I love the universe, the varied worlds, the alien races. I love the dichotomy, the vastness of it all. 

I keep hoping that someday, Star Wars will love people who look like me a bit more in return. Because it’s hard to love a universe that is imagined largely without -anyone- who looks like you in it. 

(But until then, at least I have Black Panther. ;) )

10: What is your biggest obstacle when it comes to your passion/hobby?

- My immense laziness and my penchant for binge watching shows, when it comes to my writing. It derails me and makes it hard for me to concentrate. 

But as for horses and dogs, which I love down deep in my soul... what gets in my way there is simply reality. I sold my horse when we moved down here, and my husband doesn’t really want to keep horses again because of the commitment and how hard it makes travel, etc. I get it. I even agree with it. But I miss them. I miss grooming them. I miss the smell of their hair. I miss the feel of a big strong gelding under me in an extended trot, moving in a beautifully collected frame. I miss the reins, the smell of leather. I miss everything about horses, and it’s definitely a bit of a hole in me that I’ll probably never own one again. 

We want to travel, so he wants to get down to no dogs. I agreed at the time, but I don’t think that will ever -really- happen. I could see having one dog, but I don’t know if I’d ever be able to be happy with none. But that’s a conversation for another day, because I still have four. ;)

11: What are your most important rules when going on a date?

- Respect me, and be a gentleman. I don’t like poor manners, and if you touch me without my permission, you’re going to draw back a bloody stump. ;)

Tags: @evilrevan @inyri @rainofaugustsith @lumielles  (Your choice, no pressure)

[mstigergun]

OC Kiss Week, “the temple of pride”

OC Kiss Week, Day Three! (”A Surprise Kiss”)

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE, JACK. So, Leonid Trevelyan and Tristran Lavellan (who I’ve chosen to run with in his alternate incarnation as Tristran Samahl from the Companion meme @neurotrophisfactors did -- linked earlier). On the one hand, this was hilarious to write, because Leonid is a bag of trash. On the other hand, Tristran is pure and good and Leonid is a corrupting force, and so I also felt slightly bad. Especially because of the blowjob joke at the end. OH WELL.

Set pre-Haven. All of the liberties taken with plot, lore, etc., etc., because I do what I want.

[~2500 words, because whoops]

the temple of pride

In his short and illustrious years, throughout which he has acquired no small amount of worldly knowledge, Leonid has come to realize several things.

The first is that everyone with a set of eyes and even a vague sense of what’s bound to be a good time will want to kiss him. Which is sensible, really: he’s always been wonderfully handsome, and he’s a great deal of fun, and even if the poor, beleaguered parties involved only manage to wrest a single kiss from him –

Ah, well. The stuff glorious memories are made of.

For them, really. Leonid can’t be bothered to remember all of the people he’s fucked, much less the innumerable number of people – from every blessed and wretched corner of Thedas – he’s kissed. In taverns or on street corners, in servants’ kitchens or on ballroom floors.

Once, he even kissed a city guard who thought Leonid’s public drunkenness was a little too drunken and much too public. Which had been all well and good: kissing while being very nearly arrested turned out to be as effective as a key to a lock in getting him out of trouble. Especially when kisses were followed with a terribly unsubtle mention of his family name and an additional… private moment or two.

So, yes. He understands that everyone would like to kiss him. Well, everyone with even a scrap of good taste.

The second thing Leonid realizes is that circumstance makes even the most circumspect of men a great deal more free in their affections. No one likes to be uncomfortable – which is why, in part, he’d been able to so efficiently fuck his way through Haven. A new man each night – sometimes more than one! – with what amounted to very little of Leonid’s usual eyelash fluttering and clever lines (or blunt suggestions that are inappropriate for any sort of public space, which has never stopped Leonid before – not once in his life).

When men are sad, or cold, or in unpleasant circumstance of any sort, Leonid is, he knows, the balm to that particular wound. He is a breath of fresh air, a sweet moment of amnesia and a reminder of much better things. It is, he has come to think, perhaps one of his life’s purposes: to be so truly spectacular a lover that he actually improves lives.

Why else would Andraste bless him with his face, or his particular talents? Her plan for the Herald was simple enough – save the world from being torn apart – and so Her plan for Leonid – save the world from being boring and save many men from not having a truly spectacular lover – might be less grand, true, but it is certainly no less important.

So, first, he understands that everyone would be fortunate to kiss him. Second, that misery – miserable places, wretched circumstance, ill-fitting clothes, a bad hand of cards – makes his particular abilities rather more effective.

And if ever he has been to a miserable place, the Forbidden Oasis is it: an Orlesian hellhole of rasping sand and too-bright skies that make sleeping off even part of a hangover impossible. The tunnels and pathways that twist around the oasis itself make as much sense as this whole blighted escapade, which is to say none. He nearly brings his own life to an inglorious halt when traversing a particularly rickety platform, and is only saved by the elf who’d been sent along to parse out whatever it is Solas’s stupid shards are for.

“Careful,” says the elf, his broad hand firm on Leonid’s bicep.

Leonid squints at him, his heart still fluttering from how very near he came – again – to falling from a ridiculous height and presumably breaking one of his limbs. The sun hangs in the sky behind Tristran, his ears a pair of broad and pointed shadows.

“I hardly need to be careful if you’re going to hover behind me and make sure I don’t die,” Leonid says, shrugging off the touch. “Which is, I can only assume, what we’re doing, as we haven’t gotten any closer to that blighted shard –” with an accusatory finger pointed to the glitter of light above them, on a platform that must require some sort of magic, or wings, or perhaps a gryphon, to reach – “in the past two hours of wandering around this Maker-forsaken dust pit.”

Tristran blinks his eyes, which, Leonid has to distantly admit, are a rather lovely golden brown, even in the shadows of the cliffs around them. Then, with a breezy sigh, “You caught me. It’s true: the shards are a ruse. The Herald really just wanted you to wander around, cursing and complaining, and I’m just here to keep you safe. With, you know,” he reaches one hand down, taps it against his leg, “my agility.”

Leonid snorts despite himself. He'd hate for the man to think he's funny, even if he is, but the endless hours of sunshine have addled Leonid’s brain and left him without his usual stoic good sense. A battle lost, then.

Leonid half-turns, casting a look toward the path below them. It had been full of Ventari earlier, before the Qunari mercenaries had cleared it out. “It’s why I’m testing you, with the nearly plunging to my death. Keep you on your toes. All five of them.”

“You’re too kind, Trevelyan. A paragon.” His voice is dry, but when Leonid glances back, Tristran’s mouth is tugged up at one corner. Amused.

“Yes, yes,” Leonid says with a wave of his hand, a little flush of pleasure prickling between his shoulders. “It’s not easy being this virtuous, you know. I can’t expect you to understand. All that time spent reading and writing reports – why, it’s a good thing you were paired with me today. How else would you understand what dutiful acquiescence looks like, when your nose is always buried in a book?”

“I can’t possibly imagine.”

A pause, as the pair of them look around the canyon, the curling pathways, the series of platforms and ladders that ultimately go nowhere..

“Maybe that tunnel?” Tristran suggests, leaning past Leonid to point at the dark space below them. And while the shadows are cool around them, he’s warm, as if he’s been baked in sunshine. Cured with firelight.

Leonid suppresses a little shiver. Instead, he nods. “So long as you deal with the spiders that will inevitably come crawling out of every blighted shadow. Do you know what spider innards do to my skin?”

And so onwards they go.

And although the elf doesn’t complain while they climb up and down what must be a hundred ladders, or while he does, indeed, kill a great number of giant spiders, or when they eventually retrieve the shard only to find that their way up cannot also be a way down and so spend the next hour sort out how to return to camp without, say, leaping on a passing giant and riding it toward the tents –

Well. Leonid knows what suppressed pain looks like. A tight mouth, twitching downward at its sides. Pale skin, even beneath all those freckles. Short and sharp breaths as they make their final walk toward camp. The merest hint of a limp.

And, really, Leonid thinks as he downs his ration of wine and sneaks around past the requisitions officer to get a second, he’s passable handsome, Tristran. Rather broad-shouldered for an elf. And he laughed at Leonid’s joke earlier by the fire, and so he must have at least an iota of good sense.

Leonid watches the researcher across the camp, feigning interest in the story one of the soldiers is regaling him with and being very careful to observe Tristran out of the corner of his eye as he downs his slightly sour wine. Tristran’s legs are stretched before him, one hand massaging the muscle just above his knee, the other paging thoughtfully through some dreadfully dusty tome.

“And so,” continues the soldier, “I told Bess not to fuss around with those ladders, not if she wanted us to be able to find our way back, but you know what Bess is like –”

“Hm.” He reaches out and plucks the soldier’s tin cup from her hand, replacing it with his empty vessel. “So you’ve said. In any case, I’ll be off. Things to do, you know. Letters. And things.”

She blinks up at him, but he’s on his feet and across the camp before her complaints about his thievery can reach him. Leonid edges around several of the small fires, sipping at his commandeered wine, until he draws to Tristran’s side.

“Just let me finish this passage,” says the elf, before Leonid can so much as get out a word. His finger – calloused, Leonid knows, and warm – traces a line of text, the skin of his forehead creasing with a thoughtful frown. Then, quiet and under his breath and said entirely and unacceptably to himself, “The spirit calmed, then elgar’arla, but…”

Maker help this sad elf. If ever there was a man in need of cheering, who could stand to be prised away from his blighted research and do something more fun than reading about lost elven temples and artifacts, then it is Tristran Samahl. And Leonid Trevelyan is quite naturally the one to do it. The fact that he rather likes the strength in Tristran’s hands, and the shape of his shoulders, and also is rather intrigued by his expressive mouth, is entirely beside the point.

“I need you for a moment,” says Leonid, plain. “Urgently.”

That wins his attention. “Of course,” Tristran says, closing his book and standing. The usual smile – slow and amused – is replaced with a more serious expression. Concerned. Noble, even.

Disgusting. If Leonid weren’t so inclined to be charitable, he might just shrug off the entire interaction.

But the night is young, and the next day bound to be as miserable as the last, and since the Qunari mercenaries are camped on the other side of the canyon – not, mind you, that he’s looking to repeat…

Leonid tilts his head to the side of camp, past a shallow brook to a small copse. Trees are few and far between in the wretched place, but do provide enough cover for a great number of things. As Leonid well knows. They splash across the water, climbing the small embankment to the trees, which curl into gnarled shadows around them.

Above, the sky is draped with stars – bright and cool after the blistering heat of the day. Leonid downs the last of his wine, tossing the cup at one of the trees. It pings off a low branch and thuds on the ground.

Tristran stands in the shadows, lined in the very distant light of the fire. His eyebrows inch up on his forehead. “So,” he starts.

“Shut up,” says Leonid, and then he steps forward and kisses Tristran, firm and certain. One hand catches the front of Tristran’s shirt, the other tucking itself firmly against the hot skin of his neck. For a moment, the world around them goes still – blessedly still – and the misery of the oasis dissolves into skin against skin, and warmth, and familiarity.

And just as Leonid is thinking that, even with the wooden leg, Tristran could very probably pin Leonid up against one of these trees, the elf pulls back.

“Right,” says Tristran, a little breathless. Leonid’s hand falls from his neck, and he squints at the elf in the dark. “This was, uh… Urgent?”

It’s said skeptically enough that Leonid feels heat flare underneath his skin, and not in the pleasant way.

“Well,” says Leonid. “Your leg hurts.”

The eyebrows crawl ever higher. The elf is all forehead. And shoulders, admittedly. And freckles, and broad hands. “It does that sometimes.” A beat, then, “Wait, are you – is this pity?”

“What?” asks Leonid, sharp. He scowls, blinking rapidly. “No, not at all! I don’t care about anyone else enough to pity them! But you’re in pain, and I’m bored because we’re stuck in the blighted desert in Orlais and –”

“You’re bored,” repeats Tristran.

Which is when Leonid remembers that, yes, while everyone wants to kiss him, and while people who are feeling especially down on their luck especially want to kiss him, there is a third truth he’s gleaned over the course of his illustrious youth: that things will invariably go sideways on him. And in this case sideways means kissing someone who doesn’t want to kiss you back, and then insulting him.

“Well, what,” Leonid cries, his hand dropping away. He folds his arms across his chest, something sour and stupid coiling beneath his ribs. Something fluttering and uncomfortable, like too many cups of coffee in the morning. “Did you expect me to say that I hauled you over here because I’ve fallen desperately in love with you after a day in the desert? That you’ve charmed me with your stupid books and jokes and swordplay?”

“Ah, no,” says Tristran, dry. “But then I wasn’t expecting you to haul me over here for a kiss either. Why? Have you fallen desperately in love with me after I valiantly saved your life?”

Leonid’s drawn half of a sharp breath with which to unleash a string of protestations when –

The elf’s stupid eyes are twinkling.

He finds this funny. He thinks –

“Oh, fuck off,” says Leonid, though the venom’s gone out of it. “I thought you could use a distraction.”

“As I said,” says Tristran, his lips in a lopsided grin as he leans easily against one of the trees, “you’re a paragon. So generous and thoughtful. Really, if I had to pick a word to describe you, it would be giving.”

Leonid snorts, rolling his eyes. But then –

It’s true that discomfort makes all the world more likely to seek comfort, and Leonid is unshockingly included in that. And the Forbidden Oasis is absolutely wretched, without anything resembling a redeeming trait beyond the fact that it’s not cold, and he hates wandering around looking for shards, and he hates how often he finds his thoughts settling on the Qunari mercenary camp, and –

His stare falls on Tristran again, steady. Thoughtful. “I can be giving,” Leonid says, slow. “And you did save my life today, even if it was mostly for your own battered sense of self-worth.”

“Right,” says Tristran, with a breathy laugh. “Really battered. I’m just standing over here, feeling sorry for myself. I wonder if anyone could help.”

Which is how Leonid ends up kissing him again. After all, one doesn’t just go around ignoring one’s calling.

Besides, if there is also a fourth thing Leonid knows, it’s this: when it comes to correcting a rare misstep, moving ever onward for the sake of his goals – namely, more men in his bed and fewer persistent thoughts of people he shouldn’t be thinking about – is always the better plan. After all, Leonid’s never had a hard time swallowing his pride when other, better things are on the table. Or in the desert. Whichever.