#they're all so strangely fascinated with me

[smile-files]

remembering the time i was talking with my friends about how they could instantly tell i was gay and one said "either that or you were a shy straight girl". i can't stop thinking about that

[isthatacalzone]

me: *seeing people yell about how they did Glintshore & Percy's death in the show*

also me: ..................anyway

[aquickstart]

ok sure i'll talk about farleigh start. i'll talk about his tragedy of never being enough as it were and then having to deal with fucking oliver. sure. disclaimer: it's about class (and race) and the horrible reality of the rich. the horrible reality of living as farleigh.

another disclaimer: i'm white! and poc definitely pick up on everything i'm talking about here as it is, and better. i was and am specifically interested in farleigh vs. oliver but it's impossible to examine without considering race. definitely let me know if anything abt this sucks!

farleigh and oliver are similar. it's annoying because every intruder that is not himself is annoying, partly because felix's attention swaying from farleigh is dangerous; there is always a threat of being discarded, even if no precedent existed. the potential is terrifying.

but you'd think he's seen this before, every summer (if venetia is telling the truth) or at least often enough to learn to recognize it fast, so he should know this will pass. part of it is i think still the deep anxiety, and i think he hated every boy that was there before, and it is sort of routine.

but definitely a huge factor in farleigh's annoyance is the fact that he's a biracial (black for cattons, that's all they see) man in a white rich household. he's alert and exhausted all the time. of course he's angry at oliver, regardless of whether he's the first to crash at saltburn for the summer or the fifty-first.

but the important thing is this.

farleigh is very jealous of and angry and pissed at oliver because farleigh sees all the similarities between them. outsider, in financial trouble, whatever it is, in need of cattons; and yet oliver is preferred. and farleigh seems to be the only one to really consider it. felix does not pick up on the hint when farleigh brings up the birthday party vs. his mother. felix's clumsy "different or... anything like that" is as much about race as it is about class, of course. the "we've done all that we can" bit is felix absolving himself of guilt because surely they had, surely the mysterious collective cattons that he's not really part of had tried all they could do. to him, farleigh is different from oliver, because farleigh has been helped. felix is rich and white and twofold uncomfortable with farleigh, even if he's nice about it, even if he genuinely enjoys his company; he doesn't look too close at farleigh because he feels too guilty to come too close. and farleigh can't do anything about it. he can't nice himself into it. the fucking tragedy of him is that he's never enough in the world of the ultra-rich white, even if (especially because!) he's born into it.

farleigh is very pissed at oliver because farleigh also sees all the differences between them. you know who can be nice poor white enough to fit in? fucking oliver. felix says "just be yourself, they'll love you" when oliver first moves in. farleigh was also probably told the same thing, and felix also probably believed that farleigh could just be himself, but even if the cattons were magically not racist at all (impossible), it wouldn't make a difference to farleigh. he would still self-censor, keep in check, be in dangerous waters (because racism is not just about the individual, but about the system). we see that he'd won himself leeway by years of trial and error by the way he speaks to the family, but it's still within the boundaries of acceptable, built by the cattons. he's part of them because they allow it, and farleigh is very, very aware.

the annoying thing is oliver can be himself. like, truly, genuinely, he can just be. and farleigh can't help but envy that.

as a side note, oliver is obviously jealous of farleigh in the beginning as well, because regardless of the reality of farleigh's situation, he was born into it, and hence, at least in oliver's mind, has his position solidified. oliver's whole thing is unquenchable thirst and hunger for whatever and everything the cattons have (including themselves!). he wishes to have been a catton from birth. to oliver, at first, there's nothing farleigh can really do to lose it. and until he figures out the cattons completely, he can't help but envy that.

but i think farleigh senses something different about oliver early on. at least on the level of the text, we have "you're almost passing [for] a real, human boy", which is so important because farleigh is the first to point out oliver's weirdness. the next to do so is venetia in the bath scene calling him a freak, but it's too late. farleigh is too early.

and i like to think he clocks oliver too early because he sees the jagged edges that he recognizes in himself. i think that one other thing that farleigh envies is oliver's freedom to let go. freedom to let go is very similar to freedom to be, but not quite the same.

to be is about perception: farleigh knows he cannot fall out of line, but would like to, and oliver does not have to worry about it at all (i mean, he does, because oliver also performs for felix, but farleigh doesn't know that).

to let go is about the self: farleigh is too scared to even want what oliver eventually does, to even consider the possibility. oliver can let himself want. oliver can let himself act. oliver just can do things and want things. i'm not sure farleigh can.

and so in this scene, when oliver's wants and actions have landed him nowhere with farleigh, felix, venetia, the cattons, of course farleigh gloats. he can let himself do that, because if the cattons are slowly discarding him, farleigh can allow himself this one small victory. he's relieved because despite the dangerous similarities, oliver is, thankfully, not really the same as farleigh, right?

but like. this movie is a love letter to all things gothic. oliver is a white man. he prevails. the brief performance that oliver put on did eventually end up more effective than farleigh's lifetime of constraint. my heart fucking breaks for him to be honest.

the issue that remains is the fact of farleigh's survival. i like to think that oliver came to respect him. oliver is smart, but farleigh is clever. he picks up on everything oliver does (to refer back to the karaoke scene, farleigh immediately retaliates in the cleverest way, in the moment), and he's the only one to do so consistently (venetia, again, for example, comes close, but too late; oliver doesn't like that, there's nothing to work with). hence, stay with me for a little longer, the paradox: farleigh survives because he was never enough for the cattons, but he is very worthy of oliver's attention. in his own freaky way, oliver wants him. look at that.

so. farleigh. farleigh might come back. he always comes back. and i think oliver wants to try harder next time.

[cradle-of-darkness]

COOKIES OF DARKNESS NATION WE ARE OFFICIALLY BACK 💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

(long rambling in tags if u care)

[bugtoast]

I feel like no one talks about how medic is probably the only one who knows what pyro's face looks like under the mask. I mean he is the team's doctor after all, he'd have to know pyro's biology or genetic makeup at least to some extent to be able to heal them properly.

Even if medic hasn't gotten pyro to take their mask off, he's probably collected their dna and can come up with a rough guesstimate off of that alone

[laney-rockin]

Don't mind me, just imagining the main SNW crew (sans Spock) meeting a shit ton of Alternate Universe Kirk's and immediately showing interest in their universes Kirk because ofc.

AND THEN FINALLY SPOCK WOULD MEET KIRK- BUT INSTEAD OF IT BEING SOME FUCKED UP ALTERNATE VERSION OF KIRK IT'S JUST PLAIN OLD KIRK FROM IOWA. MEETING AS THE PAIR THEY'RE ALWAYS SUPPOSED TO BE.

... i'm totally not planning a fic about this concept. You're crazy /hj

[zoophagist]

ooc;; apparently it's dracfield week (a thing i didn't know exists) and i follow the renfield tag so my dash is just spiced up every so often with dracfield horny and man let me tell u pre-renfield 2023 me would never have believed i'd live to see this day... now that i'm here i'm mostly just bewildered

[honeyvenommusic]

.

[thewisecheerio]

Messmer's actually terrible at his job. (affectionate)

Messmer is a fascinating villain, because he is strangely compassionate. I would go so far as to argue that this same compassion that is so at odds with his villainy is the very thing that drove him to become that villain in the first place. Hang with me; this is a long post.

Spoilers for Elden Ring DLC. Obviously.

Messmer tells us himself that his purpose is to purge all those stripped of the grace of gold. "Yet...my purpose standeth unchanged. Those stripped of grace of gold shall all meet death...in the embrace of Messmer's flame." We can piece together who gave him this genocidal purpose from his armor set's description, which tells us directly that he's working on his mother's behalf *and also* taking all the blame for it.

So he's playing war criminal on Marika's behalf. And I do mean playing. I'm not downplaying the fact that he is a war criminal; he has murdered on entire people. But here's the thing: he's *terrible* at playing the sole part of the spiteful, hateful overlord. He's *awful* at reveling in war and its victories.

Why? Empathy.

Messmer is strangely empathic for what could have otherwise been a cut-and-dry villain:

1. His relationship with Gaius, an Albinauric: We learn from Gaius's Remembrance that he was Messmer's bestie. We also know that Gaius was an Albinauric both from his armor as well as the location "Albinauric's Hut" in the direction he comes from at the beginning of his fight. Albinaurics are despised by the Golden Order, but Messmer didn't seem to care. In fact, he cared so little that he gave Gaius command of either a huge chunk or perhaps his entire army, second only to him. And what is given as the basis of this friendship? The fact that they were "both cursed from birth", i.e. a mutual understanding of what it is to be despised. They're trauma bonded because they have empathy for each other's predicament.

2. His relationship with the Jar people: Even though the Jar people were used as weapons of war against his own people, he doesn't seem to resent them. How do we know? There is a hospital where the Jars and their innards are being cared for in the Storehouse, a stone's throw away from where Messmer spends all his time. There are even a few baby Jars running around in it. Strange thing to do to what is essentially an enemy of your people, unless you consider them to also be victims of the same conflict.

3. His relationship with his soldiers: Messmer shares his own flame with his army. Yeah, that absolutely could be interpreted as a utilitarian move for the sake of war. Power up the troops, boost your chance at victory. But it's a strange choice when he could have just armed them in the traditional way of handing them sharp, pointy objects and pointing in the desired direction of stabbing. Instead, arming your soldiers with your own power could also be interpreted as something you do when you care about their survival and are potentially working directly with them to ensure it.

4. The mourning of people who betray him: Speaking of his soldiers, Messmer gets betrayed by at least a few of them. We learn this from the ashes of Andreas and Huw. Huw's ashes further tell us that Messmer *mourned their loss* as brothers-in-arms. Weird thing to do to someone who has betrayed you, unless you care very deeply about them to begin with.

5. The implications of the Storehouse: Even though he is actively genociding Hornsent on Marika's orders, he somehow has preserved an entire library of their history. At first, I thought this was maybe just British Museum vibes: steal all the artifacts and refuse to give them back. (And that could still be a correct interpretation.) But in context of the rest of these points, if you're truly hellbent on erasing a culture, why would you bother to preserve any of it? Would you not burn the libraries along with the people? It's a fairly common thing to do in our world's wars--destroy the art and history to ensure full erasure. And yet, it seems he can't even bring himself to avoid some small amount of sympathy for the people he was explicitly tasked with killing. If you really *think* about the basis for his sympathy for Marika, this does make a lot of sense. Messmer is following Marika's orders because he knows about what the Hornsent did to the Shaman. Wouldn't it then also be the case that once Marika's reign became nothing but genocide, i.e. an exact reversal of what was done to her people, he would have the same kind of sympathy for them? Perhaps this is a form of harm reduction in the only way he could square with what he thinks is his purpose.

6. His own self-hatred: Messmer despises his own flames, which we learn from the Messmer's Orb description. If you were happy to be Doing a Genocide, would you not celebrate your weapons of war? Wouldn't you take pride in them as tools of power? Unless, of course, you're not actually as happy as we think and maybe having regrets and come to be filled with severe self-hatred. Woops.

So then, if Messmer is this guy running around with a lot of Big Feelings (and probably a deep need for a Prozac prescription), why does he even agree to this genocide in the first place? Isn't that an *odd* choice for someone who seems to care pretty deeply about people, even people despised by his family's governing order? Why does he carry out these orders even to the point of developing a deep self-hatred?

This is where Messmer's sympathy, one of his best aspects, also becomes his fatal flaw.

I mentioned above in 5 that Messmer has access to information about both sides of this conflict. As much as he might have sympathy for everyone around him--including weapons used against the Shaman like the Jars--that means he *also* has sympathy for the Shaman. So if you have sympathy for the other side and sympathy for your side, and you are raised by your own side, then what is the natural outcome? Your side wins. If you must choose a side, then you fight on behalf of Child Soldier Fostering Mother Marika. She raised you, after all. It's inevitable.

In the end, that same sympathy he seems to extend to others also is what causes him to do war crimes. Out of an abundance of sympathy for what happened to the Shamans, he agrees to take up arms.

At the end of the day, he's still a villain that needs to be stopped so that he'll stop oppressing an entire people on behalf of his mother's misguided attempts at revenge. But making his reasoning to agree to become that villain in the first place *empathy* of all things? Fascinating.

[ahqkas]

Y’know how doe eyes are suppose to be cute and when you stare at someone with doe eyes they look so cute? But what mattheo had a partner who had those doe eyes but instead of cute aura and stare. It’s an actual unsettling stare like from an angle their stare look darken and it kinda gives Mattheo a shiver. A bad and good one

-🍕

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

MATTHEO RIDDLE WASN’T EASILY UNNERVED. he thrived in the shadows, embraced the darker side of his family name, and found a strange comfort in the eerie silence of the dungeons. yet, there was one thing that could send a shiver down his spine — a single look from his partner's doe eyes.

your eyes were large and innocent, framed by long lashes that should have given you a sweet, almost naïve appearance. at first glance, you appeared harmless, radiating a charm that many found endearing. but mattheo had come to learn that your gaze held an unsettling power, something that lingered between the realms of innocence and something far darker.

it was during one of those late-night study sessions in the slytherin common room that he first noticed it. the firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls as you sat across from him, engrossed in your potions textbook. he had been watching you, a soft smile playing on his lips, when you suddenly looked up, your eyes locking with his.

for a moment, time seemed to freeze. the warmth of the room faded into the background, replaced by an inexplicable chill that ran down his spine. your eyes, wide and seemingly innocent, bore into his with an intensity that was almost predatory. it was as if you could see right through him, peeling back the layers of his soul to expose his deepest fears and desires to you.

a shiver, both good and bad, ran through him. it was a sensation he couldn't quite place — part fear, part fascination. your stare was magnetic, drawing him in even as it unsettled him. he found himself unable to look away, trapped in the depths of your gaze.

"mattheo, are you alright?" your voice broke the silence between the two of you, snapping him back to reality. the concern in your tone was genuine, yet there was a subtle undercurrent that kept him on edge.

he shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering unease. "yeah, i’m fine," he replied, his voice a bit strained. "just got lost in my thoughts for a moment."

you smiled, a small, gentle curve of your lips that did little to reassure him. "you should focus on your studies," you said softly, returning to your book.

as the weeks passed, mattheo became acutely aware of your unsettling stare. it haunted him during the day and lingered in his dreams at night. he found himself torn between the instinctual urge to flee and an irresistible pull that kept drawing him back to you.

one evening, as you both sat by the black lake, the moonlight casting a silvery glow over the water, you turned to him with those eyes again. this time, the darkness in your gaze seemed even more pronounced, sending another shiver through him. he reached out, almost without thinking, and cupped your face in his hands.

"your eyes," he whispered, his voice a mix of awe and trepidation. "they're . . . something else."

you leaned into his touch, your gaze never wavering. "do they frighten you, mattheo?" a hint of challenge was present in your voice.

the boy swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your stare. "they do," he admitted quietly. “but they also draw me in. i can't explain it."

"maybe that's because you see something in them that others don't. something that mirrors a part of you."

mattheo didn't respond, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. all he knew was that despite the unsettling nature of your gaze, he couldn't stay away. it was a paradox he was willing to embrace, even if it meant confronting the darker parts of himself reflected in your doe eyes.

[waitineedaname]

i was thinking my little thoughts while falling asleep last night, and a concept occurred to me: what if binghe learned about the system not from shen qingqiu, but from shang qinghua

look, he likes shang qinghua alright. he's pretty disinterested in p much anyone who isn't shen qingqiu, but on the list of People Luo Binghe Tolerates, shang qinghua is relatively high. he gave him advice on wooing sqq, after all, and sqq likes his company, so binghe tolerates his shang-shishu

but the thing is, shang qinghua is a spy. has been for decades. binghe knows this. really, everyone knows this at this point, which isn't a great look for a spy, but still. and since shang qinghua is a spy for mobei-jun, who is a subordinate for luo binghe, then technically shang qinghua is also working for him, but you don't get to the position of demon emperor without a healthy amount of suspicion for everyone in your court

so he decides to test shang qinghua a little bit. nothing major, just a little poking around in his dreams. he starts out with a subtle touch, just sifting through his memories. most of it is what he expected. he sees his time on an ding as a disciple and then later as peak lord, he sees him working for mobei-jun. he sees mobei-jun in some compromising situations, which he files away for later, and then sees him in an entirely different flavor of compromising situations, and binghe immediately decides to act like he never saw that

then he decides to take a more direct approach and starts nudging the dreams in other directions, to see how he might react to certain scenarios, test his loyalty. he expects shang qinghua to act cowardly, or bluff his way through a situaton, maybe even draw his sword if pushed far enough

what he doesn't expect is for shang qinghua to frown at the changes luo binghe made and go "I didn't write it like this"

what

binghe is so bewildered by that response that he loses his grip on the dream for a second, and before he knows it, shang qinghua has spun the dream scenario back into the way the scene originally played out. he steps back and looks satisfied. "there we go," he says. "that's how it went. you know, if I'd known I'd be dealing with this scene myself, I would've written it differently"

what the hell does that mean?

fascinated, luo binghe continues to test him. most of the time, when he toys with someone's dream, they're completely unaware of the changes. shang qinghua, despite not seeming aware that he's lucid dreaming, seems very aware of how each scene should go. except for, strangely, many of the scenes that binghe himself was in. binghe pulls up one from his disciple days, one of the times he remembered shang qinghua coming to qing jing on some errand. he hadn't even changed anything yet, had just let the dream version of his younger self launch himself at shizun in a tacklehug, but shang qinghua tsks and takes the reins from him before he can make any edits. "sorry bing-ge, but that was just way too out of character," shang qinghua says. the dream copy of luo binghe's younger self is sent further away, watching the peak lords with a sullen gaze. he's skinnier than binghe remembers being at this age, and one of his eyes is swollen with a purple bruise. that doesn't make any sense, luo binghe thinks. he hadn't been beaten on qing jing peak for years at this point.

the shen qingqiu beside shang qinghua in the dream stands with his back straight as a ruler, and when his gaze lands on luo binghe, he sneers behind his fan. shang qinghua sighs. "cucumber-bro really wasn't as good of an actor as he thought he was. he's way too soft to ever seem like the original goods."

alarmed, luo binghe dispels the dream and steps out of it entirely. sure, he knows shen qingqiu's personality changed almost overnight when he had that qi deviation. everyone knew that. he avoided questioning it much, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth when it meant having a shizun that cared for him

but shang qinghua. shang qinghua seems to know something more about shen qingqiu's personality change. something he's not sharing. luo binghe didn't like the idea that one of his subordinates could be hiding something as vital as this from him

well, this had been a test of his spy's loyalties, hadn't it? perhaps he should make a visit to an ding. he had some questions.

[moghedien]

I've been so fascinated with how the movie pulls off the emotional climax at Ozdust, because I think its not nearly as simple as is seems to a lot of people. Like you can reduce it to "Elphaba did something nice and Glinda felt bad" and then one dance routine later they're friends

I think its a lot more than that though, and I think the movie kinda trickles things in gradually to show it throughout. And that kinda reduces it down to Glinda's guilt motivating the entire friendship, which I don't think is accurate either. Its less "Glinda feels bad" and more "Glinda and Elphaba realized they were playing entirely different games and had entirely skewed their reasons for hating each other" which included making Glinda also realize that she was being a bitch for no damned reason

Like, even their reasons for their rivalry are different from each other and so are their reasons for "maintaining" that rivalry. Their first interaction was them both mutually embarrassing each other, though only Elphaba was trying to embarrass Glinda. Which, to be clear, I'm not saying puts Elphaba in the wrong. Elphaba is very clearly in the right for I'm pretty sure all of this, and even if Glinda wasn't trying to embarrass Elphaba, it doesn't make her promising to degreen Elphaba in front of everyone any better. It's just important to understand their different perspectives on what is going on to understand the different places they're coming from. Glinda was putting on a performance of being a good person, at Elphaba's expense which she didn't even consider. Elphaba was pointing out how stupid that was and embarrassing Glinda to prove she's unbothered and correct.

That is kinda that best summary of how their rivalry goes. Glinda is performing, while Elphaba is responding to that but specifically in ways to piss off Glinda and show she's wrong. But they don't realize what the other one is doing. Glinda is performing to look like a good person and maintain the admiration of her classmates. By putting on this front of suffering by having to be in Elphaba's presence, she gets an easy win with her peers. In What is This Feeling specifically, you see them over and over again validating Glinda for just existing in the presence of Elphaba.

And given the girl sings a whole song about how "its not about aptitude, its the way you're viewed," you can assume that putting on a good appearance to her peers is probably the most important thing to her, period. Literally nothing matters more than that, and Elphaba provides an easy win. But she also has some clear attraction draw toward Elphaba that is strange and unspecified (she's gay), because she doesn't just suffer by being Elphaba's reluctant roommate, but clearly goes out of her way to partner with her, to find her at lunch, to make a scene with her in class repeatedly. Like she almost doesn't even count just having to privately live with her, she needs to bring it out in public too and spend time around her even when she should be happy to finally not have her around.

And making it all the more clear to me that all of this is, in Glinda's eyes, just a performance, we have the "looks like the artichoke is steamed" line, which is definitely one of the meanest things she says to Elphaba, but the way it goes down is fascinating. Because let's look at how that goes down:

Glinda makes a scene because Dr. Dillamond mispronounces her name.

Elphaba defends Dr. Dillamond and tries to embarrass Glinda.

Artichoke comment.

everyone is laughing at Elphaba.

To Glinda, this is what they do. They poke and poke at each other in public until one of them folds and wins, and if its her she gets public approval. But, what makes this clear to me that this is a performance is Glinda's immediate actions after the artichoke comment. When everyone is laughing, she exchanges a look with Elphaba, and the look is not mean at all. She doesn't look like she's gloating or like she just won, she just kinda nods and smiles and it seems like a genuine acknowledgment of...something. It's unclear what, but she doesn't seem like she's overly proud. It's like she's nodding to someone who just played a good game against her, but lost and she wants them to know they played well. It's bizarre the look here and fascinating.

And even more bizarre because Elphaba seems to acknowledge it as well and seems like she understands and almost smiles in response. But I think this also illustrates the disconnect in them for what their rivalry is.

So looking at Elphaba now, her approach to her rivalry began with her embarrassing Glinda, as mentioned before, and continued with her embarrassing Glinda. Most of what she is doing is trying to intentionally embarrass Glinda, which as I said before, isn't really wrong because Glinda is as far as we ever see, the one who is in the wrong and who starts the whole thing by embarrassing Elphaba. But as I said before, embarrassing Elphaba isn't the point of what Glinda is doing, she's trying make herself look better and is just using Elphaba, but literally how would Elphaba know this and why would it matter?

We see that Elphaba has been targeted and mocked her entire life, and that is basically what Glinda is doing to her now. But its also different with Glinda. Because before its always like, groups of people banding against her, with Glinda its personal. She certainly has her minions and all, and basically the entire school hates Elphaba just because they love Glinda, but Glinda isn't really using them. She's still doing everything herself and seems to actually go out of her way to go against Elphaba herself.

That, as far as we know, is different than any bullying Elphaba has experienced before, and what also makes it different is that Elphaba has an advantage of having something Glinda wants and something that prevents her from being pushed aside. Elphaba is basically going to be at this school however long Madame Morrible wants her there, and Madame Morrible also hates Glinda, so Elphaba can't be pushed away and she also has this one thing to hold over Glinda, because she's the one getting the attention that Glinda actually wants. And she's also potentially the only one that might help Glinda get it.

In a really weird way, this rivalry with Glinda might be the closest thing to a friendship that Elphaba has had from someone that isn't her sister or her nanny. Because its both of them personally going after each other and they both also have advantages over each other. And its clear that Glinda could be using her peers to target Elphaba but isn't. And Elphaba also makes it clear that she can ignore people she doesn't like, and yet she doesn't ignore Glinda. Because both of these freaks enjoy poking each other nonstop forever too much. There is something that draws them together (homosexuality) even when they supposedly can't stand to be around one another. Glinda is performing, but Elphaba is having the time of her life sparring with someone in a way she probably never has before.

Which takes us to the hat.

Elphaba approaches Glinda because, according to Nessarose, Glinda did something nice for her. We don't know specifically what Elphaba was going to say to Glinda, but it seems like its something she isn't comfortable with. Maybe she was trying to figure out what Glinda's motivations were. Maybe she was just going to thank Glinda for what she did. Either way, we don't know because Glinda interrupts her by giving her the hat and really talking up that damned hat too. Not only giving her the hat, but specifically inviting Elphaba to go out with them. Elphaba has probably never gotten anything like that before.

Elphaba, who has had the time of her life being antagonistic with Glinda up until this point, now thinks that Glinda is doing nice things for her and for her sister, for seemingly no reason. So she returns the favor and makes Madame Morrible accept Glinda as a student and tell her that night. That night, because this was going to be best night for Nessarose, maybe for Elphaba too now, so let Glinda have something too. Maybe this rivalry was turning into something else and maybe Elphaba was glad for it.

Only, Glinda wasn't being nice.

Glinda getting Boq to ask out Nessarose wasn't to be nice to Nessarose. She wanted Boq to leave her alone. And she didn't give Elphaba the hat and invite her out to be nice, she wanted to embarrass her after receiving validation for the idea from Pfannee and Shenshen.

What you need to know about Glinda here, is that she does not think about other people. She will throw a fit at Dr. Dillamond mispronouncing her name because he physically can't say it right and then repeatedly call Boq by the wrong name. She doesn't know if Nessarose wants to go to the dance or if Elphaba wants her to stop mocking her. She doesn't even consider these things when deciding to do something for her own benefit. She is doing as Glinda must do to perform as she needs for her audience (the entire world).

Which is how we end up here, at the emotional climax of the night. When she discovers that Elphaba did one very nice thing for her after she did something specifically to humiliate Elphaba, its not just guilt for this one moment, right? Its guilt for every little thing that she's done that she just assumed wasn't actually affecting someone else. Her mocking Elphaba and doing all these things wasn't actually about Elphaba, after all, it was about Glinda looking well. Because she didn't even really think about Elphaba, or how she might be interpreting what their dynamic is or that she might actually have been hurt by the things Glinda does. It was all a performance to Glinda.

But is was something else to Elphaba entirely.

And so we look at all the times, like the artichoke moment or their introduction, where Elphaba didn't seem all that upset and maybe Glinda realizes that wasn't always the case. She just wants people to think she wasn't. She was performing too, just not in the same way Glinda was. She was enduring the disapproval of others because she was maintaining this dynamic with Glinda, whereas Glinda was getting approval from others for enduring Elphaba. They were playing different games entirely and Glinda didn't know until Madame Morrible gave her the wand. It wasn't just the cruelness of the hat that she realized, it was the cruelness of single thing she's ever done to Elphaba.

And looking from Glinda's perspective, it makes sense if you see that she's forced to reckon with the fact that she's a terrible person and doesn't like herself, but look at what the situation is from Elphaba's. To Elphaba, Glinda is the first person that saw that she'd hurt Elphaba and then reached out to comfort her and try to help fix it instead of laughing or getting upset or doing nothing. Like I said before, the dynamic she has with Glinda before this is maybe the closest thing she has had to a friend, which is fucked up. But also part of me wonders, based on how they're seemingly drawn together when they could just ignore each other and based on Elphaba's reaction to Glinda's sort of nod after the artichoke comment, AND based on how quick Elphaba was to approach Madame Morrible, part of me wonders if Elphaba was just hoping for a moment when their antagonism would end the whole time. And that's why she's so willing to accept that once Glinda does something that Galinda is not supposed to do and makes a fool of herself to support Elphaba in front of all of the people she's supposed to be putting on a show for.

Which I think, makes Glinda joining Elphaba in the dance that much more important. Because, and I love this for the movie, she's not getting praised for doing so. Shenshen and Pfannee tell her to stop. The initial reaction she gets once people realize she isn't mocking Elphaba is scorn. For like, this one little moment they're on the same page. Glinda is getting disapproval for being with Elphaba here. And it ends in them being accepted by the party, but that almost seems to be unimportant. They hug before they realize that everyone else has joined in, and once they realize it, they leave the party together pretty much immediately. Their relationship has been a show in public for so long and so what happens next when they stop performing happens in privacy, just for them.

[sweetcollywobbles]

more leon headcanons

i miss him i miss him i miss him i miss him i miss him i miss him

i miss my wife, tails.

so lets talk about him.

⟢ leon was 6 years old when his family was murdered. there was a time when he could remember all of their faces. yet as he gets older, their faces have become a lot more blurry. sometimes he catches himself staring into the mirror. did nonno have the same nose as he did? was he the same blonde as his nonna? does he have his moms' smile? were his dad's eyes just as blue as his? when they looked at him, did they see themselves in him as he's so desperatley trying to remember them in him?

⟢ leon is the italian version of a "no sabo" kid. he knows the language, yet doesn't seem to be able to put the words together himself. he just kinda stands there nodding his head with a blank stare. then when he has to respond he's just kinda like "uuuhhhh tbh idk". he knows how to correctly pronounce some words and phrases, but that's about it.

⟡HOWEVER, he will call his lover with italian terms of endearment, i.e., amore mio, cucciolotta, cuore mio, piccola, etc. he might even say some phrases that he does know in italian, i.e., Io e te per sempre (you and me forever), sei la mia vita (you are my life), ti amo tanto (i love you so much), etc.

+p.s. sorry for any misinterpretations, i'm not italian but i am mexican so spanish and italian are not too different (???) but please correct me if i'm wrong!

⟢ leon has always been a dinosuar guy. he's watched probably every dino documentary thats ever been made and rewatches them whenever they're on. so, naturally, whenever he travels for work, he'll try his best to visit every museum he possibly can to see their dino exhibit and nothing else. of course, as het gets older (probably DI to RE6) he'll explore the other exhibits but for rn he'll just stick to the dino exhibits. and if you must ask him what his favorite dinosuar is, he'll say the answer he said as a kid, a spinosaurus. it's common enough for people to know and not give him a strange look of confusion. but really, his heart belongs to the pachycephalosaurus.

⟡ of course, in its natural progression, leon will also delve into a fascination of raptors and reptiles. he'll go to zoos and spend his time in the reptile exhibit. he'll also go bird watching for any avian raptors he can find. this also does mean that he has nice pair binoculars and will buy a native bird identify guide when he travels. his documentary options have now expanded with his two new interests which really excites him.

⟢ whether you believe it or not, leon is actually more of a fruity cocktail kinda guy. he doesn't mind beer or hard liquor, especially when he needs something strong and to the point. something to help him drink away the bad memories and all too realistic nightmares. but if he's just in the mood to enjoy himself, leon will cook up a salty dog or a cranberry vodka.

⟢ leon oh so terribly wants kids. but before he forces you into his life, he never thought that to be possible. so in his off time, he would volunteer for the NICU at the local hospital to be a baby cuddler. he got into it after he tried it with rebecca. it gave him the sense that everything will be okay, that even if he can't have a few of his own, at least he can be there for little ones that need someone, even if its for a moment.

⟡ TRUST, that once you do have a baby with this man, he's all over them. that baby will never not be in his arms or in the proximity of him. he's on spit up and diaper duty. baby wakes up late at night crying? no worries, he's already in the room (he was sleeping on the nursery floor). you will almost have to battle this man to hold YOUR baby.

⟢ leon is actually a really big fan of romcoms and time pieces. in fact, his favorite time piece movie is pride and prejudice. oh he absolutely adores romantic pieces like that especially because he's a hopeless romantic at heart. he's fallen in love with the idea of falling in love with a girl he's just met and having soft intimate moments with them. his guilty pleasure romcom is 13 going on 30, especially since after the whole plagas incident, the movie was just released and he binged that movie on repeat.

⟡ BUT, just because he likes time pieces and romcoms doesn't mean he doesn't like action or thriller movies. leon's a really big fan of the matrix series and star wars series. also the fast and furious franchise is actually where his love of fast cars and motorcycles stem from. he just can't do any horror movies because baby has trauma :(

₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡. 𓂃

it's not much, but i thought these were silly and gave him a little more character. please let me know what you think or if you have any headcanons of your own!!!

xxox

[onyourowndaisymae]

"... they're softer than i imagined."

"hmm? pardon me?"

"and do you really wear these all the time? they look brand new."

barbatos looks over his shoulder to see what you might be referring to-- the spoon he's stirring with stills in his hand as his attention is drawn to you.

your hands open and close, outstretched before you, as a pleased smile graces your lips, your cheeks brighter from the heightened temperature of the kitchen around mealtime. his gloves-- previously set aside while he was kneading pastry dough and left off after for convenience-- are now slipped onto your hands. they don't fit you properly, of course. they're molded to barbatos' hands like weathered railings on a busy staircase, accustomed to every line, every vein, every plane and bump gathered through his existence. your hands stretch and shimmy, but they do not fill the space inside the gloves like he would.

a smile settles on barbatos' face as a chuckle escapes him. what a curious little thing you are.

"waited until i turned my back to steal my gloves, did you?"

you grin. "maybe."

he carefully sets the stirring spoon on its designated resting spot before crossing the kitchen and coming to join you. he settles in quietly behind you, chest against your back, coming to get a good view of your hands as you stretch them out in front of you.

there's an innocent affection in watching you toy with his gloves. like offering your lover your coat in the cold, a strange sense of satisfaction settles over him as you adjust them around your joints. a part of his uniform, so insignificant and menial to him, has become an object of your fascination. he doesn't deny himself the pleasure of pressing a chaste kiss against your temple.

a giggle bubbles up your throat. what a lovely sound, he thinks. the two of you are alone in the kitchen-- maybe that's why he lets his bare hands skim affectionately up your sides, soft and gentle as the find their way to your wrists. warm fingertips skim under the edge of the white fabric, unrolling a part folded under itself before giving a calculated tug on the garment, easing them on to your fingers more comfortably than you had managed alone.

"i must admit," he murmurs next to your ear. you can hear the amusement in his voice as he does. his fingers wrap around the exposed part of your wrists, drawing your hands closer to where you both stand. "they do look quite nice on you, my love."

[hyperions-light]

That'll Get You Killed: Harding and Neve in the Ossuary

Second post in a series about the Ossuary. Read this one first.

Harding's Room

Rook enters the second occupied room, which has Harding. You can see her plants overflowing into the prison, as well as her books, chair and sleeping bag. Harding's notes are:

Which all center around the fear that he will be unable to contain Spite, and that his friends will be hurt as a result. Interestingly, the third one also indicates that he doesn't want Spite to be hurt, either. When you speak to Harding, she has some very fascinating dialogue:

Don't worry Rook. I've got my eye on the prisoner.

and then

Rook, are you sure Spite isn't tricking you? What if there's no Lucanis- just the demon?

Lucanis is afraid that his friends still see him as his captors did; a dangerous thing to be contained-- and, moreover, he's afraid they're right. That maybe there is none of him left, after the Ossuary; that all there is is Spite.

Rook refutes this idea directly, saying Lucanis is not a demon. Harding then says:

Look around. This isn't the mind of a human being, let alone an Antivan Crow.

Lucanis is afraid that he is too broken by his experience to be useful, or even to be human anymore (this fucks me up guys... brb crying). Rook can refute this by affirming that Lucanis is still himself, even after what happened; that everyone has mental scars, and that it is Lucanis' choices which define him; or that the state of Lucanis' mind is irrelevant, and that Rook is trusting him to save the world. For the first two Harding will warn Rook that their attitude could get them killed. For all of them, she warns them to be careful and disappears.

Neve's Room

Neve's room is based on the one where you fought Calivan originally, signalling her place as one of the two biggest obstacles to Lucanis leaving the Ossuary. Her notes are on her desk (behind Rook when you enter), on the clue board behind her, and near the exit in a pile of books. They say:

All of this text surrounds Lucanis' fear that he's out of control, that he's become a monster that can't help anyone; that he's completely lost himself (this fr almost made me cry ;-; the fear and pain and helplessness here is staggering ;;;;-;;;;). When you talk to Neve, she asks if Rook should be there, since it's dangerous. The following description of Neve by Spite is the only difference I can find between the romanced/non-romanced versions of this quest (besides flirt dialogue); he'll say something different if the Nevecanis romance is active, but essentially he identifies Neve as someone strange/new but intriguing. Neve then says:

You know how he is, Rook. Even if you open the door, Lucanis won't walk through it. This is where he wants to be.

Reflecting his fear that even if people try to help him, he won't be able to accept it; that in some way he is doing this to himself, and that he'll choose it over something better. Rook and the others HAVE reached out to him before this; they have offered their help sincerely, and he has rejected it because he was ignoring his own suffering, and because he's afraid he's incapable of accepting it. Neve says this because she has been one of the most kind, and still, Lucanis has refused her help, to this point.

Rook has a choice here where they can say either that Lucanis always has options that they are here to show him, that they are not going anywhere until they help, or that Lucanis is losing himself in masks, and Rook can handle the real him. Neve then says:

You really think you can help him? You're such a sap, Rook.

Which is Lucanis reflecting the fear that he is not actually worth helping, and that the people around him are wasting their time trying to do so. Rook then says she needs to let them try, and Neve disappears.

We've again hit the limit of how long I'm willing to stretch dashes, so the (hopefully) final post will be here.

[moonselune]

Hi! May I request dealers choice on the crew + Astarion with a VERY minimally verbal, minimally expressive Tav and them realizing that Tav is actually /incredibly/ sweet and kind and understanding, they're just a lil strange and extra quiet <3 if this request doesn't interest you then feel free to disregard

I did the boys for this one and I love the concept!!

Gale:

The evening was quiet, the kind of stillness that comes after a hard-won victory. Gale sat beside you near the campfire, the flames casting golden shadows on his thoughtful face. It had been a long day of travel, and the others were scattered about—some chatting, others already asleep. But here you were, seated together in a comfortable, companionable silence.

Gale had always been one to fill silences with musings or stories, often eager to share his thoughts with those around him. But tonight, he found himself glancing your way, curiously watching as you poked absentmindedly at the fire with a stick. You were so quiet, so restrained, and it fascinated him.

He had initially mistaken your silence for indifference, or perhaps shyness. But as the days stretched into weeks, he had begun to see the subtleties of your demeanor—the way your gaze lingered on the stars when the camp was asleep, the gentle attentiveness in your movements when someone needed help but didn’t ask. And tonight, as you sat beside him, he saw it again: that quiet care in the way you positioned yourself slightly closer to him than necessary, as though offering your presence without demanding his attention.

“I’ve noticed something about you,” Gale said softly, breaking the silence but keeping his tone gentle.

You turned your head to look at him, your expression unreadable but curious, your eyes reflecting the firelight like pools of still water.

“You’re… different,” he continued, choosing his words carefully. “Quieter than most. But not unfeeling, not cold. If anything, I think you might be the kindest person here. It’s just—well, you show it in ways I wasn’t prepared for.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, as though unsure how to take the observation, but you didn’t interrupt him.

He gestured toward the campfire. “For example, you always make sure the fire’s built just right so it lasts through the night. And earlier today, I saw you stop to pick up Karlach’s glove when she dropped it—she didn’t even notice, but you made sure it was back in her pack.”

Gale hesitated, then smiled. “And you brought me a cup of tea yesterday without saying a word. Just placed it beside me and walked away, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, one that he might have missed if he hadn’t been watching you so closely. You looked down, fiddling with the stick in your hand, clearly unused to such direct attention.

“It’s… endearing,” Gale added softly. “You’re endearing. And I think I’ve come to admire you all the more for it.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond, your gaze distant as you considered his words. Then, in your own quiet way, you leaned closer to him, just enough that your shoulder brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but for you, it was deliberate—a gesture of connection, of trust.

Gale felt his chest tighten, a warmth spreading through him that had little to do with the fire. He had expected words, perhaps an explanation or a deflection, but this—this understated act of affection—spoke volumes. You didn’t need grand declarations or elaborate displays. You simply… were. And that, he realized, was what made you so remarkable.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity. “For being you.”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a small, soft smile, and nodded once before returning your gaze to the fire. Gale felt a grin tug at his own lips as he settled back beside you. In that moment, he understood: your sweetness, your kindness—they were there, just waiting to be noticed. And he would spend however long it took learning to see every quiet, wonderful part of you.

Astarion:

The night was calm, the camp quiet save for the distant chirping of crickets and the crackle of the fire. Astarion sat nearby, nursing a goblet of wine he’d stolen from the cellar of a long-forgotten ruin. It was more for the ritual than the taste—old habits, as he’d said with a faint smile. You were nearby, as always, your presence an anchor in the strange and often chaotic life the group led.

He wasn’t sure when he started speaking. Perhaps it was the comfortable silence, the way you sat there, calm and unhurried, that encouraged him. He’d been thinking about Cazador again—he so often was—and without quite realizing it, the words began to spill out.

“I suppose it’s strange,” he mused, his voice light but carrying an edge of bitterness. “Being free after so long under his shadow. It feels like… I’m still carrying him, in some way. Every decision, every thought—I can’t seem to separate them from him.”

He glanced at you, half-expecting a response. Most people, he’d learned, couldn’t resist cutting in. A platitude, a suggestion, a counterpoint. But you didn’t. You simply looked at him, your expression calm and open, as though urging him to go on.

It was unnerving at first. He was used to fighting for attention, for control over conversations, to prove he was clever or charming or worth listening to. But with you, none of that seemed necessary. He paused, testing the silence, and when you still didn’t speak, he continued.

“You know,” he said, his tone softer now, “when I first escaped, I thought freedom would feel… lighter. Like I’d cast off some great weight. But it’s heavier in some ways. The choices, the possibilities—they’re endless. And I’m not sure I trust myself to make the right ones.”

Again, he stopped, waiting. Your eyes met his, steady and clear, and though you didn’t say a word, he felt understood. It was a strange sensation, one he hadn’t experienced often—if ever. You weren’t dissecting him or trying to fix him. You were just… there, present and listening.

“You’re awfully quiet, aren’t you?” he said after a moment, tilting his head as he studied you. There was no malice in his tone, only curiosity.

You shrugged lightly, the movement almost imperceptible. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft, measured. “I like hearing you.”

He blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of your words. “You like hearing me?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “You have a lot to say. It’s worth listening to.”

Astarion stared at you for a moment, unsure of how to respond. People had listened to him before, of course—but it was always performative, a game of courtly flirtation or manipulation. They listened to what they wanted to hear, not to him. But you… you listened like his words mattered, like he mattered.

A slow smile spread across his face, softening the sharp angles of his features.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” he murmured, almost to himself. “So quiet, so… strange. But kind. Far kinder than I deserve, I think.”

He expected you to deny it, to reassure him, but instead, you simply offered a small, almost shy smile. It was disarming, the way you gave so little and yet managed to say so much.

For the first time in a long while, Astarion felt no need to fill the silence. He sat back, letting it settle around you both, a comfortable sort of quiet that he hadn’t realized he craved. After a while, he glanced at you again, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, his voice lighter now, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You tilted your head slightly, a silent question.

“Most people are so… loud,” he explained with a wry smile. “Always trying to prove themselves, to take up space. But you—” He gestured toward you, the motion almost reverent. “You don’t need to do any of that, do you? You’re just… you.”

Your smile widened just a fraction, and you gave a small shake of your head, as if to say you didn’t know how to be anything else. Astarion chuckled softly, a sound warm and genuine.

“I think I’m beginning to like it,” he admitted, leaning back against the log he’d claimed as his seat. “Though I’ll warn you—I’m not used to people being so sweet to me, or me reciprocating. You might ruin my reputation.”

Your eyes sparkled with amusement, though you didn’t reply. Instead, you simply reached over, your hand brushing lightly against his. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes—offering comfort, understanding, and a quiet kind of care that made Astarion’s chest ache in the best possible way.

For the first time in years, he felt seen. And it was terrifying, yes, but also… wonderful.

Wyll:

The camp had grown quieter as the evening stretched on, the crackling fire the only sound breaking the stillness. Wyll sat a little apart from the group, his polished boots resting near the fire’s warmth, his arms draped loosely over his knees. His usual mask of confident charm was absent tonight, replaced by something quieter, more introspective.

You sat nearby, as you often did, a steady presence that didn’t demand much from him. For weeks now, you had been close in proximity but distant in words, an enigma of sorts. Wyll wasn’t quite sure what to make of you at first—your silence had seemed aloof, even uninterested. But gradually, as the days bled into nights, he began to notice the things you didn’t say.

You didn’t speak over others in conversation, but you always seemed to listen deeply, your gaze steady and intent. You rarely offered compliments, but when you did, they were startlingly heartfelt. And when Wyll had stumbled in the aftermath of a fight, bruised and frustrated, it was you who had handed him a bandage, your hand brushing his briefly before you moved on without a word.

Now, as he sat by the fire, you approached, your steps soft but deliberate. You didn’t ask if you could join him—one of the many things he appreciated about you. Instead, you lowered yourself onto the log beside him, sitting close enough to feel the fire’s warmth but not crowding his space.

“You’re quiet tonight, reserved,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the silence but staying low. "Well, more than usual."

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable, then nodded once. A faint gesture of acknowledgment.

Wyll let out a small chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “That makes two of us, I suppose. A rare thing for the Blade of Frontiers, isn’t it?”

The title rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, but there was a flicker of something behind his words—weariness, perhaps, or a longing for something simpler. People were always eager to heap praise upon him, to listen to his heroic tales of vanquishing monsters and saving the innocent. They admired him for his bravery, for his charisma, for his relentless drive to do good. And while he appreciated it, there were moments when it felt like a weight he couldn’t set down.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes fixed on the fire. But then you reached into your pack and pulled something out—a small, neatly folded cloth. You placed it on the log between you and gently nudged it toward him with your fingertips.

Wyll blinked, curious, and unfolded it. Inside was a simple piece of bread and a chunk of cheese, nothing extravagant but clearly set aside with care. He glanced at you, his brows lifting in surprise.

“For me?” he asked softly.

You nodded, your expression still calm but your gaze steady. There was no grand explanation, no flowery words about why you’d thought to do it. Just the quiet act itself, unspoken but deeply thoughtful. Wyll found himself smiling, something warm unfurling in his chest.

“You know, people often throw grand gestures my way,” he said, turning the small meal over in his hands. “Praise, gifts, promises of favor. But this… this feels different. Better, somehow.”

Your lips quirked faintly, the smallest smile, and you gave a slight shrug, as if to say, It’s nothing.

“No,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “It’s not nothing. It’s… exactly what I needed.”

He tore a piece of the bread, savoring it as much for the taste as for the gesture behind it. Then he glanced at you again, his dark eyes filled with something unspoken.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve met before,” he admitted. “And I think that’s a gift, even if it’s one I’m still learning to understand.”

You tilted your head slightly, considering his words, and then reached out—tentative, deliberate—to place a hand briefly over his. Your touch was warm, grounding, and though you pulled away quickly, the gesture lingered in the space between you.

Wyll chuckled again, softer this time. “You don’t need to say much, do you? Somehow, you always seem to know exactly what to do.”

For a long moment, the two of you sat there, the fire casting flickering shadows over your faces. Wyll found himself relaxing in a way he rarely did, the weight of his heroic persona slipping away. With you, he wasn’t the Blade of Frontiers or the hero of ballads. He was just Wyll—a man who had been given a moment of peace in your quiet, steady company.

Halsin:

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the forest clearing. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the earthy scent of moss and pine. Halsin stood by a small stream, his hands resting on his hips as he watched the water bubble over smooth stones. He had led you here, eager to share one of his favorite places—a spot untouched by the chaos of the world, a place of pure serenity.

You sat nearby, your back against the wide trunk of an ancient tree, watching the interplay of light and shadow as the sun filtered through the canopy. You hadn’t said much since arriving, but then, you rarely did. Halsin had grown accustomed to your quiet nature, though it had taken him some time to understand it. At first, he had worried his stories or insights were unwelcome, his efforts to connect unreciprocated. But the longer he spent in your company, the clearer it became that your silence was not indifference but something else entirely.

You simply… listened. And you noticed things—details others might overlook. Like now, as your gaze lingered on a cluster of wildflowers swaying in the breeze, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Halsin said, his deep voice gentle as he followed your gaze. “I’ve always admired how the simplest things—flowers, sunlight, the song of a bird—can bring such joy.”

You turned your head toward him, your expression calm but thoughtful. Then, without a word, you stood and stepped toward the wildflowers. Kneeling carefully, you reached out to brush your fingers over the delicate petals, your touch reverent.

Halsin watched you, his heart swelling with something he couldn’t quite name. It was rare to find someone who shared his love for the natural world with such quiet intensity. Most people saw beauty in nature, yes, but few seemed to feel it the way you did—as though you were attuned to its rhythms, its quiet wisdom.

After a moment, you plucked one of the flowers—a pale blue blossom with a star-shaped center—and stood, turning back to him. You held it out, your movements unhurried, and waited for him to take it.

Halsin blinked, surprised, before stepping closer and accepting the flower.

“For me?” he asked, his voice touched with warmth.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his briefly before drifting back to the stream. There was no grand declaration, no explanation for the gesture. Just the flower, freely given, and the quiet companionship of the moment.

Halsin turned the bloom over in his hands, studying it as though it were a rare treasure.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “It’s… beautiful. As is this moment.”

He meant it. There was a simplicity to your company that he hadn’t realized he needed. So much of his life had been spent in action—protecting, leading, fighting. With you, there was no pressure to be anything more than himself, no expectation to fill the silence with words.

“You have a way of seeing the world,” he said after a moment, his gaze lingering on you. “A quiet reverence, as though every small thing matters. It’s… humbling. And it reminds me of why I do what I do.”

You glanced at him again, tilting your head slightly as though considering his words. Then, without speaking, you gestured toward a patch of sunlight filtering through the trees, where a family of deer grazed in the distance.

Halsin smiled, following your lead. Together, you stood in silence, watching the deer move through the clearing. The world felt still, alive yet peaceful, and he realized how rare such moments were.

“You’re a gift,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Not just to me, but to the world around you. You see it for what it is—whole and sacred.”

Your gaze flicked to him again, and this time, your lips curved into a soft, fleeting smile. It was a small thing, but to Halsin, it felt like a gift in itself—a glimpse of the sweetness that lay beneath your quiet exterior.

Hope you guys enjoyed this and it wasn't too repetitive, I did try to differentiate them - Seluney xox

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