#which means that I am Very Content thinking about that small amount of content for way longer than I would be otherwise

[televinita]

That 90s Show - thoughts after 1 episode

But first, background re: me and That 70s Show --

I watched it when it aired, and I’m pretty sure I even started with season 1, as an actual teenager. It was one of the first and few primetime shows I latched onto before age 16, and I watched it all the way to the bitter end*. Have also rewatched it countless times in syndication and on DVD; it has infinite replay value to me and I love everyone and quote random lines to this day.

(*although honestly, I didn’t hate season 8! As much as I missed Eric, I loved Randy and thought he was a fine alternative option; my qualms were limited mainly to the Jackie/Hyde breakup and the even worse switch to Jackie/Fez)

So I went into this very scared of how this might tarnish the original. I came out...so relieved and happy!

The Actual Thoughts, In Three Acts

Part 1: Adult Formans

I DEEPLY UNDERESTIMATED THE PURE JOY I WOULD FEEL AT SEEING RED/KITTY/ERIC/DONNA/THE FORMANS’ HOUSE IN A NEW AGE

Topher Grace has not aged in the last 15 years, amazing.

ERIC/DONNA ERIC/DONNA ERIC/DONNA

(I have always shipped them at least by default, because obviously, but their married dynamic takes it to a whole new plane of joy I didn’t know existed)

Eric as a dad is the other kind of joy I didn’t know my life needed. I love the idea of her being his “little buddy” all her life. If I cared more about the daughter we would rapidly be approaching Jurassic World levels of family squee here.

who am I kidding, his final blessing and their hug (and my relief that she didn’t actually get a hole poked in her perfect face) gave me EXACTLY that.

P.S. PROFESSOR ERIC WHO GETS TO TEACH A CLASS ON HIS MOST BELOVED HEART’S JOY! and PUBLISHED AUTHOR DONNA! I love these journeys for them.

I love that Red is clearly a softie where his granddaughter is concerned (the request for a cheek kiss!!), but also still has an edge. That’s exactly what I wanted.

Kitty serving up those “the nights are the hardest...but then the day comes and that's every bit as hard as the night...and then the night comes again!...” guilt vibes. 😍 😍

and the “I wish you’d call me Mom” / “feels forced” war

and her joy in going out to shop for “all the -itos!” to feed the newest batch of stray-cat teens

basically everything this Core Four did or said was glorious

also loved Eric’s tiny meltdown as first Donna and then his own mother betray him by supporting Leia’s wish to ditch father/daughter space camp, followed by Baby(skin)’s First Foot-In-Ass Threat.

I didn’t write down most of the quotes because there were too many good ones, but I absolutely love “Leia staying here isn’t the craziest idea. Your parents can watch her.” / “Were you not here with me in the 70s??”

And also Red’s “you’re Upstairs People now.” Hehehehehe.  

Part 2: Other Nostalgia-Based Feelings

I am so sad that Danny Masterson turned out gross and awful because I miss Hyde and this world feels off-kilter without him.

But I am grateful that the show is going to simply ignore him instead of stamping down some awful canon reason like "hyde can’t come to the screen right now because he’s DEAD” (or in prison)

I’ll allow Jackie/Kelso for the sheer meta-cuteness of them having eventually ended up together in real life, even though really, it would have been nice if she had ended up with someone rich and successful and not from Point Place.

I will not allow this rude, shallow, worst-of-season-1 Jackie who gets married and divorced to the same old idiot on a whim. what is this. where is the GROWTH. Did Fez use some sort of FDA-banned hair treatment on her that leached memory-destroying poison into her brain??

maybe she gets better later. I will hope.

love that I can’t be sad about Donna’s childhood home being sold because let’s face it, that is an ugly house. Looking forward to finding out where Bob went. I assume he’s a millionaire now, given his life’s impossible success trajectory to date.

(also, I really liked seeing her old room updated for the 90s!)

speaking of houses, I love SO MUCH that the set decorators knew what they were doing and kept fair bit the same while updating some key pieces like the living room sofa, i.e. how real people live. At least, that’s the fleeting impression I got; will have to study it more (or read other posts from people who have) to know for sure.

My single biggest fear starting That 90s Show was that they’d go buck-wild with swearing, but they.....held themselves to the same FCC standards as the original???? I am afraid to ask if it stays this way but I hope.

Part 3: The Kids

First impressions (while watching): oh, yeah, they’re a vapid school-of-fish nothing to me so far.

Second impressions, upon reflection: Leia has some potential to be likeable, and maybe Gwen if she softens a bit? Also, I went into this ep like “please don’t make them be into each other just to increase your diversity quota,” but then all the boys turned out unappealing of face or personality and more importantly, from the very first second Creeper Leia peeked in through Gwen’s window there was chemistry, so. Notes and expectations for season 2!!

(side note: I remind you that I am the woman who 9 times out of 10 cannot come up with a single f/f couple she actually ships; also will normally choose “best friends” over gals being more than pals 999 times out of 1000; also if there is an option for the opposite-sex offspring of two couples who are friends to be into each other that is ALWAYS where I align. Until now, apparently. That’s how strong this chemistry is.)

As for the other kids... Ozzie’s voice is currently intolerable to me and I don’t care about the rest or even know the dating couple’s names, although the non-Kelso guy is serving up some decent Original Kelso vibes that could grow on me.

tl;dr you can lead me to a show ostensibly about teenagers but you can’t make me emotionally invest

In Conclusion: I only remember the highlights, so, A+ start! Looking forward to more random what-year-even-is-it, anachronism-is-fine 90s trends/references in future episodes; I am not even going to bother worrying about how the chronology works since it was the late 70s for eight years straight last time and we can’t even all agree on whether season 8 counts. :p

[grimrester]

i am really so sorry to continue harping on about the watcher entertainment streaming service. but this kind of stuff (internet content as a business & marketing it as such) is truly my obsession, and i think i will implode if i don't talk about some of the takes i'm seeing.

i'd like to emphasize again i don't have strong feelings about watcher either way. i like ghost files, i watch mystery files sometimes, i watched worth it back in the buzzfeed days. i don't watch any of their shows religiously.

anyway, here's the main things i keep seeing crop up and my thoughts on each:

"watcher has 25 employees they have to pay, and employing people in this economy is good, so we should be banding together to pay them."

employing people is good if you currently have the capacity to pay them. i checked watcher's linkedin page, and many of their employees were hired within the last year or two. if they hired people they cannot pay with the business model they had before, something is seriously wrong with their internal bookkeeping/decision making. it means they either didn't know they couldn't pay these people long term, or they did know and were content with risking newly hired employees' livelihoods on a huge content pivot in the next year.

of note is that none of their employees' titles have anything to do with managing the finances of the company. they are the size of a small business but have no one aside from the figureheads of the company in charge of their finances.

this is the kind of company decision making that leads to downsizing and layoffs, which can be devastating. but you know what's worse than laying off a portion of your staff? laying off everyone because your business is going under.

"not everyone can afford the subscription, but those who can should pay it to support the watcher team."

no. $6/month for a couple hours of content (depending on what shows you actively watch and the natural fluctuation of their release schedule) is a fundamentally bad value. i can pay that much for a few movies on amazon. i can pay that much for dropout, if i want to support a smaller business instead.

and to be totally frank, even if people do sign up, i don't think they'd get enough to compete with the amount they get through patreon/sponsorships. and the fact that they didn't know how many of their subscribers would realistically sign up is a bad sign.

a pretty good conversion rate of free to paid subscribers of a service or content is 3% (usually accomplished through a free trial). given the very poor reception of the announcement, let's say about 1% of their 3 mil youtube subs pay for their service. that's 30k people paying for their new platform. that's $180k a month in their pocket.

(they currently only have 12k subs on patreon so we are being generous here.)

a sponsorship deal (based on my googling, i have less direct experience with this) is anywhere from $10-50 per 1000 views. they've gotten about 1 mil views on their last few videos. 3 mil subs is nothing to shake a stick at, but let's say they're on the lower end of the payscale at $25 per 1000 views. that's $25k a video, $100k a month if they release 1 video a week. their lowest patreon tier is 5 bucks, so even if all their subs are at that tier, that's another $60k, so $160k total. it's entirely likely they're bringing in much more than that when you factor in merch, adsence, etc.

did anyone on their team crunch numbers on how many people would need to sub to make the switch worth it? did anyone do market research on how many people they could convert to paid users? because if not, if they really didn't have a game plan for this, the subscription service was always doomed to fail.

"this was their only option to continue making the content they want to make, with the production value they want."

i watched their announcement video. a key point in that video is that they have done sponsored videos and that's what used to pay for their content, but they did not like the amount of creative control the sponsor had over the content.

look, i get that's no fun. we'd all love creatives to be able to make whatever they want. but when you are a small business with a team of employees relying on you, you have to think about making money, sometimes at the cost of creative liberties.

and they had so many other options to make money for the projects they want to make without jumping to a subscription platform.

they could have started actually promoting their patreon, and maybe done some restructuring of the tiers. why not a highly produced, special series just for patreon members? or a special high-budget episode of each series, while the main series is lower budget?

bite the bullet and continue taking sponsorship deals on some less-produced shows, while axing sponsorships from the ones the crew feels more passionate about.

schedule larger, blowout-production shows only when they can be afforded. this is what Notorious Amongus Guy streamer jerma does. he saves up for big productions like his baseball or dollhouse streams, so he can really get creative with them.

they had other options and they've tried very little, especially when you compare them to other content house business at similar scales. try guys and good mythical morning both put out significant content with significant staff, and have had to diversify their income streams with auxiliary products, shows with widely varied levels of production, etc. but it seems to be working for them. watcher has merch and that's about it, and seems to only want to increase the production quality of ALL their shows.

really, all this just boils down to a terrible business decision. it's hard to say if the watcher team is working with a consultant or anyone outside of their team, but they certainly don't have anyone internally who is experienced with running a business like this. to me, it seems very much like they got in a room together and did some extremely optimistic income ballparking with no research behind it.

and that might have been fine for three dudes running a channel alone, but if they're a business, they have to start making decisions like one.

[mimimui]

comma after dearest (genshin impact)

wherein (character) reacts a certain way to a grammar mistake you made in your letter (or was it?)

includes: kazuha, ayato, thoma, xiao, zhongli, alhaitham, kaveh, scaramouche

tags: a bit unserious writing, fluff, i am obssessed with "it changed the meaning, did you intend this?" forgive me, not proofread

a/n: not sure if anyone's done this before, but take it as my apology for not having written in a while (╥﹏╥) my fever + colds are killing me & i have a lot of scheduled things to do for school aaaa. maybe i can write this with other fandoms as well ? (and character x character ships hehe) .. enjoy !

kazuha notices it immediately. aside from all the work with the fleet, he spends time reading—or rereading—your letters. written messages aren't uncommon when he's at sea, but this letter was different. had you made a mistake with your punctuation? no, it can't be, you've always opened your letters with "my dearest kazuha".

he blinked at the words, now seeing a comma between the word 'dearest' and his name. as much as he was confused, he was flustered. if this wasn't a mistake, and that you intentionally called him your dearest, then it's a shame you can't see how absolutely smitten he is for you right now.

ayato is busy going through papers and folders when he sees an envelope slide under his door. he chuckles as he reads his name in your writing, carefully picking it up and opening it. you have a habit of writing him letters and sliding it under his door while he works, which ayato finds very endearing.

when he reads "my dearest, ayato", his smile only widens more, finding new motivation to finish his assignments for the day so he can get to you as soon as possible. he knows how much effort you put into writing these short, yet loving, letters when he places this one on his (already full of other letters) pinboard.

thoma takes a while to realize, but when he finally notices it, his heart rate increases by a concerning amount. he loves you so much to the point that when he reads "my dearest, thoma", there's hearts in his eyes. thoma's so much happier after reading your letter, and now he's doing everything smiling.

ayaka told him he looks brighter than usual today, and ayato even asked him if he received good news. of course, he was shy about this, but he told the kamisato siblings it was nothing to worry about. though, he continues to do his work with a little bounce in step.

xiao denies it. he thinks he's read it wrong at first, but when he looks over at it again, it is confirmed that you did write him as your dearest. forgetting about the rest of the contents of the letter, xiao began to contemplate. an error like that was unlikely, especially since you're fond of writing.

the next time you meet, he has a hard time trying to bring up the topic. he knows you meant what you wrote, but he wants you to confirm it. when you tell him, "yes, i mean it." he tries to hold back a smile. keyword: tries.

zhongli adores the salutation. or rather, he adores you. he appreciates the sweet, small detail you added in. zhongli hurriedly, yet carefully, writes you a letter back, addressing you as "my dearest, (y/n)" and replying to the contents you had in yours.

he never really indulged in using endearments, but ever since your letter, he's only even been calling you his 'dearest'. when greeting you, when asking for your attention, when talking about you, whenever. zhongli's never said it outloud, but you know he absolutely loves that nickname now.

alhaitham is amused. he thinks you genuinely made a mistake in your letter, but doesn't address it until he returns to sumeru. when you see him again, he brings it up, expecting to be able to playfully taunt you about it. but he was so wrong.

"but you're my dearest. how is that wrong grammar?" you say, turning the situation around and teasing him instead. alhaitham wanted to tease you so much that he didn't bother to think of other possibilities. he's defeated, and all he can say is, "...i have no reply."

kaveh doesn't know how to react to it. should he be flustered, or correcting you for the mistake? was it even a mistake? he does write you a letter back, but best believe he immediately asks you about it as soon as he comes back home. "did you intend this?" he says, showing you your letter.

when you nod your head, all the shyness and blush that should've came in before came in now. kaveh uses the folded letter to cover his smile, but it's too wide and too bright to even try to. when you tease him about it, he strongly denies having his heart race from it.

scaramouche chooses to ignore it. he knows you wrote that punctuation on purpose, but he doesn't want show that he's thinking about it. this ultimately failed when he doesn't write you back, and you knew something was up with him. once he returns and he acts indifferent, you bring it up.

his eyes widen as he looks away, realizing he forgot to reply to that letter. scaramouche hesitates before quietly apologizing, mumbling something about 'my dearest' and 'running out of paper'.

thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[daydreamingatnight209]

I’m not sure on how I feel about this one, but I’m posting it anways 😅🤞

Feedback is welcome - Hate is not ✨💕

“My Best Friend, My Girlfriend, My Everything”

Colson Baker x Female Reader

Warnings - Slight angst, fluffy ending 💕

Prompts used: Credit goes to all original owners -

1. "How drunk are you?" "V...Very." "Drunk enough not to remember tonight? "Hmm." "Good. I love you. And I'm tired of being just your best friend."

2. "He will never know that I like him." "Why?" "Because I'm just one of the million stars, and he's the moon.

3. I can’t believe it took me all these years to realise how I truly feel about you.

4. "Wow those bloodstained clothes really bring out your eyes... Of course I'm being sarcastic! Get over here and let me stitch you up!"

—————————————————————————

Most would think that traveling with an international superstar who also happened to be your lifelong best friend, would mean hitting the jackpot in life. But realistically after a month stuck surrounded by testosterone in such close quarters with a bunch of men who often act like overgrown toddlers , you can’t help but begin to feel like a glorified babysitter. You suppose it doesn’t help that you also happen to be ridiculously in love with said best friend.

After one particular show, you found yourself back on the tour bus while the others went out to celebrate another successful show.

Just because you were Colson’s friend, didn’t mean that you didn’t have your part to play. You liked to feel useful so you took up a part time role, sharing managerial duties with Ashley. This time you found yourself working with Sam to provide visual content for the fans and ensure that Colson’s schedule was running smoothly.

When the quietness you’d been experiencing over the last couple of hours suddenly ends, You couldn’t help but internally roll your eyes. climbing out of your bunk you go to see what all the commotion was about.

You enter the main sitting space and your mouth swings open in shock. In front of you Colson’s face was caked in blood and his clothes were stained with the same substance Rook was laughing hysterically at him and Slim had a smirk on his face, which he attempts to cover when he sees the look on your face.

“What in the actual hell happened here?!” You exclaim.

“Y/N helloooooo”

Colson rushes over to try and embrace you but you hold him at arms length, not wanting to get covered in his blood.

“Look at this, how cool does this look!” He says giddily, jumping around like an overgrown puppy, trying to show the jagged cut that seems to run down his forehead.

“Oh yeah really cool, those bloodstained clothes really bring out your eyes.”

Colson looks at you with glassy eyes and a slightly confused expression on his face and a pout on this face.

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Yes, of course I am being sarcastic! Get in there and let me stitch you up!” You shout out in frustration and worry. You leave him alone for one night and this happens!

Grabbing his hand you force yourself and his tall frame into the tiny bathroom cubicle, with the first aid kit under the sink.

Colson collapses down onto the toilet seat as you begin to clean his face.

He winces softly as you clean around the wound and begin to apply the temporary stitches.

“How did this even happen anyways?” You ask him as he fiddles with the loose threads on your jumper.

“Rook said I couldn’t do parkour over a car, so obviously I had to prove him wrong” he mumbles, the amounts of alcohol he had consumed during the night finally catching up with him.

You couldn’t help but sport a small smile on your face, because of course it was something just so stupid.

Once you were satisfied with your work, you pack away the first aid kit and attempt to pull him up but Colson just pulls you down easily onto his lap and wraps his long arms around your frame.

“You are that best person I know Y/N. I’m so lucky to have you as my friend”

How drunk are you?" You whisper as you lean against his chest.

“V...Very."

"Drunk enough not to remember tonight?” You asked curious.

Normally Colson’s memory no matter what he drinks is top tier.

"Hmm yeah, probably” he answers, resting his head on your shoulder.

At that response and the fact that you didn’t want him falling asleep in the tiniest toilet possible you stand up and grab is hand once more. He doesn’t protest when you lead him to the back of the bus to where his bedroom is.

He throws his weight into the bed and watch him crawl under the covers.

“Night Kells” you whisper and go to exit the room to head back to your own bunk.

Before you can make it through the sliding door, your best friend speaks up, his voice raspy and slightly needy.

“Stay with me?”

You hesitate at first, not really knowing If you could handle being that close to him for the entire night. Your heart was already beating twice as fast as it should, but you aren’t really great at denying Colson. You never was. So when a cracked, “please” leaves his mouth, you cave and climb under the covers with him.

It doesn’t take long for sleep to claim him but the same doesn’t happen for you. You’ve lost count of how many times you and Colson have shared a bed over the years but where he sees friendship, recently you’ve been struggling to stop the lines from blurring.

Colson wraps you up in his arms subconsciously, like he’s done so many times before, yet this time you find yourself frozen as you stare softy at his peaceful sleeping face.

“I love you Colson Baker. I love you and I'm tired of being just your best friend."

A tear escapes your eye, letting it fall, you wait for what feels forever for sleep to fall over you.

———————————————————

The next morning you are up and out of Colson’s room before he awakens and do your best to avoid him and any awkward conversations that the day might entail. You weren’t exactly to ready to find out if he remembered his night.

No one really picks up on your behaviour and you think you made it through the day perfectly, before Ashley corners you backstage at soundcheck.

“You like him don’t you? In fact it’s more than that … you are in love with him”

Knowing that you can’t hide the truth from your friend, you look her in the eye and give her a sad smile.

“He can never know that I like him."

"Why?" Ash questions you.

"Because I'm just one of million stars, and he's the moon, he deserves so much better that me”

You slightly cruse the tears that begin falling once more and do your best to wipe them without ruining your make up.

Ash gives you a soft smile and shakes her head.

“I’ve seen the say that boy looks at you. You may think he’s the moon but he looks at you like you’re the one holding his entire world. Last night should have been enough evidence! It was you he wanted to patch him up, it was you he wanted attention from and it you he wanted to hold. It’s always you. It’s not about what you can give him or what he can give you, it’s simply about the love that you share and the happiness you provide each other. He doesn’t want to be Mr international superstar with you. He just wants to be Colson, your Colson.”

After her little speech, Ashley leaves you alone as you try and process her words. But you weren’t alone for long as a voice behind you startles you.

“She’s right you know.”

You gasp and turn to fave the voice you knew all too well.

“Colson! What the hell?!”

“She’s right” he repeats.

“Right about what exactly?”

“You might think I’m the moon, but you are my whole world. You are more than just a star, so, so much more.”

“Colson…” you close your eyes, unsure on if you want to have this conversation, but realistically you knew there was no escape.

Colson stalks forward, invading your personal space and holds your chin in his fingers so that you are holding direct eye contact with each other.

“I heard you last night… your confession. I wasn’t really asleep and frankly I’m surprised I remembered this morning. In all honesty i was going to pretend until you felt ready to have the conversation but after hearing what you said to Ashley, well I couldn’t pretend anymore. I can’t believe it took me all these years to realise how I truly feel about you. I can’t believe it took stupid dare inflicted injury and a single moment in a tour bus bathroom for everything to fall into place”

With shaky hands, your fingers touched the small wound on his head and caressed it lightly.

Not trusting your voice, you whisper out a quick response, “I’m so happy it did”.

Colson takes that as cue to plant a kiss on you, a moment you felt as if you could live in forever, before he pulls away to look at you.

“I’ll love, protect and cherish you, forever. My best friend, my girlfriend, my everything.”

[listentothelittlebird]

so I have been avidly following the lovely dbhc au that @shepscapades has made and I have made a little drabble fanfic of Doc and Xisuma because I feel very normal about them :)

setting: hermitcraft season 10, while Doc is in skyblock jail

word count: 1361

-

Doc is grumbling to himself, ramming his fist into the newly-sprouted tree with not an insignificant amount of prejudice, when he hears the distinct whistling of fireworks crescendoing towards him.

“Have you come to watch me punch wood like an imbecile?” Doc snarks, expecting to hear Scar’s fumbling denials, or Cleo’s cackling assent.

“That wasn’t the plan, no.” The quietly amused voice is far from his first prediction. An oversight on his part, really.

[Vocal Recognition: Xisumavoid.]

“Xisuma!” Doc’s next punch misses the trunk of the cherry blossom tree, glancing off the side and chipping off the bark instead. He blinks away the vocal recognition pop-up, glancing behind him just to check it really is him and not Tango with a goat horn. “Hey, man!”

“Hey! You’ve been busy.” Xisuma’s boots scuff against the cobblestone as he inspects the progress of his miserable sky island. A shulker box thunks onto the stone, freeing his hands up to brush against the cherry wood planks.

“Hardly anything else to do besides work.” Doc throws the words over his shoulder as he continues to gather his cherry wood, not one to leave a project half-done. 

His visitor is content to hum and haw at whatever he finds as Doc works away. It has only been a few days, but the one-sided commentary is surprisingly comforting. After all, no touching the ground means no redstone, which also means no time in the lab. The thought has Doc speaking up, slipping between Xisuma’s quips.

“It’s not been too busy, yeah?” Doc clambers onto the tree as he plucks off the highest branches. He pauses to flick open a calendar overlay, skimming the dates. “Nobody’s scheduled for maintenance checks until next month.” 

“It’s been alright.” The fuzzy wolf-shaped wool mask pops into view as Xisuma emerges from Doc’s pink abode. “Been a bit too quiet, even. It’s weird not having you around.”

Doc snorts to hide the way his thirium pump hiccups at the words. Logically, he knows the sound is far too soft for Xisuma to hear. Having emotions, Doc has found, is hardly ever logical.

“So you came over ‘cause you missed me?” The words are out before Doc can even try to edit the response. It instills in him the same kind of floundering exasperation he feels when trying to recall a comms message already seen by everyone.

“Well.” When Xisuma ducks his head, one ear of the knitted wolf flops to the side. “I mean. I suppose so.”

[Emotion Identified: Shyness.]

“But I did come with an agenda!” Xisuma reaches for the shulker behind him, pulling out a mobile scanner from the lab.

“You’re right about having no maintenance checks on the schedule,” Xisuma says, waving around the scanner. “With you out here roughing it out, though, I figured I should check on you.”

“Ah.” Doc chuckles, ignores his cooling vents spinning faster. “I see.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting! You look about done with your tree.” 

“I am, I think.” Doc squints through the already-thinning leaves, nodding when he finds no branches left. “Alright, one moment.”

Dismantling the remains of the trunk takes only a few seconds. Doc gathers the wood and plonks them into the chest in his shabby house, with Xisuma trailing behind. 

With two people inside, it only reminds Doc how small the shelter is. Turning around after closing his chest puts him directly in Xisuma’s space.

“So, uh.” Doc shifts back, as much as he can. He ends up plopping down on the edge of his bed, which, well. “Go ahead, then.” 

A check-up does not require much space, really. Doc has done maintenance with the hermits in caves, in redstone farms, in underwater bases and nether bases. This is just the first time Doc himself has been examined outside of the yawning expanse of their labs. The change in routine leaves him uncertain, like recalibrating on angled terrain. 

The ease that Xisuma slips into the motions does well to settle Doc’s stress, however mild. The mobile scanner takes a while to gather results, so Doc answers Xisuma’s laundry list of questions. The list of questions is one curated by both Doc and Xisuma. Most of it is data, which Doc rattles off easily from the numbers that he pulls up in the corner of his vision.

The mobile scanner beeps cheerfully just as they reach the end of the lengthy questionnaire.

“Clean bill of health.” Xisuma shows Doc the display, which focuses less on internal processes and more on external damage or abnormalities. “Although, your average temperature is a bit lower than your usual.”

Doc shrugs. “It’s the altitude, man. Going from spending significant amounts of my time in the deserts and swamps to this is quite the change. Not to mention the wind chill.” 

As if to prove his point, a gust hits the shelter hard enough to make the planks rattle and creak. With no door, the icy breeze rushes in quickly. He tucks his metal arm into his lab coat with a sigh, the exposed components always prone to freezing the fastest.

“It’s not that bad,” Doc states flippantly, knowing without looking that Xisuma is taking in his every move. “I’m working most of the time, which keeps me warm. Plus I have my lava pool to sit beside when I need to warm up.”

“If you say so.” Xisuma shifts, leaning against his crafting bench. “The moment you start to experience temperature glitches, though, call this off. The rest will understand.”

“I know, I know.” This is all in good fun, when it comes down to it. He plays along for his own amusement. “I’ll be fine, Xisuma. I know how to take care of myself.”

“That you do.” Xisuma nods, then, with an “ah” of realisation, pulls his wolf mask off his helmet. 

“Here!” It only takes a step for Xisuma to be back in Doc’s space, pulling the wool over Doc’s head before he can react. 

“Uhm.” The mask is large enough that it goes over his horns easily, fitting loosely around his face. He has to lift and adjust it slightly to get his eyes back through the openings. “What?”

“To keep you warm!” Xisuma draws back again, settling against the crafting bench and tapping his heel against its side. “I mean, even over my helmet, it sure retains the heat. I know it doesn’t quite help with your metal arm, but it’ll at least warm up your horns and face.”

Doc does feel warmer, in fact. Though that is not necessarily correlated with the wool mask itself, and more the action of gifting it to him.

“But it’s your mask,” Doc replies, a flimsy rebuttal. “For your Woolves of Wool Street.”

“I have spares,” Xisuma chimes, eyes squinting happily through his helmet. “I’m sure the others won’t mind if you’re wearing it. Take it as a souvenir, of sorts.”

“Right.” Doc reaches a hand up to the wool. The material is soft, slightly worn from use. It smells a bit like Xisuma’s armour, the polish that he uses to clean it at the end of the day. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Doc.” 

Xisuma’s communicator chimes. A quick look has Xisuma turning back to Doc with an apologetic sigh. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll come back soon, though, if you don’t mind?”

“Come back anytime,” Doc replies. He tries to reel it towards comedy with a gesture to his surroundings, his meager belongings. “You won’t be interrupting anything.”

The dry quip draws out a laugh from Xisuma, even as he gathers his shulker and activates his elytra.

“See you, Doc!” Xisuma waves from the edge of the cobblestone, then nosedives away, a rocket propelling him rapidly out of sight. 

Doc takes a moment to watch the clouds, then laughs at himself. Did he not poke fun at Tango last season, when he stared longingly at the portal Jimmy left the server with? Now look at him.  

He draws a hand up to the wolf mask, rubbing the soft knitting between his fingers, and decides that Tango absolutely cannot see him wearing this.

He can keep it on for now, though.

[ashton-sano]

HxH: Feitan w/ a Strong! S/o Pt.1(?)

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`>When I say strong, the reader, in this case, would be as physically capable and have nen and/or abilities comparable to Feitan. I see a lot of headcanons but not many like this

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`>Getting back into the HXH fandom slowly so while I'm working on some more Food Wars! Content, have these since this gremlin has been plaguing my mind lol. If this gets enough love, ill make a part 2 so tell me what you all think :3

Warning: Murder, Stalking and Strong language

So if you a minor, beware.

.

-To start, he might be a tad put off

-It's pretty rare to find someone with such prowess, especially ones that don't have less than-savory intentions

-Id assume you met on a battlefield of some kind or while he was on one of his missions with the troupe

-Just like him, you aren't exactly the upstanding citizen type and are committing crimes of some sort when you encounter

-Whether stealing the same things or killing the same people, you two have similar goals, regardless of the reason

-To be fair, he didn't think much of you when you first appeared

  "How. Troublesome...."

-An annoying obstacle, someone to dispatch quickly

-However, after a rather tedious fight and a good amount of bruises, he realized it might not be that simple

-Your moves were calculated and precise, and your battle iq no doubt honed over years of experience with nen abilities that even he found difficult to handle

-His interest was certainly piqued, as much as it can for Feitan anyway

-You’ll hand it to him; its been a while since you've seen his level of strength

-A true master of his craft, no doubt

-Regardless, that isn't why you were here

-You came to rid of a target and with your mission accomplished, there was no reason to stay, no matter how curious you were about the extent of his ability

-You were swift at your exit, swift enough that Feitan only caught your figure leaving from the corner of his eye

-Admittedly you've sparked more than enough of his interest

-something about your very being itched him in a way he couldn't describe and lingered his thoughts for moments too long

-Like it or not, your existence loomed his mind awkwardly and gave his chest a tighten

-Indescribably annoying

'Must. know. about. Her. Get rid of stupid feeling.”

-now we all know Feitan is no short of deranged and sadistic so it is no telling if he wanted to know for devious reasons or other

-Whatever the case, it led to him talking Shalnark into researching deep (and I mean very deep) into you

-Playing it off as a simple inquiry, he found you, a picture attached to your profile albeit a very blurry one

-All that he could get was your name and Age

"Y/n. Interesting. Name."

Shalnark is confused

-That's how he got here, peeping from your window as you rest

-Even with such little information, finding you was trivially easy

-Your apartment was small, compact he’d say

-Nothing compared to the places he’s layed his head: cold, dark, and filthy on a good day

-He spent the night watching you sleep, noticing every ministration, every time you got up abruptly and checked your surroundings, nearly certain something was amiss

-He didn't expect peeping on you to be so trepidatious

-That didn't stop him from stopping by every time he wasn't busy to check up and watch you

-Days became weeks and months flew by as he kept this cycle going

-It eventually got to the point that he'd follow you to and from your house

-He was searching and, surprisingly, unsure of what for

-He's never felt any particular connection to people outside of the spiders so it was usually easy to write it off as mindless curiosity

-He just wants to know why you interest him so much, and nothing more

-That's how he ended up in your house when you left for your 8 am morning run, which took you approx. 30 minutes to finish as of this week

-He was just checking your clothes because he wished to know where you frequented, perhaps he could lie in waiting as you shopped, snatching your jugular and relenting this pounding in his chest that paces just a few beats quicker

-He only checks the food you eat to see what your diet consists of, perhaps to poison you as your gaze falters from your plate, even if just for a second, permanently killing the heat that rises against his skin at the thought of you

-He doesn't care about you; he just wants to know your weaknesses to exploit, that’s all

-If that were true, then why was he in your room when you weren't? Taking in your scent as if an attached dog 

-Surely he could've killed you thousands of times over in the dead of your sleep; a slit to your throat would've ended this and yet he feels pulled to let you live 

“Just. one. More day.”

 -If it didn't matter, if you didn't matter, why did he effectively remove any potential romantic partner from your life?

-It's just to make you easier to kill; it's just to make you easier to kill, it's just to make you easier to take. No! Kill...not take...

-What was once curiosity became more of a crippling obsession.

-He had to know everything—what you were doing, who you spoke to, and what you ate in the morning

-You captivated him and even if he couldn't understand it, you had him wrapped around your finger without so much as a word 

-Ever since your mission 4 months ago, a certain feeling has lingered your consciousness and kept you on edge with no clue as to the source

-Things went missing, your associates became distant—well, more distant than you kept them—and your kills have become suspiciously easier.

-To the average person, such a prospect would strike fear and cause for trepidation

-Did you think I wasn't aware that he'd been watching me?

-All credit goes to him, spotting him was the hardest part

-He only let his presence be known through peeks of his bloodlust spilling before he vanished in the same motion, which gave away how seasoned he was

It was hard to tell if he wanted me to find him with how obvious his actions became; no, the word would be bold. His actions have gone from stealing articles from the back of my closet to lacing food when he was sure I hadn't seen him 

-Playing dumb was the easy part; actually avoiding his kidnapping attempt(s) was certainly a challenge 

-Before long, you could see the desperation in his nen

“You're getting sloppy, Stalker.”

-I suppose you've worked hard, stalker, I’ll let you win just this once

[dead-boys-club]

†  birds of a feather : hawks.

❥ scenario: hawks and his winged s/o ❥ no triggers; not rated. ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested! it's late - i am sorry, i'm a mess. ❥ for the sake of writing, the s/o's wings are black.

keigo having a partner that has wings is going to garner so many terrible jokes, let me just get that out of the way. in all honesty, he would be over the moon about it.

he would be fascinated, always. he likes his own wings but compared to yours? he's always full of compliments about their size and color, the way they shine in the moonlight. he would have some sense of familiarity with you, being so similar to you in ways that would be impossible with someone else. the first time he saw you, he was just.. stunned. training with you is one of his most favorite things, wanting to see just how you could use them.

this may or may not come as a surprise, but he would like the idea of having an s/o who was so capable. unlike most, he'd have no issue with someone surpassing him - he'd actually find it pretty attractive. knowing that you were fully able to handle yourself, he would have no trouble leaving when he needed to. of course, the usual safety concerns would pop into his head but he couldn't do anything about those, could he?

keigo enjoys deeply intimate moments with you. your having wings would include grooming - he's very meticulous with wing care, for both of you. he'd like helping you keep them and take the opportunity to pet over the soft feathers, grinning to himself at how it would make you shiver and squirm. it would be a very soothing process for him, a mutual way of taking care of each other that he never had before.

the rivalry would never end, though playful. both of you would trade jokes, teasing comments, etc. the amount of races you'd have were endless. most of them ending in a park or a rooftop, laughing, and pretending to be normal. like you didn't have to wake up in the morning and go risk your lives for something.

your wings would be his absolute favorite thing in the world. and, he wouldn't hesitate to say that.

✧*̥˚ nickname *̥˚✧

as the day finally came to an end, keigo was content to make it back to the apartment, wanting nothing but to unwind with you. he was greeted by the sight of you laying half in the living room, half on the balcony, wings spread out as far as you could manage, enjoying the warmth of the sun on them. it was a sight that made him pause, taking you in for a moment but your senses were just as sensitive as his own.

'evening, pretty bird,' you greeted, not even bothering to open your eyes.

he chuckled, making his way over to peer down at you, head tilted. 'hey yourself, big bird,' he mused.

raising a hand up for him to take, which he did without thought, you sat up with a small laugh. '"big bird"? that's new.'

keigo crouched down, leaning to peck your lips before straightening again. 'I think it's only fair you have a nickname, too, don't you think?' chuckling when you pulled at his shirt to get him to sit back down. he complied with ease, settling on the floor with a deep sigh, shrugging off his jacket. 'it's not as sweet, is that the problem?'

you laughed, a light sound, clearly amused with his new title for you. 'I mean, i can't argue with you on that.. but big bird? i'm not even yellow.'

watching as you moved around to crawl closer, practically falling and melting into him, he let his arms settle around your frame. 'it suits you. you've got these.. big, beautiful wings that i can't help but admire and adore.'

you couldn't do anything but shake your head, headbutting his shoulder. 'you're so weird but, if it makes you happy, i don't mind.' smiling, you looked up at him. 'it's kind of cute. i guess you can use it.'

sinking back to lay on the floor, he let his own swings spread out, taking a deep breathe. he was comfortable like that, your weight and warmth soothing the stress of the day. 'oh, i intend to. my adorable big bird.' you both knew if it was an actual problem, he would stop but he saw the smiles and flutters, knowing you enjoyed it. you were too honest to let him use something you didn't like.

your wings rested above his own, nosing into his shoulder. 'mhm, pretty bird.'

✧*̥˚ safety *̥˚✧

on a more serious note, keigo would find comfort in your wings. he's so used to his own keeping others safe that he never expected to be the one being kept safe. being wrapped up in them something new to him though deeply satisfying, letting himself sink into your embrace. you knew when he needed the comfort and provided without a word, something he would appreciate more than you knew.

keigo knows that he's allowed to be vulnerable in your hold and that's the only place he does so. he doesn't have to put on a brave face or hide how he feels about something. he can be himself and relax with you. he doesn't have to have his guard up.

the emotional bond shared between you would be something he cherished, knowing that you would be there to protect and comfort him, the same way he was for you. he often finds himself lost in thought over his luck in finding you; someone who understands him so well.

✧*̥˚ another little thing *̥˚✧

it was a rough night for keigo, the weight of the days events feeling like a cinderblock on his chest. the normal distractions to keep the gross feelings and threat of anxiety away hadn't helped, leaving him restless. he tossed and turned, eyebrows pinched as he couldn't seem to rid himself of the thoughts.

it didn't take you long to feel the movements or sense the distress beside you, a concerned frown forming as you blinked your eyes open, trying to clear your vision. 'kei?' you asked softly, reaching to lightly place your hand atop his head. 'you okay?'

most of the time, your touch, even your voice, would have done something to soothe the nerves but nothing. 'a lot on my mind,' he mumbled, sighing deeply. 'don't know why, but i can't seem to shake it tonight.'

you didn't need to say anything, knew it was probably best, and just turned to shift closer to him, spreading your wing to gently wrap around him. he didn't hesitate to turn and hide his face against your neck, sinking into the warm cocoon you created. the soft feathers against his skin and brushing against his own brought a sense of calm to settle over him. it wasn't completely taking everything away but it was doing more than anything else.

'thank you.' his voice was barely even a whisper, gradually starting to relax as he did his best to overlap and replace thoughts. your warmth earned a sigh.

holding him close, you flexed your wing against him, just wanting to hide him away from the world. 'you know i'm always here for you,' you whispered, a hand coming up to sink through his hair, 'anything you need.'

finally, he closed his eyes, even squeezing them shut for a second. he was soothed under the gentle strokes to his hair, the ghost of a smile forming when he felt the movement slowing, a sign that you were beginning to doze back off. it was okay though. he felt safe, protected from the nonsense and above all else, loved. he knew he'd struggle but at least he had you.

'grateful for that,' he answered, 'for you.'

you smiled, barely awake at that point, tipping your head enough to nose against his own, basically cradling him to your frame. 'whenever you need me, pretty bird.. i'll be right here..' you mumbled, slurring slightly, yawning against the blond locks.

wrapped up in the safety net of your wings, keigo let himself begin to drift off. the dark night began to fade into one of peace. it wasn't long before you were both asleep, wound up in each other.

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter Four

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: 18+ violence, physical injury, but there will be hope

a/n: this is a heavy chapter, i am not going to lie. as always, i have done my best to treat this heavy content with respect and truthfulness. i am not out for shock and horror, but honesty, yes.

..........................................

The burdens that you carry now

Well they're not of your creation

So let's not weep for their evil deeds

But their lack of imagination

Sweetheart Come - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

...........................................

There’s no denying winter now. Fall is always fleeting, and by the end of November, there’s no calling it anything other than cold. Sarah didn’t come home for Thanksgiving this year, a new boyfriend with parents to meet and a promise for Christmas. A small hurt still, tempered by how he and Dolores spent the holiday. No turkey, no stuffing, no stir or stress to any of it. A meal shared, simple as that, like any other day. 

It’s been a slow gift, this new and unfurling closeness. Touch is always cautious, and quietly asked after. Every new okay, allowing for a bit more so that now, some things have become simple comfort instead of anxious and unknown. Like in the evenings, nothing even has to be said, already expected that they will settle down and around each other on the couch, and if she has grace to give, she’ll read aloud to him from whatever book she’s currently working through. Like in the mornings, sleep still making everything small and quiet, it isn’t uncommon for his hand to find the dip of her spine as they pass around each other in their shared routine, and it isn’t uncommon for her to lean into that touch, to pause in his palm. And around noon, whenever he stops into the diner, his hand will often catch hers when she slides his check across the counter, the slow sweep of his thumb over her knuckles. 

“I might be late picking you up today, gotta help John with all the end of the month paperwork. You okay hanging here a little after four?” He tries to ask it casually, but the truth is, he doesn’t feel very okay about it at all. And he has no business feeling that quick curl of worry in his throat all because of the smallest, stupidest deviation from their usual routine. 

“Of course. If it’s easier, Sal can drop me at the station after we close?” He isn’t sure which idea he likes less, her waiting around for him at the diner, or her coming anywhere near the station when she doesn’t have to. But closer to him always feels better these days, so he nods, a reluctant break of his hand from hers. 

The thing about all this closeness is that it has only made that meanness, that hate blossom in their separation. Sometimes all he can think about when she isn’t around, the things he would like to do to husband. She has told him more, quiet in the night, things that make his heart stutter and then clench like a fist, like a jaw snapping shut. And today, moving through the day, he works all the poison over in his mind until John asks him from across the office what he’s scowling about. Oh, nothing. Nothing that anyone else could ever know about.

“Well, you got the last of this under control? I gotta pick up the kids from the bus stop pretty soon here.” Joel nods, working his mouth around civil words, polite words, sighing the instant John closes the door to the station behind him. He isn’t sure if husband has called this month. John hasn’t mentioned it, and Joel doesn’t want to ask. And there’s no point in telling himself that he shouldn’t. Shouldn’t be in the slow spiral of whatever this is with her. Because he is, and all the good of her makes him forget about shouldn’t. But the reality remains. That there is a man in Nebraska who called her his wife. That there is a man in Nebraska that Joel has imagined violence upon. An equal and accounted amount of it. 

“Hello?” Sudden and startling, he nearly jumps in his chair at the sound of someone at the front desk. Not dressed in his uniform, but he’ll have to do, getting up and walking out to the front of the station.

“Hello, sir, how can I help you?” Just passing through, no doubt. Tall man, thin man, wiry and a little worn-looking. A strange time for him to be here, though. One of the extreme types, he figures, cross-country skier or the like. The kind that enjoy pain, probably looking for directions up into the mountains for a novel excursion.

“Are you Officer Davis?”

“No, he just stepped out. Did you speak to him over the phone or something?”

“Oh yeah, a couple of times. I tell you what though, he hasn’t been much help.” Yes, definitely a tourist, probably out from Denver, full of himself and full of shit. Wearing an expensive-looking flannel beneath a puffer jacket, Patagonia, and making some snit, some little tiff about something, calling John like that. 

“Well, what exactly are you needing help with?” 

“Are you a cop?” Said with a raised brow and a once-over, and Joel has to remind himself that yes, this is part of the job, grinding his teeth to hold back a grimace. 

“I’m Officer Miller, yes. Could you tell me what you talked with Officer Davis about so I can see about helping you?” 

“My wife, we talked about my wife.” A strange feeling. A sick feeling. Pinpricked vision and a hard rush in his ears. Not just passing through, not just a tourist, and not from Denver. Suddenly, he’s not sure how he imagined this man, even though he built him in his mind over and over, a piecemeal Frankenstein that’s full flesh and bone and body before him now. 

Smaller and slighter than he imagined. But aren’t all monsters much bigger in our brains? Easier to fight something that looks just as evil as its rotten core. But this is just a man wearing an expensive-looking flannel beneath a puffer jacket, Patagonia. A tired-looking man at that, drawn and dark circles under his eyes. A man that wears glasses. Men that wear glasses aren’t supposed to be the ones beating their wives. Give him someone with tattoos up and down his arms, someone with enough muscle for it to menace, someone with greasy, long hair and a sneered scowl. This man looks like he goes to work everyday from nine to five in a cubicle, this man looks like anyone else, this man looks like someone who would never be suspected, someone who would never be caught. And just like that, it starts to make sense to Joel. 

“Your wife?” His wife, who is going to be dropped off here any minute now.

“Yessir, I’m Charlie Wright? I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened back in June. There was a car, reported stolen around your parts and well–”

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. With all due respect,  I’m not sure why you’ve come all this way after five months. Wherever your wife has gone, I can assure you she ain’t here.” At least for a few more minutes, at least enough time for him to get this man far away. No time for fight, not with the fine line of risk he’s currently walking just by having this man in the station. 

“Are you sure of that, officer? Has there been any kind of a search effort for her? I’m sorry, if you could just empathize with me here. I’m only a man who’s trying to bring home his wife.” No, not now to that quick flood of fury threatening up his throat. He clenches his fists behind his back until it feels like the skin over his knuckles may split. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s like I said, after five months, I reckon your wife is long gone from anywhere around here.” Whatever the man says back to him, he doesn’t hear it, eyes flickering over his shoulder to movement in front of the station. 

And what comes next happens so slowly, so stupidly. 

Dolores no longer feels anxious around the station. After five months, a figuring that it’s fine, that there’s nothing to fear or fret over. So when Sal pulls up and drops her off, she is barely even considering the building, idly walking over to it as she reads the back of a book she picked up yesterday from the library, using her shoulder to open the door and step inside. 

“Lori?” 

The rest does not happen slowly. A flash, a bright burst of motion. Something that sounds like a curse, a garbled, grunted you fucking bitch. Her book drops to the ground, spine splayed and cracked open, all the pages getting smeared to the side in an unfortunate crumple. And Joel can’t move. Husband has his hands on her. And Joel can’t move. It’s like husband knew exactly how he was going to move the next time he saw her, fingers closing around her throat, cage and crush as he walks her back until the terrible length of his body is pinning her up against the wall. And Joel can’t move. But husband isn’t just out for fear, a method to the way he takes one hand and clamps it over her nose and mouth while the other stays wrapped around her throat. Husband is looking to take something from her that’s past the point of fear. And Joel can’t move. 

Husband is saying something to her, sneering something to her, though Joel can’t hear it through the pure panic flooding through his brain. His whole body screams to move faster, to get big and mean and loud, but he feels so very small, shocked into a slow, stuttering step that stops just as soon when suddenly husband lets out a curdled scream, his whole body recoiling from her in a tight curl, bent at the waist and clutching at his hand. 

There’s blood, and that’s not right. Not the fact of it, of husband’s blood. The not right comes in how husband’s blood is smeared on her lips and dragging down her chin. In how there is nothing behind her eyes as she slumps back against the wall, a slow slide into a posture that he recognizes, curling in on herself, hands clasped behind her neck and her head ducking between her knees as she comes to sit on the ground. It’s a posture that’s taught to people to take when they’re afraid for their lives, a last hail Mary of protection to all the most vital, soft parts of the body. And Joel finally moves. 

Second drawer from the bottom in the front desk, a pair of cuffs that he’s never been sure why they’re kept there. But now he doesn’t have to think at all about grabbing them, doesn’t have to think about how to pinch the back of husband’s neck in his hand and take him all the way to the ground, a knee pressed between his shoulder blades as he collects his flailing wrists and snaps them together in metal. There’s a fine flood of red dripping down husband’s left hand, perfect punctures on his pointer finger. It looks deep, it looks like it hurts, and Joel is glad for it. 

The station has a single cell, used mostly and infrequently for folks needing to sober up after a particularly miserable night. Husband is still groaning and panting in pain as Joel hauls him down the hallway and behind the bars. All a bit cartoonish, all a bit garish. Lock and key and all that. And he only lets out a breath when the door to the cell is shut behind him. Much more important things that must be tended to. 

His thoughts had been moving so slowly, if there were any thoughts at all, that suddenly it’s like a rubber band snapping back into place, breaking the surface, big gasp and a quick flood of frenzy and fury and fret, needing to make all of this right when he got it so very wrong. She’s still curled into and over herself, the heels of her palms pressed into her ears. And he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch her right now, erring on the side of caution as he kneels down in front of her, calls for her once, twice. Dove, Dovey. It’s enough to get a flicker of her eyes, seeing him, enough for her hands to fall from her ears, though she still stays all tucked up. The blood has already dried, rusted flakes of it on her skin, and he has to tamp down his own want to get it off of her as quickly as possible, settling instead for something slow, a careful coaxing of  it’s okay now, please, let’s clean up, please, let me, please. 

She’s still not quite looking at him, not quite looking at anything, something unfocused in her unblinking stare as he leads her to the bathroom, a small mercy that it’s down the other hall. A hand on her shoulder, an ask that she doesn’t say no to, lets him move her to sit on the edge of the toilet. A hand held on her knee as he fumbles to get a paper towel damp in the sink, still afraid that she will be gone if he doesn’t keep a pulse running to her. 

He kneels down in front of her, and he tells himself that he has to be so careful, so gentle, violence already starting to split all her seams, all that slow stitching, all five months of it. And he can, for her, slow fingers tilting her chin for him. He is meticulous in his work, every last reminder of red until all that’s left is the suggestion of it and the shake in her lip. She doesn’t say a thing, shrugs out from under his touch, all he can do to make space as she stands up and shuffles over to the sink. And it is a shuffle, a limp, something heavy held somewhere in her body that she’s dragging with her. She dips her head under the tap, like prayer, like holy, lets the water run over her turned face until Joel starts to get worried. Pink water in the porcelain when she straightens back up, a slow unfurl of her spine. Still in her uniform, his stomach curls when he sees the spatter on the starched blue collar of it. 

…

“You sure you got this covered for the night?” 

“Not a problem, reckon your wife would have my balls if I kept you here any later.” 

“Well if he gives you any trouble, I’m a phone call away, you know?”

“Yeah, John, I think he’ll be just fine once he sobers himself up.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for taking care of this.”

“Sure thing.”

Joel made two phone calls. The first was to Patty. No explanation needed, not a thing said, already understood when she came and picked up Dolores, a careful arm curled around her shoulders and a murmured promise of home and clean clothes. Only a cursory glance to Joel, an implicit command for a conversation later. 

The second call was to John. And he had been ready to tell him the truth when he got to the station. But husband didn’t say a thing when the officer asked him what the hell happened, just kept his hands tucked between his thighs, a blank look on his face. Drugs, alcohol, drugs and alcohol, enough of an excuse for John to sigh and shake his head and agree that yes, he would have to be held overnight. And Joel is doing him a favor really, by staying overnight to keep an eye on things so he doesn’t have to. Joel is doing him a solid, Joel is a real pal, Joel is a real good guy for letting his partner off the hook like that. And really, Joel doesn’t mind, craning his neck to watch John’s car pull out of the parking lot, no, he doesn’t mind at all. Really, Joel is happy to stay at the station with the man in an expensive-looking flannel and a puffer jacket, Patagonia, getting striped and slanted between metal bars. 

The thing about the station is, it is very old and very small, and not very serious at all. Just enough power behind those silver stars to keep things in order over the years. But because the station is very old and very small, there is nothing like a security system, nothing like cameras recording anything. So no one else will get to see. Only him and husband bearing witness when Joel steps into the cell and closes it behind him. 

“Here’s how this is gonna go.” Husband scoffs, tips his head back until his skull rests against the wall, slumped on the paint-peeling bench. 

“You’re gonna get in your car, and you’re gonna go back to Nebraska. And you ain’t ever gonna come looking for her again.” Husband thinks this is a joke, Joel can tell, the way he tilts his head to the side, grimacing up a smile. 

“Like it or not, officer, that’s my wife you’re talking about. And by law, I can drag her sorry ass just about anywhere I want to.” Only him and husband. No one else will get to see how silence falls, only for a flicker, before Joel takes two steps toward husband. And she isn’t here now, so he can get as big and mean and fearfully fast as he wants to. 

Easy, really, anger makes it feel like nothing. Like nothing to get husband back down on the ground, prone and gasping little broken breaths with Joel’s hand clamped around the front of his throat. And he could, right now, he could. Break this man and bring what’s left of him to lay at her feet. He wants to, so very badly, let his hand crush that flutter, that pulse. But just on the heels of that anger is something else. Something small and sodden and sighing. All he can do to let a flame of frustration tamp it down, hauling husband up onto his knees, giving him enough coughed-in oxygen so he can understand what words come next. Speaking slowly, right in his ear. 

“By law, I could show the bruises that will surely be on her throat to any cop in a fifty-mile radius and have you put in jail for a very long time. But I don’t think that’d be enough, do you?” What did Dolores tell him at the bar that night? Once, right here. To temple, that’s right. Where Joel settles the mouth of his gun now. And there is no monster. Something far more pathetic before him now, beneath him now. A blubbering man, a begging man, tears and snot shining up his face. Please, please don’t, please don’t do this. 

Fear feels good, right. Making something right when his finger curls against the trigger. A burst of sound, a sob tearing through husband’s chest as he keels over, breathing hard, relieved and retching all at once. Joel lays a single kick to his stomach, sending him skittering back on the floor.

“Here’s how this is gonna go.” A hand gripped tight in husband’s hair to hold his face up, to make sure he is listening so very closely.

“You’re gonna get in your car, and you’re gonna go back to Nebraska. And you ain’t ever gonna come looking for her again. And if you don’t do as I say, that cartridge won’t be empty the next time you and I cross paths.” He lets him go, lets him slump back on the floor, still heaving. 

Not another word is spoken. The door to the cell is left open. By morning, husband is gone.

…

“She didn’t eat anything.” 

“Okay.”

“I don’t know if she slept, I doubt it.” 

“Okay, thanks.” 

“You and I are gonna have a talk.” 

“Okay, Patty, later.”

“Yeah, later.” 

The house is quiet and still when he goes inside, ears pricking to the sound of Patty’s car pulling away. Her door is cracked, the thin light of morning slipping and slivering down the hall. He’s not sure how much of anything is okay right now, silent and standing in the doorway. At the very least, she’s not in her uniform, an old sweatshirt he had offered her when the nights kept getting colder. Not bruised yet, but blooming fast, a smear of dark red across her throat. 

“Is he okay?” It shocks him, startles him. He almost asks who, is who okay? But he knows who she’s asking after, asking for, and it makes him dizzy, makes him sick. 

“He’s gone, Dove. You don’t have to worry about him now.” Her brow pinches and pulls down, a full-tilt crumpling of her expression that forecasts tears, though they don’t come, just that tremble to her lip. 

“I hurt him.” Like confession, like sin, and he can’t stop himself from trying to sweep it away, two big steps to kneel between her legs where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on her knees to hold her where she is and tell her no, you did the right thing, you had to, it wasn’t that, it wasn’t bad or wrong or regretful, do not regret what you did, what you did was right, what you did was escape. And something else too, sorry. Sorry that she had to, because he didn’t, at least not in time. 

“Is he really?”

“He is.”

“Forever?”

“He’s not coming back, I promise.” And this startles him too, the wrecked wail she lets out, head held in shaking hands, shaking shoulders, and shaking ribs that ache with sound and sob. And this isn’t relief, at least not entirely. It’s a mournful sound, it’s a losing sound, it’s a lost, longing sound. 

The thing about a cage is that it becomes comfort once it is familiar. And the thing about monsters is that it doesn’t take much to become one. Just power and presence and taking something that does not belong to him, and never did. Part of her still loves that man, part of her is still kept by that man. And what Joel did, well, a keeping of his own, wasn’t it? A deigning and deciding of his own. 

Something inside of him cracks, fine fissuring lines that splinter and snap, slumping back on his haunches, his hands slipping down to only a weak curl around her ankles as her whole body heaves. The loudest he’s ever heard her, a pure posture of agony in the way her spine snares and snarls up tight. And because of the crush of pain around her throat, the sound is near terrifying, broken and rasped, wounded animal,  and so very not right, big, hot gasps of not right. 

At first, he isn’t sure what it is, maybe just her body acting out some deep desperation in her hands reaching and grabbing onto his coat, still in his coat. Fists in fabric, asking him for something he is afraid to give her, though he does. An awkward contortion, lifting up onto his knees so he can bring his palms to span the shake of her back. She curls over him, into him. And what she says, what warbles up from her chest is an even sharper devastation. She thanks him, quiet and caught between gasps, thank you. Once, twice, his arms tightening around her to steady his own shake now. She thanks him for this undoing he has caused, and it in turn is his own quiet destruction. Because he would do so much more, unasked and unbidden. Dangerous, what he would do. 

There’s no making sense of it, of the strange stir of grief and grace. Eventually, everything slows down, turns silent, and he’s still holding her, and she’s still holding him. 

Nothing is said, not when bodies have already made so much clear. She lets him lead her to the bare light of the window, careful palms tilting her jaw so he can see what must heal. Asks her where it hurts the most and she just makes a dry sound that tries to be a laugh. There have been much worse hurts than this, he knows. 

Maybe mercy, that there is always something that must be done around the fact of the land and the animals. They sniff into the morning cold, silent but close. Bleats turn into puffs of pale air, the flock already beginning their slow wander for the day, snow crunching under foot. 

It’s a leap, a lurch of his heart to take her hand in his. She lets him, unspoken relief. Unspoken, all of it. But staying, both of them.

.............................

taglist:

@cassiopeia @eleganthottubfun @anoverwhelmingdin @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @suzmagine @syakhairi @spookyxsam @northernbluess @hier--soir @joelsgreys @wannab-urs @tieronecrush @trulybetty @softlyspector @noisynightmarepoetry @csarab615 @ratoonstown @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @beskarandblasters @pedrostories @pr0ximamidnight

[useless19]

no but megatron falling for Knockout and dating him without even realizing it until someone, ahem optimus, points it out to him.

It starts with megatron attempting to keep knockout in line by keeping a close eye on him. After all given what he saw in starscreams memories it's clear he overlooked the medic and that is not a mistake he intends to make twice. So he spends immense amounts of time with the medic, he drops in randomly to "check on his progress" brings him with him whenever he goes somewhere hell he even invites him to eat with him just to make sure the pressure never let's up. It goes on for weeks and megatron finds himself content with knockouts company. It's strangely revitalizing to have someone with a little fire in them to talk to. Maybe he likes knockouts playful, irreverent demeanor, maybe he likes the jokes and the gossip and the affectionate teasing. Maybe he likes the genuine questions and critique when he shares some of his writing with him. Maybe he was going about this wrong, after all scaring him clearly doesn't work mostly because there is no authority in the galaxy knockout won't sass, maybe a sweeter approach is needed.

So he sets about making the medic feel appreciated, he asks his opinion on decisions and events, includes him on important matters, hell he even confides in him during their meals together. It's not like he has to actually listen to him, he just has to make him feel heard. Though he'll admit some of knockouts suggestions are quite clever and his insights on others are surprisingly accurate. Maybe there's some value in his words, he'll hand it to the medic his understanding of people is rather impressive. He eventually starts following him when he heads out to the surface, flying above as he races across the street. He even starts taking him to specific locations he thinks the medic will appreciate.

it's no surprise when during one of these outings they end up having to fight together, it is a surprise to see knockouts skill on the battlefield. It's a snap decision when he invites him to spar one he doesn't regret after a very enjoyable match so obviously it becomes a regular thing between them. He quite enjoys his medics unpredictable style and it's a treat seeing glimors of the predator hiding beneath that pretty frame. It's a mistake when one of those matches leads to a rather passionate kiss. A mistake he repeats. And repeats and repeats until he skips the match entirely and starts inviting knockout to his berth. It's only fair that he gift him fresh paint and waxes since it is his fault the medics going through his supply so quickly thanks to their almost daily sessions. It's the same reason he helps him fix his paint afterwards.

Those sessions help him understand the care his medic puts into himself less as an indulgence and more as it truly is, a show of resilience, his way of finding strength and control. When knockout swaps his signature gold and silver for gunmetal gray its because of the new found appreciation that megatron notices and fully grasps the meaning behind it. Such a small change but one that would mean everything to his medic, one that atleast between them made it clear where his loyalties lied. It was a nice confirmation that knockout was someone megatron could trust, he was a confidante an alli, a friend. Which was why he returned the gesture of comraderie with one of his own by slipping him some dark energon, he deserved the comfort of power after all and megatron would not risk losing his knockout easily. He was his friend after all.

SO HOW THE FRAG WAS HE SUPPOSED TO KNOW EVERYONE ELSE THOUGHT THEY WERE AN ITEM!?

Fuck this got out of hand. I am very sorry but at the same time you have brought this on yourself.

Excellent.

I love a relationship where one or more participants don't know they're in one XD

In the background Starscream is frothing at the mouth at Megatron paying attention to anyone else and the Autobots try to avoid combat whenever the pair of them show up because it just gets awkward.

Because, at spark, Megatron is a romantic. Everything he does is big grand gestures. Feelings of triumph, betrayal, vindictive glee — everything is at 1000%. He would burn down cities and thinks everyone else would do the same (and the lack of other grand gestures is due to their lack of commitment, not personal tastes).

Which is why a lot of little obvious relationship moments can fly over his helm. If he's courting someone there's going to be fireworks, damnit. How can you expect a mech to know your intentions if you don't shout them to the world? What do you mean you can form a relationship from a handful of soft intimate moments, if that were the case then he'd practically be conjunxed with —

Scrap.

Because Megatron is good at utilising his command staff effectively (at least through their assessed abilities, less so the interpersonal stuff). Because Knock Out is very good at walking the fine line of outspoken but not fully insubordinate (at least he does when it's Megatron in charge). Megatron has dangerous ideas and Knock Out runs parallel to them. It's only natural that if they find something that works, be it plotting together, fighting together, or stress relief, then they'll keep doing it.

I really like the idea of Knock Out changing his paint to match somewhat, for such a vain bot he wasn't one of the few to get a fresh paintjob in season 3. And he'd make it look good, whatever it ended up being.

(And if the Megatron applies extra attention to Knock Out because of seeing him conspiring with Starscream in Starscream's memories part is interesting to anyone, you'll definitely like this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57470866)

[legacyshenanigans]

HiHi 💜

Just another quick thing I want to get off my chest. And be vulnerable with you guys.

So yesterday was fucking crazy for me.

I basically had a small mental breakdown.

I want you all to know, that I feel like I made it sound like I was never going to come back, I will definitely return to this blog, but after writing this, I'm giving myself atleast a week, to just chill and soothe my mind.

I Havnt cried today, so that's a plus 😅

I adore interacting with you guy's, so im not going to dissappear completely, or atleast i dont want to. And I will come back, whether it's to do OC content of murder hubby and gang (which I'm still very much in love with because I literally put my heart and soul into creating them) or even if it's just to post random shit haha, I like the little cult I've made here, I want to continue to interact with you guy's. ❤️ Because, honestly, the Volo Cult mean the fuckin world to me,

The amount of love I received yesterday made me cry so fuckin much. It was truly overwhelming.

It definitely sucks when something you once love, and the main thing that made your blog what it is becomes irrelevant to you 😮‍💨 such a numbing, horrible feeling. I know I seem like a fiesty c*nt most of the time, and don't get me wrong, I totally am hahaha, but I get very intense feelings.

Will undercut next part because its potentially triggering content. And please. I do not expect sympathy, that's not why I'm about to tell you guy's this.

I think one of the main reasons I'm finding this whole thing difficult is because before I joined this fandom, I'd suffered an extremely brutal miscarriage, which really fucked me up, I won't go into to many details but the whole thing left me extremely traumatised due to some of the things that happend during that time, and when I joined this fandom it REALLY helped me take my mind off things, thats WHY it meant SO MUCH to me to be here, and why this is all seems very dramatic, because to me personally, it really did mean everything to me, and when my love for it died, thats why I was SO upset. Making my creations also really helped me, especially creating Marvolo, who's personality and lore and his general embodiment was born from a huge cluster fuck of mixed feelings and emotions I'd experienced from a very dark place, thats WHY he means so much to me. This fandom just really helped through a very shit time, and thats why I don't take this lightly, and why I'm so fuckin sad about the whole situation.

I just wanted you guy's to know that.

~

[aseriesofsmallthings]

Hello!

Welcome to my writeblr! I'm very new to this whole thing, and while I have *had* tumblr for a while now, I've never actually used it, so please bear with me :)

About my writing

I started out writing fanfic and short stories over a decade ago (ouch, now I feel old) and am hoping someday to become a published novelist. I mostly write horror, fantasy, and dystopian fiction, (with romance often playing quite a big role), though I am incapable of resisting dabbling in other genres too from time to time. A lot of my writing tends to deal with themes of loss, mental illness, suffering, and the inevitability of the human condition. In a bid to see myself and others like me represented more widely in the media, my longer fiction works often include neurodiverse, disabled and lgbt+ characters.

About me!

First things first, my name is Shannon, though online I mostly go by Shay. Feel to free use either :)

Now, a few fun little facts to break up those hefty chunks of writing (make the most of it, this might be the last time in a while).

I'm from, and currently live in, the UK. And I use she/they pronouns.

I'm a (twenty-something year old) child living an adult's life. And I am not having fun. Please, send help.

My reading tastes tend to be quite similar to my writing, in that I'll read just about anything I deem interesting in most genres but my preferences lie in dystopia and fantasy.

I have AuDHD and a whole host of other funky little brain things that keep writing (and life) all that much more fun! On a serious note, this may mean I'll disappear from time to time and posts may not always be consistent. (It also means interactions may be somewhat difficult for me, so again, please bear with me :)

I'm an amateur field hockey player with no other interest in sport besides playing it.

I have studied creative writing at uni briefly but I'm currently in the midst of switching to a social sciences and anthropology degree - expect a little academia related content maybe.

I'm a fur-parent - pictures may follow (they definitely will) of my little demon child.

I love to travel (especially solo) and often take a lot of inspiration for my writing from my little adventures, from setting and plot ideas to character development and world-building. Also, train journeys have proven quite fruitful in producing some pretty solid sentences... that have yet to be of further use.

A few pictures (below) from my most recent solo trip.

I also occasionally play video games, listen to an unhealthy amount of rock music, obsess over fictional characters (other than my own), and partake in multiple other creative pastimes, most of which get abandoned rather unceremoniously (thank you, ADHD).

About my writeblr

My username 'a series of small things' comes from one of my favourite Van Gogh quotes; "great things are not done all at once, but by a series of small things brought together", which I think is really apt, not only as a writer but also just in everyday life too. Also, inspite being rather artistically inept myself, I have a fondness for ol' Vinny, which makes the quote even more perfect.

I hope to use this space as a way to start getting my original work out into the world and to hopefully make some like-minded friends along the way too! I'll mostly be posting some of my short stories and progress reports on my longer wips, but may also post some poetry and other random ramblings from time to time.

Feel free to ask me any questions and interact with me :)

[anxiousheart7]

Cazador, Astarion and Generational Trauma

*SPOILER WARNING* - major story details

Astarion’s story is about trauma. His trauma. The loss of who he was and the power of retaining a sense of self and autonomy after several lifetime’s worth of abuse.

But I believe there’s another layer to his story that hasn’t been touched upon as much, and that’s around the idea of generational trauma.

I’ve taken a little bit of a deep dive into everyone’s least favourite vampire lord - Cazador Szarr.

Disclaimer: by no means is any of this intended to provide sympathy for Cazador. He’s a monster and I felt a great sense of satisfaction at the end of this quest. But I like to explore the machinations behind a story and dig deeper into what makes a monster.

Im also very keen to fill in any gaps on this subject. If anyone has found any other source material other than those mentioned, they’re very welcome :)

Video Content credited to YouTube Creators sourced and linked in this essay.

Cazador, Vellioth and the cycle of abuse

We don’t know a huge amount about Cazador before he became a true vampire, but what we do know we find out through two sources (that I know of) - through Speak with Dead on Cazador himself and through the last echoes of his old Master, Vellioth.

In his coffin, you can detect his thoughts before killing him (if Astarion isn’t with you). (Time stamp 4m47s)

“These deathless dreams hold memories of a mortal life once-forgotten. Of the boy I was, the man I became, the monster that will not end. I sleep but cannot rest. I live but cannot die. I am eternal and I grieve.”

This gives a couple of interesting insights into the mind of a true vampire. Although within his waking world, there appears to be a sense of permanent grief and emptiness that comes with the power and eternity of his condition. There seems to be an element of eternal suffering.

He seems to lament the state he’s in and I wonder if his desire to become the vampire ascendent is partially in a bid to end these feelings. Of course, we have a sense of what a super powered true vampire would look like if you ascend Astarion. His soul gone and any sense of humanity left within him stamped out and replaced by a sociopathic megalomaniac.

I can’t decide whether this suggests that there are still shreds of a soul within a true vampire compared to the ascended version. But the stronger takeaway I have from this conversation is that this internal struggle is so bad that he wants to perform the RoPA to overcome it. Of course, there’s also the hunger for power that, it seems, inflicts many a vampire regardless of whether they are spawn or true. Even Raphael describes it as ‘so vile it has never been performed’. So, there must be a story to why he covets this power so much and I believe this comes within the form of Cazador’s former master, Vellioth.

If you haven’t found him yet, he’s in Cazador’s bedroom within the lower dungeon. All that’s left of him now is a preserved skull.

One thing I’d like to note about this living space is that it’s quite modest, which surprised me. I wasn’t sure if this was the space Cazador sometimes retreated to when he was working on his plans, away from the spawn, or if this was his permanent residence.

I feel like there’s a story there - like if he did ‘inherit’ the palace from Vellioth, that this was his room. It’s basic with a simple desk and small bed and a cabinet where Vellioth’s skull sits with the profane right details wedged between his teeth. I do wonder if Cazador puts on this appearance of grandeur and wealth but in private he prefers the minimum, as though the show is what matters. It makes me think that he was either humbled and abused so badly by Vellioth as a spawn that he retained his humble surroundings once he had turned true vampire. Or perhaps before he was turned he was a peasant or modest wealth.

We can guess a few things about Vellioth from our conversation with him. He was cruel; as cruel or more than Cazador. He punishments appear severe and lasting.

Like Cazador’s commandments, Vellioth states three lessons that a vampire must live by:

Lesson one “…to dominate. Allow none to be your equal.”

Lesson two “Power comes from solitude. To share with others is to be weak and to be weak is to fail, and die.”

Lesson three “Act not in haste. A near-immortal has time to plan, time to act only when others will pay the price of action.”

With lesson three in mind, I would say that Cazador slept down there and only saw his spawn to punish, instruct or to collect their conquests.

Compared to Cazador’s commandments, Vellioth appears to frame his lessons around a code of which a vampire should live.

Cazador takes these and shapes them into his commandments when he comes into his own power. Those commandments revolve around obedience and domination, making sure his spawn know that they belong to him and must do as he says. It’s this doctrine that shapes his rule.

During the conversation, Vellioth talks about the mistakes that Cazador made and the punishments he suffered for them. First through the death of an old friend, for which he made Cazador watch. The second was by impaling him for ten years.

However, it seems that Cazador was a good pupil and successor to Vellioth as he finally projects a sense of pride when Cazador performed the Rite of Perfect Slaughter, killing him.

I found this quite interesting since the scroll and conversation implies that Vellioth was aware of and performed many of the Rites listed in the scroll and was perhaps a follower/worshipper of Mephistopheles.

He possessed the instructions for the Rite of Profane Ascension so it’s not a stretch to presume he was intending to perform it himself. Yet there’s a sense of pride in his defeat at the hands of his progeny.

So why is this? This attitude seems to fly in the face of his own rules and the idea that vampires don’t like to share power. Cazador must have done something to impress him to the point where he was ready to surrender his legacy to him. Was it the cunning and will to beat him? Did he demonstrate himself as worthy or did he simply seize the power?

There’s also an interesting point to note - Vellioth must have consented to turn Cazador into a full vampire before his death, which is interesting because that means that he eventually granted him the status of ‘equal’. Was he ready to die? Did he see Cazador of worthy or did the Rite mean he was required to surrender his blood willingly to his spawn to complete it?

One thing is for certain though; his lessons, his legacy and that of the vampires that came before him continue through Cazador.

Cazador Szarr - Family Man

So, Cazador we know became a true vampire over 200 years ago. Astarion says he was ‘one of the first’, but didn’t go into more detail. Was he the second or third?

We find out a few things exploring the house. We know that there was a room for the favoured spawn Leon (we meet him trying to abduct Astarion in Elfsong), the majority of the other spawn has a less fancy dorm and then there’s the Kennel, where we know Astarion spent a considerable amount of time.

Cazador treats his spawn with sadistic cruelty. We see his attitude towards Astarion during their confrontation and his tone as he speaks to him. He refers to them as his ‘family’ and takes the stance of a strict old-school father.

He’s very reminiscent of the likes of Tywin Lannister or similarly placed father/heads of household (reminds me a lot of Reginald Hargreaves from the Umbrella Academy). For all intents and purposes he presents himself as the master of his domain and his spawn as his ‘children’, calling Astarion ‘boy’ and taking an authoritarian position in the way he treats his spawn.

I wonder if this is a remnant of his time with Vellioth. The implication of Vellioth’s teachings was that he essentially groomed Cazador to be his successor, should the event arise.

The Cazador we learn about acts as master, not sharing his power. Even his favoured spawn is clear of his place within the ranks.

We learn that Leon, who we meet trying to take Astarion in his sleep, is the favoured spawn. I have tried to place the order of spawn from the ones we know of - Leon, Aurelia, Dalyria and Petras and I think either Leon or Dalyria were the first spawn. From their demeanour and the way they speak, they seem to have an air of experience and wisdom to them.

Cazador also seems to choose his spawn carefully. But I wonder if he chose them first, or some are ‘newer’ than others. And what makes these seven stand out compared to the 7000 others he made for the ritual. Why were they useful and the others locked away? Was it a condition of the ritual that 7 spawn collect 1000 souls each as a contribution to the Rite, or were they just useful for Cazador. From the perspective of control, it makes more sense for him to have a limited number of spawn he considers ‘children’ while the others become ‘cattle’ in his head.

Which makes me think that Cazador cherry-picked these people in advance to cultivate his family from the get-go.

Leon, as mentioned, I believe to be his progeny. He seems to resemble Cazador a little, although more handsome. He sports the same long, black hair and I feel that perhaps Cazador saw him as his legacy or true son.

Edit: it’s also worth noting here (thank you to the commenter who said this) that Leon was protecting his daughter who Cazador wanted to turn. The cursed child was supposed to be her but on speak with dead you learn she was replaced by a vagabond and his real daughter had been sneaked away. This also may imply that he was a younger spawn.

Leon, more than the others seems to take his role with calm obedience rather than outwardly fearful. And so, he earned favour from his master. Cazador got to see perhaps what he perceived he used to look like when he was alive, feeding his own petty vanity.

We know a little more about Dalyria. She was a doctor and was looking into potentially curing vampirism through blood transfusions. She would therefore be very clever and influential. Cazador will haven chosen her as a ‘quality’ candidate due to this, and perhaps her method of collection was to offer help to the sick and destitute, promising them immortality as the ‘cure’.

Aurelia and Petras feel a little more difficult to judge. Aurelia feels like an ambitious middle child, trying especially hard to please Cazador and show herself as valuable next to Leon. Petras seems younger to me. More naive. This may be because he appears to be a ‘himbo’ and reinforces Dalyria’s position as an older spawn since she seems to want to take care of him. The other two, we know next to nothing about.

And then we come to Astarion. Our favourite elf seems to have bore Cazador’s wrath worse than the others. But I feel for certain that Astarion was chosen for one key feature - his looks. I’m not sure if Astarion was as much of a flirt back in his days as a magistrate, but Cazador quickly saw his potential. With 10 charisma and a set of overly flowery chat up lines, Astarion wasn’t the most charming of people. But his beauty got him a lot of attention and that made those lines he liked to dish out more alluring.

And so, Cazador realised with that power behind him, he would achieve his goals. My personal headcanon is that Cazador orchestrated the attack that killed Astarion so that he could turn him, and probably took a similar strategy to ensnare the others. Remember lesson three - plan carefully and patiently!

I imagine the relationship between them often resembled the kind of dynamic between an old style English schoolmaster and his pupil. Astarion would have, no doubt, rubbed him up the wrong with with his sarcastic tone and it does make me sad to think that Cazador may have taken further glee in punishing him for this.

However, I also get the sense that Cazador may have wished for Astarion to be his favoured spawn, which is why he punished him more severely than the others.

Generational trauma and the breaking or continuing cycle

And this takes me to the idea of generational trauma.

Seen primarily through the trauma that Astarion experiences and overcomes throughout his story, the cycle of abuse that comes through the vampiric way of un-life. We learn that Cazador experiences abuse like this through Vellioth’s rule, which in turn makes him crueller and more sadistic through his actions and attitude. Where Vellioth eventually shares his power, Cazador appears to present the illusion of favour while remaining separate to his spawn. He calls them ‘family’ to project an illusion of nurturing and togetherness while dominating them through cruelty and authority. He projects terrifying dominion while haunted within by the loss of himself, the lasting scars of his own spawnhood and sorrow for the monster he has become. He’s self-aware and does care to an extent about his own suffering but carries on regardless.

I would say that Cazador is driven by his own trauma and desire to quell the pain and sadness within him. Astarion’s drive stems from a similar place, but his driving force is the overwhelming terror he feels from the years of abuse he’s suffered.

Astarion feels like someone who has tried to express his sorrow for years to deaf, uncaring ears until he meets Tav, who listens and acknowledges him. Where Cazador conceals and buries his trauma, masking it with cruelty and authority, Astarion is finally allowed to express it out loud and work through it.

If he follows this path, he is able to embrace true freedom and break the cycle of trauma perpetuated for generations. Without the spectre of his tormentor chasing him, he can let go of that fear. It’ll take him many more years to heal, and this will always leave its mark on him, but he is able to stop the cycle for good, and open up to new possibilities.

If he lets his trauma and fear dominate him and ascends, he essentially destroys his path to healing and traps himself in an eternal shell where those old wounds will fester forever and he will become a worse version of Cazador, perpetuating the abuse and passing it onto his new spawn Tav.

Whether that cycle of generational trauma truly ends is up for debate. The other spawn will have their own demons to contend with and how they choose to do that is a mystery.

But, in my game at least, Astarion gets to live free of this legacy and start his life anew.

[leliwardens]

god okay i'm more normal now so i'm gonna ramble proper about leliana's deleted dialogue. i don't know if it's new to the fandom but it's new to ME

thoughts under the cut bc it got long. it's all over the place but i have so many feelings.

the biggest part to me is the entirely cut content with leliana and her knife she received from justinia when she was in the dungeon. this really sucks because based on the dialogue seen, it would of been so thematically perfect for her arc and made her personal quest better than just "find box". having to give up the knife "frees" her, just as receiving it did, and both of these were done by justinia. a bookend!

Leliana: Justinia gave me this the first time we met. It is a bard’s blade: Small, easily concealed, delicate, but deadly. Now she wants me to lock it away. Forever.

how she feels it about it tho is varied by if she's enlightened or steeled, with the steeled one specifically sticking out to me (and being so painful):

PC: The knife that fit in the box… Why does it mean so much to both you and Justinia? Leliana: When Justinia and I first met, I was locked in a dungeon cell. Justinia—she was Dorothea, then—gave me the knife and told me to free myself. I’ve kept it with me ever since. I suppose I’m carrying the debt I owe. Leliana: And now that debt is repaid and forgotten. Leliana: That knife saved my skin countless times, and it’s such a pretty thing.

my god there's so much here. leliana is very sentimental, with both gifts and memories, and specifically with her knife before this point. i mean, she literally has kept it for over a decade. but now being influenced towards that more ruthless part of her, it's a symbol of a "debt" owed, and now repaid. nothing more. (also drawing contrast to an earlier line she has in another dialogue tree).

17 - Investigate: How did you meet? PC: How did you and Justinia meet? Leliana: I met her a long time ago, before she became Divine, before she was Justinia. When I met her, she was Mother Dorothea. I was at my lowest: broken, lost. And she saved me. No, no, wait. (Laughs.) She hates it when I say that. I saved myself. She just showed me it was possible.

and of course i have to highlight "pretty thing" because it sucker punched me in the chest. the knife was nothing more than a pretty thing, useful but easily discarded when no longer needed. just like marjolaine's "pretty thing". she came full circle despite her fear of becoming marjolaine, slipping into someone, or something just like her. and here it is. christ. i want to eat glass.

for her enlightened reaction, it's similar to the one in-game but this also leads to a different but just as interesting piece of cut content.

PC: So does putting the knife in the box make you feel any different? Leliana: It is more complicated than that. Leliana: The box is a reminder to stay true to who I really am, before spymaster, Left Hand, or bard.

and this route leads to more about sister natalie. and it's another sucker punch to the chest. (i assume the two lines are steeled and enlightened respectively.)

PC: Tell me about Natalie. Leliana: She was a sister from the Grand Cathedral, one of Justinia’s most trusted. I always liked her. She reminded me of… myself. Leliana: I suppose an honest face will get you far in the Game, no? [steeled?] Leliana: Perhaps one day we could be friends again. What do you think? [enlightened?]

first admitting she reminded her of herself, which can very well be it's own post despite the small amount of screentime she gets. but i wanted to focus on the "we could be friends again" part. despite betrayal being a core part of...well everything about herself, a literal fundamental building block of her character, she even has this line about marjolaine, showing even now she is deeply affected still:

PC: Why do you say you were “broken”? Leliana: I was used and betrayed by someone dear to me. I was beaten an imprisoned, but flesh heals. It was the memory of the betrayal that nearly defeated me.

despite DESPITE this. she still has a hope, even small, they could be friends again. if she kills her, she said she called her sister once:

Leliana: And my poor, dear Natalie. I called her sister once, but I couldn’t risk leaving her alive. Don’t tell me to let it all go after all I’ve sacrificed to get here.

and she even knew of leliana's vision:

Natalie: “A barren branch.” Could that have something to do with your story about the rose, Leliana? Leliana: Ah, that must be it!

so, it must of been a good friendship, but even if it wasn't as deep, she herself says she has so few true friends left. and maybe that's enough to try to keep the ones who are still alive:

11 - General: I’m glad you care for Josephine. PC: Whatever happens, I’m glad to see Josephine has a concerned friend here. Leliana: (Sighs.) I have so few true friends these days. Those that are left I… deeply cherish.

and maybe, learning to forgive:

I think it’s likely. PC: I think you will be friends again. Friends forgive. Leliana: Let’s hope so.

this is literally undoing me at the seams, and i did want to point out one final bit of cut content (or well the last one i want to ramble about i could go on about literally every single line if i wanted) about justinia herself:

Who was Justinia, really? PC: A posthumous mission? Hidden messages? Justinia was more than just a cleric, wasn’t she. Leliana: Like many, Justina had a past. Even I know very little about it. She enjoyed keeping the mystery alive, I think. Some believe she was a bard in service of Dowager Marquise Mantillon. She may even have been the famed Lady of the Crimson Mantle. The Lady’s appearance at court often preceded someone’s political ruin. She was like a bad omen. And no one saw her face. She always wore a veil, they say. I don’t know if she was really Justinia. I suppose I’ll never know.

and it's a shame, like all this other cut content, it's not in the game. we learn little about justinia herself in the main series, and while it's not telling us a lot it does tell us even from leliana she kept secrets (parallel to marjolaine maybe.........).

the mantillon is an interesting mention because there's two, one in dai and the other one in tme. there's no real indication which it could be, but given the prominence of mantillon from tme and justinia and leliana's roles in the novel, i'd guess it was her. maybe it was to be in the novel more but it was cut from there too. also the "lady of the crimson mantle" brings up nothing on the wiki, so maybe some scrapped content or it's not on there or maybe a reference i'm missing.

either way, tragic leliana is left to speculate about her past, when...well justinia knew hers. their relationship makes me so unwell.

and i think i'll stop here but rest assured i was breaking down as i was breaking down the text. i love leliana so much and i'm grabbing all of this and shoving it into my own canon.

[mackeralsauce]

'kay gonna rant ab some frustrations (very opinionated) with the cuttletavio community and whatnot. don't like it? move on! more down below:

(TW for mentions of heavy topics and similar. I'm tired of people being uncreative and diluting the ship to 'toxic yaoi yay!!!'. Oh, and mentions of NSFW in passing.)

Oh my fucking god. Can we stop with the boring-ass 'Toxic Old Man Yaoi' bullshit already? It's so overplayed and uncreative.

There's gonna be a lot of people who disagree with my takes in this, and frankly, I don't care! I'm shrimply tired of seeing the same old cycle repeat in this fandom of 'cool big artist or writer ends up making something frankly disgusting with cuttletavio'. I block liberally and whatever so there's your forewarning and whatnot.

Another forewarning is that I am very much autistic and so these issues drive me to this point because I see much more potential in the ship! This is one of my special interests.

Part 1: Toxic Tropes, Abuse, and Everything Inbetween.

Every time I hear about something in this fandom, it's someone making content of Octavio and Craig that involves abuse, homewrecking, non-con, racism, fetishization, or anything else under the shit bucket! Yeah, yeah, people on the internet can have their opinions. It's not inherently bad to represent issues like that, but it's the fact that it is ALWAYS portrayed in a romanticized light! Because let me remind you, this community is for the *ship* between these two characters. Representation of such topics need to be done tastefully. Real people are harmed by shit like that, and spoiler alert! I should fucking know.

There's so much "Craig being racist haha!" jokes from certain groups. That's primarily the fault of the NA translation of Splatoon, but it's still quite irritating. There is much more to his character than just that. Really, is that the ONLY fucking joke you idiots have? Damn. Boring as hell! Not to mention we know from interviews that even nowadays he wished for peace and tries to help any Octarian he comes across... Oh, and I won't name names, but some people just straight up BUTCHER his character. Yuck.

Then there's the portrayal of Octavio. Typically, people outside of the cuttletavio community will end up portraying him as a fascist dictator (gross and wrong). We have the opposite problem here. People straight-up infantilize him, make him woobified, etc. which annoys me quite a bit. I think we forget that, y'know... HE IS A SHOGUN? A COMMANDER? Such a government is going to be militaristic. I'm not saying that he's evil, but making him out to be an innocent 'widdol guy' is just. Eugh. Not to mention this is usually done because of headcanons involving him to be trans. I love Trans Octavio headcanons! But I hate the overfeminization and overtwinkification of him. Let him be strong and trans, is that so hard?

And these topics are the small potatas. My biggest gripe is when people make their ship to be just 'toxic yaoi' and bluh bluh boring. Look, I get it, there's people who eat that slop up. Whatever floats your boat. But holy FUCK the amount of straight-up garbage and romanticization and lack of creativity I see...

Part 2: Missed Potential and Lack of Creativity.

Oh my fucking god. We have this one ship between two queer adults who grow to old age, and you guys can't even let it be healthy? Yes, I get there was war, but it doesn't mean they were fucking toxic when they were dating. Whatever your interpretation is, you don't have to make them cruel, horrible people to each other. Even if your interpretation involves them being morally grey or complex characters, you can make them have flaws without making them abusers.

Let me explain this: Romance is very, very complicated. It's not all sex, and it's not all fluff either. Most interpretations I see of cuttletavio are often 'All or Nothing' on certain factors. The three popular topics people put their stocks in are Angst, Sex, and Fluff. This is expected in fandom, but what bothers me is that so few people actually consider the alternatives, and that its usually ALL of one trait without anything else. Angst for the purpose of just angst doesn't hit, it's just edgy and boring. All smut with no love will wear thin. Tooth-rotting fluff has no substance if you don't even show the platonic side of their relationship. A good romance is oft built on a good friendship. Why not delve into those aspects? If you need them to kiss to tell they're in love, then you're doing it wrong.

Of course, that critique is moreso a small one. Beginner writers can easily fall into those and that's alright. Why it bothers me is because there is such a drought of good content- at least from my scope of view thus far- in cuttletavio. There is potential for greatness (and I am not slacking on trying to showcase this; I am working on my own content in the meantime), but hardly anyone delves into it. Why not explore how they got to know each other? The complexities of their characters? Tropes are alright, but get to a deeper level, and find the human within the idea. Not only that, but explore the world they're in! The circumstances of why they're in war! The politics, the governments, and the cultures of the time. These are old men in a fictional post-apocalyptic society devoid of humans. The inkfish could have evolved culturally in completely different ways! Please, just explore SOMETHING!

Y'wanna know why the whole toxic yaoi shit bothers me so much? Because it lacks creativity. It's overdone. Stale bread. It's like the slop they serve in a school cafeteria. You can get toxic yaoi ANYWHERE! It's such a common, overplayed trope for mlm ships, that you'll never go devoid of it. So why make cuttletavio into it? I haven't seen anything creative enough to excuse it. All i've seen is people committing character assassination and stripping them of any of their intrigue or humanity. It's bland. I'm sick of it.

Conclusion.

I'm too exhausted to write any more of this but yeagh. Just sick of this shit. There is potential to these two old men, both in their youthful and elderly years. Let them make love, war, friendship, and peace. Don't reduce them to poor dollar-a-dime toxic yaoi tropes that have become tired and sloppy from years of poorly written BL and similar.

If you can't write/draw/etc. good romance or sex without making them abusive in ANY way (cheating, non-con, physically, emotionally, etc.) then you need to learn how to write complex characters and complex stories. You can have characters argue without it being abuse. You can have complicated dynamics without all that.

[zundely]

I just noticed I almost never post about Lavellan x Dorian compared to all my other canon romances and that is because, if I have to be totally brutally honest with myself, I am not entirely sure what their relationship would be like post Inquistion.

Like I am in a LDR myself- and part of me wants a sappy, sweet romance and them just finding small ways to be happy amidst all the chaos.

But another part of me thinks that Dorian wouldn't be entierly ready for all the controversy him having an Dalish elven husband would bring in the Imperium. And I don't mean it in the he would be ashamed of him etc. way because obviously not, that man loves to stir up drama and controversy. I mean that back in Ferelden/Orlais Dorian felt as if he was the one to be ashamed of and he seemed kind of unaware that to an elven Inquistior there is a lot more things at play that is going to make this relationship hard then Dorian being a Tevinter magister. And I think this obliviousness to how social pressures will affect diffrent races in diffrent ways makes sense for him, he doesn't notice that just how he never noticed how having slaves is weird till he left Tevinter. It's a very realistic trait for a character who grew up with considerable amount of privilage. Which leads me to belive that, as much as I think Dorian wouldn't be ashamed of his elven boyfriend, he would also probably not know or be prepared to help him with all the backlash that is inevetably coming their way. As much as I love Dorian he has this horrible habit of putting foot in his mouth and just saying the worst thing at the worst possible time, especially when it comes to elves and I think, in environment that is as hostile to elves as Tevinter, this would become a source of some tension in the relationship, maybe even potentially be a reason for it to fracture.

What I am saying is I have two wolves inside me, one wants to make happy nerdy husbands Pavellan content, second wants to make bitter, still not over each other and love each other dearly but it's complicated ex-husbans Pavellan content and they are at each others throats every time I think about them.

[loveletterworm]

i only vaguely refer to "Game I recently purchased that I tried to play and then felt too stupid to understand so I only played it for 30 minutes" because I fear either offending or baffling my singular follower that I know likes it but i honestly felt like that one post where someone drew themselves at age 6 or something trying to read calvin & hobbes and it was talking about philosophy or something but they were like 6 and didn't understand it (I can't find the post I know it exists). Except I am 21 and not 6, and I was streaming this to a friend, and they had to witness me not understanding it and feeling like I assumed wrongly of its contents from what little I had seen before buying it, and we both thought "Well our other friend would probably like this more..." and I tried to offer to play it again when the other friend could watch but then I realized that I didn't want to be witnessed being vaguely uncultured for a half hour a second time, so I rescinded the offer and deleted the message where I said that before the other friend woke up, and now the game just sits in my steam library taunting me, and I spent a very small amount of money on it which technically means I barely lost anything but I still keep thinking "My 6 dollars....". This has all felt like the greatest failure of my life for the past couple weeks I've yet to get over it