#when the sun and moon and stars are gone what's left is only queue

[jam-showtoonz]

Revived Solar! (My au)

This post also contains lore.

Revived Solar is having a great time!

He just woke up in some weird plain of existence , he’s missing one of his arms and about 20 minutes after waking up he’s attacked by some demented hell beast. Thankfully he is saved by someone who looks like a Sun and Moon combined that isn’t an Eclipse. They act kinda like Lunar just different.

They give him a quick run down on the creature- Voidger it’s called apparently- basically:

This one can’t see. Voidgers can’t smell in general so they don’t need to worry about that.

This one can only hear. Which means they have to get out of there as quietly as possible. Which they lucky manage.

On their way to the ‘ central tower ’ the animatronic introduces themselves as Solstice and explains a bit more about where they are.

The void- it one of the places you can end up if you go through a dis functional portal or your dimension collapses, guess he knows how he got here, the thing that attacked him was a Voidger, a small amount are native to the void- majority though are people, animatronics and/or animals who got lost and were never found- the one that attacked them was a turn one, the way you can tell is apparently the native ones have eyes… many eyes… he hopes he never meets one.

There are apparently ‘ islands ’ around the void with buildings that have a random assortment of objects, no food though as there is no need to eat. The buildings are the only safe spots within the void- unless you can get out or you come across Galaxy.

Eventually they make it to one of these buildings, a tall skyscraper type building. Upon entering they make their way to the 4th floor where they enter a lab kind of place and are greeted by two beings- one is a robot similar to something the creator had- the other, very tall one, looks to be made of stars.

The smaller one, despite the scare they clearly got from the sudden entry, doesn’t question what’s going on, they don’t even seem surprised by him being here, and simply asks if he’d like repaired. He hesitantly accepts the offer as the tall one- Galaxy going by Solstices greeting to them- observes him with their singular eye.

C- he learns the small one goes by -somehow fixes him completely within 30 minutes. They were awfully considerate about asking him what he wanted, colour, shape, any features- despite the fact that they were clearly limited on what they could do.

Galaxy and Solstice had left at some point or another. C offered to answer any questions he had to the best of his ability.

What he learned?

There is a total of 8 beings that live in the void that aren’t Voidgers, that was counting C, Galaxy and Solstice. Though he wasn’t given names.

You turn into a Voidger when you��re alone and lost, as it gives the void access to your mind and you slowly go insane until all rational thought is gone. Despite this if you look or sound similar to someone they knew they will pause before continuing to attack you. Yes, apparently some turned Voidgers have eyes, only two though.

Portal doors aren’t actually hard to find so long as you don’t let the void get to you, the only risk is what’s on the other side. They are also far apart from each other so they take a while to get to. The closest one to them goes to a human dimension.

They can’t stay in a dimension forever because they could weaken it and cause it to collapse. This is because they are completely connected to the void. He should be fine apparently though, as it takes a year for a person to become fully connected to the void and time is very slow in here.

The Voidgers are terrified of Galaxy, apparently their ora has something to do with it.

They are more than willing to help him get home as the void is not a place for everyone.

C hates to talk about themself and is more focused on making sure the others here don’t get themselves killed.

Queue someone with 2 hoops around their head and waist with stars on them, as well as a skirt coming in and yelling about how someone called Blue and- Lunar?- just blew up a toaster on one of the paths to scare a Voidger. C let out a long annoyed sigh before telling him to stay in the lab and say they need to go deal with their kid and the youngest in this found family.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he’s lucky or not.

[Yes I’m posting Ruin separately as lore- Solar is gonna have a great time.]

[widonotts]

critical role meme  ϟ  [1/10] mighty nein dynamics  ϟ  beau & caleb

[id: 8 gifs of beau & caleb throughout critical role.

1 - 2x49: beau: “don’t run. you can say you don’t believe in anything, and that’s fine. believe in us, just a little bit?” caleb: “...i will consider it heavily.”

2 - 2x22: beau & caleb in an agonizingly awkward hug, clumsily patting each other and looking to their friends for any kind of guidance.

3 - 2x97: beau & caleb motioning to yasha during her conversation with lord sharpe: beau forcefully miming the brutal acts of violence yasha should enact on him, and caleb trying to keep the situation in check but indicating that maybe he should be just a little bit stabbed.

4 - 2x68: caleb: “do you ever wonder what’s on the other side?” beau: “of what, the bridge?” caleb: “oh, that too.”

5 - 2x31: marisha, miming beau indignantly pulling books from the shelves: “i look at caleb across the library.” caleb sees her and gives her a proud double thumbs-up; she looks at him sourly before returning his gesture with a middle finger.

6 - 2x99: beau: “come here.” she pulls him into a slow hug. caleb: “what are we doing?” beau: “we’re hugging.” caleb: “what is the occasion?” beau: “i mean, i think we ended war amongst our people.”

7 - 2x109: beau: “i’m glad we’re friends. i know it was a rocky start.” caleb: “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” beau: “yeah, we were always great.” caleb: “we were always great.” beau: “yeah, it was all in good fun!” there’s a heavy pause. caleb: “you drove me insane.” beau: “i hated you.” caleb: “yeah.” beau: “yeah, you sucked.”

8 - 2x94: caleb: “follow your own advice. don’t go.”

end id.]

[againstacecilia]

I posted 2,462 times in 2022

That's 2,123 more posts than 2021!

239 posts created (10%)

2,223 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@againstacecilia

@princessxkenobi

@sengawolf

@huffle-pissed

@phoenixhalliwell

I tagged 1,333 of my posts in 2022

Only 46% of my posts had no tags

#star wars - 334 posts

#do as dreamers queue - 264 posts

#din djarin - 253 posts

#best mutuals - 200 posts

#the mandalorian - 195 posts

#talented mutuals - 179 posts

#star wars fanfiction - 159 posts

#din djarin x reader - 152 posts

#din djarin fanfiction - 119 posts

#din djarin x you - 115 posts

Longest Tag: 91 characters

#just waiting for the everybody lives au's where this boy gets the love and care he deserved

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Nightmares

Alrighty, #BlurbTuesday coming in just under the wire! Since I wasn't able to write anything this week (it's been a BUSY one, y'all) you get a sneak preview into a series I'm writing! This may or may not be exactly how it turns out later, but I thought I'd use this moment since I'm pretty proud of it. Stretching those dialogue muscles!

Warnings: reader has a nightmare, helmet is off for a second, emotions lol. This doesn't really need a rating but, as always, the whole blog is 18+ ONLY. Love y'all. 💖

See the full post

256 notes - Posted August 30, 2022

#4

How do I tell my husband I want to watch Triple Frontier but not for the plot?

Do I lie and just call these men "the plot"?

Might have to.

297 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

#3

Hands

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY (Minors DNI)

Excerpt: "You’d thought about the Mandalorian in that way a couple of times. In the quiet of hyperspace or dark nights on deserted moons, the idea of… Propositioning whatever man laid beneath the beskar seemed like an okay idea. But once the stars stopped blurring through the windshield or the sun rose on your camp, those thoughts evaporated like morning dew and you were left with a hollow feeling—more than a little lonely."

Warnings: When I say 18+, I mean 18+. Unprotected sex (wrap it up, folx!), language, fingering, blow job, cursing, light choking, hair pulling, pretty unedited, just plan on a cold shower afterwards and probs don't read on the work wifi.

Summary: Mando's gone, the kids asleep, and you're bored. And maybe feeling some other things, but you've never had a problem taking care of those things on your own. And just when you start thinking it'd be more fun if someone else was helping you out...

A/N: SMUT. I mean, ahem, smut. It's all smut. Maybe a little fluff but 98% smut. Today is Pornhub's 15th anniversary (don't ask, shut up) and the 45th anniversary of the beginning of Star Wars so I put it all together as an excuse to get SPICY. 😂 Thank you so much to @creatively-analytical and @peetiespetals for beta-reading and giving me feedback, love you both SO MUCH. 💖 As always, love you all. Come say hi and let me know what you'd like to see!

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372 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

#2

Hold Me

Back with another late night Blurb Tuesday. I've been really feeling like ass the last few days so have some self-indulgent comfort from our favorite Metal Man. 💖

No real warnings here, reader is sick and Din comforts her. Calls her "sweet girl" and there's mention of brushing back hair but not a lot of description past that.

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485 notes - Posted September 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I wish you'd write a fic where...

Either Din or Poe pretends to the readers fake boyfriend at a bar/crowded place. To get rid of unwanted attention, they swear. That's the only reason.

😉

Oh well twist my arm. 😍

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Rating: T, I think, but the whole blog is 18+ NO EXCEPTIONS

Excerpt: "Without saying anything you leap into the thick of the rabble, knowing Mando would follow you. The last months of working together had built an understanding between the two of you. You move, he moves. He jumps, you follow. Like your favorite book, you knew exactly what was going to happen when Mando went out into the world and he could rely on that consistency from you as well, all without either of you having to utter a word."

Warnings: Canon typical violence, a grabby guy at a bar, some unspoken feelings, mentions of alcohol, just a hint of angst.

Summary: Hunting with Mando is a great time, but why do people keep trying to hide in bars?

A/N: This lil fic was requested by @creatively-analytical and is also 1000% dedicated to you, my love! I figured your birthday was as good a time as any to answer this! Here's a little protective!Din fic, dedicated to you. I'm SO HAPPY you exist and I'm so thankful our paths crossed. LOVEYOUSOMUCHHAPPYBIRTHDAY

See the full post

760 notes - Posted May 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[lesetoilesfous]

Fic prompt: M!Hawke/Anders, “I should have told you a long time ago.”

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting​

Pairing: m!Handers

Characters: Garrett Hawke, Anders

Tags: end of act 2, mild angst, mostly fluff, declarations of love

Rating: Mature

For the first time in nearly six years, when Hawke gets to Darktown the light outside Anders’ clinic is out. There’s no queue spilling out onto the landing, and instead the earthen floor is eerily empty as the setting sun spills in bolts of pink and yellow silk across the dust. Hawke doesn’t make the decision to start running consciously, but he climbs the steps to the clinic in a heartbeat, and throws the thin wooden doors open in a crashing rattle that startles a pair of pigeons out of the rafters by the wall and into the pink sky that squeezes between the cliffs of Kirkwall.

Inside, the clinic is dark, stretchers empty and counters clear of everything - there are no rolled bandages, or brewed potions, not even clean basins and flasks for the next day’s work. Hawke can feel his heart sitting heavily on the back of his tongue as he steps into the velvet dark and breathes in the smell of soap and cotton and mildew. “ANDERS!”

His voice bellows against the wooden rafters, and Hawke really can’t find it in himself to care. He keeps thinking about coming back from the Deep Roads and finding Bethany gone. He keeps thinking about coming home to lilies and a vase and no mother in the parlour. He keeps thinking about Lothering, and the smouldering ruin blackening the horizon to greet him when he came back from the hunt.

Hawke strides forward through the cots, pushing the rickety wooden structures aside too hard, so they crash into each other, and stares wildly into the dark. “ANDERS!”

“I have neighbours, you know.” Anders’ voice is quiet and exhausted and Hawke doesn’t care. He turns to see the mage standing in the doorway, a bag full of green leafy roots slung over his shoulder, and crosses the space in three long loping strides that feel like they take a lifetime. And then he’s wrapping his arms around Anders’ too-thin body, crushing him close as he buries his face into his shoulder and breathes in the familiar scent of honey-sweet elfroot and sweat. 

“Maker, I thought -” Hawke manages, when his heart has approached a pace he thinks he can survive. He pulls back to see Anders frowning at him, his long sharp face cast in shadow by the dark belly of his clinic. “What - why is the lantern out?”

Anders’ expression darkens, and he pulls himself roughly out of Hawke’s arms, walking into the clinic and lighting a candle with an impatient flick of his wrist. “Why do you think, Garrett? Would you trust me with your child, such as I am?” Anders looks up, and in the candlelight his face is gaunt and hollow, pressed with deep purple bruises of sleeplessness beneath his brown eyes. “I wouldn’t.”

Hawke’s chest lurches, and he turns back toward Anders, feeling like a mabari on a leash. “Anders -”

Anders laughs once, bitterly, and raises a hand in a swift gesture as he dumps the bag of roots onto the cot. “Don’t. Just, don’t. If I wanted hollow platitudes I’d go to the Chantry.”

Hawke bites his tongue, and watches as Anders unpacks the bag: elfroot, mostly, with a few spiky silver branches of Spindleweed. Behind them, in the Undercity, there’s the shrieking sound of a scream, and no way to tell whether it’s in jest or honest fright. With a feeling like falling, Hawke presses on. “What’s going on?”

Anders shakes his head, pursing his lips as he begins to slice the elfroot with quick, practiced motions in a series of soft thumps. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m leaving.”

All at once, Hawke is weightless. He stares, as if the sight of this man is the only thing keeping his feet anchored to the earth. “What?” If his voice sounds strained, Anders doesn’t seem to notice, mouth pressing into a thin line as he chops the elfroot faster.

“I’m leaving. I’m taking myself out of the equation. I almost -” Anders’ voice gets louder, and his hand pauses in the chopping before resuming with new vigour as his shoulders hunch. “I will not let myself hurt anyone else. I won’t. So, I’m going.”

“What about the underground?” Hawke manages, pushing the words like sandpaper over his dry tongue. 

Anders barks a laugh that rings against the clinic’s rafters. In the corner, by the door, there’s a sudden flurry of movement as a rat disappears into the wall. “It’s over. They found our way in. Everyone involved is dead or -” Anders’ voice breaks, and he ducks his head, hair slipping out of his loose ponytail in great chunks as he glares at the elfroot he’s chopping. “Or worse.” He looks up then, and it’s hard to tell in the dark and glimmer of the candlelight, but Hawke thinks his eyes are shining.

From outside the clinic, through the broken walls of Darktown, there’s the ringing crash of the sea. Anders looks at Hawke, and the space between them feels as vast as an ocean. “There’s nothing for me here, Garrett. I should have left a long time ago.”

Hawke feels the words sink into his chest like a hand grabbing his heart and twisting. He moves forward, setting his fingers on Anders’ thin wrists. Anders stops chopping, and looks up at him. This close, Hawke can see the dark track of tears on his cheeks. In the shadows beyond the candlelight, Anders’ stubble is almost silver. Hawke wants that, suddenly, fiercely: wants to live with this man long enough to see him go grey.

The smell of elfroot is thick and sweet between them as honey or molasses, the dark green leaves going darker where they bleed into the chopping board. The candle flame jumps and flickers in the wind that rushes through the buried streets. Hawke’s fingers tighten around Anders’ wrists. “That’s not true.” The words are a whisper, and Hawke has to swallow past the lump of his heart in his throat before he can continue, feeling Anders’ attention on him stretched thin as spider silk, liable to break with the wrong breath. “It’s not true that there’s nothing for you here. I’m here.”

For a second, Hawke thinks Anders believes him. But then his expression crumbles into a mask of impassivity, and he pulls back, turning away from him and walking toward the sink in the wall. The crash of water falling into the basin is loud as a thunderclap in the empty clinic. Hawke stands frozen over the butchered elfroot, feeling as if his feet have been rooted to the ground. He glances down to check that they haven’t, and looks up in time to see Anders’ drying his hands on a rag and lifting his chin.

“Your friendship has meant a lot to me, Garrett, truly, but -”

Anders’ voice is distant, almost cold, and that would sting more if Hawke wasn’t so distracted by the fact that he hadn’t apparently heard what he was saying. 

“No, Anders, I’m in love with you.”

Never let it be said that Garrett Hawke was a man who thought before he spoke. Anders had frozen like a halla in a hunter’s sights, and was staring at him with wide eyes and an odd kind of vulnerability that made him look like a man in his late 20s, not his mid 40s. Hawke soldiered on, walking around the table and crossing the clinic to stand in front of Anders in the dark. He looks into those clever brown eyes, almost black in the shadow, and takes a deep breath.

“I should have told you a long time ago. I love you. I love everything you do. I love your laugh, and that little scar on your chin. I love the perpetual stubble, and the greys in your hair. I love the holes in your clothes and the wrinkles at the corners of your eyes. I love your freckles, and your hands, and the way you look like Andraste herself in the middle of a fight, burning brighter than any star I’ve ever seen. I love your terrible sense of humour and your worse poker face. I love your obsession with cats and I love how much you care about everyone around you with every ounce of everything you arw. I love you, and I love Justice, and I love you and Justice, and I don’t want you to leave. Please, Anders. Don’t leave me.”

Behind them, through the broken walls of darktown, the silver moon rises over the Waking Sea. Blue light flickers over Anders’ cheek. And then he’s moving, and his long, calloused, crooked hands are grabbing Hawke’s face, and he’s bending and kissing him like it’s the only way to breathe, and Hawke has a moment to register the fact that the man even tastes like elfroot, before he’s wrapping his arms around Anders’ chest and pressing him close, hard, licking a broad stripe into Anders’ hot mouth and feeling his knees go weak at the moan that elicits as long fingers push into his hair and scratch against the back of his head. The world spins, and Hawke feels for the first time in a long time as if he’s finally done something right. Then Anders is pulling back, laughing, pressing his forehead against Hawke’s, and his long nose is hard against Hawke’s cheek and cold and wet with tears, and his laughter is breathless and shivering, and Hawke holds him tighter because he doesn’t want him to cry but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Anders presses another kiss to his lips, and Hawke follows him when he moves away, breath tickling his chin. “You smell like a fucking mabari.”

Laughter rises in Hawke’s chest like a firework, and he leans back and picks Anders easily up off the ground, spinning him around as he yelps and then folds into Hawke’s embrace with a laugh and a sigh, resting his arms on Hawke’s shoulders, hands linked loosely behind his neck. Hawke puts him down, but doesn’t let him go, still seized by the irrational notion that if he does this strange, flawed, brave, beautiful man will disappear from his life like mist at sunrise. So instead he squeezes him closer, and kisses his sharp, stubbled jaw, before pressing a series of kisses up his cheek and against his ear as Anders snorts and makes no effort to pull away. 

With one arm braced around Anders’ waist, Hawke moves his other hand to cup his sharp chin, pulling his face down to look at him. “Don’t leave.” Hawke’s voice is rough and low with the demand, and Anders’ eyes skate over his brow and nose and chin, before fluttering shut as he smiles. 

“Alright.” Anders opens his eyes, and looks at Hawke with something terrifyingly close to wonder. Hawke’s arm tightens around his waist, and Anders’ mouth quirks upward in a grin. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

Hawke ducks forward, and kisses the smile from his lips. 

The candle goes out.

[unpack-my-heart]

i am no bird (no net ensnares me)

The first time Eddie decided to leave for the bright lights of the big city, it was a rainy Tuesday afternoon in January and he’d been drunk on a fermenting promise to himself that was becoming slippery. So slippery was this promise that at any moment he feared he’d drop it, and it would splatter on the floor, messy and irrecoverable. He was nineteen years old; old enough to know better but young enough that his hare-brained decisions could be written off as the recklessness of a youth not yet over. When he’d told the others that he was planning to leave, with the phone crackling wildly under the strain of their seven way conversation, they had all whooped loudly, cheering a victory that he hadn’t yet won.

“I knew this would be the year you’d leave, Eds! I could feel it in my dick”

Fucking gross.

After he’d chewed Richie out for being crude, faux-annoyance honeying his words, he’d remained silent for a very long time, listening to the others trip and stumble over each other, babbling about how good emancipation felt, how the air had never tasted as sweet as it had the day they’d left, the day they’d left Derry and never looked back.

He’d planned to leave, had always meant to leave, had gotten as far as idly scrolling through flight schedules late at night, the moon watching him with her soft, sceptical gaze, but something held him back. The invisible red tether that cut deep welts into his heart tightened viciously whenever the thought of leaving fluttered through his brain, butterfly smooth.  His mother tugged on the tether, and reminded Eddie that his wings had been clipped a long time ago.

When Richie left Derry, nearly two years ago, Eddie hadn’t cried. Dry-eyed, face bright and free from tear-tracks, he’d rubbed soothing circles into Richie’s back as Richie cried, great heaving sobs that dampened Eddie’s almost-scratchy jersey sweater. He’d cried on Eddie’s shoulder for eons of time that they didn’t have, until Richie’s phone began to buzz fiercely. Eddie’s eyes remained firmly, petulantly dry. They’d remained dry when Richie told him, in a voice thick with sorrow, that out of all the Losers, out of all the people he’d ever met and even the people he hadn’t, that his Eds was his favourite. Eddie’s eyes remained dry when he watched Richie shove his guitars and the half-broken metal box full of old mixtapes into his half-broken old car that wheezed almost as much as Eddie did. The car sagged under the weight of Richie’s entire life, with no room for Eddie to clamber in, to mould himself around the suitcases. Eddie’s eyes remained dry as he watched Richie drive mouse-slow out of the driveway, and they’d remained dry when Richie shouted out of the window,

“I’ll never forget you, Eds! Not ever! I’ll always remember you and those fucking shorts!”

Those shorts remained folded away in the back of his wardrobe, unworn, unloved, almost-forgotten.

Eddie didn’t leave.

The second time Eddie decided to leave for the bright lights of the big city, he was twenty-four years old, and working full time at the pharmacy that he’d spent so many wasted hours in over the years, queueing up dutifully, waiting for the prescription to be filled, jittering from foot to foot, as if the verruca cream piled haphazardly on the shelf to his left would leap at him. He’d hop from foot to foot, wondering whether these pills would stop the bruising of his heart, or the mocking voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his own, “you’re cracked you’re damaged you’re ruined”. So many years and so many sugar pills, enough to turn his stomach and make his teeth itch.

The pharmacy was much the same as it ever was, a stagnant pool suspended in the centre of the roaring sea. Aisles of cough syrup and dandruff shampoo bracketed the counter, and Eddie spent his days drumming his fingers on the counter, each pound of each pad against the dull white surface a declaration, a plea.

“You’re never going to leave if you don’t do it now. Rip the band-aid off, Eds, and stop being such a fucking pussy!”

Richie was right in that very frustrating way that Richie was always, always, right, especially when it came to Eddie and his pathological tendency to self-sabotage himself into oblivion. Rather than cradle his life in both of his hands, a fragile little thing that needed nurturing, Eddie had instead condemned it to a solemn existence of apathy and a pretentious sort of melancholy, all the while staring at the little white pills that he’d taken for so long; the little white pills that took the pain away only until they didn’t anymore, lined up neatly in their piss-coloured plastic bottles on the shelves of the pharmacy.

He’d packed his bags with all the gusto he could manage that evening shoving t-shirts and pressed, crisp chinos into an old, dusty rucksack with wild abandon, until he stopped. He stopped, and stared at the bag, really stared at it, and dropped the sweatshirt he’d been holding to the floor. He hadn’t packed his favourite books, the movie ticket stubs he’d saved from when Richie took hilton see the new Star Wars and Eddie had complained bitterly about how ridiculous it was until he’d annoyed Richie so much that he’d been dragged forcefully from the theatre, and they’d gone for burgers instead. There was no room for his favourite shoes, the sweater with the holes in it that Bev had leant him when he was cold and then given to him because the dull purple made the green in his eyes shine brightly, a freshly cut lawn on a summer morning.

Eddie emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor, and stepped over it. Tomorrow, he assured himself, tomorrow he’d leave. Tomorrow.

Eddie didn’t leave.

The third time Eddie decided to leave for the bright lights of the big city, he was thirty-three years old and couldn’t remember why California called his name so loudly, why its siren call echoed across the country, fingers beckoning, seducing. California, a nihilistic melting pot of overworked and underpaid wage slaves who bowed to the corporate bell and submitted themselves to the scrutinizing eye of the Silicon Valley start-ups. That’s what his mother had told him when she’d loomed over his shoulder, pin-ball eyes scanning the screen of his computer. There was nothing there for Eddie, a pharmacist with two degrees under his belt but no actual understanding of how the world worked beyond the safe confines of his small town existence. Highways, supermarkets with more than ten aisles, electric cars, save the turtles, sandals in winter and heatstroke in summer, sweat on your upper lip and tan lines on your knees. California.

His phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Is this Eds? Eds Kaspbrak?”

“Don’t call me that! Uh … Who is this?”

“It’s … Rich. Richie?”

A question, not a statement, as if the caller is asking, is that okay? Is it okay that this is Richie?

“Richie? Richie who?”

A pause that stretches like tar, sticky and black.

“Oh shit!”

Remembrance slammed into Eddie, sucker-punch strong. He remembered a tangled mop of dark brown hair, often flecked with paint. He remembered bucked teeth and freckles that skated across skin like grains of sand tossed up in wind. He remembered the lisp, and the gangly limbs that hung awkwardly, octopus limbs that were too long, too grabby, too energetic.

“Richie fucking Tozier!”

“The very same, Eds. Gotta be honest, I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t pick up, that some housewife would answer all, ‘he doesn’t live here anymore’, but … here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“Still there.”

“Still here,” Eddie confirmed, and his gut trembled with the sort of embarrassment that hung in the air low and heavy, like smoke. Like smog.

“I’m in California,” Richie says eventually, “got a sweet little place on the oceanfront, if you ever … y’know …”

Oh. There it is. The static that had been buzzing around Eddie’s brain when he thought of California, the angry bees that stung him for not remembering finally subdued, finally dropped down dead, because Richie was on the other end of the phone, still lisping, voice a little deeper, a little hoarser, a few too many cigarettes and not enough sleep, perhaps, but he was there, and Eddie had remembered.

“Ocean front, you say?”

The most reckless thing Eddie had done before this was leave the house during a torrential rainstorm with only a showerproof coat, knowing full well that the long fingers of Flu would be tapping at his arms in the morning. Now, here he was, sitting in a tacky sea-food restaurant, pushing prawns around on his plate, with someone he hasn’t seen for over a decade, and he’s drunk. Not too drunk, he can still see without his vision blurring, can still count all of the wrinkles that texture the canvas of Richie’s face, and the freckles. He’s not too drunk to wonder whether these are new freckles, or whether these are the same freckles that he used to stare at when they were lying in the quarry, shirts off and chests to the sky, sunning themselves like heat-starved lizards.

Nevertheless, here he is, Richie Tozier, stuffing paella into his face with one hand and waving wildly in the air with the other as he talks through bites of rice.

“Do you remember when you got kicked out of band?”

Richie groans, wounded.

“Don’t fucking remind me, I was scrubbing the deck for weeks after that old trout rang my mother. Real pissed she was, insisted that trombones are certainly not supposed to be used for such nefarious activities. I still think she shoulda’ been more adventurous”

“I’ll never forget the look on her face, Rich, she was so ready to beat the absolute living shit out of you!” Eddie brayed, stray pieces of pasta escaping his mouth as he spoke, disgusting, but in the dim light of the restaurant, Eddie didn’t care.

The wind whipped at Eddie’s face when they staggered out of the restaurant three hours and ninety dollars later, and Richie grabbed at Edide’s chin roughly.

“You never left, did you?”

“You know I fuckin’ didn’t”

“I shouldn’t have left without you, I never should have left you there.”

Eddie pushed at Richie, gentle enough not to hurt but with enough force that Richie staggered backwards. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. I’ve grown roots, Rich. I’m … I’m stuck there, like one of those plants that hibernates over winter but blooms in summer. I would have dragged you down with me.”

Richie readjusted his grip on Eddie’s chin, and tipped Eddie’s head up. Their eyes met.

“I nearly kissed you when I left, you know.” Richie said. “I really nearly did, got this close, but you looked so …”

“So what?”

“Fine. You looked fine. You didn’t even cry.”

Eddie blinked. “I cried every day for a month after you left. Then every other day for at least six after that. I cried so much my mother sent me to the fucking doctor because she thought I had hysteria.”

Richie barked out a laugh, a sad wet noise that sounded more like a sob. “I left you.”

Eddie pushed his face up, out of Richie’s grip, and pushed his lips against Richie’s trembling ones. The kiss is small, timid and Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s shoulder and clung, limpet-like.

It doesn’t last. Richie’s crying too much.

The next day, Eddie leaves.

The fourth time Eddie decided to leave for the bright lights of the big city, he leaves, and never looks back.

(this has been sat in my drafts since early March.)

[widonotts]

i am NEVER going to be over veth explicitly paralleling her relationship with caleb to kima and allura’s oh my god!!!! i’ve been saying it from the start; it’s all about the unquestioned devotion and unwavering support and mutual protectiveness, babey!!! human mage + halfling martial caster + best friends to lovers + unending adoration and loyalty = everything i could ever want, it seems

[temptmeforaspotoflunch]

How about for a prompt idea: Aziraphale takes Crowley stargazing?

Wow okay I took waaaaay too long to write for this prompt and I heavily apologize darling! I hope you like it and I hope what I wrote is enjoyable!

It was a rare occasion for Aziraphale and Crowley to be taking nightly strolls. 

More often than not, they would spend the day out having a nice lunch and possibly a walk by their favorite river. They would feed the ducks and converse about the latest goings on and whatnot. 

They would retire to Aziraphale’s bookshop for a nightcap and more conversation would flow as the night wore on. Sometimes Crowley would stay the night and sometimes he would not. 

Tonight was different however. In the early morning, Crowley proposed a nightly outing to Aziraphale, a sort of shake up to their routine. 

Aziraphale had gladly accepted, eager for the night’s events to unfold. Crowley hadn’t mentioned what it was they were doing exactly so the bookshop keep spent most of the day wondering what they could be. 

There was always the theatre, though he wasn’t aware of anything showing that he would have liked to see. It could be a grand opening of a fine restaurant but again, he would have heard of something like that well before Crowley. 

Throughout the day Aziraphale pondered away until he could think no more of what the surprise could actually be. He resigned himself to quit guessing and waited eagerly for the sun to set. 

He closed up shop and sat by the window, waiting for Crowley to arrive. 

The sun had set and the street lamps turned on but only after a few hours of waiting did Crowley finally turn up.

“It’s customary to call when one is running late, Crowley.” Aziraphale huffed as the demon entered his shop. 

“I never said when I was coming over.” Crowley smirked. “Come on.” He smiled a toothy grin, gesturing for Aziraphale to follow him out in the night. 

The evening air had cooled, a light breeze ruffling Aziraphale’s tiny tufts of hair. People in groups of two or three walked by, some chattering away merrily, others silently unwinding after a stressful day. 

Aziraphale happily followed Crowley to the Bentley, excited for the adventure. “Where are we going?” He asked.

“It’s a surprise.” Crowley said, opening the door to his car. He watched Aziraphale shuffle a bit where he stood and waited.

“I might need to change though.” Aziraphale quipped back.

Smiling again, Crowley slithered into his seat. “What you’re wearing is fine, Angel.” 

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, unsure of how sure Crowley was being. When the car sprang to life and Crowley’s door shut however, Aziraphale quickly opened his door and climbed inside, destined to not be left behind by an impatient sentient car.

Aziraphale’s door closed behind him and within seconds they were off speeding down roads they shouldn’t be. He knew better by now not to question Crowley’s choice of speed, but Aziraphale still clung to any part of the car he could get his hands on all the same.

Before Aziraphale knew it, they had come to a stop somewhere outside the city. There were barely any street lights or other motor vehicles around, nothing but the darkening sky above them.

Crowley reached behind Aziraphale’s seat to grab something from the back. He pulled forward a small little basket, complete with a cliche red tartan blanket covering up the contents.

Aziraphale almost burst with joy at the lovely sight of the basket, and of Crowley having thoughtfully prepared something for them both, that he was almost lost in the moment, not realizing that Crowley was exiting the car.

He followed suit and stepped out into the fresh air. Aziraphale could tell at once that they’d made it to the countryside, the city far beyond them now. He followed Crowley around the car and up a small hill not too far from where they parked.

No one was around, no people, no animals, no impending doom. It was just the two of them, as it had always been, and suddenly Aziraphale was nervous.

Crowley was busy setting up the blanket atop the hill while Aziraphale stood at the bottom, wringing his hands together as he understood that this wasn’t just another outing for the two of them. They weren’t surrounded by other people, no, here they were alone, truly alone.

Aziraphale slowly walked up the tiny hill and watched as Crowley took a seat on the blanket. He watched the other pull things from the basket, a nice bottle of wine and a few glasses to enjoy it with.

Crowley smiled up at Aziraphale, amused by the nervous reflection on the angel’s face. He chuckled and gestured with a nod towards the blanket. “Come here.” He said, watching Aziraphale gingerly take his seat. “I want to show you something.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded small, quiet and quite shaky, as they settled themselves on either side of the basket of wine. He couldn’t think of a time where he felt so tense and nervous, especially around Crowley. 

For too long he’d become comfortable with the demon and the boundaries they had set for each other. But tonight felt different, maybe even hovering on the edge of a romantic scene. Aziraphale wasn’t one to shy from romanticism, but normally he was on the outside watching it happen to others. 

Crowley pointed upwards. “Up there, take a look.” 

The sky above opened before them, dark tones of purple and blue and black swirled like a painting, dotted with infinite stars that seemed to shine brighter than the moon. There were no clouds in site, no light from the city. Just a small breeze that gently ruffled blonde and red hair. 

Aziraphale was too busy staring upward, too enthralled by the beauty of the stars that he jumped a bit when Crowley popped open the bottle of wine. Crowley chuckled and Aziraphale smiled, taking the glass he was offered. 

“I must ask Crowley, what exactly is the occasion?” 

Shrugging, Crowley took a swig of his wine. “I wanted to go stargazing.” 

Caught mid-glass raising, Aziraphale stopped himself, a bit perturbed by Crowley’s answer. “Couldn’t you have just gone by yourself?”

“Are you saying you don’t want to be here?” Something slipped in Crowley’s voice, something Aziraphale noticed.

“No no.” Aziraphale hurried. “I was merely curious.” He downed a good portion of his wine, his mouth suddenly dry.

Crowley took another swig of his wine, emptying the glass. He reached for the bottle to refill. “I like going places with you.” He said, suddenly too concentrated on pouring his beverage. Even though it was a bit dark, Aziraphale could still see a bit of red rushing to the demon’s cheeks, to the tips of his ears. 

He could feel heat flush his own face but something inside clicked into place.

Aziraphale took the wine bottle and glass from Crowley, who up until now seemed as cool as a cucumber. Now Aziraphale could see that Crowley was just as seemingly nervous as he was. Smiling, Aziraphale pushed the basket aside, took one big gulp of his own glass and placed all of the items neatly back inside. 

It was awkward for sure, but Aziraphale simply laid back on the blanket, patting the spot next to him for Crowley to follow.

The night sky seemed even more beautiful from this angle, now that Aziraphale could see the whole of it. He heard Crowley’s clothes rustle as the demon lay back as well. The silence stretched between the two of them as infinite as the sky above. 

Aziraphale found a peace this way, knowing his wasn’t alone in feeling so nervous. He could practically feel Crowley buzzing alongside him and before he could stop himself, Aziraphale reached over and took hold of Crowley’s hand.

Fingers laced together between them then, as they watched the stars above in silence. Neither could think of anything else to say as a light breeze played along the wind, cooling the two heated ethereal beings. It was a place they could stay forever, together and just the two of them as it always had been. “I like being with you too, Crowley.”

I would say my ask box is open for prompts, which it is, but I currently have like 3 in queue to write for some reason I take forever to write D; so if anyone would like a prompt written, I’m down for it, but expect a long delay before actually seeing it D;

[widonotts]

[ID: a digital portrait of Reani, an aasimar woman with warm dark brown skin, luminous golden eyes, golden freckles across her face and arms, and white-blonde hair pulled up in a high half-ponytail with flowers at the base. She is in the dark, lit by the warm, bright light emanating from a golden halo floating above her head. Her cloak and bracers are white and gold. She holds one hand up to her chest and the other to her head, looking towards the viewer with a slight smile. /ID.]

I love Reani’s character design so much 😭🙏🏻

[asouthernprincessupnorth]

Sweetener Tour, 19 September 2019, Sheffield

Hi guys! You can guess from the title what this post is about: Ariana Grande’s Sweetener Tour! I went to her concert with a very dear friend, Nabil, and let me tell you that it was amazing.

So, we bought the tickets way back in December 2018, if I’m not mistaken. When I found out that Ariana was coming to the UK, I thought I just had to see her at least once. Me and Nabil looked at her schedule and when I found out she was coming to f-ing Sheffield, I just knew that there is no way I could possibly miss out on it. I mean, Sheffield, of all places!

I got up as early as I could on the day of the ticket sales and within a minute that the tickets were being sold, I couldn’t get any. I kept on refreshing the page until it showed I could get two tickets on the f-ing Gold Circle, which is basically the most expensive ticket category (but not as expensive as VIP-Meet & Greet). After hastily agreeing with Nabil, I clicked on the purchase. Yep, I bought a very, very expensive concert ticket.

Me and Nabil went to the venue as soon as queuing was allowed by the Arena and we spent at least three-and-a-half to four hours in the queue. Was it worth it? It was. We got into the Standing area but I just knew that our Gold Circle tickets should’ve gotten us closer to the stage so I basically ran to the edge of the Standing area, showed our Gold wristbands to the security guards, and got ourselves into the f-ing Gold Circle. I ran and managed to stand on the second-to-front row. Let me tell you this: it felt awesome. Me and Nabil got slightly separated because he went to buy us some water (which each cost f-ing £2.50) and when he returned, two girls and a mother already stood behind me. But it’s okay. He was still very close to me and we managed to chat a bit during the concert. Also, so many young girls (preteens and even a child barely five years old) going there with their mummies and daddies. Wow.

Social House and Ella Mai opened the concert. I honestly loved Social House! I’d never heard their music apart from their collaboration with Ariana on Boyfriend but they had such positive, great energy and were very engaging with the audience. I might’ve not known any of their songs but when they left the stage, I knew that they made me want to listen to their EP. Ella Mai had a very beautiful voice but, sadly, I felt she wasn’t very engaging. The stage was rather circular/oval-shaped, with the central void being filled with VIP audience and the outer parts of the circle surrounded by Gold Circle (yes, I’m terrible at describing visual stuff in English). However, Ella stayed only on the main stage with the musicians and did not go around on the circular part, which made things less engaging (at least in my opinion).

Warning: The part about Ariana is very much all over the place.

Now. Now. Ariana. The songstress herself. Good God. She opened with the intro raindrops (an angel cried), and the crowds just went mad, including yours truly. We basically screamed and sang along and I saw that the stage was still empty but the visuals were starting. Oh. The visuals were very much all about the sun and stars and moon. When she started raindrops, it looked as though there was an eclipse or something.

And then, she rose up from the ground with her dancers in a very, very familiar setting: God is a woman as seen on the MTV VMAs 2018. Spread across a dining table, as though it was a reinterpretation of The Last Supper. And she sang. She had a very beautiful, very clear voice. I noticed, however, that the mic might not have been super clear because whenever she said anything that wasn’t her song lyrics (like when she greeted the audience or said something about the song no tears left to cry several songs after God is a woman), I couldn’t really hear what she said. Either that or she wasn’t very good in her pronunciation (this is actually one of the quite valid critiques of her vocal/singing. Yes, I love and adore Ariana but I also agree that sometimes she doesn’t enunciate well).

Anyway. I had a very, very magical 90 minutes listening and watching Ariana’s performance. She was generally energetic, fun, and engaging. She was appreciative of her band and her backup dancers, whom I think she genuinely sees as her friends. Ariana’s vocals, though, are the star of the show. Of course, what else do you expect from her? Every time she hit a high note it made me feel like I was being choked because how did she do it???? And she killed it. I’m pretty sure at some point I heard a whistle note from her, though it wasn’t as flexible as Mariah Carey’s had been in her prime. This isn’t a bad thing, though. It’s great that Ariana can do whistle notes, doesn’t mean she has to do it in the most vocally-acrobatic style because God knows stretching it too far can affect your other vocal abilities.

I loved every part of it, of course, but I really loved her performance of NASA. I guess that’s because it’s my favourite song off thank u, next. To be honest, lots of the songs were kind of a blur to me but in a good way: I couldn’t remember exactly how she did it because I was just so happy with singing and screaming at the top of my lungs. I hope that’s a good sign, though. Anyway. NASA was such a great performance and I honestly remember not being able to properly record a video of it because my phone’s camera is absolute crap and Ariana’s position onstage wasn’t strategic to mine. Still, I was like, f it I’ll sing my lungs out because that is what I want to do. I screamed so loud when she sang: “I’mma need space, I’mma need space”.

And also needy. I loved, loved, loved that song. needy is such a mood and I know it was a song of vulnerability but damn, I sang and screamed. It felt like pouring my heart out. I guess that’s exactly why thank u, next is my favourite Ariana album: it speaks to me. And when she sang, I know that she was singing what my heart felt, too. And it’s an amazing feeling.

Of course, no Ariana show would be complete without some sexy choreography, like in Side to Side and Into You. I sang and screamed but... mostly it was a blur. Again. I feel like because those songs are, so sorry to say this, generic provocative songs, it did not make me feel super connected or anything. It was fun to sing them and dance to them but wasn’t the most wow this is amazing OMG feeling. I did, however, enjoy break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored. Her vocals in that are amazing, oddly enough for that kind of song.

I also fell so much in love with R.E.M. I later found out it was at first a Beyonce song but Ariana made it a very, very lovely song. It’s actually very much like a lullaby and it’s such a sweet, sweet love song that sways your heart.

This has gone way, way too long (just like the intro of in my head, which wasn’t sung at the concert but used during an interval). Now. The grande finale: thank u, next. I recorded the whole performance and it actually made me feel rather emotional. I can’t possibly imagine singing the names of my exes every night for a year of touring, one of whom died of drug overdose and the other you thought you were going to marry. But Ariana sang it well. And again, I felt very connected to how she sang it. It’s not about whether you have as many exes as she does or anything: it’s about connecting on the understanding that you could take a lesson from the people in your past. And she closed the show with dances of love and pride.

So. I loved every second of it. It was worth every penny that I spent on it (though I would’ve loved if she’d sung for an extra 30 minutes lolz). It’s definitely something that I’ll remember for as long as I live, and I’m just ever so grateful that of all the places, I chose Sheffield and so did she, both in 2018. She delivered a beautiful, fun, entertaining performance and it was such an amazing way to close my postgraduate studies (sort of). It’s incredibly strong of her to embrace her vulnerability and create something that connects with others.

[reincarnatedladywarrior]

“Untitled”

Two couples of years fleet so fast Memories blurred by tears and lies Illuminated by love and loyalty Revived through unforgotten promises   Push and pull, running in circles Out of sight but not out of mind Holding onto uncertainty Like future is guarantee   Let it go, let it be What is meant, will be Can't we trust our fate? Can't we trust our destiny?   He'll die for her But mustn’t be with her She'll die for him But shouldn't be with him   He filled her with kindness She filled him with genuine feelings They bid goodbye endlessly No one wants to leave the past they've painted beautifully   Perfect love wrecked by trusted people They know they're destined to meet But together they can't find their fate Adored foes she can’t hate   All they got perhaps was an illusion Broken hearts mend by other soul She escaped yet missed home But he had already left home   Pictures from 16th of March feels like May Day Eve She laughs in every blink of an eye It was just a dream that will never come true A wish upon the star that could never pursue   Still they wonder with its magic You can love in distance, space and time Even without a peck or a touch Choosing to stay is not too much   She loved him so much But she was afraid not to be loved back He loved her so much But too afraid to tell and ask   Insanely fighting and igniting Sequel of their story seems written in steel bars Despite of all, together they’d dreamt of living But fear of losing each other created tug of wars   They chose to hurt themselves To protect the people who love them Inseparable, conceivably hearts were entangled And souls were eternally bonded   Other halves are what they've lost and found Faith with high hopes, safe and sound Zipped arguments taught lifetime lessons Communication might resolve issues   Bulls when they clash Cats when they regret and lush Birds when they chirp romantic songs Fireflies when they lit up their worlds   Bizarre, not imprisoned yet wanted to escape No need for wings or a cape Burning clock, his lover got him locked Divine timing is what they must struck   This love would find a way Words left unsaid felt enough to say You know forever is so short to wait Even if they don't meet again, they'll be no perfect bait   She had refused queues of  suitors For her heart belongs to his past, present and future Though her heart had turned black and blue, in a golden frame she stares With teary eyes and  weary soul into a frozen picture   She began asking the universe, "If she fights for love, will she become a noble mistress?" "If he fights for love, will he become a noble cheater?" If they don't want to be a noble sinner, "to leave", is it  better?   Is it right to stay without love? Is it right to hold someone else's heart? If it's really right, why do we cry every time? If it's really right, is it right-er than being you-er than you? What is right, what is wrong? If doing what's right feels wrong, if doing what's wrong feels right.   Is it cowardice or bravery? If protecting her feelings is the highest good I'll  change my mood like I was never been in pain I'll conceal your wounds bleeding in vain   But I could not take it anymore I'll make you feel loved by all means, swear! No one can harm you now that I'm here Can I love you once more, I mean forevermore?   You're in my plans In my hopes and dreams I fear tomorrow comes and all remain in the past I'll fear more if the day changes and I did not cast   Win or lose there’s no in between Neither heaven to earth nor earth to heaven Might unite or never run to twin flames Sooner or later, a choice shall be made   Not compromising you by the situation People made my love bittersweet Wounds created countless stitches in my chest And turned me into someone else   Dancing tirelessly between seriousness and feebleness Didn't take anything so deeply and kept secrets Trusts no one, doubts myself and buried feelings with regrets Strangled my freedom and trained my thoughts   I thought I've saved you from being hurt Seems like I pushed us both into a cliff One was afraid to lose, the other was afraid to commit For she has made a promise into a leaf Whoever finds her heart on a treasure chest Shall be the alpha and omega   He can't escape the maze he built Out of the fragments of her guilt Desired and tempted but restricted Determined and willed but neglected   Heart of stone dissolves but the water isn't crystal clear Time will come, he'll be gone even if she begged and cried "Mask !" scolds the mirror, that's how she shielded  power Internally,  hiding the vibration of a crashing tower   Passion? Practicality? How would you define happiness? Stuck between crossroads, disregarded ego How come staying means letting go?   She knows what he should and will choose Glued palms wishing this path to be waded Whispered in the blue moon to be taken By someone she prayed  to be the One   In the wind she started whispering, please… Leave her when you're glad not when you're mad, Leave her with flowers not with paper cuts, Leave her with a smirk not with bloody tears, Leave her with love not with hatred.   Embrace her heart at least fake sorrow Force a dance to wave her agony Make her remember and forget somehow Memories will fade even its stormy, don’t know how   Watch her live in your gracious legacy Though warned with a tragic prophecy Athena won't just sleep and slack With a peaceful war she'll be back   Blow a little ecstasy and help her carry Caress her firm shoulders and cold cheeks with warmth Quit running in circles, walk and avoid red flags So, there’ll be no more pain, regrets nor sadness   In the tree of life, take a leap of faith Crossed-finger, sing a song of victory In darkness be the light and feel not sorry Stop worrying and in all the lies be the truth   Trust don't doubt, you'll be home tonight. Stars isn't that far, right? Winds could change, it might!   In broad daylight,  she started murmuring … When warning signs feels like butterflies When her cries always turn to guffaws When her insanity feels so in sane Will you mend her pain?   During midnight, she started envisioning a parallel universe… Days like the 18th of June he breaks the ice Drowning her again into realistic fantasies Followed by a deafening silence Perhaps both souls smell  radiating fears   Barking into the unknown perhaps they're scared of love Change is the twin sister of consequence I can hold my breath and bite my tongue Muting voices in my head saying, "Dive little dove!"   I'm not rushing but to you I'm longing I believe I already found my other half, I'm trembling In fear, excitement and joy while waiting Through rain or shine, I won't stop kneeling In a monitor, she tried peeling layers of herself… Used to be unpredictable and messy Haunting her nights, starving her days Drowning in enchanting melody Of mellow tragic songs and its beauty   Floating in space, she began pondering… Her name is a test, his name is a quest She was independent, he wasn’t patient Maybe they are meant and maybe they aren't But they knew what they've shared was heaven sent   How can they fall in love with just holding hands? Never hugged but had embraced her flaws Never kissed but had kissed his imperfections Love was the only explanation of all these delusions   Can we save us? Can we really save us? Can you do whatever it takes to be with me?   Starting to hate you but I  always end up missing you It kills her putting you in a brink but there’s no other way A culprit, she attempted murdering her heart, silly But he’s a snake, the poison and the cure   Puzzling mind games, dare me not, save She’s intuitive but isn’t that brave Pause or play injected music in her veins Head above, feet below, tearing as its seams   Word trap, sugar, sweet, please don’t lie Watch, cry, giggle, sigh When, how and why Doomed and always meant to die She thinks she’s done; tried everything that she can do Until she realized it will all depends on you She wishes she still matters to you But your smiles say she no longer do Whether you believe her or not To force you, she cannot She’ll just let my ink heart flow Regardless, if there’ll be sun or snow   She’s running out of tears Every time windows of her soul closes Dying, can’t go out of the woods Turn in two tomorrows   Pardon the liar’s sneaky behavior When things get tougher for a lame warrior She’ll say “forget” when all she wanted was to remember She’ll say “give up” when all she wanted was to stay   She’s a pain like she’s always been Pain wants to disappear for you But Pain can’t until you heal Pain is me, I’m sorry.

[crimson-legend]

VERY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.

RULES. repost; do not reblog! tag 10! good luck!

TAGGED BY: @summoners-path​

TAGGING: I was going to tag my other muse but it turned out the princeling was easier to finish that Auron (who can be such a recalcitrant bastard at times, I swear) - @oshimai, @fallal, and by this point I think most people have done this? If you have not and you’re seeing this, then I’m tagging you, yes, you, whoever you may be. Do the thing!

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Auron ( アーロン ) - no last name. I’m one of those with the opinion that Spirans don’t generally have ‘last’/family names.

NICKNAME/S: Rikku calls him big meanie, and probably sometimes red. Still others might call him Sir.

AGE: 25 (at time of death) - 35 (at time of Sending)

BIRTHDAY: Some point in the mid-Spring. The date wasn’t recorded.

ETHNIC GROUP: Human (Yevonite), Macalanian.

NATIONALITY: Yevonite

LANGUAGE/S: Spiran Common. He knows a few basic words and phrases of Al Bhed but nothing more.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Grey-ace, sex neutral.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic, perhaps slightly inclined towards men(?). Intensely monogamous.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: unattached (verse-dependent)

CLASS: Practical: Warrior - 2H Sword (ATK, DEF, tank, debuff) ; Social: variable, depending on the point in his life. He’s gone from low-working-class to mid- then high warrior class, then booted back out into near-poverty, then to Dream Zanarkand where he didn’t fit anywhere.

HOMETOWN / AREA: Bevelle - from age 8 (There was once a small village back in the mountains of Macalania that a young boy called ‘home’. It’s not there any more.)

CURRENT HOME: (verse-dependent) Wandering.

PROFESSION: Originally, a warrior monk in the Church of Yevon, dedicated to the protection of the people against Sin and fiends and heretics and upholding the law of the land. After that, a guardian, dedicated solely to the protection of his Summoner. (After and in-between, he had to find something to do in Dream Zanarkand that wasn’t just babysitting Tidus…)

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Black, streaked with grey. Long when he was young, kept short when older save for a long queue at the back.

EYES: Amber, appearing mid-brown in low light but bright in full light. After his death, he only has one and developed a light sensitivity in the remaining one. It’s one of the reasons that he wears the sunglasses, along with the added bonus of obscuring his face - they protect his eye from brightness or sudden changes in light intensity. He also has impaired depth perception that he had to learn to work with, relearning even things as basic as how to navigate, much less fight.

NOSE: A fairly average-sized nose with a straight bridge, the tip pointed out slightly more from his face than you’d see in southern Yevonites or Al Bhed.

FACE: Oval face shape, with a gentle taper from cheekbones to jawline, firm jaw leading down to a strong chin. Slightly v-shaped hairline. When he was young he always kept clean-shaven, but as he got older, he has a sort of permastubble going on, as sometimes he bothers to shave and sometimes he doesn’t, but is apparently incapable of managing to grow an actual beard.

LIPS: Somewhat thin, often chapped (this man needs a chapstick, has Zanarkand invented those yet?). Prone to turning up into a smirk when he’s amused, but he doesn’t fully smile very often, much less grin.

COMPLEXION: Pale with yellow undertones, though he’s usually slightly tanned from being outside often. In places like Bikanel or the southern islands, he will burn (and be extremely irritable about it).

BLEMISHES: A massive scar that crosses his face from above his right eyebrow to his jawline, sealing the eye shut, and continues down from his shoulder to just above his right hip. He also has a fair amount of less drastic scarring incurred in battle, but aside from a few larger or more severe wounds, those are relatively minor due to the availability of healing magic and potions.

TATTOOS: None.

HEIGHT: 6’0”, probably 6’0.5”-6’1” in his boots - some people find this surprising, as his presence (most often!) gives him the impression of being an even larger man

WEIGHT: I’m terrible at judging/guessing this tbh - maybe somewhere around 200 lbs?

BUILD: BRICK WALL. Mesomorph, and very fit. He’s extremely solid, with a core like a steel beam from swinging that sword around like he does. Definitely looks like he could toss Braska to safety without a second thought. Nice legs, broad shoulders and hefty arms, a muscular but rather flat ass.

ALLERGIES: Incompetence. Mold and mildew, as well as mild lactose intolerance.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Mostly unstyled. Queue bound back with a tie or thin ribbon, the shorter majority he simply runs his fingers through and that’s good enough.

USUAL EXPRESSION: Resting murderface. Ah, stoic. He tends to show his emotions readily on his face but the changes of expression are always very minor, so one has to look close and know him well to see what he’s feeling. The signs are always there to be picked out, though. Everything is thrown out the window when it comes to very strong emotions, though, usually anger, which is obvious for all to see. When he was younger, his expressions were usually more obvious, but that changed over time.

USUAL CLOTHING: Dark, dark grey pants with a lighter grey vertical stripe on the front, back, and sides that tuck into tall black boots, which have a protective plate on top of the foot and a decorative medallion at the top of the boot that helps secure the strapping. A very basic undershirt between skin and a black hardened-leather cuirass with simple yellow-gold detailing. A tall grey cowl with leather strapping attaches to the cuirass itself, and with a pair of oval-lensed sunglasses does a good job of hiding his expression.

Over top, a long, ankle-length heavy red coat evocative of a haori, with a thick collar/front edging of blue edged with white. A pair of buckled straps at the end of each sleeve allows the wide sleeve to be pulled closed not unlike the standard yoroi hitatare worn under armor. His right forearm is bound from the wrist halfway up and covered over the back of his forearm with a bracer made of three plates, his right hand gloved with black leather. On his left shoulder is a pauldron of hardened brown leather, finely tooled and decorated.

The coat is held closed with a wide belt of scaled grey-green under double straps of brown leather, which is covered on the sides and back with a protective layer of steel detailing and blue lamellar plates. At his belt he carries a large jug, held with braided leather straps and a cord of decorative beading.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: failure, letting others down, enclosed spaces, losing himself to becoming a fiend

ASPIRATION/S: When he was younger, he was far more idealistic in some ways - he wanted to help people, to protect, and he did. The main ideal of that aspiration didn’t change as he got older, but the scope did. It became not so much an aspiration as a hope, a desperate goal to frantically grasp at even as it slipped through his fingers.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Determined, protective, intelligent, enduring, loyal, forthright (younger).

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Bossy. Prideful. Stubborn. Acerbic. Secretive. Can and will walk right over you if you stand between him and his goal.

MBTI: ISTJ - The Logistician

ENNEAGRAM: Type 8 - The Challenger

ZODIAC: Aries (sun) - Virgo (moon)

TAROT: Justice (young), Death (in-game)

TEMPERAMENT: Choleric

SOUL TYPE/S: Hunter (with Thinker/Helper/Leader all tied for second place)

ANIMAL: well the test was terribly wrong for him but the closest thing there was Rhino, though that one underestimates his mental capabilities (many thanks to B-chan for helping me scour the choices)

VICE/S: This man can hold grudges. Usually big ones, but sometimes he can get in a snit and be very petty (see: the stop at the Macalania Travel Agency where Tidus calls him ‘old’ and Auron stops talking, turns away with a hrmf and a snide remark and then won’t even look at Tidus for the remainder of the stay). After his death, self-loathing is a serious vice as well, one that wasn’t present before (or at least until the very end of his life).

FAITH: Once, he believed in Yevon. Now, that couldn’t be further from the case. What faith he once had was thoroughly crushed.

GHOSTS?: As an Unsent, he himself is one, after a fashion. Even if he wasn’t, fiends would fit the definition well enough. In Spira, ghosts are not so much a matter of superstition as they are a natural part of the world; it is why summoners are needed to Send souls to the farplane, and the existence of fiends and unsent are abject proof.

AFTERLIFE?: Yes. As with ghosts, this is not so much a matter of faith as it is natural and evident. While one can debate whether the images the living see of their loved ones on the Farplane are a projection or truly their souls, that does not deny the truth that one can visit the Farplane itself.

REINCARNATION?: Yes, though mostly in the less comforting knowledge that one can become a fiend after death. A truly new life… he’s less certain of the possibility, though he’d like to believe.

ALIENS?: He’s been to and lived in a world created from dreams and set foot on the alternate plane of the afterlife. He’s inclined to think that anything is possible. There are so many stars out there, of course some other worlds with people on them are out there too. It just doesn’t have any bearing on his world here and now.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: For much of his life, Lawful Neutral/Good and a supporter as well as part of the reigning religious oligarchy/theocracy. Later and near the end of his life, as well as his unlife, Neutral Good/True Neutral and in (at first) subtle opposition to the established Church and then actively attempting its complete overthrow.

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: He never really had much of a need or want for material goods. He always had a few treasured possessions, but between his personality and his lifestyle he never accumulated many ‘things’. After he dies, he has even less to his name, but he’s content with remaining that way. He travels, feeling out of place, and so keeps his pack light rather than gathering and keeping objects. As he doesn’t spend much, he doesn’t particularly want for money.

SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION: He’s… famous, being the (a) Legendary Guardian, but that doesn’t really afford him anything other than awe, and occasionally a free room. He stays out of politics once Yevon is brought low. It’s up to the people who will live for the future to determine it, after all.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Once he was dedicated to the Church of Yevon at 8 years old, he was granted good schooling along with all the other child-acolytes and training to enter the ranks of the warrior monks. Before that, he didn’t have anything in the way of formal schooling and was illiterate, though he’d been learning practical skills for some time. He was of an age that he was starting to try his hand at trades and would have chosen one to apprentice to had circumstances not changed his fate.

FAMILY.

FATHER: (deceased)

MOTHER: (deceased)

EXTENDED FAMILY: brother (Feron - deceased)

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): none (verse-dependent)

NAME MEANING/S: high mountain/mountain of strength (Hebrew); gold (aur) - a divine ending/death (on) (Old Celtic/Welsh); gold (aurum - Latin) gilded/gilt/noble (aureus - Latin); dawn (Áron - Quenya)

HISTORICAL CONNECTION: What familial history he may once have had is lost. The Church broke its ties with him, and he with it. What connection he has to history is his part in the story of Braska’s and Yuna’s Pilgrimages, until those stories are told no more.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: He likes histories and tales, whether fiction or not - a good story. The ending of it does not matter so much as what happens during the book.

MOVIE: He’s not much of a movie person, actually, but as with books, he’d prefer one with solid characters and a good story to it over anything else.

DEITY: He’s not fond of gods these days, self-proclaimed or otherwise.

MONTH: October

SEASON: Autumn

PLACE: Somewhere not the South. He prefers cooler climes and does terribly in hot weather, growing irritable the longer he has to deal with it.

WEATHER: Sun out but clouds in the sky, with a crisp breeze blowing.

SOUND: Gentle rainfall, the crunch of leaves and evergreen needles under boots, soft humming.

SCENT/S: Cedar wood, pine, stone in the forest slightly grown over with moss, the brightness of a mountain stream’s spray.

TASTE/S: Seasoned game meats, fish; will steal your berry tarts.

FEEL/S: Wood and tree bark, slightly textured paper, braided fabric, simple glazed pottery.

ANIMAL/S: Auron is most definitely a dog person. He’s also fond of flying creatures, and you’ll often see me associate him with the red-tailed hawk.

NUMBER: Three. It is a good, solid number, is it not?

COLOR: He likes red, favouring it enough to choose the colour for his coat, and in general likes autumn and winter tones.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: planning, combat, snarky commentary

BAD AT: Magic. White, Black, Blue, Time, it doesn’t matter. Absolute shit at it. I have a headcanon that he doesn’t even have the capability for it, backed by the fact that the abilities in his grid is essentially all physical - the debuff-abilities can be explained as ki-type physical energies rather than magic. He’d like to be able to cast even as little as a simple Cure, but it’s beyond him. Also bad at empathising.

TURN-ONS: Entirely dependent on the person, and pretty much null in general unless he’s romantically attracted to or involved with that person.

TURN-OFFS: Arrogance, superiority, degradation, arguments, pain, excessive testing of his patience (a little is fine but don’t push it too far-), et al.

HOBBIES: He doesn’t really have much in the way of hobbies. There’s almost always been something to keep him busy, and so he never had much time to develop fun down-time things. He does whittle, if there’s dead time and he’s feeling inclined. It’s an easy enough thing that keeps his hands busy, and he can just pick up wood wherever he’s settling down to camp and discard whatever he makes if he doesn’t care to keep it, so materials are never really an issue save for keeping his knife sharp.

TROPES: BFS; Dead All Along; Determinator; The Atoner; The Stoic/Not So Stoic; Taking the Bullet; Tall, Dark, and Snarky, I Gave My Word

AESTHETIC TAGS: I actually don’t have a dedicated aesthetic tag for him and I really should. Hmm. I’ll get on that…

[widonotts]

[ID: a digital drawing of Percy and Vex in a gentle embrace. Percy is a tall pale man sporting white hair with an undercut, wearing a white collared shirt with a matching cravat, a royal blue vest, and round golden spectacles. Vex is a half-elf woman with medium brown skin and a long dark brown braid who wears dark lipstick, a striped turquoise blouse, and a pair of blue feathers tucked behind her ear. They each have their hands wrapped around the other’s waist, and Percy is pressing a kiss to Vex’s nose. End ID.]

A little soft perc'ahlia ✨

[widonotts]

Oh, Caleb with Luc... 2x128 had already destroyed me quite completely, but this scene wrecked me in a completely different way. Caleb is so good and so caring and so hopeful. At his core, he wants so deeply to teach, to inspire, to see something better. And he wants everything for Veth, and for Luc in turn. What a beautiful twist of the narrative to have this moment just after the events at Vergesson, with Caleb is questioning his morality, Trent’s influence echoing in his mind and justifying his fears that he can never be anything better. He is sick and shellshocked and repulsed by himself—and yet even in this horrid state, he waits anxiously to speak with Luc, just to gift him with the very things that brought him joy as a child, to encourage his curiosity and spirit. In this scene, he is everything Trent Ikithon is not; he is nothing like the executioner Ikithon tried to mold him into. He is not the pawn that Ikithon calls Bren. He is Caleb Widogast, and he is a good man.

[widonotts]

i have NEVER loved a himbo more than i love ricky matsui

[widonotts]

[id: a digital art piece of beau, caleb, and nott from critical role in modern styles. on the left is beau, a tall, lithe human woman with brown skin and long brown hair with an undercut, falling out of a messy topknot. she wears a flowy light blue tank top, loose bright blue pants, and white sneakers, and she holds a hand up as if ready for a high five. she gives a challenging grin towards the viewer.

to her right is caleb, a pale human man who stands about beau’s height, looking off towards the right. his square face is framed by round glasses and auburn stubble, and his red hair is pulled into a loose bun. he wears a rumpled white collared shirt with a blush-colored sweater vest, khaki pants, argyle socks, and brown dress shoes; he carries a brown messenger bag on his shoulder and a stack of books in his hand, and frumpkin rests on his shoulders.

in between beau and caleb, clutching at caleb’s pant leg with a concerned expression, is nott, a long-eared, green-skinned goblin who barely comes up to their knees. her messy dark brown hair falls loosely around her face, and she wears an orange sweater, patched-up jeans, bandages on her ankles, and a blue cape. the background is a pale orange-pink gradient with small doodles of stars. /end id.]

jock and nerd (and goblin)

[widonotts]

[ID: digital art of Caleb and Veth in requested outfits. Veth, a chubby dark-skinned halfling, stands with one hand on her hip and winks at the viewer. She is wearing an outfit inspired by Fran Drescher in The Nanny: a black-and-white polka-dotted miniskirt and knee-high boots, a black turtleneck, a black leather jacket lined with the same polka-dot pattern, and black tights. Her curly dark brown hair is styled like Fran’s in a voluminous 80′s-style half-updo, showing off the blue tattoos that swirl around her eyes and ears. To her left sits Caleb, a tall, pale human man with shoulder-length red hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. He wears a white t-shirt with a yellow and blue design, black shorts, yellow lace-up shoes, and an oversized denim jacket—blue on the top half, yellow on the bottom half—with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. Caleb looks at Veth with a small smile, raising one hand towards her and shooting sparkles out of his fingers to frame her Tigure. the background is white with a large olive-gray rectangle for texture. /ID.]

Caleb in 3A and Veth in 4E?

Cast Brenatto’s fine style