#nothing feels meaningful or real or important enough

[panlyv]

wtv

[pupkashi]

a/n: i read a tiktok comment and was inspired ,, no further questions ; gojo fluff as usual & two mentions of alcohol consumption

“who would you look for in a room full of everyone you’ve known?” you ask, your face is a bit hot, either from the alcohol or the heat you aren’t sure, but you’re grateful to the cool summer breeze that blows over the two of you.

the grass feels cool to the touch, running your fingers over it, petting it softly as it tickles your thighs. satoru sitting close to you, close enough for you to feel his body heat radiating onto you, his hands still oddly cold as they brush against yours on the grass.

he hums softly, plucking a wildflower from its place and inspecting it. satoru hesitates, glancing over at you before deciding to speak up.

you look gorgeous in this lighting, he thinks, relaxed and without a care in the world for once. you’re staring up at the stars, surely trying to find any constellations you can to try and point them out to him.

“I’d look for you” he replied finally, handing the flower to you, smiling softly when you turn to face him. “why do you look so shocked?”

“why me?” you ask, laughing softly, thinking surely he was joking and would retract his statement and say someone more meaningful to him. someone important.

“who else if not you?” satoru replies without missing a beat, no silly lilt to his voice or underlying teasing tone. his blue eyes stare into yours, breath caught in your throat as you keep his gaze for a second before faltering and focusing on the flower in your hand.

“i- maybe someone important” you chuckle nervously, “i don’t know” satoru furrows his brows at your words.

“you are someone important, though” he breathes out, “you’re important to me” his tone is a bit more stern, frustrated almost. “can’t you see? you’re everything i want- you’re the only thing i want.”

the confession is enough to tear your eyes from the flower in your hands back to his eyes. you don’t know what you’re looking for on his face, a hint of a joke? maybe the realization that this was a silly fantasy you’d soon be awoken from.

it’s real. everything is real.

you’re here sitting in the middle of a park in the dead of night with the one man you’ve had a crush on since you laid eyes on him. and he wants you too.

you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. no matter how many times you’d imagined this happening you never really thought it would.

“of all the times I’d told you to stop talking and now when i want you to say something you have nothing?” satoru smiles, leaning in a bit closer to you.

you don’t say anything witty, crashing your lips onto his and screwing your eyes shut. his lips are soft, he tastes like peppermint and your lip balm he stole from you.

you drop the flower, one hand holding you up, the grass tickling the palm of your hand while the other found its way to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in the white hair over grown hair. you’re grateful he missed his haircut appointment, especially as your played with the soft hair between your fingers.

satoru grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him. he seems to forget his own strength in the moment, causing you to lose your balance and topple onto him, laughing against his chest.

“that’s one way to end a kiss” you giggle, moving to get off of him, his arms wrap around you, holding you firmly in place atop him.

“you started it” he teases, making you roll your eyes and slap his chest softly.

“we should probably get back soon,” you whisper, eyes lingering on his lips for a second before looking back at his eyes, “I’m sure suguru already realized his bottle of tequila is filled with water.” you push yourself off him, sitting back on the ground with your legs crossed.

“I’ll get ‘em a better brand anyway” satoru scoffs, standing up and extending a hand towards you, “that one tasted like shit,” he laughs.

“i thought it was good!” you gasp, taking his hand and practically standing chest to chest with him, you take a step back and satoru is quick to snake his arm around your waist, keeping you close.

“that’s cause you’ve never had good tequila, sweetheart” he chuckles, letting a comfortable silence wash over the two of you.

“it’ll always be you, by the way” you speak up, breaking the silence, “in any crowded room- I’ll always look for you.”

satoru doesn’t stop the giggle that slips past his lips, pulling you closer into him and bumping your hips together making the two of you stumble a bit.

“glad we’re on the same page then” he hums, removing his arm from your waist and i stead grabbing your hand with his, swinging your arm with his as the two of you walked hand in hand.

(suguru was less than pleased when he found the water filled bottle sitting on the opposite side of the room it usually was on, but was more than willing to let bygones be bygone when he realized satoru had finally confessed to you.)

taglist (send an ask to be added): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[suiana]

The death of an artist

he's always found you beautiful, even in your death and rebirth. you'll always be perfect to him. always

(yandere! musician x gn! reader) (cw: yandere stuff idk, im wiritng this while shitting i hope u enjoy my poopoo core, 2.04k words)

you might not have realised it but your silent admirer had always watched you.

he's watched you from the shadows, observing how you interact with others, how your eyes were once full of light and joy as you shared your paintings for the world to see.

it was beautiful.

you were beautiful.

he was but an aspiring musician back then. a couple of listeners here and there but never enough to fill up a concert hall. meanwhile you were a famous artist, with your paintings selling out for millions at all the art exhibitions you hosted.

you little admirer totally idolized you.

i mean, who wouldn't? all your paintings were so full of life, oh so meaningful, and most importantly, they were made with love.

love, love, love.

it was the one thing that made you stand out from all the hundreds and thousands of artists. the one thing that inspired him to even start writing songs.

your art made him feel loved. it made him feel wanted, even. he remembers how he'd get a fuzzy feeling from all your paintings, how it sent a delightful tingle up his spine as he takes in your carefully crafted masterpieces.

though there weren't any texts, all of your paintings spoke a thousand words. and they spoke to him.

with every new piece you put out, it was like he was getting to know you better. to know you on a personal level. it made his head spin and his heart leap in delight. after all, you were his idol. the one he admired so much that he began to pursue a music career dedicated to you. the career he once left behind in favour of living in this sad world.

though at one point in time, he hit a wall.

he couldn't get any ideas, no fresh inspiration for his music. the musician could only stare at his score as his mind desperately grasps at nothing. he felt like he was dying.

then you came through, like an angel of salvation.

well, looking back, you were more like a demon of salvation. especially because that one single text from you kick-started his disgusting love for you. it feels wrong to call you a demon though, not when you were so holy that he feels like touching you will corrupt your divine light.

he still remembers waking up and seeing your text on his instagram DMs. your bright red notification ping that gave him all the motivation he needed to think of a new idea.

'hey! just wanted to tell u i really enjoy ur music! cant wait to see u get famous >w<'

he swears he could die happy just seeing you message him. you messaged him. you know of his existence??? no fucking way bro. he still wonders if he used up all his luck when you messaged him so innocently that day.

of course... he responded and thus began a friendship (?) between the two of you.

friendship. yeah, maybe for you.

truth be told, he doesn't know if he ever saw you as a friend to begin with. he always thought you messaged him because you were interested in him too. whatever, these small details aren't important.

he released a love song not long after your first interaction with him. it instantly became a viral hit, taking his follower count from the thousands to the millions. he was glad it performed so well on the charts, they were his feelings to you after all.

the now famous musician had to thank you for getting him out of his rut. without you, he'd probably have gone back to doing medicine. so he did the best thing and that was to invite you out for a meal. he had to thank his muse, didn't he?

you were a little hesitant at first. that's okay, if anything he thought it was cute that you were suspicious of him. there will be plenty of time for you to warm up to him later.

the little get-together, or first date as he likes to call it, went well! you two saw each other in real life for the first time! and boy was he smitten. if he was unsure about whether he was in love with you before, he sure as hell was sure now.

you were so much more lovely in real life than you were over text. all smiles and laughs, your admirer feels that his songs didn't do you justice.

"this was fun! let's do this again!"

oh for sure he will do it again. he just wants you all to himself now. to keep you with him, a never-ending source of inspiration for the rest of his life. his beloved muse. the one he writes for. the one his songs are dedicated to. his.

so your falling off played out nicely in his favour. you were trying out an experimental style, said that he inspired you. it was one that not many would be able to understand at first glance, completely different from what your previous one was. your loyal fans stood by your side of course, him included. but the general public eventually started ignoring your newer pieces in favour for something they didn't need to use much thought to understand. for someone fresh, someone new.

he could see the way the light in your eyes slowly started to dim at the lack of interaction. sure, you said that fame wasn't important to you, that all you wanted was to showcase your art to the world.

but your little admirer could tell that it was bothering you more than you'd like to admit.

he saw the way your texts with him grew more erratic, the way the vibrant life in your eyes started to slowly dim, the way you started pushing out more works to compensate for the style change. you were desperate for the attention you once received. the way you changed in real time, becoming a slave to the consumers, like an animated robot that pushed out art just for the sake of it...

it was a little sad to see to be honest. it was like you were there, but you also weren't, you know? your name was on the artwork but he didn't see you in it.

but he was glad things turned out the way it did. it meant that he could be there for you when you cried and felt like a mistake. it meant that he could offer you a shoulder to cry on when the times were really bad.

"there there, it's alright. just let it all out."

his gentle caresses as you cried your heart out into his chest... it was delightful to see you depend on him so much. that you'd come seeking comfort from him in such a dark period of your life. he felt so wanted by you.

meanwhile, his fame was only growing larger by the day. while you were on a path to being forgotten, he was making a name for himself in the music industry. brand deals, billboards, advertisements. he was everywhere, like a ghost haunting you, to remind you that your friend was thriving while you weren't.

the musician wonders whether you've ever hated him. that you'd think he was stealing all of your fame. after all, your fame went down not long after you messaged him. he really wonders whether you've ever blamed him for making a change in your art style.

it doesn't matter now.

the artist in you was gone.

"hey, what if you make me an album cover?"

you only stared at him with dark eyes before looking away. everyone around you had slowly started distancing themselves from you. the change in your personality and looks had scared them. everyone but him had stayed. his words about horrid snakes deceiving you fill your head as you cling to the attention he gave you. who were you to deny your only friend left?

"sure."

you didn't give much thought when designing his new album. it was an avant garde album that had themes about desperation, love, and death.

how ironic, you thought.

you gave the complete piece to him a few days after, heavy bags under your eyes as your friend hugged and kissed your cheek. he's been taking care of you recently. having you move in with him, cooking you food and covering all of your expenses. he treated you like a lover. albeit you found it a bit weird that he told you not to leave without his consent. said that he didn't want people to harass you. you found it sweet of him. you were glad that he cared for you so much.

"my dear artist friend designed my new album cover, yes. i think they were a perfect fit to help design this particular album cover. they're..."

your fame immediately came back. interviews, likes, commissions, the things you were once familiar with came running back at full force after your friend's interview with a big channel.

you think if this happened earlier you'd have caved under the attention. the big spotlight, fans.... the attention will always be intoxicating. even now, you feel yourself smiling at the number of notifications you're receiving from strangers.

but you've realized that their attention is only temporary. the second you grow irrelevant they'll drop you again. just like they did before.

the only one who matters is your friend. the one who whispered sweet nothings and reassured you when you were drowning in a mass of nothingness. the one who gave you the attention you craved.

you immediately started a new piece in a new style.

'Intertwined'

a painting that gave you more fame than what you initially had before. it was a piece about self enlightenment, discovery, and contentment. and some claimed that it was the best painting that you've ever made. a masterpiece.

you showed your friend your work right after you were done and you could've sworn you saw a hint of shock in his eyes. maybe also fear? you don't know.

"this is... beautiful."

his words were slow, gaze intense as he stared at your painting for what felt like hours. you think he was mesmerized. you never asked him.

you made another painting after that.

'final duet'

again, people claimed that it was a masterpiece. your friend looked stunned again and he called it beautiful like always. he told you that he's never seen something so artistically perfect before and that he's proud of you. you like it. his compliments make you happy.

"this one is for you."

you made another piece. a simple painting of him in your style.

'untitled.jpg'

"is... it mine now?"

he proceeded to draw you into the painting as well after your words. you didn't understand what he was doing. but you found it cute. he was drawing you?

"there. now it's perfect."

he smiles down at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead like he always does. you've grown so used to his kisses that you were expecting one already. you lean into his touch before smiling softly.

"i'm so happy with you."

"me too."

the seed of life was sprouting once more, growing around the stem that it's learnt to grow dependent on.

he was everything to you. you feel like you'd die without him. but you know it'll never happen because your dearest friend will always remain by your side. he promised you. his words are like gold. he's the only one who matters.

you never want to be apart ever again.

thus you made your final masterpiece about love and dedication. a flower thriving in a dark environment and growing to love the dark, having died in the shining light once before.

'rebirth'

the blinds to the outside world shut on the two of you. no one else is important. he tells you he loves you. you repeat it. his hands wrap around you as you lean into his cold touch. you're cold too. you used to be warm once, he says he likes you cold better. shutting your eyes, all you focus on is the steady beating of his heart.

now no one will ever bother the two lovers ever again.

[imrllytootiredforthis]

Just Friends

pairing: beomgyu x reader

summary: Just friends, just friends. That's all there is, all there's ever been but have you really ever been just friends?

warnings: gn reader, dom reader, sub beomgyu, thigh riding, handjob, lots of groping, car sex, mentions of masturbation, possibly more that i forgot

word count: 2.2k

a/n: writer's block is so real, i literal pulled this out of a sleep-deprived haze at 4 in the morning so feedback would be appreciated<3

Just friends. He tells himself over and over again.

Just friends. You tell yourself over and over again.

But friends don't do things like this on rainy nights in the back of your car. With your windows fogging up and the only light coming from a lone streetlight from the corner of the parking lot.

Friends don't clutch his hips, grinding him down against your thigh. Friends don't pant heavily at the feeling of his fingernails digging deep into the skin of your shoulders almost hard enough to draw blood.

At least they shouldn't.

But maybe you and Beomgyu have never really been 'just friends'.

"God," but it's never gone this far before. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!"

Sure there's been teasing touches and lingering looks, meaningful conversations that maybe meant more than either of you had wanted to admit.

But you hadn't expected it to go this far.

To have him clinging to you. To have his lips all over your neck and your hands all in his hair.

To have his pants discarded somewhere in the back along with his boxers in your haste...

To have his dick rubbing against the rough material of your jeans. To have him sobbing into your ear to not stop, to never stop, that he'll die without your touch.

You suppose your best friend has always been a touch dramatic.

If you could even call him that anymore-your best friend.

"Don't worry baby," every nerve ending in his body feels like it's on fire. His ears feel like they're ringing, replaying your words over and over like a broken record. "I won't."

It feels so good, it hurts so bad.

Tears stream down his face from both-from everything. From you calling him baby like he's yours. With so much affection and adoration, like he's the most important thing in the world to you right now.

Like he isn't shaking against you, crying out like some kind of wounded animal (in heat), thinking or maybe even muttering how he can't get enough, how it'll never be enough, how he wants you so bad, how he'll die before he lets you go.

Your hand guides his lips to yours, soft and sweet and hungry. Devouring every one of his whines up and replying with your own want for more, kissing him like your life depends on it. You'd always thought that he'd sound pretty, but not this pretty, not this pathetic or needy.

"Fuck, Beomgyu."

Your mouth clashes against his over and over, saliva dripping down his chin as he tries and fails in trying not to drool. You're too preoccupied in nipping at his lips that you're faintly aware of his hands slipping under your shirt until they're on your chest, squeezing and exploring everything he's only fantasized of.

He hasn't felt this good before. Ever. Not from past partners or from his own hand. Toys feel like nothing compared to this, the unforgiving bite of denim somehow lightyears better than vibrators and dildos and whatever else he's used to replicate your touch.

The friction makes him feel like he's burning but his hips just rut faster. He wishes it was your skin, soft and comfortable and you-but he doesn't think he can be patient enough. Doesn't think he can find it in himself to let go of you long enough for you to take your pants off. He has his nose in your hair and the taste of you on his tongue, and he can't stop now.

He can't stop. Not when he's wanted this for so, so long.

Okay, so maybe you've never truly been 'just friends'.

Well, maybe before that first time you were out at a party together and a friend of a friend approached Beomgyu, trying to talk him up while you stood right next to him.

Before you'd watched, something ugly simmering in the pit of your stomach that you couldn't fully decipher-that you weren't sure you wanted to decipher.

It was only until Beomgyu shot you a pleading look that you were able to keep your cool and then you'd very kindly told that friend of a friend to back the fuck off and leave the two of you alone.

And maybe, just maybe Beomgyu had gone home that night and let his hand wander past his waistband to wrap around his aching cock.

Jesus christ.

With each stroke of his hand he conjured your image in his mind. It was you looking at him, watching him-touching him. Talking to him in that same cold, mean voice you had talked to that friend of a friend.

Hating him and loving him all in one, rough and cruel but soft and caring. He wanted all of it, all of you.

And then afterwards it was basking in an afterglow of remembering the way that your eyes softened once again when they landed on him and your hand touched his shoulder and you asked if he was okay.

Friends do this...right? He'd thought, not ready yet to admit that maybe it was something more.

Just friends that brought you to his apartment a few weeks later, slightly ashamed and very drunk and looking for some kind of comfort after you'd been out drinking for better part of the night.

Just friends that had your hands all over his body and your lips all over his throat, sloppy wet kisses making his head spin and his body heat up. That'd had you shoving him down onto the couch and climbing on top of him, pushing your knee between his legs as your cold hands slithered up his shirt in search of warm, smooth skin to lay claim on as yours.

Just friends with the way that you promptly passed out on top of him and conveniently remembered nothing of the night before. Of groping your best friend, of telling him how pretty he was, of whispering that he was a good boy.

'I want you.'

'You're so pretty.'

'Perfect.'

'My good boy.'

'Mine.'

Friends don't know the way his moans sound. Or the way his skin feels against yours.

Like tonight,

A movie. That was all it was supposed to be.

Platonic. Friends. Just going to see a movie together, get dinner after. Nothing more.

"Touch me! G-od, please touch me!" His hand flies up, fingers dig into your wrist as he pulls it down between his legs, his dick throbbing and needy.

It feels so much better-your hand-your skin, your fingers loosely wrapping around him, teasingly rubbing at the tip. "And why should I baby? Have you been good? Have you been a good boy?"

He doesn't know.

He doesn't knowHe doesn't knowHe doesn't know.

All he knows is you.

Just friends shouldn't let things get to this point.

...Oh well.

A movie. A quiet theatre. Darkness and eyes all too often glancing at the profile of the other.

A tension palpable in the air as fingers brushed against each other to grab popcorn. Hands aching, itching to hold each other. An agonizing one hundred and twenty minutes.

Nothing though.

Only getting into the car afterwards and driving off.

"What do you want to eat?" He only shrugs in reply and you roll your eyes. "Helpful."

"Well I dunno," he thinks, "the usual? I can place an order to your place and we should get back before it gets there."

You hum in reply. "It's late though, you planning to stay over for the night?"

"...Sure."

Hesitation. He can only think of the last time you stayed the night. So long ago now, he'd avoided either of you spending the night at the others ever since. From fear? From preservation? Or from hoping that your frustration would break the dam first.

'I want you.'

'Mine.'

Words that flash through his mind unbridled. Sounds and touches that flood his brain

'My good boy.'

He swallows, trying to keep his eyes on the screen of the phone. Trying to hope the darkness blankets how red his face has turned.

"Hey could you pull over here?"

"Sure?" You'd glanced over at him and the question on your face evident.

He didn't elaborate though and you didn't ask.

You'd pulled into a mostly empty parking lot. Only a few cars left in front of a grey, drab building. Parked beside a flickering streetlight that continued for a few minutes before doing out completely. Certainly the furthest thing from being romantic by any means.

Nothing specific broke the tension, the unspoken rules.

But the next thing the either of you know is he's on your lap clawing at you aimlessly, pure desire fuelling him to do such pathetic things. Like telling you how horny he is and how bad he needs you.

You don't seem to have any problem with his confession though.

Responding in turn rather appropriately you'd think. And then your lips are against his and you're tugging at his clothes and touching his body like he's your last lifeline.

And then you're in the backseat of the car, his pants and boxers discarded into the back, your lips curled into a smirk against his skin.

And then you're here.

Doing things that friends certainly should not be doing.

"M' a good boy, promise! Please, I'll be your good boy!"

You'd imagined how his face would look all fucked out all but a million times in the dead of night, thinking about things you certainly should not have been thinking about.

But you'd never know that your imagination would do absolutely no justice to the real thing.

To his lips slick with your spit and his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat. Eyes fluttering like he's fighting to merely keep them open with every sensation he's feeling.

"Pretty~" you mutter.

Bite marks and hickeys all over his neck and collarbone-good thing it's nearly scarf season. Or bad thing, you're not sure you want him to hide these or if you want him to parade them around, show off your claim to him to everyone.

"So fucking pretty it's not fair-" a high, needy whine climbs up his throat and he lets it, because you don't even have to say it, he knows how much you love hearing how good you make him feel.

His eyebrows tug together as if in concentration. Concentration to stay sane while you let him fuck into your hand.

You trail a finger over his cheekbone, collecting a tear while everything within him tries not to let this end, because it can't be over yet, he doesn't want it to be over yet and he's not sure he can go again until later-if there is a later.

You lick the tear off your finger and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. "Not fucking fair to make me wait this long. Such a tease, such a whore."

Fingers press against his lips and he opens with zero hesitation. This is what you want, this is what he wants-more than anything.

You pull them out all too soon and replace your fingers with your tongue, letting him suck it into his mouth with a moan.

Your grip tightens, your hand moves faster and faster and his toes curl. Too much, too much-he can't...it can't, he doesn't want this to be over-

"No!"

His head falls into your neck with a strangled scream as he cums into your hand, staining your jeans and his shirt. You stroke him still to prolong the pleasure, milking him dry of everything he has before he lets out the first whine of protest and you stop.

"Please,"

His breath comes out in rushed pants, his head a jumbled mess of "more, please more-" followed by incoherent babbles and then, finally, "I can go again, wanna...wanna go again. Just...use me, use me however you want." as his hips work still, even if it only works against what he really wants, releasing pained whimpers all the while from the self-inflicted overstimulation.

You smile and he can practically hear it before he's flipped into his back, spread out and pinned against the slightly uncomfortable seats of your car as you press apart his legs, eyes roving over him before beginning to undo your pants.

"Use you, huh baby?"

Yes.

However you want. Use him however you want. That's all he wants. All he's wanted for so long.

The pads of your fingers press against his thigh, too close and he squirms with oversensitivity.

"We'll still be friends after this though right?"

He lets out a noise between a cry and an affirmation, eyes sliding shut as your body presses against his.

"Friends!" He gasps.

Your fingers lace together. You smile.

"But not just friends now are we...?"

a/n: y'all please forgive me if this is absolute bullshit. i feel like i haven't written anything for real in forever and i feel like rusty now lol. but lmk what you think (to possibly give me inspo to write more lol😭)

my taglist is here if you wanna be added: @hobihearteu, @lemonhongjoong, @laylasbunbunny, @xcookiemonsteer, @hahagay, @maru-matt, @d7dream, @amidstnamjin-and-binchanlix,

[incognitofox]

In Defense of Charlie x Vaggie:

Hazbin Hotel is far from a perfect show. I quite enjoyed it, of course, but that doesn’t mean that it lacks significant issues (not that I mind, nothing is perfect, and I believe people should be allowed to enjoy flawed media). One such complaint that I see often is that the show’s “main couple,” protagonist Charlie and her girlfriend Vaggie, are “boring,” or that they “lack chemistry.”

Personally, for me, the relationship between these two ended up being one of, if not my favourite part of the show. I’ll admit my bias that as a lesbian myself, I’m always a sucker for any kind of wholesome sapphic relationship that I can get in the media. Even so, though, these two stood out to me particularly well.

And while, yes, I can absolutely see why their dynamic isn’t the most favorable to some people, I don’t think it’s correct to say that the writers “can’t write meaningful relationships” or “don’t understand love” (which are both real comments that I’ve seen whilst I’ve been a part of this fandom).

The first and most blatant criticism that I come across is that the two are rarely affectionate with each other, and while this seems to be the case at first glance, I can’t help but disagree. Though we rarely see the pair actively kissing or engaging in other activities that one would perceive as romantic, it’s clear that they find comfort in each other’s presence, even if it’s subtle.

Throughout season 1, the viewer is shown numerous instances of Charlie especially being comforted by her lover’s touch. For example, while Charlie is on the phone with her father, Lucifer, at the beginning of episode 5, we can observe that she is clearly anxious about the interaction. When it’s clear that Charlie is getting stressed, Vaggie opts to take her hand, and it can be inferred from her expression in the moment that Charlie appreciates this gesture, even if she finds herself preoccupied.

Keen-eyed watchers of the series will notice that the two are frequently seen in contact with each other, or at least in close proximity, implying a love language related to physical touch. However, while frequent, some argue that these little exchanges aren’t enough to sell the idea that the couple are truly involved with each other.

People seem to be disappointed that we don’t get to see any more intimate or outwardly romantic interactions between the pair outside these small snippets or the More than Anything reprise (which in truth was unfortunately very short). But in my personal opinion, I think this dynamic makes them even more compelling. Sure, they may not be the most affectionate of partners while on screen, but I never needed them to be in order to be convinced of their love for each other.

Keep in mind, Charlie and Vaggie have been together for years, they’re out of the honeymoon phase. They’re also both incredibly busy people, especially with the updated, much sooner extermination date introduced in episode 1. As much as it sucks, doing cute stuff with their respective partner probably isn’t their priority.

The beauty of this, though, is that despite it all you can still feel their love. Vaggie would do anything for her girlfriend, and she does. Their relationship is built on such genuine, wholesome trust and support for each other.

You can tell from the way they look at each other, and from the way they talk to each other, that even despite the chaos and despite the time, they are in love. So much so that even a potentially devastating reveal like Vaggie’s true identity is nothing more than a speed bump for them. It’s really quite lovely to see.

That’s why I can excuse the atrociously short run time of their duet, it’s their first moment of peace in months, and possibly their last ever, they don’t have time to do much, and yet they choose to spend this time declaring their love for one another, because they are still the most important things in each other’s lives. It’s so blatantly clear that their love is genuine, in this moment and outside of it.

I personally feel as though, in the world of the show, the relationship between Charlie and Vaggie is very realistic given the situation they’re in, and if I’m being honest, they have the kind of relationship that I myself would love to have.

In short, I understand why some people don’t like this pairing. I can understand liking other things better, and I don’t dislike anyone who does. I can understand wanting more from it, and hey, I’d appreciate it if they sprinkled in a few extra kisses next season just to feed the fans, but that doesn’t mean that what’s there doesn’t already exist. In my opinion, I think Vaggie x Charlie is beautifully written.

There are honestly so many other little things I could bring up about why I love these two so much. You are, of course, welcome to disagree, but I encourage those who do to avoid harassing those who contributed to the writing of Hazbin Hotel, or those who actually do appreciate this aspect of the show.

However, I also insist that people try to look beyond the surface, to see the detail and the beauty of this pairing, as well as other aspects of the show, or other pieces of media.

Because art is beautiful.

[mermaidlighthouse]

I want to talk for a moment (or a LONG few moments but…) about my special little angel face, honeysuckle, cuppie cake…Stede Bonnet

From the start of the season, Stede is desperately seeking a person who he’s afraid will think he’s not good enough, that he is somehow lacking. He’s afraid he blew his chance at real happiness because he was scared and panicked (as he explicitly tells Ed in Fun and Games) but there’s so much more going on here. He wasn’t just scared and panicked because they were moving so fast during all their time together- he DIDN’T KNOW what they were doing. He didn’t realize they were falling in love because he didn’t know what it meant to be in love.

He was scared that running away to China was just going to be a rash decision borne out of a need to escape - he didn’t understand his value in general but more importantly, in that scene, to Ed. He didn’t understand that the “You wear fine things well” moment was special for Ed - we see that he’s come to understand that NOW in the flashback in Red Flags. He didn’t realize that to Ed, Stede is special. In all the moments that we understand Ed has been vulnerable because he’s willing to open up to Stede, Stede doesn’t have our insight. Not because he’s emotionally unintelligent - I would argue he’s generally well aware of how people see him - the problem is that NO ONE has seen him as worthy before and therefore is very easy to undervalue his significance. 

If we look at all the scenes that we as an audience can tell are meaningful to Ed, from Stede’s perspective he’s either unaware of Ed’s motivations even though the audience is aware (the treasure scene) or can, through the dialogue or lack thereof, discount the importance because of his poor self-worth. For instance, in the bathtub scene, Ed specifically says he outsources the big job - Ed has told Stede he doesn’t kill people not personally - it implies Ed’s decision to NOT kill Stede isn’t all that big a deal or at least to a person who doesn’t see their value (Stede) it would be very easy to write off the idea that Ed specifically didn’t want to kill Stede. Stede is aware that the fuckery has been triggering for Ed - this doesn’t make Ed’s confession any less impactful but it does bring into question the reasons behind his decision to not kill Stede. For Stede, it can easily be explained by saying “Ed has just relived a traumatic moment, he’s currently dealing with a heavy emotional burden, Ed doesn’t kill people (he just said so) and so he doesn’t want to kill me because it would be further trauma. Ed didn’t even see me as his friend so I’m simply a random person who happens to be here.” There, a neat little box of reasons that has nothing to do with Stede - not in any meaningful way, he’s merely a prop in the story. 

On the cliff, that was the first time he was even aware he was having an impact on Ed in any sort of meaningful way. Ed had literally, just walked away, yeah he came back but it’s not that difficult to see how it seemed easy for Ed to leave. Ed opted not to be Blackbeard anymore ostensibly to save Stede but, Stede is aware that Ed’s been thinking about packing it all in for a while now. Stede doesn’t understand how big an influence he’s had on Ed. It would be easy to say that he did ruin history’s greatest pirate because he put Ed in a position where he felt obligated to save Stede. Stede knows that Ed knows that Izzy sold them out. Ultimately, Ed put Stede in the position of being found by Chauncey and his first mate made that possible. It’s not that much of a stretch to assume that Ed simply feels guilty for putting Stede in that position and is saving him from the firing squad because of that guilt. Stede doesn’t see his worth and can’t imagine that it’s him as a person that Ed is attracted to, that Ed adores. That Ed’s quasi- or Izzy’s direct involvement in bringing about the situation has nothing to do with Ed’s decision because that would mean giving himself more credit, giving himself more agency and Stede has routinely been told that he has none, he never earned his status and he never will. The things he enjoys are worthless and weak. 

Stede so undervalues himself that excuses for people NOT hurting him or saving him can’t be due to his appeal or importance. He’s unimportant, therefore Ed’s reactions and decisions have little if anything to do with him. 

This is the repressed trauma that he carries around with him, that he buries beneath the smiles and silliness. He has moments of working through that (“I am adequate”) but that doesn’t remove the deep-rooted insecurities. The fact that he gets up and smiles and allows himself to be silly speaks to his strength of character. The moments when the demons rear their heads are so impactful but the fact that they return below the surface doesn’t mean they go away, it doesn’t mean he’s defeated them. Is it healthy? No. Is it still so courageous? Abso-fucking-lutely. He’s simply one of the strongest, most capable, genuinely wonderful characters BECAUSE he does all he does, saving the crew, working against his selfishness (most of the time), trying to figure out who he is and where he fits in the world while carrying this burden of internalizing his worthlessness.

[feartoxinjelloshot]

The Black Mask was both with the name Roman, to Charles and Ruby Sionis, the wealthy proprietors of a cosmetics business empire based in Gotham City.

By all accounts he was a normal toddler. He was weaned off of milk and sent to preschool and potty-trained and all of the other things small children were bound to do. He was a quiet, polite, intelligent little boy who did his parents proud - they had been trying for a child for a long time, someone to inherit the business when they passed on. They made sure tiny Roman was aware of his importance early on. What better way to make a child feel special, feel loved? They were going to trust him with everything. He was going to be just fine at it.

The company, really, was Ruby's world. She was a woman, and cosmetics were a feminine empire. Charles - though he held his fair share of business responsibilities - was always more dedicated to his lifelong passion for hunting and taxidermy, which had been instilled in him by long family trips with his own father, out to remote stretches of forest, mountain and grassland to take down all kinds of exotic trophy prizes. When Roman got old enough Charles bravely attempted the same with him, even buying him his first very own gun for his tenth birthday. Roman was shy and hesitant, sometimes to the point of vexing his father with his lack of confidence, but Charles was patient and understanding and slowly coaxed the hunt out of Roman as well. The kid had a real talent for it, when he got over himself enough to calm down and aim. He was a genuine crackshot, and his father bragged about it at every chance, talking him up and ruffling his hair fondly. Those were some of the few times Charles saw his son show him a real smile.

The other side of it was not as comforting.

See, both sides of Roman's family line, in varying quantities and distributions, had always been prone to hereditary psychosis. This particular affliction had miraculously skipped both of his parents, and in a superstitious attempt to ward it away from themselves and their son, they neglected to ever mention it to him. In fact, they made a concentrated attempt to prevent him from ever figuring out what psychosis was in any meaningful way that might affect his development.

Roman grew up surrounded by animals. Sometimes they were whole animals, deer and tigers and caribou; sometimes they were just the head, set into a wooden plate on the wall. Each had a different personality and a different voice. They had been his friends since he was a baby, and he considered them truer confidants than even his parents. They comforted him when he was at his worst, spoke to him in quiet tones that he had learned by that point not to respond to in front of his parents: it's okay, you're okay, champ and you only did what he made you do and but you won't pick that awful gun up again, right?

But he never forgave himself for killing their sisters, the ones in the woods that looked and moved like them, with beating hearts in their chests and big shining eyes that went flat when his father finished them off. He never forgave himself for skinning them with a silver knife and eating their flanks when there was nothing else in the camp at night, because his father said he was proud of him and his chest was cleaved down the middle by a child's sick loyalty.

At a lack of other avenues Roman constructed himself into two faces. The first one was a happy, healthy little human boy who went to school and smiled at his parents and never made eye contact with any of his father's taxidermy or walked around the house at night on soft padding feet. The other one was his true self - an animal, among other animals, whose face looked less like the one in the bathroom mirror and more like a black thing with white eyes, too big to be a wolf and too small to be a bear, that howled its gleeful music up the chimney along with the chorus that lit up the mansion's crowded hallways just before dawn.

And for a while he survived like that: with his mask in the day and his life at night, not content but not wholly unhappy either.

But he had done his job well. He had done his job so well that his parents, through a combination of their own prideful ignorance and Roman's genuine deception of them, had not noticed that anything at all was wrong with their son. He passed his classes and didn't make trouble and spoke of his friends on occasion, and went hunting with his father every summer, and he was fine. They were all fine.

So on his eighteenth birthday they gathered him up and had a party for appearances and said Son, we had you late. We were old then and we're older now. We want to retire. And we love you, and we trust you, and so we're going to give you the company.

And Roman thanked them, gathered every shred of his human mask up to his face, looked at it, realized it wasn't going to be enough to cover himself up, and went deep into the house with his friends and didn't come out.

His parents were devastated. They'd been working so hard for this. The past eighteen years, and they'd been raising him for this. He loved them. They loved him. How could he be unhappy? And throwing a tantrum like a child? What had they raised him for if not this moment?

Roman, in the house, had been busy with the process of taking one of his father's unused taxidermy mounts, a deep dark glossy lacquered thing, and using his hands and a whittling knife to carve it into his real face.

The black mask. The wolf.

It came out looking more like a skull, but he figured that it was penance, after all, for all the siblings he had killed. He put it on and was overcome with hysterical calm relief, which was when his parents found the spare key to his rooms and broke in.

Their anger at him for what he had done quickly turned to rage at each other, and the company, and then Roman again, and each other, and through their screaming match and Roman's hysteria and the ceaseless chattering of the animals on the walls, nobody remembered the leftover sconces of candles downstairs until the smoke alarm went off.

To be short: Roman made it out. He was the only one.

Obviously, he was the primary suspect for the fire. They didn't believe that he couldn't have engineered the physical evidence, or that he wasn't lying about where he was at the time. There was nobody else alive from the house to confirm his statement. His face would never be the same again, that much was clear: the detectives and psychiatrists made quick work of the family mental history that he claimed he had never even heard about before that point - fat chance, kid - and by the time he got around to blabbering over his so-called siblings nobody took him seriously at all. They wrote him up. He couldn't be officially accused until the hearing, but it was an open-and-shut case. Poor bastard, but hey, it's Gotham. Shit like this happens every other week.

Roman Sionis never made it to the hearing.

He was out of the hospital for three hours before anyone noticed he was gone and his trail stopped cold at the exit doors. In forty-eight hours he had gone from one of the richest teenagers in the city to homeless, penniless, barefoot, and permanently disfigured - the fresh lacquer on his wooden mask had melted in the heat and fused straight onto his face, unless he wanted a complete transplant, skin and all.

Roman didn't. He figured that he had hidden enough. In his abject shock, he was starting to show some of his father's confidence, something he really always had hidden somewhere in the back but had always been pressing himself down too hard to show. He went into the guts of the city and stole a new set of clothes - all black, like the mask. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it in style. He was intelligent, a fast-talker, knew when to be quiet, and he really was still a crackshot, even after all those years. That was shit that could get a man pretty far down where he was.

The police never found Roman Sionis. They found the man who wore his body, sure, but the boy had been gone for a long, long time.

[mlmaegon]

lore olympus is over

tl;dr it was bad.

it was a long episode, i counted 110 panels, give or take a few. lore olympus has had increasingly long episodes, to the point of feeling arduous and overwrought with unnecessary details and subplots. i could feel my eyes glaze over as i was reading each episode; for years, it's felt like none of the episodes advanced the plot in any way, and mostly existed as pointless filler, delving into a plethora of subplots that never get resolved—at the very least, they never seem to be resolved in a meaningful and fulfilling way.

but enough preamble! you're wondering what happened in the episode itself, and i'm here to tell you. for context, within the last three to five episodes, apollo revealed that he was secretly a puppet of ouranos the whole time, ouranos revealed himself and tried to steal persephone's fertility goddess powers or something equally asinine, and persephone unlocked her full fertility goddess powers in order to unlock the full fertility goddess powers of all the other fertility goddesses, and together they brought back gaea from her vague undefined slumber/exile/whatever.

we start with the reveal of gaea, who defeats ouranos within five panels. a bit anticlimactic, but ouranos was revealed within the last five episodes of a 280-episode series, so i don't know what i was expecting.

it feels great to know there were no real stakes to this conflict.

gaea turns back to hades and persephone, and stares at them. the next full panel signals a timeskip. it's some undefined number of months later, and hades is on his own. the audience hasn't been shown the details of hades and persephone's confrontation with gaea, so we're led to believe something happened to persephone; all we know is that she and hades have been separated, and hades is sad.

hades goes through his morning routine, then enters the mortal realm, and the story flashes back to gaea's conversation with hades and persephone:

cool.

here, we run into an issue of bad comics formatting. i don't plan on getting too into the nitty gritty of page layout, it's more interesting to me than it is to most other people, and webcomics function fundamentally differently from normal comics, so i'm not as well versed in how to analyze them. that being said, this is what that snippet looks like when it's zoomed out:

this is the most important line in the episode, perhaps even the entire series, and neither the character speaking nor the characters reacting are in the same panel as the text. it's just this floating, meaningless bubble of dialogue, and most readers are on their phones, so it can't be seen at the same time as gaea, hades, or persephone; it has to be scrolled through. to me, the isolation seems to derive this line of anything that could make it compelling. it's also just a bad line. i am by no means the first (and hopefully not the last) person to point this out, but structuring your feminist hades and persephone retelling around persephone finding true love with a man is absolute nonsense. there is nothing genuinely feminist or subversive about lore olympus.

gaea goes on to monologue a bit, and ends up with this conclusion:

the hades/persephone myth retelling is finally complete: persephone is made to spend six months in the mortal realm and six months in the underworld, only in the lore olympus retelling, it's not demeter and hades who make this deal, it's an official decree from gaea. agency is stripped from demeter and hades and given to gaea, who had no role in this story originally, and shouldn't have this role now. ultimately, lore olympus is barely an echo of the original mythos, it keeps some aesthetics, and some names, but i am certain the nuances and complexities of hades and persephone as mythological and cultural figures have been lost on rachel smythe.

we also find out that hades and persephone are allowed to visit each other at any point, so the tragedy of their separation is completely undercut. they get a happy ending, and so does everyone else, except for the irredeemably evil apollo, and the redeemably evil zeus.

dionysus looks like this now after hardly showing up in the story:

i don't even know what to say to this:

happy pride month i guess

hades and persephone are happy and in love and everything is perfect and magical forever. the end.

but wait! there's more! you thought it was over, but there are at least 20 more panels! we skip ahead to "many, many years later," where melinoe—hades and persephone's dream daughter from the future—is now hades and persephone's actual real living daughter, no longer trapped in tartarus with kronos (long story, don't worry about it). she wakes up, and makes her way to hades and persephone's room, where persephone has just given birth:

this panel certainly is something. it wasn't until my second read through that i realized there was, in fact, a baby in hades' arms. the last panel is of hades, persephone, and their two daughters, finally a complete and happy family. where did dionysus go? i don't know, don't worry about it.

good lord rachel smythe cannot draw children. normally i wouldn't be mean about this—i can't draw children either—but rachel smythe is a bestselling author with the most popular webtoon on the site and multiple eisner awards, so i don't really feel like i'm punching down here. her art is incredibly inconsistent, and it tends to be at its worst when hades and persephone are standing next to each other, or when any child is shown. the art did not improve in the final episode, if anything, it was worse than usual.

what did it all mean? it's hard to say. i've been reading this series for years at this point, and trying to piece together the semblance of a coherent plot is arduous at best, and impossible at worst. the writing was never good per se, but the early episodes seemed to have a spark, a passion, that's completely lacking later on. the final arc was especially disappointing, smythe spent years building up apollo as an antagonist, only for him to be revealed as a puppet the entire time, and in the end, his defeat didn't feel like a victory for persephone.

i'm having a hard time coming up with a good conclusion. what is there to say about lore olympus that hasn't already been said? it's lazy, it's incoherent, it's liberal pseudofeminist nonsense. i spent three years obsessively reading it and now i don't know what to do with my life. thanks for nothing, rachel smythe.

[creedslove]

I have an idea. I don't know if it is ok or you'll like it. Something with Javier Peña. Y/N and Javier are partners. At first they bicker a lot. Cannot stand each other etc. Then became friends. They are both moody hehehehe. Reader is American or English ( you decide ). So she has to go back and only way for her to stay and work with Javier is having a citizenship. And the easiest way is marriage. Javier doesn't want her to go, she doesn't want to leave him. They are not brave enough to admit their feelings. So Javier proposes to her. Saying he needs his partner. They act like a real couple around people. Kiss, hug, pet names etc. Then slowly they do those things at home without even realising it. Maybe it could turn into series. With some agnst and fluff? Protective and jealous Javier. Equally protective and jealous reader. Thank you for your time! 💚

Javier Peña x f!reader

A/N: I'm so sorry it took me forever to do this, I hope it's nice ❤️

• ever since you got to Colombia you and your partner Javier wouldn't stop bickering

• he was just so annoying, all the time smoking and flirting around, sleeping with hookers and having the attitude of a 10 year old, while you got under his skin and took every ounce of patience he had

• he didn't know exactly why, maybe it was because you didn't respond to his initial flirt or because unlike most of the women around Javier, you didn't seem affected by his charms

• you just treated him like any other guy, nothing special about him, you couldn't understand the fuss

• so the first couple of months, was kind of a pain in the ass to work with him, but eventually you got used to each other and at the same time you realized Javier wouldn't change, he also realized you wouldn't jump into his bed

• and that made your work dynamics better through the months, and soon enough you and Javi were able to work without any troubles

• not only that: you two ended up becoming friends

• and a year passed very quickly, you and Javier were each other's most meaningful relationship even if you didn't have anything sexual or romantic going on

• he just trusted you and you trusted him, you two looked out for each other and your partnership was very successful

• until the day you got some immigration letters saying you'd have to go back to your country because your permission to stay in Colombia had expired

• you didn't have many options to stay, they were all out of reach and you had accepted you would have to return home and leave your current life behind

• and Javi too

• you were upset, but that man was heartbroken

• he didn't know how to explain, but he didn't want to be left by you, he wanted you to stay next to him and he said it was because of work, of course

• but you both knew it was something more, and yet, neither of you said anything about it

• as Javi read the documents, he came across one very important information: you wouldn't have to go back if you were legally married

• so he came up with a solution: he would marry you so you could stay

• and you laughed really hard

• after all, it was Javier Peña talking about getting married

• but he was serious and you could tell the moment he groaned annoyed and asked you if you wanted to do it or not

• so his plan was simple: marry you so you would stay and you two would act as a couple in love in front of people

• it was a crazy idea, but it could work, so you agreed and in less than a week, you and Javi were signing the papers in the courthouse

• and that was when you became Mrs.Peña

• in front of other people you and Javi acted like a newlywed couple: holding hands, pecking lips, giggling and seeming always affectionate

• at home you were yourselves again, you even told Javi he could still go to his girls as long as he was discreet about it, because you didn't want a scandal

• he seemed pretty satisfied, but the reality was that he never returned to any of the whorehouses he knew after he got married, it just seemed weird to him

• and when you two were at home, he began acting a lot sweeter too

• he would help you with dinner or at least with the dishes; whenever you were taking notes or reading something at the table he would tuck a strand of hair behind your ear

• or he would rub your shoulders whenever you were too tense after work

• the peak of Javier Peña's sweetness was when he offered you to paint your toenails

• you were a little surprised but he said he would do it so you could relax, and while he did a pretty decent job, you fell asleep

• so you began being very sweet towards Javi too, wanting him to feel as good as he was making you feel

• you would offer him shoulder rubs and you would rest your body against his whenever you two watched television

• and one night he took too long to arrive, you knew he had a dangerous stakeout with Murphy and you were worried by minute as he didn't show up at home in time for dinner

• the moment he finally walked through the door you ran to him, wrapping your arms around his body and kissing his lips

• it got pretty difficult to hide how much you liked each other after that

____

[velvetures]

May I RQ a reader who is trying to learn their language to help them feel more comfortable, but feels insecure due to them not really being fluent? They mispronounce and misuse the slangs in context, but hopes they can make the boys see the effort they are trying to go through for them.

Lessons In Miscommunication

A/N: Hi doll, I hope you don't mind me using König for this one. I've got a lot of experience with Spanish irl, but that's not super applicable here, haha. To anyone who's German... please forgive me. 🤍 Summary: You're on comms during a mission getting a small lesson in König's language while waiting for your next orders from HQ. Things get complicated, and there's a language and culture barrier that makes things... challenging. T/W: canonical warfare, cursing, non-fluent use of German, flirting, feelings, and some other stuff probably. Not proofread, as always.

To put it simply, you didn't expect just how difficult it would be to learn a new language in your twenties. Sure the science spoke to the provable trouble you would have compared to a much younger version of yourself, but for all meaningful purposes, you really didn't think it would be this nuanced. And while Spanish, French, and other languages were of great importance, there wasn't anyone who could teach you those. The one person around was König, and he spoke German.

When you'd approached the topic nearly eight months ago, he'd been honestly shocked and surprised that you'd come to him in the first place and secondly that you thought he would be a good teacher. He was often thought of as reliable as a Colonel, but giving you suitable enough tutoring in German to be conversational was nothing short of uncharted territory for the pair of you. This made for very interesting moments in and outside of missions as well as a few times where it would've been better if you'd used an online app or something to keep from unintentionally embarrassing yourself.

Posted almost two miles away from the Colonel on a rocky outcropping overlooking a small encampment of a radical terrorist group, you laid on the hillside with a rifle and radio trying to pass the time between now and when you'd get the call to secure the site. The men and women down below were only one small stop-off point for a far larger caravan of armored trucks and a few tanks carrying supplies and weaponry toward the closest city of Almazra. It was a threat that couldn't come to fruition if the buildings and people still living there were to be left standing by the end of the week.

On the other end of the two-mile distance was König and a selected squad of men who were waiting just as impatiently as you were to not only get this mission over with but to get out of the damn desert heat. For security's sake, you knew you should be keeping the airways clear for any kind of information about the insurgent's movements, but König had insisted that this would be a perfect opportunity for you to get some practice in without losing focus of the task at hand. Your job at the moment was to keep eyes on the encampment through the lens of your sniper rifle and report anything that looked to be of importance.

König's definition of what was important could be easily debatable, yet it did ensure that you could make simple connections between real-world objects and the German words or phrases that matched. Whether or not the Colonel realized it or not, both of you had slightly gotten off the target of what you were supposed to be talking about and wandered into the more... personal aspects of things. Specifically just how bad you wanted to be home after nearly a full month away from American soil and your personal home.

"Ich habe für immer Fernweh," Your accent was certainly progressing, at least in the Colonel's mind, but he wasn't quite sure exactly what you meant by that.

"Was meinst du damit? Kannst du es dieses Mal auf Englisch sagen?"

His voice sounded a little confused and more than a tinge humored at the way you'd sounded so... formal. Even diplomatic to a degree. It was one of the more difficult parts of teaching you. Dialects, slang, and even simple English-to-German translations didn't always have a very direct or clear answer. Often it meant that you would say something with full intention and innocent honesty, and König would have to keep himself from chuckling. Most of the men he worked alongside didn't speak for one reason or another, so getting to hear at least one person -especially you- made the near and far miscommunication more than worth the effort.

Looking through your scope at a group of five sitting around a small fire, you sigh a bit, trying to think of how to explain yourself.

"I meant I'm feeling homesick," You mutter a little more quietly than necessary, almost as if saying it in English was broadcasting your secret while German somehow kept it from being found out. "What did you hear me say?"

König chuckled, his laugh vibrating in the speakers of your comm quite nicely. "You said you have wanderlust forever," You could hear him smiling from the other end. "It's okay, sometimes the words don't always mean exactly what you think they do. I had the same problem when I learned English." For a moment he paused, laughing softly again. "I still can't say Squirrel... properly."

"Vielleicht habe ich doch Lust auf etwas..." You mutter a bit frustrated and somewhat skarkily under your breath, making a small jab at wordplay not thinking that König could hear you over the radio or that he'd be more shocked to hear you say such a thing.

The radio stays silent for a long few minutes, almost tricking you into believing that you'd been safe in making your comment under your breath without any audible witnesses. Only on the other end, the Colonel was struggling between the actual meaning behind your words, the way it sounded so damn sexy... and how he was supposed to actually answer you without sounding too affected by something as simple as your voice.

"Se-Sergeant..." His voice sounded a little weak, much in the same way it did when he was in an uncomfortable social situation. "What did you just say?"

Instantly your body tensed up from fingers to toes and you felt a shock of heat roll through you. König heard you. Right away you assumed by the growl in his question that you were going to be in for some kind of punishment. Maybe even a good ass-chewing in front of the rest of the squad for saying something so easily considered lewd and totally unprofessional to utter in the presence of a superior officer. Your best bet was apologizing, and hoping he'd just let it go...

"I'm sorry, I was just frustrated and-"

His voice deepens over the radio, almost like he's got it pressed right up against his mouth. "Say it again." The command felt heavy in your stomach. "Now."

You repeated the phrase, staring through the lens of your scope with bated breath. waiting to hear what the Colonel would say in response. And the last thing you expected was to hear an almost pained sort of growling sound vibrating in your ears. It made you shiver and despite König being almost two miles away, it felt like he was breathing down your neck.

"Du klingst so hübsch, wenn du das sagst..." A noticeable static over the radio took your attention, but when it didn't get worse you had the mental capacity to translate what König said word by word until you had the full sentence running through your head.

The time between his praise and your response was nearly indistinguishable between seconds and years. Had it not been for you watching your targets moving in real-time through your scope, you would've thought the whole world had come to a stuttering halt in anticipation of your response. Yet it seemed that the world still had to do other important things which included bringing the key turning point of this mission right to your front door with the sudden sound of an approaching squad tailing the convoy of insurgents giving information and callouts for how to proceed forward. Of those, orders for König and his men to begin working down the side of the mountain to intercept the meeting of the convoy and the small ground sitting in tents around a high-burning fire.

"Ich werde später herausfinden, wie hübsch man klingen kann, wenn man schmutzige Dinge auf Deutsch sagt." The Colonel's voice growled lowly, almost threatening in a sense.

There was no telling what would happen after the mission ended and there wasn't a threat of being shot or failing to secure Almazra. What you could count on was König finding you and testing out his theory of all the things you could say in his language they may or may not have been provocative - on purpose or not. Something in your body shivered in delightful nervousness and anticipation of just how he planned on getting that kind of information out of you. A couple of ideas swirled in your mind, but the movement of the incoming convoy didn't allow you the luxury of daydreaming about your Colonel or how your mistaken words and German lessons had landed you here.

Comments and Reblogs are Always Helpful <3

[itsmaferart]

Is this a good time to talk about Twilight's development?... Yes, it's always a good time!

One of the most interesting points about Twilight for the fandom is the question of which identity will prevail until the end. I think the most obvious answer would be Loid Forger will be the identity that will stay, since that's the identity most people know him by (in and out of the universe), but things are more complicated when we remember [Redacted], the one that is supposed to be the "true" identity of the boy who lost everything in the tragic war…. And then…. where does that leave Twilight, the Westalis spy?

I think an interesting and collective perspective is that Twilight is slowly becoming Loid Forger, the character created to fulfill the Strix mission Right? So, Twilight starts to get more and more confused feeling that his fake family is more and more real to him. However, I don't know if this is really the route Endo is necessarily taking.

If we think about it, Loid Forger is someone who does not exist, is not a real psychiatrist, was not married and did not really have a daughter with his fictional first wife. We could say then that Twilight's fatherly and good husband moments are due to Loid's character.

Twilight alone, playing Loid as an exemplary parent usually has several problems. From chapter one we can see him sinking into a spiral of negativity when he sees that understanding a child is so complicated (even after reading a bunch of parenting encyclopedias), especially when Anya doesn't get the academic results needed for the mission. The same thing happens, or something similar, when being Loid Forger he tries to "seduce" his fake wife to keep up appearances, or make sure she continues with her role (just an excuse to kiss her, ok?).

I'm trying to say, when Twilight, the spy, transforms himself into Loid Forger he has serious problems. Being the perfect father and husband under the demands of the Strix mission is very complicated, trying to use his daughter (and wife) to get results usually always fails. So, the Loid Forger mask is not enough to transform Twilight into a REAL good father and husband.

So…. Twilight is becoming Loid?

I think this is not so accurate…. at least not yet.

Loid Forger by himself is nothing genuine, he is a mask. He is someone who at some point must cease to exist and with him the lies. So, when Loid falls, who is he who will really be left? What is his own truth?

What makes all those special Loid Forger moments meaningful and a genuine feeling of undercurrent that is NOT FOR THE MISSION, is [Redacted].

If you think about it, all those special moments are the moments where Twilight unwittingly puts aside his spy side and allows [Redacted] to show up: Like when he tells Yor that he's actually always been alone, and has no family to lean on, when he tells Yor about his own mother and how comforted he felt by her side, or when he told Anya how important friends were.

The real loving, fatherly side of Twilight doesn't derive from Loid Forger, it derives from [Redacted]. It's a side that's always been in him, but it's dormant, and it wasn't something that came out of playing that role of Loid.

So I think it's more accurate to say that "Loid is transforming into [Redacted]" ...."Loid's mask is becoming part of [Redacted]'s face on the surface"

Yes, [Redacted] had to disappear, and be buried for Twilight, the spy, to become his dominant identity in order to deal with the loss (it's just a protective shell). Loid Forger is becoming the new identity or the new mask for [Redacted] to resurface from the depths.

To paraphrase Nightfall "He is their buried heart".

Each time manga progresses further, we see Loid/Twilight showing a more genuine side of himself, a more human side. He is no longer someone who smiles (falsely) at his family, or is worried about appearing sympathetic to Yuri (he is annoying as a pain in the ass), or even shows no concern about them finding out that they are not a real family. Twilight has been relaxing, and has stopped worrying so much about appearances, and more about being a good father and a good husband

We even see him genuinely overwhelmed by being a spy, dealing with side missions. Because [Redacted] does not want to appear to be a perfect spy/man at all times, when he clearly wants to be at home with his wife and daughter, dealing with his upset stomach while drinking coffee (with a little milk).

.

So, I think those times when Twilight starts slipping and letting out phrases like "…I abandoned my family again" or "it gets very lonely" (if Yor isn't there) or "I'm genuinely proud", it's actually [Redacted] surfacing and displacing her spy side when it's no longer really necessary

Loid Forger is getting real because [Redacted] is real

It's funny, too, when Loid Forger's relaxed hair looks a lot like Redacted's hairstyle as a child.

.

Yes it may be that for Twilight the spy it is very easy to tell the difference between him and Loid Forger. But the line that distinguishes [Redacted] and Loid becomes increasingly blurred…. and it will be interesting to see how he and his mountains of emotional denial will deal with that.

However, it will be interesting to know what path Endo has planned. For practical purposes and congruent with the plot, all the characters who have met Loid (who don't know he's a spy) recognize him as the psychiatrist, Anya's father, and Yor's husband. So I don't know if this implies that Loid Forger will be his definitive civilian identity when he really stays with his family (because I know it will), or if his real name will be revealed, having to start a new life with his girls and his faithful dog.

.

.

Then..... What do you think?

[lemmetreatya]

Just Say It — Hawks x fem!Reader

content: smut, vaginal sex, m!pen, a bit fluffy, mating press, unprotected sex

synopsis: hawks finally comes to visit your family home.

making this because i realise im yet to make a mha fandom contribution so here it is!! sorry that its rushed ong i really wanted to get it out for the weekend because im gon be real busy so take this as my peace offering!! enjoy 🫶🏾

you and hawks have been dating for awhile now but your folks at home have still yet to meet him because he barely takes time off and hes always so busy.

you ask him if just this once he can spare time to spend the holidays at yours and for some odd reason, he willingly agrees

“i guess a few days won’t hurt.” he mumbles as he scratches the back of his neck.

“oh, kei thank you so much! you really don’t know how much you’re helping me out here.”

and he doesn’t, because even before he’s dropped the suitcases within your family home, hawks doesn’t expect to be bombarded with so much happiness and joy and acceptance all from within the same familial space

“keigo, welcome! it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“on god, you really are more handsome in real life!”

“these feathers are a lot softer than i thought they’d be.”

“can you fly me like… around everywhere?!”

hawks finds out that he likes this attention. because yes he technically gets it all the time back in musutafu but this attention is different. it’s warm, its meaningful — it’s an extension of you.

after dinner, after playing games with your younger siblings or cousins, after having a chat to your parent(s) and older familial members, after going on an evening walk with the family, hawks fucks you so endearingly into the mattress of your childhood bed, the action a fickle yet profound statement.

the embarrassing posters of older pro-heros and figurines littered your room but they were of no importance as you allowed your own personal pro-hero to piston himself in and out of your puffy cunt.

“shit, shit, shit”

keeping quiet was hard enough as it was but the way hawks’ wings would sporadically jolt every time your pussy clenched around his cock a certain way was even more concerning

orgasms were fun with hawks because when he really lost control, so did his wings. the amount of times you’ve orgasmed with your eyes closed, only to open them and be met with a flurry of crimson feathers, were countable yet amusing.

however, as much as you could tolerate it back home within his spacious high rise apartment, in this situation it was a tad bit problematic, especially concerning his wings spanned almost three times the size of your small cupboard-like room.

"ouhhh, kei just like that." you mutter into his neck, the rumbling of his own moans electrifying.

your cunt sucked him in so effortlessly. hawks wasn't sure how long he could last; new situations were always so exhilarating for him

"t-tell me you love me..." he suddenly uttered.

the words caught you by surprise, mainly because hawks was never the sappy nor sentimental type. but, it looks like all the emotions he's been experiencing the past few hours has filled him with a sense of joy hes never experienced before.

to be around so many people who cared and held a sense of integrity. nothing like him, he supposed. but to be around so many people that genuinely accepted him churned his heart in a way it hasnt before.

you churned his heart in a way it hasnt before.

"you're just horny baby..." your fingers caressed the small hairs at the back of his neck. "y-you don't want me to say that..."

hawks was so close now, he could feel it boil feverently at the bottom of his gut. he continued to coax himself in and out of you as he flattened your legs closer to your head

"i'm n't...say it." he groaned, his sweaty forehead now pressed onto yours. "say that...that y-you love me."

"you first" you squeeze out because no way was he starting this conversation now of all times.

hawks was a stubborn man. anyone who had a minutes worth of encounters with him could tell you that. but it looks like even the most stubborn of them all had times where all they could do was comply.

with a sleezy smile, hawks leaned down to quickly peck your lips.

"I love you." he mumbles, and you almost dont hear it because you feel like your ears are rushing with blood, but he utters it again and this time a bit louder.

"I love you. h-ha, fuck, I love you."

your heart was racing so fast because no way was the number 2. hero professing his love to you, under your family roof, in your childhood bed inside your pussy

with a humming moan, you slightly pecked the man back, your legs wrapping around his waist as you whispered the words back to him.

"shi’…I..i lov' you t-too damn it..."

you didn't even get to hear the man's reply. with an orgasm so strong, hawks' hips stuttered to a halt as he came inside of you but his wings had lost control as they accidentally stretched their full length.

as you accidentally moaned aloud, the mishap sent so many of your belongings that sat on shelves and tables flying all over the room. the both of you however were still experiencing the orgasmic joys of not just sex but the declarations of love.

as you heard other members of the house disrupt loudly at the crashing of your room, the two of you could only post-climatically giggle in each others arms.

you’re so happy keigo joined you on this trip.

[zhansww]

Hello..what are your thoughts about the untamed actors xiao zhan and wang yibo after 2020??

Since they hvnt really interacted with each other after 2020 it is hard for me to interpret what kind of relationship they have or if they are really in contact with each other since then?

Hello~

well, my short answer would be that after I realized ggdd must be together, there has been nothing since then that could shake that realization. You know? The fact that they haven't publicly interacted in years doesn't make everything before then less "real" or less meaningful. Not to mention, they've still both (unintentionally?) let us know occasionally that they do interact in private, which is obviously more important anyway. They may not seem very happy lately but I can't blame them. I know that they've been together for more than seven years and married for more than four. Given their situation, I can't imagine it's always been easy but they are still together. To make it work for this long, goes to show how devoted they are to one another. I'm sure they will continue making it work. And I can only root for them from afar. If ggdd decided to retire from the industry tomorrow and started sharing a quiet life away from the spotlight together, I could not be happier for them. I want them to be happy. So basically, after realizing that XZ and YB are a couple, there's simply been nothing to make me doubt that. This is based on what I know, though, and I obviously can't make you see the same. But if you do want a longer answer, feel free to look at my pinned post or just read thru my yz text posts. I am always hoping to make more people believe in and support these two cuz I think supporting them is the best we can do. So that hopefully, ideally they will one day feel safe enough to indeed interact with each other publicly again.

[bestworstcase]

@sailorb00 tags here

#i was also on the fence about the EA siblings and Theodore being related by looks alone (#... and the alice + dorothy comparison#mostly chalked it up to coincidence but now that they're conf. to be from Vacuo it's looking less like coincidence fsdf#then is the girl on the desk photograph Alyx before she and Lewis found the EA?#And Theodore juat inherited it? He grew up on his great-great grandfather/uncle/who know's stories about the EA being real?#Maybe in hopes that one day his sister would return and be welcomed by family? even if they're generations apart#if Lewis's pseudonym is Theodore Im gonna lose it#I mean we dont know his or the EA siblings' surnames.#IS THAT WHY THEODORE DOESNT GO BY HIS SURNAME#BC OF THE FAMILY LEGACY???#ok imma go sit down now before i hurt myself w/ speculation fsdf

YEAH SAME on the being like Doubt.jpg about a relation between theodore and lewis on the basis of… skin color, basically, but the minute i heard “i couldn’t believe they were from vacuo,” that’s a deliberate choice to link these kids to the setting for the next major story arc, and that’s happening in conjunction with several developments in the 9.11 animatic that suggest history is about to become very important (soaring popular support for the crown—probable mountain glenn history-repeating-itself theme with salem razing vale—oscar mentioning vacuo’s history of colonization—plus the great war having ended with ozma’s use of the sword in vacuo).

it’s very. raises eyebrow. alrighty then!

so whatever lewis did after coming home, other than writing tgwfttw, probably has some narrative relevance—might be as small as something jaune needs to find closure, or it might be bigger than that, who knows, but if it was a hundred and fifty years ago and it matters enough to be in the story, then the story needs a vehicle to deliver this information in a manner that feels naturalistic and non-arbitrary. (jaune-stumbles-across-loved-one’s-memorial-statue-by-chance once is a believable happenstance; twice, a cheap contrivance.)

the simplest way to do that is to introduce a vacuan character with some connection to lewis, and the obvious choice there is a descendent, because lewis lived a long enough time ago that family lineage is kind of the only plausible reason for a living character in the present to have a meaningful personal connection to lewis.

(and it can’t be oz, because oz had no idea the ever after existed.)

this descendent-character also ideally should be prominent enough in the story to matter for reasons unrelated to their relation to lewis, to avoid feeling shoehorned in. and they are probably human, given the apparent rarity of interracial human/faunus couples.

that pretty much narrows it down to theodore, or the asturias twins. NOW hysterical as it would be for jax and gillian to be descended from lewis, finn asturias is obsessed with “the old stories about [his] family” and yet doesn’t drop even a single hint about the ever after, so i think we can rule that out.

which leaves theodore. hmm.

that picture in his office:

She still remembered that her attention had been drawn to one photo in particular: a black-and-white picture of a young girl in pigtails and a checkered dress with a small black dog. She hadn’t mustered the courage to ask who she was to Theodore. A daughter? A sister? Whoever she was, Velvet could see the resemblance.

plainly evokes dorothy, and even bearing in mind that there may be discrepancies (theodore is described as blue-eyed in the book but has brown eyes in beyond, for example)… there’s nothing in this photo to suggest a resemblance to alyx beyond ‘young girl.’ alyx doesn’t wear her hair in pigtails, nor does she have checkered patterns anywhere in her design, nor does she have a little black dog. so i doubt it’s her.

but black-and-white does suggest it’s old. ‘sister’ seems a lot more plausible than ‘daughter’ for that reason, and ‘mother or aunt’ even more likely than either of those.

(the other thing about a young girl with a small black dog in This story, is.

it’s a symbol for the deaths of the ozlem girls and the inescapable grief that underlies the whole conflict between ozma and salem—there’s a reason she sends a giant monstrous hound to capture oz and then huddles in the shadows miserably looking at conjured images of her daughters until oscar wakes up; the black dog reappears as this terrifying monster in conjunction with the surfacing of all this pain.

so the question is to what extent this small black dog in the photograph is Just Toto, and whether the specific narrative symbolism is or isn’t in play here; Did This Girl Die? that would preclude her being theodore’s mother but she could well be an aunt or great-aunt.)

of course the point of drawing attention to this photograph might be as simple as hinting at theodore’s quote-unquote real ozian allusion; not dorothy but the silver shoes lost in the desert. which is an interesting angle to consider with regard to this possibility of lewis being his ancestor, because on the one hand there’s the silver shoes carrying dorothy home yet becoming irretrievably lost themselves in doing so, and on the other there’s alyx, the white rabbit, guiding people home yet never able to return home herself. see the rhyme?

in a sense jaune and team rwby bring alyx home with them, in that they know what happened to her and if there are descendants of lewis still living in vacuo then the question of why she never came home can finally be answered. and if the descendent is theodore, then the intertextual confluence between him and alyx is more resonant than the surface dorothy-and-alice comparison; the silver shoes are the home the white rabbit returns to, as a memory, a hundred and fifty-odd years late. and it matters.

but also i have a little hamster wheel churning at all times in the back of my mind and right now it’s churning around: sixty, seventy years before the great war began, vacuo was a colonial territory of mistral—before the great war, it had no formal government, it wasn’t a state, and oscar references the history of colonization in the 9.11 animatic. so that history and the history of the great war—which was for vacuo a war for independence—is narratively salient. lewis was a child who grew up in vacuo during the fractious decades preceding the great war; he gives a face to this period in history.

and jaune told lewis and alyx not only that he was from remnant but that he was from more than a century in their future; he and lewis “compared notes on remnant.” jaune couldn’t believe they were from vacuo, “back before the war, before huntsmen.”

they compared notes.

jaune’s grandfather fought in the great war.

so lewis went back home to colonial vacuo fifty, sixty, seventy years before the great war knowing that the great war was going to happen. knowing that within his lifetime vacuo would fight for its independence and win. knowing that there would be peace in the end. according to what blake says in 9.2, in the book, alyx “didn’t know [afteran] customs and started a war between the townsfolk” and that takes on a really different subtext now that we know the story’s author was a man who grew up in colonial vacuo knowing that the great war was coming.

either lewis and alyx were vacuan, or they were mistrali but born in vacuo; either way the tenor of the girl who fell through the world suggests that lewis’ sympathies lay with vacuo. both options stand to be compelling if he acted upon this knowledge more directly than writing anti-colonial themes into his children’s book. or books. there is also the boy who fell from the sky, mentioned in after the fall, and alice’s adventures in wonderland does have a somewhat lesser-known sequel.

i doubt lewis fought in the great war himself—he was probably in his seventies or older by then—but if he had children they would have been of an age to fight for vacuo, and if lewis had passed down to them the stories he knew of what remnant would be like after…

y’see how lewis could have ended up playing a really important role in vacuo’s side of the great war, if he’d decided not to leave matters in the hands of fate? jaune told him about what the world would be like after the great war, but lewis also figured out that jaune knew more than he let on, figured out that jaune remembered a story lewis hadn’t written down yet. he knew that knowledge of the future could shape the future, because if it hadn’t been for jaune and jaune’s foreknowledge of his book, he might not have written it the way he did, as a guide for how to get out of the ever after.

so he goes home, knowing the great war will happen and what the outcome will be—or else knowing that it might happen that way. who did he become with that knowledge? what did he choose to do with what he knew? the one thing we know is he became a storyteller, and “storytellers have great power” is a prominent narrative theme.

salem inspired the world to rebel against the brothers by telling the story of what they had done to her, and speaking of her vision of a time when humanity could be free.

lewis…?

[conjuring-ghouls]

My dog died on Monday, while I was holding him. It took me a while to make this post cause, to be honest, I still don't know what to think. I still feel like it's not real, like he will come shaking his tail to greet me when I step into the living room in the morning. We got him when I was 9. He used to sleep on my bed with me as a puppy. He was there when I graduated high school, when I got into uni, when I dropped out of uni, when I went through a hard relationship as an adult... basically through every meaningful event of my life, good or bad. And even after moving here from Brazil, he helped making this new apartment feel like home. He helped making a whole new country feel like home just cause he was there through the process. Cause "home" always meant somewhere he was at. So if he was there, everything was alright. Everything would be alright. Now it's so hard to think that he isn't there, though. The house feels quiet. It's hard to see his empty bed, his water bowl still sitting in the corner, his black hair still staining his favorite spot on the living room rug. It's hard to hear a random noise and instinctively think it's the tipping sound of his paws walking in my direction only to turn my head and see that he isn't there, that he isn't coming. The longing to spend some more time with him, to hug him again, is just overwhelming. Different moments with him keep repeating themselves in my mind endlessly. I keep thinking of all the times I got mad at him for stealing cat food or trying to jump on the sofa with his dirty paws. I wish I had let him on the sofa more often, let him eat some more cat food. I wish I was a bit more patient. These small things feel so meaningless now. It feels impossible not to feel like I could've done more to help him in the end, that maybe things could've been different if I was faster, if I had done anything differently, even knowing that he was already old and tired and there was nothing else that could be done. I can't think of him without crying, and I can't do anything without thinking of him. But in the end, I know that being there for him and holding him in my arms as he passed was the best thing he could've asked for, even if it broke my heart. The important thing is that he wasn't alone, and the trauma of seeing him passing was worth the comfort that me being there must've given him. And even though I'm swirling in emotions and crying again while writing this, the feeling that sits with me is gratitude. Pets don't live as much as we do, and our job is to give them all the love and comfort we can while they're still with us. We can't be selfish to the point of wanting them to stay with us forever. They're not ours to keep, we're just priviledged enough to be their guardians during their short time here. And all the pain that's left when they're gone is just the small price we pay for the whole life of happiness and devotion they gave us, for all their unconditional love and loyalty. It hurts a lot rn. But I would do it all again, over and over for him. Te amo meu preto, meu lobinho, meu velho 🖤

[invinciblerodent]

I have been thinking fucking incessantly about this one Todd May quote ever since that scene meeting Mystra:

"Why, for the Immortals, are all undertakings in vain? Given an infinite amount of time for existence, everything will happen of its own accord. There is nothing an immortal being cannot eventually do; and, in fact, nothing he or she will not eventually do."

This is from his book "Death", from the chapter "Death and immortality", about... well, immortality, and the morals of it, as contrasted with its mortal conceptions.

Essentially, in the most straightforward way I can phrase it, May describes how for mortals, life is fraught with urgency. We are always at least tangentially aware of our existence being temporary: which is in part what makes our actions meaningful. We are aware that there is a finite amount of things that we are able to accomplish in our lifetimes, and we are at least kind of aware of our existence being singular in time (even considering religious beliefs of things like reincarnation or an eternal afterlife, the here and now when I am both this and present is still unique), so the end, or the idea of it, in its way, generates the meaning of the limited number of events within this particular chunk of time.

An immortal, like a goddess, would likely be more of a disinterested spectator of life than an active participant in it. Without the urgency of a time limit to drive them forward, and the precariousness of living to make the future uncertain, a goddess has no real interest in things that happen in the world of mortals. With good turning to bad, and bad turning to good over the centuries, it's easy enough to kind of stop caring about what is currently going on, because, well, it'll eventually be different, and then the same again.

Of fucking course she doesn't care for Gale the way he cares for her: it's impossible for her, which is what he, with his limited, human perspective, is (imo) initially incapable of understanding. In his very short, limited life, there is room for one, maybe two such great loves, but in hers? There is an endless, constant stream of near-faceless people, flowing through and not making a permanent mark, because permanence for an immortal is a word largely devoid of meaning. Bad or good, the guilt/pleasure will always fade, the people will all die and get replaced by a brand new crop of similarly expendable people, and the goddess will still have an infinity of time to go.

Even considering that she was once Mystryl, and that technically this incarnation of her was once mortal, and keeping her brush with a kind of death in mind, the future for Mystra, as she can conceive of it, is an empty, vast expanse of nothing but the certainty that she will live, and she will be present in some way. Even if slain (if I recall correctly how this works in DnD), her essence just kinda returns to the cosmic soup, and eventually, she'll... reform, or be resurrected, or changed as she has been already, or she'll remain as an immaterial fragment, or something. Point is, she is unending, and he is no more than a blip on her radar.

That's why she's so callous about asking him to die, and in turn essentially dooming Faerun: she doesn't care. She can't care. He was going to die anyway in what feels to her like the blink of an eye (whether it's 5 days, 50 years, or 500, it's not important), and what does she care if the Grand Design comes to fruition? Whether there are people or mind flayers inhabiting the world, it's of no real concern to her. Eventually, either people will strike back, or go extinct, or the mind flayers will cease to exist and something different will come from it, all without truly affecting her. In a year, a hundred years, or a million years, she will be here, and there will be another bright mageling to amuse her.

Fun as it is to joke about it, I don't think that the toxicity of their relationship is her fault, strictly speaking. It's not the ocean's fault when a tsunami destroys a village and kills hundreds. It's not the storm's fault when lightning strikes and kills a tree. Her very nature is this nebulous, capricious existence, only truly occupied with having the power to indulge her whimsies, and filling an infinite amount of time with things to do- unconcerned about how that affects others, because their whole lives barely affect her for a short segment of her eternal soup of undefined presence.

It can be argued that any relationship that may exist between mortal and immortal is necessarily tragic, toxic, desperately unequal, and grossly unhealthy for the mortal. By its very nature, such a relationship pushes the needs and feelings of the mortal party into essential inconsequence to their partner. There can be no regret to feel when the mortal is hurt or gone, because there have been others like them, and there will be others to come still, and everything will happen, or has happened, and will happen again.

Gale was always doomed to be her devoted plaything, only to be discarded once he stops being fun. That could have been once his appearance stopped pleasing her, or once his wit stopped entertaining her, or for any reason whatsoever, and him recognizing that this relationship was never anything more than entertainment to her, while it was devastating and singularly defining to him, is such an important thing for his future happiness.

(This is mainly why his throwaway "Let me make myself indispensable" line is so important to me, tbh. He yearns to matter, and that is only possible if he either finds contentment entirely within the mortal realm, or becomes a god himself, which in turn just dooms him to essentially become Mystra and continue this vicious cycle.)

(Fucking tragic-ass low-wis wizard man, making me fkin... re-read my philosophy books. Honestly the gall, Larian.)