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justporo · 8 months

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Bedroom Hymns

A still empty new home somwhere in the Upper City of Baldur's Gate. Nothing but a big mattress on the floor of your bedroom where Astarion and you have spent some days already, mostly naked, just indulging in whatever you want - and each other of course, whenever the flames started blazing. This time a spark is ignited when Astarion sees how his old shirt looks on you, how well it suits you. (NSFW)

PART 2 | MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: This is... just dirty smut. I have been thinking about writing this for literal months. But I'm happy I did because when Tav describes how she's become more confident? That's me just describing how I feel about writing smut. And yes, there will be a second part - with even more. Happy 2k followers, my dear horny gremlins!

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), premature orgasm, light dom/sub dynamic (if you squint but really they're both just taking the piss out of each other) Wordcount: 4,5k ~~~

A lot of things in your life had gone wrong - more than you could possibly ever count. Sometimes you had even wondered how you had even survived this far. In the last couple of months you had asked yourself that question quite a lot actually.

But then some things had gone very right. Often without you even knowing what was in store for you beforehand.

As you laid on your side on a single thick plush mattress in a massive room with deep red silk tapestries on the wall and polished wooden floors, high ceilings adorned with a shimmering and glittering chandelier in your newly acquired home in Baldur’s Gate, you realised that this was one of those things that had gone terribly right.

But all this wasn't even the best. The best thing that had - quite frankly - ever happened to you was lying right next to you: almost completely naked, only partly covered by some blankets and sheets, just as you were, and at the moment lecturing you on the importance of a coherent design concerning furniture, decor and colours. Long, elegant fingers waved around, gesticulating while full, soft lips kept moving, often smiling - occasionally allowing sharp fangs to be seen beneath - and red eyes began to glow whenever their gaze fell on you.

A small lantern was bathing the large and tall room in some cosy orange light - barely reaching the far corners of the room. It was almost reminiscent of all the nights you had spent in camp with nothing but the moon, stars and a crackling campfire for light. The mattress though was easily an impressive upgrade from your tattered bedrolls despite it being the only piece of furnishing the two of you currently owned.

You had stopped paying attention a fair while ago while Astarion kept waving his arms around, looking from you - softly nodding in agreement without hearing the words - to the ceiling and around the empty room. His curls were delightfully messed up and unorderly, making him look even more handsome for how at ease he was. And the easy smile that didn't seem to leave his lips these days, took quite a lot of those torturous years right off his face.

Your heart fluttered every time he looked over at you, with his bright red eyes sparkling at you and his smile involuntarily growing even broader.

And you saw the rest too: how he elegantly gesticulated with those skilled hands, how the muscles in his arms and chest flexed as he couldn't be bothered to keep still for just a second, the room never silent as long as he was there. You had fallen into easy, natural companionship with each other - as if you’d known each other for centuries already.

What choices you had made to end up right here, right now, you didn’t know. But you surely wouldn’t have changed a thing if this was to be the glorious result.

“Wouldn't you agree, my heart?” Astarion asked you, halting his ongoing infodump. He was looking at you. And by the way one of his eyebrows was raised critically he must have noticed your lapse in attention.

But in your defence, the way his lower abdomen disappeared in the sheets he had carelessly wrapped around his hips - at a very low point - would have distracted just about anyone. The way the lines of his muscles defined his lower body. Especially those two converging lines, starting at his slender hips, then going lower, leading to his…

Astarion cleared his throat. You'd been distracted yet again.

“Darling, you have all the time in the world for staring, you don't need to get it done all at once.”

“I like being a step or two ahead though, love.”

The vampire scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance. You saw how it made his muscles contract just a tad and you bit your lip unconsciously.

“I know, darling, you're so diligent. But my eyes are up here, my sweet,” he answered. You heard the vicious teasing in his tone.

You ripped your gaze from his delectable torso and let it wander to his equally delectable face. He was grinning wolfishly at you, one eyebrow twitching up playfully. And now you couldn't help but blush a little. He often had that effect on you.

Astarion simply liked being looked at, and you - well - liked looking at him. But in his defence, he was also very good at reversing the roles, making you flustered whenever he couldn’t tear his eyes from you in return as if undressing you and having you right then and there in his mind even when you were in public. With the way he stared at you now, eyes slowly becoming half-lidded, you also had a fair idea where his mind was going right now.

Your vampire slowly turned to lay on his side, propping up his head on his arm, mirroring your pose exactly. A few of his curls were falling into his face when he slowly leaned forward, his smile already telling you what he was about. Some rustling you heard made you aware that the sheets around his hips were moving when he did. Your eyes flicked downward.

A small involuntary gasp left your lips when you noticed that the fabric had slipped even lower, the man now even more precariously covered than before. Your thoughts immediately took a tumble and stopped being coherent.

Astarion clicked his tongue, his free hand grabbed your chin firmly and made you look at him once more: “Love, we really need to talk about the fact how you lose the ability to focus so quickly.” The wolfish grin was back and he even leaned in a little bit closer still, causing the sheets to slide down just a bit more. A desperate noise caught deep in your throat.

You coughed.

“In my defence, Astarion, you’re almost completely naked”, you whispered as his smirking lips hovered over yours.

“So are you, darling, but you don’t see me losing focus, do you?” Astarion replied, his voice dropping low until it was merely more than a rumble. His crimson eyes took their time as they wandered over every single one of your elegant curves. His tongue darted out to wet his lips unconsciously while with his eyes he devoured your naked body outlining against the dark of the room with the help of warm lantern light sharply illuminating the details of your form.

You swallowed and felt some pressure forming between your legs. The kind you had felt relentlessly almost all the time since you had fallen onto this single piece of furnishing you had bought so far for your new home.

By now it must have been a couple of days of the two of you just hanging out barely clothed in your new almost empty bedroom - just the huge mattress on the floor. And once you had fallen onto it, you hadn’t seen any sense in getting up again. Everything you needed was right there with you.

You had talked even more in the last couple of days than you had ever before. You had taken each other whenever lust had overcome you. And you had just allowed the exhaustion of months and months of fights, adventures and not knowing if you would live to see another sunrise to slowly leave both your bodies. Just sinking into the soft bedding, knowing you could let yourself fall fully with each other around, relaxing and recovering.

Well, you almost didn’t leave the makeshift bed. Only when some carnal urges, that Astarion very unfortunately couldn’t fulfil all by himself, were reminding you that you were still just a mortal did you get up and snuck out of the room. Always coming back to Astarion dramatically claiming he'd barely survived without your attention when you fell back into his arms on return.

Unfortunately you felt some of those urges creeping up on you this very moment, as Astarion was leaning in, about to initiate what surely would become another mind bending tumble in the sheets. But this would have to wait - at least for a few moments now.

And also he could get his ego knocked down a bit for being all too cocky just a few moments ago.

When the vampire was about to close his eyes to kiss you, you rolled back. And with that movement grabbed the blanket that was covering you and threw it at Astarion’s expectant face. As you heard him hiss you slid off the mattress with a cackle and grabbed the first piece of clothing you saw before you quickly, with bare feet, ran to slip out of the bedroom. The vampire ripped the blanket off his face, got to his knees and tried to grab you before you could leave his den but you were just as quick as him.

You heard Astarion curse under his breath but you were already closing the door behind you. The last thing the vampire saw of you, was how you had pulled on his old shirt and how it didn’t fully cover your butt as you slipped out the door, leaving barely anything to his vivid imagination.

Astarion cursed you under his breath and remained kneeling there, a martyr forced to give up his everything (temporarily). At least the view could have been worse. Thinking about how you had looked in his shirt immediately sent a jolt between his legs, making his length throb with need for you as he sat there and mourned the temporary loss of his lover. Only his imaginative mind kept him company until you came back.

When you returned shortly after you had brought a bottle of wine and two chalices (only bought yesterday on a whim) to make up for your rash departure. You slowly opened the door with your bare foot since both your hands were full and found Astarion exactly as you left him.

He was kneeling on the mattress still, the sheets draped over his thighs almost artfully, only barely covering him now. His hands were placed palm up on his wide spread legs, almost as if he was in prayer. And fitting with this was his bowed head, eyes closed, his ruffled curls covering part of his beautiful face.

Ethereal was the only word you could think of at that moment. Astarion looked like the statue of a forgotten god with how he knelt there: every single detail crafted to perfection. The light of the lantern illuminated every line of his naked body, giving the illusion of being carved out of immaculate marble capturing every single one of his sharp lines that worked so well in contrast to your softer ones.

And for some reason it seemed this unreal looking being had chosen to come down from his place among all other divine powers to bow down at your feet. And more even: he had devoted himself to you, body and soul, for the rest of his immortal days to lavishly praise you with all he had to offer.

You gasped as you took him in. Almost not being able to believe how you had gotten so lucky.

The vampire’s head snapped up when he heard the soft, low sound. The illusion of a statue, forever held captive in stone in perfect but lifeless detail, was broken. But the actual thing was so much better anyways. Astarion’s crimson eyes glinted at you in the low light, his body flexed, stone becoming liquid, while you slowly closed the door behind you again.

The vampire eyed you, drinking in the view of you wearing his shirt now being allowed more than just a glimpse: the sleeves sliding down your arms and bunching up around the elbows, the way the fabric spanned over your hips and thighs.

But mostly the vampire was mesmerised by how your breasts outlined against this old shirt of his: part of them obscured by the ruffles, but especially their peaks - hardened by the cold air - were clearly visible to him and made Astarion lose his focus for once. Seeing you this way immediately made lust rise up within him way more than any fantasy could, causing his length between his legs to twitch and slowly harden.

Feeling the tension in the room shift remarkably, you slowly stepped closer to your makeshift bed again. You saw desire light up the vampire’s eyes as he kept gazing upon you. His lips had parted and his expression spoke of nothing but hunger for you as he couldn’t get enough of the view of you wearing his clothes.

Maybe he wasn’t so much a heavenly being that had descended to you but something out of the most fiercely burning part of the hells, ready to drag you down with him and never let you leave again. You swallowed and felt how the vampire’s heated gaze alone made you feel a little hazy.

Had you known it was this easy to turn the table on Astarion in his own little game, you would have done this much earlier. And oh, what irony that while you could barely form a coherent thought once the vampire was naked before you, for him it was you putting on his old, almost threadbare camp shirt that seemingly made the pale elf forget everything else but how good it looked on you. And what it meant to him: that you were his.

The intensity on his face as he kept staring at you without moving was almost predator like and made you rub your thighs together in a desperate attempt to control the beginning pulses between your legs. But the damage was already done. And as if emboldened by the vampire’s attention you felt your hardening nipples rub against the fabric of Astarion’s shirt, pronouncing them even more and making you overly aware of them.

“Come here, darling,” the pale elf asked of you, lazily stretching out an arm towards you. All you could do in response was helplessly wave the bottle of wine and the chalices around, because some pragmatic part in your brain was still working and telling you that your hands were still full.

Astarion frowned slightly at you, annoyed by the delay in you obeying his demand.

“Put it down and then come here,” he ordered in a brisker tone now, you saw his gaze darkening as he almost growled at you.

And of course you followed his demand. There was nothing more you wanted actually as you looked down upon your nearly naked lover before you - demanding you join him again in your bed.

Hastily, you placed down the bottle and the cups and then moved over to Astarion. He was stretching out his arms to you, motioning to you to come sit on his lap.

You didn’t hesitate, but you didn’t rush either now. You placed one on one of his thighs, causing the fabric of his shirt to ride up your thigh so much that you were sure that he must be able to see your swelling core from his position. Immediately one of his hands slid up your pointed foot and over your shin, around to your calf, squeezing the muscle lightly, before it went on to the sensitive underside of your bare thigh.

And of course his eyes were immediately drawn to you bared before him, almost hypnotised and making a grunt catch in his throat at the sight of what you had to offer him. His crimson gaze found yours, his brows drawn together. You stayed like this in a moment of perfect stillness as you kept looking at each other, knowing that you’d be doomed to be each other’s continuous downfall. Then Astarion bit his lips, one canine catching on his bottom lip, his gaze falling back to what lay beneath your legs.

This alone was getting you so worked up that you let your head roll back and allowed a small but desperate moan to leave your lips. Astarion laughed softly at that, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. You moaned again and enjoyed the content humming you earned in response to your openly shown pleasure.

Months ago you would have been way too hesitant to act like this - not directly ashamed but surely too shy to really express yourself, to fully indulge. But Astarion had surely made your confidence rise to unknown heights with the way he always praised you, how he hungered for you and always made it known how much he desired you. And with teaching and showing you what pleasures he could let you have if only you trusted him. And you had done that from the beginning, your belief in him stronger than better judgement.

So there you were, spreading yourself to your lover, while you could observe his cock beginning to twitch below the thin sheets. This with how the corners of his mouth curled up into an almost feral grin was more than enough proof that you’d been doing it right, that he’d taught you well.

It made you feel powerful, knowing how you could make him lust for you. And it heightened your own pleasure knowing how easily you could turn him on.

“Darling,” Astarion mumbled, the tip of his tongue running over his bottom lip as you saw him basically salivating at the sight of you becoming a drenched mess for him, “would you mind coming just a little bit closer?” His gaze flicked from your core to you and then back down. He was eager and insatiable.

“Say please?”

His gaze snapped to yours, eyes narrowed while you grinned, both of you remembering a specific moment months ago when you had teased him just like that. And just like back then he would make you regret it later.

He rolled his head around, loosened his shoulders with an annoyed, dramatic sight.

“Please”, he basically purred when his head came back around.

Oh sure, if he was nice like that, you would come closer. You gave him a pleased smile and withdrew your leg from his, making Astarion’s unwilling hand drop to his thigh while he criticised the loss with a disgruntled groan. But you moved quickly to make up for it.

You stepped on the mattress, already incredibly close to him and enjoyed how attentively he stared up at you, patiently awaiting you now. It was almost fooling you how obediently he had been so far, how he waited for you. But seeing the mischievous sparkle in his ruby eyes and his signature smirk play on his lips told you that he was only playing coy until he had you where he wanted you.

Still you drew out the moment, enjoying your moment of having the upper hand. You let one hand enter his already dishevelled hair and began caressing his scalp with slow circles of your fingertips.

“You’re such a good, patient boy today, Astarion,” you teased him sweetly as you watched his eyes roll back from your soft, sensual caress. One eyebrow twitched at your praise. You knew he liked being praised. But then his gaze snapped back and his hands shot around your legs and pulled you in close against him by grabbing your butt.

You yelped and almost lost balance. Your hands searched for hold on his naked shoulders and the vampire had you firmly in his grasp. His splayed fingers squeezing your buttcheeks, half-covered by the shirt. He pressed his face between your legs. His long, straight nose almost already reached the swelling, sensitive bud there.

A helpless whimper escaped you and Astarion lifted his face again.

“Not so feisty now, are we? Don’t make me become impatient with you, sweetheart,” he told you in a mocking tone, pursing his lips, enjoying the view of you above him and emphasising his point with a firm slap on your butt. You merely gasped in response. Your mind was still trying to catch up.

“Now, move!”, he commanded with another low growl and wasted no time by moving one of your thighs to lift up your leg and placing it on his shoulder. You were balancing on one leg now. But your vampire was holding you securely, both hands on your ass again and pulling you as close as possible.

The fabric had already bunched up over your spread thigh now but you saw the unspoken command in Astarion’s narrowed eyes as he positioned you on himself and you lifted the shirt higher with one hand while letting the other enter his hair again.

And then Astarion wasted no more precious time and pressed his face between your legs again - now with no more fabric getting in his way. The tip of his tongue immediately and effortlessly found your pulsating clit and began working on it while his hands squeezed your butt deliciously.

Without hesitation he pressed his open mouth to your heated core, sucking on it and his tongue circling over and around the sensitive peak there, sending a million little lightning jolts through your body that quickly became stronger, conjuring a thunderstorm.

You moaned loudly now, not being able to control any of it anymore. Your hand formed a fist in his hair, nails scratching his scalp, which he answered with a pleased growl and pressing his tongue even harder against your clit.

He drove you up that mountain so quickly and violently you began seeing stars already while he kept pleasuring you with his eager mouth. The way he sucked on you, let his tongue slide between your folds and inside of you, having you almost fully climb onto his face, and the way you felt even his fangs graze you ever so lightly at your most sensitive part made you quickly lose all control.

Somewhere in the back of your mind clouded with boundless lust you were thankful that he held you so firmly it hurt, because your legs were both shaking uncontrollably the longer and fiercer he kept going. With glazed over eyes you allowed yourself to look down and enjoy the view of your lover devouring you as if he had been only put on this plane of existence to please you in this way. It amplified the pressure you felt building up in your lower body tenfold.

You neared the edge at breakneck speed. And your body was desperate for release, knowing the orgasm would be vicious. But there was something else you wanted. Instinctively you knew that he himself must be aching. You didn’t need to see his massive erection straining the sheets around his hips and the telltale wet spot at its peak to know that it was there - and to know that you wanted to feel him inside of you.

“Astarion,” you groaned breathlessly and used the rest of your control to pull on his hair. But you achieved nothing, merely making him almost purr from the exquisite pain you inflicted by pulling on his hair. He slapped your ass again. So hard you knew it would leave his handprint on your delicate skin this time. That and the sting from it made you bite your lip to barely stifle another desperate moan.

And then the last of your ability to form a simple coherent thought crumbled, the sheer, primal lust inside you taking over when Astarion changed the pace to some slow, hard movements with the tip of his tongue directly over your swollen clit. You gave in to it.

It was inevitable anyway. Only a few more flicks of the vampire’s skilled tongue and you were falling, your cunt throbbing violently despite nothing to clench around.

Your hand was tugging hard on Astarion’s hair again, making him growl. Your face was contorted in overpowering pleasure as the stars you had seen before blew up to a whole firmament and made you lose your vision for a moment from how bright everything had become. Breathless, almost soundless noises left your wide open mouth as you scattered into a million pieces. And only Astarion’s firm arms around you made sure they would all stick together again once you would come down from your own galaxy again.

The vampire kept going for a few more swipes, pushing you just a tad further before it became fully unbearable and then withdrew to enjoy the fruits of his labour, your wetness coating his lips and chin. He absent-mindedly lapped it up as well as possible while he kept watching you writhe from the ecstasy he had provided you with.

When you had come back down enough from the high again to feel your own body, you slowly let your head fall forward again. Your legs felt weak and wobbly just as the rest of your body. You looked at your eager lover, who was licking up some of you from his lips still. Astarion looked mightily pleased with himself.

“That’s what you get for making me impatient, love,” he simply said and grinned haughtily, cocking his head as if he hadn’t just given you one of the most violent orgasms you had ever experienced - and hadn’t even allowed you to lay down for it.

He softly eased your leg off his shoulder but held you securely still to make sure you didn’t topple over. You softly tugged on his curls now and kept looking at him while still trying to catch your breath. The vampire placed soft kisses down the front of your shivering thighs after you had let the shirt drop again, his hands were carefully massaging your behind and the back of your thighs.

“Shame though,” you let out between gasps of air, “I would have loved to feel you inside of me.” You said it while you eyed his erect dick between his spread legs. The sight alone enough to get some pressure back up in your lower abdomen - despite your core still lazily throbbing from your last orgasm.

That made Astarion’s head snap back up again, his eyes sparkling at you as if asking how you still dared to talk back to him after what he had just made you experience. Then he closed his eyes and softly shook his head while his smirk turned wicked.

“Oh sweet darling,” he began and opened his eyes slowly to look at you from under his brows. His eyes were dark and the tip of his tongue darted out to lick over his lips focus wholly on you. The smirk grew even broader until you saw his fangs glint in the low lantern light.

His gaze was piercing, and his hands were once more squeezing your butt until it hurt pleasantly, plugging a whimper from you. You asked yourself if it had been clever to provoke a vampire who must be burning up with pleasure by now and aching for his own release judging by how you saw his erection twitch forcefully between his legs even with the fabric of the sheet covering it.

“What made you think I was even close to being done with you, my heart?”

PART 2

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#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3

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literallyjusttoa · 30 days

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Finally got around to doing this, here are some rough sketches of my idea of how Lester looks each book! Some books are more different than others, like I don't think much changed between books 1 and 2, but I had fun doing this! Look under the cut for some notes about things I added for each design.

Book 1: Not much changes from how he's described in the books. All of the clothes he borrowed from Percy are a bit too big for him, but the flannel he borrowed from Will fits pretty well, only being slightly too long (I think Will has like, an inch over Lester)

Book 2: Basically the same as book 1 Lester. He keeps the flannel Will gave him, but it gets pretty beat up over the course of this book so he has to switch it out before book 3 :(. Hair is just a lil bit longer, and he gets clothes that fit a bit better. Headcanon time bc if Rick won't give me substantial Thalia and Apollo interaction I'll make it myself: Thalia gives Lester archer's gloves at the end of TDP, which he wears for the rest of the series. He didn't even think to wear gloves bc as a god he wouldn't need them, but Thalia noticed his beat up to shit hands at the Waystation and went "bestie... bestie no...." and gave him a pair.

Book 3: Will's flannel has been swapped for a big coat and Lester get his iconic pink camo pants. His hair is long enough to start getting weighed down a bit, and also way messier bc he's been in the labyrinth for like a month. The beat up sneakers he was wearing in books 1 & 2 get replaced with much more reasonable boots. Eyebrow scar shows up, a reminder from one of the many concussions this poor man has suffered. Also another HC time! Georgie gives Lester a little handkerchief that he wears for the rest of the series (I was gonna use Paolo's handkerchief, but Lester canonically gives that back so boo)

Book 4: The Lester looks like shit book /j. His hair is now long enough that he should really be doing something with it but he is not. He has a zip up hoodie now to cover up all his fun purple veins. Just more beat up in general honestly. Also I hc that Apollo actually lost some weight here (both bc he wasn't really eating well before getting to New Rome bc of stress/grief, and bc he got really sick and continued to not eat well while that was happening) But it obviously doesn't do anything to help his self-esteem or mood in this book. Kind've a visual way of being like "the superificial flaws Apollo clung to in the first book weren't the real issue, he was just hyperfixating on them to distract himself from what he was really upset about, so when the superficial issues get solved he doesn't even notice bc he's grown enough as a character to cut the bullshit and focus on what's really bothering him." or idk something like that. I like to contrast this with a hc I've mentioned before about the time between books 4 and 5, which is that the physical flaws Apollo whined about in book 1 (i.e. the acne and his weight) get "worse" throughout the road trip from California to New York, but Apollo truly just does not care that much about that shit anymore and that's why it doesn't come up in the narration.

Book 5: Final Lester! It's been over a month since the last book so I'm taking liberties and saying Lester's hair is long enough to pull up now bc I want him to be able to do that goddammit. Final outfit is borrowed from Percy again, so that's why it's so big. He also has a pendant that Lavinia gave to him bc they're besties. Also I forgot to mention it, but his shoulders are slightly broader here (and have been getting broader throughout the series) bc he's been working those muscles so much with the constant archery.

Also I didn't draw his quiver bc honestly I forgor, but I like to imagine he's been getting little pins and bobs from a lot of his friends that he's been sticking on his quiver strap. A few examples that come to mind are:

Kayla: A classic hot topic pin with a sun with sunglasses on it.

Leo: A pin made of scrap metal with the alchemical symbol for fire carved in.

Agave: Pinned a clover to Apollo's quiver for good luck. It didn't stay on there long, but it was the thought that counted.

Hazel: A piece of citrine decorated with metal cords.

Lavinia: Another classic hot topic pin, this one is heart shaped and has a picture of Hatsune Miku on it.

Jason: One of the monopoly houses he'd been using to mark the positions for the temples. A lot of the little houses had fallen off the diorama during the car crash at the beginning of TTT. The night after, Apollo asked Reyna if he could make sure the diorama was fixed. Reyna agreed, and he put it back together based on what he remembered. He spent an hour or so gluing on houses and hotels for Mars, Somnus, Fons, Salus, and on and on, until he got to the last one. A red hotel meant to show where the temple of Apollo would go. Apollo poked a little hole in it, and fastened it to his quiver with a bobby pin. It's nestled close to where the strap meets the quiver itself, so it's less likely to fly off.

Meg: Pinned a rose petal to his quiver right before he went to fight Python. It lasted for even less time than Agave's clover did, but again, it was the thought that counted.

#sunny speaks #long post #trials of apollo #toa apollo #lester papadopoulos #apollart #fun fact: all of the colors I used for these were color picked from the covers of the books they came from!#oh and i forgot to mention he also get more freckles as the series goes on bc he spends so much time outside

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heartlilith · 9 months

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Solar Return Observations🦋

Having Venus in the 12th squaring the MC can mean that your relationship drama is the topic of conversation in the workplace that year

Any planet that resides/aspects your MC, could very well become public knowledge that year. For example; Venus - love life, Mars - sex life, Pluto - secrets

In your Solar and Lunar Return Chart, make sure to look at degrees. 29 degrees in Venus could mean a relationship comes to an end or a love-related chapter closes in a big way. Moon in 29 degrees could mean emotionally maturing and getting past hurt you held onto in the past; finally getting over something

For 0 degrees, expect a fresh start. Say the planet Mercury, you may say things that offend people or maybe you're insensitive (with or without meaning it) and people are correcting you a lot that year, "don't say that". Or you start studying something new and you make a lot of mistakes on exams because it's a fresh start! All this depends on houses and aspects, either way there's a lot of learning that has to be done with 0 degree placements.

If your natal Sun, Moon, or Rising falls into your SR 12th house, you won't feel like yourself that year. The good part is that you'll come out of the year wiser and more mature.

Neptune in the 8th house in the Solar or Lunar Return should be very very very careful of substance use or anything potentially addictive. Neptune= addictions, illusion, smoky mirrors, 8th house= obsession, transformation, death and rebirth, finances

Having Sun in the 12th house this Solar Return Year is fucking wild. You realize so much shit. I have Venus there too. The rose colored glasses have come off and I see things way different than I did before. BIG realizations that are painful and uncomfortable but they're growing pains, necessary.

Your Moon sign in your Solar Return Chart can show how you emotionally react to things this year. Cancer Moon = you're going to be more sensitive, take things personally, be more empathetic in situations, have more emotional depth this year and be more caring and compassionate with yourself and others. Sagittarius Moon = you'll be able to see things in a broader way when faced with problems, it'll be easier for the problems to roll of your shoulders, you'll learn a lot emotionally and take things as lessons.

Your rising sign in the Solar Return Chart is going to be how you approach and see things in the world and how the world sees and approaches you. Having Scorpio/Pluto in the 1st house- learning, growing, and transformation that year will be huge and more or less drastic, you may transform others/situations that you come into contact with as well. Aries/Mars in the 1st house- you may approach things with more energy and vitality, this could rub off on the people around you and they could become energized too by feeding off that energy.

Uranus in the 10th house means you're 90% likely to change your job in some way; whether losing your job, being promoted and having completely different tasks OR working remotely or online more

Sun aspects are at the forefront in SR Charts (unless Sun is in the 12th house). If the orb is below 3 degrees, you'll exhibit the traits of the aspecting planet... a lot. Square/Opposition - more of the negative traits, Conjunction/Trine/Sextile - more positive traits.

Sometimes you have to think past the general meanings of the houses and instead, learn how the houses specifically relate to you. For me, I had Moon in the 6th house and I'm thinking my health will fluctuate more and I'll be working around women more for the year. Instead, I adopted 2 kittens and they became my world, along with my 1 year old dog I adopted last year. They are my children and I am their mother! My days consisted of taking care of them and also working and they became a source of therapy for me.

Alternative Meanings of the Houses:

1st house - What energy we rub off on the people around us, the lense we're using to see the world (pessimistic, realistic, optimistic, delusional, naive), the vibe of the situations we'll be faced with (Moon/Cancer - emotional situations, Sun/Leo - public/in the spotlight situations, Saturn/Capricorn - mature/karmic situations)

2nd house - How what we buy affects our self worth, for example, Neptune/Pisces - buying a lot of charts and readings that year, maybe feeling unsure or lost. Moon/Cancer - Buying a lot of blankets, pillows, food, maybe you're striving to feel more comfortable and stable. Jupiter/Sagittarius - Buying a house or paying for school, maybe you're trying to expand and learn. Trying to take the next step.

5th house - Your free time, what helps you relax/channel energy. Taurus - eating a good meal, laying on the couch. Gemini - driving around town, hanging out with friends. Aquarius - yoga, reading a book, or scrolling social media

10th house - When people gossip about you, the topics give off _____ vibes. Pluto/Scorpio - dark, secretive, mysterious ("what happened to her?" "Who is he?" "where are they from?"). Venus/Libra/Taurus: jealous, shallow, materialistic vibes (office romances, about your beauty or clothes). Mercury/Gemini//Virgo - harsh, calculated, competitive (how smart you are/how you're a know it all, where you went to school, your job tasks)

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#astrology #astrology community #astro #astro observations #astro community #scorpio #rising signs #cancer #sagittarius #leo #solar return chart observations #solar return #lunar return

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prokopetz · 1 month

Note

idk if this is in your wheelhouse at all, but you seem to have pretty broad knowledge on niche video games. so, do you know of any 3d platformers revolving around gliding/flying? something like mario 64’s wing cap but then an entire game built around that kind of movement, or maybe like a king’s bird but then in 3d. or even 2d games. i just want to zoom

Games of that sort aren't a major interest for me, but I'm sure there's something in my library that will fit the bill.

Hmmm... it's not precisely Wing Cap style flight, but have you given Exo One a spin? It may not look like a platformer based on the trailer, but it plays like one in practice because figuring out how to build sufficient momentum on the ground to sustain long glides is the core of most of its challenges. It's a personal favourite, and there's a free prologue available if you want to try before you buy. Wonderful music and visual design, if that's a priority.

AER: Memories of Old might be another one to look at, though it's not zoomy in the way that Exo One is, and the flight elements are mostly for traversal between points of interest; the actual puzzles and such take place in short underground dungeons where opportunities for flight are limited. Still, it has a nice big overworld to fly around in.

I'm going to plug A Short Hike, too, though it's really more of a walking sim than a 3D platformer, because mechanically its flight is probably the closest of any game in this post to matching your cited examples, even if the pacing is more sedate than what you're likely looking for.

If you're willing to let the "platformer" dimension slide and allow pure arcade-style flight games, your options are, of course, much broader, including titles like Lifeslide and Superflight, but I'm not going to go into those at length because I'm not sure how big a priority the platforming stuff is for you.

(Also, I know someone in the notes is going to plug The Pathless if I don't, so I'm going to head that off with a fair warning: it does have speedrun-friendly flying/gliding mechanics, but they're not the game's main focus, and it's not what you'll spend most of your time doing. Lots and lots of ground-based zoominess, though!)

#gaming #video games #video game recommendations

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cowgurrrl · 4 months

Text

I Don't Smoke

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

Author's note: this hatched as an idea for @tightjeansjavi 's june writing challenge but it doesn't end as I thought it would necessarily but I kinda lurv it so (ps thank you @egcdeath for your help 🫶)

Summary: "Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small quiet room." aka Javi makes a reappearance in your life [8.6k (she’s a whopper)]

Warnings: canonical type shit

It's a random Friday in April 1998 when you're walking down the hallway of FBI headquarters and hear a familiar voice call your name. Not just any voice but a voice you came to know as well as you would know your own. A voice you loved. A voice you haven't heard in four years. You freeze in your tracks and take two breaths before you actually turn around to see him.

He smiles big as he approaches you, and you struggle to find the same response. His hair is shorter and styled nicely, and he's wearing a bureaucratic suit, which you know he hates or used to hate. He's broader than you remember and seemingly more confident. You're still tense, but once he's close enough, muscle memory takes over, and you hug him.

His cologne is different. For some reason, that tugs at your heart.

"Hey, honey," he says into your hair, squeezing you a little harder. You hold him for another second before remembering you're at work and let him go. "Wasn't expectin' such a warm welcome."

"Well, that's what happens when you see an old friend for the first time in a long time." You say and Javi smirks, scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

"'Old friend.' Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"It is when I'm at work and have a reputation to uphold."

"Right," he says and puts his hands up in defense. "Didn't mean to insult Ms. FBI."

"What are you doing here? Last I heard, you resigned." You redirect, making him laugh even though you just gave away that you kept up with him even after you broke up.

"Stoddard asked me to teach a few classes to incoming DEA agents. Figured it was a good enough reason to get out of Texas," he says. You step to the side to let somebody go by in the hallway, and that ever-wandering eye falls down your body. "You look great."

"You too," you adjust some files against your chest, suddenly all too aware of how heavy his gaze is, and glance around. "How long are you in town for?"

"A week. We should get drinks or something. Catch up." He says, and you laugh at the absurdity of it all. You're talking like you went to college together, and you're gonna reminisce about the good ole days over a few drinks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Sure, Javi. When are you free?"

"For you? Any time," he says so easily your heart squeezes. "But, I'm around tonight. I can meet you at the bar across from the Hill after work?"

"That works for me."

"Alright, then. I'll see you tonight." He smiles and looks you over again before swaggering down the hallway and into one of the classrooms like he used to walk to your desk or into your apartment. Nostalgia and something bigger bubbles in your throat, and you swallow it down.

You've often wondered about what it'd be like if you ever saw Javi again.

You never expected it would sting as much as it does.

You force yourself down the hallway into your office and let out a big sigh as you bury your head in your hands. Your engagement is cold against your skin.

You should be planning a wedding. You should be debating which version of white the napkins should be— eggshell or cream— or fighting with vendors on the phone. You should be doing a lot of things in the two months leading up to your wedding. Getting drinks with your ex is not one of them.

You worked at the United States Embassy in Bogotá during the hunt for Pablo Escobar in the early nineties. You were a fresh graduate from the DEA academy and got shipped off the day after you passed all your exams. They needed bodies in chairs and on the ground doing work to end the drug war, and you just happened to have a pulse and the qualification. Javier Peña happened to have those same things. Now, he's known as one of the men who took down the most dangerous crime syndicates in Latin America, but, at the time, he was just Javi.

He was a little older, a little more experienced, and, by all accounts, a little bit of a slut. He had a wandering eye and a bad habit of sleeping with newly minted Embassy employees who didn't know better. You were warned about Javi and his brown eyes and swagger, but you couldn't avoid him. He was your coworker, for Christ's sake. So all you could do was remind yourself you were there for a job and try to ignore him when possible. What they don't tell you about being thousands of miles away from home and dealing with nightmare-inducing horrors every single day is that you start looking for comfort wherever you can find it.

You made bad decisions like smoking cigarette after cigarette, sneaking just a little bit of whiskey in your coffee, or letting Javi bend you over his desk and leave bruises on your skin as he buried himself inside you. One time, you told yourself. You'll do this one time to get it out of your system, and then you'll both move on. As long as it didn't interfere with work, you thought it was okay to fuck him once, but either convenience or care kept you reaching for each other for the rest of your time in Colombia.

You spent most nights at his apartment because it was a little nicer and it felt like it would be too real if he entered your space. For all his sarcasm and hard edges, he was sweet with you. He'd make you breakfast and drive you to work under the guise of carpooling. Over time, you started to learn all his little quirks and tells, and you looked for him first when the smoke cleared and the gunfire ceased. He started stealing files off your pile of paperwork so you'd have less work to do, cook your favorite meals, and was ready with open arms when things got to be too much.

The love was like everything else that happened between you: quiet yet all-consuming.

As the months stretched on and you only grew to love him more and more, you started to imagine a life with him. You were naive and had too much faith in the world, but you couldn't stop yourself. The daydreams of a house with a big backyard, a dog, and maybe a few kids to fill it kept you alive when it felt like not even the weapon attached to your hip could. You wanted it so bad. You told him how much you wanted it, and he agreed despite how fucking crazy it sounded out loud. Love allows you to be delusional to avoid the possibility of rejection.

And you loved him so much that you let yourself believe once Escobar was dead or in prison that, you could go home together and live a somewhat normal life. That he could give it all up. That you could make it work.

So you threw yourself into the hunt. You didn't sleep. You barely ate. You went from smoking a few cigarettes a day to a pack as you got closer and closer. Javi wasn't much better off, and you definitely enabled each other's behavior, but you believed so hard in this future that you thought it would be worth it in the end.

He got snappy, and you argued a lot. You both shut down so much that it's a miracle you could find your way back to normalcy. He didn't even tell you when he got sent to D.C. for questioning. He just disappeared. When you and Steve stood over Escobar's body on a rooftop in Medellín, you couldn't focus on anything but the blood splatter on the shoes Javi got you as an early Christmas gift. At the end of the day, your only thought was, "It's over. We can go home. We can start over. We can make something of this."

Escobar wasn't even cold when Javi accepted a new position in Cali.

Everything he'd seen and done, the things you counseled each other through, the faces that kept him up at night didn't matter as much as that job. He broke the news to you as you were packing up your apartment. "There's an opportunity out there for you, too," he said, looking at you with those big eyes. You almost folded, drowning in affection for him, until you remembered how many times he'd almost died or disappeared without a word or struggled so much he buried his memories between your legs or at the bottom of a bottle.

How could he want to return to that? How could he want you to return to that?

That's when you broke.

You don't remember exactly what was said during the argument, but you know it was bad. There was a lot of yelling and tears. You said things you didn't mean, and he returned the favor. It went on for what seemed like hours, back and forth back and forth, until you were exhausted and done negotiating. You gave him an ultimatum: come to D.C. with you and start your lives, or go to Cali. He chose Cali. You chose D.C., and that was it.

That had to be it.

You didn't talk much in those final days, but you did a lot of crying. The horrors he helped keep at bay threatened to suffocate you. You were a shell of a person, but you couldn't reach for him again, knowing he didn't love you enough to stay with you. You had the tiniest shred of self-respect.

So, the day you left, you gave his stuff back, and he drove you to the airport in complete silence, even walking you all the way to the terminal without saying a word. His final act of care even when you'd told him you hated him forty-eight hours earlier. You waited until the very last second to get on the plane, hoping he'd change his mind or you'd change yours. You were both too stubborn and too broken, so you wished him luck and left. You didn't even hug him because you were so scared you'd never leave his arms if you did.

Things happened fast once you were stateside again. Within a week, you found a nice apartment in D.C., transferred to the FBI, adopted a cat named Astro, and swore off dating. With all your experience in Colombia, you got your pick of jobs and workload. You avoided field work for a while and got stuck pushing papers around at your desk, but you got bored three months in and asked to go back out. Your first case back in the field had you dealing with a serial arsonist who may or may not have had ties to a terrorist group. You were examining the rubble of yet another building when one of the firefighters called your name.

Harry was tall and charming and trying to explain something about accelerants, but all you could do was watch his scarred hands as they pointed. You remember thinking he was going to be a problem. It took three more fires for you to catch your guy, and Harry would later say it took those fires to build up the courage to ask you out. "You were much scarier than any fire," he told you. He had soot on his cheeks, and the flashing lights made his eyes sparkle. There was something about that stupid New York accent that just made you melt.

You thought one date couldn't hurt. You thought it would help you adjust to your new life. When he showed up in a nice shirt with a bouquet of flowers to pick you up for your first date, you knew you were fucked.

You went on a second date. And a third. And a fourth. He was patient with you as you struggled to open up to him about your time in the DEA and never pressured you to tell him anything you weren't ready to. That Christmas, you went home to New York with him and met his parents and all three of his sisters. By the next spring, you, Harry, and Astro moved into an apartment halfway between each of your jobs.

You got into the habit of bringing him cookies when he worked overnights at the station and smelling his shirt when he got home because, more often than not, it'd still smell like smoke. He'd surprise you with coffee or flowers at work "just because" and drag you away from your desk when you've been staring at the same words for however long. When a bullet grazed you in the middle of a chase, he made one of his EMT friends drive him to the hospital you were at in the ambulance with the lights on so he could get there as fast as possible. He made it in seven minutes and started crying the moment he saw you lying in the hospital bed, even though you were completely fine.

For something as unexpected as this relationship, you guys work really well. He cooks dinner, and you wash the dishes at the end of the night. He looks at big houses in nice neighborhoods and humors you even though there's no way you can afford it with two civil servant paychecks. But, when you see him playing with your nieces and nephews, something so deep inside you aches that you think the life-long debt would be worth it if it meant he got to be a dad. You take time off to visit his family, and even though he thinks it's the most badass thing about you, he doesn't say anything about your involvement with Escobar until you accidentally let something slip during a barbecue. When work gets too much, you hold each other, cry, and make promises to stay alive.

He proposes to you on the fourth anniversary of your first date. You knew he would because you'd looked at rings together, but you blub like a baby anyway and almost tackle him to the ground in Rock Creek Park. You're deliriously happy as you celebrate your engagement and even as you start to plan the wedding. It's like you blinked, and suddenly, it'd been four years since you left Colombia, and you're living the life you dreamt about, just with a new person. A person you love so fucking much, you still get butterflies when he walks in the room. The ring on your finger and the way he casually drops "my wife" into conversation when he means "fiancée" only adds to the giddiness.

You can't wait to spend the rest of your life with him. So, why the fuck did you agree to get drinks with Javi?

You pick your head up and dial the firehouse number before your brain can fully devolve into panic mode. They might be out dealing with a fire, but you figure it's worth a shot. On the second ring, Jack answers with his gruff "D.C. Fire Station 19."

"Hey, Jack."

"Oh, hey, darlin'! How're you doin'?" He asks, and you swear you can hear him smiling. Jack is one of Harry's best friends and groomsmen, and he absolutely adores you.

"I'm good. How're you?" You ask, already feeling the weight come off your shoulders just from talking to someone.

"You know, I can't complain. I mean, I could, but I won't," he says, and you laugh. "You callin' for your lover boy?"

"If he's not busy, yes."

"Nah, you're all good. Well, listen, it was nice talkin' to you, sweetheart. I'll get him now." He says before yelling Harry's name through the station so loud you wonder if the neighbors could hear him. There's some shuffling and a quick "'S your wife" as the phone changes hands. The identifier makes you laugh and it's the first thing Harry hears when he presses the phone to his ear.

"Oh, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that." He swoons, and you make a sympathetic noise.

"Rough day?"

"No, I just miss you."

"You're so cheesy," you say. "I miss you too. A lot."

"You okay? You sound off." He asks, and you chuckle. Of course, he caught the tiniest change in your voice.

"I'm okay. I bumped into somebody I worked with in Colombia today, so I just… feel weird," you say, rubbing your forehead. You hear him shuffle like he's trying to move to a more private place, but the cord on the phone isn't letting him get very far.

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"I don't know. Just weird. We're gonna get some drinks tonight and catch up."

"Maybe that'll help," he chirps. "I mean, as much as I like listening to your stories, it might make you feel better to talk to someone who was there. Maybe get some closure."

"Maybe." You say. It goes quiet on the line, but you know he's there because you can hear him breathing and hear the distant sounds of the firehouse. You don't feel pressured to say anything; just knowing he's there breaks up the tension in your chest. "Chief is gonna have your ass if he finds out you're running up the phone bill." You tease, and he laughs.

"I'll just tell him I'm talking to my wife, and if he doesn't want me on the phone, then he should stop making me work overnights."

"Which I'm sure he'll take well."

"You're his favorite. I'm almost positive he'd install a whole phone just for you," he says. It's true, but hearing it still makes you smile. It goes quiet again.

You watch people mill around the bullpen from your office window and chew the inside of your cheek. You should tell him it's Javi. He wouldn't discourage you from getting drinks with him, but he knows your history with him. He should be in the loop. He's going to be your husband, for God's sake. But you also don't need him worrying about this while in a burning building or doing CPR.

"You know I'm not technically your wife for another two months, right?" You change the subject, and he hums.

"Yeah, but it has a nice ring to it. My wife." Even the way he says it over the phone makes you giddy.

"I can't argue with that." You say. He takes a deep breath, and you copy him.

"You're gonna be okay. Go get drinks with your friend and try to have some fun. Maybe invite them to the wedding if you get drunk enough and decide it's a good idea," he suggests, and you laugh at the idea of Javi at your wedding. "I'll be home tomorrow afternoon, and we can talk about it or not talk about it if that's what you want, okay?"

"Okay." You resolve and twirl the phone cord in your fingers.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Have a good day. Don't be a hero."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He says. You wait another second to have him nearby before hanging up and looking out over the bullpen again.

You could not show up. You could go home, cuddle with Astro, and put on Sex and the City or something else to take your mind off the day. You could go to bed early and take Harry breakfast in the morning. You know his hair will be messy and a little darker than normal, but he'll still smile and pull you into his lap even though the guys tease him all the time about your PDA.

But you're also too interested in what Javi could have to say to do that. You owe it to yourself to get closure or answers or whatever the fuck he has left to offer you.

And then you'll never think about him again.

Easy.

It's a slow day filled with paperwork and pencil-pushing at the FBI. No bombs or killers or threats. Just meetings and emails and the dread about meeting with Javi all day. You linger around the office a little longer than you need to until you're almost late, and only then do you start walking to the Hill.

It's bustling with tourists dying for a peek at the cherry blossoms scattered around D.C. and the Suits you usually see trying to get home. The April sun feels good on your skin, especially after being inside all day, and you take a moment to watch the sun dip lower and lower in the sky.

All things considered, if Javi was going to visit D.C., this would be the time to do it. Spring is in full bloom, and the last dredges of winter only show up at night or early in the morning when it's still cold. People are constantly out walking their dogs or taking their kids to the playgrounds. It feels like the city has come alive again after such a long winter. You come up with a list of recommendations of things for Javi to do while he's here, even though he probably won't do any of them. The least you could do is give him something to distract himself from work.

By the time you get to the bar, the sun has nearly set, and traffic is a waking nightmare. You push your anxiety away and duck into the bar, searching for Javi's familiar eyes amongst the exhausted interns and law students. He's in the corner, scanning the space just like you thought he would, and there's a glass waiting for you at the table. His eyes light up when he sees you, and your chest aches.

He gets up to greet you with a hug and pulls your chair out for you like a gentleman. "Don't know if your order's changed, but I figured I'd make a guess." He says, gesturing to your drink as you settle across from each other. You smile and hang your jacket on the back of your chair.

"Thank you. Next round is on me," you say as you raise your glass to his and take a sip. "How was teaching?"

"It was fine. Although I wish they'd actually listen instead of just staring at me like I have a second head." He says, and you laugh.

"You're a living legend to them. Escobar and the Godfathers of Cali? You might be the most experienced person they've come across."

"I think I'm the person professors warn students not to be in the field."

"There are much worse things to be than a Javier Peña or a Steve Murphy," you say. "Besides, I think the DEA has bigger problems than a few rogue agents."

He shrugs and glances up when the bell above the door chimes, checking out whoever just walked in. He did the same thing when you sat in bars in Colombia like he was always waiting for a fight. You used to tease him about it, but the fact that he still does it makes you smile.

"Steve sends his love, by the way." He says.

"How is he? How old is Olivia now?"

"She's gonna be five soon, and they're about to have another baby. A boy," he beams. "They're all doing good. Steve runs training courses for FBI agents now and sometimes goes back to Colombia to liaise with their government. Connie works at a hospital, and Olivia's in Pre-K."

"Sounds like you guys talk a lot." You're pleasantly surprised. They were good partners, but they could barely stand to look at each other when things got tense. Not to mention Steve leaving the DEA at the same time you did.

"Well, when Olivia started calling me Uncle Javi, it was pretty hard to ignore him," he says, and you 'aw' at the idea of her little hands reaching for him. Uncle Javi suits him. "She's a good kid."

He fills you in on his work in Texas and asks about your transfer. You tell him what you can about your job and the annoying bureaucrats you hate working with. He seems lighter than you've seen before, not just because of the drink in his hand. His shoulders are relaxed, and even though he still has the instincts of someone working in the field, he doesn't get trapped in them like he used to. It's a nice change.

You're almost done with your first drink when he digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers you one. God, when was the last time you even bought a pack of cigarettes? It had to have been right after Harry came home from a particularly bad fire resulting from a stray cigarette. Three people died. After that, you couldn't pick up a cigarette without thinking about the seventeen-year-old who got stuck in the apartment. That must've been three years ago now.

"I quit," you say, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"That's new." He says like your hair turned blue before his eyes, but pops one into his mouth anyway. You shrug.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No, no, 'm not disappointed. Just surprised."

"Yeah, well," you sigh. "American cigarettes aren't as good as the Colombian ones."

"I guess that's true," he says as he flicks his lighter open and inhales until the end glows. Just as always, he politely blows smoke away from your face. "Alright, so you got a new job, a new apartment, a cat, and you quit smoking. What else has changed since I saw you last?" He asks, and your thumb immediately presses into the band of your engagement ring.

Well, it's now or never.

"I, uh... I'm getting married," you say, and his eyes fall to your ring. "In two months." He takes a big sip.

"Congratulations," he says. It might be the most unenthusiastic thing you've ever heard somebody say. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"His name is Harry. We've been together for a few years now."

"What's he do?" He asks in his interrogator's voice, and you give him a look.

"We don't have to do this." You say. Javi takes another drag of his cigarette and grinds his teeth.

"Do what?" He asks. "It shouldn't be hard to talk about if you love him."

"I do."

"Then, why don't you want to tell me about him?"

"Is that a serious question?" You scoff, and he shrugs. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I already asked you," he says. "What does he do for work?"

"He's a firefighter." You know it's a cliche: a cop and a firefighter, but you don't really care.

"How'd you meet?"

"First field case I had was an arsonist. He was one of the guys on site when I got there."

"Romantic," Javi muses, and you hum. You wait for him to continue bombarding you with questions, but the air gets thick, and suddenly, all you can do is take big gulps of your drink. You signal to the bartender for another, and Javi finishes his cigarette in silence. "Well, I'm happy for you," he says softly. He doesn't seem like he is, but you know better than to press him, so you just nod.

"Thank you," you say. The bartender drops two more drinks off at your table, and Javi raises his glass to you.

"Here's to you and Terry-"

"Harry," you correct, and he laughs, breaking up the tension that's settled. He took the news much better than you expected, but you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop. There always seems to be one waiting when Javi's around.

"To you and Harry and a lifetime of happiness." He says, tapping his glass against yours and taking a drink. "Now, tell me what you've been doing with the fuckin' FBI."

"Oh, you're gonna need to buy me a few more drinks before I start spilling government secrets, Peña." The name rolls off your tongue before you can stop it, and it brings you back to hot Colombian days and red yarn on a corkboard and his apartment. He raises his eyebrows like it's a challenge and smirks.

"Don't tempt me with a good time."

It's late and you're drunk. Drunker than you've been in a while. You didn't mean to. You just kept talking and drinking, and it felt so good talking to him after so long. Once you got through with the elephant in the room, it was so easy to fall back into the groove with him. You talked about Colombia and your lives outside of work. You even tell him the story of accidentally letting it slip that you used to work for the DEA after smoking a little bit of weed with Harry's sister, Caitlin.

You laughed together until last call and then argued over who would pay the tab. "Consider it my weddin' gift," he half-slurred, and you rolled your eyes and let him pay.

Now, you're strolling the empty National Mall, working off your buzz and elongating the time you have with him. You didn't realize how much you missed him until tonight. Despite everything that happened, you did have good days with him. Days filled with music and chain smoking and laughter. You'd like to get those back. You'd like that version of him back.

As you walk, you point out monuments to him and messily retell the stories the tour guide told you when Harry thought a walking tour of D.C. was a good second-date idea. You switch presidents and periods too much to make sense, but Javi listens anyway. Every so often, his warm hand will brush against yours, barely touching your skin but enough for you to notice when he does it. Neither of you say anything about it or break the flow of your conversation. Maybe it's for old-time's sake. Maybe it's because you don't know what there is to say. The night is clear and eerily quiet. The only sound besides your laughter and drunken stories is the chilly wind blowing through the trees and the clacking of heels from an exhausted-looking White House intern as she walks by.

Or, at least, it was until you stumbled across a busker by the Lincoln Memorial. The empty space echoes with the sound of his saxophone, and you smile as you get closer. There are a few other people milling around, and a few take turns throwing coins in his case. You've seen him playing here before, but you've never had the time to actually stop and listen. He's good. You wish you'd stopped sooner.

"You wanna dance?" Javi whispers in your ear, his breath fanning across your neck, and you furrow your eyebrows.

"Here?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"Why not?"

"Because nobody else is."

"C'mon," he tuts. "Live a little." He doesn't wait for you to say anything else. He just grabs your hand and pulls you a little closer to the musician. You sigh but let Javi hold one of your hands and rest the other on his shoulder. He smirks and you roll your eyes to hide the fact that you're shocked he wants to dance. With you. In public.

Sure, you had little moments where you danced in the kitchen, but never in public. Even then, it wouldn't have ever been his idea to dance. He's like a whole new person. You don't know how to feel about it.

What the fuck happened to him in Cali?

He spins you under his arm, and you do your best to follow his lead. You have two left feet as it is, something Harry has helped get out of your system, but the alcohol makes it even worse. You almost trip yourself but land against Javi's chest before you can hit the ground. He makes an oomph sound but doesn't do anything to push you away. You don't do anything to pull away.

The saxophonist continues playing, and the cicadas chirp nearby. If you listen hard enough, you can hear Javi's heartbeat. You think you'd know the sound anywhere. You memorized the rise and fall of his chest when you woke up from nightmares, and he was the one to calm you down. You used to count the contractions of the muscles in his heart until you fell back to sleep. It was often the first thing you heard when you woke up if bombs weren't going off somewhere in the city or your phone wasn't blaring with an emergency message from the Embassy.

And now, here it is again, unexpectedly thumping against you after four years, following the rhythm of the music surrounding you. Javi's warm as he tentatively rests his head against yours, and you feel his fingers flex around your hip. A mixture of his cologne and cigarettes invades your senses, and you can do nothing but ride the nostalgia wave until the song ends.

You pry yourself from Javi to turn and applaud the saxophonist, and he gives a gracious bow. Javi looks a little disappointed that the song is over but drops a ten-dollar bill in the saxophone case anyway.

"Didn't take you for a dancer." You say as you walk away from the Lincoln Memorial, and he shrugs.

"'M full of secrets now."

"I guess so," you say. You start walking toward your apartment, suddenly too cold and tired now that you're a little more sober. Javi follows, putting himself between you and the street and grazing your lower back whenever you cross the road. He's always been protective of you, even before you started dating. It makes sense he would still be, right? You're trying to make sense of the muddled mess in your head when Javi pulls his cigarettes out of his jacket, and you eye them. You must not be as discrete as you thought you were because he laughs at you.

"For someone who quit smoking, you look like you want a cigarette." He says, offering the pack to you, and you sigh. You take one from the middle and put it between your lips. Javi is quick with his lighter, and you lean into him just a little as you inhale. He watches your every movement like he's watching a miracle unfold before him.

You hate to admit how good the smoke feels in your lungs. After three years of not even looking at a cigarette, all it took was an offer and a quick puff, and you're back to the beginning. You'll start again tomorrow.

"Don't tell Harry." You say as you blow smoke away from him, and Javi laughs.

"What? He doesn't like you smoking?" He asks, looking for a reason not to like Harry, and you chuckle.

"It's not that. I've just heard one too many horror stories about a stray cigarette starting a fire." You say, and he hums.

"Is that why you quit?"

"Kinda. I also…" you start but then shake your head. "Never mind."

"What? Now you have to say it."

"You're not gonna like it."

"Try me." He says, and you inhale deeply, blowing smoke out of your nose. You think about telling him to leave it alone, but the alcohol and the pain in your chest tells you to say fuck it.

"I quit because it reminded me of you." You admit. He gets quiet. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks up at the stars as you silently spiral. You feel like you need two more cigarettes and a shot of tequila.

Javi has always had a special talent for making all your worst habits bubble to the surface.

"You're right, I don't like that." He says softly, and you nod. You walk a few blocks in silence. The only sounds are your shoes clicking against the pavement and the tiny crackling of your cigarette as you smoke. A siren blares somewhere in the city, and your stomach drops. It always does, but especially now.

Your fiancé is out there, putting his life on the line to save others because that's how good of a man he is, and you're getting drunk and slow-dancing with the man who broke your heart? You didn't even tell him it was Javi. What if something happens to him tonight, and you're out? What if you miss the phone call? Guilt gnaws at your throat like an angry dog, and you feel like throwing up. You swallow hard and stomp out your cigarette before it can get to the filter.

"I'm glad we did this," you say, trying to get things back on track. Javi gives you a weak smile. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"You know, Harry said there's a place for you at the wedding if you want it. I know you'll be back in Texas, but it could be fun. We'd love to have you," you say, and he shakes his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He says. You knew he'd say no, but it still stings.

"Just thought I'd ask." You say, and he nods. You're about two blocks away from your apartment, and you start fishing for your keys out of your purse when Javi stops. You keep walking, thinking he's going to finish his cigarette and pull out another one.

"Don't marry him." He says, just loud enough for you to hear, and ice floods your veins. Whatever alcohol left in your system seems to vanish, and you freeze.

"What?" You ask as you slowly turn around. Javi chews on his bottom lip and stares at you.

"Don't marry him," he says again. Something behind his eyes is familiar, and suddenly, you're the girl he couldn't leave Colombia for again. Tears prick in your eyes, and you shake your head. "You'll get bored in a few years, and you'll be stuck if you marry him."

"I love him."

"I love you."

"Stop," you mumble. He takes a step forward and cradles your face in his hands, tilting you up to look at him, and your jaw tightens. You wonder if he can feel it. "You don't love me."

"I do. I always have. I fucked up, and I'm so sorry for hurting you, but I'm here now. We can start over. I'll move to D.C.. I'll do whatever." He says in one breath like he's afraid he'll lose the courage to say the words out loud.

"It's too late." You say, and he shakes his head.

"No, it's not. We can go tonight. Anywhere you want. I-"

"You let me leave," you cut him off, years of frustration and heartbreak coming back up to the surface as you take his hands off your face. "I was drowning and you let me get on the fucking plane."

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"I wanted you to reject the position in Cali and come with me because I really thought you could at least try to love me more than your job."

"I couldn't just give the Cali position up." He says and you scoff and take a few steps away from him.

"But you could give me up," you say, throwing your arms up in defeat. "That's not love, Javi. That's having someone around to play with and throwing them out when you get bored."

"It wasn't like that."

"Enlighten me, then."

"Do you remember when Carillo died?" He asks and you take a deep breath before nodding.

Most of your memories of Colombia are muddled, but not that day. You were pissed Messina wouldn't let you go, but you were fine to let the Colombian police make the raid. Javi and Steve were anxious. You remember watching them stand next to the radio like guards and trying to guess what was going on in their heads. Javi's gaze lingered on you a few too many times to be an accident, and he smiled fondly at you. You joked about them paying for the drinks you'd have later to celebrate. Things felt stable enough for you to sit down next to Messina. You were halfway through a cigarette when the gunfire chattered over the radios.

It wasn't an ambush.

It was a fucking massacre.

They never stood a chance. The scene was horrendous. Hearing Messina call Mrs. Carillo to tell her what happened was worse. Steve, somehow, was able to go with Carillo, so he wasn't alone in transport back to Bogotá. You and Javi were the cowards who went back and drank until you stopped seeing the pile of bodies you felt responsible for.

Javi put his fist through the wall of his apartment when he got home that night. You wanted to cry but knew that if you started, you'd never stop and who were you to be crying? People had just lost their sons, husbands, brothers, and fathers on your orders. You didn't deserve to cry. It was the beginning of the end for you and Javi, but you clung to your idea of the future so hard, it had claw marks on it when you finally let it go and got on the plane.

So, yeah, you remember. You remember it all.

"I couldn't let that happen to you or anyone else ever again. It would kill me," he says. You're about to tell him it's not his fault, and it never was. It was shitty intel. It was a trap. It was a lot of things, but it wasn't his fault. That might be the only thing you can say for sure about that tragedy. "So, I put everything that wasn't work out of my mind and made bad decisions, and that's on me, but I never stopped loving you or believing in our future."

"Then, why didn't you fight for us?"

"I didn't know how. You were so…" He searches for the right word. "Sure. You knew you didn't want to go to Cali, and I couldn't make you stay."

"I would've if you said the word," you say. "Even though I was miserable in Colombia, I would've come back if you asked me to because that's how much I loved you. Even if you'd just called me after I got here, we probably could've worked something out, but I'm marrying the love of my life in less than sixty days. And I've never had to beg him to stay with me or give him an ultimatum and question if he loves me because he wakes up every day and shows me how much he wants to be with me. I can't walk away from that."

"Does he know what you did down there?"

"Of course, he does." You say, annoyance buzzing in your molars, and you cross your arms over your chest.

"Does he know everything?"

"You mean, does he know I've killed people?" You ask. "Yeah, it was super fun trying to explain that to him. You want to hear about how I hyperventilated through the whole thing, or do you want to ask me another question to try to undermine my relationship?" He purses his lips and shakes his head.

"No," he says. "I just don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Fuck you, Javier." You spit. You don't know the last time you used his full name like that. Something about it feels wrong and makes your skin crawl. "You left one girl at the altar over a decade ago, and you think you know about marriage?"

"That's not fair."

"No, what's not fair is you coming here and making me feel like the bad guy for moving on. I deserve to be happy. I've worked, and I've cried, and I've fucking killed for it, and the second I feel like things are going my way, you do this!" You yell.

"I love you." He says again, like it'll change anything. The pressure behind your eyes returns, and you turn away from him, but he catches your wrist before you can. "Listen to me. I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeats over and over again, but all you hear is, "I love you, but I can't come with you." "I love you, but I need this." "I love you. Isn't that enough?"

You rip out of his grasp and punch at his chest with tears slipping down your face. He takes it, still saying that he loves you, and for some reason that hurts more. You push him hard and watch him stumble back, his brown eyes tracking the tears down your face.

"If you really love me-"

"I do." He cuts you off and you take a stuttering breath.

"Then, let me be happy," you beg. "Let me go. Please. If you love me, you'll do that for me."

You feel pathetic, standing there crying like he shattered your heart all over again as he just stares at you and thinks. You want to go home. You want this to end. You want to never see him again.

Maybe in twenty years, you could stand to face him again. You'll be happily married, and you hope he'll be, too. You'll have a few kids, and you'll tell stories about them and Harry will pull pictures of them out of his wallet. You won't hurt anymore. Maybe when your daughter goes through her first heartbreak, you'll find the courage to tell her about Javi. Maybe all this grief will be worth something someday. You want it to.

But right now, you're just the girl he didn't love enough to leave Colombia for, and he's not the man you love enough to marry.

He clears his throat, his own tears glistening in his waterline, and nods.

"Okay," he mumbles. "I'll tell Stoddard I had a family emergency or something back home. Get the first flight back." Your eyes flutter shut at his words, and you try to keep yourself from crying more.

"Thank you." You say.

"I love you." He says again, and you open your eyes. He's grinding his teeth again, and his hands are in his pockets as if he's forcing himself not to reach for you. You give him a small smile and nod.

"I know," you say. "I'm sorry."

Just as you did at the airport all those years ago, you stand awkwardly far apart, unsure of what to do now. He waits for you to change your mind. You won't. He'll get on the plane, and that'll be it.

He nods to himself one more time before turning to walk away.

"You do deserve to be happy. I've never doubted that. I wish I could've given that to you." He says like he's trying to convince you he's a good person. You sniffle and spin your ring around your finger.

"You did for a while. It's just Harry's turn to do that now," you say. "Goodbye, Javi." He opens his mouth like he's going to say goodbye or something else, but you turn your back to him and start walking toward your apartment before he can.

You figure, after everything, it's only fair that you get the last word.

You didn't sleep. You knew you wouldn't. Astro seems to sense your anxiety and cuddles into your chest, purring loudly to try and drown out your thoughts. You reassure her you're okay and kiss her head as the inky blue sky is replaced by a stunning pink and purple morning.

A good omen, you hope.

You force yourself to get up and get ready for the day. It's Saturday and a fire station breakfast day. It's never anything fancy: donuts picked up from a nearby cafe, greasy fast food breakfast, sometimes cold pizza. Today, you walk to a nearby bodega and pick up his favorite breakfast sandwich with two steaming cups of coffee before walking to the fire station.

It's cold, and D.C. hasn't quite woken up yet. It'll be a few hours before life returns as people sleep off hangovers or long weeks. That's okay. This morning is just for you.

The garage door is wide open when you get to the station, and Harry is perched on the back bumper with the firehouse dog, Maisie, whispering things to her. He looks tired. You don't think you look any better, but he still lights up when he sees you, and Maisie even starts wagging her tail.

"Hey there, stranger," you greet him as he pulls you closer and smirks up at you. "You have a good night?"

"No, but it doesn't matter now that you're here." He says. You would normally roll your eyes at his cheesiness but your chest fills with warmth instead. You lean down and kiss him. He smells like smoke but tastes like the chapstick you make him wear because of the heat. Maisie sniffs at the bag in your hand, and you laugh against his lips when she licks your arm.

"I think she's jealous." You say, and he sucks his teeth as he looks at Maisie.

"You have breakfast, you little terrorist." He reminds her but he immediately folds when she gives him that innocent look. "She can have one piece of bacon, but that's it. We need you trim to get up in the trucks, right?"

You pull a piece of bacon off one of the breakfast sandwiches and make her sit and shake before you give it to her. She crunches on it happily, knowing she's absolutely spoiled rotten. She makes space for you to sit next to Harry on the truck and you rest your head on his shoulder. "You okay?" He asks as he kisses your hairline, and you nod.

"Just missed you," you say. "I couldn't sleep last night." He makes a sympathetic noise and wraps an arm around your shoulder to tuck you further into his side.

"Were you thinking about Colombia?" He asks and you hum. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now."

"Okay. You wanna hear about why our kids will never be allowed to buy candles ever? No matter how old they get or how much smarter they think they are than us?" He changes the subject easily, and you laugh despite the pain still radiating in your body. You know he'll be there when you're ready to tell him about last night, no matter how long it takes you, and you will tell him. Eventually.

"Hit me with it." You say as you unpack your breakfast sandwiches and pass him his coffee. Maisie wags her tail as you alternate between sneaking her treats and listening to Harry's story. He knows you're giving her extra snacks but won't ever stop you.

You sit there on the back of that dirty firetruck, talking and watching the sunrise together and debating on which version of white the napkins at your wedding should be— eggshell or cream— and know you'd do everything all over again if it meant this was the outcome. You love him with everything that you are and ever could be.

And as you eat your breakfast and soak up each other's presence, you find yourself hoping Javi could love someone like this someday. You believe he has it in him. You've seen it. Whoever ends up being the one to tie Javier Peña down will be lucky and loved.

It just wasn't meant to be you.

#tightjeansjavijunewritingchallenge #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #javier peña #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena x you #javier pena imagine #javier pena one shot #javier pena angst #javi peña #javi p x reader #javi p fic #pedro pascal

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blossomthepinkbunny · 4 months

Text

Hazbins bad character design

I feel like there is a definitive lack of varitey when it comes to the designs in HH as well as a problem of characters' designs not fitting them or what the show wants us to assume about them.

I've said it before and I'll say it again (like lots of other ppl already) but the designs in HH specifically mostly don't work. They're fine if you look at them disconnected from the show. Maybe as just random characters who don't really have to carry a show visually. But they don't work if you actually put them into context and into the background of Hazbin Hotel.

Obviously this stuff is very objective and if you do like the designs thats fine (which I shouldn't even have to say). Also I didn't study art or character design and I don't think you have to to be good at it/be able to form opinions on it and this is mostly just me compiling what I don't like while using some basic knowledge on how shapes, colours etc work.

(rant under the cut)

One problem I really have is, that as soon as you have a design there are immediate assumptions about the character. In the sense that if person A is very muscular and fights against person B, who is maybe slimmer or less buff, you would probably immediately assume that person A wins, atleast in physical combat. Whereas person B would probably be the assumed winner in a stretching or flexibility competition. Often characters are designed with these assumptions in mind. Muscle, height, weight, age, clothes etc. give way into assuming stuff about people, their condition, lifestyle or personality.

The expectations that are set up by the design choices are usually either picked to genuinely represent something about a character or to be subverted and shock/confuse the audience.

Like how a lot of fighting types in Pokémon will either be more muscular or have other details relating to certain fighting styles/sports and the fairy types are usually pinkish, fluffy and cutesy. Because these elements are something typically associated with these types and when we look at them we can pretty easily tell which type they're supposed to be.

Otherwise, Monster girl from Invincible is drawn as a twelve year old girl, so it subverts expectations when she turns into a big green monster and generally doesn't stray away from violence, because it's something you wouldn't have assumed about her from her appearance.

In Hazbin Hotel most of the time the character designs don't necessarily fit what they're supposed to be and they also don't use the other design choices as subversion (the one that would probably count here is Nifty with looking and acting very childlike usually but then also acting violent/crazy sometimes).

The first thing would probably be that characters don't look their age mostly.

Charlie and Valeria (Vaggie, but I really don't wanna keep calling her that so she gets a new name) look fine as they're supposed to be around 20. Rosie and Carmilla also look alright for what we can assume their ages are supposed to be. But Alastor is in his 30s or 40s (what it says on the fandom wiki) and he looks around 20 as well. The same thing goes for Lucifer. He looks so young that he could also count as just Charlies brother or friend rather than her dad, because he doesn't look like he could be the dad of a 20 year old. This makes the song "Hell's Greatest Dad" a bit awkward because these men are singing/competing about who is better as Charlies father but they don't look a day older than her. Husk also looks way too young for someone in his 60s-70s (again from the wiki).

The body types being all the same also doesn't help.

Mimzy and Adam are pretty much the only more relevant characters who aren't like all the others in terms of body shape. All the other relevant women in the show have a tiny waist and either big boobs/big hips or just a slimmer build in general. All the men have thin waists and then broader shoulders.

And for some characters it makes sense. Like Angel is really flexible and his more lanky body fits with being a spider. But why are Lucifer and Valentino like that? Other than the fact that Viv doesn't like drawing muscles there is really no reason for them too being build like every other skinny man there. Valentino is supposed to be intimidating not just by how he acts but physically too. He seemingly has a bit more muscle than others but his arms are still super thin and look like they could snap if I look at them wrong. I'm not trying to say that abusers all have to be buff, but simply from a design perspective the scenes with him would be a lot more effective if we saw him actually have a big physical advantage over Angel and others, even when he isn't necessarily threatening them. As soon as he comes on screen, we could see him as a much more intimidating presence, especially when all the other characters look like sticks. Or they could make it so, that he hides his muscles under his coat and when we get the reveal of him actually removing it, it's more shocking and immediately makes the situation more tense.

Lucifer could've had a more confident frame as well. He's the king of hell and the strongest being in hell, so just for the diversity I would give him some muscles too. Husk is also super skinny and for someone who only sits around and drinks alcohol all day, he should definitely have a beer belly (please I swear to god I wanna see more men with bellies, Mammon was great). Also for Valeria and Lute and pretty much all the Angels I don't get why they wouldn't be more buff either. Valeria is a fighter, she's Charlies bodyguard but she looks like all of the other women there. It's stated that Angels fight so wild because they don't know they could get hurt. And while I know that the Angels can really only get hurt by angelic weapons, having this whole reveal that they can be injured would've definitely suprised me more, if they actually looked like they couldn't be injured in the first place. But then again, Valeria looks like her arms would break as soon as a breeze hits them too hard. In some episodes her thighs look a bit more muscular, but not notably and she also doesn't fight using her legs (like Carmilla) so only her thighs being bigger sort of doesn't make sense. In general, she or Lute don't show any difference to the women who aren't physical fighters. And obviously just to have a more interesting show to look at, including different body types would do a great job at making these characters stand apart from eachother more.

While we're on the topic of diversity, another obvious thing that makes the characters redundant and borig (sometimes ugly too) is the reused colour pallette. Colour coding is probably one of the easiest things when talking about character designs and it's something atleast Helluva Boss understands.

What effect warm/cold tones have or what feelings we associate with different colours is a great way to bring stuff about characters across without being too on the nose. Obviously colour can also be used to either connect characters or to make them very distinct. Shape language also plays into that of course. In Inside Out the emotions are mostly characterized by their respective colour and by their distinct shapes.

Joy = yellow (bright colour often associated with the sun/light)

Sadness = blue (cold colour often associated with tears/rain)

Anger = red (very strong colour with aggressive association with fire or when someone turns red because of anger)

Fear = purple (light colour here, mix between red and blue as fear often falls into a more angry or sad feeling)

Disgust = green (colour of most dirt or puke or other stuff people usually see as gross)

Or in a show like Bluey, where different patterns, shapes and colours show the breed of the dog and also how characters might be related to eachother (same breed/mix of breed = usually related).

Or how colours can be used as lighting effects to create cool shots when the colour pallette changes all of a sudden. In JJBA these changes happen often when someone is in distress or unsure of themselves. Also in tense moments to make them seem more exciting and interesting.

Hazbin Hotel has very limited range when it comes to the colours of the main cast. All of them feature some form of red and that usually in combination with black or white (if they aren't just purely red like Alastor or Rosie). This makes them not stand out from eachother and creates very similar colour pallettes which get boring once you've seen them repeated over and over again. It also makes the visual connection between characters who are actually related (like Charlie and Lucifer) a lot less strong because so many characters share similarities already.

Also they just hurt to look at sometimes because the background is mostly red as well and with a lot of them being very overly detailed. People have also spoken before about the show being pretty inaccessible for colour blind/vision impared people due to these issues with the colour.

And now you might say that it's hell and therefore it makes sense for all of them and the background to be red. But firstly, I don't think that there is a definitive source which decides that hell is red and can only be shown/interpreted as red. And also there is another show, also set in hell which actually does a much better job at that and actually shows different colours in hell. Like in Helluva Boss the rings are all colour coded.

And I know, that HH plays in the pride ring fully, but imagine how cool it would've been to see sinners have colours similar to the sin(s) they committed. This could lead to them looking distinct from eachother and the background and would also lead to us being able to assume stuff about them, if we're familiar with the colour coding. In "Hell's Greatest Dad" they do a fun colour change with different light and it's really refreshing and I just wanted to see more variety like that (of course I kinda get that the colour changing isn't really part of the shows design but it was pretty cool to see in that song).

There also is the issue with characters that are supposed to be animal-like sinners not looking like the animal they apparently take inspiration from. The thing is that the animal/object parts don't necessarily have to be visible to understand a character. But in the show, how sinners look in hell is often influenced by their life on earth. Vox's head being a TV is because he was a Tv-show host when he was alive. Nifty also is supposedly a bug, which makes sense because she hates bugs and probably hated them in real life too. But that is where it would be great to actually have Nifty resemble a bug, instead she has no features of one and just looks like a regular humanoid sinner. The same thing happens with Alastor being a deer, Valeria a moth, Charlie goat-like and Angel a spider (also Mimzy is apparently based off of a chicken). Like I said, the animal inspiration isn't essential to the characters, but emphasizing these design elements could help the characters stand out instead of them all just looking like sort of human characters. Sir pentious and Husk work the best in terms of presenting their animal inspiration (though pretty much everything else about Husks design sucks ass).

And then there are complaints about the characters that are supposed to be people of colour not having any features that resemble their race. It's just a bit weird when a mostly humanoid sinner doesn't really seem to resemble how the person looked in real life. Black characters have really desaturated and sometimes just straight up grey skin in HH. Alastor is probably the most egregious in that regard, but also Emily has just light blueish gray skin and no textured hair or other black features like the nose or lips or palms. Velvette and Sera have darker skin but also no other features (except for when we see Velvette's natural hair texture in like one shot at the end of the season). I know there are other things wrong with how Voodoo is presented in HH or with Mimzy's design often being seen as a jewish caricature, but I don't wanna focus on that fully, because I feel like there are people better suited for talking about that (black people or jewish people ofc).

In general HH is a show with pretty bad designs (imo). That's actually a thing I prefer about Helluva Boss, because there the designs are mostly okay or actually sometimes pretty good. Striker is probably my favourite design in both shows (he reminds me of Dillon and that's cool).

I like Mammon, Asmodeus, Octavia and Loona as well. I would still probably change a bunch if I were to redesing the HB cast but they overall look more solid than the HH cast.

This was another post which pretty quickly became an excuse to talk about other media I enjoy. I might do that more often, because comparing elements of HH or HB to other stuff makes it kinda easier to articulate my feelings. Also just because I enjoy talking about other stuff too.

#hazbin hotel critical #vivzepop critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #anti vivziepop #character design

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cuubism · 4 months

Note

I tried to be creative for a hurt/comfort thing but you know what, I'm a very predictable creature of habit who likes what I like lol

A go-to headcanon of mine for canon or human au is that Hob's love language is providing food just as like, a caretaking thing. But of course Dream interprets it as Hob thinking he's ugly for being so skinny. 🥺

🤘five-and-dimes

@five-and-dimes this slots in well with math au so it had to be math au ☺️

"Dream?"

Dream doesn't realize he's drifted off mentally until Hob calls his name. It's possible he's called it more than once and Dream didn't hear. It must be some special level of dysfunction to be able to get so distracted during sex. All week he has thought about Hob, watched the play of his hands on his keyboard and wished they were on his skin, watched the flex of his arms as he ties his hair back, studied his mouth as he chewed on the end of a pen. Now he is here, and yet he's not. Here.

"Are you alright?" Hob continues when Dream just kind of keeps staring at him. "You're like. Not with me at all. I don't know where you are."

Dream doesn't know where Dream is either. Technically he is lying in bed with Hob kneeling between his thighs, and they haven't even gotten fully undressed yet. Hob's hands are still resting lightly on his hips, thumbs hooked under the waistband of his jeans. Dream is suddenly aware of just how sharp his hipbones are when he lies like that, the jut of bone visible through his skin.

He pushes himself up to sitting, dislodging Hob's hands. "I am fine."

"Sure," Hob says, not wholly convinced. "Long day I guess?"

Dream hums noncommittally.

"Want to watch a movie instead?"

"Yes," Dream says, though still distracted, "very well."

Hob moves away to grab his shirt, and Dream watches the flex of his shoulders, the strength of his back and bend of his neck. And he wants, and for a moment he considers saying, no, come back, I want-- but when Hob turns back to him it dies in his throat.

He puts on his own shirt, and Hob pulls him close, lets him settle between his legs, his back to Hob's chest, as he takes his laptop from the nightstand. "I heard about this one, supposed to be using maths to solve time travel. Figured we could watch and you could tell me all the ways they're wrong and stupid."

Hob knows him too well. "You have no confidence that the maths could be correct?" he says.

"Do you?"

"...No," Dream admits, and Hob laughs.

"It'd be no fun if it was right, anyway. Your commentary makes it way more entertaining."

Dream leans back in his arms as Hob boots up the movie, and then it feels easy again, comfortable again, as they fall back into their familiar pattern.

He doesn't know what was wrong with him before.

Dream likes to steal Hob's sweatshirts. He runs cold, but often forgets to bring extra layers with him when he goes places. Or perhaps he is intentionally forgetting to bring his own, so he can steal Hob's. Hob never seems to mind, after all.

And Hob's clothes are not so different in size to his own, they are almost the same height. Hob has broader shoulders than he does, but Dream never feels like he is swimming in Hob's clothes.

Except for now.

He's studying the way the sleeves of Hob's sweatshirt lie on his wrists, comparing it to the way they had looked on Hob's wrists when he had worn the same sweatshirt just this morning, before Dream had stolen it. Have his wrists always been this narrow? The jut of the ulna so sharp where the hem of the sleeve hangs? Has he always looked this bony, when contrasted with soft fabric?

"Hey, love, you hungry? I made you something."

Hob is standing before him, holding a bowl. He places it down on the table before Dream.

"Made me something?" Dream echoes.

"Dinner," Hob says. "You didn't eat anything today."

Did he? Perhaps not. He often doesn't, at least not until Hob reminds him. Which he often does.

"It's green curry," Hob says, pushing the bowl closer to him as if trying to tempt him to take a treat. "One of your favorites?"

Dream does not know if he is really hungry, but Hob is a good cook and besides, it will make him happy if Dream eats it, so he takes it.

Seeming satisfied, Hob gets his own bowl and sits down across from him, tucking in as Dream starts delicately picking at pieces of green bean and pepper, small spoonfuls of rice soaked in curry. It is, in fact, very good. He is just. Out of sorts, perhaps.

But he eats it, slowly, because he knows Hob will be happy. Hob is always happy when he manages to feed him. Perhaps Dream truly doesn't eat enough. Perhaps he is getting too bony.

He tries not to study his wrists as he holds the spoon.

Dream is... not having a good day. He doesn't fully know why. He often doesn't. Regardless, he's lying in bed, music blaring in his headphones, staring blankly at the wall, when Hob gets back from class in the evening.

He doesn't realize it's time for Hob to come back until Hob is creaking open the bedroom door, letting a sliver of light into the cocoon Dream's created. He says something, which Dream doesn't hear on account of the music he's blasting at maximum volume.

He takes out his earbuds as Hob repeats it. "Hey, love. You want some tea? A snack?"

Dream lifts his head to find that Hob's set down a cup of tea and a piece of toast with what looks like almond butter and honey on the nightstand.

"It's seven p.m.," Hob continues. Dream hadn't realized it was so late. He doesn't remember exactly when he laid down. "Have you eaten?"

He's sure Hob already knows the answer to that.

Dream sits up and takes the toast, as bidden. And then just. Stares at it.

Hob lays the back of his hand against Dream's forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I don't know," Dream says. But he is not sick in the way that Hob means. He sets the toast back down and takes the tea instead, sipping it slowly.

"You don't feel warm." Hob lets his hand fall. "Should eat the toast, if you can. Do you want company, or should I leave you be?"

Dream swallows hard to clear the lump in his throat. Hob is... so tolerant of his oddities. "Company. If you can tolerate my silence."

"I can cope." Hob fetches his things, and soon enough he's sitting beside Dream in bed, laptop open. Dream leans against his shoulder. Hob's body is soft enough to be comfortable to lie against, while Dream's shoulder is... sharp. When Hob lies against him, are all of Dream's bones just jutting into him?

He sits up again, picks up the toast. If he ate enough almond butter toast he might not be so sharp-edged. But eating an amount of toast that hits even a baseline caloric requirement is already hard enough.

He eats it slowly and tries to pretend it doesn't stick on the way down.

When they were teenagers, Desire used to make fun of Dream for being too skinny. "It's all in the name of love," they'd sing, "just don't want you to end up alone, that's all." Then they'd poke him in the ribs--"You're so bony"--and start giggling.

It didn't help that Dream had jumped ahead two levels in school, and already felt gangly and awkward in comparison to everyone else in his year, who were invariably older. As years passed, he grew out of those awkward teenage proportions, but never lost his thin, angular frame.

Hob, for his part, still has a bit of youthful ranginess to him, but Dream thinks he will fill out wonderfully as he gets older. He does not know what will happen to himself.

What he does know is that Hob keeps trying to feed him.

He'll make breakfast for him, if he stays over. Even if Hob himself needs to run out the door to class with nothing more than a granola bar, he somehow manages to make sure there is something for Dream. He's always making Dream's favorite foods for dinner, more often than not foods Dream barely remembers ever mentioning. He brings him tea in a thermos when Dream is up late working in his favorite classroom.

Dream does not know what to do with this. He is finding it harder and harder to eat what Hob makes. He doesn't know what's wrong with him.

When he gets home from class, he finds that Hob is gone, but he's left an entire container of muffins on Dream's kitchen counter. Zucchini muffins!! the note taped to the lid reads. Very tasty and nutritious too!! ❤️

Dream stares at them for a long time, a lump in his throat. Then he closes the lid, carefully latches it so they won't go stale, and retreats to his bedroom.

Dream is straddling Hob's lap and he should be enjoying himself but he cannot. Stop. Thinking.

About how sharp his knees and ankles look. How Hob can definitely feel his ribs where his hands are laid on Dream's waist. About the deep cut of his collarbone, made more evident by the way he's wrapping his arms around Hob's shoulders as they kiss. Does Hob think about it? Does he look at Dream and wish there was softness to touch, instead of these hard edges?

"Dream," Hob says, still close enough that Dream feels his breath as he pulls away from the kiss. "Where are you, love? Because it's not with me."

It all feels so obvious when Dream thinks about it now. He got used to not thinking about his own body but it's impossible to ignore when he's pressed up against Hob, when he's only in his underwear. Hob has seen him, and touched him, and is always trying to feed him, and he would never say anything because he isn't mean but it must bother him, that Dream is so, is so--

"Do you think I am wrong?" he asks.

Hob just stares at him, thrown. "What?" he asks. "Wrong about what?"

"Wrong," Dream repeats. And suddenly he can't stand to be exposed like he is, and disentangles himself from Hob, reaching for the nearest article of clothing--which ends up being Hob's sweatshirt, the one he likes to steal. And so he ends up just holding it to his chest instead of putting it on, frozen.

Hob reaches for him, then lets his hands fall. "I don't understand."

"You want me to eat more," Dream says.

"I-- yeah? You barely eat one meal a day, of course I want you to eat more?"

Dream nods to himself, clutching Hob's sweatshirt closer. It all makes sense now. He doesn't know why he didn't understand it earlier. Or perhaps he did, subconsciously.

The wave of sadness that catches him under his lungs is more powerful than he anticipated. But at least now he understands.

"I don't know what conclusion you're making, but somehow I don't think it's right," Hob says. He reaches for Dream again, and this time wraps his hand around his wrist, slides down over the bones there until their fingers are tangled together. Their knuckles lock, bone to bone.

"I am hideous to you," he says, braced by Hob's touch enough to voice it.

"What?" Dream expects Hob to move away, but he doesn't, though he does sound... hurt. "How could you think that?"

"You think I should eat more," Dream says. Even as he says it, he feels himself curl inwards again, though it only makes the angles of his limbs more prominent.

"Yeah because you can't survive on one piece of toast every two days? I don't want you to starve yourself?" Hob sounds increasingly desperate as he says it. "Honestly you've been freaking me out, I feel like even when I make stuff you like you want to eat it even less."

"I... like what you make," Dream says quietly. He slowly thinks through what Hob's said. "I thought that... you felt I was too skinny. That you would be more attracted to me if I was not so... bony. And sharp."

He is very sharp-edged all around. And Hob already tolerates the sharp edges of his personality.

"Dream." Now Hob takes both of his hands. "Don't you know I was so attracted to you the moment I saw you? I wanted you so bad. And your attention. Your interest." He plays with Dream's fingers. "Look how beautiful your hands are." He cups Dream's face in his hand. "Your jawline is literally to die for. Modeling agencies would sign you."

Dream makes an expression of distaste at the thought, and Hob laughs.

"I know, you'd hate that." He kisses the tip of Dream's nose. "But the point stands. You're gorgeous." He runs his hand through Dream's hair, making it stick up all over the place. And the way Hob looks at him then makes any objection die in Dream's throat, makes him want to crawl into Hob's lap and press against Hob's body and let Hob do anything to him. "I mean, look at you."

A blush rises to Dream's cheeks. "So. You do not want me to eat so that I will gain weight."

"I want you to eat so you don't fucking die," Hob says, and something about the dramatic phrasing of it makes Dream laugh, and then Hob laughs, too, and pulls him close, pressing Dream's head into his shoulder.

"I am like a recalcitrant pet to you, then," Dream says, and Hob chuckles.

"Too right. You can lead a Dream to avocado toast..."

Perhaps... Dream might be better at being led. Now that he knows why Hob is doing the leading.

“I love you,” Hob says, kissing Dream’s temple. “And your ridiculous cheekbones, you angelic creature. You’re so incredibly beautiful.”

Dream’s blush only deepens, and he hides his face in Hob’s shoulder. Hob rubs a hand up and down his bare back, catching on the knobs of his spine. He holds Dream close until Dream’s embarrassment subsides and he feels able to lift his head again.

When their eyes meet again, Hob just smiles. “Can I show you?” He traces his thumb over Dream’s lower lip. “How much I want you?”

Dream nods, tongue dabbing at Hob's thumb. Yes, he wants. He wants Hob. And he wants Hob to want him, desperately he wants it, for Hob to think he is desirable, no matter how embarrassing it may be to feel that want.

Hob kisses him again, pulling him close so Dream is half in his lap, tangled up in him again. Dream chases his mouth. And each touch of Hob's hands over the hard bend of his hips or the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, just as passionate and determined as Dream could have ever hoped for, makes him feel better, until he's not thinking about the shape of himself at all, just the feeling of Hob's touch, and his own pleasure.

And, maybe, the tea Hob might make for him afterward.

#dream has literally the exact opposite body issues that i do and yet somehow it's relatable...#complex mathematics #my writing #dreamling #ask #five-and-dimes #wow this got real sappy at the end tbh #disordered eating

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