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littlejuicebox · 3 months

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A growing brood.

Summary: Gale has just turned three years old and is adjusting to the idea of becoming a big brother. He and Astarion go out for a walk in the orchard, where the older man gets an opportunity to practice some of his stealth skills.

Tags/Warnings: all fluff, Dadstarion, parenthood, babies, mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of Astarion’s past and trauma, idk what else

Gale is holding a toy sword he received on his birthday as he and Astarion walk along the back grounds of the manor. The child is swinging the wooden object haphazardly as he sings a babbled song his father can’t identify.

Astarion surveys the small orchard as they meander along the dirt path. He’d been sent here with the little boy at the request of his pregnant wife, tasked with determining whether or not the trees were ready to harvest. She currently stood on the balcony of their home, waiting for her husband’s signal. She wouldn’t make the trek out until then; it had to be worth navigating uneven ground and overgrown brush in her condition.

Picking fruit in the orchard had become Tav and Gale’s yearly autumn tradition. The first year they’d spent quite a bit of time introducing the little one to new fruits he had not yet tried.

Pregnant or not, she refused to miss the orchard harvest.

Astarion is secretly relieved when he determines nothing is quite ripe. He felt Tav was pushing herself too hard, going above and beyond to make their first born feel valued as he adjusted to the idea of siblings. But carrying the twins was starting to exhaust her and she desperately needed rest. She’d already overworked herself for Gale’s third birthday party just a week ago, despite Astarion’s protests.

The elf lifts his hand and shoots a ray of frost up into the sky. He knows his little love will see the signal and retreat back into the house. He hopes she will take a much needed nap now that their son is preoccupied with his father.

“CHARGE!” Gale shouts, running forward on two stubby legs with his toy sword in the air.

“Gale, don’t run in the orchard you’ll—“ Astarion starts, but before he can finish his chastisement the little boy’s foot gets caught on a particularly large tree root. He stumbles and falls onto his knees with a soft thud and a grunt of surprise. The toy sword clatters to the ground as Gale’s small hands extend in front of him to break the fall.

Astarion thinks they really need to dedicate outdoor clothes for the child. Traipsing around the orchard in gold threaded finery simply wouldn’t do. The older man’s eyes flutter toward the back of his head in exasperation as he walks over to the three year old calling, “Are you alright, Gale?”

The toddler stands back up, dusting off his hands. His previously pristine trousers are now caked in dirt and grass. He turns and nods to Astarion before responding, “I okay, Papa!”

A brood of their free-range chickens is clustered nearby, bawking as they peck at the ground searching for insects. The noise captures Gale’s attention and he forgets his sword, running towards the small cluster of birds.

“Chickens, guess what! I free years old now!” He shouts, holding his middle three fingers up to show the fowl his new age.

But as he approaches the chickens, they scatter off, deterred by the loud babblings of the boy. Gale huffs in disappointment. And then he shouts, “CHICKENS! Get over here now!”

The chickens bawk and run further away from the little boy, much to his chagrin. His shoulders sag dramatically as he pouts.

“You’d do well to learn that you’ll catch more flys with honey than vinegar, little prince.” Astarion lectures, coming up behind his son after scooping the forgotten wooden sword from the earth.

Gale blinks at his father, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, “But daddy, chickens doesn’t fly does they? My book say they doesn’t.”

The little prince was particularly fascinated by birds. At the child’s party a week ago, Gale of Waterdeep had gifted his namesake a set of twenty six children’s books listed A through Z, each covering the specifics of one bird. Astarion had just been held hostage by the three year old and forced to read “C” for chickens twice a few nights ago.

The elf had rushed through the first reading in an attempt to finish quickly and join Tav for a much needed tryst between mommy and daddy. Gale had refused to let him leave until he read the book properly.

“It’s an expression, Gale, it means— nevermind, it’s not important.” Astarion sighs, flailing his hand in a dismissive gesture. He isn’t about to waste his time explaining idioms to a three year old, “But maybe if you approach the chickens more quietly, they’ll come up to you.”

Gale considers this and then nods, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He begins walking toward the brood, trying desperately to be quiet. He’s just a few feet away when the chickens scatter again, clucking anxiously to one another. The careful movements of a three year old are still too noisy and abrupt for the birds.

The silver-haired boy groans in frustration.

“Watch me, Gale.” Astarion whispers as he hands the toy sword back to his son.

The elf crouches lower to the ground, easily engaging the predatory behavior he hadn’t used since turning mortal roughly four years ago. But the muscle memory alone allows him to silently and efficiently make his way to the group of chickens. Long-fingered hands dart out and quickly retrieve a spotted hen from the periphery of the brood.

Gale cheers before dropping the sword once again as he runs up to his father, wanting to examine the animal more closely. The rest of the flock members instantly run away when the little boy approaches, but he pays them no mind. Tiny fingers come out to gently pet the back of the bird.

“Good job, daddy!” The child exclaims, causing the older man to chuckle.

Astarion finds it entertaining that he is being praised for catching a harmless domesticated chicken. Gale truly had no idea that, only a few years ago, his father easily downed wild boars and a few bears with nothing but his fangs.

They’d purposely bought this estate on the outer edge of Rivington as a way to meet the nutritional needs of the prior vampire. In fact, Astarion had used the wild boar infestation in this very orchard to justify a lower price point from the seller and then quickly turned around and solved the problem with his hunting in a matter of weeks.

One day, Gale will know more about his father’s past.

But not today.

Today, Astarion is just a daddy catching a chicken.

Perhaps that’s who he truly is. Perhaps he doesn’t have to cling so hard to who he thought he was.

A light drizzle abruptly ended the walk in the orchard. Astarion scooped Gale up and hurriedly returned to the manor; the last thing he and Tav needed was the little boy catching a cold.

They were wearing a set of matching drenched curls when Astarion plopped his son on the back porch.

“Papa…” Gale starts, looking down at the toy sword he’s fiddling with in his hand, lost in thought.

“What is it, little prince?” Astarion asks as he removes his mud-caked boots before crouching to help his child do the same.

“When my other babies born,” He continues while lifting a leg, trying to help his dad remove the dirty shoes. The little boy had always referred to the twins as “my babies” and his parents simply shrugged it off as one of those strange things kids do, “You gonna love me, still, right, Papa?”

Astarion pauses.

Shit.

This was the type of sensitive, vulnerable, soft stuff that Tav usually handled so smoothly and Astarion felt sure he always fumbled.

The older man slowly places the child’s shoes down and then peers into his son’s round, emerald eyes. Gale was growing to be a much more sensitive and empathetic boy than Astarion had anticipated. The child might be the spitting image of his father, but his disposition certainly leaned more toward his mother.

It was something Astarion simultaneously feared and wanted to fiercely protect.

“Yes, Gale. I will still love you when your little brothers or sisters are born,” Astarion murmurs, bringing his hand up to gently brush it through his child’s unruly, wet curls, “You’ll still love me, won’t you?”

Gale nods and grins at his father as the worry in his little body fades away, “I love you always, daddy.”

The older man pulls his son into a hug, mostly to avoid Gale catching a glimpse of his father blinking back tears, “I will always love you, too, Gale.”

The elf lifts the little boy back up and heads into the house, planning to get them both into a fresh change of clothes.

The child may now be three years old and have two other siblings on the way, but whether he is three, thirty three, or three hundred… Gale will always be Astarion’s first baby.

And Astarion will always love his little boy.

#astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fluff #dadstarion fic #dadstarion #papastarion #soft astarion

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zillasvilla · 8 days

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❤️‍🔥 Welcome to Akhara’s PlayHouse ❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥more playboys coming soon||spam account: akharareblogs

Introduction: Akhara’s playhouse is a male centered fictional world, where they all fight for the attention of the writer. Akhara. Yup, that’s me.

Each play boy is unique in their own way, all expressing different ranges of emotion and skills. However boys will be boys, and Akhara is only one woman.

This is an eighteen plus blog containing: Mature themes, Rated-R content and pure filth. I reserved all rights to block anyone under the age of eighteen.

Roman Reigns:

Rebellion in the Shadows: Joseph Anoai replaces his father as Matai Joseph , and must now navigate his new role as chief, while wondering if his reign could match that of his father’s.

Averi makes a narrowing escape from some dangerous people. She finds her self saved by a mysterious man. Still, she keeps her walls up.

One : Two

Samuelu Island

Jey Uso:

Beyond the Lights: Soraya is a well known artist in the music industry, and her accolades reflect that. While her career may be thriving and successful. She still has a lot to learn as she faces the trials and tribulations that come with the fame.

zero : one : two : three : four : five : six : seven

Nap time

Randy Orton:

Mayhem: A planned feud goes a bit too far when two sisters pitch a story line that shifts the trajectory of the women’s division. co-written with: @keyaho

preview

Micheal B. Jordan:

Dadmonger Series: Erik and his wife are parents to ten-year old twin boys. Come along with them and their little family as they navigate their lives as parents.

winter party : not my sons : school bullies Mistletoe Clean up woman I wish you would He wasn’t man enough for me

Winston Duke:

International Studies Wedding Day

Chadwick Boseman:

Berlin

Trevante Rhodes: Coming Soon Cody Rhodes: Coming Soon Triple H: Coming Soon Pablo Schreiber: Coming Soon

Akhara’s Patrons: If you would like to be added, please comment on the master list. I will try to frequently update it as much as I can.

@justazzi @yana3sworld @wrestlingprincess80 @abadbitchblogs @paigereeder @kill-the-artiste @destinio1 @kill-the-artiste @reci1996 @mindairy @jatriciablog @alichesmi @jstarr86 @minsheyaish @wonderingfashion @whatdoeseverybodywant @jeysbvck @jeysbaby @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @keyaho @chaneajoyyy @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @empressdede @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @pimptressss

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mae-i-scribble · 7 days

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I rewatched a few of the early episodes of spyfam today bc getting to see the movie gave me an itch to scratch, and in particular episode two made me finally able to conceptualize what about fandom twiyor that irks me so deeply. If you like widespread fandom interpretations of them I would uh, look away bc none of my opinions on it are positive.

Episode 2 of the spyfam anime remains one of my favorites because of all the little flourishes the studios add to sell you on Yor as a character while also expanding a bit on the manga's original commentary on the stigma that follows older single women. What draws Yor and Loid together as a family is that neither of them are capable of having conventional relationships. Both of them are war orphans forced to grow up far too soon and who threw away aspects of their humanity to fight for what they believe to be a better world. While Loid's position as a spy and mastery of deception allows him to avoid the stigmas that would come from the ordinary person discovering what he does, that is not something that holds true for Yor, whose weakest point is that she simply cannot understand "normal." She's aware of the way her coworkers demean her and insult her but can do nothing about it because her only conflict resolution skill is murder. She is constantly reminded that she is an outsider, hence why Loid's declaration at the party is so meaningful to her, and what convinces her to ask him to continue the facade as a married couple.

Underneath it all however, is a quiet showcase of amatonormativity that drove both Loid and Yor to their arrangement. Eden requires a student to have a perfectly nuclear family. Societal conventions dictate that Yor, happily single at 27, is someone pathetic (to her coworkers) or someone in need of help (to her brother). Marriage is an expectation that Yor is pressured to commit to, and a societal requirement that Loid must uphold for the sake of his mission. And while this showcase begins in episode 2 it is something that spyfam continues to highlight when it comes to the expectations both Loid and Yor struggle to meet when they try to hard/become to anxious over what is "expected" as a married couple vs what the other person is actually thinking/feeling.

Now, what the fuck does this have to do with fandom you ask? Here's the thing. Spyfam reached the broad range of anime fans when it exploded in popularity, which is when I started engaging with it beyond just comments on the latest manga chapters. Modern fandom already has the issue of classifying ships into tropes rather than actually like, shipping characters as they are. And that's exactly what happened with twiyor. People began going "oh my gosh this is the moment she fell for loid," "oh he's so in love with her just look at him," before we had even reached episode 10. Which was incredibly frustrating to me because clearly Loid and Yor are not anywhere near in love that soon in the story- and the basis for that frustration starts in episode 2 for me. Because Loid and Yor's marriage is one that is unconventional from the very beginning, and it is that factor that defines their dynamic an allows them to function as healthily and sweetly as they do. People don't need to be in love to be married or to be a parental unit. None of that requires romantic love, it is simply an expectation of our society, the same sort of expectation that cripples Yor and makes her think she has to find a partner, then that she has to find a husband to appease those around her. Seeing that completely erased in a large portion of art/commentary/fics written about them angers me because its something baked into the foundation of their dynamic and something I feel enhances them as a potential romantic pairing rather than detracts from it. But we can't have that because of course a man and woman living together and caring for a kid fell in love almost immediately.

And don't even get me started on how people misinterpret Loid for their far more romantic interpretations of his motivations and relationship with Anya and Yor or else I will start losing teeth from how hard I am clenching my jaw

#spyfam #spy x family #criticism #mae rants #for me the ultimate appeal of spyfam is them as a FAMILY #far more than loid and yor as a couple #to both of them their main goal is preserving the familial unit #and i say this as someone who fully expects and is excited for a slow romance with yor and loid #it just makes me so mad how people talk about them as a romantic couple #and obvious disclaimer of not all people yadda yadda im just generalizing here and i know that #doesnt make me less frustrated when the great interpretations seem to be a minority

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kiwikipedia · 1 year

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Now I’m Not Saying That I Should Be Allowed To Design Servants For Fate, But....

Summer Unit, Caster Chiron has Arrived! As the immortal Caretaker and Teacher of Mount Pelion, there’s little doubt that he knows all the tips and tricks to survive a coastal month in the sun. What’s that? The Constellation is wrong? Sagittarius? Don’t be silly, Chiron’s always embodied the Constellation Centaurus. Always.

Costume Dress(es), Individual Stills for the new Sprites (Asc 3), Notes, and Taglist below the cut :)

That "Always" bit is meant to be somewhat ominous which hints at the whole "rewriting and creating heroes" idea in my last post about this Eternal Summer Stage event.

And if i am to be 100% honest, I don't quite like the final result still in terms of the toga, however, I know that if I keep working on it it will never get done and that's just the way that artists are lol. The effects and everything else though? Beyond what I was even expecting for it to turn out as.

Anywho.

In terms of design, I was mostly just going for the "Dad who has the Cooler" with a casual look for the first two designs and the costume dress really isn't a drastic change either just being called Hatless. The final ascension was a more divine feel where you get that connection with the stars and space that Chiron has due to his constellations. The Costume change there is just "Divine Blessing". I honestly couldn't pick between the two colors so. Costume Dress.

So. Anyways. Each of the stars in the final ascension design are the major "Centauri" stars within Centaurus, the Constellation that Chiron/his NP is embodying here rather than Sagittarius.

The large star that Chiron has in hand is Theta Centauri, also called Menkent, and then the ones on the staff are Alpha-Gamma Centauri.

The top three stars are Alpha Centauri or Rigil Kentaurus and Toliman, and Proxima Centauri. The three make up the full Alpha Centauri as the two blue stars are a binary system that Proxima orbits

The middle two are Beta Centauri or Hadar and Agena, another binary star pair

The lower two are Gamma Centauri which is another binary star group but are unnamed

Actually, the myth of Centaurus is a little wonky because certain texts refer to Centaurus as the Father of all Centaurs and the constellation is because he put an image of himself in the sky where others point to it being the other constellation that Zeus turned Chiron into instead of Sagittarius. Honestly, I'm more inclined to the latter due to conflicting texts about mount Pelion and the Centaurs themselves as it's implied that Chiron was already on Pelion before the other Centaurs arrived in some texts

("The Kentauroi were spawned by the cloud-nymph Nephele after she was violated by the impious Lapith king Ixion. She deposited her double-formed brood on Mount Pelion where they were nursed by the daughters of the immortal kentauros Kheiron (Chiron).")

So at least in this/my version of Myth/Fate, Centaurus is Chiron as a Caster and Healer but no less a teacher, rather than the more combat-ready and "war-like" Sagittarius.

I don't have everything mapped out, but I do have skills and NP sorta created, if I actually ever get to the full thing, who is to say lmao.

1st Skill: Seaside Planning

Buffs Healing Skill (self), Attack up (all units)

2nd Skill: Teacher's Guiding Hand

Target Focus (1 turn), Invincibility (1 turn), Defense up for all units, Battlefield change to Forest

3rd Skill: Blessing of Artemis / Blessing of Apollo (costume change)

Applies "Blessings of the Moon" or “Blessings of the Sun” to all units ( Defense Up, Heal Per Turn, NP gain Up, Crit Up)

Noble Phantasm: Hunt of Lupus: Protector of Mount Pelion | Quick

Rank: A NP Type: Anti-Personnel Range: 5-99 Maximum Targets: 1

A single target Noble Phantasm much like Antares Snipe, however, while Sagittarius uses a bow, Centaurus uses his staff to sweep through and pierce the body of Lupus. This is the story of Chiron. However, here, his job is not finished. The slaying of "Lupis" ends, and thus the Teacher and protector of Pelion returns to those he protects and tends to them.

At its base, one could call it the Single Target version of Geronimo's Tsago Degi Naleya in which it deals damage and heals the party after.

"Entrust to me the stars and my Guiding hand shall lead you, o watchmen of the night. I encircle myself twice with the seven heavenly bodies so that I may continue my role among the stars. You who has woken me, fall. Hunt of Lupus."

Truth be told, still workshopping the Noble Phantasm, but it's fine, it's out there as a concept. It's a lot like Antares Snipe though, I guess? Because I did want to lean into the Greek and Constellation side of things and just. Oh well. Originally, though, I was going to make Chiron and Chariclo one Servant, and then have their Noble Phantasm be Chariclo's ("Lifeblood of Mount Pelion") but then split them up because idk I enjoy hell. They're both casters though, because I refuse to put more Rulers into the already bloated Ruler cast.

I do not have voice lines at the moment despite the fact that I have all of Chariclo and all of Agravain's finished lol

Taglist Form or feel free to ask me to get tagged (just DM!):

@jedifisto @spaceydragons @purgetrooperfox @spacerocksarethebestrocks @insanelytomato @babygirljoelmiller @certified-anakinfucker @d3epfriedanger @thecodyagenda @babygirl-leon-kennedy @txtalnyx @jawajawas @ge-ge-ge-ge-genifer

Please tell me if you want to be taken off of the list as this is no longer just Star Wars art

Additional Tags for those who have been interested in Summer Chiron previously (i hope you dont mind):

@300iqprower @bitterrosebrokenspear

#Kiwi Creates #fgo chiron #Chiron #fate chiron #fgo fan singularity #fgo fan event #fgo #fate go #fate grand order #fate #archer of black #FGO Male Swimsuit Event #FGO Male Servant Alt #Eternal Summer Stage (Fan Event)#Gonna take a break for a bit in terms of sprite editing but next is either Chariclo or Li Shuwen perhaps. gotta figure out designs #edit: changed skill 3 gonna give Inhabitant of Mount Pelion to Chariclo

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masterjedilenawrites · 1 year

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Falling For You

This is my gift for the #cloneficgiftexchange, for the lovely @arctrooper69! I'd heard Jesse was the least requested character in this event so I think I have to pick him from your list of options for this prompt! 😁 Poor guy just needs some love...

Please go check out the @cloneficgiftexchange blog for all the other contributions to this great event! Fics are being posted all throughout today (4/8). Spread the love for fandom writers/creators by reblogging!

Jesse x fem!reader | 6.1k words

Content: light angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, injury, pining, fluff, flirting

Prompt: "I know you said you were falling for me but I didn't expect you to actually fall."

Jesse was a huge flirt.

Everyone knew it. He knew it. For reasons you couldn't comprehend, the skilled and strong ARC trooper, with so many good qualities to his name, put an incredible amount of effort into making "huge flirt" his identifying trait. From little winks to obvious showboating, from cute nicknames to devastating pick-up lines, Jesse made his way around the galaxy with nonstop charm.

You'd been amused at first. You'd never known someone so unabashedly flirtatious as him. It was always the highlight of your day to see him saunter up to your desk with a silly eyebrow wiggle or a teasing comment about your glamorous life as an accountant for the GAR. Even seeing him flirt with others made you laugh. Their reactions to him, ranging from bashful giggles to exasperated eye rolls, broke up the monotony of your day like nothing else could. If you'd had to pick back then, you would've said Jesse was your favorite of the clone troopers.

And then one day, he'd crossed a line. Not in an inappropriate way or anything; no, somehow he always managed to be respectful in that regard, even with his more suggestive comments. It was a line that, once crossed, took your feelings into actual "crush" territory. That, you now suspected, was the start of all the misery you currently felt.

He'd called you a hottie. Not the most intimate or special of names, but it had struck a meaningful chord in you.

"Are you kidding? You're a hottie. A total babe. There'd be a line out the door of guys trying to buy you a drink. Right fellas?"

He was responding to an offhand comment you'd made about not being the type of girl to fit in at 79's. Jesse and a few of his brothers were trying to round up a group to visit the clone bar later that night. Maybe the others had agreed with his flattering response, but you hadn't listened beyond that one word.

Hottie.

Not once in your life had anyone described you that way. Hot, sexy... heck, even just attractive... those weren't words anyone associated with you. The few times your appearance was complimented, it was more along the lines of cute. Maybe pretty if you dressed up a bit. You'd spent your whole adult life up to this moment believing you were undesirable to the opposite sex. Jesse changed your mind.

And after that, he was the only man you had eyes for.

His flirting stirred something different in you. It was a mixture of both pleasant tingles and sour pain. Pleasant when his comments were directed toward you. You ate it up, not bothering to hide your blushes as it only egged him on. You wanted his attentions, as much as you could wring out. And sour when he approached others with the same moves. You didn't just want his attention; you wanted all of it. Seeing him make someone else blush and laugh reminded you of all your insecurities, all the ways you knew you were inferior. You wavered back and forth between loving Jesse and all his charms, and hating how quick he was to just give it away so freely.

The 501st had been back on Coruscant for R&R an almost two full weeks now. Plenty of time to send you spiraling. You saw Jesse almost everywhere you went. In the mess hall, in random hallways, at your own desk because apparently it got good sunlight in the afternoons and he cared about that sort of thing.... The only place you could find reprieve was your living quarters, where you found yourself crumpling into bed with emotional exhaustion each evening.

Even when you didn't see Jesse you still heard about him. All of your friends and colleagues around the base were chattering about whatever smooth compliment he'd paid them that day. There was an ongoing debate in the accounting office over who the sexiest clone was, and your ears couldn't help but turn red every time you heard someone arguing for Jesse. And it was guaranteed you'd hear some story over the caf machine about his moves on the dance floor at 79's the night before. You often scurried away before you could catch any further details, like whether he took anyone home with him. Even if it meant you never got to make your caf the way you liked it.

It was ridiculous how crazy this guy was making you. You were convinced he'd only called you a hottie because you felt sorry for you. Right? How else could he put you in the same category of all these other people who were clearly so much better looking. But sometimes, just for a few minutes in the morning, you'd look in the mirror and pretend you were attractive to him, and this lovely feeling of butterflies washed over you. It was the best feeling, to think that someone like him, Jesse, could want you.

And so you'd carry that light and fuzzy feeling around until you inevitably heard another bar story or saw him flash a smile to some random civvie, and then you'd come crashing down in insecurities all over again.

Just when you were considering maybe seeking some professional help, you found yourself crossing his path just outside the training rooms.

"Whoa!" Jesse exclaimed as you both rounded the same corner and almost collided. He quickly reached out to grasp your shoulders and keep you from falling over. His chest, you immediately noticed, as it was mere inches from your face, was bare and dripping in sweat.

"Easy there, cutie," he chuckled, the first to recover from the surprise.

Cutie. A far cry from being hot. You shuffled back and mumbled an apology, finding it difficult to meet his eyes. Equally difficult was not staring at his shimmering muscles. Your eyes flitted around, searching for something else to fixate on instead.

"What are you doing down here? I thought you said accountants didn't work out. Something about your bodies only being a transport for your heads?" He gave another chuckle and started dabbing his face with a towel. You were surprised he'd remembered that joke you'd made months ago.

"Oh, um..." You were still awkwardly looking around the hallway and it took you an embarrassing amount of time to remember why you were there. "Yeah no, I was uh, meeting with a manufacturer. Had to get some quotes to replace some of the exercise equipment."

Jesse's face lit up just as your eyes flicked to his. Your stomach twisted pleasantly.

"We're getting new equipment? Finally! Half my workout is just trying to get the kriffing treadmill to turn on."

"We'll see," you quickly tried to warn him from getting his hopes up. "It's not cheap, and with the increases in spending for munitions this quarter, there's not a whole lot of funds left to allocate for things like this. I'll have to make a pitch to shift some assets around, or possibly delay that upgrade to the... what?"

You noticed Jesse was chuckling again.

"Oh I love it when you talk budgets to me, sweetheart."

You could feel your cheeks heating up. You weren't sure how to respond, which seemed to amuse Jesse even further. He playfully swatted the towel toward your side as he started to go past you, ready to move on to wherever he'd been headed before.

"Hey, you doing anything later? You know, after you're done with all those funds and assets and whatever?"

You turned to see him walking slowly backward, waiting for your answer. Was he asking you out or merely making chitchat? It didn't seem like a casual offer, or an afterthought, though you couldn't be sure.

"Um, depends." It was your default line anytime someone asked about your availability. Vague enough and non-committal in either direction. You never got trapped into plans you didn't want to be part of, and you were never impolite about it.

"Depends?" he quirked his eyebrow and stopped walking. "Well aren't you a coy one. Didn't realize I'd need to impress you so much."

You weren't sure how to respond to that either. You were all sorts of tongue tied and you were still doing a poor job of not checking out his chest.

"Okay, okay, hear me out," he went on, not seeming too put out by your response. "I know you're not into the bar scene, but there's gonna be this local band at 79's tonight... they do more acoustics and vocals, so, you know, it'll be pretty low key. And a lot of the guys are set on getting tattoos tonight which means it won't be as crowded. I don't know, figured you might be more into that?"

"And... this would be... with you?"

For the first time, you started to see cracks in Jesse's confidence. Just barely. Hairline fractures. Subtle enough to fool anyone who wasn't paying attention, but as evident to you as if they were your own. Jesse cleared his throat and slung the towel over his shoulder, trying to play it off.

"I mean, yeah. If you wanted to. I just have tonight, we finally got our next deployment and it'll be a while so... well, you know, just wanted to spend my last night here with some good company."

This time you did know how to respond, but for some reason your voice wouldn't cooperate. You wanted to holler Yes! and jump for joy, wrap your arms around his neck and give him a smooch. ARC trooper Jesse, the debonair soldier, the only man you had eyes for, was asking for your company.

You heard your name followed by a Hellooo? and suddenly there was a hand waving in front of your face.

"I'm trying to ask you out, girl. You gotta give me something here!" Jesse laughed, and the warmth in his smile brought you back to reality.

"Yes," you breathed, and then swallowed and said more clearly, "yes, of course! I... I would love to."

"Really?"

You nodded enthusiastically. Jesse made a little fist pump.

"Yes! You had me worried for a second there." He started walking backwards again. "But okay, cool. Um, I gotta clean up, and then we got a few mission briefings. Let's meet there at, say... 5? Happy hour, so first round can be on me."

He winked and you giggled, feeling your cheeks heat up again.

"5 o'clock," you confirmed.

"Can't wait, beautiful!" he called over his shoulder as he finally turned around skipped through the fresher door at the end of the hall.

* * *

The rest of your day went by at an agonizing pace, but you finally got off work and could have a little moment of celebration in your quarters, complete with squealing into your pillow and dancing all around. You didn't have too much time to get ready, which ended up being a blessing as you would have surely spent hours cycling through various outfit combinations. You were able to pick the first outfit that came to your mind - cute, comfortable, and very you - without doubting or changing your mind. You spent the rest of your time taming your hair and calming your nerves.

Your anxieties only crept in occasionally, asking such annoying questions as whether you were the only one he'd asked out like this during his time off, or whether he would've found a way to ask you even had you not run into him in the halls.

But there had been joy in his smiles, relief in those tense and deliciously muscular shoulders when you'd agreed. He'd seemed so genuine. How could you worry about whether you were good enough when he'd very clearly asked you out?

So you shoved those pesky thoughts to the side, in a way you hadn't known how to do earlier when there were so many unknowns and uncertainties about the situation. Jesse liked you, he wanted to spend time with you before leaving. That was that.

You got to 79's only a few minutes early and placed yourself comfortably at the bar to wait. He'd been right, it was not crowded or boisterous at all. There were still plenty of people, clones and civvies alike, but enough booths were still open that you wouldn't have trouble finding somewhere to really relax once Jesse showed up.

You gave him about twenty minutes without worry. His meetings could've run long, or the Coruscanti traffic could've held him up. No big deal. You asked for a water from the bartender so you didn't seem rude, and patiently sipped through it while you scrolled on your datapad to pass the time.

As 5:30 drew nearer, though, you began to get concerned. Was he okay? You cursed yourself for not asking for his number, just in case. You glanced around the bar, wishing someone from his troop was here so you could ask. You decided to chance talking to an older, bearded clone who sat just a few seats from you.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to know anyone from the 501st, would you?"

The clone nodded back with a little laugh. "I know some. The ARC troopers, anyway. They're regulars. Doesn't look like they're showing up tonight though. Were you wanting to meet them?"

"Well, I had a date with one. Jesse. I guess he's running a little late. Wasn't sure how to get ahold of him, make sure he's okay."

The clone's eyes narrowed.

"Jesse? Huh, didn't picture him for the dating type. Well, anyway, maybe you're right, just running late. Here, let me order you a drink while you wait."

Now you felt awkward. Silly. Just a silly little girl, sipping a silly little cocktail, waiting for a silly little date she was probably too excited for to begin with. That was always the danger, wasn't it? Get your hopes up too high and it hurts that much more when they come back down.

5:30 turned into 6. Couples passed by, filling up seats around the band that had finally started playing. Clones came up to the bar to order, passing you a pitying look before taking their drinks back to their pretty dates.

6:05. What if he had meant 6? What if you had mis-remembered the time? No, you were pretty sure he'd mentioned happy hour, and there were signs all over the bar about that hour being from 5 to 6.

6:10. Whatever you would've found to do on your datapad had you stayed home for the evening didn't seem to exist now that you were here. You fiddled with a napkin, folding and unfolding until it was falling apart.

6:15. You started thinking about what time you should call it quits and head home. Was it weird you hadn't left by now? Should you have tried harder to get ahold of him sooner?

6:17.

"Hey beautiful! Oh good, you got a drink." Jesse was suddenly by your side, draping an arm around your back and placing a quick peck to the side of your head. He then leaned forward to catch the bartender's attention, not seeing your look of incredulity. Behind him was another trooper, one of the 501st medics, who gave you a polite nod but otherwise looked too grumpy to be there.

"Sorry I'm late, Kix here was moping in the med bay and I had to literally drag his ass off the floor to get him over here."

Jesse was all smiles as he leaned an elbow on the bar and finally took a look at you. He whistled.

"Damn, you look great!"

You were momentarily speechless. You didn't know what to make of this. The casual apology for his tardiness, the fact he'd brought someone else along. But then a couple beers were placed on the counter and he swept them up, nodding his head toward the wall of booths in the back.

"Come on, let's find some seats!"

You hesitated only for a moment before getting up to follow. He'd finally shown up. The evening wouldn't be a total waste. You could talk to him about it later, and definitely make sure to swap numbers so this wouldn't happen again.

Jesse and Kix slid into opposite sides of an empty booth in the far corner, positioned slightly behind where the band was set up so there wasn't a great view. Jesse patted the seat next to him for you to join and gave you another dazzling smile as you slid in.

"You really do look great," he said in a low voice by your ear, making you blush and conjuring up memories of that time he'd called you a hottie. He had his arm along the back of the booth, just behind your head, and you could feel the warmth radiating off him from such a close position.

"Thanks, so do you," you whispered back. He laughed and shook his head, but you meant it. He had a blue sort of vest over his blacks that made him look fit and clean. He also smelled nice and it took all your willpower not to lean in to take a big whiff.

"Hey, lighten up, grouchy pants," Jesse called over to Kix, who was glaring into his beer like it had personally offended him. Jesse raised his own beer in a salute. "This is way better than crying on the floor."

"I wasn't crying on the floor," Kix huffed. "And how is this better? I can't even see the band from here."

"Music's meant to be listened to anyway," Jesse shrugged him off.

"What's his deal?" you asked.

Jesse rolled his eyes. "Some girl he liked made fun of his tattoo idea and now he won't get one."

"I shaved my head for it and everything," Kix lamented.

You held back a snicker. You wished you could ask Jesse why his brother's woes meant he needed to join your date. But not only did you not want to seem rude, but the band switched to a new song that had a faster tempo and for some reason the volume also increased as a result. You were having a hard time hearing your own thoughts; conversation with Jesse would be even more tricky.

The next hour passed in an awkward blur. Jesse flagged down a waitress to refill your cocktail, calling her all the same names he'd been calling you today. Sweetheart, cutie... You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Two more rounds came after that, and you gladly downed each drink just to give yourself something to do. You tried asking him a few questions to get to know him better, but he'd end up turning his answer into some kind of a joke. Most of them were pretty funny, but after a while you got frustrated that he wasn't actually sharing anything with you. He did try to maintain a few conversations, but it was hard to keep things flowing when the band alternated between soft, twinkly instrumentals, and noisy, upbeat rock vocals. And then there was Kix, who had taken up sketching new tattoo ideas on napkins and would ask every five minutes to give your opinions on them.

And then the rest of the 501st piled in, proudly showing off their new ink around the club. Jesse seemed delighted to see them and waived them over, much to your disappointment. He pulled at your arm to get you to slide further into the booth with him, making room for a few clones to slip in, clunky armor and all.

"What you do think?" Hardcase stood at the head of the booth, unabashedly holding up his shirt to reveal a continuation of the blue lines on his head down across his torso.

A chorus of opinions and stories erupted. Fives was trying to reenact Hardcase's squeals as he'd gotten tattooed. Rex was trying to get the clone to pull his shirt back down. Several were ragging on Kix for not joining. And Jesse was laughing hysterically through it all.

You loved to see him so happy, you really did. And maybe it was just the four drinks that were now messing with your head, but you couldn't shake how out of place you felt, sitting in a booth surrounded by clone troopers on what was supposed to be a date between you and Jesse. You had nothing to contribute, no reason for them to pay you any attention. You sat in the middle of a group of people you barely knew, feeling more alone than you had when you'd been waiting at the bar.

Just as you were wondering how you could possibly get out of the booth without making a scene, Kix finally caved in to Fives's nagging about getting his original tattoo idea after all, and the whole lot collectively shimmied out of the booth. You felt Jesse's hand on your elbow, guiding you out. You turned to him once you were both standing.

"Are we really going to a tattoo parlor now?" you asked, hoping he'd see how badly you didn't want to be part of this plan.

"It'll be quick. I think there's an ice cream place near too, we can go there when we're done."

He flashed a reassuring grin and it almost gave you a little bit of hope back. You couldn't remember if you'd ever told him you loved ice cream or if it was a lucky guess. But when you tried to ask if you could just hang out at the ice cream place while the others went for more tattoos, Jesse had already turned to jump on Kix and give him a hard time about crying in the med bay again.

Your ears were ringing from a combination of alcohol, loud music, and annoyance. You couldn't take it anymore. You stepped aside from the group and just gazed at the man who had supposedly wanted your company, and now seemed more content to be in the company of others.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to see Rex, looking over you with concern. "Are you alright? You don't look so good. Do you want us to take you home to rest?"

You shook your head, all you could manage in response at first. Tears had suddenly sprung into your eyes, you weren't sure why. Maybe because it was the first time someone had offered to do something you wanted tonight.

"Are you sure? I can get you some water or...."

"No, thank you," you finally found your words. "I can get myself home. I'll be fine."

"We can take you..."

"No, really, I'm fine. Just, tell Jesse I'll see him tomorrow before he leaves, okay?"

You hurried off before he could offer any further help, and before you would be caught with tears down your cheeks. You didn't want to make a scene, you didn't want to ruin Jesse's fun. But you didn't get far before the clone was calling your name, grasping the back of your arm and turning you to face him.

"Hey, what's the matter, sweetheart?"

If he hadn't used a nickname, you might have tried to play it off. But you remembered distinctly, even in the midst of your intoxication, the last person he'd called a sweetheart was the waitress in the busty crop top. Something in you snapped.

"Am I a joke to you?"

And there they were, those small cracks in his confidence, reemerging and widening before your eyes. Realization pulled the edges apart more and more as you spoke.

"You made me wait for over an hour. Do you know how ridiculous I felt, sitting at that bar all by myself, wondering what time meant you didn't actually care? And then you did finally come, and not only did I barely get an apology, and definitely no acknowledgement of how much my time you wasted without good reason, but I also didn't even get a proper date. I had to sit through all your flirting, only it wasn't directed at me, but to another woman who's paid to pretend your jokes are funny. You didn't answer any of my questions about yourself. You didn't even ask if I wanted a different drink, you just kept ordering the same one. The music also sucks, by the way. And now we're headed off to hang out with your brothers, people you see every day? While I'm the one you're going to leave tomorrow when you deploy?"

You weren't shouting, and somehow you'd even managed to hold in most of your tears, but your exasperated rant did have the intended affect of making Jesse feel like shit. You could see it written all over him. Remorseful eyes, pleading hands on yours, mouth opening and closing in a desperate attempt to find the words to make things right.

"And you know what really sucks?" you continued, feeling your speech start to slur a bit more in your emotional exhaustion. "I do still like you, Jesse. In fact, I think I've fallen for you. You're normally so good, so attentive and... and... simply wonderful. I just don't understand why you couldn't be that way tonight. For me."

Something dawned on you, something you'd suspected before, all those times you caught him flirting around the base with everyone he came across. Those insecurities found their way back to the surface and claimed their victory.

"It's because it's me, isn't it?" you choked. "You don't really care for me, do you?"

The tears were definitely going to fall now. You could hear him saying your name, you could feel him gripping your hands more firmly, but just then the rest of the 501st went marching by, oblivious to the moment you two were caught in, hollering after Jesse to get his ass out the door before they kicked it. It was distraction enough for you to slip out of his grasp and make a beeline for the refreshers.

The ladies room was on the second floor, a narrow flight of stairs serving as the only barrier between you and your chosen hideout. Unfortunately, it created the perfect storm. You were halfway up, alcohol complicating your ability to balance, tears clouding your vision, and apparently at some point earlier in the evening, someone had left a nice puddle of their insides on one of the steps.

You heard your name being called from behind, startling you, just as your foot made contact with the vomit. You turned, slipped, and next think you knew, you were tumbling painfully down the steps. Later, you'd be grateful that you were unconscious by the time you reached the bottom, crumpled on the floor beneath the only man you had eyes for.

* * *

You regained consciousness with a splitting headache and a heavy heart. You remembered everything almost immediately.

It took a few moments for your vision to swim back into focus, revealing a curtained-off corner of the med bay where you were laid on a gurney with a thin blanket draped over your frame. You could tell you weren't wearing the same clothes from before based on the odd, stiff texture you felt against your skin. Possibly a medical gown? One of your arms was also hooked up to an IV, the monitor glowing faintly off to the side.

In front of you, in what little space was left between the bed and wall, was Jesse, pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. He was clearly in distress, wringing the edge of his shirt and looking for all the world like he was waiting for news on whether you'd live or die.

As conflicted as you still felt about your first date with him, you figured you'd better put him out of his misery.

"It's not that bad, is it?" you croaked out.

The clone wasted no time in rushing to your side, trading his shirt for your free hand, grasping it so tightly you winced. His palms were sweaty.

"No, no Kix said you were going to be fine," Jesse reassured. "Just a cut on your head, there, above your eye."

You touched at the indicated spot, feeling a short row of stitches along your eyebrow.

"And a few bruises on your back," he added. Made sense why you were now in a medical gown, they had to check for further damage. "And the IV is for your hangover.

You groaned. "Well if this isn't the most embarrassing thing I've done..."

Jesse made a sort of gasping laugh, like he was surprised to remember there was humor in the galaxy. "Yeah. I know you said you were falling for me but I didn't expect you to actually fall."

You glared over at him, but only for a moment. He was a deer in headlights, waiting to see if his attempt to lighten the mood had gone too far. You started laughing, a silent laugh that still shook your chest enough to hurt. You went back to groaning.

"You know I'm still upset with you."

"I know, I know," Jesse hurried to affirm. He scooted a chair over to be closer and looked up at you with those soft, brown, desperate eyes you'd last seen in the bar. He truly looked miserable. "You have every right to be. The date was a disaster and it was all my fault. I was an idiot, I never meant to make you feel that way."

You nodded but didn't have anything else to say that you hadn't already.

"And for the record, you're not a joke. You're far from it. You're... you're..." He was stuttering, licking his lips as if parched. You'd never seen him - Jesse, the huge flirt - act so unsure of himself, especially when trying to pay a compliment.

He reached for your hand again but held it more gently this time, more reverently. He studied it, as if the words he needed were written on your skin. "It is you, but not in that way you thought. It's always been you. For me. But I guess I did a piss poor job of making sure you knew that tonight."

He flicked his eyes back up to yours, questioning, cautious.

"So..." you tried to wrap your head around what he was confessing. "All those things you've said, about how I looked, and how smart I am... all that. You meant it?"

"Of course I did." Jesse gave you a small but sincere smile.

"But... you've said all those things to other people, too. Did you mean it to them?"

His smiled fainted as he thought about your question and what his flatteries looked like from your perspective. He bowed his head for a moment before looking back up at you. "I just want people to feel good about themselves. One of my first experiences off of Kamino, I came across this woman who'd lost her husband, and that wasn't something we were prepared for. All the ways the war actually hurt people. But then I started talking about her hair and how it looked like silk, and she just lit up. And I don't know, I guess I got addicted, making other people feel good like that. You never know what someone else may be going through. They can be smiling and still need that little pick-me-up, you know?"

Your gaze never wavered from him as he spoke. This was more than you ever knew about the man, and you couldn't deny how it made your chest feel simultaneously tense and mushy.

"And yeah, maybe I lay it on a little thicker sometimes when I'm actually interested for myself, you know, not just making someone's day better. And you don't know who may fire back until you shoot your shot. But I'd always hoped it'd be you. That's why I never gave up, even when everyone told me to. They said you weren't interested. I thought you were just shy."

"I am," you whispered, suddenly self conscious. It was clear now that the soldier had frequented the accounting office more than he had any other reason to, that it was not the only office to get good sun in the afternoons if that was truly his excuse.

"I wish you'd told me," you added. "This is the sort of thing I was trying to learn about you earlier."

Jesse's rueful eyes returned. "Ah, yes, on the worst date in history, brought to you by this dummy."

"It wasn't the worst. Bad, yes, but sadly I have been on worse."

Jesse didn't seem comforted by that. He shook his head. "Would it surprise you to know I, uh... I've never been on a date?"

You blinked at him in surprise.

"Not that that's any excuse," he quickly added.

"Right, but, you didn't know what to do." You felt like you were starting to understand him more. "You did what you knew. What you were comfortable with."

"I kept making jokes because I thought if you weren't laughing then you weren't having a good time. I kept ordering the same drink because I didn't know you might want something else, I thought that was what you wanted and I wanted to..."

"You wanted to make me happy."

"And you wanted to feel special."

You gazed at each other for a long moment, exchanging looks of regret and realization. It was an unfortunate evening, but probably not avoidable. There had been enough misunderstanding from both of you that would've always led you to the same moment. You couldn't have known how the other felt, what they wanted, where they were coming from, until you'd gotten to know each other. And you couldn't have gotten to know each other without the misalignments being revealed.

He was the first to speak again, still feeling miserable about the whole thing. "I was late. I could've at least got that right. I lose track of time, sometimes. I don't know why."

He hung his head but you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze to show him you were okay, and he relaxed in your grip in return, giving you a relieved, though still sheepish, smile.

"I wish you weren't leaving tomorrow," you said quietly. "I feel like we need a do-over on our date now."

Jesse perked up. "What do you mean? This first one's not over yet! There's still time to redeem it."

You looked about the room. "Doesn't seem very romantic. No food. No music. I'm in a tacky gown."

"Nonsense, you look hot."

Jesse held up a finger and ducked behind the curtain. He was gone for only a minute, but your cheeks were still flushed by the time he got back.

"What, you like that one? Hot?" he grinned.

You looked shyly away but still gave a nod.

"Noted."

He had a handful of what looked to be protein bars and a datapad that he deposited onto the bed beside you.

"Food, aaand..." he tapped a few times on the pad until some sort of lo-fi jazz started playing, "... music."

You giggled. "You stole these from Kix, didn't you?"

"His office is in the next room," Jesse laughed with you. "I know it's not glamorous and you deserve a much better do-over from me, but..."

"It's perfect," you whispered, grabbing his hand again. "There is one thing, though."

"Yeah?" he asked eagerly.

"Well, this cut on my head is kind of hurting. Maybe you could... kiss it better?"

You couldn't believe the words that were coming out of your mouth, but you knew with Jesse they'd be received well. And boy did his face light up.

He wasted no time in leaning over you, carefully placing a hand by your side to brace himself, and bringing the other up to cradle the opposite side of your face. His breath ghosted over the stitched up cut, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. Then he finally planted his lips softly over it, letting them linger for a few seconds before pulling back.

"What other names do you like?" he asked, his voice low but tinged with a sort of playfulness that kept the mood light in the midst of these more intimate gestures. "We'll take them off the table for anyone else. They'll only belong to you."

He'd sat himself down next to you and was now lifting up the hand with the IV. You watched, enamored as he brought it toward his lips.

"I like sweetheart," you breathed.

He kissed just above where the IV was taped, a smile behind his action. "Sweetheart. What else?"

"Beautiful."

"I meant, what else is injured so I can kiss it?" he teased. You used your hand to swat at him, even though it hurt a little, and he laughed.

"There were bruises on your back right?" he pretended to lift your gown and you swatted again, this time with your good hand.

"That sort of behavior is for the second date, sir," you laughed. "Or maybe the third or fourth. We'll see."

Jesse brought a pair of protein bars around and made a mock salute with you. "To future dates, then, beautiful."

~ ~ ~

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cloudninetonine · 11 months

Text

The Hero of the Oracles, was a man that radiated optimism. Despite his pig-like appearance, being the following Ganon of King and the preceding of Famine (not that he didn’t look to the brighter side, but he certainly didn’t radiate it) he was one of the more welcoming Ganons from within the group.

A contrast to your familiar pinky hero- Oracle kept a more positive view on things: to him there was always a solution to any problem, to him there was never any need to fret because to him, everything else was already so much better than what he had faced decades ago.

Similar to the villain Ganon, Oracle was originally a thief after losing his parents to only the goddess knew what at such a young age. He had to fend for himself, he was alone for so long before his first adventure had even begun and he had told you all this quietly amongst the flames of the campfire when you struggled to sleep on one of the many nights that your horrid memories seemed to crawl into your dreams and stain them with terrors beyond you imagination. He didn’t leave out the details and he didn’t sugarcoat any of what he told you- his honesty was nice in a way. These men weren’t perfect. They weren’t even on the side of light, they still served the God Demise and they were only the heroes to keep the balance as their Hylia seemed to strive for “Purification” in her eyes, anyway.

You had decided to tag her as ‘Martinet’, as it perfectly described just how worse she seemed to be.

It seemed the OG Hylia wasn’t all the bad anymore.

Oracle liked to knit, and sew, and crochet, and so much more of the textiles arts you had almost lost count. A thing similar to Legend, Oracle had grown an attachment to the arts after having to repair garments one too many times while on the road. It was a useful skill. A skill that he enjoyed, so it wasn’t rare to see him working on his own little project in the quieter moments- he had even sewed some pretty flowers into your tunic after seeing all the tears!

It was his peace offering at your bumpy beginning.

Oracle couldn’t go into town. Neither could Famine, or Betzalel, or Power or Pestilence- when you looked like a hulking moblin it would make sense to avoid towns like the plague, if you were in a group of moblin looking bastards you knew it would only end bad for you to ever step near civilization. So it made sense, the men staying at the camp to take care of everything while the other men strolled through the people for the journey’s supplies.

You were clutching carefully at Tide’s coat, like a child with his mother, attached at the hip. He didn’t mind though. The man preferred it actually, able to keep a better eye on your smaller form in the crowds- you were so “small” after all, was what Tide argued and, well, he wasn't wrong.

Didn’t stop you from trying to fight him about it.

These moments did give you time to glance around the area. Eyes rolling over the stalls in the markets, ranging from everyday food to magical items for daily use. What an interesting sight it was. Never in your life would you have ever expected to hear a salesman screaming about his “magic wares- good for the husband for his upcoming travel!” What kind of magic item was it? A protection ring? Blessed weapon? Leaning in a little, you tried to spot just what the guy was speaking about.

Only to be tugged along with Tide as he moved to the next stall. Following obediently, you made quick haste in order to keep up with the giant’s massive strides-

When a stall caught your attention.

Your pause also had the older man stopping, not that your strength did anything but simply due your lacking grip when you turned to face the stall with the assortment of fabrics and crafting materials.

“My child?” He edged closer to the table also, looking over the stock with mild interest. “Is there something that interests you?”

The clerk, a Rito woman, chuckled lightly before her wing gently brushed the table over what you were looking at- the glowing blue fur that dazzled in the light of the evening sun.

“It seems you have grown a likeness to our blupee fur.” At your aghast expression she tutted playfully, “Come now, don’t think of me so cruelly! I would never kill such a beautiful creature! Not that I think there is a possible way to as such….these furs where shaven.”

You looked over them carefully, your hand gently moving over the material- this was reason blupee fur, you could feel the familiar magic of the mountain lord buzz in your hand. “You were able to shave a blupee?”

The bird woman laughed once again, “Me? Goddess no- my father, however, has his own secrets on taming the creatures. The magic of the furs allows for the greatest luck with rupees, adjusts for the environments and blessed with protection”

“Really?”

“Yes, the Lord of the Mountain does flow through each and every one of the creatures.”

You hesitated slightly with your next words, “When you say protection, you mean projection against evil….right?”

Tide’s hand came to gently rest on your back, a gentle reminder that he was here and whatever fear that currently tried to fight to your heart could simply buzz off.

The clerk looked sympathetic, “The furs are known to help in moments of panic, be it against evil or simply lost on a path, the magic will be there to aid you.”

It was certainly promising. As much as you didn’t want to part with your beloved cloak (a gift from Wild- your Wild, a reminder that one day you would return to them, at least you hoped you did…) it was definitely time for an upgrade. And an upgrade that could be handy if you have to deal with….them again, you could take that over sentimental value.

“I’m going to guess these furs do not come cheap?” Tide joked, pulling out his rupee pouch.

“500 rupees is the lowest I would go.”

“I’ve got it.” Tide watched as you pulled out your own coin pouch, balancing 3 silver rupees with a small handful of purples following, “Is there any other fabric that goes good with the blupee fur? Magical or not?”

“Hold on, I have a small deal that comes with the fur- discounts for such lovely customers.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Returning later than evening, Nature had started on dinner as soon as you had all settled down. Priming the pastry top for a nice smelling pie with the goods he had gathered from the market. Your stomach rumbled for the dish, the fire alluring you towards where it cooked on the gentle fire- but it would still take time for such to be ready to feast upon.

Which is why you used the time to approach Oracle, talking animatedly to Famine who listened to his younger self quietly, eyes focused on polish his weapon- his chopped ears twitching in a way which showed his was listening.

“Uh, Oracle.” The two giants faced you, Oracle with interest and Famine in acknowledgment, “Could-...could I ask a favour?”

“Of course!” He replied, lightly with mirth (You didn’t understand how such a kind giant could come from King, but then again King would have been the equivalent to an angsty teen with all his counterparts. “What is it you require? Does it have something to do with the fabrics laid in your hands?”

You felt heat run up your neck, your hands shakily moving towards him “I- I was wondering if you could make me a new cloak?”

“A new one? Put your one this moment is perfect! Why do you wish to part from it?”

You hesitate.

There was a constant fear that nagged right at the back of your mind. Always there, fleeting but present- it would probably never leave you for as long as you continued to live. But maybe, just maybe, there would be a way to hide from it. This cloak was your answer, promised protection from what in the shadows of Hyrule, both monster and not. You needed this, not wanted, but needed to feel safer, even with a placebo effect.

“I don’t want to…I need to.”

Oracle paused, as did Famine. The two shared a look, eyes reflecting a similar look of concern as you continued on.

“The woman at the shop said it’s guaranteed protection and I need- I just- Ganon can you please just-”

A large hand came to rest upon your head, like a giant sun and casting a shadow in your vision that almost blinded you before your locks were ruffled.

“If it is truly needed then I will happily make you another cloak.” Taking the the materials he looked over them in interest, whistling lowly “Such rich fabrics- it must have cost you an ear or two.”

“....are you sure you’ll be able to make it? Do you need other tools?”

“You doubt my skills?” he joked, going through his bag to pull out some items you did not recognise, “I could create the most majestic of cloth with my eyes closed, my dear, there isn’t a need to worry.”

…you trust him, why would he lie after all?

Walking closer, you move to sit next to the man but Famine tugs you into your arms and places you right on his shoulders instead. It’s your seat now, if you’re not walking with the men your on one of their shoulders- they didn’t mind though. Your weight to them was like a empty rucksack over their shoulders, weighing almost nothing on the expanse of their build.

Crossing your arms, you laid them to rest upon the head of Famine as you watched Oracles hands move- skilled and precise.

In the following few days you would have a new cloak, dazzling in the sunlight and just the added protection to what stalked you in the burrows of the bush. It would not laid rest the fear that kept true to you but at least you would have that added relief to it all.

Oracle’s hands moved so smoothly.

#linked universe x reader #linked universe imagine #linked universe #lu #player au #a player's aid #mess au

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honeycollectswhump · 6 months

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Can we get any insight into Ashtray's conditioning/training, or maybe Mistress trying many different types of cigarettes to compare the taste (and how they burn him differently)? He's my new favorite little guy :)

congrats, you unlocked some lore! i hope you enjoy the little hints about who ashtray used to be :)

A Step Towards Ashtray

[masterlist]

CW: isolation, captivity, emotional distress, cigarette burn, implied pet whump

Behind the heavy, metal door there is a young man, though legally that description would be wrong. Behind the door, there is a future companion object, handpicked to satisfy his potential buyers in any way possible. But then again, right now he is barely at the start of his journey to becoming a perfect companion object, so Eskil Thorn just calls him a trainee, his trainee.

It had been quite the odyssey over the past two weeks or so, watching the trainee scream and claw at the door, sobbing a certain name. Of course, that did nothing to help him. Eskil knows the recipe to the perfect start is letting the trainees simmer in isolation for a bit before introducing them to their future purpose. Now that the screaming has finally stopped, maybe from exhaustion or his voice giving out, it’s a sign for Eskil to start the process.

Stepping inside, he takes in the sight before him. The trainee is curled on the floor –like a feral dog– staring at him with red-rimmed but beautifully big blue eyes. Bits of ripped-out hair lay around him and Eskil makes a mental note to nip that behaviour in the bud. His golden-blond hair is one of the trainee's assets, which will eventually put him in a high price range and Eskil can’t let him ruin that.

“Are you ready for your lesson?”

The trainee nods frantically.

“Please, sir, anything! I– I can’t– please!” he rasps, inching forward to Eskil.

If he were any other designation, Eskil would love the begging. It’s always a sweet surprise when the trainees exhibit these behaviours early on. Unfortunately however, that won’t be a necessary skill for him, though it is undeniably a promising start.

With shaking hands, the trainee grasps onto Eskil’s pants, his eyes shining with tears. “Don’t leave me alone, sir, please!”

Perfect.

“Sure, I’ll stay with you for a while. But you have to do something for me first.”

See, where the other handlers try to force it, Eskil lets his trainees take their first steps on their own. And to get them motivated, isolation works wonders.

The trainee is basically vibrating with desperation. It’s not his first lesson. He doesn’t beg to be let out anymore, not since they shocked his signature out of him, and he’s given up on insisting on “his name”. Instead, it is a sort of resigned despair that makes him perfectly malleable.

“Wh-what do you want me to do?”

With a smile, Eskil pulls out a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. Something warm prickles in his chest as he looks at the lighter, a gift from his wife, decorated with small doodles. Slowly, he lights the cigarette and takes a single drag, watching smoke fill the room.

He sits down, his legs crossed, and lets himself be warily watched by the trainee. They stay like that in silence, Eskil sitting patiently, the trainee kneeling on all fours before him like a dog, seemingly undecided between wanting to lean away in suspicion and throwing himself in Eskil’s lap.

Then, he holds out the burning cigarette, inching it closer to the trainee, who just blinks uncomprehendingly. Maybe his future purpose is still beyond his understanding, Eskil supposes.

“Come on, give me your arm, will you.”

The trainee flinches and gawks at him with those big blue eyes, his lip twitching as he suppresses a cough.

“Why?” he whispers, his eyes fixating on the cigarette. Still, he doesn’t move away from Eskil’s vicinity.

“Oh,” Eskil chuckles, “I think you know exactly what for. Now, don’t you want to be a good boy? It’ll be worth it, it’ll all be worth it in the end, I promise.”

Eskil just watches the trainee’s shocked expression morph between conflicting emotions. The promised touch is like a drug in his starved and isolated state. Until eventually, the trainee nods, defeated. He holds out his arm as if he could choose.

Deliberately, Eskil moves the cigarette bud closer and closer to his shoulder. The trainee only tenses up, flinching away from the heat, but makes no move to flee.

The cigarette makes contact with his skin and he lets out a strangled yelp, eyes flitting to Eskil’s face, as if trying to figure out if this noise would be enough to make Eskil leave.

Ash spreads over the trainee’s pale skin. There is barely a mark beneath it yet, but it will come in time—his first burn blister of hopefully many.

Satisfied, Eskil flicks the extinguished cigarette to the side and opens his arms. After a breath of hesitation Eskil pretends not to notice, the trainee flings himself into his embrace, his chest hitching with silent sobs.

He claws into Eskil’s shirt with a feral need that goes beyond the two weeks of isolation, beyond the acclimation period after the walk-in. Maybe he sees something in him, some sort of figure he lost and whose comfort he secretly grieved. It is all out in the open now, the trainee’s soul ripped fresh open for the world to see. A brief burst of vulnerability, soon to be replaced by perfect obedience.

Suddenly, hesitantly, the trainee raises his head from Eskil’s shoulder, catching his gaze with immense sorrow.

“Sir? What… what will happen to my little brother? N-now that he’s all alone and he’s never been alone, I’ve always been there for him and he’s–”

Eskil shushes him softly, laying one hand on the back of the trainee’s head.

“There’s no my for you anymore, never forget that. But I’m sure he’ll manage.”

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox, @clickerflight let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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notknickers · 8 months

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in the last few days, i have been rotating the big austrian lad in my head relentlessly and, even though i may change my mind about some of these, or have mutually exclusive headcanons cohexist in different renditions of him, i feel like he is starting to take more deifinite shape in my mind. therefore, i want to write a list of my interpretation and share it, both for personal reference, since i'm juggling two different fics, and as modest contribution to fandom. i'll try to keep things coherent, but...

in spite of the misleading banner, which portrays a silly, cartoonish version of tentakönig i had a lot of fun doodling specially to embellish this post, the following is about human!könig, military contractor. that is just to give an idea of how much he has been bouncing in my skull as if my brain were a trampoline.

♛ he is between forty-two and forty-five years of age;

♛ his untreated social anxiety only increased during his military recruitment and gradually exacerbated into full-on PTSD during his career as contractor; he is afflicted by dissociative episodes, panic attacks and night terrors, as a consequence, which he keeps hidden at any and all cost and manages covertly, sometimes through questionable means;

♛ he is very quiet, pensive and observant. as such, he loathes using more words than he needs to and uses as little as he can, trying to avoid long conversations and small talk alike;

♛ his mask is the only remnant of his pre-military life. he clings to it as a reminder of his own humanity, of the person he used, for good or ill, to be and as acknowledgement of how far he has come from the scrawny, fearful lad he was, even when sometimes, he wishes he would have made different choices;

♛ under his mask, the features on his face are slightly uneven, such as one of his ears, which hangs at a slightly different angle than the other and his left cheekbone, still crooked from a past injury that healed poorly. he also has some deeper disfigurement, the scars of which still remain, less and less visible as time passes, and his lips are ruined. these are the consequence of both maltreatment and bullying during his childhood and adolescence, from both callous peers and neglectful parents, and of injuries incurred on the job. ironically, the worst are not from his military career, however. as such, he barely ever removes his mask, chiefly when alone or on leave.

♛ his hair is light in colour, kept cropped very short as it tends to grow quickly and get matted under his mask and helmet, but beyond the slightly receding hairline typical of men his age, he is nowhere near starting to bald; ♛ his eyes are grey. not blue, nor black. grey. sometimes lighter, sometimes darker, sometimes glittery and glassy, but always grey, according to his state and the light conditions;

♛ even though he is barely average in attractiveness and the presence of keloidal scar tissue, which often ranges from being off-putting to instilling repulsion in others, he is noticeable in size. some would find the mass of packed, rounded muscles in more than 2m rather interesting. however, given that very fact, he probably has or will soon start experiencing heart issues as he ages. realistically, he will probably die younger than his peers, in spite of being in top shape;

♛ his approach is practical and detached: if he's on a rescue mission, that's what he will focus on; what happens afterwards is none of his business, as long as his job is done and he gets recognition remuneration for it. if, on the other hand, civilians or competitors are a liability, he will not hesitate to take care of the situation in the most expedient way, the way that will not impair the status of his mission;

♛ this strong preference for detachment and pragmatism is not to say that he does not take pride in his skills, even though his job is nothing more than a means towards an end, or, well, more than one. namely, a paycheque to live comfortably and never fear poverty or food insecurity again; isolation from people or controlled interactions with predictable scripts, when necessary; the rules that apply, which are different from those of society at large, in which he always struggled and still struggles to fit in;

♛ when engaging the enemy, he is not reckless, but he is beastly and brutal. he displays a sort of controlled berserk mode. he has no particular respect for life and under those specific circumstances, allows himself to delight in carnage. he otherwise appears in control of himself, even though he spends as much time as he can alone, so others only know him so much;

♛ he is not beyond torture, even the disfiguring, excruciating kind, the kind that carries long-lasting, when not permanent effects on body and spirit alike. however, he merely sees it as a means towards an end. he is not the type to waste time threatening and warning: he thinks practical demonstrations are more eloquent that any word. as such, his methods tend more towards the crude, than the sophisticated, but they are equally effective in half the time;

♛ when on leave, he lives frugally and anonymously, barely leaving his abode unless necessary; he lives below his means as a matter of habit, a consequence of his childhood poverty, even when he could afford much, much more;

♛ his modest flat is a pigsty and he likes to leave it like that to break out of the stifling rules and expectations of his job. this is also reflected on his shabby sense of fashion: better to be a practical slob than an elegant buffoon who wastes his hard-earned money on impractical peacocking attires;

♛ whilst true that his height, build and scars attract stares in public, he has become very adept at shutting such rudeness down with one of his strategic, whithering looks. out of combat, he is just some bloke and that is all he cares to be until he is called back from leave;

♛ he compartmentalises a lot his civilian persona from his military persona and, even within his military persona, there are more subdivisions to be found (coold-headed, reserved, collected and calculating vs murderous, bloody and savage in conflict.) to be clear, he is not ashamed of what he does for a living, but his profession also requires a lot of discretion on his part, which makes the compartmentalising already so natural to him an external necessity;

♛ he's a smoker and a drinker: as long as he still performs well on the field, he has no interest in denying himself the scant pleasures only vice can offer;

tentakönig rolled and bounced all the way down here to say: "if you do not wish to find out what i'm like sexually and romantically, do yourself a favour and do not read below. proceed at leisure, otherwise."

🗡 perhaps not every single time, but more often than not, he cries when he comes;

🗡 i get submissive vibes, with a dash of unpredictability. for now, let's say that, with his lovers, occasional and less so, he knows how to be both rough and rash or gentle and devoted. sometimes, even within the same session, all depending on mood and circumstances.

🗡 i'm toying with the idea of him having a specific type of mummy kink, the kind expressed by seeking the gentle, comforting touch of a willing-enough woman who he will address as mummy, in german, only to end up weeping on her tits as he greedily sucks on them... i may have already begun writing a fic along this lines... >.> i did and more are coming. this is both a promise and a threat.

🗡 when he gets desperate and/or fuckdrunk during his sexual encounters, he starts muttering nonsense in austrian german, incapable of focussing his brain enough to maintain some coherency; it's very endearing to see him lose control like that. if the sex in question is happening with a very lucky woman (lucky according to whom?!) who he trusts enough to be that vulnerable, besides giving in to his native tongue, he will probably also cry, as mentioned above;

🗡 when on leave, he occasionally pays for sex when he can't (or won't bother to) find anything on his own, or when he has something particular in mind and prefers to put himself in the hands of a professional;

🗡 even though he does not consider himself queer, when mercenary sex isn't in the cards, he frequents local gay clubs. as a tall, athletic, middle-aged and moderately hairy man, it is hardly challenging for him to find a willing man to fuck in the face or the arse, even though he never reciprocates;

🗡 though more or less settled in his reality full of idiosyncrasies and resigned to it, he occasionally allows himself to wander off his established path to seek companionship outside of the above-mentioned methods. he knows he could hardly stand a regular life with wife, children, pets and a less dangerous job. yet, there is a part of him still curious, which would like to discover whether he could get what everyone else allegedly seems to want, what he feels he should want but is not sure he actually does. as such, he occasionally tries and manages to establish a relationship in between deployments, but it often collapses or remains in the early stages. the older he gets, the harder he finds to make them happen, especially when he is very much not everyone's cup of tea;

🗡 nevertheless, i believe he would appreciate to know what it's like to see himself through the eyes of someone genuinely infatuated with him and not see them recoil in disgust or reflect back the image of the mindless killing machine with little depth left he considers himself to have become;

may add more in future. apologies for any potential mistake: it's very late and i don't have time to reread everything. thanks for reading.

#cod #call of duty #könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #könig mw2 #konig mw2 #könig mwii #konig mwii #könig headcanons #konig headcanons #könig x reader #konig x reader

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yan-may-fire · 9 months

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ive struggled with art block for years and feel very discouraged because im already 19 and feel really behind so many people. im really stuck and dont really know what to do to get out of it and try and improve. as an amazing artist, do you have any tips on how to kind of start from scratch? like how do you learn ... stuff

I’m really sorry that you feel stuck, it’s not a pleasant feeling and I’ve experienced it myself many MANY times. First, let me preface, that your age is not that important. I’m turning 26 in a couple of months and I know there’s still SO MUCH I can improve on, I know artists who are younger than me and can do breathtaking art. I also know artists who didn’t even start drawing at my age, who started drawing a little later in life because they felt like doing art. So, who are you competing against? Why are you competing? Is self expression not goal enough? I’m not a professional artist, I don’t want to adhere to some industry standard, and most of all I don’t want to feel behind in an area that is so, SO personal to me.

Now, to the feeling stuck part. I’d love to say that in art, you’re always improving. Well, it’s not exactly the case. There are artists whose work doesn’t change for years and they feel content in what they do. Are they stuck? Not really — they feel fine. When you feel stuck in your art, it means that your brain has caught up to your physical ability and went beyond, it starts seeing flaws you haven’t noticed before. You’re very young still and have PLENTY of time to work up the pure handcraft of visual art. What I recommend is, start analysing what your hands are doing. Find an artwork in which you admire the skill of the artist and try to replicate the way their brushstrokes or lines work. Find a screenshot with really good colours and try to make little thumbnails with the colours and the shapes that you see. Don’t go for actually replicating screenshots, define a goal and don’t worry about the rest. If it’s the creative part you feel stuck on, my go to advice is always — stop and take a break. Go outside and look at your surroundings. Watch a movie, go down the rabbit hole of YouTube tutorials on how to restore a night stand (not obligatory), go to your local museum and just. Look. Let your brain wander in how beautiful mundane things are. How pretty are the faces of the people on your bus. Love what you see and with love comes art.

Now on to the learning part. This one is way less poetic because, well, the theory behind art is an academic field and I’m not an expert in it. There is a sea of decent art tutorials on YouTube, ranging from colour theory to multiple point perspective. If you have an artist who’s very skilled and happens to have a YT channel, watch them and really think about what they’re doing and why. I can’t stress this enough, if you want to actively learn something, you have to watch critically. If you have any spare money, you can invest in an art basics course too, god knows my brain expanded 40 times when I finally attended one, and I’ve been drawing for years before that. If you don’t have the finances for that — don’t worry. First, learning is a process and attending a class just sometimes accelerates it. Second, attending a class later in life does NOT mean you missed an opportunity. Rounding up, outside of any means of formal education you can still learn some useful things. Start with the basics, with the “boring” stuff (and I use parenthesis because drawing boxes is really fun actually), with “how to draw a straight line and what is line weight” and not “upper limb anatomy” or “advanced colour theory”. You’ll get there eventually, I promise. Just like I mentioned all the way in the beginning of this awfully long reply: it’s not a competition!

I hope this was useful in any way and I wish you lots of luck and patience. And love what you do, regardless of what other people do.

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niqhtlord01 · 9 months

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Humans are weird: Space Vampires

(A continuation from Humans are weird: Space Werewolf) ( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The drop ship slowly crested its way down through the cloud banks and shook as it hit yet another pocket of turbulence.

“Would you like me to pilot?” Markus joked as he tightened his crash harness again. “I might not be as experienced as you, but I think I can avoid at least one batch of bad weather during our trip.”

Flint chuckled beside himself before quickly stifling it as Hooper grunted from the cockpit.

The craft was an older class V model of shuttle. Enough room for the cockpit and a small storage area in the back where Markus and Flint sat in modified seats. Much of the craft had been modified beyond what the original designers had envisioned, but in their line of work it was a hunter’s job to adapt to any situation with whatever they had on hand.

“You? Pilot?” Hooper laughed as he flipped a series of switches in rapid succession. “You’d be more likely to crash us into a bloody mountain and call it a detour.”

The shuttle shook again suddenly and it felt like it dropped ten feet before stabilizing out. Markus was opening his mouth to make another remark of Hooper’s piloting skills when the now unamused Hooper held up a finger for silence.

Several more shudders pierced swarmed the craft before finally the shuttle cleared the cloud banks and saw the world below. A desolate world of stone and sand with a sky constantly drowned in the depths of clouds so dense that barely any light at all ever reached the surface of the blighted world.

A perfect world indeed for their contact to meet them on.

“Are we sure we should be doing this?”

Hooper took pause from scanning the horizon for their landing to tilt his head back and see Flint looking between the pair. The signs of doubt already beginning to creep over his features as his right foot slowly tapped a rhythm to some new age song. It was a trick Hooper had taught the young hunter to calm his mind when the darkness began to creep ever closer.

“We’ve not got a choice I’m afraid.” Markus spoke before Hooper could. “We’re in uncharted waters and they’ve more a grasp than any of us.”

“But what if they double cross us?” Flint pressed. “When have we ever known them to honor a parlay of truce, let alone not lie to our faces?”

“I understand your reluctance,” Hooper began as he flicked on autopilot and turned the pilot’s chair around to face Flint, “and if times were different I’d be the first one in line to kill these bastard.”

“But Markus is right,” Hooper admitted with a heavy heart, “right now we need to put aside our old grudges and work together.”

“If it makes you feel better, at the first sign of a double cross we can kill them all!” Markus announced boldly and slapped his knee. Flint said nothing at this but smiled; though he could not help still tapping his feet a little softer. Hooper watched this quietly and kept his own council confined within the depths of his thoughts.

He had been hesitant to bring Flint along for this task. Normally a novice hunter would not be exposed to these sorts of dealings until they had become folly ordained within the order; but Markus had lobbied hard for the lad and their previous dealings with the werewolf pack on Sectus II had shown he could hold his own. Markus was also right that there was little time to follow traditional procedures and they needed every hunter in the field they had.

“Is that it?” Flint asked sheepishly as Hooper was dragged from the council of his mind and turned back to look out the cockpit window.

Just nestled in the valley between two long and tall mountain ranges was a red light glowing so bright it was even registering on the shuttles scanners.

“Strap in you two,” Hooper said as he flipped off autopilot and began the descent, “we’re about to find out.”

With that said the shuttle began a rapid descent towards the surface of the planet until coming to a stop just beside the strange red glow. The area around the light was completely deserted save for a lone figure. Their features were hidden beneath their cloak but they seemed untroubled by the storm of dust and flying stones as the shuttle came down next to the flame.

“Gear up.” Hooper said as soon as the shuttle finally came to a rest and the engines started spinning down. He watched the figure for a moment to see if they would move to greet them at the boarding ramp, but they just stood stoic by the light.

“I thought you said we should trust them?” Flint spoke as he untangled himself from the webbing. Hooper shook his head as he unbuckled himself from the flight chair and picked up his plasma caster that was nestled beside him. He popped in a fresh power pack and the weapon began to hum to life as the lethal energies coursed through its elegant frame.

“I said we need them, not that we should trust them.”

The trip of hunters loaded themselves with the weapons and tools of their trade before Markus hammered the boarding ramp switch and the back of the shuttle popped open with a grinding screech. It took a minute to fully open before the hunters set foot on the desolate world and walked around the shuttle to meet with the figure.

None of them spoke as they approached the stranger as they finally moved; walking towards the flame and casually extinguishing it with a casual kick of dirt. Hooper switched between keeping his eyes on the figure and scanning the horizon, but for the most part the figure was the only one out in the open for miles around.

“I thought we had agreed to meet alone.” The figure spoke as the trio of hunters stopped several paces between the two parties.

Hooper smirked. “That we did,” he said as he swept his plasma caster around the surrounding area, “so would you care to tell your friends to leave and I’ll do the same.”

The figure cocked his head in confusion, but Hooper just pointed his weapon at the ground he now stood over.

“You think we didn’t see your friend buried in the stones?” Hooper asked mockingly. “Tell them to get out here now or this one below me is about to find out what a face full of holy plasma feels like; and trust me when I say it makes holy water feel like a pin prick.”

Standing silent, the figure made no move to acknowledge Hooper’s claim. It wasn’t until the whine of the plasma caster finally reached its highest pitch indicating that it was ready to fire that they finally gave up and made a gesture with their right hand.

All around them more figures suddenly began bursting from the ground in showers of rock and stone, causing Flint to reach for his weapon before a calming hand from Markus forestalled him. These new figures wore elaborate sets of armor, now decorated with a thin layer of dust from their hiding places. Each held a sharpened blade in their hands while burning red eyes tracked the hunters every movements. The one beneath Hooper’s feet making an awkward assention as he crawled up from the stone beneath his legs.

“It is good to see your order has not lost its touch.” The figure said as they removed their hood to show a youthful looking face. “Existence can become so dull without a good sparring partner.”

“Morgan.” Hooper said with a tilt of his head. He powered down his plasma caster as the other figures shuffled over and stood behind their master.

Morgan, voice of the conclave of vampires, nodded in return and looked passed Hooper to Markus and Flint.

“And you’re friends are?” Morgan asked, but Hooper shook his head.

“Cut the formalities and let’s get this done.” He said.

The right eyebrow of Morgan twitched for the briefest of moments in anger but otherwise he retained his composure. The vampiric assassins jittered around him as if sensing their master’s anger but knew well enough to remain silent.

Holding out his hand towards one of the assassins, the vampire stepped forward to Hooper and presented him with a datapad before returning to his position behind his master. Hooper powered on the pad and began reading the information as it scrolled by.

“The names and last known whereabouts of the vampires responsible for the most recent…..” the voice paused for a moment to consider his words, “breaches; as you requested.”

“Breaches!?”

Morgan looked towards the speaker to find that it was young Flint who now spoke brazenly; his outrage at the dismissiveness of the vampire beyond constraint.

“Your kind slaughtered three colony worlds and left a damn near hundred young bloods to ravage the rest of the planet it a blood fueled ram-

“FLINT!!!”

Flint stopped himself as Hooper shouted at him and fixed him with the hardest stare he had.

“Shut. Up. Now.” he spoke through gritted teeth.

Not expecting this from his mentor, Flint looked confused and upset before relenting and resuming his silence. Hooper turned back to Morgan who had remained silent during the outburst.

“My…..apologies, for my protégés outburst;” Hooper said much to the surprise of Markus and Flint, “he still needs to learn how these matters are conducted.”

Morgan grinned, an expression that made Flint’s hand twitch towards his own gun, and waved away Hooper’s apology.

“Think nothing of it.” He replied to Hooper, before tilting and looking directly at Flint. “And I would go so far as to state that I agree with their assessment entirely.”

Whatever the trio had been expecting the vampire to say during these dealings, a formal apology was not amongst them. It was rare for a vampire to admit they were wrong, let alone agree with a mere mortal.

“Since the discovery of space travel the vampire conclave has found it increasingly difficult to keep its members in line.” Morgan began as he paced around the meeting area. He would stop every now and then to look at the ground before bending down to pick up a stone of unremarkable appearance before casually tossing it aside.

“On Earth such acts of carnage were contained and swiftly dealt with to maintain the balance, but now; as the universe opens up around us some of our kind see worlds as their own private feasting grounds.”

“Can’t keep your house in order?” Hooper mocked.

In a blink of an eye Morgan vanished from his position opposite Hooper and appeared with his hand inches from the hunter’s throat. The hunter could smell the sulfur radiating off the vampire and knew he had struck a nerve. He could see the crimson color of Morgan’s eyes and felt the vampire was using every ounce of his strength to resist feeding on Hooper.

Markus, Flint, and the vampire assassins all readied themselves as if battle would ensue but Hooper held up a hand to stall his companions.

“You would be wise to remember your place.” Morgan spoke through gritted teeth. His sharpened fangs protruding from his mouth with each syllable ready to dig deep into Hooper’s neck and drink of his blood. A notion Hooper was well aware of and had his right hand firmly priming a garlic grenade in his pocket to dissuade the vampire should he press further.

“The vampire conclave is handling the dealings of our kind on a hundred worlds across a dozen star systems. Your continued existence is merely a byproduct of our generosity for allowing you to live long enough to spread humans to more worlds to feast on.”

“There’s plenty of alien’s out there too,” Hooper said calmly, “why the special interest in us “lowly” humans?”

“They are..” Morgan spoke as he slowly pulled away from Hooper and the hunter eased off the garlic grenade, “incompatible.”

“That didn’t seem to bother the werewolves.” Hooper pointed out. “Nor zombies for that matter; those buggers will eat just about anything.”

Morgan sighed deeply and run his hands over his face as if he was about to speak slowly to a small child.

“I do not have the time nor patience to explain why human blood is the desired choice for my kind; just know that it is the will of the conclave to see your species continued existence to serve us in the coming millennia.”

He tapped the datapad Hooper still held in his other hand with a long finger ending with a sharpened fingernail that looked like it could cut steel as if it was cardboard.

“A decree that some of my kind are now putting at risk by their rampant blood feasts. If we do not pool our resources now they will exterminate the entirety of the human population leaving us without a crucial food source.”

“And here I thought you just enjoyed our company.” Hooper said begrudgingly. “So your only wish to keep using humans is for vampire food?”

Morgan paused to collect his thoughts, debating internally if he should share the new information with his hunter adversaries.

“There is another reason,” Morgan spoke slowly having made up his mind, “and it is with regards to alien blood.”

This peeked Hooper’s interest and he motioned for the vampire to continue.

“During your encounter with the werewolves from your previous…adventures, did you not see aliens infected by their mark?”

“We did.” Hooper replied, unsure were Morgan was going with this.

“We have discovered similarly, that when the blood curse is applied to nonhuman species the results can be……detrimental.”

“Meaning?” Hooper asked impatiently.

“The curse changes aliens in ways we have not seen before, and at times these new abominations have abilities far beyond even our elder’s capabilities to contain.”

This was grave news that Hooper could hardly believe. A vampire elder, or leader of the conclave, was easily thousands of years old and possessed enough strength and skill that centuries ago it had taken the entire order of hunters to destroy just one of their number. To hear that these beings of unimaginable destruction were being hard pressed by newly turned alien vampires was something that filled Hooper with a sense of dread he had not known in decades.

“You see our problem now.” Morgan spoke, seeing that the hunter finally realized what is at stake. “If we do not correct these divergences now, we may see a galactic scale level of devastation.”

“And to show you we are not joking,” Morgan continued as one by one the vampire assassins began vanishing into smoke leaving the area until only Morgan remained, “we brought you one to see firsthand.”

A loud roar thundered through the valley and the trio of hunters all reached for their weapons. In the distance they could see an ever growing mound of flesh thrashing towards them. Rows of teeth catching the light as it stampeded towards the gathering and Hooper caught sight of a pair of bright crimson eyes that he had seen just now in Morgan’s visage.

“Au revoir, Mr. Hooper.”

Hooper turned back to see Morgan vanishing into smoke, laughing as the tyrant alien vampire continued thundering towards the hunters.

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #scifi #story #writing #original writing #vampires #hunters #mythology #niqhtlord01 #ai image #ai generated art #space vampires

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wellofdean · 7 months

Text

This is old news, but I just read it for the first time and really loved it:

Rewatching Supernatural has been an interesting experience. I first watched most of it (from the start of season 2 on) in real time as it aired, and I have to admit that I did not take it very seriously. I gave it no thought whatsoever between episodes, and thought of it as an hour of indulgence in something dumb and pretty: two handsome brothers and their angel who fought monsters and melodrama every week. I never missed an episode and did love it, but I didn't truly engage with it.

It seems, however, that Supernatural worked on me in some kind of subterranean, unconscious way, because when it ended, I found I couldn't let it go. Part of that was the terrible narrative malpractice of its ending, but when I really thought about it, I realised that I also just missed Dean. He had been a weekly visitor for more than a decade, and I just didn't want my time with him to be over. I started watching Supernatural again, and the experience has been really interesting. A lot of things about my perception of it have shifted, and one of the main shifts has been in my apprehension of the serious artistic intelligence, nigh-on unbelievable range, and sheer excellence of Jensen Ackles' performance of Dean.

I keep thinking about what an incredible undertaking Dean is -- a 15-year-long development of one character! About how different the actor who played Dean in episode one is from the actor who played Dean in episode 325. How age, experience, and depth are reflected in both the character and the performance. It is just impossible to watch it and not see that there is an incredible evolution there, and at the same time, a kind of devastating psychological and emotional continuity.

Supernatural is a show that requires you to suspend disbelief and agree to go along with it. It can be silly and schlocky, and it's emotional strokes are often broad ones. It started airing in a time when our society was very different from the way it is now on issues surrounding social justice and inclusion. It isn't 'prestige TV' and it puts on no airs of being anything beyond what it is, but when the whole story is in your mind and you revisit it, and you aren't engaged with taking in plot and anticipating (or desiring) outcomes, you start noticing its subtlety, its themes, motifs and story parallels, the liminal spaces of its setting, the subtler play of emotion in moments without dialogue, and it starts to feel much deeper, more epic and just straight up BETTER than you ever thought it was.

All of that is mirrored in Jensen's performance. He grew into Dean and grew into an artist who could play Dean. He's not afraid of a little schtick, he's very capable of being obvious, but he's even better at the subtleties that allow Dean's inner life to rise up in his face without words. I love how this article positions Jensen's performance as being like that of so many classic film stars, the idea that he used his own essence -- the full range of his psychology, emotions and physicality with skill and intention to achieve what he did with Dean. His long commitment to and investment in the character, and the way he fully embodies Dean because Dean is a character that he built from pieces of himself.

Anyway. I have a lot of respect for his work. I love Dean and think he is magnificent. I hope Jensen Ackles knows how good he is, and is suitably proud of himself, and I am very grateful to hear that by all accounts, Dean is not over for him, because Dean is not over for me.

Sheila O'Malley wrote a few really nice pieces about Jensen's performance as Dean and one about Soldier Boy, and I recommend them. Very much enjoyed.

#Jensen Ackles #a legitimately excellent actor #spn #dean winchester #supernatural

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idleglowingpixels · 1 year

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talk about Collector

WHYYYYYYYYYY okay now that I got that off my chest let's get serious LMAO

Before I dive in too deep, to any other ppl reading, THIS IS YOUR FAIR WARNING IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ ANY CRITICISM OF TOH. Something that is really apparent in this fandom particularly is that a lot of ppl refuse to allow and accept genuine criticism discussions, dumbing it down to personal biases, misinterpretations of the text (or in this case, the show), and proclaiming "It's intentional that the show did that!" every time someone breathes something negative about it. This is ESPECIALLY annoying with the "Blame Disney/the shortening" nonsense -- a key skill in television writing is to be capable of working with the allotted time that the studios give you. After they were told Season 3 got cut short, they still had 11 22-minute episodes of Season 2 and all three 40+ minute episodes of Season 3 to conclude the story in a satisfying way.

Seeking and reading criticism posts outside of the general tags, ignoring warnings on posts that give forewarnings, then getting mad and upset that someone criticized your comfort show is generally an unhealthy behavior, especially if you're not in a good mental state. If you can't take people criticizing something you enjoy, and more-so if you deem it your comfort media, and feel the need to bother them because you made yourself upset reading their posts, you've got a lot of soul searching to do. That, or maybe you should log off until you can handle it.

Also, obviously, spoilers ahead for TOH, as well as Amphibia because these shows parallel a lot more than I want them to. :')

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I have a LOT to say about The Owl House from a critical and writing perspective, and I feel like the show is EXTREMELY overhyped for what it actually is. I feel its sister show Amphibia executed much of the same/similar themes better, and that's not even a bias thing. Just from the way both shows are written, you can tell which one feels more competently structured from a narrative standpoint (and, let's be honest, which one is actually funny).

Okay enough about general opinion, let's get to Collector. From a character design perspective, GOD I love this little guy, both the reflection/shadow form and the actual form are distinct from the rest of the cast. I'm a big Sun and Moon design/symbolism enjoyer (Sun and Moon from FNAF, Sun and Blake from RWBY, Celestia and Luna from MLP:FiM, etc.) so these types of characters are always welcome. And while their voice annoys me personally it ABSOLUTELY fits them, so no matter how annoying I find it I don't think I'd want them to have any other voice.

But that, unfortunately, is the only props I can give to Collector.

The show is FULL of redeemed antagonists that range from okay (I'd like to think Amity was decent enough and Hunter was alright but definitely should have been introduced earlier so his redemption was a slow burn but this post isn't about them so I'll end this note here) to "what the actual fuck" (Idc what anyone says, there is no excuses PERIOD, Lilith's redemption was the absolute worst redemption arc I think I've ever seen AND I'VE SEEN CATRA'S), and Collector is very much on the lower end of that scale. We hardly see them overall and their character writing is rushed beyond belief -- and again, I'd like to reiterate that that is ENTIRELY on the writing team for the show. Disney and the shortening DID NOT DECIDE TO KEEP COLLECTOR IN. The writing staff were aware of the time they had left and made the decision to shoehorn them in and expect everyone to just be okay with it.

From a writing perspective, they bloat the story exponentially and 100% should have been left in the drafts or saved for future content like what Dana said she might do if she is able to through books and such. If we only get hints of the other Collectors, this one should have STAYED hints with them.

We have essentially no significant amount of time with them outside of Hollow Mind and the season 2 finale before season 3, and what we DO have of them in season 2B is so drastically different I'd consider 2B Collector and 3 Collector as two different characters entirely. And before you tell me, "They're different because sun/moon symbolism!" "They're different because Belos and King influence them differently!" etc. etc., don't waste your time. Yes, those are good explanations as to why they feel so different between seasons, but that does not make the writing of the character inherently good. Allow me to elaborate:

In S2B, of what little we see of Collector, they are extremely sadistic in nature, and while they appear childish the writing of that lack of care for others is ABUNDANTLY CLEAR. And it seemed that way even as Belos first encountered him as Philip in the flashback episode. There, they weren't yet "influenced" by Belos and his plans; hell, he hardly had an actual plan yet.

Skip ahead to Hollow Mind, easily the best episode of Season 2 imo, and Collector is taunting Belos, mocking him and his schemes. Saying things like "Ooh, you were mad!" and "I'm starting to think you make those [grimwalkers] just to destroy them. You have fun with it, admit it!"

I cannot find any reasonable explanation as to how or why Belos would influence Collector into doing such things. Why would he want a little pain in the ass making fun of him for hundreds of years? And by his response to Collector's taunt about the grimwalkers and Hunter, "Of course I don't, Collector. It hurts every time he chooses to betray me," he took offense to their words, but kept his tone from shifting to anger as he does with everyone else because of Collector's power.

Belos doesn't want Collector thinking he doesn't like them because of their abilities, but he does want to stay on their good side for information. For knowledge of spells. And he puts up with Collector's annoyances because of that.

Essentially, that wasn't something Belos taught them or influenced them to do. All Collector knows is to adapt to their friends' behaviors, yes, but Belos is like, over 400 years old. I don't know about you, but I doubt with the way he speaks and how he's written that he would taunt his underlings in the same childish vain as Collector, and do so enough for Collector to pick up and mimic that behavior.

Now to the finale, their appearance is pretty much just them getting duped by Belos and sent into the depths of the titan skull, where King ever-so-conveniently finds them, making the pinky swear that releases them.

They maintain that mocking attitude even after Belos betrays them, calling King "boring" for calling them Mr. Collector and feeling generally disinterested by King before he promises a game to play. And even after they're released, they continue the attitude further with the whole "I remember someone throwing me off a bridge...I'm not angry, though!" bit, only to send Belos to his "death" moments after, deeming it as a game of tag. They've seen Belos kill grimwalkers first hand, fully aware that their lives mean nothing, and replicated the behavior by returning the favor to Belos (or so they thought). Their lack of care continues when they nearly try to do the same thing to the Hexsquad, people who didn't even do anything to them, before King stops them, changing the subject before they can cause further harm.

After stopping the draining spell, Collector continues the destructive maliciousness they have all the way to the end of the episode, and that's the impression of them we're left with. They were sadistic, uncaring and childish, but only learned the behavior of killing from Belos -- even though Belos didn't actually die, the intent was to kill him, and they were fully planning to continue with the Hexsquad.

And then...We get to Season 3.

Just a side-note, I think it's a safe assumption to say the first 2 seasons of The Owl House took place between roughly 2 months, as Luz was outside waiting to leave for a summer camp after the school year ended before initially arriving in the demon realm. Going off of that assumption, in Part 1 Luz returned to school as she returned to the human realm, presumably in late August/early September due to her living in Connecticut. And since Part 1 takes place in the timespan of about 3-7 days, the last day being Halloween, the timeskip only brought us about 2 more months ahead. Keep this in mind.

After Luz and co. return to the demon realm in Part 2 -- objectively the worst episode of the season -- we already see King's influence on Collector since they turned everyone into puppets instead of actively injuring or killing them when they don't comply. Still bad? Yes. But from how it looks in Part 3 with the Hexsquad, it seems more like the puppets' consciences are just comatose or an alternative to sleeping, maybe in a REM-like state. But of course, the show didn't have enough time to explain that further over all the nonsense in Part 2.

Anyway, when we see Collector in Part 2, they're still being childish, which is unfortunately the only thing that stays consistent with this character. They then say two lines that were the most god-awful writing decisions I've seen in a hot minute, and this show is STOCK FULL of really bad "this is peak humor LAUGH" moments like this.

They say that Eda has this "cool aunt vibe" and such, which sounds like one of those "character dynamics/tropes" posts on social media like Tumblr and whatnot. It comes off as really pretentious in the writing, and was shockingly unfunny to hear for a show that calls itself a comedy. Another line that frustrates me, more-so for lore reasons, is when they ask Odalia to make pizza bagels, when it was previously stated that human food is inaccessible to Luz during her time in the demon realm. So not only is it contradicting that whole thing (Eda actively struggled to find food for Luz that she could eat), how would they or King even know what one is or how to actually make one??

It seems like a small point to get heated over, but it once again feels like one of those stupid one-liners that one of the writers thought was the funniest shit they've ever thought up and kept it in because they knew die-hard fans would just laugh it off and brush it off as a joke, and that the writers forgetting about Eda's maternal struggle to feed her adopted kid is Disney's/the shortening's fault because they're at fault for everything wrong with the show...and not the ppl who wrote it.

Regardless, this whole shtick is extremely out-of-character for the way they had spoken in Season 2, and from what I can recall (I'm not gonna rewatch the entire show for the sake of a single post), King never talks like this. Luz does around him, but he himself doesn't talk like this.

I've discussed with friends before about this, including Robin (the one who asked me to talk about this), but from Part 2 onward Collector gets the same Luz-like writing every character that gets redeemed suddenly dawns out of the blue. I started calling it luz-ification, but it doesn't just happen to Collector.

It happened to Hunter, where his more cocky and ego-centric dialogues from early 2A was dropped for a more "comedic" personality and an anxiety-ridden character, though it's later eluded to that his cocky attitude was him masking his true self, so I try to keep it to that perspective.

But this happened to Lilith as well, where she suddenly started acting like "Cool Aunt Lilith" IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING HER ADMITTING TO CURSING EDA AND ALLOWING HER CAPTURE. WITH NO CONSEQUENCES TO BE FACED OTHER THAN THE CURSE SPLIT WHICH IS HARDLY UTILIZED IN THE SHOW.

(Side-tangent: Characters facing little to no consequences for their actions is something that goes on so much in this show but this is long enough already and I really don't like talking about this shit for long 'cause I could be using my time on better pieces of media, I'm sure there's plenty of posts explaining this point elsewhere by ppl who enjoyed TOH more than me)

Hell, it even happened to Amity for a hot minute. For some moments in the show she's written really off-character and saying things that just completely contradict how she's typically written, but then goes back to the more sassy and balanced character later on.

This post has gotten WAY longer than I wanted it to be, but to keep me from spending even more time on this, Part 2 shows a drastically different Collector, to the point that they do not by any means have the same character writing as they had before. They got luz-ified. Using social media lingo they couldn't even have access to in canon, and being written to quite literally just sound like a mini-me of Luz with the more obnoxious undertones of the childish thing.

Point is, they mimic these behaviors of Luz that they wouldn't even have reasonable access to learning from, because she's in the human realm for almost all the time after their release. It only makes sense in Part 3, when Luz is actually there for them to see her behaviors in action, but even that is so contrived and rushed that it feels unrealistic and narratively unnecessary. Remember what I said before about the timeskip only being 2 months? Yeah, 2 months isn't nearly enough time for a character to fundamentally change who they are as drastically as Collector.

Now to the part where I talk about Amphibia really quick and mention how it did the whole "having an alternative threat acting as a mini-boss" thing a million times better than this shit ever could. King Andrias, paralleling Collector for this particular scenario, is shown relatively early on that he's an antagonist to the audience. It's later revealed as a plot twist not to the audience, but to the characters, who least expected it. They don't waste time trying to throw off the audience with red herrings or telling its audience "He's not a bad guy, he's totally not going to be evil later on." They just show the audience he's evil and keep the story moving.

He's given enough time to feel like this ominous, looming threat, and True Colors masterfully showed how messed up this guy is and the lengths he is willing to go to ascend to the Core and cheat death, just as the souls within the Core had. His motive to avoid death and return Amphibia to the world-conquering ideologies from centuries' past is what made him such a love-to-hate villain. And the motive to cheat death in a children's cartoon? Metal as hell. The Core also parallels Belos here, and further on in Season 3, being the one manipulating Andrias through his fear of death in order to make him do what they want him to.

In the third season, Andrias continues his work by the Core's demands, only giving up in the final battle when he's read a letter from someone he had considered a friend long ago, which admittedly didn't have much set-up but it was at least the focus of an entire episode prior to the big pre-finale.

At the end of the series, he's shown to have moved on, allowing himself to age naturally and to stop using technology to keep him in pristine condition for eternity. He accepted the natural cycle of life, and in turn accepted that he will come to pass one day. He wasn't a perfectly written character, but considering what it's being compared to? Leagues better.

Like I said before, TL;DR, Collector is the bloatware of The Owl House's plot. They were shoved in as a last minute addition because they were the writers' "precious bean silly goose little gremlin blorbo" that they couldn't just keep in the drafts with the rest of the collectors. So instead of maintaining what little integrity the show's writing had to begin with and follow through to the end with the Day of Unity plotline being the series finale (Which was VERY OBVIOUSLY WHAT THEY WERE GOING FOR), they essentially made a side quest distraction that dragged the story on for longer than it needed to, wasting the audience's time.

I'm not mad that the Collector exists, I just find that their inclusion in the series did more harm than good for the writing. The show has a serious issue with giving screentime to unnecessary characters like the miscellaneous Hexside students, giving characters too much screentime (The biggest offender for this is Amity, there's more episodes centered around her than Hunter, Willow and Gus combined) and not giving ACTUALLY necessary characters enough screentime (Looking at you, Emerald Trio).

I really want to rewrite TOH, and if I feel the need to rewrite a show, it's usually because there's too much fundamentally wrong with it for me to give it anything higher than a 6/10 overall. But I've already got a whole AU and a whole rewrite in the works for two other series I care wayyyyy more about, so that's gonna have to be left to other writers in this fandom.

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If this post is how you've stumbled upon my page, hi :') Feel free to ask me about more or to elaborate on smth I said here if you want clarification, but if you check out my intro post and see another mutual interest we have maybe ask me about that instead of TOH please and thank you

#toh criticism #toh critical #the collector #heed my warning or get blocked #I'm not dealing with ppl that take general media criticism personally #anyway have fun with this novel ig #amphibia is so much better than this show and I'm tired of ppl not seeing that

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