lyney's character story about his vision revealing arlecchino didn't allow him to use a delusion and was genuinely angry that he would do something lynette wouldn't want for him, encouraging him to find other solutions... the way she was also sad lyney didn't feel comfortable relying on her during the quest... she really cares about the kids. her smile while speaking to furina also looked sincere. even though one can debate if this is all an act to make them trust and be loyal to her (as said by her, "good actors hone their craft to mesmerise the whole crowd") or acknowledge the fact she's using the kids by making them part of the fatui, she genuinely seems to cherish them. at least she goes through lengths that aren't really necessary for her not to care. the way she reformed the orphanage, the way she helped freminet get closure on his mother's fate... i just think it goes to show and confirm once more how biased everything/everyone in the game is. sometimes bordering unreliable, really. scara and childe's lines about her paint her in a certain light, which i'm not saying isn't true quite the opposite, but that persona seems to coexists with the version the kids from the house of the hearth know.
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Geneuary Day Three: Slumber Party/Jealousy
This piece was definitely inspired by the episode Slumber Party (I knew I just had to take inspiration from there, it was too perfect) and how Louise got a Slumber Party which Gene enjoyed a whole lot more than she did (Linda had to tell him to give someone else a turn during the fashion show) so he's a bit jealous about that.
[Image ID]: The image is a half-body drawing of Gene from Bob's Burgers. He is wearing a yellow jacket with a purple pocket. He has an upset face with his mouth open and is saying "Why does Louise get to have a slumber party?" and then the text says "Later… Bob and Linda got him a cute outfit so he would stop being jealous". Another half-body drawing is shown of him in an alternate outfit. His back is facing the viewer and he is wearing orange overalls with yellow straps and has a pink flower in his hair. He has a huge smile on his face, contrasting his upset expression in the main drawing.
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So I’ve been reading a few romance novels lately and one thing that I have come to realize is that I really don’t like insta-romance that much. When characters get together after a few days or proclaim their love within a matter of weeks it just feels unrealistic and rushed to me.
I don’t know if it’s exactly “slow burn” that I like (because I don’t know how others may define that), but I know I like when the characters initially meet, yeah maybe they notice like “oh they’re hot”, but they don’t act on it, and then as they get to know each other over weeks or months, there is pining... circling... I want to feel frustrated that they’re not together, so that when that first kiss comes or they finally get together, I’m like “YES!!!!!!!!”
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headcanon + his squad . 💕🐥
send me ‘ headcanon ‘ + a word: still accepting.
Levi's squad. Levi's feelings surrounding his unit are very similar to his feelings surrounding family — and that is, they are his family. Deeply, he will always care for them. He may come across as unapproachable, even emotionally stagnated, but the way they've toppled his walls is something oh so plainly undeniable. They have his utmost respect, have won his unfledging need to keep them safe, and he'll risk fire and hell if they can come back alive — though survival, he understands, is no guarantee. Still, Levi, humanity's strongest soldier, does his god damn best. They work in Special Operations, have experienced the very worst together, and every body they've buried, they've buried side by side. They've had the highest of highs and the bitterest of lows. They are a unit, a family, have bonds that'll never suffer, and when Levi's retired, no longer dressed in uniform, they'll still look right at him like he still leads.
And, you know what? In a way, he still sort of does. He might have never been overly warm or flattering, sure, but during hard times, his presence was always infallible. In his retirement, Levi still offers up pragmatic advice (and Mikasa, I imagine, visits most of all). He's always had a weight, has shouldered the dreams of the hundreds of fallen, and in that way, I think Levi has an undeniable wisdom, a sort of sense and rationality his unit values. Being older than them as well, he'll find them confiding in him every now and again, and he'll grumble lamely saying he's no longer Captain, but they know that isn't true — and he does, too.
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ohh ur reading no longer human? would love to hear ur thoughts
Ok so I’m still processing, I listened to it as an audiobook, 90% while doing some very harried painting hw, and it ended much sooner than expected! Based on what I’d heard abt it/Dazai in general before I was not shocked at the misogyny, but some of it was like. Objectively scoff worthy qhshshh like I couldn’t take the book srsly sometimes just bc of how matter of factly Yozo said the most off the wall shit abt women like an expert or smth. His I’m God’s gift to women and so oppressed bc I feel the need to indulge them sometimes schtick got old fast too! Tho his fear of them was interesting and felt cohesive and appropriate next to everything else abt him. But Idk I just didn’t feel for Yozo, and his open admission to not caring abt the affairs of others after vaguely outlining potentially interesting backstories of side characters, sealed my impression of “this man isn’t going to be all that personally interesting to me.” Like I was more intrigued by literally everyone around him! I thought the relationship between Horiki and him was the most fascinating, particularly where Tsuneko and Yoshiko were concerned. Like. I greatly disliked the mistreatment of women as vehicles for interpersonal tension between men but… at least it was halfway INTERESTING tension. Lol shshshshh
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From @hexenjagd
It is a gentle gesture. With a turn of her wrist she cups his chin, cradling his head within her welcoming palm and holding him there. Her fingers fitted to the shape of his jaw perfectly as she delicately tilted his head her way.
A gentle urging for him to turn her way and face her. A beckoning.
"Come now, raise your head. Lift your gaze and meet mine." it was a command, gentle in intent-- uttered through a half whisper.
"I've rarely seen such success in many an era. You rose from nothing. Hardly able to stand or even give me your name, narrowly avoiding the embrace of death, from embers to flame. Look at you. You've come so far-- transformed. Whole and beautiful. Now, raise your head with pride. You have survived."
There’s little else to see. Nothing worth a look upon the grotto’s ridged arching walls, reverberating the whisper of rain outside past the faceless bushes. Still his gaze remains downcast, absorbed by earth-sunk stones. Every so often a stray glance dares peek through black strands to briefly settle upon some corner of her contours, reaffirming him with the glimpse of boots, of a hand or the ends of her ebony locks that she is indeed still beside him. But neither stare lasts, none dare remain, he simply cannot bring himself to fully look at her.
How many times has he thought back to the distant days spent inside that tent? Thought about all the things he could have told her if he could speak the way he can today. With a solid dominion over the language they shared, understanding him would have proven much simpler. Restlessly deterred by the suffocating hold of his ignorance, so much more could have been said had he been free of it from the start. When solitude struck low, he knows he wished he had more to remember her by. Wished that and more.
And yet, is this moment not weaved from the same thread of impossible opportunity? The same wishfulness as those dreams, the sort that visited him when exhaustion got the better of him. What is this silence then, Cayin? Has she returned, made her way back to you against all probability, so you could fall quiet beside her again?
This is your chance to say what you could not.
Her touch settles under his jaw, mindful, deliberate. It doesn’t bear the same warmth it once did, but then neither did her hand in those liar dreams. Scarred bearer of comforts, it still shapes a feeling of shelter truer than any walls, as does her velvety voice, first bringer of speech to his ears. At last she brings him to look upon her, truly and sincerely. So much more vivid than any product of the mind, yet perfumed in a strange bittersweetness. Perhaps because this isn't how he imagined it. Perhaps because his eyes do not lie, and they tell clearly that the two of them are changed, so very changed since then.
But where the proof of time roots him in this indecision he cannot explain, she responds in opposite: acknowledging it in a most celebratory manner, all in recognition towards him, towards what he is today in relation to what she knew him as. In this praise, in this short tale worthy of being preserved as an epigraph in a book, she welcomes him.
Success. When she puts it that way, it’s difficult to deny. Every need fulfilled has been followed by the search of the next, but to consider what has already been achieved is a pleasure of its own worth lingering in. She continues, calls him complete, calls him beautiful, names him survivor, like titles conferred by the sword that settles upon the head and shoulders of the newly knighted. Only he does not bow, as his head is called to rise. And rise it does, hesitantly, in spite of the knot tugging at his throat. Fists clench under their sleeves until the urge to shiver ceases, and they release, open hands rising to meet the one she placed under his chin.
“Not nothing.” He speaks in a quiet certainty. Claws grasp her fingers tenderly, delicately pulling her hand down and turning his wrists so his thumbs may rest on her palm. “I had you.”
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