#( i've been meaning to write this up for ages! )

[revelboo]

Thoughts/ Headcanons

Spoilers for my storylines below the cut. Not smut, but mentions of.

• First off, I’m a paranormal romance writer- vastly different lifespans between partners is pretty common. And while it’s fun to spin that angst and drama, we do tend to write in ways around it to extend the human partner’s lifespan after we’re done with having the characters dance around each other.

• First thought, seminal fluids. Cybertronians are able to self repair to an extent, figure it’s something like nanites playing the part of our own immune systems within them. And that some of those get passed along to a partner when they do the deed. And linger, adapting and doing their thing: repairing damage. A one night stand wouldn’t be enough to do much but over and over? Each time replenishing those nanites, it would begin to slow that human’s aging to a crawl as long as they’re staying intimate with that Cybertronian and neither would probably notice anything for some time. Years, most likely.

• On spark bonds, those are a bit more complicated. Almost a symbiotic relationship. They can be full bonds if both parties submit fully to each other, trust each other. Or very one sided, with one taking everything and dominating the other.

• Intentional one sided bonds would have been taboo before the war, I’d think. Almost a form of torture with one Cybertronian claiming the other, creating a dependency in the one claimed. A need to seek out the dominant to renew that bond periodically, but without any balance, any affection between the two there might have been to begin with would fall into hatred and resentment. I’d think this would have happened more often during the start of the war, if a lover was found to be sympathetic to the other side, forcing a bond to keep them from leaving. With a Cybertronian, it’d be forcing the plating over the spark chamber open to form the bond, so it’s a violent occurrence and traumatic. But one sided bonds could still occur between two willing Cybertronians if one isn’t as certain about that commitment as the other even unconsciously.

• With humans, contact with any part of our body to a spark will bridge that initial bond. And just like with Cybertronians it can be one sided or full. With a one sided bond, a human would be dependent on the Cybertronian to renew the bond occasionally so the strain doesn’t eventually kill us. Most initial bonds with humans would likely be one sided and only become full over time as both sides get past their hesitations, doubts, and hang ups. A one sided bond can be broken with the death of one partner.

• I imagine a full bond is permanent, tethering two sparks or a spark and a soul together. With Cybertronians, it’s a combining of life forces. If something happens to one, the other’s spark falters and extinguishes. With a human partner, they’re bound to their partner’s spark and their lifespan. They’ll live as long as their Cybertronian partner does, which could be its own sort of hell, outliving everyone they know. And if the two grew apart over time, fell out of love, the nature of the bond would pull them back together at least periodically to renew the bond so they don’t both suffer. And most likely, that relationship would involve the Cybertronian just refusing to let their partner go, becoming extremely possessive of protecting that bond whether the human wants to be with them anymore or not.

• About the storyline titles: a few of you have already figured it out, but they’re all Motion City Soundtrack song titles. And I know a few of you have mentioned finding comfort in the fics and that means the world to me, so in case any of you need it, these are the lyrics for “It’s a Pleasure To Meet You” by the same band as it’s sort of become my anthem for all the storylines.

You are not alone

We've all had our battles with darkness and shadows

I'm here to let you know

It's a pleasure to meet you

Can you feel it, disappearing

It'll happen, you are not alone

I've been there, I'm still there

Oh, and better

Everything is so damn tragic

Time erodes the waves of panic

Take it in

You are not alone

We've all had our battles with darkness and shadows

I'm here to let you know

It's a pleasure to meet you

Today is all we have

So try for a moment to break from the torment

And sing this to yourself

It's a pleasure to meet you

At a distance

There's a difference

Things will make sense

You are not alone

Got to hold on for the moment

Till the next one

Everything is so damn tragic

Time erodes the waves of panic

Get up

You are not alone

We've all had our battles with darkness and shadows

I'm here to let you know

It's a pleasure to meet you

Today is all we have

So try for a moment to break from the torment

And sing this to yourself

It's a pleasure to meet you

Every damn night for years of my life

I've spent driving around this miserable city

Just looking through windows at people

Alone for an answer or reason to live

But every day since, I've been peeling away

At this counterfeit skin just got in the way

I can see my reflection and clearly can say

It's a pleasure to meet you again

You are not alone

We've all had our battles with darkness and shadows

I'm here to let you know

It's a pleasure to meet you

Today is all we have

So try for a moment to break from the torment

And sing this to yourself

It's a pleasure to meet you

It's a pleasure to meet you

It's a pleasure to meet you

[shewrites444]

pretty [ art donaldson x babysitter/age gap! reader smut ]

[ Hiii me popping up on here for the first time in forever lmao. I've been on a Challengers kick lately, let me know if I should write more on Art perhaps. :D ]

WC - 3.5k (unedited story, so apologies for any errors)

[ Summary - The reader and Art have been having an affair for the past few months after she became the Donaldsons' occasional babysitter. A lot of porn with a slight plot. ]

[ Warnings - Age gap (reader is college-aged, art is in his like mid-thirties), cursing, cheating/affair, oral (m&f receiving), dirty talk, tiny breeding kink mention, unprotected sex ]

-

It's not like it mattered to Tashi, well, anymore, what her husband did in his free time. A year or so ago, when Art found out about Tashi and Patrick's on-going affair at their challenger, he felt crushed, defeated, sickened, all emotions jumbled into one component, knowing what his wife was doing behind closed doors since they were teenagers. No amount of "I love you's" could make her drawn closer to him, no amount of care, compassion.. nothing. I mean, it would only make sense that an affair that lasted over ten years, especially with his former best friend and teammate, would fundamentally fuck up their marriage.

Tashi tried to fix it, she really did, by cutting off all connections to Patrick, promising Art she'd be better for not only him, but their daughter, Lily, and the careers and finances they shared together. She knew all the logic behind an affair was unjustifiable, and it made sense to fix a marriage with someone who genuinely cared for her and the family, careers, and finances they created together.

Art stopped playing tennis that year, and like they had promised each other months before, decided to work on the foundation full time, and with newer responsibilities, came the need for a sitter that wasn't only one of their parents when Art had a game or two.

That's where you came into the picture.

You were an undergraduate student at NYU, about to graduate in the spring with a heavy need for any sort of finances to help you afford your rent the rest of the semester. Knowing that your niece was in class with Art and Tashi Donaldson's daughter, that set up a fairly easy connection to a potential babysitting gig. They were millionaires, hell, maybe even billionaires at this point, so you'd be bound to get a pretty solid paycheck.

You were in luck. They needed an occasional sitter on the weekends, and a handful of nights during the week, and given that they both knew your sister, you were already trusted. Easy money.

You got along with Lily pretty well, too. Not to mention the Donaldsons were kind to you as well, and the amount of money they gave you for watching their one daughter, who was pretty self-sufficient other than needing to have a bedtime story or two read to her each night, was fucking ridiculous. Not like you were rolling in dough, but they surely overpaid you. Not like that was a problem for either parties, though.

Overtime, you talked more to Art when Tashi was starting to have more meetings, interviews, and other miscellaneous tasks that required her attention as they expanded connections to the foundation. At first, it was a bit awkward, given that when babysitting, usually the dad was a bit more absent, or quiet, but he warmed up to you after a few nights. He'd ask you about how Lily was, even ask you about school, or what you wanted to do after graduation, pay you, and that was really it. It was simple, really, until it wasn't.

And here you were, months later, standing at the small kitchen island in your apartment, which was, frankly, a bit inhumane in size for an inhabitant, but it's New York City, and it's what you could afford, even on the Donaldson's payroll. You had a small salad bowl in front of you, sliding the grape tomatoes off the cutting board in your hand into the mixture, as no other than Art Donaldson stood next to you, the tongs in his hand as you handed him the bowl.

Playing house with a married 35-year-old man wasn't on your list of things to do this year, but it's not like you were complaining.

From an outside perspective, it felt wrong, but to you, it felt just right. It was cliche, and well, bad, being apart of an affair for a multi-millionaire last name, and a man that was married, with a whole family, but you tried not to think about it.

Did you love him? You had never been in love, so you didn't really know, but probably not, at least not yet. Did he love you? You didn't think so, but he definitely favored you more than his own wife, and you weren't even thinking that because of the situation, you genuinely knew he preferred you.

"You want me to put a show on?" Art asked softly, glancing down at you as you walked over to the kitchen, rinsing off the cutting board. His eyes averted to your ass, glancing at the sweat shorts that hugged your figure, before looking up to meet your eyes when you turned around.

You knew he checked you out, it's not like that came to a surprise. Art was sweet, really, but it's not like he wasn't a sexual man because he was older. If anything, that made his sex drive higher. You shrugged, sliding past him to open the fridge and grab the salad dressing. "Eh, I'm good with whatever."

You can hear him set the bowl down, and his free hand travel to the side of your waist, over the thick cotton of your sweatshirt, as you grin to yourself, shaking your head while you set the dressing on the counter. "Shouldn't we eat first?"

"Just missed you today." Art muttered, lightly turning you around to face him before giving your forehead a light peck. "Haven't seen you all week, pretty."

Your cheeks redden, and the familiar pit in your stomach follows directly after. Fuck. Art was older than you, yes, but an emotional man at the fact of it, but he was so fucking needy. He'd come see you, not even two or three days between, and act like it had been two months without contact. He'd lay his head on your chest, play with your fingers, tell you how much he missed you, all because you hadn't seen him in not even a week. From the outside, that probably looked pathetic, a married man, who had a wife and child at home, coming to a college-aged girl's apartment, not even the size of his bedroom, cuddling her like he was a teenager. It was fucking toxic, actually, but again, you tried not to think about that part of it.

"Well, why don't we eat, and then you can show me that you missed me later, hm? That okay?" You step back slightly to look up to him, reaching forward to cup his rose-tinted, pale cheeks. You lean up to kiss him, pulling away to slide out of his embrace, your eyes following the meal you had just made together.

Art was pouting, basically, as he frowned at the corner of his mouth, walking towards the other side of you and gently taking the tongs out of your hand. "I'd rather show you now. You can't tell me you don't want me to fuck you right here, sweetheart."

"Art." You purse your lips together, shooting him a glare. You could pretend to be annoyed all you want, but he knew you weren't aggravated with him. It's not like you didn't enjoy him fucking the shit out of you on your kitchen counter, or anywhere, matter of fact. He'd fuck you right in your car when he walked you out of his house after babysitting, he didn't give a fuck. He liked you a lot, way more than he should, even in the given scenario of an affair.

"What?" He tilted his head, looking down at you with that stupid cheeky-ass grin he'd always give you when he knew you were fibbing. You wanted him, obviously. Sometimes, he didn't know why you even pretended to act like you didn't want it right then and there.

Art really wasn't even the most dominating guy, but if that's what you wanted, he'd put on a fucking show. He'd bend you over and fuck the shit out of you if that's what you wanted him to do. He'd make it hurt, if that's what you wanted him to do. But again, he liked you, so he'd never actually hurt you.

You glance down between you, the obviously erection in his sweatpants pointing right at you. You look back up to him, that look of pure want on his face so obvious. You glance to your bedroom. You don't have to speak, he already knows, and he listens so fucking easily.

The chemistry between the two of you was a fucking pain sometimes. You'd be so wet when he'd do as much as touch your back, it would piss you off sometimes, and you would think that after fucking him for a few months now, that feeling of freshness would go away, but it didn't.

You'd do more than just fuck, too. If he wasn't such a public figure, he'd take you out on real date, probably try to pursue you in some way if he wasn't married, and just a more normal-status guy, but that wasn't the case. He would make efforts though, buy you flowers sometimes when he'd come over, order the two of you something to eat, whether it was Chinese takeout or a 5-star review restaurant steak, he didn't care. He just wanted to please you, the best he could. All the time.

Right now, his definition of pleasing you was gesturing for you to lay down on your twin-sized bed, and plant his face between your legs, eating your pussy until you were begging him to fuck you with something other than his tongue.

You wiggled yourself out of your shorts and underwear in one, Art assisting you by pulling them off your ankles and onto the wooden floor. He spread your knees apart, kneeling on the hard ground before his hot breath was planting kisses between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

You gulp, averting your attention to his mouth. You watch him get closer, and you can only gasp when he latches onto your clit. You feel him move his hand onto your thighs, wrapping around them from the back and holding your sides, his pale, calloused hands digging into your skin. It didn't hurt though, not at all.

"Oh my god." Leaves your mouth without a single thought. Art knew exactly how to please you. "Art, you're gonna make me cum before you even fuck me."

He looked up to you, lips still pressed against your pussy, his eyes locked with yours for a moment, before he focused his attention to your body again. He didn't care. Guess that was the point.

You shake your head in disbelief, your back naturally arching as he pressed his tongue harder against you. God, you couldn't even imagine what it was going to be like when his cock was inside you, even though you'd slept together plenty of times before.

His tongue kept pace on your clit, as he moved one of his hands off your thigh and closer to your pussy, gently pushing his middle finger through your folds. Fucking hell, as if he couldn't make you more turned on.

"Art." His name rolled off your tongue. "You're gonna make me cum. I wanna finish with you."

He listened to you, and he obliged, despite how much he wanted you to cum now. Art slowly pulled his finger out of you, and his mouth away from you. He leaned up, motioning himself on top of you, before you moved your hands to lightly push him off.

"What's wrong?" He asked, almost immediately, his eyes dropping, almost disappointed. You knew his cock was aching to be inside you.

You lean up, your hands traveling to rest against the sides of his broad shoulders. "Here. Lay down."

Art wasn't going to fight that. He eagerly nodded at your request, your positions switching in seconds as he laid down on your bed. Your hands began to pull at the waistband on his sweats, and his underwear, sliding them off his body in one.

You weren't one for sucking cock, but with Art, you fucking adored it. You liked to watch him fall apart at just your mouth, knowing that he'd crumble once he fucked your pussy. You liked edging him to the point he was whining, begging, pleading to fuck you, or you to fuck him. Just depended on the day.

"You gonna suck my cock, pretty girl?" Art asked you, softly, a half-smile on his pink lips as he moved one of his hands to cup your cheek, his elbow propping his body up slightly. "Gonna let me fuck your mouth?"

"Mhm." You murmur, nodding as you move down to spit on his cock, wetting the tip before you peck a few kisses against his tip, glancing up at him as you laid on your stomach towards the end of your bed, front of your body aligned with his middle. "Gonna let you fuck my throat, Art."

Art's grin followed the rest of his lips, his cheeks dark red as his mouth hung open. He watched you lean down, his cock enveloped by your mouth. You had pretty, plump lips. Pretty and full lashes you'd bat when he fucked your throat. He could watch you suck him off all day. He could just be with you all day.

"You're so beautiful, [Y/N]. My pretty girl." He praised you, his hand still glued to your cheek, bits of spit against his thumb as you bobbed your head, his cock hard and full in your mouth. "Gonna let me fill your mouth up, hm? Or should I fill your pussy instead? What do you want, baby?"

It's not like you could answer the question. You keep sucking him off, looking up to his blue eyes, before you force him down your throat, muffling any sort of gag that your body desperately wanted to let out. You wanted him to know you could take his cock.

"God." He moaned, his eyes never leaving yours. He rubbed your cheek. "Your mouth feel so good, but I really wanna fuck you. Please, baby. I wanna cum in you. That pretty pussy, please."

It didn't take you much convincing to slide his cock out of your mouth and lay down on your bed. It made you feel embarrassed, desperate even, with how eager you were to have him stuff his cock inside you. Not like he judged you for that at all, just internal thoughts you'd have occasionally.

He sat up, his cock hard and straight, as his knees dug into the mattress. He took his shirt off in one pull, tossing it into the pile of your combined clothes before he moved you more towards the middle of the bed. He aimed his cock at your pussy, your legs spread wide for him, before he leaned forward, slowly pushing himself inside you, the both of you moaning at the raw feeling.

Art could be rough if you wanted him to, and you'd do the same for him, but typically, he savored the moment he entered you each and every time. He'd told you several times, that you were no where near in comparison to any woman he'd been with. No competition. You were it. In every way. Part of him wished he had met you earlier, maybe at Stanford or even grade-school. God, he would've worshipped you back then, all the way to now, and the future. You checked off all his boxes, physically, emotionally, sexually, everything. In a different narrative, he would've married you and had a life with you. Fuck tennis. Fuck everything. He'd rather whatever life he could've had with you.

"You feel so good, pretty. You always do." Art leaned down to press a hard kiss against your lips. He pecked your cheek, his lips moving to your ear. "I'm gonna fill that pussy. Gonna make you mine, baby, my sweet girl.. You want that? You like that?"

You nod, your mouth open as you moan, rather loudly as he picked his pace up the more he talked to you. "Y-Yes, baby, fuck yes, fill me up. You're so fucking sexy.. You fuck me so good, Art."

Art groaned at your response, moving his head back to align above yours, his overgrown curls bouncing with his movements, the bed squeaking underneath you. He'd let his hair grow out a bit more lately since you complemented it awhile back.

"Gonna fill this pussy, pretty girl. Gonna give you my cum." He muttered, almost to himself, as he looked between your bodies at what he could see, watching himself fill your hole. It was obvious you were fucking a former pro-athlete. He could fuck you for hours if he wanted to with the amount of stamina he had, regardless of his age. It was fucking hot, how much, and how long, he could fuck you.

You could feel your orgasm increasing the more he penetrated you, the more he pulled his cock nearly out of you and forcing it back inside you, sending jolts through your body. You were already overstimulated enough from just slower sex, him fucking you like a bunny was almost too much for you to take. Not like that was a bad thing though.

"Come on." You talk to him, watching between the two of you, too. "Make me cum, baby. I wanna finish with you, Art. Please, baby. Fuck me so good."

He nods, his body rocking against yours, your legs moving up to wrap around his hips, keeping him closer, and more inside you. You wanted him to fill all of you, not missing a drop of his cum. You wanted him to make you ache when you woke up tomorrow morning.

"Fuck." He groaned, moaning into your mouth as he kissed you, his tongue sliding against yours as he came inside you.

You felt your body jolt, finishing at the same time, as he filled your pussy up. It felt so good to be on the same level, the same energy, as him. So fucking good.

He gave it a few seconds before he pulled out of you, sitting back up, making sure he fucked your right. He rolled to the side before he pulled you closer to him, his hand running through your frizzy hair, kissing the side of your forehead.

You smirked, looking up to him, a small laugh leaving your lips. "What? You can't be shocked, we've had sex so many times I can't even count it at this point."

"I'm not shocked." Art laughed, playing with your hair as he looked up to the ceiling. "It just feels so different with you. You know how much I like you, [Y/N]. Just feels good is all."

"Hm." You watch him look up. You wanted to bring something else up, more emotional topics, but, as much as you knew he did fancy you, you didn't want to fuck up the moment. "Feels good to me, too." Is all you say in return.

Art looks down at you after a moment. "Yeah?" He grins, moving closer to you as he kisses your lips. "Good."

"Yeah." You return his kiss, slightly leaning up as you look to the door. "You wanna eat now? Got your energy out?"

Art shrugs, sitting up. He pecks your bare shoulder. "Maybe not. Maybe can let the rest of it out later."

"God, you're hornier than me." You scoff, pushing him off with a red face, laughing to yourself at the man before you. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

"What you say." He smirks, clearly teasing you, before stepping out of the bed, grabbing his clothes and tossing yours to you.

And that was what was odd about you and Art. It was casual, but not in a hookup sense. Casual in the way that you could sit down and eat with him, make a meal with him, watch shows and movies together, like a normal couple. It drove you insane sometimes. He felt the same way, but how the hell could he tell you that, when he could never actually be with you? He'd have to mask it some type of way, and usually that was through sex. Not like he didn't enjoy it solely for sexual reasons, because, god, he enjoyed fucking you, but he also enjoyed you.

He watched you finish your plate as you sat on the sofa together. You were gorgeous, the perfect picture of the woman he'd want to be with for more than just this. But that was something you'd have to figure out later.

[oh-no-its-bird]

HELPPP IM CRYING ACTUALLY IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE THEM???? HONORED TBH????? I love these silly little guys SO much I'm losing my mind over here that u like them enough to write smthn so long ab it, omg don't look at me rn I'm crying

I never thought too much ab Haruka's voice before but tbh now what u described it that way that's just the Official Haruka Voice Take (tm) actually, that is how she sounds now

"I've got nothing better to do, I think she's funny and I want to reinforce her bad habits <3" is so fucking funny and so fucking accurate, this is exactly what is happening in the twins minds actually.

In my notes for their personalities in my notesapp, I just wrote "They're genuinley just the fucking WORST to deal with. Their "I'm going to cause problems on purpose" dials got cranked up to 10 and got stuck that way at birth" which I think sums it up nicely.

I've been writing silly small stuff for them lately to hoard jealously in my notesapp and I think Haru has a genuine mean streak while Hiro is a lot more bark than bite— but also Haru looks and talks a bit gentler while Hiro acts and sounds rougher, so they often give off the opposite impressions. Don't worry Hiro, your brother will do what you aren't strong enough to (crime)

There's all sorts of fun layers to it too, like, considering they're from a clan who tries to shelter it's children— but they're also from the infamously bloody warring states period, who had to bring up their children much quicker and rougher than modern. I think Hiro would have made a wonderful modern day shinobi while Haru is a good example of the inherent violence of the warring states, just buried under good cheer and playfulness. Mmmm phycology,,,

I love their little trio with Shiruka, they are besties and she's also their first real friend their age, while she's kind of but not quite an outcast in her own clan due to her parents poor standing. She's older sibling coded and so tired of their shit but also quietly, perpetually amused by it, which is probably part of why she sticks around. That, plus their clear undying loyalty towards anything and anyone considered "theirs"— a list she's made it on and does her best to reply in kind

They are holding hands and will continue to hold hands together till they inevitably die at ~19 for the good of the village, yippie !!!

At least they'll get to live on in the memory of Hiname,,

Just kidding she dies like 3 years later, whoops!

BUT YEAH THEM !!! I love them so much, I had way too much fun thinking ab just the ecosystem for young shinobi in early konoha.

I have so many more thoughts ab it all tbh, theres no doubt tons of things happening as so many different people and clans settle in to a new normal but I ofc have my focus

I think I accidentally created some sort of little mystery/conflict with my silly meme of Shiruka going "he wants to order break into my clan heirs house" while also stating that she and her family aren't currently in good standing with the Nara main family.

I wasn't thinking ab it too hard when I drew it but now I'm sat over here like "girl why are you helping Haru break into your clan heirs home when you're already most likley on their (or at least their parents) shit list?? Who is the clan heir and why does Haru want to break into their house?? What drama is this??"

I'll probably think harder about it later, I feel like there's potential there

I need to stop thinking so hard ab potential early konoha narrative things bc I refuse to be consumed by it and know I very much will give in to The Voices if I continue

I say that but I'm absoloutley going to continue to think ab them. Actually.

Ough,,, Wolves of the Woods my beloved,,, one day I'll write u,,, one day,,

That said I'm also enamored with Tetsuo as clan heir (someone get him out of there!!!) He's great at it but also really, really does not want the position.

I think when he was younger and Tobirama was visiting the clan, he point blank begged him to take the position— But Tobirama said no, he's a Senju through and through and he's proud to be second to his Anija. A week later, and Tetsuo officially got the title (and maybe cried about it but only just a little and only on the inside)

(Tetsuo is still nursing a tiny grudge over this, though it's lessened slightly since Sakumo's birth)

POV he's in an especially bitchy mood and Tobirama asks him something and he just kind of grumbles, "oh, I'm sorry, are you my clan heir?"

Queue ??????? from like half of those present

He's so cute tho I think he has my favorite design of all of them. He dresses the fanciest for sure— Haruka totally owns similar things (I think the half and half haori is super cute and I want it to be a clan staple) but only wears it on occasions where she needs to, while he's more traditional/conscious of himself and his position, so he dresses like that all the time. He's probably the guy they send to the capital whenever it's necessary and the clan heads presence isn't needed

Random early konoha oc fun fact no one asked for: I have a vague messy fic idea from months ago now that basically amounts to "the Hatake's die before Madara defects to the village, and Kabuto, in practicing Orochimaru's edo tensei in preparation for the final battle, revives them— then manages to lose them in transport before they wake up. Not knowing any better, they flock to Madara to help in his fight"

I love time travel I love drama I love horrible misunderstandings and family/clan drama !!!!!

Uhh take some notes from that:

ANYWAYS THANKS SO MUCH IM SO GLAD U LIKE THEM SORRY FOR MY WORD VOMIT I JUST GET SO EXCITED AB THEM I COULD EXPLODE WITH IT ACTUALLY

Silly, early Konoha lore and oc things drawn while thinking about this post

!!! early konoha my beloved !!! I have so many thoughts ab it, I want to write a fic that's just silly early Konoha things viewed from the perspective of the less important clan members and their everyday lives. I'm aware the audience for that is incredibly small but I have too much fun just thinking ab it to really care!

Ichigo remains the only naruto oc Ive ever actually written for (in one step three steps), tho Haruka has been mentioned in multiple fics of mine now just bc she fills the role of Tobirama + Hashirama's blood aunt that I needed to be filled in my "Kakashi interacts with Tobirama w the knowledge that they are directly related" fics, of which there are now multiple

but yeah, take some silly art and lore comics !! I had fun while making these and will now probably put all these ocs on a shelf where I will not touch them for some more months

[itsnathateasy]

Natt your headcannons are so cute and I desperately need comfort right now🙏 of course you write best with Armin... but can I beg you to write hcs for Erwin and a child/child-figure reader? maybe the rest of the veterans too, I love them so much</3

(although, honestly, Armin is so clearly Erwin's favorite lolol. hed be the kind of dad to very non-subtly talk to Armin about his kid who just so happens to be around the same age like a grandma trying to get her grandkid a partner...)

hi lydia! right into the hormones with this ask! i’m not apologising for wanting an Erwin daddy (for myself tehe😈) (i'm so glad you're enjoying the hcs so far!🫂 thanks for taking the time to read them!)

sorry for taking ages to write this, i've been all over the place lately and these headcanons have been my sole consolation!

warnings: mentions of pregnant reader in the beginning, otherwise mostly fluff! also, this is in a canonverse!

word count: 1,9k

So if you and Erwin had a kid, you’ve literally nothing to worry about. He’s a good daddy (to the both of you😈). He’s the best paternal figure for your kid and an amazing partner.

The moment you told Erwin you’re pregnant, you felt as if your entire world had collapsed. He literally couldn’t have appeared any more disinterested. Sure, he was tired from his mission, but… Didn’t you deserve some attention? All you got was a “That’s amazing sweetheart, I’m so proud of you” and a peck on the temple, before he returned to his newspaper. You were so upset and decided to get some sleep because, if you didn’t, he wouldn’t make it out of the house alive. Truth be told, he was probably trying to conceal his panic. He was going to be a dad!

To your surprise, you woke up to Erwin emptying your laundry room, measuring the walls, windows, door etc. “Just making sure this is a proper room for an infant. Won’t you take a look at those colour and fabric catalogues? I’ve marked a few choices I liked” you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. A man of action, indeed!

The first time Erwin saw your baby he was so conscious with his actions, scared to death that he might hurt them unintentionally. “Just support their head and torso and… You’re doing great!” you said as you fully let go of your baby in his strong arms. “This is so… God, y/n… This is the best day of my entire life!” This was the only time you ever witnessed the commander sobbing.

(This is genderless of course BUT I feel that Erwin would KILL for a son, but then he gets a daughter and goes all “I’ll make you a strong, independent woman”, you feel me? Back to the genderless kid now!)

Erwin is a tough love kind of person. While this still applies to him as a dad, you’ve seen tremendous change in him. He’s so caring and giving to your child, you almost don’t recognise him at first. (Although as the kid grows up, he kinda goes back to being more of a tough love type of guy, but mostly to teach them the value of hard work or something) (the type of dad to teach them a bunch of things, whether the kid likes it or not!)

I mean, if your kid isn’t doing their homework, Erwin will of course try to get to the bottom of things. “Why don’t you want to study today? Is something wrong at school?” but he’s also the dad to “Listen, I can plant the knowledge in your head, but I can’t make it sprout for you. You have to study on your own as well and you need to pay attention to your teachers. I’ll be in the living room if you’ve more questions”.

Erwin is the dad to plan Sundays in nature. Although he adores the sound of you and your kid playing indoors, while he’s reading his paper, he does love to actively spend time with you. He believes every outdoor activity is a great chance to teach you both some new skills, so do expect him to show you (and your toddler) how to chop wood. “Erwin, they’re three years old” “They need to know about these things, y/n. When I was their age, my dad made me carry the logs all the way home too” “You’re not making our three-year old carry logs Erwin” you protested with a slight glare. “I’m not making our three-year old carry logs, sweetheart”, surrendering with a smile.

While Erwin is more of a traditional dad, I don’t think this applies to how he sees you or his participation in housework and childcare. He’s traditional because he wants to teach your kid values and nurture them into a decent human being. That’s why he makes extra sure to help you fold clothes, clear the dining table etc. Especially if your kid is watching you. He’s trying to set the best possible example. If your kid is old enough to participate in chores, Erwin makes sure they do. “Chores are something we share. It’s like when dad’s on a mission with his team. Every team member has an important role to play. Our role inside the house is to make sure that the chores are completed.” It’s a good thing he was so attentive to the kid as he spoke, because you were on the verge of tears. Where did you even get this man?

He’s also traditional in the sense that he wants to be the provider. He’s the man to make a fuss when you say you want to get back to work, but he also respects you enough to recognise that you have to make your own choices on these matters.

Erwin is so big on rules, it’s almost annoying sometimes. “Why are you still in your pyjamas?” (even on a Saturday!) type of rules. Also, “There’s no dessert, if you don’t finish your lunch. Do you think your mother is obligated to cook for you? We should support mum, show her we’re grateful for all she does for us, not make her life miserable. Eat your peas, then we can all enjoy some pudding”.

“Same goes for mum. Mum has to finish her plate AND her pudding, so she can get some rest.” He gave you a playful smirk, knowing how you were desperate for a nap after your long day.

I KNOW IT IN MY BONES that Erwin is a sucker for activities he considers “smart”. Playing chess, reading books, solving puzzles and crosswords, that kind of games. He also tries to make up his own mind games. He thinks this is the best way to keep your kid’s mind as sharp as possible.

(He also makes them ACTUALLY strategise with him smh… He says that “a fresh, unbiased mind can share a fresh, unbiased perspective”. He’s always super impressed by the comments your child shares with him and how complex those comments become as they mature).

“Dad, how did you and mum meet?” You and Erwin exchange a look at the unexpected question. “Let me demonstrate...” he walked closer to you and held your hand in his. “Erwin we can’t really… Demonstrate this...” You admitted shyly, cheeks blushing, recalling one of your very first dates. “We’ll only demonstrate the suitable for work details, such as...” you inhaled sharply as he slammed you on his torso “How I asked you to dance with me and you didn’t know how to, so you kept stepping on my toes” “It’s not true Erwin! Don’t perpetuate the lie!” You couldn’t hold back your laughter at the sweet memory. “Dad, dad! Did mum go like this on your toes?” then proceeded to give him the worst toe-stepping experience of his life, as they stepped down on him with all of their force.

“The little devil almost threw my nails out! Can you believe how strong they are already?” He said rubbing his sore toes. “That was karma, Erwin, delivered to you in the best way possible!”

“When can I go out on my own dad?” “When you’re tall enough to reach things from the top shelf for your mother. Now go back to your studying.”

When your kid is sick, Erwin kinda loses it. Not in a hectic or panicky way. Mostly, he doesn’t know how to care for a sick person. He’s used to taking the sick or injured people to the infirmary, but how do care for a tiny person?

“Calm down, Erwin! It’s just a cold! Think of yourself. What do YOU do when you’re sick?” “I- Uhm...” He considered this for a while, deep in thought, his fist supporting his chin. “I don’t do anything, y/n. I’ve only ever been to the infirmary due to injuries” “You’re insufferable Erwin” you giggled as you showed him to your medicine cabinet. “They still weigh around sixty pounds. You pop one of these bad boys” you pointed to the painkillers, making the pills jiggle inside their paper box as you continued, “and you have to make sure they’ve eaten beforehand. It helps to drink some water as they swallow the pill. Take their temperature every few hours, make them drink some water, and that’s it!” All this time, his eyes were glued on yours, taking in every single thing you said. “Am I a bad father for not having attending to my sick kid before?” he questioned, eyes still deep in thought, obviously upset by his absence from your kid’s life. “You provide for us. And you risk your life for our entire community, every single day you’re not with us.” You said and touched your arm to his shoulder. “It’s no easy task. Besides, you’re here now and you’re here as often as you’re able too. You’re here for what’s important, trust me.” You explained earnestly. “You still do most of the work though, y/n. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t be doing this on your own.” “I’m not on my own now, am I?”

He really questions himself when it comes to finding a balance between work and family. I know it in my heart that he's doing his best for his precious family!

Erwin intervenes. A whole lot. “What is this book you’re reading?” “Do you have your eyes on any special lady/gentleman?” “Why didn’t you get the highest score in your class?”. Sometimes, he really puts too much pressure on your child. You have to pull him aside and explain that “You can’t control what another person does. Let them be themselves. They’re doing so well already, they’re just… Not as obsessed with succeeding in everything as you” you said and smirked at him. “I’m not obsessed, I’m just the best, y/n! Did you think I became the commander on accident?” He protested, in an almost defensive way, his hand on his chest. “I’m only saying, they don’t have to be as successful as you. They’re good enough and they’re doing their own thing. Let them be and don’t project on them.” He gave you a look as if he saw you for the first time. “Do you think I’m acting like my father, y/n?” (THE PANIC IN HIS VOICE!!)

When your kid receives a medal or does well in whatever they’re interested in, Erwin is the most proud dad to ever exist on the planet. His face is actually glowing and he’s boasting way more than the kid themselves. “I think they took after my sense of discipline. Look how far they’ve come y/n!” “Of course they take after you, Erwin! You’ve taught them so much!” “They wouldn’t be who they are without you, sweetheart.”

BONUS (when the child is 16+)

I do agree that Erwin is the type of person to try and introduce his kid to his favourite scouts. It’s also no secret that Erwin has a liking to Armin. A first, he’s not so sure that Armin is a good candidate for his offspring, as he used to be this timid, small boy. But as time passes, Erwin sees the brilliant mind and strategist that is Armin, he’s got to secure him, you know??

He’d make sure the offspring attends any formal ceremonies as an attempt to get these two to interact. Once he’s finally introduced them to one another, he tries so desperately to put in a good word here and there. It’s funny, because neither Armin or your kid has realised Erwin is doing this on purpose. “Can you not play match maker Erwin? Aren’t you a bit old for this?” “You don’t understand sweetheart. Armin’s a real catch! He’s going to be a commander after I retire, I’m sure! We just need to keep a close eye on him!”

[allmannerofmalady]

In continuation of my clownery, I started a new DATV playthrough because my beloved Inquisitor looked so jarring I had to remake her and replay like 20 hours of the game. But hey, I made peace with the fact that I am playing DATV to wrap up Inquisition and get an ending scene at this point, I'm not currently foreseeing a second playthrough, so I gotta do it right, y'know?

Spoilers, and me complaining at extreme length, yet again, about my own personal expectations vs reality into the void. Please ignore if DATV negativity is something you prefer to stay away from, protect your peace & what you enjoy.

So I replay HOURS. I'm having fun killing everything as fast as I can - I don't know what it is about playing as a rogue in this game that has tickled my ADHD brain so much, but I'm surprisingly really good at the arrow bonanza and relentless enemy aggro?! This turn based bitch? I digress.

I see my bb Inquisitor Lavellan - she still doesn't look like herself, but I can live with it. She got some ill-advised fillers in Tevinter, she's been through a lot, let her LIVE.

This time around my strategy is pure lore hunting. I'm getting every codex, I'm SQUEEZING this playthrough for whatever lore/easter eggs I can get because idk if I'm going to play again. I got all of Solas' murals early on, got Mythal's essence before Weisshaupt even, I think. BUT WAIT! I have one more treat! The locked room in the Lighthouse! Solas' study! There must be something juicy for all the effort, right? RIGHT? :'D

I know it's been beaten to death, but PERSONALLY, the game still feels incredibly flat to me, jarringly so. If I'm in the Dreadwolf's home, I want to snoop. I want Rook to look through his library, his books, his garbage bin. I even remember the devs saying they wanted being in the Lighthouse to feel an old friends house, or something? I could be wrong, my brain is fried. It's not just a Solas thing - I'm playing this game because I'm desperate for info about the characters I love, but as Rook, we are IN Solas' HQ and I want to rip open the floorboards. I'm trying to RP as much as I can RP in this G.

Anyway, I was so thirsty for something more, something deeper than just these lovely environments I cant do much with, and notes on how Solas hoards raisins - so I collected the wisps and did all the things to unlock the second door in the Lighthouse, forever booboo the fool, thinking I would get some juicy content or something. Trying to stay positive.

No. NO. I got some gear, another empty room Rook has no comments on, and fine, some of Solas' observations on the anchor. It does seem to confirm he kept the Inquisitor’s arm aaaand I love him your honour.

Back to backflipping and shooting arrows in the air, and wanting to grab Emmrich by the beautiful lapels to shake him and ask about the Pentaghast family. Where's my WIFE --

On to the Weisshaupt mission, which was actually ridiculously fun to play - until I was told Weisshaupt is gone haha wow great love that at least the Inquisitor & gang are keeping Southern Thedas safe *subtle foreshadowing* 😃🤞 weeee

I was SO MAD at myself for expecting more like the clown that I am, it was something dumb but just annoyed me all over again and got me all… opinionated 🫠

So, I'm mad again. I cannot begin to articulate my feelings about the incredible amount of storylines and lore we've lost with the decisions made in DATV's writing - they've already been written so eloquently by much greater minds than myself. SO I'm just laughing my way through the pain 🤡

People pleaser that I am, I see other creators I've followed and loved for ages defend the game's choices, tell others they lack media literacy, that your criticisms mean you have rose tinted glasses about the previous games - whatever, your opinion can be valid without tearing others down. So, I genuinely thought something was wrong with me for being so hung up on details. But I can't even engage in fan theories anymore because I'm so jaded at this point. When I see new deep dives into lore-based theories on the game, 99% of the time my mind goes "There is no deeper meaning. They just wanted to wrap it up." Why do you think this thing happened? What do you think that thing is hinting? Nothing. And this is coming from someone who played all the games, owns all the novels, art books, World of Thedas I and II, the bloody Inquisitor lamp from the BioWare store LOL, I was primed and ready to engage in these conversations, but I can't. I have nothing to say that won't end in a cynical answer, and maybe that's because I'm also jaded by working in the game-adjacent VFX industry.

The factions are, yet again, fun but shallow, the logic confusing, and lack much of a backstory for Rook (I think Grey Wardens and Mourn Watchers seem to be the best developed from other reviews and playthroughs, I've only played extensively as a Shadow Dragon, to be fair). Why are you a mage in this one faction? Why are you a rogue in another when it doesn't make sense without a story to support it? It's all this beautiful candy floss that melts away the minute I stop and think about it. And then the cynic in me thinks - these are probably vestiges of the live service part of the game that EA was pushing for. I have to slap myself and stop looking for deeper meaning within corporate decisionsssss there is no swimming pool behind that closed door you needed 7 wisps for 😃

I desperately did not want this to be the case. I was hyped. I preordered the game and organized vacation around it, I'm too old and dealing with way too many crappy personal things to just be a hater for the sake of being a hater. Gaming and Dragon Age are my comfort spaces. But for the LIFE of me, I can't imagine playing DATV again once I finish, let alone more times than I can count like the previous games. Or imagine listening to 4 hours of Youtube videos of party banter to analyze, or even imagine how companions would react to certain things because they feel so stiff. Everything is beautiful, but sterile.

I do love Emmrich - I'm enjoying his storyline and romance, it's like the loveliest most whimsical Vincent Price Pixar romance, but still, something is always missing with the characters even as some do grow on me. I can't imagine anything close to just the party banter ALONE between Solas and Iron Bull. Cole. Fenris and Anders. And to be clear - the whole DA was GRITTY and DARK, DAO supremacy - NOT ME. I love all the games but they have always been whimsical and silly, cringey at times, and did not take themselves seriously. I remember doing the quest where Hawke is running around trying to keep Aveline's date with Donnic from going south, cracking up at how ridiculous it was, and just thinking - gods I LOVE this game.

Speaking of romance, while I'm enjoying how sweet the romance with Emmrich is, when I see others complaining about lack of spice... ahem. I still cannot get over the art style when it comes to characters. This is subjective, and a me problem - I still find it jarring. I don't like the proportions, the bloom, how smooth everyone looks. They still mostly look like cartoons to me, with no body hair and the big heads, and I find everyone's hands so distracting because they look like plasticine. I'm ok with no spice between these characters with their current designs lol let me leave it at that. Ok, except for Felassan and Solas, chef's kiss, no notes.

Solas and story elements directly around him still mostly hold the familiar weight, for the most part. I think credit goes to his amazing VA and the strength of what was likely written for his arc from the very start, before the rewrites and dev hell the game went through. I still have opinions, obviously, but even as a ride or die Solavellan I don't like having the Solavellan angle hijack conversations, so I'm not going to go there. If I'm going to criticize stuff I'll do it as a gamer/DA fan first, egg lover and apologist second.

As I reach the end of Act 2, the game continues to makes me feel like I'm stripped of all agency after a lifetime of playing choice-based games. I talk to companions when it allows me to, then they are relegated to set dressing. My conversation choices all feel the same, or don't match what I'm choosing sometimes. The Lighthouse does not feel like the vibrant hub it was sold as. I am on quests I mostly cannot accept or reject. I cannot interact with my surroundings unless it is gameified (light a candle, move a crystal). The companions abilities are all just - platforming? I know I sound hyperbolic, but it's all I can see currently.

I played Persona 5 from end to end, twice. I played FFXVI. I loved both, had no issues with their linear storytelling, and how the game led you to their end points. Those games are not DA, they did not have the expectations you would have from a BioWare title 10 years in the making. You were not lured in by tales of an incredible character creator, teased about what might be coming from previous games, told this was a sequel to an immersive fantasy RPG series in a beloved fantasy world where the defining studio mechanic was CHOICES MATTER, even when they changed a lot of other things from title to title. In P5/FFXVI you were Clive, you were Joker, you were playing out their story. They were not direct sequels to anything. I'm loathe to be seen as a mindless critic who just wants to shit on things, but a part of me does feel emotionally manipulated for $$$. I still resent how much hype was built for the game by maligning the previous ones (we're fixing Inquisition's mistakes!!).

I'm back to my mission of finishing the game I paid for, enjoy what I can, and get my Solavellan ending scene cause I'm down BAD for literally the only ship I have ever shipped🧍🏻‍♀️I appreciate that it was included. But also - wow does it exacerbate what wasn't included for everyone else's choices.

Something I hate is how everyone immediately jumped on the Baldur's Gate 3 comparisons - BG3 was a life changing game for me, but it's not perfect, and the comparisons are not fair. The one thing I will say is that when I first played BG3, despite its issues and the later criticisms of how Larian reacted to pressure from fans, I remember my earliest impression was - it feels good to be respected as a player. I didn't feel the game was talking down to me, and I got SO much for what I paid for (700 hours baybeee). Jaheira and Minsc were included as companions in homage to the previous games. Yes, they did Viconia dirty, nothing is perfect - but for example, Jaheira would tell you about her husband Khalid from the original games, which came out in 1998 and 2000. There was a lot of world building/easter eggs that not everyone was familiar with or even noticed, because not every player played BG1 and 2, or were familiar with DND 5e - but it was included. Drizzt Do’urden was mentioned ffs, they didn’t overthink about who read those books or not. I’m aware of my biases and I may very well be looking through rose tinted glasses, but I did not feel like the information was presented like I was dumb, or "ah they'll never understand this - SCRAP IT". It just feels like it’s there to honour the past and out of love for the world Larian were playing in.

—> edit to say that I do notice and enjoy the codex entries, callbacks to Tevinter Nights, Masked Empire, the older games. I wish that care and detail was woven into the main story and overall end product and not just background fluff. I know others are satisfied with those additions, wish that were me. I saw a tweet saying that every callback to a previous game or storyline actually pissed them off even more lol, I relate.

I don't feel that respect for the player in DATV, I'm sorry. There is love there, but as hard as I try, it feels like it's there despite of the overall design of the game, not part of it. I keep remembering interviews before the game was released and things that were promised, and I don't see it. At all. No more meaningless fetch quests!! Most companion-focused game! The quests are largely boring or formulaic, but addictive and fun because they are so packed with mindless combat that my brain enjoys. Sometimes it feels like filler - we didn't know what to add here, FIGHT! You unlocked a poignantly named gate in the Crossroads? NO STORY MORE FIGHT! And I'm eating it up, let me not be a hypocrite, I have 80 hours in the game. But personally, it feels designed to pad out this beautiful, sometimes fun, but bitterly shallow game. I can't even go into companion specifics because I have nothing to say, no story I want to analyze. Some have grown on me, but there is no bite or nuance to the writing that compels me and I have no urge to know more. In the previous DA games I would take the long route wherever I went just to get more banter from my companions, and I was instantly interested in them, even if I disliked them. I've seen the comments, I tried, I don't think it's because "I haven't spent enough time" with the DATV companions.

The level design of long narrow corridors, which do remind me of DA2 and FFXVI, has become so predictable to me that I almost always know exactly where I'm going to find loot. So it becomes this admittedly satisfying run of grabbing and fighting to the end point, getting the dopamine hits of collecting pointless stuff, but not really taking in the environments and enjoying the adventure. The level design is not immersive. These do not feel like real cities or real people, and that was intentional. It feels like “levels”, not a World. No one reacts to a single thing you do. Even in the ultra minimalist style of Zelda BOTW, townspeople would react to things you did. Sometimes I walk up to yet another obvious fight arena where the enemies are just chilling, waiting for me while standing still - almost like they're on shift at a haunted house LOL. I can imagine the Venatori stubbing out a cigarette, "C'mon guys, she's here, showtime". The funny part is this has all been seen before in older games, and it never bothered me. My own expectations and overhype might be to blame, but it feels like a big step back when so many games are stepping forward. Me = clown

I keep going back to my first reaction when the disappointment hit me. It feels like being given Persona 5 Strikers or Hyrule Warriors, and told that it's the sequel to the actual RPG. It's fun, it wears the skin of the thing you like that makes you happy, but stops there.

Other things I shake my fist at

Cheap ass The 6th Sense ass Varric death. Yes, yes, Solas villain arc whatever - it was cheap. Way to honour a multi-game beloved character and the player, even if the time had come for him to die in the story.

No, I cannot find a single redeeming reaction from a companion that makes Varric dying make sense in hindsight, except that they are all made of cardboard. I saw comments saying on a second playthrough it's clear Harding is in mourning - sorry, I don't see it.

So. Dorian, the Inquisitor, Charter, Harding, your party, Maevaris, Isabella, list goes on - not a single one of them asks about Varric or mentions his death? Expresses condolences? Nothing? Cheap. Even if Solas was playing with your mind, doesn't it make the overall characters in the game seem even more wooden and unrealistic to the player? It was not the gotcha they seem to think it is.

When the novelty of the cameos and the emotion associated wore off, they were just flat and felt random. Cassandra should have been there, doing Seeker shit (my WIFE). Ok no cameo? Casual dialogue with Emmrich about having a Nevarran in the Inquisition (or as the Divine?!) Lucanis info dumping about Josephine as an Antivan, Zevran as a Crow, nvm, time for a coffee joke. Merrill, eluvian queen, how is she a nonentity? Habibi Fenris should have been in the Shadow Dragons, spitting on the ground after being approached by Solas to join his uprising (lol what uprising amirite). Ok I'm cooking hire me Bioware 🍳 but at least they can remain untainted by the Isabella Treatment (tm)

This leads into the yeeting of the Keep, world states, choices, and hypocrisy around claiming to want to level the playing field for new players. No, all I can see is - it was treated as a buffet that they picked from as it suited. This is the one disappointment I will never let go of. Facsimile's of beloved character cameos were tossed in, you could not really talk to them outside of what limited dialogue you were allowed. Certain world states are now canon apparently - Dorian being recruited in the Inquisition, Morrigan drinking from the Well etc. You want a reboot and you've committed to tossing the choices and burning down Thedas (literally)? Go down with GLORY! Have all the previous main characters/companions alive. Have them all mentioned, even in passing. A portrait on a wall. Say goodbye to them, get your reboot. Honour what you built your business on. But yeah, Emmrich and Harding get to have their picnic in Fereldan fml bye

The argument of: well, the games are old now, it shouldn't matter. Ah - not too old to capitalize on the IP and DA name? Not too old to use some cameos to lure old players? The argument of - it was too many choices to track. Ok cut them down, but don't go scorched earth? 3 choices, mostly irrelevant to those who don't care about Solas (could never be me), and then literally telling you everything else in the South and Weisshaupt is now razed to the ground. But also the illuminati did everything.

FINALLY - the Inquisition should have been in charge of the hunt for Solas, hill I will die on. Fine, have Rook, but Inquisitor should have been the other protagonist. The people... who knew Solas best and betrayed by him... who were in an organization to save the world... Why did we have that cunty dagger stabbed into the map of Tevinter cliffhanger to have the Inquisitor reduced to a pyjama wearing husk BIOWAAAAAAAARE

It's this stuff that builds up, and makes me think - does this game hate its fanbase and source material that much? I very obviously need to go touch some grass 🤠

I keep engaging with Reddit, Tumblr, Twitter - all to my detriment because it makes me feel like there's something wrong with me for not loving it, all over again. I also desperately have a fic in me I would love to write, an ode to the story in my head from years of loving the world of Thedas, a love letter to my Lavellan and others - but idk what to do with the post-DATV world atp. I just want to get through Act 2/3, get my Solavellan smooch, ignore the ~secret Illuminati ending, and be grateful I'm not a Mass Effect fan so I don't have to go through this again 🐣

[lordsammichsilas]

I saw a recent post someone made speculating on birth years for each of the FO4 companions. They had estimated Danse being born (created?) in 2261 and part of that reasoning was 1) he had been paladin by 2277 and 2) Maxson said it took Danse “many” years to become paladin.

I wanted to expand on it without dumping a huge wall of text onto their post. If you want to know which post, here's the link. And this isn't me disagreeing with any of it. It was just something that got me thinking and I wanted to expand on it.

I've been kind of stuck on Danse's character for a bit because of the fic I'm writing. I didn't actually realize Maxson had said it took Danse many years to become Paladin (I looked it up and it's when you first join the BoS and you're given the rank of Knight. If you ask why not Paladin, that's when you get that info).

So anyway it made me wonder what “many” years would be in the context of a military career. The Brotherhood of Steel was born from the US military, so I looked into the ranks of the US Army to get an idea. Danse is a senior officer with the BoS and a field commander. From what I can tell, the most senior field commander in the Army is the rank of Major. Just doing a quick Google search, it takes about 11 years to make that rank. Added to at least 10 years as Paladin, I'm estimating Danse has been in the BoS for about 21 years by the beginning of FO4.

If someone joins the Army at 18, they'd be about 39 by the time they reach Major. Since Danse is a synth and was created as an adult humanoid male, that doesn't mean much in terms of his actual chronological age. It does for his perceived age, though.

The BoS keeps really extensive records on its members. They even keep their DNA on file. When you walk through the Prydwen, you get a very paranoid vibe and the children on the ship are encouraged to spy on all staff aboard the Prydwen. And yet, no one suspected Danse was a synth.

Synths don't age. At SOME point, even if they never got the files from the Institute saying Danse was a missing synth, someone would have had to start questioning why Danse still looks the same after all of those years in the BoS. That hadn't happened, yet. Also the stress of battle and the scars on his face probably do give the illusion of “aging” to an extent. Danse also isn't close to anyone in the BoS and doesn't talk about himself. His background is as an anonymous orphan in the Capital Wasteland. All of this gives plenty of wiggle room on his perceived age to others. I'm guessing anyone in the BoS would probably just assume he's in his mid-late 30's. Maybe early 40's.

And up to that point, the timeline would match. His time spent in the BoS would point to him being that age. He looks like he's about that age. He's a senior officer. It's fine. Give it about 10 years, though, and people would have started asking questions. Danse was on borrowed time and he had no idea.

And then there's time spent in Rivet City. He and Cutler were quite close, enough that they joined up together. My guess is that they were probably seen as two young men at around the same age (I'll just say late teens, early 20's) when they joined up. Since we know Danse is an adult who doesn't age, I'm going to lean hard on the battle scars theory for simulating aging and also say he was probably clean shaven in the beginning which also made him look younger.

Even then, I am guessing he spent enough time with Cutler for them to become close without raising any suspicions on his age. I'm going to give about 2 years in Rivet City. I figure that's plenty of time for two young men to become friends enough that they run off and join the military together. Without the appearance of his age raising any red flags.

That puts the timeline up to 23 years.

Prior to that, it gets really fuzzy. We know nothing of his time in the Institute. We can make some educated guesses, but all we know for sure is that he was a missing synth named M7-97. Danse himself doesn't know anything about it. I can't really give any guess on how long he was there without going ENTIRELY into headcanon territory.

Him being born in the year 2261 is totally plausible. That would make him chronologically 26 years old.

His perceived age, though, I thought was interesting to think about because you have to see how his appearance and the direction his life took was almost out of luck that no one found him out sooner. I think he was in a far more precarious position than even he realized and even without the BoS discovering he was a synth from the Institute, he was getting close to a point in time where his age would have come into question even more and people would have started getting suspicious anyway.

[blindmagdalena]

All of a Sudden, There You Are

3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.

As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.

Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.

He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.

Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.

It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.

"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.

That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.

He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”

"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.

That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.

He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.

Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.

Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.

"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.

"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."

You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.

He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.

You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.

"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.

"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual. 

The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.

The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.

Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.

When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most. 

He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room. 

“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue. 

You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.

He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”

Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.

You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. 

“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.

“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head? 

Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.

“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words.  “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”

love me back.

Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more. 

“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.

He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.

God, how he wants to feel every part of you. 

You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.

Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.

“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.

He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.

“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.

Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.

[yasmeensh]

Story update

I got to write a good chunk of the opening these past two days. Excited to get more work done over March break. And I can't wait to get to writing more about my daughter T-T But she comes in a bit later in the story. Still in the first act, though.

Some more character design doodles:

[erstwhilesparrow]

to the surprise of approximately no one, i am thinking about video game mechanics and mcrp and c!owen and violence again. i am thinking about interesting accidental resonances and i am thinking about what someone's medium of choice makes it easy to tell stories about. the thing is, owen's pov of outsiders is a story that, despite being told almost exclusively in minecraft, really does not want to be a story set in minecraft.

what i mean by this is that cc!owen repeatedly and deliberately tries to prevent minecraft logic from existing in the story he is telling. according to him, things operate in the messy space of real-world physics, and the fundamental structure of the world aligns much more with our reality than with, i dunno, a series of 1s and 0s. of course they can't climb the vines to get to the top of the walls, they'd get tired well before the reach the top, never mind that minecraft doesn't have any mechanic in place to keep you from clinging to a vine for as long as you want. of course acho drowning during the underwater maze game could have been from something being wrong with the potions, never mind that minecraft potions come out the exact same way every time. of course it matters that owen punched mohwee for going into the maze, but only once, because he couldn't bring himself to do it again. never mind that a punch in minecraft rarely means much.

a single punch in minecraft doesn't mean anything. or it means almost everything, which is why it doesn't mean anything. but the outsiders, at least for a little while, make a world where a punch matters, where it's the kind of thing you go running to tell other people about because it means a real fight's brewing. mohwee punches graecie, and someone comes running to let owen know. we're meant to react to it the way we would if it happened irl. we're treating this seriously now!

except that's really hard to do in minecraft, because minecraft isn't a game that gives you many avenues for... body language. for the kind of nonverbal communication you do by touching someone gently. try as they might to pretend otherwise, it is built into the bones of any minecraft world that the only way you can touch another person for sure, in a way that the game has an obvious mechanical system in place to respond with, is by punching them. so two things here.

one is that yeah, the outsiders creators stop acting like a punch is a punch not super long into the series, because there is no vanilla mechanic for [grabbing you by the arm and dragging you away from the gates]; you have to use what you have at your disposal (such as the left-click button on your mouse) to gesture at the thing you actually mean. owen emulates the act of dragging someone around by punching magic at one point. nobody, in-universe or out, reacts like he was actually hitting her, and i'm not saying we should. but there is that disconnect between what the story is supposed to be (maybe owen pushes her away from the gates, maybe he's trying to pull her back), and what the game will allow them to do.

two: despite the ways that the game runs counter to the kind of story owen et al. are trying to tell, this limitation wrt punching still produces some really interesting resonances that require us to accept and pay attention to the fact that no matter what owen says, this is a story told through minecraft, inflected by its mechanics.

(side bar: i'm focusing on owen for this, but i think you can expand this idea to other characters, maybe the whole cast, by thinking about how both the story world and the game world are, on some fundamental level, set up to not allow for kind or gentle connections between people. you can't actually put your arm around someone else. you can't actually wipe away their tears or lean on their shoulder. the entire world the outsiders live inside of, both from a game perspective and a roleplay perspective, is designed to funnel them toward big dramatic gestures and cyclical violence. the easiest way to touch someone is violently. and still, there are the gestures of care, carved out of what the game will allow. sharing food. speaking softly to each other. opening the trapdoor to your bunker and letting the people behind you hurry down the ladder to hide. so you've never learned how to touch someone without violence. you can still know how to put your whole body between the person you care for and the danger. you can still die for them. isn't outsiders such a story of caring, despite, despite, despite?)

anyway. about c!owen. i think it's fair to say he's a character shaped by violence from the jump. he comes up the elevator and is almost instantly making and hoarding weapons. he tells himself he has to protect everyone, and the first two ways he decides to do this are by making a sparring ring where he intends to teach them to fight, and by threatening to break their legs. for the latter half of the series, he is literally sleeping on the edge of a sparring ring, all his personal effects literally pushed off to the side to leave room for this sand pit in the middle. even before he gets the memories of his time as a soldier back, we can see that this is how he interfaces with and understands the world. violence is in his bones.

as a result, i am kind of crazy about the fact that the literal game mechanics he engages with reinforce this image of him. there's this brief period of time really early on where i guess they haven't really got the prox chat range to yell to each other from a distance, and owen decides to take his weapon of choice and fire an arrow in the path of the person he's trying to talk to. (i know for sure he does this with rasbi and with at least one other person. forgive me, i don't recall who the other person was.) when you're getting shot at, yeah, you sure do generally want to look in the direction that arrow came from to see who's trying to shoot you! that'll get someone's attention! that is generally how people play the game!

at another point much later in his series, a group of outsiders find an enormous crane towering over a section of the maze, and owen pulls out a bow and aims it upward. it took me a second while watching to realize that it's because when you draw a bow in the game, you also zoom in on the thing you're aiming at. owen was trying to get a closer look at the crane, so he grabbed his weapon and used it to get a better understanding of the world.

more broadly, owen uses spears and arrows to point at things, to check distances and investigate stuff he doesn't want to or can't get close to. when he and magic first notice ash up on the walls, he fires arrows up at her, not really to hit but to see how she reacts. then he keeps firing them, having noticed the barrier blocks (in-fiction, the screen that makes up the false sky). later, while talking to chat in a high-up part of the maze, he demonstrates again that the sky is fake by hurling a spear into it.

out of character, these are just creative workarounds for the medium's limitations. in character, however, these instances make it clear that every single thing about the way owen interacts with his world is coloured by the fact that he has used weapons and will continue to use them, that his reaching for a bow right after waking up wasn't some fluke, that even with his memories wiped out he is a character who has been trained to reach for violence before anything else.

just by playing the game, cc!owen adds another dimension to this character, because he is playing a game where There Exist game mechanics meant to facilitate violence, and this is about the cycles of violence c!owen finds himself trapped in and perpetuating and it is also about how violence is so deeply ingrained in him that it is an inextricable part of his world.

[rosenfey]

🌿🕯️ current hyperfixation is watching dragon age lore videos and taking notes in my physical journal like I'm a history student and finding ways to work faerene's canon into it all 🕯️🌿

[cuubism]

hello friends. despite my 9 million existing dreamling wips i'm feeling the need to branch out a bit for the sake of my mental variety. what pairing other than dreamling should i write a little something for? could be romantic or platonic

other way of phrasing i guess: any pairings you really want to see more fics for in the fandom?

[ennas-aesthetic]

adonis, adonis (come down)

rated M, ~10k words

Fandom: The Sandman TV (2022), The Sandman Comics

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Tags: Canon - The Sandman (Comics & TV Combination); Post-Brief Lives (The Sandman) Established Relationship; Hurt/Comfort; Angst & Tragedy; Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless | Morpheus; Protective Hob Gadling; Pining; Mentions of Blood; POV Hob Gadling; Internal Monologue; Character Study; Bathing/Washing; Eventual Smut; Non-Explicit Sex; One Shot; Touching as a Metaphor for Devotion; Mentions of Drowning

Summary:

Hob feels, suddenly, a plummeting sensation at the pit of his stomach; as if the world has caved, and he has slipped from its only remaining crevice, clinging by his fingertips. A precious minute is spent to make sense of the myth, to catch on. “You – hung the lyre of Orpheus?”

“In a fashion.” And then, even smaller, “he was my son.”

“Was?”

The expression in Dream’s face will haunt Hob in his sleep. Haunt him, he suspects, for eons to come. “Today, I killed him.”

----

In which an (im)mortal reckons with the Fates, and two grieving fathers seek comfort from each other.

(Or: Dream approaches Hob after he kills Orpheus.)

Visuals and imagery are heavily based on @illumi-nati-png 's GORGEOUS art of Dreamling as Euripides' Herakles. See the masterpiece here.

The fic also has a playlist! Listen to it here.

___________________________

"I..." Dream swallows. He does not seem wholly there. His eyes are red-rimmed, the startling blue of them faded and dull. Twin novae extinguished by Night. "I fear to stain your clothes with blood."

And Hob....

Hob doesn’t know yet, is the thing.

(Oh, and an entire library can be filled with the things Hob didn't know. There is blood on his rug, and the air is filled with the sickening smell of iron and flower rot. He tells himself it doesn't matter. Not now, anyway. If it comes, it will come later. Hob will take it. Mark it on my ledger, list down some more. I will take it.)

"I don't care," is what he says instead, steady, firm. He steps forward, cups his lover's face. Dream flinches, and Hob’s hackles rise. Don’t leave, I love you. Don't leave. "Stain them, I don't care."

Read On AO3

[timetravelbypen]

I am just going to be chewing on that Chris Chibnall podcast interview forever. Just red-string-conspiracy-board, on-the-other-hand, back-and-forth thoughts forever.

Because on the one hand, I think I agree with him that 13 and Yaz not kissing is the more heartbreaking narrative choice. To have them both know what they want, and know that the other one knows and wants the same, but never quite being able to get there... that's devastating. Living with the "what if"s for both of them, forever, even as it's a choice the Doctor's made for them - and most especially for herself - to try and spare some of that pain. It's meant as a kindness for both of them... but is it? They'll never really find out.

(And especially considering what Chibnall said about a) the Doctor not wanting to do to Yaz what he did to Rose, and b) the EotD-PotD three-part story arc being, essentially, the Doctor preparing Yaz to be without her. Considering that narrative arc I am even more convinced that the Doctor's "you know what this means, right?" - and the fact that Yaz DOES know - when her hand starts glowing means that they talked. A lot. Maybe not about everything, but about a lot of things. Because we've seen Yaz push back on the Doctor's secretive bullshit, but she doesn't here, because she doesn't have to. The arc culminates in the companions as a whole, and Yaz especially, literally being "the power of the Doctor." YAZ DOCTORIFICATION *ahem*)

I'm not entirely convinced that I agree that getting the ice cream scene on the TARDIS roof means you could have that OR a kiss. I mean, maybe my shipper heart wants to have my cake and eat it too.

But the editor in me wouldn't have put the kiss at the end, in that case, as a goodbye.

I would've put it right after Yaz helps the Doctor un-regenerate and come back into herself. When she stumbles out of the box and into Yaz's (and yes, also Vinder's, shhh) arms and says she's got a "whole new lease of life."

Because she thinks, in that moment, she has more time. And if she has more time, if they've beaten Time's prophecy, if that was it and they won, then maybe that mental calculus is different. Maybe that's a beginning and not an ending.

But then of course, they run out of time anyway.

[teiasviago]

happy 20th birthday to me <3 hard to believe that eight years ago for christmas i got my first gaming computer to play inquisition!! lagged so bad during combat and crashed when i tried to enter the undercroft for the first time lol. don't mind me being weepy, dragon age just happens to be the first ever rpg series i played and i wouldn't be pursuing video game writing alongside tv writing in my screenwriting major if not for that!

[aeolianblues]

pop stars aren't born in the 70s anymore like they used to be. These days they're born in a year uncomfortably close to my own which makes me clutch my chest and cry out

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

so i maaaaaay have fallen deep into spirk suddenly 👉👈 without warning i don't even know how i got here sent help