#I have no memory of it other than doing the line work

[mintharabaenrelore]

Minthara's Parents

"I'm sure my mother has missed me- she likes competition."-Minthara

I've been working on this post awhile and I'm so excited to share it with you. I referenced @lunastrophe's excellent post on the topic for several details, and R.A. Salvatore's "Homeland" played a crucial role.

*I will make an individual post on Minthara's relationship to her mother later on, particularly the psychology of it, as it is fascinating and utterly tragic.

Minthara is- or was- unusually close to her mother, who taught her how to 'survive the perils of society', but she says there was 'no love to be found.' Minthara's mother saved her daughter's life by shielding her with her own body when Minthara was an infant, and yet she later tried to kill her. Minthara intends to kill her- "[...] I only regret that I left before enjoying a matricide. That would be a memory to cherish."- but says it is 'returning the favor.'

What do we know?

House Devir fell from Lolth's favor in 1297 DR, when they were destroyed by House Do'Urden, due to Viconia's actions. Minthara describes herself as having been young and impressionable at this time, so she must have been in the early decades of her life. Therefore, she was likely born around 1270-1290 DR, leaving her approximately 222 years old in 1492 DR, the year Baldur's Gate III is set in.

Minthara is a Baenre. Her mother is confirmed to be Baenre, as in the epilogue, if you romance Minthara (I highly recommend it) she says her name is her mother's.

When Minthara is asked if her mother is still alive, she replies, "I expect so. If the world were to end, I think my mother would survive to rule over the ruins." She did not mention her mother having passed at the epilogue party, so I presume Minthara's assumption was correct.

Minthara's mother is competitive (Minthara says this herself), resilient, and ambitious (Minthara says her mother likes Neverwinter because it is "ripe for conquering"), much like her daughter.

Minthara and her mother were unusually close- she held her as a child, taught her to "talk, walk, and then kill" and how to "survive the perils of society", gave her a torture rack for her 13th birthday, and they appear to have conversed frequently.

The fact that Minthara has committed avunculicide (the killing of one's uncle) confirms one of her parents had a brother. She also 'picked off' her 'siblings one by one', and Orin claims Minthara murdered her sister in the cradle to secure her inheritance.The first part of her name, "Min", means lesser/second, suggesting she is a 2nd child.

I believe Minthara's father is alive for the following reasons:

1. During the dryad love test, she lists her "-icides", (androcide, senicide and avunculicide). She does not mention patricide. She tells Wyll that patricide is the first step to greatness but she does not say she has done so herself.

2. When Minthara is describing how she and Orin are similar in some ways, she says that they both have "parents" who protect them with one hand and torment them with the other, rather than "mothers".

3. Minthara says (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vYBaYJgz_c, at 43:50) "I'll spot my father too, with any luck" at some point; @mogruith's research suggests that this line was mistakenly given to Minthara when it should have gone to Wyll, so it is not solid evidence.

But Minthara never mentions him- not even once.

So, who is Minthara's mother? *I don't think it's possible to figure out who her father is with the information I have

It cannot be Yvonnel or Triel Baenre, who are dead. Liriel Baenre is out of the question. Noori Baenre, I believe, is too young.

Yovnnel Baenre had 15 daughters, each a high priestess, acording to R.A. Salvatore's "Homeland".  The majority were alive, it seemed, around 1297 DR. The only two remaining in 1480 DR and thus during Baldur's Gate III were Quenthel and Sos'Umtpu. So could it be one of them?

Quenthel: No.

The firstborn of Quenthel Baenre is Myrineyl Baenre. In 1480 DR, 12 years prior to the events of Baldur's Gate III, she is in her last year at Arach-Tinilith. Baldur's Gate takes place in 1492 DR. It is obvious that Minthara is older than her, so she can't be Quenthel's daughter.

Sos'Umptu: Probably not, unfortunately. (I adore Sos'Umptu.)

Sos'Umptu, the keeper of the Baenre chapel, has been described as 'one of the least ambitious drow females her mother had ever known.' Minthara has also mentioned her mother having visited surface cities before, while Sos'Umptu hardly leaves the chapel if she can help it. These facts contrast with Minthara's portrayal of her mother as power-hungry and world-wise. Plus, I have never seen a mention of Sos'Umptu having had children.

@lunastrophe says in her post, "It seems that daughters of House Baenre – at least the eldest and the most important ones – were not allowed to have their own children while the matron mother of their house was still alive (from Siege of Darkness). Triel was free to have children only after she ascended to the position of matron mother, and the same went for Quenthel."

This all heavily suggests it is not Sos'Umptu- but it's not out of the question.

Could it perhaps be Merith Baenre, the second-most-powerful priestess of her House as of 1361 DR, considered for the role of the next Mistress of Arach-Tinilith? Perhaps- but Minthara has never implied that her mother is adopted rather than a genetic Baenre, and Merith used to be the daughter of a street sweeper before her clerical powers caught Yvonnel Baenre's eye and caused her to adopt her as a daughter.

So, who could it be?

I am inclined to think...

Zal'Therra Baenre: Zal'Therra Baenre- a cousin of Triel, and commander of the rearguard of the Army of the Black Spider in 1372 DR. The most promising of Triel's cousins, she seems to fit Minthara's implications that her mother is ambitious, brutal, and powerful, as the highest ranking House Baenre member of the army.

Not only is the description right, she is similar to Minthara as a warrior the leader of an army. Even the second half of her name, 'Therra', is similar to Minthara's 'Thara'. Plus, everything about her is so vague that it's plausible she had children aside from Minthara- the 'siblings' she mentioned.

I have yet to read "Condemnation", though, so correct me if I'm wrong about anything.

Final notes: if Zal'Therra Baenre is a cousin of Triel, that would make Sos'Umptu, Quenthel, Jarlaxle and others Minthara's aunts and uncles.

[space-cowgirllll]

Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call

saw someone asking where the angst was and what is a sad girl like me to do but deliver.

It's late. Far too late for the phone to be ringing. 

You lie on the couch still fully dressed in an itchy sweater, plaid skirt twisted uncomfortably, and an annoying run in your tights. The pins holding your hair up feel like they're ripping strands out with every shift of your head against the throw pillow. A headache has begun to form behind your eyes and you regret being so heavy handed while making that last cocktail.

The room around you is in disarray. Empty bottles litter every flat surface in the space, half drunk glasses line the kitchen counter, and crumbled wrapping paper is strewn about the floor. Soft music plays from the stereo in the corner, your favorite Christmas CD skips a little before the  song resumes. 

You breathe a sigh a relief when the shrill noise finally stops, the person hanging up before they got your answering machine. 

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's calling. 

Laughter bleeds through the thin walls you share with your neighbors and loud footsteps sound from the unit above yours. Music you don't normally mind worsens the intense pressure building in your skull. Your eyes screw shut, regretting not taking up your friends on their offer to spend the night at their place. It hadn't occurred to you just how hard the memories would hit finding yourself alone in the same place you'd watched your life fall apart.

Maybe it was time to look into new apartments.

Hards to believe that just last year you'd hosted friends for the first time in your new place for Christmas dinner. Running back and forth the entire night, ever the perfect hostess, making sure everyone had enough to eat and their glasses stayed full. Shooing your girlfriend away whenever she tried to help. 

It wasn't until the gift exchange at the end of the night that she pulled you into the empty spot next to her. Both of you content to watch as your friends ripped into the presents underneath the tree. Drunk and wanting nothing more than the comfort your girlfriend provided, you moved closer, cheek nuzzling into the soft material of her sweater.

You were used to the way she tensed up any time you got too close in front of other people, but it didn't make it hurt any less. There was nothing subtle about the way she pulled away, scooting further down the couch. Your teeth dug harshly into the inside of your cheek, piercing the delicate skin. The side eye she'd given you left you speechless. You fought tears all the way to the guest bathroom.

And at the end of the night, after everyone had left, the two of you sat on the couch. Neither of you made a move to start cleaning up. Abby sat at the end of the couch, her thumbs pushing into the soles of your feet, the heeled boots you'd worn tossed atop a pile of empty gift boxes. You hadn't spoken a word to her, eyes glued to the twinkling lights of your Christmas tree. The tension had quickly become too much for her to handle.

"You're mad at me." She sighed. 

"I'm not." You kicked her hands away and rolled off the couch.

"You are. I didn't mean to move away like that." Abby scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "And you didn't have to be so dramatic about it."

"No, you did." She watched you angrily toss things into a trash bag. Tears clouded your vision. "God forbid our closest friends think we're too close to be just roommates."

She paced the small space. "Carly works with my mom. She saw the whole thing, what if she says something? You know how she is!"

"Would that be so bad Abigail?" You kicked an empty box out of the way. Your voice small. "That people knew - that your parents knew their adult daughter is dating a woman?" 

"Yes! Just drop it!" You watched in shock as she moved to grab her jacket. "This isn't worth losing my family over."

She'd rushed out of the apartment after that. The rest of her things gone before the New Year.

The phone rings again.

Your aching muscles groan in protest as you clumsily crawl over the worn couch cushions. A trembling had reaches for the phone. For a second you wonder if it's better to just let it keep ringing. It wasn't often that you answered these calls. You bring the receiver up to your ear, lips pulling down in a frown at Abby's loud voice. She shouts into the phone, slurring your name over the loud music and laughter. 

The heavy oak table shakes with the force of you slamming the receiver back into its cradle disconnecting the call. You chuckle humorlessly into the dimly lit room. Of course she was out partying while you were still stuck digging yourself out of the mess Abigail Anderson had made of your life. The loneliness all consuming. 

Though looking back on it now, you'd been alone even when you had the blonde warming your bed every night. You'd spent three long years waiting for Abby. Accepting that your relationship would only exist within the walls of your apartment. 

And when it was over, no one was the wiser. A mutual friend mentioned she'd moved back in with her parents and was dating the son of one of her father's colleagues. Told everyone she wanted a shorter commute to the hospital. 

None of your friends knew that the girl sitting across the table from you in the bar had ripped your heart out. The two of you making awkward small talk on the odd chance either of you were dragged into conversation. Abby pretending not to notice the silent rage in your eyes anytime you caught her staring. 

You let out a frustrated groan when the phone rings for the third time. Angry tears run down your face listening to your voice on the prerecorded outgoing message, and then the loud sniffling that follows the tone. 

"I know you're home." Her voice is thick with tears. "Answer the phone again. Please."

One after the other, half assed apologies flow from her mouth. There's drunken threats of showing up at your door. The regret heavy in her voice as she wishes things had been different. It was the same as every other time she's called. You had an answering machine full of them to prove it. 

Abby hears the unmistakable click of the phone and then a quiet shuffling indicating you picked up and the cellphone almost slips from her hands. Words fail Abby as she stands on the sidewalk across from the only place that had ever felt like home. A shadow moving in the window catches her eye.

"Hi." Her lips part, an apology on the tip of her tongue when your gravelly voice fills the silence.

"Stop calling." 

Without even thinking, you rip the cord from the wall, effectively silencing her protests. Wiping at your dampened cheeks, you move towards the bedroom. 

You had come to realize that Abby deserved time to come to terms with who she was without any added pressure, but you deserved things too. You deserved more than hands dropped when you accidentally reached for hers in public. More than having no choice but to sit back and watch men flirt with her and having to bite your tongue time and time again when introduced you as just her roommate. It was time to move on.

Maybe this time you'll finally change your number.

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

So, obviously, everyone has their own opinion and experience. How much Andrastianism in Veilguard is to your personal taste I couldn’t say. But based on your statements, I feel like we’ve played not just one but possibly several different games despite them having the same names.

Andrastianism isn’t “absent everywhere,” whether in plot, imagery, or even audio. As you yourself said, we go to the Temple of Andraste in Minrathous where people are both milling about and praying both inside and outside. So we see the Andrastianism happening, visually. And there is, contrary to your experience, ambient dialogue from NPCs we pass that reference the Maker (Andraste I believe as well, but I’d have to double-check that, and less reference to her would be expected as a schism over her importance is part of why the Northern and Southern Chantries split) both near the Temple and in other parts of Dock Town.

We also, in Minrathous with Neve, visit the Wall of Light, the city’s memorial for the dead and an explicit reference to the Chant of Light. Something of enough significance to Neve that she feels the need to go there before the end of her quest line. A Shadow Dragon Rook can even speak the traditional words of remembrance at that point. It’s fairly explicit Andrastianism. Different than it would look and be done in Ferelden, but that’s because we aren’t in Ferelden we’re in Tevinter.

I’m not entirely sure what the mixture of Northern to Southern Wardens would be at Weisshaupt, and I’m less certain than you are that Southerners would have a significant presence. Orlais’ Wardens were decimated at Adamant and may have even been disbanded at that time (dependent on player choice). Their numbers suffered regardless, and would have been hard to build back up since it has apparently gotten around that they tried to build a demon army (which is why in Veilguard the First Warden is so quick to throw them under the bus). Ferelden didn’t have any wardens to speak of until a cup of coffee before the Fifth Blight, as we see in Origins. And at the end of that blight had one or two. After Awakening maybe six? But there’s a bunch of conditional stuff to even hit that number, if I remember correctly. They’ve had some time to build up since then, but we don’t know how many went down from Ferelden at Adamant and Ferelden’s Wardens also don’t have spotless reputations due to the whole coup thing.

In any case, I agree that there probably are some devout Andrastians in the Wardens. But I think devout Southern Andrastian wardens - those whose Andrastianism we would recognize - are probably a very, very small minority. Not only for the reasons I already gave, but because they are competing with religious military orders that can recruit soldiers as children while generally only recruiting adults. I’m not surprised, since based on what we know their numbers are fairly small, we don’t personally run across a bunch of vocal devout Andrastian Southerners at Weisshaupt.

The people of the Anderfels are devoutly Andrastian, you’re absolutely right. But we don’t meet nearly any of them. Our only exposure to the region is through working with the Wardens in a fortress that is Wardens Only tm and in a town that has been so overrun with blight that nearly all of its inhabitants are gone. I’d be more inclined to agree with you, solely vis-a-vis the people of the Anderfels, if we interacted with more than a handful. But we don’t, we pretty much just interact with the Wardens which I already discussed above.

What you didn’t mention were Treviso and the Necropolis. We do get ambient dialogue in Treviso explicitly referencing both the Maker and Andraste (sometimes to blaspheme, but that was probably more than half the Andrastianism we got in DA2, too). Lucanis references them, and talks about having lost his faith while imprisoned and tortured (and reaching a state of hopeful agnosticism by later in the game which he is also open about). He has statues of Andraste in his house. It’s part of his character arc, even if it’s not the main focus.

The Mourn Watch is an Andrastian religious order. Their whole deal, different though it is to what we see in the South, is them being devoutly Andrastian. Just Nevarra mortalitasi-style. And we go through and attend to religious rites in that style with Emmrich.

We witness the results of slaughter by the Southern Chantry in a quest in Rivain.

Harding at one point straight up asks if we just disproved the Chant of Light.

Religion is discussed, where relevant, multiple times. (See, e.g., all of the above.)

Is it enough Andrastianism for you, or any individual player, personally? Maybe not. That’s okay. You’re allowed to feel that way. Everyone is entitled to their opinion.

Is it not there or in someway incorrect based on the lore of the game? I have a hard time understanding that argument.

I really don’t understand the criticism that Veilguard doesn’t include enough open, devout Andrastianism. Like, it just perplexes me?

Unlike the first three games, which take place in Southern Thedas (the purview of the Orlesian Chantry, the Sunburst throne), Veilguard takes place almost entirely in Northern Thedas. And it’s clear the Chantry’s role there is very different than in the South.

In Southern Thedas, the Chantry is a power unto itself. The Southern Divine, holder of the Sunburst Throne, occupies a place of real significance and power. She has her own militarized forces (the Templar and Seeker Orders). She politically has to interface with the rulers of the various places in Southern Thedas (Orlais, Ferelden, the Free Marches, etc.), but is not formally associated with or dependent on them. The South is comparatively poorer than the North, and we see a majority of services (taking care of orphans, medical care, the Circles, and very significantly education) being taken care of by the Chantry without necessarily much assistance from the relevant countries.

The Southern Chantry is an ever present figure in Southern Thedas, even for those that aren’t devout. And that is reflected in those stories and the cultures we learn about there.

The Tevinter Imperium is not like that. And that’s not terribly surprising. First, the Imperium pre-dates Andrastianism. They have another, older religion that helped form some of their cultural touchpoints. The Imperium did adopt Andrastianism, but did so as a consolidation of empire (which tracks with the Imperium being, in no small part, a reflection of the real life Roman Empire). As such, the Chantry is folded into and subordinate to the Imperium’s government. The real power in Tevinter, and control over the incidents of daily life that we see the Southern Chantry involved in, is the Magisterium and the Archon.

The Imperial Divine doesn’t control the Templars, the Magisterium and Archon do. He doesn’t control the Circles/education. That’s the Magisterium and Archon again. He is, in practical terms, less powerful than Dorian. He can’t make any real change as the Imperial Divine, so he dons a mask and runs a vigilante group to free slaves and make change that way.

The Northern Chantry simply isn’t as omnipresent as the Southern Chantry in the areas it exists, and it competes with a preexisting cultural backbone in a way the Southern Chantry doesn’t (because it largely stamped that out, though some of the Avvar and Chasind are still around).

I think a lot of people are comparing the impact of Andrastianism in Veilguard to that in Inquisition, because it’s the most recent, and the criticism spawns from that. But that…doesn’t make sense. The Inquisitor is leading a religious organization, ultimately affiliated with the Southern Chantry itself and founded by the left and right hands of the former Divine. It claims its legitimacy from Andraste herself (even if the Inquisitor doesn’t believe a single bit of it). The people who join the Inquisition are all okay enough with Andrastianism to affiliate themselves openly with it (Solas aside, but of course he has other reasons), and many are devout.

The Veilguard are just…random people. Skilled, powerful, talented people, but not people with any real affiliation with any Chantry. Davrin and Bellara have complicated relationships with the Dalish religion they grew up with, for obvious reasons, but they weren’t raised in Andrastianism or an Andrastian culture. Neve, per her, “barely keeps the holidays.” Her relationship to Andrastianism seems closer to the average non-church-attending American who celebrates Christmas and Easter, but isn’t particularly Christian beyond that. Lucanis does seem open to belief in the Maker and Andraste, but isn’t kind of ambivalent to it. More agnostic than anything else. Taash wasn’t raised Andrastian, their mom largely still embraces much of the Qun even if she left, and Rivain was always kind of religiously funky anyway. Only Emmrich and Harding are particularly Andrastian, and even then Emmrich is from Nevarra which although deeply Andrastian is unique. Harding is the only companion whose Andrastianism we’d recognize from the prior games.

So in a game set in a region where Andrastianism is culturally less of an influence, where the Chantry holds far less power, and that has companions that aren’t devout Andrastians…how is it a failure of the game that it isn’t brought up more. That makes sense. It’s consistent with the world building that came before it and the continued reveal of that world in game.

I don’t get it.

[himluv]

Something You Should Know

Here's the next chapter in my Rookanis fic, Say My Name (Say it Twice), in which Lucanis and Rook have a heart-to-heart after experiencing one of Solas's memories in the Crossroads.

Drawing a line between himself and Rook had been easy. Unpleasant, but easy. 

Feel nothing.

Maintaining that line was much, much harder, especially when she insisted on bringing him on every outing. Not that it was unreasonable to do so – he and Rook had found their own rhythm in combat that made them a formidable team. It also frequently left him breathless. 

Lucanis had partnered with other Crows over the years – mostly Illario and Viago – but they all had distinct, individual styles. Illario was the seducer, charming his way close to the mark so they never saw his blade coming. Viago preferred his poisons, carefully studying his targets so he could choose the right concoction for the job. His targets were often dead before they even knew there was a contract on their life. 

Lucanis was more physical. He had his blades – at least seven for any job – and his stealth. But, by the time he reached his mark, they knew death had come for them. He ensured it. And if he could guarantee the kill was quick and bloodless, he would. Snapping a neck was much more efficient than slicing a throat. 

Rook wasn’t an assassin, and her lack of training showed in her form. Her dagger work lacked finesse, but she made up for it with a startling relentlessness. She relied heavily on her spells and orb, her lightning overwhelming enemies to leave them vulnerable to his blades. And mierda, she was fast, running in close to finish off dazed opponents and blinking away in a crackle of electricity. 

That said, they needed to work on her parrying.

“Snipers!” He shouted as an undead mage raised its staff. A ball of light careened at Rook, who raised her blade too late. The missile hit her square in the chest, launching her backwards.

“Rook’s hit!” Lucanis leapt into the air and Spite’s wings carried him to dive at the undead mage. But, before he could finish it off, Rook was there, slashing her dagger in a wide arc to send the undead flying. 

“I think that’s all of them,” Bellara said. 

Rook nodded, panting with hands on her hips. 

“Everyone still alive?” He asked. 

Rook chuckled and winced. She rubbed at her chest before knocking back a potion.

Rook. Hurt?

She met his gaze and shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. 

He frowned. “I didn’t say you weren’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t have to.”

Lucanis didn’t know what she meant by that. Was his concern that obvious? Did Bellara notice it too? Or was Rook just being her usual, observant self?

“That was a hard hit, Rook,” Bellara said. “Maybe we should–”

“I’m fine, you guys.” She started off further down the trail, toward another shimmering gate. “Let’s see what the Dread Wolf’s hiding in this memory.”

Lucanis and Bellara shared a worried glance, then set off after her. 

Inside the memory, they saw not only Solas, but his general, too. And immediately Rook’s body language changed. She was stiff, spine rigid and shoulders high. Tense. Her eyes never left the general and the more Lucanis looked between them, the more he saw the resemblance.

Rook was paler, her hair lighter, but the slant of their noses and the planes of their cheeks were very similar. Lucanis knew next to nothing about elven vallaslin, but he’d wager good coin that the general’s face bore Mythal’s mark. 

But the most obvious, most convincing detail was the man’s violet eyes. The exact same shade that bordered Rook’s grey-blue irises. 

The vision of Solas and the man who might be her father dissolved and Rook wordlessly turned to continue their mission. Lucanis reached for her, but did not put his hand on her arm. 

“Rook?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, Lucanis.”

Doesn’t SOUND fine, Spite said. 

The demon was right. Rook sounded upset, shaken. Like she needed to be anywhere but there. But once they were inside a memory, the only way out was through.

“Let’s just get through this,” she said. 

He watched her for a moment, but she refused to meet his gaze. Finally, he nodded. “All right.”

She sighed, then set off at a jog for their next task in the Dread Wolf’s memory. He followed, but gave Rook plenty of space. Bellara walked beside him. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked, voice low. “With Rook, I mean.”

No! Spite said, then took a deep breath, scenting the air. Rook is scared! And angryyyyy.

Lucanis kept his eyes on Rook. “She’s fine,” he said. 

“But–”

“Bellara.” Lucanis gave her a sharp look. 

She frowned at him. “She’s my friend, too.”

Friend? Spite hissed. NO. Rook is more!

Lucanis sighed. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Bellara scowled at him. “You know something, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I know a lot of things.”

“Lucanis.”

He stopped and turned to face the elf. “Right now, Rook needs us to focus,” he said. “You can ask her about it afterward.”

She gave him a stubborn look that promised she would. “Fine,” she said. “But we’re also going to talk about this.”

Lucanis grunted his assent. If questioning him would get Bellara to give Rook some space, that was fine with him. 

They jogged to catch up with Rook, just as another wave of Elgar’nan’s recruits materialized. The memories were easy to dispatch, almost surprisingly so. He wondered if the Dread Wolf’s spirits had really wreaked such havoc, or if that was merely how Solas remembered it. 

Chaos. Disruption. Over and over and over and over. Spite growled. Used them.

Lucanis did not like the sound of that. But, if Rook had any suspicions about the Dread Wolf’s motives, she kept them to herself. 

She was a flurry of blade and lightning, cutting through the memories with such focus that Lucanis knew something was wrong. Rook was usually chatty in combat, commenting to her companions as she bounded around the battlefield. But, since seeing Fen’Harel’s general, Rook had thrown herself into each fight as if they weren’t there. As if she was all alone.

Angry, Spite said. No talk. Doesn’t want. To talk. He growled. Wants. To. Stab!

Well, Lucanis could definitely relate to that. If that’s where Rook was at, he would meet her there. He kept his silence, only calling out when Rook or Bellara were in harm’s way, and made sure to cover Rook even more than he usually did.

Rook. Needs. Help?

He would never describe Rook’s fighting style as efficient, but in her rage she was much more likely to wear down quickly. If she should falter, Lucanis would be there to take up the slack. 

And so they fought through wave after wave, across the bridge and to Elgar’nan’s front door. Only then did Solas’s plan become clear – they'd been the distraction. 

All around them, the memory bled away to the present, color and sound returning to their usual vibrancy. Beside him, Rook trembled, her blade held tight in her fist. 

“He used them,” she said, her voice low and shaking. “He sent those spirits to their deaths.”

“He thought the cost was worth it,” Lucanis said.

She spun on him, fury on her face. “That’s bullshit!”

Lucanis didn’t flinch as she shouted. Didn’t raise his hands or try to soothe her. She’d vibrated with rage through that entire memory – if this was how she needed to release it, Lucanis would gladly take the brunt of her fury.

“You can’t just use people like that,” she said. “I won’t–” she stopped as her voice broke. 

Bellara stepped up to stand on Lucanis’s other side. “Rook?” She said, her voice soft with concern. “What’s going on?”

Rook covered her face with both hands and took several deep, steadying breaths. Then she shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Just… something Solas said makes a lot of sense now.” Rook opened her eyes, and the pain and confusion there made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry, Lucanis,” she said. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said. He tried to inject some warmth into his voice, to convince her he was fine, but his concern for her made it fall flat.

“Rook…” Bellara said. 

She held up a hand to her friend. “I’m fine, Bellara. Really.”

Lying, Spite hissed. 

Lucanis thought that was pretty apparent to everyone present. “Let’s get back to the Lighthouse,” he said. 

Rook stooped to pick up the wolf statuette they’d recovered. “Great idea,” she said and headed back toward their eluvian. “Can’t wait to see what other terrible things he’s keeping from us.”

He’d expected to have to wait for Rook to seek him out after the others had gone to sleep. He’d even planned to call on her in her quarters if she avoided him for too long. She would need to talk about all that had happened today, whether she liked it or not. If it’d been his emotional outburst, he would do almost anything to pretend it never happened, so he was surprised when Rook joined him in the kitchen after dinner. 

She gave him a hesitant smile. “Want some help?”

Bellara had cooked, which meant Lucanis would clean up. “If you like,” he said. “There’s not much.”

She cast a glance around the kitchen, noting several pans, two cutting boards, and at least three different knives in need of washing, not including their plates and silverware still on the table. 

“Seems like a lot to me,” she said. 

He shrugged. “It keeps me busy.”

“You mean, it keeps you awake.”

Lucanis smirked at her. “That, too.”

“In that case,” she said, moving to stack their plates. “Will you make some fresh coffee?”

He chuckled at that. “I was going to do that anyway.”

“Of course you were.”

The fondness in her voice hit him like a shot of good Antivan brandy. He felt wam down to his toes. 

Flirting? Spite asked. 

At this point, Lucanis wasn’t sure the distinction mattered. After all they’d been through, he and Rook had reached a level of understanding that he could only think of as family. Whether her words were intended romantically or not, he found comfort in them all the same. 

There was quiet in the dining hall as Lucanis brewed coffee and Rook prepped the basin for washing. It was another of the Lighthouse’s oddities. Once they’d started cooking regularly, a basin with a fire rune engraved in the bottom appeared in the corner of the kitchen. It wasn’t as large or ornate as the one in Villa Dellamorte’s kitchen, but it did the job.

He poured the coffee, one for each of them in their matching cups, then joined her at the basin. “Here,” he said, handing her the cup. 

She took a sip and hummed. “I don’t understand how it’s so much better when you make it!”

Lucanis looked down at his coffee to hide his blush. “It just takes patience,” he said. “And practice.”

She snorted. “Neither of which I’m particularly good at.”

Lucanis laughed. “No,” he said. “You’re more of a wing-it type.”

She smiled at that. “It’s gotten us this far!”

“It has,” he ceded. He took another sip of his coffee, then set the cup on the shelf above the basin. “Come,” he said. “I’ll wash, you dry.”

She didn’t argue and they set to the task with surprising ease. Only a handful of dishes in, Rook began to hum. Lucanis didn’t stop washing, didn’t freeze or turn to look at for fear she might stop. So, he kept his head down, his hands busy, and just listened.

It only took a few notes to recognize one of the songs that the minstrels often played in Café Pietra. Lucanis was no musician, but he thought she sounded good. Her tone was full and clear, and he wondered if it would carry over into her voice. 

Spite perched on the counter nearest Rook, each dry plate phasing through him as she set them down. 

Rook sings? The demon asked. 

Lucanis said nothing. He would not interrupt this moment for anything. He was standing nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Rook while they cleaned up after dinner. There was fresh coffee and she was humming a song from one of his favorite places back home. 

It was the most peaceful moment of Lucanis’s life.

“Lucanis?” She asked as he handed her another plate. 

“Hmm?”

“You haven’t asked about what happened today.”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d talk when you were ready.”

“Oh,” she said. She dried the plate with her towel, then stacked it with the others. 

Spite inhaled as she momentarily faced him. Angry, he hissed. And sad.

“It was him,” she said. 

“You’re sure?”

“You saw him.” She shook her head. “A mage with Mythal’s vallaslin.”

Lucanis nodded, but kept his eyes on the water as he set to scrubbing one of the pans. “There was a resemblance.”

She spun to face him. “You think?” In that moment, her face shone with so much hope that Lucanis thought his heart might burst. 

“Yes,” he said. He stopped scrubbing and took the towel from her to dry his hands. He willed them to be steady as he continued. “Your cheekbones and noses are the same.”

She watched him with wide shimmering eyes as he raised one hand over her face, his index finger tracing a line across her cheeks and then down her nose. He did not touch her, but the electricity between her skin and his was almost as good as if he had. 

“But more than anything,” he continued, “it was the eyes that gave it away.” He looked her in the eye and let all the weeks of confusion and want, of fear and hope, well up inside him. “You inherited some of his color, I think.” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper. 

Rook’s gaze darted around his face, shimmering and hopeful, her pupils blown wide. Then her gaze dropped down to his mouth and she licked her lips. 

The sight jolted Lucanis, his body reacting so viscerally he blinked with shock. 

Waaaaaaant. 

What was he thinking? Hadn’t he just resolved to draw a line between them? To keep things professional? She needed an assassin, perhaps a friend. Not… whatever this was. 

He turned back to the dishes, cursing himself for being so weak once again. 

“Lucanis?” Her voice was small, as if she were afraid she might upset him. 

“You were right,” he said. “About the notes and being Fen’Harel’s general.”

There was silence for a moment, stillness too as Rook watched him. Then she sighed and got back to drying the pan he handed her. 

“Yeah,” she said, eventually. “But I still don’t know what happened to him.”

He frowned. “If he’s in Solas’s memories, in his regrets…” he winced. 

Rook sighed again. “Then probably nothing good.”

“I’m sorry, Rook,” he said. 

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, Lucanis.”

He frowned at her. “For what?”

“For today. How I reacted.” She looked very pointedly at the knife she was drying. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Lucanis snorted. “I’ve dealt with worse,” he said. 

“I know,” she said. Her voice was so fragile it stopped him mid-scrub. She waited for him to look at her before she continued speaking. “I know,” she repeated. “And I never want to add to your pain.”

The conviction in her voice rooted him in place. He could not look away from her, could not move as she reached out and put her hand on his arm. Mierda, she was so warm! He wanted her to envelop him in that warmth, to hold him close and promise him nothing but soft, sweet things. 

But what he wanted for himself and what he wanted for her were two very different things. She deserved more than what he could give. So, he took a step back and returned to washing the last of the dishes. 

“Thank you, Rook,” he said. “I can finish the rest.”

NO! Spite howled. No! Hurt Rook? Hurt. US!

For a long moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then she sighed and started putting away the dishes. They worked in not-quite-easy silence until the kitchen was pristine. Until both their cups were empty, washed, and hanging from their rack above the percolator. 

Lucanis watched Rook hang her damp towel over the edge of the now-empty wash basin. He leaned against the stove, arms and ankles crossed, and waited for whatever she was about to say. He expected her to be angry – how many mixed signals could he send before she just gave up? – but when she spoke her voice was calm and sure. 

“There’s something you should know about me, Lucanis.”

Something in her tone made his pulse race, that increasingly familiar, delicious heat rolling through him. “And what’s that, Rook?”

She turned to face him and pinned him with the intensity of her gaze. “I don’t do anything halfway.”

Not that long ago, Lucanis might have thought she was simply talking about the dishes, but he’d learned a lot about Rook in the last couple of months. Enough to know she wasn’t talking about the household chores. 

He held her gaze, awash in her determination and her certainty. It buoyed him to know someone as breathtaking as her could look at him like that. “Well, then,” he said. “We have that in common.” 

It was a stupid thing to say. Bold and confident when he felt neither. It sounded like something from one of his romance novels – completely ridiculous. 

But it was true.

He stood up and nodded once at her. “Goodnight, Rook.”

She watched him, her face flushed and brow furrowed. “Goodnight, Lucanis.”

Then he turned his back to her and returned to the safety of the pantry. It was going to be a long, torturous night of replaying the evening over and over again in his mind. A long, wonderfully torturous night. 

[princessofgotham777]

Dating Jason Todd (Part One)

fanfic type: angst, fluff, comfort (ongoing)

If you liked the Titans show but wish they handled Jason’s story line differently you might like this fic!

Hey so this is in fact my first time writing fanfiction (idk what my life has come to). Sorry if it’s cringy but also I would eat this up cause I LOVE some good angsty comfort fanfiction. I won’t write smut. I don’t think I’m gonna do requests but if you have any ideas feel free to let me know. Also of course I don’t own any DC characters this is purely fanfiction. Although I’ve had tumblr for a bit I’m not really used to posting stuff so sorry if I don’t format everything well. Thank you and I hope you enjoy. (I hope you like run-on sentences💀) (if you don’t like it don’t be rude just move on dude😃🧍‍♀️) also pls excuse my grammar.

So story line, this doesn’t really take place in any specific universe but I’m gonna be pulling concepts from Titans, The Batman, Under the Red Hood, and whatever lore I remember from the CW shows cause I grew up watching those, then just my imagination of course. The beginning takes place when Jason is still Robin but he’s no longer apart of the titans. Reader is referred to as she/her btw.

Warnings: talking about death, suicide, depression, torture (it’s not graphic I hate gore it’s just sad)

Part One: Back To The Tower

“Babe? Babe!” You opened your eyes at the sound of Jason’s voice. His green eyes normally looked at you with gentleness but currently they were alarmed. Scared and scary are two things Jason normally does a good job at keeping separate, but when someone threatens his whole world the two merge to create someone dangerous to everyone, including himself.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” You asked.

“We’ve got to go, Dick called… he thinks joker is after me for some reason…I’ll explain more on our way to the tower.” Jason quickly grabbed the go bags you two had made in case something like this were to happen. He used to think having go bags was you two being paranoid but you always knew dating a vigilante would have its ups and downs.

You knew he was serious when he walked straight past his bike and headed to your car instead “Jason, slow down,” you said as he swerved around cars. He knew you hated speeding and he so he never dared do it, also because he liked not dying in a car crash.

“I’m sorry, so you know how joker has been leaving notes around Gotham?” He asks as he drives a bit slower.

“Yeah why?” You answer quickly.

“Dick called me two hours ago and said they think they’re threatens to Robin, threats to me.”

“Shit, what does joker even want with you?”

“I have no idea maybe I’m a pawn in some game he’s got going with Bruce or Dick or the titans or maybe he’s just decided I’m the next victim in his reign of fucking torment,” Jason’s voice shook slightly. You could tell he was trying to keep it together while driving; trying to keep it together infront of you. You two had been through so much together: he’d been the one you turned to when you left home, you two had been apart of titans together, he’d rescued you from poison ivy once, you talked him off the roof of the tower. You two knew each other better than you knew yourselves. Even after everything he still had a hard time voicing his emotions and honestly you did too.

“Why’d you change the fucking password asshole,” Jason said to Dick through the security camera at titans tower.

“More importantly why’d he change it and not tell us?” You said. Jason’s arm was around you, his leather jacket was a familiar feeling against your skin.

The tower brought back many memories for both you and Jason. You remembered painting your nails with Rachel while Gar and Jason tried not to burn down the kitchen. Late nights when you’d find Kori or Donna and ask for their advice when you first noticed yourself falling for Jason. They thought you were crazy of course but it all worked out, so far anyway. You remembered the first time you’d been to the tower when Dick took you in. Dick introduced you to the titans but it was Jason, who you only knew as Robin at the time, who saved your life and called Dick. Another memory you unfortunately recalled was the time after you guys got Jason back from Deathstroke. You hadn’t known pain till you saw the way he winced at the slightest touch or loud noise. Then there was his fall…your mind refocused when you saw Dick.

“Hey lovebirds,” he said with a grin.

“So what do these messages say exactly,” you said.

“Always so serious,” Dick says. You simply glare at him and he stops messing around. “Right so over the past few days there have been notes around Gotham in seemingly random places, each one is just some nonsense about circuses and birds so naturally it’s about Robin. They talk about the flying boy and encounters him and I have had he then goes on to talk about me becoming nightwing. The rest is disturbing stuff about him “wanting to pick off the feathers of the new little bird to reveal the horror inside”,”.

“Right…so seemingly random places?” Jason says.

“Yeah so, the first was found spraypainted on the stage of a highschool in Gotham, the next was spray painted on a random wall in an alley and the third was on the door of this bar…” Dick said.

“Shit,” Jason said.

“The highschool and the alley,” you said softly to Jason.

“And the bar… it’s the one my uncle took me to,”

“Someone wanna explain the significance to me,” Dick said.

“They’re places from my past,” Jason said. “The highschool I lived in, the alley I boosted the Batmobile in and the bar my uncle took me to.” You all simply stared at eachother waiting for someone to break the silence when Rachel, Gar and Kori came rushing in.

“Oh my God what are you doing here?” Rachel asked pulling you in for a hug.

“Wish I could say just to see you,” you say.

“Hey man what’s the special occasion?” Gar asks Jason.

“Unfortunately the occasion is another psycho trying to kill me,” Jason replied.

“Wait is that true? Dick is this about the joker?” Rachel asks. Dick looks at Jason who nods.

“Yes, we think joker knows Jason is the new Robin and is threatening him,” Dick says.

“No offense but isn’t this more Batman’s territory?” Kori says.

“Normally yes but he’s off doing Justice League bullshit,” Dick says.

Everyone gets comfortable and Dick explains what we know.

“So we know the notes reference Dick, Bruce and Jason but I think there’s a fourth person here,” Kori says.

“Is joker just referencing himself?” Gar says.

“I don’t think so cause…” Jason stops himself.

“Cause what?” You ask him. He doesn’t answer.

“Jason what is it what’d you find” Dick asks. Jason simply gets up and starts to walk away. Naturally you get up and begin walking after him.

Dick grabs your arm, you glare at him and he lets go, “hey let me go see what’s up just keep picking apart the notes with the others.” It was the Dick you knew, loved, and were annoyed by. The camp counselor anything is possible with teamwork Dick Grayson, the version of him which would soon have to step aside.

“Jason!” Dick says when he finds Jason in his old room which looks exactly the same. Jason doesn’t reply he simply grabs a bag and starts packing. “Going somewhere?” Dick says. Jason still doesn’t reply. “Hey, what the fuck!”

“You aren’t stupid Dick you read the fucking note,” Jason says.

“Maybe I am stupid cause I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Jokers not threatening me, he’s challenging me…telling me to meet him. And he’s threatening y/n saying what he’ll do if I don’t go find him.” Jason says.

“Shit,” Dick says. “Okay but all you’re going to accomplish by going by yourself is pissing me off, getting your shit rocked by joker, pissing Bruce off, and scaring your girlfriend to death all of which I’m gonna have to fix so could you not be impulsive for once!”

“You don’t think she’s already scared!” Jason says.

“Yeah I do but I think you’ll make it worse if you leave her here,”

“She’d be safer here far away from Gotham and far away from me,” Jason says.

“Hey dipshits,” Kori says as she turns the corner. “Yeah I can read too,” she also seemed to have figured out the note “So why don’t you I don’t know, include her in the conversation about what to do about the threats that are against her?”

The three of them return to see you, Gar and Rachel sitting in silence, it was clear you guys had also figured out the full message. Jason doesn’t get a chance to even fully enter the room before you get up and pull him back into his old room.

“What were you thinking not telling me?” You say.

“You didn’t sign up for this shit,” Jason says.

“I did, and I don’t just mean with you I joined titans before I even knew your name.”

Jason hesitates before saying, “you’re right, I’m sorry”

“Apology accepted so what the hell are we gonna do,” you say slipping out of your serious tone.

“First question, do you wanna go out there and work with everyone or just keep this between us,” Jason says.

“What do you wanna do?” You asked. It was clear you wanted to include the titans in the plan. You knew Jason has a complicated past with everyone in the other room but you also knew despite his own feelings he’d do whatever would keep you the safest. He hugs you softly, one last act of humanity before completely focusing on being Robin. You and Jason were fairly new to the world of having a secret identity. You both tried to keep the two personas completely separate but at the end of the day the person under the mask always has the final say when hard decisions need to be made.

The plan everyone agreed on was simple. You’d stay at the tower, with Gar and Rachel far away from Gotham and the joker. Tomorrow morning Jason, Dick and Kori would drive to Gotham and work with Barbra to catch joker. If only that were actually how it went.

You’d fallen asleep in your old room with Jason by your side, around three am you woke up and he was no where to be found. “Jason?” You said as you looked around the room. The light was already on so you could see perfectly that he was gone. Jason must’ve turned the light on when he left, he knows you hate being in the dark alone after what you went through with Poison Ivy. “Dick!” You yelled as you ran down the hall to Dick’s room. To your surprise Dick was wide awake busy on his computer.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Dick said concerned.

“Jason’s gone.” You said.

“Fucking idiot,” Dick mumbled under his breath. He began typing quickly on his computer. “He got rid of his tracker didn’t he?”

“He cut it out ages ago,” you said frantically. Jason had vanished but both you and Dick knew exactly where he was going; he was going to face Joker alone in Gotham.

Please like if you enjoyed the fic I need to know people like it otherwise I’ll stop posting new parts (I have a whole storyline idea and backstory so like if you want to see more)🩷

Here’s my Masterlist so you can read the other parts.

Masterlist

[sourcetalkrambles]

Consuming a newer piece of canon source material that you don't relate to at ALL is so funny like. just that visceral reaction of That Is Not Correct

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

why didn't they just use franziska for literally all of this.

[sirfrogsworth]

I graduated high school in 99.

There was a student at our school named Wayne.

Wayne was gay. It was obvious. He was unable to stay in the closet even if he wanted to. To make matters worse, he was also Black. From a bullying standpoint, that was not a great combo. Both Black and white students made fun of him relentlessly. He was ostracized from the only community that may have given him protection. Only us theater kids stuck up for him, but not to significant effect.

Wayne was bullied so much that at one point he finally snapped and attacked his bullies with a lunch tray. I was actually seated in perfect line of sight and just sat there chewing my soggy fries in stunned silence. It didn't even seem real as I was witnessing it. The image of him wailing on his main bully as the food on his tray flew off is permanently logged into my long term memory.

The bully he attacked had blood all over his face and went straight to the nurse. Other than superficial cuts, he was not injured.

Before the attack, Wayne went to teachers for help. He went to guidance counselors for help. He went to the principals for help.

He did all of the things you were supposed to do. No one helped him. They wagged a finger at the bullies and warned them to stop.

Wayne's lunch tray melee was the only thing that worked. His bullies stayed far away from him. But a week later Wayne was expelled and the bullies were given no punishment.

So... no.

No one in my school talked about being trans.

Because the only way to survive being openly queer was to bash people with a lunch tray.

[ms-demeanor]

So You Need To Buy A Computer But You Don't Know What Specs Are Good These Days

Hi.

This is literally my job.

Lots of people are buying computers for school right now or are replacing computers as their five-year-old college laptop craps out so here's the standard specs you should be looking for in a (windows) computer purchase in August 2023.

PROCESSOR

Intel i5 (no older than 10th Gen)

Ryzen 7

You can get away with a Ryzen 5 but an intel i3 should be an absolute last resort. You want at least an intel i5 or a Ryzen 7 processor. The current generation of intel processors is 13, but anything 10 or newer is perfectly fine. DO NOT get a higher performance line with an older generation; a 13th gen i5 is better than an 8th gen i7. (Unfortunately I don't know enough about ryzens to tell you which generation is the earliest you should get, but staying within 3 generations is a good rule of thumb)

RAM

8GB absolute minimum

If you don't have at least 8GB RAM on a modern computer it's going to be very, very slow. Ideally you want a computer with at least 16GB, and it's a good idea to get a computer that will let you add or swap RAM down the line (nearly all desktops will let you do this, for laptops you need to check the specs for Memory and see how many slots there are and how many slots are available; laptops with soldered RAM cannot have the memory upgraded - this is common in very slim laptops)

STORAGE

256GB SSD

Computers mostly come with SSDs these days; SSDs are faster than HDDs but typically have lower storage for the same price. That being said: SSDs are coming down in price and if you're installing your own drive you can easily upgrade the size for a low cost. Unfortunately that doesn't do anything for you for the initial purchase.

A lot of cheaper laptops will have a 128GB SSD and, because a lot of stuff is stored in the cloud these days, that can be functional. I still recommend getting a bit more storage than that because it's nice if you can store your music and documents and photos on your device instead of on the cloud. You want to be able to access your files even if you don't have internet access.

But don't get a computer with a big HDD instead of getting a computer with a small SSD. The difference in speed is noticeable.

SCREEN (laptop specific)

Personally I find that touchscreens have a negative impact on battery life and are easier to fuck up than standard screens. They are also harder to replace if they get broken. I do not recommend getting a touch screen unless you absolutely have to.

A lot of college students especially tend to look for the biggest laptop screen possible; don't do that. It's a pain in the ass to carry a 17" laptop around campus and with the way that everything is so thin these days it's easier to damage a 17" screen than a 14" screen.

On the other end of that: laptops with 13" screens tend to be very slim devices that are glued shut and impossible to work on or upgrade.

Your best bet (for both functionality and price) is either a 14" or a 15.6" screen. If you absolutely positively need to have a 10-key keyboard on your laptop, get the 15.6". If you need something portable more than you need 10-key, get a 14"

FORM FACTOR (desktop specific)

If you purchase an all-in-one desktop computer I will begin manifesting in your house physically. All-in-ones take away every advantage desktops have in terms of upgradeability and maintenance; they are expensive and difficult to repair and usually not worth the cost of disassembling to upgrade.

There are about four standard sizes of desktop PC: All-in-One (the size of a monitor with no other footprint), Tower (Big! probably at least two feet long in two directions), Small Form Factor Tower (Very moderate - about the size of a large shoebox), and Mini/Micro/Tiny (Small! about the size of a small hardcover book).

If you are concerned about space you are much better off getting a MicroPC and a bracket to put it on your monitor than you are getting an all-in-one. This will be about a million percent easier to work on than an all-in-one and this way if your monitor dies your computer is still functional.

Small form factor towers and towers are the easiest to work on and upgrade; if you need a burly graphics card you need to get a full size tower, but for everything else a small form factor tower will be fine. Most of our business sales are SFF towers and MicroPCs, the only time we get something larger is if we have to put a $700 graphics card in it. SFF towers will accept small graphics cards and can handle upgrades to the power supply; MicroPCs can only have the RAM and SSD upgraded and don't have room for any other components or their own internal power supply.

WARRANTY

Most desktops come with either a 1 or 3 year warranty; either of these is fine and if you want to upgrade a 1 year to a 3 year that is also fine. I've generally found that if something is going to do a warranty failure on desktop it's going to do it the first year, so you don't get a hell of a lot of added mileage out of an extended warranty but it doesn't hurt and sometimes pays off to do a 3-year.

Laptops are a different story. Laptops mostly come with a 1-year warranty and what I recommend everyone does for every laptop that will allow it is to upgrade that to the longest warranty you can get with added drop/damage protection. The most common question our customers have about laptops is if we can replace a screen and the answer is usually "yes, but it's going to be expensive." If you're purchasing a low-end laptop, the parts and labor for replacing a screen can easily cost more than half the price of a new laptop. HOWEVER, the way that most screens get broken is by getting dropped. So if you have a warranty with drop protection, you just send that sucker back to the factory and they fix it for you.

So, if it is at all possible, check if the manufacturer of a laptop you're looking at has a warranty option with drop protection. Then, within 30 days (though ideally on the first day you get it) of owning your laptop, go to the manufacturer site, register your serial number, and upgrade the warranty. If you can't afford a 3-year upgrade at once set a reminder for yourself to annually renew. But get that drop protection, especially if you are a college student or if you've got kids.

And never, ever put pens or pencils on your laptop keyboard. I've seen people ruin thousand dollar, brand-new laptops that they can't afford to fix because they closed the screen on a ten cent pencil. Keep liquids away from them too.

LIFESPAN

There's a reasonable chance that any computer you buy today will still be able to turn on and run a program or two in ten years. That does not mean that it is "functional."

At my office we estimate that the functional lifespan of desktops is 5-7 years and the functional lifespan of laptops is 3-5 years. Laptops get more wear and tear than desktops and desktops are easier to upgrade to keep them running. At 5 years for desktops and 3 years for laptops you should look at upgrading the RAM in the device and possibly consider replacing the SSD with a new (possibly larger) model, because SSDs and HDDs don't last forever.

COST

This means that you should think of your computers as an annual investment rather than as a one-time purchase. It is more worthwhile to pay $700 for a laptop that will work well for five years than it is to pay $300 for a laptop that will be outdated and slow in one year (which is what will happen if you get an 8th gen i3 with 8GB RAM). If you are going to get a $300 laptop try to get specs as close as possible to the minimums I've laid out here.

If you have to compromise on these specs, the one that is least fixable is the processor. If you get a laptop with an i3 processor you aren't going to be able to upgrade it even if you can add more RAM or a bigger SSD. If you have to get lower specs in order to afford the device put your money into the processor and make sure that the computer has available slots for upgrade and that neither the RAM nor the SSD is soldered to the motherboard. (one easy way to check this is to search "[computer model] RAM upgrade" on youtube and see if anyone has made a video showing what the inside of the laptop looks like and how much effort it takes to replace parts)

Computers are expensive right now. This is frustrating, because historically consumer computer prices have been on a downward trend but since 2020 that trend has been all over the place. Desktop computers are quite expensive at the moment (August 2023) and decent laptops are extremely variably priced.

If you are looking for a decent, upgradeable laptop that will last you a few years, here are a couple of options that you can purchase in August 2023 that have good prices for their specs:

14" Lenovo - $670 - 11th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 512GB SSD

15.6" HP - $540 - 11th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 256GB SSD

14" Dell - $710 - 12th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 256GB SSD

If you are looking for a decent, affordable desktop that will last you a few years, here are a couple of options that you can purchase in August 2023 that have good prices for their specs:

SFF HP - $620 - 10th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, 1TB SSD

SFF Lenovo - $560 - Ryzen 7 5000 series, 16GB RAM, 512GB SSD

Dell Tower - $800 - 10th-gen i7, 16GB RAM, 512GB SSD

If I were going to buy any of these I'd probably get the HP laptop or the Dell Tower. The HP Laptop is actually a really good price for what it is.

Anyway happy computering.

[lennythereviewer]

My favorite Kingdom Hearts fact is that one of the biggest plot-holes that Nomura has never been able to meaningfully retcon or write his way out, a plot-hole so big that it fundamentally breaks the very rules the series is written on...

Is the existence of Steamboat Willie

Let me explain for the uninitiated:

In Kingdom Hearts 2, there’s a small detour in the story involving Maleficent trying to invade Disney Castle, the home of King Mickey. She can’t step foot in the castle due to an artefact of pure light that wards off darkness locked in the basement.

Pete, who is working for Maleficent, opens a door into the past (Before Disney Castle, this land was known as Timeless River) and decides to remove the artifact from it’s place in time so it won’t be there to stop them from getting in.

Sora, Donald, and Goofy chase Pete into the past thanks to another magic door provided by Merlin, and through some shenanigans involving old cartoons and teaming up with Pete’s past-self, they lock the door the villains are using, and return the artefact to it’s proper place so it can exist in the present.

You with me so far? Pretty straightforward-ish time-travel plot right?

Here’s where it goes off the rails.

Time travel would go on to become a staple of Kingdom Hearts going forward and would come with a very strict set of rules over how it operates:

1. You can only travel to a point in time where a version of yourself exists

2. You basically give up your body to do so, and travel as a disembodied soul unless you have a vessel to inhabit

3. You can’t alter the past in a meaningful way, what’s going to happen will happen

4. You lose your memories of said trip once you return, but your actions could leave a lingering instinct on your other self that could influence their decisions

“Wait” you may be thinking “Why should anyone go through all those hoops? Wasn’t time travel super simple that first time?”

And you’d be totally right, because the existence of Timeless River completely renders all of these rules and restrictions meaningless. 

There is no version of Sora that existed in Timeless River before he step foot there, everyone kept their bodies, the trio and Pete were able to mess with the timeline as freely as they pleased, and they all very much remember their trip. 

Nomura has never been able to meaningfully explain this super simple, easy way of time travel and the more convoluted method co-existing other than a cheap-throwaway line from one of the villains saying that Merlin “broke the rules” 

The hilarious part about this line is that it implies that PETE of all characters is actually more powerful than the actual villain of the series, because Pete opened a door into Timeless River through sheer willpower and nostalgia for “the good old days”

But the all-knowing chess-master of a villain who had an evil plan several decades in the making with countless moving parts and contingencies to account for had to use the roundabout, more complicated method of time travel where a lot could go wrong.

Pete though? Dude just casually broke all the rules of time travel because he felt like it. He's just built different.

TL;DR: Steamboat Willie breaks Kingdom Hearts lore in half, Pete is more powerful than Master Xehanort, and I fucking love this beautiful trainwreck of a series you guys it means so much to me

I love Kingdom hearts so much.

[notmeowse]

That AMA marks the end of Dragon Age.

In my opinion.

I'll start by saying that I have played all 3 of the previous games repeatedly, I've loved the series for 15 years, more than half my life. These games inspired me to become a writer and they've shaped a lot of my tastes and interests in shows and writing -- to say they were formative is kind of an understatement. Don't want to go on and on about how much I loved them, that's not the point here.

I didn't care for Veilguard for pretty much all of the reasons people have already discussed at length on Reddit and Tumblr. The writing is comprehensively bad, the romances are easily the worst Bioware has written by pure virtue of having the most cookie-cutter pacing and shallow characterization I've seen across their games, the lore has been shafted in every direction, and the nuanced storytelling and roleplay I came to expect from the series has been taken out back and shot in the head.

All, apparently, in the name of a "clean slate". It seems to me that, rather than familiarizing himself with the existing lore of the game he took the creative reins on, Epler clearly had a vision for Dragon Age (or perhaps a different IP entirely) in his head that he decided to transplant into the game (and possibly Trick? But they've said so little beyond defending their work that I can hardly theorize what direction they were coming from). That being a sanitized, wildly self-contradicting, morally absolute shitshow focused on distancing itself from the previous games as much as possible. Now, I know it's unrealistic to blame one person entirely, and I don't blame him entirely. Corinne was there. Trick was there.

But if it wasn't already evident from the numerous interviews Epler's given on the game as well as his participation in the Q&A's (while the actual lead writer of the game has been completely absent in not just the marketing, but in most fan-related interaction pre and post-launch outside of BSKY), this AMA seems to have confirmed, more than anything else, that Epler doesn't understand the game nor does he understand its audience. Neither does Corinne Busche, who despite being Game Director for only the last two years of development, has been answering lore questions a) like she has any fucking clue and b) like she thinks Dragon Age is a cozy-gamer IP, meant to appeal to people that want uplifting stories with uncontroversial characters, morally upright heroes, and unquestionably evil villains.

So as of today's AMA, I think I've finally had enough. We're just outright retconning the lore in Reddit AMA's now, I guess. Among other things. I'll provide a few examples, just so we're all on the same page.

This was part of Epler's response to why Solas didn't have his cult following in the game (insert "We Kind of Forgot" meme here):

Solas' experience leading the rebellion against the Evanuris turned him against the idea of being a leader. You see it in the memories - the entire experience of being in charge ate at him and, ultimately, convinced him he needed to do this on his own. And his own motivations were very different from the motivations of those who wanted to follow him - he had no real regard for their lives or their goals. So at some point between Trespasser and DATV, he severed that connection with his 'followers' and went back to being a lone wolf.

The fact that this (the not caring bit) directly contradicts the writing in the actual game is absolutely INSANE to me, moreso than the lack of Solas's spy network (which he apparently carried with him for 10 years only to conveniently drop right before the ritual? Because he clearly had them research Rook?). But in regards to the not caring -- here's a line from Solas's memory of killing Mythal in Veilguard, which. I'll get to Mythal in a minute:

Why should I not tear down the Veil, and bring back immortality to all the elven people? They deserve it!

Which is it? Does Solas care about the people he's saving (the venn diagram of people he's saving vs. the people following him is surely a circle, i.e. elves) or not? Does he even care about the spirits trapped behind the Veil anymore or is it just convenient to abandon them and have him only care about elves, now? What happened to saving The People? What happened to him not identifying as an elf in his conversations with a Dalish Inquisitor? And what the absolute fuck happened to him wanting to bring back the magical marvels (that the ancient elves did in fact achieve) that were greater than anything we see in Thedas today? Here's what Epler has to say about elven magic, now:

I do agree that the elves have had their place in the sun at this point. [...] The thing about the Evanuris is that, ultimately, they were able to take a very specific type of magic and shape it into doing what they wanted. But even their understanding of magic was only skin deep [...] Even the magic that Tevinter wields, the magic of the Southern mages, is different from what the Evanuris used. The magic of the Evanuris is powerful but it's sterile, and it's constrained. So while the Evanuris have made magic work in a way that's more predictable and understandable, it's not the only kind of magic out there, and even then, I'd say they understood it at a very surface level. People were confidently describing how the natural world worked back in the 16th century. Very few of them were right.

First of all, Tevinter has been stated in previous games to have clumsily adapted ancient elven magic for their own, but they did adapt it. To the point where even Solas is surprised that Corypheus achieved effective immortality -- by binding himself to a dragon the same way the Evanuris did. So, cool, more contradicting the lore here. "They understood it at a very surface level" you mean when all of the magic of the Fade wasn't locked behind the Veil? You mean when magic flowed freely through the world? What do you mean, Surface Fucking Level? The entire point of the Dalish elf culture is what they lost; this wasn't the ancient elves thinking the sun revolved around the earth, the Veil was their fucking Library of Alexandria burning. Oh my god. I still cannot believe he said this.

And how have the elves had their day in the sun? I'm sorry, was Arlathan not given to... the Veil Jumpers? Instead of the Dalish? What happened to all the Dalish clans in the south, who had no infrastructure when the world was apparently blighted to hell? I guess they're just gone now! They've had their day! The story of the Dalish and the Evanuris is over (also confirmed in this AMA), and it apparently ends with the final snuff of the candle that is their culture. Congratulations, Chantry, you've won! Only took two genocides and a double blight, but we're done with the Dalish now! We get your mind-numbingly superficial factions instead!

What happened to Mythal, by the way? What happened to "She was betrayed as I was betrayed, as the world was betrayed! Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged!" What happened to the reckoning that will shake the very heavens? John's answer to this:

People grow and change over time. Mythal's essence - and in particular, the fragment of her spirit that Morrigan carries, that she got from Flemeth - is not the same Mythal who he knew millennia ago. Centuries of living in this world and being around the kinds of people Flemeth found herself around - the Hero of Ferelden, Hawke, the Inquisitor - changed her views, and made her realize her own culpability in turning Solas into the kind of person he is now.

Oh, right, okay. So she was pissed for like a thousand years, got her big speech about the impending "reckoning" out 10 years ago, and then she just chilled out because the last 3 heroes were neat people. What a fucking joke. And yes, here is the confirmation that the Evanuris story is over --

The story of the Evanuris is done - the gods are dead (or imprisoned) and Thedas is in a state of flux and uncertainty. I imagine that whatever happens next is going to be a surprise to everyone, including the people of Thedas."

So I guess Mythal's reckoning is never coming. One of the most fascinating characters in the series, shrouded in mystery for those first 3 games, PROMISING US a blaze of glory, only to fizzle out in this one. Again, and I can't emphasize this enough, for Epler's clean fucking slate. And we've not just tied up her story, but also the Veil and the Blight:

When Solas bound himself (or, depending on your ending, was forcibly bound) to the Veil, it severed the connection that the Blight had to the waking world. The reality is that the Veil has been leaking ever since the Magisters first entered the Black City, and the dreams of the Titans gave it its terrible and awesome power. Now that the Veil is fully repaired, the Blight lacks that motive force, and being so close to the epicenter of that change has stripped the Blight in Minrathous of its vitality. It's calcified now - dead - and Bellara/Neve no longer suffer its effects. If they'd been anywhere else, further from that epicenter, it would've likely been different and they still would be looking for a cure.

So the Veil is permanently fixed now because our half-dead Dread Wolf bound himself to it (a decision I still don't understand) and that somehow fixed every single hole ever poked in it. Fully repaired. No more holes, no more "Veil is thin here" because tons of people died in the same spot, nope, we're washing our hands and leaving it (and the spirits) behind us because we've wrapped up both the series-long Veil storyline and the blight storyline in a big red bow.

And Epler tells us Solas not only bound himself to the Veil but fixed it entirely in one fell swoop, no ritual required, just a little slice to the hand. Again, all in the name of a clean slate, so any future installments or media centered around Thedas can turn away from this story.

Then there's this. What we can expect from future installments, I freaking guess. The aforementioned roleplay getting taken out back and shot:

Q: "What lead you to the decision to step away from active conversations with the companions as in previous Bioware games, where you can initiate them at any moment and ask exhaustive questions?"

John: "For us, because of tech limitations, it became a choice between exhaustive investigate conversations, or letting the companions move more freely around the Lighthouse. With the kind of experience we were going for, one where seeing the team grow around you is paramount, we felt that seeing them interact in common spaces (and in each other's rooms) made more sense."

Literally confirmed that they chose companions moving freely about the cabin over ... interacting with them outside the handful of cutscenes we got. Who in their right mind would think this was a good call in a Dragon Age game? A series that quite literally prides itself on complex character interactions and storytelling? So they could... sit in different places? Are you kidding me?

They don't see an issue with the game's reception. They don't have any interest in addressing or responding to criticism. They're either happy with their choices or EA's got a gun pointed at their heads, I'm honestly not sure anymore. I used to believe the latter was true, but looking at both Epler's and Busche's responses today, I'm inclined to believe the former.

So I think that's it for the series. Not that I thought it was going to get another game after this, but on the absolute off chance it did, what would be the point? The best stories were ruined. Anything left they have to tell is going to read a lot like Veilguard -- superficial, morally absolute, flagrantly disrespectful to the lore, and delivered in a very poorly written package.

[inbarfink]

One common Undertale misconception that really frustrates me is when Sans is portrayed with a strong innate sense for RESETs and alternative timelines. Like, that he remembers the RESET timelines better than the other characters who only have occasional feelings of deja vu or even that he can sense when a timeline is RESET.

And that’s, like, almost the opposite of the actual text of the game. While pretty much every main character can have slightly-different dialogue in a Not-True-RESET, especially if the Player had previously befriended them, based on the idea that they have lingering memories/feelings from before the RESET - 

Sans has no real dialogue changes based on this conceit. All of his changes are based around noticing Frisk has different reactions based on their memories of the precious timelines. 

Other characters do also make observations like that about Frisk, like Mettaton and Toriel. But Sans is distinctive because this is the only way his comments change between RESETs and there are a lot of them from him.

Because that is what really frustrates me about this misconception. People mention it as one more thing that makes Sans cool - but the actual truth is far more badass. Sans is one of the people in the Underground who remembers RESETs the least. I think memory-resistance to RESETs is probably tied to Determination. Flowey, the second-most Determined person in the Underground after Frisk, can remember everything perfectly.

Everyone else has some vague feelings and deja vus. And Sans, he’s the least motivated person in the Underground - both in the sense he’s lazy and in the sense he’s fucking depressed.

That probably means he has very little Determination. Thus, he doesn’t remember anything that happens between RESETs.

And yet, he is still the character most aware of them. Because he has the technological know-how to read and analyze timelines.

And because he has the observation and analytical skill to notice a RESET from other people’s reactions and behavior. Whatever it’s Papyrus thinking he recognizes someone or Frisk’s behavior implying that they know something they shouldn’t have. Sans main RESET-related skill is just being able to identify these moments and come to the correct conclusion about them. And with that he manages to be the most aware character in the entire Underground.

Like, the one point where it might seem like Sans remembers something from a previous Timeline is the Fake Spare scene during his boss battle. 

But it’s all pretend. Unlike the previous lines from other characters that I mentioned, this dialogue plays even if the Murder Route is the first time the player touched the game. Sans isn’t remembering anything in this scene. But he makes an educated guess that the Immoral Time God probably tried using their powers for good at first, so they were likely ‘friends’ in a previous timeline. And in most cases, his guess is right on the money - tricking many players into thinking this is another case of the game actually reacting to their past actions.

And as always, Sans can only tell if his lil’ trick worked or not based on the expression of the Player Character.

Arguably, Sans even uses his lack of Determination and cross-RESET memory to his advantage in his boss battle. After all, the whole point of this fight isn’t to kill the Player - Sans understands this is impossible. This is a war of attrition, trying to get the Player so frustrated and annoyed with the unfair fight that they just ragequit or RESET the Timeline. And this war of the Player’s patience versus Sans’ stamina and will is infinitely easier for him when he doesn’t actually perceive all the Player’s previous attempts against him.

Like, for the Player this might be the billion time they go up against him, they’re aware of some of his patterns and tricks now but they’re probably also frustrated and angry and exhausted. Meanwhile, from Sans’ POV, this is still the first time this is happening. He knows it’s not from the Player’s behavior and Frisk’s expression - but he doesn’t feel it like the Player does. 

He doesn’t feel the frustration and repetition of the endless stalemate. So he’s always as fresh as a daisy no matter how rugged the Player is getting.

And that’s part of why Sans is so cool in the first place, like, in general. He’s technically the weakest person in the Underground, lacking in every standard evaluation of power in the setting - no ATK, no DEF, no HP, no DETERMINATION. But he’s darn clever enough to overcome these weaknesses and even use them in ways that make them into strengths, enough to be one of the most dangerous and most aware guys in this whole setting.

Sans can’t remember anything, and that makes him awesome.

[p3achfilm]

all mine. ellie w.

nsfw. your cute girlfriend doesn’t cut it, but your ex does. drabble!

regret courses through you like a raging river, each pulse in your sweaty palm amplifying the weight of the phone. the ring pierces through the silence, a relentless reminder of your impending doom. anxiously, you gnaw at your lip, the taste of iron mingling with your mounting fear. "i'm being ridiculous," you mutter, your thumb hovering over the end call button. but then, the line clicks open, and her voice, sharp and slightly irritated, cuts through the tension.

"hello?"

her tone is justified; after months of silence and the last encounter being a screaming match, she has every right to be annoyed. your mouth goes dry, and you scramble for words, your mind a chaotic mess. "you fuckin' prank calling me?" ellie snaps, her voice heavy with exhaustion. it's three in the morning, and she doesn't have time for games.

"no, no," you stammer, "i just wanted to talk to you." you facepalm, feeling utterly pathetic. you can hear her shifting in bed, her irritation palpable. "right, and you decided to do that on a random tuesday at three in the morning? bye, y/n." her voice is cold, dismissive.

"wait, no! el, please," you beg, your voice cracking. you don’t care how pathetic you sound. "you have two minutes," she sighs, the sound of rustling sheets indicating she’s sitting up. "i-uh, fuck. can you come over?" the words spill out, faster than you intend, a jumbled mess of desperation.

ellie’s not dumb. she knows exactly why you’re calling her. the unspoken truth hangs heavy in the air, thick with tension and unfulfilled desires. you want her, need her in a way that no one else can satisfy.

she always promised that no one could fuck you like she did, and she was right. latest example: the girl you’d been dating for a month, the shy girl from the bookstore where you worked. you felt dirty inviting ellie over right after you’d been with someone else. the girl was always awkward with the sex toys you’d provided, fumbling and unsure, her nervous laughter only adding to the discomfort. she tried her best, but it was clear she was out of her depth.

eventually, you had to fake an orgasm just to get it over with, feeling a pang of emptiness as you did. ellie was right once again, and you hated it. the regret and desire intertwine inside you, creating a potent mix that leaves you breathless, waiting for her response. the memory of ellie’s touch, her confidence, and the way she knew exactly what you needed floods back, making the wait even more unbearable.

the silence on the other end is deafening, each second stretching into an eternity. you can almost hear her thinking, weighing her options. finally, she exhales, a soft sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "you know this is a bad idea, right?" she says, her voice softer now, almost resigned.

"i know," you admit, your voice barely a whisper. "but i need to see you. please, ellie."

there's a long pause, and you can imagine her sitting there, running a hand through her hair, contemplating whether to give in to the pull that always seemed to draw you two back together. "fine," she finally says, her voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and something else—something that gives you a glimmer of hope. "i'll be there in twenty."

the call ends, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. the anticipation gnaws at you, a mix of dread and excitement bubbling in your chest. you glance around your apartment, suddenly acutely aware of the mess. you start tidying up, trying to make the place look somewhat presentable, but your mind keeps drifting to ellie.

you remember the first time you met her, how she walked into the room with that confident stride, her presence commanding attention. and then there was her bike—sleek, powerful, a perfect extension of her personality. you were drawn to her like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the allure of her confidence and the way she seemed to see right through you.

as you wait, the memories flood back—late-night rides, whispered confessions, the way her lips felt against yours. the good times, the bad times, and everything in between. you wonder if this time will be any different, if the cycle of attraction and regret will finally break, or if you're doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

“can’t believe i’m doing this,” you mutter, sinking into the plush sofa and tossing your phone aside absentmindedly. the cushions envelop you, offering a fleeting comfort that contrasts with the turmoil inside. “fuck.” you pull at the frayed strings of your old pajama pants, the fabric worn thin and soft from countless washes, and glance down at the t-shirt that’s been begging to see the trash for months. it’s a relic of better times, now faded and stretched, much like your patience.

pushing yourself off the couch, you make your way to your cozy bedroom, the familiar creak of the floorboards underfoot. the soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, inviting light, creating a stark contrast to the chaos in your mind. sliding open the closet door, you sift through the hangers, fingers brushing against various fabrics. you’re looking for something to wear, something sexy but not too sexy. you didn’t want to seem like a try-hard.

after a moment, you pull out a sleek black nightgown, simple yet seductive, and hold it up to the light, wondering if it will strike the right balance. the soft, silky fabric feels cool against your skin. you run your fingers over the delicate lace trim, appreciating the craftsmanship and the way it catches the light. the nightgown drapes elegantly, and you know this is the one.

it was almost comical how fast ellie had your face squished into the headboard as she fucked you with the pink strap, her soft moans droned out by your fucked out babbling.

“new girl don’t make you nut? that’s a damn shame.”

you could barely understand the words through her panting and the sound of her hips slapping into yours, but you caught the message.

you couldn't get it out of your mind, though. how did she know you had a new girlfriend? and more importantly, how did she know she was shit in bed? you weren’t exactly sure, and you knew if you asked you would probably receive an answer you weren’t fond of. you tried to push the thoughts from your head, but it wasn’t easy to focus with her thrusts becoming even more erratic, her fingers digging deeper into your hips.

but she did have a point, didn't she? you'd never come that hard from any other partner.

you could feel yourself nearing your second climax as she relentlessly pounded your sweet spot. you were almost embarrassed with how much your body was shaking and spasming, but with ellie it was nothing to be ashamed of. she loved seeing you completely vulnerable for her. spread out, taking each deep thrust like the good girl you were.

"you like that baby? huh? tell me you love it," her words were more demanding than they were questioning, your eyes crossed in bliss.

"i-i lov-e it! oh god!" you choke out, she smiled at your reaction, her chest pressed against your back as she moved you down to lay flat, the new angle making her thrusts even more unforgiving as your knees shook in pleasure. you let out a pathetic squeal, a mixture of spit and tears on the hardwood.

"yeah you do baby, takin’ it like a good girl," she pulled you up so your back was against her chest, the hand that was on your hip was now rubbing fast circles around your clit. your body twitched as you moaned loudly, a familiar feeling burning in your stomach.

“tell me you’ve missed me.”

you have. fuck, you’ve missed her a lot.

"missed yo-y-mm-m g-gonna c-cum ellie-ellie!" you moaned, the feeling becoming too much for you.

"it's okay, cum for me," your hips jolted and your body went rigid, the knot inside you snapping as your vision went white, the only thing keeping you grounded was ellie's arms holding you steady. you gasped as the feeling overtook your body, ellie slowing her movements to help you ride it out.

you came for a second time that night, your eyes rolling back and tears of ecstasy staining your face. she slowed down as your body calmed down, her hand leaving your hip to gently stroke the back of your thigh. you couldn't believe this girl.

she had you crying for her.

she slowly pulled out, watching in amusement as your legs still twitched. you felt the weight shift on the bed as she got up, the pink strap hitting the floor with a thud. you stayed in the position she left you, unable to move after being so thoroughly fucked.

she returned moments later, wiping the mess from your thighs and between your legs. she helped you turn over and lie down, and you finally saw the look of complete and utter adoration on her face.

fuck. you’re in so deep.

im cummin, love my gf. as always, likes, comments and reposts are appreciated! bunny out ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

[remuslupinslittleslut]

hiii lovely! could you do a poly!marauders one where the reader wakes up needy and decides to relieve herself by grinding one of the marauders' thighs, leading to her being slowly and passionately fucked by all of them?

I think maybe I need to work on following instructions, I just took this and went with what turned me on at the time, hope you enjoy anyway 🩷 I think I'm not that good at slow and passionate....

Masterlist.

James had his tongue buried in your pussy, your hands tugging at his hair, back arched and hips grinding down against his face. You shuddered as the edge of that one cliff came closer and closer.

Waking up was a disappointment. No James between your thighs (which was always a disappointment). It hadn’t all been a dream though, your hips had been grinding against something, only, not James’ tongue. Sirius was laying behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, your hair tickling his cheeks where it lay, pressed into your neck. His thigh was shoved between yours, and you realized you had been using it, in your sleep, to get off against. Sirius had beautiful thighs. Fleshy. They weren’t quite as good as James’ face, but not that far off. The memory of your dream fresh in your mind, along with the lovely thoughts of Sirius’ thighs, you decided to keep going, using his thigh to rub your clit against.

It took a few moments to get that really good feeling back, your orgasm having slipped away as you woke up. You tried to replay the dream from your inner eye, focusing your every thought on the feeling of James’ tongue against your clit.

Sirius’ arms wrapped harder around you pulling you closer, thighs flexing from between yours.

“Morning love,” his raspy voice murmured into your neck. “Having fun?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, hips moving in tandem with the flex of his thigh. “Ah- so much fun.”

You couldn’t help the moans escaping your mouth as his hands moved to your hips, guiding you against him, lips kissing down your shoulder.

“Such a pretty girl, getting off against my thigh, even in your sleep?”

“Y-ah-yes.”

Using his grip on your hips, he stilled your body, stopping your hips from moving, making you whine out in protest.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, lips against your ear, “just wanna be inside you.”

“Nghh,” you groaned, unable to wait a second longer for the feeling of Sirius’ cock inside you. Pushing your hips back against his crotch, you tried expressing your want without words. Thankfully, Sirius was used to your antics and lifted the hem of your shirt, fingers finding your already dampened hole, pushing in softly, spreading slick around, readying you for him. Grinding back once more, your body told him to hurry the eff up.

“I’ve got you babe,” he murmured, “just gotta get you ready.”

Only a few seconds later, he pushed down his own underpants, freeing his cock, giving it a few pumps before pushing your side slightly, moving you to lay partly on your side and partly on your tummy. Taking one strong hold on your hip, and using one hand to line himself up, it wasn’t long before he pushed himself inside of you, letting a loud groan out.

“Fuck, babe, feel so good,” he said, hips thrusting against your backside. “What got you this wet huh? Did you have a nice dream?”

Your cheeks burned; getting off against one of your boyfriends was one thing, telling him about your wet dreams about your other boyfriend was different. But Sirius felt so good inside you, and you knew he’d enjoy it if you told him, so you bit back your embarrassment and told him.

“Ye-ah,” your voice came out broken, his thrusts were more passionate than usual, long and languid strokes, taking his time, but you still struggled to speak through it. “I dreamed– that – oh – Jamie was – going down on me – he’s so – go-od at that.”

The hand on your hip squeezed harder as Sirius’ other came around to squeeze your tit.

“He really is good at that, maybe he should do it now, huh?” His words made you moan. “Jamie? Will you take care of our girl? She needs your mouth, I think.”

You hadn’t even realized that James and Remus had woken, but it wasn’t surprising; you weren’t exactly being quiet. When you met his eye, James looked at you with so much love in his eyes, adoration written all over his face.

“Sure thing,” he said, quickly looking over your shoulder to meet Sirius’ (whose hips had slowed down even more) eye. Looking back at you, James leaned in for a quick kiss and a “good morning, love,” before he dipped down along the bed, settling in between your thighs, hands caressing your milky skin.

As James got to work, tongue lapping with skill at your clit, Sirius kept moving his hips, dragging the head of his cock against your walls, reaching the most lovely places of your center. Just like you had in your dream, you reach your hand down to grab a hold of James’ hair, grinding your hips against his mouth and chin. Unlike your dream, though, you were also grinding back against Sirius, who stopped moving his hips, allowing you to get yourself off using him.

“Damn, babe, you’re so hot, so beautiful for us, so good, getting yourself off huh? Using my cock and Jamies’ face like the little cockslut that you are? Yeah, doing wonderful my love,” Sirius murmured against your neck, the grip on your hip having gotten softer, allowing you to move at your own accord.

James, whose mouth was slightly occupied, only hummed in agreement, as his tongue swirled around your nub.

Knowing how much his words affected you, Sirius kept talking you through it.

“Good girl, that’s it, does it feel good? Is Jamie doing well? D’you like my cock inside you? Are you gonna let Remmy have a go after you’ve milked me? Gotta take care of out moony y’know– fuck, look at him, watching you, he thinks you’re so pretty, our pretty girl, doing so well, are you gonna come? Gonna come all over me, and Jamie? Ready and open for Rem?”

He spoke absolute filth into your neck and ear, nipping at the skin, licking and biting at it, it sent shockwaves through your body, and you could feel that edge getting closer again. You did as Sirius said, looked at Remus, who had now sat himself up, leaning against the wall, pants pulled down to his thighs, hand around his cock, pumping slowly, eyes roaming over your body, you face, your tits, where Sirius played with your nipple, down to your core, where James’ head was stuck between your thighs as your hips ground against him.

It was all so hot, and as Sirius kept coaxing you to come, you finally did, hips stuttering and thighs squeezing James’ head. If you weren’t in the middle of an orgasm, you might be worried about hurting him, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“Pretty girl, doing so well,” Sirius said, moving your hair out of your face as your body kept convulsing. “Lay down on your tummy for me, babe.”

You did as you were told, and Sirius moved behind you, without ever pulling out completely. Straddling the backs of your thighs, he squeezed your arsecheek hard before he thrust himself inside you. It was almost too much, the cock you had just came around still being shoved inside you, but it also felt good, and you knew Sirius was close and that the feeling of him coming inside you would be worth the overstimulation.

“Hurry up Pads,” Remus groaned. His hand was no longer wrapped around himself, but rather around James’ now soft cock. It wasn’t the first time he’d come untouched from eating you out; in fact, he often did, but Remus would always enjoy taking one more from him, tugging at his soft and aching member, forcing him to give up just one more orgasm. “My turn soon.”

Trying to speed up the process, always ready to please Remus, you tried squeezing your walls around Sirius in time with his thrusts, tensing your muscles and using that grip to milk him dry.

You were rather successful. It wasn’t many seconds before he grunted as he came inside you, hips stilling and head falling down to kiss the back of yours.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, before pushing himself up and off of you, moving to lay beside you. “Go ahead, moons.”

Remus flipped you over, apparently done with James’ spent cock.

“Hi darling,” he said, sitting next to you, face leaned down to kiss you. “Sleep well?”

“Morning Remmy, yeah, I did, you?” Your voice was still airy, still affected by your orgasm.

“Slept like a prince, baby, loved waking up to your little moans about Jamie’s mouth,” he teased, leaning away from your face and straddling your chest. “Are you gonna let me fuck your face now, baby? It won’t take long, promise, just need your mouth right now.”

His words felt like a mocking of your dream and your words about James, but it was sexy nonetheless, turning you on again, leaning your head back against the pillow and allowing your mouth to fall open. Instead of answering verbally, your tongue fell out and you relaxed your throat, showing Remus that you were ready for him.

“Such a good girl,” he said, raising his hips and feeding his cock into your mouth.

Focusing on your breathing and staying still and laxed for him, you allowed his cock into your mouth, his hips already stuttering from the feeling. His one hand was around his base and the other laid against your cheek, sometimes moving his cock to push against your cheek, feeling it with his hand.

Normally, you wouldn’t allow Remus to fuck your face like this, his cock was too big and it always bruised the back of your throat, but he did say he would be quick – and he was. The hand against your cheek wiping away the first set of tears running down your face, and it was as if the contact of thumb and tear pulled him apart because he was spilling inside your throat, cock slightly vibrating, and spurting come, filling your entire mouth.“Now that’s a good morning,” he murmured as he moved to lay beside you, kissing your entire face, licking into your mouth and tasting himself on your tongue. “Let’s get cleaned up, I’ll eat you out in the shower.” He added as a response to your groaning, not ready for the day to start.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Mayor's Daughter and the Outlaw

Summary: After ten years, you've finally got your shot at your revenge. You've found the Hero. You have him in your sights.

-----

Pull the trigger.

You’ve worked too hard not to pull the trigger. The sweat, blood and tears you’ve shed have been the least you’ve given to be here. The air is crisp and clean nearly a hundred feet up in a pine tree overlooking a remote forest. You’re probably the only person in the world capable of spotting the brown, camouflaged building spanning the length of the small river running through the valley. There’s a hologram of the river it’s covering playing over the building’s walls. Hell, there are even birds flicking occasionally across the illusion, not often enough to draw attention, but just often enough their movement sends your eyes darting to other trees, trying to find where they went.

You breathe in the scent of sun-heated sap so slowly that it takes a solid minute for your lungs to expand. Your pupils flex and adjust whenever the wind rocks your tree. The window you’ve been staring at for the past hour remains in your focus.

The Sun, hair just as fake-gold as it was ten years ago, sleeps on. He’s definitely older now that you can see him in real life instead of on magazine covers or under studio lights. The skin of his neck is loose and folded under the weight of his chin drooping towards his chest. His eyes flicker under his eyelids. The bastard still has the audacity to dream. His arms are crossed over the sun motif emblazoned across his breastplate, his dust-covered boots kicked up on his desk so you can see how worn the soles are. Judging by the way his lips tremble, he’s snoring.

Pull the trigger.

You exhale. This is when you should do it. When your shoulders drop and the wind dies so that, for a moment, the world stands still. There are no whispers across the canopy. Every bough is frozen. The reflection of the sun in the river is overcome by a well-timed cloud and the Sun’s head tilts back to expose the long line of his throat.

The trigger presses back against your finger like an eager puppy. There’s nothing special about the bullets, nothing special about this gun. It’s not the right weapon for what you’re asking it to do, but you’ve had longer and harder shots. You know that you’ll shoot true and the confidence steadies your hand even more. You smoothly pull--

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back.

Your pupils dilate at the memory. For a moment you don’t see the Sun; you see her with her face burned as red as her prom dress. You try to dispel the image, try to remember that she didn’t die in her prom dress, but it’s too late.

I want you to live, Elian.

You’re suddenly aware of how your lungs ache and your legs burn from the way they’re wrapped around the tree and the bark is digging into your cheek and your fingers are like ice on the trigger. You’re out in the middle of nowhere. This is the Sun’s private residence. The security must be insane even if there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. What’s your exit strategy again? Your thoughts scatter as her voice rings through your head again.

More than anything, I want you to live.

-------Ten years ago----

You’re what the heroes tactfully call a nuisance. A juvenile delinquent with powers, aka a kid that the police aren’t equipped to handle and the local Hero chapter is too overqualified and too understaffed to address often.

 Your moral compass has never had a true north and it only gets worse the more your powers develop. Soon you aren’t just stealing your mom’s car – you’re stealing the neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor’s until you’re breaking into houses at the top of the hill and joyriding in a car worth more than your entire neighborhood together.

You find out pretty quickly that the heroes care a lot more when money is involved.

You spend your first night in jail after getting chased for three hours in a neon green lambo by the four heroes packed like sardines in a standard issue SUV. It’s laughably easy to out-drive them, choking around corners and careening down alleys that you scouted in the afternoon. Honestly, it would have been easy to get away, but your mom called just as the tank hit empty, asking when you were coming home.  You decided to give the heroes a break before they decided to play too rough with a minor.

Mom isn’t thrilled when you tell her you won’t be home in time for school tomorrow.

You kind of expect to be sent to prison the next day when you find out just whose car you stole. The Mayor’s daughter’s car, bought new for her seventeenth birthday a month ago. There are two open secrets about the mayor. One, he’s probably one of the heroes that protect the city judging from how much he praises them every time there’s a mic nearby. Two, he loves his daughter more than anything else.

So when you’re released the next day with a slap on the wrist? Yeah, you’re surprised.

When you’re released the next day to find the golden-haired, blue-eyed Mayor’s daughter waiting outside? Having just bailed you out?

You feel fear for the first time.

“You could have at least crashed it,” she says when she notices you gaping at her from the end of the parking lot. She’s leaning against the hood of a black SUV that looks a lot like the one the heroes chased you in last night. She waves a hand in the air. “Dad says the dents you put in the side will be out by tomorrow.”

Fear, apparently, makes you snarky. “What, you wanted to spend another week getting chauffeured by a hero?”

Her brows jerk up towards her hairline. She throws a glance over her shoulder. “You seeing ghosts? Nobody’s in there. I drove myself.”

“Good for you,” you say. You think you smell. They didn’t give you access to a shower last night. You’re upwind from her and damnit why are you embarrassed if you smell or not? Your chin jerks forward in a challenge. “You gonna give me a ride back home?”

You’re joking, but she nods like it was the plan all along. “Let’s go.”

Is that an answering challenge in her words? Your teeth grind as you force yourself forward. “Very kind of you,” you chirp, swinging up into the passenger seat. The car smells like leather and justice. “Just drop me off on the other side of the train tracks. I can find my way home from there.”

She snorts. “Is that a Footloose reference? Very dated.”

You stare at her profile. “…No. I literally live on the other side of the tracks.”

She flushes. “Right. Well…I’m not dropping you off yet. I want to talk first.”

The doors are locked. You swallow as she carefully pulls out of the parking lot and then guns it into the road without looking. Luckily, no one’s there. “Talk? About what?”

“About how you’re going to steal my car again,” she says. “And this time you’re going to crash it right.”

“You hate the color that much?” you joke.

Her tone is not joking. “You have no idea.”

You don’t find out her name until dinner when your mom’s managed to entice her into a third slice of homemade pizza. She stares down at the slice while your mom waves for you not to stay up too late before going to bed early. Gamely, you’re already on your fifth helping. Criminal activity takes a lot of energy.

“Does your mom know who I am?” she asks.

“Like, in theory,” you say. You’re full and warm as you lean into the hard wooden back of your chair. Mom added olives to your side of the pizza. “She probably doesn’t know you’re the Mayor’s daughter though. Just that he has one.”

“The Mayor…right,” she says. Her jaw firms. She flicks some olives off her pizza and then eats half the slice in one bite. “I’m Gina.”

“Elian,” you say instead of No, you’re the Mayor’s Daughter. You refill her soda cup before your own, just to show her you can be fancy and have manners too. She’s so out of place in your family’s one bedroom apartment. Her shirt is crisp and white, her gold necklace so shiny, that it’s like there’s a sepia filter over the eggshell walls and oak cabinets. “Sprite. Only the finest for the lady who bailed me out.”

“I’m thinking you can take my car next weekend,” Gina says so abruptly you nearly spit out your soda. There’s a hard light in her eyes. “Dad’s out of town for…business. He won’t notice for a few days. You take it, you get out of the city, you drive it off a cliff once you’ve wrecked it doing donuts or whatever.”

“A cliff?” You know exactly where she’s talking about. There’s an abandoned quarry about an hour outside of town. You shake your head. “That’s where people dump bodies. No way am I going out there.”

“They find bodies there because it’s outside of Hero Force’s patrol,” Gina says. She waves her hands in the air so the yellow light from the inset ceiling lights catches on her golden manicure. “If you think about it, it’s the best place to dump a car. Especially when the heroes are going to be out of town.”

You stare at her. “Did you just admit your dad is part of Hero Force?”

Her eyes skitter away from yours. “No.”

“Your dad is out of town next weekend.”

“Yes.”

“And the heroes?”

“Maybe they’re traveling together.”

“I don’t think anyone is supposed to know when the heroes are going to be out of town. Isn’t that like a national secret, or something?”

“We’re not a big enough chapter for it to be a national secret,” she denies. She bites her lip. “Probably a state secret though.”

You stand and your chair chatters against the linoleum. “No. Absolutely not.” It’s time for Ms. Mayor’s Daughter to leave.

She scrambles up after you, following you into the living room. “Why not?! You already mess with the heroes. Weren’t you the one who kept breaking into the mall on a motorcycle? You hijacked one of their delivery trucks a month ago—”

“A food delivery truck,” you say. “Which was more of a commentary about the city’s investment in Hero Force luxury rather than after school programs—” You bite your tongue. You spin so that the couch stays between you. You glance at your mom’s closed door and consciously lower your voice. “How do you even know that?”

“I’ve been watching you,” she says. She laughs without humor, dragging one hand through her golden hair. “Sometimes living in this town is like being in a simulation. We have four A-class heroes for a population of 30,000 and everybody loves them. Nobody thinks it’s strange to have walking nukes in a small town. They love my dad. Did you know no one’s even run against him for the past two elections? It doesn’t matter what he does. He owns this place and these people. He has – could commit murder and it would be justified. People would think it would be justice.”

“He loves you,” you say weakly. Isn’t four heroes a pretty normal number? Sure, the ones in your town are big names, but that’s not weird.

Is it?

“He loves me so he gets to be a tyrant?” Gina scoffs. “If he’s even capable of love.”

“I’m not going to mess around with heroes’ civilian identities just because you’ve got daddy issues,” you say. When hurt flashes across her face, you wince. “Sorry. But it’s one thing to mess with heroes in masks, okay? Messing with a hero’s family—”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem when you were stealing my car the other night.”

“That was before I knew your dad was Mr. Solve or whatever—”

“The Sun,” Gina says.

“What?”

“My dad’s the Sun.”

“That,” you say, “is so much worse. Didn’t he burn some minor villain’s eyes out last week?”

“Yes,” Gina says. Her mouth twists. “The guy got off easy compared to some others.”

You stare at her, momentarily speechless. “And you wonder why I’m not going to antagonize the guy?”

“But you already do,” Gina says. Her eyes are glinting. She looks so out of place against the dim interior of your home, a radiant girl dressed all in white and gold. She rounds the couch and snatches up one of your hands between two of her own. “Everyone else loves my dad. Except you. My entire life, and you’re the only one who dares to make—make statements about Hero Force consumption by stealing their deliveries or make the heroes chase you around an abandoned mall on foot like regular people. You challenge them, Elian. All I’m asking is that you do it again.”

“That sounds like a lot more than just crashing your car,” you say. Your voice sounds very far away. You never thought of your actions as so noble. There’s a tingling in your stomach that you’ve never felt before and your hand is so warm. She sees you. You shake the fantasy out of your head. “I—look. I’m flattered, but I’m not your guy. The heroes know my face. It’s only a matter of time before I get sent to whatever detention super-powered kids get sent to. I have to graduate high school.”

Rather than discourage her, Gina presses closer. “What if I told you there’s a way to do both?”

Her closeness fogs your brain. “Both?”

“Take the heroes down a notch and maintain your identity,” she says. She releases you and whirls to get her purse off the couch. “I can help you. We can train so that the heroes never recognize the new you. You can use your powers in new ways. And you can wear this.”

She thrusts a piece of chewed leather into your hands. A mask.

“I’m thinking,” she says, “we call you Outlaw.”

------ Now ----

You can’t shoot. Night is falling by the time you admit it to yourself. You press your back against the rough bark of the tree and stare up at the first stars. You cradle your gun in your hands.

The bloodlust is still there. You aren’t a fair lily incapable of staining your petals red (as red as her). So why can’t you pull the trigger? Because of her ghost? Her last message to you?

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back. More than anything, I want you to live, Elian.

You grind your teeth. Easy for her to say. The dying never have to feel the weight of consequence. They can just say whatever the fuck they want.

You aren’t thinking when you climb down the tree. Your powers give you a lot of things – speed and healing, an instinct for the outdoors, and excellent eyesight. You don’t need to look to find one branch and another, dropping to the forest floor in ten-foot increments. By the time your boots hit the ground, you know what the problem is.

Unlike your other kills, this one is personal. It was never going to be enough just to see him dead. You need him to know why you’ve got him in your sights.

The Sun is an old school hero. The traps you were so afraid of are predictable, turns out. You pick your way around bear traps and landmines, sharp eyes easily picking out silver trip wire when it glints in the moonlight. There are cameras, but there’s likely only one person with access. In the past ten years of following the Sun, you’ve learned two things about him.

One, he’ll kill the things he loves before he loses them.

Two, he doesn’t trust anyone but himself.

You get to the building inside of an hour. The first floor is hidden by steel shutters and there’s no light peeking out from behind them. The second floor window where he’d been sleeping for most of the day shines with the faint blue glow of a television.

The front door looks like a bank’s with how thick it is. There’s a keypad and a biometric scanner you don’t have a prayer of hacking.

That’s okay. You’ve already seen your way in.

You climb up the nearest pine tree. The Sun likes to think of himself as a competent hero, but too many mayoral kickbacks over the years made him soft. He surrounded himself with powerful heroes and never once struggled to win. Because of that, he’s missing some caution and common sense. The building’s first floor is locked up tight, but the windows on the second are regular glass.

And he hasn’t trimmed the tree line back far enough.

You fire your first shot of the night into his empty desk chair, exactly where his chest had been hours earlier. Immediately a siren sounds, and the TV glow coming through the office’s open door is consumed by bright light. You run two steps and then leap, neatly flipping through the empty window frame. Your boots slide for a moment on the broken glass and you catch yourself on the edge of his desk. There are medical papers scattered across it, prescriptions and diagrams of the face and eyes and heart.

You chew your cheek at the sight of a pill bottle. There had been rumors that the Sun is sick with his own radiation poisoning. It’s good you’re here before nature runs its course.

The siren wails for another beat before dying. The silence rings. Your heartbeat picks up as your ears strain to hear if anyone’s coming to meet you. Strange. The Sun had to have been the one who shut off the alarm.

So where is he?

You hold your gun out in front of you and check your mask. The Sun knows who you are by now, but you want him to see the mask she gave you. The handsewn leather, patched more times than you can count, is recycled from one of his old leather jackets. It feels oddly poetic to be dressed in the first iteration of your costume, cowboy hat tipped back and a biker vest embroidered with the name she gave you.

Is the Sun hiding? You creep out of the office, eyes darting from the quaint landscapes hanging on the wall to the tasteful wooden floors. The Sun’s safe house feels more cabin-y than you expected. The property deed has been in his name for the past fifteen years. Did Gina ever visit? Her ghost runs ahead of you, golden nails dragging along the peach wallpaper to the first open door on the left. She looks over her shoulder and smiles.

There are times when you’re glad for the afterimages your brain conjures. This is not one of those times. You don’t think she’d be happy to see what you’re about to do.

You swing around the doorway gun first, a snarl on your lips. “You old bastard, drop what—”

The smell of antiseptic hits your nose first, dashing away the red haze filling your vision in an instant. A TV murmurs against the wall, some rerun of an old western, but it’s not what holds your attention.

There’s a bed in the center of the room. The Sun sits at bedside, his attention wholly invested on the hand he’s holding up. Carefully, he applies gold paint to the nails without once looking up at you.

The woman in the bed is obscured with white gauze and beige compression bandages. Her breathing is soft and even. The one eye you can see is closed and still. No dreaming, no awareness.

“Outlaw,” the Sun says. He gently sets Gina’s left hand down on her stomach and picks up her right. He squints at her pinky nail. “Close the office door, would you? I don’t want the heat to escape.”

“What,” you breathe, “the fuck.”

-----Ten years ago ----

It’s a good year with Gina. You never realized how friend-starved you were until she was there, over at your house every day after school. She always makes it sound like she’s coming over to talk about the Outlaw thing, but there’s other stuff too. Movies and cooking and tutoring.

“Life is about balance,” Gina says sagely during one such tutoring session. “Besides, even heroes don’t go on more than two missions a month. We’re doing just fine.”

There’s always a pressing need to do more though. Whenever you pull off a particularly daring heist, she smiles this secret and pleased smile that makes your stomach flip. Sometimes, when the two of you watch news coverage of your getaways, she murmurs how impressed she is, how smart you are, how cool your powers are.

It makes you want to do anything for Gina.

You’re watching the news one day, waiting for a recap of how you stole the Sun’s favorite shield from the armory, when a rare story comes on. A Hero is dead, some guy named Ibis from Atlanta. There aren’t any leads to the culprit except for eyewitness accounts of a mysterious, winged super-powered individual flying low over the city, hiding in storm clouds.

“I’d kill a Hero,” you blurt out.

Gina jerks so hard that the popcorn bowl goes flying out of her hands. She doesn’t seem to notice. “What?”

“N-not your dad or anything,” you say quickly although yes, if you had to kill anyone, you’d start with the man who makes Gina cry like that. “Just…in general. The news anchor said Ibis was connected to a civilian’s death, right? I could kill a Hero like that.”

“No,” Gina says. She drops off the couch to kneel by you. “No, Elian.”

You flush like you’ve done something wrong. You sink into your hoodie. “I’m not going to, I’m just saying—”

“If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back,” Gina says. She’s too close, so close that you can see the flecks of gold hidden in her eyes. “Your life—it’s not like what we’ve been doing. Dad’s got rules when it comes to stealing. But if you kill a hero?” She shudders. “I want you to live, Elian.”

“I got it—”

“Please,” she blurts out. The plea in her voice makes you really look at her despite the pounding of your heart. Her eyes are wild and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “No matter what. Promise me.”

“I—” No matter what? You slowly shake your head, trying to get away from the instinctive desire to agree with her. “I-if someone is really bad, I’d—”

“Elian—”

The tension makes you truthful.

“If your dad hurt you, I’d kill him,” you say. When she rears back, this time you follow. You brace your arm against the couch so you can lean into her space. With your other hand, you trace the fading burn on her cheek that could pass for an old sunburn if you didn’t know the truth. “I know you don’t think he will, but he’s been erratic lately. And I know about his temper. If he hurts you, I’d kill him.”

The air thickens between you. It’s rare that you don’t back down, but you’re not backing down now, staring into her eyes. Competing wills. For a moment you let everything you feel come to the surface. Your frustration when she visits with that fucking shadow in her smile, the helplessness when there’s another burn on her arm, the adoration when she’s just there.

Gina shudders and looks away first. She licks her lips. “I—I…appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m fine. You agreed I got to make the rules for Outlaw. I’m telling you one. Don’t kill heroes.”

She’s pulling away. You do too, falling to her side and sitting next to her rather than hovering over her. You try for a careless shrug but fall short. How can she make you feel so powerful one second and so powerless the next? You avert your eyes. “I won’t kill heroes,” you promise.

You hear her suck in a breath. “Good. Because I need you alive.”

“I do like being alive,” you say and don’t finish the sentence with with you.

“We’re done studying,” she decides. She darts up towards the kitchen. “I’m getting another bowl of popcorn before we start the movie. You want some?”

You stare at your reflection in the dark TV. Your jaw works. Finally, you say, “Nah. I’m good. I’ll just eat it off the floor.”

“Don’t be gross, Elian!”

------Now.----

“I will regret that day for the rest of my life,” the Sun says. He hasn’t looked at you once. His eyes are glued to the steady rise and fall of Gina’s chest. He times his breathing to hers and then sighs. “What a fool I was. Drunk on power.”

You’re standing on the opposite side of the bed. Your gaze flicks from Gina to him and back again. “Is she ever conscious?”

“It’s a medically-induced coma,” the Sun says. “The doctors say she should wake up any day now that most of her injuries have healed. Her last surgery was the final one. Now it’s up to her.”

This might be the first time in ten years that you’ve breathed. You suck in air greedily and imagine you can taste her scent under the layers of sickness and medicine. “They told me she died.”

“I told Hero Force you did it,” the Sun says. There’s no remorse in his voice. “They always tell villains they were successful, so they don’t try again.”

A decade of rage slides around your ribs. “You fucking bastard.”

“I did think it was your fault ten years ago.” He carefully picks up Gina’s left hand again to apply a second coat. It takes all your willpower not to slap him away from her. “If you hadn’t stolen Hero Force data, I wouldn’t have had to come after you with my full power. She would never have been in the line of fire.”

You’re fists shake at your sides. “I didn’t steal Hero Force data, I stole your fucking car. Don’t rewrite history.”

“There was Hero Force data in that car.”

“It was your Porsche, your civilian Porsche!”

“My fault to have left sensitive data out,” the Sun says. His confession surprises you into silence. “But I had to get it back no matter what. Then I blamed you by thinking how if you’d only asked me to take my daughter to Prom, I would’ve known she was in the car.”

“She’s not your property and it’s not the 1800s, of course I didn’t ask if I could take your daughter to—”

“I’m telling you what I thought,” the Sun interrupts. He finally looks at you. He looks worse than he did earlier, the years cutting deep lines into his face. There are black bags of exhaustion under his watering eyes. He breathes out shakily. “I had to tell myself it was your fault. It was the only way I could survive, Elian.”

Your real name shocks you. You stumble back. “How do you know that name?”

“She calls for you sometimes,” the Sun says. He drags a hand over his face before grimly returning to his daughter’s nails. “She’s never been really conscious for long. The d-damage took a long time to heal. But when she’s awake, she calls for you and she calls for Outlaw. Wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

Your chest throbs. “I should have been here. You should have—I could have—”

“Blaming you let me keep her by my side,” the Sun says. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or even understand me. But I…I regret more than anything what I’ve done to my daughter.”

“You’re going to regret it even more,” you say. The rage you feel is like a tidal wave. Ten years. Ten years. You could have held her hand through her recovery. You could have been there for her. And this selfish asshole who never even loved her like a father should took that away from you. You remember your gun. “You never deserved to be her father.”

“I didn’t, did I?” the Sun asks. He sets her hand down and swallows hard. He looks down the barrel of your gun without flinching. “She says one other thing, you know. When she asks for you.”

The curiosity stills your trigger finger. “What?”

“She says, Don’t kill heroes.”

Your face contorts. There’s the memory of popcorn in your mouth and the heat of her eyes on you. “Yeah, she said that to me before too. Back when I offered to kill you the first time.”

The Sun hangs his head. If he’s surprised to hear that, he doesn’t show it. “I wasn’t a good father.”

“No. But she didn’t want you dead.”

Understanding dawns. “Don’t kill heroes.”

“Exactly.” You tilt your head. “Do you feel like a hero?”

His lips tremble. His gaze drifts back to his daughter. Her eyes are flickering under eyelids. “I—I—”

The trigger presses back against your finger, eager and ready. “Do you?”

He licks his lips. “N-no,” he whispers. He closes his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

This time, it’s easy to take aim. Steady your breath. And—

Fuck.

“Leave,” you say. You drop your gun back to your side and scowl when the Sun’s eyes fly open in surprise. “If you do what I say, you’ll live long enough for Gina to decide what to do with you. Leave and don’t tell anyone about this.”

The Sun shakes his head. “No, no I can’t leave her—”

“Then die here,” you snap. You bare your teeth at him. “Leave. We’ll be gone in a week. Maybe she wakes up and calls you. Maybe she—” You take a deep breath. “Well. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, your part is done here.”

“I need to be there when she wakes up. Please, I’m her dad—”

“You’re her murderer,” you say. More than anything, you want to pick Gina up and run out of here before the Sun can stop you. You eye the monitors and know three people you need to call for advice before you even attempt to move her. A week should be just enough time to disappear. “You think you deserve to stay by her side?”

The Sun opens his mouth twice before he finds words. “I just—let me stay until she wakes up. That way I’ll know.”

“I spent ten years thinking she was dead,” you say. “You can last a month in limbo. If I have to ask you again, we’ll finally see who’s stronger now that I’m all grown up.”

The Sun picks himself up slowly. You think he cries. You’re not sure. He may even plead with you again. You’re deaf to it. Your brain has given up on splitting your attention and every atom of your being is homed in on Gina.

She’s alive. She’s alive.

You kneel at her bedside and wait for her to wake up.

----

Thanks for reading! If you want to read more of work or get access to stories like this a week (or more!) early, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! This week's short story for my Triple Shot and above tiers is about a world where being loved adds years to your lifespan!

Based off this prompt (X): Love determines how long you live, some people are in their hundreds, but some don’t even live to be 20.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains brief allusions to smut.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends -> lovers] 

Summary It’s the morning after your first time with Eddie, and the two of you navigate the quiet intimacy of it all [fluff, 1.4k]. 

A/N This is the third installment to the little friends to lovers universe I created. They all work as standalone fics, but I clearly can’t get enough and keep adding onto their story. 

PART ONE | PART TWO 

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Eddie wakes up alone. It's a reality not unlike every other day of his life. Except, the sheets gathered at his waist aren’t black and no heavy metal posters adorn the walls. Everything is neat and airy and bright, softly screaming of you. The only anomaly in the room is his leather jacket hanging on the back of your desk chair. When he reaches out to run his hand over the empty space on the bed beside him, he’s unsure if it’s warm from your body heat or the pale streaks of sunlight streaming in through the flowy white curtains. 

After rolling onto his back, he stretches his arms with a satisfied groan as his muscles pull. That’s when the sound of your footsteps emerge from the hallway, growing closer and closer. As you push your bedroom door open, you catch him quickly shutting his eyes as if getting caught. The faint smile that pulls on his lips exposes his wakefulness. 

He’d been asleep when you first stirred. After a few minutes of combing through his hair and relishing the steady sound of his breaths, you’d slipped out of bed to check the voicemail box. But not before padding to your dresser to put on some clothes. There was a pleasant ache in the muscles of your thighs as you moved, your whole body alight with the memory of him. 

Last night, you’d been too preoccupied with the dizzying proximity of Eddie hovering over you to answer the phone when it rang. 

As you press the playback button, it comes as no surprise when your dad’s voice crackles to life to bid you goodnight and remind you to make sure the front door is locked. For their own sanity, you call your parents back to apologize and assure them that everything had been okay the previous night. 

Back in your room, the mattress dips as you crawl into bed, forcing Eddie to fight a smile. He continues to feign sleep as you settle beside him with a content sigh. Once you’re tucked beneath the sheets, you place your hand on his chest as if swearing an oath to a truth larger than yourselves. 

The tattoos on his skin are so bold and intricate that you can’t help but trace over them. Your featherlight touch makes him open his eyes and turn his head to look at you, blinking slowly. His hair is roused and his eyes are a little puffy and red from sleep. 

There’s a flutter in your stomach upon noticing the faint lines on his cheek. In the few years of your friendship, you’d never had the pleasure of waking up to each other. The intimacy of it all makes it feel like you're buzzing. 

“Sorry for leaving,” you murmur. “You didn’t feel any of that earlier?” 

“Any of what?” His brows furrow, voice a little rough from sleep. 

Before getting out of bed, you’d kissed him as well. Not once, but three times over his face. Admitting to such a tender thing feels harder than just having done it. 

Instead, you shake your head in a shy dismissal. Not the kind of shyness that’s brutal and consuming, but the type that cradles vulnerability gently. After baring yourselves to each other last night, you suppose there's nothing more to be shy about. It’s just that the way Eddie looks at you makes it seem like you’re worth being figured out. Like it’s worth knowing about all the little things you do. 

Everybody talks about the pain of being overlooked, but few consider how terrifying and wonderful it feels to be seen. 

He’s quiet for a moment, searching your eyes. “Tell me what I missed, angel.” It’d probably be better to show him.

When you scoot closer, he instinctively turns to face you, placing a gentle hand on your hip. The fabric of your pajama shorts is too soft to be straight-up cotton, he thinks to himself. Before he knows it, warmth blooms beneath his skin as you lean in to kiss his forehead, the tip of his nose, then the corner of his mouth. 

A hum vibrates in his throat as he runs his hand further down your leg, stopping as his palm reaches the bare skin of your thigh. All of this—your nearness, being kissed, touching you—seems like a luxury that should’ve expired after last night. At the risk of seeming pessimistic, he’s aware of how many good things in his life are fleeting. Except this. Except you. What the two have found feels more set in stone than anything else ever has. 

As you pull away, he smiles at you as easily as breathing. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asks. 

“Good. Really good,” you say. 

He begins to stroke your thigh. “Me too. I think you have that effect.” Even now, his body is pleasantly heavy with a bone-deep sense of refreshment. Like he was bearing the weight of being a new person in this morning light with you. 

You open your mouth to say something, but stop yourself. 

“What’s up?” he insists because he somehow catches everything. 

“Nothing,” you huff a weak laugh. “I just feel…” you trail off, and Eddie keeps looking at you with those Bambi eyes. 

His chest shakes with a chuckle when you whine and tuck your face into your pillow. Even though you can’t see it, his gaze turns painfully soft. You peek at him just as he’s reaching out to touch your cheek. 

“You make me nervous.” It’s a quiet admission. “In the best possible way.”

Eddie doesn’t frown or insist you shouldn’t be, he just offers a small smile and strokes his thumb across the apple of your cheek. You press into his touch like you need it to survive. One thing he’ll never get over is how eternally fortunate you make him feel. He’ll spend the rest of his life either relishing the fact that you chose him or forever remembering these small moments. 

Your nerves don’t worry him and neither do his own. It’s how he knew all this meant something. The longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes “nervous” might not even be the right word. Surely, there was another way to describe the feeling of caring about someone and their thoughts so deeply that you didn’t want to risk disrupting a single thing. A care so great it rang true within the innermost parts of you. 

“We should probably get the day started before we end up stuck here,” he says. “I don’t know if you had any plans, but I can go if you want me out of your hair—” 

You take his hand from where he’s still stroking your cheek, and kiss over his knuckles. “Absolutely not,” you say into his skin. 

Eddie waits for you to continue. 

“Will you stay for breakfast?” you ask. “I make really good scrambled eggs.” He’d stay for breakfast even if you couldn’t. 

Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “I’ll be the judge of that.” You can’t help the laughter that rises up your throat when he pushes you onto your back and props himself over you. 

Your attempts to stop him from nibbling down your neck are all in vain, and you halfheartedly push at his shoulders as your chest squeezes and flutters. When he pulls away, you’re still hiccuping over your giggles, and you pray you don’t look as silly as you feel. Eddie, however, gazes down at you with the most tender depth in his eyes.

“You’ve got the most killer smile ever, you know that?” he asks. 

You reach up to tuck his hair behind his ears, trying to distract yourself from the warmth rising to your cheeks. 

“Evidently not. It hasn’t killed you.”

With a dramatic inhale, Eddie grips his chest and rolls over to fall onto his back, feigning death. 

You prop your forearms on his chest. “Please don’t die, I need you around.” 

That makes him grin and tap your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Say that again, I didn’t quite hear you.” 

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head. “I need you around, Eddie Munson.” 

He grows a bit more sober. “I think I need you more.” 

You could get used to this feeling of needing and being needed. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

PART ONE | PART TWO 

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